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Mirror of Destiny by Andre Norton
Chapter One
THE ROOM WAS long, low ceilinged, and had the unusual attribute of seeming to 
change size at times—though that may only have been a fantasy of those suddenly 
entering it. It also would have been unimaginably cluttered had any other 
mistress been in charge.
In the numerous side cupboards were boxes, crocks, jars beyond any but a very 
patient numbering. Drawers were meticulously divided by strips between which lay 
stores of dried herbs, leaf, flower, root and stem, and more precious packets of 
foreign spices.
Down the long center table marched a line of bottles, of several sizes, each 
stoppered with a representation of a grotesque head, some clearly non-human, or 
outright beast—things never to be seen in an honest cottage or its garden.
Though there was the first impression of gloom and over many shadows, after one 
became accustomed to the long chamber, there was a measure of light. That past 
all natural laws appeared to gather and hold immediately about any busied 
occupant of which, on this brisk spring morning, there were two and a half—the 
half being represented by a large shadow-gray cat, sitting on the tabletop as 
stiff and upright as one of the bottles at his back.
He had something of the air of an overseer and the worker he watched so intently 
was indeed busy, her head bent a little as if she must keep a constant eye upon 
the rhythmic movements of one set of fingers.
Her tightly bound braids were of a medium brown and her pale, somewhat too 
chiseled features expressed complete concentration. For all of that she was 
young, and the shabby hearthside dress she wore was a dull green, girdled in by 
a workwoman's belt with loops for various small knives, tools, and pouches. The 
robe bunched about her but not enough to disguise the fact that her body was 
childishly slim.
Twilla, apprentice to Wisewoman Hulde, raised her right hand out of a constant 
circling movement and inspected narrowly the small pads which covered each 
fingertip. She allowed the disk she had been working on to rest upon her knee 
and with her other hand worked off each finger a pad now worn to a near vanished 
thread web. Placing these discards carefully to one side, she reclothed each 
finger with new pads taken from a store heaped near the table edge before her.
Once those were firmly in place, she returned to her task, smoothing the clear 
silver face of the disk with a series of motions, which formed a pattern in 
themselves and which did not vary.
"Up and down, out and in,
Sun's path and widdershin.
Power answering to the call
Of flesh and blood and inner all."
Just such a singsong type of jingle as might girl children voice when skipping 
rope or bouncing a ball. But this was no child's play and she repeated the words 
carefully knowing that they were not to be skimped, any more than her hour of 
mirror polishing each day was to be interrupted by anything—save perhaps a 
crashing of the house wall about her.
She had been eight years of age—as far as the Kinderhost Keeper had been able to 
judge—one of the pieces of flotsam which are to be found in a port city even 
when it is well policed. Then the Wisewoman had come seeking a maid—there were 
not many in Varvad who would think to apprentice their daughters to such an 
unchancy trade.
Even at those few years Twilla had learned suspicion, caution, the need for 
being always self-guarded—the harsh laws of survival. But she had not shrunk 
back when Hulde, looking like borrow bird in her long flapping cloak, had 
pointed to her after surveying the five girls available.
There was nothing in the least maternal about Hulde. She was thin, tall, craggy 
of feature as a man, and her voice had the rasp note of one used to obedience. 
Yet Twilla had been pleased that it was she who scampered out of the Kinderhost 
at the Wisewoman's heels, taking an extra skip now and then to keep up with her 
now appointed mistress.
And after ten years under Hulde's direction Twilla realized very often, with 
thanks to whatever power might be listening, that she had come here. There had 
been months, years of testing, but she had learned, how she had learned—as 
avidly as one lost in a desert might gulp down the water of an unexpected well.
Hulde's trade was not even to be mastered in a lifetime, as the Wisewoman had 
often said. She herself was still learning, stretching her powers a fraction at 
a time. While Twilla was yet but a beginning scholar still she had mastered the 
art of reading, of writing, of memorizing that which was so important. She knew 
the usage of countless herbs and had attended birthings and soul loosings with 
her mistress until the ceremonies and skills for each were as a second nature 
for her—even though she had never tested either truly on her own.
Now what she wrought would be her own by Hulde's decree. Some three months 
earlier the Wisewoman had produced this disk mirror. The reflecting side was 
dull as a fogged window pane, the back was of a greenish metal and wrought 
intricately to cover every inch with symbols and hints of creatures which might 
just be peering out between the swirl of lines which netted them.
To Twilla was given the finishing—the polishing of the upper surface, which must 
be done with her fingers, each padded with silken pockets seeped in herbal 
mixtures so that her constant programmed rubbing brought forth scents as she 
worked, some pleasing and some baneful, but all to be accepted.
She was intent upon her work but not so unseeing and unhearing as to miss the 
sudden action of the cat who had been watching her with a guardian eye. Greykin 
had whipped to his feet, facing the outer door which was behind Twilla's stool, 
his yellow eyes were slit narrow and his tail bushed. From his throat came the 
low note of a fighter's growl. As if that signaled her, Hulde turned away from 
the fireplace where she had been methodically stirring the contents of a small 
kettle. She gave a long look at the cat and then swung the pot away from the 
full heat of the flames, hooking up its chain, before she too turned to face the 
door, wiping her narrow, bony hands on a towel clipped to her apron band.
Twilla's own hand stopped in mid-glide down the silver mirror surface. She 
looked to Hulde and then squirmed around on the stool to face also the outer 
door. The walls of this ancient house were thick and near all the sounds of the 
busy port were shut off from its inhabitants. However, Hulde did not need sight 
or sound, any more than Greykin, to alert them for trouble. Trouble?
Twilla felt a twinge of foreboding. Swiftly she slid the mirror into its bag, 
drew the string tight and lifted that string over her head to rest breast high 
on her body. She tucked it way beneath her loose bodice and then shed the polish 
pads, sweeping all the used ones into a pile and dropping them into a 
wide-mouthed jar, snapping down the lid of the box which held the unused.
Yet nothing had disturbed them—there was no pounding on the door—
That came even as she wondered about it. Hulde's hand raised and she snapped two 
fingers to Twilla's surprise. The Wise woman was not used to revealing any signs 
of power save when she and Twilla were alone.
The bar at the door obeyed that signal, sliding back, and the door itself pushed 
inward so quickly that he who had been ready to deliver another drumming of 
knocks stumbled after it. Then drew himself up to blink as if he had come 
straight out of day into night. Without any cause the room brightened enough to 
show the two women their visitor.
"Harhodge," Hulde greeted him by name and Twilla recognized him as one of their 
street neighbors. Two weeks past Hulde had delivered his son alive and saved his 
wife into the bargain when all others had given her up to death loosing.
"Wisewoman," he was breathing heavily as one who had been running, "they are 
coming, sweeping down Gunter Lane, and through Gryfalcon Court. The quota has 
not been filled this time and they are taking even in spite of the law."
Twilla hunched herself into a smaller self on the stool. There was no reason for 
Harhodge to give further explanation—they knew.
The maid hunt! For five years now it had swept through the port city—as it did 
through the countryside and the two other major cities of Varslaad also. Any 
unbetrothed and able bodied maid was liable to be the prey they sought.
It was a legal thing—passed by the Council in full office, the stating of it 
signed by the King. Those in the Far Land needed wives; their home country would 
supply them. Noble born need not fear such a fate, but all below blooded rank, 
unless betrothed with formal listing at the town hall or some such protection, 
could be swept away from family, home, all which they knew, and shipped over 
mountain to wed some stranger out of hand. How this had come about was told in 
whispers only—the strangest being that the new settlers—whose pro-duce from the 
land was greatly needed by Varslaad—were in some grave danger unless they were 
wed: a rumor so unbelievable as to be laughed at—only it never was.
Varslaad, its land torn by the strip mining of those ores upon which all its 
wealth and safety was founded, needed new productive farmland. There had been 
riots just last cold season when dispossessed farmers and underfed miners had 
protested the present state of affairs. And the western land was rich—the 
caravans venturing over mountain brought such an abundance of grain and other 
food that people still gathered to see one come in and marveled at what it 
unbaled and basketed.
Still there was this maid hunt and there were only so many eligible maids—no 
more than one could be taken from any family—and those daughters of the 
near-starved farmers and miners were not judged strong enough to make the trip.
"Twilla is apprenticed," Hulde broke the short silence.
"Wisewoman, they say that Skimish has laid notice at the town archives that your 
Twilla was took from the Kinderhost and that she was never a true apprentice, 
not having any kinfolk to give bond for her. Also—please, Wisewoman, do not give 
the blame to me, but there are those who have spoken against you—behind their 
hands to be sure, but with words which carry—that you deal with unchancy things 
and that the councilers should have a sure eye set on you. If you stand against 
them now you will give substance to their shadow."
Twilla moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She knew that those with 
powers such as Hulde could summon would always be feared and even hated by some, 
no matter how much good the use of those powers might have done. The baker was 
right—
The girl arose from her stool, moving out a little to face Hulde.
"Master Harhodge has the right of it, mistress. I would not be the cause to 
bring down all you have striven to do here. I am from the Kinderhost and it is 
true there is none to blood claim me. You know how my kind are thought of in 
Varvad." She was shaking a little as she spoke that last word. But she held to 
her purpose—Hulde had given her so much that was good, she was not going now to 
return that gift with something which would lead to evil.
Hulde raised one hand and beckoned to her so that Twilla came to stand directly 
before the Wisewoman. That beckoning hand now grasped her own right one, turning 
it over, palm up, as Hulde bent her head to stare into that palm as if it held 
some answer to what might happen.
Through that touch Twilla was aware of a sudden tenseness in Hulde's body and 
then the woman spoke:
"One must go as the power calls—one cannot swim against a current in denial of 
its force. I had not thought to lose—" She raised her head now and stared down 
from her greater height directly into Twilla's eyes.
"If it is to be, there is no way of denying it. You have been near Kin-daughter 
to me, girl, but it would seem my fate line no longer runs with yours. If these 
come to take you"—now there was a flash of fire in her eyes and her lips drew 
tightly against her teeth in a hah? snarl—"then they will discover that they are 
the ones who may have made a poor bargain. Take that which you wear, use it as 
the spirit leads you—and in the end it may prove salvation for more than you, 
Twilla. You are healer trained; that perhaps will win you good standing. Use all 
you know as best you can."
Sound from outside reached them now, the clatter of thick-soled boots, the 
rattle of wagon wheels. Hulde raised her hand and pointed to the door behind 
Harhodge. Without a sound that swung closed, sealing them once more into their 
own world.
"You have, Master Harhodge," Hulde's tone was formal and its words were set to 
impress, "come here to ask for a sleep potion for your wife." She took two steps 
to the long table, her hands now going out in a sweeping gesture above that long 
array of bottles.
He nodded jerkily, wisps of his straw colored hair free from his cap, flopped 
near down to his eyes, in which Twilla could see the fast-growing apprehension 
of one found in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Now a gesture from Hulde sent her also in motion, sliding swiftly around the end 
of the table to the fireplace where she swung back the waiting pot over the 
flame and took up the long-handled wooden spoon the Wisewoman had thrust through 
one chain loop, beginning to stir the mixture as if this was the task she had 
been set to.
Just as Hulde selected a bottle and held it out into the better light before 
Harhodge there was another imperious rattle of knocks, one following the other 
with manifest impatience at the door. A swift streaking of a gray furred body 
marked the retreat of the cat. Hulde, bottle in hand, went to lift the latch and 
confront the knocker.
He was hardly of middle height for a man; the Wisewoman could match inches with 
him easily. Perhaps because of that very fact he bore himself with all the 
arrogance of an up-country noble new come to town. His lean, forethrusting jaw, 
was badly scraped of beard, leaving patches of dark shadow which could well mark 
themselves as the paths of dirty fingers.
His leather jacket was well worn and stained—what could be seen of it, for he 
was fully accoutered with a stout breastplate and long metal cuffs extending 
nearly to his elbows. He had pushed his helmet back a little, perhaps to clear 
his field of sight, and the eyes which swept from Hulde to the other two and 
back were cold and suspicious. It did not need the addition of that much-creased 
scarf banding cross-ways on the half armor from shoulder to hip to proclaim his 
rank. This was undoubtedly the leader of the search-troop.
"You wish? There are many potions for healing—" Hulde's voice had changed oddly, 
taken on a quiver, a harshness such as age would bring, and also she appeared 
somehow to shrink—drawing years about her as one would draw a cloak.
"You have under this roof one from the Kinderhost!" he snapped. "She is of 
marriage age and not bespoken—"
"She is my sworn apprentice." Hulde's voice held now a servile note.
"She is Kinderhost—one without kin to sign her papers—therefore she is not 
apprentice bound. You, girl—stand forth!"
He was now a step or two within the room and he broke the eye-to-eye wary stare 
he had kept on Hulde to shoot that order at Twilla.
She took her time as if to emphasize that what she had been doing was of more 
importance than this—which she thought would be the proper attitude for one 
completely under her employer's thumb—once more hooking the pot away from the 
full heat before she turned.
The strutting squad commander swept her from head to foot conveying somehow that 
his opinion of this particular prey was very low.
"She'll do—"
"As you say, Captain." Hulde bowed her head with deference and Twilla realized 
that the Wisewoman was playing for time. "She shall be ready upon the summons."
"She'll be ready now!" he shot back. "Tathan." He did not turn his head toward 
the door, but he raised his voice and that not quite closed barrier was given a 
push at his summons.
The woman who tramped in was near as heavy-armored as her leader, lacking his 
breastplate but wearing a double quilted leather jacket, breeches, and boots 
clearly of army issue. Her hair was cropped short and her features were thick 
and heavy, her eyes small, yet alert, seeming to dart from side to side to take 
in all before her with a suspicion as keen or even keener than that of her 
commander.
"Tathan will go with you, girl. She will see to your gear and you will be bound 
by her choices. Understand?"
Twilla nodded, allowing herself an expression of fear, which might well lead 
them to believe that she was most biddable.
"Twilla is healer trained—in part," Hulde said. "It might well be to your 
advantage, good Captain, if you brought such a one with her healer bag—"
"So be it, Wisewoman. But you will show and tell me each thing so packed and 
explain its use. Get going with you, girl!"
So urged, Twilla left through the other door. She held one hand to her breast, 
cradling the mirror against her. There were powers she was sure that Hulde could 
have loosed against this appropriation of her assistant. That the Wisewoman had 
not done so was in itself a warning.
The girl led the way up a crooked stair to the room which had been her home, her 
security, for so many years.
"Warm clothes," she caught a whiff of strong breath tainted with frosale beer, 
as if Tathan were at her very shoulder. "Strong boots. It's a long hard way, 
Kinderoffer."
Without answering, playing still the easily cowed, Twilla brought out of the 
chest at the foot of the narrow bed her winter cloak. From beneath that the 
garments she used when venturing out with Hulde on their wild herb hunting 
expeditions. There were breeches of three thicknesses of musil fleece, a jerkin 
not too different from that worn by her present companion, save it was unstained 
and smelled of dried herbs instead of old grease and unwashed skin.
Keeping her back turned to the woman, she loosened the drawstring of her dress, 
having removed her belt with its many small burdens, and allowed the garment to 
puddle down around her feet. The shirt she had worn beneath she could keep and 
it covered well the mirror.
As she redressed she glanced about the room. Extra body linen, surely they would 
allow that. Her eyes touched very regretfully on the slim row of books. No, 
better not. Like anything from Hulde's house those might be suspect. When she 
turned once more to pick up her belt, Tathan's beefy hand shot over her shoulder 
and closed about that.
"You won't be needin' such trinkets where you're going. Witchy stuff."
Twilla let the belt lay, taking a scarf from the chest to twist about her middle 
and doing it so skillfully that she was sure Tathan had caught no sight of 
certain symbols embroidered in colors so like the background that they faded 
nearly into it. She bundled up the linen and turned to her guard.
"I am ready." She had pulled the travel hood well over her head so it 
overshadowed her face and she did not need to counterfeit the tremble in her 
voice. In so quick a time she had been shaken free of her small safe corner. 
Before her lay—what?
Hulde had a small shoulder pack waiting for her. Harhodge had withdrawn well 
back into the shadows and was biting his grubby nails. The soldier was pressed 
close to the table, still frowning at the bag.
"Healer's craft," Hulde said. "If you have learned anything during your time 
here among my pots and bottles, girl, let that show. Remember"—now her gaze 
bored through the partial hiding of hood and dropped eyes—"what you have learned 
is to be used for relief and in the spirit of good for one and all. Be blessed 
by the New, the Full, and the Old." She did not raise her hand, open in the 
three-fold signing, but under the edge of her cloak Twilla's own fingers moved 
in that most ancient of patterns.
With that blessing she bowed her head even more, though she thought Hulde 
guessed that those rare and nearly forgotten tears had gathered once more in her 
eyes.
"Wisewoman, for all your charity I give thanks," she said and her voice seemed 
blurred. Then Tathan seized her by the elbow and was turning her toward the open 
door. She stumbled a little as she crossed the threshold, as if her feet were 
reluctant to take that step. But against her small breasts she felt the smooth 
surface of the mirror as if it still drew some strength from her.
Chapter Two
THE CLUMSY WAGON jolted from side to side so that those within had to clutch at 
the nearest handhold at intervals to keep from sliding from the seating benches 
to the straw bedded floor. Though it was the first month of spring the wind, 
which thrust in now and then around the raised driver's seat in the front, was 
chill enough to make the passengers keep their cloaks tight about them.
Twilla steadied herself against a particularly rough bump, but she was unable to 
keep herself from brushing against her seat mate. The other girl squirmed away 
as if she wanted no such contact.
They were three days out of Varvad now—this wagon train was not built for speed. 
And there had been several days before that when Twilla was more or less 
imprisoned with others swept up in the maid hunt. They were a very wide 
mixture—even from a port town which was a trade center and drew many strangers 
and traders.
In this wagon there were six, and in the other two wagons lumbering along, one 
before and one behind, that number was equaled. From the first time they had 
been flung together there had been few signs of friendliness among them. They 
were too mixed a crew.
The girl beside Twilla now, Askla, was a shrinking vormouse of a creature who 
had wept ceaselessly until her red eyes were near puffed shut and she seemed to 
have very little strength left in her small body. She was, to judge by her neat 
if now crumpled dress and bordered cloak, of some family of substance—a minor 
merchant's daughter per-haps. On the other side Twilla herself was loomed over 
by a brawny fishergirl, whose sea-stained clothing carried an unforgettable 
odor.
No tears from Leela, rather a frank curiosity and a hint of defiance in her 
square chin with the weather-browned skin stretched tightly over it. She looked 
now to Twilla and her wide lips shaped a half grin.
"Fair shake us to pieces afore we gets there," she commented. "What man is gonna 
want a sack of blood and bruises for his bed? They'd better make sure of our 
gettin' over mountain in one good piece for the auction or they ain't gonna get 
much for this lot!"
"Auction?" Twilla had heard enough rumors the past five days to question that. 
"I thought it was a lottery—"
Leela winked and then caught quickly for another handhold as the wagon gave a 
stronger lurch. "Lottery—that's not what Samper says. Oh, they puts names in a 
bowl—and then they draws—them that is approved for weddin'. But those there pays 
a stiff tax to git a chance at the wife bowl. So this Lord Harmond he makes 
hisself a little profit—'less the King wants an accountin' too. One thing they 
say this lord abides by, though, once one of them dirt diggers draws—mind you, 
he has to take what his luck has given him—there is no backin' out if he don't 
take a likin' to what he sees when the names are matched."
Twilla tensed. "What if he does not like his choice after he sees her, or she 
him?" she asked. And realized that the sniffs from her other seat mate were no 
longer so loud, as if the vormouse was listening too.
Leela shrugged. Her shoulders wide and strong from seasons at the pull of sails, 
the casting of nets, the sweep of oars made that gesture doubly emphatic.
"They ain't carin' 'bout that. Samper, he told me as how you gets married to him 
as draws you and you stays married—'less the green devils get one or't' other of 
you."
"Green devils?" The fishergirl seemed to know far more than chance rumors.
"You ain't heard o' them, missy? That's why they want us— Luck for me that 
Samper, for all he's one o' the guard now, comes straight from the Vulkers who 
be second line blood kin to my people. He's told me a lot, Samper has. And it's 
worth listenin' to if you want to know what's ahead for all of us, do they get 
us there still alive—" She grunted at another plunge of the wagon.
"Seems like there has always been trouble over mountain. The first settlers—they 
was all dirt grubbers as had their land taken away for the uro mines—didn't last 
long. They got over mountain right enough, and they got their farms started. 
Then when the caravans came—well, they was just not there—save for a few as had 
no wits and were wanderin' around like dumb beasts."
"So when the king—he says send soldiers, go a-huntin' for what turned them so. 
But there weren't nothin' as they could find—just open land and then a big wood 
as they did not quite want to go in. But their captain he says go. Which was the 
worse for him, 'cause a half of them only came out again—and they was 
mind-struck or blind—talking a lot 'bout beautiful gals back in the woods. From 
then on it was like men was pulled by something, heading off into that place, 
some never comin' back—others half-wined. Only Lord Harmond he noted 
something—them settlers who was married and had a woman under their roof to 
bed—they didn't go wanderin'. So"—she held up her broad, calloused hands—"they 
began this wife sendin'."
It was very apparent that Leela believed in her story and that to her it was no 
rumor but an accepted fact. Yet that did not make Twilla any the more eager to 
be a lottery prize for some farmer, joined to him by a life bond. She was a 
healer. Let her get to this Lord Harmond—there was no use in trying to convince 
any underling, on that she had already made her mind—let her get to Lord Harmond 
and she could argue her worth to any colony in return for her freedom.
At nooning the wagons drew to a stop and they were ordered out, though some of 
the girls stumbled and complained of cramped legs. This was a dreary land with 
little worth for the seeing. The low downs about had been leveled by the strip 
miners until the ore veins were exhausted and only raw earth, with here and 
there a small struggling plant to supply a tiny patch of green. It was a scene 
of desolation that struck at Twilla, used as she was to Hulde's respect for all 
the earth had to offer in the way of free growing things. A manmade desert—she 
turned her back upon it as much as she could as she chewed on the stale bread 
and sipped sparingly from the water bottle which was handed around. Even the air 
overhead seemed to be free of birds. Twilla remembered the difference when she 
had gone herb hunting from Varvad with Hulde. Around there were still 
undevastated farmlands, with copses and spring-fed streams to be found—here was 
nothing.
No birds—but there was one! She brushed back the edge of her hood and looked up, 
trying to follow the flight of that dot across the sky. It was too high, too far 
away, already lost.
"Eat up—go to the left to relieve yourselves—" Tathan, who was in direct control 
of the party in Twilla's wagon, bore down upon them. "You—" she centered in on 
Askla, "stop that ever-lasting sniveling or you'll git something as will shut 
you up good!" She swung up a thick fist and the small girl retreated, bringing 
up against Leela who threw a supporting arm about her.
"Now, then, warwoman, would you knock about the king's own maids? That's what 
they call us, ain't it? Gives us a dowry too, he does."
Tathan's jaw seemed to shoot out farther, like the snout of a mastiff questing 
for a good scent of a proper quarry. "You, fish skinner, keep a civil tongue in 
your—"
But she was interrupted by a hail from the wagon ahead and with a last scowl at 
Askla tramped off in that direction.
Leela winked at Twilla. But the other girl was sober.
"Best not get on her wrong side, Leela. It is a long ways over mountain and she 
will have plenty of time to make things hard for us."
Leela's grin faded and she shot a sharp glance at the other girl. "Mayhap you 
are right. But that one is a bully and all bullies understand is a fist as big 
as theirs and a good arm behind it. Askla," she spoke to the smaller girl, 
"there's no goin' back for any o' us—we be in this stew together and must make 
the best of it."
Askla's chin quivered. "I want—my mother—" It was a thin little wail, which 
startled Twilla. She saw Leela was watching her over the other girl's bent head.
"Twilla, you have healer learnin'. Can you give her help—else she is going to 
make herself sick, and I don't trust any nursing from that one." She jerked her 
head in the direction in which Tathan had disappeared.
"Yes." Twilla flushed. She should have been the one to think of this—she who had 
prided herself so much on her small skills. Quickly she found a packet in the 
shoulder bag Hulde had packed for her; a sniff of its contents told her this was 
what she sought.
"Askla," she said gently, "chew a few of these leaves. Truly this is healer's 
knowledge and will help you feel better."
The smaller girl, still in Leela's hold, looked at her warily.
"Take it!" Leela ordered and reluctantly she did, mouthing the small ball of 
dried herbs as the fishergirl watched her sternly.
They were not stinted as to food, but it was coarse stuff—army marching rations, 
Twilla thought. She searched again in her herb bag and brought out a small 
container of powder, which she shook over her own portion of the near rock hard 
bread and then passed to Leela.
The fishergirl eyed it warily and proceeded to take a heavy sniff at its 
contents. Then her easy grin appeared again, and she proceeded to douse her 
bread thoroughly with the sprinkling of dull green.
"Good as one can get at the Croakin' Wartoad on a ten day," she approved.
"Askla?" Twilla offered the seasoning to the other girl but she made no answer. 
Her portion of ration bread was still in her hand and she was staring off into 
space, for the first time a softening of smile around her small pinched mouth.
Leela surveyed her critically. "Gone to dreamland, that one," she commented. 
"Here—got to make sure she gets her share when she wakes up." She took the 
square of hard bread from the girl's hand and tucked it into the pocket of her 
cloak.
"What you got—" A voice even rougher than Leela's cut in as one of their other 
wagonmates moved closer. She was wrapped in a threadbare covering which had a 
number of ill-sewn patches showing faded contrasting colors here and there. By 
the looks of her, she came from one of the fringe camps of the displaced 
landworkers. Her features were sharp, and her eyes sped from one to another of 
them.
"Scarce seasoning," Twilla explained. "Have some?" The two others who had shared 
the newcomer's seat in the wagon pushed closer now. One was as neatly clad as 
Askla under the hood, which covered only half of her head. Her face showed a 
fine skin and proud features; almost she might have been thought noble born.
She regarded Twilla narrowly. "I know you," she said then. "You were apprenticed 
to the Wisewoman—she came to leach our yardman when he had the poisoned hand, 
and you were with her. How did they take you?"
Twilla answered with the truth. "I am from the Kinderhost—they said that I had 
no kin to swear apprentice oath for me." She recognized her questioner now—the 
second daughter of the forgemaster. To find one as well placed as she in this 
company was strange. Surely now this one would have been safely betrothed.
"They threw a wide net, townswoman," Leela commented. "Surely you do not belong 
with us—hadn't your housemaster betrothed you?"
The girl flushed and the look she shot at Leela was barbed. "I way betrothed—he 
died of the fever two moons ago."
"Ill luck for you." There was a note of pity in Leela's reply.
"Enough!" the one with patched cloak interrupted shrilly. "I am Jass, she is 
Rutha"—she jerked a grimy hand toward the forgemaster's daughter—"and this be 
Hadee." The third moved in. "Now, what do you do to that bread, Healer?"
"Season it, as I said," Twilla responded. "Try it if you wish," she held out the 
jar again.
As Leela had done Jass sniffed the container and then lost some of her defiant 
air. "Creep cheese, an' marmint, and—" she looked inquiringly to Twilla.
"First of spring vargemt," the girl answered promptly. "You have herb lore then, 
Jass?"
The other girl gave a hooting laugh. "I was land bred and land learned. Yes, we 
knew something—my aunt she was clever with it— when we still had the land."
Rutha and Jass used the stuff from the container, but the third girl shook her 
head and backed away. She pulled a hand free from the edging of her cloak and 
made a gesture in the air between Twilla and herself.
"Witchery—" she said and turned her back on them all, moving sharply away.
"Now who is she?" Leela had lost her good humor. "What is this witchery thing?"
"A new belief." Rutha appeared glad she was in a position to provide 
explanation. "She is from overseas—serving maid in the house of one of the Doom 
Speakers. My father says that they are all mad, but more and more listen to them 
when they spout their talk on market day. Twice her master was taken up for ill 
speaking by the city guards. Little did her Doom Speaker help her this time!"
Hadee turned, and with one hand swept back the hood cowl. Twilla gasped. The 
girl seemed hardly more than a child, and her head had been shaved so that only 
a shadow of hair growth was beginning to show once more. On her forehead there 
was a red mark in the form of a triangle, seeming a part of her pale skin.
Leela drew a whistling breath. "Pray the High Powers, Hadee, that this 
overmountain journey lasts long enough for you to grow back your head thatch. 
Else he who gets you in the lottery will make you suffer for his 
disappointment."
"I go to ravishment at the hands of those who think evil," Hadee returned. 
"Surely my sins are great, there is no way I can escape what lies before." With 
twitching hands she covered her head and turned her back firmly upon them.
"Time to mount up." Tathan came swooping down. "In with you."
Twilla looked to Askla and speedily reached out to grasp the younger girl's arm. 
She was smiling, staring at nothing they could see. The sedative had worked much 
faster and more strongly than Twilla would have thought possible.
Together she and Leela got her settled between them on the hard bench as the 
other three scrambled in to take their places before them. There were the shouts 
of the men urging on the heavy beasts drawing the wagons, and they went rocking 
off at the unsteady, wearying gait they had known for a day now.
The constant bump and sway of the wagon kept one alert, mainly to the task of 
holding to one's seat. Askla, succumbing to the herb sedative, collapsed against 
Leela and the fishergirl pulled her slighter companion half across her knees 
steadying her with one muscle thick arm.
But Twilla's thoughts ranged well beyond the wagon and her companions in travel 
misery. What she had learned from Leela about the trials ahead was 
disheartening. Unless she could bring her talent for healing to the attention of 
some one in authority she perhaps had little chance to escape the lottery.
And the thought of that tensed her body, brought a bitter taste into her mouth. 
A healer was never wed, except by her full choice, and men to one who was 
compatible to her trade, for one did not stifle arts once learned and one was 
under the yoke of sworn duty to exercise that learning wherever it was needed.
She was no house and field servant to labor for the advancement of a land 
breaker and she had a very shrewd idea that that was the probable fate of all of 
them. As her body swung sharply to the lurch of the wagon she closed her eyes 
and reviewed all Hulde had ever said concerning her own trade.
Hulde was a healer, a well known one. But Twilla knew that the Wisewoman was 
more, though her fellow townsmen and women might not have known mat. There was 
much knowledge to be gained from the crumbling pages of Hulde's old books. 
Knowledge which Twilla had shared, if only in a very small part
She was certain that Hulde had powers which extended far beyond the concocting 
of brews and the making of salves. She could light a candle with a pointing of 
her finger, and she had some foreseeing— though that was erratic. But she was no 
dabbler in gaining power for power's sake.
Twilla marshaled memories and reviewed them with strict attention. She longed 
for freedom to do some experimenting, but in the present circumstances that was 
dangerous. She had not forgotten the fact of that looming threat, which had 
pulled her herself away from the Wise-woman—or had it been only a rumor mouthed 
by Harhodge in warning?
Once more in a sharp mind-picture Hulde was before her, holding her hand. It was 
as if Hulde, in spite of herself, had, through her own talents, been given some 
order—
Twilla shook her head—guesses were not facts. But the main fact was that the 
weight of the minor was still against her. Again she was tempted to draw that 
forth and look at it but prudence cautioned against such action.
The caravan came to a stop well before nightfall. They were within the first 
foothills of the mountains, but even here the scars of man's plundering were 
wounds across the land. However, they were glad to be out of their racking 
prison, sitting about one of the fires as two of the caravan men under Tathan's 
loud-voiced orders lifted out the benches to which they had clung during the day 
and brought out long sacks, lumpy with straw, tossing mem in the wagons to serve 
for beds.
There was little talk among the travelers of Twilla's wagon, though the men 
about their tasks made clamor enough. They were too worn by the ride to do more 
than huddle down and watch with near vacant eyes the installing of a pot on the 
fire and the brisk labors of Tathan and another of the warriorwomen in feeding 
into it first water brought in buckets from a stream not too far away and then 
slabs of rock-hard meat and blocks of pressed vegetables.
"You—" Tathan had been standing, fists on hips, watching her companion throw 
this provider into the pot, now she crooked a finger and beckoned directly to 
Twilla, "stir this, girl. You've had enough training in such from that upnosed 
mistress of yours."
Twilla obediently pushed her cloak back on her shoulders and took up the 
long-handled spoon Tathan had indicated, setting to work keeping the now 
bubbling contents of the pot in motion. The smell was not the same as came from 
Hulde's nourishing stews and soups. But with Tathan watching, she did not wish 
to add anything to make the mess more palatable.
In the end they were each given a bowl of greasy, watery stuff, a hunk of 
journey bread to be softened in it, and a leather bottle of small ale passed 
along. Twilla noted that only Jass and Leela took more than a sip from that. And 
she refused her share entirely, content with a cup of water from the cask which 
had been hung on the side of the wagon.
Overhead the sky was darkening. The mountains looked like crouched things from 
the fringes of a nightmare. Overhead the stars were beginning to wink into frost 
points of light. The moon was full and when it arose as they still huddled about 
the fire, it gave a measure of light, though there were a string of oil lanterns 
about to ward off the night.
"In with you—" Tathan bore down upon them as they sat near-bemused by fatigue 
and a kind of hopelessness, which Twilla felt rising like the waves of the sea 
about them. The warwoman gestured to the wagons, and they got their aching 
bodies in and onto the scant comfort of those straw-filled pads.
Askla sniffed and then gave a soft, choked sound. Twilla reached out through the 
dimness and put her hand on the smaller girl's shoulder where she curled on the 
bed.
"Think on what is good," she repeated awkwardly old, old words which had been 
said to her in the Kinderhost long ago. "Remember those you love and who love 
you—"
Askla's body shook under her touch. "I will never see mother again—" her 
grief-hoarse voice was a rasping whisper.
"Perhaps not so. Lay still—" Twilla hunched up on her own bed place and leaned 
across to the other. Her hand went from shoulder now to the girl's head, pushing 
back the folds of her hood, touching her forehead just above and between her 
eyes. "It is well—" Her words became a croon, so soft that she thought none else 
would hear. One of Hulde's remedies was the use of will alone. She tried to 
project into the other a feeling of peace, realizing that this was far different 
from watching beside the bed of one ailing, but she had very little peace in her 
own mind to draw upon. However, she sensed that the girl was ceasing to tremble 
so and in a few moments felt and heard the even breath of sleep.
Leela shifted on her pad sending the straw crackling under her. She tried to 
keep her hearty voice to a whisper.
"Good for you, healer. That one will have it hard—perhaps more than the rest of 
us—unless it be that Hadee with her ugly head and whine of a voice. Best we keep 
up spirits as we may and make the best of ourselves. No man is going to be 
pleased with a watering jug or an ugly face, and there is no good coming from 
making the worst of our lot."
"Just so, Leela," Twilla strove to find the proper words for the question which 
had been forming in her mind. "What if they have among us—for we have not truly 
seen the others—someone truly ugly? If the man has to take her—what would be her 
lot?"
The straw crackled as if Leela squirmed again. "One I would not wish for, 
healer. Be glad you are reasonably fair of face. Me, I'm passable and I have the 
strength for work. Jass now, she's small but she's tough and she comes from farm 
stock. That Rutha—she's a different sort but there are men who take pride in 
having such a wife as other men look after. Hadee—who knows?"
She added nothing to that and Twilla thought that she slept. But Twilla herself 
fingered the mirror, drawing it out of hiding, a thought so dim she could not 
truly pin it for examination stirring in her mind. Her fingers, though they wore 
no polishing pads, moved across the slick surface in the old familiar pattern. 
At last she tucked it into safe hiding again and settled herself to sleep.
Chapter Three
THE CARAVAN ROUSED early in the mornings—they were on their way usually by the 
first showing of sun rim. They had three days of steady climbing, a fairly 
gentle incline at first and then steeper where the ill-made road narrowed. At 
times they were ordered from the wagons to tramp along behind, lightening the 
loads. On the third day it began to rain, not with the fury of a storm but with 
a continued steady downpour to turn the whole way and those padding along it 
sodden.
At least these heights had not been scarred by the eternal mines and there was 
spring green beginning to show, even in dwarfed and ragged patches. The 
wind-twisted trees of the heights had been hacked away to clear the trail and 
their tangles of branches, too small to feed the fires, left to molder and grow 
strange-shaped lichens.
Twilla kept an eye on those patches of growth, trying to recognize any of which 
Hulde had made healing use. The supplies she carried in her shoulder pack were 
certainly limited and, though she had no time nor the proper facilities to 
prepare any herb harvest, it would be good to know what might be discovered.
Tathan and her even more unattractive assistant guard-driver were ever busy 
watchdogs. If they walked to ease the draft animals she herded her charges close 
together and constantly urged them on. Iyt was her assistant. She, when taking 
her turn at such shepherding, favored them with a monologue concerning the 
future.
Her words confirmed what Leela had learned from her kinsman.
These would-be brides bad little choice ahead, nor had their prospective grooms 
much more. A man could choose not to take his chances at the lottery—for the 
girl there was no choice at all.
Oddly enough it was Hadee who challenged that point of view on about the fourth 
time of the warwoman's gloating speech.
"If we be not to some man's choice," she tugged at her hood trying to keep it 
from sliding down from her shaven head where only the shadow of down showed the 
return of hair, "then what?" Iyt laughed.
"Choice is luck, king's maid. Your man's name goes in the pot and someone draws 
it out. Does he think you a fright—as you are—then he cannot send you back for 
another drawing. Lord Harmond, he is a fair man—each draw is final—so you both 
make the most of it. Better," she raised her heavy voice to include them all in 
that admonition, "make the best of yourselves and have a sweet tongue at the 
greeting."
Twilla considered that carefully. Surely they would have need of a healer. She 
had listened carefully to every scrap of rumor and gossip she could pick up and 
had heard no mention of such among the new land farmers. If she could prove 
herself—but Iyt was continuing:
"There was a gal two convoys back—she had had the plague and was cheek-marked 
from it—looked like a warty toad or nearabouts. The man as drew her was one of 
the officers—and—well—that one disappeared. Maybe the green demons got her." Her 
tongue swept across her thick lips as if her words were pepper relish on 
tasteless meat.
"Green demons?" That was Rutha. "More like—"
"Hush yourself, up-nose!" snapped Iyt. "And don't think that the green demons do 
not live. You'll see a plenty of their work over-mountain. Get yourself a-near 
the Wythe Woods and you'll maybe meet one for yourself."
"These demons," Twilla for the first time broke into the conversation. She had 
had little to say when Tathan or Iyt were about, even to her own companions, 
feeling from the start of this journey it was better to spend most of her energy 
in listening rather than in speech.
"These green demons—what harm do they do?" Iyt raised her hand, fingers curved 
in a ward sign. "They steal a man's wits, or his eyes, or him! Let a man who has 
no woman of his own get close to the Wood and he's their meat. Even Ylon, Lord 
Harmond's own son, he's been demon maimed—blind as if his two eyes were screwed 
out of his skull. They took some children also in the first days, and a couple 
of women—but they were all found wandering, wit struck, afterwards. Some, they 
got back their wits, only they don't remember what happened to them. 'Cept the 
children— those kept running off for awhile tryin' to get back to the Wood. Had 
to tie them up, even, until at last the fit wore off them. Yes, a man with a 
wry-faced female could well toss her to the demons and none would know the 
better."
A plague-scarred woman who had won her freedom—or had she simply been put to 
death by the man she had been forced upon? Twilla wondered. And these tales of 
green demons—she had read in Hulde's books of berries which, when eaten by the 
unwarned, could provide hallucinations and affect the mind. Perhaps this Wood 
harbored strange growths unknown to those of the coast, unknown even to Hulde's 
forerunners.
Surely Lord Harmond needed a competent healer with all this threatening his 
hard-held domain. But how could she reach him? She had seen the commander of the 
caravan only at a distance. He kept himself and his men well away from the 
wagons in which the women traveled. Their guards were all warwomen and she had, 
she believed, a very thin chance of gaining any attention—save perhaps a kind 
she did not want—from Tathan and Iyt.
On the fourth night they camped in a narrow meadow high in the mountains. 
Meeting there a second party from the plains beyond bringing fresh beasts for 
riding and haulage. The rain let up enough so that they saw a sullen red streak 
across the sky and Twilla thought that they would have a fair day tomorrow when 
they would make the last ascent and crossing through the pass.
As usual they were herded to their pallets in the wagons after they had eaten. 
Askla said little, she was like some small animal who obediently followed her 
trainer's orders. It seemed to Twilla that the real girl had retreated so far 
within some hiding place that what remained was close to a shell. Leela had trod 
upon a rough rock when they had been herded up to a spring to drink and wash, 
and Twilla had bandaged the broken skin and set an herb padding over it. Tathan 
had come upon them when she was so busied and had watched.
"Healer, eh? Well, you might as well forget such thing over mountain, Kindergal. 
Lord Harmond, he don't take to Wisewomen. If you have any sense you'll toss that 
there bag of yours in the bushes tomorrow and act like you are—bride bait and 
nothin' else."
"But," Twilla was so surprised that she sat back on her heels staring up at the 
woman, "healers are welcome—they are needed!"
"Lord Harmond he wants no women shifting theirselves from place to place, 
disturbing the peace. There ain't enough females to go around—and he ain't gonna 
have someone grab one as is gadding about when she should be with her lawful 
husband. You get right out of your head, Kindergal, that you is going to set up 
like a Wise woman and be free and easy—because it won't happen." She showed 
yellowed teeth in a wide smile. "Your Wisewoman weren't no big thing, were she? 
Let them take you—didn't see her do anything to stop us— did you? Git right out 
of that head of yours that you are any different from the rest of these here 
gals."
She laughed and tramped off. Twilla tightened that last loop of the bandage on 
Leela's foot. She kept her eyes strictly on what she was doing but her thoughts 
were busy, though she felt as if they had been badly shaken up.
"Could be, she's right," Leela said in a low voice. "I've been thinkin' that's 
what you had in mind—git told off as a healer. Most o' 'em never marry do they? 
Well, what this Lord Harmond wants is wives—"
Twilla had been weighing Tathan's contemptuous warning. Yes, it could be true. 
She knew herself that Hulde's talents had sometimes been resented, feared even. 
That was why the Wisewoman had gone to the Kinderhost for an apprentice. Most 
fathers would not give a daughter to be trained at a craft which might raise her 
above him in the general order of things. And one of the court nobles might be 
even more prejudiced—they were used to trading their daughters off in various 
alliances to bring themselves place and power.
So her hope of being able to make her own way over mountain seemed in dire 
danger. There was—she fastened on a thread of thought—she would have to consider 
it carefully.
Now that they were back in the wagon supposedly to sleep she was still weighing 
one peril against another. Not that she was even sure she might be able to do 
what she was thinking about now.
An ugly wife might find herself a dead one. On the other hand she knew several 
tricks by which she might defend herself once the lottery was past. The supplies 
in her shoulder pack were not the most potent she had about her—there were two 
tiny packets wrapped into the folds of her girdle which were to be counted on. 
Witless and blind—green demons—also a knowing person might act both of those for 
temporary safety. But the main thing—
Her pallet was at the far end of the wagon. The waning moon was a thinning slice 
in the sky. The wane—yes certainly this required the wane and not the gathering 
of that potent light. She had never tried what she wished to do, was not even 
sure she had the power. But now it was her last chance.
Hunched up, so that she could see the moon through an open flap of the canvas 
over her head, Twilla brought out the mirror and set it firmly on her knees, 
gripping between them that cord threaded through the hoop at its back.
"Up and down, out and in,
Sunward, and windershins.
Give now the look to seen
By all save the eye serene."
She kept her whisper to the merest thread of sound. Her fingers slid back and 
across the surface of the mirror in patterns they had never followed before—not 
when she had been at the binding.
And her mind fastened feverishly upon a picture, held it steady, refining it as 
well as she could. Until looking into the mirror, she indeed saw the reflection 
she sought. Scanty eyebrows above eyes which looked weak and red-rimmed. A nose 
so swollen that it near resembled a snout, but the sharpest were those pits in 
roughened skin of cheek and chin. She had seen enough sufferers of the pocking 
fever in her time with Hulde to be able to reproduce such an appearance.
Holding the mirror so close that her nose nearly touched the surface, she 
surveyed her reflection. So far she had succeeded. But it remained—had the 
reflection worked its spell directly on her? She ran her fingers over her 
chin—the chin felt smooth to the touch—but then it would—for it was sight alone 
which must be confused by the change.
And how could that be tested? Wait—pock scars—no, suppose she showed now only 
the vicious rash of the disease? That might be better accepted. She could induce 
a measure of fever—they—they might even jettison her here fearing contagion! She 
looked intently into the mirror again and made the change from pock marks to the 
reddened lumps that would form such—keeping the largely swollen nose.
They had no healer with the caravan—at least there had been no mention of such, 
though the girls were kept so carefully apart from most of the group, closely 
guarded by warwomen. She did have certain drugs which, taken in too heavy doses, 
would bring about the high fever that marked the outset of the plague. However, 
to use those on herself would dull her mind, and that she could not have. She 
did not know how long the mirror change would hold—it might have to be renewed, 
perhaps even each night.
Could she counterfeit the symptoms of plague well enough to stamp belief in her 
fellow travelers? With Hulde two seasons ago she had seen one case—strictly 
isolated when discovered—but they dared not refuse the aid of a healer. Luckily 
the plague had not spread but she remembered Hulde's treatment—and that the 
Wisewoman had pressed home the point that once the skin eruptions appeared there 
was nothing to be done but give the victim certain drinks and make sure that he 
or she was kept warm and clean.
Their patient then, a trader from the hills who had been found in the fields 
outside the town, had survived, but he would bear until his death day the skin 
scoring of the disease.
"What's to do?" Leela's voice was cross. She must have been roused by Twilla's 
shifting on the pallet, those were so closely set together.
"It is hot—so hot—" Twilla allowed her voice to die away weakly. She had put the 
mirror into tight safety against her skin but she believed it time to take the 
plunge into the act with which she must impress those about her.
"Stupid!" Leela snapped. " Tis cold enough to freeze the scales off a blackfish. 
Git to sleep."
"Hot—" Twilla pushed aside the top folds of her cloak. "My head—the pain—"
"Shut your jaws, you back there!" Tathan's harsh whisper was enough to rouse 
them all. "What are you blabbin' about?"
" 'Tis the healer," Rutha made answer. There was a shifting around as the others 
roused.
"Hot—so hot—" Twilla allowed her fretful voice to slide up the scale into a 
sound strong enough to carry through the wagon. "My head— Hulde—mistress—give me 
to drink of a potion—my head—"
"You, Iyt," Tathan ordered, "light the lantern. That one makes no sense. But 
she'll learn not to disturb the sleep of her betters!"
They were all awake now, moving to sit up on the pallets, though Twilla judged 
that more by sound for until the fire snap was set to the wick in the lantern 
there was no light—even the moon sickle had disappeared from overhead.
"Move—blast you sniveling demon spawn!" Tathan, with the lantern in hand, pushed 
past Hadee with a shove which sent the slight girl back painfully against the 
side of the wagon bed. Rutha and Jass had already pulled aside and Leela pushed 
Askla out of the way. Then Tathan was standing over that end pallet and had 
swung the lantern well down.
Was it holding? Had she been successful, or had her desire deceived her? Twilla 
gave a moan and flung up her arm, pushing the cloak hood well away from her face 
while the light of the lantern shown full upon her.
"By the Fins of Gar!" She felt Leela jerk away. "What—"
"Have you never seen plague?" If Rutha felt fear there was no note of it in her 
voice. "She claims to be a healer does she not? Who better would be one to bring 
such upon us? Who knows where she was before we started on this trail? Perhaps 
it takes a time for the evil to work within one's body before it makes itself 
known!"
Even Tathan had fallen back a pace. So, Twilla thought with a small spring of 
self confidence—they did see what she wished—she was stricken in the sight of 
all of these!
"Dump her!" Jass cried out. "Get her away!"
There was shaken laugh from someone, near hysteria from fear. Then Rutha spoke 
again:
"We have been close with her these ten days. She has shared food and drink with 
us. It is said that so does the plague pass—through closeness and sharing. If we 
leave her we have not done ourselves any good. She is a healer and carries a 
healer's pack. If we can get through the haze of the fever upon her she may be 
able to help herself, perhaps us all, through her knowledge. But," she had 
crawled partly into the lantern light and was now facing Tathan, "if you value 
your skin with your commander, warwoman, you will see he has word of this. You 
have kept us so close that she has not been near others of the caravan— 
therefore they may not be plague-taken if they keep their distance."
"Call upon your heart power then, that Captain Wasser sees it as you do. 
Otherwise, gal, we'll all end with our throats slit and the wagon burned about 
us!" There was actually a shiver in Tathan's last words.
Twilla tensed. Would the common sense Rutha had voiced hold, or would the guards 
be ignorant enough to follow Tathan's dire suggestion? If that seemed to be 
coming closer to it she must move fast to undo what she had with over 
self-confidence done. Hulde had always urged upon her a careful forethinking of 
any action to do with power— this might be a disaster because she had not really 
done that.
Her fellow travelers had withdrawn as far as they could to the fore of the wagon 
leaving her, the lantern now beside her, isolated.
"She's our death!" Jass said in a tight voice.
"You said," Leela ignored the farmgirl and by her choice of words was speaking 
to Rutha, "that she might carry her own healing—"
"It is possible. But what would you choose from that pack of hers if you have it 
open? We are not trained in herb art"
There was movement. A shadow loomed over her and Twilla was cut from the lantern 
light by the bulk of the fishergirls broad shoulders. She turned her head a 
little.
"Leela?" she dared suggest, now, that she had moments of consciousness—she must 
do what she could to carry out Rutha's sensible suggestion.
"Me!"
"Drink—please—"
The shadowy Leela turned her head and spoke over her own shoulder. "You there, 
Iyt—hand down the water bottle—"
"And have the plague slobber on it?" countered Tathan's lieutenant. "Are you mad 
fishergirl, or just dull-witted?"
"Leela—" Twilla allowed herself a fraction more voice, perhaps enough to reach 
Rutha, upon whose good sense she might well have to depend. "I am fevered. In 
the pack—the twigs tied—in—in green threads," she made her speech as halting as 
she thought she now dared. "Break into water—give—"
She felt rather than saw the other jerk the precious healer's pack around. The 
lantern light shifted as that was moved to a better position for the rummager.
"Found 'em!" Leela announced triumphantly what seemed to Twilla a breath-holding 
time later. "All right, do we git that water, or do you answer to the captain 
when he asks why we ain't doin' what we can?"
"Warwoman," Rutha's clipped city speech was as sharp now as if she gave orders 
to some dull-witted maid servant within her own walls, "do we wait for our 
deaths or do we do what we can?"
"She be sick—how does that one know what is to be done? We don't come to more 
water until midday tomorrow and if she fouls what we have—"
"You know the use of that sword you wear, do you not?" demanded Rutha. "To each 
their own talent. If a healer can heal others then she has the knowledge to also 
heal herself. Here—if you can—pour a portion into the cup and let us see to it!"
There was movement in the dark wagon and Rutha must have prevailed, for Twilla 
caught sight of an edge of a cup within the lantern light and saw Leela thrust 
into it the small twist of twiglets. Not a remedy for fever but something to 
depend upon in times of stress to clear the mind for straight thinking—and she 
certainly needed that now.
She pulled herself up a fraction so that her bespelled face was well seen. 
Twilla braced herself on her arms, not expecting these who were well aware of 
the plague ravages to aid her. But Leela was still beside her and held out the 
cup from which there now arose an aromatic scent. She could sip, and then drink 
until the twigs were exposed and the liquid all inside her.
Now there were sounds from beyond the wagon. Tathan had gone for her superior 
and it sounded as if more than one of them was returning. Then a man's voice 
sounded from outside.
"You'll keep your distance—get back from me, woman. We cannot leave any behind. 
We are pledged to a number and those we deliver, even if we have a wagon load of 
bodies to make up our score. As soon as we are over the pass news will be sent 
ahead. But you will move out in the morning in your proper station, understand. 
You— none of you are to come near any others. We'll stack supplies and you can 
pick them up as you come. You say that this one claims to be a healer and has 
supplies—all right try her own treatment on her if you can. But—by the Horns of 
Ramu, woman, you and all with you keep your distance."
If Tathan raised any dispute to that they did not hear it. Then she clambered in 
over the driver's seat.
"You heard the captain," her voice was sullen. "We takes our chances and 
there'll be no dumping. He had the right of that—we bring in our full score. 
Didn't Robeen last season bring the body of one as fell to death at the 
crossing? Had to prove they started with full number. All right—what do we do?"
She sounded oddly at a loss, much of her loud-voiced authority seemingly 
stripped from her.
"She came a little out of the fever," Rutha answered. "Told us what to do. Fill 
that cup again, Iyt, we may well need it."
"Who you speakin' to, smartmouth!" growled the woman. "How can you be sure she 
told you true?"
"Better to try something than wait for the worst to strike us," returned Rutha. 
"Here you are, Leela, see if you can get this down her. You know," another 
shadow joined that cast by Leela, "it is odd mat such illness can do to one, 
she—perhaps it is the swelling of her skin, but she looks almost like another 
person."
Twilla thought it time to make a small recovery. "Thank you, Leela," she said in 
a near normal voice as the fishergirl held out the second cup. This time she 
pulled herself into a sitting position and took it into her own hands, swilling 
the leaves in the rusty water from their carrier.
"Last year—there was plague—a merchant—"
"A stranger from the north," cut in Rutha, "yes, the council were much worried. 
But—he recovered did he not? Yes, and it was your Wisewoman who cured him!" she 
ended excitedly.
"Yes, Hulde had a great knowledge—I have some, but only a little compared to 
hers. What I do now—that is of her learning." And in the light of the lantern 
she deliberately not only swallowed the contents of the cup but chewed away on 
the sodden leaves it contained.
"Stay apart from me for three days," she said, spitting that cud of leaf into 
her hand. "If by that time the blisters on the skin have run their full 
course—then I think you have nothing to fear. But I shall make it so. Leela," 
again she appealed to the shadow who had drawn back at her warning, "go you 
through the pack again. You will find a small box which is marked with the sign 
of a flying bird. I shall not touch it so there can be no fear of any of you. 
Take out the paste you find within and roll it into small balls. Then let each 
one of you take one. You will feel drowsy—you will wish to sleep. And this you 
must do. Since the caravan would move on leaving us to be last it will not 
matter if we do not arouse at the first horn call. Tomorrow you will still feel 
tired but by the next sun all should be well. This Hulde uses in times of 
danger—"
Danger for some highly nervous patient who must be calmed before hard treatment. 
It was powerful but not dangerous and would give them sleep, take them through 
the first hours of their present fears.
"Wisewoman's messes—" began Tathan. but again Rutha interrupted.
"Are better than anything your captain offers us," the girl returned in a 
clipped voice. "Twilla, if we come out of this I will indeed speak well of 
healers."
Chapter Four
FOR THREE DAYS now they had been the tail of the caravan winding up, through the 
pass, and so out of the world they knew and into the unknown. Twilla had come to 
the end of her supplies of the mild sedative she had used to calm her 
companions. Since none of them had developed any sign of the plague they lost 
some of the rigid tension which had gripped them all on the first morning they 
had pulled out to be last in line.
Though they were anything but forgotten by the captain. One of his men 
appeared—at a prudent distance—each morning for a report on Twilla, on the 
chance that any of the others had so begun to suffer, on what supplies they 
would need. And since the report remained an ever satisfying one Twilla lost 
little by little her apprehension of what might await them now in the matter of 
ostracism over mountain.
She had allowed herself a gradual recovery, though one far more speedy than 
would have been normal for a true plague victim. By trading on her healer 
knowledge and the awe that her wagonmates were beginning to display for that, 
she succeeded in getting them to believe that indeed it was Hulde's discoveries 
of yesterday year which served her apprentice so well now.
Twilla had urged upon them the warning that they were better out of the wagon as 
much as possible so that at night they now lay in blanket bags (against the 
chill of the high regions) beside the fire. Tathan was undoubtedly convinced 
that no one was going to strike away from that fire into the unknown—they were 
too far now from any possible settlement or outlying farm—even if those living 
there would dare to offer them refuge.
Rutha and Leela had become Twilla's nurses. Odd partners that they were—educated 
merchant's daughter, unlettered fishergirl—they shared an intelligence which did 
not need the nudging of book learning to awaken. Both of them, when they decided 
Twilla had reached a stage of convalescence wherein company would not be amiss, 
began to ask questions about herb lore.
She had dragged out that small book with its very tiny crabbed writing, meant to 
seal as much to a single page as possible, which listed herbs and the remedies 
for common ailments such as might visit any household during the seasons.
With a stick she drew on a cleared space of soil the outlines of leaf and flower 
shapes and drilled her listeners in what to look for. Lord Harmond might not 
want wisewomen, but he could not deny to any woman the right to care for her own 
household and kin.
Askla listened also, but it was plain that she had yet only a child's interest, 
one quickly broken as she tired. Jass took a word in the proceedings now and 
then, sometimes scoffingly, but she was more attracted to Tathan and Iyt. The 
latter had been telling tales of battles, of the green demons and of great 
doings ahead and the once farmgirl listened with an awe and interest surprising 
to discover in one land-born. As for Hadee—the serving maid from overseas—she 
registered aversion to anything Twilla said, declaring loudly and long, that all 
such knowledge was of the dark and those who followed it would be possessed by 
the blackest of spirits. It had been difficult to get down her the pellets 
Twilla prescribed—only under the dire threat of Tathan's fist had she gulped 
them in.
At night they slept—and Twilla was free to further her own plan. She held to it 
doggedly. Surely a combination of a haggish face, and her supposed service to 
the caravan would impress Lord Harmond, set to uphold customs as he was.
With moonlight and mirror she wrought as might an artist painting some 
masterpiece. The red marks on her face had become quickly eruptions—enough to 
repulse even friends. Rutha had asked over and over if there were not some 
healing she could bring to them and Twilla answered only that the disease must 
run its course and that the breaking of those eruptions and their draining would 
bring relief and a far step toward health again.
The night after they had crossed the pass, after Rutha had shared around the 
last of the sedative paste, Twilla waited tensely for their sleep. Then she sent 
into the heart of the mirror the full of her concentration. The change in her 
eyes—they now seemed smaller and red-rimmed, the eyes lashed thin and pale—could 
well have been left by an onset of a severe disease.
The badly swollen reflection of her nose she pondered over. None of them had 
commented upon it, not even Leela with whom Twilla had been closest since before 
she began this mage labor. She could hope that, in the shock of her illness and 
the plague mask, they had truly forgotten what she had once looked like. No, she 
did not believe that she need lose that added bit of ugliness.
Now she concentrated on the skin, erasing most of the outer signs of eruptions, 
bringing in their places the beginning of pock marks which left her cheeks with 
a scaly, almost ragged, appearance. She surveyed the result of her efforts for 
some time, the dying fire giving her light enough for a critical evaluation, 
then she slid the minor back into concealment.
There was one more obstacle ahead. Surely the outlanders had some form of 
medical attention, even if Lord Hammond had set his will against healers. There 
were men who could set bones, perform rude surgery and the like who traveled 
with an army. If such a one was sent to inspect them Twilla thought her disguise 
would hold. She would not have been so sure if she faced such a one as Hulde.
Before sunset she was to be proven right. The long line of the caravan had 
crunched the trail down from the heights. Before them stretched wide the new 
land. There were lesser heights to be crossed and those hid and revealed, hid 
and revealed what lay ahead.
To the south, stretching as far west as eyesight could reach was plains land. 
Twilla making her first attempt at walking beside the wagon, Leela solicitously 
beside her, thought she could also see evidence of man's coming there in 
suggestions of fenced fields and a small blot or two, which might signal the 
planting of a farmstead.
However, to the north there was no light and openness. Rather, like a shadowed 
fortress looming over the country, stood a dark blot, which covered all which 
might lie there.
That—that could only be the forest—the dreaded territory in which lay the 
mystery which had been so fatal to those who had attempted to learn any secrets 
it hid. She studied it carefully. Such a huge and thick stand of wood as to blot 
out the land was unknown in Varslaad where delvings, slashings, and the 
ever-present demands of humankind had been known for untold years. Trees in the 
east were, as it seemed herded by man, orchards bloomed and bore to order and 
were pruned, and otherwise bent to the will of the owner. Even the few firs 
which grew in the yet unstirred comers looked small and thin as if they hoped to 
be overlooked and forgotten.
In that dark blot yonder man had set no bonds—though bonds might have been 
set—against invaders. Twilla could not measure the height of the trees crowding 
into that dark mass, but she guessed that they must indeed be tall—large enough 
to awe an easterner. Yes, in the shadows of such, any nervous invader might well 
see demons.
Rutha seemed to pick up her thought— "Demon land," she said. "It has an uncanny 
look to it anyway—such put stories into the minds of the unknowing."
"Hullooo!" The ringing call from ahead brought the wagon to a halt and those 
tramping by it to attention.
From below, cutting between them and their sight of the last wagon ahead, came a 
small mounted troop. These reined to a halt a goodly space away, save for one 
man who approached them with an air of caution.
"You there!" he raised his voice in sharp command as he drew near, swinging from 
the saddle but still remaining by his mount. "Stand forth— They say you carry 
plague!"
Meekly Twilla, Rutha, and Leela who had been on the tramp, drew themselves into 
a line to be joined by Askla, Jass, and Hadee from the wagon. Tathan passed the 
reins of the team to Iyt and joined them.
Still leading his horse as if he needed to know that was at hand and he might 
mount in a second and be away from them, the man came forward. He was wearing 
mixed-dress Twilla noted, as if he were half townsman, half guard.
Of middle years, his face was as browned as that of a soldier and he had keen 
eyes which he swept along the line of waiting girls and warwomen.
"All of you here?" he demanded.
"All," Tathan answered stolidly. "Six king's maids, two of the troops—so we set 
out of Varvad and so we still be."
But his attention had already centered on Twilla and held.
"That one—" He jerked his thumb toward the girl but took no step closer. "She 
bears plague marks—"
"She heals," Tathan answered with a note of defense as if some skill of her own 
was in question. "She be a healer and was able to doctor herself—also us lest 
the plague spread. We are here and she is walking as stout as any 
landdaughter—as you can see. Her looks may be spoiled but she has talent—"
Twilla was surprised at Tathan's words. She had not expected backing from the 
warwoman, and yet it would seem that their guard was striving to make some point 
in her charge's favor.
"Healer." The man repeated that with something like a snort. "She is a king's 
maid as the rest. Our Lord does not hold with such, as well you know."
"Mine was not the selection. Learned One," Tathan returned. "I am a guard only 
but what I say is the truth. She healed herself and we stand here now with no 
plague marks on us."
"Nonetheless, you will keep your distance, not entering the High Keep but 
camping where you are shown, until we have our Lord's word on the matter."
Now he did mount and on horseback made a sudden turn and rode straight for 
Twilla, Leela having to scramble swiftly out of way as he came up beside the 
girl. Using his riding whip he caught at and flicked away her cape hood staring 
down at her with eyes which were narrowed and searching.
"Marked you are—" he commented. "But you have healed. Well, I do not envy your 
bridegroom."
With that he wheeled his horse again and rode on, the rest of the squad falling 
in behind him. While they were kept to the slower pace of the wagon. And it was 
well into dusk before they reached that level land, which had been in then- 
sight for most of the afternoon.
The sun was still far enough up for Twilla to sight that dark dot which spiraled 
upward from the looming shadow of the wood fringe to the north. She lost sight 
of it as it climbed. Then she became aware of a wind-skimming, wide-winged bird 
which dropped from out of the sky to hang over the wagon as it trundled along.
By its spread of wing she judged it to be larger than any bird she had seen 
overmountain—and it seemed able to glide with few beats of wings, keeping at the 
same distance above them. That this was what she had seen rise from the 
ill-omened wood she was oddly sure. There were stories in Hulde's books about 
ancient powers which could harness the animals of the field, the birds of the 
air, to their service. It would seem that now they might be spied upon. But she 
said nothing, drew no attention of the other to that airborne company.
All she had been able to gather of rumor and report was that those who kept away 
from the forest had not been troubled by any attack, and the road they were 
following now curbed well to the south of that blot. Yet, as twilight grew and 
they traced the guiding wagons ahead by the lanterns, each bobbing from their 
high poles, this cruiser of the winds did not leave them.
Now they could see ahead the outline of buildings with lights here and there. 
And the first wagons of the caravan were very near the gates. Their own passage 
was so slowed by the orders to keep well to the rear that, when darkness fell, 
they could only see the few winks of lantern light pass through a strong 
stockade.
Once more a rider came pounding back toward them and with a circle of arm and a 
shouted order sent their wagon from the road, bumping across the open land until 
it finally came to a halt under those walls but not within them.
Just as they had through all the weeks on the trail Tathan and Iyt set about 
loosing the beasts to graze and ordering a camp to be set. Rutha sighted the 
pile of supplies which had been left as usual and these they brought into a 
fire, which here was set in the encirclement of a brazier as large as a full 
washing bowl, fueled with lumps of thick black stuff new to the girls.
It smoked and smelt and was far inferior to the wood they had used during the 
journey. Twilla, coughing as a sudden puff of air brought that smoke to her, 
could begin to understand why the plains settlers would want to glean in the 
forest.
It was too dark now to sight the bird above. But there would be the beginning of 
the new moon tonight. She dared not try to strengthen her spell by it—the waning 
was what she needed. But when they settled on the pallets in the wagon her hands 
were curved about the mirror tightly. And it seemed to her that there was an odd 
warmth from it, even when she lifted it away from close contact with her flesh, 
also as if it caused some friction, except there was no movement, save that 
which followed her own.
Had she been irresponsible, foolish in believing that she could escape the net 
set for her? She stared down into the mirror surface, dark to her sight, and 
thought of Hulde. She herself knew so very little— some of a healer's skills, 
yes, but little enough of the powers she was sure the Wisewoman had easily dealt 
with. It only remained that she was waiting upon time and would see what would 
come. And that aroused an impatience which ate at her.
