MARUNE: ALASTOR 933 by Jack Vance 
MIRK 
The last of Marune's suns, Cirse, sank behind Whispering Ridge. The sky flared 
and dimmed; darkness fell. Mirk had come to Scharrode. 
Throughout the realm, lights were extinguished and doors bolted as the prudent 
sought safety. Others donned the cloak and boots of nightwalkers and slipped 
through the darkness seeking an unshuttered window and the woman waiting behind 
it. For mirk did strange things to the minds and bodies of the sober folk of 
Scharrode. 
In the castle of Benbuphar Strang, the Kaiark Efraim felt the primal pull of 
darkness - and was drawn despite himself to the passage that led to Sthelany's 
door. 
Her invitation had been clear. 



Also by Jack Vance on the Ballantine Books list: 
TRULLION: Alastor 2262 
available at your local bookstore 




MARUNE: 
Alastor 933 
Jack Vance


BALLANTINE BOOKS - NEW YORK 
(another Zine-scan...) 



This novel was serialized in the July and September issues of Amazing. Copyright 
(c) 1975 by Ultimate Publications, Inc. 
Copyright (c) 1975 by Jack Vance 
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. 
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 75-19107 
SBN 345-24518-0-150 
First Printing: September, 1975 
Cover art by Darrell Sweet 
Printed in the United States of America 
BALLANTINE BOOKS
A Division of Random House, Inc.
201 East 50th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022
Simultaneously published by
Ballantine Books, Ltd., Toronto, Canada 



Alastor Cluster, a node of thirty thousand live stars, uncounted dead hulks, and 
vast quantities of interstellar detritus, clung to the inner rim of the galaxy 
with the Unfortunate Waste before, the Nonestic Gulf beyond and the Gaean Reach 
a sparkling haze to the side. For the spacetraveler, no matter which his angle 
of approach, a remarkable spectacle was presented: constellations blazing white, 
blue, and red; curtains of luminous stuff, broken here, obscured there, by black 
storms of dust; starstreams wandering in and out; whorls and spatters of 
phosphorescent gas. 
Should Alastor Cluster be considered a segment of the Gaean Reach? The folk of 
the Cluster, some four or five trillion of them on more than three thousand 
worlds, seldom reflected upon the matter, and indeed considered themselves 
neither Gaean nor Alastrid. The, typical inhabitant, when asked as to his 
origin, might perhaps cite his native world or, more usually, his local 
district, as if this place were so extraordinary, so special and widely famed 
that its reputation hung on every tongue of the galaxy. 
Parochialism dissolved before the glory of the Connatic, who ruled Alastor 
Cluster from his palace on the world Numenes. The current Connatic, Oman Ursht, 
sixteenth of the Idite dynasty, often pondered the quirk of fate which had 
appointed him to his singular condition, only to smile at his own irrationality: 
no matter who occupied the position, that person would frame for himself the 
same marveling question. 
The inhabited planets of the Cluster had little in common except their lack of 
uniformity. They were large and small, dank and dry, benign and perilous, 
populous and empty: no two alike. Some manifested tall mountains, blue seas, 
bright skies; on others clouds hung forever above the moors, and no variety 
existed except the alternation of night and day. Such a world, in fact, was 
Bruse-Tansel, Alastor 1142, with a population of two hundred thousand, settled 
for the most part in the neighborhood of Lake Vain, where they worked 
principally at the dyeing of fabrics. Four spaceports served Bruse-Tansel, the 
most important being that facility located at Carfaunge. 




Chapter 1


The Respectable Mergan had achieved his post, Superintendent at the Carfaunge 
Spaceport, largely because the position demanded a tolerance for unalterable 
routine. Mergan not only tolerated routine; he depended upon it. He would have 
opposed the cessation of such nuisances as the morning rains, the glass lizards 
with their squeaks and clicks, the walking slimes which daily invaded the area, 
because then he would have been required to change established procedure. 
On the morning of a day he would later identify as tenth Mariel Gaean1 he 
arrived as usual at his office. Almost before he had settled behind his desk, 
the night porter appeared with a blank faced young man in a nondescript gray 
suit. Mergan uttered a wordless grumble; he had no taste for problems, at any 
time, least of all before he had composed himself for the day. The situation at 
the very least promised a disruption of routine. At last he muttered: "Well, 
Dinster, what do you have here?" 
Dinster, in a piping over-loud voice, called out, "Sorry to bother you, sir, but 
what shall we do with this gentleman? He seems to be ill." 
"Find him a doctor," growled Mergan. "Don't bring him here. I can't help him." 
"It's not that kind of illness, sir. More mental, if you get my meaning." 
"Your meaning escapes me," said Mergan. "Why not just tell me what's wrong?" 
Dinster politely indicated his charge. "When I came on duty he was sitting in 
the waiting room and he's been there since. He hardly speaks; he doesn't know 
his name, nor anything about himself." 
Mergan inspected the young man with some faint awakening of interest. "Hello, 
sir," he barked. "What's the trouble?" 
The young man shifted his gaze from the window to Mergan, but offered no 
response. Mergan gradually allowed himself to become perplexed. Why had the 
young man's gold-brown hair been hacked short, as if by swift savage strokes of 
a scissors? And the garments: clearly a size too large for the spare frame! 
"Speak!" commanded Mergan. "Can you hear? Tell me your name!" 
The young man put on a thoughtful expression but remained silent. 
"A vagabond of same sort," Mergan declared. "He probably wandered up from the 
dye-works. Send him off again down the road." 
Dinster shook his head. "This lad's no vagabond. Look at his hands." 
Mergan reluctantly followed Dinster's suggestion. The hands were strong and well 
kept and showed evidence neither of toil nor submersion in dye. The man's 
features were firm and even; the poise of his head suggested status. Mergan, who 
preferred to ignore the circumstances of his own birth, felt an uncomfortable 
tingle of deference and corresponding resentment. Again he barked at the young 
man: "Who are you? What is your name?" 
"I don't know." The voice was slow and labored, and colored with an accent 
Mergan failed to recognize. 
"Where is your home?" 
"I don't know." 
Mergan became unreasonably sarcastic. "Do you know anything?" 
Dinster ventured an opinion. "Looks to me, sir, as if he came aboard one of 
yesterday's ships." 
Mergan asked the young man: "What ship did you arrive on? Do you have friends 
here?" 
The young man fixed him with a brooding dark-gray gaze, and Mergan became 
uncomfortable. He turned to Dinster. "Does he carry papers? Or money?" 
Dinster muttered to the young man: "Excuse me, sir." Gingerly he groped through 
the pockets of the rumpled gray suit. "I can't find anything here, sir." 
"What about ticket stubs, or vouchers, or tokens?" 
"Nothing at all, sir." 
"It's what they call amnesia," said Mergan. He picked up a pamphlet and glanced 
down a list: "Six ships in, yesterday. He might have arrived on any of them." 
Mergan touched a button. A voice said: "Prosidine, arrival gate." 
Mergan described the amnesiac. "Do you know anything about him? He arrived 
sometime yesterday." 
"Yesterday was more than busy; I didn't take time to notice anything." 
"Make inquiries of your people and notify me." 
Mergan thought a moment, then called the Carfaunge hospital. He was connected to 
the Director of Admissions, who listened patiently enough, but made no 
constructive proposals. "We have no facilities here for such cases. He has no 
money, you say? Definitely not, then." 
"What shall I do with him? He can't stay here!" 
"Consult the police; they'll know what to do." 
Mergan called the police, and presently an official arrived in a police van, and 
the amnesiac was led away. 
At the Hall of Inquiry, Detective Squil attempted interrogation, without 
success. The police doctor experimented with hypnotism, and finally threw up his 
hands. 
"A most stubborn condition; I have seen three previous cases, but nothing like 
this." 
"What causes it?" 
"Autosuggestion, occasioned by emotional stress. This is most usual. But here" - 
he waved toward the uncomprehending amnesiac - "my instruments show no psychic 
charge of any kind. He has no emotions, and I have no leverage." 
Detective Squil, a reasonable man, asked: "What can he do to help himself? He is 
obviously no ruffian." 
"He should take himself to the Connatic's Hospital on Numenes." 
Detective Squil laughed. "All very well. Who pays his fare?" 
"The superintendent at the spaceport should be able to arrange passage, or so I 
should think." 
Squil made a dubious sound but turned to his telephone. As he expected, the 
Respectable Mergan, having transferred responsibility to the police, wanted no 
further part of the situation. "The regulations are most explicit," said Mergan. 
"I certainly cannot do as you suggest." 
"We can't keep him here at the station." 
"He appears able-bodied; let him earn his fare, which after all is not 
exorbitant." 
"Easier said than done, what with his disability." 
"What generally happens to indigents?" 
"You know as well as I do; they're sent out to Gaswin. But this man is mentally 
ill; he's not an indigent." 
"I can't argue that, because I don't know. At least I've pointed out a course of 
action." 
"What is the fare to Numenes?" 
"Third class by Prydania Line: two hundred and twelve ozols." 
Squil terminated the call. He swung about to face the amnesiac. "Do you 
understand what I say to you?" 
The answer came in a clear voice. "Yes." 
"You are ill. You have lost your memory. Do you realize this?" 
There was a pause of ten seconds. Squil wondered if any response were 
forthcoming. Then, haltingly: "You have told me so." 
"We will send you to a place where you can work and earn money. Do you know how 
to work?" 
"No." 
"Well, anyway, you need money: two hundred and twelve ozols. On Gaswin Moor you 
will earn three and a half ozols a day. In two or three months you will have 
earned enough money to take you to the Connatic's Hospital on Numenes, where you 
will be cured of your illness. Do you understand all this?" 
The amnesiac reflected a moment, but made no response. 
Squil rose to his feet. "Gaswin will be a good place for you, and perhaps your 
memory will return." He dubiously considered the amnesiac's bland brown hair, 
which for mysterious reasons, someone had rudely cut short. "Do you have an 
enemy? Is there someone who does not like you?" 
"I don't know. I can't remember any such person." 
"What is your name?" shouted Squil, hoping to surprise that part of the brain 
which was withholding information. 
The amnesiac's gray eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't know." 
"Well, we have to find a name for you. Do you play hussade?" 
"No." 
"Think of that! A strong agile fellow like yourself! Still, we'll call you 
Pardero, after the great strike forward of the Schaide Thunderstones. So now, 
when someone calls out 'Pardero' you must respond. Is this understood?" 
"Yes." 
"Very well, and now you'll be an your way to Gaswin. The sooner you begin your 
work, the sooner you'll arrive on Numenes. I'll speak with the director; he's a 
good chap and he'll see to your welfare." 
Pardero, as his name now would be, sat uncertainly. 
Squil took pity on him. "It won't be so bad. Agreed, there are tough nuts at the 
work camp, but do you know how to handle them? You must be just a bit tougher 
than they are. Still, don't attract the attention of the disciplinary officer. 
You seem a decent fellow; I'll put in a word for you, and keep an eye on your 
progress. One bit of advice - no, two. First: never try to cheat on your work 
quota. The officials know all the tricks; they can smell out the sluggards as a 
kribbat smells out carrion. Second, do not gamble! Do you know what the word 
'gamble' means?" 
"No." 
"It means to risk your money on games or wagers. Never be tempted or inveigled! 
Leave your money in the camp account! I advise you to form no friendships! Aside 
from yourself, there is only riff-raff at the camp. I wish you well. If you find 
trouble, call for Detective Squil. Can you remember that name?" 
"Detective Squil." 
"Good." Squil led the amnesiac out to a dock and put him aboard the daily 
transport to Gaswin. "A final word of advice! Confide in no one! Your name is 
Pardero; aside from this, keep your problems to yourself! Do you understand?" 
"Yes." 
"Good luck!" 


The transport flew low under the overcast, close above the mottled black and 
purple moors, and presently landed beside a cluster of concrete buildings: the 
Gaswin Work Camp. 
At the personnel office Pardero underwent entry formalities, facilitated by 
Squil's notification to the camp director. He was assigned a cubicle in a 
dormitory block, fitted with work boots and gloves, and issued a copy of camp 
regulations, which he studied without comprehension. On the next morning he was 
detailed into a work party and sent out to harvest pods from colucoid creeper, 
the source of a peculiarly rich red dye. 
Pardero gathered his quota without difficulty. Among the taciturn group of 
indigents his deficiency went unnoticed. 
He ate his evening meal in silence, ignoring the presence of his fellows, who at 
last had begun to sense that all was not well with Pardero. 
The sun sank behind the clouds; a dismal twilight fell across the moors. Pardero 
sat to the side of the recreation hall, watching a comic melodrama on the 
holovision screen. He listened intently to the dialogue; each word seemed to 
find an instantly receptive niche inside his brain with a semantic concept ready 
at hand. His vocabulary grew and the range of his mental processes expanded. 
When the program was over he sat brooding, at last aware of his condition. He 
went to look into the mirror over the washbasin; the face which looked back at 
him was at once strange and familiar: a somber face with a good expanse of 
forehead, prominent cheekbones, hollow cheeks, dark gray eyes, a ragged thatch 
of dark gold hair. 
A certain burly rogue named Woane attempted a jocularity. "Look yonder at 
Pardero! He stands like a man admiring a beautiful work of art!" 
Pardero studied the mirror. Who was the man whose eyes stared so intently into 
his own? 
Woane's hoarse murmur came from across the room. "Now he admires his haircut." 
The remark amused Woane's friends. Pardero turned his head this way and that, 
wondering as to the motive behind the assault on his hair. Somewhere, it would 
seem, he had enemies. He turned slowly away from the mirror and resumed his seat 
at the side of the room. 
The last traces of light left the sky; night had come to Gaswin Camp. 
Something jerked deep at the bottom of Pardero's consciousness: a compulsion 
totally beyond his comprehension. He jumped to his feet. Woane looked around 
half-truculently, but Pardero's glance slid past him. Woane nevertheless saw or 
felt something sufficiently eery that his jaw dropped a trifle, and he muttered 
to his friends. All watched as Pardero crossed to the door and went out into the 
night. 
Pardero stood on the porch. Floodlights cast a wan glow across the compound, now 
empty and desolate, inhabited only by the wind from the moors. Pardero stepped 
off the porch into the shadows. With no purpose he walked around the edge of the 
compound and out upon the moor; the camp became an illuminated island behind 
him. 
Under the overcast, darkness was complete. Pardero felt an enlargement of the 
soul, an intoxication of power; as if he were an elemental born of the darkness, 
knowing no fear . . . He stopped short. His legs felt hard and strong; his hands 
tingled with competence. Gaswin Camp lay a half-mile behind him, the single 
visible object. Pardero took a deep throbbing breath, and again examined his 
consciousness, half-hoping, half-fearful of what he might find. 
Nothing. Recollection extended to the Carfaunge spaceport. Events before were 
like voices remembered from a dream. Why was he here at Gaswin? To earn money. 
How long must he remain? He had forgotten, or perhaps the words had not 
registered. Pardero began to feel a suffocating agitation, a claustrophobia of 
the intellect. He lay down on the moor, beat his forehead, cried out in 
frustration. 
Time passed. Pardero rose to his knees, gained his feet and slowly returned to 
the camp. 


A week later Pardero learned of the camp doctor and his function. The next 
morning, during sick call, he presented himself to the dispensary. A dozen men 
sat on the benches while the doctor, a young man fresh from medical school, 
summoned them forward, one at a time. The complaints, real, imaginary, or 
contrived, were usually related to the work: backache, allergic reaction, 
congestion of the lungs, an infected lychbug sting. The doctor, young in years 
but already old in guile, sorted out the real from the fictitious, prescribing 
remedies for the first and irritant salves or vile-flavored medicines for the 
second. 
Pardero was signaled to the desk and the doctor looked him up and down. "What's 
wrong with you?" 
"I can't remember anything." 
"Indeed." The doctor leaned back in his chair. "What is your name?" 
"I don't know. Here at the camp they call me Pardero. Can you help me?" 
"Probably not. Go back to the bench and let me finish up the sick call; it'll be 
just a few minutes." 
The doctor dealt with his remaining patients and returned to Pardero. "Tell me 
haw far back you remember." 
"I arrived at Carfaunge. I remember a spaceship. I remember the depot - but 
nothing before." 
"Nothing whatever?" 
"Nothing." 
"Do you remember things you like, or dislike? Are you afraid of anything?" 
"No." 
"Amnesia typically derives from a subconscious intent to block out intolerable 
memories." 
Pardero gave his head a dubious shake. "I don't think this is likely." 
The doctor, both intrigued and bemused, uttered an uneasy half-embarrassed 
laugh. "Since you can't remember the circumstances, you aren't in a position to 
judge." 
"I suppose that's true . . . Could something be wrong with my brain?" 
"You mean physical damage? Do you have headaches or head pains? Any sensation of 
numbness or pressure?" 
"No." 
"Well, it's hardly likely a tumor would cause general amnesia in any event . . . 
Let me check my references . . ." He read for a few moments. "I could try 
hypnotherapy or shock. Candidly, I don't think I'd do you any Amnesia generally 
cures itself if left alone." 
"I don't think I can cure myself. Something lies on my brain like a blanket. It 
suffocates me. I can't tear it loose. Can't you help me?" 
There was a simplicity to Pardero's manner which appealed to the doctor. He also 
sensed strangeness: tragedy and drama beyond his conjecture. 
"I would help you if I could," said the doctor. "With all my soul I would help 
you. But I wouldn't know what I should be doing. I'm not qualified to experiment 
on you." 
"The police officer told me to go to the Connatic's Hospital on Numenes." 
"Yes, of course. This is best for you; I was about to suggest it myself." 
"Where is Numenes? How do I go there?" 
"You must go by starship. The fare is a little over two hundred ozols. That is 
what I have been told. You earn three and a half ozols a day - more if you 
exceed your quota. When you have two hundred and fifty ozols, go to Numenes. 
That is my best advice." 


1. Numerous systems of chronometry create confusion across Alastor Cluster and 
the Gaean Reach, despite attempts at reform. In any given locality, at least 
three systems of reckoning are in daily use: scientific chronometry, based upon 
the orbital frequency of the K-state hydrogen electron; astronomic time - 'Gaean 
Standard Time' - which provides synchronism across the human universe; and local 
time. 




Chapter 2


Pardero worked with single-minded energy. Without fail he collected a half 
measure over his quota, and sometimes a total of two measures, which first 
excited jocular comment among his fellow workers, then sardonic sneers, and 
finally a cold, if covert, hostility. To compound his offenses Pardero refused 
to participate in the social activities of the camp, except to sit staring into 
the holovision screen, and thereby was credited with assumptions of superiority, 
which was indeed the case. He spent nothing at the commissary; despite all 
persuasions he refused to gamble, although occasionally he watched the games 
with a grim smile, which made certain of the players uneasy. Twice his locker 
was ransacked by someone who hoped to avail himself of Pardero's earnings, but 
Pardero had drawn no money from his account. Woane made one or two halfhearted 
attempts at intimidation, then decided to chastise the haughty Pardero, but he 
encountered such ferocious retaliation that he was glad to regain the sanctuary 
of the mess hall; and thereafter Pardero was strictly ignored. 
At no time could Pardero detect any seepage through the barrier between his 
memory and his conscious mind. Always as he worked he wondered: "What kind of 
man am I? Where is my home? What do I know? Who are my friends? Who has 
committed this wrong against me?" He expended his frustration on the colucoid 
creeper and became known as a man possessed by as inner demon, to be avoided as 
carefully as possible. 
For his part Pardero banished Gaswin to the most remote corner of his mind; he 
would take away as few memories as possible. The work he found tolerable; but he 
resented the name Pardero. To use a stranger's name was like wearing a 
stranger's clothes - not a fastidious act. Still the name served as well as any 
other; it was a minor annoyance. 
More urgently unpleasant was the lack of privacy. He found detestable the close 
intimacy of three hundred other men, most especially at mealtimes, when he sat 
with his eyes fixed on his plate, to avoid the open maws, the mounds of food, 
the mastication. Impossible to ignore, however, were the belches, grants, 
hisses, and sighs of satiety. Surely this was not the life he had known in the 
past! What then had been his life? 
The question produced only blankness, a void without information. Somewhere 
lived a person who had launched him across the Cluster with his hair hacked 
short and as denuded of identification as an egg. Some times when he pondered 
this enemy he seemed to hear wisps of possibly imaginary sound - echos of what 
might have been laughter, but when he poised his head to listen, the pulsations 
ceased. 
The onset of darkness continued to trouble him. Often he felt urges to go forth 
into the dark - an impulse which he resisted, partly from fatigue, partly from a 
dread of abnormality. He reported his nocturnal restlessness to the camp doctor, 
who agreed that the tendency should be discouraged, at least until the source 
was known. The doctor commended Pardero for his industry, and advised the 
accumulation of at least two hundred and seventy-five ozols before departure, to 
allow for incidental expenses. 
When Pardero's account reached two hundred and seventy-five ozols, he claimed 
his money from the bursar, and now, no longer an indigent, he was free to pursue 
his own destiny. He took a rather mournful leave of the doctor, whom he had come 
to like and respect, and boarded the transport for Carfaunge. He left Gaswin 
with a twinge of regret. He had known little pleasure here; still the place had 
given him refuge. He barely remembered Carfaunge, and the spaceport was no more 
than the recollection of a dream. 
He saw nothing of Superintendent Mergan, but was recognized by Dinster the night 
porter, just coming on duty. 
The Ectobant of the Prydania Line took Pardero to Baruilla, on Deulle, Alastor 
2121, where he transferred to the Lusimar of the Gaean Trunk Line, and so was 
conveyed to Calypso Junction on Imber, and thence by the Wispen Argent to 
Numenes. 
Pardero enjoyed the voyage: the multifarious sensations, incidents, and vistas 
amazed him. He had not imagined the variety of the Cluster: the comings and 
goings, the flux of faces, the gowns, robes, hats, ornaments, and bijouterie; 
the colors and lights and strains of strange music; the babble of voices; 
haunting glimpses of beautiful girls; drama, excitement, pathos; objects, faces, 
sounds, surprises. Could he have known all this and forgotten? 
So far Pardero had not indulged in self-pity and his enemy had seemed a baleful 
abstraction. But how great and how callous the crime which had been performed 
upon him! He had been isolated from home, friends, sympathy, security; he had 
been rendered a neuter; his personality had been murdered. 
Murder! 
The word chilled his blood; he squirmed and winced. And from somewhere, from far 
distant, came the ghost of a sound: gusts of mocking laughter. 
Approaching Numenes, the Wispen Argent first passed by Blazon, the next world 
out in orbit, to be cleared for landing, by the Whelm - a precaution to minimize 
the danger of an attack from space upon the Connatic's Palace. Having secured 
clearance; the Wispen Argent proceeded; Numenes slowly expanded. 
At a distance of about three thousand miles that peculiar referential 
displacement occurred; instead of hanging off to the side, a destination across 
the void, Numenes became the world below, upon which the Wispen Argent descended 
- a brilliant panorama of white clouds, blue air, sparkling seas. 
The Central Spaceport at Commarice occupied an area three miles in diameter, 
surrounded by a fringe of the tall jacinth palms and the usual spaceport 
offices, built in that low airy style also typical of Numenes. 
Alighting from the Wispen Argent, Pardero rode a slideway to the terminal, where 
he sought information regarding the Connatic's Hospital. He was referred first 
to the Traveler's Aid Station, then to an office at the side of the terminal, 
where he was presented to a tall spare woman of indeterminate age in a white and 
blue uniform. She gave Pardero a laconic greeting. "I am Matron Gundal. I 
understand that you wish to be admitted to the Connatic's Hospital?" 
"Yes." 
Matron Gundal touched buttons, evidently to activate a recording mechanism. 
"Your name?" 
"I am called Pardero. I do not know my true name." 
Matron Gundal made no comment. "Place of origin?" 
"I don't know." 
"Your complaint?" 
"Amnesia." 
Matron Gundal gave him a noncommittal inspection, which perhaps indicated 
interest. "What about your physical health?" 
"It seems to be good." 
"An orderly will conduct you to the hospital." Matron Gundal raised her voice. 
"Ariel." 
A blond young woman entered the room, her uniform somewhat at discord with her 
sunny good looks. Matron Gundal gave her directions: "Please conduct this 
gentleman to the Connatic's Hospital." To Pardero: "Have you luggage?" 
"No." 
"I wish you a quick recovery." 
The orderly smiled politely at Pardero. "This way, please." 
An aircab slid them northward across the blue and green landscape of Flor 
Solana, with Ariel maintaining an easy flow of conversation. "Have you visited 
Numenes before?" 
"I don't know; I don't remember anything earlier than the last two or three 
months." 
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear this!" said Ariel in confusion. "Well, in case you don't 
know, there are no real continents here on Numenes, just islands. Everybody who 
lives here owns a boat." 
"That seems very pleasant." 
Ariel gingerly touched upon Pardero's disability, watching sidelong to see if he 
evinced sensitivity or discomfort. "What a strange sensation not to know 
yourself! How does it feel?" 
Pardero considered a moment. "Well - it doesn't hurt." 
"I'm relieved to bear that! Think: you might be almost anyone - perhaps rich and 
important!" 
"More likely I'm someone very ordinary: a road-mender, or a wandering 
dog-barber." 
"I'm sure not!" declared Ariel. "You seem - well . . ." she hesitated, then 
continued with a half-embarrassed laugh "- a very confident and intelligent 
person." 
"I hope you are right." Pardero looked at her and sighed, wistful that her fresh 
blond charm must so soon pass from his life. "What will they do with me?" 
"Nothing alarming. Your case will be studied by very clever persons using the 
most elaborate mechanisms. Almost certainly you will be cured." 
Pardero felt a pang of uneasiness. "It's quite a gamble. I might easily be 
someone I don't want to be." 
Ariel could not restrain a grin. "As I understand it, this is the reason persons 
become amnesiac in the first place." 
Pardero made a glum sound. "Aren't you alarmed, riding with a man who likely is 
a shameful criminal?" 
"I'm paid to be brave. I escort persons much more alarming than you." 
Pardero looked out across Flor Solana Island. Ahead he saw a pavilion 
constructed of pale ribs and translucent panels, whose complexity was obscured 
behind jacinth palms and cinniborines. 
As the aircab approached, six domes became evident, with wings radiating in six 
directions. Pardero asked: "Is this the hospital?" 
"The hospital is everything you see. The Hexad is the computative center. The 
smaller buildings are laboratories and surgeries. Patients are housed in the 
wings. That will be your home until you are restored to health." 
Pardero asked diffidently: "And what of you? Will I see you again?" 
Ariel's dimples deepened. "Do you want to?" 
Pardero soberly considered the range of his inclinations. "Yes." 
Ariel said half-teasingly: "You'll be so preoccupied that you'll forget all 
about me." 
"I never want to forget anything again." 
Ariel chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You remember nothing of your past life?" 
"Nothing." 
"Maybe you have a family: someone who loves you, and children." 
"I suppose this is possible . . . Somehow I suspect otherwise." 
"Most men seem to suspect otherwise . . . Well, I'll have to think about it." 
The aircab landed; the two alighted and walked along a tree-shaded avenue toward 
the Hexad. Ariel glanced at him sidewise, and perhaps his obvious foreboding 
excited her compassion. She said in a voice which she intended to be cheerful 
but impersonal: "I'm out here often and as soon as you've started your 
treatments I'll come to see you." 
Pardero smiled wanly. "I'll look forward to the occasion." 
She conducted him to the reception area, and spoke a few words to an official, 
then took her leave. "Don't forget!" she called over her shoulder, and the 
impersonality, intentionally or not, was gone from her voice. "I'll see you 
soon!" 


"I am O.T. Kolodin," said a large rather rumpled man with an oversize nose and 
sparse untidy dark hair. "'O.T.' means 'Ordinary Technician'; just call me 
Kolodin. You're on my list, so we'll be seeing something of each other. Come 
along; I'll get you settled." 
Pardero bathed, submitted to a physical examination, and was issued a pale blue 
lightweight suit. Kolodin showed him to his chamber along one of the wings, and 
the two took a meal on a nearby terrace. Kolodin, not too much older than 
Pardero but incalculably more sophisticated, took a lively interest in Pardero's 
condition. "I've never come in contact with such a case before. Fascinating! 
It's almost a shame to cure you!" 
Pardero managed a wry smile. "I have doubts of my own. I'm told that I can't 
remember because of some thing I want to forget. I might not like being cured." 
"It is a difficult position," Kolodin agreed. "Still, affairs may not be so bad 
after all." He glanced at his thumbnail, which responded with a set of glowing 
numbers. "In fifteen minutes we'll meet with M.T. Rady, who will decide upon 
your therapy." 
The two returned to the Hexad. Kolodin ushered Pardero into the office of Master 
Technician Rady, and a moment later Rady himself appeared: a thin sharp-eyed man 
of middle age who already seemed to know the data relevant to Pardero's case. He 
asked: "The spaceship which brought you to Bruse-Tansel: how was it named?" 
"I can't remember much about it." 
Rady nodded and touched a square of coarse sponge to each of Pardero's 
shoulders. "This is an inoculation to facilitate a relaxed mind-state . . . 
Relax back into your chair. Can you fix your mind upon something pleasant?" 
The room dimmed; Pardero thought of Ariel. Rady said: "On the wall you will see 
a pair of designs. I want you to examine them, or if you prefer, you may close 
your eyes and rest . . . In fact, relax completely, and listen only to my voice; 
and when I tell you to sleep, then you may sleep." 
The designs on the wall, pulsed and swam; a soft sound, waxing and waning, 
seemed to absorb and obliterate all other sounds of the universe. The shapes on 
the wall had expanded to surround him, and the only reality was himself and his 
inner mind. 
"I don't know." The voice sounded as if it were coming from a distant room, 
although it was his own voice. Odd. He heard a mumble whose significance he only 
half-heeded: "What was your father's name?" 
"I don't know." 
"What was your mother's name?" 
"I don't know." 
More questions, sometimes casual, sometimes urgent, and always the same 
response, and finally the cessation of sound. 
Pardero awoke in an empty office. Almost immediately Rady returned, to stand 
looking down at Pardero with a faint smile. 
Pardero asked: "What did you learn?" 
"Nothing to speak of. How do you feel?" 
"Tired." 
"Quite normal. For the rest of the day, rest. Don't worry about your condition; 
somehow we'll get to the bottom of your case." 
"Suppose there's nothing there? Suppose I have no memory?" 
Rady refused to take the idea seriously. "Every cell in your body has a memory. 
Your mind stores facts on many levels. For instance you have not forgotten how 
to speak." 
Pardero said dubiously: "When I arrived at Carfaunge, I knew very little. I 
could not talk. As soon as I heard a word I remembered its meaning and I could 
use it." 
Rady gave a curt nod. "This is the basis of a therapy we might well try." 
Pardero hesitated. "I might find my memory and discover myself to be a 
criminal." 
Rady's eyes gleamed. "That is a chance you must take. The Connatic, after 
restoring your memory, might then decide to put you to death." 
Pardero grimaced. "Does the Connatic ever visit the hospital?" 
"Undoubtedly. "Undoubtedly. He goes everywhere." 
"What does he look like?" 
Rady shrugged. "In his official photographs he seems an important and imposing 
nobleman, because of his dress and accoutrements. But when he walks abroad, he 
goes quietly and is never recognized, and this is what he likes best. Four 
trillion folk inhabit Alastor Cluster, and it is said that the Connatic knows 
what each of them eats for breakfast." 
"In that case," said Pardero, "perhaps I should simply go to ask the Connatic 
for the facts of my life." 
"It might come to that." 
The days passed, and then a week, and then two weeks. Rady attempted a dozen 
stratagems to loosen the blocked linkages in Pardero's mind. He recorded 
responses to a gamut of stimulations: colors, sounds, odors, tastes, textures; 
heights and depths; lights and degrees of darkness On. a more complex level he 
charted Pardero's reactions, overt, physiological, and cephalic, to absurdities 
and festivals, erotic conditions, cruelties and horrors, the faces of men, 
women, and children. A computational mechanism assimilated the results of the 
tests, compared them to known parameters, and synthesized an analog of Pardero's 
psyche. 
Rady, when he finally assessed the results of his tests, found little 
enlightenment. "Your basic reflexes are ordinary enough; one anomaly is your 
reaction to darkness, by which you seem to be curiously stimulated. Your social 
perceptivity seems underdeveloped, for which the amnesia may be to blame. You 
appear to be assertive rather than retiring; your response to music is minimal 
and color symbology has little meaning for you - possibly by reason of your 
amnesia. Odors stimulate you rather more than I might expect - but to no 
significant degree." Rady leaned, back in his chair. "These tests might easily 
provoke some sort of conscious response. Have you noticed anything whatever?" 
"Nothing." 
Rady nodded. "Very well. We will try a new tack. The theoretical basis is this: 
if your amnesia has resulted from circumstances which you are determined to 
forget, we can dissolve the amnesia by bringing these events to your conscious 
attention again. In order to do this, we must learn the nature of the traumatic 
circumstances. In short we must learn your identity and home environment." 
Pardero frowned and looked out the window. Rady watched intently. "You don't 
care to learn your identity." 
Pardero gave him a crooked smile. "I did not say so." 
Rady shrugged. "The choice is yours. You can walk out of here at any time. The 
Social Service will find you employment and you can start a new life." 
Pardero shook his head. "I never could evade the pressure. Perhaps there are 
people who need me, who now grieve for me." 
Rady said only: "Tomorrow we'll start the detective work." 


