Save for that lack, it was idyllic.

Sam had never seen anything like it outside of a historical trideo or an art gallery.

"Comfy, don't you think?"

231.

Sam mastered his astonishment and turned to look at the canine sitting by his side. Dog grinned his dog- gish grin.

"I was beginning to think you were a waste of time."

"What is this place?" Sam asked.

"Here."

"I asked what, not where."

"So you did. Does it really matter?"

Sam chuckled. "Since it's all in my head, I suppose not."

Dog stood and began walking down the road away from the village."Am I supposed to follow you?"

"There are always choices, Samuel Verner called Twist. Make your own."

Sam did. He started out after Dog. The totem ani- mal began to trot, so Sam did too. Dog only ran faster.

"Hey, wait up," Sam called.

With looking back, Dog replied, "I don't wait for any man, man."

Sam bit back a response, saving his breath for run- ning. In all his years of raising and caring for ca- nines, Sam had learned that no man, not even a boy with boundless energy, could outrun a dog; the ani- mals always seemed to have more than enough speed to race circles around the slower humans. Sam ran as fast as he could, and to his surprise, the gap be- tween him and Dog closed. As he drew abreast of the racing animal, Dog grinned at him. Curiously, Sam felt unwinded.

"You've got a lot to learn," Dog announced.

' 'I know.''

"That's a start."

For hours they ran and walked and talked. Along the way, Dog taught him a new song.---------------------------------------------------------------

30.

"That's why I wanted to talk to you alone," Sam concluded.

Hart seemed edgy, as if something about his tale of his encounter with the Man of Light bothered her.

The nervous play of her fingers in her hair had increased as he told her what the Man had said. Her reaction unsettled him, eroding the confidence he had felt since he'd returned from Dog's green land. So he had edited the story and had not told her of what the Man had said about their relationship. What would she say if confronted with the Man of Light's story that their love was concocted by mind-controlling magics? Would she deny their love was forced upon them? He hoped she would, but he couldn't be sure. Even if she did profess a real love for him, would that be real or just an im- planted reaction?For a minute after he finished, she continued twist- ing ringlets into her errant locks. Then she tossed her head back, shaking her fashionably curled hair back into place, and gazed out over the rooftops as if searching for a response. He waited. No one would disturb them up here for a while, since Willie was sacked and Dodger still roaming the Matrix.

Without looking at him, she spoke.

"Whatever your apparition was, he was a liar. No- body is good enough to affect all three of us at once.

You maybe; you're still learning. But while Estios is an ass, he is a strong mage." She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. ' 'If something raped all of our minds that easily, I don't think I'd want to 233.

face it when it wasn't busy." Hart walked away from the edge of the rooftop and sat on the rusting hulk of a climate control unit. "But I don't think that'll be a problem."

' 'Why not? Are you sure that our memories of what we found at Glover's estate are correct?"

"Yours match mine," she said, as if that were con- firmation enough.She unslung her bag and dumped its contents onto the flat surface. She unholstered her onyx-handled Crusader machine pistol, laying the weapon by her side before fishing among the haphazard pile of matte black containers she had released from her bag. She chose the largest, the one which held her Crusader's accessories in custom-fitted compartments. She snapped open the lid and removed the cleaning kit.

Checking her gear was one of the ways she calmed her mind. Sam let her get the gun disassembled before he crossed the roof to continue the conversation.

*'If the Man of Light wasn't what he said he was, what was he?"

Hart shrugged and continued cleaning her weapon.

"Don't know. I'm not a shaman, but I've heard that some voyagers encounter a being that blocks the way to the higher planes, some kind of guardian they call the dweller. From the descriptions I Ve heard, it could look like anything, even your Man of Light. The way I figure it, this Man was the dwellera151and the dweller, like the tunnel and the totems, is a construct, a wayfor a mind to wrap itself around the possibilities of magic. All those things are just symbols for a mind structured toward a mystic rather than an hermetic approach."

That was what Sam had thought before he experi- enced the Man's presence and before his last conver- sation with Dog. How could Hart be so sure? She wasn't 234 Robert N. Charrette a shaman and had never talked with Dog. More im- portantly, she hadn't been there and felt what he had felt. The whole thing didn't add up unless the Man was telling the truth.

Sam watched Hart wipe clean the parts of the Cru- sader and begin reassembling them. Her hands moved with a practiced quickness; those slim fin- gers, whose touch he knew so well, deftly fitted the pieces together with a precision born of long habit.

Any turmoil that might be roiling her mind was sub- merged in the routine. To watch her was to see a professional machine that matched her reputation inevery particular.

Sam knew better. In their time together he had touched a different Hart, one that yearned for tender- ness and love as much as he did. She was hiding that need now, avoiding his eyes and his touch. He wished that he knew what to do, to say, but for all their inti- macy, there was a lot he still didn't know about her.

Then there was the doubt the Man had left in him.

Her own supposition that the Man was a barrier Sam had constructed for himself made him doubt his own feel- ings. He wanted reassurance that what he felt was real, not planted in his mind for someone's perverted plea- sure or, worse, a fantasy of his own to hide his guilt over violating Sally's trust.

' 'But if the Man of Light was a construct of my own mind, why would he claim he had altered my memo- ries?"

"I'm a runner, not a psychologist. Maybe you were projecting your fears and frustrations onto a conve-nient scapegoat. I know how much you hate that sha- manic mumbo-jumbo. Maybe you should just give it up. We could get out of this place; go somewhere else, where you could study hermetic magic."

"You were the one who suggested I work with Her- zog in the first place."

235.

"So maybe I was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time."

