"Don't worry," the lacemaker shrugged. "They're nervous of strangers, that's all. We have a rule that only one of us comes out to greet a newcomer-usually, incomers are either terrified or dangerous. We've found from experience that it's wisest to give new captives a little while to settle in. You'll meet the others later, when the work gangs return from the fields, and we can introduce you to everyone, all together."

Soon they reached a low, doorless, windowless stone dwelling, indistinguishable from the rest, near the sh.o.r.e of the lake. Licia ushered the warrior inside, into a single room with nothing but a thick layer of some thick, soft, fibrous stuff on the floor. Nevertheless, the hovel was spotlessly clean and brightly lit with more of the glowing golden globes, which burned, this time, with a clear and steady light instead of the usual irritating flicker.

Maya reached up a curious hand to the Phaerie lamps, which hung from the ceiling like cl.u.s.ters of some alien fruit. Her fingers were bathed in a deep and steady warmth, like summer sunlight. "Why are these different?" she asked Licia.

The lacemaker snorted. "Those wicked b.u.g.g.e.rs keep the big cavern lights flickering like that all the time, so none of us can think straight-you'd be surprised how it gets to you after a while. But they can't do that in here because of the lace. 1 need a clear, bright, steady light for that kind of fine work, or I'd go blind-and what worries the Phaerie more, the lace turns into a mess of tangles." Her face twisted in a humorless smile. "I'm the best lacemaker in Nexis-or I was."

With a wave of her hand she indicated a plain wooden table at one end of the room, on which there lay a thick pad of cloth, a cl.u.s.ter of delicate, spindle-shaped lace bobbins, each topped with a colored bead, and spools of shimmering, rainbow-hued thread that looked finer than spider silk. "My work is in tremendous demand among the Phaerie," she told Maya with no modesty at all. "Even the males, including Lord h.e.l.lorin, are very conscious of their finery. So that gets me Vnia.mma.ra.1 8 1 the occasional favor. And at least I get a table and a stool for working. Most folk have to make do with squatting on the floor like dumb beasts in a byre,"

She reached out and hooked a long-legged stool from beneath the table. "Here, girl-sit down. You look a bit shaky, which is no surprise. Put it in the corner, so you can rest your back against the wall." She reached deep into a shadowy niche hollowed into the thick stone of the wall, and produced a roughly made pottery cup. "Here-" She handed Maya an apple and a hard heel of some kind of bread, "We won't be fed again until evening, when the workers come back from outside, but I usually keep a little something back for emergencies. You'll feel better for some food inside you, and I'll go and fetch you some water. You take your ease awhile-I won't insult you by saying don't fret, but you can put it off till later. Worry's like yeast-if you go on feeding it, it'll keep indefinitely. I'll be back before you know it."

Left alone, Maya sat down gratefully as instructed, feeling too weary, beaten, and betrayed even to wonder or care where the lacemaker had gone-although the warrior had a strong suspicion that Licia had used the fetching of water as an excuse to go and report to her fellow-slaves. Though her stomach was aching with hunger, Maya left the food untasted on the table. She knew she should be thinking of ways to find D'arvan, she ought to be planning some sort of escape, but she was tired, so very tired....

"There-I told you I wouldn't be long."

"What?" Maya's eyes flew open. She jerked upright, just saving herself from falling off the stool.

Licia held out the crude cup and Maya, who would have sold her soul just then for a mug of taillin laced with strong spirits, sipped, and made a face. It was water, plain and simple, but harsh with minerals and warm-about the temperature of a comfortable bath. The lacemaker, watching her, raised a sardonic brow. "You'll have to excuse us, but the wine consignment doesn't seem to have arrived yet."

"Is this all they give you to drink?" Maya asked in dismay.

"Not at all-you can have it cold, if you'd prefer."

"Seven b.l.o.o.d.y demons! Licia-do the Phaerie treat you cruelly?" Judging from the cold-blooded severity of the blow she had received from the Phaerie woman, Maya suspected she already knew the answer.

