"Good night, then. Rest thee well."

The whole business, he thought, closing and locking her door, was enough to make a man gag on his own breath. Prospero would find some way to make Avril pay Hel! for it. And Otto and Golias? Death for them, at best.

' Dewar, hard on the Third Force's trail in western Ascolet, looked at the deepening blue of the heavens and wondered where he could stop for the night. He had no map of the area, but any fool knew that inns were few and far between in the bush-through which he had been riding on a weak Ley on which path the Third Force appeared to travel in an overlay-and more common on the Emperor's highways. He had crossed such a highway at midday.

His dilemma was complicated slightly by the knowledge that if he was seen in an inn and recognized by one of Ottaviano's people, there would more than likely be an incident of the sort both a sorcerer and a gentleman of quiet habits would prefer to avoid. Dewar's horse, who had been drinking at a stream while his master thought about beds and mulled wine, blew and shook his head, jingling harness.

The area was not uninhabited. If he continued along this Ley by the stars' light, he was likely to come on another road, or a cot and a barn, or something more sheltered than the frozen earth and dry snow.

He nudged the horse and they climbed a ridge slantwise, dark trunks and the pallid snow monochromatic around them. At the ridgetop, the Ley ran on, and two streams seized by ice lay to either side below; Dewar could sense them without seeing. The horse went more quickly, but cautiously on account of the dark. Dewar pulled him up and took out his staff, and a few minutes later they had the company of an indignant little ignis bound to the end of it.

"... ay .. ." came a bleating sound from the dark gully below the ridge.

Dewar's horse p.r.i.c.ked his ears and looked toward it.

"Some dumb sheep," Dewar said. "I'm sick of mutton. Gee."

The horse began walking forward. Between his steps, the sound rose again, louder.

"Hey!"

Dewar frowned.

"Hey! Help!" shouted the man's voice, weak but carrying.

"Oh, h.e.l.l," Dewar said.

The horse waited again, uncertain.

"I suppose it would be bad luck to leave him there," Dewar said. "He'd curse us or something. Though they're pretty ignorant of that hereabouts. Come on, Cinders. Humph, and he can give us hospitality for the night in return. Yes." He raised his voice. "Hey yourself!"

"Help! I ..." the voice faded.

"You hurt?"

"Can't . . . move," the voice replied.

It was a rustic who'd fallen and hurt himself, Dewar supposed, probably chasing a dumb sheep. He turned the horse and began descending the ridge aslant as before, listening. At the bottom, he called, "So where are you?" ; "Here . . . here . . . near the brook ..." ,'; He was east of Dewar. Cinders had harder going here; it

was stonier and icier than the other side. Dewar dismounted and they proceeded carefully, by ignis-light, together.

"That's not a-" began the voice, much nearer, and Dewar recognized it as the light showed him Ottaviano, Baron of Ascolet, tied to a tree. A trio of huge black birds, ;* screaming disappointment in rasping voices, flapped up into ''.' the branches above the stubble-bearded Baron and sneered * down at him. There were large-pawed, long-clawed footprints in a circle around the tree, close to Otto.

"Well, well," Dewar said, and stopped. - A bow and a quiver of arrows hung from another tree.

400.

< p="">

"Dewar. For love of life, untie me. I've been here two days. I'm frozen. And I'm perishing of thirst." Hoa.r.s.e and white-faced, Otto still looked healthier than he ought. Dewar suspected he had drawn on the Well to preserve himself.

"Why?"

"Why?" repeated Otto. "It snowed yesterday, I can't feel my hands-"

"Why should I untie you-hm. Interesting tattoo you've got." Otto's throat and collar were stained with blood. Dewar leaned closer, looking at the marks, holding the light near so that the tree-limbs' writhing fretwork above was illuminated from below. The birds sat just beyond the sphere of light, watching, striking their bills on the ringing wood.

"I'll tell you, but untie me! What have I done to you?"

"Shall I make a list?"

"Dewar! Please!" Otto whispered. "Please. Oaths, rewards in my power to give, deeds-name it-it's yours-"

Dewar studied him by the light of the ignis. "I imagine being bound to a tree in a wilderness for a couple of days gives a man a degree of perspective on life," he said.

"It does." Otto's lips were cracked and parched. The brook gurgled under thin ice like white porcelain two paces from him. Apparently his sorcery didn't extend that far.

"What have you concluded, then, from your new contemplative and detached-sorry-viewpoint?"

"Life is better than the alternative."

"You thought differently before?"

"Dewar-" he moaned.

Dewar shrugged and half-turned to go.

"Don't go!" rasped Otto. "No! I thought no differently."

"So it has confirmed you in views and habits you already had."

Otto stared at him.

"I think I'll leave you there, then, Otto, because your views on life seem to involve parting me from mine. I cannot Sorcerer and a Qentteman 401.

support you in that." Dewar smiled, bowed, and turned to go again.

"No! No! I'll swear-Dewar, no!"

"What would you swear, Otto? And would it be worth the breath you blow past your teeth to say it?" Dewar folded his arms, his staff in the crook of his elbow.

"Nonaggression-I won't attack you again, that was stupid and-and I won't-won't-"

"You'll not interfere with me, either."

