"Master of the five Magics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hardy Lyndon)

PART FIVE
The Wizard
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Improbable Imp

"LOOK, Grengor, he stirs." Alodar heard the words filter through the numbness that permeated his entire body. He opened his eyes slowly and saw Aeriel's auburn curls cascading down about his face. He shifted the position of his head and felt her caress on his cheek. A dull throb pounded in his head.

"Gently, Alodar," she said softly. "My lap will serve as well as any cradle till you mend. There was some sweetbalm in the chieftain's plunder but it was far from freshly brewed. It closed the wounds and stimulated the regrowth, but it still will be some time before you are whole."

Alodar frowned as dim memories stirred. A bouncing ride, thin acorn gruel forced between his lips, Aeriel's soft words, sunlight and campfires swirled together in a blur. He looked out into the evening light and saw a dozen campfires scattered about the slopes of a wide-mouthed valley. The hills came together like cupped palms, and ferns and long-stemmed grasses clustered near the small stream that ran where they touched. On the slopes, the naked oaks were few, and stately pines soared over a hundred feet into the sky. Ponies whinnied in the distance, mixing their cries with the guttural accent of the north-men's voices. In the group nearby, two tangle-haired women served the queen, while one of the marines passed a waterskin back to a chieftain.

Alodar opened his mouth to speak, but Grengor cut him off. "Fear not, master. After your deed, not a man among us begrudges your weight. Your litter will be carried all the way back to the palace halls in Ambrosia if it need be. Each bearer remembers that, because of your wounds, he did not receive any.

"And the barbarians regard you as some great hero from the sagas. We tell them that you sleep in peace, that if they do not heed your followers' commands, once again they will face your terrible wrath. Why, in the eight days that you drifted in and out of your swoon, the first tribe's terrified tale and Basil's beads have swollen our forces many fold. We are nearly a hundred now, moving southward for the queen."

"It is not quite so simple, Grengor," Aeriel said. "I have seen the petty quarrels and heard the whispered conversations among these hastily assembled allies. Basil's gems and Feston's promises for greater reward will not keep their attention forever. As the ranks swell, they will become much more difficult for the few of us to manage."

"I am as aware of the truth as you, my lady," Grengor assured her. "Under the circumstances, our present course seems the best. A hundred men will make no difference in Procolon's defense, but there is no time to build a large and disciplined army. We must move down the line of hills that parallels the coast as rapidly as we can, convincing whomever we find along the way to enlist in the cause of the fair lady. Each of us now directs six or seven of the nomads. With a bold front, perhaps we can command ten times that number. If we are lucky, we will cross the border with more than a thousand swords."

Alodar struggled to sit up. "Grengor," he said, "the crag, the wizard's tower to the west, where the snow dips to the hills. How many days for all of us on foot? We must go there."

"Be not alarmed, my lady," Grengor told Aeriel. "It is but a delirium. A small phantasm from having undergone the charm of the sorcerer. As the body mends, so will the mind."

Alodar still felt sick and dizzy from his miscast charm. The sweetbalm was no longer potent enough to blot out all of the pain. "Fetch Kelric, I say. He must interpret the vision. We cannot choose our course until it is settled."

"He alone of our troop has perished," Grengor said. "Even with the aid of the eye, he gave up the little power that remained within him to quell your pain and guide your final thrust into the chieftain's brain. Indeed, had he not so passed from us, you still would be only what he chose to make of you."

Grengor paused and looked off into the distance. "But in the end, I think he judged his choice to be the right one. As he sank away, the queen pronounced him a suitor for his deed in her behalf. His last expression was a smile rather than a scowl."

Alodar was silent for a moment as the news sank in, But the feeling of urgency grew and pushed his reflection aside. "There is more to the eye than just a sorcerer's tool," he said at last. "I saw and felt far beyond what Kelric impressed upon me."

"And what if it is so, master?" Grengor persisted. "The deed of the eye is done, and we must soon return to Procolon with whatever forces we can muster. Aeriel even replaced the thing in your pouch as you slept; no one else coveted it. Leave thoughts of sorcery here in the uplands. What can they possibly matter to you now?"

Alodar leaned one hand back to steady himself and closed his eyes. The scene of the hills with the mountains behind sprang into his mind, almost as vivid as it had under enchantment. Mentally he soared over the terrain and unerringly sped to the one spot that had compelled him before. The giant spire was there and inside it was a tomb. A tomb to be opened. A wizard to be questioned. The answer to a riddle for which he could not even formulate the question.