Would her play with the plague be enough to make an impression on the Lord 
Harmond so he would see she had a different value for him and his people? She 
could only hope.
The sound of a horn aroused them to crawl out of the wagon in the dawnlight. 
They could see more of the Keeptown now. Unlike the cities of Varslaad there was 
no stone wall here. Rather blocks of what looked like packed earth, which had 
been set in place and then perhaps fired into a solid mass reaching well above 
the top of the wagon.
Nearby, the gate showed a ponderous expanse of heavy wood, barred and thickly 
reinforced with metal. While above the top of the wall showed one square tower, 
which was at least three stories high, as well as the roofs of other buildings.
The gates swung open and a party from the town, both mounted and on foot came 
toward them. As had been at the meeting in the mountains they stopped several 
lengths away allowing only one of their company to advance.
Twilla tensed. A healer of some sort she had expected but not one of the long 
discredited priests of Dandus! How such a one had found his way into this new 
territory was a mystery—unless the strange ills seeming to spread from the 
forest, must have induced some stupid councilor that they must have here one of 
the Twilight learning.
Hulde's kind were a kin to the earth and its bounty, striving ever to tie their 
patients to the aid of nature. The Dandus priests believed that mankind were 
greater than nature and need make no concessions to any other form of life. They 
were very few now, mostly stationed in a single shrine in the capital, and they 
recruited their order—at long intervals—from only the noble born.
This man now stalking toward them was as far from the beliefs by which she lived 
as the earth itself was from the sun now rising. If Lord Harmond favored the 
Dandus followers there was indeed no chance that he would listen to one with the 
wise talents.
"Where is this plague bearer?" he snapped almost before he reached them. His 
rust-red short robe was like the blot of a fast drying bloodstain.
"Here—you—" Tathan turned swiftly and caught at Twilla before the girl, still 
staring at the priest, could move. The warwoman pulled down her hood with her 
other hand, exposing Twilla's head to the full light.
What did he know? Had the followers of Dandus also powers which Hulde did not? 
Could he sense what she carried, sniff out mage too?
He was directly before her now. A gloved hand shot out, caught her chin in a 
painful grip, turning her head first right and then left. Dropping his hold, 
"Let me look upon the others."
Tathan had them already lined up and he went down that line making each girl 
uncover and looking at her intently, staring into eyes, even pinching cheeks. At 
Hadee he stopped short.
"What manner of female have we here, warwoman?" he asked sharply. "Why does she 
come shorn like a lop-ear ready for the butcher's knife?"
"She was maid to one of the Doom Sayers from overseas," Tathan replied. "They 
named her daughter of sin when her master was taken for his treason talk—so they 
served her before the maid squad took her."
The Dandus priest grimaced. "You, outlander," he nearly spat the words into 
Hadee's face, "know that we do not listen to such ravings as your people use to 
pollute the minds of sensible men. You will forget what you have been taught, or 
your man will take a rod to your back, with the full approval of our Lord, who 
does not take kindly to females who do not know their proper place."
He turned away from the line of girls and once more approached Twilla. "And 
you—they prate of your skill saving your own life and warding these. There are 
no healers here save those signed to Dandus. Think on that and make it plain in 
your mind. You will be as any other king's maid, fully subject to the man 
unlucky enough to win you—with a face such as that you show to the world there 
will not be any welcoming mate here—though mate you will!"
He turned away from her and for the first time since he had arrived Twilla 
allowed herself a deep breath. She had expected to be recognized, for a dabbler 
in power, to be denounced. Yet that had not happened and somehow she believed 
that she had passed some stout test successfully.
Once more within the wagon they now passed through the gates and down the packed 
earth of a street, until they pulled up before one of the buildings close to the 
tower of the center keep, where they were ordered with their small bundles of 
belongings into the company of the other girls who had traveled with the caravan 
and who had already settled in.
At least they were well fed—there were fresh vegetables, meat, some fruit—that 
new to them. There was a bathing place where they were able at last to get all 
the dust from their bodies and hair. Twilla kept to herself and the others again 
edged away from her as if some ill fortune might rub from her to them. Thus she 
was able to conceal the mirror. When their trail worn clothing was taken from 
them she hid it under a towel. Then she slipped its cord quickly over her head 
as she pulled on what was provided. There was a chemise of a coarse yellow-white 
material and over that a full-skirted dress with a laced bodice. All their new 
issue was alike—of a dark brown shade not unlike the color of the dusty road 
they had followed for so long.
Apparently there was to be no chance for any girl to enhance what looks she had. 
So clad Askla suffered as did Hadee, Jass took on the likeness of one of those 
small city birds that nested in house eaves. Only Rutha and Leela were 
eye-catching as their height and general assured carriage made them noticeable. 
Hadee presented as nearly a hopeless sight as Twilla was sure she did.
For three days they were so pent, and small quarrels among them, harsh words and 
sneers were common as they mingled with those who had arrived before them. It 
was, Twilla understood, largely because fear of the unknown rode them. No one 
explained more of the coming procedure than they had picked up from the talk of 
the caravan and none of them looked forward to wedding a man of whom they knew 
nothing and living tied to this unknown and ill-omened land.
On the morning of the fourth day Tathan and three others of her service 
descended upon them. They were allowed to take their bundles, but they were 
lined up and marched two-by-two out for the first time outside.
There were those gathered to see them as they went. Remarks were made, a few in 
that line were greeted with whistles and others brought boos. Twilla specially 
heard remarks strong enough to bring the red of fever back into her cheeks had 
she not known what she was doing and held to it.
Her hope of consideration as a healer had been quenched by the Dandus priest. 
But if the man who got her by lot was enough turned away by her face she still 
had a small hope of perhaps a respite until she could somehow win her freedom. 
It was a very poor and slender hope, but it was all she had to cling to now.
There had been a platform arranged before the Keep wall and in that a chair, 
which had some pretense of being one of state, sat a man in half armor with a 
noble's brilliant cloak swept back from his shoulders.
He was of early middle age and had the weathered face of one often afield, in 
contrast to the few city nobles Twilla had seen. There was about him now a 
certain air of impatience as if he wished the matter which he was to supervise 
over so that he could be about some more important business.
He was flanked by two officers, and a stout man wearing such a robe as a 
prosperous merchant of Varvad might own.
Before them, on a tripod, was a bowl of metal. While the space about the 
platform was crowded—though mainly with men—Twilla caught sight of a few women 
on the outer edges of the throng. Nearly all wore the drab clothing of the 
landtied.
The girls were now herded into a single line and by some chance Twilla was at 
the end of that. Whether that was a good omen or not she could not tell.
Chapter Five
THERE WAS SOMETHING shaming in this whole procedure—as if they were female 
beasts being put up to auction in a marketplace. Was this done deliberately, 
Twilla wondered—meant to enforce upon any rebel among the brides that her wishes 
or needs were nothing at all—only the fact that she was a female so able in some 
strange way to protect one of the men waiting impatiently here from whatever ill 
fate might reach out from that north lying wood to attack.
There appeared to be a delay of some sort. She saw Lord Harmond shift in his 
seat, the beginning of a scowl drawing his heavy brows together. Meanwhile, the 
undertone of mutters and murmurs from the waiting crowd were growing into 
fragments of impatient speech. Someone, Twilla gathered from the few words she 
caught, was still missing from the assembly.
Lord Harmond turned his head a fraction, and the officer on his right instantly 
leaned down to capture what his commander was saying. He saluted and turned to 
the stairs on the opposite side of the platform. However, before he had 
descended those a young man pushed through the crowd who gave way hurriedly to 
allow him passage. He, too, showed a stormy face but he stationed himself at the 
very fore of the assembly and stood like one preparing for a bared steel 
encounter. It was very plain that he was not there by any choice of his own.
Lord Harmond stared bleakly down at him with one of those looks so well used by 
superiors to subdue those beneath, and then he snapped his fingers and the 
warwomen at the head of the straggling line of girls set hand on the arm of the 
first of the "brides" and pushed her up the three steps of the platform.
She was one Twilla did not know. As Jass she was small and thin and the bundle 
she clung to with both hands was wrapped in an old patched piece of quilt. 
Another perhaps from one of the community of displaced farmers.
At a sharp gesture from Lord Harmond she turned to face the crowd below. Her 
eyes were not for them but on the ground, and there was the stain of shame on 
her cheeks.
Lord Harmond leaned forward now, inserted his hand into the bowl and brought out 
a finger-long strip of what looked like coarse leaf-paper.
"Carterer Ewon of Twin Streams—"
He read that aloud. The crowd had already fallen silent so the name echoed out 
over the marketplace.
"Here, Lord—" A man of middle years pushed through the massed men to come to the 
steps on the other side. He climbed them, shedding his cap on the way, bowed low 
to Lord Harmond and then in a stride was at the side of the shrinking girl, 
catching at her arm and turning her around so that together they faced the 
King's viceroy.
"Bear witness," Lord Harmond was very evidently repeating a formula he had 
uttered many times over, "that Carterer Ewon takes as his bride, by the grace of 
our lord, the King, this maid and let no gainsay their bonding."
Ewon made a clumsy bow, and his grasp on the girl brought her ahead of him as he 
urged her toward the stairs up which he had come. While the warwoman on the 
other side was already sending up the second victim.
So it went. There was no consenting on the part of the maids and apparently the 
men were used to abiding by the chance of the name pulling. Sometimes the 
matching was a grotesque combination, sometimes it was youth with youth.
When her own small circle of trail comrades came to be so disposed of Twilla 
paid even closer attention.
Leela went to a brawny, wide shouldered youth who looked to be her match in 
physical strength. Askla was prey to a man perhaps old enough to be her father. 
Rutha was claimed by a man in a better style of dress, perhaps some townsman or 
even retainer of the lord.
The one taking Jass was clearly a fanner of small means. When Hadee was pushed 
forward there was a murmur from the crowd and
Twilla gathered the fact that this one was certainly considered no bargain.
Then Twilla herself was urged forward. The man in civilian clothing at Lord 
Harmond's side was frowning now and the murmurs of the crowd were growing louder 
and more disparaging. But Lord Harmond paid them no attention. Rather he pulled 
forth the last of the strips from the bowl. And when he read aloud the name 
there was a complete hush over the assembly.
The young man who had been so late in arriving jerked as if he were a horse to 
which the spurs had been suddenly applied.
"That hag face! No!" His face was flushing and he made no move toward climbing 
to claim the choice fortune had made for him.
Lord Harmond did not rise from his seat, but the look he turned on the young 
officer promised wrath to come. When he spoke his voice was icy and carried a 
note of command which was not to be disobeyed.
"All know the law, all will abide by it—no matter what his station may be. You 
will do as all others here have done, Captain; accept the bride which fortune 
has decreed for you."
"No!" He had turned and was pushing his way out of the crowd where voices were 
being raised. Lord Harmond nodded once more to the officer beside him and he was 
quick on his way to intercept the younger man. Meanwhile Lord Harmond turned his 
attention to Twilla, looking her up and down. There was a twist to his lips as 
if he had sipped at a sour wine.
"We keep the law," he said. "No man, even if he be my son, can refuse the 
lottery. You are of my household now, and you shall conduct yourself 
accordingly. Take her to the tower chamber," he added now to Tathan who had come 
to the top of the three steps at a crook of his finger.
Lord Harmond's son! Twilla kept a tight grip of her bundle as Tathan hurried her 
down and around the end of the platform toward the gate into the Keep itself. 
What triangle was she involved in now? The Lord was determined to keep the 
law—if his son was in such disgust of her what might he do? She found her heart 
beating faster as the warwoman hurried her along.
Wedded by force to some field man she might have had a chance for escape, but 
she believed now that she had little hope of such. Lord Harmond would make sure 
that the marriage would take place—he could not favor his son over any of the 
others in the lottery, for the sake of both his own hold to the law and the 
matter of discipline.
Unlike the rest of the buildings of the town, which had been constructed of 
fired clay, this was of stone which must have come from some distance—though it 
had none of the feeling of age about it which one was aware of in the buildings 
of over-mountain. And there was the smell of newly cut wood as well as the odor 
already imprinted on a building housing a number of people.
Tathan pushed her toward a steep wall stair, narrow enough so that not more than 
two could share a step, and then came to the second story of the tower where two 
doors opened off a narrow landing. The warwoman set hand to one and then gave 
Twilla another push sending the girl into a chamber which was bare of all but a 
bed, a chest, a rude table and a pair of stools. Certainly there was no 
luxurious living in Lord Harmond's establishment.
For a moment Tathan stood, hands on hips looking the girl up and down. Then she 
gave a coarse laugh.
"Good that you be a healer, girl. His whip to your back will give you plenty to 
heal. Young Lord is not going to take kindly to being bond to such as you, and 
Lord Harmond, he won't let him slip the leash. He has said too often there be no 
changing of the choices. Captain Ustar didn't want no bride to begin with but 
they's talking again about trying to get house timbers from the woods, and them 
as goes after such will have to be protected. There ain't anyone in this keep 
town, gal, as is going to envy you even if you got a lordling out of the 
lottery."
She snickered and went. Once the door had closed behind her Twilla just got to 
one of the stools in time to save herself from a fall. Her whole body was 
shaking. The mirror—she had used the mirror and she wore the brand she had asked 
for in her reckless folly—she was not even sure she could undo it. Certainly not 
for a space, for she needed to build up her inner strengths. Also, suppose she 
showed her natural face—the Dandus priest would be after her at once. If Lord 
Harmond trusted such a one he would be the first to condemn the mage-learning 
Hulde taught. She was caught.
She wrapped her arms about herself feeling the near bruising pressure of the 
mirror as she pushed it tight against her breasts. At any moment she expected 
Ustar to break in upon her and———Do what?
She remembered the story they had told during the trip of ill-favored women who 
had disappeared—conveniently for their bond husbands. Though she hardly believed 
that they would dare kill her out of hand in the Keep—for one thing Lord Harmond 
would not allow his son to so evade the law he himself so rigidly enforced.
She stooped a little farther and fumbled with her pack. There were tricks with 
herbs—but she had not been driven to that last extremity as yet. Though she 
believed she had the right to defend herself if her life was threatened.
What she did choose were a selection of the last remaining bits of that mind 
clearing substance she had called upon when she first started this mad action.
She had no water in which to steep them, rather she chewed two of the sprigs. 
Her mouth was so dry that she found it difficult work.
Then she forced herself to make a clear-eyed survey of the room. There were 
hooks set into the wall and from one depended a weather cloak. From another a 
belt which glittered even in this subdued light and was plainly meant for 
feast-time wearing. Hurriedly she got to her feet, but even before she laid hand 
to it Twilla knew that the sheath was empty of knife.
She turned to the chest and rugged up its heavy lid. Clothes showing touches of 
fur—probably for the cold season wearing. A tunic richly embroidered to match 
the elegance of the hanging belt. Plainly this was indeed a noble's wardrobe.
Carefully she searched to the bottom of the chest hoping to find some possible 
weapon—but there was none. The windows were covered by oiled skin so that the 
daylight was dimmed and there was no looking out. Nor could she free a corner of 
that. She turned back discouraged as the door opened without any ceremony and 
she moved hurriedly to face whoever had come upon her so.
It was a man she had not seen before. Certainly not Ustar, nor his father, nor 
that officer who had been on the platform. Yet he had the air of the well-born. 
Until, looking closer she could see that his clothing, good as it had been, was 
now dingy, soiled, stained with food droppings down his jerkin and in the 
creases of his shirt showing between the loosely laced jacket.
He moved oddly as he came forward, as if each foot that he advanced sought solid 
foundation before he put his full weight on it. His head was up, his face framed 
by a mass of ill-kempt dark hair, had a curious set expression and his eyes—His 
eyes stared straight ahead as if he could not see her at all! They were wide 
open, a dark blue which was near to gray and the pupils appeared overlarge as if 
he were in the dark.
In the dark! He was blind!
She must have made some sound, for with the quick awareness of one who had 
learned to depend on a second sense, his head turned sharply in her 
direction—like a bound who heard the sound of a distant summoning born.
"Who is here?" His demand came quickly. Now she saw his nostrils expand as he 
drew several deep breaths, a hound now turning to scent as well as sound.
His whole attitude was that of one wary as if his walk through dark days was 
ever under threat.
Twilla found her voice. Judging by his clothing, as ill-used as that had been, 
he was someone of importance so she gave him the address for a noble.
"I am Twilla, Lord, one of those brought overmountain for wedding—"Rather than a 
smile, the movement of his lips now was a wolfish grin.
"Bride? Then my father has done as he threatened—saddled young Ustar with a 
bride! He would carry out that plan of his to meddle with the forest again and 
is making sure this time his heir will not be rendered useless."
She did not know how to reply to that. He sniffed deeply again.
"What manner of bride dowry did you bring with you, Twilla? I smell—" He paused 
a moment and then added, "Herbs—yes, but not the ones for the scenting of body 
and clothes. So—what do you deal in?"
"Though your Dandus priest denies it," she was taking a chance now, "I have 
healing skills—with me is the healer's bag my teacher gave me at our parting."
"A healer!" Now he gave a guttural laugh. "It would seem that fortune guides my 
steps this day. What can you do for blinded eyes, healer? I am an unman here, a 
useless mouth, my heritage given to my brother because of these!" His hands 
raised to his face, clawed as if to tear those staring eyes out of their 
sockets.
"Did it come upon you as from a blow?"—she had heard of such cases—"or were you 
U1?"
She came to stand before him looking up at those changeless discs of gray-blue.
"It—" He shook his head as if he were trying to order some thoughts. "It is a 
curse—and how it came to me I do not remember. That is truth!" He ended fiercely 
as if he expected her to scoff at his story—perhaps others had.
"Let me see," she used the soft voice such as she summoned when dealing with the 
ill whose body's betrayal frightened them.
At first he drew back a fraction but then stood fast as she put a hand to his 
shoulder and urged him forward to where was the best light in this dim room.
"Sit down," she had guided him until his knee was against the chest and he 
obeyed.
To all appearances his eyes were normal save for that fixed, open-lidded stare. 
She could see no redness, no encrustation of the lids, nothing as a guide to the 
few eye troubles in which she was trained.
"How long has it been so for you?" she asked.
"How long?" His voice raised a note or so higher. "Long enough, healer—and past. 
A blind man cannot reckon time—we see no day nor night—all is alike to us. I 
only know that I went forth with a scouting party into the Demon's Wood and was 
lost there from the others. When I came forth again I was as one drunk, babbling 
of what did not exist—and blind. So they brought me back to a father who has no 
use for one who is maimed, true son or not. Lucky for him he has Ustar—which 
satisfies his need for blooded kin to rule after him.
"My father, you see," he continued, the bitterness coloring his words ice cold, 
"has been promised rulership over these lands. He need only establish a 
productive community here and he is the king's voice, not to be gainsaid. A 
lordship with none to envy him as they might were he to aspire to such an honor 
over mountain where there are many jostling one another for the king's full 
attention. My father is a man who heeds the law—" He paused again.
Twilla had picked up her healer's bag and was rummaging for a certain phial.
"Therefore a maimed son is now an outcast, and a second son will wed that he may 
fulfill the quest his brother botched."
She was measuring drop by drop a clear liquid onto a small puff of well-cleansed 
fleece. As she counted the drops with one part of her mind she was arranging in 
another two lines of words to awaken the power.
"May light be brought—
"As ever taught."
With the sodden pat of fleece she delicately swabbed his eyes, making sure that 
they were closed, yet not so tightly that the moisture of her treatment did not 
reach the eyes themselves.
Then, with care she stepped back from him and brought out of the hiding the 
mirror. If this blindness was indeed some foul encirclement the rumors would 
have it she had this other test.
"Open!" she ordered, wanting quickly to be done and the mirror back in hiding.
He did, his straight stare unchanging. She swung the mirror directly up before 
him and looked at its surface. Because she was expecting some such she did not 
gasp at what she saw.
There was his ill-shaven face, his wide mass of hair and—across his eyes a 
concealing band of silvery motes as if he were half masked with a thick gauze.
"Sorcery," she said.
For the second time he laughed. "You need not read it so, healer. Has not the 
Dandus priest already seen the taint in me? And what have I in answer to mage 
curse—or what have you? I am demon-struck, I can only be thankful that my wits 
have returned to me and I no longer babble—or should I be thankful? Not to 
understand misfortune is perhaps the better. And death now the best of all!"
Twilla wet her lips. She was trying to remember any bit of Hulde's lore which 
covered such encirclement. But the nature of the spell which had set it must 
first be known—and where could that be learned save from the one who has done 
the casting?
"You remember nothing of what happened to you in the wood?"
"Do not raise that question again!" he half snarled. "They have thrown it at me 
in one form or another for what seems near a lifetime now. No, healer, I do not 
remember! If I did perhaps I would still be able to wage some form of battle on 
my own behalf. None of us know what lies within the wood—only this—that a man 
who is wed can venture there. One who has no wife to bed comes to a fate like 
mine or worse. For that also there is no answer. The Dandus priest would have it 
some demonic dark outside even his wide knowledge."
Twilla raised a hand and brushed back a long lock of hair which had swung down 
over those unseeing eyes. To such a man the loss of sight would seem far worse 
than a clean death, that she could understand.
"There—there is nothing you can do for me?" There appeared a crack in that harsh 
shell he had built around himself.
"Not with herbs, Lord. Not with such small learning as I have. But I swear that 
this is not of the body but of ill wishing, and for that there can be a remedy."
"Where do I seek such?" His head was up, that harshness was back in his voice 
again. "Among the demons of the Wood? They will show me no mercy—but perhaps you 
do have the right of it." He stood up and turned toward the door as if he knew 
this chamber well enough to cross it without mishap. "Perhaps an accounting with 
demons would be better than to live like this—un-man that I am—"
He was out of the door with two swift strides and slammed that behind him before 
Twilla could answer.
Chapter Six
TWILLA, HAVING PUT her herb bag to rights again, once more seated herself on one 
of the stools. The light was growing even more dim, and she was hungry. Weddings 
such as she and Hulde had attended as guests had been very different.
There had been feasting and laughter, dancing, joy in a new beginning for two 
lives. But there had been no degrading lottery there, no reduction of any girl 
to a thing which a man needed to keep himself safe from some invisible menace. 
Even if the bonds had been arranged by the two families the young people had 
always known each other and she had never heard of a girl being pushed into some 
uneven match willy-nilly.
She wondered what was happening now to her late companions. Most of the men at 
the lottery had plainly been from farms, and some of those might be situated 
some distance away. Perhaps they were already trudging back to those shelters 
with their "brides" beside them like beasts bought in the market.
They were wedded—and that by the will of Lord Harmond and the formula he spoke 
but— Twilla drew a deep breath. That formula had not been spoken over her. The 
unwilling Ustar had not been brought back to stand with her before his father. 
That could mean that she was not bound to him!
Though what good did that do? She was very sure that sooner or later she would 
see Ustar and that his father would make very sure he was married and that 
marriage consummated so that his second son would be safe in the proposed 
venture into the demon woods. Therefore there was no escape, only a breathing 
space.
She drew out the mirror again and peered into it—the surface was dim in this 
light and those window skins would keep out a scrap of moonlight. Yes, the face 
she had designed for herself and which would probably be her undoing still 
stared back at her. The red splotches had faded into deep pocks. Her eyes were 
still small, red-rimmed, weak looking with lashes scanty enough to hardly show 
at all, and the swelling of her nose—she looked not unlike one of the young sows 
in a farm yard. Truly a face to frighten away or disgust any man. And she feared 
now she was going to suffer for it.
She was debating on trying to assuage her hunger with some of her herbs when she 
heard the bar on the door rattle and a moment later Tathan clumped in, setting a 
tray down on the chest top.
"Eat up," the warwoman leered at her, "a maid needs strength for bedding. Though 
that may be yet awhile. Lord Ustar and his father are not of one mind concerning 
you. However, Lord Harmond will win in such a dispute. You'll be brought down 
before the company, the bond given and then"—she now grinned widely—"you'll have 
to greet a very unloving master." For a moment she hesitated.
"I have heard things of wisewomen, mind you. That they may have powers. But the 
Dandus priest will be sure you don't summon such. His sort do not take kindly to 
yours. Best not try anything that that one can catch upon—it will be the worse 
for you. Eat, and be glad that you were remembered when the bowls were filled 
tonight."
She tramped out, and Twilla heard the bar slide back. She edged her stool up to 
the chest and investigated the contents of two bowls and a tankard. What she 
wanted and needed now was food.
However, as she dipped into a thick mixture of root vegetables and small blocks 
of meat (nothing which required the aid of an eating knife, she noted—she had 
only been provided with a spoon) her thoughts turned to that earlier visitor.
He had come into the room as if he expected to find it empty. Had she been 
allotted the chamber which had been his? And she was not even sure of his 
name—only that he had suffered the curse of the woodland and as a result was 
seemingly an outcast in his own home.
Now that he was no longer before her with his infirmity to hold her attention 
she began to remember things she had unconsciously noted and only now drawn to 
mind. It was plain from the disorder and spotting of his clothing that no one 
had paid attention to his comfort and appearance for some time.
But he had made some attempt to shave and she knew enough of the customs of the 
nobility to realize that that had been a clinging to a small detail which 
asserted his caste. Landsmen, merchants of the lower class might go bearded but 
those with any pretense to good birth showed their faces proudly to the world. 
And in spite of the ragged appearance of missed stubble and some cuts he had 
achieved at least that much—a goodly feat when done by touch.
If he had been able to give full attention to his appearance he would be, she 
realized, a far from ill-looking man. His features much resembled those of Lord 
Harmond but were not set so sternly. And he was younger than perhaps she had 
first guessed—perhaps there was not more than a year or two between him and 
Ustar, which might indeed make his present maiming an even more bitter thing to 
bear.
Encirclement—yes, Hulde had spoken of such matters during Twilla's learning. 
Though there were fast rules for those who would follow the Wisewoman's path. 
One did not summon any calamity to another unless one was willing to pay a price 
oneself. Her own fancied disfigurement was aimed only at herself, it injured no 
one else—therefore she would not suffer any return of an ill-power backlash.
But Hulde's learning was circumscribed by what she herself had managed to amass 
over many years of study and experimentation. Her own mentor, the Wisewoman 
Katerna—long since dead—had clung more closely to a healer's studies, and what 
Hulde had learned of other powers she had had to ferret out for herself and had 
imparted only in bits, and with much warning, to Twilla.
This encirclement born somewhere in the dreaded woodland might be utterly new, 
not obeying the laws Hulde dealt by. There such ill wishing could be fully 
released, used without harm to the sender. Twilla shivered, her hands going to 
the mirror, pressing it so tightly its rim bit into her skin. She had only this 
for any major power, and its abilities she had only partly explored.
She shoved a little away from the chest which formed her table, her appetite 
suddenly gone. Though she put out her hand to take up a slice of bread and pinch 
it between her fingers, a childish habit she thought she had forgotten.
At least they had not scanted her on the food. And it was a noble's feast 
compared to trail rations. But she did not lift the cup on the tray to taste its 
contents, which were dark and had the odor of thick wine. To a healer, such was 
something to be indulged in only after dire physical exertion. One must not 
muddy one's mind with such potions.
Or perhaps the "brides" were expected to become so bemused that they would not 
offer even token resistance to the demands of their new masters. For a moment 
she caught her Up between her teeth and considered a new thought.
Within her stores she had that which would render the senses far duller than any 
drink, except that it be offered in a far greater quantity than had been offered 
here. Could she escape—her inner self if not her body—in such a fashion when 
Ustar came to carry out his father's wishes?
No, that was the coward's way—and beneath the will of any wise-woman. There were 
certain times when one might indeed use what she carried, not only to lose keen 
senses, but even life itself. However, she thought that she was not yet driven 
to such a state. Once more her hand pressed the mirror and it seemed that her 
answer came in a wave of disgust against her own dark thoughts.
The room was very dark now—she could see no candle, no lamp, and when Twilla 
tried to move again she bumped against the bed. Now she felt her way along the 
wall until her outstretched hands touched the wood of the heavy door.
She had seen no latch—and she had heard the drop of a bar on the other side when 
Tathan had left. But still she had hoped that she could apply some lock upon her 
side so that no one else could come on her unaware. There was nothing. But still 
determined to have some warning she pushed the stool on which she had been 
sitting, having found it in a wide sweep through the chamber, against the door.
The wood of its rudely chiseled legs had made enough of a scraping noise when 
she moved as to assure her that that sound would alert her, even if she missed 
the slippage of the bar without.
Having done what she could, Twilla felt her way back to the bed, moving clumsily 
and barking her shin painfully against the side of the chest. She heard the 
rattle of the dishes from which she had fed, groped her way using the edge of 
the chest until she came to the bed.
It would seem that the dispute between Lord Harmond and his second son was a 
long one. She had not been brought forth as Tathan had promised, to have that 
bond placed upon her in the company of those within these walls. Thus she 
wondered what pleas Ustar was raising on his own behalf. Not that it would 
matter in the end for Lord Harmond was duty-bond to honor the law and see his 
son wed as fortune decreed.
Twilla settled on the edge of the bed. There was a small measure of light now 
showing at one of the windows as if some torch or lantern had been set alight 
not too far away. But it was not enough for the mirror.
Suddenly she was aware that the inner tension of the day had worn hard upon her. 
She wanted to sleep, needed to.
On impulse she pulled at the mirror cord, working it around on her throat so 
that she could slip the mirror itself under the thin pillow her hands had 
located.
"Sunwise, darkwise—" Her lips shaped the words rather than pronounced them 
aloud.
"Power that lives be aguard.
"Creeping evil thus barred.
"Moonwise rise in me
"May I safe in slumber be."
Rhyme of a son, if hardly better than that of a child playing with words. She 
laid down on the bed and now slipped one hand beneath her head, rubbing her 
fingers about the surface of the hidden mirror.
Perhaps it was only because she had so longed for it, but it seemed to Twilla 
that her fears lessened, were gone. Instead there arose in her a new strength of 
purpose, body, and mind. Accepting that as the truth because she must believe 
so, she closed her eyes and slept.
Mist, silver mist, a mist which whirled and blinded, made all which lay before 
an unknown path. Still she pushed on and the mist reached out hungrily for her 
but could not quite engulf her wholly.
Such a gauze of mist she had seen. Dimly memory moved, presented to her mind a 
picture—a mask of mist laid across the upper part of a gaunt and drawn young 
face, a mist which blinded!
The mist appeared to close more tightly about her. She held something, which 
chill shrank from, a glowing disc—a cold light—moonlight—not suntouch. The 
encroaching mist drew back. Twilla felt the lash of unseen, unheard anger. An 
anger which was so rooted in contempt it was twice as potent. But the anger—the 
mist—could not prevail.
Twilla awoke. No mist—only the darkness of the small chamber. Yet she was as 
certain as she would have been had Hulde herself told her that in this night she 
had been discovered by something which was beyond the common 
understanding—something which was clearly inimical. But, oddly enough, she felt 
no fear.
To fear the unknown was prudent, perhaps, but this unknown had a foundation in 
an emotion she could put name to: anger, contemptuous anger. And she was equally 
sure that the dream, if dream it had been, had not been forced upon her by any 
power within these walls.
It was nothing summoned by a Dandus priest. They certainly did not dabble in 
such visions—rather foul nightmares to punish.
The blind lord! Twilla sat up suddenly, jerking the mirror from under her pillow 
to strike against her shoulder. If that dream had been born from his mind—No, he 
would have no reason to so try to reach her, enmesh her in an encirclement like 
his own bitter one. She had done him no harm—unless his reason was the crooked 
one that he wanted his brother to fail even as he had done, and so would use her 
as a weapon in that wise.
She heard it now—not from the door, which gave upon the interior of the Keep, 
but outside. A sound of—yes, it was like the beating of air by great wings. At 
the same time she heard a shout from below as if some sentry had been alerted.
But though Twilla now strained to catch any sound which might give her knowledge 
of what might be happening without the noise of the wings—if wings those 
were—ebbed. Though the clamor from below grew stronger.
Before that had died away there came another—a warning. She heard a sound from 
without her door now. That which might have been the bar was hurriedly pushed 
from the hooks which held it. Then the door itself was sent flying inward, with 
force enough to send the stool she had left as a warning scraping across the 
floor.
Light streamed also enough to make a silhouette of the one who pressed in. The 
blind lord—surely it was he.
Twilla slipped from the bed, taking a moment to put the mirror back into hiding. 
She reached his side just in time to save him from coming up against the chest.
Though his face was in the shadow, she did not doubt that he was in search of 
her. And she was made very sure of that when his arms swung out with the speed 
of a man used to battle training, his hands closing upon her upper arms as well 
as if he could see what he would capture.
"What would you do?" His words were near spat into her face. "What ill webs do 
you weave here?"
He was shaking her now with such vigor as to send her head rocking dizzily on 
her shoulders.
"I—do—nothing—" she got the words out, near breathless from his handling.
"You lie! I—I saw—for a breath of time I saw—webs spun of mist—and—and I 
remembered!" There was exultation cutting through his first anger. "She enwebbed 
me, but I won free—now she has sent you to spin me prisoner again!"
"No." His shaking had grown more and more of an attack. He had shoved her back 
until the bed struck behind her thighs and there was no escape. "No!" The 
prisoning hold on her arms, bruising in its intensity, kept her bound. Now she 
gave a savage twist of her own, striving to break that captivity. The mirror 
slipping from her loosened clothing came out of hiding, was between their 
bodies.
He pressed in against her as if he would crush her with his greater strength. 
The mirror was caught fast between them, its reflective surface against his 
chest.
"What—?" He gave a short cry, cut off as if a hand had fallen over his lips and 
then he dropped his hold, so suddenly she fell back on the bed, drawing back 
from her as if she had become a fire to sear him.
Twilla caught once more at the mirror, pushed it into hiding. He had withdrawn 
well away from the bed and was now fully revealed in the light from the 
corridor.
His dark brows were drawn near together, his jaw set. He had the look of a man 
facing odds which he could not understand but which he would not surrender to.
"I have done nothing," Twilla found her voice, was glad to hear the words issue 
levelly from her lips. "I dreamed—of a mist—but it was none of my weaving."
His head had turned a fraction, she felt rather than saw that fixed stare of his 
useless eyes was on her, as if he was fighting for sight, for the need to learn—
"Mist—" he repeated. His hand went uncertainly to his head, rubbing fingers 
across his forehead. She saw him sway and was quick to move, reaching his side 
and steadying him until he reached the bed and dropped down to crouch at its 
edge, his head now forward and hidden in his hands, supported by elbows planted 
on his knees. He was shivering now, his whole body quivering as if he stood bare 
in some icy winter wind.
Twilla leaned forward, laid her hands first on his tangled mop of greasy hair 
and let them rest so while she pulled on healer's strength. Then her fingers 
slid down toward his hunched shoulders and she worked at the knotted muscles 
until she heard a sigh out of him and he raised his head.
"I do not know who or what you are," he said slowly as a man working out some 
puzzle, "but that you mean any harm—that I will not believe, healer. There is 
that in you which is different—I have heard of the learning of wisewomen—some 
speak them fair, some believe like the Dandus that they are ones who open 
gateways to evil.
But sure as my name is Ylon and I am son to Lord Harmond, I am certain that you 
do not bring evil here. Or—"
Under her touch his body suddenly tensed once again and he shook his head. "No!" 
Though to what he gave that denial she could not tell.
Suddenly he shifted around on the bed so that he was half facing her, his face 
again most wholly in the shadow.
"You are in danger, healer, worse than you know. To speak ill of a kinsman is a 
fault against the blood. But listen now—" His hands once more swung out until 
they touched and then gripped her but not painfully as before, rather as if she 
had stumbled and he was drawing her back to safety.
"Because I am bund—an un-man—rift of my kin standing, they no longer pay 
attention to me. I have become as a wall, a hound, something which has no 
thought or feeling.
"Ustar believes himself shamed by you, he has held out against our father as I 
would not have believed that he could do. But his anger is not turned toward our 
father, nor toward the laws which bind him to what he will not endure—he hates 
you."
Twilla shivered. There was such intensity in his warning that it aroused all the 
fears which had dwelt in her since she had stood on the platform below.
"He will kill me," she said trying to keep any quaver from her answer.
"No. Clean death would be one thing. This night I have heard him plot something 
else—" His voice trailed away as though he found it very hard to summon the 
words to complete his message.
"The Dandus priest?" That she had also feared since she had seen the man outside 
the town walls. What fate did such fanatics bring to those they had so long 
tried to vanquish?
"No," the word came in a low voice hardly above a whisper. "The Dandus priest 
wants his place here well-assured, he would not lend himself to any action which 
would counter my father's well-known law. No, what Ustar intends is something 
foul, something which calls upon the very core of House Blood. One of the House 
cannot wed a used woman—"
"A used woman?" For a moment she did not understand, and then her face flushed 
though there was no one to witness that rise of blood from shame and anger.
"There are always fewer women sent here for wedding than there are men in 
hunger." Ylon's voice was toneless, as if he used tight control to keep it so.
"Those who are to establish the landholds, a few of the townsmen, are summoned 
to the lottery. Soldiers are not men of homes and families for the most part. 
Even though they would be sought by the demons if they went wood venturing, 
there are only a selected number and that very small which are allowed bride 
taking—it is considered an honor and much sought for.
"However, in any force there are those who are never far removed from the 
animal, who would have no chance under my father's eye to ever hope to be chosen 
for the lottery. And to many of these a woman has become a much-longed-for but 
unobtainable trophy. They would be willing to risk much to allay certain hungers 
of the flesh.
"It is with such Ustar deals. He plots even now. Once those have had their will 
of you—and the gaining of that would be a monstrous thing—you would not be taken 
as bride by any man. How could he be sure that any child you bore was not 
conceived in rape?"
Twilla's shiver grew stronger, almost to equal those which had racked Ylon 
earlier. The mirror—was there any way the mirror could save her from this? Or—or 
must she resort to those potent herbs she carried to take her into oblivion?
"What must I do?" she asked aloud, but of herself rather than him.
"It is rather what I will do," he answered, sitting straightly now as if he had 
called upon inner strengths. "I believe that you are truly a healer, you have 
shown me"—he paused and then continued—"somehow you have shown me that I am not 
a useless thing. This night— the mists—when I came to you it was as if some 
greater will cut through those webs and I was again a true man. Therefore I 
shall act as one. I believe—I truly believe—that the Wood holds a secret and I 
shall never be free until I discover it. It is my intent now to return there—"
Twilla put out a hand to lie over his. She could understand, if only a little, 
what that decision must mean for him.
"You have heard of the danger waiting there," he continued— "Blasted wits, 
blindness—complete disappearance. Yet you have such strengths as I have not 
touched before. In the Wood you would be free of pursuit—by those here."
"How—" she was beginning when suddenly his hand moved under hers.
"Be quiet," he breathed, getting to his feet. He started to move across the 
small room toward the door. She threw herself off the bed and pulled away the 
stool to give him clear passage but he was not going out, instead he took his 
stand behind mat half-open door and now she could hear the tramp of boots up the 
stair without.
Chapter Severn
THE DOOR SWUNG slowly closed and so the light from without was cut off. However, 
there was certainly no way of returning the prisoning bar without into its 
hooks. Whoever was coming would know that the room had been visited.
Twilla backed away until she stood with her shoulders planted against one of the 
hide-shrouded windows. Did she hear more than one pair of footsteps outside?
Then the door was sent open once more with a violent shove which must have 
slammed back against Ylon. There was light in abundance now for he who tramped 
in was holding a lantern. From him came the sour smell of that poor ale which 
these outlanders fancied. His face was flushed and he moved unsteadily.
He swung the lantern higher so it fully revealed Twilla. Now he scowled and then 
spat noisily so a fleck of his spittle spotted her dress.
"Sow-faced trash!"
Twilla tried to slide away along the wall, away from his advance, but he moved 
quicker than she thought possible from his appearance of being well drunk. The 
lantern fell to the floor as he dropped it and then one of his hands tangled in 
her hair and, with that painful hold, he pulled her toward him while with his 
other palm cuffed across her face with exploding force.
For a moment the room whirled dizzily and she could not see clearly. Then she 
smelt a foul breath as he drew her by that hairhold closer to him.
"Bride—" His voice was almost a cackle, as if laughter and rage fought for 
supremacy in it. "We shall see—bedded you will be, trash, but not by me. You 
will have a man, yes, more than one—and they are lusty fellows. Give you a dance 
they will. And they are waiting— so come along, sow-faced—for your bedding!"
His hand was still fast in her hair dragging her head down and around so that 
she could not see. She struck out vainly only to be rocked again with one of 
those bone-bruising slaps.
"No use in righting—"
Then his voice ended in a gasp, the hold on her hair was loosened and she jerked 
away. Ustar crumpled to the floor, his head striking with an audible crack 
against the edge of the chest. He lay unmoving, face up with the bulk of his 
brother looming over him.
Twilla had regained her senses enough to make two quick moves. She rounded Ylon 
to once more shut the door and then caught up the lantern to set it on the floor 
to completely illumine Ustar's body.
The way his head lay, her breath caught in her throat. She was on her knees, 
striving to find a pulse in the throat.
"Get up—coward—" Ylon advanced the toe of a worn boot, thudded it home so that 
the body rocked under Twilla's touch.
"Don't—don't—he—I think he is dead!" She still strove to find a pulse. Now she 
was pulling at the strings of Ustar's jerkin, trying to bare his breast that she 
might seek a heartbeat.
"Dead?" The word sounded hollowly over her head.
"I can feel no heartbeat." She tried to calm herself, remembering the teaching 
of her craft.
"Then—" That voice still held the hollow note but there was a spark of urgency 
in it. "You must get forth from here! They will believe that he came to you and 
by chance you killed him."
"But—but you can tell the truth." She looked up from the body into the face of 
the man standing over her.
"Of a surety I can," he laughed. "I can spin the whole tale—and they will say 
that my wits wander again as they did before. But you will suffer for it 
nonetheless. My Lord Father will not take lightly to losing his second son. No, 
you have only one hope, Twilla—and that is—"
His hand groped out and down, touched her hair but with none of the rage which 
had left her scalp smarting.
"You must get out of here," he said.
"How? Perhaps they have already heard—"
"There is no keep designed by one who has grown up in the feuding country over 
mountain," he said, "which does not have its secrets. I can show you a path 
out—and then—then, Twilla, it will be your own choice. They will hunt you but 
they will not enter the Wood."
She sat very still under the touch he still kept on her.
"What of you?" she asked.
"Me? What does it matter? I am already flawed past any usage to them—to myself—"
"No. Listen!" She reached up to catch his hand and used it to draw herself up so 
that their bodies touched. "Listen," she cried for the second time, trying to 
impress on him what she had come to believe. "In the Wood lies the source of the 
encirclement which holds you, for I swear by the Three Faces of the Moon that 
you are ensorcelled. If you seek out the Woods again can it not be possible that 
you might gain back what you lost?"
She heard, felt, him draw a long breath.
"I am a blind man, we are far from the Woods. You can hide and dodge and have a 
chance—with me as a burden that will not be so."
"You have the power to get us free of this place, you have said that. And the 
countryside is open to my sight—that can serve for two out there. You have this 
night saved me from horror—do you think me so poor in spirit that I will not 
repay such a debt?"
Then she was aware of movement in the body of the man she had thought to be 
lying dead at her feet.
"He is alive, I must tend to him—" Her healer instinct took over, but when she 
would have knelt again Ylon fast caught and held her.
"Not so. We have little time. Alive or dead Ustar will be the death of you. That 
is a truth I can swear to."
His hand loosened and then caught again in the bunching of the skirt about her 
waist.
"You cannot go forth wearing this. At first sight any wayfarer would have the 
hunt up after you. In the chest—take what you need and change into it—quickly."
Twilla felt she should protest but the vigor of his orders now drove her to 
obey. From the chest she tumbled forth a pair of breeches, a shirt, a jerkin, 
all of an earth-brown shade. Pulling off the dress and heavy petticoat beneath, 
she kept her chemise but dressed hurriedly in what she had found. The clothing 
was too large, but a sash swathed twice around her middle kept the breeches in 
place and though the jerkin was too wide in the shoulder, too long in the 
sleeves it would have to do.
Once reclad she looked again at Ustar. Then she knelt beside him, looking in 
each ear for any sign of blood which might signal a badly cracked skull. On 
impulse she pulled the cover from the bed and put it over him, but she felt a 
guiltiness of betrayal that she did no more.
"I am ready." Twilla hefted her depleted shoulder bag of herbs. Ylon had already 
moved to stand by the door, which was open a crack. It was plain he was 
listening.
"Are there any coming?" she ventured in a whisper as she joined him.
"Not as yet. Leave the lantern—that will provide a beacon for any and they will 
try here first." He pushed her ahead of him out of the door where the faint 
light of another lantern down one flight of stairs gave some light.
Ylon stooped, picked up the door bar and slid it into place.
"Now!" He held out his hand and she put hers into it. His grasp tightened as he 
drew her with him to the stairs.
"We can hope," his whisper was so faint she could barely hear the words, "that 
Ustar has seen this place cleared for a space that his foulness can be 
accomplished without interruption. As captain of the guard he would be obeyed."
That descent from step to step, pausing now and then to listen, so tensed 
Twilla's body that she began to feel the beginning of cramped muscles.
They reached the ground floor and there was no challenge. Doors remained shut. 
There were lanterns burning here and there but no sign of any others under this 
roof tonight. At the foot of the stairs Ylon turned to the right entering 
another room. The dark was thick but he moved confidently through it, drawing 
her with him. She only hoped that by keeping her so close to him he was making 
sure she would not stumble over any piece of furniture. She bad always heard 
that with one sense being at fault the others would compensate and perhaps that 
had become so with him.
"Stand!" again a whisper. "Wait." He loosed his tight hold on her and she heard 
faint sounds of movement, at last a creak as if some protesting door had 
yielded. Then he came back to her.
"We must descend here," he told her. "There is a ladder only. I shall go first, 
you feel for each rung with your foot before you put weight on it. And I shall 
guide you."
She heard a faint scrambling noise and then the whisper—
"Ready!"
Going to her knees Twilla felt before her. The rough floor was splintery and 
hurt her hands, but then those caught on the edge of an open space and she drew 
herself toward that To see with one's fingers she discovered was one of the 
hardest tasks she had ever attempted. But she found the ladder a last, and, 
trusting because she must, she began the descent into a well of complete 
darkness.
Then she felt a light grasp on her foot, even through the soft and too large 
boots she had taken from the chest. Oddly that touch steadied her, broke a 
little the net o apprehension which had drawn so tightly about her.
Then his body backed hers as her feet once more came to rest on a floor.
"Wait," his voice was a little louder, "I must close the passage door aloft." 
She heard the creak of the ladder rungs under his greater weight, then a noise 
from above before he rejoined her.
His body brushed against hers as he descended once more. Her hand was caught 
again in his linking grip.
"The way is narrow," he warned, drawing her after him.
Narrow it was, Twilla speedily discovered when her healer's bag was caught and 
swung back so she had to shift it into the crook of her arm. The smell of damp 
earth never sweetened by the touch of sun hung about them. She felt it more and 
more difficult to get a deep breath as they slowly advanced, her shoulders 
scraping wall and moldering wood supports first to the right and then the left. 
But his hold on her remained tight.
This journey through the dark made Twilla realize a little what it might be to 
lose one's sigh. Yet here Ylon walked with the ease of one knowing just what he 
vas doing. Was it true that he would be in danger if he remained? She did not 
know the customs of nobles. Could it be that his father would offer his son some 
hurt—after he had heard his story? Yet Ylon seemed very sure he would not be 
believed.
"The way slopes," he warned her.
They were going slowly though and she felt tentatively ahead before she took a 
full step.
"There is water," he added. "Shallow, we must walk in it for a space."
His grip on her had not loosened. She gave a gasp as her next step did take her 
into running water. Though it did not rise any farther than her ankles. She felt 
the pull of a current but not one strong enough to threaten.
At least here the air was better as if the flow of the stream brought with it a 
recent memory of the outer world.
Ylon's guiding hand drew her to the right and their way was marked by the sound 
of splashing. his pace had slowed again and Twilla had a sudden fear that he 
might have lost some memory guide, which would bring them out of here.
"Here!" There was a note of triumph in that, and the girl was sure that he had 
been nourishing that same fear.
"There are two steps up," he told her.
She found the first by ramming her toe painfully against it. Then his firm grasp 
drew her up, even as it had guided her down that ladder. She had no way of 
telling how far they had come by that boltway. Were they out of the village yet? 
Beyond the wall? Was it still night?
Her sense of time seemed lost to her and she began to worry about the fact that 
they might come out of this way in full daylight, visible to any who might be 
watching.
"Steps again," his warning came. "I must go to open the outer door."
When he dropped her hand Twilla felt suddenly lost. She had not realized how 
much she had come to depend upon him, how great her trust had grown to be. And 
these were really only the first few steps of the journey they must make. Once 
in the open it would be up to her to be responsible for their going and her own 
self-belief wavered.
"Climb—" The word brought her to feel out. There was no ladder here, rather 
narrow steps cut into the earth, hammered hard to be sure. However, the edge of 
the first under her groping touch crumbled a little.
Then—there was light—blessed light!
She could see the steps plainly even though the bulk of Ylon was partially 
between her and that goal. Daylight—so they had outworn the night.
Twilla found herself, after she had climbed, in a space so small that she was 
crowded hard against Ylon. The light was half shattered she could see now by a 
netting which had been interwoven with grass and vines. So deeply anchored was 
that growth it was as if they were now locked in.
Ylon felt along the frame which supported the matted barrier. Then he set his 
shoulder to it and crowded her yet farther as he heaved it outward, catching his 
boot in a tangle of vine to fall face down.
Twilla pushed at him, squeezing at last into the full of the day. She did not 
rise to her feet but squatted there, peering up and around.
They had come out on a bank above a river, perhaps one which had given birth to 
that streamlet through which they had waded. She did not remember sighting any 
river on her journey here, but her view of the town had only been from the 
east—and they may have won westward in their escape.
She dared to raise to her feet and turn slowly. Then she gave a gasp and ducked 
down sending Ylon, who was up on his hands and knees flat again, sputtering 
curses.
"The wall—it is just behind us! Any sentries there can sight us!" She shook him. 
"Maybe they already have."
He managed to free himself from her and sit up. "We are on the river bank?"
"Yes—yes!"
"What do you see in the water?"
She could not understand what he meant. What did one expect to see in the water? 
Still he must have a good reason to ask her that.
The river had a definite current, certainly much swifter and stronger than that 
of the hidden stream. On its surface there was showing what could only be storm 
wrack. Here and there a sapling toppled from its bankhold to bob along and 
provide an anchor for floating brush. To cross that she thought would be 
dangerous and she said as much.
"It flows south," he commented brushing his hand across his shrouded eyes as if 
he would impatiently clear them. "We head north. This season brings storms and 
no one tries the river way. Therefore we can hope that we have already passed 
out of their reach."
His hands were busy now twisting at one shirt sleeve.
"Have you a knife?" he demanded.
"No. They took it from me."
"Tear—!" His voice was hot with impatience as he worked with the sleeve until at 
last it did part and he pulled loose a strip. "You also—"
Twilla did not yet see his purpose, but she had begun to believe that he had 
something in mind. She worried at the sash she had bound around her middle to 
keep her large clothes in order and when she had torn a piece from that she 
thought of something else and brought out of her bag one of the linen house caps 
which had been part of her limited allowance of luggage.
"I have a piece of scarf," she told him, "and a house cap."
"Good!" But he was still frowning.
"Now!" He continued pushing away from the battered framework which had concealed 
the inner way down the bank. "Is there some flotsam near enough for you to 
reach?"
She dropped her bag beside him and, on hands and knees, fearing any moment to 
hear some cry from the town wall, she edged along the water's lapping. The flood 
had risen to engulf a large strand of reeds and was nibbling at the bank. She 
found what she hunted just when she thought there was nothing.
One of the floating bushes had caught in the tangle of the reeds and she could 
just reach its earthy roots. She gave a cautious tug. Luckily her find was small 
enough to yield to her efforts. She could not drag it all the way out of the 
water but she could edge it along back toward where Ylon squatted on his heels. 
His head turned as if he could see her, but rather, she believed he was 
depending upon his hearing.
When she had explained what she had he handed her the strip of shirt, and her 
own bits of cloth.
"Wedge them well—make it look, if you can, as if one of us fell in and the other 
was lost trying to aid—" He laughed. "I'll die a hero yet—in spite of all their 
talk."
She did the best she could, hoping her efforts would paint the proper picture 
for anyone near them. Then wiping her wet hands across the folds of her breeches 
she came back to him.
"The Wood lies to the north does it not? Yet this current bears to the south. 
How are we going to travel it?"
"How far along is the day?" he asked her in return.
At first she thought that it must be well into the afternoon but the sun was 
hidden and there was a massing of clouds. It would appear that a storm was 
gathering, and she reported what she saw.
"Storm? It would seem that some power is in our favor! There is a ferry well up 
toward the north. They tried to build a bridge some time back but it was storm 
riven. If it will rain now and we can reach the ferry it will be on this side as 
there are the unbreakable orders— it must always be ready for any scouting 
squad."
"A ferry? There is a ferryman, then—"
"In a storm he will be under cover. We need not get directly across." Ylon was 
speaking slowly as if with every word he saw another point of some plan become 
clearer. "We get aboard and loosen the anchor ties. The current will carry 
us—downstream, yes, but with all this debris afloat we can make it to the 
opposite bank. While those in search will believe the boat broke loose of its 
own accord—if they are not satisfied with our other false fate."
It sounded like a plan too full of holes to Twilla. On the other hand she had 
nothing better to offer and to remain here was to put all their past efforts to 
no avail.
"Wait for the rain!" Ylon's head was up, be was drawing deep breaths of the 
rising wind. "This has the feel of one of the great storms."
So they waited and the day grew darker and darker. There was the roll of thunder 
and then the cracks of lightning lashed across the sky. The rain came—in vast 
drops pocking the river, soaking the two of them to the skin. It was her turn to 
lead and Twilla fastened the same kind of unbreakable grip on his hand as he had 
kept on hers, battling against the storm wind trying to warn nun of all possible 
snares along the uneven ground.
She was not used to such fury as this storm seemed to be able to gather. The 
river, now and then she glanced at it, each time with more foreboding. To trust 
themselves on a ferry to that—almost she could believe that Ylon remained part 
troubled in his wits.
Find the ferry they did at last. There was a light in the small cottage there 
but they made a careful detour, coming down to the small departure wharf. River 
water was already sloshing over it and the ferry was tugging wildly at the 
anchor rope.
Somehow Twilla got Ylon on to the plunging, whirling boat. They could not get 
any wetter than they were, but the spray from the river dashed at them. Ylon 
broke from her hold before she could catch up with him and was pulling his way 
toward the end of the boat where the anchor ropes still held. He began to fight 
at the knots and, gasping at the fury of the airborne water around them, Twilla 
followed.
It would seem that once more touch served in place of his eyes. Somehow he had 
mastered the lashing, and the boat plunged out from the small dock into the full 
fury of the river.
Afterwards, Twilla could remember very little of that wild ride. They were twice 
nudged by floating debris with nearly enough force to send them over—yet still 
they remained unsunk.
It was the last of those masses of bush which served them well— for it shoved 
the bobbing boat toward the opposite side of the stream. Then, out of the 
storm's gloom, there arose a pillar rooted in the rage of the water.
Their craft struck nose against that and was flung away. It tipped and they were 
thrown into the water but Twilla's out flung hands grasped reeds, held grimly, 
and she found the strength to drag herself up into the hold of that water-logged 
vegetation. She looked around quickly. There was a shadow floundering into the 
same reed bed and she forced herself to inch back, catch at spongy leather where 
it covered Ylon's shoulder, and lend what strength she had left to drag him a 
little closer to safety.
Together somehow they gained the crumbling clay of the bank and with clawed 
fingers fought their way up, to lie exhausted under the ever beating of the 
rain.
Chapter Eight
TWILLA MADE A feeble effort to try to win to her knees, only to slip back and 
lie, breathing hard, until her bead fell forward on her crooked arm and a 
darkness which was not storm born overlaid her.
Pain roused her. Ustar's hand in her hair—he would have her to his will— She 
choked out a cry and tried to strike out in a feeble defense.
"Up! Up with you! The water climbs, it will have us again!"
Water—yes, about her was the wash of water tugging at her legs, striving to 
reach hold of her hips. That painful grip was not in her hair after all but 
centered on the nape of her neck as she was being dragged forward, the reeds 
whipping viciously across her face.
Somehow she got her hands out, caught at those same reeds in the hope of 
protecting her face. Then, finding them stiff-rooted, expended what was left of 
her strength to use them to haul herself on. The grip on her neck loosened.
There was a darker blot before her and then a lash of lightning revealed that 
she was fumbling with her hand against the wall of a bank, which arose abruptly 
to tower above her.
Another body beside hers, scrabbling also at the cliff. Half dazedly she 
remembered—Ylon. The water lapped behind them, their legs were still awash. By 
sheer will Twilla won to her knees, reaching up along the now unseen surface of 
the bank seeking a handhold strong enough to support her weight. Her outflung 
right hand struck a hard lump embedded in the rain-slicked earth and she caught 
at it as well as she could.
Somehow, as might some poor half-drowned beast washed out of its grazefield, she 
found strength enough to claw her way up to roll over the edge of that drop and 
lie on her back her face up to the beat of the rain. Then her body was given 
another shove, pressing her painfully against what felt like stones, as Ylon 
landed almost on top of her, his greater bulk carrying him on.
Twilla was content to lie where she was—too spent to care whether or not they 
had at least defeated the clutch of the river.
"Up!" He was crouching beside her, pawing at her arm and shoulder, his fingers 
slipping over the rain-slimed leather of her jerkin. "Cover-find cover—"
Cover! Here? He was truly wit-struck this time. But he would not leave her 
alone, going so far as to dig in his fingers so strongly that they bruised her 
flesh.
He pulled at her with a fierce grip, dragging her up against his own body. In 
the darkness she could not see his face but there was a note of anger in the 
voice, which exploded nearly in her ear to deafen out even the sound and fury 
about them.
"By the Brazen Throat of the Thrice Dead—up with you!"
Somehow she answered his pull, his appeal and was half-tugged, half-risen to her 
feet. But once there she shook and wavered like a sapling with roots undercut.
Once more a lightning flash showed the world for an instant. His head was turned 
away from her now, though his hold kept her tightly steady against his body. He 
was looking inland, away from the river. Though-what could he see—or sense—or 
hear—? She could not think of any guide which might come to him in the midst of 
this fury of wind and pelting rain.
"Come!" He seemed determined, dragging at her and Twilla too weak to fight him 
off. At least the ground under them appeared level enough as she flung out the 
arm which was not prisoned against him in a wide sweep before her—hoping so for 
a warning against any obstacle.
Sodden grass twined around their feet so that they went at wavering pace. Then 
that outflung hand of Twilla's cracked painfully against a barrier. Her fingers 
slipped along what appeared to her the top rail of a fence.
"Fence," she braced herself enough so that Ylon was prevented from crashing into 
it.
"Guide—"
She was able to catch his meaning from that half-choked word.
Drawing him on a step or two she shifted to loosen his hold on her and catching 
up his now free hand she set it on the rail. He stood for a moment as if 
undecided which way to take and then turned resolutely to the right, pushing by 
her.
Twilla felt for the same guideline and with her other hand linked fingers in his 
belt. Thus they fought against the push of the storm. The chill of the wind was 
caught and harbored by their drenched clothing. Twilla was shivering and she 
realized from her healer's training that they were indeed both threatened now 
with a death from exposure unless they could find shelter. The fence might be a 
false guide, but at least it was something they could travel by.
She plodded on. Her feet were numb now, and it was getting to be more and more 
of an effort to raise them for another step. Ylon halted suddenly so that she 
was brought up against him.
"Corner—" The wind had died a little enough she could hear and a moment later 
bring her battered wits to understand. They had found a corner of the fence.
Ylon swung at a right angle and she followed. Slowly she began to realize 
through the burden of misery which enclosed her that the sky was beginning to 
lighten, the wind was dying, and the rain did not strike them so heavily.
She could actually see the fence—at least for a short way ahead. But there was 
something else—a dark bulk of what could only be some kind of building—perhaps a 
shed, as it did not look as large as any farm shelter. She jerked at Ylon's 
belt, pulling herself closer to him so that her voice might carry.
"Something—shelter—"
His head went up. "Where?"
"Just ahead—on the other side of the fence."
The thought of getting out of this fury seemed to give them both new strength. 
Their pace quickened. Then they reached that structure. The light had lifted 
even more. Twilla could not see any sign of a door, but there was a shuttered 
square above her head which might be a window.
"No door," she reported to her companion, "maybe inside the fence."
His hands tightened on the top rail, there was only that one line of wood, below 
it was an untidy jumble of packed earth and stones. With Twilla's guidance by 
hand and voice he got over and she followed awkwardly after, her shivering 
making her doubly clumsy.
The structure itself was of the same stone-earth construction and had begun to 
suffer from the watery fingers of the storm. But they rounded the side to face a 
wider opening, with no door to stand as barrier.
"Sheep huddle!" Ylon said.
The animal smell had reached her also and Twilla could see in the growing light 
there were animals even now sheltering there. Shepherd—would there also be a 
shepherd on guard here?
"Shepherd?" she ventured.
Ylon's head was bent a fraction as if he were listening. She, too, could hear 
the fretful sounds made by the flock. Apparently they were not finding their 
state hardly more pleasant than that of the newcomers.
It was light enough now certainly for anyone inside to be able to easily sight 
the two of them. The rain had slacked off. Clouds were breaking with sullen 
slowness. It was dark in that shelter, yes, but all she could sight was the 
movements of the milling sheep. That and some stacks of what might be last 
season's hay against one wall.
"We would be challenged by now," Ylon might have been speaking to himself more 
than her. "In—the beasts will do no harm. In fact they might give us both warmth 
and cover."
Twilla chose a path for them along that wall where the hay was roughly stacked, 
and, once they were well into the shelter, she urged Ylon down on that as the 
sheep scattered away from them, pushing now together at the other side of the 
huddle.
It was not until she allowed herself to down into the musty smelling hay, the 
sharper scent of fresh dung in her nostrils, that Twilla realized she could push 
her body no farther. This must be the end for now.
"Have they been shorn?" Ylon forced her to stay awake with that question.
She knew little of sheep but now she noted that he was right in his guess—these 
had been recently shorn. Which meant they had been turned into summer pasturage. 
And it might well be that, if there were no predators here, they had been left 
largely to themselves. The huddle would provide them with shelter against the 
storms and if the landsman was shorthanded this was the best he could think to 
do.
"Free pasturage then." She felt the tension go out of her companion. "There will 
be checks from time to time but no continued guardian. We may rest in peace—"
He was pulling at the hay about him, thudding it down into a kind of nest. "Down 
with you," he ordered when he had finished.
"You—?" she stammered, so tired she could hardly mouth the word.
"I—yes. Now down."
She pulled at her wet overclothing, shedding it as best she could, noting that 
he was following her example. With only her chemise still about her, covering 
her shivering body and hiding the mirror, Twilla burrowed into the hay and was 
almost instantly asleep in spite of her aches and shivers.
Sun reached in to wake Twilla. Their woolly companions of the night were gone, 
though they had left behind them pungent memories of their stay. She steadied 
herself up on one elbow to view the outer world. It was as if the fury of the 
storm had never swept over it.
There was a light snore not too far away, and she quickly turned her head. All 
she could see of Ylon was the back of his head, hay stems having caught in the 
tangle of his black hair.
Trying not to awaken him Twilla crawled out of her musty covering. Her clothes 
lay in the huddle in which she left them and now she went to work smoothing them 
out, striving to wring out the dampness. She mourned the loss of her herb bag. 
There were potions in that she could have shared between them which would have 
stayed off any but the most severe chills.
She swallowed experimentally and had to admit that her throat was sore. To put 
on the wet clothes again—
"Come all you bold lads as want to be free.
Get you a ship an' learn the paths of the sea.
There're maids in a plenty whereever you roam.
Besides those who wave sing to bring you home!"
Twilla clasped her wet jerkin to her in a fierce grip. That voice, cheery as it 
was, had come from close by. Were they coming to see how the flock had survived 
the storm?
Quickly she pulled the mass of her clothing closer and heaped hay over it. Then 
brushed a tuft over Ylon's head before she sank back into the dried stuff to 
shiver and watch.
The newcomer had only to come a little closer, round the side of the huddle 
perhaps and they could be sighted.
"Oh, love the waves high, swing with them low.
Where these are true waves the sea doth go.
Where the sea goes, so does my love.
All is well—"
"Drat! By the snaggle-teeth of the Seventh Shark—what a mess!"
The song was forgotten and there was exasperation in that comment.
And it was uttered just beyond the wall of the huddle. Only that was no man's 
voice. No! Twilla lay very still, her thoughts racing. She knew that voice 
now—Leela! But what had brought Leela here?
Though the fishergirl had been in part a supporter during their travel over 
mountain, there was no reason now that she would not betray them.
Twilla tried to remember something of the man Lord Harmond had so callously 
joined to Leela. He had been young, she recalled, tall and broad of shoulder, so 
that beside him even Leela had seemed small and feminine. A landman certainly, 
therefore under the Lord's rule.
There came a scrambling noise now followed by a thud. Then around the edge of 
the huddle Leela did stride into view. She had taken to trousers, which were 
tucked into high farm boots, and her arms were bare to the shoulder since the 
smock over the upper part of her body was sleeveless. Her sun-bleached hair had 
been gathered back and secured with a twist of cord. Yet she did not have the 
appearance of a farm drudge, rather her air of independence remained as strong. 
Leela had manifestly come to good terms with her fate.
She stood now with her back to the huddle opening, her hands on her hips, 
staring out over the field beyond.
Twilla had unconsciously clasped both hands over the mirror as if that might 
raise some defense against discovery. Perhaps it could if she only knew more.
"No—I will not—" There was an eruption out of the hay as Ylon sat up, his face 
wearing a battle snarl.
Leela whirled about and stood staring open mouthed. There was no chance to 
remain hidden now. Twilla wriggled up beside the man and caught at him, shaking 
him awake out of the evil dream which had betrayed them.
