"Let us gamble a little more time and strength upon the two-seater."

"Your decision." Girays's own private decision cla.s.sified the Grewzian as peculiar, perhaps a trifle unbalanced.

The trek resumed. Another half hour pa.s.sed, and the creeping daggers were thicker than ever, strangling the trees and clogging the clearings. The road cut its way between sharp, sheer granite cliffs, and the rock faces were invisible behind leafy green curtains pocked with scarlet.

Girays's stomach rumbled audibly. It was sudden and unaccountable, for he had lunched adequately, and not so long ago. Nevertheless, his belly was making its wishes known, and it seemed to him then that he caught the faint fragrance of grilling meat carried on the spring breeze. The breeze shifted, and the scent was gone. Imagination? His stomach did not seem to think so. On they trudged, the two-seater clanking between them, until Stornzof halted, freezing into abrupt immobility in the middle of the road.

Peculiar.

"Shall I take over the two-seater for a while?" Girays offered.

No answer.

Beyond peculiar.

"Are you ill, Stornzof?"

Still no answer, and the overcommander wore an oddly distant look, as if he listened to voices from another world. Perhaps he did. Controlling his impatience, Girays waited, and presently the other's trance broke.

"There is something here," Stornzof announced.

He spoke with such conviction that Girays cast an involuntary glance around him. He saw muddy, empty road, rocky outcroppings, and an endless, impenetrable tangle of creeping daggers. Nothing more.

"I sense an influence at work," Stornzof continued.

"What influence?" Girays could not forbear asking.

"That which is often termed 'magical,' or 'sorcerous.' It is quite unmistakable."

"Indeed. Sorcerous." Girays's brows rose. "But how colorful."

"Ah, you are skeptical. That is to be expected. Perhaps I can convince you."

"Scarcely necessary. Do not trouble yourself. Let us say you are correct. I am willing to concede the possibility. May we move on now?"

"Not yet. The matter demands investigation. Perhaps this is what we seek. I suspect that it is."

"Really. Another feeling that you have?"

"Sometimes they are difficult to ignore. If you would be so good as to take the machine-"

Girays grasped the handlebar, and Stornzof moved at once to the base of the nearest cliff. He advanced several paces, paused to stretch forth a hand to the creeping daggers, and promptly drew the hand back.

"Real," he reported.

"Real what? What are you doing?" Ridiculous to humor this Grewzian eccentric's fancies, but Girays found that he could not repress the queries. "What are you looking for?"

"We are very near it, I am certain," Stornzof insisted.

"Near what? If you'd tell me what you're looking for, perhaps I could-"

"Silence, if you please," the Grewzian enjoined absently.

Girays swallowed a disgusted retort. The fellow was definitely unbalanced.

Stornzof, lost in his delusions, wandered alongside the creeping daggers, now pausing to finger the thorns, now to consult inner voices. Girays trailed irritably, and as he went, the idea took hold that he might free himself at one stroke of ruined two-seater and crackbrained Grewzian demiG.o.d alike. He could strike out on his own and probably do better. He was hovering on the verge of certainty when his companion halted with an air of finality.

"Here," Stornzof declared. He stood before an expanse of vine-covered granite cliff, indistinguishable from any other section of the cliffs lining this stretch of the Aeshno-Eynisse Road.

Girays wheeled the two-seater forward for a better look. Proximity failed to improve the prospect. He saw granite, vines, and scarlet-tipped thorns. For a moment the smell of grilling meat filled his nostrils. He wondered where it came from, and then it was gone again.

"Well?" he asked.

"Here," Stornzof repeated. "Here is the site of the disruption."

"Disruption. Quite. Listen, Stornzof, I've given this matter a good deal of thought, and it seems to me that it might be better if the two of us were to go our sep-"

"The energetic concentrations are quite distinct, and unmistakable," Stornzof continued. "The source is near at hand."

"What are you talking about? Never mind, it doesn't matter. I was saying that I think the time has come for the two of us to-"

"Now is not the time to suggest a separation. Not now, when we are likely to have the machine repaired within the half hour."

"What makes you think so? Don't tell me it's a feeling that you have."

"I believe I mentioned once that I learned long ago to detect the convolutions of force regarded as 'magical.' No doubt you discounted the claim, but I did not exaggerate. I sense the magical distortion of normality here, now, and it is visual in nature-that is to say, an adept of some sort has created an illusion."

