Copyright 1993 by Elizabeth Willey. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

A sandstone outcrop at the top of the slope had forced the manticore along rather than down. I turned and followed it; the outcrop became higher and developed into an overhang. The sounds of the dogs and the beast grew louder. There were boulders scattered around, a narrow foottrack threading between them, and the trees were fewer, straighter, and taller. The overhang was quite deep now, almost like a cave; fire circles on the sandy soil and soot stains on the roof showed where hunting parties had sheltered in the past. There were large splotches of blood in the sand also, punctuating the tail- and footmarks, and the sounds of the fight were immediately ahead.

Abruptly the ground dropped down steeply, and there before me, beneath the overhang in a broad open place, I saw the manticore set on by my dogs. One, apparently dead, was fastened to its near hind leg, jaws locked; several others dead lay about on the ground, crushed or disembowelled by swipes from the beast's claws. The manticore was the biggest I had ever seen. I lifted my lance. Cosmo pranced and sprang forward at the touch of my spurs.

We call them manticores here in Argylle, but they are not the same as the manticore known more widely in Pheyarcet and Phesaotois. For one thing, they are more lizardlike; for another, they are less intelligent. The latter trait makes it possible for a single skilled hunter to kill one, rather than the usual coordinated group activity.

Cosmo stepped lightly and quickly around the beast, just out of its reach, as I whistled to my hunting allies. The dead dog on the hind leg had been trying to hamstring it. I decided that this was a good time to handicap my opponent further and whistled again, a piercing sharp one. The manticore was annoyed by this and lunged toward me, hindered in its homicidal intentions by the overhang. Cosmo danced back out of range and I continued to urge him back and to one side, luring the beast out into the open. It swatted at dogs with its claws, but the remaining bunch were smart enough to avoid them and rush in for bites at the belly, harrying it after me, but hampering fast pursuit.

We emerged from the semi-cave area and the level ground dropped away steeply below me. I signalled the dogs to hold the manticore where it was now and whistled again. Before the manticore could snarl and bounce forward over the dogs, a black-and-gold war-hawk plummeted down onto its head and pecked at its left eye.

The moment for which I'd been waiting came. Screaming and flailing, the manticore reared back. Cosmo knew: he leapt when I kicked him and we raced forward. The hawk, as well-trained as the dogs for this work, disengaged and took to the air as we shot in on the manticore's left. It snatched at the hawk and then turned, too late, to us; one claw ripped through my cloak and scratched Cosmo's flank as my lance drove up beneath its chin into the brain.

I had developed manticore slaying to a fine art of late. They are somewhat more intelligent than a wyvern, but they have their patterns like everything else.

I let go of the lance and drew my sword as we circled away from the tail. No need, though; it was a good strike, and the animal was flailing about in death agonies. I called back the dogs and they collected in a pack nearby, out of range of the monster's thrashing. We watched while it continued dying. Meanwhile, I took out a Key, a bell, and a candle stub and performed a Lesser Summoning in the shadow of the overhang. My sister Belphoebe, who dwelt here in the forest Threshwood and is in a way its guiding genius, should be informed at once of my success in the hunt.

``Phoebe,'' I said, ``I have made a kill.''

``Where are you? Is that Beza Ridge?'' I saw her in the globe of light from my candle-flame. She squatted by a stream on a broad, flat stone. Her short straight hair, russet-brown and pushed back behind her ears, was damp, as were her brief leather tunic and her lean, muscular legs. Evidently she'd been swimming. A string of fish in various stages of gutting and cleaning were in front of her, and she had taken her arm out of its sling for the moment.

``Yes,'' I replied.

``Hah, you will want me to come and help you clean up then.''

``No, I'll fire the corpse myself. I wanted you to know, though, that I have never seen one so big.''

``Measure it,'' she directed me.

``Very well.''

``Gwydion,'' Phoebe said, stopping me before I disrupted the spell's line from me to her, ``these things oppress me.''

``They worry me also,'' I said. ``We're seeing more of them these days, and they're stronger. I don't know why. I just don't know.''

Phoebe nodded. ``You said that you thought an Eddy might have ruptured.''

I folded my arms, relaxed my stance. ``I still think that's the most likely explanation, but it will take much work to test its soundness. We have not had such a rupture here.''

``Perhaps we did not notice.''

``I believe we would notice. Theoretically the natural state of the Spring---unlike the manipulated and unnatural Well of Fire in Landuc---should mean that we never see ruptures, because the Spring's forces move liberally.''

``Yet it would account for the monsters intruding. And we have been, relatively recently, under great stress as regards the Spring.''

Belphoebe knows a little---more than most laymen do---about sorcery, but she's no adept. I sighed. ``I don't know whether the stress on the Spring was so great that it made an Eddy or that an Eddy so created would rupture rather than disperse gradually.''

``The monsters are---'' she began.

I interrupted her. ``You know that I agree that the circumstantial evidence, the creatures intruding here, is strongly in favor of a nearby Eddy-world exploding very recently, but I don't have any idea why that would have happened all of a sudden.''

I was frustrated by the problem. It certainly showed in my voice and expression. Everyone knows Eddies occur in Pheyarcet in the currents of Landuc's Well because those currents have been dammed and channelled to benefit Landuc; they hold worlds in their swift-swirling grips, worlds which come into being and go out of it unnaturally rapidly. When an Eddy flies apart under its self-induced stress, the vitality of the Well which has been pent in it is released and the world or worlds in the Eddy are destroyed. Some things from those worlds always survive and are cast willy-nilly into the surrounding area. However, we of Argylle do not bind or force our Spring's flow, and therefore the Spring does not spin such volatile Eddies, though they are common to the Well. Eddies from Argylle's Spring are uniformly slow and stable.

``Gwydion,'' said Phoebe, and her voice was like our mother's in its gentleness and tone, ``I do not think you are negligent.''

I blushed. ``I don't either,'' I said.

``I have not felt any Eddy either. Yet I still deem it might happen without our noticing. I recall when an Eddy last ruptured near Landuc, the whole Empire was plagued by those horrid red long-clawed rats; none knew whence they came, for there was no other sign of the Eddy breaking.''

``Phoebe, we agree on that. I am sorry to blow a stale wind at you. Certainly the characteristics of the creatures we've seen ---the distortion, the strength---they are like those of the Eddy-worlds.'' We had reprised everything either of us had thought for the past half-year. Yet we might, sometime, see a new face in the old review.

``It is a canker-problem.''

``When your arm heals---''

``Yes. I will go out, along the Roads from here, and follow the Spring's flow to see if there are any Eddy-like distortions. It seems that to go and see is all there is to be done.''

``Thank you, Phoebe. I would go myself---''

``You have much on your mind. This is work for me.''

``Enjoy your fish.''

She grinned quickly. ``Hah, caught in my disobedience by the physician himself.'' We nodded cordially to one another and I terminated the spell by snuffing the candle. I uncoiled a piece of rope from around my body and waited for the manticore to finish dying. It took a long time.

When the carcass had burnt out, foul oily black smoke rising high into the deep-blue evening sky, I started for home. The dog pack trotted around me, businesslike and satisfied and untroubled by the loss of four of their fellows. I chose to take the long way home, going through the forest and then along the Haimance highway; there was no convenient Ley or Road anywhere close, and I wanted to unwind and think en route.

A good day's work. Phoebe, her arm broken, could not kill this one herself and had asked me to do so before it wandered from wild Threshwood to the nearby farmlands and really caused trouble. I had been more than happy to oblige. It is good to get out and kill something foul once in a while. It purges me.

The hawk circled over the trees; I could not see her now because of the darkness and foliage, but I knew she was there over the canopy. Little night noises began as the air cooled; the trees seemed bigger and darker, and their litter muffled our sounds until we reached the highway. It was a good five hours' slow ride home through the wood and fields. I had plenty of time to consider the manticore, all seven-and- a-half ells of it. Phoebe herself would have had trouble with that one on foot, I suspected. It had killed six of my dogs altogether, and they were all experienced with such creatures. It was bigger and faster than the usual monsters we saw here.

Usual monsters. That was the real problem: there had been too many of the cursed things wandering around, and Belphoebe had soberly told me when I had set her arm for her that she was now perfectly sure not all of them were left over from the problem we had lately had with Tython, whose ill-nature had drawn such creatures to him en masse. There were new permutations on the old standbys appearing, she said, and the old standbys had acquired a heightened viciousness and boldness. Her arm had been broken by a wyvern which had taken a fancy to sleeping in a farmer's stone barn in the south. Wyverns are usually shy and retiring creatures, occasionally nesting in abandoned buildings, but preferring caves, and shunning inhabited areas as much as possible--- though occasionally a herd of goats or flock of geese will tempt them out of the wastes.

I resolved to spend the next day or so winnowing through the records and making a study of exactly what unusual things had been happening lately. I might find some pattern that eluded me now, discover some overlooked source besides that of a hypothetical Eddy's unlikely rupture. And once I knew what had caused this I would be able to rectify it. That was what Mother would have recommended. Collect information, think, and act.

After I had done my collecting and thinking, though, I must consult my elders before acting---my siblings, father if possible, and grandfather. This was more than a courtesy; any action would doubtless require cooperation from them, for one thing, and for another, they might see things I did not.

The City was peaceful, smelling of cooking and smoke. Golden light glowed from windows, bluish from the streetlamps' faceted balls, lighting my way from the Haimance gate to the Citadel's Island. I cleaned up and fed Cosmo myself and settled the dogs in for the night. The hawk soared up to the top of the East Tower. I felt I had accomplished something; in reality, of course, the greater problem was still there, lurking in the forest with the uncouth things like manticores.

Behind the tall rose-and-lily decorated doors, the Citadel was quiet. Guards saluted me and a few domestic staff nodded politely. I climbed up the winding central stair, intending to go to my study, but took the long way around the residential wing instead of making the sharp left that would put me by my rooms. I passed my older brother and sisters' rooms, Alexander and Marfisa and Phoebe's (never used), my mother's untenanted, locked bedchamber . . ..

Gaston's apartment, connected to hers, was closed and silent. He was travelling, or so we hoped. It had been long years since anyone had heard from him. My grandfather Prospero, whose rooms were beside his, was down the Wye, in the seaport Ollol, having gone there this morning to meet Walter and the envoy from Landuc. I was the only family member currently in residence at the Citadel. There were many other people there, there always are, but it always feels a bit lonely when I'm on duty, as I think of it, by myself. I unlocked and entered my own rooms.

Lonely, but not alone; when I was very tired, I often felt as though someone else were in the room with me. I felt it now: a silent companion's amiable, invisible presence somewhere just behind me or beside me in my blind spot, never directly intruding. Every family has its ghost, or ghosts. My siblings and Prospero had mentioned similar feelings. I had never dared ask Gaston when he was still here.

My foot hit something flat which had been slipped under my door: a concert advertisement from my brother Walter with a note on its reverse.

Gwydion, I'm home again. All went well. When I left Landuc about twelve days ago Avril asked me to give you this: personal, not official correspondence, he said. Come to the concert! You'll enjoy it. I have new music to show you. Small-ensemble works---just what you like best. Come see me tomorrow or I'll come see you and pry you out of here with true brotherly devotion. Walter.

There was an envelope folded inside the announcement, sealed in three places with substantial blobs of red wax and impressed with a familiar ring. I opened the concert advertisement first, standing in the hallway and leaning on the vine-carven doorjamb to use the hall light for reading. Hm. Something called a brandenburg concerto by one Bohk. What might a brandenburg be? I sounded the word out. A horn, perhaps? Walter had wandered into the ever-changing outlands of Pheyarcet in his recent travels before this errand, and the music and instruments he had brought back were getting a varied reception. My own feelings were mixed. Some of it certainly was garbage, but some was very good, at least when adapted to the taste and instruments of Argylle. The stuff from Faphata, played on twelve-tone glass-belled drums, was popular in Haimance now, I'd heard.

The heavily-sealed note was unaddressed. I broke the seals and opened it.

Unto Lord Gwydion of Argylle from the Emperor Avril his Uncle, Salutations. Walter's visit to us has brought to our full realization how long it has been since last we spoke with you. We hope that all goes well and request the favor of speech face to face, that we might but change a few words between us and assure ourselves (and Her Serenity, who agitates at times) of the health and well-being of our kin. By our hand with all affection, Avril.

I didn't believe a word of it, except perhaps the part about Her Serenity (the Empress Glencora) agitating to know how we all fared. Walter would surely have passed on to them any recent news he had when he was there. He had conveyed our cousin Ottaviano here from the Empire of Landuc at the burning heart of distant Pheyarcet. In addition to negotiating a trade agreement with Prospero and the merchants, Otto would certainly be absorbing as much information about Argylle as he could and transmitting it back to the Emperor. Avril wanted something else, and I thought I knew what it might be: something he could not ask of Walter.

I put the note on my desk and sat down on the bed. The City's mellow lights studded the darkness beyond the broad river Wye which flows around the island on which the Citadel is built. The hour was now very late; there were only a few solitary windows lit, and no coachlights moved along the roads. The moon was bright, a white oval above the countryside, but I lit a candle anyway for the friendly flame. Then I pulled off my boots and socks. Taking the candle, I went into my workroom to do a little sorcery.

