She was reading the scroll. Attentively, closely, but without a hint of a smile crossing her lips. The reading provoked no amusement, no violent hilarity, no heart-stopping laughter: not so much as a hesitant giggle. When she had finished, Queen Zhelerasjju neatly rerolled the scroll and slipped it back into its container. Madrenga and Maya could only stare.

  “Thank you for bringing me this, young sir. It is most welcome. I assure you that in the course of your return journey home you will have the additional pleasure of carrying my reply back to your Queen.”

  Madrenga’s spirits fell and he tried not to slump. Really, ought he to have expected anything else? He told himself that he had to return home anyway, and with the still-unexplained changes he and his animals had undergone and the knowledge he had gained, it should prove less of a near-fatal experience than had the journey outward.

  “I will of course be honored to convey Daria’s response, your majesty,” he managed to mumble.

  “Now then,” she said briskly as she handed the cylinder to the heretofore unmoving albino Harund who had been standing silently at attention to the left of the throne, “I know this must have been an arduous and difficult journey for you.” Before Madrenga could even begin to relate the harrowing details of his trip she added, “in addition to which you have apparently managed to somehow persuade our ruthless assailants to peacefully depart our borders. While the first achievement merits our admiration, the second demands a reward. Though I dislike dealing with magicians and the mysterious, I have no choice but to recognize the results of your efforts. It is undeniable that you have saved many lives and much property. Name your reward, young sir.”

  Though he had expected nothing of the sort, Madrenga was quick to take advantage of the offer. With a nod he indicated the now pale and drawn young woman standing beside him.

  “My friend is from a land far, far away. Inconceivably far away. As she was suffering there beneath a curse that promised death inevitable, I brought her here in hopes that help might be found for her condition. For a while she bettered from the change itself. That has now begun to seep away from her as does water down a steep slope. Is there anything your majesty might suggest? Perhaps your court physicians and mystics have access to medical knowledge unknown in Daria.”

  The look on her face indicated that the Queen was giving the visitor’s emotional request her full attention. Eventually she turned and beckoned to an elderly couple who had been standing in a doorway off to one side. Approaching the visitors they commenced a close examination of a hesitant Maya; running their hands over her body, feeling of her hair, staring into her eyes, sniffing her torso, and generally acting like the doctors they were not.

  Upon concluding this idiosyncratic but thorough examination they shuffled over to the queen and bent their elderly bodies toward her the better to hear what their liege might have to say about the matter. While Madrenga and Maya looked on intently, the three important personages conversed softly among themselves. When finally they concluded their conversation, Madrenga felt he already knew what their response would be. He had seen both the old man and woman shaking their heads one time too many for him to be optimistic.

  He was right, and yet he was wrong.

  “What you ask is beyond our modest curative powers,” the old man explained in an aged but strong voice. “Truly the girl lies under a lethal curse of considerable dimensions. It lies not within our ability to drive it from her body, whose farthest recesses it has already penetrated.”

  A barely articulate sound escape Maya’s half-closed lips.

  “But,” added the old woman, “there is one who might possess the power to do so.” Her husband, or partner, or paramour, nodded agreement as she spoke. “The Witch of Si’abayoon.”

  The strange sibilant name meant nothing to Madrenga and less to the downcast Maya, but mere mention of it was enough to trigger a rush of nervous murmuring among those in attendance. Such reactions did not bode well for contacting the individual in question, Madrenga felt. Even the Queen seemed nonplussed as she regarded her most senior advisors.

  “How can you propose such a thing? These who stand here before us are undeniably brave, and perhaps special in ways we cannot conceive, but to suggest that ones so young deliberately seek out the Si'abayoon is effectively to send them to their deaths.”

  The old man shrugged ever so slightly. “The girl is already doomed by the curse that lies upon her body. We sense that the boy-man has avoided death many times to reach Daria. They asked for a solution to their problem. We have provided one. The only possible one. What next to do is his choice and her choice. We make no recommendation one way or the other.” His partner added her concurrence.