An hour after twilight Pardero met Ariel at a cafe and reported the events of 
the day. "Rady admitted bafflement," said Pardero, with something like gloomy 
satisfaction. "Not in so many words of course. He also said that the only way to 
learn where I came from was to find out where I lived. In short, he wants to 
send me home. First we must find home. The detective work starts tomorrow." 
Ariel nodded thoughtfully. Tonight she was not her usual self; in fact, thought 
Pardero, she seemed strained, and preoccupied. He reached out to touch her soft 
blond hair, but she drew back. 
"And then?" she asked. 
"Nothing much. He told me that if I were reluctant to proceed, now was the time 
to make a decision." 
"And what did you say?" 
"I told him that I had to go on, that perhaps somewhere people searched for me." 

Ariel's blue eyes darkened sorrowfully. "I cannot see you anymore, Pardero." 
"Oh? Why not?" 
"For just the reasons you cited. Amnesiacs always wander away from their homes 
and then - well, form new attachments. Then their memory returns and the 
situation ends in tragedy." Ariel rose to her feet. "I'll say good-by now, 
before I change my mind." She touched his hand, then walked away from the table. 
Pardero watched her diminish down the avenue. He made no move to stop her. 


Instead of one day, three days passed before O.T. Kolodin sought out Pardero. 
"Today we visit the Connatic's Palace and explore the Ring of Worlds." 
"I'll enjoy the excursion. But why?" 
"I've been looking into your past, and it turns out to be a hopeless tangle; or, 
more properly, a blur of uncertainties." 
"I could have told you that myself." 
"No doubt, but one must never take anything for granted. The facts, duly 
certified, are these. Sometime on tenth Mariel Gaean you appeared at Carfaunge 
Spaceport. This was an unusually busy day and you might have arrived aboard any 
of six ships of four different transport lines. The previous routes of these 
ships took them to a total of twenty-eight worlds, any of which might be your 
place of origin. Nine of these worlds are important junctions and it is possible 
that you made your voyage by two or even three stages. Amnesia would not be an 
insuperable objection. Stewards and depot personnel, taking you for a lackwit, 
would consult your ticket and shift you from ship to ship. In any case the 
number of worlds, depots, ships, and possible linkages becomes unmanageable. Or 
at least an inquiry of last resort. First we will visit the Connatic! Though I 
doubt if he will receive us personally." 
"Too. bad! I would like to pay my respects." 
They rode by aircab across Flor Solana to Moniscq, a town beside the sea, thence 
under the Ocean of Equatorial Storms by submarine tunnel to Tremone Island. An 
airbus flew them south, and presently the Connatic's so-called "palace" became 
visible, appearing first as a fragile shine, an unsubstantial glimmer in the 
air, which solidified into a tower of stupendous dimensions, standing upon five 
pylons, footed upon five islands. A thousand feet above the sea the pylons 
joined and flared, creating a dome of five groins, the underside of the first 
deck. Above rose the tower, up through the lower air, up through the sunny upper 
air, through a wisp of cirrus to terminate in the high sunlight. Kolodin asked 
casually: "Have you such towers on your home world?"1
Pardero glanced at him skeptically. "Are you trying to trick me? If I knew this, 
I wouldn't be here." He returned to contemplation of the tower. "And where does 
the Connatic live?" 
"He has apartments at the pinnacle. Perhaps he stands up there now, by one of 
his windows. Again, perhaps not. It is never certain; after all, dissidents, 
rogues, and rebels are not unknown to Alastor, and precautions are in order. 
Suppose, for example, that an assassin were sent to Numenes in the guise of an 
amnesiac, or perhaps as an amnesiac with horrid instructions latent in his 
mind." 
"I have no weapons," said Pardero. "I am no assassin. The very thought causes me 
to shudder." 
"I must make a note of this. I believe that your psychometry also showed an 
aversion to murder. Well, if you are an assassin, the plan will not succeed, as 
I doubt if we shall see the Connatic today." 
"Who then will we be seeing?" 
"A certain demosophist named Ollave, who has access to the data banks and the 
collating machinery. Quite possibly we will today learn the name of your home 
world." 
Pardero gave the matter his usual careful consideration. "And then what will 
happen to me?" 
"Well," said Kolodin cautiously, "three options at least are open. You can 
continue therapy at the hospital, although I fear that Rady is discouraged. You 
cart accept your condition and attempt a new life. You can return to your home 
world." 
Pardero made no comment, and Kolodin delicately forebore to put any further 
questions. 
A slideway conveyed them to the base of the near pylon, from which perspective 
the tower's proportions could no longer be sensibly discerned, and only the 
sensation of overwhelming mass and transcendent engineering remained. 
The two ascended in an elevator bubble; the sea, the shore, and Tremone Island 
dropped below. 
"The first three decks and the six lower promenades are reserved for the use and 
pleasure of tourists. Here they may wander for days enjoying simple relaxation 
or, at choice, exotic entertainments. They may sleep without charge in simple 
chambers, although luxurious apartments are available at nominal expense. They 
may dine upon familiar staples or they may test every reputable cuisine. of the 
Cluster and elsewhere, again at minimal cost. Travelers come and go by the 
millions; such is the Connatic's wish. Now we pass the administrative decks, 
which house the government agencies and the offices of the Twenty-Four Agents . 
. . Now we pass the Ring of Worlds, and up to the College of Anthropological 
Sciences, and here is our destination. Ollave is a man most knowledgeable and, 
if anything can be learned he will learn it." 
They stepped forth into a lobby tiled in blue and white. Kolodin spoke the name 
Ollave toward a black disk, and presently Ollave appeared. He was a man of 
undistinguished appearance, his face sallow and pensive, with a long thin nose 
and black hair receding from a narrow forehead. He greeted Kolodin and Pardero 
in a voice unexpectedly heavy and took them into a sparsely furnished office. 
Pardero and Kolodin sat in chairs and Ollave settled behind leis desk. Ollave 
addressed Pardero: "As I understand the situation, you remember nothing of your 
early life." 
"This is true." 
"I cannot give you your memory," said Ollave, "but if you are native to Alastor 
Cluster, I should be able to determine your world of origin, perhaps the precise 
locality of your home district." 
"How will you do that?" 
Ollave indicated his desk. "I have on record your anthropometry, physiological 
indices, details as to your somatic chemistry, psychic profile - in fact all the 
information Technicians Rady and Kolodin have been able to adduce. Perhaps you 
are aware that residence upon any particular world in any specific society, and 
participation in any way of life leaves traces, mental and physical. These 
traces unfortunately are not absolutely specific, and some are too subtle to be 
reliably measured. For instance, if you are characterized by blood type RC3, it 
is then unlikely that your home world is Azulias. Your intestinal bacteria 
furnish clues, as does the musculature of your legs, the chemical composition of 
your hair, the presence and nature of any body fungus or internal parasite; the 
pigments of your skin. If you make use of gestures these may be typified: Other 
social reflexes such as areas and degrees of personal modesty are also 
indicative, but these require long and patient observation and again may be 
obscured by the amnesia. Dentition and dental repairs sometimes offer a clue, as 
does hairstyling. So now: do you understand the process? Those parameters to 
which we can assign numerical weights are processed in a computer, which will 
then present us a list of places in descending order of probability. 
"We will prepare two other such lists. To those worlds most convenient to 
Carfaunge Spaceport we will assign probability factors, and we will try to 
codify your cultural reflexes: a complex undertaking, as the amnesia no doubt 
has muted much of this data, and you have in the meantime acquired a set of new 
habits. Still, if you will step into the laboratory, we will try to make a 
reading." 
In the laboratory Ollave sat Pardero in a massive chair, fitted receptors to 
various parts of his body, and adjusted a battery of contacts to his head. Over 
Pardero's eyes he placed optical hemispheres and clamped earphones to his ears. 
"First we establish your sensitivity to archetypal concepts. Amnesia may well 
dampen or distort the responses, and according to M.T. Rady yours is an 
extraordinary case. Still; if the cerebellum only is occluded other areas of the 
nervous system will provide information. If we get any signals whatever, we will 
assume that their relative strength has remained constant. The recent overlay we 
will try to screen out. You are to do nothing, merely sit quiet; attempt neither 
to feel nor not to feel; your internal faculties will provide us all we want to 
know." He closed the hemispheres over Pardero's eyes. "First, a set of elemental 
concepts." 
To Pardero's eyes and ears were presented scenes and sounds: a sunlit forest, 
surf breaking upon a beach, a meadow sprinkled with flowers, a mountain valley 
roaring to a winter storm; a sunset, a starry night, a view over a calm ocean, a 
city street, a road winding aver placid hills, a spaceship. 
"Now another series," came Ollave's voice. Pardero saw a campfire surrounded by 
shadowy figures, a beautiful nude maiden, a corpse dangling from a gibbet, a 
warrior in black steel armor galloping on a horse, a parade of harlequins and 
clowns, a sailboat plunging through the waves, three old ladies sitting on a 
bench. 
"Next, musics." 
A series of musical sounds entered Pardero's ears: a pair of chords, several 
orchestral essays, a fanfare, the music of a harp, a jig, and a merrydown. 
"Now faces." 
A stern and grizzled man stared at Pardero, a child, a middle-aged woman, a 
girl, a face twisted into a sneer, a boy laughing, a man in pain, a woman 
weeping. 
"Vehicles." 
Pardero saw boats, chariots, landvehicles, aircraft, spaceships. 
"The body." 
Pardero saw a hand, a face, a tongue, a nose, an abdomen, male and female 
genital organs, an eye, an open mouth, buttocks, a foot. 
"Places." 
A cabin beside a lake, a palace of a dozen domes and cupolas in a garden, a 
wooden hut, an urban tenement, a houseboat, a temple, a laboratory, the mouth of 
a cave. 
"Objects." 
A sword, a tree, a coil of rope, a mountain crag, an energy gun, a plow with a 
shovel and hoe, an official proclamation with a red seal, flowers in a vase, 
books on a shelf, an open book on a lectern, carpenter's tools, a selection of 
musical instruments, mathematical adjuncts, a retort, a whip, an engine, an 
embroidered pillow, a set of maps and charts, draughting instruments and blank 
paper. 
"Abstract symbols." 
Patterns appeared before Pardero's vision: combinations of lines, geometrical 
shapes, numbers, linguistic characters, a clenched fist, a pointing finger, a 
foot with small wings growing from the ankles. 
"And finally . . ." Pardero saw himself - from a distance, then close at hand. 
He looked into his own face. 
Ollave removed the apparatus. "The signals were extremely faint but perceptible. 
We have recorded your psychometrics and now can establish your so-called 
cultural index." 
"What have you learned?" 
Ollave gave Pardero a rather queer look. "Your reactions are inconsistent, to 
use an understatement. You would seem to derive from a most remarkable society. 
You fear the dark, yet it challenges and exalts you. You fear women; you are 
made uneasy by the female body - still the concept of femininity tantalizes you. 
You respond positively to martial tactics, heroic encounters, weapons and 
uniforms; on the other hand you abhor violence and pain. Your other reactions 
are equally contradictory. The question becomes, do all these strange responses 
form a pattern, or do they indicate derangement? I will not speculate. The data 
have been fed into an integrator together with the other material I mentioned. 
No doubt the report is ready for us." 
"I am almost afraid to examine it," murmured Pardero. "I would seem to be 
unique." 
Ollave made no further comment; they returned to the office, where O.T. Kolodin 
waited patiently. From a register Ollave drew forth a square of white paper. 
"Here is our report." In a manner perhaps unconsciously dramatic he studied the 
printout. "A pattern has appeared." He read the sheet again. "Ah yes . . . 
Eighteen localities on five worlds are identified. The probabilities for four of 
these worlds, with seventeen of the localities, aggregate three percent. The 
probability for the single locality on the fifth world is rated at eighty-nine 
percent, which under the circumstances is equivalent to near-certainty. In my 
opinion, Master Pardero, or whatever your name, you are a Rhune from the Rhune 
Realms, east of Port Mar on the North Continent of Marune, Alastor 933." 


1. A drab translation of the word geisling, which carries warmer and dearer 
connotations. 




Chapter 3


In the blue- and white-tiled lobby Kolodin asked Pardero: "Well - so you are a 
Rhune. What then? Do you recognize the word?" 
"Not at all." 
"I suspected not." 
Ollave joined them. "Let's go acquaint ourselves with this world of yours. The 
Ring is directly below; Chamber 933 will be on Level Five. To the descendor!" 
As the bubble dropped them down the levels, Kolodin discoursed upon the Ring of 
Worlds. "- one of the few areas controlled by entrance permit. Not so in the 
early days. Anyone might visit his world's chamber and there perform whatever 
nuisance entered his head, such as writing his name on the wall, or inserting a 
pin into the globe at the site of his home, or altering the lineage of local 
nobility; or placing scurrilous reports into the records. As a result we must 
now declare ourselves." 
"Luckily my credentials will facilitate the matter," aid Ollave drily. 
The formalities accomplished, an attendant took them to that portal numbered 933 
and allowed them admittance. 
In the center of the chamber a globe ten feet in diameter floated close above 
the floor, rotating easily to the touch. "And there you see Marune," said 
Kolodin. "Does it appear familiar? . . . As I expected." 
Ollave touched the globe. "A small dense world of no great population. The color 
gradients represent relief; Marune is a most rugged world. Notice these peaks 
and chasms! The olive green areas are polar tundra; the smooth blue metal is 
open water: not a great deal, relatively speaking. Note too these vast 
equatorial bogs! Certainly there is little habitable land." He touched a button; 
the globe sparkled with small pink light-points. "There you see the population 
distribution: Port Mar seems to be the largest city. But feel free to look 
around the chamber; perhaps you will see something to stimulate your memory." 
Pardero moved here and there, studying the exhibits, charts, and cases with only 
tentative interest. Presently he asked in a rather hollow voice: "How far away 
is this planet?" 
Kolodin took him to a three-dimensional representation of Alastor Cluster. "Here 
we are. on Numenes, beside this yellow star." He touched a button, a red 
indicator blinked, near the side of the display. "There is Marune, almost at the 
Cold Edge, in the Fontinella Wisp. Bruse-Tansel is somewhere about there, where 
those grid lines come together." He moved to another display. "This represents 
the local environment: a four-star group. Marune is" - he touched a button - "at 
the end of the red arrow, orbiting close around the orange dwarf Furad. The 
green star is Cirse, the blue dwarf is Osmo, the red dwarf is Maddar. A 
spectacular location for a planet, among such a frolic of stars! Maddar and 
Cirse swing close around each other; Furad, with Marune keeping its monthly 
orbit, curves around Osmo; the four stars dance a fine saraband down the 
Fontinella Wisp." 
Then Kolodin read from a placard on the wall. "'On Marune, day and night do not 
alternate as is the case with most planets. Instead, there are varying 
conditions of light, depending upon which sun or suns rule the sky; and these 
periods are designated by a specific nomenclature. Aud, isp, red rowan, green 
rowan, and umber are the ordinary gradations. Night occurs at intervals 
regulated by a complex pattern, on the average about once every thirty days. 
"'Most of Marune is poorly adapted to human habitation and the population is 
small, divided about equally between agriculturists of the lowland slopes and 
residents of the several cities, of which Port Mar is by far the most important. 
East of Port Mar are the Mountain Realms, inhabited by those aloof and eccentric 
warrior-scholars known as Rhunes, whose numbers are not accurately known. The 
native fauna includes a quasi-intelligent biped of placid disposition: the 
Fwai-chi. These creatures inhabit highland forests and are protected from 
molestation both by statute and by local custom. For more detailed information, 
consult the catalogue.'" 
Pardero went to the globe and presently discovered Port Mar. To the east rose a 
succession of enormous mountain ranges, the high crags rising past the timber 
line, up past snow and glaciers, into regions where rain and snowfall no longer 
existed. A multitude of small rivers drained the region, wandering along narrow 
upland valleys, expanding to become lakes, pouring over precipices to 
reconstitute themselves in new lakes or new streams below. Certain of the 
valleys were named: Haun, Gorgetto, Zangloreis, Eccord, Wintaree, Disbague, 
Morluke, Tuillin, Scharrode, Ronduce, a dozen others, all sounding of an odd or 
archaic dialect. Some of the names lay easy on his tongue, as if he well knew 
their proper pronunciation; and when Kolodin, peering over his shoulder, read 
them off, he noticed the faulty inflections, though he told Kolodin nothing of 
this. 
Ollave called him and indicated a tall glass case. "What do you think of this?" 
"Who are they?" 
"An eiodarkal trismet." 
"Those words mean nothing to me." 
"They are Rhune terms, of course; I thought you might recognize them. An 
'eiodark' is a high-ranking baron; 'trisme' is an institution analogous to 
marriage. 'Trismet' designates the people involved." 
Pardero inspected the two figures. Both were represented to be tall, spare, 
dark-haired, and fair of complexion. The man wore a complicated costume of dark 
red cloth, a vest of black metal strips, a ceremonial helmet contrived of black 
metal and black fabric. The woman wore garments somewhat simpler: a long 
shapeless gown of gray gauze, white slippers, a loose black cap which framed the 
white starkly modeled features. 
"Typical Rhunes," said Ollave. "They totally reject cosmopolitan standards and 
styles. Notice them as they stand there. Observe the cool and dispassionate 
expressions. Notice also, their garments have no elements in common, a clear 
signal that in the Rhune society male and female roles differ. Each is a mystery 
to the other; they might be members of different races!" He glanced sharply at 
Pardero. "Do they suggest anything to you?" 
"They are not strange, no more than the language was strange at Carfaunge." 
"Just so." Crossing the chamber to a projection screen, Ollave touched buttons. 
"Here is Port Mar, on the edge of the highlands." 
A voice from the screen supplied a commentary to the scene. "You view the city 
Port Mar as you might from an aircar approaching from the south. The time is 
aud, which is to say, full daylight, with Furad, Maddar, Osmo, and Cirse in the 
sky." 
The screen displayed a panorama of small residences half-concealed by foliage: 
structures built of dark timber and pink-tan stucco. The roofs rose at steep 
pitches, joining in all manner of irregular angles and eccentric gables: a style 
quaint and unusual. In many cases the houses had been extended and enlarged, the 
additions growing casually from the old structures like crystals growing from 
crystals. Other structures, abandoned, had fallen into ruins. "These houses were 
built by Majars, the original inhabitants of Marune. Very few pure-blooded 
Majars remain; the race is almost extinct, and Majartown is falling into disuse. 
The Majars, with the Rhunes, named the planet, which originally was known as 
'Majar-Rhune'. The Rhunes, arriving upon Marune, decimated the Majars, but were 
expelled by the Whelm into the eastern mountains, where to this day they are 
allowed no weapons of energy or attack." 
The angle of view shifted to a hostelry of stately proportions. The commentator 
spoke: "Here you see the Royal Rhune Hotel, invariably patronized by those 
Rhunes who must visit Port Mar. The management is attentive to the special and 
particular Rhune needs." 
The view shifted across a river to a district somewhat more modern. "You now 
observe the New Town," said the commentator. "The Port Mar College of Arts and 
Technics, situated nearby, claims a distinguished faculty and almost ten 
thousand students, deriving both from Port Mar and from the agricultural tracts 
to the south and west. There are no Rhunes in attendance at the college." 
Pardero asked Ollave, "And why is that?" 
"The Rhunes prefer their own educational processes." 
"They seem an unusual people." 
"In many respects." 
"And I am one of these remarkable persons." 
"So it would seem. Let us look into the Mountain Realms." Ollave consulted an 
index. "First I'll show you one of the autochthones: the Fwai-chi, as they are 
called." He touched a button, to reveal a high mountainside patched with snow 
and sparsely forested with gnarled black trees. The view expanded toward one of 
these trees, to center upon the rugose brown-black trunk, which stirred and 
moved. Away from the tree shambled a bulky brown-black biped with a loose pelt, 
all shags and tatters. The commentator spoke: "Here you see a Fwai-chi. These 
creatures, after their own fashion, are intelligent, and as such they are 
protected by the Connatic. The shags of its skin are not merely camouflage 
against the snow bears; they are organs for the production of hormones and the 
reproductive stimule. Occasionally the Fwai-chi will be seen nibbling each 
other; they are ingesting a stuff which reacts with a bud on the wall of their 
stomachs. The bud develops into an infant, which in due course is vomited into 
the world. Along the trailing fringes of other shags other semivital stimules 
are produced. 
"The Fwai-chi are placid, but not helpless if provoked too far; indeed they are 
said to possess important parapsychic competence, and no one dares molest them." 

The view shifted, down the mountainside to the valley floor. A village of fifty 
stone houses occupied a meadow beside the river; from a bluff a tall mansion, or 
castle, overlooked the valley. To Kolodin's eye, the mansion, or castle, evinced 
an archaic overelaboration of shape and detail; additionally the proportions 
appeared cramped, the construction disproportionately heavy, the windows too 
few, too tall and narrow. He put to Pardero a question: "What do you think of 
this?" 
"I don't remember it." Pardero raised his hands to his temples, pressed and 
rubbed. "I feel pressure; I want to see no more." 
"Certainly not," declared Ollave jauntily. "We'll go at once." And he added: 
"Come up to my office; I'll pour you a sedative, and you'll feel less 
perturbation." 
Returning to the Connatic's Hospital, Pardero sat silently for most of the trip. 
At last he asked Kolodin: "How soon can I go to Marune?" 
"Whenever you like," said, Kolodin, and then added, in the tentative voice of a 
person hoping to persuade a captious child: "But why hurry? Is the hospital so 
dreary? Take a few weeks to study and learn, and to make some careful plans." 
"I want to learn two names: my own and that of my enemy." 
Kolodin blinked. He had miscalculated the intensity of Pardero's emotions. 
"Perhaps no enemy exists," stated Kolodin somewhat ponderously. "He is not 
absolutely necessary to your condition." 
Pardero managed a small sour smile. "When I arrived at the Carfaunge spaceport, 
my hair had been hacked short. I considered it a mystery until I saw the 
simulated Rhune eiodark. Did you notice his hair?" 
"It was combed straight over the scalp and down across the neck." 
"And this is a distinctive style?" 
"Well - it's hardly common, though not bizarre or unique. It is distinctive 
enough to facilitate identification." 
Pardero nodded gloomily. "My enemy intended that no one should identify me as a 
Rhune. He cut my hair, dressed me in a clown's suit, then put me on a spaceship 
and sent me across the Cluster, hoping I would never return." 
"So it would seem. Still, why did he not simply kill you and roll you into a 
ditch? How much more decisive!" 
"Rhunes fear killing, except in war: this I have learned from Ollave." 
Kolodin surreptitiously studied Pardero who sat brooding across the landscape. 
Remarkable the alteration! In a few hours, from a person uninformed, vague, and 
confused, Pardero had become a man purposeful and integrated; a man, so Kolodin 
would guess, of strong passions under stern control, and after all was not this 
the way of the Rhunes? "For the sake of argument, let us assume that this enemy 
exists," said Kolodin laboriously. "He knows you; you do not know him. You will 
arrive at Port Mar at a disadvantage, and perhaps at considerable risk." 
Pardero seemed almost amused. "So then, must I avoid Port Mar? I reckon on this 
risk; I intend to prepare against it." 
"And how will you so prepare?" 
"First I want to learn as much as possible about the Rhunes." 
"Simple enough," said Kolodin. "The knowledge is in Chamber 933. What next?" 
"I have not decided." 
Sensing evasion, Kolodin pursed his lips. "The Connatic's law is exact: Rhunes 
are allowed neither energy weapons nor airvehicles." 
Pardero grinned. "I am no Rhune until I learn my identity." 
"In a technical sense, this is true," said Kolodin cautiously. 


Something over a month later Kolodin accompanied Pardero to the Central 
Spaceport at Commarice, and out across the field to the Dylas Extranuator. The 
two said goodbye at the embarkation ramp. "I probably will never see you again," 
said Kolodin, and much as I would like to know the outcome of your quest, I 
probably will never learn." 
Pardero replied in a flat voice, "I thank you for your help and for your 
personal kindness." 
From a Rhune, thought Kolodin, even an occluded Rhune, this was almost 
effusiveness. He spoke in a guarded voice: "A month ago you hinted at your need 
for a weapon. Have you obtained such an item?" 
"No," said Pardero. "I thought to wait until I was beyond the range of the 
Connatic's immediate attention, so to speak." 
With furtive glances to left and right Kolodin tucked a small carton into 
Pardero's pocket. "You are now carrying a Dys Model G Skull-splitter. 
Instructions are included in the package. Don't flourish it about; the laws are 
explicit. Good-by, good luck, and communicate with me if possible." 
"Again, thank you." Pardero clasped Kolodin's shoulders, then turned away and 
boarded the ship. 
Kolodin returned to the terminal and ascended to the observation deck. Half an 
hour later he watched the black, red and gold spaceship loft into the air, slide 
off and away from Numenes. 




Chapter 4


During the month previous to his departure, Pardero spent many hours in Chamber 
933 along the Ring of Worlds. Kolodin occasionally kept him company; Oswen 
Ollave, as often, came down from his offices to discuss the perplexing habits of 
the Rhunes. 
Ollave prepared a chart which he insisted that Pardero memorize. 
       FURAD  OSMO MADDARCIRSE 
      AUDXXX
      EITHERX
      OR BOTH
      ISP XXWITH OR
      X
      WITHOUT
      CHILL ISP X 
      UMBERX X
      EITHERX
      OR BOTH
      LORN UMBERX   
      ROWAN  XX
      RED ROWAN  X 
      GREEN ROWAN   X
      MIRK    

"The chart indicates Marune's ordinary conditions of daylight1, during which the 
character of the landscape changes profoundly. The population is naturally 
affected, and most especially the Rhunes." Ollave's voice had taken on a 
pedantic suavity, and he enunciated his words with precision. "Port Mar is 
hardly notable for sophistication. The Rhunes, however, consider Port Mar a most 
worldly place, characterized by shameless alimentation, slackness, laxity, and a 
kind of bestial lasciviousness to which they apply the term 'sebalism.' 
"In the Old Town at Port Mar a handful of exiles live - young Rhunes who have 
rebelled against their society, or who have been ejected for lapses of conduct. 
They are a demoralized, miserable, and bitter group; all criticize their 
parents, who, so they claim, have withheld counsel and guidance. To a certain 
extent this is true; Rhunes feel that their precepts are self-evident even to 
the understanding of a child - which of course they are not; nowhere in the 
Cluster are conventions more arbitrary. For instance, the process of ingesting 
food is considered as deplorable as the final outcome of digestion, and eating 
is done as privately as possible. The child is supposed to arrive at this 
viewpoint as well as other Rhune conventions automatically. He is expected to 
excel in arcane and impractical skills; he must quell his sebalism." 
Pardero stirred restlessly. "You have used this word before; I do not understand 
it." 
"It is the special Rhune concept for sexuality, which the Rhunes find 
disgusting. How then do they procreate? It is cause for wonder. But they have 
solved the problem with elegance and ingenuity. During mirk, in the dark of the 
suns, they undergo a remarkable transformation. Do you wish to hear about it? If 
so, you must allow me a measure of discursiveness, as the subject is most 
wonderful! 
"About once a month, the land grows dark, and the Rhunes become restless. Some 
lock themselves into their homes; others array themselves in odd costumes and go 
forth into the night where they perform the most astonishing deeds. The baron 
whose rectitude is unquestioned robs and beats one of his tenants. A staid 
matron commits daring acts of unmentionable depravity. No one who allows himself 
to be accessible is safe. What a mystery then! How to reconcile such conduct 
with the decorum of daylight? No one tries to do so; night-deeds are considered 
hardships for which no one is held responsible, like nightmares. Mirk is a time 
of unreality. Events during mirk are unreal, and guilt has no basis. 
"During mirk, sebalism is rampant. Indeed, sexual activity occurs only as a 
night-deed, only in the guise of rape. Marriage - 'trisme,' as it is called - is 
never considered a sexual pairing, but rather an alliance - a joining of 
economic or political forces. Sexual acts, if they occur, will be night-deeds - 
acts of purported rape. The male participant wears a black garment over his 
shoulders, arms, and upper chest, and boots of black cloth. Over his head he 
wears a man-mask. His torso is naked. He is purposely grotesque, an abstraction 
of male sexuality. His costume depersonalizes him and maximizes the fantasy or 
unreal elements. The man enters the chamber where the woman sleeps, or pretends 
to sleep; and in utter silence copulation occurs. Neither virginity nor its 
absence is significant, nor are either so much as a subject for speculation. The 
Rhune dialect contains no such word. 
"So there you have the state of 'trisme.' Between trismetics friendship may 
exist, but the two address each other formally. Intimacy between any two people 
is rare. Rooms are large, so that folk need not huddle together, nor even 
approach. No person purposely touches another; in fact the occupations which 
require physical contact, such as barbering, doctoring, clothes-fitting, are 
considered pariah trades. For such services the Rhunes journey into Port Mar. A 
parent neither strikes nor caresses his child; a warrior attempts to kill his 
enemy at a distance, and weapons such as swords and daggers have only ceremonial 
function. 
"Now allow me to describe the act of eating. On those rare occasions when a 
Rhune is forced to dine in the company of others he ingests his food behind a 
napkin, or at the back of a device unique to Marune: a screen on a metal 
pedestal, placed before the diner's face. At formal banquets no food is served - 
only wafts of varied and complicated odors, the selection and presentation being 
considered a creative skill. 
"The Rhunes lack humor. They are highly sensitive to insult; a Rhune will never 
submit to ridicule. Lifelong friends must reckon with each other's sensibilities 
and then rely upon a complicated etiquette to lubricate social occasions. In 
short, it seems as if the Rhunes deny themselves all the usual human pleasures. 
What do they substitute? 
"In the first place, the Rhune is exquisitely sensitive to his landscapes of 
mountain, meadow, forest, and sky - all changing with the changing modes of day. 
He reckons his land by its aesthetic appeal; he will connive a lifetime to gain 
a few choice acres. He enjoys pomp, protocol, heraldic minutiae; his niceties 
and graces are judged as carefully as the figures of a ballet. He prides himself 
on his collection of sherliken scales; or the emeralds which he has mined, cut, 
and polished with his own hands; or his Arah magic wheels, imported from halfway 
across the Gaean Reach. He will perfect himself in special mathematics, or an 
ancient language, or the lore of fanfares, or all three, or three other 
abstrusities. His calligraphy and draftsmanship are taken for granted; his life 
work is his Book of Deeds, which he executes and illustrates and decorates with 
fervor and exactitude. A few of these books have reached the market; in the 
Reach they command enormous prices as curios. 
"The Rhune is not a likeable man. He is so sensitive as to be truculent; he is 
contemptuous of all other races than the Rhune. He is self-centered, arrogant, 
unsympathetic in his judgments. 
"Naturally I allude to the typical Rhune, from whom an individual may deviate, 
and everything I have said applies no less to the women as the men. 
"The Rhunes display correspondingly large virtues: dignity, courage, honor, 
intellects of incomprehensible complexity - though here again, individuals may 
differ from the norm. 
"Anyone who owns land considers himself an aristocrat, and the hierarchy 
descends from kaiark, through kang, eiodark, baronet, baron, knight, and squire. 
The Fwai-chi have retreated from the Realms, but still make their pilgrimages 
through the upper forests and along the high places. There is no interaction 
between the two races. 
"Needless to say, among a people so passionate, proud, and reckless, and so 
anxious to expand their land holdings, conflict is not unknown. The force of the 
Connatic's Second Edict and, more effectively, an embargo upon energy weapons, 
has eliminated formal war. But raids and forays are common, and enmities last 
forever. The rules of warfare are based upon two principles. First, no man may 
attack a person of higher rank than himself; second, since blood violence is a 
mirk-deed, killing is achieved at a distance with blast-bolts; aristocrats 
however use swords and so demonstrate fortitude. Ordinary warriors will not look 
at a man in the face and kill him; such an act haunts a man forever - unless the 
act is done by mirk, when it becomes no more than a nightmare. But only if 
unplanned. Premeditated murder by mirk is vile murder." 
Pardero said, "Now I know why my enemy sent me off to Bruse-Tansel instead of 
leaving me dead in a ditch." 
"There is a second argument against murder: it cannot be concealed. The Fwai-chi 
detect crimes, and no one escapes; it is said that they can taste a dead man's 
blood and cite all the circumstances of his death." 


