No sign of awareness, much less comprehension. She looked down at his foot, which displayed no puncture wounds, but the mud-caked flesh visible between the straps of his sandals was puffy and livid, almost green in color. So he had been bitten, then. But no, the other foot was exactly the same, and surely the hyuul could not have struck both, and they would not have puffed up and turned green so quickly, anyway. They probably weren't even really green, it was just a trick of the failing light.

Then she caught another whiff of that putrid meat stench coming off the Quiet-fellow, and an unreasoning sort of fear boiled up inside her. Quite irrational, and she was not about to let it show. The bearer was uninjured, the incident was closed. She reentered the palanquin and shut the door behind her.

"Go," she commanded, and the journey continued.

She ate cold rice salad and drank fruit juice from one of the bottles in the wicker hamper while enough light remained to distinguish the contents. Then the rain started up again, and the light failed altogether. The Quiet-fellows bore their burden east through intense darkness, and never for a moment did their pace falter.

There was no lamp or candle. When she peered out through the window she could see nothing, and so she listened intently, but heard only the rain, the wind, the creak of wooden joints, and the squelch of the Quiet-fellows' feet in the mud. The other palanquin could not have been far off, but the blackness had swallowed it whole; the blackness had swallowed all the world.

The squelching was rhythmic and almost soporific; the patter of the rain on the roof insidiously relaxing. The dank darkness pressed her eyelids shut, and she slept.

IT WAS STILL DARK AND RAINY when she awoke. Neither the rhythm nor tempo of squelching had altered perceptibly. She opened one of the windows, and leaden light pushed in. Morning, then. Yawning, she knuckled her eyes, and stuck her head out to let the rain wash her face. When she was thoroughly awake, she surveyed her surroundings. when she awoke. Neither the rhythm nor tempo of squelching had altered perceptibly. She opened one of the windows, and leaden light pushed in. Morning, then. Yawning, she knuckled her eyes, and stuck her head out to let the rain wash her face. When she was thoroughly awake, she surveyed her surroundings.

Not much to see. An endless plain, probably a desert of dust in the dry weather, presently a sea of yellowish mud. Mist and cloud veiled the landscape, but she could discern the cl.u.s.tering low rooftops of some small village squatting in the middle distance. Not JaiGhul, not yet. She drew back inside and checked the view through the other window. More mud, and, not far away, the other palanquin following a course parallel to her own.

She drank a little fruit juice, ate some flatbread, and settled back with a book. When she judged the terrain favorable she ordered another rest stop, with reluctance; for the thought of the rival palanquin taking the lead, even by a matter of yards, was intolerable.

Lifting her skirts immodestly high to clear the muck, she slogged on back to her conveyance, but paused before entering to check the bearers' feet for snakes. She saw none, but noted for the first time that the rear Quiet-fellow's right foot lacked its large toe. His left foot was missing its large and small toes. Both feet were caked with mud, and it was impossible to judge the age or recency of the amputations. The front Quiet-fellow's left foot was also four toed. Curious that she had not noticed it yesterday. The presence of a venomous snake must have blinded her to all else. Unfortunate for the bearers, but at least their losses were not slowing them down.

The journey continued and the wet, dull day wore on. The Quiet-fellows never rested, never ate, never slept, never slackened, never faltered. Obviously their master had fortified them in some arcane way, but she could not fathom how he had done it, and something told her that she did not really want to know.

In the late afternoon they came to a region of gently rolling hillocks and hollows, through which flowed some nameless stream fringed with heavy growths of waist-high reeds. Undeterred, the Quiet-fellows plowed their way through the vegetation and marched straight on into the water, which quickly rose to chest level.

Luzelle looked out the window to see the turbulent tan waters almost lapping the bottom of the palanquin. She could reach down and touch them, and did so in the idle manner of a picnicker in a rowboat upon a quiet Vonahrish pond. The sensation was agreeable, and she allowed her hand to trail along until she saw an elongated snout cleaving a swift approach and glimpsed a pair of lidless reptilian eyes coming toward her. Then she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away and shouted an urgent warning to the bearers, who did not alter their pace.

