"And if they should still have with them your own sword. .

"Dragonslicer. Or, the Sword of Heroes, so Hermes told me.

Yes, it may be there too."

Draffut took a little time to consider before he spoke again.

"Would you be willing to make the trip on the back of a large landwalker? I can influence them, as you have already seen.

But they are somewhat less docile and dependable than the flying dragons. Also I fear that the journey would probably take longer that way, several days at least."

"Are there no boats to be had here in the swamp? No people living here at all?" Nestor was sure that there were at least a few, grubbing around in savage conditions. "If it comesdown to the choice, I'll try to carve my own boat out of a log and paddle it out, rather than depend again on the whim of any dragon. Regardless of what spells you may be able to put on them."

"I put no spells on dragons," said Draffut almost absently.

"I am no magician."

"You spoke of influencing them...

"As for making your own boat, I do not think that you would live for many hours in the swamp, traveling alone in any boat you could build for yourself under these conditions. And unfortunately I cannot spare the time it would take to escort you to safe land myself. But I will see what I can do to help you."

You cannot spare the time from what? Nestor wondered. But he kept the question to himself; the giant had already turned and was walking purposefully away. In a few moments Draffut had vanished from Nestor's view behind a screen of trees. His head; briefly reappeared, topping a screen of shorter trees in the middle distance. Then it sank abruptly below the treetops' level, as if he had stepped into the swamp.

Left to himself, Nestor out of curiosity soon undertook a more or less complete exploration of the temple. In several of the rooms he examined the carvings on the walls fairly closely.

These reliefs depicted men, women, and unidentifiable other beings engaged in what Nestor took to be a variety of ritual activities; it was difficult to make out any details of what they were about.

In the room where Draffut had shown him the odd thing he called a larva, Nestor peered again into the tank. The surface of the water was once more mirrorquiet. On the shelf nearby waited the Old World lamp, but Nestor made no move to take it down. He had no wish to raise the larva again.

He continued his explorations. He was in another large chamber, pondering what appeared to be a row of empty closets, when his thoughts were interrupted by a noise. This was a sudden outburst of shrill cries, delivered in an inhuman voice that sounded as if it were somewhere close outside the temple. Nestor went to a doorway, sword in hand, and cautiously peered out.

A flying dragon was hovering nearby, above the courtyard.

Somewhat smaller than the one that had earlier kidnapped Nestor, it looked at him but kept its distance. It circled a few more times, hovered some more, and shrilled at him. It was almost as if, he thought fancifully, the beast had something it was trying to communicate.

It kept on making noise until Nestor at last spoke to it, as a man alone speaks to a thing or an animal, not expecting understanding. "If it's Draffut you're looking for, he's not here.

He stalked off into the swamp, to the southwest, more than an hour ago. No telling when he'll be back:"

To Nestor's considerable surprise-after years of dealing with dragons, he considered their intelligence to be about on a par with that of barnyard fowl-the creature reacted as if it had in fact understood him. These flying creatures must indeed be asubspecies he had never heard of. At least it ceased its noise and flew away at once. Whether it really headed southwest Nestor could not tell, but it flapped its way around the bulk of the temple and might have gone in that direction.

Nestor, shaking his head, went slowly back inside the building, intending to explore some more. Looking around the place gave him something to do while he waited for Draffut, and the more he knew about his immediate environment the more secure he felt. On the ground level he discovered one large chamber whose floor was padded with heaps of fronds and springy vines; he wondered if this was the place where Draffut rested. Everyone agreed that G.o.ds could eat, but did they have to rest?

Pondering, or trying to ponder, the mysteries of Draffut, and of the multiple swords of magic, and of what the G.o.d-game might be, Nestor made his way outside again. This time he exited through the place where a wall had tumbled, to emerge on a slope leading to an upper level of the temple. He climbed across a high ruined section, that was littered with tilted slabs of fallen roof. From here it was possible to see above the island's treetops, or most of them, but there was apparently nothing but more swamp and trees beyond.

The morning sun had climbed, but it was not yet too hot to make it uncomfortable to stretch out on a fallen slab of roof and bask. Relaxation sometimes helped a man to think.

