3.

When she caught him in his office, the blinds were drawn, and Winters was gazing down thoughtfully at an audiostereo information pad on his desk. "Yes," he said, not looking up for the moment, "I thought I'd hear from you shortly. How much do you know about what's happened?"

"I heard about the lady in Bloomington," Megan said. "Mr. Winters, I feel so terrible-we were with her just last night-"

"So Leif told me," Winters said. "She didn't know you were there, though."

"No."

"Tell me something," Winters said, and then held up a hand. "No, wait a moment. Before we go on to that..." He glanced down at the pad again. "I've got a note here from the hospital at Bloomington. She's going into surgery now. Most of her injuries aren't too serious. It's the usual problem with brain trauma, though. You can't tell how bad it is until the brain's had time to 'register' the injury and react to it. She apparently has a case of what they call 'contrecoup,' where the brain hits the inside of the skull and bruises with the impact. If they can get the swelling to go down in time...she'll be all right. At least it doesn't seem as if she's in any imminent danger of dying."

"Oh, G.o.d," Megan said, "we should have tried harder, we should have found some way to warn her anyway, we should have-"

"Yes," Winters said, only a little dryly, "hindsight does tend to be twenty-twenty. But in this case, you need to step back from the events a little bit and see if your judgment's being clouded by what's happened. I'll admit, it's shocking."

He sighed, and pushed the pad away. "In any case, I want you to step right back from this whole business and let us handle it now. When it's just machinery involved, burglary, destruction of property, that's one thing. But when a.s.sault starts coming into it-in this case, vehicular a.s.sault with a deadly weapon-that's when it becomes no longer merely Explorer business. I value anything you can tell me, though, about your own suspicions."

"Suspicions are all we've got," Megan said. "But I can't get rid of the idea that they would have been enough to save her."

"Maybe so," Winters said. "Leif spent a while telling me about a character named Argath."

Megan nodded. "Just about anyone who's had a fight with him in the last three game-years, and beaten him, seems to have been bounced."

"But you're not sure he's responsible."

"I don't know anymore. Yesterday I was really suspicious, but...there wasn't enough data."

Winter smiled a little grimly. "There still may not be. We need to be rather Holmesian about this. Of course, when Net Force proper comes into it, we'll be able to get the Sarxos people to cooperate with us and release proper names, game logs, and other such information. Of course it'll still take due process. They never like letting proprietary stuff go easily."

Megan said, "Maybe if a player approached Chris Rodrigues."

Winter said, "We can't spend too much time with the 'maybes' at this point. We'll do this one by the book. Anyway, from what investigation you've done so far, is there anyone else upon whom suspicion might genuinely be thrown?"

"n.o.body who's obvious to us, no. The problem is that there are so very many players. Even if we could get at it, the database is so ma.s.sive. I keep thinking that there must be some way to winnow through everybody, but I don't know what that would be. Lots of players would have characteristics that would match a possible motive for attack, but only one of them is responsible. You can't go around accusing innocent people just on the off chance that they might be guilty."

"There speaks a future operative," Winters said, and there was a grim note of approval in his voice. "Well. Megan, you're still in shock. It's understandable. Leif was, too. Let's part company for the moment. But I'd appreciate a written debrief from you in the next eighteen to twenty-four hours: something to brief our operatives with when we send them in. Make it as detailed as you can. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you'd speak to the Sarxos people and give us access to your game logs from last night."

Megan blushed hot at that. "Mr. Winters," she said very softly, "I think some of the things we said were construed as threats-"

"I heard Mrs. Richardson's niece's statement," Winters said. "I understand you have some concerns about what your legal status might be in this situation. I think you know that you have my confidence. Should there be any legal repercussions, you know that we'll support you. But just in case it comes up, can anyone at your home alibi you for last night?"