182M 3 gg i e F u r ey "What do you think?" Licia's pale blue eyes were smoldering with bitter rage. "We're less than insects to them. We artisans are lucky at least-they appreciate our skills and take better care of us-but the lives of the common laborers have absolutely no value to them at all. If they injure or kill a few Mortals, so what? There'll always be plenty more."

Maya was appalled. Somehow, she had never suspected her lover's people to be like this! Suddenly the Magefolk insistence on banishing the Phaerie made a great deal of sense. "Has no one tried to escape?" she asked.

The lacemaker shrugged. "You think they haven't dealt with that little problem? What do you think these are for? Decoration?" She fingered the slender chain around her neck. "They do say this metal is a mixture of true gold and Phaerie blood, and it contains part of their magic. It may not look like much, but believe me, it's absolutely unbreakable. There's no way to get it off-and folk have died trying. And these chains don't just mark us as slaves, as property. They also keep us here. The Phaerie have set fields of magic all around the boundaries of their realm, and if anyone should try to pa.s.s through them wearing one of these, the chain will turn white-hot and literally burn their head off their shoulders."

Maya was too aghast to speak. Involuntarily, her hand went to her throat, as if to persuade herself that her captors had not placed the hideous device around her neck. The chill of the metal seemed to eat into her fingers, and her heart brimmed over with dread. "These-they don't come off?" she whispered. "Not ever?"

Licia shook her head. "I'm sorry, my dear. In all the years the Phaerie have been keeping Mortal slaves, not one of those chains has ever been removed. We don't think they can." She scowled. "Even the accursed Magefolk were better than this lot," she burst out angrily. "At least under their rule we were free to go our ways-until they all got themselves killed, that is, and let the Phaerie run amok."

For a moment, a faint, flickering spark of hope flared up in Maya's heart. Ah, she thought, but the Magefolk were not all killed. She could only pray that D'arvan possessed enough strength and power to force his arrogant father to see that Mortals should not be enslaved. "We're more than brute animals," she whispered to herself. "We're not put here just to serve them." She was enough of a realist, however, to know perfectly well that right and wrong had little influence on the Oh t 3 m m a. r a.

1 83.

world. Again, she touched the chain around her neck. Slave, it said. Base and lowly animal. In the end, it all came down to a question of might. The Phaerie have the power to enslave the Mortals, Maya thought, and there's nothing we can do to stop them. The fate of our race is entirely dependent on their mercy, and our only hope is that somehow they can be persuaded to spare us.

The tall tower was the crowning point of h.e.l.lorin's palace, and as such it was also the only place in the Phaerie city from which both sides of the Forest Lord's domain could be seen. D'arvan looked down from the southern window across the city, the symbol of Phaerie wealth and luxury, the tangible evidence of their supremacy and power. The northern window, looking up the deep green glen toward the mountains, showed a very different scene: h.e.l.lorin's quarries and mines half-concealed among the heavily wooded slopes, and his farmlands, all tilled and planted, burgeoning along the valley bottom. The symbols, all of them of human slavery.

Peering through the northern window with the longsight that was his father's legacy, D'arvan watched the captive Mortals, laboring like so many swarming ants while the Phaerie took their ease, or hunted in the surrounding woodland, or sailed in little boats upon the tarn. A faint sense of guilt writhed within him like a tiny serpent as he realized that before the Cataclysm, the Magefolk, his own people, had enslaved the Mortals in exactly the same way-and that even in his own time, most of the Mages had felt that this should still be the natural order of things.

Neither his mother's race nor that of his father were blameless, and D'arvan's heart was scalded with rage and shame that such iniquity could exist. d.a.m.n the Phaerie! h.e.l.lorin had already snuffed out the humanity of the Xandim like a candle, without a single qualm. Now he had subjugated yet another race in an equally callous fashion. And what had he done with Maya?