On this evening Pardero and Kolodin chose to spend the night in the tourist 
chambers on the lower decks of the tower. Kolodin made a videophone call and 
returned with a slip of paper, which he handed to Pardero. "The results of my 
inquiries. I asked myself, what ship leaving Port Mar would land you at 
Carfaunge Spaceport on tenth Mariel Gaean? Traffic Central's computer provided a 
name and a date. On 2 Ferario Gaean the Berenicia of the Black and Red Line 
departed Port Mar. More than likely you were aboard." 
Pardero tucked the paper into his pocket. "Another matter which concerns me: how 
do I pay my passage to Marune? I have no money." 
Kolodin made an expansive gesture. "No difficulties there. Your rehabilitation 
includes an extra thousand ozols for just this purpose. Any more worries?" 
Pardero grinned. "Lots of them." 
"You'll have an interesting time of it," said Kolodin. 


The Dylas Extranuator drove out past the Pentagram, circled the diadem in the 
horn of the Unicorn, and coasted into Tsambara, Alastor 1317. Here Pardero made 
connection with a ship of the Black and Red Line which, after touching into a 
number of remote little places, veered off along the Fontinella Wisp and 
presently approached an isolated system of four dwarfs respectively orange, 
blue, green, and red. 
Marune, Alastor 933, expanded below, to show a surface somewhat dark and heavy 
textured below its fleets and shoals of clouds. The ship descended and settled 
upon the Port Mar Spaceport. Pardero and a dozen other passengers alighted, 
surrendered their last ticket coupon, passed through the lobby and out upon the 
soil of Marune. 
The time was isp. Osmo glared blue halfway up the southern sky; Maddar rode at 
the zenith; Cirse peered over the northeast horizon. The light was a trifle 
cold, but rich with those overtones provided by Maddar and Cirse, so that 
objects cast a three-phase shadow. 
Pardero halted before the terminal, looked around the landscape, across the sky, 
inhaled a deep breath, exhaled. The air tasted fresh, cool, and tart, unlike 
both the dank air of Bruse-Tansel and the warm sweet air of Numenes. The suns 
sliding in different directions across the sky, the subtle lights, the taste of 
the air, soothed an ache in his mind he had not heretofore noticed. A mile to 
the west the structures of Port Mar stood clear and crisp; beyond the land fell 
away. The view seemed not at all strange. Whence came the familiarity? From 
research in Chamber 933? Or from his own experience? To the east the land 
swelled and rose in receding masses of ever higher mountains, reaching up to 
awesome heights. The peaks gleamed white with snow and gray with granite scree; 
below, bands of dark forest muted the slopes. Mass collided with light to create 
shape and shadow; the clarity of the air as it swept through the spaces was 
almost palpable. 
The waiting bus sounded an impatient chime; Pardero slowly climbed aboard, and 
the bus moved off along the Avenue of Strangers toward Port Mar. 
The attendant made an announcement: "First stop, the Traveler's Inn. Second, the 
Outworld Inn. Then the Royal Rhune Hotel. Then over the bridge into New Town for 
the Cassander Inn and the University Inn." 
Pardero chose the Outworld Inn which seemed sufficiently large and impersonal. 
Imminence hung in the air, so heavy that his enemy must also be oppressed. 
Pardero cautiously surveyed the lobby of the Outworld Inn, but saw only 
off-world folk who paid him no heed. The hotel personnel ignored him. So far, so 
good. 
He took a lunch of soup, cold meat, and bread in the dining room, as much to 
compose himself as to appease his appetite. He lingered at the table reviewing 
his plans. To broadcast the fewest ripples of disturbance, he must move softly, 
delicately, working from the periphery inward. 
He left the hotel and sauntered back up the Avenue of Strangers toward the 
green-glass dome of the spaceport terminal. As he walked, Osmo dipped low and 
sank behind the western edge of Port Mar. Isp became rowan, with Cirse and 
Maddar yet in the sky, to produce a warm soft light that hung in the air like 
haze. 
Arriving at the terminal, Pardero entered and went to the reception desk. The 
clerk came forward - a small portly man with the cinnamon skin and golden eyes 
of an upper-caste Majar, one of those who lived in the timber and stucco houses 
on the slopes at the back of Old Town. 
"How may I serve you, sir?" 
Clearly Pardero aroused in his mind no quiver of recognition. 
"Perhaps you can provide me some information," said Pardero. "On or about 2 
Ferario, I took passage aboard the Berenicia of the Black and Red Line. One of 
the other passengers asked me to perform a small errand, which I was unable to 
achieve. Now I must notify him but I have forgotten his name, and I would like 
to glance at the relevant passenger list." 
"No difficulties here, sir; the ledger is easily consulted." A display screen 
lit up; the clerk turned a knob; figures and listings flicked past. "Here we are 
at 2 Ferario. Quite correct, sir. The Berenicia arrived, took aboard eight 
passengers, and departed." 
Pardero studied the passenger list. "Why are the names in different columns?" 
"By order of the Demographical Institute, so that they may gauge traffic between 
the worlds. Here are transients upon Marune taking departure. These names - only 
two, as you see - represent folk of Marune bound for other worlds." 
"My man would be one of these. Which ones took passage to Bruse-Tansel?" 
The clerk, somewhat puzzled, consulted the list "Neither. Baron Shimrod's 
destination was Xampias. The Noble Serle Glaize boarded the ship on an 'open' 
ticket." 
"What sort of ticket is this?" 
"It is often purchased by a tourist who lacks a fixed destination. The ticket 
provides a stipulated number of travel-units; when these are exhausted the 
tourist purchases further units to fit his particular needs." 
"This 'open ticket' used by Serle Glaize, how far might it have taken him? To 
Bruse-Tansel, for instance?" 
"The Berenicia does not put into Bruse-Tansel, but let me see. One hundred and 
forty-eight ozols to Dadarnisse Junction; to Bruce-Tassel one hundred and two 
ozols . . . Yes, indeed. You will notice that the Noble Serle Glaize bought an 
open ticket to the value of two hundred and fifty ozols: to Bruce-Tassel 
exactly." 
"So: Serle Glaize. This is my man." Pardero reflected upon the name. It lacked 
all resonance, all familiar flavor. He passed two ozols across the counter to 
the clerk, who took them with grave courtesy. 
Pardero asked: "Who sold the ticket to Serle Glaise?" 
"The initial is 'Y'; that would be Yanek, on the next shift." 
"Perhaps you could telephone Yanek and ask if he recalls the circumstances. I 
will pay five ozols for significant information." 
The clerk eyed Pardero sidelong. "What sort of information do you consider 
significant?" 
"Who bought the ticket? I doubt if Serle Glaize did so himself. He must have 
come with a companion whose identity I wish to learn." 
The clerk went to a telephone and spoke in a guarded manner, from tune to time 
glancing over his shoulder toward. Pardero. At last he returned, his manner 
somewhat subdued. "Yanek barely recalls the matter. He believes that the ticket 
was bought by a person in a black Rhune cape, who also wore a gray casque with a 
visor and malar flaps, so that his features made no impression upon Yanek. The 
time was busy; Yanek was preoccupied and noticed no more." 
"This is not the information I require," Pardero grumbled. "Is there anyone who 
can tell me more?" 
"I can think of no one, sir." 
"Very well." Pardero counted down another two ozols. "This is for your kind 
cooperation." 
"Thank you, sir. Allow me to make a suggestion. The Rhunes who visit Port Mar 
without exception use the Royal Rhune Hotel. Information, however, may be hard 
to come by." 
"Thank you for the suggestion." 
"Are you not a Rhune yourself, sir?" 
"After a fashion, yes." 
The clerk nodded and uttered a soft chuckle. "A Majar will mistake a Rhune never 
indeed, oh never . . ." 


In a pensive mood Pardero returned along the Avenue of Strangers. The learned 
computations of M.T. Rady, the sociopsychic deductions of Oswen Ollave had been 
validated. Still, by what obscure means had the Majar recognized him? His 
features were not at all peculiar; his pigmentation was hardly distinctive; his 
clothes and hairstyle were, by cosmopolitan standards, ordinary enough; in 
short, he differed little from any other guest at the Outworld Inn. No doubt he 
betrayed himself by unconscious gestures or attitudes; perhaps he was more of a 
Rhune than he felt himself to be. 
The Avenue of Strangers ended at the river; as Pardero reached the bridge Madder 
slanted behind the western lowlands; Cirse moved slowly up the sky: green rowan. 
Green ripples flickered across the water; the white walls of New Town shone pale 
apple-green. Along the riverfront festoons of lights appeared, indicating places 
of entertainment: beer gardens, dance pavilions, restaurants. Pardero scowled at 
the brashness of the scene, then gave a soft rueful snort. Had he surprised a 
set of Rhune attitudes surfacing through his amnesia? 
Pardero turned into the narrow Street of Brass Bones, which curved gradually 
up-slope, between ancient structures of age-blackened wood. The shops facing out 
upon the street uniformly showed a pair of high windows, a brass-bound door, and 
only the most unobtrusive indication as to their wares, as if each strove to 
exceed his neighbor in reserve. 
The Street of Brass Boxes ended in a dim shadowed square, surrounded by curio 
shops, bookstores, specialty houses of many varieties. Pardero saw his first 
Rhunes, moving from shop to shop, pondering the merchandise, indicating their 
needs to the Majar shopkeepers with indifferent flicks of the finger. None of 
them so much as glanced toward Pardero, which caused him irrationally mixed 
feelings. 
He crossed the square and turned up the Avenue of Black Jangkars to an arched 
portal in a stone wall. He passed beneath and approached the Royal Rhune Hotel. 
He halted before the vestibule. Once inside the Royal Rhune there could be no 
turning back; he must accept the consequences of his return to Marune. 
Through the tall doors stepped two men and a woman - the men wearing costumes of 
beige and black with dark red sashes, so similar as to suggest military 
uniforms; the woman, almost as tall as either of the men, wore a tight blue-gray 
body suit, with an indigo cape draping from black epaulettes: a mode considered 
suitable far visits to Port Mar, where the formal gauze gowns of the Realms were 
inappropriate. The three marched past Pardero, each allowing him a single 
glance. Pardero sensed no flicker of recognition. Small cause for surprise since 
the Rhunes numbered well over a hundred thousand. 
Pardero pushed aside the tall gaunt doors which seemed a part of the Rhune 
architectural environment. The lobby was an enormous high-ceilinged room with 
sounds echoing across a bare russet and black tile floor. The chairs were 
upholstered in leather. The central table displayed a variety of technical 
magazines and at the far end of the room a rack held brochures advertising 
tools, chemicals, craft supplies, papers and inks, rare woods and stones. A tall 
narrow arch flanked by columns of fluted green stone communicated with the 
office. Pardero looked briefly around the lobby and passed through the arch. 
A clerk of advanced age rose to his feet and approached the counter; despite 
age, a bald head, and unctuous wattles, his manner was alert and punctilious. In 
an instant he assessed Pardero, his garments and mannerisms, and performed a bow 
of precisely calibrated courtesy. "How may we oblige you, sir?" As he spoke a 
trace of uncertainty seemed to enter his manner. 
"Several months ago," said Pardero, "about the first of Ferario to be more 
precise, I was a guest at this hotel, and I wish to refresh my recollections. 
Will you be so good as to show me the records for this date?" 
"As you require, Your Dignity."2 The clerk turned Pardero a second 
half-surreptitious side-glance, and his manner altered even further, becoming 
tinged with doubt, or uneasiness, or even anxiety. He bent with an almost 
audible creaking of vertebrae and elevated a leather-bound ledger to the 
counter. With a reverential flourish he parted the covers, and one by one turned 
the pages, each of which. displayed a schematic chart of the hotel's 
accommodations, with notations in inks of various colors. "Here, Dignity, is the 
date you mention. If you choose to advise me, I will assist you." 
Pardero inspected the ledger, but could not decipher the archaic calligraphy. 
In a voice meant to convey an exquisite and comprehensive discretion the clerk 
spoke on. "On this phase our facilities were not overextended. In our 'Sincere 
Courtesy' wing, we housed the trismets3 of various gentlefolk. You will notice 
the chambers so indicated. In our 'Approbation' accommodations we served the 
Eiodark Torde and the Wirwove Ippolita, with their respective trismets. The 
'Altitude' suite was occupied by the Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord, the Kraike 
Dervas, the Lissolet Maerio. In the 'Hyperion' suite we entertained the late 
Kaiark Jochaim of Scharrode, may his ghost be quickly appeased, with the Kraike 
Singhalissa, the Kangs Efraim and Destian, and the Lissolet Sthelany." The clerk 
turned his trembling and dubious smile upon Pardero. "Do I not now have the 
honor of addressing His Force the new Kaiark of Scharrode?" 
Pardero said somewhat ponderously: "You recognize me then?" 
"Yes, Your Force, now that I have spoken with you. I admit to confusion; your 
presence has altered in a way which I hardly know how to explain. You seem, 
shall we say, more mature, more controlled, and of course your foreign garments 
enhance these differences. But I am certain that I am right." The clerk peered 
in sudden doubt. "Am I not, Your Force?" 
Pardero smiled coolly. "How could you demonstrate the fact one way or the other 
without my assurance?" 
The clerk muffled an exclamation. Muttering under his breath he brought to the 
counter a second leather-bound volume, twice the size of the ledger. He glanced 
peevishly toward Pardero, then turned thick pages of pale brown parchment. 
Pardero asked: "What book is that?" 
The clerk looked up from the pages, and now his gray old lips sagged 
incredulously. "I have here the Great Rhune Almanac. Are you not familiar with 
it?" 
Pardero managed a curt nod. "Show me the folk who occupied the Hyperion suite." 
"Inexorable Force, I was about to do so." The clerk turned pages. On the left 
were genealogical charts, ladders, linkages, and trees, indited in rich inks of 
various colors; on the right photographs were arranged in patterns relative to 
the charts: thousands upon thousands of names, an equal number of likenesses. 
The clerk turned pages with maddening deliberation. At last he halted, pondered 
a moment, then tapped the page with his finger. "The lineage of Scharrode." 
Pardero could restrain himself no longer. He turned the volume about and studied 
the photographs. 
Halfway down the page a pale-haired man of middle maturity looked forth. His 
face, angular and bleak, suggested an interesting complexity of character. The 
forehead might have been that of a scholars the wide mouth seemed composed 
against some unwelcome or unfashionable emotion, such as humor. The 
superscription read: Jochaim, House of Benbuphar, Seventy-ninth Kaiark. 
A green linkage led to the still face of a woman, her expression unfathomable. 
The caption read: Alferica, House of Jent. Below, a heavy maroon line led to the 
countenance of an unsmiling young man: a face which Pardero recognized as his 
own. The caption read: Efraim, House of Benbuphar, Kang of the Realm. 
At least I now know my name, thought Pardero. I am Efraim, and I was Kang, and 
now I am Kaiark. I am a man of high rank! He looked up at the clerk, surprising 
a shrewd and intent scrutiny. "You are curious," said Efraim. "There is no 
mystery. I have been off-planet and have just returned. I know nothing of what 
has happened in my absence. The Kaiark Jochaim is dead?" 
"Yes, Your Force. There has been uncertainty and confusion, so I understand. You 
have been the subject of concern, since now, of course, you are the Eightieth 
Kaiark, and the allowable lapse has almost transpired." 
Efraim nodded slowly. "So now I am Kaiark of Scharrode." He returned to the 
almanac, conscious of the clerk's gaze. 
The other faces on the page were three. From Jochaim a second green line 
descended to the face of a handsome dark-haired woman with a pale high forehead, 
blazing black eyes, a keen high-bridged nose. The caption identified her as 
Kraike Singhalissa. From Singhalissa vermilion lines led first to a dark-haired 
young man with the aquiline features of his mother: Kang Destian, and a girl, 
dark-haired and pale, with pensive features and a mouth drooping at the corners, 
a girl in fact of rather remarkable beauty. The caption identified her as the 
Lissolet Sthelany. 
Efraim spoke in a voice he tried to keep matter-of-fact: "What do you recall of 
our visit here to Port Mar?" 
The clerk reflected. "The two trismets, of Scharrode and Eccord, arrived in 
concert, and in general conducted themselves as a single party. The younger 
persons visited New Town, while their elders transacted business. Certain 
tensions became evident. There followed a discussion of the visit to New Town, 
of which several of the older persons disapproved. Most exercised were the 
Kraike Singhalissa, and the Kaiark Rianlle, who thought that the expedition 
lacked dignity. When you failed to appear by isp 25 of the Third Cycle, everyone 
felt concern; evidently you had failed to apprise anyone of your departure." 
"Evidently," said Efraim. "Did mirk occur during our visit?" 
"No; there was no mirk." 
"You heard no remarks, you recall no circumstances which might explain my 
departure?" 
The clerk looked puzzled. "A most curious question, Your Force! I remember 
nothing of consequence, though I was surprised to hear that you had acquainted 
yourself with that off-world vagabond." He sniffed. "No doubt he took advantage 
of your condescension; he is known as a persuasive rogue." 
"Which off-world vagabond is this?" 
"What? Do you not remember exploring New Town with the fellow Lorcas?" 
"I had forgotten his name. Lorcas, you say?" 
"Matho Lorcas. He consorts with New Town trash; he is fugleman for all these 
sebal cretins at the university." 
"And when did Kaiark Jochaim die?" 
"Soon after his return to Scharrode, in battle against Gosso, Kaiark of 
Gorgetto. You have returned opportunely. In another several days you would no 
longer be kaiark, and I have heard that Kaiark Rianlle has proposed a trisme to 
unite the realms of Eccord and Scharrode. Now that you are returned, conditions 
may be altered." The clerk turned pages in the almanac. "Kaiark Rianlle is an 
intense and determined man." The clerk tapped a photograph. Efraim saw a 
handsome distinguished face, framed by a casque of shining silver ringlets. The 
Kraike Dervas, looked forth blankly; her face seemed to lack distinctive 
character. The same was true of the Lissolet Maerio, who stared forth 
expressionlessly, but who nonetheless displayed a youthful if rather vacuous 
prettiness. 
The clerk asked cautiously: "Do you plan to stay with us, Force?" 
"I think not. And I wish you to say nothing whatever of my return to Marune. I 
must clarify certain circumstances." 
"I quite understand, Force. Thank you very much indeed!" - this last for the ten 
ozols which Efraim had placed on the counter. 
Efraim emerged from the hotel into a melancholy umber. He walked slowly back 
down the Avenue of Black Jangkars, and coming once more to the square he now 
took time to walk around, and with awe and wonder investigated the shops. Could 
there exist anywhere in all Alastor Cluster a richer concentration of the 
arcane, the esoteric, the special? And Efraim wondered what had been his own 
fields of erudition, his own unique virtuosities. Whatever they were, he 
retained none of them; his mind was a blank. 
Somewhat mournfully he proceeded down the Street of Brass Boxes to the river. 
New Town appeared quiet. Festoons of lights still glowed along the riverfront, 
but the beer gardens and cafes lacked animation. Efraim turned away, walked up 
the Avenue of Strangers to the Outworld Inn. He went to his chamber and slept. 
He dreamt a series of vivid dreams and awoke in a flush of excitement. After a 
moment he tried to reform the shattered images into focus so that he might grasp 
the meanings which had marched across his sleeping mind. To no avail. Composing 
himself, he slept once more until a gong announced the hour of breakfast. 


1. These are the modes recognized by the folk of Port Mar. Both the Majars and 
the Rhunes make more elaborate distinctions. 
The progression of the modes is rendered complex by reason of the diurnal 
rotation of Marune, the revolution of Marune around Furad,the motion of Furad 
and Osmo around each other, the orbital motions of Madder and Cirse, around each 
other and jointly around the Furad-Osmo system. The planes of no two orbiting 
systems are alike. 
The Fwai-chi, who lack all knowledge of astronomy, can reliably predict the 
modes for as far in the future as anyone cares to inquire. 
Among the low mountains south of Port Mar live a 'lost' community of about ten 
thousand Majars, decadent, inbred, and gradually diminishing in numbers. These 
folk are slavishly affected by the modes of day. They regulate their moods, 
diet, attire, and, activities by the changes. During mirk, the Majars lock 
themselves in their huts, and by the light of oil lamps chant imprecations 
against Galula the Goblin who mauls and eviscerates anyone unlucky enough to be 
abroad after dark. Some such entity as Galula indeed exists, but has never been 
satisfactorily identified. 
The Rhunes, as proud and competent as the Majars are demoralized, are also 
strongly affected by the changing modes. Behavior proper during one mode may be 
considered absurd or in poor taste during another. Persons advance their 
erudition and hone their special skills during aud, isp, and amber. Formal 
ceremonies tend to take plane during isp, as well as during the remarkable 
Ceremony of Odors. It may be noted that music is considered hyperemotional and 
inducive to vulgar conduct; it is never heard in the Rhune Realms. Aud is the 
appropriate time to go forth to battle, to conduct litigation, fight a duel, 
collect rent. Green rowan is a time for poetry and sentimental musing; red rowan 
allows the Rhune slightly to relax his etiquette. A man may condescend to take a 
glass of wine in company with other men, all using etiquette screens; women 
similarly may sip cordials or brandy. Chill isp inspires the Rhune with a 
thrilling ascetic exultation, which completely supersedes lesser emotions of 
love, hate, jealousy, greed. Conversation occurs in a hushed archaic dialect; 
brave ventures are planned; gallant resolves sworn; schemes of glory proposed 
and ratified, and many of these projects become fact, and go into the Book of 
Deeds. 
2. The all-purpose honorific, somewhat more respectful than a simple 'sir,' to 
be applied to Rhunes of indeterminate status. 
3. Trismet: The group of persons resulting from a 'trisme,' the Rhune analog of 
marriage. These persons might be a man and leis trismetic female partner; or a 
man, the female partner, one or more of her children (of which the man may or 
may not be the sire). 'Family' approximates the meaning of 'trismet' but carries 
a package of inaccurate and inapplicable connotations. Paternity is often an 
uncertain determination; rank and status, therefore, are derived from the 
mother. 