He thought of his quest for the queen; but beside this great yearning, it did not seem to matter. He wrinkled his brow in puzzlement and reached out to stroke Aeriel's arm at his side. How could the spire connect with what he strove for? It must be an enchantment produced by the eye itself, independent of the wielder. Had he not looked, it would be no more than an idle thought to be consumed by the fires of his ambition. But the compulsion tugged and he knew he must respond.

Alodar opened his eyes and thought through what he would say. Waving aside Aeriel's restraining arm, he slowly rose to face the sergeant. He swayed for a moment and then drew in a deep breath and was steady.

"I know that it will take time as well as sweetbalm to mend my body, Grengor," he said in a slow, deliberate tone. "But my mind is clear, clear enough to know what we must do. If we continue directly south as we have, we will find only more of the smaller tribes in our path. But in my vision of far-seeing on the boat, I looked down on larger camps higher in the interior, larger tribes hunting where the game is more plentiful. It will take us longer to return to Procolon, but we must strike to the west so that we increase our chances of finding greater numbers."

"But, as lady Aeriel says," Grengor objected, "it would also mean greater risk of losing control of whatever forces we now command."

"I cannot ignore what I have seen under the spell of the eye, Grengor," Alodar said. "I must go west and seek out the answer. This beckoning I cannot explain, but the truth of it I do not doubt. If you will trust me as your leader, then I ask you to join me."

Grengor looked back at Alodar's face. "The other suitors will not be convinced easily. And if we argue in front of the barbarians, the feeble hold we have on them may vanish."

"I will go alone if I must," Alodar said, looking out over the campfires. "But if you marines and the nomads you command come, then the others will follow. We are the majority. As you say, the suitors will not risk a confrontation. They will reason that a few days detour is far better than proceeding southward with a small fraction of our party."

Grengor rubbed his chin. "The south or west; we do not know for certain the outcome of our fortunes either way," he mused.

"You followed me onto the wargalley's deck and into the longboat in a raging sea."

Grengor was silent for a moment. "And into the nomad's camp." He slapped his side at last. "Forgive my hesitation, master. If you command to the west, it is to the west we will go. Rest lightly while I pass the word. We will strike into the interior tomorrow."

Grengor went off, and Alodar felt Aeriel's touch on his shoulder. "There is still time for rest," she suggested. "Come, make yourself comfortable."

They settled to the ground and Alodar looked up into dark eyes that reflected the flickering glows of the campfires. "I still quest for the fair lady," he said. "I do not know what we will discover in the west, but I hope that somehow it will aid in my cause."

"I understand that." Aeriel continued her gentle stroking, "Your charge into the camp redeemed your loss of face for the miscast sorcery. That is all in the past now. The queen's favor will shift to the one who can aid her best on the morrow."

For a long while Alodar thought of his thirst for glory, the granite spire, Vendora, and the foggy memory of Aeriel's nursing in the days past. Finally he reached out and grasped her hand in his. "But were it not for the quest…"

Aeriel smiled. "And I understand that as well," she said.

The huge fire crackled in the first light of dawn, and Alodar huddled close for its warmth. He tentatively stretched one of his legs forward and felt the stiffness in his calf. Idly, he fingered a chip of agate he had found on the trail and then tossed it among the clippings of herbs, twigs, rocks, and other thaumaturgical and alchemical gear he had scavenged along the way. He slapped at one of the fleas that he had acquired from the nomadic tribesmen.

"Despite its age, the sweetbalm has done its work well, Alodar," Aeriel said beside him. "Only twelve days of healing, and already you are nearly well."

"Yes I think I am ready to try some of the trail on my own feet," Alodar responded, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand as she leaned against him. And I will need to be far more supple when we finally reach the spire."

"It is well that you are so steadfast in your determination," she said. "You know full well that Duncan and the others accompany your marines against their will. They seek only the smallest opportunity to show you still bemused from Kelric's spell. Once even a hint of doubt creeps into your manner, they will try to exploit it to gain control."

Alodar nodded and looked down the trail. They were higher now, and the valley walls closed together. Rather than scattered on a broad floor, their troop snaked back in almost single file, the row of campfires strung like fiery beads on an invisible string. The trees crowded in close, taking turns eclipsing the sun as it rose into the sky. Long shafts of light filtered through the needles, bathing the dusty air in a golden glow. Alodar heard Feston's deep voice and Vendora's laugh in reply. He chafed at his self-imposed exile from her presence but, after his failure with sorcery, thought it best to resolve the mystery of the wizard's tower before approaching her again. He looked back at Aeriel and saw her staring silently into the flame.