Lenticular glass, firepan, sand, water, flower-shaped crystal bell, Keys, and the antithetical forces: put them together in the right way, with all due respect, and watch.

It was doubly difficult because Avril was in Pheyarcet, beyond Argylle's border. I had to call upon the Well of Landuc in my spell, but at this distance the power to be gotten was immeasurably small--- the invocation served to expedite the process of getting across the Border and to ease my workings through Landuc's demesnes. One balances the three Forces when casting spells which reached past the Border or the Limen. People who have not assimilated another force cannot cast such spells into that force's domain.

My vision blurred slightly, as if a patch of mist had drifted into the room, and the mistiness clotted above the flame and thickened on the glass. Moving, but not moving at all, it began to make the image, full of color and brightness stolen from the fire. A soft bell sounded, sustaining itself, and took on other notes as the image formed, to become words, my words . . ..

`` . . .Summoning seeming and speech reciprocally.''

Avril, the Emperor, looked back at me, settling down in a high-backed chair even as our eyes met.

``Ah, Gwydion.'' He nodded to me, smiling. He was at a table with his implements around him in artistically calculated disarray. Also a tall, deep-blue vase of dusty-gold roses. His robes were gold-bordered scarlet, a bit ostentatious---but that's Avril.

``Uncle Avril,'' I greeted him, also smiling.

``How are things in Argylle lately?''

``Nothing out of the ordinary has happened since last we spoke,'' I said. ``And in Landuc?''

``Smooth sailing, as far as I can see. Yet you may guess that I didn't merely wish to trade pleasantries.''

I nodded. ``Not such smooth sailing, then.''

``It is about your father. We have not heard from him in years. I am a little concerned.'' He sounded testy. ``I suppose I do not need to know where he is; he's a private man, he keeps to himself, that is all very well. But I would just like to know he is alive. If you are in touch with him . . .?''

I had guessed Avril's intention aright: he wanted Gaston. I said, ``I understand. I have not spoken to him in a long time. He has been incommunicado.''

``I know. How long a time has it been since you last saw or heard from him?''

``Years, I guess. At least . . ..'' I thought carefully. ``Between twelve and thirteen years. I could make it more exact if it mattered . . . Yes, he came early in springtime thirteen years ago.''

``You are not worried.''

``Gaston has dropped out of sight for extended periods in the past, as I understand it. And he was . . . you know he was not happy. He said little before he left last time. He had not been here often anyway, just dropping in and out once or twice a year or sending a message.''

Avril nodded, then sighed and ruffled his hair, not disarranging it in the slightest. ``I see. I hope he is all right.''

I debated within myself for a moment. Generosity won. ``If you really need him, Avril, there are ways of finding him. But if it is not an emergency . . ..''

``I know. Let us let the man grieve in peace. But his absence is felt here and, I am sure, there too.''

``He has been gone longer,'' I repeated. ``I am not concerned. The Wheel always turns, and it is best to let it turn in its own time.''

``All right. People talk of searching for him.''

That would probably be Uncle Herne and Prince Josquin, and perhaps Aunt Evote. ``Tell them to hold off,'' I said. ``He would not be particularly grateful to be found, I am certain of it.''

``I suppose so. Very well, Gwydion. I shall bid you good night. And thanks.''

``You're welcome,'' I replied, and snuffed the fire with sand, which broke the spell's current and darkened the glass. I began putting things away.

Indeed it was as I had thought: Avril would not pry at Walter for news of Gaston, because Walter could not help him get it, but he would indirectly suggest to me that I set myself to discovering what he could not.

I wondered if Avril's nudging inquiries about Gaston and the trade agreements could be related. There was no obvious connection. Gaston had never been involved with our government. Probably Avril would like it very much if I did take the hint and look Gaston up, but on the other hand if there was no pressing need to do so, I wanted to leave him alone. Also, though I was my Emperor-uncle's junior, I was not his lackey, and carrying out a request like this might make him think I was easily manipulated or dominated and inspire him to use me other ways. If I had believed him fonder of Gaston and sincerely concerned for his well-being, I might have heard his implicit request more sympathetically.

The Dominion of Argylle and the Empire of Landuc have stiffly polite relations. That two such different places, antithetical as the Fire and Spring that perpetuate them, have relations at all is a wonder, and it is unsurprising that we find it difficult to maintain them. There are historical reasons for the stiffness and also personal ones, and the politeness is mainly because we need each other and can't really afford to be at odds---again for historical and personal reasons. My late mother, however, always maintained that they needed us more than we needed them and had made her point in blood by winning the Independence War---one of the historical reasons for the cool relations between the realms now. Prospero considers the Empire an evil we could probably do without but are better off doing with. In Landuc they think that we need them more than they need us, but the trade between us is largely one-way. Partly that's intentional, because my mother didn't want the Dominion becoming dependent on foreign goods, and partly it is just that Landuc has little to offer that we cannot get locally more quickly and cheaply. Trade is controlled by strictly-enforced (on our end, anyway) treaties, and Walter had brought our cousin Ottaviano here as the Empire's representative to negotiate a new one, since the latest was due to expire.

My stomach growled, interrupting my meditation, and a sudden hollow feeling in my middle reminded me I hadn't eaten since my late afternoon snack on horseback. I left the workroom and found my slippers by the window.

The night was lovely. I opened the casement and leaned out, elbows on the sill, looking around, down at the autumnal gardens. The near-full moon, the lively air, the liquid restless feeling of the Spring pouring over everything revitalized me. I began to think of staying up all night, though I was tired, and going for a walk in the City or outside. I hadn't done that in a long time: not going to bed because the world was too awake and exciting to leave . . .. A shadow passed my head. I ducked, and something whumped onto my left shoulder.

``Ouch!''

``Prrrrt,'' said my familiar owl, Virgil.

``That hurt,'' I said coldly.

He bit my ear gently.

``Yes, it is a fine night. Why are you loitering here?''

Virgil fluffed and settled his feathers. He was feeling sociable, I supposed, and I pulled my head back in and straightened (the owl compensating for the change). My stomach growled again. It was time to raid the kitchen. Accompanied by Virgil, I went and did that, and then I went out and walked in the gardens for an hour or two, and then, as the night dew became cold and not just freshly chilling to my feet, I went in and climbed up to my bedchamber.

I turned in and dreamt of happier days, though I woke with tears in my eyes.

Chapter Two

Walter was pleased to see me, as usual, and we sat on a balcony in the warm autumn sun to watch the world flow by below, drinking a light Northern wine. Above us, an open window poured the sounds of a jazzy trio over the street. ``I'm glad I returned yesterday. It's a song of a day,'' he declared, beaming.

``It is gorgeous. Not many more of these this year.''

``Fine weather for hunting,'' he said. ``But there's no one who knows that better than you.''

``Yes. You heard about my manticore?'' Phoebe must have told him, I thought.

Walter tipped his head to one side. ``Rumor has it there is a great dragon come to the wood.''

``It was just a manticore, but it was a big one. Seven and a half ells.''

Walter whistled. ``The damned beasts breed ever-larger,'' he said.

``Yes. Walter, I came to ask you to start racking your brains. I am looking back to see if I can pick up any pattern in these monsters occurring. So if you could be combing your memory for talk about them---when did people start really noticing them?---and keeping your ear tuned for current news, I would be grateful.''

``Gladly, brother. And anything else curious, I'll pass on as well. There is a certain---I don't know, a tension---in the air. People laugh too quickly.'' His eyes narrowed, he stared into the bright sky, following a cloud's shape changes.

``Hmph.'' I tipped back my chair and watched an old woman making lace on the balcony across the way. Tension. People around the Citadel had been edgy lately. Utrachet, the Seneschal, had actually snapped at my secretary Anselm this very morning. Most uncharacteristic. ``Yes. That is true. ---Avril's note was to ask that I Summon him for personal speech.''

``Speaking of tension . . .?''

``No, no. Nothing is wrong. He was wondering if we had heard from Gaston.''

Walter sighed and shook his dark head. ``He has probably found an impossible but just war somewhere in a hellish stagnant backwater of the Well's or the Spring's Roads and is fighting nineteen hours a day to keep himself from getting insomnia. Burning himself out.'' He became sad, wistful. ``We were too happy too soon, Gwydion.''

``Not Gaston.''

``No. But the rest of us. Spoiled. Now the real work of life has begun and we must bend our backs and labor for our joys.''

I thought about this. ``You think happiness has to be earned?''

``Not like that, no. Not as the payment due for suffering. But it does seem that every life has sorrow and joy, some more of one or another, and we had much joy first. Mother's goal was joy for everyone all the time. I don't know how possible it is. Fortuna's Wheel does turn, as they say.''

``It may not be possible, but it is a good goal. And I work for it joyously.''

He smiled again. ``As long as it is joyous work to you . . . Are you going to look for Gaston?''

``No. I do not wish to intrude on him.''

``Of course not.'' He looked down into the street, leaning on the balcony railing. ``And our uncle?''

``What of him?''

Walter gestured loosely. ``To find him . . .''

``Absolutely not,'' I said firmly.

Walter squinted back at me for a moment and then nodded. ``Sorry, Gwydion. I do not mean to goad you.''

``I know.'' To prove it, I sat with him a while longer and we talked about the City and countryside. Walter is a gossip sponge, a travelling newspaper, collecting and reporting rumors and news faithfully. Tactfully, he circled back indirectly to the subject of our missing relatives.

``I was talking to the Empress in Landuc,'' he said, watching me carefully, ``and she said that she thought Gaston had perhaps gone off, as Prospero did, and found something . . . new.''

``No,'' I said flatly.

``I do not know enough about it to say yea or nay,'' Walter said diffidently.

I regretted my somewhat abrupt answer. ``It is possible, theoretically, but to liberate such a force as Prospero did here with the Spring, as Panurgus did with the Well of Fire, cannot be done without creating certain perturbations which are not undetectable. We know now what those are like, and I would recognize them, I am certain. Neither he nor our uncle has done anything like that. Besides,'' I went on softly, ``Gaston . . . for one thing, he has never concerned himself with more than the quotidian applications of the most basic sorcery, what we use every day.''

``That's so. He distrusts magic.''

``And for another thing, Walter, I cannot see him . . . I suppose I could have gravely misjudged his character, all these years . . . I cannot see him doing that alone. It might be possible that he would have done it with Mother, something for the two of them, but not alone, not as a solitary endeavor. It is not like him.''

``I suppose you're right. People will do odd things when they are distressed, but they usually do them in keeping with their characters and past actions. Our uncle---''

``Again, I . . . I just don't think he would do it either, not in the state of mind he was in. More destructive than creative.''

``You know him best. I yield to your superior knowledge. It was a pleasing notion.''

I shook my head. ``I am afraid it must remain only that. I do not think Gaston is enough of an adept for it, and I do not think our uncle is . . . in the mood. Besides the purely sorcerous evidence against it.''

Walter changed the subject. ``At Shaoll's house the other day---did you meet her? Oh, yes, that party---I had a good Romorantin wine, from the estate bordering this one actually, but I cannot recall the name . . .'' and he indicated the bottle of Fidan we had been drinking.

I welcomed the change. Walter is a diplomatic man. ``Those vines have flourished. Mother swore they would.''

``And who would dare disagree? Yet they've been long in producing drinkable wine. I confess I had begun to think that perhaps for once she had erred, and it's reassuring that she was right.'' Walter emptied his glass and refilled it. He toasted me. ``Your health, Gwydion!''

``Your happiness, Walter. I have seen no good Romorantin wine on my table, although I am pleased to hear you are seeing it on Shaoll's.''

He chuckled. Shaoll was a weaver newly arrived in Argylle, and Walter was much seen with her. ``I think they're keeping it in reserve, and a polite note reminding them of their obligations might bring some your way.''

After perhaps half an hour of wine chat, I turned the talk back to business, to our ambassador cousin Ottaviano.

``How is the Baron of Ascolet these days?'' I said. ``Did he sizzle and steam as you brought him through the Border Range into Argylle?''

Walter laughed, throwing back his head and roaring. ``Ah me, I'd nearly forgotten that one.'' When I was a very small boy and had just heard that the Well embodied as fire, I had gone to Walter and demanded to know if this were true. He assured me it was, and he went on to explain gravely that when people from Landuc or the greater Pheyarcet around it tried to come to Argylle, they would vanish in a puff of steam, quenched by our watery Spring. Since I was old enough to know that people from Landuc never did come to Argylle, though not the genuine reason for it, this sounded wholly plausible to me. Only when I learned in a chance overhearing that Gaston was sometimes called the Fireduke was the truth of the thing explained to me; I ran in terror of his imminent demise to Mother and she had great difficulty sorting it out---and then blamed her father Prospero for filling my ears with fancies.

I laughed with Walter and then said, ``But Walter, how is Otto?''

``Steamed. He sizzled indeed. He's affronted at being put under house arrest while he's here,'' Walter replied.

``He knew it would be so.''

``Still, affronted. Not that he showed it, but I could see. He's going to be here for months, and he'll find it close confinement.''

``He is only here until New Year. Mother would not have liked it,'' I said, ``and Prospero certainly is annoyed.''