"I won't interfere. Whatever that means."

"You'll not speak of me to anyone else, on pain of suffocation in your next breath."

"I won't squeal, lest the air leave me."

Dewar drummed his fingers on his forearm. "You'll not-let's see. Oh, I don't know, that seems to address all the major annoyances. You won't plot against my life, nor collude with anyone else-"

"No! I won't! I swear it!"

"And you'll buy me a bed and whatever pa.s.ses for a decent meal in this wasteland tonight."

"It's a bargain."

"Very well," Dewar said, and drew his sword to cut the ropes. "This is sorcerer's work," he observed, meeting opposition stronger than hemp. "Who put you here?"

It was the custom for Emperor Avril to take breakfast with his Privy Council each morning. Little was actually eaten, so little that most of the members broke their fast beforehand or after and tasted only token samples at the Emperor's table. The meetings were held in a long, many-windowed room, which was furnished with a table, sideboards, chafing-dishes, and a dumbwaiter to the kitchen. It would have been pleasant room for breakfast had the Emperor not been using it for Privy Council meetings, as it looked out on a long vista at the end of which a little white summerhouse and a corner of one of the ponds could just be seen. The day after Gaston spoke to the hostage, the Emperor 402.

< p="">

"Well, well," the Emperor said softly.

"Well, in sooth," Prospero replied. "Why hast thou got my strayed-lamb daughter?" He crumpled the agenda disdainfully, a single crushing gesture, and tossed it to one side; it landed in the fire. The sorcerer stood and dusted crumbs from his fingers daintily.

"Daughter," the Emperor said. "Our family is a strange one, isn't it. That would be our niece of whom you speak."

"I know Ottaviano had her; I know Golias took her; and I know Gaston, thy trained duck-dog, fetched her hither. I even know well-nigh where she is."

"Then spirit her away, sorcerer."

"Someone hath been busy there," Prospero said.

The Emperor smiled.

"Oriana," Prospero said, "of her vanity, cannot resist a certain visiting-card mark on ail her handiwork. Using blood in the binding was mortally clever of her."

"She thought so. There was no lack of it to use."

Prospero whitened. "What did she charge thee?"

"She was delighted to oblige us gratis, having been crossed by you in some matter quite recently. -So you'd like to see our little treasure, would you?"

Prospero left the crumb-littered high seat and was in front of the Emperor in three rapid steps. A cold wind came with him and settled around the Emperor as Prospero grabbed his lacy shirt-front.

As Prospero's hand closed on the fabric, the Emperor kicked the door to his left, shouting, "Guards!"

Three entered, weapons drawn; something touched the small of Prospero's back. He was not unprotected, but he was in the enemy's camp, and the enemy had something he wanted.

Sorcerer and a (jentkman 403.

"Would you prefer to see her dead," the Emperor asked somewhat breathlessly, "or alive?"

Prospero put his brother down slowly. The Emperor straightened his garments and the guards held ready in a long, exquisite moment of tension. The Emperor smiled.

"Accompany Prince Prospero to Prince Gaston, with our compliments. He desires to view his daughter."

"Papa!" screamed the girl, and hurled herself against the doorway, which flashed and repulsed her.

Prospero cursed a blue streak, commending Oriana to the attention of a number of ills. Gaston, who was in the room with her, helped his prisoner up. She was wild-eyed, the first emotion beyond immobilizing fear he had seen in her.

"Prospero . . ." she quavered.

"Touch't not!" Prospero ordered her, waving her back from Oriana's Bounds.

"Where've you been?" the girl wailed in accented Lan-nach, shrugging Gaston away and coming as close as she could to Prospero without hitting the Bounds.

"Seeking thee-"

"I looked for you! I looked and looked! I looked everywhere-"

Prospero looked grey, ill. "Puss, Puss, calm thee, calm thee. Shshsh. Now I'm here, thou'rt found."

His daughter nodded, holding the doorjamb. "Can I go home?" she whispered.

"Not yet. I-I must know-" Prospero stopped and went on, "what the price of thy going shall be."

She was perfectly still.

"Art well, Freia?" Prospero said, his voice shaking.

Gaston marked it: she had a name.

"No. I want to go home."

"Not yet," Prospero said. "Soon."

"Papa, I was good. I didn't tell them anything. I didn't tell anyone. Anything. Papa. Please, I want to go home," Freia said, her voice rising.

"I know. I know. I must contrive it, Freia. I wished first to see that all's right with thee."

404 -=.

"I'm not all right! I want to go home!" She punched the Bounds, leaving her fist there in the painful flare until Gas-ton grabbed her away.

The Fireduke held her arms, not meeting his brother's eyes. "Don't hurt thyself, child." He had never seen Prospero show such concern and pain before; it startled him.

"Let me go! I want to go home!" she shrieked at him.

"Freia!" yelled Prospero. "Command thyself!"

"Papa! I want to go home, Papa!" Freia squirmed free of Gaston again and hugged the doorjamb. "Please," she said in a tiny voice. "Oh, please . . ."

"Puss, thou'rt hostage. They'll ask much for thee. I must treat with the Emperor. Dost understand?" Prospero said to her.

She nodded.