After several minutes, Grengor walked into view from up the trail and playfully slapped his relief guard on the back as he passed. "By the spirits, a solemn lot," he cried as he approached Alodar and Aeriel. "Did not your training maids tell you, my lady, of the danger of staring with such intensity into the blaze?"

"Yes, that they did, Grengor," Aeriel said, shaking her head and looking up to the marine as he approached. "Many a time they warned me that the fascination of the flame was only the will of some demon in the world beyond. Reaching out and trying to bewitch me, just as the sorcerer does with his eye. And many times as a small girl I tested such old tales, too."

"You make much too light of it, my lady," Grengor said. "Your maids instructed you well. As the romances say, it is not only by the wizard's brazier that the realms are connected; innocent flame of whatever type might serve as the means also."

"But the sagas say that only the simplest and least powerful can come through of their own will," Aeriel protested. "Demons of true power can bridge the gap only by the intercession of a wizard. Unless he deliberately seeks to make the contact and provides the exotic ingredients for the flame, then there can be no transferal."

"Yes, my lady, it is probably as you say," Grengor replied as he moved across the campsite. "But I shun staring at the flame nonetheless."

Alodar rose stiffly from his sprawled position and tentatively stretched to his tiptoes. "Pause a few minutes while you can, Grengor," he said, "but we should break camp and begin the climb. I hope to be well up the mountainside and perhaps even at the base of the spire before nightfall."

Grengor grunted as he slumped down for a moment's rest at the edge of the fire. One of the other marines rose and sent the word down the line. One by one, the fires were snuffed out. Soon the valley walls echoed with the sounds of breaking camp and loading the ponies. In half an hour, the long string was ready to march, and they started up the trail.

The early going was easy, up a modest incline with little rock and debris to impede their progress. As the sun began to arch up to its zenith, the slope steepened and the smoothness underfoot gave way to bare rock, tumbled and cracked by the snow melts of spring.

Alodar panted near the lead, his lips pulled into a slight grimace as he tried his weight on his healing leg. With such a large party, the pace was slow enough; but he was tiring rapidly and wished that a good place to halt would soon appear.

"A moment, Alodar," Aeriel gasped. "I am beginning to feel the effects of the height. Should we not pause, even if we do not prepare a meal?"

"I petition with the lady," Grengor said as he struggled to join them. "I have an itch between my shoulders that has tormented me since we broke camp this morning."

Alodar smiled at Grengor's efforts to reach a spot high up in the center of his back. "Hold still for a moment," he said. "I will give you aid while Aeriel catches her breath."

Grengor turned his back, and Alodar briskly began to rake the area with his hand.

"Aieeee!" Grengor shouted and danced away. "Desist, master. Your scratch turns the itch into pain. I prefer the more gentle touch of the lady." He knelt down before Aeriel, and she cautiously laid her hand on his back.

"Why, there is something caught underneath your tunic, Grengor," she exclaimed. "I can feel the lump of it quite plainly against my palm."

Alodar stepped forward and ran his hand down the neck of the garment. After a few exploratory jabs, he withdrew a small, round, and barbed object. "It is an ivoryroot burr," he said. "I would not think that such a plant could grow so far north. No wonder you had discomfort this morning. Those spines would drive even the concentrating sorcerer to distraction."

Grengor rose to his feet, flexed his shoulders and grinned. "Many a wound have I borne in silence," he said. "It seems this ivoryroot is more than a match for a marine."

He attempted to step forward to take the lead as the rest of the party began to bunch up behind. But with a flailing stagger, he pitched onto the rocky slope, breaking his fall only at the last instant. He turned and struggled to regain his feet as a marine and two barbarians nearby began to bellow with laughter at his plight. Alodar looked down, puzzled at his usually sure-footed sergeant, and saw the reason for his fall.

"Grengor," he said, "your bootlaces are tied together!"

Grengor scowled first at Alodar and then at Aeriel. "Such frivolity does little for discipline on the march. I am surprised that one of you two would act so out of character."

"But, Grengor," Aerial protested, "in no way would I do such to you. Perhaps your laces entangled themselves when you stopped to have the burr removed."

"Unlikely that a double bucket knot could be made accidentally." Grengor retied his boots and turned to resume the climb. "Enough. I know better than to confront your denials. Just do not be surprised if I give your campfire a wider berth in the future."