``Avril wouldn't have dared send him to talk to her nor indeed to Prospero; he sent him because everyone there thought you would chaffer for Argylle,'' Walter pointed out, which was true. ``Now that he's here, he's a diplomatic guest. It is nearly an insult--- ''

``I agree,'' I said, ``but on the other hand Prospero will not want him roaming around, and at any rate he is bound by the same laws that govern others from Landuc when they are here, seldom though it is.''

``No, I agree wholly with you . . . so we agree that he can't be kept prisoned in the guesthouse while he's here, and he can't be allowed free amble---''

I felt put on the spot. ``I suppose we can allow him to leave the premises with a family member. You, me, Prospero, or Phoebe if she were inclined.''

``That's still stringent---''

``It is more than Mother would have done,'' I said. ``Tell him I said that, if he takes issue with the restraint. Don't tell him this: if he behaves himself we might loosen up. Let him go out with guards or a diplomatic escort. It would be better courtesy. And what reason has he to misbehave? ---I don't know why Avril sent him and not Josquin. Josquin knows Argylle; people remember him kindly still from that visit years ago. I wish it had been Josquin.'' Josquin and I were good friends, and I had not seen him in too long. He was, in my opinion, the best of our Landuc family, the most like an Argylline. Temperamentally ideal for diplomatic work, he was witty, intelligent but not condescending, and his conduct and discretion were inerrant.

It could almost be construed as an insult, had I wished to be insulted---the Emperor sending to treat with his peer, not his Heir the Prince of Madana, but the Baron of Ascolet, his bastard son. Not that bastardy, as an idea, is current in Argylle---but Ottaviano had done things in the past which had given him a sulphurous aura, and though my uncle Dewar had a kind of rivalrous, hearty professional friendship with him, my mother and Prospero would not suffer his presence gladly.

I had picked up something of both attitudes. When I had met Otto in Ascolet with my uncle, he had seemed a good enough fellow, but all through my childhood before that I had heard his name spoken with coldness. I had decided to give him some benefit of the doubt: it seemed hard to forever damn a man for ill-doing he must himself regret, and by all reports Otto had repented heart and soul of the ungentlemanly conduct which had led the Emperor Avril to accuse Gaston of treason during the Independence War. Gaston did not commit treason; he lost the war because Freia was assisted by a mysterious woman named Thiorn who commanded the military actions. For Gaston, the truth of a matter sufficed. Prospero and Mother, however, both knew how to cherish a grudge, and had.

Walter, mollifying me, said, ``I would rather have had Josquin as a guest again too.''

``I would rather have done it in Landuc, but His Majesty made it impossible for me to refuse,'' I said, irritated with the memory of that discussion.

Walter spread his hands. ``He's a vexatious man,'' he said soothingly, ``and difficult to talk to. There's none who'd disagree with that. And he does have a point, albeit a small one.''

``It is the point of a wedge. We must be careful.''

``Yes. I will not allow Otto to stray into mischief, and Prospero will keep him leashed and muzzled straitly. But we cannot intern the man like a criminal when he is a guest. So this is just enough, all elements weighed and assayed.''

``Just or not, it will have to do.''

I went back to the Citadel and left him to rehearse an ensemble and choir.

Belphoebe was waiting for me on the steps. This was an enormous surprise; she rarely leaves her woods if she can help it.

``Brother Gwydion,'' she greeted me, not smiling.

``Belphoebe, what brings you here?'' I had a sinking feeling. More bad news, surely.

``I come on the wings of ill tidings.''

I led her to my private office and closed the door, leaning on it. ``Tell me.''

``There is a dragon on Mount Longview.''

``A dragon?'' I remembered Walter's rumor. ``You're sure?''

Phoebe nodded, pacing around the room, up and down by the tall arch-topped windows. She's never at ease inside. ``I have seen him myself. Gwydion, this is not one of the pesky little worms we have been plagued by of late. He is enormous. My hair stood on end when I glimpsed him.''

``How did you see him?'' I uncorked a bottle of wine from the sideboard and poured us each a cupful. It was not yet midday, and the morning had been long indeed.

Belphoebe sat on the corner of my desk as I sat behind it. ``I had gone up to Beza Ridge to see where you slew your manticore and to bury the carcase, but you did a clean job and so I decided to hike out to the end of the ridge. There is a good view from there.''

``Yes, you can even see Longview on a clear day.'' Longview is the highest mountain in the Southern Wall of the Jagged Mountains, which comprise the mostly uninhabited, rugged country between Argylle and Errethon.

``Just so. I had my spyglass with me and used it, scanning the forest. I have been thinking about establishing a base at Beza, although 'tis exposed in winter, and then as I stood there looking at the mountains of the Southern Wall it occurred to me that, although distant from the more habited areas, Longview would be a good place to set up a watchpost, to try to keep a lookout for these troublesome intruders in Threshwood.''

``I suggested that to Mother more than once---I am sure Gaston did as well.'' In fact, the ruins of a gigantic tower lay tumbled on the stony, bare top of Longview. Someone had fortified the place once upon a time.

She shrugged. ``There are reasons it is unfeasible . . . So I stood there looking along the range with the glass and I saw something moving behind Longview. I watched and watched and finally he drifted around, riding the thermals up from the valleys I guess.''

``The dragon.''

``Yes. I could not guess at how big he must be, Gwydion, but I could see him quite clearly in the glass. He is very pretty: indigo tail, blue-violet-purple on his back, shading to darker, deeper violet and blue on his head, possibly white underneath.''

I sat in my chair and leaned back, looking up at her sun-bronzed head. ``Sun and stars, Phoebe---if you could see him coasting around Longview from the ridge, he must be simply gigantic.''

Belphoebe nodded. ``Exactly. As I stood looking at him, he turned his head and, I would swear, looked back at me, directly into my eye. Then he soared around the mountain again. I watched again, but saw no more.''

We were quiet for a moment. Then I slammed my hand on my desktop, frustrated. ``Damn it, Phoebe! Where is this stuff coming from? The manticores, the erltigers, the wyverns, the karyndrasks, that damned pack of satyrs last spring . . . It is like when Tython was causing us all that trouble.''

She just nodded again, her grey eyes serious, a furrow between her level brows.

``A dragon,'' I said under my breath. ``Just what we need! They don't hibernate, do they?'' It was autumn; if we could get it during the winter . . .

Phoebe, seeing my thought, shook her head ruefully. ``The lesser ones do. The greater do not. That is a rule of thumb. There are exceptions. I know but little of the magical kind. I have never seen one.''

``They tend to be fairly individualistic,'' I told her, ``although there are common traits among them all.''

``Such as?''

I rummaged in my memory for gleanings from tales and anecdotes. ``They all tend to hoard something, although it varies from dragon to dragon. Gold and diamonds are most popular, but they will settle for other precious stuff. I once read of one who favored titanium. They like their prey kicking and screaming; perhaps it is the fear. And they get off on eating other sentient animals.'' I paused, thought. ``I should add that everything I know about the intelligent ones is from books and hearsay. I have never encountered one myself. Just garden-variety dragons. The intelligent ones are very rare and are distinguished from the ordinary by size, habits, and naturally intelligence.''

``And how intelligent are they?''

``I don't know. Probably no one has tested them.''

She scowled at me. ``Be serious! This is nowise laughable!''

``I know. At least he's fifty miles away at Longview. Let us pray he stays there until we can work out what to do.''

``Kill him, naturally.'' Phoebe tossed back the wine.

I lifted my eyebrows slightly and looked at her. Oh, so? I thought, but did not say it.

``'Twill be no joust, no child's play,'' she conceded, setting her cup down. ``Marfisa and Alex will be delighted to have a share in the hunt, certes.''

``There are so few opportunities for genuine heroism these days,'' I agreed drily. ``Phoebe, it is very likely that one of our family is going to be dead before that dragon is.''

She thinned her mouth. ``How do you know?''

``The odds are for it. It is not like killing a wyvern in Jurlit's barn. Great dragons know who's who and what's what.'' I pulled a sheet of paper toward me. ``I shall close the southern roads, I think.'' In an emergency like this, I couldn't wait to consult the Council, and legally I didn't have to.

``At once?''

``At once. It is autumn trading season and that road is heavily used. He may already have taken someone and questioned him. If not, we can make it harder for him to find anyone. Nobody is much around there, just a few mountain men . . . Perhaps,'' I went on, ``I should route everything around him along Leys and the Road.'' That would require that I send Phoebe and Walter out to lead caravans of merchants . . .

``That seems a sound precaution.''

``But he may well be able to follow anyway. If he is a real dragon, a magical one, he sees the Road and Leys as clearly as you see the lines on your palm; they are his natural paths. He knows without looking how they lie and where in the fabric of the world the pocket-worlds are stitched and how the Road leads in and out of them, among other things.''

``Such as?'' my sister prompted.

``Extensive knowledge of magic.''

``Oh.'' She didn't say anything else for a while. I wrote a list of roads in that area and drafted a closing order and a mobilization and a few other notes to Gracci the Castellan and his subordinates. Anselm, my secretary, would draw the order up prettily, and Gracci would take some of the City Guard up toward Errethon border to enforce it.

``Should we talk to the others first?'' Phoebe suggested diffidently as I pulled the bell.

``This is the best way to start. I will call a meeting for tonight.''

``Then I'll tarry here. Till then I shall go watch the archers practicing.'' And sting them to better performance, I thought. She met Anselm coming in. I gave him my draft and told him to hurry. I wanted the closing official by sundown. The Councillors would squall; they were used to being consulted, but in times of emergency Mother had always gone straight over them, and I thought this was an authentic emergency.

I went to my workroom and assembled the materials needed to perform high-quality Lesser Summonings for my family, had a cup of bitter thick tea to fortify me for the physical drain involved, and began with Prospero.

The familiar preliminary words rolled off my tongue smoothly. The fire in the iron dish leapt up and showed me to myself in the mirror, the underlighting playing odd shading-tricks with the planes and angles of my cheeks and nose. I smiled at my reflection just to reassure myself. When I sprinkled three drops of water on the flames, my face was obscured in the disproportionate steam they made. I breathed on the glass, whispering. As the mist cleared, my image was replaced by Prospero's. We look much alike, so the change was not particularly dramatic; I seemed to acquire a beard, a few lines around my eyes, and a floppy blue velvet hat.

Prospero scowled when I told him about this latest headache. He was on a moored ship; the ocean and another ship moved asynchronously behind him, and a spit of land with a high white tower, the Ollol light, seemed unstable too by its contrasting stability. The image yawed, too---he must have lit one of the gimballed lamps to bring my Summoning image as well as sound.

``What in the blistering hells---! A dragon? Whence comes this bestiary plague?''

I smiled in spite of myself. ``I don't know. I killed a seven-and-a-half ell Argylle manticore on Beza Ridge yesterday.''

He frowned more deeply. ``Aye, and that wandering wyvern but a few days past. 'Tis one damned thing hot on t'other's heels, as they say. Tython's legacy haunts us still, may he twist in agony eternally and his deviant minions with him! I'll make my excuses here and be there forthwith; I must ride, as I rode hither and I'd liever not leave Blitzen.''

``Good. I will call the others. By the way---''

``Yes?'' he snapped, halting in mid-reach toward the focussing light.

``I know I ought to have asked you first, but I have already issued an order closing the southern roads. The Council will be complaining.''

He nodded, and more mildly said, ``Well thought on. You need not beg my permission, Gwydion, nor theirs; you are the Lord of Argylle.''

I shrugged. Prospero's style was always high-handed. He smiled scantly and cut the connection. I cast my line upon the currents again. Punctiliously observing seniority protocol, I Summoned my eldest brother Alexander next.

``Alexander,'' I said as he appeared in the glass.

He was far away, in a green-draped alcove, looking at me via a mirror flanked by candles. It made a beautiful receiving focus. Behind him I could see a white marble corridor. His clothing looked formal. He glanced over each shoulder before speaking softly. ``Gwydion. It has been a while.''

``Not that long. Three months here? Yes . . .''

``Ah. What is afoot?''

``Not afoot, but on the wing. We have a genuine dragon in Threshwood, on Mount Longview.''

``A dragon?'' He began to smile.

``Phoebe, using a spyglass, saw him quite clearly from Beza Ridge.''

``Thirty miles away! Gods! It must be enormous!'' He looked excited, interested.

``Precisely. I'm fairly sure, just based on the size, that he must be one of the real ones, not one of the mundane ones.''

``Magical, you mean? Ley-finding faculty and so on?''

``Yes.''

``Oho! But it can still be killed, no doubt.'' He smiled. ``I misdoubt he'll move on simply at the asking. Who'll evict him?''

``If you can come to a meeting here, tonight, the topic will probably be touched on.'' Something about his eagerness to get the dragon to the taxidermist rubbed me the wrong way, but I had to be careful not to annoy Alexander. ``I know it is very short notice, but we must move fast.''

``Catch it off guard, perhaps. Yes. I'll be there.'' He glanced aside, shook his head, and turned away. I snuffed out the fire.

My next call was to Alexander's twin sister Marfisa, his junior by half an hour, like him in almost everything save sex. This unnerved people, who often took her for his brother, especially when she was armored.

``Marfisa?''

``Ah---Gwydion.'' She was far, far away. Her voice was thin and remote from the lily-shaped crystal trumpet.

