“Affix this stone I wear to the sword,” Kedryn replied, “that I have a weapon to fight the god.”

  “A lofty ambition,” Taron murmured.

  “Less ambition than need,” said Kedryn. “Ashar stole my bride and I would win her back. It appears that only through combat may I achieve that aim. ”

  Taron’s yellow eyes hooded and he steepled his fingers against his plump lips, studying Kedryn’s face. “Taziel may not be easily persuaded,” he said at last. “And to approach the smith you must first pass his guards.”

  “Would you aid us to this?”

  Kedryn in turn studied the smooth features of the bald man, not yet convinced of his amity, but neither ready to assume him hostile. Certainly he seemed to hold nothing back, and had so far offered only a friendly face.

  “Perhaps not directly, for I am responsible for the folk of my realm and would not submit them to Ashar’s wrath,” said Taron, “but I shall willingly furnish you with instructions.”

  “Who are these folk?” asked Tepshen, speaking for the first time.

  The interruption seemed not to disturb Taron, who smiled and said, “They are largely those who, like myself, fell in combat. Presumably we had led lives unworthy of punishment and so found ourselves here; others, though very few, came as you have come. Most consider Magoria a paradise.”

  “You are dead?” Three of Brannoc’s fingers passed in a sweeping gesture before his face. “We dine with ghosts?”

  “Aye and nay,” beamed Taron, apparently finding both the questions and the half-breed’s obvious discomfort vastly amusing. “That I am dead as you term the condition, I cannot dispute. I was a chieftain of the Sandurkan and fell with a Tamurin lance in my belly.” He patted the mound reflectively, chuckling. “But I do not consider myself a ghost. I eat, I drink, I wench—I enjoy the attributes of any man, as do all my folk. Death appears to be a state of mind, dying a matter of translation. I cannot explain it better than that.”

  “But the spirits we encountered in the fog,” Brannoc protested. “They were not like you.”

  ‘The creatures of the lakes?” Taron shook his head. “They are not like me. For one reason or another they find themselves condemned to that sad plight. I know only that we fought a squadron of Tamurin and I misjudged a stroke, thus finding myself struck. I felt my life flow out and woke here.”

  “When was that?” asked Kedryn, intrigued by this explanation of the afterlife.

  “Time is of little consequence here,” returned the bald man. “It was Gudrun of.Bessyl Hold that harried us, and Farryl who sat in Andurel.”

  “Farryl?” Kedryn summoned memories of history lessons spent with Sister Lyassa. “Farryl ruled third after Corwyn. Centuries have passed.”

  “Centuries?” Taron said mildly. “Well and well, it is of no matter; not here.”

  He nodded to a servant, who served him with cheeses that he set to consuming with a most human gusto. Kedryn sipped wine, confused and fascinated. Taron swallowed a wedge of milky white cheese and dabbed his lips. “But in this matter of Taziel,” he continued, “I would not jeopardize the somewhat fragile safety of my people by offending Ashar, or the Lady, and so I feel I can instruct you on the means of reaching the smith, but no more than that.”

  “Any aid or advice will be greatly welcome,” Kedryn said.

  "Then listen carefully,” Taron advised. “The river you doubtless noticed as you approached this hold flows into his domain. You may take a boat and follow the river down. In time you will see a line of hills that belch fire at the sky, and that is where you will find Taziel. He occupies a cave beneath the tallest peak. It is reached by a trail that climbs from the river. If you are able to surmount that trail you will come upon the smith’s cave, deep within the mountains. It is not a pleasant place and Taziel will demand a price for his work. You may find the fee he asks too high, but if you cannot pay you will find yourselves entrapped, for there is no returning from that forge.

  “Did I not sense that you will not be persuaded otherwise, I would counsel you to forget this quest. You would be most welcome here, and I believe you would find the sojourn pleasant.”

  “I shall not be dissuaded,” smiled Kedryn, “but I thank you for your advice.”

  “So be it,” Taron murmured, “when would you depart?”

  “As soon we may,” replied Kedryn.

  “Tomorrow is soon enough,” said the small man. “Refresh yourselves with baths and sleep first, and I shall have provisions readied for you.”

  “You are kind,” Kedryn said, “and you have my gratitude.”