Chapter 5


Efraim emerged from the hotel into that phase sometimes known as half-aud. Furad 
and Osmo ruled the sky, to produce a warm yellow light, which connoisseurs of 
such matters considered fresh, effervescent, and gay, but lacking the richness 
and suavity of full aud. He stood for a moment breathing the cool air. His 
melancholy had diminished; better to be Kaiark Efraim of Scharrode than Efraim 
the butcher, or Efraim the cook, or Efraim the garbage collector. 
He set off along the Avenue of Strangers. Arriving at the bridge, instead of 
veering left into the Street of Brass Boxes he crossed into New Town, and 
discovered an environment totally different from that of Old Town. 
The geography of New Town, so Efraim would discover, was simple. Four 
thoroughfares paralleled the river: the Estrada, which terminated at the 
university; the Avenue of the Agency; then the Avenue of Haune and the Avenue of 
Douaune, after Osmo's two small dead planets. 
Efraim walked westward along the Estrada, examining the cafes and beer gardens 
with wistful interest. To his present perspective they seemed almost flagrantly 
innocent. He stepped into one of the beer gardens and glanced toward the young 
man and girl who sat huddled so closely together. Could he ever feel so easily 
licentious in full view of everyone? Perhaps even now he had not escaped the 
strictures of his past, which after all was less than six months gone. 
He approached a portly man in a white apron who seemed to be the manager. "Sir, 
are you acquainted with a certain Matho Lorcas?" 
"Matho Lorcas? I do not know the gentleman." 
Efraim continued west along the Estrada and presently at a booth devoted to the 
sale of off-world periodicals the name 'Matho Lorcas' sparked recognition. The 
girl attendant pointed along the avenue: "Ask there, in the Satyr's Cave. You 
might find him at work. If not, they know his dwelling." 
Matho Lorcas was indeed at work, serving mugs of beer along the bar. He was a 
tall young man with a keen vivacious face. His dark hair was cut short in a 
casual and unassuming style. When he spoke his thin crooked mouth worked dozens 
of changes across his face. Efraim watched him a moment before approaching. 
Matho Lorcas was a person whose humor, intelligence, and easy flamboyance might 
well excite the antagonism of less favored individuals. Hard to suspect malice, 
or even guile, in Matho Lorcas. The fact remained that soon after making Lorcas' 
acquaintance Efraim had been rendered mindless and shipped off across the 
Cluster. 
Efraim approached the bar and took a seat; Lorcas approached Efraim asked: "You 
are Matho Lorcas?" 
"Yes indeed!" 
"Do you recognize me?" 
Lorcas gave Efraim a frowning scrutiny. His face cleared. "You are the Rhune! I 
forget your name." 
"Efraim, of Scharrode." 
"I remember you well, and the two girls you escorted. How grave and proper their 
behavior! You have changed! In fact you seem a different person. How goes life 
in your mountain realm?" 
"As usual, or so I suppose. I am most anxious to have a few words with you. When 
will you be free?" 
"At any time. Right now, if you like; I am bored with the work. Ramono! Take 
charge of affairs!" He ducked under the bar and asked of Efraim: "Will you take 
a mug of beer? Or perhaps a glass of Del wine?" 
"No thank you." Efraim had decided upon a policy of caution and reserve. "It is 
early in the day for me." 
"Just as you like. Come, let us sit over here where we can watch the river flow 
by. So. Do you know, I have often wondered about you, and how you eventually - 
well, shall we say, accommodated yourself to your dilemma, pleasant though it 
might have been." 
"How do you mean?" 
"The two beautiful girls you escorted - though I realize in the Mountain Realms 
things aren't done quite so easily." 
Aware that he must seem dense and dull, Efraim asked: "What do you recall of the 
occasion?" 
Lorcas held up his hands in protest. "So long ago? After so many other 
occasions? Let me think . . ." He grinned. "I deceive you. In truth, I've 
thought long and often of those two girls, so alike, so different, and oh, how 
wasted in those ineffable Mountain Realms! They walk and talk like enchanted 
blocks of ice - though I suspect that one or the other, or both, under the 
proper circumstances might easily melt; and I for one would rejoice to arrange 
such circumstances. You consider me sebal? I'm far worse; I'm positively 
chorastic!"1 He glanced sidelong toward Efraim. "You don't seem appalled, or 
even shocked. For a fact you are a person different from the earnest young Kang 
of six months ago." 
"This may well be true," said Efraim without impatience. "Returning to that 
occasion, what happened?" 
Lorcas turned Efraim another quizzical side-glance. "You don't remember?" 
"Not well." 
"Odd. You seemed quite alert. You recall how we met?" 
"Not too well." 
Lorcas gave a half-incredulous shrug. "I had just stepped out of the Caduceus 
Book Shop. You approached and asked directions to the Fairy Gardens, where at 
the time Galligade's Puppets were entertaining. The mode as I recall was low 
aud, going into umber, which always seems to me to be a rather festive time. I 
noted that you and the Kang Destian - so I recall his name - escorted not one 
but two pretty girls, and I'd never had the opportunity to meet a Rhune before, 
so I volunteered to conduct you in person. At the Fairy Gardens we found that 
Galligade had just finished his show and the disappointment of the girls 
prompted me to a spasm of insane altruism. I insisted on acting as your host not 
my usual conduct, I assure you. I ordered a bottle of wine and etiquette screens 
for those who considered them necessary, and so there we were: the Lissolet 
Sthelany, observing me with aristocratic detachment, the other girl - I forget 
her name -" 
"The Lissolet Maerio." 
"Correct. She was only a trifle more cordial, though, mind you, I'm making no 
complaints. Then there was the Kang Destian, who was sardonic and surly, and 
yourself, who behaved with elegant formality. You were the first Rhunes I'd met, 
and when I found you to be of royal blood, I thought my efforts and ozols well 
spent. 
"So we sat and drank the wine and listened to the music. More accurately, I 
drank wine. You and the Lissolet Maerio, thoroughly daring, sipped behind your 
etiquette screens. The other two declared themselves uninterested. The girls 
watched the students and marveled at the crassness and sebalism. I fell in love 
with the Lissolet Sthelany, who of course was oblivious. I used all my charm; 
she studied me with fascinated revulsion and presently she and Destian returned 
to the hotel. 
"You and the Lissolet Maerio remained until Destian came back with orders that 
Maerio return to the hotel. You and I were left alone. I was due at the Three 
Lanterns; you walked up Jibberee Hill with me. I went to work; and you returned 
to the hotel: that's all there is to it." 
Efraim heaved a deep sigh. "You did not accompany me to the hotel?" 
"No. You went off by yourself, in a most unsettled mood. If I may make bold to 
ask - why are you so concerned about this evening?" 
Efraim saw no reason to hold back the truth. "On that evening I lost my memory. 
I remember arriving at Carfaunge, on Bruse-Tansel, and I finally made my way to 
Numenes and the Connatic's Hospital. The experts declared me a Rhune. I returned 
to Port Mar; I arrived yesterday. At the Royal Rhune Hotel I learned my name, 
and I find that I am now the Kaiark of Scharrode. Other than this I know 
nothing. I recognize no one and nothing; my past is a blank. How can. I conduct 
my own affairs responsibly, much less those of the Realm? I must set things 
right. Where do I start? How do I proceed? Why was my memory taken from me? Who 
took me to the spaceport and put me aboard the spaceship? How shall I explain 
myself to my people? If the past is empty, the future seems full, of concern and 
doubt and confusion. And I suspect that I will find little sympathy at home." 
Lorcas gave a soft ejaculation, and sat back, his eyes glistening, "Do you know, 
I envy you. How lucky you are, with the mystery of your own past to solve!" 
"I lack all such enthusiasm," said Efraim. "The past looms over me; I feel 
stifled. My enemies know me; I can only grope for them. I go out to Scharrode 
blind and helpless." 
"The situation is not without compensations," murmured Lorcas. "Most people 
would gladly rule a Mountain Realm, or any realm whatever. Not a few would be 
pleased to inhabit the same castle with the Lissolet Sthelany." 
"These compensations are all very well, but they do not expose my enemy." 
"Assuming that the enemy exists." 
"He exists. He put me aboard the Berenicia and paid my fare to Bruse-Tansel." 
"Bruse-Tansel is not close. Your enemy would seem not to lack funds." 
Efraim grunted. "Who knows how much money of my own I carried? Perhaps I paid my 
own fare out to the limit of my pocketbook." 
"This would be a fine sardonic touch," Lorcas agreed. "If true, your enemy has 
style." 
"Another possibility exists," mused Efraim. "I may be looking at the matter 
backwards." 
"An interesting thought. In what exact regard?" 
"Perhaps I committed some horrid deed which I could not bear to contemplate, 
thus inducing amnesia, and some person - my friend rather than my enemy - sent 
me away from Marune so that I might escape the penalty for my acts." 
Lorcas uttered an incredulous laugh. "Yom conduct in my presence was quite 
genteel." 
"So how then, immediately after parting from you, did I lose my memory?" 
Lorcas considered a moment. "This might not be so mysterious after all." 
"The savants on Numenes were baffled. But you have gained an insight, into my 
problems?" 
Lorcas grinned. "I know someone who isn't a savant." He jumped. to his feet. 
"Come along, let's visit this man." 
Efraim dubiously arose. "Is it safe? You might be the guilty person. I don't 
want to end up on Bruse-Tansel a second time." 
Lorcas chuckled. "You are a Rhine no longer. The Rhunes lack all humor; their 
lives are so strange that the absurd seems merely another phase of normality. I 
am not your secret enemy, I assure you. In the first place I lack the two or 
three hundred ozols to send you to Bruse-Tansel." 
Efraim followed Lorcas out upon the avenue. Lorcas said: "We are bound for a 
rather peculiar establishment. The proprietor is an eccentric. Unkind folk 
consider him disreputable. At the moment he is out of vogue, owing to the 
efforts of the Benkenists, who are currently all the rage around the college. 
They affect a stoic imperturbability to everything except their inner norms, and 
Skogel's numbered mixtures seriously interfere with normality. As for me, I 
reject all fads except those of my own devising. Can you imagine what now 
preoccupies me?" 
"No." 
"The Mountain Realms. The genealogies; the waxing and waning of fortunes, the 
poetry and declamations, the ceremonial fumes, the gallantries and romantic 
postures, the eruditions, and scholarship. Do you realize that Rhune monographs 
circulate throughout the Cluster and the Gaean Reach as well? Do you realize 
that sport is unknown among the Realms? There are neither games nor frivolous 
recreations, not even among the children?" 
"The thought never occurred to me. Where are we going?" 
"Yonder, up the Street of the Clever Flea . . . Naturally you would not know how 
the street got its name." As they walked, Lorcas recounted the ribald legend. 
Efraim listened with only half an ear. They turned the corner into a street of 
marginal enterprises: a booth selling fried clams, a gambling arcade, a cabaret 
decorated with red and green lights, a bordello, a novelty shop, a travel 
agency, a store which displayed in the show window a stylized Tree of Life, the 
golden fruit labeled in a flowing unreadable script. Here Lorcas paused. "Let me 
do the talking, unless Skogel asks you a direct question. He has a queer manner 
which antagonizes everyone, but which I happen to know is spurious. Or at least 
I strongly suspect as much. In any event, be surprised at nothing; also, if he 
quotes a price, agree, no matter what your reservations. Nothing puts him off 
like haggling. Come along then; let's try our luck." He entered the shop with 
Efraim following slowly behind. 
From the dimness at the back of the shop Skogel appeared: a man of medium 
stature, thin as a post with long arms and a round waxen face, above which rose 
spikes of dust-brown hair. "Pleasant modes," said Lorcas. "Have you collected 
yet from our friend Boodles?" 
"Nothing. But I expected nothing and dealt with him accordingly." 
"How so?" 
"You know his requirements. He received only tincture of cacodyl in water, which 
may or may not have served his purposes." 
"He made no complaints to me, though in truth he has seemed somewhat subdued of 
late." 
"If he chooses, he may come to me for consolation. And who is this gentleman? 
Something about him seems Rhune, something else says out-world." 
"You are right in both directions. He is a Rhune who has spent an appreciable 
time on Numenes, and Bruse-Tansel as well. You instantly wonder why. The answer 
is simple - he has lost his memory. I told him that if anyone could help him it 
would be you." 
"Bah. I don't stock memories in boxes, neatly labeled like so many cathartics. 
He'll have to contrive his own memories. Isn't this easy enough?" 
Lorcas looked at Efraim with an expression of rueful amusement. "Contrary fellow 
that he is, he wants his own memories back." 
"He won't find them here. Where did he lose them? That's the place to look." 
"An enemy stole his memory and put him on a ship to Bruse-Tansel. My friend is 
anxious to punish this thief, hence his set chin and gleaming eyes." 
Skogel, throwing back his head, laughed and slapped the counter. "That's more 
like it! Too many wrongdoers escape with whole skins and profit! Revenge! 
There's the word! I wish you luck! Good modes, sir." And Skogel, turning his 
back, stalked stiff-legged back into the dimness of his shop. Efraim stared 
after him in wonder, but Lorcas signaled him to patience. Presently Skogel 
stalked forward. "And what do you require on this occasion?" 
Lorcas said: "Do you recall your remarks of a week ago?" 
"In regard to what?" 
"Psychomorphosis." 
"A large word," grumbled Skogel. "I spoke it at random." 
"Would any of this apply to my friend?" 
"Certainly. Why not?" 
"And the source of this psychomorphosis?" 
Skogel put his hands on the counter and leaning forward scrutinized Efraim with 
owlish intensity. "You are a Rhune?" 
"What is your name?" 
"I seem to be Efraim, Kaiark of Scharrode." 
"Then you must be wealthy." 
"I don't know whether I am or not." 
"And you want the return of your memory?" 
"Naturally." 
"You have come to the wrong place. I deal in commodities of other sorts." Skogel 
slapped the counter and made as if to turn away again. 
Lorcas said smoothly: "My friend insists that you at least accept a fee, or 
honorarium, for your advice." 
"Fee? For words? For guesses and hypotheses? Do you take me for a man without 
shame?" 
"Of course not!" declared Lorcas. "He only wants to learn where his memory 
went." 
"Then this is my guess, and he may have it free of cost. He has eaten Fwai-chi 
shag." Skogel indicated the shelves, cases, and cabinets of his shop, which were 
stocked with bottles of every size and shape, crystallized. herbs, stoneware 
jugs, metal oddments, tins, phials, jars, and an unclassifiable miscellaneity of 
confusing scope. "I will reveal a truth," declared Skogel portentously. "Much of 
my merchandise, on a functional level, is totally ineffective. Psychically, 
symbolically, subliminally, the story is different! Each item exerts its own 
sullen strength, and sometimes I feel myself in the presence of elementals. With 
an infusion of spider grass, mixed perhaps with pulverized devil's eye, I 
achieve astounding results. The Benkenists, idiots and witlings as they are, 
aver that only the credulous are affected; they are wrong! Our organisms swim in 
a paracosmic fluid, which no one can comprehend; none of our senses find scope 
or purchase, so to speak. Only by operative procedures, which the Benkenists 
deride, can we manipulate this ineffable medium; and by so stating, am I 
therefore a charlatan?" Skogel slapped the counter with split-faced grin of 
triumph. 
With delicate emphasis Lorcas inquired: "And what of the Fwai-chi?" 
"Patience!" snapped Skogel. "Allow me my brief moment of vanity. After all, I do 
not veer too far astray." 
"By all means," said Lorcas hastily. "Declaim to your heart's content." 
Not altogether mollified, Skogel took up the thread of his remarks. "I have long 
speculated that the Fwai-chi interact with the paracosmos somewhat more readily 
than men, although they are a taciturn race and never explain their feats, or 
perhaps they take their multiplex environment for granted. In any event, they 
are a most peculiar and versatile race, which the Majar, at least, appreciate. I 
refer of course to that final. poor fragment of the race who live over the 
hill." Skogel looked truculently from Lorcas to Efraim, but neither challenged 
his opinion. 
Skogel continued. "A certain shaman of the Majars fancies to consider himself in 
my debt, and not too long ago he invited me to Atabus to witness an execution. 
My friend explained an innovation in Majar justice: the suspect, or the adjudged 
- among the Majars the distinction is slight - is dosed with Fwai-chi shag, and 
his reactions, which range from torpor through hallucination, antics, 
convulsions, frantic feats of Agility, to instant death, are noted. The Majar 
are nothing but a pragmatic folk; they take a lively interest in the 
capabilities of the human organism, and consider themselves great scientists. In 
my presence they administered a golden-brown gum from dorsal Fwai-chi shags, and 
the suspect at once fancied himself four different persons who conducted a 
vivacious conversation among themselves and the onlookers, employing a single 
tongue and larynx to produce two and sometimes three voices simultaneously. My 
host described some of the other effects he had witnessed, and mentioned a 
certain shag whose exudation blotted away human memory. I therefore suggest that 
your friend has been dosed with Fwai-chi shag." He peered from one to the other, 
showing a small trembling smile of triumph. "And that, in short, is my opinion." 

"All very well," said Lorcas, "but how is my friend to be cured?" 
Skogel made a careless gesture. "No cure is known, for the reason that none 
exists. What is gone, is gone." 
Lorcas looked ruefully at Efraim. "So there you have it. Someone dosed you with 
Fwai-chi shag." 
"I wonder who," said Efraim. "I wonder who." 
Lorcas turned to speak to Skogel, but the shopkeeper had disappeared into the 
dim chamber at the rear of his establishment. 


Lorcas and Efraim returned along the Street of the Clever Flea to the Estrada, 
Efraim pensive and grim. Lorcas, after darting half a dozen glances toward his 
companion, could no longer contain his curiosity. "So now what will you do?" 
"What must be done." 
Ten paces later Lorcas said: "You evidently have no fear of death." 
Efraim shrugged. 
Lorcas asked: "How will you achieve this business?" 
"I must return to Scharrode," said Efraim. "Is there any other way? My enemy is 
someone I know well; would I drink with a stranger? In Port Mar were the 
following persons: Kaiark Jochaim, who is dead, the Kraike Singhalissa, the Kang 
Destian, the Lissolet Sthelany. Then, from Eccord, the Kaiark Rianlle, the 
Kraike Dervas, and the Lissolet Maerio. And, conceivably, Matho Lorcas, except 
in this case, why would you take me to Skogel7" 
"Precisely so," said Lorcas. "On that distant occasion I dosed you only with 
good wine from which you took no harm." 
"And you saw nothing significant, nothing suspicious, nothing dire?" 
Lorcas reflected. "I noticed nothing overt. I felt stifled passion and flows of 
emotion, but where they led I could not divine. To be candid, I expected strange 
personalities among the Rhunes, and I made no attempt to understand what I saw. 
Without a memory you will also be handicapped." 
"Very likely. But now I am Kaiark and everyone must go at my pace. I can recover 
my memory at leisure. What is the best transportation to Scharrode?" 
"There's no choice," said Lorcas. "You hire an aircar and fly out." He looked 
casually up into the sky, which Cirse was about to depart. "If you permit, I 
will accompany you." 
"What is your interest in the affair?" asked Efraim suspiciously. 
Lorcas responded with an airy gesture. "I have long wished to visit the Realms. 
The Rhunes are a fascinating people and I am anxious to learn more about them. 
And, if the truth be known, I am anxious to pursue one or two acquaintances." 
"You might not enjoy your visit. I am Kaiark, but I have enemies and they might 
not distinguish between us." 
"I rely upon the notorious Rhune revulsion against violent conduct, which they 
abandon only during their incessant wars. And who knows? You might find a 
companion useful." 
"Perhaps. Who is this acquaintance whom you are anxious to cultivate? The 
Lissolet Sthelany?" 
Lorcas nodded glumly. "She is an intriguing young woman; in fact, I will go so 
far as to say that she represents a challenge. As a rule, pretty ladies find me 
sympathetic, but the Lissolet Sthelany barely notices my existence." 
Efraim gave a sour chuckle. "In Scharrode the situation will be worse rather 
than better." 
"I expect no true triumphs; still, if I can persuade her to alter her expression 
from time to time, I will consider the journey a success." 
"I doubt if all will go so easily. The Rhunes find outland manners coarse and 
vulgar." 
"You are Kaiark; your orders must be obeyed. If you decree tolerance, then the 
Lissolet Sthelany must instantly bend to your will." 
"It will be an interesting experiment," said Efraim. "Well then, make yourself 
ready; we leave at once!" 


1. Chorasm: Sebalism carried to a remarkable extreme. 




Chapter 6


During early isp Efraim arrived at the office of the local air transport 
service, to find that Lorcas had already hired an aircar of no great elegance - 
its metalwork stained by long exposure to the elements, the glass of the dome 
clouded, the flanges around the pods cratered and corroded. Lorcas said 
apologetically: "It's the best available, and quite dependable; in a hundred and 
two years the engine has never failed, or so I'm told." 
With a skeptical eye Efraim surveyed the vehicle. "If it flies us to Scharrode, 
I don't care what it looks like." 
"Sooner or later the craft will collapse, most likely in mid-air. Still the 
alternative is shank's mare along the Fwai-chi trails. The terrain is most 
impressive, nor would you make so dignified an arrival." 
"There is something in what you say," Efraim admitted. "Are you ready to leave?" 

"At any time. But let me make a suggestion. Why not send a message ahead to 
prepare them for your coming?" 
"So that someone can fly out and shoot us down?" 
Lorcas shook his head. "Aircars are banned to the Rhunes, for just this reason. 
The present issue is one of dignity, and if I may presume to advise you, a 
Kaiark announces his arrival so that a formal reception may be arranged. I will 
speak for you, as your aide, which will lend dignity to the occasion." 
"Very well, do as you like." 
"The Kraike Singhalissa is now the head of the household?" 
"So I would suppose." 
At a videophone as antiquated as the aircar, Lorcas put through a call. 
A footman in a black and scarlet uniform responded. "I speak for Benbuphar 
Strang. Please state your business." 
"I want a few words with the Kraike Singhalissa," said Lorcas. "I have important 
information to transmit." 
"You must call at some other time. The Kraike is in consultation regarding the 
investiture." 
"Investiture? Of whom?" 
"Of the new Kaiark." 
"And who will this be?" 
"The present Kang Destian, who is next in order of succession." 
"And when does the investiture occur?" 
"In one week's time, when the present Kaiark is to be declared derelict." 
Lorcas laughed. "Please inform the Kraike that the investiture may be canceled, 
since Kaiark Efraim is immediately returning to Scharrode." 
The footman stared into the screen. "I cannot take responsibility for such an 
announcement." 
Efraim stepped forward. "Do you recognize me?" 
"Ah, Force,1 indeed I do!" 
"Deliver the message as you heard it from the Noble Matho Lorcas." 
"Instantly, Force!" The footman inclined himself in a stiff bow, and faded in a 
dazzle of halations. 
The two returned to the aircar and clambered aboard. Without ceremony the pilot 
clamped the ports, opened the throttle and the ancient aircraft, creaking and 
vibrating, lurched up and away to the east. 
With the pilot, who identified himself as Tiber Flaussig, talking over his 
shoulder and ignoring both altimeter and the terrain below, the aircraft cleared 
the ridges of the First Scarp with a hundred yards to spare. As if by 
afterthought the pilot lifted the craft somewhat higher, although the land at 
once fell away a thousand feet to become an upland plain. A hundred sprawling 
lakes reflected the clouds; scour and deep-willow grew in isolated copses, with 
a gnarled catafalque tree here and there. Thirty miles east the Second Scarp 
thrust crags of naked rock up past the clouds. Flaussig, discussing certain 
outcrops below, declared them rich sources of such gems as tourmaline, peridot, 
topaz, and spinel - all protected from human exploitation by reason of Fwai-chi 
prejudice. "They claim this as one of their holy places, and so reads the 
treaty. They care no more for the jewels than for common stones; but they can 
smell a man from fifty miles away and lay on him their curse of a thousand 
itches, or a fiery bladder, or piebald skin. The area is now avoided." 
Efraim pointed ahead to the looming scarp. "In a single minute we will all be 
crushed to pulp, unless you quickly raise this craft at least two thousand 
feet." 
"Ah yes," said Flaussig. "The scarp approaches, and we will give it due 
respect." The aircar rose at a stomach-gripping rate, and from the engine box 
came a stuttering wheeze which caused Efraim to twist about in alarm. "Is this 
vehicle finally disintegrating?" 
Flaussig listened with a puzzled frown. "A mysterious sound certainly, one which 
I have not heard before. Still, were you as old as this vehicle, your viscera 
would also produce odd noises. Let us be tolerant of the aged." 
As soon as the craft once more flew a level course the disturbing sounds 
dwindled into silence. Lorcas pointed ahead toward the Third Scarp, still fifty 
miles ahead. "Start now to ascend, in a gradual manner. The aircar is more 
likely to survive such treatment." 
Flaussig acceded to the request, and the vehicle rose at a gradual angle to meet 
the prodigious bulk of the Third Scarp. Below passed a desolation of ridges, 
cols, chasms, and, rarely, a small forested valley. Flaussig waved his hand 
around the fearsome landscape. "Within the range of vision, around the whole of 
the cataclysmic tumble, live perhaps twenty fugitives: desperados, condemned 
criminals, and the like. Commit no crimes in Port Mar or here is where you will 
wind up." 
Neither Lorcas nor Efraim saw fit to comment. 
A cleft appeared; the aircar glided through with rock walls close to right and 
left and great buffets of wind thrusting the craft from side to side; then the 
cleft fell away and the aircar flew over a landscape of peaks, cliffs, and river 
valleys. Flaussig waved his hand in another inclusive arc. "The Realms, the 
glorious Realms! Beneath us now Waierd, guarded by the Soldiers of Silence . . . 
And now we fly across the realm Sherras. Notice the castle in the lake . . ." 
"How far to Scharrode?" 
"Yonder, over the crags. That is the answer given to all such questions. Why do 
you visit a place so dour?" 
"Curiosity, perhaps." 
"You'll learn nothing from them; they're as tight as stones, like all Rhunes. 
Below now and behind those great trees is the town Tangwill, home to no more 
than two or three thousand. The Kaiark Tangissel is said to be insane for women, 
so he keeps captives in deep dungeons where they don't know whether or not it is 
mirk, and he visits them during all the periods of the month, except during mirk 
when he's off on his prowling." 
"Nonsense," muttered Efraim, but the pilot paid no heed. 
"The great spire to the left is called Ferkus -" 
"Up, man, up!" screamed Lorcas. "You're running us into the ridge!" 
With a petulant gesture Flaussig jerked the aircraft high, to skim that crag to 
which Lorcas had made reference; for a period he flew in sullen silence. Below 
the ground rose and fell, and Flaussig, disdaining further altitude, veered back 
and forth among crystalline crags, grazed precipices, skirted glaciers and 
mounds of scree, the better to display his insouciant control over aircraft, 
landscape, and passengers. Lorcas made frequent expostulations, which Flaussig 
ignored, and at last guided the aircar down into an irregular valley three to 
four miles wide and fifteen miles long. At the eastern end a cascade fell two 
thousand feet into a lake, with nearby the town Esch. Away from the lake flowed 
a slow river, curving across a meadow and under Benbuphar Strang, then back and 
forth from pool to pool to the far western end of the valley, where it departed 
through a narrow gorge. 
Near Esch the valley had been tamed to cultivation; the fields were enclosed by 
dense hedges of bramble berry, as if to hide them from view. In other such 
fields grazed cattle, while the slopes to either side of the valley were planted 
as orchards. Elsewhere meadows alternated with forests of banice, white oak, 
shrack, interstellar yew; through the clear air the foliages - dark green, 
crimson, sooty ocher, pale green - glowed like colors painted on black velvet. 
Efraim half-smiled to the fleeting brush of a sudden poignant emotion. Perhaps 
an exhalation from his occluded memory? Such twinges had been occurring with 
increasing frequency. He glanced at Lorcas to find him also staring about in 
wistful wonder. "I have heard how the Rhunes cherish each stone of the 
landscape," said Lorcas. "The reason is clear. The Realms are small segments of 
Paradise." 
Flaussig, having unloaded the scanty luggage, now stood in an expectant 
attitude. Lorcas spoke with slow and careful diction. "The fee was prepaid in 
Port Mar. The management wished to make sure of their money, no matter what else 
happened." 
Flaussig smiled politely. "In circumstances like the present, a gratuity is 
usually extended." 
"Gratuity?" exclaimed Efraim in a passion. "You are lucky to escape a penalty 
for criminal ineptitude!" 
"Further," said Lorcas, "remain here until his Force the Kaiark permits you to 
leave. Otherwise he will order his secret agent in Port Mar to meet you and 
break every bone in your body." 
Flaussig bowed in a state of injured dignity. "It shall be as you wish. Our firm 
has built its reputation upon service. Had I known I was transporting grandees 
of Scharrode, I would have used more formality, since appropriate behavior is 
also a watchword at our firm." 
Lorcas and Efraim had already turned toward Benbuphar Strang, a castle of black 
stone, umber tile, timber; and stucco, built to the dictates of that peculiar 
gaunt style typical of the Rhunes. The chambers of the first floor were enclosed 
by walls thirty feet high, with tall narrow windows, elaborating above into a 
complicated system of towers, turrets, promenades, bays, balconies, and eyries. 
This was home, mused Efraim, and this was terrain over which he had walked a 
thousand times. He looked westward along the valley, across the pools and 
meadows, past the successive silhouettes of the forests, the colors muted by the 
haze, until they became purple-gray shadow under the far crags: he had looked 
across this vista ten thousand times . . . He felt no recollection. 
He had been recognized from the town. Several dozen men in black jackets and 
buff pantaloons hurried forth, with half as many women in gray gauze gowns. 
The men, approaching, performed complicated gestures of respect, then came 
forward, halting at a distance precisely reckoned by protocol. 
Efraim asked, "How have things gone during my absence?" 
The most venerable of the men responded: "Tragically, Force. Our Kaiark Jochaim 
was pierced by a Gorget bolt. Otherwise not badly, but not well. There have been 
doubts and misgivings. From Torre a band of warriors invaded our land. The Kang 
Destian ordered out a force, but there was little correspondence in rank2; and 
no great combat ensued. Our blood boils for revenge upon Gosso of Gorgetto. The 
Kang Destian has delayed retaliation; when will he order forth our power? 
Remember, from the crest of Haujefolge our sails command his castle. We can 
invade, then while Gosso sweats and wheezes, we can drop down a force and take 
Gorgance Strang." 
"First things first," said Efraim. "I now go to Benbuphar Strang to discover 
what irregularities, if any, exist. Have you information, or even suspicions, in 
this regard?" 
The sage performed another gesticulation of a ritual effacement. "I would never 
reflect upon Benbuphar irregularities, let alone give them voice." 
"Do so now," said Efraim. "You will be doing your Kaiark a service." 
"As you will, Force, but remember, by the nature of things, we of the town know 
nothing. Uncharitable persons blink askance at the Kraike Singhalissa's 
projected trisme with Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord." 
"What?" exclaimed Efraim. "And how is it to be with the Kraike Dervas?" 
"She is to be rusticated, or so goes the rumor. Such is Singhalissa's price for 
the Dwan Jar, where Rianlle yearns to build a pavilion. This at least is common 
knowledge: We learn also of trisme between the Kang Destian and the Lissolet 
Maerio. If these trismes were to take place, what then? Does it not seem that 
Rianlle would sit high in the counsels of Scharrode? Still, now that you are at 
hand, and Kaiark by right, the question is moot." 
"I am pleased with your candor," said Efraim. "What else has occurred during my 
absence?" 
"Nothing of consequence, although, in my opinion, the mood of the realm has 
become slack. Loons and villains wander by mirk, instead of remaining at home to 
guard their households; and then when light returns, we are reluctant to unbolt 
our doors, for fear of finding a corpse on the porch. Again, now that you are 
home, the evil influences must subside." 
He bowed and withdrew; Efraim and Lorcas proceeded across the commons toward the 
castle, after first dismissing the sullen Flaussig and sending him back to Port 
Mar. 
As they approached, a pair of heralds appeared on the twin bartizans over the 
portal; lifting coiled bronze sad-horns they blew a set of agitated fanfares: 
The portals swung wide; a platoon of guards stood at attention, and out marched 
four heralds playing further fanfares: wild excited progressions of sounds, just 
perceptibly contrapuntal. 
Efraim and Lorcas passed through a vaulted tunnel iota a courtyard. In a 
tall-backed chair sat the Kraike Singhalissa; beside her stood the Kang Destian, 
dark eyebrows lowering. 
The Kraike rose to her feet, to stand almost as tall as Destian; she was a woman 
of obvious force, with lustrous eyes and angular features. A gray turban 
contained her dark hair; her gray gauze gown seemed dull and characterless until 
the eye took note of the subtle play of light, the shadow of the half-concealed 
figure. 
Singhalissa spoke in a high sweet voice: "We give you a ritual welcome, although 
you have returned at an inconvenient time; why should we deny it? In less than a 
week the legitimacy of your tenure would have dissolved; as certainly you have 
instructed yourself. It seems far from civil that you. have neglected to notify 
us of your plans, inasmuch as we have providently taken steps to transfer the 
succession." 
"Your points are well-taken," said Efraim. "I could not dispute them if they 
were not founded upon incorrect premises. I assure you that my difficulties have 
far exceeded yours. Nevertheless, I am sorry that you have been inconvenienced 
and I sympathize with Destian's disappointment." 
"No doubt," said Destian. "May we inquire the circumstances of your long 
absence?" 
"Certainly; you are entitled to an explanation. At Port Mar I was drugged, 
placed aboard a spaceship, and sent far off across the Cluster. I encountered 
many difficulties and succeeded in returning to Port Mar only yesterday. As soon 
as possible I hired an aircar and was conveyed to Scharrode." 
Destian's mouth compressed even deeper at the corners. He shrugged and turned 
away. 
"Most curious;" said Singhalissa, in her high clear voice. "Who worked this 
malignant deed?" 
"I will discuss the matter with you in detail, at some future time." 
"As you please." She inclined her head toward Lorcas. "And who is this 
gentleman?" 
"I wish to present my friend, the Noble Matho Lorcas. He has given me invaluable 
assistance and will be our guest. I believe that he and the Kang Destian became 
casually acquainted at Port Mar." 
Destian scrutinized Lorcas a brief three seconds. Then, muttering something 
under his breath, he turned away. Lorcas said gravely, "I recall the occasion 
perfectly; it is a pleasure to renew the acquaintance." 
At the back of the colonnade, in the shadow of one of the tall portals, the form 
of a young woman seemed gradually to materialize. Efraim saw her to be the 
Lissolet Sthelany, slight and supple in her nimbus of translucent gray gauze. 
Her eyes, like those of the Kraike, were somber and lustrous, but her features 
were pensive rather than minatory, delicate rather than crisp, and only remotely 
similar to those of either Singhalissa or Destian. She was further 
differentiated by her expression of detachment and indifference. Efraim and 
Lorcas both might have been strangers for all the animation of her greeting. 
Lorcas had found Sthelany fascinating at Port Mar, and his interest, so Efraim 
noticed, had not diminished - almost too obviously, although no one troubled to 
take note. 
Singhalissa, sensing Sthelany's presence, spoke over her shoulder. "As you see, 
the Kaiark Efraim is again with us. He has suffered outrageous indignities; some 
unknown person has played him a series of malicious tricks." 
"Indeed!" remarked Sthelany in a soft voice. "I am dismayed to hear this. Still, 
one cannot expect to roam the back alleys of Port Mar and evade the 
consequences. As I recall, he was in the most questionable company." 
"We are all disturbed by the situation," said Singhalissa. "The Kaiark of course 
has our sympathy. He has brought as his guest the Noble Matho Lorcas, or so I 
believe his name to be: his friend from Port Mar." 
The Lissolet's acknowledgment of the introduction, if any less emphatic, would 
have been undetectable. She spoke to Efraim in a voice as clear and sweet as 
that of Singhalissa, "Who performed these heartless acts upon you?" 
Singhalissa answered for Efraim. "The Kaiark prefers not to enlarge upon the 
matter at this time." 
"But we are most interested! These indignities offend us all!" 
"That is true enough," said the Kraike. 
Efraim had been listening with a sour grin. "I can tell you very little. I am as 
puzzled as you are - perhaps more so." 
"More so? I know nothing." 
The Kraike said abruptly, "The Kaiark and his friend have had a fatiguing 
journey and will wish to refresh themselves." She addressed herself to Efraim. 
"I assume that you will now occupy the Grand Chambers?" 
"It would seem appropriate that I do so." 
Singhalissa turned and beckoned to a grizzled heavy-shouldered man who wore, 
over the black and scarlet Benbuphar livery, a black velvet mantle embroidered 
in silver and a black velvet tricorn cap. "Agnois, bring a selection of the 
Kaiark's effects down from the North Tower." 
"At once, Your Presence." Agnois the First Chamberlain departed. 