``You are wanted here, Marfisa. In Argylle. Can you come?''

``Now?''

``Yes. Or in the next few hours.''

``Ah.''

I thought we had lost touch for a moment, and then the glass fogged completely and cleared again and the image in it improved markedly. She was seated at a low table, crosslegged, in a loose smocklike shirt and trousers, in a tent it appeared. Her short-cropped, curly hair was rumpled, her face expressionless in its classical regularity. A matchstub was between her fingers. There seemed but one light there, the one receiving my Summoning, and it stood some distance from Marfisa.

``Some emergency?'' she inquired.

``Yes,'' I said, guessing that I had interrupted something.

A sigh. ``Very well. What?'' A line between her even brows, just like Alex's--- ``Father?''

``No. We have a very large dragon on Mount Longview. We are going to have to do something about it.''

Her eyes narrowed and a spark of interest came to her face. ``Such as kill it.''

``Something like that, yes.''

``When?''

``We will discuss and decide at our meeting here in Argylle this evening.''

``How long from now by your clock?''

``About eight hours.''

``I shall attend.''

She pinched out the flame.

I sent a messenger to Walter with a note about the meeting and then went back into my workroom and tried to raise Gaston and my uncle.

No answer, of course. Just wanted to feel sorry for myself, I guess.

We sat around the same oval table in the same long green-panelled room in the same order where Prospero had officially declared that I was the new Lord of Argylle. He had declared here to us once that he was worried about Mother, too, and announced a full-scale search. Mother had turned up on her own, apologizing for the fuss---she had miscalculated the speed of an Eddy's spin and overstayed. His son Dewar had been missing twenty-two years now, and Prospero hadn't bothered being officially worried. He had wandered the Road searching in every world he passed for a long time, and still went off periodically when he had a new idea about some place, but not even a rumor had he found. I had hunted around too, but if people want to hide, they can, and it is hard to find someone who does not want to be found, particularly an adept like my uncle. We knew he had bolt-holes, strongholds, retreats; we did not know where even one of them was.

This time I chaired the meeting.

``Belphoebe, please by describe what you did today.''

She obliged. I then tapped Walter and asked him to repeat the rumors he had heard about a dragon in Threshwood. He repeated them with cautions that they were rumors only; he hadn't traced any back to eyewitnesses.

``The timing is something we must ascertain,'' I said. ``How long has he been there? What has he been up to?''

``Has he given our citizens cause for complaint?'' asked Prospero.

``Farmers missing offspring or livestock and suchlike devilry? No. Not even a sighting as definite as Phoebe's,'' Walter said firmly.

``So he is but newly lighted here, taking his bearings,'' said Alexander. One long finger tapped the base of his wineglass. He and Marfisa exchanged a glance, gold- sparked hazel eye to identical eye, a moment's nonverbal communication, no more.

``What do you know for certain about such creatures?'' I asked my grandfather.

Prospero stroked his beard. ``Hmmm. Since you told me of this, they've been much in my mind. Never have I faced one, nor would I gladly, though I believe your father Gaston did so ages past when he was a hot youth.''

That was a long time.

``I did not know that,'' Alexander said. Marfisa lifted her eyebrows a hair's- breadth.

``'Tis but a tale I heard once, and the truth could be something wholly other. Histories alter day to day. Someone else in Landuc might remember better, or know more . . . There were dragons seen over the Palace of Landuc at Panurgus' death, a brace of them I'm told. The lesser ones, those that are like unto the Elemental creatures in form though not in nature, are commonplace in Phesaotois, to wit Noroison and its vicinity. Certain folk are wont keep the dragonets for guardian-pets till they grow large and ungovernable. Are you certain this is of the Elemental strain?''

I hesitated. I was not sure. ``The size is extraordinary. Although I slew a manticore of unnatural size the other day, dragons are another thing. This one must be inconceivably big, and even if he be of the common run . . .''

``All creatures have appetites scaled to their size.'' Marfisa looked around at us all.

``Yes.'' I let that sink in for a moment. ``We must act against him before he acts against us or ours.''

``What kills those things?'' Walter asked.

I spread my hands, shrugging.

``Father,'' Alexander said, a touch of black humor we didn't need.

``I can think of various things that would kill it, but many of them would have undesirable side-effects on the landscape,'' I said. ``It is likely that he shall be well able to defend himself against conventional and sorcerous attacks and to counter them in kind.''

``Thus perhaps unconventional and nonmagical is the way to go,'' Alexander said.

``You have an idea?'' I asked. It sounded promising.

``No. I merely offer a line of inquiry.''

The discussion went on. Finally we winnowed out our choices:

One was do nothing and wait and see if the beast moved on. ``Not likely,'' I said. ``Mount Longview is an ideal dragon's roost. It's a major Node, with a strong upwelling of vitality from the Spring, and they prefer such places, I've heard. It has caves and ruins and the Errethon highway runs though Longview Pass to the east. Easy pickings.''

Another was to attack him immediately with everything we had to hand, a pre- emptive strike before he had struck against us or established himself in his new abode. Alexander and Marfisa favored this, and Prospero did not conclusively speak against it. Phoebe chewed her lip and said nothing as they chaffered this back and forth, and finally looked at me and said, ``You were serious before, weren't you.''

``I usually am.''

``About one of us being dead before the dragon is.''

Everyone stared at me. I grew uncomfortable. ``Fortune-telling is to neither my taste nor ability. But I think it quite likely.''

Alexander looked suspicious. ``I disagree.''

``Your prerogative.'' I inclined my head to him politely.

He glared at me.

A third option was to do research, both abstract and applied, and find out more about dragons in general before tackling this one in specific. I favored this choice. I pressed it by mentioning, during the debates over the others, how tactically sound it would be if we knew more about the thing we assaulted before we did so.

In last place was to attempt to coexist peaceably with the dragon. Belphoebe brought it up, she said, because Mother would have, although personally she didn't think it could work. We all agreed and shelved that one right away. Mother's ideas only worked, sometimes, for Mother.

More discussion and slightly-less-subtle leaning on my part resulted in consensus on the third choice. We would study, inquire of our Landucian connections, and find out what was definitely known about dragons. It was even possible that this individual would be known to someone. The draconid family in general live a long time. This decided, we adjourned to a sitting room and lounged around catching up on each other's lives.

My sisters and brothers and I get along well, better than many, which is good because we are a very small family by Argylle standards. There are tensions, conflicts, but we pull together more than apart. Gaston and Mother fostered this in us and with them gone Prospero continued to try to do so, with great difficulty at times. With only five of us siblings, and none but Walter who sought close long-term bindings with others, any genuine quarrel would split us fatally. We have not the cushioning structure of a real, wider family around us, and the loss of even one member of the broader group, let alone three, could have destroyed our fragile unity.

It has seemed strange to me that in Argylle, where everyone is bound to lovers, blood-kin, trading partners, and fellow-citizens generally by affection and goodwill, our family are all distinct, insular individuals. Perhaps it is because we were reared severally---a handful of only children---or because of something in our genetic makeup, or because of the Spring and the Well in us. We are each conscious of standing apart from the others, and we must each continually strive to stay connected.

This evening we were in effortless accord, though; there was a problem to solve, something new and different and excitingly dangerous to confront, and we all love a good fight, except maybe Walter. So the conversation was animated, even cheerful.

It was quite late when we finished and turned in. Belphoebe knocked on my study door.

``I'm minded to head off toward Longview and camp nearby to keep an eye on our guest,'' she said.

``Do it,'' I said. ``But for heaven's sake be careful.''

``I understand. I'll send tidings twice daily.''

``Or if anything noteworthy happens.''

``As you wish. I'll leave at dawn.'' She left silently. I kicked myself mentally. I should have thought of that at once.

I had another thought, and I went to Prospero's door and tapped. He opened it immediately, a book in his hand.

``Prospero, do not speak of this to Ottaviano.''

``Hm. Good thinking,'' he said. ``I'll be mum.''

``He may hear anyway---''

``From whom?''

I explained the decision Walter and I had reached that morning, to keep our emissary cousin mewed up in the guesthouse save when accompanied by one of us, with the possibility of more lenient treatment later---for the man had done us no wrong as an emissary. Prospero did not like it, but reluctantly assented. ``If one of us escorts him, there's little mischief he can work.''

``Just so. He speaks some Argos, I believe.''

``Aye. Some. 'Tis folly to hope his `some' is not greater than you reckon.''

I shrugged. ``At any rate, it's our problem, not his. I want no . . . interference. I'd rather he heard about it when it's over. I cannot think how, but he might find some way to use it against us when you bargain with him.''

``True,'' Prospero nodded. ``On the morrow I shall breakfast with Walter; I'll instruct him of this then.''

``Thank you.''

I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep, and finally lit a candle, took up pen and paper, and began making notes on things I would have to do, things I would have to have other people do, and things that might happen---three lists. I was growing concerned about the general population's reaction to this beast's sudden advent. How could I break the news to them? Rumors at first, then facts? Argyllines are a fairly level-headed, calm people, but a dragon is not an everyday occurrence. One of the fellows whose family's barn had been adopted by the wyvern was deeply terrified by the incident, and his wives and brother had wanted to move. Luckily they had a lot of relatives in the area who wanted them to stay. On top of everything else, I did not need a panicked exodus of villagers and farmers whose lands bordered on Threshwood.

This was going to be an acid test of their faith in me: would they trust my word, would they be calm and not panic if I assured them that things were fine, that we would cope with this one for them?

Early the next morning I called on Walter again and discussed breaking the news with him. On anything to do with public relations, his judgement was better than mine. He sucked a reed---I had interrupted him practicing---and thought about it.

``Less than full honesty will work against us,'' he said finally, around the reed. ``Tell them everything.''

``But all we know now is that it's there.''

``Then tell them that, and tell them you're working on it. No secrets.''

``If they panic . . .''

``Bah. When he eats somebody, then there'll be fireworks. Not before. Argylle always has odd things happening around the fringes. This is closer in, but it's still fifty miles away in Threshwood.''

I walked back to the Citadel slowly, taking the river path, scuffling through leafdrifts under the big trees. What would Mother have done? I wondered, and decided, yes, she would tell them. She had never hidden anything that affected the realm, and the people had understood this and backed her up whenever she needed it---with one noteworthy exception, which had taught them the value of compliance. Yes, I could gamble on their solidarity. The Archives were on my way, and I looked in on Hicha the Archivist and asked her to give me, top priority, today, everything there was in Argylle on dragons.

``Dragons?''

``Yes.''

Hicha nodded thoughtfully, already mentally listing sources to check. ``Whatever you want, Gwydion. Odd---Marfisa asked me that last night.''

Marfisa had slept at Hicha's house, not in the Citadel. ``Oh,'' I said. ``Give it to me, and I will share it with her.''

She smiled. ``Very well. I'll send you what I find.''

I found Utrachet the Seneschal looking for me at the Citadel. The highway closing had been received with bad grace and he suspected a lot of people were going to try to sneak around it, one way or another. The Councillors were offended because I hadn't consulted them, but were giving me the benefit of the doubt. Since Alexander and Marfisa had been seen in town, people realized something was going on.

``I'll make an announcement tonight in the Great Hall and explain why I've ordered it,'' I told him. He went off to arrange this, informing the Council first and then spreading the word through the streets.

The other thing I had to do was get our southern neighbors to close their end of the highway also. Our relations with them had been strained, but still cordial, since the Tython business. I spent the rest of the day drafting and re-drafting, meticulously, a message to the Headman of Errethon and finally sent it via postal barge to Ollol and then to Errethon on a special clipper ship. He would have it the day after tomorrow, barring disasters.

The Great Hall was packed. My stomach fluttered as I glanced out over the sea of candlelit faces while I crossed the black stone dais from the side entrance that leads to the Citadel proper. Utrachet preceded me, announced to the crowd that the Lord of Argylle would speak, and sat in his chair a few steps below.

I took the Black Chair. Its stone was chill but comforting; I felt more in control of things there and less alone---the Chair still reminded me of Mother, and I still felt as if I were just keeping it warm until her return. Tonight more than ever I wished it were so.

After allowing the crowd to quiet down for a few seconds, I announced that a large dragon had been sighted near Longview Pass, through which the Errethon road ran. Until further notice, traffic headed south would have to go by ship. I explained that this was an intelligent, maleficent animal, unlike wyverns and manticores, and that it liked to eat people best of anything. If it captured and questioned someone, I went on, the risk to all would be augmented.

One way of getting through to Argyllines is to emphasize common interests. I saw heads nodding.

Someone stood and asked me why shipping was safe if the roads were not.

``I do not know that it is, but the Errethon road is a good sixty miles from the shore. My hope is that he is too lazy to travel the distance for a small return.''

Another person asked if we were sure the dragon was hostile.

``Hostile is not what I said. But it eats people and it is intelligent and powerful. It is dangerous to everyone who would like to go on living. I think I speak for all of us there.''

Tense amusement.

What would it eat if it could not get people?

``Other meat.'' I didn't go into details.

There were a few more questions about when I thought it would be safe to travel and just what was I going to do. The answer to all of them was, ``I do not yet know. We are working on it now.'' The assembly broke up quietly and people went home, nervous but trusting me.

This was scary. They were trusting me to protect them from something I myself did not understand.

