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- - - - Vance uses many footnotes in this volume. I have
attempted to make these available - - - - -
 - - - - to the e-book reader by setting them off with an asterixk
(*) and indenting them.        -----


PRELIMINARY

The Elder Isles and its peoples: a brief survey, which, while not
altogether tedious, may be neglected by the reader impatient with
facts.

The Elder Isles, now sunk beneath the Atlantic, in olden times
were located across the Cantabrian Gulf (now the Bay of Biscay)
from Old Gaul.

Christian chroniclers have little to say regarding the Elder
Isles. Gildas and Nennius both make references to Hybras, though
Bede is silent. Geoffrey of Monmouth alludes both to Lyonesse and
Avallon, and perhaps other places and events which can less
certainly be identified. Chretien of Troyes rhapsodizes upon Ys
and its pleasures; and Ys is also the frequent locale of early
Armorican folk-tales. Irish references are numerous but confusing
and contradictory. St. Bresabius of Cardiff propounds a rather
fanciful list of the Kings of Lyonesse; St. Columba inveighs
against the "heretics, witches, idolaters and Druids" of the
island he calls "Hy Brasill," the medieval term for "Hybras."
Otherwise the record is quiet.

Greeks and Phoenicians traded with the Elder Isles. Romans visited
Hybras and many settled there, leaving behind aqueducts, roads,
villas and temples. In the waning days of the Empire Christian
dignitaries landed at Avallon amid vast pomp and panoply. They
established bishoprics, appointed appropriate officials and spent
good Roman gold to build their basilicas, none of which prospered.
The bishops strove mightily against the olden gods, halflings and
magicians alike, but few dared enter the Forest of Tantrevalles.
Aspergillums, thuribles and curses proved futile against such as
Dankvin the giant, Taudry the Weasoning, the fairies of Pithpenny
Shee. Dozens of missionaries, exalted through faith, paid terrible


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prices for their zeal. Saint Elric marched barefoot to Smoorish
Rock where he intended to subdue the ogre Magre and bring him to
the Faith. According to subsequent tale-tellers, Saint Elric
arrived at noon and Magre politely agreed to hear his declaration.
Elric spoke a mighty sermon, while Magre started the fire in his
pit. Elric expounded, recited Scripture and sang the glories of
the Faith. When he came to an end and declared his final
"Hallelujah!," Magre gave him a stoup of ale to ease his throat.
Sharpening a knife he complimented Elric upon the fervor of his
rhetoric. Then he smote off Elric's head, cut, drew, spitted,
cooked and devoured the sanctified morsel with a garnish of leeks
and cabbages. Saint Uldine attempted the baptism of a troll in the
waters of Black Meira Tarn. She was indefatigable; he raped her
four times during her efforts, until at last she despaired. In due
course she gave birth to four imps. The first of these, Ignaldus,
became father to the eery knight Sir Sacrontine who could not
sleep of nights until he had killed a Christian. Saint Uldine's
other children were Drathe, Alleia and Bazille.* In Godelia Druids
never paused in the worship of Lug the Sun, Matrona the Moon,
Adonis the Beautiful, Kernuun the Stag, Mokous the Boar, Kai the
Dark, Sheah the Graceful, and innumerable local half-gods. During
this period Olam Magnus of Lyonesse, aided by Per-silian, his so-
called "Magic Mirror," brought all the Elder Isles (excepting
Skaghane and Godelia) under his rule. Styling himself Olam I, he
enjoyed a long and prosperous reign and was succeeded by Rordec I,
Olam II, then, briefly, by the "Galician Cuckoos," Quarnitz I and
Niffith I. Then Fafhion Long-nose reasserted the old blood line.
He sired Olam III, who moved his throne Evandig and that great
table known as Cairbra an Mead-han, the "Board of Notables,"* from
Lyonesse Town to Avallon in the Duchy of Dahaut. When Olam III's
grandson Uther II fled to Britain (there to sire Uther Pendragon,
father of Arthur, King f Cornwall), the land fragmented to become
ten kingdoms: Dahaut, Lyonesse, North Ulfland, South Ulfland,
Godelia, Blaloc, Caduz, Pomperol, Dascinet and Troicinet.

           *The deeds of the four have been chronicled in a rare
volume, "Saint Uldine's Children."

           *The Round Table of King Arthur was later inspired by
the Cairbra an Meadhan.


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The new kings found many pretexts for contention, and the Elder
Isles entered a time of trouble. North and South Ulfland, exposed
to the Ska,* became lawless wastes, occupied by robber knights and
dire beasts. Only the Vale Evander, guarded to the east by the
castle Tintzin Fyral and to the west by the city Ys, remained a
realm of tranquility.

                      *See Glossary, III.

King Audry I of Dahaut at last took a fateful step. He declared
that since he sat on the throne Evandig, he must be acknowledged
King of the Elder Isles.

King Phristan of Lyonesse at once challenged him. Audry assembled
a great army and marched down Icnield Way through Pomperol and
into Lyonesse. King Phristan led his army north. At the Battle of
Orm Hill the armies fought for two days and finally separated in
mutual exhaustion. Both Phristan and Audry died in combat and both
armies retired. Audry II failed to press his father's claim;
effectively Phristan had won the battle.

Twenty years pass. The Ska have made serious inroads into North
Ulfland and have taken to themselves a section known as the North
Foreshore. King Gax, old, half-blind and helpless has gone into
hiding. The Ska do not even trouble to search for him. The king of
South Ulfland is Oriante, who resides at Castle Sfan Sfeg near the
town Oaldes. His single son, Prince Quilcy, is feeble-minded and
spends his days playing with fanciful dolls and doll-houses. Audry
II is King of Dahaut and Casmir is King of Lyonesse, and both
intend to become King of the Elder Isles and sit rightfully on the
throne Evandig.


Chapter 1

ON A DREARY WINTER'S DAY, with rain sweeping across Lyonesse Town,
Queen Sollace went into labor. She was taken to the lying-in room
and attended by two midwives, four maids, Balhamel the physician
and the crone named Dyldra, who was profound in the lore of herbs,


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and by some considered a witch. Dyldra was present by the wish of
Queen Sollace, who found more comfort in faith than logic.

King Casmir made an appearance. Sollace's whimpers became moans
and she clawed at her thick blonde hair with clenched fingers.
Casmir watched from across the room. He wore a simple scarlet robe
with a purple sash; a gold coronet confined his ruddy blond hair.
He spoke to Balhamel. "What are the signs?"

"Sire, there are none as yet."

"There is no way to divine the sex?"

"To my knowledge, none."

Standing in the doorway, legs somewhat apart, hands behind his
back, Casmir seemed the very embodiment of stern and kingly
majesty. And, indeed, this was an attitude which accompanied him
everywhere, so that kitchen-maids, tittering and giggling, often
wondered if Casmir wore his crown to the nuptial bed. He inspected
Sollace from under frowning eyebrows. "It would seem that she
feels pain."

"Her pain is not so much, sire, as might be. Not yet, at any rate.
Remember, fear magnifies that pain which actually exists."

To this observation Casmir made no response. He noticed, in the
shadows to the side of the room, Dyldra the crone, where she
crouched over a brazier. He pointed with his finger: "Why is the
witch here?"

"Sire," whispered the chief midwife, "she came at the behest of
Queen Sollace!"

Casmir grunted. "She'll bring a wrack to the child."

Dyldra only crouched the lower over the brazier. She threw a
handful of herbs on the coals; a waft of acrid smoke drifted
across the room and touched Casmir's face; he coughed, backed
away, and departed the room.


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The maid drew hangings across the wet landscape and set the bronze
lanterns alight. On the couch Sollace lay taut, legs outthrust,
head thrown back, her regal bulk fascinating the attention of
those who stood tending her.

The pangs became sharp; Sollace cried out, first for pain, then
for rage that she should suffer like a common woman.

Two hours later the child was born: a girl, of no great size.
Sollace closed her eyes and lay back. When the child was brought
to her she waved it away and presently relaxed into a stupor.

The celebration attendant upon the birth of Princess Suldrun was
muted. King Casmir issued no jubilant proclamation and Queen
Sollace refused audience to all save a certain Ewaldo Idra, Adept
of the Caucasian Mysteries. Finally, and only, so it seemed, that
he might not contravene custom, King Casmir ordained a gala
procession.

On a day of brittle white sunlight, cold wind and high hurrying
clouds, the gates before Castle Haidion opened. Four heralds in
white satin marched forth, at a stately step-halt-step. From their
clarions depended gonfalons of white silk, embroidered with the
emblem of Lyonesse: a black Tree of Life, on which grew twelve
scarlet pomegranates.* They marched forty yards, halted, raised
clarions and blew the "Gladsome Tidings" fanfare: From the palace
yard, on snorting white horses, rode four noblemen: Cypris, Duke
of Skroy; Bannoy, Duke of Tremblance; Odo, Duke of Folize and Sir
Garnel, Knight Banneret of Castle Swange, nephew to the King. Next
came the royal carriage, drawn by four white unicorns. Queen
Sollace sat swathed in green robes, holding Suldrun on a crimson
pillow: King Casmir rode his great black horse, Sheuvan, beside
the carriage. Behind marched the Elite Guard, each of noble blood,
carrying ceremonial silver halberds. At the rear rolled a wagon
from which a pair of maidens tossed handfuls of pennies into the
throng.

          *The usages of heraldry, as well as the theory and
practice of chivalry, were still simple and


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            fresh. They would not attain their full baroque
extravagance for centuries to come.

The procession descended the Sfer Arct, the central avenue of
Lyonesse Town, to the Chale, the road which followed the semi-
circle of the harbor. At the Chale, the procession circled the
fish market and returned up the Sfer Arct to Haidion. Outside the
gate, booths offered the king's pickled fish and biscuits to all
who hungered; and ale to those who might wish to drink health to
the new princess.

During the months of winter and spring King Casmir looked only
twice at the infant princess, in each case, standing back in cool
disinterest. She had thwarted his royal will by coming female into
the world. He could not immediately punish her for the act, no
more could he extend the full beneficence of his favor.

Sollace grew sulky because Casmir was displeased and, with a set
of petulant flourishes, banished the child from her sight.

Ehirme, a raw-boned peasant girl, and niece to an under-gardener,
had lost her own infant son to the yellow bloat. With an amplitude
of both milk and solicitude she became Suldrun's wet-nurse.

Centuries in the past, at that middle-distant time when legend and
history start to blur, Blausreddin the pirate built a fortress at
the back of a stony semi-circular harbor. His concern was not so
much assault from the sea, but surprise attacks down from the
pinnacles and gorges of the mountains, to the north of the harbor.

A century later the Danaan king, Tabbro, enclosed the harbor
behind a remarkable breakwater, and added the Old Hall, new
kitchens and a set of sleeping chambers to the fortress. His son,
Zoltra Bright Star, constructed a massive stone pier and dredged
the harbor so that any ship in the world might moor at the pier.*

          *According to legend both Tabbro and Zoltra Bright Star
engaged loald, a submarine giant,
            to aid in their undertakings, for an unknown
compensation.


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Zoltra further augmented the old fortress, adding the Great Hall
and the West Tower, though he died before completion of the work,
which continued through the reigns of Palaemon I, Edvarius I and
Palaemon II.

The Haidion of King Casmir held aloft five major towers: the East
Tower, the King's Tower, the Tall Tower (also known as the Eyrie),
the Tower of Palaemon and the West Tower. There were five major
halls: the Great Hall; the Hall of Honors; the Old Hall; the Clod
an Dach Nair, or the Banquet Hall; and the Small Refectory. Of
these, the Great Hall was remarkable for its ponderous majesty,
which seemed to transcend the scope of human effort. The
proportions, the spaces and masses, the contrasts of shadow and
light, which changed from morning to evening and again to the
moving illumination of flamboys, all acted together to awe the
senses. The entrances were almost afterthoughts; in any case no
one could achieve a dramatic entrance into the Great Hall. At one
end a portal entered upon a narrow stage from which six wide steps
descended into the hall, beside columns so massive that a pair of
men, arms outstretched, could not enclasp them. To one side a row
of high windows, glazed with thick glass now lavender with age,
admitted a watery half-light. At night, flamboys in iron brackets
seemed to cast as much black shadow as light. Twelve Mauretanian
rugs eased the harshness of the stone floor.

A pair of iron doors opened into the Hall of Honors, which in
scope and proportion resembled the nave of a cathedral. A heavy
dark red carpet ran down the center from entrance to royal throne.
Around the walls ranged fifty-four massive chairs, each signified
by an emblem of nobility hanging on the wall above. On these
chairs, for ceremonial occasions, sat the grandees of Lyonesse,
each under the emblem of his ancestors. The royal throne, had been
Evandig until Olam III moved it to Avalaon, along with the round
table Cairbra an Meadhan. The table where the noblest of the noble
might discover their named places, had occupied the center of the
hall.

The Hall of Honors had been added by King Carles, last of the
Methewen Dynasty. Chlowod the Red, first of the Tyrrhenians,*


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extended Haidion's precincts to the east of Zoltra's Wall. He
paved the Urquial, Zoltra's old parade ground, and to the back
built the massive Peinhador, in which were housed infirmary,
barracks and penitentiary. The dungeons under the old armory fell
into disuse, with the ancient cages, racks, griddles, wheels,
strappado lofts, presses, punches and twisting machines left to
molder in the damp.

                      *Chlowod's grandfather had been a Balearic Etruscan.

The kings proceeded to rule, one by one, and each augmented
Haidion's halls, passages, prospects, galleries, towers and
turrets, as if each, brooding on mortality, sought to make himself
part of ageless Haidion.

For those who lived there, Haidion was a small universe
indifferent to the events of elsewhere, though the membrane of
separation was not impermeable. There were rumors from abroad,
notices of the changing seasons, arrivals and excursions, an
occasional novelty or alarm; but these were muffled murmurs, dim
images, which barely stirred the organs of the palace. A comet
flaring across the sky? Marvelous!—but forgotten when Shilk the
pot-boy kicks the undercook's cat. The Ska have ravaged North
Ulfland? The Ska are like wild animals; but this morning, after
eating cream on hej porridge, the Duchess of Skroy found a dead
mouse in the cream jug, and here was emotion raw and stark, what
with her outcries and shoes thrown at the maids!

The laws which ruled the small universe were exact. Status was
graduated with the finest of discrimination, from high degree to
lowest of the low. Each knew his quality and understood the
delicate distinction between next highest (to be minimized) and
next lowest (to be enforced and emphasized). Some encroached
beyond their station, generating tension; the sharp stench of
rancor hung in the air. Each scrutinized the conduct of those
above, while concealing his own affairs from those below. The
royal personages were watched with care; their habits were
discussed and analyzed a dozen times a day. Queen Sollace showed
great cordiality to religious zealots and priests, and found much
of interest in their creeds. She was thought to be sexually cold


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and never took lovers. King Casmir made connubial visits to her
bed regularly, once each month, and they coupled with stately
ponderosity, like the mating of elephants.

Princess Suldrun occupied a peculiar place in the social structure
of the palace. The indifference of King Casmir and Queen Sollace
were duly noted; petty discourtesies therefore might be visited
upon Suldrun with impunity.

The years passed and, without any notice being taken, Suldrun
became a quiet child with long soft blonde hair. Because no one
saw fit to arrange otherwise, Ehirme made the leap in status from
wet-nurse to the private maid of the princess.

Ehirme, untrained in etiquette and not greatly gifted in other
ways, had assimilated lore from her Celtic grandfather, which
across the seasons and over the years she communicated to Suldrun:
tales and fables, the perils of far places, dints against the
mischief of fairies, the language of flowers, precautions while
walking out at midnight and the avoidance of ghosts, the knowledge
of good trees and bad trees.

Suldrun learned of lands which lay beyond the castle. "Two roads
lead from Lyonesse Town," said Ehirme. "You may go north through
the mountains along the Sfer Arct, or you go east through Zoltra's
Gate and across the Urquial. Presently you come to my little
cottage and our three fields where we grow cabbages, turnips and
hay for the beasts; then the road forks. To the right you follow
the shore of the Lir all the way to Slute Skeme. To the left you
fare north and join the Old Street which runs beside the Forest of
Tantrevalles where the fairies live. Two roads pass through the
forest, north to south and east to west." "Tell what happens where
they meet!" Suldrun already knew but she enjoyed the zest of
Ehirme's descriptions.

Ehirme warned her: "I've never fared so far, you understand! But
what grandfather says is this: in the old times the crossroads
would move about, because the place was enchanted and never knew
peace. This might be well enough for the traveler, because, after
all, he would put one foot ahead of him and then the other and the


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road would at last be won, and the traveler none the wiser that he
had seen twice as much forest as he had bargained for. The most
troubled were the folk who sold their goods each year at the
Goblin Fair, and where was that but at the crossroads! The folk
for the fair were most put out, because the fair should be at the
crossroads on Midsummer Night, but when they arrived at the
crossroads it had shifted two miles and a half, and nowhere a fair
to be seen.

"About this time the magicians vied in awful conflict. Murgen
proved the strongest and defeated Twitten, whose father was a
halfling, his mother a bald priestess at Kai Kang, under the Atlas
Mountains. What to do with the defeated magician, who seethed with
evil and hate? Murgen rolled him up and forged him into a stout
iron post, ten-foot long and thick as my leg. Then Murgen took
this enchanted post to the crossroads and waited till it shifted
to the proper place, then he drove the iron post down deep in the
center, fixing the crossroads so it no longer could move, and all
the folk at the Goblin Fair were glad, and spoke well of Murgen."

"Tell about Goblin Fair!"

"Well then, it's the place and time when the halflings and men can
meet and none will harm the other, so long as he stays polite. The
folk set up booths and sell all manner of fine things: cobweb
cloth and wine of violets in silver bottles, books of fairy-skein,
written with words that you can't get out of your head once
they're in. You'll see all kinds of halflings: fairies and
goblins, trolls and merrihews, and even an odd falloy, though they
show themselves seldom, out of shyness, despite being the most
beautiful of all. You'll hear songs and music and much chinking of
fairy-gold, which they squeeze from buttercups. Oh they're a rare
folk, the fairies!"

"Tell how you saw them!"

"Oh indeed! It was five years ago when I was with my sister who
married the cobbler in Frogmarsh Village. One time, just at
gloaming, I sat by the stile to rest my bones and watch while
evening came over the meadow. I heard tink-a-tink-tinkle, and I


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looked and listened. Again: tink-a-tink-tinkle, and there, not
twenty paces distant came a little fellow with a lantern that gave
green light. From the beak of his cap hung a silver bell that went
tink-a-tink-tinkle as he jumped along. I sat quiet as a post, till
he was gone with his bell and green lantern, and that's all there
is to it."

"Tell about the ogre!"

"No, that's quite enough for today."

"Do tell, please."

"Well, in truth I know not all that much. There are different
sorts among the halflings, different as fox from bear, so that
fairy and ogre and goblin and skite are different. All are enemies
each to each, except at the Goblin Fair. The ogres live deep in
the forest, and it's true, they'll take children and roast them on
spits. So never you run too far into the forest for berries, lest
you be lost."

"I'll be careful. Now tell me—"

"It's time for your porridge. And today, who knows? There might be
a nice rosy apple in my bag yonder..."

Suldrun took lunch in her small sitting-room, or, if the weather
were fine, in the orangery: delicately nibbling and sipping while
Ehirme held the spoon to her mouth. In due course, she fed
herself, with careful movements and sober concentration, as if the
most important thing in the world was eating daintily, without
mess.

Ehirme found the habit both absurd and endearing, and sometimes
she would come up behind Suldrun, and say 'Boo!' in her ear, just
as Suldrun opened her mouth for a spoonful of soup. Suldrun
pretended to be outraged and reproached Ehirme: "That is a naughty
trick!" Then she once more commenced to eat, watching Ehirme
carefully from the corner of her eye.



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Away from Suldrun's chambers Ehirme moved as unobtrusively as
possible, but gradually the fact emerged that Ehirme the peasant
girl had stolen a march on her betters. The matter was referred to
Dame Boudetta, Mistress of the Household, a severe and
uncompromising lady, born into the petty gentility. Her duties
were manifold: she supervised the female servants, monitored their
virtue, arbitrated questions of propriety. She knew the special
conventions of the palace. She was a compendium of genealogical
information and even greater masses of scandal.

Bianca, an upper-chamber maid, first brought complaint of Ehirme.
"She's an outsider and doesn't even live at the palace. She comes
in smelling of pigs and now she's taken to all manner of airs just
because she sweeps out little Suldrun's bedchamber." "Yes, yes,"
said Dame Boudetta, speaking through her long high-bridged nose.
"I know all about it."

"Another thing!" Bianca now spoke with sly emphasis. "Princess
Suldrun, as we all know, has little to say, and may be just a
trifle backward—"

"Bianca! That is quite enough!"

"—but when she does speak, her accent is atrocious! What when King
Casmir decides to converse with the princess and hears the voice
of a stable-boy?"

"Your point is well taken," said Dame Boudetta loftily. "Still, I
have already given the matter thought."

"Remember, I am well, suited to the office of personal maid and my
accent is excellent, and I am thoroughly conversant with details
of deportment and dress."

"I will keep this in mind."

In the end Dame Boudetta appointed a gentlewoman of middle quality
to the post: in fact, her cousin Dame Maugelin, to whom she owed a
favor. Ehirme was forthwith discharged and sent trudging home with
hanging head.


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Suldrun, at this time, was four years old, and ordinarily docile,
gentle and easy of disposition, if somewhat remote and pensive.
Upon learning of the change she stood transfixed in shock. Ehirme
was the single living object in the world whom she loved. Suldrun
made no outcry. She climbed to her chamber, and for ten minutes
stood looking down over the town. Then she wrapped her doll into a
kerchief, pulled on her hooded cloak of soft gray lamb's-wool and
quietly departed the palace.

She ran          up the arcade which flanked the east wing of Haidion, and
slipped          under Zoltra's Wall by a dank passage twenty feet long.
She ran          across the Urquial, ignoring the grim Peinhador and the
gallows          on the roof, from which dangled a pair of corpses.

With the Urquial behind, Suldrun trotted along the road until she
was tired, then walked. Suldrun knew the way well enough: along
the road to the first lane, left along the lane to the first
cottage.

She shyly pushed open the door, to find Ehirme sitting glumly at a
table, paring turnips for the supper soup.

Ehirme stared in astonishment. "And what are you doing here?"

"I don't like Dame Maugelin. I've come to live with you."

"Ah, little princess, but that won't do! Come, we must get you
back before there's an outcry. Who saw you leave?"

"No one."

"Come then; quickly now. If any should ask, we're just out for the
air."

"I don't want to stay there alone!"

"Suldrun, my dearest, you must! You're a royal princess, and you
may never forget it! That means you do as you're told. Come along
now!"


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"But I won't do as I'm told, if it means that you'll be gone."

"Well, we'll see. Let's hurry; maybe we can slip in with none the
wiser."

But Suldrun already had been missed. While her presence at Haidion
meant nothing particular to anyone, her absence was a matter of
great import. Dame Maugelin had searched the entire East Tower,
from the garret under the roof-slates, which Suldrun was known to
visit (Skulking and hiding, the secret little imp! thought Dame
Maugelin), down through the observatory where King Casmir came to
assess the harbor beyond, down through the chambers on the next
floor, which included Suldrun's rooms. Finally, hot, tired and
apprehensive, she descended to the main floor, to halt in mingled
relief and fury to see Suldrun and Ehirme push open the heavy door
and come quietly into the foyer at the end of the main gallery. In
an angry swirl of robes Dame Maugelin descended the last three
stairs and advanced upon the two. "Where have you been? We are all
in a state of supreme anxiety. Come; we must find Dame Boudetta;
the matter is in her hands."

Dame Maugelin marched off down the gallery and along a side
corridor to Dame Boudetta's office, with Suldrun and Ehirme
following apprehensively behind.

Dame Boudetta heard Dame Maugelin's excited report and looked back
and forth between Suldrun and Ehirme. The matter seemed of no
great moment; in fact, trivial and tiresome. Still, it represented
a certain amount of insubordination and so must be dealt with,
briskly and decisively. The question of fault was irrelevant; Dame
Boudetta ranked Suldrun's intelligence, sluggish though it might
be, about on a par with the moony peasant stupidity of Ehirme.
Suldrun, of course, could not be punished; even Sollace would rise
in wrath, to learn that royal flesh had been scourged.

Dame Boudetta dealt practically with the affair. She turned a cold
gaze upon Ehirme. "Now then, woman, what have you done?"

Ehirme, whose mind indeed was not agile, looked blankly at Dame


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Boudetta. "I have done nothing, my Lady." Then, hoping to ease
matters for Suldrun, she blundered on: "It was just one of our
little walks we were having. Wasn't it. Princess dear?"

Suldrun, looking from hawk-like Dame Boudetta to portly Dame
Maugelin, discovered only expressions of cold dislike. She said:
"I went for a walk; that is true."

Dame Boudetta turned upon Ehirme. "How dare you take such
liberties upon yourself! Were you not dismissed from your post?"

"Yes, my Lady, but it wasn't like that at all—"

"Tush, no more. I will hear no excuses." Boudetta signaled to a
footman. "Take this woman to the yard and assemble the staff."

Sobbing in bewilderment Ehirme was led to the service yard beside
the kitchen, and a gaoler was summoned down from the Peinhador.
The palace staff was marshaled to watch, while Ehirme was bent
over a trestle by a pair of footmen in Haidion livery. The gaoler
came forward: a burly black-bearded man with a pallid, almost
lavender, skin. He stood idly by, staring at the maids and
twitching his scourge of willow-withes.

Dame Boudetta stood on a balcony, with Dame Maugelin and Suldrun.
In a clear nasal voice she cried out: "Attention, staff! I cite
this woman, Ehirme, for malfeasance! Through folly and
carelessness she sequestered the person of beloved Princess
Suldrun, to cause us grief and consternation. Woman, can you now
claim contrition?"

Suldrun cried out: "She didn't do anything! She brought me home!"

Beset by that peculiar passion which attends those at an
execution, Dame Maugelin dared so far as to pinch Suldrun's arm
and drew her roughly back. "Silence!" she hissed.

Ehirme bawled: "I'm shamed if I did wrong! I only walked the
Princess home, in haste."



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Dame Boudetta suddenly, in all clarity, perceived the truth of the
matter. Her mouth sagged. She stepped forward. Events had gone too
far; her dignity was at stake. No doubt Ehirme had escaped
punishment for other offenses. There was always her presumptuous
behavior to be paid off.

Dame Boudetta raised her hand. "For all, a lesson to be learned!
Work dutifully! Never presume! Respect your superiors! Watch and
take heed! Warden! Eight strokes, stringent but just."

The gaoler stood back, pulled a black executioner's mask over his
face, then advanced upon Ehirme. He threw her brown furze skirt up
over her shoulders, exposing a pair of ample white buttocks. He
raised the switches high. Thwish-wack! A gasping cry from Ehirme.
From the onlookers, a mingling of indrawn breaths and titters.

Dame Boudetta looked on impassively. Dame Maugelin showed a
pursing mindless smile. Suldrun stood silently, biting her lower
lip. With self-critical deliberation the gaoler wielded the
scourge. While not a kindly man, he had no taste for pain and
today he was in good humor. He contrived a mighty effort, swinging
his shoulders, lurching, grunting, but laid small actual weight
into his strokes and took away no skin. Ehirme nevertheless
bellowed with each stroke, and all were awed by the severity of
her thrashing.

"... seven.. .eight. Enough," declared Dame Boudetta. "Trinthe,
Molotta; attend the woman; dress her body with good oil, and send
her home. The rest of you: return to your work!"

Dame Boudetta turned, marched from the balcony into a parlor for
high-caste servants, such as herself, the seneschal, the bursar,
the sergeant of the palace guards and the master steward where
they could take refreshment and confer. Dame Maugelin and Suldrun
followed.

Dame Boudetta faced Suldrun, to find her already halfway to the
door. "Child! Princess Suldrun! Where are you going?"

Dame Maugelin ran heavy-legged to stand in Suldrun's way.


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Suldrun halted, and looked from woman to woman, her eyes glinting
with tears.

"Please give me your attention, Princess," said Dame Boudetta. "We
are starting something new, which perhaps has been delayed too
long: your education. You must learn to be a lady of esteem and
dignity. Dame Maugelin will instruct you."

"I don't want her."

"Nevertheless, you shall have her, by particular order of gracious
Queen Sollace."

Suldrun looked up full into Dame Boudetta's face. "Someday I will
be Queen. Then you will be whipped."

Dame Boudetta opened her mouth, then shut it again. She took a
quick step toward Suldrun, who stood half-passive, half-defiant.
Dame Boudetta halted. Dame Maugelin, grinning mirthlessly, watched
from the side, eyes looking in several directions.

Dame Boudetta spoke in a croaking voice, painfully gentle. "Now
then, Princess Suldrun, I act only from devotion to yourself. It
is not meet for either queen or princess to use peevish
vindictiveness."

From Dame Maugelin came an unctuous corroboration: "So it is
indeed. Remember the same for Dame Maugelin!"

"The punishment is now accomplished," declared Dame Boudetta,
still using a careful and strained voice. "Everyone will surely be
the better for it; now we must put it from our minds. You are the
precious Princess Suldrun, and honest Dame Maugelin will instruct
you in the proprieties."

"I do not want her. I want Ehirme."

"Tush now, be complaisant."



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Suldrun was taken to her chamber. Dame Maugelin plumped herself in
a chair, and began to work embroidery. Suldrun went to the window
and stared out across the harbor.

Dame Maugelin trudged up the circular stone steps to Dame
Boudetta's apartments, hips rolling and thrusting under her dark
brown gown. On the third floor she halted to pant, then went to an
arched door of fitted timbers, bound with black iron straps.

The door stood ajar. Dame Maugelin pushed it somewhat more open,
with a creaking of iron hinges, so that she could pass her
amplitude through the gap. She advanced to stand in the doorway,
eyes darting to all corners of the room at once.

Dame Boudetta sat at a table, tendering rape-seed on the tip of a
long thin forefinger to a caged tom-tit. "Peck, Dicco, peck! Like
a gallant bird! Ah! That was a good one."

Dame Maugelin crept a pace or two forward, and at last Dame
Boudetta looked up. "What is it now?"

Dame Maugelin shook her head, wrung her hands and licked her
pursing lips. "The child is like a stone. I can do nothing with
her."

Dame Boudetta made a short brittle sound. "You must be brisk!
Arrange a schedule! Insist on obedience!"

Dame Maugelin held her arms wide, and spoke a single poignant
word: "How?"

Dame Boudetta gave an annoyed snap of tongue against teeth. She
turned back to the bird cage. "Dicco? Twit, twit, Dicco! One more
peck and that is all. No more!" Dame Boudetta rose to her feet,
and with Dame Maugelin in her wake, went downstairs and up to
Suldrun's chambers. She opened the door, looked into the sitting
room. "Princess?"

Suldrun made no response and, indeed, was nowhere to be seen.



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The two advanced into the room. "Princess?" called Dame Boudetta.
"Are you hiding from us? Come now; don't be naughty."

Dame Maugelin moaned in a sad contralto: "Where is the perverse
little thing? I gave stern instructions that she must sit in her
chair."

Dame Boudetta looked into the bedchamber. "Princess Suldrun! Where
are you?"

She cocked her head sidewise to listen, but heard nothing. The
chambers were empty. Dame Maugelin muttered: "She's gone off again
to the stour-woman."

Dame Boudetta went to the window thinking to overlook a view to
the east, but the way was concealed by the slanting tiled roof
over the arcade and the moldering bulk of Zoltra's Wall. Below was
the orangery. To the side, half-hidden under dark green foliage,
she noted the glimmer of Suldrun's white frock.

Silent and grim she stalked from the room, followed by Dame
Maugelin, hissing and muttering furious phrases under her breath.

They descended the stairs, went out and around to the orangery.

Suldrun sat on a bench playing with a wisp of grass. She noted the
approach of the two women without emotion, and returned her
attention to the grass.

Dame Boudetta halted and stood looking down at the small blonde
head. Anger surged up within her, but she was too clever and too
wary to allow it tangible scope. Behind stood Dame Maugelin, mouth
puckered in excitement, hoping that Dame Boudetta would deal
roughly with the Princess: a shake, a pinch, a slap on the firm
little buttocks.

Princess Suldrun raised her eyes and for a moment stared up at
Dame Boudetta. Then, as if in boredom or apathy, she looked away,
and Dame Boudetta was left with a strange sensation that she was
seeing ahead, down long years of the future.


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Dame Boudetta spoke in a voice grating with effort: "Princess
Suldrun, you are not happy with Dame Maugelin's instruction?"

"I don't like her."

"But you like Ehirme?" Suldrun merely twitched the grass stalk.
"Very well," said Dame Boudetta grandly. "So it will be. We cannot
have our precious Princess unhappy."

A quick glance upward, which seemed to read Dame Boudetta through
and through.

Dame Boudetta thought with bitter amusement: If that's the way it
is, let it be. At least we understand each other.

To salvage face she said sternly: "Ehirme shall return, but you
must heed Dame Maugelin, who will instruct your deportment."


Chapter 2

EHIRME RETURNED, and Dame Maugelin continued her attempts to
instruct Suldrun, with success no greater than before. Suldrun was
not so much insubordinate as remote; rather than spend effort in
defying Dame Maugelin, she simply ignored her.

Dame Maugelin was placed in an irksome predicament; if she
admitted her incapacity, Dame Boudetta might put her to even less
pleasant employment. So daily Dame Maugelin presented herself to
Suldrun's chambers, where Ehirme was already on hand.

The two might or might not acknowledge her presence. Dame
Maugelin, then, wearing a moony grin and looking in all directions
at once, would wander about the room, pretending to put things to
rights.

At last she would advance upon Suldrun, in breezy and lightsome
confidence. "Now, Princess, today we must think about making a
fine court lady out of you. To start, show me your best curtsy."


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Suldrun had been tentatively instructed in six curtsies of varying
formality, mainly by Dame Maugelin's ponderous demonstrations,
over and over again, joints creaking audibly, until Suldrun,
taking pity, might make an attempt at the exercise.

After the noon meal, which would be served either in Suldrun's
chambers, or in the orangery if the weather were fine, Ehirme
returned home to manage her own household, while Dame Maugelin
laid herself down for an afternoon nap. Suldrun also was expected
to sleep, but as soon as Dame Maugelin's throat began to rattle
Suldrun was out of her bed, into her shoes and away along the hall
and down the stairs, to wander the fastnesses of the ancient
palace.

During the slow hours of the afternoon the palace itself seeme to
drowse, and the small frail shape moved along the galleries and
through the tall chambers like a dream-wisp.

In sunny weather she might visit the orangery, to play pensive
games in the shade of sixteen old orange trees; more often she
went by unobtrusive ways to the Great Hall and thence to the Hall
of Honors beyond, where fifty-four great chairs, ranking the walls
to right and left, represented the fifty-four most noble houses of
Lyonesse.

The emblem above each chair, for Suldrun, told the innate nature
of the chair: qualities distinctive, vivid and complex. One chair
was characterized by a shifting sidelong deceit, but pretended
graceful charm; another exhibited a doomed and reckless bravery.
Suldrun recognized a dozen varieties of menace and cruelty, and as
many nameless affections which could not be described or worded,
which caused her a churning of the bowels, or thrills along her
skin, or erotic sensations, transient, pleasant but very strange.
Certain chairs loved Suldrun and gave her protection; others were
heavy with danger. Moving among these massive entities, Suldrun
felt subdued and tentative. She walked with slow steps, listening
for inaudible sounds and watching for movement or shifting of the
muted colors. Sitting half-drowsing, half-alert, in the arms of a
chair who loved her, Suldrun became receptive. The murmuring


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unheard voices approached the audible, as tragedies and triumphs
were told and retold: the colloquy of the chairs.

At the end of the room a dark red gonfalon, embroidered with a
Tree of Life, hung from the beams to the floor. A split in the
fabric allowed access to a retiring chamber: a room dark and
dingy, smelling of ancient dust. In this room were stored
ceremonial oddments: a bowl carved from alabaster, chalices,
bundles of cloth. Suldrun disliked the room; it seemed a cruel
little place where cruel deeds had been planned and perhaps
accomplished, leaving a subliminal quiver in the air.

Occasionally the Halls lacked zest, then Suldrun might go out
along the parapets of the Old Keep, where always there were
interesting sights to be seen along the Sfer Arct: travelers
coming and going; wagons loaded high with barrels, bales, and
baskets; vagabond knights in dented armor; grandees with their
retinues; mendicants, wandering scholars, priests and pilgrims of
a dozen sects; country gentry come to buy good cloth, spices,
trifles of this and that.

To the north the Sfer Arct passed between the crags Maegher and
Yax: petrified giants who had helped King Zoltra Bright Star
dredge Lyonesse Harbor; becoming obstreperous, they had been
transformed into stone by Amber the sorcerer: so the story went.

From the parapets Suldrun could see the harbor and wonderful ships
from far lands creaking at their moorings. They were unattainable;
to venture so far would arouse storms of reproach from Dame
Maugelin; she might be taken in disgrace before Queen Sollace, or
even into the awesome presence of King Casmir. She had no wish to
see either: Queen Sollace was little more than an imperious voice
from a billow of splendid robes; King Casmir, to Suldrun, meant a
stern face with prominent blue eyes, golden curls and a golden
crown on top, and a fringe of golden beard below.

To risk confrontation with either Queen Sollace or King Casmir was
not to be considered. Suldrun confined her adventures to the
precincts of Haidion.



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When Suldrun was seven, Queen Sollace once more grew big and on
this occasion gave birth to a boy. Sollace had lost some of her
fear, and as a consequence suffered far less than she had with
Suldrun. The baby was named Cassander; in due course he would
become Cassander V. He was born during the fine weather of summer,
and the festivals attending his birth continued a week.

Haidion hosted notable guests from across the Elder Isles. From
Dascinet came Prince Othmar and his Aquitanian spouse Princess
Eulinette, the Dukes Athebanas, Helingas, and Outri-madax, with
their retinues. From Troicinet King Granice sent his princely
brothers Arbamet and Ospero, Arbamet's son Tre-wan and Ospero's
son Aillas. From South Ulfland came Grand Duke Erwig, with a birth-
gift: a magnificent mahogany chest inlaid with red chert and blue
turquoise. King Gax of North Ulfland, beleaguered by the Ska, made
no representation. King Audry of Dahaut sent a delegation of
nobles and a dozen elephants carved from ivory... And so it went.

At the name-giving ceremony in the Great Hall, Princess Suldrun
sat demurely with six daughters of the upper nobility; opposite
sat the princelings Trewan and Aillas of Troicinet, Bellath of
Caduz, and the three young dukes of Dascinet. For the occasion
Suldrun wore a gown of pale blue velvet, and a fillet studded with
moonstones confined her soft pale hair. She was clearly well-
favored, and attracted the thoughtful attention of many persons
who previously had paid her little heed, including King Casmir
himself. He thought: "She is pretty, certainly, if somewhat thin
and peaked. She has a solitary look about her; perhaps she keeps
too much to herself... Well, all this can be remedied. She will
grow to be a desirable match." And Casmir, who ever more fervently
yearned to restore the ancient grandeur of Lyonesse, went on to
reflect: "It is certainly not too early to think along these
lines."

He cast his mind across the possibilities. Dahaut was of course
the great obstacle to his plans and King Audry was his dedicated
if covert enemy. Someday the old war must continue, but rather
than attack Dahaut on the east, through Pomperol, where Audry's
lines of operation were short (which had been King Phristan's grim
mistake), Casmir hoped to attack through South Ulfland, to gnaw at


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Dahaut's exposed western flanks. And King Casmir mused upon South
Ulfland.

King Oriante, a pallid round-headed little man, was ineffectual,
shrill and waspish. He reigned at his castle Sfan Sfeg, near the
town Oaldes, but could not rule the fiercely independent barons of
mountain and moor. His queen, Behus, was both tall and corpulent
and she had borne him a single son, Quilcy, now five years old,
somewhat lack-witted and unable to control the flow of saliva from
his mouth. A match between Quilcy and Suldrun could bring great
advantage. Much depended upon how much influence Suldrun could
exert over a feeble-minded spouse. If Quilcy were as tractable as
report suggested, a clever woman should find no difficulty with
him.

Such were King Casmir's reflections as he stood in the Great Hall
at the name-day of his son Cassander.

Suldrun felt her father's eyes upon her. The intensity of his gaze
made her uncomfortable, and for a moment she feared that she had
aroused his disapproval. But presently he looked away, and to her
relief paid her no more heed.

Directly opposite sat the princelings from Troicinet. Trewan was
fourteen years old, tall and strong for his age. His dark hair was
cut low and square across the forehead and hung thick at the sides
past his ears. His features were perhaps a trifle heavy but he was
by no means ill-favored; indeed, he already had made his presence
felt among the housemaids at Zarcone, the manor house of Prince
Arbamet, his father. His eyes rested often upon Suldrun, in a way
she found disturbing.

The second Troice princeling was Aillas, two or three years
younger than Trewan. He was slender of hip and square in the
shoulder. His straight light-brown hair was cropped into a cap
covering the top of his ears. His nose was short and even; the
line of his jaw showed clean and definite. He seemed not to notice
Suldrun, which prompted in her an absurd little quiver of
vexation, even though she had disapproved of the other prince's
boldness... Her attention was distracted by the coming of four


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gaunt Druid priests.

They wore long robes of brown furze, belted and hooded to hide
their faces, and each carried an oak branch from their sacred
grove. They shuffled forward, their long white feet appearing and
disappearing below the robes, and arranged themselves to north,
south, east and west of the cradle.

The Druid to the north held the oak branch over the child and
touched his forehead with a wooden periapt, then spoke: "The Dagda
blesses you and gives you the benefit of your name Cassander."

The Druid to the west extended his oak branch. "Brigit, first
daughter of the Dagda, blesses you and gives you the benefit of
poetry, and names you Cassander."

The Druid to the south extended his oak branch. "Brigit, second
daughter of Dagda, blesses you and gives the benefit of strong
health and powers of healing, and calls you Cassander."

The Druid to the east extended his oak branch. "Brigit, third
daughter of the Dagda, blesses you and gives the benefit of iron,
in sword and shield, in sickle and plough, and calls you
Cassander."

All held their branches to form a leafy ceiling over the child.
"May the light of Lug warm your body; may the dark of Ogma improve
your prospects; may Lir support your ships; may the Dagda forever
hold you in grace."

They turned and moved on slow bare feet from the hall.

Pages in scarlet puff-pantaloons raised clarions and blew the
Queen's Honor. The company stood in murmurous near-silence as
Queen Sollace retired on the arm of Lady Lenore, while Lady Desdea
supervised the removal of the infant prince.

Musicians appeared on the high gallery, with dulcimer, pipes,
lute, and a cadwal (this a single-stringed fiddle apt for the
playing of jigs). The center of the hall was cleared; the pages


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blew a second fanfare: Lo! the Jocund King!

King Casmir addressed himself to the Lady Arresme, Duchess of
Slahan; the musicians produced a stately concord and King Casmir
led Lady Arresme forth for the pavanne, followed by the lords and
ladies of the realm, in a pageant of magnificent costumes of every
color, with every gesture, every step, every bow and position of
head, hand and wrist ordained by etiquette. Suldrun watched in
fascination: slow-step, pause, little bow and swing of the arms in
graceful style, then another step, and shimmer of silk, the rustle
of petticoats to the careful sonorities of the music. How stern
and stately seemed her father, even engaged in the frivolity of
dancing the pavanne!

The pavanne ended, and the company removed to the Clod an Dach
Nair, and found their places at the banquet table. The most rigid
rules of precedence applied; the chief herald and an ordinator had
worked with enormous pains, making the most subtle of
discriminations. Suldrun was seated directly to the right of King
Casmir, in that chair usually occupied by the queen. Tonight Queen
Sollace was unwell, and lay in her bed, where she ate to repletion
of sweet curd tarts, while Suldrun for the first time dined at the
same table with her father the king.

Three months after the birth of Prince Cassander, the
circumstances of Suldrun's life altered. Ehirme, already mother to
a pair of sons, gave birth to twins. Her sister, who had managed
the household while Ehirme was at the palace, married a fisherman,
and Ehirme could no longer serve Suldrun.

Almost coincidentally, Dame Boudetta announced that by the wishes
of King Casmir, Suldrun must be schooled in deportment, dancing,
and all other skills and graces appropriate to a royal princess.

Suldrun resigned herself to the program, which was rendered by
various ladies of the court. As before, Suldrun used the soporific
hours of early afternoon to wander quietly abroad: out into the
orangery, or the library, or the Hall of Honors. From the orangery
the way led along an arcade, up to Zoltra's Wall, through a
vaulted tunnel and out upon the Urquial. Suldrun ventured so far


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as the tunnel, and stood in the shadows watching the men-at-arms
as they drilled with pikes and swords. They made a gallant
spectacle, thought Suldrun, stamping, shouting, lunging forward,
falling back... To the right a crumbling wall flanked the Urquial.
Almost hidden behind a sprawling old larch a heavy wooden door,
dessicated with age, led through the wall. Suldrun slipped from
the tunnel and into the shadows behind the larch. She peered
through a crack in the door, then pulled at a bolt which held the
warped timbers in place. She exerted all her strength, to no
avail. She found a rock and used it as a hammer. The rivets
parted; the bolt sagged aside. Suldrun pushed; the door creaked
and shuddered. She turned around and bumped it with her round
little buttocks. The door protested with an almost human voice,
and moved ajar.

Suldrun squeezed through the gap and found herself at the head of
a ravine which seemed to descend all the way to the sea. Greatly
daring, she ventured a few steps down an old path. She stopped to
listen... no sound. She was alone. She went another fifty feet and
came upon a small structure of weathered stone, now desolate and
empty: apparently an ancient fane.

Suldrun dared go no farther; she would be missed and Dame Boudetta
would scold her. She craned her neck to look down the ravine and
glimpsed the foliage of trees. Reluctantly she turned and went
back the way she had come.

An autumn storm brought four days of rain and mist to Lyonesse
Town, and Suldrun was pent within Haidion. On the fifth day the
clouds broke, and shafts of sunlight struck down through the rents
at various angles. By noon the sky was half blue space, half
hurrying cloud-wrack.

At first opportunity Suldrun ran up the arcade, through the tunnel
under Zoltra's Wall; then, after a precautionary glance around the
Urquial, under the larch and through the old wooden door. She
closed the door behind her and stood tingling with a sense of
isolation from all the rest of the world.

She descended the old path to the fane: an octagonal stone


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structure perched on a stone shelf, with the ridge rising steeply
behind. Suldrun looked through the low arched door. Four long
steps would take her to the back wall, where the symbol of Mithra
overlooked a low stone altar. To each side a narrow window
admitted light; slate tiles covered the roof. A drift of dead
leaves had blown through the doorway; otherwise the fane was
empty. The atmosphere carried a dank clammy-sweet odor, faint but
unpleasant. Suldrun twitched her nose and backed away.

The ravine descended steeply; the ridges to either side assumed
the semblance of low irregular cliffs. The path angled this way
and that: through stones, clumps of wild thyme, asphodel and
thistles and out upon a terrace where the soil lay deep. Two
massive oaks, almost filling the ravine, stood sentinel over the
ancient garden below, and Suldrun felt like an explorer
discovering a new land.

To the left the cliff rose high. An irregular copse of yew,
laurel, hornbeam and myrtle shaded an undergrowth of shrubs and
flowers: violets, ferns, harebells, forget-me-nots, anemones;
banks of heliotrope scented the air. On the right hand the cliff,
almost equally tall, trapped sunlight. Below grew rosemary,
asphodel, foxglove, wild geranium, lemon verbena; slim black-green
cypress and a dozen enormous olive trees, gnarled, twisted, the
fresh gray-green foliage in contrast with the age-worn trunks.

Where the ravine widened Suldrun came upon the ruins of a Roman
villa. Nothing remained but a cracked marble floor, a half-toppled
colonnade, a tumble of marble blocks among weeds and thistles. At
the edge of the terrace grew a single old lime tree with a heavy
trunk and sprawling boughs. Below, the path led down to a narrow
beach of shingle, curving between a pair of capes where the cliffs
on either hand thrust into the sea.

The wind had eased to a near-calm, but swells from the storm
continued to bend around the headlands and break upon the shingle.
For a time Suldrun watched the sunlight sparkling on the sea, then
turned and looked back up the ravine. The old garden doubtless was
enchanted, she thought, with a magic evidently benign; she felt
only peace. The trees basked in the sunlight and paid her no heed.


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The flowers all loved her, except the proud asphodel, which loved
only itself. Melancholy memories stirred among the ruins, but they
were insubstantial, less than wisps, and they had no voices.

The sun moved across the sky; Suldrun reluctantly turned to go.
She would be missed if she stayed longer. Up through the garden
she went, out the old door and back down the arcade to Haidion.

Chapter 3


SULDRUN AWOKE TO A COLD GRAY ROOM and a dismal wet light from
outside her windows: the rains had returned and the chambermaid
had neglected to build up the fires. Suldrun waited a few minutes,
then resignedly slid from her bed and with shanks shivering to the
chill, dressed herself and combed out her hair.

The maid at last appeared, and hurriedly built the fires, fearful
lest Suldrun might denounce her to Dame Boudetta, but the lapse
had already slipped from Suldrun's mind.

She went to stand by the window. Rain blurred the panorama; the
harbor was a rain-puddle; the tiled roofs of the town were ten
thousand shapes in many tones of gray. Where had the color gone?
Color! What peculiar stuff! It glowed in the sunlight, but in the
dimness of rain it faded: most peculiar. Suldrun's breakfast
arrived and as she ate she pondered the paradoxes of color. Red
and blue, green and purple, yellow and orange, brown and black:
each with its character and special quality, yet impalpable...

Suldrun went down to the library for her lessons. Her tutor was
now Master Jaimes, archivist, scholar, and librarian to the '
court of King Casmir. Suldrun had at first found him a daunting
figure of severity and precision, for he was tall and thin, and a
great thin beak of a nose gave him the look of a predatory bird.
Master Jaimes was a few years past the first wild urgencies of
youth, but not yet old nor even middle-aged. His coarse black hair
was cut level with his mid-forehead clear around the scalp, to
hang in a shelf over his ears; his skin was parchment pale; his
arms and legs were long and as gaunt as his torso; nevertheless he


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carried himself with dignity and even an odd ungainly grace. He
was sixth son to Sir Crinsey of Hredec, an estate comprising
thirty acres of stony hillside, and had gained nothing from his
father but gentle birth. He resolved to teach Princess Suldrun
with dispassionate formality, but Suldrun quickly learned how to
charm and befuddle him. He fell hopelessly in love with her,
though he pretended that the emotion was no more than easy
tolerance. Suldrun who was perceptive when she put her mind to it,
saw through his attempts at airy detachment and took charge of the
learning process, as when Master Jaimes frowned at her writing and
said: "These A's and G's look quite alike. We must do them all
over, in a careful hand."

"But the quill is broken!"

"Then sharpen it! Carefully now, do not cut yourself. It is a
knack you must learn."

"Oo-ow—oo!"

"Did you cut yourself?"

"No. I was just practicing in case I did."

"You need not practice. Cries of pain come quite easily and
naturally."

"How far have you traveled?"

"What has that to do with cutting a quill?"

"I wonder if the students in far places, like Africa, cut their
quills differently."

"As to that I can't say."

"How far have you traveled?"

"Oh—not too far. I studied at the university in Avallon, and also
at Metheglin. Once I visited Aquitania."


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"What is the farthest place of the whole world?"

"Hmn. That is hard to say. Cathay? The far side of Africa?"

"That can't be the proper answer!"

"Oh? In that case, please instruct me."

"There is no such place; something farther always lies beyond."

"Yes. Perhaps so. Let me cut the quill. There, just so. Now as to
the A's and G's..."

On the rainy morning when Suldrun went into the library for
lessons, she found Master Jaimes already on hand, with a dozen
quills cut and ready. "Today," said Master Jaimes, "you must write
your name, in whole and full, and with such exquisite skill that I
will exclaim in surprise."

"I will do my best," said Suldrun. "These are beautiful quills."

"Excellent indeed."

"The plumes are all white."

"I believe that is true."

"This ink is black. I think black plumes would be better for black
ink."

"I don't think the difference is noticeable."

"We could try white ink with these white plumes."

"I have no white ink, nor yet black parchment. So now—"

"Master Jaimes, this morning I wondered about colors. Where do
they come from? What are they?"



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Master Jaimes blinked and tilted his head to the side. "Colors?
They exist. Everywhere we see color."

"But they come and go. What are they?"

"Well, truthfully, I don't know. How clever of you to ask the
question. Red things are red and green things are green, and that
would seem to be that."

Suldrun smilingly shook her head. "Sometimes, Master Jaimes, I
think I know as much as you."

"Do not reproach me. Do you see those books yonder? Plato and
Cnessus and Rohan and Herodotus—I have read them all, and I have
learned only how much I do not know."

"What of the magicians? Do they know everything?"

Master Jaimes slouched his awkward length back in his chair and
gave up all hopes for a formal and correct atmosphere. He looked
out the library window, and presently said: "When I still lived at
Hredec—I was little more than a lad—I became friendly with a
magician." Glancing at Suldrun he saw that he had captured her
attention. "His name was Shimrod. One day I visited his house
Trilda, and forgot all about time. Night came and I was far from
home. Shimrod caught a mouse and changed it into a fine horse.
'Ride home at speed,' he told me. 'Do not dismount or touch the
ground before your destination, for as soon as your foot touches
ground, the horse is once more a mouse!'

"And so it was. I rode in style, to the envy of those who saw me,
and I took care to dismount behind the stable, so that none would
know that I had been riding a mouse.

"Alas! We are wasting time." He straightened up in his chair. "Now
then, take up your pen, dip ink, and inscribe me a good R, as you
will need to write your name."

"But you have not answered my question!"



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"'Do magicians know everything?' The answer is no. Now: the
characters, in a fine square hand."

"Oh Master Jaimes, today I am bored with writing. Teach me magic
instead."

"Ha! If I knew magic, would I be frousting here at two florins a
week? No, no, my princess, I have better schemes in mind! I would
take two fine mice and change them to a pair of beautiful horses
and I would become a handsome young prince not much older than
you, and we would go riding away over hill and dale; to a
wonderful castle in the clouds, and there we would dine; on
strawberries and cream and listen to the music of harps and fairy
bells. Alas, I know no magic. I am the wretched Master Jaimes, and
you are sweet mischievous Suldrun who won't learn I her letters."

"No," said Suldrun in sudden decision. "I'll work very hard so
that I can read and write, and do you know why? So that I may
learn magic, and you need only learn to catch mice."

Master Jaimes uttered a queer choked laugh. He reached across the
table and took her two hands. "Suldrun, you already know I magic."

For a moment they smiled at each other, then in sudden
embarrassment, Suldrun bowed her head over her work.

The rains continued. Master Jaimes, walking abroad in the cold and
wet, caught a fever and could not teach. No one troubled to notify
Suldrun and she went down to the library to find it empty. For a
time she practiced writing, and looked through a leatherbound book
brought down from Northumbria, illuminated with exquisite
depictions of saints in landscapes wrought in vivid inks.

At last Suldrun put the book aside and went out into the hall.
The time was now mid-morning, and servants were busy in the Long
Gallery. Undermaids polished the flagstones with beeswax and lamb-
skin; a footman stalking on ten-foot stilts replenished the
sconces with oil of nenuphar. From outside the palace, muffled by
the intervening walls, came the blare of clarions, announcing the
arrival of notables. Looking along the gallery, Suldrun saw them


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enter the reception hall: three grandees, stamping and shaking the
rain from their garments. Footmen hastened forward to relieve them
of their cloaks, helmets and swords. From the side a herald raised
his voice to its most resonant pitch. "From the Realm of Dahaut,
three noble personages! I declare their identities: Lenard, Duke
of Mech! Milliflor, Duke of Cadwv and Josselm! Imphal, Marquis of
the Celtic March!"

King Casmir stepped forward. "Sirs, I give you welcome to
Haidion!"

The three grandees performed a ritual genuflection, bobbing their
right knees toward the floor, rising to hold hands out from the
sides with head and shoulders still bent. The circumstances
indicated an occasion of formal but less than ceremonial import.
King Casmir returned them a gracious wave of the hand. "Sirs, for
now I suggest that you make haste to your chambers, where warm
fires and dry clothing will bring you comfort. In due course we
will exchange our counsels."

Sir Milliflor responded: "Thank you, King Casmir. In truth we are
wet; the cursed rain has allowed us no respite!"

The visitors were ushered away. King Casmir turned down the
gallery. He noticed Suldrun and stopped short. "Eh then, what's
this? Why are you not at lessons?"

Suldrun thought to gloss over Master Jaimes' absence from his
duties. "I have only just finished my work for the day. I can
write all the characters well, and I can use them to make up
words. This morning I read a great book about the Christians."

"Ha, so read you did? Characters and all?"

"Not all the characters, Father. They were uncial and the language
was Latin. I have trouble with both. But I scanned the pictures
carefully, and Master Jaimes tells me that I am doing well."

"That is good to hear. Still, you must learn proper comportment
and not go strolling up and down the gallery unattended."


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Suldrun spoke in apprehension: "Father, sometimes I prefer to be
alone."

Casmir, faintly frowning, stood with feet apart and hands behind
his back. He disliked opposition to his judgments, especially from
a girl so small and inexperienced. In a measured voice intended to
define the facts with exactitude and finality he said: "Your
preference must on occasion yield to the forces of reality."

"Yes, Father."

"You must hold in mind your importance. You are the Princess
Suldrun of Lyonesse! Soon the quality of the world will be coming
to woo you in marriage, and you must not seem a hoyden. We want to
pick and choose, for the best advantage to yourself and the
kingdom!"

Suldrun said uncertainly, "Father, marriage is nothing I care to
think about."

Casmir narrowed his eyes. Again: the hint of wilfulness! In reply
he used a voice of bluff jocularity. "I should hope not! You are
only just a child! Still, you are never too young to be conscious
of position. Do you understand the word 'diplomacy'?"

"No, Father."

"It means dealing with other countries. Diplomacy is a delicate
game, like a dance. Troicinet, Dahaut, Lyonesse, the Ska and the
Celts, all in pirouettes, all ready to join in threes or fours to
deal the outsiders their death-blow. I must ensure that Lyonesse
is not excluded from the quadrille. Do you understand my meaning?"

Suldrun considered. "I think so. I'm happy that I must not do any
such dancing."

Casmir stood back, wondering whether she might have perceived his
meaning all too well. He said shortly: "That's all for now; be off
with you to your proper quarters! I will speak to Lady Desdea; she


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will find you a suitable set of companions." Suldrun started to
explain that she needed no new companions, but glancing up into
King Casmir's face, she held her tongue and turned away.

In order to obey King Casmir's command in its exact and literal
sense, Suldrun ascended to her chambers in the East Tower. Dame
Maugelin sat snoring in a chair, with her head thrown back.

Suldrun looked out the window, to discover the steady fall of
rain. She thought a moment, then slipped past Dame Maugelin into
her dressing-room and changed into a frock woven from dark green
linen. With a final demure over-the-shoulder glance toward Dame
Maugelin she left the chambers. King Casmir's order had been
obeyed; if he chanced to see her she could demonstrate as much by
her change of garments.

Daintily, step by step, she descended the stairs to the Octagon.
Here she halted to look and listen. The Long Gallery was empty; no
sound. She wandered an enchanted palace where everyone drowsed.

Suldrun ran to the Great Hall. The gray light which managed to
seep through the high windows was lost in the shadows. On silent
feet, she went to a tall narrow portal in the long wall, looked
over her shoulder, mouth twitching up at the corners. Then she
tugged open the massive door and slipped into the Hall of Honors.

The light, as in the Great Hall, was gray and dim, and the
solemnity of the chamber was enhanced. As always, fifty-four tall
chairs ranged the walls to left and right and all seemed to stare
in brooding disdain at the table which, with four attendant and
lesser chairs, had been placed at the center of the room.

Suldrun surveyed the interloping furniture with equal disapproval.
It intruded into the space between the tall chairs, and impeded
their easy intercourse. Why would anyone do so clumsy a deed? No
doubt the arrival of the three grandees had dictated the
arrangement. The thought stopped Suldrun in her tracks. She
decided to depart the Hall of Honors at once... But not quickly
enough. From outside the door: voices. Suldrun, startled, froze
into a statue. Then she ran back and forth in confusion, and


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finally darted behind the throne.

At her back lay the dark red gonfalon. Suldrun slipped through the
slit in the fabric into the storage room. By standing close to the
hanging and twitching open the slit, Suldrun watched a pair of
footmen enter the hall. Today they wore splendid ceremonial
livery: scarlet puff-pantaloons, black and red striped hose, black
shoes with curled tips, ocher tabards embroidered with the Tree of
Life. They paced around the room setting alight the wall sconces.
Two other footmen carried in a pair of heavy black iron
candelabra, which they set on the table. The candles, each two
inches thick and molded from bayberry wax, were also set alight;
Suldrun had never seen the Hall of Honors so resplendent.

She began to feel annoyed with herself. She was the Princess
Suldrun and need not hide from footmen; still, she remained in
concealment. News traveled quickly among the corridors of Haidion;
if the footmen saw her, soon Dame Maugelin would know, then Dame
Boudetta, and who knows how high the story might rise?

The footmen completed their preparations and retired from the
room, leaving the doors open.

Suldrun stepped out into the chamber. Beside the throne she paused
to listen, face slantwise, fragile and pale, alive with
excitement. Suddenly bold, she ran out across the chamber. She
heard new sounds: the jingle of metal, the tramp of heavy
footsteps; in a panic she turned and ran back behind the throne.
Looking over her shoulder she glimpsed King Casmir in full panoply
of might and majesty. He marched into the Hall of Honors, head
high, chin and short blond beard jutting. The flames from the
sconces reflected from his crown: a simple gold band under a
circlet of silver laurel leaves. He wore a long black cape
trailing almost to his heels, black and brown doublet, black
trousers, black ankle-boots. He carried no weapon and wore no
ornament. His face as usual was cold and impassive. To Suldrun he
seemed the embodiment of awful pomp; she dropped to her hands and
knees and crawled under the gonfalon into the back room. Finally
she dared to stand erect and peer through the slit. King Casmir
had failed to notice a twitching of the gonfalon. He stood by the


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table with his back to Suldrun, hands on the chair in front of
him.

Heralds entered the room, two by two, to the number of eight, each
bearing a standard displaying the Lyonesse Tree of Life. They took
positions along the back wall. Into the room marched the three
grandees who had arrived earlier in the day.

King Casmir stood waiting until the three had separated to stand
by their chairs, then seated himself, followed by his three
guests.

Stewards placed beside each man a silver chalice which the chief
steward filled with dark red wine from an alabaster pitcher. He
then bowed and departed the room, and after him, the footmen and
then the heralds. The four sat alone at the table.

King Casmir held aloft his chalice. "I propose joy to our hearts,
fulfillment to our needs and success to those goals which we hold
in mutuality."

The four men drank wine. King Casmir said: "Now then, to our
affairs. We sit in informality and privacy; let us speak in
candor, without restraint. Such a discussion will yield benefit to
us all."

"We will take you at your word," spoke Sir Milliflor. He smiled a
thin smile. "Still, I doubt if our hearts' desires run quite so
closely in conjunction as you envision."

"Let me define a position which all of us must endorse," said King
Casmir. "I cite the memory of the olden times, when a single rule
maintained a halcyon peace. Since then we have known incursions,
pillage, war and suspicion. The two Ulflands are poisonous wastes,
where only the Ska, robbers and wild beasts dare walk abroad. The
Celts are suppressed only by dint of constant vigilance, as Sir
Imphal will attest."

"I do so attest," said Sir Imphal.



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"Then I will put the matter into simple terms," said King Casmir.
"Dahaut and Lyonesse must work in concert. With this combined
force under a single command, we can drive the Ska out of the
Ulflands, and subdue the Celts. Next Dascinet, then Troicinet; and
the Elder Isles are once more whole. First: the merging of our two
lands."

Sir Milliflor spoke. "Your statements are beyond debate. We are
halted by a set of questions: Who becomes preeminent? Who leads
the armies? Who rules the realm?"

"These are blunt questions," said King Casmir. "Let the answers
wait until we are agreed in principle, then we will examine such
possibilities."

Sir Milliflor said: "We are agreed on the principles. Let us now
explore the real issues. King Audry sits on the ancient throne
Evandig; will you concede his preeminence?"

"I cannot do so. Still, we can rule in tandem as equals. Neither
King Audry nor Prince Dorcas are stern soldiers. I will command
the armies; King Audry shall conduct the diplomacy."

Sir Lenard uttered a grim laugh. "At the first difference of
opinion the armies might well overcome the diplomats."

King Casmir also laughed. "That condition need not arise. Let King
Audry rule supreme until his death. Then I will rule until my
death. Prince Dorcas shall succeed me. In the event that he breeds
no sons. Prince Cassander will be next in line."

"That is an interesting concept," said Sir Milliflor drily. "King
Audry is old, and you are relatively young; need I remind you?
Prince Dorcas might wait thirty years for his crown."

"Possibly so," said King Casmir without interest.

"King Audry has instructed us," said Sir Milliflor. "His anxieties
are similar to yours, but he is wary of your notorious ambitions.
He suggests that you would like Dahaut to engage the Ska, thereby


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allowing you to attack Troicinet."

King Casmir sat silent a moment, then stirred and spoke. "Will
Audry agree to a joint effort against the Ska?"

"He will indeed, if the armies are under his command."

"Has he no alternate proposals?"

"He notes that the Princess Suldrun will soon arrive at
marriageable age. He suggests the possibility of betrothal between
Princess Suldrun and Prince Whemus of Dahaut."

King Casmir leaned back in his chair. "Whemus is his third son?"

"That is true, your Majesty."*

          *The honorifics of the time are modified by a hundred
special cases. It is impossible to
            translate them into contemporary terms with both crisp-
ness and accuracy; they will
            therefore be rendered in more familiar, if simplistic,
terms.

King Casmir smiled and touched his short blond beard. "Let us,
rather, unite his first daughter, the Princess Cloire, with my
nephew Sir Nonus Roman."

"We will dutifully convey your suggestion to the court at
Avallon."

King Casmir drank from the chalice; the emissaries courteously
drank as well. King Casmir looked from face to face. "Are you then
merely messengers? Or in truth can you negotiate?"

Sir Milliflor said: "We may negotiate within the limits set by our
instructions. Would you care to rephrase your proposal in the
simplest way, without euphemism?"

King Casmir picked up the chalice in his two hands, held it to


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chin level, and turned his pale blue eyes over the top. "I propose
that the assembled might of Lyonesse and Dahaut, under my command,
attack the Ska and drive them back out across the Atlantic, and
that next we subdue the Celts. I propose that we join our kingdoms
not only through cooperation but also through marriage. Either
Audry or I will die first. The survivor shall thereupon rule the
joint kingdoms, to be known as the Kingdom of The Elder Isles, in
the old fashion. My daughter Princess Suldrun shall marry the
Prince Dorcas. My son Prince Cassander shall marry—suitably. So
much I propose."

"The proposal has much in common with our position," said Sir
Lenard. "King Audry prefers that military operations conducted on
the soil of Dahaut be commanded by himself. Secondly—"

The negotiations proceeded another hour, but only emphasized the
mutual inflexibility. Since nothing more had been expected the
conversations ended on a polite basis. The envoys departed the
Hall of Honors, that they might rest before the evening's banquet,
while King Casmir remained brooding alone at the table. In the
back room Suldrun watched in fascination, then in panic as King
Casmir picked up one of the candelabra, turned and with heavy
steps walked toward the back chamber.

Suldrun stood paralyzed. Her presence was known! She turned,
darted to the side, ducked into the corner beside a storage case,
and pulled a fragment of old rag over her shining hair.

The hangings parted; candlelight flickered through the chamber.
Suldrun crouched, awaiting the voice of King Casmir. But he stood
in silence, nostrils dilated, perhaps sensing the fragrance of the
lavender sachet in which Suldrun's clothes were laid. He looked
over his shoulder, then went to the back wall. From a crevice he
took a thin iron rod, which he pushed into a small hole at the
level of his knee, then into another somewhat higher. A door
opened, emitting a light quivering and almost palpable, like a
flickering alternation of purple and green. Out from the room
flowed the thrilling tingle of magic. A pair of high-pitched
voices produced a babbling outcry.



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"Silence," said King Casmir. He entered the room and closed the
door.

Suldrun jumped from the corner and departed the room. She ran
across the Hall of Honors, slipped out into the Great Hall and
thence to the Long Gallery. Once more, she went sedately to her
rooms, where Dame Maugelin scolded her for soiled clothes and a
dirty face.

Suldrun bathed, dressed in a warm robe. She went to the window
with her lute and pretended to practice, making such energetic
discords that Dame Maugelin threw up her hands and went elsewhere.

Suldrun was left alone. She put the lute aside and sat looking
across the landscape. The time was late afternoon; the weather had
broken; sunlight glistened on the wet roofs of Lyonesse Town.

Slowly, incident by incident, Suldrun reviewed the events of the
day.

The three envoys from Dahaut interested her little, except that
they wanted to take her away to Avallon and marry her to a strange
man. Never! She would run away; she would become a peasant, or a
minstrel girl, or gather mushrooms in the woods! The secret room
behind the Hall of Honors in itself seemed neither extraordinary
nor remarkable. In fact, it only corroborated certain of her half-
formed suspicions regarding King Casmir, who wielded such absolute
and awful power!

Dame Maugelin returned to the room, panting in haste and
excitement. "Your father commands you to the banquet. He wishes
you to be everything a beautiful princess of Lyonesse should be.
Do you hear? You may wear your blue velvet gown and your
moonstones. At all times remember court etiquette! Don't spill
your food; drink very little wine. Speak only when you are
addressed, then respond with courtesy and without chewing your
words. Neither titter, nor scratch yourself, nor wriggle in your
chair as if your bottom itched. Do not belch, gurgle or gulp. If
someone breaks wind, do not stare or point or attempt to place the
blame. Naturally you will control yoursell as well; nothing is


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more conspicuous than a farting princess. Come! I must brush your
hair."

In the morning Suldrun went to take her lessons in the library,
but again Master Jaimes was not on hand, nor on the day after, nor
the day after. Suldrun became a trifle miffed. Surely Master
Jaimes might have communicated with her despite his indisposition.
For an entire week she ostentatiously absented herself from the
library, but still no word from Master Jaimes!

In sudden alarm Suldrun sought out Dame Boudetta, who sent a
footman to Master Jaimes' bleak little cell in the West Tower. The
footman discovered Master Jaimes outstretched and dead on his
pallet. His fever had become pneumonia, and he had died with no
one the wiser.


Chapter 4

ONE MORNING OF THE SUMMER before Suldrun's tenth birthday she went
to the third floor parlor in the squat old Tower of Owls for her
dancing lesson. The room itself she thought perhaps the finest of
all Haidion. A well-waxed birch parquetry floor reflected light
from three windows draped with a pearl-gray satin. Furniture
upholstered in pale gray and scarlet ranged the walls; and
Mistress Laletta made sure that fresh flowers were to be found on
all the tables. The students included eight boys and eight girls
of high degree, ranging in age from eight to twelve. Suldrun
judged them a mixed lot: some agreeable, others tiresome and dull.

Mistress Laletta, a slender dark-eyed young woman of gentle birth
but few prospects, taught competently and showed no favoritism;
Suldrun neither liked nor disliked her.

On this morning Mistress Laletta was indisposed and could not
teach. Suldrun returned to her chambers to discover Dame Maugelin
lying grandly naked on Suldrun's bed, mounted by a hearty young
footman named Lopus.

Suldrun watched in startled fascination until Dame Maugelin caught


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sight of her and uttered a horrified cry.

"Disgusting!" said Suldrun. "And in my bed!"

Lopus, sheepishly disengaging himself, drew on his breeches and
departed. Dame Maugelin dressed herself no less hastily, meanwhile
making jovial small-talk. "Back so soon from dancing, my dear
Princess? Well, then, did you have a good lesson? What you saw was
nothing of moment, just a bit of play. Better, far better, if no
one knew—" Suldrun spoke in annoyance: "You've soiled my bed!"

"Now then, dear Princess—"

"Take all the bedding out—no, first go wash yourself, then bring
in all clean bedding and air the room well!"

"Yes, dear Princess." Dame Maugelin hastened to obey, and Suldrun
ran off down the stairs, with a lift of the spirits, a skip and a
gleeful laugh. Dame Maugelin's strictures might now be dismissed,
and Suldrun could do as she pleased.

Suldrun ran up the arcade, scanned the Urquial to make sure that
no one watched, then ducked under the old larch and thrust open
the groaning old gate. She squeezed through, shut the gate and
descended the winding path past the fane and into the garden.

The day was bright and sunny; the air smelled sweet of heliotrope
and fresh green leaves. Suldrun surveyed the garden with
satisfaction. She had uprooted all those weeds she considered rank
and crass, including all the nettles and most of the thistles; the
garden now was almost orderly. She had swept leaves and dirt from
the tessellated floor of the old villa, and had cleared detritus
from the bed of a little stream which trickled down one side of
the ravine. There was still much to do, but not today.

Standing in the shadow of a column, she opened the clasp at her
shoulder, let her gown drop around her ankles and stepped away
naked. Sunlight tingled on her skin; cool air produced a delicious
contrast of sensations.



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She moved down through the garden. Just so must a dryad feel,
thought Suldrun; just so must it move, in just such a hush, with
no sound but the sigh of the wind in the leaves.

She halted in the shade of the solitary old lime tree, then
continued down to the beach to see what the waves had brought in.
When the wind blew from the southwest, as was often the case, the
currents swung around the headland and curled into her little
cove, bringing all manner of stuff to the beach until the next
high tide, when the same current lifted the articles and took them
away once more. Today the beach was clean. Suldrun ran back and
forth, skirting the surf as it moved along the coarse sand. She
halted to scrutinize a rock fifty yards out under the headland,
where she once had discovered a pair of young mermaids. They had
seen her and called out, but they used a slow strange language
Suldrun could not understand. Their olive-green hair hung about
their pale shoulders; their lips and the nipples of their breasts
were also a pale green. One waved and Suldrun saw the webbing
between her fingers. Both turned and looked offshore to where a
bearded merman reared from the waves. He called out in a hoarse
windy voice; the mermaids slipped from the rocks and disappeared.

Today the rocks were bare. Suldrun turned and walked slowly up
into the garden.

She dressed in her rumpled frock and returned to                                               the top of the
ravine. First a peek through the gateway to make                                               sure no one
watched, then quickly through and a run, hop and                                               skip back down
the arcade, past the orangery and once more into                                               Haidion.

A summer storm blowing in from the Atlantic brought a soft rain to
Lyonesse Town. Suldrun was confined to Haidion. One afternoon she
wandered into the Hall of Honors.

Haidion was quiet; the castle seemed to hold its breath. Suldrun
walked slowly around the room, examining each of the great chairs
as if to appraise its strength. The chairs in turn considered her.
Some stood proud and aloof; others were surly. Some were dark and
sinister, others benevolent. At the throne of King Casmir Suldrun
surveyed the dark red gonfalon which concealed the back room.


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Nothing, she told herself, could induce her to venture within; not
with magic so close.

Stepping to the side she evaded the purview of the throne and felt
more at ease. There, not ten feet from her face, hung the
gonfalon. Naturally she dared not enter, nor even approach, the
back room... Still, to look would cause no harm.

On soft feet she sidled close to the hanging, and gently pulled it
aside. Light from the high windows passed over her shoulder to
fall on the far stone wall. There: in a crevice, the iron rod.
There: the upper and lower lock-holes. And beyond, the room where
only King Casmir might go... Suldrun let the panels come together.
She turned away and, in a sober mood, departed the Hall of Honors.

Relations between Lyonesse and Troicinet, never warm, had become
strained, for a variety of reasons, which, trifle by trifle, acted
to create hostility. The ambitions of King Casmir excluded neither
Troicinet nor Dascinet, and his spies pervaded every level of
Troice society.

King Casmir was handicapped in his program by the absence of a
navy. Despite a long coastline, Lyonesse lacked easy access to the
sea, with blue-water ports only at Slute Skeme, Bulmer Skeme,
Lyonesse Town and Pargetta behind Cape Farewell. The indented
coast of Troicinet created dozens of sheltered harbors' each with
piers, yards and ways. There was an amplitude both; of skilled
shipwrights and good timber: hackberry and larch for knees, oak
for frames, stands of young pinhead spruce for masts and a dense
resinous pine for planking. Troice merchant ship: ranged north to
Jutland, Britain and Ireland, south down the Atlantic to
Mauretania, and the Kingdom of the Blue Men, east past Tingis and
into the Mediterranean.

King Casmir considered himself a master of intrigue and sought
incessantly for some trifling advantage which he might exploit. On
one "occasion a heavily laden Troice cog, inching along the coast
of Dascinet in a dense fog ran aground on a sand bank. Yvar
Excelsus, the irascible King of Dascinet, instantly claimed the
vessel and its cargo, citing maritime law, and sent lighters to


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unload the cargo. A pair of Troice warships appeared, repelled
what was now a swarming flotilla of half-piratical Dasce, and at
high tide pulled the cog into deep water.

In a fury King Yvar Excelsus sent an abusive message to King
Granice at Alceinor demanding reparations, upon pain of punitive
action.

King Granice, who well knew the temperament of Yvar Excelsus,
ignored the message, exasperating the Dasce king almost to a state
of incandescence.

King Casmir now dispatched a secret emissary to Dascinet, urging
attack upon Troicinet, and promising full assistance. Troice spies
intercepted the envoy and took him with his documents to Alceinor.

A week later a cask was delivered to King Casmir at Haidion, in
which he discovered the body of his envoy with the documents
crammed into his mouth.

Meanwhile King Yvar Excelsus became distracted by another matter,
and his threats against Troicinet came to nothing.

King Granice made no further remonstrance to King Casmir, but
began seriously to consider the possibility of an unwelcome war.
Troicinet, with a population half that of Lyonesse, could never
expect to win such a war and hence had nothing to gain and
everything to lose.

From the town Pargetta, close by Cape Farewell, came ill reports
of pillage and slaughter by the Ska. Two black ships, arriving at
dawn, discharged troops who looted the town with a dispassionate
precision more terrifying than savagery. All who interfered were
killed. The Ska took crocks of olive oil, saffron, wine, gold from
the Mithraic temple, tin and silver ingots, flasks of quicksilver.
They took away no captives, put torches to no buildings, committed
no rape or torture, and killed only those folk who impeded their
robbery.

Two weeks later a Troice cog, putting into Lyonesse Town with a


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cargo of Irish flax, reported a disabled Ska ship in the Sea of
Tethra, west of Cape Farewell. The Troice cog had put in close to
discover forty Ska sitting at their benches too weak to row. The
Troice had offered a tow, but the Ska refused to take a line, and
the cog sailed away.

King Casmir instantly despatched three war-galleys to the area,
where they found the long black ship wallowing dismasted in the
swells.

The galleys drew up alongside, to discover disaster, anguish and
death. A storm had broken the vessel's back-stay; the mast had
collapsed upon the forepeak, crushing the water casks, and half
the ship's complement already had succumbed to thirst.

Nineteen men survived; too weak to offer resistance, they were
taken aboard the Lyonesse ships and given water. A line was made
fast to the long-ship; the corpses were thrown overboard and all
returned to Lyonesse Town, and the Ska were jailed in an old fort
at the west end of the harbor. King Casmir, riding his horse
Sheuvan, went down to the harbor to inspect the long-ship. The
contents of the forward and after cargo holds had been conveyed to
the dock: a case of gold and silver temple adornments, glass jars
of saffron gathered from the sheltered valleys behind Cape
Farewell, pottery urns stamped with the symbol of the Bulmer Skeme
press.

King Casmir inspected the loot and the long-ship, then rode
Sheuvan around the Chale to the fortress. At his command the
prisoners were brought out and ranked before him, to stand
blinking into the sunlight: tall dark-haired men, pale of
complexion, thin and sinewy rather than massive. They looked about
them with the easy curiosity of honored guests, and spoke to each
other in soft measured voices.

King Casmir addressed the group. "Which among you is captain of
the vessel?"

The Ska turned to look at him, politely enough, but no one
answered.


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King Casmir pointed to a man in the front rank. "Which man among
you is in authority? Point him out."

"The captain is dead. We are all 'dead.' Authority is gone, and
everything else of life."

"To me you appear quite alive," said Casmir, smiling coldly.

"We reckon ourselves dead."

"Because you expect to be killed? Suppose I allowed you ransom?"

"Who would ransom a dead man?"

King Casmir made an impatient gesture. "I want information, not
garble and cant." He looked through the group and in one man,
somewhat older than the others, thought to recognize the| quality
of authority. "You will remain here." He signaled the guards.
"Take the others back to confinement."

King Casmir took the man he had selected aside. "Are you also
'dead'?"

"I am no longer among the living Ska. To my family, my comrades
and myself, I am dead."

"Tell me this: Suppose I wished to confer with your king would he
come to Lyonesse under guarantees of protection?

"Naturally not." The Ska seemed amused.

"Suppose I wished to explore the possibility of an alliance:

"To what end?"

"The Ska navy and the seven Lyonesse armies, acting in concert,
might be invincible."

"'Invincible'? Against whom?"


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King Casmir disliked anyone who pretended to more acuity than
himself. "Against all others of the Elder Isles! Whom else?"

"You imagine the Ska assisting you against your enemies? The idea
is preposterous. If I were alive I would laugh. The Ska are at war
with all the world, including Lyonesse."

"That is no vindication. I am about to adjudge you a pirate." The
Ska looked up at the sun, around the sky and out over the sea. "Do
as you like. We are dead."

King Casmir showed a grim smile. "Dead or not, your fate shall
serve to daunt other murderers, and the time shall be noon
tomorrow."

Along the breakwater nineteen frames were erected. The night
passed; the day dawned bright and clear. By mid-morning crowds had
assembled along the Chale, including folk from coastal villages,
peasants in clean smocks and bell-hats, vendors of sages and dried
fish. On the rocks west of the Chale crawled cripples, lepers and
the weak-minded, in accordance with the statutes of Lyonesse.

The sun reached the zenith. The Ska were led from the fortress.
Each was spread-eagled naked to a frame and hung upside down,
facing out to sea. Down from the Peinhador came Zerling, the Chief
Executioner. He walked along the row, stopped by each man, slit
the abdomen, drew out the intestines with a double-pronged hook,
so that they fell over the chest and head, then moved on to the
next. A black and yellow flag was hoisted at the entrance to the
harbor, and the dying men were left to themselves.

Dame Maugelin pulled an embroidered bonnet over her head and went
down to the Chale. Suldrun thought that she might be left to
herself, but Dame Boudetta took her to the balcony outside the
Queen's bedchamber, where ladies of the court gathered to watch
the execution. At noon the conversations halted and all pressed to
the balustrade to view the proceedings. As Zerling went about his
duties, the ladies sighed and made murmuring sounds. Suldrun was
lifted to the balustrade the better that she might learn the fate


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accorded to outlaws. In fascinated revulsion she watched Zerling
saunter from man to man, but distance concealed the details of his
work.

Few of the ladies present spoke favorably of the occasion. For
Lady Duisane and Lady Ermoly who suffered poor vision, the
distances were too great. Lady Spaneis pronounced the affair
simply dull. "It was like butcher's work upon dead animals; the
Ska showed neither fear nor penitence; what kind of execution is
that?" Queen Sollace grumbled: "Worst of all, the wind blows
directly across the harbor and into our windows. In three days the
stink will drive us off to Sarris."

Suldrun listened in hope and excitement; Sarris was the summer
palace, some forty miles to the east beside the river Glame.

But there was no instant removal to Sarris, despite the
inclinations of Queen Sollace. The corpses were quickly scavenged
by carrion birds. King Casmir became bored with the frames and the
fragments of bone and gristle hanging at odd angles, and ordered
the display dismantled.

Haidion was quiet. Dame Maugelin, suffering from swollen legs, lay
moaning in her chamber, high in the Tower of Owls. Suldrun, alone
in her room, became restless, but a blustering wind, raw and cold,
dissuaded her from the secret garden.

Suldrun stood looking from the window, troubled by a sweet sad
malaise. Oh! for a magic steed to carry her away througl the air!
How far she would fly, across the white clouds, over the Land of
the Silver River, to the mountains at the edge of the world.

For a breathless moment she thought how it would be to don her
cloak, slip from the palace and be away: up the Sfer Arct to Old
Street, with all the wide land before her! She sighed and smiled a
wan smile for the folly of her fancies. The vagabond; she had seen
from the parapets were by and large a disreputable lot, hungry and
dirty and sometimes rather crass in their habits. Such a life
lacked appeal, and now, as she considered the matter, Suldrun
decided that she very much enjoyed shelter from the wind and rain


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and nice clean clothes and the dignity of her person.

If only she had a magic carriage which at night became a little
cottage where she could dine on the things she liked and sleep in
a snug bed!

She sighed once more. An idea came into her mfnd. She licked her
lips at the audacity. Dared she? What harm could be done, if she
were extremely careful? She thought a moment, lips pursed and head
tilted sideways: the definitive image of a girl planning mischief.

At the hearth Suldrun put flame to the candle in her night-lamp
and drew down the hood. Carrying the candle she descended the
stairs.

The Hall of Honors was dim and dreary, and quiet as the grave.
Suldrun entered the chamber with exaggerated stealth. Today the
great chairs gave her small attention. The unfriendly chairs
maintained a stony reserve; the kind chairs seemed absorbed in
their own affairs. Very well, let them ignore her. Today she would
ignore them as well.

Suldrun went around the throne to the back wall, where she slid
the hood from her candle. Just one look; that was all she
intended. She was far too wise a girl to venture into danger. She
pushed aside the hanging. Candlelight illuminated the room, and
the stone wall to the rear.

Suldrun hurriedly found the iron rod; if she hesitated her daring
might desert her. Quick then! She pushed the rod into the holes,
bottom and top, and returned the iron to its place. The door
shuddered open, releasing a plane of purple-green light. Suldrun
moved a tentative step forward; no more than a peep or two! Wary
now, and slow! Magic had its entrapments: so much she knew.

She eased the door open. The room swam in layers of colored light:
green, purple, persimmon red. To one side was a table supporting a
peculiar instrument of glass and carved black wood. Flasks,
bottles and squat stoneware pots were ranged on shelves, as well
as books, librams, touch-stones and mogrifiers. Suldrun came a


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cautious pace forward. A soft throaty voice called out: "Who comes
to see us, quiet as a mouse, a nose at a time, with small white
fingers and the smell of flowers?"

A second voice said: "Come in, come in! Perhaps you will do a kind
service, to earn our blessings and our rewards."

On the table Suldrun saw a green glass bottle of a size to hold a
gallon. The mouth fitted tightly about the neck of a double-headed
homunculus, so that only its two small heads protruded. These were
squat, no larger than cat-size, with wrinkled bald pates, snapping
black eyes, a nose and oral apparatus of tough brown horn. The
body was obscured by the glass and a dark liquid, like strong
beer. The heads craned to look at Suldrun, and both spoke: "Ah,
what a pretty girl!" "And kind-hearted as well!" "Yes, that's
Princess Suldrun; already she is known for good works." "Have you
heard how she nursed a little sparrow back to its health?" "Come a
bit closer, my dear, so that we may enjoy your beauty."

Suldrun remained where she stood. Other objects claimed her
attention, but all seemed curious and items to excite amazement
rather than functional equipment. An urn exuded the colored light
which like liquid flowed down or drifted up to its proper level.
On the wall hung an octagonal mirror in a frame of tarnished wood.
Farther along, pegs supported a quasi-human skeleton of black
bones, slender as withes. From the shoulder blades protruded a
pair of curving pinions, punctured with dozens of sockets, from
which might have grown feathers, or scales. The skeleton of a
demon? Looking into the eye sockets Suldrun felt an eery
conviction that the creature had never flown the air of Earth.

The imps called out in hearty tones: "Suldrun, beautiful princess!
Step forward!" "Give us the benefit of your presence!"

Suldrun moved a step farther into the room. She bent to examine a
plumb-bob suspended over a dish of roiling quicksilver. On the
wall above a leaden tablet displayed a set of crabbed black
characters which altered as she watched. a remarkable object
indeed. Suldrun wondered what the characters portended; they were
like none she had seen before.


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A voice issued from the mirror, and Suldrun saw that a lower
section of the frame had been shaped to represent a wide mouth
curled up at the corners. "The characters read thus: 'Suldrun
sweet Suldrun, leave this room before harm arrives upon you!'

Suldrun looked about her. "What would harm me?"

"Let the bottled imps clamp your hair or your fingers and youl
will learn the meaning of harm."

The two heads spoke at the same time: "What a wicked remark! We
are as faithful as doves." "Oh! It is bitter to be maligned, when
we cannot seek redress for the wrong!"

Suldrun shrank even farther to the side. She turned to the mirror.
"Who is it that is speaking?"

"Persilian."

"You are kind to warn me."

"Perhaps. Perversity moves me from time to time."

Suldrun came cautiously forward. "May I look in the mirror?"

"Yes, but be warned: what you see you may not like!"

Suldrun paused to reflect. What might she not wish to see? If
anything the concept twitched at her curiosity. She slid a three-
legged stool across the room and climbed upon it, so that she
looked into the mirror. "Persiiian; I see nothing. It is like
looking into the sky."

The surface of the mirror moved; for an instant a face looked into
her own: a man's face. Dark hair curled down past a flawless
complexion; fine eyebrows curved over lustrous dark eyes; a
straight nose complemented a full supple mouth.. .The magic faded.
Suldrun again stared into a void. In a thoughtful voice she asked:
"Who was that?"


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"If ever you meet him, he will pronounce his name. If you see him
never again, then his name will serve you no purpose."

"Persilian, you mock me."

"Perhaps. From time to time I demonstrate the inconceivable, or
mock the innocent, or give truth to liars, or shred the poses of
virtue—all as perversity strikes me. now I am silent; this is my
mood."

Suldrun climbed down from the stool, blinking at tears which had
come to her eyes. She felt confused and depressed . The two-headed
goblin suddenly stretched one of its necks and with its beak
seized at Suldrun's hair. It caught only a few strands which it
snatched out by the roots. Suldrun stumbled from the room. She
started to close the door, then remembered her candle. She she
ran back into the roorn snatched the candle and left. The jeering
cries of the two-headed goblin were muffled by the closing of the
door.


Chapter 5

ON THE DAY OF BELTANE, in the spring of the year following
Suldrun's eleventh birthday, occurred the ancient rite known as
Blodfadh, or "Coming into Flower." With twenty-three other girls
of noble lineage, Suldrun stepped through a circlet of white
roses, and then led a pavanne with Prince Bellath of Caduz for a
partner. Bellath, at the age of sixteen years was spare rather
than sturdy. His features were crisp, well-shaped if somewhat
austere; his manners were precisely correct and pleasantly modest.
In certain qualities he reminded Suldrun of someone else she had
known. Who could it be? She searched her mind in vain. As they
stepped the careful measures of the pavanne, she studied his face,
to discover that he was giving her a similar scrutiny.

Suldrun had decided that she liked Bellath. She laughed
selfconsciously. "Why do you watch me so intently?"



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Bellath asked half-apologetically, "Shall I tell you the truth?"

"Of course."

"Very well, but you must control your anguish. 1 have been told
that you and I are eventually to marry."

Suldrun could find nothing to say. In silence they performed the
stately evolutions of the dance.

Bellath finally spoke in anxiety: "I hope that you are not
disturbed by what I said?"

"No... I must marry one day—so I suppose. I am not ready to think
about it."

Later that night, as she lay in her bed considering the events of
the day, Suldrun recalled of whom Prince Bellath reminded her: it
was none other than Master Jaimes.

Blodfadh brought changes to Suldrun's life. Despite her
inclinations she was moved from her dear and familiar chambers in
the East Tower to more commodious quarters on the next floor
below, and Prince Cassander moved into Suldrun's old rooms.

Two months previously, Dame Maugelin had died of the dropsy. Her
place was taken by a seamstress and a pair of maids.

To Dame Boudetta was given supervision of Prince Cassander. The
new archivist a wizened little pedant named Julias Sagamudus
became Suldrun's instructor in orthography, history and
calculation with numbers. For the enhancement of her maidenly
graces Suldrun was given into the charge of the Lady Desdea, widow
of Queen Sollace's brother, who resided permanently at Haidion and
performed genteel duties at the languid behest of Queen Sollace.
Forty years old, without prooerty, large-boned, tall, with overly
large features and bad breath, Lady Desdea had no prospects
whatever; still she beguiled herself with impossible fantasies.
She primped, powdered, and perfumed herself; she dressed her
chestnut hair in high style, with a complicated bun at the back


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and twin sponsons of crisp curls confined in nets over her ears.

Suldrun's fresh young beauty and easy absentminded habits rasped
the most sensitive fibers of Lady Desdea's disposition. Suldrun's
visits to the old garden had now become generally known. Lady
Desdea automatically disapproved. For a highborn maiden—or any
other kind of maiden—the desire for privacy was not only
eccentric; it was absolutely suspicious. Suldrun was somewhat too
young to have taken to herself a lover. And yet... The idea was
absurd. Her breasts were but nubbins. Still, might she have been
beguiled by a faun, who were known to be partial to the tart-sweet
charms of young maidens?


So went Lady Desdea's thinking. One day she blandly suggested that
Suldrun escort her through the garden. Suldrun tried to evade the
issue. "You wouldn't like the place. The path goes over rocks, and
there is nothing much to see."

"Still, I think I would like to visit this place."

Suldrun studiously said nothing, but Lady Desdea persisted. "The
weather is fine. Suppose we take our little walk now."

"You must excuse me, my lady," said Suldrun politely. "This is a
place where I go only when I am alone."

Lady Desdea raised high her thin chestnut eyebrows. "'Alone'? It
is not seemly that young ladies of your place should wander alone
through remote areas."

Suldrun spoke in a placid and offhand manner, as if enunciating a
known truth. "There is no harm enjoying one's private garden.

Lady Desdea could find nothing to say. Later she reported
Suldrun's obstinacy to Queen Sollace, who at the moment was
testing a new pomade formulated from the wax of lilies. "I've
heard something of this," said Queen Sollace, rubbing a gobbet of
white cream along her wrist. "She is a strange creature. At her
age I had eyes for several gallant lads, but as for Suldrun such


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ideas never enter her odd little head... Ha! This offers a rich
scent! Feel the unction!"

On the next day the sun shone fair among small high cloud-tufts.
Reluctantly to her lessons with Julias Sagamundus went Suldrun
wearing a prim little lavender and white striped gown gathered
high up under her breasts and trimmed with lace at hem and collar.
Perched on a stool, Suldrun dutifully wrote the ornate Lyonesse
script with a gray goose-quill, so fine and long that the tip
twitched a foot above her head. Suldrun found herself gazing out
the window ever more frequently, and the characters began to
straggle.

Julias Sagamundus, seeing how the wind blew, sighed once or twice,
but without emphasis. He took the quill from Suldrun's fingers,
packed his exercise books, quills, inks and parchments, and went
off about his own affairs. Suldrun climbed down from the stool and
stood rapt by the window, as if listening to far music. She turned
and left the library.

Lady Desdea emerged into the gallery from the Green Parlor, where
King Casmir had instructed her in careful detail. She was only
just in time to notice the lavender and white flutter of Suldrun's
dress as she disappeared into the Octagon.

Lady Desdea hurried after, heavy with King Casmir's instructions.
She went into the Octagon, looked right and left, then went
outside, to glimpse Suldrun already at the end of the arcade.

"Ah, Miss Sly-boots!" said Lady Desdea to herself. "Now we shall
see. But presently, presently!" She tapped her mouth with her
finger, then went up to Suldrun's chambers, and there put
inquiries to the maids. Neither knew Suldrun's whereabouts. "No
matter," said Lady Desdea. "I know where to find her. Now then,
lay out her pale blue afternoon gown with the lace bodice, and all
to match, and draw her a bath."

Lady Desdea descended to the gallery and for half an hour
sauntered here and there. At last she turned back up the Long
Gallery. "Now" she told herself, "now we shall see."


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She ascended the arcade and passed through the tunnel ou upon the
parade ground. To her right wild plum and larch shadowed an old
stone wall, in which she spied a dilapidated timber door. She
marched forward, ducked under the larch, pushed open the door. A
path led away and down through juts and shoulders of rock.

Clutching skirts above ankles. Lady Desdea picked her way down
irregular stone steps, which angled first right then left, past an
old stone fane. She proceeded, taking great care not to stumble
and fall, which would certainly compromise her dignity. The walls
of the ravine spread apart; Lady Desdea overlooked the garden.
Step by step she descended the path, and were she not so alert for
mischief, she might have noticed the banks of flowers and pleasant
herbs, the small stream flowing into artful pools, then tinkling
down from stone to stone and into yet another pool. Lady Desdea
saw only an area of rocky wasteland, uncomfortable of access, dank
and unpleasantly isolated. She stumbled, hurt her foot and cursed,
angry at the circumstances which had brought her so far from
Haidion, and now she saw Suldrun, thirty feet along the path,
quite alone (as Lady Desdea had known she must be; she had only
hoped for scandal).

Suldrun heard the steps and looked up. Her eyes glowed blue in a
face pale and furious.

Lady Desdea spoke peevishly: "I've hurt my foot on the stones;
it's truly a shame."

Suldrun's mouth moved; she could not find words to express
herself.

Lady Desdea heaved a sigh of resignation and pretended to look
around her. She spoke in a voice of whimsical condescension. "So,
my dear Princess, this is your little retreat." She gave an
exaggerated shudder, hunching her shoulders. "Aren't you at all
sensitive to the air? I feel such a dank waft; it must come from
the sea." Again she looked about her, mouth pursed in amused
disapproval. "Still, it's a wild little nook, like the world must
have been before men appeared. Come, child, show me about."


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Fury contorted Suldrun's face, so that teeth showed through her
clenched mouth. She raised her hand and pointed. "Go! Go away from
here!"

Lady Desdea drew herself up. "My dear child, you are rude. I am
only concerned with your welfare and I do not deserve your spite."

Suldrun spoke wildly: "I don't want you here! 1 don't want you
around me at all! Go away!"