Her voice held an unfamiliar note of bitterness; it stung his heart. She had always banished his ill tem- pers with her sarcastic humor. Trying to use her own medicine, he laid a hand on her shoulder and quipped, "A rare confessional moment from the unequalled shadowrunner.''

"Don't push it, dogboy," she snapped, slapping away his hand.

Sam was taken aback. She was not acting like her- self at all. Something was seriously wrong. The only thing he could see was that she had lost confidencein him. Confidence and more. How did shadowrun- ning elves brush off their no-longer-interesting par- amours?

"Are you telling me now that you don't think I can cut it?"

"No, Sam," she said softly. For the first time since he began the tale of his power ritual, she met his gaze. Her bronze eyes glistened in the twilight. "I know better. You'll do all you can. That's the prob- lem."

Instead of continuing, she dropped her head and concentrated on her weapon.

"You're not making sense," he said.

He watched her bite her lower lip. When she spoke, her voice lacked her usual resolution.

"It's too dangerous, Sam. The payback's just not there."

' 'I thought you were a hot-shot runner.''

"That's not the point and you know it. The Hidden Circle is bad business. We were outclassed before Es-tios and his people went missing."

"I've got magic now and Dodger cutting a deal that'll get Willie all the combat drones she can handle.

We can do it."

236 Robert N. Charrette "We can get ourselves all killed. The druids have resources we can't match, and we no longer have the element of surprise. If they've taken Estios or one of his people, which is highly likely, they know who we are and what we can do. They'll be ready for us. Is that what you want? Are you trying to get us all killed?"

"I'm trying to see justice done. I'm trying to see that no more innocent people die to feed some luna- tics' ideas of the path to power. I'm trying to . . ."

"You're trying to get yourself killed," she said bit- terly.

"I don't want to die, Katherine. But I can't let those druids go on with what they are doing.""It's not worth it, Sam."

She finished reassembling the Crusader. He heard the soft click of plastic as she sought the magazine.

Sam took her by the shoulders, but she wouldn't look him in the eyes. He felt the movement in her arms as she loaded her weapon. The job was done and offered no more distraction. Only then did she meet his gaze.

"Are you asking me to run away, Katherine?"

"Would you if I did?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Yes, I do."

He felt her tense and looked down to see the Cru- sader pointed at his belly.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said.

Sam threw himself violently to his left. He felt the bullet snag his long coat. The smell of propellant harsh and accusatory in his nostrils, he vaulted over the climate control unit onto a lower level of the roof.

He ran toward a workshed that offered safety only afew meters away. Her second shot gouged the wall of the shed as he reached it. Sharp fragments of brick spattered into his cheek. He threw himself forward 237.

237.

and down, hoping that the sudden maneuver would spoil her aim as he tried to get out of her line of fire.

It was a vain hope. His body twisted as he felt a slug slam into his shoulder. Striking the rooftop out of con- trol, he scraped more skin from his already lacerated cheek. He tried to push himself up, but the muscles of his arms failed and he collapsed. His injured arm was numb and cold. He managed to roll over onto his back as she approached him, gun held ready. Her eyes were sad, but her jaw was clenched with determina- tion.

Feeling betrayed, he blacked out.

PART 3

A New Twist in the Game

31.

The chittering voices of the leshy grated on Hart's nerves. Hart knew her nervousness was adding to the irritation caused by the humanoids. Irritated or not, she had never liked them or their leafmold smell.

However, they were the best choice for the task of carrying the bier on which Sam's body lay. Though the body was concealed beneath a cloth-covered framework, the bearers would know what they carried.

The other servants of the Seelie Court would spread gossip. Of course, the leshy would too, but few cour- tiers ever bothered to pay attention to leshy babblings.

So far she had managed to avoid undue notice since her arrival in Ireland. Bambatu had arranged forthe landing pad to be deserted. No doubt he'd had a hand in ensuring that the passages through which she passed were nearly empty as well. The few courtiers she en- countered either were too busy with their own business to pay much attention to the covered bier, or were cowed by her cold stare. No one hindered her passage.

The designated court was one of a myriad of open spaces in the gloomy half-forest, half-palace that was Lady Deigh's stronghold. A soft, sourceless light de- fined a circle just over three meters in diameter. The 242.

Robert N. Charrette rest of the court was shrouded in darkness. Its floor was moss-covered earth, and Hart sensed great boughs arching over her head, although she could see nothingin the darkness above her.

The rectangular doorway through which they en- tered the clearing seemed to vanish after they passed through. Hart walked to the circle and stopped on the far side. The leshy carrying the bier almost tumbled their burden to the ground in their haste to stop when she did. She ordered them to set it down and dismissed them. Like children released from school, they scat- tered, laughing, in all directions.

The clearing grew quiet. The leshy hadn't used the doorway to leave, but Hart suspected she would find the darkness impenetrable.

Hart drank in the silence, using its power to calm herself. Before long, a new rectangle appeared, fram- ing an elven woman. The backlighting silhouetted her slim figure through the diaphanous gown she wore.

Hart felt a twinge of envy at the perfection of line and form in the woman's body. For all the illusion in which her court was cloaked, Lady Brane Deigh used none to improve her own appearance.The Lady stepped forward and the rectangle van- ished, restoring the illumination in the clearing to its original low level. She acknowledged Hart's bow with a slight nod of her head, but her eyes remained fixed on the covered bier as she crossed through the dark- ness and into the light. As soon as Deigh reached the bier, she drew back the cloth.

"He breathes."

The surprise Hart had hoped to engender was absent from the Lady's voice. Instead there was a slight hint of annoyance. A dangerous hint. Lady Diegh turned her face to Hart, her green eyes almost luminous.

"Is this how you fulfill your orders, milessaratish? "