Kedryn thought for a moment, then pointed ahead. “We cannot afford to lose half a day—we press on.” He looked to each man in turn, adding, “And we seek to avoid sword-play.”

  Brannoc went on grinning; Tepshen nodded once, but his sword remained at the ready. Praying that he had made the right decision, Kedryn lifted his stallion to a trot. The others followed and in a short distance Brannoc passed him, assuming the lead again.

  They continued along the leafy trail until the half-breed once more raised a warning hand. Kedryn reined in alongside, aware that the woodland had fallen silent. Brannoc pointed through the trees and Kedryn saw movement.

  The trail went down a shallow slope to a grassy bowl spread around a stream tributary to the Alagor. What timber had once grown there was long cleared, indicating a regular camp site. It was occupied: seven hide lodges were pitched in a circle on the far side of the stream, a cook fire burning at the center; six women sat about it preparing food. Seven men, five burly warriors, the remaining two white-haired, lounged in the sun, and nine children splashed in the water. There were eight massive dogs sprawled close to the fire in hope of scraps, and as the watchers studied the camp one raised an ugly gray head to growl a warning.

  Instantly the hounds were on their feet, closely followed by the warriors. The big gray dog barked and started toward the stream, the rest of the pack behind, hackles bristling and lips drawn back from the savage fangs.

  “Ka emblan pasa ,” Brannoc called, urging his horse out from the shelter of the timber. “Ka vajari sul Drott. Nera balan tu dr ami, quero tu aldan sul para em pladijo.”

  Dark faces studied him suspiciously, but one man shouted at the dogs, stilling their forward surge. Brannoc reached forward to touch the red and white feathers attached to his bridle.

  “Pasa fori, chaddah. Ka pulan ni terro.” He smiled hugely and muttered, “Follow me.”

  Kedryn and Tepshen did as they were bade, bringing their horses out from the trees and down the slope behind the half- breed. The warrior who had ordered the dogs to a halt spoke again and the hounds, grumbling at the intrusion of strangers, slunk back among the tents. The warriors studied the trio warily, nocked bows in their hands, and Kedryn saw that the knives the women had been using on the food were now held in readiness of more hostile purpose. Brannoc halted at the stream and spoke again, no longer in the byavan, but in a more guttural tongue that sounded to Kedryn all clicks and grunts.

  Whatever he said appeared to find favor with the wood- landers, for the bows were lowered and the women went back to the communal cookpot, the children emerging from the stream to stare in wide-eyed wonder at the newcomers.

  More words were exchanged and Kedryn took the opportunity to study the Caroc. They were darker of skin than the Drott, with mostly red or auburn hair. The women wore braids wound in thick circles either side of their feces, fastened with gold pins. The men were bearded, some teased into plaits, others great bushes, and their hair was uniformly drawn into long tails woven with shells and feathers. Only the two oldsters wore shirts, patched garments of red and blue and green, while the younger warriors were bare-chested, wearing only plaid breeks bound about their sturdy calves with thongs, ankle- length moccasins on their feet. All wore short swords at their waists, and long hunting knives; four axes lay on the grass.

  “We are invited to eat with them,” Brannoc announced. “I have told them we travel on a mission of peace to the Drott territory. The leader is called Mykal and he says we may go with his blessing.”

  Kedryn let slip a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that no opposition was offered, and followed Brannoc across the stream.

  At a word from Mykal, the horses were led away from the circle of lodges and tethered in the shade of the trees, where they began to crop the luxuriant grass with only an occasional snicker of animosity directed at the dogs. Mykal gestured at the ground and Brannoc sat down, Kedryn and Tepshen to either side. The Caroc hunkered around them, the children gathering behind the men, fascinated by the strangers.

  A volley of guttural questions was directed at Brannoc, who responded with the same unintelligible sounds, pausing every so often to translate for his companions.

  “Mykal says that he will give us his symbol so that we may pass unquestioned,” he explained. “He adds that the Drott are not yet gathered. This band is moving to the Caroc Gathering, which the hef-Alador is invited to attend—he says he remembers you from the battle at High Fort.”