"You!" Leela strode forward toward them. "What are you doing here, healer?"
She seemed honestly surprised. Then her attention went to Ylon and her eyes 
narrowed.
"Who is here?" he demanded in turn.
"This is Leela who came over mountain with me," Twilla told him. She looked to 
the other girl. "He is blind—"
Leela's hand came up and her fingers made the complicated warn off sign for bad 
luck.
"A blind man—they mated you with a blind man?" she asked.
Better face this with the truth. They were already discovered. But there 
remained the very faint chance that Leela could be persuaded to let them 
go—unless she feared for her own safety when the hunters came, as they well 
might.
"They would have mated me with Lord Ustar, Lord Harmond's son," she returned. 
"He was not minded, as he said, to take a sow-face to wife. There—" She drew a 
slow breath—would the full truth influence Leela to her side? She could only 
hope so. "Therefore he was ready to turn me over to the guard—to use as they 
would do that his father would not force him to mate with damaged goods. This"— 
she put her hand out to touch Ylon's arm—"is my Lord's other son who met with 
the wrath of the forest demons. Yet he came to my service and brought me out of 
that danger Ustar had planned."
Leela had blinked several times as Twilla spoke. Now she gave a laugh. "Healer, 
always you do something to surprise one. So you have come out of the town, but 
where are you bound? There are only a fringe of farms and"—now she 
frowned—"those on them want no quarrel with my Lord. They will deliver you up at 
first meeting."
"But you will not!" Ylon made that statement as if he believed it.
"My Lord," she looked in his direction, "I fared well in the lottery. My man is 
one I can welcome to my bed and we shall do well together. But this forced 
mating is a thing of beasts rather than people. Though fortune might favor some 
of us, yet your lord father has condemned others to misery. Had the brides been 
given more chance in the matter he would have drawn in fuller nets in his 
fishing. I know Twilla and what she says is a black use of power against the 
helpless.
"However, I shall not let you draw my Johann into this. Which means that I do 
not welcome you here."
"We do not ask for refuge," Twilla said then. "Lord Ylon has saved me from evil, 
now I pay my debt—"
"How?" broke in Leela.
"We journey to the Wood. It was there that this encirclement came upon him. I am 
healer enough to know that it is no distemper of the eyes from which he suffers 
but rather a curse laid upon him. I was apprenticed to Hulde and some of her 
knowledge is mine. Thus we would seek out the source of Lord Ylon's disaster and 
there learn what we can. Also, I do not think that Lord Harmond's men will come 
hunting us within the Wood."
"The demons will!"
Twilla shrugged. "Demons are unknown, the evil of man is plain. 1 am willing to 
take my chance with demons rather than return to Lord Harmond's hold or be 
hunted down by his soldiers."
"Well, the choice is yours. Always, Twilla, you have thought different thoughts 
from the rest of us. So you would go to the Wood. What need you to get you 
there?" She asked that briskly as if she were a marketwoman bargaining behind 
her stall.
"Clothing—" Twilla answered promptly. "We were in the river and need that. And 
any food you can give us."
"We shall see." Leela disappeared to return with a leather pouch plumply fat. 
She tossed it to Twilla. "I came out to walk the walls and see what harm the 
storm may have done—that is for my nooning. Johann is in the far meadows at the 
plowing and will not be back until sunset. As for clothing—I shall see what can 
be done."
With that promise she strode away. Twilla opened the bag. There were thick 
slices of brown bread bound together with cheese. She pushed one of those into 
Ylon's hands and began wolfishly on another.
"She is a friend?" Ylon made a question of that before he set teeth in the slab 
of bread.
"I think she spoke the truth," Twilla said. Did she really, or did she accept 
Leela because she had no other choice?
They had finished the supplies the fishergirl had left and Twilla had spread 
some of their clothing out in the sun as best she might, hoping that it could go 
unnoted. The grimy brown and gray of its coloring were not too far distant in 
color from the earth walls of the huddle.
It seemed to Twilla that Leela had been gone a long time. Had it all been false 
and was the fishergirl now sending some message to the town? She sat on a 
tussock of the hay and withdrew her mirror from hiding, not knowing what way it 
might be an aid but drawing comfort from rubbing her hands across its gleaming 
surface.
"Mirror Light, Mirror Bright—" She shot a glance at Ylon. He was lying back in 
the hay, his well-muscled body bare except for under-drawers, one arm over his 
eyes. He might be asleep but Twilla was not sure and kept her invocation to the 
thinnest of whispers.
"Mirror light, mirror bright,.
Lead us in the path a-right..
By all the power that in you be.
Let me now our future see."
Childish rhymes; but those seemed always to bring a response. As this jingle did 
now, for the surface she looked onto clouded and there was first a misting and 
then something to be seen through that silver dotted mist—a wall of trees. It 
had come and gone again in a flash but she was sure she had seen it. Thus the 
forest was to be their goal— and she knew that there was no longer any choice.
Chapter Nine
EVENING WAS DRAWING in fast and as soon as it grew dark enough they must be on 
their way. Leela had at least proved her sympathies in this much, Twilla 
thought, as she hefted again the sack of course food, and considered what now 
covered her body (in voluminous folds, to be sure) and Ylon.
Leela had returned just as Twilla's impatience had won near to the snapping 
point. She had with her a roll of clothing which she admitted freely were 
discards from the wardrobe of Johann's father who had died the previous fall of 
the flux. She stated frankly that she could only furnish them with such discards 
as Johann would not miss for she made it plain that she had no intention of 
sharing with him the facts of what she was doing.
"What he don't know," she had said, flipping out patched shirts and a couple of 
working smocks, "the better for him. He is a good man—I would not put him to the 
test of standing up with a lie to Lord Harmond's men."
With that they could all agree. Twilla had to make what alterations she could so 
that her share of the thoroughly dry clothing would not envelope her to hamper 
movement or drag on the ground. But the coarse shirt and over-smock fitted Ylon 
well and his sprouting beard was that which would be worn by a landsman.
Leela was in haste to bid them goodbye.
"Johann will be home from the fields. I must be seeking any more breaks in the 
pasture walls or he will wonder what I have done with myself today. Healer, I 
wish you and the young lord the best of fair winds and smooth waves!"
Twilla made a sudden move, reaching to hug the bigger girl, standing on tiptoe 
to kiss her on the cheek.
"May the Fortune of the Three be with you always, Leela," she said none too 
steadily.
Ylon moved in beside her, his unseeing eyes staring a little to Leela's left. 
"Landmistress—" His hand was out, and somewhat timidly Leela raised hers so that 
their fingers touched. His grasp closed about those, and he raised her hand to 
his lips in the salute that a noble born gave to kin maids. "Landmistress—you 
have the blessings of one who has little to give. Save that he will hold this in 
memory all his days and should fortune favor him in the future, then he will see 
that favor touches also upon you."
Leela flushed, and then gave a sound near a giggle. "Lord, I be no kin to such 
as you, but I come of honest folk and the teachings of the hearthside are always 
share the catch with those who go in need. Now," she swung to Twilla, "you 
remember the way? Johann's land is the last worked hereabouts—they are too 
frightened of the Wood. There should be a moon tonight for the storm seems to 
have driven out its force."
"Go with good," Twilla raised her hand in the sign she had so often seen Hulde 
give when saying farewell to one healed and in good strength again.
They still had to wait for sun setting and that gnawed at Twilla. Even dressed 
as landpeople strangers wandering this thinly settled country would arouse 
curiosity, challenge.
Ylon had thrown himself once more on the hay bed. Perhaps he was able to sleep 
that time away. Twilla could not. She longed to draw forth the mirror and yet 
there was that within her which was a warning.
They ate again of that dark bread, though this time with a scraping of a berry 
jam across to give its tasteless dryness flavor, and drank from the leather 
bottle Leela had brought. As the dusk closed in Twilla slung the cord of their 
food bag over her shoulder and arose.
"We go—"
He could not have been truly asleep as he shoved up at once in the hay and got 
awkwardly to his feet. Twilla linked hands with him for guidance and they set 
off in the direction Leela had pointed out.
There was other life haunting the dusk-darkened land. Small things which 
squeaked and ran as the two of them climbed back over the huddle fence and set 
out across another stretch of rough ground. There were sky flitters also, 
swooping and giving eerie cries, and a number of insects—ones which fastened 
avidly on all parts of their exposed skin. Twilla longed for her herb salves and 
found this hard to endure.
Luckily the land had been well-cleared, only twice did they have to circle small 
copses of trees and tangled brush. Then ground growth was taller here, perhaps 
it was not pasturage to be toothmown. The thick stems caught at their feet, 
seeming willfully to entangle them as they went.
By Twilla's reckoning there should be a quarter moon this night. She could 
already see the bright sparks of stars and pick out that which would guide them 
north. As always she was grateful for the bits of knowledge Hulde had had her 
study.
But it was not until they were well on their way that she saw that other dark 
line cutting across the horizon—the edge of the wood. It was far more foreboding 
than the walls of Lord Harmond's town— threatening as even the port castles at 
home had never seemed. From this point one could not see individual trees only 
that black shadow thick enough to stand out even in the faint moonlight.
"The wood—" For the first time Ylon broke the silence with which had appeared to 
wall them apart after they had set forth.
Twilla shot a glance at him—how did he know?
He might have read her unasked question. "It calls—" he added. Then he stopped, 
brought her also to a halt since their clasp still united them:
"Lady, if that which struck me mindless afore strikes me again— leave me! This I 
do not ask—I order. For I cannot remember what I did when that fit was upon me, 
and I may be of greater harm to others than myself."
"You only fear that," she said slowly. "Since you cannot remember you do not 
know what awaits us there."
He laughed harshly. "Whatever it is it has not used me well—I would not have the 
like happen to you! It is my order and you must obey it—if I turn strange—leave 
me!"
She made a small sound which he might accept as assent if he would, but she 
determined that it would be for her to judge what she would or would not do. Now 
she pulled at his hand.
"It must be close to midnight, let us rest and eat. I cannot judge distances in 
the dark—we may still be far from our goal."
His head was up and he was facing straight toward that dark line. It was almost 
as if he were listening.
"Well enough," he agreed.
They hunkered down where they had halted, in the middle of that tall grass, 
which near topped Twilla's head when she was sitting. Ylon, she noted, still 
faced the direction in which they had been going, as if he could see what lay 
before.
She shared out more of the bread and broke apart a lump of strong smelling 
cheese into as equal shares as she could manage, setting both in his hands.
The insects in the grass seemed not so aggressive here, perhaps the late night 
was not their time of hunting. Twilla had lifted the water bottle to take a sip 
when a hooting cry sounded loud enough to startle them. Flask still in her hold 
she looked skyward. There was certainly movement there. The stars she had been 
watching were blotted out, then returned to view, as if large wings had cut 
across their field of light.
Again that cry, much stronger and closer. She longed for even a staff for some 
protection. The flying thing swept over them, turned and was gone, back she was 
certain toward the waiting wood.
"Anisgar—"
Twilla turned quickly to her companion. "What?" she demanded. She had never 
heard the word before.
But Ylon's hands were at his head, over his sightless eyes.
"I do not know!" There was almost a child's fear coloring those words. "By the 
Favor of Word, I can't remember!"
His hands balled into fists, she could see dimly. Now he leaned forward and beat 
down the tall grass before him with sharp blows as if he were in battle against 
some mortal enemy.
"Anisgar," she repeated, striving to remember if she had ever found such a word 
in any of Hulde's old books. But she was sure she had not.
Now she moved closer to Ylon, caught his shoulder. He was shivering even as he 
had when they had come out of the icy clutch of the river.
"It is gone," she said with what calmness she could summon.
She heard him draw a great ragged breath. Then a moment later he spoke. He had 
regained control. "Again—memory—after a fashion." It seemed to the girl that he 
was striving hard to make light of his distress. Perhaps he was shamed by it.
"To remember, even in part," Twilla observed, "is a good sign. Hulde dealt with 
all manner of ills and once a man was brought to her who had a bad head injury. 
It was thought that he would never again regain his wits. But he did—little by 
little. There came flashes of memory and those stayed so that he was able to 
repatch it—"
"So you have knowledge of such, Healer," his voice was normal now. "Then you 
will not be fearful of—of what might happen to me again?"
"Are you fearful?" Twilla asked.
For the first time his head turned in her direction though she could not see his 
face.
"A man of war is not supposed to know the touch of fear," he answered obliquely, 
"or so we are told. I was once a soldier— What I am now is unman, as my former 
comrades would name it. So perhaps I can be also a coward—yes, I fear."
"And yet you go to face what you fear," Twilla replied, "and that, I think, no 
one can name cowardly."
"I go because I must! Because I can no longer live as unman. So, let us be on 
our way that I may find out for myself just what or who I now am."
She hurriedly shoveled what was left of their food into the bag. He had already 
taken several steps forward and she had to hasten to catch up. Once more they 
linked hands and moved on toward the forest fringe.
The sky was lighting into the gray of early dawn when that black mass before 
them spread so far as seeming to encompass all the world ahead. Twilla could 
make out individual trees now. But such trees as she could hardly believe the 
earth had strength enough to support.
Far taller than any tower she had ever seen, wide in girth to the point it would 
have taken several people, just touching fingertips to encircle, they presented 
an awesome barrier. There was also a kind of ragged fringe along their roots, 
masking any way into their stronghold. That was formed of brush, brighter green 
of leaf than those the forest giants bore. Here and there a breeze-tossed spray 
of flowered vine gave a hint of stronger color.
What Twilla felt was not fear, she believed, but rather awe. These trees were 
like another race, living a life of their own, secret to those who were like 
her, majestic as kings seldom were, proud as a wise-woman who had won a battle 
with death.
Again Ylon had halted of his own accord. His head up, his sightless eyes on that 
new world before them. Wind was rising, there was a singing of leaves—but no 
sound of bird. And to them wafted a strong scent—pine, Twilla recognized, and 
flowering locust, other perfumes she could not name.
She did not glance back at the open land they had crossed—that seemed to have no 
meaning now. It was what lay ahead which counted.
"I—come—" Ylon pulled his hand free of her grasp and plunged forward straight at 
the half wall of brush.
He had moved so quickly that he gained a good lead as he ran straight for the 
brush, which seemed to Twilla to form a near solid wall. Before she could come 
up to him he had reached that barrier— and—was gone. Yet there was no opening he 
could have broken so quickly. Twilla was aware of warmth against her skin, under 
that unwieldy bulk of clothing.
The Mirror—power answered power. And one of the tricks which could be raised by 
power was glamorie—the seeing of what was not and yet seemed to be tangible. She 
dragged the mirror from its hiding place by the neck cord and held it up to face 
that spot in the seemingly solid mass of growth into which Ylon had vanished.
Nor was she greatly surprised now to see reflecting on the gleaming surface not 
brush and briar but an open way. Toward and through that she confidently walked, 
her head bent a little to see the surface of the mirror she held out to face the 
woods in order to guide her way.
If the trees had seemed overawing when sighted from a distance they were doubly 
powerful in effect as they aisled the path she had found. There was a thick 
carpet of other seasons' leaves underfoot, soft enough so that her feet sank 
into it a little. Here were towering ferns like coarse green lace, the very 
trunks of those overshadowing giants were also green with the velvet of moss.
She could see a scoring of footprints in that leaf carpet though Ylon was 
nowhere in sight, and somehow she felt reluctant to call out. She could only 
follow his trail and hope that he had not come to any crashing disaster in his 
wild rush back to this perilous place.
Since she did have such a trail to follow now Twilla slipped the mirror back 
into hiding. This was a thing which was hers alone and until she knew more of 
how it might serve her she would not share with—
With whom?
There was a silence here in the deep tree shadow which there had not been out in 
the openlands. She had heard no call of bird, no buzz of bisect—saw no movement 
among the ferns which could suggest that she was not alone. But she was sure 
that she was watched, and by no friendly eyes. There was a trace of menace, 
which grew the sharper with every step she advanced.
Nor was the way ahead clear. A mist appeared to twirl about, thickening, 
thinning, sometimes seeming as dense as a sea fog, to blind and bewilder her. 
Just at the farthest range of her ability to hear there began sounds which were 
like whispering of voices.
She had been in the tamed woods over mountain, herb hunting with Hulde but she 
had never encountered there this feeling of being cut off from her own kind. Yet 
she kept resolutely following the scuffed leaves.
The mist was thicker, a curtain hung between this tree, only to dissolve and 
wreathe that. Twilla kept most of her attention for the trail she followed, 
beginning to believe that that also was a form of glamorie meant to bewilder and 
confuse any intruder. Then like a curtain it was drawn to one side and she 
stepped into a clearing— where at least the heavy branches overhead did not roof 
it so completely and the green gloom of the wood was lightened. Ylon stood 
there, his arms hanging limply at his side, breathing in gasps, his head turning 
from right to left and back again as if he strove to pierce the curtain on his 
sight.
"Ylon!" Twilla pushed forward.
He paid no attention to her and before she could lay hand on him there was 
another shifting of the mist on the other side of that clearing.
Out of the embrace of the floating wisps stepped a woman. She was tall, delicate 
of form, long of limb, with a slender throat upholding proudly a head from which 
streamed hair as dark as night, interwoven with chains into which had been set 
small green gems which appeared as bright as newborn stars. More gemmed chains 
formed a wide collar about her throat, and heavy cuffs about her slender wrists. 
For garments she wore a robe of the same green as the gems, fitting closely her 
body near to hip line so that her small high breasts were clearly outlined. From 
that hip line the skirt swirled out yet seemed almost to have a life of its own, 
always in movement about her thighs and legs.
Her face—
Once in one of Hulde's books Twilla had seen a representation of something akin 
to that perfect mask. Her brows were delicate lines like wings—slanting upward 
on each side toward her temples, and her mouth was somewhat full of lip but 
well-shaped. She was surely the most beautiful woman Twilla had ever seen.
Beautiful and powerful. So strong was the assurance with which she bore herself 
that one could well believe that she ruled some dominion in her own right and 
owed homage to none.
As she moved toward Ylon his head stopped that swinging, and he faced her as if 
he truly saw through his clouded eyes. A perfume as rich as her jewels and 
garments heralded her coming. And for Twilla she had no attention. Her sight was 
centered on Ylon, and her mouth moved into a smile, which had Twilla believed 
more than a hint of malice in it.
"Well met, Lord Ylon!" Her voice carried almost the same whispering note as the 
breeze might stir from the leaves overhead. "So you have returned."
She appeared to glide rather than walk and now she was directly before the man, 
staring him up and down, her expression one of distaste.
"And in what a state you come! Lord or beggar—which are you, traveler?"
For the first time Ylon spoke. "Lotis—" There was recognition in that—and, 
Twilla believed, something warmer. He might be truly bedazzled as any landboy by 
some flower woman from the city.
"Lotis—Lotis whom you fled. Ah, Ylon, you earned our anger for that. We believed 
you well content—with your lot—with me—" She was mocking him now and there was 
that in her voice which stiffened Twilla. Ylon might be bedazzled but to this 
one he was only prey— to be used how and when she wished.
"Yes, you must learn your place again, Ylon. You have come to us and therefore 
ours the judgment. It is your good fortune that we do have a use for you—Come!"
She snapped her fingers as one might summon a hound and Twilla hoped that the 
bedazzlement did not hold—to ensnare such a man was evil, and that evil had come 
with this one she believed. Her hand went to the mirror, pressing it against her 
breast.
The woman had turned and was gliding away and Ylon went into action, falling in 
behind her.
"No!" Twilla could not understand that sick feeling which gripped her on seeing 
him so obedient to such a one.
He raised his hand and bent her fingers away from her hold on his smock sleeve, 
exerting enough pressure as to bring a pain-born cry from her. Nor did his head 
turn in her direction.
The woman laughed. "Well, little drab, did you think that you had found a fit 
mate? Know you that this lord's son will get to his knees and lick my shoes, 
should I require it. We of the Folk set our spells well. This one would be dead, 
save that he does have a purpose which he can serve. As for you," she stared at 
Twilla and that perfect face twisted in a sneer. "Though we play games with your 
kind I do not think any of our men will find you to then- taste—"
"No?" Lotis's stare shifted from Twilla to a point over the girl's shoulder. 
That one word question had come from a deeper voice. The girl looked around.
As Lotis, this newcomer was clearly one of another blood and kind. He was taller 
than the woman, and there was nothing willowy about his broad shouldered body. 
However, his hair was of the same black and was confined with a band set with 
the same glitter of green gems. Those also formed the larger portion of a belt 
about his narrow waist, confining a short overjacket also of green. This had 
hanging sleeves lined in a red as rich in hue as the green and those bared arms 
on which metal cuff bracelets heavily gemmed. His breeches were of the same 
green as his coat, and even the calf-high boots he wore echoed that shade.
"I called—this one came." Lotis showed teeth in a near snarl. "He is my meat 
according to our custom. And you cannot gainsay that. Have the pig-faced slut if 
you will! I take what is mine—Come!" Again she snapped fingers to Ylon who had 
stood during that exchange as if he had heard nothing of it.
Again she started off and he obediently fell into place at her heels like a 
trained hound.
"She has no right!" Twilla spoke her thoughts aloud rather than address the man.
"Unfortunately she does," he returned. "His bonds were spun by her and only she 
can break them, which Lotis will not be inclined to do. She is a highly 
possessive woman."
Twilla scowled at him. "You think to make me—like that—?" She waved toward Ylon 
just as one of the swirls of mist came up to cloak his going.
He was looking at her intently as if she were some strange object he had found, 
one he must study closely for reasons of his own.
"I cannot. You have a power which is not within our knowledge. You are the one 
our messenger sensed coming over mountain, and again in the hold of the tree 
slayers. No, our nets cannot, I believe, hold you. But you were led here for 
some purpose— Are you then a new weapon our enemies have forged for our 
undoing?"
He spoke calmly enough but Twilla sensed that this was not one she would want to 
cross. To deal with him truth might be the wisest course.
"Those at the Keep count me no friend, rather a quarry for their hunt."
"And that I believe is the truth." Suddenly he smiled and she could understand 
how this one could bedazzle any of her sex that he wished to draw into his net.
"I am Oxyle—see let us share names and thus give a weapon into the other's 
hand."
She remembered Hulde's teaching—a name was a thing of power— it could be used 
against one. "I am Twilla," she answered promptly, "sometime healer—apprentice 
to a wisewoman."
He nodded. "Even as I thought. Well, Twilla, will you accept hospitality we 
offer as we would to kin?"
If she did so there might be hope of getting Ylon free again. She did not know 
why that was so important to her but it was.
"Yes." She held out her scratched and grimy hand and his closed swiftly about 
it. The mist swirled up, cocooned them in and she had a sensation that they were 
in flight.
Chapter Ten
THAT SENSE OF flight lasted for only a flash. Then the walling mist was gone in 
a puff. They were no longer in the same forest clearing. What fronted them was 
such a tree as made the awesome giants she had wondered at earlier no more than 
saplings in girth and height. It was wider than the Keep tower by far. Oxyle had 
dropped his hold on her and now advanced to stand at the foot of that giant 
among giants, so eclipsed by the sheer size of the tree as to have appeared to 
have shrunk to far less than his own inches allowed.
There was another swirling of mist to one side, which gave way to reveal Lotis 
and Ylon. The woman flashed a venomous look at Twilla.
"So—you are caught now by ugliness," she addressed Oxyle. "I wish you the joy of 
your bargain."
Though she had spoken to the forest man her attention had not left Twilla and 
now her eyes seemed to narrow, her full lips thinned to show the tips of white 
teeth.
"She is not—"
"No, she is not," Oxyle replied. "You are over-swift in any judgment, Lotis. 
Because you have had success with your present prize, do not believe that all 
those coming into this land may be of the same kind."
Lotis's hand rose so suddenly that Twilla saw that movement as a flash. In the 
air between them now swirled out a flutter of something which might be a light 
scarf borne by a strong wind, it was heading for Twilla—perhaps at eye height. 
Her own hand went to the hidden mirror.
The spray of silvery motes never reached its goal but rather halted inches away 
from the girl's face, twisted vainly in coils as if it battled some barrier and 
then dropped—was gone. There might have been first surprise in Lotis's stare but 
that was swallowed up by rage.
"What are you bringing among us, Oxyle?" she demanded fiercely. ' "These dirt 
grubbers have found themselves a new champion? Is that it? But why do you play 
their game?"
"I play no games," he answered curtly. "This one who has taken refuge here has 
power—and not one we can measure."
"Taken refuge," she caught him up, "you meant rather sent to cause mischief. The 
Council shall—"
"Shall be informed in due time," he replied. "Now let us see to the comfort of 
our guests."
He passed her as if she had ceased to exist and stood directly within touching 
distance of the trunk of the great tree. Perhaps he made some sign or muttered 
some charm, but Twilla neither saw nor heard such. However, there was a parting 
of the barked surface before him and from that streamed forth a light which was 
not unlike that of the fullest extent of the moon at the year's height of that 
power.
The forest man turned to beckon Twilla forward and, refusing to show any 
wariness before Lotis, she went, so that she passed into the source of that 
radiance only a step behind her guide.
She was not—Twilla shook her head as if to free it from the silver cobweb of 
sorcery, which had not bound her.
It was plain that she was no longer in the forest—nor could she be in a tree, no 
matter how large, for she was standing on a ledge of green and white crystal 
which magnified the light and sent strange rainbows upward from below. And 
below—below was what was truly another world!
The light was soft, less fierce than that of the sun, yet it dazzled the eyes as 
it was reflected back from the smooth green and black-veined boles of other 
trees, these of a height which might be that of a thrifty and well-tended 
orchard.
From the ledge there was a short flight of steps leading down into this new 
world. Those mists which had appeared woven through the true forest in the outer 
world were here also so Twilla could not gauge how far the land below stretched 
away for there was no sighting a horizon.
She took the steps with care. Oxyle stood awaiting her at their foot and then 
led the way along a path. But such a path! This was not beaten earth, round 
cobbles, dull gray gravel—rather it was like a stream of small gems, all afire 
and curling on among the trees to vanish in the sweep of mists.
The trees themselves— Twilla drew a deep breath of wonder. Their leaves of many 
shades of green gave the appearance of having been most skillfully carven from 
jewels. And fruit of glorious, glittering color hung among them. It was a dream 
of some vast treasure house such as even the King could not imagine.
The King—Lord Harmond—those from over mountain. Her own world snapped back into 
her awed mind. If they knew, guessed even, that this was here—what a looting 
would follow! No wonder the forest "demons" took jealous care of their own.
There was life among the trees also, things with wings rainbow hued, which 
flitted from bough to bough, along their way. Some dared to swoop down and hold 
for a moment or two to Oxyle's head or shoulders. They were like 
butterflies—yes, as to their brilliancy of their wings they were. But those 
slender bodies—human in appearance, no longer than her middle finger, startled 
Twilla anew.
Oxyle seemed to pay no attention to them even when they perched on his 
shoulders. But if they were free with the forest lord they were not so with 
Twilla. Several had first swung in her direction and then veered hastily away as 
if they feared she might strike them out of the air.
A few continued in escort even as they emerged on the other side of the orchard 
of gem fruit into the open and saw before them, half veiled in mists which 
appeared thicker here, a building of gem veined walls, graceful towers, only 
momentarily revealed by the mists—as far from the grim stone of the only palace 
Twilla had ever seen as she could imagine.
There were other of the forest people there, some lounging at ease on the grassy 
banks of a silver bright stream, over which arched a bridge giving access to the 
castle. They were clearly interested in the newcomers, rising to meet them.
"Ha, Lotis," a woman near as fair as the one she addressed moved forward. She, 
too, favored green for her robe as did most of those in that company, but her 
gems were clear drops of rainbow moonstones, the rarest of stones in the other 
world. "So you have again your foundling." She laughed. "And a sorry sight he 
is, my dear. You should keep your possession in better order. Faugh, he stinks." 
With another laugh she pinched the tip of her flawless nose and walked about 
Ylon at a short distance.
He stood still, his face empty of all emotion, the seeming blindness of his eyes 
having now settled in turn once more over his wits.
Twilla did not know why anger came to life within her. She only knew that these 
women with their jeers were cutting at one helpless and alone. It was as if they 
were teasing some poor trapped animal. And the man who had struck down his 
brother to save her, shared with her all the peril of that journey by storm and 
river, was no animal!
"We have someone else." Now it was a man who drew toward Twilla. "An invader 
female, eh, Oxyle? Well—one cannot say much for their tastes. No wonder Lotis 
and the others have such an easy time with invaders. They must be very tired of 
seeing such faces—"
He came with an insolent stare closer to Twilla, giving her the same degrading 
inspection as had been turned on Ylon. But he halted suddenly. The sneering hah? 
smile vanished from his face. He surveyed Twilla from head to foot and back 
again and then turned his attention to Oxyle.
"What do you bring among us?" he demanded, coldly hostile now.
"Yes," Lotis raised her voice shrilly. "You may well ask, Farsil. It would seem 
that the dirt scratchers have perhaps found a new weapon and we have been 
betrayed by that ever-present curiosity of our Chief in Council—ask him why he 
dares to bring a wild power here!"
They were encircled by the forest people now, and Twilla saw faces both 
beautiful and handsome take on the masks akin to the fanatical countenances of 
the Dandus priests. How strong the influence of the mirror might be she could 
not tell. She had trusted Oxyle but if all these strange beings were now to 
unite against her what could she hope to do in defense?
"Twilla!" Startled she looked to Oxyle. "Give me your heart hand—"
Heart hand? At that moment she was not quite sure of his meaning. But she 
remembered the old belief that the third finger of the left hand offered passage 
to the heart. Thus she lifted that and allowed him to take a firm grasp of her 
wrist and turn her palm up.
"Karla—read!" That was an order.
Another woman drew closer. Unlike the others her robe was almost dull in shade, 
akin to the darker leaves of autumn, and her jewels were red and yellow. Though 
she showed no signs of age as to hair or face yet, Twilla believed that she was 
the eldest within this group.
Now she inclined her head and looked down at Twilla's dirty hand in much the 
same way as Hulde had done before they had parted many tens of days ago. She 
even pursed her lips a fraction as the Wisewoman did when presented with a 
problem she must bend her full knowledge and ingenuity to solve.
She extended an index finger but did not quite touch Twilla's flesh, though she 
moved it as if she traced the lines showing there.
Then her head came up and there was sheer astonishment open to read in her face.
"Moon power—" she said with an explosive breath. "And for us— no danger—perhaps 
something else—But—" She looked now to Twilla. "Take care, moon's daughter, that 
when you wield you do so with thought."
A murmur ran around the circle of the forest people and that same astonishment 
Karla had shown was on most of their faces.
Oxyle released Twilla's wrist. "Do you question now why she stands here?" he 
demanded.
Lotis was scowling and did not add her voice to their quick chorus of approval. 
It was plain that what Karla had reported put Twilla, at least momentarily, 
beyond the malice of Ylon's mistress.
Twilla sat on such a softness of piled cushions as she had never known in her 
life. Even here, within the castle, there was always that floating mist which 
parted now and then so some treasure within the room showed clearly, only to be 
veiled once more.
It had been Karla who had taken over her guidance from Oxyle, led her in through 
those massive gates and through halls and corridors, showed her a pool on which 
there floated masses of fragrant petals, set out for her use jars of soft 
herb-scented cream, banished her rough and travel-stained clothing and brought 
out a garment of a hue which matched old silver.
That clung around Twilla's thin body now, so soft to the skin beneath that she 
might be wearing nothing at all. She had taken what precautions she could to 
conceal the mirror and once more it was in hiding against her body. But Karla, 
having shown her all the delights of this palace, had left her to herself.
Now Twilla was combing her hair, shaking away the petals of the bathing pool 
which had caught in the loosened locks, which she had already toweled as dry as 
she could with the large squares of scented cloth piled beyond the pool, 
seemingly for that purpose.
She lacked the jeweled splendor of the forest women but for her this robe was 
rich enough. Ylon—her thoughts turned to him. He had still stood like a hound in 
leash when Karla had drawn her on.
Twilla frowned, more at her thoughts than the pull of a damp tangle her comb had 
found. This—this slave Lotis had made—held— It was not the man who had brought 
her out of the keep, shared with her the struggle on the river and what went 
thereafter. Then, in spite of his blindness, he had been a staunch support, 
someone to rely upon. What was he now in Lotis's hold? She grimaced—feeling both 
pity and shame, and a small quirk of anger.
She rebraided her hair with busy fingers while she thought. So this was what the 
forest women could do to a man of the invaders! She had not heard of any woman 
from the farmlands who had been so enticed and netted—was it only the men that 
they feared enough to attack? And why was a man with a mate immune to their 
sorcery? She knew so little.
They seemed willing to accept her for now—because of Oxyle and Karla—though she 
knew that Lotis would stir up trouble if she could. Her face—what if she were to 
release the mirror mask? Would that have any effect on their hostility—or 
increase their now lulled suspicions. Perhaps the latter. It would be prudent to 
keep what secrets she could to herself. In knowledge there was always strength 
and in concealed knowledge arms for the future.
Karla suddenly appeared within a swirl of mist and Twilla's inward wariness 
increased. It would seem that these forest born could travel so unseen.
"Moon daughter, there is food—we await your company."
But Karla did not use any mist to place them among that company now. She walked, 
quite as any lady of the household might, back through the corridors, which in 
themselves were enough to make a visitor lag and stare. For there were niches in 
the walls, bordered with frames of gems, and in each stood a figure—some human 
in appearance, some grotesque, but not to the point of being frightening—rather 
awakening a need to know more of them.
These also were continually veiled, revealed, and veiled again by the mist. 
Twilla shook her head, bewildered by what her eyes reported. So they came into a 
large oval room. Here the very walls were of metal—well polished silver for the 
most part, but with here and there a panel of fire bright copper on which 
spiraled lines of symbols. Benches with thick quilted pads of rich green stuff, 
were at each side of a long table. At the head was a chair which had the 
opalescent gleam of a pearl-bearing shell. Oxyle arose from that as Karla 
ushered Twilla in and came toward her, his arm raised a little. Guessing at the 
honor he would pay her Twilla self-consciously placed her fingers on his wrist 
as she had seen once one of the Highborn do when led into a merchant's shop in 
the town.
There were others there, a gathering of colors, glinting gems, voices among 
themselves seemed to have a singing quality. And, as Oxyle brought her to sit at 
the top of the bench on his right, there was also Ylon.
Though he was dressed in green, the livery of this strange court, his face now 
bare of the straggle of beard, his hair in order, he showed no fellowship with 
those about him. Rather, he sat staring straight ahead, his eyes still with the 
blankness of non-sight. Lotis was beside him and even as Twilla slipped on to 
her designated seat, the forest woman leaned closer and her hand went up to pat 
Ylon's cheek as she might have done to some pet. But her eyes were on the girl 
and Twilla found the menace in them easy to read. Lotis was making very plain 
that Ylon was truly hers.
At her touch he appeared to shiver, but he did not move. Twilla wondered if he 
were not as much a prisoner as if he sat there in bonds.
"To the branch, to the root, to the trunk, to the crown, may the land bring 
forth the tree, and the tree shelter well the land. As it has been since the 
beginning, may it so be!" Oxyle had not reseated himself, instead, he had picked 
up a silver goblet from the table before him and held it breast high.
Those about Twilla reached for goblets also and she realized that this was a 
toast which perhaps to the forest people had the solemnity of her own race's 
casting a drop over the shoulder in honor to the Three in One. Nor could she see 
anything but goodwill in those words. So she picked up her own goblet and 
watched for a clue.
Oxyle drank and all those others, including Twilla, immediately raised their 
goblets to do also. Even Ylon had put forth his hand uncertainly, felt carefully 
until his fingers touched the goblet that was his, and raised it to his lips.
There seemed to be no other ceremony to their dining. The covered plates down 
the length of the table were unlidded and she saw fruit and cakes though there 
seemed to be no meat. However, what she helped herself to proved to be provider 
that was satisfactory not only to allay hunger but so tasteful as to satisfy all 
one's needs.
It was not wine in the goblets, she discovered, rather a liquid much thinner, 
almost like water, but sweet, giving the drinker a feeling of renewed strength. 
All of the meal was so far removed from the coarse food which had been provided 
since she had left Varslaad that she relished each bite, finding herself chewing 
at length to savor the flavor.
That hum of conversation which she had noted on her arrival was to be heard 
again. Twilla did not recognize this speech, which seemed almost closer to the 
twitter of birds than words and phrases. But she applied herself to clearing her 
plate, more interested at the moment in satisfying her hunger.
Ylon sat with an empty plate, his hands not in sight. With a flash of 
understanding Twilla knew what held him so. He was ashamed to fumble, hunting 
food, perhaps overturn some dish. And that spark of anger in her flared the 
stronger. When Lotis beside him, or the man on his other side, made no move to 
help him, she refused to remain silent any longer.
"Lord," she spoke directly to Oxyle, gaining his attention at once, "you serve 
one guest well within your halls, why must another go hungry?"
That murmur died away and faces turned in her direction, then eyes slanted to 
Ylon. Lotis was smiling straight at Twilla as if daring her to carry the attack 
farther.
"Lord Ylon you say is in some way captive to this Lady of the House. In our 
world even the lowest of servants goes not hungry when master and mistress dine. 
Is there then no house honor among you?"
Oxyle's eyes glittered nearly as brightly as the gems in the band about his 
brow. He looked at Twilla but she could read no anger in that glance. Then he 
arose, and walked down the room behind the bench on the far side of the table. 
Reaching where Lotis sat he leaned forward across her shoulder, by his gesture 
shoving her somewhat aside, and caught up from one plate some cakes, which he 
placed before Ylon, from another he selected a cluster of berries.
"He who labors goes not empty of plate, Lotis." His words were seemingly 
impersonal but Twilla thought she caught the hint of reprimand which lay within 
them. "You have chosen to call this man, by our own laws though he becomes then 
yours, you also have duties toward him—"
She spat like an angered cat. "Listen to your ugly wench, Oxyle, and you will 
come to regret it—"
How much farther she might have carried her tirade they were not to know for one 
of those thicker twists of mist gathered nearly at Oxyle's elbow and when it 
cleared a man in green and red dress stood there.
"There is black trouble," he announced even as he became fully visible. "Young 
Fanna found iron—"
Oxyle tensed. Then his hand fell on Ylon's shoulder. With the other he beckoned 
to Twilla and she hurried to join him.
"You have said that this one can aid us, Lotis—and have done so many times. Now 
he will prove his worth!"
The mist swirled in about them even as Ylon had been urged to his feet by the 
grip of the forest lord. They were encompassed by it and again Twilla felt that 
being not of the world and time she knew.
Whimpering much as an animal in pain might make startled her and aroused her 
healer's instinct as the mist cleared.
They were out under trees again—in the forest. Before them was a tree with a 
fresh-hacked gouge in its trunk. At the foot lay an ax, but twisted in a painful 
curl was one wearing the forest green and as he writhed Twilla was able to see 
his face. Though she had seen no children among the assembly in the castle this 
sufferer was plainly much younger in age and still one of the tree shadow 
dwellers.
Chapter Eleven
TWILLA WAS ON her knees beside the twisting body.
"Help me!" she demanded, not looking up to see whom she was calling upon. Her 
healer's bag—long since lost. What did she have to offer now?
It was Oxyle who joined her, his hands on the shoulders of the boy, turning the 
young body face up so she could see the damage. Twilla winced. She had seen 
burns before, stood by Hulde and watched their treatment or even done the 
soothing herself in these last few years. But these blackened wounds on the 
hands, seeming to spread even as she looked, to strike up over those thin wrists 
and into the forearms, were worse than any brand-caused wound she had ever 
sighted.
"You are a healer—what do you say to this?" Oxyle's voice, for the first time, 
was sere and cold to her.
Twilla made an uncertain swing of her hands, again she had tried to reach for 
that bag she did not have.
"Bums—" She leaned closer. The boy's eyes were closed, he no longer made any 
sound, except that his breath came in ragged pants. "Butter—ease all— But where 
do I find such?"
Obviously not here. The hands which had sought the missing bag were now at her 
breast. The mirror—but—such a small chance—and in using it she would be 
betraying her own defense.
The boy shifted again in Oxyle's hold and gave a faint moan, before his head 
fell limply to the side. Yes—unlike the nature of true bums those marks were 
climbing his arms, eating at his flesh!
She brought the mirror out of its hiding place.
"Lift him," she ordered, "across my knees—"
With Oxyle still holding the sufferer's head his body was settled as she 
ordered, so those twisted and blackened hands and the changed flesh of the arms 
was directly before her.
Twilla steadied the mirror. The reflecting side of the disk must hang directly 
above. Yes, in this fashion—still high enough for her to see that reflection 
clearly in all its horror. She drew a deep breath and then another, willing her 
world to contract, to exist only on what she saw in the mirror.
She had managed change for herself—but that had been illusion only. What if what 
she could raise now would be only illusion also? Doubts weakened—she fought.
Into the mirror she forced her full will, see firm healthy flesh, no sign of 
those searing burns, that blackened skin flaking away to show raw cracks. Flesh 
unmarked, unseared—
She felt the lift within her, coming from some depths she had not known she 
sheltered. It was like fire also, but cold—clear— The mirror glinted now, and 
its bright surface was shining as if the full moon hung overhead.
"Power to heal, power for need,
Power to enter, power to seed."
"Let the power come to call
Grow and flourish—tree tall!"
Another of those jingles but the best she could summon. The mirror was very 
bright, but its surface no longer reflected. Instead there dripped from it 
points of even brighter light which it hurt her to watch but she knew that she 
must—illusion—or power indeed?
Those specks dipped down, like roots growing even as they watched, seeking soil 
in which to shelter and grow. But she did not follow then-descent, her attention 
was on the mirror.
Twilla swayed. It seemed that her very life force was being harnessed to what 
she did and yet she held. Dimly she was aware that, even as Oxyle half supported 
the boy, someone had moved in behind her, was bracing her now trembling body.
"Grow"—she gasped— "Show.
"All well above, and below."
Those roots, what she could see of them were penetrating the blackened skin. No 
longer were they cool, clean silver, rather they were tainted with a greenish 
yellow. The mirror shook in her hold as if it would escape what was now drawn 
toward it, but Twilla kept it steady. Just as that sturdy body behind her, the 
hands which had come to hold, kept her also as she must be.
The mirror was fighting her, striving to twist and turn, escape what was 
climbing. Grimly Twilla held. Was she now stilling forever any power which might 
hold therein—pushing the power she did not understand past what it could 
control? She could not tell but her stubborn will held her to this.
The greenish roots were being absorbed back into the surface. That no longer 
shone. It was smeared, filmed. Twilla cried out. The fingers which held the 
mirror, there was a burning— Whether she had succeeded or not—she could no 
longer hold. Out of her grasp skidded the mirror and, with its going, she was so 
utterly drained that she wilted as might a plant pulled from its rooting.
Strong arms around her, a body behind hers holding her steady. She could see 
only dimly, as if the brightness of the mirror had affected her sight.
But the body supported across her knees stirred and was drawn away from her. 
Twilla blinked and blinked again, somewhat clearing her sight. However, she was 
too weak to move, though she forced out a shaking hand toward the mirror now so 
dulled, as if centuries had worn across its surface. It was heavy, so heavy she 
could barely lift it, and— dead—dead—
Weakness, the knowledge of her loss, brought tears. She was crying. A hand 
raised to touch her cheeks, coming over her shoulder, leaving its hold about 
her. Fingers calloused from sword play drew down her skin.
"She has given much. What have you taken, forest born?"
Ylon's voice, no longer that of Lotis's hound—now mat of the man who had shared 
peril and river death with her.
"We give her our blessing for Fanna—Fanna has not died the iron death!"
Once more Twilla blinked, forced the last of those foolish tears from her eyes. 
Facing her, holding the boy much as Ylon was holding her, was the forest lord. 
And those hands which had been seared into crooked claws, were clear, 
unblemished, though the boy was limp against Oxyle's shoulder.
With shaking hands Twilla brought the mirror close to her once more. She found 
her wide spread fingers stroking its surface even as they had done for so long, 
once more polishing, smoothing what appeared wholly without light.
Laying the boy down upon the leaf carpet Oxyle got to his feet. Now he spoke to 
Ylon.
"Iron is yours. Take it out of our land so that no more may be so entrapped."
When the young man would have moved Twilla caught at him. "NO!" And then she 
looked up at Oxyle. "If that ax be poisoned, you shall not ask that of this 
man."
"It is not poison for one of his kind. They deal in iron and it does not turn on 
them. Only for us it is suffering and death. Lotis claimed the life of this one 
so that he might serve us so—taking away that which would be death."
"Yes." That was Lotis, though she was not in the line of Twilla's sight and the 
girl was too wearied to turn her head to look at the other. "Get you to the 
iron, bondman, and see it out of our wood! Let the so-gifted one see to herself, 
she has done well enough before." There was raw spite in that.
"Let me," Oxyle had come to their side and now knelt, steadying Twilla. She felt 
Ylon move away. But she caught at the Forest Lord and drew herself up to her 
knees, turning so that she could see Ylon now on his feet, his hands 
outstretched. The tree where the ax head had sliced was to his right as he 
blundered forward.
"To your right." Twilla's spurt of anger gave her a remnant of strength. She 
clawed at Oxyle bringing herself wavering to her feet.
"He cannot see!" She pounded one fist against the Forest Lord's arm. "May the 
Blight of Pagorn be upon you—he cannot see!"
"For me he will." Lotis had glided up behind Ylon. Now she thrust him forward 
until he brought up heavily against the gouged tree. His hands ran down the 
trunk until they fell upon the ax head. As he lifted something else came with 
it, a brown dagger, its hilt a mass of green stones, the gleaming blade snapped 
across.
Ylon had the iron free. Lotis moved again giving him another shove. "Out with 
it!" she ordered. "Out of our land!"
Twilla strove to free herself from Oxyle's hold and then she turned on the 
Forest Lord.
"He cannot see—he serves you and you allow this?"
Oxyle looked at her strangely—almost as if he knew a pinch of shame and then he 
gave another order:
"Vestel, lead him to the fringe. See he has a clear path."
As the man who had summoned them to the site hurried to obey, Lotis fronted 
Oxyle and Twilla.
"He is mine! By custom I claim him, and would you question the rites and elders, 
Oxyle? Leave me my bondman or else you will need to go up against the Five Laws 
yourself."
"Will he not serve you better," demanded Twilla, "if you give him back his 
sight?"
Lotis's beautiful mask of a face drew into a haggish grimace.
"Look to yourself, dirt slut! What I do with my property is none of your 
concern. Also—" Now her scowl smoothed into a sly, evil smile. "I think you are 
no longer armed against—me!"
She raised her hand so swiftly Twilla could hardly mark its motion and throw. 
There came a sparkling dart seemingly born out of the very air itself.
The mirror—the mirror lay now at her feet, still dull, diminished. She had no 
shield—if the mirror had been her shield before.
She was whirled aside, Oxyle's hold sending her out of the path of that bolt so 
fast that she stumbled and fell to her knees. She groped out, found the mirror 
and drew it toward her.
"This one," the chill was back in the forest lord's voice, "is kin-saver. Hold 
that in your mind, Lotis—there is to be no spelling raised against her."
Lotis laughed. "Ah, so the swine-faced beauty is for you, Oxyle? A perverted 
taste. But—since you have claimed her, take the slut into your service."
"Not so—she has taken all of us into hers!" he countered. "Fanna lives because 
of her powers. Can you match that?"
"Faugh!" she whirled, the full skirts of her robe flying out as she turned away. 
However, Twilla thought dully, she had not admitted any defeat. Why the woman 
was so set against her—Ylon? Could it actually be, in spite of what Oxyle had 
told her, Lotis's hold on Ylon was not as secure as she had thought it to be? He 
had come to her— the mirror turned in Twilla's hands as she sought the cord to 
restore it to its place about her neck again—he had come to her, sustained her 
with the strength of his body as she fought that battle with death. And 
certainly Lotis had not wished that.
There was a murmur which was not the wind in the tree leaves, that mimic of 
faraway voices which the forest held. Twilla looked around. Behind her were 
gathered others from that company which had sat at the feast table. One of them, 
a woman wearing a robe the silver of frost-touched wood, her gems crystal, knelt 
now by the still unconscious boy, her arms about him, his head against her 
shoulder.
She was singing in a voice so low Twilla could catch only the quaver of the 
tune—no words. And as she so sang she rocked her body back and forth a little as 
if she held in her arms some child she would soothe.
Oxyle had gone to the gouged tree. He stooped and picked up the broken dagger.
"The boy drew his own peril upon him. He strove to master iron with this. He has 
paid dearly for his foolishness—let none remember it against him. Musseline," he 
came to the woman with Fanna, "call him into wakefulness—we would know if the 
poison has left him unmarked. As a mother summons, do."
For a moment she looked mutinous and then she nodded. The tune she had crooned 
became louder with a faster beat. Fanna's eyelids fluttered, opened wide. He was 
staring up into the face of the woman who held him.
"Mother—?" He made a question of that word. Then suddenly he raised both hands 
and stared at them.
"I was caught—" The shadow of fear still was on him. "The tree cried out in pain 
and I would have helped—but—I still live."
"You still live," she answered gravely. "It was because Moon daughter drew out 
the poison of those from away."
He shifted a little in her hold and looked wonderingly at Twilla where she still 
sat limply; the mirror was on its cord but still within the grasp of her hands.
"It—it is a thing unknown—" he said. Again he shifted in those arms which 
cradled him. "Moon daughter, there is blood debt between us. Mighty is the power 
you summon—great are you in its service."
Twilla shook her head slowly. "I did what was to be done. I am a healer, and a 
healer turns not away from those needing her."
There was a crackling of brush behind to their left and all of them looked to 
where Ylon came back at his slow and cautious pace, Vestel at his elbow. Lotis 
also pushed forward. However, he seemed, in spite of his set stare, to look 
beyond her to where Oxyle stood as if he could truly see the forest lord.
"But," one of the other men of that company pushed forward now, "who set the 
iron to our boughed brother? The wound is fresh. Did you not sight them beyond 
the trees?"
"Only marks of their going," returned Ylon's escort. "The tracks of one of their 
carts."
"You hold this border, Vestel," Oxyle said to the man. "What barrier was set 
here?"
"A monger." Vestel clicked his fingers even as Lotis had done to summon Ylon. 
But what came lumbering out of a twist of mist a little beyond was such a thing 
as might inhabit a nightmare.
It was taller than any man of that company and yet it did not stand fully erect. 
Rather it stooped a little, its demon mask of a head clamped against shaggy 
pelted shoulders, its long arms a-swing ready to seize. Its barrel of a body and 
thick legs suggested strength enough to crush such prey as it would choose. 
Reddish wild eyes showed in the caverns of its skull sockets.
Spittle dripped from its half open jaws, where tusks showed yellow-green. It 
gave a guttural grunt.
Once more Vestel clicked fingers and the hellish thing was gone. Illusion, 
guessed Twilla, and yet she could not altogether be sure. Did illusions leave 
such a stink behind to foul the air? However, had that appeared she could well 
believe that any plain dweller would have taken to his heels—if he had not been 
totally frozen in place by fear.
"Effective," commented Oxyle, "but the invader got in one blow. Slow—Vestel—too 
slow."
"Yes," the other agreed. "Too slow. That shall be seen to."
"We leave you to that task," Oxyle commented. Before Twilla could move he was on 
her, drawing her up against him as the mist curdled about them.
Then they were back in that feasting hall where the table still bore most of its 
burden of food and drink. But Twilla wanted only to rest, to rest and perhaps 
forget, if sleep was given to her, that what she still clung to might now be 
dead of any power and she left defenseless among a people she did not understand 
and could fear—if she let herself.
They might have guessed her state for Karla came to her, putting an arm around 
the girl's shoulders and drawing her away, back down those treasure-walled 
halls, seeing her at last established in a chamber where there was a bed formed 
like a well-open lily, fashioned of some pearl gleam material, into which she 
crawled, the petals seeming to close a little as if in protection around her 
worn body.
She dreamed she was back in Hulde's room of many mysteries, sitting on her 
stool, polishing her mirror. Greykin watching her with great eyes. And she was 
singing again that childish rhyme as her fingers moved without ceasing:
"Up and down, out and in.
Sun's path and widdershin.
Power answering to the call
Of flesh and blood and inner all."
Only when she looked down at her work she saw only a dull planer-like piece, 
there was no answering life in it.
She called to Hulde, fear rising in her. But there was no answer. Greykin yawned 
as if this was no affair of his.
Twilla turned again to the polishing, first as fast as she could move her hand, 
and then, remembering Hulde's often repeated warning of haste making waste, she 
set herself once more to follow the slower rhythm of her jingle.
Somehow she was sure that what she held was not truly dead, the fault lay in her 
not this focus for power. She had overstepped the boundaries of her learning, 
tried too much. Would it ever answer to her again?
"Up and down, in and out—"
She could feel the heavy beat of a heart set pounding by growing fear. No—that 
she must control, even as she controlled the movements of her fingers.
"Hulde?" She called as she had always done in her time of need.
There was no answer. Greykin yawned once again and then looked straight at her 
as if in reproof.
No, the mirror was her magic, had been since Hulde had given it to her and only 
she could deal with it. Once more she set her hand to the slow even strokes of 
the polishing. Her fingertips burned, there were no protecting pads on them now, 
yet she still kept to what she must do—
Do? There was nothing to be done. Around her now enfolded darkness even as the 
mists could enfold the forest people and she lost touch and hearing also—finally 
lost herself.
Chapter Twelve
SHE DID NOT return to Hulde's safe world. Though the darkness about shifted as 
if it had taken on the powers of the forest mists. Twilla sensed menace in that 
shifting. She could no longer feel the mirror or was aware of her own body—only 
that which was the inner part of her was now threatened.
Something as beastlike as that illusion set to guard the Wood prowled about in 
that dark. Moon—mirror—she sought them both with all her strength. The dark 
shifted again, pushing in upon her first on one side and then the other. But for 
all its slavering hunger it could not reach her.
Twilla made a great effort, reached—for the body which seemed gone from her. A 
hand—she envisioned a hand, a stretch of fingers, the wrist from which it 
sprung, the arm of which that wrist was a part, the shoulder—She was back—back 
in her body!
Now she opened her eyes. Above her was a puzzling pearl-lustered curve, she 
blinked at that but it did not vanish. Then memory returned and she pulled 
herself up in that flower bed, looking out into a room which was carpeted with 
the thick green of what might be moss, walled by entwining screens of ferns.
Her fingers rasped on a light cover which was over her and had now slid to her 
waist. She flinched at sudden pain and looked down. Her fingertips were raw, 
skin broken, with small clots of blood.
There was a weight resting on one knee near that hand. The mirror.
It was no longer blank, dead. Nor was it the bright silver she had always seen 
either. Instead it gleamed now with a coppery glint as if the substance of it 
was co-mingled with her blood, brought so to a brazen state.
Twilla was wary of the change—afraid at first to touch it. When she nerved 
herself to that she found that it lived again, though the throb which answered 
her held a different beat, heavier.
Raising it she held it to view her own face—her own face? Or the face she had 
drawn upon herself? One she was not sure now she could ever banish again.
There was a reflection there, but clouded, showing no more than a faintest of 
shadows. Instinctively she rubbed her fingers across the mirror surface and 
winced at the pain in her abraded flesh.
The passage of those had left traces of blood which sank instantly into the 
coppery shine. Blood was a mighty source of power, to be used very sparingly. 
The Dark called upon blood to feed it. Had she taken a misstep down the Left 
Path which Hulde had so often warned her against doing? Even if the blood so 
shed was her own and not that of any sacrifice—?
Trembling Twilla hung the mirror once more in its place and pulled herself out 
of the cupped embrace of the flower bed. She felt as weak as if she had walked 
all the way over mountain, and when she tried to stand she had to hold onto the 
petals at her side. She knew hunger too, like a gnawing in her middle, and her 
mouth and throat felt as dry as if she had not drunk in days.
As if it had been known that she would waken so there was a table not far away 
on which were set out a goblet in the form of the same pearl white flower image 
as the bed, a disk which might be formed of leaves chipped from emeralds.
Twilla lurched a step or two, reached a stool set beside that table and dropped 
heavily upon that seat. Her hand shook as she picked up the goblet so that its 
clear contents swished back and forth, slopping over to spatter her fingers and 
she had to steady with the other to bring it to her lips.
It was that same drink which had refreshed her at the feast. Now it seemed even 
greater as a restorative. She gulped it down, so fast some of it dribbled across 
her chin. But even as she felt it descend her dry throat she knew a 
strengthening renewal—it might be some much-trusted concoction of a healer's 
brewing.
With hah? of it down her she was able to sit straight, reach with a hand which 
no longer shook for the cakes on the plate. They were crisp and flavorsome, and 
she ate with a greed new to her until she had cleaned the plate, emptied the 
goblet.
Once so refreshed Twilla felt herself again. But she remained seated, glancing 
about the chamber. There were no windows to break the fem screens nor was there 
any door. Beautiful as it was, this place could be as much a prison as that 
rough-walled cell in the keep.
With care she forced herself to open memory wide. All which had happened since 
she and Ylon had fled the invaders' village she tried to recall in detail. 
However, had not Oxyle named her Kin-saver?
Lotis—
That flick of memory might have been a summons for a section of the wall screen 
pushed to one side. However, she who stood there was not Lotis but Karla.
"You are yourself once more, Moon daughter—" the forest woman said—not a 
question, a statement she seemed to know was the truth.
Twilla opened her mouth to assent to that, and then remembered the mirror. What 
powers this other woman might possess she could not record, but if she herself 
was to claim more than she could summon it might well be dangerous for the 
future.
"I am restored in body."
Karla had come to stand before her. "Those who drink of the forest's life," she 
made a small gesture to the goblet, "find it good. But one is more than 
body—Moon's Daughter—"
"Moon!" Twilla caught up that word. "Have you any check upon the moon, you who 
live beneath the trees? Does it wax, does it wane, hangs it in full glory now?"
"It begins to wane. We are not blinded to the night power. If you would see, 
come—"
Twilla arose quickly but she was not to follow Karla down one of those 
corridors, rather the mist swirled in and again they were transported in the 
strange way of this other race.
When the tendrils of the mist again released them they were in a far different 
place man that luxurious chamber where Twilla had rested. This chamber had walls 
of rock and in its center was a pool. Overhead was the open sky—a night sky—and 
in the pool shimmered indeed the disk of the full moon, so bright, so easy to be 
seen in all its glory as Twilla had never looked upon it before. It might have 
been drawn nearer to the earth it encircled at this spot alone so that the 
strange markings, which dimpled its surface, were plain for any eye to see.
She fumbled to bring forth the mirror. There was no reason to try to keep it hid 
since she had put it to use to save Fanna. The sullencoppery surface of it 
looked dirty, flawed, when she held it out over the water. Then, because she 
could only grope and test, strive to find her way through that which she did not 
understand, Twilla turned it over so that the brazed, blooded surface it showed 
might reflect the glory in the water.
It cast no shadow upon the moon reflection there, she was a little surprised. 
Sing—but what song would draw the virtue of that reflection up into the smirched 
mirror?
"Silver bright, in the night,
Give freely of the light.
Let blood and pain
No longer stain—"
Child's words, a child's rhyming, but all she had ever been able to summon for 
spell singing.
She did not rub her sore fingers across the surface now, for she would have had 
to withdraw it from the moon in the pool to do that. Rather she turned the 
mirror itself around and around, spinning it first right then left and then back 
again.
Into her need for what must be done Twilla poured all of her strength. Nor dared 
she look at the mirror's surface, rather she kept her attention fixed upon the 
pool.
There was an odd sensation beginning, a tingling in her hands. And—out of the 
air about her sounded a contented whir like the song of a spinning wheel.
She dared look now. The brazen stain was gone—silver bright again. Had the moon 
in the pool pulled from it the poison even as it had drawn that death from 
Fanna? How could she tell—she had so little knowledge.
With a cry of joy she clasped the mirror once more tightly to her and looked at 
Karla with shining eyes.
"Healed!"
The forest woman nodded. "Are you not a healer? Why do you then doubt what can 
be done when it must?"
"You—helped." Twilla arose from her knees. "You—have power, like Hulde—you have 
it."
Karla smiled. "To each her own talents, Moon Daughter. Ours lie with the Wood 
and within the Wood—yours draws nourishment from a different source. There are 
ill powers also and those have come into the land—those of your blood have 
brought them hither. Though they do not know as yet just how much harm they can 
do—"
"With the iron?" Twilla interrupted.
"That and perhaps other things. We can only wait and see."
They entered the mist again and it bore them away from the moon chamber. When it 
released them they were in a corridor. Instead of the walls bright with niched 
treasures and jeweled banding, these were plain of decoration. As they went they 
passed three doors. Each had no sign of latch or way to open, each was 
dust-marked, and on each there was inlaid a symbol in red and black, something 
oddly threatening when one looked upon it.
Karla must have noticed Twilla's curious glance at each as they passed, for now 
she spoke:
"Time has a way of turning upon itself as a serpent coils. Once we faced another 
danger—not from over mountain but within our own holding. We won a victory 
then—at a cost. What you see are in truth set there to remind us that even 
though we won, we also lost. For in no warfare is there ever a true victory."
She said no more as if it were a subject that made her uncomfortable. A turn to 
the right brought them out of that corridor, through another wandering swirl of 
mist into the same bright luxury which seemed to make up the living quarters of 
the forest people.
They came by such ways out of the castle and into that land of gem flowers and 
trees and the small flitting spirits. A number of those sped toward them as they 
came into the open, encircling them and Twilla could hear faint high-pitched 
sounds which must mark speech. Though they looked human as to form, except for 
their wings, she believed that they were of a different species altogether.
She impulsively held out her hand and one of the spirits, a female, landed on 
tiptoe. The tiny body had some weight, but it was very light. Twilla's fingers 
had curled up a little unconsciously though she was careful not to try to grasp 
the creature. The winged one reached up and touched one of Twilla's abraded 
fingers. She turned her head a little and shook it as if to signal pity. Then 
she whirled about and was gone with a flash of rainbow wings, two of her 
companions taking off as swiftly after her.
There were forest women seated on cushions in the open. One held a book as if 
she had been reading aloud and the others sat with busy hands. Before each was a 
short trough of some green stone and into these they were pressing seeds taken 
in what appeared to be set order from the circle of bowls set within reach. They 
looked up to beckon and Karla went to join mem, Twilla following somewhat 
uncertainly after. She still felt ill at ease with these women. Though none of 
them except Lotis had shown any hostility, still she knew that she came from 
those they bitterly resented and hated, and it was hard to believe that they 
would accept her presence willingly among them.
Karla dropped down beside the reader and then made an urgent motion for Twilla, 
which she could not overlook. But she settled herself outside their circle. 
However, no sooner had she done so than the flyers gathered once more about her 
and three of them—surely the three which had left so abruptly—reappeared. Each 
embraced an armload of leaves almost as long as their slender bodies. Twilla 
caught a familiar scent—I11 Bane—the herb so precious, the answer for so many 
ills. Wonderingly she placed her injured hand on her knee palm up. Straightway 
the three came down around it, twisting the leaves between their tiny hands and 
then rubbing the half pulp on her fingers.
Ill Bane—she could feel the virtue of the herb as they so carefully anointed her 
fingertips. Ill Bane was so rare that Hulde had only a few brittle bits of dried 
leaves which she guarded above all her healing harvests. And this was 
fresh—perhaps other herbs could be found— Her healer's bag, long gone, and 
without it she felt that a portion of herself was missing; it might be assembled 
again.
The sprite had taken half-pulped leaves from her two companions and carefully 
anointed all the fingers. Twilla cautiously raised her other hand and held the 
index finger out to the flyer as she had done with the last leaf, letting its 
mangled remains drift down to Twilla's knee.
"Heart thanks to you, small healer," Twilla said softly, feeling somehow that 
full voice might seem a roar to those small ears.
The sprite looked up at her, gave a brisk nod, which in its way reminded Twilla 
strongly of Hulde. Her lips parted and Twilla caught a very high trill of sound, 
far beyond her powers to hear in full. Then a small hand was laid for a moment 
on the finger she had held out, bringing warmth which was fleeting as the sprite 
took wing.
There was another sound now, a murmur from the gathered forest women. They were 
all giving her full attention, their tasks forgotten for a moment. It was Karla 
who spoke so that Twilla could catch words.
"The Asprite wish you well."
Twilla turned her injured hand around. Some of the bruised leaf pulp still clung 
to her skin. The feeling of heat and dull pain were gone.
"I am indebted," she said slowly. "They used Ell Bane—that is very rare and hard 
to find. In my country it is a treasure. I have lost my healer's bag, with it 
went what I have to serve my talent. Tell me, are there other herbs to be 
harvested here? Feverbanish, sleep giving, those to heal and those to cherish 
the weak?"
"You have another healing tool—" Karla looked to where the mirror again hung 
against her body. "What need you of leaves, roots, flowers and their like?"
"I would deal with what I know best until I learn more," she answered with the 
truth. "Can the ills of your people be ended as this was done?" She raised her 
hand, palm out, so they could see that the redness had gone from the fingertips 
even as the pain had been drawn out.
"We have our healing, yes. Perhaps in a little it may be akin to your herbs, 
Moon Daughter. Darsia," she spoke to the woman still holding the book, "such 
things are more truly of your knowledge."
The woman regarded Twilla level eyed. There was neither welcome nor rejection to 
be read in her beautiful mask of a face.
"Time and enough for many things," she said ambiguously.
There was a stir of those who had been listening to her. Now they handled 
spindles, ready to draw thread from masses of substance over which played 
rainbow lights that appeared to have no true color any more than water of a 
forest pool.
"How goes the hunt?" one of them asked suddenly giving a graceful twirl to her 
thread.
Darsia spread the book flat on one knee, pressed her hand flat on the open 
pages, and closed her eyes. Her lips were moving but there was no sound, if she 
read in this strange way Twilla had not the ability to understand.
A moment or so later Darsia opened her eyes. Now there was a faint emotion on 
her face, a glimmer of frown.