But soon, instead of concentrating on the intriguing questions that had arisen, Nestor was almost dozing.

" In his thoughts images came and went, pictures of Draffut and the swords. Then Barbara and the imag- ined G.o.ds. Somehow, thought Nestor, the world ought to fit together, and basically make sense. People always hoped it would. But, as far as he knew, the human race had never been given any such guarantee . . .

He was almost asleep when a faint sound caught at his attention. A light tap first, like a cautious footfall, and then a small sc.r.a.ping or sliding sound. It was repeated, tap and slide, tap and slide. Nestor listened, heard the sound no more, and went briefly back to his dozing thoughts.

Then it came again: tap-slide. Tap-slide. Almost like footsteps. But limping footsteps. Almost like- He leaped up, just as a shadow fell across him. And he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the sword barely in time to parry the first blow of the crude barbed hook.

CHAPTER 12.

First Mark was moving through a world of dreams, then he was not. The vision of many swords was gone, but now he was not at all sure at just what point the transition from sleep to waking life had taken place.

His eyes opened to a view of a ceiling of vaulted stone. Quickly raising himself on one elbow, he could see that he was for the first time in his life inside a real castle. This large and richly furnished room could be part of nothing else. And he was lying in a real bed, with sunlight that had a morning feeling to it comingin through the room's single narrow window.

On a table in the center of the room, the Sword of Heroes rested-Mark could make out the small white dragon in the decoration on the black hilt. Lying on the bare wood beside the weapon were the belt and the scabbard that had been given to Mark-last night?- along with a different sword.

Sharp as a dagger's stroke, the memory returned now of his father's face, bearded as Mark had never seen it before, but unmistakable. The smiling kindness, the look of recognition in the eyes. That face in the Maze of Mirth had been so real On a small lounge beside the single bed, Barbara was sleeping.

She appeared to be wearing her ordinary clothes, but a rich shawl had been thrown over her. It was as if she had been watching over Mark and had fallen asleep, and then perhaps some other watcher had covered her for warmth. And now Mark saw where his own clothes were draped over another chair, with a set of much handsomer garments beside them. Was the finery meant for him? He'd never worn such things.

A familiar snore disturbed the air, making Mark turn his head.

In a far corner of the room, almost lost behind more furniture, Ben lay snoring on a heap of fancy pillows. He too was covered with a rich, unfamiliar robe.

As soon as Mark sat up straight in bed, Barbara stirred too.

She opened dark eyes and looked at him for a moment without comprehension. Then, wide awake in another instant, she smiled at him. Then she had thrown the shawl aside and was standing beside the bed to feel Mark's head for fever. She asked: "Are you all right?"

"I think so. What happened? Who brought us into the castle?

I remember there was a fight . . . "

"And you fell over. Then Sir Andrew had us all brought in.

Ben and I have told him just about everything. We were all worried about you, but the enchantress said she thought you'd just sleep it off. Dame Yoldi's her name, and I'm supposed to call her as soon as you wake up. Just stay there and I'll go get her."

Barbara went out of the room quickly. Mark, disregarding her orders, got up and began to dress, choosing his own old clothes though the elegant new ones beside them appeared to be of a suitable size. Meanwhile Ben snored on peacefully in the corner.

When Mark was dressed he looked out the window briefly at distant fields and forests beneath the rising sun. Then he stood over the table that held the sword, looking at the weapon but not touching it. He was trying to remember, to reconstruct the experience that must have made him lose consciousness the night before, evidently many hours ago. He could not remember suffering any blow to the head or other injury. Only touching, for a moment, two swords at the same time, and then feeling strange. He didn't seem to be wounded now, or hurt in any way, except for the old, half-healed mark of dragon's fire on his left cheek.

The voice came from the doorway behind him: "You are Mark. Son of lord, who is a miller in Arin-on-Aldan.'

Mark whirled at the first word. He found himself confronted by the man who last night had led the charge of men armed withswords from the drawbridge, and who could only be Sir Andrew himself. Beside the knight was an elegantly dressed woman who must be his enchantress. Mark stuttered something and started to go down on one knee.