Aeriel turned to Alodar and they exchanged questioning glances. Alodar shrugged and resumed the climb. Grengor worked out his heat as he attacked the ever-steepening mountain. Soon the entire party was again strung out in a long, thin line, clambering over the fallen rock and gasping for air.

They traveled for barely a quarter hour more when the monotony of heel on stone was broken by an angry shout back down the line.

"By the shields, I will have no more of this badgering." The voice carried up to where Alodar circled a large boulder in the way. "Draw your sword now, knave, and let us settle it."

Alodar quickly limped back down the line, shouldering marines and nomads aside. He reached the commotion just as blades clanked for the first time. "To your station," he commanded the marine. "Attend to your chieftain," he shouted at the nomad. The two men stopped and momentarily stepped backwards. "Enough," Alodar concluded as he halted between them. "You both know that the gain of all depends on each of us working together, not against each other. Now what brings on such folly?"

"He drew on me, for what cause I do not know, master," the marine said. "I unsheathed my own blade only to defend myself from his attack."

"Away with your smooth words," the other shot back, "Look at my head and shoulders. Do you think that I sweat so much in this dry air to drench me so? Ha, now look at this one's goatskin. Empty with not a drop left for its intended purpose.

Alodar looked back to the marine. His goatskin was flapping empty against his side. "Perhaps a leak, master," he mumbled. "And I swear I did not come near this man until he whirled about and accosted me."

Alodar eyed the evidence, trying to formulate a reprimand that would deter the rest of his troop from such conduct while not hampering their fighting spirit. As the marine's glance dropped to the ground under Alodar's penetrating stare, a startled cry from the head of the line shot down the mountainside.

"And now it is lady Aeriel," Alodar growled in irritation. He sighed and began to limp back up the trail. "I shall attend to your punishment later."

He passed two nomads, huddled beside the rough path, and saw them pull their garments about them in a sudden gust of wind. A fine mist billowed down the trail. Before Alodar could react, he was surrounded in dimness. He frowned and tried to brush the fog away with his hands as he continued upwards. He felt a tingling on his exposed skin as when he accidentally had spilled one of Saxton's acids. His eyes began to sting, and only with difficulty was he able to force them open.

He heard Aeriel call again, this time quite near. Through squinted eyelids, he could barely see her, a little distance ahead, huddled behind Grengor's bulk. Alodar joined them and Aeriel slipped from behind Grengor to his arms.

"It came up in an instant," she said. "From totally clear to this biting fog."

Alodar squinted out into the swirling mist, searching for an answer. Off to his right, he caught the dance of a feeble light. As he focused his attention, he heard a tiny malicious laugh. Aeriel and Grengor turned in the direction of the noise, and at that instant the breeze stopped.

The obscuring cloud dissolved and the light grew brighter, making small random motions in the air.

"Master," Grengor shouted. "By the flames, somehow a bottle has been broken nearby."

Alodar started to answer, but the air totally cleared. A tiny humanoid figure stared back at him out of the diffuse brightness. Scarcely a hand high, with long double-jointed limbs covered with coarse bristly hair, the creature hovered on long, transparent, veined wings that protruded from a misshapen knob in the center of its back. The small head sat oddly out of place before horny shoulder blades and shone with burning eyes above a gross caricature of human nose and mouth.

"Perhaps a broken bottle," Alodar said at last. "Or perhaps, Grengor, you indeed were prudent to avoid gazing at the flame these many years. We have an imp among us, no doubt about it."

Alodar looked into the glowing eyes. He felt a sudden pressure on his shoulders and a weakness in his knees. "Kneel and submit. Submit to your master." A thin, reedy voice floated through his mind. "Resistance is futile when you are so tired."

Alodar shook his head. "It speaks," he said aloud. "Like a sorcerer, it seeks my free will." He looked back at the small devil hovering inches in front of his face and tried to concentrate, as he had learned under Kelric's instruction.

"Lay down your defenses," the voice continued. "I will pester unceasingly until you do."

Alodar felt a prickly itching on his chest and back. The teeth in his lower jaw began to ache. He sensed the imp's presence in his mind, a hard and spiny ball that pulsed its message of supremacy. Like the ivoryroot burr, the sphere stabbed into his consciousness, each expansion blotting more of his free thought and increasing the distraction.

"You cannot conquer my will," the sprite droned on, "Therefore it must be yours that will falter."