Megan shook her head. "n.o.body except the Net itself," she said. "There's no faking your ident.i.ty when you log in, after all. It's your brain, your body, and your implant. And as for the rest of it..." She shrugged, and then added with just the slightest smile, "I'm not sure how I would have driven from here to Bloomington, Illinois, in time to run Elblai-Mrs. Richardson-off the road with a car."

"There is that," Winter said, and cracked a small smile himself. "Never mind. You're covered for the moment. Go on, go to school, and get that report done for me tonight, if you would. We'll be sending in operatives ASAP. Meanwhile, you should consider yourself relieved of responsibility for this business. But I want to thank you very much for your help so far. You've at least given us a lead to follow, you two, and some potentially useful theories. Plus a much better strategic a.s.sessment than we could have managed on short notice. It's much appreciated. You put your talents and your time on the line...and possibly, considering the nature of the person we seem to be hunting, your personal safety as well, if that person got any sense of who you were and what you were up to."

"I don't think we were anywhere near him," Megan said. "Thanks anyway."

She cut off the connection, thought a moment, then spoke to her implant and had it call Leif.

He was sitting in his works.p.a.ce in the stave-house, looking profoundly depressed-an unusual expression for him. He glanced up as Megan appeared in his s.p.a.ce.

"You talk to him?" Leif asked.

"Yeah."

"We're off the case."

"Yeah."

Leif looked up at Megan sideways. "Are we off the case?" we off the case?"

"What do you mean? Of course we're off. He took us off."

"And you're just going to sit back and let it be that way? Just like that?"

"Well." Megan looked at him.

Leif got up and started pacing. "Look," he said. "I don't want to sound unduly heroic or anything. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little bit responsible."

"For what? We We didn't run that lady off the road!" didn't run that lady off the road!"

"We tried to warn her. We did it wrong. She didn't get it. Don't you feel responsible for that?"

Megan sat down on that severely plain couch and dropped her head into her hands. "Yeah," she said. "I do. A lot. And I don't know what we can do about it, now that it's happened."

"Not just give up," Leif said.

"But, Leif, you heard Winters. He's taken us out of the loop. If they catch us-"

"How are they going to catch us? It's not like we're not Sarxos players. It's not like we don't have a right to be in the game when we want to. Isn't that so?"

"Yeah, but-Leif, if we do that, they're gonna know right away what we're doing!"

"Are they? But we're good little Net Force Explorers, aren't we?" Leif's grin popped out, and looked unusually mischievous for a moment. "Who'd ever suspect us us of disobeying orders? Intentionally, anyway." Leif held his head high and looked for a moment impossibly n.o.ble, innocent, and dim. of disobeying orders? Intentionally, anyway." Leif held his head high and looked for a moment impossibly n.o.ble, innocent, and dim.

Megan had to laugh at the sight of him.

"Not that they can give us orders," Leif said. "Suggestions, yes..."

"You are amazing," she said.

"Thank you. And And modest." modest."

"Oy," Megan said.

"Look," Leif said. "Think about it. The reason we're lucky enough to be Explorers in the first place is because they saw something in us that was not the usual kind of behavior. A little more willing to swing out into the unknown, maybe. If we just give up now because we're told to-"

"If we were in in Net Force, we'd Net Force, we'd have have to do what we were told, Leif! Discipline-" to do what we were told, Leif! Discipline-"

"Frack discipline," Leif said. "Well, I don't mean that. But we're not not fully in. It gives us a little-" fully in. It gives us a little-"

"-Lat.i.tude?" She scowled.

"Megan, I'm telling you, I'm right on this one. And you know I am. That's why you're making those weird faces at me. You should see yourself."

She looked at him dubiously. It went right against her grain to ignore Winters's "suggestion." She understood his concern. She knew what her parents would say if she told them anything about this. But whether she planned to tell them anything about this, right this minute anyway, was another story. Maybe later. But right now-I have to make a choice Maybe later. But right now-I have to make a choice.

"Well-" she said.

"And look," Leif said. "We've still got problems. Argath, or whoever, is still out there, and I bet he, she, they, or it-"

"He, for my money," Megan said.

