"There is a brook over that way," Dewar said.

"It'll be mucked. Those dirty animals."

"Hm, true. Further in the wood it will be cleaner. We'll get more water tonight."

Freia nodded. "And for now?"

"We lie low." He looked around. "Up there's probably best. Trixie will surely let us know if anyone comes investigating."

With difficulty, they climbed the haystack and settled down on it. The sun was risen, red and swollen, a baleful cyclopean glare on their hiding-place.

The tension and strain of the flight had wearied them both. They slept before the sun had changed from red to gold.

29.DEWAR WOKE WITH A START, UNSURE where he was, and remembered: he was on Prospero's trail with a gryphon and her rider. At the moment he was on a haystack with the Sorcerer and a (jentteman 333.

latter, around whose back he was curled. She was holding his hand loosely. Her rump was tucked against his crotch, a pleasant feeling to which he was not insensitive. The air was cold, but he was surprisingly cozy due to the doubling of their body heat.

He smiled. She liked him, he was sure. She wasn't unlika-ble herself. This could get better, even without a featherbed. They were warm here under blankets in the hay. It wasn't windy, as in Ascolet. Wonderful animal, the gryphon-they had travelled more than three hundred miles.

Freia sighed heavily. Her fingers pressed his and relaxed. Dewar moved his hand flat against her body-she'd removed her jacket to use it for a pillow. Her shirt was silky. She smelled of hay and female musk, complicated odors that pleased his nose.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Mmhm." She squirmed a little and then rested against him again.

Dewar spoke low in her ear. "Sleep well?"

"Woke up a lot." She sighed, eyes still closed. "Worrying."

He took his hand away from her sternum and began rubbing her neck beneath the thick fuzzy braid of hair which had been hidden under the jacket. Freia sighed again. Dewar smiled to himself.

"Thank you," she murmured when he had gently kneaded the muscles in her shoulders.

He lay against her back as he had when they slept, but his hand was on her hip now. "You're welcome."

Freia's breathing was quicker than resting pace.

"Dewar," she said with another deep sigh, and turned; he kept his arm around her as she did. The sun was low, the loft dull.

"Mm." Under his hand, smooth shirt and firm waist; some resilient and warm part of her was just touching his chest, and her hip and thighs were tangled with his, softness against hardness. He pressed against her, a wordless but unmistakable suggestion.

334.

T&zabeth 'Wittey Freia swallowed nervously. "You ... urn ... are you . . . are you trying to ... urn ..."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, a pleasant giddiness in his head. "Yes."

"Ohhh." Freia touched his face, and he took her hand and began kissing her fingers: salty, warm. Her palm: small, a few calluses, a dimpled hollow.

"Am I succeeding?" A small lick on her wrist. He undid the cuff b.u.t.ton.

"Ah. I'm not sure it's a good idea. Oh. Please. Let me think. Just now."

"Thought kills action," murmured Dewar, and kissed her wrist where the quick pulse trembled. "Mm?"

"Oh. Please. Stop. Please."

"Surely. There." He held her hand, breathing into her cupped palm.

"Oh," Freia sighed, biting her lip, and shivered. She tensed. He waited. "I think we should do what we're supposed to be doing," she said at last. "And I'm not sure about you. And you're so ... so nice, so handsome, but I'm not sure. I don't know you."

"You like me, though?"

"Yes."

"You have good judgement in other things. Trust it now."

"Flatterer," she said, warmly. "No. I shouldn't."

"We may never know one another better than we do now," Dewar said regretfully. "Ah well. I like you, more than I thought I did. You're sweet as a nut, Freia: p.r.i.c.kly and rough, but smooth and warm inside." He was surprised at how disappointed he felt, and he realized that he wanted her urgently. He hadn't expected a No. She was preoccupied by Prospero; if he pressed now, likely he would spoil his chances later. He kissed her palm softly and closed her fingers over it. "There."

"Not easy to crack, either," Freia said, and touched his cheek. His beard was rough; she smoothed it down with two fingers. "Later? Couldn't we- Afterward?"

Sorcerer and a (jentfeman 335.

"Madame, though I am a sorcerer, I do not engage in trade."

She was stiff. "I'm not bargaining," she said coldly.

"Sorry. Freia. I didn't mean you were. No." Dewar took her hand in his. "I didn't mean that." He wasn't sure what he'd meant; it had come out, a memory of Lunete prompting it, perhaps.

"Did you think I'd be an easy tumble?" she demanded, a sharp note marring the peace.

"No," he whispered.

"My father would-" but she stopped herself, took a deep breath. "It's none of his business," she added. "Maybe."

Dewar caught the word, correlated it. Utrachet, she had cried. Her father? Possibly. He might be wise to stay away from a girl with such a father as Prospero's second. "Freia, no insult intended. Accept my apology for the unintentional slur, ill-chosen words from a thoughtless mind. I did not and do not think of you as an easy tumble. I thought of pleasure to both of us." Anger crept into his voice: frustration and rejection gripped his heart.

"Dewar," she said, more gently, leaning near him, trying to see his face in the poor light. "I don't mean to insult you either.'1 He shook off the irritation. "This," he said, and took her hand again, smiling, "is what comes of lying too much together, madame." He folded his hands around hers.

"You're right."

"For too-cold winters engender heat."

She was smiling too; he heard it in her voice and saw her face move, a hand's-breadth away. "Pretty. Poetic."

"Hackneyed, Freia."

The smile still warmed her words: "But fitting. Can't a cliche be new, once in a while?"

"The frequency is what makes it cliche. I shall invoke another cliche by mentioning cold water, namely that brook and our own thirst for its contents."

336.

'E&zabeth "Dewar. Later? Afterward?" she urged him gently, hope in her voice.