D'arvan shook and rattled the locked door, hammering on it with his fists for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Answer me, d.a.m.n you-is anybody there? How dare you lock me up like this-don't you know who I am? Let me out of here, you slug-witted b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! You fetch my father here- right now!"

A plague on all the b.l.o.o.d.y Phaerie! For all his protests, it 184Maggie Furey was patently clear to D'arvan that he had been locked up here on h.e.l.lorin's orders, and left in this luxurious chamber at the top of the highest tower in his father's palace, to cool his heels until the Forest Lord was good and ready to deal with him. It was a power ploy on h.e.l.lorin's part, to establish his dominance from the start. Well, if the idea was to humiliate D'arvan and make him feel helpless, it was beginning to work.

"I won't let it," D'arvan muttered savagely. "I won't let him get to me like this!" He knew what Maya would have done, as clearly as if her voice had whispered it in his ear. The best way to keep up his courage was to fight back with anger. Scoring the mossy carpet with his boot heels, he paced the many-windowed room, stoking his rage like a great red blaze, kicking at chairs and tables in pa.s.sing for want of a better target for his rage, and heaping muttered maledictions on his father's head.

"Have a care for the furnishings-some day, they may be yours."

D'arvan swung round to see h.e.l.lorin standing in the doorway, an obnoxious smirk on his face. "You!" he snarled, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the first thing that came to hand.

The Forest Lord stepped easily to one side and the flung chair smashed to splinters on the edge of the door frame.

The Forest Lord's smile of welcome froze as he saw the expression of scowling fury on the face of his long-lost son.

"You vile, unspeakable monster! Have you no conscience?" D'arvan spat. "Those are people out there-your laborers, your beasts of burden. People who had lives and families, dreams and plans. And what about the Xandim? Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds- you've even gone so far as to strip them of their humanity forever! How can you live with that?"

There was a cold, bleak, implacable look in D'arvan's eye that somehow reminded the Phaerie Lord of that dratted Mage-woman, the last time he had crossed swords with her. Don't you dare get in my way, it said.

h.e.l.lorin swallowed the cordial greeting that had leapt to his lips, and thought rapidly. His estrangement from Eilin had taught him to deal more carefully and considerately with the Magefolk than had been his wont-and D'arvan was half-Mage, after all. He had no wish to lose D'arvan as he had lost Eilin-but Mage blood or no, he was the heir to the Forest Lord's realm, and must be made to recognize and understand Vhi3Lmrna.ru 1 85.

his responsibilities to the Phaerie. Nonetheless, h.e.l.lorin was determined to begin in a conciliatory manner. Only if D'arvan should prove difficult would there be any need to deal with him harshly. "Will you at least have the courtesy to listen to what I have to say before you start throwing the furniture?" he asked in a mild and pleasant voice.

The young Mage's expression darkened further. "Give me Maya back-then I might consider listening to you," he retorted.

The Forest Lord shook his head. "Not yet, my son. First we will talk, and then, if the outcome is favorable, I will release your little Mortal to you."

"And if it isn't favorable?" D'arvan asked softly. His lips thinned into an obdurate line. "No, that's not good enough. I want her here, with me. I want to be sure she's safe, away from your d.a.m.ned tricks. Until you bring me Maya, I will not exchange another word with you." He deliberately turned his back on his father and stared out of the northern window at the 'Mortal slaves who labored in the valley far below.

A plague on this impudent whelp and his pigheaded Mage-folk pride! h.e.l.lorin's anger was nearing boiling point. He clenched his fists at his sides and breathed deeply, fighting back the rage. "So you will not talk-but you have no other choice than to listen. D'arvan, there is no need for this animosity between us. You are my son, and for the love I bore your mother, you are also my heir. Your true home is here, with us, your people. You could have great power here, and wield considerable authority among the Phaerie. All would defer to you. Would you let a handful of mere Mortals come between you and your own father? Your own true and splendid destiny? Mortals! Dull-witted, short-lived creatures with no magic-they are little more than animals. They were put here to serve us. It is their fate, their reason for existence."