  Taron beamed, saying nothing. He beckoned a servant and whispered in the man’s ear, then turned again to his guests.

  “Go with Dukai and he will show you to your chambers.”

  It was a polite dismissal and Kedryn rose, Tepshen and Brannoc with him, following the servant from the hall and along the colonnaded way to a winding flight of steps that brought them to the upper levels of the hold. Dukai indicated three adjoining chambers and an arch across the corridor that he told them led to the baths. “Permit me to take your clothes,” he suggested, eyeing their grubby outfits with some distaste, “and I shall have them cleaned. Your rooms contain garments suitable to Lord Taron’s halls.”

  Kedryn felt little desire to don the popinjay garments favored by Taron’s folk, but he admitted that his gear was in dire need of cleansing and so nodded.

  “Simply leave them in your chambers,” Dukai said, “and they will be returned you.”

  Kedryn ducked his head in agreement and the servant departed. The three comrades turned to the rooms, Tepshen suggesting that he and Brannoc take those either side of Kedryn’s. Kedryn nodded, eager to bathe, and entered the chamber.

  It was spacious, wide windows looking over the orchards, blue-shadowed now as twilight fell. A bed stood against one wall, facing a small hearth before which stood two chairs and a low table, a recessed closet holding a selection of the bright outfits that were obviously the fashion here, and a garderobe in one corner. After the food and wine Kedryn felt the need to avail himself of the garderobe and shucked out of his garments, leaving them piled carelessly on the bed. Then he donned a flowing robe of the least fanciful design he could find and made for the door. An afterthought sent him back for Drul’s sword, which he carried with a degree of mild embarrassment to Tepshen’s chamber.

  He was reassured to find the kyo holding his own blade, wearing a robe of viridescent emerald with argent patterning about the sleeves and hem, in conversation with Brannoc. The half-breed, too, carried his sword, though he seemed at ease in his gown of scarlet and perse.

  “I believe he means well,” he was saying, “but it is a foolish man who forsakes his blade in a stranger’s keep.”

  “You speak of Lord Taron?” asked Kedryn.

  Brannoc nodded and Tepshen said, “I do not trust him.”

  “He has offered no harm,” Kedryn returned, “and appears almost eager to help.”

  Tepshen’s mouth flattened suspiciously. “Why should he?”

  ‘The balance he spoke of?” Kedryn suggested. “Mayhap he has no more wish to offend the Lady than Ashar.”

  “At least his food was good,” Brannoc shrugged, “and his baths are something I shall enjoy.”

  It transpired that he enjoyed them even more than he anticipated, for when they entered the room Dukai had indicated they found three maidens waiting to serve them. One was fair, with golden hair and a lightly tanned complexion, the second dark, her skin swarthy as the half-breed’s, while the third was red-headed, with pale skin and a faint dusting of freckles. All were nubile and dressed in filmy pantaloons and short, sleeveless tunics of sheer, almost transparent material. They curtsied, smiling as the three men entered, ignoring the weapons they carried. The blond maiden said, “Your baths are ready.”

  Kedryn blushed, finding it difficult to remove his gaze from the thrust of her breasts, the skimpy tunic doing little to hide them. He cleared his throat and said, “It is not our custom to bathe with maidens.”

  Her face became a pantomime of disappointment. Brannoc said quickly, “It is not a Tamurin custom. But I am not Tamurin.”

  “Have care,” admonished Tepshen.

  Brannoc grinned and said, “Of three fair maidens? What harm can they do me?"

  “I thought you wary of ghosts,” replied to kyo.

  Brannoc’s grin stretched wider as he shrugged. “As Taron told us, it is a state of mind; and these appear fleshly enough.”

  “I would bathe alone,” said Kedryn, addressing the women. “I intend no offense, but it is my custom.”

  “And mine,” said Tepshen.

  “As you wish,” the fair-haired wench murmured, her gray eyes moving questioningly to Brannoc.

  The half-breed spread his arms wide. “My dears,” he declared, “I would not disappoint you. Nor, I hope, will you me.”

  The three maidens giggled. “You will find all you require there,” the fair one told Kedryn, pointing to a door, and took Brannoc’s hand, leading him toward a separate opening as she whispered, “And you will find nothing to disappoint you.”