Lady Desdea stood back, her face an ugly mask. She seethed with
conflicting impulses. Most urgently she wanted to find a switch,
lift the impudent child's skirt and lay half a dozen goodly
stripes across her bottom: an act in which she dared not indulge
herself. Backing away a few steps, she spoke in dreary reproach:
"You are the most ungrateful of children. Do you think it pleasure
to instruct you in all that is noble and good, and guide your
innocence through the pitfalls of the court, when you fail to
respect me? 1 look for love and trust; I find rancor. Is this my
reward? I struggle to do my duty; I am told to go away." Her voice
became a ponderous drone. Suldrun turned half-away and gave her
attention to the flight of a rock-swallow, then another. She
watched ocean swells crashing through the offshore rocks, then
come twinkling and foaming up to her beach. Lady Desdea spoke on.
"I must make clear: not for my benefit do I clamber through rock
and thistle to notify you of duties such as today's important
reception, as I now have done. No, I must accept the role of
meddlesome Lady Desdea. You have been instructed and I can do no
more."

Lady Desdea swung around her haunches, trudged up the path and
departed the garden. Suldrun watched her go with brooding gaze.
There had been an indefinable air of satisfaction in the swing of
her arms and the poise of her head. Suldrun wondered what it
meant.


The better to protect King Deuel of Pomperol and his retinue from
the sun, a canopy of red and yellow silk, the colors of Pomperol,


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had been erected across the great courtyard at Haidion. Under this
canopy King Casmir, King Deuel, and various persons of high degree
came to take their pleasure at an informal banquet.

King Deuel, a thin sinewy man of middle years, carried himself
with mercurial energy and zest. He had brought only a small
entourage: his only son, Prince Kestrel; four knights, sundry
aides and lackeys; so that, as King Deuel expressed it, "we are
free as birds, those blessed creatures who soar the air, to go
where we wish, at our own speed and pleasure!"

Prince Kestrel had achieved his fifteenth year and resembled his
father only in his ginger colored hair. Otherwise he was staid
and phlegmatic, with a fleshy torso and placid expression. King
Casmir none-the-less thought of Kestrel as a possible match for
the princess Suldrun, if options more advantageous were not open,
and so arranged that a place for Suldrun be laid at the banquet
table.

When the place remained vacant, King Casmir spoke sharply to Queen
Sollace: "Where is Suldrun?"

Queen Sollace gave her marmoreal shoulders a slow shrug. "I can't
say. She is unpredictable. I find it easiest to leave her to her
own devices."

"All well and good.                                Nevertheless I command her presence!"

Queen Sollace shrugged once more and reached for a sugarplum. "In
that case Lady Desdea must inform us."

King Casmir looked over his shoulder to a footman. "Bring here the
Lady Desdea,"

King Deuel meanwhile enjoyed the antics of trained animals, which
King Casmir had ordained for his pleasure. Bears in blue cocked
hats tossed balls back and forth; four wolves in costumes of pink
and yellow satin danced a quadrille; six herons with as many crows
marched in formation.



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King Deuel applauded the spectacle, and was especially
enthusiastic in regard to the birds: "Splendid! Are they not
worthy creatures, stately and wise? Notice the grace of their
marching! A pace: so! Another pace: just so!"

King Casmir acknowledged the compliment with a stately gesture. "I
take it that you are partial to birds?"

"I consider them remarkably fine. They fly with an easy courage
and a grace far exceeding our own capabilities!"

"Exactly true... Excuse me, I must have a word with Lady Desdea.
King Casmir turned aside. "Where is Suldrun?"

Lady Desdea feigned puzzlement. "Is she not here? Most odd! She is
stubborn, and perhaps a bit wayward, but I cannot believe her to
be wilfully disobedient."

"Where is she then?"

Lady Desdea made a facetious grimace and waved her fingers. "As I
say, she is a headstrong child and given to vagaries. Now she has
taken a fancy to an old garden under the Urquial. I have tried to
dissuade her, but she makes it her favored resort."

King Casmir spoke brusquely. "And she is there now? Unattended?"

"Your Majesty, she permits no one in the garden but herself, or so
it would seem. I spoke to her and communicated Your Majesty's
wishes. She would not listen and sent me away. I assume she
remains still in the garden."

King Deuel sat enthralled by the performance of a trained ape
walking a tightrope. King Casmir murmured an excuse, and strode
away. Lady Desdea went about her own affairs with a pleasant sense
of achievement.

King Casmir had not set foot in the old garden for twenty years.
He descended along a path paved with pebbles set into sand, among
trees, herbs and flowers. Halfway to the beach he came upon


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Suldrun. She knelt in the path, working pebbles into the sand.

Suldrun looked up without surprise. King Casmir silently surveyed
the garden, then looked down at Suldrun, who slowly rose to her
feet. King Casmir spoke in a flat voice. "Why did you not heed my
orders?"

Suldrun stared in slack-jawed puzzlement. "What orders?"

"I required your attendance upon King Deuel of Pomperol and his
son Prince Kestrel."

Suldrun cast back into her memory and now recovered the echo of
Lady Desdea's voice. Squinting off toward the sea she said: "Lady
Desdea might have said something. She talks so much that I seldom
listen."

King Casmir allowed a wintry smile to enliven his face. He also
felt that Lady Desdea spoke at unnecessary length. Once more he
inspected the garden. "Why do you come here?"

Suldrun said haltingly: "I am alone here. No one troubles me."

"But, are you not lonely?"

"No. I pretend that the flowers talk to me."

King Casmir grunted. Such fancies in a princess were unnecessary
and impractical. Perhaps she was indeed eccentric. "Should you
not entertain yourself among other maids of your station?"

"Father, I do so, at my dancing lessons."

King Casmir examined her dispassionately. She had tucked a small
white flower into her gleaming dusty-gold hair; her features were
regular and delicate. For the first time King Casmir saw his
daughter as something other than a beautiful absent-minded child.

"Come along" he said gruffly. "We shall go at; once to the
reception. Your costume is far from adequate but neither King


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Deuel nor Kestrel will think the worse of you." He noticed
Suldrun's melancholy expression. "Well then, are you reluctant
for a banquet?"

"Father, these are strangers; why must I meet them today?"

"Because in due course you must marry and Kestrel might be the
most advantageous match."

Suldrun's face fell even further. "1 thought that I was to marry
Prince Bellath of Caduz."

King Casmir's face became hard. "Where did you hear that?"

"Prince Bellath told me himself."

King Casmir voiced a harsh laugh. "Three weeks ago, Bellath became
betrothed to Princess Mahaeve of Dahaut."

Suldrun's mouth sagged. "Is she not already a grown woman?"

"She is nineteen years old and ill-favored to boot. But no matter;
he obeyed his father the king, who chose Dahaut over Lyonesse, to
his great folly as he will learn... So you became fond of
Bellath?"

"I liked him well enough."

"It's of no consequence now. We need both Pomperol and Caduz; if
we make a match with Deuel, we'll have them both. Come along, and
mind you, show courtesy to Prince Kestrel." He turned on his heel.
Suldrun followed him up the path on laggard feet.

At the reception she was seated beside Prince Kestrel, who
practiced lofty airs upon her. Suldrun failed to notice. Both
Kestrel and the circumstances bored her.

In the autumn of the year King Quairt of Caduz and Prince Bellath
went to hunt in the Long Hills. They were set upon by masked
bandits and killed. Caduz was thereby plunged into confusion,


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forboding and doubt.

In Lyonesse King Casmir discovered a claim to the throne of Caduz,
stemming from his grandfather Duke Cassander, brother to Queen
Lydia of Caduz.

The claim, based upon the flow of lineage from sister to brother,
thence to a descendant twice removed, while legal (with
qualifications) in Lyonesse and also in the Ulflands, ran counter
to the strictly patrilinear customs of Dahaut. The laws of Caduz
itself were ambiguous.

The better to press his claim, Casmir rode to Montroc, capital of
Caduz, at the head of a hundred knights, which instantly aroused
King Audry of Dahaut. He warned that under no circumstances might
Casmir so easily annex Caduz to his crown, and began to mobilize a
great army.

The dukes and earls of Caduz, thus emboldened, began to express
distaste for Casmir, and many wondered, ever more pointedly, as to
the identity of bandits so swift, so deadly and so anonymous in a
countryside ordinarily so placid.

Casmir saw the way the wind was blowing. One stormy afternoon, as
the nobles of Caduz sat in conclave, a weird-woman dressed in
white entered the chamber holding high a glass vessel which exuded
a flux of colors swirling behind her like smoke. As if in a trance
she picked up the crown, set it on the head of Duke Thirlach,
husband to Etaine, younger sister to Casmir. The woman in white
departed the chamber and was seen no more. After some contention,
the omen was accepted at face value and Thirlach was enthroned as
the new king. Casmir rode home with his knights, satisfied that he
had done all possible to augment his interests, and indeed his
sister Etaine, now Queen of Caduz, was a woman of redoubtable
personality.

Suldrun was fourteen years old and marriageable. The rumor of her
beauty had traveled far, and to Haidion came a succession of young
grandees, and others not so young, to judge the fabulous Princess
Suldrun for themselves.


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King Casmir extended to all an equal hospitality, but was in no
hurry to encourage a match until all of his options were clear to
him.

Suldrun's life became increasingly complex, what with balls and
banquets, fetes and follies. Some of the visitors she found
pleasing, others less so. King Casmir, however, never asked her
opinion, which in any case was of no interest to him.

A different sort of visitor arrived at Lyonesse Town: Brother
Umphred, a portly round-faced evangelist, originally from
Aquitania, who had arrived at Lyonesse by way of Whanish Isle and
the Diocese of Skro.

With an instinct as certain and sure as that which takes a ferret
to the rabbit's throat, Brother Umphred found the ear of Queen
Sollace. Brother Umphred used an insistent mellifluous voice and
Queen Sollace became a convert to Christianity.

Brother Umphred established a chapel in the Tower of Palaemon only
a few steps from Queen Sollace's chambers.

At Brother Umphred's suggestion, Cassander and Suldrun were
baptized and required to attend early morning mass in the chapel.

Brother Umphred attempted next to convert King Casmir, and far
overstepped himself.

"Exactly what is your purpose here?" demanded King Casmir. "Are
you a spy for Rome?"

"I am a humble servant of the one and all-powerful God," said
Brother Umphred. "I carry his message of hope and love to all
folk, despite hardship and tribulation; no more."

King Casmir uttered a derisive laugh. "What of the great
cathedrals at Avallon and Taciel? Did 'God' supply the money? No.
It was milked from peasants."



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"Your Majesty, humbly we accept alms."

"It would seem far easier for all-powerful God to create the
money... No further proselytizing! If you accept a single farthing
from anyone in Lyonesse you will be whipped from here to Port
Fader and shipped back to Rome in a sack."

Brother Umphred bowed without visible resentment. "It shall be as
you command."

Suldrun found Brother Umphred's doctrines incomprehensible and his
manner over-familiar. She stopped attending mass and so incurred
her mother's displeasure.

Suldrun found little time for herself. Noble maidens attended most
of her waking hours, to chatter and gossip, to plan small
intrigues, to discuss gowns and manners, and to analyze the
persons who came courting to Haidion. Suldrun found little
solitude and few occasions to visit the old garden.

Early one summer morning the sun shone so sweetly and the thrush
sang such plaintive songs in the orangery, that Suldrun felt
impelled to leave the palace. She pretended indisposition to avoid
her maids-in-waiting and furtively, lest someone notice and
suspect a lover's tryst, she ran up the arcade, through the old
portal and into the garden.

Something had changed. She felt as if she were seeing the garden
for the first time, even though every detail, every tree and
flower was familiar and dear. She looked about her in sadness for
the lost vision of childhood. She saw evidence of neglect:
harebells, anemones and violets growing modestly in the shade had
been challenged by insolent tufts of rank grass. Opposite, among
the cypresses and olive trees, nettles had risen more proudly than
the asphodel. The path she had so diligently paved with beach
pebbles had been broken by rain.

Suldrun went slowly down to the old lime tree, under which she had
passed many dreaming hours... The garden seemed smaller. Ordinary
sunlight suffused the air, rather than the old enchantment which


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had gathered in this place alone, and surely the wild roses had
given a richer fragrance when first she had entered the garden? At
a crunch of footsteps she looked about to discover a beaming
Brother Umphred. He wore a brown cassock tied with a black cord.
The cowl hung down between his plump shoulders; his tonsured
baldness shone pink.

Brother Umphred, after a quick glance to left and right, bowed and
clasped his hands before him. "Blessed princess, surely you have
not come so far without escort?"

"Exactly so, since I have come here for solitude." Suldrun's voice
was devoid of warmth. "It pleases me to be alone."

Brother Umphred, still smiling, again surveyed the garden. "This
is a tranquil retreat. I, too, enjoy solitude; is it possible that
we two are cut from the same cloth?" Brother Umphred moved
forward, halting no more than a yard from Suldrun. "It is a great
pleasure to find you here. I have long wanted to talk to you, in
all earnestness."

Suldrun spoke in an even colder voice. "I do not care to talk to
you, or anyone else. I came to be alone."

Brother Umphred gave a wry jocular grimace. "I will go at once.
Still, do you think it proper to venture alone into a place so
secluded? How tongues would wag, were it known! All would wonder
whom you favored with such intimacy."

Suldrun turned her back in icy silence. Brother Umphred performed
another comical grimace, shrugged, and ambled back up the path.

Suldrun seated herself beside the lime tree. Brother Umphred, so
she suspected, had gone up to wait among the rocks, hoping to
discover who came to keep rendezvous.

At last she arose and started back up the path. The outrage of
Brother Umphred's presence had restored something of the garden's
charm, and Suldrun stopped to pull weeds. Perhaps tomorrow morning
she would come to uproot the nettles.


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Brother Umphred spoke to Queen Sollace, and made a number of
suggestions. Sollace reflected, then in a spirit of cold and
deliberate malice—she had long decided that she did not
particularly care for Suldrun—she gave appropriate orders.

Several weeks passed before Suldrun, despite her resolution,
returned to the garden. Upon passing through the old timber door,
she discovered a gang of masons at work upon the old fane. They
had enlarged the windows, installed a door and broken open the
back to expand the interior, and had added an altar. In
consternation Suldrun asked the master mason: "What are you
building here?"

"Your Highness, we build a churchlet, or a chapel, as it might be
called, that the Christian priest may conduct his rituals."

Suldrun could hardly speak. "But—who gave such orders?"

"It was Queen Sollace herself, your Highness, for her ease and
convenience during her devotions."


Chapter 6

BETWEEN DASCINET AND TROICINET was Scola, an island of crags and
cliffs twenty miles across, inhabited by the Skyls. At the center
a volcanic peak, Kro, reminded all of its presence with an
occasional rumbling of the guts, a wisp of steam or a bubble of
sulfur. From Kro radiated four steep ridges, dividing the island
into four duchies: Sadaracx to the north, Corso to the east,
Rhamnanthus to the south and Malvang to the west, nominally ruled
by dukes who in turn gave fealty to King Yvar Excelsus of
Dascinet.

In practice the Skyls, a dark crafty race of unknown origin, were
uncontrollable. They lived isolated in mountain glens, emerging
only when the time came for dreadful deeds. Vendetta, revenge and
counter-revenge ruled their lives. The Skyls' virtues were
stealth, reckless elan, blood-lust and stoicism under torment; his


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word, be it promise, guarantee or threat might be equated with
certainty; indeed the Skyl's exact adherence to his pledge often
verged upon the absurd. From birth to death his life was a
succession of murders, captivities, escapes, wild flights, daring
rescues: deeds incongruous in a landscape of Arcadian beauty.

On days of festival truce might be called; then merry-making and
reveling exceeded rational bounds. Everything was to excess:
tables groaned under the weight of food; fabulous feats of wine
drinking were performed; there was passionate music and wild
dancing. In sudden spasms of sentiment, ancient enmities might be
resolved and feuds of a hundred murders put to rest. Old
friendships were made whole, amid tears and reminiscences.
Beautiful maidens and gallant lads met and loved, or met and
parted. There were rapture and despair, seductions and abductions,
pursuits, tragic deaths, virtue blighted and fuel for new
vendettas.

The clansmen along the west coast, when the mood came on them,
crossed the channel to Troicinet, where they performed mischiefs,
including pillage, rape, murder and kidnap.

King Granice had long and often protested the acts to King Yvar
Excelsus, who replied in effect that the incursions represented
little more than youthful exuberance. He implied that in his
opinion the better part of dignity was simply to ignore the
nuisances and that, in any event, King Yvar Excelsus knew no
practical method of abatement.

Port Mel, at the eastern tip of Troicinet, each year celebrated
the summer solstice with a three-day festival and a Grand Pageant.
Retherd, the young and foolish Duke of Malvang, in the company of
three roistering friends, visited the festival incognito. At the
Grand Pageant, they agreed that the maidens who represented the
Seven Graces were remarkably charming, but could form no consensus
as to which was supreme. Thev discussed the matter well into the
evening over wine, and at last, to resolve the matter in a
practical way, kidnapped all seven of the maidens and took them
across the water to Malvang.



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Duke Retherd was recognized and the news swiftly reached King
Granice.

Wasting no time in a new complaint to King Yvar Excelsus, King
Granice landed an army of a thousand warriors on Scola, destroyed
Retherd's castle, rescued the maidens, gelded the duke and his
cronies, then, for good measure, burned a dozen coastal villages.

The three remaining dukes assembled an army of three thousand and
attacked the Troice encampment. King Granice had secretly
reinforced his expeditionary army with two hundred knights and
four hundred heavy cavalry. The undisciplined clansmen were
routed; the three dukes were captured and King Granice controlled
Scola.

Yvar Excelsus issued an intemperate ultimatum: King Granice must
withdraw all troops, pay an indemnity of one hundred pounds of
gold, rebuild Malvang Castle and put a bond of another hundred
pounds of gold to insure no further offenses against the Kingdom
of Dascinet.

King Granice not only rejected the ultimatum but decreed
annexation of Scola to Troicinet. King Yvar Excelsus raged,
expostulated, then declared war. He might not have acted so
strongly had he not recently signed a treaty of mutual assistance
with King Casmir of Lyonesse.

At the time King Casmir had thought only to strengthen himself for
his eventual confrontation with Dahaut, never expecting to be
embroiled in trouble not of his own choosing, especially a war
with Troicinet.

King Casmir might have extricated himself by one pretext or
another had not the war, upon due reflection, seemed to promise
advantage.

King Casmir weighed all aspects of the situation. Allied with
Dascinet he might base his armies on Dascinet, then thrust with
all force across Scola against Troicinet, and thereby neutralize
Troice sea-power, which was otherwise invulnerable.


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King Casmir made a fateful decision. He commanded seven of his
twelve armies to Bulmer Skeme. Then, citing past sovereignty,
present complaints and his treaty with King Yvar Excelsus, he
declared war upon King Granice of Troicinet.

King Yvar Excelsus had acted in a fit of fury and drunken bravado.
When he became sober he perceived the error of his strategy, which
neglected an elemental fact: he was outmatched by the Troice in
every category: numbers, ships, military skills and fighting
spirit. He could take comfort only in his treaty with Lyonesse,
and was correspondingly cheered by King Casmir's ready
participation in the war.

The marine               transport of Lyonesse and Dascinet assembled at Bulmer
Skeme; and               there, at midnight, the armies of Lyonesse embarked and
sailed for               Dascinet. They discovered, first, contrary winds; then
at dawn, a               fleet of Troice warships.

In the space of two hours half of the overloaded ships of Lyonesse
and Dascinet were either sunk or broken on the rocks, with a loss
of two thousand men. The lucky half fled back downwind to Bulmer
Skeme and grounded on the beach.

Meanwhile a miscellaneous flotilla of Troice merchant ships,
coastal cogs and fishing vessels, loaded with Troice troops, put
into Arquensio, where they were hailed as Lyonesse troops. By the
time the mistake was discovered, the castle had been taken and
King Yvar Excelsus captured.

The war with Dascinet was over. Granice declared himself King of
the Outer Islands, a realm still not so populous as either
Lyonesse or Dahaut, but which held in total control the Lir and
the Cantabrian Gulf.

The war between Troicinet and Lyonesse was now an embarrassment
for King Casmir. He proposed a cessation of hostilities and King
Granice agreed, subject to certain terms: Lyonesse must cede the
Duchy of Tremblance, at the far west of Lyonesse, beyond the
Troagh, and undertake to build no warships by which it might again


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threaten Troicinet.

King Casmir predictably rejected such harsh conditions, and warned
of bitter consequences if King Granice persisted in his
unreasonable hostility.

King Granice responded, "Let it be remembered: I, Granice,
instituted no war upon you. You, Casmir, made wanton war upon me.
You were dealt a great and just defeat. Now you must suffer the
consequences. You have heard my terms. Accept them or continue a
war which you cannot win and which will cost you dearly in men,
resources and humiliation. My terms are realistic. I require the
Duchy of Tremblance to protect my ships from the Ska. I can land a
great force at Cape Farewell when so I choose; be warned."

King Casmir responded in tones of menace: "On the basis of a small
and temporary success, you challenge the might of Lyonesse. You
are as foolish as you are arrogant. Do you think that you can
outmatch our great power? I now declare a proscription against you
and all your lineage; you will be hunted as criminals and killed
on sight. I have no more words for you."

King Granice replied to the message with the force of his navy. He
blockaded the coast of Lyonesse so that not so much as a fishing
boat could safely navigate the Lir. Lyonesse took its subsistence
from the land, and the blockade meant only nuisance and a
continuing affront which King Casmir was powerless to rebuff.

In his turn, King Granice could inflict no great damage upon
Lyonesse. Harbors were few and well-defended. Additionally, Casmir
maintained a vigilant shore-watch and employed spies, in both
Dascinet and Troicinet. Meanwhile, Casmir assembled a council of
shipwrights, and charged them to build swiftly and well a fleet of
warships to defeat the Troice.

In the estuary of the River Sime, the best natural harbor of all
Lyonesse, twelve keels went on the ways, and as many more at
smaller yards on the shores of Bait Bay in the Duchy of Fetz.

One moonless night along the Sime, when the ships were framed,


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planked and ready for launching, six Troice galleys stealthily
entered the estuary and, despite fortifications, garrisons and
watches, burned the shipyards. Simultaneously Troice raiders
landed in small boats along the shores of Bait Bay, burning
shipyards, boats on the ways, and a great stock of timber planks.
Casmir's plans for a quick armada went glimmering.

In the Green Parlor at Haidion King Casmir breakfasted alone on
pickled eel, boiled eggs and scones, then leaned back to ponder
his many affairs. The defeat at Bulmer Skeme and its anguish had
receded; he was able to assess the aftermath with at least a
degree of dispassion.

All in all, there seemed to be scope for cautious optimism. The
blockade was a provocation and an insult which for the nonce, in
the interests of dignity, he must passively accept. In due course
he would inflict harsh retribution, but for the present he must
proceed with his grand design: in short, the defeat of King Audry
and restoration of the throne Evandig to Haidion.

Dahaut was most vulnerable to attack from the west: so to bypass
the line of forts along the Pomperol border. The avenue of such an
invasion led north from Nolsby Sevan, past the castle Tintzin
Fyral, then north along that road known as the Trom-pada, into
Dahaut. The route was blocked by two staunch fortresses: Kaul
Bocach, at the Gates of Cerberus, and Tintzin Fyral itself. A
South Ulfish garrison guarded Kaul Bocach, but King Oriante of
South Ulfland, in fear of Casmir's displeasure, had already
granted Casmir and his armies freedom of passage.

Tintzin Fyral alone stood athwart Casmir's ambition. Tintzin Fyral
reared high above two gorges and controlled both the Trompada and
the way through Vale Evander into South Ulfland. Faude Carfilhiot,
who ruled Vale Evander from his impregnable eyrie, in vanity and
arrogance, recognized no master, least of all his nominal
sovereign King Oriante.

An under-chamberlain entered the Green Parlor. He bowed before
King Casmir. "Sir, a person waits upon your pleasure. He names
himself Shimrod and is here, so he declares, at your Majesty's


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orders."

Casmir straightened in his chair. "Bring him here."

The under-chamberlain retired, to return with a tall young man of
spare physique, wearing a smock and trousers of good cloth, low
boots and a dark green cap which he doffed to reveal thick dust-
colored hair, cut at ear-level after the fashion of the day. His
features were regular, if somewhat gaunt: a thin nose, a bony jaw
and chin, with a wide crooked mouth and bright gray eyes which
gave him a look of droll and easy self-possession, in which there
was perhaps not quite enough reverence and abnegation to please
King Casmir..

"Sir," said Shimrod, "I am here in response to your urgent
request."

Casmir surveyed Shimrod with compressed mouth and head skeptically
aslant. "For a fact, you are not as I expected you to be."

Shimrod made a polite gesture, disclaiming responsibility for King
Casmir's perplexity.

King Casmir pointed to a chair. "Be seated, if you will." He
himself rose and went to stand with his back to the fire. "I am
told that you are trained in magic."

Shimrod nodded. "Tongues will wag, at every departure from the
ordinary."

Casmir smiled somewhat thinly. "Well then: are these reports
accurate?"

"Your majesty, magic is a taxing discipline. Some persons have
easy and natural abilities; I am not one of them. I am a careful
student of the techniques, but that is not necessarily a measure
of my competence."

"What then is your competence?"



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"Compared to that of the adepts, the ratio is, let us say, one to
thirty."

"You are acquainted with Murgen?"

"I know him well."

"And he has trained you?"

"To a certain extent."

King Casmir kept his impatience under control. Shimrod's airy
mannerisms skirted safely around the far edge of insolence; still,
Casmir found them irritating, and his response to questions with
precise but minimal information made conversation tiresome. Casmir
spoke on in an even voice.

"As you must know, our coast is blockaded by the Troice. Can you
suggest how I might break this blockade?"

Shimrod reflected a moment. "Everything considered, the simplest
way is to make peace."

"No doubt." King Casmir pulled at his beard; magicians were odd
folk. "I prefer a method, possibly more complicated, which will
advance the interests of Lyonesse."

"You would have to counter the blockade with a superior force."

"Exactly so. That is the crux of my difficulty. I have thought to
enlist the Ska as allies, and I wish you to foretell the
consequences of such an act."

Shimrod smilingly shook his head. "Your Majesty, few magicians can
read the future. I am not one of them. Speaking as a man of
ordinary common sense, I would advise you against such an act. The
Ska have known ten thousand years of travail; they are a harsh
folk. Like you, they intend to dominate the Elder Isles. Invite
them into the Lir, give them bases, and they will never depart. So
much is obvious."


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King Casmir's gaze narrowed; he was seldom dealt with so briskly.
Still, so he reasoned, Shimrod's manner might well be a measure of
his candor; no one attempting to dissemble would use quite so easy
a tone. He asked in a carefully neutral voice: "What do you know
of Tintzin Fyral the castle?"

"This is a place I have never seen. It is said to be impregnable,
as I am sure you already know."

King Casmir gave a crisp nod. "I have also heard that magic is
part of its defense."

"As to that I can't say. It was built by a lesser magician, Ugo
Golias, so that he might rule Vale Evander, secure from the
syndics of Ys."

"Then how did Carfilhiot gain the property?"

"In this regard I can only repeat rumor."

King Casmir, with an impassive gesture, indicated that Shimrod was
to proceed.

"Carfilhiot's own lineage is a matter of doubt," said Shimrod.
"It's quite possible that he was sired by the sorcerer Tamurello
upon the witch Desmei. Still, nothing is known certainly except
that first Desmei disappeared, then Ugo Golias, with all of his
staff, as if devils had snatched them away, and the castle was
empty until Carfilhiot arrived with a troop of soldiers and took
possession."

"It would seem that he also is a magician."

"I think not. A magician would conduct himself differently."

"Then you are acquainted with him?"

"Not at all. I have never seen him."



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"Still, you appear to be familiar with his background and
personality."

"Magicians are as prone to gossip as anyone else, especially when
the subject is as notorious as Carfilhiot."

King Casmir pulled a bell-cord; two footmen entered the parlor
with wine, nuts and sweetmeats which they arranged upon the table.
King Casmir seated himself across the table from Shimrod. He
poured two goblets of wine, one of which he tendered to Shimrod.

"My best respects to your Majesty," said Shimrod.

King Casmir sat looking into the fire. He spoke thoughtfully.
"Shimrod, my ambitions are perhaps no secret. A magician such as
yourself could provide me invaluable aid. You would find my
gratitude commensurate."

Shimrod twirled the goblet of wine and watched the spin of the
dark liquid. "King Audry of Dahaut has made the same approach to
Tamurello. King Yvar Excelsus sought the aid of Noumique. All
refused, by reason of Murgen's great edict, which applies no less
to me."

"Pah!" snapped King Casmir. "Does Murgen's authority transcend all
other?"

"In this regard—yes."

King Casmir grunted. "Still you have spoken without any apparent
restraint."

"I have only advised you as might any reasonable man."

King Casmir rose abruptly to his feet. He tossed a purse upon the
table. "That will reimburse your service."

Shimrod turned out the purse. Five golden crowns rolled forth.
They became five golden butterflies which fluttered into the air
and circled the parlor. The five became ten, twenty, fifty, a


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hundred. All at once they dropped to cluster upon the table, where
they became a hundred gold crowns.

Shimrod took five of the coins, returned them to the purse, which
he placed in his pouch. "I thank your Majesty." He bowed and
departed the chamber.

Odo, Duke of Folize, rode with a small company north through the
Troagh, a dreary land of crags and chasms, into South Ulf-land,
past Kaul Bocach where opposing cliffs pressed so close together
that three men could not ride abreast.

A fan of small waterfalls fell into the defile to become the south
fork of the Evander River; road and river proceeded north side by
side. Ahead rose a massive crag: the Tooth of Cronus, or the Tac
Tor. Down through a gorge came the north fork of the Evander. The
two forks joined and passed between the Tac Tor and the crag which
supported the castle Tintzin Fyral.

Duke Odo announced himself at a gate and was conducted up a zig-
zag road into the presence of Faude Carfilhiot.

Two days later he departed and returned the way he had come to
Lyonesse Town. He alighted in the Armory yard, shook the dust from
his cloak and went directly to an audience with King Casmir.

Haidion, at all times an echo chamber of rumor, immediately
reverberated to the impending visit of an important grandee, the
remarkable lord of a hundred mysteries: Faude Carfilhiot of
Tintzin Fyral.


Chapter 7

SULDRUN SAT IN THE ORANGERY with her two favorite maids-in-
waiting: Lia, daughter to Tandre, Duke of Sondbehar; and Tuissany,
daughter to the Earl of Merce. Lia already had heard much talk of
Carfilhiot. "He is tall and strong, and is proud as a demigod! His
gaze is said to fascinate all who look upon him!"



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"He would seem an imposing man," said Tuissany, and both girls
looked sidewise at Suldrun, who twitched her fingers.

"Imposing men take themselves too seriously," said Suldrun. "Their
talk is mostly orders and complaints."

"There is much else!" declared Lia. "It comes from my seamstress,
who heard the conversation of Lady Pedreia. It seems that Faude
Carfilhiot is the most romantic of men. Each evening he sits in a
high tower watching the stars rise, pining."

"'Pining'? For what?"

"For love."

"And who is the haughty maiden who causes him such pain?"

"That is the curious part. She is imaginary. He worships this
maiden of his dreams."

"I find this hard to believe," said Tuissany. "I suspect that he
spends more time in bed with real maidens."

"As to that I cannot say. After all, the reports may be
exaggerated."

"It will be interesting to discover the truth," said Tuissany.
"But here is your father, the king."

Lia rose to her feet as did Tuissany and more slowly Suldrun. All
performed a formal curtsy.

King Casmir sauntered forward. "Maidens, I wish to speak with the
princess on a private affair; please allow us a few moments
alone."

Lia and Tuissany withdrew. King Casmir surveyed Suldrun a long
moment. Suldrun turned half-away, a chill of apprehension at the
pit of her stomach.



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King Casmir gave a small slow nod of the head, as if in
corroboration of some private concept. He spoke in a portentous
voice. "You must know that we are expecting the visit of an
important person: Duke Carfilhiot of Vale Evander."

"I have heard so much, yes."

"You have come to marriageable age and should Duke Carfilhiot find
you pleasing, I would look favorably upon the match, and I shall
impart so much to him."

Suldrun raised her eyes to the golden-bearded face. "Father, 1 am
not ready for such an event. I have not the slightest yearning to
share a man's bed."

King Casmir nodded. "That is sentiment properly to be expected in
a maiden chaste and innocent. I am not displeased. Still, such
qualms must bend before affairs of state. The friendship of Duke
Carfilhiot is vital to our interests. You will quickly become
accustomed to the idea. Now then, your conduct toward Duke
Carfilhiot must be amiable and gracious, yet neither fulsome nor
exaggerated. Do not press your company upon him; a man like
Carfilhiot is stimulated by reserve and reluctance. Still, be
neither coy nor cold."

Suldrun cried in distress: "Father, I will not need to feign
reluctance! I am not ready for marriage! Perhaps I never shall
be!"

"Tush now." King Casmir's voice sharpened. "Modesty is all very
well in moderation, even appealing. Still, when exercised to
excess it becomes tiresome. Carfilhiot must not think you a prig.
These are my wishes; are they quite clear?"

"Father, I understand your wishes very well."                                              "Good. Make certain
that they influence your conduct."

A cavalcade of twenty knights and men-at-arms came down the Sfer
Arct and into Lyonesse Town. At their head rode Duke Carfilhiot,
erect and easy: a man with black curling hair cropped at his ears,


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a fair skin, features regular and fine, if somewhat austere, save
for the mouth, which was that of a sentimental poet.

In the Armory yard the company halted. Carfilhiot dismounted and
his horse was led away by a pair of grooms in the lavender and
green of Haidion. His retinue likewise dismounted and ranged
themselves behind him.

King Casmir descended from the upper terrace and crossed the yard.
Duke Carfilhiot performed a bow of conventional courtesy, as did
his company.

"Welcome!" spoke King Casmir. "Welcome to Haidion!"

"I am honored by your hospitality." Carfilhiot spoke in a voice
firm, rich and well-modulated but lacking timbre.

"I introduce to you my seneschal, Sir Mungo. He will show you to
your rooms. A collation is being laid and when you are refreshed
we will take an informal repast on the terrace."

An hour later Carfilhiot stepped out on the terrace. He had
changed to a robe of gray and black striped silk, with black
trousers and black shoes: an unusual garment which enhanced his
already dramatic presence.

King Casmir awaited him by the balustrade. Carfilhiot approached
and bowed. "King Casmir, already I am finding pleasure in my
visit. The palace Haidion is the most splendid of the Elder Isles.
Its prospect over city and sea is without parallel."

King Casmir spoke with stately affability. "I hope that your visit
will often be repeated. We are, after all, the closest of
neighbors."

"Precisely so!" said Carfilhiot. "Unluckily I am vexed with
problems which keep me preoccupied at home; problems happily
unknown to Lyonesse."

King Casmir raised his eyebrows. "Problems? We are by no means


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immune! I count as many problems as there are Troice in
Troicinet!"

Carfilhiot laughed politely. "In due course we must exchange
commiserations."

"I would as lief exchange problems."

"My robbers, footpads and renegade barons for your blockade of
warships? It would seem a bad bargain for both of us."

"As an inducement you might wish to include a thousand of your
Ska."

"Gladly, were they my Ska. For some odd reason they avoid South
Ulfland, though they rampage across the North blithely enough."

A pair of heralds blew a shrill sweet fanfare, to signal the
appearance of Queen Sollace and a train of her ladies.

King Casmir and Carfilhiot turned to meet her. King Casmir
presented his guest. Queen Sollace acknowledged Carfilhiot's
compliments with a bland stare, which Carfilhiot graciously
ignored.

Time passed. King Casmir became restive. He glanced over his
shoulder toward the palace ever more frequently. Finally he
muttered a few words to a footman, and another five minutes
passed.

The heralds raised their clarions and blew another fanfare. Out
upon the terrace came Suldrun at a lurching run, as if she had
been pushed; in the shadows behind her the contorted face of Lady
Desdea showed for an instant.

With a grave face Suldrun approached the table. Her gown, of a
soft pink stuff, clung close to her figure; from beneath a round
white cap soft golden curls hung to her shoulders.

Slowly Suldrun came forward, followed by Lia and Tuissany. She


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paused, looked across the terrace, brushing Carfilhiot with her
gaze. A steward approached with a tray; Suldrun and her maids took
goblets of wine, then went modestly apart, where they stood
murmuring together.

King Casmir watched under lowering brows and at last turned to Sir
Mungo, his seneschal. "Inform the princess that we wait upon her
attendance."

Sir Mungo delivered the message. Suldrun listened with a drooping
mouth. She seemed to sigh, then crossed the terrace, halted in
front of her father, and performed a somber curtsy.

In his richest tones Sir Mungo declared: "Princess Suldrun, I am
honored to introduce to you Duke Faude Carfilhiot of Vale
Evander!"

Suldrun inclined her head; Carfilhiot smilingly bowed and kissed
her hand. Then raising his head and looking into her face he said:
"Rumors of Princess Suldrun's grace and beauty have crossed the
mountains to Tintzin Fyral. I see that they were not exaggerated."

Suldrun responded in a colorless voice. "I hope you have not
heeded these rumors. I'm sure they would give me no pleasure if I
heard them."

King Casmir leaned quickly forward with lowering brows, but
Carfilhiot spoke first. "Indeed? How so?"

Suldrun refused to look toward her father. "I am made out to be
something I do not choose to be."

"You do not enjoy the admiration of men?"

"I have done nothing admirable."

"Nor has a rose, nor a sapphire of many facets."

"They are ornaments; they have no life of their own."



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"Beauty is not ignoble," said King Casmir heavily. "It is a gift
bestowed to only a few. Would anyone—even the princess
Suldrun—prefer to be ugly?"

Suldrun opened her mouth to say: "I would prefer, first of all, to
be somewhere other than here." She thought better of the remark
and closed her mouth.

"Beauty is a most peculiar attribute," Carfilhiot declared. "Who
was the first poet? It was he who invented the concept of beauty."

King Casmir gave an indifferent shrug and drank from his purple
glass goblet.

Carfilhiot continued, his voice easy and musical: "Our world is a
place terrible and wonderful, where the passionate poet who yearns
to realize the ideal of beauty is almost always frustrated."

Suldrun, her hands clasped together, studied her fingertips.
Carfilhiot said, "It would seem that you have reservations?"

"Your 'passionate poet' might well be a very tiresome companion."

Carfilhiot clapped his hand to his forehead in mock-outrage. "You
are as heartless as Diana herself. Have you no sympathy for our
passionate poet, this poor moon-struck adventurer?"

"Probably not. He seems over-emotional and self-centered, at the
very least. The emperor Nero of Rome, who danced to the flames of
his burning city, was perhaps such a 'passionate poet.'"

King Casmir made a restive movement; this sort of conversation
seemed a pointless frivolity... Still, Carfilhiot appeared to be
enjoying himself. Was it possible that timid reclusive Suldrun was
cleverer than he had supposed?

Carfilhiot addressed himself to Suldrun: "I find this conversation
most interesting. I hope that we can continue it another time?"

Suldrun replied in her most formal voice: "Truly, Duke Carfilhiot,


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my ideas are not at all profound. I would be embarrassed to
discuss them with a person of your experience."

"It shall be as you wish," said Carfilhiot. "Still, please allow
me the simple pleasure of your company."

King Casmir hastened to intervene before Suldrun's unpredictable
tongue gave offense. "Duke Carfilhiot, I notice certain grandees
of the realm who wait to be introduced."

Later King Casmir took Suldrun aside. "I am surprised by your
conduct in regard to Duke Carfilhiot! You do more harm than you
know; his good will is indispensable to our plans!"

Standing before the majestic bulk of her father, Suldrun felt limp
and helpless. She cried out in a plaintive soft voice: "Father,
please do not force me upon Duke Carfilhiot! I am frightened by
his company!"

King Casmir had prepared himself against piteous appeals. His
response was inexorable: "Bah! You are silly and unreasonable.
There are far worse matches than Duke Carfilhiot, I assure you. It
shall be as I decide."

Suldrun stood with down-turned face. She apparently had no more to
say. King Casmir swung away, marched off down the Long Gallery and
up the stairs to his chambers. Suldrun stood looking after him,
hands clenched and pressed to her sides. She turned and ran down
the gallery, out into the fading light of afternoon, up the
arcade, through the old gate and down into the garden. The sun,
hanging low in the sky, sent a somber light under a tall bank of
clouds; the garden seemed cool and remote.

Suldrun wandered down the path, past the ruins, and settled
herself under the old lime tree, arms clasped around her knees,
and considered the fate which seemed to be advancing upon her.
Beyond doubt, or so it seemed to her, Carfilhiot would choose to
wed her, take her away to Tintzin Fyral, there, at his own good
time, to explore the secrets of her body and her mind... The sun
sank into clouds; the wind blew cold. Suldrun shivered. Rising,


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she returned the way she had come, slowly, with eyes downcast. She
climbed to her chambers where Lady Desdea gave her a fretful
scolding.

"Where have you been? By the queen's command I must array you in
fine garments; there is to be a banquet and dancing. Your bath is
ready."

Suldrun passively stepped out of her clothes and into a wide
marble basin, brimming with warm water. Her maids rubbed her with
soap of olive oil and ash of aloe, then rinsed her in water
scented with lemon verbena, and dried her with soft cotton towels.
Her hair was brushed till it shone. She was dressed in a dark blue
gown and a fillet of silver, set with tablets of lapis lazuli, was
placed on her head.

Lady Desdea drew back. "That's the best I can do with you. No
doubt but what you are well-favored. Still, something is lacking.
You must use a bit of flirtation—not to excess, mind you! Let him
know that you understand what he has in mind.

Mischief in a girl is like salt on meat... Now, tincture of
foxglove, to sparkle your eyes!"

Suldrun jerked back. "I want none of it!"

Lady Desdea had learned the futility of argument with Suldrun.
"You are the most obstinate creature alive! As usual, you shall do
as you please."

Suldrun laughed bitterly. "If I did as I please, I would not be
going to the ball."

"La, then, you saucy mince." Lady Desdea kissed Suldrun on the
forehead. "I hope that life will dance to your tune... Come now,
to the banquet. I pray you, be civil to Duke Carfilhiot, since
your father hopes for a betrothal."

At the banquet King Casmir and Queen Sollace sat at the head of
the great table, with Suldrun at her father's right and Carfilhiot


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to the left of Queen Sollace.

Covertly Suldrun studied Carfilhiot. What with his clear skin,
thick black hair and lustrous eyes he was undeniably handsome:
almost to an excess. He ate and drank gracefully; his conversation
was courteous; perhaps his only affectation was modesty: he spoke
little of himself. Yet, Suldrun found herself unable to meet his
gaze, and when she spoke to him, as occasion compelled, words came
with difficulty.

Carfilhiot sensed her aversion, so she divined, and it only seemed
to stimulate his interest. He became even more fulsome, as if he
sought to overcome her antipathy by sheer perfection of gallantry.
All the while, like a chill on the air, Suldrun felt the careful
attention of her father, to such an extent that she began to lose
her composure. She bent her head over her plate, but found herself
unable to eat.

She reached for her goblet, and chanced to meet Carfilhiot's eyes.
For a moment she stared transfixed. He knows what I think, went
her thoughts. He knows—and now he smiles, as if already he owned
me... Suldrun wrenched her gaze down to her plate. Still smiling,
Carfilhiot turned to listen to the remarks of Queen Sollace.

At the ball, Suldrun thought to evade notice by mingling with her
maids-in-waiting, but to no effect. Sir Eschar, the under-
seneschal, came to seek her out and took her into the presence of
King Casmir, Queen Sollace, and Duke Carfilhiot, and other high
dignitaries. When the music started, she was convenient to the arm
of Duke Carfilhiot and dared not refuse.

In silence they stepped the measures, back and forth, bowing,
turning with graceful gesture, among colored silks and sighing
satins. A thousand candles in six massive candelabra suffused the
chamber with mellow light.

When the music stopped, Carfilhiot led Suldrun to the side of the
room, and somewhat apart. "I hardly know what to say to you,"
Carfilhiot remarked. "Your manner is so glacial as to seem
menacing."


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Suldrun replied in her most formal voice: "Sir, I am unaccustomed
to grand affairs, and in all truth they do not amuse me."

"So that you would prefer to be elsewhere?" Suldrun looked across
the chamber to where Casmir stood among the grandees of his court.
"My preferences, whatever they may be, seem to be of consequence
only to myself. So I have been given to understand."

"Surely you are mistaken! I, for one, am interested in your
preferences. In fact I find you most unusual."

Suldrun's only response was an indifferent shrug and Carfilhiot's
airy whimsicality for a brief moment became strained, even a
trifle sharp. "Meanwhile, your opinion of me is a person ordinary,
drab and perhaps something of a bore?" So much said in the hope of
exciting a tumble of embarrassed disclaimers.

Suldrun, looking off across the room, responded in an absentminded
voice: "Sir, you are my father's guest; I would not presume to
form such an opinion, or any opinion whatever." Carfilhiot uttered
a soft strange laugh, so that Suldrun turned in startled
puzzlement, to look as through a rift into Carfilhiot's soul,
which quickly made itself whole. Once more debonair, Carfilhiot
held out his hands, to express polite and humorous frustration.
"Must you be so aloof? Am I truly deplorable?"

Suldrun once more used cool formality. "Sir, certainly you have
given me no reason to form such judgments."

"But is that not an artificial pose? You must know that you are
admired. I for one am anxious to gain your favorable opinion."

"Sir, my father wants to marry me away. That is well-known. He
pushes me faster than I want to go; I know nothing of love or
loving."

Carfilhiot took both of her hands and compelled her to face him.
"I will reveal some arcane facts. Princesses seldom marry their
lovers. As for loving, I would willingly teach a pupil so


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innocent, and so beautiful. You would learn overnight, so to
speak."

Suldrun pulled her hands away. "Let us rejoin the others."
Carfilhiot escorted Suldrun to her place. A few minutes later she
informed Queen Sollace that she felt unwell, and slipped quietly
from the chamber. King Casmir, elevated by drink, failed to
notice.

On Derfwy Meadow, two miles south of Lyonesse Town, King Casmir
ordained a pageant and pleasure fair, to celebrate the presence of
his honored guest: Faude Carfilhiot, Duke of Vale Evander and Lord
of Tintzin Fyral. Preparations were elaborate and bountiful.
Bullocks had been turning over coals since the preceding day, with
good bastings of oil, onion juice, garlic and syrup of tamarind;
now they were done to a turn and exuded a tantalizing waft across
all the meadow. Trays nearby were heaped high with loaves of white
bread, and to the side six tuns of wine awaited only a starting of
the bungs.

Villages of the neighborhood had sent young men and women in
festival costumes; to the music of drums and pipes, they danced
jigs and kick-steps, until sweat beaded their foreheads. At noon
clowns fought with bladders and wooden swords; and somewhat later,
knights of the royal court jousted with lances tipped with leather
pillows.*

          *'The tournament in which armored knights jousted with
lances, or fought mock battles,
             had not yet evolved. Contests of this time and place
were relatively mild events:
             competitions at wrestling, horse-racing, vaulting:
events in which the aristocracy
             seldom if ever competed.

Meanwhile, the roast meat had been lifted to the carving table,
cut into slices and chunks and taken away on half-loaves of bread
by all who chose to partake of the king's bounty, while wine
bubbled happily through the spigots.



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King Casmir and Carfilhiot watched the jousting from a raised
platform, in company with Queen Sollace, Princess Suldrun, Prince
Cassander and a dozen others of rank. King Casmir and Carfilhiot
then strolled across the meadow to watch an archery contest, and
conversed to the hiss and chunk of arrow striking into butt. Two
from Carfilhiot's retinue had entered the contest and were
shooting with such proficiency that King Casmir was moved to
comment.

Carfilhiot responded: "I command a relatively small force, and all
must excel with their weapons. 1 reckon each soldier the equal of
ten ordinaries. He lives and dies by steel. Nonetheless, I envy
you your twelve great armies."

King Casmir gave a dour grunt. "Twelve armies are a fine thing to
command, and King Audry sleeps poorly on their account. Still,
twelve armies are useless against the Troice. They sail back and
forth along my shores; they laugh and joke; they pull up beside my
harbor and show me their naked backsides."

"Well beyond bow-shot, no doubt."

"Fifty yards beyond bow-shot."

"Most vexing."

King Casmir spoke weightily: "My ambitions are no secret. I must
reduce Dahaut, subdue the Ska, and defeat the Troice. I will bring
the throne Evandig and the table Cairbra an Meadhan to their
rightful places and once more the Elder Isles will be ruled by a
single king."

"That is a noble ambition," said Carfilhiot graciously. "Were I
King of Lyonesse I would strive no differently."

"The strategies are not easy. I                              can work south against the Troice,
with the Ska as allies; or into                              the Ulflands, presupposing that
the Duke of Vale Evander allows                              me thoroughfare past Tintzin
Fyral. Then my armies drive the                              Ska from the Foreshore, overawe
the Godelians and turn eastward                              into Dahaut for the climactic


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campaign. With a flotilla of a thousand ships I overwhelm
Troicinet, and the Elder Isles are once more a single kingdom,
with the Duke of Vale Evander, now Duke of South Ulfland."

"It is a pretty concept; and, I would think, feasible. My own
ambitions are not affected; indeed I am content with Vale Evander.
I have yearnings of quite a different sort. In all candor, I have
become enamored of the Princess Suldrun. I find her the most
beautiful of living creatures. Would you consider me presumptuous
if I asked her hand in marriage?"

"I would consider it a most suitable and auspicious match."

"I am happy to hear your approval. What of Princess Suldrun? She
has allowed me no conspicuous favor."

"She is somewhat fanciful. I will have a word with her. Tomorrow
you and she shall take your betrothal vows in a ceremonial rite,
and nuptials will follow in due course."

"This is a joyful prospect, for myself and, so I hope, the
Princess Suldrun as well."

Late in the afternoon the royal carriage returned to Haidion, with
King Casmir, Queen Sollace and Princess Suldrun. Riding on
horseback beside were Carfilhiot and young Prince Cassander.

King Casmir spoke to Suldrun in a ponderous voice: "Today I have
conferred with Duke Carfilhiot, and he declares himself enamored
of you. The match is advantageous and I agreed to your betrothal."

Suldrun stared aghast, her worst apprehensions realized. Finally
she found her tongue. "Sir, can you not believe me? I want no
marriage now, least of all to Carfilhiot! He does not suit me at
all!"

King Casmir brought the full impact of his round-eyed blue gaze to
bear on Suldrun. "This is niminy-piminy petulance; I will not hear
of it. Carfilhiot is a noble and handsome man! Your qualms are
over-nice. Tomorrow at noon you will pledge troth with Carfilhiot.


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In three months you shall marry. There is no more to be said."

Suldrun subsided into the cushions. The carriage rumbled along the
road, swaying on springs of layered hornbeam. Poplars beside the
road passed in front of the sun. Through tears Suldrun watched
lights and shadows playing across her father's face. In a soft
broken voice she essayed a final plea: "Father, do not force this
marriage on me!"

King Casmir listened stolidly, and turning his face away, made no
reply.

In anguish Suldrun looked to her mother for support, but saw only
waxen dislike. Queen Sollace said tartly: "You are marriageable,
as anyone with eyes can see. It is time you were away from
Haidion. With your vapors and vagaries you have brought us no
joy."

King Casmir spoke. "As a princess of Lyonesse you know neither
toil nor care. You dress in soft silk and enjoy luxuries beyond
the hopes of ordinary women. As a princess of Lyonesse you also
must bend to the dictates of policy, even as I. The marriage will
proceed. Have done with this petty diffidence and approach Duke
Carfilhiot with amiability. I will hear no more on the subject."

Upon arrival at Haidion, Suldrun went directly to her chambers. An
hour later, Lady Desdea found her staring into the fire.

"Come now," said Lady Desdea. "Moping causes the flesh to sag and
yellows the skin. Be of good cheer then! The king desires your
presence at the evening meal, in an hour's time."

"1 prefer not to go."

"Still, you must! The king has given his order. So hey nonny no!
To supper we shall go. You shall wear the dark green velvet which
becomes you so that every other woman looks a dead fish. Were I
younger I would gnash my teeth for jealousy. I cannot understand
why you sulk."



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"I have no taste for Duke Carfilhiot."

"Tush. In marriage all things alter. You may come to dote on him;
then you will laugh to think of your foolish whims. Now then—off
with your clothes! Heigh ho! Think how it will be when Duke
Carfilhiot gives the command! Sosia! Where is that flibbet of a
maid? Sosia! Brush the princess's hair, a hundred strokes to
either side. Tonight it must glisten like a river of gold!"

At the supper Suldrun tried to achieve an impersonal manner. She
tasted a morsel of stewed pigeon; she drank half a glass of pale
wine. When remarks were addressed to her she responded politely,
but clearly her thoughts were elsewhere. Once, looking up, she met
Carfilhiot's gaze, and for a moment stared into his lambent eyes
like a fascinated bird.

She shifted her gaze and broodingly studied her plate. Carfilhiot
was undeniably gallant, brave and handsome: Why then her
antipathy? She knew her instincts to be accurate. Carfilhiot was
involuted; his mind teemed with strange rancors and peculiar
inclinations. Words entered her mind as if from another source:
For Carfilhiot beauty was not to be cherished and loved, but
something to be plundered and hurt.

The ladies left for the queen's drawing-room; Suldrun quickly ran
off to her own chambers.

Early in the morning a brief rain swept in from the sea, to wash
the greenery and settle the dust. By midmorning the sun shone
through broken clouds, and sent hurrying shadows across the city.
Lady Desdea arrayed Suldrun in a white gown with a white surcoat,
embroidered in pink, yellow and green; and a small white cap
inside a golden diadem studded with garnets.

On the terrace, four precious rugs had been laid end to end, from
Haidion's ponderous main entrance to a table draped with heavy
white linen. Antique silver vases four feet tall overflowed with
white roses; the table supported the sacred chalice of the
Lyonesse kings: a silver vessel a foot tall, carved with
characters no longer intelligible to Lyonesse.


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As the sun rose toward noon, dignitaries began to appear, wearing
ceremonial robes and ancient emblems.

At noon Queen Sollace arrived. She was escorted by King Casmir to
her throne. Behind came Duke Carfilhiot, escorted bv Duke Tandre
of Sondbehar.

A moment passed. King Casmir looked toward the door,                                                   where the
Princess Suldrun should now be appearing, on the arm                                                   of her aunt,
the Lady Desdea. Instead, he glimpsed only a flutter                                                   of agitated
motion. Presently he noted the beckoning arm of Lady                                                   Desdea.

King Casmir rose from the throne and strode back to the palace
where Lady Desdea stood gesturing in confusion and bewilderment.

King Casmir looked around the foyer, then turned back to Lady
Desdea. "Where is Princess Suldrun? Why do you cause this
undignified delay?"

Lady Desdea blurted an explanation: "She was ready! She stood
there beautiful as an angel. I led the way downstairs; she
followed. I went along the gallery, and 1 had a strange feeling! I
stopped and turned to look, and she stood there, pale as a lily.
She called out something, but I could not quite hear; I think she
said: 'I cannot! No, I cannot!' And then she was gone, out the
side door and away up under the arcade! I called after her, to no
avail. She would not look back!"

King Casmir turned and walked out on the terrace. He halted,
looked around the half-circle of questioning faces. He spoke in a
harsh monotone. "I beg the indulgence of those now assembled. The
Princess Suldrun has suffered indisposition. The ceremony will not
proceed. A collation has been laid out; please partake as you
wish."

King Casmir turned and reentered the palace, Lady Desdea stood to
the side, hair in disorder, arms hanging like ropes.

King Casmir inspected her for five seconds, then stalked from the


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palace. Up the arcade, under Zoltra Bright Star's Wall, through
the timber gate and down into the old garden, he strode. Here
Suldrun sat, on a fallen column, elbows on knees and chin in her
hands.

King Casmir halted twenty feet behind her. Slowly Suldrun looked
around, eyes wide, mouth drooping.

King Casmir said: "You have come to this place in defiance of my
command."

Suldrun nodded. "1 did so: yes."

"You have marred the dignity of Duke Carfilhiot in a manner which
can know no mitigation."

Suldrun's mouth moved, but no words came. King Casmir spoke on.

"For frivolous whim you have come here rather than in dutiful
obedience to the place required by my command. Therefore, remain
in this place, both night and day, until the great hurt you have
done me is assuaged, or until you are dead. If you depart either
boldly or by stealth, you shall be slave to whomever first lays
claim to you, be he knight or peasant, loon or vagabond; no
matter! You shall be his thing."

King Casmir turned, climbed the path, passed through the gate
which closed hard behind him.

Suldrun turned slowly, face blank and almost serene. She looked
out to sea, where rays of sunlight shot through gaps in the clouds
and down at the water.

King Casmir found a silent group awaiting him on the terrace. He
looked this way and that. "Where is Duke Carfilhiot?"

Duke Tandre of Sondbehar came forward. "Sire, upon your departure
he waited one minute. Then he called for his horse, and with his
company he rode from Haidion."



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"What said he?" cried King Casmir. "Gave he no notice of any
kind?"

Duke Tandre responded, "Sire, he spoke no word."

King Casmir cast one terrible glance around the terrace, then
turned and walked on long strides back into the palace Haidion.

King Casmir brooded for a week, then uttered an angry expletive
and set himself to the composition of a letter. The final version
read:

For The Notice Of

The Noble Duke Faude Carfilhiot

At Tintzin Fyral His Castle.

Noble Sir:

With difficulty I write these words, in reference to an incident
which has given me great embarrassment. I can not properly
apologize, since I am as much victim of the circumstances as
yourself—perhaps even more. You suffered an affront which
understandably caused you exasperation. Still, there is no doubt
but what a dignity such as yours is proof against the vapours of a
captious and silly maiden. On the other hand, I have lost the
privilege of uniting our houses through a marital link. Despite
all, I can convey my sorrow that this event occurred at Haidion
and so, in this measure, marred my hospitality. I trust that in
the generous breadth of your tolerance you will continue to look
upon me as your friend and ally in mutual endeavors of the future.

With my best regards, I am

Casmir,

Lyonesse, the King.

An envoy carried the letter to Tintzin Fyral. In due course he


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returned with a response.

For The Attention Of His August Majesty Casmir, Of Lyonesse, The
King.

Revered Sir:

Be assured that the emotions I derived from the incident to which
you refer, while they arose within me—understandably I hope—like a
storm, subsided almost as quickly, and left me embarrassed for the
narrow verges of my forbearance. I agree that our personal
association should in no way be compromised by the
unpredictabilities of a young maiden's fancy. As always, you may
rely upon my sincere respect and my great hope that your proper
and legitimate ambitions may be realized. Whenever the wish comes
upon you to see something of Vale Evander, be assured that I shall
welcome the opportunity to extend to you the hospitality of
Tintzin Fyral.

I remain in all amiability, Your friend, Carfilhiot.

King Casmir studied the letter with care. Carfilhiot apparently
cherished no pangs of resentment; still, his declarations of good
will, while hearty, might have gone somewhat further and been more
specific.


Chapter 8

KING GRAXICE OF TROICINET was a man thin, grizzled and angular,
abrupt of manner and notably terse until events went awry,
whereupon he singed the air with expletives and curses. He had
greatly desired a son and heir, but Queen Baudille gave him four
daughters in succession, each born to the sound of Granice's
furious complaints. The first daughter was Lorissa, the second
Aethel, the third Ferniste, the fourth Byrin; then Baudille went
barren and Granice's brother, Prince Arbamet, became heir-
presumptive to the throne. Granice's second brother, Prince
Ospero, a man of complicated personality and somewhat frail
constitution, not only lacked ambition to the throne but so


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disliked the flavor of court life with its formality and
artificial circumstances, that he stayed almost reclusively at his
manor Water-shade, at the center of the Ceald, Troicinet's inner
plain. Ospero's spouse, Ainor, had died bearing his single son,
Aillas, who in due course grew to be a strong broad-shouldered lad
of middle stature, taut and sinewy rather than massive, with ear-
length blond-brown hair and gray eyes.

Watershade occupied a pleasant place beside Janglin Water, a small
lake with hills to the north and south and the Ceald stretching
away to the west. Originally, Watershade had served to guard the
Ceald, but three hundred years had passed since the last armed
excursion through its gates, and the defenses had fallen into a
state of picturesque disrepair. The armory was silent except for
the forging of shovels and horseshoes; the drawbridge had not been
raised within memory. The squat round towers of Watershade stood
half in the water, half on the shore with trees overhanging the
conical tiled roofs.

In the spring blackbirds flocked above the marsh and crows wheeled
in the sky, calling "Caw! Caw! Caw!" across far distances. In the
summer bees droned through the mulberry trees, and the air smelled
of reeds and water-washed willow. At night cuckoos cried in the
forest and in the morning brown trout and salmon struck at the
bait almost as soon as it touched the water. Ospero, Aillas and
their frequent guests took supper outdoors on the terrace and
watched many a glorious sunset fade over Janglin Water. In fall
the leaves turned color and the storehouses became chock-full with
the yields of harvest. In winter fires burned in all the
fireplaces and the white sunlight reflected in diamond sparkles
from Janglin Water, while the salmon and trout lay close to the
bottom and refused to strike at bait.

Ospero's temperament was poetic rather than practical. He took no
great interest either in events at the royal palace Miraldra nor
the war against Lyonesse. His bent was that of the scholar and
antiquarian. For the education of Aillas he brought savants of
high repute to Watershade; Aillas was instructed in mathematics,
astronomy, music, geography, history and literature. Prince Ospero
knew little of martial techniques, and delegated this phase of


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Aillas' education to Tauncy, his bailiff, a veteran of many
campaigns. Aillas learned the use of bow, sword and that recondite
art of the Galician bandits: knife-throwing. "This use of the
knife," stated Tauncy, "is neither courteous nor knightly. It is,
rather, the desperado's resource, a ploy of the man who must kill
to survive the evening. The thrown knife suffices to a range of
ten yards; beyond, the arrow excels. But in cramped conditions, a
battery of knives is a most comfortable companion.

"Again, I prefer the small-sword to the heavy equipment favored by
the mounted knight. With my small-sword I will maim a full-armored
man in half a minute, or kill him if I choose. It is the supremacy
of skill over brute mass. Here! Lift this two-hander, strike at
me."

Aillas dubiously hefted the sword. "I fear that I might cut you in
two parts."

"Stronger men than you have tried and who stands here to tell
about it? So swing with a will!"

Aillas struck out; the blade was deflected. He tried once more;
Tauncy wrenched and the sword flew from Aillas' hands. "Once
more," said Tauncy. "See how it goes? Flick, slide, off, away! You
may drive down the weapon with all your weight; I interpose, I
twist! the sword leaves your grasp; I stab where your armor gaps;
in goes the sword and out comes your life."

"That is a useful skill," said Aillas. "Especially against our
chicken-thieves."

"Ha! you will not keep to Watershade all your days—not with the
land at war. Leave the chicken-thieves to me. Now, to proceed. You
are sauntering along the back streets of Avallon; you step into a
tavern for a cup of wine. A great lummox claims that you have
molested his wife; he takes up his cutlass and comes at you. So
now! With your knife! Draw and throw! All in a single movement!
You advance, pull your knife from the villain's neck, wipe it on
his sleeve. If in fact you have molested the dead churl's wife,
bid her begone! The episode has quite dampened your spirit. But


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you are attacked from another side by another husband. Quick!" So
the lesson proceeded.

At the end, Tauncy said: "I consider the knife a most elegant
weapon. Even apart from its efficacy, there is beauty in its
flight, as it cleaves hard to its target; there is a spasm of
pleasure as it strikes home deep and true."

In the springtime of his eighteenth year Aillas rode somberly
forth from Watershade, never looking over his shoulder. The road
took him beside the marshes which bordered the lake, across the
Ceald and up through the hills to Green Man's Gap. Here Aillas
turned to look back across the Ceald. Far in the distance, beside
the glimmer of Janglin Water, a dark blot of trees concealed the
squat towers of Watershade. Aillas sat a moment in contemplation
of the dear familiar places he was leaving behind, and tears came
to his eyes. Abruptly he reined his horse about, rode through the
tree-shrouded gap and down Rundle River Valley.

Late in the afternoon he glimpsed the Lir ahead, and shortly
before sunset arrived at Hag Harbor under Cape Haze. He went
directly to the Sea Coral Inn where he was well-known to the
landlord, and so was provided a good meal and a comfortable
chamber for the night.

In the morning he rode westward along the coast road, and by early
afternoon arrived at the city Domreis. He paused on the heights
overlooking the city. The day was windy; the air seemed more than
transparent, like a lens transmitting minute detail with clarity.
Hob Hook, with a beard of foaming surf along its outer face,
surrounded the harbor. At the base of Hob Hook stood Castle
Miraldra, the seat of King Granice, with a long parapet extending
to a lighthouse at the end of the hook. Originally a watch-tower,
Miraldra, across the ages had been conjoined to an amazing complex
of additions: halls, galleries, a dozen towers of apparently
random mass and height.

Aillas rode down the hill, past the Palaeos, a temple sacred to
Gaea, where a pair of twelve-year-old maidens in white kirtles
tended a sacred flame. Aillas rode through the town, the hooves of


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his horse suddenly loud on the cobbled way. Past the docks, where
a dozen ships were moored, past narrow-fronted shops and taverns,
then out on the causeway to Castle Miraldra.

The outer walls loomed high above Aillas. They seemed almost
unnecessarily massive and the entrance portal, flanked by a pair
of barbicans, seemed disproportionately small. Two guards, wearing
the dress maroon and gray of Miraldra with polished silver helmets
and bright silver cuirasses, stood with halberds tilted at parade-
rest. From the barbican Aillas was recognized; heralds blew a
fanfare. The guards jerked the halberds into the erect "salute"
position as Aillas passed through the portal.

In the courtyard Aillas dismounted and gave his horse over to a
groom. Sir Este, the portly seneschal, coming to meet him,
performed a gesture of surprise. "Prince Aillas! Have you come
alone, without retinue?"

"By preference, Sir Este, 1 came alone."

Sir Este, who was notorious for his aphorisms, produced yet
another comment upon the human condition: "Extraordinary that
those who command the perquisites of place are those most ready to
ignore them! It is as if the blessings of Providence are specious
and notable only in their absence. Ah well, I refuse to
speculate."

"You are well, I trust, and enjoying your own perquisites?"

"To the fullest! I have, you must know, this deep-seated fear that
were I to neglect one of my little privileges, Providence might
become peevish and whisk them away. Come now, 1 must see to your
comfort. The king is away to Ardlemouth for the day; he inspects a
new vessel which is said to be swift as a bird." He signaled to a
footman. "Take Prince Aillas to his chamber, see to his bath and
provide him garments suitable for the court." Late in the
afternoon King Granice returned to Miraldra. Aillas met him in the
grand hall; the two embraced. "And how goes the health of my good
brother Ospero?"



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"He ventures seldom from Watershade. The outer air seems to bite
at his throat. He tires easily and goes to hard gasping, so that I
fear for his life!"

"All his years he has been frail! In any case, you seem sound
enough!"

"Sir, you also seem to enjoy the best of health."

"True, lad, and I will share with you my little secret. Every day
at this very hour I take a cup or two of good red wine. It
enriches the blood, brightens the gaze, sweetens the breath and
stiffens the frontal member. Magicians search high and low for the
elixir of life, and they already hold it in their hands, if only
they knew our little secret. Eh, lad?" And Granice clapped Aillas
on the back. "Let us invigorate ourselves."

"With pleasure, sir."

Granice led the way into a parlor hung with banners, escutcheons
and trophies of war. A fire blazed on the hearth; Granice warmed
himself while a servant poured wine into silver cups.

Granice waved Aillas to a chair, and settled himself into a chair
beside the fire. "I summoned you here for a reason. As a prince of
the blood it is time that you acquainted yourself with affairs of
state. The surest fact of this precarious existence is that one
may never stand static. In this life everyone walks on ten-foot
stilts; he must move and hop and cause an agitation; otherwise he
topples. Fight or die! Swim or drown! Run or be trampled!" Granice
drank down a cup of wine at a gulp.

"The placidity here at Miraldra then, is no more than an
illusion?" Aillas suggested.

Granice gave vent to a grim chuckle. " 'Placidity?' I know none of
it. We are at war with Lyonesse and wicked King Casmir. It is the
case of a small stopper holding back the contents of a tun. I will
not recite the number of ships patrolling the Lyonesse coast; that
number is a war secret, which Casmir's spies would be glad to


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learn, just as I would be glad to learn the number of Casmir's
spies. They are everywhere, like flies in a barn. Just yesterday I
hanged a pair, and their cadavers dangle high on Semaphore Hill.
Naturally, I employ spies of my own. When Casmir launches a new
ship I am notified, and my agents set it afire while it lies at
dock, and Casmir gnashes his teeth to the gum. So goes the war: at
a stalemate until the sluggish King Audry sees fit to intervene."

"And then?"

" 'And then?' Battle and blood, sinking ships, burning castles.
Casmir is astute, and more flexible then he might seem. He risks
little unless the gain is great. When he could not strike at us,
his thoughts went to the Ulflands. He tried to suborn the Duke of
Vale Evander. The ploy failed. Relations between Casmir and
Carfilhiot are now at best correct."

"So what will he do next?"

King Granice performed a cryptic gesture. "Ultimately, if we hold
him off long enough, he must make peace with us, at our terms.
Meanwhile, he struggles and squirms, and we try to read his mind.
We puzzle over the dispatches of our spies; we look at the world
as it must appear from the parapets of Haidion. Well, enough for
now, of plots and intrigue. Your cousin Trewan is somewhere at
hand: a stern and earnest young man, but worthy, or so I hope,
since one day, if events pursue their normal course, he will be
king. Let us step into the dining hall, where no doubt we will
discover more of this noble Voluspa."

At supper Aillas found himself seated beside Prince Trewan, who
had grown to be a burly, darkly handsome young man, a trifle heavy
in the face, with dark round eyes separated by a long patrician
nose. Trewan dressed with care, in a style consonant with his
rank; already he seemed to anticipate the day when he would become
king: which would be upon the death of his father Arbamet, if
Arbamet indeed succeeded Granice as king.

Ordinarily Aillas refused to take Trewan seriously, thus vexing
Trewan and incurring his heavy disapproval. On this occasion


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Aillas restrained his levity, that he might learn as much as
possible, and Trewan was more than ready to instruct his bucolic
cousin.

"Truly," said Trewan, "it is a pleasure to see you down from
Watershade, where time goes like a dream."

"We have little to startle us," agreed Aillas. "Last week a
kitchen-maid went to pull greens in the garden and was stung by a
bee. That was the most notable event of the week."

"Things go differently at Miraldra, I assure you. Today we
inspected a great new ship, which we hope will augment our power,
and cause Casmir a canker. Did you know that he wants to ally with
the Ska and turn them against us?" "It seems an extreme measure."

"Exactly so, and Casmir may not dare so greatly. Still, we must
prepare for any eventuality, and this has been my point of view in
the counsels."

"Tell me about the new ship."

"Well, its design comes from the seas under Arabia. The hull is
wide at the deck and narrow at the water, so that it is very easy
and stable. There are two short masts, each supporting a very long
yard at its middle point. One end of the yard is brought down to
the deck, the other lifts high to catch the upper wind. The ship
should move at speed even in light airs, in any direction
whatever. There will be catapults fore and aft and other
contrivances to foil the Ska. As soon as possible after shake-
down— mind you now, this is secret information—the King has
required that I undertake a diplomatic mission of great
importance. At the moment I can say no more. What brings you to
Miraldra?"

"I am here at King Granice's command."

"For what purpose?"

"I'm not sure."


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"Well, we shall see," said Trewan rather grandly. "I will put in a
word for you during my next conference with King Granice. It may
help your prospects and certainly can't hurt."

"That is good of you," said Aillas.

On the following day Granice, Trewan, Aillas and several others
rode out from Miraldra, through Domreis, then two miles north
along the shore to an isolated shipyard in the estuary of the
Tumbling River. The group passed through a guarded gate, then
walked along a trestle to a cove hidden from the sea by a bend of
the river.

Granice told Aillas: "We attempt secrecy, but the spies refuse to
oblige us. They come over the mountains to swarm among the
shipwrights. Some come by boat, others think to swim. We only know
of the ones we capture, but it is a good sign that they keep
coming, which tells us something of Casmir's curiosity ... There
is the vessel itself. The Saracens call this type a felucca.
Notice how low she floats! The hull is shaped like a fish and
eases through the water without stirring a wake. The riggers are
now stepping the masts." Granice pointed to a pole hanging from a
derrick. "The mast is timberline spruce which is light and
resilient. Yonder lie the yards, which are built of spruce poles
scarfed, glued and seized with iron wire and pitch to make a very
long spar tapered at each end. There are no better masts or yards
on the face of the earth, and in a week we shall put them to test.
It will be named Smaadra after the Bithne-Schasian* goddess of the
sea. Let us go aboard."

                      *One of the Third Era peoples to inhabit the Elder
Isles.

Granice led the way to the after cabin. "We are not so commodious
as on a merchantman, but the quarters suffice. Now, sit you two
yonder." Granice waved Aillas and Trewan to a bench. "Steward,
bring Sir Famet here and you may also give us refreshment."
Granice seated himself at the table and inspected the two young
men. "Trewan, Aillas: listen now with all four of your ears. You


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are presently to make a voyage aboard the Smaadra. Ordinarily a
new ship would be indulged with careful sea trials, and all its
parts tested. We shall still do so, but very hastily."

Sir Famet entered the cabin: a sturdy white-haired man with a face
chiseled from rough stone. He gave a laconic greeting to Granice
and seated himself at the table.

Granice continued his exposition. "I have had recent advice from
Lyonesse. It appears that King Casmir, writhing and casting about
like a wounded snake, has sent a secret mission to Skaghane. He
hopes for the use of a Ska fleet, if only to protect a landing of
Lyonesse troops on Troicinet. The Ska so far have committed
themselves to nothing. Neither, of course, trusts the other; each
would want to emerge with advantage. But, evidently, Troicinet
faces a grave danger. If we are defeated, so go the Elder Isles,
either to Casmir, or worse, to the Ska."

Trewan said in a portentous voice, "That is menacing news."

"It is indeed, and we must take counter-measures. If the Smaadra
behaves as we hope, six new hulls go on the ways at once. Second,
I hope to bring pressure, both military and diplomatic, to bear
against Casmir, though without any great optimism. Still, the
effort can do no harm. To this end, as soon as possible, I will
send the Smaadra with envoys first to Dahaut, Blaloc and Pomperol,
then Godelia, and finally South Ulfland. Sir Famet will command
the voyage; you, Aillas, and you, Trewan, shall be his aides. I
intend that you make this voyage not for your health, nor personal
satisfaction, nor the enhancement of your vanities, but for
education. You, Trewan, are in direct line for the throne. You
will need to learn a great deal about marine warfare, diplomacy
and the quality of life around the Elder Isles. The same applies
to Aillas, who must justify his rank and its perquisites by
service to Troicinet."

"Sir, I shall do my best," said Aillas.

"And I, no less!" declared Trewan.



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Granice nodded. "Very good; I expected no less. During this
voyage, remember well, you are under the command of Sir Fa-met.
Listen to him carefully, and profit by his wisdom. He will not
require your advice, so please reserve your opinions and theories
unless they are specifically required. In fact, on this voyage,
forget that you are princes and conduct yourselves as cadets,
unskilled and inexperienced but eager to learn. Do I make myself
clear? Trewan?"

Trewan spoke in a surly voice: "I shall obey, of course. Still, I
was under the impression—"

"Revise that impression. What of you, Aillas?"

Aillas could not help but grin. "I understand perfectly, sir. I
shall do my best to learn."

"Excellent. Now look around the ship, the two of you, while I
confer with Sir Famet."


Chapter 9

THE PRE-DAWN AIR WAS QUIET and cool; the sky showed the colors of
citron, pearl, and apricot, which were reflected from the sea. Out
from the Tumbling River estuary drifted the black ship Smaadra,
propelled across the water by its sweeps. A mile offshore, the
sweeps were shipped. The yards were raised, sails sheeted taut and
back-stays set up. With the sunrise came breeze; the ship glided
quickly and quietly into the east, and presently Troicinet had
become a shadow along the horizon.

Aillas, tiring of Trewan's company, went forward to the bow, but
Trewan sauntered after him, and took occasion to explain the
workings of the bow catapults. Aillas listened with polite
detachment; exasperation and impatience were profitless exercises
in dealing with Trewan.

"Essentially, these are no more than monstrous cross-bows," said
Trewan in the voice of one providing insights of great interest to


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a respectful child. "Their range is functionally two hundred
yards, though accuracy is compromised on a moving ship. The
tensile member is laminated of steel, ash and hornbeam, assembled
and glued in an expert and secret method. The instruments will
hurl harpoons, stones or fireballs, and are highly effective.
Eventually, and I shall see to it personally, if need be, we shall
deploy a navy of a hundred ships such as this, equipped with ten
larger and heavier catapults. There will also be supply ships, and
an admiral's flagship, with proper accommodations. I am not
particularly pleased with my present quarters. It is an absurd
little place for one of my rank." Here Trewan referred to his
cubbyhole beside the aft cabin. Aillas occupied a similar space
opposite, with Sir Famet enjoying the relatively commodious aft
cabin itself.

Aillas said in full gravity: "Perhaps Sir Famet might consider
changing berths with you, if you put it to him in a reasonable
manner."

Trewan merely spat over the rail; he found Aillas' humor at times
a trifle tart, and for the rest of the day he had nothing to say.

At sundown the winds diminished to a near calm. Sir Famet, Trewan
and Aillas took supper at a table on the rear deck, under the tall
bronze stern-lantern. Over a beaker of red wine Sir Famet relaxed
his taciturnity.

"Well then," he asked, almost expansively, "and how goes the
voyage?"

Trewan at once brought forward a set of peevish complaints, while
Aillas looked on and listened in slack-jawed wonder: how could
Trewan be so insensitive? "Well enough, or so I suppose," said
Trewan. "There is obvious room for improvement."

"Indeed?" asked Sir Famet without overmuch interest. "How so?"

"In the first place, my quarters are intolerably cramped. The
ship's designer could well have done better. By adding ten or
fifteen feet to the length of the ship, he might have provided two


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comfortable cabins instead of one; and certainly a pair of
dignified privies."

"True," said Sir Famet, blinking over his wine. "With another
thirty feet still, we might have brought valets, hairdressers and
concubines. What else troubles you?"

Trewan, absorbed in his grievances, failed to heed the tenor of
the remark. "I find the crew far too casual. They dress as they
please; they lack smartness. They know nothing of punctilio; they
take no account of my rank... Today while I was inspecting the
ship I was told to 'Move aside, sir, you are in the way'— as if I
were a squire."

No muscle of Sir Famet's hard face so much as twitched. He
considered his words, then said: "At sea as on the battlefield,
respect does not come automatically. It must be earned. You will
be judged by your competence rather than your birth. It is a
condition with which I for one am content. You will discover that
the obsequious sailor, like the over-respectful soldier, is not
the one you most want beside you in either a battle or a storm."

A trifle daunted, Trewan nevertheless argued his point. "Still, a
proper deference is ultimately important! Otherwise all authority
and order is lost, and we would live like wild animals."

"This is a picked crew. You will find them orderly indeed when the
time comes for order." Sir Famet drew himself up in his chair.
"Perhaps I should say something about our mission. The overt
purpose is to negotiate a set of advantageous treaties. Both I and
King Granice would be surprised if we did so. We will be dealing
with persons of status exceeding our own, of the most various
dispositions and all stubbornly controlled by their own
conceptions. King Deuel of Pomperol is an ardent ornithologist,
King Milo of Blaloc ordinarily consumes a gill of aquavit before
he rises from bed in the morning. The court at Avallon seethes
with erotic intrigues, and King Audry's chief catamite wields more
influence than the Lord General Sir Ermice Pro-pyrogeros. Our
policy therefore is flexible. At minimum, we hope for polite
interest and a perception of our power."


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Trewan frowned and pursed his lips. "Why be content with modesty
and half-measures? I would hope in my conversations to achieve
something closer to the maximum. I suggest that we arrange our
strategies more on these terms."

Sir Famet, tilting his head back, showed a cool thin smile to the
evening sky and drank wine from his beaker. He set the vessel down
with a thump. "King Granice and I have established both strategy
and tactics, and we will adhere to these procedures."

"Of course. Still, two minds are better than one"—Trewan spoke
past Aillas as if he were not present—"and there is clearly scope
for variation in the arrangements."

"When circumstances warrant I shall consult with Prince Aillas and
yourself. King Granice envisioned such training for you both. You
may be present at certain discussions, in which case you shall
listen, but at no time speak unless I direct you so to do. Is this
clear, Prince Aillas?"

"Sir, absolutely."

"Prince Trewan?"

Trewan performed a curt bow, whose effect he at once attempted to
ameliorate with a suave gesture. "Naturally, sir, we are under
your orders. I will not put forward my personal views; still, I
hope that you will keep me informed as to all negotiations and
commitments, since, after all, it is I who eventually must deal
with the aftermath."

Sir Famet responded with a cool smile. "In this regard, Prince
Trewan, I will do my best to oblige you."

"In that case." declared Trewan in a hearty voice, "there is no
more to be said."

Halfway through the morning an islet appeared off the port bow a
quarter of a mile away, the sheets were eased and the ship lost


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way. Aillas went to the boatswain who stood by the rail. "Why are
we stopping?"

"Yonder is Mlia, the mermen's isle. Look sharp; sometimes you will
see them on the low rocks, or even on the beach."

A raft of scrap lumber was lifted on the cargo-boom; jars of
honey, packets of raisins and dried apricots were stowed aboard;
the raft was lowered into the sea and set adrift. Looking down
through the clear water Aillas saw the flicker of pallid shapes,
an upturned face with hair floating behind. It was a strange
narrow face with limpid black eyes, a long thin nose, an
expression wild, or avid, or excited, or gleeful: there were no
precepts in Aillas' background for the comprehension of such an
expression.

For a few minutes the Smaadra floated still in the water. The raft
drifted slowly at first, then more purposefully and with small
jerks and impulses moved toward the island.

Aillas put another question to the boatswain: "What if we went to
the island with such gifts?"

"Sir, who can say? If you dared to row your boat yonder without
such gifts, you would surely find misfortune. It is wise to deal
politely with the merfolk. After all, the sea is theirs. Now then,
time to be underway. Hoy, you yonder! Trim the sheets! Over with
the helm! Let's kick up the spume!"

The days passed; landfalls were made and departures taken. Later
Aillas recalled the events of the voyage as a collage of sounds,
voices, music; faces and forms; helmets, armor, hats and garments;
reeks, perfumes and airs; personalities and postures; ports,
piers, anchorages and roadsteads. There were receptions,
audiences; banquets and balls.

Aillas could not gauge the effect of their visits. They made, so
he felt, a good impression: the integrity and strength of Sir
Famet could not be mistaken, and Trewan, for the most part, held
his tongue.


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The kings were uniformly evasive, and would consider no
commitments. Drunken King Milo of Blaloc was sober enough to point
out: "Yonder stand the tall forts of Lyonesse, where the Troice
navy exerts no strength!"

"Sir, it is our hope that, as allies, we may ease the threat of
these forts."

King Milo responded only with a melancholy gesture and raised a
tankard of aquavit to his mouth.

Mad King Deuel of Pomperol was equally indefinite. To obtain an
audience, the Troice delegation traveled to the summer palace
Alcantade, through a pleasant and prosperous land. The folk of
Pomperol, far from resenting the obsessions of their monarch,
enjoyed his antics; he was not only tolerated in his follies but
encouraged.

King Deuel's madness was harmless enough; he felt an excessive
partiality for birds, and indulged himself with absurd fancies,
some of which, by virtue of his power, he was able to make real.
He dubbed his ministers with such titles as Lord Goldfinch, Lord
Snipe, Lord Peewit, Lord Bobolink, Lord Tanager. His dukes were
Duke Bluejay, Duke Curlew, Duke Black Crested Tern, Duke
Nightingale. His edicts proscribed the eating of eggs, as a "cruel
and murderous delinquency, subject to punishment dire and stern."

Alcantade, the summer palace, had appeared to King Deuel in a
dream. Upon awakening he called his architects and ordained the
substance of his vision. As might be conjectured, Alcantade was an
unusual structure, but nonetheless a place of curious charm:
light, fragile, painted in gay colors, with tall roofs at various
levels.

Arriving at Alcantade, Sir Famet, Aillas and Trewan discovered
King Deuel resting aboard his swan-headed barge, which a dozen
young girls clad in white feathers propelled slowly across the
lake.



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In due course King Deuel stepped ashore: a small sallow man of
middle years. He greeted the envoys with cordiality. "Welcome,
welcome! A pleasure to meet citizens of Troicinet, a land of which
I have heard great things. The broad-billed grebe nests along the
rocky shores in profusion, and the nuthatch dines to satiety upon
the acorns of your splendid oaks. The great Troice horned owls are
renowned everywhere for their majesty. I confess to a partiality
for birds; they delight me with their grace and courage. But
enough of my enthusiasms. What brings you to Alcantade?"

"Your Majesty, we are the envoys of King Granice and we bear his
earnest message. When you are so disposed, I will speak it out
before you."

"What better time than now? Steward, bring us refreshment! We will
sit at yonder table. Speak now your message."

Sir Famet looked right and left at the courtiers who stood in
polite proximity. "Sir, might you not prefer to hear me in
private?"

"Not at all!" declared King Deuel. "At Alcantade we have no
secrets. We are like birds in an orchard of ripe fruit, where
everyone trills his happiest song. Speak on, Sir Famet."

"Very well, sir. I will cite certain events which disquiet King
Granice of Troicinet."

Sir Famet spoke; King Deuel listened carefully, with head cocked
to the side. Sir Famet finished his exposition. "These, sir, are
the dangers which menace us all—in the not too distant future."

King Deuel grimaced. "Dangers, everywhere dangers! I am beset on
all hands, so that often I hardly take rest of nights." King
Deuel's voice became nasal and he twitched in his chair as he
spoke. "Daily I hear a dozen pitiful cries for protection. We
guard our entire north border against the cats, stoats, and
weasels employed by King Audry. The Godelians are also a menace,
even though their roosts lie a hundred leagues distant. They breed
and train the cannibal falcons, each a traitor to his kind. To the


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west is an even more baleful threat, and I allude to Duke Faude
Carfilhiot, who breathes green air. Like the Godelians he hunts
with falcons, using bird against bird."

Sir Famet protested in a strained voice. "Still, you need fear no
actual assault! Tintzin Fyral stands far beyond the forest!"

King Deuel shrugged.                               "It is admittedly a long day's flight. But we
must face reality. I                               have named Carfilhiot a dastard; and he dared
not retort, for fear                               of my mighty talons. Now he skulks in his
toad-wallow planning                               the worst kinds of mischief."

Prince Trewan, ignoring Sir Famet's cold blue side-glance, spoke
out briskly: "Why not place the strength of those same talons
beside those of your fellow birds? Our flock shares your views in
regard to Carfilhiot and his ally King Casmir. Together we can
rebuff their attacks with great blows of talon and beak!"

"True. Someday we shall see the formation of just such a mighty
force. In the meantime each must contribute where he can. I have
cowed the squamous Carfilhiot and defied the Godelians; nor do I
spare mercy upon Audry's bird-killers. You are thereby liberated
to aid us against the Ska and sweep them from the sea. Each does
his part: I through the air; you on the ocean wave."

The Smaadra arrived at Avallon, largest and oldest city of the
Elder Isles: a place of great palaces, a university, theaters and
an enormous public bath. There were a dozen temples erected to the
glory of Mithra, Dis, Jupiter, Jehovah, Lug, Gaea, Enlil, Dagon,
Baal, Cronus and three-headed Dion of the ancient Hybrasian
pantheon. The Somrac lam Dor, a massive domed structure, housed
the sacred throne Evandig and the table Cairbra an Meadhan,
objects whose custody in olden days had legitimized the kings of
Hybras.*

          *The table, Cairbra an Meadhan, was divided into twenty-
three segments, each carved with now
            unreadable glyphs, purportedly the names of twenty-two
in the service of the fabulous King
            Mahadion. In years to come a table in the style of


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Cairbra an Meadhan would be celebrated as the
            Round Table of King Arthur.

King Audry returned from his summer palace riding in a scarlet and
gold carriage drawn by six white unicorns. On the same afternoon
the Troice emissaries were allowed an audience. King Audry, a tall
saturnine man, had a face of fascinating ugliness. He was noted
for his amours and said to be perceptive, self-indulgent, vain and
occasionally cruel. He greeted the Troice with urbanity and put
them at their ease. Sir Famet delivered his message, while King
Audry leaned back into his cushions, eyes half-closed, stroking
the white cat which had jumped into his lap.

Sir Famet concluded his statement. "Sir, that is my message to you
from King Granice."

King Audry nodded slowly. "It is a proposal with many sides and
more edges. Yes! Of course! I dearly yearn for the subjugation of
Casmir and the end of his ambitions. But before I can commit
treasure, arms and blood to such a project I must secure my
flanks. Were I to look away an instant, the Godelians would come
pounding down on me looting, burning, taking slaves. North Ulfland
is a wilderness, and the Ska have encroached upon the foreshore.
If I embroiled myself in North Ulfland against the Ska, then
Casmir would be upon me." King Audry reflected a moment, then:
"Candor is such a poor policy that we all recoil automatically
from the truth. In this case you might as well know the truth. It
is to my best interests that Troicinet and Lyonesse maintain a
stalemate."

"Daily the Ska grow stronger in North Ulfland. They too have
ambitions."

"I hold them in check with my fort Poelitetz. First the Godelians,
then the Ska, then Casmir."

"Meanwhile, what if Casmir, with the help of the Ska, takes
Troicinet?"

"A disaster for both of us. Fight well!"


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Dartweg, King of the Godelian Celts, listened to Sir Famet with a
ponderous and bland courtesy.

Sir Famet came to the end of his remarks. "That is the situation
as it seems from Troicinet. If events go with King Casmir, he will
move at last into Godelia and you will be destroyed."

King Dartweg pulled at his red beard. A Druid bent to mutter in
his ear and Dartweg nodded. He rose to his feet. "We cannot spare
the Dauts so that they may conquer Lyonesse. They would thereupon
attack us with new strength. No! We must guard our interests!"

The Smaadra sailed on, through days bright with sunlight and
nights sparkling with stars: across Dafdilly Bay, around Tawgy
Head and into the Narrow Sea, with the wind dead fair and wake
warbling up astern; then south, past Skaghane and Frehane, and
smaller islands by the dozens: cliff-girt places of forest, moor
and crag, exposed to all the winds of the Atlantic, inhabited by
multitudes of sea-birds and the Ska. On various occasions Ska
ships were sighted, and as many of the small trading cogs, Irish,
Cornish, Troice or Aquitanian, which the Ska suffered to ply the
Narrow Sea. The Ska ships made no effort to close, perhaps because
the Smaadra clearly was able to outrun them down a fresh wind.

Oaldes, where ailing King Oriante maintained a semblance of a
court, was passed by; the final port of call would be Ys at the
mouth of the Evander, where the Forty Factors preserved the
independence of Ys against Carfilhiot.

Six hours out of Ys the wind slackened and at this time a Ska long-
ship, powered by sweeps and a red and black square sail came in
view. Upon sighting the Smaadra it changed course. The Smaadra,
unable to outrun the Ska ship, prepared for battle. The catapults
were manned and armed, fire-pots prepared and slung to booms;
arrow-screens raised above the bulwarks.

The battle went quickly. After a few arrow volleys the Ska moved
in close and tried to grapple.



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The Troice returned the arrow fire, then winged out a boom and
slung a fire-pot accurately onto the long-ship, where it exploded
in a terrible surprise of yellow flame. At a range of thirty yards
the Smaadra's catapults in a leisurely fashion broke the long-ship
apart. The Smaadra stood by to rescue survivors but the Ska made
no attempt to swim from the wallowing hulk of their once-proud
ship, which presently sank under the weight of its loot.

The Ska commander, a tall black-haired man in a three-pronged
steel helmet and a white cap over the pangolin scales of his
armor, stood immobile on the afterdeck and so sank with his ship.

Casualties aboard the Smaadra were slight; unfortunately they
included Sir Famet, who, in the initial volley, took an arrow in
the eye and now lay dead on the afterdeck, with the arrow shaft
protruding from his head two feet into the air.

Prince Trewan, conceiving himself the second ranking member of the
delegation, took command of the ship. "Into the sea with our
honored dead," he told the captain. "The rites of mourning must
wait upon our return to Domreis. We will proceed as before, to
Ys."

The Smaadra approached Ys from the sea. At first nothing could be
seen but a line of low hills parallel to the shore, then, like
shadows looming through the haze, the high serrated outline of the
Teach tac Teach* appeared.

                      *Literally: 'peak on peak' in one of the precursor
tongues.

A wide pale beach gleamed in the sunlight, with a glistening
fringe of surf. Presently the mouth of the River Evander appeared
beside an isolated white palace on the beach. Aillas' attention
was caught by its air of seclusion and secrecy, and its unusual
architecture, which was like none other of his experience.

The Smaadra entered the Evander estuary, and gaps in the dark
foliage shrouding the hills revealed many more white palaces, on
terrace above terrace: clearly Ys was a rich and ancient city.   A


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stone jetty came into view, with ships moored alongside, and,
behind, a row of shops: taverns, green-grocers' booths, and fish-
mongers' stalls.

The Smaadra eased close to the jetty, made fast to wooden bollards
carved to represent the torsos of mermen. Trewan, Ail-las and a
pair of ship's officers jumped ashore. No one took notice of their
presence.

Trewan had long since placed himself thoroughly in command of the
voyage. By various hints and signals he gave Aillas to understand
that, in the context of the present business, Aillas and the
ship's officers occupied an exactly equal standing as members of
the retinue. Aillas, sourly amused, accepted the situation without
comment. The voyage was almost over and Trewan in all probability,
for better or worse, would be the future king of Troicinet.

At Trewan's behest, Aillas made inquiries, and the group was
directed to the palace of Lord Shein, the First Factor of Ys. The
route took them a quarter-mile at a slant up the hillside, from
terrace to terrace, in the shade of tall samfire trees.

Lord Shein received the four Troice with neither surprise nor
effusive demonstration. Trewan performed the introductions. "Sir,
I am Trewan, Prince at the Court of Miraldra and nephew to King
Granice of Troicinet. Here is Sir Leves, and Sir Elmoret, and here
my cousin, Prince Aillas of Watershade."

Lord Shein acknowledged the introductions informally. "Please be
seated." He indicated settees and signaled his servants to bring
refreshment. He himself remained standing: a slender olive-skinned
man of early maturity, dark-haired, who carried himself with the
elegance of a mythical dawn-dancer. His intelligence was obvious;
his manners were courteous but so in contrast to Trewan's
sententiousness that he seemed almost frivolous.

Trewan explained the business of the delegation as he had heard
Sir Famet put it on previous occasions: to Aillas' mind, an
insensitive misreading of conditions at the city Ys, what with
Faude Carfilhiot looming above Vale Evander only twenty miles east


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and Ska ships daily visible from the jetty.

Shein, half-smiling, shook his head and gave Trewan's proposals
short shrift. "Understand, if you will, that Ys is something of a
special case. Normally we are subject to the Duke of Vale Evander,
who in equal measure is a dutiful vassal of King Oriante. Which is
to say, we heed Carfilhiot's orders even less than he obeys King
Oriante. Not at all, in sheer fact. We are detached from the
politics of the Elder Isles. King Casmir, King Audry, King
Granice: they are all beyond our concerns."

Trewan made an incredulous expostulation. "You would seem to be
vulnerable on both sides, to Ska and Carfilhiot alike."

Shein, smiling, demolished Trewan's concept. "We are Trevenas,
like all the folk of the vale. Carfilhiot has only a hundred men
of his own. He could raise a thousand or even two thousand troops
from the valley if a clear need arose, but never to attack Ys."

"Still, what of the Ska? On a moment's notice, they could overrun
the city."

Shein once again demurred. "We Trevenas are an old race, as old as
the Ska. They will never attack us."

"1 cannot "understand this," muttered Trewan. "Are you magicians?"

"Let us talk of other matters. You are returning to Troicinet?"

"At once."

Shein looked quizzically around the group. "With absolutely no
offense intended, I am perplexed that King Granice sends what
appears a rather junior group on affairs of so much consequence.
Especially in view of his special interests here in South
Ulfland."

"What special interests are these?"

"Are they not clear? If Prince Quilcy dies without issue, Granice


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is next in the lawful succession, through the line that starts
with Danglish, Duke of South Ulfland, who was grandfather to
Granice's father and also grandfather to Oriante. But surely you
were well aware of all this?"

"Yes, of course," said Trewan. "Naturally we keep abreast of such
matters."

Shein was now openly smiling. "And naturally you are aware of the
new circumstances in Troicinet?"

"Naturally," said Trewan. "We are returning to Domreis at once."
He rose to his feet and bowed stiffly. "I regret that you could
not take a more positive attitude."

"Still, it will have to serve. I bid you a pleasant voyage home."

The Troice emissaries returned down through Ys to the jetty.
Trewan muttered: "What could he mean 'new circumstances in
Troicinet?'"

"Why didn't you ask him?" asked Aillas, in a studiously neutral
voice.

"Because I chose not to do so," snapped Trewan.

Upon reaching the jetty they noticed a Troice cog, newly arrived
and only just making its lines fast to the bollards.

Trewan stopped short. "I'll just have a word with the captain. You
three prepare the Smaadra for immediate sailing."

The three returned aboard the Smaadra. Ten minutes later Trewan
left the cog and came along the jetty, walking with a slow and
thoughtful step. Before boarding, he turned and looked up Vale
Evander. Then slowly he turned and boarded the Smaadra.

Aillas asked: "What were the new circumstances?"

"The captain could tell me nothing."


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"You seem suddenly very glum."

Trewan compressed his lips but had no comment to make. He scanned
the horizon. "The cog lookout sighted a pirate ship. We must be on
the alert." Trewan turned away. "I am not altogether well; I must
rest." He lurched away to the aft cabin which he had occupied
since the death of Sir Famet.

The Smaadra departed the harbor. As they passed the white palace
on the beach, Aillas, from the afterdeck, noticed a young woman
who had come out upon the terrace. Distance blurred her features,
but Aillas was able to make out her long black hair, and, by her
carriage or some other attribute, he knew her to be well-favored,
perhaps even beautiful. He raised his arm and waved to her, but
she made no response and returned into the palace.