Prospero joined me for a late supper. The twins, Alexander and Marfisa, had gone off to dine with old friends in the City, Alexander at Shervé's house and Marfisa with Hicha. We ate with little conversation until the fruit and cheese were served.

``Today I had a gossip with the fair Oriana,'' he said, picking currants off the stem and stacking them in pyramids. ``She'd like a look at this guest of ours. She said the description rang familiar, but could not think just how.''

``She said nothing definite, though.''

He chuckled a little. ``Oh, no.''

``Perhaps,'' I said. The sorceress Oriana of the Glass Castle was always ready to meddle with magic, and Mother hadn't trusted her, although Prospero did and my tutor had. Sometimes. Oriana knows her sorcery, whatever else one might say about her. Mother wouldn't say anything, but her sniff spoke volumes.

Prospero steepled his fingers and looked across at me over them. ``Thereafter I made a few other casual calls, polling about. Avril says the most draconic thing he's ever slain was a beast called a wantley, no dragon as we know them, when he was but a stripling: long ago. To my surprise, Prince Josquin says he's slaughtered many dragons, large and small, but nearly was dinner to the only great magical one he faced---'twas quite by accident. He escaped with a trick and his heels scorched, along the Road. It was a fleeting, or fleeing, encounter; he learned naught save that a dragon-slaying career is glorious but brief, and renounced his. He too believes your father Gaston conquered one, but knew no further.''

I laughed as Prospero described Josquin's experience. My cousin was the last person I could imagine as a dragon-slayer; I would twit him on it when we met again. ``You prompted him . . .''

``Nay, he volunteered the tale, rue-faced. Fulgens has never met a great dragon, although he's dressed a few of the other kind and their cousins sea-monsters. Herne has seen them on occasion, but says they've shunned his purlieus---wise creatures. He's athirst for a chance to prove himself 'gainst one; said naught of Gaston's prowess, but averred Ottaviano has spoken with a dragon.'' Prospero tried to keep the note of respect from his voice and did not succeed.

I was impressed. ``Truly. And lived to tell the tale.''

``Methinks if anyone in Landuc could, he were the man. Herne said 'twas his notion that Otto had done it of necessity, not curiosity. However, he did not kill it . . . else surely we'd heard more of it ere now.'' Prospero turned his attention to the currants, eating them stack by stack. ``Herne's sifting the story behind Gaston's fighting one; thought it sounded likely when I spoke of it, but knew no particulars.

``Oriana has never slain nor seen one, but she said she'd made Gaston a gift of a book about them when she heard of his marriage to your mother.'' Prospero's mouth twitched slightly, an impenetrable expression, and he continued blandly, ``I supposed his collection of such books has largely fallen to your lot, so I begged of her generosity naught but the title: On the Ways of the Lords of the Air.'' He swept the remaining currants into his palm and ate them all at once. ``The great difficulty that comes of your father eschewing our company,'' he said after we had sat for a while longer, ``is that his memory goes back further than nearly any living man or woman I know, and largely in his head he carries matter that's nowhere found in books. I'm in no mood for necromancy to question, say, Panurgus. 'Twould be dear-bought information, too dear.''

I picked apart a pomegranate. ``I think our present resources are adequate,'' I said slowly. ``Your experience and our---enthusiasm---''

He chuckled.

``Seriously, Prospero. Among us we share all the talents needed to kill this thing. I don't think we must beg help from Landuc. I don't think we ought to do a Summoning of the Dead. And I don't think we must hale Gaston out from his retreat.''

Prospero drank wine, looking out the window at the city lights. ``There I'm of one mind with you. We must honor his wish for privacy. He'd be a puissant ally against this creature---none better---but if his heart were here, here would he be, and have been.'' He tipped his chair back, lit a pipe, smoked thoughtfully. ``You ought not to hesitate so, Gwydion.''

``Hesitating?''

``You're groping, creeping cautious 'long the walls. Follow your humor. Don't falter so; don't wait for the world to choose for you your deeds, your plans, your thoughts. If you stumble, the fall will seldom be so great as to allow no recovery.''

``I feel young for the job.''

``You are young for the job. But you're carrying it right well.''

We sat and drank the rest of the wine slowly. The sky was clouding over. The autumn storms would be settling in soon, and then the short dark days of winter would close around us. The wind rattled the glass as Prospero and I talked about the Landuc- Argylle trade pact. He had been in Ollol to pick up scuttlebutt on what the merchants thought of the present agreements and what they wanted to change.

``The conviction's widely held that Freia was overgenerous to Landuc. But I mind that at the time the Emperor cried we were most miserly---howbeit Gaston himself advised her to be more frugal with our wine.'' Prospero smiled. ``He was not without selfish motives, stocking his cellar by betraying his own Emperor as 'twere . . . Yet it's played against us, too; our cellars are full, with fine wines ripe and peaking, and every crevice with a bottle in it.''

``The wine is what Landuc really wants. I understand it's become very popular.''

His smile grew wider, gloating with satisfaction. ``Exceedingly. They're hard- pressed and we can squeeze them dry. The bottleneck is that no one agrees on what we ought to get for it.''

``Here, you mean?''

``Yes. Tobacco, coffee, silk: vice for vice. Perhaps 'twill become clear in time.'' He shrugged.

``Much does.'' And much does not. Where was Gaston now? ``We have all winter to talk it over. And more pressing issues to consider.''

``Such as the habits and physiognomy of dragons.''

Having to spend the morning listening to the Council fuss meant I had no time to sit down and read in my study until the following afternoon. To my great relief, things held quiet; I heard no reports of murder or destruction from Longview Pass. Against reason, I hoped the dragon had moved on, but as I ate lunch Phoebe sent in a report that he was still there.

Hicha had turned up only eight books with substantial material on dragons. She also had a long list of references, but most of them were just a few words here or there. I curled up in the deep blue-cushioned window seat of my study and began to read.

Two of Hicha's books were ones I myself had added to the Archives; I already had gone over the copies in my own collection. I flipped through these just in case, but no, all was the same.

The others were more interesting. Prospero, Uncle Dewar, Freia, and Gaston were all book lovers of wide-ranging taste and had added freely to the Archives, collecting material from all over. One of the manuscripts I looked at now was very old and in Latin with a translation in my mother's minuscule handwriting on tissue paper between each page, the translation being sandwiched between two more sheets of tissue. She had also made editorial comments. I read a few lines and then closed it; her voice, evoked in my thoughts by the handwriting and the characteristic style, made me shake.

Two others were in archaic script, probably from Noroison via Dewar. I set them aside.

Oriana's gift to Gaston was a scroll in a pictogrammatic-looking brush-writing I didn't understand with an attached Lannach précis in Gaston's writing: ``On the Ways of the Lords of the Air (dragons) with a description of their habits''---thanks, Gaston. Just what I needed, but no, he didn't translate the whole thing. Damn. Maybe somebody else could read it. The pictures were very pretty. They looked like someone working from a fifth-hand description had drawn them as accurately as possible.

One of the bound books was a standard hunting treatise and another was also a hunting treatise which contradicted most of the first's assertions about life cycle, feeding habits, and so on. They also disagreed on the best way to kill a dragon. It was clear that the unintelligent and nonmagical variety was intended, but I read them anyway.

That was all. I sighed and settled in with the books from Noroison. Had Dewar, I wondered, ever run across a dragon? He had not mentioned it to me.

These books were very informative. One of them, by a man I'd never heard of named Lord Uvarkis, even cited the other in a few places, agreeing and expanding in detail on cursory observations by the earlier writer, Duke Nellor Trephayenne. Duke Nellor was a legendary hunter, dead for many centuries before Uvarkis had written his sequel. When I read, I tend to hear the writer's voice, or to invent one for him; now I conjured up an image of the doughty, bass-voiced Duke Nellor and the dry, academic Uvarkis, who coughed occasionally and smiled a sidelong smile.

Nellor: ``The lesser dragon be sluggish in chill weather and as the year wanes he groweth insensible in the greatest cold, which be to his disliking so he will fly if he be not injured or ill to milder climes to avoid this if he possess no lair or be from it sundered by accident. Yet he endureth the cold if necessary in a wakeful dullness of sense which passeth if he be roused by attack and if he be sundered from his lair. And if he be in his lair he doth nought but sleep all the season until the sun returneth. And in the days of winter-sleep the females lay their eggs.''

Uvarkis: ``Nellor states that the female of Draco sapiens will lay her eggs during hibernation. This is incorrect. She (and there are very few shes) lays them in the spring. Selecting a spot with good exposure to sun or other source of heat, such as a volcanic steam vent or hot spring, she will construct a sort of mound or heap and lay them in it, coiling herself about the pile during the incubation. The number of eggs can be many or few, but only one or two, possibly three, of the hatchlings will survive the cannibalistic feeding frenzy that follows hatching . . .''

Nellor: ``Purloining a souvenir object from a dragon's hoard be ill-rede, should you chance to find the hoard unattended. For he will mark the lack forthwithal and hunt you a-raged through Ocean and Vapor, Earth and Hell, until he recover the object and devour the thief.''

Uvarkis: ``Dragons brood over their hoards until they are intimately familiar with each item. In the case of the dragon of Li Changroven, the hoard numbered some eighty thousand jade objects great and small, each of which the dragon could apparently describe in detail, provenance and workmanship both, with a fair assessment of the item's current market value. It may be possible to appease a dragon by offering him a unique or novel item for his hoard, but I would personally not rely on this.''

Nellor: ``The great dragon be solitary in his habit as a hermit, withal it liketh him to partake of fellowship of men of passingly quick wit. So from time to time will he suffer one with whom he hath held particularly pleasant discourse to escape uneaten.''

Uvarkis: ``According to Nellor, the great dragons are solitary creatures. This is true, and it is because they are jealous of their hoards and their hunting territories . . .''

Uvarkis even gave an account of a conversation he had had with one dragon, annotating it to explain the reasoning behind his parts. They had talked for a day and a half. I read it over several times. The key seemed to be to play Scheherezade, to keep the dragon guessing, wanting more, without annoying him quite enough to end the chat.

I wondered how my scintillating conversational skills would compare. Uvarkis had a positively Shakespearean command of language; puns and anecdotes and double- entendres tripped lightly along in a fluent, easy style, references to other dragons and ancient history indicating his wide experience and familiarity with the species. Ottaviano had survived such an encounter. I was not certain I could.

Dragon coloration seemed to be a random thing, rather like spots on cats, not indicative of anything special.

Dragons favored high places near, but not too near, human habitation. I knew that.

Dragons were attracted to magic and magical locales. They could sense magic as easily as a dog could smell a rabbit.

Dragons preferred warm climates, but the great dragons, the biggest and oldest and most intelligent (they kept growing and becoming smarter with age) were impervious to the cold. Nellor described standing next to one such as being near a smelter's furnace, so great was the heat thrown off by the beast. This made sense, considering their Elemental pedigree.

Dragons' eyes were their principal weak spot, although Nellor had had good results when he had managed to pitch an explosive right down the throat of one yawning. It had annoyed the dragon so much he had gotten careless, and Nellor had been able to get in a clear swing at the head, decapitating it. I could not see any of us trying that. Maybe Herne would, but he was an impatient man and he was also lucky.

I closed the books and looked out the window. It was raining. I thought of the rain hissing and evaporating off the hot hide of our dragon. What had become of Uvarkis? Had he run across a dragon too smart for his wry wit? Had he gotten too close to the throne and been murdered, as happened to successful courtiers? Uncle Dewar might know. I sighed.

I picked up Gaston's scroll again and read his inscription once more. He was the expert on killing things. Phoebe and the twins knew a lot too, but the sheer weight of experience on Gaston's side was overwhelming, as Prospero had hinted the previous night. Prospero had never gone in for wholesale death the way Gaston had. Gaston had never gone in for sorcery the way Prospero had. They had widely different tastes in most things, despite being brothers.

I looked at Mother's translation of the Latin ms., which was a bestiary. The dragon part was nothing compared to the Nellor and Uvarkis books, obviously inaccurate or fictional. But it was pleasant to read her writing, to hear her quiet voice with its warm undertone echo dimly in my mind, and so I read on and on about the Camelopard and the Roc, the Oliphant and the Griffin (similar to but obviously not related to our gryphons). The light grew poor, and I learned of the Unicorn and the Wyvern (a local variant, perhaps) and the Beast Glatisant. The pictures were familiar, and I wondered if Mother had read to me from this, or just shown it to me and made up stories around the pictures, when I was a child. Soon the light was too dim for reading. I closed the book and leaned my head back against the wall, eyes closed.

``Gwydion.''

I started and lit the lamp with a finger-snap invocation of an ignis. No one was there. Had I dozed through a failed Summoning?

I was tired from my sleepless night, my worried days. It had been Mother's voice I had heard: a hallucination induced by reading her manuscript. I slammed the books down on my desk and went off to find dinner.

Chapter Three

Alexander was in silver-colored scale mail over leather; Marfisa's mail was coppery. They had lances, long swords, shields. Alexander was on his terrible horse Steel with its sharp teeth; Marfisa rode a beast I had not seen before with wild yellow eyes, clawed not-quite-hooves, and quilly fur that was almost scales. Still rather horselike. Her helmet was winged and her eyes, clear and neutral, scanned her brothers and sister, cataloguing our weaponry.