All the while that h.e.l.lorin had been speaking, D'arvan had not moved a muscle. Now he turned, very slowly, and there was iron and granite in his face, and a look in his eyes that made the Forest Lord's blood run cold. 'And supposing I say that you are a foul, depraved despot, and that I am no son of yours," he hissed in a thin, tight voice that was wound up with rage to its breaking point. "What if I tell you that I abhor and despise you, and I would hang myself, or drink poison, or put a dagger through my heart, rather than take any part in your revolting schemes?" D'arvan met him with an unblinking stare, and their gazes locked and clashed like two deadly /86Maggie F u r e y swords. "I wish it could have been otherwise. But I can not and will not condone this slavery."

The Forest Lord was struck to the heart by D'arvan's words. His bitter disappointment crystallized into a twisted, misshapen core within him, cold as ice and hard as iron. So this craven-hearted, whining puppy had the temerity to repudiate his own father? h.e.l.lorin scowled. You've just made a grave mistake, my son, he thought grimly. I gave you some lat.i.tude, I tried to appeal to you, to persuade you-but now it's time you were brought to heel. Shrugging off his human guise like an unwanted cloak, he stood revealed before his son in the full might and majesty of the foremost Phaerie Lord, resplendent and terrifying, with the raw, wild elemental power of the Old Magic pulsing from him like the fierce energy of an exploding star. He had the hollow satisfaction of seeing D'arvan blanch, and take a furtive backward step.

h.e.l.lorin flung back his head and roared with laughter. "Spineless, witless young fool! How could / ever have fathered you? So you'd hang yourself, or drink poison, or put a dagger through your heart, would you?" His voice lifted in cruel mockery of D'arvan's empty threats. "I wonder, my fine son, do you think that Maya would feel the same?"

"What?" the young Mage shouted. "d.a.m.n you, you can't..."

"Can I not?" h.e.l.lorin's voice was like a knife blade dragged along bone. All his original good intentions had vanished. If D'arvan wanted to join him, that was well and good-but if not, he must be broken, and taught his place. "Maya is my possession now, my plaything," he told" his son in a soft, insinuating voice. "I can dispose of her as I please-not to mention those two strayed Xandim that you so kindly brought me."

He shrugged, feigning indifference. "As for you, you are free to leave at any time. Of course, since you abhor the use of the Xandim you will have to walk, but I daresay your lofty ideals will sustain you over the endless miles of empty wilderness."

"No," D'arvan shouted. "I am not leaving here without Maya!"

h.e.l.lorin fixed him with a flinty stare. "Be a.s.sured, you will not be leaving with her. You gave up all your rights to her when you repudiated your father and your heritage." He licked his lips. "Perhaps, since I have no heirs now, I will take your little swordmaid for myself. What sons she will breed me, eh?"

Vhi3.mma.r3.

1 8 7.

Before he had time to register what was happening, a fireball was hurtling toward his face. Gasping with shock, he threw up his will to form a shield-only just in time. Close enough to singe his skin, the balefire spattered against the barrier and dissipated in an incandescent starburst. Droplets of liquid flame burned a pattern of small, dark holes in the moss-green carpet.

h.e.l.lorin, recovering quickly, threw back his head and laughed. "Well done, my boy! 1 am glad to see that my cub has teeth after all."

D'arvan leaned back weakly against the wall, gasping for breath, his face chalk-white.

h.e.l.lorin's lips curled in a feral smile. "I would wager, however," he added in conversational tones, "that you couldn't do it again-not for some time, at any rate. You are an Earth-Mage, D'arvan-to hurl fire in such a profligate fashion de-mancls too much of you."