The snout and eyes preceded a long form that she recognized too readily. As she drew her hand from the water, the crocodile changed course, veering for the front Quiet-fellow. Leaning out the window, she yelled at the bearer, "Come inside-get out of the water!"

He did not so much as glance in her direction. She waved her arm frantically and screamed, but he seemed deaf. The crocodile submerged, disappearing from view, and then the Quiet-fellow appeared to rock under the impact of some giant invisible blow. He teetered and the palanquin tipped, throwing Luzelle heavily against the door. The latch gave way, the door swung wide, and she slid out into the stream.

For a moment she splashed and sputtered, then her feet found soft bottom and she righted herself. She stood neck deep in muddy, moderately warm water, and even as she shook the sopping hair out of her eyes, she saw a second crocodile emerge from the shelter of the reeds to slip into the water and launch itself at her.

The Quiet-fellows righted the palanquin and trudged on without her.

"Halt!" she yelled wildly, and they stopped. "Wait for me, wait for me," she muttered as she floundered toward them. They stood motionless, staring straight ahead.

She reached the palanquin. Grasping the door frame, she jumped up, struggled desperately, and managed to drag herself aboard. The door gaped. As she leaned forward to grab it, a crocodile surfaced, its jaws yawning inches below her outstretched arm. She slammed the door in the reptile's face, latched it securely, and likewise fastened both sets of window shutters.

"Go," she croaked.

The Quiet-fellows strode imperturbably on. Moments later they reached the far bank and emerged from the stream.

For a time Luzelle sat trembling and dripping in the darkness. When her tremors subsided, she took a deep breath, changed her wet garments for dry ones, then cracked the shutters open and warily peeked out.

She saw muddy plains, dim grey skies, and falling rain. When she looked down at the ground, she saw that the big puddles filling every dip and hollow swarmed with little brown snakes, through which the Quiet-fellows walked without hesitation or mishap.

They had displayed a similar indifference to the crocodiles, and that confidence had justified itself. Following the initial a.s.sault on the front bearer, the crocodiles had left the Quiet-fellows alone.

When next she ventured to order a brief rest stop, Luzelle took the opportunity to scrutinize her companions. The right leg of the front bearer's baggy trousers had been shredded from knee to ankle, baring a length of livid shank. The flesh bore deep puncture marks. A chunk of meat had been ripped out of the calf, and Luzelle glimpsed a white flash of bone. But the wound that should have crippled the victim seemed to go unnoticed. The Quiet-fellow displayed neither pain nor awareness. And there was not a single drop of blood to be seen.

She did not let herself think about it.

RAINY GREY DAY DARKENED to rainy black night. The m.u.f.fled tread of marching feet lulled Luzelle to sleep, and was with her when she woke in the morning. The rain had ceased, no doubt temporarily, and for once she could afford to open both windows. She checked the vistas right and left. More mud, more puddles and snakes, but the terrain was no longer quite so flat. An expanse of shallow, rolling hills relieved the monotony. Off to the left, not far away, the other palanquin kept pace with her own. Evidently Girays and Karsler had won safely past the crocodiles. to rainy black night. The m.u.f.fled tread of marching feet lulled Luzelle to sleep, and was with her when she woke in the morning. The rain had ceased, no doubt temporarily, and for once she could afford to open both windows. She checked the vistas right and left. More mud, more puddles and snakes, but the terrain was no longer quite so flat. An expanse of shallow, rolling hills relieved the monotony. Off to the left, not far away, the other palanquin kept pace with her own. Evidently Girays and Karsler had won safely past the crocodiles.

Time pa.s.sed, the rain resumed, they bypa.s.sed another village, and Luzelle's spirits began to rise, for the journey was surely nearing its end. Forty-eight hours, HeeshNuri-in-Wings had promised, and those two days were almost spent. Heedless of the rain, she stuck her head out the window, straining her eyes for a glimpse of JaiGhul, where the railroad service resumed, but saw only mud and mist. She drew back with a sigh.

Railroad. Normal conveyance, filled with normal human beings. Modern transportation into the city of ZuLaysa, where her depleted wallet would receive a transfusion, and then north to the port city of Rifzir, where she could book normal ferry pa.s.sage across the Straits of Aisuu to the Emirate of Mekzaes. Railroad. Normality. Soon.

