"I'll do what I do best, and challenge him for you. Unless you forbid it."

"I forbid it! I'm not some bone to be fought over by dogs."

"I mean to do it anyway. I brought this down on us by my pride and my lust for knowledge."

"You are indeed proud! I might as easily say that I caused it by abandoning you, or by making that link a year ago, or by stealing the Mirror in the first place. I utterly forbid it"

"Karan, speak the truth to me." He took her cold hands in his and pulled her close. "Will you be truthful?" Again the slanting sun touched her, making sparks in her eyes.

"Yes," she said, shying away from certain dark corners that were hers alone; reserving a little piece of the truth for herself, just in case.

"When you go in there to meet him, do you have any plan, the least scrap, to get yourself out again?"

"I got away before, remember?"

"That's not an answer. He won't underestimate you again. Well?"

She bowed her head, erasing the sparks in her eyes. This was not a Llian that she was used to, nor one that she could lie to. How she loved him. She burrowed up under his coat, squeezing against him. "I have no plan," she said in a muffled tone. "Not the least scrap. And not much hope either."

"Well, I have."

It hurt. She had come up here to protect him. "May I know what it is?"

"It'll be easier if you don't, in case things go wrong."

She slid back out. "Very well! The secret way is somewhere along here."

She frowned at the map, trying to make sense of the directions in a gloomy landscape crusted with snow. Here and there a ledge ran off the ridge crest for a few paces before dwindling away to nothing. 'These ledges form a maze, but there's only one way they connect to form a path."

"More like a treacherous game of snakes and ladders," Llian observed unhappily. "Just waiting to skid us over the edge to our deaths."

"Only if we're careless," said Karan. "But I intend to take very good care of you from now on. Back down here a bit."

It turned to be back up, not down. They found the path just as the light began to fade. Holding his hand she crept across the dangerous slope. At the end of the ledge was another, down a step, and beyond that, yet another. Above them Carcharon was hidden by the outward bulge of the slope. Here the steep ground was bare: native rock tortured into folds shaped like waves capped with snow. She picked her way among them, stopped briefly next to a tall rock shaped like a squat lighthouse, then hurried on.

"There is a tunnel," she said. "But the entrance can't be seen from above or below, or the sides."

Unless the rock's shifted after all this time, Llian thought.

Searching among the rocks she found a great folded outcrop of gneiss, the up-slope end of the fold being capped by a flat boulder. After much heaving the boulder swung sideways on pins, revealing a cleft just wide enough for them to wriggle inside. It was hard work getting Llian in. Once inside Karan touched her little lightglass to brightness.

They crawled down a steep slope choked with rubble. After they cleared that they found a low, irregular passage-even Karan had to stoop-that wandered through the ridge, evidently cut through lines of weakness. Every so often it ended in a steeply sloping shaft, and sometimes they had to climb the rough stone. This caused Llian some alarm, though the shafts were not very deep. Eventually they found themselves at the bottom of a much deeper shaft, up which a ladder ran.

"We must be below Carcharon now," said Karan. "Go carefully. Any noise will carry all the way up."

After a climb of many spans, during which time Llian twice had to be tied to the ladder while he rested, the rough rock ended at a counterbalanced stone door. The mechanism was stiff but they raised it enough to crawl beneath.

"Now," said Karan, "if they've found the tunnel-"

That was not something that they could do anything about, and they continued up a stair built in a false wall lying between the outer and inner walls. The treads were just thick plates of rock set within the wall.

They reached the top and saw before them another counterbalanced stone. This one would not move, and several frustrating minutes went by before Karan found the two clamps which locked it. She released them. The merest touch on the rock made it shiver. "It's well made," Llian said in a hoarse voice. They did not raise the door immediately, for he was desperately weary.

"How is your leg?" she asked, making a last supper.

"Very painful," he whispered, stretching it out in front of him. She massaged the locked muscles while he ate his bread and fruit. "I'm so tired," he said, his head nodding.

Karan put her arms around him while he slept all too briefly. Again she did not-she was too afraid. She had a presentiment that it was not going to go well. After less than an hour he woke with a start.

Llian took a deep breath. There was an agonized look in his eye that she could not bear to see. Karan put her arms around his neck, kissing him on his eyelids, each in turn, and then the tip of his nose.