The Smaadra put out to sea. The lookouts scanned the horizon but
reported no other shipping; the pirate vessel, if such indeed
existed, was nowhere to be seen.

Trewan failed to reappear on deck until noon of the following day.
His indisposition, whatever its source, had departed and Trewan
seemed once more in sound health, if still somewhat gaunt and
pale. Except for a few words with the captain as to the progress
of the ship, he spoke to no one, and presently returned to his
cabin, where the steward brought him a pot of boiled beef with
leeks.

An hour before sunset Trewan once more stepped out on deck. He
looked at the low sun and asked the captain: "Why do we sail this
course?"

"Sir, we have made a bit too much easting. Should the wind rise or
shift, we might well fall in peril of Tark, which I put yonder,
just over the horizon."

"Then we are having a slow passage."

"Something slow, sir, but easy. I see no occasion to man the


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sweeps."

"Quite so."

Aillas took supper with Trewan, who suddenly became talkative and
formulated a dozen grandiose plans. "When I am King, I shall make
myself known as 'Monarch of the Seas!' I will build thirty
warships, each with a complement of a hundred mariners." He went
on to describe the projected ships in detail. "We will care never
a fig whether Casmir allies himself with the Ska or the Tartars,
or the Mamelukes of Araby."

"That is a noble prospect."

Trewan disclosed even more elaborate schemes. "Casmir intends to
be King of the Elder Isles; he claims lineage from the first Olam.
King Audry also pretends to the same throne; he has Evandig to
validate his claim. I also can claim lineage from Olam, and if I
were to make a great raid and take Evandig for my own, why should
I not aspire to the same realm?"

"It is an ambitious concept," said Aillas. And many heads would be
lopped before Trewan achieved his purpose, so thought Aillas.

Trewan glanced sidewise at Aillas from under his heavy brows. He
drank a goblet of wine at a gulp and once more became taciturn.
Presently Aillas went out on the afterdeck where he leaned on the
taff-rail and watched the afterglow and its shifting reflections
on the water. In another two days the voyage would be over, and he
would be done with Trewan and his irritating habits: a joyful
thought!... Aillas turned away from the taff-rail and went forward
to where the off-watch crew sat under a flaring lamp, a few
gambling dice, one singing mournful ballads to the chords of his
lute. Aillas remained half an hour, then went aft to his
cubbyhole.

Dawn found the Smaadra well into the Straits of Palisidra. At noon
Cape Palisidra, the western tip of Troicinet, loomed into view,
then disappeared, and the Smaadra now rode the waters of the Lir.



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During the afternoon the wind died, and the Smaadra floated
motionless, with spars rattling and sails flapping. Toward sunset
the wind returned, but from a different quarter; the captain put
the ship on a starboard tack, to sail almost due north. Trewan
gave vent to his dissatisfaction. "We'll never make Domreis
tomorrow on this course!"

The captain, who had adjusted to Trewan only with difficulty, gave
an indifferent shrug. "Sir, the port tack takes us into the
Twirles: 'the ships' graveyard.' The winds will drive us to
Domreis tomorrow, if the currents do not throw us off."

"Well then, what of these, currents?"

"They are unpredictable. The tide flows in and out of the Lir; the
currents may swing us in any of four directions. They flow at
speed; they eddy in the middle of the Lir; they have thrown many
sound ships on the rocks."

"In that case, be vigilant! Double the lookout!"

"Sir, all that needs doing already has been done."

At sunset the wind died again and the Smaadra lay motionless.

The sun set into smoky orange haze, while Aillas dined with Trewan
in the aft cabin. Trewan seemed preoccupied, and spoke hardly a
word during the entire meal, so that Aillas was glad to depart the
cabin.

The afterglow was lost in a bank of clouds; the night was dark.
Overhead the stars shone with brilliance. A chilly breeze suddenly
sprang up from the southeast; close-hauled the Smaadra beat to the
east.

Aillas went forward, to where the off-watch entertained itself.
Aillas joined the dice game. He lost a few coppers, then won them
back, then finally lost all the coins in his pocket.

At midnight the watch changed; Aillas returned aft. Rather than


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immerse himself immediately in his cubbyhole he climbed up the
ladder to the afterdeck. Breeze still filled the sails; wake,
sparkling and streaked with phosphorescence, bubbled up a-stern.
Leaning on the taff-rail Aillas watched the flickering lights.

A step behind him, a presence. Arms gripped his legs; he was
lifted and flung into space. He knew a brief sensation of tilting
sky and whirling stars, then struck into water. Down, down, into
the tumble of wake, and his chief emotion was still astonishment.
He rose to the surface. All directions were the same; where was
the Smaadra? He opened his mouth to yell, and took a throatful of
water. Gasping and coughing, Aillas called out once more but
produced only a dismal croak. The next attempt was stronger, but
thin and weak, hardly more than the cry of a sea-bird.

The ship was gone. Aillas floated alone, at the center of his
private cosmos. Who had cast him into the sea? Trewan? Why should
Trewan do such a deed? No reason whatever. Then: who?... The
speculations faded from his mind; they were irrelevant, part of
another existence. His new identity was one with the stars and the
waves... His legs felt heavy; he twisted in the water, removed his
boots, and let them sink. He slipped out of his doublet, which was
also heavy. Now he remained afloat with less effort. The wind blew
from the south; Aillas swam with the wind at his back, which was
more comfortable than with the waves breaking into his face. The
waves lifted him, and carried him forward on their surge.

He felt at ease; his mood was almost exalted, even though the
water, at first cold, then tolerable, once more seemed chilly.
With disarming stealth, he began to feel comfortable again. Aillas
felt at peace. It would be easy now to relax, to slide away into
languor.

If he slept, he would never awaken. Worse, he would never discover
who had thrown him into the sea. "I am Aillas of Watershade!"

He exerted himself; he moved his arms and legs to swim; and once
again became uncomfortably cold. How long had he floated in this
dark water? He looked up to the sky. The stars had shifted;
Arcturus was gone and Vega hung low in the west... For a period


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the first level of consciousness departed and he knew only a
bleary awareness which started to flicker and go out... Something
disturbed him. A quiver of sentience returned. The eastern sky
glowed yellow; dawn was at hand. The water around him was black as
iron. Off to the side, a hundred yards away, water foamed around
the base of a rock. He looked at it with sad interest, but wind
and waves and current carried him past.

A roaring sound filled his ears; he felt a sudden harsh impact,
then he was sucked away by a wave, picked up and thrown against
something cruelly sharp. With numb arms and sodden fingers he
tried to cling, but another surge pulled him away.


Chapter 10

DURING THE REIGNS OF OLAM I, Great King of the Elder Isles, and
his immediate successors, the throne Evandig and the sacred stone
table Cairbra an Meadhan occupied place in Haidion. Olam III, "the
Vain," moved throne and table to Avallon. This act and its
consequences came about as an oblique result of discord among the
arch-magicians of the land. At this time they numbered eight:
Murgen, Sartzanek, Desmei, Myolander, Baibal-ides, Widdefut,
Coddefut and Noumique.* Murgen was reckoned first among his
fellows, by no means to the satisfaction of all. Sartzanek in
particular resented Murgen's austere inflexibility, while Desmei
deplored his strictures against meddling with affairs of the
countryside, which was her sport.

         *Whenever the magicians met together, another appeared: a
tall shape muffled in a long black cape,
           with a wide-brimmed black hat obscuring his features.
He stood always back in the shadows                        and
never spoke; when one or another of the magicians chanced to look
into his face they saw
          black emptiness with a pair of far stars where his eyes
might be. The presence of the ninth magician
          (if such he were) at first made for uneasiness, but in
due course, since the presence seemed to affect
          nothing, he was ignored, save for occasional side-


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glances.

Murgen made his residence at Swer Smod, a rambling stone manse in
the northwest part of Lyonesse, where the Teach tac Teach sloped
down into the Forest of Tantrevalles. He based his edict on the
thesis that any assistance rendered to a favorite must sooner or
later transgress upon the interests of other magicians.

Sartzanek, perhaps the most capricious and unpredictable of all
the magicians, resided at Faroli, deep inside the forest, in the
then Grand Duchy of Dahaut. He long had resented Murgen's
prohibitions, and contravened them as flagrantly as he dared.

Sartzanek occasionally conducted erotic experiments with the witch
Desmei. Stung by the derision of Widdefut, Sartzanek retaliated
with the Spell of Total Enlightenment, so that Widdefut suddenly
knew everything which might be known: the history of each atom of
the universe, the devolvements of eight kinds of time, the
possible phases of each succeeding instant; all the flavors,
sounds, sights, smells of the world, as well as percepts relative
to nine other more unusual senses. Widdefut became palsied and
paralyzed and could not so much as feed himself. He stood
trembling in confusion until he dessicated to a wisp and blew away
on the wind.

Coddefut made an indignant protest, exciting Sartzanek to such a
rage that he put by all caution and destroyed Coddefut with a
plague of maggots. Coddefut's entire surface seethed under an inch-
thick layer of worms, to such effect that Coddefut lost control of
his wisdom and tore himself to pieces.

The surviving magicians, with the exception of Desmei, invoked
pressures which Sartzanek could not repugn. He was compressed into
an iron post seven feet tall and four inches square, so that only
upon careful scrutiny might his distorted features be noted. This
post was similar to the post at Twitten's Corner. The Sartzanek
post was implanted at the very peak of Mount Agon. Whenever
lightning struck down, Sartzanek's etched features were said to
twitch and quiver.



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A certain Tamurello immediately took up residence in Sartzanek's
manse, Faroli, and all understood him to be Sartzanek's alter ego,
or scion: in certain respects an extension of Sartzanek himself.*
Like Sartzanek, Tamurello was tall, heavy of physique, with black
eyes, black curls, a full mouth, round chin, and a temperament
which expressed itself in terms of vivid emotion.

          *ln just such a fashion Shimrod was known to be an
extension, or alter ego, of Murgen, though their
            personalities had separated and they were different
individuals.

The witch Desmei, who had performed erotic conjunctions with
Sartzanek, now amused herself with King Olam III. She appeared to
him as a female clothed with a soft pelt of black fur and an oddly
beautiful cat-like mask. This creature knew a thousand lascivious
tricks; King Olam, befuddled and foolish, succumbed to her will.
To spite Murgen, Desmei persuaded Olam to move his throne Evandig
and the table Cairbra an Meadhan to Avallon.

The old tranquility was gone. The magicians were at odds, each
suspicious of the other. Murgen, in cold disgust, isolated himself
at Swer Smod.

Difficult times came upon the Elder Isles. King Olam, now
deranged, attempted copulation with a leopard; he was savaged and
died. His son, Uther I, a frail and timid stripling, no longer
enjoyed the support of Murgen. Goths invaded the north coast of
Dahaut and looted Whanish Isle, where they sacked the monastery
and burned the great library.

Audry, Grand Duke of Dahaut, raised an army and destroyed the
Goths at the Battle of Hax, but suffered such losses that the
Celtic Godelians moved east and took the Wysrod Peninsula. King
Uther, after months of indecision, marched his army against the
Godelians only to meet disaster at the Battle of Wa'nwillow Ford,
where he was killed. His son, Uther II fled north to England,
where in due course he sired Uther Pendragon, father to King
Arthur of Cornwall.



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The dukes of the Elder Isles met at Avallon to choose a new king.
Duke Phristan of Lyonesse claimed kingship by virtue of lineage,
while the aging Duke Audry of Dahaut cited the throne of Evandig
and the table Cairbra an Meadhan in support of his own claim; the
conclave dissolved in acrimony. Each duke returned home and
thereafter styled himself King of his own personal domain.

Instead of one there were now ten kingdoms: North Ulfland, South
Ulfland, Dahaut, Caduz, Blaloc, Pomperol, Godelia, Troicinet,
Dascinet and Lyonesse.

The new kingdoms found ample scope for contention. King Phristan
of Lyonesse and his ally King Joel of Caduz went to war against
Dahaut and Pomperol. At the Battle of Orm Hill, Phristan killed
the old but stalwart Audry I and was himself killed by an arrow;
the battle and the war ended indecisively, with each side charged
with hatred for the other.

Prince Casmir, known as "the Popinjay," fought in the battle
bravely but without recklessness and returned to Lyonesse Town as
King. Immediately he abandoned his elegant postures for a hard
practicality, and set himself to the task of strengthening his
realm.

A year after Casmir became King, he married Princess Sollace of
Aquitaine, a handsome blonde maiden with Gothic blood in her
veins, whose stately mien disguised a stolid temperament. Casmir
considered himself a patron of the magical arts. In a secret
chamber he kept a number of curios and magical adjuncts, including
a book of incantations, indited in illegible script, but which
glowed dimly in the dark. When Casmir ran his finger over the
runes a sensation peculiar to each incantation suffused his mind.
He could tolerate one such contact; twice caused him to sweat;
thrice he dared not lest he lose control of himself. A griffin's
claw reposed in an onyx case. A gallstone cast by the ogre
Heulamides gave off a peculiar stench. A small yellow skak* sat in
a bottle, resignedly awaiting his eventual release. On a wall hung
an article of real power: Persilian, the so-called "Magic Mirror."
This mirror would answer three questions to its owner, who then
must relinquish it to another. Should the owner ask a fourth


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question, the mirror would make glad response, then dissolve into
freedom. King Casmir had put three questions, and now reserved the
fourth against emergency.

          *The least in the hierarchy of fairies. First in rank
are fairies, then (alloys, goblins, imps, finally skaks.
            In the nomenclature of Faerie, giants, ogres and
trolls are also considered halflings, but of a different
            sort. In a third class are merrihews, willawen and
hyslop, and also, by some reckonings, quists and
            darklings. Sandestins, most powerful of all, are in a
class bv themselves.

According to popular wisdom, the company of magicians was usually
more bane than benefit. Though he well knew of Murgen's edicts,
Casmir at various times solicited aid from arch-magicians
Baibalides and Noumique, and several other lesser magicians, to be
everywhere rebuffed.

Casmir received news of the sorceress Desmei, reputedly the enemy
of Murgen. By reliable report she had taken herself to the Goblin
Fair, an annual occasion which she enjoyed and never failed to
patronize.

Casmir disguised himself under blue and iron-gray armor, and a
shield displaying two dragons rampant. He named himself Sir
Perdrax, knight errant, and, with a small retinue, rode into the
Forest of Tantrevalles.

In due course he arrived at Twitten's Corner. The inn known as The
Laughing Sun and The Crying Moon was filled to capacity; Casmir
was forced to accept a place in the barn. A quartermile into the
forest he found the Goblin Fair. Desmei was nowhere to be seen.
Casmir wandered among the booths. He saw much to interest him and
paid good gold for various oddments.

Late      in the afternoon he noted a tall woman, somewhat gaunt of
face      and feature, her blue hair gathered into a silver cage. She
wore      a white tabard embroidered in black and red; she evoked in
King      Casmir (and all men who saw her) a curious disturbance:


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fascination mingled with revulsion. This was Desmei the sorceress.

Casmir approached her with caution, where she stood haggling with
an old knave who kept a booth. The merchant's hair was yellow, his
skin sallow; his nose was split and his eyes were like copper
pellets; goblin blood flowed in his veins. He held up a feather
for her inspection. "This feather," he said, "is indispensable to
the conduct of daily affairs, in that it infallibly detects
fraudulence."

"Astounding!" declared Desme'i in a voice of boredom.

"Would you say that here is an ordinary feather taken from the
carcass of a dead blue jay?"

"Yes. Dead or even alive. So I would assume."

"You would be as wrong as an umpdoodle's trivet."

"Indeed. How is this miraculous feather used?"

"Nothing could be simpler. If you suspect a cheat, a liar or a
swindler, touch him with the feather. If the feather turns yellow,
your suspicions are confirmed."

"If the feather remains blue?"

"Then the person with whom you are dealing is staunch and true!
This excellent feather is yours for six crowns of gold."

Desmei uttered a metallic laugh. "Do you think me so gullible? It
is almost insulting. Evidently you expect me to test you with the
feather, then when it remains blue, I pay over to you my gold!"

"Precisely! The feather would verify my assertions!"

Desmei took the feather and touched it to the split nose.
Instantly the feather became bright yellow. Desmei repeated her
scornful laugh. "No less than I suspected! The feather declares
you to be a cheat!"


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"Ha ha! Does not the feather perform exactly as I have claimed?
How can I be a cheat?"

Desmei frowningly regarded the feather, then threw it back upon
the counter. "I have no time for conundrums!" Haughtily she
strolled away, to inspect the sale of a young harpy in a cage.
After a moment Casmir approached. "You are the sorceress Desmei?"

Desmei fixed her attention on him. "And who are you?"

"I call myself Sir Perdrax, knight errant from Aquitaine."

Desmei smiled and nodded. "And what do you wish of me?" "It is a
delicate matter. May I count upon your discretion?"

"To a certain extent." "I will express myself bluntly. I serve
King Casmir of Lyonesse, who intends to restore the throne Evandig
to its rightful place. To this end he implores your advice."

"The arch-magician Murgen forbids such involvement."

"Already you are at odds with Murgen. How long will you obey his
precepts?"

"Not forever. How would Casmir reward me?"

"State your terms; I will communicate them."

Desmei became suddenly fretful. "Tell Casmir to come in his own
right to my palace at Ys. There I will talk to him."

Sir Perdrax bowed and Desmei moved away. Presently she departed
through the forest in a palanquin carried by six running shadows.

Before setting out for Ys, King Casmir brooded long and well;
Desmei was known for her bitter bargains.

At last he ordered out the royal galleass, and on a sparkling
windy day sailed out past the breakwater, around Cape Farewell and


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so to Ys.

Casmir disembarked upon the stone jetty and walked down the beach
to Uesmei's white palace.

Casmir found Desmei on a seaward-facing terrace leaning on the
balustrade, half in the shade of a tall marble urn, from which
trailed the foliage of sweet arbutus.

A change had come over Desmei. Casmir halted, wondering at her
pallor, hollow cheeks and gaunt neck. Her fingers, thin and
knobbed at the knuckles, hooked over the lip of the balustrade;
her feet, in silver sandals, were long and frail and showed a net
of purple veins.

Casmir stood slack-jawed and graceless, feeling himself in the
presence of mysteries far beyond his understanding.

Desmei glanced at him sidelong, showing neither surprise nor
pleasure. "So you have come."

Casmir made a rather strained effort to regain the initiative
which he felt should rightly be his. "Did you not expect me?"

Desmei said only, "You are here too late."

"How so?" exclaimed Casmir in new concern.

"All things change. I have no more interest in the affairs of men.
Your forays and wars are a trouble; they disturb the quiet of the
countryside."

"There is no need for war! I want only Evandig! Give me magic or a
mantle of stealth, so that I may take Evandig without war."

Desmei laughed a soft wild laugh. "I am known for my bitter
bargains. Would you pay my price?"

"What is your price?"



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Desmei looked out toward the sea's horizon. At last she spoke, so
quietly that Casmir came a step closer to hear. "Listen! I will
tell you this. Marry Suldrun well; her son will sit on Evandig.
And what is my price for this presagement? Nothing whatever, for
the knowledge will do you no service." Desmei abruptly turned and
walked through one in a line of tall archways into the shadows of
her palace. Casmir watched the thin form become indistinct and
disappear. He waited a moment, standing in the hot sunlight. No
sound could be heard but the sigh of surf.

Casmir swung away and returned to his ship.

Desmei watched the galleass dwindle across the blue sea. She was
alone in her palace. For three months she had awaited Tamurello's
visit; he had not come and the message of his absence was clear.

She went into her workroom, unclasped her gown and let it slip to
the floor. She studied herself in the mirror, to see grim
features, a body bony, lank, almost epicene. Coarse black hair
matted her head; her arms and legs were lean and graceless. Such
was her natural embodiment, a self in which she felt most easy.
Other guises required concentration lest they become loose and
dissolve.

Desmei went to her cabinets and brought out a variety of
instruments. Over a time of two hours she worked a great spell to
sunder herself into a plasm which entered a vessel of three vents.
The plasm churned, distilled, and emerged by the vents, to
coalesce into three forms. The first was a maiden of exquisite
conformation, with violet-blue eyes and black hair soft as
midnight. She carried within her the fragrance of violets, and was
named Melancthe.

The second form was male. Desme'i, still by a trick of time, a
husk of sentience, quickly shrouded and covered it lest others
(such as Tamurello) discover its existence.

The third form, a demented squeaking creature, served as sump for
Desmei's most repugnant aspects. Shaking with disgust Desmei
quelled the horrid thing and burnt it in a furnace, where it


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writhed and screamed. A green fume rose from the furnace;
Melancthe shrank back but involuntarily gasped upon a wisp of the
stench. The second form, shrouded behind a cloak, inhaled the
stench with savor.

Vitality had drained from Desmei. She faded to smoke and was gone.
Of the three components she had yielded, only Melancthe, fresh
with the subtle odor of violets, remained at the palace. The
second, still shrouded, was taken to the castle Tintzin Fyral, at
the head of Vale Evander. The third had become a handful of black
ashes and a lingering stench in the workroom.


Chapter 11

IN THE CHAPEL AT THE TOP of the garden Suldrun's bed had been
arranged, and here a tall dour kitchen maid named Bagnold daily
brought food, precisely at noon. Bagnold was half-deaf and might
have been mute as well, for all her conversation. She was required
to verify Suldrun's presence, and if Suldrun were not at the
chapel Bagnold trudged angrily down into the garden to find her,
which was almost every day, since Suldrun gave no heed to time.
After a period Bagnold tired of the exertion and put the full
basket on the chapel steps, picked up the empty basket of the day
before and departed: an arrangement which suited both Suldrun and
herself.

When Bagnold departed she dropped a heavy oaken beam into iron
brackets thus to bar the door. Suldrun might easily have scaled
the cliffs to either side of the garden, and someday, so she told
herself, she would do so, to depart the garden forever.

So passed the seasons: spring and summer, and the garden was at
its most beautiful, though haunted always by stillness and
melancholy. Suldrun knew the garden at all hours: at gray dawn,
when dew lay heavy and bird calls came clear and poignant, like
sounds at the beginning of time. Late at night, when the full moon
rode high above the clouds, she sat under the lime tree looking to
sea while the surf rattled along the shingle.



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One evening Brother Umphred appeared, his round face abeam with
innocent good will. He carried a basket, which he placed upon the
chapel steps. He looked Suldrun carefully up and down. "Marvelous!
You are as beautiful as ever! Your hair shines, your skin glows;
how do you keep so clean?"

"Don't you know?" asked Suldrun. "I bathe, in yonder basin."

Brother Umphred raised his hands in mock horror. "That is the font
for holy water! You have done sacrilege!"

Suldrun merely shrugged and turned away.

With happy gestures Brother Umphred unpacked his basket. "Let us
bring cheer to your life. Here is tawny wine; we will drink!"

"No. Please leave."

"Are you not bored and dissatisfied?"

"Not at all. Take your wine and go."

Silently Brother Umphred departed.

With the coming of autumn the leaves turned color and dusk came
early. There was a succession of sad and glorious sunsets, then
came the rains and the cold of winter, whereupon the chapel became
bleak and chill. Suldrun piled stones to build a hearth and a
chimney against one of the windows. The other she wadded right
with twigs and grass. Currents swinging around the cape cast
driftwood up on the shingle, which Suldrun carried to the chapel
to dry, and then burnt on the hearth.

The rains dwindled; sunlight burned bright through cold crisp air,
and spring was at hand. Daffodils appeared among the flower beds
and the trees put on new leaves. In the sky appeared the stars of
spring: Capella, Arcturus, Denebola. On sunny mornings cumulus
clouds towered high over the sea, and Suldrun's blood seemed to
quicken. She felt a strange restlessness, which never before had
troubled her.


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The days became longer, and Suldrun's perceptions became more
acute, and each day began to have its own quality, as if it were
one of a limited number. A tension began to form, an imminence,
and often Suldrun stayed awake all night long, so that she might
know all to occur in her garden.

Brother Umphred paid another visit. He found Suldrun sitting on
the stone steps of the chapel, sunning herself. Brother Umphred
looked at her with curiosity. The sun had tanned her arms, legs
and face, and lightened strands of her hair. She looked the
picture of serene good health; in fact, thought Brother Umphred,
she seemed almost happy.

The fact aroused his carnal suspicions; he wondered if she had
taken a lover. "Dearest Suldrun, my heart bleeds when I think of
you solitary and forlorn. Tell me; how do you fare?"

"Well enough," said Suldrun. "I like solitude. Please do not
remain here on my account."

Brother Umphred gave a cheerful chuckle. He settled himself beside
her. "Ah, dearest Suldrun—" He put his hand on hers. Suldrun
stared at the fat white fingers; they felt moist and over-amiable.
She moved her hand; the fingers fell away reluctantly. "—I bring
you not only Christian solace, but also a more human consolation.
You must recognize that while I am a priest I am also a man, and
susceptible to your beauty. Will you accept this friendship?"
Umphred's voice became soft and unctuous. "Even though the emotion
is warmer and dearer than simple friendship?"

Suldrun laughed drearily. She rose to her feet and pointed at the
gate. "Sir, you have my leave to go. I hope that you will not
return." She turned and descended into the garden. Brother Umphred
muttered a curse and departed.

Suldrun sat beside the lime tree and looked out over the sea. "I
wonder," she asked herself, "what will become of me? I am
beautiful, so everyone says, but it has brought me only bane. Why
am I punished, as if I had done wrong? Somehow I must bestir


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myself; I must make a change."

After her evening meal she wandered down to the ruined villa,
where she liked best, on clear nights, to watch the stars. Tonight
they showed an extraordinary brilliance and seemed to address
themselves to her, like wonderful children brimming with
secrets... She rose to her feet and stood listening. Imminence
hung in the air; its meaning she could not decide.

The night breeze became cool; Suldrun retreated up through the
garden. In the chapel, coals yet smouldered in the fireplace.
Suldrun blew them ablaze, lay on dry driftwood and the room became
warm.

In the morning, wakening very early, she went out into the dawn.
Dew lay heavy on foliage and grass; the silence had a primitive
quality. Suldrun went down through the garden, slow as a
sleepwalker, down to the beach. Surf boomed up the shingle. The
sun, rising, colored far clouds at the opposite horizon. At the
southern curve of the beach, where currents brought driftwood, she
noticed a human body which had floated in on the tide. Suldrun
halted, then approached, step by step, and stared down in horror,
which quickly became pity. What tragedy, that so cold a death had
taken one so young, so wan, so comely...A wave stirred the young
man's legs. His fingers spasmodically extended, clawed into the
shingle. Suldrun dropped to her knees, pulled the body up from the
water. She brushed back the sodden curls. The hands were bloody;
the head was bruised. "Don't die," whispered Suldrun. "Please
don't die!"

The eyelids flickered; eyes, glazed and filmed with sea-water,
looked up at her, then closed.

Suldrun dragged the body up into dry sand. When she tugged the
right shoulder he emitted a sad sound. Suldrun ran to the chapel,
brought back coals and dry wood, and built up a fire. She wiped
the cold face with a cloth. "Don't die," she said again and again.

His skin began to warm. Sunlight shone over the cliffs and down
upon the beach. Aillas opened his eyes once more and wondered if


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indeed he had died, and now roamed the gardens of paradise with
the most beautiful of all golden-haired angels to tend him.

Suldrun asked: "How do you feel?"

"My shoulder hurts." Aillas moved his arm. The twinge of pain
assured him that he still lived. "Where is this place?"

"This is an old garden near Lyonesse Town. I am Suldrun." She
touched his shoulder. "Do you think it's broken?"

"I don't know."

"Can you walk? I can't carry you up the hill."

Aillas tried to rise, but fell. He tried again, with Suldrun's arm
around his waist, and stood swaying.

"Come now, I'll try to hold you."

Step by step they climbed up through the garden. At the ruins they
stopped to rest. Aillas said weakly, "I must tell you that I am
Troice. I fell from a ship. If I am captured I will be put in
prison—at the very least."

Suldrun laughed. "You are already in a prison. Mine. I am not
allowed to leave. Don't worry; I will keep you safe."

She helped him to his feet; at last they reached the chapel.

As best she could Suldrun immobilized Aillas' shoulder with
bandages and withes and made him lie upon her couch. Aillas
accepted her ministrations and lay watching her: what crimes had
this beautiful girl committed that she should be so imprisoned?
Suldrun fed him first honey and wine, then porridge. Aillas became
warm and comfortable and fell asleep.

By evening Aillas' body burned with fever. Suldrun knew no remedy
save damp cloths on the forehead. By midnight the fever cooled,
and Aillas slept. Suldrun made herself as comfortable as possible


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on the floor before the fire.

In the morning Aillas awoke, half-convinced that his circumstances
were unreal, that he was living a dream. Gradually he allowed
himself to remember the Smaadra. Who had thrown him into the sea?
Trewan? By reason of sudden madness? Why else? His manner since
visiting the Troice cog at Ys had been most peculiar. What could
have happened aboard the cog? What possibly could have driven
Trewan past the brink of sanity?

On the third day Aillas decided that he had broken no bones and
Suldrun eased his bandages. When the sun rose high the two
descended into the garden and sat among the fallen columns of the
old Roman villa. Through the golden afternoon they told each other
of their lives. "This is not our first meeting," said Aillas. "Do
you remember visitors from Troicinet about ten years ago? I
remember you."

Suldrun reflected. "There have always been dozens of delegations.
I seem to remember someone like you. It was so long ago; I can't
be sure."

Aillas took her hand, the first time he had touched her in
affection. "As soon as I am strong we will escape. It will be a
simple affair to climb the stones yonder; then it's over the hill
and away."

Suldrun spoke in a half-whisper, husky and fearful. "If we were
captured"—she hunched her shoulders together—"the King would show
us no pity."

In a subdued voice Aillas said: "We won't be captured! Especially
if we plan well, and are all-cautious." He sat up straight, and
spoke with great energy. "We will be free and away through the
countryside! We'll travel by night and hide by day; we'll be one
with the vagabonds, and who will know us?"

Aillas' optimism began to infect Suldrun; the prospect of freedom
became exhilarating. "Do you really think we'll escape?"



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"Of course! How could it be otherwise?"

Suldrun gazed pensively down the garden and over the sea. "I don't
know. I have never expected to be happy. I am happy now—even
though I am frightened." She laughed nervously. "It makes for a
strange mood."

"Don't be frightened," said Aillas. Her nearness overwhelmed him;
he put his arm around her waist. Suldrun jumped to her feet. "I
feel as-if a thousand eyes are watching us!"

"Insects, birds, a lizard or two." Aillas scanned the cliffs. "I
see no one else."

Suldrun looked up and down the garden. "Nor do I. Still..." She
seated herself at a demure distance of three feet, and turned him
an arch side-glance. "Your health seems to be on the mend."

"Yes. I feel very well, and I cannot bear to look at you without
wanting to touch you." He moved close to her; laughing, she slid
away.

"Aillas, no! Wait till your arm is better!"

"I'll be careful of my arm."

"Someone might come."

"Who would be so bold?"

"Bagnold. The priest Umphred. My father the King."

Aillas groaned. "Destiny could not be so unkind."

Suldrun said in a soft voice: "Destiny doesn't really care."

Night came to the garden. Sitting before the fire the two supped
on bread, onions and mussels which Suldrun had gathered from the
tidal rocks. Once again they talked of escape. Suldrun said
wistfully, "Perhaps I will feel strange away from this garden.


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Every tree, every stone, is known to me... But, since you came,
everything is different. The garden is going from me." Looking
into the fire, she gave a little shiver.

"What is wrong?" asked Aillas.

"I am afraid."

"Of what?"

"I don't know."

"We could leave tonight, but for my arm. Another few days and I'll
be strong again. In the meantime we must plan. The woman who
brings your food; what of her?"

"At noon she brings a basket and takes back the empty basket from
the day before. I never speak to her."

"Could she be bribed?"

"To do what?"

"To bring the food as usual, discard it, and take back the empty
basket next day. With a week's start, we could be far away and
never fear capture."

"Bagnold would never dare, even if she were so disposed, which she
isn't. And we have nothing to bribe her with."

"Have you no jewels, no gold?"

"In my cabinet at the palace I have gold and gems."

"Which is to say, they are inaccessible."

Suldrun considered. "Not necessarily. The East Tower is quiet
after sunset. I could go directly up to my chamber, and no one
would notice. I could be in, out and away in a trice."



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"Is it truly so simple?"

"Yes! I have gone this way hundreds of times, and seldom have I
met anyone along the way."

"We cannot bribe Bagnold, so we will have free only a day, from
noon till noon, plus whatever time your father needs to organize a
search."

"An hour, no more. He moves quickly and with decision."

"So then, we must have a peasant's disguise, and this is easier
said than done. Is there no one whom you trust?"

"One only, the nurse who tended me when I was small."

"And where is she?"

"Her name is Ehirme. She lives on a steading south along the road.
She would give us clothes, or anything we asked for without stint,
if she knew my need."

"With disguise, a day's start and gold for passage to Troicinet,
freedom is ours. And once across the Lir you will be simply
Suldrun of Watershade. No one will know you for Princess Suldrun
of Lyonesse save only me and perhaps my father, who will love you
as I do."

Suldrun looked up at him. "Do you truly love me?"

Aillas took her hands and pulled her to her feet; their faces were
only inches apart. They kissed each other.

"I love you most dearly," said Aillas. "I never want to be parted
from you."

"I love you, Aillas, nor do I wish us to be parted ever."

In a transport of joy the two looked into each other's eyes.
Aillas said: "Treachery and tribulation brought me here, but I


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give thanks for all of it."

"I have been sad too," said Suldrun. "Still, if I had not been
sent away from the palace, I could not have salvaged your poor
drowned corpse!"

"So then! For murderous Trewan and cruel Casmir: our thanks!" He
bent his face to Suldrun's; they kissed again and again; then,
sinking to the couch, lay locked in each other's arms, and
presently lost themselves in ardor.

Weeks passed, swift and strange: a period of bliss, made the more
vivid by its background of high adventure. The pain in Aillas'
shoulder subsided, and one day in the early afternoon, he scaled
the cliff to the east of the garden and traversed the rocky slope
on the seaward side of the Urquial, slowly and gingerly, since his
boots were at the bottom of the sea and he went unshod. Beyond the
Urquial he pushed through an undergrowth of scrub oak, elderberry
and rowan, and so gained the road.

At this time of day, few folk were abroad. Aillas encountered a
drover with a flock of sheep and a small boy leading a goat, and
neither gave him more than a cursory glance.

A mile along the road he turned into a lane which wound away
between hedgerows, and presently arrived at the steading where
Ehirme lived with her husband and children.

Aillas halted in the shadow                          of the hedge. To his left, at the far
side of a meadow, Chastain,                          the husband and his two oldest sons,
cut hay. The cottage lay at                          the back of a kitchen garden, where
leeks, carrots, turnips and                          cabbages grew in neat rows. Smoke rose
from the chimney.

Aillas pondered the situation. If he went to the door and someone
other than Ehirme showed herself, awkward questions might be
asked, for which he had no answers.

The difficulty resolved itself. From the door came a stocky round-
faced woman carrying a bucket. She set out toward the pig-sty.


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Aillas called out: "Ehirme! Dame Ehirme!"

The woman, pausing, examined Aillas with doubt and curiosity, then
slowly approached. "What do you want?"

"You are Ehirme?"

"Yes."

"Would you do a service, in secret, for Princess Suldrun?"

Ehirme put down the bucket. "Please explain, and I'll tell you
whether such service lies within my power."

"And in any event you'll keep the secret?"

"That I will do. Who are you?"

"I am Aillas, a gentleman of Troicinet. I fell from a ship and
Suldrun saved me from drowning. We are resolved to escape the
garden and make our way to Troicinet. We need a disguise of old
clothes, hats and shoes, and Suldrun has no friend but you. We
cannot pay at this time, but if you help us, you will be well
rewarded when I return to Troicinet."

Ehirme reflected, the creases in her weather-beaten face twitching
to the flux of her thoughts. She said: "I will help you as best I
can. I have long suffered for the cruelty done to poor little
Suldrun, who never harmed so much as an insect. Do you need only
clothes?"

"Nothing more, and our most grateful thanks for these."

"The woman who brings Suldrun food—I know her well; she is
Bagnold, an ill-natured creature rancid with gloom. So soon as she
notices untouched food she will scuttle to King Casmir and the
search will be on."

Aillas gave a fatalistic shrug. "We have no choice, and we will
hide well by daylight."


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"Do you carry sharp weapons? Wicked things move by night. Often I
see them hopping about the meadow, and flying across the clouds."

"I will find a good cudgel; that must suffice."

Ehirme gave a noncommittal grunt. "I will go to market every day.
On my way back I will open the postern, empty the basket, and
Bagnold will be deceived. I can do this safely for a week, and by
then the trail will be cold."

"That will mean great risk for you. If Casmir discovered your
doing he would show no mercy!"

"The postern is hidden behind the bush. Who will notice me? I will
take care not to be seen."

Aillas made a few more half-hearted protests, to which Ehirme paid
no heed. She looked out over the meadow and across the woodland
beyond. "In the forest past the village Glymwode live my old
father and mother. He is a woodcutter, and their hut is solitary.
When we have butter and cheese to spare, I send it to them by my
son Collen and the donkey. Tomorrow morning I will bring you
smocks, hats, and shoes, on my way to market. Tomorrow night, an
hour after sunset, I will meet you here, at this spot, and you
will sleep in the hay. At sunrise Collen will be ready, and you
will travel to Glymwode. No one will know of your escape, and you
may travel by day; who will connect the Princess Suldrun with
three peasants and a donkey? My father and mother will keep you
safe until danger is past, and then you shall travel to Troicinet,
perhaps by way of Dahaut, a longer road but safer."

Aillas said humbly: "I do not know how to thank you. At least, not
until I reach Troicinet, and there I will be able to make my
gratitude real."

"No need for gratitude! If I can steal poor Suldrun away from the
tyrant Casmir, I will have reward enough. Tomorrow night then, an
hour after sunset, I will meet you here!"



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Aillas returned to the garden and told Suldrun of Ehirme's
arrangements. "So we do not need to skulk like thieves through the
night after all."

Tears started from Suldrun's eyes. "My dear faithful Ehirme!

I never fully appreciated her kindness!"

"From Troicinet we will reward her loyalty."

"And we still need gold. I must visit my chambers in Haidion."

"The thought frightens me."

"It is no great matter. In a twinkling I can slip into the palace
and out again."

Dusk came to darken the garden. "Now," said Suldrun, "I will go to
Haidion."

Aillas rose to his feet. "I must go with you, if only to the
palace."

"As you like."

Aillas climbed over the wall, unbarred the postern, and Suldrun
passed through. For a moment they stood close to the wall. A half-
dozen dim lights showed at various levels of the Pein-hador. The
Urquial was vacant in the dusk.

Suldrun looked down along the arcade. "Come."

Through the arches lights twinkled up from Lyonesse Town. The
night was warm; the arcades smelled of stone and occasionally a
whiff of ammonia, where someone had eased his bladder. At the
orangery the fragrance of flower and fruit overcame all else.
Above loomed Haidion, with the glow of candles and lamps outlining
its windows.

The door into the East Tower showed as a half-oval of deep shadow.


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Suldrun whispered: "Best that you wait here."

"But what if someone comes?"

"Go back to the orangery and wait there." Suldrun pressed the
latch and pushed at the great iron and timber door. With a groan
it swung open. Suldrun peered through the crack into the Octagon.
She looked back to Aillas. "I'm going in—" From the top of the
arcade came the sound of voices and the clatter of footsteps.
Suldrun pulled Aillas into the palace. "Come with me then."

The two crossed the Octagon, which was illuminated by a single
rack of heavy candles. To the left an arch opened on the the Long
Gallery; stairs ahead rose to the upper levels.

The Long Gallery was vacant for its whole length. From the
Respondency came the sound of voices lilting and laughing in gay
conversation. Suldrun took Aillas' arm. "Come."

They ran up the stairs and in short order stood outside Suldrun's
chambers. A massive lock joined a pair of hasps riveted into stone
and wood.

Aillas examined the lock and the door, and gave a few halfhearted
twists to the lock. "We can't get in. The door is too strong."

Suldrun took him along the hall to another door, this without a
lock. "A bed-chamber, for noble maidens who might be visiting me."
She opened the door, listened. No sound. The room smelled of
sachet and unguents, with an unpleasant overtone of soiled
garments.

Suldrun whispered: "Someone sleeps here, but she is away at her
revels."

They crossed the room to the window. Suldrun eased open the
casement. "You must wait here. I've come this way many times when
I wanted to avoid Dame Boudetta."

Aillas looked dubiously toward the door. "I hope no one comes in."


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"If so, you must hide in the clothes-press, or under the bed. I
won't be long." She slid out the window, edged along the wide
stone coping to her old chamber. She pushed at the casement,
forced it open, then jumped down to the floor. The room smelled of
dust and long days of emptiness, in sunlight and rain. A trace of
perfume still hung in the air, a melancholy recollection of years
gone by, and tears came to Suldrun's eyes.

She went to the chest where she had stored her possessions.
Nothing had been disturbed. She found the secret drawer and pulled
it open; within, so her fingers told her, were those oddments and
ornaments, precious gems, gold and silver which had come into her
possession: mostly gifts from visiting kindred; neither Casmir nor
Sollace had showered gifts upon their daughter.

Suldrun tied the valuables into a scarf. She went to the window
and bade farewell to the chamber. Never would she set foot in
there again: of this she felt certain.

She returned through the window, pulled right the casement and
returned to Aillas.

They crossed the dark room, Opened the door a crack, then stepped
out into the dim corridor. Tonight, of all nights, the palace was
busy; many notables were on hand, and up from the Octagon came the
sound of voices and the two could not effect the quick departure
upon which they had planned. They looked at each other with wide
eyes and pounding hearts.

Aillas uttered a soft curse. "So now: we're trapped."

"No!" whispered Suldrun. "We'll go down the back stairs.

Don't worry; one way or another we'll escape! Come!" They ran
light-footed along the corridor, and so began a thrilling game
which dealt them a series of frights and startlements and had been
no part of their expectations. Here and there they ran, gliding on
soft feet along old corridors, dodging from chamber to chamber,
shrinking back into shadows, peering around corners: from the


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Respondency into the Chamber of Mirrors, up a spiral staircase to
the old observatory, across the roof into a high parlor, where
young noble-folk held their trysts, then down a service stairs to
a long back corridor which gave on a musicians' gallery,
overlooking the Hall of Honors.

Candles in the wall sconces were alight; the hall had been made
ready for a ceremonial event, perhaps later in the evening; now
the hall stood empty.

Stairs led down into a closet which gave on the Mauve Parlor, so-
called for the mauve silk upholstery of its chairs and couches: a
splendid room with ivory and snuff-colored paneling and a vivid
emerald green rug. Aillas and Suldrun ran quietly to the door,
where they looked out into the Long Gallery, at this moment empty
of human occupancy.

"It's not far now," said Suldrun. "First we'll make for the Hall
of Honors, then, if no one appears, we'll make for the Octagon and
out the door."

With a last look right and left, the two ran to the arched alcove
in which hung the doors into the Hall of Honors. Suldrun looked
back the way they had come, and clutched Aillas' arm. "Someone
came out of the library. Quick, inside."

They slipped through the doors into the Hall of Honors. They stood
wide-eyed, face to face, holding their breaths. "Who was it?"
Aillas whispered.

"I think it was the priest Umphred." "Perhaps he didn't see us."

"Perhaps not... If he did he will be sure to investigate. Come; to
the back room!" "I see no back room!"

"Behind the arras. Quick! He's just outside the door!" They ran
the length of the hall and ducked behind the hanging. Peering
through the crack, Aillas saw the far door ease open: slowly,
slowly. The portly figure of Brother Umphred was a dark stencil
against the lights of the Long Gallery.


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For a moment Brother Umphred stood motionless, save for quick
shakes of the head. He seemed to give a cluck of puzzlement and
came forward into the room, looking right and left.

Suldrun went to the back wall. She found the iron rod and pushed
it into the lock-holes.

Aillas asked in astonishment: "What are you doing?"

"Umphred may very well know about this back room. He won't know
this other."

The door opened, releasing a suffusion of green-purple light.
Suldrun whispered: "If he comes any closer we'll hide in here."

Aillas, standing by the crack, said, "No. He's turning back...
He's leaving the hall. Suldrun?"

"I'm in here. It's where the king, my father, keeps covert his
private magic. Come look!"

Aillas went to the doorway, glanced gingerly right and left.

"Don't be alarmed," said Suldrun. "I've been in here before. The
little imp is a skak; he's closed in his bottle. I'm sure he'd
prefer freedom, but I fear his spite. The mirror is Persilian; it
speaks in season. The cow's horn yields either fresh milk or
hydromel, depending upon how one holds it."

Aillas came slowly forward. The skak glared in annoyance. Colored
light-motes caught in tubes jerked in excitement. A gargoyle mask
hanging high in the shadows turned down a dyspeptic sneer.

Aillas spoke in alarm: "Come! before we fall afoul of these
things!"

Suldrun said, "Nothing has ever done me harm. The mirror knows my
name and speaks to me!"



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"Magic voices are things of bane! Come! We must leave the palace!"

"One moment, Aillas. The mirror has spoken kindly; perhaps it will
do so again. Persilian?"

From the mirror came a melancholy voice: "Who calls 'Persilian'?"

"It is Suldrun! You spoke to me before and called me by name. Here
is my lover, Aillas!"

Persilian uttered a groan, then sang in a voice deep and plangent,
very slowly so that each word was distinct.

Aillas knew a moonless tide;

Suldrun saved him death.

They joined their souls in wedlock strong

To give their son his breath.

Aillas: choose from many roads; Each veers through toil and blood.
But still this night you must be wed To seal your fatherhood.

Long have I served King Casmir; He asked me questions three. Yet
never will he speak the rote to break me full and free.

Aillas, you must take me now, and hide me all alone; By Suldrun's
tree, there shall I dwell Beneath the sitting-stone.

Aillas, as if moving in a dream, reached his hands to Persilian's
frame. He pulled it free of the metal peg which held it to the
wall. Aillas held up the mirror and asked in puzzlement: "How,
this very night, can we be wed?"

Persilian's voice, richly full, issued from the                                              mirror: "You have
stolen me from Casmir; I am yours. This is your                                              first question.
You may ask two more. If you ask a fourth, I am                                              free." "Very well;
as you wish it. So how will we be wed?" "Return                                              to the garden; the
way is safe. There your marriage bonds shall be                                              forged; see to it


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that they are strong and true. Quick, go now; time presses! You
must be gone before Haidion is bolted tight for the night!"

With no more ado Suldrun and Aillas departed the secret room,
closing tight the door on the seep of green-purple light. Suldrun
looked through the crack in the hangings; the Hall of Honors was
empty save for the fifty-four chairs whose personalities had
loomed so massively over her childhood. They seemed now shrunken
and old and some of their magnificence had gone; still Suldrun
felt their brooding contemplation as she and Aillas ran down the
hall.

The Long Gallery was empty; the two ran to the Octagon and out
into the night. They started up the arcade, then made a hurried
detour into the orangery while a quartet of palace guards came
stamping, clanking and cursing down from the Urquial. The steps
faded into quiet. Moonlight through the arched intervals cast a
succession of pale shapes, alternately silver-gray and darkest
black, into the arcade. Across Lyonesse Town lamps yet flickered,
but no sound reached the palace. Suldrun and Aillas slipped from
the orangery, ran up under the arcade and so through the postern
into the old garden. Aillas brought Persilian from under his
tunic. "Mirror, I have put a question and I will be sure to put no
more until need arises. Now I will not ask how I must hide you, as
you directed; still, if you wished to enlarge upon your previous
instructions, I will listen."

Persilian spoke: "Hide me now, Aillas, hide me now, down by the
old lime tree. Under the sitting-stone is a crevice. Hide as well
the gold you carry, quick as quick can be."

The two descended to the chapel. Aillas went on down the path to
the old lime tree; he lifted the sitting-stone and found a crevice
into which he placed Persilian and the bag of gold and gems.

Suldrun went to the door of the chapel, where she paused to wonder
at the candleglow from within.

She pushed open the door. Across the room sat Brother Umphred,
dozing at the table. His eyes opened; he looked at Suldrun.


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"Suldrun! You have returned at last! Ah, Suldrun, sweet and
wanton! You have been up to mischief! What do you do away from
your little domain?"

Suldrun stood silent in dismay. Brother Umphred lifted his portly
torso and came forward, smiling a winsome smile, eyelids half-
closed, so that his eyes seemed a trifle askew. He took Suldrun's
limp hands. "Dearest child! Tell me, where have you been?"

Suldrun tried to draw back, but Brother Umphred tightened his
grip. "I went to the palace for a cloak and a gown... Let go my
hands."

But Brother Umphred only pulled her closer. His breathing came
faster and his face showed a rosy-pink flush. "Suldrun, prettiest
of all the earth's creatures! Do you know that I saw you dancing
along the corridors with one of the palace lads? I asked myself,
can this be the pure Suldrun, the chaste Suldrun, so pensive and
demure? I told myself: impossible! But perhaps she is ardent after
all!"

"No, no," breathed Suldrun. She jerked to pull away. "Please let
me go."

Brother Umphred would not release her. "Be kind, Suldrun! I am a
man of noble spirit, still I am not indifferent to beauty! Long,
dearest Suldrun, have I yearned to taste your sweet nectar, and
remember, my passion is invested in the sanctity of the church! So
now, my dearest child, whatever tonight's mischief, ' it will only
have warmed your blood.   Embrace me, my golden delight, my sweet
mischief, my sly mock-purity!" Brother Umphred bore her down to
the couch.

Aillas appeared in the doorway. Suldrun saw him and motioned him
to stand back, out of sight. She drew up her knees, and squirmed
away from Brother Umphred. "Priest, my father shall hear of your
acts!"

"He cares nothing what happens to you," said                                             Brother I Umphred


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thickly. "Now be easy! Or else I must enforce our congress by
means of pain."

Aillas could constrain himself no longer. He stepped forward and
dealt Brother Umphred a blow to the side of his head, to send him
tumbling to the floor. Suldrun said in distress: "Better, Aillas,
had you remained away."

"And allowed his beastly lust? First I would kill him! In fact, I
will kill him now, for his audacity."

Brother Umphred dragged himself back against the wall, eyes
glistening in the candlelight.

Suldrun said hesitantly, "No, Aillas, I don't want his death.''

"He will report us to the king."

Brother Umphred cried out: "No, never! I hear a thousand secrets;
all are sacred to me!"

Suldrun said thoughtfully. "He will witness our wedlock, he will
marry us by the Christian ceremony which is as lawful as any
other."

Brother Umphred struggled to his feet, blurting incoherent
phrases.

Aillas told him, "Marry us, then, since you are a priest, and do
it properly."

Brother Umphred took time to settle his cassock and compose
himself. "Marry you? That is not possible."

"Certainly it is possible," said Suldrun. "You have made marriages
among the servants."

"In the chape at Haidion."

"This is a chapel. You sanctified it yourself."


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"It has now been profaned. In any case, I can bring the sacraments
only to baptized Christians."

"Then baptize us and quickly!"

Brother Umphred smilingly shook his head. "First you must believe
truly and become catechumens. And further, King Casmir would be
rageful; he would take vengeance on us all!"

Aillas picked up a stout length of driftwood. "Priest, this cudgel
supersedes King Casmir. Marry us now, or I will break your head."

Suldrun took his arm. "No, Aillas! We will marry in the manner of
the folk, and he shall witness; then there shall be no talk of who
is a Christian and who is not."

Brother Umphred again demurred. "I cannot be a party to your pagan
rite."

"You must," said Aillas.

The two stood by the table and chanted the peasant litany of
wedlock:

"Witness, all, how we two take the vows of marriage! By this
morsel, which together we eat."

The two divided a crust of bread and ate together.

"By this water, which together we drink."

The two drank water from the same cup.

"By this fire, which warms us both."

The two passed their hands through the flame of the candle.

"By the blood which we mingle."



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With a thin bodkin Aillas pricked Suldrun's finger, then his own,
and joined the droplets of blood.

"By the love which binds our hearts together."

The two kissed, smiled.

"So we engage in solemn wedlock, and now declare ourselves man and
wife, in accordance with the laws of man and the benevolent grace
of Nature."

Aillas took up pen, ink and a sheet of parchment. "Write, priest!
Tonight on this date I have witnessed the marriage of Suldrun and
Aillas,' and sign your name."

With shaking hands Brother Umphred pushed away the pen. "I fear
the wrath of King Casmir!"

"Priest, fear me more!"

In anguish Brother Umphred wrote as he was instructed. "Now let me
go my way!"

"So that you may hurry to tell all to King Casmir?" Aillas shook
his head. "No."

"Fear nothing!" cried Brother Umphred. "I am silent as the grave!
I know a thousand secrets!"

"Swear!" said Suldrun. "Down on your knees. Kiss the sacred book
you carry in your pouch, and swear that, by your hope of salvation
and by your fear of perpetual Hell, that you will reveal nothing
of what you have seen and heard and done tonight."

Brother Umphred, now swearing and ashen-faced, looked from one to
the other. Slowly he went to his knees, kissed the book of gospels
and swore his oath.

He struggled to his feet. "I have witnessed, I have sworn; it is
my right to now depart!"


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"No," said Aillas somberly. "I do not trust you. I fear that spite
may overwhelm your honor, and so destroy us. It is a chance I
cannot accept."

Brother Umphred was momentarily speechless with indignation. "But
I have sworn by everything holy!"

"And so, as easily, you might forswear them and so be purged of
the sin. Should I kill you in cold blood?"

"No!"

"Then I must do something else with you."

The three stood staring at each other, frozen a moment in time.
Aillas stirred. "Priest, wait here, and do not try to leave, on
pain of good strokes of the cudgel, as we shall be just outside
the door."

Aillas and Suldrun went out into the night, to halt a few yards
from the chapel door. Aillas spoke in a husky half-whisper, for
fear Brother Umphred might have his ear pressed to the door. "The
priest cannot be trusted."

"I agree," said Suldrun. "He is quick as an eel."

"Still, I cannot kill him. We can't tie him or immure him, for
Ehirme to tend, since then her help would become known. I can
think of a single plan. We must part. At this moment I will take
him from the garden. We will proceed east. No one will trouble to
notice us; we are not fugitives. I will make sure that he neither
escapes nor cries out for succor: a vexing and tedious task, but
it must be done. In a week or two I will leave him while he
sleeps; I will make my way to Glymwode and seek you out, and all
will be as we planned."

Suldrun put her arms around Aillas and laid her head on his chest.
"Must we be parted?"



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"There is no other way to be secure, save killing the man dead,
which I cannot do in cold blood. I will take a few pieces of gold;
you take the rest, and Persilian as well. Tomorrow, an hour after
sunset, go to Ehirme and she will send you to her father's hut,
and there shall I seek you out. Go you now to the lime tree, and
bring me back a few small trinkets of gold, to trade for food and
drink. I'll stay to guard the priest."

Suldrun ran down the path and a moment later returned with the
gold. They went to the chapel. Brother Umphred stood by the table,
looking morosely into the fire.

"Priest," said Aillas, "you and I are to make a journey. Turn your
back, if you will; I must bind your arms so that you perform no
unseasonable antics. Obey me and you will come to no harm."

"What of my convenience?" blurted Brother Umphred.

"You should have considered that before you came here tonight.
Turn around, doff your cassock and put your arms behind you."

Instead, Brother Umphred sprang at Aillas and struck him with the
cudgel he likewise had taken from the wood-pile.

Aillas stumbled back; Brother Umphred sent Suldrun reeling. He ran
from the chapel, up the path, with Aillas after him, through the
postern and out onto the Urquial, bellowing at the top of his
voice: "Guards to me! Help! Treason! Murder! Help! To me! Seize
the traitor!"

Up from the arcade trooped a company of four, the same which
Aillas and Suldrun had avoided by stepping into the orangery. They
ran forward to seize both Umphred and Aillas. "What goes on here?
Why this horrid outcry?"

"Call King Casmir!" bawled Brother Umphred. "Waste not an instant!
This vagabond has troubled the Princess Suldrun: a terrible deed!
Bring King Casmir, I say! On the run!"

King Casmir was brought to the scene, and Brother Umphred


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excitedly made an explanation. "I saw them in the palace! I
recognized the princess, and I have also seen this man; he is a
vagabond of the streets! I followed them here and, imagine the
audacity, they wanted me to marry them by the Christian rite! I
refused with all spirit and warned them of their crime!"

Suldrun, standing by the postern,                                came forward. "Sire, be not
angry with us. This is Aillas; we                                are husband and wife. We love
each other dearly; please give us                                leave to live our lives in
tranquility. If you so choose, we                                will go from Haidion and never
return."

Brother Umphred, still excited by his role in the affair, would
not be still. "They threatened me; I am almost bereft of reason
through their malice! They forced me to witness their wedlock! If
I had not signed to the ceremony they would have broken my head!"

Casmir spoke icily: "Silence, enough! I will deal with you later."
He gave an order: "Bring me Zerling!" He turned to Suldrun. In
times of rage or excitement Casmir kept his voice always even and
neutral, and he did so now. "You seem to have disobeyed my
command. Whatever your reason it is far from sufficient."

Suldrun said softly: "You are my father; have you no concern for
my happiness?"

"I am King of Lyonesse. Whatever my one-time feelings, they were
dispelled by the disregard for my wishes, of which you know. Now I
find you consorting with a nameless bumpkin. So be it! My anger is
not diminished. You shall return to the garden, and there abide.
Go!"

Shoulders sagging, Suldrun went to the postern, through, and down
into the garden. King Casmir turned to appraise Aillas. "Your
presumption is amazing. You shall have ample time to reflect upon
it. Zerling! Where is Zerling?"

"Sire, I am here." A squat slope-shouldered man, bald, with a
brown beard and round staring eyes, came forward: Zerling, King
Casmir's Chief Executioner, the most dreaded man of Lyonesse Town


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next to Casmir himself. King Casmir spoke a word into his ear.
Zerling put a halter around Aillas' neck and led him across the
Urquial, then around and behind the Peinhador. By the light of the
half-moon the halter was removed and a rope was tied around
Aillas' chest. He was lifted over a stone verge and lowered into a
hole: down, down, down. Finally his feet struck the bottom. In a
succinct gesture of finality, the rope was dropped in after him.

There was no sound in the darkness. The air smelied of dank stone
with a taint of human decay. For five minutes Aillas stood staring
up the shaft. Then he groped to one of the walls: a distance of
perhaps seven feet. His foot encountered a hard round object.
Reaching down he discovered a skull. Moving to the side, Aillas
sat down with his back to the wall. After a period, fatigue
weighted his eyelids; he became drowsy. He fought off sleep as
best he could for fear of awakening... At last he slept. He awoke,
and his fears were justified. Upon recollection he cried out in
disbelief and anguish. How could such tragedy be possible? Tears
flooded his eyes; he bent his head into his arms and wept.

An hour passed, while he sat hunched in pure misery.

Light seeped down the shaft; he was able to discern the dimensions
of his cell. The floor was a circular area about fourteen feet in
diameter, flagged with heavy slabs of stone. The stone walls rose
vertically six feet, then funneled up to the central shaft, which
entered the cell about twelve feet over the floor. Against the far
wall bones and skulls had been piled; Aillas counted ten skulls,
and others perhaps were hidden under the pile of bones. Near to
where he sat lay another skeleton: evidently the last occupant of
the cell.

Aillas rose to his feet. He went to the center of the chamber and
looked up the shaft. High above he saw a disk of blue sky, so
airy, windswept and free that again tears came to his eyes.

He considered the shaft. The diameter was about five feet; it was
cased in rough stone and rose sixty or even seventy feet— exact
judgment was difficult—above the point where it entered the
chamber.


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Aillas turned away. On the walls previous occupants had scratched
names and sad mottos. The most recent occupant, on the wall above
his skeleton, had scratched a schedule of names, to the number of
twelve, ranked in a column. Aillas, too dispirited to feel
interest in anything but his own woes, turned away.

The cell was unfurnished. The rope lay in a loose heap under the
shaft. Near the bone pile he noticed the rotted remains of other
ropes, garments, ancient leather buckles and straps.

The skeleton seemed to watch him from the empty eye-sockets of its
skull. Aillas dragged it to the bone pile, and turned the skull so
that it could see only the wall. Then he sat down. An inscription
on the wall opposite caught his attention: "Newcomer! Welcome to
our brotherhood!"

Aillas grunted and turned his attention elsewhere. So began the
period of his incarceration.


Chapter 12

KING CASMIR DESPATCHED AN ENVOY to Tintzin Fyral who, in due
course returned with an ivory tube, from which the Chief Herald
extracted a scroll. He read to King Casmir:

Noble Sir:

As ever my respectful compliments! I am pleased to learn of your
impending visit. Be assured that our welcome will be appropriate
to your regal person and distinguished retinue which, so I
suggest, should number no more than eight, since at Tintzin Fyral
we lack the expansive grace of Haidion.

Again, my most cordial salute!

Faude Carfilhiot,

Vale Evander, the Duke.


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King Casmir immediately rode north with a retinue of twenty
knights, ten servants and three camp-wagons.

The first night the company halted at Duke Baldred's castle,
Twannic. On the second day they rode north through the Troagh, a
chaos of pinnacles and defiles. On the third day they crossed the
border into South Ulfland. Halfway through the afternoon, at the
Gates of Cerberus, the cliffs closed in to constrict the way,
which was blocked by the fortress Kaul Bocach. The garrison
consisted of a dozen raggle-taggle soldiers and a commander who
found banditry less profitable than exacting tolls from travelers.

At a challenge from the sentry the cavalcade from Lyonesse halted,
while the soldiers of the garrison, blinking and scowling under
steel caps, slouched out upon the battlements.

The knight Sir Welty rode forward.

"Halt!" called the commander. "Name your names, your origin,
destination and purpose, so that we may reckon the lawful toll."

"We are noblemen in the service of King Casmir of Lyonesse. We
ride to visit the Duke of Vale Evander, at his invitation, and we
are exempt from toll!"

"No one is exempt from toll, save only King Oriante and the great
god Mithra. You must pay ten silver florins."

Sir Welty rode back to confer with Casmir, who thoughtfully
appraised the fort. "Pay," said King Casmir. "We will deal with
these scoundrels on our return."

Sir Welty returned to the fort and contemptuously tossed a pack of
coins to the captain.

"Pass, gentlemen."

Two by two the company rode by Kaul Bocach, and that night rested
on a meadow beside the south fork of the Evander.


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At noon of the following day the troop halted before Tintzin
Fyral, where it surmounted a tall crag, as if growing from the
substance of the crag itself.

King Casmir and eight of his knights rode forward; the others
turned aside and set up a camp beside the Evander.

A herald came out from the castle, and addressed King Casmir.
"Sir, I bring Duke Carfilhiot's compliments and his request that
you follow me. We ride a crooked road up the side of the crag, but
have no concern; the danger is only to enemies. I will lead the
way."

As the troop proceeded, the stench of carrion came on the breeze.
In the middle distance the Evander flowed across a green meadow
where rose an array of twenty poles, half supporting impaled
corpses.

"That is hardly a welcoming sight," King Casmir told the herald.

"Sir, it reminds the duke's enemies that his patience is not
inexhaustible."

King Casmir shrugged, offended not so much by Carfilhiot's acts as
by the odor.

At the base of the crag waited an honor guard of four knights in
ceremonial plate armor, and Casmir wondered how Carfilhiot knew so
closely the hour of his coming. A signal from Kaul Bocach? Spies
at Haidion? Casmir, who had never been able to introduce spies
into Tintzin Fyral, frowned at the thought.

The cavalcade mounted the crag by a road cut into the rock, which
finally, high in the air, turned under a portcullis into the
castle's forecourt.

Duke Carfilhiot came forward; King Casmir dismounted; the two
pressed each other in a formal embrace.



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"Sir, I am delighted by your visit," said Carfilhiot. "I have
arranged no suitable festivities, but not from any lack of good
will. In truth, you gave me too short notice."

"I am perfectly suited," said King Casmir. "I am not here for
frivolity. Rather, I hope to explore once more matters of mutual
advantage."

"Excellent! That is always a topic of interest. This is your first
visit to Tintzin Fyral, is it not?"

"I saw it as a young man, but from a distance. It is beyond
question a mighty fortress."

"Indeed. We command four important roads: to Lyonesse, to Ys, over
the Ulfish moors and the border road north to Dahaut. We are self-
sufficient. I have driven a well deep, through solid stone into a
flowing aquifer. We maintain supplies for years of siege. Four men
could hold the access road against a thousand, or a million. I
consider the castle impregnable."

"I am inclined to agree," said Casmir. "Still, what of the saddle?
If a force occupied the mountain yonder, conceivably it might
bring siege engines to bear."

Carfilhiot turned to inspect the heights to the north, which were
connected to the crag by a saddle, as if he had never before
noticed this particular vista. "So it would seem."

"But you are not alarmed?"

Carfilhiot laughed, showing perfect white teeth. "My enemies have
reflected long and well on Breakback Ridge. As for the saddle, I
have my little wiles."

King Casmir nodded. "The view is exceptionally fine."

"True. On a clear day, from my high workroom, I scan the entire
vale, from here to Ys. But now you must refresh yourself, and then
we can take up our conversation."


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Casmir was conducted to a set of high chambers overlooking Vale
Evander: a view across twenty miles of soft green landscape to a
far glint of sea. Air, fresh save for an occasional cloying taint,
blew through the open windows. Casmir thought of Carfilhiot's dead
enemies on the meadow below, each silent on his own pole.

An image flickered through his mind: Suldrun pallid and drawn here
at Tintzin Fyral, breathing the putrid air. He thrust away the
picture. The affair was over and done.

Two bare-chested black Moorish boys, wearing turbans of purple
silk, red pantaloons and sandals with spiral toes, helped him with
his bath, then dressed him in silk small-clothes and a tawny-buff
robe decorated with black rosettes.

Casmir descended to the great                            hall, past an enormous aviary, where
birds of many-colored plumage                            flew from branch to branch.
Carfilhiot awaited him in the                            great hall; the two men seated
themselves on divans and were                            served frozen fruit sherbet in
silver cups.

"Excellent," said Casmir. "Your hospitality is pleasant."

"It is informal and I hope that you will not be supremely bored,"
murmured Carfilhiot.

Casmir put aside the ice. "I have come here to discuss a matter of
importance." He glanced at the servants. Carfilhiot waved them
from the room. "Proceed."

Casmir leaned back in his chair. "King Granice recently sent out a
diplomatic mission, on one of his new warships. They put into
Blaloc, Pomperol, Dahaut, Cluggach in Godelia and Ys. The
emissaries decried my ambitions and proposed an alliance to defeat
me. They won only lukewarm support, if any, even though"—Casmir
smiled a cold smile—"I have made no attempt to disguise my
intentions. Each hopes the others will fight the battle; each
wishes to be the single kingdom unmolested. Granice, I am sure,
expected no more; he wanted to assert both his leadership and his


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command of the sea. In this he succeeded very well. His ship
destroyed a Ska vessel which at once changes our perceptions of
the Ska; they can no longer be considered invincible, and Troice
sea-power is magnified, They paid a price, losing the commander
and one of the two royal princes aboard.

"For me the message is clear. The Troice become stronger; I must
strike and cause a dislocation. The obvious place is South
Ulfland, from where I can attack the Ska in North Ulfland, before
they consolidate their holdings. Once I take the fortress
Poelitetz, Dahaut is at my mercy. Audry cannot fight me from both
west and south.

"First then—to take South Ulfland, with maximum facility, which
presupposes your cooperation." Casmir paused. Carfilhiot, looking
thoughtfully into the fire, made no immediate response.

The silence became uncomfortable. Carfilhiot stirred and said:
"You have, as you know, my personal well-wishes, but I am not
altogether a free agent, and I must conduct myself with
circumspection."

"Indeed," said Casmir. "You apparently do not refer to your
nominal liege-lord King Oriante."

"Definitely not."

"Who, may I ask, are the enemies you are so pointedly trying to
dissuade?"

Carfilhiot made a motion. "I agree, the stench is appalling. Those
are rogues of the moors: petty barons, ten-tuffet lords, little
better than bandits, so that an honest man takes his life in his
hands to ride out across the fells for a day's hunting. South
Ulfland is essentially lawless, save for Vale Evander. Poor
Oriante can't dominate his wife, much less a kingdom. Every clan
chieftain fancies himself an aristocrat and builds a mountain
fortress, from which he raids his neighbors. I have attempted to
bring order: a thankless job. I am styled a despot and an ogre.
Harshness, however, is the only language these highland brutes


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understand."

"These are the enemies who cause your circumspection?"

"No." Carfilhiot rose to his feet and went to stand with his back
to the fire. He looked down at Casmir with cool dispassion. "In
all candor, here are the facts. I am a student of magic. I am
taught by the great Tamurello, and I am under obligation, so that
I must refer to him matters of policy. That is the situation."

Casmir stared up into Carfilhiot's eyes. "When may I expect your
response?"

"Why wait?" asked Carfilhiot. "Let us settle the matter now.
Come."

The two climbed to Carfilhiot's workroom, Casmir now quiet, alert
and alive with interest.

Carfilhiot's apparatus was almost embarrassingly scant; even
Casmir's trifles were impressive by contrast. Perhaps, Casmir
speculated, Carfilhiot kept the larger part of his equipment
stored in cabinets.

A large map of Hybras, carved in various woods, dominated all
else, in both size and evident importance. In a panel at the back
of the map had been carved a face: the semblance, so it seemed, of
Tamurello, in crude and exaggerated outlines. The craftsman had
been at no pains to flatter Tamurello. The forehead bulged over
protruding eyes; cheeks and lips were painted a particularly
unpleasant red. Carfilhiot pointedly offered no explanations. He
pulled at the ear-lobe of the image. "Tamurello! hear the voice of
Faude Carfilhiot!" He touched the mouth. "Tamurello, speak!"

In a wooden croak the mouth said: "I hear and speak."

Carfilhiot touched the eyes. "Tamurello! Look upon me and King
Casmir of Lyonesse. We are considering the use of his armies in
South Ulfland, to quell disorder and to extend King Casmir's wise
rule. We understand your policy of detachment; still we ask your


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advice."

The image spoke: "I advise no alien troops in South Ulfland, most
especially the armies of Lyonesse. King Casmir, your goals do you
credit, but they would unsettle all Hybras, including Dahaut, to
bring inconvenience upon me. I advise that you return to Lyonesse
and make peace with Troicinet. Carfilhiot, I advise that you
decisively use the might of Tintzin Fyral to bar incursions into
South Ulfland."

"Thank you," spoke Carfilhiot. "We will surely take your advice to
heart."

Casmir said no word. Together they descended to the parlor, where,
for an hour, they spoke courteously of small subjects. Casmir
declared himself ready for his bed, and Carfilhiot wished him a
comfortable night's sleep.

In the morning King Casmir rose early, expressed gratitude to
Carfilhiot for his hospitality, and with no further ado made his
departure.

At noon the party approached Kaul Bocach. King Casmir, with half
of his knights passed the fort after paying a toll of eight silver
florins. A few yards along the road they halted. The rest of the
party approached the fortress. The captain of the fortress stepped
forward. "Why did you not pass all together? It is now necessary
that you pay another eight florins."

Sir Welty dismounted without haste. He seized the captain and held
a knife to his throat. "Which will you be: a dead Ulfish
cutthroat, or a live soldier in the service of King Casmir of
Lyonesse?"

The captain's steel hat fell off, his bald brown pate bobbed as he
writhed and struggled. He gasped. "This is treachery! Where is
honor?"

Look yonder; there sits King Casmir. -Do you accuse him of
dishonor, after mulcting him of his royal money?"


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"Naturally not, still—"

Sir Welty pricked him with the knife. "Order your men out for
inspection. You will cook over a slow fire if a drop of blood,
other than your own, is spilled."

The captain attempted a final defiance. "You expect me to deliver
our impregnable Kaul Bocach into your hands without so much as a
protest?"

"Protest all you like. In fact, I'll let you go back within. Then
you are under siege. We will climb the cliff and drop boulders on
the battlements."

"Possible perhaps, but very difficult." We will fire logs and
thrust them into the passage; they shall blaze and smoulder, you
will smoke and bake as the heat spreads. Do you defy the might of
Lyonesse?"

The captain heaved a deep breath. "Of course not! As I declared
from the very first, I gladly enter the service of the most
gracious King Casmir! Ho, guards! Out for inspection!"

Glumly the garrison filed out to stand scowling and disheveled in
the sunlight, hair tousled under their steel caps.

Casmir looked them over with contempt. "It might be easier to lop
off their heads."

"Have no fear!" cried the captain. "We are the smartest of troops
under ordinary circumstances!"

King Casmir                shrugged, and turned away. The fortress tolls were
loaded into                one of the wagons; Sir Welty and fourteen knights
remained as                a temporary garrison and King Casmir joylessly
returned to                Lyonesse Town.

In his workroom at Tintzin Fyral Carfilhiot once again engaged the
attention of Tamurello.


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"Casmir has departed. Our relationship is at best formally
polite."

"The very optimum! Kings, like children, tend to be opportunistic.
Generosity only spoils them. They equate affability with weakness
and hasten to exploit it."

"Casmir's temperament is even less pleasant. He is as sin-
gleminded as a fish. I saw him spontaneous only here in my
workroom; he is interested in magic, and has ambitions in this
direction."

"For Casmir, forever futile. He lacks the patience and here he is
much like yourself."

"Possibly true. I am anxious to proceed into the first
extensions."

"The situation is as before. The field of analogues must be like a
second nature to you. How long can you fix an image in your mind,
then change its colors at your will, while holding fixed
lineaments?"

"I am not proficient."

"These images should be hard as rocks. Upon conceiving a landscape
you must be able to count the leaves on a tree, then recount to
the same number."

"That is a difficult exercise. Why can't I merely work the
apparatus?"

"Aha! Where will you obtain this apparatus? Despite my love for
you, I can part with none of my hard-won operators."

"Still, one can always contrive new apparatus."

"Indeed? I would be glad to learn this hermetic and abstruse
secret."


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"Still, you agree, it is possible."

"But difficult. Sandestins are no longer innocent nor plentiful
nor accommodating... Eh! Ha!" This was a sudden exclamation.
Tamurello spoke in a changed voice. "A thought occurs to me. It's
so beautiful a thought that I hardly dare to think it."

"Tell me this thought."

Tamurello's silence was that of a man engaged in a complex
calculation. Finally he said: "It is a dangerous thought. I could
neither advocate nor even suggest such a thought!"

"Tell me the thought!"

"Even so much is to join in its implementation!"

"It must be a dangerous thought indeed."

"True. Let us pass on to safer subjects. I might make this
mischievous observation: one way to secure magical apparatus is,
in blunt language, to rob another magician, who thereupon may
become too feeble to avenge the predation—especially if he does
not know its perpetrator."

"So far I follow you closely. What then?"

"Suppose one were to rob a magician: who would he choose to
victimize? Murgen? Me? Baibalides? Never. The consequences would
be certain, swift and awful. One would seek a novice still fresh
to his lore, and preferably one with an amplitude of equipment, so
that the theft yields a good return. Also, the victim

should be one whom he perceives as an enemy of the future. The
time to weaken, or even destroy, that person is now! I speak of
course in the purest of hypothetical terms."

"For the purposes of illustration and still hypothetically, who
might such a person be?"


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Tamurello could not bring himself to utter a name. "Even
hypothetical contingencies must be explored down several levels,
and whole areas of duplicity must be arranged; we will talk more
of this later, meanwhile, not a word to anyone else!"


Chapter 13

SHIMROD, SCION OF MERGEN THE MAGICIAN, early demonstrated an inner
impulse of extraordinary strength, and in due course wandered
beyond Murgen's control into autonomy.

The two were not obviously similar, save for competence, resource
and a certain immoderacy of imagination, which in Shimrod evinced
itself as an antic humor and a sometimes painful capacity for
sentiment.

In appearance the two were even less alike. Murgen revealed
himself as a strong white-haired man of indefinable age. Shimrod
appeared as a young man with an almost ingenuous expression. He
was spare, long of leg, with sandy-buff hair and hazel-gray eyes.
His jaw was long, his cheeks somewhat concave, his mouth wide and
twisted as if at some wry reflection.

After a time of loose-footed wandering Shimrod took up residence
at Trilda, a manse on Lally Meadow, formerly occupied by Murgen,
in the Forest of Tantrevalles, and there settled himself to the
serious study of magic, using the books, patterns, apparatus and
operators which Murgen had given into his custody.

Trilda was a congenial seat for intensive study. The air smelled
fresh of foliage. The sun shone by day, the moon and stars by
night. Solitude was near-absolute; ordinary folk seldom ventured
so deep into the forest. Trilda had been built by Hilario, a minor
magician of many quaint fancies. The rooms were seldom square and
overlooked Lally Meadow through bay windows of many sizes and
shapes. The steep roof, in addition to six chimneys, disposed
itself in innumerable dormers, gables, ridges; and the highest
verge supported a black iron weathercock, which served in double


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stead as a ghost-chaser.

Murgen had dammed the brook to create a pond; the overflow turned
a wheel beside the workroom, where it powered a dozen different
machines, including a lathe and a bellows for his hot-fire.

Halflings occasionally came to the edge of the forest to watch
Shimrod when he went out on the meadow, but otherwise ignored him
for fear of his magic.

The seasons passed; autumn turned to winter. Flakes of snow
drifted down from the sky to shroud the meadow in silence. Shimrod
kept his fires crackling and began an intensive study of
Balberry's Abstracts and Excerpts, a vast compendium of exercises,
methods, forms and patterns inscribed in antique or even imaginary
languages. Using a lens fashioned from a sandestin's eye, Shimrod
read these inscriptions as if they were plain tongue.

Shimrod took his meals from a cloth of bounty, which, when spread
on a table, produced a toothsome feast. For entertainment he
schooled himself in the use of the lute, a skill appreciated by
fairies of Tuddifot Shee, at the opposite end of Lally Meadow, who
loved music, though no doubt for the wrong reasons. Fairies
constructed viols, guitars and grass-pipes of fine quality, but
their music at best was a plaintive undisciplined sweetness, like
the sound of distant windchimes. At worst they made a clangor of
unrelated stridencies, which they could not distinguish from their
best. Withal, they were the vainest of the vain. Fairy musicians,
discovering that a human passerby had chanced to hear them,
invariably inquired how he had enjoyed the music, and woe betide
the graceless churl who spoke his mind, for then he was set to
dancing for a period comprising a week, a day, an hour, a minute
and a second, without pause. However, should the listener declare
himself enraptured he might well be rewarded by the vain and
gloating halfling. Often, when Shimrod played his lute, he found
fairy creatures, large and small,* sitting on the fence, bundled
in green coats with red scarves and peaked hats. If he
acknowledged their presence, they offered fulsome approbation and
asked for more music. On certain occasions fairy horn-players
asked to play along with him; each time Shimrod made polite


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refusal; if he allowed such a duet he might find himself playing
forever: by day, by night, across the meadow, in the treetops,
higgledy-piggledy through thorn and thicket, across the moors,
underground in the shees.• The secret, so Shimrod knew, was never
to accept the fairies' terms, but always to close the deal on
one's own stipulations, otherwise the bargain was sure to turn
sour.

           *Fairies maintain no specific size indefinitely. When
dealing with men they often appear the size of
             children, seldom larger. When caught unawares, they
seem on occasion only four inches to a foot
             tall. The fairies themselves take no heed of size.
See Glossary II.

          •Fairies share with humans the qualities of malice,
spite, treachery, envy and ruthlessness; they lack the
            equally human traits of clemency kindness, pity. The
fairy sense of humor never amuses its victim.

One of those who listened as Shimrod played was a beautiful fairy
maiden with flowing nut-brown hair. Shimrod tried to lure her into
his house with the offer of sweetmeats. One day she approached and
stood looking at him, mouth curved, eyes glinting with mischief.
"And why would you wish me inside that great house of yours?"

"Shall I be truthful? I would hope to make love to you."

"Ah! But that is sweetness you should never try to taste, for you
might become mad, and follow me forever making vain entreaties."

"'Vain', always and always? And you would cruelly deny me?"

"Perhaps."

"What if you discovered that warm human love was more pleasing
than your birdlike fairy couplings? Then who would beseech and who
would follow whom forever, making the vain entreaties of a love-
sick fairy maid?"



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The fairy screwed up her face in puzzlement. "That concept has
never occurred to me."

"Then come inside and we shall see. First I will pour you wine of
pomegranates. Then we will slip from our clothes and warm our
skins by firelight."

"And then?"

"Then we will make the test to learn whose love is the warmer."

The fairy maiden pulled her mouth together in a pout of mock-
outrage. "I should not flaunt before a stranger."

"But I am no stranger. Even now, when you look at me, you melt
with love."

"I am frightened." Quickly she retreated and Shimrod saw her no
more.

Spring arrived; the snows melted and flowers bedizened the meadow.
One sunny morning Shimrod left his manse and wandered the meadow
rejoicing in the flowers, the bright green foliage, the bird
calls. He discovered a track leading north into the forest which
he never before had noticed.

Under the oaks, thick-boled with sprawling branches, he followed
the trail: back, forth, over a hillock, down into a dark glen,
then up and through a clearing, walled with tall silver birches,
sprinkled with blue corn-flowers. The way led up over an outcrop
of black rocks, and now, through the forest, Shimrod heard laments
and outcries, punctuated by a reverberant thudding sound. Shimrod
ran light-footed through the woods, to discover among the rocks a
tarn of black-green water. To the side a long-bearded troll, with
an extravagantly large cudgel, beat a lank furry creature hanging
like a rug on a line between a pair of trees. With every blow the
creature cried out for mercy: 'Stop! No more! You are breaking my
bones! Have you no pity? You have mistaken me; this is clear! My
name is Grofinet! No more! Use logic and reason!"



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Shimrod moved forward. "Stop the blows!"

The troll, five feet tall and burly, jumped around in surprise. He
lacked a neck; his head rested directly on the shoulders. He wore
a dirty jerkin and trousers; a leather cod-piece encased a set of
very large genitals.

Shimrod sauntered forward. "Why must you beat poor Grofinet?"

"Why does one do anything?" growled the troll. "From a sense of
purpose! For the sake of a job well done!"

"That is a good response, but it leaves many questions
unanswered," said Shimrod.

"Possibly so, but no matter. Be off with you. I wish to thrash
this bastard hybrid of two bad dreams."

"It is all a mistake!" bawled Grofinet. "It must be resolved
before damage is done! Lower me to the ground, where we can talk
calmly, without prejudice."

The troll struck out with his cudgel. "Silence!"

In a frantic spasm Grofinet won free of the bonds. He scrambled
about the clearing on long big-footed legs, hopping and dodging,
while the troll chased after with his cudgel. Shimrod stepped
forward and pushed the troll into the tarn. A few oily bubbles
rose to the surface and the tarn was once more smooth.

"Sir, that was a deft act," said Grofinet. "I am in your debt!"

Shimrod spoke modestly: "Truly, no great matter."

"I regret that I must differ with you."

"Quite rightly," said Shimrod. "I spoke without thinking, and now
I will bid you good day."

"One moment, sir. May I ask as to whom I am indebted?"


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"I am Shimrod; I live at Trilda, a mile or so through the forest."

"Surprising! Few men of the human race visit these parts alone."

"I am a magician of sorts," said Shimrod. "The halflings avoid
me." He looked Grofinet up and down. "I must say that I have never
seen another like you. What is your sort?"

Grofinet replied in a rather lofty manner. "That is a topic which
gentle-folk seldom see fit to discuss."

"My apologies! I intended no vulgarity. Once again, I bid you good
day."

"I will conduct you to Trilda," said Grofinet. "These are
dangerous parts. It is the least I can do."

"As vou wish."

The two returned to Lally Meadow. Shimrod halted. "You need come
no farther. Trilda is only a few steps yonder."

"As we walked," said Grofinet, "I pondered. It came to me that I
am much in your debt."

"Say nothing more," declared Shimrod. "I am happy to have 'been of
help."

"That is easy for you to say, but the burden weighs on my pride! I
am forced to declare myself in your service, until the score is
settled. Do not refuse; I am adamant! You need provide only my
food and shelter. I will take responsibility for tasks which
otherwise might distract you, and even perform minor magics."

"Ah! You are also a magician?"

"An amateur of the art, little more. You may instruct me further,
if you like. After all, two trained minds are better than one. And
never forget security! When a person intently looks forward, he


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leaves his backside unguarded!"

Shimrod could not shake Grofinet's resolution, and Grofinet became
a member of the household.

At first Grofinet and his activities were a distraction; ten times
in the first week Shimrod paused on the very verge of sending
Grofinet away, but always drew back in the face of Grofinet's
virtues, which were notable. Grofinet caused no irregularities and
disturbed none of Shimrod's properties. He was remarkably tidy,
and never out of sorts; indeed, Grofinet's high spirits caused the
distractions. His mind was fertile and his enthusiasms came one
upon the other. For the first few days Grofinet conducted himself
with exaggerated diffidence; even so, while Shimrod strained to
memorize the interminable lists in The Order of Mutables, Grofinet
loped about the house talking to imaginary, or at least invisible,
companions.

Presently Shimrod's exasperation became amusement, and he found
himself looking forward to Grofinet's next outbreak of
foolishness. One day Shimrod waved a fly from his work-table; at
once Grofinet became the vigilant enemy of flies, moths, bees, and
other winged insects, allowing them no trespass. Unable to catch
them, he opened wide the front door, then herded the individual
insect to the outdoors. Meanwhile a dozen others entered. Shimrod
noticed Grofinet's efforts and worked a small bane upon Trilda,
which sent every insect fleeing posthaste from the house. Grofinet
was greatly pleased by his success.

At last, bored with boasting of his triumph over the insects,
Grofinet developed a new caprice. He spent several days contriving
wings of withe and yellow silk, which he strapped to his lank
torso. Looking from his window Shimrod watched him running across
Lally Meadow, flapping his wings and bounding into the air, hoping
to fly like a bird. Shimrod was tempted to lift Grofinet by magic
and flit him aloft. He controlled the whimsy lest Grofinet become
dangerously elated and bring himself to harm. Later in the
afternoon Grofinet attempted a great bound and fell into Lally
Water. The fairies of Tuddifot Shee spent themselves in immoderate
glee, rolling and tumbling, kicking their legs into the air.


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Grofinet threw aside the wings in disgust, and limped back to
Trilda.

Grofinet next gave himself to the study of the Egyptian pyramids.
"They are extraordinarily fine and a credit to the pharaohs!"
declared Grofinet.

"Exactly so."

On the next morning Grofinet spoke farther on the subject. "These
mighty monuments are fascinating in their simplicity."

"True."

"I wonder what might be their scope?"

Shimrod shrugged. "A hundred yards to the side, more or less, or
so I suppose."

Later Shimrod observed Grofinet pacing out dimensions along Lally
Meadow. He called out: "What are you doing?"

"Nothing of consequence."

"I hope you are not planning to build a pyramid! It would block
the sunlight!"

Grofinet paused in his pacing. "Perhaps you are right." He
reluctantly suspended his plans, but quickly discovered a new
interest. During the evening Shimrod came into the parlor to light
the lamps. Grofinet stepped from the shadows. "Now then, Sir
Shimrod, did you see me as you passed?"

Shimrod's mind had been elsewhere, and Grofinet had stood somewhat
back past his range of vision. "For a fact," said Shimrod, I
utterly failed to see you."

"In that case," said Grofinet, "I have learned the technique of
invisibility!"



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"Wonderful! What is your secret?"

"I use the force of sheer will to put myself beyond perception!"

"I must learn this method."

"Intellectual thrust, pure and simple, is the key," said Grofinet,
and added the warning: "If you fail, don't be disappointed. It is
a difficult feat."

"We shall see."

The following day Grofinet experimented with his new sleight.
Shimrod would call: "Grofinet! Where are you? Have you gone
invisible again?" Whereupon Grofinet would step from a corner of
the room in triumph.

One day Grofinet suspended himself from the ceiling beams of the
workroom, on a pair of straps, to hang as if in a hammock.
Shimrod, upon entering the room, might have noticed nothing,
except that Grofinet had neglected to put up his tail, which
dangled into the middle of the room, terminating in a tuft of
tawny fur.

Grofinet at last decided to put by all his previous ambitions and
to become a magician in earnest. To this end he frequented the
workroom, to watch Shimrod at his manipulations. He was, however,
intensely afraid of fire; whenever Shimrod, for one reason or
another, excited a tongue of flame, Grofinet bounded from the room
in a panic, and at last put by his plans to become a magician.

Midsummer's Eve drew near. Coincidentally a series of vivid dreams
came to disturb Shimrod's sleep. The landscape was always the
same: a terrace of white stone overlooking a beach of white sand
and a calm blue sea beyond. A marble balustrade enclosed the
terrace, and low surf broke into foam along the beach.

In the first dream Shimrod leaned on the balustrade, idly
surveying the sea. Along the beach came walking a dark-haired
maiden, in a sleeveless smock of a soft gray-brown cloth. As she


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approached, Shimrod saw that she was slender and an inch or so
taller than medium stature. Black hair, caught in a twist of dark
red twine, hung almost to her shoulders. Her arms and bare feet
were graceful; her skin was a pale olive. Shimrod thought her
exquisitely beautiful, with an added quality which included both
mystery and a kind of provocation that, rather than overt, was
implicit in her very existence. As she passed, she turned Shimrod
a somber half-smile, neither inviting nor forbidding, then went
along the beach and out of sight. Shimrod stirred in his sleep and
awoke.

The second dream was the same, except that Shimrod called to the
maiden and invited her to the terrace; she hesitated, smilingly
shook her head and passed on.

On the third night, she halted and spoke: "Why do you call me,
Shimrod?"

"I want you to stop, and at least talk with me."

The maiden demurred. "I think not. I know very little of men, and
I am frightened, for I feel a strange impulse when I pass by."

On the fourth night, the maiden of the dream paused, hesitated,
then slowly approached the terrace. Shimrod stepped down to meet
her, but she halted and Shimrod found that he could approach her
no more closely, which in the context of the dream seemed not
unnatural. He asked: "Today will you speak to me?"

"I know of nothing to tell you."

"Why do you walk the beach?"

"Because it pleases me."

"Whence do you come and where do you go?"

"I am a creature of your dreams; I walk in and out of thought."

"Dream-thing or not, come closer and stay with me. Since the dream


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is mine, you must obey."

"That is not the nature of dreams." As she turned away, she looked
over her shoulder, and when at last Shimrod awoke, he remembered
the exact quality of her expression. Enchantment! But to what
purpose?

Shimrod walked out on the meadow, considering the situation from
every conceivable aspect. A sweet enticement was being laid upon
him by subtle means, and no doubt to his eventual disadvantage.
Who might work such a spell? Shimrod cast among the persons known
to him, but none would seem to have reason to beguile him with so
strangely beautiful a maiden.

He returned to the workroom and tried to cast a portent, but the
necessary detachment failed him and the portent broke into a
spatter of discordant colors.

He sat late in the workroom that night while a cool dark wind
sighed through the trees at the back of the manse. The prospect of
sleep brought him both misgivings and an uneasy tingle of
anticipation which he tried to quell, but which persisted
nevertheless. "Very well then," Shimrod told himself in a surge of
bravado, "let us face up to the matter and discover where it
leads."

He took himself to his couch. Sleep was slow in coming; for hours
he twitched through a troubled doze, sensitive to every fancy
which chose to look into his mind. At last he slept.

The dream came presently. Shimrod stood on the terrace; along the
beach came the maiden, bare-armed and bare-footed, her black hair
blowing in the sea-wind. She approached without haste. Shimrod
waited imperturbably, leaning on the balustrade. To show
impatience was poor policy, even in a dream. The maiden drew near;
Shimrod descended the wide marble stairs.

The wind died, and also the surf; the dark-haired maiden halted
and stood waiting. Shimrod moved closer and a waft of perfume
reached him: the odor of violets. The two stood only a yard apart;


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he might have touched her.

She looked into his face, smiling her pensive half-smile. She
spoke. "Shimrod, I may visit you no more."

"What is to stay you?"

"My time is short. I must go to a place behind the star Ach-
ernar."

"Is this of your own will where you would go?"

"I am enchanted."

"Tell me how to break the enchantment!"

The maiden seemed to hesitate. "Not here."

"Where then?"

"I will go to the Goblins Fair; will you meet me there?"

"Yes! Tell me of the enchantment so that I may fix the counter-
spell."

The maiden moved slowly away. "At the Goblins Fair." With a single
backward glance she departed.

Shimrod thoughtfully watched her retreating form... From behind
him came a roaring sound, as of many voices raised in fury. He
felt the thud of heavy footsteps, and stood paralyzed, unable to
move or look over his shoulder.

He awoke on his couch at Trilda, heart pumping and throat tight.
The time was the darkest hour of the night, long before dawn could
even be imagined. The fire had guttered low in the fireplace. All
to be seen of Grofinet, softly snoring in his deep cushion was a
foot and a lank tail.

Shimrod built up the fire and returned to his couch. He lay


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listening to sounds of the night. From across the meadow came a
sad sweet whistle, of a bird awakened, perhaps by an owl.

Shimrod closed his eyes and so slept the remainder of the night.

The time of the Goblins Fair was close at hand. Shimrod packed all
his magical apparatus, books, librams, philtres and operators into
a case, upon which he worked a spell of obfuscation, so that the
case was first shrunk, then turned in from out seven times to the
terms of a secret sequence, so as finally to resemble a heavy
black brick which Shimrod hid under the hearth.

Grofinet watched from the doorway in total perplexity. "Why do you
do all this?"

"Because I must leave Trilda for a short period, and thieves will
not steal what they cannot find."

Grofinet pondered the remark, his tail twitching first this way
then that, in synchrony with his thoughts. "This, of course, is a
prudent act. Still, while I am on guard, no thief would dare so
much as to look in this direction."

"No doubt," said Shimrod, "but with double precautions our
property is doubly safe."

Grofinet, had no more to say, and went outside to survey the
meadow. Shimrod took occasion to effect a third precaution and
installed a House Eye high in the shadows where it might survey
household events.

Shimrod packed a small knapsack and went to issue final
instructions to Grofinet, who lay dozing in the sunlight.
"Grofinet, a last word!"

Grofinet raised his head. "Speak; I am alert."

"1 am going to the Goblins Fair. You are now in charge of security
and discipline. No creature wild or otherwise is to be invited
inside. Pay no heed to flattery or soft words. Inform one and all


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that this is the manse Trilda, where no one is allowed."

"I understand, in every detail," declared Grofinet. "My vision is
keen; I have the fortitude of a lion. Not so much as a flea shall
enter the house."

"Precisely correct. I am on my way."

"Farewell, Shimrod! Trilda is secure!"

Shimrod set off into the forest. Once beyond Grofinet's range of
vision, he brought four white feathers from his pouch and fixed
them to his boots. He sang out: "Feather boots, be faithful to my
needs; take me where I will."

The feathers fluttered to lift Shimrod and slide him away through
the forest, under oaks pierced by shafts of sunlight. Celandine,
violets, harebells grew in the shade; the clearings were bright
with buttercups, cowslips and red poppies.

Miles went by. He passed fairy shees: Black Aster, Catterlein,
Feair Foiry and Shadow Thawn, seat of Rhodion, king of all
fairies. He passed goblin houses, under the heavy roots of oak
trees, and the ruins once occupied by the ogre Fidaugh. When
Shimrod paused to drink from a spring, a soft voice called his
name from behind a tree. "Shimrod, Shimrod, where are you bound?"

"Along the path and beyond," said Shimrod and started along the
way. The soft voice came after him: "Alas, Shimrod, that you did
not stay your steps, if only for a moment, perhaps to alter events
to come!"

Shimrod made no reply, nor paused, on the theory that anything
offered in the Forest of Tantrevalles must command an exorbitant
price. The voice faded to a murmur and was gone.

He presently joined the Great North Road, an avenue only a trifle
wider than the first, and bounded north at speed.

He paused to drink water where an outcrop of gray rock rose beside


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the way, and low green bushes laden with dark red riddleberries,
from which fairies pressed their wine, were shaded by twisted
black cypresses, growing in cracks and crevices. Shimrod reached
to pick the berries, but, noting a flutter of filmy garments, he
thought better of such boldness and turned back to the way, only
to be pelted with a handful of berries. Shimrod ignored the
impudence, as well as the trills and titters which followed.

The sun sank low and Shimrod entered a region of low rocks and
outcrops, where the trees grew gnarled and contorted and the
sunlight seemed the color of dilute blood, while the shadows were
smears of dark blue. Nothing moved, no wind stirred the leaves;
yet this strange territory was surely perilous and had best be put
behind before nightfall; Shimrod ran north at great speed.

The sun dropped past the horizon; mournful colors filled the sky.
Shimrod climbed to the top of a stony mound. He placed down a
small box, which expanded to the dimensions of a hut. Shimrod
entered, closed and barred the door, ate from the larder, then
reclined on the couch and slept. He awoke during the night and for
half an hour watched processions of small red and blue lights
moving across the forest floor, then returned to his couch.

An hour later his rest was disturbed by the cautious scrape of
fingers, or claws: first along the wall; then at his door, pushing
and prying; then at the panes of the window. Then the hut thudded
as the creature leapt to the roof.

Shimrod set the lamp aglow, drew his sword and waited.

A moment passed.

Down the chimney reached a long arm, the Color of putty. The
fingers, tipped with little pads like the toes of a frog, reached
into the room. Shimrod struck with his sword, severing the hand at
the wrist. The stump oozed black-green blood; from the roof came a
moan of dismal distress. The creature fell to the ground and once
again there was silence.

Shimrod examined the severed member. Rings decorated the four


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fingers; the thumb wore a heavy silver ring with a turquoise
cabochon. An inscription mysterious to Shimrod encircled the
stone. Magic? Whatever its nature, it had failed to protect the
hand.

Shimrod cut loose the rings, washed them well, tucked them into
his pouch and returned to sleep.

In the morning Shimrod reduced the hut and proceeded along the
trail, which stopped short on the banks of the River Tway; Shimrod
crossed at a single bound. The trail continued beside the river,
which at intervals widened into placid ponds reflecting weeping
willows and reeds. Then the river swerved south and the trail once
more north.