The Kraike Singhalissa ushered Efraim along a dim hall hung with portraits of 
all the dead kaiarks, each, by the urgency of his gaze and the poise of his 
upraised hand, straining to communicate his wisdom across the ages. 
A pair of tall iron-bound doors barred the way, with a gorgon's head of oiled 
black iron at the center of each; perhaps contrived by a kaiark's cogence3. 
Singhalissa halted by the doors; Efraim stepped forward to fling them wide but 
could not discover the mechanism which controlled the latch. Singhalissa said 
drily, "Allow me," then pressed a boss. The doors swung open. 
They entered a long antechamber, or trophy room. Cases lined the walls, 
displaying curios, collections, artifacts; objects of stone, wood, fired clay, 
glass; insects preserved in transparent cubes; sketches, paintings, calligraphy; 
Books of Life, a thousand other volumes and portfolios, monographs unnumbered. A 
long table occupied the center of the room, on which glowed a pair of lamps in 
green glass shades. Above the cases portraits of kaiarks and kraikes stared down 
at those who passed below. 
The trophy room opened on a vast high-ceilinged room paneled in wood almost 
black with age. Rugs patterned in maroon, blue, and black covered the floor; 
tall narrow windows overlooked the valley. 
The Kraike indicated a dozen cases along the wall. "These are Destian's 
belongings; he assumed that he would be occupying these chambers; he is 
naturally annoyed by the turn of events." She stepped to the wall and touched a 
button; almost at once Agnois the First Chamberlain appeared. "Yes, Your 
Presence?" 
"Remove the Kang Destian's belongings." 
"At once, Presence." He departed. 
"How, may I ask, did the Kaiark meet his death?" 
The Kraike looked sharply at Efraim. "You have heard nothing of this?" 
"Only that he was killed by the Gorgets." 
"We know little more. They came as mirk-men and one of them shot a bolt at 
Jochaim's back. Destian planned a foray of vengeance immediately after his 
investiture." 
"Destian can order a foray whenever he chooses. I will put no hindrance in his 
way." 
"You intend not to participate?" The Kraike's clear voice tinkled with a cool 
emotion. 
"I would be foolish to do so, while there are mysteries to be clarified. Who 
knows but what I also might die of a Gorget bolt?" 
"You must act as your wisdom directs. When you are rested you will find us in 
the hall. With your permission I will now leave you." 
Efraim bowed his head. "I am grateful for your solicitude." 
The Kraike departed. Efraim stood alone in the ancient parlor. In the air hung a 
redolence of leather bookbindings, waxed wood, old fabric, and also a faint 
mustiness of disuse. Efraim went to look out one of the tall windows, each 
protected by an iron shutter. The time was green rowan; the light lay wan across 
the landscape. 
He turned away and gingerly began to explore the chambers of the Kaiark. The 
parlor was furnished with massive pieces, well-worn and not uncomfortable, if 
somewhat stately and ponderous. At one end of the room cases ten feet tall 
displayed books of every description. Efraim wondered what had been Jochaim's 
special virtuosities. For that matter, what had been his own? 
In a sideboard he found various flasks of liquor, for the Kaiark's private 
ingestion. A rack displayed a dozen swords; evidently weapons of fame and glory. 

A portal nine feet tall and three feet wide opened into an octagonal sitting 
room. A segmented glass dome high above, flooded the chamber with light. A green 
rug covered the floor; the wall panels were painted to represent views over 
Scharrode from several high vantages: the work, no doubt, of some long-dead 
kaiark who had professed the rendering of painted landscapes. A spiral stairs 
led aloft to a balcony, which led to an exterior promenade. Across the sitting 
room a short hall led into the Kaiark's wardrobe. Uniforms and formal dress hung 
in closets; chests contained shirts and underlinen; on shelves were ranged 
dozens of boots, shoes, sandals, slippers: all glossy with polish, brushed and 
burnished. Kaiark Jochaim had been a punctilious man. The personal belongings, 
the garments and uniforms communicated nothing. Efraim felt uneasy and 
resentful; why had not these garments long ago been discarded? 
A tall door opened on the Kaiark's bed chamber: a relatively small room plainly 
furnished; the bed was little more than a cot, with a hard thin mattress. Efraim 
saw room for change here; he had no present taste for asceticism. A short hall 
opened first upon a bathroom and watercloset, then upon a small chamber 
furnished with a table and chair: the Kaiark's refectory. Even as Efraim 
examined the room a dumbwaiter rumbled up from the cellar kitchens, bringing a 
tureen of soup, a loaf of bread, a plate of leeks in oil, a quantity of 
black-brown cheese, and a tankard of beer. The service, as Efraim would learn, 
was automatic; every hour the collation would be renewed, and the Kaiark never 
need suffer the embarrassment of calling for food. 
Efraim discovered himself to be hungry and ate with good appetite. Returning 
into the hall, he noted that it continued to a flight of dark winding stairs. A 
noise from the bedroom attracted his attention. He returned to find a pair of 
valets removing the garments of the dead Kaiark and arranging in their stead a 
wardrobe conspicuously less ample: presumably the clothes he had left in his old 
quarters. 
"I go now to bathe," Efraim told one of the valets. "Lay out something suitable 
for me to wear." 
"With haste, Force!" 
"Also, remove this bed, and bring in something larger and more comfortable." 
"Immediately, Force!" 
Half an hour later Efraim inspected himself in the mirror. He wore a gray coat 
over a white shirt, black breeches, black stockings, and black velvet shoes - 
garments suitable for informal occasions within the castle. The clothes hung 
loosely on his body; he had lost weight since the episode at Port Mar. 
The stairs at the back of the hall had not yet been explored. He climbed twenty 
feet to a landing, where he opened a door and looked out into a hall. 
He stepped through. The door seemed to be a section of the paneling, invisible 
when closed. As he stood examining the door and speculating upon its purpose, 
the Lissolet Sthelany emerged from a chamber at the end of the hall. At the 
sight of Efraim. she hesitated. then approached slowly, her face averted. The 
green rays of Cirse, shining from the window at the end of the hall, backlighted 
her figure; Efraim wondered hour he had ever considered the gauze gowns drab. He 
watched her as she approached, and it seemed that her cheeks became suffused 
with a faint flush. Modesty? Annoyance? Excitement? Her expression gave no 
indication as to her feelings. 
Efraim stood watching as she drew nearer. Evidently she intended to continue 
past, without acknowledging his presence. He leaned forward, half of a mind to 
put his arm around her waist. Sensing his intent, she stopped short and turned 
him an alarmed glance. No question as to her beauty, thought Efraim; she was 
enchanting, perhaps the more so for the peculiar Rhune predispositions. 
She spoke in a light colorless voice: "Why do you bolt so precipitously from the 
mirk-hole? Do you intend to startle me?" 
"Mirk-hole?" Efraim looked blankly over his shoulder at the passage. "Yes, of 
course. I had not considered . . ." Meeting her wondering gaze he stopped short. 
"No matter. Come down to the Grand Chamber, if you will. I would like to talk 
with you." He held open the door but Sthelany recoiled in amazement. 
"Through the mirk-way?" She stared from Efraim to the passage, then gave a cool 
trill of laughter: "Do you care so little for my dignity?" 
"Of course not," Efraim declared hastily. "I am absentminded of late. Let us go 
by the ordinary route." 
"At your convenience, Force." She waited. 
Efraim, recalling nothing of the castle's internal plan, reflected a moment, 
then set off down the corridor in the direction which seemed most logically to 
lead to the Kaiark's chambers. 
Sthelany's cool voice came from behind him. "Does Your Awesome Presence first 
intend to inspect the tapestry collection?" 
Efraim halted and reversed his direction. He walked past the Lissolet without 
comment and continued to a bend in the hall, which gave upon a foyer. Before him 
wide stone stairs flanked by heavy balustrades and archaic lamps of wrought iron 
led down to the main floor. Efraim descended, with the Lissolet coming demurely 
behind him. With only a second or two of hesitation he headed for the Kaiark's 
chambers. 
He opened the tall doors with the gorgon's heads without difficulty, and ushered 
Sthelany into the trophy room. He closed the door sad pulled a chair away from 
the table for her use. Giving him her now familiar glance of sardonic perplexity 
she asked: "Why do you do that?" 
"So that you may sit, and hopefully relax, and so that we may talk at our ease." 

"But I may not sit in your presence, under the eyes of your ancestors!" She 
spoke in a mild and reasonable voice. "Do you wish me to suffer a ghost blight?" 

"Naturally not. Let us go into the parlor, where the portraits will not trouble 
you." 
"Again, this is most unconventional." 
Efraim lost patience. "If you don't care to talk with me, you certainly have my 
permission to go." 
Sthelany leaned gracefully back against the table. "If you order me to talk, I 
must obey." 
"Naturally I will not give such an order." 
"What do you wish to talk about?" 
"I don't really know. Truth to tell, I am puzzled. I have undergone a hundred 
strange experiences; I have seen thousands of new faces; I have visited the 
Connatic's Palace on Numenes . . . Now that I have returned, the customs of 
Scharrode seem strange." 
Sthelany considered the matter. "For a fact you seem a different person. The old 
Efraim was rigorously correct." 
"I wonder . . . I wonder . . ." mused Efraim. He looked up to find Sthelany 
watching him intently. "So you notice a difference in me?" 
"Of course. If I did not know you so well I would think you a different man - 
especially in view of your peculiar absentmindedness." 
After a moment Efraim said, "I confess to confusion. Remember, I did not realize 
I was Kaiark until yesterday. And arriving here, I discover an atmosphere of 
resentment, which is not at all pleasant." 
Sthelany showed surprise at Efraim's ingenuousness. "What would you expect? 
Singhalissa may no longer call herself Kraike; she lacks all legitimate place 
here at Benbuphar Strang. No less do I and Destian; we all must make plans for 
dreary old Disbague. We live here at your sufferance. It is a sad turn of events 
for us." 
"I am not anxious that you leave, unless you wish to go." Sthelany gave an 
indifferent shrug. "My feelings are of interest only to myself." 
"Incorrect. I am interested in your feelings." 
Again Sthelany shrugged. "Naturally, I prefer Scharrode to Disbague." 
"I see. Tell me, what is your recollection of events in Port Mar during those 
hours before I disappeared?" 
Sthelany grimaced. "They were neither edifying nor entertaining. As you will 
recall, we stayed at the hotel, which was quite decent and proper. You, Destian, 
Maerio, and I decided to walk through the town to a place called the Fairy 
Gardens, where we were to watch puppets. All warned us against the vulgarity we 
were sure to encounter. But we considered ourselves indomitably callous and 
crossed the bridge, some of us not altogether enthusiastically. You asked 
directions of atypical young man of the place, capricious and hedonistic - in 
fact, I believe him to be the same person who accompanied you here. He led us to 
the Fairy Gardens, but the puppets were gone. Your friend, Lorca, or Lortha, 
whatever his name, insisted on pouring a bottle of wine, so that we should, 
guzzle and gargle and swell out our intestinal tracts in full view of all. 
Forgive my language; I can only report the truth. Your acquaintance showed no 
shame, and ridiculed matters of which he knew nothing. While you conversed, 
quite enthusiastically, as I recall, with the Lissolet Maerio, this Lorca became 
remarkably familiar with me, and indeed made some utterly witless proposals. 
Destian and I left the Fairy Gardens. Maerio, however, remained with you. She is 
really much too tolerant. We returned to the hotel, where the Kaiark Rianlle 
became quite perturbed. He sent Destian to escort Maerio back to the hotel, 
which he did, leaving you in the company of your friend." 
"And shortly after," said Efraim, "I was drugged and sent off across space!" 
"I should ask your friend what he knows of the matter." 
"Bah," said Efraim shortly. "Why would he play me such a trick? Somewhere I have 
gained an enemy, but I cannot suspect Lorcas." 
"You have gained many enemies," said Sthelany in her soft sweet voice. "There 
are Gosso of Gorgetto and Sansevery of Torre, both of whom owe you blood, and 
both expect your reprisals. The Kraike Singhalissa and the Kang Destian are much 
disadvantaged by your presence. The Lissolet Maerio suffered from pour 
ebullience at Port Mar; neither she nor the Kaiark Rianlle will readily forgive 
you. As for the Lissolet Sthelany" - she paused and looked sidelong at Efraim; 
in someone else he might have suspected coquetry - "I reserve my thoughts for 
myself alone. But I wonder if I can any longer contemplate trisme with you." 
"I hardly know what to say," Efraim muttered. 
Sthelany's eyes glowed. "You seem distrait and not at all concerned. Of course, 
you have dismissed the compact as trivial, or even forgotten it." 
Efraim made a lame gesture. "I have become absentminded . . ." 
Sthelany's voice trembled. "For reasons beyond my imagination, you seek to wound 
me." 
"No, no! So much has happened; I am truly confused!" 
Sthelany inspected him with skeptically raised eyebrows. "Do you remember 
anything whatever?" 
Efraim rose to his feet and started into the parlor, then imagining Sthelany's 
emotion should he offer her a cordial, returned slowly to the table. 
Sthelany watched his every move. "Why have you returned to Scharrode?" 
Efraim laughed hollowly. "Where else could I rule a realm and command the 
obedience of a person as beautiful as yourself?" 
Sthelany abruptly stood back, her face pale save for spots of color in her 
cheeks. She turned to leave the trophy room. 
"Wait!" Efraim stepped forward, but the Lissolet shrank back with a slack jaw, 
suddenly helpless and frightened. Efraim said: "If you were of a mind to trisme, 
you must have thought well of me." 
Sthelany regained her composure. "This does not necessarily follow; and now I 
must leave." 
Swiftly she departed the chamber. Like a wraith she fled down the corridor, 
across the Great Hall, in and out of a shaft of green light from the star Cirse, 
and then she was gone. 
Efraim signaled Agnois the First Chamberlain. 
"Take me to the chambers of the Noble Matho Lorcas." 


Lorcas had been lodged on the second level of Minot Tower, in rooms of grotesque 
and exaggerated amplitude. Hoary beams supported a ceiling almost invisible by 
reason of height and dimness; the walls, which were faced with carved stone 
plaques - again the product of someone's cogence - showed a thickness of five 
feet where the four tall windows opened to a view of the northern mountains. 
Lorcas stood with his back to a fireplace ten feet wide and eight feet high, in 
which a disproportionately small fire was burning. He looked at Efraim with a 
rueful grin. "I am not at all cramped, and there is much to be learned in the 
documents yonder." He indicated a massive case thirty feet long and ten feet 
high. "I discover dissertations, contradictions, and reconsiderations of these 
same dissertations; and reconsiderations of the contradictions and 
contradictions of the reconsiderations - all indexed and cross-indexed in the 
red and blue volumes yonder. I plan to use some of the more discursive 
reconsiderations for fuel, unless I am furnished a few more sticks for my fire." 

The Kraike Singhalissa hoped to awe and quell this flippant Port Mar upstart, so 
Efraim suspected. "If you are uncomfortable, a change is easily made." 
"By no means!" declared Lorcas. "I enjoy the grandeur; I am accumulating 
memories to last a lifetime. Come join me by this miserable fire. What have you 
learned?" 
"Nothing of consequence. My return has pleased no one." 
"And what of your recollections?" 
"I am a stranger." 
Lorcas ruminated a moment. "It might be wise to visit your old chambers, and 
examine your belongings." 
Efraim shook his head. "I don't care to do so." He dropped into one of the 
massive chairs and slumped back, legs outthrust across the flags. "The idea 
oppresses me." He glanced about the walls. "Two or three sets, of ears no doubt 
are listening to our conversation. The walls are shot with mirk-ways." He jumped 
to his feet. "We had best look into the matter." 
They returned to the Kaiark's chambers; Destian's effects had been removed. 
Efraim touched the button to summon Agnois, who, upon entering, performed a 
stiff bow, which almost imperceptibly seemed to lack respect. Efraim smiled. 
"Agnois, I plan many changes at Benbuphar Strang, possibly including new staff. 
You may let it be known that I am carefully evaluating the conduct of everyone, 
from top to bottom." 
"Very good, Your Force." Agnois, bowing again, displayed considerably more 
verve. 
"In this regard, why have you denied the Noble Lorcas suitable fires? I consider 
this an incredible failure of hospitality." 
Agnois grew pink in the face; his lumpy nose twitched. "I was given to 
understand, Force - or better to say - in actuality I must plead guilty of 
oversight. The matter will be repaired at once." 
"A moment, I wish to discuss another matter. I presume that you are acquainted 
with the affairs of the house?" 
"Only to the extent which might be considered discreet and proper, Your Force." 
"Very well. As you may know I have been victimized in a most mysterious manner, 
and I intend to get to the bottom of the business. May I, or may I not, rely 
upon you for total cooperation?" 
Agnois hesitated only an instant, then seemed to heave a doleful sigh. "I am at 
your service, Force, as ever." 
"Very good. Now, let me ask you, is anyone overhearing our present 
conversation?" 
"Not to my knowledge, Force." He went on reluctantly: "I suppose that such a 
possibility might be said. to exist." 
"Kaiark Jochaim kept an exact chart of the castle, with all its passages and 
mirk-holes." Efraim spoke at sheer hazard, on the assumption that among so many 
records and so much careful lore, a detailed chart of the castle's mirk-ways 
must inevitably be included. "Bring this article to the table; I wish to examine 
it." 
"Very well, Force, if you will furnish a key to the Privy Case." 
"Certainly. Where is Kaiark Jochaim's key?" 
Agnois blinked. "Perhaps it bides with the Kraike." 
"Where might I find the Kraike at this moment?" 
"She refreshes herself 4 in her chambers." 
Efraim made an impatient gesture. "Take me there. I wish a word or two with 
her." 
"Force, do you order me to precede you?" 
"Yes, lead the way." 
Agnois bowed. He swung smartly around, conducted Efraim out into the Great Hall, 
up the stairs, along a corridor into the Jaher Tower, and halted before a tall 
door studded with garnets. At Efraim's signal he thrust the central garnet and 
the door swung wide. Agnois stood aside, and Efraim marched into the foyer of 
the Kraike's private chambers. A maid appeared, and performed a quick, supple 
curtsey. "Your orders, Force?" 
"I wish an immediate word with Her Presence." 
The maid hesitated; then taking fright at Efraim's expression disappeared the 
way she had come. A minute passed, two minutes. Then Efraim pushed through the 
door despite a muffled exclamation from Agnois. 
He stood in a long sitting room hung with red and green tapestry, furnished with 
gilt wood settees and tables. Through an opening to the side he sensed movement; 
he went on swift strides to the portal and so discovered the Kraike Singhalissa 
at a small cabinet built into the wall, into which at the sight of Efraim she 
thrust a small object and slammed the door shut. Swinging about she faced 
Efraim, eyes glowing in fury. "Your Force has forgotten the niceties of 
conduct." 
"All this to the side," said Efraim, "I desire that you open the cabinet." 
Singhalissa's face became hard and gaunt. "The cabinet contains only personal 
treasures." 
Efraim turned to Agnois. "Bring an axe, at once." 
Agnois bowed. Singhalissa made an inarticulate sound. Turning to the wall she 
tapped a concealed button. The door to the cabinet opened. Efraim spoke to 
Agnois. "Bring what you find to the table." 
Agnois, gingerly brought forth the contents of the cabinet: several leather 
portfolios and on top an ornate key of iron and silver, which Efraim took up. 
"What is this?" 
"The key to the Privy Case." 
"And this other matter?" 
"These are my private papers," declared Singhalissa in a voice of metal. "My 
contracts of trisme, the birth documents of the Kang and the Lissolet." 
Efraim glanced through the portfolios. The first showed an intricate 
architectural plan. He glanced at Singhalissa who stared back coldly. Efraim 
signaled to Agnois. "Look through. these documents; return to Her Presence the 
effects she describes. All others, set aside." 
Singhalissa settled herself into a chair and sat stiffly. Agnois leaned his 
heavy back over the table, peering diffidently into the documents. He finished 
and pushed one group of papers aside. "These concern the personal affairs of the 
Kraike. The others more properly belong in the Privy Case." 
"Bring them along." With the coldest of nods to Singhalissa, Efraim departed the 
chamber. 
He found Matho Lorcas where he had left him, lounging in a massive 
leather-backed chair, examining a history of the wars between Scharrode and that 
realm known as Slaunt, fifty miles south. Lorcas put aside the volume and rose 
to his feet, "What did you learn?" 
"About what I expected. The Kraike has no intention of accepting defeat - not 
quite so easily." Efraim went to the Privy Case; applied the key and threw wide 
the heavy doors. For a moment ha regarded the contents: sheaves of documents, 
tallies; certificates, handwritten chronicles. Efraim turned away. "One time or 
another I must examine these. But for now" - he looked across the room to where 
Agnois stood, stiff and silent as a piece of furniture. "Agnois." 
"Yes, Your Force." 
"If you feel that you can serve me with single-minded loyalty, you may continue 
in your present post. If not, you may resign at this moment, without prejudice." 

Agnois spoke in a soft voice: "I served Kaiark Jochaim many years; he discovered 
no fault with me. I will continue to serve the rightful Kaiark." 
"Very good. Find suitable materials and prepare s sketch of Benbuphar Strang, 
indicating the chambers used by the various members of the household." 
"At once, Force." 
Efraim went to the massive central table, seated himself, and began to examine 
the documents he had taken from Singhalissa. He found what appeared to be a 
ceremonial protocol, certifying the lineage of the House of Benbuphar, beginning 
in ancient times and terminating with his own name. In crabbed Old Rhune 
typescript, Kaiark Jochaim acknowledged Efraim, son of the Kraike Alferica, from 
Cloudscape Castle5, as his successor. A second portfolio contained 
correspondence between Kaiark Jochaim and Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord. The most 
recent file dealt with Rianlle's proposal that Jochaim cede a tract of land 
known as Dwan Jar, the Whispering Ridge, to Eccord, in consideration of which 
Rianlle would offer the Lissolet Maerio in trisme to the Kong Efraim. Jochaim 
politely refused to consider the proposal, stating that trisme between Efraim 
and Sthelany was under consideration; Dwan Jar could never be relinquished for 
reasons of which the Kaiark Rianlle was well aware. 
Efraim spoke across the table to Agnois. "Why does Rianlle want the Dwan Jar?" 
Agnois looked up wonderingly. "For the same reason as always, Force. He would 
build his mountain eyrie on Point sheen where the way is convenient to and from 
Belrod Strang. The Kaiark Jochaim, you will remember, refused to indulge the 
Kaiark Rianlle in his urgent caprice, citing an ancient compact with the 
Fwai-chi." 
"The Fwai-chi? Why should the matter concern them?" 
"The Whispering Ridge harbors one of their sanctuaries,6 Force." Agnois spoke 
tonelessly, as if he had decided never again to display surprise at Efraim's 
vagueness. 
"Yes, of course." Efraim opened the third folder and discovered a set of 
architectural sketches depicting various aspects of Benbuphar Strang. He noticed 
Agnois averting his gaze in conspicuous disinterest. Here, thought Efraim, were 
the secret ways of the castle. 
The drawings were elaborate and not readily comprehensible. The Kraike might or 
might not have made copies of this document. At the very least she had pored 
over the plans in grim fascination; she undoubtedly knew the secret ways as well 
as she knew the open corridors. 
"That will be all for the moment," Efraim told Agnois. "Under no circumstances 
discuss our affairs with anyone! If you are questioned, declare that the Kaiark 
has explicitly forbidden discussion, hints, or intimations of any sort!" 
"As you command, Force." Agnois raised his faded blue eyes to the ceiling. 
"Allow me, Force, if you will, a personal remark. Since the disfunction of the 
Kaiark Jochaim, affairs at Benbuphar Strang have not gone altogether well, 
although the Kraike Singhalissa is, of course, a positive force." He hesitated, 
then spoke as if the words were forced from his throat by an irresistible inner 
pressure. "Your return naturally interferes with the plans of the Kaiark 
Rianlle, and his amicability cannot be taken for granted." 
Efraim attempted to seem puzzled and sagacious at the same time. "I have done 
nothing to antagonize Rianlle - nothing purposeful certainly." 
"Perhaps not, but purpose means nothing if Rianlle discovers himself to be 
thwarted. Effectively, you have annulled the trisme between the Kang Destian and 
the Lissolet Maerio, and Rianlle will no longer derive profit from a trisme 
between himself and the Kraike Singhalissa." 
"He values the Dwan Jar that highly?" 
"Evidently so, Force." 
Efraim hardly troubled to dissemble his ignorance. "Might he then attack by 
force?" 
"Nothing can be considered impossible." 
Efraim music a sign of dismissal; Agnois bowed and departed. 
Isp became umber. Efraim and Lorcas traced, retraced, simplified, coded, and 
rendered comprehensible the plans to Benbuphar Strang. The passage leading up 
from the back of the refectory seemed no more than a simple shortcut to the 
second floor of Jaher Tower. The true mirk-ways radiated from a chamber to the 
side of the Grand Parlor; passages threaded every wall of the castle, 
intersecting, opening into nodes, ascending, descending, each coded with 
horizontal stripes of color, each overlooking chambers, corridors, and halls 
through an assortment of peepholes, periscopes, gratings, and image-amplifiers. 
From the chambers of the former Kang Efraim and the current Kang Destian 
radiated less extensive passages, which could be entered by secret means from 
the Kaiark's Kirk ways. With a gloomy shiver, Efraim pictured himself in his 
grotesque man mask purposefully striding these secret corridors, and he wondered 
into whose chambers he had thrust wide the door. He pictured the face of the 
Lissolet Sthelany: pale and taut, her eyes blazing, her mouth half-parted in an 
emotion she herself would not know how to interpret . . . He returned his 
attention to the red portfolio, and for the tenth time inspected the index which 
accompanied it, where the locks and springs controlling each exit were described 
in detail, together with the alarms intended to thwart illicit passage along the 
Kaiark's mirk-ways. Exit from the terminal chamber - the so-called "Sacarlatto" 
- was barred by an iron door, thus protecting the Kaiark from intrusion, and 
other such doors blocked the passages at strategic nodes. 
Efraim and Lorcas, having achieved at least a superficial acquaintance with the 
maze, rose to their feet and considered the wall of the Grand Parlor. Silence 
was heavy in the chamber. 
"I wooden" mused Lorcas, "I wonder . . . Might someone intend us unpleasantness? 
A pitfall or a poison web? Perhaps I am oppressed by the atmosphere. Rhunes, 
after all, are not allowed to murder - except by mirk." 
Efraim made an impatient gesture; Lorcas had accurately verbalized his own mood. 
He went to the wall, touched a succession of bosses. A panel slid aside; they 
climbed a flight of stone steps and entered the Sacarlatto. They walked upon a 
dark crimson carpet, under a chandelier of twenty scintillas. Upon each panel of 
the black- and red-enameled wainscoting hung a carved marble representation of a 
man-mask in low relief, so that the object lay near-flat against the panel. Each 
mask depicted a different distortion; each bore a legend in cryptic symbols. At 
six stations, mirrors and screens provided views across the Grand Parlor. Lorcas 
spoke in a hushed voice, which was further attenuated by a quality of the 
chamber. "Do you smell anything?" 
"The carpet. Dust." 
"I have a most sensitive nose. I detect a fragrance, an herbal essence." 
Standing stiff and white-faced in the gloom, the two men seemed a pair of 
antique mannequins. 
Lorcas spoke again. "The same essence hangs in the air after Singhalissa has 
passed." 
"You believe then that she was here?" 
"Very recently - watching us and listening as we worked. Notice, the iron door 
is ajar." 
"We will close it; and now I will sleep. Later we will lock off the other doors 
and there will be no more prowling and spying." 
"Leave this in my hands! I am fascinated by such matters and I am not at all 
tired." 
"As you like. Remember, the Kraike may have set out alarms of her own." 
"I will be careful." 


1. The term tsernifer, here translated as 'Force', refers to that pervasion of 
psychological power surrounding the person of a kaiark. The word is more 
accurately rendered as irresistible compulsion, elemental wisdom, depersonalized 
force. The appellative 'Force' is an insipid dilution. 
2. Rhune warfare is controlled by rigid convention. Several types of engagement 
are recognized. In formal combat, fighting occurs between persons of equal rank. 
If a person of high caste attacks one of low caste, the low-caste person may 
protect, retreat, or retaliate. If a low-caste person attacks a person of high 
caste, he is reprimanded by everyone. The weapons employed are swords, used only 
for thrusting, and lances. 
On occasion the raiders come masked; they are then known as "mirk-men" and 
treated as bandits. All weapons may be legitimately used against mirk-men, 
including the so-called "bore," which propels a short arrow or bolt by means of 
an explosive charge. 
Occasionally large-scale battles occur, when the total manpower of one Realm is 
mobilized against that of another. 
Warriors trained to the use of sky-sails command special prestige. The rules of 
sky-fighting are even more complex than those governing warfare afoot. 
3. The word cogence is used to express that fervent erudition and virtuosity of 
the Rhunes. 
4. The dialect of the Rhunes is rife with delicate ambiguities. The term 'to 
refresh oneself' is susceptible to several interpretations. In this case it may 
be supposed that the Kraike indulges herself in a nap. 
5. Rhune lineage is reckoned through the mother owing to the unregulated 
circumstances of procreation, although in many cases father and son are mutually 
aware of their relationship. 
6. Inexact translation. More accurately: place of spiritual regeneration, stage 
of pilgrimage, phase of the life-road. 



Chapter 7


In the Kaiark's sleeping chamber, Efraim awoke and lay in the dimness. 
On the mantlepiece a clock showed the mode to be aud, with Furad and Maddar 
about to set and abandon the sky to chill isp. A second dial reported Port Mar 
Local Time, and Efraim saw that he had slept seven hours - rather longer than he 
had intended. 
He looked up toward the high ceiling, contemplating the condition in which he 
found himself. His advantages were easily enumerated. He ruled a beautiful 
mountain realm from a castle of archaic glamour. He had at least partially 
thwarted his enemy, or enemies; at this moment he, or she, or they, would be 
brooding long slow thoughts. Benbuphar Strang harbored antagonists, but to what 
purpose? These persons were at hand when his memory was smothered . . . The 
thought caused Efraim to shiver with rage and raise up from his couch. 
He bathed and took a dismal breakfast of cold meat, bread, and fruit in the 
refectory. Had he not known the quality of Rhune custom he might have regarded 
the food as a purposeful affront . . . He speculated as to the advisability of 
innovation: why should the Rhunes conduct themselves with such exaggerated 
daintiness when trillions of other folk feasted in public, with never a concern 
for their alimentary processes? His own single example would only arouse 
revulsion and censure; he must think further on the matter. 
On the racks and shelves of his dressing room he discovered what he took to be 
his wardrobe of six months before - a somewhat scanty wardrobe, he reflected. He 
pulled out a mustard-colored tunic with black frogging and dark red lining, and 
looked it over: a jaunty garment which no doubt on some informal occasion had 
set off young Kang Efraim to advantage. 
Efraim made a soft sound and examined the other garments. He tried to remember 
the Kaiark Jochaim's wardrobe, at which he had barely glanced, and could only 
summon an impression of understated elegance, kaiarkal restraint. 
Efraim went thoughtfully into the Grand Parlor and summoned Agnois, who seemed 
uneasy. He shifted his pale blue gaze aside, and as he bowed the fingers of his 
big white hands kneaded and twisted. 
Before Efraim could speak, Agnois said: "Your Force, the Eiodarks of Scharrode 
wish an audience, as soon as convenient. They will meet you in two hours if that 
suits Your Force." 
"The audience can wait," growled Efraim. "Come along with me." He led Agnois to 
the dressing room, where he paused and turned a cold stare upon Agnois, causing 
the chamberlain to blink. "As you know, I have been away from Scharrode a matter 
of six months." 
"Yes, Force." 
"I have had many experiences, including an accident which has unfortunately 
obscured portions of my memory. I tell you this in absolute confidence." 
"I will naturally respect this confidence, Your Force," stammered Agnois. 
"I have forgotten many small niceties of Rhune custom, and I must rely upon your 
assistance. For instance, these garments: can this be the whole of my former 
wardrobe?" 
Agnois licked his lips. "No, Your Force. The Kraike made a selection of certain 
garments; these were then brought here." 
"These of course are garments I wore as Kang?" 
"Yes, Force." 
"They seem somewhat jaunty and extravagant in cut. Do you consider them suitable 
for a person of my present status?" 
Agnois pulled at his pale pendulous nose. "Not altogether, Your Force." 
"If I wore these before the eiodarks they would consider me frivolous and 
irresponsible - a callow young fool, in fact." 
"I world suspect as much." 
"What precisely were Singhalissa's instructions?" 
"She ordered me to transfer these garments; she further suggested that any 
interference in Your Force's preferences might be considered insolence, both by 
Your Force and by the Noble Singhalissa herself." 
"She told you, in effect, to help me make a fool of myself. Then she summoned 
the eiodarks to an audience." 
Agnois spoke hurriedly: "This is accurate, Force, but -" 
Efraim cut him short. "Postpone the audience with the eiodarks. Explain that I 
must study the events of the last six months. Then remove these garments. 
Instruct the tailors to prepare me a suitable wardrobe. In the meantime bring 
here whatever can be salvaged from my old wardrobe." 
"Yes, Force." 
"Further, inform the staff that the Noble Singhalissa will no longer exert 
authority. I am bored with these petty intrigues. She is to be known not as the 
'Kraike' but as the Wirwove of Disbague." 
"Yes, Your Force." 
"Finally, Agnois, I am astounded that you failed to notify me of Singhalissa's 
intentions." 
Agnois cried out in frustration: "Force, I intended to obey the Noble 
Singhalissa's instructions to the letter; but nonetheless, by one means or 
another, I planned to protect Your Force's dignity. Indeed, you divined the ploy 
before I had opportunity to alter the situation!" 
Efraim gave a curt nod. "Lay out garments at least temporarily appropriate." 