"Whatever I say and do out there," he said, "promise that you will not lose your trust in me. No matter what I say, no matter what I do. I will never betray you."

"I will trust you, no matter what." And if you do betray me, she thought, you will wish you had never been born. She hugged him again, just a quick squeeze, then put her hands flat on his chest and pushed him away saying, "Go now." She couldn't bear long farewells, though she knew that she might never see him again.

He cautiously raised the door and pushed it down behind him. When he was gone she lifted it the merest fraction and waited. She could hear, if anyone spoke nearby, but she could not see. Then, ever so carefully, she re-established that thread-like link to Llian.

Llian emerged in a part of the tower concealed by a short wall. He peeped over and saw a large room that took up a good part of the top floor. The room was lit by globes on the walls and hanging from the ceiling, and was decorated with tapestries, some in the finest of metal threads, etchings on black metal and wire sculptures of extraordinary complexity. There were benches and tables on the other side of the room, and machines and devices large and small everywhere. A curving stone stair led to the lower levels. How many Ghashad had it taken to carry all this down from Shazmak? A hundred trips, surely.

There was no one in the room. He crept around the corner and saw, in the very center of the room, alien in shade and contour, the hard metal, blue-black shape of the construct. It was the very machine that he had seen in the Nightland, that Rulke had made there in his mind. But that was image, this surely the reality. All the more reason why Rulke should agree to his proposal, if the construct was ready to be used.

He could feel its presence from where he stood. He was drawn to it. It hung in the room, neither suspended nor yet touching the floor. He must touch it, and Llian did, and though it floated there, seemingly it had the mass of a mountain, for it did not even shiver when his timorous hand met its curved flank. But Llian trembled and fireworks burst inside his skull, making him dizzy. For a moment he could not remember what he was doing here. He nearly fell. Then he took his hand away and the construct was just an alien thing of metal again.

A snatch of music drifted up the stair, a haunting wail. Llian felt dizzy, sick and weak, his silly scheme coming apart. What if Rulke found him here, unprepared? Suddenly he heard a clamor below. A flare raced across the sky; he could see it through the window. What was going on? Limping to an embrasure he looked out toward the yard. As the flare died he saw a tall figure running along the wall, then it leapt into the night. It might have been Tallia. Another flare lit up the sky. So they had been followed from Gothryme.

Well, the diversion was welcome, whatever the source. He needed a few minutes to recover his composure. Crouching down behind the wall, he took deep breaths, willing himself into the right state of mind. The mind of a teller, the greatest of the age. Beyond even that, the persona of the character he must be to succeed at this. Arrogant, bold, even reckless. And totally convincing.

There came a footfall on the steps. Llian screwed his courage tighter. He was as ready as he would ever be.

Rulke came up slowly, smiling. Even the way he moved had menace. His surprise at seeing Llian there was so momentary as to be almost undetectable. He did not check, nor did anything show on his face, but Llian saw that he was put off-balance and took a little heart from it. At the same time, Rulke's offers in the Nightland came flooding back. The greatest knowledge of the world. How tempting it was!

"So, you have come! A clever diversion. Tallia is a worthy assistant to Mendark. Perhaps the student will in time surpass the master if she can bring you in my front door undetected."

Llian's training had given him a certain mastery of his face, so he did not react to this.

"You've brought her then? Just in time! In the morning the Ghashad were going down to rip Karan out of Gothryme."

It was just a question, no power or force behind it. The tone of one conspirator to another. Yet Llian could barely restrain himself from screaming out: Yes, yes, I've brought her, she's hiding there behind that wall. Perhaps Rulke already knew.

Llian stepped forward, assuming a facade that he did not at all feel, drawing it on like a second skin. Arrogant. Insolent. Cocksure. Rulke had stopped two steps below the top and their faces were on a level.

"I have not," Llian said, and in a gesture of calculated indifference he leaned on the top rail of the stair, looked down past Rulke and yawned. Rulke was not moved, but his carmine eyes narrowed and in a gesture equally lazy he put out his fist and began to squeeze it tight. The pain began in Llian's head, but after what he had felt before it was only token pain; he was better placed to resist it now. His arrogant persona shrugged off the pain, though inside he worried that Karan would sense it and come out. He put out his own hand, the fingers up. Stop!

