The Eyes Have It

Greyhawk Adventures

Rose Estes

Ebook created by a scan by Highroller

Eyes will not see

When the heart wishes

them to be blind.

—Lucius Annaeus Seneca

This book is dedicated with love and heartfelt thanks to Tom Wham, whose bizarre and brilliant mind gave birth to this story and its characters. And thanks are also due to Pat McGilligan, editor extraordinaire, for pulling all the bits and pieces together. I can only hope that you, the reader, have enjoyed my vision of the Wolf Nomads of Greyhawk, for a part of my heart will forever remain in Forest Home.

PROLOGUE

Deep within the oerth, far beneath the high, barren peaks of the Crystalmist Mountains, there lived a race of dark elves, chaotic and evil, who were also known as the drow. Unlike their fairer cousins, they lived only in darkness and shunned the light of day.

The greatest of their cities, known as Erelhei-Cinlu, was located beneath the Hellfurnaces, a fiery, volcanic region of the Crystalmist Mountains in the southernmost reaches of the Yeomanry. A long-lived but never a prolific race, the drow of Erelhei-Cinlu numbered no more than four hundred at any point in their dark history.

The drow who made their home in the myriad of dark tunnels and caverns that lay under the vast mountain range had compounded their evil by worshiping the spider-demoness Lolth.

Two of the eight noble houses of Erelhei-Cinlu broke away from their fellow nobles, and in an attempt to extend their power over the surface world, they began to encourage chaos in the world above by sending frost and hill giants to raid and ravage the countryside.

Lolth allowed this minor defection to occur, for she had plans of her own—no less than the invasion of oerth itself—and the drows’ activities would serve as a cover for her own evil actions. Lolth dwelt on one of the many planes of the Abyss and used her power as ruler of that shadowy realm to attack worlds on the Material Plane itself. Many had fallen to her power, and it was her plan to add the world of Greyhawk to her ill-fated collection.

Lolth’s methods for gathering a world to her cause began with spinning a web, weaving a bridge between her abysmal plane and a point on Oerth—in this case, the unfortunate city of Is-tivin, the capital city of the kingdom of Sterich.

The web took on the appearance of a giant black bubble, which completely enveloped the city and opened a gateway between the two worlds, allowing the servants of Lolth—spiders, drows, bugbears, orcs, goblins, giants, vampires, and other undead—to move freely. The native population vanished completely, enslaved by Lolth’s forces and removed to the Abyss or given to loyal factions of the drow.

The land beneath the black bubble was a burned, blasted land, sterile and poisoned by the evil forces who crawled over its surface searching for plunder. The bubble continued to grow at the rate of a league per week, until after a year’s time, the bubble had grown to a radius of more than one hundred leagues in all directions, with Istivin at its center.

Istivin did not die willingly. Opposition was mounted from within, but it was hopeless from the start, for the occupants of the city were totally unprepared for war of any sort, much less a war waged by an army of monsters. The defenders of Istivin were either slain or enslaved, and from that point on, there was little resistance to the spread of the black bubble. Those in its path either fled or died.

As the evil spread, Lolth’s power grew ever stronger. No longer needing their support to survive on Oerth, she played the various factions of the drow against one another, manipulating them and causing them to turn against each other, with death as the final arbiter.

Realizing that more than Sterich was at risk, the neighboring kingdoms of Keoland and the Yeomanry allied with what little was left of Sterich and began to combat the evil as best they could. But it was a losing battle from the start, for conventional methods of warfare had little impact on Lolth. She could not be harmed from outside her black bubble, and to enter it was to die.

The war raged for more than two years, with much of Sterich falling to the forces of darkness. At the end, only the mountainous region of the Stark Mounds, a small kingdom ruled over by Kranoch, the blind king, and Gorna, a small trading center on the northern plains, were free of the darkness.

Realizing that once Sterich was conquered, the Black Queen would turn her gaze elsewhere, Kathryn Fern-Clyffe, Queen for Life of the Yeomanry, a warrior elf whose bravery was exceeded by only her beauty, saw that the only hope of saving her kingdom would be the death of the Black Queen herself.

Together with her prime minister and best friend, Fea-Glenna, the two warrior elves disguised themselves and made their way to the very heart of the darkness. There they found themselves surrounded by the drow, their sworn enemy, and defeated them in battle, taking from them a powerful magical gem known as the Eye of Tiros.

After enduring a long and arduous series of evil encounters, Kathryn faced the Black Queen herself and, with the aid of the magic gem, slew Lolth, Queen of the Demon Web Pits.

With the death of the Black Queen, the bubble of darkness lifted from Sterich, revealing the extent of the terrible devastation. It would take years before Sterich could rebuild, and forever to erase the memory of the horror.

Kathryn and Fea-Glenna returned to the Yeomanry, taking the magical gem with them, never knowing that Kranoch, the blind king, sought it for his own needs. Learning that Kathryn now possessed the powerful gem drove him close to the brink of madness, and in his rage, he vowed to wage war against the Yeomanry.

His hatred of the Yeomanry and of Kathryn was long-standing but sadly misplaced. But in madness, there is no reason, and no one on Oerth could have convinced Kranoch that he was wrong.

The source of his anger was an incident that had occurred some thirty years earlier. During a border incident, a matter of such little importance that it was long forgotten, Kranoch and Kathryn’s father, Buncombe the Green, had joined together to roust out a pocket of goblins who had dared to take up residence along the banks of the Javan River. During the short battle, Kranoch had been unhorsed and struck his head on a rock. A headache was the immediate result of the blow, but in the days that followed, Kranoch found his vision fading. His healers were powerless to help, and in time his vision failed completely, leaving him in utter and complete darkness.

As his vision had failed, so had his power, and many of his men deserted rather than serve under a man who was less than whole. In his bitterness and pain, Kranoch, searching for someone to blame other than himself or fate, came to believe that the injury was the fault of Buncombe the Green, king of the Yeomanry.

Buncombe was totally unaware of Kranoch’s hatred and lived his life to the fullest until he died some twenty years later, poisoned by foul messengers in Kranoch’s employ, a deed that was never detected by the grieving Kathryn, who ascended to the throne on her father’s death.

Kranoch, by means both foul and fair, had managed to raise a massive army that he was determined to lead against the Yeomanry. Nothing would satisfy him but Kathryn’s death and the throne of the Yeomanry itself, as well as the Eye of Tiros, which he believed would cure his blindness.

Meanwhile, a thousand leagues and more to the distant north, in the cold lands of the Wolf Nomads, young Askar-ben-oba, son of the chief, prepared to leave his home and journey forth to Sterich, the home of his future bride. Had he but been aware of the problems that awaited him in that far-off troubled land, he would have been well advised to remain at home.

CHAPTER ONE

The Queen of the Demon Web Pits was dead—curse her black heart, and may she rot forever in whatever hells the gods maintain for such as she. Now, don’t get me wrong. I had nothing against the woman personally, for I lived my life, all twenty-five years of it, far from her reach in the towering forests of the north, home of the Wolf Nomads, while the queen dominated and ruled with utter force the lands of Sterich and the Yeomanry, a good thousand miles or more to the south.

No, my quarrel was not with her life, horrid as it might have been, but with her dying, for upon her death, the last obstacle was removed to the deed that I had evaded for so many years, namely my marriage to my cousin three times removed, Maria Griswalda, of Sterich.

Long had I listened to the tribal elders declaim why such a pairing was to be desired. Endlessly had they yammered on the theme. The tribe had fallen on hard times, and the great roan-wood forests that had provided the basis of our barter and exchange of goods had been stricken by a deadly blight, which had killed nearly all of the once mighty giants. It would be many years before the few tiny saplings that remained could grow into a harvestable size, if they survived at all. Our marriage—or, more to the point, Griswalda’s sizable dowry—would provide the tribe with the wherewithal to survive until such a time as the forest renewed itself.

Once feared and revered as some of the mightiest warriors in the land of Greyhawk, the Wolf Nomads had rested too long on their fat laurels, and even worse, they had come to believe their own lies about their greatness and bravery. A sudden uprising blazed up in the neighboring monarchy of Blackmoor and then spread, engulfing all the surrounding lands, drawing everyone, friend and foe alike, into the fracas and forcing them to take sides. By the time the rebellion burned itself out, it was clear to everyone that the once mighty Wolf Nomads had become little better than untrained whelps. Their war skills, rusty and unused during long years of peace, had softened them for actual battle, and many of our young men were slaughtered in the first wave.

Since that black day, which occurred long before I was born, the tribe had done well to hold on to its hereditary lands, fighting off the incursions of neighboring tribes forever jostling and provoking to see if they might garner a few extra hectares of land.

These were hard times indeed. Hard times that could be alleviated by the fortuitous marriage of one “of their own—heir apparent to the cold, bleak, barren lands that were the heritage of the Wolf Nomads—to Maria Griswalda, the unmarried daughter of a Wolf Nomad who had traveled to the Duchy of Sterich many years before on a trading mission and had prospered. He had remained there as an envoy, married a wealthy local girl, and raised his own family, two boys who had died at birth and Griswalda, who, unfortunately for me, survived. This kinsman was determined that his daughter, the heiress to his very considerable estate, should marry one of his own tribesmen. Time, age, and distance had magnified the importance of tribal ties.

Due to the fact that the lands of the Wolf Nomads lay more than a thousand miles to the north of Sterich and that travel, trade, and communication were sporadic at best, news of the tribe’s diminishing status had not reached my kinsman’s ears. The Black Queen had thrown a tight rein around her vassal state, and the tribal elders were anxious that the marriage between myself, son of the chief, and the very wealthy Maria Griswalda be effected before word of our tribal demise reached the newly liberated land, for the tribe needed the wealth her dowry would bring in order to survive.

Thus, on a crisp autumn morning barely one month after Sterich was liberated, I found myself perched high atop the ridged and swayed back of a laconic black gelding named Blockhead, one of the few horses remaining to our impoverished tribe. I accepted the final words of instructions and advice from the doddering elders whose last hopes for the tribe rode along with me. Smiling patiently, consoling myself with the knowledge that I would soon be done with them, I subtly nudged the gelding in the ribs and was rewarded with a flatulent, gaseous sigh as the creature settled even further onto his sagging haunches. Little did I suspect that this was but the beginning of a long and hateful relationship between us.

At last even the elders had run out of things to say, my mother had wrung her hands for the final time, and my father, the titular chief, had uttered his stoic farewell and pressed a single gold coin into my palm. I stared at the old man with whom I had so little in common and wondered where he had come by the coin, how he had kept it hidden from my mother, and how he had resisted the temptation to spend it on drink or tobacco. Deeply moved by his gesture, I closed my hand over his, and only then, seeing his small, liver-spotted hand with its fragile fingers disappearing into my own large, well-tanned hand, did I realize how old he had become. Looking around me, I suddenly realized that a good many of the tribe members were old. White hair, sagging skin, filmy eyes—these were my inheritance and my responsibility. I was deeply shaken by my sudden insight and wondered how I had blocked it from conscious thought for so long.

It was true that many of the younger tribesmen had moved away as the forest died and our tribal fortunes ebbed. They had gone to Ekbir, or to Eru-Tovar, or hired themselves out to caravans. Few if any of them had ever returned, and soon even their contributions dwindled and then ceased. Only I had remained, because I was the son of the chief, and even though the forest was depleted, it was still home to me, and I could not envision leaving it for long. Also, few if any of the young girls had departed, and my company was much in demand. My betrothal to the distant Griswalda had conveniently prevented any serious liaisons, for which I was grateful, and life was pleasant indeed until the arrival of the missive telling of the Black Queen’s demise.

So it was that I rode out of Forest Home, high atop the rough-gaited black gelding, that bright autumn morn, carrying with me the good wishes and desperate hopes of the tribe and precious little else.

* * *

The village had barely disappeared from sight when I took notice of a cloud of dust approaching from the east on a course that would obviously intersect my own. I kicked the gelding, to little avail, then kneed it hard in its bony ribs, earning myself only another flatulent reply. The beast would not be stirred beyond a ragged, jaw-rattling trot. Not knowing what to expect, I loosened my sword in its scabbard, although to be truthful, I knew only the bare rudiments of swordplay and would stand little chance against an accomplished bladesman.

The cloud of dust drew near, obscuring the rider from view as his mount plowed to a halt a bare half dozen paces from my noble steed, enveloping us both in a cloud of dust that quickly reduced the pair of us to a hacking, sneezing, wheezing, coughing duet.

When at last I rubbed the gritty white dust from my eyes and nostrils and turned my gasping mount aside while attempting to hold my sword upright without wavering, I discovered the would-be assailant to be none other than my great-great-grandfather, Mika-oba!

Now, lest this mention of his title summon up an image of a grizzled, gap-toothed ancient, I hasten to point out that, through some trick of fate or of the gods, Mika-oba was anything but old. True, his hair, which he persisted in wearing in the old fashion, braided in a tight plait from the crown of his head down to the nape, had recently become flecked with grey; and there were more lines at the corners of his eyes than I remembered. But otherwise his many years had touched him lightly, and he had outlived several generations of comrades and wives.

There was much talk of his continued youthfulness among the tribal members, and of course of the hideous demon hand that had replaced his own left member, a permanent token of some long-past advenure. Rather than skin, the hand was covered with rough green scales, extending from the tips of his fingers to a point more than halfway up his arm. The nails were thickened and yellow, and resembled claws rather than human fingernails. Overall, it was a hideous appendage, and it was generally covered with a chain mail glove to keep it from frightening the women and children. He had earned the hand one digit at a time by angering the evil demigod Iuz in his very first adventure, a tale I had been told often as a child sitting wide-eyed at his knee. When plied with liquor or tobacco, or the smile of some winsome lass, the old man could be prodded into remembrances of his epic adventures. But as the years passed, and his comrades and wives aged and perished while he himself remained alive and vibrant, he seemed to lose interest in the tales, and if he told them at all, it was briefly and without feeling, as though they had happened to someone other than himself.

More than once, we had vied for the same maid, and more often than not, he had won, turning us into rivals of a sort and precluding any thought of friendship and talk such as a great-great-grandfather and great-great-grandson might normally share. But eventually even this activity seemed to pale for the old man, and he retired to the depths of the forest, seemingly content with his memories, his own company, and the company of whatever wolf, offspring of the legendary TamTur, was present at his side.

He had kept to the old ways and lived his life accordingly. It was this, I think, that caused him to live apart from the rest of the tribe, for their ability and willingness to embrace new ways that made our lives more comfortable did not meet with his approval. He said it made us weak, and who is to say that he was not right? Long before the forest died, shortly before the Battle of Black-moor, he proclaimed us soft and warned that we were losing our heritage. Few listened, and even fewer seemed to care. It was then that he had withdrawn from us and taken to the forest. I had long admired my ancestor and had listened to his every word. I could repeat all the old tales by heart, and I knew all the folklore, but when he broke with the tribe, he broke with me as well, for I was but twenty summers old and did not have the courage to disobey my father and go with Mika. Thus it had been many years since I had last seen him, but I was not surprised to see him now, for he always seemed to know what was happening.

“Askar ben-oba,” he said politely, using my full title and inclining his head in greeting.

“Sir?” I replied, feeling slightly guilty that I had not even thought to seek him out and say my farewells.

“Do not chide yourself,” he said with a slight smile, as though reading my mind. “The young think of no one other than themselves, and who better to know this than I? But I have come to say my good-byes to you. A warrior should not leave in this manner. It is not fitting. It was never thus in the old days. It is a sign of the bad times we live in.”

As he spoke, a picture formed in my head, not one of my own making, and I could envision how it had once been, could see the proud warriors with their wolf skulls atop their heads, their cloaks of wolf tails draped over their shoulders, and mounted on heavily muscled war-horses. Their long swords were in hand, their bows and arrows strapped to their backs, their sharp-fanged, loyal wolf companions racing at their sides. I could smell the sharp man-stink of their sweat, could see the blue war paint smeared on cheeks and foreheads that would so terrify their enemies. I could see the brightly colored banners flapping in the wind and hear the strident bugles and the eerie ululation of the women singing their men off to war. I could see the small boys racing alongside the horses for as long as their burning muscles and lungs could bear it, see the adulation in their eyes, and feel their longing to be grown, to be men among men.

His words and the vision he had shared startled me, for they bore a bittersweet feeling of finality, and I looked at him closely to seek out some evidence of illness, of approaching death, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Why do you speak so, Grandfather? Will we not see each other again soon? Will you not dance at my wedding and try to steal my bride?” I asked jokingly, thinking to bring a smile to his lips.

“Who is to say what the morrow will bring?” he asked quietly, even as his stallion, a magnificent roan, danced and trembled beneath him, anxious to be off and racing with the wind. His wolf companion, a great shaggy grey beast, did not move, nor did its yellow eyes waver from my face. “What happens is seldom what we have planned, and nothing is ever what it seems, not even ourselves. Remember that, young one. It is good advice and will stand you in good stead if you choose to heed it.”

“Why so grim, Grandfather?” I asked, feeling more than a little nervous at his unusual manner and wondering if he knew something that I did not. For the first time, I wondered if the old stories about him were really true.

“I have come to bring you these,” he said, ignoring my question and reaching down into his saddlebags. “It is long past time to give them to you, but I have found it hard to part with them.”

Even as he spoke, he handed me a leather pouch spotted here and there with thinning islands of wolf fur, although much of it was bare and mangy-looking. The bag was surprisingly heavy for its size. I glanced inside, curious to see what had mattered so much to the old man, and was disappointed to see naught but a large leather-bound book with pages brown and speckled with age and crumbling at the edges, as well as an odd assortment of bottles, horn-stoppered tubes, and twists of roots, bark, and leaves. I did my best to conceal my disappointment.

I might have saved myself the effort. Mika chuckled dryly and grinned at me, looking for an instant like the man of old. Then the smile faded. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” he said, leaning forward in his saddle and fixing me with an intent gaze. “I myself felt much as you do now when it came into my hands many years ago. But there may come a time when the book and all it contains will be of value to you, so I bid you keep it safe. Your very life may well depend upon it.”

I looked down at the bag in disbelief, unable to picture a day when such a thing might happen, for I had no interest in danger and generally went out of my way to avoid unpleasantness. A clever retort sprung to my lips, but it died there unspoken. My great-great-grandfather was staring at me fixedly, as though willing me to understand, to feel as he did through the sheer weight of

his personality.

“I—I will do as you say, sir,” I heard myself stammer. “I will keep it safe and honor it as I do you.”

“Yes . . . well, just keep it safe,” said the old man, a real grin finally tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be content with that much. Oh, and you might as well take these, too. They might come in handy.” Reaching down, he uncoupled a knife and scabbard from his belt. The scabbard was chased with gold and inlaid with many precious gemstones, while the hilt of the knife bore an emerald as large as a pigeon’s egg. This was more than enough wealth to help the tribe considerably, and I could not help but wonder why he offered them to me and not to them. Before I could ask, he unclasped the great sword that hung from his back and handed it to me as well, although the weight of it nearly pulled me from the saddle.

Many thoughts rushed through my mind, but before I could voice any of them, some unseen signal passed between horse and man, and the great stallion reared up on its hind legs and pawed the air, while my grandfather kept his seat effortlessly, one hand resting easily on his thigh.

“May the gods protect you in times of trouble, and may the Great Wolf Mother, mother of us all, ride at your side!” he said softly, almost as a blessing, and with a final gesture of the hideously scaled demon hand, he turned as though one with the great beast, and with the huge grey wolf still at his side, he vanished as quickly as he had come.

It seemed strangely silent once he had gone, the plains more vast and empty than before his arrival. I stared down at the ancient pouch and felt a prickle run up and down my spine, raising the hair on the back of my neck, which I wore free and loose on my shoulders in the modern custom.

“Magic!” I whispered, the word springing to my lips unbidden, like an unwanted guest. I shoved the thought aside. I knew little of magic and believed in it even less. That such things were possible I had heard, and perhaps they were, but magic was no longer practiced among the Wolf Nomads, having fallen out of favor during the great blight of the roanwoods, for it was whispered that the blight itself was a result of magic gone wrong.

Mika-oba had elevated the use of magic to a level previously unknown among the Wolf Nomads. His extreme age and apparent agelessness had caused much muttering in the tribe, especially among those members whose wives and daughters he had wooed and won. And some began to blame the decline of the tribe and the death of the trees on magic rather than on their own weaknesses or the vagaries of nature.

Mika-oba had argued that magic could be used as a force for good, and it was only as good or bad as the person who wielded it, but his arguments fell on deaf ears, and the use of magic had been outlawed in Forest Home.

I wondered if that was why Mika-oba had retreated to the forests, and if perhaps he had been right. But if he believed in magic so strongly, why then would he give this, his most precious possession, to me, someone who had never shown any interest in magic, someone who had never had to keep anything safe other than his own skin?

I could find no answers to my questions, and after a while I tucked the pouch into one of my own saddlebags and hung the knife from my belt. As I struggled to balance the awkward weight of the great sword while clutching the reins, I wished that my ancestor had seen fit to give me his horse instead of a crumbling old book I could not hope to understand. But soon the strange encounter and the odd gifts left my mind, and I resumed my lonesome journey.

CHAPTER TWO

Perhaps governed by the unconscious desire to put off my marriage as long as possible and convinced that I had best do my adventuring before arriving in Sterich, I turned my sullen steed’s footsteps to the south and west of that kingdom. Passing through the Kingdom of Keoland, so recently an important ally to Sterich in the battle against the Black Queen, I followed the leisurely flow of the Javan River as it made its way toward the Azure Sea, a sight I had dreamed of seeing since my earliest days.

The morning was fine and mellow, the trees but barely touched with a hint of bronze as autumn made its casual approach in these southern climes. I had learned to accommodate myself to the shambling gait of my mount, and once I relaxed, I found that it was not unlike the smooth back-and-forth motion of a granny’s chair. With the horse left to his own pace, I could all but sleep upon Blockhead’s broad, swayed back. On this morning, I was drawn into my own thoughts, thinking upon my favorite subject, wondering for the millionth time what my betrothed looked like, for the single likeness that had been smuggled out of Sterich before the Black Queen tightened her grip upon the land was a watercolor portrait that had been rained upon and subsequently smeared, rendering her visage as a dried puddle of faded color and engaging me in endless and fruitless speculation.

So deep were my thoughts that it was a moment before I realized that Blockhead had come to a halt in the middle of the narrow trail. I foolishly kicked him in the ribs, earning myself naught but the now familiar gaseous reply. Swathed by the stink, I began to berate the hapless creature with a colorful and detailed account of his dubious ancestry. Much to my astonishment, I heard my curses echoed and even embroidered upon, and then followed by an angry, if impassioned, plea for help.

Startled, I dismounted, advanced cautiously into the forest that crowded the trail on either side, and made my way through the dense undergrowth that somehow managed to thrive despite a lack of sun. My curses quickly returned, for the undergrowth was a type of briar that I was all too familiar with, for it was common in our northern forests as well. This brambly tangle was nuisance enough in its own right, but it possessed a second, particularly nasty, attribute: The thorns were tipped with a poison that irritated and itched the skin unbearably upon the merest of scratches. Even worse was the fate one suffered if a thorn penetrated the skin, for like that of the giant hedgehog, the shaft of the thorn was composed of multitudes of pointed layers. The thorn went in smoothly enough, but when the hapless victim attempted to remove the barb, the flanges opened like miniature parasols and released the full measure of their poison. This inflamed and swelled the flesh tight around the shaft of the thorn, compounding the original injury and making it all but impossible to remove. The pain was intense and had been known to drive men and animals totally insane.

Thus I was not surprised when I pushed through a final tangle, slashing it in half with my sword, to find a dwarf lying flat on the oerth, pinned to the ground by a blighted roanwood tree. The dwarf was fortunate that he had not been crushed by the tree, for much of its weight had been deflected by the curtain of brambles that had cushioned its fall. Unfortunately for the dwarf, the weight of the tree had forced many of the brambles into his flesh, puncturing it in numerous places, releasing their poison, and causing him great agony. Pinned as he was, the dwarf was unable to rise, and from the deep crimson flush on his face, it was all too apparent that the poison had already begun its deadly work.

“Well, are you just going to stand there and stare at me forever? What are you, some kind of imbecile?” screamed the dwarf, his chubby fists pushing ineffectually at the heavy tree. “Help me, in the name of all the gods you hold holy, and I will reward you amply! I am a rich man. Help me, please!” This last was followed by another string of curses the likes of which I had never heard before. These I carefully memorized, to add to my own collection.

I did not need the incentive. I would have helped the dwarf even without the promise of a reward, for I could easily imagine his agony. But even if I could free him, it was unlikely that I could save him, for the accumulation of that quantity of poison was likely to stop his heart before I could load him on my unreliable steed and find a healer. But I would do the best I could.

The dwarf had lapsed into semiconsciousness after his outcry, and although his hands moved fitfully and his head thrashed back and forth, little of what he said made sense. He rattled on and on about steering a flying ship and other such nonsense while I rolled a boulder beside him and then searched for a sturdy limb of sufficient length and strength that it would not break under pressure. At last I found what I was looking for, a long, straight limb of oak lying on the ground, one that had seasoned without falling prey to insects or weather. Thus armed, I hurried back to the boulder, balanced the stick properly, and wedged it beneath the furthermost point of the fallen tree.

The tree was now movable, but which way would it move? The dwarf was no longer conscious and was unable to crawl out from beneath the tree once it was lifted. He would need be pulled out of danger, but I could not pull him free and operate the oak lever as well. What to do? Then an idea struck me, and I hurried back to the trail to find my faithless steed exactly where I had left him, cropping what little nourishment was to be gleaned from ground and bush. He flashed one baleful brown eye at me as I led him into the forest, but he acquiesced without argument.

One of the many things that I had learned about the feckless beast during our long journey was that he was lazy to the very core and devious as well, possessing many nasty tricks calculated to rid himself of his rider. First and foremost was the bloat. It was necessary to knee the creature hard in the abdomen prior to saddling, for he had the bad habit of swallowing vast quantities of air. His stomach thus swelled, the crafty creature would wait until the unsuspecting rider was in place, then release the air in a cloud of smelly stink, and while the rider was attempting to breathe, the entire saddle would slide sideways, dumping the poor unfortunate on the hard ground.

Another trick employed by the beast was to seize the bit between its teeth and head for the nearest tree and low-lying branch, hoping to brain the unwary rider. But his favorite trick by far was merely sitting down on the trail whenever the mood seized him, and there he would remain immobile, unmoved by curses or blows, silently considering whatever vague thoughts passed through his dim equine brain, until he decided to move. It was this last trick that I was depending on, even though the horse had never performed upon command, for it was the only thing I could think of that would save the dwarfs life.

The dwarf lay ominously still, and his breathing was labored by the time I maneuvered Blockhead into position. The horse’s temper was already growing short, and he swung his head about, a sure sign of his displeasure. I pushed down on the oak branch, praying that it would prove sufficient to the task, and watched as the tree slowly lifted off the dwarfs prostrate form. The space widened and the dwarf was clear! Had he been conscious, he could have crawled free on his own, but that was but wishful thinking. The base of the oak branch was pressed nearly to the ground, and the tree itself was beginning to wobble. If it had rolled to the left, it would roll harmlessly along the oaken lever, but if it rolled to the right, it might fall on the dwarf and crush him to death. It was now or never. Yanking on the reins, I forced the hard metal of the bit against the soft tissue at the corner of the horse’s mouth, cruelly inflicting pain on purpose. Blockhead, after issuing a bleat of outrage, rewarded me by sitting down on his haunches, firmly pressing the base of the lever onto the ground.

Thankful to the beast for his consistently hateful manners, I rushed to the dwarfs side and began tugging him free. He was heavier than I had supposed, and with brambles lying all around, it was slower going than I had imagined. Then Blockhead turned his head and seemed to realize deep in his dim little brain that he was actually doing what was wanted. That would never do, of course, and so the wretched beast stood up! The great roanwood hesitated for a long heartbeat, as though deciding whether to fall back and crush us or not. Then it fell with a crash to the left, flattening everything beneath it with its great bulk.

Half-carrying, half-dragging the comatose dwarf to the foot of an immense oak tree, I looked about wildly, seeking some sort of inspiration, some desperate thought that would help me save his life. There was nothing to see but trees and brambles and the obstinate horse. Cures were possible, I knew, for the elders and healers at home had such preparations always at hand. But I had nothing of the sort. Or did I?

I ran to Blockhead’s side, and even though he flattened his ears and skinned his lips back from his gums, anticipating blows and curses, I had no interest in him but only in my grandfather’s ancient pouch and what it contained.

I jerked the pouch from the saddlebags, certainly not according it the measure of respect it deserved, threw back the flap, and dumped its contents upon the ground. Fumbling fingers found the largest horn and pulled the stopper free. It was filled with a thick yellowish goo that stank of sulfur and other less identifiable scents and stirred memories of long-vanished hurts. Not knowing whether it would hurt or heal, yet knowing that if I did nothing the dwarf would surely die, I stripped him naked and began pulling the thorns from his flesh, glad that he was unable to feel the pain. I rubbed the yellow unguent into each and every wound until his plump body was daubed and smeared from head to toe with the foul unguent. For all I knew, I had just slathered him with a cure for a hangover!

When I was done, I wetted the little man’s lips with a small quantity of water from my waterskin and bathed his forehead as well. Then there was nothing left to do but to wait and leave his fate to the gods.

* * *

I must have dozed off, for I awakened to the sound of curses. Turning my head, I saw that Blockhead had made his way to our side and was in the process of licking the yellow medicine off the pudgy body of the naked dwarf, who by the volume of his curses, appeared to have survived his ordeal.

“His name is Blockhead, and curses have no effect on him whatsoever. Since he helped save your life, perhaps you should be thanking him rather than cursing him,” I said quietly.

“What? What’s that, you say?” hollered the dwarf, sitting up abruptly and batting at Blockhead, who refused to be deterred and was wrapping his long tongue around the dwarf wherever he saw an opening. “Who might you be, sir, and where are my clothes? Stop that, you damnable, demented beast!”

I related the story of his rescue to the irate dwarf as he struggled into his clothes. Meanwhile, I tied Blockhead up out of reach.

“Well, then, by the gods, it seems that I owe you and your horse an apology, good sir, for it appears that you have saved my life,” said the dwarf, sitting on a stump with one legging on and the other off. “I remember none of this telling.”

“How do you come to be in these woods with no horse and no provisions?” I prompted. “Did you lose them in some accident?”

It was an innocent question, but the dwarf blushed as red as a ripened yarpik and mumbled beneath his breath. His bushy eyebrows waggled up and down a few times, and he blew his breath out explosively as I repeated the question.

“Came down to relieve myself in private—man likes his privacy. Got stuck in the damn brambles, and then the cursed tree fell on me. Hollered, but none of my folks heard me. Lucky you came long. Owe you my thanks,” he muttered cryptically.

I studied the fellow, wondering for the first time if he were crazed, suffering the ill effects of the thorns after all. Came down? Came down from where? There were nothing but trees all around us. As to companions, there was certainly no one in sight. If there were such a group, would they not have mounted a search if one of their party were missing?

The dwarf must have seen my expression and interpreted it correctly, for he waved his hand in the air between us and barked a short laugh. “No, good sir, do not be dismayed. I have not yet lost my wits. My name is Felbron, as I have said, and my home is Granite Face. I have designed and built a flying balloon that lies but a short distance from here with companions of mine aboard who are accustomed to my ways and have not yet had reason to doubt my sanity.”

“A flying balloon, you say?” I repeated, nodding my head politely and thinking that the fellow was quite totally mad.

“Yes, yes, that’s what I said,” the dwarf insisted impatiently, pulling on the last of his clothing. “Come along and see for yourself if you don’t believe me. It’s quite revolutionary, the first of its kind, although I hope to build a more refined airship in time. Cut the duration of travel in half. Just imagine what it will do for trade! Where are you going, sir? That’s the answer! I’ll take you there free of charge, no matter where it be, and have you there as swift as the wind!”

The idea seemed to give him great pleasure. He looked up at me, eyes bright with enthusiasm or madness, of which I could not be sure, and then he seized firm hold of my arm.

I was filled with alarm and pulled my arm free, backing away and reaching for Blockhead’s reins. Who knew what mischief could come of the fellow’s delusions—and even worse, although such a thing was unimaginable, the very thought of a flying balloon delivering me to Maria Griswalda’s doorstep on the instant was more than I could bear to contemplate.

“I thank you for your kind offer, but as much as I would like to accept, I must follow my own path,” I said politely. The dwarf looked undecided, clearly suspecting that I did not believe him but also realizing that he could not force himself on me.

A broad smile creased his face, a startling swath of white between swooping mustache and bushy beard, and a hearty laugh shook his robust form. “As you wish, my good sir, as you wish, but I will not forget. Felbron always pays his debts. We shall meet again one day, and you will be repaid in full.” And then, still chuckling to himself, he turned and made his way through the tangle of brambles, moving with purpose as well as caution, exactly as though he knew where he was going.

Shaking my head, I repacked the pouch, slung it over my shoulder, and was leading the sullen Blockhead back to the trail when I heard a sudden commotion above my head. I looked up and stood there on the trail with my mouth open wide, gaping like a small child, for there above me, floating majestically above the level of the treetops, was a great balloon, such a balloon as I had never seen before.

It was a giant patchwork sack, splashed with colors and supported by numerous inflated bladders, all of which were contained in an intricate network of ropes that hung down over a large wicker basket. Contained in the basket were Felbron and a dozen or more dwarves, all rushing about shouting a variety of conflicting orders at the top of their lungs and manipulating the confusing tangle of ropes. Even as I stared, dumbstruck, the balloon began to rise, drawing the basket up into the sky. And then, as though to further boggle my mind, a dozen or more eagles, their bodies encased in leather harnesses, which were in turn attached to the basket by means of long, thin strips of leather, were released and immediately flung themselves into the air. Unfortunately, no two eagles seemed inclined to fly in the same direction and seemed even less inclined to follow instructions hurled at them by the apoplectic Felbron. Nonetheless, their efforts were sufficient to cause the basket to rise even farther, where it was seized by the prevailing winds and carried away in a northeasterly direction, dragging the gaggle of squawking, flapping eagles behind it like the tail of a very strange kite.

Still clutching Blockhead’s reins, I hurried down the trail, unwilling to lose sight of the amazing balloon, and I caught sight of the burly dwarf, Felbron, hanging over the edge of the basket with two smaller dwarves clutching his belt to keep him from tumbling overboard.

“Good travels! Good luck!” bellowed the dwarf, waving wildly. “Until we meet again! Remember, Felbron never forgets!” And then they were gone—dwarves, flying balloon, screeching eagles, and all—leaving me standing on the trail staring forlornly after the astounding spectacle.

CHAPTER THREE

I was feeling good about rescuing the dwarf and, if the truth be told, feeling good about myself, too. I thought back to what my ancestor had said, thought about the paths his life had taken, thought about all the adventures and good times he had shared with a wealth of interesting companions, and all of a sudden I was sick of my own small, safe, boring existence.

Suddenly I wanted some of that adventure, some of that excitement, some of the wonderful warmth of good companionship and tales shared over jugs of wine. Here I was, out on my own for the very first time in my life, and what was I doing? Riding meekly to my doom, a groom led to halter without ever having experienced any of the wonders that Oerth had to offer.

It was almost unbearable, and suddenly I knew that I could not marry Maria Griswalda without ever having known anything else that life had to offer. I owed it to Mika-oba, and what was more, and perhaps even more important, I owed it to myself.

Then and there, on the spot, I determined that I would ride to the nearest town, locate the nearest tavern, and buy myself a jug of wine with my single coin. If I were fortunate, I would find a few boon companions to share it with, and we would talk of wine and women and the mysteries and meaning of life.

Without giving myself time to change my mind, I turned Blockhead at the next intersecting road, following it blindly without even consulting my map to find out where it might lead. Direction did not matter, nor did caution, for I was determined to become a man of the world.

The town, when I finally came upon it, was barely worthy of the name. It consisted of a few rude huts. The people scurried inside at the first glimpse of me and peered out through drawn curtains. The tavern was barred as well, and as the place had a most uncomfortable feeling, I spurred Blockhead into a trot and continued on my way, looking for bigger and better things.

Night was nearly upon us when I first sighted the towers and walls of a large city that I judged to be Regent, a good-sized metropolis that stood in the shadow of the Hellfurnace Pass, the Yeomanry’s entrance to the Azure Sea.

I was one of the last few to pass through the gates before they were closed for the night and barred from within by the constabulary, which stood about in large numbers, their hands resting on the hilts of the swords, glancing about with nervous eyes.

“What’s the matter here, good sir?” I asked the freecaptain, a stout fellow who had about him the look of one born to command. “Is there some danger about?”

The man stared at me with great suspicion, but my appearance seemed to bring him some degree of assurance, for he spoke to me in a civil manner.

“A gem has been stolen, sir—a gem of great value, belonging to the queen. There is some thought that it has been brought to this city, and we are determined to find it.”

“A gem is but a gem,” I said in my ignorance. “What is it that makes this stone so valuable, and if it is so important, why does your queen not offer a reward for its return?”

“That is none of your concern, sir,” said the freecaptain, looking at me more closely and taking note of my features and those of my stupid steed, “unless you know more than you are saying. Tell me, do you really think the offer of such a reward would cause the stone to reappear?”

“I have no way of knowing,” I replied. “It was but a thought. If it is indeed so valuable, I would think that the thieves will have a difficult time disposing of it and might welcome a reward for its return.” I nodded my farewell and continued on my way, thinking that I had done well to share my logic with him, and I must have made an impression, for I could feel that man’s eyes upon my back even as I rode away.

There were many taverns in the town, well lit and thriving, doing quite a merry business. But I spurned them all, thinking that they would be filled with nothing but stolid shopkeepers downing a drink before they headed home to their safe little homes and plump wives. I wanted—no, I craved—something more exciting.

At last my wanderings took me into an area of narrow, twisting streets, poorly lit and obviously less prosperous than those I had passed earlier. Once or twice I thought that I had caught a glimpse of a man’s form following me, but I marked it down to nerves and thought no more of it.

After a time, I came to a tavern that suited my mood, promising somehow to satisfy my craving for adventure and provide boon companions. The dimly lit sign that was dangling from one chain proclaimed it to be “Bandit’s Rest,” and the raucous sounds coming from within drew me like a blazing beacon. I tied Blockhead to the narrow hitching rail and pushed my way through the ramshackle door.

I don’t know what I was hoping for, but whatever it was, I did not find it in the hostile, suspicious silence that fell as soon as I entered the room. Narrow, slitted lids and cold, hardened eyes stared at me from all sides. Immediately I knew that I had made a mistake, that I did not belong here and would never belong in such a place, but I could not have retreated had I wished to, for no sooner had I entered than two men, half-naked and heavily muscled from head to toe, slid in behind me and positioned themselves at the door, knives and cudgels in hand.

It was obvious that I had stumbled into something not meant for the eyes and ears of a stranger. I had wished for adventure and obviously had found it. Now I had best wish for my own safety. Seeing that I could not retreat, there was nothing else to do but advance and hope—no, pray—for the best.

“Hot night,” I said to the silent crowd, to which no one replied. “Long ride . . . long day in the saddle,” I continued blithely, acting as though I entered such places every day of my life. “A drink would settle the dust,” I said casually as I walked up to the heavily carved plank that served as a bar, dropping my coin in front of me.

The sound of the coin seemed to take the edge off the tension, and the barkeep, a huge man with but a single ear and a ghastly scar where the other should be, took my coin and gave me a filthy tumbler of amber fluid in return.

“Your health,” I said as I lifted the glass and swallowed its contents in one swallow. Fire! Liquid, molten fire burned its way down my throat and set my belly ablaze! My eyes watering, my stomach heaving, I managed nonetheless to hold back any outcry as I placed yet another coin on the plank.

Things became somewhat blurred after that point, and I cannot speak with any degree of reliability about the events that followed. What I do know is that after a number of the powerful drinks, I found myself at a table with three or four rough-looking fellows, the kind who would do you harm on nothing more than a whim. But perhaps due to the potent liquor, I felt no fear. Also, I was not at all certain that my legs would hold me should I choose to rise. In fact, I could no longer feel my legs at all, and I nearly fell over as I peered under the table to make certain they were still there, an act that brought great merriment to my companions. And as they rolled about, laughing at me and making fun at my expense, I laughed with them as well and found that they did not seem half as dangerous as before.

The vanished gem, something called the Eye of Tiros, was the subject of much discussion that night, that much I do recall. Its disappearance had caused my new friends much discomfort, and the tavern itself was under constant scrutiny from the local guard. It was agreed that whoever had the gem would be well advised to dispose of it, and quickly, for it was too well known to be sold, and should it be found, those guilty would surely meet with a most unpleasant death.

It is at this point that my recollection grows most dim. I seem to recall that all reservations to my presence had disappeared, and that everyone seemed most anxious to buy me a drink. My coins were placed back in my pouch by friendly fingers, and I was extremely popular. Everything I said met with gales of laughter, even those things that I myself did not find the least humorous, such as my upcoming marriage to Maria Griswalda and my reluctance to reach Sterich. This brought the biggest laugh of all.

Songs, drink, smoke, and more drink followed, accompanied by laughter and smiling faces. This I remember, but no more. And when I awakened, it was roughly, and several lifetimes earlier than I myself would have chosen. I found myself hanging in the grip of two guardsmen, dragged forth from the tavern, and dunked headfirst in the nearest horse trough, one that was thick with green scum and foul water. Dripping and spluttering, I found myself looking up into the cold and calculating eyes of the same freecaptain with whom I had spoken the previous night. He studied me carefully and then approached.

“Talk,” he commanded in a soft but authoritative tone.

My head ached unbearably, and even though I could feel its weight upon my neck, it felt as though it might well snap off and fall to the ground like an overripe yarpik. I felt so bad that such a thing would almost have been a blessing. I opened my mouth with some difficulty and attempted to speak. “Talk?” I croaked. “What about?”

“Don’t play games with me, sir. I am in no mood for games. Heads will roll, and yours will be first and foremost among them if we do not find the gem. Now tell me what you know.”

“Gem . . . what gem? How would I know anything?” It was a dream, a bad dream, a nightmare. How or why would anyone suspect me of knowing anything about the stolen gem?

“Do you think us fools, sir? I assure you that we are not. The Eye of Tiros is the gem of which I speak, as well you know. It was stolen from the queen, and it is our job to find it.”

My head was throbbing violently, and I felt nauseous and trembly. I wanted to lie down and die in peace, but the fellow would not stop talking. Bits and pieces of the previous night’s conversation came back to me, but still I could not comprehend why anyone would suspect me of stealing anything, much less a valuable gem belonging to the queen.

I must have spoken aloud, for the freecaptain plucked my pouch from my belt and held it up for me to see. It was not my pouch, but another one I had never seen before. I stared at it stupidly, without comprehension. The freecaptain opened it so that I could stare into its depths. To my amazement, I saw that it was filled with large gold coins, far more coins than I had when I left Forest Home, and even more strange was the odd green glow that lit the inside of the pouch. Headache not withstanding, I was absolutely certain that my pouch had never glowed green before, and it was just as obvious that this one did.

I looked at the man dumbly, uncertain as to what was happening. I had not been robbed, that much was clear. In fact, it appeared that I suddenly possessed great wealth . . . and a pouch that glowed green. What could I say?

“The green glow, sir, is a sign of the presence of the gem. Whatever it touches will glow green forevermore. Your pouch is full, sir, and glowing green as well. Now, what does that suggest to you?”

A feeling of horror rose up inside of me. The head that I had wished to see fall upon the ground now seemed quite precious exactly where it was, and I wanted nothing more than to see it remain there. Fragments of the previous night’s conversations and occurrences came back to me . . . “whoever had the gem would do well to be rid of it” . . . “whoever had the gem would surely die if found out” . . .laughter. . .drinks. . . the sudden friendship of strangers . . . and in a flash, it became clear to me what had happened. I had been made the dupe, the ready-made victim who would be fingered for the theft of this stolen gem. I would take the blame!

In vain I protested my innocence. In vain did I explain about my journey, and Maria Griswalda, my random choice of the tavern, and all that had followed. But it was all to no avail. They did not believe me, and even I had to admit that it was a fragile and unlikely tale.

“You were followed, sir, from the first moment you entered our gates. No innocent would have passed up normal, respectable taverns, which abound in the city proper. No innocent would have, nor even could have, found his way to such a place, this gathering place for thieves and murderers and pickpockets. Nor would such an innocent be allowed to remain unharmed with a

pouch filled with gold. No, sir, you ask too much of us.

“The story is all too clear. You stole the gem, or at least you had it in your possession and came here to sell it, which you did, receiving these gold coins in return. So we were told by a reliable informant. You could spare yourself much pain—perhaps even your life—if you cease your denials and tell us the whole story now.”

I felt as though my tongue—indeed, my whole soul—had shriveled inside me. I was stricken dumb. What hope had I of convincing the man of the truth of my tale? What hope had I of identifying those guilty of the crime? I had drunk more on the previous night than ever before in my life. Had she been there, it is quite possible that I would not have recognized my own mother! Overcome by my own folly, groaning with despair for the mess I had gotten myself into, I leaned forward and spewed out the bilious remains of the night’s debauchery upon the neatly polished shoes of the freecaptain of the guard.

CHAPTER FOUR

I was placed upon my horse and securely bound to the saddle, then taken to the center of the city, where we entered a large square building constructed entirely of immense boulders fitted together so tightly that there was no chink of mortar to be seen, with no windows and a single iron door. I was propelled through the iron door, which clanged shut behind me with a terrible sound of finality that seemed to put an end to whatever remnants of hope remained.

I was thrown into a dark cell, my arms still tightly bound to my body and my fingers already quite numb, and left there alone to contemplate my fate.

The freecaptain returned a short time later, followed by two of his men, who carried all of my possessions in their arms. The extra clothes had been ripped apart; pockets and seams dangled by mere threads. My foodstuffs had been opened and fell upon the floor, where they were ground underfoot. Even my saddle had been reduced to mere shreds.

Distressed as I was by the sight, I was even more disturbed by the presence of a fourth man, who entered behind the guards. This man was so huge as to be nearly a giant, and for all I knew, he was one. But his size was not the issue, nor even the cruel look in his eyes, but rather I was concerned by the red-hot brazier that he carried in his bare hands, the heat emanating from it so intense that I could feel it halfway across the room. Resting on the lip of the brazier was an iron rod, its shaft glowing a translucent golden red. I was transfixed with terror and made no move of protest as my bonds were removed and my clothes and personal possessions as well.

The guardsmen went through my clothing with a thoroughness that was not to be believed, searching every stitch as though they might offer up some clue. Mika-oba’s pouch came in for a good deal of attention. The various unguents, potions, and powders were emptied out on the cold stone floor, the book scanned on each and every page and then discarded. The jeweled dagger was discovered and removed with a loud outcry, but it, too, was discarded in its turn.

Then the questioning began. For long hours, they hurled questions at me, asking the same ones over and over and over until even they were heartily sick of the answers. I told them every single thing that I could remember and more. I even showed them the blurred picture of my betrothed, Maria Griswalda. Oddly, it was this last that seemed to finally convince them that I might be what I claimed, naught but an incredibly stupid tourist who had unwittingly stumbled into a thieves’ lair and been used for devious purposes.

But still it seemed that the freecaptain was not completely convinced of my innocence, for he paced back and forth, looking at me continuously. At last he stopped and stared at me intently. I was so nervous over what was to transpire that I nearly wet myself in fear, and there was a sour, unpleasant taste in my mouth.

“It could be that you are indeed the fool you claim to be,” he said, and my heart leaped within my chest. “Or,” he continued, “you could be far more clever than even I suspect and guilty of all charges. Therefore I am not going to kill you outright, nor draw and quarter you and place your head upon a pike at the city gates, nor even lop off your hand and brand your cheek and mark you forever as a thief.” At these words, the giant spat into his glowing brazier, a look of disgust on his face.

“What I am going to do,” said the freecaptain, “is to place this iron ring around your neck and turn you free.” He held a thick band of iron out for me to see. It was some four fingers broad and a finger in width. “It is a magic metal and will help us find the truth of the matter. The band will tighten slowly but surely until you are either dead or tell us where we will find the gem. It cannot be removed by anyone but me, nor can the spell be broken.”

“What—what if I am innocent?” I asked in a quavery voice.

It was obvious that the freecaptain did not believe such a thing likely, for he only smiled and said, “If you are the stupid innocent you proclaim yourself to be, I would suggest that it would be in your best interests to help us find those who actually have the gem. The gem was surely in your possession, if only briefly, as the glow indicates. Therefore, you must have seen the person or persons who have it now. You can recognize their faces and point them out to us. Once we find them, once the gem is returned, the iron collar will be removed.”

Despite my protests, I was held down fast while the iron band was heated to a red-hot intensity and then fashioned into a round circlet with a narrow opening. Then it was slid around my neck, the still-glowing metal searing my flesh, the stink of my own roasting meat filling my nostrils. My neck was placed upon an anvil, and with two sturdy men holding me still, the giant raised a great hammer and brought it down with all his strength. The band closed tight around my throat, already too small by half. Two more ringing blows finished the job, and I was released to collapse upon the floor among the debris of my possessions, choking and gagging and fighting back the tears of pain and humiliation.

I tried to tell myself that Mika-oba would not have stood for such treatment. I tried to think of what he might have done, how he would have punished his tormentors, made them sorry they had ever been birthed, but I could not think past the pain and the gladness that I was still alive.

They left me sitting there naked on the stone floor, amid the ruin of my few possessions, a thick, heavy wide band of iron closed upon my neck. The freecaptain’s final words rang in my ears.

“You are free to go. You may go wherever you choose; no one will stop you. But remember, the band will tighten, and you will

die by fractions, in great agony. Find the gem and return it to me, for I am your only salvation.”

* * *

At length I dressed myself, feeling the pain and degradation of the collar at every move. I gathered up my spilled powders and unguents as best I could, returning them to their containers. Happily, the ancient book of spells was unharmed, and the book and the potions were returned to the pouch and slung over my chest, their nearness summoning up the image of Mika-oba and lending me strength. Even the sack of gold and the gem-laden dagger were left to me, and these I concealed upon my person.

No one stopped me as I hurried from the building. No one stopped me as I threw the remains of the saddle upon Blockhead’s swayed back and hung the sword from the pommel. No one stopped me as I rode through town and exited through the gates, but I could feel their eyes upon me, heavier and more judgmental than the grip of metal around my throat. Even Blockhead felt the tension, for he stepped along at a rapid pace, and soon the city of Regent was behind us. But the feeling of guilt and fear rode with us.

CHAPTER FIVE

I suppose what came next was my own fault and might have been prevented had I but paid attention. But so distraught was I by what had occurred that I gave Blockhead his head and allowed him to pick his own way down the trail. Sunk deep in my own thoughts, wondering how and when the pouch had come to be exchanged, wondering what to do about my forthcoming marriage as well as the pain, humiliation, and threat of the iron collar, I did not even notice when Blockhead picked up speed of his own volition, so deep were my reflections. I saw the low-lying branch at the last minute and ducked to avoid it, but it caught me on the crown of my skull and colors exploded inside my head, slowly fading into black. Then the darkness engulfed me, and I knew no more.

When next I opened my eyes, it was once again to darkness, and for a long moment I feared that I had been blinded. But then a streak of lightning split the sky and mingled with my pain and my relief. A groan escaped my lips as I tried to sit up. The world swam around me, and then finally came to a halt. It was night, but a hint of grey dawn was trembling on the horizon. My clothes were wet, soaked clear through. It had obviously rained while I took my unexpected nap, but that, too, had ended.

As I lay there, I heard the sound of the wind sweeping up the flank of a grassy knoll and carrying with it the sound of the sea, a steady pounding of surf breaking against the shore. Blockhead had carried me through the mountain pass and down to the Azure Sea I had once yearned to see.

When the heavens were fixed firmly in their place, I rolled onto one elbow and looked around me. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could make out the dim trail and even the tree limb that had dealt me such a cruel blow, but of Blockhead there was no sign.

Cursing the beast and visualizing various forms of revenge, I staggered to my feet and stumbled down the path. One sharp turn, and there I stood on the edge of the windswept knoll looking out across the storm-darkened Azure Sea. For lack of any other plan, vaguely thinking that Blockhead might well have chosen the open beach rather than the narrow trail, I carefully descended the rain-slick slope and began making my way down to the sands below.

I walked for a good distance, the pounding of my head merging with the pounding of the surf until the two were as one sound throbbing steadily between my ears. I was cold, wet, hungry, angry, and in pain. Of my possessions, nothing remained other than the shredded clothes on my back and the ancient pouch that I had carelessly slung over my shoulder before the accident— and, of course, the damnable collar. Walking in the stiff, damp sand did not improve my temper, and still there was no sign of the cursed horse nor any light of human habitation where I might seek shelter.

It was at that moment that I first noticed the huge black form emerging from the dark distance and walking, or perhaps lumbering would best describe its gait, directly toward me. At first I was pleased, and words of welcome formed on my lips, but as the figure drew closer, the words died away and the hair on the back of my neck began to bristle. The figure was just too large to be human!

On and on it came, until it was but twoscore paces away from where I stood as though rooted in the sand, my feet numb and unable to respond to the frantic commands from my brain. The thing spoke then, a harsh, garbled utterance bearing no resemblance to any language I had ever heard before. Closer and closer it came, close enough for me to see that it was taller than I by half a man’s height and weighed twice again as much, and I am not a small man. Even more disturbing was the fact that the hideous creature carried a spear and shield, while long, curved tusks projected from the corners of its mouth!

I had never seen one before, but my mother had raised no idiots, and I could recognize a gnoll when I saw one. At last my feet responded to my brain’s frantic messages, and, turning, I began to run back in the direction from which I had come, running as fast as I could. The gnoll followed behind in fast pursuit.

I had always been fleet of foot and had generally won the footrace competitions at the yearly gathering of the clans. I gave no thought to the shifting sands or my aching head but ran as swiftly as I had ever run in my life. I had passed the cutoff to the trail when I turned to look over my shoulder. A wave of relief washed over me. The distance between myself and the gnoll was widening. The gnoll, with his greater bulk, was having a difficult time making any speed. Then, even as hope soared within me, I crashed headlong into something that let out a sharp, startled cry.

The two of us tumbled into the sand, arms and legs enveloped in a terrible stink that reminded me of nothing so much as a fur rug dipped in pig manure—a prank I had in fact played once in my youth, which earned me a dunking in the same substance by my father, who was not in the least amused or deceived by my protestations of innocence. Before I could recover my footing, I found myself gripped tightly in that painfully vulnerable place just above the collarbone, unable to free myself. All too soon, we were joined by my pursuer. Looking up, I could see the piglike snout of my captor, the tusks and the dark mat of stinking fur that covered its immense body, and immediately I lost all hope, for I had been captured by gnolls, and it appeared that I may well not have to wait for the iron collar around my neck to complete its diabolical job.

* * *

After my pursuer had first satisfied his anger by plowing his fist deep into my abdomen, the two of them began babbling in the strange grunts and harsh exhalations that comprised their language. This blow deprived me of breath and conscious thought and left me weak and defenseless. In no time at all, they had a coarse rope looped around my neck and my hands tied tightly behind my back. Then they were off, conversing together and dragging me behind them like some bit of flotsam picked off the beach.

It was light enough to see now. The sky had lightened imperceptibly to a pale grey, even though there was as yet no sign of the sun. Our immediate destination appeared to be a large tent pitched on the side of a hill and situated next to a great rockpile that might have been a tumbled-down cairn or the ruins of some ancient fort. The two gnolls labored up the hill and entered the encampment, which consisted of several more of the ugly creatures sitting around a smoking fire, gnawing upon the half-roasted, half-charred remains of some unfortunate animal.

More unintelligible conversation followed, consisting of grunts and groans and other disgusting noises that passed for speech and many gestures toward me. But I was unable to concentrate on what might well be a decision that would affect my life, or death, for my eyes were drawn to a bloody pool just at the edge of the circle of fire. I knew it was blood, for nothing else had quite the same sort of glossy sheen. Someone, or something, had obviously been recently slaughtered, for there were scraps of bone and skin, thick with gore, rising up out of the pool of liquid. The scent of roasting meat seemed suddenly more intense, and my stomach rose in my throat and I vomited violently upon the sand. This provided the ugly beasts with great merriment.

They tugged me into the circle, and there my suspicions were confirmed, for lying next to the fire were my saddlebags, their contents strewn upon the ground. The largest gnoll wore my sword, Mika-oba’s gift, casually stuck through his belt. My eyes were drawn to the fire like a magnet. Seeing the ungainly haunch spitted on the grill, I knew that Blockhead would never annoy me again.

For some reason that defies logic, I was overcome with sadness, and then with a great rage at the fate of my horse, that same awful, obstinate creature that had so often attempted to do me bodily harm. Without thinking, I flung myself at the gnoll who wore my sword, butting him in the chest with my head. I might have saved myself the trouble, for it made little or no impression on the huge creature other than a brief moment of surprise. Then the gnoll broke into piglike, slobbering grunts of laughter. Yanking me toward him by the rope around my neck, he picked me up with one hand and walked out of the camp.

Well, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs, this is it. I’ll die right here on the beach, and no one will ever know what happened to me. Griswalda . . . Mika . . . my father. Their faces whirled through my mind, along with a multitude of unnamed yearnings. But before I could do more than feel sorry for myself, the gnoll, still chuckling, fumbled with something metallic and then flung me forward into the air. I landed with a heavy thump and staggered to my feet, confused but still alive!

I heard a heavy wooden thunk and the sound of a key being turned in a lock and mumbled curses and various groans around me. Struggling into an upright position, I looked around and saw that I had been locked inside a wooden stockade. Furthermore, I was not alone. There were a score or more other prisoners, dirty, unshaven, and dressed mostly in rags, but at least they were human.

Most of my fellow prisoners were sunk deep in their own thoughts and huddled apart from each other, as though unwilling to share even their misery. But one of them stood apart and was staring at me with eyes bright with intelligence as well as interest. I studied him closely in return, wondering if I had found an ally. He was tall and thin and sported a long red beard. In addition, he wore a long red coat with several buttons ripped from the fabric, dirty canvas pants, and boots with holes in the soles. Other than me, he was the best-dressed man in the crowd.

“What’s happening here? Who are these monsters, and what do they want of us?” I asked.

“Slavers,” came the flat reply, confirming my worse fears. “I had a tradin’ post ‘bout four leagues from here, back in the forest on one of the main trails.” He nodded inland. “Them blasted gnolls was on me while I slept. They’d ‘a never catched old Red otherways.”

I struggled to my feet and made my way over to the fence, next to the man. I leaned back wearily, feeling the ache in my head, the pull and strain of abused muscles, and the grip of the iron around my neck.

The man eyed me carefully and stared pointedly at the pouch, his eyes avoiding the iron collar that he could not fail to see. “Got anythin’ to eat?” he whispered hoarsely.

“No. Sorry,” I replied, becoming aware for the first time of the emptiness of my own belly. “Nothing in there except an old book and some medicine.”

“Book? Medicine?” repeated the fellow, his eyes growing even brighter. “What kind o’ book? Spells, mebbe? Be you a magic-user?” The sound of hope crept into his voice.

“I—I don’t think so,” I replied. And then, trying not to notice the disappointment in my new ally’s eyes, I sat down and fell into silent thought.

I knew the book was in my pouch, the book that had belonged to Mika-oba. A book he had valued highly. And if the tales he told were true, even a fraction of them, the book contained enough spells to serve me the rest of my life and get me out of almost any scrape, as they had Mika. There was just one problem. I had absolutely no idea how one went about performing magic. Surely one could not just read a spell aloud and have it happen, or every yokel in the land would be doing so. No, there had to be more to it than that. But what?

Before I could pursue the matter fully, there was a loud commotion outside the stockade, and I got to my feet with difficulty and peered through the logs. Red joined me and was himself staring through the logs intently. A sailing ship, fully rigged, was heading up the coast toward us, and the gnolls had piled a mass of wood on the fire, causing it to blaze brightly.

“That’ll be our trip to damnation!” cursed Red. “It’s one o’ those ships belongs to the Sea Princes.” He studied it more closely. “That’s the flag of the Commodore of Fairwind, but there’s nothing fair about him a’tall.” As though to emphasize his words, he spat on the ground.