"The dirt diggers have come to the river," she reported. "Our illusions cannot 
hold there. But what they do I cannot understand—they wade out into the water, 
scoop up the sand and gravel and shake it back and forth in pans—"
"What do they do, Moon Daughter?" Karla demanded directly of Twilla and once 
more she was the center of their attention.
She must accept that in a manner of her own Darsia was seeing some new threat of 
invasion. But—scooping up gravel, wading in the river—at least they were not 
threatening the trees—but what were they about?
"This is something of which I know nothing—" she was beginning and then 
interrupted herself. Last year she and Hulde were up in the rolling hills to the 
north of Varslaad herb hunting, and they had seen a man and woman—wearing the 
rough clothing of the miners. But they had not been digging—they had been 
squatting to shift through the sands of a small stream which wore its way down 
from the mountains.
"They hunt gold!" She could not be absolutely sure of that answer, but it was 
close enough to what she had seen with Hulde that day. "The mountain waters bear 
down with them much which has been loosened up above where men have not gone. 
The heavier pieces of such—stone and the like—sink to the bottom of the stream," 
she was recalling, trying to make clear what Hulde had told her. "And in some 
streambeds there are uneven places which catch and hold rolling bits. If one 
delves therein and shifts well, there is gold—even rough gems to be found."
"Gold!" Karla fingered the stuff of one of her own heavy bracelets. "In these 
from over mountain, these delvers in the dirt, is there also such a hunger?"
"A great hunger," Twilla nodded. "Gold is highly priced. The King claims all 
such finds for the crown, but those finding are given also awards—so they seek 
the farther always."
"And illusions cannot abide over running water," Darsia said sharply. "The 
guards watch but how can a barrier be set up across the river? This is a matter 
for the Council—perhaps the greater assembly. Moon daughter, it would appear 
that the greed which eats at your people will never end. They would assault the 
forest, now they would break our lands in another way."
"I am Varslaad born," Twilla answered steadily. "But I was apprenticed to a 
Wisewoman, and I have no liking for what is being done here over mountain. There 
are others of like mind, but I fear they are few—"
"We want none such here where we have fought for our peace and freedom!" snapped 
Darsia. She closed her book with a sharp crack.
What she might have added was never to be said—though Twilla wondered if her 
fragile standing with these women might not have been speedily broken by some 
heated words classing her with those in the open lands.
Oxyle appeared on the castle bridge and something in the speed with which he 
strode toward them caught their full attention.
"Darsia," he came straight to the seated woman still holding her book, "there is 
a shadowing—where and why?"
Chapter Thirteen
DARSIA FINGERED THE right-side edge of the closed volume she held, there might 
have been some mark there for her guidance for she opened it and once more held 
it flat with palm pressure while she hunched above it, eyes closed.
"Spelling—" she said.
"Who and why?" demanded the forest lord.
"Lotis, but she has barriers. I cannot read beyond those settings."
"She has the out lander with her?" again that came swift and sharp.
Darsia took longer to answer this time. "I think not. There is no feel of him."
"Where?" Oxyle added a third question.
"Far ash, broad oak, three pines—" Her eyes remained closed, yet she might well 
have been reading that off the pages her hands covered.
He stood, looking beyond her now. "That is border land," he said slowly. "Has 
her bondman made it to freedom again? Well, we shall see!"
He passed Darsia in two long strides to stand over Twilla. "Blood can call to 
blood," he said. "If she plays tricks with this lordling then perhaps you can 
sniff out which ones."
And the mist came at some unuttered call to encircle and enwrap them both.
Once more they were in the forest of her own time and world. And on the very 
fringe of it She saw that the trees were not so set in threatening barricade and 
immediately before them, beyond a thin curtain of brush, was indeed the open 
land.
Twilla had become so used to the dimmer light which was a part of the true 
forest, and of the hidden land it concealed, that the full blast of a midday sun 
half blinded her for the moment.
Of Ylon there was certainly no sign, and if Lotis was near she kept in 
concealment. But out in the open there was something moving.
The grass was tall but it wavered and fell before the determined forward push of 
a child. A girl child with a reddish braid bouncing on her thin shoulders. Her 
face was freckled and she stared before her intently as if she searched for 
something of great importance.
Then she leaned forward and Twilla saw her straighten up in triumph again, 
clasped in her hand a brilliantly scarlet flower of gem brightness in the light. 
The child laughed and held tight to her trophy, then advanced some steps to 
pluck out of the concealing grass another such find, this as golden as the other 
was red.
The third time she found a flower Twilla realized that this path was bringing 
her straight into the woods and she understood the meaning of that—a trap—Lotis 
had baited a trap and was drawing the small girl in.
"Stop her!" She caught at Oxyle's sleeve, gave it an imperative tug.
"I cannot." His eyes were ablaze. "Lotis has set the spell, only she can break 
it. Like to that laid on your lordling this is of her weaving and only she can 
stop it. Long ago this was decided so and the law holds—"
The child had another trophy, she had thrown out her freckled arm to push aside 
the bush. Already the shadow of the forest touched her.
Something arose in the air among the trees, twisting as might a frond of the 
mist. As that passed out into the sun it appeared formed of flashing motes. It 
passed well above the child's head as she stooped to retrieve another flower, 
then dropped down behind her and was gone.
However, of Lotis there was no sign, though Twilla was sure that that shining 
thread of cloud had been of her weaving. Nor did the child seem aware of what 
had happened. Only Twilla, watching so closely, saw that shimmer a short way out 
in the open and she guessed that it formed a barrier—either against the child's 
retreat or for any who would come in search.
Suddenly the child stopped short. She was already into the shadow of the trees, 
and she looked up and around her as if she had awakened from some sleep. Her 
small face became a mask of fear. She must have realized that she had entered a 
place which had long been forbidden to her.
Lotis was not going to entrap this one! Blind her—twist her wits— Anger was hot 
in Twilla, sending her out into within touching distance of the child.
"Little one—"
Her voice must have broken through the paralysis of fear. The small girl dropped 
her flowers, turned toward Twilla. Then her eyes went even wider, she shrank 
back away from the healer.
"No—no!" Her voice shrilled up into a scream. "I will be good— no!"
Before Twilla could grasp her she threw herself to one side and into the edge of 
the brush, her arms out as she frantically pawed at branches which left red 
scratches on her sunburnt skin as she fought her way in the other direction.
Mist swirled—she was caught up—gone! Lotis had gathered in her prey.
Twilla turned upon Oxyle. "What will she do with that child?"
"Bind her to what she wishes. It seems that the lordling is no longer so tightly 
tied to her, he has shown signs of rebellion. She wants a more pliable servant—"
"Do you not realize," Twilla spoke then in a tone which she hoped would make a 
deeper impression than any of the threats and demands she longed to throw at 
him, "that by entrapping a child she has stirred up far more rage against you 
all? Even an animal will fight to the death for its cub. Lotis has brought down 
on you now what may be your doom.
"Let me go—tell me where to track her—the child must be freed— returned—as 
quickly as possible."
"True—all of what you say is the truth. However, you know nothing of our ways, 
Moon Daughter. We have a geas set upon us so that only when the full Council 
meets and there is an accusation brought and answered, can any one of us 
interfere with another's spelling. That Lotis has passed the border of good 
judgment—that is so. And she will be made to answer—"
"When?" demanded Twilla. "After she has blinded that child, twisted her wits as 
they have told me you are able to do with those who invade your land? Time—"
"Time—" He nodded and there was a shadow on his face. "Time is both a friend and 
an enemy—and can serve either for good or ill."
"If she had only not run—"
"She looked at you and saw what she thought to see here—a monster."
"What?" Twilla stared at him, open mouthed, so astounded that for a moment she 
could not find any words.
"Have you forgotten your own powers, Moon Daughter? What face do you wear?"
"My face—?" Her hands flew to her cheeks. Ugly—the ugliness she had drawn upon 
herself. She had thought to make herself repulsive enough to disgust—perhaps it 
also was such as to frighten.
Slowly she felt for the mirror, drew it forth and looked into its again shining 
surface—and saw. Yes, she had wrought well, very well. Though she had not the 
rampant horror of that boundary monster illusion she did not—even to herself 
now—look human. It was as if her visioned face had, during the days and nights 
she had worn it, developed stronger and rougher lines—truly a child afeared to 
begin with would flee from her.
And if she were to be able to confront Lotis, find her with her prey, Twilla did 
not doubt that the forest woman could use her own beauty to deepen the 
encirclement which was a part of the binding of those so stolen.
The need for that near beastly mask was gone. She did not really know why she 
had still clung to it. Or rather she did—because the inner fear pricked at her 
that she had not the power to undo what she had so swiftly and ignorantly done.
Twilla was lashed by the need to follow Lotis, but what good would that do if 
the child still feared her.
Oxyle had taken a step or two away. He was frowning, but his attention was no 
longer for Twilla, rather upon some churning of his own thoughts.
"Come—" he said as if he suddenly remembered that she was there. "The Council 
must know—"
"Wait—" she said quickly. "Where has Lotis gone?" She must have some direction, 
for certainly she was not going to leave the child in those hands.
Oxyle shrugged. "To any number of places," he returned. "She has what she wants 
and she will see that it is prepared for the use she wishes. Come!" That last 
was an abrupt order.
She was well used now to the swirling of the mist, that momentary journey 
through any space. And she had no choice but to take it.
The castle hall. After the brightness of the sun brightened meadow the light 
seemed dim. Oxyle had left her, going swiftly to that table where they had 
feasted. He sketched a gesture in the air and there sounded a rustling as of 
breeze-swept leaves.
Let him to his council if that is all he was empowered to do. Twilla was not 
bound by these Laws of theirs though she was certainly not sure how much she had 
to call upon in the way of attack and defense.
She swung up the mirror again, stared deeply into it. Not to see her mask of 
ugliness but something else—that cave-like chamber in which she had caught the 
moon's splendor. She might not be able to summon mists to waft her hither and 
thither but perhaps she had a guide of use.
There was a flicker across the silver expanse. She was already walking toward 
the far door of the room, out into the hall of treasures. As she went the 
flicker deepened, took on more substance. Setting all her dependence on it, 
Twilla passed from one corridor to another, twice going down unembellished 
passages which had those sealed and symboled doors.
Time ceased to have any meaning, she might have paced so for hours—perhaps even 
longer—there seemed to be no end to the inner maze of the castle ways. As 
Hulde's room, the inside was far greater than it might at first seeing be.
The mirror flashed as a lash of lightning, blindingly brilliant. Then Twilla 
rubbed at smarting eyes before she could make out that she stood again in the 
moon chamber. Though the orb must be missing from the reflecting pool now since 
it was day without.
Missing in its entirety, no, she saw as she drew near. But it was a moon on the 
wane—diminished from its full splendor. A waning moon—she had used such to set 
the pattern that she wore. Could that also release it?
Twilla crouched beside the pool. This time she did not hold forth the mirror to 
reflect what lay in the still water, rather she held it before her face. With 
all the strength she could summon she strove to look upon the mask she had 
wrought and destroy it.
But there was no change—ugliness—it held. Twilla began to shiver. Indeed she had 
sealed herself into a trap with her recklessness.
Her eyes—they were not small, red-rimmed, near hairless of lash; her nose—it was 
straight not swollen into a sow's upturned snout— there were no pock marks on 
her cheeks. What she saw was—NOT!
"Time will sever, time does wait
She who dares can question fate.
Let all be as once it seemed.
This I see only dream."
She pulled the words out of hiding in her memory, raised her voice and sang them 
imperatively as she would have given orders to some companion ready for battle.
Twilla heard the ripple of water as if the pool was rising to answer her. But 
her eyes clung to the mirror.
"Ill done, well begun
Born under moon, worn under sun,
Break the mask that cloaks me
Let moon charm answer me!"
Was there a troubling of that reflection? Twilla's breath caught in what was 
close to a sob. Yes—oh, yes!
The pock marks were gone, her nose—her eyes—she lacked the beauty of the forest 
women but she was no longer one a child would run from. A child—Lotis—and the 
child—!
As she lowered her trembling arms Twilla caught sight of the pool. There was no 
moon! She might have wiped it through its waning into nothingness. For a moment 
she felt a coldness in her. So much—so much she did not know! Had she once more 
taken a reckless stride without thought?
But there was a need—the child—
Twilla got to her feet clumsily. Even as it had been when she had treated Fanna 
so now that exhaustion weighed upon her. Still she could not stay here.
When she turned slowly around examining the walls of the moon chamber she could 
see no doors. Karla had brought them here and taken them out in the mist. She 
had entered somehow with the aid of the mirror. Therefore—surely the mirror 
would take her out!
That was the side—she must have come through somewhere there. Twilla walked 
purposefully toward the blank expanse of stone, the mirror outheld with its 
reflecting side toward what seemed solid rock.
And she walked through.
Once back in the corridor she leaned against the nearest wall panting, the 
mirror sliding from her grasp to hang dangling from its cord looped now around 
her wrist. It was even darker here—there were no traces of the light mist which 
fought shadows elsewhere. But she remembered the way she had come and now she 
forced herself to stand free from the wall and retrace her path.
She had transversed several of the maze passages when she lost that trace of 
memory. Slowly she brought up the mirror, tried to focus on it a mental picture 
of the great hall. But the mirror remained obstinately blank—not even her own 
features showed there now.
There was nothing to be done but to try her luck at guessing and that she set 
to. It was at a cross passage where she was offered three ways that she finally 
realized she could go no farther and slumped, to sit with her back against the 
wall, her head resting on her hunched knees.
A sound disturbed the half stupor she had fallen into. Steps, slow ones, almost 
as uncertain in their rhythm as she herself felt. Twilla raised her head.
Ylon! He was edging along, his hand out against the wall as a guide, the 
strained look about his sightless eyes which she remembered only too well. 
Twilla scrambled up.
"Ylon!"
He stopped, his head came up as he faced her.
"Twilla—Twilla!" He moved outward from the sustaining wall his hands outheld as 
if to feel for her. She hastened to grasp the nearest.
"I am here—though I do not know where 'here' may be," she said with a shaky 
little laugh.
"These are the twist ways," he told her. His hand had turned in hers so that now 
he grasped her wrist in a tight hold.
Now it was his turn to laugh, though his was a harsh, rusty sound. "Lotis makes 
good use of these upon occasion."
"Lotis! Ylon—she has taken a child, a little girl, drawn her by encirclement 
here. Oxyle will do nothing. He says that it is some law of theirs. But can they 
not understand that the taking of a child makes matters worse? I do not think 
that that will not be followed up."
"A child! She dared—that!" Certainly he was no longer the blank faced bondman 
she had seen obeying Lotis, subject to her whims. This was the man with whom she 
had come out of the town.
"We've got to get her free—that child! Ylon, where can we find them? Oxyle would 
not tell me."
"No!" His wrist grip was enough to bruise her. "She would use you—she has 
power—greater power than she allows even her kin to believe."
"Ylon, I have power also," Twilla spoke with a careful spacing of words, 
determined to impress what she said upon him. "I saved Fanna—remember? His own 
people could not do mat. I am a healer— and there are many kinds of power."
He was frowning. "I heard—a strange story— You carry some talisman they say 
which they do not understand. They fear iron above all things because it is 
truly poison for their kind. Yet your talisman defeated the death brought by 
iron. If you have such power why—"
She could guess what he would say, "Why did I not use it before— back at the 
village—at the river? Because"—she drew a deep breath— "it is a tool I do not 
know how to use, I can only guess and if my guess proves to be wrong—then I 
believe that never can it be put right. It was Hulde's gift to me but she said 
that I must learn its use by myself. I think that she meant I had—somehow put a 
part of me into it as it could answer only me.
"But, Ylon, for the child we must try—"
She tried to free her hand from his grip, but it was like a fetter holding her.
"Ylon, can you find our way out of here?" she tried another question. To her joy 
she saw him give a slow nod.
"I wondered why the bond raised. Yes, I can find a way—but, Twilla, do not deal 
with Lotis unless you are sure of your weapon. She is different, I think, from 
the others. They, those I have had contact with, are not as twisted of purpose 
as she. It is with them as it is with us, each has his or her own kind of 
spirit, is able to choose good or ill.
"They are, you must understand," he had swung around, towing Twilla with him by 
that hold he kept on her, "akin in some strange way to the forest. Any 
destruction within it—the felling of a tree, the pressure of an uncaring boot to 
crush a plant, is to them as great an injury as a sword thrust through the body 
can be to one of us.
"They have been fighting a war of protection for the Wood, their way of life. To 
them our kind are a great and abiding threat. And the weapons they use are 
strange and sometimes beyond belief of our race.
"Those who harm the Wood, would raise ax to a tree, grub forth a bush—they are 
inviting attack in return. Until our people understand this—"
"But a child! And she was not near the Wood when we first saw her." Swiftly 
Twilla told of that hunt for the bright flowers which had drawn her into Lotis's 
reach.
"Foul!" His lips twisted as if he would spit. "They have few children 
themselves, and surely they hold them high because of that. Thus Lotis is 
daring— She may think that to take such a youngling she can change her, shape 
her as a potter shapes his wares, so that she will be forgiven her deed because 
she has added to their company. Though that would be a new way of thinking than 
any Lotis has shown—at least to my knowledge."
"She—she made you seem like a—a hound at her call."
There was a dull red flush on Ylon's cheek. "To her I was—a hound, yes. She 
enticed a man and made him less than a servant, for a servant is not under such 
commands as can be laid here. I do not think that even Oxyle knows what lies in 
Lotis's mind, what pattern she weaves in secret."
Chapter Fourteen
"WHAT DOES SHE desire then?"
Ylon had quickened pace and Twilla, in spite of her fatigue, had to match that 
because of his continued hold on her. Once more he was running fingers along the 
wall. Just as she asked her question his touch passed from the stone to one of 
those sealed doors.
He gave a small exclamation and swung that guide hand away.
"Another—" he muttered. "Trap? It must be so. But why set here? Surely Lotis 
does not look forward to so protecting all the corridors—"
"Trap?" For a moment Twilla forgot her question concerning Lotis. "That is a 
door—sealed. Karla told me. There was a war long ago and some ancient enemy 
sealed away in those portions they may still hold."
He paused, took a backward step so he was again opposite that stretch of what 
appeared to be wood scrawled over with long-faded signs. Very gingerly he 
touched it. To Twilla's amazement his finger appeared to sink straight into the 
seemingly solid slab.
"What do you see?" Ylon demanded.
"A—a door—flat within the wall—it has symbols on it. There is no latch, no 
seeming way to open it."
"A door?" He thrust his questing finger deeper until it was swallowed past the 
second joint and then jerked it back.
"Something soft enough to yield to my touch. But let them have their 
mysteries—we are fast caught in our own tangle."
He started on and Twilla returned to her earlier question. "What does Lotis 
want?"
Again Ylon gave that grating laugh. "I think sometimes even Lotis does not know. 
She tried me as a tool—or a weapon. Now she will do the same for this child."
"Unless we stop her!"
"That we can is another question," he returned.
They had come to a place where the passage they were following now split in two. 
To the left the way held the same dusk as masked all the stone walled ways, to 
the right was a gleam of light. Ylon had paused again, his head swung to the 
right and she saw his nostrils expand to catch some scent. In a moment she also 
picked up that faint hint of fragrance such as had no place in these gloomy 
ways.
Ylon seemed as certain here as he had been in their night's journey out of the 
Keep. And undoubtedly he had his own guide; they were heading toward the silvery 
light. She caught a glimpse ahead of what could only be a flutter of that mist 
which used its trails to cloud and then uncurtain the way beyond.
The walls here were also pierced by niches in which stood figures. But there was 
something subtly unpleasant about these, all humanoid as they were. Beautiful 
forms still hinted at hidden misshaping, there were sly quirks of lips, a 
sidewise leer of eye.
Ylon no longer held to that wall as a guide but strode confidently forward, and 
the mist drifted toward them in long trails.
He came to a halt and wheeled to the left, to face a doorway. At the same moment 
that mist came down upon them, as might the net of a fisherman hurled at a 
school of his prey. Ylon's hold on her hand loosened—was gone.
Though they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder Twilla could no longer see him. He 
was enveloped—hidden. Yet, though the mist curled about her, sifting, nearing, 
she was not totally caught by it. Tendrils reached out for her, touched her body 
and slipped away again. Those might have been roots seeking earth to nourish 
them but finding only stone.
The fragrance was thick, so strong now as to seem rank, filling the air to 
stifle breathing.
"Ylon!" She dared to call his name. That pillar of mist beside her spiraled 
around furiously and was gone. While the portion of it which had tried to enfold 
her whipped back and forth until the girl could almost feel that rage embodied 
in it.
Ylon was gone. Twilla could not help but believe that in some fashion Lotis had 
reached out for him again. But there remained the door before her and this one 
did have a latch. Lotis's quarters? Twilla could but try and see.
She had more than half believed that she would find some barrier when she tested 
that latch, but it moved easily so she pushed the door wide to look within.
What she viewed was a room not unlike that in which she had slept and dreamed. 
Here also was a bed fashioned to form a well-opened flower. The colorful 
hangings on the walls—these were not ferns but blossomed vines massing together.
And—on the bed lay the child. Of Lotis there was no sign. Twilla advanced with 
caution. Surely the forest woman would not be so easily robbed of her new bond 
slave! Unless that mist which had removed Ylon had been meant to also pursue her 
small captive.
Why the mist had not engulfed Twilla also she did not know, save that perhaps 
the mirror was once more serving her, not as a tool, a weapon this time, but as 
a shield.
Twilla crossed to the bed. The child lay with closed eyes. She was smiling, and 
now and then she murmured a word in a whisper—
"Pretty—" Twilla heard. "Pretty flowers—pretty lady. Good drink—"
Drugged! But how deeply? The child suddenly rolled over in bed and her eyes 
opened so she looked straight up at Twilla.
"Pretty flowers—give Wandi pretty flowers—"
"Yes," at least the girl did not appear to be so deeply sedated that she could 
not move, "we shall go—" Twilla held out her hand. "Go to look for the flowers."
The child did not shrink from her this time. In so much the mirror had served 
her well. Wearing her over-mountain face she must look much like any of the land 
women Wandi knew.
Wandi scrambled out of the petals readily enough, took the hand Twilla held out 
without hesitation. Twilla was tense, waiting for Lotis to appear. This was too 
easy—far too easy—she could not believe that the forest woman would not rise to 
stop them.
However, she brought Wandi with her into the outer hall. The mist? Would that be 
Lotis's weapon—a coiling mist to enfold Wandi and take her as it had Ylon only 
moments earlier?
Abruptly the fragrance which wafted out of the room as they left changed. There 
came a whiff of stench, stomach-churning foulness. There was sound also—a 
scrambling—a heavy padding. The mist, which had hung there waiting for them, 
thinned. What came through, scuttling toward them was a monstrosity, not as 
large as that illusion which was set on border watch in the forest, yet carrying 
in its smaller form the same looming menace.
Wandi screamed, twisted her hand free from Twilla. She turned and ran blindly, 
so fear-possessed that she had only flight in mind. Only she had not headed back 
into the room, rather she was flying down the passage toward that dusky maze of 
other corridors.
The six-legged thing gave a leap, one of its clawed legs swung out in a blow 
promising to rip Twilla from breast to knee.
Illusion! It must be illusions. She backed, her hands fumbling to free the 
mirror. The thing leaped again—and vanished in the middle of that leap. Twilla 
could hear faint screams now—Wandi had found her full voice and it sounded as if 
the child had been truly driven out of her wits. Twilla followed, running. Again 
she heard sounds behind, looked over her shoulder at a second apparition. This 
was offensively humanoid and the worst for having taken that form. A 
skeleton-thin figure, showing a skull face half eaten away by some loathsome 
disease. As it came it sputtered threats.
Once more Twilla made herself stand her ground and hold out the mirror shield. 
The stench of decay encircled her as might a reaching of the mist. Then—that, 
too, was gone. However, she had lost time. Wandi must be very far ahead now and 
she could not be sure, once the passages began to divide, which one the child 
would choose to follow.
She ran as best she could wondering if she dared call the child by name, or if 
she did so she would alert more crawling menaces.
Twilla came to where the corridor had split before. Which way? Had the child 
gone straight, the way Ylon had led Twilla, or taken the other way? She made 
herself stand and try to pick up some sound to lead her.
Yes! Wandi screamed again. Had the child confronted some other monster in the 
dark, sent to herd her back? Twilla whirled into the side passage and ran, 
mirror in her hand. Then she saw ahead a wall cutting off the way. Wandi had 
reached that point, heading straight for the barrier as if she could not see it. 
In a moment she would crash headlong into the stone!
Only she did not. She vanished. And, Twilla racing up, saw then ahead one of 
those symbol marked doors. Wandi had plunged through it—even as Ylon she seemed 
to find it no barrier. Twilla followed, though her eyes told her that she was 
going to hit a solid surface.
What she did plunge into was, as Ylon had reported, a kind of jelly fluidity 
which slowed her but did not prevent her entrance. Here was a dark far beyond 
any dusk of the outer ways.
Now she dared at last to call, knowing that if she could not find Wandi in this 
dark they were both in danger.
"Wandi! Wandi!"
Twilla took one careful step at a time into the dark.
"Wandi—?"
She stopped short. That had been an unmistakable whimper from ahead—and not too 
far away.
If she only had some measure of light! Was that wish a command of the power she 
could not believe she had mastered? From the mirror spiraled a fine haze, far 
less than the corridor mists, but it was a weapon against the dark.
She swung the mirror back and forth, striving to see the way ahead. Again the 
whimper came and this time from a point to her right. Part of that very faint 
light showed a rough-edged hole rather than the well built other ways.
"Wandi?" she called.
"Here—" The word was choked forth amid heavy sobs.
Twilla moved in the direction from which it had come, under that rudely chiseled 
archway into the unknown.
The haze did not reach far. Twilla was fearful of becoming lost if this passage 
was like the mazes she had wandered through in the castle. However, she had not 
yet sighted Wandi and must keep on.
"Wandi—?" she called again.
Her answer was a whimper from somewhere still ahead. The haze showed walls which 
had not been smoothed but were pocked and ridged. Once, when her hand with the 
mirror swung closer to the right, she saw a gleaming stream of what might have 
been slime—perhaps marking the pathway of some creature of the dark. Only that 
stream was not any normal slug or snail trail—this was as thick as her wrist and 
she did not want to think about what might have crawled that way.
Then she was nearly bowled off her feet as a small form burst out of the dark 
and threw itself at her, clasping arms about her waist.
"Wandi!"
"Get me out—out—" The child's voice held the shrillness of hysteria. "The 
things—they'll get us!"
"The things are gone," Twilla hoped that she was right—that there were no more 
monsters. To meet such in the dark would heighten their power to frighten. 
"Come—yes, we shall get out."
Twilla slipped the mirror cord over her head so it rested on her breast and the 
haze seemed a little stronger. Perhaps her eyes adjusting somewhat to this 
complete gloom made it seem so. She had to unhook Wandi's clutching hands and 
then gathered the girl close and turned to go back the way they had come.
She kept on because she must, because she could not believe that she was lost, 
when she had made only a single turn beyond the door. Yet there was no jaggered 
edged arch ahead—and she was certain that she had come far enough to sight that.
"Please—please—get us out!" Wandi's small body, pressed still close to hers, was 
shaking. Twilla felt her own rise of fear.
"Yes." She fought to control her own uneasiness, to reassure the child. "We 
shall get out." Only the haze light brought into sight no arch—only a continuing 
rough passageway. Twilla was forced to admit to herself that there was surely 
some warding sorcery here.
The air about them was dry and something, probably their own passing, stirred up 
dust which set them both to coughing.
"I'm thirsty—" the child said. "Please—where is out?"
"We shall find it." How long wondered Twilla could she keep up the pretense that 
she knew where they were and that there would shortly be an end to this?
There was only one thing to give her hope, the light from the mirror seemed to 
become more intense as they went. She could see now perhaps three or four feet 
before her. Save there was nothing to see but the endless rough wall on either 
side and the dust sanded pavement underfoot.
Not until that light caught something which gave back a wink of reflection. 
Twilla paused and turned a little to the left, so that the full light of the 
mirror could center there. Anything which was more than just the rough stone 
might be of importance.
What her turn so illuminated brought another scream out of Wandi, clutching at 
her, hiding her face in Twilla's bedraggled skirt. The older girl gasped, frozen 
in place for a moment.
There was a face there—and that glint had betrayed an eye, her turn another as 
well, in addition the surface of a sleek, lolling tongue, curling out of a full 
fanged cavern of a mouth.
Her surprise held her there long enough for her to realize that this was no 
monster apparently halfway through a solid wall, rather a mask of such. Placed 
as a warning?
As Twilla studied it, her fear now under control, she saw that it was carven in 
bold relief and that it formed the head of a boar—but such a one as certainly 
was never seen over mountain. The carving had been done with such skill that 
mask-head had a pseudo life when the haze touched it.
"Wandi," Twilla gathered the girl closer. "It is not alive. Someone has made it 
out of the wall stone. Remember the Harvest Dancers— the masks they wear?" She 
did not know if that custom had been brought over mountain but where there were 
landsmen and farming, generally the harvest festival was one of the great feast 
days of the year.
"—get us!" Wandi's voice was muffled. She continued to keep her face hidden in 
Twilla's skirt.
"No—it cannot!" Somehow she must get through to the child. She remembered only 
too well those stories of the mind-blasted who had come out of the forest. If 
Wandi was driven too far by fear—what could she do with the child?
She moved a step or so toward that mask on the wall, dragging Wandi with her. 
Then she worked to loosen the grip of those small hands, striving not to use 
hurtful force.
"Wandi—" Twilla went to her knees, the heavy dust of the way rising around to 
cling to her clothing, skin and hair. She held the child and turned her toward 
the wall.
"Watch!" she ordered. Twilla let go her grip with one hand and raised that to 
catch the end of the dangling tongue.
Wandi was looking, her eyes wide in a pale face.
"It is only stone," Twilla urged. She pulled herself up, and now drew her hand 
along the carving which so closely and cleverly resembled the creature's bristly 
pelt, from between the ears, down the snout, venturing into the mouth as if to 
count the teeth, landing once more on the tongue.
Wandi gave a heaving sob. "Not real—"
Twilla nodded with relief. "Not real—only a made thing. Wandi, you live on a 
landholding, do you not?"
The little girl was still staring bemused at the carving but she nodded.
"And when the fields are early sown," Twilla called upon what she knew of farm 
affairs, "do not the birds come often to try and eat the grain?"
"Yes—"
"Then what does the fanner do?" Twilla encouraged her.
"We make a dancer." Wandi's breathing had slowed.
"Yes, you make a dancer—out of clothes no one wants anymore, and you make a head 
with straw for hair."
"And we paint eyes—big and black—and a mouth—" Wandi's hands came to her own 
face, linked fingers in the corners of her lips and pulled them in a wide 
stretch.
"Your dancer must be a very good one," Twilla applauded. "Now I believe that 
this is a dancer, too—"
"No fields here," Wandi was quick with the denial of that.
"True, but perhaps this dancer is put here for another kind of warning. Not for 
birds—"
"For us?" Once more Wandi reached out and caught Twilla's robe.
"It has been here for a very long time," Twilla attempted to evade a direct 
answer to that. "There may have been those very long ago whom this dancer was 
set to warn. But we are not birds—and we know he is not real."
"Lady," Wandi looked straight up into Twilla's face, "how do we get out?"
"That," Twilla could do nothing but share the truth, "we must discover. If there 
is a way in—there must be one to let us go. We have only to hunt for it."
"I'm thirsty," Wandi said.
"Yes, that too we must find—water. But oftentimes streams run underground and we 
may discover such." To hearten another was one thing, to believe one's own self 
what might be vain prophecies was another.
They started on, leaving the boar mask on watch behind them. It was shortly 
after that that the passage they followed split into two. Each had an arched 
entrance, but the face of one of the arches had been smoothed and as Twilla held 
up the mirror she saw there a carving—lines which might be script of a sort she 
had never seen. The other way was bare of any such directions and she decided 
that perhaps that with the symbols was the most promising.
This one, after their first few paces in, did not run straight but wound about, 
though there were no side openings. After one such turning Twilla gave a gasp of 
relief. Ahead was light—not the brightness of day—but at least far greater 
illumination than the mirror offered. Catching Wandi's hand she urged the little 
girl on at a faster pace.
They could see now another opening through which speared that light. Then they 
came out onto a ledge. Before them spread a cavern so long and wide that Twilla 
could only faintly see the hint of walls. Those near were overgrown with lichen 
and it was that which provided the light.
The strangest thing of all was that immediately below there was another 
forest—stunted and crooked, but still a forest. Only these were not true trees 
or even large shrubs, but rather upstanding rows of what seemed to be giant gray 
fungi which had a velvety look.
There was something very unnatural about those lumpy growths.
Twilla had no wish to approach them closer. Luckily they did not reach the wall 
of the ledge, there was a wide enough path there to follow. Surely at one end or 
other of this place there would be another way out. While from the ledge itself 
there descended a rude stairway, narrow steps cupped into the rock.
"Come—follow—me—watch each step," Twilla warned as she started down that crude 
stairway.
Chapter Fifteen
THE AIR IN this place was oppressive, and there was a moldy under-scent which 
was unpleasant. Though it did not carry the heavy stench which warned of 
monsters. Twilla was very careful as she went from step to step, having no 
desire to set hand to the wall over which sprawled the fuzzy, luminous growths. 
Luckily they did not have far logo.
Above all she knew that they must find water. The passage dust left them with 
flayed throats and an aching need to drink. Nor could they go without food 
either and how long they might have to wander there she had no guess.
"Lady—" Wandi pressed close to her again as they came out on the level flooring 
of the cavern. "I don't like this place—"
"No, but we shall find a way out," Twilla tried to put to her answer an 
assurance she herself did not feel.
She had become more and more aware of a rustling sound, almost as if those 
lumpy, fungi growths were trees and there was a light breeze at play among their 
leaves. Now there was something else—a ripple of sound which she seized on with 
new hope for that could be a steady flow of water—and it lay still ahead.
They worked their way along the walls, keeping as much distance as they could 
from the growth. Then they sighted a narrow break in the barrier they followed. 
It was low but around it the stone was bare as if the wall growth did not like 
the moisture which arose here—for moisture it was. A stream came through a 
narrow crack to cross their path, flowing to the right out into the fungi 
forest, though those misshapen bulbous growths shunned its brink.
"Drink—" Wandi loosed her hold on Twilla's grimed and snagged skirt and was on 
her way until the older girl caught up and grabbed at her.
Who could tell what lurked in the water in such a place? They must take all 
care.
"It may not be good water," she explained. "We must make sure before we drink."
The stream was hardly more than a thread compared to the river she had fought. 
They could, both of them, she believed jump across it. Twilla went to her knees 
and scooped up a palmful of the water. It was icy cold against her hand and 
clear enough.
She had only one test she might make and whether that was a true one she did not 
know. But she lifted the mirror in her other hand and held it as steady as she 
could, dribbling what she still held of the water onto its surface.
The silver surface was clear under each drop. Could she be sure that that meant 
that this water on flow through such a place was indeed harmless?
Raising the mirror to her mouth she tipped it. Though most of the liquid on it 
dribbled down her cheeks and chin, enough got into her mouth and she could 
detect no taste at all.
"Give me!" Wandi clutched and tugged.
"Yes. But you must drink so—as I did," Twilla explained. Once again she had 
cupped water onto the mirror and held it steady while the child half lapped at 
the very small portion. It took them some time to satisfy their raging thirsts 
and they were forced to do it in hardly more than sips, one at a time.
"Good!" Wandi squatted back on her heels at last. The dust had washed from the 
lower part of her face from her exertions and there were splotches in plenty 
down the front of her shift dress.
Twilla hoped the child was right. She turned up the hem of her dress striving to 
find a fairly clean portion and with that she polished the mirror dry. They had 
found water right enough but they had no means of carrying that bounty with 
them. And now that they had come to a halt she began to realize how tired she 
was.
There was no way of measuring how far they had come, nor even how long they had 
been traveling. But that they could keep on without any rest—of that she was not 
sure.
It was a temptation to remain here, by the bounty of the water. She got up and 
went along the stream to its entrance in the wall. That was hardly more than a 
horizontal slit. She did not believe that even Wandi could squeeze through 
without having to duck under water. That was not their door to freedom.
However, the stream had an exit also and that might be better suited to their 
purpose. Right here and for a space of a number of paces its flow was straight. 
Then it curved in a manner to bring them closer perhaps to the end toward which 
they had been heading. Very well, they could keep to the source of water and 
still explore.
"Lady—" Wandi was trudging behind her. "I'm hungry—please, get us out of here."
"I am trying," Twilla returned wearily. "We shall go this way, beside the 
water—"
"My feet hurt—I want to sit down!" Wandi's voice had developed a distinct whine 
and Twilla could not fault her for that.
Yes, they must find a place where they could rest. Eat? There were certain fungi 
which were not only palatable but esteemed by the cooks over mountain. However, 
looking around her, Twilla could sight none here which were familiar. She shrank 
from approaching those trees to break off a bit.
The curve in the stream continued and the flow of water itself widened. It was 
shallow but if they crossed it now they would have to wade. On either side the 
fungi kept their distance.
For the first time Twilla noted that they grew in distinct rows as if this was 
some monstrous garden which had been planned for a purpose.
Wandi gave a cry which deepened into exhausted sobbing. When Twilla turned the 
child was sitting on the ground, her hand clasping a bruised knee, rocking back 
and forth. Clearly they were close to the end of their strength.
But—not too far away was the rise of another wall, at right angles to the one 
which had guided them on their descent into this place. Between them and that 
wall were none of the fungi growths, except in one place where there was a mound 
of the stuff, not tree-shaped but with queer slender lengths protruding from it 
at different angles. And some of those showed small glints, even in this subdued 
light.
"Just a bit farther, Wandi." Twilla helped the little girl to her feet. "We 
shall go across the water—to that wall. See?"
Lending support to her companion the girl did splash through the water and 
approached the strange heap of fungi. It was different from the "trees" in 
another sense. Whereas those were uniform dark brown, this had a shimmer of 
other colors, very muted but distinguishable enough to be sight as a glimmer of 
gray, a line of red, a rolling patch of blue.
As they made their way cautiously past it Twilla saw the true shape of one of 
those projections. Fuzzed as to outline it might be but that was the hilt of a 
sword.
The thought of a weapon was heartening. Telling Wandi to remain where she was, 
Twilla advanced to the side of that heap. Having sighted the sword hilt she now 
was sure she made out a pole ax, what might be parts of other weapons.
Gingerly she reached for the sword. As her fingers closed about that hilt the 
fuzzy covering of it sloughed away. The feel of it was greasy, highly 
unpleasant. But she kept fast her hold and pulled. She might have been trying to 
free a weapon embedded in stone.
Nor could she bring herself to touch or handle what else might be hidden there. 
Disheartened she returned to join Wandi. The little girl had again slipped to 
the ground and was crying, rubbing her hands over the eyes.
"We shall rest," Twilla said. "And then we shall feel stronger. Come—" Once more 
she supported the child, drawing her along until the wall of the cavern was at 
their backs. Wandi curled up, her head on Twilla's lap, and was quickly asleep.
But Twilla, though she ached throughout her body, could not relax. She was 
surrounded by too much that she distrusted. At last she took the mirror in both 
hands.
The silver surface reflected her own face, the dust grimed skin, her eyes filled 
with weary shadows. Without knowing that she did so she thought of another 
face—Ylon—but not under the mist which so blinded him. Rather as she thought he 
might look were he totally free of all Lotis's bespelling.
Did she really see that face form in the mirror? She was not sure— But—Yes! And 
those blind eyes were turned upon her—seeing somehow through the mirror to her!
She found herself whispering—not the jingles which had released the mirror power 
before, but rather telling all which had happened since he had been drawn from 
her side before Lotis's door—
She had nearly done when that face, which had grown more and more alive and 
clear to her, flickered and was gone as if a finger on the mirror surface had 
wiped it away. But—there was another shadow form there, one which deepened, took 
on substance. Then she was looking to Oxyle for only a second before he, too, 
vanished. That sense of fatigue which overcame her whenever she used the mirror 
was back and she could not fight it. She was only aware that she laid on the 
rock of this place, Wandi curled beside her, and then she slept.
How long Twilla lay in the depth of an exhausted slumber so deep that no dreams 
could invade Twilla did not know. But she came groggily awake, to realize that 
someone was pulling at her, screaming out in her very ears. She struggled up 
balanced on one elbow.
Wandi shook her.
"They are coming—Lady. They will get us!"
They? Bemused, Twilla looked. She could see nothing at first except what had 
been there when she had fallen asleep. There was—movement!
The first row of the "tree" fungi were indeed so close to the stream bank on the 
opposite side that they might well topple in if they ventured farther. No longer 
were they standing in an ordered pattern but were moving, slowly but surely, 
toward the water—toward Wandi and her!
She swung up the mirror, but it was dulled again. If those—those things reached 
them—! The thought of being struck down by such was sickening. Twilla stumbled 
up and headed toward that pile of weapons. The sword would not yield to her, and 
anyway she knew nothing of defensive sword play—a healer did not war.
What else then? The pole ax took her eye, and she grabbed at the shaft of that. 
At least it was long enough to aim blows from some distance, and she had handled 
an ax enough in the land over mountain splitting firewood to have some idea of a 
proper swing.
Twilla braced her feet and put both hands to the shaft giving a mighty heave. It 
was fixed. Steadying herself Twilla tried again. As she leaned a little forward 
to get a better grip the mirror swung out.
There was a flash striking down into that fungi-cemented mass. Where that struck 
the cover curled away. Twilla staggered back, the pole ax free, the sudden 
release of the weapon nearly sending her against the wall as she fought for 
balance.
"They—Lady—they come!" Wandi's shriek sounded as Twilla swung around, the freed 
weapon at ready. But—how long could she stand up to this company? The mirror had 
blasted this weapon free for her use, could it turn now against the things 
splashing through the water of the stream?
Twilla did not have time to change weapons, she must make do with what she held. 
The fungi tree things plodded toward her—the first one in advance of its fellow 
by several strides.
Twilla waited until she could be sure she could reach it and then swung her 
weapon. The cutting blade of the ax jarred against the upper portion; it did not 
cut in and she knew a moment of horror at that failure.
Then—there was a hoarse scream, louder, deeper than any Wandi could utter. From 
where the ax had fallen without apparent harm there was a splitting now. Flacks 
of the brown fungi covering were falling, breaking free. The thing had stopped 
its advance. Its fellows, which had crossed the stream, closed behind it, 
wavering back and forth as if unable now to carry out whatever purpose had sent 
them at the girls.
More and more of the brownish stuff sloughed. However, there remained an inner 
core—a core which was different from the coating. A figure which was hardly more 
than a skeleton was left. Only this did not fall to earth. It raised two arms 
and made a beckoning gesture, urging on those which followed it.
For the second time Twilla used the ax. Not at that skeleton which was 
continuing to cry out frenziedly but at one of the newcomers. The touch of the 
metal began another transformation.
The girl drew a deep breath. That skeleton thing—and its fellow— made no move 
toward her, only beckoned on their companions. They might have been in some way 
urging her to give them release. Because there was nothing else that she could 
do, she used the ax again and again. Her arm was aching, and still they came and 
she could not stop. Until at last the very end of that company stood within 
reach of the ax blade and then she could lean on its pole panting and looking 
with wonder at those now ranged before her.
They were not true skeletons, but pitifully thin. All of them were smaller than 
she and they turned wizened, wrinkled faces in her direction. The first two that 
she had freed had fallen to hands and knees and were creeping toward her. When 
they saw her gaze turn in their direction they gave cries and groveled, head 
down. It was plain that they meant no harm.
Twilla was aware of a change in the scene about her even as the fungi forest had 
come to life. To her right the edge of that pile of imprisoned weapons was now 
free. And, having paid homage, the first two figures lurched in that direction 
and pulled with more vigor at what had been piled there.
There were swords bared in the light as more and more of then-fellows joined 
them. She saw one drawing on a mail shirt hardly bigger than Wandi might have 
worn with comfort. She and the child had backed away, Twilla leaning on the pole 
of the ax, watching in astonishment these small beings so busy around the weapon 
pile from which the last of the fungi had disappeared.
One of them broke from the crowd, so busy at claiming arms and armor, and 
approached her. A mail shirt hung on his thin frame, but he had belted on a 
sword and carried in one hand a plain helm. Facing Twilla he gave a low bow and 
then pointed to where the mirror hung on her breast.
It was no longer dimmed and the silver of its surface seemed to flash in answer 
to his gesture. He laid the helm on the rock at his feet and made gestures 
suggesting one holding and looking into the mirror.
Twilla slipped the cord from around her neck and looked into the surface 
herself. What she saw was not her own reflection, rather a small, wide 
shouldered, bearded man, a face of vigor and in its way distinction. Swiftly she 
reversed the disk and stooped a little so that this creature before her could 
also see. He gave a great cry in which she heard a note of joy. Those still 
busied at the weapon pile looked up, then spoke to each other in a hoarse 
guttural speech she could not understand before they surged forward again just 
as they had done to meet her ax.
The one who was now staring intently into the mirror was changing. This time he 
was not losing bulk as he had when he had shed the fungi covering, rather he was 
gaining. His body thickened, putting on flesh, and then he showed now to the 
world the same face Twilla had seen in the mirror.
There was a voice raised in what might well be a shouted command. It drew 
attention back to that place where the weapons and armor had been mounded. There 
was only trampled dust to be seen now—only that and something which was enough 
to rivet sight.
A staff much like that of the pole ax now at Twilla's feet lay uncovered. It did 
not hold the gray sheen of the blades and mail which had been piled over it. 
Rather was dullish red—or tarnished gold, she could not be sure which. 
Surmounting it was a large knob or carving.
There was a single one of the wizened once captives still remaining, as if he 
had held himself aloof from the scramble which had armed his companions. Now he 
strode purposefully forward and picked up the staff.
Then—even as the mirror could do upon occasion—that took on life. From where his 
hand grasped the shaft red-gold came into gleaming life. As he upped it Twilla 
could see that it bore the head of a boar, as cunningly fashioned from its 
tusked snout to its up pricked ears as had been that on the wall of the passage.
He who held it was changing now, and this was no sorcery born of the mirror. His 
crooked back straightened, his head was proudly aloft, the hollows which showed 
bones filled out with muscle. He was taller than these others, matching Twilla 
in height, though below the stature of the forest people, or even most men of 
the invaders.
Instead of a mail shirt the bits of rag clinging to his own shrunken body drew 
together and became whole even as did the flesh underneath. Unlike the one who 
had gazed into the mirror his face was clean of hair, his features finer cut as 
if he were indeed of another race.
Holding his boar-headed rod as if it were some symbol of office he came toward 
Twilla. Before him the others gave way, forming an open aisle as courtiers might 
make room for a king.
He came to a halt, shoulder to shoulder with the warrior who had first regained 
his face from the mirror.
The boar-headed staff made a slight dip in the girl's direction and Twilla, in 
return, inclined her head as a sign of respect. Certainly this man was a person 
of higher authority.
Then he spoke—not in the guttural, deep-throated speech she could not understand 
but in the language of the upper world, though strangely accented:
"You are not of the trees, nor is that one," a small gesture indicated Wandi 
standing wide-eyed beside her. "How came you here—and why?"
"We came by chance, being lost in the ways—and why—because we were hunted."
There was a moment's silence as he appeared to be thinking that over.
"Prey to those of the trees?" A murmur ran around those who had gathered in to 
circle them.
"This one—" Twilla touched Wandi's head as the little girl once more crowded 
closer to her. "She was taken—she must be returned— to those of her blood."
"How did you come into the long sealed ways?" Now he had another question, and 
Twilla was aware that all of them were alert. Perhaps those he headed could 
understand the upper-world speech even if they did not speak it.
"Wandi ran through one of the sealed doors—I followed," Twilla replied. "Then we 
found ourselves lost. Can you return us to the forest?"
"If you are not of the tree people—and they hunt this one—then why do you want 
to go back into their hold?"
"There are others—others of Wandi's kin nearby. There is a good chance to win 
from the forest and free her to them."
"But you," his eyes swept downward from contact with hers to touch on the 
mirror, "are you then one for power with those?"
"No, if they could find me they would be my enemies. But the child must be sent 
back to her kin. And the tree people—only one of them would hunt me down. I 
stand in neither company—that of the fields, nor of the Woods."
"It has been long, perhaps very long," he commented, "and we must learn more 
before we speak any words or make promises we cannot recall. Now, since you have 
proven that you can break the timelock as you have done for Gorum here, will you 
do so for the rest?"
"Gladly." Again she might be being reckless—too quick to judge. Yet without the 
aid of these newly awakened from sorcery she was sure she and Wandi could not 
find any door to the proper world again. "Let each come forward in turn," she 
readied the mirror, only hoping that its power would not be exhausted again 
before she had finished this matter of time transformation.
Come they did, lining up to move before her, each one trading eagerly on the 
heels of the one ahead to face that disk. And the changes continued. They were 
much of a kind, these prisoners from the fungi. Short, broad-shouldered with 
well-muscled arms which were longer than was necessary, so that their great 
fists hung on a level with their knees. Their legs were short but very sturdy 
and, small as they were, they gave off the aura of impressive strength.
Those who had been revived to what must be their proper state scattered, 
splitting into bands of three or four, each commanded by one who looked somehow 
to be older than his fellows. He with the boar standard watched silently.
Once more the drain of the power was on Twilla. She had to fight to keep her 
hands from shaking as she raised the mirror anew now. And she was barely able to 
hold it in place when the last of that company stood before her.
As he turned away restored, Twilla's legs suddenly gave out under her and she 
fell to the ground, the weakness she had tried to hold in check overcoming her.
Chapter Sixteen
TWILLA WAS NO longer truly aware of what was going on around her. Then Wandi's 
hold was on her again as the child shook her.
"Lady—they bring us food—"
At the same time she was aware of an odor she had almost forgotten—that of meat 
which had been roasted. She lifted her head groggily. Coming toward them was one 
of the small warriors carrying in one hand a planer of what looked to be 
time-darkened silver from which threads of steam arose, and in the other a 
goblet oddly curved as if it were fashioned of some beast's horn.
He placed the platter and drinking horn on the rock within Twilla's reach and 
sketched an awkward bow, backing away still facing her as might a court servant.
There was an eating knife balanced across the plate beside the portion of meat 
and Twilla used it to carve at the hunk which gave off those mouth-watering 
smells. She freed a finger-sized portion—it was hot but not burning—presented 
that to Wandi on the point of the knife before cutting a piece for herself.
The meat had a curious texture between her teeth, it was unlike any she had 
tasted before. However, she was hungry enough at the moment to seize upon a rock 
and chew it if it seemed to be edible. And Wandi was apparently relishing the 
food as much as she did.
"Go slow—" Healer's knowledge awoke in Twilla. One did not overfill at a single 
meal after a long fast without dire results. "It is not good to eat too fast—too 
much."
Wandi had already finished her first portion, her hand was out for another. 
"Hungry—" came that near whine again.
Twilla made sure that the second cut she made and gave to the child was smaller. 
She picked up the drinking horn, sniffed at what it held— a darkish liquid. What 
might serve these underground dwellers might not be as good for those from 
above. She put a fingertip cautiously into the stuff sloshing back and forth, a 
little for her hand seemed still inclined to tremble.
The water! Now as she had tested the water! Twilla flicked several drops from 
her fingertip onto the surface of the mirror. There they showed a yellow-brown 
tinge, and there arose a faint odor not unlike spice. But the mirror seemed 
unchanging. She could only hope that was a verdict affirming her guess of 
harmlessness.
She dared to taste now. Like the meat it was different from anything she had 
savored before. Tart but not enough to catch in the throat, and, as she 
swallowed, a warmth arose in her middle.
It might be too hearty a drink for a child, yet she herself was feeling a 
renewal of strength from only that one cautious sip.
She held the horn out to Wandi. "Only a little—"
However, Wandi made a face after a first sip and pushed it away.
"It tastes funny," she declared.
Her hunger a little appeased and feeling far more alert and strong than when she 
had first awakened, Twilla now looked about her.
Where that fungi-disguised force had stood there was only a stretch of bare 
rock. However, for some reason the whole cavern seemed much lighter. Not too far 
away three of the warriors were assaulting the wall from which they had scarped 
the lichen coating.
Twilla could see that what they uncovered was a doorway fast sealed with a panel 
which fitted so well that only a marking line made it visible. There was no 
latch or bar. But deep graven into the stone above that portal was another 
representation of the boar's head. This did not jut from the rock as had the one 
in the passageway but rather was far more akin to a flattened mask. Save that 
the small eyes on either side of the snout glistened.
Behind the workers stood the standard bearer. There was a tense line to his 
unarmored body as if in expectation of important action upon which might depend 
much.
As the last of the cloaking lichen was slashed away and the door fully cleared, 
the work party stepped to one side allowing their leader free passage. He moved 
forward to stand directly before mat latchless door.
Gripping the staff of the standard with both hands he raised it higher so that 
the head at the top was directly facing the wall mask. And then-Twin beams of 
light speared forth from the standard head, struck full upon those gleaming eyes 
in the mask. They began to ripple as if some power coursed along them but not 
steadily, rather in juts.
Twilla absently eating as she watched was fascinated by what she saw. Here was 
another kind of power. As with the mirror it must be focused—what was its 
source? Certainly this could not be moon-fed when so far underground.
There was a sound, sharp high—one which was a sudden stab at ears and as quickly 
gone. The sealed portal shimmered, then Twilla witnessed a webbing of cracks 
spread across it. Those cracks grew greater, the substance which separated one 
from the other crumbled, broke, fell as gravel-sized rubble.
Out streamed a reddish light to bathe the priest leader who still stood, 
standard aloft. The boar light flickered, was gone, as the pole slid through his 
grip. He was leaning on the staff a little as a man very tired might lean on a 
traveler's aid.
Around where she and Wandi sat there came movement. From all corners of the 
cavern the others of the fungi prisoners drew in. Some of them seemed to be 
carrying what looked like freshly butchered meat.
Now he who had opened the gate glanced over his shoulder to Twilla.
"Power carrier, power mistress, it is time for us to enter Ragnok which was 
ours—was long lost—and now ours again. We give you and the child free passage, 
for we of the Makers and Doers pay all debts."
He did not move and Twilla guessed that he was waiting for her and Wandi to join 
him. Since there seemed to be no other way out of this place, and she was sure 
the small people wished them well, Twilla was willing. She could perhaps draw on 
that debt he had mentioned to get them eventually to open another door one into 
the other world she and the child had lost.
The red light was tinged with gold. It might have shown as the glory of a summer 
sunset. Taking Wandi's hand, though the child dragged back a little as if she 
was afraid, Twilla walked confidently forward.
What they entered so was not another maze of passages but rather— as the forest 
people entered their stronghold through that mighty tree— another world indeed.
Twilla could see no source for the light—it just was. What it showed was a 
stretch of country pushing on and on into a hazy distance her sight could not 
pierce.
Right before them lay a gentle slope downward, and that was covered with a 
matting of growth, brown, yellow, pale green, spotted with patches of paler 
flowers which were, in contrast to then- foliage, near as bright as the jeweled 
fruit of the forest.
She heard from behind cries, cries which blended into the rhythm of a marching 
song, though the words she could not understand. However, her feet answered to 
the beat. It was a song of triumph, of victory over odds—a song of return to a 
homeland.
There were no trees in this land. Here and there stood tall monoliths of rock, 
rock veined with crystals which flashed as then- party moved past. Perched on 
some of these were lizard-like creatures equipped with skin flap wings. One such 
took to the air and wheeled about them. Wandi shrank closer to Twilla, her hand 
hold tightened. The creature came in a circle to the priest-leader and settled 
on his shoulder. While he reached up with his free hand to caress its bobbing 
head.
The downward slope led to water. But not the small stream of the fungi cavern. 
This was a full river. Could it possibly be the same as entered the forest 
above, here running underneath the ground for a space? If so, perhaps this would 
provide them with a road out.
On the other side of that there was what could only be a hall, in its way to 
match the forest castle. There was something about it which awoke wonder in 
Twilla—though it was but a mighty pile of stones of various colors, patterned 
with crystals. This was somber and projected a feeling of sadness. The company 
with her may have been touched by that emotion also, for the song of their 
triumphant return slowed, and then died.
Around the hall there were no signs of life except for the flying lizards, some 
of which appeared to have found quarters in the upper reaches of that building. 
The great door, in the wall facing them as they came to the river bank could be 
seen clearly to hang a little open. This was a deserted place.
One of the small war band, whom Twilla recognized as he passed her, as the one 
who had first asked her to use the mirror for changing, pushed ahead of all down 
to the very edge of the riverbank. He carried a pole ax—perhaps the same one she 
had used in defense—and now he thrust the shaft of that into the flow of the 
water.
It struck some obstruction before it was very deeply sunk. He pulled the weapon 
out as a dripping length, shook it above his head. At the same time his 
beard-ringed mouth opened and a sound very vast for such a small man, roared up 
from his throat.
"Hullloooo!"
A number of the winged lizards took to the air, circling back and forth across 
the river. However, there came no other answer, though it was plain, Twilla 
thought, that the shouter had hoped for one.
He did not turn back toward them, but, staff in hand, sounding out of path which 
he took step by step, he plowed into the current. A ford of sorts Twilla 
guessed.
The carrier of the boar standard followed him, beckoning to Twilla and Wandi. It 
was true, the girl discovered, there was a hard ridge not too far under the 
surface and although the current pulled at them until she took a tight grip on 
Wandi, there was firm enough footing to bring them across.
Yet since that summons had been uttered by the first in line there was no other 
sound from any in the band. That vague melancholy Twilla had felt when she first 
looked upon the hall deepened.
They came up to that door ajar and she could see that it had been designed as a 
proper height for her dwarfish companions. The taller priest had to bend his 
head, as did she, when they passed within.
The interior was totally unlike any castle or keep of her knowledge. For they 
shuffled down a short passage, dark but with the call of light ahead, until they 
came out into a mighty chamber, which perhaps occupied the whole center portion 
of the building. At roof level there were open spaces where the light poured 
down.
Each of the four walls was broken by openings. There were flights of steep 
stairs which led from one floor to the next, each feeding into a balcony running 
completely around the center court. There were four stories of such. Some of the 
doors opening onto the balconies were less guarded. Some entirely open almost 
like merchants's stalls.
Over all hung that awesome heart-deadening silence. They all seemed bound in 
place by that, none venturing away from the others to explore, until the priest 
made the first move.
He did not hurry, perhaps he did not want to have some suspicion or fear 
confirmed, but he crossed the open courtyard to one of the larger cubbies. Not 
exactly knowing why, Twilla followed, drawing Wandi with her.
There was a measure of dust on the pavement, mounded here and there into small 
dunes as if winds might venture here now and then to shift this debris of what 
must be many seasons. Within the cubby there was a small fire-blacked hearth. 
And by it was clearly an anvil—though too small for any human smith to put to 
the test. Along the walls hung various tools Twilla could not recognize, but she 
was able to put name to an assortment of different-sized hammers laid near the 
forge.
The priest stood by the workplace, looking around him slowly. There was a 
stricken expression on his face. Whatever should be here was not—for him.
"Long gone—" He used the speech she could understand. Then his features set in a 
stern mask and she could actually feel the hate and sorrow radiating from him. 
Swiftly he looked back to the others, only two of which had ventured into the 
forge.
In their guttural tongue he gave what might be an order. The party split, some 
of the men ran for the steps which would take them up to the balconies, others 
scattered, to invade the other hall floor apartments. They had found their 
voices, for many were calling as they ran or climbed.
Wandi rugged at Twilla. "This—this is a hurting place—"
The oddness of that observation centered Twilla's attention. It was true. The 
sadness she had felt was growing deeper. Now she wanted out of here as one might 
want out of a tomb in which hopes as well as bodies had been laid to painful 
rest.
She dared to break the silence here which had fallen when the priest had sent 
the others out:
"Wise one, what has happened here?"
He gave a small start as if his thoughts had been well away but there was now 
set anger in his face.
"This is our Great Hold. When we were tricked by Khargel and caught by his 
dark-spun magic we were on the march—for still we believed that we could find a 
common ground with those above. We had lived in peace with them for many 
lifetimes. There was trade between us, times of feasting. Then came Khargel. He 
was one filled with greed—instead of trade he demanded tribute. I have heard it 
said that he used certain ores we worked for strange purposes of power.
"Some of those ores are deadly. We do not touch them nor go too near the earth 
and rocks which hide them. He set a geas on three of our blood without our 
knowing what he did—and they mined what he wanted—and they died.
"We sent a mission to the upper world, a protest to their Council. Our kin were 
ambushed and killed. For even among his own kind there were murmurs against him 
and suspicions that he dabbled in forbidden things and our tale might have 
brought a judgment on him.
"There came then a message that those of the forest would meet and hear us out. 
I"—he hesitated—"have power but it is not theirs. I felt there was great danger, 
but we had already in place all the safeguards we knew.
"There were not warriors waiting for us," his anger was very apparent now, 
"rather dark power. We were changed to what you first saw us. And—here—who knows 
what demon tricks were pulled? Our women, our children—they are—not!"
"I have not heard of this Khargel among the forest people," Twilla said slowly. 
"They have talked of a Council which is responsible for their laws. The leader 
of that is Oxyle."
He shook his head. "Not a name I have heard. But—woman of power—who knows how 
long that imprisonment has held us? Those of the forest are very long-lived—but 
they can be slain. Perhaps there arose those among them who were not pleased to 
be Khargel's bond-kind. Tell me, you are not of their blood—how did you join 
with such—and why?"
Twilla told him the story as swiftly as she might and he listened closely asking 
no questions until the end:
"So you who come from far away are a threat to those who were in their time 
threat and doom to us—?"
"The invaders are a threat to this land," she returned. "Their homeland they 
have pillaged. If they find what they deem treasure here, then they will do the 
same here. And before I came into the maze there had been word that this perhaps 
might already have begun."
"In what manner—"
Twilla spoke then of the men panning the river gravel. At her mention of what 
those searched for there was another change in the priest.
"So they think to thieve from the People! It was given us from the beginning 
that our talent was to work with metal, making things of use, things of beauty, 
things of war, things for peace. That is our life and it shall not be taken from 
us." The staff of his standard arose a little from the floor and he brought it 
down again with a force which made a piece of metal jump against the next to 
give forth a sullen ring.
"This is something we must think on, woman of power. You say that these 
distant-born thieves are of your kind—that she"—he pointed to Wandi—"is of their 
blood. What would they pay then to get her back?"
Twilla gasped. She had not thought that her being open with the truth would lead 
to a suggestion that perhaps they would both be used as hostages.
"Wiseman," she kept her voice level, but her hand had gone to the mirror in her 
breast, "where—or what—were you and yours before I came into these ways?"
"Yes, the debt is ours. What would you do with this child then?"
"Return her to her people. If they have discovered that she was enticed into the 
forest they will declare open war—" Twilla was sure of that.
"As above, so below," he said. "In spite of all which now lies between tree and 
rock, one cannot prosper if the other is destroyed. We were linked from the 
beginning. Khargel could not destroy us for that would have rebounded on those 
above and they would have withered also. Instead he bound us with his sorcery. 
But—what happened to our women? To the families we left here when we marched out 
to be entrapped? That we must learn—learn and pay for!" He shook the staff he 
held and Twilla was not surprised to see small flashes from the boar's eyes.
"If this Khargel was responsible certainly some of the forest people would 
know—"
He swung on her suddenly. "Or you, woman of power. Look upon that focus of yours 
and tell me—where are our kin?"
She had flattened her palm over the mirror, a small protection. However, she did 
not know what he in turn could summon up. Nor did she have the least idea how 
she could answer his demand.
"I—I must see a face—" she groped wildly for some excuse, "I cannot focus unless 
I have a face and I have never seen your women."
He was tapping his staff impatiently against the floor. Would he accept her 
answer? She believed it to be true.
"To have a face—" he repeated. Then he turned and went to the open door of the 
forge. Once mere he gave a halloo which was echoed around the great room 
without.
One of the small warriors came on the run and the priest gave him some order 
which sent him pounding away again toward the far side of the courtyard.
"Perhaps we can find a face for you," the priest said. "Come—"
They went back into the larger chamber. There were benches there and he waved 
Twilla and the child to one, seating himself on another, facing them. At a 
scrambling run his messenger returned. What he held caught the golden light and 
shimmered until there appeared to be a coating of haze around it. The priest 
took it and, by the way he handled it, Twilla guessed how great a treasure this 
was. For a long moment, he leaned his staff against the bench to leave his hands 
free while he turned it around as if he did not want to surrender it now to any 
other touch.
What at last he held out to Twilla was a figure. She had marveled over those she 
had seen in the hall niches of the forest palace. This was of the same high 
handiwork. She took it gently from the priest and held it at eye level.
A woman—not with the sharp-cut features of the forest kind—but possessing 
another quality which was closer to Twilla's own kin. There was something in 
that small, beautifully molded face which reminded her of Hulde. The figure did 
not resemble the squat, thick figures of the warriors but rather the larger, 
more slender body of the man who sat before her.
"This is Catha, my sister-mate, for I am Chard, Master Craftsman— We are the 
last of the powerful trained ones among our kind, unless the Great Power favors 
us with a child—" His head drooped and he pounded his fist on the bench beside 
him. "Catha—" his voice was almost a sob.
Twilla did not know what could be done. But try she would. Again the brooding 
loss and sadness of this place closed in about her. The girl placed the figure 
against her body, slipped around a little on the bench to give it room. Now both 
she and the representation of Catha were facing the mirror she steadied into 
place.
"Lost is lost, found is found.
Such is true what ere the ground.
Let she who sleeps now be found.
Above, below, all around."
A limping verse like all the others she called upon but she hoped helpful to 
what she called upon. The small figure's reflection in the mirror was very 
clear. Then that haze drew in, thickened, as might one of the mists of the 
forest kind. Also from vibrant red-gold it bleached in color, becoming duller 
and duller. What she could see now was a finger of rough rock set up as if a 
marker. Rock—?
