"What, what?"

"Oil, there in the house. Did pay gold weight for it."

Naiton tossed the order to the crowd. "Someone go fetch their oil. The trading's done. You have your goods.

When you have more need and more gold, you can come back. But now take the other whore and get out."

Less of a bully than too used to his word being law, Naiton was surprised when the tiny woman didn't budge.

He'd thought earlier her eyes were a queer kind of gray, but not true. They were black now, huge, no whites to them at all. and unswerving from his. The intensity might have unsettled a more sensitive man. She seemed to be sifting through the essence of him to find his center.

"We are both leaders, Naiton, and should not bleat at each other like smal! bairn."

"You tittie . . ." Half angry, half amused at the mite of her: barely more than a child and presuming to be his equal. He was holding the confiscated knife; lifting it in advertently, he saw Dorelei flinch slightly and make a furtive sign. Naiton grinned.

"Afraid of it, aren't you? You know our magic is stronger than yours. See?" His hand darted out and laid the flat of the black blade against her bare arm. Doretei Jerked visibly, recoiling.

"Out, woman. And take the rest with you. Out!" Naiton pushed through the crowd and strode away.

"Whores," someone muttered.

"Get the Faerie out of here."

"They will curse the bairn. Nae, keep the bairn from them."

The Taixali women were in an ugiy mood. Cru caught Padrec's eye and jerked his head toward Guenloie. Padrec reached the giri as the first stones flew. A sharp pebble zaught Guenloie just under the eye. Padrec covered her with his back, but he recognized the thrower-the slat- ternly woman who'd brought her baby for Faerie magic.

Lord keep me from the temptation to hate them.

Now that real danger was passed, the women needed to vent their spleen and frustration on a safe target. They 127.

began to throw bigger stones. Padrec gasped as one struck his shoulder, bruising it to the bone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neniane dart in, scoop up the amphora of oil and scurry away to her pony.

"Cru, gel Dorelei out of here! Guenloie, come. Come, now . . ."

Covering the shaking girl with his body, Padrec moved as quickly as he could toward the horses. Cuenloie's mouth quivered, but it was set. She would not let these people see her pain or shame. Then they were by the ponies, and Drust moved to cover Guenloie on the other side. She mewed sickly at the blood seeping from his arm with no sign of slowing.

"Blackbar knife, husband," she said in a crushed little voice. "Will not heal."

"Nae. nae. Will."

Dorelei stared down coldly at her cousin, holding her arm where the knife had touched it. "Did tell thee, Guenloie," she said in a voice full of terminal judgment.

"Did warn thee."

Padrec just stared at her: Dorelei was blaming her cousin as much as the Taixaii, but there was no time to consider right or wrong. Some of the younger boys were drifting closer, like purposeful jackals. "Go ahead," he said. "We'll follow. There, Guenloie, will be well. Come now, come."

The Taixali boys edged even closer, excited, eager for their share in the rout.

"Ha!"

One of them ran forward at Dorelei, brandishing a bright-painted arrow with a broad iron head. "Here, Fa- erie. Good. Take it. Take-"

Dorelei's gaze turned on him almost languidly. The boy froze. His arm, brandishing the arrow, faltered to his side.

"Thee would not," Dorelei murmured in a lulling tone like a caress. "Thee will not." She turned her pony and rode through the gale with Cru after her, the rest of fhain following. Seeing to Drust and Dorelei, Padrec was the last to Hip the reins over his horse's ears. He didn't see the boy steal behind him until the inane giggle insulted his ears.

128 "Ha. Faerie. Look; iron. Magic. Iron."

Padrec turned with a surge of irritation. "Yes?"

Again the silly, pattering laugh from the boy, with the others snickering behind him. "Iron. Take it. Faerie- Take it."

"If you insist." Padrec grasped the arrow, pointedly kissed the iron head, broke the shaft in neat halves, and returned the feathered end with poisonous courtesy. "No, you see, it won't always work. She's stronger than you, and I'm Catholic." He mounted and heid up the arrow. "The blessing of my God on you." And may He spare you the sorrow of age and pardon my wish.

The stockade gate thudded shut behind him as he cantered after the forlorn trio of Drust, Malgon, and Guenloie, whose distracted concern was torn between the wound of one husband and the disgust of the other.

"Did naught, Malgon," she protested tearfully. "Only bargained for oil."

"True," Drust sputtered. "A tried to touch her like Guenloie was one of a's own pig-women." He broke off, fumbling at the wound across his arm. "Do iack word for such men."

"Could offer one but will not." Padrec gave his atten- tion to Guenloie. Her shame and confusion broke forth in a fresh flood of tears-

"Why dost Dorelei speak so? Did naught."

None of them knew why, but later for that. Drust still bled.

"Will nae stop," Guenloie quavered over the wound.

"Was made of Blackbar. Was cursed."

Then Malgon pointed suddenly. "Padrec! Throw't away."

In the confusion, Padrec had forgotten to discard the iron arrowhead. He galloped out a few paces from them and hurled it as far as he could, hearing it clink against a rock. Guenloie gathered a few broad leaves from plants on the heath and deftly folded them into a makeshift bandage over a handful of moss, while Drusl glared at the stockade palings. Padrec's hean went out to him-only fifteen, wounded and humiliated, needing very much to be a man in front of his brother-husband and the wife 129.

who worked over his arm with al! the love in her hands, fighting back tears of rage so close to the surface.

"Padrec, Gern-y-fhain be wrong.'1'

"Hold still," Guenloie sniffled. "Must bind thy brave arm."

Drust twisted about, beseeching the other men to know the sharper pain he felt. He found no words of his own, only the seared music of a beleaguered king. "My soul ... be among wolves. Do lie down with them whose teeth be arrows. But my heart is fixed, 0 God. My heart is fixed."

The Fifty-seventh Psalm as Drusl remembered it, not perfect, but shaped to his need. He held Guenloie while they both shook, and Maigon embraced them both in silence. Drust might love his wife with the more desperate need, but Malgon understood both of them, which was the greater burden. Padrec felt a deep shame for his own kind. Tallfolk? Wherefore tall?

About a mile from the village, in a small draw be- tween two low hills, fhain waited for them-hovered rather, poised behind Dorelei, who sat her pony in coiled fury, still holding her arm.

"GuenYoie, have told thee more than once to turn aside from tallfolk men."

Guenloie bowed her head. "Did naught, Doreiei."

"Thee speaks to thy gern. Naught? Do know thy naught. So proud of thy Taixaii blood thee flaunts it for all, even among them, with thy weak little smiles all come-hither."

"Do swear on Mother, did not."