Two hours into the afternoon he arrived at the iron post which
marked that intersection known as Twitten's Corner. A sign, The
Laughing Sun and The Crying Moon hung at the door of a long low
inn, constructed of rough-hewn timber. Directly below the sign a
heavy door bound with iron clasps opened into the common-room of
the inn.

Entering, Shimrod saw tables and benches to the left side, a
counter to the right. Here worked a tall narrow-faced youth with
white hair and silver eyes, and—so Shimrod surmised—a proportion
of halfling blood in his veins.

Shimrod approached the counter. The youth came to serve him.
"Sir?"

"I wish accommodation, if such is available."

"I believe that we are full, sir, owing to the fair; but you had
best ask of Hockshank the innkeeper. I am the pot-boy and lack all
authority."

"Be so good, then, as to summon Hockshank."

A voice spoke: "Who pronounces my name?"



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From the kitchen came a man of heavy shoulders, short legs and no
perceptible neck. Thick hair with much the look of old thatch
covered the dome of his head; golden eyes and pointed ears again
indicated halfling blood.

Shimrod responded: "I spoke your name, sir. I wish accommodation,
but I understand that you may be full."

"That is more or less true. Usually I can supply all grades of
accommodation, at varying prices, but now the choice is limited.
What did you have in mind?"

"I would hope for a chamber clean and airy, without insect
population, a comfortable bed, good food and low to moderate
rates."

Hockshank rubbed his chin. "This morning one of my guests was
stung by a brass-horned natrid. He became uneasy and ran off down
the West Road without settling his account. I can offer you his
chamber, along with good food, at moderate cost. Or you may share
a stall with the natrid for a lesser sum."

"I prefer the room," said Shimrod.

"That would be my own choice," said Hockshank. "This way, then."
He led Shimrod to a chamber which Shimrod found adequate to his
needs.

Hockshank said, "You speak with a good voice and carry yourself
like a gentleman; still, I detect about you the odor of magic."

"It emanates, perhaps, from these rings."

"Interesting!" said Hockshank. "For such rings I will trade you a
high-spirited black unicorn. Some say that only a virgin may ride
this creature, but never believe it. What does a unicorn care
about chastity? Even were he so nice, how would he make his
findings? Would maidens be apt to display the evidence so readily?
I think not. We may dismiss the concept as an engaging fable, but
no more."


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"In any case, I need no unicorn."

Hockshank, disappointed, took his departure. "

Shimrod shortly returned to the common-room, where He took a
leisurely supper. Other visitors to the Goblins Fair sat in small
groups discussing their wares and transacting business. Little
conviviality was evident; there was no hearty tossing back of
beer, nor jests called across the room. Rather, the patrons bent
low over their tables muttering and whispering, with suspicious
glances darted to the side. Heads jerked back in outrage; eyeballs
rolled toward the ceiling. There were quivering fists, sudden
indrawn breaths, sibilant exclamations at prices considered
excessive. These were dealers in amulets, talismans, effectuaries,
curios and oddments, of value real or purported. Two wore the blue
and white striped robes of Mauretania, another the coarse tunic of
Ireland. Several used the flat accents of Ar-morica and one golden-
haired man with blue eyes and blunt features might have been a
Lombard or an Eastern Goth. A certain number displayed the signals
of halfling blood: pointed ears, eyes of odd color, extra fingers.
Few women were present, and none resembled the maiden Shimrod had
come to meet.

Shimrod finished his supper, then went to his chamber where he
slept undisturbed the night through.

In the morning Shimrod breakfasted upon apricots, bread and bacon,
then sauntered without haste to the meadow behind the inn, which
was already enclosed within a ring of booths.

For an hour Shimrod strolled here and there, then seated himself
on a bench between a cage of beautiful young hobgoblins with green
wings, and a vendor of aphrodisiacs.

The day passed without notable event; Shimrod returned to the inn.

The next day also was spent in vain, though the fair had reached
its peak of activity. Shimrod waited without impatience; by the
very nature of such affairs, the maiden would delay her appearance


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until Shimrod's restlessness had eroded his prudence—if indeed she
elected to appear at all.

Midway through the afternoon of the third day, the maiden entered
the clearing. She wore a long black cloak flared over a pale tan
gown. The hood was thrown back to reveal a circlet of white and
purple violets around her black hair. She looked about the meadow
in a frowning reverie, as if wondering why she had come. Her gaze
fell upon Shimrod, passed him by, then dubiously returned.

Shimrod rose to his feet and approached her. He spoke in a gentle
voice: "Dream-maiden, I am here."

Sidelong, over her shoulder, she watched him approach, smiling her
half-smile. Slowly she turned to face him. She seemed, thought
Shimrod, somewhat more self-assured, more certainly a creature of
flesh and blood than the maiden of abstract beauty who had walked
through his dreams. She said: "I am here too, as I promised."

Shimrod's patience had been tried by the wait. He made a terse
observation: "You came in no fury of haste."

The maiden showed only amusement. "I knew you would wait."

"If you came only to laugh at me, I am not gratified."

"One way or the other, I am here."

Shimrod considered her with analytical detachment, which she
seemed to find irksome. She asked: "Why do you look at me so?"

"I wonder what you want of me."

She shook her head sadly. "You are wary. You do not trust me."

"You would think me a fool if I did."

She laughed. "Still, a gallant reckless fool."

"I am gallant and reckless to be here at all."


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"You were not so distrustful in the dreaming."

"Then you were dreaming too when you walked along the beach?"

"How could I enter your dreams unless you were in mine? But you
must ask no questions. You are Shimrod, I am Melancthe; we are
together and that defines our world."

Shimrod took her hands and drew her a step closer; the odor of
violets suffused the air between then. "Each time you speak you
reveal a new paradox. How could you know to call me Shimrod? I
named no names in my dreams."

Melancthe laughed. "Be reasonable, Shimrod! Is it likely that I
should wander into the dream of someone even whose name I did not
know? To do so would violate the precepts of both politeness and
propriety."

"That is a marvelous and fresh viewpoint," said Shimrod. "I am
surprised that you dared so boldly. You must know that in dreams
propriety is often disregarded."

Melancthe tilted her head, grimaced, jerked her shoulders, as
might a silly young girl. "I would take care to avoid improper
dreams."

Shimrod led her to a bench somewhat apart from the traffic of the
fair. The two sat half-facing, knees almost touching.

Shimrod said: "The truth and all the truth must be known!"

"How so, Shimrod?"

"If I may not ask questions, or—more accurately—if you give me no
answers, how can I not feel uneasiness and distrust in your
company?"

She leaned half an inch toward him and he again noticed the scent
of violets. "You came here freely, to meet someone you had known


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only in your dreams. Was this not an act of commitment?"

"In a certain sense. You beguiled me with your beauty. I gladly
succumbed. I yearned then as I do now, to take such fabulous
beauty and such intelligence for my own. In coming here I made an
implicit pledge, in the realm of love. In meeting me here, you
also made the same implicit pledge."

"I spoke neither pledge nor promise."

"Nor did I. Now they must be spoken by both of us, so that all
things may be justly weighed."

Melancthe laughed uncomfortably and moved on the bench. "The words
will not come to my mouth. I cannot speak them. Somehow I am
constrained."

"By your virtue?"

"Yes, if you must have it so."

Shimrod reached and took her hands in his. "If we are to be
lovers, then virtue must stand aside."

"It is more than virtue alone. It is dread."

"Of what?"

"I find it too strange to talk about."

"Love need not be dreadful. We must relieve you of this fear."

Melancthe said softly: "You are holding my hands in yours."

"Yes."

"You are the first to hold me."

Shimrod looked into her face. Her mouth, rose-red on the pale
olive of her face, was fascinating in its flexibility. He leaned


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forward and kissed her, though she might have turned her head to
avoid him. He thought her mouth trembled under his.

She drew away. "That meant nothing!"

"It meant only that as lovers we kissed each other."

"Nothing truly happened!"

Shimrod shook his head in perplexity. "Who is seducing whom? If we
are working to the same ends, there is no need for so many cross-
purposes."

Melancthe groped for a reply. Shimrod pulled her close and would
have kissed her again, but she pulled away. "First you must serve
me."

"In what fashion?"

"It is simple enough. In the forest nearby a door opens into the
otherwhere Irerly. One of us must go through this door and bring
back thirteen gems of different colors, while the other guards the
access."

"That would seem to be dangerous work. At least for whomever
enters Irerly."

"That is why I came to you." Melancthe rose to her feet. "Come, I
will show you."

"Now?"

"Why not? The door is yonder through the forest."

"Very well, then; lead the way."

Melancthe, hesitating, looked askance at Shimrod. His manner was
altogether too easy. She had expected beseechments, protests,
stipulations and attempts to force her into commitments which so
far she felt she had evaded. "Come then."


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She took him away from the meadow and along a faint trail into the
forest. The trail led this way and that, through dappled shade,
past logs supporting brackets and shelves of archaic fungus,
beside clusters of celandines, anemones, monks-hood and harebells.
Sounds faded behind them and they were alone.

They came to a small glade shadowed under tall birch, alders and
oaks. An outcrop of black gabbro edged up from among dozens of
white amaryllis, to become a low crag with a single steep face.
Into this face of black rock an iron-bound door had been fitted.

Shimrod looked around the clearing. He listened. He searched sky
and trees. Nothing could be seen or heard.

Melancthe went to the door. She pulled at a heavy iron latch, drew
it ajar, to display a wall of blank rock.

Shimrod watched from a little distance with a polite if detached
interest.

Melancthe looked at him from the corner of her eye. Shimrod's
unconcern seemed most peculiar. From her cape Melancthe brought a
curious hexagonal pattern, which she touched to the center of the
stone, where it clung. After a moment the stone dissolved to
become luminous mist. She stood back and turned to Shimrod. "There
is the gap into Irerly."

"And a fine gap it is. There are questions I must ask if I am to
guard effectively. First, how long will you be gone? I would not
care to shiver here all night through."

Melancthe, turning, approached Shimrod and put her hands on his
shoulders. The odor of violets came sweetly across the air.
"Shimrod, do you love me?"

"I am fascinated and obsessed." Shimrod put his arms around her
waist and drew her close. "Today it is too late for Irerly. Come,
we will return to the inn. Tonight you will share my chamber, and
much else besides."


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Melancthe, with her face three inches from his, said softly,
"Would you truly wish to learn how much I could love you?"

"That is exactly what I have in mind. Come! Irerly can wait."

"Shimrod, do this for me. Go into Irerly and bring me thirteen
spangling jewels, each of a different color, and I will guard the
passage."

"And then?"

"You will see."

Shimrod tried to take her to the turf. "Now."

"No, Shimrod! After!"

The two stared eye to eye, Shimrod thought, I dare press her no
further; already I have forced her to a statement.

He closed his fingertips against an amulet and spoke between his
teeth the syllables of a spell which had lain heavy in his mind,
and time separated into seven strands. One strand of the seven
lengthened and looped away at right angles, to create a temporal
hiatus; along this strand moved Shimrod, while Melancthe, the
clearing in the forest and all beyond remained static.


Chapter 14

MURGEN RESIDED AT SWER SMOD, a stone manse of fifty vast echoing
chambers, high in the Teach tac Teach.

At the best speed of the feathered boots Shimrod flew, bounded and
leapt along the East-West Road from Twitten's Corner to Oswy
Undervale, then by a side trail to Swer Smod. Murgen's dreadful
sentries allowed him to pass unchallenged.

The front door opened at Shimrod's approach. He entered to find


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Murgen awaiting him at a large table laid with a linen cloth and
silver utensils.

"Be seated," said Murgen. "You will be both hungry and thirsty."

"I am both."

Servants brought tureens and platters; Shimrod satisfied his
hunger while Murgen tasted trifles of this and that, and listened
silently while Shimrod told of his dreams, of Melancthe and the
opening into Irerly.

"I feel that she came to me under compulsion, otherwise her
conduct can't be explained. At one moment she shows an almost
childlike cordiality, the next she becomes totally cynical in her
calculations. Purportedly she wants thirteen gems from Irerly, but
I suspect that her motives are otherwise. She is so sure of my
infatuation that she barely troubles to dissemble."

Murgen said: "The affair exudes the odor of Tamurello. If he
defeats you he weakens me. Then, since he uses Melancthe, his
agency cannot be proved. He toyed with the witch Desmei, then
tired of her. For revenge she contrived two creatures of ideal
beauty: Melancthe and Faude Carfilhiot. She intended that
Melancthe, aloof and unattainable, should madden Tamurello. Alas
for Desmei Tamurello preferred Faude Carfilhiot who is far from
aloof; together they range the near and far shores of unnatural
junction."

"How could Tamurello control Melancthe?"

"I have no inkling of how it might be, if indeed he is involved."

"So then—what should I do?"

"Yours is the passion; you must fulfill it as you choose."

"Well then, what of Irerly?"

"If you go there as you are now, you will never return; that is my


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guess."

Shimrod spoke sadly: "I find it hard to join such faithlessness
with such beauty. She gambles a dangerous game, with her living
self for her stake."

"No less do you, with your dead self as yours."

Shimrod, daunnted by the thought, sat back in his chair. "Worst of
all she intends to win. And yet..."

Murgen waited. "'And yet?'"

"Only that."

"I see." Murgen poured wine into the two glasses. "She must not
win, if for no other reason than to thwart Tamurello. Now and
perhaps forever hence I am preoccupied with Doom. I saw the
portent in the form of a tall sea-green wave. 1 must address
myself to the problem and you may have my power perhaps before you
are ready for it. Prepare yourself, Shimrod. But first: purge
yourself of the infatuation, and there is but a single means to
this end."

Shimrod returned to Twitten's Corner on his feathered feet. He
proceeded to the glade where he had left Melancthe; she stood as
he had left her. He searched the glade; no one skulked in the
shade. He looked into the portal: green striations swam and
swirled to blur the passage into Irerly. From his pouch he took a
ball of yarn. After knotting the loose end into a crack in the
iron of the door, he tossed the ball into the opening. Now he
rewove the seven strands of time, and re-entered the ordinary
environment. Melancthe's words still hung in the air: "And then
you will see."

"You must promise."

Melancthe sighed. "When you come back, you shall have all my
love."



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Shimrod reflected. "And we shall be lovers, in spirit and body; so
you promise?"

Melancthe winced and closed her eyes. "Yes. I will praise you and
caress you and you may commit your erotic fornications upon my
body. Is that definite enough?"

"I will accept it in lieu of anything better. Tell me something of
Irerly and what I must look for."

"You will find yourself in an interesting land of living
mountains. They bellow and yell, but for the most part it is all
braggadocio. I am told that they are ordinarily benign."

"And should I encounter one of the other sort?"

Melancthe smiled her pensive smile. "Then we shall avoid the
qualms and perplexities of your return."

That remark, thought Shimrod, might as happily been left unsaid.

Melancthe went on in an abstracted voice. "Perceptions occur by
unusual methods." She gave Shimrod three small transparent disks.
"These will expedite your search; in fact, you will go instantly
mad without them. As soon as you pass the portal, place these on
your cheeks and your forehead; they are sandestin scales and will
accommodate your senses to Irerly. What is that pack you carry? I
had not noticed it before."

"Personal effects and the like; don't concern yourself. What of
the gems?"

"They occur in thirteen colors not known here. Their function,
either here or there, I do not know, but you must find them and
bring them away."

"Exactly so," said Shimrod. "Now kiss me, to demonstrate good
will."

"Shimrod, you are far too frivolous."


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"And trusting?"

Melancthe, as Shimrod watched, seemed to flicker, or give a quick
jerk of movement. Now she was smiling. "'Trusting'? Not
altogether. Now then, even to enter Irerly, you will need this
sheath. It is stuff to protect you from emanations. Take these as
well." She tendered a pair of iron scorpions crawling at the end
of golden chains. "These are named Hither and Thither. One will
take you there; the other will bring you here. You need nothing
more."

"And you will wait here?"

"Yes, dear Shimrod. Now go."

Shimrod enveloped himself in the sheath, placed the sandestin
scales to his forehead and cheeks, took the iron charms. "Thither!
Take me to Irerly!" He slipped into the passage, picked up his
ball of yarn and went forward. Green fluctuations swarmed and
pulsed. A green wind whirled him afar, another force of mingled
mauve and blue-green sent him careening in other directions. The
yarn spun out between his fingers. The iron scorpion known as
Thither gave a great bound and pulled Shimrod to a passing
luminosity, and down into Irerly.


Chapter 15

IN IRERLY CONDITIONS WERE LESS EASY than Shimrod had hoped. The
sheath of sandestin-stuff lacked consistency and allowed sound and
two other Irerlish sentiments, toice and gliry, to chafe against
his flesh. The iron insects, both Hither and Thither, at once
shriveled into mounds of ash. The fabric of Irerly was viciously
malign, or—so Shimrod speculated—the creatures might not have been
sandestins after all. Further, the disks intended to assist
perception were out of proper adjustment, and Shimrod experienced
a startling set of dislocations: a sound that reached him as a jet
of ill-smelling liquid; other scents were red cones and yellow
triangles which, upon adjustment of the disks, disappeared


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completely. Vision expressed itself as taut lines striking across
space, dripping fire.

He worked at the disks, testing various orientations, quivering to
implausible pains and sounds which crawled across his skin on
spider-legs, until by accident the incoming percepts made contact
with the appropriate areas of his brain. The unpleasant sensations
dwindled, at least temporarily, and Shimrod gratefully took stock
of Irerly.

He apprehended a landscape of vast extent dotted with isolated
mountains of gray-yellow custard, each terminating in a ludicrous
semi-human face. All faces were turned toward himself, displaying
outrage and censure. Some showed cataclysmic scowls and grimaces,
others produced thunderous belches of disdain. The most
intemperate extruded a pair of liver-colored tongues, dripping
magma which tinkled in falling, like small bells; one or two spat
jets of hissing green sound, which Shimrod avoided, so that they
struck other mountains, to cause new disturbance.

Shimrod in accordance with Murgen's instructions, called out in an
amicable voice: "Gentlemen, gentlemen! Tranquility! After all, I
am a guest in your remarkable domain, and I deserve your
consideration!"

One great mountain, seventy-five miles distant, roared in a
crescendo: "Others named themselves guests, but instead proved to
be thieves and predators! They came to plunder us of our thunder-
eggs; now we trust no one. I request the mountains Mank and Elfard
to concatenate upon your substance."

Shimrod again called for attention. "I am not what you think! The
great magicians of the Elder Isles recognize the harms you have
endured. They marvel at your stoic patience. Indeed, I have been
sent here to make commendations for these qualities and your
general excellence. Never have I witnessed magma ejected with such
precision! Never before have there been such grotesque
gesticulations."

"That is easy to say," grumbled the mountain who previously had


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spoken.

"Further," declared Shimrod, "I and my fellows vie in our
detestation of thieves and predators. We have killed several and
now wish to restore the booty. Gentlemen, I have here as many of
your thunder-eggs as was possible to recover on short notice." He
opened his knapsack and poured out a' number of river pebbles. The
mountains displayed doubt and bafflement, and several began to
produce small jets of magma.

A strip of parchment emerged from Shimrod's sack. He plucked it
from the atmosphere and read:

"I, Murgen, write these words. You now know that beauty and faith
are not interchangeable qualities! After you deceived the witch
Melancthe with a hiatus, she worked a similar trick and plucked
you clean of your thunder-eggs, so that the mountains might strike
you with jets of magma. I suspected such a trick and stood by, to
work a third hiatus, during which I replaced in your pouch the
thunder-eggs and all else she had stolen. Proceed as before, but
go warily!"

Shimrod called out to the mountains: "And now, the thunder-eggs!"
He groped into his pouch and brought forth a sack. With a flourish
he spread the contents upon a nearby excrescence. The mountains
became at once mollified and gave over their displays. One of the
most notable, at a distance of a hundred and twenty miles,
projected a meaning: "Well done! Accept our friendly welcome. Do
you intend to reside here at length?"

"Urgent business calls me home almost immediately. I merely wished
to restore your property and to take note of your splendid
achievements."

"Allow me to explain a few aspects of our beloved land. As a basis
you must understand that we subscribe to three competing
religions: The Doctrine of Arcoid Clincture; the Shrouded
Macrolith, which I personally consider a fallacy; and the noble
Derelictionary Tocsin. These differ in significant detail." The
mountain continued in this wise for a goodly period, propounding


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analogies and examples and from time to time gently testing
Shimrod's understanding of the unfamiliar enlightenments.

Shimrod at last said: "Most interesting! My ideas have been
profoundly altered."

"A pity you must depart! Do you intend to return, perhaps, with
more thunder-eggs?"

"As soon as possible! In the meantime I would like to take with me
a few souvenirs, to keep Irerly fresh in my memory."

"No problem whatever. What strikes your fancy?"

"Well—what about the small glittering objects which show many
entrancing colors, thirteen in all? I might well accept a set of
those."

"You refer to the florid little pustules which accumulate around
certain of our orifices; we think of them as chancres, if you will
forgive the word. Take as many as you like."

"In that case, however many will fit into this pouch."

"It will accommodate only a single set. Mank, Idisk! A few of your
choicest pustules, if you will! Now, returning to our discussion
of teleological anomalies, how do your own savants reconcile the
various antic overviews to which we have made reference?"

"Well—in the main, they take the bad with the good."

"Aha! That would be consonant with Original Gnosticism, as I have
long suspected. Well, perhaps strong feelings are unwise. You have
packed your keepsakes? Good. Incidentally, how will you return? I
notice that your sandestins have dissipated into dust."

"I need only follow this line to the portal."

"A clever theory! It implies a whole new and revolutionary logic."



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A far mountain ejected high a jet of blue magma, to express
displeasure. "As always, Dodar's concepts almost superstitiously
range the inconceivable."

"Not so!" declared Dodar stoutly. "A final anecdote to illustrate
my point—but no! I see that Shimrod is anxious to depart. A
pleasant journey then!"

Shimrod groped his way along the yarn, sometimes in several
directions at once, through clouds of bitter music, across the
soft bellies of what he whimsically conceived to be dead ideas.
Green and blue winds thrust from below and above, with such force
that he feared for the strength of the yarn, which seemed to have
acquired a curious resilience. Finally the ball of yarn reached
its original dimension and Shimrod knew that he must be close upon
the aperture. He came upon a sandestin in the form of a fresh-
faced boy, sitting on a rock and holding the end of the yarn.

Shimrod halted. The sandestin rose languidly erect. "You are
carrying thirteen baubles?"

"So I am, and I am now ready to return." "Give me the baubles; I
must convey them through the whorl." Shimrod demurred. "Better
that I carry them. They are too delicate for the care of a
subordinate."

The sandestin tossed aside the loose end of yarn and disappeared
into green mist, and Shimrod was left holding a useless ball of
yarn. Time passed. Shimrod waited, ever more uncomfortable. His
protective mantle had frayed to the verge of collapse and his
perceptual disks were presenting sets of unreliable images.

The sandestin returned, with the air of one who had nothing

better to do. "I am instructed as before. Give me the baubles."

"Not one. Does your mistress consider me such a mooncalf?"

The sandestin departed into a tangle of green membranes,



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looking with sardonic finality back over its shoulder.

Shimrod sighed. Faithlessness, utter and absolute, had been
proved. From his pouch he brought those articles provided by
Murgen: a sandestin of that sort known as a hexamorph, several
capsules of gas, and a tile inscribed with the spell of Invincible
Thrust.

Shimrod instucted the sandestin: "Lead me back through the whorl,
back to the glade by Twitten's Corner."

"The sphincter has been sealed by your enemies. We must go by way
of the five clefts and a perturbation. Wear gas and prepare to use
the spell."

Shimrod surrounded himself in gas from one of the bladders; it
clung to him like syrup. The sandestin led him a far way, and
eventually allowed him to rest. "Be at your ease; we must wait."

Time passed, of a duration Shimrod could not reckon. The sandestin
spoke: "Prepare your spell."

Shimrod took the syllables into his mind, and the runes faded from
the tile, leaving a blank shard.

"Now. Speak your spell."

Shimrod stood in the glade where he had come with Melancthe. She
was nowhere to be seen. The time was late afternoon on a gray
chilly day of late autumn, or winter. Clouds hung low over the
glade; trees surrounding held up stark branches, marking the sky
with black. The face of the bluff no longer showed an iron door.

The Laughing Sun and The Crying Moon on this winter evening was
warm and comfortable and almost empty of guests. Hockshank the
landlord welcomed Shimrod with a polite smile. "I am happy to see
you, sir. I feared that you had suffered a mishap."

"Your fears were by and large accurate."



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"It is no novelty. Each year folk strangely disappear from the
fair."

Shimrod's garments were torn and the fabric had suffered rot; when
he looked in the mirror he saw haggard cheeks, staring eyes and
skin stained the curious brown of weathered wood.

After his supper he sat brooding by the fire. Melancthe, he
reasoned, had sent him into Irerly for one of several possible
purposes: to acquire the thirteen spangled gems, to ensure his
death, or both. His death would seem her prime purpose. Otherwise
she might have allowed him to bring out the gems. At the cost of
her virtue? Shimrod smiled. She would break her promise as easily
as she had broken faith.

In the morning Shimrod paid his score, adjusted the feathers to
his new boots and departed Twitten's Corner.

In due course he arrived at Trilda. The meadow showed dreary and
bleak under the lowering clouds. An additional quality of
desolation surrounded the manse. Shimrod approached, step by step,
then halted to appraise the manse. The door hung ajar.

He went forward slowly and entered through the broken door, into
the parlor, and here he found the corpse of Grofinet, who had been
suspended from the ceiling-beams by his lank legs and burned over
a fire, presumably that he might be forced to reveal the location
of Shimrod's treasures. By the look of affairs, Gro-finet's tail
had first been roasted away, inch by inch, on a brazier. At the
last his head had been lowered into the flames. No doubt, in a
hysteria, he had screamed out his knowledge, suffering agonies as
much for his own weakness as for the fire he dreaded so much. And
then, to silence his raving, someone had split his charred face
with a cleaver.

Shimrod looked under the hearth, but the gnarled object which
represented his store of magical adjuncts was gone. He had
expected nothing else. He knew rudimentary skills, a few
charlatan's tricks, a clever spell or two. Never a great magician,
Shimrod was now barely a magician of any sort.


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Melancthe! She had given him no more faith than he had given her.
Still, he would have brought her no great harm, while she had
sealed the portal against him, so that he should die in Irerly.

"Melancthe, dire Melancthe! For your crimes you will suffer! I
escaped and so I won, but in that absence caused by you I lost my
possessions and Grofinet lost his life; you will suffer
accordingly!" So raved Shimrod as he stalked about the manse.

The robbers who had seized upon his absence to pillage Trilda,
they also must be captured and punished: who might they be?

The House Eye! Established for just such contingencies! But no,
first he would bury Grofinet; and this he did, in a bower behind
the manse, along with his friend's small possessions. He finished
in the fading light of late afternoon. Returning inside the manse
he set every lamp aglow, and built a fire in the fireplace. Still
Trilda seemed bleak.

Shimrod brought the House Eye down from the ridge-beam, and set it
on the carved table in the parlor, where, upon stimulus, it
recreated what it had observed during Shimrod's absence.

The first few days passed without incident. Grofinet zealously
discharged his duties and all was well. Then, during the middle of
a languid summer afternoon the nunciator cried out: "I spy two
strangers, of ilk unknown. They approach from the south!"

Grofinet hurriedly donned his dress helmet and took up what he
considered a posture of authority in the doorway. He called out:
"Strangers, be so good as to halt! This is Trilda, manse of the
Master Magician Shimrod, and at the moment under my protection.
Since I recognize no business with you, in courtesy go your way."

A voice replied: "We request of you refreshment: a loaf, a bite of
cheese, a cup of wine, and we will travel onward."

"Come no further! I will bring you food and drink where you stand,
then you must go your way at once. Such are my orders!"


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"Sir knight, we shall do as you deem proper."

Grofinet, flattered, turned away, but was instantly seized and
trussed tight with leather straps, and so began the dreadful
business of the afternoon.

The intruders were two: a tall handsome man with the clothes and
manners of a gentleman, and his subordinate. The gentleman was of
fine and graceful physique; glossy black hair framed a set of well-
shaped features. He wore dark green hunting leathers, with a black
cape and carried the long sword of a knight.

The second robber showed two inches less of stature and six inches
more of girth. His features were compressed, 'twisted, crumpled
together, as if smeared. A nutmeg-brown mustache drooped over his
mouth. His arms were heavy; his legs were thin and seemed to pain
him as he walked, so that he used a careful mincing gait. It was
he who worked mischief upon Grofinet, while the other leaned
against a table drinking wine and offering suggestions.

At last the deed was done. Grofinet hung smoking; the involuted
box of valuables had been taken from its hiding place.

"So far so good," declared the black-haired knight, "though
Shimrod has snarled his treasures into a riddle. Still, we have
each done well."

"It is a happy occasion. I have toiled long and hard. Now I may
rest and enjoy my wealth."

The knight laughed indulgently. "I rejoice for you. After a
lifetime of lopping heads, winding the rack and twisting noses,
you have become a person of substance, perhaps even of social
pretension. Will you become a gentleman?"

"Not I. My face tells all. 'Here,' it says, 'stands a thief and a
hangman.' So be it: good trades both, and alas for my sore knees
that bar me from either."



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"A pity! Such skills as yours are rare."

"In all truth, I've lost my taste for gut-cutting by firelight,
and as for thieving, my poor sore knees are no longer fit for the
trade. They bend both ways and snap aloud. Still, I won't deny
myself a bit of purse-slitting and picking of pockets for
amusement's sake."

"So where will you go for your new career?" "I'll be away to
Dahaut and there I'll follow the fairs, and perhaps I'll become a
Christian. If you need me, leave word in Avallon at the place I
mentioned."

Shimrod flew on feathered feet to Swer Smod. A proclamation hung
on the door:

The land is uneasy and the future is uncertain. Murgen must give
over his ease that he may solve the problems of Doom. To those who
have come as visitors he regrets his absence. Friends and persons
in need may take shelter, but my protection is not guaranteed. To
those who intend harm I need say nothing. They already know.

Shimrod indited a message, which he left on the table of the main
hall:

There is little to say other than                                that I have come and gone. On my
travels affairs went according to                                plan, but there were losses at
Trilda. I will return, so I hope,                                within the year, or as soon as
justice has been done. I leave in                                your care the gems of thirteen
colors.

He ate from Murgen's larder, and slept on a couch in the hall.

In the morning he dressed in the costume of a wandering musician:
a green brimless cap pointed at the front with a panache of owl's
feathers, tight trousers of green twill, a blue tunic and a nut-
brown cape.

On the great table he found a silver penny, a dagger and a small
six-stringed cadensis of unusual shape which, almost of its own


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accord, produced lively tunes. Shimrod pocketed the coin, tucked
the dagger into his girdle, slung the cadensis over his shoulder.
Then, departing Swer Smod, he set off across the Forest of
Tantrevalles toward Dahaut.

Chapter 16

IN A BELL-SHAPED CELL fourteen feet in diameter and seventy feet
underground, days were differentiated by the most trivial
circumstances: the drip of rain, the glimpse of blue sky, an extra
crust in the rations. Aillas recorded the passage of days by
placing pebbles on a ledge. Each ten pebbles in the "unit" area
yielded a single pebble in the "ten" area. On the day after nine
"tens" and nine "units," Aillas placed a single pebble in the
"hundred" area.

He was fed a loaf of bread, a jug of water and either a bundle of
carrots or turnips, or a head of cabbage, every three days, by
means of a basket lowered from above.

Aillas often wondered how long he would live. At first he lay
inert, in apathy. At last, with vast effort, he forced himself to
exercise: pushing, pulling, jumping, tumbling. As his muscular
tone returned, so rose his morale. Escape: not impossible. But
how? He tried scratching handholds into the stone wall; the
proportions and cross section of the cell guaranteed failure for
this approach. He tried to lift the stones of the floor, that he
might pile them and so reach the shaft, but the joints were too
tight and the blocks too heavy: another program he was forced to
discard.

The days passed, one by one, and the months. In the garden the
days and months also passed and Suldrun swelled with the child
conceived by Aillas and herself.

King Casmir had forbidden the garden to all but a deaf-mute
kitchen maid.

Brother Umphred however considered himself, a priest of the cloth,
exempt from the ban, and visited Suldrun after about three months.


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Hoping for news Suldrun tolerated his presence, but Brother
Umphred could tell her nothing. He suspected that Aillas had felt
the full weight of King Casmir's wrath, and since this was also
Suldrun's belief, she put no more questions. Brother Umphred
attempted a few half-hearted intimacies, at which Suldrun went
into the chapel and closed the door. And Brother Umphred departed
without noticing that Suldrun already had started to swell.

Three months later he returned and now Suldrun's condition was
evident.

Brother Umphred made the sly observation: "Suldrun, my dear, you
are becoming stout."

Without words Suldrun once more rose to her feet and went into the
chapel.

Brother Umphred sat a few moments in deep reflection, then went to
consult his register. He calculated forward from the date of
marriage and arrived at a tentative birth-date. Since conception
had occurred several weeks before the marriage, his date was just
so much in error, a detail which escaped Brother Umphred's
attention. The great fact was pregnancy: how best could he profit
from this choice item of knowledge which seemed known only to
himself?

Further weeks passed by. Brother Umphred contrived a hundred
schemes, but none gained him advantage and he held his tongue.

Suldrun well understood Brother Umphred's calculations. Her
concern grew as her time approached. Sooner or later Brother
Umphred must sidle up to King Casmir and, in that unlikely
mingling of humility and impudence, disclose her precious secret.

What then? Her imagination dared not venture so far. Whatever
might happen would not be to her liking.

The time grew short. In a sudden panic Suldrun scrambled up the
hillside and over the wall. She hid herself where she could watch
the peasants on their way to and from the market.


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On the second day she intercepted Ehirme, who, after whispered
exclamations of astonishment climbed over the stones and into the
garden. She wept and hugged Suldrun, and demanded to know what had
gone wrong with the plan to escape. All had been in readiness!

Suldrun explained as best she coukl.

"What of Aillas?"

Suldrun knew nothing. The silence was sinister. Aillas must be
considered dead. Together they wept anew and Ehirme cursed the
unnatural tyrant who would visit such misery upon his daughter.

Ehirme calculated months and days. She judged time against cycles
of the moon, and so determined when Suldrun most likely would give
birth. The time was near: perhaps five days, perhaps ten; no more,
and all without a vestige of preparation.

"You shall run away again, tonight!" declared Ehirme.

Wistfully Suldrun rejected the idea. "You are the first they would
think of, and terrible things would happen."

"What of the child? They will take it away from you."

Once more Suldrun could not restrain tears and Ehirme held her
close. "Listen now to a crafty thought! My niece is a halfwit;
three times she has come pregnant by the stable-boy, another half-
wit. The first two infants died at once, from sheer confusion. She
is already cramping and presently will deliver her third brat,
which no one, least of all herself, wants. Be of good cheer!
Somehow we shall rescue the situation."

Suldrun said sadly: "There is very little now to rescue."

"We shall see!"

Ehirme's niece bore her brat: a girl, according to external
evidence. Like its predecessors, it went into convulsions, emitted


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a few squeaks and died face down in its own discharges.

The corpse was packed into a box, over which—since the niece had
been persuaded to Christianity—Brother Umphred intoned a few pious
words, and the box was taken off by Ehirme for burial.

At noon of the following day Suldrun went into labor. Close on
sunset, haggard, hollow-eyed but relatively cheerful, she gave
birth to a son whom she named Dhrun, after a Danaan hero who ruled
the worlds of Arcturus.

Ehirme washed Dhrun well and dressed him in clean linens. Late in
the evening she returned with a small box. Up under the olive
trees she dug a shallow grave into which she unceremoniously slid
the dead infant. She broke the box and burnt it in the fireplace.
Suldrun lay on her couch watching with big eyes.

Ehirme waited until the flames died low and the baby slept. "Now I
must leave. I will not tell you where Dhrun will go, so that, in
all cases, he will be safe from Casmir. In a month or two, or
three, you will disappear, and go to your baby and live
thereafter, so I hope, without sorrow."

Suldrun said softly: "Ehirme, I fear!"

Ehirme hunched up her heavy shoulders. "In truth, I fear too. But
whatever happens, we have done our best."

Brother Umphred sat at a small table of ebony and ivory, across
from Queen Sollace. With great concentration he studied a set of
wooden tablets, each carved with hermetic import understood only
by Brother Umphred. To either side of the table burned candles of
bayberry wax.

Brother Umphred leaned forward as if in astonishment. "Can it be?
Another child born into the royal family?"

Queen Sollace uttered a throaty laugh. "There, Umphred, is either
jest or nonsense."



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"The signs are clear. A blue star hangs in the grotto of the nymph
Merleach. Cambianus ascends to the seventh; here, there—see them
now!—are other nascents. No other meaning is plausible. The time
is now. My dear queen, you must summon an escort and make
inspection. Let your wisdom be the test!"

"'Inspection'? Do you mean ..." Sollace's voice trailed off into
surmise.

"I know only what the tablets tell me."

Sollace heaved herself to her feet and summoned ladies from the
adjoining parlor. "Come! Whim is on me to walk out of doors."

The group, chattering, laughing and complaining of the untoward
exercise, marched up the arcade, sidled through the postern and
picked their way down through the rocks to the chapel.

Suldrun appeared.                           Immediately she knew why they had come.

Queen Sollace gave her a critical inspection. "Suldrun, what is
all this nonsense?"

"What nonsense, royal mother?"

"That you were pregnant with child. I see that this is not so, for
which I give thanks. Priest, your tablets have deceived you!"

"Madame, the tablets are seldom wrong."

"But you can see for yourself!"

Brother Umphred frowned and pulled at his chin. "She is not now
pregnant, so it would seem."

Queen Sollace stared at him a moment then swept to the chapel and
looked within. "There is no child here."

"Then it would seem to be elsewhere."



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Now exasperated, Queen Sollace swung upon Suldrun. "Once and for
all, let us have the truth of this!"

Brother Umphred added thoughtfully, "If collusion exists, it can
easily be discovered."

Suldrun turned Brother Umphred a glance of contempt. "I gave birth
to a daughter. She opened her eyes on the world; she saw the
cruelty in which life must be lived, and closed her eyes again. I
buried her yonder in great sorrow."

Queen Sollace made a gesture of frustration and signaled a page
boy. "Fetch the king; this is a matter for his attention, not
mine. I would never have pent the girl here in the first place."

King Casmir arrived, already in a foul humor which he masked
behind a face of somber impassivity.

King Casmir stared at Suldrun. "What are the facts?"

"I bore a child. She died."

Desmei's prediction, in regard to Suldrun's first-born son, jerked
to the forefront of Casmir's mind. "Girl? A girl?"

For Suldrun deception was difficult. She nodded. "I buried her on
the hillside."

King Casmir looked around the circle of faces and pointed to
Umphred. "You, priest, with your dainty marriages and mincing
cant: you are the man for this job. Bring hither the corpse."

Boiling with fury he could not express, Brother Umphred humbly
bowed his head and went to the grave. In the final rays of
afternoon, he pulled aside the black mold with delicate white
hands. A foot below the surface he found the linen cloth in which
the dead infant had been wrapped. As he dug away the dirt the
cloth fell open to reveal the head. Brother Umphred paused in his
digging. Through his mind passed a swift set of images and echoes
of past confrontations. The images and echoes broke and vanished.


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He' lifted the dead infant in its cloth and carried it to the
chapel and placed it before King Casmir.

For an instant Brother Umphred looked toward Suldrun and met her
gaze, and in that single glance conveyed to her all the bitter
hurt her remarks across the years had done to him.

"Sire," said the priest, "here is the corpse of a female infant.
It is not Suldrun's child. I performed final rites over this child
three or four days ago. It is the bastard of one Megweth, by the
groom Ralf."

King Casmir uttered a terse bark of laughter. "And I was so to be
deceived?" He looked toward his entourage and pointed to a
sergeant. "Take priest and corpse to the mother and learn the
truth of this matter. If the infants have been transferred, bring
with you the living child."

The visitors departed the garden, leaving Suldrun alone in the
light of a waxing moon.

The sergeant, with Brother Umphred, visited Megweth, who gave
quick information that the corpse had been given into the care of
Ehirme for burial.

The sergeant returned to Haidion not only with Megweth, but also
Ehirme.

Ehirme spoke humbly to King Casmir. "Sire, if I have done wrong,
be sure that my reason was only love for your blessed daughter the
Princess Suldrun, who does not deserve the woe of her life."

King Casmir lowered his eyelids. "Woman, are you declaring that my
judgment in regard to the disobedient Suldrun is incorrect?"

"Sire, I speak not from disrespect, but from faith that you wish
to hear truth from your subjects. I do believe that you were far
too harsh on the poor bit of a girl. I beg you to let her live a
happy life with her own child: She will thank you for the mercy,
as will I and all your subjects, for she has in her entire life


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never done a wrong."

The room was silent. Everyone furtively watched King Casmir, who
in his turn pondered... The woman of course was right, thought
Casmir. Now to show mercy was equivalent to the admission that he
had indeed dealt harshly with his daughter. He could discern no
graceful retreat. With mercy impractical, he could only reaffirm
his previous position.

"Ehirme, your loyalty is commendable. I can only wish that my
daughter had given me a similar service. I will not here and now
review her case, nor explain the apparent severity of her
punishment, save to state that, as a royal princess her first duty
is to the kingdom.

"We will discuss this matter no longer. I now refer to that child
borne by Princess Suldrun in what seems to have been lawful
wedlock, which makes the child legitimate, hence a subject for my
dutiful concern. I must now ask the seneschal to send you out with
a suitable escort, that we may have the child here at Haidion
where it belongs."

Ehirme blinked indecisively. "May I ask, sire, without giving
offense: what of Princess Suldrun, since the child is hers?"

Again King Casmir pondered his reply; again he spoke gently. "You
are properly steadfast in your concern for the errant princess.

"First, as to the marriage, I now declare it void, null and
contrary to the interests of the state, though the child can only
be considered legitimate. As for Princess Suldrun, I will go so
far: if she submissively declares her wrong-doing, if she will
affirm an intent to act henceforth in full obedience to my orders,
she may return to Haidion, and assume the condition of mother to
her child. But first and immediately we shall fetch the child."

Ehirme licked her lips, wiped her nose with the back of her hand,
looked to right, then to left. She said in a tentative voice:
"Your Majesty's edict is very good. I beg your leave to bring
these words of hope to the Princess Suldrun, and lessen her grief.


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May I just run now to the garden?"

King Casmir gave a grim nod. "You may do so, as soon as we know
where to find the child."

"Your Majesty, I cannot reveal her secret! In your generosity,
bring her here and tell her the good news!"

King Casmir's eyelids dropped the sixteenth part of an inch. "Do
not put loyalty to the princess above duty to me, your king. I ask
you the question once more only. Where is the child?"

Ehirme croaked, "Sire, I beg that you put the question to
Suldrun."

King Casmir gave a small jerk of the head and twitch of the hand:
signals adequately familiar to those who served him, and Ehirme
was led from the hall.

During the night Suldrun's sleep, fitful at the best, was
disturbed by a periodic mad howling from the Peinhador. She could
not identify the quality of the sound, and tried to ignore it.

Padraig, Ehirme's third son, rushed across the Urquial to the
Peinhador and flung himself upon Zerling. "No more! She will not
tell you, but I will! Only now have I returned from Glym-wode,
where I took the cursed brat; there you will find it."

Zerling suspended torment upon the sprawled mound of flesh, and
informed King Casmir, who instantly sent a party of four knights
and two wet nurses in a carriage to retrieve the child. Then he
asked Zerling: "Did the message come through the woman's mouth?"

"No, your Majesty. She will not speak."

"Prepare to cut a hand and a foot each from her husband and sons,
unless she passes the words through her mouth."

Ehirme saw the grisly preparations through filmed eyes. Zerling
said: "Woman, a party is on its way to bring the child back from


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Glymwode. The king insists that, in order to obey his command, you
respond to the question; otherwise your husband and sons must each
lose a hand and foot. I ask you: where is the child?"

Padraig cried out: "Speak, mother! Silence has no more meaning!"

Ehirme said in a heavy croak, "The baby is at Glymwode. There, you
have it."

Zerling loosed the men and sent them out into the Urquial. Then he
took a pincers, pulled Ehirme's tongue from her head and slit it
in two. With red-hot iron he seared the wound to staunch the
blood, and such was Casmir's final penalty upon Ehirme.

In the garden the first day went by slowly, instant after hesitant
instant, each approaching diffidently, as if on tiptoe, to hurry
across the plane of the present and lose itself among the glooms
and shadows of the past.

The second day was hazy, less breathless, but the air hung heavy
with portent.

The third day, still hazy, seemed sluggish and drained of
sensibility, yet somehow innocent and sweet, as if ready for
renewal. On this day Suldrun went slowly about the garden, pausing
at times to touch the trunk of a tree, or the face of a stone.
With head bent she walked the length of her beach, and only once
paused to look to sea. Then she climbed the path, to sit among the
ruins.

The afternoon passed: a golden dreaming time, and the stone cliffs
encompassed the whole of the universe.

The sun sank softly and quietly. Suldrun nodded pensively, as if
here were elucidation of an uncertainty, though tears coursed down
her cheeks.

The stars appeared. Suldrun descended to the old lime tree and, in
the dim light of the stars, she hanged herself. The moon, rising
over the ridge, shone on a limp form and a sad sweet face, already


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preoccupied with her new knowledge.

Chapter 17

AT THE BOTTOM OF THE OUBLIETTE, Aillas no longer considered
himself alone. With great patience he had arranged along one wall
twelve skeletons. In days long past, when each of the individuals
so represented had walked his term of days as a man, and at the
end as a prisoner, each had scratched his name, and often a motto,
into the rock wall: twelve names to match twelve skeletons. There
had been no rescues, pardons, or escapes; such seemed to be the
message of the correspondence. Aillas started to inscribe his own
name, using the edge of a buckle; then in a spasm of anger he
desisted. Such an act meant resignation, and presaged the
thirteenth skeleton.

Aillas confronted his new friends. To each he had assigned one of
the names, possibly without accuracy. "Still," Aillas told the
group, "a name is a name, and were one of you to address me
incorrectly, I would take no offense."

He called his new friends to order: "Gentlemen, we sit in
conclave, to share our collective wisdom and to ratify a common
policy. There are no rules of order; let spontaneity serve us all,
within the limits of decorum.

"Our general topic is 'escape.' It is a subject we all have
considered, evidently without enlightenment. Some of you may
regard the matter as no longer consequential; still, a victory for
one is a victory for all! Let us define the problem. Simply
stated, it is the act of ascending the shaft, from here to the
surface. I believe that if I were able to gain the bottom of the
shaft I could climb crab-wise to the surface.

"To this end, I need to elevate myself twelve feet into the shaft,
and this is a formidable problem. I cannot jump so high. I have no
ladder. You, my colleagues, while strong of bone, lack sinew and
muscle... Might it be that with a resourceful use of these bones
and yonder rope something could be contrived? I see before me
twelve skulls, twelve pelvises, twenty-four thighbones, twenty-


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four shin-bones, and a like number of upper arms and lower arms,
many ribs and a large number of accessory parts.

"Gentlemen, there is work to be done. The time has come for
adjournment. Will someone make the appropriate motion?"

A guttural voice said: "I move to dissolve the conference sine
die."

Aillas stared around the line of skeletons. Which had spoken? Or
had it been his own voice? After a pause he asked: "Are there
negative votes?"

Silence.

"In that case," said Aillas, "the conclave is dissolved."

He set himself to work at once, disassembling each skeleton,
sorting the components, testing them in new combinations to
discover optimum linkages. Then he began to build, fitting bone to
bone with care and precision, grinding against stone when
necessary and securing the joints with rope fiber. He started with
four pelvises, which he joined with struts of bound ribs. Upon
this foundation he mounted the four largest femurs and surmounted
these with four more pelvises, and braced with more ribs. Upon
this platform he fixed four more femurs, and four final pelvises,
bracing and cross-bracing to insure rigidity. He had now achieved
a ladder of two stages, which when he tested it bore his weight
with no complaint. Then up another stage and another. He worked
without haste, while days became weeks, determined that the ladder
should not fail at the critical moment. To control sidewise sway,
he worked bone splinters into the floor and set up rope guys; the
solidity of the structure gave him a ferocious satisfaction. The
ladder was now his whole life, a thing of beauty in itself, so
that escape began to be of less consequence than the magnificent
ladder. He reveled in the spare white struts, the neat joints, the
noble upward thrust.

The ladder was finished. The top level, contrived of ulnas and
radii, stood only two feet under the opening of the shaft, and


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Aillas, with vast caution, practiced inserting himself into the
shaft. There was nothing to delay his departure, except to await
the next basket of bread and water, so that he might avoid meeting
Zerling on his way to feed him. At the next feeding, when Zerling
pulled up the untouched food, he would nod sagely and thereafter
bring no more baskets.

The bread and water arrived at noon. Aillas took them from the
basket, which was then drawn empty up the shaft.

The afternoon waned; never had time passed so slowly. The top of
the shaft darkened; evening had come. Aillas mounted the ladder.
He placed his shoulders against one side of the shaft, his feet
against the other, to wedge himself in place. Then six inches at a
time he thrust himself up the shaft: at first awkwardly, with fear
lest he slip, then with increasing ease. He paused once to rest,
and again, when he had approached to three feet from the top, to
listen.

Silence.

He continued, now gritting his teeth and grimacing in tension. He
thrust his shoulders over the edge of the low wall and rolled to
the side. He put his feet to solid ground, stood erect.

The night was quiet around him. To one side the mass of the
Peinhador blotted out the sky. Aillas ran crouching to the old
wall which enclosed the Urquial. Like a great black rat he skulked
through the shadows and around to the old postern.

The door stood ajar, sagging on a broken hinge. Aillas looked
uncertainly down the trail. He slipped through the aperture,
crouching uneasily. No challenge came from the dark. Aillas sensed
that the garden was untenanted.

He descended the path to the chapel. As he expected, no candle
glimmered; the hearth was dead. He proceeded down the path. The
moon, rising over the hills, shone on the wan marble of the ruins.
Aillas paused, to look and listen, then descended to the lime
tree.


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"Aillas."

He halted. Again he heard the voice, speaking in a dreary half-
whisper. "Aillas."

He approached the lime tree. "Suldrun? I am here."

Beside the tree stood a shape of wisps and mist. . "Aillas,
Aillas, you are too late; they have taken our son."

Aillas spoke in astonishment. "'Our son'?"

"He is named Dhrun, and now he is forever gone from me... Oh
Aillas, it is not pleasant to be dead."

Tears started from Aillas' eyes. "Poor Suldrun. How could they
treat you so?"

"Life was not kind to me. Now it is gone."

"Suldrun, come back to me!"

The pale shape moved and seemed to smile. "No. I am cold and dank.
Are you not afraid?"

"I will never be afraid again. Take my hands, I will give you
warmth."

Again the shape shifted in the moonlight. "I am Suldrun, yet I am
not Suldrun. I ache with a chill all your warmth could never
melt... I am tired; I must go."

"Suldrun! Stay with me, I beg you!"

"Dear Aillas, you would find me bad company."

"Who betrayed us? The priest?"

"The priest indeed. Dhrun, our dear little boy: find him, give him


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care and love. Say that you will!"

"I will do so, as best I can."

"Dear Aillas, I must go."

Aillas stood alone, his heart too full even for the flowing of
tears. The garden was empty except for himself. The moon rose into
the sky. Aillas finally bestirred himself. He dug under the roots
of the lime tree and brought out Persilian the mirror and the
pouch with the coins and gems from Suldrun's chamber.

He spent the rest of the night in the grass under the olive trees.
At dawn he scaled the rocks and hid in the undergrowth beside the
road.

A band of beggars and pilgrims came from the direction of
Kercelot, east along the coast. Aillas joined them and so came
down into Lyonesse Town. Recognition? He feared it not at all. Who
could know this haggard gray-faced wretch for Prince Aillas of
Troicinet?

Where the Sfer Arct met the Chale a cluster of inns displayed
their boards. At the Four Mallows, Aillas took lodging, and,
finally heeding the reproaches of his stomach, made a slow meal of
cabbage soup, bread and wine, eating with great caution lest the
unaccustomed food work mischief on his shrunken stomach. The food
made him drowsy; he went to his cubicle and shaking out the straw
pallet, slept into the afternoon.

Awakening, he stared around the walls in alarm close to
consternation. He lay back, body trembling and at last eased his
racing pulse... For a period he sat cross-legged on the pallet,
sweltering in terror. How had he held his sanity so dark and deep
below the ground? Urgencies now thronged upon him; truly he needed
time to think, to plan, to recover his poise.

He rose to his feet and went down to the area at the front of the
inn, where an arbor of vines and climbing roses shielded benches
and tables from the hot afternoon sunlight.


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Aillas seated himself at a bench beside the road, and a serving
boy brought him beer and fried oat-cakes. Two urgencies pulled him
in opposite directions: a near-unbearable homesickness for
Watershade, and a longing, reinforced by the charge laid upon him,
to find his son.

A dock-side barber shaved him and cut his hair. He bought garments
at a booth, washed at a public bath, dressed in his new clothes,
and felt immeasurably better. Now he might be taken for a seaman
or a tradesman's apprentice.

He returned to the arbor in front of the Four Mallows, which had
become busy with late afternoon trade. Aillas drank from a mug of
beer and listened to such scraps of conversation as he could
overhear, hoping for news. An old man with a flat florid face,
silky-clean white hair and a mild blue gaze settled himself across
the table. He gave Aillas an amiable greeting, ordered beer and
fish-cakes and wasted no time engaging Aillas in conversation.
Aillas, wary of Casmir's notorious corps of informers, responded
with simple-minded innocence. The old man's name, so Aillas
gathered from the salute of a passerby, was Byssante. He needed no
encouragement and provided Aillas information of all kinds. He
touched upon the war and Aillas learned that conditions were
generally as before. The Troice still immobilized the ports of
Lyonesse. A fleet of Troice warships had won a notable victory
over the Ska, effectively sealing the Lir from their depredations.

Aillas spoke only: "Exactly so!" and "So I understand!" and "Such
things happen, alas!" But this was enough, especially when Aillas
ordered more beer and so provided Byssante a second wind.

"What King Casmir plans for Lyonesse, I fear is not succeeding of
its own weight, though if Casmir heard my opinion, he'd have me
crotch to stock in a trice. Still, the conditions may go even
worse, depending upon the Troice succession."

"How so?"

"Well, King Granice is old and fierce but he can't live forever.


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Should Granice die today, the crown goes to Ospero, who lacks all
ferocity. When Ospero dies, Prince Trewan takes the crown, since
Ospero's son was lost at sea. If Ospero dies before Granice,
Trewan takes the crown directly. Trewan is said to be a fire-
breathing warrior; Lyonesse can expect the worst. Were I King
Casmir, I would sue for peace on the best terms to be had, and put
my grand ambitions aside."

"That might well be the best of it," Aillas agreed. "But what of
Prince Arbamet? Did he not hold first claim to the throne after
Granice?"

"Arbamet died of injuries when he fell from a horse, something
more than a year ago. Still, it's all the same. One is as savage
as the next, so that now even the Ska won't come near. Ah my
throat! So much talking is dry work. What of it, lad? Can you
oblige an old pensioner a stoup of beer?"

Without enthusiasm Aillas called the serving boy. "A measure of
beer for this gentleman. Nothing more for me."

Byssante spoke on, while Aillas brooded over what he had heard.
Prince Arbamet, Trewan's father, had been alive when he had
departed Domreis aboard the Smaadra. The line of succession had
been straight: Granice through Arbamet to Trewan, and thereafter
Trewan's male progeny. At Ys, Trewan had visited the Troice cog,
and apparently had learned of his father's death. The line of
descent then became painful from his point of view: Granice
through Ospero to Aillas, bypassing Trewan altogether. No wonder
Trewan had returned from the Troice cog in a glum mood! And no
mystery whatever why Aillas must be murdered!

Swift return to Troicinet was imperative—but what of Dhrun, his
son?

Almost as if in response Byssante rapped him with a pink knuckle.
"Look you yonder! The ruling house of Lyonesse drives forth for an
afternoon airing!"

Preceded by a pair of mounted heralds and followed by twelve


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soldiers in dress uniform, a splendid carriage drawn by six white
unicorns rolled down the Sfer Arct. Facing forward, King Casmir
and Prince Cassander, a slender big-eyed youth fourteen years old,
rode in the back seat. On the seat across sat Queen Sollace in a
gown of green silk and Fareult, Duchess of Relsimore, who carried
in her lap, or more accurately, tried to control, an auburn-haired
infant in a white gown. The child wanted to climb up on the back
of the seat despite Lady Fareult's admonitions and King Casmir's
scowling. Queen Sollace merely averted her gaze.

"There you have the royal family," said Byssante with an indulgent
wave of the hand. "King Casmir, Prince Cassander and Queen Sollace
and a lady whom I don't know. Beside her stands the Princess
Madouc, daughter to Princess Suldrun, now dead by her own hand."

"Princess Madouc? A girl?"

"Aye, an odd little creature she's said to be." Byssante finished
his beer. "You are a lucky fellow to witness royal pomp so close
at hand! And now I'm off to my nap."

Aillas went to his chamber. Sitting on the chair, he unwrapped
Persilian and set it on the night-stand. The mirror, in one of its
flippant moods, reflected the wall first upside-down, then
reversed left to right, then showed a window giving on the stable-
yard, then with King Casmir peering balefully in through the
window.

Aillas said: "Persilian."

"I am here."

Aillas spoke with great caution, lest inadvertently he phrase a
casual remark in the form of a question. "I may ask you three
questions, then no more."

"You may ask a fourth question. I will answer, but then I will be
free. You have already asked one question."

Aillas spoke carefully: "I want to find my son Dhrun, take him


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into my custody, then return with him quickly and safely to
Troicinet. Tell me how best to do this."

"You must put your requirements in the form of a question."

"How can I do as I described?"

"That is essentially three questions."

"Very well," said Aillas. "Tell me how to find my son."

"Ask Ehirme."

"Only that?" cried Aillas. "Two words and no more?"

"The reply is adequate," said Persilian and would say no more.
Aillas wrapped the mirror in a cloth and tucked it under the straw
pallet.

The time was late afternoon. Aillas strolled out along the Chale,
brooding upon what he had learned. At the shop of a Moorish
goldsmith he offered for sale a pair of Suldrun's emeralds, each
the size of a pea.

The Moor examined the gems in turn, using a magnifying lens of a
sort strange and new. Completing his appraisal he spoke in a
studiously flat voice. "These are excellent gems. I will pay one
hundred silver florins for each—approximately half their worth.
That is my first, last and only offer."

"Done," said Aillas. The Moor laid out gold and silver coins,
which Aillas swept into his pouch, then departed the shop.

At sunset Aillas returned to the Four Mallows where he supped upon
fried fish, bread and wine. He slept soundly and when he awoke the
oubliette seemed a bad dream. He took breakfast, paid his account,
slung the parcel containing Persilian over his shoulder and set
out along the shore-road south.

By a route remembered from what seemed a previous existence he


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tramped to the farmstead where Ehirme made her home. As before he
halted by the hedge and took stock of the surroundings. As before
men and boys worked hay. In the kitchen garden a stocky old crone
hobbled among the cabbages, cutting weeds with a hoe. As Aillas
watched, three small pigs escaped from the sty and trotted briskly
into the turnip patch. The crone gave a peculiar warbling scream
and a small girl ran from the cottage to chase the pigs who darted
everywhere except toward the sty.

The girl ran panting past the gate. Aillas stopped her. "Would you
tell Ehirme that someone at the gate wishes to speak to her?"

The girl looked him up and down in hostility and distrust. She
called out to the old woman who weeded the cabbages, then resumed
her pursuit of the pigs, in which she now was joined by a small
black dog.

The old woman hobbled toward the gate. A shawl thrown over her
head, and projecting a little past her face, shaded her features.

Aillas stared in consternation. This crooked old creature: was it
Ehirme? She drew close: first a step of the right leg, then a
lurch of the hip, and a swing around of the left leg. She halted.
Her face showed odd distortions and creases; her eyes seemed to
have sunk in their sockets.

Aillas stammered: "Ehirme! What has happened to you?"

Ehirme opened her mouth and produced a set of warbling vocables,
none intelligible to Aillas. She made a sign of frustration and
called the girl, who came to stand beside her. The girl told
Aillas: "King Casmir cut her tongue and hurt her everywhere."

Ehirme spoke; the girl listened carefully, then, turning to
Aillas, translated. "She wants to know what happened to you."

"They put me in an underground dungeon. I escaped, and now I want
to find my son."

Ehirme spoke; the girl just shook her head. Aillas asked: "What


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did she say?"

"Things about King Casmir."

"Ehirme, where is my son Dhrun?"

A moment of incomprehensible warbling, which the girl translated:
"She doesn't know what has happened. She sent the baby to her
mother, out by the great forest. Casmir sent out a party but they
brought back a girl. So the baby boy must still be there."

"And how will I find this place?"

"Go up to the Old Street, then east to Little Saffield. Here take
the side road north to Tawn Timble, and thence to the village
Glymwode. There you must ask for Graithe the woodcutter and Wynes,
his wife."

Aillas looked into his pouch and brought out a necklace of pink
pearls. He gave it to Ehirme, who accepted it without enthusiasm.
"This was Suldrun's necklace. When I reach Troicinet I will send
for you, and you will live out your years in comfort and as much
content as may be possible."

Ehirme produced a low quacking sound.

"She says that it is kind of you to make the offer, but that she
does not know if the men would wish to leave their land."

"We will settle such affairs later. Here I am only Aillas the
vagabond, and I have nothing to give except my gratitude."

"So it may be."

Late in the day Aillas arrived at Little Saffield, a market town
beside the River Timble, built all of ocher-gray country stone. At
the center of town Aillas found the Black Ox Inn, where he took
lodging for the night.

In the morning he set off along a lane which followed the River


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Timble north, in the shade of poplar trees along the riverbank.
Crows soared over the fields, notifying all who would listen of
his presence.

Sunlight burnt through the early mist and warmed his face; already
he was losing the haunted pallor of his captivity. As he walked an
odd thought passed through his mind: "Some day I must return and
visit my twelve good friends..." He uttered a grim sound. What an
idea! Return into the dark hole? Never... He calculated. Today
Zerling would drop the bucket with his rations. The bread and
water would remain in the basket and the poor underground wight
would be deemed dead. Zerling might perhaps report as much to King
Casmir. How would the king react to the news? An indifferent
shrug? A twitch of curiosity as to the father of his daughter's
child? Aillas smiled a thin hard smile and for a space amused
himself with possible directions of the future.

The landscape to the north ended at a dark loom across the
northern horizon: the Forest of Tantrevalles. As Aillas
approached, the countryside altered, to become ever more
thoroughly steeped in time. Colors seemed richer and heavier;
shadows were more emphatic and showed curious colors of their own.
The River Timble, shaded under willows and poplars, wandered away
in stately meanders; the road turned and entered the town Tawn
Timble.

At the inn Aillas ate a dish of broad beans and drank an
earthenware mug of beer.

The way to Glymwode led across the meadows, ever closer to the
gloom of the forest, sometimes skirting the verge, sometimes
passing under outlying copses.

Halfway through the afternoon Aillas trudged into Glymwode. The
landlord at the Yellow Man Inn directed him to the cottage of
Graithe the woodcutter. He asked in puzzlement: "What brings so
many fine folk to visit Graithe? He's but a common man and no more
than a woodcutter."

"The explanation is simple enough," said Aillas. "Certain grand


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folk at Lyonesse Town wanted a child brought up quietly, if you
get my meaning, and then they changed their minds."

"Ah!" The landlord laid a sly finger alongside his nose. "Now it's
clear. Still, a far way just to veil an indiscretion."

"Bah! One cannot judge the high-born by sensible standards!"

"That is a basic truth!" declared the landlord. "They live with
their heads above the clouds! Well then, you know the way. Don't
stray into the woods, especially after nightfall; you might find
things you weren't seeking."

"In all likelihood I'll be back here before sunset. Will you have
a bed for me?"

"Aye. If nothing better, you'll have a pallet in the loft."

Aillas departed the inn, and in due course found the cottage of
Graithe and Wynes: a small two-room hut built of stone and timber,
with a thatched roof, at the very edge of the forest. A spare old
man with a white beard worked to split a log with maul and wedges.
A stocky woman in a homespun smock and shawl tilled the garden. At
Aillas' approach both drew erect and in silence watched him come.

Aillas halted in the dooryard and waited while the man and woman
slowly approached.

"You are Graithe and Wynes?" asked Aillas.

The man gave his head a terse nod. "Who are you? What do you
want?"

"Your daughter Ehirme sent me here."

The two stood, watching him, still as statues. Aillas sensed the
psychic reek of fear. He said: "I haven't come to trouble you;
quite the contrary. I am Suldrun's husband and the father of our
child. It was a boy named Dhrun. Ehirme sent him here; King
Casmir's soldiers brought back a girl named Madouc. So then, where


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is my son Dhrun?"

Wynes began to wail. Graithe held up his hand. "Quiet, woman, we
have done no wrong. Fellow, whatever your name, the affair is one
we are done with. Our daughter suffered a great anguish. We
despise with all our hatred those persons who brought her pain.
King Casmir took the child; there is no more to say."

"Only this. Casmir locked me in a deep dungeon, from which I have
only just escaped. He is my enemy no less than yours, as someday
he will learn. I ask for what is my right. Give me my boy, or tell
me where to find him."

"This is nothing to us!" cried Wynes. "We are old; we survive from
day to day. When our horse dies, how will we take our wood to the
village? Some winter soon we shall starve."

Aillas reached into his pouch and brought out another of Suldrun's
possessions: a wrist-band of gold set with garnets and rubies. To
this he added a pair of gold crowns. "Now I can help you only this
much, but at least you need not fear starvation. Now tell me of my
son."

Wynes hesitantly took the gold. "Very well, I shall tell you of
your son. Graithe went into the forest to cut faggots. I carried
the baby in a basket, and set it on the ground while I gathered
mushrooms. Alas! we were close by Madling Meadow, and the fairies
of Thripsey Shee worked a mischief. They took the boy and left a
fairy-child in the basket. I noticed nothing till I reached to
take the baby and it bit me. Then I looked and saw the red-haired
girl-brat and I knew that the fairies had been at work."

Graithe spoke. "Then the king's soldiery arrived. They asked for
the baby on pain of death, and we gave them the changeling, and
bad cess to it."

Aillas looked from face to face in bafflement. Then he turned to
gaze into the forest. At last he said: "Can you take me to
Thripsey Shee?"



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"Oh yes, we can take you there, and should you make awkwardness,
they'll give you a toad's head, like they did poor Wilclaw the
drover; or give you dancing feet, so that you'll dance the roads
and byways forever and that was the fate of a lad named Dingle,
when they caught him eating their honey."

"Never bother the fairies," Wynes told him. "Be grateful when they
leave you in peace."

"But my son, Dhrun! How does he fare?"


Chapter 18

WITHIN AND ABOUT THE Forest of Tantrevalles existed a hundred or
more fairy shees, each the castle of a fairy tribe. Thripsey Shee
on Madling Meadow, little more than a mile within the precincts of
the forest, was ruled by King Throbius and his spouse Queen
Bossum. His realm included Madling Meadow and as much of the
forest surrounding as was consistent with his dignity. The fairies
at Thripsey numbered eighty-six. Among them were:

BOAB: who used the semblance of a pale green youth with
grasshopper wings and antennae. He carried a black quill pen
plucked from the tail of a raven and recorded all the events and
transactions of the tribe on sheets pressed from lily petals.

TUTTERWIT: an imp who liked to visit human houses and tease the
cats. He also liked to peer through windows, moaning and grimacing
until someone's attention was engaged, then jerk quickly from
sight.

GUNDELINE: a slender maiden of enchanting charm, with flowing
lavender hair and green fingernails. She mimed, preened, cut
capers, but never spoke, and no one knew her well. She licked
saffron from poppy pistils with quick darts of her pointed green
tongue.

WONE: she liked to rise early, before dawn, and flavor dew drops
with assorted flower nectars.


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MURDOCK: a fat brown goblin who tanned mouseskins and wove the
down of baby owls into soft gray blankets for fairy children.

FLINK: who forged fairy swords, using techniques of antique force.
He was a great braggart and often sang the ballad celebrating the
famous duel he had fought with the goblin Dangott.

SHIMMIR: audaciously she had mocked Queen Bossum and capered
silently behind her, mimicking the queen's flouncing gait, while
all the fairies sat hunched, hands pressed to mouths, to stop
their laughter. In punishment Queen Bossum turned her feet
backward and put a carbuncle on her nose.

FALAEL: who manifested himself as a pale brown imp, with the body
of a boy and the face of a girl. Falael was incessantly
mischievous, and when villagers came to the forest to gather
berries and nuts, it was usually Falael who caused their nuts to
explode and transformed their strawberries to toads and beetles.

And then there was Twisk, who usually appeared as an orange-haired
maiden wearing a gown of gray gauze. One day while wading in the
shallows of Tilhilvelly Pond, she was surprised by the troll
Mangeon. He seized her about the waist, carried her to the bank,
ripped away the gray gauze gown and prepared to make an erotic
junction. At the sight of his priapic instrument, which was
grotesquely large and covered with warts, Twisk became frantic
with fear. By dint of jerks, twists and contortions she foiled the
best efforts of the sweating Mangeon. But her strength waned and
Mangeon's weight began to grow oppressive. She tried to protect
herself with magic, but in her excitement she could remember only
a spell used to relieve dropsy in farm animals, which, lacking
better, she uttered, and it proved efficacious. Mangeon's massive
organ shriveled to the size of a small acorn and became lost in
the folds of his great gray belly.

Mangeon uttered a scream of dismay, but Twisk showed no remorse.
Mangeon cried out in fury: "Vixen, you have done me a double
mischief, and you shall do appropriate penance."



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He took her to a road which skirted the forest. At a crossroads he
fashioned a kind of pillory and affixed her to this construction.
Over her head he posted a sign: DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH ME and stood
back. "Here you stay until three passersby, be they dolts,
lickpennies or great earls, have their way with you, and that is
the spell I invoke upon you, so that in the future you may choose
to be more accommodating to those who accost you beside
Tilhilvelly Pond."

Mangeon sauntered away, and Twisk was left alone.

The first to pass                         was the knight Sir Jaucinet of Castle Cloud in
Dahaut. He halted                         his horse and appraised the situation with a
wondering glance.                         "'DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH ME,'" he read. "Lady,
why do you suffer                         this indignity?"

"Sir knight, I do not suffer so by choice," said Twisk. "I did not
attach myself to the pillory in this position and I did not
display the sign."

"Who then is responsible?"

"The troll Mangeon, for his revenge."

"Then, surely, I will help you escape, in any way possible."

Sir Jaucinet dismounted, removed his helmet, showing himself as a
flaxen-haired gentleman with long mustaches and of good aspect. He
attempted to loosen the bonds which confined Twisk, but to no
avail. He said at last: "Lady, these bonds are proof against my
efforts."

"In that case," sighed Twisk, "please obey the instruction
implicit in the sign. Only after three such encounters will the
bonds loosen."

"It is not a gallant act," said Sir Jaucinet. "Still, I will abide
by my promise." So saying, he did what he could to assist in her
release.



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Sir Jaucinet would have stayed to share her vigil and assist her
further if need be, but she begged him to leave. "Other travelers
might be discouraged from stopping if they saw you here. So you
must go, and at once! For the day is waning and I would hope to be
home before night."

"This is a lonely road," said Sir Jaucinet. "Still, it is
occasionally used by vagabonds and lepers, and good luck may
attend you. Lady, I bid you good-day."

Sir Jaucinet adjusted his helm, mounted his horse and departed.

An hour passed while the sun sank into the west. At this time
Twisk heard a whistling and presently saw a peasant boy on his way
home after a day's work in the fields. Like Sir Jaucinet, he
stopped short in amazement, then slowly approached. Twisk smiled
at him ruefully. "As you see, sir, I am bound here. I cannot leave
and I cannot resist you, no matter what might be your impulse."

"My impulse is simple enough," said the ploughboy. "But I wasn't
born yesterday and I want to know how the sign reads."

"It says: Do what you will..."

"Ah then, that's all right. I was fearing it might be either a
price or a quarantine."

With no more ado he raised his smock and conjoined to Twisk with
rude zest. "And now, madam, if you will excuse me, I must hurry
home, as there'll be bacon tonight with the turnips, and you've
given me a hunger."

The ploughboy disappeared into the evening, while Twisk in
disquiet contemplated the coming of night.

With darkness a chill crept through the air, and an overcast
blotted out the stars so that the night was black. Twisk huddled,
shivering and miserable, and listened to the sounds of the night
with fearful attention.



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The hours passed slowly. At midnight Twisk heard a soft sound: the
pad of slow footsteps along the road. The footsteps halted, and
something which could see through the dark paused to inspect her.

It approached, and even with her fairy vision Twisk could see only
a tall outline.

It stood before her and touched her with cold fingers. Twisk spoke
in a trembling voice: "Sir? Who are you? May I know your
identity?"

The creature made no response. In tremulous terror Twisk held out
her hand and felt a garment, like a cloak, which when disturbed
wafted forth an unsettling odor.

The creature came close and subjected Twisk to a cold embrace,
which left her only half-conscious.

The creature departed along the road and Twisk fell to the ground,
soiled but free.

She ran through the dark toward Thripsey Shee. The clouds broke;
starlight helped her on her way, and so she arrived home. She
cleansed herself as best she could then went to her green velvet
chamber to rest.

Fairies, though they never forget an injury, are resilient to
misfortune, and Twisk quickly put the experience out of mind, and
was only reminded of the event when she found herself large with
child.

In her term she gave birth to a red-haired girl which even in its
willow basket, under its owl's-down quilt, surveyed the world with
a precocious wisdom.

Who—or what—was the father? The uncertainty caused Twisk a nagging
vexation, and she took no pleasure in her child. One day Wynes,
the woodcutter's wife, brought a baby boy into the forest. Without
a second thought Twisk took the blond baby and left in its place
the strangely wise girl.


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In such fashion did Dhrun, son of Aillas and Suldrun, come to
Thripsey Shee, and so, in due course did Madouc, of uncertain
parentage, enter the palace Haidion.

Fairy babies are often guilty of peevishness, tantrums and malice.
Dhrun, a merry baby with a dozen endearing traits, charmed the
fairies with his amiability, as well as his glossy blond curls,
dark blue eyes, and a mouth always pursed and crooked as if on the
verge of a grin. He was named Tippit, showered with kisses and fed
nuts, flower nectar and grass-seed bread.

Fairies are impatient with awkwardness; Dhrun's education
proceeded quickly. He learned flower-lore and the sentiments of
herbs; he climbed trees and explored all of Madling Meadow, from
Grassy Knoll to Twankbow Water. He learned the language of the
land as well as the secret language of the fairies, which so often
is mistaken for bird-calls.

Time in a fairy fort moves at a rapid rate, and a sidereal year
was eight years in the life of Dhrun. The first half of this time
was happy and uncomplicated. When he might be said to have reached
the age of five (such determinations being rather indefinite), he
put the question to Twisk, toward whom he felt as he might toward
an indulgent, if flighty, sister. "Why can't I have wings like
Digby, and fly? It's something, if you please, that I would like
to do."

Twisk, sitting in the grass with a plait of cowslips, made a large
gesture. "Flying is for fairy children. You are not quite a fairy,
though you're my adorable Tippit, and I shall weave these cowslips
into your hair and you will seem ever so handsome, far more than
Digby, with his sly fox-face."

Dhrun persisted. "Still, if I am not quite a fairy, what am I?"

"Well, you are something very grand, that is sure: perhaps a
prince of the royal court; and your name is really Dhrun." She had
learned this fact in a strange fashion. Curious as to the
condition of her red-haired daughter, Twisk had visited the


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cottage of Graithe and Wynes, and had witnessed the coming of King
Casmir's deputation. Afterwards she lay hidden in the thatch,
listening to the lamentations of Wynes for the lost baby Dhrun.

Dhrun was not entirely pleased with the information. "I think that
I would rather be a fairy."

"We shall have to see about that," said Twisk, jumping to her
feet. "For now, you are Prince Tippit, Lord of all cowslips."

For a period all was as before, and Dhrun put the unwelcome
knowledge to the back of his mind. King Throbius, after all,
wielded marvelous magic; in due course, if asked nicely, King
Throbius would make him a fairy.

A single individual of the shee showed him animosity: this was
Falael, with the girl's face and the boy's body, whose mind
seethed with ingenious mischief. He marshaled two armies of mice
and dressed them in splendid uniforms. The first army wore red and
gold; the second wore blue and white with silver helmets. They
marched bravely upon each other from opposite sides of the meadow
and fought a great battle, while the fairies of Thripsey Shee
applauded deeds of valor and wept for dead heroes.

Falael also had a gift for music. He assembled an orchestra of
hedgehogs, weasels, crows and lizards and trained them in the use
of musical instruments. So skillfully did they play and so
melodious were their tunes that King Throbius allowed them to play
at the Great Pavanne of the Vernal Equinox. Falael thereupon tired
of the orchestra. The crows took flight; two weasel bassoonists
attacked a hedgehog who had been beating his drum with too much
zeal, and the orchestra dissolved.

Falael, from boredom, next transformed Dhrun's nose into a long
green eel which, by swinging about, was able to transfix Dhrun
with a quizzical stare. Dhrun ran to Twisk for succor; she
indignantly complained to King Throbius, who set matters right and
for punishment condemned Falael to utter silence for a week and a
day: a sad penalty for the verbose Falael.



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Upon conclusion of his punishment Falael remained silent three
more days for sheer perversity. On the fourth day he approached
Dhrun. "Through your spite I incurred humiliation: I, Falael of
the many excellences! Are you now puzzled by my displeasure?"

Dhrun spoke with dignity: "I attached no eel to your nose;
remember that!"

"I acted only in fun, and why should you wish to blight my
beautiful face? In contrast, your face is like a handful of dough
with two prunes for eyes. It is a coarse face, an arena for stupid
thoughts. Who could expect better of a mortal?" In triumph Falael
leapt in the air, turned a triple somersault and striking a pose
drifted away across the meadow.

Dhrun sought out Twisk. "Am I truly a mortal? Can I never be a
fairy?"

Twisk inspected him a moment. "You are a mortal, yes. You never
will be a fairy."

Thereafter Dhrun's life insensibly altered. The easy innocence of
the old ways became strained; the fairies looked at him sidelong;
every day he felt more isolated.

Summer came to Madling Meadow. One morning Twisk approached Dhrun,
and, in a voice like the tinkle of silver bells, said, "The time
has come; you must leave the shee and make your own way in the
world."

Dhrun stood heartbroken, with tears running down his cheeks. Twisk
said: "Your name now is Dhrun. You are the son of a prince and a
princess. Your mother is disappeared from the living, and of your
father I know nothing, but it will serve no purpose to seek him
out."

"But where shall I go?"

"Follow the wind! Go where fortune leads you!"



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Dhrun turned away and with tears blinding his eyes started to
leave.

"Wait!" called Twisk. "All are gathered to bid you farewell. You
shall not go without our gifts."

The fairies of Thripsey Shee, unwontedly subdued, bade Dhrun
farewell. King Throbius spoke: "Tippit, or Dhrun, as you must now
be known, the time has come. Now you grieve at the parting,
because we are real and true and dear, but soon you will forget
us, and we will become like flickers in the fire. When you are old
you will wonder at the strange dreams of your childhood."

The fairies of the shee came crowding around Dhrun, crying and
laughing together. They dressed him in fine clothes: a dark green
doublet with silver buttons, blue breeches of stout linen twill,
green stockings, black shoes, a black cap with a rolled brim,
pointed bill and scarlet plume.

The blacksmith Flink gave Dhrun a fairy sword. "The name of this
sword is Dassenach. It will grow as you grow, and always match
your stature. Its edge will never fail and it will come to your
hand whenever you call its name!"

Boab placed a locket around his neck. "This is a talisman against
fear. Wear this black stone always and you will never lack
courage."

Nismus brought him a set of pipes. "Here is music. When you play,
heels will fly and you will never lack jolly companionship."

King Throbius and Queen Bossum both kissed Dhrun on the forehead.
The queen gave him a small purse containing a gold crown, a silver
florin and a copper penny. "This is a magic purse," she told him.
"It will never go empty, and better, if you ever give a coin and
want it back, you need only tap the purse and the coin will fly
back to you."

"Now step bravely forth," said King Throbius. "Go your way and do
not look back, on pain of seven years bad luck, for such is the


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manner one must leave a fairy shee."

Dhrun turned away and marched across Madling Meadow, eyes
steadfastly fixed on the way he must go. Falael, sitting somewhat
aside, had taken no part in the farewells. Now he sent after Dhrun
a bubble of sound, which no one could hear. It wafted across the
meadow and burst upon Dhrun's ear, to startle him. "Dhrun! Dhrun!
One moment!"

Dhrun halted and looked back, only to discover an empty meadow
echoing with Falael's taunting laughter. Where was the shee, where
the pavilions, the proud standards with the billowing gonfalons?
All to be seen was a low mound in the center of the meadow, with a
stunted oak tree growing from the top.

Troubled, Dhrun turned away from the meadow. Would King Throbius
truly visit seven years bad luck upon him when the fault lay with
Falael? Fairy law was often inflexible.

A flotilla of summer clouds covered the sun and the forest became
gloomy. Dhrun lost his sense of direction and instead of traveling
south to the edge of the forest, he wandered first west, then
gradually around to the north and ever deeper into the woods:
under ancient oaks with gnarled boles and great outflung branches,
across mossy outcrops of stone, beside quiet streams fringed by
ferns, and so the day passed. Toward sunset he made a bed of fern
and bracken, and when darkness came he bedded himself under the
ferns. For a long while he lay awake listening to the sounds of
the forest. Of animals he felt no fear; they would sense the
presence of fairy-stuff and give him a wide berth. Other creatures
wandered the woods, and if one should scent him, what then? Dhrun
refused to consider the possibilities. He touched the talisman
which hung around his neck. "A great relief to be protected from
fear," he told himself. "Otherwise I might not be able to sleep
for anxiety."

At last his eyes grew heavy, and he slept.

The clouds broke; a half-moon sailed the sky and moonlight
filtered through the leaves to the forest floor, and so passed the


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night.

At dawn Dhrun stirred and sat up in his nest of fronds. He stared
here and there, then remembered his banishment from the shee. He
sat disconsolate, arms around knees, feeling lonely and lost...
Far off through the forest he heard a bird call, and listened
attentively... It was a bird only, not fairy speech. Dhrun took
himself from his couch and brushed himself clean. Nearby he found
a ledge growing thick with strawberries and he made a good
breakfast, and presently his spirits rose. Perhaps it was all for
the best. Since he was not a fairy, it was high time that he
should be making his way in the world of men. Was he not, after
all, the son of a prince and princess? He need only discover his
parents, and all would be well.

He pondered the forest. Yesterday he undoubtedly had taken the
wrong turning; which direction then was correct? Dhrun knew little
of the lands surrounding the forest, nor had he learned to read
directions by the sun. He set off at a slant and presently came to
a stream with the semblance of a path along its bank.

Dhrun halted, to look and listen. Paths meant traffic; in the
forest such traffic might well be baleful. It might be the better
part of wisdom to cross the stream, and continue through the
untraveled forest. On the other hand, a path must lead somewhere,
and if he conducted himself with caution, he could surely avoid
danger. And, after all, where was the danger which he could not
face down and conquer, with the aid of his talisman and his good
sword Dassenach?

Dhrun threw back his shoulders, set off along the path, which,
slanting into the northeast, took him ever deeper into the forest.

He walked two hours, discovering along the way a clearing planted
with plum and apricot trees, which had long gone wild.

Dhrun inspected the clearing. It seemed deserted and quiet.                                                          Bees
flew among buttercups, red clover and purslane; nowhere was                                                          there
a sign of habitation. Still Dhrun stood back, deterred by a                                                          whole
host of subconscious warnings. He called out: "Whoever owns                                                          this


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fruit, please listen to me. I am hungry; I would like to pick ten
apricots and ten plums. Please, may I do so?"

Silence.

Dhrun called: "If you do not forbid me, I will consider the fruit
to be a gift, for which my thanks."

From behind a tree not thirty feet away hopped a troll, with a
narrow forehead and a great red nose from which sprouted a
mustache of nose-hairs. He carried a net and a wooden pitchfork.

"Thief! I forbid you my fruit! Had you plucked a single apricot
your life would have been mine! I would have captured you and
fattened you on apricots and sold you to the ogre Arbogast! For
ten apricots and ten plums I demand a copper penny."

"A good price, for fruit otherwise going to waste," said Dhrun.
"Will you not be paid with my thanks?"

"Thanks put no turnips in the pot. A copper coin or dine on
grass."

"Very well," said Dhrun. He took the copper coin from his purse
and tossed it to the troll, who gave a grunt of satisfaction.

"Ten apricots, ten plums: no more; and it would be an act of greed
to select only the choicest."

Dhrun picked ten good apricots and ten plums while the troll
counted the score. When he plucked the last plum, the troll
shouted: "No more; be off with you!"

Dhrun sauntered along the trail eating the fruit. When he had
finished, he drank water from the stream and continued along the
way. After half a mile he stopped, tapped the purse. When he
looked inside the penny had returned.

The stream widened to become a pond, shaded under four majestic
oaks.


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Dhrun pulled some young rushes, washed their crisp white roots. He
found cress and wild lettuce, and made a meal of the fresh sharp
salad, then continued along the path.

The stream joined a river; Dhrun could proceed no further without
crossing one or the other. He noticed a neat wooden bridge
spanning the stream, but again, impelled by caution, he halted
before setting foot on the structure.

No one could be seen, nor could he discover any evidence that
passage might be restricted. "If not, well and good," Dhrun told
himself. "Still, it is better that first I ask permission."

He called out: "Bridge-keeper, ho! I want to use the bridge!"

There was no response. Dhrun, however, thought he heard rustling
sounds from under the bridge.

"Bridge-keeper! If you forbid my passage, make yourself known!
Otherwise I will cross the bridge and pay you with my thanks."

From the deep shade under the bridge hopped a furious troll,
wearing purple fustian. He was even more ugly than the previous
troll, with warts and wens protruding from his forehead, which
hung like a crag over a little red nose with the nostrils turned
forward. "What is all this yammer? Why do you disturb my rest?"

"I want to cross the bridge."

"Set a single foot upon my valuable bridge and I will put you in
my basket. To cross this bridge you must pay a silver florin."

"That is a very dear toll."

"No matter. Pay as do all decent folk, or turn back the way you
have come."

"If I must, I must." Dhrun opened his purse, took out the silver
florin and tossed it to the troll, who bit at it and thrust it


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into his pouch. "Go your way, and in the future make less noise
about it."

Dhrun crossed the bridge and continued along the path. For a space
the trees thinned and sunlight warmed his shoulders, to cheerful
effect. It was not so bad after all, being footloose and
independent! Especially with a purse which retrieved money spent
unwillingly. Dhrun now tapped the purse, and the coin returned,
marked by the troll's teeth. Dhrun went on his way, whistling a
tune.

Trees again shrouded the path; to one side a knoll rose steeply
above the path from a thicket of flowering myrtle and white dimble-
flower.

A sudden startling outcry; out on the path behind him sprang two
great black dogs, slavering and snarling. Chains constrained them;
they lunged against the chains, jerking, rearing, gnashing their
teeth. Appalled, Dhrun jumped around, Dassenach in hand, ready to
defend himself. Cautiously he backed away, but with a great roar
two more dogs, as savage as the first pair, lunged at his back and
Dhrun had to jump for his life.

He found himself trapped between two pairs of raving beasts, each
more anxious than his fellows to snap the chain and hurl himself
at Dhrun's throat.

Dhrun bethought himself of his talisman. "Remarkable that I am not
terrified!" he told himself in a quavering voice. "Well, then, I
must prove my mettle and kill these horrid creatures!"

He flourished his sword Dassenach. "Dogs beware! I am ready to end
your evil lives!"

From above came a peremptory call. The dogs fell silent and stood
rigid in ferocious attitudes. Dhrun looked up to see a small house
built of timbers on a ledge ten feet above the road. On the porch
stood a troll who seemed to combine all the repulsive aspects of
the first two. He wore snuff-brown garments, black boots with iron
buckles and an odd conical hat tilted to one side. He called out


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furiously: "Harm my dogs at your peril! So much as a scratch and I
will truss you in ropes and deliver you to Arbogast!"

"Order the dogs from the path!" cried Dhrun. "I will gladly go my
way in peace!"

"It is not so easy! You disturbed their rest and mine as well with
your whistling and chirrups; you should have passed more quietly!
Now you must pay a stern penalty: a gold crown, at the very
least!"

"It is far too much," said Dhrun, "but my time is valuable, and I
am forced to pay." He extracted the gold crown from his purse and
tossed it up to the troll who hefted it in his hand to test its
weight. "Well then, I suppose I must relent. Dogs, away!"

The dogs slunk into the shrubbery and Dhrun slipped past with a
tingling skin. He ran at full speed down the trail for as long as
he was able, then halted, tapped the purse and went his way.

A mile passed and the path joined a road paved with brown bricks.
Odd to find such a fine road in the depths of the forest, thought
Dhrun. With one direction as good as the other, Dhrun turned left.

For an hour Dhrun marched along the road, while rays of sunlight
slanted through the foliage at an ever lower angle.'.. He stopped
short. A vibration in the air: thud, thud, thud. Dhrun jumped from
the road and hid behind a tree. Along the road came an ogre,
rocking from side to side on heavy bowed legs. He stood fifteen
feet tall; his arms and torso, like his legs, were knotted with
wads of muscle! His belly thrust forward in a paunch. A great
crush hat sheltered a gray face of surpassing ugliness. On his
back he carried a wicker basket containing a pair of children.

Away down the road marched the ogre, and the thud-thud-thud of his
footsteps became muffled in the distance.

Dhrun returned to the road beset by a dozen emotions, the
strongest a strange sentiment which caused him a loose feeling in
the bowels and a drooping of the jaw. Fear? Certainly not! His


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talisman protected him from so unmanly an emotion. What then?
Rage, evidently, that Arbogast the ogre should so persecute human
children.

Dhrun set out after the ogre. There was not far to go. The road
rose over a little hill, then dipped down into a meadow. At the
center stood Arbogast's hall, a great grim structure of gray
stone, with a roof of green copper plates.

Before the hall the ground had been tilled and planted with
cabbage, leeks, turnips, and onions, with currant bushes growing
to the side. A dozen children, aged from six to twelve, worked in
the garden under the vigilant eye of an overseer boy, perhaps
fourteen years old. He was black-haired and thick-bodied, with an
odd face: heavy and square above, then slanting in to a foxy mouth
and a small sharp chin. He carried a rude whip, fashioned from a
willow switch, with a cord tied to the end. From time to time he
cracked the whip to urge greater zeal upon his charges. As he
stalked around the garden, he issued orders and threats: "Now
then, Arvil, get your hands dirty; don't be shy! Every weed must
be pulled today. Bertrude, do you have problems? Do the weeds
evade you? Quick now! The task must be done!... Not so hard on
that cabbage, Pode! Cultivate the soil, don't destroy the plant!"

He pretended to notice Arbogast, and saluted. "Good day, your
honor; all goes well here, no fear as to that when Nerulf is on
the job."

Arbogast turned up the basket, to tumble a pair of girls out on
the turf. One was blonde, the other dark; and each about twelve
years old.

Arbogast pinched an iron ring around each girl's neck. He spoke in
a rumbling bellow: "Now! Run away as you like, and learn what the
others learned!"

"Quite right, sir, quite right!" called Nerulf from the garden.
"No one dares to leave you, sir! And if they did, trust me to
catch them!"



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Arbogast paid him no heed. "To work!" he bellowed at the girls. "I
like fine cabbages; see to it!" He lumbered across the meadow to
his hall. The great portal opened; he entered and the portal
remained open behind him.

The sun sank low; the children worked more slowly; even Nerulf's
threats and whip-snappings took on a listless quality. Presently
the children stopped work altogether and stood in a huddle,
darting furtive looks toward the hall. Nerulf raised his whip on
high. "Formation now, neat and orderly! March!"

The children formed themselves into a straggling double line and
marched into the hall. The portal closed behind them with a
fateful clang! that ech6ed across the meadow.

Twilight blurred the landscape. From windows high at the side of
the hall came the yellow light of lamps.

Dhrun cautiously approached the hall, and, after touching his
talisman, climbed the rough stone wall to one of the windows,
using cracks and crevices as a ladder. He drew himself up to the
broad stone sill. The shutters stood ajar; inching forward, Dhrun
looked across the entire main hall, which was illuminated by six
lamps in wall brackets and flames in the great fireplace.

Arbogast sat at a table, drinking wine from a pewter stoup. At the
far end of the room the children sat against the wall, watching
Arbogast with horrified fascination. At the hearth the carcass of
a child, stuffed with onions, trussed and spitted, roasted over
the fire. Nerulf turned the spit and from time to time basted "
the meat with oil and drippings. Cabbages and turnips boiled in a
great black cauldron.

Arbogast drank wine and belched. Then, taking up a diabolo, he
spread his massive legs, and rolled the spindle back and forth,
chortling at the motion. The children sat huddled, watching with
wide eyes and lax mouths. One of the small boys began to whimper.
Arbogast turned him a cold glance. Nerulf called out in a voice
pointedly soft and melodious: "Silence, Daffin!"



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In due course Arbogast made his meal, throwing bones into the
fire, while the children dined on cabbage soup.

For a few minutes Arbogast drank wine, dozed and belched. Then he
swung around in his chair and regarded the children, who at once
pressed closer together. Again Daffin whimpered and again he was
chided by Nerulf, who nevertheless seemed as uneasy as any of the
others.

Arbogast reached into a high cabinet and brought two bottles down
to the table, the first tall and green, the second squat and black-
purple. Next, he set out two mugs, one green, the other purple,
and into each he poured a dollop of wine. To the green mug he
carefully added a drop from the green bottle, and into the purple
mug, a drop from the black-purple bottle.

Arbogast now rose to his feet; wheezing and grunting he hunched
across the room. He kicked Nerulf into the corner, then stood
inspecting the group. He pointed a finger. "You two, step
forward!"

Trembling, the two girls he had captured that day moved away from
the wall. Dhrun, watching from the window, thought them both very
pretty, especially the blonde girl, though the dark-haired girl
was perhaps half a year closer to womanhood.

Arbogast spoke in a voice now foolishly arch and jovial. "So here:
a pair of fine young pullets, choice and tasty. How do you call
yourselves? You!" He pointed at the blonde girl. "Your name?"

"Glyneth."

"And you?"

"Farence."

"Lovely, lovely. Both charming! Who is to be the lucky one?
Tonight it shall be Farence."

He seized the dark-haired girl, hoisted her up to his great twenty-


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foot bed. "Off with your clothes!"

Farence started to cry and beg for mercy. Arbogast gave a
ferocious snort of mingled annoyance and pleasure. "Hurry! Or I'll
tear them from your back and then you'll have no clothes to wear!"

Stifling her sobs, Farence stepped from her smock. Arbogast
chattered in delight. "A pretty sight! What is so toothsome as a
nude maiden, shy and delicate?" He went to the table and drank the
contents of the purple cup. At once he dwindled in stature to
become a squat powerful troll, no taller than Nerulf. Without
delay, he hopped up on the bed, discarded his own garments, and
busied himself with erotic activities.

Dhrun watched all from the window, his knees limp, the blood
pulsing in his throat. Disgust? Horror? Naturally not fear, and he
touched the talisman gratefully. Nonetheless the emotion, whatever
its nature, had a curiously debilitating effect.

Arbogast was indefatigable. Long after Farence became limp he
continued his activity. Finally he collapsed upon the couch with a
groan of satisfaction, and instantly fell asleep.

Dhrun was visited by an amusing notion, and, insulated from fear,
was not thereby deterred. He lowered himself to the top of
Arbogast's high-backed chair, and jumped down to the table. He
poured the contents of the green cup out on the floor, added new
wine and two drops from the purple bottle. He then climbed back to
the window and hid behind the curtain.

The night passed and the fire burned low. Arbogast snored; the
children were silent save for an occasional whimper.

The gray light of morning seeped through the windows. Arbogast
awoke. He lay for a minute, then hopped to the floor. He visited
the privy, voided, and returning, went to the hearth, where he
blew up the fire and piled on fresh fuel. When the flames roared
and crackled, he went to his table and climbing upon the chair,
took up the green mug and swallowed its contents. Instantly, by
virtue of the drops which Dhrun had mixed into the wine, he shrank


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in size until he was only a foot tall. Dhrun at once leapt down
from the window, to chair, to table, to floor. He drew his sword
and cut the scurrying squawking creature into pieces. These pieces
squirmed and struggled and sought to join themselves, and Dhrun
could not relax from his work. Glyneth ran forward and seizing the
fresh cut pieces threw them into the fire, where they burnt to ash
and so were destroyed. Meanwhile Dhrun placed the head into a pot
and clapped on the cover, whereupon the head tried to pull itself
out by means of tongue and teeth.

The remaining children came forward. Dhrun, wiping his sword on
Arbogast's greasy crush hat said: "You need fear no - more harm;
Arbogast is helpless."

Nerulf licked his lips and stalked forward. "And who, may I ask,
are you?"

"My name is Dhrun; I am a chance passerby."

"I see." Nerulf drew a deep breath and squared his meaty
shoulders. He was, thought Dhrun, a person not at all
prepossessing, with his coarse features, thick mouth, pointed chin
and narrow black eyes. "Well then," said Nerulf, "please accept
our compliments. It was exactly the plan I was about to carry out
myself, as a matter of fact; still, you made quite a decent job of
it. Now, let me think. We've got to reorganize; how shall we
proceed? First, this mess must be cleaned. Pode and Hloude: mops
and buckets. A good job now; I don't want to see a single smear
when you're done. Dhrun, you can help them. Gretina, Zoel,
Glyneth, Bertrude: explore the larder, bring out the best and
prepare us all a fine breakfast. Lossamy and Fulp: carry all of
Arbogast's clothes outside, also the blankets, and perhaps the
place will smell better."