She repeated the word aloud and Chard was with her in a moment, leaning over her 
shoulder. However, already the reflection misted— was gone.
He gave a small cry, reached out as if to take the mirror from Twilla and then 
shrank back.
"There was only a pillar of rock," she told him in disappointment that she had 
not been able to serve him better. Rock could mark a grave—was that the meaning 
of what she had seen—that Catha was entombed somewhere?
"Khargel!" His voice made an oath of the word. "But there must be some 
knowledge—somewhere—above!"
Chapter Seventeen
"OXYLE—" TWILLA POLISHED the mirror once more with her palm. Was the ancient 
trouble between these people and those of the forest so deep that answers could 
not be found? She had found Oxyle sympathic—but certainly there was old enmity 
here. However, one could not be sure until one tried.
"Chard, you will need someone to bear your message to those above. Will you let 
me go—with Wandi? I shall swear any oath you ask that I will do what I can to 
discover what happened to Catha and the others."
"Swear—by that—blood oath!" He pointed to the mirror.
Blood oath was powerful—it could unite old enemies, bind together strange 
allegiances. Such a swearing was a matter for warriors usually.
He was watching her intently, warily, as if expecting her to refuse— to assure 
him that his suspicions of all from above were correct.
Twilla laid the mirror flat on her knee, shining side up. She had the knife with 
which she had cut their meat and the point of that was sharp enough to serve. A 
pricking of her first finger was deep enough to bring a drop of blood. Holding 
her hand above the mirror she allowed that to drop. It hit and spattered a 
little.
"By the blood which is mine, by the power which answers to me, this do I 
swear—that once I am above again I shall carry to Oxyle, to those leaders among 
the forest clans your message. If you in turn will offer truce to hold council 
with them. Will you swear to that Chard?"
He reached for his standard, slipping the shaft around, until the boar's head 
faced her, was inclined a fraction to loom over the blood-spattered mirror. 
Twilla was certain she saw those eyes blaze gold and then red. On the mirror the 
blood faded, it might have been sinking into the metal.
"Well enough," Chard said. "Remind those proud upper ones that all metals answer 
to us. Not only their beloved silver, our gold—but— iron." He pronounced that 
last word with the emphasis of a threat. "Now, you and the child must abide 
until we discover the swiftest passage, one which will serve us best. Until then 
rest and wait in patience. A good blade cannot be forged in an instant's work."
To that Twilla was willing to agree. Though she had eaten and rested some in the 
fungi cavern she still found her strength lacking and the far seeing of Catha—or 
the rock which now stood for Catha, had taken its toll of her.
They were escorted by one of the little men up the stairs to the first of the 
galleries, onto which living quarters opened, and then ushered into a room where 
there was a pallet of fur and padded grass wide enough for the both of them. 
Thankfully Twilla allowed herself to trust and, with Wandi beside her, stretched 
out to sleep.
"Lady—"
Twilla wanted to twist away from that voice but now she was aware also of a hand 
on her shoulder shaking her a little. She opened sleep-weighted eyes. Wandi 
still kept her hold.
"Lady—there is food—"
The child pointed to a low table on which was a tray bearing two bowls wrought 
cunningly out of metal in an oval shape. Each was patterned with intricate 
designs which might have been from some long lost script. Beside those were 
spoons as fancifully fashioned, for the ends of the handles were tiny boars. 
Both bowls and spoons had the sheen of precious metal and when Twilla felt the 
weight of the one she picked up she was sure it was of gold.
The contents were a stew. She thought she tasted a hint of herbs she had once 
known, but the meat was strange though not unpleasant. And certainly she was 
hungry enough not to quarrel with the portion offered her. Wandi sat 
cross-legged on the floor by Twilla's knee, scooping busily out of her bowl.
There was a finely wrought flagon, made in the form of one of the winged 
lizards, though many times the size of the living model, and two horn cups, 
mounted on tripod feet of what Twilla was sure were a boar's fighting fangs. 
What meaning that upper world-animal had here she could not understand but 
manifestly the species was of vast importance to the under-people.
There was water in the flagon, someone must have noted that Wandi had refused 
the earlier drink at their first meal. Twilla poured into both goblets and drank 
from her own.
A sudden memory arose—did they not say—those from over mountain—that if one ate 
or drank from stores unnatural one was thereafter linked to another world? Yes, 
that had been repeated twice in one of Hulde's books. Well, she had eaten of the 
bounty of the forest people, and now this—doubtless in the future she might have 
reason to test the worth of that warning. However, she could not go thirsty nor 
hungry when there was that to drink and eat just because of some old tales.
There had been one other warning in those accounts. Obscure they had been, for 
the strangers involved in them had never been clearly identified. That other 
warning had dealt with time—time which was less in one world, faster in the 
other. Tales of people who had wandered into the fringe of alien powers and then 
broke free—to discover that what had seemed a few days to them was a lifetime or 
more to their family and friends.
However, all that was legend, even Hulde had sworn that such accounts existed 
without proof. Those who had ventured in the forest and returned mind dazed or 
maimed—as Ylon—there had been nothing said about any great lapse for them.
Ylon—Twilla carefully set the goblet back on the low table. Ylon's reflection in 
the mirror—the surety she had had that somehow he had seen her.
But that thought was swept away by a tapping on the door of the chamber and 
Twilla arose to answer the summons. Not Chard as she had expected, rather again 
the first of the fungi host whom she had loosed. He bowed and beckoned, speaking 
in that grating language she could not understand. However, there was no 
mistaking his gestures, he wanted her to follow him.
With Wandi keeping close beside her Twilla went. Now, when she stepped once more 
out on the gallery she found that a change had come over the great hall. There 
was life, busy life. Not one but two forges were being worked and the clang of 
metal on metal echoed loudly. She saw groups of the small people carrying boxes 
and bags, heavy enough to make them grunt when they shifted the weight of them a 
fraction. Some of those bags were dumped at the forges, and others into what 
must be store rooms.
Twilla was not escorted to the descending stairs but rather along the gallery, 
passing the doors of many quarters, until they reached the far end of the hall. 
There, centermost in this gallery was a much wider entranceway—surmounted by the 
boar mask. There, a guide stood aside to allow them both to enter.
She found Chard seated cross-legged on a floor pillow, one of the small tables 
before him. That was covered with piles of flat plates, metallic in origin and 
close covered with script patterns. Some had been plainly pushed aside 
impatiently, two had skidded off onto the floor, but others held his full 
attention.
He appeared to shake himself free of some preoccupation when they entered and 
arose to bow with the same ceremony Twilla might have met with above ground in 
the forest.
"It has been very long," he burst out. They might have been in the middle of a 
discussion. "Long." There was a slight droop of his shoulders as if he had taken 
up some burden.
Then he shot a question at her. "You heard no word of Khargel among the over 
people—no mention of his name? Or of us and our fate?"
"No, I saw doors in the castle ways sealed tightly and with symbols on them. All 
that I was told is that they walled away ancient enemies."
"Yet you and the child came through such a door—"
"Wandi was greatly frightened and threw herself at one, it let her through, I 
followed to find her. Yes," she remembered Ylon, "one of those bond to the 
forest was with me earlier. He touched such a door and his fingers sank within."
"So, and why do you think that you, the bond, this child, could enter where such 
ward spells had been laid."
"I can only believe, Wiseman, that I was able to do so, and these others also, 
because we were of different blood and kin and therefore such wards had not been 
set for us."
"Yes!" he nodded, "they did not try to bind you because you hold power. The 
child is not yet sealed to them, but even the bonded one you mention was able to 
pierce one of Khargel's sorcerous wards.
"I have had speech with my people in full assembly," he added after a moment's 
pause. "Because you freed them they give you a measure of trust. Because you 
have given me blood oath I trust also. Now, we have been at work all through our 
land. And this much we have learned—you are right, those of your race not only 
tried to plunder the forest, but they want metal. They have brought in special 
workers trained to search for such. We have our own guards and those Khargel did 
not meddle with—perhaps he believed that with us safe locked in spells there was 
no need to do so.
"But there are now men striving to come upstream to search out those mines which 
are our life, even as the trees are the life of those above. The forest ones 
have their power, we have ours—for example iron is no threat to us as it is to 
them. I search now," he stirred the metal plates before him, "for answers we 
need. If it is true that Khargel is no longer master in the forest, there are 
those there who will heed warnings and—perhaps need support—then we must speak 
together.
"There is also the matter of our women—Khargel's further sorcery. I have 
persuaded those here that you and the child are to be freed— shown a way out of 
the under which does not go through one of the doors. Speak with this Oxyle—if 
he is head of the Council now then his power is high. Tell him it takes two to 
bargain but there is a chance that both may benefit. Will you do this?"
"I will."
Her promise set in action a flurry of activity. She and Wandi were supplied with 
boots which came thigh high for the little girl and well above the calf for 
Twilla. She discarded a portion of the full-torn skirt of that robe of which she 
had been so proud so that it was knee length. They were given a pouch containing 
strips of dried meat interwoven with roots for food, and Twilla was also 
equipped with just such a pole ax as she had used in the fungi cavern.
Chard accompanied them down to the river where they were joined by another of 
the small warriors.
"This is Utin, he will be your guide to the borders of our land. Beyond that you 
must trust your own knowledge." He hesitated and then added:
"Woman of power, I believe that you will deal fairly with us. It seems that 
perhaps a darkness as evil as that raised by Khargel may be descending upon us. 
I have not the power of foresight—that was the gift of my Catha, but I have my 
night fears."
"I am but one," Twilla answered. "And my influence may be for very little. But 
be assured that what I can do that I shall."
He raised his staff a little as if in salute and then they followed Utin. For a 
time it would seem that they would not take to the water, only walk beside it. 
The boots were clumsy and rubbed Twilla's feet, and after a while Wandi 
complained that she wanted to take hers off.
Utin set a brisk pace in the lead and he did not halt, only grunted some warning 
when they lagged a little behind.
There was no variation of the light here, no coming of dark. Twilla could not 
reckon time but at length she stopped, knowing that Wandi could not keep up. The 
child had been hanging on her for some time, without a rest. She seated herself 
on the ground Wandi flopping down beside her. Utin turned and growled at them 
but Twilla shook her head and pointed to their feet trying to make some gesture 
he would understand. He gave a final grunt and went a little away from them down 
to the river, staring into the flood as if he were looking for some lost 
treasure there.
The grass before them moved, heaved upward, gave room to a form. Huge, far 
larger than any of its species she had seen over mountain. A boar which must 
stand as tall as Twilla's shoulder, small red eyes fastened on the girl and with 
a large front hoof it pawed the ground, tearing loose chunks of tough grass.
Always it had been said that the wild swine of the unsettled places over 
mountain were the most dangerous of any animal man might try to hunt. They were 
wily, showing a frightening cleverness, an ability to turn upon a hunter when 
least expected. And this was the epitome of any boar she could imagine.
It grunted, tossing its heavy head. There were threads of spittle spinning out 
from those great tusks set in both upper and lower jaws.
Wandi whimpered and cowered next to Twilla, shaking with fright. The older girl 
had already put hand on her pole ax though that she would have the skill and 
strength to stand up against such a creature she did not know.
Utin moved, setting his small body in front of the two he guided. He was 
grunting also, sounds so like those the boar was making Twilla could believe 
that he actually spoke some beast-like language.
The boar's attention swung to Utin, those red eyes intent upon the small man. 
For a long moment they stood so in confrontation. Then the heavy, bristled head 
tossed.
Utin turned his back on the creature and returned to the girls. He made an 
emphatic gesture ahead—it was plain he wanted them on the move.
For a moment longer Twilla centered her attention on the boar. It had not 
approached closer, simply snorted, and once more impatiently dug into the 
ground.
Chard bore the semblance of this creature on his staff of power, she had seen 
the masks elsewhere. There was certainly a tie between the under people and the 
boar. Utin showed it respect but did not seem alarmed at its presence.
He was gesturing again, more emphatically and Twilla arose. One arm about Wandi 
and the other gripping the pole ax, she moved as their guide signaled. However, 
they were not free of the boar.
Snuffling and grunting it fell in behind as they went. The rank odor of its kind 
was strong on the air. Wandi still whimpered but she did not try to evade 
Twilla's hold on her, matching pace with the girl.
However, they were not to be easily rid of the new, four-footed guard. A guard, 
Twilla was sure the beast must be, cutting off any retreat into the innerlands.
Since the creature showed no signs of attack she believed that as long as they 
followed Utin they might be able to go without interference. Now, rising a 
barrier for them ahead, was a cliff which stretched up and to either side 
without apparently any end.
The rock which formed it was banded by outcropping, rich, easily mined, ore 
deposits of more than one metal. Such riches as the over mountain lords had 
never chanced upon with all their delving and wracking in their own land. Let 
one of the king's overseers set eye on this and there would be the inpouring of 
an army in an attempt to secure such a source of wealth.
The river cut into the cliff but the water did not fill that passage completely. 
Utin stopped, letting them catch up. Behind, Twilla was well aware, that the 
boar still followed.
Their guide pointed to that cliff opening through which the water flowed and 
made signs that Twilla and Wandi were to take that path, though he made no 
effort to lead the way any farther.
Twilla used the shaft of the pole ax to sound for a bottom. She discovered, 
after several such thrusts, that the water covered at least two levels. Near the 
bank there appeared to run a way which would give them good footing but not rise 
higher perhaps than the boots with which they had been provided. Then there was 
a sharp dip in the bed and there the water was much deeper.
Utin waved at them impatiently and behind she heard the boar give a significant 
grunt. It would seem that both their traveling companions wanted to be rid of 
them.
"Walk behind me," Twilla told Wandi, "hold to my skirt and try to step where I 
have gone. Do you understand?"
The child nodded vigorously. Twilla raised a hand to Utin and said a word of 
thanks which undoubtedly he could not understand. Then she stepped onto that 
side ledge and headed toward the cavern through which the river flowed.
For a space the light from behind them gave some chance of seeing, but the 
darkness grew thicker the farther they advanced. Luckily their underwater path 
seemed to have no break. After some moments of travel along it, Twilla felt more 
at ease.
They went on steadily, Wandi crowding closer against her as the dark increased. 
Twilla wondered about using the mirror light here but there were too many 
unknowns ahead. She had no wish to weaken any power she might well need later 
for a defense.
There were no turns in the river, it ran as straight here as if it had been 
purposefully cut. The water was cold and gradually Twilla's feet, in spite of 
the boots, grew numb. She worried about Wandi, not sure that she could carry the 
child should she be unable to keep on by herself.
However, it began to grow lighter ahead promising that they might soon win into 
the open. Abruptly the rock walls vanished and they were free. Though there were 
still banners on either side, these of earth with above sentinels of tall trees. 
The green stirring of the forest reached here though, Twilla saw none of the 
floating mist which marked the aisles between the trees elsewhere.
Here were signs on the crumbling earthen banks that at times the river must 
reach a much higher level. She kept watching to find some way of climbing out of 
the cut.
At last she discovered a place where a tangle of roots was exposed and, boosting 
up Wandi, following close behind, Twilla made use of that as a ladder.
The forest gloom was not as thick here as open sky stretched about the river. 
But in which way she should now head Twilla had no idea. If she struck into the 
full dusk of the woods she would still be lost, not only lost but perhaps prey 
for Lotis. She had no guide back to the castle.
While, on the other hand, if they kept on beside the stream they would 
eventually reach the plains and there she might be able to leave Wandi with some 
land family. Though she herself must keep under cover.
Judging by the sun it must be midday. There was a chill nip in the air and she 
shivered.
"Where are we now?" Wandi stopped short to demand.
"In the forest. Your own land must be ahead and we shall go in that direction—"
They had not gone far before the forest murmur of leaves was pierced by other 
sounds—the ring of metal against stone, voices raised—
Cautiously Twilla pushed on. There had been a landslip here and one of the great 
trees, its roots undermined, had fallen, just missing choking the water flow. 
About that men were busy, hacking with axes, orders being shouted as the great 
limbs were chopped free, to be hauled downstream by laboring teams of sweating 
horses.
The invaders! Twilla crouched down. She studied the men below.
They were under the command of a burly man in landsman's clothing, but, even as 
she settled into hiding, she saw another small party coming upstream with one of 
the horse teams to get another limb.
Ustar! There was no mistaking the leader who was followed by two armed men. To 
get away—that need tore at her. There would be no chance to parlay with these if 
Ustar was in command.
Wandi moved suddenly. Before Twilla could catch her she was at the bank sliding 
down to the fallen tree waving both her arms and shouting at the top of her 
shrill child's voice.
"Da—here I be, Da! Da!"
The working men stopped, were staring upward to the child now dancing in a 
frenzy. Then the burly man who had been giving orders shouted in turn:
"Wandi—Wandi!"
He threw himself forward, arms outstretched.
Twilla drew a deep breath. Wandi was free—and there was no need for her to 
remain here. Moving first on hands and knees so she might not be sighted from 
below, she pushed her way well back under tree shadow and then ran blindly, 
thinking only of Ustar sighted below.
Chapter Eighteen
TWILLA GASPED FOR breath, a sharp pain pierced her side. She realized slowly 
that her fear had very little foundation. Ustar had seen her only with the 
mirror face, he might not be able to recognize her now. But even then, had she 
been discovered by those workers below, what explanation for her presence would 
she have been able to give? No, it was best that she was now beyond their reach 
for she was sure that they were not going to follow her into this dreaded 
territory.
A second thought was daunting. She was undeniably lost. For her there were no 
landmarks, no guides. She had no idea of how one could reach the glade of the 
Great Tree. One forest aisle was like another and the drifting mist made more 
confusion.
Trembling with the effort of her run from the river cut, Twilla dropped at the 
foot of one of the trees, the great outspreading root tops above the ground 
forming a support. She fumbled with the food packet the under people had given 
her and tried to wrench free a mouthful of the stuff. Its taste was unpleasant, 
oily, but she continued to chew and then make herself swallow the mess.
She had no idea how well patrolled the forest was—whether she could hope to 
encounter someone of its people—perhaps a guard such as had reported to Oxyle. 
Certainly they must have some watch upon the river cutting and the men working 
there.
However, for the present, she was content to remain where she was.
To get up and wander fruitlessly again was beyond her present strength.
Perhaps she dozed a little, she never knew, but suddenly she gasped and coughed. 
There was a waft of putrid stench in the air. She looked up to see, lumbering 
out from between trees, just such a monster as had been on patrol on the 
opposite end of the forest.
Though she knew it to be illusion, unable to harm unless one surrendered to the 
waves of fear it broadcast, still she clawed her way up to her feet, using the 
ridges of the roots for support.
The thing was so real! She could see it, smell it, hear clearly its growls. 
Twilla almost feared that she might even find it solid substance if she touched 
it. And, if all her senses so betrayed her, she would be its meat.
Mirror—she felt for the mirror. It could also show what was not and perhaps she 
controlled some form of illusion to counter this. She held the disk up with 
hands which shook a little as the thing strode purposefully toward her, dripping 
mouth wide, claws reaching.
"You," she summoned up words to be spoken by a dry tongue, "are not. You are 
not!"
Its fetid breath puffed at her. One of those clawed appendages scraped along the 
roots among which she sheltered. The thing snarled, made a swipe in her 
direction.
"You are not!" She choked back her scream and said those words like a chant of 
protection. "Not—not—not!"
But it was! There was no hazing out of that haired body. Was it possible that 
there was such a creature and the forest people summoned for their own needs an 
illusion of a thing that did live?
She steadied the mirror. At least it was not appearing yet to close— bring her 
down with those claws.
Twilla drew a deep breath, strove to hold to control when all her senses 
reported that this was real, that she was its prey beyond hope of escape.
"You are not!" She cried out in what might have been a scream had she not fought 
for control.
The thing grinned. Its small eyes gleamed. But it did not advance. Instead it 
squatted down, its thick lower limbs folding under it. Now it threw back its 
great head and from that fanged muzzle broke a howling.
Twilla cringed in spite of her efforts to believe that this was all illusion. If 
the thing had been created to patrol the forest perhaps it had also been set to 
take prisoners of intruders—those which did not flee when they first sighted it. 
Then—sooner or later one of the warders would—
Mist swirled behind the monster, thickened and from its core stepped Oxyle. 
Twilla gave a little sob of relief. The forest lord snapped his fingers and the 
monster, never taking its eyes from Twilla standing at bay, snorted and growled.
"Off!" Oxyle ordered as he would speak to a hound.
The thing growled again, shaking its head from side to side, but it was 
regaining its feet, though giving the impression that it did so reluctantly. 
Then it turned to face the forest lord, and snarled again.
Oxyle merely pointed a finger at it. Uttering a cry of protest it shambled away, 
back into the wood shadows from whence it had come.
"It—it was real—" Twilla said in a shaking voice.
"That one, yes. But how came you here, Moon Daughter? And where have you been?"
She was shaking, slipping once more into that pocket among the roots. Where had 
she been? So long a story—
Twilla pressed the mirror to her, feeling something of comfort as its hard 
substance filled her hands.
"In—in the innerways—the sealed ways. There was the child," she tried now to set 
memories straight for reporting, "in Lotis's chamber. I brought her out—there 
were monsters—and those were illusions," she added sharply. "But Wandi ran—and 
she went through one of the sealed doors—I went after her." She paused. Tired as 
she was and shaken as she had been during her confrontation with the monster, 
she found it hard to marshal! the whole story.
"You have then been," Oxyle said, "where no one has ventured for a thousand 
seasons. And what did you find—? No, this is a story which deals with hidden 
things and you shall tell it to those who have reason to know."
He held out his hand, coming forward, and she scrambled up to take it. The 
familiar mist closed to cocoon them. She held tightly with her other hand to the 
mirror.
Once more she stood in that land where the jeweled trees bore their fruit and 
before them was the castle. Oxyle had continued to hold her hand and now he drew 
her on into that place of many treasures, bringing her to the hall in which 
stood the feasting table.
However, there were no feasters there now, only five of the forest people. Karla 
was there, and two other of the women—one she recognized as the mother of Fanna. 
Though she did not remember the two men. All of them faced around to stare as 
Oxyle led her forward.
"We have been summoned," Karla spoke first. "We are in council, Oxyle. Now what 
have you to tell us? And the Moon's Daughter, where has she been?"
"In Ragnok—I think—but she will tell you."
Someone drew a breath which might have marked a stifled protest. Oxyle drew 
Twilla to that chair at the top of that table, handing her into it. He took his 
place beside her.
Holding the mirror, because somehow that gave her comfort, Twilla told her tale. 
Several times there were muttered ejections from those who listened. One of the 
men made as to speak when she told of freeing the fungi-bound warriors. Fauna's 
mother shook her head slowly when Twilla spoke of their coming to that great 
hall to find it deserted.
Her mouth dried. There was suddenly a goblet before her and she sipped that same 
sweet, watery drink she had first tasted at the feast.
She told of her bargain with Chard, of the departure from the hold. There was 
another stirring when she spoke of the boar which had so suddenly appeared to 
trail them to the riverway. Then she related what she had seen, the invaders 
working at the downed tree, of Wandi's going to the man who must have been her 
father. Twilla drank more deeply a second time, and she felt the rise of energy 
within.
"That is the full story," she ended.
"Khargel!" The man next to Oxyle shifted on the bench. "But— that is a tree life 
away! Khargel and his works have been long swept into the shadows!"
"Rightly," snapped Karla. "We have a darkness to remember from those days. But 
their women—"
"And their children!" broke in Fanna's mother. "Where are they? You saw a rock," 
she spoke directly to Twilla—"nothing else?"
The girl shook her head.
"In this their priest lord is right," the third man said, "we now have a common 
enemy. If those from the open lands work their way up river, hunting that metal 
they seek, they will win into the heart and, if the old stories are true, also 
as the Moon Daughter has said, those of the underways are not harmed by iron. 
Therefore they would be allies worth having."
"If they are willing to deal with us," Oxyle said. "Remember the sentence 
Khargel passed on them—though we have long refuted him and all his works—yet 
these have suffered in person from his powers. We will restore their women if we 
can. But what sorcery that Dark One wrought are leaves of another season. We can 
meet with them and with goodwill on our side—if they will accept that we come in 
good faith."
"There are still those among us," Karla returned, "who play with power wantonly. 
Lotis enticed this child into our lands—and have we not had trouble ever since 
with determined efforts of those outsiders to win within? They ride the fringes 
and the wardens must be ever on guard. That the child had been returned—perhaps 
that will aid us in a little. For Lotis had not had time to bind her."
"Yet she has raged ever since," commented the third woman. "The more so after 
her bondman went—"
Twilla straightened. "Lord Ylon—what has chanced with him?" she demanded 
sharply.
"It would seem that Lotis had him not so tight bond as she thought," Karla 
answered first and there was a certain satisfaction in her voice. "He 
disappeared—"
"Through one of the doors," Oxyle cut in. "He said that he had farseen you and 
you were in need."
That reflection in the mirror! So it had drawn Ylon into the under world. But 
she willed her hand to cease shaking as she emptied the goblet.
"Show me the door," she said.
Would the dwellers beyond allow a second intruder—treat him as fairly as they 
had her? She had no way of answering that, but she did know that she could not 
let him wander below if there was any way of helping him.
"I have told you all I know," Twilla continued. "Now—" she looked to Oxyle, 
"show me where he went."
She was aware of some protests but she kept her attention fixed on the Forest 
Lord and at last he nodded.
"If this be your will—so be it."
Once more the summoned mist whirled them to one of the darker corridors, Twilla 
recognized this. It was where Ylon had guided her after their chance 
meeting—bringing her to Lotis.
The mist gave some light, but there was another source of illumination. Before 
one of those closed doors were set out in a triangle three tapers, the flames of 
which burned blue and wavered as if constantly caught by wandering drifts of 
breeze.
Behind these stood Lotis. She did not look at them, perhaps she was entirely 
unaware of their arrival. She held in one hand a short branch which supported a 
single leaf at its tip and with that she was drawing a pattern in the air. 
Faintly blue were those lines which shone for a moment after the branch passed.
What she might be doing Twilla was not certain but that it was not for Ylon's 
good she was sure.
Oxyle took a single stride forward. His band lashed out to interrupt the sway of 
the branch, bearing that earthward.
Lotis snarled, her mask beauty drawn into a grimace which promised ill. She 
whipped up the branch again, this time as if she would lash Oxyle across the 
face with the supple length of it.
Twilla went into action. Since Oxyle had broken part of the pattern of the 
sorcery wrought here she could do her part. She kicked out, sending the candles 
flying, their flames sputtering out.
Lotis swung on her with that threatening branch but Oxyle caught at the woman's 
arm.
"You have broken the oath!" His eyes were blazing. "What foul games have you 
been playing?"
She laughed and that sound was like the screech of some evil bird. "I deal with 
my own, weak of heart. It is time that we have true leaders of the older ways! 
Would such as Eudice—Serana—yes, and Khargel—have let these outlanders live? The 
land can be roused—"
As she spoke she was backing away. Now she raised her branch wand in both hands 
and snapped it, throwing the pieces straight at him. The mist whirled, enclosed 
her, and she was gone.
Oxyle stared down at the upset candles and the broken branch. He now wore his 
own mask and it was one Twilla would not wish turned upon her.
"So—" he spoke, his voice was soft but there was another note in it. A beast 
aroused to its defense might utter a growl which had much the timber. "So—"
It was their quarrel Twilla thought, but something Lotis had been doing here was 
a threat to Ylon. Now she moved to the door.
"Ylon went this way?" she asked.
For a moment Oxyle stared at her as if he did not know who she was, so closely 
caught he was in thoughts of his own. Then he nodded.
Before he could speak or move, Twilla gathered her strength and plunged through 
that door, feeling again the jelly-like resistance which gave easily before her 
push. Once more she was in total darkness and with no guide as to the path 
ahead.
She held up the mirror. This time that thin haze of light did not answer. An 
outstretched hand found the rough surface of a wall and touching that she went 
forward slowly. Perhaps it was Lotis's meddling which had deprived the mirror of 
its light power here. Twilla felt the burden of uncertainty as she slowly paced 
through the dark.
It was always dark for Ylon—it would be until he won his freedom from Lotis. 
There was a fear which went with the loss of sight—she felt twinges of it now. 
But still she went, though ever more slowly, one hand rubbing the surface of the 
minor hoping to summon some faint answer.
She took another step and there was no solid surface, so, overbalanced, Twilla 
plunged forward, striking painfully against rock as she fell, until she landed 
on rubble which added to her bruises. The girl could not move at first. Slowly 
she stretched arms, legs, tested for broken bones. Every movement brought pain 
but she still had control over her body, she was not injured to the point of 
being helpless.
If she had fallen here—what of Ylon?
She called his name, then listened with all her might for any sound of a moan or 
cry in return. Still on her knees, the rubble painful against the press of her 
flesh, Twilla swept out hands, searching for any body which might lie here.
There was nothing. Even if he had been injured he must have dragged his way on. 
She got up and went on, one step at a time, searching and now and then calling 
out. But it would seem that she was alone in the darkness.
She turned to the slope, down which she had come; there were no handholds she 
could trust. If she dug her fingers in, the stuff scaled off and shifted down. 
There was only one path and that she had to follow. But her fall had been a 
sharp warning. She went even slower, sliding a foot ahead with care before she 
planted any weight upon it.
Time had no meaning, there was the dark, there was the path, and she had to take 
it. Her caution saved her another mishap as she came up to a barrier against 
which her foot stubbed with force enough to bring a cry of pain out of her and 
turn her slightly.
Light! Very faint and distant, but still light! Twilla gave a gulp which was 
almost a sob. She turned toward that distant promise and struggled on.
After another age of shuffling she came to the source of that light, a slit in 
the wall—whether it was meant for a door or not she had no idea but she could 
pull herself forward into—through it.
This was another such cavern as the one in which she and Wandi had found the 
ensorcelled under men. There was activity here not too far away. By the grayish 
glow from the lichen-curtained walls she sighted a party of the small men. They 
were gathered around a bundle on the floor. Twilla edged forward.
She could see more clearly now. There was Ylon! But he was enmeshed in a silver 
net like a trapped animal. One of the small men approached the prisoner holding 
out a sword.
Twilla scrambled along the wall, ran toward Ylon and his captors. She must stop 
this!
"No!" she cried out as she ran unsteadily. The mirror was her only weapon and 
she held it in both hands.
At her cry the captors, startled, turned to face her.
"No!" she gasped again. At least that one with the sword had not yet struck any 
blow. Mirror—if the mirror would only answer her!
She lifted the disk. But Ylon moved within the netting. It tore, fell from his 
shoulders, away from his body as he stood up. While, with startled cries of 
their own, the under men retreated. But Twilla had already recognized one of 
them.
Utin! At least he knew who she was, perhaps on demand he would take them to 
Chard.
She spoke his name. He stood where he had been, though his fellows withdrew, the 
astonishment in their expressions as they looked at the now-free captive plain 
to read.
If she only spoke the underspeech! But perhaps he would recognize his name when 
she called him:
"Utin!"
"Twilla—?" Ylon turned his head to stare in her direction, that seeking look on 
his face. "Is it you?"
"Yes," she was beside him now, then moved again to stand between him and the 
under-men.
"Utin—" she said that name firmly and then added another "Chard!"
If he would only understand and the priest leader be summoned. She had fulfilled 
the mission he had given her—or at least in part. She could tell him that the 
Council would be willing to listen to him.
"Chard!" she repeated more loudly.
Utin spoke, a guttural roll of words. One of the others took off, running across 
the cavern. Had he sent for the priest leader, she could only hope so.
Now he edged forward until he could pick up a dangling end of that silver net. 
He pulled it across his forearm testing each portion as it came into his hands. 
It was plain that he was hunting some fault which had made it break under Ylon's 
struggles.
But Twilla's attention was for Ylon now. "They have not harmed you?" She 
surveyed him, looking for any sign of a wound.
He was smiling as if they were wholly out of danger.
"Caught me like a fish," he said lightly. "But it certainly was a flimsy net. 
You—you are safe? The child—?"
"Back with her own. It is—" she got no chance to add to that for the messenger 
was trotting back and, behind him, Chard was certainly in sight.
"They bring their leader," Twilla told Ylon hastily. "He knows me—I am sure he 
will listen to me."
She was still standing before Ylon and would continue to do so as long as the 
members of that company still held swords, and several of them did.
"Wisewoman!" Chard's accent could not distort his words. "You come again—and you 
have this bond one—" He regarded Ylon with a shade of disgust.
"This is my friend—he came seeking me—so I must seek him in rum. He is of my 
blood—"
"But bound to the forest!"
Utin gabbled a sentence of some length and now Chard looked puzzled.
"What power has this one?" he demanded of Twilla indicating Ylon. "There was 
laid upon him the binding to hold. He is not of forest blood yet he stands free! 
What are his powers?"
Twilla shook her head. "I do not know. But do you bind those who are not your 
enemies?"
"Did you not yourself tell us that those of his kind would bring trouble to us? 
They move up the river even now. We have set the guards but they may have powers 
we do not know—as this one seems to have. If we have a captive of their kind we 
can discover what will work the best against them."
"Experiment with me," Ylon commented though he did not seem upset by that.
"Lord Ylon is no enemy of yours," Twilla stated flatly. "He is bound to the 
forest—but perhaps not so much as he once was."
"They have taken his sight, if not his wits, after their own ways. Certainly he 
hated them for that. And in hating the forest he would gladly lead in his kind 
for vengeance."
"Sound-enough reasoning," Ylon commented, "if it were true. I know not who you 
are who wishes to pass judgment on me, but you can do no worse than my own 
people have already done. When I first returned to them with the forest doom 
laid on me they held me in fear and would have none of me. Those of my blood kin 
turned against me. Then did I not return to the forest—though not for the 
purposes they must believe—and that will fan their anger against me the hotter. 
This is a wide land—if a truce could be made—"
"Who is this Wisewoman? She speaks of under- and overground coming once more to 
friendship, now you suggest that these of your own kind might be enticed to 
council."
"Stranger things have happened," Ylon returned.
"We shall see. For now you and the Wisewoman will abide with us until we know 
what should be done."
Chapter Nineteen
ONCE MORE TWILLA was escorted through passages but this time Ylon strode beside 
her, and she had taken his hand in hers. He walked with confidence as if he 
could indeed see the rough rock walls around them, their hangings of the 
luminous lichen. Then they reached the center of the underground with before 
them the hall. This time there was no feeling of abandonment. But rather an 
assembly of workers bent on many jobs, some at forges and the others delivering 
the raw material for their hammers or on other errands.
Twilla walked a careful way with a low murmur now and then for Ylon's guidance. 
And at last they reached those chambers which seemed to be Chard's own. Small 
flying lizards had whirled almost dizzily around them as they went. One almost 
landed on Twilla's shoulder and then sheered off at the last moment.
Ylon ducked his head, he must have caught the warning sound of wing beat. Twilla 
swiftly explained their escort. But the creatures did not follow them any 
farther than the door leading into Chard's first chamber.
"Rest—" The priest waved his hand toward low stools with padded leather seats 
and Twilla steered Ylon to one, dropping down beside him on another she had 
pulled closer.
Chard himself no longer was faced with the piles of inscribed metal plates 
Twilla had seen at their last meeting. But there was a worn look about him as if 
he had indeed been busied for hours at tasks which could not be postponed.
"Wisewoman," he said, "we perhaps did ill in letting you go before—Our eyes and 
ears along the river report that those coming up stream have been laboring hard 
to clear way one of the great trees brought down by the sinking of the earth. 
Already these have completed their mission—that which was the body of the tree 
has been drawn away.
"However, the invaders have not withdrawn. There are those who are still 
searching for our riches in the river gravel, and those who lurk and slink 
about, venturing slowly upstream. They have found the road by which you and the 
child dared the current."
"Wandi—" Twilla replied. "Her father was among those who labored—she went to 
him."
She hesitated and then added: "However, perhaps that was for the better, under 
lord. Those of my kind love their children well. Knowing that one had been taken 
by the forest spells would only rouse them to greater efforts."
Chard regarded her intently. "Had she been indeed under forest spell she would 
remember nothing upon her return. But this one does, of that I am sure."
"So Lotis failed this time!" That coming from Ylon broke in to startle them. 
There was a note of strong emotion in his voice. "Just as she is failing to hold 
my bond." Ylon smiled then, a wry quirk of lips.
"Of this Lotis I know nothing," Chard replied. "As all the forest women she has 
her powers. But—" he had turned that searching gaze on Ylon now, "you may not 
feel bonds, out world man. Perhaps she means to let you run a little for her own 
purposes. Only—" now he held up his hands, setting fingertip to fingertip and 
eyeing them both, "the netting did not hold you."
"You believed it would?" Twilla wanted to know.
"Yes. In the old seasons before we were left in our own bondage such was a 
defense against those wanderers who came over mountain. There were never many 
but they pried, and spied, and some of them had knowledge of the nature of rocks 
and the treasure which such can hold.
"We trapped them—those that the forest did not take in their turn. And silver 
bonds held, for it is our silver work which can stand against cold iron which 
your people can use without hurt, even as our smiths can handle mage-forged 
silver—while the forest ones cannot. Silver is of our power and we turn to it 
when we must.
"You were trapped." He addressed Ylon directly. "Yet you stood free when it 
suited you to do so. This can only mean that a forest bond still with you 
allowed this. Therefore, outman, do not believe yourself free, it may well be 
that your tree mistress holds you only on a longer leash.
"Thus—" Chard continued after a moment as if he wanted that thought to sink well 
in, "you may also be eyes and ears—for those above. Though perhaps I should not 
say eyes—"
Twilla tensed at that strike against a maimed man, even as she had days ago 
striven to offset Lotis's malice at the feasting table.
"And I—" she asked swiftly, "am also now an enemy? You have said that the 
freeing of the child has brought ill—that was my doing."
"You have given blood oath—" the priest replied. "And that oath lies upon your 
own power, you will diminish that if you break your word—not only that—" he was 
the one to smile now—a none too pleasant smile—"surely you are learned in the 
rules of power—if you use that which you can summon against another, and that 
other," he suddenly reached behind him and brought out the boar-headed staff, 
"has a defense—the very force of your ill-used attack will turn on you!"
"I have done what I said I would do—I carried your message to Oxyle of the 
Council—"
"Yes? And what does that one say in return?"
"I do not know. For I learned that Lord Ylon," she put out her hand and laid it 
on Ylon's, "had gone into your dark ways in search of me. So—fearing disaster—I 
came after him."
She remembered the strange ceremony she and Oxyle had interrupted, that Lotis 
had been engaged in, and swiftly she added:
"Lotis of the forest was busied with things of power at the threshold of that 
doorway through which Lord Ylon had gone. We broke her spelling."
Chard had rested the staff on the low table and now he shifted it around, 
leaning forward and peering into the eyes of the boar. He uttered some words in 
that guttural language of the underworld. The red eyes glittered, and, to 
Twilla's amazement appeared to blink slowly, breaking the steady glare of the 
yellow-red gems again and yet again.
Chard's face grew taut. His own eyes appeared to hold some of the same baneful 
glitter as he raised them to stare at Twilla.
"Khargel's spewing—his poison lives still! So the taint there abides! Then, for 
all our need, there can be no truce between above and below! Your words have 
been wasted—"
"No," Twilla was quick to return. "Oxyle broke Lotis's spell. He has no wish to 
follow the old pattern which made trouble here and aloft."
"Then let him prove that by giving us back our women!" Chard thumped the staff 
down on the table.
"If," it was Ylon who interrupted, "there is a struggle for power in the 
forest—then cannot your taking Oxyle's side be advantage to both of you?"
Chard threw up his hands in an impatient gesture. "Words! Of what use are words 
without deeds to back them? Listen, bond man, if this Lotis is bringing ancient 
foulness to life again—then we shall move in turn. And this time—well, perhaps 
that which Khargel held in the past has lost some force through the walling of 
time."
Twilla took the initiative. "Let us return and repeat your words to Oxyle. 
Remember, I am bound to you by oath—which, as you pointed out, will bring me 
only ill if I try to break it. This Lord," she again pressed her hand on Ylon's 
arm, "is eldest son to the leader of the invaders. Though they cast him out when 
his sight was taken. Therefore he can well advise us as to what defenses we may 
need against them. Oxyle is already aware that they are stirring once more. And 
the fact that they have ravished one of the great trees to their purposes, even 
though it is fallen, will give them courage. By your favor let us return above."
Chard frowned. "You ask much, Wisewoman. If this Lord is whom you say then he 
may well be an excellent hostage— Unless," his eyes narrowed a little, "the 
forest has indeed marked him forever. If that is so I do not think he would find 
favor with the invaders now. But—" he paused, "if he is also the prey this Lotis 
seeks we do not want him in our hall. Perhaps Oxyle can find a better use for 
bun— bait for some trap he would set for Lotis."
"Then we can go?" Twilla asked firmly.
"I play a wide game," Chard spoke as if to himself. "But sometimes the chances 
offered by fortune are true. Yes, you shall return. But know you, and tell this 
also to this Oxyle, I do not believe that his kind shall again find us easy 
meat. And let Oxyle also remember who holds the river holds the way to the 
heartland. If we fall—that the trees also will find iron laid to their bark."
At least they were given some hospitality for Chard ordered food and drink for 
them, set aside in another chamber. Twilla made good use of her portion. Meals 
had been so scattered in the past few days that she was never sure when she 
might have opportunity to eat again. Ylon matched her appetite. She was done 
first and she played with her tankard of water, pushing it back and forth, and 
trying to sort out her thoughts. He spoke first:
"What manner of place is this?"
Twilla was startled and then remembered, only too swiftly, that for Ylon all the 
world was a mystery until explained or explored by touch. Swiftly she described 
the great hall which was the center of the underworld.
Ylon listened and at the word of the boar he frowned a little. "These undermen 
were seemingly bound away from life until you broke the bespelling which held 
them. Still that hoofed rover has been seen— Though we laughed at such reports 
thinking them born of forest madness. How then was such a creature unleashed if 
its masters were enspelled?"
His voice had risen and now his hand fell away from the goblet and curled into a 
fist. "We stumble from one mystery to another. There is no end to what may be 
everlasting entanglement!"
"There will be no end," Twilla agreed, "unless there are some cool 
thinkers—among your people, Lord Ylon, among the forest ones, and among 
Chard's."
Ylon leaned a little forward, as if he was straining now to see her face. "You 
speak of 'your people" to me, Healer. Do you then say that we two are no longer 
of the same blood?"
"I say that I have nothing in common with those of the settlements," Twilla 
returned flatly. "I was taken and brought to this land by force. They tried to 
bend me to their will—" she hesitated and then continued. "That they did not, I 
have to offer thanks to you. I have no roots in plains, forest, or here beneath 
ground."
"Therefore," Ylon cut in crisply, "it may well be that in the end you shall be a 
deciding factor. I was raised a man of arms, Healer— perhaps in an opposite 
fashion to your training. My teachers spoke of force, not mediation, for that 
was their creed. And it was mine until—" he paused for a long moment, "until," 
he lifted his hand to his eyes, "I learned how helpless and hopeless one can be 
for all training and hardening. You were taught to heal even as I was trained to 
wastage and hurt. We must listen to another voice now or we shall all be lost.
"My people deemed me no better than a shadow in their rooms when I returned to 
them. Therefore they spoke before me as they would before a halfwit who knew 
little and would remember less. My father has been promised full authority over 
this land—if he can bring it under permanent settlement and, as younger son of a 
younger son, there lies in him a great pride of blood and a need to rule. 
Perhaps if it can be shown to him that there is also a gain from more peaceful 
ways—" His voice died away.
"Would he welcome a truce if the forest offered such?" she asked when he did not 
continue.
Ylon shrugged. "How can I say? For near two seasons I have been a nothing, 
reduced to charity under his roof. Ustar is now his right hand and my brother is 
first a man of force—and perhaps nothing else. Nor does my father take kindly to 
any advice. The Dandus priest—" his mouth quirked as if he tasted something 
evil, "he was sent—and by those who have little wish to see my father rise in 
the king's favor. My father gives outward acceptance to him because it is the 
king's will, but the fellow dabbles in trouble. He is a fanatic as nearly all of 
his kind are—he would, I think, like to see the old ways of the Far Calling 
return."
Twilla shuddered. "No!" she protested. "Such are the acts of darkness and surely 
none would see them return. There would be outcry— the people would truly rise 
then!"
"The Dandus priest has those who listen—how many are moved by true fear when it 
is set upon them? He has powers also."
Twilla's hands were on her mirror. There were so many different powers, and 
certainly she was only groping to learn the extent of that which Hulde had set 
upon her. Of old the Dandus priests were the stuff of nightmares. They enforced 
rule upon much of over mountain until the last of the Gardlian family of kings 
had brought down their head, losing his own life doing so. That they had been 
creeping back during the recent seasons was a threat. But in time all forget the 
ills which once were.
"This Dandus—he feeds them fear and hate of the forest?" she speculated.
"How else? To such a one any unknown power is a threat to himself."
Then—how fortune had favored her that in their meeting he had taken her for a 
healer, had not sensed that she might be more! Twilla wondered if the mirror 
itself had provided her with armor at that moment.
"You think he will stand against any truce?"
"He must, being who and what he is. That we shall remember if or when this 
leader gives us back to the forest."
They were summoned at last by Utin who seemed to be again the chosen guide. But 
once they were out of the great hall they did not turn toward the river with its 
hidden road but went directly back to the cavern wall.
Utin grunted and struggled until he achieved some words they could understand:
"Look—well," he ordered. "This be true way."
Twilla saw a shadow behind a swinging curtain depending from the lichen above. 
The small warrior held that to one side and showed them a narrow portal in the 
wall and Twilla caught Y Ion's hand explaining what must be done and leading him 
through. Utin scrambled after them as they came again into dimness which 
deepened ahead into the general dark she had found here.
Utin pushed past them and gestured for them to follow. For a wonder this passage 
appeared to run straight with no side ways—which she could see as Utin produced 
a glimmering ovid he carried, held a little before him, on the palm of his left 
hand. In his other she noted, with a fading of confidence, he held one of the 
broad bladed swords bared and ready. What dangers did he expect?
They tramped on. This way had one quality which had impressed her in the forest. 
There was a feeling of something just beyond her range of sight or hearing which 
was astir. And that roused a wariness in her.
Utin had slowed his rocking gait. Under his ridged helm his head pointed forward 
and he began to swing back and forth that source of light, as if he looked for 
some traces on walls or flooring.
There was an actual sound which broke through now, a slithering noise as if 
something was being drawn along the rock of the passage floor. Utin stopped 
short, turned his head to look back.
"Bad—" he grunted out the word.
Ylon's nostrils expanded. Now Twilla caught a whiff of the same odor. Part of it 
was of the rottenness of evil decay, but—there was something else—a hint of 
heavy fragrance she associated with Lotis. But here?
Were they about to face one of the illusions which the forest woman used as her 
weapons? There was certainly movement beyond in the thicker darkness where 
Utin's limited hand light barely touched the fringe.
"Ssssss—" A hiss, and from Utin in return a guttural cry.
"What is it?" Ylon's hand jerked in hers, there were lines of strain about those 
eyes which would not serve him.
"Something out of the dark—"
But Twilla had no time to say more. The thing looped forward. If one had 
fashioned a giant worm from the field soil, one with the girth of a large tun, 
then this might be it. One pointed end wavered in the air, though Twilla could 
not see any indication of eyes. But there was a gaping hole of a mouth, fungi 
white against the darkness of the rest of the body. From that issued a thrumming 
note which scaled upward as the thing drew its slimy length forward.
Another illusion? But Twilla also remembered the forest creature above which had 
been real. She drew Ylon's hand up and put it to rest on her shoulder, moving a 
step in front of him, her mirror held steady in both hands.
The worm thing uttered again the whispering sound, and the pointed head struck 
with arrow's speed and skill at Utin. Stolid and thick of body as the underman 
was he eluded that first attack and struck in return, his blade sinking into the 
creature's body. But when he jerked it free again there was no sign of any wound 
mark where it had struck. The worm had withdrawn a little, its pointed forend 
wavering back and forth. Was it more cautious? Twilla thought so.
Then, once more, with near lightning speed, it lunged! This time that point 
struck Utin and the underman uttered an audible grunt. But the gaping mouth had 
not caught him. He staggered back against the wall. The worm reared.
Its attack was not now for the underman, but at Twilla. From the mouth frothed 
yellowish liquid and the foul odor of that flood caught at her throat. But she 
did not drop the mirror. That pointed forend swayed back and forth before her as 
if some wall stood between the thing and its prey and it now sought access 
through that barrier. The stuff it frothed forth spattered wide.
Twilla gave a small cry as the heat of a glowing coal seared her skin. She could 
believe that the creature was now spraying poison. The girl edged back, pushing 
against Ylon.
There was no blaze from the mirror. But some drops of that discharge touched its 
surface. Curls of smoke arose, intertwined. Then they began to glow, not with 
the clear silver she had seen echo from the mirror before but the pink of 
watered blood which deepened to a more fiery red.
Now those loops reached out, wreathed the crawler point—closed. At the same time 
Utin sprang. He struck the creature from the side as it was ennetted by the 
smoke. Now he held his sword in both hands and he brought it down across the 
twisting back of the thing with a force which was well apparent to the eye.
He was tossed aside by the writhing of the coils, crashed against the wall and 
slid down it. Only this time there was evidence of a wound—a gap. From the net 
of smoke, holding the thing in spite of its now wild writhing, there ventured a 
thread which spiraled down, entered into that hole in the thick rolls of flesh.
Ylon's hand dropped from Twilla's shoulder. He moved to one side before she 
could hinder him and was groping until he found Utin, swinging up the limp body 
of the underman.
Twilla could only hold—hoping that the mirror was the weapon which they needed. 
The lines spun from the thing's spittle when the disk faded, but the creature 
snapped the forepart of its body aloft and back and then lay rolling on the rock 
as if it would crawl but could not.
Was it dying? They could not edge past it now for the coils still rounded and 
beat. And if they retreated it might come after them.
"What happens?" Ylon demanded. She could feel his body against her tense. His 
head turned from side to side. He had laid Utin down but stood over him plainly 
ready to bear him away if that could be.
"It is wounded—I think." Swiftly she described what had happened with mirror and 
the threads seeming born of the worm's own poison. What had been told her—that 
evil could be turned back upon itself if the defense was strong enough.
In the limited light provided by the fallen ovid Utin brought, the body was 
still quivering and pulsing. The headpoint raised once again, and from the 
creature burst a cry which was more than the hiss of its attack—a shriek against 
the coming of death. It beat against the ground, drew in upon itself—was still. 
Though Twilla yet eyed it with caution. So it had not been any illusion spun by 
Lotis after all. Yet she was sure she had sniffed that betrayal of fragrance. 
Did the forest woman somehow know the secret of the under ways? But how could 
she have come through the doors so long sealed against passage?
Twilla drew a deep breath. She was sure that if the worm was not dead it was 
past further attack. Though to squeeze by it into the way beyond—that was 
another thing. And there was Utin—with the under man injured they should take 
him back to their people.
It was Utin himself who answered that problem for them. He sat up, lifted his 
large hands to his helm and strove to wrench it off.
Having freed his head from the iron piece which had been so tightly jammed down 
upon it, he rubbed his hands across his forehead and then shook himself all 
over, as might an animal emerging from deep water.
With a grunt he pulled himself all the way up. He did not at once shake off the 
help Ylon stooped to offer him as he stood staring at the body of the worm. Then 
he turned his head and looked to Twilla. With his hand he made a gesture she 
took for a salute.
" Arpse—" he mouthed, repeating the word twice as if to make sure she 
understood. After that he did loose himself from Ylon to waver forward.
With deliberation he kicked at that eyeless head and then stood back watching. 
There was not even a quiver in the hulk of the body now. Then, slightly more 
steady on his feet, he made for the wall against which he had crashed and picked 
up his sword again before he also stooped for the light.
"We go back?" Twilla gestured.
Utin shook his head. Instead he pointed forward with the blade and set out to 
edge around the worm on into the unknown. They could do no more than follow, 
though Twilla took great care to avoid the patches of slime the thing had spat 
and see that Ylon did not come near them.
It was when they got at last past the dead that they realized how great in size 
the thing was. Like the trees of the forest it was out of all nature.
Utin gave it a last contemptuous kick when he reached the end. And they did not 
look back.
The way continued straight and that persistent undercurrent of only half-sensed 
sound Twilla had noted before again took up. Then they faced a flat surface in 
which there was no opening—but there, above the level of where a door might be, 
she saw again such a mask of a boar as she and Wandi had come across on their 
wanderings.
Utin sheathed his sword and took position straightway before that. He raised the 
odd lamp, positioning it carefully so that its strongest beams went straight 
into the mask. Under that light the thing looked as alive as if the boar of the 
inner meadow had furnished a trophy to hang there.
Eyes gleamed in the head, and the light reflected also from the great tusks. 
There came a grating and suddenly there was a doorway outlined there. The 
outlines grew deeper, the barrier to that way was opening slowly and 
ponderously. Utin gave a jump backward as it came to a full swing.
"On—" he waved. "On—" It was plain he was impatient with them. But he was 
standing aside—he did not move to follow his own suggestion.
Twilla still held to the mirror with one hand but now tightened hold on Ylon 
again and drew him forward. On they went out of the grim darkness of the 
underworld into a dusky form of light.
She had no more time than to realize that they must be back in the runways of 
the forest when two tall men drew in upon them, one from either side. They held 
what she had seen in Lotis's hand—boughs with a single leaf at the tip. Those 
were pointed directly at them.
Chapter Twenty
IT WAS PLAIN that these two did not face them with any thought of goodwill.
"Go!" The one to Twilla's right made a sharp gesture. Ylon stood a little free 
of her, facing the speaker. There was straightness to his jawline and Twilla 
sensed that within him the anger born from his helplessness was stirring. 
However, she was wary enough of what those branches might evoke to catch again 
at his hand and draw him along.
Both of their guards fell in behind as the girl explained in a few words to her 
companion that they were under that restraint. She began to fear that since her 
second passage into the underground the climate of the forest had drastically 
changed.
There was no move to transport them via the mists, instead they were urged along 
the network of passages, mainly of the undecorated kind, a maze she feared she 
could never retrace. Then once more the splendor of the treasure halls burst 
into brilliancy around them as they came into the great hall.
There was again an assembly around the table but it differed from the one Twilla 
had last seen. Oxyle, Karla, Fanna's mother, Musseline, and one other of the men 
were gone. In this room Lotis sat firmly in the great chair. There was another 
woman Twilla had never seen before, plus three men, but it was plain that Lotis 
was in command here.
She smiled as Twilla and Ylon were urged up to the foot of the table.
"So the far farers returned," she observed. "To your place, bondman." She 
clicked her fingers in that degrading way she had done before.
Ylon did not move. Lotis's smile was abruptly wiped away. Her large green eyes 
gathered fire in their depths.
"You will do my will!" She uttered that as a master bringing a rebel servant to 
heel.
However, Ylon remained where he was. His sightless eyes were centered in her 
direction but except for that maiming he stood as if he were truly his own man 
again.
Lotis's wide gaze narrowed, it switched from Ylon to Twilla, and then she had a 
hint of a smile.
"So you have been playing your own games—healer," she made of that term a name 
of defamation. "You believe that you can use your skills—yet here he is still 
blind."
"Yes," it was Ylon who answered before Twilla could summon words. "I am blind, 
Lotis. But bond still—no—I think not!"
Now her mouth worked and her hands enfolded into fists struck together on the 
tabletop. "I will deal with you later, bondman. As for you"—once more she gave 
Twilla her attention—"your meddling has cost us dear. That changling I would 
have made sure of to our gain you freed to her kin and they are able to pick her 
thoughts and learn what they must not know. Then"—again her fists struck the 
table— "you have broken the restraints laid long ago that those below not rise 
to trouble us. We had a taste of their ambitions, their deviousness, and then we 
had indeed a leader who could see where their rebellion might lead. He took 
proper action—they were not—until you summoned them again. Unfortunately for us 
in the passing of growth time some of our kind have grown weak of will. We shall 
not let them in any way break the ancient laws.
"These two," she said now to the guards who had brought them here, "you will see 
them into safekeeping. They call you Moon Daughter—dirt woman—" Lotis continued. 
"Be sure that our knowledge is very old, and greater than any power an outlander 
can summon. Yes, you have a power of a sort, and so do others among your kind— 
or they believe they have, and, as long as it suits us, they may think so. But 
with you we shall certainly deal when it is time!"
Twilla could not see any good in challenging the forest woman now. She must 
discover, if she could, what had happened to Oxyle, Karla and the others she had 
held in a measure of trust. Had it proven true then that Lotis had tapped some 
of the knowledge which had brought that Khargel to rule long ago?
"Well, do you remain silent, dirt woman?" Lotis's smile curved the perfect line 
of her lips. "You shall have time to think of what you have done—creeping among 
us as a spy for those outer ones. Yet I believe, from what has drifted to my 
ears, that you are not well rooted there among your kind either and may find 
yourself a sapling brought down in the first of the season's storms. Anyway—we 
have no time for this now—take them!"
Once again they transversed the hallways. It seemed to Twilla as they went that 
the ever-present mists she had always known here before were less in number, 
thinned in substance, as if somehow those had been weakened, sapped. They came 
to a door and one of their guards stepped to it, drawing his branch down its 
surface in a crossing of lines. It opened and he nodded. Twilla, hand in hand 
with Ylon, went through, turned quickly, only to see there was no longer any 
door but rather what appeared to be an unbroken wall of rock.
The room in which they found themselves was smaller than any of the private 
chambers she had seen, and there was none of the magnificent furnishings of her 
former quarters. Also the light began to fade as the door closed upon them. The 
chamber did not fall into complete darkness—she could still see a pallet-like 
bed place in one corner, a trio of stools. But there were no fine carpets or 
cushions here. It might be cleaner and of a good standard compared with the city 
dungeons, but it had the same feeling as those prisons.
"So," Ylon spoke first, "Lotis has her power—she has worked for it long, she 
must relish it."
"I do not understand how Oxyle defeated her by the door if she has become so 
strong." Swiftly Twilla outlined what she had seen of the breaking of that 
bespelling. "How did she gain a victory over him— over Karla—for Karla has 
knowledge." (She remembered well that visit to the moon reflection pool which 
had cleansed and restored her own focus for power.)
"Lotis," Ylon had found one of the stools by knocking against it as he moved and 
now he sat down, supported by elbows set on his knees, his shoulders hunched as 
if some of that strength Twilla had sensed in him, was cracking.
"I was bond to her. You cannot understand what that means, Healer. For a while 
she was all a man could long for in his life. She was— his life when she 
desired. Lotis ruled me as if I were an empty pot into which she poured what she 
willed, and stirred as she pleased.
"Somehow I cannot remember how—I managed to break free—to leave the forest. The 
men I had once commanded found me staggering brain bemused—blind. Slowly my wits 
returned but my sight did not—thus I was of no use to anyone. Then—with you, I 
returned."
He drew a heavy breath which was near a sob. His face continued hidden from her.
"Again returned that binding—I was her—thing! But also something within me 
awakened, fighting for life. I think, Healer, it was partly of your doing. You 
could not give me back my sight, but since we came out of the Keep I have gained 
back a portion of my manhood, so I managed to do what must be done."
Twilla remembered his downing of Ustar, of their battle with the river flood.
"You were a man, you are a man!"
"Perhaps." Now he raised his head, turned it a little toward her. "By fortune's 
favor that which had been awakened in me grew even when Lotis claimed me again. 
And then"—there was a kind of eagerness in his face—"there was the matter of the 
iron and I knew that in one thing I had power greater than any of the forest. 
That brought a further loosening of the bond hold. I do not know whether she 
found me too difficult to control without effort she did not want to expend— or 
perhaps, in her contempt, she was not even aware that I was slipping from her. 
She had already determined on bringing under command someone younger, whom she 
could mold as she pleased.
"Thus she summoned the child. Though she did it against the intentions of her 
own people. In these past few days she has become very sure, very confident. And 
she has long wanted power."
"However," Twilla said softly, "she has no longer control of you."
"Only my eyes!" Those words rang through this small chamber as if he cried out 
against all the injustices he had known. "I am a fighting man who is now no more 
than a child. She has robbed me well."
Twilla settled on the edge of that pallet which had been placed on a ledge 
jutting out of the rock wall. She was trying to find words to answer him when 
Ylon continued:
"A woman fights my battles. You stood before me when that horror of the 
underways would have downed us. Even the dwarf made a better showing—"
"No! It was not me—not truly me, Lord Ylon. I am a healer, no worker with power. 
My mistress gave me an ancient thing and told me only to make it truly mine 
through certain labor. As I did. Even yet I know not how much I can command. 
While to use it to any extent brings a weakness to me. If Lotis wishes to 
challenge me she is the better armed for she has all her people's learning 
behind her.
My mistress was only an explorer of ancient learning, she longed to know, but 
she was not adept. And I am even less than her."
"Yet so far you have survived well," Ylon said. "You cannot claim you are 
maimed."
"Still—" Twilla was beginning. Then she stiffened and her hands went instantly 
to the mirror as they always did when such only half understood warning came 
upon her.
There was a curdling in the air, movement, and then opaque streamers, not the 
shining of the silver mists, only a dimmed shadow of such. On impulse Twilla 
raised the mirror to face that disturbance. If Lotis had sent one of her 
monsters to them, then perhaps this would be again a defense.
The surface of the mirror cleared to bright silver. There was a small spray of 
motes in the air before it. Why she did so, Twilla did not know, but she gave 
the disk a twist, almost as if it were a spindle for the spinning of thread. Now 
spin it did—sending out threads of silver, needle thin but striking toward that 
troubling in the air. There they struck and clung. The glitter born from them 
spread across the muddy surface. In a moment or two what Twilla saw was a true 
whirl of the travel mists. Out of the embrace of that stumbled, nearly to fall, 
Karla. Ylon must have sensed her coming for he was on his feet, and when her 
body touched his, he supported her.
The forest woman was gasping. There was a dusky tinge to her normally ivory pale 
face, and she wavered in Ylon's hold.
Then she found her voice: "Moon Daughter—to you my thanks. That cursed one has 
rewoven that what has been untouched since the first sapling arose from the 
earth! May she be swallowed into the Maw of Grippar! Even Khargel did not so 
twist that which is our lives."
Twilla helped her to sit on the bed. Karla continued to gasp for several 
breaths. Then she straightened a little.
"What news have you brought back from the underworld?" she asked. "Has that one 
managed to foul again any hope of effort?"
"Chard fears that the invaders may follow the riverway within. His people 
prepare certain guards—" Twilla described the nets.
Karla nodded. "As of old—yes, those entrapped very well the out-mountain people 
who strayed into our land many seasons ago. Even after the sundering and Khargel 
wrought his will below we had still a supply of such. But their virtue weakens 
with time and they fall apart. So they weave such again? That is good hearing—we 
have had little enough to make us hope."
"Chard will only act with you," Ylon spoke up, "if you release their women and 
children."
Karla clasped her hands together and stared down at those entwined fingers.
"So we would have agreed—"
"But not now?" Twilla interrupted.
"Lotis has made her move—and so far she has gathered others to her following. We 
did not know—we were ever bound by our law that one does not question the powers 
of another—though that was what brought us trouble before long ago. Lotis has 
somehow discovered knowledge which was sealed and bound after the destruction of 
Khargel. She"—Karla waved one hand now in the air—"you have seen her power—she 
keeps us who have not sworn themselves to her service from the mist travel. 
Oxyle has gone searching in the unused ways for where she has made such 
discoveries. With him stand the strongest of our empowered. It may even be that 
they have been entrapped by some snare long forgotten, for we have not heard 
from them.
"Lotis has spoken against you, Moon Daughter, saying that you are one sent by 
the invaders to weaken us and bring discord. She has stated again the warnings 
that the underworld are our enemies and that you have moved to release their 
fighting men and artificers to lead another attack. And—Moon Daughter," she 
twisted about to face Twilla as if to read an answer in the other's expression 
as well as hear it, "the invaders do have a power—something we did not dream of. 
In some way Lotis has tapped this—perhaps because power is ever drawn to 
power—and she—we believe, those of us of the inner council she has driven into 
hiding, that she makes a common cause in some way with this power. What power is 
it, Moon Daughter, that your race have and Lotis can treat within this fashion?"
"The Dandus priest." Ylon had not reseated himself and now he took a step 
forward, looming over both of the women. "The old stories—the warnings—yes, 
those Dark Ones had their strengths which they kept jealously secret. Such a 
believer might well think that he could gain his will by causing dissension 
here—and if he is truly in touch with Lotis, perhaps he has!"
"So," Karla accepted that. She sat straighter and her expression was one of 
determination. "We draw from the forest, it provides our strength, if Lotis 
meddles with that which is not grown from this soil, then she disputes all which 
is our birthright. Let those tricked and teased into following her realize that 
and they will fall away. For it is she who has truly betrayed.
"How powerful is this outer world magic, Ylon?" Twilla noted that Karla 
addressed him by name and not by the contemptuous "bondman" used toward him 
earlier.
"Who knows," he replied. "Once the Dandus rule was tight upon my land—and 
mistake it not—it is a vicious rule! Those of my blood died horrible deaths to 
break it in the end. Here—should it be able to draw upon a new source—who 
knows?"
"Moon Daughter, you hold power," Karla gestured to the mirror. "What can you 
summon?"
Twilla bit her lip. What could she summon? If she only knew more. Lotis was long 
skilled. She shuddered away from the thought of what the Dandus priest might 
use—those tales were too dark to hold in memory.
"I do not know," she spoke the truth. "You, of all, Karla, must guess that I am 
one who holds a weapon of which I am unsure. But I can only try."
"Can you find Oxyle? We must have him and those with him—if they are entrapped 
as we fear, perhaps they can be freed. Only with the real council in office can 
we reply to the under people, enlist them on our side."
Find Oxyle? Twilla lifted the narrow cord from around her neck and settled the 
disk on her knees. She thought back to that time in the underworld when she had 
been able to raise Ylon's reflection on its surface by sheer willing. And she 
asked:
"Lord Ylon, sometime since—when I was lost in the under ways— was there ever a 
moment that you were strongly aware of me—almost as if I called upon you for 
aid?"