  Maya coughed. She was coughing more each day, Madrenga knew. When she had regained control of her breathing she turned to him and peered up into his dark eyes.

  “You don’t have to do this. I’m ready to die. I was ready to die when you took me from my hospital bed and brought me—here. You risked your life to carry out your mission. It would be wrong of you to risk it again for me. Especially when there’s no guarantee of success.”

  Ignoring the fact that a queen, her advisors, and her immediate royal court were watching, he replied without hesitation. “If I’ve learned one thing in life it’s that there are no promises. There is only hope. The advisor is right: in coming here I’ve had to face death several times. I think I know him now, a little. Death. He’s no longer a stranger to me and—I’m not afraid of strangers. If you’re willing to chance this, I’ll go with you. We all die some time.”

  “Some sooner than others,” she murmured. Then she threw herself at him. When he embraced her back she all but vanished within his enveloping arms.

  “Brave and foolish.” The Queen did not smile. “I can do no more and no less than wish you good fortune.”

  Releasing Maya, who remained close to him, Madrenga turned back to the Queen. “If this witch has so much power, why did the court of Daria not seek her help in fighting those who besieged your city?”

  The old man spoke up. “The Witch of Si'abayoon fights for no one but herself. She keeps to her own counsel and her own ways. Try, and she may deign to speak with you—or as readily turn you into food for worms.”

  “In any event,” added the old woman, “she is not free to help anyone, including herself. For the past thirty years she has been held captive by the Woaralins of Mount Murrl. They alternately tempt and torture her in vain attempts to convince her to reveal her secrets. She refuses all and broods alone in the cave that is her prison.”

  Madrenga blinked in confusion. “I have heard of many peoples, but never of the Woaralin.”

  The elder continued, her tone grim. “They are degenerate Selndar, debased offspring of their dignified progenitors. Long ago they were forced from the Selndar tribe to congregate in the caves and tunnels of Mount Murrl. There they have remained ever since, interbreeding prolifically while garnering powers dark and decadent. Any who stray near are in danger.” She paused. “Any who attempt to enter never come out.”

  It was quiet for a moment until Maya spoke. “If this witch is as powerful as you say yet cannot free herself from these creatures, how can we hope to do so?”

  “We can only try.” Though it required a conscious effort Madrenga mustered his most encouraging smile. “If we don’t try, you’ll die. As for me, I’m not afraid of death. Not anymore. The boy who left Harup-taw-shet was frightened of many things. The man I have become (and he said it with confidence) is frightened of far less.”

  Cocking her head to one side, the old woman eyed him curiously. “Then tell us a thing you are still afraid of, boy-man.”

  Drawing himself up to his full height, Madrenga met her wizened stare without flinching. “Failure, for one thing. It is a great motivator.” He smiled a second time down at Maya. “So are you.” Returning his attention to the Queen and her advisors, he posited the next question firmly and without hesitation.

  “Now, how do we get to this Mount Murrl?”

  As had the caravan merchants when he had saved them from the frost dragon, so the grateful citizens of Daria pressed gold and jewels and other precious objects on the mysterious stranger who had somehow raised the siege of their city. One portly merchant even attempted to make a gift of his exceedingly comely daughter to the solitary warrior in the hope that he might remain among them. For some unknown reason Maya viewed this offering with uncharacteristic disdain. Noting her reaction Madrenga thought he might question her about it, but they had no time. Accepting a few of the finest offerings more to convince himself that he was going to have a chance to make use of them in the future than out of any greed or need, he stowed them away in Orania’s pack as they left the clusters of cheering, grateful citizens behind. Ahead lay the heavily eroded Anandar Escarpment and at its rugged heart, the broken mass of limestone known as Mount Murrl.

  With each passing day he urged Orania to greater and greater speed, because with each passing day Maya grew weaker and weaker. The curse that was killing her was spreading rapidly through her body. Now she responded with a wince when he touched certain parts of her, and tiny red spots had begun to appear just under her skin. In addition to her increasing fatigue she started to complain of pain in her bones and joints. It was plain to see that if they could not free the witch and convince her to render assistance, then Maya would be dead within a week or two.