The palanquin wobbled. One of the Quiet-fellows, unbelievably, had missed a step. The march regained its rhythm briefly, then the palanquin lurched again and its rear end dropped abruptly, tipping Luzelle backward against the cushions. The poles. .h.i.t the ground, and the impact jarred through her. For some reason the back bearer had lost or relinquished his burden, but the lead Quiet-fellow tramped on, indifferent or unaware. The palanquin, inclined at a sharp angle, sc.r.a.ped and dragged along at a teeth-rattling crawl.

Righting herself with an effort, Luzelle poked her head out and looked back to behold the rear Quiet-fellow knee-deep in mud, immobilized, and unconscious of his own plight. While his trapped legs strained to move, his torso swung forward, precipitating the overbalanced figure face-first into the mire. Even then his efforts to advance continued until Luzelle thought to order a halt. The front bearer stopped on command. The mired figure lay still.

Now what? She needed both bearers. She would have to lift the fallen Quiet-fellow and steer him back to his post, but he was larger than she, and it was not certain that she possessed the strength. Perhaps she could find a way, but she needed to reach him first, and a single glance told her that the wet ground lying between herself and the bearer swarmed with little brown snakes. Hundreds of hyuuls, perhaps thousands, and every one of them poisonous. She glanced from the snakes to the Quiet-fellow and back again. Her mind spun. Seat cushions? Improvise a movable elevated path? Tie them to her feet?

A flash of motion caught her eye. She looked up and saw the rival palanquin drawing level with her own. The shutters stood ajar. Girays's face appeared at the window, and she waved urgently.

He saw her, there could be no doubt, and her predicament was self-explanatory. M. the Marquis would know what to do.

He did indeed. The shutters closed and Girays's face vanished. The palanquin moved on and she stared after it, open-mouthed.

How could he? Did he want her to die out here in the middle of muddy nowhere? The tears rose to her eyes and she dashed them away. That self-satisfied, supercilious swine wasn't about to make her cry. He wouldn't get the better of her, either. She would show him. She would show them all. The tears rose to her eyes and she dashed them away. That self-satisfied, supercilious swine wasn't about to make her cry. He wouldn't get the better of her, either. She would show him. She would show them all.

Back to practical matters. She willed her mind into action. Cushions. They would lift and support her safely above the mud and the serpents. Clumsy but probably effective, if only she could find a way of attaching them to her feet. Tie them in place with strips of cloth torn from one of her new muslin nightgowns? Not impossible. Nightgowns and penknife lay in her valise. She retrieved both and went to work.

The strips she tore off were long but flimsy. She tried twisting a couple together to form a cord, but they would not stay twisted, not even when she wet them. Braiding worked better, but took some time. For the next several minutes her fingers flew.

When the braids were done, she tried tying the cushions to her feet. The task was trickier than she expected, and several efforts failed, but soon she hit upon a winding configuration of braids that seemed to hold the cushions securely. They had better be secure, at least secure enough to carry her across several yards of snake-infested mud. How many yards? She glanced back to gauge the distance and, through the pouring rain, discerned a tall grey figure dragging the fallen Quiet-fellow free of the mire.

"Karsler?" she breathed, entranced. His high boots, she noted at once, were certainly serpentproof.

The trapped feet emerged with an audible plop, and Karsler hauled the Quiet-fellow upright. The bearer swayed dangerously, then regained his balance and stood motionless. Karsler issued a quiet command and together they advanced. As they drew near, Luzelle saw before she could look away that the Quiet-fellow's mask had slipped, revealing most of a milky-eyed, greenly distended countenance. She thought she glimpsed a jagged palisade of rotting teeth, but only upper teeth, for the lower jaw was entirely gone. But the rain might have confused her sight, and in any case, she promptly pushed the vision from her mind.

They reached the palanquin, and the bearer took up the rear poles. Karsler stepped around to the window.

"Luzelle, you are unhurt?" he inquired.

"Yes, I'm fine." She opened the door. "Please, come on in out of the rain."

He complied and she shut the door behind him. He was soaked, his uniform plastered to him, the water dripping from his hat, and Luzelle thought she had never seen anyone more beautiful.