While Nerulf issued further orders, Dhrun climbed to the table
top. He poured an ounce of wine into both green and purple mugs,
and added to each a drop from the appropriate bottle. He swallowed
the green potion, and at once became twelve feet tall. He jumped
to the floor and seized the astonished Nerulf by the iron ring
around his neck. From the table Dhrun brought the purple potion


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and thrust it into Nerulf's mouth. "Drink!"

Nerulf attempted to protest, but was allowed no choice. "Drink!"

Nerulf gulped the potion and shrank to become a burly imp about
two feet tall. Dhrun prepared to resume his ordinary size but
Glyneth stopped him. "First remove the iron rings from about our
necks."

One by one the children filed past Dhrun. He nicked the metal with
his blade Dassenach, then twisted once, twice, and broke the rings
apart. When all had been liberated, Dhrun reduced to his normal
height. With great care he wrapped the two bottles and tucked them
into his pouch. The other children meanwhile had found sticks and
were beating Nerulf with intense satisfaction. Nerulf howled,
danced and begged for mercy, but found none and was beaten until
he was black and blue. For a few moments Nerulf was allowed
surcease, until one of the children was reminded anew of some past
cruelty and Nerulf was beaten again.

The girls declared themselves willing to prepare a bountiful
feast, of ham and sausages, candied currants, partridge pie, fine
bread and butter and gallons of Arbogast's best wine, but they
refused to start until the fireplace was cleared of ash and bones:
all too vivid mementos of their servitude. Everyone worked with a
will, and soon the hall was comparatively clean.

At noon a great banquet was served. By some means Arbogast's head
had managed to raise itself to the rim of the pot, to which it
hooked its teeth and pressed up the lid with its forehead, and
with its two eyes watched from the darkness inside the pot as the
children reveled in the best the castle's larder could afford.
When they had finished their meal, Dhrun noticed that the lid had
fallen from the pot, which now was empty. He set up a shout and
all ran looking for the missing head. Pode and Daffin discovered
it halfway across the meadow, pulling itself forward by snapping
at the ground with its teeth. They knocked it back toward the
hall, and in the front yard built a kind of gallows, from which
they suspended the head by an iron wire tied to the mud-colored
hair. At the insistence of all, the better that they could regard


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their erstwhile captor, Dhrun forced a drop of green potion into
the red mouth, and the head resumed its natural size, and even
issued a set of rasping orders, which were joyfully ignored.

While the head watched aghast, the children piled faggots below
and brought fire from the hearth to set the faggots ablaze. Dhrun
brought out his pipes and played while the children danced in a
circle. The head roared and supplicated but was allowed no mercy.
At last the head was reduced to ash, and Arbogast the ogre was no
more.

Fatigued by the day's events, the children trooped back into the
hall. They supped on porridge and soup of cabbage, with good
crusty bread and more of Arbogast's wine; then they prepared to
sleep. A few of the more hardy climbed up on Arbogast's bed,
desipite the rancid stench; the others sprawled before the fire.

Dhrun, weary in every bone from his vigil of the night before, not
to mention his deeds of the day, nonetheless found himself unable
to sleep. He lay before the fire, head propped on his hands and
considered his adventures. He had not fared too badly. Perhaps
seven years of bad luck had not been inflicted upon him after all.

The fire burned low. Dhrun went to the wood-box for logs. He
dropped them upon the coals, to send showers of red sparks veering
up the chimney. The flames flared high, and glinted back from the
eyes of Glyneth, who also sat awake. She joined Dhrun in front of
the fireplace. The two sat clasping their knees and looking into
the flames. Glyneth spoke in a husky half-whisper: "No one has
troubled to thank you for saving our lives. I do so now. Thank
you, dear Dhrun; you are gallant and kind and remarkably brave."

Dhrun said in a wistful voice: "I would hope to be gallant and
kind, since I am the son of a prince and a princess, but as for
bravery, I can honorably claim none."

"Sheer nonsense! Only a person of great bravery would have done as
you did."

Dhrun gave a bitter laugh. He touched his talisman. "The fairies


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knew my fearfulness and gave me this amulet of courage; without it
I could have dared nothing."

"I'm not at all certain of that," said Glyneth. "Amulet or none, I
consider you very brave."

"That is good to hear," said Dhrun mournfully. "I wish it were
so."

"All this to the side, why would the fairies give you such a gift,
or any gift whatever? They are not ordinarily so generous."

"I lived with the fairies all my                               days at Thripsey Shee, on Madling
Meadow. Three days ago they cast                               me out, though many of them loved
me and gave me gifts. There were                               one or two who wished me ill and
tricked me so that when I looked                               back and incurred seven years of
bad luck."

Glyneth took Dhrun's hand and held it against her cheek. "How
could they be so cruel?"

"It was strictly the fault of Falael, who lives for such mischief.
And what of you? Why are you here?"

Glyneth smiled sadly into the fire. "It's a dreary tale. Are you
sure you want to hear it?"

"If you want to tell it."

"I'll leave out the worst parts. I lived in North Ulfland, at the
town Throckshaw. My father was a squire. We lived in a fine house
with glass windows and feather-beds and a rug on the parlor floor.
There were eggs and porridge for breakfast, sausages and roasted
pullets at noon dinner and a good soup for supper, with a salad of
garden greens.

"Count Julk ruled the land from Castle Sfeg; he was at war with
the Ska, who already had settled the Foreshore. To the south of
Throckshaw is Poelitetz: a pass through the Teach tac Teach into
Dahaut and a place coveted by the Ska. Always the Ska put pressure


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on us; always Count Julk drove them back. One day a hundred Ska
knights on black horses raided Throckshaw. The men of the town
took up arms and drove them away. A week later an army of five
hundred Ska riding black horses drove up from the Foreshore and
reduced Throckshaw. They killed my father and mother, and burnt
our house. I hid under the hay with my cat Pettis, and watched
while they rode back and forth screaming like demons. Count Julk
appeared with his knights, but the Ska killed him, conquered the
countryside, and perhaps Poelitetz as well.

"When the Ska left Throckshaw, I took a few silver coins and ran
away with Pettis. Twice I was almost captured by vagabonds. One
night I ventured into an old barn. A great dog came roaring at me.
Rather than running, my brave Pettis attacked the beast and was
killed. The farmer came to investigate and discovered me. He and
his wife were kind folk and gave me a home. I was almost content,
though I worked hard in the buttery, and also during the
threshing. But one of the sons began to molest me, and to suggest
careless behavior. I dared no longer walk alone to the barn for
fear he would find me. One day a procession came by. They called
themselves Relicts of Old Gomar* and were on pilgrimage to a
celebration at Godwyne Foiry, the ruins of Old Gomar's capitol, at
the edge of the Great Forest, over the Teach tac Teach and into
Dahaut. I joined them and so left the farmhouse.

          *Gomar: ancient kingdom comprising all of North Hybras
and the Hesperian Islands.

"We crossed the mountains in safety, and came to Godwyne Foiry. We
camped at the edge of the ruins and all was well, until the day
before Midsummer's Eve when I learned of the celebrations and what
would be expected of me. The men wear the horns of goats and elk,
nothing more. They paint their faces blue and their legs brown.
The women plait the leaves of ash trees into their hair and wear
cinctures of twenty-four rowan berries about their waists. Each
time a woman consorts with a man, he breaks one of her berries;
and whichever woman first breaks all her berries is declared the
incarnation of the love goddess Sobh. I was told that at least six
of the men were planning to lay hands on me at once, even though I
am not yet truly a woman. I left the camp that very night and hid


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in the forest.

"I had a dozen frights and a dozen close escapes, and finally a
witch trapped me under her hat and sold me to Arbogast, and you
know the rest."

The two sat silently, looking into the fire. Dhrun said: "I wish I
could travel with you and protect you, but I am burdened with
seven years bad luck, or so I fear, which I would not share with
you."

Glyneth leaned her head on Dnrun's shoulder. "I would gladly take
the chance."

They sat talking long into the night, while the fire once again
lapsed to coals. There was quiet inside and outside the hall,
disturbed only by a pitter-patter from above, caused, according to
Glyneth, by the ghosts of dead children running along the' roof.

In the morning the children breakfasted, then broke into
Arbogast's strong-room, where they found a chest of jewels, five
baskets full of gold crowns, a set of precious silver punchbowls,
intricately carved to depict events of the mythical ages, and
dozens of other treasures.

For a time the children frolicked and played with the riches,
imagining themselves lords of vast estates, and even Farence took
a wan pleasure in the game.

Throughout the afternoon the wealth was shared out equally among
the children, all save Nerulf, who was allowed nothing.

After a supper of leeks, preserved goose, white bread and butter
and a rich plum-duff with wine sauce, the children gathered around
the fireplace to crack nuts and sip cordials. Daffin, Pode, Fulp,
Arvil, Hloude, Lossamy and Dhrun were the boys, along with the
morose imp Nerulf. The girls were Gretina, Zoel, Bertrude,
Farence, Wiedelin and Glyneth. The youngest were Arvil and Zoel;
the oldest, aside from Nerulf, were Lossamy and Farence.



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For hours they discussed their circumstances, and the best route
through the Forest of Tantrevalles into civilized countryside.
Pode and Hloude seemed best acquainted with the terrain.
Optimally, so they declared, the group should follow the brick
road north to the first river which would necessarily join the
Murmeil. They should follow the Murmeil out into the open lands of
Dahaut, or perhaps by some stroke of luck they might find or
purchase a boat, or even build a raft. "Indeed, with our wealth we
can easily obtain a boat and float in ease and comfort downstream
to Gehadion Towers, or, should we choose, all the way to Avallon."
Such was Pode's opinion.

Finally, an hour before midnight, all stretched out and slept: all
except Nerulf, who sat another two hours scowling into the dying
embers.

Chapter 19

IN PREPARATION FOR THEIR journey the children brought the ogre's
cart around to the front door of the hall, greased the axles well
with tallow and loaded their treasures aboard. Across the shafts
they tied poles, so that nine of them could pull and another three
push from behind. Only Nerulf was unable to assist, but no one
thought that he would help in any case, since the cart carried no
property of his own. The children bade farewell to Arbogast Hall
and set off along the brown brick road. The day was fresh; the
wind herded a hundred clouds from the Atlantic high across the
forest. The children pulled and pushed with a will and the cart
trundled along the brick road at a good rate, while Nerulf ran at
best speed behind in the dust. At noon the party stopped to dine
on bread, meat and heavy brown beer, then continued north and
east.

During the late afternoon the road entered a clearing, grown over
with rank grass and a half-dozen crippled apple trees. To one side
stood a small ruined abbey, built by Christian missionaries of the
first fervent wave. Though the roof had fallen in, the structure
offered at least the semblance of shelter. The children built a
fire and made a meal of withered apples, bread and cheese, with
cress and water from a nearby stream. They made beds of grass and


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rested gratefully after the labors of the day. All were happy and
confident; luck seemed to have turned their way.

The night passed without incident. In the morning the group
prepared to set off along the road. Nerulf approached Dhrun, head
bowed and hands clasped across his chest. "Sir Dhrun, let me say
that the punishment you have visited upon me was well-deserved. I
never realized my arrogance until I was forced to do so. But now
my faults have been revealed to me in sharpest detail. I believe
that I have learned my lesson and that I am a new person, decent
and honorable. Therefore, 1 ask that you restore me to my natural
condition, so that I may push the cart. I want none of the
treasure; I deserve none, but I want to help the others arrive to
safety with their valuables. If you see fit not to grant my
reqruest; I shall understand and harbor no ill feelings. After
all, the fault was mine alone. Still, I am heartily tired of
running full speed all day in the dust, tripping over pebbles,
fearful of drowning in puddles. What will you tell me, Sir Dhrun?"

Dhrun listened without sympathy. "Wait until we reach civilized
safety; then I'll restore you to size."

"Ah, Sir Dhrun, do you not trust me?" cried Nerulf. "In that case,
let us part company here and now, since I cannot survive another
day of running and bounding behind the cart. Proceed along the
road to the great Murmeil and follow its banks to Gehadion Towers.
The best of luck to all of you! I will follow at my own pace."
Nerulf wiped his eyes with a dirty knuckle. "Sometime you may be
sauntering through a carnival in your fine clothes and chance to
notice a manikin beating a drum or performing ludicrous antics; if
so, please spare the poor fellow a penny as it might be your old
companion Nerulf—if of course I survive the beasts of
Tantrevalles."

Dhrun considered a long moment. "You have truly repented of your
past conduct?"

"I despise myself!" cried Nerulf. "I look back upon the old Nerulf
with disdain!"



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"In that case there is no point in prolonging your punishment."
Dhrun poured a drop from the green bottle into a cup of water.
"Drink this, resume your proper condition, become a true comrade
to the rest of us, and perhaps you will profit in the end."

"Thank you, Sir Dhrun!" Nerulf drank the potion, and expanded to
become his old burly self. Quick as a wink he leapt upon Dhrun,
threw him to the ground, tore away his sword Dassenach and buckled
it around his own thick waist. Then he took the green bottle and
the purple bottle and flung them against a stone, so that they
shattered and all their contents were lost. "There will be no more
of that foolishness," declared Nerulf. "I am the largest and
strongest, and once again I am in power." He kicked Dhrun. "To
your feet!"

"You told me that you had repented your old ways!" cried Dhrun
indignantly.

"True! I was not severe enough. I allowed too much ease. Things
will now be different. Out to the cart, everyone!"

The frightened children gathered at the cart and waited while
Nerulf cut an alder switch and tied three cords to the end, to
make a crude but serviceable whip.

"Line up!" barked Nerulf. "Quick then! Pode, Daffin, do you taunt
me? Would you care to taste the whip? Silence! All attend my words
with great care; they will not be repeated.

"First, I am your master, and you live by my command.

"Second, the treasure is mine. Every gem, every coin, every last
tittle and scrap.

"Third, our destination is Cluggach in Godelia. The Celts ask far
fewer questions than the Dauts, and interfere not at all in
anyone's business.

"Fourth"—here Nerulf paused and smiled unpleasantly— "when I was
helpless you took up sticks and beat me. I recall each and every


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blow, and if those who struck me now find their skins tingling,
the premonition is sound. Bare bottoms will turn to the sky!
Switches will whistle and welts will appear!

"That is all I wish to say, but I will gladly answer questions."

No one spoke, though a morose thought passed through Dhrun's mind:
seven years had barely started, but already bad luck had struck
with vindictive force.

"Then take your places at the cart!"

"Today we move fast; our style is brisk! Not like yesterday when
you eased and ambled." Nerulf climbed aboard the cart and made
himself comfortable. "Be away! Smartly! Heads back, heels in the
air!" He cracked the whip. "Pode! Less pumping of the elbows.
Daffin! Open your eyes; you'll have us all in the ditch! Dhrun,
more gracefully, show us a fine smart stride! And off we go
through the beautiful morning, and it's a happy time for all!...
Here now! Why the slackening? You girls especially, you're running
like hens!"

"We're tired," gasped Glyneth.

"So soon? Well, perhaps I overestimated your strength, as it seems
so easy from here. And you in particular; I don't want you too
limp, as tonight I shall put you to another kind of exertion. Ha
ha! Pleasure for him who holds the whip! Forward once more, at
half-speed."

Dhrun took occasion to whisper to Glyneth: "Don't worry; he won't
harm you. Mine is a magic sword and comes to my command. At the
proper time I will call it to my hand and hold him helpless."

Glyneth nodded despondently.

During the middle afternoon the road rose into a line of low hills
and the children failed against the weight of cart, treasure and
Nerulf. First using his whip, then dismounting, and finally
helping to push, Nerulf assisted in bringing the cart to the high


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ridge. A short but steep stretch of road intervened between the
cart and the shores of Lake Lingolen. Nerulf cut down a forty-foot
pine tree with Dhrun's sword and tied it as a drag to the rear of
the cart and the slope was negotiated safely.

They found themselves on a marshy margin between lake and the dark
hills, upon which the sun was declining.

Up from the marsh thrust a number of islands; one of them served
as refuge for a gang of bandits. Their lookouts had already taken
note of the cart; now they sprang from ambush. The children, for
an instant paralyzed, fled in all directions. As soon as the
bandits discovered the nature of their booty they gave up all
thought of pursuit.

Dhrun and Glyneth fled together, along the road to the east. They
ran until their chests hurt and cramps bound their legs; then they
threw themselves into the tall grass beside the road to rest.

An instant later another fugitive flung himself down beside them:
Nerulf.

Dhrun sighed. "Seven years bad luck: will it always be this bad?"

"Stop that insolence!" hissed Nerulf. "I am still in command, in
case you are uncertain. Now stand up!"

"What for? I'm tired."

"No matter. My great treasure has been lost; still, it's just
possible that a few gems are hidden about your person. On your
feet! You too, Glyneth!"

Dhrun and Glyneth rose slowly. In Dhrun's pouch Nerulf discovered
the old purse and turned it out into his hand. He grunted in
disgust. "A crown, a florin, a penny: just barely better than
nothing." He cast the old purse to the ground. With quiet dignity
Dhrun picked it up and restored it to his pouch.

Nerulf searched Glyneth's person, his hands lingering along the


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contours of her fresh young body, but he found no objects of
value. "Well, let's go on for a bit; perhaps we'll find shelter
for the night."

The three walked along the road, watching over their shoulders for
signs of pursuit, but none appeared. The woodland became extremely
heavy and dark; the three, despite fatigue, moved along the road
at good speed, and presently emerged once again on open lands
beside the marsh.

The setting sun shone from beyond the hills along the underside of
clouds sailing across the lake; they cast an unreal dark golden
light over the marsh.

Nerulf noticed a small promontory, almost an island, protruding
fifty yards into the marsh, with a weeping-willow tree at its
highest point. Nerulf turned upon Dhrun a look of lowering menace.
"Glyneth and I will spend the night here," he announced. "You go
elsewhere, starting now, and never come back. And consider
yourself lucky, since I have you to thank for my beatings. Go!"
With that he went to the edge of the marsh and using Dhrun's sword
began to cut rushes for a bed.

Dhrun went off a few yards, and stopped to think. He could recover
Dassenach at any time, but to no great effect. Nerulf could run
away until he found a weapon: large stones, a long cudgel, or he
could merely step behind a tree and challenge Dhrun to come at
him. In all cases Nerulf, with his size and strength could
overpower Dhrun and kill him if so he chose.

Nerulf, looking up, saw Dhrun and cried out: "Did I not order you
to go?" He made a run at Dhrun, who quickly retreated into the
dense woods. Here he found a dead branch and broke it to make a
stout cudgel four feet long. Then he returned to the marsh.

Nerulf had waded out to where the reeds grew thick and soft. Dhrun
signaled to Glyneth. She ran to join him and Dhrun gave her quick
instructions.

Nerulf looked up and saw the two standing together. He called out


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to Dhrun: "What are you doing here? I told you to leave and never
return! You disobeyed me and I now sentence you to death."

Glyneth saw something rise from the marsh behind Nerulf. She
shrieked and pointed her finger.

Nerulf uttered a scornful laugh. "Do you think you can fool me
with that old trick? I am somewhat more—" He felt a soft touch on
his arm and looking down saw a long-fingered gray hand with knobby
knuckles and a clammy skin. Nerulf stood rigid; then, as if forced
against his will, he looked around, to discover himself face to
face with a heceptor. He uttered a strangled yell and staggering
backward flourished the sword Dassenach, with which he had been
cutting reeds.

Dhrun and Glyneth fled away from the lakeshore to the road, where
they halted and looked back.

Out on the marsh Nerulf backed slowly away from the advancing
heceptor who menaced him with arms on high, hands and fingers
angled downwards. Nerulf tried to make play with the sword and
pierced the heceptor's shoulder, to elicit a hiss of sad reproach.

The time had come. Dhrun called: "Dassenach! To me!"

The sword jerked from Nerulf's fingers and flew across the marsh
to Dhrun's hand. Somberly he tucked it into its scabbard. The
heceptor lurched forward, enfolded Nerulf and bore him screaming
down into the muck.

With darkness upon them and the stars appearing in profusion,
Dhrun and Glyneth climbed to the top of a grassy knoll a few yards
from the road. They gathered armfuls of grass, made a pleasant bed
and stretched out their weary bodies. For half an hour they
watched the stars, big and softly white. Presently they became
drowsy and, huddled together, slept soundly until morning.

After two comparatively uneventful days of travel, Dhrun and
Glyneth arrived at a broad river, which Glyneth felt must surely
be the Murmeil itself. A massive stone bridge spanned the river


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and here the ancient brick road came to an end.

Before setting foot on the bridge Dhrun called out three times for
the toll-taker, but none showed himself and they crossed the
bridge unchallenged.

Now there were three roads from which to choose. One led east
along the river bank; another proceeded upstream beside the river;
a third wandered away to the north, as if it had no particular
destination in mind.

Dhrun and Glyneth set off to the east, and for two days followed
the river through landscapes and riverscapes of wonderful beauty.
Glyneth rejoiced at the fine weather. "Think, Dhrun! If you were
truly cursed with bad luck, the rain would drench our skins and
there would be snow to freeze our bones!"

"I wish I could believe so."

"There's no doubt at all. And look yonder at the beautiful
berries! Just in time for our lunch! Isn't that good luck?"

Dhrun was willing to be convinced. "It would seem so."

"Of course! We'll talk no more of curses." Glyneth ran to the
thicket which bordered a small stream near where it tumbled down a
declivity into the Murmeil.

"Wait!" cried Dhrun, "or we'll know bad luck for sure!"

He called out: "Does anyone forbid us these berries?"

There was no response and they ate their fill of ripe
blackberries.

For a space they lay resting in the shade. "Now that we're almost
out of the forest, it's time to make plans," said Glyneth. "Have
you thought of what we should do?"

"Yes indeed. We will travel here and there and try to discover my


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father and mother. If I am truly a prince, then we will live in a
castle and I shall insist that you be made a princess as well. You
shall have fine clothes, a carriage and also another cat like
Pettis."

Glyneth, laughing, kissed Dhrun's cheek. "I'd like to live in a
castle. We're sure to find your father and mother, since there are
not all that many princes and princesses!"

Glyneth became drowsy. Her eyelids drooped and she dozed. Dhrun,
becoming restless, went to explore a path which bordered the
stream. He walked a hundred feet and looked back. Glyneth still
lay asleep. He walked another hundred feet, and another. The
forest seemed very still; the trees rose majestically high, taller
than any Dhrun had seen before, to create a luminous green canopy
far overhead.

The path crossed a rocky little hummock. Dhrun, climbing up to the
top, found himself overlooking a tarn shaded beneath the great
trees. Five nude dryads waded in the shallows of the tarn: slender
creatures with rose-pink mouths and long brown hair, small
breasts, slim thighs and unutterably lovely faces. Like fairies
they showed no pubic hair; like fairies they seemed made of stuff
less gross than blood and meat and bone.

For a minute Dhrun stared entranced; then he took sudden fright
and slowly backed away.

He was seen. Tinkling little outcries of dismay reached his ears.
Carelessly strewn along the bank, almost at Dhrun's feet, were the
fillets which bound their brown hair; a mortal seizing such a
fillet held the dryad in power, to serve his caprice forever, but
Dhrun knew nothing of this.

One of the dryads splashed water toward Dhrun. He saw the drops
rise into the air and sparkle in the sunlight, whereupon they
became small golden bees, which darted into Dhrun's eyes and
buzzed in circles, blotting out his sight.

Dhrun screamed in shock and fell to his knees. "Fairies, you have


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blinded me! I only chanced on you by mistake! Do you hear me?"

Silence. Only the sound of leaves stirring in the afternoon airs.

"Fairies!" cried Dhrun, tears running down his cheeks. "Would you
blind me for so small an offense?"

Silence, definite and final.

Dhrun groped back along the trail, guided by the sound of the
little stream. Halfway along the trail he met Glyneth, who,
awakening and seeing no Dhrun, had come to find him. Instantly she
recognized his distress and ran forward. "Dhrun! What is the
trouble?"

Dhrun took a deep breath, and tried to speak in a courageous
voice, which despite his efforts quavered and cracked. "I went
along the trail; I saw five dryads bathing in a pool; they
splashed bees into my eyes and now I can't see!" In spite of his
talisman, Dhrun could barely restrain his grief.

"Oh Dhrun!" Glyneth came close. "Open your eyes wide; let me
look."

Dhrun stared toward her face. "What do you see?"

Glyneth said haltingly: "Very strange! 1 see circles of golden
light, one around the other, with brown in between."

"It's the bees! They've filled my eyes with buzzing and dark
honey!"

"Dhrun, dearest Dhrun!" Glyneth hugged him and kissed him, and
used every endearment she knew. "How could they be so wicked!"

"I know why," he said bleakly. "Seven years bad luck. I wonder
what will happen next. You had better go away and leave me—"

"Dhrun! How can you say such a thing?"



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"—so that if I fall in a hole, you need not fail in too."

"Never would I leave you!"

"That is foolishness. This is a terrible world, so I am
discovering. It is all you can do to care for yourself, let alone
me."

"But you are the one I love most in all the world! Somehow we'll
survive! When the seven years is over there'll be nothing left but
good luck forever!"

"But I'll be blind!" cried Dhrun, again with a quaver in his
voice.

"Well, that's not sure either. Magic blinded you; magic will cure
you. What do you think of that?"

"I hope that you're right." Dhrun clutched his talisman. "How
grateful I am for my bravery, even though I can't be proud of it.
I suspect that I am a fearful coward at heart."

"Amulet or none, you are the brave Dhrun, and one way or another,
we shall get on in the world."

Dhrun reflected a moment, then brought out his magic purse. "Best
that you carry this; with my luck a crow will swoop down and carry
it away."

Glyneth looked into the purse and cried out in amazement. "Nerulf
emptied it; now I see gold and silver and copper!"

"It is a magic purse, and we never need fear poverty, so long as
the purse is safe."

Glyneth tucked the purse into her bodice. "I'll be as careful as
careful can be." She looked up the trail. "Perhaps I should go to
the pool and tell the dryads what a terrible mistake they made..."

"You'd never find them. They are as heartless as fairies, or


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worse. They might even do mischief on you. Let's leave this
place."

Late in the afternoon they came upon the ruins of a Christian
chapel, constructed by a missionary now long forgotten. To the
side grew a plum tree and a quince tree, both heavy with fruit.
The plums were ripe; the quince, though of a fine color, tasted
acrid and bitter. Glyneth picked a gallon of plums, upon which
they made a somewhat meager supper. Glyneth piled up grass for a
soft bed among the toppled stones, while Dhrun sat staring out
across the river.

"I think the forest is thinning," Glyneth told Dhrun. "It won't be
long before we're safe among civilized folk. Then we'll have bread
and meat to eat, milk to drink, and beds to sleep in."

Sunset flared over the Forest of Tantrevalles, then faded to dusk.
Dhrun and Glyneth went to their bed; they became drowsy and slept.

Somewhat before midnight the half-moon rose, cast a reflection on
the river, and shone in Glyneth's face, awakening her. She lay
warm and drowsy, listening to the crickets and frogs... A far
drumming sound caught her ear. It grew louder, and with it the
jingle of chain and the squeak of saddle-leather. Glyneth raised
up on her elbow, to see a dozen horsemen come pounding along the
river road. They crouched low in their saddles with cloaks
flapping behind; moonlight illuminated their antique gear and
black leather helmets with flaring ear-pieces. One of the riders,
head almost into his horse's mane, turned to look toward Glyneth.
Moonlight shone into his pallid face; then the ghostly cavalcade
was away. The drumming died into the distance and was gone.

Glyneth sank back into the grass and at last slept.

At dawn Glyneth roused herself quietly and tried to strike a hot
spark from a piece of flint she had found, and so to blow up a
fire, but met no success.

Dhrun awoke. He gave a startled cry, which he quickly stifled.
Then after a moment he said: "It's not a dream after all."


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Glyneth looked in Dhrun's eyes. "I still see the golden circles."
She kissed Dhrun. "But don't brood, we'll find some way to cure
you. Remember what I said yesterday? Magic gives, magic takes."

"I'm sure that you are right." Dhrun's voice was hollow. "In any
case, there's no help for it." He rose to his feet and almost
immediately tripped on a root and fell. Throwing out his arms, he
caught the chain where hung his amulet and sent both chain and
amulet flying.

Glyneth came on the run. "Are you hurt? Oh, your poor knee, it's
all bleeding from the sharp stone!"

"Never mind the knee," croaked Dhrun. "I've lost my talisman; I
broke the chain and now it's gone!"

"It won't run away," said Glyneth in a practical voice. "First
I'll bandage your knee and then I'll find your talisman."

She tore a strip from her petticoat and washed the scratch with
water from a little spring. "We'll just let that dry, then I'll
wrap it nicely in a bandage and you'll be as frisky as ever."

"Glyneth, find my talisman, please! It's something which must not
be put off. Suppose a mouse drags it away?"

"It would become the bravest of mice! The cats and owls would turn
tail and flee." She patted Dhrun's cheek. "But I'll find it now...
It must have gone in this direction." She dropped to her hands and
knees, and looked here and there. Almost at once she saw the
amulet. As luck would have it, the cabochon had fallen hard;
against a stone and had shattered into a dozen pieces.

"Do you see it?" asked Dhrun anxiously.

"I think it's in this clump of grass." Glyneth found a small
smooth pebble and pressed it into the setting. With the edge of a
larger stone, she pushed down the flange, so as to secure the
pebble in place. "Here it is in the grass! Let me fix the chain."


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She bent the twisted link back into alignment and hung the amulet
around Dhrun's neck, to his great relief. "There you are, as good
as new."

The two breakfasted on plums and continued along beside the river.
The forest straggled out to become a parkland of copses separated
by meadows of long grasses waving in the wind. They came upon a
deserted hut, shelter for those herdsmen who dared forage their
flocks so close to the wolves, griswolds and bears of the forest.

Another mile, and another, and they came to a pleasant two-story
stone cottage, with flower boxes under the upper windows. A stone
fence surrounded a garden of forget-me-not wallflower, pansies and
angel's pincushion. A pair of chimneys at either gable supported
chimney pots high above the fresh clean thatch. Further along the
road could be seen a village of gray stone cottages huddled in a
swale. A crone in black gown and white apron weeded the garden.
She paused to watch Dhrun and Glyneth approach, then gave her head
a shake and returned to work.

As Glyneth and Dhrun neared the gate a plump and pretty woman of
mature years stepped out upon the little porch. "Well then,
children, what are you doing so far from home?"

Glyneth answered: "I'm afraid, mistress, that we're vagabonds. We
have neither home nor family."

In surprise the woman looked back up the way the two had come.
"But this road leads nowhere!"

"We've just come through the Forest of Tantrevalles."

"Then you bear charmed lives! What are your names? You may call me
Dame Melissa."

"I am Glyneth and this is Dhrun. The fairies sent bees into his
eyes and now he can't see."

"Ah! A pity! They are often cruel! Come here, Dhrun, let me see
your eyes."


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Dhrun stepped forward and Dame Melissa studied the concentric
rings of gold and amber. "I know one or two trifles of magic, but
not so much as a true witch, and I can do nothing for you."

"Perhaps you would sell us a bite of bread and cheese," Glyneth
suggested. "We've eaten only plums today and yesterday."

"Of course, and you need not think of payment. Didas? Where are
you? We have a pair of hungry children here! Bring milk and butter
and cheese from the dairy. Come in, dears. Go back to the kitchen
and I think we can find something nice."

When Dhrun and Glyneth had seated themselves at the scrubbed
wooden table, Dame Melissa served them first bread and a rich soup
of mutton and barley, then a tasty dish of chicken cooked with
saffron and walnuts, and finally cheese and juicy green grapes.

Dame Melissa sat to the side sipping a tea brewed from the leaves
of lemon verbena and smiled to watch them eat. "I see that you are
both healthy young persons," she said. "Are you brother and
sister?"

"It amounts to that," said Glyneth. "But in truth we're not
related. We've both suffered troubles and we think ourselves lucky
to be together, since neither of us has anyone else."

Dame Melissa said soothingly: "You're now in Far Dahaut, out of
the dreadful forest, and I'm sure things will go better for you."

"I hope so. We can't thank you enough for the wonderful dinner,
but we mustn't intrude upon you. If you'll excuse us, we'll be on
our way."

"Whyever so soon? It's afternoon. I'm sure you're tired. There's a
nice room for Glyneth just above, and a good bed in the garret for
Dhrun. You shall have a supper of bread and milk and a sweet-cake
or two, then you may eat apples before the fire and tell me your
adventures. Then tomorrow, when you're well rested, you'll be on
your way."


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Glyneth hesitated and looked at Dhrun.

"Do stay," pleaded Dame Melissa. "Sometimes it's lonely here with
no one but crotchety old Didas."

"I don't mind," said Dhrun. "Perhaps you can tell us where to find
a powerful magician, to draw the bees from my eyes."

"I'll give the matter thought, and I'll ask Didas as well; she
knows a bit of everything."

Glyneth sighed. "I'm afraid you'll spoil us. Vagabonds are not
supposed to trouble over good food and soft beds."

"Just one night, then a good breakfast, and you can be on your
way."

"Then we thank you again for your kindness."

"Not at all. It gives me pleasure to see such pretty children
enjoying my house. I ask only that you do not molest Dame Didas.
She is very old, and a trifle crabbed—even, I am sorry to say, a
bit eery. But if you leave her be, she will not trouble you."

"Naturally, we will treat her with all politeness."

"Thank you, my dear. Now, why do you not go outside and enjoy the
flower garden until supper time?"

"Thank you, Dame Melissa."

The two went out into the garden, where Glyneth led Dhrun from
flower to flower, that he might find pleasure in the fragrance.

After an hour of going from plant to plant, sniffing and smelling,
Dhrun became bored and stretched out on a patch of lawn, to doze
in the sunshine, while Glyneth went to puzzle out the mystery of a
sun dial.



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Someone gestured from the side of the cottage; looking around,
Glyneth saw Dame Didas, who instantly signaled her first to
caution and silence, then beckoned her to come.

Glyneth slowly approached Dame Didas, in a fever of impatience,
signaled her to haste. Glyneth moved forward more quickly.

Dame Didas asked, "What did Dame Melissa tell you about me?"

Glyneth hesitated, then spoke out bravely. "She said not to bother
you; that you were very old and often irritable, or even a little,
well, unpredictable."

Dame Didas gave a dry chuckle. "As for that, you'll have a chance
to judge for yourself. In the meanwhile—now heed me, girl, heed
me!—drink no milk with your supper. I will call to Dame Melissa;
while she is distracted pour the milk into the sink, then pretend
to have finished. After supper say that you are very tired and
would like to go to bed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dame Didas."

"Disregard me to your peril! Tonight, when the house is quiet, and
Dame Melissa has gone to her workroom, I'll explain. Will you heed
me?"

"Yes, Dame Didas. If I may say so, you seem neither crabbed nor
eery."

"That's a good girl. Until tonight then. Now I must hurry back to
the weeds; they grow as fast as I'm able to pull them."

The afternoon passed. At sunset Dame Melissa called them in to
supper. On the kitchen table she placed a fresh crusty loaf,
butter and a dish of pickled mushrooms. She had already poured
mugs of milk for both Glyneth and Dhrun; there was also a milk jug
if they wanted more.

"Sit down, children," said Dame Melissa. "Are your hands clean?
Good. Eat as much as you wish; and drink your milk. It is fresh


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and good."

"Thank you, Dame Melissa."

From the drawing room came the voice of Dame Didas. "Melissa, come
at once! I want a word with you!"

"Later, Didas, later!" But Melissa rose to her feet and walked to
the doorway; instantly Glyneth poured out the milk from both mugs.
She whispered to Dhrun: "Pretend to drink from the empty mug."

When Dame Melissa returned, both Glyneth and Dhrun were apparently
in the act of draining the milk in their mugs.

Dame Melissa said nothing, but turned away and paid no more heed
to them.

Glyneth and Dhrun ate a slice of crusty bread with butter; then
Glyneth simulated a yawn. "We're both tired, Dame Melissa. If
you'll excuse us, we'd like to go to bed."

"Of course! Glyneth, you may help Dhrun to his bed and you know
your own room."

Glyneth, carrying a candle, took Dhrun up to the garret. Dhrun
asked dubiously: "Aren't you afraid to be alone?"

"A little, but not too much."

"I'm no longer a fighter," said Dhrun wistfully. "Still, if I hear
you cry out I'll be there."

Glyneth descended to her room and lay on the bed fully clothed. A
few minutes later Didas appeared. "She's in her workroom now; we
have a few moments to talk. To start, let me say that Dame
Melissa, as she calls herself, is a dire witch. When I was fifteen
years old, she gave me drugged milk to drink, then transferred
herself into my body—that which she wears today. I, a fifteen-year-
old girl, was housed in the body Melissa had been using: a woman
about forty years old. That was twenty-five years ago. Tonight she


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will change my forty-year-old body for yours. You will be Dame
Melissa and she will be Glyneth, only she will wield power and you
will end your days as a serving woman like me. Dhrun will be put
to work carrying water from the river to her orchard. She is in
her workroom now preparing the magic."

"How can we stop her?" asked Glyneth in a shaking voice.

"I want to do more than stop her!" spat Didas. "I want to destroy
her!"

"So do I—but how?"

"Come with me; quick now!"

Didas and Glyneth ran out to the pig-sty. A young pig lay on a
sheet. "I've washed it and drugged it," said Didas. "Help me carry
it upstairs."

Once in Glyneth's room they dressed the pig in a nightgown and a
mob-cap, and lay it in the bed, face to the wall.

"Quick now!" whispered Didas. "She'll be on her way. Into the
closet!"

They had barely shut themselves in when they heard footsteps on
the stairs. Dame Melissa, wearing a pink gown and carrying a red
candle in each hand, entered the room.

Above the bed a pair of censers hung from hooks; Melissa touched
fire to them and, smouldering, they gave off an acrid smoke.

Melissa lay down on the bed beside the pig. She placed a black bar
across her neck and the neck of the pig, then spoke an
incantation:

I into thee!

Thou into me!



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Straitly and swiftly, let the change be!

Bezadiah!

There was a sudden startled squealing as the pig discovered itself
in the undrugged body of Melissa. Didas sprang from the closet,
dragged the pig to the floor, and pushing the erstwhile Melissa to
the wall lay beside her. She arranged the black bar from across
her neck to that of Melissa. She inhaled the smoke from the
censers and uttered the incantation:

I into thee!

Thou into me!

Straitly and swiftly, let the change be!

Bezadiah!

At once the pig's frightened squealing came from the body of the
crone Didas. Melissa arose from the bed and spoke to Glyneth: "Be
calm, child. All is done. I am once more in my own body. I have
been cheated of my youth and all my young years, and who can make
restitution? But help me now. First we'll take the old Didas down
to the sty, where at least it will feel secure. It is a sick old
body and soon will die."

"Poor pig," muttered Glyneth.

They led the creature once known as Didas down to the sty and tied
her to a post. Then, returning to the bedroom, they carried out
the body of the pig which was beginning to stir. Melissa tied it
securely to a tree beside the cottage then drenched it with a pan
of cold water.

At once the pig regained consciousness. It tried to speak, but its
tongue and oral cavity made the sounds incomprehensible. It began
to wail, in terror and grief.

"So there you are, witch," said the new Dame Melissa. "I don't


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know how I look to you through a pig's eyes, or how much you can
hear through a pig's ear, but your witching days are at an end."

Next morning Glyneth awoke Dhrun with a report of the previous
night's events. Dhrun felt somewhat aggrieved because of his
exclusion from the affair, but held his tongue.

The legitimate Dame Melissa prepared a breakfast of fried perch
fresh from the river. While Dhrun and Glyneth ate, the butcher's
apprentice came to the door. "Dame Melissa, you have stock to
sell?"

"True, quite true! A fine yearling sow, for which I have no need.
You'll find her tied to a tree at the back. Ignore the strange
sounds it makes. I'll settle accounts with your master on my next
visit into town."

"Exactly so, Dame Melissa. I noticed the animal as I arrived and
it seems in prime condition. With your permission, I'll be away
and about my duties." The butcher's boy departed and presently
could be seen through the window, leading the squealing pig down
the road.

Almost immediately after, Glyneth said politely: "I think that we
also had better be on our way, as we have far to go today."

"You must do as you think best," said Dame Melissa. "There is much
work to be done, otherwise I would urge you to visit with me
somewhat longer. One moment." She left the room and presently
returned with a gold piece for Dhru'n and another for Glyneth.
"Please do not thank me; I am overcome with joy to know once more
my own body, which has been so misused."

For fear of disturbing the magic force resident in the old purse,
they tucked the gold coins into the waistband of Dhrun's trousers,
then, bidding Dame Melissa farewell they set off along the road.

"Now that we're safely out of the forest, we can start to make
plans," said Glyneth. "First, we'll find a wise man, who'll direct
us to one even wiser, who'll take us to the First Sage of the


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Kingdom, and he will chase the bees from your eyes. And then..."

"And then what?"

"We shall learn what we can of princes and princesses, and which
might have a son named Dhrun."

"If I can survive seven years bad luck, that will be enough."

"Well then, one thing at a time. March now! Forward, step, step,
step! Ahead is the village and if we can believe the signpost, its
name is Wookin."

On a bench before the village inn an old man sat whittling long
yellow-white curls from a length of green alder.

Glyneth approached him somewhat diffidently. "Sir, who is
considered the wisest man in Wookin?"

The old man ruminated for the space required to shave two
exquisitely curled shavings of alder-wood. "I will vouchsafe an
honest response. Mind you now, Wookin appears placid and easy, but
the Forest of Tantrevalles looms nearby. A dire witch lives a mile
up the road and casts her shadow across Wookin. The next village
along the way is Lumarth, at a distance of six miles. Each of
these miles is dedicated to the memory of the robber who only a
week ago made that mile his own, under the leadership of Janton
Throatcut. Last week the six gathered to celebrate Janton's name
day, and they were captured by Numinante the Thief-taker. At Three-
mile Crossroad you will still discover our famous and most curious
landmark, old Six-at-a-Gulp. Directly north, barely outside the
village, stands a set of dolmens, arranged to form the In-and-Out
Maze, whose origin is unknown. In Wookin reside a vampire, a
poison-eater, and a woman who converses with snakes. Wookin must
be the most diverse village of Dahaut. I have survived here eighty
years. Do I then need to do more than declare myself the wisest
man of Wookin?"

"Sir, you would seem to be the man we seek. This boy is Prince
Dhrun. Fairies sent golden bees to buzz circles in his eyes, and


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he is blind. Tell us who might cure him, or failing that, whom we
might ask?"

"I can recommend no one near at hand. This is fairy magic and must
be lifted by a fairy spell. Seek out Rhodion, king of all fairies,
who wears a green hat with a red feather. Take his hat and he must
do your bidding."

"How can we find King Rhodion? Truly, it is most important."

"Even the wisest man of Wookin cannot rive that riddle. He often
visits the great fairs where he buys ribands and teazles and other
such kickshaws. I saw him once at Tinkwood Fair, a merry old
gentleman riding a goat."

Glyneth asked: "Does he always ride a goat?"

"Seldom."

"Then how does one know him? At fairs one finds merry gentlemen by
the hundreds."

The old man shaved a curl from his alder switch. "There,
admittedly, is the weak link in the plan," he said. "Perhaps you
might better be served by a sorcerer. There is Tamurello at Faroli
and Quatz by Lullwater. Tamurello will demand a toilsome service,
which might require a visit to the ends of the earth: once more a
flaw in the scheme. As for Quatz, he is dead. If you could by some
means offer to resuscitate him, I daresay he would commit himself
to almost anything."

"Perhaps so," said Glyneth in a subdued voice. "But how—"

"Tut tut! You have noticed the flaw. Still, it well may yield to
clever planning. So say I, the wisest man of Wookin."

From the inn came a stern-faced matron. "Come, grandfather! It is
time for your nap. Then you may sit up tonight for an hour or two,
because the moon rises late."



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"Good, good! We are old enemies, the moon and I," he explained to
Glyneth. "The wicked moon sends rays of ice to freeze my marrow,
and I take pains to avoid them. On yonder hill I plan a great moon-
trap, and when the moon comes walking and spying and peeping for
to find my window, I'll pull the latch and then there'll be no
more of my milk curdled on moony nights!"

"And high time too, eh, grandfather? Well, bid your friends goodby
and come along to your nice neat's foot soup."

In silence Dhrun and Glyneth trudged away from Wookin. At last
Dhrun spoke: "Much of what he said made remarkably good sense."

"So it seemed to me," said Glyneth.

Just beyond Wookin, the Murmeil River swung to the south, and the
road went through a land partly wooded, partly tilled to barley,
oats and cattle fodder. At intervals placid farmsteads drowsed in
the shade of oaks and elms, all built of the local gray trap and
thatched with straw.

Dhrun and Glyneth walked a mile, then another, meeting in all
three wayfarers: a boy leading a team of horses; a drover with a
herd of goats and a wandering tinker. Upon the fresh country air
crept a taint, which grew stronger: first in breaths and whiffs,
then in sudden and violent power, so heavy and rich that Glyneth
and Dhrun stopped short in the road.

Glyneth took Dhrun's hand. "Come, we'll move quickly and so be
past the sooner."

The two trotted along the road, holding their breaths against the
stench. A hundred yards further they came to a crossroad, with a
gallows to the side. A signboard, pointing east-west, north-south
read:

BLANDWALLOW: 3                                     TUMBY: 2    WOOKIN: 3                     LUMARTH: 3

From the gallows, gaunt across the sky, dangled six dead men.



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Glyneth and Dhrun hurried past, to stop short once more. On a low
stump sat a tall thin man with a long thin face. He wore somber
garments but went hatless; his hair, dead black and straight,
clung to his narrow scalp.

Glyneth thought both the circumstances and the man somewhat
sinister and would have passed along the road with no more than a
polite greeting, but the man lifted a long arm to stay them.

"Please, my dears, what is the news from Wookin? My vigil is now
three days old and these gentlemen died with uncommonly stiff
necks."

"We heard no news, sir, save that regarding the death of six
bandits, which you must know."

"Why are you waiting?" asked Dhrun, with disarming simplicity.

"Ha hwee!" The thin man contrived a thin high-pitched chuckle. "A
theory propounded by the savants asserts that every niche in the
social structure, no matter how constricted, finds someone to fill
it. I admit to a specialized occupation, which in fact has not so
much as acquired a name. Not to put too keen an edge on it, I wait
under gallows until the corpse drops, whereupon I assume
possession of the clothes and valuables. I find little competition
in the field; the work is dull, and I will never become wealthy,
but at least it is honest, and I have time to daydream."

"Interesting," said Glyneth. "Good-day, sir."

"One moment." He appraised the still shapes above him. "I thought
to have number two today for sure." He took up an implement which
leaned against the gallows: a long pole with a forked end. He
pressed the rope immediately above the knot and gave a vigorous
shake. The cadaver hung as before. "My name, should you choose to
know it, is Nahabod, and sometimes I am known as Nab the Narrow."

"Thank you, sir. And now if you don't mind, we'll be going."

"Wait! I have an observation to make which you may find


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interesting. Yonder, number two in order, hangs old Tonker the
carpenter, who drove two nails into his mother's head: stiff-
necked to the end. Notice"—he pointed with his pole, and his voice
became somewhat didactic—"the purple bruise. This is usual and
ordinary for the first four days. Then a crimson flush sets in,
followed by this chalky pallor, and which indicates that the
object is about to descend. By these signals I judged Tonker ripe.
Well, enough for today. Tonker will fall tomorrow and after him
Pilbane the Dancer, who robbed along the highway for thirteen
years, and would have been robbing today had not Numinante the
Thief-taker discovered him asleep and Pilbane danced one last jig.
Next is Kam the farmer. A leper walked in front of his six fine
milch-cows, at this very crossroads, and all six went dry. Since
it is unlawful to shed a leper's blood, Kam drenched him with oil
and set him ablaze. It is said the leper bounded from here to
Lumarth using only fourteen strides. Numinante read the law over-
rigorously and now Kam dangles in mid-air. Number six on the end,
is Bosco, a chef of good repute. For many years he suffered the
foibles of old Lord Tremoy. One day, in a spirit of mischief, he
urinated into his lordship's soup. Alas! the deed was witnessed by
three pot-boys and the pastry chef. Alas! there hangs Bosco!"

Glyneth, interested in spite of herself, asked: "And the next?"

Nab the Narrow rapped the dangling feet with his pole. "This is
Pirriclaw, a robber with an extraordinary set of perceptions. He
could stare at a likely prospect—like this"—here Nab shot his head
forward and fixed his eyes upon Dhrun—"and like this!" He turned
the same penetrating glance upon Glyneth. "In that instant he was
able to divine the place where his prospect carried his or her
valuables, and a useful sleight it was!" Nab gave his head a shake
of regretful nostalgia for the passing of so marvelous a talent.

Dhrun's hand crept to his neck, to ensure the safety of his
amulet; almost without thinking Glyneth touched her bodice where
she had hidden the magic purse.

Nab the Narrow, still contemplating the cadaver, seemed not to
notice. "Poor Pirriclaw! Numinante took him in his prime, and now
I wait for his garments—with anticipation, I may add. Pirriclaw


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dressed in only the best and demanded triple-stitching. He is of
my general proportion, and perhaps I will wear the garments
myself!"

"And what of the last corpse?"

"Him? He amounts to little. Cloth buskins, clothes thrice mended
and lacking all style. This gallows is known as Six-at-a-Gulp.
Both law and custom forbid the hanging of five or four or three or
two or one from the ancient beam. A fleering ne'er-do-well named
Yoder Gray Ears stole eggs from under Widow Hod's black hen, and
Numinante decided to make an example of him, and also make a sixth
for old Six-at-a-Gulp; and for the first time in his life Yoder
Gray Ears served a useful purpose. He went to his death, if not a
happy man, at least a person whose life has yielded a final
fulfillment, and not all of us can make this claim."

Glyneth nodded dubiously. Nab's remarks were becoming a trifle too
rhapsodic and she wondered if he might be amusing himself at their
expense. She took Dhrun's arm. "Come along; it's still three miles
to Lumarth."

"A safe three miles now that Numinante has swept so clean," said
Nab the Narrow.

"One last question. Can you direct us to a fair where wise men and
magicians gather?"

"Yes indeed. Thirty miles past-Lumarth is the town Hazelwood,
where they mark the Druid festivals with a fair. Be there in two
weeks for Lugrasad of the Druids!"

Glyneth and Dhrun proceeded along the road. A half-mile they
walked, then out from behind a blackberry thicket sprang a tall
thin robber. He wore a long black cloak, a black cloth over all
his face, save his eyes, and a flat-crowned black hat, with an
extremely broad brim. In his left hand he brandished a dagger on
high.

"Stand and deliver!" he cried harshly. "Else I slit your throats


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from ear to ear!"

He advanced on Glyneth, plunged his hand into her bodice and
seized the purse from its snug place between her breasts. Next he
turned to Dhrun and flourished the dagger. "Your valuables, and
with a will!"

"My valuables are no concern of yours."

"But they are! 1 declare that I own the world and all its fruits.
Whoever without leave uses my goods incurs my most furious wrath;
is this not justice?"

Dhrun, bewildered, had no response; meanwhile the robber deftly
lifted the amulet from his neck. "Pshaw! What is this? Well, we'll
sort it out later. Go your ways now, in humility and be more
careful in the future!"

Glyneth, grimly silent, and Dhrun, sobbing with rage, continued
along the road. Behind them came a fleeing laugh. "Ha hwee!" Then
the robber disappeared into the underbrush.

An hour later Glyneth and Dhrun arrived at the village Lumarth.
They went at once to the inn marked by the sign of the Blue Goose,
where Glyneth asked where she might find Numinante the Thief-
taker.

"By the whims of Fortunatus, you'll find Numinante himself in the
common-room, drinking ale from a pot the size of his head."

"Thank you, sir." Glyneth entered                                the common-room.with caution. At
other inns she had been subjected                                to indignities: drunken kisses,
over-familiar pats on the haunch,                                leers and tickles. At the
counter sat a man of medium size,                                with a look of prim sobriety,
belied by the stoup from which he                                drank his ale.

Glyneth approached him confidently; here was no man to take
liberties.

"Sir Numinante?"


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"Well, lass?"

"I have a criminal act to report."

"Say on; this is my business."

"At the crossroads we met a Nahabod, or Nab the Narrow, who waited
for the cadavers to drop that he might take their clothes. We
talked a bit, then went our way. Not half a mile along, out from
the woods jumped a robber who took all we owned."

Numinante said: "My dear, you were robbed by the great Janton
Throatcut himself. Only last week I hanged high his six henchmen.
He was in the act of taking their shoes for his collection; he
does not care a fig for clothes."

"But he told us of Tonker the carpenter, Bosco the chef, the two
robbers Pirriclaw and I forget the other—"

"Possibly so. They ranged the countryside with Janton like a pack
of wild dogs. But Janton is leaving these parts and will take his
business elsewhere. Someday I will hang him as well, but— we must
take these pleasures as they come."

"Can't you send out to search for him?" asked Dhrun. "He took my
amulet and our purse of money."

"1 could send out," said Numinante, "but to what prpfit? He has
bolt-holes everywhere. All I can do at the moment is feed you at
the king's expense. Enric! Feed these children on your best. One
of those fat pullets from the spit, a good slice of beef and
another of suet pudding, with cider to wash it down." "At once,
Sir Numinante."

Glyneth said, "One thing more, sir. As you see, Dhrun here has
been blinded by the forest fairies. We have been advised to seek a
magician who will set matters straight. Can you suggest someone
who might help us?"



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Numinante swallowed a good pint of ale. After reflection he said:
"I know of such persons, but by reputation only. In this case I
cannot help you, since I have no magic, and only magicians know
other magicians."

"Janton suggested that we visit the fair at Hazelwood, and press
our inquiries there."

"That would seem sound advice—unless he proposes to meet you along
the way and rob you yet again. I see that Enric has laid you a
good meal; eat with appetite."

With sagging shoulders Dhrun and Glyneth followed Enric to the
table he had set and though he had provided his best, the food
lacked savor. A dozen times Glyneth opened her mouth to tell Dhrun
that he had lost only an ordinary pebble, that his fairy stone had
been broken to bits; as many times she closed her mouth, ashamed
to admit her deception.

Enric showed them the road to Hazelwood, "It's up hill and down
dale for fifteen miles, then through Wheary Woods, then across the
Lanklands, up and over the Far Hills, then follow the Sham River
into Hazelwood. You'll be a good four days in the going. I take it
you carry no great sum of money?"

"We have two gold crowns, sir."

"Let me change one into florins and pennies and you'll have an
easier time of it."

With eight silver florins and twenty copper pennies chinking in a
small cloth sack, and with a single gold crown secure in the
waistband of Dhrun's trousers, the two set out along the road to
Hazelwood.

Four days later, hungry and footsore, Dhrun and Glyneth arrived at
Hazelwood. The journey had been uneventful save for an episode
late one afternoon near the village Maude. A scant half-mile short
of town they heard moans emanating from the ditch at the side of
the road. Running to look, they discovered a crippled old man who


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had wandered from the road and had fallen into a growth of
burdock.

With vast effort Dhrun and Glyneth brought him to the road and
assisted him into the village, where he collapsed on a bench.,
"Thank you, my dears," he said. "If dying must be done, better
here than in a ditch."

"But why should you die?" asked Glyneth. "I have seen living folk
in far worse case than you."

"Perhaps so, but they were surrounded by loved ones or were able
to work. I have not a copper to my name and no one will hire me,
and so I will die."

Glyneth took Dhrun aside. "We can't abandon him here."

Dhrun spoke in a hollow voice. "We certainly can't take him with
us."

"I know. Even less could I walk away and leave him sitting here in
despair."

"What do you want to do?"

"I know we can't help everyone we meet, but we can help this
particular person."

"The gold crown?"

"Yes."

Wordlessly Dhrun worked the coin from his waistband and gave it to
Glyneth. She took it to the old man. "This is all we can spare,
but it will help you for a while."

"My blessings on you both!"

Dhrun and Glyneth continued to the inn, only to discover that all
the chambers were occupied. "The loft over the stable is full of


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fresh hay, and you may sleep there for a penny, and if you'll help
me in the kitchen for an hour or so, I'll serve you your supper."

In the kitchen Dhrun shelled peas and Glyneth scoured pots until
the innkeeper rushed forward. "No more, no more! I can see my face
in them now! Come, you've earned your supper."

He took them to a table in the corner of the kitchen and served
them first a soup of leeks and lentils, then slices of pork
roasted with apples, bread and gravy and a fresh peach apiece for
dessert.

They left the kitchen by way of the common-room, where a great
festivity seemed in progress. Three musicians, with drums, a
flageolet and a double lute, played merry quicksteps. Looking
through ranked onlookers Glyneth discovered the old cripple to
whom they had given the gold coin now drunk and dancing a
boisterous hornpipe with both legs flying through the air. Then he
seized the serving wench and the two danced an extravagant
prancing cakewalk up and down the length of the common-room, the
old man with one arm around the serving wench and the other
holding high a great pot of ale. Glyneth spoke to one of the
bystanders: "Who is that old man? When I saw him last he appeared
to be crippled."

"He is Ludolf the knave and no more crippled than you or I. He'll
saunter out of town, make himself comfortable beside the road.
When a traveler passes he starts to moan in a pitiful fashion, and
as like as not the traveler helps him into town. Then Ludolf
blithers and sniffs and the traveler usually gives him a coin or
two. Today he must have encountered a bashaw from the Indies."

Sadly Glyneth led Dhrun to the stable, and up a ladder into the
loft. Here she told Dhrun of what she had seen in the common-room.
Dhrun became furious. He gritted his teeth and drew back the
corners of his mouth. "I despise liars and cheaters!"

Glyneth laughed mournfully. "Dhrun, we mustn't trouble ourselves.
I won't say we've learned a lesson, because we might do the same
thing again tomorrow."


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"With many more precautions."

"True. But at least we need not feel ashamed of ourselves."

From Maude to Hazelwood the road took them through a varied
landscape of forest and field, mountain and valley, but they
encountered neither harms nor alarms, and arrived in Hazelwood at
noon on the fifth day out of Lumarth. The festival had not yet
commenced, but already booths, pavilions, platforms and other
furniture of the fair were in the process of construction.

Glyneth, holding tight to Dhrun's hand, appraised the activity,
"It looks as if there will be more merchants than ordinary' folk.
Perhaps they'll all sell to each other. It's truly gay, with all
the hammering and new bunting."

"What is that delightful smell?" asked Dhrun. "It reminds me of
how hungry I am."

"About twenty yards to windward a man in a white hat is frying
sausages. I agree that the smell is tantalizing—but we have only
seven florins and a few odd pennies to our name, which I hope will
keep us until somehow we can earn morel money."

"Is the sausage-seller doing a brisk business?"

"Not really."

"Then let's try to win him some trade."

"All very well, but how?"

"With these." Dhrun brought out his pipes.

"Very good idea." Glyneth led Dhrun close to the sausage-seller's
booth. "Now play," she whispered. "Brave tunes, happy tunes,
hungry tunes!"

Dhrun began to play, at first slowly and carefully, then his


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fingers seemed to move of themselves and fairly flew over the
stops, and from the instrument came a set of lovely skirling
melodies. Folk stopped to listen; they gathered around the sausage-
seller's stand, and many bought sausages, so that the vendor
became very busy.

After a period Glyneth approached the sausage-seller. "Please,
sir, may we too have sausages, since we are very hungry. After we
eat, we'll play again."

"That is a good bargain from my standpoint." The sausage-seller
fed them a meal of bread and fried sausages, then Dhrun played
once more: jigs and jump-ups, merry wind-arounds, reels and
hornpipes, to set the heels to twitching and the nose to trembling
along the aroma of frying sausages, until, inside the hour, the
sausage-seller had sold all his wares, whereupon Glyneth and Dhrun
sidled inconspicuously away from the stand.

In the shadow of a nearby van stood a tall young man with strong
wide shoulders, long legs, a long nose and clear gray eyes. Lank
sand-colored hair hung to his ears, but he wore neither beard nor
mustache. As Glyneth and Dhrun passed by he stepped forward and
accosted them.

"I have enjoyed your music," he told Dhrun. "Where did you learn
such sleight?"

"It's a gift, sir, from the fairies of Thripsey Shee. They gave me
the pipes, a purse of money, an amulet of bravery and seven years'
bad luck. We've lost purse and amulet, but I still keep the pipes
and the bad luck, which hangs on me like a bad smell."

"Thripsey Shee is far away, in Lyonesse. How did you arrive here?"

"We traveled through the great forest," said Glyneth. "Dhrun
discovered some forest fairies; they were bathing and quite naked.
They sent magic bees into his eyes and now he can't see, until we
drive the bees away."

"And how do you propose to do that?"


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"We have been advised to seek out Rhodion, king of the fairies,
and seize his hat, which will force him to do our bidding."

"That is sound advice as far as it goes. But first you must find
King Rhodion, which is not at all simple."

"He is said to frequent fairs: a merry gentleman in a green hat,"
said Glyneth. "That is something to start on."

"Yes indeed... Look! There goes one now! And here comes another!"

Glyneth said dubiously: "I don't think either of them is King
Rhodion, certainly not the drunken man, even though he is the
merrier of the two. In any case, we have other advice: to ask the
aid of an arch-magician."

"Again the advice is easier spoken than acted upon. The magicians
take pains to isolate themselves from what otherwise would be an
endless stream of supplicants." Looking from one somber face to
the other, he said: "Still, there may be a way to avoid these
difficulties. Let me introduce myself. I am Doctor Fidelius. I
travel Dahaut in this van which is drawn by two miraculous horses.
The placard on the side explains my business."

Glyneth read:

DOCTOR FIDELIUS

Grand gnostic, seer, magician.

HEALER OF SORE KNEES

... Mysteries analyzed and resolved: incantations uttered

in known and unknown languages. ... Dealer in analgesics, salves,
roborants and despumatics.

... Tinctures to relieve nausea, itch, ache, gripe, scurf, buboes,
canker.


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SORE KNEES A SPECIALTY

Glyneth, looking back to Doctor Fidelius, asked tentatively: "Are
you truly a magician?"

"Indeed I am," said Doctor Fidelius. "Watch this coin! I hold it
in my hand, then presto and hey-nonny-no! Where does the coin go?"
"Into your other hand."

"No. It is here on your shoulder. And look! Here is another on
your other shoulder! What do you say to that!"

"Marvelous! Can you cure Dhrun's eyes?"

Doctor Fidelius shook his head. "But I know a magician who can and
who, so I believe, will."

"Wonderful! Will you take us to him?"

Doctor Fidelius again shook his head. "Not now. I have urgent
business in Dahaut which must be done. Then I will visit Murgen
the magician."

Dhrun asked: "Could we find this magician without your help?"

"Never. The road is long and dangerous and he guards his privacy
well."

Glyneth asked diffidently: "Is your business in Dahaut likely to
take a very long time?"

"That is hard to say. Sooner or later a certain man will visit my
van, and then..."

"'And then'?"

"I expect that we will visit Murgen the magician. Meanwhile you
shall join my company. Dhrun shall play the pipes to attract
customers, Glyneth will sell salves, powders and lucky charms, and


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I will watch the crowds."

"That is very generous of you," said Glyneth, "but neither Dhrun
nor I have skill in medicine."

"No matter! I am a mountebank! My medicines are useless, but I
sell them cheap and usually they work as well as if prescribed by
Hyrcomus Galienus himself. Dismiss your qualms, if you have any.
The profits are not large but always we will eat good food and
drink good wine, and when the rain falls we shall be snug inside
the van."

Dhrun said glumly, "I carry a fairy's curse of seven years' bad
luck. It may well infect you and your undertakings."

Glyneth explained: "Dhrun lived most of his life in a fairy castle
until they cast him out with the curse on his head."

Dhrun said: "It was the imp Falael, who brought it down on me,
just as I departed the shee. I would reflect it back on him if
only I could."

"The curse must be lifted," declared Doctor Fidelius. "Perhaps we
should watch for King Rhodion after all. If you are playing the
fairy pipes he'll be sure to step up close to listen!"

"Then what?" asked Glyneth.

"You must seize his hat. He will roar and bluster, but in the end
he will do your bidding."

Glyneth frowningly considered the program. "It seems rather rude
to steal the hat of an utter stranger," she said. "If I made a
mistake, the gentleman will no doubt roar and bluster, and then
chase me and catch me and give me a fine beating."

Doctor Fidelius agreed. "Of course that is possible. As I pointed
out, many merry gentlemen wear green hats. Still, King Rhodion can
be known by three signs. First, his ears show no lobes and are
pointed at the top. Second, his feet are long and narrow, with


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long fairy toes. Third, his fingers are webbed like frog's feet
and show green fingernails. Also, so it is said, when you stand
close beside him, he gives off a waft, not of sweat and garlic,
but of saffron and willow-catkins. So, Glyneth, you must be ever
on the alert. I will also be watching, and between us we may well
capture Rhodion's hat."

Glyneth hugged Dhrun and kissed his cheek. "Do you hear that? You
must play your best and sooner or later King Rhodion will wander
by. Then it's off and away with seven years bad luck."

"Only good luck will bring him past. So I have seven years to
wait. By then I'll be old and crippled."

"Dhrun, you are ridiculous! Good music always defeats bad luck,
and never forget it!"

"I endorse that view!" said Doctor Fidelius. "Come with me now,
both of you. We have a few changes to make."

Doctor Fidelius took the two children to a merchant dealing in
fine shoes and garments. At the sight of Dhrun and Glyneth he
threw his hands into the air. "Into the back room with you."

Servants set out tubs of warm water and sweet-scented Byzantine
soap. Dhrun and Glyneth disrobed and washed away the grime and
grit of travel. The servants brought them towels and chemises of
linen, then they were dressed in handsome new garments: blue
trousers, a white shirt and a nutmeg-buff tunic for Dhrun; a frock
of pale green lawn for Glyneth and a dark green ribbon for her
hair. Other garments were packed into a case and sent back to the
van.

Doctor Fidelius surveyed the two with approval. "Where are the two
ragamuffins? We have here a gallant prince and a beautiful
princess!"

Glyneth laughed. "My father was only a squire of town Throckshaw
in Ulfland, but Dhrun's father is a prince and his mother a
princess."


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Doctor Fidelius' interest was aroused. "Who told you this?" he
asked Dhrun.

"The fairies."

Doctor Fidelius spoke slowly: "If this is true, as well it may be,
you are a very important person. Your mother may have been
Suldrun, Princess of Lyonesse. I am sorry to say that she is
dead."

"And my father?"

"I know nothing of him. He is rather a mysterious figure."


Chapter 20

EARLY IN THE MORNING, with the sun low behind the trees and dew
still wet on the grass, Graithe the woodcutter took Aillas to
Madling Meadow. He indicated a low mound on which grew a small
gnarled oak. "That is Thripsey Shee. To mortal eyes it looks like
very little, but long ago, when I was young and rash, I stole here
through the woods of a Midsummer's Eve, when the fairies do not
trouble to dissemble; and where you now see hummocks of turf and
an old tree, I saw pavilions of silk and a million fairy lamps and
towers rising one on the other. The fairies ordered musicians for
a pavanne, and the music began. I felt that I must run out and
join them, but I knew that if I danced so much as one step on
fairy sward, I must dance without surcease the rest of my life, so
I put my hands over my ears and went staggering away like a man
bereft."

Aillas searched Madling Meadow. He heard bird-calls and tinkles
which might have been laughter. He walked three steps out into the
meadow. "Fairies, I pray you, listen to me! I am Aillas, and the
boy Dhrun is my son. Will someone please come to talk to me?"

Silence fell across Madling Meadow, except for what might have
been another bird call. Near the mound lupines and larkspur jerked


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and bobbed, though the morning air was calm.

Graithe pulled at his sleeve. "Come away. They are preparing
mischief. If they wished to talk to you they would have done so at
once. Now they are plotting harm. Come away, before you suffer
their tricks."

The two returned through the woods. Graithe said, "They are a
strange folk. They think no more of us than we do of a fish."

Aillas took his leave of Graithe. On the way back to the village
Glymwode he turned aside and approached a half-decayed stump. From
the wrapping he took Persilian and propped it upright on the
stump. For an instant he saw himself in the glass, comely despite
the harsh structure of jaw, chin and cheekbone, with eyes bright
as blue lights. Then Persilian, from perversity, altered the
image, and Aillas found himself looking into the face of a
hedgehog.

Aillas spoke: "Persilian, I need your help." "Do you wish to put a
question?"

"Yes."

"It will be your third."

"I know. Therefore, I want to describe the sense of my question,
so that you will not return a glib evasion. I am seeking my son
Dhrun, who was taken by the fairies of Thripsey Shee. I will ask
you: 'How may I bring my son alive and well into my own custody?'
I want to know exactly how to locate my son, release him from
Thripsey Shee in possession of his health, youth and mental
faculties, without incurring penalty. I want to locate and free my
son now and not in a program involving weeks, months or years, nor
do I want to be fooled or frustrated in some way I haven't
considered. Therefore, Persilian—"

"Has it occurred to you," asked Persilian, "that your manner is
most arrogant? That you demand my help as if it were a duty I owed
you, and you, like all the others, jealously refuse to free me by


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asking a fourth question? Do you wonder that I regard your
problems with detachment? Have you reflected an instant upon my
yearnings? No, you exploit me and my power as you might use a
horse to draw a load; you chide and domineer as if by some heroic
deed you had earned the right to command me, when in fact, you
stole me in the most furtive manner from King Casmir; do you still
choose to hector me?"

After a confused moment Aillas spoke in a subdued voice: "Your
complaints for the most part are fair. Still, at this moment, I am
driven to find my son to the exclusion of all else.

"Therefore, Persilian, I must repeat my charge: give me in full
detail a response to this question: "How may I bring my son into
my care and custody?"

Persilian spoke in a heavy voice: "Ask Murgen." Aillas jumped back
from the stump in a fury. With great effort he kept his voice
even: "That is not a proper response."

"It is good enough," said Persilian airily. "Our urgencies drive
us in different directions. Should you choose to ask another
question, by all means, do so."

Aillas turned the mirror around, to face across the meadow. He
pointed. "Look! In the field yonder is an old well. Time may have
little meaning to you, but if I drop you into the well, you will
sink into the mud. Soon the well will cave in and you will lie
buried, perhaps forever, and that is a duration which must have
meaning for you."

"It is a subject which you do not understand," said Persilian,
still using a lofty tone. "I remind you that brevity is the
essence of wisdom. Since you seem dissatisfied, I will expand upon
my instructions. The fairies will give you nothing unless they
receive a gift in payment. You have nothing to offer them. Murgen
is a Master Magician. He lives at Swer Smod under Mount Gaboon in
the Teach tac Teach. Along the way are dangers. At Sinkings Gap
you must pass under a boulder balanced on a pin. You must kill the
guardian raven, or he will drop a feather to topple the boulder on


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your head. At the River Siss an old woman with a fox's head and a
chicken's legs will ask you to carry her across the river. You
must act on the instant: cut her in half with your sword and carry
each piece over separately. Where the road strikes up Mount Gaboon
you will encounter a pair of bearded gryphs. Give each a comb of
honey coming and going, which you have brought for the purpose. In
front of Swer Smod, call out three times in this fashion: 'Murgen!
It is I, Prince Aillas of Troicinet!' When you meet Murgen be not
awed; he is a man like yourself—not genial, but not without
justice. Listen to his instructions; obey them exactly. I include
a final advice, that I may be spared any more reproaches. Will you
ride a horse?"

"That is my plan."

"Stable your horse at the village Oswy Undervale before you arrive
at the River Siss; otherwise it will eat a maddening herb and
throw you into the rocks."

"That is valuable advice." Aillas looked longingly back toward
Madling Meadow. "It would seem altogether preferable to deal with
the fairies now, rather than first visiting Murgen by dangerous
ways."

"So it might seem. There are reasons why any advantage lies in
visiting Murgen first."

With this, Persilian allowed Aillas' image to reflect once more
from the glass. As Aillas watched, his face displayed a set of
ludicrous leers and grimaces, then disappeared and the mirror was
blank.

At Tawn Timble Aillas traded a golden brooch set with garnets for
a strong roan gelding, furnished with bridle, saddle and saddle
bags. At an armorer's shop he bought a sword of decent quality, a
dagger in the heavy-bladed Lyonesse style, an old bow, brittle and
cantankerous but serviceable, so Aillas estimated, if oiled and
drawn with a sensitive touch, along with twelve arrows and a
quiver. At a haberdashery he bought a black cloak, a black
forester's cap. The town cobbler fitted him with comfortable black


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boots. Astride his horse he once more felt himself a gentleman..

Leaving Tawn Timble, Aillas rode south to Little Saffield, then
west along Old Street, with the Forest of Tantrevalles a dark
margin across the north landscape. The Forest retreated and ahead
the blue shadows of the great Teach tac Teach loomed into the air.

At Frogmarsh, Aillas turned north along Bittershaw Road and in due
course arrived at Oswy Undervale: a lethargic settlement of two
hundred inhabitants. Aillas took lodging at the Peacock Inn and
spent the afternoon honing his sword and testing the flight of his
arrows against a straw butt in a field behind the inn. The bow
seemed to be sound but in need of work; the arrows flew adequately
true out to forty yards and somewhat beyond. Aillas took a
melancholy pleasure from sending arrow after arrow into a six-inch
target; his skills had not deserted him.

Early in the morning, with his horse stabled behind the inn, he
set off afoot along the trail to the west. He climbed a long rise
of sandy waste strewn with stones and boulders, where grew only
thistle and bitter-grass. At the top of the rise he overlooked a
broad valley. To the west and away to the north, ever higher, crag
on crag, rose the mighty Teach tac Teach, blocking passage into
the Ulflands. Directly below, the trail dropped by traverses to
the floor of the valley, and here flowed the River Siss, down from
the Troaghs back of Cape Farewell, and away to join the Sweet
Yallow. Across the valley he thought to make out Swer Smod, high
on the flanks of Mount Gaboon, but the shapes and shadows made for
deception and he could not be sure of what he saw.

He started down the way, running light-footed, sliding and
jumping, and so in short order reached the valley. He found
himself in an orchard of apple trees laden with red fruit, but he
marched resolutely past and so arrived at the riverbank. On a
stump sat a woman with the mask of a red fox and the legs of a
chicken.

Aillas gave her a thoughtful inspection. Finally she cried out:
"Man, why do you stare so?"



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"Madame Fox-face, you are most unusual."

"That is no reason to embarrass me."

"I intended no discourtesy, madame. You are as you are."

"Notice that I sit here in all dignity. It was not I who came
cavorting and romping like a mad-cap down the hillside. I could
never deign such frolics; folk would think me a hoyden."

"I was perhaps a trifle boisterous," Aillas admitted. "Would you
allow me a question, out of sheer curiosity?"

"Provided that it is not impertinent."

"You must judge and let it be understood that in asking the
question I incur no obligation."

"Ask on."

"Your face is that of a red fox, your torso that of a woman, your
limbs those of a fowl. Which influence guides you as you live your
life?"

"The question is noncupatory. Now it is my turn to request a
boon."

"But I specifically renounced all obligation."

"I appeal to your chivalrous training. Would you see a poor
frightened creature swept away before your eyes? Carry me across
the river, if you please."

"That is a request no gentleman could ignore," said Aillas. "Step
this way, down to the water's edge and point out the easiest
crossing."

"Gladly." The woman strutted down the path toward the river.
Aillas drew his sword and with a single great stroke across the
waist, cut the woman in twain.


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The pieces would not rest. The pelvis and legs ran hither and yon;
the upper torso dealt furious blows to the ground, while the head
called objurgations to chill Aillas' blood. At last he said:
"Quiet, woman! Where is your vaunted dignity?"

"Go your way!" she screeched. "My retribution will not be long in
coming!"

Aillas thoughtfully caught the back of her tunic, dragged her to
the water and across the ford. "With legs on one side and arms on
the other, you will be less tempted to do wicked deeds!"

257

The woman responded with a new spate of curses, and Aillas went
his way. The path led up a hillside; he paused to look back. The
woman had raised her head to whistle; the legs bounded across the
river; the two parts fitted themselves together and the creature
once again was whole. Aillas went somberly on his way: up Mount
Gaboon, where all the lands to the east lay spread below, for the
most part dark green forest, then across a wasteland where lived
not so much as a blade of grass. A cliff rose sheer above the
area, and the trail apparently had reached its end. Two steps
further and Aillas saw Sinkings Gap, a narrow crevice into the
cliff. At the mouth of the gap a pedestal ten feet high terminated
in a point on which, in precise balance, rested an enormous
boulder.

With utmost caution Aillas approached. Nearby, on the branch of a
dead tree, perched a raven, with one red eye attentively fixed
upon Aillas. Aillas turned his back, nocked arrow to bow, swung
about, drew and let fly. The raven toppled and fell in a flapping
heap to the ground. As it did so it brushed the balanced boulder
with its wing. The boulder swayed, leaned, and crashed into the
passage.

Aillas retrieved his arrow, cut the wings and tail from the bird
and tucked the articles into his pack; someday he would fletch his
twelve arrows in black.


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The trail led up through Sinkings Gap to a terrace above the
cliff. A mile away, under the jut of Mount Gaboon, Swer Smod
overlooked the panorama: a castle of no great size, fortified only
by a high wall and a pair of bartizans overlooking the portal.

Beside the trail, in the shade of eight black cypress trees, a
pair of bearded gryphs eight feet tall played chess at a stone
table. As Aillas approached, they put aside the chess and picked
up knives. "Step this way," said one, "to save us the trouble of
rising."

Aillas took two combs of honey from his pack and placed them on
the stone table. "Sirs, here is your honey."

The gryphs emitted dismal groans. "Again honey," said one. "And
surely insipid," gloomed the other.

Aillas said: "One should rejoice upon what one has, rather then
lament for that which one has not."

The gryphs looked up in displeasure. The first uttered a sinister
hiss. The other said: "One becomes sated with platitudes no less
than with honey, so that one often breaks another's bones in one's
vexation."

"Enjoy your meal in leisure and good health," said Aillas; and
continued to the main portal. Here a tall woman of advanced years,
wearing a white robe, watched Aillas' approach. He bowed in full
courtesy. "Madame, I am here to confer with Murgen, upon a matter
of importance. Will you please notify him that Aillas, Prince of
Troicinet, awaits his pleasure?"

The woman, speaking no word, made a gesture and turned away.
Aillas followed her across a court, along a hall, and into a
parlor furnished with a carpet, a table and a pair of heavy
chairs. Cases along the back wall displayed hundreds of books and
the room smelled pleasantly of the old leather bindings.

The woman pointed to a chair. "Sit." She went from the room, to


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return with a tray of nutcakes and a cup of tawny wine which she
placed before Aillas; then once again she left the room.

Into the hall came Murgen, wearing a gray peasant smock. Aillas
had expected an older man, or at least a man of sage appearance.
Murgen wore no beard. His hair was white from natural tendency
rather than age; his blue eyes were as bright as Aillas' own.

Murgen spoke: "You are here to consult me?"

"Sir, I am Aillas. My father is Prince Ospero of Troicinet; I am
Prince in direct line to the throne. Something less than two years
ago I met the Princess Suldrun of Lyonesse. We loved each other
and were married. King Casmir immured me in a deep dungeon. I
finally escaped to find that Suldrun had killed herself in despair
and that our son Dhrun had been taken as a changeling by the
fairies of Thripsey Shee. I went to Thripsey Shee, but they
remained invisible. I beg that you help me rescue my son."

Murgen poured a small quantity of wine into two goblets. "You come
to me empty-handed?"

"I carry nothing of value, save a few bits of jewelery which were
once Suldrun's. I am sure you care nothing for these. I can offer
you only the mirror Persilian, which I stole from King Casmir.
Persilian will answer three questions, to your advantage if you
phrase the questions correctly. If you ask a fourth question,
Persilian goes free. I offer him to you on the condition that you
will ask the fourth question, and so liberate him."

Murgen held out his hand. "Give me Persilian. I accept your
conditions."

Aillas relinquished the mirror. Murgen twitched his finger and
spoke a quiet syllable. A white porcelain box floated across the
room, and settled on the table. Murgen threw back the lid and
turned the contents out upon the table: thirteen gems, cut, so it
seemed, from gray quartz. Murgen watched him with a small smile.
"You find these uninteresting?"



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"I would judge them so."

Murgen touched them lovingly with his finger, moving them into
patterns. He heaved a sigh. "Thirteen nonpareils, each
encompassing a mental universe. Well, I must avoid avarice. There
are more where these came from. So be it. Take this one; it is gay
and enthralling by the light of sunrise. Go to Thripsey Shee just
as the first rays of sunlight sweep down across the meadow. Do not
go by moonlight, or you will suffer a death of weird invention.
Show the crystal to the sunrise, let it glint in the rays. Do not
let it from your grasp until a bargain has been made. The fairies
will honor their word precisely; they are, despite popular belief,
a most exact-minded race. They will fulfill their terms: no less,
and certainly not an iota more, so bargain with care!" Murgen rose
to his feet. "I bid you farewell."

"A moment, sir. The gryphs are truculent. They are not happy with
their honey. I think they would prefer to suck the marrow from my
bones."

"They are easily diverted," said Murgen. "Offer two combs to one
and none to the other."

"What of the boulder at Sinkings Gap? Will that be poised as
before?"

"At this very moment the raven balances the stone in place— no
mean feat for a bird lacking both wings and tail. It is vengeful,
so I suspect." Murgen held out a coil of pale blue rope. "Near the
head of the defile a tree overhangs the cliff. Pass the rope
around the tree, make a loop to sit in and lower yourself down the
cliff."

"What of the fox-faced woman at the River Siss?"

Murgen shrugged. "You must find some way to trick her. Otherwise
she will claw your eyes out with a single kick of her leg. The
scratch of her fingernail paralyzes; do not allow her approach."

Aillas rose to his feet. "I thank you for your help; still, I


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wonder why you make the way so dangerous. Many who visit you must
consider themselves your friends."

"Yes, no doubt." The subject clearly failed to interest Murgen.
"As a matter of fact, the hazards have been established by my
enemies, not by me."

"With the gryphs so close to Swer Smod? That is insolence."

Murgen dismissed the matter with a gesture. "It is beneath my
dignity to notice. And now, Prince Aillas, I wish you a safe
journey."

Murgen departed the room; the woman in the white robes led Aillas
along the dim halls to the portal. She looked up to the sky where
the sun had already passed the zenith. "If you hurry," she said,
"you will reach Oswy Undervale before dusk turns to dark."

Aillas went briskly back down the trail. He approached the grotto
where sat the two gryphs. They turned to observe Aillas' coming.
"Will you dare once again to offer us insipid honey? We crave more
savory stuff!"

"Apparently you are both famished with hunger," said Aillas.

"That is the way of it. Now then—"

Aillas brought out two combs of honey. "Ordinarily I would offer
one comb to each of you, but one must be more hungry than the
other, and he should have both. I leave them here, and the
decision shall be yours."

Aillas backed away from the instant altercation and before he was
fifty yards along the trail the gryphs were pulling each other's
beards. Though Aillas hurried, sounds of the dispute reached his
ears for many minutes.

He came to Sinkings Gap, and warily peered over the edge of the
cliff. The great boulder, as before, swayed in precarious balance.
The raven stood nearby, still lacking wings and tail, with head


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cocked and one round red eye staring up the gorge. Its feathers
were bedraggled; it half-sat, half-stood on its bent yellow legs.

Fifty yards to the east, a twisted old cedar tree extended its
crooked trunk over the lip of the cliff. Aillas threw the rope
over the trunk where a crotch would hold it away from the cliff's
face. In one end he tied a loop, arranged it under his haunches,
pulled the line taut, swung out over the void, and lowered himself
to the base of the cliff. He pulled the tail of the line over the
tree-trunk, made a coil and slung it over his shoulder.

The raven stood as before, head cocked, ready to thrust at the
boulder. Aillas silently approached from the opposite side and
prodded the boulder with the tip of his sword. It toppled and
crashed, while the raven uttered cries of dismay.

Aillas continued along the trail, down the slopes of Mount Gaboon.

Ahead a line of trees marked the course of the River Siss. Aillas
halted. Somewhere, so he surmised, the fox-woman lay in ambush.
The most likely spot would seem to be a thicket of stunted hazel
only a hundred yards along the trail. He could make a detour
either upstream or down, and swim the river rather than crossing
by the ford.

Aillas drew back and, keeping to cover as much as possible, made a
wide half-circle in a downstream direction to the river-bank. A
fringe of willows barred him from the water, and he was forced to
turn upstream. Nothing stirred, at the thicket or elsewhere.
Aillas began to feel taut. The silence was unnerving. He stopped
to listen again, but heard only the gurgle of the water. Sword in
hand, he proceeded upstream, step by step,.. Approaching the ford,
he came to a clump of heavy reed-grass, swaying in the wind... In
the wind? He turned quickly to look down into the red mask of the
fox-woman, sitting hunched like a frog. He swung his sword as she
thrust herself high, and cut off her head at the neck. The torso
and legs tumbled into a heap; the head fell at the water's edge.
Aillas nudged it out into the stream with his sword. It bobbed and
rolled downstream. The torso clawed itself erect and began to run
aimlessly here and there, waving its arms, darting and jumping,


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finally to disappear over the rise toward Mount Gaboon.

Aillas washed his sword, crossed the ford and returned to Oswy
Undervale, arriving just as dusk became dark. He dined on bread
and ham, drank a pint of wine and went immediately to his chamber.

In the dark he brought out the gray gem which Murgen had allowed
him. It showed a pale shine, the color of a misty day. Quite dull,
reflected Aillas. But when he looked away he thought he sensed a
peculiar flash at the corner of his vision, a perception to which
he could put no name.

He tried several times, but failed to reproduce the sensation, and
presently he fell asleep.


Chapter 21

FOUR UNEVENTFUL DAYS brought Aillas to Tawn Timble. Here he bought
two plump chickens, a ham, a flitch of bacon and four jugs of red
wine. He packed some of the goods in his saddlebags, tied the rest
to his saddle and rode north through Glym-wode, to the cottage of
Graithe and Wynes.

Graithe came to meet him. At the sight of the provisions he called
back into the cottage: "Woman, start the fire under the spit!
Tonight we dine like lords."

"We will dine and drink well," said Aillas. "Still I must arrive
at Madling Meadow before tomorrow's daybreak."

The three supped on chickens stuffed with barley and onions and
roasted to a turn, hearth-cake set to catch the drippings, a pot
of fieldgreens simmered with bacon, a salad of cress.

"If I ate so much every night, I would no longer care to chop logs
in the morning," declared Graithe.

"Pray the day will arrive!" exclaimed Wynes.



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"Who knows? Perhaps even before you expect it," said Aillas. "But
I am tired and I must arise before sun-up."

Half an hour before sunrise Aillas stood by Madling Meadow. He
waited in the gloom under the trees until the first glint of
rising sun showed in the east, then slowly started across the dew-
wet grass, the gem in his hand. As he neared the hummock he began
to hear small twitters and warblings in a register almost too high
for his ear to perceive. Something slapped at the hand which
carried the gem; Aillas only clenched his hand the tighter.
Invisible fingertips tweaked his ears and pulled his hair; his hat
was whisked away and flung high in the air.

Aillas spoke in a gentle voice: "Fairies, kind fairies: do not
treat me so! I am Aillas, father to my son Dhrun, whom you loved."

There was a moment of breathless silence. Aillas continued toward
the hummock, to halt twenty yards short.

The hummock suddenly became misty, and underwent changes, as of
images gathering and going, shifting in and out of focus.

From the hummock came a red carpet, unrolling almost to where
Aillas stood. Along the carpet came a fairy five feet tall, pale
brown of skin, with an over-sheen of olive-green. He wore a
scarlet robe trimmed with white weasel-heads, a fragile crown of
gold strands and green velvet slippers. To right and left other
fairies showed on the margin of visibility, never totally
substantial.

"I am King Throbius," stated the fairy. "You are indeed the father
of our beloved Dhrun?" "Yes, your Majesty."

"In that case, our love transfers in part to you, and you will
find no harm at Thripsey Shee."

"I give you my thanks, your Majesty."

"No thanks are needed; we are honored by your presence. What is
that which you hold in your hand?"


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Another fairy spoke softly: "Oh, the thrilling dazzle!" "Your
Majesty, this is a magic gem, of enormous value!" Fairy voices
murmured: "True, true. A fervent gem, of magic hue."

"Allow me to hold it," said King Throbius, in a peremptory voice.

"Your Majesty, ordinarily your wishes would command me, but I have
been most solemnly instructed. I want my son Dhrun returned to me
alive and well; then and only then may I relinquish the gem."

From the fairies came murmurs of surprise and disapproval: "A
naughty fellow!" "Just so, the mortals!" "One can never trust
their gentility." "Pale and coarse as rats!"

King Throbius spoke: "I regret to state that Dhrun is no longer
resident among us. He grew into boyhood and we were forced to send
him away."

Aillas gaped in astonishment. "He is barely a year old!" "In the
shee time jerks and skips like a may-fly. We never trouble to
reckon it out. When Dhrun left, he was, in your terms, perhaps
nine years old."

Aillas stood silent.

"Please give me the pretty bauble," coaxed King Throbius, in the
voice he might use upon a skittish cow whose milk he hoped to
steal.

"My position remains the same. Only when you give me my son."

"That is next to impossible. He departed some time ago. Now
then"—King Throbius' voice became harsh—"do as I command or never
will you see your son again!"

Aillas uttered a wild laugh. "I have never seen him yet! What have
I to lose?"

"We can transform you into a badger," piped a voice.


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"Or a milkweed fluff."

"Or a sparrow with the horns of an elk."

Aillas asked King Throbius: "You promised me your love and
protection; now I am threatened. Is this fairy honor?"

"Our honor is bright," declared King Throbius in a ringing voice.
He nodded crisply right and left in satisfaction, as his subjects
called out endorsement.

"In that case, I return to my offer: this fabulous gem for my
son."

A shrill voice cried out: "That may not be, since it would bring
good luck to Dhrun! I hate him, most severely! I brought a mordet*
on him."

          *A unit of acrimony and malice, as expressed in the
terms of a curse.

King Throbius spoke in the silkiest of voices: "And what was the
mordet?"

"Aha, harrumf. Seven years."

"Indeed. I find myself vexed. For seven years you shall taste not
nectar but tooth-twisting vinegar. For seven years you will smell
bad smells and never find the source. For seven years your wings
will fail you and your legs will weigh heavy as lead and sink you
four inches deep into all but the hardest ground. For seven years
you will carry all slops and slimes from the shee. For seven years
you will know an itch on your belly that no scratching will
relieve. And for seven years you will not be allowed to look upon
the pretty new bauble."

Falael seemed most distressed by the final injunction. "Oh, the
bauble? Good King Throbius, do not taunt me so! I crave that
color! It is my most cherished thing!"


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"So it must be! Away with you!"

Aillas asked: "Then you will bring back Dhrun?"

"Would you take me into a fairy war with Trelawny Shee, or Zady
Shee, or Misty Valley Shee? Or any other shee which guards the
forest? You must ask a reasonable price for your bit of stone.

Flink!" "Here, sir."

"What can we offer Prince Aillas to fulfill his needs?"

"Sir, I might suggest the Never-fail, as carried by Sir Chil the
fairy knight."

"A happy thought! Flink, you are most ingenious! Go, prepare the
implement, on this instant!"

"On this instant it shall be, sir!"

Aillas ostentatiously put his hand, with the gem, into his pouch.
"What is a 'Never-fail'?"

Flink's voice, breathless and shrill, sounded beside King
Throbius. "I have it here, sir, after great and diligent toil at
your order."

"When I require haste, Flink hurries," King Throbius told Aillas.
"When I use the word 'instant' he understands the word to mean
'now.'"

"Just so," panted Flink. "Ah, how I have toiled to please Prince
Aillas! If he deigns me only one word of praise, I am more than
repaid!"

"That is the true Flink speaking!" King Throbius told Aillas.
"Honest and fine is Flink!"

"I am interested less in Flink than in my son Dhrun. You were


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about to bring him to me."

"Better! The Never-fail will serve you all your life long, always
to indicate where Lord Dhrun may be found. Notice!" King Throbius
displayed an irregular object three inches in diameter, carved
from a walnut burl and suspended from a chain. A protuberance to
the side terminated in a point ripped with a sharp tooth.

King Throbius dangled the Never-fail on its chain. "You will note
the direction indicated by the white fairy-tooth? Along that slant
you will find your son Dhrun. The Never-fail is failureproof and
warranted forever. Take it! The instrument will guide you
infallibly to your son!"

Aillas indignantly shook his head., "It points north, into the
forest, where only fools and fairies go. This Never-fail points
the direction of my own death—or it may take me without fail to
Dhrun's corpse."

King Throbius studied the instrument. "He is alive, otherwise the
tooth would not snap to direction with such vigor. As for your own
safety, I can only say that danger exists everywhere, for you and
for me. Would you feel secure walking the streets of Lyonesse
Town? I suspect not. Or even Domreis, where Prince Trewan hopes to
make himself king? Danger is like the air we breathe. Why cavil at
the club of an ogre or the maw of an ossip? Death comes to all
mortals."

"Bah!" muttered Aillas. "Flink is fast on his feet; let him run
out into the forest with the Never-fail and bring back my son."

From all sides came titters, quickly stilled when King Throbius,
not amused, thrust his arm upward. "The sun stands hot and high;
the dew is going and the bees are first at our flower-cups. I am
losing my zest for transactions. What are your final terms?"

"As before I want my son, sound and safe. That means no mordets of
bad luck and Dhrun my son in my safe possession. For this, the
gem."



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"One can only do the reasonable and convenient," said King
Throbius. "Falael shall lift the mordet. As for Dhrun: here is the
Never-fail and with it our warranty: it shall lead you to Dhrun in
life's full vigor. Take it now." He pressed the Never-fail into
Aillas' hands, who thereupon released his grip on the gem. King
Throbius snatched it and held it high. "It is ours!"

From all sides came a suspiration of awe and joy: "Ah!" "Ah, see
it glow!" "A lump, a lummox!" "Look what he gave for a trifle!"
"For such a treasure he might have claimed a wind-boat, or a
palanquin carried by racing griffins, with fairy maids in
attendance!" "Or a castle of twenty towers on Misty Meadow!" "Oh
the fool, the fool!"

The illusions flickered; King Throbius began to lose his
definition. "Wait!" cried Aillas. He caught hold of the scarlet
cloak. "What of the mordet? It must be lifted!"

Flink spoke aghast: "Mortal, you have touched the royal garment!
That is an irredemptible offense!"

"Your promises protect me," said Aillas. "The mordet of bad luck
must be lifted!"

"Tiresome," sighed King Throbius. "I suppose I must see to it.
Falael! You, yonder, so industriously scratching your belly—
remove your curse and I will remove the itch."

"Honor is at stake!" cried Falael. "Would you have me seem a
weathercock?"

"No one will take the slightest notice."

"Let him apologize for his evil side-glances." Aillas said: "As
his father, I will act as surrogate and tender his profound
regrets for those deeds which disturbed you."
"After all, it was not kind to treat me so."

"Of course not! You are sensitive and just."



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"In that case I will remind King Throbius that the mordet was his
own; I merely tricked Dhrun into looking back."

"Is that the way of it?" demanded King Throbius.

Flink said: "Just so, your Majesty." "Then I can do nothing. The
royal curse is indelible."

"Give me back the gem!" cried Aillas. "You have not held to your
bargain."

"I promised to do all reasonable and convenient. This I have done;
anything more is not convenient. Flink! Aillas becomes tiresome.
On which hem did he seize my robe—north, east, south or west?"

"On the west, sire."

"The west, eh? Well, we cannot harm him, but we can move him. Take
him west, since that seems to be his preference, as far as
possible."

Aillas was whirled up and away through the sky. Windy draughts
howled in his ears; sun, clouds and earth tumbled across his
vision. He lofted high in trajectory, then dropped toward
glittering sunlit water, and alighted on sand at the edge of the
surf. "Here is west as west may be," said a voice choking with
merriment. "Think kindly of us! Were we rude, west might have been
another half-mile."

The voice was gone. Aillas, rising shakily to his feet, stood
alone on a bleak promontory not far from a town. The Never-fail
had been tossed on the wet sand at his feet; he picked it up
before the surf could carry it away.

Aillas organized his thoughts. Apparently he stood at Cape
Farewell, at the far western edge of Lyonesse. The town would be
Pargetta.

Aillas held the Never-fail suspended. The tooth jerked about to
point toward the the northeast.


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Aillas heaved a deep sigh of frustration, then trudged up the
beach to Pargetta, hard under the Castle Malisse. He ate bread and
fried fish at the inn, then, after an hour's wrangling with the
hostler, he bought a hammer-headed gray stallion of mature years,
with a willful disposition and no grace whatever, but still
capable of good service if not used too hard, and—no small
consideration—of a price relatively low.

Never-tail pointed to the northeast; with half the day still
ahead, Aillas set off along Old Street,* up the valley of the
River Syrinx and into the fastnesses of the Troagh, the southern
culmination of the Teach tac Teach. He passed the night at a
lonely mountain inn and late the next day he arrived at Nolsby
Sevan, market town and junction of three important roads: The Sfer
Arct leading south to Lyonesse Town, Old Street, and the Ulf
Passway winding north into the Ulflands, by way of Kaul Bo-cach.

          *Old Street, running from the Atlantic to the Gulf of
Cantabria, had been laid by the Magdals two               thousand
years before the coming of the Danaans. According to popular lore
every step along
           Old Street overlooked a battlefield. When the full moon
shone at Beltane, ghosts of the slain came
           out to stand along Old Street and stare at their
adversaries across the way.

Aillas took lodging at the White Horse Inn and next day set off to
the north along the Ulf Passway, at the best speed his obstinate
mount would allow. His plans were not elaborate nor, by the nature
of things, fully detailed. He would ride up the Passway, enter
South Ulfland at Kaul Bocach, and proceed into Dahaut along the
Trompada, somehow giving Tintzin Fyral a wide berth. At
Camperdilly Corners he would leave the Trompada for the East-West
Road: a route which according to the Never-Fail should take him
more or less directly to Dhrun, if so much were allowed by the
seven-year mordet.

A few miles along the way Aillas overtook a band of itinerant
peddlers bound for Ys and towns along the South Ulf coast. Aillas


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joined the group to avoid passing Kaul Bocach alone, so perhaps to
be an object of suspicion.