"Yes," he returned simply. "I—I cannot say that I saw for that has been taken 
from me—but, yes, in a way I saw you as you are in my mind."
Karla looked from one to the other of them as if she were avid to learn what she 
might.
"And you were not linked with power," Twilla was really thinking aloud, now 
exploring this idea. "But Oxyle is one empowered. If my thoughts were carried by 
the mirror to you—then—"
"Then," Karla broke in with a fierce note in her voice, "you can so communicate 
with Oxyle! Do so!" That was a command.
Twilla stared down into the mirror.
"Give me now sight of mind—" she sought the words which she believed might 
empower her strongest strivings.
"Link with power of other kind. "
Let us see whence they have sped.
Where strong power is truly led."
Oxyle—this was the shape of his face, the odd slant setting of his eyes, the 
curve of his mouth. He was coming into being on the mirror surface. Hazy—too 
hazy. Twilla fought to make the reflection clear.
Then, as if some obstruction had snapped, it was clear. Not only clear but those 
green eyes were staring at her—seeing—she was sure of it.
"Where—" she began that thought and then quickly stopped for the reflection had 
quivered as if only her entire concentration on that one thing alone was all 
which could hold it so.
The lips in that so clear reflection of the Forest Lord moved.
"Yes! Yes!"
Twilla was partly aware of Karla's weight against her shoulder. "Yes!" Karla's 
third word was near a cry of triumph.
Still, in spite of all her efforts, Twilla could not keep to that peak of hold. 
The reflection quivered, was gone as Twilla weakened, sank in upon herself on 
the bed.
"So there we search!" Karla was on her feet.
"The mirror power worked?" asked Ylon. He looked in Twilla's direction as if he 
could see her shivering body. He was at the bed, then his arms were about her 
holding her fast, as if he would pour into her a portion of his own body's 
strength.
"She has done as you wished," he spoke over her head in Karla's general 
direction. "You have what you want of her—what next, my lady?"
"We go in search," snapped the other. "Unless you choose to await Lotis's 
pleasure here."
"There is no door—now," Twilla spoke wearily. "Do you call your mists for us, 
Karla?"
The woman stood very still. Some of the exultation faded from her face. She half 
raised a hand and then dropped it to hang by her side.
"She has warped the mists. It was all I could do to raise that poor remnant to 
reach you. We have to go on foot. As for the door—that is a matter of illusion 
and already you know the way to deal with such, Moon Daughter, as you have 
before."
Ylon did not move, he still held the girl closely.
"And what do we find beyond your illusion?" he demanded. "Twilla is wearied, she 
cannot risk another pull upon her power."
Karla hesitated there. "There may be guards. Lotis is not one who trusts without 
a second warding."
"So, we find guards," Ylon repeated. He loosed one hand of its hold about Twilla 
and it went to the front of his journey-worn jerkin.
When it came forth again his fingers were curled about the hilt of a dagger.
Karla hissed, drew away.
"Iron!"
"Just so," Ylon returned. "The underpeople use it without fear. This is of their 
forging. I need not even strike true, need I? A touch only—"
"Yes," she was shivering.
"This time I hold a weapon and one which is greater in these halls than any 
power. Is it your will that we go follow fortune beyond?"
Twilla returned the mirror cord to its place about her neck.
"It is better to act than to sit and wait for what one is not sure of," she 
replied. "Yes—Karla, do you know where we go?"
"Oxyle—yes. The words I was able to read from his lips. He is not trapped, but 
he needs us. He has found the place of old knowledge."
"Then," Ylon arose, drawing Twilla up beside him. She was glad of his support 
for the mirror weakness still held her. "Let us go."
Karla walked purposefully forward straight at what Twilla saw as an unbroken 
wall and Ylon followed when she took her own first steps still beside him.
She aimed the two of them directly behind the forest woman, though at the last 
moment she could not help but shut her eyes as it seemed they were going to slam 
directly into the stone. When she blinked again they were out in the hall.
There was a cry and one of those guards Lotis had set upon them came in a rush, 
his branch wand ready.
Ylon had dropped his hold on Twilla and swung around. Now even the fainter light 
in the corridor showed clearly what he held at ready— the dagger.
Chapter Twenty-One
PERHAPS IN HIS amazement the guard had not been able to stop the downward lash 
of his branch. Ylon might be lacking one major sense but he had been without 
sight long enough to refine those which remained to him. The swish of the branch 
through the air was answered by a sharp upward and outward thrust of the dagger.
Wood met steel. There was a flash of light, and the guard went stumbling back. 
With a cry he threw from him what remained of his power weapon, for that was 
alive with a dancing flame seeping from the point of contact with Ylon's weapon.
His scramble of retreat brought him against the wall of the corridor and then he 
rebounded, taking off as if he believed that wisp of fire still reaching for 
him.
Ylon laughed. And there was a new note in that. It seemed to Twilla that he 
stood straighter, his head was held higher. "So," he said, "this hound still has 
teeth!"
Karla moved a step away. "That one will raise the alarm," she said. She was 
looking at Ylon and there was a shadow of uneasiness in her eyes. "Without the 
mists we have far to go and those I dare not summon now."
"Then let us be on our way," Ylon returned. But he did not return the dagger to 
hiding, keeping it in a tight grip—now and then moving his wrist so mat the 
blade performed some slash in the air. Perhaps he was pulling from memory 
warrior knowledge. Karla kept well ahead, glancing back now and then at those 
threatening gestures.
Twilla gave up all hope of trying to keep track of the ways they transversed. 
One passage curled away from the other. Sometimes they came to one of the 
treasure-walled halls and then Karla proceeded with care. It was in the second 
of such crossings into the brighter light that they met others for the first 
time.
Four of the forest people appeared to be advancing with the same caution that 
they themselves were using. And of those four Twilla could name two—there was 
Fanna and his mother.
Before Twilla could retreat, urging Ylon with her, Karla hailed the others.
Musseline looked beyond Karla to Twilla.
"So you reached them, sister?" She moved forward. "But there are searchers in 
the ways—and Lotis has brought in darkness we do not understand. And Oxyle—"
"Oxyle has been successful," Karla told her, "we go to him now. He has found the 
source of that which Lotis bends to her will."
One of the men accompanying Musseline nodded. "Well enough, then we go also. For 
now we do not know who is friend, who is another hand for Lotis."
Their party so increased they made a hurried trip down a section of the lighted 
passage and then into a narrow side track which led them again into the dusk of 
the other ways.
Twilla lagged a little. She had been without rest for so long, and her mirror 
calling had eaten into what was left of her reserves of strength. Then Ylon, as 
if he saw that she was faltering, moved up beside her, his arm closing about 
her, lending her support. She wondered a little that he seemed to be able to 
keep the pace without any wavering. The strain which blindness set upon him, the 
fact that he must depend largely on the aid of others to travel at all, must be 
near as sapping as the mirror was to her. Yet he strode in even paces, a rock 
strong to her aid.
Karla and Musseline were exchanging news and, from the bits she overheard, 
Twilla gathered that indeed the forces of the forest were split. Some held 
neutral, withdrawing to their own places of refuge, refusing to side with Lotis 
or be hunted down because they held to the council that had been.
The interference with the mists had startled, even frightened, some for they had 
so long accepted such powers as natural and understood. It had in a manner 
crippled those who might have taken a stand earlier against Lotis, separating 
them from each other and from sources of their own powers.
Still Karla kept on and the rest followed. Twilla lapsed into a strange 
dreamlike state wherein the walls flowed by her as if she was being borne along 
by the river current. She found herself blinking, fighting to keep her eyes 
open, for a fog was closing in around her.
However, she was shaken out of this when Karla suddenly halted. They had come 
into a very short passage and before them was one of those unseamed walls which 
did not promise any entrance.
Karla raised her hand and gestured, ending by pointing at the wall immediately 
before them. There was no change that Twilla could see. Again Karla went through 
her series of gestures and this time Musseline echoed her.
"It is warded," one of the men said. "Warded by other power."
Twilla felt a sudden tug at her arm and she blinked at Fanna.
"Other power," he repeated, "power you can break, lady?"
She fumbled with the mirror. But as she raised it she saw a dimmed surface. She 
had drawn too much in her search for Oxyle. Bemused she shook her head.
It was Ylon who spoke up. "This is forest power?" he demanded, as he gently put 
Twilla to one side.
"It must be so," Karla replied. "But the sealing does not answer to the proper 
spell, though this is the way Oxyle went and he must have passed this. Perhaps 
Lotis indeed set a trap. Of us all Oxyle has been the only one able to confront 
her."
Ylon held out his left hand to the woman. "Show me where this passage must be."
She shrank from him as did the others when they sighted the bared weapon in his 
right hand. "What would you do?" one of the men demanded harshly.
"Iron is your greatest fear, is that not so? Could any of your spells hold 
against it?"
Karla's surprise was as open as that of the man who had spoken.
"To use that against spelling—" she said slowly.
"We need some answer," Musseline nodded. "Iron is our bane of body, can it not 
also be our bane of power? Show him, sister, where the door lies!"
Staying carefully away from the weapon, Karla came to his left side and with a 
light touch on his arm guided him on until he was within touching distance of 
the wall. Then she caught at his hand, lifting it up and drawing it in a 
straight line across the stone several inches above their heads.
"So!" she said.
"You must guide me," he ordered. "Keep your touch well from the blade—but 
guide!"
Her hold shifted gingerly to his other hand and she again drew that line, 
pushing his fist, fast closed about the dagger hilt, closer to the wall until 
Twilla heard the faint grind of the steel point against stone.
And—as the double-held dagger moved, a dark line appeared there. Down to the 
right stooped Karla, the tip of her tongue showing between her tight lips, 
drawing Ylon with her until the point reached the rock under them. Another line.
Now the forest woman pushed to the left and made a second descending journey for 
Ylon's guidance.
There was truly the outline of a block which could be a door now before them but 
there was no sign of how they were to open it, for there was no visible latch.
Ylon continued to front it, his sightless eyes in a set stare as if he could 
plainly distinguish what should be there. Then he shouldered Karla back. He 
might have been fronting again the guard who had threatened him as he went into 
a part crouch. His weapon moved out in a sweep which crisscrossed with flashing 
speed the space between those lines.
Once again came a burst of light. This time so intense that Twilla cried out and 
covered her eyes, not sure for a moment that she had not shared Ylon's fate and 
her sight had been riven from her.
She heard in turn cries from the others. Blinking hard she stared ahead and 
slowly (too slowly she thought) clear sight returned.
Where there had been only the outline of a door a square of light beamed out to 
encompass all of them. Through that reached a tendril of that silver mist which 
had been swept from the ways. It seemed to beckon them in.
Twilla took grip of Ylon who had not stirred from his place and urged him on, 
the rest crowding behind.
The light ahead pulsed in a heartbeat pattern, and its birth seemed centered in 
a single artifact in the middle of what was a round chamber. A tree stood there, 
trunk, branch, twig, leaf, a miniature in form of the forest giants yet not much 
taller than Ylon.
That trunk, branch, twig, and leaf, though seemingly of silver, were not opaque, 
and through each flowed in rhythmic surges, a green fluid. Whether it was alive 
in some strange way Twilla could not be sure, but she swayed as that pulsing 
light lapped about her. Her skin tingled, her very hair stirred with a throbbing 
beat. Here was power such as she had never faced.
There was a cry from those who had followed them in. Karla, Musseline, Fanna, 
the forest men, all had gone to their knees and were holding out their hands as 
if they might so draw to them that strength which this tree symbol was whirling 
outward with steady pulse.
"Frosnost!" Karla cried out. There was awe, exultation, breaking the mask of her 
general expression.
"Frosnost!" echoed the others, making that cry ring through the chamber.
"What—!" Ylon retreated a step and Twilla spoke hurriedly to explain what stood 
there. His head swung from side to side slowly as if he were denying what she 
had to describe.
One could watch forever that play of the green gleam within its silver prison. 
No! Twilla caught herself up short, and she felt for the mirror. This was high 
power, it could well enchain those who yielded to it. She was not one with those 
on their knees worshipping the tree.
Instead she made herself break eye contact with the thing, survey the chamber in 
which it was planted. Planted—for there was no longer any rock surface under her 
worn boots, and it was plain that the trunk of that wonder arose out of that 
earth.
Nor were the walls, she looked from side to side, of stone here either. There 
was instead a brown-red irregular surface—like—tree wood—a tree which had been 
hollowed to provide a hiding place.
Those walls in turn were covered in neat netting of shelves, all of which were 
filled. There were boxes, almost crudely shaped from still barked wood—a heavy 
limb must have been cut and hollowed to make such. And there were small 
figurines.
Her attention was first caught by a lumpy monster form. That was the creature 
which had menaced her in the wood, the one she had first believed to be an 
illusion. Next to it—the abomination loosed upon Wandi and her when they had 
fled Lotis's chamber—the first monster and also the rotting lichen which 
followed. There was drawn up here an army of nonhuman, horror-born things.
Yet the array of monsters gave way to something else as her gaze traveled along 
their lines, here were creatures of another cast altogether, as fair to the 
sight as the others were foul. She recognized a representation of the asprites 
who had brought her healwell, and ones as entrancing. Nor was she surprised to 
find numbered among these the winged lizards of the underland.
At one point the circular wall was broken by a narrow doorway and near that 
stood a table, a chair fashioned of age-polished, entwined branches pulled up to 
it. While on the table lay piles of ash-gray leaves, each patterned in green 
with a flowing script beyond her translation.
She was not given much time to add to her knowledge for out of that silver of 
door came Oxyle, and he was followed by Vestel, the border guard.
"Frosnost!" again that united cry from those who had come.
Oxyle made a wide circle around the tree as if it were well not to approach that 
too closely.
"How did you open the door?" he demanded of them at large. There was excitement 
plain to read in his pale face.
Ylon's head swung around until he was facing the forest lord he could not see.
"With this," he answered simply and raised his hand. The blade of his weapon 
flashed almost as vividly silver in this light as the tree.
"Cold iron!" Oxyle laughed. "So there was an answer to her seal-spells which we 
had not thought about. This," he made a gesture which indicated all which 
surrounded them, "is Wood heart—where roots Frosnost—which Khargel held and 
sealed. It was lost until Lotis pried and called on strange powers. Even then 
she could not have broken into this stronghold had it not been for outland 
magic," now his gaze was bent on Twilla and there was a challenge in his voice 
as he demanded:
"What strange skills have your blood brought into this land, Moon Daughter? 
Lotis has long sought power—but she could not have gained what she now holds 
unless it was fed from elsewhere. She has been here, she has scavenged and 
thieved, she has thought to seal it against us, capture so we who were able to 
trace her here. And that she did—only because she drew on strength we do not 
know. I ask you again, Moon Daughter, what being of power now strives to blot us 
out?"
"The Dandus priest." It was Ylon who replied before Twilla could summon words. 
"And do not ask us, Lord Oxyle, what power that one can summon. His kind once 
ruled a dark dynasty which brought my people groveling before all their mage 
kind. Their power is founded on blood, on fear, on all which hides from the 
light of day. When my father was sent to this land, the Dandus priest was made a 
part of his company by a will my father could not deny.
"I will swear, by whatever oath you ask of me, that my father does not willingly 
dabble in the slime of such shadows. But how much control that priest exerts I 
do not know. When those of our blood before us cleansed the land of their evil 
most of those who stood for the light died. And it became a thing forbidden 
among us to keep any knowledge of what those of Dandus had, least fools be 
tempted to try to revive what had been stamped out. There were still priests of 
Dandus, but we were assured that those among them who had the great powers were 
safely gone from this world. It would seem that our teachers were wrong. I tell 
you truthfully, Lord Oxyle, I do not know what that one now in the out landers' 
company can summon."
"So, you have brought more than men of greed to threaten us. You, Moon Daughter, 
what does your power?"
"This much I can also swear to—by blood if it need be—I have no touch with the 
dark. The Dandus priest is my enemy; when I was brought here he made it plain. 
Over mountain my mistress was of the circles who once fought the dark. The 
learning I gained from her was that of healer and uniter, not destroyer. And—"
She spoke very slowly now hoping that each word would have meaning to arrest the 
forest lord, to turn his thoughts to what might be done.
"Lord Oxyle, I have been twice with the undermen. They have no love for the 
invaders who threatened them even as they do you. Now they labor on certain 
weapons of their own. Perhaps their powers and yours united can stand fast now. 
Once more they make you an offer— free their women and they will make truce with 
you."
"Free their women. Another secret of Khargel's. We have been searching—" he 
waved his hand toward the table with those piles of leaves. "Lotis rummaged 
here. I think she would have destroyed some things to keep them from us, but 
Frosnost protects its own. Yes," his shoulders sagged a fraction. "We would be 
willing to make a common cause—those of us who have not fallen to Lotis's 
glamorie. But where does one hunt for a secret? And time is now our enemy. There 
was news that they send over mountain strange weapons, fearsome and unknown to 
us. When those arrive they will not linger about the use of them."
Ylon gave a sigh which perhaps only Twilla clearly heard. "I think not," he 
agreed.
"Then," the forest lord straightened again, "we shall do what we may. In this 
chamber lies knowledge which has been kept since the great tree itself was but a 
seedling."
Karla and Musseline moved a little closer. "Point to where we begin this hunt, 
Oxyle. There are five of us, and—"
"Myself and Vestel," Oxyle agreed.
Thus there passed a time which Twilla could not reckon. Oxyle and his companion 
had brought packs of food and drink with them not knowing how long their search 
might continue. Since Twilla and Ylon could not aid in the examination of those 
fluttering leaves the others were fast turning out of the boxes and sorting out 
in piles on the floor.
She and Ylon went into the room beyond where there were some rolled sleeping 
mats and stretched out side by side.
Sleep came quickly and it was not dream-disturbed—at first. Then Twilla was 
aware of passing out of the safe soft dark which had welcomed her into another 
place.
This had the gray of dusk, the gray of death, and ashes. Yet not too far away 
there stood, pillar tall, a flame. It was not of honest scarlet as a fire should 
be, rather a strange yellow, and around it curled oily black smoke. It must have 
been near as tall as one of the forest trees for those at its foot looked very 
small.
In spite of her will Twilla was forced toward that flame. Those who moved about 
the foot of its pillar were human of body as she could clearly see for their 
bodies were bare of any covering. They capered, jiggling from one foot to 
another, on the move around the base of the pillar. But there was another who 
stood so close to that sick flame as to be enwrapped now and then with a 
fluttering wisp of the oily smoke. And his cloak she saw clearly—the Dandus 
priest.
Whether she witnessed something now taking place afar, or whether this was a 
dream born out of her fears she could not tell. The priest raised his arms high. 
That smoke gathered and coiled around him. The dark stream spiraled upward. When 
the girl raised her eyes to look, she saw that it formed a sooty finger pointing 
out and out and out— though toward what it might point she could not see.
"Twilla!" The gray place broke open. There were hands about her, she was being 
held close to warmth—the human warmth of another's body. Only then did she 
realize that she had been so chilled in that country of the dead. "Twilla."
Opening her eyes she saw it was Ylon who held her, his blind eyes wide open and 
centering on her face. Those sightless eyes! More than the warmth of his body 
heated her now rising from a growing core of rage. Lotis—Lotis and evil! There 
must be some end she herself could bring to this. She was, she discovered 
holding the mirror very tightly as one held to shelter in a storm.
"Twilla?" he asked again. "You were crying out—"
"Dreams!" she returned. She told him of pillar flame and those about—the aiming 
of that roiling smoke finger.
"Warning—" he was beginning when Karla hurried through the door.
"Moon Daughter—we have found what we sought. Now we must prove it to those 
underground."
Chapter Twenty-Two
IN THE CHAMBER of the silver tree they found Oxyle holding some of the 
ash-colored leaves in a fan. The others crowded around him.
He looked at Twilla and Ylon, fires of excitement in his eyes.
"We know where Khargel bound the women! Now we can treat with this Chard!"
"A bespelling," Musseline said, "by such as Khargel—can it be broken? Is it not 
true that a spell of the second order—or of the third— as this may well be—can 
only be broken by the one who sets it? And Khargel has been gone for almost as 
many seasons as there are message leaves here."
"Did not Moon Daughter break Khargel's spell to release the undermen?" countered 
Oxyle. "At least we know now where our battlefield lies." He gave the leaves in 
his hand a little wave which set them fluttering.
"The seal to this heart hiding is broken," Vestel pointed out. "And that 
she-snake is free to come and go as she pleases. Can we set a barrier against 
her raiding here again? We do not know how much she had already thieved and what 
greater secrets she can find."
Ylon moved then. He had undoubtedly located Oxyle by his voice for he turned 
slightly in the direction of the forest lord.
"There is a lock with which even Lotis will not tamper." From within his jerkin 
he again produced the dagger. "This has been a key to gaining entrance, now let 
it prove itself a lock." His head swung as if he were seeking by scent or ear, 
and Twilla, guessing his purpose, took a handful of sleeve and drew him to face 
that still open way through which his iron had blasted them a path.
With the girl's aid Ylon crossed to the door, then went to his knees, measuring 
the opening from side to side with outflung hands. When he had at last satisfied 
himself on some point he leaned forward and drove the dagger, the quiver of his 
shoulders betraying the force he must use, into the beaten earth which floored 
this place, just a palm's width within the walls.
There came a murmur from the forest people. Oxyle, having surrendered his fan of 
leaves to Vestel, came up to them as Ylon arose again.
"You are clever, outlander. Yes, such will keep at bay whatever Lotis may wave 
toward our undoing while we remain herein. But what if her power be fueled by 
that of this outlander mage? He fears not iron."
"No," Ylon shook his head. "He would not fear iron. But there will be that which 
he will fear—being who and what he is. These priests fear and hate women. He is 
not easy, I will swear, with any partnership with Lotis. For to him she will 
appear to have every art his kind loathe. Therefore their linkage is already 
well-eaten by suspicion, and he will have no trust in her. If she strives to 
draw upon what he can command he will examine very well what pitfalls might lie 
in any such surrender or union."
"I trust you have the right of it. But it will be better for us if we be quickly 
about what we can do now," Oxyle said. "However, outlander, you have sealed us 
in here as effectively as you have sealed Lotis out and the door to what we seek 
lies elsewhere—"
"Easy enough to mend." Ylon stooped and wriggled the dagger a little, freeing it 
from its earthen sheath. "Your door is so unlatched, go through and leave to me 
the locking once again."
Those of the forest people went, sidling by at a good distance from where Ylon 
stood waiting, the dagger in hand. When they were all in the outer passage, Ylon 
followed.
Feeling once more about the portal he had earlier blasted he knelt again, 
stretched his arms a little within the room, and with both hands drove the 
dagger into the ground so that it stood upright, midcenter and well-lit by the 
pulsing of the silver tree.
Again they threaded passages but Oxyle, in the lead, appeared to have no doubts 
about direction and at last he came to a door in a hall which Twilla recognized. 
So had she and Ylon come from the lair of the great worm.
Choosing one leaf from the packet he had earlier held, the forest lord touched 
its tip carefully into the top of that intricate door pattern and drew it, 
following the lines from left to right. As the leaf passed so did the line it 
had touched begin to fade.
In the end there was a blank slab showing no markings. Oxyle stood facing that 
for a moment in the pallid light, for though there were no mists swirling now, 
there seemed to be the faintest ghosts of such accompanying them.
Oxyle set hand to the door and it gave, not as it had for Ylon and Twilla, 
yielding to their bodies, but rather it swung away and they could look into the 
rough passage ahead.
As they started down that the faint light still held about them. For the first 
time the forest people produced tangible weapons in plain sight. Remembering the 
worm, Twilla hoped that those silver swords might have better effect against the 
hide of any crawler than Utin's blade had.
Stench wafted on a stir of air before them. It grew thicker as they reached the 
site of their battle. There had been drastic inroads upon the bulk of the 
crawler, in some places only a round of bones lay on the rock. What had come 
here to feast, and did such linger? Twilla brushed shoulder with Ylon as she 
steered him as close to the wall as she could, remembering those splashes of 
poison. As she did so, she warned the others.
They made their way by that obstruction and Oxyle kept to a swinging pace. It 
was plain that he wanted to accomplish what he could as soon as possible.
However, when they emerged into the underworld, he did not venture far from the 
exit. While the others crowded up behind him. They were being awaited.
Spread out in a line which might allow them to close in from both sides if those 
from the upper world came farther out were a number of the small warriors. Each 
bore unsheathed blades. Behind them was a scattering of others bending small 
bows, and the arrows set ready to those cords, Twilla was sure, were also headed 
with deadly iron.
From among his followers stepped Chard. Oxyle towered over him and yet there was 
a certainty of purpose, a suggestion of confidence in the smaller figure which 
matched the assurance of the upper forest leader.
Oxyle raised his right hand and wove a complicated pattern in the air. That 
showed in green lines, holding as firm as if he had produced a thread of real 
substance. In turn Chard steadied his boar-headed staff before him. From the 
eyes of that came thin lines of red reaching out, winding about the green, yet 
not touching. So for a long moment the air was aglow and then it winked out. 
Chard swung his staff and Oxyle also made a motion.
The under warriors drew back, those of the forest sheathed their silver weapons. 
Arrows were returned to quivers. Then Chard spoke:
"You weave the peace sign for us, over lord. But there is only one reason for us 
to welcome such as you into our ways—have you come to repair the evil wrought by 
your kind?"
"Khargel is long gone—and we hoped that his evil vanished with him. Yes, we 
shall do what we can to repair the weeping rift he left behind. But know this, 
Under Lord, this is again a time of ill will and worse. Not only do those from 
over mountain threaten, but there are those of forest blood who show the old 
taint." Oxyle's voice was grim, his expression dark, and Twilla could guess what 
effort it must be for him to admit this to one who was an ancient enemy.
"So we have heard," Chard replied. "That you speak the truth is in your favor, 
over lord. Release that which your kind have bound and then we can speak of 
other things—perhaps some which shall serve us both."
From his green jerkin Oxyle pulled one of the leaves. In this light the marking 
on it seemed so faded Twilla could barely distinguish that there had been lines 
at all.
"This we have found—in Khargel's sealed chamber. It points a way, but your ways 
are not ours and we cannot say where it lies." He held out the leaf.
Chard transferred his staff to his left hand to accept it. It appeared to fade 
even more. He uttered an exclamation and lowered the staff. Again the eye beams 
shone and what had been faint greenish lines on the leaf surface flared boldly 
red for an instant or two. Chard examined them eagerly.
Then he raised his head. There was a baffled expression on his face and Twilla 
believed an awakening of suspicion. The lines of the leaf had turned brown and 
the withered tissue of it was flaking away.
"This I do not know. Do you strive to pass off some mage work to win us, over 
lord? Where are our women?"
There was a growl. Once more the small warriors moved up, arrows were in land, 
put to cords.
His eyes were fierce, near as glowing as those of the boar staff. Oxyle held up 
both hands, palm out.
"Under Lord," he replied quietly, "your guards have in their hands what can send 
all of us to a torturous death. We play no games with you. If you do not know 
what that map held," he glanced for a moment to the fragments of the leaf lying 
between them, "then Khargel was the one playing games. Yet where we found it 
insured that for him at least it had meaning."
It was Chard's turn to look down at the fragments. Perhaps Oxyle had managed in 
a little to win through his rising suspicion. Suddenly, as if a new thought had 
struck him, he moved forward the butt of his staff.
Once Twilla had seen smith magic over mountain when a stone the smith declared 
had inward power brought to cling against it filings of iron. Now the shreds of 
ancient leaf moved in the same fashion. But what gathered about the end of the 
shaft was not a reassembled leaf, rather some crooked lines of fragments.
"Gogalar!" that guttural word had burst out of Utin who had crept closer to his 
lord. "Gogalar!" he shouted gutturally, stamping his foot against the rock, and 
his cry was taken up by all the others.
They broke lines, crowded in about Chard, while the forest people, very wary of 
the weapons being now shaken overhead and clashed together, drew back and away.
Chard having stared at that pattern now looked once more to Oxyle. "Mage power, 
Over Lord, but this makes good sense and we shall see how well it leads us. 
Those now suggest a way for which we must have a guide. Come, rest and wait 
until we can summon such."
They came to that hall which Twilla had seen deserted and then busy. However, 
Chard turned them aside before they entered saying that he well knew they wanted 
no near contact with what his smiths wrought. They settled instead in the open 
and the small-winged lizards came in a whirling flock to inspect them. Food was 
born forth from the hall and they ate. Twilla could hear whispering among the 
forest people commenting on a land so strange.
There appeared to be no shadow of night touching this land, still they waited. 
Twilla sat beside Ylon. She had described to him this inner country, and from 
his comments it sometimes seemed as if he did see what she pictured.
"We take but one step at a time," he said suddenly. "My father has summoned a 
weight of iron such as the forest people have never imagined. If indeed he has 
had promise of the land crawlers, then those are encased in iron. They shall be 
able to root into the forest and wrack their will as they wish."
"And will they?" she asked.
Ylon frowned. "Who can tell? These others may have still defenses we have not 
dreamed of. But," the hand resting on his knee curled into a fist, "it is folly! 
Those of the forest have no wish for the open fields. But people need not hack 
into the great trees. There is dead wood to be had—those of the woodlands do not 
touch such. If that could be offered to our people—"
"For what in return?" Twilla asked.
"I do not know. Perhaps so that there might be no reason to break the forest 
bonds."
"Payment to withhold raids upon their own land? Hulde had volumes of the old 
lore and never has such bargain ever been kept."
"Yes." There was a bleakness in that single word of his answer.
Twilla felt a light touch on her hand and saw that one of the flying lizards had 
alighted there, its small head held high as it eyed her.
"There is also the matter of the priest," she reminded him.
Ylon's mouth worked as if he would spit. "Yes. There is that. Perhaps we face 
more than we can hope to deal with."
"We?" she questioned. "Do you now range yourself against those of your blood?"
"I do not know. I bear with me always the hurt which the forest can deal. You, 
too, have seen the horror which our iron can bring to these people. And I cannot 
support the dealings with the Dandus beliefs!" he ended on a sharp note.
They were silent again and in time followed the example of their forest people 
who, except for Vestel, curled down into the long yellow grass and slept. There 
was everlasting activity about the hall yet no one came in their direction.
The spiraling notes of a horn vigorously blown brought them all alert. Chard, 
with an escort of warriors, had come out of the hall to head in their direction. 
Utin trotted beside him and within a few strides halted to again sound the born 
he carried.
There was a billowing in the tall grass as if something stirred its way out of 
nothingness into the open. Then a great tusked head pushed forward and that 
boar, which had been Twilla's escort before, came into full view.
It swung its heavy head in the direction of the party from the upper reaches but 
gave no more than a snort as it passed them. Chard raised his staff in salute 
and the boar grunted, it might have been speaking in the manner of its kind.
Just as Chard could pass easily into the guttural speech of the dwarves so now 
his lips shaped a series of grunts Twilla could not distinguish from those of 
the animal, if she closed her eyes. Once more the creature looked toward the 
forest people who had now all gotten to their feet. Then it swung away, trotting 
at a pace unusually swift for the bulk of its body.
Chard broke into a fast stride behind it. As he passed the others he waved them 
on with his staff, while those of his own escort closed in behind. So they 
pushed their way through the tangled, straw-colored grass of the land, coining 
out of that into a place of rocks, encircled by a river-like stretch of gravel.
Twilla felt the knobbiness of the stone through her badly worn boots and set her 
teeth. She must keep up, for Ylon depended upon her. His hand rested on her 
shoulder as she twisted a way among those rocks.
There was a great warmth to the air and the dirt stirred up by their passing 
stung. Clinging to some of the more rugged rocks along this trail were patches 
of tough hair from which wafted the strong smell of the boar—perhaps there was 
its chosen lair.
They came at last to the edge of a drop. What lay below was hidden by a dank fog 
which arose only level with that lip where they stood. The boar halted with a 
grunt and Chard moved slowly along that edge.
To risk descent into the unknown was a danger Twilla, for one, was not willing 
to take, sure that she would not be able to aid Ylon if he could not find his 
own hand or foothold. However, that was not to be part of their testing. Instead 
Chard, the rest of them trailing behind him, came to a place where there was a 
splitting off of that edge, the promise of a way down. Twirling his staff before 
him, he unhesitatingly took that path.
At least he had one aid. From the eyes of the boar staff there speared out the 
joint beams which cut into the fog enough to show them that what was here was a 
ramp, steep to be sure, but still better than any other way to win into what lay 
below.
The fog was clammy against the skin, and there was that in it which made Twilla 
cough. She slowed her pace a little so that most of the forest people passed 
them, keeping up a flow of description about their footing for Ylon.
Then the ramp became a flight of steps, luckily wide. And they continued. The 
flare of Chard's light beckoning them on.
As suddenly, as if they had been lifted and dropped, they broke through that 
corking of fog, though it clouded what lay around close to the dark of night. 
More rock here, standing lines of it. Twilla remembered that farseeing she had 
tried to do for Chard. Just such a pillar of rock appeared then in the mirror.
Chard halted at the edge of that stretch of ground. He was staring out over the 
lines of standing stones, and he uttered a moaning cry which was echoed by those 
of his guard. There was anger, fierce and open on his face as he looked to 
Oxyle.
"Give us back what you have taken!" He gestured to the dull ranks of stones.
Oxyle stepped up beside the under lord and made a throwing gesture. From his 
open hand there lifted that silvery dust which was the weapon of forest 
enforcement. It hovered over the closest of those rocks, whirled down to 
encircle it, then was gone. But the rock remained.
"Give us back our women!" Chard's slender body was shaking now with rage.
Slowly Oxyle shook his head. "Khargel sealed them, our power cannot break 
through his set will. It is the law which rings us in, none of us may undo 
another's full spell."
"So. Then what—" Chard had half raised his staff in menace toward the upper lord 
when his gaze slid beyond and set on Twilla. He shouldered past Oxyle to come to 
her.
"You freed us from the holding put upon us, free now those who are dearest to 
us!"
"Then iron," she said, "touched—" and no sooner had she spoken those words when 
there was thrust into her hand Utin's own sword.
"Then use it again—now!"
She moved on to nearest of those waiting stones and tapped it with the iron. 
There was a ringing note through the pocket but the stone remained intact.
Helplessly she stepped back. The mirror swung as she moved. Ylon's hand was out 
and she passed the sword to him, raised the mirror and held it out to reflect 
the stone.
Words, she needed words! They jingled in her mind and she spoke then aloud:
"Be as were, truly be—
Let this moonlight be the key.
Return to life by mirror's will.
Let right triumph over ill"
The silver reflection blazed into life, the core of its beam enwrapped the 
stone, held but there was no change.
Twilla held the mirror steady, so tightly that its edges cut into her fingers. 
The light continued to play upon the stone, but it brought no answer. Still the 
mirror was alive, alive as it was when ready to answer her. There was something 
more, something she could not—
Swiftly she turned her head to Ylon.
"The iron! Bring the iron!"
By the guidance of her voice he came forward, touching her shoulder, he used 
that for a guide and, wavering a little, thrust the sword directly into the beam 
of mat reflection. The blade blazed, a fire to equal that of the mirror—so 
brilliant Twilla hardly dared watch it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
YLON STUMBLED, CAUGHT himself, but the sword tip, awakened with the new light, 
touched the rock and now there was a change. The stone burst, shimmered, was 
gone and Twilla knew the one who stood in its place for she had seen her 
likeness.
"Catha!" Chard's cry was triumphant. He tossed the staff in Utin's direction and 
the warrior caught it. Chard was already clasping the woman, his head a little 
forward so that his face was buried in the crown of her hah-.
It would be Twilla's labors for sure, even as it had been with those sealed in 
the fungi—save that this first prisoner released bore none of the signs of 
extreme aging the small warriors had shown. Each of the waiting pillars must be 
touched in turn. Whether the power of the mirror would last she had no 
assurance, she could only hope.
Explaining to Ylon what they must do she went on toward the next of the pillars, 
his hand on her shoulder for guidance Ylon matched step to hers. Again and again 
and again.
Tears gathered in her eyes tormented by those brilliant bursts of light as each 
imprisonment was brought to an end. The mirror appeared to grow heavier, or else 
her strength grew the less—but there seemed to be no end to the waiting pillars.
Those freed from bondage flowed past the two, women and children together, 
moving with cries of relief and joy toward those who waited at the end of this 
forsaken valley. Then—the last pillar shimmered into nothingness. Twilla nearly 
dropped the mirror as a great weight of fatigue enchained her arms. She 
staggered and heard the clang of metal against rock as Ylon dropped the sword 
and held her upright.
"They are all free," she said.
"And how is it with you, Healer? It seems that you ply your trade in more than 
one way."
Healer—it was a time since she had been called that. Healer—yes, what they two 
had done together here was healing.
She managed to slip the mirror cord once more about her neck. And became aware 
of a wind sweeping down upon them, a wind and that ruddy light which was a part 
of this buried world. She looked up. That fog which had sealed this foul valley 
was breaking up, crinkling in upon itself—it might have been composed of dried 
leaves now touched with fire.
Twilla drew a deep breath and then another. She felt that a burden had been 
lifted from her shoulders where Ylon's arm lay, holding her steady against his 
own body.
"I—I can manage now," she told him.
However, he made no move to loose that hold except to grope for the sword he had 
dropped. Rather he turned with her as they headed back across the now bare land 
toward that clamorous crowd where those released encircled Chard and the forest 
kin stood a little aside. By the time they reached the others Chard was awaiting 
them. The slender woman beside him, like him, showed a difference to the smaller 
women clustering around. She reached out hands to Twilla:
"Welcome, sister, life bearer, healer of old ills!" she said in a clear voice.
The other women, shorter, more thick bodied, sturdy of leg, fanned out behind 
her. There were the children also, though fewer than Twilla had thought to find, 
and they clung to their mothers, staring round-eyed at the strangers from the 
upper world.
"Has our promise been fulfilled?" Oxyle advanced a little from his people. Some 
of the women showed the shadow of fear on their broad faces and drew aside, 
sheltering their children behind them.
Chard had taken back his staff, now he struck it butt down against the rock 
three times, so that the low murmurs of the under people ceased.
"It has been fulfilled. But the doing was not yours, upper lord."
"Not so," Twilla spoke quickly. That Oxyle had failed to break the spell was 
none of his fault. "It is through the will of this Lord, and the knowledge of 
his people, that we came here. If forest spell cannot break forest spell—is that 
to be held against him? He brought hither me and Lord Ylon and if our power 
worked better against an evil locking, that is good fortune for all of us."
"This healer speaks what is true," Catha said. "These would not be here," she 
motioned to Oxyle and his people, "if they wished us ill. I know not of what kin 
you are. Healer," she spoke directly to Twilla now. "However, if you say that 
what you have done here rests upon the work of others, then I believe that. 
Greetings to you of above, this moment you have undone what was of the dark—in 
one way or another."
They tracked back across the lands through which the boar had guided them. Of 
that great beast there was no sign, but these he had led had no difficulty in 
finding the return path. Some of the warriors walked hand in hand with a woman. 
Two hoisted children to then-shoulders, those broad faces under their helmets 
abeam.
The forest people kept aloof in their own small group, and Twilla and Ylon 
formed a third. Here they were neither forest nor underground, they might even 
remind those around them there was a new enemy. Though Twilla had seen no ill 
will in glances turned upon them from time to time.
At last they came to the great hall and there streamed forth more of the small 
men. There was joyous calling, women and children were caught in tight, 
rib-squeezing embraces and their babble raised to a small roar.
Keeping well aloof the forest people seated themselves in the tall grass and 
watched the restored families stream back into the hall. To all seeming they 
were forgotten. Shaking from weariness Twilla dropped to the ground and Ylon 
threw himself down beside her.
"Twilla," his voice was low, however, in spite of the clamor of the small people 
she could hear it easily, "what is now to be done?"
She sighed, she was so tired. Somehow at this moment she could not even begin to 
think ahead. "Who knows?" she asked.
She thought perhaps that the forest people might be ready to return to their 
upper land but they made no attempt to move, sitting quietly in a circle now, a 
murmur of speech running around. No words reached Twilla, and at that moment she 
did not greatly care.
At length weariness got the best of her and she slid down to lie full length in 
the beaten grass, her face turned up to the even light over-bead, and she slept.
Ylon woke her at last. A crowd of under people had come forth from the hall 
carrying baskets cunningly fashioned of gold and silver with master smith's 
touch, as well as flagons and tankards. Once more they were fed bounteously.
While they were still satisfying their hunger Chard approached, Catha beside 
him. He went directly to the circle of forest people. Oxyle arose and inclined 
his head as he towered over the under lord.
"It has been done as we asked," Chard for a moment appeared uncertain, hunting 
for the right word, the right tone. "A grievous wrong has been righted. You have 
said that we now have a common enemy. There are those who seek and pry along the 
great river. We have seen their kind before but not in such numbers. For them we 
have an answer—as we shall show you."
He raised his staff and waved it twice in the air. There appeared at once at the 
door of the hall a group of the warriors. However, there was one among them who 
towered well above them in height. He shuffled in an odd, constrained gait and 
as they came closer it could be seen that he was entangled in a net of silver 
which bound his arms to his side, encased his limbs so that there was very 
little play allowing him to move.
He glared over the heads of his guard—his attention first for the forest people, 
and then, as he turned his head a little, his eyes widened at the sight of Ylon 
and Twilla.
His surprise changed to a look of disgust and Twilla saw those hands imprisoned 
among the mesh close into fists.
"It is a prisoner," Twilla explained to Ylon, "one of the over mountain men—a 
soldier, I believe." She went on to explain about the silver netting on his 
feet.
She did not know whether the guards would allow it but she steered Ylon toward 
the captive. The first disgust on that man's face gave way to a wariness. While 
the guard grunted and drew in tighter about their captive.
"What troop?" Ylon's voice rang out with the timber of an officer in full 
command.
The man scowled. At first Twilla thought he would refuse to answer but then he 
said harshly:
"I am second scout to Torlan's squad."
"So. By whose orders came you up river?"
"What's it to you, turncoat, un-man? I am not under your orders."
Twilla saw a faint flush rise under Ylon's sun-browned skin. The contempt of the 
other was plain. Still her companion made no other sign that he resented the 
other's taunts.
"Does Torlan try the river?"
The man spat "I have nothing to say, turncoat."
Oxyle appeared suddenly beside Ylon. "The name of this one's officer has some 
meaning?" he asked.
"Yes. Torlan listens to Dandus' mouthings. He was bred in Sawash where the 
Dandus faith is strongest."
Oxyle favored Hahan with a bleak look. Then Chard came closer. Twilla believed 
that the captive—for all his harsh confrontation of Ylon was uneasy—as well he 
might be. Somehow that thought gave her satisfaction.
As the three stood silent, facing him, Twilla saw his shoulders twitch. He must 
be trying to loose himself from the bonds. But they held.
"You see," Chard spoke to Oxyle, "it is our forging which holds this one. Unless 
we loose it for him there is no escape."
"And how many of such can be forged?" the forest lord asked.
"Not enough to hold an army!" Those words were snapped by the captive. "Lord 
Harmond calls for such you cannot stand against— walking forts as never were in 
this land."
Ylon stirred. "He summons the field crawlers. But to get such over mountain will 
be a great task—"
Hahan sneered. "Not so great, un-man! Already they have passed the upper levels. 
They will indeed crawl and head straight for the forest!"
"They are sheathed in iron," Ylon said slowly, his head turning a fraction in 
the direction of Oxyle.
"This one is also sheathed in iron—after a fashion." Chard indicated the mailed 
shirt, the bowl helm Hahan still wore. He must have been in the act of drawing 
his sword when entangled, for the bared blade's hilt still was gripped by the 
hand now fast bound to his side. "Iron answers to the net—will even draw it for 
a short space." Chard spoke briskly, a craftsman testifying to the worth of his 
wares.
"If you are wise—un-man—" Hahan said, "you will tell these— these small fools 
they have no hope—"
"To every weapon there is a defense," Ylon returned. "Can you now walk free?"
Hahan writhed, making a great effort to break the fragile-seeming net. It held 
as he lost his balance in that battle and landed face down, only to be dragged 
upright again.
Ylon wore his listening face and Twilla knew that he strove to measure action by 
hearing. But she gave the message quickly:
"The web holds him fast."
"Well enough then—as least to take those who come spying."
Chard nodded vigorously. "Yes, this holds firm. Take the skulker away," he 
ordered.
"Lord—!" Hahan was once more struggling against his bonds, looking to Ylon. 
"Will you let these earth-delving scum take a man? You are of the true blood—"
"No," Ylon replied with quiet emphasis. "You have already named me—un-man."
"What will these do to me?" Hahan had lost all his blustering courage.
"I do not know. You have come unbidden to spy on them—therefore your fate is for 
them to decide."
Chard brought the butt of his staff against the ground. "Take him— see that he 
remains safe."
Hahan was dragged away. Twilla dared to break the silence then:
"What will you do with him?"
Chard smiled. "We keep him—perhaps as bait."
"Guard him well," Ylon said. "He serves a leader who is touched with the Dandus 
evil. I do not know how strong that power has grown. Perhaps that one could even 
be a key to unlock your fortress were the dark mage learning be strong enough."
"I think not," Chard seemed satisfied. "But we are warned and be sure we shall 
be ready for any such invasion. We have safeguards— they have been activated. 
You have met with A viral," he held a hand in salute to the boar's head on his 
staff. "Aviral is far more than the beast he appears.
"Now," he addressed Oxyle again, "we come to planning. Nets we can weave and 
under those anything weapon of iron is locked to its handler—until we wish 
otherwise. But what are these crawlers, out-lander?" He looked to Ylon.
"They are moving fortresses of a sort, encased in iron for battle, moved by men 
within who are well-protected. Under such a cover these within can bring their 
walking fort to the walls of any keep."
"Here is no wall, only trees—" Oxyle observed.
"For that they have an answer also. If a keep is so attacked the men under the 
cover strike at the wall, bore into it with special weapons meant for the duty. 
With the forest trees they could well use the same bores—with enough purpose to 
kill the tree. While the crawlers are heavy enough to beat themselves a road, 
their mere weight bringing down all smaller growth. Though this much is true, I 
have never heard of them being used against such trees as grow above us here. 
The growth over mountain is never so massive."
"But—" Oxyle spoke to Chard again, "you can make nets—nets for the taking of 
men. Can you fashion them also to encase these crawlers? Since we cannot tell if 
their assault will bring down the great trees perhaps we shall have time to plan 
some trick of power if they are stopped beyond the fringe."
"How large are these crawlers?"
Ylon turned to Twilla. "Guide me," he said without any show of shame.
He scuffed with one boot at the thick grass underfoot, plainly setting a mark. 
Utin moved quickly and drove his sword into the soil there, leaving it standing 
as a guide. With his hand on Twilla's shoulder Ylon marched forward, counting 
paces aloud. When he halted he turned though he could not see the path he had 
come. Another warrior marked that spot and one ran quickly with a line of thin 
rope drawing it taut between the two weapons.
"This is the best I can tell you," Ylon said. "As for width—it is the width of a 
goods wagon."
The dwarf who had produced the line and knotted it carefully at the far end 
rolled it into a loop about his shoulders.
"Well enough," Chard agreed.
"So we shall use nets," Oxyle said slowly. "But there is still the matter of 
this smirching of the true power. Under Lord, will you return with us to the 
storehouse of Khargel? There is that we must learn. I do not know how far the 
rot has spread with my own kin—how much Lotis has stolen and uses wrongly. Our 
powers differ—it may be that yours can act as a check on what has happened."
"Power I have but there is one greater than me," Chard beckoned and from among 
the gathering of the under worlders came Catha. "Will you go with these, 
Heartsworn? They search for the traces of the dark which Khargel loosed, or else 
something like to it."
Slowly the small woman moved along the line of the forest people. She paused the 
longest before Karla and Musseline where they stood together and at them she 
smiled:
"Sister ones," she touched her hands to her forehead. Swiftly both of the forest 
women echoed that gesture. "Of old we wrought together. It was none of your 
belief who sent us to the stones. May we stand together now."
She did not speak to any of the men, even Oxyle, though she looked up into their 
eyes, one after another, each for a long moment. Then she came to where Twilla 
and Ylon stood a little apart.
To Twilla she now spoke: "They call you Moon Daughter, do they not?"
Twilla wondered how this one had heard that name which Karla had first given 
her.
"Your power is also strange—but it shines moon bright and without a stain. We 
can work well together."
Then Catha fronted Ylon. "You have power also, Lord, and it is greater than you 
think. In time it will give you a great blessing. However, in the end your path 
lies apart."
Now she returned to Chard. He had rammed the butt of the staff into the earth so 
it stood upright and moved a little away from it, his hands outstretched. She 
laid hers within his grasp and he bent his head to kiss each in turn.
"Go you then, Heartholder. What can be done you shall do. And may A viral stand 
at your side."
Thus with Catha now added to their number they left the place of the great hall 
and came back to the passage Twilla had taken twice before. The carcass of the 
worm was now near reduced to scraps of cartilage, and she wondered what kind of 
scavengers had eaten their fill here. They reached that door Utin had opened, 
and this time Catha was in the fore and gestured to that pendant boar's head so 
that the wall cracked and their entrance to the upper levels was open.
Now the forest men moved to the fore and though they made some haste they 
traveled by spurts—one after another of them scouting ahead.
The silver mists were still absent. Twilla took that to be a signal that Lotis's 
power had not diminished. She took comfort in the fact that Ylon, swinging along 
beside her, bore iron once more and held it in open sight. Around her neck Catha 
also wore a talisman—boar's head, and it, too, Twilla thought was of the same 
threatening metal.
At last they came to that doorway which Ylon had sealed at their going. Oxyle 
stopped them with an upflung hand. And Twilla could smell that betraying 
fragrance. Lotis must have been here. But if she had come she had not won past 
the iron barrier, nor had she restored any new one of her own—perhaps the iron 
prevented also.
Ylon knelt and jerked loose the dagger so that they could enter. Catha stopped 
before the tree of light. There was wonder in her eyes.
"Forest Heart," she said. "Once we, too, came to look upon you— before Khargel 
arose. Now I salute that which is the greatest of all!"
She knelt and bowed her head as did those with her. Even Twilla and Ylon did 
likewise.
Chapter Twenty-Four
DID THE FLAME tree answer? Twilla believed that it did, for the fire it 
contained appeared to race the faster and the light it disbursed brought out of 
shadows all of that room with its many chests of records. Catha arose and gazed 
at those shelves and all they bore.
"This is a mighty place of knowledge—" she murmured.
Karla moved to the side of the under woman. "In the elder times it was a 
knowledge our peoples shared," she said. "Let it be so again. You have the 
learning to read the First Tree script?"
Catha nodded. "We are close to the beginning, we whom Khargel sealed away. 
Before his meddling there was a flow of power between our peoples—your seekers 
came to us—ours to you. Perhaps," she smiled, "perhaps I stood here before—when 
we yet had friendship between us."
Oxyle swung on her. "That is the truth?"
"It is. My clan were always guardians of power. When we were yet younglings we 
were brought here and shown many things—"
She moved toward the nearest wall, reached out to touch one of the wooden boxes, 
running her fingers over the rough bark which surfaced it as if it were a script 
she could so read.
"Here lies the musing of Occant. Your ancient kin, Forest Lord." Her smile now 
had a mischievous quirk as if she in some way challenged him.
"Occant!" It was plain that Oxyle was indeed impressed. He gestured toward the 
other shelves. "You be our guide, Lady. We have tried to keep the remembrance of 
things but it has been from sapling to tree long since any of us stood here."
Catha gave him a nod and walked along the shelves, pausing now and then again to 
finger one or other of the storage boxes and each time identifying the one she 
touched. Three such were eagerly taken up by Karla and the others. Even Twilla 
began to feel this was indeed a treasure hunt. They had reached the end of one 
set of shelves and were confronting another when Catha stopped short.
Instead of reaching for a box she snatched her hand back. Oxyle stood beside 
her. For the first time he was the one to reach for a box. Like the lash of 
summer lightning the under woman responded, striking the container from his 
hold.
It struck the floor, splintered. Up from the broken wood fluttered leaves. They 
might have been trying to escape—or attack. For, once in the air, the script 
which was traced upon them smoldered, broke into flame and they fluttered toward 
those nearby.
Nor did that fire consume them, the floating particles continued to bum. While 
the fresh scent within the room was tainted with an overtinge of scorching which 
caught at the throat.
Those about cowered away. Twilla saw a bit of floating drapery on Karla's skirt 
take fire as one of the burning scraps touched it. And she heard a cry of pain 
from one of the men who had brushed a similar bit from the shoulder of his 
jerkin. The still burning, still unconsumed leaves whirled in a faster circle, 
though they did not encroach on the vicinity of the tree, rather circled 
outward. They might have been sentient creatures in search of prey as they 
pushed the company back against the walls.
Ylon! He could not see, dodge, as the others were doing. He had remained by the 
door, sword in hand, to defend that entrance. Now Twilla saw two of the leaves, 
like death pointed arrows—align themselves toward him.
"Ylon, down!" Twilla screamed that even as she threw herself forward. She 
stumbled against Fanna and went to her hands and knees, then threw herself on 
until she struck against Ylon, bringing him down with her.
However, the flame leaves were not to be so easily escaped. They altered course 
to swoop lower. Twilla flung out the mirror as one might hold a shield—though 
she had very little hope of that being of service.
The flames wavered, like birds fighting against a net. It was plain that there 
was one power in battle with a second now. The leaves which were nearest hit the 
mirror full center. Twilla was rocked by the force of that. Something she would 
have believed had no weight now landed like the blow of a battled mace, driving 
the minor down to strike against her.
There came another and another. Somehow Twilla managed to move the mirror away 
from them out onto the rock floor. Now the flames were coming faster and faster 
and the smell was chokingly noisome. Yet as each struck the plate it was 
swallowed as if it were a stone sinking into water.
Twilla felt dizzy, sick. Yet she could not turn her eyes away from that fall of 
flame—flames which struggled wildly now against their fate. There was something 
else, a sense of darkness which was not of the world she knew but beyond its 
borders. A darkness which hungered and now was raging with that hunger.
The last of the flames was gone. She squatted, afraid to touch her talisman. 
That there was true evil in that shower of ignited leaves Twilla had no doubts. 
What had they done to her mirror? She put her hand to the surface only to jerk 
it back.
Once more the reflecting disk had turned dull as of with a veiling of smoke.
Catha spoke first. "A trap, Over Lord, and not one of the older days. But the 
power which set it"—she put her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes—"that 
power was two in one and not of your past or ours."
"Lotis—" Oxyle breathed that name, his expression rock hard. "And what beside?"
He crossed to stand over Twilla. "We have you to thank, that such a trap did not 
close upon us all. There was—a summoning," he appeared to pick his words 
carefully, "which brought that box to me. And, Lady," he looked now to Catha, 
"what carried the alarm to you?"
"A summoning also—I was drawn and I knew that that drawing was not true."
Slowly Twilla advanced her hand once more and caught at the cord of the mirror 
drawing it toward her across the floor. The sick feeling of revulsion was still 
alive in her. Can good swallow evil entirely?
The disk lay in front of her knees now as she hunched still on the floor and she 
stared at its stained surface. There was no reflection of what was about them, 
the wondrous light of the tree brought no answer.
However, she leaned forward, her hands on either side of the mirror but not 
touching it. There was a swirling movement beginning at its center, ripples 
running out toward the rim. No true reflection was patterned so—this was inner 
nor outer. She made no effort to use her own will to attempt to clear it, though 
she shivered.
Now that center had become a core of light. Surely a light as belied the one 
time clean silver of its fashioning. Yellow-green-like the discharge of some 
foul disease feeding upon tormented flesh.
She was dimly aware that her vigil was being shared now. The others had drawn 
in, as intently watching as she.
A darker core in that poisonous yellow dab. Now the blot was taking on shape. A 
black hood encircling a head, the face within only a sliver of chin, the point 
of a beaked nose. But she knew it!
"The Dandus priest!" Twilla cried her recognition aloud.
Logic denied what she saw. She could be as certain as that she was alive, that 
that harbinger of evil had never been within this storehouse of knowledge. There 
were—memory stirred—Hulde had told tales in what now seemed the far past—power 
called upon power—like was drawn to like.
"Lotis!" Again Oxyle repeated that name. "How has she made common cause with 
this invader? Why?"
"Why?" Karla answered, "because the ancient, forbidden greediness is in her. We 
do not know what she has looted from here. As to how"—now she echoed Twilla's 
thought of a moment earlier—"like calls to like. Did we not sense, even when she 
was traveling over mountain, that Moon Daughter was coming into our land 
bringing strengths we could not access? Did we not send an anesgar to keep eye 
upon her? That she had rare gifts we guessed, though she was no threat to us. 
Was it not so decided until that pit-born daughter of foulness managed to change 
the minds of some?"
Then she turned upon Ylon who still knelt beside Twilla, his head turning from 
one speaker to another as if he must not miss a word which might make plainer 
his ever-darkened world.
"How powerful is this devil priest of yours?"
"No priest of mine," he denied hotly. "As for his powers I cannot begin to 
reckon them. The tales out of the past speak of dire action, blasting death. 
Fire is one of the great weapons—it is fire which struck here."
Twilla continued to stare at the mirror. That hooded head had shown clearly for 
no more than two breaths. It was gone, with that thickening of shadow covering 
true reflection.
A hand touched her cheek gently and she started in surprise, looking up to see 
Catha looking down at her.
"Wise One, draw this focus of yours closer to the Frosnost—for that is strong in 
life and stands against the dark."
Slowly Twilla arose, the minor dangling from her hand by its cord. She had no 
wish yet to touch it directly. Hesitatingly she approached the tree, those about 
her clearing a path to it.
At last she raised the talisman with both hands and held its reflecting surface 
toward that ever flowing light which coursed through silver leaf and branch 
before her. Did this hold the same renewing she had found in the moon reflecting 
pool? She could only hope.
Now she did summon her will, staring at the flowing tree, then at the mirror, 
striving very hard to summon the one to unite with the other. The stain—surely 
it was growing less! She caught a glint of green silver and then another! Until, 
with a fast beating heart, she saw clear pictured the tree.
"Well done!" Karla stood on her other side as Catha already flanked her on the 
left.
The others were moving cautiously about the shelves of boxes, touching none, yet 
holding their hands close to each as they passed. Feeling for what Oxyle had 
called a summoning, Twilla guessed. But there was no need for her to join in 
that. The silver bright mirror once more lying on her breast, she edged back to 
Ylon watching mat search.
In the end Oxyle, with Catha's help, sorted out four boxes. They had discovered 
no more set up as traps but they moved very warily. When they had these four he 
spoke:
"We need time to study. That which Khargel added lying here we must not touch, 
for it is already tainted. Of that there are four coffers missing. Lotis must 
have those. We must get to the outerways—and since she has broken the mists we 
must go on foot. Vestel," he spoke to the border guard, "and Fanna head now for 
the forest. We must know what is in progress there. Marse and Rogar," two of the 
other men stepped forward, "will scout how much of the castle ways are held by 
Lotis' followers. Do not challenge mem, yet." He tapped one of the four boxes, 
"we need to stand in full strength before we do."
"Lady," he spoke now to Catha, "do you fare with us or return to your kin?"
"For a time with you, Lord Oxyle. We must learn what dangers lie ahead, and I 
think that is best done from the upper land than the lower."
He nodded. "So, the rest of us will go to the place of close conference. Guards 
sent there should have held. And once there," he smiled at Ylon, "we have a 
guard which none of our blood will come against. Let us then move."
Thus their party split. Twilla walked with Ylon but he seemed to have withdrawn 
into his thoughts and she did not disturb him. They once more threaded the many 
passages, dim and bright, and though Twilla expected at any moment to come face 
to face with someone of Lotis's company scouting they all seemed deserted.
Oxyle had slowed pace when they advanced into the better lighted ways. He would 
halt for a moment or two from time to time with all the appearance of listening. 
There was no sign of the silver mists having returned, and there was a kind of 
echoing silence which Twilla found daunting. This was akin to the great hall of 
the under people when they had returned from their enforced imprisonment, as if 
no one any longer lived there.
It was apparent that the forest people were also finding something amiss in 
these surroundings. The two women drew together and Twilla saw that their lips 
were moving, though not even a murmur reached her. Now and then they gestured in 
the air, frowning as if what they did was not going according to what should be.
They were back in the treasure-lined corridors now and the gleam of metal and 
gems seemed cold, repelling.
Then Oxyle stopped so suddenly that Karla near ran into him. He stooped and 
picked something from the floor, looked down on it, his face grim set. Slowly he 
turned and held out his hand to Twilla.
Across his palm lay one of the asprites, a male, very still, its small head 
hanging across Oxyle's thumb at a fatal angle, its rainbow wings crumpled. Some 
great hand might have gathered it up in fury and squeezed the life out of it.
Twilla touched the small body lightly and shook her head. Even the mirror's 
power she was certain would fail here.
"An Asprite—who would dare?" Karla broke silence first.
Oxyle's rage was plain to be read. Still cradling the small dead flyer, he 
quickened step and the others fell in, now keeping together and often looking 
warily from side to side as they went.
Their journey did not end in the council chamber as Twilla expected but rather 
in a side room which bore resemblance to that forgotten chamber where Khargel's 
knowledge had been stored. Here again were boxes, though of polished, 
squared-off wood, and they lined shelves. While at the center there was a long 
table, stools by it.
"Will you guard this door—?" Oxyle did not address Ylon by name but he touched 
the other's arm.
"What I can do, I shall," the other returned.
Oxyle laid that small body on the table, straightening the limbs gently, 
smoothing the crumpled wings. He threw back his head then and uttered a sound 
which might have been a bird's trill. Those who followed him gathered closely 
together, hand clasping hand in linkage. Only Catha, Twilla, and Ylon stood 
apart.
Three times that achingly sweet cry arose. It was hard to believe that the 
forest lord could voice such. Then he reached within his jerkin and brought 
forth a small bag.
Twilla heard a gasping sound from Karla who was nearest. Out of the bag he shook 
two rings, thick and broad, made to extend well up to the first knuckle of the 
fingers he put them on. Having so settled them he cupped his hands one at either 
side of the small body and once more gave the keening cry.
He was holding, or else there existed now within the circle of his flesh, a ball 
of glimmering silver covering the small body as it expanded. Then the ball 
turned faster and faster. It arose from the table, where there no longer rested 
the dead, into the air.
So free borne it soared away, out of the door.
Oxyle stripped off the rings, returned them to hiding before he spoke. "It is 
plain that there is a great rising of the dark. Our far kin slain—" He 
hesitated. "For such a death there must be payment when it can be taken. Now we 
have these—" he pointed to the boxes which they had brought from the other 
storehouse which rested on the table top.
"Do we do this fasting, Oxyle?" Karla demanded. "We have many gifts and talents 
but to go for too long without food and drink is not one of them."
"Well enough," he agreed. "But neither can we scatter to seek those not here at 
this time."
Catha moved up to the table, carefully avoiding that portion where the body of 
the asprite had lain. "Have all powers been rift from you? Can you not summon 
what you need?"
Karla nodded. "Perhaps it is a time for testing. We can only know when we try." 
She slipped around the table to the other side and then leaning forward caught 
the hands Musseline stretched out to her. When they had locked so together both 
women looked down upon the table-top.
Twilla felt a faint warmth from the mirror. Power was being unleashed and her 
focus was answering in its own way.
There was a sudden curdling of the air—not of the moon-bright mists she had seen 
before. These were tarnished and dull but still they arrived in answer.
A flagon reared as a shadow and became substance. There was also a platter of 
fruit. But these were not what she had seen at the feasting. They were small, 
too ripe, the cakes were pale as if taken too soon from the oven. When Karla and 
Musseline straightened up and dropped hands the food they had summoned was 
meager and flawed. But they ate and, though Twilla missed the fine flavor of 
that fare which had formed her first meal in the forest, she dutifully chewed 
and swallowed.
They each drank in turn from the flagon which was an awkward business but there 
were no goblets. The liquid she swallowed was more tart than sweet this time, 
yet Twilla felt restored and satisfied. She had seen that Ylon was served with 
his share. He had not left his place by the door and he held the fateful iron in 
full sight.
"Lotis would give us prisoner fare," remarked one of the men. "But at least her 
spells do not make us go empty."
Now they turned to the boxes they had brought with them. Karla and Musseline 
soon emptied the first and spread out the leaves it contained flat on the 
surface of the table. Once more Twilla could see that these were covered with 
what looked to be a raised and intricate green veining but which must be a 
script.
She could have no part in this. Though learned in two of the languages of 
ancient writing, she had nothing that Hulde had prepared her with to untangle 
this. She pulled a stool to the door and then went back for another.
"You can guard as well seated," she told Ylon. "Even Lotis will be wary of what 
you bear."
He hesitated for a moment and then sat down, but he had moved the stool sidewise 
so that he faced half room, half corridor. She pulled up her chosen seat beside 
him.
"What did Oxyle—the farewelling?" he asked in a low voice and Twilla described 
the ceremony of the rings. "But the asprite," she said with a flare of anger, 
"was killed—as if someone had squeezed the life from it. Would any, even a 
follower of Lotis, do that?"
"The rot has found a door and where it touches—there grows the foulness of its 
being." Ylon shifted his weight a little on the stool. "I do not know what now 
moves my father. A season ago I would have said that he tolerated the Dandus 
only because that was forced upon him. Now—perhaps he has joined—" Twilla saw 
his free hand clench. "But—to believe that—"
She understood. In spite of all which lay behind his maiming and the 
contemptuous attitude of his kin, there was a common heritage he found it hard 
to deny. He must have many memories which would call out against his severing 
all those ties. Hulde had not been blood kin but in her heart Hulde would always 
abide. Was that true for Ylon also?
Chapter Twenty-Five
YLON SAID NO more and Twilla felt shy about any intrusion now into his thoughts. 