Rulke was intrigued. He withdrew his hand. The pain was gone. "This is a change from a few days back."

"Perhaps what you sensed a few days back was only what I wanted you to," said Llian. He screwed his courage up another notch, made himself more arrogant; more insolent yet. "I have an offer," he said.

Rulke laughed with genuine amusement.

"Or rather," Llian continued, "I should say, a wager. A challenge!"

"I make no bargains," Rulke said. "You will give her to me anyway."

"I give you: nothing! I did not bring her. I am not such a fool. But I can. She is utterly captivated by me. She will do anything for me now."

Llian was very convincing. In her hiding place, Karan winced.

"But you cannot find her. At least, not in time." Llian was gambling that Rulke's need for Karan was urgent, that he required her for some purpose related to the construct, and the opportunity must be taken now. But if he was wrong, if Rulke had time enough ...

"I can destroy you with such agony as none have ever experienced," said Rulke, pounding one fist into the other with a smack that echoed off the walls. "I will have her."

"I know what you can do. Who does not? But destroying me does not get you Karan. She has a thousand hiding places in Bannador-your people failed to find her before, remember. I am a gambler, though. We can be of benefit to one another, and get some amusement from this situation as well. You have been locked up for a thousand years. Let me entertain you with my proposition. You have something that I want. You made an offer back in the Nightland. The best bargain is where both parties get what they want."

"The best bargain is where I get what I want and you are reduced to slavery," said Rulke gruffly, yet Llian could see that he was intrigued. "Make your proposition."

"I challenge you to a telling! We each have skills in this arena. Should you win, I give her to you. Should I win, you give me what I want, which you know is the Renderer's Tablet that will allow me to decipher the Charon script, and rid me of this curse you put on me."

"Two prizes! For one who bargains from a position of such weakness you are truly arrogant."

"I am a professional. I must have my fee."

Rulke roared with laughter. "You amuse me, teller. I'm glad you came. But the Tablet-that secret may be given to none!"

"Then it will be all the more valuable for me. You offered it before, remember. Besides, it belongs to the past, while you are the future of Santhenar."

"Once given it cannot be taken back. Who knows what the future holds. The damage that could be done to our species is too great. Anyhow," Rulke rubbed his jaw, considering, "I find the scales to be out of balance. What more can you offer?"

"If I lose, I will give myself as well."

"The scales do not even quiver! If you lose, I will have you anyway."

"A willing servant is worth a hundred slaves. I think I could provide you with some small amusement."

"Even so, I would not give away the secret of our script for so puny a servant, so little an amusement."

Llian was about to make a better offer, his final, when caution prevailed. This was going too fast and Rulke was controlling it. He must not seem too eager. Llian shrugged. "I can wait," he said. "I would dearly love to have the Tablet but I can spend my life without it. There is no fun in the wager if I have to risk a tell to win a grint."

"Yes, and I can wait for another thousand years if I have to. My need is nowise urgent."

They stared at each other. But could Rulke wait? And if he could, was he minded to? A thousand years is an eternity, and the wait might have given Rulke eternal patience. Or it might have broken it. What he did next would give him away. Llian was very skilled at sensing the mood of his audience, and he sensed that Rulke was lying. That it was urgent, that Rulke's opportunity would not come again for a very long time. But he must make himself impassive, emotionless. Llian began a tale in his mind, one so familiar that he could continue to tell it to himself even while his thoughts were elsewhere. It was a trick that he used sometimes to calm himself and blank out all outward expression.

Rulke was still staring. Llian lay down on the floor and closed his eyes. The tale reeled off in his mind. Surely Rulke did not know what to make of him. No enemy had ever behaved like this before, and he must be wondering if Llian had some power that he knew nothing about. The Zain had always been hard to read. Minutes went by.

"If you feel outclassed, I would be prepared to give you a handicap," Llian said quietly from the floor.