"Yeah-anyway, they're still targeting people. What about those other two lords that Elblai was mentioning? Fettick and Morn? To judge by what she was saying last night, they're likely to be the next targets. I mean, look at it, Megan! Whoever's doing this, they're not waiting around to hit someone who's beaten Argath anymore. Whether it is is Argath himself, or someone using some kind of weird cover-" Argath himself, or someone using some kind of weird cover-"

"What I still don't get is why anyone would do that."

"A grudge," Leif said. "Or the attacker is crazy. Never mind...there's still time to work that out. But whatever the cause, whoever whoever it is that's doing this, they've stopped being patient about it. They're hitting people before they actually fight Argath, when it just looks like there's a possibility they might beat him." it is that's doing this, they've stopped being patient about it. They're hitting people before they actually fight Argath, when it just looks like there's a possibility they might beat him."

"Yeah. All right. I see your point. So-what'll we do? Go try to warn them? Which kingdoms were in question?"

"Errint and Aedleia," she said. "I know them slightly: they're northern neighbors of Orxen. I've got more than enough transit to get us there. We can be there tonight. Their battles weren't scheduled to happen right away. It's just possible that we can-"

"What? Get them not to go ahead with a campaign that they've been planning, and that they really want? That's gonna be a good trick."

"We've got to try. We didn't try hard enough last night...and look what happened. You want to see these new targets run off a road...or worse? And what about all the others who might shortly be in the same situation? There have to be other players who've been waiting their chance to take Argath on. After these guys, they'll they'll be a threat, too. If we can find out what other players are eager to fight him, we may be able to find some other connecting strand, some line of data that'll lead us to whoever's doing this. And I want them," Leif said softly. "I want them." be a threat, too. If we can find out what other players are eager to fight him, we may be able to find some other connecting strand, some line of data that'll lead us to whoever's doing this. And I want them," Leif said softly. "I want them."

Megan nodded slowly. She did not often feel physically violent. Even when she managed to engineer situations that gave her an excuse, every now and then, to toss her brothers around, it was mostly enjoyment she felt, and amused satisfaction at the looks on their faces as she reminded them that life was not always predictable. But now...now she felt, uncharacteristically, like she wanted to hurt somebody. Specifically, whoever had sent Elblai into the hospital, pale, with an oxygen mask hiding her pretty, motherly face.

"Look," Leif said. "Do your briefing for Winters. Get that finished, leave it on timed-send in your computer, and get it off to him tonight...after we're already in Sarxos. Or after we've come out."

"Leif, I can't tonight," Megan said. "I told you, I have this family thing-"

"This is an emergency," Leif said. "Isn't it? Can't you beg off just this once?"

She thought about that, thought about the concerned look on her father's face. "Probably," she said. "I don't usually do this."

"Come on, Megan. It's important. And it's more than just those other people." He looked at her, intense. "What are you really thinking about doing after you get out of school?"

"Well, strategic operations, obviously, but-"

"But where? For some think tank? Doing it in some dry boring place where you'll never actually get out to see whether what you've planned is happening? You want to do it in Net Force, don't you?"

"Yeah," Megan said. "Of course I do. It's...I think it's one of the most important agencies we've got now, though there are probably people who would say that's overrating it." She shifted a little uncomfortably. "It's the cutting edge."

"Well, you want to stay there, don't you? If you back off from this now, just because Winters told you to get out of danger, out of trouble...If we succeed in making it into Net Force someday, there's going to be danger and trouble. This is just practice. Besides-they're watching us. You know know they're watching us. If we go in alongside them-maybe even they're watching us. If we go in alongside them-maybe even ahead ahead of them-and crack this thing, with our eyes open and our brains hot, you think they're going to be angry about that? I don't think so. They're going to be impressed. If we impress them now-" of them-and crack this thing, with our eyes open and our brains hot, you think they're going to be angry about that? I don't think so. They're going to be impressed. If we impress them now-"

Megan nodded. "I can't believe," she said slowly, "that we're not at least as good as any operatives they're going to send in there. Besides, we know Sarxos better than anyone they've got. That's why they asked us to go in in the first place. Because we're best..."