He approached the reeling D'arvan, and looked deep into the eyes of his son. "Enough of this nonsense. I have given you every chance to cooperate as a dutiful son should, yet you have met me with nought but insolence and defiance. Now, let me tell you what will happen. The days of the Magefolk are over-the Phaerie will rule their lands in their stead. Now that my city has been built, I fully intend to subjugate Nexis once and for all, and bring the Nexians under my sovereignty. I was merely awaiting your return, for it seemed fitting that I should present your native city to you as a gift."

"What?" D'arvan choked. "But that's preposterous!"

"Why so?" h.e.l.lorin shrugged. "Someone must rule those hapless Mortals, and even / cannot be in two places at once. So, my son, it comes down to a plain choice for you. You can accept my offer and take up the rule of Nexis for me-for in that way, and that way only, will you see the Mortals treated as you would have them treated. Also, you will have your she-wolf Maya for your queen-and breed me some grand-children, eh?"

"And what if I refuse?" D'arvan said slowly. "What will you do to me then?"

"To you? Absolutely nothing. As I said before, you will be free to leave this place, to go your own ways. But you will no longer be my son, and someone else will rule over Nexis and oversee my Mortal slaves. Also, I will keep Maya for myself."

188Ma gg i e Fur ey He paused. "Decide, my son. Already you overstrain my patience. 1 will not ask you twice."

D'arvan dropped his face into his hands, and let his shoulders slump in defeat. "Very well, my father," he whispered. "I'll do what you ask of me." Then he straightened his back and looked unflinchingly into his father's eyes. "There will, however, be certain conditions."

Chapter 13 A Price to Pay.

(Now it begins." As Death stepped away from the Well of Souls, the vision cupped within it vanished, and the figures of Aurian and Forral were replaced by boundless depths and the whirl of infinite stars. Within the shadows of his deep cowl, the Specter smiled a wry, secretive little smile. That incorrigible, unstoppable Mage had returned to the world and discovered the subst.i.tution of one love for another. This should make matters interesting! Death made his way back through the sacred grove, wondering which Magewoman he would soon be welcoming to his realm: Eliseth- or Aurian.

As he left the trees, the Specter stopped, cursing softly. There, waiting for him, was that pigheaded fool of a Mage.

Anvar confronted the implacable figure. "What did you see in there?" he demanded. "She's back, isn't she? After all this time, Aurian has returned to the world-I can feel it. We're Magefolk, soul-mates and custodians of the Artifacts-it would 190Maggie Furey take more than mere death to sever our bond. You've got to send me back now! I can't stay here-why, I'm not really dead, in any real sense of the word. You 've got to let me go1."

"By all means." Death's voice was light with mockery, but his cold gaze never faltered. "I grow weary of your incessant whining and complaints. That swordsman was bad enough, but you . . ." Red sparks of anger kindled in the black depths of the Specter's eyes. Anvar said no more, but stood his ground. After a moment, the twin sparks flared brighter.

"Go, then," Death snarled. "I will not hinder you. Leave- if you think you can find a way out. You have been here long enough to explore every corner of my realm-you should know by now that the only way out of this place is the Well of Souls."

"There must be a way out," Anvar insisted stubbornly. "Aurian and I were here once before, and we got away. I'm willing to wager that you'll tell me eventually, when you've grown tired of playing games with me. Let me warn you- Death or no Death, you'll tire of me long before I run out of ways to plague you!"

"You tire me already-believe me." The Specter sighed. "Very well-I cannot help you escape from this place, but I will tel! you the one way in which you can leave. Do you remember our encounter when you and that wretched Mage were in the desert? Her spirit pa.s.sed beyond the Door, and you came in search of her?"

"It's not a thing I'm likely to forget," Anvar replied: "I followed her to this place and you sent us back together. So why can't you send me back now?"

"Because at that time, one of you was still anch.o.r.ed in Life. This served to draw you both back to the mundane world."

"But I am still anch.o.r.ed in Life," Anvar protested. "My body is still there. It was stolen by that treacherous son of a b.i.t.c.h, and ..."