“Who is this Commodore of Fairwind?” I asked, not at all sure I really wanted to know.

“Only the very worst o’ them damned slave-keepin’ princes,” growled Red, spitting again, as though the very mention of the man’s name left a bad taste in his mouth. “I seed him oncet. A big, fat, ugly one, he is. An’ he be a pirate, too. Since he come to power, us honest traders on the south coast can’t hardly make us a decent livin’. . . .” His voice trailed off disconsolately.

I thought quickly. This was an unpleasant prospect indeed. Why were they all just standing there? We had to get out of this place, and soon! What would Mika-oba have done? Surely not wait peacefully for his doom like some stupid sheep!

I had Mika’s book, and the book contained spells. Maybe Red and I could escape through the use of magic! “Quick, untie my hands!” I whispered hoarsely. “Maybe I can find a spell that will help us get out of here!”

Red’s eyes lit up like sparklers, and he attacked the ropes with vigor. The ropes had been tied tightly, and Red’s fingers were themselves swollen and stiff, but in due time I was loose and had freed him as well. The other captives turned their backs to us and avoided our eyes, as though they might somehow be caught and blamed for our actions. Fools! Let them go to their deaths or worse. Not I—not as long as a fighting chance remained!

I slid the book out of the pouch and opened it gently, feeling the brittle parchment crack and split beneath my fingers. I turned the mottled pages carefully, and the strange, old-fashioned script titles at the head of each page leapt out at me. “Lightning, ESP, Detect Magic, Jump.” “Jump” might work! We could leap over the wall, run away, and hide in the forest until the gnolls and slavers had gone! I scanned the page quickly. It seemed that the only ingredient I needed was a grasshopper’s leg. I looked around the stockade, searching for such an insect, but saw nothing, not one grasshopper.

“Red?” I whispered.

“What?” he whispered in return.

“I think I might be able to do something about getting us out of here, but I need a grasshopper to make it happen.”

Red looked at me with doubt written across his face. “Be you one o’ them loonies?” he asked bluntly.

“No, Red. I’m no loonie,” I replied with as sane a smile as I could muster. “The grasshopper is part of the spell.”

Reassured, Red soon found a grasshopper. I removed its leg and held it tight in my left hand. Gesturing to Red, I faced the stockade wall. “All right, I’m going to read the spell now, and as soon as I’m finished, both of us are going to jump over this wall, so be ready.”

Red looked up at the sharp, pointed tips of the stockade, twice the height of a man, and swallowed hard. I placed my hand on his shoulder, still gripping the pathetic grasshopper leg, and recited the words to the Jump spell aloud. “Now, jump!” I cried as soon as I had finished reading the odd words. The two of us leaped as high as we could, but instead of soaring above the fence as I had hoped, we merely fell back heavily to the ground.

“Maybe I got the words wrong,” I said, rubbing my bruised posterior. Red cast me a baleful look but said nothing.

I tried again, with more grasshoppers, chanting the words with various degrees of emphasis and pronunciation, but nothing seemed to work. The sun had risen above the horizon as the two of us sat wearily on the ground beside a small pile of dead grasshoppers. By now, the others had given up shunning us and were watching with an air of amusement that annoyed me far more than being ignored.

“Well, we’d best tie ourselves back up—loosely, of course— and then think on the problem,” I said dourly, hating to admit that I had failed.

While we were retying our bonds, one of our fellow prisoners scuttled over and, looking at us fearfully, grabbed and made off with a handful of the legless insects. My stomach turned as the wretched fellow crouched in a corner, held one of the grasshoppers up for quick inspection, then swallowed it with visible delight. I turned my eyes away from the sight. I was tired, bruised, worried, and hungry, but not hungry enough to eat grasshoppers!

Soon the sun was beating down in full force on the small enclosure. I made my way to the stockade wall and peered through the logs. The ship had anchored offshore, and a pair of longboats were pulling for the beach. I had wanted to see something of the world. I had even hoped for an adventure, and had sought a reason to delay my marriage to Maria Griswalda, but this was not what I had had in mind. I would probably strangle to death somewhere as a godforsaken slave. If I had any ability with magic, I had best discover it soon, or it appeared that I, Askar ben-oba, heir apparent to the Wolf Nomads of Forest Home, great-great-grandson of the famous adventurer Mika-oba, would spend the rest of his days as a slave.

CHAPTER SIX

The long rays of the setting sun streamed through the gaps in the trees. Shafts of bright light danced here and there, shimmering brightly like sunlight on water across the burnished gold scales of the huge dragon as he dozed atop the rock, absorbing its accumulated warmth. Two smaller dragons of the same hue sat upon a large flat boulder nearby, their heads well below his at a respectful height. The two smaller creatures rubbed their noses against a translucent green crystal. Whether they were fondling it, drawing pleasure from its brilliance, or polishing it with their steamy breath would have been difficult to ascertain. Others of their kind, many others, were sprawled upon the rocks surrounding their leader. Some were polishing their scales, while others were keeping guard, although not even the most foolhardy enemy would have been so foolish as to approach this dragon stronghold. She-dragons were nursing their young, and young ones of the warrior class were testing their strength against one another. Together they numbered more than a hundred strong.

The old dragon stared into the distance, his eyes seeing a vision far beyond their mountaintop lair, and he spoke to the young ones at his feet of the wonders of the land that lay beyond—the broad, grassy plains, the lush green forests, and the crystal streams. The images found fertile ground in the minds of the young dragons, who lifted their heads in unison to face the crimson sunset.

* * *

And then the dream was gone, vanished in the blink of an eye, taking with it the warmth and radiance of the sun and the benediction of the land, leaving only darkness in its wake, and a damp, cold cavern filled with aging, despondent dragons.

The largest and most ancient among them stirred, reluctant to release the dream of the past, but the dream was gone, while the ache of his tired old bones and the persistent pain of his left wing remained. He opened a single rheumy eye, knowing what he would see—the small group of dragons, the few that were left of their once-powerful clan, still wrapped in the thrall of the ritual spell, the shared dream. A dim fire burned in the center of the cave, a feeble attempt to light and warm the barren lair, which only succeeded in filling it with smoke.

Buelath, the ancient one, the leader of the clan, yawned broadly, the firelight glinting off his fangs. Dark gaps showed where fangs had once been and were no more. A twinge of pain shot through his jaws, and he growled low in his throat. One by one, the others awakened and gave him their attention.

“That was the dream. That is how it once was, and how it was passed down through the generations to me, and that is how it must be again. We will die if we allow things to remain as they are. We will die, and so will the dream. We have taken comfort from the past for too long, allowing the present to progress without us, allowing the world to pass us by. We will dream the dream no more.” He paused, allowing the shock of his words to penetrate fully before continuing. “The time for dreaming is past. The time to act is now!”

One by one, the dragons nodded their heads in agreement as the last bit of warmth from the dream left them.

“The blackness is gone; the Spider Queen is dead,” Buelath said. “But the humans and demihumans are everywhere with their towns and their farms and their wagons.”

“They give us no respect!” cried a dragon, mired in cold mud that reached more than halfway up his flanks.

“Some of the youngsters barely believe in us and scarcely show us the proper respect and fear!” another added in an outraged tone.

“And they’ve taken the stone!” cried yet another, which evoked a roar of anguish and rage from every scaled throat.

Buelath nodded in agreement, pleased to see that the others shared his thinking. He had been afraid that the long period of darkness had drained their courage as well as thinning their ranks.

The Eye of Tiros, the great green gem that was the very center of their lives, was the focal point of the dragons’ dream, which was passed from each generation to the next, stretching back to time immemorial for as long as dragons had lived upon the oerth. It was their strength, the very reason for their existence, and now it was gone. In its absence, the dream was fading, and in growing numbers they were sickening—and dying.

Buelath knew that time was growing short. If they were to survive and drive out the humans who were systematically destroying their wilderness home so necessary for their survival in the inexorable march of civilization across the face of the oerth, and especially their small corner of the Crystalmist Mountains, it was imperative that they find the gem, the all-powerful Eye of Tiros.

And find it they would, for Buelath knew who had stolen the gem while he slept, wrapped in the spell of warmth, the comforting web of memories. The gem had been taken by dark elves, minions of the Black Queen. In their haste, one of their numbers had left behind a single dark elven slipper with remnants of a spell of Silence still clinging to it. And since the Black Queen was dead, the presence of the elves could mean only one thing: The Yeomanry’s new young queen, Kathryn, who had defeated the Black Queen, was eager to regain power over her land and keep it safe from intruders. One could not fault her ambitions, but they would have to be accomplished without the aid of the Eye, for it belonged to the dragons and none else.

Buelath calmed himself, cooling the hot bloodrage with words of wisdom. It would not do to lose himself now, not when so much was at stake. Man and dragon could not coexist. One or the other would have to go. Something would have to be done. He was the oldest. The responsibility was his and his alone.

He spoke and the others listened. Long hours passed as they laid their plans. The darkness grew within as well as without as the fire died, and in the dank depths of the cave, the last stronghold of the once-mighty Golden Dragons of the Crystalmists, plans were forged.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The ship seemed to grow in size, looming ominously large as our longboat came alongside. It had two masts and an immense square rig. A sailor—a human sailor, I was glad to see—untied my hands and motioned for me to ascend the narrow rope ladder that dangled over the side, seeming too fragile to hold a man my size. A sharp prick from his dagger quickly convinced me that it would do. Miraculously, it was stronger than it appeared, and as I climbed over the rail, I was herded forward, none too gently, to join my fellow unfortunates.

Thankfully, the crew of the ship were all humans, as far as I could tell, and the ship itself was clean and well kept. The wooden deck was polished white, and the lines were all faked down into neat coils. This cleanliness and good order raised my spirits considerably. Surely a captain who cared for his ship so well would be a man who could be reasoned with. Surely once the Commodore heard my tale he would realize that I did not belong with this wretched bunch of wastrels, and he would release me so that I could continue my journey, somehow freeing myself of the cursed collar that was slowly strangling me, clear myself of the guilt that hung over me, and marry Maria Griswalda as planned. Nor would I expect to ride for free. I could pay for my passage to whatever their destination, for the gnolls had not searched me, and my blade, inlaid with the precious gems, as well as the pouch full of coins were still concealed on my person. One way or another, it would help me out of this predicament.

I was examining the ship, taking special note of the four large catapults, two each on either side of the deck, when all of a sudden I and the rest of my companions were rudely shoved into a dark and cavernous hold by a pair of darkly tanned, barefoot sailors.

In vain did I protest, earning myself nothing but a curse and a poorly aimed blow by one of the sailors. The group of us were prodded and pushed down two deck levels and into a small, dark place thick with the rank smell of unwashed bodies. As though emphasizing our fate, the heavy iron grate clanged shut above us with a sound so bleak, so final, that I felt my spirits fall into a morass of depression.

It seemed that I would have no opportunity to speak to the captain, and the jeweled knife was best kept hidden from the desperate crush of men who surrounded me. Never in my life had I felt so desperately alone. I called out for Red, but there was no reply, and I could not recall seeing him belowdecks during our journey. It was impossible to see very much, for the sailors had left us no torch or lantern to light our dreary surroundings. It was so dark that I could not even see the mass of humanity that surrounded me, although I could smell them and feel the press of them jammed against me on every side. The smell was roiling my empty stomach, and to make matters worse, something was chewing on my ankle.

I had to get some air. With great difficulty and a good deal of pushing and shoving and cursing of my own, I worked my way over to the only porthole, where I sadly contemplated the quickly receding shoreline. The clank of the rising anchor signified a terrible finality.

It seemed that I could feel fingers clutching my leg, reaching up to my knee, shinnying up my leg as though I were a tree! It was not my imagination; it was real! There, there in the murky half-light from the tiny porthole, I perceived a small head that appeared to be that of a child. But what on oerth would a child be doing in this hellhole? I reached down and lifted the little one up, surprised by his weight, but as I drew him toward me, I was amazed to see that his face was covered with a bristly black growth! I was so startled that I nearly dropped him, though the crush of surrounding bodies held him fast against me.

“Thanks, mate!” the boy said cheerfully in a deep baritone voice. “I thought I was gonna suffocate down there!” It dawned on me somewhat belatedly that it was no child that I had rescued, but rather a halfling. A hairy foot landed squarely in my hand as the halfling straddled my shoulder and settled in comfortably. “Hectodd’s the name!” he said, extending a hairy-backed hand. Freeing myself of the halfling’s foot, I managed to reach up and take his small hand in my own.

“I hope they don’t stop for any more. This place is full enough already,” said the halfling.

“I agree,” I said wholeheartedly. “Have you been aboard long?”

“Just since last night,” Hectodd said bitterly. “They took our ship during the storm. It was sinking, but they had time to get the cargo off and take us prisoners, damn their thieving eyes. I can’t understand it. It just doesn’t figure if you think about it. We heard that the Sea Princes had put an end to slavery and piracy after the Black Queen died. This was our first voyage. Looks like our information was wrong.”

“I’m afraid I can’t offer an opinion one way or another,” I said, anxious to learn all I could about my captors. “I’m a stranger to these parts, having come only recently from the lands of the Wolf Nomads.”

“The Sea Princes control everything that moves on water in these here parts. They’re little better than pirates, if the truth be known, but the Black Queen turned even their stomachs! We had thought that they had changed their ways, but I guess not.

“You’ll be wishing that you stayed with those Wolf Nomads before this is over!” declared Hectodd. “I wish we had one or two of those nomads with us right now. I hear they’re good fellows to have behind you in a tight spot.”

“So I hear,” I said softly, anxious to change the subject, for Wolf Nomad though I might be, it was in heritage alone. I was no fighter, and no one would ever look to me to help them out of a tight spot. For the first time, I wondered if perhaps my venerable ancestor was right. Maybe we had lost something by allowing the old ways to die.

“Tell me about yourself,” I said, ready to think of something other than my own shortcomings.

Talking about himself appeared to be much to the halfling’s liking, and he spoke at length about himself and his brother, Sam. The two of them had owned and operated a small but comfortable store “filled with a bit of this and a bit of that— everything that anyone might need” on the banks of the Javan River, many leagues distant to the northwest. “Things were good for us,” said Hectodd, swelling with pride at the memory, “and we did real good, the two of us, for a good many years.

“Then terrible things began to happen across the river in Sterich, for the Black Queen had begun her mischief, although we did not know it at the time. She had forged bonds with the evil ones and bade them to do her will. Giants came down from the mountains and raided farms and honest folk, stealing what they wanted and laying waste to what little they left behind. And that wasn’t even the worst of it,” raged Hectodd, his face flushing dark crimson at the memory. “Ores and goblins came, too, ugly as you please, burning farms and looting the small villages. And there was the griffon, a huge thing, a personal pet of the queen, who swept down out of nowhere stealing children, sheep, and horses. And then the blackness began. It started out like a black storm cloud, only it was shaped like a ball and it hung over the capital, Istivin, just hung there growing bigger and bigger and blacker and blacker, until it swallowed the entire city, king and court and cats and dogs and people and everything. Then it started to grow, and it spread until it took over the whole kingdom! But it didn’t stop there, either. It just crept across the river like some sort of evil flood, and then it swallowed us, too.”

We had heard the news of the Black Queen’s oppression, of course, but never had I heard it related in such detail by one who had been there to see it firsthand. My thoughts returned to the blurred image of my betrothed, and I began to wonder if she had escaped the horror. Although she did not live in Istivin, the center of the Black Queen’s ring of power, but in Gorna, some distance to the northwest, it seemed likely that the Black Queen’s web of death and destruction might well have extended that far and perhaps even farther. What if Maria Griswalda were dead? I had never contemplated such a thought before, and I felt a number of conflicting emotions, which ran the gamut from relief to despair—relief for my own selfish self and despair for the hopes of the tribe, which rested on this marriage.

Hectodd’s eyes brimmed with tears, and he snuffled once or twice before he was able to continue. I busied myself with looking out the porthole, where there was nothing to be seen but water.

“I begged Sam to leave the store, just leave it and come with me,” said Hectodd, his voice still quavering. “I begged him over and over, and all the while that nasty blackness was lapping at the door. But Sam wouldn’t go—said he wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t give up his life’s worth to no dirty black stuff that didn’t look like it was anything more than a nasty cloud. Said he’d stay put, and when the blackness went away, he’d still be there.

“But he never got the chance,” said Hectodd. “Before the blackness got any farther, the village was raided, sacked, and burned to the ground by a band of dark elves. Me, I only got a lump on my head—Sam always said it was hard—and Sam, he was dead, lyin’ there on the floor with the blackness nibbling at his toes. I buried him next to the store and left him there with the blackness rolling in like storm clouds.

“I drifted down the river on a raft with a few others, all who remained of our village and after a time, I took refuge with some relatives to the south, across the border in the Yeomanry.

“By the time I got there,” Hectodd continued, “armies from every neighboring kingdom had risen and were marching against the blackness in Sterich.”

“But how could anyone fight such a thing?” I asked, wondering if I would have had the courage to pit myself against such a great evil. “How can you fight a black cloud that kills?”

“Wizards,” said Hectodd. “Wizards and sorcerers and heroes from all over the land, who had heard of our plight, came to combat the evil queen who reigned within the black cloud, even

though it was rumored that she had come from Hades itself.

“It was a grand fight,” Hectodd said, a broad grin creasing his round face, “a grand fight, indeed. Back and forth it went, first one side winning, then the other. But in the end, the Black Queen was destroyed and the blackness was driven from Oerth.

“Many have claimed the honor of having killed the wicked woman, but I was there, and I—just as any other loyal citizen of the Yeomanry—can tell you that it was the young princess, Kathryn, who did the deed.”

“Kathryn?” I asked, shaking off the chill that ran up my spine at the mention of her name. “I have heard of her. Who is she, and how did she defeat so powerful an enemy?”

And indeed I had heard of Kathryn, for it was her gem that I was alleged to have stolen. Her gem which had earned me the green glow in my pouch and the iron collar welded round my neck, that same iron collar which the halfling was ignoring so politely, although his eyes were drawn to it time and again.

“She’s the daughter of the old king, Buncombe the Green . . . Kathryn the Great, we call her.” The halfling beamed. “Doesn’t really matter how she did it, does it? The Black Queen’s dead and we’re alive, and that’s all that really matters.

“My Uncle Osgood says that the Yeomanry has never seen such prosperity or happiness as we’ve had since Kathryn took the throne. Why, even I acquired a modest fortune,” said the halfling. “I was on a trade mission for my uncle when these blasted pirates took my ship.” The halfling frowned. “I would have made another fortune, too!”

“But you’re alive,” I reminded him, “and that’s all that really matters. Where are your companions? I have seen no other half-lings among us.”

“My crew was all human.” The halfling looked a little embarrassed. “Uncle Osgood thinks we small folk make terrible sailors. I think the pirates put ‘em all to work abovedecks. I haven’t seen any of ‘em down here.”

Suddenly there was a loud clanking above us as the grate was lifted. Everyone fell silent. “Avast down there!” boomed a stentorian voice. “We need a new cook! Any of youse down there know how to cook meals for a hunnerd men?”

Hectodd and I looked at each other, and Hectodd took hold of my hair and forced me to nod up and down vigorously. “Here’s our chance to get out of here!” he whispered.

“We do!” yelled Hectodd before anyone else could speak. “The best meals you’ll ever eat!” he added for good measure. Since no one else spoke up, and despite my misgivings, we were chosen.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I stared down into the bubbly cauldron with glassy eyes, not seeing the seething mixture before me, my thoughts a thousand leagues distant.

“Hey, Askar. Wake up and give that stuff a stir!” shouted the halfling as he tossed an armload of wood onto the fire where it blazed on the great stone hearth. I jumped at the sound of his voice, and things swam into focus.

Cooks. I was now a cook on a pirate ship. Earlier, we had poured huge sacks of dried peas into an immense black iron kettle and chopped up a cask of salt pork, adding it to the peas along with a measure of salt and some peppers and a goodly quantity of water. Much to my surprise, it seemed to be turning out well, if the aroma rising from the pot was any indication.

If so, the credit belonged to the halfling alone. It was my job to stir the mess, and I kept forgetting to do even that. We had sampled our creation but sparingly, for we were as yet uncertain of how closely we were watched. My stomach growled, a constant reminder of the fact that it was still quite empty.

My earlier worries had diminished, as our new role brought us closer to the sun and the fresh air of the upper decks. Hectodd had been right to volunteer, for it seemed that as cooks we would at least be certain of food, far more certain than if we had been locked in the foul hold below. We had also found out why the position had become vacant. Our predecessors had broken into the captain’s rum supply and had subsequently “fallen” overboard . . . with rocks tied to their feet. Hectodd and I immediately made a pact to avoid their fate at all cost!

The galley in which we worked consisted of a large stone hearth with iron hooks from which the kettle could be suspended and a tin hood that vented up through the deck. We had been lectured at length by Grooz, the purser, on the desirability of keeping the fires contained within the hearth, as the ship’s dry timbers and tarred planking were highly flammable. To make certain that we heeded his admonition, an armed guard glowered at us from across the room.

The very fact that the ship was burnable, and I myself was in charge of the fire, set my mind to work on various plans of escape. The plans were vague, for I could not think of a way to burn the ship without the loss of many innocent lives, including my own. But escape I would, for I had no intention of spending the rest of my life as a slave.

“Smells good, don’t it?” Hectodd commented with a huge smile.

“It could use some onions,” I said, wanting to take another look at the storeroom from which we had obtained the peas and salt pork.

“And carrots!” added Hectodd.

The two of us turned and ducked under the overhead beams. We riffled through the contents of a footlocker. There were bags of strange spices and jars containing assorted mysterious powders, but no onions or carrots. Apparently everything edible or of any real value was in the storeroom, which was kept under lock and key and guarded by that same glowering purser.

Grooz waddled up behind us. “Whaddya lookin’ for innere?” he wheezed. “Issem peez done yet? The Commodore wants his chow.”

“It needs onions,” I ventured. “Are there any onions and carrots we can use?”

Grooz rubbed his stubbly double chin with a pudgy hand as he studied us, obviously torn between the prospect of a good meal and spending more money. The supplies and the cooks were his responsibility; whatever he was able to save could be sold at the end of the voyage and the coins added to his own private hoard.

“No onions! No carrots! We gotta make these stores last till we gets home. Already it’s been a long voyage.”

I wondered where “home” might be. Grooz tasted a spoonful of our handiwork, dribbling bits of peas and fat down his stained uniform. Dipping in for a second sampling, he indicated his approval and signaled two strong lads to wrestle the heavy kettle out on deck. Then the sound of the bosun’s whistle shrilled, answered by the pounding footsteps of the hungry crew.

Grooz growled at Hectodd and gestured for him to follow. They were gone but for a brief moment, and when they returned, the halfling was carrying a small wooden cask on his shoulder. Hectodd pried the lid off, while Grooz inspected the contents. The small round objects inside were apparently biscuits, grey and as hard as stone. Grooz grunted, indicating his approval, and when Hectodd tapped one against a beam, a number of weevils fell out of the biscuit.

Even though my stomach turned at the sight of the wiggling creatures, they did not deter the ravenous sailors for even a heartbeat. Up on deck we went, prodded once again by Grooz’s sharp blade and impatient grunts. Outside, we immediately began to portion out peas and biscuits. I was in charge of the ladling and dispensed the pea stew heavily laden with choice bits of salt port, and the weevily biscuits. Under Grooz’s sharp eye, Hectodd delivered the first heaping potful to the officers’ mess.

The level of the kettle dipped lower and lower as the remainder was poured into pans and carried belowdecks to the prisoners. Glad as I was to see them fed, I was dismayed to see that there was nothing left for us! Nothing at all, except a handful of the weevily biscuits! The halfling, always resourceful, climbed into the cauldron and meticulously scraped the sides with his share of the biscuits, devouring the mess with great relish. As hungry as I was, I could not join him, and in the end, I pounded my biscuits into powder, picked out the weevils, and ate what little remained, to Hectodd’s great amusement.

“Look, lad,” the halfling said kindly, standing up and placing his arm around my shoulders. “This may not be what you’re accustomed to, but if you’re going to survive, you’ve got to go with what’s happening. It won’t do no good to fight it and act like some prince. You got to play with the hand you’re dealt, ‘cause it’s all you’ve got. Forget about where you’ve come from or what you were going to do. You’re here now, and you’re alive, and—”

“—And that’s all that really matters,” I said, finishing the thought for him. My misery seemed to lighten somehow. The halfling was right. Thinking about what had been would get me nowhere. I was alive and well, and somehow I—we—would survive.

No sooner had we finished our meager meal than Grooz returned, and with a sailor manning the pump, we cleaned the great cauldron and our utensils with cold seawater.

Hectodd scanned the glowing horizon, still painted crimson even though the sun had already set. He pointed to the northwest. “Home,” he said, even though there was no land in sight. Once again the heaviness returned to my chest, and a lump formed in my throat as I, too, thought about home and those I had left behind.

Our chores completed, we were herded belowdecks once more. With a grunt, Grooz tossed us two hammocks. These we slung on the great beams before the hearth. Then he took out a well-worn ledger, which he carefully placed on the heavy oaken worktable. By candlelight, he outlined our future. Pork and peas on the first and third days of the week; salt beef on the second and fifth days; butter, cheese, and biscuits on the fourth and sixth days; and yarpiks and biscuits on the seventh day. Oatmeal and yarpik coffee was served at every morning meal.

Grooz rambled on about following the strict rations—a pint of this per man, a half pint of that, and nevermore than a single biscuit. But at least the instructions were no longer accompanied by the death threats he had issued earlier in the day. If it were possible, it seemed that our efforts had made a good impression on the purser, an advantage I had every intention of grooming.

Under Grooz’s supervision, the halfling and I dragged several bags of oats up out of the storeroom and a single cask of yarpik beans for the morning meal. Only then did Grooz leave us, locking us into the galley with an immense iron key.

Both of us tumbled into our hammocks then, completely exhausted. The ship was rolling gently, and our hammocks swung back and forth in unison. Hectodd spoke softly about the bright yellow flowers that would be blooming beside his Uncle Osgood’s store and of the rack upon rack of bottles of golden dandelion wine that would be made from them. What a party Uncle Osgood would have, this time of year! Then he fell silent.

I swung back and forth in my hammock, feeling the halfling’s grief as well as my own. Would I ever see Forest Home again?

I took the faded portrait that held Maria Griswalda’s blurred features and wondered if I would ever be free to marry her. Her blurred features swam before my eyes, and the thought of a safe and uneventful married life, no matter what she looked like, sounded better to me than any adventure I had ever imagined.

Would I be strangled to death by the iron collar before I solved the mystery of who had switched pouches on me?

And most important of all, would I live long enough to tell Mika-oba that he had been right? The halfling began to snore softly as I, too, gave in to my exhaustion and buried my misery in sleep.

CHAPTER NINE

Alamkamala, prime minister and grand inquisitor of Kranoch, the blind king of the Stark Mounds of Sterich, paced back and forth in his chambers, deep in thought. Turning abruptly, he looked directly at Donovic, the supreme general of the armed forces, for the first time since the man had entered his chambers more than an hour before. His glance, cold and imperious, with no hint of hidden kindness, brought a nervous sheen of sweat as well as carefully suppressed anger to the general’s face. “Are the armies ready to march?” he demanded.

“Sire, we have only just secured the high tower. We took some injuries, and as the hour is late, the men are tired as well,” replied the general, hoping that the prime minister could be made to see the impossibility of what he asked.

His men had succeeded in overwhelming the small mountain bastion, the southernmost outpost of Sterich, located in the Jotens Mountains, the natural border between Sterich and the Yeomanry. But it had been well armed, and the dwarves, whose home it was, had fought long and hard. The bastion had been taken, but with more losses than had been anticipated. Worse, the dwarves had fled into the night and gone underground, depriving the prime minister of the torture he so enjoyed to inflict

upon those he conquered.

Alamkamala shot the general a black look that drained his face of color and then resumed his pacing. The man was a fool, a weakling, always yammering about “the men.” Armies were not men, but a tool to be used when needed and then discarded. But he still had need of this man and his army, so for the time being, they would be humored. Dismissing Donovic from his thoughts, he considered another matter. With the taking of this southernmost outpost, the last bit of resistance had fallen. All of Sterich was now his for the taking.

Kranoch, once a bold and powerful king, had ruled with ruthless strength until he was blinded by an arrow shot from the bow of Buncombe the Green, king of the Yeomanry, king of the elves. Kranoch had lost much of what he had seized to younger, stronger men with vision, and was forced to retreat to his barren mountain hold deep in the Stark Mounds of northern Sterich. Shortly after his retreat, the Black Queen had risen to power, and Kranoch had been content to listen and wait, safe in the knowledge that there was little to interest her in his mountain outpost.

At last she had been defeated, and with the country in ruins, the army—what little remained of it—spread across the countryside, Sterich had been easily conquered and reunited under his banner. And now with the final outpost seized, Kranoch was determined to march on the Yeomanry and add its wealth to his shattered land and rebuild to even greater glory.

But even more important than the conquest of the land was the acquisition of the magic gem, The Eye of Tiros, which could restore his vision as well as enhance his power, and Kranoch was determined to possess it. What Kranoch did not know, however, was that there was one who wished to possess it even more than he— Alamkamala, his very own prime minister and grand inquisitor.

“The Eye of Tiros,” he said, turning to the general, “is somewhere in the Yeomanry. The old woman told me so before she died. If we send the night creatures after the dwarves, none will live to tell of our conquest and we will advance to the Yeomanry without opposition. We must take them by surprise.”

“I must insist that we allow the army to rest and secure this position,” said the general, fearful of his superior but more concerned for the welfare of his men. “It would be sheer folly to send any part of our forces out tonight. The scouts report that a large number of the enemy remain in the vicinity.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Alamkamala, pausing before the fireplace and warming his hands at its blaze. He could afford to be generous to his general, although he took careful note of the man’s insubordination. With a brief gesture, he dismissed Donovic and sunk into his chair before the fire. Pulling the stopper free, he filled his glass with wine from the decanter and admired its color before the fire. “So close,” he murmured, “so close. Soon it will be mine. To the Eye of Tiros.” He toasted the blazing flames and then settled down to savor the wine as well as the sweetness of victory.

CHAPTER TEN

The air was still above the northern reaches of the Hoolmarshes. Thousands of insects sang their raspy, whiny songs while frogs added their croaking din. Ghostly fingers of moonlight filtered down through the moss-draped trees. The smaller of the two moons, Celence, was waxing nearly full, and its pale blue light gave an eerie luster to the enormous shoulders of the catoblepas, a swamp creature whose victims seldom lived long enough to describe it. It swung its broad, rounded muzzle back and forth in the swamp muck as it wallowed along, half-submerged in the slime and oblivious of the two dragons that were circling silently above in the night sky.

Even if its dim brain had taken notice of the dragons, it would not have been alarmed. Catoblepases were not intelligent enough to feel fear. Nor was fear necessary. Even if they had not towered more than three man heights tall and weighed several thousand pounds, their skin was so thick and so tough that it could resist even a direct sword thrust. Of course, no such thing had ever occurred, for the catoblepases were endowed with a deadly ability—whatever they gazed upon immediately turned to stone. This remarkable ability was very inconvenient at times, such as when feeding or mating, but the catoblepas had learned to feed underwater and mate with its eyes closed. It was not entirely stupid.

“Look, there’s one now, down in that pool,” hissed Buelath, nodding down toward the monster in the swamp thousands of feet below. The great gold dragon spread his wings in a maneuver that was mirrored by his companion, and they began a rapid dive.

“Make sure you come up on it from behind,” cautioned the younger dragon.

“Bubastio, I am more than three hundred years your senior,” Buelath growled in disgust, his eyes fixed on their target. He knew full well that the gaze of the catoblepas could mean death, but he also knew that the monster was exceedingly slow as well as exceedingly dumb. “Just keep your mouth closed and be ready to seize it after I make my pass.” His words were swept away by the wind as they hurtled oerthward.

A flock of night birds exploded from the treetops in a flurry of feathers and angry shrieks as the dragons swooped low. Musk-rats, otters, and turtles slithered from their logs into the relative safety of the murky water as the two dragons hurtled toward the swamp.

The catoblepas pricked its tiny ears, arched its long, slender neck, and slowly began to raise its ugly head. But before its dim thought could translate into action, Buelath swooped past with a whoosh, and the catoblepas was enveloped in a halo of bright orange light. Then, just as suddenly, there was no catoblepas at all, and where the beast had been just a moment before, now a startled rabbit floundered in the water. A heartbeat later, the second dragon skimmed the surface of the swamp. Its claws dropped down and snatched up the helpless rabbit. Nearby, trees thrashed violently in the wake of the mighty winds, the waters were whipped into whitecaps, and then the dragons were gone, carrying their hapless hostage with them.

Silence returned to the swamp, the waters quieted, and one by one the insects resumed their cadence. A wary muskrat crawled back onto its log.

* * *

High atop a bald peak in the Tor Hills, six gold dragons sat in the summer moonlight, feeling the unaccustomed ache in their tired wings. They felt the pain of muscles that had been unused for too long. Two more of the majestic creatures landed in the circle, and yet another wet, bedraggled rabbit was added to the long night’s work.

“That makes twelve for the night,” said Bubastio as he deftly dropped the last rabbit into a large sack and knotted its neck tightly. Buelath caught his breath and addressed the assembled group.

“You have done well—far better than I had dared to hope. I can only assume that you have thus depleted your store of spells.” Murmured groans of assent were the reply.

“It is as I thought, but the result will be worth the effort, brothers. Return to your caves. Rest and renew your spells until next we meet.” Buelath held up the bag. “I will see that our friends from the swamp complete their journey.”

This promise brought smiles to the dragons’ eyes and lifted their spirits for the long flight home. One by one, the dragons opened their wings and leaped into the night from the hilltop, the moonlight reflecting blue and white off their shining scales. When the last of them had vanished, Buelath, still accompanied by Bubastio, grasped the writhing sack in his claws and flew east into the dark night.

The next morning, a young elven guard stationed at the south gate of Loftwick, capital city of the Yeomanry, burst into gales of laughter as he opened the huge gates, admitting the first of many who would enter the city that day. Perhaps taking note of the gatekeeper’s extreme youth, or perhaps merely wrapped in his own thoughts, the object of his laughter, a frail, bent old man with a bright gold beard, followed by another like enough to be his twin, failed to take offense and entered the city without further ado, pushing his cart along the cobbled street—a cart that was loaded with wire cages filled with mud-encrusted white rabbits.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The wind blew fair for the next several days, and the ship, which was called The Star of Fairwind, sailed northward without incident. By the third day, I could stand my own stink no longer, accustomed as I was to being clean, and I was forced to hold my breath when standing next to the halfling. I washed my clothes and body in saltwater, which I boiled as soon as breakfast was done, and much to my surprise and relief, Hectodd did the same. Our clothes were stiff, and our skin was gritty to the touch, but at least we smelled better and were considerably cleaner than most of the others aboard ship. Our activities gave much amusement to the less than fragrant Grooz. My iron collar was much in evidence at this time, but the halfling averted his eyes, his good manners preventing him from asking, and I could not bring myself to relate the tale.

We slipped into the ship’s routine with ease, learning to eat our portions before we fed the others. We did our job so well that Grooz allowed us to partake of the daily beer issue that was given to the crew. Having no liking for the raw, yeasty taste of the stuff, I gave my portion to Hectodd, who, in turn, traded his away for various favors from the crew. The halfling had managed to locate most of the men who had been taken from his own ship, although

there was still no sign of Red.

The guard no longer watched us constantly, and we gained a small amount of freedom on the ship. This was good, for I had not abandoned my plan to escape. My original plan had been to set the ship on fire, but since we were still out of sight of land, it seemed best to think of some other scheme. Hectodd’s old shipmates appeared to have remained loyal to him, so we might well enlist them and gain control of the entire ship.

That night, as we lay in our hammocks, I presented an idea to Hectodd. The halfling all but fell out of his hammock, wriggling with enthusiasm at the thought of recovering his lost cargo and replacing his lost ship with such a prize as the Fairwind.

We began our limited freedom carefully. We took careful note of all the hatches and ladders, and when nobody was looking, we poked into various stored items in the hold.

And then, one day, in the middle of all this furtive activity, as I was sitting atop a large barrel in the hold, I had the uncanny feeling that I was hearing voices inside my head crying for help and asking to be freed. I shook my head and scoured my ears with my fingers, but the voice was still with me. I stood up quickly and looked around, but there was no one there but myself. Eventually the voice began to fade, and as I made my way back to the galley, it disappeared completely.

It was a most unnerving experience and one I was unwilling to share with Hectodd, lest he think me insane. But though the incident did not repeat itself, I could not forget it entirely.

Meanwhile, Hectodd and I mapped out the locations of the officers’ cabins on a sheet of yellowed parchment that I had stolen from Grooz’s ledger.

By observing when the watch was changed and carrying hot coffee to the officer on deck, I also roughed out a schedule of who was on duty and when. The first lieutenant was cold and calculating. The second lieutenant was nervous and fidgety. But the master’s mate was a good-natured, sleepy fellow who often took naps on deck. It would be best to try something when he stood watch.

Hectodd came up with the best discovery of all. A side passage next to the Commodore’s cabin led directly to the arms locker, where the supply of swords, crossbows, and daggers were kept under guard and lock and key. If we could only break into the arms locker!

Two days’ worth of Hectodd’s and my beer rations, plus a sack of dried fruit stolen from the food stores, bought us a duplicate of the key to the arms locker. I did not ask the toothless sailor who sold it to us how he had come by the prize.

Then one bright afternoon all our carefully laid plans were shattered. The ship was abuzz with the news that the ship was fast approaching Amoreides, the principal port of Fairwind! Disaster! If we sailed into port now, all our careful planning would be wasted! I made up my mind. If we were going to make our move, it had to happen tonight! I consulted the watch schedule. The gods were smiling on us, it seemed, for the sleepy mate had the midwatch. The timing was perfect!

I filled in Hectodd on the plans as we sat in the half-light of the galley, bent over the sturdy oaken table.

“I’ll pass the word to the men,” whispered Hectodd. “What time shall I say?”

“Two bells, during the midwatch, and not a heartbeat sooner. We’ll gather down in the hold.”

Hectodd grinned up at me as we finalized our plans, and I thought that he looked like a tiny pirate. His black beard had grown even longer than before, and his dark hair hung down to his shoulders in thick curls. His long grey coat with its gold piping and pewter buttons needed only a cutlass to complete the picture.

I could not say the same for myself, for I was still dressed in the same tattered clothes that I had been wearing when Blockhead took his final gallop. Of course, I still had the pouch, which I never removed from my person, for I had some dim hope that I might yet use it. Why else would Mika-oba have entrusted it to me? But such a thing was unlikely, and it was not magic we were counting on, but cunning and physical strength.

Hectodd and I took to our hammocks early. Even though the halfling began to snore immediately, I could not fall asleep. I might well be dead in a few hours, forced as I was to rely on swordplay, at which I was not adept. I might never see Forest Home again or discover what Maria Griswalda really looked like. I took out the worn portrait, so often handled by my anxious fingers that it was becoming tattered around the edges, and stared at it, seeking reassurance. As always, there were the waves of blond hair cascading to the creamy shoulders, but where the face should be, there was nothing but a blurred smudge of color. I sighed and tucked the picture back in my pouch, for it did no good to dwell on such thoughts. For better or for worse, the die was cast.

Sleep would still not come, try as I might, and I listened intently when the ship’s bell rang, carefully counting the number of times it was struck. Each watch seemed to take an eternity to pass. Then, without even realizing it, I gave in to the gentle roll of the hammock and drifted off to sleep.

I awakened to Hectodd roughly shaking my arm. “Psst . . . psssst, Askar! Wake up! It’s time!”

I climbed out of my hammock, furious with myself for having fallen asleep. Here I was, about to attempt the most dangerous thing I had ever done in my entire life, and I had almost slept through it!

Even with both moons out, it was pitch dark down below. I held on to Hectodd’s shoulder, and the two of us edged slowly forward along the deck, carefully avoiding the swinging hammocks of the slumbering crew. We came to a hatch and crawled below-decks, down below the level of the waves. We could clearly hear the smack of the waves over which The Star of Fairwind rode, and the timbers and beams groaning quietly with the alternating roll and pitch of the ship.

The silence and the darkness preyed on my nerves, and I wished that we had a candle to light the way, even though we had practiced the route many times and knew our way by heart. A rat squealed desperately, then skittered out of the way after I inadvertently stepped on its tail. One expected to find rats in the hold of ships. It was commonplace, yet it startled me badly, and my heart was pounding furiously. Hectodd inched forward, then stumbled over a barrel and stopped. There was a hiss somewhere directly before us. I hissed back, for it was the agreed-upon signal.

“Askar?” whispered a voice in the dark.

“Aye, we’re here,” I replied softly.

“And the rest of us are here as well,” said the voice. Someone struck flint to steel and lit a small oil lamp, shaded on three sides. It gave off only a small light, but in this great darkness even that feeble flame seemed too bright. The yellow glow revealed a small group of bearded mutineers.

We gathered around the barrel, and I placed our parchment map down on its smooth top and began to outline the plan. Once the weapons were secured, we would split into groups of two and three and subdue each of the officers. If possible there would be no bloodshed.

Throughout the whispered conference, it astonished me to realize that once again I was hearing a voice inside my head pleading to be freed. I was alarmed, but I did my best to shut it out. Why now? Why here, at this time, when I needed to focus all my energy on the deed at hand? At last the voice fell silent, for which I was grateful. Mayhaps I was not going mad; mayhaps it was merely a trick of the water sliding past the hull. Come to think of it, the first time it had happened, I had also been sitting in this very hold, perhaps atop this selfsame barrel. Briefly I wondered if something were inside the barrel. Then I shoved that thought aside, for there were far more pressing matters at hand.

It seemed that no one had noticed my lack of concentration. Hectodd was outlining each man’s duties. It fell to me and two others to sneak up on the quarterdeck and there to take over the helm and overcome the officer of the watch. Soon all was ready. Hectodd produced the precious key, and the lamp was snuffed out. We were on our way.

I led our little band of men through the darkness, each holding on to the man in front of him. Carefully we made our way up through the two decks, and there at last, we sighted a dim light glowing ahead.

The door was open, and the narrow passageway to the arms locker was lit by a smoking tallow suspended from above. It swayed gently as the ship rolled back and forth. I gave the signal, and there was a rush of men. The guard was more than half-asleep, lolling in his chair. Before he could react, we had him securely bound and gagged. Hectodd shoved the key into the lock.

There was a tense moment as the halfling rattled the key first one way, then the other, but the lock refused to turn. Some of us cursed, while others prayed to various deities. Then I gave the door a hard slam with the butt of my palm, there was a sharp click, and the door swung open!

With a minimum of rattles and clanks, the weapons were quickly passed out among the men. I chose a sword similar to the one Mika-oba had given me, yet mercifully lighter.

The men dispersed swiftly, and far sooner than I might have wished, I found myself climbing, breathless with excitement, up the ladder that led to the quarterdeck.

In the eerie light of the two moons, I saw a man stationed at the wheel. But where was the officer? I squinted as I scanned the deck and found my man, leaning over the rail on the far side, staring out into the darkness. The She-Wolf, Great Mother of us all, was indeed smiling on us!

In a burst of nervous energy, I leaped out of the hatch and rushed toward the officer at the rail. In a flash, I was on my man. I didn’t even need my blade. Instead, a stiff body block to the chest flipped the unfortunate fellow backward and over the side. There was a single cry, followed by a splash, which faded away in the darkness as the ship rushed on through the waves. I turned and saw that the others had subdued the man at the wheel, and one of them had taken over the helm and was now steering the ship.

Thumps and muffled cries drifted up belowdecks, and then all fell silent. That was a good sign. It had all happened so quickly that I could scarcely believe that it was done. Now Hectodd and I were in charge of the ship. We had done it! My chest swelled a little, and I thought of Mika-oba and wished that he could see me now. How proud he would be of me! To tell the truth, I was proud of myself, and more than a little surprised at the strength and courage that I had never before suspected I possessed! I had actually risked my life in a desperate action and succeeded!

Slipping the sword under my belt, I began walking toward the wheel. Suddenly, without warning, the deck began to spin beneath my feet, and a great dizziness all but overcame me. I stopped, incapable of movement as once again I heard a voice speak out inside my head. This was not the faint muttering I had experienced in the hold, but a loud and clear command. What on oerth did I think I was doing? it said. I was to drop my sword immediately! I was a fool, undoubtedly the biggest fool who had ever lived on oerth! The Commodore was my good friend, the nicest, most pleasant man who had ever sailed the seas!

The men near the wheel seemed to be experiencing the same difficulties. They wobbled on their feet, turned, and stared at me with glassy eyes. They dropped their weapons, and the wheel swung free. The ship turned abruptly with the rising wind, and the deck canted under my feet as the ship lost momentum.

Up through the hatch, taking slow and deliberate steps, came the most handsome, intelligent man in the world, a man of obvious power and importance. It was my old friend, the Commodore, in his lovely green coat with its shiny brass buttons, wearing a tricorn hat with a great sweeping feather. The wonderful fellow stared intently into my bleary eyes . . .

There was a sudden thump, and a terrible red burst of pain at the base of my skull sent me spiraling down into darkness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Kathryn Fern-Clyffe, daughter of Buncombe the Green, now queen of the Yeomanry for life, frowned as she paced barefoot on the bearskins that covered the floor of her bedroom study. She was large for an elf, large of build and tall enough to be mistaken for a human, something of which she had been ashamed all of her life, yet her size was appropriate for that of a warrior queen and did not at all detract from her regal bearing and simple beauty.

Waves of tangled dark curls flowed over her shoulders, shoulders that had borne many burdens during her young life. Back and forth she paced, aware of more than just the normal weight of daily problems. Something was bothering her greatly, a gnawing, ever-present worry that had grown more and more powerful with every passing day. It was not just that the Eye had been stolen. That alone would be cause enough for worry. But she had lived without the Eye for most of her life, and, as much as its presence was to be desired, she knew that she could survive without it now.

In two days’ time, both moons would be full, a special occurrence that called for great celebrations throughout the land. Yet here she was dreading the inevitable progress of the celestial bodies, something completely beyond her control. Instead of joy, she felt nothing but a vague sense of impending doom. She paused at the balcony and stared out at the bustling city of Loftwick below.

The city had undergone a rapid change in recent months, outgrowing the boundaries of the original city. The great walls still stood, creating an inner city surrounding the castle, where most of the army was quartered as well as those whose duties lay within the castle itself.

The rest of the population lived in the newly constructed town that stretched for leagues in every direction. All those beings— elves, humans, dwarves, and even a few halflings—were her responsibility. Beyond that wall, the city was relatively defenseless, open to whatever danger might approach, a fact that troubled her deeply.

Kathryn had learned to listen to her own inner voices. They had proved true in the past, but this time she could not make out the message they spoke, and she did not perceive their warning. What could be the danger in this time of peace?

With her own hands, Kathryn had slain the Spider Queen and driven out the blackness. Sterich, wherein the Black Queen had dwelled, had been laid waste and was no longer a threat. The monsters and giants were gone from the mountains; the dreaded dark elves, the drow, seemed to have disappeared; and she was on the best of terms with neighboring Keoland and the Sea Princes. Loftwick was certainly vulnerable to attack—but from whom, and why? The inner voices did not make it clear.

A gentle knock on the door announced the arrival of Fea-Glenna, Kathryn’s lifelong friend and chief lieutenant. Fea was as tall as the queen, but there the similarity stopped. Atop her head she wore a crown of tight, white-blond curls, and she was so thin and wiry that she almost appeared underfed. The green tights she wore only accentuated her slight build. The light fragrance she wore announced her presence without a word being spoken.

“Yes, Fea,” said Kathryn without taking her eyes, or her thoughts, away from the city.

“Your Majesty, the pixies have done their job well. We have guards and a mage at every possible exit from the castle itself.”

“And what about the sky?” asked Kathryn.

“The faeries are there. Whoever took the Eye will not escape us if they are still within our reach.”

“I fear they have already escaped us.” Kathryn said sadly, still staring out at the horizon. “I no longer sense the Eye’s presence. I feel that it is already gone from the city. I have received word from one Lionel, Freecaptain of Regent, that it’s presence has been detected in that town. Measures are being taken to recover it.” She turned and saw the bewildered look on her companion’s face. “Do not blame yourself, Fea. It came to us by pure chance and served its purpose, and now it is gone.”

“I do not see how it could be in Regent, but the pixies have carried the message to every city in the Yeomanry. If it is still within our boundaries, we shall find it. But consider this, Your Majesty: How was it done? Only someone very close to you could have stolen the gem. Only a select few knew of its existence and that it was the key to the security of the kingdom.”

Kathryn cut her short with an abrupt gesture and a deep sigh. “See to it,” she said, deeply grieved by the possibility of betrayal from within.

Fea exited hurriedly and Kathryn sighed again, this time in sorrow for the loss of the easy friendship that had all but vanished beneath the heavy bonds of their duty. Gone was the lighthearted elf who had been her friend and companion for all those many years. Fea-Glenna had been at her side when they encountered the drow on that fateful night. Fea had cast the Prismatic spell that had blinded the drow, while Kathryn had wielded the sword that had slain so many of them. And together they had taken the Eye of Tiros.

They had taken the magical Eye of Tiros from the evil black elves, the drow who had no right to use it, for it was a gem that could only be used for right. The drow had been unable to use it themselves, knowing that to do so was to die by misusing its power. But they had fought with all their strength to prevent Kathryn from having it. In the end, Kathryn and Fea-Glenna had won out, killing the drow and attaining the powerful gem, causing Kathryn to fall into a perilous faint from which she did not recover for many days. Upon regaining consciousness, she had hidden the gem inside a locked chest in her room, determined never to use it again, for she feared that the gem was too powerful and that the next time she used it, it would kill her.

Now it was gone, mysteriously vanished, although few outside her immediate inner circle had known its hiding place. It appeared that the gods had taken it from her as casually as they had given it. No, whatever was threatening the Yeomanry, it was not

just the theft of the magic gem. It was something more.

* * *

At the end of a narrow, deserted lane, far beyond the vision of the worried queen, a little old man with a bright gold beard stopped for a moment to rest, for his cart, laden with cages of large white rabbits, was very heavy. He and his assistant glanced up and down the street, making certain that they were not observed. The assistant gave a sharp nod, and with an ease that would have astonished onlookers, had there been any, the old man bent down and lifted the thick iron grate that covered the entrance to the sewer and placed it quietly on the cobblestones.

The sewers of Loftwick, at least those lying under the old city, were an engineering marvel, elaborate underground passages, that ran beneath nearly every street, carrying rainwater and the filth of the city down to the river. They were responsible to a great degree, for the high standard of public health, a standard that was soon to change very much for the worse.

One by one, the cages were unloaded from the cart. The assistant handed them to the old man, who opened each in its turn and dumped the large white, mud-streaked bunnies into the dark sewer opening, tossing their cages after them. Then, as the last of them vanished into the gloom, the old man replaced the grate and stood on it, rubbing his hands together and mumbling strange, seemingly senseless words. As a final gesture, he dropped something rather small down through the grate after the bunnies. Then, peering about them once more, the odd pair hefted the shaft of the lightened cart and strolled off down the lane.

Moments later, there was a muffled explosion beneath the deserted street. A cloud of gold smoke shot up through the sewer grate, blowing it ten feet into the air, its iron rods bent and twisted. Nearby residents felt the oerth shake and heard the bellowing of unseen beasts. A large black dog with a tightly curled tail broke the chain that fastened it to its house and ran barking to the smoking hole, then fell silent as it tumbled to the ground, dead—and most curious of all, turned to stone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I was riding the winds. It was wonderful, exciting beyond measure as they swept me high, high, high up into the sky and then quickly swooped down. Over and over I rode the crescendo of currents, savoring the exhilaration of the steep rise, then the sudden falling away, the abrupt free-fall.

I knew that I was dreaming, for one could not really ride the winds, yet I allowed the dream to continue, enjoying the sensation of being on the edge of consciousness. Then with the admission of the dream came reality, and the dream faded and was gone. Abruptly I awakened to pain. My head hurt, my hands hurt, my feet hurt, and, of course, the ever-present iron collar about my throat hurt. Everything was dark. Where on oerth was I, and why couldn’t I move?

The ship was pitching and rolling heavily. Its timbers groaned and strained as it rose to meet each new wave. The pungent stink of bilge water assailed my nostrils. My mind was filled with cobwebs, and over all was the desire, the desperate need, to be sick.

The memory of the struggle came back to me, yet I could not remember what had happened. The last I could recall, we had taken over the ship and were in control. The ship rose violently and then dropped suddenly, slamming its keel against the heavy seas. My stomach rose up in rebellion, and I groaned as I choked back the growing sickness in my belly.

“Is that you, Askar?” asked a strained voice.

“Hectodd? What happened to us? Where are we?”

“I—I think we were captured again. Are you tied up, too?”

“Hand and foot,” I said bitterly. “But, Hectodd, how could we have lost? We took the quarterdeck!”

“We had the first lieutenant bound and gagged,” replied the halfling. “I can’t figure it out. I can’t remember anything after that.”

“Boy, are you guys a couple of dummies!” said a high, thin voice from somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. “Ain’t you never heard of magic? I’m tellin’ you, you sure blew that one!”

“Hectodd? Did you hear that?”

“Yes, but I don’t— There’s something in here with us!”

“Of course there is, you dummy! It’s me!” piped the tiny voice. “I just can’t believe you guys went to all that trouble an’ didn’t take the Commodore’s magic into account. A simple Charm spell, and you guys fall apart like a sack of ripe yarpiks. He didn’t get to be the Commodore by bein’ stupid, you know!”

“Who are you? Where are you? Show yourself!” I cried in alarm, although whoever or whatever it was seemed harmless enough, content for the moment with berating us. And if the nameless voice knew as much as it seemed to know, its scorn was well placed. “Show yourself,” I repeated. “Who are you?”

“I told you, it’s me!”

“Who in the name of the hundred gods is me!”

“You ought to remember,” said the voice. “You stepped on me this morning on your way to the mutiny. Me is Pfee-Guh—tada—magician extraordinaire!”

I thought hard, trying to recall the events as they had occurred, but try as I might, I could not remember stepping on anyone. The ship rose and fell again, jarring its keel hard upon the trough of a wave, and streams of cold, salty water fell onto my face. Something small jumped onto my ankle and skittered up my leg, causing me to jump violently.

“Hey! Hey, watch it there!” cautioned the tiny voice. “It’s just me!”

A wave of understanding struck me. “You’re a rat!”

“What?” exclaimed Hectodd.

“Not you, Hectodd. I was talking about this—this—”

“Pfee-Guh,” inserted the tiny voice.

“It’s a rat!” I squirmed in spite of myself as the creature deftly climbed across my chest and ran up my arm. “What are you doing? Rats don’t talk!”

“Well, this one does! Now, if you’ll hold still, dummy, I’m gonna chew through your ropes—that is, if you don’t mind!”

“Please do!” I said, wondering why a talking rat who claimed to be a magician would want to gnaw through the ropes that bound my hands. But far be it from me to look a gift rat in the mouth, even if I couldn’t see the rat or its mouth in the darkness. Finally, bemused by the odd situation, I asked, “Is there some reason why you’re doing this?”

“Look, I can’t talk and chew at the same time. My mother taught me that . . . Chomp, chomp . . . But I will tell you this: We rats always know when to leave a sinking ship! The storm has beaten us to a pulp, the masts are down, we’re taking on water fast, and I can’t swim for beams . . . Chomp, chomp . . . I’ve taken a liking to you two; seems like you’re my best bet, even if you are a bit stupid in some ways. Everyone else has already jumped ship, gone before I could get to ‘em. If I help you, maybe you’ll help me . . . Chomp, chomp . . . Maybe give me a shoulder to stand on . . . Chomp, hie! Sorry, this stuff gives me gas.”

I broke out in a cold sweat at the rat’s words. The ship was sinking! I no longer had to worry about the iron collar, or the stolen gem, or even about marrying Maria Griswalda. The ship was sinking, and I would surely drown, dragged straight to the bottom by the weight of the accursed iron collar! I began struggling wildly in an attempt to break free.

“No, no! Not yet. Wait a sec. Hold still!” Pfee-Guh snapped testily.

The ship plunged heavily forward and stayed nose down for what seemed like an eternity. Planks popped, snapped, and groaned as if in agony, followed by a thunderous crash from above, and another cascade of warm saltwater drizzled down all around me. At last The Star of Fairwind rose again, but as Pfee-Guh

indicated, it was obvious that something serious had befallen the ship. The sleek vessel’s motion had changed. No longer was she light and swift, a thing alive. The life had gone out of her, and she wallowed, heavy and listless, in the high seas, no longer in control of her own destiny.

Muffled shouts rang out all around us, and then I heard the tramp of feet on the deck above our heads. The ship was rolling wildly, this way and that, with sickening unpredictability. Each time she rolled, I wondered if she would right herself.

“Try yer ropes now!” cried the rat, breaking into my thoughts of death and doom. “Tasty hemp . . . must be an eastern import, mebbe from Medegia.”

I twisted my wrists desperately, ignoring the pain as the rope dug into my flesh, and finally I felt the strands give and then snap. Instant relief flowed along my aching arms, and as I slumped forward, Pfee-Guh pounced onto my chest, giving advice nonstop.

“You work on your ankles. I’m gonna have a go at the ropes on dummy number two over here!”

My legs were lashed to a bolt, and the crazy movement of the ship made it difficult to reach the knot that held me tight. The ship whirled and plunged frightfully, and more seawater poured down on me as I fumbled at the lump of rope that held me captive. At last I found a loose end and began to work it back through the knot. A bight of rope came open, and I pulled it free. As I worked at it some more, the ropes seemed to loosen even more, and in a moment I was free.

Hectodd was saying something to Pfee-Guh, but I couldn’t make out the words as I crawled over to them on my hands and knees. Twice I had to lie flat on the water-soaked deck to keep from tumbling to one side or the other. The ship lurched again, and I slid forward, crashing into Hectodd’s legs.

“Hey! Is that you down there, Askar?”

“Yeah, I’m loose. Hang on while I untie your feet. How’s the rat doing on your wrists?”

“I prefer ‘Pfee-Guh’ to ‘the rat!’“ said the tiny voice, barely audible over the groans of the tortured ship and the din of the raging storm.

Hectodd’s hairy feet were bound in the same manner that mine had been, possibly some standard sailor’s knot, and I was able to find the same loose end and work it back and forth as before. Then the deck tilted drastically, and I found myself literally hanging from the halfling’s feet! The ship righted itself, and I returned to my efforts with increased vigor. Finally the bonds were loose. Pfee-Guh cheered as Hectodd pulled free.

“What a relief!” sighed Hectodd as he slithered down the tilting deck and landed in my lap, with the rat sitting on his shoulder. As the halfling’s weight pressed against me, I felt a hard, ungiving lump in my pocket. The dagger! Damn! One of these days, I would remember it in time to do some good. Maybe the rat was right after all calling me a dummy.

“Hey! There’s no time to waste, boys. I can hear them. The other rats are about to leave. This ship is heading straight for the bottom!” cried Pfee-Guh as he leaped from Hectodd’s shoulder onto mine. “We need something that will keep us all afloat. Got any good ideas?”

“Which way to the forward hold?” I asked, for suddenly I knew exactly what we needed. I could even picture it—a barrel much bigger than all the others.

“lb your left and up the ladder,” answered Pfee-Guh.

“Hold on to me, Hectodd,” I said as I sloshed through the water, now above my ankles and rising swiftly. I had to feel my way, for the darkness was absolute. I struggled up the ladder, and then, with the help of the rat, found the hold and the barrel in question.

“Why this barrel?” asked the halfling.

“Don’t ask. Just help me untie it!” I replied, knowing that I could not have answered since I did not know myself. The barrel was duly set free, and we rolled, pushed, and shoved the thing up out of the dark hold and onto the next deck.

“We’ve got to go release the prisoners,” I said. The thought of the helpless men locked beneath that heavy grate weighed heavily on my mind.

Pfee-Guh made some clicking noises, accompanied by a variety of high-pitched squeals, and was answered by similar sounds in the dark distance. “Don’t worry, fellas,” he said. “They’re already loose. I got it on good authority. A couple of my buddies was just back there. Now let’s get a move on! This tub’s sinkin’ fast!”