She looked up at Leif, grinned, and got up. "I'm with you," she said. "Look, I'm not sure what time I'll get into the game tonight. Opting out of family night is going to take some explaining."

"Okay...well, I'll go in before you, and wait for you-and I'll leave some transit in your account. We'll meet in Errint, and see if we can catch Fettick first and warn him off. The place is just a little city-state, kind of like Minsar. When you get to the city, there's a little cookshop just inside the third wall, a place called Attila's."

Megan raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Leif said, "they make good chili there. I'll sit there and amuse myself until you get there. Then we'll go in and engineer a chat with Fettick...take our time and make sure he understands."

"All right," Megan said. "We do have to try. But talking someone out of a campaign is going to be interesting."

"I think we can change his mind. After that, we can start looking around for some more indicators to what's really going on. I'm sure we can crack this if we just have a little more time...."

"Right. I'll see you tonight, then."

She vanished.

Leif came to Errint in the late afternoon of a clearing golden day. The city stood in a small glacial valley a.s.sociated with the furthest eastward-flung ma.s.sif of the great northern Highpeak range. Sometime far back in the place's apparent geological history, when the continent of Sarxos was supposed to have been glaciated, a huge broad-bottomed river of ice had come grinding slowly down from the wide and snowy cirque of Mount Holdfast above the valley, and had burred the valley down into a long, gentle U-shaped trough nearly nine miles long. Now the glacier was gone, retreated to the very feet of Holdfast, with only the telltale threaded stream running down from the glacier's terminal moraine left winding down the valley, in a meander of scattered white rounded stones and the peculiar milky green-white water that betrayed a riverbed covered with glacial "flour."

Up on a little spur of stone that somehow had avoided being ground down by the glacier, Errint rose. It had been a wooden city in its earliest incarnations, but it kept burning down, and so it was finally rebuilt in stone, and its sign and sigil became the phoenix. Its population was not large, but they were famous: st.u.r.dy, independent mountain people, dangerous in battle, good with a halberd or a crossbow. They tended to keep themselves to themselves and not mix in foreign wars...unless the pay was good. Their city had a small but steady source of wealth from the salt and iron mines in the mountain, which they controlled jealously, telling no one the secrets of the labyrinthine ways in and out. They farmed the long, gentle, stony valley in a small way, oats and barley mostly, and tried to mind their own business.

That had become less easy of late. Argath's rise in the Northlands had meant that the kingdoms on the fringes of his realm had started looking for allies, or buffer states that would protect them from the unfriendly neighbor just over the mountain pa.s.ses. To the countries to the north-meaning Argath-and to the south-meaning the realms of Duke Morgon and others-Errint looked like a perfect possibility: a small population unlikely to put up much of a fight; ground not worth much except as a buffer, so that battles fought across it wouldn't ruin its value; and the mines, source of the peerless Holdfast iron, much sought after in Sarxos for weapons.

The Errint did not take kindly to the thought of being anybody's buffer state, however. When Argath first came down out of the mountains to annex them, they had fought him and driven him back. Just last year they had done it again. But then Argath had twice made the mistake of attacking into the teeth of their weather, which the Errint knew better than anyone. Even in the summer, those somnolent-looking dolomite peaks could wrap themselves around in cloud and turn ferocious, and down the valley would come screaming the killing wind, the fierce hot wind that poured itself over the northern mountain crests, stirred the few little glacial lakes to madness, and kindled thunderstorms that seemed almost pathologically fond of striking invading troops with lightning.

It was a tough nut to crack, little Errint. Not that it was uncrackable, nor was its leadership so misguided as to think it so. They knew very well Argath's brooding power to the north. They had never been in a position to attack it independently. But things might be changing now....