Alodar's thoughts blurred in confusion. The itching spread to his limbs and the pain in his mouth sharpened. He felt the impulse to do as the sprite said, to be done with the aggravation. But a deeper sense of preservation halted the reaction. He filled his lungs and focused on the throbbing irritation. To shy away from the confrontation would lead only to defeat. Mentally he formed a shell around the sphere and concentrated on expunging it from his mind. "Away, detestable irritation," he ordered. "Back whence you came and bother us no more."

The pulsing stopped for a moment, but then resumed with increasing frequency. "Submit, manthing. The itches, boils, and stings at my command will make your existence a torture. An infestation of a thousand fleas is nothing in comparison."

"Begone," Alodar yelled as he strained to crush the ball into nothingness. "Begone before I change my mind and choose instead to keep you in a bottle." He clinched his fists and increased the mental pressure.

The itching continued, and Alodar felt as if he were plunged in a vat of ravenous beetles. He squeezed his eyes shut. Imagining a great vice, he turned the shaft and closed the plates against the creature. For a second, nothing happened; but then, for the second time, the throbbing paused. Alodar detected a slight relaxation in the feelings which bedeviled him and pressed all the harder. The oscillations began again, but beat irregularly for only a few strokes more. With a gasp, he slammed the vice closed and felt the imp's presence pop from his mind.

Without warning, the dancing brightness suddenly exploded in front of Alodar's nose. With a loud bang, the imp disappeared from view. Alodar blinked twice in surprise and then rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the afterimages away. He looked quickly up and down the trail. All was quiet with no hint of a breeze.

"An exorcism as good as any in the sagas," Grengor said. "Have you managed somehow, master, to study the craft of the wizard as well?"

Alodar slowly shook his head. "My reaction was instinctive. Probably what any man would do if likewise confronted." He stopped and ran his hand over his cheek. "Perhaps my sorcery helped somewhat, although the sensations were remarkedly different. The imp did not have the irresistible tug of an enchanter. If I surrendered, it would have been because I gave my will to him, not because he took it. And for my own part, the sickness and reaction were not there. I just willed him away until he accepted the command."

"But a sprite nonetheless," Aeriel marveled. "Unheard of this far north. It was remarkable enough when some spontaneously appeared in the Fumus Mountains. But here there is no source of exotic flame to help them through. I do not like it, Alodar. Throughout our history, demons have shown little concern for the doings of mankind. But now in the cold north, the interior of smouldering mountains, and the rebelling west, they are everywhere?and in not one case because of the intercession of a wizard."

Alodar nodded and frowned in thought. He closed his eyes; instantly the vision of the spire sprang into view. "The wizard in the tomb," he said. "He will have the answer."

Alodar wearily climbed the rise and limped to look over the edge. Even his arms throbbed from the bounces of the trail. Quieting the nomads after the appearance of the imp had taken the better part of the day. Even without further incident their pace seemed to slow. Now at dusk, they would camp still a half day's march from his goal.

Alodar topped the crest and his eyes widened. A high meadow, like a giant platter, rested between peaks which circled on three sides. At the far edge, butting against one of the slopes, was another barbarian camp. He quickly counted the fires and knew that they had found one of the larger tribes. A show of force might not work this time. His force was outnumbered two to one.

Grengor and some of the others clambered to his side. "A display of peaceful intentions and quickly, too!" the marine said as he scanned the scene. "We must give them no excuse to draw their blades."

As the rest of their troop poured over the ridge, a small advance party rapidly was formed. Alodar, Grengor, the rest of the suitors, Vendora, and two of their chieftain allies broke apart from the rest and began marching across the intervening ground to the other camp. The carcasses of two hares swung from an extended lance as an offering of friendship.

A group of similar size left the larger encampment; midway between the two, they met under the darkening sky. Alodar stood at the head of his party, flanked by the two chieftains, and surveyed the men who faced them. Five were simply dressed in loincloths and carried swords and hide-covered shields. Two others wore vests of matted wool, and leather belts circled their waists. The man in the center towered above the rest, as tall as Rendrac had been, but trim and lean, with skin pulled tight over rippling muscles. His hair was jet black, framing deep-set, smouldering eyes over a jaw clamped with determination. His lips were thin lines, ready to challenge or yell a warning; only with difficulty could one imagine them turned upwards in a smile. His vest was lined with leather, and iron bracelets hid each of his massive wrists.