Even I could sense the truth of his words in the heavy wallow of the ship, which rose to meet the waves sluggishly and without hope or spirit. We struggled up to the next deck, pushing the barrel ahead of us.

“We need some rope. Damn! I wish we had some light!”

“No problem,” said the rat. There was another series of odd clicking noises, and in a heartbeat, the barrel we had labored so hard to save began to glow with a pale yellow light, dimly illuminating the immediate area. We were near the galley. Being familiar with the area, I was able to locate a length of rope, which I tied around the girth of the barrel and then around Hectodd’s and my own waist.

“Pretty good trick, brother rat. How did you do that?” I asked as I cinched the rope tight around my midsection.

“Pfee-Guh . . . the name is Pfee-Guh!” the rat said testily. “I told you I was a magician!”

“All right, Pfee-Guh,” I said, for it would seem that the rat had earned the right to be called by any name he desired. “Now let’s get out of here. This thing’s not going to last much longer!”

“Exactly what I been tellin’ you!” muttered the rat as Hectodd led the way up the ladder, pulling on the barrel while I pushed from below, with Pfee-Guh still riding on my shoulder.

At last we stood on the main deck. The faint light given off by our barrel revealed a scene of devastation. Wind howled through what remained of the rigging, flinging spray that stung our faces. The foremast was gone, and the deck was a tangle of ropes and spars. A huge wave crashed against the bow and piled onto the deck. Empty davits swung alongside, evidence that the officers and men had already departed.

One moment we were standing on the ship, and the next, it had vanished beneath our feet and we were adrift in the stormy sea. Pfee-Guh’s sharp claws dug into my shoulder. I flung an arm over the top of the barrel and found Hectodd’s. Linking arms, we managed to keep our heads above water.

The comforting glow was gone from the barrel, but the ocean shimmered with an eerie phosphorescence, and the crests of the foaming waves were outlined by the green glow. We rose to the top of a mighty wave, then dropped rapidly to the bottom of the trough. The sequence continued throughout the long night. Over and over, we rose and then fell, rose and then fell, wondering, hoping, and praying, each to our own gods, that we might survive.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Alamkamala had ridden all day along the dusty mountain trail, riding far in advance of the army to avoid the clouds of dust that choked the lungs of those farther back. Then, at a certain point, he left the trail, with a furtive glance behind to assure himself that he was not observed, and slipped between two tall evergreens and into the shady glen whose presence they concealed. Almost hidden behind a thicket of bushes was a tumbled-down hut made of sticks and branches and woven together with bits of twine. Beyond the hut wound a slow-moving stream. Alamkamala dismounted, hobbled his horse at the edge of the stream, and then entered the wretched hut.

The Grand Inquisitor dropped the leather sack filled with gold coins onto the table in front of the women. “You’re certain you can get it,” he said in a tone of voice that sounded more like a statement than a question.

“I can get it, if you can afford the price,” replied the crone. Only then did she permit herself to open the sack and stroke the coins within.

“You’ll get everything you asked for, and more. Upon delivery,” Alamkamala replied curtly.

“I am to meet my contact tonight. She will not fail me,” said the old woman, nodding more to herself than to the man who stood before her. She seemed lost in her own thoughts. “Return tomorrow at sunrise, and you will find that which you seek. But bring all that you have promised, for there are many others who would give their soul to possess it.” The old woman looked up then and smiled, baring the few yellowed teeth that remained in her mouth. This much was indeed true. Many would give their souls, but of what use were souls to her? Money and magic items were ever so much more practical!

Alamkamala turned and left the squalid shelter without another word, daring to hope that the old woman could deliver that which she had promised. He had pledged a king’s ransom from the king’s own war chests and several lesser magic items, and if the old woman actually delivered the Eye of Tiros to him as she had promised, he might even keep his word and pay her. Once he had the Eye, he had no need to worry about the king or anyone

else. He alone would be all-powerful. He alone would rule.

* * *

Cassidra peeped out of the broom closet in the lower kitchen, where she had been hiding for the past several hours, waiting for the commotion to die down. The corridor was deserted, and for some time now she had heard no more of the search party that had been in the area for so long. It would seem that the searchers had moved on to other parts of the castle, missing her and her narrow hiding place as she had hoped they would. As before, her anger had given her courage.

Cassidra was Kathryn’s niece by marriage and had always lived in Kathryn’s shadow. In recent years, her stature had faded even further because of Fea-Glenna, Kathryn’s friend and confidant. Kathryn called Cassidra “Little Cousin” and made small gestures of friendship, but nothing that Cassidra felt was truly appropriate. Kathryn had been born to wealth and beauty, and luck had graced her life. Now she was queen as well, but all of that could change . . . would change if Cassidra had anything to say about it, and now she did.

Cassidra had bided her time for years, choking back the bitter jealousy that consumed her day and night, wondering if the right

moment would ever come. Now it had.

The old crone had sought her out unerringly and promised her that all she had ever wished for would be hers ... in return for one small task.

A fortnight earlier, she had performed the task. It had been easy, for the castle had been buzzing with excitement as they planned for the Festival of Blossoms, a time of celebration when the two moons both hung full and bright over the oerth. Then was the time to plant crops, to conceive babies, to pray for wishes to come true.

But Cassidra had left nothing to prayer. Choosing the middle of a planning session, when Kathryn was surrounded by arguing advisors, she had slipped away and climbed the winding steps to Kathryn’s private chamber. Using the charm that the old woman had given her, she placed the guard under a spell of Forgetfulness from which he would not emerge for two weeks, unlocked the door, and entered. She had knelt in front of the large chest that sat in the center of the room. Again she held the charm before the lock and said the words she had so carefully committed to memory. Once more the lock swung open and fell to the floor. Cassidra lifted the latch and raised the lid of the chest, shuddering as she beheld what lay within. She had no difficulty seeing what it contained, for the gem glowed with an unnatural brightness, illuminating everything its glow touched.

Cassidra stared at the thing, transfixed, feeling for a moment as though the stone were somehow trying to reach inside her head, reach out and touch . . .No! She shut her eyes, closing the stone out of her mind and gripping the charm tightly in her fist, breathing hard. Without looking, she seized the stone, which was as large as a man’s fist, and dropped it into the leather pouch that lay beside it. Once it was out of sight, its glow dimmed, she became calm. And as she hurried back down the steps, she tried to understand what all the fuss was about over one green stone.

The magic charm had locked the chest and the door behind her, and she had slipped away to her own room undetected. There she had removed the magic gem from its pouch and placed it in another, identical bag, then tucked both beneath a pile of freshly laundered tights.

The following day, Cassidra had mounted her pegasus and flown to the outskirts of the city of Regent, where she was met by a thin, squinty-eyed man who had taken the pouch from her with leering eyes and fingers that lingered too long. The old woman had assured her that such an action was necessary. The squinty-eyed man was to search out an appropriate dupe, one who could be framed for the theft of the magic gem. Word of the pouch would then find its way to the ears of the city’s freecaptain, and attention would be diverted from Loftwick, enabling Cassidra to remove the gem in safety.

Two long weeks had passed before Cassidra had received word that the pouch had been planted and the suspect duly arrested. During that time, the castle and the city, as well as the entire kingdom, had been thrown into an uproar. The castle had been searched from top to bottom time and time again. Only the fact that she was Kathryn’s niece and therefore beyond suspicion had kept her rooms from search.

Now that the suspect was in jail, attention had been removed from the castle itself, other than this one last search headed up by a loyal and tenacious major domo. They had come perilously close to discovering her, and knowing she had no reason to be in the lower kitchens, her very presence would have cast suspicion upon her. Only the remembrance of this long-forgotten broom closet, often used in hiding games when she and Kathryn and Fea-Glenna were still young, had saved her, and she had hidden there until the search was carried to other portions of the castle. Now she was free to move about, and if her plans went smoothly, she would be back long before anyone took note of her absence.

Cassidra left the castle, made her way down a busy avenue for some distance, and then turned into a small side street. She followed a narrow lane to its end, noting the dark, shuttered windows that had never once been open in all the time she had scouted the area. Bending down, she tugged at the heavy sewer grate, wrinkling her attractive nose at the sight of a peculiar stone dog that lay to one side of the metal opening. The rusty grate came up with a metallic protest and slid sideways onto the paving stones.

Cassidra climbed cautiously into the narrow hole, placing her feet on the iron footholds that were hammered into the stone wall. Then, tugging with all her might, she pulled the grate back in place. She swallowed hard. There was no turning back now.

As she stepped off the last rung, Cassidra found herself entangled in a mound of wiry debris and nearly lost her footing. Someone must have damped their trash down the sewer, an act punishable by a fine of up to fifty koruns. She laughed softly to herself, wondering what the fine might be for stealing the queen’s magic gem.

The lantern was in the niche where she had left it, and once it was lit and began to drive back the darkness, her heart settled into a calmer beat. Cassidra looked up and down the dank tunnel, glancing but briefly at the turgid stream that flowed between the narrow walls. Then she began to edge her way north. There was but a single narrow stone ledge above the foul water, and it was a long way to the river where the stream exited and she was to meet the old woman. Cassidra prayed that the oil in her lamp, not to mention her courage, would last that long. She stopped at the first intersecting tunnel and consulted her map. The sewer system was vast and complicated. One wrong turn and she could be hopelessly lost.

“Here it is. I have to turn west here!” she said to herself, folding the map with one hand and slipping it back into her shirt. She rounded the turn and stopped cold. Something was moving out in the water. She could barely see it in the dim glow of her lamp. Water swirled around its fat legs. It couldn’t be a rat. What on oerth was it? Cassidra lifted her lamp just as the creature’s head rose from beneath the surface. A wave of terror swept through her. She turned to run, but the pouch caught on something from the wall and held her fast as she fell to her knees, crying. The lantern clattered on the stone ledge and then rolled off into the water, plunging her into darkness.

“No!” she screamed, ripping the pouch loose, allowing it to dangle freely from the hook. Cassidra scrambled to her feet, trying to run. But it was too late. Two red eyes pierced the darkness and fixed unerringly upon her. Excruciating pain shot through her limbs and penetrated her head and heart, and then, mercifully, Cassidra fell stone dead.

* * *

The old woman was worried. She had been waiting beside the low grate where the sewer joined the river for hours, many hours past the time that had been arranged. Something must have gone wrong. The old woman muttered a string of blasphemies, then looked up at the lightening sky and all but wailed. The moons had set, and the sun was about to rise. How could she explain this to Alamkamala! She paced back and forth, her thoughts turned inward.

At last an idea came to her. That useless hunk of jade hidden beneath her bed . . . with a bit of well-cast illusion, she could transform it into something resembling the Eye of Tiros, at least for a short time. The man would never be able to tell the difference, for her magic was far more powerful than his. Then, once he gave her the money and the wand as her final payment, she would kill him and be done with the business. She stood there for a moment, mumbling and waving her hands about. Then there was a rush of air and a gentle thump, and she was gone, tele-

ported back over the mountains to her hut in the hills.

* * *

Alamkamala shivered in the cold night air, but the shivering was from anticipation rather than the cold. He was anxious now that the gem was almost within his grasp. Under the brilliant light of the two moons, he withdrew the small bundle hidden inside his coat and gently removed the jewel-encrusted wand from its black silk wrapping, a precious memento of another campaign. He turned it around slowly in his hands, letting the light of the two moons reflect off the facets of the gemstones. It was a pity that he was unable to wield this formidable tool, but magic was not his principal forte. Persuasion and treachery were his weapons, and they had carried him far.

He reached the hut shortly before dawn and dismounted from his huge war-horse. Entering the rude shelter, his eyes went immediately to the large translucent stone lying on the table, glowing brilliantly, first green, then aquamarine, then blue. Its beauty was such that he very nearly handed the coins and the wand to the crone at once. Then the inner voice that was his strength and had saved him from many mistakes took over. He recalled one of the few spells he knew and had the presence of mind to cast it without speaking aloud.

The brilliance faded from the gem, turning it into a faded chunk of green stone. A worthless rock! Alamkamala turned and stared angrily at the old woman while she cried out in disbelief.

“Where is the Eye?” demanded the Grand Inquisitor sternly.

“I don’t know!” cried the old woman, falling to her knees at his feet. Nothing he was able to do or say could convince her to say otherwise. She died at daybreak without revealing the location of the precious gem, and Alamkamala burned the hut to the ground, watching without the least bit of satisfaction as it consumed her frail, deceiving body. Once again he had failed. But the Eye existed somewhere, and somehow he would find it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Not long after the ship disappeared beneath us, the severity of the storm abated and the waves, while still immense, lost their fearsome intensity. It was almost as though the storm had come with a single purpose ... to sink The Star of Fairwind. Now, having completed its job, the tempest was moving on to wreak havoc elsewhere. My arms ached from hanging on to the halfling across the top of the barrel, and I worried what had become of Red and all the others, for I had not seen anyone upon the waters other than ourselves. I could but hope that they had reached safety and survived the storm.

“Hectodd!” I cried out in the dark. “Let’s rope ourselves tight to the barrel so we can rest!”

“Thank the gods, Askar. I think my arms are going to fall off!” came the reply.

The seas were much quieter than before, in spite of the fact that we rose and fell some twenty feet with each swell. I was not afraid to untie myself for a moment, although Pfee-Guh had his doubts and showed them by hopping onto the barrel.

“Sorry, but I don’t wanna take any chances, ya unnerstan’? I already been through one reincarnation, an’ I don’t wanna try it again just yet!”

The rat’s mention of reincarnation stuck in my mind, but I was far too tired to pursue the matter. Eventually I made a large loop that fit under my arms and around my body. Hectodd rigged something similar, and at last we were able to float back to back, with our heads resting against the barrel, although the weight of the iron collar threatened to pull my head beneath the waves unless I remained alert.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I allowed my aching arms to float free. The halfling let out a similar sigh, and we rose and fell regularly on the surface of the warm tropical sea.

The ocean glowed pale green in places where the swirling waters agitated the tiny phosphorescent sea life, so that the waters appeared to be a show of magical fairy lights.

“Go to sleep, boys,” said Pfee-Guh. “You done right good for a pair of dummies. Go to sleep. I’ll keep an eye open for trouble.”

That was the last thing I remembered as I fell into a sound if watery sleep.

* * *

Small grey clouds scudded rapidly across the sky as the winds carried away the last evidence of the previous night’s ravages. The sun broke through at last, bathing the barrel and its pathetic group of survivors in the glow of morning. The storm was spent, and the sea had calmed to a gentle swell. As before, we were alone on the vast sea.

Pfee-Guh marveled at the rosy colors in the sky and contemplated his lanky grey rat body. He wished for the thousandth time that he were still his former self . . . knowing full well that it might never be. But even though he was a rat now, he was no ordinary rat, and at the moment, it was enough that he was alive in any form. He was better off than those who had recently commanded The Star of Fairwind, for he thought it highly unlikely they could still be counted among the living.

The rat glanced down at Askar, his nose in the air, his mouth gaping in a sonorous snore, the heavy iron collar clenched around his neck. Then he glanced over at the halfling, whose long black curls drooped into the water and coiled soggily on his shoulders. Pfee-Guh was glad that he had helped save these two characters, especially the tall one. There was something about him that piqued the rat-mage’s curiosity.

Askar’s snores ended with a watery cough and a splash.

“What in the name of the gods? Oh . . . damn!”

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” taunted Pfee-Guh.

* * *

I awakened in misery. The sun was glaring down on my head, and my face felt feverish, swollen, and cracked. The rope that bound me to the barrel had cut into my chest and chafed the flesh raw, which burned in the saltwater. My neck seemed to have swelled around the edges of the iron collar, clutching ever more tightly around my throat, while my hands had fallen asleep. I thrashed about for a while as I extracted myself from the ropes. Freed of my weight, the barrel rolled slightly, dunking Hectodd’s face beneath the surface of the water.

“Splutter! Gasp!” the halfling burbled frantically. Realizing what I had done, I lunged over the barrel, nearly knocking the rat off, and pulled Hectodd back out of the water.

“Hey, whaddya tryin’ to do, drown me?” screamed the angry halfling to the accompaniment of angry rat squeaks.

“Sorry, it was unintentional,” I said as I crawled up onto the barrel and reached over to assist Hectodd. Pfee-Guh was nearly tossed into the water a second time and leaped up onto my back at the last minute.

“Watch it there, dummy! It took me all morning to dry out, an’ I don’t know how to swim!” complained the rat.

“We should be so lucky,” I said sarcastically. “I haven’t a dry spot on my body!” Ignoring the rat’s mutterings, I pulled the halfling up out of the water and seated him securely on the barrel. Hectodd was still sputtering, his face scrunched up and his eyes closed, covered by long wet curls, like strands of seaweed. Water dribbled down his nose and off his beard.

We were forced to cling to each other, as the surface of the barrel was quite small and any move threatened to tip us back into the water. The rat sat on the top of my head and, craning his neck, peered down into my eyes.

“Well, what do you boys intend to do now?” asked Pfee-Guh, his little yellow eyes twinkling in the morning sun. It was the first time I had actually seen the rat up close and in the brightness of day, and now that I had, I found that I was disappointed. He really wasn’t much to look at . . . about a foot long, not counting the black, snakelike tail, and covered with scraggly, greyish brown fur. He had a bright pink nose, and his whiskers glistened in the morning sunlight. He looked like what he was and no more, no less ... a rat, but nonetheless, a talking rat who had saved our lives.

“Is there any land in sight?” Hectodd asked as he blinked the saltwater out of his eyes.

“I’ve been watching since the sun came up,” replied Pfee-Guh. “We appear to be the only thing in this ocean.”

“Now, that could be a real problem,” I said as I peered around, confirming the rat’s observations, for indeed, there was nothing but water as far as the eye could see. “But then we can’t see much down here on the surface like this!”

“Pfee-Guh?” asked the halfling. “How long has it been since we tried to take the ship?”

“Two days,” the rat replied promptly. “You spent the first day in a trance down in the hold of the ship.”

Memories of the past two hectic days spun around in my mind. The back of my head still ached, a painful reminder of the blow I’d taken the night of the mutiny. It was then that I became aware of my empty belly, my thirst, and the cruel cut of the collar. I licked my cracked lips with a dry tongue. By all the gods, what I wouldn’t have given for a single drink of pure, cold water!

“Then the storm must have hit just as they were about to put into Amoreides,” mused the halfling, seemingly unaware of any discomfort. “That would put us close to the southwest coast of the island.” He paused, deep in thought. “I think the current flows eastward. I’m no navigator, but I don’t think that the storm could have pushed us too far off course yet. We’re probably only a few leagues south of Fairwind.”

“So how soon before we hit land?” I asked on behalf of my belly.

“A few weeks, maybe a month, if nothing eats us first!”

“That’s no good!” I cried. “We haven’t eaten for two days!”

“No matter,” said the halfling. “We’ll die of thirst long before we die of hunger. Nope, there’s nothing for it but to swim for Fairwind, or try to make a sail and hope the wind will carry us there.”

“Swim! Are you crazy? I can’t swim!” the rat declared in alarm. “Make a sail . . . please?”

“Out of what?” I asked in a fit of frustration. “His coat, my shirt, or maybe your pelt? And what would we use for a mast? Not to mention the fact that the two of us with our bodies dragging in the water make a great sea anchor!”

“Well, he’s right. We have to do something,” said the halfling. “What about the creatures that are supposed to live in water . . . tritons or mermaids. Could we call to them somehow? Would they come to our rescue?”

“More likely we’d find sahuagin, or maybe giant sea snakes,” the rat said with a shiver. “I’ve heard terrible tales of what the sahuagin do to shipwrecked sailors in these waters. If they found us . . . well, I’d just as soon try to swim as call them.”

I looked down at the water with dismay. If the rat-mage, who hated and feared the water, preferred swimming to calling upon its denizens for help, then the danger must be very real indeed. I sighed and contemplated my water-wrinkled fingers, wondering how we would ever get out of this predicament.

“This is a fine mess we’ve landed in!” I said. “We can’t swim or sail away, and we’ll starve before we reach land. So how about some magic, master magician?”

“Well, er, my powers are, ahem, somewhat—that is to say, my rat-magic is somewhat limited. I can summon light, fall like a feather, detect magic, throw a magic dart ...”

“Can you make food?” demanded Hectodd.

“Or take the salt out of this seawater so we can drink it?” I added longingly.

“Well—er, no,” stammered Pfee-Guh, looking down at his rat-toes and actively avoiding our eyes. “That’s clerical stuff, I’m a magician!”

Suddenly a thought struck me full force, and I stared at the rat in amazement. Pfee-Guh’s lips hadn’t moved when he spoke!

“Pfee-Guh, how are you talking to us? For that matter, how

can you talk to us?” I asked. “After all, you’re a rat!”

“I wondered when you dummies would get around to figuring that out. I’m sort of a special case. It’s a kind of telepathy. I can talk to lots of different things that way.”

“So you have psionic powers. Can you read our minds?” I asked.

“No, just talk to your minds, and sometimes hear when you or someone thinks at me with the intention of communicating. And as for my bein’ a rat, I wasn’t always like this,” Pfee-Guh said sadly. “I was a man in my former life, a highly respected mage. I knew a lotta spells an’ had a big house an’ everything.” He paused to scratch his ear with his hind leg.

“But I lived for myself, putting my own wants and needs above those of others. I achieved wealth, fame, and success, but it was gained at the expense of my friends.” He stopped speaking and scratched actively behind his other ear before continuing his story. “Then rats brought the plague to my land, and everyone began to die. I tried to use my spells and charms to protect myself, but they failed to work, and I realized then that no amount of magic or money could save me.

“In my desperation, I fled the city and hid in the hills, but the disease followed me, and I became ill. As my fever raged, I dragged myself out into the sunlight and lay there staring into the sun, cursing my own stupidity and wishing that I had my life to live over again so that I might do it differently. At that moment, a holy man, a cleric, appeared and gathered me up in his arms. At first, seeing him framed by the sun, I thought that I had died and been brought home to the gods. Sometimes, even now, I’m not so sure that I was wrong.

“He took me to his cave, a simple place with only the barest of necessities, and showed me much kindness. He talked to me about a thing called reincarnation. He said that I had lived my life badly and was going to die. I should have been upset, but somehow I wasn’t. The old man said that if you believed, really believed in this reincarnation thing, there was a good chance it would work for you. But if you didn’t believe, it wouldn’t. Well, after listening to him and thinking back on my sins, there was nothing I wanted more than for it to be true. And it musta worked, ‘cause everything got real black, and the next thing you know, I’m a baby rat livin’ in the hold of a ship . . . and here’s the kicker. I still got all my memories from when I used to be a man!

“It was one heck of an adjustment, I can tell you that. I learned real fast not to tell the other rats about what happened. But it took me more than six months before I managed to cast a spell of any kind. It ain’t easy to make the necessary move with these little hands,” Pfee-Guh said as he waved his paws about wildly in the air. “An’ not havin’ a spellbook is a real drawback. I’m hopin’ someday to meet a real magic-user who can change me into human form. There’s a word for that—” the rat scratched his head—”but I forget what it is.”

“Polymorph,” I said without thinking.

“Yeah! That’s the word!” exclaimed the rat, looking at me strangely.

“Yeah. Yeah, well, this philosophical discussion is all well and good,” said a disgusted Hectodd, “but if we don’t do something about finding food, water, and land, we’re all gonna be reincarnated as fish!”

The discussion returned to that of survival. None of us could agree on anything, so in the end we decided to try paddling in a northerly direction until we could think of something better.

Hectodd lay down atop the barrel and kicked with his feet. I slid into the water, trying not to think of sahuagins, and pulled with the rope, while kicking as well. The heavy collar made it difficult to keep my head above water. Pfee-Guh balanced himself precariously on top of the barrel and complained bitterly each time he got splashed.

We soon tired of this, and once more the barrel lay still in the water. After a few moments of silence, the rat asked, “How is it that you know about Polymorph spells and psionics, Askar?”

“Well, Pfee-Guh, that’s another story.”

“So you got something better to do?” asked the rat.

Realizing that I had little to lose, I told the rat about myself and the legacy of my great-great-grandfather, my own brief legacy, my luckless encounters with magic. As the story continued, the rat grew more and more excited.

“So you got a spellbook, but you don’t know how to use it. Is that right?” asked Pfee-Guh, literally jumping from one foot to the other, his little eyes bright with excitement.

“Right, except that I doubt the book is any good anymore, even if I knew how to use it.”

“Why?” shrieked Pfee-Guh, his nose and whiskers all twitchy.

“Well,” I said, gesturing down at the pouch which still hung suspended from my neck and was completely immersed in the water, “see for yourself. It’s all wet. The ink must have washed away in the water and the paper turned to mush. I should probably toss it away. There would be one less thing to weigh me down .” I pulled the pouch from around my neck and began to let it drop from my fingers.

“No!” screamed the rat as he leaped into the water and desperately began to paddle toward the pouch, his little feet going this way and that in the water, barely making any headway. Knowing his aversion to water, I was stunned at his reaction. Without thinking, I closed my fingers around the pouch and scooped the dripping rat up out of the water.

“Don’t you see?” cried the rat. “Don’t you understand anything at all? A book as powerful as this one would be protected by a spell. Nothing can hurt it, certainly not a little bit of saltwater. Don’t ever do that again!”

“All right,” I said slowly, feeling more than a little foolish. “But I still don’t see what good it is to us. I can’t use it. Can you?”

“I don’t know,” Pfee-Guh said in an exhausted voice, starting to shiver despite the warmth of the day. “But certainly you can. All you gotta do is believe in yourself an’ focus all your will to cast a spell. Your great-grand-whatever wouldn’t have given you this book unless he thought you had the power to use it!”

A thrill ran down my spine. How wonderful it would be to have magic ability! Maybe the rat was right! I thought about the spells listed in the book and tried to think of one that would help us in our current predicament or perhaps remove the damned collar from round my throat.

“Maybe it would work if you helped me,” I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Do you know the incantation for levitating things? As I recall, we need a loop of some kind of gold wire. Here, maybe this will do.” I reached over and ripped a loop of gold braid off Hectodd’s collar.

“Hey!” cried the halfling.

“Don’t worry. It’s for a good cause!” I said with a wink.

With shaking fingers, I pulled the book free of the pouch and opened it atop the barrel, and it was just as the rat had said. The pages were crisp and dry and the ancient script intact. Unfortunately, Griswalda’s picture had not fared so well. Even the blond curls had been washed away by the water, leaving the paper blank and empty. Its blankness filled me with sorrow, and I placed the paper in the water and watched as it drifted slowly away.

Turning my attention back to the book, Pfee-Guh and I conversed for several minutes, discussing the fine points of the spell as best as he remembered it from a former existence. At length we decided upon a course of action.

“Remember, you’re a magic-user now. It is vital that you believe that,” said Pfee-Guh. “Success depends upon the strength of your belief.”

I closed my eyes and pictured Mika-oba, bringing him into focus as much as memory allowed. Then I superimposed my own image upon his, forcing the two images to merge. Over and over I pictured myself as a magic-user; over and over I told myself that I was a magic-user and tried to fix my state of mind. Over and over I repeated the words of the spell until they felt comfortable upon my tongue. I recited the strange words while absently twirling the gold loop in my fingers. But it was very hard to concentrate, for Pfee-Guh was jumping up and down on my shoulder and Hectodd was pulling on my arm. I did my best to ignore them.

“Hey, Askar! Stop already!” Hectodd cried in alarm.

I opened my eyes with a start. Streams of water were dribbling off the barrel into the ocean, some fifty or sixty feet below. We were floating in midair! It had worked! The three of us broke into a loud cheer: “Hooray!”

The feeling was beyond description, almost as though we were without weight. Suddenly, in the midst of our excitement, we began dropping toward the water.

“Askar!” yelled Pfee-Guh. “Concentrate! Remember, you are a magic-user!”

Then, just as swiftly as we had begun to fall, we leveled off and began to rise again, until we were once again hovering at a comfortable distance from the surface of the waves.

“Phew! This is hard work!” I said, feeling as though I had been chopping down trees in the forest.

“Being a magician is tiresome,” the rat said with a nod. “Spell-casting can take a lot out of you.”

“How long is this going to last?” asked Hectodd timidly, obviously uncomfortable at being so high. “I don’t think this funny feeling in my stomach is from hunger.”

“Well, lessee,” mused Pfee-Guh. “We’re about sixty, seventy paces off the surface. If Askar can keep his concentration, we could stay up here a couple of hours or more.”

“Oh, my!” moaned the halfling.

While the halfling was complaining, I became aware of the breeze that was carrying the few remaining clouds across the sky and drying our wet clothes as well.

“Couldn’t we make a sail now, Hectodd?” I asked, discovering happily that I could concentrate on the spell and hold a conversation as well ... as long as I believed in what I was doing.

“Seems to be blowin’ from the east,” said the rat as he searched the horizon for a sign of land. There was none to be seen. “If we can make a sail, it sounds like a good idea to me!”

We needed no more encouragement than that Hectodd shed his coat, and I took off my shirt. The garments were tied together and fixed to each end of the barrel. It wasn’t much of a sail, but it caught the wind, and we were forced to tie ourselves to the barrel or risk being blown overboard and left behind as our strange sky craft skipped along at a rapid clip.

Where we were headed I did not know, but wherever it was, we were on our way. It was odd to think that only weeks earlier I had bemoaned my dull existence and yearned for adventure. Well, I had certainly found it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The dragons had flown through much of the night in the storm and rain. Buelath was weary, and his left wing pained him greatly. The sky finally turned to a wearisome drab grey, and the air grew warmer. A light drizzle sifted down on them as the six gold dragons floated gracefully above the desolate mountain plain. Each dragon clutched a small magic bag in its claws. The small size of these bags concealed the magnitude of the treasure contained within. The youngest of the dragons had never been to this place before, but these peaks were familiar to Buelath.

The old dragon surveyed the surroundings, seeking the distinctive landmark. The tumbled black rocks below rose here and there to form cones of varying sizes. Some of the cones emitted clouds of soot-black smoke. Pennons of steam issued from cracks in the basalt. What little vegetation there was consisted of clumps of small singed mosses huddled in tiny depressions. This grim, bleak area was commonly known as the Hellfurnaces, part of a long chain of volcanoes that ringed the southwest corner of the continent of Oerik.

Such a place was shunned by man and beast alike, for it was incredibly hostile and totally incompatible with life. And it was for just that reason that Buelath had arranged to meet here with his old enemy, a red dragon named Gorlyn. Under normal circumstances, a gold dragon, representing all that was good in the world, never would have had dealings with a dragon as evil and unprincipled as Gorlyn, but these were not normal circumstances. Without the Eye of Tiros and with their dream fading, even gold dragons could be forced to deal with evil to achieve the necessary ends.

Bubastio edged up beside the old dragon and nudged his wingtip gently, a question in his eyes.

“It is not far now, young one. In fact, we have arrived,” replied Buelath. “See that crack at the base of yon mountain? It is there we must go.” Buelath extended his left wing, caught the wind, and banked gracefully into a sharp dive, beginning a long spiraling descent. The others followed Buelath’s lead, circling slowly as they approached the blackened ground, a sight that did not go unnoticed -by the small creatures keeping watch at the mouth of the cave. Quickly they skittered into the darkness to warn their master.

Buelath came to rest on a mound of volcanic rubble near the huge gash in the rock that was the entrance to the cave. His companions landed one by one behind him. Buelath appeared to take no notice of them, his attention focused on the entrance to the cavern. The drizzle came to a stop, and the dull grey sky grew lighter. For some moments, nothing happened, and the younger dragons grew restless from the strong smell of sulfur in the air, which was unpleasant to breathe and burned their lungs.

After a time, there was a commotion within the cave, and low muttering voices echoed from its depths. Then suddenly, without warning, four immense fire giants appeared at the mouth of the cave. They recoiled as if they were in shock and gaped in total disbelief at the gathering of gold dragons spread before them.

Fire giants are not known for their towering intellect, and it was a while before they could collect what little intelligence they possessed. One of them nudged a companion, and two others, depending on each other for courage, advanced out of the cave at a cautious pace and crept toward the dragons.

Like all giants, they were fond of bright colors and shiny materials. They wore gleaming steel helmets on their oversized heads and crimson breastplates on their flame-colored bodies. One of the two advancing giants carried a huge two-handed sword, while its companion struggled to hold two snarling reddish brown hounds on a leash.

The giants stopped well short of the dragons and addressed Buelath rudely to conceal their fear.

“What do you want here?”

“I’ve come to see Gorlyn,” the old dragon hissed in a low, threatening voice.

“He isn’t here!” yelled the giant with the sword.

Buelath reared up to his full height, towering far above the giants and forcing them to stumble backward. The hounds, possessing even fewer brains than their masters, began barking furiously, baring their ugly black fangs. The giant jerked harshly on their leads to silence them.

“Tell Gorlyn that Buelath is here as promised!” Buelath bellowed, his deep voice echoing off the rocks. At this, the giants fled, scrambling over the rocks and one another for the safety of the cave. The hounds ripped their leads from the hands of their masters and reached the entrance well ahead of the giants, their tails hugging their bellies.

There was silence for a time, followed by a frantic hushed whispering. Shortly, one of the giants was shoved bodily out of the cave. He called out in a shaky voice, attempting to hide his fear with bluster. “You, Buelath, you may enter, but the others must remain outside!”

Buelath ambled over to the entrance and looked down at the fire giant, deigning to reply.

“Follow me,” said the quaking giant.

They passed through a relatively narrow entrance, but soon the cave opened onto an underground hall of vast proportions. They passed a row of great stone pillars, obviously the work of dwarves, behind which flickered yellow flames that threw dancing shadows about them as they moved. Several more fire giants saw them coming and were quick to remove themselves, content to peek out from behind the huge pillars.

Buelath was led up a long, low stairway to an immense set of arched iron doors, which swung open at their approach. Once the doors began to open, the giant who had led him scurried down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him, giving the dragon as wide a berth as possible. Buelath ignored the cowardly giant and passed between the iron doors, entering a hall even more immense than the one that had preceded it. This hall was long and oval-shaped, with an ornately carved domed ceiling. Once again the hall was illuminated by yellow flames, which seemed to have no source, burning at the base of each pillar.

Buelath, mightier by far than the red dragons, was not impressed by the splendor that surrounded him, despite the fact that it was infinitely superior to his own damp, muddy cave. Buelath knew that all of this splendor was but mere show, affected by Gorlyn, and amounted to nothing. And he knew as well that without Gorlyn, his plan had no hope of success.

The floor of the hall was covered with a great mound of treasure—gold, gems, and jewels—a mound so huge that it was impossible to measure the actual depth of the riches. Curled placidly in the center of the wealth was an immense old red dragon, possibly even a bit longer and heavier than Buelath, but every bit as old and worn. The red dragon’s face broke into what could be considered a smile at the sight of his ancient enemy.

“Well, if it isn’t my old enemy! What brings you here to my simple mountain home?”

“Serious matters, Gorlyn,” Buelath replied, ignoring the jibe. “I would not be standing here before you in peace were it otherwise. It is a matter that could affect all of dragonkind!”

“Haw!” laughed the red dragon, “Don’t speak to me of dragonkind! You’d as soon cut my throat as I yours. What is it that you want from me?”

Buelath struggled to subdue his rage, struggled to force the next words out of his mouth, so hard were they to utter. “We need your help,” he said flatly.

“I was sure my ears were going bad,” snorted Gorlyn. “It happens as we grow older. You know, what with my bad hearing and all, it sounded like you asked me for help!”

Buelath held up the small bag in his claws and deliberately began dumping the contents out onto the floor. Golden cups, silver crowns, jewels as large as a man’s fist, and thousands of gold and platinum coins spilled out. The more Buelath shook the bag, the more treasure came clattering out, forming a considerable mound in front of Buelath, and all but burying him up to the belly. Gorlyn’s eyes opened wide, and he actually stood up to hear what would come next.

“I seek an alliance,” said Buelath, “between the red and the gold dragons.”

Greed filled the heart of the old red dragon. If this fool was willing to part with so much of his hoard, he must really be desperate. Wisdom fought with greed and lost. Gorlyn was ready to agree to nearly anything to possess such treasure, but the foe must be demons from the lowest planes to warrant such an inducement.

“An alliance? Against whom?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“The Yeomanry,” replied Buelath, having counted on Gorlyn’s greed. “The Yeomanry must be destroyed!”

Gorlyn stared at Buelath in disbelief. “That worthless rabble of a country? What could they possible have done? And then it came to him in a flash. “They’ve taken your precious Eye!”

Buelath nodded.

“Ahem, yes. Well, this is an adequate payment for me,” Gorlyn muttered in an offhand manner that he hoped would convince Buelath, “but what about my minions? They will not engage in battle against the Yeomanry for nothing.”

“I have five more bags just like this one,” Buelath said sternly. “The Eye is ours, but you may loot the “Yeomanry of every farthing they possess.”

The two dragons stood looking at each other for a long time, gauging the truth of each other’s words. Then Gorlyn spoke. “The Eye is as important to you as this cavern is to me. Consider the deed done!”

Buelath did not like the analogy. The Eye was everything to him and his clan. Without it, they would perish. He shook his long head in disgust at his new ally and the deal he had just made.

“When and where do we strike?” asked Gorlyn, his red eyes gleaming at the prospect of more plunder.

“Soon,” said Buelath. “Soon!”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Hectodd’s eyes were glued to the northern horizon, searching for a glimpse of land. He had finally managed to adjust himself to drifting along with the breeze some sixty paces above the ocean. His stomach had forgotten to be upset, but it remembered its emptiness.

“If I don’t get something to drink, I’m going to die of thirst!” I said, speaking through dry, cracked lips.

“Why don’t we see what’s inside this barrel?” asked Hectodd. “We don’t need it to stay afloat anymore, an’ maybe there’s food or wine inside!”

“Hey, just one hairy heartbeat here!” piped Pfee-Guh. “You seem to forget, this spell ain’t gonna last forever. If you go breakin’ this barrel open, whaddya suggest we do when we hit the drink again?”

“Askar can just cast his spell again!” replied Hectodd, his mind clearly fixed on food and drink, which might well be packed inside the barrel.

“No, no! It doesn’t work that way,” the rat-mage replied in frustration. “He’ll be all tired out, exhausted. He won’t be able to cast that spell again for at least a day!” Pfee-Guh was obviously agitated. “We don’t know if Askar’s magic would be able to help us, and I certainly can’t keep us floating around up here in the sky. Opening the barrel is outta the question!”

“Why not pry open the plug and just take a peek?” I interjected in the hopes of fending off trouble. “At least we’ll know what’s inside, and we can seal it shut again if it’s nothing useful. Maybe we’ll find some sort of tool to rid me of this necklace.”

“Good thinkin’, bub!” the rat said cheerfully.

Hectodd’s small hands had already begun working at the wooden plug, twisting and pulling busily. But the plug resisted his efforts and failed to budge an inch. The halfling appeared quite desperate. Feeling sorry for him and sharing his desperation as well, I reached over and lent my greater strength to the cause, but I had no more luck than the halfling.

“It was probably struck home with a mallet,” Hectodd said in despair. “We’re going to need something to pry it loose!”

“What about your magic dart, Pfee-Guh? Could you throw it at the stopper and knock it loose?”

The rat-mage looked glum. “No. My magic dart would knock the whole barrel into kindling wood. It packs quite a jolt.” Pfee-Guh scratched his whiskers with his forepaw. “Either of you boys bring a knife from the galley?”

Hectodd shook his head sadly, and I thought of the jeweled dagger, wondering if it had survived our sudden immersion and wild night in the water. Hesitantly, fearing the worst, I reached into my pocket and closed my fingers around its jeweled hilt, uttering a silent prayer to the Great Wolf Mother, Mother of us all. But as I began to withdraw the knife from my pocket, we began to drop like a stone into the sea!

“Askar!” cried the rat and the halfling in unison. Quickly I came to my senses and concentrated on regaining our equilibrium. The barrel rose and fell, coming dangerously close to the waves before it began to rise sluggishly, but steadily to its former altitude. Then, as the rat-mage and the halfling clung to each other and tried to recover their wits, I pulled the jeweled dagger from my pocket and held it forth for their approval.

“This ought to do the trick,” I said, ignoring their gasps of amazement. “But you’d better do it, Hectodd. I might lose my train of thought.”

“Heaven forbid!” cried the halfling as he scrambled forward, took the knife from me, and studied it in awed amazement.

“It was a gift from my great-great-grandfather,” I explained, “I’m sure it will work quite well.”

The halfling admired the knife a bit longer. Then, recalling his grumbling stomach, he pulled the blade from its jeweled scabbard.

“Marvelous! This will do the job admirably!” he said as he attacked the barrel with renewed vigor, chiseling out little chips and working the point in and out around the plug.

“Don’t mess the plug up too much!” cautioned Pfee-Guh. “Remember, we gotta close it back up!”

“Don’t worry, mate! I think it’s ready to come,” Hectodd cried as he sheathed the blade and carefully placed it in his coat pocket. Gripping the stopper firmly with both hands, he gave it a twist and pulled as hard as he could.

Whoomp! The stopper blew out of the hole, followed by a jet of blue smoke that poured out of the barrel like a miniature volcano. Hectodd flew off the barrel and flipped head over heels in midair until he reached the end of his rope and stopped with a jerk. Pfee-Guh was knocked off his perch on the halfling’s shoulder, and I just barely managed to reach out and grab his tail before he plummeted to the sea below. This caused the barrel to drop dramatically, however, dragging a screaming halfling and a gibbering rat in its wake before I once more brought it under control. Only when we were stabilized and all had returned safely aboard the back of the barrel did we notice that the flow of smoke had stopped.

“What on Oerth!” exclaimed Hectodd when he had regained his composure. The three of us pulled ourselves forward and peered hesitantly into the mysterious hole. Pfee-Guh had leaned farther over the edge in an attempt to see inside, when a small red claw emerged from within the barrel and began feeling around the edge of the hole. Pfee-Guh screamed and leaped onto Hectodd’s coat, then tunneled frantically into a capacious pocket. All the while, a mysterious voice was murmuring happily inside my head.

Please get me out of here! Thank you for saving me. I always knew you would!

My heart all but stopped, then once again began to pound loudly inside my chest, and I felt my eyes grow as wide as saucers.

“Uh, did you hear that, Hectodd?” I asked hesitantly.

“Hear what?” whispered the halfling, never once taking his eyes from the tiny red claw.

“That voice!”

“You mean Pfee-Guh?” asked the halfling, glancing down at his pocket, which emitted a steady stream of mindless gibbering.

“No. Whatever is inside that barrel just thanked me for saving its life,” I said, looking down at the little red claw still feeling about. The voice had sounded friendly, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Who, or what, are you?” I asked aloud.

I am Mmandoc, came the reply, still silent, still within my head, still obviously unheard by anyone but me. I have chosen you, and I speak only to you. No one else may hear me unless it is your command. Please ask your friend to help me out of this dreadful place. I have been trapped in here forever!

“Uh, Hectodd, there’s something called a Mmandoc inside there,” I said, feeling rather foolish, for I had absolutely no idea who or what a Mmandoc was. Somehow I felt convinced that it would not harm us. No sooner had I realized this than I felt a warm glow radiate throughout my body, and I knew that I had made the right decision. “It’s all right. It won’t harm us.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hectodd, finally raising his eyes from the amazing red claw and focusing on my face. “What if it eats us?”

“It won’t eat us,” I said with a smile, more confident than ever that this was so. “But whatever it is, we’re going to have to take the barrel apart to get it out.”

Pfee-Guh’s head emerged from Hectodd’s pocket, and although he protested bitterly, I could not be dissuaded. Under my direction, Hectodd pried the hoop off one end of the barrel and loosened and spread the staves like petals on a flower. The lid came loose in his hand.

Slowly, cautiously, the amazing creature within emerged. Its narrow, pointy head was attached to a small, round body by a long, snaky neck. Headfirst, it glided up to rest beside me, and I was able to see that it was covered with minute, finely shaped red scales. Slowly, hovering in midair as though by magic, it unfolded its wings. They were a rich, reddish brown in color and so thin as to be transparent. The creature opened its wings wide and allowed the warmth of the sun to chase away the effects of the dark, dank barrel. It seemed as though I could feel the warmth and comfort of the sun steal into my own heart and mind as well.

The small creature and I stared into each other’s eyes, much as one will gaze fondly upon a lover in sleep, and I knew that something momentous had occurred. Hectodd and Phee-Guh were clamoring to be heard in the background, but for the moment I ignored them.

The creature was amazingly small to have captivated me so completely. From the tip of its tiny snout to the end of its tail, it could not have been more than two feet long, and most of that was tail.

“Well, blow me down!” exclaimed Pfee-Guh, growing so bold as to stick his entire head up out of the halfling’s pocket. “It’s a baby red dragon! What a lucky find! We can sell it for a fortune! We’ll be rich men . . . and rats!”

I am not a red dragon! I’m a a pseudodragon! piped the tiny voice inside my head. It did not bother to comment on Phee-Guh’s suggestion. We both knew that I would never allow it to be sold.

“It’s a pseudodragon,” I said to the others, “and you can forget about selling him.” I turned back to the enchanting creature. “How did you come to be in that barrel, and how did you ever breathe with all that blue smoke?”

It was some form of magic that entrapped me. An evil man called the Commodore found me sleeping in the sun and ordered me to serve him. I refused. No man can order a pseudodragon to obey him. We choose our own companions. But when I refused, he put a spell on me, and there I was, trapped inside that dark barrel, until I felt you enter my life. And then I knew: It is you whom I will serve.

My mind was reeling at the amazing tale told by the magical creature. No one I knew had ever seen a pseudodragon. They were so incredibly rare that to merely see one was to have a tale to tell for a lifetime. Yet here was a live pseudodragon, fluttering right before my eyes, talking to me in some mysterious manner that only I could hear and proclaiming that it was I whom it had chosen to serve! I could scarcely comprehend the wonder of it!

While I was staring dumbfounded, trying to sort out my confusion, the little dragon flapped its wings and began flying in a wide circle around us. Mmandoc was obviously having less trouble adjusting to the situation than I.

“Well . . . yes, of course!” I replied aloud. Without further comment, Mmandoc spread his wings wide, stroked the air, and quickly gained altitude until he was but a dot in the sky.

“Where did it go?” asked Pfee-Guh, popping out of Hectodd’s pocket like a jack-in-the-box and leaping to his shoulder, where he scanned the sky anxiously.

“To find land!” I exclaimed excitedly.

“Do you know what it means to have a pseudodragon?” asked Pfee-Guh. “Is he intending to serve you, Askar?”

“He said he had chosen me!” I replied proudly as I, too, squinted up at the bright sky, no more successful at locating my new mascot than was the rat-mage.

“By thunder, this is turning out to be a good day, after all!” Pfee-Guh cried joyously. “You’ve not only cast your first spell, but now you also have a familiar as well!”

“And a fine mentor and a trusted and noble companion!” I said, shaking the rat’s tiny paw and then Hectodd’s hand, holding on to them both. My heart was all but bursting with happiness.

“But I’m still hungry,” complained the halfling.

“And I’m still thirsty,” said I, rubbing my parched lips with my fingers and tugging at the iron collar that gripped my neck no less tightly than it had before.

Land, water, food, and freedom from the collar—a large order for the tiny pseudodragon—yet I hoped with all my heart that he could do it!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Trumpets blared and drums rolled. The long lines of sleepy soldiers in their green tunics and brown leather helmets stood at attention. Flags waved in the early morning breeze at the head of each formation. There were five hundred pikemen, dressed in orange-striped breeches, each with a small green pennant flapping from the tip of his pole-arm. The swordsmen stood silently in rows ten deep as far as the eye could see, their shields polished to a mirror-bright finish.

Strewn across the great meadow like deadly orange and green flowers were the cavalry, some armed with deadly scimitars and others with crossbows and steel-tipped arrows, their huge war-horses prancing restlessly.

A small party of dignitaries wound its way among the armed forces and were greeted by cheers on all sides. General Donovic rode at the head of the party, followed by Kranoch, the blind king. By his side rode Alamkamala, the grand inquisitor. The royal guard, in dark green plate armor, trailed on their heels, trotting briskly with flawless precision.

The king could not see his army, but he could hear their boisterous cheers. They were well fed and well paid, and they had experienced nothing but victory ever since he had begun his campaign to conquer Sterich. One by one, those who opposed him had been defeated, and his army had swelled as he offered the survivors of the war-ravaged kingdom the chance to join him ... or die. Now he had an army that was all but unstoppable. He smiled from the saddle and waved at the soldiers he could not see.

Onward the small party rode, on past the band of mages, seated in their strange horse-drawn wagons. The king heard the whispered aside from Alamkamala and nodded respectfully in the mages’ direction. They were an important part of any army; without them, the enemy might turn his entire army back with magic of their own. But if the enemy had no magic-users, then as often as not the mages used their powers to sway the minds of the enemy, and they surrendered without a drop of blood being shed.

They passed Alamkamala’s dread wagons filled with the devices of torture, the means by which he so often received his information. There was no cheering here. Donovic, an honorable man, chose not to glance in their direction.

Less than a league to the north, taking shelter in the deep woods, was another branch of Kranoch’s army. But rather than making ready to set forth, they were just settling down for the day. Nor would they have cheered if the king rode among them. Wisely, he never did. This other army wore no fine uniforms and fought not for loyalty but for pay alone . . . and they fought only at night. They were the orcs, goblins, and kobolds, who had come down out of the hills of Sterich to fight for plunder in the Yeomanry. Kranoch did not trust them, nor was he proud of the fact that he needed them among his ranks. But he used them nonetheless.

The royal party reached a small green tent by the side of the wide paved road that led to the south. The king and Alamkamala entered the tent while Donovic issued his commands, and the great army began to march. One by one, the formations made their way to the road and turned south.

While his army marched past, the king had his breakfast and listened as Alamkamala described the map he had spread before them, lifting his voice to be heard over the heavy rumble of the baggage train—hundreds of wagons piled high with provisions, clothing, arms, and armor. Behind them rolled enormous siege engines, great wheeled catapults towed by oxen, then a siege tower, a trebuchet, and for good measure, a battering ram.

It was convenient, thought Kranoch, that good Queen Kathryn had built such good roads for his forces to use. Even in the heaviest rains, his army could march into the heart of the Yeomanry without delay. Roads built for commerce also served well for war.

* * *

Kaaluk, Freecaptain of Northmark, leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on the hearth. The fire was burning low, but it still gave off enough warmth to take the chill out of the cool spring night. Kaaluk took a puff from his long clay pipe, and finding that it had gone out, cursed under his breath. It was still an hour before sunrise, and he was tired and feeling his age. Staying up all night, keeping watch in the tower, was a young man’s job, and it seemed that the rumors of an army of monsters on the march were nothing but old wives’ tales, as he had suspected. The rumors had come down the road from the north, and just to be safe, they had doubled the guard. Who could know what mischief old Kranoch was up to now? Over the years, thousands of people had fled Sterich to be free of his vindictiveness.

Even if the rumors had been true, the border outpost of Northmark was an unlikely place for an attack, for it was nothing more than a sleepy outpost sitting astride the great trading road between ports on the Javan River, Flen in the Good Hills and Istivin, the desolated former capital of their neighbor to the north. Little trade was carried on with Sterich, but business was brisk at the Javan ports. Flen purchased almost a third of the fine woolens produced in the Yeomanry. Kathryn had paved the road to accommodate the heavy mercantile traffic.

The guard came in from the catwalk and gave his report, pouring himself a cup of steaming hot yarpick coffee from the pot that always hung over the fire.

“Not much goin’ on out there tonight, Cap’n.”

Kaaluk nodded in agreement, and the guard saluted and left the room. There had been a time, back when the blackness hung thick over Sterich, when Northmark had been the base of operations for the great army of the Yeomanry. It had been a regular fortress then, and much of the surrounding forest had been felled to build housing for the large numbers of soldiers who passed through.

Most of the barracks and storehouses were gone now, though their imprint could still be seen in the outlying fields. It had been a regular city, and now it was just a mere way station on the road, a place where merchants could safely park their wagons for the night. Other than that, Northmark had outlived its usefulness. Like me, Kaaluk thought as he stirred himself, stretched, and yawned, feeling the weight of his years weighing heavily on his tired eyelids.

Kaaluk walked out into the cool morning air and joined the guard on the catwalk. Together, like small boys on a bridge, they leaned over the wall and watched as a heavily laden wagon, pulled by a team of twelve oxen, slowly made its way out the gate. The wagon creaked and groaned as it crawled over the bridge and then up the gentle hill on the north road. Lanterns hung from its sides like large captive glowworms. They twinkled warmly in the soft grey darkness and then blinked out as they disappeared over the hill.

“Gettin’ a head start on th’ others,” said the guard.

“Yep,” agreed Kaaluk as he turned to the man. “Looks like I was worried about nothing. Well, this old man needs his sleep, so I’m turning in. Don’t wake me till late, unless there’s a real emergency.”

“Yes, sir!”

Kaaluk made his way down the narrow staircase to his spartan quarters. A faint grey light filtered in through the window, providing him just enough light to find his bunk. He laid himself down with a groan, without removing his uniform, looking forward to a long, undisturbed sleep.

* * *

The teamsters were laughing and joking as they shared a small jug of wine and a fat loaf of bread. They had chosen to have their breakfast on the road, for by leaving early, they would have the jump on all the wagons that followed. They would be at the ports of Javan fully two hours before the others. Those two hours would bring them higher prices for their bundles of woolen cloth. One of the men put the jug to his lips and choked, spewing wine down the front of his clothes.

“Stop! Stop the wagon!” he yelled, dropping the jug with a crash and fumbling for the reins. Not yet understanding but doing as he was told, his companion seized the reins and did his best to bring the team to a halt. A brief struggle brought their clumsy train to a halt. The man who had given the alarm clambered up on the bench and stared off into the distance, and his companion was swift to follow suit.

The two of them had traveled this road before, and many others like it. They had seen many things during their years, but neither of them had seen anything like the sight that confronted them now.

“What—what do you make of it, Ben?” asked the driver.

“It couldn’t be bandits this close ta Northmarch . . . they wouldn’t dare! I just don’t know what ta make of it.”

A large body of horsemen, riding five abreast and filling the road from one side to the other, rolled over the crest of a distant hill and wound toward them like a giant snake. The clatter of hooves was audible now. The two draymen drew their swords in a futile gesture as the column reined in ahead of the wagon. Three burly horsemen rode forward. They were clad in green, with huge furry bearskin caps perched on their heads. The bells on their bridles jingled, and their huge war-horses snorted and pawed the air as they rode up to the teamsters.

“You there!” bellowed one of the riders. “Get this thing off the road!” He pointed to the ditch with his curved sword.

“But—but—” spluttered the driver.

Another horseman, covered with gold braid and epaulets, trotted up to join the group.

“What’s the delay here, Sergeant?”

“No problem, sir,” said the sergeant. Beckoning to his companions, he pointed to the team of oxen. “Off the road!”

His men rode back, easily disarmed the drivers, grabbed the reins, and pulled. As the teamsters watched in horror, the heavy wagon lurched and rolled sideways into the ditch with a crash.

They watched in stunned disbelief as the great mass of horsemen clattered down the road, now free of obstacles, to be followed by a seemingly endless stream of horsemen who flowed over the crest of the distant hill.

“Looks like war again, Ben!” whispered the driver.

“And we’ve just lost a thousand gold koruns!” muttered Ben.

“Be glad it weren’t our lives,” cautioned the driver. To this there was no reply.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

There are dwarves and then there are dwarves, and Felbron was not your ordinary dwarf. He sat in the Inn of The Bloated Goat quaffing a large tankard of ale and contemplating his unusual nature. He liked to think that about himself, and of course it was true. Most dwarves preferred to live and work in dark mines beneath the oerth. But Felbron wanted nothing more than to fly!

“Gert! Bring me another!” he called, tapping the empty container on the tabletop.

“Hold on to yer chinwhiskers, Ironfoot. I’ll be with ya in a minute!” came the crotchety reply.

It seemed strange that someone who had pioneered dwarven flight should carry a nickname like Ironfoot. Felbron twisted his beard between thumb and forefinger and smiled. In an hour or less he would be airborne. His experimental craft had been left behind, and first full-sized, lighter-than-air ship was moored outside in the lake, all gassed up and ready to fly.

Felbron had often been asked about his curious, undwarven yearning to fly. His mother thought that it stemmed from his childhood, when he would lie in his crib deep in the dwarven caverns and watch the bats flitting overhead. He would spread his thin, baby beard and imagine he was a bat soaring with ease

through the air.

Gert arrived at his side with his tankard of ale.

Felbron smiled his thanks and reached over and tweaked her long silky beard.

“Hands to yourself, Mr. Ironfoot!” she cried with mock anger. “Really!”

“Sweetheart, don’t I even get a kiss for good luck?” he asked as he grabbed her hand. The folds of his face composed themselves into sad lines. But far from having the expected results, Gert burst into tears and buried her face in her apron.

“Oh, Felbron, why do you have to go on that—thing?” she cried. “It’s—it’s not normal! Dwarves were never meant to fly!”

“There, there, my dear,” said Felbron as he did his best to place his arm around her considerable waist. “Please don’t cry. I simply must do this. It is my destiny, for I am no ordinary dwarf!” But his words did nothing to calm her, and she continued to weep, her tears flowing down into her beautiful beard, all but distracting Felbron from the mission at hand and filling his mind with thoughts that had nothing to do with flying. Hastily he stood up and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “There, now. Don’t you have a smile for me?”

Gert wiped her eyes on her apron and gave him a tremulous smile before hurrying away as more tears threatened to fall. Felbron watched her comely figure as she departed, muttered, “Women!” under his breath, and then drained his tankard in a single draft.

Felbron shook his head, wiped the back of his hand across his lips, and reached into his pouch, leaving an extra silver coin on the table for Gert. Waving to a few friends, Felbron exited the inn and stepped onto the boardwalk that circled the end of the tiny lake. Once more he looked around him, taking in the sight of the little town that had sprung up in this, the most improbable of places, and served his purpose of building flying ships rather admirably. Despite his dislike of the name, the place had been dubbed Goatsblood by its inhabitants, for obvious reasons.

To his left stood the great shed, and next to it was the rope house. Behind the store was the bagroom, where they used the innards of a thousand goats to make one of his precious gas bags.

On his right were the low stone houses where the workers lived. And there was the vent—the glorious vent—the reason why he had paid a fortune to the local king of the fire giants for this particular piece of land.

Up from the bowels of the earth, up through the vent, flowed copious amounts of the floating gas, the gas that made his dream of flying possible. Each time a gas bag was finished, it was positioned in a net of fine rope, placed over the opening of the vent, and filled with the lighter-than-air gas. So far, he had over thirty bags stored in the great shed, and seven more bags—seven, his lucky number—were woven into the fabric of the ship that was now moored on the lake.

Alfred, second-in-command of the lighter-than-air ship Bij, clumped toward him from the edge of the lake. Some one hundred and thirty years earlier, back in his youth, Felbron had fought in the Oerik-Tam-Lian wars. Bij was the young dwarf who had led most of the dwarven population of the Yeomanry into that fracas. Few had returned, and Bij, ever restless, had gone on to even greater deeds and had not been seen for more than a hundred years. But he was revered in many places, and especially in Felbron’s heart. It seemed fitting that the first dwarven flying ship should be named after a famous dwarven hero.

Alfred’s face wore a worried expression, and he was nearly breathless by the time he reached Felbron’s side.

“Where have you been, Felbron? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The steeds are aboard and we’re ready to fly.”

Felbron stroked his beard as he looked out across the lake, eyeing the ship and trying to hide the excitement that seized him.

Side by side, the two barrel-chested, muscular dwarves made their way toward a small pier and the broad, flat-bottomed boat, which was waiting to take them out to the Bij. A small group of children, their most ardent admirers, cheered and wished them luck.

Out of habit, Felbron scanned the ship, checking that all was in order. Their earlier version had been discarded, the wicker basket giving way to a full-sized ship. That part of the airship that floated on the water appeared to be no more than a trim, fast galley without oars. But attached by a thousand ropes to the body

of the galley were the seven enormous gas bags, bundled together into a long sausage shape that stretched almost two hundred feet from end to end.