At Kaul Bocach there was unsettling news, brought by refugees from
the north. The Ska had once more erupted across both North and
South Ulfland, almost isolating the city Oaldes, with King Oriante
and his paltry court, and the puzzle remained why the Ska used
such forbearance toward the powerless Oriante.

In another operation the Ska had driven east to the Dahaut border
and beyond, to seize the great fortress Poelitetz overlooking the
Plain of Shadows.

Ska strategy presented no mysteries to the day sergeant at Kaul
Bocach. "They intend to take the Ulflands, North and South, as a
pike takes a perch. Can there be any doubt? A bite at a time: a
nip here, a gnaw there, and soon the black flag flies from Tawzy
Head to Cape lay, and someday they may be bold enough to try for
Ys and Vale Evander, if ever they could take Tintzin Fyral." He
held up his hand. "No, don't tell me! That's not the way of a pike
with a perch; he takes all at a gulp. But it's all one in the
end!"

Somewhat daunted the peddlers took counsel in a grove of aspen
trees, and finally decided to proceed with caution, at least as
far as Ys.

Five miles along the road the peddlers met a straggle of peasant
folk, some with horses or donkeys, others driving farm carts
loaded with household possessions, others going afoot, with
infants and children: refugees, so they identified themselves,
driven from their steadings by the Ska. One great black army, so
they stated, had already stormed across South Ulfland,
obliterating resistance, enslaving able men and women, burning the
keeps and castles of the Ulfish barons.

Again the peddlers, now in distress, took counsel, and once again
decided to proceed at least as far as Tintzin Fyral. "But no
farther until safety is assured!" declared the most sagacious of
the group. "Remember: one step into the Vale and we must pay the


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Duke's tolls!"

"On then!" said another. "To Tintzin Fyral, and we shall see how
the land lies."

The group continued along the road, only in short order to meet
another band of refugees, who brought news of the most startling
sort: the Ska army had reached Tintzin Fyral and even now had
placed it under attack.

There was no more question of going forward; the peddlers turned
in their tracks and returned south far more briskly than they had
come.

Aillas remained alone on the road. Tintzin Fyral lay yet another
five miles ahead. He had no choice but to attempt to discover a
route to detour Tintzin Fyral: one which climbed into the
mountains, over, then descended once more to the Trompada.

At a small steep ravine choked with scrub-oak and stunted cedar,
Aillas dismounted and led his horse up the faintest of trails
toward the skyline. Harsh vegetation blocked the way; loose rocks
rolled underfoot and the hammer-headed gray horse had no taste for
mountain climbing. During the first hour Aillas progressed only a
mile. After another hour he arrived at the ridge of a spur which
splayed out from the central crag. The route became easier and led
in a direction parallel to the road below, but always climbing, up
toward that flat-topped mountain known as Tac Tor: the highest
point within range of vision.

Tintzin Fyral could not be far away. Stopping to catch his breath,
Aillas thought to hear far faint shouts. Thoughtfully he
continued, keeping as much to cover as possible. Tintzin Fyral, he
calculated, stood across Vale Evander, immediately beyond Tac Tor.
He was approaching the scene of siege far closer than he had
intended.

Sunset found him a hundred yards below the summit, in a little
dell beside a covert of mountain larches. Aillas cut himself a bed
of boughs, tied his horse on a long tether near a rivulet seeping


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from a spring. Forgoing the comfort of a fire, he ate bread and
cheese from his saddlebag. From his pouch he brought Never-fail
and watched as the tooth swung to the northeast, with perhaps a
trifle more easting than before.

He tucked Never-fail into his pouch, shoved pouch and saddle-bags
deep under a laurel bush and went out on the ridge to look around
the landscape. Afterglow had not yet left the sky and a full moon
of enormous dimensions rose from the black loom of Forest
Tantrevalles. Nowhere could be seen gleam of candle or lamp, nor
the flicker of fire.

Aillas considered the flat summit, only a hundred yards above. In
the half-light he noticed a trail; others had fared this way
before, though not by the route he had come.

Aillas followed the path to the summit to find a flat area of
three or four acres, with a stone altar and five dolmens at the
center, standing stark and quiet in the moonlight.

Giving wide berth to the altar Aillas crossed the flat summit, to
where the opposite brink dropped away in a cliff. Tintzin Fyral
seemed so close that he might have flung a stone across and down
to the roof of the highest tower. The castle was illuminated as if
for a gala, windows aglow with golden light. Along the ridge
behind the castle hundreds of small fires flickered red and
orange; among them moved a company of tall somber warriors, to a
number Aillas could not estimate. At their back, dim in the
firelight, stood the gaunt frames of four large siege engines.
Clearly here was no chance or capricious escapade.

The chasm at Aillas' feet dropped sheer to the floor of Vale
Evander. Below the castle torches lit a parade-ground, now
unoccupied; other torches, in parallel rows, marked the parapets
of a wall across the narrow neck of the Vale: like the parade-
ground devoid of defenders.

A mile to the west, along the ridge, another spatter of camp-fires
indicated a second encampment, presumably Ska.



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The scene was one of weird grandeur which affected Aillas with
awe. He watched for a period, then turned away and descended
through the moonlight to his own camp.

The night was unseasonably cool. Aillas lay on his bed of boughs,
shivering under cloak and saddleblanket. Presently he slept, but
only fitfully, waking from time to time to watch the progress of
the moon across the sky. Once, with the moon halfway down in the
west he heard a far contralto cry of misery: something between a
howl and a moan, which brought up the hairs at the the back of his
neck. He huddled deep into his bed. Minutes passed; the call was
not repeated. At last he fell into a torpor which kept him asleep
somewhat longer than he had intended, and he awoke only when rays
from the rising sun shone into his face.

He rose lethargically, washed his face in the stream and
considered how best to proceed. The trail to the summit might well
lead down to join the Trompada: a convenient route, if it avoided
the Ska. He decided to return to the summit the better to spy out
the lay of the land. Taking a crust of bread and a knob of cheese
to eat along the way, he climbed to the top. The mountains below
and behind fell away in humping spurs, gulches and wallowing folds
almost to the verge of the forest. As best he could determine the
trail descended to the Trompada and so would serve him well.

On this clear sunny morning the air smelled sweet of mountain
herbs: heather, gorse, rosemary, cedar. Aillas crossed the summit
to see how went the siege of Tintzin Fyral. It was, he reflected,
an episode of great significance; if the Ska commanded both
Poelitetz and Tintzin Fyral, they effectively controlled the
Ulflands.

Approaching the brink he dropped to his hands and knees to avoid
impinging his silhouette on the skyline; nearing the brink he went
flat and crawled, and at last peered out across the gorge. Almost
below Tintzin Fyral reared high on its tall crag: close, but not
so close as it had seemed the night before, when he thought he
could fling a stone across the chasm to the roof. Now it was clear
that the castle lay beyond all but the strongest arrow-flight. The
uppermost tower culminated in a terrace guarded by parapets. A


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swayback saddle, or ridge joined the castle to the heights beyond,
where the closest vantage area, reinforced from below by a
retaining wall of stone blocks, overlooked the castle well within
bowshot range. Remarkable, thought Aillas, the foolish arrogance
of Faude Carfilhiot, to allow so convenient a platform to remain
unguarded. The area now swarmed with Ska troops. They wore steel
caps, and long-sleeved black surcoats; they moved with a grim and
agile purpose, which suggested an army of black killer-ants. If
King Casmir had hoped to create an alliance, or at the very least
a truce with the Ska, his hopes now were blasted, since by the
attack the Ska had declared themselves his adversaries.

Both the castle and Vale Evander seemed lethargic this bright
morning. No peasant tilled his field nor walked the road, nor were
Carfilhiot's troops anywhere visible. By dint of great exertion
the Ska had transported four large catapults across the moors, up
the mountainside and along the ridge which commanded Tintzin
Fyral. As Aillas watched they dragged the engines forward. They
were, so he saw, heavily built devices capable of tossing a
hundred-pound boulder the distance to Tintzin Fyral, to knock down
a merlon, break open an embrasure, rupture a wall, and eventually,
after repeated blows, to demolish the high tower itself. Worked by
competent engineers, and with uniform missiles, their accuracy
could be almost exact.

As Aillas watched, they worked the catapults forward to the edge
of that vantage overlooking Tintzin Fyral.

Carfilhiot himself strolled out upon the terrace, wearing a pale
blue morning gown: apparently he had just risen from bed. Ska
archers immediately ran forward and sent a flight of arrows
singing across the gorge. Carfilhiot stepped behind a merlon with
a frown of annoyance for the interruption of his promenade. Three
of his retainers appeared on the roof and quickly erected sections
of metal mesh along the parapets so as to ward away Ska arrows,
and Carfilhiot was again able to take the morning air. The Ska
watched him with perplexity and exchanged ironic comments,
meanwhile proceeding to ballast their catapults.

Aillas knew that he must depart, but could not bring himself to


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leave. The stage was set, the curtains drawn, the actors had
appeared: the drama was about to begin. The Ska manned the
windlasses. The massive propulsion beams bent backward, groaning
and creaking; stone missiles were placed into the projection
chutes. The master archers turned screws, perfecting their aim.
All was ready for the first volley.

Carfilhiot suddenly seemed to take cognizance of the threat to his
tower. He made an annoyed gesture and spoke a word over his
shoulder. Underneath the catapults the stone abutments supporting
the vantage collapsed. Down toppled catapults, missiles, rubble,
archers, engineers and ordinary troops. They fell a long way, with
hallucinatory slowness: down, down, twisting, wheeling, bounding
and sliding the last hundred feet, to stop in an unpleasant tangle
of stone, timbers and broken bodies. Carfilhiot took a final turn
around the terrace, and went into the castle.

The Ska assessed the situation, stern rather than angry. Aillas
drew back, beyond the Ska range of vision. High time for him to be
on his way, as far and as fast as possible. He looked toward the
stone altar in a new spirit of speculation. Carfilhiot was clearly
a man of wily tricks. Would he leave so tempting a lookout point
for presumptive enemies unprotected? Aillas, suddenly nervous,
took a final look toward Tintzin Fyral. Ska work-gangs, evidently
slaves, were dragging timbers along the ridge. The Ska, though
bereft of their catapults, were not yet abandoning the siege.
Aillas watched for a minute, two minutes. He turned away from the
edge of the cliff and found confronting him a patrol of seven men
wearing Ska black: a corporal and six warriors, two standing with
bows drawn.

Aillas held up his hands. "I am a traveler only; let me go my
way."

The corporal, a tall man with a strange wild face, gave a guttural
croak of derision. "Up here on the mountain? You are a spy!"

"A spy? For what purpose? What could I tell anyone? That the Ska
are attacking Tintzin Fyral? I came up here to find a safe route
around the battle."


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"You are quite safe now. Come along; even two-legs* have their
uses."

          *Two-leg: a semi-contemptuous term applied by the Ska to
all other men than themselves: a
            contraction of "two-legged animal," to designate a
middle category between "Ska" and "four-leg."
            Another common pejorative, nyek "horse-smell" made
reference to the difference in body odor
            between Ska and other races, the Ska seeming to smell,
not unpleasantly, of camphor,
            turpentine, a trace of musk.

The Ska took Aillas' sword and tied a rope around his neck. He was
led down from Tac Tor, across the gorge and up to the Ska
encampment. He was stripped of his garments, shorn bald, forced to
wash using yellow soap and water, then he was given new garments
of gray linsey-woolsey, and finally a smith riveted an iron collar
around his neck, with a ring to which a chain might be attached.

Aillas was seized by four men in gray tunics and bent face down
over a log. His trousers were dropped; the smith brought a red-hot
iron and branded his right buttock. He heard the sizzle of burning
flesh and smelled the subsequent odor, which prompted him to droop
his head and vomit, inducing those who held him to curse and jump
aside, but they continued to hold him while a bandage was slapped
down over the burn. Then he was hoisted to his feet.

A Ska sergeant called to him. "Pull up your trousers and come over
here." Aillas obeyed. "Name?"
"Aillas."

The sergeant wrote in a ledger. "Place of birth?"

"I don't know."

Again the sergeant wrote, then he looked up. "Today luck is your
friend; you now may call yourself Skaling, inferior only to a
natural Ska. Acts of violence against Ska or Skaling; sexual


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perversion; lack of cleanliness; insubordination; sullen,
insolent, truculent or disorderly behavior are not tolerated.
Forget your past; it is a dream! You are now Skaling, and the Ska
way is your way. You are assigned to Group Leader Taussig. Obey
him, work faithfully: you shall have no cause for complaint.
Yonder is Taussig; report to him immediately."

Taussig, a short grizzled Skaling, half-walked and half-hopped on
one straight and one crooked leg, making tense gestures and
squinting through narrow pale blue eyes as if in a state of
chronic anger. He gave Aillas a brief inspection and clipped a
long light chain to Aillas' collar. "I am Taussig. Whatever your
name, forget it. You are now Taussig Six. When I yell 'Six' I mean
you. I run a tight squad. I compete in production. To please me,
you must compete and try to outdo all the other squads. Do you
understand?"

"I understand your words," said Aillas.

"That is not proper! Say 'Yes sir!'"

"Yes, sir."

"Already I feel resentment and resistance in you. Be wary! I am
fair but not forgiving! Work your best, or better than your best,
so that we all make grade. Slack and shirk, and I suffer as well
as you, and this must not be! Come now, to work!"

Taussig's platoon, with the addition of Aillas, was now at its
full complement of six. Taussig took them down into a stony sun-
baked gully and put them to work dragging timbers up to the ridge
and downslope to where Ska and Skaling worked together to build a
timber tunnel along the saddle toward Tintzin Fyral, through which
a battering ram might then be swung against the castle gate. On
the parapets Carfilhiot's archers watched for targets: Ska or
Skaling alike. Whenever one such exposed himself an arrow
instantly darted down from above.

When the timber passage reached halfway across the saddle,
Carfilhiot raised an onager to the turret, and began to launch


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hundred-pound stones at the timber structure: to no avail; the
timbers were elastic and cunningly joined. The stones, striking
the timbers, crushed bark, splintered the surface, then tumbled
away down into the gulch.

Aillas quickly discovered that his fellows in Taussig's platoon
were no more anxious to elevate Taussig's grade than himself.
Taussig, hence, ran bobbing and limping back and forth in a state
of frenzy, calling exhortations, threats and abuse. "Shoulders
into it, Five!" "Pull, pull!" "Are you all sick?" "Three, you
corpse! Pull now!" "Six, I'm watching you! I know your kind!
You're dogging it already!" So far as Aillas could determine
Taussig's squad achieved as much as the other, and he heard
Taussig's outcries with indifference. The morning's calamity had
left him numb; the full scope was only just beginning to make
itself felt.

At noon the Skalings were fed bread and soup. Aillas sat on his
left buttock, in a state of numb reverie. During the morning
Aillas had been teamed with Yane, a taciturn North Ulf, perhaps
forty years old. Yane was of no great stature, sinewy and long-
armed, with dark coarse hair and a pinched leathery face. Yane
watched Aillas a few minutes, then said gruffly: "Eat, lad; keep
up your strength. No good comes of brooding."

"I have affairs which I can't neglect."

"Forget them; your new life has started."

Aillas shook his head. "Not for me."

Yane grunted. "If you try to escape everyone in your squad is
flogged and drops in grade, including Taussig. So everyone watches
everyone else."

"No one escapes?"

"Seldom."

"What of yourself? Have you never attempted escape?"


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"Escape is more difficult than you might think. It is a subject no
one discusses."

"And no one is freed?"

"After your stint you are pensioned. They don't care what you do
then."

"How long is a 'stint'?"

"Thirty years."

Aillas groaned. "Who here is chief among the Ska?"

"He is Duke Mertaz; there he stands yonder... Where are you
going?"

"I must speak to him." Aillas rose painfully to his feet and
crossed to where a tall Ska stood brooding down upon Tintzin
Fyral. Aillas halted in front of him. "Sir, you are Duke Mertaz?"

"I am he." The Ska surveyed Aillas with gray-green eyes.

Aillas spoke in a reasonable voice. "Sir, this morning your
soldiers captured me and clamped this collar around my neck."

"Indeed."

"In my own country I am a nobleman. I see no reason why I should
be treated this way. Our countries are not at war."

"The Ska are at war with all the world. We expect no mercy from
our enemies; we give none."

"Then I ask that you abide by the rules of warfare and allow me to
ransom my freedom."

"We are not a numerous people; our need is labor, not gold. Today
you were branded with a date-mark. Thirty years you must serve,


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then you will be freed with a generous pension. If you attempt to
escape, you will be maimed or killed. We expect such attempts and
are alert. Our laws are simple and admit of no ambiguity. Obey
them. Go back to your work."

Aillas returned to where Yane sat watching. "Well?"

"He told me I must work thirty years."

Yane chuckled and rose to his feet. "Taussig summons us." Across
the downs convoys of bullock-carts brought timbers from the
mountains. Skaling squads dragged the timbers up the ridge; foot
by foot the timber tunnel thrust across the saddle toward Tintzin
Fyral.

The construction approached the castle walls. Carfilhiot's
warriors on the parapets dropped bladders of oil upon the timbers
and sent down fire-arrows. Orange flames roared high; at the same
time drops of blazing oil seeped through cracks. Those who worked
below were forced to retreat.

Special contrivances fabricated of sheet copper were brought
forward by a trained squad, and fitted over the timbers, to form a
protective roof; flaming oil thereupon flowed off to burn
harmlessly on the ground.

Foot by foot the tunnel approached the castle walls. The defenders
displayed a rather sinister lassitude.

The tunnel reached the castle walls. A heavy battering ram, shod
with iron, was carried forward; Ska warriors crowded the tunnel,
ready to surge through the ruptured portal. From somewhere high on
the tower, a massive ball of iron swung down and around at the end
of a chain, to strike the timber construction fairly, at a spot
thirty feet from the tower wall, to sweep timbers, ram and
warriors over the edge of the saddle and down into the gully,
another tangle of timbers and crushed bodies on top of the tangle
already there.

From the ridge the Ska commanders stood in the light of sunset,


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contemplating the destruction of their works. There was a pause in
the business of the siege. The Skalings gathered in a hollow to
evade the steady wind from the west. Aillas like the others
crouched in the wan light, back to the wind, watching sidelong the
Ska silhouettes along the skyline.

There would be no further action against Tintzin Fyral on this
night. The Skalings trooped down-hill to the camp, where they were
fed porridge boiled with dried cod. The corporals marched their
platoons to a latrine trench, where they crouched and voided in
unison. Then they filed past a cart where each took a coarse
woolen blanket and bedded himself on the ground.

Aillas slept the sleep of exhaustion. Two hours after midnight he
awoke. His surroundings confused him; he sat up with a jerk, only
to feel a sharp tug on the chain at his collar. "Stop short!"
growled Taussig. "It's on the first night that the new ones try to
run free, and I know all the tricks."

Aillas fell back into the blanket. He lay listening: to the cold
wind blowing across the rocks, to a mutter of voices from Ska
sentries and fire-tenders, to snores and dream-sounds from the
Skalings. He thought of his son Dhrun, possibly alone and
unprotected, possibly at this very instant in pain or danger. He
thought of Never-fail under a laurel bush on the slope of Tac Tor.
The horse would break its tether and wander off to find fodder. He
thought of Trewan and stone-hearted Casmir. Requital! Revenge! His
palms sweated in a passion of hatred... Half an hour passed, and
again he fell asleep.

Somewhat before dawn, at that most dismal hour of the night, a far
rumble and crashing sound, as of a large tree falling, awoke
Aillas for the second time. He lay motionless, listening to
staccato calls among the Ska.

At dawn the Skalings were aroused from their rest by the clangor
of a bell. Sullen and torpid they took their blankets to the cart,
visited the latrine, and those who elected to do so washed at a
rivulet of chilly water. Their breakfast was like their supper:
porridge and dried cod, with bread and a cup of hot peppermint tea


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mixed with pepper and wine to stimulate their energies.

Taussig took his platoon up to the ridge, and there the source of
the predawn sounds was revealed. During the night defenders from
the castle had fixed hooks into that portion which still remained
of the timber tunnel. A windlass high above had tightened the
line; the passage had been overturned and toppled three hundred
feet into the gulch. All the Ska effort had gone for naught;
worse, their materials had been wasted and their engines
destroyed. Tintzin Fyral had suffered nothing.

The Ska now were intent not on the destroyed passageway, but on an
army camped three miles west along the vale. Scouts returning from
reconnaissance reported four battalions of well-disciplined
troops, the Factoral Militia of Ys and Evander, consisting of
pikemen, archers, mounted pikemen and knights, to
the number of two thousand men. Two miles behind, the morning
light twinkled on the metal and motion of other troops on the
march.

Aillas considered the Ska: a contingent not quite so numerous as
he had first estimated, probably no more than a thousand warriors.

Taussig noticed his interest and gave a harsh chuckle. "Don't
count on battle, lad; waste no false hopes! They'll not fight for
glory, unless there's something to be won; no risk of foolishness,
I assure you!"

"Still, they'll have to break the siege."

"That's already been decided. They hoped to take Carfilhiot
unawares. Bad luck! He tricked them with his knaveries. Next time
affairs will go differently; you'll see!"

"I don't plan to be here."

"Ha, so you would say! I have been Skaling nineteen years; I have
a position of responsibility and in eleven years I have my
pension. My hopes are on the side of my own good interests!"



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Aillas looked him over with contempt. "I don't believe you want to
win free."

Taussig became instantly curt. "Now then! That's flogging talk.
There goes the signal. Break camp."

The Ska with their Skalings departed the ridge and set off across
the moors of South Ulfland. This was a land like none Aillas had
known before: low hills grown over with gorse and heather and
dales trickling with small streams. Outcrops of rock scarred the
heights; thickets and copses shaded the swales. Peasants fled in
all directions at the sight of the black troops. Much of the land
had been abandoned, the huts deserted, the stone fences broken,
and furze growing rank. Castles kept the high places, testifying
to the perils of clan warfare and the prevalence of raids by
night. Many such places lay in ruins, the stones mottled with
lichen; others, which had survived, jerked drawbridge high and
manned the parapets to see the Ska troops pass by.

The hills reared upward, with sour black soil and peat bogs in
between. Clouds swirled low overhead, opening to pass shafts of
sunlight, closing as soon to throttle off the radiance. Few folk
inhabited these regions except crofters, tin miners and outlaws.

Aillas marched without thought. He knew the burly back and tousled
hair of the man in front of him and the catenary traced by the
swinging chain between them. He ate on command, slept on command;
he spoke to no one save an occasional mutter to Yane who hunched
along beside him.

The column passed only half a mile inland from the fortified town
Oaldes, where King Oriante had long held court, uttering sonorous
commands which were seldom obeyed and spending much time in the
palace garden among his tame white rabbits. At the sight of Ska
troops, the portcullis dropped with a clang and archers mounted
the walls. The Ska paid no heed and continued along the coast
road, with Atlantic swells crashing into surf along the shore.

A Ska patrol rode up with news which quickly filtered down to the
Skalings: King Oriante had died in a convulsion and feeble-minded


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Quilcy had succeeded to the throne of South Ulfland. He shared his
father's interest in white rabbits and was said to eat nothing but
custard, honey buns and trifle.

Yane explained to Aillas why the Ska allowed Oriante and now
Quilcy to reign unmolested. "They cause the Ska no inconvenience.
From the Ska point of view Quilcy can reign forever, so long as he
keeps to his doll houses."

The column entered North Ulfland, the boundary marked only by a
cairn beside the road. Fishing villages along the way were
deserted except for old men and women, the able-bodied having fled
to avoid indenture.

On a dreary morning, with the wind carrying salt spume a hundred
yards inshore, the column passed under an ancient Firbolg beacon-
tower, built to raise the clans against Danaan raiders, and so
entered the Foreshore, in effect Ska territory. The villages now
were totally deserted, with the former inhabitants killed,
enslaved, or driven away. At Vax, the column broke into several
components. A few took ship for Skaghane; a few continued along
the coastal road toward the granite quarries, where certain
intractable Skalings would spend the rest of their lives chipping
granite. Another contingent, including Taussig and his platoon,
swung inland toward Castle Sank, the seat of Duke* Luhalcx and a
staging station for Skaling convoys en route to Poelitetz.

          *Memorandum: 'King,' 'prince', 'duke,' 'lord,' 'baron,'
'ordinary,' are used arbitrarily and inexactly to indicate
            somewhat similar levels of status among the Ska.
Functionally, the differences in rank are peculiar to the Ska, in
            that only 'king,' 'prince,' and 'duke,' are
hereditary, and all save 'king' may be earned by valor or other
notable
            achievement. Thus, an 'ordinary,' having killed or
captured five armed enemies becomes a 'knight" By other
            exactly codified achievements he becomes a ,baron'
then ,lord', 'duke, then finally 'grand duke' or 'prince The king
            is elected by vote of the dukes; his dynasty persists
along direct male lineage, until the line becomes extinct or is


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                              voted out of power at a conclave of dukes.

                      *For a brief discussion of Ska history see Glossary III.

Chapter 22

AT CASTLE SANK TAUSSIG'S GANG was assigned to the saw-mill. A
ponderous water-wheel, moving a linkage of iron levers, raised and
lowered a straight-bladed saw of forged steel nine feet long and
worth its weight in gold. The saw squared timbers and cut planks
with a speed and accuracy Aillas found remarkable. Skalings with
long experience controlled the mechanism, lovingly sharpened the
teeth, and apparently worked without coercion or supervision.
Taussig's gang was assigned to the seasoning shed, where they
stacked and restacked planks.

Over the weeks Aillas gradually, a trifle at at a time, incurred
Taussig's disfavor and dislike. Taussig despised Aillas'
fastidious habits and his disinclination to work any more
energetically than was absolutely necessary. Yane shared Taussig's
disfavor because he managed to achieve his share of the work
without perceptible effort, which caused Taussig to suspect him of
shirking, though he could never demonstrate as much.

At first Taussig tried to reason with Aillas. "Look you now! I've
been watching and you don't deceive me an instant! Why do you give
yourself such airs, as if you were a former lord? You will never
better yourself by such means. Do you know what happens to
shirkers and fiddity-didjets? They are put to work in the lead
mines, and if they short their stint they are sent to the sword
factory and their bodies' blood hardens the steel. I advise you to
show me somewhat more zeal."

Aillas responded as politely as possible. "The Ska took me against
my will; they broke apart my life; they have done me great harm;
why should I exert myself for their benefit?"

"Your life has changed; true!" argued Taussig. "Make the best of
it, like the rest of us! Think! Thirty years is not so long a
time! They will either send you away a free man with ten gold


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coins, or they will give you a farmstead with a hut, a woman,
animals; and your children are free from indenture. Is that not
generous?"

"For the best part of my life?" Aillas sneered and turned away.
Taussig angrily called him back. "Perhaps you scorn the future!
Not I! When my gang performs poorly, I take demerits. I want none
on your account!" Taussig hopped away, his face mottled with fury.

Two days later Taussig led Aillas and Yane to the yard at the rear
of Castle Sank. He spoke no word, but the jerk of his elbows, the
bob of his head were freighted with portent.

Where the gate opened into the yard, he swung about and at last
gave vent to his rage. "They were wanting a pair of house-servants
and I spoke up with my heart full! Now I am free of you both and
Imboden the steward is your master. Try him with your provocations
and learn what boon it brings you!"

Aillas studied the congested face thrust toward his own, then
shrugged and turned away. Yane stood in despondent boredom. There
was nothing more to be said.

Taussig called across the yard to a scullion. "Summon Imboden;
bring him here!" He turned a darkling leer over his shoulder.
"Neither of you will like Imboden. He has the vanity of a peacock
and the soul of a stoat. Your easy days of loitering in the
sunshine are over."

Imboden came out on a porch overlooking the yard: a man of late
maturity, narrow-shouldered with thin arms, long thin shanks, a
swag of a belly. Dank locks clung to his scalp; he seemed to have
no face, only a cluster of large features: long ears, a long lumpy
nose, round black eyes encircled by arsenical rings, a drooping
gray mouth. He made an imperious gesture toward Taussig, who
roared: "Over here! I will not set foot in the castle yard!"

Imboden uttered an impatient oath, descended the steps and crossed
the yard, using a peculiar strutting gait, which aroused Taussig's
levity. "Come along now, you peculiar old goat! I haven't all day


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to waste!" To Aillas and Yane he said: "He's half-Ska, a bastard
by a Celt woman: the worst of all worlds for a Skaling and he
makes everyone know it."

Imboden halted at the gate. "Well, what now?"

"Here's a pair of house-monkeys for you. This one is finicky and
washes overmuch; this one thinks himself wiser than the rest of
us, principally me. Take them in good health."

Imboden looked the two up and down. He jerked his thumb at Aillas.
"This one has a strange wild look for one so young. He is not
sick?"

"Sound as a hero in limb and lung!"

Imboden inspected Yane. "This one has the cast of a villain. I
suppose he is sweet as honey?"

"He is deft and quick and walks as quiet as the ghost of a dead
cat."

"Very well; they will do." Imboden made the smallest of signs.

In great glee Taussig told Aillas and Yane: "That means: 'Come
along.' Oho, but you'll enjoy his signals, since he is too shy to
speak!"

Imboden raked Taussig with a look of withering scorn, then turned
and strutted across the yard with Aillas and Yane following. Where
the stone steps rose to the porch Imboden made another small
gesture, no more than a twitch of the finger. From the gate
Taussig bawled: "That means he wants you to wait there!" With a
chortling hoot of laughter Taussig went his way.

Minutes passed. Aillas became restless. Urgencies began to work
upon him. He looked toward the gate and the open country beyond.
"Perhaps now is the time," he muttered to Yane. "There may never
be a better!"



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"There may never be a worse," observed Yane. "Taussig waits just
yonder. He'd like nothing better than to see us run for it, since
now he'd evade the flogging."

"The gate, the fields so close—they are tantalizing."

"Inside of five minutes they'd have the dogs on us."

Out on the porch came a slight sad-faced man in gray and yellow
livery: short yellow trousers buckled below the knee on black
stockings, a gray vest over a yellow shirt. A black bowl-shaped
cap concealed his hair, which was evidently clipped short. "I am
Cyprian; I have no title; call me slave-master, foreman,
intercessor, chief Skaling—whatever you like. You will take orders
from me, but only because I alone am privileged to speak with
Imboden; he converses with the seneschal, who is Ska and is named
Sir Kel. He receives those orders from Duke Luhalcx which
ultimately are transferred through me to you. Presumably if you
had a message for Duke Luhalcx you would utter it first to me.
What are your names?"

"I am Yane."

"That would seem Ulfish. And you?"

"Aillas."

'"Aillas'? That would be a name from the south. Lyonesse?"

"Troicinet."

"Well, no matter. Origins at Sank, like the kinds of meat in a
sausage, are of no interest to anyone. Come with me; I'll find
your dress and explain the rules of conduct, which as intelligent
men, you already know. In simple terms they are—" Cyprian raised
four fingers. "First, obey orders exactly. Second, be clean.
Third, be as invisible as air. Never intrude upon the Ska
attention. I believe that they will not, cannot, see a Skaling
unless he does something remarkable or noisy. Fourth, and
obviously: attempt no escape. It distresses everyone except the


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dogs which enjoy snarling men to bits. They can follow scent a
month old, and you will be tracked down."

Aillas asked: "What then?"

Cyprian laughed a gentle sad laugh. "Suppose you owned a horse,
and it persisted in running away. What would you do with it?"

"Much would depend on the horse."

"Precisely. If it were old, lame and vicious, you would kill it.
If it were young and strong, you would do nothing to limit its
ability but you would send it to where an expert might break its
spirit. If it were fit only for the treadmill, you might blind
it."

"I would not do such things."

"In any case, that is the principle. A skilled clerk might lose a
foot. The best to be said of the Ska is that they seldom, if ever,
torture. The more useful you make yourself, the easier it goes
when the dogs chase you down. Come now, to the dormitory. The
barber will cut your hair."

Aillas and Yane followed Cyprian through a cool back passage to
the Skaling dormitory. The barber pressed a shallow bowl over the
head of each in turn and cut their hair off square halfway across
the forehead, and so around to the back. In a lavatory they stood
under a flow of water and washed with soft-soap mixed with fine
sand, then shaved their faces.

Cyprian brought them gray and yellow livery. "Remember, the
inconspicuous Skaling finds the least blame. Never address
yourself to Imboden; he is more haughty than Duke Luhalcx himself.
Lady Chraio is a kind woman of even disposition and insists that
the Skaling be fed well. Lord Alvicx, the oldest son, is erratic
and somewhat unpredictable. The Lady Tatzel, the daughter, is
pleasant to look at but is easily vexed. Still, she is not mordant
and causes no great difficulties. So long as you move quietly and
never turn your head to watch, you will be invisible to them. For


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a period you must clean floors; this is how we all begin."

Aillas had known many fine palaces and rich manor houses; there
was, however, at Castle Sank an austere magnificence which
impressed him, and which he could not totally comprehend. He
discovered neither galleries nor promenades; the chambers
communicated by short, often crooked passages. High ceilings
tended to be lost in the shadows, thus to give an impression of
mysterious space. Windows, narrow and small, perforated the walls
at irregular intervals, the glass panes tinting incoming light
misty amber or pale blue. Not all the rooms served functions
obvious to Aillas, nor, indeed, did Duke Luhalcx, nor his lady
Chraio, nor their children Alvicx and Tatzel, act according to
tenets he comprehended. Each moved about the somber castle as if
it were a stage where only this single person acted. All spoke in
quiet voices, as often as not using Skalrad, a language far older
than human history. They seldom laughed; their only humor seemed
to be quiet irony or terse understatement. Each personality was
like a citadel; each often seemed in a state of deep reverie, or
caught in a flow of inner ideas more absorbing than conversation.
Occasionally one or the other would exhibit sudden flair or
extravagance, to be damped as suddenly as it appeared. Aillas,
though never far from his own concerns, could not avoid an ever-
growing fascination with the folk who inhabited Castle Sank. As a
slave he was as inconspicuous as a door. Covertly Aillas watched
the denizens of Castle Sank as they went about the business of
their lives.

At all times Duke Luhalcx, his family and their associates wore
formal costumes of great sophistication, which were changed
several times daily, according to occasion. The costumes and their
appurtenances carried large symbolic freight of an import known
only to themselves. On many occasions Aillas heard fascinating
references he found incomprehensible. The family in public or in
private demonstrated the formal manners they might have used with
strangers. If affection between family members were present, it
showed itself in signals too subtle for Aillas' perceptions.

Duke Luhalcx, tall, gaunt, hard of feature, with sea-green eyes,
carried himself with decisive and unthinking dignity, at once easy


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and exact, which Aillas never saw disturbed: as if Luhalcx, for
every contingency, had ready an appropriate response. He was the
127th of his line; in the "Chamber of Ancient Honors"* he
displayed ceremonial masks carved in Norway long before the coming
of the Ur-Goths. Lady Chraio, tall and slender, seemed almost
unnaturally remote. Even when the ladies of visiting dignitaries
were on hand, Aillas often noticed her alone at her loom or
carving pear-wood bowls. She wore her straight black hair in
orthodox style, cut at the level of her jaw bones on the sides and
back of the head, higher across the forehead.

          *Obviously the expression "Chamber of Ancient Honors" is
no more than an approximate translation.

Lady Tatzel, about sixteen years old, was slender and taut, with
small high breasts, narrow flanks like those of a boy, a peculiar
zest and energy which seemed to carry her off the ground as she
walked. She had a rather charming mannerism of walking, at times
with head tilted to the side, a smile trembling on her mouth, at
some private amusement known to no one but herself. She wore her
hair like her mother and most Ska women, square across the
forehead and below the ears. Her features were engagingly
irregular; her personality vivid and direct. Her brother, Lord
Alvicx, was about Aillas' own age, and of all the family, the most
restless and uneasy. He carried himself with a swagger and spoke
with more emphasis than any of the others. According to Cyprian he
had fought a dozen battles with distinction and could claim
knighthood in his own right for the foe-men he had killed.

The duties assigned to Aillas were menial. He was required to
clean fireplaces, scrub flagstones, polish bronze lamps and fill
them with oil. The work allowed him access to most of the castle
except the sleeping chambers; he worked well enough to satisfy
Cyprian and remained sufficiently inconspicuous that Imboden paid
him no heed, and during all his waking moments he pondered methods
of escape.

Cyprian seemed to read his mind. "The dogs, the dogs, the terrible
dogs! They are a breed known only to the Ska; once they are put on
a scent they never relent. To be sure, Skalings have been known to


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escape, sometimes with the aid of magical devices. But sometimes
the Ska also use magic and the Skaling is caught up!"

"I thought the Ska were ignorant of magic."

"Who knows?" asked Cyprian, extending his arms and spreading his
fingers. "Magic is quite beyond my understanding. Perhaps the Ska
remember their magic from the far past. There surely are not many
Ska magicians: at least not to my knowledge."

"I can't believe they'd waste their time capturing escaped
slaves."

"You may well be right. Why should they bother? For every slave to
escape, a hundred are recaptured. Not by magicians, but by dogs."

"Don't any runaways steal horses?"

"It's been tried, but seldom with success. Ska horses obey Ska
commands. When a simple Daut or an Ulf tries to ride, the horse
makes no move, or backs and squats, or it runs in circles, or it
throws the rider. Do you think to ride a Ska horse for your swift
escape. Is that what you had in mind?"

"I have nothing in mind," said Aillas rather curtly.

Cyprian smiled his melancholy smile. "It was for me an
obsession—at first. Then the years went by, and the yearning
became dim, and now I know that never will I be other than what I
am until my thirty years are up."

"What of Imboden? Has he not been slave thirty years?"

"Ten years ago they were up. For us Imboden poses as a free man
and a Ska; the Ska consider him a high-caste Skaling. He is a
bitter and lonely man; his problems have made him strange and
queer."

One evening as Aillas and Yane supped on bread and soup, Aillas
spoke of Cyprian's preoccupation with escape. "Whenever I talk to


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him the subject seems to come up."

Yane responded with a grunt of sour amusement. "That habit has
been noticed elsewhere."

"Perhaps it is only wistful daydreaming, or the like."

"Possibly so. Still, if I planned to depart Castle Sank in haste,
I would not first notify Cyprian."

"To do so would seem a pointless courtesy. Especially since now I
know how to escape Castle Sank, despite horses, dogs and Cyprian."

Yane looked at him sidelong. "That is valuable information. Do you
plan to share it?"

"In due course. What rivers flow nearby?"

"There is only one of consequence: River Malkish, about three
miles south. Escapers always make for this river, but it traps
them. If they try to float down to the sea, they are drowned in
the cataracts. If they wade upstream, dogs search each bank of the
river and in due course pick up the trail. The river is a false
ally; the Ska know it better than we do."

Aillas nodded and said no more. Thereafter, in his conversations
with Cyprian he spoke of escape only in terms of theory, and
Cyprian presently lost interest in the subject.

Up to the age of eleven or twelve Ska girls looked and acted like
boys. Thereafter they altered, inevitably and properly. Young men
and maidens mingled freely, controlled by the formality which
regulated all Ska conduct at least as effectively as vigilant
chaperonage.

At Castle Sank on sunny afternoons the young folk resorted to the
garden terrace at the south side of the castle, where, according
to their mood they played chess or backgammon, ate pomegranates,
bantered with each other in the careful manner which other races
thought dull, or watched as one among them challenged that


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perverse engine known as the hurlo-thrumbo. This device, intended
for the training of swordsmen, that they might learn deftness and
accuracy, dealt the clumsy challenger a mighty buffet if he failed
to thrust into a small swinging target. Lord Alvicx, who was vain
in his swordsmanship, considered himself expert in the game of
outwitting the hurlo-thrumbo, and was always ready to demonstrate
his skill, especially when Lady Tatzel brought her friends out
upon the terrace.

To dramatize his grace and artistry he had developed a reckless
foot-stamping style of attack which he embellished with flourishes
of the sword and ancient Ska war cries.

On one such afternoon two of Alvicx's friends had already been
discomfited by the machine, with nothing to show for their
exercise save sore heads. Shaking his own head in mock-
commiseration, Lord Alvicx took a sword from the table and set
upon the machine, uttering guttural cries, leaping forward and
back, ducking and thrusting, reviling the machine. "Ah, you
whirling devil! Strike out at me, would you? Then what about this?
And this? Oh, the treachery! Once again! In and out!" As he sprang
backward he toppled a marble urn which broke into shards on the
flagstones.

Tatzel called out: "Well struck, Alvicx! With your awful rump you
have destroyed your victim!"

Her friends looked away and into the sky with that faint smile
which served Ska in the place of laughter.

Sir Kel, the seneschal, observing the damage, notified Imboden,
who instructed Cyprian. In due course Aillas was sent to remove
the broken urn. He rolled a small barrow out upon the terrace,
loaded aboard the marble shards, then swept up the dirt with a
broom and a pan.

Alvicx once again engaged the hurlo-thrumbo with more energy than
ever, and so tripped over the barrow, to fall among the shards and
dirt. Aillas had gone down upon his knees to sweep up the last of
the dirt. Alvicx jumped erect and kicked Aillas on the buttocks.


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For a second Aillas remained rigid, then restraint dissolved.
Rising to his feet he shoved Alvicx into the hurlo-thrumbo, which
caused the padded arm to swing about and deal its usual blow upon
the side of Alvicx's face.

Alvicx flourished his sword in a circle. "Villain!" He thrust at
Aillas, who ducked back and seized a sword from the table. He
fended off Alvicx's second thrust, then countered with such
ferocity that Alvicx was forced back across the terrace. The
situation was unprecedented; how could a Skaling outmatch the
superb and skillful Alvicx? Across the terrace they moved, Alvicx
trying to attack but constantly put on the defensive by his
opponent's skill. He lunged; Aillas flicked aside his blade and
backed Alvicx over the balustrade with the point of his sword
pressing against Alvicx's throat.

"If this were the battlefield I could have killed you—easily,"
spoke Aillas in a voice tense with passion. "Be grateful that now
I only trifle with you."

Aillas drew back the sword, replaced it on the table. He looked
around the group and his eyes met those of the Lady Tatzel. For a
moment their gazes remained in contact, then Aillas turned away
and, righting the barrow, once again began to load it with pieces
of the marble.

Alvicx watched brooding from across the terrace. He made his
decision and signaled to a Ska guard. "Take this cur out behind
the stable and kill him."

From a balcony overlooking the terrace Duke Luhalcx spoke. "That
command, Lord Alvicx, does you no credit, and shames both the
honor of our house and the justice of our race. I suggest that you
rescind it."

Alvicx stared up at his father. Slowly he turned and spoke in a
wooden voice: "Guards, ignore my order."

He bowed to his sister and their various guests, who had stood by


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in frozen-faced fascination; then he marched from the terrace.
Aillas returned to the barrow, finished loading the shards, while
Lady Tatzel and her friends conducted a muted conversation,
watching him from the corner of their eyes. Aillas paid them no
heed. He swept the last of the soil from the flagstones, then
wheeled the barrow away.

Cyprian communicated his opinion of the affair with a single sad-
eyed grimace of reproach, and at supper sat pointedly alone, with
his face turned to the door.

Yane spoke to Aillas in low tones. "Is it true that you stabbed
Alvicx with his own sword?"

"Not at all! I fenced with him a moment or two; I touched him with
my point. It was no great affair."

"Not for you. For Alvicx it is shame, and so you will suffer."

"In what way?"

Yane laughed. "He hasn't yet made up his mind."


Chapter 23

THE MAIN HALL AT CASTLE SANK extended from a formal parlor at the
western end to a retiring room for visiting ladies at the east.
Along the way tall narrow portals opened into various halls and
chambers, including the Repository, in which were collected
curios, clan honors, trophies of battle and engagements at sea,
sacred objects. On shelves stood books bound in leather, or sheets
of beechwood. One wide wall displayed ancestral portraits, burned
into panels of bleached birch by the strokes of a red-hot needle.
The technique had never altered; the face of a post-glacial
chieftain showed lineaments as keen as the portrait of Duke
Luhalcx, limned five years before.

In niches beside the entrance stood a pair of sphinxes carved from
blocks of black diorite: the Tronen, or fetishes of the house.


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Once each week Aillas washed the Tronen, using warm water, mixed
with milkweed sap.

Midway through the morning Aillas washed the Tronen and wiped them
dry with a soft cloth. Looking along the hall, he saw approaching
the Lady Tatzel, slender as a wand in a dark green gown. Black
hair bounced beside her intent pale face. She passed Aillas
unheeding, leaving in her wake a breath of vaguely floral scent,
suggesting the damp herbs of primeval Norway.

A few moments later she returned from her errand. Passing Aillas
she halted, then came back, stopped and studied him, detail by
detail.

Aillas looked up briefly, scowled and continued with his work.
Tatzel satisfied her curiosity and turned to go her way. First she
spoke in the most limpid of voices: "With your brown hair I would
take you for a Celt. Still, you look somewhat less coarse."

Again Aillas glanced at her. "I am Troice."

Tatzel hesitated on her going. "Troice, Celt, whatever you may be:
have done with wildness: intractable slaves are gelded." Aillas
stopped his work, limp with outrage. Slowly he rose to his feet,
and drawing a deep breath managed to speak in a controlled voice.
"I am no slave. I am a nobleman of Troicinet held captive by a
tribe of bandits."

Tatzel's mouth drooped and she turned as if to leave. But she
paused. "The world has taught us fury; otherwise we would yet be
in Norway. If you were Ska, you too would take all others either
for enemy or slave; there is no one else. So it must be, and so
you must submit."

"Look at me," said Aillas. "Do you take me for one to submit?"

"Already you have Submitted."

"I submit now so that later I may bring a Troice army to take down
Castle Sank stone by stone, and then you will think with a


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different logic."

Tatzel laughed, tossed her head and proceeded down the hall. In a
storage chamber. Aillas encountered Yane. "Castle Sank is becoming
oppressive," said Aillas. "I will be gelded unless I mend my
ways."

"Alvicx is already selecting a knife."

"In that case, it is time to leave."

Yane looked over his shoulder; they were alone. "Any time is a
good time, were it not for the dogs."

"The dogs can be fooled. The problem is how to evade Cyprian long
enough to reach the river."

"The dogs won't be fooled by the river."

"If I can escape the castle, I can escape the dogs."

Yane pulled at his chin. "Let me consider the problem."

Over their supper Yane said: "There is a way to leave the castle.
But we must take another man with us."

"Who is that?"

"His name is Cargus. He works as undercook in the kitchen."

"Can he be trusted?"

"No more and no less than you or I. What about the dogs?"

"We will need half an hour in the carpenter's shed."

"The shed is empty at noon. Here is Cyprian. Nose to the soup."

Cargus stood only an inch taller than Yane but where Yane was
built half-askew from sinew and twisted bone, Cargus bulked thick


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with muscle. The girth of his neck exceeded that of his massive
arms. His black hair was cropped short; small black eyes glittered
under heavy black brows. In the kitchen-yard he told Yane and
Aillas: "I have gathered a quart measure of the fungus known as
wolf-bane; it poisons but seldom kills. Tonight it goes into the
soup, and spices the pot-pies for the great table. Guts will
gurgle tonight everywhere in Castle Sank. Tainted meat will be
blamed."

Yane grumbled. "If you could poison dogs as well, we'd walk away
at our ease."

"A nice thought, but I have no access to the kennels."

For their supper Yane and Aillas ate only bread and cabbage, and
watched with gratification as Cyprian consumed two bowls of soup.

In the morning, as Cargus had predicted, the entire population of
the castle suffered cramps of the stomach, together with chills,
nausea, fever, hallucinations and a ringing of the ears.

Cargus went to where Cyprian crouched head down over the
commissary table, shivering uncontrollably. Cargus cried out in a
harsh voice: "You must take action! The scullions refuse to stir
and my bins overflow with garbage!"

"Empty them yourself," groaned Cyprian. "I cannot put my mind to
such trifles. Doom is upon me!"

"I am cook, not scullion. Here, you two!" He called out to Yane
and Aillas. "You can at least walk! Empty my bins and be quick
about it!"

"Never!" growled Yane. "Do it yourself."

Cargus turned on Cyprian. "My bins must be cleared! Give orders or
I will make a complaint to startle Imboden off his chamber-pot!"

Cyprian waved a feeble hand to Yane and Aillas. "Go, you two,
empty this devil his bins, even if you must crawl."


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Aillas, Yane and Cargus carried bags of garbage to the rubbish
heap and took up the parcels which they had left previously. They
set off at a trot across the countryside, keeping to the cover of
underbrush and trees.

A half-mile east of the castle they passed over the brow of a hill
and thereafter without fear of visual detection, made good speed
to the southeast, giving a wide berth to the lumber mill. They ran
until winded, then walked, then ran again, and within the hour
arrived at the river Malkish.

At this point the water flowed broad and shallow, though above it
roared down from the mountain through steep ravines, and
downstream raced in sullen fury through a set of narrow gorges
where many runaway Skalings had been battered and broken on the
rocks. Without hesitation Aillas, Yane and Cargus plunged into the
stream and waded across, through water often as deep as their
chests, with parcels held above their heads. As they neared the
opposite bank they halted to inspect the shore. Nothing
immediately suited their purpose, and they waded upstream until
they came upon a small beach covered with packed gravel, with a
low slope grown over with grass at the back. From their parcels
they took the articles which Aillas and Yane had built in the
carpenter's shed: stilts, with straw pads tied securely over the
ends.

Still in the water, they mounted the stilts and the three waded
ashore, disturbing the beach as little as possible. Up the slope
they stepped and the padded stilt-ends left neither marks nor odor
to excite the hounds.

For an hour the three walked on the stilts. At a rivulet, they
waded into the steam and dismounted to rest. Then once more they
took to the stilts, lest their pursuers, failing to pick up a
spoor at the river, might cast about in concentric sweeps of ever
greater radius.

Another hour they stalked on the stilts, up a gradual slope
through a sparse forest of stunted pines where the thin red soil


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lay in pockets. The land had no utility for cultivation; the few
peasants who at one time had collected resin for turpentine, or
grazed pigs, had fled the Ska; the fugitives traveled an
uninhabited wasteland, which suited them well.

At another stream they dismounted from the stilts and sat to rest
on a ledge of rock. They drank water and ate bread and cheese from
their packs. Listening, they heard no far-off belling of the
hounds, but they had come a good distance and expected to hear
nothing; probably their absence had not yet been noticed. The
three congratulated themselves that they had possibly a full day's
headstart over any pursuit.

They discarded the stilts and waded upstream in an easterly
direction, and presently entered an upland of curious aspect,
where ancient pinnacles and crags of decaying black rock rose
above valleys once tilled but now deserted. For-a space they
followed an old road which led at last to the ruins of an ancient
fort.

A few miles beyond the land once again became wild and rose to a
region of rolling moors. Rejoicing in the freedom of the high
skies, the three set off into the hazy east.

They were not alone on the moor. Up from a swale a half-mile
south, under four flapping black flags, rode a troop of Ska
warriors. Galloping forward, they surrounded the fugitives.

The leader, a stern-faced baron in black armor, spared them only a
single glance and no words whatever. Ropes were attached to the
iron collars; the three Skalings were led away to the north.

Late in the day the troop met a wagon-train loaded with victual of
various sorts. At the rear marched forty men linked neck to neck
by ropes. To this column were joined Aillas, Yane and Cargus, and
so, willy-nilly, forced to follow the wagon train north. In due
course they entered the kingdom of Dahaut and arrived at
Poelitetz, that immense fortress guarding the central buttress of
the Teach tac Teach and overlooking the Plain of Shadows.



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Chapter 24

WHERE DAHALT BORDERED ON NORTH ULFLAN'D a scarp eighty miles long,
the front face of the Teach tac Teach, overlooked the Plain of
Shadows. At a place named Poelitetz, the river Tamsour, flowing
down from the snows of Mount Agon, cut a chasm which allowed
relatively easy access from Dahaut to the moors of North Ulfland.
Poelitetz had been fortified as long as men had made war across
the Elder Isles; whoever held Poelitetz controlled the peace of
Far Dahaut. The Ska, upon seizing Poelitetz, began an enormous
work, to guard the fortress from the west as well as the east, so
that it might be totally impregnable. They had closed the defile
with masonry walls thirty feet thick, leaving a passage twelve
feet wide and ten feet high, controlled by three iron gates, one
behind the other. Fortress and scarp showed a single impervious
face to the Plain of Shadows.

The better to reconnoiter the Plain of Shadows, the Ska had
started to drive a tunnel out under the plain toward a hillock
overgrown with scrub oak at a distance of a quarter-mile from the
base of the scarp. The tunnel was a project executed with the
utmost secrecy, concealed from all but a few Ska of high rank and
those who dug the tunnel, Skalings of Category Six: Intractables.

Upon arrival at Poelitetz, Aillas, Yane and Cargus were subjected
to a perfunctory inquisition. Then, instead of the maiming or
mutilation which they had expected, they were taken to a special
barracks, where a company of forty Skalings were held in
isolation: the tunnel gang. They worked ten-and-a-half-hour
shifts, with three half-hour rest periods. In the barracks they
were guarded by an elite platoon of Ska soldiers and allowed
contact with no other persons of Poelitetz. All realized that they
worked as components of a death-squad. Upon completion of the
tunnel they would be killed.

With death clear and large before them, none of the Skalings
worked in haste: a situation which the Ska found easier to accept
than to alter. So long as reasonable progress was made, the work
was allowed to go its own pace. The routine each day was


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identical. Each Skaling had his assigned duty. The tunnel, fifteen
feet below the surface of the plain, ran through shale and
compressed silt. Four men dug at the front face with picks and
mattocks. Three men scooped the detritus into baskets which were
loaded upon barrows and wheeled back down the tunnel to the
entrance. The barrows were dumped into hoppers which were hoisted
aloft by a crane, swung over a wagon, emptied, and returned below.
A bellows powered by oxen walking around a windlass blew air into
a leather tube, which led to the tunnel face. As the tunnel
advanced, cribbing was set into place so that the overhead and the
sides were lined with tarred cedar timbers. Every two or three
days Ska engineers extended a pair of cords by which the direction
of the tunnel was guided and with a waterlevel* measured
horizontal deflection.

           *The water-level comes in several forms. The Ska used a
pair of wooden troughs twenty feet long with a section
             four inches square. Water in the troughs lay perfectly
horizontal; floats at each end allowed the troughs
themselves              to be adjusted to the horizontal. By
shifting the troughs in succession, the desired horizontal could
be extended
             indefinitely, with an accuracy limited only by the
patience of the engineer.

A Ska overseer directed the Skalings with a pair of soldiers to
enforce discipline, should such control be needed. The overseer
and the guards tended to remain at the open end of the tunnel,
where the air was cool and fresh. By noting the rate at which the
wagons were filled, the overseer could estimate the vigor at which
the Skalings performed their duties. If work went well, the
Skalings ate well, and drank wine with their meals. If they
slacked or loitered, their rations dwindled in proportion.

Two shifts worked the tunnel: noon to midnight and midnight to
noon. Neither could be said to be preferable since the Skalings
never saw the sun and knew that they were never to see it again.
Aillas, Cargus and Yane were assigned to the noon-midnight shift.
Immediately they began to consider escape. The prospects were even
more discouraging than those at Castle Sank. Barred doors and


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suspicious guards confined them off-duty; they worked in a tube
similarly sealed against exit.

After only two days of work, Aillas told Yane and Cargus: "We can
escape. It is possible."

"You are more perceptive than I," said Yane.

"Or I," said Cargus.

"There is one single difficulty. We shall need the cooperation of
the entire shift. The question becomes: are any so broken that
they might betray us?"

"Where would be the motive? Everyone sees his own ghost dancing
ahead of him."

"Some persons are traitors by nature; they take pleasure in
treachery."

The three, squatting by the wall of the chamber in which they
spent the off-hours, considered their fellows, one by one. Cargus
said at last: "If we share together the prospect of escape, there
will be no betrayal."

"We have to assume as much," said Yane. "We have no better
choice."

Fourteen men worked the shift, with another six whose duties never
took them into the tunnel. Fourteen men bound themselves in a
desperate compact and at once the operation began.

The tunnel now reached about two hundred yards in an easterly
direction under the plain. Another two hundred yards remained,
through shale, with occasionally an inexplicable ball of iron-hard
blue sandstone sometimes three feet in diameter. Except for the
sandstone, the ground yielded to the pick; the face moved forward
ten to fifteen feet a day. A pair of carpenters installed cribbing
as the tunnel advanced. They left several posts loose, so that
they might be pulled to the side. In the gap thus cleared certain


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members of the gang dug a side-tunnel, slanting toward the
surface. The dirt was shoveled into baskets, loaded aboard barrows
and transported back precisely like dirt taken from the face of
the tunnel. By partially closing two men into the side-tunnel, and
with the rest of the men working somewhat harder, there seemed no
lessening of progress. Always someone with a loaded barrow waited
thirty yards from the start of the tunnel, should the overseer
decide to make an inspection, in which case, the lookout jumped on
the ventilation tube to warn his fellows. If necessary he was
prepared to turn over his barrow, ostensibly by accident, so as to
delay the overseer. Then when the overseer passed, the barrow was
rolled so as to flatten the ventilation tube. The far end became
so stifling that the overseer spent as little time as possible in
the tunnel.

The side-tunnel, dug five feet high and three feet wide, and
slanting sharply upward, went swiftly, and the diggers probed
continually with cautious strokes, lest, in their zeal, they
strike a great hole into the surface which might be visible from
the fortress. At last they found roots, of grasses and shrubs,
then dark topsoil and they knew the surface was close above.

At sunset the tunnel-Skalings took their supper in a chamber at
the head of the tunnel, then returned to work.

Ten minutes later Aillas went to summon Kildred the overseer, a
tall Ska of middle-age, with a scarred face, a bald head and a
manner remote even for a Ska. As usual Kildred sat gaming with the
guards. He looked over his shoulder at the approach of Aillas.
"What now?"

"The diggers have struck a dike of blue rock. They want rock-
splitters and drills."

"'Rock-splitters'? What tools are these?"

"I don't know. I just carry messages."

Kildred muttered a curse and rose to his feet. "Come; let us look
at this blue dike."


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He stalked into the tunnel, followed by Aillas, through the murky
orange flicker of oil lamps, to the tunnel face. When he bent to
look for the blue dike, Cargus struck him with an iron bar,
killing him at once.

The time was now twilight. The crew gathered by the side-tunnel
where the diggers were now striking up at the soft top-soil.

Aillas wheeled a barrow of dirt to the end chamber. "There will be
no more dirt for a time," he told the winch-tender, in a voice
loud enough for the guards to hear. "We have hit a lode of rock."
The guards looked over their shoulders, then returned to their
dice. The winch-tender followed Aillas back into the tunnel.

The escape tunnel was open. The Skalings climbed out into late
twilight, including the winch-tender who knew nothing of the plot
but was happy to escape. All lay flat in the sedge and saw-grass.
Aillas and Yane, the last men to depart the tunnel, pulled the
supporting posts back in place, leaving no clue as to their
function. Once on the surface they wedged the escape hole right
with bracken, pounded dirt into the choked hole and transplanted
grass. "Let them think magic," said Aillas. "All the better if
they do!"

The erstwhile Skalings ran crouching across the Plain of Shadows,
through the gathering dark, eastward and ever deeper into the
kingdom of Dahaut. Poelitetz, the great Ska fortress, loomed black
on the sky behind them. The group paused to look back. "Ska," said
Aillas, "you strange dark-souled folk from the past! Next time we
meet I will carry a sword. You owe me dear for the pain you put on
me and the labor you took from me!"

An hour of running, trotting, and walking brought the band to the
Gloden River, whose headwaters included the Tamsour. The moon,
almost full, rose above the river, laying a trail of moonlight on
the water. Beside the moon-silvered veils of an enormous weeping
willow, the band paused to rest and discuss their situation.
Aillas told them: "We are fifteen: a strong band. Some of you want
to go home; others may have no homes to go to. I can offer


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prospects if you will join me in what I must do. I have a quest.
First it takes me south to Tac Tor, then I can't say where:
perhaps Dahaut, to find my son. Then we will go to Troicinet,
where I control both wealth, honor and estate. Those of you who
follow me as my comrades, to join my quest and, so I hope, to
return with me to Troicinet, will profit well; I swear it! I will
grant them good lands, and they shall bear the title Knight-
Companion. Be warned! The way is dangerous! First to Tac Tor
beside Tintzin Fyral, then who knows where? So choose. Go your own
way or come with me, for here is where we part company. I will
cross the river and travel south with my companions. The rest
would do well to travel east across the plain and into the settled
parts of Dahaut. Who will come with me?"

"I am with you," said Cargus. "I have nowhere else to go."

"And I," said Yane.

"We joined ourselves during dark days," said one called Quails.
"Why separate now? Especially since I crave land and knighthood."

In the end five others went with Aillas. They crossed the Gloden
by a bridge and followed a road which struck off to the south. The
others, mostly Daut, chose to go their own ways and continued east
beside the Gloden.

The seven who had joined Aillas were first Yane and Cargus, then
Garstang, Quails, Bode, Scharis and Faurfisk: a disparate group.
Yane and Cargus were short; Quails and Bode were tall. Garstang,
who spoke little of himself, displayed the manners of a gentleman,
while Faurfisk, massive, fair and blue-eyed, declared himself the
bastard of a Gothic pirate upon a Celtic fisherwoman. Scharis, who
was not so old as Aillas, was distinguished by a handsome face and
a pleasant disposition. Faurfisk, on the other hand, was as ugly
as pox, burns and scars could make him. He had been racked by a
petty baron of South Ulfland; his hair had whitened and rage was
never far from his face. Quails, a runaway Irish monk, was
irresponsibly jovial and declared himself as good a wencher as any
bully-bishop of Ireland.



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Though the band now stood well inside Dahaut, the proximity of
Poelitetz cast an oppression across the night, and the entire
company set off together down the road.

As they walked Garstang spoke to Aillas. "It is necessary that we
have an understanding. I am a knight of Lyonesse, from Twanbow
Hall, in the Duchy of Ellesmere. Since you are Troice, we are
nominally at war. That of course is nonsense, and I earnestly cast
my lot with yours, until we enter Lyonesse, when we must go our
separate ways."

"So it shall be. But see us now: in slave clothes and iron
collars, slinking through the night like scavenger dogs. Two
gentlemen indeed! And lacking money, we must steal to eat, like
any other band of vagabonds."

"Other hungry gentlemen have made similar compromises. We shall
steal side by side, so that neither may scorn the other. And I
suggest, that if at all possible we steal from the rich, though
the poor are somewhat easier prey."

"Circumstances must guide us.. .Dogs are barking. There is a
village ahead, and almost certainly a smithy."

"At this hour of the night he will be soundly asleep."

"A kindhearted smith might rouse himself to help a desperate group
such as ours."

"Or we might rouse him ourselves."

Ahead the houses of a village showed gray in the moonlight. The
streets were empty; no light showed save from the tavern, from
which came the sounds of boisterous revelry.

"Tomorrow must be a holiday," said Garstang. "Notice in the
square, where the cauldron is ready to boil an ox."

"A prodigious cauldron indeed, but where is the smithy?"



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"It must be yonder, along the road, if it exists."

The group passed through town and near the outskirts discovered
the smithy, at the front of a stone dwelling, in which showed a
light.

Aillas went to the door and rapped politely. After a long pause,
the door was slowly opened by a youth of seventeen or eighteen. He
seemed depressed, even haggard, and when he spoke his voice
cracked with strain. "Sir, who are you? What do you want here?"

"Friend, we need the help of a smith. This very day we escaped the
Ska and we cannot abide these detestable collars another instant."

The young man stood irresolutely. "My father is smith to Vervold,
this village. I am Elric, his son. But since he will never again
work his trade, I am now smith. Come along to the shop." He
brought a lamp and led the way to the smithy.

"I fear that your work must be an act of charity," said Aillas.
"We can pay only the iron of the collars, since we have nothing
else."

"No matter." The young smith's voice was listless. One by one the
eight fugitives knelt beside the anvil. The smith plied hammer and
chisel to cut the rivets; one by one the men arose to their feet
free of the collars.

Aillas asked: "What happened to your father? Did he die?"

"Not yet. Tomorrow morning is his time. He will be boiled in a
cauldron and fed to the dogs."

"That is bad news. What was his crime?"

"He committed an outrage." Elric's voice was somber. "When Lord
Halies stepped from his carriage, my father struck him in the
face, and kicked his body and caused Lord Halies pain."

"Insolence, at the very least. What provoked him so?"


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"The work of nature. My sister is fifteen years old. She is very
beautiful. It was natural that Lord Halies should want to bring
her to Fair Aprillion to warm his bed, and who would deny him had
she assented to his proposal? But she would not go, and Lord
Halies sent his servants to bring her. My father, though a smith,
is impractical and thought to set things right by beating and
kicking Lord Halies. He now, for his mistake, must boil in a
cauldron."

"Lord Halies—is he rich?"

"He lives at Fair Aprillion, in a mansion of sixty chambers. He
keeps a stable of fine horses. He eats larks, oysters, and meats
roasted with cloves and saffron, with white bread and honey. He
drinks of both white and red wines. There are rugs on his floors
and silks on his back. He dresses twenty cutthroats in gaudy
uniforms and calls them 'paladins.' They enforce all his edicts
and many of their own."

"There is good reason to believe that Lord Halies is rich," said
Aillas.

"I resent Lord Halie," said Sir Garstang. "Wealth and noble birth
are excellent circumstances, coveted by all. Still, the rich
nobleman should enjoy his distinction with propriety and never
bring shame to his estate as Lord Halies has done. In my opinion
he must be chastised, fined, humiliated, and deprived of eight or
ten of his fine horses."

"Those are exactly my views," said Aillas. He turned back to
Elric. "Lord Halies commands only twenty soldiers?"

"Yes. And also Chief Archer Hunolt, the executioner."

"And tomorrow morning all will come to Vervold to witness the
ceremony and Fair Aprillion will be deserted."

Elric uttered a yelp of near-hysterical laughter. "So, while my
father boils, you rob the mansion?"


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Aillas asked: "How can he boil if the cauldron leaks water?" "The
cauldron is sound. My father mended it himself."

"What is done can be undone. Bring hammer and chisels; and we will
punch some holes."

Elric slowly took up the tools. "It will cause delay, but what
then?"

"At the very least your father will not boil so soon." The group
left the smithy and returned to the square. As before all houses
were dark, save for the yellow flicker of candlelight from the
tavern, from which issued a voice raised in song.

Through the moonlight the group approached the cauldron.

Aillas motioned to Elric. "Strike!"

Elric set his chisel against the cauldron and struck hard with his
hammer, to create a dull clanging sound, like a muffled gong-
stroke.

"Again!"

Once more Elric struck; the chisel cut the iron and the cauldron
no longer was whole.

Elric cut three more holes and a fourth for good measure, then
stood back in mournful exaltation.

"Though they boil me as well, 1 can never regret this night's
work!"

"You shall not be boiled, nor your father either. Where is Fair
Aprillion?"

"The lane leads yonder, between the trees."

The door to the tavern opened. Outlined against the rectangle of


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yellow candlelight, four men staggered out upon the square, where
they engaged in raucous repartee.

"Those are Halies' soldiers?" Aillas asked.

"Quite so, and each a brute in his own right."

"Quick then, behind the trees yonder. We will do some summary
justice, and also reduce the twenty to sixteen."

Elric made a dubious protest. "We have no weapons."

"What? Are you folk of Vervold all cowards? We outnumber them nine
to four!"

Elric had nothing to say.

"Come, quick now!" said Aillas. "Since we have become thieves and
assassins, let us act the part!"

The group ran across the square, and hid in the shrubbery beside
the lane. Two great elms to either side filtered the moonlight to
lay a silver filigree across the road.

The nine men found sticks and stones, then waited. The silence of
the night was only enhanced by the voices across the square.

Minutes passed, then the voices grew louder. The paladins came
into view, lurching, weaving, complaining and belching. One called
out to Zinctra Lelei, goddess of the night, that she might hold
the firmament more steady; another cursed him for his loose legs
and urged him to crawl on hands and knees. The third could not
control an idiotic chortle for a humorous episode known only to
himself, or possibly to no one whatever; the fourth tried to
hiccup in time with his steps. The four approached. There was a
sudden thudding of feet, the sound of hammer breaking into bone,
gasps of terror; in seconds four drunken paladins became four
corpses.

"Take their weapons," said Aillas. "Drag them behind the hedge."


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The group returned to the smithy and bedded down as best they
might.

In the morning they rose early, ate porridge and bacon, then armed
themselves with what weapons Elric could provide: an old sword, a
pair of daggers, iron bars, a bow with a dozen arrows, which Yane
at once took into custody. They disguised their gray Skaling
smocks in such old torn or discarded garments as the smith's
household could provide. In this style, they went to the square,
where they found a few dozen folk standing aloof to the sides,
scowling toward the cauldron and muttering together.

Elric discovered a pair of cousins and an uncle. They went home,
armed themselves with bows and joined the group.

Chief Archer Hunolt came first down the lane from Fair Aprillion,
followed by four guards and a wagon carrying a beehive-shaped
cage, in which sat the condemned man. He kept his eyes fixed on
the floor of the cage, and looked up only once, across the square
to the cauldron. Behind marched two more soldiers, these armed
with swords and bows.

Hunolt, halting his horse, noticed the damage done to the
cauldron. "Here's treachery!" he cried. "Breakage upon his
Lordship's property! Who has done this deed?" His voice rang
around the square. Heads turned, but no one answered.

He turned to one of his soldiers: "Go you, fetch the smith."

"The smith is in the cage, sir."

"Then fetch the new smith! It is all one."

"There he stands, sir."

"Smith! Come here at once! The cauldron needs mending."

"So I see."



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"Repair it on the quick, so that we may do what must be done."

Elric replied in a surly voice: "I am a smith. That is tinker's
work."

"Smith, tinker, call yourself what you like, only fix that pot
with good iron, and quickly!"

"Would you have me mend the pot in which to boil my father!"

Hunolt chuckled. "There is irony here, agreed, but it only
illustrates the impartial majesty of his Lordship's justice. So
then, unless you care to join your father in the pot, to bubble
face to face—as you can see there is adequate room—mend the pot."

"I must fetch tools and rivets."

"Be quick!"

Elric went to the smithy for tools. Aillas and his troop had
already slipped away up the lane toward Fair Aprillion, to prepare
an ambush.

Half an hour passed. The gates opened; Lord Halies rode forth in
his carriage with a guard of eight soldiers.

Yane and Elric's uncle and cousins stepped out into the lane
behind the column. They bent their bows, loosed arrows: once,
twice. The others, who had remained concealed, rushed out and in
fifteen seconds the killing was done. Lord Halies was disarmed
and, ashen-faced, pulled from the carriage.

Now well-armed, the troop returned to the square. Hunolt stood
over Elric, ensuring that he repaired the cauldron at best speed.
At near range Bode, Quails, Yane and all the others who carried
bows, loosed a flight of arrows and six more of Halies' paladins
died.

Elric struck Hunolt's foot with his hammer; Hunolt screamed and
sagged on the broken foot. Elric struck at the other foot with


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even greater force, to crush it flat, and Hunolt fell writhing
upon his back.

Elric released his father from the cage. "Fill the cauldron!"
cried Elric. "Bring the faggots!" He dragged Halies to the
cauldron. "You ordained a boiling; you shall have one!"

Halies staggered and stared aghast at the cauldron. He babbled
entreaties, then screamed threats, to no effect. He was trussed
up, knees high and seated in the cauldron, and Hunolt was placed
beside him. Water filled the cauldron to cover their chests and
fire was given to the faggots. Around the cauldron the folk of
Vervold leapt and capered in a delirium of excitement. Presently
they joined hands and danced around the cauldron in three
concentric circles.

Two days later Aillas and his troop departed Vervold. They wore
good clothes, boots of soft leather and carried corselets of the
finest chain mail. Their horses were the best the stable at Fair
Aprillion could provide, and in their saddle-bags they carried
gold and silver.

Their number was now seven. At a banquet Aillas had advised the
village elders to select one from among their number to serve as
their new lord. "Otherwise another lord of the neighborhood will
arrive with his troops, and declare himself lord of the domain."

"The prospect has troubled us," said the smith. "Still, we at the
village are too close; we know all each other's secrets and none
could command a proper respect. We prefer a strong and honest
stranger for the office: one of good heart and generous spirit,
one who will mete fair justice, levy light rents and abuse his
privileges no more than absolutely necessary. In short, we ask
that you yourself, Sir Aillas, become the new lord of Fair
Aprillion and its domains."

"Not I," said Aillas. "I have urgent deeds to do, and already I am
late. Choose someone else to serve you."

"Sir Garstang then would be our choice!"


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"Well chosen," said Aillas. "He is of noble blood; he is brave and
generous."

"Not I," said Sir Garstang. "I have domains of my own elsewhere,
which I am anxious to see once more."

"Well then, what of you others?"

"Not I," said Bode. "I am a restless man. What I seek is to be
found in the far places."

"Not I," said Yane. "I am one for the tavern, not the hall. I
would shame you with my wenching and revelry."

"Not I," said Cargus. "You would not wish a philosopher for your
lord."

"Nor a bastard Goth," said Faurfisk.

Quails spoke in a thoughtful voice: "It would seem that I am the
only qualified possibility. I am noble, like all Irishmen; I am
just, forbearing, honorable; I also play the lute and sing, and so
I can enliven the village festivals with frolics and antics. I am
generous but not grandiose. At marriages and hangings I am sober
and reverent; ordinarily I am easy, gay and lightsome.

Further—"

"Enough, enough!" cried Aillas. "Plainly, you are the man for the
job. Lord Quails, give us leave to depart your domain!"

"Sir, the permission is yours, and my good wishes go with you. I
will often wonder as to how you are faring, and my Irish wildness
will give me a twinge, but on winter nights, when rain spits at
the windows, I will hold my feet to the fire, drink red wine, and
be happy that I am Lord Quails of Fair Aprillion."

The seven rode south along an old road which, according to folk at
Vervold, swung southwest around the Forest of Tan-trevalles, then


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turned south eventually to become the Trompada. No one at Vervold
had ventured far in this direction—nor any other direction in most
cases—and no one could offer sensible information as to what might
be encountered.

For a space the road went by haphazard curves and swoops; left,
right, up hill, down dale, following a placid river for a time,
then angling away through the dim forest. Peasants tilled the
meadows and herded cattle. Ten miles from Vervold the peasants had
become a different sort: dark of hair and eye, slight of physique,
wary to the point of hostility.

As the day progressed the land became harsh, the hills abrupt, the
meadows stony, the tillages were less frequent. Late in the
afternoon they came to a hamlet, no more than a group of
farmhouses built close together for mutual protection and simple
conviviality. Aillas paid over a gold piece to the patriarch of
one household; in return the troop was provided a great supper of
pork grilled over vine cuttings, broad beans and onions, oat-bread
and wine. The horses were fed hay and stabled in a barn. The
patriarch sat for a time with the group to make sure that all ate
well and relaxed his taciturnity, so much that he put questions to
Aillas: "What sort of folk might you be?"

Aillas pointed around the group: "A Goth. A Celt. Ulfish yonder.
There a Galician"—this was Cargus—"and a knight of Lyonesse. I am
Troice. We are a mixed group, assembled, if the truth be known,
against our will by the Ska."

"I have heard speak of the Ska," said the old man. "They will
never dare set foot in these parts. We are not many, but we are
furious when aroused."

"We wish you long life," said Aillas, "and many happy feasts like
that you have set before us tonight."

"Bah, that was but a hasty collation arranged for unexpected
guests. Next time give us notice of your coming."

"Nothing would suit us better," said Aillas. "Still, it is a long


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hard way, and we are not home yet. What lies along the road to the
south?"

"We hear conflicting reports. Some speak of ghosts, others of
ogres. Some have been harassed by bandits, others complain of imps
riding like knights on armored herons. It is hard to separate fact
from hysteria; I can only recommend caution."

The road became no more than a wide trail, winding south into hazy
distance. The Forest of Tantrevalles could be seen to the left and
the stone cliffs of the Teach tac Teach rose sheer to the right.
The farmsteads finally disappeared, though occasional huts and a
ruined castle used as a shelter for sheep testified to a sparse
population. In one of the old huts the seven stopped to take
shelter for the night.

The great forest here loomed close at hand. At intervals Aillas
heard strange sounds from the forest which sent tingles along his
skin. Scharis stood listening in fascination, and Aillas asked
what he heard.

"Can you not hear it?" asked Scharis, his eyes glowing. "It is
music; I have never heard its like before."

Aillas listened for a moment. "I hear nothing."

"It comes and goes. Now it has stopped."

"Are you sure it isn't the wind?"

"What wind? The night is calm."

"If it is music, you should not listen. In these parts magic is
always close, to the peril of ordinary men."

With a trace of impatience Scharis asked: "How can I not listen to
what I want to hear? When it tells me things I want to know?"

"This goes beyond me," said Aillas. He rose to his feet. "1 am for
bed. Tomorrow we ride long and far."


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Aillas set watches, marking off two-hour periods by the sweep of
the stars. Bode took the first watch alone, then Garstang and
Faurfisk, then Yane and Cargus and finally Aillas and Scharis; and
the troop made themselves as comfortable as possible. Almost
reluctantly Scharis settled himself, but quickly fell asleep and
Aillas gratefully did the same.

When Arcturus reached its appointed place, Aillas and Scharis were
aroused and began their sentry duty. Aillas noticed that Scharis
no longer gave his attention to sounds from the night. Aillas
asked softly: "What of the music? Do you hear it still?"

"No. It moved away even before I slept."

"I wish I might have heard it."

"That might not serve you well."

"How so?"

"You might become as I am, to your sorrow."

Aillas laughed, if somewhat uneasily. "You are not the worst of
men. How could I so damage myself?"

Scharis stared into the fire. At last he spoke, half-musing. "For
a fact, I am ordinary enough—if anything, much too ordinary. My
fault is this: I am easily distracted by quirks and fancies. As
you know, I hear inaudible music. Sometimes when I look across the
landscape, I glimpse a flicker of motion; when I look in earnest
it moves just past the edge of vision. If you were like me, your
quest might be delayed or lost and so your question is answered."

Aillas stirred the fire. "I sometimes have sensations—whims,
fancies, whatever you call them—of the same kind. I don't give
them much thought. They are not so insistent as to cause me
concern."

Scharis laughed humorlessly. "Sometimes I think I am mad.


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Sometimes I am afraid. There are beauties too large to be borne,
unless one is eternal." He stared into the fire and gave a sudden
nod. "Yes, that is the message of the music."

Aillas spoke uncomfortably. "Scharis, my dear fellow, I think you
are having hallucinations. You are over-imaginative; it is as
simple as that!"

"How could I imagine so grandly? I heard it, you did not. There
are three possibilities. Either my mind is playing me tricks, as
you suggest; or, secondly, my perceptions are more acute than
yours; or, thirdly—and this is the frightening thought— the music
is meant for me alone."

Aillas made a skeptical sound. "Truly, you would do best to put
these strange sounds from your mind. If men were intended to probe
such mysteries, or if such mysteries actually exist, surely we
would know more about them."

"Possibly so."

"Tell me when next these perceptions come on you."

"If you wish."

Dawn came slowly, from gray through pearl to peach. By the time
the sun had appeared the seven were on their way, through a
pleasant if deserted landscape. At noon they came to a river which
Aillas thought must be the Siss on its way to join the Gloden, and
the rest of the day they followed the riverbank south. Halfway
through the afternoon heavy clouds drifted across the sky. A damp
cold wind began to blow, carrying the sound of distant thunder.

Close on sunset the road arrived at a stone bridge of five arches
and a crossroads, where the East-West Road, emerging from Forest
Tantrevalles, crossed the Trompada and continued through a cleft
in the mountains to end at Oa'ldes in South Ulfland. Beside the
crossroads, with the rain starting to fall in earnest, the seven
came upon an inn, the Star and Unicorn. They took their horses to
the stable and entered the inn, to find a cheerful fire burning in


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a massive fireplace. Behind a counter stood a tall thin man, bald
of pate with a long black beard overhanging his chest, a long nose
overhanging his beard, and a pair of wide black eyes half-overhung
by eyelids. Beside the fire three men crouched like conspirators
over their beer, the brims of low-crowned black hats shading their
faces. At another table a man with a thin high-bridged nose and a
fine auburn mustache, wearing handsome garments of dark blue and
umber, sat alone.

Aillas spoke to the innkeeper. "We will want lodging for the night
and the best you can provide in the way of supper. Also, if you
please, send someone to care for our horses."

The innkeeper bowed politely, but without warmth. "We shall do our
best to fulfill your desires."

The seven went to sit before the fire and the innkeeper brought
wine. The three men hunching over their table inspected them
covertly and muttered among themselves. The gentleman in dark blue
and umber, after a single glance, returned to his private
reflections. The seven, relaxing by the fire, drank wine with easy
throats. Presently Yane called the service girl to his side. "Now,
poppet, how many pitchers of wine have you served us?"

"Three, sir."

"Correct! Now each time you bring a pitcher to the table you must
come to me and pronounce its number. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The landlord strode on jackstraw legs across the room. "What is
the trouble, sir?"

"No trouble whatever. The girl tallies the wine as we drink it,
and there can be no mistakes in the score."

"Bah! You must not addle the creature's mind with such
calculations! I keep score yonder!"



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"And I do the same here, and the girl keeps a running balance
between us."

The landlord threw his arms in the air and stalked off to his
kitchen, from which he presently served the supper. The two
service girls, standing somber and watchful in the shadows, came
forward deftly to refill goblets and bring fresh pitchers, each
time chanting its number to Yane, while the landlord, again
leaning sourly behind his counter, kept a parallel score and
wondered if he dared water the wine.

Aillas, who drank as much as any, leaned back in his chair and
contemplated his comrades as they sat at ease. Garstang, no matter
what the circumstances, might never disguise his gentility. Bode,
liberated by the wine, forgot his fearsome countenance to become
unexpectedly droll. Scharis, like Aillas, sat back in his chair
enjoying the comfort. Faurfisk told coarse anecdotes with great
gusto and teased the serving girls. Yane spoke little but seemed
to take a sardonic pleasure in the high spirits of his friends.
Cargus, on the other hand, stared morosely into the fire. Aillas,
sitting beside him, finally asked: "What troubles you that your
thoughts bring gloom upon you?"

"I think a mixture of thoughts," said Cargus. "They come at me in
a medley. I remember old Galicia, and my father and mother, and
how I wandered away from their old age when I might have stayed
and sweetened their days. I reflect on the Ska and their harsh
habits. I think of my immediate condition with food in my belly,
gold in my pouch, and my good companions around me, which gives me
to ponder the fluxes of life and the brevity of such moments as
these; and now you know the cause for my melancholy."

"That is clear enough," said Aillas. "For my part I am happy that
we sit here rather than out in the rain; but I am never free of
the rage which smoulders in my bones: perhaps it will never leave
me despite all revenge."

"You are still young," said Cargus. "Tranquility will come in
time."



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"As to that I can't say. Vindictiveness may be a graceless
emotion, but I will never rest until I redress certain deeds done
upon me."

"I much prefer you as a friend than an enemy," said Cargus.

The two men fell silent. The gentleman in umber and dark blue who
had been sitting quietly to the side, rose to his feet and
approached Aillas. "Sir, I notice that you and your companions
conduct yourselves in the manner of gentlemen, tempering your
enjoyment with dignity. Allow me, if you will, to utter a probably
unnecessary warning."

"Speak, by all means."

"The two girls yonder are patiently waiting. They are less demure
than they seem. When you rise to retire, the older will solicit
you to intimacy. While she entertains you with her meager
equipment, the other rifles your purse. They share the gleanings
with the landlord."

"Incredible! They are so small and thin!"

The gentleman smiled ruefully. "This was my own view when last I
drank here to excess. Good night, sir."

The gentleman went off to his chamber. Aillas conveyed the
intelligence to his companions; the two girls faded away into the
shadows, and the landlord brought no more fuel to the fire.
Presently the seven staggered off to the straw pallets which had
been laid down for them, and so, with the rain hissing and
thudding on the thatch overhead, all slept soundly.

In the morning the seven awoke to find that the storm had passed,
allowing sunlight of blinding brilliance to illuminate the land.
They were served a breakfast of black bread, curds and onions.
While Aillas settled accounts with the innkeeper, the others went
to prepare the horses for the road.

Aillas was startled by the score. "What? So much? For seven men of


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modest tastes?"

"You drank a veritable flood of wine. Here is an exact tally:
nineteen pitchers of my best Carhaunge Red."

"One moment," said Aillas. He called in Yane. "We are in doubt as
to the tally of last night. Can you assist us in any way?"

"Indeed I can. We were served twelve pitchers of wine. I wrote the
number on paper and gave it to the girl. The wine was not
Carhaunge; it was drawn from that cask yonder marked 'Corriente':
two pennies per pitcher."

"Ah!" exclaimed the landlord. "I see my mistake. This is a tally
from the night before, when we served a party of ten noblemen."

Aillas scrutinized the score again. "Now then: what is this sum?"

"Miscellaneous services."

"I see. The gentleman who sat at the table yonder: who is he?"

"That would be Sir Descandol, younger son to Lord Maudelet of Gray
Fosfre, over the bridge and into Ulfland."

"Sir Descandol was kind enough to warn us of your maids and their
predatory mischief. There were no 'miscellaneous services.'"

"Really? In that case, I must delete this item."

"And here: 'Horses—stabling, fodder and drink.' Could seven horses
occupy such luxurious expanses, eat so much hay and swill down so
much valuable water as to justify the sum of thirteen florins?"

"Aha! You misread the figure, as did I in my grand total. The
figure should be two florins."

"I see." Aillas returned to the account. "Your eels are very
dear."



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"They are out of season."

Aillas finally paid the amended account. He asked: "What lies
along the road?"

"Wild country. The forest closes in and all is gloom."

"How far to the next inn?"

"Quite some distance."

"You have traveled the road yourself?"

"Through Tantrevalles Forest? Never."

"What of bandits, footpads and the like?"

"You should have put the question to Sir Descandol; he seems to be
the authority on such offenses."

"Possibly so, but he was gone before the thought occurred to me.
Well, no doubt we shall manage."

The seven set off along the road. The river swung away and the
forest closed in from both sides. Yane, riding in the lead, caught
a flicker of movement among the leaves. He cried out: "Down, all!
Down in the saddle!" He dropped to the ground, snapped arrow to
bow and launched a shaft into the gloom, arousing a wail of pain.
Meanwhile, a volley of arrows had darted from the forest. The
riders, ducking to Yane's cry, were unscathed except for the
ponderous Faurfisk, who took an arrow in the chest and died
instantly. Dodging, crouching low, his fellows charged into the
forest flourishing steel. Yane relied on his bow. He shot three
more arrows, striking into a neck, a chest and a leg. Within the
forest there were groans, the crashing of bodies, cries of sudden
fear. One man tried to flee; Bode sprang upon his back, bore him
to the ground, and there disarmed him.

Silence, save for panting and groans. Yane's arrows had killed two
and disabled two more. These two and two others lay draining their


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blood into the forest mold. The three rough-clad men who the night
before had sat in the inn over wine were among them.

Aillas turned to Bode's captive, and performed a slight bow, as a
knightly courtesy. "Sir Descandol, the landlord declared you an
authority upon the region's footpads, and now I understand his
reason. Cargus, be good enough to throw a rope over the stout
bough yonder. Sir Descandol, last night I knew gratitude for your
sage advice, but today I wonder if your motives might not have
been simple avarice, that our gold might be reserved for your own
use."

Sir Descandol demurred. "Not altogether! I intended first to spare
you the humiliation of robbery by a pair of twitterlings."

"Then that was an act of gentility. A pity that we cannot spend an
hour or two in an exchange of civilities."

"I am nothing loath," said Sir Descandol.

"Time presses. Bode, bind Sir Descandol's arms and legs, so that
he need not perform all manner of graceless postures. We respect
his dignity no less than he does ours."

"That is very good of you," said Sir Descandol.

"Now then! Bode, Cargus, Garstang! Heave away hard; hoist Sir
Descandol high!"

Faurfisk was buried in the forest under a filigree of sun and
shadow. Yane wandered among the corpses and recovered his arrows.
Sir Descandol was lowered, the rope reclaimed, coiled and hung on
the saddle of Faurfisk's tall black horse. Without a backward
glance, the company of six rode away through the forest.

Silence, emphasized rather than broken by far sweet birdcalls,
closed in on them. As the day wore on the sunlight passing through
foliage became charged with a tawny suffusion, creating shadows
dark, deep and tinged with maroon, or mauve, or dark blue. No one
spoke; hooves made only muffled sounds.


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At sundown the six halted beside a small pond. At midnight, while
Aillas and Scharis were on watch, a company of pale blue lights
twinkled and flickered through the forest. An hour later a voice
in the distance spoke three distinct words. They were
unintelligible to Aillas but Scharis rose to his feet and raised
his head almost as if to reply.

In wonder Aillas asked: "Did you understand the voice?"

"No."

"Then why did you start to answer?"

"It was almost as if he were talking to me."

"Why should he do that?"

"I don't know.. .Such things frighten me."

Aillas asked no more questions.

The sun rose; the six ate bread and cheese and continued on their
way. The landscape opened to glades and meadows; outcrops of
crumbling gray rock lay across the road; trees grew gnarled and
twisted.

During the afternoon the sky turned hazy; the sunlight became
golden and wan, like the light of autumn. Clouds drifted from the
west, ever heavier and more menacing.

Not far from where the road crossed the head of a long meadow, at
the back of a formal garden, stood a palace of gracious if
fanciful architecture. A portal of carved marble guarded the
entry, which was carefully raked with gravel. In the doorway of
the gatehouse stood a gatekeeper in a livery of dark red and blue
diaper.

The six halted to inspect the palace, which offered the prospect
of shelter for the night, if ordinary standards of hospitality


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were in force.

Aillas dismounted and approached the gatehouse. The gatekeeper
bowed politely. He wore a wide hat of black felt low down his
forehead and a small black domino across the top of his face.
Beside him leaned a ceremonial halberd; he carried no other
weapons.

Aillas spoke: "Who is lord of the palace yonder?"

"This is Villa Meroe', sir, a simple country retreat, where my
lord Daldace takes pleasure in the company of his friends."

"This is a lonely region for such a villa."

"That is the case, sir."

"We do not wish to trouble Lord Daldace, but perhaps he might
allow us shelter for the night."

"Why not proceed directly to the villa? Lord Daldace is generous
and hospitable."

Aillas turned to appraise the villa. "In all candor, I am uneasy.
This is the Forest Tantrevalles, and there is a shimmer of
enchantment to this place, and we would prefer to avoid events
beyond our understanding."

The gatekeeper laughed. "Sir, your caution is in some degree well-
founded. Still, you may safely take shelter in the villa and no
one will offer you harm. Those enchantments which affect revelers
at Villa Meroe will pass you by. Eat only your own victual; drink
only the wine now in your possession. In short, take none of the
food or drink which is sure to be offered, and the enchantments
will serve only to amuse you."

"And if we were to accept food and drink?"

"You might be delayed in your mission, sir."



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Aillas turned to his companions, who had gathered at his
back.."You heard this man's remarks; he seems truthful and speaks,
so it seems, without duplicity. Shall we risk enchantment, or a
night riding through the storm?"

"So long as we use only our own provisions and take nothing served
within, we would seem to be secure," said Garstang. "Is that
right, friend gatekeeper?"

"Sir, that is quite correct."

"Then I for one would prefer bread and cheese in the comfort of
the villa, to the same bread and cheese in the wind and rain of
the night."

"That is a reasonable analysis," said Aillas. "What of you others?
Bode?"

"I would ask this good gatekeeper why he wears the domino." "

Sir, that is the custom here, which in all courtesy you should
obey. If you choose to visit Villa Meroe, you must wear the domino
I will give you."

"It is most odd," murmured Scharis. "And most intriguing."

"Cargus? Yane?"

"The place reeks of magic," growled Yane.

"It frightens me none," said Cargus. "I know a cantrip against
enchantments; I will eat bread and cheese and turn my face away
from the marvels."

"So be it," said Aillas. "Gatekeeper, please announce us to Lord
Daldace. This is Sir Garstang, a knight of Lyonesse; these are the
gentlemen Yane, Scharis, Bode and Cargus, of various parts, and I
am Aillas, a gentleman of Troicinet."

"Lord Daldace, through his magic, already expects you," said the


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gatekeeper. "Be good enough to wear these dominoes. You may leave
your horses here and I will have them ready for you in the
morning. Naturally, take with you your meat and drink." The six
walked the graveled path, through the garden and across a terrace
to Villa Meroe. The setting sun, shining for an instant under the
lowering clouds, cast a shaft of light at the I doorway, where
stood a tall man in a splendid costume of dark red velvet. Black
hair, clipped short, curled close to his head. A short beard
shrouded jaws and chin; a black domino masked his eyes.

"Gentlemen, I am Lord Daldace, and you are welcome to Villa Meroe,
where I hope you will be comfortable for as long as you care to
stay."

"Our thanks, your Lordship. We will trouble you a single night
only, as important business compels us to the road."

"In that case, sirs, be advised that we are somewhat sybaritic in
our tastes, and our entertainments are often beguiling. Eat
nothing and drink nothing but your own stuffs, and you will find
no difficulties. I hope you will not think the worse of me for the
warning."

"Not at all, sir. Our concern is not revelry but only for shelter
against the storm."

Lord Daldace made an expansive gesture. "When you have refreshed
yourselves, we will talk further."

A footman led the group to a chamber furnished                                             with six couches.
An adjacent bathroom offered a flowing fall of                                             warm water, soap of
palm and aloes, towels of crushed linen. After                                             bathing they ate
the food and drink which they had brought from                                             their saddle-bags.

"Eat well," said Aillas. "Let us not leave this room hungry."

"Better that we did not leave this room at all," observed Yane.

"Impossible!" declared Scharis. "Have you no curiosity?"



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"In matters of this sort, very little. I am going directly to that
couch."

Cargus said, "I am a great reveler, when the mood comes on me. To
watch the revels of other folk sours my disposition. I too will
take to the couch, and dream my own dreams."

Bode said: "I will stay; I need no persuasion."

Aillas turned to Garstang. "What of you?"

"If you stay, I will stay. If you go, I will stand by your side,
to guard you from greed and intemperance."

"Scharis?"

"I could not contain myself in here. I will go, at least to wander
and stare through the holes of my mask."

"Then I will follow, and ward you as Garstang guards me, and we
both shall guard Garstang, so we will be reasonably secure."

Scharis shrugged. "As you say."

"Who knows what might occur? We will wander and stare together."

The three masked their faces and left the chamber.

Tall archways overlooked the terrace, where flowering jasmine,
orange, elethea and cleanotis perfumed the air. On a settee padded
with cushions of dark green velvet the three sat to rest. The
clouds which had threatened a great storm had moved to the side;
the night air was soft and mild.

A tall man in a dark red costume, with black curly hair and a
small black beard, paused to survey them. "Well then, what do you
think of my villa?"

Garstang shook his head. "I am beyond speech."



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Aillas said: "There is too much to comprehend."

Scharis' face was pale and his eyes shone, but, like Garstang, he
had nothing to say.

Aillas gestured to the couch. "Sit awhile with us, Lord Daldace."

"With pleasure."

"We are curious," said Aillas. "There is such overwhelming beauty
here; it has almost the unreal quality of a dream."

Lord Daldace looked about as if seeing the villa for the first
time. "What are dreams? Ordinary experience is a dream. The eyes,
the ears, the nose: they present pictures on the brain, and these
pictures are called 'reality.' At night, when we dream, other
pictures, of source unknown, are impinged. Sometimes the dream-
images are more real than 'reality.' Which is solid, which
illusion? Why trouble to make the distinction? When tasting a
delicious wine, only a pedant analyzes every component of the
flavor. When we admire a beautiful maiden, do we evaluate the
particular bones of her skull? I am sure we do not. Accept beauty
on its own terms: this is the creed of Villa Meroe."

"What of satiation?"

Lord Daldace smiled. "Have you ever known satiation in a dream?"

"Never," said Garstang. "A dream is always most vivid."

Scharis said: "Both life and dreams are things of exquisite
fragility. A thrust, a cut—they are gone: away, like a sweet scent
on the wind."

Garstang said: "Perhaps you will answer this: why is everyone
masked?"

"A whim, a crotchet, a fancy, a fad! I might counter your question
with another. Consider your face: is it not a mask of skin? You
three, Aillas, Garstang and Scharis, each is a person favored by


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nature; your skin-mask commends you to the world. Your comrade
Bode is not so fortunate; he would rejoice to go forever with a
mask before his face."

"None of your company appears ill-favored," said Garstang. "The
gentlemen are noble and the ladies are beautiful. So much is
evident despite the masks."

"Perhaps so. Still, late of night, when lovers become intimate and
disrobe together, the last article to be removed is the mask."

Scharis asked: "And who plays the music?"

Aillas listened, as did Garstang. "I hear no music."

"Nor I," said Garstang.

"It is very soft," said Lord Daldace. "In fact, perhaps it is
unheard." He rose to his feet. "I hope I have satisfied your
wonder?"

"Only a churl would require more of you," said Aillas. "You have
been more than courteous."

"You are pleasant guests, and I am sorry that you must go on the
morrow. But now, a lady awaits me. She is new to Villa Meroe and I
am anxious to enjoy her pleasure."

"A last question," said Aillas. "If new guests come, the old ones
must leave, or they would congest every hall and chamber of Meroe.
When they leave, where do they go?"

Lord Daldace laughed softly. "Where go the folk who live in your
dreams when at last you wake?" He bowed and departed.

Three maidens stopped before them. One spoke with mischievous
boldness. "Why do you sit so quietly? Do we lack charm?"

The three men rose to their feet. Aillas found himself facing a
slender girl with pale blonde hair and features of flower-like


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delicacy. Eyes of violet-blue looked at him from behind the black
domino. Aillas' heart gave a startled jerk, of both pain and joy-
He started to speak, then checked himself. "Excuse me," he
muttered. "I am not feeling well." He turned away, to find that
Garstang had done the same. Garstang said: "It is impossible. She
resembles someone who was once very dear to me."

"They are dreams," said Aillas. "They are very hard to resist. Is
Lord Daldace so ingenuous, after all?"

"Let us return to our couches. I don't care for dreams quite so
real... Where is Scharis?"

The maidens and Scharis were not to be seen. "We must find him,"
said Aillas. "His temperament will betray him."