Efraim dressed and went out into the Grand Parlor, half-expecting to find Matho 
Lorcas awaiting him. The room was empty. Efraim stood irresolute a moment, then 
turned as Agnois entered the chamber. Efraim seated himself in a chair. 
"Tell me how the Kaiark Jochaim died." 
"Nothing, Force, is surely known. Semaphores warned of mirk-men riding down over 
the Tassenberg from Gorgetto. The Kaiark sent two troops to attack their flank 
and led a third force to punish the fore-riders. The mirk-men raced for Suban 
Forest, then retreated up the defiles toward Horsuke. Suddenly the slopes 
swarmed with Gorget boremen - the Schardes had been lured into an ambush. 
Jochaim ordered retreat, and the Scharde warriors fought their way back down the 
gorge. Somewhere along the way Jochaim took a bolt in his back, and died." 
"In the back? Had Jochaim taken flight? This is hard to believe!" 
"It is my understanding that he had stationed himself on a knoll where he 
commanded the disposition of his forces. Evidently a mirk-man had slipped around 
through the rocks and discharged his bore from the rear." 
"Who was he? What was his rank?" 
"He was never killed, nor captured, Force. Indeed he was never seen. The Kang 
Destian assumed command of the troops and brought them safely back into 
Scharrode; and the folk of both Scharrode and Gorgetto expect that an awful 
retaliation must take place. Gorgetto is said to be an armed camp." 
Efraim, suddenly stifled by his ignorance, pounded his fists upon the arms of 
his chair. "I feel like the fool in a game of blindman's bluff. I must inform 
myself; I must learn more of the realm." 
"This, Force, may be accomplished without delay; you need merely consult the 
archives, or if you prefer, the Kaiarkal Pandects along the Wall yonder - the 
volumes in the green and red bindings," Agnois spoke eagerly, relieved that 
Efraim should be distracted from the episode of the wardrobe. 


For three hours Efraim explored the history of Scharrode. Between Gorgetto and 
Scharrode had existed centuries of strife. Each had dealt the other cruel blows. 
Eccord had been sometimes an ally; sometimes a foe, but recently had gained 
greatly in power and now outmatched Scharrode. Disbague occupied a small 
shadowed valley high in the Gartfang Rakes, and was considered of small 
consequence, though the Disbs were credited with a dark deviousness, and many of 
the women were witches. 
Efraim reviewed the noble lineages of Scharrode and learned something of trismes 
which united them with other realms. He read about himself: of his participation 
in arrays, exercises, and campaigns; he learned that he was considered bold, 
persistent, and somewhat assertive. In pressing for innovation he seemed often 
to have been at odds with Jochaim, who insisted upon tradition. 
He read of his mother, the Kraike Alferica, who had drowned in a boating 
accident on Lake Zule during a visit to Eccord. A list of those present at the 
obsequies included the then Lissolet Singhalissa of Urrue Strang in Disbague. 
Very shortly thereafter, Jochaim contracted a new trisme, and Singhalissa came 
to live at Benbuphar Strang, along with her children Destian and Sthelany, who 
were both conceived out of trisme, a circumstance neither unusual nor 
consequential. 
Bloated with facts, Efraim put aside the Pandects and rising to his feet he 
stretched and slowly paced the Grand Parlor. At a sound he looked up, expecting 
Matho Lorcas, but found only Agnois. Efraim continued his deliberations. He must 
reach a decision in connection with the Noble Singhalissa. She had attempted to 
conceal a number of important documents, then had tried to embarrass and demean 
him. If he simply adopted a manner of lofty disdain, she would certainly attempt 
new intrigues. Nonetheless - because of the revulsion which Singhalissa aroused 
in him - he felt an unconquerable reluctance toward dealing harshly with her; 
such acts created an intimacy of their own, like that hateful empathy between 
the torturer and his victim. Still, he must make some sort of response, lest she 
consider him futile and indecisive. 
"Agnois, I have come to a decision. The Noble Singhalissa is to be transferred 
from her present suite into that now occupied by friend Matho Lorcas. Bring the 
Noble Lorcas to more congenial quarters in the Jaher Tower. Attend to this at 
once. I want no delay." 
"Your orders shall be carried out! May I venture a comment?" 
"Certainly." 
"Why not send her back to Disbague? At Urrue Strang she would seem to be at a 
safe distance." 
"The suggestion is sensible. However, she might not remain at Disbague, but set 
about organising troubles from all directions. Here, at least, she is under my 
eye. Again, I do not know that person who dealt me harm six months ago. Why 
expel Singhalissa until I learn the truth? Also" - Efraim hesitated. If 
Singhalissa departed, Sthelany almost certainly would depart too, but he did not 
care to explain as much to Agnois. 
He walked up and down the parlor wondering how much Agnois knew of mirk-deeds 
about the castle, and how, much Agnois could tell him in regard to Sthelany. 
What was her usual conduct during mirk? Did she bolt her door and bar her 
windows, as fearful maidens were wont to do? Where was Sthelany now? In fact: 
"Where is Matho Lorcas?" 
"He accompanies the Lissolet Sthelany; they walk in the Garden of Bitter Odors." 

Efraim grunted and continued his pacing. As he might have expected. He gave 
Agnois a brusque gesture. "See that the Noble Singhalissa is moved to her new 
quarters at once. You need supply no explanations; your orders are simple, and 
explicit. No, wait! You may say that I am angry with you for bringing useless 
old clothes to my wardrobe." 
"Very well, Force." Agnois hurried from the chamber. After a moment Efraim 
followed. Passing through the silent reception hall, he went out upon the 
terrace. Before him spread the distant landscape, placid in the halcyon light of 
umber. Matho Lorcas came conning up the steps. "So ho!" cried Lorcas, in what 
Efraim considered unnatural cheer, or perhaps he was nervously gay. "I wondered 
how long you intended to sleep." 
"I've been awake for hours. What have you been doing?" 
"A great deal. I explored passages out of the Sacarlatto. For your information 
the passages leading to the chambers of both the Noble Singhalissa and the 
Lissolet Sthelany are obstructed - sealed off with walls of masonry. When mirk 
arrives, you must turn your attention elsewhere." 
"Singhalissa has been busy." 
"She overrates the magnetism of her precious body," said Lorcas. "Sthelany is a 
different matter." 
"It appears that you must seduce her by more conventional means," said Efraim in 
a morose voice. 
"Ha hah! I would expect more success chiseling through the masonry. Still, 
either method is a challenge, and I am stimulated by challenges. What a triumph 
for the liberal philosophy should I succeed!" 
"True. If you want to see how the land lays, why not invite her to take lunch 
with you?" 
"Oh, I know how the land lays. I learned the entire map six months ago in Port 
Mar. In a certain sense we're old friends." 
Agnois stepped forth from the Reception Hall, his lined gray face limp and loose 
under the velvet tricorn emblematic of his office. He saluted Efraim. "The Noble 
Singhalissa states that she is most distressed by your orders, and that she 
finds them incomprehensible." 
"You offered her my remark in regard to the wardrobe?" 
"I did, Force, and she professed bewilderment. She urges that you condescend to 
receive her at an inhalation1, in order to discuss the matter." 
"Certainty," said Efraim. "In, let us say, two hours, when umber becomes green 
rowan, if yonder phase-dial is faithful." 
"Two hours, Force? She used an urgent form of speech, and evidently wishes the 
benefit of your wisdom at once." 
"I am suspicious of Singhalissa's immediacies," said Efraim. "Two hours will 
enable you to provide exactly proper garments for me, and for the Noble Matho 
Lorcas. Additionally, I have certain arrangements to make." 
Agnois departed, puzzled and resentful. For the tenth time Efraim wondered as to 
the advisability of replacing him. With his special knowledge, Agnois was almost 
indispensable; but Agnois also was given to vacillation and at the mercy of the 
last personality with whom he had come into contact. 
Efraim said to Lorcas: "You would like to attend an inhalation, I take it?" 
"Of course. It will be an unforgettable experience - one among many, if I may 
say so." 
"Then meet me in the Grand Parlor in two hours. Your quarters have been changed 
to the Jaher Tower, incidentally, I am transferring Singhalissa to those you now 
occupy." Efraim grinned. "I hope to teach her not to play tricks on the Kaiark." 

"I doubt if you'll succeed," said Lorcas. "She knows tricks you've never thought 
of. If I were you I'd look in my bed for snakes before jumping under the 
covers." 
"Yes," said Efraim. "No doubt you are right." He entered the castle, crossed the 
reception hall, passed along the Corridor of Ancestors, but instead of entering 
the Trophy Room, turned aside into a corridor paved with brown and white tiles, 
and so came to a chamber which served as office, bursary, and domestic 
headquarters. A bench by the side wall supported an ancient communicator. 
Efraim closed and locked the door. He addressed himself to the communicator 
code-book, then pressed a set of discolored old buttons. The screen glowed with 
pale light, showing sudden jagged disks of carmine red as the summons sounded at 
the opposite end of the connection. 
Three or four minutes passed. Efraim sat patiently. To expect a crisp response 
would have been unrealistic. 
The screen glowed green, powdered into fugitive dots which reformed to display 
the visage of a pale old man with locks of lank white hair dangling past his 
ears. He peered at Efraim with a half-challenging, half-myopic glare and spoke 
in a rattling croak. "Who calls Gorgance Strang, and for what purpose?" 
"I am Efraim, Kaiark of Scharrode. I wish to speak with your master the Kaiark." 

"I will announce that Your Force awaits him." 
Another five minutes passed, then upon the screen appeared a massive 
copper-colored face from which hung a great beak of a nose and a deep pendulum 
of a chin. "Kaiark Efraim, you have returned to Scharrode. Why do you call me, 
when no such communication has occurred for a hundred years." 
"I call you, Kaiark Gosso, for knowledge. While I was absent, mirk-men from 
Gorgetto entered Scharrode. During this raid the Kaiark Jochaim suffered death 
from a Gorget bolt, which burst open his back." 
Gosso's eyes contracted to ice-blue slits. "So much may be fact. What then? We 
await your onslaught. Send over your mirk-men; we will impale them on ridgeline 
saplings. Marshal your noblemen, advance upon us with open faces. We will face 
you rank for rank and slaughter the best of Scharrode." 
"I did not call to inquire the state of your emotions, Gosso. I am not 
interested in rhodomontade." 
Gosso's voice became profoundly deep. "Why, then, have you called?" 
"I find the circumstances of Kaiark Jochaim's death peculiar. In the mel�e of 
mirk-men and Scharde troops, he commanded from the rear. Did he turn his back to 
the flight? Unlikely. So then, who among your mirk-men killed the Scharde 
Kaiark?" 
"No one has asserted such a triumph," rambled Gosso. "I made careful inquiry, to 
no avail." 
"A provocative situation." 
"From your point of view, indeed." Gosso's eyelids relaxed slightly; he moved 
back into his chair. "Where were you during the raid?" 
"I was far away - at Numenes and the Connatic's Palace. I have learned many new 
things, and one of them is this the raids and onslaughts between Gorgetto and 
Scharrode amount to mutual catastrophe. I propose a truce." 
Gosso's ropy mouth drew back to display his teeth, not a grin, so Efraim 
presently realized, but a grimace of reflection. 
"What you say is true enough," said Gosso at last. "There are few old men either 
in Gorgetto or Scharrode. Still, everyone must die sooner or later, and if the 
warriors of Gorgetto are denied the raiding of Scharrode, how will I keep them 
occupied?" 
"I have troubles of my own. No doubt you can find a way." 
Gosso cocked his head to the side. "My warriors may protest such an insipid 
existence. The raids drain their energies, and life is easier for me." 
Efraim said shortly: "You can notify those who question your authority that I am 
resolved to end the raids. I can offer honorable peace; or I can assemble all my 
forces and totally destroy Gorgetto. As I study the Pandects I see that this is 
within my capabilities, if at the cost of many lives. Most of these many lives 
will be Gorget, inasmuch as we command the heights with our sails. It appears to 
me that the first choice makes the fewest demands upon everybody." 
Gosso gave a sardonic caw of laughter: "So it might appear. But never forget we 
have rejoiced in the slaughter of Schardes for a thousand years. In Gorgetto a 
boy does not become a man until he kills his Scharde. Still, you seem to be 
serious and I will consider the matter." 


The Salon of Sherdas and Private Receptions occupied the third level of the 
squat Arjer Skyrd Tower. Instead of the modestly proportioned chamber Efraim had 
expected, he found a hall seventy feet long and forty feet wide, with a floor of 
black and white marble blocks. Six tall windows admitted floods of that curious 
olive-green light characteristic of umber passing into green rowan. Marble 
pilasters broke the wall into a series of bays, color-washed a pale russet. In 
each stood a massive urn three feet tall carved from black brown porphyry: the 
product of a cogence. The urns contained white sand and plumes of dry grass, 
without odor. A table ten feet wide and twenty feet long supported four 
etiquette screens. At each side of the table a chair had been placed. 
Agnois hurried forward. "Your Force has arrived a trifle early; our 
arrangements, I fear to say, are incomplete." 
"I came early intentionally." Efraim inspected the chamber, them the table. He 
asked in a soft voice: "The Kaiark Jochaim frequented this salon?" 
"Indeed, Force, when the company was not numerous." 
"Which place was reserved for him?" 
"Yonder, Force, is the Kaiark's place." Agnois indicated the far side of the 
table. 
Efraim, now accustomed to the unconscious signals which indicated Agnois' moods, 
eyed him attentively. "That is the chair used by Kaiark Jochaim? It is precisely 
like the others; they are identical." 
Agnois hesitated. "These are the chairs ordered out by the Noble Singhalissa." 
Efraim controlled his voice with an effort. "Did I not instruct you to disregard 
Singhalissa's orders?" 
"I recall something of the sort, Force," said Agnois lamely, "but I tend to obey 
her by reflex, especially in small matters such as this." 
"Do you consider this a small matter?" 
Agnois grimaced and licked his lips. "I had not analyzed it along such lines." 
"But the chair is not that chair customarily used by the Kaiark?" 
"No, Your Force." 
"In fact, it is a chair quite unsuitable to the dignity of a Kaiark - especially 
under the present conditions." 
"I suppose that I must agree with you, Force." 
"So again, Agnois, you have at worst conspired, at best cooperated, with 
Singhalissa in her attempts to make me a buffoon and so diminish my authority." 
Agnois uttered a cry of anguish. "By no means, Force! I acted in all innocence!" 

"Set the table to rights, instantly!" 
Agnois turned a side-look toward Lorcas. "Shall I seat five, Your Force?" 
"Leave it at four." 
The offending chair was removed; another more massive, inlaid with carnelians 
and turquoises, was brought in. "Notice, Force," said Agnois effusively, "the 
small mesh here by your ear, by which the Kaiark can receive messages and 
advice." 
"Very good," said Efraim. "I will expect you to stand in concealment and advise 
me as to etiquette and custom." 
"With pleasure, Your Force!" 
Efraim seated himself and placed Lorcas at the end of the table to his right. 
Lorcas said reflectively: "These tricks are really rather petty - not what one 
might expect of Singhalissa." 
"I don't know what to expect from Singhalissa. I imagine that her aim is to 
demonstrate me a fool as well as an amnesiac, so that the eiodarks will eject me 
in favor of Destian." 
"You'd do well to pack her off." 
"I suppose so. Still -" 
Singhalissa, Sthelany, and Destian entered the chamber. Efraim and Lorcas 
politely rose to their feet. Singhalissa came a few steps forward, then halted, 
regarding the two remaining chairs with pinched nostrils. She then spared a 
quick glance for the stately chair which Efraim occupied. "I am somewhat 
baffled," she said. "I envisioned an informal discussion, in which all opinions 
might most expeditiously be aired." 
Efraim replied in an even voice: "I could not conceive a conference on a basis 
other than propriety. But I am surprised to see the Squire Destian; from the 
arrangements I understood that only you and the Noble Sthelany planned to attend 
our conference. Agnois, be so good as to arrange another place there, to the 
left of Her Dignity the Wirwove. Sthelany, be so good as to seat yourself in 
this chair to my left." 
Smiling a faint vague smile, Sthelany took her seat. Singhalissa and Destian 
stood aside with dour faces as Agnois rearranged the table. Efraim watched 
Sthelany surreptitiously, as always wandering what went on in her brain. At this 
moment she seemed indolent, careless, and totally introverted. 
Singhalissa and Destian at last were seated; Efraim and Lorcas gravely returned 
to their own places. Singhalissa made a small movement, but Lorcas gave a 
peremptory rap on the table with his knuckles, causing Singhalissa and Destian 
to look at him questioningly. Sthelany was studying Efraim with an interest 
almost embarrassingly intent. 
Efraim spoke. "The present circumstances are strained, and certain of you have 
been forced to accept an attenuation of prospects. In reference to the events of 
the last six months, I remind you that I have been the chief victim. Excepting, 
of course, the Kaiark Jochaim, who was robbed of his life. Nevertheless, the 
inconveniences I personally have suffered have made me callous of lesser 
complaints, and it is on this basis that we hold our discussion." 
Sthelany's smile became even more vague; Destian's sneer was almost audible. 
Singhalissa gripped the arms of her chair with long fingers, so tightly that 
bones shone luminous through the skin. Singhalissa replied: "Needless to say, we 
all must adapt to changing circumstances; it is sheer futility to do otherwise. 
I have conferred long and earnestly with the Noble Destian and the Lissolet 
Sthelany; we all are perplexed by your misfortunes. You have been a victim of 
unconventional violence2, which I understand is not uncommon at Port Mar." 
Singhalissa's flick of a glance toward Lorcas was almost too swift to be sensed. 
"You were doubtless waylaid by some off-worlder, for reasons beyond my 
comprehension." 
Efraim grimly shook his head. "This theory commands low probability, especially 
in view of certain other facts. I was almost certainly beset by a Rhune enemy, 
for whom our standards of decency have lost all meaning." 
Singhalissa's high sweet voice became a trifle strident. "We cannot evaluate 
undisclosed facts, but in any event your enemy is unknown to us. I only wonder 
if, after all, there has not been a mistake." 
For the first time Lorcas spoke. "To clarify matters once and for all, are you 
giving His Force to understand that in the first place, none of you have 
knowledge of the event at Port Mar, and secondly, that none of you have received 
information regarding this event, and thirdly, that none of you can guess who 
might be responsible?" 
No one answered. Efraim said gently: "The Noble Matho Lorcas is my friend and 
counselor; his question is a fair one. What of you, Squire Destian?" 
Destian responded in a surly baritone: "I know nothing." 
"Lissolet Sthelany?" 
"I know nothing of anything." 
"Your Dignity the Wirwove?" 
"The affair is incomprehensible." 
Through the mesh at the back of Efraim's chair sounded Agnois' hoarse whisper. 
"It would be politic to ask Singhalissa if she might care to refresh herself and 
the company with a medley of vapors." 
Efraim said: "I naturally accept your explicit assurances. If anyone chances to 
recall some forgotten fact which may be relevant, I will be grateful to hear it. 
Perhaps we should now entreat Her Dignity to refresh us with vapors." 
Singhalissa leaned stiffly forward and drew out a panel in front of her, 
displaying knobs, toggles, bulbs and other mechanisms, then drawers to right and 
left containing hundreds of small vials. Her long fingers worked with intricacy 
and deftness, vials were lifted; drops of liquid poured into a silver orifice 
were followed by powders and a gout of seething green liquor. Then she pushed a 
button and a pump blew the fumes along tubes under the table and up behind the 
etiquette screens. Meanwhile, with her left hand, Singhalissa was altering her 
first vapor so that it might modulate into a second which she was busy preparing 
with her right hand. 
The fumes followed each other like musical tones, and ended, as with a coda, 
upon an artfully bitter nose-wrenching whiff. 
Agnois' whisper sounded in Efraim's ear. "Call for more; this is etiquette!" 
Efraim said: "Your Dignity has only stimulated our expectations; why must you 
stop now?" 
"I am flattered that you honor my efforts," But Singhalissa sat back from the 
vials. 
After a pause Destian spoke, a saturnine half-smile trembling on his lips. "I am 
curious to learn as to how you intend to punish Gosso arid his jackals." 
"I will take counsel upon the matter." 
Singhalissa, as if impelled by an irresistible creative urge, once more bent 
over the vials; again she poured and vapors issued from behind the etiquette 
screens. In Efraim's ear sounded Agnois' husky whisper: "She is discharging raw 
essences at random, concocting a set of stinks. She understands your distrait 
condition and hopes to draw forth fulsome compliments." 
Efraim leaned back from the etiquette screen. He glanced at Destian who could 
scarcely control his merriment. Sthelany sat with a wry expression. Efraim said: 
"Her Dignity the Wirwove suddenly seems to have lost her sure instincts. Some of 
these vapors are absolutely amazing, even for the entertainment of a group as 
informal as this. Perhaps Her Dignity attempts a set of new combinations 
imported from Port Mar?" 
Singhalissa wordlessly desisted from her manipulations. Efraim sat erect in his 
chair. "The subject we had not yet touched upon was my order to move Your 
Dignity to Minot Tower. In view of the chairs and the fumes, I will not 
reconsider my decision. There has been altogether too much interference and 
meddling. I hope that we have seen the last of it, inasmuch as I would not care 
to inconvenience Your Dignity to an even greater extent." 
"Your Force is most considerate," said Singhalissa, without so much as a quiver 
in her voice. 
Through the tall windows the light had changed, as umber fully gave way to green 
rowan, with Cirse barely grazing the horizons. 
Sthelany said; "Mirk approaches; dark hideous mirk when the gharks and hoos come 
forth and all the world is dead." 
Lorcas asked in a cheerful voice: "What is a ghark and what is a hoo?" 
"Evil beings." 
"In human form?" 
"I know nothing of such things," said Sthelany. "I take refuge behind a door 
triple-bolted and strong iron shutters at my window. You must ask elsewhere for 
your information." 
Matho Lorcas gave his head a shake of whimsical wonder. "I have traveled far and 
wide," he said, "and never cease to be amazed by the diversities of Alastor 
Cluster." 
The Lissolet Sthelany half-yawned, then spoke in easy voice: "Does the Noble 
Lorcas include the Rhunes among those peoples who excite his amazement?" 
Lorcas grinned and leaned forward. Here was the milieu he loved: conversation! 
Supple sentences, with first and second meanings and overtones beyond, 
outrageous challenges with cleverly planned slip-points, rebuttals of elegant 
brevity; deceptions and guiles, patient explanations of the obvious, fleeting 
allusions to the unthinkable. As a preliminary, the conversationalist must gauge 
the mood, the intelligence, and the verbal facility of the company. To this end 
a few words of pedantic exposition often proved invaluable. "By an axiom of 
cultural anthropology, the more isolated a community, the more idiosyncratic 
become its customs and conventions. This of course is not necessarily 
disadvantageous. 
"On the other hand, consider a person such as myself: a rootless wanderer, a 
cosmopolitan. Such a person tends to flexibility; he adapts himself to his 
surroundings without qualms or misgivings. His baggage of conventions is simple 
and natural, the lowest common denominator of his experience. He evinces a kind 
of universal culture which will serve him almost anywhere across Alastor 
Cluster, throughout the Gaean Reach. I make no virtue of this flexibility, 
except to suggest that it is more comfortable to travel with than a set of 
conventions, which, if jostled, work emotional strains upon those who espouse 
them." 
Singhalissa joined the conversation, speaking in a voice as dry as the rustle of 
dead leaves. "The Noble Lorcas with earnest conviction proposes a view which I 
fear we Rhunes regard as banal. As he knows, we never travel, except rarely to 
Port Mar. Even were we disposed to travel, I doubt if we would school ourselves 
inhabits which we find not only vulgar but repellent. This is an informal 
gathering; I will venture upon an unpleasant topic. The ordinary citizen of the 
Cluster shows a lack of self-consciousness regarding his bowel which is 
typically animal. Without shame he displays his victual, salivates, wads it into 
his orifice, grinds it with his teeth, massages it with his tongue, impels the 
pulp along his intestinal tract. With only little more modesty he excretes the 
digested mess, occasionally making jokes as if he were proud of his alimentary 
facility. Naturally we obey the same biological compulsions, but we are more 
considerate of our fellows and perform these acts in privacy." As she spoke 
Singhalissa never abandoned her mordant monotone. 
Destian uttered a soft chuckle endorsing her views. 
Lorcas however would not be daunted. He nodded sagely. "Everything depends upon 
the quality of one's conventions. Agreed! But we must examine this so-called 
quality for its usefulness. Overcomplicated, over strict conventions limit a 
person's life-options. They confine his mind and stunt his perceptions. Why, in 
the name of the Connatic's pet owl, should we even consider a limit to the 
possibilities of this, our one and single life?" 
"You will confuse us all if you talk in ultimates and eschatologies," said 
Singhalissa with a cold smile. "They are not germane in any case. One may 
exemplify any point of view, no matter how absurd, by carefully citing an 
appropriate, or even an artificial, theory. The traveler and cosmopolitan whom 
you have chosen as your paladin above all else should realize the difference 
between abstractions and living human beings, between sociological concepts and 
durable communities. As I listen to you I hear only ingenuousness and didactic 
theory." 
Lorcas compressed his lips. "Perhaps because you are hearing views which 
contradict your emotions. But I stray from the mark. The durable communities you 
mention are beside the point. Societies are amazingly tolerant of abuse, even 
those burdened with dozens of obsolete or unnatural or even baneful 
conventions." 
Singhalissa allowed herself to show open amusement. "I suspect that you take an 
extreme position. Only children are intolerant of conventions. They are 
indispensable to an organized civilization, like discipline to an army, or 
foundations to a building, or landmarks to a traveler. Without conventions 
civilization is a handful of water. An army without discipline is a mob. A 
building without foundations is rabble. A traveler without landmarks is lost." 
Lorcas stated that he opposed not all convention, but only those which he found 
irksome and pointless. 
Singhalissa refused to let him off so easily. "I suspect that you refer to the 
Rhunes, and here, as a stranger, you are particularly handicapped in your 
judgments. I find my way of life orderly and reasonable, which should certainly 
satisfy you. Unless, of course, you consider me undiscriminating and stupid?" 
Lorcas saw that he had caught a Tartar. He shook his head. "By no means! Quite 
the contrary. Without hesitation I agree that, at the very least, your outlook 
upon life is different from mine." 
Singhalissa had already lost interest in the conversation. She turned to Efraim. 
"With your permission, Force, I take my leave." 
"As you wish, Your Dignity." 
Singhalissa stalked from the room in a flutter of gray gauze, followed by 
Destian, stiff and erect, and then, Sthelany. Behind marched Efraim and Matho 
Lorcas, somewhat subdued. They found themselves on the arcade which connected 
the third level of Arjer Skyrd to the high parlors of the North Tower, then gave 
upon the upper balcony of the herbarium. 
Descending the North Tower staircase, they were arrested by a sudden clanging of 
gongs, followed by a wild braying of horns in an agitated fanfare. 
Singhalissa glanced back over her shoulder; her thin cheeks were compressed into 
an unmistakable smile. 


1. The word sherdas, an inexact translation. Those attending a sherdas are 
seated around a table. From properly disposed orifices a succession of aromatic 
odors and perfumes is released. To praise the fumes too highly, or to inhale too 
deeply is considered low behavior and leaves the guilty person open to 
suspicions of gourmandizing. 
2. An act of molestation or violence - a mirk-deed, so to speak - committed 
during the daylight hours, a depravity unimaginable among persons of dignity. 




Chapter 8


Efraim continued down the staircase to the frenzy of the fanfare produced by six 
men with convolved bronze sad-horns. Six horns, wondered Efraim? He himself, the 
returning Kaiark, had only been greeted with four! A slight which he had failed 
to notice. 
The front portals had been flung ajar, and here stood Agnois, wearing a long 
white cloak crusted over with blue and silver embroidery and a complicated 
turban-like headdress: garments reserved for the most profoundly serious 
occasions. Efraim compressed his lips. What to do with the wretched Agnois, who 
had assisted him during the reception, but who had failed to warn him of 
whatever now was about to ensue? 
The fanfare became a hysteria of yelling horns, to halt abruptly as a man, in 
splendid black garments, picked out with pink and silver stripes, strode through 
the portal. Behind him marched four eiodarks. All wore headgear of pink and 
black cloth, wound up on pronged fillets of silver. 
Efraim halted a moment on the landing, then descended slowly. Agnois cried out: 
"His Majestic Force, the Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord!" 
Rianlle halted, scrutinizing Efraim with pale hazel eyes under dark golden 
eyebrows. He stood stiffly erect, aware of the splendid spectacle he made: a man 
in, the fullest vigor of his life, not yet middle-aged, square-faced, with 
curling dark golden hair; a man of pride and passion, perhaps lacking in humor, 
but certainly not a person to be taken lightly. 
Efraim stood waiting until Rianlle advanced another two steps. Efraim said: 
"Welcome to Benbuphar Strang. I am pleased, if surprised, to see you." 
"Thank you." Rianlle turned abruptly away from Efraim and performed a formal 
bow. Down the stairs came Singhalissa, Destian, and Sthelany. 
Efraim said: "You are of course well-acquainted with her Dignity the Wirwove, 
the Squire Destian, and the Lissolet Sthelany. This is the Noble Matho Lorcas, 
of Port Mar." 
Rianlle acknowledged the introduction by no more than a cold glance. Matho 
Lorcas bowed courteously. "At your service, Force." 
Efraim stepped aside and signaled to Agnois. "Conduct these noble gentlemen to 
appropriate chambers where they may refresh themselves, then come to the Grand 
Parlor." 