"And therefore it no longer belongs to you," Death said flatly. "Dispute the matter as you will, you are dead. In order for you to return to the mundane world, one of the living must come in search of you-so you had better hope that Aurian does not decide that her swordsman is a fair exchange for her former soulmate. Even if she should seek you and guide you back, until the Caldron is found you will exist as nothing but a bodiless spirit-a ghost, if you will. And, should that Mage of yours regain the Caldron, you must still persuade Forral to give up your body. He may be well determined to stay where he is-and if that is the case, you must return to me, or be doomed to roam the earth as a ghost forever, until you are entirely forgotten. Then your spirit will be snuffed out, and will cease to exist. Heed me, Anvar, for that is the risk you run, if you persist in wishing to return. If the swordsman refuses to quit your body, your only hope is to fight him for possession."

Forral tried to fold Anvar's long legs beneath his threadbare cloak as he huddled, shivering, in a drafty corner of the underground chamber. He didn't mind the cold and darkness-he was savoring Aurian's sweet presence as she sat beside him, talking softly with the shabby little thief. Though he had found it difficult to accept her new air of command and the core of steel that seemed to have grown within her in his absence, they seemed to have reached a fragile understanding at least-though so far, he admitted ruefully, it seemed to be entirely on the Mage's terms. It was something to build upon, however, and Forral was privately glad that he'd been able to return in time to help her with the culmination of her quest. He had always protected her, and he wasn't stopping now- no matter how forcefully she objected.

The swordsman knew he should be concentrating on what Grince was saying, but his attention kept wandering. Although he felt weary, he was too caught up in the wonder of rebirth to lose a minute of this first, miraculous day in sleep. After the endless deprivation and numbing monotony of Death's kingdom, the dank, dusty air of the underground room seemed as fresh and fragrant as a draft of sparkling wine. The sullen fire and even the gloomy shadows it cast seemed ablaze with color and light. The interplay of the two murmuring voices sounded loud and harmonious in his ears, and .he thrilled to feel the textures of clothing against his skin, and the warmth of Aurian's body beside his own.

Experimentally, Forral flexed his right arm. Though it lacked the heavy musculature of his old body, the joints were limber and the grip was strong. With some regular training, he thought drowsily, I could soon get this body into shape. . . . Abruptly the swordsman snapped wide awake, horrified by the direction of his thoughts. This was not his body-it belonged to Anvar. He must learn to think of it as merely a garment-a 192Ma. gg i e F u r e y borrowed cloak that must be returned someday to its rightful owner.

Why? There was no quelling the insidious little thought that lurked at the back or his mind. Why give up all this wonder and joy when you've only just won it back again?

Forral looked for a long time at Aurian as she sat beside him, her head c.o.c.ked attentively toward the thief. If he were to keep this body, she could be his forever. "But it's not mine," he told himself weakly.

Maybe not-but it's half the age your body was when you died, and we already know, don't we, that Aurian seems to like your new shape well enough?

A thin tendril of jealousy for Anvar curled itself like bindweed through Portal's thoughts. Why should he have her? the swordsman thought. She loved me first. Anvar is no longer here, and I have taken his place. In time, I could win her back....

Of course you can, the sly voice began once more. And why shouldn't you? It wasn't your fault thatyou were killed. You weren't ready. You weren't finished. Aurian witt come to accept it-she loved you for most of her life. You have a son together. .. .

Stop this! Forral told himself angrily. You know it isn't right. You should be ashamed of yourself. But then he thought of everything that could be his once more: the dew-drenched stillness of summer dawns on campaign, the smell of leather and woodsmoke, hot baths, cold beer, riotous nights of warm companionship in a crowded tavern, the unknown joys of fatherhood ... He looked at Aurian again.

AU. of this can be yours once more-and so can she, whispered the voice. Forral forced it back into the depths of his mind as though he were strangling a snake. After a struggle it subsided-but he knew it would be back.