  Kedryn paled at the thought of finding himself forced to delay his journey, but Brannoc reassured him with the promise that he had explained their mission did not allow such a sojourn, but that the hef-Alador would endeavor to attend the Caroc Gathering on his return. He smiled at the red-bearded warrior, who beamed back and directed a torrent of grunts and clicks in his direction.

  “He says,” Brannoc translated, “that it is a great honor to have the hef-Alador eat in his camp, and that you are welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

  “Thank him,” Kedryn said, “and make some reasonable excuse.”

  Brannoc grinned and turned to Mykal, who shrugged eloquently, nodding vigorously.

  What excuse Brannoc had offered Kedryn never discovered, for a woman called then and they moved to the fire, where wooden bowls were distributed, filled with a flavorsome stew of venison and vegetables. It was a tasty meal and when it was done Mykal brought a leather sack from his hogan and clay cups were passed around.

  “We must drink with him,” Brannoc elucidated, grinning at the prospect. “It would be an insult to refuse after taking his food.”

  Kedryn nodded agreement, although he had preferred to move on, but deemed it wiser to go with the goodwill of the headman. He smiled as Mykal unstoppered the sack and filled the cups with dark red liquid. It tasted sweet, no more potent than watered wine, and with Brannoc pointing out that only on occasions of great importance was the brew produced, Kedryn found himself forced to swallow several cups. Mykal was enthusiastic in his hospitality, filling his guests’ mugs as the day drew on and Kedryn felt impatience growing.

  Finally Brannoc announced that they might leave without offering offense and Kedryn realized that the brew was far from innocuous as the circle of lodges seemed to rotate slowly as he rose to his feet. Blinking owlishly he bowed to Mykal, instantly regretting the courtesy as the movement transformed the rotation of the tents to a seesawing motion. The Caroc laughed hugely, slapping Kedryn’s shoulder with an enthusiasm that threatened to pitch him face down on the grass.

  “Come,” Brannoc suggested. “Before he decides you are too drunk to ride and insists you stay.”

  Kedryn nodded, thinking that he should express gratitude for the woodlanders’ hospitality, but afraid that any words would founder on his swollen tongue. “Thank him,” he mumbled.

  Brannoc, more accustomed to the liquor than his companions, expressed their gratitude and turned toward the horses. Kedryn paced after him, concentrating on each step as the ground appeared to undulate before him. It was not until he reached his mount that he realized Tepshen was in little better condition. His own foot seemed unable to find the stirrup, and it took a helping hand from Brannoc to get him astride the stallion. Tepshen, he saw, still stood beside his mount, staring fixedly at the saddle. The kyo’s face was calm as ever and his movements had shown no sign of ill-effects, but now he appeared immobilized, simply standing with his reins in one hand, the other on the pommel.

  "Mount,” urged Brannoc from his own vantage point astride the gray.

  Tepshen raised his head and Kedryn saw his eyes were unfocused, the pupils pinpricks in the jet irises. He felt laughter building and gritted his teeth, fighting the impulse.

  “I cannot,” said the kyo.

  Brannoc shook his head in exasperation and was about to dismount, but Mykal came to Tepshen’s aid, shoving the wiry easterner bodily across the horse. It skittered at the movement and Tepshen clutched desperately at the horn as Mykal slotted one foot into a stirrup and another laughing Caroc set the other in place. Tepshen straightened his back with an obvious effort and looked solemnly down at the tribesmen.

  “My thanks,” he declared, enunciating each word with drunken care. “You are true friends.”

  Brannoc translated, adding something that raised a gale of laughter from the Caroc, and took the lead lines of the two pack animals.

  “Now follow me,” he ordered, turning along the tree line to pick up the trail where it left the bowl.