  Kedryn was loath to see the half-breed separated, but had little time to produce any convincing argument as Brannoc disappeared with the maidens. He shrugged and went with Tepshen into the other chamber. It held a large tiled pool, its water steaming fragrantly, musk-scented soap and huge towels set close to hand. He set Drul’s great sword down and let his robe fall, climbing gratefully into the tub, where Tepshen joined him, both men luxuriating in the welcome warmth, filled bellies and Taron’s good wine combining with the heat to render them pleasantly drowsy. Kedryn decided that should the three women intend Brannoc harm, he would hear the half-breed’s shout, and when he heard laughter he allowed himself to relax.

  Later, scrubbed clean and greatly refreshed, he and Tepshen returned to their chambers. Kedryn wiped moisture from Drubs blade and set the sword beside the bed, noticing that night had fallen. He thought to dress and find Taron, but a knocking on the door announced Dukai with his clothes, laundered and already dry.

  “Lord Taron presents his compliments,” the servant intoned, “and would have you know that should you prefer to sleep he will understand. Should you desire company, either at table or more personally, you need but ask.”

  “Give Lord Taron my thanks,” Kedryn replied, “and inform him that I am, indeed, weary. I prefer to sleep alone.”

  “As you wish,” Dukai murmured, and left.

  Kedryn yawned, eyeing the bed. He could think of nothing he desired more than to stretch out beneath clean, cool sheets, save to have Wynett beside him. In time, he told himself, and shed his robe to clamber into the bed. Faint on the night air he heard the sound of laughter from Brannoc’s room, the voice of the blond maiden raised in answer to some sally of the half-breed’s, falling into silence as though muffled by Brannoc’s lips.

  A frill moon was risen, hanging low above the woodland, pale light filling the chamber with gentle shadows. Kedryn drew up the sheets and slept on the instant, deep and dreamlessly. And woke as quickly, sitting upright as his mind struggled to identify what it was that had dragged him so urgently from slumber. The moon was higher now, no longer visible from the window, the chamber darker, and for a moment panic gripped him, his right hand reaching for the hilt of the sword propped by the bed even as he thrust the sheets aside. He rose as he identified the source of his alarm: the window was open and through it he could hear the sounds of struggle, Brannoc’s voice raised in cry for aid.

  Not bothering to dress he hefted the sword and crossed in swift paces to the door. Flinging it open he stepped into the dark corridor, turning to Tepshen’s chamber to pound upon the door before hurrying to Brannoc’s quarter. The kyo appeared, clad in his undergarments, his blade naked in his hand before Kedryn hurled himself into the half-breed’s room.

  His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, but still what he saw refused for an instant to register on his mind.

  Brannoc stood naked in a comer, struggling desperately with a thing no longer female but scaled and feathered and furred, some small resemblance to a human woman remaining, but more of bird and cat visible in the distorted body. Feathered legs that ended in curved talons thrust the creature remorselessly at a body already bleeding from the numerous cuts imparted by the clawed paws, while a head surmounted by tufted ears snapped vicious fangs at the half-breed’s throat. Yellow orbs with narrow, vertical pupils glared furiously at Kedryn as he overcame his revulsion, crossing the room with Drul’s blade lifting, Tepshen close behind. For the merest blink of an eye he saw the comely maiden, her hands reaching for Brannoc as though to embrace him, then he was close enough that the radiance now emanating from the talisman encompassed the thing within its blue light and its hideous form was clearly visible. It turned as he swung the glaive, snarling and spitting, a paw upraised.

  The paw flew loose as the broad blade cut bone, a shriek filled more with anger than pain bursting together with the blood that jetted from the stump of the furry wrist. Brannoc ducked, throwing himself clear, as Tepshen joined Kedryn, the long curve of the eastern sword slashing down in a cut that would have sundered the beast had it not sprung back so swiftly. Instead, a gash was carved from shoulder to groin, across the scaly chest, from which withered dugs hung in ghastly parody of femininity.

  It screamed again, in rage, and the legs bunched to propel it up and forward in a great leap, fangs bared, the remaining paw outthrust to claw at the kyo’s eyes.