  Of course, a brooding Madrenga told himself, even if they succeeded in freeing the Si'abayoon from her captors there was no guarantee that she would do anything to help them. According to everything they had been told by Queen Zhelerasjju and her advisors, once loosed from her bonds the witch was as likely to strike out furiously in every direction as to listen to those who had rescued her.

  No distinct or signposted trail wended its way up the mountainside to the lair of the Woaralin, but the two travelers had no difficulty finding it. All that was necessary was to follow the uneven line of dismembered skeletons and decomposing corpses of animals, men, Harund, and yes, even Selndar. A mound of bodies further marked the way into the bowels of Mount Murrl. High, arched, and black as a socket where a diseased tooth had been removed, the stalactite-festooned cave ceiling loomed above them. To Maya it looked like an open mouth just waiting to swallow.

  “You’ll stay here,” he told her. “I’ll move faster without you.”

  Somehow she mustered enough strength to speak in a normal voice. “I’ll not stay here. If you don’t come back, I’ll die terribly alone. If you succeed, I should be with you.”

  His teeth clenched. “You’ll get in the way. And you can’t fight. In your present condition you shouldn’t even bleed.”

  “All true,” she argued, “but I’m the one seeking the witch’s help, and I should be the one to ask for it. If she kills me in a fit of rage, or pique, or whatever, I’ll be no worse off than if I didn’t try, and while she’s dealing with me it might give you a chance to escape.”

  As always when they were riding he could feel her weight leaning back against him. It seemed so much less now. Just as there was no time to waste in seeking out this last possibility of help, so there was no time to waste in arguing.

  Also, it was exceedingly irritating when she was right.

  “Come then, and we will triumph or fail together.”

  She pushed back against him a little harder than usual. “That’s all I’m asking for, Madrenga.”

  While she waited atop Orania he scavenged enough dry brush to make several torches. Putting a pair in reserve, he used flint and striker from his supply pack to set two others alight. Thus illuminated and armed he chucked his mount’s reins and set a course for the dark unknown.

  The charnel house road they had followed outside was not replicated within the mountain. Bones and bodies had been cleaned up, or else they had never been brought inside. Only occasionally did they encounter the corpse of some unlucky traveler.

  “Wait!” Maya shouted.

  “What?” An alarmed Madrenga pulled back on Orania’s reins. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Leaning to her left, she pointed. “What’s that, there?”

  He peered in the direction she was indicating. “Yet another who strayed too far and too deep and suffered for his boldness. I see no difference between his bones and the many we have already saluted.”

  “Not the skeleton. What lies by its hips.”

  Squinting, Madrenga made out the gleam of metal. Some small weapon that had been unable to preserve the life of its owner. From the lie of it, he thought, it had never been drawn.

  “A war axe of some kind,” was his appraisal. “A small one at that. What of it?”

  Her tone was one of hushed amazement. “It looks like a farsa. A legendary weapon.”

  He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

  She looked back at him. “It’s not from your legends. It’s from mine. From my people. I remember my grandfather mentioning it in stories he told to me of an ancient time, in the country of my ancestors.”

  “A very small legend, then,” he concluded dismissively. “Would you like to have it?”

  “It can’t be real.” She was murmuring as much to herself as to her companion. “Especially not here, in this place. But it looks like a farsa.” She nodded. “Can I?”

  “You haven’t the strength to dismount by yourself yet you want a battle axe.” He sighed. “Well, it’s small enough that you can cradle it. Wait.”

  Dismounting, he walked over to the finely dressed corpse and took possession of the unused weapon. Returning to where Orania waited patiently, he handed it up to Maya. She studied it reverently as he remounted.

  “It can’t be.” She kept repeating the denial as they resumed their advance. “It just can’t be.”

  Twenty minutes riding brought them to spacious rooms and corridors that shone with the light of thousands of tiny insect larvae and fields of luminescent fungi that rendered the need for torches superfluous. Save for the occasional bell-like ping of dripping water it was a deceptively peaceful place.