Marfisa had had an intense, low-toned non-argument with her squire Tellin at the stables before we left the Citadel. Red-headed Tellin had firmly entrenched herself in the squire's duty to accompany her knight, and Marfisa had besieged her position with the knight's duty to train, not kill, her squire. Prospero, Alexander, and I had made ourselves scarce until Tellin, head high and face set and pale, left the stables. Alexander had brought no attendant with him; he never did when visiting Argylle, and Marfisa never had done so before. It was natural that the girl would want to accompany Marfisa, if only for the novelty of the adventure and the glory to be got, but Marfisa had the discretion of wisdom and experience and would not waste the girl's life, and rode out to join us alone.

I rode Cosmo and wore black leather and carried only one spear, a shield, and my favorite gold-damascened sword, Talon. Out of habit I had a small axe and a mace at my saddle, but I doubted I'd be using them. In the back of my mind, my memory ticked with spells, as I had spent the previous day and much of the night poring over my books and freshening my memory. Many of the spells I had reviewed I'd never actually used, though I'd learned them. The more powerful ones are more elaborate and take longer to say, because one must specify and control more things. Recalling a longer spell imperfectly meant that either it would be a dud, or that it would backfire on me, or that it would perform something---not necessarily what was intended---in an unpredictable manner.

Prospero was with us, the Black Sword at his side, an indicator if one were needed of how serious this was. He wore leather armor also, under a long mail shirt. He too surveyed us, seeming pleased with what he saw. His white horse, Blitzen, fidgeted, made nervous by Alexander's and Marfisa's peculiar mounts.

Walter had been counted out of this. I had wanted also to leave Prospero home to help Walter if every one of us were killed. The twins had shouted me down. ``Every one of us has a right to go,'' said Alexander.

``Walter is going to need help if we get toasted.''

``Prospero is a superb swordsman. He must come.'' Marfisa rarely expressed strong opinions like this. ``It is essential that we hold nothing in reserve.''

I threw up my hands. ``What do I care, anyway? I'll be dead. So be it.''

Government by committee has its drawbacks.

We had also bickered about armament. From Nellor's book, I had gathered that the right armor for going against dragons hadn't been invented. He had spent an entire chapter on the subject. Cogent arguments could be made for and against both leather and metal. Nellor had preferred a combination of leather and mail: leather because of the flames a dragon was likely to produce, and mail because of the teeth and claws. He also allowed that there was much to be said for plate---although it was bad in a fight with a lot of fire, if you were going to be at close quarters, it could be life-extending.

I had passed this information on to the others and encouraged them not to wear plate. The twins had decided to wear part plate, part mail---mail on the arms and upper body, greaves and cuirasses on the legs. I had decided to go for light weight and maneuverability. It was reassuring to see that Prospero had gone the same route.

Alexander grinned at Phoebe, who had just doused the Way-fire; I had opened a Way from the Citadel, a temporary Road in effect, to get quickly and (I hoped) unnoticeably close to the beast's roost. ``Sister, lead us onto his slot,'' he said.

``Right gladly will I,'' she replied, and set off through the trees and undergrowth. Alexander trotted after her, then Marfisa and Prospero, and I brought up the rear, cold fear uncoiling in my stomach.

O Gaston, I thought, wherever you are, think of us today.

Maybe we should have invited Fulgens and Josquin and Herne along. The more the merrier. Safety in numbers. Et cetera. But of course we could not. To do so would imply that Argylle couldn't manage her own affairs. Mother had fought for years to prove that we could.

Cosmo followed Blitzen, snuffing. I could not smell anything unusual---maybe a slight extra freshness in the air. It was cold; the sky, overcast. We had had a few days of hard freezes. The predawn darkness made going difficult but not impossible; as we progressed, we left the taller trees below us and the ground became harder and drier.

The trail was one I had climbed before on hunting and picnicking trips. It winds around the mountain and then zigzags up one steep side. How far would the dragon let us get? Surely he had seen us. He'd cruised by after we arrived.

All the way to the top, it turned out. Of course, I thought; let us tire ourselves with the climb. Let our fear mature.

Cosmo grew balky, as did Prospero's horse, as we grew closer to the top. We passed areas of crushed trees, some still bleeding pitch and sap. Belphoebe fell back behind Marfisa---I had ordered her to, since she was the most lightly armed of us all---and preceded Prospero now. I could smell something like petrol or kerosene. Halting to listen, I could not hear the clatter and rattle of Alexander and Marfisa. A small, localized breeze shouldered through the rocks and brushed past us. I looked quickly behind me, nervous---there was no one there. Ahead of me, Prospero frowned and stopped too, loosened the Black Sword in its scabbard, and advanced through the rocky, narrow passage after staring around him with a preoccupied scowl of suspicion. I followed him.

The top of Longview is bare and barren, rock and stunted shrubs around the tumbled ruins of the tower. The dragon was draped comfortably around the tower, waiting for us. Alexander and Marfisa had their heads together to one side. Prospero allowed me to draw abreast of him and Belphoebe stayed out of sight, among the rocks.

``One is lacking,'' rumbled the dragon. Nothing I had read had prepared me for the voice, like a pipe organ. He spoke musically, with archaicisms and a courtly manner. ``Where is the squirrel who has been scampering about from tree to tree of late?''

I had advised my family not to get involved in a conversation they would surely regret. But Prospero smiled.

``Perhaps the squirrel has found a tasty nut to gnaw,'' he said.

``Perhaps. I am fond of squirrels. They amuse me. I am fond of people, too. They amuse me as well. I see that you have come prepared for . . . amusement.''

Hypnotic, that was the word Uvarkis had used describing the effect of a dragon's personality. I shifted my attention to the haze of power that was tangible here---it was a powerful upwelling, a substantial Node---and the dragon's head swung toward me. My head cleared as I began tapping the Spring via its emanations.

``Ho,'' he rumbled, a cathedral sighing. ``The real opposition makes itself known.'' He examined me, the cilia-like whiskers around his huge mouth waving gently, testing the magical currents. ``I do not know you, boy, though you smell of Landuc.''

``Close enough,'' I said. I curtailed his inspection of me with a quickly-drawn shield.

``And your sorcery reeks of Morven. There was rumor of a bastardization of the two lines some time ago . . .'' The great head lifted, tilted, looked from me to Prospero and back. ``Ho. A true son of Panurgus, and a false one.''

I urged Cosmo forward a couple of steps. Our agreed-upon strategy was that we would wait for the dragon to make the first move.

``The Stone of Phesaotois is in you,'' the dragon boomed, lifting his head higher and fixing his gaze on me. ``It is defiled by your blood, bastard of bastards.''

I twisted my mouth wryly. He reminded me of my conservative and parochial relatives, who had certainly had worse to say about all of us---though never to our faces. Indeed, the Emperor of Landuc had at least legally cleansed all of us of the stain of bastardy by formally acknowledging our parents' marriage, though it was still a moot point there whether it was lawful for a man to marry his half-brother's daughter. Fortunately, in Argylle we reckon kinship differently, so nobody ever gave a tinker's damn about it.

``Your name and lineage!'' he demanded. ``I would know what I have before me here.''

``What difference does it make?'' I replied. Overhead, three of my dark hawks drifted in circles.

``It is a matter of consequence and reputation,'' he said. ``I am something of a gourmet.'' He blinked lazily and turned his attention to Marfisa and Alexander. ``A noble pair of Landucians, yes. It seems a shame to eat a matched set like that.''

Prospero chuckled softly.

The dragon looked back at Prospero and me. ``No, the real zest in this meal lies here. I cannot quite divine the connection. It is close, surely, but unclear. Not quite direct. Not quite father and son. No.''

A feeling of closeness in the air around me oppressed me suddenly. I threw it off with a gesture. ``Your manners are graceless,'' I said coldly.

``Bastard of bastards,'' he repeated, looking at me, and then at Prospero. ``I had understood Argylle was ruled by a woman. That creature there is scarcely such.'' He flicked a look at Marfisa, who did not react. Alexander's jaw tightened.

``Argylle was ruled by a woman,'' Prospero agreed softly.

``Waaaas,'' purred the dragon. ``Ho. Perhaps I should have paid my respects earlier, then. One dislikes to force oneself upon a lady, of course, but gentlemen may call freely on one another.''

No answer from us. He continued to study us, concentrating his attention on Prospero and me again. ``Prospero, son of Panurgus,'' he said. ``That is it. I have heard of you.'' He seemed interested now. ``It was you who claimed the Spring here.''

Prospero smiled faintly.

``I am here principally because I was curious as to the result,'' the dragon went on. ``There is more than I expected to find. Prospero, Maker of Argylle, and his heirs. You, bastard sorcerer, I think I know you now.''

I froze the smile that was ready to burst onto my lips and Prospero too controlled his face carefully. It seemed the dragon thought I was Dewar. Good.

``You appear to have the advantage of us, then. Perhaps you have a name also,'' I said.

``It would take several days to say it,'' he retorted. Dragons increment their names when they eat noteworthy people. ``The first few syllables are harmonious, however. I am Gemnamnon.''

``I have never heard of you.'' Prospero shrugged.

He blinked. ``Nor will you again,'' he rumbled. ``Your petty sorcerer and your pins and needles will not keep you from me, O Prince of Landuc and Maker of Argylle.''

The fear, I remembered. Dragons enjoy fear. None of us were showing it. Alexander and Marfisa had their usual neutral, clear expressions. Prospero seemed amused. I was simply watchful.

``I did not come here to listen to a lizard boast,'' Alexander said coldly.

``But you have small choice, Sir Knight. I can keep you here as long as I wish now that you have come.''

I felt a brief prickling in the flow of the Spring around me, as from a Summoning begun but suddenly cancelled. Belphoebe, perhaps? It was gone now. Gemnamnon didn't seem to have noticed and was speaking to Prospero again.

``Son of Panurgus, you may buy yourself a few additional heartbeats by telling me of the history of this place.''

``Meseems you know it,'' Prospero said, unfazed.

``Apparently my source was outdated, if not unreliable.''

``What source was that?'' Prospero asked.

``Ho.'' He wasn't telling.

``We are not obliged to remedy your ignorance,'' I said. ``Your impulse has led you astray if you expected to find easy pickings.''

``Ho. No, it was largely curiosity that brought me, bastard sorcerer.''

``Too bad.''

He was examining me again. I shrugged off another magical probe.

``Those bother you, do they, boy?''

``Your source was very deficient indeed if you did not expect to find me,'' I said softly, gambling on Uncle Dewar's reputation, and sending a short, sharp probe back.

Gemnamnon sneezed. A hot, acid wind puffed past us. The horses shied, rolling their eyes back. The dragon lifted his head and looked at me directly, but with no effect; my tapping of the Spring seemed to buffer me from the entrancing effects of his gaze. He projected an air of amusement. ``But I did expect to find you. And, finding you, I am delighted to accept your challenge.''

He exhaled, a sighing sulphurous breeze. A luminous ball of fire drifted toward Prospero and me, gathering speed. I shielded us and dispelled it.

The non-sorcerous part of our party, namely everyone but me, had been forced to concede that if magic started flying, they must retreat. Marfisa put her hand on Alexander's arm as if to remind him of this, but he shook it off and moved away from her. The dragon lifted his head a bit higher, higher, higher---his neck alone was perhaps fifteen or twenty feet long---and snapped his head around to puff a ball of fire at the twins.

I knew, I knew I should have come alone.

I managed to shield them from the worst of the blast and dispel it with a snap from one of the lines of Spring-force laced through the area, which I now commanded because I was drawing on the Spring.

Alexander said, ``Hah!'' and Steel reared up suddenly and danced to the right. Marfisa dropped back, lifting her lance. Alexander was holding his lance like a spear.

I summoned Gemnamnon's attention back to myself by casting a Steelburst spell, which sprayed fire and shrapnel into his face. At the same time, Alexander threw the lance at his throat. Gemnamnon caught it in his teeth like a pencil and crushed it, laughing a laugh that boomed back from the mountains. The spell had no apparent effect. He whipped a couple of coils of his body out from around the tower and a heavy, clawed leg appeared. It was as thick as two men, the digits a meter long, plus claws, and pale silver in color. His tail snapped out and Steel jumped over it as it whizzed by.

Prospero made a clicking noise with his tongue. ``Lay on,'' he muttered, and drew the Black Sword. The blade flashed in the midafternoon light. Marfisa had meanwhile come over to the dragon's right side, opposite Alexander, dodging several passes of the tail. He was playing with them. I hit him with the simple Bolt of Death, which he parried with another fireball, but the aftershock seemed to rock him somewhat.

I wasn't shielding my brother and sister any longer; I couldn't. They had been warned.

Prospero suddenly swung his sword and splattered a series of small bolts of lightning Gemnamnon had thrown in our direction, at him, actually. I spurred Cosmo forward, lifting my black spear and my shield.

Gemnamnon laughed again and knocked Marfisa over with a puff of flame and gas, swishing her mount's legs away simultaneously so that it fell on her. She made not a sound as she went down like a stone. Cosmo bounded over the dragon's lashing tail and closer in to the tower, in the lee so to speak of a section of wall. The tail couldn't strike close in here, but the claws could. He lifted his foot to bat me and I shouted the words to a freezing spell. He hissed; the foot hissed and steamed too. I followed up with one of Dewar's special compositions, the Shower of Molten Iron, right in that huge face, and he hissed again and drew back, then bellowed, a deafening sound, as just in the periphery of my vision, to the left, I thought I saw a movement.

