He laughed then, low and idiot, and she knew he would heed no words of hers. She retreated, thinking of the door and of the way to the boundary lintels; and the voice of the Mother was thunder within her: "Stay, thou! Do not turn away!"

The man lunged forward, s.n.a.t.c.hing her cloak. Whirling, she left it in his hand and stood 'round to face him, clad in travelers' breech and shirt.

He threw the cloak aside and the creature who had guided her here scrambled forward in the dirt, wadding the cloth against her. The man lunged again.

Moonhawk danced away, but his hand had touched her arm. Thrusting away fear, she stood straight, and, staring into his dull, exultant eyes, reached out, as those in Circle may- His cry was hoa.r.s.e with terror and he bent double, hands gripping his privates. "It burns! n.o.ble Lady-aid me!"

Moonhawk stepped around him. "Be still and you will have no pain. Seek to harm me and you will burn."

She withdrew her attention from the man and laid it upon Lady Drudae.

"I am charged by the Mother's word to come to this place. I require-"

It was here that the G.o.ddess in Her wisdom withdrew Her hand from about the person of Her daughter and allowed a well-aimed rock to fell her from behind.

THE EYES WERE open and of indeterminate hue; the face was blank, whether by intent or by nature it was not yet possible to know.

Lute nodded pleasantly and smiled.

"How lovely to see you wake! Allow me to offer congratulations. The mountain has only recently stopped wailing, from which I surmise that your aim is superior to my own. Well-played! I wish I'd beenthere to see it. Sound is useful, but I sometimes find it a bit confusing when not aided by sight. Don't you?"

The eyes blinked once, slowly.

"Who are you?"

"A thousand apologies, Stranger Lady! I am Lute, Master of prestidigitation, illusion, and sleight-of-hand.

No doubt you've heard of me."

The eyes closed. Lute sighed and settled back against the dirt wall.

"Is it a little incongruous," the woman wondered eventually, "for a Master of magics to be sitting at the bottom of a hole with his shirt torn and blood on his chin?"

Lute considered her shuttered face. "A minor reversal of fortunes. Only let me lay my hand upon my bag and neither this nor any other hole may contain me!"

"Oh." The eyes were open again. "Where is it? Your bag."

He pointed upward with a flourish. "Lady Drudae has it in her tender keeping."

"I see." She twisted her angular self gracelessly and sat up. "You're an optimist."

"A pragmatist," he corrected gently. "But enough of me! What of yourself? What are you hight? Whither are you bound? How came you here? How will you go away?"

She raised her hands, feeling in the thick, unraveling knot of her hair. "Moonhawk. Where the G.o.ddess sends me. Upon my two feet. The same." Her hair became a cascade, obscuring gaunt features.

"Moonhawk." He chewed his lip. "This is no good place for a name out of Circle. Call yourself otherwise, if you'll take my advice-unless you've come to convert the heathen?"

She laughed, a pleasing sound in the dankness of the pit. "Hardly." She ran pale strands through combing fingers. "You are devout?"

"I was raised to the Way and have traveled a good deal-Have you been to Huntress City? The lamps-harnessed lightnings, I was told, from the ships that brought our foremothers here." He waved a hand upward, indicating the greasy shadows of oil light. "Far different, this."

"There aren't many places to compare with the glory of Huntress," she said softly. "I would like to visit someday-G.o.ddess willing. The last news I had was that Huntress Circle was collecting everything that might be from the Ships and placing all within a warded treasurehouse."

"So? All the more reason, then, for one of the Circle to visit Lady Drudae. She possesses a most interesting artifact."

He waited, gauging the moment. She was silent, combing her hair.

"You are incurious."

She glanced up. "I am sitting in the mud at the bottom of a hole with a kitchen magician for my companion and a village of depravity above. My head hurts. My cloak is gone. I'm hungry. And cold. I see no way out of the present coil and no reason to be in it at all.""Ask your G.o.ddess, if you lack reasons." He had not intended his voice to be so sharp. "I'm told She has a plenitude."

"She does not Speak."

Lute shifted and carefully extended his legs.

"If my bag were here, we might dine on cheese and bread and fresh milk," he said musingly. "I would share my cloak and mix you a tincture I learned in the Wilderwood that is efficacious in the soothing of headaches." He sighed. "Rot those lamps-it's getting dark. I hate to talk to someone I can't see."

Moonhawk raised her head, tracing the flicker of Power to the man-and out of him; flowing to the sticky floor.

A small blue flame appeared in the mud between them; faded, flickered, steadied. The man Lute settled back, sighing as one who has expended much effort.

"Light at least, Lady. I apologize that it does not give heat. If I had my bag..." He let the sentence go, peering upward for a moment before settling harder against the fabric of the pit, hope as thin as the wan blue light.

"Please, my name is Moonhawk-and I thank you for the gift. You should conserve your strength."

"My strength will return soon enough. They won't come for me tonight, I think. More likely tomorrow mid-morning-after Lady Drudae is angry."

"OPEN IT! " She augmented the order with a ringing slap across the man's ear.

"Lady, I cannot! It does not-there is no-I see nothing-"

"Open it or fry! " This time she aimed her blow at the bag, knuckles sharp, as if she struck the idiot's simpering face.

"Lady, It is not possible! " pled Kat. "Perhaps the trickster told the aye-"

Clink!