In no time, they pulled up alongside the airship. Felbron climbed aboard, followed by Alfred. Most of those aboard were part of the ground crew, but among them were many well-wishers, and somewhere in the mass of excited dwarves was a very important dignitary. Felbron pushed through the crowd, looking for his guest, Dwallo, king of the dwarves of Rockhall.

Rockhall was situated in the westernmost spur of the Crystalmist Mountains, a small range of mountains that thrust itself into the southern reaches of the Hold of the Sea Princes and was the home of nearly all the dwarves in the kingdom. Rockhall had been left to the dwarves because of its geography. It was separated from the sea by tall mountains and vast plains, which had to be crossed in order to reach a navigable river. Trade was difficult, even though the dwarves had a ready market and wares to sell.

If Felbron could convince Dwallo of the feasibility of air transport, the long pack trains that took many dangerous weeks to reach Loftwick, their principal market, would become a thing of the past. Rockhall’s goods would reach market in a tenth of the time it now took, and Felbron would establish a commercial basis for the continued production of his air transport system.

Felbron spotted three dwarves standing along the far rail. The tallest of the three sported a full red beard and was dressed in gold chain mail and a bushy bearskin cape. The two dwarves at either side bore the blue emblem of Rockhall on their cloaks. The king stood with folded arms and a doubtful expression, staring at the Bij.

“Your Majesty,” said Felbron with a sweeping bow, “I’m sorry for the delay, but last-minute matters needed my attention ashore.” Felbron hoped that the king hadn’t seen him emerging from the alehouse.

“Are you certain this thing is safe?” asked King Dwallo.

“I have tested it myself, Your Majesty, and many smaller ones much like it. I stand here before you to tell the tale. It is completely safe, and we are prepared for any emergency,” said Felbron as he glanced at the flag on the mast. He saw that a brisk wind was blowing out of the west. “The wind is fair for our voyage. We should be on our way.”

Dwallo nodded wordlessly at his two companions, who hefted the six canvas bags that comprised the king’s baggage. Smiling happily into his beard, Felbron pushed his way through the crowd.

“Make way! Make way for the king!”

The crowd parted, and as they reached the main deck, a group of musicians took up their instruments and twittered a royal march for the king. This quickly changed to an old dwarven war song, usually reserved for the night before battle, in order to bring good luck. Not quite appropriate, thought Felbron, but it seemed unlikely that music had yet been written for the launching of a dwarven lighter-than-air ship.

Felbron led the king and his aides to the aft of the ship, where the cabins for crew and passengers were located. The midsection served as the cargo area and was currently filled with casks of dried salted goat jerky for delivery to Rockhall. The forward portion of the Bij was devoted to the care and accommodation of the hippogriffs, the main motive power once the ship took to the air. Eagles had been passed over as being too flighty as well as not powerful enough.

At a word from Alfred, the well-wishers were ushered off the ship and the gangway was retracted. Felbron escorted the king over to an advantageous position by the port rail where they would have the best possible view. Belowdecks, pumps began clanking, and soon great jets of water streamed out from the sides of the hull as the king looked on with interest.

“The water is the ballast,” explained Felbron “We fill the tanks with water to keep the ship down until we’re ready to fly, then it’s pumped overboard to lighten the ship to the point where the lifting gas—” he pointed at the gas bags above them— “will cause us to rise into the air!”

The king nodded blankly, still uncertain as to how this mysterious craft actually worked. But if it would solve his problem and provide him with a way to sell his goods, he didn’t care. At that moment, the deck under their feet lurched and tilted slightly forward.

“Avast pumping aft!” bellowed Alfred.

The crowd on shore broke out into a cheer as the deck leveled off and the entire hull rose slowly out of the lake, water cascading down along the keel. The ground crew on the barge held onto the lines tightly, keeping the slowly rising ship from drifting away.

“We need to gain height to be able to pass over the town, Your Majesty,” explained Felbron. He glanced down at the boardwalk, which was now lined with cheering onlookers waving little blue flags, the color of Rockhall—a touch Felbron had insisted on to flatter the king.

“Cast off the lines!” yelled the captain through a speaking trumpet. The dwarves on the barge let go their lines, and the Bij began to climb rapidly, drifting with the wind now that it had been set free. The launching site shrank into the distance, and they rose almost directly over the town. The king was leaning over the rail, looking straight down, his knuckles white with tension as he gripped the rail.

“They look like little toys!” commented King Dwallow, referring to the cheering citizens of Goatsblood as the town passed rapidly beneath their bow.

“Out with the first team!” commanded Alfred, and up in the bow there was much clatter and commotion as well as several dreadful screeches. Dwallow seemed much alarmed by the noise. His face drained of color, and his fingers gripped the rails even more tightly.

“Nothing to be concerned about, Your Majesty,” Felbron said in soothing tones. “We’re just putting out the steeds. That’s how we’re able to move about the sky, with or against the wind!”

The skeptical frown on Dwallo’s face turned to a look of astonishment even as Felbron spoke. His words were drowned out by an unusual beating sound. A rush of wind and feathers came swirling back along the deck, carrying with it the scent of stables, and from the bow there burst a team of snow-white hippogriffs, tethered together in pairs. Whips cracked and dwarven voices could be heard shouting encouragement.

The Bij eased slowly around to port, following the team as they pulled in that direction. The great canvas steering rudder at the stern was unfolded and put over the side. The ship was soon

coursing along with ease above the desolate plains that lay below.

“Those beasts must have cost you a pretty penny!” commented Dwallo, the color having returned to his face.

“Indeed they did, Your Majesty. Pegasi are preferred and more powerful, but nearly impossible to come by. But in these mountains there are many giants who bring us the eggs of the hippogriff in exchange for gold.”

“This whole operation must have cost a small fortune!” Dwallo fixed Felbron in the eye. “How have you managed it?”

“Fortune has smiled on me, Your Majesty,” he answered. “I grew up in the Yeomanry and have marched in many campaigns, most of them successful. Each one brought me wealth, but I came into a king’s ransom, if you’ll pardon the expression, as a result of the Tam-Lian wars some years back. Even so, the ships have cost me all the treasure I accumulated in two hundred of my two hundred and fifty years.”

They were now several hundred feet in the air. The lake and town had disappeared into the distance, and the Bij was floating quietly over rugged mountain terrain.

“I wouldn’t have believed this possible had I not seen it with mine own eyes!” exclaimed Dwallo. A look of awe spread across his craggy face.

“This is the ship of the future, Your Majesty,” Felbron said, beaming. “Soon I shall have a fleet of similar vessels plying the skies of Oerik, carrying the trade of nations . . . faster and cheaper than any wagon or pack mule.”

“It would seem so!” agreed the king as a dwarf in a white coat came up and whispered quietly into Felbron’s ear.

Even kings have been known to be partial to lifting a tankard or two, and while Felbron and King Dwallo enjoyed their ale and the fine view of the mountains, the Bij sped eastward into the Hold of the Sea Princes, leaving the Hellfurnaces far behind.

CHAPTER TWENTY

An angry frown clung tenaciously to Kathryn’s face. The frown had been with her most of the day and remained now, as she sat alone in her chambers contemplating the table before her with distaste. Before her was a list she had drawn up of all the possible suspects, anyone and everyone who knew about the Eye of Tiros. She had spent the day personally questioning each of the names on the list. It had not been an easy task. Each elf she had addressed took it as a personal insult that he should be under suspicion. Even for one with Kathryn’s diplomatic skills, the task was impossible to complete without stepping on toes.

The sunlight that had been shining through her window was nearly gone. Kathryn could barely make out her notes, which did not really matter, since no one she had interviewed had anything of value to offer. She sighed and stood up to call for a servant, but two elf maidens had slipped into the room unbidden and were even now lighting tapers along the wall and at her desk. Kathryn pushed back her chair and walked to the window in time to see the last golden rays of the sun slide below the horizon.

They all had such perfect excuses. Adrienne and Roxyl had spent the day at the dressmakers. Old Carl had slept all day, and Ferak and his brothers had been on the training field improving their archery skills. The queen mother was above suspicion, as was Fea-Glenna. Kathryn’s niece, Cassidra, and cousin Pym seemed the most likely suspects, but that was only because Fea had been unable to find them for questioning. Neither of the two seemed to have the intelligence needed to carry off such a skillful robbery, however.

Kathryn put her hands behind her back and paced across the room, still deep in thought. The guard they had found unconscious by the door had only just awakened from his trance and had not been questioned. None of the other sentries had seen anything unusual, and the locks had not been broken. It was as though the thief had used keys, but there were only two keys, one of which she wore on a chain around her neck, while the other was carried by Fea-Glenna, who was beyond reproach. It could only have been magic!

Kathryn passed in front of the mirror and glanced at her image, smiling ruefully at what she saw. Her dark curls, normally contained in a tight band, had slipped from their confines and were dangling off to one side. To make matters worse, she had somehow gotten ink all down the front of her jacket. She wondered how long she had looked like this. That must have been why Adrienne had giggled so foolishly! The dinner chimes rang, interrupting her contemplation.

“Oh, Hellfurnace!” she cried, tearing off her jacket and rushing to the dressing room to find another. She pushed desperately through her wardrobe, finally seizing on an elegant green and black gown, which felt uncomfortable and bothersome after the easy comfort of her tights. But appearances did matter to some, and now that she was no longer the warrior queen, she was expected to wear dresses and act accordingly.

Once dressed, she hurried back to her mirror and dabbed ineffectually at her hair with a brush. But the thick curls caught at the bristles and only made the situation worse. Cursing herself, Kathryn threw her brush down on the table and stalked out of her chambers. She hurried into the long stone corridor, knowing that court etiquette forbade anyone from taking his place at table until she herself was seated.

The great hall was festooned with long streamers made of the multicolored flowers of spring. Garlands hung over the doors, dangled from the cressets on the walls, and were draped over the thick oaken ceiling rafters.

The elves, dwarves, halflings, and humans who milled about searching for their places were all dressed in their finest, most elegant outfits, as was normal for an evening spent at court. All wore blossoms in their clothing as well as in their hair.

Kathryn found her way to her place at the head of the center table, nodding and smiling to those she passed. Yellow and white blossoms, plucked from a garland, were tucked among her curls and gave her a rakish air, she hoped, instead of a disheveled one. She caught Fea-Glenna’s eye and grinned broadly as she made her way to her side, even though Fea glowered back, indicating that one of Fea’s famous black moods was upon her.

Nodding graciously to the gathering, who moved to their chairs expectantly, Kathryn allowed a shy, tongue-tied young elf to pull her chair out for her. “Well, Fea, I can only assume from your bleak expression that your investigation is going no better than my own.”

Fea growled in reply. Kathryn reached over and deftly straightened her prime minister’s hair, which was in even more disarray than her own. She plucked a single white flower from her tresses and slipped it into one of Fea’s curls.

“Put matters of state aside for the moment!” Kathryn said soothingly. “The Festival of Blossoms begins tonight, and this is a time for light hearts and happy faces . . . including yours!”

Kathryn touched her hand gently, and Fea’s frown melted into a weak smile in spite of herself. Soon the court and the many guests were all seated in the great hall. A little chime tinkled, and the room fell silent. Fea stood up and introduced her queen with the appropriate words.

While Kathryn greeted her guests and officially opened the Festival of Blossoms, an ancient holiday whose roots were buried in antiquity, she used the opportunity to scan the guests. A shock ran through her, and she checked again to make certain that she

was right. It was so—her niece, Cassidra, was missing!

* * *

“Yes, ma’am, I saluted her right proper. She sort o’ smiled at me funny-like and went on up the stairs!” said the guard. “Then she come down a few minutes later . . . didn’t say nothin’, like she were in a hurry, I guess.”

“Thank you. You may go now,” Kathryn said in a kindly tone. The man came to attention, then clanked out of the room. Kathryn smacked her fist into her hand. Hellfurnaces and damnation! She had asked them all the wrong questions before. Of course they had seen nothing unusual ; members of the royal family came and went through these halls all the time!

All three guards had told the same tale: Cassidra had gone up the stairs to the tower a fortnight past, then left in a hurry a few minutes later. No one in the castle had seen her since yesterday afternoon. The guards of the city gates swore that she had not passed through. The faeries watching the palace roof had seen nothing, and teleportation was out of the question. Only the most skilled magic-user would even dare attempt such a thing. That left only the sewers!

The freecaptains of the palace guard were assembled in the armory, along with the minister of streets and sanitation and his secretary. These last two were not really in a condition to speak coherently, having been dragged, bottles in hand, from the wild celebration that had been in progress since the festival began several hours earlier.

They were gathered together around a table. The secretary clumsily produced a map of the sewers of Loftwick from inside his coat. Reeking of wine fumes, the man was barely able to stand, much less unfold the packet, and he seemed unwilling to let loose of the flagon of wine that he held in his left hand.

Fea grabbed the map from him impatiently and spread it out on the table. After studying it for a moment, familiarizing herself with the intricate twists and turns of the archaic system, she quickly outlined a plan of search to the freecaptains. The minister of sanitation chose that unfortunate moment to belch—long, loud, and deeply—before stumbling off balance, as though startled by the awful sound that he had emitted. He promptly spilled the contents of his glass directly on the map.

Fea glared at him, and he attempted to wipe up the purple stain with his sleeve, aghast, as though wondering if morning would find him residing in the dungeon.

“V-Very snorry, I’m sure,” slurred the man as his eyes began to close and his chin nodded toward his chest.

Kathryn turned to the terrified secretary. “We need your understanding and cooperation in this matter,” she said gently, allowing her expression to warm. “It is a matter of some delicacy and great importance. Can we depend on you to be discreet and draw no special attention to yourselves?”

The minion hurried to assure Kathryn that everything would be done as she asked. The freecaptains, although obviously confused, murmured their agreement as well.

“As you know, one of the queen’s jewels is missing,” said Fea, having settled the comatose minister in a comfortable chair from which snores now emitted at great volume. “It appears that the thief is one of the palace family and has made off through the sewers. We want to recover the gem and can but hope that the villain will lose her way in the system.

“There is no need to tell your men any of this,” continued Fea. “Tell them only that we are searching for someone, a criminal. Allow her to speak to no one. Allow her to hide nothing, but bring her back to the castle alive! I don’t want her hurt. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” the freecaptains answered as one.

“Righto, sweety!” caroled the minister of streets and sanitation as he took a swig from his bottle of dandelion wine and collapsed again.

Kathryn smiled slightly and gestured at the slumbering minister, “And for the sake of the gods, take this one with you when you leave!”

* * *

Aleric groaned and pulled his blanket over his eyes. Somebody was walking around the barracks with a bright light, despite the fact that morning was as yet still far in the distance. This always seemed to happen during the festival. Probably a drunken soldier . . .

“Roll out! Roll out! Everybody up!” barked the harsh voice, causing Aleric to bury his head deeper under the covers. If he had the energy, he’d kill the jokester.

“C’mon! Everybody up an’ at ‘em!” bellowed the voice, now sounding ominously familiar. “We got a night’s work ahead of us!”

Someone shook Aleric by the foot.

“All right, all right! I’m up!” Aleric sat up wearily and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, wondering what imagined crisis was the cause of rousting them at this early hour.

“What time is it, Aleric?” asked the soldier in the next bunk.

Aleric glanced at an empty bunk across the way. “Must be after midnight,” he answered. “Joeth had the nightwatch, and his rack is empty.”

“Let’s go, you two! Hustle it up!” yelled the sergeant as he passed them by.

“Hey, Sarge,” cried Aleric as he struggled into his tunic. “What’s up?”

“Big manhunt,” the burly sergeant replied with a crooked grin. “Or should I say womanhunt! We gotta track down the queen’s niece. She’s run off down the sewers!” He burst into a booming laugh, slapping his thigh.

The two soldiers turned to stare at each other. Why would anyone want to go and do that? wondered Aleric.

Fifteen minutes later, the men were lined up in the armory, as awake as could be expected, their hair and uniforms somewhat awry, listening alertly as the freecaptain addressed them.

“Only one man in each squad will carry a pole-arm. The rest of you will have torches. Stay together and keep your eyes open. You corporals, confine your searches to your assigned tunnels. I’ll have mounted messengers waiting at the end of each search route if you have anything to report. Are there any questions?”

“What do we do if we find her, Cap’n?” asked Aleric’s comrade, a farmboy named Carloth.

“Just grab her and bring her in. Don’t let her hide nothing, and don’t listen to anything she says, but most of all, don’t hurt her! She’s the queen’s niece. Anybody harms her’ll likely spend the rest of his days in the dungeon!” The freecaptain handed over a little slate to the sergeant and walked away.

“Now, when you get out in the streets, keep yer mouths shut,” the sergeant continued. “As far as the townsfolk know, this is just a routine patrol. Unnerstan’?”

Carloth smiled with pride, for he had been chosen to carry the pole-arm. Aleric was given a torch. The corporal marched them out down the stone corridor, into a side hall, and through the kitchen. The sergeant stood at the back door, waiting to give them a final word.

“Take the side gate, and try to be inconspicuous, if you blockheads know what that means!”

They paused in the courtyard to light their torches and then marched out the gate. Joeth was on duty there and spotted Aleric and Carloth.

“Got the drunk squad, eh, guys?” he laughed. “Don’t take on any ladies larger than you!”

The street was a scene of wild confusion, even at this late hour. Public intoxication was allowed and even encouraged during the Festival of Blossoms. Two men in a huge dog costume staggered past the patrol, barking insanely. Another man wobbled by on tall stilts, and a group of dwarves were seated on the curb singing lustily. Each time they came to the end of a verse, they drank from their bottles.

The squad marched past a puppet show that had gotten out of hand, as was evidenced by the fact that a man from the audience was attempting to strangle a silly-looking dragon puppet. The stage fell over on the man with a crash, and the audience broke out into uproarious laughter. A sultry young elf maiden staggered under a street lamp with a bottle in her hand. She tried to give Aleric a drink. He stopped to accept, but the corporal barked at him and he hurried on.

They stopped at a corner, and the corporal consulted his map under the light of another street lamp. Meanwhile, a large group of elves in bizarre flowered costumes were dancing in a circle in the middle of the intersection. Three halflings dressed like peas jumped up and down, while the pod to which they belonged beat a drum to provide the rhythm.

“This way!” the corporal shouted in order to be heard above the din. He was pointing down a narrow side street.

It was quieter here. Only a few revelers sat on the stoop of a house, singing a sad song. They passed a fat man and his horse, both passed out and lying at the side of the road, both snoring loudly. The corporal stopped them again in front of a bakery shop, holding his torch over the map.

“There’s the place we want!”

The little patrol marched down the deserted lane, their torches casting eerie shadows that danced off the closed doors and darkened windows.

“Kinda spooky, ain’t it?” whispered Carloth.

“This ain’t nothin’, boys,” said the corporal with a nervous laugh. “Wait’ll we get down in the sewers!”

“I can hardly wait,” Aleric muttered under his breath as they clustered around the sewer grating.

“All right,” barked the corporal, “this is where we go down! Move this thing off the hole!” He was pointing at the iron grate. Aleric handed his torch to Carloth, and three other soldiers lent a hand. With a heave, the heavy grate was lifted out of place and dropped on the cobblestones nearby. The corporal observed their efforts and mused upon the next step.

“Zeek, you stay here and see to it no drunks fall into this hole. If the girl tries to come out, grab her and take her back to the castle! All right, everyone, let’s go!”

The corporal led the way, descending slowly into the sewer. The others followed reluctantly, with Carloth and Aleric bringing up the rear.

“Yow!” Aleric yelped as his hindquarters came in contact with Carloth’s pole-arm.

“Quiet back there!” hissed the corporal. “Damn, would you look at this mess?” He kicked the remains of the broken rabbit cages off the narrow walkway and into the murky water.

When the last of them were standing on the narrow ledge, the corporal started off cautiously, leading north. It was dark and smelled incredibly bad, and Aleric was glad he had a torch. As it was, the torches cast only a sickly yellow light on the damp, moss-covered stone walls that rose on either side and met in an arch above their heads. The men were deathly silent, crouching low. The only sounds were the gurgling of the water, the crunch of their footsteps, and an occasional clank when Carloth struck the base of his pole on the ledge. Aleric shivered. This was no place to be wandering around in the middle of the night. This was no place to be wandering around, ever!

The corporal stopped suddenly. So close were they following on each other’s footsteps that they all collided in a jumble.

“Cut it out, you idiots! I gotta check my map. Looks like there’s a passage off to the left here.”

“Hey, look!” yelled one of the men, pointing at something down the passageway, beyond Aleric’s view. “I think I see something! Yeah! Look! There’s something down there!”

“By all the slime pits of Hades!” exclaimed the corporal. “Carloth, gimme that pole-arm. Hurry!”

A low grunting sound gurgled toward them, and one of the men nearest the intersection, who had craned forward to see, screamed in terror and threw his torch into the darkness. Another soldier fell off the ledge, screaming, and landed with a splash in the slow-flowing w^ter.

“What is it? I can’t see,” Aleric demanded of Carloth, who, without weapon or torch, felt perilously vulnerable.

Carloth edged up to the corner. There was a terrifying scream, followed immediately by another, and two more splashes hit the water. Carloth’s jaw dropped.

“Run for your life!” he screamed at Aleric. “It’s a monster! Aaiee!” Agony swept across Carloth’s face, and he fell to the stone walkway, his helmet bouncing off and landing at his companion’s feet.

Aleric did not wait to see more but turned and fled back the way he had come as fast as his legs would carry him. He gripped the torch as though his very life depended on it, as well it might have. Once he slipped and cracked his knee on the stone ledge, but terror urged him to his feet. He ran till he reached the iron ladder and, guided by the dim light from above, abandoned his torch and climbed as fast as he could. Zeek’s broad face stared down at him in open-mouthed amazement, astonished to see Aleric return so quickly.

“Get out of here, Zeek!” screamed Aleric as he shoved his way past his comrade. “There’s some kind of monster down there!”

And then he was gone, dashing down the dark lane and disappearing around the corner.

Zeek stood there, scratching his chin, staring after Aleric and glancing back at the dark opening from which no more soldiers emerged, wondering if Aleric had taken leave of his senses.

The revelers on the street took no notice as Aleric crashed through their dance circle. He stumbled over a pea-pod halfling and crushed his drum, earning himself a curse for good measure. The singing dwarves toasted his passage as he raced past, and Joeth wondered if he were drunk as he streaked through the back gate babbling about monsters.

Nobody else paid much notice to any of the terrified survivors who emerged from the sewers and ran screaming through the streets that night. They came from several directions, what few there were left, pouring back to the castle to make their grisly reports. Nobody paid much notice, that is, except a very distraught queen and her prime minister.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Felbron gazed out of the porthole as he finished his third tankard of ale and watched the Hool River snake off in the distance beneath them. They had picked up a tail wind and were making incredible progress. If the winds held, they would reach Rockhall before sunset, making the trip, which had taken King Dwallo twelve days overland, in a little over eight hours. If that didn’t convince the king to use his ships as cargo carriers, nothing would.

Felbron drained his mug and made a quick trip to the head that adjoined the cabin, idly wondering as he did so what had become of the young nomad who had saved his life on his last test flight. He hoped that he would have an opportunity to repay that debt someday.

Felbron went back on deck and saw Dwallo in the wheelhouse above, talking to Alfred. The first team of hippogriffs was being changed now, and the men were having a little trouble getting the lead pair back aboard. One of them, a feisty stallion, nipped at its handler, and a stream of dwarven oaths floated back on the breeze. Dwallo laughed and Felbron smiled, already counting the gold koruns that would soon swell his purse and thanking the gods that nothing had gone wrong on this all-important voyage.

Felbron ascended to the upper deck and made his way to the wheelhouse, joining Alfred and the king.

“His Majesty has just allayed some of my fears about our landing at Rockhall,” said Alfred. “It seems there is a good-sized stream that flows through the meadow where we will land. Once we’re down, we’ll be able to fill our ballast tanks and offload our cargo.”

“And take on more!” added the king with a broad smile. “I’m ready to hire this ship and two more like her, and that’s just the beginning!”

“That’s wonderful, Your Majesty!” said Felbron, feeling himself all but overcome with emotion. Hoping that this would be the result of today’s journey, he had left orders in Goatsblood for the completion of a second ship. The new ship would be even larger, with nine gas bags, her cargo capacity a third again as large as that of the Bij. Things were indeed looking up.

They cruised uneventfully for the next three hours, crossing the southern portion of the Hold of the Sea Princes and raising quite a stir each time they passed over a village. They dropped some ballast and gained altitude to rise above the spur of the Crystalmist Mountains that was home to Rockhall.

Their course took them above the very highest peak, sending a pair of nesting eagles screaming into flight. Once they had traversed the crest of the mountain, Alfred began to pull on several long ropes that ran down to the wheelhouse from each of the bags, releasing a small amount of the lifting gas so that they could begin to descend.

Rockhall was soon sighted, and the king, envisioning the excitement his arrival would cause, was smiling to himself. The team of hippogriffs swung the ship around so that it pointed into the wind, and half the steeds were brought back on board to reduce their pulling power. Alfred released a bit more lifting gas. Gently the Bij eased downward toward the meadow where they intended to land. Felbron leaned over the side of the ship and saw a large crowd of cheering dwarves streaming toward the meadow from the cleft in the mountain that was the entrance to Rockhall.

Eager hands followed Alfred’s directions, shouted down through his speaking trumpet, and grabbed the trailing ropes, pulling the Bij oerthward. The Bij was coming down faster now as the hippogriffs, sensing the land, spread their wings and used them to brake their flight. Alfred continued to release more lifting gas. Then, at the last moment, they pumped out more ballast, dousing many of the onlookers as well as their rope handlers as the Bij settled to the ground with a gentle thud, bounced once, and then landed for good. Several of the crew jumped over the side, carrying heavy sledgehammers, and pounded stakes into the ground, deftly wrapping them with mooring lines as soon as they were secure.

The hippogriffs had all been gathered in and, hating confinement as they did, were causing quite a stir. Alfred sent another^ dwarf over the side with a long canvas hose. The dwarf promptly ran to the stream and held the end of the hose under the water. In a moment, the pumps were clattering, the hose was inflated, and water poured into the ballast tanks so that the weight of the Bij was increased and it would remain oerthbound. Throughout everything, the milling crowd continued to cheer and the king waved triumphantly from the wheelhouse. All in all, it appeared that the

voyage had been a huge success. Felbron felt like cheering, too.

* * *

Felbron awakened, felt the pain in his head, and wished he had remained asleep. Portions of the previous evening came back to him as he attempted to open his eyes. After unloading the cargo from the Bij, the dwarves had retired to Rockhall for a celebration and feast. He remembered drinking Dwallo under the table, for whatever that was worth. Not much, he thought remorsefully as he tried once again to lift his throbbing head.

He focused his eyes blearily and took in his surroundings. He was in a typically dwarven sleeping room, hewn out of the rock of the mountain. Two small candles burned on the table beside him. The walls were ornately carved in bas relief, depicting battles and victories of bygone days. Under other circumstances, Felbron would have enjoyed examining the sculptures, but at the moment it was more than he could handle.

Felbron struggled to his feet, wandered over to the washstand, and threw some water on his face. A moment later, he buried his

face in the bowl with a splash, the cold water shocking him back to full consciousness.

A knock on the door brought a timid servant with his clothes, which had been neatly cleaned and pressed. Felbron thanked the servant and wondered what he’d done the night before to warrant his clothes being cleaned. The servant put the clothes on the table and departed. Felbron slipped into his garments, pulled on his boots, and went out into the hall, where he found Dwallo walking unsteadily between two servants, who were doing their best to keep him on his feet.

“Felbron!” cried the king. “You certainly had the best of me last night!”

“And I have paid the price, Your Majesty,” Felbron said with a smile, then put his hand to his head with a groan. The two of them proceeded slowly down the long hall, which was also covered with intricate stone carvings.

“Someday, Felbron, you must allow me to guide you through the glorious history of Rockhall, which, as you can see, has been recorded on our walls by generations of our finest sculptors.” Dwallo attempted to make a sweeping gesture indicating the carvings and nearly fell over. In time, the hall ended and they entered a large room with a high vaulted ceiling. Shafts of golden sunlight filtered down through holes cut in the rock, and dwarves were seated all along the long tables that filled the room.

Alfred stood up and waved, signaling Felbron. The crew of the Bij were gathered around him.

“I was just about to send for you,” Alfred said nervously. “Harold, here, has just come in to report that the wind is freshening and there’s a storm rolling in from the west. We must leave immediately!” Bowing to the king, Alfred led his men out of the dining hall at a fast pace. Felbron, mindful of the diplomacy in these things, stayed long enough for coffee and fruit, and was soon taking his leave as well.

“But we haven’t loaded the treasure for the down payment as yet!” cried Dwallo with a worried, hurt expression on his face.

“Don’t fret, Your Majesty,” said Felbron. “I know you’re a dwarf of your word. Please do not consider our leave-taking an affront. Storms present the greatest danger to our ship. We must

get off the ground and fly above or around it if we are to be safe.”

“Godspeed, then,” said Dwallo as he rose and shook Felbron’s hand.

“I’ll be back soon with two airships!” said Felbron, smiling broadly in spite of his condition.

Somehow he found his way to the main door through the unfamiliar maze of halls and tunnels, and in the light of morning, Felbron could sense the need for urgency. Gusts of wind blew his beard up into his face. The sun was shining strangely in the east, lending an eerie glow to the land under the immense blanket of blue-grey clouds that were fast approaching from the opposite direction. From his vantage point, Felbron could see that the gas bags of the airship were being buffeted by the fitful bursts of wind and were being pulled awkwardly in either direction.

Felbron hurried down to the field where the Bij was moored. Alfred saw him approaching, and at his word, a crew of dwarves hopped over the side to loosen the mooring lines. Now only the ballast, and the dwarves of Rockhall, held the ship. Felbron scrambled aboard with haste. Helpful hands pulled him up the last few feet of the rope ladder.

“Man the pumps!” cried Alfred. Jets of water squirted out the sides, once again wetting the ground crew, who thought it great fun. A couple nervous minutes passed before the deck began to shift under their feet and the Bij lifted off. A gust of wind caught her and flung her sideways, catching the Rockhall dwarves unprepared. Most of them lost their footing and were dragged across the field.

“Let go all lines!” Alfred bellowed through the speaking trumpet. The airship was rising quickly and drifting backward over the field. The hippogriffs thundered out of their compartments and took their place in front of the ship as the dwarves on the ground gave out a final cheer. The Bij climbed vertically, neither gaining nor losing horizontal direction to the incessant wind. Felbron climbed up to the wheelhouse to join Alfred.

“It’s worse than I thought, Felbron,” Alfred muttered in a worried tone. “We’re making no progress whatsoever against this gale. We’ll have to run before the wind if we are to escape harm!”

Felbron looked at the darkening line of clouds that loomed before them, then to the sharp-spired mountains rising on either side. To the north lay the plains of the Hold of the Sea Princes. To the south stretched Jerlea Bay. If they were forced down, he would rather it happened at sea; after all, the Bij was still a ship below her gas bags. Felbron decided.

“Take her south by east, Alfred!” he directed, pulling his collar tight around his neck against the cool, wet wind that blasted

in their faces. “Let’s give this storm a run for its money!”

* * *

All day the Bij fled from the storm, but it could not escape its grip, and by midafternoon both teams of hippogriffs were exhausted. The ship drifted at the mercy of the wind, with only its steering rudder for control. Night fell, and they lost all track of their location. Felbron was glad he had chosen to flee out over the bay. If worst came to worst, at least they would not crash into the side of a mountain.

Just before dawn, they were overtaken by a rainsquall, and the pounding raindrops saturated the netting and drove them down toward the sea. An alert lookout spotted the waves beneath them and gave the alarm. More ballast was pumped out, and the Bij managed to climb back to relative safety.

Dawn broke accompanied by grey skies. The storm passed them to the south, and twelve dwarves breathed a sigh of relief at the end of their sleepless night. With the sun totally masked by clouds, and with their ship surrounded by ocean in all directions, they could not put out the hippogriffs, for they didn’t know which way to go.

The airship continued to drift until midmorning, when the sun slipped out from behind the scudding grey clouds. Alfred quickly took a sun sight and cursed.

“I’ll be the son of a morkoth! We’re clear out over the Azure Sea!” Alfred repeated his measurements, and Felbron did the same, confirming the grim findings.

The hippogriffs were put to work, and soon they were driving westward, trying to regain the continent they had lost overnight. Even so, it was several hours more before a lookout sighted land far below off the starboard bow. There was a hurried conference in the cabin as Alfred and Felbron pored over their charts.

“That could only be the east coast of Fairwind,” Alfred declared confidently. “The only other possibility is this peninsula jutting out from Ulek, but I don’t think we’re far enough north!” To this, Felbron agreed.

“So, we’ve been blown five hundred leagues to the east! It looks like we may be a little late returning to Goatsblood.” They both grinned through their beards, knowing that they were lucky to be alive.

The wind had backed around and was once again behind them, speeding them homeward. They were careful to stay well to the south of Fairwind, for the dwarves wanted nothing to do with the last stronghold of piracy in the Azure Sea.

Felbron was tired by his long, worrisome night and was more than ready to lie down and rest. He was leaning over the side, waiting for the last bit of Fairwind to disappear into the blue haze behind them. All of a sudden his attention was caught by the sight of a circling seabird. Unusual, he thought, peering at the bird more closely. There was something odd about that gull. Suddenly there was a little jolt inside his head, after which the strange bird began flying straight for the Bij.

As the bird came nearer, it took on a more reptilian appearance. Felbron stood up in alarm! It was a dragon! But then, before he could do more than be alarmed, the creature fluttered up beside him and landed on the rail. It stretched its little wings and preened its tail with its teeth before turning its gaze to Felbron. It was like looking into the depths of a pair of rubies.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” Felbron laughed. “If you aren’t the tiniest little dragon I ever did see!”

I am called Mmandoc, said a voice inside Felbron’s head, and he stopped laughing abruptly. You seem to be a good and kindly dwarf!

“Er—I like to think of myself as such!” answered the astonished dwarf.

I represent a powerful magic-user who was shipwrecked in last night’s storm, continued the tiny voice inside Felbron’s head. He humbly requests that you come to the rescue of him and his party, who are now adrift nearby.

Felbron’s jaw nearly dropped to the deck in disbelief. First a dragon, then a dragon that talked and represented a magic-user! Unusual, to say the least, but it was wise not to offend a magic-user, especially one represented by a talking dragon!

“Certainly, my little fellow! Just where are these friends of yours?” He turned to face the wheelhouse. “Alfred!” roared Felbron. “Prepare for a change in course!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Kaaluk awoke with a start as footsteps clattered up the stairway outside his door. The bright light of day poured in through the high window at the end of the room. How long had he slept? The alarm bell clanged noisily as he stumbled to the door, half asleep, and grabbed the arm of a passing soldier.

“What in thunder’s going on?” he demanded.

“We’re under attack!” came the anxious reply as the man broke free and continued on up the spiral staircase. Kaaluk paused a moment to digest the information, then hurried up the stairs after him.

He arrived on the tower catwalk and returned the salute of the sergeant. “They’re out there, sir!” whispered the man, pointing out beyond the stockade.

Kaaluk rested his arms on the ledge in dismay. He wasn’t ready for what he saw. Arrayed across the gentle hills on either side of the road was an army of several thousand green-clad horsemen, sitting astride their mounts. Shifting his gaze slightly, he saw a body of footmen armed with pikes marching in columns up the road. At their head trotted a group of important-looking men mounted on black horses. One of the men carried a white flag on the tip of his lance. The riders continued past the footmen, past the armed horsemen, and rode up to the very gates of Northmark.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Kaaluk called down from the tower.

“In the name of King Kranoch of Sterich, Jotuns, the Good Hills, and the Yeomanry, you are hereby ordered to surrender this town!” replied the horseman as he adjusted the scroll from which he read. “If you lay down your arms, you will avoid useless bloodshed, and your lives will be spared by your beneficent king!”

“King of the Yeomanry? That’s a laugh!” replied Kaaluk. He was joined in rather hollow laughter by several of the men at his side.

The horseman stuffed the scroll into his saddle, eyed the sun, and then looked up at Kaaluk. “You have one hour to decide!” He spurred his horse, and the group galloped away with a clatter of hooves, back through the footmen on the far side of the bridge, who opened their ranks to let the riders pass through and then closed once again in a solid flank.

Kaaluk, Freecaptain of Northmark, left the catwalk and hurried back into the tower and down the spiral staircase. There was no time to lose. Why hadn’t he been awakened sooner? Messengers must be sent to warn the queen, the guard must be armed, the people told!

He burst out through the door into the street. Some of the populace were running about in terror, dashing this way and that in hopeless confusion. Others were bundling their belongings onto wagons or horses, getting ready to flee the town. Kaaluk ran down the center of the street, heading for the south gate. Halfway there, he met a small group of soldiers led by the other freecaptain and second-in-command, Hadek.

“Hadek, thank the gods! Have they surrounded us yet?” Kaaluk asked breathlessly.

“No, I think not! But we have secured the south gate, and all walls are manned and ready.”

Kaaluk cursed and shook his fist. Hadek spoke hesitantly. “I— took the liberty of sending two mounted patrols south, to ride as fast as they could and spread the alarm.”

“Good!” Kaaluk’s frown turned into a smile of relief as he slapped Hadek on the shoulder. “Now let’s go meet with hizzoner, the mayor.”

They pushed their way past the panic-stricken citizens who filled the streets, and shortly they came to the town meetinghouse. It was locked. Kaaluk kicked the door open, and the soldiers stormed in. The mayor was at his desk at the far end of the room, stuffing valuables into a small chest.

“No use packing, Markoff,” Kaaluk snapped angrily. “The gates are shut and we’re surrounded!”

The fat man stood up abruptly, dropping a handful of coins on the floor. His purple silk robe had been donned in a hurry and had been buttoned in a lopsided manner, giving him a comical appearance.

“Oh, this is dreadful!” whimpered Mayor Markoff, his plump hands fidgeting nervously. He pulled at his sparse grey hair until it stood up around his head like a frazzled halo. “Who are those men? Why are they here, and what are you going to do about them? Why are you here? I order you to go tell them to leave at once!”

Kaaluk threw himself down into a chair. “Forget it. We can’t tell them anything, in case you didn’t notice. It’s that old troublemaker Kranoch, and he’s brought his entire army with him. It appears that he wants to be king of the Yeomanry!”

“The freecaptains will never stand for this!” interrupted Hadek angrily. “And Kathryn will pin his ears back for him!”

“You—you mustn’t let them touch the town!” whined the mayor. “It’s your job to protect us!”

“We have two hundred soldiers,” Kaaluk said flatly. “They have about ten thousand that I could see, and probably that many more on the way. It’s all very well to command me to do the impossible, but neither Kathryn nor the other freecaptains nor their troops are here. What do you suggest I do to turn them back?”

The mayor’s plump face turned white, and he collapsed into his leather chair with a resounding shriek. “We’re doomed!”

“We’ve been given an hour to lay down our arms and surrender,” continued Kaaluk, ignoring the mayor’s outburst. “The emissary said our lives would be spared. The question is, do we trust them?”

“We must save the town at all cost!” cried the mayor as he leaned forward anxiously, wiping his brow with a purple handkerchief.

“I’ve heard that Kranoch is a man of his word,” ventured one of the soldiers. No one else spoke, and the room fell silent. Then a woman’s scream rose above the din from the street.

The sudden noise seemed to trigger something in Kaaluk, and after a moment of further contemplation, he had made his decision.

“Well, then, it looks like we surrender!” he said in a sad tone. “But we must hold out until the last minute to give our patrols time to get away!” To this, the others agreed.

The loyal soldiers were called down from the walls, and in a sad ceremony, they laid their weapons in a pile near the north gate. Then the men lined up in two solemn ranks on either side of the main street. The mayor came out reluctantly and stood on the balcony above the meetinghouse to greet the conquering army. When the hour had passed, Kaaluk gave the signal. The

gate quietly swung open.

* * *

The line of soldiers poured triumphantly through the north gate of Northmark, disappointed that they were not going to be allowed to stop and loot the town. A few brave citizens watched the parade fearfully from behind closed doors and shuttered windows, wondering what was to become of them.

Kranoch arrived early in the afternoon in his gilded coach. As he climbed out the door, his soldiers greeted him with a loud cheer. He waved, smiling, as an aide escorted him into the town meetinghouse to see the mayor, who sat cringing in his leather chair. The aide announced the king, grandly proclaiming his many titles.

“It—it is too kind of Your Majesty to grace me, O mighty king, with your presence,” the mayor stammered nervously.

“You are fortunate,” Kranoch said flatly, stamping his long staff on the floor. “Not only has your town been spared, but it also has the honor of becoming the newest addition to my kingdom.”

“Oh, yes! Oh, thank you, Your Majesty!”

“My man will be along presently to collect the tribute,” added the king. The mayor’s eyes opened wide, and his heart sank inside his rotund body. “If you serve me well,” said Kranoch, “I may permit you to retain your meaningless position!”

The mayor’s pudgy hands were fumbling near his lips, and he bowed repeatedly to the blind king. “Oh, thank you, thank you, O great and wise king. You will not regret this decision. I will serve you loyally.”

But the king had left the room long before the mayor had finished debasing himself.

General Donovic came down the street and joined Kranoch outside the meetinghouse. “The advance guard is at least four leagues down the road by now. They will prepare the encampment at the ford as recommended by your spies, Your Majesty. If we continue at this rate, we shall reach Hieraxion by tomorrow evening!” The easy victory had emboldened the usually cautious general.

“Good news indeed,” said the king. “And what has become of the soldiers of this town? I assume they have joined my noble cause.”

Donovic shifted nervously, unwilling to give his king information that he knew would not be pleasing. “Well, no . . . not yet, Your Majesty. But we have them under guard in the tower!”

“Alamkamala will convince them of the wisdom of following the true path!” whispered the king, almost under his breath. “Come, Donovic, let us leave this wretched place and ride on! Join me in my carriage for a time so that we may discuss strategy!”

Mayor Markoff peered cautiously out the door of the meetinghouse and sighed with relief as he watched the king climb into his carriage and ride away. He hurried over to his desk and removed a chest that had been concealed in its shadows. He slid the carpet aside, then pulled open a secret door, placing the chest within. Then Mayor Markoff shut the door with a satisfied smile and slid the carpet back in place.

“Now, where am I ever going to collect the tribute for the king!” he wondered aloud. He scrabbled around till he found a long quill pen and stroked the feather for a moment, then dipped it in the ink bottle and began scribbling a list on a piece of parchment. When he had finished, the mayor walked to the back door and called out to his servant, who had hidden under a bush all day.

“Lucius! I know you’re out there! Come back inside. It’s safe now, and there’s work to be done!”

The bushes rustled and a short, thin balding man, dressed in a tunic and sandals covered with dust, emerged.

“Oh, for goodness sake, clean yourself up,” babbled the mayor, “and then run to the men on this list and tell them to meet me here at once!” The servant started to go inside. “And another thing—tell them all to bring five hundred gold koruns with them!”

“Five hundred, your worship?” gasped his servant.

“Yes, yes, and if they complain, tell them they’re lucky it’s not more. Now, hurry along and get cleaned up before I get angry and turn you over to the army!” The servant needed no further inducement, and with a squeak of terror he hurried off to do his master’s bidding.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Your dragon’s been gone a rather long time,” Hectodd commented. “Do you really think he’ll come back?” he asked, thinking of the meal that might have been inside the barrel instead of the little red pseudodragon that had flown away. It probably would have objected to being eaten, anyway.

“O, ye of little faith,” I chided my companions, which Pfee-Guh responded to with a broad yawn as he crawled into Hectodd’s coat pocket and promptly fell sound asleep.

We drifted on, floating above the waves in silence, and I stared out across the glittering blue sea, praying for land to appear on the horizon. At length, Hectodd noticed the worried look in my eyes and spoke.

“The wind isn’t blowing in the right direction, Askar,” he said, wetting his finger and holding it up to the wind. “I wish you had a spell to change the direction of the wind. I’ll bet there’s land over the horizon to the north. We just can’t see it from here!”

But the halfling’s words did nothing to cheer me, and I held my silence, saving my energy for keeping us aloft, for I was tired and did not know how much longer I would be able to concentrate on the spell. Time passed, and my eyelids grew heavy, closing of their own accord and bringing me close to slumber. Suddenly the barrel dropped with a jerk, sending us plunging down toward the water. I gritted my teeth and fought for control, fought to regain altitude, and finally the barrel recovered its stability while we were still a safe distance above the storm-tossed waters.

Hectodd was greatly worried, but he was careful not to voice his concerns. What if the barrel was no longer waterproof? The very thought made him shudder, although not as much as Pfee-Guh, who was entertaining similar thoughts.

Consumed by their own fears, none of the barrel’s passengers noticed the black spot descending toward them out of the sun. It grew larger and larger, until finally its shadow fell across the barrel.

“Hey! What’s this?” the halfling wondered aloud, and looking up, he was shocked to see the enormous bulk of the Bij looming above him.

“May the gods preserve us!” Hectodd cried as he frantically pointed up into the heavens.

I leaned back to see what it was that was causing Hectodd to gibber so and nearly fell off the barrel as I saw the amazing sight. It was—it was a ship! A ship floating down out of the sky! Pfee-Guh came scrambling up out of Hectodd’s pocket, squeaking and clicking frantically.

“Holy carabonzas! What in the name of Hades is that thing?”

I was wondering the same thing myself, but I wouldn’t have

thought to phrase it in those exact words.

* * *

Alfred called in the hippogriffs, and the Bij slowed until it was drifting along with the wind. He had to be careful, however, since the ship had a much larger surface exposed to the wind than his tiny target. The Bij was overtaking the barrel rapidly, and he valved off some lifting gas, making last-minute corrections to their course. Felbron jumped down from the wheelhouse, ran across the deck, and leaned over the side.

“Good morning . . . er . . . all!” He was about to say “gentlemen” when he noticed that one of the party was a halfling and another seemed to be a rat! Addressing the human, who looked strangely familiar, he said, “Your Mmandoc informed me that you were in need of rescue!” The strange sight before him included a floating barrel with clothes hanging down from it, two people, both badly sunburned, one of whom wore a thick iron collar around his throat, and a rat, all tied to the barrel by bits of rope.

“Although, from the looks of things, you seem to have yourselves an exemplary little craft. What do you have in that barrel?”

“Felbron! Is that you?” I cried, weak with relief and overjoyed at meeting the dwarf again, especially under the present circumstances.

“What—who—Askar?” the dwarf said hesitantly, peering closer. “Askar!” he cried, recognizing me at last. How could I have blamed him for not doing so immediately, for much had happened to alter my appearance since last we met.

The deck of the amazing ship was now almost level with the barrel. The dwarf reached out and seized my hand, pulling us aboard. Everything floated in place for a moment, then I let go of the spell, and barrel, rat, halfling, and myself tumbled to the deck with a thump.

“Thank the gods! You arrived in the nick of time!” I said to Felbron. “I couldn’t have kept us aloft much longer!”

A sudden commotion interrupted my words, and I gazed in astonishment as a team of hippogriffs were released from the forward deck. The ship swung about and moved forward at a steady speed. Doing my best to conceal my amazement, I allowed Felbron to show us the ship. He, in turn, asked us many questions of his own and demanded to know how we came to be riding a barrel above the Azure Sea.

I chose not to answer the deluge of questions, saving them for a quieter time, and instead answered his first question. “There was nothing in the barrel. I was merely using levitation to keep us dry!”

“Ah, yes,” Felbron said knowledgeably. “I experimented with levitation at one time, but it proved too temporal and required a great number of magic-users in the crew, none of whom got along with the others. I find the lifting gas in these bags has a more lasting effect. But forgive me, I babble on. You must be tired and hungry. Please permit me to offer you food and drink. I am intensely proud of my craft and will speak of it forever if given the chance. First we must tend to your needs!”

The dwarfs words met with no objections, and it was with gratitude that we accepted his offer. We were shown to Felbron’s own quarters and there consumed great quantities of food and drink, which the dwarf supplied gladly. “I told you, Felbron never forgets,” he said, placing a forefinger aside his nose and winking broadly.

The table was mounded with slabs of cold roast goat, baskets of fruit, wheels of cheese, rounds of fresh-baked bread, tankards of ale, a demijohn of wine, and a pitcher of water. Truly it was a feast for our empty bellies, and we fell upon the table like starved men. Only when we could eat and drink no more did I take time to introduce my companions to the dwarf. Hectodd bowed deeply, and Pfee-Guh said, “Pleased to meetcha, I’m sure!” ending with a loud belch, which earned him a long laugh.

When he finally gained control of his laughter, Felbron ran his fingers through his beard pensively. “Hectodd, eh? I know that name from somewhere . . . a lot of Hectodds in the Yeomanry. I’m from there myself. Grew up in Granite Face, you know, down by the Tors.”

“I’ve been there!” Hectodd answered cheerfully, “I went there once with my uncle Osgood!”

“Osgood!” Felbron snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Osgood Trymond, the trader! He’s your uncle?”

The halfling nodded happily.

“This is indeed a small world. Your uncle is an old acquaintance of mine! Why, ‘twas he who helped me earn my fortune all those years ago after the Tam-Lian wars. Helped finance this ship, he did!” Felbron slapped the table with his hand. “Osgood Trymond . . . I’ve been meaning to go visit him on business.”

Mmandoc was sitting quietly on my shoulder throughout this conversation, his tail coiled around my neck, accepting tidbits from my fingers and doing something that sounded a good deal like a cat purring. It was a comforting sound, and I ran my fingers up and down his spine, which seemed to intensify the pleasant sound. I spoke to him silently, giving him my heartfelt thanks for finding us rescue. Without his help, I am quite certain we would have died.

“You must accept my apologies for not serving you hot food,” said Felbron, “but the floating gas has a nasty tendency to explode when exposed to heat. Therefore, we allow no fires on board.” The dwarf put his tankard to his lips and drank lustily.

“I assure you that my companions and I do not care a whit whether the food is hot or cold. Nothing has ever tasted better,” I said. Hectodd and Pfee-Guh added their voices in agreement. And it was so, for we had eaten naught but peas and oats and biscuits for the last week, and nothing at all for the last two days, not even cold. The meal was a gift from the gods. Adding emphasis to my words, Pfee-Guh continued to eat, munching his way into a loaf of bread until nothing could be seen of him but his black tail snaking out across the table.

I offered the dragon another bit of fruit, which he declined. It will take my body time to recover from the time spent in stasis, he explained. Although I did not understand completely, I abided by his decision.

Finally Felbron pushed his chair from the table. “It has been a long night for all of us. The storm made for a difficult time, even on as large a vessel as our ship. I can only guess how you fared on the barrel. Harold will show you to your sleeping quarters, but first let us discuss where it is you wish to go.”

“If the truth be known,” said Hectodd, “we were not going anywhere.”

“Except into slavery!” I added.

Felbron raised his eyebrows.

“We were all prisoners of that pirate, the Commodore of Fairwind!” I explained. “It was his ship, The Star of Fairwind, that went down last night! Pfee-Guh seems to think the Commodore went down with his ship.”

“Well,” Felbron said with a smile, “that’s a bit of good news. He’ll not be missed, I’ll warrant.”

“As for our destination—” the halfling thought for a moment—”I know not of the plans of my companions, but I suppose I should return to my Uncle Osgood in Oriflame, to bring

him the bad news of the loss of my ship and cargo to the pirates.”

I frowned, trying to think of where it was I wanted to go. Home, if the truth be known, for I had lost my interest in adventure and marriage. But such a thing was impossible, for there were the matters of the iron collar and Maria Griswalda to be settled before I could get on with my life. Felbron had been polite enough not to mention the collar, although I saw his eyes return to it time and again, wondering.

Although the story had not been told before, it seemed as though the moment was right, and so I outlined the tale of the missing gem and how I had come by my neckpiece.

There was silence at the table as my companions pondered the odd tale.

“The Eye of Tiros!” murmured Felbron. “The stone that helped Kathryn win the war is a powerful amulet. No wonder she is so concerned. Well, lad, I’d say that puts you in a heap of trouble. I know a little about these things, and I wouldn’t suggest that you try to leave the area. The captain was right, that neckerchief 11 choke you deader than a mackerel.”

“But what can I do?” I said, almost in tears. “I know nothing about this gemstone, I swear it on my mother’s honor! And if they cannot find it, how can I?”

“You must try,” said Felbron solemnly, “for trying is half the thing where a deed such as this is concerned.”

“Then I must go to the Yeomanry,” I said, “and hope for the best.”

“Count me in!” said Pfee-Guh from inside his breadloaf.

“Me, too!” said the halfling, his eyes bright with excitement. “I can’t let you go alone with nobody but a rat to keep you out of mischief. Count me in, too!”

“Well, then,” said Felbron, his mouth gaping wide in an extended yawn, “I think I have a plan that will suit all of us. The ship was blown far off its course by the storm. As providence would have it, our paths have joined. It might do me great financial good to meet with your uncle again, Hectodd.” He glanced out the porthole. “If this wind holds fair, we ought to be able to make Oriflame on the Javan by early tomorrow morning. That will place us clearly inside the Yeomanry, and we can discuss further plans at that time.” So saying, he stood up and yawned once more.

“Now, let’s find you all a place to sleep. I could use a bit of a nap myself!”

* * *

The airship altered course slightly and pointed its prow to the north. As the group of weary shipwreck victims and half of the crew, including Felbron, slept, the Bij passed quietly over the island of Flotsom. By midafternoon, she was south of the Monmurg Peninsula, with the great walled seaport at its tip.

As the ship crossed over the coast of Oerik, a very tired Alfred and the few dwarves remaining on duty were relieved by Felbron and the others who had slept. The sun sank slowly behind the plains to the west, and Felbron was able to make out the lights of Westkeep as, far below him, the city settled down for the night. The glow of twilight reflected off the surface of the Javan River beyond Westkeep, as that body of water sluggishly wound its way through Hoolmarsh.

Felbron called in all but one pair of hippogriffs, for he was in no particular hurry. The Bij was not far from its destination, and a landing could not be attempted until daylight in any event. Better to cruise through the night at low speed over the marshes. If his navigation was correct, dawn would find them above the eastern reaches of the Little Hills, directly over the town of Oriflame by the River Javan. And then, in the light of day, with all feet firmly on the ground, he and his passengers would decide their course of action. He, too, was now committed to helping thr-young Wolf Nomad, for a dwarf was only as good as his word, and as he had said after Askar saved his life, Felbron always repaid his debts.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Bubastio stretched his wings wide, touching the walls on either side as he and his companion blocked the exit to the dark cave. He was risking a lot—his very life, in fact—but after long thought, he had decided to stand up and say what he felt, no matter what the consequences.

Buelath glared at the two dragons who had dared to defy him with a look that should have brought them to their knees. “What’s the meaning of this? Explain yourselves!” he demanded in a voice that trembled with barely suppressed rage.

Far from being intimidated, Bubastio reared back on his haunches “and crossed his forelegs defiantly in front of his own massive chest.

“We refuse to fly tonight!” he said, bracing himself for the fury that was sure to follow as his compatriot in defiance edged slightly behind him, seeking shelter from the direct line of Buelath’s anger.

“You—you refuser’ sputtered the old dragon, unable to formulate his outrage in words as he paced back and forth. Never once did he take his eyes off Bubastio.

“Young dragons do not ‘refuse’ the commands of their elders!” declared Buelath as a green puff of chlorine gas shot from his nostrils, a harbinger of the deadly flames that were sure to come.

“Hear me, old one!” Bubastio said quickly, hoping to have his words heard before the old dragon worked himself into a murderous rage. “You called us together a month ago, and we have not had a moment’s rest since. We spend our nights seeking out the worst of places, gathering the foulest of creatures!” He swallowed, remembering some of the dank, horrid places they had visited, then summoned up the courage to continue. “I, too, feel the anger and the pain over the loss of the Eye.”

Buelath raised his wings, flared his nostrils, and bared his long fangs in a snarl at the mention of the gem. “Then you know why we must do this! We have no choice but to—”

The young dragon interrupted. “I know that we have turned against all of our teachings, away from the path of the pure and good! Now we are allied with evil, and you have given what little remains of our fortune to Gorlyn.”

“Gorlyn is still dragonkind! And you forget, young one, that the fortune was mine to give!” snapped Buelath. “Only those of dragon blood can understand our dilemma!”

“But—”

“You are young and do not as yet have the wisdom that comes with age, the wisdom that comes from the Eye! The gem holds our dream, the minds and experiences of all dragons who have gone before us. It is above and beyond value. It is priceless! There are no rules. There is no good or evil in this matter. We must do everything in our power to regain the Eye, no matter what means it takes. The Eye is all that matters.

“It is possible that you are too young to feel it, but I can see the difference. In the two short years we have been without the Eye, we have all changed, and the change is for the worse.”

The old dragon’s head drooped in sadness, and the rage faded from his eyes. “The fault is all mine, for I slept too long. I should have taken this action sooner, and now I fear that it is too late.”

As the old dragon’s fury melted away, revealing him in all his careworn years, he accomplished what his fury could not. Now Bubastio folded his wings, dropped down on all fours, and lowered his head in abject apology. The other dragon followed. The sun had recently set, and both moons were lying low on the horizon to the east. The air was fresh and cool, and fog blanketed the mountain valley below.

“I will forget what you have said, Bubastio,” Buelath said quietly. “You are not to be blamed, for these are trying times for all of us.” He turned his tired eyes on the rest of his clan, for he sensed that more than a few of them shared Bubastio’s opinion. “Now I must return to Hoolmarsh. I would like for you to go with me,” he said, indicating Bubastio and his companion. “The rest of you are to search Dreadwood for that which we must have! Do not fail me, for if you fail me, you fail us all!”

One by one the dragons departed, and the only sounds on that lonely mountain were the wind in the trees and the mighty beating of dragons’ wings. One by one the ghostly forms flew off, highlighted by the light of the two moons.

* * *

The Bij was cruising at a gentle pace, pulled by a small team of two hippogriffs, closely following the course of the Javan River. Once the moons came out, the river became a ribbon of silver twining amid the mist-covered marshes below. Yawning widely, Alfred came on deck to relieve Felbron.

“Magnificent night!” Alfred said as he gazed about him, taking special note of the river below.

“Quite so,” agreed Felbron. Leaning on the rails, watching the landscape drift past, he mused aloud, “Tonight’s the second night of the Blossom Festival in the Yeomanry.”

“Foolish elven custom!” sneered Alfred until he saw the look in Felbron’s eyes, “Still, I suppose we could break out a few bottles of flower wine. It’s altogether too quiet up here.”

“That stuff always gives me a pain in the head,” Felbron said as he fondly recalled previous Blossom Festivals that he had celebrated in Granite Face. Drunken dwarves swam all night in pools of ale, till they had to be pulled out to dry. “A bit of ale

would be welcome right now, though.”

* * *

I awakened in the dark with a start, my heart pounding, unable to remember where I was. Then it all came back to me in a rush. The airship, the amazing dwarven airship! Slowly my eyes adjusted to the soft moonlight that filtered into the tiny cabin. I felt the crisp softness of clean bedclothes beneath me and recalled my companions’ pledges to join in the search for the magic gem. Gladness filled my heart, and I allowed myself to enjoy the comfort of my surroundings. Life on Oerth had just improved a hundredfold.

“Are you awake?” whispered a voice in the dark.

I sat up and looked around and saw the halfling sitting up on his bunk, looking out the porthole. “Nice night, isn’t it?” I commented.

“I was just thinking,” the halfling said quietly, “about the Blossom Festival. Uncle Osgood is probably drunk as a skunk by now!”

“What’s the Blossom Festival?” I asked as I stood up and slipped into the new set of shoes and clothing the dwarves had provided, grateful for the clean, crisp feel of them, even though everything was at least a size too small.

“ ‘What’s The Blossom Festival?’ Are you serious? It’s only the biggest, most important celebration of the entire year, and it’s happening right now, in the spring, when both moons are full. Everybody acts really stupid and gets drunk for six days!”

“We don’t need any excuse to get drunk and act stupid where I come from,” I replied matter-of-factly.

“So I’ve heard,” Hectodd said with a grin, but before I could react, he added, “What do you say we go up on deck and have a drink to the moons!”