He wryed his mouth for lost opportunity, and perhaps for a narrow escape. Women invariably wanted more than simple pleasure out of these things; Lunete transparently had. "I may have to leave suddenly after meeting Prospero."

"You said you weren't-"

"He may not like what I say to him, madame."

"If I can make him like it I will." Her hand pressed his.

The stars forfend she should fall in love with him, Dewar thought, drawing away a little. "Would that be in your power?" The intimacy of darkness, of proximity: it still held them.

"I could try it and see. I don't know. He is a difficult man to approach, but he can be very kind, very generous, for no reason at all. Princes, faugh." Freia's voice was disdainful.

Dewar chuckled. "Indeed."

They sat poised an instant.

"I'd like- It's just- I'm sorry," she said softly, and dropped his hand and turned away.

Dewar realized she was: that she regretted that her duty interfered with dalliance, and that she had heard his own second thoughts in his voice. Freia was shaking her blankets awkwardly, and before he could say anything more she had gone, slipping and sliding down the hay.

Dewar floundered through the hay and dusted himself off at the bottom. He felt as if he'd rejected her, rather than the other way around, and wondered if he should have kissed her rather than accept her refusal. The gryphon was crunching up bones; she had killed again. Freia shook out the blankets and rolled them up, took an apple from her bag and ate it in a few bites, quickly, hardly chewing, her movements quick and tense.

"Have some cheese," she said, and shared the last of her lump of hard stuff with him, giving him the larger piece. "That's it," she added, "a few more apples, nothing else." Her voice rang falsely cheerful.

He bit a winy bruised apple. "Next time Trixie hunts, take Sorcerer and a (jentteman 337.

a cut." Somehow, he had to smooth things over. She was too valuable to alienate, and besides he did like her. Kind and generous for no reason at all: herself. Dewar ate the apple core. He had devoured most of her provisions since they'd met, more generosity he could not repay. She had placed him under gossamer obligations, delicate strands made of unpriced gifts. They constrained him as much as an overt agreement, or more, with their subtle charge of duty owed.

Freia put the slack saddlebags on the gryphon, which was sanguine in the dying light, tightening straps with brusque tugs.

Dewar stood behind her and put his hands on her arms as she turned around. "Freia," he said, and kissed her mouth.

She was startled, and then she sighed and closed her eyes as he closed his, accepting and returning the gesture. The sky was full dark when he opened his eyes and straightened again.

"Thank you," Dewar said huskily. It had been as intense as making love to Lunete-slow and deep, vertiginously falling into her. They were both half-panting. He wanted to pull her down and finish it at once. He could not remember having wanted anyone so much, so quickly, so deeply.

"Welcome," Freia whispered, dazed, half-leaning on him still.

He stroked her face with both hands and repeated, "Thank you." Perhaps now was the right time after all- The gryphon churrupped, an odd sound Dewar had not heard her make before.

Freia lowered her hands from Dewar slowly, turning away. "Trix?"

The gryphon was staring into the wood.

"Let's go," Freia decided. "Something's up."

"Up?"

She stared, like the gryphon, at the woods. "Happening. I have a feeling-" Freia bounded to the gryphon and jumped on; Dewar, with practiced ease now, mounted be- 338.

*Edza6etfi hind her. Trixie trotted into the field, then hurled herself into the air, spiralling up. On high, the sunset still stained the west; the stars were coming out.

Cold air dried Dewar's throat. He embraced Freia, who was taut and attentive as they climbed, and looked at the dark ma.s.s of the forest.

"No, it's - " he began, as they veered from the course indicated by the spelled pipe.

"Trix wants to go this way!" Freia said over her shoulder.

There was a light in that direction, on the other side of the bristling forest, up the river.

"Perendlac!" cried Dewar, as they came nearer, miles later.

"Prospero!" Freia replied.

The line of force between Golias and the pipe was moving: it was ahead of them, at Perendlac. Golias had been elsewhere, but was there now.

Trixie was pouring it on, her wings thundering.

"Higher!" Dewar advised Freia, and she pulled the gryphon upward. They soared over the fortress, which was on a bluff overlooking the confluence of the two rivers. Inside was tumult; Freia allowed the gryphon to descend slightly and they saw fires burning in several places, stone-shattering moving white-hot fires Dewar identified at once as Elemental in origin. Salamanders. Prospero was there, somewhere; potent sorcery whorled about the place in a vortex. The central tower rose, irregularly red-lit by fire within and without.

Freia was peering into the smoke and disorder, muttering to herself or Trixie.

Dewar didn't realize what she meant to do until she was doing it. There was a flowing movement of men, running toward one of the fires where there was fighting, a knot of men trying to surround another, attacking - "What are you doing!" he screamed as Trixie folded her wings with a screech and plummeted.

Freta didn't answer; she had her crossbow in one hand, hanging on to Trixie's harness with the other.

Sorcerer and a Qentteman 339.

Dewar tried to relax to take the shock of a rough landing and put one hand on his sword. She was going to land right on- -the knot of uniformed men collapsed; the gryphon began ripping and rending anything in reach, and Freia was doing the same herself, one-handed with a long knife, using the crossbow as a shield and a club.

"Argylle!" roared a voice Dewar knew at once.

Freia shouted something and the gryphon reared back. Dewar slid down its rump and found himself facing three soldiers in Landuc livery. He drew.

d.a.m.n the woman- The three men were dead; now he was carried around the tower in a press of men who had obviously been prisoners, surging toward the fire which Dewar recognized to be a huge Way.

Trixie was ripping, biting, and disembowelling still, with Freia impeding a fresh attack from the garrison, swinging the crossbow. They were surrounded by Landuc's men.

"Argylle!" Prospero bellowed again. "To me!"

"Papa!" Dewar heard Freia shout, a thin, breathless cry lost in tumult.