They walked the chambers of Meroe, ignoring the soft lights, the
fascinations, the tables laden with delicacies. At last they found
Scharis, in a small courtyard opening on the terrace. He sat in
the company of four others, blowing soft tones from the pipes of a
syrinx. The others played various different instruments, to
produce music of a haunting sweetness. Close beside Scharis sat a
slim dark-haired maiden; she leaned so closely to him that her
hair spread across his shoulder. In one hand she held a goblet of
purple wine, which she sipped, and then, when the music stopped,
she offered to Scharis.

Scharis, in rapt abstraction, took it in his hand, but Aillas
leaned low over the balustrade and snatched it away, "Scharis,
what has come over you? Come along, we must sleep! Tomorrow we
will put this dream-castle behind us; it is more dangerous than
all the werewolves of Tantrevalles!"

Scharis slowly rose to his feet. He looked down at the girl.

"I must go."

The three men returned silently to the sleeping chamber, where
Aillas said: "You almost drank from the goblet."



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"I know."

"Did you drink before?"

"No." Scharis hesitated. "I kissed the girl, who is much like
someone I once loved. She had been drinking wine and a drop hung
on her lips. I tasted it."

Aillas groaned. "Then I must discover the antidote from Lord
Daldace!"

Again Garstang joined him; the two roamed Meroe but nowhere could
they find Lord Daldace.

The lights began to be extinguished; the two at last returned to
their chamber. Scharis either slept or feigned sleep.

Morning light entered through high windows. The six men arose and
somewhat glumly considered each other. Aillas said heavily. "The
day has started. Let us be on our way; we will make our breakfast
along the road."

At the gate the horses awaited them though the gatekeeper was
nowhere to be seen. Not knowing what he might discover if he
looked back, Aillas resolutely kept his head turned away from
Villa Meroe. His comrades did likewise, so he noticed.

"Away, then, along the road, and let us forget the palace of
dreams!"

The six galloped away with cloaks flapping behind. A mile down the
road they halted to take breakfast. Scharis sat by himself to the
side. His mood was abstracted and he showed no appetite.

Strange, thought Aillas, how loosely the trousers hung about his
legs. And why did his jacket sag so oddly?

Aillas sprang to his feet but not before Scharis slid to the
ground, where his clothes lay empty. Aillas dropped to his knees.
Scharis' hat fell away; his face, a mask of a substance like pale


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parchment, slipped askew, and looked - somewhere.

Aillas slowly rose to his feet. He turned to ponder the way they
had come. Bode came up beside him. "Let us ride on," said Bode
gruffly. "Nothing can be gained by returning."

The road veered somewhat to the right, and, as the day progressed,
began to lead up and down, to follow the contours of swells and
swales. The soil grew thin; outcrops of rock appeared; the forest
dwindled to sparse straggles of stunted yew and oak, then drew
away to the east.

The day was full of wind; clouds raced overhead and the five rode
through alternate spaces of sun and shade.

Sunset found them on a desolate fell among hundreds of weathered
granite boulders as tall as a man or taller. Garstang and Cargus
both declared them to be sarsens, though they stood without
perceptible order or regularity.

Beside a rivulet the five halted for the night. They made beds of
bracken and passed the night in no great comfort but disturbed
only by the whistling of the wind.

At sunrise the five once more took to the saddle and proceeded
south along the Trompada, here little more than a path wandering
among the sarsen-stones.

At noon the road swung down from the fells to rejoin the River
Siss, then followed the riverbank south.

Halfway through the afternoon the road arrived at a fork. By
deciphering an age-worn sign-post, they learned that Bittershaw
Road angled away to the southeast while the Trompada crossed a
bridge and followed the Siss in a southerly direction.

The travelers crossed the bridge and half a mile along the road
encountered a peasant leading a donkey loaded with faggots.

Aillas held up his hand; the peasant drew back in alarm. "What


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now? If you be robbers, I carry no gold, and the same is true even
if you not be robbers."

"Enough of your foolishness," growled Cargus. "Where is the best
and nearest inn?"

The peasant blinked in perplexity. "The 'best' and the 'nearest
eh? Is it two inns you want?"

"One is enough," said Aillas.

"In these parts inns are rare. The Old Tower down the way might
serve your needs, if you are not over-nice."

"We are nice," said Yane, "but not over-nice. Where is this inn?"

"Fare forward two miles until the road turns to rise for the
mountain. A bit of a track leads to the Old Tower." Aillas tossed
him a penny. "Many thanks to you." Two miles the five followed the
river-road. The sun dropped behind the mountains; the four rode in
shadow, under pines and cedars.

A bluff overlooked the Siss; here the road turned sharply up the
hillside. A trail continued along the side of the bluff, back and
forth under heavy foliage, until the outline of a tall round tower
stood dark against the sky.

The five rode around the tower under a mouldering wall, to come
out upon a flat area overlooking the river a hundred feet below.
Of the ancient castle only a corner tower and a wing stood intact.
A boy came and took their horses to what had once been the great
hall and which now served as a stable.

The five entered the old tower, and found themselves in a place of
gloom and a grandeur impregnable to present indignities. A fire in
the fireplace sent flickering light across a great round room.
Slabs of stone flagged the floor; the walls were unrelieved by
hangings. Fifteen feet overhead a balcony circled the room; with
another above in the shadows; and above still a third, almost
invisible by reason of the gloom.


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Rough tables and benches had been placed near the fire. To the
other side a fire burned in a second fireplace; here, behind a
counter, an old man with a thin face and wispy white hair worked
energetically over pots and pans. He seemed to have six hands, all
reaching, shaking and stirring. He basted a lamb where it turned
on a spit, shook up a pan of pigeons and quails, swung other pots
this way and that on their pot-hooks, so that they might receive
the proper heat.

For a moment Aillas watched in respectful attention, marveling at
the old man's dexterity. At last, taking advantage of a pause in
the work, he asked: "Sir, you are the landlord?"

"Correct, my lord. I claim that role, if these makeshift premises
deserve such a dignity."

"Dignity is the least of our concerns if you can provide us
lodging for the night. From the evidence of my eyes I feel assured
of a proper supper."

"Lodging here is of the simplest; you sleep in hay above the
stable. My premises offer nothing better and I am too old to make
changes."

"How is your ale?" asked Bode. "Serve us cool clear bitter and you
will hear no complaints."

"You relieve all my anxieties, since I brew good ale. Be seated,
if you will."

The five took seats by the fire and congratulated themselves that
they need not spend another windy night in the bracken. A portly
woman served them ale in beechwood cups, which by some means
accentuated the quality of the brew, and Bode declared: "The
landlord is just! He will hear no complaints from me."

Aillas surveyed the other guests where they sat at their tables.
There were seven: an elderly peasant and his wife, a pair of
peddlers and three young men who might have been woodsmen. Into


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the room now came a bent old woman, cloaked heavily in gray, with
a cowl gathered over her head so that her face was concealed in
shadow.

She paused to look about the room. Aillas felt her gaze hesitate
as it reached him. Then, crouching and hobbling, she crossed the
room to sit at a far table among the shadows.

The portly woman brought their supper: quail, pigeons and
partridge on slabs of bread soaked in the grease of the frying;
cuts of roasted lamb which exhaled a fragrance of garlic and
rosemary, in the Galician style, with a salad of cress and young
greens: a meal far better than any they had expected.

As Aillas supped he watched the cloaked woman at the far table,
where she took her own supper. Her manners were unsettling;
leaning forward, she gobbled up her food at a snap. Aillas watched
in covert fascination, and noticed that the woman seemed also to
peer toward him from time to time behind the shadow cast by her
cowl. She bent her head low to snap up a morsel of meat and her
cloak slipped away from her foot.

Aillas spoke to his comrades. "The old woman yonder: notice her
and tell me what you see."

Garstang muttered in amazement: "She has a chicken's foot!"

Aillas said, "She is a witch, with a fox mask and the legs of a
great fowl. Twice she has attacked me; twice I cut her into two
sections; each time she repaired herself."

The witch, turning to stare, noticed their gazes and hastily drew
back her foot and darted another look to see if anyone had noticed
the lapse. Aillas and his companions pretended indifference. She
turned once more to her food, snapping and gulping.

"She forgets nothing," said Aillas, "and certainly she will try to
kill me, if not here, then from ambush along the trail."

"In that case," said Bode, "let us kill her first, at this very


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moment."

Aillas grimaced. "So it must be, even though all will blame us for
killing a helpless old woman."

"Not when they see her feet," said Cargus.

"Let us be to it, and have done," said Bode. "I am ready."

"A moment," said Aillas. "I will do the deed. Make your swords
ready. One scratch of her claws means death; allow her no scope to
spring."

The witch seemed to divine the quality of their conversation.
Before they could move she arose and hobbled quickly away into the
shadows, and disappeared through a low archway.

Aillas drew his sword and went to the landlord. "You have been
entertaining an evil witch; she must be killed."

While the landlord looked on in bewilderment Aillas ran back to
the archway and looked through but could see nothing in the dark
and dared not proceed. He turned back to the landlord. "Where
leads the archway?"

"To the old wing, and the chambers overhead: all ruins."

"Give me a candle."

At a slight sound Bode looked up, to discover the fox-masked woman
on the first balcony. With a scream she leapt down at Aillas; Bode
thrust out with a stool and struck her aside. She hissed and
screamed again, then leapt at Bode with legs outstretched and
clawed the length of his face, before Aillas once more hacked her
head from her body, which, as before started a mad canter back and
forth, buffeting itself against the walls. Cargus forced it down
with a bench and Yane hacked away the legs.

Bode lay on his back, clawing at the stone with clenched fingers.
His tongue protruded; his face turned black and he died.


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Aillas cried in a guttural voice: "This time the fire! Cut this
vile thing to bits! Landlord, bring logs and faggots! The fire
must burn hot and long!"

The fox-faced head set up a horrid wailing. "No fire! Give me not
to the fire!"

The grisly task was complete. Under roaring flames the witch's
flesh burned to ashes and the bones crumbled to dust. The guests,
pale and dispirited, had gone to their beds in the hay; the
landlord and his spouse worked with mops and buckets to clean
their soiled floor.

With morning only hours away Aillas, Garstang, Cargus and Yane sat
wearily at a table and watched the fire become embers.

The landlord brought them ale. "This is a terrible event! I assure
you it is not the policy of the house."

"Sir, do not in any way blame yourself. Be happy that we have made
an end to the creature. You and your wife have given noble
assistance and you shall not suffer for it."

With the first glimmer of dawn the four buried Bode in a quiet
shaded area, at one time a rose garden. They left Bode's horse
with the landlord as well as five gold crowns from Bode's pouch,
and rode sadly down the hill to the Trompada.

The four toiled up a steep stony valley by a road which twisted
and sidled back and forth, up and'around bluffs and boulders, and
eventually gained to wind-haunted Glayrider Gap. A side road led
off across the moors toward Oaldes; the Trompada swung south and
slanted down a long declivity, past a series of ancient tin mines
to the town Market Flading. At the Tin Man Inn the four travelers,
weary after the work of the night before and the toilsome ride of
the day, gratefully supped on mutton and barley, and slept on
straw pallets in an upper chamber.

In the morning they set out once more along the Trompada, which


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now followed the North Evander along a wide shallow valley toward
the far purple bulk of Tac Tor.

At noon, with Tintzin Fyral only five miles to the south, the land
began to rise and close in beside the gorge of the North Evander.
Three miles farther along, with the nearness of Tintzin Fyral
impressing a sense of menace upon the air, Aillas discovered a dim
trail leading away and up a gulley, which he thought might be that
trail by which, so long ago, he had hoped to descend from Tac Tor.

The track climbed a long spur which trailed down from Tac Tor like
the splayed root of a tree, then followed the rounded ridge by a
relatively easy route. Aillas led the way up the trail to the
hollow where he had camped, only yards below the flat summit of
Tac Tor.

. He found the Never-fail where he had left it. As before the
tooth pointed something north of east. "In that direction," said
Aillas, "is my son, and this is where I must go."

"You can choose from two routes," said Garstang. "Back the way we
came, then east; or through Lyonesse by Old Street, then north
into Dahaut. The first may be shorter, but the second avoids the
forest, and in the end is probably faster."

The second, by all means," said Aillas.

The four passed by Kaul Bocach and entered Lyonesse without
incident. At Nolsby Sevan they swung to the east along Old Street,
and after four days of hard riding arrived at the town Audelart.
Here Garstang took leave of his comrades. "Twanbow Hall is only
twenty miles south. I shall be home for supper and my adventures
will be the marvel of all." He embraced his three comrades.
"Needless to say, you will always be welcome guests at Twanbow! We
have come a long way together; we have known much hardship. Never
shall I forget!"

"Nor I."

"Nor I."


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"Nor I."

Aillas, Cargus and Yane watched Garstang ride south until he
disappeared. Aillas heaved a sigh. "Now we are three."

"One by one we dwindle," said Cargus.

"Come," said Yane. "Let us be off. I lack patience for sentiment."

The three departed Audelart by Old Street and three days later
they arrived at Tatwillow, where Old Street crossed Icnield Way.
The Never-fail pointed north, in the direction of Avallon: a good
sign, or so it would seem, since the direction avoided the forest.

They set off up Icnield Way toward Avallon in Dahaut.


Chapter 25

GLYN'ETH AND DHRUN had joined Dr. Fidelius at the Glassblowers
Fair in Hazelwood. For the first few days the association was
tentative and wary. Glyneth and Dhrun conducted themselves as if
walking on eggs, meanwhile watching Dr. Fidelius sidelong that
they might anticipate any sudden irrationalities or quick fits of
fury. But Dr. Fidelius, after assuring their comfort, showed such
even and impersonal politeness that Glyneth began to worry that
Dr. Fidelius did not like them.

Shimrod, watching the two from his disguise with the same
surreptitious interest they gave him, was impressed by their
composure and charmed by their desire to please him. They were, he
thought, an extraordinary pair: clean, neat, intelligent and
loving. Glyneth's native cheerfulness at times broke free into
bursts of exuberance which she quickly controlled lest she annoy
Dr. Fidelius. Dhrun tended to long periods of silence, while he
sat gazing blankly into the sunlight, thinking his private
thoughts.

Upon leaving the Glassblowers Fair, Shimrod turned his wagon north


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toward the market-town Porroigh and the yearly Sheep-sellers Fair.
Late in the afternoon Shimrod drove the wagon off the road and
halted in a little glen beside a stream. Glyneth gathered sticks
and set a fire; Shimrod erected a tripod, hung a kettle and cooked
a stew of chicken, onions, turnips, meadow-greens and parsley,
with mustard-seed and garlic for seasoning. Glyneth gathered cress
for a salad, and found a clump of morels which Shimrod added to
the stew. Dhrun sat quietly by, listening to the wind in the trees
and the crackle of the fire.

The three dined well, and sat back to enjoy the dusk. Shimrod
looked from one to the other. "I must make a report to you. I have
traveled Dahaut now for months, plying from fair to fair, and I
never realized my loneliness until these last few days that you
two have been with me."

Glyneth heaved a small sigh of relief. "That is good news for us,
since we like traveling with you. I don't dare say it's good luck;
I might start up the curse."

"Tell me about this curse."

Dhrun and Glyneth told their separate tales and together reported
the events they had shared. "So now we are anxious to find
Rhodion, the king of all fairies, so that he may remove the curse
and give Dhrun back his eyes."

"He'll never pass the skirl of fairy pipes," said Shimrod. "Sooner
or later he'll stop to listen, and, rest assured, I too will keep
lookout."

Dhrun asked wistfully: "Have you ever yet seen him?"

"Truth to tell, I have been watching for someone else."

Glyneth said: "I know who he is: a man with sore knees, which
clack and creak as he walks."

"And how have you come by that knowledge?"



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"Because you cry out often about sore knees. When someone comes
forward, you look into his face rather than his legs, and you are
always disappointed. You give him a jar of salve and send him away
still limping."

Shimrod showed a wry smile to the fire. "Am I so transparent?"

"Not really," said Glyneth modestly. "In fact, I think you are
quite mysterious."

Shimrod now laughed aloud. "Why do you say that?" "Oh, for
instance, how did you learn to mix so many medicines?"

"No mystery whatever. A few are common remedies, known everywhere.
The rest are pulverized bone mixed with lard or neat's-foot oil,
with different flavors. They never harm and sometimes they heal.
But more than sell medicines I want to find the man with the sore
knees. Like Rhodion he comes to fairs and sooner or later I will
find him."

Dhrun asked: "Then what will happen?"

"He will tell me where to find someone else."

From south to north across the land went the wagon of Dr. Fidelius
and his two young colleagues, pausing at fairs and festivals from
Dafnes on the River Lull to Duddlebatz under the stone barrens of
Godelia. There were long days of traveling by shaded country
lanes, up hill and down dale, through dark woods and old villages.
There were nights by firelight while the full moon rode through
clouds, and other nights under a sky full of stars. One afternoon,
as they crossed a desolate heath, Glyneth heard plaintive sounds
from the ditch beside the road. Jumping from the wagon and peering
among the thistles she discovered a pair of spotted kittens which
had been abandoned and left to die. Glyneth called and the kittens
ran anxiously to her. She took them to the wagon, in tears over
their plight. When Shimrod gave her leave to keep them, she threw
her arms around his neck and kissed him, and Shimrod knew he was
her slave forever, even had it not been the case before.



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Glyneth named the kittens Smirrish and Sneezer, and at once set
about training them to tricks.

From the north they fared into the west, through Ammarsdale and
Scarhead, to Tins in the Ulfland March, thirty miles north of the
awesome Ska fortress at Poelitetz. This was a grim land and they
were happy to turn east once more, along the Murmeil River.

The summer was long; the days were bittersweet times for each of
the three. Strange small misfortunes regularly troubled Dhrun: hot
water scalded his hand; rain soaked his bed; as he went to relieve
himself behind the hedge he fell into the nettles. Never did he
complain, and so earned Shimrod's respect, and Shimrod, from
initial skepticism, began to accept the reality of the curse. One
day Dhrun stepped on a thorn, driving it deep into his heel.
Shimrod removed it while Dhrun sat silent, biting his lip; and
Shimrod was moved to hug him and pat his head. "You're a brave
lad. One way or another we'll end this curse. At the very worst it
can last only seven years."

As always, Dhrun thought a moment before speaking. Then he said:
"A thorn is only a trifle. Do you know the bad luck I fear? That
you should tire of us and put us off the wagon."

Shimrod laughed and felt his eyes grow moist. He gave Dhrun
another hug. "It would not be by my choice: I promise you that. I
could not manage without you."

"Still, bad luck is bad luck."

"True. No one knows what the future holds."

Almost immediately after a spark flew from the fire and landed on
Dhrun's ankle.

"Ouch," said Dhrun. "More luck."

Each day brought new experiences. At Playmont Fair, Duke Jocelyn
of Castle Foire sponsored a magnificent tournament-at-arms, where
armored knights played at combat, and competed in a new sport


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known as jousting. Mounted on strong horses and wearing full
regalia, they charged each other with padded poles, each trying to
dislodge his adversary.

From Playmont they traveled to Long Danns, skirting close by the
forest of Tantrevalles, arriving at noon and finding the fair in
full swing. Shimrod unhitched his marvelous two-headed horses,
gave them fodder, lowered the side panel of the wagon, to serve as
a platform, raised on high a sign:

DR. FIDELIUS THAUMATURGE, PAN-SOPHIST, MOUNTEBANK

Relief for Cankers, Gripes and Spasms

SPECIAL TREATMENT OF SORE KNEES

Expert Advice: Free

He then retired into the wagon to don his black robes and
necromancer's hat.

On each side of the platform Dhrun and Glyneth beat drums. They
were dressed alike, as page-boys, with low white shoes, tight blue
hose and pantaloons, doublets striped vertically in blue and
black, with white hearts stitched to the black stripes, and low
crush-caps of black velvet.

Dr. Fidelius stepped out on the platform. He called to the
onlookers: "Sirs and ladies!" Here Dr. Fidelius pointed to his
sign. "You will observe that I style myself 'mountebank.' My
reason is simple. Who calls a butterfly frivolous? Who insults a
cow with the word 'bovine'? Who will call a self-admitted
mountebank a fraud?

"Then, am I for a fact mountebank, fraud and charlatan?" Glyneth
jumped up to stand beside him. "You must judge for yourselves.
Notice here my pretty associate—if you have not already noticed
her. Glyneth, open wide your mouth. Sirs and ladies, observe this
aperture! These are teeth, this is a tongue, beyond is the oral
cavity, in its natural state. Watch now, as I insert into this


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mouth an orange, neither large, nor yet small, but of exact and
proper size. Glyneth, close your mouth, if you will, and if you
can... Excellent. Now, sirs and ladies, observe the girl with the
distended cheeks. I tap her on the right and on the left, and hey
presto! The cheeks are as before! Glyneth, what have you done with
the orange? This is most extraordinary! Open your mouth; we are
bewildered!"

Glyneth obediently opened her mouth and Dr. Fidelius peered
within. He exclaimed in surprise. "What is this?" He reached with
thumb and forefinger. "It is not an orange; it is a beautiful red
rose! What more is here? Look, sirs and ladies! Three fine ripe
cherries! What else? What are these? Horseshoe nails! One, two,
three, four, five, six! And what is this! The horseshoe itself!
Glyneth, how is this possible? Have you any more surprises? Open
wide your mouth... By the moon and sun, a mouse! Glyneth, how can
you consume such stuff?"

Glyneth answered in her bright clear voice: "Sir! I have been
taking your digestive pastilles!"

Dr. Fidelius threw his hands in the air. "Enough! You defeat me at
my own trade!" And Glyneth jumped down from the platform.

"Now then, as to my potions and lotions, my powders, pills and
purges; my analepts and anodynes: are they the alleviants I claim
them to be? Sirs and ladies, I will make this guarantee: if, upon
taking my remedies, you mortify and die, you return the unused
medicine for a partial refund. Where else will you hear such a
guarantee?

"I am particularly expert in the treatment of sore knees,
especially those which creak, clack, or otherwise complain. If you
or someone you know is afflicted with sore knees, then I want to
see the sufferer.

"Now let me present my other associate: the noble and talented Sir
Dhrun. He will play you tunes on the fairy-pipes, to make you
laugh, to make you cry, to set your heels to twitching. Meanwhile,
Glyneth will dispense the medicines while I prescribe. Sirs and


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ladies, a final word! You are hereby notified that my embrocations
burn and tingle as if distilled from liquid flame. My medicines
taste vilely, of cimiter, dogbane and gall: the body quickly
returns to robust health so that it need assimilate no more of my
foul concoctions! That is the secret of my success. Music, Sir
Dhrun!"

As she circulated through the crowd Glyneth watched carefully for
a person in a nut-brown suit and a scarlet feather in his green
cap, especially one who heard the music with pleasure; but on this
sunny forenoon at Long Danns, hard by the Forest of Tantrevalles,
no such person showed himself, nor did any obvious scoundrel, of
dark visage and long nose, come to Dr. Fidelius for treatment of
his sore knees.

In the afternoon a breeze began to blow from the west, to set the
banners fluttering. Glyneth brought out a table with high legs and
a tall stool for Dhrun. From the wagon she carried a basket. As
Dhrun played a jig on the pipes, Glyneth brought out her black and
white cats. She tapped the table with a baton and the cats raised
on their hind legs and danced in time to the music, hopping and
skipping back and forth across the table, and a crowd quickly
gathered. At the back a fox-faced young man, small and dapper,
seemed to be especially enthusiastic. He snapped his fingers to
the music, and presently began to dance, kicking this way and that
with great agility. He wore, so Glyneth rioted, a green cap with a
long red feather. Hurriedly she put her cats in the basket and
sidling up behind the dancing man, snatched off his cap, and ran
to the back of the wagon. In astonishment the young man chased
after her. "What are you up to? Give me my hat!"

"No," said Glyneth. "Not till you grant my wishes."

"Are you mad? What foolishness is this? I can't grant wishes for
myself, let alone you. Now give me my cap, or I'll have to take it
from you, and beat you well in the bargain."

"Never," declared Glyneth bravely. "You are Rhodion. I have your
hat, and I will never let it go until you obey me."



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"We'll see about that!" The young man seized Glyneth, and they
struggled until the horses snorted, reared and showing long white
teeth lunged at the young man, who drew back in fear. Shimrod
jumped down from the wagon and the young man cried out in fury:
"This girl of yours is mad! She seizes my cap and runs off with
it, and when I ask for it, most civilly, she says no, and names me
Rhodion or something similar. My name is Tibbalt; I am chandler at
the village Witherwood and I have come to the fair to buy wax.
Almost instantly I am snatched hatless by a mad hoyden, who then
insists that I obey her! Have you ever heard the like?"

Shimrod gave his head a grave shake. "She is not a bad girl, just
a bit impetuous and full of pranks." He stepped forward. "Sir,
allow me." He brushed aside Tibbalt's brown hair. "Glyneth,
observe! This gentleman's ear-lobes are well developed."

Glyneth looked and nodded. "That is so." Tibbalt demanded: "What
is this to do with my hat?"

"Allow me one more favor," said Shimrod. "Show me your hand...
Glyneth, notice the fingernails; there is no trace of web and the
fingernails are not filmy."

Glyneth nodded. "I see. So I may give him his hat?"

"Yes indeed, especially since the gentleman exudes the odor of
bayberry and bees-wax."

Glyneth returned the hat. "Please, sir, forgive me my prank."

Shimrod gave Tibbalt a pottery jar: "With our compliments, please
accept this half-gill of hair pomade, which will cause eyebrows,
beard and mustache to grow silky and fine."

Tibbalt departed in good spirits. Glyneth went back to her table
in front of the wagon and reported her mistake to Dhrun, who
merely shrugged, and once again began to play the pipes. Glyneth
again produced her cats, which hopped and danced with zeal, to the
great wonder of those who halted to watch. "Wonderful, wonderful!"
declared a portly little gentleman with spindle-shanks, thin


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ankles, long thin feet in green leather shoes with preposterous
rolled-up toes. "My lad, where did you learn to play the pipes?"

"Sir, it is a gift from the fairies."

"What a marvel! A true gift of magic!"

 The wind blew a sudden gust; the gentleman's green hat whisked
from his head and fell at Glyneth's feet. She picked it up and
noticed the scarlet feather. Dubiously she looked at the man who
smilingly held out his hand. "Thank you, my pretty dear. I will
reward you with a kiss."

Glyneth looked at the outstretched hand which was pale and plump,
with small delicate fingers. The nails were carefully tended and
polished milky-pink. Was this film? The flaps of skin between the
fingers: was this web? Glyneth slowly looked up and met the
gentleman's eyes. They were fawn-brown. Sparse sandy-red hair
curled past his ears. Wind lifted the hair; in fascination Glyneth
saw the lobes. They were small: no more than little dimples of
pink tissue. She could not see the top of the ears. The gentleman
stamped his foot. "My hat, if you please!"

"One moment, sir, while I brush off the dust." Sneezer and
Smirrish once more were popped into the basket, and Glyneth ran
off with the hat.

With notable agility the gentleman bounded after her, and so
maneuvered to press her back against the front of the wagon where
they could not be seen from the common. "Now, miss, my hat, and
then you shall have your kiss."

"You may not have your hat until you grant my wishes."

"Eh? What nonsense is this? Why should I grant your wishes?"

"Because, your Majesty, I hold your hat."

The gentleman looked at her sidewise. "Who do you think I am?"



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"You are Rhodion, King of the Fairies."

"Ha ha hah! And what do you wish me to do?"

"It is not a great deal. Lift the curse which hangs upon Dhrun and
give him back his eyes."

"All for my hat?" The portly gentleman advanced upon Glyneth with
his arms wide. "Now then, my downy little duckling, I will embrace
you; what a sweet little armful you are! Now for the kiss, and
perhaps something more..."

Glyneth ducked under his arms, jumped cleverly backward and
forward, and ran behind the wagon. The gentleman chased after her,
calling out endearments and imploring the return of his hat.

One of the horses thrust out its left head to snap viciously at
the gentleman's buttocks. He only bounded the faster around the
wagon, where Glyneth had halted, grinning in mingled mischief and
distaste to see the portly little gentleman in such a state. "Now
my little kitten! My adorable little comfit, come for your kiss!
Remember, I am King Rat-a-tat-tat, or whatever his name, and I
will grant your fondest desires! But first, let us explore beneath
that brave doublet!"

Glyneth danced back and threw the hat at the gentleman's feet.
"You are not King Rhodion; you are the town barber and a saucy
lecher to boot. Take your hat and welcome!"

The gentleman uttered a hoot of exultant laughter. He clapped the
hat to his head, and jumped high into the air, clicking his heels
to both sides. In great glee he cried: "I tricked you! Oho! What
joy to befuddle the mortals! You had my hat, you might have
commanded me to your service! But now—"

Shimrod stepped from the shadows behind him and snatched away the
hat. "But now"—he tossed the hat to Glyneth—"she has the hat orice
more, and you must do her bidding!"

King Rhodion stood crestfallen; his eyes round and woeful. "Take


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pity! Never force a poor old halfling to your will; it wearies me
and causes a tumult of grief!"

"I am without pity," said Glyneth. She called Dhrun from his stool
and brought him behind the wagon.

"This is Dhrun, who lived his youth at Thripsey Shee."

"Yes, the domain of Throbius, a merry shee, and notable for its
pageant!"

"Dhrun was cast out and sent away with a mordet of bad luck on his
head and now he is blind, because he watched the dryads as they
bathed. You must remove the curse and give him the sight of his
eyes!"

Rhodion blew into a little golden pipe and made a sign into the
air. A minute passed. From over the wagon came the sounds of the
fair, muted as if the fair stood at some far distance. With a
small pop! King Throbius of Thripsey Shee stood beside them. He
dropped to one knee before King Rhodion, who, with a benign
gesture, allowed him to stand. "Throbius, here is Dhrun, whom once
you nurtured at Thripsey Shee."

"In truth it is Dhrun; I remember him well. He was amiable and
gave us all pleasure."

"Then why have you sent him off with a mordet?"

"Exalted! This was the work of a jealous imp, one Falael, who has
been roundly punished for his spite."

"Why was not the mordet removed?"

"Exalted, that is bad policy, which induces irreverence among the
mortals, to think that they need only sneeze or suffer a bit to
gainsay our mordets."

"In this case it must be removed."



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King Throbius approached Dhrun and touched his shoulder. "Dhrun, I
bless you with the bounties of fortune! I dissolve the fluxes
which have worked to your suffering; let the skites of malice who
implemented these evils go twittering back to Thins-mole."

Dhrun's face was white and pinched. He listened, showing no quiver
of muscle. In a thin voice he asked: "And what of my eyes?"

Throbius said courteously: "Good Sir Dhrun, you were blinded by
the dryads. That was bad luck at its most extreme, but it was bad
luck by ill chance and not by the malice of the mordet; and so the
blinding is not our doing. It is work of the dryad Feodosia, and
we cannot melt it."

Shimrod spoke: "Then go now to deal with the dryad Feodosia and
offer her fairy favors if she will undo her magic."

"Ah, we captured Feodosia and another named Lauris as they slept;
we took them and used them at our pageant for entertainment. They
became deranged with fury and fled to Arcady, where we cannot go
and in any case she has lost all her fairy force."

"So: how will Dhrun's eyes be cured?"

"Not by fairy lore," said King Rhodion. "It lies beyond our
craft."

"Then you must concede another boon."

"I want nothing," said Dhrun, in a stony voice. "They can give me
only what they took."

Shimrod turned to Glyneth, "You hold the hat, and you may ask a
boon."

"What?" cried King Rhodion. "This is the sheerest extortion!

Did I not waft King Throbius here and dissolve the mordet?"

"You mended a harm of your own making. That is no boon; that is


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mere justice and where are the amends for his suffering?"

"He wants none, and we never give what is not wanted."

"Glyneth holds the hat; you must gratify her wishes." Everyone
turned to look at Glyneth. Shimrod asked her; "What do you wish
most?"

"I want only to travel with you and Dhrun in this wagon forever."

Shimrod said, "But remember, all things change and we will not
ride the wagon forever."

"Then I want to be with you and Dhrun forever."

 "That is the future," said Rhodion. "It lies beyond my control,
unless you wish me to kill the three of you at this instant and
bury you together under the wagon."

Glyneth shook her head. "But you can help me. My cats often
disobey and ignore my instructions. If I could talk with them,
they could not pretend to misunderstand. I'd also like to talk
with horses and birds and all other living things: even the trees
and flowers, and the insects'."

King Rhodion grunted. "Trees and flowers neither talk nor listen.
They only sigh among themselves. The insects would terrify you, if
you heard their speech, and cause you nightmares."

"Then I can speak with birds and animals?"

"Take the lead amulet from my hat, wear it around your neck, and
you will have your wish. Do not expect profound insights; birds
and animals are usually foolish."

"Sneezer and Smirrish are clever enough," said Glyneth. "I will
probably enjoy our conversations."

"Very well then," said portly King Rhodion. He took the hat from
Glyneth's loose fingers, and, with wary attention for Shimrod,


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clapped it on his head. "The game is done; once again I have been
outwitted by the mortals, though this time it has been almost a
pleasure. Throbius, return as you will to Thripsey and I am away
to Shadow Thawn."

King Throbius held up his hand. "One last matter. Perhaps I can
make amends for the mordet. Dhrun, listen to me. Many months ago a
young knight came to Thripsey Shee and demanded to know all
knowledge concerning his son Dhrun. We exchanged gifts: for me a
jewel of the color smaudre; for him a Never-fail pointing
steadfast toward yourself. Has he not found you? Then he has been
thwarted, or even killed, since his resolution was clear."

Dhrun spoke huskily: "What was his name?"

"He was Sir Aillas, a prince of Troitinet. I go." His form became
tenuous, then disappeared. His voice came as if from far away: "I
am gone."

King Rhodion paused on his spindle shanks, walked back around the
front of the wagon. "And another small matter, for Glyneth's
attention. The amulet is my seal; wearing it you need fear no harm
from halflings: neither fairy nor imp, nor troll, nor double-
troll. Beware ghosts and horse-heads, gray and white ogres, and
things which live under the mire."

King Rhodion passed around the front of the wagon. When the three
followed he was nowhere to be seen.

Glyneth went for her cat-basket, which she had stowed on the
wagon's front seat, to find that Smirrish had pried the cover ajar
and had almost gained his liberty.

Glyneth cried out: "Smirrish, this is sheer wickedness; you know
that you are supposed to stay in the basket."

Smirrish said: "It is hot and stuffy inside. I prefer the open
air, and I plan to explore the roof of the wagon."

"All very well, but now you must dance and entertain the folk who


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watch you in admiration."

"If they admire me so much, let them do their own dancing. Sneezer
is equally earnest in this regard. We only dance to please you."

"That is sensible, since I feed you the finest milk and fish.
Surly cats must make do with bread and water."

Sneezer,            listening from within the basket, called out quickly,
"Have no            fear! If dance we must, then dance we will, though for
the life            of me, I can't understand why. I care not a fig for those
who stop            to watch."

The sun died on a couch of sultry clouds; outriders slid overhead
to cover the evening sky and darkness came quickly to Long Danns'
common. Dozens of small fires flickered and guttered in the cool
damp breeze, and the peddlers, merchants and booth-tenders huddled
over their suppers, eyes askance at the dismal sky, dreading the
prospect of a rain which would drench them and their wares.

At the fire behind their wagon sat Shimrod, Glyneth and Dhrun,
waiting for the soup to cook. The three sat absorbed in private
thoughts: a silence finally broken by Shimrod. "The day has
certainly been of interest."

"It could have been worse and it could have been better," said
Glyneth. She looked at Dhrun, who sat, arms clenching knees,
staring sightlessly into the fire; but he had nothing to say.
"We've removed the curse, so at least we'll have no more bad luck.
It won't be good luck, of course, until Dhrun can see again."

Shimrod fed the fire with fresh fuel. "I've searched across Dahaut
for the man with the sore knees—this you know. If I don't find him
at Avallon Fair we'll travel to Swer Smod in Lyonesse. If anyone
can help it will be Murgen."

"Dhrun!" whispered Glyneth. "You mustn't cry!"

"I'm not crying."



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"Yes, you are. Tears are running down your cheeks." Dhrun blinked
and put his wrist to his face. "Without you two to help me I'd
starve, or the dogs would eat me."

"We wouldn't let you starve." Glyneth put her arm around his
shoulders. "You're an important boy, and the son of a prince.
Someday you'll be a prince as well."

"I hope so."

"So then, eat your soup, and you'll feel better. I notice also a
nice slice of melon waiting for you."


Chapter 26

CARFILHIOT'S CHAMBERS, at the top of Tintzin Fyral, were of modest
dimension, with white plaster walls, scrubbed wooden floors and a
bare sufficiency of furnishing. Carfilhiot wanted nothing more
elaborate; that spare environment soothed his sometimes over-
fervent nature.

Carfilhiot's routines were even. He tended to rise early, often at
sun-up, then take a breakfast of fruit, sweet-cakes, raisins and
perhaps a few pickled oysters. Always he breakfasted alone. At
this time of day the sight and sound of other human beings
offended him, and adversely affected the rest of the day.

Summer was changing to autumn; haze blurred the airy spaces over
Vale Evander. Carfilhiot felt restless and uneasy, for reasons he
could not define. Tintzin Fyral served many of his purposes very
well; still it was a place remote: something of a backwater, and
he had no command over that motility which other magicians,
perhaps of higher order—Carfilhiot thought of himself as a
magician—used daily as a matter of course. His fancies, escapades,
novelties and caprices—perhaps they were no more than illusions.
Time passed and despite his apparent activity, he had proceeded
not a whit along the way to his goals. Had his enemies—or his
friends—arranged to keep him isolated and ineffectual? Carfilhiot
gave a petulant grunt. It could not be, but if so, such folk


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played dangerous games.

A year previously Tamurello had conveyed him to Faroli, that odd
structure of wood and colored glass, deep within the forest. After
three days of erotic play the two sat listening to the rain and
watching the fire on the hearth. The time was midnight.
Carfilhiot, whose mercurial mind never went quiet, said: "Truly,
it is time that you taught me magical arts. Do I not deserve at
least this from vou?"

Tamurello spoke with a sigh. "What a strange and unfamiliar world
if everyone were treated according to his deserts!"

Carfilhiot found the remark over-flippant. "So you mock me, he
said sadly. "You think me too clumsy and foolish for the sleight."

Tamurello, a massive man whose veins were charged with the dark
rank blood of a bull, laughed indulgently. He had heard the plaint
before, and he made the same answer he had made before. "To become
a sorcerer you must undergo many trials, and work at many dismal
exercises. A number of these are profoundly uncomfortable, and
perhaps calculated to dissuade those of small motivation."

"That philosophy is narrow and mean," said Carfilhiot.

"If and when you become a master sorcerer, you will guard the
prerogatives as jealously as any," said Tamurello.

"Well, instruct me! I am ready to learn! I am strong of will!"

Once more Tamurello laughed. "My dear friend, you are too
volatile. Your will may be like iron, but your patience is
something less than invincible."

Carfilhiot made an extravagant gesture. "Are there no shortcuts?
Certainly I can use magical apparatus without so many tiresome
exercises."

"You already have apparatus."



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"Shimrod's stuff? It is useless to me."

Tamurello was becoming bored with the discussion. "Most such
apparatus is specialized and specific."

"My needs are specific," said Carfilhiot. "My enemies are like
wild bees, which can never be conquered. They know where I am;
when I set out in pursuit, they dissolve into shadows along the
moor."

"Here I may be able to assist you," said Tamurello, "though
without, I admit, any great enthusiasm."

On the following day he displayed a large map of the Elder Isles.
"Here, as you will notice, is Vale Evander, here Ys, here Tintzin
Fyral." He produced a number of manikins carved from blackthorn
roots. "Name these little homologues with names, and place them on
the map, and they will scuttle to position. Watch!" He took up one
of the manikins and spat in its face. "I name you Casmir. Go to
Casmir's place!" He put the manikin on the map; it seemed to
scamper across the map to Lyonesse Town.

Carfilhiot counted the manikins. "Only twenty?" he cried. "I could
use a hundred! I am at war with every petty baron of South
Ulfland!"

"Name their names," said Tamurello. "We shall see how many you
need."

Grudgingly Carfilhiot named names and Tamurello put the names to
the manikins and placed them on the board.

"Still there are more!" protested Carfilhiot. "Is it not
understandable that I would wish to know where and when you fare
from Faroli? And Melancthe? Her movements are of importance! And
what of the magicians: Murgen, Faloury, Myolander and Baibalides?
I am interested in their activities."

"You may not learn of the magicians," said Tamurello. "That is not
appropriate. Granice, Audry? Well, why not? Melancthe?"


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"Melancthe in especial!"

"Very well. Melancthe."

"Then there are Ska chieftains and the notables of Dahaut!"

"Moderation, in the name of Fafhadiste and his three-legged blue
goat! The manikins will crowd each other from the map!"

In the end Carfilhiot came away with the map and fifty-nine
homologues.

One late summer morning a year later, Carfilhiot went up to his
workroom and there inspected the map. Casmir kept to his summer
palace at Sarris. At Domreis in Troicinet a glowing white bail on
the manikin's head indicated that King Granice had died; his
ailing brother Ospero would now be king. At Ys Melancthe wandered
the echoing halls of her seaside palace. At Oaldes, north along
the coast, Quilcy, the idiot child-king of South Ulfland, played
daily at sand-castles on the beach... Carfilhiot looked once more
to Ys. Melancthe, haughty Melancthe! He saw her seldom; she held
herself aloof.

Carfilhiot's gaze ranged the map. With a quickening of the spirit
he noticed a displacement: Sir Cadwal of Kaber Keep, had ventured
six miles southwest across Dunton Fells. He would seem to be
proceeding toward Dravenshaw Forest.

Carfilhiot stood rapt in reflection. Sir Cadwal was one of his
most arrogant enemies, despite poverty and an absence of powerful
connections. Kaber Keep, a dour fortress above the dreariest sweep
of the moors, lacked all cheer, save only security. With only a
dozen clansmen at his command Sir Cadwal had long defied
Carfilhiot. Ordinarily he hunted in the hills above his keep,
where Carfilhiot could not easily attack; today he had ventured
down upon the moors: reckless indeed, thought Carfilhiot, most
unwise! The keep could not be left undefended, so it would seem
that Sir Cadwal rode with only five or six men at his back, and
two of these might be his stripling sons.


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Malaise forgotten, Carfilhiot sent urgent orders down to the
wardroom. Half an hour later, wearing light armor, he descended to
the parade ground below his castle. Twenty mounted warriors, his
elite of elites, awaited him.

Carfilhiot inspected the troop and could find no fault. They wore
polished iron helmets with tall crests, chain cuirasses and jupons
of violet velvet embroidered in black. Each carried a lance from
which fluttered a lavender and black banneret. From each saddle
hung an axe, a bow and arrows to the side; each carried sword and
dagger.

Carfilhiot mounted his horse and gave the signal to ride. Two
abreast, the troop galloped west, past the reeking poles of
penance, beside the drowning-cages along the riverbank and their
accessory derricks and down the road toward the village Bloddywen.
For reasons of policy Carfilhiot never made demands upon the folk
of Bloddywen, nor in any way molested them; still, at his approach
children were snatched within, doors and windows were slammed
shut, and Carfilhiot rode through empty streets, to his cold
amusement.

Above, on the ridge, a watcher noted the cavalcade. He retreated
over the brow of the hill and flourished a white flag. A moment
later, from the highest portion of a fell a mile to the north a
flutter of white acknowledged his signal. Half an hour later, had
Carfilhiot been able to observe his magic map, he might have seen
the blackthorn manikins designating his most hated adversaries
departing their keeps and mountain forts to move down the moors
toward the Dravenshaw.

Carfilhiot and his troop clattered through Bloddywen, then turned
away from the river and rode up to the moors. Gaining the ridge,
Carfilhiot halted his troop, ranged them in a line and addressed
them: "Today we hunt Cadwal of Kaber Keep; he is our quarry. We
will meet him by the Dravenshaw. So as not to startle his
vigilance, we will approach him around the side of Dinkin Tor.
Listen now! Take Sir Cadwal alive, and any of his blood who may
ride with him. Sir Cadwal must repent the harms he has done me in


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full measure: Later we will take Kaber Keep; we will drink his
wine, bed his women and make free of his bounty. But today we
ride to take Sir Cadwal!"

He swung his horse up and around in a fine caracole and galloped
away across the moors.

On Hackberry Tor an observer, noting Carfilhiot's movements,
ducked behind a crag and there signaled with a white flag until,
from two quarters, his signals were acknowledged.

Carfilhiot and his troop rode confidently into the northwest. At
Dinkin Tor they halted. One of the number dismounted and climbed
to the top of a rock. He called down to Carfilhiot: "Riders,
perhaps five or six, at most seven! They approach the Dravenshaw!"

"Quick then," called Carfilhiot, "we'll take them at the forest's
edge!"

The column rode west, keeping to the cover of Dewny Swale; at an
old road they swung to the north and galloped at full speed for
the Dravenshaw.

The road skirted the tumbled stones of a prehistoric fane, then
turned directly down toward the Dravenshaw. Across the moor the
roan horses ridden by Sir Cadwal's troop glimmered like raw copper
in the sunlight. Carfilhiot signaled his men. "Quietly now! A
volley of arrows, if necessary, but take Cadwal alive!"

The troop rode beside a stream fringed with willow. Clicks and
snaps! A sibilant whir! Arrows across space at flat trajectory!
Needle points thrust through chain-mail. There were groans of
surprise, cries of pain. Six of Carfilhiot's men sagged to the
ground in silence; three others took arrows in leg or shoulder.
Carfilhiot's horse, with arrows in its neck and haunches, reared,
screamed and fell. No one had aimed directly at Carfilhiot: an act
of forbearance, alarming rather than reassuring.

Carfilhiot ran crouching to a riderless horse, mounted, kicked
home his spurs and bending low to the mane, pounded away, followed


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by the survivors of his troop.

At a safe distance Carfilhiot called a halt and turned to assess
the situation. To his dismay a mounted troop of a dozen men burst
from the shadows of Dravenshaw. They rode bay horses and wore
Kaber orange.

Carfilhiot hissed in frustration. At least six archers would be
leaving the ambush to join the enemy troop: he was outnumbered.
"Away!" cried Carfilhiot and put his horse once more to flight: up
past the ruined fane, with the Kaber warriors barely a hundred
yards behind. Carfilhiot's horses were stronger than the Kaber
bays, but Carfilhiot had ridden harder and his heavy horses had
not been bred for stamina.

Carfilhiot turned off the road into Dewny Swale, only to find
another company of mounted men charging upon him from up-slope
with leveled lances. They were ten or a dozen, in the blue and
dark blue of Nulness Castle. Carfilhiot yelled orders and veered
away to the south. Five of Carfilhiot's men took lances in the
chest, neck or head and lay in the road. Three tried to defend
themselves with sword and axe; they were quickly cut down. Four
managed to win to the brow of the swale along with Carfilhiot, and
there paused to rest their winded horses.

But only for a moment. The Nulness company, with relatively fresh
horses, already had almost gained the high ground. The Kaber troop
would be circling west along the old road to intercept him before
he could gain Vale Evander.

A copse of dark fir trees rose ahead, where perhaps he could take
temporary cover. He spurred the flagging horse into motion. From
the corner of his eye he glimpsed bright red. He screamed: "Down!
Away!" Over and down into a gulch he plunged, while archers in the
crimson of Castle Turgis jumped up from the gorse and shot two
volleys. Two of Carfilhiot's four were struck; once again chain-
mail was penetrated. The horse of the third was struck in the
belly; it reared over backward and fell on its rider who was
crushed but managed to stagger, wild and disoriented, to his feet.
Six arrows killed him. The single remaining warrior rode pell-mell


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down into the swale, where the Kaber warriors cut off first his
legs, then his arms, then rolled him into the ditch to ponder the
sad estate to which his life had come. Carfilhiot rode alone
through the forest of firs, to come out on a wasteland of stone. A
sheepherder's trail led through the rocks. Ahead towered the crags
known as the Eleven Sisters.

Carfilhiot looked over his shoulder, then spurred his horse to its
ultimate effort, through the Eleven Sisters and down the slope
beyond into a dim gully choked with alders, where he drew his
horse under a ledge and out of sight from above. His pursuers
searched the rocks, calling and hallooing in frustration that
Carfilhiot had escaped their trap. Time and time again they looked
into the gully, but Carfilhiot, only fifteen feet below, was not
seen. Around and around in Carfilhiot's head went an obsessive
question: how had the trap been established without his knowledge?
The map had shown only Sir Cadwal riding abroad; yet surely Sir
Cleone of Nulness Castle, Sir Dexter of Turgis had gone out with
their troops! The simple strategy of the signal system never
occurred to him.

Carfilhiot waited an hour until his horse ceased to tremble and
heave; then cautiously he remounted and rode down the gully,
keeping to such shelter as was offered by alders and willows, and
presently he emerged into Vale Evander, a mile above Ys.

The time still was early afternoon. Carfilhiot rode on into Ys. On
terraces to either side of the river the factors lived quietly in
their white palaces, shaded under pencil cypress, yew, olive, flat-
topped pines. Carfilhiot rode up the beach of white sand to
Melancthe's palace. A yard-boy came to meet him. Carfilhiot slid
off the horse with a groan of relief. He climbed three marble
steps, crossed the terrace and entered a dim foyer, where a
chamberlain silently helped him from his helmet, his jupon and his
chain cuirass. A maid-servant appeared: a strange silver-skinned
creature, perhaps half-falloy.* She brought Carfilhiot a white
linen shirt and a cup of warm white wine. "Sir, Lady Melancthe
will see you in due course. Meanwhile, please command me for your
needs."



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          *Falloy: A slender halfling akin to fairies, but larger,
less antic and lacking deft control of magic; creatures ever
            more rare in the Elder Isles.

"Thank you: I need nothing." Carfilhiot went out on the terrace
and lowered himself into a cushioned chair and sat looking out
over the sea. The air was mild, the sky cloudless. Swells slid up
the sand to become a low surf, which created a somnolent rhythmic
sound. Carfilhiot's eyes became heavy; he dozed.

He awoke to find that the sun had moved down the sky. Melancthe,
wearing a sleeveless gown of soft white faniche,* stood leaning
against the balustrade, oblivious to his presence.

                      *A fairy fabric woven from dandelion silk.

Carfilhiot sat up in his chair, vexed for reasons indefinable.
Melancthe turned to look at him, then a moment later gave her
attention back to the sea. .   Carfilhiot watched her under half-
closed eyelids. Her self- possession—so it occurred to him—if
sufficiently protracted, might well tend to scrape upon one's
patience... Melancthe glanced at him over her shoulder, the
corners of her mouth drooping, apparently with nothing to say:
neither welcome nor wonder at his presence unattended, nor
curiosity as to the course of his life.

Carfilhiot chose to break the silence. "Life here at Ys seems
placid enough."

"Sufficiently so."

"1 have had a dangerous day. I evaded death by almost no margin
whatever."

"You must have been frightened."

Carfilhiot considered. "'Fright'? That is not quite the word. I
was alarmed, certainly. I grieve to lose my troops."

"I have heard rumors of your warriors."


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Carfilhiot smiled. "What would you have? The land is in turmoil.
Everyone resists authority. Would you not prefer a country at
peace?"

"As an abstract proposition, yes."

"I need your help."

Melancthe laughed in surprise. "It will not be forthcoming. I
helped you once, to my regret."

"Truly? My gratitude should have soothed all your qualms. After
all, you and I are one."

Melancthe turned and looked off over the wide blue sea. "I am I
and you are you."

"So you will not help me."

"I will give you advice, if you agree to act by it."

 "At least I will listen."

"Change utterly."

Carfilhiot made a polite gesture. "That is like saying: 'Turn
yourself inside-out.'"

"I know." The two words rang with a fateful sound.

Carfilhiot grimaced. "Do you truly hate me so?"

Melancthe inspected him from head to toe. "I often wonder at my
feelings. You fascinate the attention; you cannot be ignored.
Perhaps it is a kind of narcissism. If I were male, I might be
like you."

"True. We are one."



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Melancthe shook her head. "I am not tainted. You breathed the
green fume."

"But you tasted it."

"I spat it out."

"Still, you know its flavor."

"And so I see deep into your soul."

"Evidently without admiration."

 Melancthe again turned to look across the sea. Carfilhiot came to
join her beside the balustrade. "Does it mean nothing that I am in
danger? Half of my elite company is gone. I no longer trust my
magic."

 "You know no magic."

Carfilhiot ignored her. "My enemies have joined and plan terrible
acts upon me. Today they might have killed me, but tried rather to
take me alive."

"Consult your darling Tamurello; perhaps he will fear for his
loved one."

Carfilhiot laughed sadly. "I am not even sure of Tamurello. In any
event he is very temperate in his generosity, even somewhat
grudging."

"Then find a more lavish lover. What of King Casmir?"

"We have few interests in common."

"Then Tamurello would seem to be your best hope."

Carfilhiot glanced sidewise and searched the delicate lines of her
profile. "Has Tamurello never offered his attentions to you?"



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"Certainly. But my price was too high."

"What was your price?"

"His life."

"That is inordinate. What price would you demand of me?"

Melancthe's eyebrows raised; her mouth went wryly crooked. "You
would pay a notable price."

"My life?"

"The topic lacks all relevance, and disturbs me." She turned away.
"I am going inside."

"What of me?"

"Do as you please. Sleep in the sun, if you are so of a mind. Or
start back to Tintzin Fyral."

Carfilhiot said reproachfully: "For one who is closer than a
sister, you are most acrid."

"To the contrary; I am absolutely detached."

"Well then, if I may do as I please, I will accept your
hospitality."

Melancthe, mouth pursed thoughtfully, walked into the palace, with
Carfilhiot at her back. She paused in the foyer: a round chamber
decorated in blue, pink and gold, and with a pale blue rug on the
marble floor. She called the chamberlain. "Show Sir Faude to a
chamber and attend to his needs."

Carfilhiot bathed and rested for a period. Dusk settled across the
ocean and daylight faded.

Carfilhiot dressed in garments of unrelieved black. In the foyer
the chamberlain presented himself. "Lady Melancthe has not yet


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appeared. If you like, you may await her in the small saloon."

Carfilhiot seated himself and was served a goblet of crimson wine,
tasting of honey, pine needles and pomegranate.

Half an hour passed. The silver-skinned serving girl brought a
tray of sweetmeats, which Carfilhiot tasted without enthusiasm.

Ten minutes later he looked up from his wine to find Melancthe
standing in front of him. She wore a sleeveless black gown, cut
with total simplicity. A black opal cabochon hung on a narrow
black ribbon around her neck; against the black, her pale skin and
large eyes gave her a look of vulnerability to the impulses of
both pleasure and pain: a semblance to excite any wishing to bring
her either or both.

After a pause she sat beside Carfilhiot, and took a goblet of wine
from the tray. Carfilhiot waited but she sat in silence. At last
he asked: "Have you enjoyed a restful afternoon?"

"Certainly not restful. I worked on certain exercises."

"Indeed? To what end?"

"It is not easy to become a sorcerer."

"That is your will?"

"Certainly."

"It is not overly difficult, then?"

"I am only at the fringes of the subject. The real difficulties
lie yet ahead."

"Already you are stronger than I." Carfilhiot spoke in a jesting
voice. Melancthe smiled not at all.

After a heavy silence she rose to her feet. "It is time for
dinner."


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She took him into a large chamber, paneled in the blackest of
ebony and floored with slabs of polished black gabbro. Over the
ebony a set of glass prisms illuminated the service.

Dinner was served on two sets of trays: a simple meal of mussels
simmered in white wine, bread, olives and nuts. Melancthe ate
little, and apart from an occasional glance at Carfilhiot, gave
him no attention, and made no effort at conversation. Carfilhiot,
nettled, likewise held his tongue, so that the meal went in
silence. Carfilhiot drank several goblets of wine, and finally set
the goblet down with a petulant thump.

"You are beautiful beyond the dreams of dreaming! Yet your
thoughts are those of a fish!"

"It is no great matter."

"Why should we know constraint? Are we not ultimately one?"

"No. Desmei yielded three: I, you and Denking."

"You have said it yourself!"

Melancthe shook her head. "Everyone shares the substance of earth.
But the lion differs from the mouse and both from man."

Carfilhiot rejected the analogy with a gesture. "We are one, yet
different! A fascinating condition! Yet, you are aloof!"

"True," said Melancthe. "I agree."

"For a moment consider the possibilities! The vertexes of passion!
The sheer exuberances! Can you not feel the excitement?"

"Feel? Enough that I think." For an instant her composure appeared
to falter. She rose, crossed the chamber and stood looking into
the sea-coal fire.

In a leisurely fashion Carfilhiot came to stand beside her. "It is


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easy to feel." He took her hand and laid it on his chest. "Feel! I
am strong. Feel how my heart moves and gives me life."

Melancthe pulled her hand away. "I do not care to feel at your
behest. Passion is a hysteria. In truth I have no yearning for
men." She moved a step away from him. "Leave me now, if you
please. In the morning, you will not see me, nor will I advance
your enterprises."

Carfilhiot put his hands under her elbows and stood facing her,
with firelight shifting along their faces. Melancthe opened her
mouth to speak, but uttered no words, and Carfilhiot, bending his
face to hers, kissed her mouth. He drew her down upon a couch.
"Evening stars still climb the sky. Night has just begun."

She seemed not to hear him, but sat looking into the fire.
Carfilhiot loosed the clasps at her shoulder; she let the gown
slide from her body with no restraint and the odor of violets hung
in the air. She watched in passive silence as Carfilhiot stepped
from his own garments.

At midnight Melancthe rose from the couch, to stand nude before
the fire, now a bed of embers.

Carfilhiot watched her from the couch, eyelids half-lowered, mouth
compressed. Melancthe's conduct had been perplexing. Her body had
joined his with suitable urgency, but never during the coupling
had she looked into his face; her head had been thrown back, or
laid to the side, with eyes focused on nothing whatever. She had
been physically exalted, this he could sense, but when he spoke to
her, she made no response, as if he were no more than a phantasm.

Melancthe looked at him over her shoulder. "Dress yourself."

Sullenly Carfilhiot donned his garments, while she stood in
contemplation of the dying fire. He considered a set of remarks,
one after the other, but each seemed very heavy, or peevish, or
callow, or foolish and he held his tongue.

When he had dressed he came to her and put his arms around her


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waist.She slipped from his grasp and spoke in a pensive voice,
"don't touch me. No man has ever touched me, nor shall you."

Carfilhiot laughed. "Am I not a man? I have touched you,
thoroughly and deep, to the core of your soul."

Still watching the fire Melancthe shook her head. "You occur only
as an odd thing of the imagination. I have used you, now you must
dissolve from my mind."

Carfilhiot peered at her in bafflement. Was she mad? "I am quite
real, and I don't care to dissolve. Melancthe, listen!" Again he
put his hands to her waist. "Let us truly be lovers! Are we not
both remarkable?"

Again Melancthe moved away. "Again you have tried to touch me."
She pointed to a door. "Go! Dissolve from my mind!"

Carfilhiot performed a sardonic bow and went to the door. Here he
hesitated, looked back. Melancthe stood by the hearth, one hand to
the high mantle, firelight and black shadow shifting along her
body: Carfilhiot whispered to himself, inaudibly. "Say what you
will of phantoms. I took you and I had you: so much is real."

And in his ear, or in his brain, as he opened the door, came
soundless words: "I played with a phantom. You thought to control
reality. Phantoms feel no pain. Reflect on this, when every day
pain comes past."

Carfilhiot, startled, stepped through the door, and at once it
closed behind him. He stood in a dark passage between two
buildings, with a glimmer of light at either end. The night sky
showed overhead. The air carried an odd reek, of moldering wood
and wet stone; where was the clean salt air which blew past
Melancthe's palace?

Carfilhiot groped through a clutter of rubbish to the end of the
passage and emerged into a town square. He looked around in slack-
jawed perplexity. This was not Ys, and Carfilhiot spoke a dour
curse against Melancthe.


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The square was boisterous with the sights and sounds of a
festival. A thousand torches burnt on high; a thousand green and
blue banners with a yellow bird appliqued on high. At the center
two great birds constructed of bound straw bundles and ropes faced
each other. On a platform men and women costumed as fanciful birds
pranced, bobbed and kicked to the music of pipes and drums.

A man costumed as a white rooster, with red comb, yellow bill,
white feathered wings and tail strutted past. Carfilhiot clutched
his arm. "Sir, one moment! Enlighten me, where is this place?"

The man-chicken crowed in derision. "Have you no eyes? No ears?
This is the Avian Arts Grand Gala!"

"Yes, but where?"

"Where else? This is the Kaspodel, at the center of the city!"

"But what city? What realm?"

"Are you lost of your senses? This is Gargano!"

"In Pomperol?"

"Precisely so. Where are your tail feathers? King Deuel has
ordained tail-feathers for the gala! Notice my display!" The man-
chicken ran in a circle, strutting and bobbing, so as to flourish
his handsome tail-plumes; then he continued on his way.

Carfilhiot leaned against the building, gritting his teeth in
fury. He carried neither coins, nor jewels, nor gold; he knew no
friends among the folk of Gargano; indeed Mad King Deuel
considered Carfilhiot a dangerous bird-killer and an enemy.

To the side of the square Carfilhiot noted the boards of an inn:
the Pear Tree. He presented himself to the innkeeper only to learn
that the inn was occupied to capacity. Carfilhiot's most
aristocratic manner earned him no more than a bench in the common-
room near a group of celebrants who caroused, wrangled and sang


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such songs as Fesker Would a-Wooing Go, Tirra-Lirra-Lay, Milady
Ostrich and Noble Sir Sparrow. An hour before dawn they tumbled
forward across the table to lie snoring among gnawed pig's feet
and puddles of spilled wine. Carfilhiot was allowed to sleep until
two hours into the morning, when charwomen came with mops and
buckets, and turned everyone outside.

Celebration of the festival already had reached a crescendo.
Everywhere fluttered banners and streamers of blue, green and
yellow. Pipers played jigs while folk costumed as birds capered
and pranced. Everyone used a characteristic bird-call, so tha the
air resounded to twitterings, chirps, whistles and croaks.

Children dressed as barn-swallows, gold-finches, or tom-tits;
older folk favored the more sedate semblances, such as that of
crow, raven or perhaps a jay. The corpulent often presented
themselves as owls, but in general everyone costumed himself as
fancy directed.

The color, noise and festivity failed to elevate Carfilhiot's
mood; in fact—so he told himself—never had he witnessed so much
pointless nonsense. He had rested poorly and eaten nothing, which
served to exacerbate his mood.

A bun-seller dressed as a quail passed by; Carfilhiot bought a
mince-tart, using a silver button from his coat for payment. He
ate standing before the inn, with aloof and disdainful glances for
the revelry.

A band of youths chanced to notice Carfilhiot's sneers and stopped
short. "Here now! This is the Grand Gala! You must show a happy
smile, so as not to be at discord!"

Another cried out: "What? No gay plumage? No tail-feathers? They
are required of every celebrant!"

"Come now!" declared another. "We must set things right!" Going
behind Carfilhiot he tried to tuck a long white goose quill into
Carfilhiot's waist-band. Carfilhiot would have none of it, and
thrust the youth away.


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The others in the band became more determined than ever and a
scuffle ensued, in which shouts, curses and blows were exchanged.

From the street came a stern call. "Here, here! Why this
disgraceful uproar?" Mad King Deuel himself, passing by in a be-
feathered carriage, had halted to issue a reprimand.

One of the youths cried out: "The fault lies with this dismal
vagabond! He won't wear his tail-feathers. We tried to help him
and cited your Majesty's ordinance; he said to shove all our
feathers up your Majesty's arse!"

King Deuel shifted his attention to Carfilhiot. "He did so, did
he? That is not polite. We know a trick worth two of that. Guards!
Attendants!"

Carfilhiot was seized and bent over a bench. The seat of his
trousers was cut away, and into his buttocks were thrust a hundred
quills of all sizes, lengths and colors, including a pair of
expensive ostrich plumes. The ends of the quills were cut into
barbs to prevent their detachment, and they were arranged to
support each other so that the plumage, upon completion, thrust up
from Carh'lhiot's fundament at a jaunty angle.

"Excellent!" declared King Deuel, clapping his hands in
satisfaction. "That is a splendid display, in which you can take
pride. Go, now. Enjoy the festival to your heart's content! Now
you are properly bedizened!"

The carriage rolled away; the youths appraised Carfilhiot with
critical eyes, but agreed that his plumage captured the mood of
the festival, and they too went their way.

Carfilhiot walked stiff-legged to a crossroads at the edge of
town. A sign-post pointed north to Avallon.

Carfilhiot waited, meanwhile plucking the feathers one by one from
his buttocks.



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A cart came from town, driven by an old peasant woman. Carfilhiot
held up his hand to halt the cart. "Where do you drive yourself,
grandmother?"

"To the village Filster, in the Deepdene, if that means aught to
you."

Carfilhiot showed the ring on his finger. "Look well at this
ruby!"

The old woman peered. "I see it well. It glows like red fire! I
often marvel that such stones grow in the deep dark of the earth!"

"Another marvel: this ruby, so small, will buy twenty horses and
carts like that one which you ride."

The old woman blinked. "Well, I must believe your word. Would you
halt me in my home-going to tell me lies?"

"Now listen carefully, as I am about to state a proposition of
several parts."

"Speak on; say what you will! I can think three thoughts at once."

"I am bound for Avallon. My legs are sore; I can neither walk nor
sit astride a horse. I wish to ride in your cart, that I may come
to Avallon in comfort. Therefore, if you will drive me to Avallon,
ring and ruby are yours."

The woman held up her forefinger. "Better! We drive to Filster,
thence my son Raffin puts straw in the cart and then drives you to
Avallon. So all behind-hand whispers and rumors at my expense are
halted before they start."

"This will be satisfactory."

Carfilhiot alighted from the cart at the sign of the Fishing Cat
and gave over the ruby ring to Raffin who immediately departed.
Carfilhiot entered the inn. Behind a counter stood a monstrous man
half a foot taller than Carfilhiot, with a great red face and a


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belly which rested on the counter. He looked down at Carfilhiot
with eyes like stone pebbles. "What do you wish?"

"I want to find Rughalt of the sore knees. He said that you would
know where to find him."

The fat man, taking exception to Carfilhiot's manner, looked away.
He worked his fingers up and down the counter. At last he uttered
a few terse words. "He will arrive presently."

"How soon is 'presently'?"

"Half an hour."

"I will wait. Bring me one of those roasting chickens, a loaf of
new bread and a flask of good wine."

"Show me your coin."

"When Rughalt comes."

"When Rughalt comes, I will serve the fowl."

Carfilhiot swung away with a muttered curse; the fat man looked
after him without change of expression.

Carfilhiot seated himself on a bench before the inn. Rughalt at
last showed himself, moving his legs slowly and carefully, one at
a time, hissing under his breath the while with a frowning eye,
Carfilhiot watched Rughalt's approach. Rughalt wore the fusty gray
garments of a pedagogue.

Carfilhiot rose to his feet; Rughalt stopped short in surprise.
"Sir Faude!" he exclaimed. "What do you do here, in such a
condition?"

"Through treachery and witchcraft; how else? Take me to a decent
inn; this place is fit only for Celts and lepers."

Rughalt rubbed his chin. "The Black Bull is yonder on the Square.


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The charges are said to be excessive; you will pay in silver for a
night's lodging."

"I carry no funds whatever, neither silver nor gold. You must
provide funds until I make arrangements."

Rughalt winced. "The Fishing Cat, after all, is not so bad. Gurdy
the landlord is daunting only at first acquaintance."

"Bah. He and his hovel both stink of rancid cabbage and worse.
Take me to the Black Bull."

"Just so. Ah, my aching legs! Duty calls you onward."

At the Black Bull Carfilhiot found lodging to meet his
requirements, though Rughalt screwed his eyes together when the
charges were quoted. A haberdasher displayed garments which
Carfilhiot found consonant with his dignity; however, to Rughalt's
dismay Carfilhiot refused to haggle the price and Rughalt paid the
wily tailor with slow and crooked fingers.

Carfilhiot and Rughalt seated themselves at a table in front of
the Black Bull and watched the folk of Avallon. Rughalt ordered
two modest half-measures from the steward. "Wait!" Carfilhiot
commanded. "I am hungry. Bring me a dish of good cold beef, with
some leeks and a crust of fresh bread, and I will drink a pint of
your best ale."

While Carfilhiot satisfied his hunger, Rughalt watched sidelong
with disapproval so evident that Carfilhiot finally asked: "Why do
you not eat? You have become gaunt as an old leathern strap."

Rughalt replied between tight lips, "Truth to tell, I must be
careful with my funds. I live at the edge of poverty."

"What? I thought you to be an expert cut-purse, who depredated all
the fairs and festivals of Dahaut."

"That is no longer possible. My knees prevent that swift and easy
departure which is so much a part of the business. I no longer ply


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the fairs."

"Still, you are evidently not destitute."

"My life is not easy. Luckily, I see all in the dark and I now
work nights at the Fishing Cat, robbing guests while they sleep.
Even so, my clicking knees are a handicap, and since Gurdy, the
landlord, insists on a share of my earnings, I avoid unnecessary
expense. In this connection, will you be long in Avallon?"

"Not long. I want to find a certain Triptomologius. Is his name
known to you?"

"He is a necromancer. He deals in elixirs and potions. What is
your business with him?"

"First, he will supply me with gold, as much as I need."

"In that case, ask enough for the both of us!"

"We shall see." Carfilhiot stood erect. "Let us seek out
Triptomologius."

With a cracking and clicking of the knees, Rughalt arose. The two
walked through the back streets of Avallon to a dark little shop
perched on a hill overlooking the Murmeil estuary. A slatternly
crone with chin and nose almost making contact gave information
that Triptomologius had gone out that very morning to set up a
booth on the common, that he might sell his wares at the fair.

The two descended the hill by twisting flights of narrow stone
steps, with the crooked old gables of Avallon overhanging: the
swaggering young gallant in fine new clothes and the gaunt man
walking with the stiff careful bent-kneed tread of a spider. They
went out upon the common, since dawn a place of seething activity
and many-colored confusion. Early arrivals already hawked their
goods. Newcomers established themselves to best advantage amid
complaints, chaffing, quarrels, invective and an occasional
scuffle. Hawkers set up their tents, driving stakes into the
ground with great wooden mauls, and hung bunting of a hundred sun-


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faded hues. Food stalls set their braziers aglow; sausages sizzled
in hot grease; grilled fish, dipped in garlic and oil, was served
on slabs of bread. Oranges from the valleys of Dascinet competed
in color and fragrance with purple Lyonesse grapes, Wysrod apples,
Daut pomegranates, plums and quince. At the back of the common,
trestles demarcated a long narrow paddock, where the mendicant
lepers, cripples, the deranged, deformed and blind were required
to station themselves. Each took up a post from which he delivered
his laments; some sang, some coughed, others uttered ululations of
pain. The deranged foamed at the mouth and hurled abuse at the
passersby, in whatever style he found most effective. The noise
from this quarter could be heard over the whole of the common,
creating counterpoint to the music of pipers, fiddlers and bell-
ringers.

Carfilhiot and Rughalt walked here and there, seeking the booth
from which Triptomologius sold his essences. Rughalt, uttering low
moans of frustration, pointed out heavy purses easily to be taken,
were it not for his debilities. Carfilhiot halted to admire a team
of two-headed black horses, of great size and strength which had
drawn a wagon upon the common. In front of the wagon a boy played
merry tunes on the pipes, while a pretty blonde girl stood by a
table directing the antics of four cats which danced to the tunes:
prancing and kicking, bowing and turning, twitching their tails in
time to the music.

The boy finished his tune and put aside the pipes; on a platform
in front of the wagon stepped a tall spare young-seeming man, with
a droll face and sand-colored hair. He wore a black mantle
displaying Druidic symbols, a tall black hat with fifty-two small
silver bells around the brim. Facing the throng he raised his arms
for attention. The girl jumped up to the platform. She was dressed
as a boy in white ankle-boots, tight trousers of blue velvet, a
dark blue jacket with golden frogs on the front. She spoke:
"Friends! I introduce to you that remarkable master of the healing
arts, Doctor Fidelius!"

She jumped to the ground and Dr. Fidelius addressed the throng.
"Ladies and Sirs: We all know affliction of one sort or
another—the pox, or boils, or hallucinations. Let me state at the


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outset, my powers are limited. I cure goiter and worm, costive
impaction, stricture and bloat. I soothe the itch; I heal the
scabies. Especially I mourn the anguish of cracking and creaking
knees. Only one who suffers the complaint can know its' trouble!"

As Dr. Fidelius spoke, the girl moved about the crowd selling
ointments and tonics from a tray. Dr. Fidelius displayed a chart.
"Observe this drawing. It represents the human knee. When injured,
as at the blow of an iron bar, the kneecap recedes; the joint
becomes a toggle; the leg rasps back and forth like a cricket's
wing, with clicks and cracking sounds."

Rughalt was profoundly stirred. "My knees might serve as models
for his discourse!" he told Carfilhiot.

"Amazing," said Carfilhiot.

Rughalt held up his hand. "Let us listen."

Doctor Fidelius spoke on. "The affliction has its remedy!" He
picked up a small clay pot and held it on high. "I have here an
ointment of Egyptian source. It penetrates directly into the joint
and strengthens as it relieves. The ligaments recover their tone.
Persons creep into my laboratory on crutches and stride out
renewed. Why suffer this debilitation when relief can be almost
immediate? The ointment is valuable, at a silver florin per jar,
but it is cheap when one considers its effects. The ointment,
incidentally, carries my personal guarantee."

Rughalt listened with fascinated attention. "I must surely put the
ointment to a test.'"

"Come along," said Carfilhiot curtly. "The man is a charlatan.
Don't waste time and money on such foolishness."

"I have nothing better to waste it on," retorted Rughalt with
sudden spirit. "Were my legs once more nimble I would have money
to spare'."

Carfilhiot looked askance toward Dr. Fidelius. "Somewhere I have


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seen that man."

"Bah!" growled Rughalt. "It is not you who suffers the pangs; you
can afford skepticism. I must grasp at every straw! Hey there, Dr.
Fidelius! My kneecaps answer your description! Can you bring me
relief?"

Dr. Fidelius called out: "Sir, come forward! Even from this
distance I diagnose a typical condition. It is known as 'Roofer's
Knee,' or sometimes 'Robber's Knee,' since it often comes from the
impact of the knee against roof-tiles. Please step over here, so
that I may examine your leg with care. I can almost guarantee your
surcease in a very short time. Are you a roofer, sir?"

"No," said Rughalt curtly.

"No matter. A knee, after all, is a knee. If left untreated, it
will eventually turn yellow, extrude bits of decaying bone and
become a source of annoyance. We shall forestall these events.
Step over here, sir, behind the wagon."

Rughalt followed Dr. Fidelius to the other side of the wagon.
Carfilhiot impatiently turned away and went off in search of
Triptomologius, and presently found the necromancer stocking the
shelves of his booth with articles brought by dog cart.

The two exchanged greetings and Triptomologius inquired the reason
for Carfilhiot's presence. Carfilhiot responded in oblique terms,
hinting of intrigues and mysteries which might not be discussed.
"Tamurello was to leave a message for me," said Carfilhiot. "Have
you been in late contact with him?"

"As lately as yesterday. The message made no mention of you; he
remains at Faroli."

"Then I will make for Faroli with all speed. You must provide me a
good horse and ten gold crowns, for which Tamurello will reimburse
you."

Triptomologius drew back in shock. "His message told me                                                        none of


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this!"

 "Then send a new message, but be quick about it, as I must I
depart Avallon at once—tomorrow at the latest."

Triptomologius pulled at his long gray chin. "I can spare no more
than three crowns. You must make do."

"What? Must I eat crusts and sleep under the hedge?"

After a period of undignified wrangling, Carfilhiot accepted five
gold crowns, a horse, suitably furnished, and saddle-bags packed
with provisions of carefully stipulated kind and quality.

Carfilhiot returned across the common. He paused by the wagon of
Dr. Fidelius, but the side doors were closed and no one could be
seen: neither Dr. Fidelius, the girl or boy, nor yet Rughalt.

Once more at the Black Bull, Carfilhiot seated himself at a table
in front of the inn. He sprawled out his legs, drank the yellow
wine of muscat grapes, and reflected upon the circumstances of his
life. In recent days, his affairs had not gone well. Images
thronged his mind: he smiled at some and frowned at others.
Thinking of the Dravenshaw ambush, he uttered a small moan and
clenched his hand on the goblet. The time had come to destroy his
enemies once and for all. In his mind he saw them in the semblance
of beasts: snarling curs, weasels, boars, black-masked foxes.
Melancthe's image appeared to him. She stood in the shadows of her
palace, nude save for a wreath of violets in her black hair. Calm
and still, she looked through him, past and away... Carfilhiot
straightened sharply in his chair. Melancthe had always treated
him with condescension, as if she felt a natural ascendancy,
apparently on the basis of the green fume. She had preempted all
of Desmei's magical apparatus, allowing him none. From
compunction, or guilt, or perhaps only to stifle his reproaches,
she had beguiled the magician Shimrod, so that Carfilhiot might
plunder his magical appurtenances— which, in any event, due to
Shimrod's cunning lock, had brought him no benefit. Upon his
return to Tintzin Fyral he must surely... Shimrod! Carfilhiot's
instincts prickled. Where was Rughalt, who had limped forward so


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confidently to take treatment from Dr. Fidelius?

Shimrod! If he had taken Rughalt, who would be next? Carfilhiot
felt cold and his bowels went queasy, as if they needed relief.

Carfilhiot rose to his feet. He looked out across the common.
There was no sign of Rughalt. Carfilhiot cursed between his teeth.
He had neither coin nor gold, and would have none till the morrow.

Carfilhiot worked to regain his composure. He drew a deep breath
and clenched his fist. "I am Faude Carfilhiot! I am I, the best of
the best! I dance my perilous dance along the edge of the sky! I
take the clay of Destiny in my hands and shape it to my will. I am
Faude Carfilhiot, the nonpareil!"

With a firm light step, he set off across the common. Lacking a
weapon of any sort, he halted to pick up a broken tent-stake: a
length of ash something over a foot long, which he concealed under
his cape, then proceeded directly to the wagon of Dr. Fidelius.

       ---------------------------
-------------------------- -----

Once behind Dr. Fidelius' wagon, Rughalt spoke in a reedy voice:
"You have mentioned sore knees, which I have in abundance, to the
number of two. They creak and click and on occasion bend in
reverse direction, causing me discomfort."

"Interesting!" exclaimed Dr. Fidelius. "Interesting indeed! How
long have you been so troubled?"

"Forever, or so it seems. It came upon me during the course of my
work. I was subjected to alternating heat and cold, dampness and
dry. Meanwhile I was forced to great exertions, twisting, turning,
pushing, pulling, and I feel that I weakened my knees in the
process."

"Precisely so! Still, your case shows peculiarities. It is not
typical of the Avallon sore knee."



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"I then resided in South Ulfland.''

"I am vindicated! For the South Ulfland disease we will need
certain medicines which I do not keep in the wagon." Shimrod
called to Glyneth; she approached, looking back and forth between
the two men. Shimrod took her somewhat aside. "I'll be in
conference with the gentleman for perhaps an hour. Close up the
wagon, put the horses to their traces. Tonight we may be on the
road to Lyonesse."

Glyneth nodded her head in assent and went back to Dhrun with the
news.

Shimrod turned his attention back to Rughalt. "This way, sir, if
you will."

Presently Rughalt put a plaintive question: "Why are we going so
far? We are quite away from town!"

"Yes, my dispensary is somewhat isolated. Still, I think I can
promise you total palliation."

Rughalt's knees began to click and creak in earnest, and his
complaints became increasingly peevish. "How far must we go? Every
step we take is a step we must retrace. Already my knees are
singing a sad duet."

"They will never sing again! Surcease is absolute and final."

"That is good to hear. Still, I see no sign of your dispensary."

"It is just yonder, behind that alder thicket."

"Hmf. An odd place for a dispensary."

"It should serve our purposes very well."

"But there is not even a path!"

"So we ensure our privacy. This way then, behind the thicket. Mind


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the fresh pads of cow-dung."

"But there is nothing here."

"You and I are here, and I am Shimrod the Magician. You robbed my
house Trilda and you burned my friend Grofinet over a flame. I
have sought you and your comrade a very long time."

"Nonsense! Nothing of the sort! Absurd, every word... What are you
doing? Stop at once! Stop! Stop!, I say!"

And later: "Have mercy! No more! I was commanded to the work!"

"By whom?"

"I dare not tell... No, no! No more, I will tell—"

"Who commanded you?"

"Carfilhiot, of Tintzin Fyral!"

"For what reason?"

"He wanted your magic stuff."

"That is far-fetched."

"It is true. He was encouraged by the magician Tamurello, who
would give Carfilhiot nothing."

"Tell me more."

"I know nothing more... Ah! You monster! I will tell you!"

"What then? Hurry, do not stop to think. Do not gasp; talk!"

"Carfilhiot is in Avallon, at the Black Bull... What now are you
doing? I have told you all!"

"Before you die you must toast a bit, like Grofinet."


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"But I have told you everything! Have mercy!"

"Yes, perhaps so. I have no real stomach for torment. Die then.
This is my cure for sore knees."

Carfilhiot found Dr. Fidelius' wagon closed, but the team of two-
headed horses was hitched to the wagon-pole, as if in readiness
for departure.

Carfilhiot went to the door at the back of the wagon and pressed
his ear against the panel. Silence, so far as he could determine,
with the noise of the fair behind him.

He walked around the wagon, and discovered the boy and girl beside
a small fire where they toasted skewers of bacon chunks and
quartered onion.

The girl looked up as Carfilhiot approached; the boy kept his
attention on the fire. Carfilhiot wondered briefly as to his
detachment. A shag of golden-brown curls fell over his face; his
features were fine, yet decisive. He was, thought Carfilhiot, a
boy of remarkable distinction. His age was perhaps nine or ten.
The girl was two or three years older, in the early springtime of
her life, as gay and sweet as a daffodil. She looked up, to meet
Carfilhiot's gaze. Her mouth drooped and she became still. She
spoke, however, in a polite voice: "Sir, Dr. Fidelius is not here
just now."

Carfilhiot came slowly forward. The girl rose to her feet. The boy
turned to look in Carfilhiot's direction.

"When will he be back?" asked Carfilhiot gently.

"I think very soon," said the girl.

"Do you know where he went?"

"No, sir. He had important business, and we were to be ready to
leave when he returned."


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"Well then, everything is quite in order," said Carfilhiot. "jump
into the wagon and we will drive directly to Dr. Fidelius."

The boy spoke for the first time. Despite his clear features,
Carfilhiot had thought him pensive, or even a trifle daft. He was
taken aback by the ring of authority in the boy's voice. "We
cannot leave here without Dr. Fidelius. And we are cooking our
dinner."

"Wait in front, sir, if you will," said the girl and turned her
attention back to the sizzling bacon.


Chapter 27

THE RIVER CAMBER, approaching the sea, joined the Murmeil and
became an estuary some thirty miles long: the Cambermouth. Tides,
swirling currents, seasonal fogs and sand bars which appeared and
disappeared with changes of weather made for uncertain navigation
in and out of Avallon Harbor.

Approaching Avallon from the south by Icnield Way, the traveler
must cross the estuary, at this point two hundred yards wide, by a
ferry, tethered to an overhead cable by a chain hanging from a
massive pulley-block. At the south the cable was secured to the
top of Cogstone Head beside the lighthouse. At the north it
terminated at a buttress of concreted stone on River Scarp. The
cable crossed the estuary at a skewed angle; the ferry leaving
Cogstone landing was thereby propelled by the flooding tide across
the estuary to the dock at Slange, under River Scarp. Six hours
later, the ebbing tide thrust the ferry back to the south shore.

Aillas and his companions, riding north along Icnield Way, arrived
at Cogstone halfway through the afternoon. Riding over the
Cogstone ridge they paused to overlook the wide view which
suddenly spread before them: the Cambermouth extending in a
sinuous curve to the west where it seemed to brim over the
horizon; the estuary to the east spreading wide to join the
Cantabrian Gulf.


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The tide was at the turning; the ferry lay at Cogstone Landing.
Ships finding a fair insore wind drove into the estuary to the
west spreading wide to join the Cantabrian Gulf.

The tide was at the turning; the ferry lay at Cogstone Landing.
Ships finding a fair inshore wind drove into the estuary with all
canvas spread, including a large two-masted felucca flying the
flag of Troicinet. As they watched it edged toward the northern
shore and docked at Slange.

The three rode down the road to the landing where the ferry waited
departure only upon full flood of the tide.

Aillas         paid toll for the passage and the three rode aboard the
ferry:         a heavy scow fifty feet long and twenty feet wide, well
loaded         with wagons, cattle, peddlers and mendicants on their way
to the         fair; a dozen nuns from Whanish Isle convent, on pilgrimage
to the         Holy Stone brought by St. Columba from Ireland.

At Slange Aillas went to the Troice felucca for news, while his
friends waited. He came riding back in a state of despondency. He
brought out the Never-fail, and exclaimed in frustration as the
tooth pointed north.

"In truth," declared Aillas, "I don't know what to do!"

Yane asked: "So then, what is the news from Troicinet?"

"They say King Ospero lies sickly in his bed. If he dies and I am
not on hand, then Trewan will be crowned king—which is as he
planned... I should be riding full speed south at this instant,
but how can I with Dhrun my son to the north?"

Cargus, after a moment's thought, said: "You cannot ride south in
any event until the ferry takes you back to Cogstone. Meanwhile,
Avallon is an hour's ride north, and who knows what we will find?"

"Who knows? Let us be off!"



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The three rode hard along the final miles of Icnield Way, between
Slange and Avallon, arriving by a road which bordered the common.
They discovered a great fair to be in progress, though already it
had gone into its waning stages. Beside the common Aillas
consulted the Never-fail. The tooth pointed north to a target
across the common and perhaps beyond. Aillas made a disgusted
sound. "He might be out there on the common or a hundred miles
north, or anywhere in between. Tonight we shall check to the edge
of town, then tomorrow, willy-nilly, I ride south by the noon
ferry."

"That is good strategy," said Yane, "and even better if we are
able to find lodging for the night."

"The Black Bull yonder seems appealing," said Cargus. "A mug of
bitter ale, or even two, will not come amiss."

"The Black Bull then, and if luck is with us, there will be room
to lay down our bodies."

At their request for lodging the innkeeper first held out his
hands in despair, then was nudged by one of the porters. "The
Duke's Room is open sir. The company never arrived."

"The Duke's Room, then! Why not? I cannot hold a choice lodging
the whole night through." The landlord rubbed his hands together.
"We call it the 'Duke's Room' because Duke Snel of Sneldyke
honored us with his custom, and not twelve years ago. I'll take
silver for the rent. During the Grand Fair, and for the Duke's
Room, we ask a premium fee."

Aillas paid over a silver florin. "Bring us ale, out under the
tree."

The three sat at a table and refreshed themselves in the cool
breeze of late afternoon. The throngs had dwindled to a trickle of
late-comers hoping to drive hard bargains, and scavengers. Music
was quiet; vendors packed their goods; acrobats, contortionists,
mimes and jugglers had gone their ways. The Grand Fair formally
ended on the morrow, but already pavilions were being struck and


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booths disassembled; carts and wagons trundled off the common to
the road and so away: to north, east, south and west. In front of
the Black Bull passed the flamboyant wagon of Dr. Fidelius, drawn
by a pair of black two-headed horses, and driven by a dashing
young gentleman of striking appearance.

Yane pointed in amazement at the horses. "See the marvels! Are
they freaks, or works of magic?"

"For myself," said Cargus, "I would prefer something less
ostentatious."

Aillas jumped to his feet to look after the wagon. He turned back
to his fellows. "Did you notice the driver?"

"Certainly. A young grandee on a lark."

"Or some wild young dartling with pretensions to gentility."

Aillas thoughtfully resumed his seat. "I have seen him before—
under strange circumstances." He raised his mug only to find it
empty. "Boy! Bring more ale! We will drink, then we shall follow
Never-fail at least to the edge of town."

The three sat in silence, looking across the traffic of street and
common. The serving-boy brought them ale; at the same moment a
tall sandy-haired man with a wild and somewhat distracted look
came striding along the street. He halted and spoke urgently to
the boy. "I am Dr. Fidelius; has my wagon passed by? It would be
drawn by a team of black two-headed horses!"

"I have not seen your wagon, sir. I have been busy fetching ale
for these gentlemen."

Aillas spoke. "Sir, your wagon passed only minutes ago."

"And did you notice the driver?"

"1 took special heed of him: a man of about your own age, with
dark hair, good features and a manner which was notably bold or


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even reckless. 1 feel that I have seen him before, but I cannot
remember where."

Yane pointed. "He drove away yonder, south along knield Way."

"Then he will be stopped at Cambermouth." He looked back to
Aillas. "If I used the name Faude Carfilhiot would that bring
shape to your memory?"

"It would indeed." Aillas thought back across an age of toil,
flight and wandering. "I saw him once at his castle."

"You have verified my worst fears. Boy, can you get me a horse?"

"I can go to the ostler, sir. The better the horse, the more coin
he will ask."

Shimrod tossed a gold crown upon the table. "Bring his best, and
in haste."

The boy ran off. Shimrod sat upon a bench to wait. Aillas
appraised him sidelong. "What, when you catch him at Slange?"

"I will do what must be done."

"You will have your hands full. He is strong and no doubt well
armed."

"I have no choice. He has kidnapped two children who are dear to
me, and he might well do them harm."

"I would believe anything of Carfilhiot," said Aiilas. He
considered his own circumstances and came to a decision. He rose
to his feet. "I will ride with you to Slange. My own quest can
wait an hour or two." The Never-fail still dangled from his wrist.
He glanced at the index, then again, incredulously. "Look you, at
the tooth!"

"Now it points south!"



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Aillas turned slowly to Shimrod. "Carfilhiot drove south with two
children: what are their names?"

"Glyneth and Dhrun."

The four men rode south in the light of the westering sun, and
folk along the road, hearing the pound of hooves, moved to the
side to let the riders pass, then turned to wonder why men should
ride so hard at sundown along Icnield Way.

Across the heath rode the four and up Riverside Heights where they
drew their snorting horses up short. The Cambermouth glared
incandescent in the light of the setting sun. The ferry had not
waited for full ebb. In order to make full use of daylight it had
left Slange at the turn of the tide and already was halfway across
the river. Last aboard was the wagon of Dr. Fidelius. A man
standing at the side of the wagon might have been Faude
Carfilhiot.

The four rode down the hill to Slange, to learn that the ferry
would turn north sometime after midnight, when the tide was once
more at flood, and would not cross to Cogstone Landing until
sunrise.

Aillas asked the dock attendant: "Is there no other way across the
water?"

"Not with your horses; no indeed, sir!"

"Then, can we cross afoot, and at once?"

"Nor neither afoot, sir. There's no wind to fill a sail, and no
one would row you across with the current at full ebb, neither for
silver nor gold. He'd end up on Whanish Isle, or beyond. Come back
by sunrise and ride in comfort."

Back on the heights they watched the ferry dock at Cogstone. The
wagon rolled ashore, moved up the road and out of sight into the
dusk.



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"There they go," said Shimrod flatly. "We can't hope to catch them
now, the horses will run all night. But,I know his destination."

"Tintzin Fyral?"

"First he will stop at Faroli to visit the magician Tamurello."

"Where is Faroli?"

"In the forest, not too far away. I can communicate with Tamurello
from Avallon, through one Triptomologius. At the very least he
will see to the safety of Glyneth and Dhrun if Carfilhiot brings
them to Faroli."

"Meanwhile they are at his mercy."

"So they are."

Icnield Way, parchment-pale in the moonlight, crossed a land dark
and silent, with no glimmer of light to be seen on either hand.
South along the way the two-headed horses pulled the wagon of Dr.
Fidelius, with wild eyes and flaring nostrils, mad with hate for
the being who drove them as they had never been driven before.

At midnight Carfilhiot pulled to a halt beside a stream. As the
horses drank and cropped grass beside the road, he went to the
back of the wagon and opened the door. "How goes it in there?"

After a pause Dhrun spoke from the darkness: "Well enough."

"If you want to drink, or ease yourselves, come down, but try no
tricks as I lack patience."

Glyneth and Dhrun whispered together, and agreed that there was no
reason to ride in discomfort. Warily they descended from the back
of the wagon.

Carfilhiot allowed ten minutes, then ordered them back into the
wagon. Dhrun went first, silent and stiff with anger. Glyneth
paused with one foot on the bottom step of the ladder. Carfilhiot


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stood with his back to the moon. She asked: "Why have you
kidnapped us?"

"So that Shimrod, whom you know as Dr. Fidelius, works no magic
against me."

Glyneth tried to keep her voice from trembling. "Are you planning
to set us free?"

"Not immediately. Get in the wagon."

"Where are we going?"

"Into the forest, then away to the west."

"Please let us go!"

Carfilhiot studied her where she stood full in the moonlight. A
pretty creature, thought Carfilhiot, fresh as a wildflower. He
said lightly: "If you behave nicely, then nice things will happen
to you. For now into the wagon with you."

Glyneth climbed into the wagon, and Carfilhiot closed the door.

Once more the wagon set off along Icnield Way. Glyneth spoke into
Dhrun's ear: "This man frightens me. I'm sure that he is Shimrod's
enemy."

"If I could see, I'd stab him with my sword," muttered Dhrun.

Glyneth said hesitantly: "I don't know if I could do so—unless he
were trying to harm us."

"Then it would be too late. Suppose you stood by the door. When he
opened it, could you thrust through his neck?"

"No."

Dhrun sat silently. After a moment he picked up his pipes and
began to blow softly: trills and runs, to help himself think. He


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stopped short and said: "That's rather odd. It's dark in here, is
it not?"

"Very dark indeed."

"Perhaps I've never played in the dark before. Or perhaps I've
never noticed. But as I play, the golden bees fly in swoops and
loops, as if they were annoyed."

"Perhaps you are keeping them from their sleep."

Dhrun blew into his pipes with more fervor. He played a jig and a
merridown and then a caper of three parts.

Carfilhiot called back through the window: "Stop that damnable
fifing; it puts my teeth on edge!"

Dhrun said to Glyneth: "Amazing! The bees dart and swoop. Like
him"—he jerked his thumb forward—"they have no taste for music."
He raised the pipes to his lips, but Glyneth stopped him. "Dhrun,
no! He will do us harm!"

All night the horses ran, knowing no fatigue but nevertheless
furious at the demon who drove them so mercilessly. An hour after
dawn Carfilhiot allowed another ten-minute halt. Neither Dhrun nor
Glyneth chose to eat; Carfilhiot found bread and dried fish in the
larder at the back of the wagon; he ate a few mouthfuls and once
more urged the horses into motion.

All day the wagon rumbled across the pleasant landscapes of south
Dahaut: a flat country of endless expanses with a great windy sky
overhead.

Late in the day, the wagon crossed the Tam River by a stone bridge
of seven arches and so entered Pomperol, without challenge either
by the single Daut border official or his corpulent Pomperan
counterpart, both preoccupied by their chess game, on a table
placed precisely over the boundary at the center of the bridge.

The land altered; forests and isolated muffin-shaped hills, each


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crowned with a castle, reduced the vast perspectives of Dahaut to
ordinary human scale.

At sunset the horses at last began to flag; Carfilhiot knew that
he could not drive another long night through. He turned off into
the forest and halted beside a brook. While he gingerly
unharnessed the horses and tied them where they could drink and
graze, Glyneth built a fire, hung the iron pot from its tripod
.and cooked a makeshift soup from materials at hand. She released
her cats from their basket and let them run here and there about a
strictly circumscribed area. Sitting over their meager supper,
Dhrun and Glyneth spoke together in subdued undertones.
Carfilhiot, across the fire, watched them through half-closed
eyelids, but said nothing.

Glyneth became increasingly disturbed by the quality of
Carfilhiot's attention. At last, as twilight darkened the sky, she
called her cats and put them into their baskets. Carfilhiot,
seemingly lazy and passive, sat in contemplation of her slight yet
unexpectedly rich contours, the easy graces and elegant little
flourishes which made Glyneth her unique and endearing self.

Glyneth          rinsed the iron pot, stowed it in the locker with the
tripod.          Carfilhiot rose to his feet, stretched. Glyneth eyed him
askance          as he went to the back of the wagon, reached within and
brought          out a pallet which he spread beside the fire.

Glyneth whispered into Dhrun's ear; together they went to the
wagon,

Carfilhiot stood behind them. "Where are you going?"

"To bed," said Glyneth. "Where else?"

Carfilhiot seized Dhrun and lofted him into the wagon, then closed
and barred the door. "Tonight," he told Glyneth, "you and I will
bed by the fire, and tomorrow you will have much to think about."

Glyneth tried to run behind the wagon, but Carfilhiot seized her
arm. "Save your energy," he told her. "You will find yourself


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becoming tired presently, but you won't want to stop."

Inside the wagon Dhrun snatched up his pipes and began to play, in
a passion of fury and helpless grief for what was happening to
Glyneth. The golden bees, about to relax for the night, with only
an occasional warm buzzing to remind Dhrun of their presence, flew
a set of resentful loops, but Dhrun played only the harder.

Carfilhiot jumped to his feet and strode to the wagon. "Put an end
to the streedle! It grinds on my nerves!"

Dhrun played with an even greater fervor which almost lifted him
from his seat. The golden bees flew in zig-zag courses, turned
erratic somersaults and finally in despair flew from Dhrun's eyes
altogether. Dhrun played all the louder.

Carfilhiot went to the door. "I will come inside; I will break
your pipes and deal you such buffets as to silence you very
still."

Dhrun played on and the piping excited the bees so that they flew
back and forth across the wagon, careening from side to side.

Carfilhiot raised the bar from the door. Dhrun put down the pipes
and spoke: "Dassenach, to hand!"

Carfilhiot threw open the door. The bees flew out and struck his
face; he recoiled, and so saved his life, as the blade hissed past
his neck. He uttered a startled curse, then, seizing the sword,
wrested it from Dhrun's grip and threw it into the underbrush.
Dhrun kicked at his face; Carfilhiot seized the foot and sent
Dhrun reeling back into the wagon.

"No more noise!" panted Carfilhiot. "No more pounding or piping,
or I will do you harm!"