She studied his face as he sat there, one hand locked about the weapon he had 
brought from the underworld. He was, she thought suddenly, like to a bowstring, 
taut and ready to send an arrow to the target. And what target was he seeing in 
his mind?
Lotis—it must be Lotis who could be the only one to remove the spell which 
maimed him. Lotis—
Her thought was echoed by a sudden cry of that name aloud. Oxyle had risen from 
the stool he had chosen. He brought his hand palm down on the untidy pile of 
reading leaves before him.
"So that is how—" He did not finish his sentence. His eyes held a hard gleam 
which reminded Twilla of those in Chard's boar-headed staff.
Those other searchers who had shared his quest among the records looked to him 
questioningly. If he had found some answer they had not. He turned to Karla:
"The moon sighting—she would not have dared—she has gone too far into the shadow 
for that to come to her service. It is the Dank Fire which she has drawn upon, 
the monster blood!"
The faces of his listeners betrayed shock, Musseline half rose from her stool, 
leaning across the table.
"But none travel that way!" she protested.
Oxyle's mouth moved to shape a grimace far from a smile. "None? Did not 
Khargel?"
Now there was a soft cry from Catha, her hands up before her mouth—she might 
have been trying to so muffle some other denial.
"The Dank Fire—" Oxyle stated firmly once more, perhaps to impress it more 
strongly upon them.
"And to cut that tie," Karla said slowly, "needs blood, even as the setting of 
it must have such. We do not slay for power—if we do we become one with Lotis. 
Is that what you urge upon us now?"
Oxyle strode from the table, walking back and forth across the chamber, his head 
down, what Twilla could see of his face set in new harsh lines.
"We dare not feed it thus. But—where did she get the true wood for the first 
firing? If she has turned any of the trees we would have known—"
"There are the fallen ones," suggested one of the men.
Oxyle shook his head violently. "Dank Fire cannot rise from long-dead wood, it 
must be kindled from that which is still bleeding sap." His pacing had brought 
him very close to where Ylon had taken his position at the door. Now the forest 
lord stopped short, his attention for the blind man and his weapon.
"Iron, cold iron," he repeated softly, "cold to smother the Dank. There is no 
record of such ever being done—but iron is the enemy of our power, we cannot 
control it, we dare not touch it. The Dank Fire is unfortunately of the dark 
side of our learning. If we can find where that fire smolders perhaps your iron, 
outlander, will be the ending."
"Where lies this fire?" Ylon asked simply, getting to his feet.
"Ah—Karla!" Oxyle did not turn to the woman but there was the urgency of an 
order in the way he spoke her name.
She fingered the leaves that had been spread before him, piling them together 
and putting them to one side. Having so bared a space before her she placed both 
hands, slightly cupped, on the space. Musseline had caught up the flagon and 
shook it. They could hear a faint slosh from within, some drops must remain. And 
those, in a thin trickle, she poured into Karla's waiting hands.
For a long moment the older woman sat silent, peering down into the tiny puddles 
within her palms and then she spoke:
"Not within this heartland. Which is true, for such meddling would bring down 
all our lives. In the forest—and there is something—a promise of something—to 
come in support!"
"You know the site?" Oxyle demanded. "It is warded?"
"I know—it is. But the bespelling is of the forest—" she jerked her head in 
Ylon's direction. "He bears iron—no ward may hold against that!"
"Then let us go!" But again there were no mists of transportation to come to 
their aid. They must travel afoot as they had through all the maze of passages.
Only Catha did not start toward the doorway. "Time has come to threaten us." She 
held the boar's-head pendant close to her lips. "We of the under have our part 
in your struggle but that will come later. I must return to my own now that the 
hour draws near."
Oxyle bowed his head. "As you will, Lady. Remember this—the Dank Fire bums and 
so it builds. You are right, time may now be our final foe."
Leaving Catha to go her own way they came out of the castle on foot and down 
into the valley where was rooted the gemmed orchard. There were no asprites in 
the air, and over all the land there lay a kind of shadow, dimming the 
brilliance Twilla remembered.
Following a way she did not wholly remember they passed again through the giant 
tree and into a forest more of the nature she knew, she walking with Ylon as his 
guide. Once out in this world of the great trees she saw mists again. But these 
were forbidding, having the look of webbing. They swayed near, still never quite 
touching any of the party.
Karla was the foremost of them now and she wove a path in and out among the 
giant tree trunks, staring forward as one entranced, so that Oxyle pushed up to 
clear her way from dead branches, and small growth.
It was there that Fanna joined them, recklessly beating a way as if speed were 
the most important.
"The outlanders—they reach for power," he panted out. "They have cut to pieces 
one of the great trees, and they turn it to their purpose. Vestel says to tell 
that they play with wild fire—Dank Fire!"
Oxyle caught at Karla, gave her a small shake as if to rouse her out of that 
seeming trance. "How far?" he demanded.
She stared at him, through him, and he released her so that once more she forged 
ahead. Then rocks rose out of the ground before them. There was certainly the 
smell of burning, a smell which held none of the odor of leaves or wood, but 
something which turned the stomach.
Movement in the air caught Twilla's eye and she looked up. There was a sinuous 
black roll which looked more like a tentacle than any drift of smoke. It wove 
back and forth. Karla came to an abrupt stop, as if she had run against one of 
those rocks, though there was no obstruction before her. Though he strained 
forward Oxyle was not more free to advance than she.
He looked now toward Twilla and Ylon. "If these wards can be broken—then use the 
iron, out lander!"
Twilla steered Ylon on. She certainly met with no barrier nor did he. They 
scraped a way between two upstanding rocks far taller than their heads and 
looked down into a cup of valley. In the center there was a heap of branches 
sullenly smoldering, hardly seeming enough to account for the thick uprise of 
smoke. But—
Twilla cried out. There crouched also one of those monsters Lotis had set to 
pursue Wandi and her. And the thing—what it held!
A thin trilling, worse to hear than any scream of torment arose. The monster was 
swinging back and forth a stick grasped in one clawed paw. And fastened to that 
by a cord, crumpled of wing but still alive to suffer, was another asprite.
Swiftly Twilla reported what lay before. Ylon skidded down the side of the bowl, 
his blade out. The thing amusing itself while playing guardian to the fire threw 
the stick from it, reared. An illusion? Twilla could not tell. She fumbled for 
the mirror.
However, Ylon moved first. In spite of his blindness he brought down the blade 
he held in a swing which struck against what was indeed a solid body. So the 
thing was alive!
One clawed paw raked at him, but at the touch of iron it staggered back, 
clutching at the wound which kept on widening as if some keen edge continued to 
hack away and enlarge the wound. Throwing back its massive head it cried out a 
great scream of rage and fear. Ylon advanced a stride, caught his foot in the 
straggle of broken branches, went to one knee, but then threw himself toward the 
beast, blade straight out so that it pierced the lower belly of the creature who 
reared back and fell, its screaming growing ever more. Until Ylon, regaining his 
feet and guided by those outcries, plunged his weapon deep into the middle of 
the writhing creature.
Twilla attempting to keep away from the battle found her own action waiting. 
There was a rough cage and in it asprites crouched. Their thin trilling shrilled 
higher as she caught up the cumbersome cage and struck at the latching across 
the opening. Then she set the crude prison carefully down, the door to freedom 
open, while she edged around to where Ylon stood above his kill.
There was still the fire and tentacle of smoke twisting lower as if to net them 
in some noose. Twilla caught Ylon by the arm and faced him a little around. She 
had no idea how to deal with the fire she told him was there. It would seem that 
he could only use one form of action. To serve the fire as he had its guardian. 
He sent his weapon into the crackle of flames, twisting the length of steel 
around so that the piled branches scattered. Smoke rolled down upon them as a 
lash. They were choking as it twisted its great leaden coils about them.
Again and again Ylon, in spite of choking and gasping in the stifling smoke, 
stirred the fire. Instead of awakening the glowing wood to more fierce burning, 
his efforts acted as a masterful splash of water.
The smoke thinned, fell away from the hold about the two of them. Then it was 
gone and they stood by charred wood fast falling into gray ash.
Twilla felt a light touch on her cheek. One of the asprites hovered there. She 
remembered the one who had been bound in torment and found it easily enough for 
the others of its kind had gathered around and already had it freed from its 
bonds.
Gently Twilla raised the tiny being. There was the red burn of fire touch on the 
once perfect body. The hair of its head had been singed away, and she did not 
know if the crumpled wings could ever be straightened again.
Her healer's training made her long for her bag of herbs. Though whether those 
intended for human kind would serve for this little one she could not guess. 
Someone came up beside her. Karla.
"It is burned, and the wings—" Twilla said.
From a pouch at her belt the forest woman brought out a pad of what looked like 
green, fresh-picked leaves.
"Your mirror," she gestured. "Lay these atop."
Twilla instantly responded to that and now Karla was smoothing out two of those 
leaves, lying them flat on the surface of the mirror. At her direction Twilla 
deposited that small body as gently as she could on the stretch of green. Karla 
proceeded to lay two more leaves over the form and then she looked sharply to 
Twilla.
"Use healer skill now, Moon Daughter. Wish for return of health and strength, 
wish it with all your might!"
Twilla was carried away by the almost fierce note in the other's voice and 
concentrating her gaze all she could, she summoned her energy upon that bundle 
of leaves. She strove to see the asprite restored, free, the thing of beauty as 
it was meant to be.
Only dimly was she aware of others moving about her, that the forest people were 
circling the dead fire and chanting in such a way made her tingle in the wash of 
power.
She was still concentrating on what she held when she was steered by Karla back 
up the slope and into the woods. The stench of burning was gone, and now there 
whirled about them a breeze. The towering trees might have caught a light wind 
and somehow funneled it down to cleanse the air.
However, it was not the breeze which stirred the top leaf on the mirror she 
struggled to hold level. A small hand appeared, pushing that covering aside. 
Then the second top leaf followed, and she was looking down at the asprite.
The pale skin was no longer angry red from the lipping of the fire. And the 
wings were outstretched under the body uncrumpled. Though the fine hair was but 
a stubble on the tiny head.
There was a flash from the left and another of the small ones zoomed in from the 
side, grasping the edge of the mirror as anchorage. Twilla's charge sat up, held 
out her arms to the newcomer and was caught up in a close embrace. Together they 
turned their heads up to look at the girl. Then the male helped his companion to 
her feet, and she tested her wings with a flutter or two before rising directly 
before Twilla's face.
Those tiny hands were feather-tip light on her cheeks, as meaningful in this 
touch as an embrace such as she had just witnessed. Both of the asprites took to 
the air and now she saw they were flying with those liberated from the cage 
directly over the woods party.
Twilla tucked the discarded leaves in her tunic. She wanted time to study them 
if they were ever allowed time again for anything about meeting force with 
force, power with power.
Oxyle had not pushed on, instead he stood with his head high, staring to the 
right. The asprites gathered in a cloud about his head, circled twice, and sped 
on into the green gloom before the forest lord followed.
Twilla dropped back again to Ylon's side, once more to guide him as best she 
could. She noted that the faces of those around her showed a strain. If the 
failure of the Dank Fire had not given them any relief— she was tense 
within—what did lie ahead?
From among the trees came others of the forest people, a handful of men. These 
were armed with weapons which had the gleam of silver. Some were archers, and 
others held complicated meshs of the same silver netting as the under people 
looked upon for proper weapons—perhaps Chard's men had already began to supply 
them.
That murmuring of which she had always been aware in the forest was stilled. The 
great trees themselves might be listening, seeking—
The lines of those were beginning to thin. There were huddled shrubs here and 
there such as formed the out barriers of the fringe. And now there was something 
to be heard.
Voices—a mob might have been storming across the open toward the trees. Then, 
above that deep-throated growl, something else arose—chanting. Twilla shivered, 
clasped her mirror tighter.
This was no petition to any power she had been taught to serve. Though she did 
not understand those screeched words she felt them like blows, near heavy enough 
to make her sway as she went.
"Dandus rite!" Those words had been hissed by Ylon.
Odor followed sound. There was again something burning—wood— and with it other 
things—mind twisting herbs such as no sane healer ever harvested.
They came to a stop from which they could look out at what defaced the open land 
beyond. There was a fire here also! Surely only one of the forest giants could 
have provided such heavy billets of wood. From the peak of that pile arose a 
smoke as black and perilous as that of the fire Ylon had been able to quench.
The smoke was reaching—though Twilla felt no wind strong enough to blow in their 
direction. Now she could see that the hazy stuff was not entirely dark. Within 
it fiery bits were being carried on and out toward them.
Working with dogged haste the fire tenders—there were several of them—constantly 
drew up new loads of wood. But these workers were not alone. To the far right 
and left were drawn up Lord Harmond's fighters in full battle dress. They held 
then- spears down across bodies, using them as staffs to push back the crowd, 
those who held no weapons.
The chanters marched in a circle about the fire, and their hooded and cloaked 
leader could not be any other than the Dandus priest. Now and then he brandished 
in the air a black rod from which hung a loop of heavy leather.
There were women to the fore among those guarded. In fact Twilla looking the 
closer she could make out that these women bad been forced into a single mass, 
before them a double row of the guards. The chanting died away and the marching 
about the fire ended with the Dandus priest before the women.
He gave a flourish of his thonged rod and two of those who had followed him in 
his chanting wheel darted to one side, returning with a small body held between 
them. A child!
Twilla must have gasped that aloud for Ylon's face was working, rage warring 
with disgust.
"A blood fire!"
The child was dragged before the Dandus priest and, at some signal from him, 
that wheeling march about the ever growing fire began again. But the chanting 
did not rise high enough yet to drown out the screams. Those came not only from 
the vainly fighting child, but also from the women. There was a stirring in 
their massed group. Some struggle might be starting.
The priest paid no attention. Instead he strode behind the child and her guards 
and, with each stride, flogged at the captive with his rod whip. Each time that 
lash fell the child jerked and screamed, until, as the marks grew red about its 
bare body, it wilted and was dragged limply on.
But Twilla had seen enough when the prisoner had rounded the fire closest to the 
forest.
"Wandi!"
There was no one there quick enough to restrain her. She was out and running 
across the open. Above her the waves of smoke blotted out the sun, and there 
were small fires sprung up wherever one of those flaming bits of debris touched 
the earth.
More than the smoke threat was suddenly aimed at her. She ran into a wave of 
terror as thick as any wall, sent to bar her path. Only that strength which came 
from the mirror sent her plunging on through the tall grass.
There were cries arising from the crowd ahead, and above all the bellow of the 
Dandus priest. He had ceased his lashing of the unconscious child. Now he turned 
in Twilla's direction. His face was so deep in the hood of his robe that she 
could see nothing but the folds of black cloth.
He raised his rod-whip and sent the leash hissing through the air in her 
direction. She winced as a bite-like fire touched her. However, if he had meant 
to bring her down with that he had failed.
She could feel the heat of the fire. There were men moving in from either side, 
some of the soldiers detached to close on her and take her. Yet even if she 
would Twilla could not retreat now. Something so strong she could not control 
had taken possession of her, near all her mind, and certainly all of her body.
Chapter Twenty-Six
FIRE WAS CATCHING more and more in the tall grass, bursting upward unnaturally 
fast. The soldiers did not attempt to force a way through toward her now, rather 
they were angling off on either side. They must believe that she was only the 
first of a company come to confront them.
Again that rod lash dashed high in the air, the priest came forward a stride or 
two. Behind him two of his followers had Wandi in close grip, preparing to throw 
her into the sullen flames of the giant fire.
"Demon!" the roar of the priest's voice carried over the crackle of the flames, 
cries coming from the mass of people gathered to watch this horror.
Once more he was aiming that leash, more slowly, with greater care. The pressure 
of panic edged fear from his power was breaking down Twilla's defense.
The girl swung up the mirror—up and out—even as he aimed his next blow.
An answering twirl of pure rage-red fire shot from that leash. She braced 
herself.
Then that spear of flame touched the mirror. Twilla felt heat and pressure but 
she held with all her strength. The bolt he had launched against her, thickened 
as it was returned at equal speed toward him who had sent it.
He must have been very sure that his power would hold against any other for he 
made no attempt to dodge that returning spear of fire. It touched his breast. 
His dark cloak flared into Same.
In his hand the rod twisted, no longer a straight shaft but now writhing as 
might a serpent. He hurled it from him not seeming to notice that his garment 
was afire, that flames had followed up the folds of his cloak hood, peeling it 
back to show his death's head of a face.
There were flecks of spittle on his lips, he was plainly mouthing some spell. 
Twilla went on. The wriggling rod rose in her path, swaying as might a striking 
serpent preparing for attack, she did not pause.
Instead she found she was repeating words of her own now, singsonging them as 
she always did when she evoked the mirror.
"Dark to dark, flame to fire.
Back to sender let it go.
Even as the seasons flow.
Let evil upon evil feed.
Light cometh true where there is need."
The serpent staff wavered before her. It thrust its thonged head out but did not 
touch her—yet. Behind its master shook himself and from a dark skinned body fell 
the rags left from the fire's touch, yet he showed no bums.
He was gesturing now and she did not doubt that he so called upon his full 
power.
"Let evil upon evil feed!" she raised her voice near to a scream, focusing 
through the mirror all the energy she felt within her.
Twisting upon the scorched ground, the serpent staff slewed around to face its 
master. Then it lunged up. That thong-loosed end caught him full about his bared 
throat with such force that Twilla herself was struck by a powerful echo of it.
Back into the reaching flames of his own fire that blow hurled him. She saw his 
face twist with agony. He strove to keep his feet, to clutch at the staff now 
weaving before him readying for another blow.
That came. His still fighting body was flung into the heart of the fire lit for 
his own purpose.
Twilla let the mirror thump down against her breast. She ran forward. Those who 
had been about to hurl Wandi into that same fire, dropped the child, scrambled 
hastily out of her path.
Now there sounded a roar—not born from the fury of the fire but from the people 
lined there under guard. As Twilla caught up Wandi she could see whirlpools of 
struggle within the ranks of the women. The guards, their attention sidetracked 
by the battle of the powers were taken by surprise. Men were downed by the sheer 
weight of women's bodies hurled against them.
Screams—screams of battle, not of fear now. Spears which had been wrested from 
the hands of guards were being used as clubs against their former owners. Beyond 
the embattled women, the men who had been ranked there, unarmed and under the 
same guard, came to swift life. A wild struggle was underway.
Twilla, nursing the child against her, saw mounted men drawing in, weapons out. 
However, the foremost of them were served no better. Being torn from their 
saddles and sinking into the hands of those they had held here only moments 
earlier.
Twilla glanced back toward the forest. There was still fire greedily feeding on 
the grass, creeping toward the trees. There, too, soldiers were circling in. She 
saw the face of the one shouting orders—Ustar! He seemed to have no fear of the 
fire, rather beat at any soldier near him, striving so to drive such 
unfortunates toward Twilla.
There was such a clamor that she could not hear the orders he was giving, but 
his mouth worked upon words. He kept sending glances in her direction as he 
struggled to get his men to close upon her.
It was plain she could not run for it, not with Wandi a dead weight in her arms. 
And the swirl of fighting was spreading out to soon engulf her.
"Healer!" She near staggered from the force of that grasp on her shoulder.
"Leela!" But how had the other recognized her since the change of face?
"That hound of the dead—you finished him! Here, give me the child. He swore that 
she was forest tainted and he needed her to raise power against those others—"
Twilla willingly released Wandi into the other's hold. There was a fierce scowl 
on the fishergirl's face.
"Take our children would he—that drinker of blood! He had us in his fist until 
he faced you, Healer. Be sure we shall not forget who broke his power. You—" a 
little of the rage faded from Leela's face, "Healer—you have healed yourself. 
You are as before the illness came upon you. May the One In Three be thanked. 
But get you away, we are your debt-held, but they will have out the rest of the 
guard swiftly."
Twilla pointed to the men Ustar was still sending in to block her return to the 
woods. Leela nodded. There was no need to explain. Instead she raised her voice 
in a great summoning cry and from the struggling mob now around the fire came 
others. Rutha, a great bruise on her cheek, but a broken spear haft in her hand, 
and women Twilla could not put name to.
Leela gestured to the hovering soldiers. The faces of the women were grim, set. 
Now that the bonds the Dandus priest had set upon them were broken they were 
minded to take payment for the horror which might have been. Children were 
precious, doubly so in this land. The Dandus priest had gone against all nature 
when he had taken Wandi.
Leela handed the limp body of the child to a woman just joining them, then she 
nodded to the others. They moved out, flanking Twilla on either side, though 
their course had to be a crooked one because of the patches of burning stubble.
"No!" Twilla saw only too well the expression on Ustar's face as he rode closer. 
His sword was bared and at his signal those others were losing their reluctance, 
moving forward with weapons ready. He could well cut down the women—
Then she saw Ustar brush his empty hand vigorously across his forehead, having 
dropped his reins. His horse gave an ear-splitting neigh and reared. Ustar kept 
his seat with difficulty, but he was not able to restrain the wild dash of his 
mount. And those of the other guards were acting as hysterical, two of them had 
thrown their riders.
Twilla saw small forms, their wings glinting in the air as they circled about. 
She spoke swiftly to Leela.
"Thank you, sister. But there comes now those who will see me safe."
She saw the fishergirls mouth drop a little open as down flitted one of the 
asprites, seeming to dance at will upon nothingness. Then Twilla ran, weaving 
among the patches of fire, the asprites keeping pace with her as a small cloud 
overhead.
She staggered a little from the blasts of heat which continued to burst from 
those many small fires. Oddly the grass was not instantly consumed so they died 
from lack of fuel. Rather they continued to eat down into the ground, so that 
the earth itself glowed with rings of red and yellow.
Toward the wood those same rings moved determinedly. Twilla panted as she ran. 
There was still wild shouting behind, but she did not look back. She had thought 
that the black power would have died with the one who summoned it yet both the 
creeping fires and that pressure of fear upon her did not diminish.
A brush in the fringe burst into instant flame almost directly in her path. 
Twilla had to swerve to avoid that threat. The fire licked avidly at the shrub, 
withering leaf and branch in a second.
Now another farther in was catching though not as quickly. Twilla dodged that, 
hardly able to keep her feet now, to stagger on.
Arms closed about her and she collapsed against a solid body as sturdy as any of 
the great trees. Ylon, she did not need to look to know who supported her so.
For a long moment she leaned against him. The fires did not appear to eat so far 
into the woodlands. Above the crackle of the blazing brush behind she heard the 
trilling of the asprites as they now circled over both of them.
There were still cries from the outer fields but those were less violent. Leela, 
Rutha, the other women who had broken bonds when the priest went down, how would 
they fare now? If Lord Harmond turned the might of his soldiers against the land 
people it would end in blood and bitter death. For at least the women would 
stand firm if any again threatened a child.
Twilla was not aware that she had been gasping this out to Ylon until he spoke:
"The priest is gone—Karla had the far sight and told me. I do not know how 
deeply his evil has bitten. My father does not take kindly to any rising against 
his orders, but neither, I believe, will he take kindly to using weapons upon 
the women." He gave an odd sound like a laugh. "Has he not been working hard all 
these seasons to build up their numbers rather than cut them down? Dandus 
thinking can twist the thoughts, once that is removed who knows what will 
happen?"
"What was that one trying to do?"
"To bring destruction," Karla approached from behind them. "Within burned the 
Dank Fire, without burned that abomination, power feeding power. He would have 
unleashed upon us death fire had he been able to build all the strength he tried 
to harness."
"Lotis?"
Karla grimaced. "Who knows? When the inner power failed, and then the outer, who 
can tell what that one will try to do?"
Twilla had shifted around in Ylon's hold so she could look out through the 
ragged frame of brush. Those fires spotting the land between the great fire and 
the forest still smoldered and spread, but slowly now as if the fierce strength 
was being drained with each passing moment.
She could see Oxyle and with him Vestel and others who might be the warders of 
the Edge. There were others there also, but their numbers were limited. Twilla 
had never known how many made up this tree-shadowed nation but she was sure that 
this gathering was but a small part of the numbering.
However, as she turned her head to see how many watched the fury without she saw 
something else. Along the shadowed aisles of the great trees gathered mists, 
those silvery mists, and those curled, and twisted as might flame blown by a 
full gale. Wind-laden with the sharp, clean scent of pine, riffled her mop of 
sweat-thickened hair.
There was a feeling of anticipation. A great beast might so crouch ready for the 
spring. This was no power of her species, nor she believed, of even the forest 
folk, it was the life of the trees themselves aroused to do battle.
The mists, flung like banners whipped by that wind, closed about them, so there 
was a fog, and then the silver ribbons reached out to where those bushes still 
smoldered stubbornly, enwrapping each as they reached it.
Instantly the fire was quenched. However, those mists did not venture beyond the 
brush fringe. The spots of fire on the open field were still alive, burnt to 
ground level but still agleam as might be evil eyes turned toward the Wood.
What came then was a sound to smother all the clamor of the struggle still in 
progress beyond. The great fire burned heavily. Out of its flames coiled limbs 
of smoke, like to those which had appeared at the Dank Fire. These reached for 
the sky, wavered, and then were sent streaming toward the Woods. As they passed 
over the spotted fires those showed new life.
Dandus Power? But the priest—he must be dead! Twilla had seen him sent back into 
his fire. Did power live on with none to order it?
The cries of those in struggle again sounded louder. She could see, even at this 
distance, that soldiers and the mob together were backing off, even now starting 
to run away. While the fire they had tended roared with a thunderous bellow.
Smoke coils touched tree tops. There was a spark of flame there in answer. The 
mists arose, encircled the threatened branches, quenched what strove to 
establish itself there.
Around Twilla the forest people were chanting. They had ringed around the 
threatened trees, their bodies pressed tight to the great trunks, their hands 
linked so each was enchained.
Now the girl saw something else. There was a quiver in the air, something hardly 
to be sighted—yet she was sure of it. That climbed steadily upward. Above the 
mists grew thicker, there was even a pattering of drops which struck lightly 
against her own upturned face.
One by one the smoke trails thinned and were gone. Now there arose a full blast 
of wind among the tree tops. There were no storm clouds aloft but this held all 
the force of a change-season tempest. Bits of broken branch and tattered leaves 
floated down. The rage of that fury which appeared to be confined to the crowns 
of the trees grew— swept—outward.
The tempest struck, full on that great fire. Into the air flew brightly blazing 
sections of wood near as large as the trunks of small trees. The wind from the 
woods gathered these up, whirled them about. Instead of urging thus the fire to 
greater efforts as might be expected, it was extinguishing, thrown charring logs 
wide over the open land.
Forest-born storm ate up the fire and it was gone. Now the tempest scoured the 
blackened earth on which it had stood, so even ashes were whirled off in a fog 
cloud which appeared to be also pursuing the outlanders. There was nothing left 
at last but that black earth.
The wind died, there was no more clamor in the tree tops. Those who had 
encircled the threatened growth dropped hands, moved away, and the mists dipped 
to lap about them.
"So be it," Oxyle stood there. "Are your people now broken, out-lander?" he 
asked Ylon. "Their own power is ended—at least for now."
"They are not easily turned from what they would do," Ylon returned. "There will 
be those among them who will speak of a freak storm, and others who will warn of 
fell mage work in that their priest died. No, I do not believe that you shall 
see them inspanning their teams to go back over mountain again."
"That is my thought also," the forest lord replied calmly. "You, Moon 
Daughter—what would have of us? For it was your power which ended that priest, 
even as his iron power ended the Dank Fire." He gave a nod toward Ylon.
"Then you agree that we both deserve well from your hands?" asked Twilla, 
already there stirred from the back of her mind that wish which had been growing 
stronger with each day.
"There is none who can deny it!"
"Then—give back his sight!" She had caught Ylon's sleeve, pulled him a little 
forward.
Slowly Oxyle shook his head. "Gladly would we do so—but it remains—the fate 
Lotis called upon him only she can lift—so it has always been."
"And Lotis has already tried to betray you all! How can you not compel her to 
it?"
"Moon Daughter, each people live by certain rules set in them even before their 
birth. The under men dig out metal, work it, keep the underways of the forest 
clear of any troubles, even as we keep the outer. We serve the Great Ones," he 
gave a small gesture to the ranks of the trees. "You also must have limits upon 
your powers in one way or another. I would do this if I could, but it is denied 
me."
"And Lotis, does she go free?" demanded Twilla. Surely if they could take the 
woman into custody they might force from her the breaking of Ylon's 
encirclement.
"Lotis has gone—there are those who have been hunting her diligently and they 
can find no traces. She must be using things she learned from Khargel's lore to 
cover her tracks."
"And you leave it so?" Twilla was angry. Certainly Oxyle and those here with him 
who had suffered from Lotis's assumption of power were not just going to let her 
go free.
"We have warded against her every entrance to the heart. If she made any bond 
with that dark priest it did not serve her and he is gone. Our net will narrow 
until she is enchained."
Twilla realized that she could get nothing better from him in spite of his 
admission that he owed her, owed Ylon much. And with Lotis still free could they 
not expect further trouble?
However, whatever hold the woman had over the mists was now broken, once more 
they served Oxyle and his people. So leaving the wardens on watch the rest of 
them were enflooded by mist and came so into the great hall of the palace.
There was food and drink. Twilla sat beside Ylon this time and saw that he was 
provided with a full plate. However, beyond drinking from the goblet at his hand 
he made no effort to eat. Though his head was bent a little as if he were indeed 
regarding Twilla's selection. When he spoke his voice was stiff, he might have 
removed himself to a great distance.
"Tell me what happened!" That was an order. Twilla sipped her own drink. Not for 
the first time she realized he was a prisoner of his maiming.
Of that battle on the field about the fire he could only have gathered such 
information as those about him had shared. For a trained soldier such must have 
been hard to bear.
She sipped again and then as baldly as possible she described what she had seen 
and done, her own part in the struggle. When she spoke of the Dandus priest's 
torment of Wandi she saw his face harden, and the fingers of his hand by his 
plate curled into a fist.
"What has worked upon my father?" It was nearly a cry. "He is a fighting man but 
not one to descend to the torture of children! What has been done that he would 
allow this?"
She could not answer him but hurried on to that strange duel between rod and 
mirror. Now his hand shot out and fastened on her wrist in a punishing grip.
"What power are you able to summon, Healer? They tell of mages once, before the 
Dandus arose, who did wonders. But that was more seasons ago than any woman—or 
man—can number for a lifetime. If you held such power within your hands, why 
were you among the brides?"
"I did not know, I still do not understand what I can summon. When I am faced 
with the need I turn to the mirror—I have no other weapon. But I can only fight 
when battle is offered—heal when there are wounds—see when there is great need. 
Then—I am not sure of what I do to summon power—it moves in me and I know that I 
will have an answer—but even that answer I cannot foresee."
"You are then like a novice in the arms court who is not sure of her weapons. 
You must depend upon fortune in part—" he returned slowly. "Yet when you come 
into danger your strength answers. And whatever power the Dandus priest held 
must now be broke—"
She thought she knew what was in his mind and ventured to put it into words:
"They swear to me," her voice quavered, for she believed that with her words she 
was going to destroy his faint hope, "that your encirclement cannot be broken 
save through Lotis."
His lips twisted. "And she is far away for wishing me well. So be it."
He straightened a little, his shoulders squared, as one who had received an 
order dividing him from hope.
"It now matters concerning my father." Resolutely he put aside any other 
thought. "He will not take lightly the revolt of the lands workers against his 
men. He prides himself on strict justice and obedience to authority—"
"No matter what the authority?" Twilla interrupted. "Perhaps though he was under 
some temporary bonds to the Dandus and those now be broken—"
He had taken up a cake, was crunching it between his teeth.
"If—and if and if—" he said. "Answers will come in time."
Someone paused beside Ylon—Fanna stood there.
"Outlander, Lord Oxyle would speak with you—it is of importance."
Twilla moved to rise also but Ylon flung out a hand. "Let me go without leading 
strings, Healer, I must learn to walk my own paths!" His voice was heated as he 
arose.
She watched him turn and go, and knew that he must resent also the touch which 
Fanna offered now and then to keep him in the proper way. She blinked and 
blinked again. She was a healer and part of the burden of such a calling was 
that one could understand another's pain—at least in part. Her presence to him 
now was a burden he could no longer stand.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TWILLA OPENED HER eyes to the curve of the petal overhead where she lay again in 
the flower bed. She had feared that sleep would bring dreams birthed by the 
trace of evil lingering in her memory. However, she brought none such shadows 
with her out of sleep.
There was no night or day here, but there was a comfort in seeing a wisp of the 
silver mist float within the room—that was at least an assurance that Lotis was 
not still making trouble here.
She went from the bed to the pool in the adjoining chamber, washing away the 
languors of that deep sleep. Folded across a stool she found waiting, not the 
bedraggled clothing she had shed, but a fine white chemise and a robe of the 
palest green—the green of newborn, first of the season's leaves. Standing were 
also the soft boots worn by the forest dwellers which molded themselves to foot 
and calf as another skin, and a girdle of silver mesh studded with pale green 
stones, buckled with a clasp which represented the living silver green Catha had 
hailed as the forest's heart.
There was a mirror on the wall, many times larger than the one she wore and 
Twilla stepped before that to study her reflection. Her features were no longer 
masked by the inflamed and puckered skin of her past disguise, but had a pallor 
she found strange. The loose hair trailing down to her shoulders also 
seemed—though that might be due to some flaw in the substance of the mirror—to 
have taken on another darker shade than the dull brown it had always been—now it 
was close in hue to the dusk of a summer evening.
Certainly she could not match the chiseled beauty of the forest women, but she 
was far from ill-looking. What would Ustar have done had she stood so at that 
lottery? Twilla gave a shiver—she was well out of that!
If—if there somehow could be peace between the forest and the open land—if Lord 
Harmond might be immobilized along with his men until they had a chance for 
defense. As Ylon she was counting ifs. Ylon—for him to remain in darkness—
Twilla's lips thinned. The struggle with Lotis was not over. And— she was a 
healer—she must hold that belief. For every ill, even rank encirclement, there 
must be antidote. Perhaps one lay in that treasure house of learning so long 
hidden.
Behind her the mist swirled thicker. She turned quickly to face Karla—and Catha.
"Well risen, Moon Daughter," Karla said. "Is all well for you?"
"Is all well for all of us?" Twilla countered. She had noted with surprise that 
three of the small-flying lizards were clinging to Catha's shoulders, while 
Karla carried a plump bag.
"You speak of 'us,' yet you are not forest blood."
Twilla could not guess what lay behind that.
"No," she answered slowly, "in that you are right—I am no kin."
Standing beside her Karla drew Twilla back to face the mirror. "Look deeply, 
with your heart also."
Twilla studied their two reflections. In the mirror there was no difference 
between the pallor of her own skin and that of Karla's, all the brown weathering 
had faded. But then she had been out of the sun since she entered the forest 
land. What else—did Karla suggest that they were alike in more than that and 
robes they wore?
"I do not understand," she admitted at last.
Karla laughed and Catha echoed her. "Ah, Moon Daughter, she you look upon is 
different. See!" She swept her hand across the wall mirror and the passage of 
that erased what Twilla studied.
Now—startled, she retreated a step, studying the new reflection. Yes, there was 
the weather-roughened skin and that cruel ugliness she had wished upon herself. 
The unkempt hair was much lighter in shade—like last season's hay.
"That face—I summoned and then dismissed. But—"
"You have eaten of the roots, drank the life blood of the great trees. Thus you 
have taken into your body what maintains us—becoming kin if not by birth. Even 
if you return to the outlands that tie remains."
Both Karla and Catha were watching her as if expecting some denial. However, as 
a healer Twilla could understand. What was eaten, drunk, absorbed into the 
body—yes, even among her own people that caused change.
"You find this hard to believe?" Karla prodded.
"This is true of Ylon also?"
"The outlander lording? Yes. Whether or not he believes it he is now a part of 
the forest. Now, Moon Daughter, tell us, what manner of women were those by the 
devil fire who stood and watched the little one near sent to her death?"
"You saw also they were under guard," Twilla's chin lifted a fraction. "They are 
women in bondage. Did they not rise against the soldiers when the priest died? I 
believed that I could leave Wandi with Leela—I learned to trust her when we were 
brought here unwillingly to be wed to men we had never seen."
"And why were you so constrained?" Catha asked sharply.
"They—those who ruled—discovered that if a man was wed he could not be 
ensorcelled by forest power—such as that Lotis used on Ylon."
To her surprise Karla laughed. "So, if a man had a wife for bedding he could not 
be bound? Yet these women were brought unwilling, is that not so? Can they now 
be contented with their lot?"
"I do not know. Those brought were of many different natures. Leela was a 
fishergirl and she was tied to one she seemed to find satisfactory, or so she 
said when she gave Ylon and me aid to reach here. I cannot tell how the others I 
know fared."
"Thus," it was Catha who took a part in the conversation, "there could be 
dissatisfaction—even dislike among these women, a secret wish for freedom?"
Odd that they were pressing her on this point as if they had some reason beside 
curiosity alone.
"And we saw," Karla continued, "that given the chance they turned even against 
armed men."
Twilla looked from Karla to Catha. "What do you want from me?" she asked a 
little sharply.
"This—here are women who have been forced into lives they have not chosen. I do 
not know how customs are over mountain," Karla replied. "But among our people 
there is always free choice, of either season partners or life bond. No woman of 
the kin would consent to mate against her will or desire—"
"With us below this is also true," Catha nodded vigorously.
"Perhaps some of those who came," Karla continued, "did find mates to their 
taste—by fortune's chance. However—if there exist among them a greater number 
who bear inner hate and fear—even as they attacked the soldiers at the fire 
could they not be induced to hinder all men's plans even in small ways?"
Again Catha nodded in agreement.
"Ylon," Karla went on, "has been with those of the council who remain loyal—for 
several followed Lotis and we know nothing of what she may be brewing, since she 
has strong wards. Now it is our thought, we women, above and below, that we must 
also prepare. Ylon has spoken of machines of war—iron—against which we might not 
be able to stand. Understand, Twilla, we do not war except to defend ourselves. 
We shall not storm their dwellings with the powers we can raise, unless they 
bring us to a bitter ending. We want nothing which they have—only peace."
"People fear what they do not understand," Twilla replied. "They speak of you as 
demons because they have seen the effects of such encirclement as was laid on 
Ylon, and what other evil seed their Dandus priest might have sowed—be sure he 
did."
"We need time," Karla said. "The under people labor at their forges without 
stopping, new smiths standing to take the places of those who are worn out. They 
fashion the nets, but perhaps those shall not be done soon enough. So—it is the 
outland women we hold in mind. You alone have knowledge of them—some of them. In 
what manner can we approach them?"
"For what reason?" Twilla demanded.
Karla stooped to pick up the bag she had put on the floor. She opened it and 
brought out something small, hidden in her fist. Then she looked to the under 
woman as if for support. Catha nodded. One of the flying lizards took wing and 
hovered over them.
"Lotis bound Ylon but that tie was of her will alone. Here is something else." 
Karla opened her hand. Resting in palm was a small locket-like artifact made of 
gold filigree and from it there came a faint wafting of perfume.
"Let a woman wear this and she can bend a man close to her will. Its power is 
not long lasting but if enough of these outland women have such and want peace, 
their mates will find it is not in their minds to draw weapons either."
Twilla's hands crossed on her own mirror. There was logic in this— even though a 
part of her shied away from such mage work. Perhaps Leela had found her 
fortune-sent husband to her taste. But Twilla was sure that many of those 
arbitrary matings had not been happy ones. It was true that the women, unarmed 
and alone, had risen against the soldiers—something she would not have believed 
possible had she not witnessed it.
"Are you offering me a task?" she asked.
"Yes," Karla said.
"This is a matter decided upon by Oxyle and the council?" Twilla persisted.
Karla glanced away so their eyes no longer met. "No—they speak of weapons and 
open war. We seek another means toward peace." She held out her hand as if 
willing what it held into Twilla's grasp.
Twilla found herself accepting the locket. It was a trinket which certainly 
appealed to the eye. Any woman would be attracted to it.
"This forms a binding such as that laid upon Ylon?" She must be sure of that.
"No," Catha's answer came quickly and emphatically. "It does not bind as does 
the power. Rather it will make men listen. They will heed the words of their 
mates."
Twilla believed that the under woman spoke the truth as she knew it. She glanced 
again at her reflection in the wall mirror. Leela, Rutha. the others who had 
ridden in the wagon with her would know her. However, those who had come earlier 
would not. Also she knew very little about the plainslands—would all the women, 
except those who had been in the village, be scattered once more to the farms? 
To travel to each—that was impossible. Leela might supply her with aid, that 
farm was closest to the forest and perhaps she could get news to help her do 
this. Do this? Had she already in her inner mind decided to play the part they 
were urging on her?
Let her be taken and she—her thoughts shuddered away from what might be her 
fate.
"Win us time," Catha urged softly. "You have," she pointed to the mirror Twilla 
wore, "a mighty weapon. Already you have proved that many times over—and you are 
one of the same blood as they. To you they might listen—"
Twilla looked again at her reflection. "I cannot go among them in these 
clothes."
"For that we also have the answer. When the outlanders first came and brought 
their axes of killing iron within the wood we met them with power. Some of them 
lost all memory of us and those we sent free into the open lands. Some, because 
of some fault of their natures, died. We have the supplies they abandoned and 
among those is extra clothing."
"Died?" Twilla centered in upon that portion of Karla's story. "Killed by your 
power?"
"Only because there was that in them which the power fed upon. Why some 
outlanders are so burdened we cannot tell. And that kind of power does not pass 
beyond the fringe of the forest—we cannot use it for open attack."
"You have stolen wits and memory." Twilla faced the other squarely. "Those you 
freed went out to become un-men—which is what their kind name them. They are 
held in aversion and hatred because of the mark you set upon them. Now you offer 
me this," she held up the locket. "Can you give blood oath that this will not 
strike in such a fashion?"
"Moon Daughter, it will do no more than we have told you—it will help the women 
to influence their men. All life will fight to protect their homes. We did no 
more than they would have done if they had had such powers."
"I am a healer," Twilla answered. "I will not carry any curses to those who have 
done you no wrong."
"Blood oath, Moon Daughter—" Karla brought out of her sash a silver-bladed 
knife, pricked her finger until a drop of blood gathered there. "By the blood 
which is life, I do swear to you that these amulets carry no more with them than 
we have said. Will you not give a chance to the women you know, one perhaps for 
freedom from fear?"
Belief had been forced upon her. Though Karla's mentioning of those who had 
succumbed to the power shook her.
What if, by some chance, some discovery made among the records Oxyle had found, 
they had or would find a way to use the blighting power beyond the forest's 
limit?
Yet—her thoughts strung together swiftly—that knowledge could also be put to 
use. That Lord Harmond would be sending against the forest all the forces he 
could raise she had no doubt. That he might be brought to any truce meeting she 
also doubted. But he was one man. And she still remembered very clearly that 
action of the aroused women against his guards.
"I will do this much," she promised. "I shall go to Leela—if she has returned to 
the farm. I will find out what I can—"
"And put to judgment what is the spirit of the women?"
"As far as I can, yes."
"Come—it is already dusk aloft and you would travel the easier by night!" Karla 
waved a hand and a coil of the mist curled through the air toward them, 
encompassing them, hiding all else from their sight.
Then they were standing in a room filled with chests and one of these Karla 
selected, pressing a spot upon its lid and then raising that.
Within were folded clothing which she shook out quickly and hung on other of the 
boxes.
Most of it was too large, made for brawny workmen. But the girl was able to sort 
out tight hose of dull brown made for some boy, a shirt of checkered brown and 
yellow somewhat faded, and last of all a leather jerkin which was a tolerable 
fit. She changed quickly, smoothing out the robe she so cherished and what went 
with it, sitting down to pull on calf-high boots which were an almost perfect 
fit.
The mirror was again hidden against her skin and Twilla tightened a belt from 
which hung an empty knife sheath and a small pouch.
"Good!" Karla eyed her transformation. "But to hide the hair," she groped in the 
chest again to bring out a knitted cap large enough to cover the hair Twilla 
bundled into it.
"You are as like to one of those tree killers," Karla commented, "as if you had 
appeared at the same birthing! Come!"
Again the mist served to deliver them to the very edge of the fringe. Out on the 
open fields before them there were still the blackened patches left by the fires 
which the forest winds had extinguished, and that bare scar where the great fire 
had burned. Twilla had no guide except memory—somewhere well beyond that 
scarring perhaps a little to the west—must lie the farm where she had sheltered 
with Ylon.
There was a flutter in the air, and something whirled about her head. By the 
reflected light of the mist which still hung behind her Twilla saw a small 
scaled body, a gap-jawed head.
"Sister in power—" Twilla started. She looked quickly around. Catha stood there 
and on one shoulder rode another of the small lizard flyers, her wrist supported 
the third.
"These little ones," the under woman said, "have a place in our plans. But they 
must learn what they shall face. Take them with you— no, do not think that they 
shall betray you by their strangeness," she said as Twilla started to shake her 
head. "They have their own ways of remaining unseen, save by the one they travel 
with. And you shall find them useful after their own fashion also."
Twilla was dubious but she did not doubt Catha believed in what she said.
"This is necessary?"
"For what we plan, yes," Catha assured her.
So under the shadows of the deepening night Twilla left the forest, not alone 
for the lizards soared over her or came to perch on her shoulders at intervals.
How far Leela's homestead lay she had no idea. All she remembered now was that 
it had taken her and Ylon a night's full travel to reach the forest. The moon 
tonight was the smallest slice in the sky, of little service for light. The 
cloaking darkness did not appear to bother her trio of small companions and she 
saw one deftly snatch a moth in flight, savoring its capture.
Then—from the forest at her back sounded that call she had heard in the past—on 
the over mountain road, outside her tower-room prison, from the sky when she and 
Ylon were near this same spot. She heard the flap of wings—wings so large that 
they blotted out for an instant that slice of moon. Her hands went to free the 
mirror her only hope of any defense against attack. Anisgar, Ylon had named 
it—but she did not know really what it might be or in what way it was tied to 
the forest. That it truly was she believed.
It flapped over her head and then was gone into the dark nor though she waited, 
it did not return. At last she trudged on but she listened for more than the 
small noises of the night.
She tramped without pausing. Oddly enough she had no desire for either food or 
rest tonight. The lizards fed richly on the insects her boots stirred into the 
air. Until, at length, they came to perch on her shoulders. The third's light 
weight settled on her cap, she felt its claws hook through the knitted wool into 
her hair.
The moon wore its way down. Though the night breeze was chill she felt too warm 
with constant exercise. Now the first pallid streaks across the sky foretold 
day. Should she seek out a hiding place or was she close enough to Leela's 
holding to keep on? Twilla was debating that when she saw ahead one of those 
areas of hard-packed soil, which marked a field's boundary. She hurried her pace 
sure that she had found the outer limits of the place she sought.
The lizards once more took wing, flying a little before her. She caught the 
thick scent of sheep as she skirted the wall. Though she had seen or heard no 
dog on her former visit she wondered if one was kept for herding. The wind was 
in her face so her scent was not being carried to the farm. The lining of sun 
streaks on the horizon and the fresh light of early morning showed her there 
were indeed sheep moving in the field this earthen wall bounded. She guessed in 
what direction the home must lie.
Two more fields, one with a small saggy-coated horse hardly more than a pony in 
size and which snorted and jerked its fore feet from the ground as one of the 
lizards took off and skimmed closely over it as if drawn by curiosity.
The sound made by the pony brought two other draft animals away from a water 
trough where they had been drinking. These were surely plough horses, looking 
doubly tall as they trotted to their small companion, the three of them now 
staring in Twilla's direction.
She slipped around the corner of the field wall and came upon the lane which 
must lead to the house. On the other side of more walled but well-tended fields 
stretched the stubble of grain ragged on the ground.
The smell of smoke reached her. Not the clean odor of burning wood, but a 
nose-tickling assault which brought a hastily stifled sneeze out of her. There 
was the farmyard, its earth churned and cut by hooves and feet. At the farm-side 
stood what could only be the house, for the other two buildings to one side 
lacked the trim, well-kempt look of that third one.
Smoke rose lazily from the chimney. Twilla had just time to drop to the ground 
when the door swung open and out came Leela, a pail in hand. She went to the 
well and set about lowering its bucket for water.
But Leela's face! A dark bruise disfigured the cheek nearest to Twilla, and the 
fishergirl moved slowly, grunted a little when she had to empty the heavy bucket 
into her pail as if that action caused her pain. Had Leela been—beaten!
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TWILLA HESITATED AND remained in hiding. If Leela's husband was in the house she 
had no intention of trying to reach the fishergirl. She watched Leela return, 
bearing her pails. The door closed behind her.
The three lizards had settled on a stone which helped to mark the entrance to 
the yard, and their coloring so matched the rock that she could hardly detect 
them. She had not made any plans, was merely following her desire to speak with 
Leela. Now she must adapt as best she could to what she found here. If Leela had 
suffered punishment for her part in the fighting about the fire she could well 
be in no mood to risk any chance of communication with Twilla.
Twilla started as the door of the house opened again with some force and a man 
stamped out. He was scowling as he turned and growled:
"Keep to your hearth, woman. If I have to pay any more fines for troubles you 
have a hand in, you'll pay in turn. See that you remember that!"
He slammed the door behind him with the same force with which he had thrown it 
open, and tramped heavily across the muddy yard toward one of the smaller 
buildings. Twilla remained crouched where she was. There was no other place of 
even partial concealment she could see.
The farmer came out of the building and started toward the field where she had 
seen the draft animals, a coil of harness across one shoulder. She watched him 
halter the two horses, lead them out and back toward the farmyard. Once there 
they were hitched to a two-wheeled wagon and left while he returned to the 
house.
He jerked open the door and his voice once more carried clearly:
"I go to Roamnors. Keep to your own tasks and look sharp at what you do."
If Leela answered, Twilla could not hear. The man shut the door once again and 
came to the cart, climbing in and turning the horses toward the gate. Twilla 
crouched smaller, wishing that she had the same ability as the lizards to fade 
into her surroundings.
She watched him down the lane, the horses plodding along at a slow pace which he 
did not try to hasten. Once she saw him look back over his shoulder, his scowl 
still plain to read, as if he suspected some disobedience to his orders.
He was out of sight before Twilla moved. She had made up her mind. If this man 
whom Leela had shown a liking for earlier turned sour in his manner toward her, 
then certainly she might be more ready to listen to Twilla.
The girl darted across the muddy yard and was at the door. Reaching out she 
rapped on it as hard as she could.
"Who comes?" Leela's voice was distorted by the barrier between them.
"One with a message," Twilla improvised.
The door opened, hardly wider than a space through which she could slip. But 
without a welcome she would not attempt that. Leela might have been so treated 
that she lost her former good standing with her husband.
"You!" Leela's recognition came quickly. "What are you trying, Healer? To get me 
whip-flayed?"
"They have beaten you?" Twilla swallowed. "What—"
Leela gave the door another push widening the opening.
"Lord Harmond lessoned us well—" She twitched her shoulders and then grimaced. 
"His sergeant knows how to lay on the stripes— not enough that we cannot work, 
but well enough to make us mark his orders. Also he laid fines on our men and 
they repaid us for that."
"Because of the fight—"
"That—we mishandled his men and he did not take well to that— it shamed him—and 
them. And because we did not accept well what that shark priest would do. That 
priest had powers greater than even Lord Harmond—and the Lord resented that 
also. But—why did you come? If they nose you out you'll have to deal with more 
than a whip sore-back—Lord Harmond will have you to the stake doubtless."
Twilla felt the weight of the pouch she carried. Would Leela, any of the women 
listen to her? She knew no way of approaching the subject except baldly open.
"Your man bears you ill will?"
Leela grimaced again. "A fine sets not well on any man, nor does the ill will of 
his Lord. Johann believes that all those whose women fought back will be marked 
in Lord Harmond's memory as untrustworthy."
She had retreated further into the room and Twilla followed her, daring to close 
the door behind. At least Leela had not ordered her out and seemed willing to 
air her grievances.
"What of Wandi?"
Leela shrugged. "Her man is dead or perhaps they would not have taken her so 
easily. Her da—well, he is in the punishment cells for resisting the priest's 
will."
"And she?"
Leela licked her lips. "Rutha took her and for that was shame-marched and beaten 
in the town square. Since the priest was dead now she dared to claim her and 
Rutha gives her house room."
"Why did they take her for sacrifice?"
"Why ask that, Healer? Was she not in the demon's lair and came forth unharmed? 
The priest claimed she was a spy for the forest."
"There are no demons in the forest," Twilla said slowly.
"So, Healer? You have been there—can one believe you? What if you are now so 
changed also?"
Leela bad dropped down upon a stool, no longer looking at Twilla but staring 
sullenly at the small fire on the hearth.
"The priest is dead." Twilla tried another approach.
Leela looked up. "By your hand, that is what you would say?"
"I would rather say that evil met its just reward. You, Leela, cannot have me 
believe that you would willingly give any child to torment and death. Nor would 
have any of the women who stood with you at the fire. When his power was broke 
you proved that. Or is there another priest of darkness to tie you once more?"
Leela spat into the fire. "None, but there are those who still hold belief in 
his powers. And the Lord Harmond is disturbed because the Dandus was sent to him 
with certain orders. They think his power might well have given us the forest."
"There is no giving of the forest." Twilla felt free now to take another stool 
and drop her pouch on the table standing between them. "Those who live with the 
trees want nothing but to be left alone."
"Have they not sent blindness and wit-lack upon us?" Leela flared up.
"Only upon those who went within the boundaries of their land to take trees. 
Think, Leela, have there been any attacks upon the farms?"
"Wandi was taken—"
"And returned when it was discovered that one had broken forest law," answered 
Twilla. "Was she maimed or wit-blasted when she returned?"
Slowly the other shook her head. "That was why," she said, "the priest named her 
demon taken."
"What do you think of me, Leela? Do you judge me to be a demon under the skin? 
You cannot believe that the Dandus priest had a right to rule here—remember all 
we were taught in childhood about the evil they spread in the old days."
"Yes." Leela turned a little on her stool to face Twilla and once more met the 
other girl eye to eye. "Why are you here, Healer? If you are taken—you will face 
far worse than any lessoning by lash. No, we were not followers of the Dandus 
belief—but there are some who are and who would cry out for a like death for his 
slayer. Some of those are in high places. And Lord Harmond will not allow his 
rule to be questioned. What have you come to learn?"
Twilla drew a deep breath. "To learn the thoughts of the women. Over mountain 
would any husband allow his wife to be misused—add to that brutality of his own? 
Johann gave you that bruise, Leela, did he not?"
The fishergirl's hand went to her cheek. "He was angry that they took a third of 
his crops for a fine, and he had worked very hard to gather them. To him the 
fault was mine."
"How many women suffered bearings?" Twilla demanded.
"Ten of us, we who were well to the fore and the first to attack the guards."
"And none among the men protested?"
"Lord Harmond's wrath was great—they were unarmed—his soldiers could have cut 
them down with ease. And—"
"And some of them felt as Johann that their wives deserved what they received."
Leela twisted a little and then gasped as if she were in pain. "That, too," she 
agreed.
"The women need not be helpless," Twilla fingered the pouch. "They can put an 
end to this struggle. Those of the forest want only to be left alone—they have 
power and they will use it if they are pushed, but only if they are pushed. This 
I swear is the truth."
Leela sat silent for a long moment. "Wood is needed," she said slowly. "And 
there is the gold in the stream."
"There is also trade—not stealing," Twilla replied curtly. "No living tree may 
be taken, but with every wind there are storm-killed ones brought down. The 
gold—what if there could be an exchange of metal arranged?"
"They sent you here to say this?"
"Their women sent me."
"Their women—the witch ones who took our men! Why do they want our goodwill?"
"The men taken, as I have said, were invaders. Just as our people would capture 
any who ravaged your farms. The women send this as their message—let there be a 
truce between us wherein things may be spoken openly and answered in truth."
"Lord Harmond would say no to that."
"If Lord Harmond found that he had few followers how would he decide?"
"He has the right to call up all men for service. And that he has done—within 
twelve days Johann and the rest must report to him."
"The farms are scattered. What if the men on them did not appear? How could he 
round up such?"
Leela shook her head slowly. "It would be death for those who did not obey."
"Not if Lord Harmond were otherwise occupied. And I tell you the truth, Leela, 
do you think that a power strong enough to turn the Dandus priest's darkness 
back on him is going to allow Lord Harmond to do what he will without any 
check?"
"You have joined the demons!" Leela's voice held a grim note.
"I have joined no one, I am seeking peace. As a healer I cannot slay except when 
I am faced by the foul powers of the Dark as I was by the fire. No, I do not 
speak of my power but those of the forest have more than tangible weapons with 
which to defend themselves. And they will—if Lord Harmond brings destruction 
upon them.
"Leela," Twilla pulled at the thong which fastened the bag, "I have brought you 
a free gift from the forest women." She shook out one of the lockets. "She who 
wears this will have nothing to fear from any man who is close to her. He will 
listen to what she says, he will not lift hand to her, and what she wishes she 
can have."
Leela stared down at the locket. "This be mage dealings. What has any woman to 
do with such?"
"She can save lives, her home. I swear to you, Leela, that there is no dark work 
here. Men who are prone to violence can be brought to think better of it. Do you 
not want Johann to be as you thought him when last we met, or do you want him to 
continue as I have seen and heard him this day."
Leela put out a finger very slowly but did not quite touch the locket. She 
raised her head to look again at Twilla and there were tears gathering in her 
blue eyes.
"We were—happy. Happy 'til that Dandus priest sent out the word. Yes, it is 
true, the women—most of them—were angry. We bear children to live not to die in 
torment. And he—I swear this, Twilla, that one took pleasure in what he did!"
"Such is the nature of the Dark," Twilla nodded.
"Johann protested when we women were herded like sheep but our men were also 
under guard. Then—then when the priest was gone and we got our freedom— We could 
only hold that for awhile. When they took us Lord Harmond singled out our men 
and told them to keep their women in order or suffer more fines—and we were 
beaten and shame marched.
"Johann—somehow he changed. Healer, when the priest went to whatever hell waited 
for him, could part of his spirit remain to touch men?"
Twilla's hands arose to her mirror. She shivered. That was something she had not 
thought of, if it were the truth then there was worse than she thought to come.
"I do not know," she replied slowly. "But, if it is true, then, Leela, this 
amulet will prove of double value to you. It will perhaps also allow you to free 
any shadow which has touched Johann."
"Amulet—we had such for sea faring—there were the Eyes of Dood, the Nine Tailed 
Serpent. You wore them for luck." Her hand arose again to touch the swollen 
cheek. "If—if the dark has touched Johann, then I shall fight for him! And I 
shall try the worth of this." She reached out to take up the amulet.
Twilla sighed with relief. She had never been certain that she could do as Karla 
and Catha expected and get even this far with her persuasion.
"Leela," she leaned forward a little against the table edge, "there are 
more—more for women who have suffered the wrath of Lord Harmond and their own 
men." She shook the bag a little and it gave forth a jingle. "How may these be 
given to those who can use them best?"
"Market day—" Leela replied promptly. "Johann may try to leave me here but if 
this will help me do as you say, get him to listen to me, then I shall go in 
with him. There are those I think I can trust, to them I shall give these and 
the word. Twilla, I have trust in you and the truth you say you have told me. 
Let it be so!"
"It is so! Speak to Johann, tell the others to speak to their men— speak of a 
truce, a chance to bargain. Lord Harmond can have his soldiers but the will of 
the people may do much to delay any plans he has made."
"What can be done I shall. If this gives me back the Johann I knew—then Twilla 
you have played healer well as I have seen you do so before!"
"So—and who are you who comes sneaking into a man's house?"
Twilla slued about on her stool. She heard Leela gasp. That door which had been 
slammed so hard before was now opened without a creak and they had been too 
immersed in their talk to hear it. There stood the man Twilla had seen, as she 
thought, out of sight earlier.
Now he strode over the threshold, scowling.
"Scalla favored me with remembering that I must have the coppers to pay for the 
feed," he continued. "So I catch you again in ill-doing, woman. And who is this 
lad you have brought to shame my house?"
Twilla was on her feet to face him, hand on mirror, though she had no desire to 
injure Johann.
"The hearthwife brings no shame upon you," she said swiftly. "I am a healer—"
"Paugh! There are no healers—not here. What farm have you run from?" He 
approached her a sly twist to his mouth. "Your master will be out after you, and 
he'll be thankful to me for your taking."
"Johann!"
His head swung toward Leela. "And you, woman. You have not yet learned your—" 
His voice trailed off and the scowl lightened. Now he looked not only younger 
but oddly unsure of himself.
Leela had grasped the amulet in her hand and was holding it against her breast 
as if to give it greater power with all the strength of her body.
"Johann," she spoke his name again and came around the table to stand before 
him. "Why are you angry, Johann?"
His look was troubled and he brushed one hand shakily across his forehead. "I—I 
do not know. I have no quarrel—"
"No quarrel with me, Johann, is mat not so?" Leela now stood directly before 
him. She raised her other hand and touched his cheek gently. "There is no ill 
will between us, Johann—is that not so."
He flashed a sudden grin and his hands went to Leela's shoulders, pulled her 
into a tight hug.
"It is so," he murmured into her hair as he held her. "I do not know what dark 
one took my tongue. And—and I did this—" He held her a little away from him and 
put one hand under her chin lifting her head a fraction before his fingers did 
not quite touch her bruised cheek. "Leela, surely I was demon-led. I ask your 
pardon for you are Leela, my own." Again he embraced her.
But Twilla was troubled. He had sworn by Scalla—and that was a mark-name of 
power once shattered. Was Leela right in believing that the death of the Dandus 
priest only scattered the wider the evil he cherished?
"It is well, Johann." Leela stroked his cheek in turn. "There is no ill between 
us now. I am sorry that you have suffered a fine, but I am not sorry that I 
stood with the women for the sake of Wandi. A child must never be tormented for 
another's gain."
"Yes," he nodded. "Why did any of us not rise to do the same as you women did? 
We were demon-touched. If our lord demands a fine for such then it is he who 
holds to darkness."
"Hush!" Leela's hand was instantly over his lips as he said that. "Do not speak 
such thoughts—but do not lose them either. Now—" She paused a little away from 
him, "This is in truth a healer—Twilla by name. She has come to serve us as she 
can."
"But there are no women healers, Lord Harmond would not have it so."
"Yet here she stands," continued Leela. "She serves man and beast, even as do 
all healers over mountain. You started to Roamnors to get help for the ewe—let 
Twilla look to the beast—"
He looked at Twilla, taking in her dress, and then staring at her face.
"Well enough, Healer. If you can serve my best ewe then be sure I shall reward 
it."
His harsh anger of moments before seemed to have never existed and Twilla no 
longer had any doubts over the efficiency of the amulet. She followed him easily 
enough out to one of the sheds where there lay panting a ewe with the fine fawn 
colored fleece of a superior animal.
Straightway Twilla busied herself with the animal. She no longer had her herb 
bag but she still had her knowledge and there was much to be done. Johann knelt 
in the straw on the other side of the ewe and watched her until at last there 
was a strong bleat from the sheep, which raised its head and kicked with its 
legs, striving to stand again. He aided it quickly.
Twilla studied a mess on the floor of the shed. "It has eaten samp weed—look to 
your fields, Johann, such must be rooted out. Luckily this one had not gotten 
much of it—samp weed kills."
"Yes?" He was steadying the ewe. "My thanks, Healer. I have only coppers but all 
in the money box is yours."
Twilla shook her head. "I need no pay, Johann. Leela is my friend from the past, 
I came to see how matters went with her. I found them not good, but I go knowing 
they will be better."
A flush darkened the weathered brown of his face. "Healer, I do not know what 
kind of good you have worked here, but that dark in me is gone also. It was evil 
and I was another man. But, healer, there are others of a like mind with me as I 
was, if you venture into the town—"
Twilla shook her head. "No, I am not for the town—I wander as healers are sworn 
to do when their aid is needed. But—tell me, Johann—you called upon Scalla—where 
did you learn that?"
His flush deepened. "Healer, there has been much talk in the market, in the ale 
house, at the mill. I—I listened because it was what was mostly what men talk of 
in these days. But—this do I swear, by the blood in me, Healer, I give no grain 
or lamb to the balefire! Nor shall I speak that name again!"
"I believe you speak the truth. However, it is unwise to call upon evil even in 
careless talk. I must be on my way now, Leela." She looked to the fishergirl 
standing at the door. "I am no longer needed here."
Leela reached out and caught her by the arm. "Healer, best indeed be on your 
way. And we give you hearty thanks, though some of our neighbors might not be so 
minded."
Johann nodded vigorously. "The next farm is Roamnor's—he—he paid tribute to the 
Dandus priest willingly."
"Thank you for the warning. Leela, guard yourself well, in times to come there 
may be more trouble."
They wanted her to take food, a well-woven blanket, but she refused. As she 
passed the gate the lizards took to wing and hovered over her. But she turned 
and waved vigorously to the two who now stood by the farmhouse door. If the 
amulets worked as well with the other women—surely they had a beginning even as 
Karla and Catha hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE SUN WAS already climbing and to Twilla, used now to the shadow ways of the 
forest, the land looked grimly bare. She hesitated about striking off directly 
toward the dark loom of the wood, sure that she could be easily sighted by any 
patrol which might exist.
As if they too were anxious, the lizards continued to wheel about her as she 
went, without settling again on her shoulders. Then, of a sudden, they bunched 
and flew directly down at her. She dodged but they returned in the same 
maneuver, sending her to her knees they swooped so low. Another pass and they 
had her nearly flat. There was the remains of another earthen fence neared and 
the constant swoops of the lizards drove Twilla into a washed-out portion of 
that wall.
The lizards dropped to the earth, straightway changing their color to the 
brown-red of the soil. Their actions she decided were in the nature of a 
warning. She crouched flatter. Then through her hands against the ground felt 
the vibration forerunning sound.
There came a jangle of gear, a snorting, and then a voice.
"Captain says keep clear of the patches—"
"Ain't none of us goin' there anyway."
Men's voices harsh and with the twang of that accent the mercenaries who had 
guarded the bride train over mountain used. Twilla tried to plaster herself 
against the earth. She could only hope that the drabness of her clothing was 
enough like the field earth that she not be easily sighted.