“That sounds fine to me,” I said as I finished pulling on the dwarven pants. Owing to the difference in size, they were a little short, but the material was soft, and best of all, there was no scratchy sea salt in them. I groped around on the little bedside table to find my knife and the pile of gold coins that I wished I had never come by.

“Don’t forget me!” cried Pfee-Guh as he hopped on the half-ling’s shoulder from the foot of the bed, refreshed by food and rest.

Opening our chamber, we found ourselves standing in the long, narrow passage that ran through the center of the ship and contained the rank scent of hippogriffs. We retraced the short journey we had made earlier and found our way to the main cabin, where we found Felbron tapping a keg of ale.

“Good evening, friends ... or rather, good morning, for it is very nearly dawn! Come join me in a glass in honor of the Blossom Festival.”

“Our very thoughts!” Hectodd answered cheerfully.

““You must see the view outside. Come, join me at the rail!” Felbron topped off his tankard and opened the door, beckoning Hectodd and me to join him. Each of us grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and followed.

“Don’t worry about me,” Pfee-Guh said sarcastically, “I’ll just drink some of yours.”

Mmandoc appeared out of nowhere and landed on the rail in front of us. The spectacular view held us in silent thrall, for mere words were not adequate to express the beauty of the scene below us. The marshes were still shrouded in mist, and the Javan looked like a black snake on white silk. The sky was clear and already paling toward dawn, but the light of the twin moons was so bright that most of the stars were obscured.

And then I could sense that Mmandoc froze. His body became as still as a statue, his eyes glued to something unseen in the night sky, and alarm radiated from every fiber of his being.

“What is it?” I whispered.

There’s danger out there! came the tiny voice inside my head, and the hairs on the back of my neck bristled with the warning.

“Investigate,” I whispered. “But do not place yourself at risk. Be careful, little one.”

“Be careful? Careful of what?” Felbron said quizzically, as the tiny pseudodragon flitted off into the pale dawn.

“Mmandoc says there is something dangerous out there,” I said, nodding in the direction the pseudodragon had taken. “I don’t suppose the ship is armed.”

“Armed?” exclaimed Felbron, stroking his beard with agitation. “We carry a powerful anti-magic charm, and my men are good with crossbows.” The first signs of uncertainty crept into the dwarfs voice. “Should I alert the crew?”

I did not reply for a moment, for Mmandoc had begun his report, although he was nowhere in sight. Dragons! shouted the tiny voice. Angry dragons, and they’re headed this way!

I was quick to relay the message, and Felbron acted before the words were out of my mouth. “Alfred!” he bellowed. “Raise the crew! Break out the crossbows! Dragons, headed this way!”

The ship’s bell rang out loud and clear in the half-light, and a moment later, dwarven feet were thumping about belowdecks. Pfee-Guh wasted no time in scurrying down into Hectodd’s pocket.

* * *

Bubastio was the first to spot the thing and called it to the attention of Buelath, who was still preoccupied with thoughts of the earlier confrontation. The old dragon turned, almost without thinking, and set a course toward the “thing” that had dared to invade their airspace. Not content to rob them of their birthright and steal what little they had left on the ground, now there were dwarves invading the skies as well! It was not to be countenanced!

The creatures on the thing made a feeble attempt to defend themselves, firing arrows and a couple of low-level magic spells at the dragons. Bubastio took a painful magic bolt in his left wing but was able to continue normal flight. Another magic dart struck Buelath in his sore wing but did little harm aside from raising the level of his anger.

The dragons closed in on the strange object, attacking with their claws, sweeping in, in two groups of three. The strange flotation sacks were ripped open or torn free, and the frail wooden ship was clawed into splinters.

One pass was all that was needed to reduce the thing to rubble. Satisfied that they had destroyed the dwarven craft, Buelath led the dragons off into the night to continue their business in the swamps and forests, where still more dreadful creatures needed

to be gathered for delivery to the cities of the Yeomanry.

* * *

As the dragons closed in on the Bij, the hippogriffs, who were already dangerously skittish, panicked completely and pulled the ship broadside to the attack, and then they broke free, fleeing for their lives. The others, those still confined in their stalls, screamed and shrieked, plunging about with flailing hooves until they broke through the sides of their stalls, beat down the doors, and escaped into the dark skies.

The attack came so quickly that there was little time for those of us aboard the Bij to react. The dwarves on the port side loosed their crossbows at the dragons who swept over the Bij with no apparent effect. The dragons ripped the netting that held the gas bags in place to shreds. Pfee-Guh flung his magic dart into the wing of one of the dragons, and it shrieked with pain and rage. Desperately reading my book by the light of the dragon’s flaming breath, I managed to cast a magic missile that struck the second dragon.

But all of our efforts were for naught. It was all a matter of far too little, far too late. The hull was ripped apart, and the miraculous dwarven flying ship was no more. Felbron and I watched in horror as two dwarves fell screaming into the darkness below. Yet just as I prepared myself for a similar fate, I became aware of the fact that the deck under my feet appeared to be quite stable. A quick glance told me that the ship had broken into several separate sections. One large chunk of hull was tumbling rapidly oerthward; other portions that I could see were descending at various rates of speed, but not falling, suspended by bags leaking their precious lifting gases.

By some miracle, the portion of deck to which Felbron, Hectodd, Pfee-Guh, and I were clinging had survived, along with a single intact gasbag, from which we dangled at a precarious slant, tilting wildly to one side and then another with our every move. Finally, all of a sudden, there was a horrible explosion and a blinding fireflash.

It was all over. Finished. The five of us clung desperately to our tiny bit of refuge, scarcely able to comprehend what had happened. My eyes adjusted slowly after the brilliant ball of flame dissipated, and as my vision returned I found Hectodd was staring at me blankly, with terror-filled eyes.

“Hectodd, are you all right?”

“Y-Yes, I guess so.”

“Pfee-Guh?”

“Up here!” said the rat, who had climbed to safety in the netting above.

I myself was seated on the deck with my back wedged into a corner of the railing, while Mmandoc perched on my shoulder, gripping it tightly with his tiny claws.

Felbron emerged from his state of shock enough to note that he was tangled in a heavy cluster of ropes and could barely move. Only then did he fully comprehend what had occurred, and he buried his head in his hands and began to sob.

“My airship!” he cried. “Is this all there is? What about Alfred and the others?”

“The ship broke into several large pieces,” I said gently. “Many of them were still supported by bags of lifting gas. Don’t despair. There’s a good possibility that others may still be alive!”

Without speaking, I directed Mmandoc to seek out the other sections of the Bij and see if any of the others had indeed survived. The pseudodragon needed no urging and leaped out into the predawn gloom and disappeared.

The ship bobbled as Hectodd slipped and fell from his niche, catching himself at the very last moment, his leg dangling over the edge of the shattered planks into nothingness. Felbron flung himself at the halfling before I could move and pulled him back to safety. When the halfling was safely aboard, Felbron set about securing their positions.

We spent the next few minutes rearranging, knotting, and splicing lines in an effort to establish a rope perimeter that would safely hold us. This activity did much to restore Felbron, who threw himself into the task. He broke off several splintered boards and sent them falling to oerth, then rigged a pulley that very nearly brought our small section of deck to an even keel.

Then, in the midst of this activity, the tiny voice spoke out inside my head, and I called for silence. All eyes turned to me. “Good! He’s found another part of the ship. It’s falling slowly. There are some dwarves aboard! Harold . . . Ulrich . . . Scripps . . . Alfred! Alfred says he thinks they will land in the river. That’s all.”

“I assume Mmandoc has told them that we are alive,” Felbron said sadly. “Please have him tell Alfred to meet me back in Goatsblood!”

This I did.

Felbron shook his head. “Only five of us left. . out of a crew of ten!”

“I should think that a fortunate occurrence all the same,” said Pfee-Guh, serious for once, “considering what happened!” To this there was no reply.

We continued on with our makeshift repairs. It was a strange-looking craft that drifted across the moonlit sky, and an even stranger contingent of survivors, huddled together, wondering what the morning would bring.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

It was a horrible, sleepless night for Kathryn and Fea-Glenna as the reports came in, one after the other, from all parts of the city. Hideous beasts with the power to kill were loose in the sewers of Loftwick!

“There is one factor that seems to be in our favor,” said Kathryn after the last of the search parties had been accounted for.

Fea dropped her pen and stared across the table at her queen through red-rimmed, sleepless eyes. “And that is? . . .”

“All of these deaths have taken place in the sewers themselves, not on the crowded city streets. Not a single civilian has perished, so far as we know!”

“But what if these things decide to come up out of the sewers?”

“We mustn’t panic the people, and we dare not stop the festival,” replied Kathryn. “Perhaps we can find a way to contain the beasts.”

“What if we restrict today’s activities to the old southeast corner?” suggested Fea as she rubbed her tired eyes with trembling fingers. “The southeast corner of the city is high ground and has no underground sewers. It will buy us time to deal with the monsters.”

“A perfect solution!” exclaimed the queen. “The races can be gathered here, and that will allow us to post guards around the entrances to the sewer in the rest of the city without attracting undue attention.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll organize an expedition to eradicate the beasts,” Fea said, all the while wondering what the monsters were and how they had come to be there.

The queen smiled. “The merchants of the south end will thank their lucky stars for the business you’re sending their way.”

“Let’s hope that our lucky stars are watching over us!” Fea said grimly. “We have a difficult task to accomplish.”

“You must succeed, Fea-Glenna,” said Kathryn, covering Fea’s hand with her own. “You are my own right hand. I’d be lost without you.”

Fea-Glenna blushed, squeezed Kathryn’s hand to reassure her, and then began calling in the freecaptains. The remainder of the guard was roused, sworn to secrecy, and sent out to stand guard over the sewer openings. Handbills were posted, rerouting the running of the loffon beasts to the southeast end of the city, for reasons of “economic fairness.”

When all of the arrangements were made, Fea conferred one last time with Kathryn.

“If there are heroes among us, now is the time for them to come forward,” Kathryn declared.

“I’ll closet myself with my spellbook and see if there is anything in it that might help,” Fea-Glenna said. She stood up shakily. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to use it, Fea. I hope I haven’t lost my touch.” Briefly she rested her hand on her cousin’s shoulder before making her way out of the room.

* * *

The first rays of sunlight found their way into my eyes, and I awakened to find myself sandwiched between a sleeping dwarf and a snoring halfling. Mmandoc was, as usual, perched on my shoulder, and Pfee-Guh, snoring as well, was curled up on my other shoulder. The iron collar seemed a trifle tighter, and I began to worry that we had drifted out of the Yeomanry while we slept. I tried to wedge a finger beneath it and found it impossible, whereupon I fell into a panic, already imagining the collar growing tighter and tighter by the minute.

“Hey! Hey, what’s going on here? Earthquake!” shouted Pfee-Guh as he stepped on my face and raced up the rigging, squealing loudly all the while. His cries awakened the others, who scrambled to their feet in a sleepy daze, wondering what new disaster had befallen us.

“Stop! Calm down. There’s no earthquake!” I yelled, yanking Pfee-Guh’s tail and pulling him down from the rigging. “It’s just this damned collar. I think it’s getting tighter. Are we still inside the borders of the Yeomanry?”

Felbron shook himself awake, accompanied by a number of snorts and sneezes before he peered over the side rail, snorting. The sky was clear, and there was a gentle breeze pushing them along. “Yup! Still in the Yeomanry,” he said thickly. “Collar’s not tighter. Neck’s just bigger.” And feeling the swollen flesh above and below the ring of iron, I knew that somehow I had to get that collar off!

Mmandoc spoke inside my head even as he nuzzled my ear, perhaps wishing to take my mind off my problem. The dragons flew by while you slept, seven leagues to the north.

“I was hoping that it was all a nightmare,” Felbron said glumly as he slumped against the rail. “But it’s true, and even worse than I thought.” Felbron hung over the edge and examined the terrain below. “Looks like we overshot our destination. It may be a while before we visit Osgood Trymond.”

Hectodd crawled to his side and peered over as well. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Well, can’t say for certain,” said the dwarf, his fingers twisting in his beard, a sure sign that he was deep in thought. “There’s no big rivers, just lots of plains and farmland and some hills coming up in the west. We must be halfway across the Yeomanry!”

The details meant little to me, but as long as we had not left the borders of the monarchy, I was much relieved.

“This air travel is amazing!” said Hectodd. “Yesterday we were in the Azure Sea, and today we’re in the middle of the kingdom!”

Felbron glanced up at the gas bag. “It would be even better if we had it under control. We’d better start looking for a safe place to land this balloon before it picks its own place.”

This suggestion met with everyone’s approval, since none of us were anxious to find ourselves dunked in a river or stuck on top of a mountain peak. The spires of a large city were visible in the morning mist off to the west, and Mmandoc was dispatched to investigate. Felbron located the rope that would release the lifting gas so that we might control our landing, and the rest of us were put to gathering things to throw overboard should it become necessary to lighten our load.

By the time Mmandoc returned, the city was much closer. The little dragon brought interesting news.

“It’s a place called Loftwick!” I said, repeating what the pseudodragon had told me.

“Amazing!” exclaimed Felbron.

“Wonderful!” cheered the halfling. “We’ll be in the capital during Blossom Festival. We’ll get to see the queen!”

“We’ll also be five days away from Oriflame,” counseled Felbron, sighing sadly. “And then it’s two weeks more to Goatsblood, where I must build a new and improved lighter-than-air ship.” He pulled the rope and let out some lifting gas, beginning our descent.

“You know, Felbron, if you intend to build another one of these ships, I think you’d better pay a lot more attention to defense. What if you meet up with those dragons again?” I said and then closed my mouth, realizing that perhaps I had offended Felbron, for the ship and its design were his pride and joy. After all, what did I know about the construction of a lighter-than-air ship?

“Please go on. I have a few ideas on that subject myself,” said Felbron, not in the least offended, “but new ideas are always welcome!”

“Well, for one thing, you might think about surrounding the ship with retractable pikes or spikes or something. You could fold them in when you don’t need them or pull a few ropes, and zip, there they are! They would keep your attackers at bay until you could muster your defenses.”

“Sort of like a hedgehog, eh?” The dwarf nodded appreciatively. “I can see ‘em on the hull, no problem, but up around the gas bags . . . well, we’d have to be mighty careful.”

“One thing to take into account, your charm must have worked!” said Pfee-Guh, pawing at my arm. “Them dragons has always got lots of spells, but they didn’t cast a single one last night.”

“A point well taken, Sir Rat-Mage,” I said, inclining my head to him.

“With respect to firepower,” said Felbron, warming to the subject of defense, “I think the addition of several medium-sized tre-buchets would suffice to stop even dragons. I can’t imagine anything larger than that attacking us.”

“What about a giant roc?” offered Hectodd.

“Or a griffon,” added Pfee-Guh.

“Oh, yes, rocs . . . griffons,” muttered Felbron, his fingers deeply entwined in his beard.

The technical discussion became heated, with everyone voicing his opinions, and continued as we approached our destination. Every now and then Felbron eyed our rate of descent and smiled with satisfaction.

* * *

The citizens of Loftwick lined the narrow streets of the southeast quarter of town. The change in the race site had been unexpected and had caused a great free-for-all as the citizens jostled for the best positions to view the race of the loffon beasts. It was the high point of every Blossom Festival and even more eagerly awaited this annum since there had been no race, no festival at all, during the reign of the Queen of the Demon Web Pits. Those who could had obtained positions in the balconies of houses overlooking the streets, and the lofts of all the inns were crammed to capacity. The starting time of the race had been delayed by half an hour to allow people time to find the new race course, and still the merrymakers thronged through the old city, jamming the thoroughfares. Many were lost, but too inebriated to care.

Pamjat Dresebor, spokesman of the Loft, the oldest portion of the city, watched the activities with mixed emotions. It would be his job to wave the flag that started the race. For the life of him, he could not understand why the queen, long may she live, had suddenly moved the event to his district, where the streets were narrow and the buildings—priceless historical landmarks—were crowded together all higgledy-piggledy. Pamjat welcomed the influx of trade, knowing that the merchants could use the business, but those loffon beasts were completely unpredictable.

The horrid creatures were native to certain small portions of the Hoolmarsh and were found nowhere else on oerth. They stood twice as tall as a horse and were supported by six short, stubby legs. The long, rounded head at the end of the thick neck seemed to have little room for a brain, but despite their gentle nature, they were nearly useless as beasts of burden because of their obstinate refusal to take commands. And their clumsiness. One could not forget their legendary clumsiness, once they were removed from their watery kingdom and placed on dry land.

Pamjat sighed deeply and shook his head as he stared down at the twelve enormous pea-green beasts confined in the courtyard below his official starter’s platform. The beasts were milling around nervously, snorting at each other and the crowd, whom they could clearly scent, if not see. Their vision was notoriously dim.

Each animal had a rider perched atop a tiny saddle strapped onto its back, and each was covered with garlands of spring flowers. Several of the beasts were devouring the garlands, while others did their best to bash their riders against the walls of the courtyard, although whether by intent or clumsiness it could not be said. Pamjat shook his head nervously.

“Master Dresebor! Master Dresebor!” His name echoed off the buildings as a crowd of children raced between the legs of the beasts and ran up the steps of the platform. One of them, a small girl, glowing with an aura of self-importance, stuffed a badly crushed piece of parchment into his hand. Pamjat opened it, knowing in advance what he would find—a message from the official timekeeper at the sundial on the roof of the guildhouse. Pamjat shaded his eyes and squinted up at the top of the building. Two dwarves stood on the roof, and one of them was waving a yellow cloth from side to side.

Pamjat Dresebor sighed deeply, feeling in his heart that calamity was about to threaten his beloved district. He lifted his scarlet starting flag and waved it from side to side. The crowd hushed in anticipation. Moments later, the dwarf on the roof dropped his yellow cloth and Pamjat followed suit.

A tumultuous cheer erupted from the crowd, and the soldiers in charge of opening the gate stepped aside quickly as the frightened beasts lumbered forward, snorting loudly as they fled the confines of the courtyard.

Disaster struck early when two of the loffon beasts became confused as they emerged from the courtyard and began running in the wrong direction. The crowd closed in before them in an attempt to turn them around and succeeded only in driving them sideways, where they crashed through the front window of a greengrocer. There they soon fell to happily devouring the unfortunate shopkeeper’s produce, despite his cries of outrage. For them, the race was done.

Another beast needed no onlookers to help it as it blundered into a tailor shop two doors down from the starting gate. Finding no edibles, it then continued bashing its way through the building until it crashed through to the next street and began plucking the greenery from three levels of window boxes. Pamjat put his hand over his eyes and cursed! And this was just the beginning of the race! Only the gods knew what else could go wrong.

The crowd was screaming again, even louder than before. Pamjat lowered his hand reluctantly, terrified at what he might see. His jaw gaped open, and he clung to the railing, unable to comprehend the message his eyes relayed. Falling rapidly to oerth, on a direct crash course with the street filled with loffon beasts and townsfolk, was an enormous black object! A dragon? A roc? No! This thing had people on it! Pamjat seized his head with both hands and began tugging at his hair till it stood up in frenzied spikes and the pain brought him to his senses. What was it? What did it mean? Why did everything happen to him!

But there were no answers to these questions, and before he could formulate more, the mysterious black thing crashed into the middle of the street directly in the path of the lumbering beasts. The crowd went absolutely wild! Pamjat ran to the edge of the platform and staggered down the steps, ignoring the bedlam that had broken out around him. Hands grabbed at him, and voices called out his name, but Pamjat broke away without answering and made his way to the nearest inn. He would resign. Yes, that was it; he would resign. Let someone else deal with loffon beasts and strange black objects that fell from the sky. But before he resigned, Pamjat Dresebor intended to drink himself into

a glorious and merciful stupor.

* * *

We were coming down way too fast, and there was nothing Felbron could do to stop it. The valve at the top of the gas bag had become stuck in the open position, and no amount of tugging could free it. A crash landing seemed inevitable, and we braced ourselves against the rail and the rigging as best as we could. We had barely made ready when the decorative ironwork on the widow’s walk of a tall house rose up before us. I’ll never know how we managed to clear it rather than impale ourselves on its sharp spires, but by some miracle, we plummeted past and then began the final plunge to the crowded street three stories below.

“Get ready to jump!” yelled the dwarf as he stood on the edge of the remaining deck. The warning was not necessary, as all of us were poised, ready to jump the instant before we hit. Even Mmandoc had flown from my shoulder.

The last remains of the Bij hit the cobblestones with a splintering crash, amidst the shouts and screams of hundreds of merrymakers. I flew off to the left, into a crowd of hysterical halflings. Hectodd and Felbron somehow became entangled and rolled to a stop at the feet of a peculiar green beast all decked out in flowers, who promptly bent down its long neck and licked them slurpily, as though testing to see if they tasted good!

Relieved of its load, our balloon bobbed up from the street, hopped over Felbron’s head, and bounced down again among the collection of strange green beasts, who were staring about with bemused expressions on their stolid faces. Then, as though realizing collectively that something out of the ordinary had occurred, all the creatures panicked at the same moment and began running this way and that, blatting in terror, bashing into houses and businesses and threatening to mash the onlookers under their huge flat feet.

Hectodd and I locked eyes over the heads of the hysterical populace and grabbed each other’s arms, knowing that we were to blame for the chaos that surrounded us. We crouched in the doorway of a building to avoid being crushed by the mob.

The destruction continued as the huge green monsters broke through the walls of buildings, exposing the contents of the rooms, knocked over lampposts, and filled every imaginable exit from the street. One creature attempted to flee by way of a narrow alley between two stone buildings and became stuck fast, whereupon he promptly began thrashing and wailing as though the oerth were coming to an end.

I turned my head in time to see an elaborately decorated reviewing platform go crashing to the cobblestones, its occupants flying in every which direction. As I watched the disaster unfold in one spectacular debacle after another, Felbron tugged at my elbow.

“C’mon. Let’s make ourselves scarce!” Felbron whispered as he dragged me into the milling crowd. Surprisingly, not everyone was as terrified as I first thought. Some halflings and a few elves were shouting and laughing as though it were all great fun. Felbron and I pushed and shoved our way down the street until we came to an alley. “In here!” shouted Felbron, and we mingled with the crowd, which was less dense than in the street. Felbron then slowed to a deliberate walk, his eyes canted to the sky. Soon we were joined by Hectodd, and the three of us made our way through the crowd, looking no different than they.

Exiting from the alley, one street over from the scene of our entry, Felbron was quick to spot an alehouse and trotted toward it as fast as his short legs would carry him. We could do naught but follow. We were seated by a congenial elf maiden, and the dwarf ordered ale for us all.

“That was a close call!” said Felbron, running a hand over the front of his balding scalp.

“It was great!” exclaimed Hectodd, still jittery and bouncing with nervous energy. “We landed right in the middle of the Loffon Beast Race! Did you catch the looks on their faces? I’ll never

forget them!”

“Where’s Pfee-Guh?” I asked, suddenly aware of the rat’s absence.

Something wiggled inside Hectodd’s shirt. “I’m still with you,” the lump said churlishly. “But not if you intend to do that again!”

The maid returned with our ale, and Felbron came up with a coin. The dwarf examined the meager contents of his little pouch and shook his head with dismay, while I kept my tongue about the gold coins contained within my own pocket.

“We seem to have caused quite a stir,” I said, probably the understatement of the century. “Mmandoc’s out there watching from a rooftop and passing along information. The beasts haven’t as yet been contained and are wreaking devastation throughout the area.”

“Pshaw! They do that every year!” Felbron waved his hand in the air. “The beasts are like that even without things dropping from the sky. That’s half the fun of it!”

I was not convinced and could not imagine anyone willingly allowing such beasts to ruin their homes and businesses on a yearly basis!

Unfortunately, we were all so involved with our conversation that we failed to notice the city guards as they filtered through the door. The worst time was yet to come, for at the exact moment that Felbron lifted the tankard to his lips, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder.

“Don’t move! Don’t give us any trouble! You’re all under arrest!” Looking up from my own untasted brew, my spirits fell as I saw that we were completely surrounded by armed guards

wearing the queen’s emblem and angry frowns upon their faces.

* * *

The officer at the desk still had dark clouds of doubt written across his face. He thought our story of the flying ship was more than could be believed. But he could not dispute that we had indeed come down from the sky.

“The fine for disrupting the race is one gold korun!” the officer declared.

Felbron frowned, knowing how little his purse contained.

The officer continued, “I have a list of damages from the spokesman of the Loft—one reviewing stand, one tailor shop, one chandler shop, and so on and on . . . forty-nine gold koruns. That makes a grand total of fifty gold koruns or six years in the dungeon.” The officer stopped and scowled at us. “You got that much?” he asked, obviously knowing that we would be unable to come up with what was a fortune for any normal being.

Felbron started to argue, but I placed my hand on his shoulder and emptied my purse upon the table. A cascade of gold coins tumbled onto the table, the coins that had been placed in my purse to incriminate me of the theft of the missing gemstone.

“Here, and if there are any other charges as yet undiscovered, we’ll be glad to pay for them as well,” I said. Felbron’s and Hectodd ‘s jaws dropped at the sight of the coins. “We’re sorry about the trouble and any inconvenience we might have caused. I hope these coins will somehow buy our forgiveness.”

The officer buried his confusion by counting and stacking the coins, although it was obvious to everyone that there were far more than fifty koruns on the desk. Closing his hands over the pile, the bailiff cleared his throat and looked me in the eye.

“All right, yer free to go—but don’t let this happen again. Un-nerstand?”

I nodded my agreement and led the others out the door as quickly as possible. Felbron patted the top of his head with his handkerchief and began wiping his brow. “Phew! That was a close one. Thank the gods for your pocket, Askar. I’ll pay you back. You can count on it. Felbron never forgets!”

“So much for our trip to Oriflame,” Hectodd said sadly, his expressive face crumpling as though he might easily cry.

“And so much for my trip back to Goatsblood,” sighed Felbron. “And so much for the new and improved airship.”

“I guess that puts us all in the same spot,” I said. “I’m destitute as well.”

Felbron smiled ruefully. “I just wish they’d have let me finish that ale.”

Pfee-Guh crawled out from Hectodd’s shirt as we stood in front of the guard station watching the revelers pass, cheering and singing as though they hadn’t a care in the world. “Hey, guys, look at this. Yer a bunch of heroes, right? Well, here’s a prospective fortune for ya!”

The rat was pointing at a bulletin nailed to the wall behind Felbron. It read:

PROCLAMATION

In pursuance of instructions from Her Majesty, Kathryn Fern-Clyffe, Queen for Life, Freeholder and Spokesperson for the Yeomanry League, notice is hereby given to all

whom it may concern:

A BOUNTY AND REWARD

of

100,000 GOLD KORUNS

is hereby offered to those of stout and true heart who have experienced battle and ha ve a taste for danger and who would be willing to undertake a most

SECRET and dangerous MISSION

for the honor and further glory of the yeomanry League. An additional bounty, at the

discretion of the queen, will be paid upon successful completion of the MISSION. only experienced fighters, magic-users, and/or clerics need apply, in person, to:

W. D. Telwhit, Grosscaptain

by appointment of her majesty

1st regiment, Royal Guard

The Royal Palace

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It was late in the afternoon, and Alamkamala’s teeth felt as though they would soon rattle right out of his head. He sat up on the thinly padded seat of his personal supply wagon, with the sun beating relentlessly down on his head. Needless to say, he regretted his decision to ride in the train. Even if the road was paved, the wagon had little in the way of springs. The driver cracked his whip, and the horses picked up the pace as they breasted a low hill. Ahead were battlements and a white stone tower with Kranoch’s green flag waving at the mast. Neat green fields spread before them as the tiny caravan rolled into Northmark.

Thank the gods, thought the Grand Inquisitor as his face tightened into a grotesque parody of a smile. This place would pay for every bump experienced during his long uncomfortable ride! One golden korun per person per bump would just about make up for his discomfort.

The wagon passed noisily through the gate. A sentry recognized Alamkamala and hurriedly waved the driver over to the side of the road, speaking even before the wagon rattled to a halt.

“My lord, the mayor of Northmark awaits your bidding in the town hall!” Pointing the way, he hopped on the side of the wagon and accompanied them down the street to their destination.

Dropping off the wagon, he saluted smartly and then returned to his post at the gate.

Alamkamala stood up and stretched slowly as the driver jumped down and rubbed his battered behind.

“Open the side doors and set up the ramp!” Alamkamala ordered sharply. “And see to it that you clear a place for the king’s tribute!” The man left off ministering to his own hurts and hurried to obey the inquisitor’s directions, for he knew all too well the consequences of angering the man.

The Grand Inquisitor climbed down from the hated wagon seat and was immediately joined by two aides who appeared from within the wagon itself. The three of them marched along the walk and entered the town meetinghouse, where they found the mayor awaiting them anxiously. A nervous smile flitted about his lips while he wrung his pudgy hands. At a sign from the Grand Inquisitor, he opened the cask, which contained six thousand gold koruns.

The mayor’s fat fingers trembled on the lid, and his voice shook as he attempted to speak. “Here is our offering, grand sir. I have collected from all the businessmen, the three hostlers, the four traders, the blacksmiths, the—”

“This will do nicely . . .” the Grand Inquisitor said in a cold, calculating voice. The mayor stuck a finger under his double chin and loosened his collar with obvious relief.

“... for today!”

Mayor Markoff choked, struggling for breath.

“Tomorrow we shall expect twice as much!” Alamkamala said calmly. “And each day for the next week, you shall double the amount that you brought me the day before.”

“But, my lord, our little town doesn’t have such a fortune to give!” pleaded Mayor Markoff. “We are but humble tradesmen and innkeepers on a little back road.”

“Do you think me a fool?” snarled Alamkamala, abandoning all pretense of goodwill. “You dare bring this miserable box of gold as tribute to the mighty Kranoch?” he hissed, his voice rising.

Markoff wriggled in terror, doing his best to disappear by leaning backward and inching away from the narrow, spiteful face with the glittering eyes. “W-Well . . .” he stammered. “Perhaps we did hold back a small portion for ourselves . . . but we have operating expenses, and—”

“You little worm! You and your greedy pack rats have gold hidden in every cupboard and closet, under your floors, and in your cellars. There’s probably treasure hidden in the very floor we stand on! I know your sort well. Do you think you can fool me?”

Markoff shuddered and blanched a sickly shade of green as Alamkamala pulled a nasty-looking dirk from the folds of his robe and grabbed the mayor by the throat. The blood drained from Mayor Markoff s face, and his knees buckled.

“I’ll wager there’s even a fortune sewn into this quilt you’re wearing!” whispered the Grand Inquisitor as he slit open the front of the mayor’s robe and ripped the cloth away from the lining. Several gold coins and a diamond fell to the floor. The Grand Inquisitor smiled, his point having been demonstrated, and he dropped the terrified mayor to the floor.

“I will return in two hours. See that this room is filled with

treasure. If it is enough, I may spare your miserable life.”

* * *

Having terrified the mayor, a task so easy that it was almost an insult to his talents, Alamkamala made his way to the tower, where he seated himself in the most comfortable chair and waved away a flock of nervous aides. He devoted himself to his thoughts, growing more and more irritable by the minute.

Several hours later, the Grand Inquisitor’s mood had long since passed irritation and was now in a full-fledged rage. Several lengths of iron glowed golden red, their ends thrust deep into the roaring fire, and six twisted bodies lay sprawled on the floor, their limbs and faces contorted in death.

Alamkamala had met with little success in converting Kathryn’s loyal troops to Kranoch’s cause. The soldiers had been tortured, one by one, in full view of their companions, but none had broken, preferring death to dishonoring the name of their queen. Their unflagging loyalty to this queen, loyalty to the point of death, was something Alamkamala had never encountered, and he was much displeased.

Alamkamala summoned one of his sergeants to his side. “Take them away. March the survivors into the street,” he commanded. “See that the ropes are secure! We’ll let Guloog and his orcs deal with them.” A look of horror swept over the sergeant’s face.

“But these men have surrendered honorably—” began the sergeant.

“Do as you are told!” Alamkamala’s eyes glowered over his hawklike nose. “That is, unless you choose to join them yourself.” The sergeant backed away hurriedly, apologizing effusively. He herded the doomed soldiers before him.

The Grand Inquisitor left with a flourish of his long green cape. He stormed out into the street, with the two worried aides following discreetly on his heels. A glance at the sky told him it would soon be dark, and he knew that darkness would bring the night creatures and all the attendant horrors. He had hoped that it would not come to that. In truth, he had not anticipated the loyalty of Kathryn’s troops. He had no doubt that his own troops would turn on him instantly, given the same ultimatum. The thought discomfited him. Damn this irritating little hole of a backwater town, with its obstinate soldiers and greedy toads! Guloog and his minions could have their way with the town and its inhabitants, regardless of any promises made to the contrary. His decision made, he turned his steps to the meetinghouse.

Inside the building, the mayor and four of his helpers were adding to a pile of boxes and chests that filled the middle of the room. Alamkamala paused in the doorway, a thin smile tugging at his lips.

“I see you’ve managed to do a little better this time!” he said as he lifted the lid of the nearest box and saw the stacks of silver cups nestled inside. “Perhaps this will be enough after all!”

The mayor bowed and groveled before him, mewling obsequiously.

“Have your men carry this out to my wagon!” Alamkamala commanded with a flick of his finger. Mayor Markoff and his men were quick to obey. Leaving the mayor to carry out his orders, Alamkamala and his aides retired to an inn, where food and wine were brought with alacrity. The Grand Inquisitor ate everything that was placed before him, having worked up an appetite during the long day. His aides were unable to choke down a single portion. Alamkamala shook his head; no one seemed to realize that torture and terror were hard work . . . they took a lot out of a man.

* * *

The Grand Inquisitor and his aides watched as the mayor and his helpers carried the last of the boxes out to the wagon. Alamkamala paced back and forth nervously, anxious to be on his way before dark. There was a sudden cry at the gate, followed by angry shouts. A sentry hurried up to him, breathless, and dared to tug at his robes.

“It’s them, my lord! Surely you will not let them in!”

“Admit Guloog,” said the Grand Inquisitor. “Bring him to me.” The sentry gave him one last terror-filled look before turning back, more frightened of the man than the horror that crowded outside the city gates.

The wagon loaded, the mayor’s men scurried back into the imagined safety of the meetinghouse. Alamkamala turned to one of his aides and said, “Tell the captain to be ready to march in ten minutes.” The aide did not have to be told a second time.

A moment later, the sentry returned, leading a tall, dark-cloaked figure riding a black horse. The rider’s eyes glowed yellow in the light of the torches that illuminated the street. His black, piglike snout and curled tusks protruded from a frayed leather helmet. Alamkamala and the rider faced each other in the street while the sentry and the aides hurriedly removed themselves from sight.

“Why the delay, torturer?” the dark figure snarled, his words interspersed with harsh grunts. “Why are you keeping my men out of the city?” The horse twisted its head, its eyes rolling, attempting to break free. The rider yanked its bridle, ripping the flesh at the corners of the horse’s mouth, causing it to scream in pain.

“Patience, Guloog!” soothed Alamkamala. “You know the terms of the agreement. Your ‘men’ take the town, you take the plunder! But for the moment, this one’s ours!”

Guloog snarled, a guttural sound that rose up out of the deep chest and rumbled in his throat. It was not a pleasant sound, and it took all of Alamkamala’s strength to remain impassive.

“You are to wait by the north gate for one hour. You will find that your patience will be rewarded.”

The ore turned his head to one side, eyeing Alamkamala warily. But the Grand Inquisitor did not wait to meet his gaze. Turning his back on the monster, he signaled for the sentry to lead Guloog back to the gate.

Alamkamala’s wagon train rolled through the town and exited the gates. The fearful populace, peering from behind their shuttered windows, were relieved to see him go, and they watched in disbelief as Kranoch’s soldiers marched out as well. Could it be that they were escaping with but a handful of deaths and a meager portion of the town’s wealth?

For one joyful moment, they dared to hope, to believe that they were safe, and that the town was rid of the enemy. The townsfolk unlocked their doors and tentatively stepped outside. The garrison troops, tightly trussed and roped together along the edges of the street, were dumbfounded, and they, too, stared after the departing army. Kaaluk, himself bound and tied to a lamppost, called out to his men.

“They’ve gone! Free yourselves quickly!” The soldiers needed no urging and became a writhing mass of twisted bodies as they struggled to free themselves from their bonds. Kaaluk broke free and untied the man nearest him. Together they worked their way down the line, freeing their companions.

“To the gates!” he yelled, leading a group of his men forward in a rush, for he had heard the exchange between Alamkamala and the ore leader, and he alone suspected the real reason the army had departed. If his suspicions were correct, they did not have an hour. They did not have even half that time! They could count their lives in a matter of heartbeats. Even as they ran toward the gates, a deep roar rose from beyond the walls, and a thundering horde of sword-wielding orcs stormed inside the gates, shrieking, cursing, and wailing maniacally, striking terror into the hearts of all. Most of the soldiers turned and ran instantly, while others stood stock still in shock. A few brave souls dared to stand their ground. These last were cut down in the first slashing rush of the invaders. The others lasted but little longer.

Kaaluk, realizing what was about to happen, knowing that he was powerless to save any of his men, fell to the ground, ducked under the slash of a sword, and rolled into the dirt at the side of the street, feigning death. He lay there facedown until the first wave of attackers had passed him by. Then and only then, as the first of the screams began to rise from the doomed town, did he crawl to his feet and slither outside the gates, flinging himself headlong into a drainage ditch beside the road.

He had made his escape none too soon, for fast on the heels of the first wave of orcs came a second contingent, accompanied by kobolds and goblins and other nameless horrors who streamed through the north gate and on into the unfortunate town. Once inside the town, the hideous invaders split up into gangs and began beating down doors, breaking into buildings and houses. Terrified screams came from the doomed citizenry. Fire broke out and fed on the dry planks. Flames quickly engulfed one entire side of a building. As there was no one to fight the fire, the flames spread rapidly. Soon the whole eastern half of Northmark, including the meetinghouse, was a blazing inferno.

Kaaluk viewed the progress of the fire from the bottom of the ditch, watching helplessly as it spread. The angry red glow reflected off the bottoms of the clouds that drifted in the night sky. Heartsick, knowing that there was nothing he could do to protect the city or its people, Kaaluk crawled to his feet and made his way blindly toward a small path that led across the fields and into the scrub country beyond, knowing that he must live, knowing that he must escape to carry the warning to the towns beyond.

He slowed his pace slightly, despite the desperate urge to run. He followed the twists and turns of the path. It wound along the path of a dry creek bed, curving around numerous bends as well as over and under a number of fallen trees. In other, more peaceful days, Kaaluk had followed this same path to deep, secret glens where a man and a maid might find a moment of peace. Now the trail was leading him to safety.

Kaaluk stopped to lean against a tree, gasping for breath, as an orange glow colored the bushes around him. He turned reluctantly and saw that the entire sky was aglow. Flames leapt above the walls, devouring what remained of the town of Northmark. Kaaluk felt his heart break, and he beat his head against the trunk of the tree. Tears coursed down his cheeks, and he cursed himself a thousand times over. He had been a fool to surrender, and he felt the weight of every death upon his very soul.

After a time, unable to bear the pain of watching the demise of his beloved town, Kaaluk turned his back on the pyre that had been his command, knowing that his life was a failure. He stumbled, half dazed, half mad, along the trail, not caring if he lived or died.

* * *

Inside the burning meetinghouse, Mayor Markoff was on his hands and knees, pulling up the carpet beneath his desk. Looking around to be certain that he was alone, he lifted the trapdoor and shoved his box of treasures to one side. He shrugged uncomfortably inside his heavy robes, for the heat was nearly unbearable. His mind was fixed solely on the problem at hand—how to save himself and his gold—and simple matters such as the encroaching fire and the steady screams did not penetrate his consciousness. Gathering his robes about him, Mayor Markoff dropped into the hole and pulled the trapdoor and the carpet over himself before curling his chubby body around the money box. Kranoch would not get his treasures. Smoke began to fill the room as fingers of flame crept under the door of his inner office. And then the meetinghouse and the mayor of Northmark and his treasure box vanished in a single oily explosion of fire.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I read the poster for the third time, allowing the words to penetrate my tired and confused brain, wondering if this might be a way out of all our troubles. How bad could it be, this secret mission? After all, I had been framed for a theft I had not committed, I had a magical iron collar attached to my neck—a collar that would surely kill me in due time—I had been captured by gnolls, imprisoned by pirates, shipwrecked and rescued by a flying ship, only to have it destroyed by dragons . . . Ah, well, ordinary danger would be almost boring considering all I had been through in recent days! Besides, I was hungry, and a hundred thousand gold koruns was the fortune of a lifetime. If we succeeded, maybe I wouldn’t even have to marry Maria Griswalda!

“I say we apply for the job!” I said, my mind made up. “It should be child’s play after all we’ve been through, and we could use the money.”

Felbron was running his fingers through his beard, the way he always did when he was deep in thought. “The money’s good, all right—too good, if you ask me. Not that I’m afraid of a good fight, but if they’re offering that much money, they must want us to do something mighty dangerous. That’s bounty enough for slaying two red dragons!”

“Maybe we don’t have to slay anything,” Hectodd said optimistically. “It only says ‘secret mission.’ Maybe they’ll want us to sneak into somebody’s castle and steal a princess—”

“—Or bring the queen the scepter of Asmodeus!” Pfee-Guh added gloomily.

“I think we should look for something a bit more modest,” Felbron said pensively. “I’m only two hundred and fifty years old this year, and I’ve already been close enough to death for this month. Maybe next month, too!”

It seemed that I had little or no support among my small band of friends, and whatever the mission was, I did not think that I could accomplish it on my own. I tried guile. “Felbron, what would it cost to buy yourself a pegasus, so that you could ride straight back to Goatsblood?” I knew full well that the question would strike a sensitive nerve.

Felbron stared me in the eye for a long moment, and then he began counting on his fingers. Mumbling to himself, he looked up only to ask, “Does Mmandoc get a share?”

I fell silent, unable to answer until I heard the tiny dragon’s bell-like voice speaking inside my head. Somehow, by some strange method that I failed to comprehend, the pseudodragon always seemed to have knowledge of whatever I could hear or see. “Mmandoc and I are one now,” I said, repeating the dragon’s words. “We will divide the sum in equal parts, and he and I will share one portion.”

Felbron nodded once, his eyes shining brightly. Then he stepped into the street and tapped a passing dwarf on the shoulder. “Pardon, good sir, but can you direct us to the Royal Palace?”

“You guys must be nuts!” complained the rat-mage. “What am I going to do with twenty-five thousand gold koruns— especially if I’m dead?”

I bent over Hectodd and scooped up the rat. Holding him before me at face level, I held one of his tiny paws between thumb and forefinger. “Pfee-Guh, with twenty-five thousand gold koruns, you can find a high-level mage who can polymorph you back into human form . . . permanently!”

Pfee-Guh stared at me, dumbfounded, too astonished to speak. He stared into my eyes without seeing me, as if seeing a vision of himself as a man. Hectodd nearly fell over laughing at the sight of us, man and rat, hands clasped, and the sound seemed to rouse Pfee-Guh from his reverie. “Well, hey, what are we waiting for?” he exclaimed, dashing onto the top of my head and tugging at my hair. “Let’s go!”

As we passed through the crowds of merry-makers on their way to the palace, Pfee-Guh spoke up once again, tugging on my hair, a ploy that I hoped would not become a habit. He suggested that we stop at a stationer’s to purchase an empty tome to serve as a spellbook.

“I thought you had to get those from the magician who is your teacher!” I said. “Besides, I already have a spellbook.”

“I am your teacher, dummy! Now go buy the book—that one right there in the window. It will help you learn if you write it down yourself. Hurry up now!” Pfee-Guh was pointing at a small leather-bound volume with a thin gilt stripe drawn around the edge, which hung by a sturdy leather strap from a hook on the wall.

Even I had to admit that the little book was perfect. Felbron nudged me with his elbow, pointing at his deflated purse, trying to keep me from entering the place. But Pfee-Guh’s words had a curious logic to them, and I found myself entering the store, a tiny bell chiming our entrance. The shopkeeper was a little bald man with a tiny pair of spectacles pinched over the end of his nose. Showing no sign of bemusement at the sight of a human, a dwarf, a halfling, and a rat asking about a leather book, he calmly handed over the tome for our inspection.

“A good choice, sir. One of our very best-selling items. Perfect for use as a diary, although most are purchased for account books by salesmen.”

“That’s what we want it for. We’re salesmen, too,” said Pfee-Guh as Hectodd gave a little leap and snatched him from my head, his fingers clamped firmly around the rat’s snout.

The shopkeeper began to eye us strangely. Felbron quickly reached into his purse and extracted the necessary coins without even haggling over the price.

“Get a pen and ink!” came a strangled little voice, and the shopkeeper, obviously having decided that we were deranged and possibly dangerous, slapped a long feather pen and a small bottle of ink up on the counter before hurrying us out the door and locking it behind us. As we left, I slipped the pen into my shirt, the bottle into my pack, and placed the book inside my pouch next to that of Mika-oba’s, wondering if I might truly be a magic-user in my own right someday.

At Felbron’s insistence, we made one more stop. The dwarf haggled with a pawnbroker until he emerged with a well-worn dwarven hammer on a leather sling . . . and a totally empty purse.

“Did it ever occur to any of you that we might not succeed in obtaining this assignment?” Felbron asked with a grim smile.

“Nah! I have this feeling,” I said. Although in truth, I was none too confident.

Hectodd pointed to the new hammer. “If we don’t, we’ll have to bonk somebody and steal all his money!” So uproariously did

he laugh that I could not tell if it was a joke or not.

* * *

Hours later, we were still sitting on hard chairs in a large hall in the palace, awaiting our turn for an interview. Countless others had gone before us—larger, taller, stronger men, men who had the look of countless adventures. And one after the other, they had emerged in various degrees of haste and taken themselves off as fast as their legs would carry them. Not a good sign at all.

Others who had waited beside us had been alarmed by the expressions and demeanor of those emerging from the queen’s chambers, and many had slunk off without waiting for their turn. But we had few if any options open to us, and we continued to wait.

Pfee-Guh and I were seated together discussing spells and writing things in my new spellbook, while Felbron danced around in the middle of the hall, making military noises and swinging his hammer at invisible foes. Hectodd, who was wondering how a sensible halfling like himself had got caught up in this madness, was pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back, dodging the occasional wild swing of the dwarf.

Two other groups remained as our competition. The first was a dignified cluster of six old men dressed in tattered grey robes and frayed sandals. Their bald heads were bowed in what appeared to be a trance, as they had neither spoken nor moved throughout the long afternoon. Monks, I thought. If they got the job, they would just waste the money on some shrine.

The second group was more daunting, consisting of a band of enormous muscular men dressed in dirty hides and furs, and wearing an ample selection of weapons that included huge two-handed swords, each weighing more than the halfling, probably. Barbarians, I thought, pegging the men accurately. If they got the job, they’d just waste the reward on women and drink. The

guard called the barbarians in to be interviewed.

* * *

Suddenly Hectodd cried out. Where Askar had been sitting, talking with Pfee-Guh, there was now nothing! They were gone! Nothing was left but empty chairs!

“Felbron!” Hectodd cried out in panic.

The dwarf, thrown off balance by the halfling’s cry, recovered from a lunge and glared at him, resting on his hammer.

The halfling could only point. Felbron’s eyes followed his pointing finger, and the dwarfs mouth opened, shocked to see that Askar and Pfee-Guh were gone!

“Now clap yer hands!” Pfee-Guh’s voice said out of nowhere. There was a resounding clap, and in the blink of an eye, Askar was sitting in the chair again with the rat perched on his arm.

“Yeah! That’s how ya do it! Now we gotta work on the incantation some more.”

Felbron looked back at Hectodd, smiling, and then went back to his military exercises. It was all too much for the halfling, who walked over and accosted the magicians. “Now, what in the name of the gods was that all about?” he demanded angrily, hands on his hips.

“All what?” replied Askar calmly.

“All what? You were gone just a second ago!” exclaimed the halfling. “I saw you—that is, I didn’t see you! Where were you?”

Pfee-Guh began laughing. “Ybu’re a natural, Askar! Don’t you get it, Hectodd? He made us invisible!”

Hectodd glared at the duo as Askar held up his hands and shrugged his shoulders, saying, “I don’t even know what I did.”

“Don’t worry,” snapped the rat, “the important thing is that it worked!” Pfee-Guh turned to the halfling. “Right now we got ourselves a magician. If he keeps making progress like this, we’ll be working with a wizard by nightfall!”

“Amazing!” said the halfling as he patted Askar on the shoulder. His anger had vanished. Maybe, he thought, it wasn’t quite so hopeless after all!

* * *

Kathryn sat behind the coarse, dark curtain at the end of the large hall and peered into the room. When the first of the applicants had knocked at the palace door, Kathryn had come down to watch. With Fea overseeing the crisis, issuing desperate orders to contain the menace inside the sewer system, the job of screening the applicants had fallen to her.

The parade of would-be heroes had been less than promising. The band of dwarves had seemed willing enough, but Kathryn could see them doing little more than becoming additional victims. There had been no end of single young men, flexing their muscles and posturing before their girlfriends, all the while sending silent signals begging not to be chosen. The barbarians had shown the most promise. They were a rough and vulgar crowd, who would more than likely have slain a few of the monsters before they themselves were killed. .Of the monks she was not sure, if indeed they were monks at all. They had claimed to have power over animals. Yet when the freecaptain’s dog came into the room and started barking at them, they did nothing, and the dog barked incessantly until they left, and then followed, nipping at their heels.

Kathryn kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under her. There was only one group left, a motley crew who didn’t look as though they could tie their shoelaces even if they worked together. It looked as though she and Fea and the palace guard would have to do the job ... or die trying.

The last group was entering now. This motley crew consisted of a halfling, a dwarf, and a rat. A rat? She sat up straight, intrigued in spite of herself. She noticed that the rat was perched on the arm of a dark-eyed, bearded human. The human was less than remarkable. He was clad in ill-fitting dwarven clothing, several sizes too small, and wore a leather pouch over his shoulder that appeared to be older than her grandmother. Most strangely, he wore a broad iron collar around his neck, which he had attempted to hide by scrunching his head down inside his shirt, a collar of the type that was used only in her kingdom for miscreants of the worst sort. Kathryn stood up and walked closer to the curtain for a better view.

* * *

The freecaptain, wearing a dubious expression of his own, seated us in chairs before his desk. In a matter-of-fact voice, he asked us our names and occupations. He paused for a moment to stare at Pfee-Guh when he announced himself as a magician, then shook his head and continued writing. He examined his notes, reading them in a strangely loud voice while glancing over his shoulder from time to time. I stared at the curtain and wondered who or what might be concealed behind there.

“Well,” said the freecaptain after a long pause, “I want to thank you for coming, but we can’t use you. Please exit through the door to the left.”

It seemed as though we were to be dismissed before we were even given a chance. I leaped to my feet and put both hands down on the desk. “No! Wait a minute! I don’t think you understand. We are the ones for this job. I know you have catoblepases in your sewer system. For a hundred thousand gold koruns, we’ll clean them out for you! It’s as simple as that! Don’t you see? You have to hire us!”

Hectodd’s and Felbron’s jaws dropped, and their eyes went wide with astonishment. The freecaptain arose abruptly, sending his chair backward to the floor with a clatter.

“How is it you know state secrets?” cried the freecaptain, then turned and shouted, “Guards!” Several armed men appeared at the side door from which we were to have made our exit.

The guards were approaching with drawn swords as the black curtain parted, and out stepped the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I gaped at her foolishly, while beside me, Hectodd nudged Felbron, whispering something beneath his breath, and the pair of them took off their caps and bowed low. The woman stared into my eyes, and my heart seemed to stop as a shivery chill ran up my spine.

“Captain, these are the ones we have been waiting for,” the woman said in a low, husky voice. The freecaptain and the guards bowed, and the guards backed out of the room.

Realizing that I was in the presence of someone important, belatedly I bowed as well. When I arose, I discovered that the woman was no longer in the room.

* * *

Maps were unfolded and positions noted, and then we were given our choice of weapons. In passing, the freecaptain told us that the queen would give us an additional twenty-thousand-korun bonus if the sewers were cleared by the end of the day. Hectodd was aghast and seemed to want nothing more than to leave, destitute or not, but my show of confidence, along with Felbron’s cool indifference, won the day. Accepting the inevitable, the halfling glumly decided to come along and pray for a quick and painless death.

One short hour later, we were escorted out of the castle and through the gate into the narrow city streets. Beneath his armload of torches, Hectodd wore a short sword strapped to his waist. Felbron carried a map. He had two long lengths of rope around one shoulder, and he wore a shiny new helmet on his head. I myself carried nothing but a figure made of straw that I had constructed before leaving the castle. Pfee-Guh rode on my shoulder, whispering in my ear from time to time and meditating quietly on his spells.

Hectodd dropped back a short distance and whispered loudly, “How did you know it was ‘katty blappa’ . . . whatever-you-called-it . . . that was in the sewers?”

I smiled down at him, surprised that no one had asked the question sooner. “Easy. Mmandoc was busy while we were waiting in that hall. He’s down in the sewers scouting them out for us.”

“Sheesh!” The halfling blew a black curl out of his face. “I shoulda known. By the way, what are ‘katty—’ “

“Catoblepases. They’re swamp monsters. I should think you’d have heard of them.”

“I try to stay out of swamps, Askar. I’m so short that if I fell into quicksand, I wouldn’t have time to save myself before I was gone! Anyway, tell me about these monsters.”

“Well, from what Mmandoc says, and what little I know, they’ve got a body about the size of a big ox, but they’re as ugly as a medusa. They’ve got a long neck like a snake and a real long tail with a club on the end of it.”

“Wonderful!” moaned the halfling as we turned a corner and headed down a twisting side street. “But it doesn’t sound so bad. What makes them so dangerous?”

“Did I mention the fact that if they look at you, you turn into stone and die?” I asked casually.

The halfling dropped his load on the pavement and turned abruptly, heading in the opposite direction as fast as his short legs would carry him, oblivious to our cries.

When I finally caught up with him, I was forced to pick him up and carry him back under my arm, his arms and legs flailing the air and whatever portions of my body they could strike.

“I’m sorry I ever saved your life!” he screamed. “Put me down now! If you want to go off and get yourselves killed, fine! Do it! Only leave me here!”

I was forced to stand him on his feet and hold him firmly by the neck so that I could stifle his cries and talk to him. “Listen, it’s not as bad as you think,” I whispered, glancing at the guards who were peering back at us, wondering if they should follow. “We’ve got a plan. Pfee-Guh and I.”

“Oh, good. The man with an iron collar around his neck and his pet rat have a plan,” Hectodd said nastily.

“No, really. Trust me, Hectodd. I don’t want to die any more than you do. Do you think I’d do this if I didn’t think our plan would work?”

Felbron joined us, and between the three of us, we tried to convince the halfling that we did indeed have a foolproof plan. At last he allowed himself to be persuaded, although he moved at a much reduced pace. And I, following on his heels, straw man clutched in my sweaty palms, heart hammering in my chest, prayed that the plan was good.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The freecaptain opened the sewer grate, and one by one we descended into the malodorous gloom, crowding onto the narrow ledge at the edge of the sluggish stream. The grate settled into place above us with a solemn thunk that reverberated through the darkness. We huddled together, unwilling, despite our decision, to take the first step. All except Pfee-Guh, that is, for the rat-mage had scurried off before the last of us had even stepped off the ladder.

“Just tell me one more time,” Hectodd said sarcastically, “how this thing is supposed to work!”

“I told you three times already. You drag this straw dummy around the corner by this rope. The catoblepas thinks it’s a person and comes after it. He walks past Felbron and me, but we’re invisible. Zip, we jump on its neck. I pull a bag over its head, then Felbron clubs it senseless. Don’t worry! Everything’s going to work out fine. Trust me.”

“Yeah, sure. Trust me,” the halfling mumbled under his breath. “How about it if you come out then and stab it a few times with your sword—you know, just to make sure.”

“All right, I can do that,” I said patiently. “But you could use your sword, too. We’ll sack it, whack it, and stab it. It’ll be good

and dead.”

Hectodd rolled his eyes, which gleamed white in the torchlight. “I still can’t believe this is happening. Dare I ask what you intend to do to the next one that comes along?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, my friend,” I said glibly, to cover the fact that my plan did not extend beyond our first monster.

The halfling opened his mouth as though to add some additional protest, but instead his eyes opened wide and he all but flew back up the ladder, pushing ineffectively at the heavy iron grate.

“By the gods!” cried Felbron as he stared into the gloom beyond me and hefted his club in nervous hands.

I turned to see what had frightened them so, terrified that it might be one of the monsters making its move before we were ready. But instead I saw Pfee-Guh, skittering down the walkway, racing toward us as fast as his little rat feet would carry him, followed by a pack of a hundred or more rats.

“Hey, guys, look! I found us a few allies,” cried Pfee-Guh, and it was lucky he did so, for both Felbron and I were ready to slaughter as many rats as possible before they overwhelmed us.

Felbron burst into laughter as the rats clustered around his feet, rubbing their whiskers against his legs and acting like so many tame pets. I lowered my sword tentatively, not quite as accepting as the dwarf. But neither was I as frightened as Hectodd, who remained firmly attached to the highest rung of the iron ladder.

“Listen, I been talking with these locals here,” Pfee-Guh said, “and they want those catoblepases out of their sewers even more than the queen does. They say the monsters are destroying their property values!”

Within a short time, we were conversing with the rats, with Pfee-Guh acting as interpreter. Even Hectodd slowly inched his way down the ladder, although he shuddered each time a rat brushed against him. Through our talk, we gathered much information about the monsters’ habits, and it was decided that our plans would have to be changed.

Much to Hectodd’s delight, it was agreed that the rats would pull the dummy as well as drop down upon the beast from above and pull the bag over its head. Then Pfee-Guh would hit it with a magic dart, and I would attempt to cast a lightning bolt. Once it was bagged and stunned, Felbron and Hectodd would finish the job with hammer and sword.

With our plan neatly in place, the three of us crept off down the dark tunnel, which was dimly illuminated by the smoking torches as the rats raced ahead of us. Their shrill squeaks echoed back through the watery corridors.

As part of our gear, we had been given a map of the sewers. By the diagram of the vicinity, I was able to see that we were approaching a four-way intersection. The rats had informed us that the first monster had found a comfortable wallow several yards back from the mouth of the corridor on the left.

As we began our approach, a new and strange idea came to me, and I held up my hand to stop my companions while I leafed through Mika-oba’s spellbook. “Here it is, just the spell we need, and it’s a low enough level that I think I can master it. Bring me that straw man!”

The rats did as I bade them. After committing the short spell to memory, I placed my hand over the spot where the straw man’s brain would have been had he had one, and I uttered the magic words, putting my whole heart into the matter. A thrill of great excitement ran through me as I felt the straw man stir under my hand. There was a collective gasp from dwarf, halfling, and rats, then the straw man climbed to its feet, moving somewhat stiffly, before settling back on its straw heels and rocking gently to and fro.

“Look at that!” Felbron whispered in admiration. “It’s a straw golem. How long will it work, Askar?”

“I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever tried it,” I replied, admiring my handiwork, as proud as any parent ever was over a child of his own loins. “Maybe I can make it walk all by itself. That way it will look even more human. Straw man, walk!” I commanded. Slowly but surely, the straw man tottered forward along the narrow ledge. It needed my full concentration, for every time I allowed my mind to wander, the straw man began to wobble off course. When it seemed that I had the knack of it, we continued on, the rats first, followed by the straw man and then myself. Felbron and Hectodd brought up the rear.

As we approached the intersection, the feeling of elation created by my success with the straw man ebbed away and was replaced by a feeling of dread. A deeper blackness seemed to pervade the area surrounding the juncture, but we inched our way forward, determined to press on despite our fears.

We stopped just short of the intersection and huddled in a tiny alcove. Mmandoc returned, settled on my shoulder, and imparted the unwelcome news that the monster was lurking just beyond the turn. This information I quickly shared in whispers with my comrades.

I gave the signal, and the rats scurried around the corner in a tight-knit mass. Mmandoc flitted overhead like a shadow, and the straw man lumbered around the corner and disappeared from sight, although his head swiveled at the last moment and seemed to glance sorrowfully in my direction.