Purest gobbledygook, but Girays's interest sparked nonetheless, for the power of illusion resonated within Vonahrish minds, particularly those of formerly-Exalted configuration. Family legends extolled the so-called magical prowess of his own v'Alisante ancestors, and he had never really believed such tales, but they caught his imagination all the same.

"Improbable," he murmured with a shrug, but could not resist asking, "You search in hope that the author of this supposed illusion possesses not only magic, but a hammer as well?"

"It is not an impossibility. I ask another moment only of your patience."

"Certainly." Girays's courteous air masked irritation, incredulity, and hopping curiosity. It was absurd, but he found himself hooked.

Stornzof was at it again, fingering those vicious thorns, prodding at the vines and cliffs, squandering time with such an air of grave diligence that his folly somehow a.s.sumed an air of intelligent purpose.

Ridiculous. Girays smiled slightly, amused at his own puerility. For a moment he had actually expected to witness something extraordinary, something-for lack of a better word-magical. At his age.

"Ah. I have found it. Here." Karsler Stornzof's right hand, wrist, and forearm up to the elbow disappeared into the ma.s.s of creeping daggers.

The Grewzian was mad. Those thorns would pierce him to the bone.

The arm withdrew unscathed. There was no mark on the bare hand, no trace of blood. Girays stared.

"Come. Here is the way," Stornzof directed. His companion said nothing, and he added without condescension, "The barrier is quite unreal."

The creeping daggers, the granite ramparts-unreal? It was like something out of an old Vonahrish tale spun for children, but he would keep an open mind. Girays wheeled the two-seater forward, and soon the front tire b.u.mped vine-covered rock.

"Unreal?" he inquired.

"Ah, your mind fulfills its own expectations. In truth, however, the way is clear. I shall prove it." So saying, Stornzof took the handlebar, a.s.suming control of the two-seater.

He advanced the vehicle unhesitatingly, and the front tire appeared to sink into solid stone, followed by the handlebar and the hands gripping it, then by the tall grey-clad figure of the overcommander. Girays drew in his breath sharply as the Grewzian vanished, along with the second tire and rear seat, the carrier and suitcases, and the flying-wheel. Nothing remained to be seen but vine-veiled cliff face, seemingly solid and undisturbed.

"Stornzof-are you there?" Girays demanded. "Can you hear me?"

"I hear you plainly." The Grewzian's voice was close and un.o.bstructed. "I see you as well. The illusion is single directional, and you are clearly visible to me."

"What else is visible on your side?"

"Come through and see for yourself. Walk straight forward. There is nothing in your path. You must believe this."

Girays hesitated only a moment, then advanced steadily, with arms outstretched. He knew he must resemble a resolute sleepwalker, but could not bring himself to walk face-first into the creeping daggers. Which were not real, he a.s.sured himself. If a demonstrably corporeal Grewzian demiG.o.d could walk straight through, then a Vonahrish formerly-Exalted could do at least as well.

His arms plunged shoulder deep into the tangle of vines. For a moment he thought he sensed resistance, he even thought he felt the stab of the thorns, but mastered the instinctive shrinking of his flesh and marched on. The illusory sensations subsided, he seemed to pa.s.s through a region of fog or shadow, then the world sharpened into focus and he found himself face-to-face with Karsler Stornzof. Steep rocky walls hemmed them closely on two sides. The illusory granite and vines masked the opening of a narrow defile, which extended only a few yards before opening onto a bare, shallow slope.

At the juncture of defile and slope stood a twin pair of horse-drawn caravans, whose exuberant ornamentation and distinctive boatlike design marked them as the property of wandering Turos. The owners were gathered about a small campfire, where skewers of spiced meat cooked on a makeshift grill. Girays quickly counted some two dozen people, more or less-it was hard to be certain, for the gang of swarthy, elf-locked children orbiting the fire in perpetual motion defied quantification. There were at least half a dozen women, ranging in age from ripening adolescent to decayed beldam. Of these half dozen, two clasped infants to their brown b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and another was visibly pregnant. The men were similarly diverse in age, if similar in type-all bronzed, slant eyed, and plump lipped, with agile bodies and quick gestures. Four of them now produced fowling pieces, seemingly out of nowhere. As the intruders approached, the four stood as one, leveled their weapons, and took aim.

The Ellipsoids halted at once.