Agnois presently appeared in the Grand Parlor. "Yes, Your Force?" 
"Why did you not notify me that Rianlle was to arrive?" 
Agnois spoke in an injured voice: "I did not know myself, until Her Dignity upon 
leaving the salon ordered me to prepare a reception. I barely had time to 
accomplish the task." 
Efraim said, "I see. He wears his headgear in the castle; is this customary and 
polite?" 
"It is formal usage, Force. The headdress signifies authority and autonomy. In a 
formal colloquy of equals both parties will dress similarly." 
"Bring me suitable garments and headgear, if any are available." 
Efraim dressed. "Conduct Rianlle here whenever he is so minded. If his retinue 
starts to come, explain that I prefer a private discussion with Rianlle." 
"As you wish, Force." Agnois hesitated. "I might point out that Eccord is a 
powerful realm with victorious traditions. Rianlle is a vain man but not stupid. 
He esteems himself and his prestige at an exalted level." 
"Thank you, Agnois. Bring in Rianlle; I will deal with him as carefully as 
possible." 
Half an hour later Agnois ushered Rianlle into the Parlor. Efraim rose to greet 
him. "Will you sit? Those chairs are quite comfortable." 
"Thank you." Rianlle settled himself. 
"Your visit is of course most welcome," said Efraim "You will forgive me if I 
seem disorganized; I have hardly had time to collect my wits." 
"You returned at a most opportune moment," observed Rianlle, his hazel eyes wide 
and luminous. "At least for yourself." 
Efraim sat back in his chair and inspected Rianlle a full five seconds. Then he 
said in a cool unaccented voice: "I did not time my return on this basis; I was 
unaware that Jochaim had been murdered until my arrival in Port Mar." 
"Allow me to offer my personal condolences and those of all Eccord upon this 
untimely death. Did you use the word murder?" 
"The evidence indicates something of the sort." 
Rianlle nodded slowly and looked thoughtfully across the room. "I came both to 
express my sympathy and to consolidate the friendly relations between our 
realms." 
"You may take for granted my desire that they continue." 
"Excellent. I assume that you intend a smooth continuity between the policies of 
Jochaim and your own?" 
Efraim began to sense a pressure behind Rianlle's suave remarks. He said 
cautiously: "In many cases, no doubt this will be true. In others, the simple 
mutability of life and circumstance dictates changes." 
"A prudent and flexible point of view! Allow me to offer my commendation! In the 
relations between Eccord and Scharrode there will be no mutability; I would like 
to assure you that I intend to honor to the letter every commitment made by me 
to Jochaim; I would like to hear that the converse holds true." 
Efraim made an affable gesture. "Let us not talk high policy at this moment. I 
am not yet in command of all the facts and anything I could now say would be 
tentative. But since our two realms are so closely knit in amity, what benefits 
one benefits the other, and you may be assured that I intend to do my best for 
Scharrode." 
Rianlle glanced sharply at Efraim, then stared toward the ceiling. "Agreed; 
large matters may wait. There is one rather inconsequential issue which we can 
easily resolve now, without prejudice to your program. I refer to that trifle of 
territory along Whispering Ridge where I wish to build a pavilion for our mutual 
enjoyment. Jochaim was on the point of signing the parcel over to me when he met 
his death." 
"I wonder if there was any connection between the two events," mused Efraim. 
"Of course not! How could there be?" 
"My imagination is overactive. In regard to Whispering Ridge I must admit an 
aversion toward yielding so much as a square inch of our sacred Scharrode soil; 
still, I will study the matter." 
"Not satisfactory!" Rianlle's voice had taken on an edge, and sang like a 
vibrating wire. "I am thwarted in my wishes!" 
"Is anyone ever continually and completely gratified? Let us talk no more of the 
subject. Perhaps I can induce the Lissolet to contrive a series of stimulating 
atmospheres . . ." 


At the great twenty-sided table in the Formal Reception Chamber, Rianlle sat 
stiff and glum. Sthelany formulated a series of fumes, somehow suggesting a walk 
over the hills - soil and sunlit vegetation, water and wet rocks, the perfume of 
anthion and wood violet, mold, rotten wood, and camphor. She worked without 
Singhalissa's deftness, rather seeming to amuse herself among the vials as a 
child might play with colored chalks. Sthelany's fingers began to move faster; 
she bad become interested in her contrivances as a musician suddenly perceives 
meanings in his music which he is forced to explicate. Gone was the hillside, 
away the forest; the vapors were at first gay, tart, and light; gradually they 
lost character, only to become sweetly melancholic, like heliotrope in a 
forgotten garden. And this odor in turn became pervaded with a bitter exudation, 
then a salt pungency, then a final despairing black reek. Sthelany looked up 
with a twisted smile and closed the drawers. 
Rianlle uttered an ejaculation: "You have performed with enormous artistry; you 
have shaken us all with cataclysmic visions!" 
Efraim looked around the table. Destian sat toying with a silver bracelet; 
Singhalissa sat stiff and staring; the eiodarks of Eccord muttered together. 
Lorcas stared in wonder toward Sthelany. Efraim thought: he is totally 
fascinated, but he had better make his emotion less overt, or he will be accused 
of sebalism. 
Rianlle turned to Efraim. "When you said murder, you used an inglorious word to 
describe the death of the honored Jochaim. How then will you deal with that dog 
Gosso?" 
Efraim held his face immobile against a surge of annoyance. He had used the word 
murder perhaps indiscreetly; but need Rianlle blurt out the details of what 
Efraim had considered a confidential conversation? He felt the sudden interest 
of both Singhalissa and Destian. 
"I have made no precise plans. I plan to end the war with Gorgetto on one basis 
or another; it is useless and it bleeds us white." 
"If I understand you correctly, you intend to prosecute only useful wars?" 
"If wars there must be, I intend to fight for only tangible and necessary goals. 
I do not regard war as entertainment and I shall not hesitate to use unusual 
tactics." 
Rianlle's smile was almost openly contemptuous. 
"Scharrode is a small realm. Realistically, you are at the mercy of your 
neighbors, no matter how peculiar your campaigns." 
"Your opinions of course carry great weight," said Efraim. 
Rianlle went on in a measured voice. "I recall some previous discussion of a 
trisme, that the fortunes of Scharrode and Eccord might be joined. The subject 
at this moment is perhaps premature in view of the chaotic circumstances here in 
Scharrode." 
From the corner of his eye Efraim noted a shifting of positions around the 
table, as tense muscles demanded relief. He met the dark gaze of Sthelany; her 
face seemed as pensive as ever, and - could it be true? - somehow wistful. 
Rianlle once more was speaking, and everyone about the table fixed their gaze 
upon that unnaturally handsome face. "Nevertheless, all will no doubt sort 
itself out. Accommodation between our two realms must be achieved. An imbalance 
now exists, and I refer to the unfulfilled contract in regard to Dwan Jar, the 
Whispering Ridge. If a trisme will facilitate the hoped-for equilibrium, then I 
must give the matter serious consideration." 
Efraim laughed and shook his head. "Trisme is a responsibility I do not care to 
assume at the moment, especially since Your Force displays such clear 
misgivings. Indeed, your perceptions are remarkable; you have correctly defined 
the situation here. Scharrode is a welter of mysteries which must be resolved 
before we can move onward." 
Rianlle rose to his feet, as did his retinue of eiodarks. "Scharrode hospitality 
is as always correct, and induces us to prolong our visit, but we must take our 
leave. I trust that Your Force will make a realistic assessment of past, 
present, and putative future and act to the best interests of us all." 
Efraim and Lorcas went out to the parapets of Deistary Tower and watched as 
Rianlle and his retinue climbed into the rented 1 aircar, which a moment later 
lifted high and flew north. 
Lorcas had retired to his refectory to take a furtive meal; then he planned to 
sleep. Efraim remained on the parapets looking off over the valley, which in the 
light of half-and presented so entrancing a vista that his heart missed a beat. 
From this land the substance of his body had been drawn; it was his own, to 
nurture and love and rule, for all foreseeable time; yet how useless! how 
forlorn! Scharrode was lost to him; he had broken the crust of tradition. Never 
again could he be a Rhune, nor could the damage be mended. He would never be a 
whole man in Scharrode, nor elsewhere; never would he be content. 
He studied the landscape with the intensity of a man about to go blind. Light 
slanting down across Alode the Cliff illuminated a hundred forests; the 
irradiated foliage seemed to glow with internal light: bitter lime, intense 
gray-blue given pointillist fire by scarlet seedpods, dark umber, black-blue, 
black-green. Surrounding stood the great peaks, each named and known in ancient 
fable: aloof Shanajra bearded with snow, who, resenting the mockery of the Bird 
Crags, turned his face to the south to stand forever brooding; the Two Hags Kamr 
and Dimw, rancorous above Danquil, enchanted and sleeping under a blanket of 
murre trees; there, Whispering Ridge, coveted by Rianlle, where the Fwai-chi 
walked to their sacred places among the Lenglin Mountains. His land forever, his 
land never; and what was he to do? In all the realm was but a single man he 
could trust, the Port Mar vagabond Matho Lorcas. Gosso might or might not 
interpret his offer as an admission of weakness. Rianlle's not too subtle 
threats might or might not be intended seriously. Singhalissa might yet intrigue 
with sufficient finesse to cause him woe. Efraim decided that he must, without 
further delay, call together the Scharde eiodarks, to assist him with his 
decisions. 
The landscape dimmed, as Osmo dropped behind Alode the Cliff. Furad hung low in 
the sky over Shanajra. 
A slow step sounded on the marble flags; turning, Efraim saw Sthelany. She 
hesitated, then came to join him. Together they leaned on the parapets. From the 
corner of his eye Efraim studied Sthelany's face. What transpired behind that 
clear pale brow; what prompted the half-wistful half-mocking twist of the lips? 
"Mirk is near," said Sthelany. She glanced toward Efraim. "Your Force no doubt 
has thoroughly reconnoitered the passages which lead here and there about the 
castle?" 
"Only in order to protect myself from the surveillance of your mother." 
Sthelany shook her head smilingly. "Is she really interested in your 
activities?" 
"Some female of the household has demonstrated that interest. Could it be you?" 
"I have never set foot in a mirk-way." 
Efraim took note of the equivocation. "To answer your question precisely, I have 
indeed explored the mirk-ways, and I am arranging that they be interrupted by 
heavy iron doors." 
"Then it would seem that Your Force does not intend to exercise the prerogatives 
of rank?" 
Efraim arched his eyebrows at the question. He responded in what he hoped to be 
dignified tones: "I certainly do not intend to violate the persons of anyone 
against their will. Additionally, as I'm sure you know, the passage to your 
chambers is blocked by masonry." 
"Indeed! Then I am reassured once and once again! It has been my habit during 
mirk to sleep behind triply locked doors, but Your Force's assurances make such 
precautions unnecessary." 
Efraim wondered: did she flaunt? Did she entice? Did she tease? He said: "I 
might change my mind. I have adopted certain off-planet attitudes and they 
prompt me to confess that I find you fascinating." 
"Psssh! These are matters we must not discuss." Sthelany, however, showed no 
sign of outrage. 
"And what of the three bolts?" 
Sthelany laughed. "I cannot imagine Your Force engaging in such an outrageous 
and undignified escapade; the bolts are evidently unnecessary." 
Even as they spoke Furad, slipping low to the horizon, dipped half-under, and 
the sky went dim. Sthelany, her mouth half-open in an expression of child-like 
wonder, exclaimed: "Is mirk upon us? I feel a strange emotion." 
Her emotion, thought Efraim, seemed real enough. Color had come to her cheeks, 
her bosom heaved, her eyes glowed with dark light. Furad sank even lower, all 
but leaving the smoky orange sky. Was mirk upon them indeed? Sthelany gasped and 
seemed to sway toward Efraim; he sensed her fragrance but almost as he reached 
to touch her hand, she pointed. "Furad floats once more; mirk is averted, and 
all things live!" 
With no more words Sthelany moved away across the terrace. She paused to touch a 
white flower growing in a pot, turned a fleeting glance back over her shoulder, 
and then she moved on. 
Efraim presently went into the castle and descended to his office. In the 
corridor he came upon Destian, apparently bound for the same destination. 
Destian however gave a frigid nod and turned aside. Efraim closed the door, 
telephoned the rental agency at Port Mar and ordered out an aircar, requesting a 
pilot other than the redoubtable Flaussig. He left the office, hesitated, turned 
back, locked the door and took away the key. 


1. The Rhune Realms are allowed no aircars because of their aggressive 
proclivities. When a Rhune wishes to make a journey he must call into Port Mar 
and hire a suitable vehicle for the occasion. 




Chapter 9


Efraim and Matho Lorcas climbed into the aircar and were earned high above the 
valley of the Esch River: up, up, until they hovered on a level with the 
surrounding peaks. Efraim called off their names: "Horsuke, Gleide Cliff, the 
Tassenberg; Alode the Cliff, Haujefolge, Scarlume and Devil Dragon, Bryn the 
Hero; Kamr, Dimw, and Danquil; Shanajra, the Bird Crags, Gossil the Traitor - 
notice the avalanches - Camanche, and there: Whispering Ridge. Driver: take us 
yonder to Whispering Ridge." 
The peaks shifted across other farther, peaks of other farther realms. Under the 
cloud-piercing claw of Camanche, Whispering Ridge came into full view - an 
upland meadow rather than a true ridge, to the south overlooking Scharrode and 
the valley of the Esch, to the north the multiple valleys of Eccord. The aircar 
landed; Efraim and Lorcas jumped out into ankle-deep grass. 
The air was calm. Trees grew in copses; Whispering Ridge was like an island in 
the sky, a place of total peace. Efraim held up his hand. "Listen!" 
From an indeterminate source came a low whisper, fluctuating musically, 
sometimes sighing into silence, sometimes almost singing. 
"Wind?" Lorcas looked at the trees. "The leaves are still. The air is still." 
"Strange in itself. Up here one would expect a wind." 
They moved across the sward. In the shade of the forest Efraim noticed a group 
of Fwai-chi watching them impassively. Lorcas and Efraim halted. "There they 
stand," said Lorcas, "walking their 'Path through Life,' all shags and tatters, 
typical pilgrims in any language." 
They continued across the meadow and looked over Eccord. Belrod Strang was lost 
among the folds of the forested hills. "The view is superb," said Lorcas. "Do 
you intend to deal generously with Rianlle?" 
"No. The fact remains that he could send a thousand men up tomorrow to clear the 
site, and another thousand to start building his pavilion, and I could do very 
little to stop him." 
"Peculiar," said Lorcas. "Peculiar indeed." 
"How so?" 
"This place is magnificent - superb, in fact. I'd like a pavilion here myself. 
But I have been studying the maps. The realms are thick with places like this. 
In Eccord alone there must be twenty sites as beautiful. Rianlle is capricious 
to insist on this particular spot." 
"Odd, I agree." 
They turned back across the meadow, to find four Fwai-chi awaiting them. 
As Efraim and Lorcas approached they drew a few steps back, hissing and rumbling 
among themselves. 
The two men halted. Efraim said: "You appear disturbed. We are bothering you?" 
One spoke in a guttural version of Gaean: "We walk the Life Road. It is a 
serious work. We do not wish to watch men. Why do you come here?" 
"For no particular purpose: to look about a bit." 
"I see you plan no harm. This is our place, reserved to us by a very old treaty 
with the kaiarks. Do you not know? I see you do not know." 
Efraim gave a bitter laugh. "I know nothing - of the treaty or anything else. A 
Fwai drug took my memory. Is there an antidote?" 
"There is no antidote. The poison breaks the roads to the memory tablets. These 
roads will never mend. Still, you must remind your Kaiark -" 
"I am the Kaiark." 
"Then you must know the treaty is real." 
"The treaty won't mean much if the land is transferred to Eccord." 
"That may not be done. We repeated to each other the word 'forever.'" 
"I would like to see this treaty myself," said Efraim. "I will carefully check 
my records." 
"The treaty is not among your records," said the Fwai-chi, and the group 
shuffled back to the forest. Efraim and Lorcas stood looking after them. 
"Now what did he mean by that?" demanded Efraim in wonder. 
"He seems to feel that you won't find the treaty." 
"We'll soon find out," said Efraim. 
They continued across the meadow toward the aircar. 
Lorcas paused and looked up toward Camanche. "I can explain the whisper. The 
wind pushes up over Camanche, and around. It splits and swirls and passes the 
meadow by. We hear innumerable small frictions: the sound of air against air." 
"You may be right. Still I prefer other explanations." 
"Such as?" 
"The footsteps of a million dead pilgrims; cloud fairies; Camanche reckoning up 
the seconds." 
"More convincing, I agree. Where to now?" 
"Your idea of twenty equivalent sites in Eccord is interesting. I would like to 
look upon these sites." 
They flew north, through the peaks, domes, and ridges of Eccord; and within an 
hour discovered a dozen high meadows with prospects at least as appealing as 
those of Whispering Ridge. "Rianlle is most arbitrary," said Lorcas. "The 
question is, why?" 
"I cannot even speculate." 
"Suppose he gains the meadow and proceeds with his plans. Then what of the 
Fwai-chi?" 
"I doubt if Rianlle would enjoy Fwai-chi pilgrims trooping through his pavilion, 
resting on his terraces. But how could he stop them? They are protected by the 
Connatic." 
The aircar spiraled down into Scharrode and landed at Benbuphar Strang. As the 
two. alighted, Efraim said: "Would you not like to return to Port Mar? I value 
your companionship, but there is nothing to amuse you here; I foresee only 
unpleasantness." 
"The temptation to leave is strong," Lorcas admitted. "The food here is 
abominable, and I don't like to eat in a closet. Singhalissa oppresses me with 
her cleverness. Destian is insufferable. As for Sthelany - ah, the magic 
Sthelany! I hope to persuade her to Port Mar for a visit. This may seem an 
impossible task but every journey begins with a single step." 
"So then, you plan to stay at Benbuphar Strang?" 
"With your permission, still a week or two." 
Efraim dismissed the aircar; the two returned to the castle. "You have exercised 
your charm upon her?" 
Lorcas nodded. "She is curiously ambiguous. To say that she blows first hot then 
cold is inaccurate; she blows first cold, then colder. But she could easily 
order me to keep my distance." 
"Has she mentioned the horrors of mirk?" 
"She assures me that she bolts her doors with three bars, clamps her windows, 
keeps vials of offensive odors at the ready, and generally is unavailable." 
They halted and looked up at the balcony behind which were Sthelany's rooms. 
"A pity the mirk-way is blocked," mused Lorcas. "When all else fails one can 
always pounce on a girl through the dark. Still she's hinted rather pointedly 
that I'm not to come around. In fact, after I tried to kiss her in the Garden of 
Bitter Odors she told me quite bluntly to keep my distance." 
"Why not try Singhalissa? Or has she also warned you off?" 
"What a thought! I suggest that we take a quiet bottle of wine together and 
search the archives for the Fwai-chi treaty." 


The Index to the Archives mentioned no treaty with the Fwai-chi. Efraim summoned 
Agnois, who denied all knowledge of the document. "Such an understanding, Your 
Force, would hardly be expressed as a formal treaty in any case." 
"Perhaps not. Why does Rianlle want Whispering Ridge?" 
Agnois raised his eyes to a point above Efraim's head. "I sippose that he 
intends to build there a summer pavilion, Force." 
"Surely Rianlle treated with the Kaiark Jochaim on this matter?" 
"I cannot say, Your Force." 
"Who maintains the archives?" 
"The Kaiark himself, with such help as he requires." 
At Efraim's nod, Agnois departed. 
"So now, no treaty," said Efraim glumly. "Nothing whatever to show Rianlle!" 
"The Fwai-chi declared as much." 
"How could they know? Our archives are nothing to them!" 
"The treaty probably was an oral understanding; they knew that no document 
existed." 
In frustration Efraim jumped to his feet. "I must take counsel; the situation 
has become intolerable." Once again he summoned Agnois. 
"Your Force requires?" 
"Send messages to the eiodarks; I wish them to meet me here in twenty hours. The 
occasion is urgent; I will expect everyone." 
"That hour, Your Force, will fall in the middle period of mirk." 
"Oh . . . in thirty hours, then. One other matter - do not inform Singhalissa of 
this meeting, nor Destian, nor Sthelany, nor anyone who might transfer this 
news; further, do not give instructions within the hearing of these people, and 
do not make note of the occasion upon paper. Am I sufficiently explicit?" 
"Perfectly so, Your Force." 
Agnois departed the room. 
"If he fails me this time," said Efraim, "he'll not find me lenient." He went to 
the window and presently observed the departure of six under-chamberlains. 
"There they go with the message. The news will reach Singhalissa as soon as they 
return, but there is little she can do." 
Lorcas said: "She's probably resigned herself to the inevitable by now. And 
yonder on the terrace, is that not Sthelany? With your permission, I will go out 
and enliven her life." 
"As you like. But one word, while the thought is on my mind. That word is 
'caution.' Mirk approaches. Unpleasant events occur. Lock yourself in your 
chambers, go to sleep, and don't stir till the light returns." 
"Reasonable enough," said Lorcas slowly. "I wouldn't care to meet any gharks 
nor, for that matter, any hoos." 




Chapter 10


After six hours of aud, Furad and Osmo left the sky. Cirse and Maddar, instead 
of slanting toward the horizon, settled vertically with ponderous purpose. 
Maddar disappeared first, to leave the land momentarily in green rowan, then 
Cirse sank behind Whispering Ridge. The sky flared and dimmed; darkness fell. 
Mirk had come to Scharrode. 
In the farmsteads lights flared and flickered, then were extinguished; in the 
town shutters clanged, doors slammed, bolts thudded home. Those secure or 
fearful or uninterested in adventure took themselves to bed. 
Others by candlelight denuded themselves, then donned black shoulder pieces, 
black boots, and hideous man-masks. Others removed gray gauze gowns, to don 
loose smocks of white muslin; then they loosened the shutters of their windows 
or the bolts of their doors, but never both; then, with a small taper in one 
corner of the room casting almost no fight at all, they lay themselves on their 
couches in a tremulous mixture of hope and fear, or a peculiar emotion in which 
perhaps one component was muted horror. Some who had bolted both shutters and 
door, to huddle on their couches in a ferment of aching melancholy, presently 
arose to unbolt door or shutter. 
Through the mirk moved the grotesque shapes, taking no heed of each other. When 
one found the window of his choice unshuttered, he hung a white flower on the 
hasp, that no one else should enter; then climbing through the window he 
displayed himself to the silent occupant of the room - an avatar of the demon 
Kro. 
At Benbuphar Strang, lights were extinguished, doors bolted, windows shuttered 
and barred as everywhere else. In the servants quarters, some made preparations; 
others composed themselves to uneasy slumber. In the towers, other folk 
performed their own arrangements. Efraim, armed with his small pistol, bolted 
shutters, barred and bolted doors, searched his quarters. He checked the 
security of the door blocking ingress from the Sacarlatto and also that passage 
to the second level of Jaher Tower. 
He then returned to the parlor where he threw himself into a great scarlet 
leather chair, poured himself a goblet of wine, and sat in gloomy meditation. 
He reviewed his time on Marune and tried to assess his progress. His memory was 
still gone, his enemy as yet unknown. Time passed. Faces floated before his. 
eyes. One face returned and would not depart - a pale fragile face with lustrous 
eyes. She had as much as assured him that her door would not be bolted. He 
jumped to his feet and paced back and forth. A hundred yards away she waited. 
Efraim stopped short and considered. No harm could come by making a trial. He 
need only climb to the second level of Jaher Tower, inspect the corridor; then, 
if all were clear, stride fifty feet to her door. Should the door be locked, he 
could return the way he had come. Should the door be open, Sthelany expected 
him. 
The mask? The boots? No, they were foreign to him; he would enter Sthelany's 
chamber as himself. 
He climbed the steps of the shortcut and came to the exit panel. He slid aside 
the peephole, searched the corridor. Empty. 
He opened the door and listened. Silence. A faint sound? He listened with even 
greater intensity. The sound might have been the blood rushing through his 
heart. 
With stealth and care he opened the door a foot, two feet. He slipped out into 
the hall, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable. No one in sight; no sound. 
With racing pulse he ran to Sthelany's door. He listened. No sound. He inspected 
the door: six panels of heavy carved oak; three iron hinges, a heavy iron latch. 

So now. He reached for the latch . . . 
A sound within, a scraping as of metal. Efraim backed away and stood looking at 
the door. It seemed to look back at him. 
Efraim moved further from the door, confused, uncertain. He retreated to the 
passage, closed and bolted the door, returned to his chambers. 
He sank into the red leather chair and thought for five minutes. Once again he 
rose to his feet and, unbarring the main portal, went out into the foyer. In a 
storage closet he found a length of rope which he took back to his chamber, and 
again locked the door. 
He brought out the chart of the mirk-ways and studied it for a few minutes. He 
then went up to the Sacarlatto, and so made his way to the unoccupied chamber 
directly above that of Sthelany. 
He went out onto the balcony, made the rope fast, and tied a series of knots 
along its length, to serve as handholds and footrests. Cautiously he lowered the 
rope so that it hung down to Sthelany's balcony. 
He descended with great care, and presently stood on the balcony. Shutters 
covered the glass, but a glow of light issued through a crack. Efraim pressed 
his eye close and peered into the room. 
Sthelany sat beside a table in her usual garments. By the light of a candle she 
played with a toy puzzle. Beside the door stood two men in black pantaloons and 
man-masks. One carried a mace, the other a dagger. Behind the door, over the 
back of a chair, hung a large black sack. The man with the mace pressed his ear 
to the door. By his posture, by the stoop of his shoulders and long powerful 
arms, Efraim recognized Agnois, the First Chamberlain. The man with the dagger 
was Destian. Sthelany glanced at them, gave a slight shrug, and returned to her 
puzzle. 
Efraim felt dizzy. He leaned on the balcony and looked off into the darkness. 
His stomach convulsed; he barely prevented himself from vomiting. 
He did not look again into the room. With flaccid muscles he pulled himself back 
to the upper balcony. He hauled up the rope, coiled it, and returned to his 
chambers. Here he made everything secure, and placing his pistol on the table 
before him, poured out a goblet of wine and settled into the red leather chair. 




Chapter 11


Osmo rose in the east, followed by Cirse from the south and Maddar from the 
southwest to dispel the dark with the gay light of isp. 
Matho Lorcas was missing from his chambers; nor was he to be found anywhere 
within Benbuphar Strang. 
The mood in the castle was taut and sullen. Agnois brought word to Efraim that 
Singhalissa wished an audience with him. 
"She must wait until after I confer with the eiodarks," said Efraim. He could 
not bring himself to look at Agnois. 
"I will so inform her, Your Force." Agnois' voice was gentle. "I must call to 
your attention a message from Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord to the members of the 
kaiarkal household. He invites you most urgently to a f�te at Belrod Strang, 
during and tomorrow." 
"I will visit Belrod Strang with pleasure." 
Hours of time moved past; Efraim went out into the meadow beside the castle, 
then wandered down beside the river. For half an hour he stood tossing stones 
into the water, then turned and looked back toward Benbuphar Strang - a 
silhouette of sinister significance. 
Where was Matho Lorcas? 
Efraim sauntered back to the castle. He climbed the flight of steps to the 
terrace and halted, reluctant to enter the oppressive dimness. 
He forced himself to proceed. Sthelany, leaving the library, paused, as if 
wishing words with him. Efraim walked past without so much as a side-glance; in 
truth he dared not look at her, lest she read in his eyes the intensity of his 
emotion. 
Sthelany stood looking after him, a forlorn and thoughtful figure. 
At the time appointed, Efraim came forth from his chambers to greet the fourteen 
eiodarks of Scharrode, all wearing ceremonial black gowns and white vests. Their 
faces wore almost identical expressions of skepticism, even hostility. 
Efraim ushered them into the Grand Parlor, where footmen and under-chamberlains 
had arranged a circular table. At the tail of the procession came Destian, 
dressed like the others. Efraim spoke crisply: "I do not recall summoning you to 
this meeting, Squire Destian; and in any event your presence will not be 
required." 
Destian paused, glanced around the eiodarks. "What is the will of this company?" 

Efraim signaled a footman: "Expel Squire Destian instantly from the chamber, by 
whatever means you find necessary." 
Destian managed a mocking grin, turned on his heel and departed. Efraim closed 
the door and joined his company. "This is an informal meeting. Feel at liberty 
to express yourselves openly and candidly. I will respect you the more for it." 
"Very good," responded one of the older eiodarks, a man solid and sturdy, brown 
as weathered wood. The man was Baron Haulk, as Efraim would presently learn. "I 
will take you at your word. Why have you expelled the Kang Destian from a 
colloquy of his peers?" 
"There are several excellent reasons for my action, and you will learn some, if 
not all, of them presently. I will remind you that by protocols of rank, his 
title is only as good as that of his mother. As soon as I became Kaiark, she 
resumed her former status as the Wirwove of Urrue and Destian lapsed to Squire. 
A technicality perhaps, but by just such technicalities am I Kaiark and you 
Eiodark." 
Efraim went to his place at the table. "Please be seated. I am sorry to have 
delayed so long with this meeting. Perhaps this apparent slight explains your 
lack of cordiality; am I correct?" 
"Not entirely," said Baron Haulk in a dry voice. 
"You have other grievances?" 
"You have asked us to speak. candidly. Historically those foolish enough to 
accept such invitations usually suffer for their boldness. Nevertheless, I will 
take the risk upon myself. 
"Our grievances are these. First, the indifference which you show the glorious 
tradition of your station, and I refer to the frivolous manner in which you 
return to claim your place only a few days before the deadline." 
"I will consider this Item One," said Efraim. "Proceed." 
"Item Two. Since your return you have neglected to consult the eiodarks in 
regard to the urgent matters which confront the realm; instead you hobnob with a 
person of Port Mar, whose reputation, so I have upon good authority, does him no 
credit." 
"Item Three: In a most callow manner you have insulted and inconvenienced the 
Kraike Singhalissa, the Lissolet Sthelany, and the Kang Destian, depriving them 
of status and perquisites. 
"Item four. You have wilfully antagonized our ally Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord, 
while ignoring the bandit Gosso, who slew Kaiark Jochaim. 
"Item Five. As I recite these grievances, you listen with a face of bored 
amusement and obduracy." 
Efraim could not restrain a chuckle. "I thank you for your frankness. I shall 
respond in the same spirit. The amused boredom and obduracy of 'Item Five' are 
far from my true emotions, I assure you. Before I reveal certain strange 
circumstances to you, may I ask whence came your information?" 
"The Kang Destian has been good enough to keep us informed." 
"I thought as much. Now, draw up your chairs and listen closely, and you will 
learn what has befallen me during these last months . . ." 
Efraim spoke for an hour, withholding mention only of the events during mirk. 
"To summarize, I returned to Scharrode as soon as possible, but I delayed 
meeting the eiodarks because I wished to conceal my disability until I had in 
same measure repaired it. I proposed a truce to Gosso because war with Gorgetto 
is weary, hateful, and unproductive. Neither Gosso nor his Forgets killed the 
Kaiark Jochaim; he was murdered by a Scharde traitor." 
"Murder!" The word seemed to echo from wall to wall. 
"As to Rianlle and his demands for Whispering Ridge, I acted as any responsible 
Scharde Kaiark must act: I temporized until I could search the archives and 
discover what, if any, had been his understanding with the Kaiark Jochaim. I 
found no such record. In company with Matho Lorcas, I inspected Whispering 
Ridge. Certainly a beautiful site for a summer pavilion, but no more so than a 
dozen similar sites within Eccord itself. I called you here to make an 
exposition of the facts, and to request your best advice." 
Baron Faroz said: "The question immediately arises: why does Rianlle want 
Whispering Ridge?" 
"The single distinguishing feature to Whispering Ridge, aside from the whisper 
itself, seems to be the Fwai-chi regard for the place. Whispering Ridge is their 
sanctuary, a station along their Path of Life. The Fwai-chi claim an accord with 
the Kaiarks of Scharrode in regard to Whispering Ridge, though I can find no 
mention of this accord in the archives. So then, gentlemen, what answer shall I 
take the Kaiark Rianlle when I visit Belrod Strang?" 
Baron Haulk said: "I doubt if we need to vote. We refuse to cede Whispering 
Ridge. However, put this refusal in delicate language, in order that he may save 
face. It is not necessary to fling the refusal in his teeth." 
Baron Alifer said: "We might declare that Whispering Ridge is prone to quakes 
and we will not permit our friend thus to risk himself." 
Baron Barwatz suggested: "The pact with the Fwai-chi must carry weight. We can 
show reluctance on this basis." 
"I will carefully consider all your suggestions," said Efraim. "In the meantime, 
I must trust no one now at Benbuphar Strang. I want a complete change of staff, 
with the exception of Agnois. He must not be allowed to leave. Who will see to 
this?" 
Baron Denzil said: "I will do so, Your Force." 
"A second matter. My friend and confidant Matho Lorcas disappeared during mirk." 