He slammed the door and threw the bar. He turned to Glyneth, only
to find her scrambling up into the branches of a massive old oak
tree. He ran across the clearing but already she was out of his
reach. He climbed after her, but she climbed higher and out to the


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end of a branch which sagged beneath her weight, and Carfilhiot
dared not follow.

He spoke, first cajoling, then pleading, then threatening, but she
made no response, and sat quietly among the leaves. Carfilhiot
spoke in a final threat, which made her blood run cold; then he
descended the tree. Had he an axe he would have chopped away the
branch which supported her, or the tree itself, and let her die.

All the night long Glyneth huddled in the tree, cramped and
miserable. Carfilhiot, on the pallet beside the fire, seemed to
sleep, although from time to time he stirred to throw wood on the
fire, and Glyneth was afraid to descend.

Inside the wagon Dhrun lay on his own couch, exultant in his
regained sight, but sick with horror at imagined events outside by
the fire.

Dawn slowly illuminated the cart. Carfilhiot arose from the
pallet, and looked up into the tree. "Come down; it is time to be
going."

"I don't care to come down."

"Suit yourself. I am leaving, nonetheless."

Carfilhiot harnessed the horses and led them into the traces,
where they stood trembling and pawing the ground in detestation
for their new master.

With growing concern, Glyneth saw the preparations. Carfilhiot
watched her from the corner of his eye. At last he called up:
"Come down and get into the wagon. Else I will bring Dhrun out and
strangle him before your eyes. Then I will climb the tree and
throw a rope over the branch, and I will pull down on the rope so
that the branch breaks. I will catch you, or perhaps I won't and
you will be sorely hurt. In either case I will have you, to do as
I like."

"If I come down you will do the same." Carfilhiot said: "In truth,


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I am no longer in the mood for your sour little body, so come
down."

"Let Dhrun from the wagon first."

"Why?"

"I am afraid of you."

"How can he help?"

"He'd find some way. You don't know Dhrun."

Carfilhiot threw open the door. "Come out, you little lizard."

Dhrun had overheard the conversation with great joy; it seemed
that Glyneth had evaded Carfilhiot. Feigning blindness, he groped
for the door and descended to the ground, though he found it hard
to control his exultation. How beautiful the world looked! How
green the trees, how noble the horses! He had never before seen
Dr. Fidelius' wagon: gaudy, tall and eccentric of proportion. And
here was Glyneth, as dear and pretty as ever, though now she was
pale and strained, and her blonde curls were tangled around dry
twigs and oak leaves.

Dhrun stood by the wagon, peering into nothingness. Carfilhiot
threw the pallet into the wagon. Dhrun watched him furtively. So
this was the enemy! Dhrun had imagined him older, with ropy
features and a mottled nose, but Carfilhiot was clear-eyed and
splendidly handsome.

"Into the wagon," said Carfilhiot. "Quick, the both of you."

"Fiirst my cats must have a run!" cried Glyneth. "And something to
eat! I'll give them some cheese."

"If there is cheese, bring it here," said Carfilhiot. "The cats
can eat grass, and tonight all of us may eat cat."

Glyneth made no response, and gave Carfilhiot the cheese without


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comment. The cats took their exercise, and would have prolonged
the occasion. Glyneth was compelled to speak sternly before they
would return to their baskets. And once again the wagon drove
south.

Inside the wagon Dhrun exclaim to Glyneth: "I can see! Last night
the bees flew from my eyes! They are as good as ever! My eyes, not
the bees."

"Sh!" said Glyneth. "That is wonderful news! But we must not let
Carfilhiot know! He is as crafty as he is terrible."

"I will never be sad again," said Dhrun. "No matter what happens.
I will think back to the time when the world was dark."
"I would feel happier if we were riding with someone else," said
Glyneth wistfully. "I spent all last night in a tree."

"If he dares touch you, I will cut him in pieces," declared Dhrun.
"Don't forget! I can see now."

"Perhaps it won't come to that. Tonight he may be thinking of
other things... I wonder if Shimrod is trying to find us?"

"He can't be too far behind."

The wagon rolled south, and an hour after noon arrived at the
market-town Honriot, where Carfilhiot bought bread, cheese, apples
and a jug of wine.

In the center of Honriot, Icnield Way crossed the East-West Road;
Carfilhiot drove to the west urging the horses to ever greater
speed, as if he too anticipated the coming of Shimrod. Snorting,
shaking their manes, heads low to the ground or sometimes raised
on high, the great black horses plunged west, their soft tiger
feet thrusting back the ground. Behind trundled the wagon, wheels
bounding, the body swaying on its long laminated easy-ways.
Occasionally Carfilhiot used his whip, cracking it upon the
glistening black haunches, and the horses tossed their heads in
rage.



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"Take care, take care!" they cried back. "We obey the instruction
of your reins, because that is the way it must be; but do not
presume, or we might turn and rear over you and flail down our
great black feet, and drag you to the dirt and stamp you into the
ground! Hear, and have a care!"

Carfilhiot could not understand their speech and used the whip as
suited his pleasure; and the horses tossed their heads in ever-
mounting fury.

Late in the afternoon the wagon passed King Deuel's summer palace.
For the day's entertainment King Deuel had ordained a pageant
entitled: "Birds of Fantasy." With great artistry his courtiers
had bedecked themselves in black and white feathers, to simulate
imaginary sea-birds. Their ladies had been allowed more latitude
and they promenaded along the greensward in total avian
extravagance, using the plumes of ostrich, egret, lyrebirds,
peacocks and vesprils. Some wore confections of pale green, others
cerise or mauve or golden-ochre: a prospect of the most gorgeous
complexity, and one enjoyed to its fullest by Mad King Deuel, who
sat on a tall throne, costumed as a cardinal, the only red bird of
the pageant. He was enthusiastic in his praises and called out
compliments, pointing with tip of his red wing.

Carfilhiot, recalling his previous encounter with King Deuel,
pulled the wagon up short. He considered a moment, then descended
and called Glyneth down to the road.

He instructed her in terms which admitted of neither argument nor
flexibility. She lowered the side panel to make a platform,
brought out her basket, and with Dhrun playing the pipes, set her
cats to dancing.

The ladies and gentlemen in their remarkable finery came to watch;
they laughed and clapped their hands, and some of them went to
call King Deuel's attention to the novel exercises.

King Deuel presently stepped down from his throne and sauntered
across the sward to watch the display. He smiled and nodded, but
he was not altogether uncritical. "I see here an ingenious effort,


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to be sure, and the antics are amusing enough. Ha! Excellent
saltation there! That black cat is agile! Still it must be
remembered that the feline is a lesser order, when all is said.
Dare I ask why we have no dancing birds?"

Carfilhiot spoke up. "Your Majesty, I sequester the dancing birds
within the wagon! We deem them too exquisite for the common view!"

Mad King Deuel spoke haughtily: "Do you then characterize my
august vision as vulgar and common, or anything other than
sublime?"

"Indeed not, your Majesty! You are welcome, and you alone, to
inspect the extraordinary spectacle inside the wagon."

King Deuel, mollified, marched to the back of the wagon. "A
moment, your Majesty!" Carfilhiot closed the side panel, cats and
all, and went to the rear. "Glyneth, inside! Dhrun, inside!
Prepare the birds for his Majesty. Now, sir, up these steps, and
in with you!"

He closed and barred the door, and climbing to the front seat,
drove away at a mad gallop. The befeathered ladies looked after in
puzzlement; some of the men ran a few steps along the road but
were impeded by their black and white plumage, and so, with wings
trailing, they returned to the sward before the summer palace,
where they tried to fit some pattern of logic upon the occurrence.

Within the wagon King Deuel shouted out orders: "Halt this vehicle
at once! I see no birds whatever! This is a most insipid prank!"

Carfilhiot called down through the window: "In due course, your
Majesty, I will halt the wagon. Then we shall discuss the plumes
and quills that you decreed for my backside!"

King Deuel became silent and for the rest of the day made only
fretful clucking sounds.

The day drew toward a close. In the south appeared a line of low
gray hills; an outlying arm of Forest Tantrevalles lay dark across


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the north. Peasant huts became rare and the land tended toward the
wild and melancholy.

At sunset Carfilhiot drove the wagon across a meadow to a copse of
elms and beeches.

As before Carfilhiot unharnessed the horses and put them to graze
on a long tether, while Glyneth cooked the supper. King Deuel
refused to leave the wagon, and Dhrun, still feigning blindness,
sat on a fallen log.

Glyneth brought soup to King Deuel and served him bread and cheese
as well; then she went to sit by Dhrun. They spoke in low voices.

Dhrun said: "He pretends not to watch you, but everywhere you go
his eyes follow."

"Dhrun, don't become reckless. He can kill us, but that is the
worst he can do."

Dhrun said through clenched teeth: "I won't allow him to touch
you. I will die first."

Glyneth whispered: "I've thought of something, so don't worry.
Remember, you are still blind!"

Carfilhiot rose to his feet. "Dhrun, into the wagon with you."

Dhrun said sullenly: "I intend to stay with Glyneth."

Carfilhiot seized him, carried him kicking and fighting to the
wagon and thrust him inside and barred the door. He turned toward
Glyneth. "Tonight there are no trees to climb."

Glyneth backed away. Carfilhiot came after her. Glyneth sauntered
to the horses. "Friends," she said, "here is the creature who
drives you so hard, and whips your naked backsides."

"Yes, so I see."



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"I see with both heads at once."

Carfilhiot cocked his head to the side, and approached slowly.
"Glyneth! Look at me!"

"I see you well enough," said Glyneth. "Go away, or the horses
will trample you."

Carfilhiot halted and looked at the horses, their white eyes and
stiff manes. Opening their mouths they showed long forked fangs.
One of them suddenly rose on his hind legs and struck down at
Carfilhiot with the talons of its front feet.

Carfilhiot retreated to where he could climb upon the wagon if
necessary, and stood glowering. The horses lowered their manes,
sheathed their talons, and once more began to graze.

Glyneth strolled back to the wagon. Carfilhiot jerked forward.
Glyneth stopped still. The horses raised their heads and looked
toward Carfilhiot. Their manes began to rise. Carfilhiot made an
angry gesture and climbed to the seat of the wagon.

Glyneth opened the back door. She and Dhrun made a bed under the
wagon and rested undisturbed.

On a morning dreary with spatters of rain, the wagon passed from
Pomperol into west Dahaut and entered the Forest of Tantrevalles.
Carfilhiot, hunched on the front seat, drove at reckless speed,
wielding his whip with abandon, and the black horses ran foaming
through the forest. At noon Carfilhiot turned off the road to
follow a dim lane which climbed the slopes of a rocky hill, to
arrive at Faroli, the octagonal multi-leveled manse of Tamurello
the Sorcerer.

By three sets of invisible hands Carfilhiot had been bathed and
groomed, lathered head to toe with sweet sap of dimity. He had
been scraped with a white boxwood paddle and rinsed in warm water
scented with lavender, so that his fatigue had become no more than
a delightful languor. He dressed in a shirt of black and crimson
and a robe of dark gold. An invisible hand tendered him a goblet


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of pomegranate wine, which he drank, then stretched his beautiful
easy limbs like a lazy animal. For a few moments he stood in
reflection, wondering how best to have his way with Tamurello.
Much depended upon Tamurello's mood, whether it were active or
passive. Carfilhiot must control these moods as a musician
controls his music. Finally he left the chamber and joined
Tamurello in the center saloon, where on all sides tall panes of
glass overlooked the forest.

Tamurello seldom showed himself in his natural similitude,
preferring always a guise from among the dozens at his command.
Carfilhiot had seen him in a variety of phases, more or less
beguiling, but all memorable. Tonight he was an elderkin of the
falloys, in a sea-green robe and a crown of silver cusps. He used
white hair and silver-pale skin, with green eyes. Carfilhiot had
seen this semblance before and had no great love for its extremely
subtle perceptions and the delicate precision of its demands. As
always, when confronted with the falloy elderkin, Carfilhiot
adopted a manner of taciturn strength.

The elderkin inquired as to his comfort. "You are refreshed, I
hope?"

"I have known several days of hardship, but I am once more
comfortable."

The elderkin turned a smiling glance out the window. "This
misfortune of yours—how curious and unexpected!"

Carfilhiot replied in a neutral voice: "For the whole of my
inconvenience I blame Melancthe."

The elderkin smiled once more. "And all without provocation?"

"Naturally not! When have I, or you, concerned ourselves with
provocation?"

"Seldom. But what will be the consequences?"

"None, or so I hope."


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"You are not definite in your own mind?"

"I must give the matter thought."

"True. In such cases one must be judicious."

"There are other considerations to be weighed. I have had shocks
and rude surprises. You will recall the affair at Trilda?"

"Well enough."

"Shimrod traced Rughalt through his disgusting knees. Rughalt
instantly disclosed my name. Shimrod now thinks to avenge himself
upon me. But I hold hostages against him."

The elderkin sighed and made a fluttering gesture. "Hostages are
of limited utility. If they die they are a nuisance. Who are these
hostages?"

"A boy and a girl who traveled in Shimrod's company. The boy plays
remarkable music on the pipes and the girl talks to animals."

Tamurello rose to his feet. "Come."

The two went to Tamurello's workshop. Tamurello took a black box
from the shelf, poured inside a gill of water, added drops of a
glowing yellow liquid which caused the water to show films of
light at various levels. In a leather-bound libram Tamurello
located the name "Shimrod." Using the appended formula he prepared
a dark liquid which he added to the contents of the box, then
poured the mixture into an iron cylinder six inches tall and two
inches in diameter. He sealed the top with a glass cap, then held
the cylinder to his eye. After a moment he gave the cylinder to
Carfilhiot. "What do you see?"

Looking through the glass, Carfilhiot observed four men riding at
a gallop through the forest. One of the men was Shimrod. He
recognized none of the others: warriors, or knights, so he judged.



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He returned the cylinder to Tamurello. "Shimrod rides pellmell
through the forest with three companions."

Tamurello concurred. "They will arrive within the hour."

"And then?"

"Shimrod hopes to find you here in my company, which will afford
him cause to call on Murgen. I am not yet ready for a
confrontation with Murgen; hence you must inevitably be judged and
suffer the adjudication."

"So I must go."

"And quickly."

Carfilhiot strode back and forth across the chamber. "Very well,
if that is the way of it. I hope that you will give us transport."

Tamurello raised his eyebrows. "You intend to retain these persons
to whom Shimrod is attached?"

"What reason is there to do otherwise? They are valuable hostages.
I will trade them for the locks on Shimrod's magic, and his
retirement from the case. You may cite these terms to him, if you
will."

Tamurello grudgingly agreed. "What I must do, I will do.

Come!"

The two went out to the wagon. "There is another matter," said
Tamurello. "One which Shimrod pressed upon me before your arrival,
and which I cannot deny him. In the strongest terms I advise and
in fact make demands upon you: do not injure, abase, abuse,
torment, mistreat, harass, or make physical contact with your
hostages. Cause them no travail, mental or physical. Do not allow
them to be mistreated by others. Do not neglect them to their
detriment or discomfort. Do not facilitate nor suggest, nor by any
act of omission, allow them to suffer misfortune or hurt or


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molestation, accidental or otherwise. Ensure their comfort and
health. Provide—"

"Enough, enough!" croaked Carfilhiot in anger. "I understand the
gist of your remarks. I must treat the two children like honored
guests."

"Exactly so. 1 do not choose to answer for harms done by you, from
frivolity, lust, mischief, or spite; and Shimrod has made these
demands upon me!"

Carfilhiot controlled the tumult of his feelings. He spoke in a
terse voice. "I understand your instructions and they shall be
implemented."

Tamurello circled the wagon. He rubbed the wheels and the rims
with a blue jade talisman. He went to the horses, lifted their
legs and wiped their feet with the stone. They stood trembling and
rigid to his touch, but, recognizing his power, pretended not to
see him.

Tamurello wiped the horses' heads, flanks, haunches and bellies
with the stone, then rubbed the sides of the wagon. "Now! You are
ready! Be off with you and away! Shimrod approaches fast. Fly low,
fly high, but fly to Tintzin Fyral!"

Carfilhiot jumped to the driver's seat, took up the reins. He
raised his hand to Tamurello, snapped the whip. The horses lunged
forward into the air. Westward over the forest careened " the
wagon of Dr. Fidelius, high above the highest tree tops, and folk
of the forest looked up in awe at the two-headed horses plunging
across the sky, with the tall wagon trundling behind.

Half an hour later four horsemen arrived at Faroli. They
dismounted from their horses, to stand swaying, limp with fatigue
and frustration, for already, through Never-Tail, they knew that
Shimrod's wagon had gone.

A chamberlain came from the manse. "Your wishes, noble sirs?"



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"Announce us to Tamurello," said Shimrod.

"Your names, sir?"

"He expects us."

The chamberlain withdrew.

At one of the windows Shimrod glimpsed a moving shadow. "He
watches us and listens," Shimrod told the others. "He decides
which guise he will show us."

"The life of a wizard is a strange one," said Cargus.

Yane asked in wonder: "Is he ashamed of his own face?"

"Few have seen it. He has heard enough; now he comes."

Slowly, step by step, a tall man approached from the shadows. He
wore a suit of silver chain, the mesh so fine as to be near-
invisible, a jupon of sea-green silk, a helmet surmounted by three
tall prongs, like the spines of a fish. From the brow hung a row
of silver chains concealing the face below. At a distance of ten
feet he halted and folded his arms. "I am Tamurello."

"You know why we are here. Call back Carfilhiot, with the two
children he has kidnapped."

"Carfilhiot has come and gone."

"Then you are his accomplice and share his guilt."

From behind the chains came a low laugh. "I am Tamurello. For my
deeds I accept neither praise nor blame. In any case, your quarrel
is with Carhfilhiot, not with me."

"Tamurello, I have no patience for empty words. You know what I
require of you. Bring Carfilhiot back, with my wagon and the two
children he holds captive."



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Tamurello's response came in a deeper, more resonant voice. "Only
the strong should threaten."

"Empty words again. Once more: Order Carfilhiot to return."

"Impossible."

"You have expedited his escape from me; you thereby take
responsibility for Glyneth and Dhrun."

Tamurello stood silent, arms folded. The four men felt his slow
inspection from behind the silver chains. Finally he said. "You
have delivered your message. You need not delay your going."

The four men mounted their horses and departed. At the edge of the
glade they paused to look back. Tamurello had returned into the
manse.

In a hollow voice Shimrod said: "So there we have it. Now we must
deal with Carfilhiot at Tintzin Fyral. Temporarily at least,
Glyneth and Dhrun are safe from physical harm."

Aillas asked, "What of Murgen? Will he intercede?"

"It is not so easy as you might think. Murgen constrains magicians
to their own affairs, and so himself is constrained."

"I can wait no longer," said Aillas. "I am obliged to return to
Troicinet. Already I may be too late, if King Ospero is dead."


Chapter 28

FROM FAROLI BACK TO ICNIELD WAY rode the four men, then south
through Pomperol, and across the breadth of Lyonesse to Slute
Skeme on the Lir.

At the harbor the fishermen were chary of so much as discussing
passage to Troicinet. The master of the Sweet Lupus told them, "A
Troice warship patrols sometimes close along the shore, sometimes


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out by the horizon, and sinks any hull it can catch. It is a fast
ship. To make the cheese more binding, Casmir keeps spies by the
dozens. Were I to make the passage, news would reach Casmir and
I'd be taken as a Troice agent, and who knows what might happen?
What with the old king dying, we can expect change: for the
better, or so I hope."

"Then he's not dead yet?"

"The news is a week old; who can say? Meanwhile I must sail with
one eye for the weather, one eye for the Troice and one eye for
the fish, but never more than a mile offshore. I'd need a fortune
of money to tempt me to Troicinet."

Shimrod's ear had picked up a hint that the fisherman's resolve
was flexible. "How long is the crossing?"

"Oh, if one left by night, to avoid spies and patrols, he'd arrive
the next night. It's a good reaching wind and the currents are
mild."

"And what is your price?"

"Ten gold crowns might tempt me."

"Nine gold crowns and our four horses."

"Done. When will you leave?"

"Now."

"Too risky. And I must prepare the boat. Come back at sunset.
Leave your horses at the stable yonder."

Without noteworthy incident the Sweet Lupus made a brisk crossing
of the Lir and put into Shircliff, halfway along the Troice coast,
two hours before midnight, with lights still showing in the
dockside taverns.

The master of the Sweet Lupus tied up to the pier with a notable


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lack of apprehension. Cargus asked: "What of the Troice
authorities? Won't they seize your boat?"

"Aha! That is a tempest in a teapot. Why should we inconvenience
each other over foolishness? We stay on good terms and do favors
for each other and affairs proceed as always."

"Well then, good luck to you!"

The four applied to the ostlery for horses and woke the ostler
from his bed on the straw. At first he was inclined to
peevishness. "Why not wait for morning like sensible men? Why this
bustling about at all hours and denying honest men their sleep?"
Cargus growled even more peevishly: "Hold your complaints, and
provide us four sound horses!" "If I must I must. Whither go you?"

"To Domreis, at best speed."

"For the coronation? You are starting late for a ceremony which
begins at noon!"

"King Ospero is dead?"

The ostler made a reverent sign. "To our sorrow, for he was a good
king, free of cruelty or vain display."

"And the new king?"

"He is to be King Trewan. I wish him prosperity and a long life,
since only a churl would do otherwise."

"Hurry with the horses."

"You are already too late. You will founder the horses if you hope
to arrive for the coronation."

"Hurry!" cried Aillas in a passion. "Bestir yourself!"

The ostler, muttering to himself, saddled the horses and led them
to the street. "And now, my money!"


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Shimrod paid over his price and the ostler retired. Aillas told
his fellows, "At this moment I am King of Troicinet. If we arrive
at Domreis before noon I will be king tomorrow."

"And if we are late?"

"Then the crown has been set on Trewan's head and he is king. Let
us be off."

The four rode west beside the coast, past quiet fishing villages
and long beaches. At dawn, with the horses stumbling from fatigue,
they arrived at Slaloc where they changed horses and rode through
the morning toward Domreis.

The sun rose toward the zenith, and ahead the road curved down a
slope, across a park to the Temple of Gaea, where a thousand
notables attended the coronation.

At the edge of the temple grounds, the four were halted by a guard
of eight cadets from the College of Dukes, wearing blue and silver
ceremonial armor, with tall scarlet plumes at the side of their
helmets. They dropped halberds to bar the way of the four
travelers. "You may not enter!"

From within came the peal of clarions, a processional fanfare
signaling the appearance of the king-designate. Aillas spurred his
horse into motion and broke past the crossed halberds, followed by
his three companions. Before them stood the Temple of Gaea. A
heavy entabulature rested on columns in the classical style. The
interior was open to the winds. On a central altar burned the
dynastic fire. From the vantage of horseback Aillas saw Prince
Trewan mount steps, walk with ritual solemnity across the terrace
and kneel on a cushioned bench. Between Aillas and the altar stood
the quality of Troicinet in formal caparison. Those at the back
turned in outrage as the four rode up behind them. Aillas called
out: "Make way, make way!" He sought to ride through the ranked
nobility, but angry hands seized his bridle and jerked his horse
to a halt. Aillas jumped to the ground and thrust forward, pushing
the rapt and reverent onlookers roughly from his way, to their


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shock and disapproval.

The High Priest stood before the kneeling Trewan. He held high the
crown and uttered a sonorous benediction in the ancient Danaan
tongue.

Thrusting, dodging, side-stepping, careless of whom he shouldered
aside, striking down the aristocratic arms which reached to stay
him, swearing and gasping, Aillas gained the steps.

The High Priest brought forward the ceremonial sword and placed it
before Trewan, who, as custom ordained, placed his hands on the
cross-piece of the handle. The priest scratched Trewan's forehead
with a knife, drawing a drop of blood. Trewan, bowing his head,
pressed the blood to the sword handle, to symbolize his will to
defend Troicinet with blood and steel.

The priest raised the crown on high, and held it over Trewan's
head, as Aillas gained the steps. Two guards rushed to seize him;
Aillas pushed them aside, ran to the altar, thrust the High
Priest's arm aside before the crown could touch Trewan's head.
"Stop the ceremony! This is not your king!"

Trewan, blinking in confusion, rose to his feet and turning,
looked into Aillas' face. His jaw dropped; his eyes widened. Then,
feigning outrage, he cried out: "What means this sorry intrusion?
Guards, drag off this madman! He has committed sacrilege! Take him
aside and cut him loose from his head!"

Aillas pushed the guards aside. He called out: "Look at me! Do you
not know me? I am Prince Aillas!"

Trewan stood heavy-browed and indecisive, his mouth twitching and
red spots burning in his cheeks. At last he called out in a nasal
voice: "Aillas drowned at sea! You can't be Aillas! Guards,
hither! This is an impostor!"

"Wait!" A portly old man, wearing a suit of black velvet, slowly
climbed the steps. Aillas recognized Sir Este who had been
seneschal at the court of King Granice.


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Sir Este gazed a moment into Aillas' face. He turned and spoke to
the assembled nobility, who had pressed forward to the steps.
"This is no impostor. This is Prince Aillas." He turned to stare
at Trewan. "Who should know it better than you?"

Trewan made no reply.

The seneschal turned back to Aillas. "I cannot believe that you
absented yourself from Troicinet and gave us all to mourn from
sheer frivolity, nor that you arrived at this instant merely to
create a sensation."

"Sir, I have only just returned to Troicinet. I rode here as fast
as horses could carry me, as my comrades here will attest. Before
this time I was prisoner to King Casmir. I escaped only to be
captured by the Ska. There is more to tell, but with the aid of my
comrades I have arrived in time to preserve my crown from the
murderer Trewan, who pushed me into the dark sea!"

Trewan gave a cry of rage. "No man may besmirch my honor and
live!" He swung the ancient ceremonial sword in an arc to cleave
Aillas' head from his body.

Nearby stood Cargus. He flung out his forearm; through the air
flew his broad Galician dagger, to strike deep into Trewan's
throat, so that the point protruded from the side opposite. The
sword clattered to the stone floor. Trewan's eyes rolled upward to
show the whites and he dropped in a spraddle-legged heap, to kick
and convulse and at last lay quiet on his back.

The seneschal signaled to the guards. "Remove the corpse."

He waited half a minute. "Let the ceremony proceed!"


Chapter 29

AILLAS AND SHIMROD, departing the palace Miraldra before dawn,
rode eastward along the coast road. Late in the afternoon they


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passed through Green Man's Gap, where they halted to look across
the view. The Ceald spread away before them in bands of many
colors: hazy black-green, grayed yellow and fusk, smoky blue-
lavender. Aillas pointed across the distance to a glint of placid
silver. "There is Janglin Water, and Watershade. A hundred times I
have sat just here with my father; always he was happier to be
coming home than going. I doubt if he was comfortable in his
kingship."

"What of you?"

Aillas considered, then said: "I have been prisoner, slave,
fugitive, and now king, which I prefer. Still, it is not the life
I would have chosen for myself."

"If nothing else," said Shimrod, "you have seen the world from its
underside, which perhaps might be to your advantage."

Aillas laughed. "My experience has not made me more amiable; that
is certain."

"Still, you are young and presumably resilient," said Shimrod.
"Most of your life lies ahead of you. Marriage, sons and
daughters; who knows what else?"

Aillas grunted. "Small chance of that. There is no one I wish to
marry. Except..." An image came to Aillas' mind, unbidden and
unpremeditated: a dark-haired girl, slender as a wand, olive-pale
of complexion, with long sea-green eyes.

"Except for whom?"

"No matter. I will never see her again... Time we were on our way;
there are eight miles yet to ride."

The two men rode down upon the Ceald, past a pair of drowsy
villages, through a forest, over old bridges. They rode beside a
marsh of a hundred waterways, fringed with cat-tails, willows and
alder. Birds thronged the marsh: herons, hawks perched high in the
trees, blackbirds among the reeds, coots, bitterns, ducks.


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The waterways became deeper and wider, the reeds submerged; the
marsh opened upon Janglin Water, and the road, passing through an
orchard of ancient pear trees, arrived at Watershade Castle.

Aillas and Shimrod dismounted at the door. A groom came up to take
their horses. When Aillas had departed Watershade for the court of
King Granice, the groom had been Cern the stable-boy. Cern now
greeted Aillas with a broad, if nervous, smile of pleasure.
"Welcome home, Sir Aillas—though now it seems it must be 'Your
Majesty.' That doesn't come comfortable to the tongue, when what I
remember best is swimming in the lake and wrestling in the barn."

Aillas threw his arms around Cern's neck. "I'll still wrestle you.
But now that I'm king, you've got to let me win."

Cern tilted his head sidewise to consider. "That's how it must be,
since it's only proper to show respect for the office. So then,
one way or the other, Aillas—sir—Your Majesty—however you are to
be called—it's good to see you home. I'll take the horses; they'll
like a rub and a feed."

The front doors were flung open; in the aperture stood a tall
white-haired man in black with a ring of keys at his waist: Weare,
the chamberlain at Watershade for as long as Aillas could remember
and long before. "Welcome home, Sir Aillas!"

"Thank you, Weare." Aillas embraced him. "In the last two years
I've often wished to be here."

"You'll find nothing changed, except that good Sir Ospero is no
longer with us, so that it's been quiet and lonely. How often I've
longed for the good days, before first you, then Sir Ospero went
to the court." Weare took a step back and gazed into Aillas' face.
"You left here a boy, without a care, handsome and easy, with
never a harsh thought."

"And I have changed? In truth, Weare, I am older."

Weare studied him a moment. "I still see the gallant lad, and also


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something dark. I fear you have known trouble."

"True enough, but I am here and the bad days are behind us."

"So I hope, Sir Aillas!"

Aillas once again embraced him. "Here is my comrade the noble
Shimrod, who I hope will be our guest long and often."

"I am happy to know you, sir. I've put you in the Blue Chamber
with a nice view across the lake. Sir Aillas, tonight I thought
you would prefer to use the Red Chamber. You'd hardly be for your
old rooms, nor for Sir Ospero's chambers, quite so soon."

"Exactly right, Weare! How well you know my feelings! You've
always been kind to me, Weare!"

"You've always been a good boy, Sir Aillas."

An hour later Aillas and Shimrod went out upon the terrace to
watch the sun settle behind the far hills. Weare served wine from
a stoneware jug. "This is our own San Sue which you liked so well.
This year we've laid down eighty-six tuppets. I won't serve nut-
cakes, because Flora wants you with your best appetite for
supper."

"I hope she's not producing anything too lavish."

"Merely a few of your favorites."

Weare departed. Aillas leaned back in his chair. "I've been King a
week. I have talked and listened from morning till night. I have
knighted Cargus and Yane and invested them with property; I have
sent for Ehirme and all her family; she will live out her life in
comfort. I have inspected the shipyards, the armories, the
barracks. From my spy-masters I have heard secrets and
revelations, so that my mind throbs. I learn that King Casmir is
building war galleys at inland shipyards. He hopes to assemble a
hundred galleys and invade Troicinet. King Granice intended to
land an army at Cape Farewell and occupy Tremblance up into the


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Troaghs. He might have succeeded; Casmir expected nothing so bold,
but spies saw the flotilla and Casmir rushed his army to Cape
Farewell and arranged an ambush, but Granice was warned by his own
spies, and called off the operation."

"The war apparently is controlled by spies."

Ailias agreed that this might seem to be the case. "On balance,
the advantage has been ours. Our assault force remains intact,
with new catapults to throw three hundred yards. So Casmir stands
first on one foot, then the other because our transports are ready
to sail, and the spies could never warn Casmir in time."

"So you intend to prosecute the war?"

Aillas looked out across the lake. "Sometimes, for an hour or two,
I forget the hole where Casmir put me. I never escape for long."

"Casmir still does not know who fathered Suldrun's child?"

"Only by a name in the priest's register, if even he has troubled
to learn so much. He thinks me moldering at the bottom of his
hole. Someday he will know differently... Here is Weare, and we
are summoned to our supper."

At the table Aillas sat in his father's chair and Shimrod occupied
the place opposite. Weare served them trout from the lake and duck
from the marsh, with salad from the kitchen garden. Over wine and
nuts, with legs stretched out to the fire, Aillas said: "1 have
brooded much on Carfilhiot. He still does not know that Dhrun is
my son."

"The affair is complicated," said Shimrod. "Tamurello is
ultimately at fault; his intent is to work through me against
Murgen. He forced the witch Melancthe to beguile me that I might
be killed, or marooned, in Irerly, while Carfilhiot stole my
magic."

"Will not Murgen act to recover your magic?"



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"Not unless Tamurello acts first."

"But Tamurello already has acted."

"Not demonstrably."

"Then we should provoke Tamurello to a demonstration more overt."

"Easier said than done. Tamurello is a cautious man."

"Not cautious enough. He overlooked a possible situation which
would allow me to act in all proper justice against both
Carfilhiot and Casmir."

Shimrod thought a moment. "There you leave me behind."

"My great grandfather Helm was brother to Lafing, Duke of South
Ulfland. I have had news from Oaldes that King Quilcy is dead:
drowned in his own bath-water. I am next in line to the Kingdom of
South Ulfland, which Casmir does not realize. I intend to assert
my claim by the most immediate and definite process. Then, as
Carfilhiot's lawful king, I will demand that he come down from
Tintzin Fyral to render homage."

"And if he refuses?"

"Then we will attack his castle."

"It is said to be impregnable."

"So it is said. When the Ska failed, they reinforced that
conviction."

"Why should you have better luck?"

Aillas threw a handful of nutshells into the fire. "I will be
acting as his rightful sovereign. The factors of Ys will welcome
me, as will the barons. Only Casmir would oppose us, but he is
sluggish and we plan to catch him napping."



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"If you are able to surprise me - and you have - then you should
surprise Casmir."

"So I hope. Our ships are loading; we are giving false information
to the spies. Casmir presently will discover an unpleasant
surprise."


Chapter 30

KING CASMIR OF LYONESSE, who never took comfort in half-measures,
had established spies in every quarter of Troicinet, including the
palace Miraldra. He assumed, correctly, that Troice spies
subjected his own activities to a scrutiny equally pervasive;
therefore, when taking information from one of his secret agents,
he used careful procedures to safeguard the agent's identity.

Information arrived by various methods. One morning at breakfast
he found a small white stone beside his plate. Without comment
Casmir put the stone in his pocket; it had been placed there, so
he knew, by Sir Mungo, the seneschal, who would have received it
from a messenger.

After taking his breakfast, Casmir swathed himself in a hooded
cloak of brown fustian and departed Haidion by a private way
through the old armory and out into the Sfer Arct. After ensuring
that no one followed, Casmir went by lanes and alleys to the
warehouse of a wine merchant. He fitted a key into the lock of a
heavy oak door, and so entered a dusty little tasting room
smelling heavily vinous. A man squat and gray-haired, with crooked
legs and a broken nose, gave him a casual salute. Casmir knew the
man only as Valdez; and he himself used the name "Sir Eban."

Valdez might or might not know him as Casmir; his manner at all
times was totally impersonal, which suited Casmir very well.

Valdez pointed him to one of the chairs, and seated himself in
another. He poured wine from an earthenware jug into a pair of
mugs. "I have important information. The new Troice king intends a
naval operation. He has massed his ships in the Hob Hook, and at


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Cape Haze, troops are moving aboard; an assault is imminent."

"An assault where?"

Valdez, whose face was that of a man clever and cool, ruthless and
saturnine, gave an indifferent shrug. "No one has troubled to tell
me. The shipmasters are to sail when the weather shifts
south—which gives them west, east and north for their sailing."

"They are trying Cape Farewell again: that is my guess."

"It might well be, if defense has been relaxed."

Casmir nodded thoughtfully. "Just so."

"Another possibility. Each ship has been supplied with a heavy
grapple and hawser."

Casmir leaned back in his chair. "What purpose would these serve?
They can't expect a naval battle."

"They might hope to prevent one. They are taking aboard firepots.
And remember, south wind blows them up the River Sime."

"To the shipyards?" Casmir was instantly aroused. "To the new
ships?"

Valdez raised the cup of wine to his crooked slash of a mouth. "I
can only report facts. The Troice are preparing to attack, with a
hundred ships and at least five thousand troops, well armed."

Casmir muttered. "Bait Bay is guarded, but not that well. They
could work disaster if they took us by surprise. How can I know
when their first fleet puts to sea?"

"Beacons are chancy. If one fails, through fog or rain, the whole
system fails. In any case there is no time to set up such a chain.
Pigeons will not fly a hundred miles of water. I know no other
system, save those propelled by magic."



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Casmir jumped to his feet. He dropped a leather purse upon the
table. "Return to Troicinet. Send me news as often as practical."

Valdez lifted the purse and seemed satisfied by its weight. "I
will do so."

Casmir returned to Haidion, and within the hour couriers rode from
Lyonesse Town at speed. The Dukes of Jong and Twarsbane were
ordered to take armies, knights and armored cavalry to Cape
Farewell, to reinforce the garrison already on the scene. Other
troops, in the number of eight thousand, were despatched in haste
to the Sime River shipyards, and everywhere along the coast
watches were set. The harbors were sealed and all boats restricted
to moorings (save that single vessel which would carry Valdez back
to Troicinet), in order that spies might not apprise the Troice
that the forces of Lyonesse had been mobilized against the secret
assault.

The winds shifted south and eighty ships with six thousand
soldiers took departure. Leaning to the port tack they sailed into
the west. Passing through the Straits of Palisidra, the fleet kept
well to the south, beyond the purview of Casmir's vigilant
garrisons, then swung north, to coast easily downwind, with blue
water gurgling under the bows and surging up behind the transoms.

Meanwhile, Troice emissaries traversed the length and breadth of
South Ulfland. To cold castles along the moors, to walled towns
and mountain keeps, they brought news of the new king and his
ordinances which must now be obeyed. Often they won immediate and
grateful acquiescence; as often they were forced to overcome
hatreds fomented by the murders, treacheries and torments of
centuries. These were emotions so bitter as to dominate all other
thought: feuds which were to the participants as water to a fish,
vengeances and hoped-for vengeances so sweet as to obsess the
mind. In such cases logic had no power. ("Peace in Ulfland? There
shall be no peace for me until Keghorn Keep is broken stone by
stone and Melidot blood soaks the rubble!") Thereupon, the envoys
used tactics more direct. "You must, for your own security, put
aside these hatreds. A heavy hand rules Ulfland, and if you will
not conform to the order, you will find your enemies in favor,


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with the might of the realm at their call, and you will pay a hard
price for worthless goods."

"Ha hmm. And who is to rule Ulfland?"

"King Aillas already rules, by right and might, and the old bad
times are gone. Make your choice! Join with your peers and bring
peace to this land, or you will be named renegade! Your castle
will be taken and burned; you, if you survive, will live out your
life as a thrall, with your sons and daughters. Cast your lot with
us; you cannot but gain."

Thereupon, the person so addressed might try to procrastinate, or
declare himself concerned only with his own domain, without
interest in the land at large. If his nature were cautious, he
might assert that he must wait to see how others conducted
themselves. To each case the envoy replied: "Choose now! You are
either with us in law, or against us, as an outlaw! There is no
middle way!" In the end almost all the gentry of South Ulfland
gave acquiescence to the demands, if only out of hatred for Faude
Carfilhiot. They arrayed themselves in their ancient armor,
mustered their troops, and rode out from their old keeps with
banners fluttering above their heads, to assemble on the field
near Cleadstone Castle.

In his workroom Faude Carfilhiot sat absorbed in the moving
figures on his map. What could such a conclave portend? Certainly
nothing to his advantage. He summoned his captains and sent them
riding down the valley to mobilize his army.

Two hours before dawn the wind died and the sea became calm. With
Ys close at hand the sails were brailed and the oarsmen bent their
backs to the sweeps. Point Istaia and the Temple of Atlante
interposed their silhouettes across the pre-dawn sky; the ships
slid over pewter water, close by the steps descending from the
temple to the sea, then turned where the beach curved down from
the north into the estuary of the Evander and grounded upon the
sand to discharge troops, then the transports eased close up to
the docks at Ys to unload cargo.



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From their garden terraces the factors of Ys watched the
debarkation with no more than languid interest, and the folk of
the town went about their affairs, as if incursions from the sea
were a daily occurrence.

At the balustrade of her own palace Melancthe watched the ships
arrive. Presently she turned and slipped into the dim interior of
her palace.

Sir Glide of Fairsted, with a single companion took horse and rode
at speed up the vale, through fields and orchards, with mountains
rising steep to right and left. Through a dozen villages and
hamlets the two men rode, with no one giving so much as curiosity
to their passage.

The mountains converged upon the valley which finally terminated
under that flat-topped height known as Tac Tor, with Tintzin Fyral
to the side. A taint on the air grew ever stronger and presently
the two riders discovered the source: six poles fifty feet tall,
supporting as many impaled corpses.

The road passing under the poles crossed a meadow which displayed
further evidences of Carfilhiot's severity toward his enemies: a
gantry twenty feet high from which hung four men with heavy stones
dangling from their feet. Beside each stood a marker, measured off
in inches.

A sentry-house guarded the way. A pair of soldiers in the black
and purple of Tintzin Fyral marched out to cross halberds. A
captain followed them and spoke to Sir Glide. "Sir, why do you
make approach to Tintzin Fyral?"

"We are a deputation in the service of King Aillas," said Sir
Glide. "We request a conference with Sir Faude Carfilhiot, and we
solicit the safety of his protection before, during and after this
conference, in order to achieve the full freedom of our
expression."

The captain performed a somewhat casual salute. "Sirs, I will
transmit your message at once." He mounted a horse and rode up a


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narrow way cut so as to traverse the cliff. The two soldiers
continued to bar the road with crossed halberds.

Sir Glide spoke to one of the guards. "You have served Sir Faude
Carfilhiot over a long period?"

"Only a year, sir."

"Your nationality is Ulf ?"

"North Ulf, sir."

Sir Glide indicated the gantry. "What is the reason for this
exercise?"

The guard gave an indifferent shrug. "Sir Faude is persecuted by
the gentry of the region; they will not abide his rule. We scour
the land, keen as wolves, and whenever they go abroad, to hunt or
inspect their lands, we take them into custody. And then Sir Faude
makes an example to deter and frighten the others."

"His punishments show ingenuity."

Again the guard shrugged. "It makes no great difference. One way
or another it is death. And simple hangings or even impalings at
last become a bore for all concerned."

"Why are these men measured by markers?"

"They are great enemies. You see there Sir Jehan of Femus, his
sons Waldrop and Hambol, and his cousin Sir Basil. They were taken
and Sir Faude sentenced them to punitive display, but also showed
clemency. He said: 'Let markers be placed; then when these
miscreants have stretched to double their length, let them be
released, and allowed to run freely back over the fells to Castle
Femus.'"

"And how goes it with them?"

The guard shook his head. "They are weak and suffer anguish; and


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all have at least two feet still to grow."

Sir Glide looked back along the valley and up and down the
mountainsides. "It would seem no great matter to ride up the
valley with thirty men and effect a rescue."

The guard, grinning, showed a mouthful of broken teeth. "So it
would seem. Never forget, Sir Faude is a master of crafty tricks.
No one invades his valley to escape free and harmless." Sir Glide
again considered the mountains rising steep from the valley floor.
No doubt they were riddled with tunnels, vantages and sally-holes.
He told the guard: "I would suspect that Sir Faude's enemies
gather faster than he can kill them."

"It may be so," said the guard. "Mithra keep us safe!" The
conversation, from his point of view, had run its course; perhaps
already he had been too garrulous.

Sir Glide joined his companion, a tall man dressed in a black
cloak and broad-brimmed black hat pulled low over his forehead to
shadow a spare long-nosed face. This person, though armed only
with a sword and lacking armor, nonetheless carried himself with
the ease of a nobleman, and Sir Glide treated him as an equal.

The captain came down from the castle. He addressed Sir Glide.
"Sir, I have faithfully delivered your message to Sir Faude
Carfilhiot. He gives you entrance to Tintzin Fyral and warrants
your safety. Follow, if you will; he can receive you at once." So
saying, he put his horse through a grand caracole and galloped
away. The deputation followed at a more moderate pace. Up the
cliff they rode, back and forth, and at every stage discovered
instruments of defense: embrasures, traps, stone-tumbles, timbers
pivoted to sweep the intruder into space, sally-ports and trip-
holes.

Back, forth, again and again, and the road widened. The two men
dismounted and gave over their horses to stable-boys.

The captain took them into the lower hall of Tintzin Fyral, where
Carfilhiot waited. "Gentlemen, you are dignitaries of Troicinet?"


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Sir Glide assented. "That is                           correct. I am Sir Glide of Fairsted
and I carry credentials from                           King Aillas of Troicinet, which I now
put before you." He tendered                           a parchment, at which Carfilhiot
glanced, then handed over to                           a small fat Chamberlain. "Read."

The chamberlain read in a reedy voice:

"To Sir Faude Carfilhiot At Tintzin Fyral:

By the law of South Ulfland, by might and by right, I have become
King of South Ulfland, and I hereby require of you the fealty due
the sovereign-ruler. I present to you Lord Glide of Fairsted, and
another, both trusted councillors. Sir Glide will enlarge upon my
requirements and in general speak with my voice. He may be
entrusted with whatever messages, even the most confidential, you
may care to impart.

I trust that you will make quick response to my demands as
expressed by Sir Glide. Below I append my signature and the seal
of the kingdom.

Aillas

Of South Ulfland and Troicinet: King."

The chamberlain returned the parchment to Carfilhiot, who studied
it with a thoughtful frown, obviously arranging his thoughts. At
last he spoke in tones of great gravity. "I am naturally
interested in the concepts of King Aillas. Let us conduct this
business in my small saloon."

Carfilhiot led Sir Glide and his companion up a low flight of
steps, past a kind of aviary thirty feet high and fifteen feet in
diameter, equipped with perches, nests, feeders and swings. The
human denizens of the aviary exemplified Carfilhiot's whimsy at
its most pungent; he had amputated the limbs of several captives,
both male and female and had substituted iron claws and hooks,
with which they clung to the perches. Each was adorned with
plumage of one sort or another; all twittered, whistled and sang


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bird-songs. Chief among the group, splendid in bright green
feathers, sat Mad King Deuel. Now he hunched on his perch, an
aggrieved expression on his face. At the sight of Carfilhiot he
became alert and hopped briskly along the perch. "One moment, if
you will! I have a serious complaint!"

Carfilhiot paused. "Well, what now? Of late you have been
querulous."

"And why should I not? Today I was promised worms. In spite of
all, I was served only barley!"

"Patience," said Carfilhiot. "Tomorrow you will have your worms."

Mad King Deuel muttered peevishly, hopped to another perch and sat
brooding. Carfilhiot led his company into a room paneled in pale
wood, with a green rug on the floor and windows overlooking the
valley. He gestured to a table. "Be seated, if you please. Have
you dined?"

Sir Glide seated himself; his companion remained standing at the
back of the room. "We already have taken our meal," said Sir
Glide. "If you like, we will go directly to our business."

"Please do so:" Carfilhiot leaned back in his chair and thrust out
his long strong legs.

"My message is simple. The new king of South Ulfland has arrived
in force at Ys. King Aillas brings a strong rule to the land and
all must obey him."

Carfilhiot gave a metallic laugh. "I know nothing of this. To the
best of my information, Quilcy left no heirs; the line is dead.
Where then does Aillas derive his right?"

"He is King of South Ulfland by collateral lineage and by proper
law of the land. Already he comes up the Vale, and he bids you to
descend and meet him, and to give over any thoughts of resisting
his rule from the strength of this, your castle Tintzin Fyral,
since in this case he will reduce it."


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"That has been tried before," said Carfilhiot, smiling. "The
assailants are gone and Tintzin Fyral remains. In any event King
Casmir of Lyonesse will not allow a Troice presence here."

"He has no choice. We have already sent a force to take Kaul
Bocach and so deny Casmir his thoroughfare."

Carfilhiot sat brooding. He gave his fingers a contemptuous flick.
"I must move with deliberation. The circumstances are still
uncertain."

"I beg to contradict you. Aillas rules South Ulfland. The barons
have acceded to his rule with gratitude, and they have marshaled
their troops at Cleadstone Castle, in case they are needed against
Tintzin Fyral."

Carfilhiot, startled and stung, jumped to his feet. Here was the
message of the magic chart! "Already you have incited them against
me! In vain! The plot will fail! I have powerful friends!"

Sir Glide's companion spoke for the first time. "You have a single
friend, your lover Tamurello. He will not help you."

Carfilhiot whirled about. "Who are you? Come forward! Somewhere I
have seen you."

"You know me well, because you have done me great wrongs. I am
Shimrod."

Carfilhiot stared. "Shimrod!"

"You hold the two children Glyneth and Dhrun who are dear to me.
You will return them now into my custody. You robbed my manse.
Trilda and took my possessions. Bring them to me now."

Carfilhiot drew his lips back in a ghastly grin. "And what do you
offer in return?"

Shimrod spoke in a soft dull voice. "I swore that the villains who


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looted Trilda would die after first suffering some of the torment
they had visited upon my friend Grofinet. I took Rughalt the
assassin through his sore knees. He died in great pain but first
he named you as his accomplice. Return me now my goods and the two
children. I will reluctantly forswear myself: you will not die by
my hand nor by the pain I would give you. I have nothing more to
offer, but it is a great deal."

Carfilhiot, with eyebrows raised and lids half-lowered, contrived
an expression of austere distaste. He spoke patiently, like one
explaining self-evident truths to a lack-wit. "You are nothing to
me. I have taken your goods because I wanted them. I will do so
again, perchance. Beware of me, Shimrod!"

Sir Glide spoke. "Sir, once more I cite you the orders of your
liege lord King Aillas. He bids you come down from your palace and
submit yourself to his justice. He is not a harsh man and prefers
to spill no blood."

"Ha ha! So there is how the wind blows! And what does he offer me
for this merciful service?"

"The benefits are very real. The noble Shimrod has made requests.
If you oblige him, he undertakes not to take your life. Comply
with his proposals! By syllogism, we offer you life itself: the
most valuable and concrete advantage possible to offer."

Carfilhiot flung himself down in his chair. After a moment he
chuckled. "Sir Glide, you have a deft tongue. One less tolerant
than myself might even consider you insolent; even I am taken
aback. You come here naked of protection but for a safe-conduct
which teeters upon discretion and propriety. Next, you seek to
extort large concessions through taunts and threats, which rankle
harshly on the ear. In my aviary you would quickly learn to warble
more pleasing songs."

"Sir, my intent is not to exasperate but to persuade. I had hoped
to address your reason rather than your emotions."

Carfilhiot jumped again to his feet. "Sir, I am losing patience


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with your glibness."

"Very well, sir, I will say no more. What specific response shall
I take to King Aillas?"

"You may tell him that Faude Carfilhiot, Duke of Vale Evander,
reacts negatively to his proposals. In his forthcoming war with
King Casmir I consider myself neutral."

"I will relay to him these exact words."

Shimrod spoke. "And my requests?"

Carfilhiot's eyes seemed to show a yellow light. "Like Sir Glide
you offer me nothing and expect all. I cannot oblige you."

Sir Glide performed the minimal bow required by chivalric
protocol. "Our thanks, at least, for your attention."

"If you hoped to arouse my deep antipathy, you have succeeded,"
said Carfilhiot. "Otherwise, the occasion has been time wasted.
This way, if you please." He ushered the two past the aviary,
where Mad King Deuel hopped forward with an urgent new complaint,
and into the lower hall, where Carfilhiot summoned his
chamberlain. "Conduct these gentlemen to their horses." He turned
to face the two. "I bid you farewell. My parole guards you while
you pass down the valley. Should you return I will consider you
hostile interlopers."

Shimrod said: "A final word with you."

"As you wish."

"Let us step outside; what I have to say to you sounds sickly and
muffled inside your hall."

Carfilhiot ushered Shimrod out upon the terrace. "Speak then."
They stood in the full light of afternoon.

"I am a magician of the eleventh level," said Shimrod. "When you


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robbed me at Trilda you diverted me from my studies. Now they will
resume. How will you protect yourself against me?"

"Would you dare pit yourself against Tamurello?"

"He will not protect you against me. He stands in fear of Murgen."

"I am secure."

"Not so. At Trilda you committed the provocation; I am allowed my
revenge. That is the law."

Carfilhiot's mouth drooped. "It does not apply."

"No? Who protected Rughalt when his body burned from inside out?
Who will protect you? Tamurello? Ask him. He will give you
assurances, but their falsity will be easy to detect. One last
time: give me my possessions and my two children."

"I submit to no man's orders."

Shimrod turned away. He crossed the terrace and mounted his horse.
The two emissaries rode down the zig-zag way, past the gantry and
the four taut men from Femus Castle, and so down the road toward
Ys.

A band of fifteen ragged mendicants straggled south along the Ulf
Passway. Some walked hunched; others hopped on crippled legs;
others wore bandages stained by festering sores. Approaching the
fortress at Kaul Bocach, they noted the soldiers on guard and
shambled forward at best speed, groaning p-teously and demanding
alms. The soldiers drew back in distaste and passed the group
through quickly.

Once beyond the fort the mendicants recovered their health. They
straightened, discarded bandages and hobbled no more. In a forest
a mile from the fortress they brought axes from under their
garments, cut poles and built four long ladders.

The afternoon passed. At dusk another group approached Kaul


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Bocach: this time a troupe of vagabond entertainers. They made
camp in front of the fort, broached a keg of wine, set meat to
cooking on spits and presently began to play music while six
comely maidens danced jigs in the firelight.

The soldiers of the fort went to watch the merriment and to call
out compliments to the maidens. Meanwhile the first group returned
in stealth. They raised their ladders, climbed unseen and unheard
to the parapets.

Quickly and quietly they knifed a pair of luckless guards whose
attention had been fixed on the dancing, then descended to the
wardroom, where they killed several more soldiers at rest on their
pallets, then leapt upon the backs of those who watched the
entertainment. The performance came to an instant halt. The
entertainers joined the fight and in three minutes the forces of
South Ulfland once more controlled the fortress at Kaul Bocach.

The commander and four survivors were sent south with a message:

CASMIR, KING OF LYONESSE: TAKE NOTE!

The fortress Kaul Bocach is once more ours, and the interlopers
from Lyonesse have been killed and expelled. Neither trickery nor
all the valor of Lyonesse will again take Kaul Bocach from us.
Enter South Ulfland at your peril! Do you wish to test your
armies against our Ulfish might? Come by way of Poelitetz; you
will find it safer and easier.

I sign myself

Goles of Cleadstone Castle, Captain of the Ulf armies At Kaul
Bocach.

The night was dark and moonless; around Tintzin Fyral the
mountains bulked black against the stars. In his high tower
Carfilhiot sat brooding. His attitude suggested impatience, as if
he were waiting for some signal or occurrence which had failed to
show itself. At last he jumped to his feet and went to his
workroom. On the wall hung a circular frame something less than a


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foot in diameter, surrounding a gray membrane. Carfilhiot plucked
at the center of the membrane, to draw out a button of substance
which grew rapidly under his hand to become a nose of first
vulgar, then extremely large size: a great red hooked member with
flaring hairy nostrils.

Carfilhiot gave a hiss of exasperation; tonight the sandestin was
restless and frolicsome. He seized the great red nose, twisted and
kneaded it to the form of a crude and lumpy ear, which squirmed
under his fingers to become a lank green foot. Carfilhiot used
both hands to cope with the object and again produced an ear, into
which he uttered a sharp command: "Hear! Listen and hear! Speak my
words to Tamurello at Faroli. Tamurello, do you hear? Tamurello,
make response!"

The ear altered to become an ear of ordinary configuration. To the
side a nubbin twisted and curled to form a mouth, shaped precisely
like Tamurello's own mouth. The organ spoke, in Tamurello's voice:
"Faude, I am here. Sandestin, show a face."

The membrane coiled and twisted, to become Tamurello's face, save
for the nose, where the sandestin, from carelessness, or perhaps
caprice, placed the ear it had already created.

Carfilhiot spoke earnestly: "Events are fast in progress! Troice
armies have landed at Ys and the Troice king now calls himself
King of South Ulfland. The barons have not stayed him, and I am
isolated."

Tamurello made a reflective sound. "Interesting."

"More than interesting!" cried Carfilhiot. "Today two emissaries
came to me. The first ordered that I surrender myself to the new
king. He uttered no compliments and no guarantees, which I regard
as a sinister sign. Naturally I refused to do this."

"Unwise! You should have declared yourself a loyal vassal, but far
too ill either to receive visitors or come down from your castle,
thereby offering neither challenge nor pretext."



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"I obey no man's bidding," said Carfilhiot fretfully.

Tamurello made no comment. Carfilhiot went on. "The second
emissary was Shimrod."

"Shimrod!"

"Indeed. He came in company with the first, skulking in the
shadows like a ghost, then springing forth to demand his two
children and his magic stuff. Again I gave refusal."

"Unwise, unwise! You must learn the art of graceful acquiescence,
when it becomes a useful option. The children are useless to you,
as are Shimrod's stuffs. You might have ensured his neutrality!"

"Bah," said Carfilhiot. "He is a trifle compared to you—whom,
incidentally, he maligned and scorned."

"In what wise?"

"He said that you were undependable, that your word was not true
and that you would not secure me from harm. I laughed at him."

"Yes, just so," said Tamurello in an abstracted voice. "Still,
what can Shimrod do against you?"

"He can visit an awful magic upon me."

"So to violate the edict? Never. Are you not the thing of Desmei?
Are you not possessed of magical apparatus? Thereby you become a
magician."

"The magic is locked in a puzzle! It is useless!" Murgen may not
be convinced. After all, the apparatus was stolen from Shimrod,
which must be regarded as provocation of one magician by another."

Tamurello chuckled. "But remember this! At that time you lacked
magical implements and so were a layman."

"The argument seems strained."


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"It is logic; no more, no less."

Carfilhiot was still dubious. "I kidnapped his children, which
again could be construed as 'incitement.'"

Tamurello's response, even transmitted through the lips of the
sandestin, seemed rather dry. "In that case, return Shimrod his
children and his goods."

Carfilhiot said coldly: "I now regard the children as hostages to
guarantee my own safety. As for the magical stuffs, would you
prefer that I use them in tandem with you, or that Shimrod use
them to support Murgen? Remember, that was our original concept."

Tamurello sighed. "It is the dilemma reduced to its starkest terms
" he admitted. "On this basis, if no other, I must support you.
Still, under no circumstances may the children be harmed, since
the chain of events would at the end certainly confront me with
Murgen's fury."

Carfilhiot spoke in his usual airy tones. "I suspect that you
exaggerate their significance."

"Nevertheless you must obey!"

Carfilhiot shrugged. "Oh I shall humor your whims, right enough."

The sandestin precisely reproduced Tamurello's small tremulous
laugh. "Call them what you like."


Chapter 31

WITH THE COMING OF DAYLIGHT the Ulf army, still a mutually
suspicious set of small companies, struck camp and mustered in the
meadow before Cleadstone Castle: two thousand knights and men-at-
arms. There they were shaped into a coherent force by Sir Fentaral
of Graycastle who, of all the barons, was most generally
respected. The army then set off across the moors.


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Late the following day they established themselves on that ridge
overlooking Tintzin Fyral from which the Ska had previously
attempted an assault.

Meanwhile, the Troice army moved up the vale, encountering only
incurious stares from the inhabitants. The valley seemed almost
uncanny in its stillness.

Late in the day the army arrived at the village Sarquin, within
view of Tintzin Fyral. At the behest of Aillas, elders of the town
came to a colloquy. Aillas introduced himself and defined his
goals. "Now I wish to establish a fact. Speak in candor; the truth
will not hurt you. Are you antagonistic to Carfilhiot, or neutral,
or do you support him?"

The elders muttered among themselves and looked over their
shoulders toward Tintzin Fyral. One said: "Carfilhiot is a man-
witch. It is best that we take no stance in the matter. You are
able to strike off our heads if we displease you; Carfilhiot can
do worse when you are gone."

Aillas laughed. "You overlook the reason for our presence. When we
leave Carfilhiot will be dead."

"Yes, yes; others have said the same. They are gone; Carfilhiot
remains. Even the Ska failed so much as to trouble him."

"I remember the occasion well," said Aillas. "The Ska retired
because of an approaching army."

"That is true; Carfilhiot mobilized the valley against them.

"We prefer Carfilhiot, who is a known if erratic evil, to the Ska,
who are more thorough."

"This time there will be no army to succor Carfilhiot: not from
north or south or east or west will help come."

The elders again muttered among themselves. Then: "Let us suppose


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that Carfilhiot falls, what then?"

"Yoy will know a just and even rule; I assure you of this."

The elder pulled at his beard. "It makes good hearing," he
admitted; then, after a glance at his fellows, he said: "The
situation is of this nature. We are staunchly faithful to
Carfilhiot, but you have terrified us to the point of panic, and
therefore we must do your bidding, despite our inclinations, if
Carfilhiot ever should ask."

"So be it. What, then, can you tell us of Carfilhiot's strength?"

"Recently he has augmented his castle guard, with wolf-heads and
cutthroats. They will fight to the death because they can expect
nothing better elsewhere. Carfilhiot forbids them to molest the
folk of the valley. Still, girls often disappear and are never
again heard from; and they are permitted to take women from the
moors, and they also practice indescribable vices among
themselves, or so it is said."

"What is their present number?" "I guess between three and four
hundred."

"That is not a large force."

"So much the better for Carfilhiot. He needs only ten men to hold
off your entire army; the others are extra mouths to feed. And
beware Carfilhiot's tricks! It is said that he uses magic to his
advantage, and he is an expert at his ambushes."

"How so? In what fashion?"

"Notice yonder: bluffs extend into the valley, with little more
than an arrow-flight between. They are riddled with tunnels; were
you to march past a hail of arrows would strike down and in one
minute you would lose a thousand men."

"Just so, if we were rash enough to march under the bluffs. What
else can you tell us?"


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"There is little else to tell. If you are captured you will sit a
high pole until your flesh rots away in rags. That is how
Carfilhiot pays off his enemies."

"Gentlemen, you may go. I thank you for your advice."

"Remember, I spoke only in a hysteria of fear!"

That will be the way of it."

Aillas marched his army another half-mile. The Ulf army occupied
the heights behind Tintzin Fyral. No word had yet arrived from the
force which had set out to take Kaul Bocach; presumably it had
succeeded.

The exits and entrances to Tintzin Fyral were sealed. Carfilhiot
must now trust his life to the impregnability of his castle.

In the morning a herald carrying a white flag rode up the valley.
He halted before the gate and cried out: "Who will hear me? I
bring a message for Sir Faude Carfilhiot!"

On top the wall stepped the captain of the guard, wearing
Carfilhiot's black and lavender: a massive man with gray hair
flowing back on the wind. He cried out in booming tones: "Who
brings messages to Sir Faude?"

The herald stepped forward. "The armies of Troicinet and South
Ulfland surround the castle. They are led by Aillas, King of
Troicinet and South Ulfland. Will you convey the message I bring,
or will the miscreant descend to hear with his own ears and answer
with his own tongue?"

"I will convey your message."

"Tell Faude Carfilhiot that, by order of the king, his rule at
Tintzin Fyral is ended, and that he remains in occupation as an
outlaw, without franchise from his king. Tell him that his crimes
are notorious and bring great shame to him and his henchmen, and


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that a requital is forthcoming. Tell him that he may ameliorate
his fate by surrendering at this instant. Tell him further that
Ulf troops control Kaul Bocach, to bar the armies of Lyonesse from
Ulfland, so that he may expect no succor from King Casmir, nor
anyone else."

"Enough!" cried the captain in a vast roaring voice. "I can
remember no more!" He turned and jumped down from the wall.
Presently he could be seen riding up the road to the castle.

Twenty minutes passed. The captain returned down the road and once
more ascended the wall. He called: "Sir Herald, listen well! Sir
Faude Carfilhiot, Duke of Vale Evander and Prince of Ulfland,
knows nothing of Aillas, King of Troicinet, and does not
acknowledge his authority. He requires the invaders to leave this
domain which is alien to them, on pain of bitter war and awful
defeat. Remind King Aillas that Tintzin Fyral has known a dozen
sieges and has succumbed to none."

"Will he or will he not surrender?"

"He will not surrender."

"In that case, make announcement to your fellows and all those who
bear arms for Carfilhiot. Tell them that all who fight for
Carfilhiot and shed blood on his behalf will be deemed no less
guilty than Carfilhiot and will share his fate."

Dark moonless night fell across Vale Evander. Carfilhiot climbed
to the flat roof of his high tower and stood in the wind. Two
miles down the valley a thousand campfires created a flickering
carpet, like a drift of red stars. Much closer a dozen other fires
rimmed the northern ridge and suggested the presence of many more
across the ridge, away from the wind. Carfilhiot turned and, to
his startled dismay, at the top of Tac Tor he saw three more
fires. They might well have been built only to daunt him, and so
they did. For the first time he felt fear: first, a gnawing edge
of wonder if possibly, by some tragic failure of fate, Tintzin
Fyral might, on this occasion, fall to a siege. The thought of
what would happen were he captured sent a clammy coldness down


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through his bowels.

Carfilhiot touched the harsh stone of the parapets for
reassurance. He was secure! How could his magnificent castle fall?
In the vaults were stores for a year or even longer; he had ample
water from an underground spring. A gang of a thousand sappers,
working night and day, in theory, might excavate the base of the
cliff so as to topple the castle; practically the idea was absurd.
And what could his enemies hope to achieve from the top of Tac
Tor? The castle was protected by the width of the chasm: A long
bow-shot. Archers on Tac Tor might cause a harassment until
screens were raised against the arrows, whereupon their efforts
became futile. Only from the north would Tintzin Fyral seem
vulnerable. Since the Ska attack Carfilhiot had augmented his
defenses, providing ingenious new systems against any who might
hope to use a battering-ram.

So Carfilhiot reassured himself. Further, and superseding all
else, Tamurello had avowed support. Should supplies run short,
Tamurello could replenish them by magic. In effect, Tintzin Fyral
might stand secure forever!

Carfilhiot looked once more around the circle of night, then
descended to his workroom, but Tamurello, through absence,
neglect, or design, would not talk with him.

In the morning Carfilhiot watched as the Troice army advanced
almost to the base of Tintzin Fyral, evading his ambush by
marching single-file behind a screen of shields. They cut down his
impaling poles, released the stretched men of Femus Castle from
their weights, and set up camp on the meadow. Trains of supplies
moved up the valley and along the ridge, preparations of an
unhurried and methodical sort, which caused Carfilhiot new
apprehension despite all logic to the contrary. There was peculiar
activity on top of Tac Tor and Carfilhiot watched the skeletons of
three enormous catapults take shape. He had thought Tac Tor a
place of no danger, by reason of its steep slopes, but the cursed
Troice had found the trail and with ant-like industry, piece by
piece, had carried to the summit the three great catapults now
rearing against the sky. Surely the range was too far! Thrown


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boulders would simply bounce away from the castle walls and menace
the Troice encampment below. So Carfilhiot assured himself. On the
north ridge six other siege-engines were under construction, and
again Carfilhiot felt queasiness to see the efficiency of the
Troice engineers. The engines were massive, designed with great
precision. They would in due course be brought close to the edge
of the cliff; in just such a fashion the Ska had ranged their
engines... As the day wore on Carfilhiot began to doubt, and the
doubts deepened to rage: the engines were set up well to the safe
side of his collapsible platform. How had they learned of this
danger? From the Ska? Reverses from all directions! A thud and a
shock as something struck the side of the tower.

Carfilhiot swung around aghast. On Tac Tor he saw the arm of one
of the great catapults swing up and snap to halt. A boulder
climbed high into the air, made a slow arc and slanted down toward
the castle. Carfilhiot threw his hands over his head and crouched.
The stone missed the tower by five feet and hissed past to land
near the drawbridge. Carfilhiot took no pleasure in the miss;
these were ranging shots.

He ran down the stairs and ordered a squad of archers to the roof.
They went to the battlements; they placed their bows to the
merlons, lay back and held the bows with a foot. They drew to the
fullest draught and loosened. The arrows arched high across the
gulf, then slanted down to strike the slopes of Tac Tor. A futile
exercise.

Carfilhiot cried out a curse and waved his arms in defiance. Two
of the catapults launched together; two boulders hurtled high,
completed their arcs, slanted down their final courses and plunged
into the roof. The first killed two archers and broke the roof;
the second missed Carfilhiot by ten feet, to plunge through the
roof and into his high parlor. The surviving archers scrambled
down the stairs followed by Carfilhiot.

For an hour boulders struck down upon the roof of the tower,
destroying the battlements, bursting in the roof and breaking the
roof-beams, so that they protruded half in the air, half-down to
the floor below.


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The engineers altered the aim of their machines and began to break
in the walls of the tower. It became clear, that in a period of
time to be measured in days, the engines on Tac Tor alone could
batter the tower of Tinfzin Fyral to its foundation.

Carfilhiot ran to the frame in his workroom and now succeeded in
making contact with Tamurello. "The army is attacking from the
heights with enormous weapons; help me or I am doomed!"

"Very well," said Tamurello in a heavy voice. "I will do what must
be done."

On Tac Tor Aillas stood where he had stood before, during a
different era of his life. He watched as the flung stones crossed
the gulf to batter Tintzin Fyral, then spoke to Shimrod: "The war
is over. He has nowhere to go. Stone by stone we dismantle his
castle. It is time for another parley."

"Let's give him another hour of it. I feel his mood. It is fury
but not yet despair."

Across the sky moved a crepuscule. It settled to the top of Tac
Tor and exploded with a small sound. Tamurello, taller by a head
than ordinary men, stood facing them. He wore a suit of gleaming
black scales and a silver fish-head helmet. Under black brows his
eyes glared round with rings of white surrounding the black iris.
He stood on a ball of flickering force which subsided, lowering
him to the ground. He looked from Aillas to Shimrod and back to
Aillas. "When we met at Faroli I failed to recognize your high
estate."

"At that time I lacked such estate."

"Now you expand your grasp across South Ulfland!"

"The land is mine by right of lineage and now by force of
conquest. Both are valid entitlements."

Tamurello made a sign. "In peaceful Vale Evander, Sir Faude


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Carfilhiot maintains a popular rule. Conquer elsewhere, but stay
your hand here. Carfilhiot is my friend and ally. Call away your
armies, or I must exert my magic against you."

Shimrod spoke. "Desist, before you cause yourself embarrassment. I
am Shimrod. I need speak a single word to summon Murgen. I was
forbidden to do so unless you made prior interference. Since you
have done so I now call on Murgen to intercede. "

A flash of blue flame illuminated the mountain-top; Murgen stepped
forward. "Tamurello, you violate my edict."

"I protect one dear to me."

"You may not do so in this case; you have played a wicked game,
and I tremble with the urge to destroy you at this moment."

Tamurello's eyes seemed to glare with black radiance - He took a
step forward. "Do you dare such threats to me, Murgen? You are
senile and flaccid; you cringe at imaginary fears. Meanwhile I wax
in strength!"

Murgen seemed to smile. "I will cite first, the Wastes of Falax;
second, the Flesh Cape of Miscus; third, the Totness Squalings.
Reflect; then go your way, and be grateful for my restraint."

"What of Shimrod? He is your creature!"

"No longer. In any event, the offense was engendered by you. It is
his right to restore the equipoise. Your deeds were not overt, and
I punish you thus: return to Faroli; do not in any guise venture
from its precincts for five years, on pain of expunction."

Tamurello made a wild gesture, and disappeared in a whirl of
smoke, which became a crepuscule drifting eastward with speed.

Aillas turned to Murgen. "Can you help us further? I would hope
not to risk the lives of honest men, nor yet my son."

"Your wishes do you credit. But I am bound by my own edict. No


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more than Tamurello may I interfere for those whom I love. I walk
a narrow way, with a dozen eyes judging my conduct." He laid his
hand on Shimrod's head. "Already you have altered from my
concepts."

"I am as much Dr. Fidelius the mountebank as I am Shimrod the
magician."

Murgen, smiling, drew back. The blue flame in which he had arrived
came into being and enveloped him; he was gone. On the ground
where he had stood remained a small object. Shimrod picked it up.

Aillas asked: "What is it?"

"A spool. It is wound with a fine thread."

"To what purpose?"

Shimrod tested the cord. "It is very strong."

Carfilhiot stood in his workroom, shuddering to the shock and thud
of boulders striking down from the sky. The circular frame altered
to become the face of Tamurello, mottled and distorted with
emotion. "Faude, I have been thwarted; I may not intercede for
you."

"But they destroy the fabric of my castle! And next they will tear
me to pieces!"

Tamurello's silence hung more heavy in the air than words.

After a moment Carfilhiot spoke on in a voice breathless, soft and
exalted with emotion: "So great a loss and then my death—is it
tolerable to you, who so often have declared your love? I cannot
believe it!"

"It is not tolerable, but love can not melt mountains. All
reasonable things, and more, will I do. So now, make yourself
ready! I will bring you here at Faroli."



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Carfilhiot cried out in a piteous voice: "My wonderful castle? I
will never leave! You must drive them away!"

Tamurello made a sad sound. "Take flight, or give surrender: which
will you do?"

"Neither! I trust you! In the name of our love, help me!"

Tamurello's voice became practical. "For best terms, surrender
now. The worse you hurt them, the harder will be your fate."

His face receded into the gray membrane, which now snapped away
from the frame and disappeared, leaving only the beech-wood
backing-panel. Carfilhiot cursed and dashed the frame to the
floor.

He descended to the floor below and walked back and forth with
hands clasped behind his back. He turned and called to his
servant. "The two children: bring them here at once!"

On top of Tac Tor the captain of the engineers suddenly leapt in
front of the catapults. "Hold your fire!"

Aillas came forward. "What goes on?"

"Look!" The captain pointed. "They have put someone up on what is
left of the roof."

Shimrod said: "There are two: Glyneth and Dhrun!"

Aillas, looking across the gulf, for the first time saw his son.
Shimrod, beside him, said: "He is a handsome boy, and strong and
brave as well. You will be proud of him."

"But how to make rescue? They are at Carfilhiot's mercy. He has
canceled our catapults; Tintzin Fyral is once more invulnerable."

Glyneth and Dhrun, dirty, bewildered, unhappy and frightened, were
seized from the room where they had been confined and ordered up
the spiral staircase. As they climbed they became aware of a


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recurrent impact which sent vibrations down the stone walls of the
tower. Glyneth stopped to rest, and the servant made urgent
gestures. "Quick! Sir Faude is in haste!"

"What is happening?" Glyneth asked.

"The castle is under attack; that is all I know. Come now; there
is no time to waste!"

The two were thrust into a parlor; Carfilhiot paused in his pacing
to survey them. His easy elegance was absent; he seemed disheveled
and distraught. "Come this way! At last you will be of use to me."

Glyneth and Dhrun recoiled before him; he urged them up the
staircase, into the upper levels of the tower. Above a boulder
plunged down through the broken roof to batter at the far wall.
"Quick now! Up with you!" Carfilhiot shoved them up the sagging
and broken staircase, out into afternoon sunlight, where they
stood cowering in expectation of another projectile.

Dhrun cried out: "Look to the mountain yonder!"

"That's Shimrod up there!" cried Glyneth. "He's come to rescue
us!" She waved her arms. "Here we are! Come get us!" The roof
groaned as a beam gave way and the staircase sagged. "Hurry!"
cried Glyneth. "The roof is falling under us!"

"This way," said Dhrun. He led Glyneth close to the broken
battlements, and the two gazed in fascinated hope across the
chasm.

Shimrod came to the edge of the cliff. He held a bow in one hand
and an arrow in the other. He gave them to an archer.

Glyneth and Dhrun watched him in wonder. "He's trying to signal
us," said Glyneth. "I wonder what he wants us to do?"

"The archer is going to shoot the arrow; he's telling us to be
careful."



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"But why shoot an arrow?"

The line from Murgen's spool, so fine as almost to float in the
air, could not be broken by the strength of human arms. Shimrod
carefully laid the thread along the ground, back and forth in ten-
foot bights, so that it might extend freely. He held up bow and
arrow so that the two wistful figures, so near and yet so far,
might divine his purpose, then tied an end of the thread to the
arrow.

Shimrod turned to Cargus. "Can you flight this arrow over the
tower?"

Cargus fitted arrow to bow. "If I fail, pull back the cord and let
a better man make the attempt!"

He drew back the arrow to arch the bow, raised it so that the
arrow might fly its farthest course, and released. High through
the sky, down and over the roof of Tintzin Fyral, flew the arrow,
the thread floating behind. Glyneth and Dhrun ran to catch the
thread. At Shimrod's signal they tied it to a sound merlon at the
far side of the roof. At once the thread thickened, to become a
cable of braided fibers two inches in diameter. On Tac Tor a squad
of men, putting their shoulders to the rope, pulled up the slack
and drew it taut.

In the parlor three floors below, Carfilhiot sat glumly, but
relieved that he had so ingeniously halted the barrage. What next?
All was in flux; conditions must change. He would exercise his
keenest ingenuity, his best talents for agile improvisation, that
from this dreary situation he might salvage the most and best for
himself. But, despite all, a dismal conviction began to ease
across his mind, like a dark shadow. He had very little scope for
maneuver. His best hope, Tamurello, had failed him. Even if he
could keep Dhrun and Glyneth on the roof indefinitely, he still
could not endure a siege forever. He made a petulant sound of
distress. It had become a time for compromise, for amiability and
a clever bargain. What terms would his enemies offer him? If he
surrendered his captives and Shimrod's goods, might he be left in
control of the Vale? Probably not. Of the castle itself? Again,


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probably not.. .Silence from above. What might be happening on Tac
Tor? In his mind's eye Carfilhiot imagined his enemies standing at
the edge of the cliff, calling ineffectual curses across the wind.
He went to the window and looked up. He stared at the line across
the sky and uttered a startled cry. Already from the edge of Tac
Tor he detected men preparing to slide down the rope. He ran to
the stairs and bellowed down to his captain. "Robnet! A squad to
the roof, in haste!"

He ran up to the wreck of his private quarters. The stairs to the
roof sagged under his weight, groaning and swaying. With a tread
as light as possible, he climbed up. He heard Glyneth's
exclamation, and tried to hurry, and felt the stairs give way
beneath his feet. He lunged, and, catching a splintered roof-beam,
pulled himself up. Glyneth, white-faced, stood above him. She
swung a length of broken timber and struck at his head with all
her strength. Dazed, he fell back and hung with one arm over the
roor-beam; then, making a wild grasp with the other arm, he caught
Glyneth's ankle and pulled her toward him.

Dhrun ran forward. He held his hand into the air. "Dassenach! My
sword Dassenach! Come to me!"

From far across the Forest of Tantrevalles, from the thicket into
which Carfilhiot had flung it, came Dassenach the sword, to
Dhrun's hand. He raised it high and thrust it down at Carfilhiot's
wrist and pinned it to the roof-beam. Glyneth kicked herself free
and scrambled to safety. Carfilhiot gave a poignant cry, slipped
to hang by his pinned wrist.

Down the rope, riding a loop, came a squat broad-shouldered man,
with a dark dour countenance. He dropped upon the roof, went to
look at Carfilhiot. Another man slid down from Tac Tor. They
lifted Carfilhiot to the roof and bound his arms and legs with
rope, and then turned to Glyneth and Dhrun. The smaller of the two
men said, "I am Yane; that is Cargus. We are your father's
friends." This was said to Dhrun.

"My father?"



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"There he stands, next to Shimrod."

Down the line slid man after man. Carfilhiot's soldiers tried to
fire arrows from below but the embrasures were set unsuitably in
the walls and the arrows went astray.

Tintzin Fyral was empty. The defenders were dead: by sword, fire,
asphyxiation in sealed tunnels and the executioner's axe. Robnet,
captain of the guard, had climbed atop the wall which enclosed the
parade grounds. He stood spraddle-legged, wind blowing his gray
locks. He roared challenge in his vast hoarse voice. "Come! Who
will meet me, sword in hand? Where are your brave champions, your
heroes, your noble knights? Come! Clash steel with me!"

For a few moments the Troice warriors stood watching him. Sir
Cargus called up. "Come down, old man! The axe awaits you."

"Come up and take me! Come test your steel against mine!"

Cargus made a motion to the archers; Robnet died with six arrows
protruding from neck, chest and eye.

The aviary presented special problems. Certain of the captives
fluttered, dodged and climbed to high perches to avoid those who
came to release them. Mad King Deuel attempted a gallant flight
across the cage, but his wings failed him; he fell to the floor
and broke his neck.

The dungeons yielded stuff forever to                                    haunt the thoughts of those
who explored them. The torturers were                                    dragged screaming out on the
parade ground. The Ulfs cried out for                                    the impaling poles, but King
Aillas of Troicinet and South Ulfland                                    had proscribed torment, and
their heads were taken by the axe.

Carfilhiot occupied a cage on the parade ground at the base of the
castle. A great gibbet was erected, with the arm sixty feet from
the ground. At noon on a raw overcast day, with wind blowing
strangely from the east, Carfilhiot was carried to the gibbet; and
again passionate voices were heard. "He escapes too easily!"



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Aillas paid no heed. "Hang him high." The executioner bound
Carfilhiot's hands behind him, fitted the noose over his head, and
Carfilhiot was taken aloft to dangle kicking and jerking: a
grotesque black shadow on the gray sky. The impaling poles were
broken and the fragments set afire. Carfilhiot's body was cast on
the flames, where it twitched and crawled as if dying a second
time. From the flames rose a sickly green vapor which blew away on
the wind, down Vale Evander and over the sea. The vapor failed to
dissipate. It clotted and coalesced, to become an object like a
large green pearl, which fell into the ocean where it was
swallowed by a turbot.

Shimrod packed into cases his stolen apparatus, and other items as
well. He loaded the cases into a wagon and with Glyneth beside him
drove the wagon down the vale to old Ys. Aillas and Dhrun rode on
horses to the side. The cases were loaded aboard the ship which
would convey them back to Troicinet.

An hour before sailing, Shimrod, motivated by caprice, mounted a
horse and rode north along the beach: a way he had come long ago
in dreams. He approached the low palace beside the sea, and found
Melancthe standing on the terrace, almost as if she had been
awaiting him.

Twenty feet from Melancthe Shimrod halted his horse. He sat in the
saddle, looking at her. She said nothing, nor did he. Presently he
turned his horse about and rode slowly back down the beach to Ys.


Chapter 32

EARLY IN THE SPRING OF the year, envoys from King Casmir arrived
at Miraldra and requested audience with King Aillas.

A herald announced their names: "May it please your Highness to
receive Sir Nonus Roman, nephew to King Casmir, and Duke Aldrudin
of Twarsbane; and Duke Rubarth of Jong; and Earl Fanishe of
Stranlip Castle!"

Aillas stepped down from the throne and came forward. "Sirs, I bid


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you welcome to Miraldra."

"Your Highness is most gracious," said Sir Nonus Roman. "I carry
with me a scroll indited with the words of His Majesty, King
Casmir of Lyonesse. If you permit, I will read them to you."

"Please do so."

The squire tendered Sir Nonus Roman a tube carved from the ivory
of an elephant's tusk. Sir Nonus Roman withdrew a scroll. The
squire stepped smartly forward and Sir Nonus Roman handed him the
scroll. Sir Nonus Roman addressed Aillas: "Your Highness: the
words of Casmir, King of Lyonesse."

The squire, in a sonorous voice, read:

For His Majesty, King Aillas, In His Palace Miraldra, Domreis,
These Words:

I trust that the occasion finds you in good health.

I have come to deplore those conditions which have adversely
affected the traditional friendship existing between our realms.
The present suspicion and discord brings advantage to neither
side. I therefore propose an immediate cessation to hostility,
said truce to persist for at least one year, during which time
neither side shall engage in armed effort or military initiatives
of any sort without prior consultation with the other side, except
in the event of exterior attack.

After one year the truce shall continue in effect unless one side
notifies the other to the contrary. During this time I hope that
our differences may be resolved and that our future relations
shall be in terms of fraternal love and concord.

Again, with compliments and best regards, I am

Casmir

at Haidion, in


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Lyonesse Town

Returning to Lyonesse Town, Sir Nonus Roman delivered the response
of King Aillas.

To Casmir, King Of Lyonesse, These Words From Aillas, King Of
Troicinet, Dascinet And South Ulfland:

I accede to your proposal of a truce, subject to the following
conditions:

We in Troicinet have no desire to defeat, conquer or occupy the
Kingdom of Lyonesse. We are deterred not only by the superior
force of your armies, but also by our basic disinclinations.

We cannot feel secure if Lyonesse uses the respite afforded by a
truce to construct a naval force of a strength sufficient to
challenge our own.

Therefore, I agree to the truce if you desist from all naval
construction, which we must consider as preparation for an
invasion of Troicinet. You are secure in the strength of your
armies, and we in the force of our fleet. Neither is now a threat
to the other; let us make this mutual security the basis for the
truce.

Aillas

With the truce in effect, the Kings of Troicinet and Lyonesse
exchanged ceremonial visits, Casmir coming first to Miraldra.

Upon meeting Aillas face to face, he smiled, then frowned and
looked in puzzlement. "Somewhere I have seen you before. I never
forget a face."

Aillas returned only a noncommittal shrug. "I will not dispute
your Majesty's powers of recollection. Remember, I visited Haidion
as a child."



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"Yes, perhaps so."

During the remainder of the visit Aillas often found Casmir's gaze
upon him, curious and speculative.

Sailing across the Lir on their reciprocal visit to Lyonesse,
Aillas and Dhrun went to stand on the bow of the ship. Ahead
Lyonesse was a dark irregular outline across the horizon. "I have
never spoken to you of your mother," said Aillas. "Perhaps it is
time that you knew the tale of how things went." He looked to the
west, to the east and then once more to the north. He pointed.
"Yonder, perhaps ten or twenty miles, I cannot be sure, I was
pushed into the water of the gulf by my murderous cousin. The
currents carried me ashore, as I hung on the very verge of death.
I came back to life and thought that indeed I had died and that my
soul had drifted into paradise. I was in a garden where a
beautiful maiden, through the cruelty of her father, lived alone.
The father was King Casmir; the maiden was the Princess Suldrun.
We fell deeply in love and planned to escape the garden. We were
betrayed; I was dropped by Casmir's orders into a deep hole, and
he must yet believe that I died there. Your mother gave birth to
you, and you were taken away that you might be secure from Casmir.
In grief and utter woe, your mother gave herself to death, and for
this anguish visited upon someone as blameless as moonlight I will
forever in my bones hate Casmir. And that is the way of it."

Dhrun looked away across the water. "What was my mother like?"

"It is hard to describe her. She was unworldly and not unhappy in
her solitude. I thought her the most beautiful creature I had ever
seen..."

As Aillas moved through the halls of Haidion he was haunted by
images of the past, of himself and Suldrun, so vivid that he
seemed to hear the whisper of their voices and the rustle of their
garments; and as the images passed the two lovers seemed to glance
sidewise at Aillas, smiling enigmatically with eyes glowing, as if
the two had been playing in all innocence no more than a dangerous
game.



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On the afternoon of the third day, Aillas and Dhrun departed
Haidion through the orangery. They went up the arcade, through the
sagging timber portal, down through the rocks and into the old
garden.

Slowly they descended the path through silence which like the
silence of dreams was immanent to the place. At the ruins they
stopped while Dhrun looked around him in awe and wonder.
Heliotrope scented the air; Dhrun would never smell the perfume
again without a quick clutch of emotion.

As the sun settled among golden clouds the two went down to the
shore and watched the surf play over the shingle. Twilight would
soon be coming; they turned up the hill. At the lime tree Aillas
slowed his steps and stopped. Away from Dhrun's hearing he
whispered: "Suldrun! Are you here? Suldrun?"

He listened and imagined a whisper, perhaps only a stirring of
wind in the leaves. Aillas spoke aloud: "Suldrun?"

Dhrun came to him and hugged his arm; already Dhrun deeply loved
his father. "Are you talking to my mother?"

"I spoke. But she does not answer."

Dhrun looked about him, down to the cold sea. "Let's go. I don't
like this place."

"Nor do I."

Aillas and Dhrun departed the garden: two creatures, living and
quick; and if something by the old lime tree had whispered, now it
whispered no more and the garden throughout the night was silent!

The Troice ships had sailed. Casmir, on the terrace in front of
Haidion, watched the sails grow small.

Brother Umphred came up to him. "Sire, a word with you."

Casmir regarded him without favor. Sollace, ever more fervent in


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her faith, had suggested the construction of a Christian
cathedral, for the worship of three entities she called the "Holy
Trinity." Casmir suspected the influence of Brother Umphred, whom
he detested.

He asked: "What do you want?"

"Last night I chanced to notice King Aillas as he came in for the
banquet."

"Well then?"

"Did you find his face familiar?" An arch and meaningful smile
trembled along Brother Umphred's lips.

Casmir glared at him. "As a matter of fact, I did. What of it?"

"Do you recall the young man who insisted that I marry him to the
Princess Suldrun?"

Casmir's mouth sagged. He stared thunderstruck, first at Brother
Umphred, then out across the sea. "I dropped him into the hole. He
is dead."

"He escaped. He remembers."

Casmir snorted. "It is impossible. Prince Dhrun is all of ten
years old."

"And how old do you make King Aillas?"

"He is, at a guess, twenty-two or twenty-three, no more."

"And he fathered a child at the age of twelve or thirteen?"

Casmir paced the floor, hands behind his back. "It is possible.
There is mystery here." He paused and looked out to sea, where the
Troice sails had now disappeared from view.

He signaled to Sir Mungo, his seneschal. "Do you recall the woman


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who was put to question in connection with the Princess Suldrun?"

"Sire, I do so remember."

"Fetch her here."

In due course Sir Mungo reported to Casmir. "Sire, I have tried to
implement your will, but in vain. Ehirme, her spouse, her family,
each and all: they have vacated their premises and it is said that
they have removed to Troicinet, where they are now landed gentry."

Casmir made no response. He leaned back in his chair, lifted a
goblet of red wine and studied the dancing reflections from the
flames in the fireplace. To himself he muttered: "There is mystery
here."


EPILOGUE

WHAT NOW?

King Casmir and his ambitions have temporarily been thwarted.
Aillas, whom once he attempted to kill, is responsible, and Casmir
already has developed a great detestation for Aillas. His
intrigues continue. Tamurello, fearing Murgen, refers Casmir to
the wizard Shan Farway. In their plotting they use the name
"Joald" and both fall silent.

Princess Madouc, half-fairy, is a long-legged urchin with dark
curls and a face of fascinating mobility. She is a creature of
unorthodox habits; what will become of her? Who is her father? At
her behest an adventurous boy named Traven undertakes a quest. If
he succeeds she must grant him whatever boon he demands. Traven is
captured by Osmin the ogre, but Traven saves himself by teaching
his captor chess.

What of Glyneth, who loves Watershade and Miraldra, but yearns for
her vagabond life with Dr. Fidelius? Who will woo and who will win
her?



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Aillas is King of                         South Ulfland and now he must reckon with the
Ska, who wage war                         against the world. When he thinks of the Ska he
thinks of Tatzel,                         who lives at Castle Sank. He knows a secret way
into the fortress                         Poelitetz: how will this knowledge serve him?

Who nets the turbot who swallowed the green pearl? Who proudly
wears the pearl in her locket and is impelled to curious excesses
of conduct?

Many affairs remain unsettled. Dhrun can never forget the wrongs
done him at Thripsey Shee by Falael, even though Falael has been
punished well by King Throbius. From motives of sheer perversity
Falael provokes the trolls of Komin Beg to war, in which they are
led by a ferocious imp named Dardelloy.

What of Shimrod? How does he deal with the witch Melancthe?

And what of the knight of the Empty Helmet, and how does he
comport himself at Castle Rhack?

At Swer Smod Murgen works to elucidate the mysteries of Doom, but
each clarification propounds a new puzzle. Meanwhile, the
adversary stands back in the shadows smiling his smile. He is
potent and Murgen must presently tire, and in great sorrow concede
defeat.




GLOSSARY I

IRELAND AND THE ELDER ISLES

Few definite facts are related of Partholon, a rebel prince of
Dahaut, who after killing his father fled to Leinster. The Fomoire
derived from North Ulfland, then known as Fomoiry. King Nemed,
arriving with his folk from Norway, fought three great battles
with the Fomoire near Donegal. The Ska, as the Neme-dians called
themselves, were fierce warriors; the Fomoire, defeated twice,


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gained final victory only through the magic of three one-legged
witches: Cuch, Gadish and Fehor: a battle in which Nemed was
killed.

The Ska had fought with honor and valor; even in defeat they
commanded the respect of the victors, so that they were allowed a
year and a day to make their black ships ready for an onward
voyage. At length, after three weeks of banquets, games, songs and
the drinking of mead, they set sail from Ireland with Starn, first
son of Nemed, as their king. Starn led the surviving Ska south to
Skaghane, northernmost of the Hesperians, at the western verge of
the Elder Isles.

Nemed's second son, Fergus, sailed to Amorica and assembled an
army of a Celtic people known as the Firbolg, which he led back to
Ireland. Along the way the Firbolg put into Fflaw at the tip of
Wysrod, but so vast an army came to confront them that they left
without a battle and continued to Ireland, where they became
preeminent across the land.

A century later the Tuatha de Danaan, after an epic migration from
central Europe through Asia Minor, Sicily and Spain, crossed the
Cantabrian Gulf to the Elder Isles, and established themselves in
Dascinet, Troicinet and Lyonesse. Sixty years later the Tuatha
split into two factions, one of which moved on to Ireland, to
fight the Firbolg at the First and Second Battles of Mag Tuired.
The second Celtic surge which propelled the Milesians into Ireland
and the Brythni into Britain bypassed the Elder Isles_ C    s
nonethelessLgrated into Hybras in sman groups and and established
the Celtic kingdom Godelia.


GLOSSARY II:

THE FAIRIES

Fairies are halflings, like trolls, falloys, ogres and goblins,
and unlike merrihews, sandestins, quists and darklings. Merrihews
and sandestins both may manifest human semblance, but the occasion
is one of caprice and always fugitive. Quists are always as they


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are, and darklings prefer only to hint of their presence.

Fairies, like the other halflings, are functionally hybrids, with
varying proportions of earth-stuff. With the passage of time the
proportion of earth-stuff increases, if only through the ingestion
of air and water, though occasional coition of man and halfling
hastens the process. As the halfling becomes "heavy" with earth-
stuff it converges toward humanity and loses some or all of its
magic.

The "heavy" fairy is abusively ejected from the shee as a boor and
lummox, to wander the countryside and eventually merge into the
human community, where it lives disconsolately and only rarely
exercises its fading magic. The offspring of these creatures are
peculiarly sensitive to magic, and often become witches or
wizards: so with all the magicians of the Elder Isles.

Slowly, slowly the halflings dwindle; the shees grow dark, and the
halfling life-stuff dissipates into the human race. Every person
alive inherits more or less halfling-stuff from thousands of quiet
infusions. In human inter-relationships the presence of this
quality is a matter of general knowledge, but sensed sub-liminally
and seldom accurately identified.

The fairy of the shee often seems childlike by reason of
intemperate acts. His character varies of course from individual
to individual, but is always capricious and often cruel.
Similarly, the fairy's sympathies are quickly aroused, whereupon
he becomes extravagantly generous. The fairy is inclined to be
boastful; he is given to dramatic postures and quick sulks. He is
sensitive in regard to his self-knage and cannot tolerate
ridicule, which prompts him to a prancing demonstrative fury. He
admires beauty and also grotesque oddity in the same degree; to
the fairy these are equivalent attributes.

The fairy is erotically unpredictable and often remarkably
promiscuous. Charm, youth, beauty are not cogent considerations;
above all the fairy craves novelty. His attachments are seldom
lasting, in common with all his moodsT He quickly shifts from joy
to woe; from wrath through hysteria to laughter, or any of a dozen


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other affections unknown to the more stolid human race.

Fairies love tricks.                               Woe to the giant or ogre the fairies decide
to molest! They give                               him no peace; his own magic is of a gross
sort, easily evaded.                               The fairies torment him with cruel glee until
he hides in his den,                               or castle.

Fairies are great musicians and use a hundred quaint instruments,
some of which, like fiddles, bagpipes and flutes have been adopted
by men. Sometimes they play jigs and knockabouts to put wings on
the heels; sometimes mournful tunes by moonlight, which once heard
may never be forgotten. For processions and investitures the
musicians play noble harmonies of great complexity, using themes
beyond the human understanding.

Fairies are jealous and impatient, and intolerant of intrusion. A
boy or girl innocently trespassing upon a fairy meadow might be
cruelly whipped with hazel twigs. On the Sther hand, if the
fairies were somnolent the child might be ignored, or even
showered with a rain of gold coins, since the fairies enjoy
confounding men and women with sudden fortune, no less than with
sudden disaster.

GLOSSARY III:

THE SKA

For ten thousand years or longer the Ska maintained racial purity
and continuity of tradition, using the same language so
conservatively that the most ancient chronicles, both oral and
written, were intelligible at all times across the years without
archaic flavor. Their myths recalled migrations north behind the
Wurm glaciers; their oldest bestiaries included mastodons, cave
bears and dire wolves. Their sagas celebrated battles with
cannibal Neanderthals, with a culminating victory of extermination
where the red blood ran deep over the ice of Lake Ko (in Denmark).
They followed the glaciers north into the virgin wilderness of
Scandinavia, which they claimed as their homeland. Here they
learned to smelt bog-iron, forge tools, weapons, and structural
pieces; they built seagoing boats and guided themselves by the


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compass.

About 2500 B.C. an Aryan horde, the Ur-Goths, migrated north into
Scandinavia, driving the relatively civilized Ska west, to the
fringes of Norway and eventually into the sea.

The remnants of the Ska descended upon Ireland and entered Irish
myth as "Nemedians": the Sons of Nemed. The Ur-Goths adopted the
Ska folkways, and became ancestors to the various Gothic peoples,
most notably the Germans and the Vikings.

From Fomoiry (North Ulfland) the Fomoire migrated into Ireland,
and engaged the Ska in three great battles, forcing them to depart
Ireland. This time the Ska moved south to Skaghane, which they
vowed never to leave. Molded by bitter adversity, they had become
a race of aristocratic warriors and considered themselves actively
at war with all the rest of the world. All other peoples they
deemed subhuman and only marginally superior to animals. With each
other they were fair, mild and reasonable; with others they were
dispassionately pitiless: this philosophy became their tool for
survival.




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