I shook myself and told myself that it was naught but my imagination, but still the image lingered, and I felt a definite pang of guilt.

Felbron shook my arm, recalling me to the work at hand. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a substance that had been pressed between the pages of the spellbook. It had been flattened, like a pressed flower, but the heat of my hand quickly caused it to form into a ball. I rubbed it softly and repeated the words that had been printed on the page. Slowly, slowly, Felbron and I both faded from sight.

Only when we were completely invisible did we turn the corner, leaving a terrified halfling standing alone on the ledge behind us. There was the steady dripping of water, the gurgle of the murky stream, and the dim glow of Hectodd’s torch casting large shadows and lighting the wriggling mass of rats as well as the straw man padding patiently toward his doom.

Then we heard it—a series of deep, piglike grunts, followed by the shrill shrieks of the rats and loud, frenzied splashing. Mmandoc whizzed back and forth in front of us at dizzying speeds, his movements much like a bat’s. The grunts and the splashing grew louder, and the straw man lurched and fell over backward.

“Get up! Get up!” I urged. Slowly, slowly, it clambered onto its straw knees and then stood upright once again, although it pressed its back against the wall as though unwilling to go near the water. The splashing became louder, and then we could hear the sound of the catoblepas breathing. It sounded like Felbron snoring inside a barrel, an observation I kept from my invisible friend.

The straw man began to inch its way back toward us, and then suddenly it was running as fast as it could go, bits of straw marking its progress. The monster spotted it and followed, just as we had planned. The straw man met up with us, and even though we could not be seen, the two of us shared some link, and it wrapped its arms around my head, hugging me close and obliterating my view. I shoved the straw man away from me and felt it fall to the ledge, where it clutched at my leg.

But I had no time for the straw man now, for the ugly monster’s head appeared out of the darkness, looming up beside us, far larger than I had imagined. I heard Felbron’s frightened gasp, and the horrid head swiveled toward us, its mouth gaping wide as it bent down to seize the straw man, whom I could swear was quivering in terror.

Suddenly rats began to drop from the ceiling like furry raindrops. Some fell into the water, but others clung to the monster’s head and neck, biting wherever there was an opportunity. The monster roared in fury, and the sound, amplified by the close quarters, rang in our ears. Seizing the moment, Felbron and I flew into action, throwing a bag over the monster’s head while Mmandoc flew in circles, winding the drawstring round and round the monster’s muzzle.

“Now!” I screamed, and Pfee-Guh loosed his dart. It flew true to the mark, trailing a shower of blue sparks in its wake. The monster screamed when the dart struck what seemed to be some vital organ. It fell into the water and began thrashing about as though it were in extreme pain.

“Do it, Askar! Do it now!” screamed Pfee-Guh, and I pulled a rod and a cloth from my pocket and chanted the words the rat-mage had taught me.

The monster’s tail swept past us with a whoosh, barely missing Felbron, who fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands.

A flash of blinding blue light surged from the ends of my fingers and struck the side of the catoblepas. A terrible, sickening

moan sounded once, and was followed closely by a heavy splash.

Standing on the ledge, the straw man still clutching my legs, I rubbed my blinded eyes. Next time I would have to remember to close them! Even as I strained to see, Felbron spoke.

“Looks like we won’t have to bonk him after all, Hectodd. That thing’s deader’n a doornail.”

The rats were clicking and squeaking their approval, while Mmandoc uttered similar words of congratulations. Felbron slapped me on the shoulder, nearly toppling me into the fetid stream as the straw man slowly crawled to his feet.

My eyes cleared, and I was able to see for myself that the monster was truly dead. It lay sprawled in midstream, over half of its body burned away. The stink of burned flesh hung heavy in the narrow confines of the sewer.

“Good job!” exclaimed Hectodd as he returned from around the corner. “I knew we could do it. No old catylopuss can get the best of us!”

I heard the words, and part of me wanted to laugh and sing aloud for joy that we had done it. We had killed the monster! But I couldn’t utter a sound, for using the lightning bolt had drained me. My limbs felt like water, my arms trembled, and my brain hurt. I sat down on the ledge to rest, unable to stand. What would we do now?

Hectodd and Felbron were standing over the body of the monster, poking at it with sword and hammer, no doubt discussing their prowess. Mmandoc landed on my shoulder and nuzzled my ear gently.

That was quite good, Askar. You should be proud of yourself! Even a veteran magic-user would feel no better than you do now. Magic is very draining.

I was too tired to reply, and the straw man seemed to reflect my feelings, for he, too, had collapsed, lolling against the wall as though incapable of rising.

Do not despair, said Mmandoc. I have good news! I have explored all of the tunnels, and have encountered four of these monsters, already dead, victims of their own death stares. There are only seven others left alive.

I touched Mmandoc’s claw and stroked it gently. “That is good news indeed. I’m sure that somehow we will succeed in vanquishing them.” I struggled to my feet, followed by the straw man in a rough parody of my actions. “If it worked before, it can work again. Somehow we must lure these monsters into gazing at each other.”

Might I suggest the use of my venom? Mmandoc said as he brandished the end of his tail and bared the nasty-looking stinger buried within. I could not harm them all, but I think I could sting one into a state of catalepsy. Maybe his death stare would still function, and—

“And we could use it as a weapon against the others!” I cried joyously. “Felbron, Hectodd, Pfee-Guh . . . come over here. New plan!”

I spread out the map, and Mmandoc and the rats clustered around and pointed out the locations of the remaining monsters.

“This little fellow is worth his weight in gold!” Felbron said, indicating Mmandoc, with a wide grin. “With his help, we may win this fight without striking a blow!”

“We must not become overconfident,” I warned. “Don’t forget, there are seven monsters left to kill. I fear that your hammer may be bloodied yet, Felbron.” And on that somber note, the dwarf, the halfling, the rats, the straw man, Mmandoc, and I began working our way deeper into the sewers of Loftwick.

As we walked, I thought about my meager arsenal of spells. I could still levitate, but all the other spells Pfee-Guh and I had laboriously penned into my spellbook were totally untried, as were the spells in the larger book. Some of them, even if they did work, would be of no help to us down here and perhaps beyond my limited abilities.

A reflection glinted from the light of our torches and caught my eye. I slowed the pace and approached carefully. An old leather helmet and a pole-axe were lying on the walkway. I was glad that Mmandoc had scouted the area and that Pfee-Guh had his rat friends out spying for us. No monster would appear unnoticed ... I hoped! Hectodd examined, then donned the helmet, and Felbron claimed the pole-axe, hefting it appreciatively in his hand.

We continued on until the map showed another tunnel leading off to the west, and I stopped to consider our options.

“Hello!” said Hectodd as he knelt and picked up a small object

that he showed to Felbron.

“Better give that to our mage,” suggested the dwarf, and Hectodd turned to me with outstretched hand.

It was a small object, fitting easily into the palm of my hand. It looked like nothing more than a robin’s egg, but it was too deformed and heavy, and my hand tingled wherever it touched. Moreover, a white stripe circled it lengthwise, and this stripe bore a multitude of tiny scratch marks.

“Pfee-Guh! Come have a look at this,” I called, and the rat scampered up from the crowd of his companions.

“Hey, bub, that looks nice,” Pfee-Guh said after climbing to my shoulder. “Hold it up and let me have a sniff.”

I did as the rat mage bade me, and Pfee-Guh began clicking his teeth in an odd pattern of sound and passing his paws over the object, which responded by glowing an eerie grey-green for a heartbeat.

“It’s magic!” declared the rat. “Possibly a magic charm of some kind.”

“I thought as much,” declared Felbron. “It looks a lot like the charm we carried aboard the Bij.”

“So what does it do?” asked Hectodd.

“Search me,” Pfee-Guh replied. “It might be a device to augment or amplify the power of a spell. Or it might be charged with spells that anyone could cast. Why don’t we test it?”

As much as I was tempted, my mind returned to the seven catoblepases yet to be destroyed. “Not now,” I said reluctantly, slipping it into my pocket. “We still have monsters left to slay. We’ll examine it later.”

We turned the corner and headed west, but before I had gone five paces, a sharp metal object ripped at my hip. I cursed as I turned to see what had attacked me. A pouch hung from a hook in the wall, and it was this protruding hook that had wounded me. I removed the pouch and was startled by its weight.

“Look at all this stuff!” Felbron said as he kicked at another discarded helmet and prodded a spear that lay with its point against the wall. “There must have been some kind of fight on this corner.”

“I think the monsters got the best of it,” Hectodd said as he poked at yet another abandoned sword, this one still in its scabbard.

I listened to their comments with one ear as I reached inside the bag, feeling a rising sense of excitement. From the feel of it, it appeared there was a smooth stone or large gem inside. My fingers closed around the object, and I pulled it out to an accompaniment of gasps. The stone glowed brightly, coruscating green and blue and then green again.

For a moment, everyone was silent, staring at the amazing display of colors. Then Pfee-Guh cleared his throat and said, “Uh, I think you got something pretty big there, Askar. That thing fairly reeks of magic!”

I moved the stone up to chest level, grasping it with two hands, closed my eyes with a smile, and fell into an immediate trance. Wind rushed against my face. I was floating high in the sky above a green and gold countryside. Now I was drifting down toward a fairy castle . . . and in through a high tower window. A woman was sleeping on silk sheets. Her hair was long and dark and

spread out upon the pillow. I reached out and touched her gently.

* * *

Kathryn Fern-Clyffe, Queen of the Yeomanry, awakened from her nap suddenly, her heart pounding madly. She sat up and pressed her hands to her chest. Looking around, she could see no one in the room. Kathryn lay down again, pulling the sheet up over her shoulders, and let her mind drift back into the mists.

For a moment, it had seemed that someone was in the room with her, that someone had reached out and touched her. She could almost feel his presence as he smiled at her and held out the gem, the Eye of Tiros, which was safe in his keeping. Happy that it was safe and lost no longer, she had smiled. “You keep it,” she

had whispered. “You keep it for now.”

* * *

“Amazing—truly amazing!” I whispered, still staring into the gem, almost overcome by the brief experience.

“I’ll say,” Felbron said dryly. “We thought we’d lost you there.”

The stone was glowing more brightly than before, bathing the tunnel in a blue-green light that all but overwhelmed the feeble glow from our torches.

“What was it like?” asked Pfee-Guh. “Was it evil or good stuff?”

“Good! Definitely good.” I replied. “Maybe I should try it again.”

“Wait a minute!” cried Hectodd. “What about all the monsters down here? We could get killed while you’re off in. some trance!”

“Let him do it,” piped Pfee-Guh. “I got lookouts posted all over the place. We’ll have plenty of warning if a monster comes. This could be an important part of the boy’s training.”

“I hope it trains him how to slay seven catoblepases at once!” muttered the halfling.

“It just might,” replied the rat-mage.

I closed my eyes again and was whirled away in an instant, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blue and green. Then the movement stopped, and I found myself basking in the sun on a rock. It was warm and the world was young and beautiful. I stretched my long neck and flexed my wings. Now I was flying on golden wings over fields and tall trees toward the high mountains, up

through time, up into the very sun itself!

* * *

Bubastio was tired, but as often happened in recent days, sleep would not come. He listened intently to Buelath’s breathing as the old dragon slept next to him in the semidarkness. The old dragon was breathing hard; his claws twitched and jerked and scrabbled against the stone floor. The young dragon wondered if he should awaken his master, but before he could decide, Buelath’s eyes opened in a blank, unseeing stare.

“They will pay!” hissed the old dragon, and then his eyes closed and he was quiet.

Bubastio tucked his nose against his chest, wrapped his tail

around his body like a huge cat, and thought of happier times.

* * *

I opened my eyes. The tunnel was as bright as day, illuminated by the light of the stone. Yet it was cool and soothing to the touch. My friends were staring at me strangely, and I wondered what I might have done to deserve such a look. I closed my eyes a third time and clenched the stone tightly in my fist, determined to direct the course of the next trance.

I was floating again, but I was in a dark place ... it was the sewer! I drifted along slowly, watching the stone walls pass. There were people huddled below on a narrow ledge. I was looking down at myself and my friends even as I was floating free in the darkness above! Exerting my will over the stone, I drifted down next to the small group, reached out, and touched the halfling. Hectodd leaped straight up with a shriek and whirled around, looking for the person who had touched him, for all of his companions were standing well away from him. Felbron grabbed Hectodd and calmed him, assuring him that the touch was but a flight of fancy. I smiled to myself, sorry to have frightened the halfling, but it was good to know what the stone would allow me to do.

I floated away into the darkness. Now I could see in the dark! Everything was delineated in shades of grey. There was some sort of activity ahead. I willed myself to move faster and came upon Mmandoc circling an annoyed catoblepas. I drifted down upon the beast and grabbed its head. It lost all resistance the instant I touched it and moved easily as I willed it. I called out to Mmandoc, “I am with you! Lead me to the nearest monster!”

It took but little effort to will the beast forward, for it had few brains. It lurched through the water in the direction I indicated as Mmandoc, obeying my directive, flitted around a corner. We went on in that manner for a time, Mmandoc leading and I following, drawing the catoblepas behind me by force of will.

We came to another intersection of tunnels, and after a moment of hesitation, Mmandoc chose the corridor on the right. The catoblepas and I floated free, awaiting the direction, which came quickly. Mmandoc fluttered toward me with word that another monster was lurking just beyond the mouth of the tunnel. I turned my catoblepas into the watery tunnel and loosed it, watching with interest as it swam toward a direct confrontation

with another of its kind.

Mmandoc and I followed, curious as to the outcome. The first beast swam slowly into the tunnel, its head casting from side to side, realizing that it was not alone. Then the two catoblepases came face-to-face with a good deal of roaring and head waving and jockeying for position. At last the two of them jutted their small round heads forward and locked gazes, regarding each other intently. It seemed a remarkably slow process, but in the end, the two catoblepases stared each other to death! Mmandoc and I were ecstatic and watched carefully as the two creatures sank beneath the murky waters, leaving not so much as a bubble in their wake.

Remaining only long enough to ascertain that the creatures were indeed dead, I drifted along in the darkness, following Mmandoc. How long would the trancelike state last? How long would I be able to continue? And most important of all, how

many monsters still remained?

* * *

Felbron and Hectodd were growing nervous. Askar had been as stiff as a board for more than five minutes now and showed no signs of reviving. What’s more, the stone he held was still showering the tunnel with iridescent colors.

“What are we going to do?” asked the halfling nervously.

“Maybe if we shook him a little ...” suggested Felbron.

“No, no! Never do that to a mage in a trance!” snapped Pfee-Guh. “It could really be dangerous!”

Several rats came scampering down the walk, squeaked noisily, and then ran over the straw man and went back the way they had come.

“Uh-oh! Looks like we’re about to have company,” said Pfee-Guh. “There’s a catoblepas heading straight for us.”

“Hectodd gave Felbron a worried look.

“Looks like it’s up to us to take care of this one,” said Pfee-Guh as he scampered over to climb on Hectodd’s shoulder. “Bring your weapons. We’ll set up our ambush at the next corner!”

“What about Askar?” asked Hectodd. “We can’t just leave him standing here like this!”

“Sure we can,” said Pfee-Guh. “Besides, he makes a great torch. Oh, and bring the straw man. We’ll use him to distract the beast. Come on, get a move on, you guys! Don’t be such babies. Remember, we got an army of my rat friends to help us!”

Reluctantly Felbron and Hectodd left Askar standing on the narrow ledge like a glowing statue. Seizing the straw man, who wriggled fitfully at their touch, they hurried along the walkway to the next intersection.

“It’s coming up that tunnel,” Pfee-Guh said in a loud whisper. “You two get on the other side of the entrance so’s it won’t see you right away.”

The army of rats carried off the straw man and positioned him between the approaching monster and the place where Askar stood. Just for good measure, they attached a rope to the straw man’s foot. The straw man waved its arms about feebly and shook its head as though in distress, but without Askar’s direction, it was too weak to act on its own.

Hectodd spared no thought for the straw man but drew his sword and held his breath as the sound of splashes emerged from the dark tunnel. Now there was the sound of heavy breathing, and an ugly head snaked out of the dark opening and into the bright green light. The straw man threw up his arms and fell sideways, where he lay twitching on the narrow walkway. The beast continued to advance, turning its head to investigate the odd movement.

Pfee-Guh let out a shrill, high-pitched squeal. Once again, dozens of rats dropped from the ceiling, covering the catoblepas’s head and neck like a strange furry headdress. Felbron bellowed a dwarven war cry and lunged forward, shoving the pole-axe deep into the monster’s side.

The rats had managed to pull the bag over the monster’s head, amid dreadful snarls and hideous roars as the creature thrashed wildly, flinging its head from side to side as it tried frantically to rid itself of the confining sack. Rats went flying in every direction, landing in the water, on the dwarf, and on the halfling. Some fell hard against the stone walkway, where they twitched in pain and then lay still.

Pfee-Guh, who was clinging to the wall, yelled in the halfling’s ear: “Go!” The halfling leaped onto the catoblepas, straddling its neck where it joined its shoulders. The catoblepas didn’t even seem to notice the additional weight and seemed concerned only with freeing its head from the bag. Once he had gained his balance, the halfling jammed his short sword up to its hilt into the monster’s thick neck. The beast rolled violently, throwing its rider off into the dark water.

Felbron raised his hammer and began to swing it round and round, in ever-increasing circles. Then, finally, he let it loose with a mighty grunt. The hammer sped through the air and crashed into the monster’s head with a sickening thud.

The catoblepas staggered for several steps and then collapsed, sending a huge wave of water out in all directions. In a final act of mindless vengeance, the head of the dead monster swung limply across the tunnel and clipped the legs out from under the statue that was Askar. His body collapsed like that of the straw man, but fortunately it remained on the stone ledge.

Felbron, who witnessed the incident, later compared it to a duckpin being bowled over. The halfling was yelling for help, and Felbron answered. Quickly he pulled a drenched and stinking Hectodd up onto the walkway.

“Phew! Thank you!” The halfling looked warily over his shoulder. “Is that thing really dead?”

The dwarf examined a bleeding cut on Hectodd’s face. “I think so. Are you all right?”

“Yeah. It’s just a scratch. How’s Askar?”

The two of them reached their friend and contemplated his stiff body as he lay on the edge of the walkway, still clutching the brightly gleaming magic stone.

“D’you think he’s been turned into stone by this thing?” Hectodd asked, a worried expression wrinkling his hairy brow.

“Kind of looks like it, doesn’t it?” observed the dwarf, trying to pull the stone from Askar’s iron grasp.

Pfee-Guh appeared atop Askar’s chest. “You’ll never get that out of his hands unless . . . until he returns to his body. That is one powerful stone!”

“Yeah, sure,” snapped the halfling. “But what’s he doing with it?”

Then, even as they argued, Askar went limp and said in a weak voice, “Killing catoblepases, that’s what!”

Chaos erupted as Hectodd, Felbron, and Pfee-Guh rushed around, attempting to prop Askar up and make him comfortable. Once he was upright, with his back against the wall, he carefully returned the stone to the bag with trembling fingers.

Then he tied the bag to his belt.

* * *

I gingerly rubbed the back of my head where I had fallen against the stones. “Ouch! That hurts!”

“Well? Are you going to tell us where you’ve been?” demanded Hectodd.

“It’s like I said,” I answered, smiling enigmatically. “I was off killing the rest of the catoblepases. Mmandoc helped me. I see you guys polished this one off. That means we’ve got them all. We’re finished!”

“I told you he was gonna be a great magician!” squealed Pfee-Guh as he jumped up and down in my lap.

“Well, I’ll be!” mused the dwarf. “You mean it? We’re really done?”

I nodded happily. Grinning widely, I tried to stand but found that I was much too weak. My legs wouldn’t support me. “Help me up,” I said. “We have a reward to collect! And, Pfee-Guh, tell your friends that we’ll never forget them!”

Felbron and Hectodd gently lifted me to my feet. I wobbled weakly and was forced to use the dwarf s strong back for support. Hectodd held the torch so that it lit our way through the darkness. We stopped when we came to the straw man.

“Well, we won’t need him anymore,” said Felbron as he drew back his foot as though to kick the straw man into the water. The straw man, no stronger than I, wriggled helplessly, and even though I knew it was nothing but a short-lived creature of my own making, I couldn’t let Felbron dispose of him so thoughtlessly, and I held out my hand to stop him. Sighing and rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner, Hectodd lifted the straw man onto his shoulder, even though it was bigger than he himself, and off we went to collect our reward.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The strange group of would-be heroes whom Kathryn had sent to clean out the sewers had returned to the castle within a matter of hours, insisting that the job was done. Dubious, Kathryn had sent pixies to inspect, and the little ones had confirmed the stoiy: The monsters beneath the city had indeed all been slain. The heroes were then accorded the welcome they had so richly earned.

The wizard called Askar had collapsed before anyone could speak to him and was still in either a sound sleep or a coma; it could not be ascertained which. The others admitted that they had slain only two of the monsters and that the rest had been killed by Askar.

Kathryn had the new magic-user brought to her room, and had kept watch over his still form throughout the night. At first he had seemed merely exhausted, but at times he stirred restlessly. Not once, though, did he emerge from his deep sleep. Near morning he broke into a hot sweat, and Kathryn, fearing that he might have a fever, placed cool, soothing cloths on his forehead till the fever was under control.

Morning came, and still the magic-user slept. Kathryn was about to confer with Fea-Glenna when Askar finally began to stir, and it seemed as though he might awaken.

“See that he is provided with hot water in which to bathe and clean clothes with which to garb himself,” she told the maid, then hurried from her chambers before he roused. As she strode swiftly down the corridor, she wondered why she had not stayed to speak with the man beside whom she had kept vigil through the night. Her cheeks flamed brightly as she fought back the admission that it was more than professional curiosity that attracted her to the wizard Askar.

* * *

I awakened to the touch of crisp, clean sheets wrapped round my body and reveled in the sensation. Gentle fingers caressed my forehead.

“He’s coming to, mistress,” whispered a sweet voice, and I was torn between opening my eyes or lingering in this pleasant half-sleep. Now fingers were stroking my cheek softly, like kitten’s breath. I opened my eyes and sat up, only to discover myself face-to-face with a raven-haired elf maiden. She put her hand to her lips, giggled, and ran out through an open door before I could say anything.

Looking around, I found that my bed lay in one corner of a large room. Tapestries hung from the stone walls and animal skins covered the floors. Before I could notice more, a door opened on the far wall, the same door through which the elf maiden had vanished, admitting a pleasant-looking man wearing a black and yellow robe.

“Good morning, sir. My name is Justin. If you are feeling well enough, your companions await your company.” I could do naught but comply, though my knees felt wobbly and my head

was filled with cobwebs.

* * *

When we were reunited, I learned that the remainder of the party had not been ignored while I recovered from the ill effects of my spell-casting. All had been given scented baths and complete changes of clothing to replace those fouled in the sewers. My companions had also been carefully groomed and brushed, until they enjoyed a rather stunning appearance they had not enjoyed previously. Despite the well-intentioned ministrations of the servants, Pfee-Guh protested bitterly over the gay bow tied in a dainty knot at the end of his tail.

“Please, please! We can’t present you to the queen looking like a bunch of Blackmoorian cutthroats!” fussed the steward as he held up a length of fabric, measuring it against my shoulders.

I could only agree, especially since I was about to meet the queen, that same beautiful woman whom I had glimpsed but briefly and whose bedroom I guessed that I had shared.

The silver brocade jacket fitted me perfectly, as did the fine, black knee breeches. The steward was far too polite to mention the iron collar around my neck, but he pointedly selected a white linen shirt that covered the collar completely with a spill of white lace.

Felbron had been restored to his original condition, not being one to put up with fripperies, as he pointedly observed, casting a baleful glance over me as I was viewing myself in a full-length looking glass. I did not respond, for I was far too happy merely to find myself alive and relatively well. Not to mention dressed in finely fitted, attractive clothes.

Hectodd was dressed much as he had been when first we met. He wore new tan trousers, and a light brown tunic that framed his beard nicely. Topping off the outfit was a long-tailed coat trimmed with gold braid, a fine, velvet tricorn hat, and shiny, black knee-high boots. The halfling was so enamored of his fine appearance that he strutted back and forth in front of the mirror, assuming various poses of importance.

As for myself, the shirt and jacket were completed by a silver-plumed hat and tall, soft leather boots that fitted perfectly. My pouch had been neatly laid to one side, and now I picked it up and slid it over my head and shoulder before taking inventory. There was the knife, Mika-oba’s book of spells, the green gem, the mysterious stone we had come upon in the sewers, the new spellbook, pen, ink, and—hello—a folded piece of parchment that had not been there before! I opened it carefully and found it covered with writing in a strange hand. My mind was still a bit woolly, but I was able to decipher some of it.

“Pfee-Guh, come help me read this!” Magic and magical items had been falling like rain recently. Maybe this was some sort of scroll or spell . . . yet even as I turned the piece of parchment this way and that, trying to make sense of it, Pfee-Guh leaped up on my shoulder.

“Whatcha got there, bub?”

I showed him the note and watched his face eagerly as he studied it. “Well, what is it? Is it some kind of magic?”

Pfee-Guh giggled. “You might say that!”

“Well, read it to me! I can make out this part. It says something about after dinner.”

“Well, it is written in a lady’s hand, hence all the curlicues. Ahem!—” The rat-mage began, reading with great deliberation: “ ‘Noble Sir, I would be honored if you would meet with me on the high terrace this evening after dinner. Please do not tell anyone about this note.’ And it’s signed ‘K.’ My friend, it would seem that you have an admirer!”

I could feel a red flush spreading upward from the iron collar until the very roots of my hair burned with embarrassment. Quickly I stuffed the note into my pocket, even as I remembered the sweet elf maiden who had awakened me. Maybe . . . just maybe . . .

* * *

It was late afternoon. Our meeting with the queen, when we were to be presented with our reward, was to happen this very evening. Hectodd and Felbron had gone out into the city to find a hippogriff or pegasus for sale. I myself sat at an empty table in the great hall, studying my spellbook, As had become our custom, Pfee-Guh was perched on my shoulder, reading along with me.

“I don’t remember writing all this stuff!” I grumbled.

“Well, hey, don’t look at me. I can’t even write!” huffed Pfee-Guh, looking hurt. “Something must have happened when you used that magic stone.”

I looked at him dubiously. “How could a magic gem cause spells to write themselves?” Pfee-Guh just shrugged. I continued to leaf through the small, leather-bound book, comparing it with Mika-oba’s older and much larger book, and discovered, much to my amazement, that every spell contained in Mika-oba’s book had been duplicated into the newer book! But what was even more astounding was the fact that I felt I knew these spells—that somehow by transferring them into a book of my own, they had indeed become my own. Unless I was very much mistaken, I had achieved the status of a high-level magic-user in the span of but a single night. If the stone had done all this, perhaps it would also somehow allow me to rid myself of the iron collar, which I could feel tightening around my neck imperceptibly with every passing day. And was it possible that this was the gem, the Eye of Tiros that everyone was searching for? It was green and it did glow— but what would the Eye of Tiros be doing in the sewers of Loftwick? It seemed unlikely in the extreme. And still. . . .

“Pfee-Guh, do you think that I could get this thing off my neck by using the stone?”

“I dunno . . .” the rat said dubiously. “We could prob’ly get rid of it, but maybe we’d lose yer head, too. Why don’tcha ask yer friend, the queen, ta help ya. After all, it happened in her kingdom. She should be able to get it off. But my opinion is, ya better not mess with that stone for a while. It really took the juice outta you. I didn’t think you was gonna make it at first. But tell me what happened. What was it like?”

“Well, it’s all a bit fuzzy, like a dream, you know? But I can remember some of it. The first time I tried to use it, I was in a beautiful place, and I flew in through an open window and met a lovely woman. It had to be the queen. I offered her the stone, but she told me to keep it!”

“Amazing!” said Pfee-Guh.

I went on to relate my experience as a dragon and then told Pfee-Guh how I had left my body and yet accomplished all that I had in the sewers . . . how I had killed the monsters with Mmandoc’s help. As I spoke, my thoughts returned to my spellbook.

I flipped it open to a page. “Look at this spell. It’s a polymorph incantation, and—” All of a sudden, I thought of something. “Hey, why don’t we try it out on you and see if it works?”

“Wait just a yarpik-pickin’ minute!” complained Pfee-Guh. “What if you foul it up and turn me into a monkey or something?”

“Have any of my spells ever failed?”

Pfee-Guh thought for a moment. “No . . . but there’s always a first time. What if I die of system shock or something?”

“You’re just as likely to die of that now as later. I thought you wanted to be human again.”

“I do, I do!” the rat said plaintively, all but wringing his paws and twisting his tail into a tight corkscrew. “But I’m doin’ my best to talk myself outta it!” He was silent for a moment, as his little rat face ran through the entire gamut of expressions from joy to sorrow. “You gonna charge me twenty-five thousand gold koruns for the job?”

“For you, my friend, it’s free!” I said as I clasped his narrow shoulder between thumb and forefinger.

Pfee-Guh reluctantly hopped down from my shoulder and carefully read the mystic writing, poring over each phrase to make sure it was genuine. At last he seemed satisfied, although he still clutched his tail with whitened knuckles.

“All right,” he sighed, as though agreeing to commit suicide. “Let’s get the ingredients.”

Pfee-Guh hopped back onto my shoulder and huddled in the crook of my neck. I slipped my books back into my pouch, and together we wandered out of the great hall in search of a way out of the palace. At last we encountered Justin, the steward who had replaced our clothing, and after a few tut-tuts, he was more than happy to give us a guided tour of the castle garden.

Once out in the sunshine amid the neatly ordered gardens, Justin began to babble away, describing each botanical treasure, exactly where it had come from, and how it had been acquired: a gift of this potentate or that. For my part, I nodded occasionally as though I were truly interested while I secretly collected samples of various leaves and branches after Justin named them . . . the components of our spell. Now all that was lacking was an old, used cocoon.

Justin was pointing out a rare flower that came from the lands of the far frozen north, a land just slightly north of my own homeland and inhabited by ice barbarians of a most unpleasant nature. It was a delicate flower that bloomed only once every ten years, commented Justin. Suddenly Pfee-Guh launched himself from my shoulder and fell upon the rare flower as though he had gone mad. Justin immediately screamed in alarm, dancing around and clutching the fabric of his ruffled shirt as though undecided whether to faint or lapse into hysterics.

“Stop him!” he shrieked.

“Calm down! Don’t worry, Pfee-Guh won’t hurt the flower,” I said, hoping that it was true. As I patted the distraught Justin on the back, I saw Pfee-Guh carefully remove a spent cocoon from the stem of the plant. “We’re only interested in this bit of silk here,” I explained.

Having calmed Justin sufficiently, we excused ourselves and retreated from the garden with all the ingredients needed for the spell. Back inside the main hall, we spread everything out on the table. Pfee-Guh sat clutching his tail as though in prayer, and perhaps he was. I read the words of the spell one last time, fixing them in my mind, and then I closed the book, as ready as ever I would be.

“Here goes nothing,” I said as I flexed my fingers. Then I took the cocoon gently in my hands and cupped them together. Closing my eyes tightly, I began to concentrate, forming a mental image of the man that Pfee-Guh would become. I chanted the six magic words six times forward, six times back, then turned the cocoon over in my hand six times.

Whoomp! A tremendous blast of air rushed past my face. I opened my eyes. There on the table before me sat a naked man with long grey locks and a sparse grey beard. His eyes were closed, and his hands were clasped together as though in prayer.

“Well, I’ll be polymorphed!” I exclaimed with a happy smile as I tapped the naked man on his knee. “You can open your eyes now!”

The man’s eyes popped open, and as I watched, they grew as large as saucers as they rolled around in a circle of disbelief. With jerky movements, he grabbed one arm, then felt his face and shoulders with trembling fingers. Forgetting his nakedness, he leaped to his feet and screamed aloud with joy. Then he leaped from the top of one table to the next, screaming with joy at each step. The heads of startled servants popped in at several doors, only to see a naked man leaping about in the room, screaming all the while, and just as quickly the heads disappeared. I squirmed in my seat, for it appeared that I had loosed a wild man.

“Hoo-ha!” yelped the man who had been Pfee-Guh as an elderly matron stared open mouthed at the naked spectacle before fainting dead away. I knew that I had to stop him somehow, and just as I was leafing desperately through my spellbook, searching for something to calm him down, two armed guards appeared at the far end of the room. Meanwhile, Felbron and Hectodd had entered the door closest to me and stopped abruptly, totally taken aback at the sight of the leaping wild man.

No one, not even the mysterious maid who had written me the note, would have seemed quite so welcome to me at that moment. I yelled, “Felbron! Hectodd! Grab him, quick!” For a moment, they continued to stand in the doorway, dumbstruck at the peculiar sight. “Felbron, that’s Pfee-Guh! I just polymorphed him into a man! Help me catch him!”

“By the beards of the sainted dwarves!” exclaimed Felbron as he finally sprang into action. Quickly he circled around a long row of tables while Hectodd ran the other way. The wild man came rushing back toward us, saw me, and ran in the opposite direction. Felbron leaped out, grabbing Pfee-Guh by the legs, and the two of them rolled off the table, bounced off a pair of chairs, and fell to the floor just as the guards arrived.

“It’s all right,” I said, hoping that it was so, hoping that Pfee-Guh had not been driven insane by the transformation. “It’s a peculiar illness of his. He does this every now and then. We just have to calm him down. Everything is under control.” The guards looked at me with doubt and then at Pfee-Guh with distaste, but our new status as heroes counted for something, for they merely nodded courteously and departed.

Hectodd took off his coat, and together we wrapped it around the tall, thin naked man. I drew him close, placing my hands on his shoulders, remembering how just a short time before it had required but two of my fingers. I shook the man gently and said sternly, “Wake up, Pfee-Guh! Come to your senses! Don’t tell me we’ve come this far only to have you go mad.”

I searched the shiny black eyes for some sign of intelligence, taking note of the long thin nose, quivering and twitching as had Pfee-Guh’s, and I worried once again that something had gone wrong with the spell. Maybe a rat brain wasn’t of sufficient size to operate within a human body. But if the spell had indeed gone wrong, how could I change him back? Another Polymorph spell? No, Dispel Magic would do the trick. I began to think about what I would need to accomplish the spell, wondering if it would harm him further.

At that moment, I felt a sudden tremor go through the man’s body, and he straightened and looked me straight in the eye, his nose no longer quivering. “The name’s Piet!” he said calmly. ‘‘ Piet Gu stavsen!’’

* * *

An extra chair was placed at the table that evening, as we heroes, all four of us, dined with the queen, the prime minister, and the freecaptain of the palace guard.

I was much taken by the beauty of the two women, and was pleased to note that I had been seated next to the queen. I did my best to forget about Maria Griswalda, which wasn’t too difficult considering I had never seen her, and I felt that I could learn to love elves without too much difficulty. After the formal introductions, the queen pressed for a description of how the dangerous deed had been accomplished.

I described the destruction of the first beast and then turned the telling over to Felbron, allowing him to tell of the kill he and the halfling had made with the help of the rats.

“I shall call off the royal rat catcher in their honor,” Kathryn said, smiling. With a knowing look, she turned to me and said, “Now tell us about your part in all of this, without the veil of modesty. I am sure that there is much that you have left unsaid.”

I returned her smile, taking note of the tiny amber flecks in her eyes, while realizing that there was much that could not be said, else it would seem that we had accomplished the deed by sheer blundering rather than by careful intent. After all, if I hoped for her help in removing the cursed collar, I must appear to be more than a hapless boob.

I told the story as best as I could, although even to my ears the gaps and unexplained happenings seemed much too incredible to be believed. Claiming for myself more magical power than I had actually possessed, I described in vague detail how I had entered the trance and directed the monsters against one another. The queen followed my every word with interest, yet she looked at me strangely when I had finished, as though she had expected to hear a different tale.

“What a simply astounding story!” she said quietly. “You are truly a powerful wizard, Askar!” So saying, she reached across the table and touched my hand. A wave of embarrassment swept over me, but I was also tinged with shame, knowing that I had deceived this beautiful and intelligent woman who had placed her trust in me. I removed my hand reluctantly.

A sumptuous meal followed. The first three courses were mere appetizers, although I, unaccustomed to such luxury, did not realize this and fell upon them ravenously, leaving precious little room for the main course—whole roasted swan, stuffed with hummingbirds and honey. The elves themselves did not partake of the flesh of the fowl, eating only vegetables and fruits as was their custom. However, they seemed to willingly satisfy the less delicate natures of their honored guests.

Felbron ate with a hearty appetite, but he and Hectodd had to interrupt their meal from time to time to correct the manners of Piet, who ate everything with his fingers and tried to drink straight from the serving bowl. It was obvious that Piet hadn’t eaten in a civilized manner for a long time.

Once the banquet had been reduced to so many empty plates, glasses were raised in a toast to the Yeomanry. Felbron toasted the queen, to which I added a warm postscript, and then the servants brought the reward. Four huge bags of gold koruns were wheeled in on sturdy carts, one for each of us.

Hectodd stood up and made a speech of thanks, and then unexpectedly launched into describing, in rather lurid and exaggerated terms, the manner in which we had arrived in the capital. I felt the queen’s eyes resting on me during the tale, but each time I glanced in her direction, her eyes were quick to turn away. At length the halfling crashed to his seat abruptly, having finished his speech and downed far too much wine.

Clearing her throat gently, Kathryn rose to her feet and spoke from her position at the head of the long table. “Mere words cannot convey our heartfelt thanks for ridding us of this menace, nor can gold coins relieve our indebtedness, although I assume it will not be refused.”

“Here, here!” cried the halfling as he tapped on his crystal goblet with the edge of his knife. Even I, a rough Wolf Nomad with few if any graces, knew that this was not the way one acted in polite company. But Kathryn merely smiled and continued smoothly.

“I think you all remember that I promised an extra bounty if you completed your mission quickly. This you have most certainly accomplished. Accordingly, the bounty has already been given to Askar.” She and I exchanged glances, and I remembered the moment in the sewers—the moment when she had offered me the stone—the moment that had later seemed but a dream. She broke off her gaze and concluded simply, “May he use it wisely, and well, to everyone’s advantage.”

A perplexed look crossed Fea-Glenna’s face and the faces of the rest of the company as well. They stared at the queen and then at me and then at each other, as though expecting further clarification. But the queen sat down and busied herself with her plate and silver and offered no word of explanation. I myself was none too certain as to what should be said and so, following her lead, said nothing.

* * *

The banquet was over, and my friends had retired to their rooms somewhat the worse for their overindulgence of good wine and rich food. I was too restless to remain in my room and sat on the darkened terrace, enjoying the view of the city below as I pondered the strange events of the past two days.

My mind whirled from one thought to the next, finding only more questions and no answers. It had not seemed fitting to speak to the queen about the iron collar. It struck me as too grubby and shameful a matter to mention. I found that as much as I did not wish to be choked to death, neither did I wish to

have Kathryn think of me as but one step removed from that of a common thief.

I wondered once again whether I now had the ability to free myself from the binding ring of iron and whether or not the magical stone could help. I had scoured my spellbook and found nothing to aid me. I had touched the magical stone to the collar and imagined it breaking apart and falling to the ground, but nothing of the sort had happened. If anything, it had grown tighter, forcing me to hold my head at an even higher angle in order to breathe comfortably. It seemed that the collar was growing tighter with each and every passing day, and I was certain that it would soon constrict my breathing to a point that no angle would relieve it. I was growing desperate and knew not which way to turn for help. Even Mmandoc was of no use in this matter. The magic was not of a sort that could easily be interrupted, for the collar had evidently been imbued with certain anti-magical properties.

My mind began to wander over the events of recent days. I had wished for adventure, and I had found it beyond my wildest expectations. Indeed, it seemed as though I had packed a lifetime into the last few days. But now I realized that there was something to be said for a calm and untroubled life, one without excitement and peril and the thought of imminent death. Sighing, I stood up and kicked a small rock around the terrace, feeling fidgety and restless, knowing that even if I retired to my room, I would be unable to sleep. Suddenly there was a snap in the bushes behind me, and as I turned, a shadowy figure emerged.

“Askar!” whispered a soft voice, and there in the moonlight stood the queen. Moonlight glinted off the raven hues of her hair and the soft folds of her gown. She was even more beautiful in the half-light. I was speechless.

“I—I’m not very good at these things,” she said as she reached out and touched my face with fingers as soft as a whisper. “I was with you last night . . . did you feel my presence?”

My heart was fluttering out of control. This beautiful, intelligent, and powerful woman actually was attracted to me! I tried desperately to think of something meaningful to say but failed

completely. For lack of words, I took her hand in mine and held it gently.

Kathryn’s resolve faltered in the face of my obvious emotions. She was the queen of a rich and powerful kingdom, with thousands of subjects willing to do her bidding and die in her name if necessary. Yet here she stood, tongue-tied and as shy as an inexperienced maiden, unable to talk to the man she desired.

The moment of silence stretched longer and longer, the tension building. I looked up nervously, my stomach roiling, and found that Kathryn was looking into my eyes, searching, with the same look of yearning that I felt within my own heart. Worry and fear fell away from me, and I looked into her beautiful liquid eyes, the pupils large, dark, and mysterious, like those of a cat in the moonlight. I was mesmerized, and suddenly there was no need for words. A nameless flow of energy was ignited, surging between us, nearly invisible in its intensity.

I reached up to her shoulders and gently pulled her to me. As I did so, a shudder ran through me. It was impossible to say where I left off and she began, for the invisible cord that drew us together had bound us so close that it seemed we were but one. As we sank into each other’s embrace, it occurred to me that it was

no more nor less than it should be. . . .

* * *

Felbron shook my hand warmly. “I’m going to miss you all, but our parting will be brief.” Next he turned his attention to the halfling. “Are you certain that you don’t want to see your Uncle Osgood? I would make the trip gladly!”

“No, thank you, noble friend,” said the halfling, almost in tears as he shook the dwarfs hand in farewell. “I’ll stay here with Askar and Piet a bit longer. We’ve got another secret mission, and they’ll need me.”

“Well, then, I’ll tarry no longer!” said the dwarf as he turned and walked out into the courtyard, where two grooms held the newly purchased pegasus. The animal was nervous, unused to human, elf, or dwarven touch. Its heart and head still yearned for the freedom of the wild and the empty, open skies. The pegasus shook its head from side to side in a desperate attempt to be free.

“Go in safety!” called Fea-Glenna. “Return to us soon!”

The dwarf swung himself into the saddle and doffed his feathered cap in a gallant bow, replying, “With bells on, my fair lady!”

A small crowd had gathered in the courtyard, and they cheered as the beautiful animal reared up, spreading its wings wide. It soared into the sky, more graceful than any bird yet born, then circled once, twice, climbing higher and higher until it vanished in the pale blue sky. The dwarf had promised to return in three days’ time aboard a new and improved airship. And I, for one, was certain he would do so.

As for myself, the two days I had spent in the royal palace had done nothing to diminish my respect and admiration for Kathryn. We had shared two gloriously happy days, and I was hopelessly in love. I had given myself over to this new emotion, banishing the worrisome image of Maria Griswalda’s blurred features to the back of my mind, wishing only to bask in the glow of Kathryn’s love.

We had at last spoken of the collar. It was more than a little difficult to ignore. Kathryn was horrified to learn that she was in part responsible. Word was sent to Regent, and the freecaptain, one Lionel by name, was ordered to report to the queen with all possible haste, as only he could remove the collar. It seemed that all would be well.

But it was not to last. Whatever evil had brought the catoblepases to Loftwick soon struck again in other parts of the kingdom. Fea-Glenna was dispatched to a place called Styvka in the mountains to the west, there to deal with a plague of basilisks that had appeared mysteriously and which were turning the place and its unfortunate inhabitants to stone.

Hectodd, Piet, and I had volunteered to deal with a medusa that had suddenly appeared at the small mining town of Green-cove, site of the royal diamond mine, thus bringing to a halt the flow of precious gems that greatly helped to finance the government.

Our departure was to be far less spectacular than Felbron’s. Scarcely had he vanished from our sight than three horses and a pack of mules were led forth. I mounted the tall grey that

Kathryn had given me, one of her favorite steeds. The significance of this gesture was not lost on those who gathered in the courtyard. Hectodd and Piet mounted their horses with a minimum of fuss, and then we were off, accompanied by a second loud cheer.

As we clattered out of the palace gate and into the city streets, I smiled to myself as I realized that while it was a good two-day ride to the mine, Felbron would probably be in Goatsblood before we even reached the outskirts of the city of Loftwick. Would wonders never cease?

CHAPTER THIRTY

It was approaching noon when we finally left the last row of houses behind us and entered the country proper. I had been out of the saddle too long, though the journey had but begun. Portions of my anatomy were already complaining. I derived small pleasure from the fact that Hectodd and Piet appeared to be suffering as well.

We were passing through what looked like a wild, uninhabited country. But every so often we would come upon a plowed field or a farmhouse, and now and then a herd of sheep. Mmandoc flew out in broad circles and brought back reports about the countryside.

We passed no village until well after noon. There we stopped and bought bowls of hot stew at a pleasant roadside inn. Several times that day we were forced off the road while large ox-driven wagons rattled past. Hectodd pointed out that the wagons represented the commerce upon which the kingdom flourished.

We stopped beside a small stream that passed under the road for our evening meal. There we found a pleasant grove of trees. Wagon tracks indicated that many others had also found the spot to their liking, yet for all its use, the area was fresh and green.

There were still several hours of daylight left to us, and so, despite our aching anatomies, we rode on into the evening while

Piet questioned me incessantly about magic and spells. In the transformation from rat to human form, he had somehow lost the ability to cast the few spells he had learned as a rat. And so it was that I became the mentor and Piet the student.

Darkness fell, and we cast about for a suitable campsite. Fortune smiled on us, and we found a second quiet stream where we dismounted with gladdened sighs to spread our bedrolls. A camp fire was soon built, and we rested in its warmth. After a time, I rummaged through my saddlebags and found what I sought, a small paper-wrapped package that I handed to Piet. He untied the string and opened the wrapper, revealing a small spellbook, nearly identical to my own. The only difference was that this one had cost me a whole silver korun.

Piet’s eyes filled with tears as he stared down at the book. “Thank you, Askar. Thank you so much,” he said simply. He opened the little book and felt the pages as though they were precious silk parchment instead of ordinary foolscap.

I looked over at my friend, taking in the sad eyes and long, straight nose that bore no resemblance to Pfee-Guh the rat. The only similarity was the dark grey hair.

“Here, you may need this, too,” I said as I held out a portable writing set. There, by the light of the fire, we copied out a few first-level spells that Pfee-Guh had once known. Just as Hectodd piled the last logs on the fire, banking them for the night, Piet tried his magic dart. A small shower of sparks flew from his fingers as the dart buried itself, with a satisfying thwack, in the bark of a nearby tree. Hectodd applauded, laughing. When we inspected the tree, the halfling whistled.

“You’re on your way!” I said, shaking Piet’s hand with heartfelt joy.

Later, after the others had begun to snore, I lay beside the fire, rolled up in my blankets, and thought about Kathryn. I was tempted to use the stone to achieve a trance in order to see her. I loosened the strings of the pouch, reached inside, and touched the stone. But before I could carry out my plan, I thought better of it, knowing that it would weaken me. None of us knew what to expect in Greencove.

* * *

Morning found us huddled under cold, grey skies. The air was heavy with moisture, and Hectodd had trouble getting the fire going to make the yarpick coffee. While tying our bedrolls to the pack mule, I was disturbed to find that two of the all-important mirrors had somehow been broken. The mirrors, of course, had been intended for use against the medusa. All we had to do was convince her to look into them.

Giving up our efforts to start a fire, we donned extra layers of clothing and wrapped ourselves in our cloaks before mounting. If anything, my aching joints and tender posterior protested the second day’s journey even more vigorously than the first as we rejoined the cold and empty road.

We were in more desolate country now, and the first village we came to consisted of four small stone houses. Fortunately for us, the owner of one of those same houses, an amiable farmer named Galad, invited us in to share a meal of bacon, bread, and steaming yarpik coffee. The farmer was a simple man of few words, and our meal was finished in companionable silence. When we took our leave, the land grew even more lonely, with no signs of habitation.

Shortly before midday, we reached a crossroad, and here the paved road we had been traveling turned east. Beyond, in the direction we were to go, the road trailed off into a rude thread of crushed stone and dirt. Trees lined the roads on both sides, and an empty wooden shelter nestled in the southernmost fork. Wooden signs mounted on a tall post indicated that there were towns to be found in all directions. Our path led straight south to the little village of Greencove and the diamond mine that lay beyond.

We tied our horses to a stump and made our way into the shelter, where we shed our wet outer gear and ate some bread, washing it down with some wine to warm our flagging spirits. While we took our ease, I heard the clip-clopping of a single horse. Opening the door a crack, I saw a lone rider coming up the trail from the direction of Greencove.

I stepped outside the shelter and held up my hand in a gesture of peace. The rider kicked his mule into a trot. It was a dwarf, his face lined with weariness and grime. He lifted his leg over the pommel and slid heavily to the ground with a clank of concealed armor.

The two of us stood there in the drizzle, studying each other and finding little to disapprove of. The newcomer was old and weatherbeaten, clad in a chain mail jacket. He wore a battered helmet that may once have sported horns, but now it bore but two grey stubs that protruded raggedly from either side.

“Good morning, friend!” hailed the dwarf in a scratchy voice that spoke of a lifetime of long nights spent on cold ground.

“Good morrow to you, sir,” said Hectodd, emerging from the hut and taking his place beside me. “Will you enter and share a bit of bread and wine?”

The dwarf s eyes lit up, and a smile twisted his scraggly beard. “Don’t mind if I do! Benbow’s the name.”

“I’m Hectodd, this is Piet, and this is our wizard, Askar,” said the halfling as he ushered the dwarf inside.

Benbow grunted politely and then tore ravenously into a loaf of bread. Once done with the loaf, he seized a bottle of wine and took a generous swig that finished off nearly half the bottle. Finally he gave a belch of contentment and smiled at us beatifically.

“Where ye be bound?” asked the dwarf.

“Greencove,” I replied. “We were hoping . . .”

A look of alarm spread over Benbow’s face, and he shook his head violently. “Now, you don’t want to be a-goin’ there! That place is certain death. Look at me! I’m the last one left alive, an’ I intends to stay that way!” he said as he thumped his fist against his chest.

“We must go,” I answered. “We have been sent by the queen herself to slay the medusa!”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “Have you, now? Well, you’ve come a day too late to save us. Her went into town last night, her did, an’ turned every last one of ‘em to stone. Even them as had mirrors and such to pertect ‘em.” A tear came to his eye, and he blinked furiously and looked down at the ground.

“I come back from fishin’, and they was ail turned to stone.” Benbow pulled a large handkerchief out from under his chain mail and blew his nose with a tremendous honk.

“Well, Askar here’s a powerful wizard,” Hectodd said reassuringly, although whether he was trying to convince himself or the dwarf, I could not have said. “We’ll handle that old medusa, just wait and see. Do you want to join us?”

“Not me! No, never!” the dwarf said, shaking his head again. “It’s Granite Face for me. I never should have left in the first place!” Thanking us for our hospitality, he climbed back on his horse. “I hope you kills her afore her gets yoo!” he called, and then he rode away, heading east.

“Well, said Piet, “that was certainly encouraging!” Sitting himself down on the ground of the hut, he finished off the bottle of wine.

* * *

We left the shelter of the hut and rode for the remainder of the day, seeing no signs of life. At dusk, we stopped in the foothills of the mountains, about a league below Greencove. A light mist had begun to fall early in the day and then continued without stop. We were drenched to the skin, miserably cold, and wet and hungry as well. We found no good camping site and stopped in the shelter of a large tree while deciding upon a course of action.

Scouting would be difficult, not knowing where the medusa might be, and coming face-to-face with her would be a fatal mistake. I spoke to Mmandoc, and he agreed to fly over the town and report what he saw. I warned him of the dangers and stressed the importance of avoiding the medusa’s eyes. Mmandoc nuzzled my ear, signaling his understanding, and then took to the air to begin his explorations.

“At least this creature is not as dangerous as the catoblepas,” I commented.

“How so?” the halfling asked dubiously.

“Well, if you don’t get close enough to let her bite, you won’t get poisoned. If you don’t look her in the eye, you won’t be turned to stone.”

“That sounds good, but if it’s true, how did she manage to turn an entire village to stone?”

“There you have me,” I said with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “She must have irresistible eyes!”

“I think that’s the whole idea,” Piet added sourly as he pulled his cloak tighter around him, shivering. “She lures you into looking at her eyes, and then, blam, you’re dead. Do we have a plan, Askar?”

“Well, I had planned to do it with mirrors,” I said as I unpacked the bundle on the mule’s back. “But I see now that all five mirrors have been broken. So much for that part of the plan!”

“You heard what the dwarf said about mirrors, anyway,” said Piet. “This sounds like a job for magic.”

“Or a trusty sword,” the halfling said, brandishing his sword broadly.

“What’s gotten into you, Hectodd?” asked Piet. “I’ve never thought of you as the swashbuckling sort.”

“Aha!” cried the halfling. “You forget the mighty blow I struck that catoblepas!”

“Oh, yes . . . very commendable, indeed!”

Mmandoc returned just then with his report, and lighting on my shoulder, we conferred.

“This is good. Mmandoc says that the medusa is deep inside the mines, and that it’s safe for us to go into the village. At least there we can find some shelter . . . and maybe some unbroken mirrors.”

* * *

The village of Greencove would not have been much, even on a sunny day in happy times. Now it was bitterly cold, and the mist had long since given way to a hard, driving rain. The grey gloom that covered our stealthy entrance draped the gaping doors and empty windows of what had once been a busy, thriving community. The feeling of gloom deepened as we walked around the statues, the former inhabitants of the town, who were frozen throughout eternity in expressions of horror and fear. Doing our best to avoid these sad figures, we picked the largest of the cabins, went inside, and started a fire. Mmandoc perched on the rooftop to keep watch.

An old dwarven woman stood near the door, her stone face agape with terror. Piet and Hectodd wanted to carry her outside, or at least cover her with a blanket, but I would not permit it. She had surrendered her life, and that in itself was reason enough to honor her. Deep inside, I harbored some thread of hope that I might revive her and the others. I fingered the stone as it nestled in its pouch. Would it help? Or should I save it to use on the medusa?

Hectodd was roaming around the room, opening cupboards and cabinets, rummaging through drawers. “Here you go, Askar! I found you a mirror!” He held up a small round object, mounted upon a slender ivory handle.

“And here’s another one on the wall,” said Piet.

“Put them in your pockets, and be careful,” I cautioned. “Don’t let them break.”

The finding of the mirrors helped me to make up my mind. The mirrors would serve my two resourceful friends, who had found a way to survive against overwhelming odds, well against the medusa. But knowing that Kathryn’s hopes rested on me, I knew that I would need something more powerful than a mirror: I would have to try to use the stone again. My decision made, I sat down in a low wicker chair before the fire.

Both Piet and Hectodd did their best to convince me not to use the stone. “Remember how it drained you?” reminded Piet.

“Yeah, you got as stiff as one of these here statues,” added Hectodd. “We thought you was a goner for sure. It might kill you one of these times.”

“Be that as it may, I have to try,” I said as I reached into the pouch. “Kathryn is depending on me.” Before they could argue further, I pulled the stone out of the pouch and clasped it tightly with both hands to my chest.

Once again the stone throbbed and pulsed, turning an intense blue-green, almost watery in essence, as though we were on the sea floor looking up toward the sun. Dimly, as though from a

great distance, I heard Hectodd cry out in fear.

* * *

Within the pool of blue-green radiance, I closed my eyes and concentrated. Once again I rose out of the confines of my mortal form and floated around the room. Growing confident, wondering just what the gem would allow me to do, I approached the wall of the cabin and reached out with my arm. My arm passed through the wall. Smiling inwardly, I drifted through the wall and out into the night. It was easy. I floated up the mountain trail to the minehead and slipped under the fallen timbers and down the long shaft. The shaft turned abruptly left, and I followed it. It turned right, and I drifted to the right as well. And now I began to sense the medusa. Somehow I could sense her evil presence, and I knew that she was near.

It was dark in the mine, but I saw things in shades of grey. A cold black essence had seeped into the tunnel, consuming the grey light, and I knew that she was to be found immediately ahead. Some part of me, that part that connected me with my living form, that slender thread of human consciousness, was afraid and cried out. I impelled myself forward by sheer force of will.

“Go away!” screamed the medusa in a voice so loud it startled me. I was with her now. The snakes that were her hair writhed uneasily, twisting and twining about her head with gaping jaws and tiny tongues that flickered in and out, promising agonizing, lingering death.

The medusa glanced around her, searching, seeking me out, yet her black eyes saw nothing. Trusting her senses rather than her limited vision, she moved about, searching further, knowing somehow that I was there. I realized that her death would not be accomplished as easily as I had defeated the less-than-brilliant swamp monsters.

Floating above her head, nearly scraping the rough ceiling, I approached from above and seized two of the questing snakes by their necks, wrenching them loose and hurling them to the ground. The medusa screamed and whirled about, seeking the source of her pain but seeing nothing. She ran down the tunnel with me following close behind, snatching at the snakes whenever possible, inflicting pain as well as fright, something a medusa did not often experience. I fought to maintain my concentration.

The medusa hurried up the length of the mine shaft. Her flight was aided by her desperation as, unseen, I struck time and again, pulling at her snakehair, snapping it off bit by bit. She emerged from the mine and screamed her rage and agony into the cold, wet air. It was a terrible sound, heard only by stone ears . . . and

those of a terrified halfling and human.

I attacked relentlessly, striking again and again, plucking snakes out of the swirling mass and snapping their heads off like overripe pea pods. It was then that I realized that the medusa was heading straight for the village to search out my body, my human form, and destroy it. If she succeeded, how long could I last in

this amorphous state? How long would I want to?

* * *

Mmandoc listened and watched as his master began his astral journey. Yet Mmandoc’s body did not move from the rooftop; he had no need, for their minds were linked as one. Whatever Askar saw and felt, so did the pseudodragon. Thus, when the medusa emerged from the mine and ran screaming toward the village, Mmandoc was not taken by surprise. Mmandoc was ready.

However, Hectodd and Piet, crouched within the cabin and polishing their mirrors, were less prepared than the pseudodragon. The screams were unlike anything they had ever heard before. The sounds assaulted their ears and struck terror deep into their hearts. Screams—horrid, ghastly screams—rolled down the mountain and echoed off the hills. The screams grew even louder and closer still.

“By the gods, she—she’s coming!” quavered Hectodd. His teeth all but rattled in fear, and his sword dragged on the floor, dangling from nerveless fingers.

Piet did not answer. His mouth was as dry as the Sea of Dust, and he was almost without thought. He and Hectodd huddled together and held their mirrors before them like talismans.

“Get behind the door, Hectodd!” Piet whispered. “When she comes in, I’ll throw my dart and you chop her legs out from under her!” His voice was shaky but determined. A dark thought rose in his mind unbidden. If the medusa was coming for them, then Askar must surely be dead. Together they took their places, now grimly determined to avenge the death of their friend.

There was a peculiar catlike scratch at the door. Hectodd held one finger up to Piet. “Don’t fire . . . it’s Mmandoc!” The halfling opened the door a crack, and the pseudodragon fluttered in, coming to rest on one shoulder of Askar’s body. Hectodd closed the door and watched in amazement as the little dragon suddenly began to change color, blending in with the chair and the wall beyond it, until he was totally invisible. So cleverly was the pseudo-dragon camouflaged that Hectodd found himself wondering if Mmandoc had really come in or whether he had imagined it.

Then there was no more time for wondering, for the screams had drawn closer and closer until they were outside their very door! Piet held his mirror up in front of him with shaking fingers and began mumbling his spell. Hectodd raised his sword. The door crashed open, narrowly missing Hectodd, as the medusa uttered a victorious shriek.

“There you are! I have you now!” she screamed as she lunged for Askar’s immobile body, oblivious to anything else in the room.