  The motion of his horse threatened to bring Kedryn’s stomach up to his mouth and he concentrated on the figure of Brannoc riding before him with grim determination, vowing that in future he would find out what he drank before allowing a drop to pass his lips. Then he heard Tepshen curse volubly as a branch struck the kyo’s face, turning in his saddle to watch the easterner struggling to maintain his seat. For all his impatience, Kedryn could no longer hold back his mirth and began to chuckle at the sight of his friend swaying and swearing, his customary dignity lost to the powerful Caroc alcohol. He stopped when he suffered the same fate, so intent on watching Tepshen that he failed to heed Brannoc’s warning and caught a branch squarely across his shoulder, finding himself suddenly sprawled full length on the trail, looking up into the kyo’s glazed eyes.

  He sat up, groaning, and rose on unsteady feet, not sure he was capable of reaching the saddle again.

  He was about to try when Brannoc came up beside him. “I think,” said the half-breed, “that we had best find the river.”

  “Why?” Kedryn asked, frowning as he concentrated on the suggestion. “We have water.”

  “Lead your horse,” Brannoc said. “Tepshen, can you stay in the saddle?”

  “Of course,” replied the kyo, swaying wildly.

  “Then follow me.”

  Without further ado Brannoc took them off the trail, down a deer track to the waterside. He swung down and tethered the animals. Tepshen remained mounted.

  “Climb down,” Brannoc said, and the kyo proceeded to slip sideways, caught by the half-breed.

  “Undress,” Brannoc ordered.

  “Why?” asked Kedryn.

  “Because,” said Brannoc with elaborate patience, “the water is very cold and it will clear your heads.”

  Kedryn and Tepshen nodded solemn agreement and shed their clothes.

  “Now into the river,” said Brannoc, punctuating the sentence with a hearty double-handed shove that sent them both tumbling down the bank into the Alagor.

  He was right: the water was cold and the shock of immersion dispelled the violent effects of the liquor. Kedryn rose spluttering, flailing against the current as he felt himself sober. Tepshen, he saw, was closer to the bank, closing his eyes as he let his feet go from under him to sink beneath the sun-sparkled surface. He rose shaking his head, his queue swinging from side to side, his features set in an expression of stoic acceptance. Kedryn swam to his side, dunking his own ringing head until he was confident the last vestiges of drunkenness were gone. Brannoc lounged on the bank, grinning.

  “I should have warned you,” he remarked as the two shivering men climbed out and began to dry themselves. “The Caroc are renowned for their liquor.”

  The wine that Eyrik poured to accompany the fish was superb. So pale as to be almost colorless, it sat light on the palate, its bouquet delicate as the scent of the spring flowers that filled the chamber. Wynett acknowledged that she had tasted none finer, studying the play of candlelight on the crystal of the goblet as she sought to conceal the confusion that filled her mind. She sipped the vintage, but it offered no insights and she set her glass down, barely aware that Eyrik spoke.

  “You seem far away,” he repeated. “Is something amiss?”

  Wynett was tempted to laugh at the mundanity of the question, knowing that it would be bitter humor.

  “I am in a strange place—I know not where,” she murmured. “You say that you seek to return me, or that Kedryn will come for me, but you cannot set a time on either thing. I am lost!”

  “No!” Eyrik was on his feet in the instant, coming around the table to kneel beside her, cupping her hand in both of his. “You must not say that.”

  “Why not?” she demanded. “It is the truth.”

  She blinked, fighting the tears that threatened to well, feeling his grip tighten as he stared at her, his flecked brown eyes alight with concern. Candlelight rendered his hair glossy as ripe chestnut and the teeth that showed between his slightly parted lips were white and even. He looked very handsome, reminding her of Kedryn; which memory filled her with fresh waves of bewilderment.

  “You are not lost,” he said, his voice deep and confident. "You are here, safe. I know this appears strange, but it is merely another aspect of the world and not something that should frighten or upset you. Had I not intervened to save you from the leviathan, you would be in a far worse place than this.”

  “But where is this?” she demanded, the turmoil that consumed her lending an edge to her voice.

  “It is a place separate from all you know,” he said. “Ashar cannot touch you here, but because the leviathan was his creature I cannot easily return you to your world. Mayhap it must take Kedryn’s coming to achieve that, I am not sure. Mayhap it is necessary the two parts of that talisman you wear must be joined to return you, and for that Kedryn must come. I cannot give you some geographic location for such laws do not apply here, but you must trust me. Believe in me, Wynett.”