  Kedryn caught it in midair, lifting Drul’s sword in a great upward swing that landed across the belly, doubling the monster over so that its feline head went down, exposed to Tepshen’s blade. This time it could not escape the stroke and the long sword carved the skull, splitting it to spill the brains across the floor. Kedryn drove the glaive down again, across the small of the back, the crack of the breaking spine audible through the dying snarls. It writhed, lifting a ghastly snouted face toward him, teeth ciashingas if even in the moments of its death it sought to rend and tear. Then the snarls faded, blood bubbling over the stretched lips and it lay still.

  Kedryn spun toward Brannoc. The half-breed held his saber now, his face paled, his eyes wide with pain and shock. Ugly lacerations striated his upper body, welling blood glistening black in the moonlight, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

  “Thank the Lady you came,” he panted. “I should be dead else.”

  “You are hurt,” Kedryn returned.

  Brannoc grinned tightly and shook his head. “I have survived worse. Let us worry about my wounds later.”

  “He is right,” said Tepshen. “That shrieking must alert the hold. We must flee.”

  Brannoc was already tugging on his clothes, wincing as the cuts were twisted by his movements. “Best we stay together,” Kedryn decided.

  “Aye,” Tepshen stepped into the corridor, sword at the ready. “Make haste, Brannoc.”

  “I am.” Brannoc drew on his boots, lacing them, his teeth gritted against the pain. He rose and thrust his arms into his tunic, snatching his swordbelt from the armoire. Blood stained the frontage of his shirt and he limped as he accompanied Kedryn to his own room. Tepshen disappeared for a moment, returning with his bundled clothes, and they dressed, moving back into the corridor, surprised that none came to oppose them as they ran for the stairs.

  ‘The river!” Kedryn cried over his shoulder as they pelted down to the courtyard. “Make for the river!”

  “Said easier than it is done,” snapped Tepshen, pointing with his blade at the nightmare host that now appeared across the yard.

  It was a ghastly multiplication of the changeling thing that had attacked Brannoc, and Kedryn felt his blood chill as it began a slow advance. Lupine heads sat on scaly necks, shoulder to shoulder with lizardlike creatures with flickering forked tongues and needle fangs, beaked feces hissed, horns tossed, snouts lifted to emit snarls, paws extended talons, tusks clashed, and through it all came Taron’s voice, distorted by the long, many-toothed muzzle that was now his face, but still recognizable.

  "Do you then reject our hospitality?”

  Braying laughter greeted his sally, coming from those throats still able to emit so human a sound, more issuing snorts, snarls, hisses.

  “Aye,” Kedryn shouted, “we-do!”

  “They block the gates,” Tepshen warned.

  “The postern then!” Kedryn replied, and they spun about, running along the colonnaded way.

  A thing with wings that ended in clawed hands and serpent head moved to oppose them, falling to Tepshen’s blade. Another, horned and toothed, fell to Drul’s sword; Brannoc, gasping in pain, slashed his saber across a canine face, and they were at the entrance to the hall. The host of transformed creatures rushed like some unhuman tide to fill the corridor leading to the postern and the three men had no choice but to enter the hall.

  Kedryn and Tepshen shouldered the doors closed, slamming bolts in place as claws and horns and hooves battered against the wood.

  A window broke, a taloned hand on a scaley arm thrusting through. Brannoc severed it and snatched a torch from a sconce, setting the flame to a tapestry. Kedryn and Tepshen followed his cue, the ancient material burning avidly, tongues of fire licking hungrily upward, taking hold of the veneer of the woodwork so that within moments the inner end of the hall was ablaze.

  “The solar!” Kedryn shouted over the crackle of the flames and the baying of the nightmare horde. “The windows there!”

  They ran the length of the hall, hearing the clatter of claws on the stone floors of entering corridors, Taron’s warped voice screaming, ‘Take them!”

  Kedryn and Tepshen reached the solar and Kedryn swung Drul’s glaive against one window. The glass shattered, fragments cascading through the night. Tepshen lifted a chair and hurled it through the gap, enlarging the opening.

  “Brannoc!” Kedryn bellowed, realizing the half-breed lingered behind.

  “I come,” Brannoc shouted back. “And with provisions.”