"Thank you-oh, thank you, Karsler!" she exclaimed. "If you hadn't helped me, I don't know what I would have done."

"I think I can see what you would have done." His eyes dropped to the cushions tied to her feet, and he smiled slightly. "This is most imaginative. I do not know that it is quite practical, but I must commend your ingenuity."

"Yes, you're right, it's ridiculous."

"I do not say so. Comical appearance notwithstanding, this unorthodox method you have devised might perhaps have proved successful."

"And might not. I'm glad I needn't put it to the test, thanks to you. You're extraordinarily generous to stop for me this way. I'm surprised you got Girays to agree to it."

"He did not agree. He did not see the necessity, but professed great confidence in your ability to overcome all obstacles. Perhaps he was right about that, but I did not wish to take the chance. Therefore v'Alisante and I have parted company, and he has continued on his way."

"What, you mean he just took the palanquin you'd both paid for and abandoned you here? He had no right to do that."

"I hope I do not presume too greatly in hoping you will allow me to share your conveyance."

"I'll very much enjoy your company. And I think Girays v'Alisante ought to be ashamed. He's played you a miserable trick."

"I do not see it that way. We race, and he is not obligated to pause for anyone. It is something I may choose for myself, but cannot expect of another."

"Neither can I," she returned. "This isn't right, you shouldn't damage your chances of winning on my account."

"Ah, almost you speak like the grandlandsman."

"That is not my ambition. Where is your uncle, anyway? I haven't seen him in a long time."

"He has gone on ahead. Preferring to shorten the tedium of the journey, he has proceeded directly to Lis Folaze, where I shall meet him next."

"Somehow I suspect you aren't so very eager to overtake him."

"I am far more eager to overtake v'Alisante," Karsler parried. "His lead increases by the minute."

Quite right.

"Go!" Luzelle commanded sharply, and the Quiet-fellows marched. Luzelle commanded sharply, and the Quiet-fellows marched.

Karsler smiled at her, and she remembered the sun.

"That is better," he said.

"Much better," she replied, and smiled back at him.

20.

"MAJESTY, I AM PLEASED to announce an accomplishment. Our Masterfire has attained new levels of dexterity and control," proclaimed Nevenskoi. to announce an accomplishment. Our Masterfire has attained new levels of dexterity and control," proclaimed Nevenskoi.

"Has he?" King Miltzin appeared to suppress a yawn.

"Indeed." Resolved to overcome his monarch's obvious ennui, the adept adopted an air of dignified enthusiasm. "We have prepared a demonstration, a new marvel to stimulate Your Majesty's sense of wonder."

"Another of the fire things? How many of those have I seen? Really, Nevenskoi, hasn't it occurred to you that this is all becoming a trifle repet.i.tive? Isn't it about time for you to expand your horizons a bit?"

"But, Sire-" The adept's intestines stirred uneasily. "The Sentient Fire is a discovery of enormous significance, one whose potential has scarcely begun to be explored-"

"To my mind it's been explored to the limit and beyond, these past few months. Can't you come up with anything new new?"

New? One of the great arcane advances in history at his disposal, and this royal r.e.t.a.r.date was already bored with it? Nevenskoi's innards began to churn. One of the great arcane advances in history at his disposal, and this royal r.e.t.a.r.date was already bored with it? Nevenskoi's innards began to churn.

"Sire-" The adept moistened his lips and spoke with exquisite restraint. "I beg leave to observe that Masterfire's talent to amuse remains very much intact. Your Majesty need only recall the enthusiasm of the audience at the opera house-"

"Yes, that was was a triumph, wasn't it?" Miltzin's eyes kindled briefly. "The spectacle was astounding! Even the Zoketsa professed herself amazed. But there is all the trouble, you see. The triumph was a disaster in disguise. Ever since that night I've been pelted with pleas and demands, most of them originating among my own subjects. I should never have whetted the public appet.i.te. It was a splendid show, but I know now that it was a mistake, exposing our green friend to the view of the vulgar-a mistake that I shall not repeat." a triumph, wasn't it?" Miltzin's eyes kindled briefly. "The spectacle was astounding! Even the Zoketsa professed herself amazed. But there is all the trouble, you see. The triumph was a disaster in disguise. Ever since that night I've been pelted with pleas and demands, most of them originating among my own subjects. I should never have whetted the public appet.i.te. It was a splendid show, but I know now that it was a mistake, exposing our green friend to the view of the vulgar-a mistake that I shall not repeat."