He stood with his fists at his hips and looked in turn at each of the chieftains at Alodar's sides. "This year the game in these hills is too scarce to feed us all," he growled. "The tribesmen of Grak are as hungry as any. Begone back to the lower slopes and we will have no quarrel."

"We do not come to compete for food," Basil called over Alodar's shoulder. "Our direction is southward to acquire great treasure that will make concerns of the stomach a minor affair. We detour to the west only so that you have the opportunity to join and share in the good fortune to come."

Grak frowned and looked back to the chieftains. "It is as the lowlander speaks," one said. "Already he has showered us with jewels beyond even what you would dream. And mighty fighters will swing their swords among us as well. This one hacked his way through twenty men without the slightest frown of pain."

Grak looked down at Alodar and shook his head in puzzlement. "The words of a soft lowlander can be trusted only when a sword is at his throat," he said. "Besides this small one, with what other marvels do they widen your eyes?" He took a step forward and shouldered Alodar aside.

Alodar whirled and reached for his sword, Feston stepped in front of Vendora and Duncan began fumbling for the pouch at his side. "Hold your arms," Vendora shouted as she saw the dark eyes stare down at her. "He comes only to look."

Grak took another step forward and Vendora, stepping from behind Feston's protection, drew herself erect. The nomad reached out and tipped her chin up, studying her face as he would appraise the booty from a battle. Vendora did not move but returned his stare unblinking. Grak touched her hair and ran a few strands through his fingers. "Like the sun," he muttered.

"Say the word, my fair lady," Feston growled. "I will make this barbarian pay for the indignity he shows your station."

Grak continued stroking Vendora's hair. Alodar tensed, darting his eyes back to Grak's companions and deciding where to make his first thrust. It had been foolish to bring her along to the parley, he thought. It would have been far better to ignore her command, even though she was the queen.

"He has no perception of my station," Vendora said at last, still looking Grak in the eye. She paused and then smiled. "And if you make it known, it will be to my displeasure."

Grak's frown returned and he looked back to Feston and the others. "Whose woman is she?" he asked. "Perhaps there is some basis on which we can barter."

"To the four of us collectively," Duncan blurted. "No single one does she call master."

Vendora threw back her head and laughed. "I am sure that many of our ways seem strange to you, Grak, but it is for me to decide who is to be my chieftain."

"In the north, a man takes what he wants," Grak said.

Vendora's face hardened. "The men of Procolon would make the price dear. You outnumber us, it is true, but many a warrior would feel the sting of our blades before it was through." She glared into Grak's eyes and then softened her expression with a smile. "And the prize is not nearly as sweet as when it is freely given."

Grak grunted and studied Vendora for a moment more. He turned and again faced the two chieftains. "And do you adopt other lowland ways as well?" he asked. "Is there none among you who leads the others?"

"We go to the west, another half day's journey," Alodar said. "I lead the rest to the spire, and then we turn southwards."

"Demontooth." Grak spat. "It is folly to venture in that direction. The trees are gnarled. There is no game. And the devils give no rest to any who strive there. My father kept us well away and his father before him. How can you lead when you command your tribe so?"

"The barbarian speaks no less than the truth," Feston cut in. "It is time we abandon this trek to nowhere and proceed southwards while we still can."

Alodar looked at Grak, then at the doubt forming on the two chieftains' faces. He frowned and tried to weigh the chances of getting them all to continue.

"Here, chieftain," Basil broke the silence as he handed Grak a gem. "This is a mere token of what can be yours if you cooperate with what we wish to do. We seek little of your game. In a few days, we will be well away from these hills. At the very least, you can show us the courtesy to let us pass in peace. And if you join forces with ours, your rewards will be even greater."

Grak looked down at the jewel thrust into his hand. He idly rolled it around his palm. He stared back at Vendora and his eyes narrowed. "Camp here for two nights while we talk," he said. "I give you my permission."

"And the west?" Alodar persisted.

"As I have said," Grak replied, "there are demons there." He waved his arm at the two chieftains. "And after I have spoken with them, they will not go either. It is only the trip south that we will discuss."

"Then if it is to take two days," Alodar said, "there is time enough for me to make the journey alone. I will be safely returned before you are done."

Vendora looked at Alodar in surprise but quickly pushed her puzzlement aside. She studied Grak and then his campfires. "The strength of your tribe would aid me greatly," she said, "and as Basil has stated, if you join forces with ours, your reward could be even greater."

Grak stood in silence contemplating Vendora's words. "Perhaps our talk will touch on more than a trek south," he decided.