"Hold your fire, we are not enemies," Girays advised in Vonahrish, without hesitation or reflection. But his instincts were good, for the Turos, citizens of the world and of nowhere, knew the predominant international tongue.

"Grewzians enemies of everyone," replied a Turo man of middle years and unusual breadth of shoulder, probably a leader. "Your national talent."

"I am Vonahrish, and enemy of no one."

"You keep bad company, then." The Turo favored the uniformed overcommander with a brief, hostile glance. "These Grewzian a.s.sa.s.sins hunt our kind through Neraunce and Nidroon, this is their idea of sport. They slaughter us like hogs in the Mid-Duchies."

"Not this one. He competes in the Grand Ellipse race."

"Today his race is run."

"I am sorry to hear it, for your sake." Girays a.s.sumed an air of sympathy. "Should this overcommander vanish from the compet.i.tion, his Grewzian countrymen will make their displeasure known, and the sufferings that your people have already endured will be as nothing compared to what must follow. And that does not even begin to address the issue of my own removal-an unavoidable necessity in the event of my companion's murder-and the consequences thereof. I am a v'Alisante, and not exactly invisible," he observed mildly.

Unease clouded the faces of his Turo listeners.

"How do you find your way in here?" The Turo spokesman scowled.

"Easily," Stornzof informed him. "The image concealing your campsite is sound but rudimentary, its nature obvious to the trained observer. You've an illusionist in your company?" There was no response, and he concluded, "You may hardly rely upon so weak a defense."

The Turo uneasiness deepened.

"What do you want here?" The Turo leader's black eyes glittered.

"a.s.sistance. The benefit of your skill," Girays returned casually, as if unaware of guns trained upon his heart. "Our vehicle is damaged. Hammer the dented tire back into shape, and I'll pay you ten New-rekkoes."

The Turo reflected. At last he countered grudgingly, "Fifteen."

"Agreed."

"You pay now."

Girays did so.

The other signaled his followers, and the fowling pieces vanished as magically as they had appeared.

"You wait now." The Turo took the two-seater from Stornzof. "Over here. You want some of our meat, that is another twelve New-rekkoes."

Girays wavered, tempted by the aroma, but Stornzof replied without hesitation, courteously as if answering a gracious invitation, "Thank you, I will decline the meat."

For the next half hour they waited there, seated on the ground in the defile, listening to the clang of hammer on iron and the low murmur of Turo conversation. At the end of that time, one of the women wheeled the repaired two-seater smoothly back to them. Both men stood, and Stornzof stepped forward to take the vehicle.

She halted him with a gesture. Her nostrils flared at sight of his Grewzian uniform, but her eyes widened with interest as they rose to his face.

"Machine oiled," the woman announced. "One New-rekko extra."

Stornzof paid her and took the two-seater. The Turo woman withdrew, casting a long glance back over her shoulder at him as she went.

His own existence, Girays observed with amused chagrin, seemed to go unnoticed.

They mounted the two-seater, with Stornzof in front, and pedaled out of the defile. The fog obscured Girays's vision for a few seconds, then they were back on the Aeshno-Eynisse Road, and the expanse of vine-draped granite lining the way before and behind them appeared unbroken. The riders exerted themselves, and the two-seater gathered speed.

The breeze of pa.s.sage was cooling his face again, it felt fine, and they were pelting along northeast toward Eynisse at a much better speed than he could have achieved by any other currently available means. The Grewzian overcommander had made good on all claims and promises, Girays was forced to concede. Even that apparently fantastic boast about his ability to detect the magical "convolutions of force," the "disruptions of normality"-he had proved that he could do it.

"Stornzof," he said aloud.

"Yes?" The Grewzian's eyes remained fixed on the road before him.

"I admit to an error."

"Error?"

"I questioned your claims."

"Do you imagine that an unusual occurrence?"

"I wouldn't know. I do know that I was mistaken, because you've proved it." Girays forced himself to add, "I won't doubt your word again."

"Do not make rash promises," the Grewzian advised with a hint of dryness. "In any case you owe nothing to me, whose life you have saved twice within the s.p.a.ce of two days."

That was almost certainly true, Girays reflected, and felt better.

The road before them ran downhill at a gentle grade. Pedaling was easy, and the newly oiled two-seater sped like a racehorse. Girays's spirits rose, and he observed, "At this rate we should reach Eynisse by noon tomorrow."

"We might do better yet," Stornzof suggested.

"Ah, ride on straight through the night, you mean?"