"No, stand up:" Sir Andrew's voice was powerful, but so far not threatening. He was frowning as he stood with hands clasped behind him. "Duke Fraktin sends me word that he considers you a thief and a murderer."

"I am not, sir." The tone in which the accusation had been pa.s.sed along had seemed to encourage a bold denial. In the far corner of the room, Ben was now waking up, trying to remain inconspicuous even as he lumbered to his feet. '

"I hardly thought that you were," Sir. Andrew agreed.

"I know Duke Fraktin is guilty of both charges himself, and perhaps worse . . . and last night the agents he sent here showed they were no better. They've committed what amount to acts of war against me. They The beautiful woman who was standing beside Sir Andrew put a hand on the knight's arm, gently interrupting him. When he had let himself be silenced, she spoke urgently to Mark: "What do you remember of last night?"

Haltingly at first, then gaining confidence as he was granted a patient hearing by both the highborn folk, Mark recounted his experiences at the fair as he remembered them. He began with, his arrival in the wagon with Ben and Barbara, and went on to the moment when the dragon-courier of Duke Fraktin had soared away, the sword Mark had stabbed it with still wedged into its scales.

"As the dragon went up, it looked-changed. It looked unreal to me. Like it was one different creature after another. And then 1 lost sight of it, and people were fighting all around me.

As you must know, sir, ma'm. And then 1 think that something must have struck me down. But just before that -I was feeling- strange:"

The enchantress came toward Mark, and stood in front of him looking at him very closely. At first he was frightened, but something soon drained away the fear. She said to him: "You were not wounded, were you?"

"No ma'm, I wasn't wounded. But . . . I just had the feeling that something was . . . happening to me."

"I don't doubt you did." Dame Yoldi finished her long look at Mark, and sighed. She looked around at each of the other people in the room. "I was watching from a castle window, while most of the rest of you were out in the fairgrounds. There was a magic in that stolen sword, that made the creature carrying it seem to change. We each of us saw it as something different when it rose up through the air-but each of us saw it as something harmless, or as a being that ought to be defended.

Just as everyone saw you, Mark, as someone to be obeyed, protected, served-as long as you were carrying that sword:"

Mark nodded solemnly. "Once I had it, the man who had been chasing me called me 'Your Grace' -what became of him?"

Sir Andrew grunted. "Hugh of Semur was among last night's dead." The knight glanced momentarily toward Ben, who was continuing to stand in his corner, still wrapped in his blanket and trying to look small. "And my own men fought well, oncewe understood that we were required to fight. Some of those who were pretending to be my marshals got away from us, I fear. But some are dead, and one or two are in my dungeon now.

I fear they'll be a bad influence on my one honest criminal:" To Mark's further bewilderment, the knight here shook his head, apparently over some private worry.

Dame Yoldi asked: "Mark, who gave you that other sword, the one that's now flown away? You've just told us that the man who did so appeared to be your father, as long as he had the sword. But what did he look like afterward, when he'd pa.s.sed Sightblinder over to you?"

"When I had the sword, I saw him only as a masked clown.

Lady, I do not understand these things of magic."

There was a pause before the enchantress answered. "Nor do I, all too often." As she turned quickly away from Mark, he thought he caught a glimpse of some new inner excitement in her eye. Again she took the lord of the castle by the arm.

"Andrew, send out men to search for the carnival clowns.

They're scattered now, I'm sure, after last night, along with all the merchants and the visitors. But if we could only find him.. .

"For the moment Dame Yoldi appeared to be lost in some wild private speculation.

Sir Andrew stared at her, then went to the door where he barked out orders. In a moment he was back. "They must be scattered like chaff, as you say. But we can try"

"Good." The enchantress was contemplating Mark again, now with something enough like awe to make him feel uncomfortable. "I do not know much yet, lad, about these magic swords. But I am learning. I do know the names of some of them, at least. It was Sightblinder that you stabbed the dragon with, last night. It is also known as the Sword of Stealth. He who carries it is disguised from all potential enemiesand perhaps from his friends as well. And the man who gave it to you . . . did he say anything?"