  Rounding a corner, they nearly ran over a browsing Woaralin.

  Down on all fours grazing a hillside of moss, it hardly looked like a person. It was only when, startled by their sudden and unexpected appearance, it stood up on its hind legs that it became recognizable as something whose forbearers had once walked among men. A short length of cloth barely covered its loins while a vest of crude woven material hung from its shoulders. From a rope around its waist an assortment of small utensils hung from shorter cords. Letting out a reptilian hiss, it drew a knife and bolted.

  “Orania, go!” Madrenga yelled.

  The Woaralin was fast and agile, but Bit ran him down before he could scramble up a chosen slope and disappear into the crevice at its apex. As the slender biped tried to use his blade to strike at the snarling, barking dog, Orania arrived and Madrenga slid from his saddle. So thin were the Woaralin’s wrists that the youth was able to pin them behind the creature with one hand. The other he placed on the grazer’s neck.

  “Now you’ll hold still and listen,” Madrenga growled at his prisoner, “or I’ll break your neck!”

  Grinning, the repulsive creature turned his head around to look at his much taller, heavier captor. “Weel yee now, brave cheeld? Go ahead and breek eet, theen. I’ve no gold, no geems, I’ve nothing to geeve yee anywees.”

  “On the contrary, creature, you carry something of great value to us: information.”

  Bugging out of their too-small sockets, huge eyes stared back at him. “Knowleedge weel do yee no good heere, feellow. Ask awee, theen. I’ll not refuse yee. There’s no need. Yee deaths are alreedy foredained.”

  Having been the recipient of far worse threats these preceding months, Madrenga ignored the warning and maintained his unyielding grip on the Woaralin’s wrists and neck.

  “We’ve come for the Witch of Si'abayoon. Tell us where she is being held.”

  For the first time since his capture the Woaralin looked unsure. “Yee’ve come heere, to the caveerns of Murrl—to reescue a weetch?” When Maya nodded solemnly, the debased creature burst out in a demented cackle that ceased only when Madrenga tightened his grip still further.

  “What reemarkable creetures yee two bee! A meesion feet for the Keeng of Fools heemself!” Had Madrenga’s grip permitted it the prisoner would have shaken his head in disbelief. “Weel theen, who bee I to stand in the way of such an admirable goal? Ride on as yee go and yeel come to a treeo of tunneels. Take the right-hand fork. Eet narrows queek. At the end are the ruins of olden Murrl, where first the Woaralin seetled theese mountains. Eet is a place of collapse and ruin. There weel yee find the witch, impreesoned as she has been for decades thrice. If the Woaralin do not keel yee, then by all meens free her and shee surely will.” Once more his inhuman screeching filled the cave. It stopped only when Madrenga, with a single powerful twist, wrenched the grinning head around until it was facing completely backward. Letting the now limp body drop from his hands, it collapsed in a rubbery pile at his feet.

  “Did you have to do that?” Though she had seen her share of violence over the past days, Maya was still taken aback by the cold abruptness of her companion’s action.

  Madrenga mounted up behind her, chucked the reins, and sent Orania onward again. “I had no choice, Maya. If I had left him be he might well have raised an alarm. I made him no promises. Besides, the thing did not much seem to care if he lived or died. I, on the other hand, do.”

  She nodded knowingly, if not entirely understandingly, and went quiet as she solemnly returned her attention to the small battle axe cradled in her hands. There was no rust on it. In the deviant fungal light that suffused the cave through which they were riding it shimmered as if with an unholy glow of its own.

  Behind them all was still and silent. Long moments passed. Then the crumpled body of the Woaralin lifted itself up and straightened. Reaching up, one bony hand took hold of the protruding chin while the other wrapped itself spiderlike around the back of the head. A quick wrench, a sharp cracking sound, and the grinning skull was once more facing forward. Gathering itself, the sinister figure scrambled up the steep slope off to its right and disappeared into the fissure at the top.