"I need no handicap!" Rulke roared. "I accept your challenge. My conditions are these: "One: The Ghashad will adjudicate. They are mine, you will say, yet their code of honor is rigid. They will judge fairly. There will be three judges. I believe that you have met them all before: Jark-un, Yetchah and Idlis. And Idlis, the least of them, shall preside. His vote will be counted only if the others disagree; "Two: If I win, I have her and you as well; "Three: If I lose, you go free and I permit you to have what you want, even her, though that would inconvenience me sorely. But should you choose the Tablet, that secret you must buy, and the price is Karan of Bannador.

"That is the offer. You have one minute to consider it. If you do not accept, I shall personally go to Bannador and bring her back. I have the time."

Had he won or lost this round? On the whole Llian felt that he was ahead. A greedy look came into his eyes but was quickly hidden. He considered aloud. "She has given me much sport and no little amusement. So much that I have become quite fond of her. I am minded to say that you ask too much."

"You're unconvincing, chronicler! I know how you lust for my knowledge. You compromised yourself back in the Nightland. Had you not done so, neither you nor Karan would be here now."

Llian was so shocked that he almost gave Karan away. How could Rulke know? Did he know? "She isn't here," he said.

"You have ten seconds," Rulke scowled.

"Then I accept your terms," Llian rushed out at the last moment, trying to look panicked. Rulke wasn't reacting the way he'd expected him to. "The amusement that she offers can be bought easily enough. No one can say that I didn't try to save her. Ah! But how we have tumbled, she and I.I will miss her for days!"

Behind her rock, Karan started. This stretched her promise to the limit.

"But Santhenar is bursting with young women eager for a chronicler such as I will be. For the Tablet I would give you my mother," and the naked greed burned in his eyes now. "No master chronicler has ever had such a prize. I will build my own college; Chanthed will be just an outhouse-"

"What do you take me for, chronicler?" Rulke said coldly.

The flow of words dried up, and the self-confidence. Llian looked like an uncertain boy.

"That kind of talk doesn't impress me," said Rulke. "If I believed it for a second I'd put you out the door. However, having seen you and Karan together, I know you're putting on an act. And it's a good act. Perhaps you are the one to tell the Histories of the Charon after all. The telling will show your quality. Let it begin!'

THE TELLING.

Rulke bounded down the stairs, calling for his Ghashad. Llian had an attack of nerves. Had he made things better, or worse? Previous experience suggested that Rulke was not without honor, but was he? He recalled Karan once saying that the Whelm did their master's will in all things. Did they still, now that they were Ghashad? And even if they judged fairly, what tale could he possibly tell that would move them more than their master's?

And what must Karan be thinking, crouched behind her slab? He had better win.

The judges had taken their stools. A dozen other Ghashad were assembled in two rows behind them-gaunt, cadaverous faces all much alike, save stocky, round-faced Jark-un. All were still; all silent. Rulke had changed his clothes-the black replaced by trousers and shirt of indigo silk, with a crimson sash and a flaring cape of the same color. The silk shimmered with every movement. He looked magnificent.

"My tale," said Rulke by way of preamble, "is not a tale of Santhenar. It is a tale of the distant past, when I was young and we were newly come to Aachan. Once we had a world but we lost it, treacherously cast into the void. Do you know about the void, chronicler?"

"Not as much as I'd like to," Llian murmured.

"It is a nightmare of savagery! A million kinds of creatures dwell there, each preying on the others, each changing constantly in a desperate attempt to survive. Intelligent creatures as well as mindless beasts. You know how great and powerful we Charon are, chronicler, but we were not good enough to survive the void. We died there, a million of us, dwindled to nothing. We were almost extinct! So we determined to conquer, to possess, to strike down the enemy first. Never to yield! Never to trust!"

He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up into Llian's eyes. "The tale-my tale-is how we found another world, and how we took it for ourselves. The tale is How the Hundred Conquered a World.

"How we hated our barren bright rock in the void," he cried in an over-loud voice, "where the sun-splash was like splinters through our eyeballs and the seas had boiled themselves into the air long ago, leaving only a gluey muck with the taste of clay. How we crouched there, clawing at the sky in our resentment and despair!

"Then a chance came-an opening to another planet. Someone looked out into the universe, and his inquisitiveness and his longing left a track that identified his world."

That had been Xesper the Aachim-Llian recalled Tensor cursing his name on the Dry Sea.