"Yes." Mark blushed for his forgetfulness. "He said that I was to give it to Sir Andrew. If I could."

"Did he, hah?"

"And I meant to, sir. But then they told me that the other sword was being stolen. And-and I had to do something."

"And so you did something. Yes, yes, I like having folk about me who sometimes feel that something must be done. I do wish, though, that we still had Sightblinder here. I suppose it's in the Duke's hands now, and I don't like to think what he might do with it." The knight looked at Dame Yoldi, and his worried frown was deeper than before. "My own flyers have all come back now, Yoldi. They couldn't catch his courier in the air, or even see it. Luck is with Fraktin at present."

"In the form of Coinspinner, yes," Dame Yoldi said. She nodded tiredly, and spoke to Mark again. "Is it possible, boy, that for one moment last night you had your hands on two swords at the same time?"

"Yes ma'm, it's more than possible. It happened that way.

And that was when the-the world started to go strange.".

"I thought as much. And now the Duke, with his luck augmented by Coinspinner, is going to have the Sword of Stealthin hand as well. No one else in the world has ever owned two of those swords since they were made . . . Mark, I have learned that the smith who helped Vulcan forge them was your father."

Mark could feel himself standing, a small figure, alone, beside the table that held the sword called Townsaver. "I knew that he helped make this one. But, until I left home, I never heard that Vulcan had forged other swords at the same time. My father never liked to speak of it at all. And now he's dead. I saw him die, the same day my brother died, and Duke Fraktin's cousin in our village.

"Last night when I thought it was my father-" Mark covered his eyes briefly with his hands. "But I know it was only some piece of magic."

Two sentries, armed and alert, had arrived at the room's door, and now one of them entered to whisper something to Sir Andrew.

"Bring her in," the knight ordered grimly.

Before whoever it was could be brought in, Dame Yoldi moved to the table near Mark's side. With a small piece of black cloth that might have been 'a handkerchief she draped the hilt of the sword that lay on the table, so that the little white design of decoration could not be seen. Then she stepped away from the table and nodded to the guards.

A moment later, a dark lady appeared in the doorway, of elegant appearance and malevolent expression. Her air of arrogance made the soldiers at her sides appear to be a guard of honor.

She glared at each person in the room in turn. Her gaze lingered-longest on Mark, and he had the sensation that something invisible, but palpable and evil, had pa.s.sed near him.

Then, with her lifted chin turned to Sir Andrew, the lady said: "1 demand to be released."

"Most likely you soon will be." The knight's voice had turned cold, much changed from what it had been. "My investigation of what your agents did at the fairgrounds last night is almost complete. If you were not here on business of diplomacy, woman, you'd likely be down in my dungeon now."

The lady chose not to hear this. She tossed back dark hair imperiously. "And where is Hugh of Semur?"

"That dog is dead. Diplomat or not, he succeeded in earning himself a broken neck last night."

The dark lady demonstrated shock. "Dead! Then his killers must be placed in my custody, that I may take them to face the Duke's justice. As I must take him." She pointed a long fingernail at Mark. "And that sword on the table. It belongs to His Grace too."

"I think, m'lady, that you'll take precious little out of my territory but yourself."

The lady started to pretend surprise at this refusal, then shrugged lightly and gave it up. "It will go ill for you, Sir Andrew, if you refuse the Duke his property, and his just vengeance. Who will guarantee the security of your frontiers if he does not?"

"Oh, ah? Speaking of property, there's the matter of the damage done to some of mine last night, and to some of my people, too. That fine coach that brought you here, my fine Lady Marat, should fetch something on the market. Enough,perhaps, to pay some of the bills that you've run up in damages.

I'll see if I can find a farm wagon somewhere, and a loadbeast or two, to furnish you and your servants transportation home. A somewhat b.u.mpy ride, perhaps, but-"

Now indeed she flared. "Beast yourself! How dare you treat me, the Duke's emissary, in such a way? How dare you?"

" -but, as I say, it would be a long way for you to walk."