One of Belphoebe's spears was stuck in the side of his mouth---in his gum, like a weird whisker. He struck it away and sent a fireball poofing in the direction from which it must have come. I slammed him with Locomotive Pile-Driver, knocking his head back as he brought it down toward me. A roar and a bounce, and Gemnamnon was up, suddenly rampant on the stones and ruins. I cried out Hand of Fire and the Bolt of Death and punched at his left eye. He jumped toward me, and Cosmo jumped back, away, and I barely had time to finish Thunder Fist, which made him pause, but not for more than a millisecond. Fire and acid smog shot from his nostrils. I heard a horse screaming somewhere. I drew a fast shield around myself and Cosmo and threw the spear I'd been holding toward the eye I had hit before, with a swift-spoken repetition of the Bolt of Death reinforced with the Pile-Driver.

With a deafening howl that made stones crack, Gemnamnon took to the air. The wind from his wings was corrosively smoky and stank of various gases. He dropped from the tower ruin and off the top of the mountain. I could not see his left side; I did not know what I had done, though plainly it had annoyed him. He dropped out of sight.

I was running out of really useful spells at the tip of my tongue; not one had wounded him mortally, nor had the most powerful done extensive damage, even in concert. To finish him off, I would have to come back. Nothing any of us had done thus far had had a significant effect on him except a few of my sorcerous sallies; I did not think I could keep pounding away at him, with the few which had thus far proven efficacious, and survive.

It was eerily quiet for a moment, and then the silence was broken by a soft groan and a thud.

I looked around. Prospero and Alexander were bending over Marfisa. They had just heaved her dead mount off her. Prospero glanced at me as I joined them warily.

``Best call the day's work done,'' he said.

``Yes,'' I agreed. Alexander was easing Marfisa onto his cloak. She was badly charred down the left side of her body; the leather had burned and the metal was simply melted. The smell of burnt flesh and leather around her nauseated me, but she was alive, breathing with difficulty, and in shock. A rattle from the rocks made us all spin around. Just Belphoebe, though. She sucked her breath in when she saw her sister.

I reached through the Spring for my birds, sent them soaring to find the dragon, then turned to her.

``Phoebe,'' I said, ``I want you to get down the mountain and keep an eye on the place, as before. He is hiding a cave on the north side, about a third of the way down, above that big scree slope. Be very, very careful.''

She nodded once and sprang away through the boulders.

Prospero and Alexander lifted Marfisa. I prepared a Way and conducted us all back to the Citadel, after collecting a few small stones from the area and a handful of earth for use on a return trip.

My fear now was that Gemnamnon would strike at the City. All remained quiet. Belphoebe later reported that he had burned a postal relay station and eaten the three inhabitants before returning to roost at Longview. I set birds to watch him there at closer range than Belphoebe could approach.

We did what we could for Marfisa. I used sorcery to help her body begin to mend some of the worst internal damage. She would recover, I was sure of that, although it would be a long time before she had the full use of her left leg again; it was burned to the bone from foot to hip. A draught of the Spring might help her healing later; for now, she must rest. Tellin sat with her, unnaturally quiet (she was a merry shield-maid to serve my dour sister), watching over her.

Alexander's condition was another care. He had inhaled a heavy dose of mixed caustic gases and was coughing blood, but refused my help---whisky, oxygen, and bed rest were his prescription for himself. Walter sat with him, playing on a harp, until he drifted off to sleep.

Prospero came to my study after we had cleaned up.

``I must attack him again,'' I told him. ``No distractions. Sorcery is what will work.''

``Take me with you,'' he said.

``No.''

He stared me down for a moment and then shook his head. ``As you will, then.'' But he pounded his fist on the table as he turned and left the room.

``Prospero!'' I called after him.

He spun around, his face angry and hard.

``It will take me a day or so to prepare myself. I shall need to work without interruptions of any kind. Please, will you act for me?''

He nodded curtly and closed the door painfully quietly behind him.

Why was he so angry? I hoped he didn't blame me for the twins' injuries. They had had time to flee and had stayed, against my advice. I decided to take a nap before starting in swotting my spell-books afresh.

Curled up on my side in bed, I looked at a photograph of my mother and her brother. They are on a sailboat, Freia lying on her stomach and looking over the side and Dewar sitting beside her leaning on the cabin. His hand is on her back, ready to grab her if the boat should suddenly lurch. The photographer is on the cabin, perhaps next to the mast, and so the angle of the shot is downward and a bit slanted. They are not looking into the camera. Mother is gazing into the unevenly green water, her chin on her crossed forearms, and Dewar is looking down at his sister, smiling slightly.

Ottaviano had explained that he took this picture long ago when Dewar was making great efforts (in vain, as it befell) to reconcile his sister to their cousin and to reconcile his sister to boats, by coaxing her to join them in a swift Pheyarcet Eddy where Otto had a fine safe boat and calm waters. Otto gave it to me after her death and Dewar's disappearance, saying he had always liked it and he hoped I would too. I do.

I dozed, thinking of the slap of waves against the boat's hull, imagining the silence on the boat except for the sound of the wind in the sails and shrouds, and then the stealthy photographer's camera clicks and they both look around, startled for an instant, Dewar's hand tightening on Freia's shirt, his eyebrows shooting up, Freia lifting herself up on her elbows, chin on her shoulder . . .

I fell asleep with a pleasant feeling of being safe and secure, at home, and drifted into a dream of walking in my mother's garden outside the Citadel, looking for her, knowing she was always just ahead, around a corner, out of sight.

Chapter Four

In my dreams I had divined the reason for Prospero's anger: it was not directed at me, but at his son Dewar, absent Dewar, believed by most of the family to be wandering madly through the worlds crazed by the death of his sister. If Dewar were here, I would not be in half the danger I was walking into. Probably we would have been able to destroy Gemnamnon between us, right away, rather than in this haphazard, fumbling fashion.

I wished he were around myself, but I was capable of finishing this. I was sure of it. I had Gemnamnon's present injury---I suspected I had damaged, possibly blinded, his left eye---working for me now. If I went in well-prepared and calm, I would live and he would die. My error lay in allowing the others to come with me at all.

The books Hicha had given me lay on the window seat. I leaned back and picked up the top one, Uvarkis'. There might be some clue in here as to what the animal's weak spots were and how they might best be exploited. I leafed through it, rereading stray paragraphs that caught my eye:

``Dragons, being Fire Elementals, are impervious to most sorcerous attack as most spells of destruction are based on Fire. Basing an attack on other Elements is not recommended, as they easily conquer all but the strongest manifestations thereof . . .

``The fortress of Vos was laid siege to and subsequently laid waste by the dragon Thembushskandriskar after the inhabitants rallied and attacked the dragon in his lair . . .

``Conversation with a dragon is always enlightening and usually lethal . . .''

Usually lethal? Yes, ours had been lethal.

Enlightening? He had insulted and goaded us, not enlightened us, and our conversation had been atypically brief.

Ottaviano had spoken with a dragon. If I had talked to him first, he might have been able to tell me about the beast's supernatural swiftness, its offhanded use of power and sorcery, its imperviousness---all of which had startled me in that first attack. I bit my lip and put the book aside. I had not wanted to bring him in on this, but if it were inevitable that he hear about it anyway, perhaps I should use him as I would any other knowledgeable source.

Prospero would not approve, and I misliked it myself. It was not good to appear vulnerable in any way to the Empire Otto represented, now or at any time. But he had encountered one of the things---possibly this individual, though I had no idea what the population of dragons in the Elemental Void might be, if that was indeed where they came from. The only source on that was dragons themselves, and Uvarkis said their stories varied and might be elaborate fictions spun to amuse themselves with our stupidity.

I did not want to get killed. Otto might know something I had not found in Nellor and Uvarkis' helpful narratives. There was really no choice: I would consult him before I attacked again. In the morning, I decided, and opened Uvarkis again to reread him, searching for clues.

``Good-morning, Otto. I hope it is not too early to ask you to strain your memory for me.'' I had invoked Ottaviano with a Lesser Summoning as soon as I was dressed.

``Hey, Gwydion. No, not really. I'm on my first coffee.'' Ottaviano hadn't combed his beard or brushed his hair yet, but he was clothed and alert-looking. The beard was a dapper touch; Otto is one of those blond fellows whose beards are rust-and-gold. It lent him dignity, a mature, wise look: fitting for an Imperial Envoy.

Now I faced another of those lightning decision moments. Generosity won again. Besides, it was better for me to keep myself available here in the City than for me to go to him in Ollol, two hours' ride along the Wye. ``Come have your second here. I've not had breakfast, myself. I'll make a Way for you.''

Otto hesitated a fraction of a second, nodded, and set his cup down. ``I'm at your service, of course. I'd better leave a note,'' he said.

``Certainly.'' I cut off my Summoning and cast a new spell through my Mirror of Ways, seizing on a glass in the room where he now sat as my receiving focus. There was no difficulty in opening the Way between us; the opalescent, fluctuating compression zone was but a thin line, and so the impression was that my broad, tall Mirror in the Citadel was just a doorway leading to Otto's bedchamber---in Ollol.

He glanced up at me, smiled, signed his note, and left it on the desk where he'd written it, then came toward me and stepped through the Mirror.

``We're in the Citadel?''

``Yes,'' I said. ``Come with me,'' and I took him down to the breakfast-room. Food was laid out on the table; someone had been there already, probably Prospero.

I served us coffee. Gaston and Mother were tea-drinkers. The kitchen staff had kept making tea and sending it up for a few years after her death, until I had to ask them to stop. The rest of us like coffee---which comes from Landuc, and is a luxury trade item because of the cost. Mother had never allowed anyone to import seedlings and start a plantation of our own, though the climate north of the Bevallin Coast was suitable.

``Good coffee,'' murmured my cousin.

``Your brother Josquin's own Madanese,'' I said. ``Have some hash and eggs.'' We ate without talking much. I had not seen Otto for many many years, and never had I thought to see him in my own Citadel, and I was preoccupied, and all these things made me a silent host to my guest. Utrachet and Anselm came in and we rearranged some of the business of the day; it was all minor, relative to the dragon, and I postponed and referred everything planned before luncheon. I spoke Argos with Utrachet and Anselm, Lannach with Otto; they ignored Otto and Otto pretended to immerse himself in his food while the Seneschal was there.

``You're a busy guy,'' my cousin observed when Utrachet had gone.

``This is relatively quiet. It becomes hectic in midwinter, when people have time to think of reasons to petition me. I sit in the Chair every other day sometimes, especially after New Year's.''

``I can see why you dumped the negotiations on your grandfather, though. I was surprised that you weren't doing it yourself, like Freia used to. As the place gets bigger, it gets busier.''

We went to my office and settled into the comfortable tapestried armchairs. The tiled stove was warming the room so cozily that we could sit by the bookcases and not be cold. Though there was no wind, the remote sun's light had the edge of winter on it.

``Now to business,'' I said, meeting his acute eyes. ``This has nothing to do with the Compact. I understand that you ran into a dragon once.''

He lifted his eyebrows. ``I heard a rumor that you have one in the neighborhood . . .''

Damn! So much for security. What else might he hear? I covered my dismay by saying, ``Yes, there have been rumors to that effect.''

``You want to hear all about my dragon, I take it.'' He grinned humorlessly.

``Yes.''

Ottaviano nodded, dropping his grin. ``I'm here to do some trading, so I'll make a trade with you now. I'll tell you my dragon story, and you'll tell me one.''

``I know no dragon stories,'' I said stiffly. It would figure. Ottaviano wasn't one to give anything away.

He studied his fingers. ``Not a dragon story. What I'd like, Gwydion, is the straight story about your mother's death. Almost nothing was reported in Landuc: simply that she was dead. We didn't get so much as an invitation to the funeral for the Emperor.''

``We prefer to keep it to ourselves,'' I said, getting up and walking away from him. I stood at one of the windows, arms folded. A cold draft poured down its thick small- paned glass.

``I'd consider it a confidential matter, and I wouldn't repeat a word of it,'' Ottaviano said softly to my back. ``I understand . . . how things are with Argylle, particularly as regards Landuc. But I knew your mother, and I've wanted to better understand how she died since the news hit. With Gaston, her brother, and her father in town, too: three mean guys, any of whom would cut his own throat to keep her alive. It just doesn't add up.''

``It was an accident,'' I said to the window.

``What kind? Gwydion, I'll gladly tell you everything I know about dragons. I'm sure you think I'm true mercenary Landuc scum for charging. But I know there's no other way I'll ever hear the story, and I know that you'd tell me the unglossed truth. In a way you force me to act this way, you see? I sincerely want to know, not for anyone else or for any reason other than . . . it was a terrible shock, and I still can't quite believe it.''

The fact that Ottaviano was here at all ought, I thought, to go a long way toward persuading him that it was true, that Mother was gone. I stared out without seeing a thing beyond the glass and thought about his offer. If he would swear to keep it to himself, then . . . there could be no harm in it. His curiosity was natural. Were Dewar around, he surely would have told Ottaviano himself, anyway, years ago.