Piet let his dart fly. The little blue flame flew true and struck the medusa in the abdomen, causing her to double over. At the very same moment, Hectodd slashed viciously at the back of her legs with his sword. The blow struck home, and her left leg caved in beneath her. She screamed in agony, then turned and lunged toward the halfling as she fell. The screams were terrifying and so numbed Hectodd’s mind that he was unable to move. He clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, but he still could not move. The medusa reached out, anticipating his form within her grasp.

Then, just as the medusa came within reach, Mmandoc sprang to life and fell upon her body, stinging her everywhere with his deadly, paralyzing stinger. The medusa thrashed wildly, her limbs jerking spasmodically. Her movements slowed, and her screams were stilled to a piteous mewling sound, and then a final spasm coursed through her body. When it passed, the medusa was dead.

* * *

I struggled back into my body, but it was difficult, for my flesh seemed hard and cold and foreign, and I was sorely tired. For a time, as I hugged the cold flesh to the amorphous essence that was my being, I considered letting go, just drifting off and letting go of life. Being of the world was so very difficult. It would be

easy, even desirable to let go, to drift away, to merely be.

But something held me to the world, calling to me silently, pleading, then demanding that I return. The voice was incessant, unrelieved, repeating the names of those I loved like a litany, over and over until I could do naught but obey. Anger surged through me, and I forced my way back into the cooling flesh of my body, feeling total exhaustion permeating my oerthly form. I groaned as blood began to course into distant parts of my body.

At last I opened my eyes as faces, anxious faces, swam into view: Names came slowly to my brain and tongue—Hectodd . . . Piet . . . Mmandoc. I glanced down and saw the medusa dead at my feet. I tried to lift my head and speak, but I was too exhausted. My eyes closed of their own volition, and I gave myself over to the warm, waiting darkness.

* * *

Piet and the halfling carried Askar’s limp body to the bed and covered him with blankets and cloaks. Piet took the stone from Askar’s limp fingers and held it for a moment, contemplating what he might do with such a thing. But he knew what it had done to Askar. He slipped the stone, which glowed no longer and appeared to be no more than an ordinary blue-green rock, into its pouch and tied it to Askar’s belt.

The two of them dragged the disgusting, bloody remains of the medusa out into the middle of the road, covering it with fagots of dry wood from the house. Despite the rain, they soon had a roaring fire. It appeared that the death of the host body had not killed all of the snakehair, which writhed and shrieked above the roar of the flames. The snakes burned brightly as the flames crumpled them into silent, charred fragments.

Afterward, Piet collapsed in a chair, and Hectodd fell across the foot of the bed, huddling close to his friend for reassurance. They had succeeded in vanquishing a powerful and dangerous enemy. The medusa was dead. But they would bear the memory

of this night’s work in their nightmares for many years to come.

* * *

The dawn was as grey as Hectodd’s mood, and Piet appeared no happier, despite their victory. Nothing they did was able to rouse Askar.

“He’s gonna have to stop using that stone,” observed Piet. “It’s turning him into a vegetable.”

“Maybe we should head back to Loftwick,” Hectodd muttered. “There’s nothing more we can do here, an’ this place is getting me down.”

Once the decision was made, the two of them moved quickly, making a stretcher out of poles, placing a bearskin across them, and lashing it tight. The poles were tied to Askar’s stirrups, causing his horse to sidestep nervously. Askar’s unconscious body was then placed gently on the skins, wrapped with blankets, and fastened firmly with ropes.

They left the gloomy village without regret, dragging their unconscious wizard behind them. By noon, they had left the hills behind them and had resigned themselves to the rigors of the long trip home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It was a night of agony for Kaaluk, as he stumbled blindly along the path, running for help . . . running for his very life. He crashed into a tree and bloodied his nose. He tripped over a root, fell headlong down a slope, and tumbled into a cold stream. Despite his failure to save Northmark, or perhaps because of it, something inside kept pushing him, and he struggled on. After an hour, he came upon a familiar farmhouse, darkened at this hour of night. Oblivious to such niceties, Kaaluk banged on the door until a light appeared at an upper window.

“Who—who is it?” came a timorous voice from behind the shutter.

“Kaaluk, Freecaptain of Northmark!” he cried, banging his fist against the door once more for emphasis. “Open the door!”

Kaaluk heard the bolt slide slowly, and the top half of the door opened slightly, revealing a fragment of the cautious farmer, pitchfork in one hand, candle in the other.

“For the sake of the gods, man, I’m not the enemy! I’ve come to warn you! The Yeomanry is under attack, and Northmark has been destroyed. I need a horse!”

The door flew open, crashing back against the doorjamb. The farmer thrust the candle out in front of him and studied Kaaluk’s bloody face, seeking to somehow verify his words. There was no denying the fear and determination on the face of the freecaptain. The farmer dropped his pitchfork and motioned for Kaaluk to enter. He gave the freecaptain water, then led him through a side door to a stable in the back.

“I don’t have no proper saddle,” the farmer said apologetically as he led a massive plow horse out of its stall. “You’ll have to ride ol’ Slowcoach bareback.”

Kaaluk did not care in the least. He would have ridden sidesaddle if necessary. He muttered a hurried word of thanks and then grabbed the end of the rope, looped it through its bridle, and hopped on the horse’s broad back. The farmer clung to the horse’s mane and looked beseechingly up into Kaaluk’s face.

“You’ll bring him back if you can?”

“You’ll see us both again,” Kaaluk said reassuringly, hoping with all his heart that it were true. “Now I must ride south to warn Barwick and the countryside beyond.” Kaaluk backed the horse around in a circle. “You’d best rouse your family and get away from here as quickly as possible. The armies of Sterich are marching south along the Great Road. Go west and hide out in the hills—and be careful, for they do not take prisoners!”

He kicked the huge horse with his heels, and the bulky creature lurched forward, leaving the bewildered farmer scratching his head, wondering at all he had heard.

Kaaluk allowed the horse to follow the narrow rut that wound south from the farmhouse, picking its way down the familiar path. Soon it became a dusty track. Kaaluk knew these trails well. Many were the times he had led patrols out in search of bandits along these small, wandering byways. He would have given his eyeteeth for such a group of loyal and brave horsemen to ride at his side this night.

Kaaluk traveled many leagues, always staying a healthy distance from the Great North Road. He was certain that Hieraxion had fallen, for it was only a short march from Northmark. His goal was to reach Barwick in time to sound the alarm. Yet he could not allow innocent civilians to be slaughtered in their beds, so he stopped at every farmhouse and settlement along the way, raising the alarm and sending the populace west into the hills.

At length, near morning, he forded a stream and stopped to water the horse and rest. He submerged his face in the cold water, feeling it sting and prick his flesh. The shock roused him, and he mounted the great horse once more, urging it forward.

Kaaluk was exhausted. Every bone and muscle in his body ached; only his iron will carried him forward. By the time the pale blue-white light of dawn crept into the sky, Kaaluk could ride no farther, despite his determination. He came to a rail fence and a haystack standing by the side of the road. He tied the horse to the rail, and while the animal browsed, he curled up in the hay and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

Kathryn regarded the exhausted messenger with alarm. The man’s uniform was hanging from him in shreds, and his face was caked with dirt and blood. If what he said were true, the Yeomanry was in great peril. The freecaptains stood in a cluster beside her, deep in conference. The man had come from Barwick-on-the-Plain, thanks to an early warning received from two very frightened wagoners, who had encountered the army a short distance outside of Northmark.

The freecaptain of the palace guard nodded his head as though an agreement of some sort had been struck, then turned to face his queen.

“Your Majesty, this is the very gravest of news. Barwick cannot hold out without reinforcements, so I must march to its aid with those elements of the army that are here in Loftwick.”

Kathryn agreed reluctantly.

“We must also call out the militia. The other freecaptains will see to the defense of the city.” The man paused and fumbled for words. “Might I also suggest, Your Majesty, that you send out the little ones to bring us whatever information can be gained from Barwick.”

“You have my permission to call out the militia, Captain Lascar. As for the messengers, I will send them and keep you informed. How long before you march?”

“We will be on the road to Barwick by evening, Your Majesty, but our thoughts and prayers will remain here with you,” the freecaptain said gallantly as he bowed and returned to his officers.

Kathryn left the soldiers to their plans and made her way up to the tower, greeting each of the guards as she passed. Entering a small locked room at the end of the hall, she opened a glass case and rang a tiny silver bell to summon the pixies who lived in and around the trees of the palace. The pixies were old friends. Their friendship dated back to the days when Kathryn was exiled to the forests of the north.

The pixies did not always do what Kathryn asked. Often they disobeyed and played silly pranks around the palace. But Kathryn enjoyed their company, and they had proved extremely useful as messengers.

Three tiny figures glided in through the window. Others appeared as though from nowhere and hovered above the queen on silent wings. Kathryn explained her plight and found the pixies sympathetic. Two of them agreed to fly to Barwick, and the third took wing for Styvka, to fetch Fea-Glenna and bring her back to her queen.

Finally Kathryn sent other pixies to find her heroes. One pixie was dispatched to Goatsblood to summon Felbron, and another was sent to find the wizard, Askar.

Later, in the privacy of her chambers, Kathryn opened an old chest that she had had brought down out of storage. Carefully she removed the items from the trunk and placed the treasures from her past one after the other upon the silken coverlet of her bed. Her fingers lingered on each item, remembering the past. At last she came to a blue leather helmet and a glimmering vest of mith-ral chain mail. Hesitating for only a heartbeat, she slipped the chain mail vest on over her black cotton smock. She placed the helmet on her head, then drew an old sword and scabbard from the chest and buckled it around her waist. Only then did Kathryn look in the mirror.

There stood the Warrior Queen. She had hoped that the great struggle in Sterich against Lolth in the blackness would be her last war. She had hoped that unending peace would follow. Now she was girding for war again. Did things never change? Was it even possible to wish for peace? She faced the mirror and looked herself squarely in the eye, telling herself that this would be her last and final war.

* * *

Kranoch sat atop his brown steed proudly and trotted beside Donovic as they passed through the streets of Hieraxion. The town had put up a spirited and unexpected resistance, lasting for well over two hours. Then the magicians had arrived and had thrown terror into the hearts of the defenders. The soldiers of the Yeomanry had fled in disarray, leaving the city to Kranoch and his minions. It was his largest conquest yet.

“We were fortunate to take the town so easily,” said Donovic. “But it would be a mistake to think that it was our military prowess alone that was responsible for the victory. Never have I seen an entire town in a state of drunkenness. That is the real reason for the rout.”

“You misunderstand, General,” Kranoch said with a low chuckle. “They are not ordinarily dissolute. We have interrupted them at the beginning of their Blossom Festival, a time of unfettered revelry. I think you will agree that the timing was well chosen.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

There was more good news to be received. Donovic’s scouts had reached the outskirts of Barwick-on-the-Plain, the second largest city in the Yeomanry. The main body would arrive around midday on the morrow. Donovic was certain that the city would capitulate as Northmark had done earlier. Peace had made them soft; the Yeomanry was totally unprepared for war.

In the deep hours of the night, Kranoch dreamed of sitting on the throne in Loftwick, holding the Eye of Tiros in his hands. And perched on the ramparts at the end of a pike, for all to see, would rest the head of Kathryn the Queen.

* * *

The sentry perched high atop the tower on the outer wall of Barwick. He had been at his post since daybreak, scanning the horizon. So far, there had been nothing to report. He had entertained himself for a while by watching the crows circle above the fields, drawing a bead on them with his bow and arrow. But Kathryn had put an end to the killing of birds and animals for sport, and after a time, the pretense had palled. Now his eyes began to follow a tiny speck that had appeared on the horizon. It moved slowly through the tall grass, then moved in and out among the groves of trees. Whatever it was, it was heading for Barwick.

Now the speck had grown in size to become a horse and rider, riding hard and fast. Strange that a rider should approach through the wild country of the west, rather than by the smooth and well-paved road so recently improved by the queen. The sentry could see that the man was riding bareback, and that his animal was a huge plow horse, with great shaggy fetlocks, lathered with sweat. Bloody foam was clotted at its nostrils. The sentry stood up straighter, his attention glued to the rider, who, as he could now see, appeared to be wearing the torn and dirty uniform of a freecaptain of the Yeomanry.

The rider hailed the gate and entered the city just as his horse stumbled and fell to its knees. The sentry watched the commotion in the courtyard below and wished he knew what was happening. Nothing ever happened in Barwick.

* * *

J. Caryll, Freecaptain of the Green, sat at his desk writing orders, grumbling aloud as he tried to fill the watch with too few men. How on oerth was he going to man the walls if Kranoch and his army showed up, although he continued to hope and pray that the invasion was nothing but a rumor.

The call for militia had gone out soon after the warning arrived from Northmark. Companies were being formed in the city and all the surrounding villages. But that took time, and it would be a week before he had the thousand fighting men needed to secure the city. He had sent to Loftwick for help. Caryll hoped the dun-derheaded captains there would recognize the importance of Barwick and send help.

A knock heralded the duty sergeant, whose face appeared around the corner of the door.

“Someone to see you, sir. Says it’s important.”

Now, what could this be? The freecaptain hoped it wasn’t more bad news.

“Send him in, then, Sergeant.” Freecaptain Caryll put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, waiting. Through the door came a dirty soldier in a shredded uniform. The soldier spoke Caryll’s name in a feeble voice just before he staggered, breaking his fall on the edge of the desk.

“Kaaluk!” Caryll jumped up from his chair, coming to the aid of his old friend. “What’s happened to you? Why are you here? What news of Northmark?”

“Bad. All bad!” mumbled Kaaluk. “They’re dead, all of them—at least I pray that they are. We gave up without a fight, trusting in a pledge of good faith from Kranoch!”

“Sergeant!” yelled Caryll. “Bring some wine!”

“There were thousands of them, Caryll,” continued Kaaluk. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. We had no other choice but to accept their offer of peaceful surrender!” He slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair. “Now I know better,” he said bitterly.

The sergeant rushed in with a big oerthenware jug and some metal cups, which he swiftly filled for the officers. Kaaluk refused the cup, taking the jug in both hands and drinking from it till it spilled down his chin. Caryll sipped from his cup and looked away from his old friend.

After a moment’s pause in which Kaaluk composed himself, Caryll cleared his throat and then spoke. “You’re saying this Kranoch is not an honorable man?”

“I’m saying that we should have fought him to the death!” cried Kaaluk. “At least my men would have died with dignity, fighting for their lives and the town they loved, rather than being slaughtered like animals. I say we cannot surrender anymore!” Caryll saw that there was fire in his eyes. Kaaluk drank again from the jug, his eyes glazed with the horror of memory. “They brought in orcs,” he said softly, his voice trembling, “and they turned the town over to the monsters . . . after we had surrendered our weapons with the king’s promise of peace. They slaughtered them all and burned Northmark to the ground! Is that the work of an honorable man?”

“We have already sent word to the queen. I shall bring your

words to the immediate attention of the council!” Caryll said

gravely, more worried and troubled than he had been before.

* * *

By noon of the following day, the army of Kranoch was camped in the fields around Barwick. By afternoon, all roads in and out of the city had been cut off; the place was surrounded. Donovic sent envoys to request surrender, but even before their message could be delivered, they were shot dead by archers on the walls. It quickly became apparent that Barwick had been forewarned. The walls bristled with arrows and pikes. The town was ready for a fight, and it looked like it was going to be a tough one.

That night, Donovic counseled the king.

“Till now, the victories have come easy, Your Majesty, but Barwick is a fortress. The outer walls are heavily manned and fortified. Beyond them lies a second wall. The entire city is divided into fortified citadels.”

“Are you saying we cannot take this place?” demanded the king.

“No, no, sire,” the general said quickly, anxious to avoid Kranoch’s anger. “You miss my point, which is that Barwick will not surrender.”

“That much I have gathered,” Kranoch said dryly.

“To take the place will cost us a long and bloody siege, even with the might of your magicians. The Yeomanry has had some time to prepare for us, but not enough. If we leave a covering force here, we can march straight on to Loftwick tomorrow!” Donovic slapped his hand on the table to give his words emphasis. “They will be expecting us to remain here, thus allowing them time to fortify the city. If we leave now, we will be at their gates before they know it, and the victory will be ours!”

Alamkamala arrived late that night. When he learned of the plan to bypass Barwick and march directly on to Loftwick, he was disturbed. The Grand Inquisitor studied his maps, and at length he found what he sought. If the night creatures marched around to the north of Loftwick, they might still arrive before the forces of Kranoch.

When Guloog arrived, the Grand Inquisitor refused to allow the orcs to make camp. It cost him gold, a lot of gold, but Alamkamala pursuaded them to march on through the painful daylight, thus gaining a day’s march on the king.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Felbron stirred uneasily in his sleep. He rolled over and pulled his blanket up to his chin. There was that buzzing again! What could it be? There were no mosquitoes in Goatsblood!

“Felbron Ironfoot?” said the buzzing sound.

Talking mosquitoes! What next? Felbron groaned and answered through a sleepy haze, “Yeah, that’s me!”

“I am a representative of Kathryn Fern-Clyffe, queen for life and spokesperson of the Yeomanry!”

Felbron rolled over again, pulling the blanket up off his feet, thinking that it was all some kind of peculiar dream. “Mmm, yeah . . . nice lady. I know her personally. We’re just like that.”

“She is in dire need! You must come to her as soon as possible!” The voice perched lightly atop his head and buzzed at him through the thickness of his blanket.

Felbron’s eyes blinked open and sleep fell away instantly. This was no dream! He lowered the blanket cautiously and peered over the top of it with one bloodshot eye. Fluttering before him on gossamer wings was a tiny female pixie! He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Say that again!”

The pixie repeated its message. “You must come to Kathryn. You are needed, for the Yeomanry is under attack!”

Flinging aside his blanket, Felbron was up and dressing. “Enough said, little one. Go tell your mistress that Felbron Iron-foot is on his way!”

Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Felbron pulled on his boots and stomped out of the bedchamber. Donning his thick fur coat, he yanked open the door and went out into the cold night. He drew the coat tight around him, shivering, for even in the Hellfurnaces, it became mighty cold at night. He crunched down the cinder path to the barracks hall. Once inside, he stopped before the first door on the left and knocked loudly. “Alfred! Up

and at ‘em! Time’s a-wasting!”

* * *

Hectodd led the horses and the mule, while Piet walked beside the unconscious wizard. If only he at least looked as though he were suffering! But, no. Instead, Askar wore abroad, stupid grin on his face, and despite his condition and the bumps and jerks of the ride, Piet was certain Askar was enjoying some glorious dream while his friends did all the work and struggled along the rugged track.

Soon after nightfall, they reached the crossroad and the wooden shelter, which had never looked better to weary travelers. They camped inside the rude hut. Hectodd built a warm fire while Piet dragged Askar and the bearskins close. A sudden racket in the night awakened them and brought Piet to his feet, ready to cast his dart. Hectodd stood over Askar with drawn sword. The noise, however, turned out to be merely a pair of dwarves who rode up with a wagonload of swords and armor, forged in Granite Face for sale in Loftwick.

The new arrivals joined Piet and Hectodd around the freshened fire and offered some of their ale, which was not refused. The night wore on, as did the ale, and all thought of sleep vanished from the revelers’ minds. It was discovered that the dwarves were both friends of Felbron. Although their friendship was long-standing and they, as all the dwarves, knew of Felbron’s interest in flight, they were truly amazed when Hectodd described the successful airship journey of the Bij. Hectodd tactfully omitted all mention of dragons and the

unfortunate crash landing.

“Well, so the old horned toad finally learned to fly after all!” exclaimed one of the dwarves good-naturedly.

Eventually Hectodd and Piet fell asleep, their bellies full of dwarven beer, to the background of an off-key dwarven drinking song. Piet’s last thought before he toppled into sleep was the hope

that the song would wipe that damned smile off Askar’s face!

* * *

Freecaptain Lascar’s column of footmen stretched down the East Road and disappeared over the horizon, Kathryn’s blue pennant waving cheerfully at the head of each formation. If Barwick could be saved, these were the troops to do it. The contingents of men and elves were all veterans of the great war in Sterich. Lascar found it hard to believe that that decimated kingdom could come up with a valid fighting force in such a short time.

He shook his head. He had heard the stories. Although it was hard to think of their former ally declaring war on them, it appeared that Kranoch had indeed done so. Lascar spurred his horse and followed the column of footmen for a time. A trumpet blared, and two cavalrymen of the advance guard galloped toward him at full tilt. They pulled up before Lascar, their horses panting and snorting breathlessly.

“It’s the enemy, sir! We clashed with them at Durnwell Creek. They were in force . . . their horse cavalry drove us back.”

“Have you deployed?” snapped Lascar, alarmed at the news, although he permitted his face to show no sign of his thoughts.

The man was at a loss. “We left immediately, Captain. I know not what has happened since then!”

“I shall see for myself,” Lascar said as he kicked his horse into a gallop and raced toward the front with the messengers trailing behind. When he arrived on the banks above Durnwell Creek, he was not pleased with what he saw.

It had begun as a cavalry skirmish^ Kranoch’s mounted horsemen had driven the Yeomanry scouts back across the creek. Now the enemy had pushed several formations of pikemen across the bridge, and they had deployed in long lines, ready to advance.

The men of the Yeomanry were in position on a gentle rise above the creek, but they were few in number, and their line was thin and narrow. Their flanks were nearly indefensible and would be easy to turn. Lascar cursed, knowing that the rest of his army was strung out for leagues along the road and would never reach them in time to give assistance.

Drums began to roll behind the enemy lines. Then there was a great yell, and Kranoch’s forces charged forward with pikes down. The few light archers in Lascar’s cavalry loosed their arrows into the oncoming mass with little or no effect, then fled behind their own infantry. The black and green army came to the top of the rise, shouting, anticipating an easy victory. The sounds of battle rang out in the valley as the army of Sterich clashed and then locked in mortal combat with the freemen of the Yeomanry. Pikes thrust into bodies and were drawn back, bloody. Swords rang out against shields, and everywhere men died screaming.

More of Kranoch’s troops crossed the bridge and formed into lines, anxious to join the fray. Several squadrons of green-clad cavalry rode off to circle round the southern flank, in search of a weak spot in the enemy line. Lascar rode back and forth, yelling encouragement, sending new men into the battle as quickly as they arrived.

Finally the weight of sheer numbers began to tell, and the blue columns of the Yeomanry began to disintegrate. The few survivors dropped their arms and ran back across the plains, fleeing for their lives. A new body of swordsmen from Loftwick was trapped on the road, surrounded by a swarm of Kranoch’s archers. The cavalry circled the swordsmen, holding them helpless while the archers loosed their deadly crossbow bolts into the defenseless throng.

Lascar rode back among the retreating men, waving his sword, urging them to turn and fight. Several stopped and cheered, rallying around him.

“Come, brave men!” urged the freecaptain. “Stout and true hearts are needed to stop this foe!” He pointed his sword to the east. “On to battle! On to victory for Kathryn!” The men raised three cheers for the queen and turned to follow Lascar. Then a well-placed arrow flew out of the massed troops ahead and pierced Lascar’s heart. The freecaptain slumped and fell from his horse. The gathering of soldiers around him melted away, and once more the men ran for their lives.

As the panicked men from the front came streaming back, the troops marching forward lost heart, and as they came into contact with the enemy, the fresh troops retreated without a fight. Their numbers swelled the fleeing masses.

The terror worked its way inexorably back along the column of marching troops, and soon the proud army of Loftwick ceased to exist, becoming little more than a helpless, leaderless band of rabble, fleeing west along the Great Road, back to the capital as

fast as their terror-stricken legs would carry them.

* * *

Morning found the two dwarves awake and ready to move on before Hectodd was even willing to consider opening his eyes. How could they drink so much, so late, yet arise so early? Piet was up as well, brewing freshly ground yarpik coffee and joking and laughing with the dwarves as he bid them a pleasant journey. Hectodd pulled the blanket over his head and groaned as the wagon rattled off toward Loftwick.

Askar had not stirred, and still he wore that irritating grin on his face. Piet tried to push the corners of Askar’s mouth into a frown with his fingers, but the smile returned promptly. Piet shrugged and returned to his coffee.

By the time the clouds had blown themselves out and the sun had made its appearance, they were on the road. The presence of the sun in itself cheered Hectodd, for he was more than ready to be done with cold, gloomy spring days.

Travel was easier on the paved road, but Piet could imagine what it must feel like to ride on the drag. Askar was bounced and jolted over every cobblestone. It was so rough that Mmandoc gave up his position on his master’s shoulder and rode on top of the pack mule.

It was well after noon by the time they reached the little village where the farmer had shared his humble meal with them. The same man welcomed them cheerfully when he saw them approach.

“How goes it, noble fighters of the queen? Was your adventure prosperous and successful?” he asked. But before they could answer, he waved them into his home and invited them to take their evening meal with him. As they ate a hearty vegetable stew, redolent with onions and garlic, Hectodd related the story of the death of the medusa.

The good farmer’s wife became distraught when she saw what had happened to Askar, and she insisted that they place him in a large rocking chair before the fire. Here she began bustling about, opening this jar and that, and boiling water in order to make some of her special herb tea. She would not heed their protests that Askar was not in a condition to drink her tea. She shushed and shooed them back to their meals as though they were naught but ignorant children.

And so it was that they discovered Mrs. Wilderspin’s special herbal tea. Hectodd was skeptical, but Askar had been unconscious for so long that he was willing to try any thing. Mrs. Wilderspin soon had the tea steeping—”drawing nicely,” as she put it—in a clay teapot covered with an embroidered cozy. Hectodd had to admit that the stuff smelled quite refreshing.

At length the tea was deemed ready, and the woman poured out a little cupful and held it up to Askar’s lips. The first drops dribbled down his chin; then, to the amazement of his companions, Askar’s nose twitched, his eyes blinked open, and he came awake just like that! Soon he was rocking back and forth in the chair under his own power, merry as you please, as though nothing had happened, sipping from his cup. Piet clapped his hands and danced around the floor, while Hectodd simply stood open-mouthed.

Soon their wizard was talking and asking about the events of the past days. Hectodd and Piet quickly filled in the missing details, while the farmer and his wife listened with amazement.

“I cannot thank you enough, Mrs. Wilderspin—and your kind husband, too,” said Askar weakly.

“Why, think nothing of it, son,” the kindly woman said with a blush. “It’s the least we can do for those who risk their lives to rid our land of such vile monsters!”

Her husband stood beside her, nodding in agreement, his

hand resting comfortably on her ample shoulder.

All the same, Askar insisted on rewarding them with a gift of some fifty koruns. Askar was still too weak to ride, so it was an easy decision to say yes to the Wilderspins’ offer of a bed for the night. The couple wanted them to take their own bed, but the travelers refused and laid their blankets down in front of the fire. Askar was disturbed to hear that the stone dwarves had been left behind, and he resolved to research the matter and return to try

to restore them to living flesh.

* * *

Kathryn, fitted out in her mithral chain mail and blue helmet, was riding along the far edge of the eastern boundary of Loftwick. It was one of the many parts of town that lay beyond the walls. She was directing the hurried construction of fortifications. A steady stream of people brought wagons, large and small, and turned them on their sides. Baskets filled with oerth were piled behind them. Logs were carried from the sawmills and set into the ground to form a makeshift wall in places not already protected by wagons and dirt.

A large group of dwarves, recently arrived from Granite Face, was rapidly digging a shallow trench around the perimeter in front of the new wall. The work was progressing well, Kathryn thought. If they were given a few more days, it might just hold.

An army was beginning to materialize as well. Kathryn had reviewed three divisions of the town militia only that morning, and she had been pleased by what she had seen. The men were older veterans, no longer in their prime, but full of enthusiasm.

The clatter of hooves on the pavement announced the arrival of Ferak, Kathryn’s younger brother, and his two elven companions.

“Kathryn,” he cried, his horse skidding to a halt before her. “You must come with us at once!” It was instantly apparent that he dared not speak further in front of the local wall builders.

Kathryn immediately turned her work over to another and followed her brother as he led her away from the crowd. “More bad news?” she asked anxiously.

“A minute,” cautioned Ferak as he led her into a small cul-de-sac where they could speak freely without being overheard.

“Something terrible has happened to Lascar. We’ve just received word. Parts of his army are streaming down the East Road into the city.”

“Old Carl is trying to stop them with the palace guard,” added one of the other elves, “but they will not listen.”

“You must come to rally them,” said Ferak, “or they will throw the whole city into a panic!”

Kathryn nodded in agreement and quickly mounted her horse. The four elves rode as fast as the roads would allow and

soon found themselves at the scene of the crisis.

* * *

Piet took apart the drag and gave the bearskins to the Wilder-spins. I had never felt better in my life and was full of excitement and enthusiasm. I felt as though I could and would do anything I set my mind to. My mood seemed to infect my companions as well, for they moved with alacrity, and Hectodd even whistled as he saddled the horses. Having thanked our hosts for a final time, we took to the road at a fast trot.

“Hey, that must be some tea!” Piet cried from behind me, bouncing around on his saddle, trying to keep up with the fast pace. Hectodd and the pack mule lagged far behind, but I was feeling too good to slow down. We raced down the road awhile longer, just the two of us, until the rush of exhilaration had diminished slightly. Then I slowed my horse to a more reasonable pace, allowing Piet to catch up.

“It was a good idea to purchase some of that tea,” I said to Piet. “After this experience, I think I’d almost be afraid to use the stone without it.”

“Don’t lose that feeling,” Piet said darkly. “Every time you use that stone, we end up in a life-and-death battle of some sort, and you wind up unconscious.”

He was right. There was nothing left for me to say, so I just nodded my head in agreement. After a time, Hectodd caught up with us and unleashed a torrent of halfling invective, mostly concerning people who were too big for their own britches. It seemed that Mmandoc, who at my behest had gone in search of Felbron, was the only friend whom I had not offended, although it had never been my intent to offend anyone. I understood that their anger was merely a cover for their concern, so I did my best to offer apologies and make amends before too many more miles had passed.

All of a sudden, the hair on the back of my neck began to prick, and I became convinced that something was amiss. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, and finally I reined in my horse and held up my hand to stop the others. Something was definitely wrong.

* * *

“Well, hello again, my little friend!” Felbron said with a warm smile, addressing the small pseudodragon, who had just landed on the rail of the brand-new lighter-than-air ship, Bij II. “Is your master shipwrecked again and in need of rescue?”

Upon his return to Goatsblood, Felbron had wasted no time. All the parts of the new ships were already in place, the hulls, the nets, the gas bags, and indeed every little piece. The ships had been nearly completed when the queen’s messenger had found him.

Now the Bij II and her sister ship, the Lydia were flying northward to the aid of the beleaguered Yeomanry. Even though haste was a prime concern, Felbron had taken the time to make an important side trip to Rockhall. Aboard the airships were two hundred fighting dwarves and King Dwallo himself, all eager to throw themselves into the fray.

With Felbron directing, as per instructions from Mmandoc, Alfred brought the Bij II down, hovering gently above the oerth. Soon the three travelers could be made out as distant specks on the road. The airship drifted slowly forward to meet them.

The horses nearly went berserk at the approach of the airship, and the three finally had to dismount in order to keep their animals from bolting. Hectodd and Piet cheered when they caught sight of the great airship floating above them. Askar went into action, so that before the ship came fully to oerth, the three of them and their animals had been levitated level with the deck.

Felbron reached out and pulled his three friends aboard with a wide grin. The horses and the mule went absolutely wild, and it took quite a goodly number of dwarves to calm them down. At last the animals were tied firmly to the rail and feeding contentedly on oats.

The friends shook each other’s hands and then hugged and thumped one another on the back. Their hearts were gladdened to see each other again.

“Well, this calls for a tankard of ale!” Felbron cried, blinking furiously to conceal the gleam of moisture in his eyes. Felbron had greeted Piet in a friendly manner, including him in the warmth of his greeting, but from the strange manner in which he peered about, it was obvious that he noted the absence of the rat-mage. It was with great pleasure that Hectodd and Askar brought Piet forward and introduced Felbron to the once and former rat, falling all over themselves with laughter as they took note of his slack-jawed amazement.

Once again the Bij II rose to the sky in pursuit of her sister ship, and while the friends enjoyed a beery reunion, the two craft

drove northward at top speed, heading for Loftwick.

* * *

Kathryn sat in the little tower room and watched the sun set with grave, saddened eyes. She was incredibly tired; it was the first time she had rested all day, and her throat was hoarse from giving the same speech over and over again, rallying the people. Through her efforts, Loftwick still had an army, an army of regulars to supplement the militia. Things were grim, but as yet not hopeless.

Kathryn rang the silver bell, hoping some of the pixies had returned with news. She was surprised when all five answered the summons and appeared before her. One by one they gave their reports to the dark-haired elf queen. Barwick was under siege, said the first pixie, but was in no immediate danger. The dwarf, Ironfoot, had promised to come as soon as possible.

The second pixie told of Fea-Glenna, noting that she was alive and well but that there were still two more basilisks to be slain. Too, she had encountered tales of a giant griffon terrorizing towns to the north, making off with children and livestock. She would investigate this rumor and return to the queen’s side on the morrow.

Of the wizard Askar, there was no news. The pixie had quartered the area twice over and found no sign of him. The diamond mine was deserted, as was Greencove, its unfortunate population all turned to stone. Kathryn put her hand to her heart and prayed for the well-being of her heroes. She would have need of their help . . . and the help of the Eye of Tiros that Askar carried with him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Aboard the Bij II, watching the countryside drift by below me, wishing that everything could be as calm and peaceful as it seemed, I sighed and knew that peace would always be threatened as long as there were men who strove to acquire by force more than they had or deserved.

With such bleak thoughts running through my mind, it was with great interest that I examined the trebuchet that was lashed to the stern deck of the Bij II. It was a mean-looking weapon, and I bent down to inspect one of the darts the machine was designed to throw. The shaft of the dart was as big around as my fist and was tipped with a huge iron point.

“Woe betide any dragon that meets up with one of those!” bellowed Felbron. I turned to find him standing behind me with a wicked smile on his face.

“As you can see, I took your suggestion about installing means of defense of my airships.” He slapped his hand against the trebuchet. “Of course, we didn’t have time to make our own versions, which I would have adapted for air travel. This one came from Rockhall, courtesy of King Dwallo.”

Felbron took me by the elbow and led me over to the rail, while signalling to Alfred at the wheel. “Watch this!” he cackled. His

arm fell, the signal Alfred was waiting for.

Alfred pulled on a set of long red ropes that snakpef out from the wheelhouse. There was a snapping sound, followed by severed creaking noises, and then a loud crack. Our ship had sprouted a hedgerow of deadly bristles! Where once there had been naught but a smooth hull, there now projected a large number of long thin spears.

“My hedgehog!” cried Felbron with a broad, sweeping gesture, his face alight with unrestrained pride and glee at his own ingenuity. I was so astounded that I laughed out loud, congratulating Felbron roundly, for indeed it was an unusually clever ploy. Anything that attempted to seize the airship would be in for a nasty surprise—anything, even a dragon.

Nor was that all, for Felbron had also purchased new anti-magic charms for both of his ships, and Dwallo had selected four of his best dwarven magic-users to man the craft. The Bij II and the Lydia were truly well outfitted for war.

By afternoon, the spires of Loftwick were visible in the distance, and Felbron worried aloud about the need for ground crews who could help berth the ships. This was something that I could help with, and I sent Mmandoc ahead to find Kathryn or Fea and announce our arrival.

There was a good bit of discussion over where to land. Felbron wanted to come down inside the palace grounds, but the courtyard was far too small for both ships. Finally it was decided that we would land in the parade grounds near the palace.

As the Bij II flew above the Great South Road approaching the outermost parts of Loftwick, I was extremely distressed to see dark green masses of troops on the move, making their way south around the outer perimeter of the city. These had to be the attacking armies that Felbron had mentioned, but with whom or what the kingdom was at war, I did not know. Felbron and I hung over the rail, taking count of the troops and noting their positions, and Felbron mused darkly that when next we saw these men, it would be at a much closer range.

The airships landed on the parade grounds, where huge crowds had gathered to welcome us. Kathryn was there, seated atop a gaily decorated stand. Though the brilliant smile on her face was directed at all of us, in my heart I knew that it was meant for me alone. She clapped her hands with joy at the very sight of the ships, knowing that a mere glimpse of them would give a huge boost to the sagging morale of the defenders of Loftwick.

Felbron introduced King Dwallo to the queen, and Dwallo’s face turned as red as his beard as he bowed low, holding his bearskin hat in his hands. “You never told me she was so pretty!” King Dwallo whispered loudly, causing gentle ripples of elven laughter.

“She’s a beaut, even if she ain’t a dwarf.” agreed Felbron in an equally loud aside.

“Your Majesty,” stammered King Dwallo, “the army of Rockhall—at least all that would fit aboard yon airships, some two hundred fighting dwarves—is at your disposal.”

“King Dwallo, the Yeomanry is proud to have such noble allies,” Kathryn said with great sincerity as she reached down and took Dwallo by the hand, enfolding his huge rough paw between her own slender white fingers. “I must insist that these fine soldiers be placed in my palace guard. If the battle goes against us, I would like to have them at my side.”

King Dwallo’s ears grew bright red, as did the tip of his nose, with the compliment that was being paid to him and his men. But he was not to be outdone. “Gracious and beautiful queen,” he rumbled in his great, deep voice, “I can only consent to my dwarves being placed in your palace guard if you will send the guard into the thick of the fighting.”

Kathryn allowed no sign of emotion to cross her face, for that would be a breech of court etiquette, but inwardly she chuckled at the dwarf king’s rejoinder. To allow him to retain his respect among his men, she nodded gravely and agreed.

The new arrivals then formed a column and marched behind the queen as she returned to the palace. I, marching a step behind her as was fitting, was not pleased when Mmandoc landed on my shoulder with unwelcome news. Fea-Glenna had not yet returned, and it was feared that she had met with trouble.

Felbron, two steps behind me, was locked in a heated discussion with Ferak, the queen’s brother, giving him a report of the bodies of troops to the south, marching on the city.

It was clear that there would be no time to speak with Kathryn, to feel her soft arms around me, so I went to the stables with Piet and Hectodd to return our steeds. When we returned to the airships a short time later, the scene had changed drastically. A long line of wagons stretched across the field, and it appeared that great preparations were under way. Felbron was bellowing instructions and cursing in several different languages as I pulled him aside long enough to speak with him.

“Felbron, talk to me. What’s happening here?”

Felbron grinned broadly. “We’re getting ready to drop a few surprises on the enemy, that’s what’s going on here.” He pointed to the wagons that were being unloaded, in record time, by long lines of dwarves, humans, and elves balancing heavy clay crocks on their shoulders. I looked at them, but despite Felbron’s obvious pleasure, I did not understand what I was seeing.

“Those crooks are full of lamp oil!” cackled Felbron. “Ferak has been so kind as to call the stuff in from all over the city.” The dwarf left off his chuckling to peer at us. “Would you care to come along? We can use your lightning bolt, Piet, and whatever else the three of you might be able to come up with.”

Suddenly I understood. “You’re going to drop that stuff on the enemy—”

“And set fire to it! Think of it! Three of King Dwallo’s mages can cast lightning. You would make a fourth.”

I nodded my agreement. Then Piet and I spent the next hour going over our spellbooks, while Hectodd lent a hand loading the oil aboard the ships. Piet was quite happy with the results of our efforts, and he was anxious to try his new Stinking Cloud spell on the enemy. He rooted through the trash being taken off the airship, and at last he found the few disgusting items that would be needed to cast the spell properly. These he put in a small sack.

Soon the airships were loaded with the last of the oil, and the wagons departed. Felbron and Hectodd came over and joined us.

“The Bij II is loaded down more heavily than I like. I think we should all go on board the Lydia” said the dwarf. “You’ll like her. She’s a bit more finely appointed than her sister ship. After the war, I intend to use her as a passenger vessel. I’m ready to bet that wealthy travelers will pay a lot to fly.”

Barely had we boarded the Lydia and taken our places along the rail when a trumpet sounded. Pumps rattled and then pounded into action, and water spewed out from the sides of the ship. The two ships rose gracefully into the skies above the city. The hippogriffs were released, and the airships began steering

south for their first military mission.

* * *

Gorlyn barked at the three dragons who followed him, then grumbled to himself about young dragons and the way it used to be. There wouldn’t have been any ragged gaps in earlier years, for the dragons who had gone before had a pride, a sense of themselves that these younger dragons only dreamed of. But those times were past—even Gorlyn knew that. He and Buelath were like two old curiosities. Their day, the glorious time of dragons when they were revered as well as feared, was coming to an end as the numbers of man swelled. Man was spreading across the landscape like a plague, while the numbers of dragons steadily diminished.

Gorlyn shook off the thought, determined that if their day was to end, it would not be on this day. They were flying high above the mountains on the southern border of the Yeomanry. Soon they would be in Loftwick.

He and Buelath were enemies, although at times Gorlyn thought, in his most secret of thoughts, that he and Buelath had more in common than they had to disagree about. And while the younger dragons had urged him to keep the treasure trove and do nothing, he intended to honor the agreement, for, as evil as he was, honor was still a concept he believed in.

Fortunately, while many of the younger dragons had no great respect for honor, they still enjoyed a good fight, and he had succeeded in gathering a goodly number of strong young ones to fulfill his half of the pledge. They would swoop down and raid Loftwick, starting fires and ripping the tops off buildings, not to mention frying a goodly portion of the populace, thus clearing the old tonsils.

He had little or nothing against Loftwick, hating them no more than any other beings, but now that he was in flight, the old thrum of battle, the almost forgotten thrill of rage, began to course through his veins, and he remembered what it had been like in the old days. Gorlyn felt the anger beginning to build. So the age of dragons was nearly over ... he and his kind were becoming but a memory for many of those who had dared to build their tottery, insignificant little dwellings on the land that was his. Well, they would learn differently today, and any who survived would remember!

* * *

Two days earlier, Alamkamala’s wagon train had rolled through the camp at sunset, following close on the heels of the army of orcs and goblins. Donovic thought it strange at the time, but he didn’t say anything to the king. The strangest thing of all was the fact that the Grand Inquisitor and the creatures of horror were marching off in the wrong direction. However, neither the monsters nor the inquisitor were high on Donovic’s popularity list, and wrong direction or no, he was glad to see them go. Wars were for the winning, but he was of the old school and preferred to win his battles by right and might rather than through the powers of evil.

Now the army of Sterich was poised on the outskirts of Loftwick, massing itself for a frontal assault on the hasty fortifications thrown up by the defenders. Donovic had sent a third of his army to work its way around the enemy’s southern flank. This would soon be accomplished, and then the battle would begin in earnest. . . .

Despite the somewhat primitive measures taken by the inhabitants of Loftwick, Donovic was worried. He had left a fair number of troops behind to continue the siege of Barwick, and the battle on the Great Road had been a costly one, with high losses. Though they had emerged victorious, in the end, Donovic found himself wishing for the return of the night creatures.

Kranoch, now more alone than ever with the Grand Inquisitor’s disappearance, found himself lost at every turn, depending on people whose names he did not even know to care for him and keep him informed about what was happening. He, too, was wondering what had happened to Alamkamala and the army of night creatures that had vanished from the campaign.

Guloog smashed his fist against his palm and glared defiantly at the man who stood before him. “No, we will not march another day! No amount of gold, even if it came from the seventh plane of Hades, could make my troops take another step! Can’t you see they’re exhausted?”

Alamkamala shrugged. All orcs looked the same to him, whether fresh or exhausted. They were all disgusting. “I’ll double the gold bounty,” said the Grand Inquisitor.

“Go rot in hell!” The ore leader sneered as he took a sip of coffee from his cup and then spat it out in disgust. Guloog stooped over the campfire and poured himself a fresh cup from the pot, deliberately turning his back on the man from whom he took his orders, the man he hated.

“But we’re so close to Loftwick . . .” The Grand Inquisitor was pleading now.

Guloog pointed to the soft violet glow that was appearing along the edge of the eastern horizon. “See that? That’s the dawn, and after dawn comes sunrise. My men won’t live through another day in the sunlight. It burns our eyes, and if we’re exposed to it long enough, it blinds us. Bad enough that we’ve made three marches straight without a rest!

“Petty rivalries have broken out among the different tribes. If we marched again, there would be no army. Go to sleep, Grand Inquisitor. We’re not going anywhere till my men are rested and night has fallen.” Guloog collapsed wearily before the fire and warmed the callused soles of his feet at its edge. For him, the day had ended. Alamkamala could do nothing but clench his fists in rage and turn away to bide his time as best he could.

The night creatures camped for a full day in the hills a few leagues to the north of Loftwick. Alamkamala spent the time pacing back and forth, glaring at everything that moved. So close, yet so far! A frightened aide crept forth and brought him wine. The Grand Inquisitor grabbed the bottle and ordered the man away. As he sat there, drinking and brooding, his hand happened across the lump in his jacket. What was this?

He reached inside and pulled out a black silk bag and emptied it onto the table. There was the wand that he had intended to give the old woman. It had been right next to his breast these last few days and he had forgotten that it was even there!

The day wore on, and still the orcs and goblins slept. Alamkamala drank, and as he did, he began to tinker with his beautiful toy. He finished his wine and called for more. The sleeping orcs failed to hear the strange noise that emanated from within Alamkamala’s black tent. The terrified aide only covered his ears and shivered in fear.

After finishing off the third bottle, a drunken Grand Inquisitor staggered out onto the grass. The sunlight blinded him for a moment, but he recovered and pointed the golden object he held at a large oak tree. A flash of light arced from his hand to the base of the tree. The immense tree creaked and swayed ominously, then fell over with a ground-shaking crash.

“Ha!” cried the Grand Inquisitor as his knees buckled and he sagged to the ground. His aide crept out, dragged him back to the tent, and put Alamkamala to bed. Then he gingerly removed the wand from his master’s hand, returned it to its sack, and

placed it by Alamkamala’s side.

* * *

The Bij II had pulled ahead of the Lydia according to plan. They were over the furthermost edge of Loftwick, and the massed columns of troops were crowded onto the road that we had so recently traveled. The entire crew of the Lydia, including Felbron, Hectodd, Piet, and myself, stood poised, with crocks in hand, awaiting the signal. In the wheelhouse, the captain turned the great canvas rudder sharply into the wind. Ahead, the Bij II was doing the same.

I could hear the shouts and jeers of the soldiers below, and I wondered what they must think of the strange objects in the sky above them. The hippogriffs were pulled in, and Felbron gave the command. Suddenly everyone was dropping pottery over the side with vengeance. I myself threw four crocks over the side, astonished at how much fun it was.

Then suddenly my mind flashed back to a long-forgotten moment from my childhood, remembering the time a friend and I had carefully gathered up every egg in camp and allowed them to ripen in the sun. Several days later, we climbed a giant roan wood and buried ourselves deep in its foliage, dropping our foul bombs on whomever was unfortunate enough to pass beneath us.

Many were our victims, but we were well hidden and escaped detection, allowing the Wolf Nomads to think it but an odd happening, until my friend let loose a giggle at an inopportune moment and we had been hauled forth and soundly thrashed.

Only Mika-oba, who had been splattered as well, seemed to think it was funny, and he had winked at me in the midst of my punishment. That wink had drawn the worst of the sting from the beating. The moment glowed within my memory like a precious gem, and I wondered how I could have forgotten it for so long.

I moved to the stern of the ship and watched with interest as the clay jars fell among the massed army below. The heavy crocks were doing severe damage all by themselves, and the hapless soldiers were in a panic, struggling to escape in any direction. So tightly were the formations drawn that they only succeeded in running over one another in a frenzy of confusion.

“Let’s do it!” hollered Felbron, and it was time. I began to chant and pointed my finger down at the hordes below. A lightning bolt flew from the Lydia to one of the heaviest concentrations of men. There was no instant explosion, as Felbron had expected, but nevertheless the oil caught fire rapidly, and soon a great blaze was flaming in the middle of what was once part of the proud army of Sterich.

I glanced up in time to see a fireball arc out from the deck of the Bij II and land in the midst of a mass of green uniforms. A huge conflagration soon bloomed. Some of the surrounding houses caught fire as well, but it could not be helped. We were doing far more damage to the enemy than we were to the city of Loftwick.

Once again the sister airships put out their hippogriffs and pulled south to position themselves over another advancing column. This time the soldiers, who had seen what had happened to their comrades, began to disperse, running in every possible direction. The crocks were dropped and Eboeus, one of the dwarven mages from Rockhall, set them ablaze with another streak of lightning.

The damage was not so great this time, since many of the soldiers had been able to take evasive action before the fire erupted. But we were on the offensive, and the enemy was definitely hurting.

The remainder of the army broke ranks and became a fleeing sea of green as the soldiers of Sterich fled into the fields to the south and disappeared into the woods and the surrounding countryside.

“It’ll be a long time before they regroup, if ever,” Felbron said smugly as he gazed down at the chaos below.

The two airships continued to circle over the remnants of the army, dropping the few remaining crocks on whatever targets presented themselves.

Piet came back to the stern of the ship and began to have a heated discussion with Felbron about using his Stinking Cloud spell. Felbron was against it, arguing that it would simply be a waste of a good spell since the enemy was already on the run. Even Piet had to agree that it was true.

“Don’t worry,” I said, patting the former rat-mage on his skinny shoulder. “There are more than enough enemies out there. You’ll make a big stink before the day is over, I guarantee it.”

Felbron bounced away from the rail, rubbing his hands with glee. “Good! Good! It’s time we were heading back. I don’t think we can do any more out here. But Askar’s right about your stink. I’ll see if we can’t make a swing past the main encampment. That would be the ideal place to throw your cloud, and Eboeus here has a few spells left to use as well.”

The ancient dwarven mage stood next to Felbron and rubbed his fingertips together, cackling through toothless gums. “There’s still a lot of havoc left in these old fingers! Fly on, Felbron! Fly on!” And as Felbron hurried off to the bridge to issue the command, the three of us discussed the use of magic. The great airships swung about and began to pull for home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Gorlyn spotted the smoke on the horizon and wondered if perhaps old Buelath had been out breathing fire on Loftwick. But as his flight of red dragons neared the city, his keen eyes saw something quite different from an old gold dragon flying through the skies.

Gorlyn led his flight of red dragons in a broad sweep to the left, angry, but at the same time wary of what the bulbous things might be. The younger dragons were enraged at the sight and complained about Gorlyn’s cautious approach. Pounce on the things now, they demanded; ask questions later!

But Gorlyn had not attained his great age by acting rashly, and he cautiously kept his distance until he was able to ascertain that the things appeared to be ships—ships like those he had destroyed before. He was especially fond of the way their sails burned. These ships had curious round, highly flammable sails, and even better, the ships were crawling with dwarves. It was curious that ships should be found in midair. What kept them up, he did not know or care. The red dragons baulked and changed

course, heading straight for the dwarven ships.

* * *

Once again, Mmandoc was the first to spot the oncoming enemy, which he immediately reported to me. I hurriedly told Felbron of the impending attack, and in the blink of an eye, the “hedgehog” bristled. I was about to send Mmandoc off to warn the Bij, but I perceived her spikes emerging at that very moment. A crew of dwarves began cranking the wheels of the trebuchet, pulling the mighty bow taut, while another pair mounted the enormous dart in the slot.

“We reinforced the harnesses,” said Felbron when he noticed me nervously eyeing the team of hippogriffs. “They may panic and pull us the wrong way, but they’ll not escape.”

Eboeus knelt beside me, mumbling something beneath his breath. Then he took out a little pouch of powder and poured it in a circle on the deck. Meanwhile, Piet had his bag of putrid ingredients in hand and was hanging over the side of the ship, preparing to cast his stinking cloud. Other dwarves, those not involved with the trebuchet, held crossbows to their shoulders, taking aim at the rapidly approaching dragons. Hectodd stood beside Askar, sword in hand, waiting anxiously for the action to begin. “Oh, my, oh, my,” I heard him murmur. “If I ever get home to Uncle Osgood ...”

But then there was no more time, and I braced myself against the rail, preparing to hurl my magic missile. The circle of dust Eboeus had drawn on the deck suddenly burst into flame, shooting out dark green magic fingers of fire. Thick smoke drifted across the deck, and when it passed, I could see that the dwarven mage had placed his hands on the rail and was chanting once more. When the last rolling pronouncement had been completed, Eboeus turned to us with a satisfied smile.

“The ship is now protected against evil. That should help some.”

I hoped that it was so, for the four dragons were now heading straight for the Lydia. The biggest dragon, the one in the lead, pulled up at the last moment, shooting abruptly skyward. Sparks emanated in a fearsome spray from the dragon’s claws, cascading down upon us like falling fireworks. I could imagine only too vividly what those sparks would do to the gas bags. Yet a few feet from the ship, the sparks bounced, as though they had struck an

invisible barrier, and fell harmlessly to oerth.

The remaining dragons swept beneath the hull of the ship, and the dwarves loosed their crossbows. Unfortunately, in the heat of the excitement, they all missed. As the dragons circled back for another pass, the trebuchet crew wheeled its instrument into position.

One of the smaller dragons slowed within range, apparently trying to cast a spell. It was just the opportunity that the dwarves had been waiting for. The trebuchet was let loose with a tremendous noise, and in that same instant, I let go of my magic missile. Both struck the unfortunate dragon full in the breast, blasting it backward.

The dragon screamed in agony, a terrible keening sound, one that I knew would stay with me forever. Then it fell from the sky like a dying star. Cheers rang out across the decks, but there was little time for joy. Another young dragon was poised above the Lydia and immediately let fly its own magic missile. This missile flew straight through one of the gas bags, followed by a sick, wheezing sound, and the bag went limp.

The hippogriffs had once again gone into a frenzy, and the ship was slowly gyrating in a circle as the battle raged on. I heard Felbron telling someone not to worry about the lost gas bag, and I tried to take his reassurance to heart.

The three remaining dragons pulled away and fell upon the Bij II. The fiery blue bolts flew out from the deck of the Bij II, and it became obvious that our sister airship would not be any easier target than the Lydia.

The dragons managed to elude the second volley of magic missiles and flew over the tops of the Bij II’s gas bags. Then, to my horror, the largest dragon let fly an immense jet of flame, which expanded and engulfed the Bij II in fire. One of the smaller dragons followed his leader and repeated the attack. Suddenly the sky lit up in a tremendous explosion, a blast so powerful that it sent even the dragons reeling across the sky. The Bij II hesitated, then sagged oerth ward, gaining momentum steadily. Her hull peeked out from the billowing black clouds that surrounded her, and we could see that she was burning uncontrollably. All of us on the Lydia lined the rail and groaned with horror.

“By all the gods that are holy!” Felbron said quietly.

The red dragons circled the smoking hulk till it crashed into a row of houses. Then they spread their wings and began to gain altitude. It quickly became apparent that they were coming back to finish off the Lydia.

Not to be denied his part in the battle, Piet murmured the words and made the moves that set off his terrible stinking cloud. At first it engulfed us and left us gagging and puking over the rails. We cursed Piet with whatever breath we had left. Then, fortunately for Piet, the pall of nauseous green smoke drifted directly into the path of the oncoming dragons, who turned aside momentarily and then resumed their course. The dwarves wheeled the trebuchet around, following the dragon’s flight, waiting for a clean shot. I could wait no longer. It was clear what I must do.

I pulled the stone out from my pouch and, concealing it in my hands, brought it up to my chest. Hectodd saw what I was doing and cheered lustily: “Hurray! Now we’ll show those dragons!”

But something happened to me the moment I closed my eyes-something quite different from the other times I had used the stone. This time, I was possessed by a blinding, uncontrollable rage, and as the rage built, I felt myself changing.

Hectodd fell silent, and I heard Piet shouting as though from a great distance as I stumbled to the rail of the airship and plummeted over the side.

“Oh, no!” wailed the halfling, “Somebody do something!”

But before anybody could do anything, a miracle happened. One moment, there was Askar’s body falling rapidly through the air, and in the next moment, there was an enormous golden dragon, with wings open wide, beating hard to gain speed and altitude. The gold dragon turned and headed straight for the cluster of red dragons.

A cloud of green gas flowed from the mouth of the gold dragon and swirled around the red dragons, who immediately began to flap wildly and careen from side to side, as though they had lost both their equilibrium and the ability to fly.

Then, before they could regain their balance, a bolt of lightning erupted from the claw of the gold dragon and struck the wing of one of the smaller dragons. The dragon shrieked with pain as its wing crumpled into shredded fragments. Then it fell from the sky, spiraling to the oerth, where it landed on a block of houses as if on a funeral pyre.

The frightened red dragons began to flee, climbing fast in an effort to escape their mysterious attacker. Where had the gold dragon come from, and why? wondered Gorlyn as his ancient wings beat the air in retreat, straining ancient muscles and tendons to the very utmost. Who and why? We had an agreement, muttered Gorlyn. We had struck a deal. The feeling of betrayal overwhelmed Gorlyn, for if one could not trust a gold dragon, whom could one trust?

Hectodd and the others left behind on the Lydia craned their necks backward, straining to follow the flight of the dragons as all three reptiles circled higher and higher. Hectodd could make out occasional bursts of flame and sparks as the aerial battle drifted ever farther from the Lydia. Finally they passed from sight, and there was no further sign of the gold dragon.

Felbron wasted no time in getting the airship under control. The hippogriffs were calmed, and lifting gas was valved off, allowing the ship to drop down to just above rooftop level and speed north over the city. Of the battling dragons, there continued to be no sign.

“Will we ever see him again?” asked Hectodd.

“He’ll be back. You just watch, bub!” But Piet’s voice was hollow and lacked any sound of confidence.

“Amazing!” said Eboeus, still staring upward and shaking his head. “That man could get a job as a wizard in any kingdom on oerth!”

* * *

Late that same afternoon, a lone pegasus landed in the courtyard of the royal palace, and a teary Kathryn rushed out and embraced her prime minister.

“Oh, Fea, I’m so glad you’re safe!”

“You’ll be pleased to know, Your Majesty, that Styvka is now rid of basilisks, though I’m afraid there are many new statues in the public park.” Then, noting the strained look on Kathryn’s face, her disheveled hair, and her tear-streaked cheeks, she took her cousin by her shoulders and peered into her face. “What is it, Kate? What’s wrong?”

As best as she could, Kathryn repeated the account of the day’s aerial struggle, as it had been told to her by Felbron and Hectodd.

“And there’s been no sign of him since—no word at all?”

“None,” Kathryn said, biting her lip and choking back the tears that formed, ready to fall. “His friends insist that he will return. They . . . they seem genuinely confident.”

The two of them clung together for a moment, sharing the. pain as only two friends of long standing can do. Then they linked arms and walked slowly into the palace, silently drawing comfort

from each other’s presence.

* * *

Night was falling, and Alamkamala was chafing to be on the move. Despite the amount of liquor he had consumed earlier in the day, he showed no ill effects, and his aides would have testified that he was as disagreeable as ever. Guloog was puttering around the camp, full of bustle that accomplished nothing but to delay the march until the sun had fully set. Finally the sun dropped beneath the horizon. Night had come at last.

Shrill horns sounded in the goblin camp, orcan bugles blared, and a hundred kobold drums beat a blood-stirring tattoo. The night creatures were on the march. The few creatures with horses collected for a short conference with Alamkamala, and then the despicable army set forth, marching in three ragged columns.

Kranoch’s main force was concentrated on the eastern edge of the city, while Kathryn’s troops were deployed in opposition to them, with some buildup in the south to repel the cavalry. The western front was lightly manned, while the northern perimeter, deemed the least likely to fall under attack, was patrolled by a guard of the local halfling constabulary. Due to the hilly nature of the land, it was even bereft of Kathryn’s extemporized fortifications.

Near midnight, Guloog’s army rolled into Loftwick from the north, virtually without opposition, for the halflings either fled or were slain. A few managed to ring the church bells to give warning, but there was no organized resistance. Soon the goblins themselves lost all semblance of the army they had once been and disintegrated into a frenzied, looting mob, hurrying from house to house and wreaking havoc on all who crossed their path.

Almost as quickly, the streets were clogged with refugees fleeing from their homes, all running toward the center of the city and the safety of the inner walls. The sky on the north end of Loftwick began to glow dull red as fires started by the looting goblins lit up the pall of smoke that poured from burning buildings. The gates of the old city were jammed with refugees carrying bundles of possessions and pushing wheeled carts filled with squalling children and mounds of valuables. The freecaptains sent out troops to oppose the advancing foe, but the hysterical mass of fleeing citizens made resistance all but impossible.