"They ain't showin' any," remarked the second voice. "And why should they?"
"They don't have to show," returned the other. "You was there when that demon 
sent His Mightiness into his own fire. An' didn't everyone swear as how his 
power was goin' to bring the demons right out of hiding to be cut down? Well who 
got it mid-center then?"
"You've got a big mouth, Rolf," said his companion. "Better close it before you 
tongue your way into the cells. His Lordship don't want any wild talkin' 'bout 
that dustup."
"It ain't wild talkin' when I seen it for my ownself," the other replied. "Got 
me a lump on the head to prove it, ain't I? That fool of a woman had a good 
swing—"
"Comes from hayin'. They learn that there when they has to scythe down a field. 
But the Lord learned 'em. They won't be tryin' such again. They got their public 
lashin's and then their men, they gave them what for, too. Don't take kindly to 
payin' fines, these dirt grubbers don't."
"Casper was talkin' funny last night," the voices had not drawn any nearer and 
Twilla believed that they had halted not too far away from her very-exposed 
hiding place.
"Casper's got the brains of a puddle hopper. You can take every-thin' he says, 
swish it around, and maybe get one or two words of truth out of it. What's 
ridin' him this time?"
"He says as how that priest had him a friend in the forest. That he would never 
have tried that balefire if he hadn't had word that it was goin' to work."
"Well, it didn't. An' the one who gave him his comeuppance came from there. It 
was a woman too—wonder if they do the fightin' for the forest 'stead of the men. 
Now that would be somethin' to think about. Casper say where he heard this bit 
of news?"
"He was guard at the tower, the Lord and the priest talked some. But it was the 
captain as the priest was closest with. He an' the Lord ain't too friendly these 
days."
There followed a harsh laugh. "Now I wonder why? If my paw pushed me to wed an' 
bed that hag face I don't think I'd take kindly to the idea or to him either. I 
saw her plain when they pushed her out. Face was enough to turn a man's stomach 
it was. Good thing she and that demon-blasted Ylon got theirs in the river—good 
for the Captain that is. Ylon now, he was a good officer 'til the demons got 
him. Different from this one."
"The Lord, he's countin' on the crawlers. They're not too far from the town now. 
Run them up to that there woods and then just do some hackin' away where no 
demon is goin' to get at one. Maybe the Lord—he knows the priest's friend and 
got him secrets 'bout what is waitin' there. Well, we have our look-see here. I 
ain't goin' to ride no closer, got me a sore rump yet from when that horse 
dumped me yonder—"
"What made them go crazylike?"
There was no immediate answer to that and that demand came again:
"What made them go crazylike?"
The answering voice was lower as if the speaker did not expect to be believed.
"Flyin' things. They got to the horses—an' to men too— See them little marks 
here on my neck. Still showing but they ain't stingin' any more."
"What kind of flying things?" the other pushed.
"Look here, I ain't goin' to get called up before the Captain for sayin' 
somethin' as he swore weren't true—though they got him too. Take it they were 
flyin' things an' they came from the Woods. Kept us from gettin' that demon as 
blew up the priest."
"Flyin' things," repeated the other. "Well, whatever they were they sure did the 
business for the Captain's squad."
The other grunted and then Twilla heard the horses moving off. She remained 
where she was until one of the lizards came to life, stretching its wings for a 
takeoff and she gathered that was now clear.
However, she studied the land ahead, trying to plan a passage which would not 
take her in plain sight. It must be near noontime, she scrubbed her face with 
her hand trying to beat off the midges which clung to the grass stems and seized 
upon her coming as an invitation to a banquet.
Reaching the site of the blasted fire Twilla made her way carefully around that 
dark scar. Even with the flames long gone she bad no desire to come near where 
the Dandus priest had been working with dark powers. Was the friend he counted 
upon in the forest Lotis? Had the Dank Fire Ylon destroyed been in some way 
linked with this? Power called to power, Lotis might have set up a beacon of her 
own knowledge to attract that of the priest.
She came at last to the brush hedge and found a way through it. The cool of the 
forest was a balm after the heat of the outer lands. Twilla leaned against one 
of the great trees while the lizards plastered themselves against the trunk and 
were lost to sight.
Now she needed a guide back to the great tree—unless the lizards could supply 
that. But they were not moving on. Somehow she had expected Karla or Catha to be 
waiting but she might well have been alone in the mist-veiled shadows. There was 
no sign of any life.
She wished she knew the trick to the transportation mists but that was not 
within her range of power. There was nothing to do but plod ahead down an aisle 
between the massive trunks, hoping to meet one of the warders—but not such a 
beast as she had faced near the river.
Outside the sun had been heavy and bright, here was something close to twilight 
and it took some time for her to adjust to the change in light. The floating 
mists made it hard to mark a way very far ahead and she only hoped that she was 
on the right course.
The girl stopped short, head up, nostrils expanded to catch that faint scent. It 
was one she would never forget—Lotis's mark. She was no hound able to trace it 
to its source but she began to move again, very slowly, striving to measure the 
strength of that fragrance. At the same time she reached for her mirror. Lotis, 
she was sure, was making mischief and since the forest people could not 
apparently stop her—
Twilla ran her tongue over lips which seemed dry. Undoubtedly she was a fool if 
she thought that she could stand up to a mage who had earlier bested even her 
own kind. If she were wise she would go as far in the opposite direction as she 
could. Yet still she walked on steadily and as noiselessly as she could, while 
above her the lizards fluttered their way. They seemed to show no discomfort and 
certainly had not delivered such a warning as they had when they had sent her 
into hiding in the open.
The deep leaf mold on which she trod was changing. There were humps, growing 
larger between the trees and as Twilla went she saw that some of them had broken 
completely through the deposit of years to display crowns of round stone. These 
seemed to be aligned, leading onward with a narrow track between.
Twilla came to an abrupt halt. The scent of Lotis's fragrance still wafted about 
her but there was something else here—underlying that. Something which made her 
queasy. She had not entered that plainly marked trail ahead nor did she intend 
to. When dealing with powers it was best always to be wary.
The lizards had gathered in to her, their weight again on her shoulders and her 
capped head. It would appear that they had no more desire to advance than she 
had.
That hump-marked way was veiled from sight only a few lengths ahead. The 
mists—no—Twilla studied what hung there. And memory stirred. When Karla had come 
to her after Lotis had crippled the ways of the castle the mist which had 
brought her had had the same yellowish, curdled look.
Yet—the girl looked back over her shoulder. Yes, there were other drifts of the 
mist, silver untarnished, as fair as this stuff was foul. And foul it certainly 
was.
A ward—a barrier—?
Twilla was drawn in two directions—go on, mirror in hand and dare that—or 
retreat?
As she lingered trying to make up her mind that curdled mist billowed, twisted, 
something might be caught within its center. Twilla had the memory of a fly 
entangled in a web. A captive? She could not find herself able to turn away now.
Unslinging the mirror to hold before her, she took the first stride down that 
hump-marked path. The lizards soared. They did not dive at her in warning as 
they had beyond, rather they encircled her as she went.
Twilla noted that the murky web was not retreating and the bulging movement 
within it was growing more frantic. She swung up the mirror, focused it on the 
mist, but hesitated before she tried to call up any power. Would what or who was 
entangled there suffer if she blasted the mist?
Three cautious steps onward brought her between two stones more than waist high. 
These were glistening as if water washed over them and the stench of the thing 
ahead had smothered out all of Lotis's fragrance. Twilla studied the mist trying 
with all her might to see what was so engulfed. She only saw a shadow which 
moved as if some large hand waved from muck to treetop.
Then there reached her a thrust of fear—not her own but that of another. She 
dared not waste time. The thing entrapped was in a frenzy of terror.
Mirror held out before her Twilla edged closer. The lizards spun about her 
faster and faster, but none dived to warn her. She focused her will upon the 
plate in her hand.
A silvery haze arose from that, whirling about upon itself as it gathered 
strength and force as might one of those great windstorms of the outer lands. 
Then the last root of it separated from the mirror and it bored forward as if 
she had launched some giant, vaporous screw.
The tip touched the surface of that leprous barrier. Within, the movements 
became more and more frantic. From where that mirror-mist point had touched 
there ran lines, cracks. They deepened. The foul fog writhed with more than the 
movement of its captive now. It split, peeling away as that hardly seen form 
within must have launched itself forward.
Twilla faced what came through. It was a bird, not on wing but coming at a half 
waddle. But such a bird! Even as the trees around were giants of their kind, not 
to be seen elsewhere, so was this bird larger than any she had ever witnessed 
a-wing.
As it came it fanned pinions each near as long as a man was tall. And the body 
was equal in size to her own. Its beak gaped and she saw that the edges were 
serrated giving the appearance of toothed jaws. The head went up and a little 
back and it voiced the cry she had heard before—Anisgar!
Since it was coming straight toward her Twilla was forced into retreat, fearing 
that the thing might believe her responsible for its capture. The lizards broke 
the circle they had kept about her and flew on to hover above the giant creature 
which certainly could not take wing here where the close-knit trees would 
prevent such action.
The Anisgar halted. After that one loud cry it was silent. But its head, mounted 
on a long curve of the neck, stabbed forward with such speed Twilla could not 
avoid it. The strong, wickedly toothed bill touched the mirror surface with a 
lightness which surprised her.
For a long moment it stood so, beak against the mirror. Then its head raised 
higher and she was looking into great golden eyes in which there was a spark of 
flame red. It nodded its head several times and she thought she understood. The 
creature was too large to pass her, but it wanted freedom beyond where she 
stood.
Twilla backed away still keeping the mirror in sight, followed eagerly by the 
anisgar. She was beyond that hump-marked trail, back in the Wood. But still it 
could not take to wing here. Though its gait was not far removed from a waddle 
it went past her as she pressed herself back against a tree trunk. It was moving 
she was certain with a definite purpose.
Now she was curious enough to fall in behind as the anisgar continued on its 
way. They were not retracing the way Twilla had come, for the creature pushed 
off to her right almost as soon as they had left that hump-marked trail.
Somehow Twilla was not surprised when it led her to an open space where a storm 
long since had sent crashing to earth one of the trees. The anisgar gave a hop 
to the moss-carpeted top of the downed trunk to once more sound its sharp voiced 
call.
Mist whirled and out of that curtain Oxyle stepped, Karla close behind him.
"Hail Rittengan!" The forest lord called to the anisgar with words totally 
strange to Twilla. The bird lowered its head and he stroked the gray feathers 
there. Suddenly he withdrew his hand and sniffed at the fingers. He frowned.
Karla had already looked beyond the bulk of the bird and caught sight of Twilla.
"Moon Daughter!"
Oxyle's glance followed hers.
"Where—" he began and then paused before he continued. "This one was captive and 
is now free—your doing, Moon Daughter?"
Quickly Twilla spoke of the foul thick fog, of the whiffs of fragrance which had 
led her to it, and the action of the mirror.
"Lotis!" There was sheer loathing in Karla's voice.
"Lotis," Oxyle repeated more somberly. "She has gained more than we believed. 
Khargel's hoard of knowledge is closed to her—what other source—"
Twilla interrupted. "The Dandus priest I overheard speech among the 
outlanders—he boasted of a 'friend' within the forest."
"The man is dead," countered Oxyle.
"But how much did she learn before that death?" demanded Karla. "We do not know. 
And those who follow the dark have their own way of shadowing what they learn so 
that they may seem far less than they are, until they are put to the test. She 
took your messenger—" the woman gestured toward the bird. "Had it not been for 
the smile of fortune that Moon Daughter came that way how would our plans have 
gone?"
Oxyle's mouth set in a grim line. He did not answer her but rather turned to the 
anisgar holding out one hand. The gray bird ducked its head to rest that on the 
palm of the man's hand while Oxyle stared full-eyed into its own eyes. So they 
were for a space of time, Karla and Twilla watching.
The anisgar threw up its head again with one of those cries. Then it sidled 
along the trunk of the tree, reaching the other end where the half-exposed roots 
tilted high. Oxyle motioned Twilla back. Karla had already retreated to the very 
edge of this clearing. The girl did likewise on the other side. The anisgar 
fanned its wings, ran at some speed a little way along the trunk and took off at 
an angle Twilla would not have thought possible, soaring upward toward the small 
visible slice of sky overhead. Then with a last cry from above it was gone.
Karla had already turned to Twilla. "What fortune did you have, Moon Daughter?"
Twilla reported her meeting with Leela, and that with Johann. Also that Leela 
was undertaking to see that the amulets would be distributed farther. Oxyle 
listening, was again frowning.
"What power have you set to work, Karla?"
"Upper world power, lower world united," she returned serenely.
"Catha was my aid. This is woman power, Oxyle, and it has its place—which is 
here and now."
"There shall be no meddling—" the forest lord began.
"Meddle!" Karla snapped. "We do what is needed. It is because no one 'meddled' 
that we struggle now against the sendings of that brain-darkened Lotis! She 
should have been brought to answer for her meddling long ago."
"There is the law." Oxyle looked uncomfortable as if he really could not summon 
a strong answer to that accusation.
"We abode by the law and we might have ended in a power-raised sleep. Lotis 
broke the law and now is a rottenness within our ranks when we should be facing 
the outlanders. Catha has her own powers and is not subject to the law of yours. 
While 7 think that it was broken long since and we need every weapon we can put 
hand on. Our amulets will cause no harm, rather they will win these outland 
women to more peaceful lives. Also their power is not everlasting, but it must 
serve until those invaders come to a better state of mind."
Oxyle did not look convinced. "You have taken this action upon yourself," he 
replied. "Upon you will rest the burden if it goes awry."
"And upon you—and the council," retorted Karla, "rest the burden of letting 
Lotis go her way. Has she not even dared to net your messenger, the anisgar? 
What if he had never been able to reach the nestings of his kind? Then all your 
plans would go for nothing."
He shrugged. "One error must not be balanced by another. Lotis is truly without 
the law. I would not have others take power to themselves. Perhaps these amulets 
will do as you promise, gain us some time, breed dissension in their ranks. We 
shall have to wait and see."
Having set the subject aside with a half warning he turned again to Twilla. 
"What news have they concerning these iron crawlers which Ylon says they will 
send against us?"
She repeated what she had heard from Johann and the two soldiers concerning the 
action to come.
The lizards had come to rest again on her, sitting with folded wings, small 
heads high as if they listened and understood everything she said.
When she had done Oxyle again held out his hand as he had to receive the head of 
the anisgar and the lizard playing ornament on her cap took flight, came to rest 
on the outstretched palm. Oxyle brought up his hand so that the creature's eyes 
were on a level with his own, and, as he had done with the anisgar, he stared at 
it.
With a sudden fan of wings the small flyer took to the air and, followed by its 
two companions disappeared down the nearest forest aisle. Twilla felt oddly 
deprived as they left her.
"Now let us see this trap for true power," Oxyle said. "We must make sure that 
it will not act again, for our forces will be about in the Woods very soon and 
we want no more entrapments."
Twilla guided them to the way marked by the buried and half-buried stones. The 
last traces of the curdled mist was gone. They could now see a circle of stones 
each shoulder high. The ground within that circle held no carpeting of dead 
leaves, rather it showed as slabs of the same stone flattened in an uneven 
flooring. In the middle of that was a jar of dull black, its open mouth pointed 
skyward.
Oxyle did not step within the circle. From his belt he drew a length of silver, 
slender and pointed like a throw dart. This he hurled at the jug. It struck fair 
and full on the round side of that and the container broke, broke and crumpled 
into coarse dust.
"So," Oxyle commented. "Another bit of the Dark learning—well removed. But now 
there must be a search made—for there may be other traps—perhaps even stronger."
Chapter Thirty
TWILLA SAT AGAIN at the table in the castle hall. She felt overlooked as if 
dismissed from any action impending. There was a lot of coming and going but 
none spoke to her and of Karla and Oxyle there was no sign.
She was holding one of the goblets between her palms when she saw Ylon coming 
down the long room, his hand against one wall for guidance. Looking at him she 
could see those subtle changes which she had noted in herself. There was no 
longer any sign of beard on his gaunt face. His own weathered skin was leached 
to an uncommon pallor. In so much he resembled the forest men.
But none of them went sightless. And, watching his slow advance, Twilla's hands 
clasped the goblet with force as if she would leave an impress on the metal of 
its making. Then she was on her feet going to meet him.
He paused, his head turned a little, he might be studying her with those 
sightless eyes.
"Twilla?" That was not a question and she had not spoken to give him a clue, 
somehow he knew her.
"Yes."
"What is happening in the outlands?" He turned away from his guiding wall toward 
her and she was quick to touch his arm so he came with her to the table.
"Much." She poured from the standing flagon into another goblet and pushed that 
into his hand. Swiftly she retold her visit to Leela, all she had learned from 
the fishergirl, and the scraps she had overheard the soldiers exchange.
His face was impassive as he listened to the end when she spoke of the entrapped 
anisgar and what had happened thereafter.
"A man may be dead," he said when she was done, "and yet poison he has poured 
remains. My father"—he hesitated—"my father has always been called a just man, 
keeping strictly to the letter of the laws by which he lives. But this matter of 
the priest, the child, the fire, and afterward the treatment of the women—those 
are the acts of hired mercenary, not of one of House blood. Yet he was always 
against dark teachings—"
Ylon frowned down at the table he could not see. "This country, perhaps the very 
air bespells a man for the worse. I say my father has been changed. There is 
more than one kind of blindness which can be set upon a man."
"He was not bespelled by the forest—he has not come here," protested the girl.
"No, it is the Dandus priest, to that I would swear." He drank from his goblet. 
"But the man is dead! Surely his influence can no longer entrap those he would 
have ruled!"
Twilla thought of Leela's words—"What if a priest, dead from his own spells, 
left behind him seeking thoughts to fasten to the minds of others? And if this 
has happened," she speculated, "will such soon fade?"
"We shall soon discover," he answered somberly.
"Ylon—what of Lotis?" Twilla asked suddenly.
He scowled. "I do not know whether it is because I am no longer of service to 
her, or if, in some way, I am freer in the forest. She can no longer summon 
me—though she has tried—oh, yes, she has tried!" His head went up and now his 
expression was that of the fighter he had once been.
If Lotis no longer bound him—what of his sight? Would that, too, return? Somehow 
Twilla dared not mention that. It was a subject too close, which always must lie 
in his own thoughts.
"The crawlers have reached the town," he said abruptly. "Oxyle's messenger has 
seen them. It cannot be long now before my father will move. There is this, you 
must understand, he sees himself as challenged and if he cannot outface that 
challenge he might well lose the support of his men."
"The nets?"
"The under men bring them even now. They are to be taken to the forest edge. 
Perhaps by sunrise tomorrow we shall be able to see whether power of mage 
thought can overturn power of armor's weight."
"You have doubts?" Twilla asked.
He shrugged. "There are no possibilities which cannot be met—if fortune takes a 
hand. But it seems that the nets have taken at least one river intruder and hold 
him well. Whether they can bring the crawlers under control—who knows?"
"Ylon, where do you stand in this battle, if battle it comes to be?" she asked, 
her eyes intent upon his face.
He did not answer at once. Rather he drank again from the goblet setting it down 
carefully when he had finished.
"I am no longer Ylon, Harmond's son. By his will he cut me free of duty to blood 
ties. I do not like what has happened. That the foulness of the Dandus priest 
has besmirched my father. The forest, through Lotis, constrained me to bondage, 
but that is now also broken. I am free to choose. What I want"—he paused again, 
turning the goblet around and around on the tabletop—"is a fair peace. If my 
father strives to fasten his will upon the forest, in one way or another he will 
lose and that loss may be hard for all our race. If he can be persuaded to a 
truce talk—But to incline him so demands that he must be made to see that there 
are powers greater than he can summon, but powers which will not attack without 
provocation. I have spoken with Oxyle. He has promised me this—that if the 
crawlers are safely stopped, I shall be the one to state terms—"
"You believe that your father will listen?" Twilla remembered only too clearly 
Ylon's outcast state in the village.
"If the nets do as promised he will have no other choice."
What if they thought him a traitor? Twilla shivered. They could well cut him 
down before he had a chance to speak at all. Yet she knew that this was 
something Ylon had set himself to do, a way of proving that he was not un-man as 
they had labeled him.
Time flicked by as it did within the castle. She was never certain how fast 
hours sped within the forest boundaries, but Twilla was sure it was on a 
different scale from the accounting of the outer world. She sat with Ylon but 
they no longer spoke. Perhaps he was lost in his own thoughts. Lotis—again hot 
anger arose within her—Lotis had set him on this path, and, whatever would come 
in the end, could be laid to her sorcery. Twilla had known rage and hate before 
but that was pale against the emotion she now fought to control.
Where was Lotis? Did her own kin hunt her down, or were those stifling laws of 
theirs against such action? Truly Lotis had already proven traitor to those of 
her blood, surely they would not let her remain free to perhaps entangle and 
defeat what they now wished to do.
The traffic back and forth through the hall had thinned as time passed. Then of 
a sudden there came a small party through one of the doors, and Twilla 
recognized Chard to the fore of a detachment of armed under men. Over their 
heads fluttered a flock of the lizards and they marched in a line, bearing with 
them rolls with the gleam of fresh-worked silver. One party so burdened came on, 
to be followed by a second.
Mist swirled in and Oxyle stepped out.
The forest lord raised his hand in salute. "Well met, weapon smiths. And well 
timed your coming. These crawlers are already on their way. Come," he whirled 
out his hand and a coil of the mist circled up from the floor, wreathed the 
first party of the small men and their burdens and swept them away as another 
mist began to grow.
Ylon stood up. Twilla was quick to join him. When the second party from 
underground had been carried off Oxyle beckoned to the girl. She caught Ylon's 
nearest hand and urged him forward. Then there was mist about them also, and 
they entered those breathless seconds of transport.
As it cleared the duskiness about them was that of the shade of the great trees, 
while before them was the ragged fringe of brush which marked the edge of the 
forest domain.
Beyond that the sky was a streaked shell marked by the dawn. Oxyle advanced to 
the very edge of the brush. Throwing back his head, he sent shrilling into the 
air a sound so like the trumpeting of the anisgars that Twilla could almost 
believe he had taken on some of their nature.
There was the flapping of great wings in the air just beyond the brush. Then 
settled into the tall grass anisgars themselves. Twilla counted as they landed 
there, their long necks weaving back and forth, those saw edge bills open a 
little, twelve of them.
Oxyle did not go to them as they clustered together with any further sound. But 
there was sound coming from the open lands beyond. First merely a discordant 
creaking like a distant echo but growing stronger every moment.
There was a trilling above Twilla. She saw there not only the lizards, their 
skin wings widespread, but with them asprites. There was no signal given which 
Twilla could see, but that cloud of many wings flashed out from among the trees 
into the morning air and the ever-brightening light made them plain to see. They 
wheeled on toward the scars of the fire and Twilla somehow guessed that it was 
that landmark which must have been decided upon for a proper place to immobilize 
the strange war machines, if they could indeed be rendered harmless.
What part the small winged creatures had in the coming engagement she could not 
guess, unless they were set to play a similar game against mounted men as the 
asprites had done to her service before. They were now circling the burned 
patch, they venturing no farther than that.
That hollow creaking grew louder. Then a thin line of horsemen was plain to be 
seen, the high grass brushing their stirrups. At their coming the asprites and 
the lizards went into action.
Twilla heard the neighs of startled horses and the shouting of men. That long 
line began to draw together until the flyers apparently herded them into a more 
compact mass. The horses wild under such attack reared, strove to rid themselves 
of their riders and be gone.
What they had escorted into battle could be seen. None of the ripples of the 
prairie land were able to conceal the first vast bulk moving at what was indeed 
a crawl forward.
Behind that dark blur was its twin. Foot soldiers marched beside the crawlers. 
As the ponderous war machines advanced closer to the burned area there was a 
constant troubling of the air and Twilla, though she could not pick out any 
individual form, was sure that the lizards and the asprites were again at 
attack. There were shouts from the men and bared weapons flourished in the air 
as if to cut down some small foe entirely too fast to be struck.
What moved the crawlers Twilla could not guess. They were certainly not being 
horse drawn and they moved at hardly more than a slow walking pace. While the 
escorts, both mounted and afoot, were being driven in, herded toward one or 
other of the lumbering monsters.
The under men were on the move. Those bearing the first of the nets uncoiled 
them. A number of them acting together caught up their handiwork and sent it 
flying up over the brush, throwing with the same skill Twilla had seen fishermen 
use to spread out a net across as wide a span of water as possible.
Six of the anisgars arose from their squatting position and fanned around the 
net taking up position equally spaced. Almost as one they dipped then- heads and 
their saw bills caught upon the edges of the net. Together they moved out 
farther, dragging the net among them. Then, with an effort but managing it, they 
took to the air carrying the silver strands now aglitter in the sun.
The second net was already being hurled outward and the remaining birds caught 
it as deftly as their fellows had done.
Out both small flocks wheeled and the brilliance of the nets caused a flashing 
which brought cries from the oncoming force. The anisgars having adjusted to the 
weight they supported moved purposefully at a speed which brought them over both 
the crawlers and the men mounted and on foot now clustered about them.
The huge birds began a circular maneuver while the men shouted and pointed 
upward. Twilla saw a flight of arrows but none came near the birds, instead 
those shafts sped toward the nets as a bit of iron might be drawn to a magnet, 
slapping themselves tightly to the strands.
Down swooped the anisgars, and without any command from Oxyle that Twilla could 
detect they loosed their burdens, which straightway fell. As the arrows had been 
drawn to the netting so was the netting in turn drawn to the crawlers and the 
men clustered around them. Then the nets touched both armored men and machine 
and held, drawing most of their outer captives against the bulk of the crawlers 
and seemingly binding them there.
Horses wandered loose but the forces sent against the forest were firmly 
entrapped. Shouts which began in rage turned to fear as those entrapped 
struggled unable to free themselves. Twilla heard the exultant voices of the 
under men, some of them patting each other on the back in the affirmation of a 
job well done.
Swiftly Twilla explained to Ylon what had happened.
"Who commands the force?" he asked in return.
She pushed forward a little. Then saw that leader plainly in a red surcoat meant 
to be a battle signal. "Ustar."
The guards captain was one of those fighting the strongest against his bonds. He 
cried aloud orders, none of which his followers might obey.
"Steer me," Ylon demanded. And Twilla caught his arm to aid. Then Oxyle and 
Chard joined the two and Ylon appeared to sense their coming.
"They may listen the better to me," he said.
The forest lord nodded. "Have your chance, Ylon. Though you may have less power 
with them than you think."
Ylon gave a small, bitter laugh. "I may have none at all, but one can always 
make trial." He moved toward the brush fringe and Twilla drew him toward a place 
which offered passage.
There was a steady clamor from the struggling men. But, though they fought their 
bonds none won freedom. While the crawlers seemed as tightly pinned as the 
bunched forces about them.
Ylon strode forward, Twilla fast beside him. She had one hand for his arm and 
the other raised so she fingered the mirror. Though from all she could see there 
was no danger of any of those ahead winning out of the net.
As the two from the forest approached the clamor of the men stilled. All of them 
were watching Ylon and Twilla. She could see Ustar very plainly now, his face 
was crimson with rage. He tried to lunge forward as if to throw himself at his 
brother, but such an action was impossible.
Ylon came to a halt at the edge of the seared ground where the balefire had 
burned.
"Ustar!" He raised his voice so all those beyond could hear.
The captain pursed his mouth and spat. "Demon lover. Traitor!" he answered 
hoarsely.
Ylon turned a fraction, guided by his brother's voice, to face him squarely.
"Where rides our father?" he asked.
"Father? You are no son to him, un-man. Are you walking wit-deprived again? Be 
sure you shall meet him at the proper time and it will not be a meeting you will 
take pleasure in. For this you shall pay dearly—"
"I think not," Ylon returned. "Again I ask—where is Lord Harmond?"
"Where he belongs and when he comes forth—"
"Ustar," Ylon's calmness was a rebuke to Ustar's anger-thickened voice, "believe 
this, you have come up against the first defense. There shall be others waiting. 
Though you shall not stir from where you are until Lord Harmond comes to treat—"
"To treat?" brayed Ustar. "He will come with fire and ax, mark that, traitor. Do 
you think he would speak with you, or with such as that demon whore beside you?"
Suddenly Ylon laughed and that sound seemed to react on Ustar as if a lash had 
been laid to his back. "Ustar, you should not speak such words of this lady. 
Lord Harmond himself offered her to you in marriage—"
Twilla saw Ustar's eyes go wide as he stared at her from head to foot and back 
again.
"So she was one with those—"
"Not so, she is what she said she was—a healer. And healing can make many 
changes. But this matter is not of importance now. If you or one of your men be 
freed, will you take a message to Lord Harmond?"
For the second time Ustar spat. "Free any of us, un-man, and we shall sword gut 
you, traitor that you are. My father will follow his own will."
Ylon shrugged. "So be it then. You and those with you shall have time to think. 
If you find one ready to serve as a messenger let it be known."
He turned, Twilla with him. Behind them the cries of the netted men had turned 
to curses, delivered with the same force as they might have aimed sword blows. 
From sounds, Twilla did not turn her head to watch, they were again fighting the 
net strands.
Overhead fluttered the lizards and the asprites, the latter seeming to dance on 
the air. They circled Ylon and Twilla and then headed back toward the netted 
men. Twilla did not envy any who might catch their attention.
Un-man, Twilla thought. She had heard that word loud among the curses. Lotis—her 
anger stirred. If the curse of Lotis remained what life would Ylon have? He had 
served the forest people well, surely Oxyle could do something to break that 
spell. All their talk of laws and ancient oaths should not stand between Ylon 
and his eyes. Healer, she was supposed to be a healer and what could she 
do—except stand by his side, be his eyes when it was needful. Un-man! Surely no 
one had proved himself more than that than this man who strode beside her with 
the curses of his own people following him.
They came to the forest fringe and made their way through it. Oxyle and Chard 
waited.
Again it was as if Ylon could see them for he asked: "You heard?"
"We heard. Those will be left to consider what may be done to them. They may be 
less contentious later this day."
"Oxyle," Twilla repeated his name sharply as he was turning away.
The forest lord looked at her.
"Lotis—" She did not know just how to begin a plea she knew she must make.
Then— The air shimmered and Twilla was aware once again of that near stifling 
fragrance. Ylon swung around to face that disturbance and Oxyle stood, his feet 
slightly apart, as one braces himself against an attack.
Lotis was there. Her beauty was in no way diminished and yet, when one looked 
into her green eyes, Twilla thought, one could see the deadly light kindled by 
the shadow powers she had been dealing with.
She smiled.
"Ylon—come—" She crooked her finger at him.
He did not move. Lotis lost her sly smile, her lips thinned.
"Come!" She gave that second order loudly.
"I am no longer your bond man," he replied in a level voice.
"I have set my mark on you. You are mine!" She hissed like a cat warning off a 
rival.
"You set your mark on me and still I bear it," he returned evenly. "But you can 
no longer hold me."
"You—" she turned a face now rage flushed to Oxyle. "The law is broke—"
"The law has indeed been broken," the forest lord replied. "But by your own 
acts, Lotis, we shall—"
"You shall do nothing!" Her voice skittered up the scale into a screech. "I have 
powers you have not dreamed of. See what happens to this bond man who says he is 
no longer answerable to me!"
She lifted her hand but Twilla moved as quickly. Even as Lotis pointed a finger 
at Ylon and that finger began to blaze with a light beyond any true flesh, the 
girl swung up the mirror between Lotis and her prey.
Chapter Thirty-One
A THRUST OF light like a spear sped from Lotis's finger. It struck full upon the 
mirror rather than Ylon's breast. Struck—and was reflected back in nearly the 
same instant toward the woman. She opened her mouth perhaps to utter some 
counter spell—or a scream.
For the light hit full upon her, struck and spread, enveloping her body as 
flames might have done. There came a sound—a wail which carried both rage and 
fear. For a long moment Lotis was so enveloped and then—
There was no woman. What reared at the foot of the tree behind where she had 
stood was a pillar of gray rock. Twilla backed away, the mirror in her hand 
falling to her side. She came up with a jolt as her shoulders struck against the 
trunk of another tree. There she stood, staring wide-eyed at that pillar which 
might have so reared here for an age.
Oxyle broke the silence first: "So be it. She has taken the brunt of her own 
spell. Nor will she be free of it—for only the spell layer can break such 
encirclement and a rock cannot find voice—"
Twilla was trembling, her free hand pressed against her lips. What had she done? 
When Lotis had been free there had always been a chance she might be forced to 
return Ylon's sight—now, she herself had destroyed that one small hope.
"She is—not," Ylon said slowly. "Always I could feel her thoughts seeking me. 
They are gone now." There was the lightness of relief in his voice. Perhaps, 
Twilla thought, he did not realize what this meant to him.
Twilla turned upon Oxyle. "She—she is impotent? There is no way to break her 
free?" she appealed.
The forest lord shook his head. "She is caught in her own bespelling, that we 
cannot break. But at least she is no longer a threat to what we would do."
"So—" Twilla's anger was as much for herself as for Oxyle, "she cannot return 
Ylon's sight now."
"That is so," he agreed.
"Lotis is—gone," it was Ylon who spoke. "There is nothingness. I have—" his 
voice dropped near to a mere murmur, "I have feared that she could once more 
bind me. What—what was done?"
"She sent a spell toward you, the Moon Daughter's mirror was a shield before you 
which reflected it back to her—trapping her in the fate she planned for you. 
Lotis is a—rock!"
Ylon gave a small, uncertain laugh. "A monument to her own evil thereby."
Their conversation was only meaningless words to Twilla, she was caught hard in 
her own dark spell. She had destroyed Ylon's last hope. He would remain an 
object of scorn for those of his blood. Perhaps— even to stand a rock might be 
better than a lifetime in the everlasting dark! She was a healer—and this was no 
healing—
"Twilla?" Ylon was holding out a hand, groping in the air as she was too far 
behind him for any touch. "Twilla, is all right with you?"
Her face twisted. She swallowed bitterness and guilt. She had doomed him and he 
worried concerning her.
"I was not harmed," she croaked, fighting furiously to keep tears well-bottled 
within.
"May the Three in One be praised!" He had located her by her voice and now he 
swung around and, with a stride, was before her— both his hands out now, running 
up and down her body as if he sought some wound she had kept secret.
His fingers came to rest on her shoulders and he drew her to him, enfolding her 
as she came.
"You have freed me, Healer. What is the matter?" he demanded a second later.
"I—your eyes—" she got out between small gasps. "Lotis cannot reverse the 
spell."
"Healer—Twilla—you saved a life. Keep that in mind."
"I—I will be your eyes—always!" she burst out.
He was smiling. "Make no promises, Healer. You have given me much already."
Ylon continued to hold her and she felt safe against his strength. Within her 
she vowed—not promised—that what she said was true. He would have her eyes as 
long as life allowed it so.
They stood up so still together as Oxyle summoned a carrier mist and brought 
them back to the castle hall. There were a number of the forest people gathered 
there. Many Twilla had never seen before. But they stood in two bodies separated 
by a space across which those in one stared straightly at the smaller group who 
seemed ill at ease. There were not many of those, three of the women, six of the 
men. And when Oxyle appeared they straightened tensely as if awaiting some 
judgment to be passed on them. Those who had followed Lotis Twilla surmised.
"We stand asunder," Oxyle greeted them all, "when it is the time for us to face 
another foe. Carwar." One of the men in that first row of the smaller group, 
looked to meet Oxyle's eyes.
"Lotis is ensnared for all time in a dead-spell she desired to set upon 
another," the forest lord continued. "She plundered the sealed knowledge yet 
there was a greater power to answer her. You gave aid to her, as did you, 
Ethera." One of the women started, her mouth opening as if to utter a protest 
and then closing. "Makcon, Alsida." One by one Oxyle named them.
"What promises did she make? Power for all of you greater than what the rest of 
us could summon? Yet that power failed. We have said that the outlanders act out 
of greed in their drive to despoil us. It seems that greed also lies here within 
our own fastness. Once before there was such greed—Khargel—"
Someone, perhaps in that shunned company drew a breath so sharp it was audible.
"Khargel," Oxyle repeated as if to impress that name upon their ears—their 
minds. "His greed near lost all to us—severed us from our small kin—turned us 
one against the other. Lotis strove to do the same. Look into your hearts. Were 
you serving the great trees or your own greed?"
Those he addressed stood silent. They no longer watched him, rather they were 
staring at the floor. Then the man Oxyle had first addressed spoke:
"There was other power—Lotis gained it from beyond the forest. She scried and 
found a source. It may still live."
"I think not. He who must have sent it is dead. Kin—" He took a step toward the 
group. "We fight now a battle for us all—against the outlanders. Do we stand 
divided so that they may gain from our weakness?"
"No!" One of the women he had addressed answered. "Lotis led us promising great 
things, that we might use that from the storehouse of Khargel to turn back the 
invaders. She said that you were afraid to call upon what she could. But—and 
this true, Lord, we were uncertain and when she lighted the Dank Fire—" The 
woman shivered. "Then we knew what fools we were and we scattered. Set us under 
binding, if you wish, we deserve no better."
There was an assenting murmur from those standing around her.
"No binding," Oxyle replied. "We need all power for what we would do. By the 
learning of the under men the enemy have temporarily bond themselves and we are 
leaving them to think about their helplessness. Of this something may come in 
our favor."
Neither Oxyle nor any of his people gave any other reproach to those who stood 
apart, and slowly they joined with their fellows. It was Oxyle now who gestured 
Twilla and Ylon forward and she guided the outlander to stand beside the forest 
lord.
"With whom do we bargain, outlander?" asked Oxyle.
"Unless matters have greatly changed there is but one over lord— Lord Harmond. 
He was not with those you entrapped. It was his son who captained the force with 
the crawlers."
"You are also his son," Oxyle replied.
Ylon slowly shook her head. "When Lotis took my eyes she took from me all that 
makes a man—in my father's opinion."
Twilla shivered, with every word the burden she bore grew the heavier.
"Does kin blood mean so little among your kind?" It was Karla who pushed forward 
a little to demand that.
"Lord Harmond," Ylon did not speak of him any longer as father, Twilla noted, 
"is first a warrior and a maimed man is of little worth among the ranks of any 
army. But I tell you this—only Lord Harmond can give the orders which will bring 
peace."
"And if he is not among those we hold captive—can we believe that he will ride 
out to be also caught—even though our nets are all in use and that he does not 
know?" That was Chard tapping the butt of his staff against the floor.
"Do you suggest then that some of us go to him? We would be as helpless as 
children. Our strength comes from the great trees—if we withdraw from them our 
power wanes," Vestel said sharply.
"We dare not even move to disarm those we have taken," Oxyle agreed. "They hold 
and wear iron. Only the under people can handle such without bun and I do not 
send those in my place."
Chard rapped heavily with his boar's staff summoning the full attention of all 
who heard him. "We can call upon the tuskers—they will form a guard."
"One not immune to spears and swords," Oxyle straightway pointed out. "A 
messenger we need but—"
There was a sudden eruption of mist halfway down the hall and out of it 
stumbled, as he had been caught up while running and so delivered in mid-stride, 
Fanna.
"Lord," he gasped, pushing his way past Ylon and Twilla, "there comes another 
army—"
Twilla's grasp on Ylon's sleeve tightened. Another army and Chard had just said 
that there were no more nets!
"But—" Fanna was continuing, "these are not soldiers such as we have seen—they 
are women marching so, although they carry weapons—"
Women! Twilla looked to Karla and then to Catha.
It was Karla whose voice arose above the murmur of those listeners about them 
and she spoke directly to Twilla.
"Moon Daughter, perhaps our endeavors have brought forth fruit. Shall we see?"
Ylon and Twilla crowded up beside them. Mist gathered and the hall was hidden 
from sight. Then they stood before that fringe of brush looking out toward the 
tangle of men and crawlers. The captives were calling out to the women for aid 
as they tramped with purpose in lines which indeed had some resemblance to a 
half-trained force of recruits.
They stopped beside the netted crawlers and men but they did not approach closer 
those now shouting in growing rage for help.
Instead two of the women came on and Twilla knew them. There was Leela armed 
with a short-shafted spear and Rutha who held a bared sword. They passed the 
burned ground and came before the line of brush. It was Leela who called out in 
a voice loud enough to be heard above the clamor of the men:
"Healer—we would parley."
Twilla loosed her hold on Ylon. She glanced to Oxyle. "I will go," she said and 
was on her way before he could refuse even if he wished to.
Then she was under the hot sun of late afternoon, fronting those two who had 
shared her trip over mountain.
"I have come," she said.
Leela gave a quick glance over her shoulder to where the crawlers had come to 
rest.
"They took our men—like plow beasts they use them to move those things. It grows 
very hotter within when the sun is full upon them. We would have them free."
"We have offered to treat," Twilla returned, "but that can only be with Lord 
Harmond and none among those netted would agree to take our message."
"So—" Rutha, too, looked back at the tangle of men whose voices arose even 
higher now. Where earlier they had pled now they were cursing and uttering 
threats. "I think you will not find a messenger there. But we also have voices 
and enough that Lord Harmond cannot close his ears to all. Our men have been 
pressed by the soldiers into this, we want them free. If to carry a message will 
aid in that we shall be glad to do so."
Leela nodded vehemently. "What is your message, Healer?"
"I am not the leader here, that I must discover. Wait!"
Twilla pushed back through the brush and spoke directly to Oxyle. "Well, Lord, 
do you appoint a time for such a meeting?"
"At moonrise," he said. "Tell Lord Harmond to come himself at moonrise."
Would the lord listen to women no matter how demanding they were, she wondered. 
He had been so used to disposing of them for life in his shameful lottery. And 
he might still even have a portion of his guard who had not been sent on this 
mission. But the end must be left to fortune as always.
"Moonrise," she repeated and returned to the waiting women. "Tell Lord Harmond 
to come at moonrise, but until then his men remain prisoners. I am sorry for 
your men, sisters in bondage, but we dare not free them."
"That is so. But let our women remain. We two and another shall go."
Leela was frowning. "It is very hot in that thing of the devil. Our men will be 
spent by moonrise."
"I do not think so. They are strong and the sun is near down now. When that is 
gone it will be cooler."
"Come," Rutha pulled at Leela. "The sooner we find the lord and give him the 
message perhaps the sooner they will be free again. We shall do our best, 
Healer."
She turned abruptly and marched back toward the crowd of women. They had not 
approached the netted men too closely, but they were exchanging shouted messages 
back and forth.
Twilla remained where she was until she saw Rutha swing into the saddle of one 
of the loose horses which had been grazing and Leela helped herself to a 
second—then they were off, heading back for the town.
Twilla returned to the place she had left Ylon and swiftly she told him of the 
agreement of the women. He gave a low whistle.
"Indeed Lord Harmond will have to change his mind on several counts," was his 
comment.
Those within the wood could see the women now settled down in the tall grass, 
broken into small groups where each seemed to know well the others. Twilla 
watched them, suddenly a little wistful. She missed the quiet round of the old 
days when she had gone forth with Hulde and had had a measure of respect from 
those who called upon their aid. Though Hulde had been much bound up in her 
studies between calls on her skills they had often talked about many things and 
the wisewoman had always treated her as a peer. She had never had such a 
relationship with any women since she had come over mountain.
Karla and Catha had a place in her life, but the fact that they had sprung from 
very different roots always tinged their meetings. Leela, she thought, might 
have been the friend she longed for—or Rutha. But between them now stood the 
shadow of power and she did not believe that that would ever be swept away.
"Twilla?" Ylon's questing voice drew her. Again she knew the burden she must 
cheerfully bear from now on—never letting any know that it was not her first 
choice. If she only could have forced Lotis to undo the wrong she had done!
"I am here." Two steps took her to join him. The forest people were remaining 
where they were but there were baskets of fruit and their all satisfying cakes, 
as well as the sap-filled flagons appearing and they settled down under the 
spread of the trees to eat and drink.
Twilla swiftly took a portion from the nearest basket, chose a small flagon and 
brought them back to where Ylon waited, sharing out the provisions with him. 
After his calling of her name he was silent, only ate and drank with the air of 
one preparing himself for a future need.
When he had done, his hand went to the sword at his belt and he drew it, running 
his finger lightly down the edge of the blade. Twilla watched him with growing 
apprehension.
"Will they fight?" she demanded.
For a moment he did not reply and, when he did answer, there was troubled note 
in his voice. "I do not know what spirit rules my father now. He is a proud man, 
to admit himself defeated may be too bitter a mouthful for him to swallow. The 
under men have no more of their nets—if Lord Harmond has held back any force of 
men then—" He shook his head.
"Would he agree and then play false?" she prodded.
Ylon frowned, his head forward so he might be regarding the sword he held.
"Before time I would have smashed such a lie back into the teeth of him who 
dared to utter it. All my father possessed when he was chosen by the king to 
come over mountain was his honor. And that he had cherished from his cradle. But 
why he allowed the Dandus priest to build the balefire—that was not the doing of 
the Lord Harmond I knew. Perhaps there has been some change over mountain— some 
command directly from the throne. If so—then—"
"Then any truce or understanding we might achieve here would be for nothing in 
the end," she said. She was tired, feeling her whole body ache with that 
tiredness. There never was any foreseeable end to the troubles now and ahead.
"That is the dark side of the matter. On the other hand my father may have been 
forced to accept that blood drinking priest and feels freedom with him gone. If 
that is the case he might well make very sure that no other such caller of the 
Dark gets a foothold here. There is this: In his youth my father was a sword 
brother of Arvanis, passing upward from novice to guardsman. He was recalled by 
the kin when his two elder brothers were drowned in a faring overseas. But the 
teaching of Arvanis has been his inner belief. He kept always a sword shrine in 
any house where he was quartered for long. If—if we can get him to swear the 
swordoath I do not think that even the king's own word can make him break it."
Twilla knew a little about the sword brothers. They were astute, dedicated men 
willing to serve any cause they knew was just. So incorruptible that any lord or 
king gave them absolute trust, but also so incorruptible that they took service 
with none whose cause they had not debated in open council and found to be good.
"That is why," Ylon was continuing, "it must be me who states the terms— Can you 
bring me to Oxyle?"
Twilla saw the forest lord at a distance. Chard was with him and Karla, Catha, 
and some of the forest men. They were talking earnestly together, each in turn, 
with the others carefully listening.
"Come," she was on her feet and reached down a hand to draw him up beside her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
TWILLA HAD LISTENED to their arguments for what seemed a long stretch of time. 
Ylon was fast set in his belief be would be the best spokesman to open any 
communication with Lord Harmond. Twilla wondered fully if he feared his father 
had in mind some surprise attack to center on the forest people. It seemed to 
her that Ylon himself was in doubt of where Lord Harmond now stood.
As the suggestion and counter suggestion dragged out she felt as if there was a 
wall growing between her and those engaged in such strong argument. She felt 
dull of wit, drowsy as one who had withdrawn in part from those about her. Her 
shoulders were supported by one of the giant trees, and she did not even feel 
the roughness of the bark through jerkin and shirt.
It was odd, this state into which she had passed so gradually that she was not 
aware of what was happening. Neither did she have any urge to break it, even if 
she could. Dimly she was aware of the woodland, of the forest people centering 
now about Ylon, of the floating mists. Certainly she was there.
However, she was also in another place and sometimes that sharpened enough to 
blot out her surroundings but never to the extent that she was not aware of 
where she truly was.
However, that other scene drew her, promised quiet, safety, removal of all need 
for struggle or action. She saw again the walls of Hulde's dwelling close about 
her. All the once-loved, familiar furnishings stood in their proper places. 
Twilla drew a deep breath and near tasted the freshness of the spicy, minted 
herbs she could strongly smell. There was the table even more crammed with 
retorts, phials, a brazier or two, and lord of all he surveyed, Greykin sat 
eyeing the clutter before him with his usual disdain.
There was safety here—that she knew and drew the vision about her as she might a 
winter cloak against the fury of a storm. She was seated on her familiar stool 
and she was busy with her set task, polishing the round of the ancient mirror. 
Though this time she did not hum the usual notes Hulde had first voiced for her.
No, she was singing something else, words out of nowhere so impressing 
themselves on her mind as they came one by one that she was sure she would never 
forget them:
"See not with the eye, but with the mind.
p>Evil spell can no longer bind."
Even through that half-sleep she grasped that, held to it. Round and round her 
fingers went on the surface of the mirror. She wore no pads to protect the flesh 
and the friction of that pressure caused pain. But the hurt was something far 
away, it had nothing to do with the here and now.
She polished on. Greykin yawned. A shadow moved. Twilla looked up eagerly—there 
was a flicker. She was back in the forest. Fiercely she fought to recapture that 
other half-seen world. She did so in time to front Hulde.
The Wisewoman was looking at her, smiling gently. She raised a hand to tuck one 
of her wandering gray locks under her cap as she said:
"A long way you have gone, Twilla. You have chosen and your path lies clear."
"I want to stay here!" There was a tree pushing its trunk from the wall behind 
Hulde and Twilla strove to thrust it away.
"One wants many things, child. Perhaps a growing plant wishes to be again a 
seed, sleeping deep in the earth. But such can never be. You have passed beyond 
these boundaries, Twilla, you must fashion your own heart place, dear child."
The walls grew dim, were gone. Greykin and his table throne vanished. For a 
moment Twilla fought to hold to Hulde. She felt a caressing touch on her 
forehead and looked out among aisles of trees. Catha was beside her, the under 
woman's small face somehow echoing the same smile Twilla had seen on Hulde's 
wrinkled countenance.
"You are prepared for battle then?" she asked softly and gestured to where 
Twilla's hands rested on her knees. The mirror was under them and one hand still 
lay upon its surface as if it had been halted in mid-swing. Twilla raised it to 
survey her fingers. They were reddened but the skin was not broken and, though 
they hurt, the pain was small and still seemed afar from her.
"I do not know—" Twilla answered, still half bemused. "Does it not depend upon 
the outlanders what we must do?"
"Your young lordling nurses fear. He has won his point with the upper lord. But 
there is trouble in that voice which will greet this leader from far away."
Twilla slung the mirror once more around her neck.
"Not alone," she said briefly.
Catha smiled again. "No, not alone, healer. I give you this to remember—when 
your heart tells you the moment—then heal as only you can. Be never doubtful, 
Moon Daughter. There are many things of power in the world, hidden and in use. 
But most of them pass by their own will and in doing so they shape the one who 
takes them."
"All I have learned has come by chance—"
"Not so. What you have learned lay within you to be awakened. And there will be 
more and more, as you will discover."
Twilla smiled uncertainly. "You give sustaining counsel, Catha."
"I give what is to be known. Now come, we break our fast again. Night's dusk is 
growing heavier and the moonrise follows thereafter."
The girl followed Catha and, passing among the forest people and the under men, 
she found Ylon. He sat with the bared sword balanced on his knees, running his 
hand up down the blade as if he polished it so, even as she had the mirror.
Twilla settled down beside him but did not speak. His head swung around so he 
was facing her.
"How far from moonrise?" he asked almost dully as if, having decided upon some 
act of duty, he discovered little hope in it.
"Not long. The messengers say that they still are enchained. But that the women 
wait with them."
"This whole matter rests somehow on women. Those of the forest defeated us in 
the beginning. Then—" he paused, "Twilla, you were unwilling to come over 
mountain, were those with you also?
"Those I had speech with, yes."
"So we used women as weapons," he commented. "And yet, Twilla, you have already 
countered much of what was done and planned to be done.
"It is different within the forest. Yes, Lotis and some of the others fought, 
but in the beginning it was a fight to defend themselves. Here man and woman 
stand equal—each may have some powers open only to their sex. But those are 
weighed against each other and none is the lesser for it. Women have not fared 
well at our hands over mountain."
"Each people has their own customs—"
"But," he said abruptly, "the wise learn the best wherever that is made plain. 
Ustar would have put you to raw shame to mend his own pride—"
Twilla laid a hand over one of those busy smoothing the sword. "Ustar is Ustar—I 
have Ylon to know and remember."
His forest-paled face suddenly flushed. "Healer—Lady—I am only half a man."
"Here you have proved yourself complete!" she said sharply. That inner rage 
moving in her and with it the shame that she had destroyed his last chance of 
standing equal to his father and the men he had once commanded.
"Ylon—they come from the town!" Fanna stood beside them.
Ylon got easily to his feet and Twilla was instantly beside him. "Not you." He 
sheathed his sword and flung out a hand to form a barrier before her.
"Yes. You have said that this included women, Lord Ylon. Very well I stand with 
those of my own even as you front those of yours."
The moon was indeed rising as they pushed their way back through the brush and 
stood at the edge of the open land. The captive men were silent but their women 
still kept their places not too far away and from the distance came the pounding 
of hooves, a handful of tall men rode into the fuller light.
At least one of their questions was answered, he had brought no large force with 
him, that straightbacked leader whose mount paced well before the rest. Most of 
his followers wore mail and went armed, but two huddled in the dull cloaks of 
townsmen. Behind a horse's length or two, rode others—women—so Twilla was sure 
Rutha and Leela had returned.
"They are here," Twilla said in a low voice, as that line drew up among the 
blackened spaces where the fire brands had left their scars.
Lord Harmond had still kept his place well to the fore, and now he raised his 
hands as his well-trained charger stood still and unlatched his helmet leaving 
his face bare in the moonlight. It was the same set countenance Twilla had seen 
at the lottery. This was not a man to be easily swayed though she had never 
believed that he would be.
She caught at the brush and pulled it away leaving an open path for Ylon. He 
moved forward with the same determined stride that any soldier on the march 
would use.
Twilla followed him a space behind, standing. She was aware of other movement. 
Oxyle might have at last been won to allow Ylon to be spokesman but he was there 
and with him Karla, Catha, Chard, his boar's staff deep planted as he stood, 
both hands clasped tightly around it.
"I am here—" Lord Harmond's voice was as cold as Ustar's ravings had been heated 
by rage. "My men you hold in bondage."
Twilla saw a stir among that small group who had ridden here with him. Perhaps 
they wondered that their lord would admit so much.
"In bondage—not death!" Ylon's hand brushed his sword hilt. His head was raised 
and his father's voice was his guide so they spoke face to face.
"So speaks a traitor— Where is the commander who would talk with me?"
"He is captive to that whore before you—he speaks with her tongue!" The hoarse 
voice, worn by ranting came from the netted men, it could only be Ustar. "Do not 
deal with a traitor who bends to a woman's orders."
Ylon made no answer to the taunt.
"I have been given the right to treat," he returned calmly. "For I know what 
life lies in the outlands and what abides in the forest. You see your army in 
bonds, Lord Harmond, and I say to you that that is not the least of the defenses 
which can be brought against you."
"I speak only with leaders," the chill in his father's voice carried the arctic 
wind of mountain winter now. "No maimed man can treat with warriors. These have 
not given you back your eyes—perhaps they cannot. So there are limits to their 
powers. Make no mistake we shall search out such and use them."
"Do you swear that by Izearl?"
The name seemed to reecho across the open. There was sudden quiet from the 
captives. Lord Harmond sat statue still in the saddle.
His features remained as if chipped from stone and yet Twilla sensed something—a 
kind of wavering which lay now in the air about them. The moon was unusually 
brilliant tonight. Like to the moon she had seen in the pool where her powers 
had been restored.
"You speak a name—" Lord Harmond hesitated as if trying to find words.
"I speak a name which must be well known in the outlands. Was it for Izearl that 
your priest built a balefire and would bum a child?
Such was not the way of Arvanis. Have you bowed knee in Izearl's foul house?"
Lord Harmond's features twisted as if he could no longer control some tumult 
within.
"You speak of things you do not understand—"
One of the armed men behind him, his helmet well shadowing his face so he could 
not be well seen, moved forward.
"This has no bearing on what should be done here, my Lord. Let the un-man go and 
mouth his blasphemies in the Wood he has embraced. He is nothing—and he can do 
nothing—"
Twilla moved. She had no conscious bidding, but it was set upon her as much as 
if she were one of those soldiers under orders. She was behind Ylon now, mirror 
raised in both her hands. Standing on tiptoe she passed it over his head, 
bringing the reflective side down before his face.
In the brilliance of the moon his face was sharply defined, except for that mask 
of filmy silver across his eyes.
She spoke and her voice was meant for him alone but it carried.
"See not with eyes but with the mind.
The evil spell cannot now bind."
And she willed, willed him to do as he must do, look within himself for his 
cure. Lotis had laid the sorcery on him; Lotis was gone. But before her going he 
had already broken free of most of the spells she had set upon him.
Her voice arose, a little shrill. She was aware of nothing now but that 
reflection, of the need for turning within Ylon himself the key to freedom.
"See not with eyes, but with the mind
The evil spell cannot now bind."
And—she saw! Saw that misty strip lose substance become mere threads, and the 
threads themselves disappear.
And—she heard—heard Ylon's great cry from the innermost of his being.
"I see!"
There were answering cries from those watching him, even from the captive men. 
The women were on their feet and now they were shouting in turn.
"The healer! The healer heals—"
Through the line of mounted men moved Rutha and Leek.
Leela's horse shouldered away from that of the officer who had ridden out 
earlier.
"This is the healer," Rutha's voice was near as cold as Lord Harmond's had 
earlier been. "This is the healer your foul priest denied— that you denied, 
saying that nothing good comes of such wisewomen. Be sure of this, Lord, no more 
will you order us under the lash for saying your right is wrong. You shall not 
take our men to fight your battles."
She turned a little in the saddle to face those in line by the forest's fringe.
"Let there be peace—let mage craft go for good and not for ill. Is it your will 
also, you who are women?"
Twilla saw Karla, Musseline, Catha move forward.
"This is no affair for women!" The officer who had been pushed aside used his 
mount to come beside Rutha. "Keep to your hearths and your man's bed, woman!"
Lord Harmond had been staring at Ylon, even as his son was regarding him. Now he 
roused.
"Walthar, I am the king's voice here. If you think to speak for Izearl you are a 
voice alone.
"I have heard much of healers," he had urged his horse a step or two further 
ahead. "And much did I think was but idle talk. You have proved me wrong."
"No," Twilla shook her head. "It was your son's belief which returned his eyes. 
I was only the small means of opening the way. But this talk of Izearl—that is 
not for healers, my Lord. Nor"—she studied his face for a moment—"do I think it 
is for you either."
He raised his head high, and the moonlight turned his graying hair to silver.
"I listened to orders but the greater man chooses which orders he will harken 
to. I have come to parley and there is no secret thoughts to be held in hiding. 
Son," his face was no longer set, there was a wonder in it, and a kind of 
weariness as if he had carried far too long a burden he loathed, "let us speak 
with these tree rulers in peace. I will be grateful if they loose my men who 
have been so bond this day through."
Oxyle had come to Ylon's side. "It shall be so done, Lord—"
"Not yet!" Ylon interrupted. "Father, there are still those among your command 
who would follow another path. We have heard one even now spout forth his 
foulness. Give us Arvanis Sword Oath and we shall know that you are one in mind 
with us."
Lord Harmond frowned. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, but it would seem 
from his look that he would sooner cut down his outspoken son than yield. Then 
he sighed.
"How can I deny what you may think of me? If I stood where you stand I would ask 
such in return." He drew his sword and held it high by its blade.
"By the steel which is stainless I do swear that I have no thought of ill 
against these I would swear truce with, not shall any under my command show them 
ill. By the Great Smith who beats out the souls of men do I now swear this!" And 
he set his lips to the cross hilt of his sword.
He resheathed his sword and swung from the saddle, dropping the reins so the 
well-trained mount stood untethered. A gesture brought three other men to join 
him, one in armor—but not Walthar—and the other two in townsmen's drab wear. 
Together he led them forward.
"Release now my men," he said as he came to a halt but a sword's distance from 
Oxyle.
The forest lord gestured to Chard and that under leader held high the 
boar-headed staff. From its eyes shot rays of red gold, arching up and over the 
heads of the men, soaring into the night sky to bring a semblance of sun to 
counter match the moonlight.
As a fisher's line well cast could trouble the surface of a pool so did those 
rays touch the netting and from those points of contact ran light along each 
strand—leaving nothing behind so that men lurched free, stiff from their 
bondage. Then the tops of the crawlers arose and men pulled themselves out of 
those prisons. Toward them the women ran, brushing aside the soldiers, each 
seeking her own.
"Your men are free," Oxyle said. "Deed for oath. Now do we speak in truth, 
outland lord?"
"Yes."
Oxyle gestured and the brush parted so they could see the vast roots of one of 
the giants curling its upper length from the truth along the surface of the 
ground.
"Let us then sit in council."
Stiffly, Lord Harmond and those he had chosen came. The townsmen, Twilla 
thought, flinched when the shadow of the tree overcame them. But they seated 
themselves upon the roots and faced the forest dwellers and the under men 
stating curiously at both.
"You came unasked to this land," Oxyle spoke first. "What need have you for 
it—slavery? Have you no proper rooting of your stock elsewhere?"
"We needed food. There are many of us over mountain and the land—" Lord Harmond 
hesitated.
"The land?" it was Catha who prompted him. "What of your land? Can it not bear 
any growth then?"
"For many seasons we have ploughed it not for planting but for mining of what 
lay beneath—metal—"
It was as if Lord Harmond could answer them with nothing but the simple truth. 
Yet Twilla could detect nothing of bespelling. Even the silver mists had 
withdrawn to a distance so that they could barely be seen among the tree-walled 
aisles.
"Metal," it was Chard who spoke. "We, too, live by metal but we do not make it 
our master, rather it serves us. It would seem you have put yourself to slavery 
by your own wills."
"So you come here to grow food," Oxyle took up the confrontation. "Well, the 
land is rich, it will repay those who do not force themselves upon it as 
masters. But why do you trouble the forest?"
"In our own land wood forms our shelter, our heat to beat winter's chill."
"So you kill with the cursed iron. Even as you now seek metals for your use. Do 
you know no other way but that of force to take what you believe you need? We 
have met force with force and you name us demons and take strange precautions 
against us. What of the women you drag over mountain to be your shields? Are 
they, also, to be mastered and used as wood, as metal?"
"They shall not be so again," Karl a said when there came no quick answer from 
Lord Harmond.
His eyes dropped under her probing. "Lady, until this hour I served my king, his 
orders were my will. You have broken that. I cannot foresee what will come."
"If you continue to provide this king of yours," Catha asked, "with the food his 
mine slaves need will he be moved to question how you rule here?"
"Lady, kings do not ask how one provides what they desire, they only hold 
interest in its arrival," Lord Harmond answered. "But I am honor broke—"
"Not so!" Ylon challenged from where he stood, neither with one of the parties 
or the other. "You have but given sword oath as an honorable swordsman. And I do 
not think that any of Izearl are those you will listen to. Give all peace and 
plenty and there will be an end. If the Dandus power rises, father, would you 
not rather stand with those of the light than those who go willingly into the 
dark?"
There was a silence. Lord Harmond did not look toward his son.
Strangely enough it was one of the townsmen who broke that silence first.
"Lord, we also are a part of this though we carry no arms. Sometimes a truce can 
end in a bargain—" his voice trailed away as if he were suddenly aware he had 
overstepped some rigid ruling.
"Bargain," Chard nodded. "Now you speak of what any can well understand. But it 
is well to remember in such bargaining that greed must not be fed. Over Lord," 
he addressed Oxyle with a little more formality than he had shown before. "These 
men speak of the need for wood. What if they are made free of that which died in 
its own time and not of that which lives. When the storm winds rage do not 
always some of the elders die, crash of their own weight to the ground. In doing 
so do not their heavy trunks blot out the lives of saplings which would have 
been great in their turn? Let the dead serve the living as is the way of life by 
the First Law."
"So we give our dead," there was a snap in Oxyle's voice. "And what give you, 
worker in metal—access for these to reach your cherished mines?"
"We can give a portion of ore if they wish," Chard replied simply.
"Any bargain has two sides," Karla spoke with a certain sharpness. "What have 
these earth grubbers, wearers of the cursed metal, would be rulers of all—what 
have they to offer us?"
Lord Harmond looked to the village man, "Well, Kather, what have we to bargain?"
The man spread his hands and shook his head slowly. "Lord, certainly all men 
have their needs. It is only that we find such—"
Oxyle frowned. "The forest gives us all—we have no needs such as you know."
"But," Twilla again did not know from where the words came or why it was her who 
must say them, "if both forest and land dwell in peace is that not a need you 
have reached for, my Lord? When we grow to know each other perhaps there will be 
more—perhaps even friendship though you are far from kin. If Lord Harmond holds 
this land, and so it has been promised him by the king, without any troubles 
thereafter, he will be serving the forest and the underworld also. For the king 
will be too pleased with the lack of trouble to ask the reason. I am a 
healer—and to my mind this is the beginning of a healing—"
She was suddenly aware of the warm weight of a strong arm about her waist, of 
being drawn closer to a support which to her was as tall and deeply rooted as 
any of the great trees.
"Do you doubt this healer?" Ylon's voice was firm.
Karla and Catha were both on their feet now. "Their is no doubt— this is a 
healing and let it be so!"
More slowly the men arose. Slowly, as if he believed his gesture might be 
without welcome. Lord Harmond held out his hand and Oxyle's flesh showed 
startlingly white against the hilt-calloused bronze.
Then Ylon had retreated, drawing Twilla with him. He made no move toward either 
party. Now his voice became a murmur for their ears alone.
"Healer, what will you do now?"
Twilla laid one hand on the mirror and with the other sought the green jerkin 
above his heart. The strong beat caught her own in rhythm. She looked into eyes 
which saw, not by her skill, but by his will—a will which was flowing into her 
and finding there a welcome.
"I follow my craft," she half whispered in turn. "And you, My Lord, do you again 
become Lord Harmond's heir, a man of war?"
"No. I have learned that there is far more in any world than a man can see, and 
that there is more he can see in the world than be easily believed. This rooting 
here will need nourishing—
"One," Twilla felt his other arm encompass her, "one who is of the land—both out 
and forest—and can speak to both. Welcome, healer, who has healed thrice over!"
She lifted her head a fraction and felt the touch of his lips. In time to come 
there might be many shadows rise but never one between the two of them.