So Leif stood in the open gate of the city, looking around the place, and the gate-guards, leaning on their straight sharp halberds, looked back at him with equanimity. They were big, dark-haired, blunt-featured men, typical of Errint blood, favoring leather instead of cloth for wear. Leif nodded to them, knowing that they had already sized him up as harmless and friendly-otherwise he would have been flat on the ground, with one of those oversized army canopeners stuck in his gut. The guards nodded to him affably enough, and Leif went in.

Errint's basic structure was a little like Minsar's, except on a much smaller scale. Also, there were no outbuildings permitted beyond the fifth wall, the outermost one. The bakers and tanners and so forth were pushed well back in the rearmost curve between the fourth and fifth walls, but no one pitched tents or temporary buildings outside for the simple reason that one of those sudden summer windstorms or rainstorms could simply wash them right down off the Errint Hill and into the river. The marketplace inside the third wall, therefore, was unusually crowded with tents and awnings and tables and pallets and bales. Every day was market day in Errint. A thriving trade made its way up and down the valley's single road toward the lowlands, people who had come for metal or an animal-skin and stayed to pick up something extra, a firkin of mountain b.u.t.ter or the famous glacier wine.

It was late enough in the day that the market had lost much of its agitation. There were still a few cries of "Buy my beer!" or "Skins, good skins here, no holes!"-but it all had a desultory feel, as if everyone was already thinking of heading out to get something to eat or drink. The one steady sound there was a ting-CLANK, ting-CLANK ting-CLANK, ting-CLANK that Leif knew, and he smiled a little as he made his way through the market stalls toward the source of it. that Leif knew, and he smiled a little as he made his way through the market stalls toward the source of it.

Here in iron-mine country, lots of people knew a little about forging-the rudiments-but a really good blacksmith was harder to find, and harder still to find was a really good farrier. They tended to travel around to where the business was good. Only the very best would have a fixed place of work where they could expect clients to beat a path to their doors with their horses in tow. This one, though, was plenty good.

Leif pushed his way through the part of the market reserved for the butchers, past the last few beef carca.s.ses hanging in the late sun with clouds of flies shrilling about them, and came to a spot by the curve of the wall where someone had parked a cart. It was from here that the rhythmic ting-CLANK ting-CLANK sound came. Nearby, its head down and its reins fastened to an iron ring in the back end of the cart, a big, patient blond draft horse stood. Just in front of the horse, working at an anvil lifted up onto what had been some rich Errint's mounting-stone, was a small, fair man in a light, worn tan canvas shirt and well-worn leathern breeches, with a thick leather ap.r.o.n over it all, hammering away at a horseshoe that had just been in the portable forgepit, which had come out of his cart and now stood near the anvil on the ground. The bellows hung at hand in the cart's framework, ready to work. The farrier paused a moment to pick up the horseshoe with his tongs and shove it in among the coals to heat again. When it came up to cherry-red, he took it out with the tongs and began beating it again on the anvil. sound came. Nearby, its head down and its reins fastened to an iron ring in the back end of the cart, a big, patient blond draft horse stood. Just in front of the horse, working at an anvil lifted up onto what had been some rich Errint's mounting-stone, was a small, fair man in a light, worn tan canvas shirt and well-worn leathern breeches, with a thick leather ap.r.o.n over it all, hammering away at a horseshoe that had just been in the portable forgepit, which had come out of his cart and now stood near the anvil on the ground. The bellows hung at hand in the cart's framework, ready to work. The farrier paused a moment to pick up the horseshoe with his tongs and shove it in among the coals to heat again. When it came up to cherry-red, he took it out with the tongs and began beating it again on the anvil.

"Wayland," Leif said.

The face that looked up at him was deeply lined, all smile lines. The eyes had that distant-looking expression of someone mountain-bred, though not these mountains. "Well, it's young Leif," Wayland said. "Well met in the afternoon! What brings you up here this time of year?"