Guloog’s orcs managed to hold together somewhat better than the goblins. They marched inexorably through the streets, losing only a few of their number to the temptation to loot. The kobold army marched south as well, and between the two regiments, the night creatures pushed all before them. The advance army poured through Loftwick like a tidal wave, until it lapped against the very walls of the inner city.

When Ferak received word that the orcs were loose inside the perimeter, he knew that the position of his troops along the makeshift east wall had been compromised. With cool discipline and extraordinary skill, the militia divisions and surviving units of regular troops marched silently through the deserted streets. There were no refugees here. This part of the town had been evacuated. In the face of an insurmountable foe, Ferak led the soldiers of the Yeomanry calmly back through the great gates, inside the walls of the inner city. The time bought by the valiant attack of the airships had been lost to the breakthrough of the night creatures, but although the defenders of Loftwick had given up most of their city, they had not yet lost heart.

Kathryn came out in the moonlight and stood on the balcony above the inner courtyard. Fea cast a Light spell upon the queen, so that she fairly glowed as she delivered an impassioned speech, imploring the defenders to fight for the freedoms that were theirs

by right as citizens of the Yeomanry. The soldiers waved their

banners, and there was much cheering.

* * *

The night passed slowly as the fighting continued throughout the outer city. The tumult gradually diminished, until, in the small hours that preceded the dawn, the outer city at last fell silent. Guards stood alert around the inner city walls, and a double row of sentries was stationed along the north wall, where they watched the night creatures revel in that portion of the city that was now theirs.

Alamkamala stared longingly at the walls that separated his troops from the inner city. The Eye of Tiros was there. He knew, and he wanted it more than life itself. But there was no hope of continuing the attack. Guloog’s army had given itself over to looting. Once victory was established, the orcs had ceased to be a well-disciplined fighting unit and had reverted to their true beastly nature. The battle was done for the night. Even Alamkamala could see that.

Almost unseen, across the housetops, there drifted an exhausted gold dragon. The soldiers cried out in fear and fired arrows as it glided low over the city wall. The guards atop the palace tower scurried for help when the huge beast landed at their station, but when they returned with reinforcements, the dragon was gone. All they found was an unconscious wizard, sprawled on the ground, clutching a curious green stone.

Kathryn was roused from her restless sleep. She hurried to the top of the tower, where she found Askar. Obeying her orders, the guards carried the unconscious wizard down to her chambers and left him in her care. She dismissed the soldiers and servants with a sharp gesture, then walked to the magic-user’s bedside bearing a single candle.

Kathryn stared down at Askar as he lay on the bed, noting the sunken eyelids, the lines drawn deep between nose and mouth, the greyness of his skin, and the dark circles under his eyes. She stared, too, at the cruel iron collar, which now pressed so deep into the skin that the flesh was swollen and angry-looking.

Kathryn had repeatedly requested the presence of the freecaptain who had placed the collar on Aska,r’s neck, the only man who could remove it safely. He had left Regent for Loftwick, according to her sources, but as yet he had not arrived.

Askar seemed to cling to life but tenuously. She put her ear to his chest and listened carefully before she was able to hear the faint murmur of his heart. He was barely breathing. She covered her face with her hands and wept, for she knew not what to do. A single tear dropped upon his cheek, and his drawn features relaxed and color returned to his flesh.

Kathryn placed the candle in the window and curled up beside him. She put her arm across his body and tucked her head against his cheek. Then, holding him close, as though that might keep death from claiming him, she fell asleep.

* * *

Hectodd paced back and forth in the kitchen while Piet occupied the hallway, duplicating the halfling’s moves. Felbron sat at a table, groggy from lack of sleep, his face drooping in unhappy folds.

“Why weren’t we told?” Hectodd complained for the hundredth time as he turned to the woman by the fire. “Is that stuff ready yet?”

The harassed cook shook her head and fanned the flames with her apron, trying to make the pot boil.

“Just what is this miracle tea supposed to do?” asked the dwarf.

“It brings Askar out of his stone trances,” replied Piet. “You didn’t see him last time. We thought he’d never come out of it.”

“That’s when Mrs. Wilderspin showed us her tea. It’s magic, I tell you!”

“Then give me a cup of it, too,” declared Felbron. “I’m half-dead this morning.”

“No, never. We must save every bit for Askar.”

Eventually the pot boiled, in spite of all the watchers, and they hurried the tea up to the queen’s bedroom, where they were met with unexpected resistance.

“You cannot go in. You mustn’t,” said the elf maiden who stood blocking the entrance with drawn sword. No amount of bribery would convince her to move. Felbron was about to resort to force when Kathryn appeared at the door, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“What’s all this noise?” she whispered, and then saw Hectodd and the dwarf. “Oh, it’s you! It’s all right, Dweena. You may let them in.”

They raised Askar to a sitting position, plumping pillows behind him as they plied the wizard with the tea. This time he did not awaken until a second cup had been nursed down his throat. Once again the recovery was amazing. Without speaking a word, he seized Kathryn in his arms and embraced her as though clinging to life itself.

Felbron looked sideways at Piet and whispered, “Good stuff, that herbal tea!”

Piet’s eyes grew as large as saucers, and, still staring at the

lengthy embrace, he nodded in mute agreement.

* * *

Inside the inner walls, the day was spent preparing the city’s defense. Kathryn, Ferak, Fea-Glenna, and the freecaptains held another lengthy conference. The seasoned troops were assigned to the walls, while the militia formed a central reserve and was camped in the parade ground, among the thousands of refugee families.

Felbron examined his airship and sadly reported that the Lydia had best remain grounded. She had lost too much lifting gas to be of further use in the coming struggle.

Along about midday, Kranoch’s green army entered the city and marched up to the inner wall. The invaders kept their distance, and a desultory exchange of archery fire continued throughout the long afternoon. From the tower, Kathryn could see Kranoch’s siege machinery inching ever closer to the city walls.

There were no major skirmishes. It was a strangely quiet day. Kathryn knew that it was the lull before the storm.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Donovic had ridden up and down the streets, studying the city walls, looking for a weak point. Eventually he settled on a section of the wall that was the most distant from any supporting towers. It also had the advantage of being located at the end of a broad, flat street—a street that would easily accommodate the siege engines.

The corps of Kranoch’s magicians, who had so far done little to earn their pay, were positioned in three tall buildings, each with a clear view of the selected point of attack. Elements of infantry and cavalry took position around the walls that enclosed the inner city, until it was completely surrounded.

Donovic had been shocked to discover that Guloog and the night creatures had broken into the city from the north. Alamkamala had to be up to something, but what? The general had tried to tell Kranoch, to warn him that the Grand Inquisitor had his own agenda. But Kranoch would not listen and instead railed at Donovic, complaining of his sloth, all the while praising the bold moves of his Grand Inquisitor.

Still, the unexpected arrival of the night creatures was convenient, for they had achieved what Donovic’s disastrous move in the south had failed to accomplish: The eastern defenses had been outflanked. Thus there would be at least one less day of hard fighting.

* * *

Brooding, Alamkamala remained for most of the morning in the house where he was billeted. Then a plan began to form in his mind. Out in the streets, there were a few orcs and goblins who had not hidden from the daylight. Instead, they ran about, yelling insults up at the walls and firing arrows at the defenders. While this was happening, Alamkamala focused on the small portion of the city wall that was visible through his window. Would it be possible, he wondered, to poke a hole right through the wall with his fist?

He pulled the wand out of its silk bag. He was not drunk this time; now he was dead serious. He aimed the wand at the section of wall, and as he did so, he felt a surge of energy flow from his arm, focused by the wand. He could feel the dull thud as the hammer blow of invisible power smashed against the wall.

Alamkamala tried it again. And again. Each time, there was an audible thump. He could feel the vibrations through the floor. As yet, no damage was visible, but still he kept at it, pounding at the wall time and again until he grew weak and faint. It was impossible to keep his eyes open. His head slumped over on his arm, and he fell asleep on the table. Once again his aides

wrapped up the wand and put him to bed.

* * *

Behind the walls, the sergeant heard the repeated blows and rushed up to the battlements to see what manner of engine was delivering the attack. He could see nothing. Yet each time the thing struck, the wall shook, and tiny rocks and pebbles used in the mortar holding the larger stones broke loose, cascading down on those below. The sergeant sent his men to inspect the area. When they returned, they reported minor cracks but no serious damage.

Then suddenly the thumping stopped. The sergeant was satisfied that no serious damage had taken place. He wrote it off as some minor disturbance in the oerth. Not wishing to be labeled

overimaginative, a fearful tag in any army, he went off duty without bothering to report the occurrence to the freecaptains.

* * *

Guloog snarled through his piglike snout, for he did not like being awakened in the middle of the day. Two sickly-looking kobolds cowered before him, neither one over three feet tall. Leather armor hung over their brown scaly chests, and their white horns glowed a sickly shade of yellow in the torchlight.

“Well, now that you got me up from a perfectly good sleep, what is it that’s so damned important it couldn’t wait?” The ore sat up on his cot, swinging his feet over the edge.

One of the kobolds stammered unintelligibly, so terrified of Guloog’s intimidating presence that he couldn’t speak. Guloog looked at him with disgust, his little piglike eyes narrowing as though he might take the kobold’s neck in his hands and squeeze till it cracked. This so frightened the second kobold that he managed to squeak out a reply. “We was digging around in this alley, looking for good stuff to bring to you, O mighty one, when our companions—uh, I mean we—found this tunnel hidden under the street.”

Guloog leaned forward, putting his hand to his chin and fingering a tusk thoughtfully. The kobold, encouraged by this gesture, continued. “It was covered by metal bars and leaves and stuff. The bars were heavy, and we couldn’t lift them. It took four of us to pull it off, mighty one, and I led them down into the glorious darkness. This tunnel runs both north and south. Could it not be of use to you? Do we not deserve great reward for our discovery?”

Guloog’s red eyes lit up with the kobold’s words. “This tunnel ... it goes south, you say? How far south?”

“O mighty one, we did not travel its full length, so anxious were we to return and tell you of our discovery. But it was many grethongs long, to be sure. I could not see the end of it. We must be deserving of great reward for our discovery, yes, mighty one?”

Guloog rose and strapped on his armor, glaring down at the pair of kobolds. “Take me to this tunnel, worm. If you have spoken the truth, you shall have your reward. Otherwise, I’ll have you both for breakfast!” The ore wiggled his snout and licked his thick lips, and the two kobolds collapsed at his feet, gibbering with fear, for they knew that the powerful Guloog did not utter empty threats.

* * *

Buelath had slept fitfully for three days and nights. The younger dragons, including Bubastio, had been up for most of that time, wandering around the cave with little to do. The old one had left them with no instructions. Now they were gathered in a tight huddle, discussing what strange, distasteful activity Buelath would order once he awakened.

“He’ll have us gather liches from the graveyard,” conjectured one.

Buelath stirred without warning, rolling his great head in a circle and opening his eyes.

“Not likely, young one,” said Buelath. “We’re done with all that now!” As the young dragons moved apart and worried about how much Buelath had heard of their conversation, the ancient dragon methodically stretched his body, limb by limb, wing by wing, and finally his long neck, feeling as much as hearing each tiny vertebra fall into place. He smiled to himself, enjoying the younger dragons’ discomfort. And for once, the old shoulder injury did not pain him.

“Young dragons!” he growled. “I have not merely been asleep; I have been abroad. And I bear good news. A most unlikely group of allies has come to our aid. The stupid humanoid creatures are fighting among themselves, killing each other off in large numbers. This will save us much trouble and effort.”

“So what do we do now?” asked the dragon who had made the comment about liches. “Gather bagsful of beholders and hide them in the elf queen’s bed?”

Buelath narrowed his eyes but ignored the sarcasm, knowing that the young one had merely spoken boldly so that his comrades would not scorn him. The rebuke, when it came, would be private, and he had no doubt that the young dragon would be full of repentance. But for now, there were more important matters to deal with.

“Tonight we shall reclaim that which is ours and has been lost to us. We shall have the Eye of Tiros!” All heads turned to him, as he had intended. “Yes, it is all over. The Yeomanry is about to destroy itself. We need only arrive at the right moment to turn the balance in our favor . . . and recover the Eye of Tiros.”

The old dragon said no more. He scratched his neck and then began to walk slowly toward the mouth of the cave. The others lined up behind him and followed in his footsteps, daring to believe, daring to hope that he had spoken the truth.

* * *

Guloog and Alamkamala nearly ran into each other in the street, each bursting with news, for each of them had found a way to get through the city walls. After a short conference, their combined plan was even better.

The goblins, who still had not been fully organized, were to act as a diversion all along the walls. They were to create disturbances, fake attacks, and set more fires—all things that came quite naturally to goblins. The four goblin chieftains laughed uncontrollably when they received their orders and strolled off to inform their men.

The kobolds, thanks to their diminutive stature, were assigned to penetrate through the tunnel they had discovered. Meanwhile, the orcs would mass behind the spot in the wall that Alamkamala had weakened, ready to rush through the breach

that the Grand Inquisitor was confident would open.

* * *

When his final plans had been made, Donovic felt no compunction to communicate with Guloog or Alamkamala. His night attack would breach the city walls without their help. They had no magicians, no siege equipment. The defenders would laugh at them, at the Grand Inquisitor and his orcan puppet. Loftwick would fall to Donovic, and finally the king would know who served him best!

The general sat across from the king in what once had been a finely appointed inn and was now headquarters for the army of Sterich. Several glasses of liquor were brought to the table.

Donovic, each of his captains, and finally the king raised a glass high.

“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for, Your Majesty,” Donovic said to the king.

Kranoch gave the final toast: “To victory!”

“To victory!” echoed the captains. Draining their glasses, they turned and hurled them into the fire.

“Now, if Your Majesty will give the command,” said Donovic, smiling, “the attack will commence.”

Kranoch waved his arm imperiously, and runners immediately set out from the command post to the three buildings where the magicians stood ready. Another runner hurried off to notify the officers of the siege train. A few minutes later, a brace of flaming arrows arced through the night sky, clearly visible to the army that lay outside the city walls. That was the signal they had waited for. The battle was joined.

Flaming brands sprang forth from the four large catapults, hidden a block away from the walls. Balls of flame flew through the sky to land at random inside the inner city. Fire patrols quickly quenched three of the fires, but the fourth flaming ball landed atop an old warehouse, which instantly burst into flames.

Three simultaneous streaks of lightning issued from the tops of the three buildings, converging on a section of the city wall with a tremendous crash. Rocks, boulders, boards, and bodies flew in every direction. When the smoke cleared, a large chunk was missing from the wall, as though some hungry god had taken a bite out of it.

The catapults loosed their flaming missiles a second time, and more balls of fire fell upon the city. Another round of lightning bolts leaped out from Kranoch’s corps of magicians, tearing another huge chunk from the wall. This time, however, the blast did not go unanswered. Askar and Piet stood on the battlements along with Eboeus and the other Rockhall mage from the airship Lydia. All four of them were rubbing a huge ebony rod with a soft woolen cloth. The rod was aimed at the top of one of the three buildings.

“Now!” yelled Eboeus. A gigantic bolt of lightning rolled off the tip of the rod and stretched itself into a long bluish white streak of light, which crashed into the midst of Kranoch’s mages and exploded, blowing off the entire top of one building. Following the mighty bolt came a monstrous clap of thunder that temporarily deafened everyone within a block’s radius.

Meanwhile, in the streets outside the wall, a mass of the finest archers of Sterich advanced within range and loosed clouds of deadly arrows upon the battlements and over the top, into the city below. Eboeus and his dwarvish companion were struck dead instantly. Askar and Piet were more fortunate, throwing themselves against a wall and thus escaping harm. More flaming brands from the catapults flashed over their heads and into the center of the city. The firefighters did their utmost, but whole neighborhoods were now aflame, burning out of control.

Piet reached into his sack of ingredients and began to chant. A moment later, he threw a stinking cloud over the wall, which quickly drifted into the archers and sent them running. A fresh body of troops marched up to the battlements, replacing those

felled by Donovic’s archers.

* * *

As if it were a part of the grand plan, the assault on the north wall began at the same moment that Donovic’s catapults were hurling their first missiles into Fortress Loftwick. Alamkamala aimed his wand at the same section of wall he had attacked earlier. The first blow landed with a hard thud, knocking a defender from the wall. Alamkamala aimed again. This time the wall collapsed like a sand castle, burying several defenders.

When they saw the wall crash down, Guloog’s orcs let out a fierce shout and rushed through the breach. Orcs flew over the rubble, torches in hand, swords waving in the air. A company of militia stationed near the breach turned and advanced upon the invaders, momentarily stemming the tide. But more and more orcs came, climbing over the bodies of their slain comrades to get at the besieged defenders. The militia was overrun, and those who did not flee were killed on the spot.

Meanwhile, two blocks to the west, four thousand kobolds poured into the sewer like rats and made their way under the city wall. All the sewers had been blocked with rubble, according to the report delivered to the freecaptain. And so they had ... all but the one that was missing from this chart. The kobolds popped open grates inside the walls and emerged undetected behind the defenders. By the time their presence was discovered, it was too late, for the reserves had all been sent to deal with the onslaught of orcs.

The kobolds rushed forward in a wave and overwhelmed the tower guards, taking possession of the north gate. The defenders in the tower fought valiantly to the last man, but it was to no avail. Soon the great gate swung open, and in poured the goblins

who had been waiting outside.

* * *

Two bolts of lightning surged against the east wall, eating away at still another section and sending more defenders to their deaths amid a spray of rocks and splinters. Siege towers began to roll down the street toward the wall. Divisions of archers arrived to shower the opening with arrows.

Having used up all useful spells, Piet and I quit our post and made our way to the rear, passing a body of Loftwick’s finest archers, who were being led to the front by Ferak.

Kathryn filled my thoughts. Her safety was all I could think of as we dashed along the crowded streets, skirting the fire brigades as they attempted to quench the hundreds of fires that sprang up all around us like malicious flowers.

I cursed myself for a fool to have gone wandering out on the walls. I should have stayed with Kathryn. If something were to happen to her, I would never forgive myself. A group of pikemen ran past, heading for the wall, and Piet and I were forced to find a new route.

At least I had done my part ... all that I could do, short of using the stone. I thought about using it again, for it seemed that the battle was going against us. But my belly tightened at the thought, and I decided to wait, to hold off till the worst had come.

Piet and I wound our way through the panicked crowds, losing each other from time to time but always finding our way back together. We ran through the darkened parade grounds, now silent and empty, for all available reserves had been sent to the walls.

Piet slowed to a walk and tugged on my sleeve. All around us, the city was alive with the sounds of battle—the distant clash of sword against sword, the low rumble of drums, the battle cries, the screams of the dying. Smoke from burning buildings glowed yellow and red as it drifted across the sky. Firebrands arced into the city from the catapults beyond the wall. Piet stopped and pointed to the sky. Something was airborne, emerging from the palace. It was Fea-Glenna, mounted on her pegasus.

“She’s out to roast a few of them!” said Piet.

“Give ‘em all you’ve got!” I yelled, at the same time saying a

prayer for her safe return.

* * *

The night creatures, now inside the walls, again split into three groups. Alamkamala and Guloog remained with the orcs, who had made the best progress, and fought their way south. The battle-frenzied orcs were more than a match for the piecemeal reinforcements, who fought them every step of the way and died where they stood.

A mage on a winged horse suddenly flew above the orcs and gave them their first serious resistance. A spray of fireworks fell from the sky, and a wall of flames erupted in their path. The advancing horde was stopped for the moment. Guloog turned his orcs aside and marched parallel to the flaming wall until it curved away, and the orcs were able to resume their southward rush. Soon they were joined by hundreds of goblins who had poured in through the gate, which had been opened by the kobolds from the sewers.

* * *

Fea-Glenna landed in the palace courtyard just as Piet and I arrived. Kathryn and two of her freecaptains were already there.

“Your Majesty,” Fea began breathlessly, “the north wall has been taken! Our army has been overwhelmed, and the enemy is advancing upon us unchecked!”

“And what of the east wall?” asked the queen.

“The east wall is ready to fall. I think it would be best for me to recall Ferak and Dwallo while there’s still a chance to save them.”

“We must do it, Your Majesty!” urged one of the freecaptains. “The royal guard is seriously depleted, and without them, we won’t be able to hold the palace walls!”

“Then go, Fea,” Kathryn said sadly. “But return to us in safety.”

I stopped Fea-Glenna as she turned to leave and clasped her hand warmly, overwhelmed by her bravery and her loyalty to Kathryn.

When she had gone, I took Kathryn aside. “Do you think it’s time for me to use the stone?”

“No, my love. Do nothing yet but remain at my side. When the time comes, we will know what to do.”

The two of us went into the palace and climbed to the top of the tower to watch the progress of the battle, hoping against hope that the tide would turn. There were tears in Kathryn’s eyes as she watched the destruction of her beloved city. Piet had followed us and, seeing Kathryn’s obvious distress, was good enough to slip away and allow Kathryn to grieve in private.

“Leave me for a moment,” Kathryn said brokenly, and, respecting her wishes, I, too, left her to her sorrow and joined Piet. Together we stared out over the rooftops of the burning city. My hand found its way into my pocket, and there I discovered the strange egg-shaped object that we had found in the sewer. I pulled it forth and examined it closely for the first time, showing it to Piet as well.

“Now might be a good time to test this thing!” I murmured, ready to seize upon anything that might help.

“How about if I try to read the magic in these writings first?” said Piet, referring to the odd markings engraved on the thing.

“A wise suggestion,” I said, remembering how many unwise things the two of us had done.

We hurried over to the corner, where buckets of water stood beside a wooden table. Piet filled the dipper and held it over the object until a drop of water fell upon it.

We stared at it, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. And then, unbidden, I felt words rising in my throat, and I opened my mouth, allowing them to escape. As I spoke, the egg-shaped object began to glow. We watched the thing, spellbound, wondering what would happen next. Would it open? Would it go up in a cloud of smoke? Was I merely a fool to be standing there holding a potentially dangerous weapon in my hand? And as these thoughts whirled round and round inside my head, suddenly the glowing marks were as easy to read as my own name! They made complete sense!

“Look, Piet!” I exclaimed! “It’s some kind of charm or—or— well, I’ll be—” Almost unable to believe what I was reading, I held the object closer to the torch to get full benefit of its light. I read the words aloud: “ ‘The user need not be skilled in dweomers, yet should ye steal this charm unrightfully’ . . . Hmm, I think there’s a curse of some sort. Ah, I see! It’s a regular ball of magic spells. Listen to this: ‘Possession of this charm entitles the bearer to send people to sleep, to open locks at will, to knock open doors, to locate objects, and’— Oh, look at this one, Piet!”

“Why, what is it? Tell me!” Piet cried anxiously.

“To dispel magic! This could turn you back into a rat!” Piet shrank away from me in fear, his narrow face already somehow looking slim and ratlike.

“And there’s one more.” I turned the object over, reading from the other side. “ ‘To summon an anti-magic shell.’ Say, that’s a good one . . . ‘With each use, this charm will grow smaller, until the power is completely consumed.’ “ And that was all there was.

“Handy stuff, I’ll grant you,” Piet said, still keeping his distance. “But there’s nothing there to help the queen!”

I agreed sadly and dropped the object back into my pocket as the beat of wings announced the return of Fea-Glenna, who even now was landing above us on top of the tower.

Piet and I heard her say, “They come, Your Majesty. Order the gates opened and the walls manned, for the enemy is hot on the heels of Ferak. Our archers are keeping them at bay, but they cannot hold them for long.” With Fea’s message delivered, the pegasus reared up and carried Fea-Glenna swiftly down to the courtyard.

The three of us—Kathryn, Piet, and I—made our way down through the palace and out to the gate tower, where the iron doors were opened wide, allowing a mixture of refugees and soldiers to pour into the palace. Leaving Kathryn’s side, I climbed to the ramparts atop the gate and stared out across the dying city.

Below me, I saw King Dwallo and his Rockhall dwarves, with Felbron and Hectodd at his side. The contingent from Rockhall no longer numbered two hundred. I could count no more than forty dwarves, and these few were bloodstained and battle weary. Hectodd spotted me and waved with a brave grin upon his face.

Soon the pace at the gate began to quicken. Those passing inside were now running, and then Ferak rode through with his archers trotting behind, their quivers empty. Trumpets blared in the distance, and from the north came the sound of drum rolls. A volley of arrows rained down on the top of the gate, and the doors swung shut.

“Piet, have you cast your dart yet?”

“No!”

“Well, here’s your chance,” I said as I made ready to cast my magic missile.

Kathryn held out her arm to stop me. “Hold, Askar! This could be a parley.”

Then Fea-Glenna was at her side. In a moment, Hectodd, Felbron, and Dwallo came thundering up the stairs as well.

The rain of arrows ceased as more trumpets sounded off to the east. Drum rolls reverberated from the north. Then four horsemen, three in magnificent uniforms, rode out into the middle of the square in front of the palace gates. The last of the four was clad in a great bearskin cape and wore a golden crown upon his head.

“He’s Kranoch himself!” someone whispered.

On the other side of the square, a row of orcs appeared, beating furiously on hide-covered drums. Behind them rode an incredibly ugly ore on horseback, and next to it a tall, thin man in a green cape.

The enemy had arrived.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The drumbeats reverberated in our ears until we could bear it no longer and were at the breaking point. Only then did they cease, and the trumpets, too, fell silent. A strained quiet fell upon the square and behind the inner walls as well, each side waiting for the other to begin—something, anything. Two great torches mounted on either side of the gates and others held by soldiers cast an ominous yellow light upon the eerie scene. At last Kranoch and Donovic inched their horses forward.

“You there, in the palace!” called the general. “Call a halt to this foolish resistance! Bring an end to the bloodshed and destruction!”

“Who is this who addresses Kathryn Fern-Clyffe, queen and spokesperson of the Yeomanry?” answered Fea.

“Kranoch, King of Sterich, Jotuns, the Good Hills, and the Yeomanry!”

“It would seem your claim to be king of the Yeomanry is a bit premature, Kranoch! The queen still rules!” replied Fea-Glenna, and the defenders on the walls cheered loudly.

Donovic waited patiently, and when the cheers subsided, he continued on as though there had been no interruption. “The queen rules a tiny enclave, soon to be washed away by the wave of Kranoch’s glory! Meet our demands now and you will be allowed to live.”

“And these demands are? ...”

Kranoch stirred in the saddle and spoke out for the first time: “Deliver to me the Eye of Tiros!”

“And surrender your throne!” Donovic added smoothly. “If this is done, there will be no more killing!”

A murmur went through the crowd gathered at the gate.

“We have heard how Kranoch honors his promises!” Fea cried defiantly.

While the king and the defenders bandied words, Alamkamala watched intently. He reached inside his jacket for the wand and pulled it out, concealing it under his great green cloak. With the wand still concealed, he pointed it at the gate and began to search. It was up there somewhere. He could feel it—power calling to power.

* * *

Suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, I was seized by the need to act. My hand fairly throbbed with the need to hold the stone, to use it once again. Kathryn had said that I would know when the right moment had come, and it appeared that the moment was now. I opened the pouch and pulled out the stone, which began to glow immediately. I held it in front of me and climbed atop the battlement. I had no idea what I would do next, but so far the stone had always

shown me what needed to be done. I closed my eyes.

* * *

Alamkamala fairly leaped from his saddle. The glowing thing on the battlement . . . there it was at last! The wand, which he had mastered quite by chance, became an extension of his arm. He reached out forcefully with his invisible hand, and in one motion the Grand Inquisitor dealt a fearsome blow to the man holding the Eye. Then he snatched up the stone, and the invisible hand pulled it to him.

A stunned shout went out from everyone at the gate when Askar suddenly flew off the battlement and into the throng behind him. Someone screamed as the glowing stone wafted mysteriously across the open square and landed in the hand of the horseman wearing the green cape.

Alamkamala stood up in his saddle, holding his trophy above his head, laughing insanely.

Donovic stared at the man, speechless, unable to believe that which his own eyes had seen.

Kranoch, knowing that something unusual had happened, turned to Donovic and demanded an explanation. When he was told, the king smiled. “At last,” he murmured softly. “At last!” In his sightless eyes were tears of joy. But that joy was to be shortlived. “Bring me the Eye, that I may see again!” he commanded.

Alamkamala had not stopped laughing.

The king made the demand a second time and was met with the same response. Kranoch turned and spoke to his general. Donovic looked over his shoulder and signaled. Then the king, his general, and the two captains turned their horses and rode slowly toward the insane man. A group of footmen advanced into the square behind the king, with swords drawn. They in turn were followed by two rows of archers.

There was a low growl among the orcs at the sight of the advancing swordsmen, thinking that they were to be excluded from whatever was to happen next. Guloog waved, and a mass of orcs carrying javelins emerged from the darkness into the torchlit square.

* * *

I came to my senses slowly, at first unable to comprehend where I was and what had happened. I struggled to my feet, gripped with a feeling of horror. Where was the stone? What had I done! I raced back up the stairs to the top of the battlement and, brushing off Kathryn’s cries of alarm, looked down into the courtyard. There I saw the stone in the hands of a raving madman. Pangs of dread and failure ran through me.

“In the name of the Great Wolf Mother,” I moaned, “what have I done? I’ve ruined us all!”

“Perhaps not,” Kathryn said quietly, gripping my hand between both her own. “See what is happening? ...”

The Grand Inquisitor had stopped laughing, and now he sat down in his saddle, glaring at the king. Both hands clutched the stone to his chest like a child with a favorite toy.

“You old fool!” he hissed, his voice carrying to those on the battlements through some trick of the wind. “Do you think I did this for you? I, too, have waited for this moment. I, too, have planned for this. And now the stone is mine! You have outlived your usefulness to me!”

The king’s face had turned a hideous shade of purple. He spluttered and gibbered, unable to put his fury into words. Donovic drew his sword.

“At last the king sees your true colors,” the general said calmly. “He knows what I have suspected for some time. Now you shall pay for your treachery!”

Those on the battlements leaned across the cold stone walls, watching the unbelievable scene play out in the square below them. The enemy were quarreling among themselves!

Alamkamala began to rub the stone between his hands. The green glow changed to a lighter yellow hue. “Now get down on your knees!” snarled the Grand Inquisitor, ignoring Donovic as though he did not exist. “Bow to your new master, Kranoch. I, Alamkamala, control the Eye of Tiros. I, Alamkamala, control you!” He clasped the stone to his chest and closed his eyes, and the magic began. A swirling green vortex formed around him, turning slowly at first and then whirling higher and higher into the sky, becoming both thicker and brighter. Alamkamala let out a burst of hideous laughter. The king stood silently, while his general lowered his sword and watched in horror.

“What—what’s going on?” asked Hectodd.

“I think that guy is gonna try to use the stone!” whispered Piet. “Looks kinda funny to me, but we’ll find out soon enough what he can do with it.”

“Maybe it’ll go wrong and he’ll wipe out Kranoch’s army!” Hectodd said hopefully.

“Quite possible,” murmured Fea, her eyes glued to the scene in the courtyard.

The vortex had taken on the roar of a tornado and was creating a windstorm around it. The king’s cloak was flapping in the breeze, and dust and debris swirled around the square. Those on the battlement were forced to put their hands over their eyes. The green color of the vortex had changed to yellow, and it spiraled higher and higher while the noise became unbearable. Several of the horses in the square bolted, carrying their riders away from the storm. Donovic’s horse reared and crashed over backward, throwing him to the pavement. Kranoch, however, stood firm.

Suddenly the noise reached a crescendo, and was climaxed by a brilliant flash of light. A shock wave blasted out from the center of the vortex, blowing over the flagpole and knocking defenders from the wall. The soldiers and orcs in the square were knocked flat by the impact, and many of those atop the gate were blown over as well. Hectodd’s fine tricorn had sailed off into the night.

Abruptly the noise ended. Those atop the battlement crept back to the edge of the wall and peered over it. The vortex was gone, and so was the man who had brought it into being! All around the edge of the square lay the tumbled forms of orcs and men. Where the man in the green cloak had been, there was nothing—no, not quite nothing, for the stone could still be seen lying on the pavement. Nearby, the king and his great horse lay sprawled on the ground.

Mmandoc suddenly appeared out of the darkness and swept down into the square. The little dragon swooped low and grabbed up the stone in his claws. The weight of it pulled him down, and he struggled like an eagle trying to pull a large fish from the water. At last he gained altitude and climbed to the top of the gate, landing in front of his master.

I reached out and took the stone.

“Thank you, Mmandoc. I may yet need this, the way things are going tonight.” And I put the stone back in its bag. Kathryn smiled at the little dragon and slipped her hand into my own. I felt a wave of love sweep over me, and as I bent down to kiss her, a commotion broke loose in the square.

Down in the courtyard, Donovic was oblivious to everything other than the fact that his beloved king was lying outstretched on the cold stone, quite possibly dead. Donovic was first and foremost a soldier. He did not understand all this business about some magical eye. Alamkamala had believed, and look what had happened to him! Donovic’s blood began to throb. Guloog and

Alamkamala were to blame for this, and Guloog and Alamkamala would pay!

Donovic came to his feet with a roar of fury, calling on his men. The soldiers of Sterich let out a battle cry and rushed back out into the square. Across the way, Guloog cursed at his orcs and kicked them into some kind of formation, although those who had been closest to the explosion were still dazed.

The green-clad swordsmen charged at the orcs behind a volley of arrows that flew into the midst of the evil creatures, sending many to the ground. Those who remained were slashed and hacked by the first wave of swordsmen. Sudden order came to the orcs as they found themselves under attack by the hated humans who were said to be their allies, and they stood firm with their weapons and met the attack, allowing their natural hatred to flow.

Sword rang out against sword once again, and more soldiers and orcs swept across the square and joined their comrades in battle. Kobold drums began to beat, and trumpets blared from the back streets. A new rush of night creatures poured out of the shadows and into the fray.

The battle of Loftwick had resumed, but this time the defenders were no longer involved. They watched from the safety of their walls as one invading army fell upon the other. Felbron and

King Dwallo led the Rockhall dwarves in a rowdy cheer.

* * *

The fires in the stricken city were visible from afar as the six great gold dragons flew steadily toward their goal. Buelath was pleased. His keen eyes could already make out the death and destruction that ravaged the city. It was extensive.

Buelath led them into the clouds of smoke that rose from the fires. The thick pall burned the eyes of the dragons, and they dropped beneath the layer of yellow smoke and cruised over the city walls.

“Up there!” Buelath yelled to the others. “We must go to the fighting!”

They flew rapidly on to where the sounds of battle rang out, and Buelath led his dragons in a tight circle around the center of the conflict.

* * *

The appearance of six huge dragons above the contestants brought the battle to a grinding halt. Ore, goblin, and human alike stared transfixed at the incredible flight of the mighty beasts. When it became obvious that they intended to land in the square, the site was quickly evacuated. The six golden dragons landed gracefully before the palace gate.

The largest dragon stood tall on its hind legs, searching about with its golden eyes. Then it spoke. “I am Buelath, mightiest of the golden dragons! We have come for that which is rightfully ours! Give us the Eye of Tiros!”

“That’s your cue,” said Piet, nudging me in the ribs.

The great dragon turned slowly, eyeing the cowering crowds. “It is among you. I can feel its presence. Give it to me at once!”

I pursed my lips and whistled softly, then I stepped up on the Weill of the battlement.

“What claim do you have to the stone?” I asked. “Everybody around here seems to want it and feels that it belongs to him.”

The old dragon fixed his glare on the little man standing atop the tower, caught between the desire to annihilate him in flame or explain. His sense of goodness won out.

“It has been with the golden dragons since the beginning of time! It—” And then Buelath caught sight of Kathryn. “You! You are the vile elf who stole the Eye from our cave!” Jets of chlorine gas streamed out of his nostrils.

“No, Buelath,” Kathryn answered calmly as she stepped on top of the tower and stood beside me. “It was the drow who stole your precious stone, when the darkness was upon Sterich. It was I who reclaimed it from the drow.”

“Then you have our precious stone!” said Buelath as he walked, somewhat awkwardly, on his hind legs toward the gate. Bubastio and the others closed in behind him.

“No! I have it!” I cried as I pulled the stone out of its bag and held it up in the air. I held the Eye out to the one called Buelath. “Forgive me, great one. I should have known that this was yours!”

‘ Buelath reached out and gently took the stone from my hand

and held it close. He stared into it intently, and the stone lit up in a brilliant display of colors, showering the dragon in an array of dancing light before cooling to a soft, green glow.

“You speak the truth, Kathryn. The Eye has shown me all that has come to pass. Though it belongs to dragons, it will also serve the good and pure of heart. I see that it has served you well.” The dragon turned his head aside. “And now I feel only guilt and shame. My deeds of late have brought you much pain and sorrow. Perhaps there is something we can do to help balance the situation.”

No words were spoken; indeed, none needed to be said. All six dragons turned as one and faced the invaders of Loftwick. Suddenly orcs and men dropped their arms and took flight. Jets of chlorine gas shot out of the mouths of the dragons, the noxious clouds enveloping the night creatures and rolling over the soldiers of Sterich. There was panic and confusion as the survivors fled.

The dragons took wing and flew over the city streets, breathing more deadly gas, shooting out jets of flame. The enemies of the Yeomanry were pursued relentlessly through the streets, and the stink of chlorine gas mixed with that of burning flesh.

The dragons encountered the corps of magicians from Sterich. The wizards tried to work their spells, but they were no match for Buelath’s magic, and the mages of Sterich threw down their equipment and ran.

The iron doors of the palace gate swung open, and out poured what was left of the army of Loftwick. They followed in the wake of the avenging dragons, seeking out the few enemies who survived. Kranoch was captured, along with his loyal general, Donovic. Both had succumbed to the noxious gasses; their unconscious bodies were brought into the palace.

The dragons drove the enemy before them until there were none within the city walls. Only then did Buelath return to the queen, who now rode through the streets with her army. “Your enemies will trouble you no more,” said the dragon. “Their will is destroyed. I fear we, too, must leave, for we have been without the stone for too long, and there is much work to be done. But know you that those of the Yeomanry are now considered friends of the golden dragons!”

Kathryn thanked them, and everyone cheered as the dragons took to the sky.

And then, even as I raised my own voice in a cheer, darkness began to close around me as I felt the iron collar tighten around my neck, squeezing off my voice, my air . . . my life?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The night creatures, their numbers decimated, fled the city before dawn and disappeared into the hills. Ferak rode out in pursuit with what remained of his cavalry and chased the dispirited creatures relentlessly, making certain that they continued their flight into the mountains and caused no more trouble in the Yeomanry.

At dawn, freecaptains Caryll and Kaaluk arrived along the Great Eastern Road with the armies of Barwick and several other cities of the plains. They had broken the siege and then marched hurriedly to the aid of Loftwick.

When the fresh legions of the Yeomanry fell upon the leaderless and broken army, the army of Sterich threw down its arms and surrendered. The last remnant of Kranoch’s campaign of conquest had come to an end.

As if in answer to Kathryn’s prayers, a thick bank of clouds rolled in from the west, and the skies turned dark and stormy. First a drizzle and then steady rain began to fall on the burning city, helping quench those fires that had not yet been brought under control.

Throughout Loftwick, the cries of the wounded and dying rang out, and the same rains that helped extinguish the fires made the job of gathering the injured all the more difficult. On that dark day, blood, as well as rain, filled the gutters.

It was fortunate that the Yeomanry College of Healing had somehow escaped the rampant destruction that marked most of the city. Ambulance trains were formed, and soon the great hospital was overflowing with patients. But even so, there were many who could not be saved.

There were also trains of a different nature, moving in the opposite direction. Wagons and carts of every description were pressed into grim service, a reminder of the heavy cost of the war. The dead were gathered up from the streets and dug out from beneath fallen buildings. The still bodies were carried out of the city in a steady stream of wagons and carts to a tract of land to the south that Kathryn had decreed as a burial site. Hundreds of clerks were sent to help identify both the civilian and military casualties, but even so, it would be many days, if ever, before the fate of some of the missing was known.

Dwallo and Felbron searched for their fallen comrades throughout the long day, with the rain coursing down their faces and dribbling through their beards. A massive funeral pyre was erected on the parade ground, at a safe distance from the grounded airship, and the bodies of their fallen comrades were laid to rest with great dwarven pomp and ceremony. The rain ceased just as the final prayer was uttered. Dwallow put a torch to the structure, and the survivors stood beside the blazing pyre, drinking ale and singing sad songs and offering toasts to the memory of their fallen friends.

The sorrowful occasion was lightened somewhat by the miraculous appearance of Alfred and three others who had somehow survived the flaming crash of the Bij. Felbron welcomed his old captain with tears in his eyes.

Fea-Glenna visited the hospital, speaking with the wounded and bringing them words of hope and encouragement. When this task was done, she mounted her pegasus and rode from one emergency to the next, settling differences between city officials, organizing public works projects, clearing traffic problems, and solving a hundred and one other minor difficulties. Something lodged in her mind as she toured the hospital, shaking hands and offering comfort. It was a name—a name that refused to go away, even though she could not think of any reason to remember it. But still it lodged there like a burr clinging to cloth, whispering at her from time to time, lest she forget.

By late afternoon, her mind began to blur, and Fea-Glenna finally called it quits and returned to the palace, realizing that she was too fatigued to make intelligent decisions. Her blond curls were plastered flat against her head, her clothes were drenched, and her tights hung in shreds. She made the mistake of glancing in her mirror before collapsing in bed and saw a zombie staring back at her. Then, just as she laid her head against the pillow, it came to her in a flash! Lionel! The name, the name that had been whispering to her all day long, was the name of the Freecaptain of Regent, the man who could remove the iron collar and save Askar’s life!

* * *

After the battle, there was darkness, with naught but a haze of red moving at the far end of my vision, like specters not yet willing to be seen. I was powerless to move, to think, to breathe. I existed in a hazy state of limbo, hovering somewhere between life and death, not yet released from the one and not yet claimed by the other. I should have been frightened, but I was not, for fear, too, had vanished.

For the first time, I saw that I had lived my entire life for myself and myself alone. I saw how the lives of so many others had depended on my actions and realized that I had thought only of my own concerns. I had thought of no one but myself—until I met Kathryn.

I had been selfish and narrow-thinking. I had sought adventure and gone off on my own, despite the fact that Maria Griswalda was waiting for me, and the hope and future of an entire tribe depended on that marriage.

Something broke inside me, something hot and fluid that coursed through my body, burning, scalding, purifying me with its pain, and though I did not know if I would live or die, I could but pray that it was not too late, that somehow I would be granted a second chance.

I do not know how long I remained in this state of limbo. It seemed an eternity—and then suddenly there was light all around, bright light, brilliant light, and warmth and sound as well, swelling around me, surrounding me, overwhelming my senses. I blinked my eyes and took a deep breath, a breath no longer constricted by the imprisoning collar, and as I looked up into Kathryn’s tear-flecked eyes, I knew I had been granted that

which few men receive: a second chance at life.

* * *

A new spirit of togetherness, born of necessity and need and the desire to pull together, encompassed the entire city of Loftwick, and its citizens—elves, dwarves, and humans alike— labored tirelessly, side by side, to mend its wounds. In the days that followed, the cleanup continued. A tent city sprang up in the parade grounds to house the homeless, and thousands were fed daily from the castle kitchens.

Kranoch was among those sent to the College of Healing. When he regained consciousness, he was hateful and unrepentant, loudly lamenting his fate to the gods and blaming his blindness on Kathryn. Rather than revenge, the great lady showed kindness and compassion, and at the queen’s insistence, the elven doctors in whose care Kranoch had been placed examined the old wound that had blinded him. A conference was held and a decision was made. They would operate on the blind king, using the best of their skills as well as the help of two robed clerics and a mysterious druid called in from the forests.

General Donovic was paroled and set about gathering up the remnants of his army. Prisoners were released from camps, and stragglers came out of hiding. The disarmed soldiers of Sterich buried their own dead and then joined in the cleanup of the city they had helped to destroy.

Buelath returned after a week’s time and met with Kathryn. A treaty was drawn up between the Yeomanry and the gold dragons, a treaty that was based on mutual defense, respect, and protection. Thousands of hectares of mountain land were set aside as a great national reserve for dragonkind. The people of the land were forbidden to build roads and towns in or near the preserves forevermore.

Fea-Glenna rode off on her pegasus to visit the neighboring kingdoms of Keoland and the Hold of the Sea Princes. There true information of the war and its outcome were reported and new treaties of mutual aid were drawn up between the three nations. The Commodore of Fairwind had indeed perished at sea, and with his death, slavery had been abolished forevermore throughout all of southern Oerik.

Hectodd, Piet, and Askar worked together as a team. After the grim business of gathering the dead was completed, a much more pleasant task awaited them. Kathryn appointed Askar to the post of official Royal Wizard. Many strange and wondrous magic items and scrolls had been confiscated. Askar and Piet, with Hectodd as their scribe, set out to identify and catalog the booty.

Residents of the palace soon learned to keep a safe distance from their workshop. Over the course of a week, Askar and company blew three doors off their hinges, knocked out one wall, summoned a small plague of black flies to the kitchen, and filled the palace with noxious orange smoke. There was great rejoicing when the magic project came to an end.

Then came the day when the bandages were to be removed from Kranoch’s eyes. Kathryn was there, along with all the doctors of the College of Healing, as well as the Royal Wizard and his assistants.

The old man sat on a wooden chair in the middle of an empty room, surrounded by healers, while interested onlookers stood around the perimeter. It was nearly dark, save for a single shaft of sunlight that came down through a small skylight.

“You should be able to sense light now,” said the first header as he carefully unwound the bandages.

“No . . . nothing!” moaned Kranoch, shaking his head even before the bandage was totally removed.

And then the bandage was off, and Kranoch’s eyes blinked open wide. A second healer gently turned the king’s face toward the sunlit wall.

“Now tell me what you see.”

“Nothing!” came the pitiful reply. “I am as I was before— blind!” And overcome with despair, he began to weep.

Hectodd left the room suddenly and without explanation as the druid came forward and shooed the other healers away from the king.

“Move aside, please. Move aside. Everything is under control. He needs only the final touch of my hand, and he will have the eyes of a cat!” The healers stepped aside, expressions of doubt clouding their faces, and allowed the druid to take the king’s head in his hands, whereupon the druid began to hum. Several heartbeats passed in utter silence, and then the druid began to shake. Finally he released Kranoch with a loud shriek. It was obvious to all that he had failed.

And then, before anyone could speak, Hectodd returned bearing a pot of Mrs. Wilderspin’s herbal tea. Piet could smell it permeating the air, and he clapped his hands in encouragement, knowing what Hectodd intended. Before anyone could stop him, the halfling had poured a cup of the stuff down the old king’s throat.

Kranoch gulped it down in surprise, and his eyes opened wide. He stood up and held his hands to the sky, letting out a shout of joy. To this day, no one can be certain whether it was the druid’s spell, as he later claimed, or the dose of Mrs. Wilderspin’s herbal tea. But however it happened, Kranoch regained his sight after thirty years of darkness.

The old king became a different man. Great was his sorrow over all the grief he had caused. He vowed to pay a huge indemnity to the Yeomanry, but Kathryn would not hear of it, for Sterich itself had many long years of difficulty facing it before it could recover from the destruction caused by the Black Queen. Instead, Kathryn settled for a treaty of friendship and trade, then sent the king home, riding at the head of his depleted army, with

the loyal Donovic by his side.

* * *

Felbron and Alfred lightened the Lydia, removing the furnishings and bulkheads and everything but the barest of essentials, and she was made ready for flight.

Kathryn honored King Dwallo and his brave warriors with medals of valor, and in a sad ceremony, she saw them aboard the airship. The Lydia carried someone else as well, for there was one

last task yet to be accomplished.

The Lydia lifted off at midday, after the sun had warmed the lifting gas in her bags, and Felbron and I stood at the rails, watching Loftwick grow smaller and smaller beneath our hull. I continued to watch long after Kathryn, Fea-Glenna, Piet, and Hectodd had vanished from view, for I wanted to carry their images with me for as long as possible.

Felbron flew south to return the dwarves to their mountain home and to deliver me to the mountains east of Northmark, where the griffon, the special pet of the Black Queen, still remained at large, killing any and all who sought to use the single pass in that mountainous area.

And so it was that I found myself seated atop a sturdy horse, clad in armor from head to toe, sword and shield in hand, watching the Lydia rise into the sky and float away, with Felbron’s promise to return for me four days hence.

“Do not fear,” he cried, his voice drifting back to me on the cool mountain air. “I will return! Felbron never forgets!”

I did not know how one went about seeking a griffon, and looking about me at the desolate terrain, it did not seem a task that anyone would willingly undertake, yet I owed that much to Kathryn and more. The narrow road was rough and treacherous, and were I fool enough to leave the road and seek out its lair, I might as well lay down my weapons and craw into its throat. I preferred odds that were a little more in my favor.

Accordingly, I made camp in the very middle of the road itself, building a large fire from the supply of fagots left behind by the Lydia. This I kept stoked with green wood, which burned hot and smoky, sending up a good-sized plume of smoke, which I wagered would draw the griffon to me. My horse would also serve as a lure, for it was well known that griffons were fond of the taste of horseflesh and would brave great dangers in order to seize one.

By these means, I hoped to draw the griffon to me on ground that was of my choosing rather than its own. Griffons, I had been told by Kathryn, who knew more of them than I, were ferocious beasts with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. They were utterly fearless, fast and cunning, able to kill with a single blow from their massive paws or a swipe from their razor-sharp claws. Not to mention the fact that their beaks could snip your head from your shoulders as cleanly as a healer’s knife. It gave me ample food for thought and leftovers for nightmarish dreams.

But even though I camped there in that cold, high place for two full days and nights, there was no sign of the griffon, and I began to wonder if it had perhaps removed itself to more fertile hunting grounds.

And all the while, there was a heaviness weighing down my heart and rolling about in my gut as I thought about my love for Kathryn, my commitment to Maria Griswalda, and my duty to the tribe. There seemed to be no easy answers, for no matter what I did, what decision I made, someone would be hurt.

And then early on in the course of the third night, my horse began to stamp and snort nervously, pawing the ground with its hooves and shaking its head violently from side to side. I looked about but saw nothing, for the darkness was like a dark envelope wrapping itself around us, while only the horse and I were clearly visible and everything else remained in shadows.

I swung onto the horse’s back, glad now that I had not allowed myself to remove my armor and was ready for whatever might come. But I was unwilling to leave anything to chance, and, muttering one of Mika-oba’s spells under my breath, I moved forward into the darkness. My sword had a spell as well, and would begin to glow when in the presence of great evil. This it now did, glowing faintly as I progressed. The horse needed no spell to inform it that danger was near, and it began to buck and plunge and dance sideways, obviously unwilling to advance farther.

By this time, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I was able to make out a darker shape creeping toward us over the rocky landscape. The horse began to scream, and before I could calm it, it reared up on its hind legs and pawed the air violently. As it came down, it began to twist and jerk and hump its back in an effort to dislodge me. Determined as I was to stay upon the horse, it was even more determined that I would not, and finally its gyrations brought us into contact with a large boulder, which I struck with a hearty clang, jamming my leg solidly between the horse and the stone.

The horse won. Picking myself up from the rocky ground, I considered myself lucky that nothing was broken and that I had retained my sword. And then, even as I was counting my blessings, I heard the horse scream one long bleat of fear, which was suddenly choked off and then replaced with the sound of bones and flesh being rent asunder. It was unspeakably horrible, and standing there in the darkness with the glowing sword, I felt the fear rise up in my throat and thicken till I thought it would choke me. Had I been spared the death of the iron collar only to die in this lonely place, a mere after-dinner snack for a griffon? I was determined that it should not be so, and commanding my sword to dim itself, I transferred its glow to a bit of rock so that the griffon would think me still hiding in its shadow.

The armor was too heavy, too bulky by far, and limited my movement. If I were caught, the creature would suffer but a moment’s inconvenience before plucking me from the metal shell, nor would it save me from anything but a quick death. Quietly I divested myself of the heavy, clanking armor and began to move toward the griffon with all the stealth I could muster.

Fortunately the creature was still occupied with consuming the horse, and I was able to use the noise of cracking bones and clacking beak to creep forward and circle round until I found myself to one side and slightly above the beast, who was intent only upon its meal.

I judged that I would never get close enough for a direct thrust to the heart, and given my position, I could not be certain of severing the spinal cord. Nothing would do but a fatal blow, for the griffon would not allow me a second chance. I had to succeed on the first strike or resign myself to death. ’

The griffon began to stir, and I realized that the horse was all but consumed. Soon the fearsome creature would come looking for me. It rose to its feet and arched its back and then stretched, as a cat will do when replete. The great back rose toward me, scarcely six paces away, within reaching distance. A strange thought popped into my head. Before I could talk myself out of it, I acted. Bursting forward from my hiding place, I leaped onto the back of the beast, settling myself between its wings and neck and wrapping my arm around its furry throat.

I do not know what I had thought to do. There had been some dim idea that I would be able to hold the neck with one hand and draw my sword across its throat, killing it before it could react. But while the idea was still floating in my mind, before my hand could even begin to raise the sword, the griffon gave an ear-piercing shriek and rose straight upward in a whirlwind of wings and rushing air. Swiftly we rose almost straight up into the cold, thin mountain air, up and up and up, as though we would never stop, with me clinging to the great beast, my face buried in the fetid stink of its fur, too terrified to let go and too afraid to even think of what would happen if I continued to hold on.

On and on we flew into the dark night, rising higher and higher above the oerth, until I could barely see it lying dim and distant beneath us. And then, high above the treacherous peaks, the griffon began to dip and twist and turn in dizzying loops, over and over, in an attempt to rid itself of me. I clung to it with desperation, knotting my fingers in its fur and pressing myself to its great body, clinging with all my strength, for I knew that I could never survive a fall from so great a height.

Or could I? Had I learned anything at all from this great adventure? Had I truly become a magic-user, or had all my powers come from the great magic gem, now no longer in my possession. Somehow I had attained the powers of my ancestor’s book, had inherited them by some mysterious process aided by the magic stone. If there was ever a time to use those powers, to believe in myself and my abilities, it was now!

And so it was that, clinging to the back of the great griffon, several leagues above the mountain peaks, wrapped in nothing more than cold night air, I drew my knife, the knife given to me by Mika-oba, and plunged it deep into the griffon’s throat, twisting the blade until it found a vital spot and forever ended the griffon’s reign of terror.

The huge body went limp beneath me. The head fell forward in a slump, and the wings no longer beat the air but were twisted this way and that by the rush of air as we began to fall. As swiftly as it had risen, so the great griffon now plunged oerthward, taking me down toward certain death.

It was time. I knew it. Time to believe in myself and my powers. Me alone, for neither Piet nor Hectodd nor even little Mmandoc were here to help me, for I had commanded them to remain by Kathryn’s side in my absence. If I were to be saved, I would have to do it myself. Closing my eyes to shut out the awful sight of the oerth rushing upward, I recited the words of the Feather Fall spell, plucking out a handful of the griffon’s feathers, the single component necessary to make the spell work.

Suddenly I felt the body of the dead beast slip from beneath my legs, and I opened my eyes to see that while the griffon was still hurtling oerthward, I myself was floating gently on the air, descending at a reasonable rate of speed. A thrill of exaltation rushed through me. I had done it! I had performed a spell on my own, with not a single magical aid to help me! Mika-oba had been right about me after all. I was a magic-user!

When the Lydia arrived for me early the next morning, it found me seated beside the corpse of the griffon with my hair done up in the traditional manner of the Wolf Nomads, a single long braid beginning at the crown and ending at the nape of the neck. And woven into the braid were the tail feathers of the griffon.

Mika-oba had been right about many things. I had learned much through the course of this great adventure, and key among them was the knowledge that many of the old ways were indeed best. Loyalty, honor, true friendship, a personal code of honor, and a belief in one’s self were still attributes by which one might live his life. Having learned this lesson, I was able to see that my tribe was suffering from more than mere financial hardship. It had lost its course in life. I would return to the tribe and take my place at its head, and if the gods chose to smile upon me, and with the aid of my venerable ancestor, I would see to it that we returned to the old ways, for as Mika-oba had said, the old ways were indeed best.

But the hardest part was yet to come—saying good-bye to Kathryn—for I was promised to another, and she had a kingdom of her own to lead. Never had I suffered greater pain, but there was nothing else that could be done.

Kathryn heard my words in silence, her lovely dark eyes growing darker with pain, but though tears clung to her lashes, she did not try to sway my intent. She touched my cheek but a single time and smiled at me, which caused my heart to nearly break. “I will not say good-bye,” she whispered. “Do what you must and return if you can. I will not stop loving, and where there is love, anything is possible.”

Her words haunted me, and it seemed that I could feel the touch of her fingers on my face even as Felbron and I cast off the ropes for one last voyage—the flight to Gorna, which would deliver me, as he had offered to so long ago, to Maria Griswalda’s doorstep.

Hectodd and Piet and Fea-Glenna were there to see me off, but of Kathryn there was no sign, nor any of Mmandoc, whom I had given unto her care. I waved good-bye to my friends with whom I had shared so much and choked back the pain and grief that threatened to overwhelm me. How could I leave this place and these friends whom I had come to love so strongly? And yet, how could I stay?

* * *

Gorna came within sight just as dusk was falling, and the entire city raced out-of-doors as we began our descent. The town square was crowded with masses of people, and it seemed that everyone in the entire town was there, all clamoring for an explanation.

I stood on the foredeck and spoke out. “Is there one by the name of Maria Griswalda among you?” I called out to the crowd.

“Who wants to know?” came the gruff reply, and looking down, I saw the speaker—heavier, bejoweled, and more prosperous than when I had last seen him, but still recognizable as the Wolf Nomad who had left our camp so many years before. My future father-in-law.

“ Askar-ben-oba of the Wolf Nomads of Forest Home,” I replied simply, and my words seemed to strike the man like stones, for his face blanched white and he took a step backward. A murmur of excitement ran through the crowd as everyone spoke all at once to their neighbors.

Descending the ladder, I made my way to the man and stood before him humbly. “I am sorry to have taken so long to find you, but the war in the Yeomanry—”

“No, no!” blustered the man, recovering some of his composure. “We thought—it was so long—there was no word, and we—” he stammered, uncertain of how to continue. I frowned, for I did not know what to make of his words, or rather, the lack of them.

“I am here now and ready to say my vows with your daughter as was agreed,” I said, although the words fell from my lips like stones.

“But—but—” stammered the man.

“What my father is trying to tell you—” began a cool, sweet voice, and turning, I saw those same blond curls that I had so often stared at in the blurred picture. They framed a lovely, pointed little face with a delicate complexion, cheeks tinged with a rosy blush, and eyes so blue as to put the sky to shame. A face to love, had I already not loved another.

“What my father is trying to say,” she began once more, taking my hand in her own, “is that we had not heard anything from you in so long that we thought you either dead or dissatisfied with the match. The betrothal was canceled, and I have wed another.”

The words struck me with the force of a blow. Vaguely I took in the image of a tall, handsome fellow who took his place beside her and slipped his arm around her waist, giving support to the swelling belly beneath the ruffled apron, a look of pride and love upon his face.

And as I stood there, sick at my failure, full of the knowledge that I had failed everyone, Mmandoc appeared as though out of nowhere and landed on my shoulder. Nuzzling my ear with his tiny red head, I heard Kathryn’s voice speaking inside my head. Come home, she said. Come home, Askar, for you and I were meant to be. The gods have smiled upon us. Come home, and together we will make everything all right.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ROSE ESTES has lived in Chicago, Houston, Mexico, and Canada, in a driftwood house on an island, a log cabin in the mountains, and a broken Volkswagen van under a viaduct.

At present she is sharing her life with an eccentric game designer/cartoonist, three children, one slightly demented dog, and a pride of occasionally domestic cats.

Other books written by Ms. Estes include nine of TSR, Inc.’s ENDLESS QUEST® series of books, as well as Children of the Dragon and The Turkish Tattoo published by Random House, and Blood of the Tiger from Bantam.

She began her GREYHAWK™ trilogy of Mika-oba, Shaman of the Wolf Nomads, with the best-selling Master Wolf, and continued with Price of Power, The Demon Hand, and The Name of the Game, all from TSR, Inc.