On the other hand, I do not like to think about that day.

However, I did need to hear how he beat the dragon.

My realm was endangered by this dragon on Longview. Personal privacy was all very well, but quite a few people here knew what had happened to Mother and, really, it wasn't as if we had intentionally kept it wholly to ourselves, as part of some plot---we had simply not wanted to discuss it. If Otto could keep it to himself, so that we would not begin hearing hideously distorted versions of the truth with equally hideous interpretations, then there was no reason he should not know.

``All right,'' I said aloud. ``You must swear to hold it in strictest confidence; if it were for general public distribution in Landuc, it would have been aired there. It's open to misinterpretation, and they always put the worst light on things.''

``I guess that's true,'' Ottaviano admitted.  ``I will not repeat it ever, to anyone, by the blood in my body and the breath of my soul.''

I nodded and turned away from the glass. After a moment, I sat down at my desk. ``You first,'' I said.

He took out a pipe, shot me an inquiring look to see if I minded, and then packed it and lit it. The smoke had a fruity, ripe scent; I couldn't identify it. After a few minutes of quiet puffing and thinking, he started.

Way back when your Uncle Dewar and I were young and reckless---now we're older and reckless---we were talking one night about dragons. It was not long after I'd settled things between me and Landuc peaceably, and Dewar and I were spending a fair amount of time exercising our bodies by day and by night going on sort of celebratory pub crawls, chasing women, and generally living it up the way one is supposed to when one is young and reckless and well-heeled. By the time he knocked off and went to see his father and sister and I went back to Ascolet, we had a reputation as savorous as Josquin's was then.

We crawled back up to the Palace after a particularly good one and had a few nightcaps in the small library with that nice bar. There's a tapestry of a dragon in there, or there was, and Dewar started pointing out the anatomical inaccuracies.

I suggested that it was probably an imaginary dragon, and he got all snotty and said that in Landuc, it ought to be a picture of a real dragon.

``What do you mean, a real dragon,'' I asked.

``A real one,'' he said. ``You know. You don't know. Intelligent and Elemental and more dangerous than anything spawned by the worlds you know. There are a few who domicile in Noroison and Morven. I suppose it's too tedious here for their tastes.''

``Or maybe Uncles Gaston and Herne killed them all off,'' I suggested.

``No,'' Dewar said; ``I think there probably haven't been any around here. If there had been, if Gaston and Herne had killed them, wouldn't we have a few heads and hides around the Palace?''

His reasoning made a sort of drunken sense. The trophy rooms were devoid of such. There were no, say, dragon-hide chairs or divans about. And he became even more, well, arrogant and said he'd show me a real dragon someday. Implied that he'd run into them before and they were no big deal for somebody as hot as he was.

Dewar and I, you have to understand, had been jockeying for the upper hand for a while. We had been competing lately in all the sports you can imagine, in spending money, in drinking, in, uh, um, the amorous arts, and a lot of other things I'm not going to describe. The funny thing about that was that no matter how much money changed hands on our bets, neither of us came out ahead for long.

So this put me into a competitive frame of mind. He was being damned cocky and I wanted to kick him down a peg or six. I started asking questions about dragons. When he told me that yes, they really do hoard stuff, I said ``Enough, Dewar. Put it where your mouth is. We both go off and find a dragon and steal something from him.''

``A capital idea!'' he said. ``Are we going to have a deadline?''

``Yes,'' I said, ``let's make it interesting and give ourselves a one-month time limit. I'm sure I can find one of these big guys by then, and if you're so smart you know right where to look.''

``Are we betting something?'' he wondered.

I wasn't sure. We decided yes, we'd bet something, and we couldn't decide what to bet, so we figured the one who got back first with his trophy had to buy drinks for the other for a Landuc year including holidays---one year of rounds total, no matter how fragmented it was---and also got to keep both trophies.

Just to be safe, we wrote it all down, and although the next morning I'm sure he was thinking, as I was, that this was one of the dumber bets we'd ever made, neither of us dared suggest dropping it. We didn't tell anyone about it, because we were sure our elders would not like us roving off down the Road to pick a fight with something large, smart, and dangerous. For a cover we put out a story about a scenery trip to Musrie Gorge and took the Road that day from the Noonstone. When we were clear of Landuc, Dewar slowed his horse and looked at me.

``You're sure you want to go through with this,'' he said.

``Hell yes,'' I replied.

``Otto, I know I can do this, and I'd feel bad if you got killed.''

``I can take care of myself,'' I said. ``Any pointers?''

``They like to talk,'' he said. ``They are suspicious, and paranoid, and very quick. They're attracted to sorcery and powerful locales. They can use the Road and Leys just as we can, or better. They like to eat you when you're most scared. Don't look one in the eyes or you'll be his next meal.''

``Great,'' I said. ``How'd you find all this out?''

``I learned it when I was a child,'' he shrugged. ``It's part of the standard curriculum. Summon me if you get into too much trouble, Otto.''

There was no way I'd Summon him to bail me out, but at least he was on record as making the offer. Slippery as a fish, Dewar . . . sometimes. I recall wondering if Avril or Gaston hadn't put him up to it somehow, as a good way of getting rid of me---though I'd been officially forgiven for my various trespasses, my relatives were not entirely happy about me. Prospero in particular appeared to have it in for me, and I knew Dewar was responsible for keeping him from simply cutting my throat and crying revenge for poor Miranda of Valgalant's death and other transgressions.

Dewar went on to tell me that I should get the name of the dragon I was stealing from. ``They all have names, long ones, made up of various bits and pieces. Usually they have a few preferred syllables that they use.''

``Why?'' I asked.

In the tone of someone addressing a two-year-old, he started, ``The names in their entirety can take a day to---''

I cut him off. ``I mean why get the name?''

``Oh. So we know who he is. Then if I hear of him looking for you later I can warn you.'' He grinned.

We split up after more good-luck-mate chitchat. He stopped at a crossroad and went off somewhere after elaborate preliminaries---I suppose across the Limen to Noroison---and I headed there the hard way, not knowing the route in anything but theory and consulting my Ephemeris often. What I knew about dragons was entirely theoretical too; I was sure Dewar knew more, and I was sure he'd told me enough for me to be able to find one. So I wandered along the Road through every little pocket-universe world I passed, into the cul-de-sacs and out of them, favoring mountains and sparsely-populated areas, looking for caves and abandoned castles and places like that.

I asked people, too, if they'd heard of or seen a dragon in their area. I ran across a few small dragons that way, but nothing really big---none of the great dragons. I did kill one of the small ones, for practice, but its hoard was tacky trash and it had given its name as Neddy, so I figured it didn't count.

I kept track of the time in Landuc. Two weeks after leaving I knew that I was going to be in trouble if I didn't do better. I pushed myself into the wilder places and hunted about there. After a few days, I ran across rumors of a dragon, and a day and a half later I found authentic dragon-created destruction in the form of a fire-leveled village by a lake. A few chewed-up corpses made me extra-cautious as I prowled around, hunting for someone who might be able to give me the latest news on the beast. Finding no one, I headed up into the hills for the night, where I encountered an old man who ran from me.

``Wait a minute!'' I yelled. ``I'm looking for the dragon!''

He just ran faster. I figured he knew something, so I followed him to his home---a cave, as it turned out. The steep, green hills were an extinct family of volcanoes, and they were riddled with unexpected openings here and there. He lived in the cave with a little old lady about as substantial as a dried-up leaf, and neither of them was pleased to see me. They barricaded themselves in their hole, peeking out through a triangular window in the door, which was made of bits and pieces of mismatched wood.

``Look, I don't want to harass you,'' I said, ``but I'm looking for a dragon, a big one, and I'm wondering if he's somewhere in the area.''

``Go away,'' the old lady yelled at me, and she threw a rock. ``We paid our taxes. You go away. Brigand.'' And similar abuse.

I got off my horse and told them I wasn't leaving until they came out. And, figuring that bribery works where courtesy doesn't, I chucked a couple of gold coins into the cave at them.

``What do you want?'' the old man asked after they'd had a moment to recover from this.

``I told you. I want that dragon.'' I'd considered asking to sleep in the cave, but the smell of the place put me off.

``He's gone,'' the man said.

``No he's not,'' she disagreed. ``He's not gone. He's waiting. Mark my words, he's waiting.''

``He's gone, you foolish old woman,'' the man insisted in a quavery voice.

``When was he here?'' I asked.

``Weeks ago,'' the man said.

``One week ago,'' she corrected him. ``Eight days exactly. He ate the King's tax collector. Good riddance to him.''

``Too fat to run,'' the old man said. ``It was weeks ago, weeks ago. Months.''

She seemed more coherent than he, so I figured I'd trust her word. ``What did he do?''

``He ate the King's tax collector,'' she said.

``Did he wreck that village?'' I asked.

``No, the King's tax collector did that,'' she said. ``You're a nice young man. Go away. Leave that dragon for the King.''

``Shut up, you silly goose,'' the man muttered tremulously. ``We warned him once, we did.''

``King's job is killing dragons,'' she went on over his objections. ``You let him get to it. Nobody ever thanked a volunteer.''

``Where was the dragon living?'' I asked.

``You never mind,'' she said. ``You run along home now. He'll eat you up same as he ate the tax collector.''

``I bet he's up in these hills,'' I said, looking around. ``How long has he been around?''

``Long gone,'' muttered the old man, ``long---oof!'' He disappeared from the window and, though his mumbled complaints were a continuo to the rest of the conversation, didn't speak again.

``Oh, ages,'' the old lady said. ``Trust that fool of a tax collector to go stirring him up, trying to collect taxes from a dragon. Fat old idiot. He smelled like a rose, though.''

``So the dragon was quiet until the tax collector tried to collect taxes from him,'' I said, ``and has he attacked anyone since then?''

``He always claimed he was a vegetarian, too,'' the woman said. ``The dreadful hypocrite. Heaven knows what he was doing with all that fish.''

``Fish?''

``From the village.''

I blinked. ``The dragon was getting fish from the village?''

``Of course. Where else? Is he going to catch it himself?'' She cackled.

``He's been quiet since he ate the tax collector, though?''

``I dare say. He's going to be wanting his fish, unless that tax collector choked him, and he's going to be fashed about the village being gone.''

I recalled the state of the village. Maybe dogs or wolves had been at the corpses. ``Does the dragon have a name?''

``Of course he's got a name. What are we going to do, yell `Hey, you,' at him? What do you want with him anyway?'' She squinted at me through the little window, suspicious.

``Just to talk to him.''

She eyed my leather armor, lance, shield, and sword. ``Hmph. You're pretty well set up for a talk.''

``It pays to be prepared. What's he called?''

``Hunnondàligi,'' she said. ``And you be respectful.''

``I will, believe me.''

``You go up to the Bowl Peak there,'' she said. ``You'll find him.''

The old man began arguing with her. I left them to wrangle it out and mounted my horse, Tango, and rode up toward a blunt-topped mountain that had to be the Bowl Peak.

It grew dark before I'd gotten more than a couple of miles from the village, so I camped for the night in the thick forest that covered the uncultivated part of the mountains. I decided against a fire, although it was chilly, and I slept with my sword under my hand. Tango was agitated when the wind blew from the mountain; I sniffed too but didn't pick up anything unusual. My night was quiet, if unrestful. A couple of times I started, hearing animals moving around in the undergrowth nearby, and once an owl went by.

I rose with the sun and Tango and I headed on up the mountain. I made my way to a sharp ridge and went along that to get to the bowl-shaped crater. Must have been a hell of an explosion that took that one off; it was like a miniature mountain range in itself, maybe three or four hundred years old---still quite visibly a crater.

There was nothing to indicate where a dragon might have his lair.

I spent the day going slowly around the edge of the crater, studying the other sides through binoculars I'd brought with me. I didn't spot any signs of dragon inhabitation and made a fireless camp that night in a saddle between a couple of the lesser peaks. That night, as I lay unsleeping, a dark shape passed across the stars, blotting them out as it went over and down toward the village. I scrambled up one of the peaks, but I didn't see anything, though I watched for hours.

The next day I continued on my surveying circuit and found a dirt road that went into the crater on one side and down toward the village on the other by way of a modest saddle. I hit myself on the head. Fish. The woman had said he got fish from the village. Could they possibly be delivering it? There were wagon ruts in the road. How had I missed it on my way up?

I rode along it, extra alert, and Tango became more and more fidgety as we went on. The road descended and then bent to follow the curve of the mountains. It was more a track than a road, not particularly well-constructed---used infrequently. It ran along the base of a sheer wall of multilayered rock---a slump, perhaps---and there Tango became frantic. He rolled his eyes back, dug in his feet like a mule, and refused to proceed. So I tied him to a tree there and continued on foot. As I walked, I considered my own mortality and decided I would rather be a live rat than a dead lion.

I returned to Tango, fetched a few vital items from my saddlebag (including my City Key for Landuc) and built a fire, a big one using most of an old fallen tree, looking over my shoulder often, as you can imagine. Then I opened a Way to Landuc, but didn't use the Key. Instead I left the fire burning there next to Tango and left the spell uncompleted---that was a trick I le