"I see." Another hope dashed. Nevenskoi strove to contain his resentment, but his creation, presently stationed beneath the king's chafing dish, caught the emotional emanation. The fire leapt responsively, and green tongues licked out across the desk.

Down. Small, my beauty, small, Nevenskoi soundlessly enjoined, and Masterfire subsided without argument.

"Hereafter Masterfire must limit his activities to the confines of the Waterwitch," the king decreed. Frowning, he selected a deep-fried oyster puff from the inevitable platter of appetizers. "And that being so, it's only too clear that the novelty of the various little demonstrations and displays has quite exhausted itself."

"Majesty, allow your servant the honor of proving you wrong," Nevenskoi suggested.

"Ha! Wrong! You are very blunt. Never mind, I take no offense. Well, then, my friend, prove me wrong by all means. I shall be pleasantly surprised if you can do it."

"Sire, I do not boast when I a.s.sure you that Masterfire has achieved new heights of proficiency."

"Proficiency in what?"

"In molding and shaping his own substance. He has developed a remarkable degree of control and precision, combined with infinite versatility. In short, Your Majesty, Masterfire is capable of a.s.suming virtually any shape imaginable. I will show you."

Loveliness. Having caught his creation's attention, Nevenskoi issued silent commands. Having caught his creation's attention, Nevenskoi issued silent commands.

At once Masterfire shot out from under the chafing dish, sprang from the desktop, raced to the center of the room, and reached for the ceiling. A column of green flame roared into being. For a few moments the column whirled wildly, its light almost unendurable to the eye, then gradually the revolutions decelerated, the fierce radiance palpitated like a stricken heart, and the shape of the fiery ma.s.s began to change.

Branches of flame snaked out from the trunk, twigs sprouted from the branches, the twigs divided, and broad green leaves of fire extruded themselves. The small whorls crowning the twigs gave birth to buds that quickly opened to blazing blossoms, distinct down to the smallest detail of pistil and stamen.

"Well. It's a tree," said the king.

"Perfect in every part." Nevenskoi's eyes feasted. "Majesty, observe the astonishing accuracy-the texture of the bark, the curve of each individual petal, the fiery knots along the bole, the precise fashioning of every part-"

"It's very nice. It looks just like a tree. What does it do?"

"Do?"

"Does it just stand there like a tame forest fire, or does it do do anything?" anything?"

"What, if I may be so bold as to inquire, does Your Majesty expect it to do do?"

"How should I know? Some sort of trick, I suppose, something entertaining. That's your concern, isn't it? Really, Nevenskoi, do you expect me to do your work for you? Use your imagination, man!"

"Sire, you see before you a fire that is sentient and aware, the first of its kind, capable of altering its own shape at will, capable of a.s.suming to perfection an infinite variety of forms, and you complain that it is not sufficiently entertaining? Your Majesty, I should like to point out-" Nevenskoi caught himself up with an effort. There was no good at all in pointing out the king's pathetic paucity of vision; quite the contrary, in fact. Biting back his contempt, he continued quite smoothly, "I should like to point out that Masterfire's abilities have barely begun to express themselves. Only watch, Sire."

What shape, what form, was likely to capture Mad Miltzin's capricious fancy? Use your imagination, man! Use your imagination, man! Nevenskoi opened his mind to the universe, and inspiration accordingly found entrance. Nevenskoi opened his mind to the universe, and inspiration accordingly found entrance.

He spoke again in his thoughts, fashioning his instructions with care, and Masterfire instantly responded. The flowering tree whirled out of existence. The column of flame reappeared, spun briefly on its axis, then shrank and dwindled, molded and reshaped itself, sculpting a richly curved naked female form, slender shapely limbs, and the radiant face of a debauched fairy. The green siren that was Masterfire smiled and shook back her blazing cloud of hair.