They froze; turned as one to stare at the bag sitting, inviolate, on the high wooden table.

Beside it lay a solitary token of the type used to count score In gambling games.

"Where did it come from?" wondered Kat.

"The bag..."

"Lady, the bag is not open!"

'Where else would it come from?" she cried. "Do you have such a thing? Do I? It must come from the bag!" She s.n.a.t.c.hed at the clasp, swore; lifted the whole with fury's strength and slammed it upon the table. "Open, d.a.m.n you!"

The bag sat, shuttered and uncowed.

Lovely shoulders drooping, Lady Drudae turned away.Plingplinkbinkplunk!

She spun. Rolling unhurriedly down the slope of the table, four bright pottery marbles: red, blue, green, yellow. Lady Drudae stared them to the edge of the table and watched them fall, one by one, to the dirt floor.

"Fetch the magician."

MOONHAWK SAT AT the bottom of the pit and listened.

Lady Drudae's voice she heard most-strident and scolding, then threatening. Less often came the undistinguished ba.s.s rumble of a man's speaking. Least often, she heard Lute's clear, trained voice. He spoke very few words for one who seemed to like them so well. Most of the words he spoke meant 'No'.

"You will open that bag now," Lady Drudae stormed. "If you do not, Kat will break your fingers."

"If he does so, Lady, heed my warning! Run away from here as fast as you may. For the bag becomes its own master if I have no hands to lay upon it. Listen! And believe."

Very nearly did Moonhawk in her pit believe, though straining Witch-sense brought no taste of power, other than the gall of evil.

"So..." hissed Lady Drudae. "Kat!"

A moment' s incredulous silence was followed by a man's hoa.r.s.e scream.

They threw him down from the edge.

Moonhawk broke his fall with her body and he rolled away, coiled around his ruined hand, sobbing.

"Lute." She touched him and he shuddered, sob catching on a gasp.

Witch-sense questing, she found a mangled chord of clarity within his terror, caught it and wound it round with calm, feeding comfort in a riverflow until he let her touch the pain and share it.

"Lute. I am Healer." She did not force trust; did not stint on what she gave.

Slowly, the coiled body unbound. He flopped to his back, eyes stabbing hers.

"Good. Now it is my turn to give a gift... I must touch it. Lute, I am Healer. Through me flows the love of our Mother. Through me flows Her strength-to you, Her son..."

She held the mangled member now; felt and knew utter destruction: the tiny bones ground and shattered and hopeless. Around them, the highly trained muscles mourned.

Moonhawk took breath, drawing in strength, and crossed over into that gray s.p.a.ce from which all Healing takes place.

The man beneath her hand screamed; she exerted the will necessary to quiet him. The Inner Eyes saw bone shards reform, fit together, settle into the cradle of tissue, seal into wholeness-into health.

She let breath escape; removed will and hand and sat back, face dripping sweat, body shuddering."In Her Name it is done."

Lute caught her with two good hands as she toppled sideways, and laid her gently down, head pillowed on his thigh.

MOONHAWK BLINKED IN the gash of sunlight and tried not to breathe through her nose. The one called Kat held her arms twisted behind her back and he stank like last week's slaughter.

Lute's hands hung free. He faced Lady Drudae over a dull blue tube and smiled as if the terror in him was no more real than dreams.

"You know what this is?" The Lady asked him, voice unnaturally calm.

Lute bowed his head. "I do. I beg leave to remind the most gracious and n.o.ble Lady that, fried, I am of no use to her."

"How is your hand mended? It was broken beyond praying for-Kat?"

"It was, n.o.ble Lady," his voice boomed over Moonhawk's head. "You know me!"

Lady Drudae nodded, eyes flicking to Moonhawk. "You. How comes the magician's hand to be whole?"

Moonhawk met the mad blue eyes steadily. "I Healed him."

"So." The eyes widened. She lifted the tube. "Do you know what this is?"

"No."

"Then I will show you." Her voice rose. "Arto! Bring the nemrill!"

The Lady backed away, tube lowering. The mountain shadowed the door arch, a bundle of fur swinging from a huge fist.

"Throw it in and stand away!"

The bundle hit the dirt floor, rolled into a puddle of sunlight and came up spitting, fangs showing, tail fat with fury, claws at ready.

This nemrill was none such as they had at Temple, pleased with the world and themselves. The ferocity of this creature startled the Healer; its fear pierced her.

Lady Drudae laughed, pointed the tube and pressed the thumb-stud.

There was a zag of lightning; a stink of ozone. The nemrill was encased in a nimbus of flame, shrieking in mortal agony. Moonhawk reached within; saw Lute start forward while the Lady laughed and-pop!

The nemrill was gone.

The stink of scorched fur and frying flesh reached Moonhawk and she gagged, sagging shamefully in her captor's grip. Lute turned to her; was halted by a shake of the tube.

"Now, magician, listen closely. Open the bag-or she fries. You see?"He laid a hand on the bag; withdrew it. "It is a long process, n.o.ble Lady; and fraught with peril. I have not eaten in some time-a simple oversight, no doubt! My strength is not sufficient to the task. If I err, we may all fry!"

"I marvel you carry so dangerous a thing with you."

"It is wise to keep the danger you know best to hand, Lady."

Hesitation that Moonhawk tasted as her own, even as her powers faded. Food... She separated her need, hurled it into the madwoman with the last of her strength.