  There was a tenderness in his voice that promised only safety, honest goodwill, and she forced a smile, aware that it was camouflage. “I am poor company this night. I think perhaps I should retire.”

  “You have barely eaten,” he protested, indicating the nibbled trout that sat on her platter.

  “I have no appetite.” She shook her head. “If you will excuse me, I shall find my chambers.”

  “Of course, if that is your wish.” He was on his feet before she rose, courteous as ever. “But believe that I do all I can to reunite you with Kedryn.”

  His tone was sincere and she felt churlish that the only response she could muster was a disconsolate, “Aye,” but her mood allowed for none other and she made no further attempt at conversation as he opened the door of the dining chamber and led her into the courtyard.

  The air was humid, sullen with the threat of rain, the perfume of the climbing plants that wound about the colonnades become overpowering and sickly. The splashing of the fountain seemed dulled by the oppressive weight of the air, no longer musical but somehow morbid, and the moon was hidden behind heavy rafts of menacing nimbus.

  “I believe a storm approaches,” Eyrik remarked, and Wynett found herself surprised, for the weather had seemed fixed, as though this place knew only summer. It was almost reassuring that the climate did change, for it made her circumstances seem fractionally more normal.

  She crossed the atrium and climbed the stairway to the balcony, Eyrik at her elbow, gallant as ever as he flung open her door and bowed.

  “Shall I leave food?” he inquired, gesturing at the antechamber. “Perchance you will regain your appetite.”

  “Thank you, no.”

  Wynett felt no desire for sustenance, wishing only for solitude and the opportunity to assess her disordered thoughts. She stepped across the threshold, halted by Eyrik’s touch. He bowed, lifting her hand to his lips. His mouth was dry.

  “It distresses me to see you so melancholy,” he declared, retaining his grip.

  “Mayhap it is this change in the weather,” she said wanly, extricating her hand.

  “Mayhap,” he nodded, accepting the tacit dismissal with grave face. “Sleep well.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, and closed the door.

  For some moments she leaned against the wood, hearing his footsteps retreat and fade as he descended to the lower level, then she crossed to the ornate table and filled a goblet with pale wine. She settled herself in one of the chairs, sipping the vintage as she concentrated on the events of that strange day, forcing herself to review what had transpired for all its heart-sickening unpleasantness.

  She had risen and performed her toilette as usual, no longer sure how long she had been here, for one day blended into the next with a seamless regularity that leeched all sense of time, the dimensional contradictions of the palace continuing to bewilder her senses, adding their own confusion to her perceptions. She was not certain if it was merely the few days she thought, or longer since she had awoken in these rooms and found Eyrik awaiting her. He had been there again that morning, seated as usual at the breakfast table in the courtyard, greeting her with apologies that he must absent himself for most of the day and the—vague, she now realized—suggestion that it had something to do with Kedryn. Consequently she had been left, for the first time, to her own devices.

  At first she had seized the opportunity to explore, attempting to seek out the servants, if such existed, who so regularly provided such excellent food, changed her bed linen, performed the sundry tasks that must be involved in the maintenance of the fabulous palace. None had appeared after Eyrik left her, although she had waited long at the table, until her patience dissolved and she rose, wandering to the nearest door. That, for all it was overhung by the balcony, opened on a chamber of glass and sunlight filled with plants. The floor had been green marble, verdant as spring grass, interspersed with trenches of rich, dark soil from which grew such a profusion of plants and flowers that the chamber was more akin to a garden than an interior room. Light filled it, shining down from a vast cupola of clear glass supported on unbelievably fine golden beams, gossamer delicate as they arched above her head. She had wandered there a while, examining the vegetation, then returned to the courtyard to find the remnants of breakfast cleared away, the table set with a decanter of wine and a single glass. She had gone in search of kitchens, but found none, nor any sign of other beings, loneliness mounting as her quest revealed only one fantastic chamber after another. Before long her mind had spun with the wonders of the place and she had found herself increasingly convinced that she was alone with her mysterious host.