As his attention returned to his surroundings, the swordsman suddenly had the uneasy feeling he was being watched. He looked around to see one of the great cats staring at him intently with blazing eyes. Forral shivered. The creature looked so fierce and knounng-almost as though it had been looking into his innermost thoughts. Firmly, he pulled himself together. "Don't be a b.l.o.o.d.y fool," he muttered to himself. For all of Aurian's fond imaginings that she understood every word the cat was saying, it was only an animal, when all was said and done.

Vhia.mma.ra.

193.

Shia stifled a growl and flexed her claws, digging them into the crumbling stone of the chamber floor. Stupid human! He was lodged in the body of a Mage, but he had no idea of the powers that were available to him-nor was she about to disabuse him, for it was plain that he could not be trusted.

Anvar's old channels of mental communication were still open to the cat, and she had overheard every word of Forral's inner battle. Shia loved Anvar with the same fierce protec-tiveness that she loved Aurian, and to hear this interloper planning to steal the Mage's body left her smoldering with rage.

Shia knew she must be patient, however. This human also meant a great deal to Aurian, and in any case, until the grail was regained, nothing could be done to change the situation. They must all work together to defeat their common foe; therefore it would do more harm than good to precipitate a conflict now.

Reluctantly, Shia decided not to tell Aurian what she had overheard. This was not the right time-but nonetheless, the cat resolved that in future she would watch this human very closely indeed.

Rasvald thanked the G.o.ds for Lord Pendral's hounds. Without them, he would never have found the thief in ten thousand years, and besides, it seemed from all the twists, turns, and backtrackings he and his men were making that the wretch had managed to get himself utterly lost in this tangle of pa.s.sages. The two dogs, however, followed the fugitive's scent unerringly- Rasvald, who had less confidence in the animals' ability to find their way back, was careful, at each intersection, to mark the return route with chalk.

There were so many tunnels beneath the promontory that it was a wonder the entire hill didn't collapse, and the Academy with it, Rasvald thought sourly. He only wished it could have happened before ill luck had conspired to drag him down here. Though he had brought a dozen men with him-a ridiculously large number to track down a solitary thief-he still didn't feel at ease. It wasn't just the cold and darkness, he was sure, that caused his crawling skin and the itch between his shoulder blades-there was a feeling down here, as though some hostile presence left over from the Mages' reign still walked these pa.s.sageways.

"There's no such thing as ghosts," Rasvald whispered to 194M aggie F u r e y himself, over and over. There's no such thing as ghostsl" Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he heard an echo of hollow, mocking laughter.

Whether the phantoms of the Magefolk were present or not, it was impossible to tell. The leaping torchlight made a confusion of shadows, and though he had long ago silenced their grumbling and whispering, the heavy footfalls of the men still obscured all other sound. The whines and harsh panting of the leashed hounds sent a rippling cloak of echoes across the other noises. Nonetheless, Rasvald knew that they must be closing in on their quarry, for the dogs were becoming increasingly excited now. The big animals strained ahead, pulling so hard on their leashes that their two handlers were forced to quicken their pace, simply to stay on their feet.

"Keep those b.l.o.o.d.y animals quiet!" Rasvald hissed. "They'll warn him."

One of Pendral's kennelmen gave him a withering look. "Sithee, mister-how would you like to try? Maybe you'd put your hand in his mouth to silence the hound? Or better still, your head?"

"Mind your tongue," Rasvald snapped-but he had more sense than to push the issue. Instead, he sent a man to run ahead to the next junction of the pa.s.sage and listen there. Then, when the dogs caught up and pointed the new way, he sent the runner on again. Once more the man went out, and then came racing back up the tunnel. "Sir, I can hear voices up ahead."

Grince scowled. "New laws here, new rules there, and b.l.o.o.d.y Garrison troopers everywhere] Truly, Lady-when Lord Van-nor was ruling Nexis it got so an honest thief couldn't make a living anymore." He sighed. "I have to admit though, that most folk were a lot better off-until the stupid sod decided to go and make war on the b.l.o.o.d.y Phaerie."