"Many persons disappear during mirk, Your Force." 
"This is a special case, which I must investigate. Baron Erthe, will you be good 
enough to initiate a search?" 
"I will do so, Your Force." 


The aircar conveyed Efraim, Singhalissa, Sthelany, and Destian high over the 
mountains. Conversation was limited to formal exchanges. Efraim for the most 
part sat silently looking across the landscape. From time to time he felt 
Sthelany's covert gaze, and once she essayed a wan secret smile, which Efraim 
looked blankly past. Sthelany's charm had completely evaporated; he could hardly 
bear her proximity. Singhalissa and Destian discussed their cogences, a common 
topic during Rhune conversations. Singhalissa, among her other competences, 
carved cameos upon carnelians, moonstones, chalcedony, and chrysoprase; Destian 
collected precious minerals, and these particular cogences complemented each 
other. 
The aircar passed above Whispering Ridge. Destian explained the geology of the 
region: "Essentially a great hummock of diabase broken by pegmatite dikes. A few 
garnets can be found in the outcrops and occasionally a tourmaline of no great 
value. The Fwai-chi chip them out and keep them for souvenirs, so I'm told." 
"The Dwan Jar, then, lacks mineral wealth?" 
"For all practical purposes." 
Singhalissa turned to Efraim: "What are your thoughts regarding this bit of 
hillside?" 
"It is a delightful site for a pavilion. The fabled whisper is discernible as a 
pleasant half-heard sound." 
"It would seem then that you have decided to implement the agreement between the 
Kaiarks Jochaim and Rianlle." Singhalissa spoke half-musingly, with the air of 
one reckoning imponderables. 
"You state the matter too conclusively," said Efraim in a guarded voice. 
"Nothing is yet determined. I must verify the terms and in fact the very 
existence of this agreement."' 
Singhalissa raised her fine black eyebrows. "Surely you do not question 
Rianlle's word?" 
"Decidedly not," said Efraim. "Still, he may have mistaken the force of the 
agreement. Remember, an ancient treaty with the Fwai-chi controls the region and 
may not honorably be ignored." 
Singhalissa smiled her wintry smile. "Kaiark Rianlle might well concede the 
authority of this early treaty, if in fact it exists." 
"We shall see. The subject probably will not arise; we have been invited to a 
f�te, not a set of negotiations." 
"We shall see." 
The aircar dropped on a long slant toward Elde, Eccord's principal village. 
Nearby, four rivers had been diverted to create a circular waterway. At the 
middle of the central island stood Belrod Strang: a palace built of pale gray 
stone and white enameled timber, with pink, black, and silver banderoles flying 
from eighteen minarets. By comparison Benbuphar Strang seemed dingy and grim. 
The aircar landed before the main gates; the four alighted to be met by six 
youthful heralds carrying gonfalons and twenty musicians pumping forth a frantic 
fanfare on their bruehorns. 
The new arrivals were conducted to private chambers, in order that they might 
refresh themselves. The chambers were luxurious past the scope of Efraim's 
experience. He bathed in a pool of scented water, then resumed his old garments 
rather than put on the flaring black gown lined with flame-colored silk which 
had been laid out for his use. An inconspicuous door led to a water closet and a 
refectory, where dishes of coarse bread, cheese, cold meat, and sour beer were 
laid out. 
Kaiark Rianlle welcomed the four in his Grand Reception Hall. On hand also were 
the Kraike Dervas, a tall somber woman who spoke little, and the Lissolet 
Maerio, reportedly Dervas' daughter by Rianlle. The relationship could easily be 
credited; Maerio displayed Rianlle's topaz hair and clearly modeled features. 
She was a person of no great stature, slight and supple, and carried herself 
with barely restrained animation, like an active child on its best behavior. Her 
amber ringlets and clear tawny skin invested her with luminosity. From time to 
time Efraim noticed her watching him with mournful solemnity. 
Belrod Strang far exceeded Benbuphar Strang in splendor, though it fell short in 
that quality expressed by the Rhune term which might be translated as tragic 
grandeur. Kaiark Rianlle conducted himself with great affability, showing 
Singhalissa a conspicuous consideration which Efraim thought somewhat tactless. 
The Kraike Dervas behaved with formal courtesy, speaking without expression, as 
if reciting phrases which had become automatic to persons among whom she could 
not differentiate. The Lissolet Maerio by contrast seemed self-conscious and 
somewhat awkward. Surreptitiously she studied Efraim; from time to time their 
eyes met and Efraim wondered how he could ever have been attracted to Sthelany, 
who during mirk had worked her toy puzzle. A young black wasp was Sthelany, in 
company with the old black wasp who was Singhalissa. 
Rianlle presently took his guests into the Scarlet Rotunda; a twenty-sided 
chamber with a scarlet carpet under a multicrystalline dome, fashioned like a 
glittering twenty-sided snowflake. A chandelier of a hundred thousand scintillas 
hung over a table of pink marble, the centerpiece of which was a representation 
of Kaiark Rianlle's projected pavilion on Whispering Ridge. Rianlle indicated 
the model with a gesture and a quiet smile, then disposed his guests about the 
table. Into the chamber came a tall man in a gray robe embroidered with black 
and red cusps; he pushed before him a two-wheeled cart which he stationed near 
Rianlle, then folded back the top to reveal trays and racks containing hundreds 
of vials. Maerio, sitting next to Efraim, told him: "This is Berhalten, the 
Master Contriver; do you know of him?" 
"No." 
Maerio looked right and left, lowered her voice so that Efraim alone could hear. 
"They say you have lost your memory; is this true?" 
"Unfortunately yes." 
"And that is why you disappeared from Port Mar?" 
"I suppose so. I'm not certain of all the facts." 
Maerio spoke in a voice almost inaudible. "It is my fault." 
Efraim was immediately interested. "How so?" 
"Do you remember that we were all at Port Mar together?" 
"I know this to be the case, but I don't remember." 
"We spoke with an off-worlder named Lorcas. I did something he suggested. You 
were so stunned and shamed that your reason left you." 
Efraim made a skeptical sound. "What did you do?" 
"I could never tell you. I was giddy and wild; I acted on impulse." 
"Did I lose my reason immediately?" 
"Not immediately." 
"I probably wasn't overwhelmed with horror. I doubt if you could shame me no 
matter how hard you tried." Efraim spoke with more fervor than he had intended. 
Maerio looked a bit confused. 
"You must not talk like that." 
"Do you find me so offensive?" 
She turned him a quick side-look. "You know better than that! No. Of course not. 
You've forgotten all about me." 
"As soon as I saw you I began to learn all over again." 
Maerio whispered: "I'm afraid that you'll go mad again." 
"I never went mad to begin with." 
The Kaiark Rianlle spoke across the table. "I notice your admiration of the 
pavilion I hope to build on Whispering Ridge." 
"I find the design most attractive," said Efraim. "It is interesting and well 
thought out, and could easily be adapted to an alternate site." 
"I trust there will be no need for that?" 
"I have conferred with my eiodarks. Like myself they are reluctant to cede 
Scharrode territory. There are also practical difficulties in the way." 
"All very well to talk of practicality," said Rianlle, still heavily jovial. 
"The fact remains that I have set my heart upon Whispering Ridge." 
"The decision really lies beyond my discretion," said Efraim. "No matter how 
much I might wish to oblige you I am bound by our covenant with the Fwai-chi." 
"I would like to see a copy of this covenant. Perhaps it was established for 
some fixed duration of time." 
"I am not sure that a written version exists." 
Rianlle leaned back in his chair in disbelief. "Then how can you so staunchly 
affirm its reality? Where have you learned its provisions? Through your own 
recollection?" 
"The Fwai-chi have described the covenant; they are quite definite." 
"The Fwai-chi are notoriously vague. On so tenuous a basis would you thwart the 
understanding between myself and the Kaiark Jochaim?" 
"I would not wish to do so under any circumstances. Perhaps you will supply me 
with a copy of this agreement that I may show my eiodarks." 
Rianlle stared at him coldly. "I would find undignified the necessity to 
document my clear recollections." 
"Your recollections are not in question," Efraim assured him. "I only wonder how 
the Kaiark Jochaim could bring himself to ignore the Fwai-chi covenant. I must 
search my archives with great diligence." 
"You are unwilling to cede Whispering Ridge on a basis of trust and 
cooperation?" 
"I certainly cannot make important decisions precipitously." 
Rianlle clamped shut his mouth and swung around in his chair. "I commend to your 
attention the artistry of Berhalten, who has a novel concept to introduce." 
Berhalten, having completed his preparations, struck a rod with his knee, to 
sound a reverberant gong. From the passage seven pages in scarlet and white 
livery ran forth. Each earned on a silver tray a small ewer. Into each of these 
ewers BerhaIten placed a cylinder of a solid substance, layered in eight colors, 
whereupon the gages took up tray and ewer and set it before each person at the 
table. Berhalten then inclined his head to Rianlle, closed up his cart, and 
stood waiting. 
Rianlle said, "Berhalten has discovered an amusing new principle. Notice the 
golden button on top of the ewer. Press this button; it releases an agent to 
activate the odorifer. You will be charmed . . ." 


Rianlle conducted the group to a balcony overlooking a large circular stage, 
constricted to represent a Rhune landscape. To right and left waterfalls 
cascaded from stone crags, forming streams which flowed into a central pool. A 
chime sounded, to initiate a wild clamor of gongs and florid bruehorns, 
controlled by a staccato brazen tone which varied in only three degrees. 1 From 
opposite directions advanced two bands of warriors in fanciful armor, grotesque 
metal masks, and helmets crested with spikes and barbs. They advanced with 
stylistic kicks and curious bent-legged strides, then attacked and fought in 
ritual attitudes to the wailing clatter of martial instruments. Rianlle and 
Singhalissa, at one side, spoke together briefly. Efraim sat at the far end with 
Sthelany beside him. Destian conversed with Maerio, his exact profile tilted to 
advantage. The Kraike Dervas sat staring at the ballet with eyes that seemed not 
to follow the movement. Sthelany turned a glance toward Efraim which in those 
uncertain days before mirk might have caused him inner palpitations. She spoke 
in a soft voice: "Do you enjoy this dance?" 
"The performers are very skillful. I am not a good judge of such things." 
"Why are you so distant? You have hardly spoken for days." 
"You must forgive me; I find the effort of ruling Scharrode no easy matter." 
"When you traveled off-planet, you must have known many interesting events." 
"True." 
"Are the folk of the outer worlds as gluttonous and sebal as we tend to 
believe?" 
"Their habits certainty are different from those of the Realms." 
"And how did you regard these folk? Were you appalled?" 
"I was in no condition to worry about anything but my own troubles." 
"Ah! Cannot you answer me without evasion?" 
"In all honesty, I fear that my casual remarks, should they be reported to your 
mother, might well be distorted and used to discredit me." 
Sthelany sat back. For several moments she watched the ballet, which now had 
reached a climax with the entry of the two legendary champions Hys and 
Zan-Immariot. 
Sthelany again turned to Efraim. "You misjudge me. I do not tell everything to 
Singhalissa. Do you think that I do not feel stifled at Benbuphar Strang? I 
yearn for new experience! Perhaps you will think ill of me for my candor, but 
sometimes I constrain myself to prevent outbursts of emotion. Singhalissa 
glorifies rigid convention; I often feel that convention must apply to others 
but not me. Why should folk not decorously sip wine together as they do in Port 
Mar? You need not look at me with such wonder; I will show you that I too can 
transcend convention!" 
"Such occasions might well relieve the tedium. However, Singhalissa would surely 
disapprove." 
Sthelany smiled. "Need Singhalissa know everything?" 
"Very definitely not. Still she is an expert both at conducting intrigues and at 
sniffing them out." 
"We shall see." Sthelany gave a breathless little laugh and sat back in her 
chair. On the stage Hys and Zan-Immariot had fought to mutual exhaustion. The 
lights dimmed; the instrumental tones descended in pitch and tempo, then became 
silent, save for a thrilling resonance of softly rubbed gongs. "Mirk!" whispered 
Sthelany. 
Out upon the stage bounded three figures in costumes of black horn and lacquered 
beetle-back, wearing demon-masks. 
Sthelany leaned closer to Efraim. "The three avatars of Kro: Maiesse, Goun, and 
Sciaffrod. Notice how the champions strive! Ah! they are slain. The demons dance 
in triumph!" Sthelany turned toward Efraim; her shoulder touched his. "How it 
must be on the one-sun worlds where day and mirk alternate!" 
Efraim glanced sidewise. Sthelany's face was close; her eyes shone in the stage 
glow. Efraim said: "Your mother looks this way. Peculiar! She seems neither 
surprised nor annoyed that we talk in an intimate manner." 
Sthelany stiffened and leaning forward watched the demons stamping the corpses 
of the dead heroes into the dust, throwing their heads low, tossing. them high, 
plunging arms low, thrusting them high. 


Later, as the four guests took their leave, Efraim had a moment to pay his 
respects to Maerio. She said, somewhat wistfully, "I did not appreciate that you 
had become friendly with Sthelany. She is most fascinating." 
Efraim managed a painful grin, "Appearances can be deceiving. Can you, will you, 
be discreet?" 
"Of course." 
"I believe that Singhalissa instructed Sthelany to pretend intimacy, to beguile 
me into a foolish act whereby she might discredit me with the Scharde eiodarks. 
In fact - " 
Maerio asked breathlessly, "In fact, what?" 
Efraim found that he could not express himself both with precision and delicacy, 
"I will tell you some other time. But it is you, not Sthelany, whom I find 
fascinating." 
Maerio's eyes suddenly glistened. "Good-by, Efraim." 
As Efraim turned away he surprised Sthelany's gaze upon him, and it seemed that 
he saw there a hurt, wild, desperate expression. This was the same face, Efraim 
reminded himself, that had indifferently considered the workings of a toy puzzle 
while two men with mace, dagger, and sack waited by the door. 
Efraim went to make his formal farewell to the Kaiark Rianlle. "Your hospitality 
is on a most magnificent scale. We could not think to duplicate it at Benbuphar 
Strang. Still, I am hoping that before long you will return our visit, in 
company with the Kraike and the Lissolet." 
Rianlle's face showed no geniality. He said: "I accept the invitation, for 
myself and for the Kraike and Lissolet as well. Will you think me presumptuous 
if I set the occasion for three days hence? You will have had opportunity to 
search for the legendary covenant, and also to consult your eiodarks and to 
convince them that the accord between Kaiark Jochaim and myself must without 
fail be implemented." 
Words pressed against Efraim's lips; he contained them with an effort. 
"I will consult my eiodarks," he said at last. "We will reach a decision which 
may or may not please you, but which will be based upon how we regard our duty. 
In any event we shall look forward to entertaining you at Benbuphar Strang at 
the time you suggest." 


1. The Rhunes produce no true music and are incapable of thinking in musical 
terms. Their fanfares and clamors are controlled by mathematical progressions, 
and must achieve a mathematical symmetry. The exercise is intellectual rather 
than emotional. 




Chapter 12


On their return to Benbuphar Strang the portals were thrown wide by footmen 
strange to Efraim. 
Singhalissa stopped short. "Who are these people? Where is our old staff?" 
"I have replaced them," said Efraim. "All except Agnois, whom you will still 
find in office." 
Singhalissa turned him a curious glance. "Must all our arrangements be 
disrupted? Why have you done this?" 
Efraim spoke in his most formal voice. "I wish to live among people who have no 
prior loyalties and on whom I can place reliance. I took steps to achieve this 
by the only possible means: a complete change." 
"My life daily grows more hectic," cried Singhalissa. "I wonder where this 
turmoil will end! Do you also plan to take us to war for a miserable fragment of 
hillside?" 
"I would like to know why Rianlle is so exercised over this 'miserable fragment 
of hillside.' Do you know?" 
"I am not in the Kaiark Rianlle's confidence." 
A footman approached. "Your Force, the Baron Erthe is at hand." 
"Please introduce him." 
The Baron Erthe came forward. He looked from Efraim to Singhalissa and back to 
Efraim. "Your Force, I have a report to render." 
"Speak." 
"In a rubbish heap near Howar Forest we discovered a corpse in a black sack. It 
has been identified as the remains of Matho Lorcas." 
Efraim's stomach quivered. He looked at Singhalissa, who showed no emotion. But 
for a soft metallic scrape behind the door he would have been the corpse in the 
black sack, rather than Matho Lorcas. 
"Bring the corpse to the terrace." 
"Very well, Your Force." 
Singhalissa said softly, "Why do you do that?" 
"Can't you guess?" 
Singhalissa turned slowly away. Efraim summoned Agnois. "Place a trestle or a 
bench on the terrace." 
Agnois allowed an expression of puzzlement to cross his features. "At once, Your 
Force." 
Four men carried a coffin across the terrace, and set it down upon the trestle. 
Efraim took a breath and lifted the lid. For a moment he looked down into the 
dead face, then he turned to Agnois. "Bring the mace." 
"Yes Force." Agnois started away, then halted and stared back aghast. "Which 
mace, Force? There are a dozen on the wall of the trophy room." 
"The mace with which the Noble Lorcas was murdered." 
Agnois turned and walked slowly into the castle. Efraim, gritting his teeth, 
examined the corpse. The head was crushed, and a wound in the back gave evidence 
of a dagger thrust. 
"Close the lid," said Efraim. "There is no more to be learned. Where is Agnois? 
He loiters, he tarries!" He signaled a footman. "Find Agnois, ask him to make 
haste." 
The footman presently returned on the run. "Agnois is dead, Force. He has taken 
poison." 
Efraim clapped him on the back. "Return inside; make inquiries! Discover the 
circumstances!" 
He turned sadly back to Baron Erthe. "One of the murderers has escaped me. Be so 
good as to bury this poor corpse." 
In due course the footman reported his findings. Agnois, upon entering the 
castle, apparently had gone directly to his quarters and there swallowed a fatal 
draught. 


Efraim bathed himself with unwonted zeal. He took a dismal meal in his 
refectory, then lay down on his couch. For six hours he dozed, tossed, twisted, 
dreamed evil dreams, then slept soundly from sheer exhaustion. 
Efraim had not yet dismissed the aircar which had transported him to Belrod 
Strang. He now ordered the pilot to convey him to Whispering Ridge. 
The aircar rose into the light of the colored suns and flew north around the 
flank of Camanche, then drifted down to settle on the grass. Efraim alighted, 
and walked out across the meadow. The serenity was that of lost Arcadia; except 
for the crag to the east, the view was of clouds and air; isolation from the 
anxieties, plots, and tragedies of Benbuphar Strang was complete. 
At the center of the meadow he paused. The whisper was not perceptible. A moment 
passed. He heard a sigh, a mingling of a million soft tones, each no louder than 
a breath. The sigh became a murmur, faded tremulously, rose again, then dwindled 
toward silence - a sound of elemental melancholy . . . Efraim heaved a deep sigh 
of his own and turned toward the forest, to find, as before, a group of Fwai-chi 
watching from the shade. They shambled forward; he advanced to meet them. 
"Before mirk I came here," said Efraim. "Perhaps I spoke to one of you?" 
"We were all here." 
"I am faced with problems, and they are your problems as well. The Kaiark of 
Eccord wants Whispering Ridge. He wants to build a pavilion here for his 
pleasure." 
"That is not our problem. It is yours. The men of Scharrode have promised to 
defend our holy place forever." 
"So you say. Do you possess a document attesting to this agreement?" 
"We have no document. The promise was exchanged with the kaiarks of old and 
transferred to each successive kaiark." 
"Kaiark Jochaim may so have informed me, but your drugs took my memory, and now 
I can assert nothing of my own knowledge." 
"Still, you must enforce the covenant." The Fwai-chi returned into the forest. 
Efraim despondently returned to Benbuphar Strang. He called a meeting of the 
eiodarks and reported Rianlle's demands. Certain of the eiodarks cried out for 
mobilization; others sat glum and silent. 
"Rianlle is unpredictable," declared Efraim. "At least this is my opinion. Our 
preparation for war might dissuade him. On the other hand, he would not care to 
retreat before our defiance, when our resources are inferior to his. Perhaps he 
will send his troops to occupy the Dwan Jar and then ignore our protests." 
"We should occupy the Dwan Jar first, and fortify it!" cried Baron Hectre. "Then 
we might ignore the protests of Rianlle!" 
Baron Haulk said: "The concept is attractive, but the terrain hinders us. He can 
bring his troops around Camanche and up Duwail Slope; we can supply our forces 
only by the trail across the front of Lor Cliff, and Rianlle alone on the brink 
could interdict us. We would more profitably fortify Bazon Scape and the pass at 
the head of the Gryphon's Claw, but there we invade Eccord soil and prompt sure 
retaliation." 
"Let us look at the physiograph," said Efraim. 
The group filed into the octagonal Hall of Strategies. For an hour they studied 
the thirty-foot-long scale model of Scharrode end the adjoining lands, but only 
verified what they already knew: if Rianlle sent troops to occupy the Dwan Jar, 
then these troops would be vulnerable to attack along their supply routes and 
might well be marooned. "Rianlle may not be able to exercise his strength as 
effectively as he hopes," mused Baron Erthe. "We may force him into a 
stalemate." 
"You are optimistic," said Baron Dasheil. "He can marshal three thousand sails. 
If he brings them here" - he pointed to a scarp overlooking the valley "he can 
drop them down into Scharrode while our troops are occupied along Bazon Scape. 
We can either harass his position on the Dwan Jar, or we can guard the vale 
against his sails. I cannot define a system whereby we can do both." 
Efraim asked; "How many sails can we ourselves muster?" 
"We have fourteen hundred eagles and as many winglets." 
"Perhaps we could send twenty-eight hundred sails against Belrod Strang." 
"Suicide. The glide is too long; the air sweeps down the Groaning Crags." 
The group returned to their places around the red syenite table. 
Efraim said: "As I understand it, no one feels that we can effectively resist 
Eccord, if Rianlle decides to wage war in earnest. Am I right?" 
No one contradicted him. 
Efraim went on. "One point we have not discussed is why Rianlle is so anxious to 
obtain Dwan Jar. I cannot credit the pavilion theory. I have just returned from 
Whispering Ridge. The beauty and isolation are too poignant to be borne; I could 
think only of human transience and the vanity of hope. Rianlle is proud and 
stubborn, but is he insensitive? I find his plans for a pavilion farfetched." 
"Agreed, Rianlle is proud and stubborn," said Baron Szantho, "but this fails to 
explain his initial commitment to the project." 
"There is nothing else on the Dwan Jar but the Fwai-chi sanctuary," Efraim 
remarked "What profit could he gain from the Fwai-chi?" 
The eiodarks considered the matter. Baron Alifer said tentatively: "I have heard 
a rumor that Rianlle's splendors exceed his income, that Eccord cannot support 
his fantasies. I could not discredit any theory that he hopes to exploit a 
hitherto untouched resource - the Fwai-chi. To guard their sanctuary they would 
be forced to pay him a toll of drugs, crystals, elixirs." 
Baron Haulk said: "None of this bears upon our own problems. We must decide upon 
a policy." 
Efraim looked around the table. "We have examined all our options except one: 
submission to Rianlle's demands. Does the council believe this to be our only 
feasible course of action, detestable though it is?" 
"Realistically, we have no other choice," muttered Baron Haulk. 
Baron Hectre pounded his fist on the table. "Can we not assume a defensive 
posture, even though it is only bluff? Rianlle may think better of forcing the 
issue!" 
Efraim said: "Let us adjourn until next aud, and at that time we will reach a 
decision." 


Again Efraim met with his eiodarks. There was little conversation; all sat with 
glum faces. Efraim said, "I have searched the archives. I find no sure reference 
to an agreement with the Fwai-chi. They must be betrayed, and we must submit. 
Who disagrees?" 
"I disagree," growled Baron Hectre. "I am willing to fight." 
"I am willing to fight," said Baron Faroz, "but I do not care to destroy myself 
and my folk to no purpose. We must submit." 
"We must submit," said Baron Haulk. 
Efraim said, "If the Kaiark Jochaim indeed acceded to Rianlle's demands, he must 
have been subjected to these same pressures. I hope that our humiliation serves 
a good purpose." He rose to his feet. "Rianlle arrives here tomorrow. I hope 
that all of you will be on hand, to lend the occasion dignity." 
"We will be here." 




Chapter 13


An hour before arrival of the Kaiark Rianlle, the eiodarks gathered on the 
terrace of Benbuphar Strang. Through psychological processes perhaps differing 
from case to case many attitudes had hardened, and where, before, shameful 
misgivings had been converted into defiance. Where before all the eiodarks had 
resigned themselves to submission, now it seemed as if all had been inspired to 
obduracy. 
"Rianlle challenged your memory?" cried out Baron Balthazar. "With reason, you 
admit. He cannot challenge mine. If the Fwai-chi declare the existence of this 
covenant and if the archives at least hint of its existence, then I distinctly 
recall the Kaiark Jochaim discussing this same covenant." 
"I as well!" declared Baron Hectre. "He dare not challenge us." 
Efraim laughed sadly. "He will dare; why not? You are powerless to damage him." 
"This shall be our strategy," said Baron Balthazar. "We will deny his demands 
with fortitude. If he invests the Dwan Jar with his troops, we shall harass them 
and destroy his work. If Rianlle wafts his sails down into our vale, we shall 
plunge down from Alode Cliff and rip their wings." 
Baron Simic shook his fists into the air. "It shall not be so easy for Rianlle 
after all!" 
"Very well," said Efraim. "If this is how you feel, I am with you. Remember, we 
shall be firm but not pugnacious; we shall mention self-defense only if he 
threatens. I am glad that, like myself, you find submission intolerable. And 
there, I believe, around Shanajra, comes Rianlle and his party." 
The aircar landed; Rianlle alighted, followed by the Kraike Dervas, the Lissolet 
Maerio, and four Eccord eiodarks. The heralds quickstepped forth, producing 
ceremonial fanfares. Rianlle and his party marched to the steps leading up to 
the terrace; Efraim and the Scharde eiodarks descended to greet them. 
Formalities were exchanged, then Rianlle, throwing back his handsome head, 
stated: "Today the Kaiarks of Scharrode and Eccord meet to certify an era of 
warm regard between their realms. It pleases me, therefore, to state that I will 
look favorably upon the possibility of trisme between yourself and the Lissolet 
Maerio." 
Efraim bowed his head. "This is a most gracious offer, Force, and nothing could 
accord more to my own inclinations. But you are fatigued from the journey; I 
must allow you to refresh yourself. In two hours we shall meet in the Grand 
Parlor." 
"Excellent. I may assume that you have found no further objections to my little 
scheme?" 
"You may be sure, Your Force, that good relations between our two realms, on the 
basis of equity and cooperation, are the foundation of Scharde policy." 
Rianlle's face darkened. "Can you not respond to the point? Do you or do you not 
intend to cede the Dwan Jar?" 
"Your Force, let us not transact our important business upon the front steps. 
When you have rested an hour or two, I will clarify the Scharde point of view." 
Rianlle bowed, swung about. Under-chamberlains conducted him and members of his 
party to the chambers which had been prepared for them. 


Maerio stood by a tall arched window looking out across the valley. She rubbed 
her hand on the stone sill, thrilling at the coarse contact. How would it be to 
live here at Benbuphar Strang, among these tall shadowy chambers, surrounded by 
echoes? Many strange events had occurred here, some of which made dreary 
listening; nowhere in all the Realms, so it was said, could be found a castle so 
riddled with mirk-ways. Efraim had changed; as to this there was no denying. He 
seemed more mature, and he seemed to obey the Rhune conventions tentatively, 
without conviction. Perhaps this was all to the good. Her mother, Dervas, had 
once been as gay and as artless as herself, but Rianlle (whom she supposed to be 
her father) had insisted that the Kraike of Eccord must exemplify the Rhune 
Code, and Dervas was impelled to orthodoxy for the good of the realm. Maerio 
wondered about Efraim. He hardly seemed the sort to insist on orthodoxy. In 
fact, from her own experience she knew better! 
A slight sound behind her; she whirled about. A panel in the wainscoting had 
slid aside and there stood Efraim. 
He crossed the room and stood smiling down into her face. "Forgive me for 
startling you. I wanted to see you secretly and alone, and I knew no other way." 

Maerio looked toward the door. "Let me shoot the bolt; we must not be 
discovered." 
"True." Efraim bolted the door and returned to Maerio. "I have been thinking of 
you; I cannot get you out of my mind." 
"I have been thinking of you too, especially since I learned that the Kaiark 
planned to join us in trisme." 
"That is what I must tell you. As much as I long for such a trisme, it will 
never occur, because the eiodarks intend to fight rather than give up the Dwan 
Jar." 
Maerio nodded slowly. "I knew this would happen . . . I don't want to go in 
trisme anywhere else. What shall I do?" 
"For now nothing. I can only make plans for war." 
"You might be killed!" 
"I hope not. Give me time to think. Would you run away with me, away from the 
Realms?" 
Maerio asked breathlessly, "Where would we go?" 
"I don't know. We would not be privileged as we are now; we might be forced to 
toil." 
"I will go with you." 
Efraim took her hands. She shivered and closed her eyes. "Efraim, please! You 
will lose your memory again." 
"I don't think so." He kissed her forehead. She gasped and drew back. 
"I feel so strange! Everyone will recognize my agitation!" 
"I must go now. When you have composed yourself, come down to the Grand Parlor." 

Efraim returned through the mirk-way to his chambers, and arrayed himself in 
formal garments. 
A knock at the door. Efraim looked at the clock. Rianlle so soon? 
He opened the door to find Becharab, the new First Chamberlain. "Yes, Becharab?" 

"Your Force, before the castle stand several natives. They wish to speak with 
Your Force. I told them you are resting, but they are insistent." 
Efraim ran past Becharab, across the reception hall and foyer, to the haughty 
astonishment of Singhalissa who stood conversing with one of the eiodarks from 
Eccord. 
Before the terrace stood four Fwai-chi - ancient brown-red bucks, all tatters 
and shags. A pair of footmen, making fastidious faces, attempted to shoo them 
away. The Fwai-chi, discouraged, were starting to sidle off when Efraim 
appeared. 
He ran down the steps, motioned the footmen aside. "I am Kaiark Efraim. You 
wished to see me?" 
"Yes," said one, and Efraim thought to recognize the old buck he had met up on 
Whispering Ridge: "You claim that you remember no covenant in regard to the Dwan 
Jar." 
"That is true. The Kaiark of Eccord who wants the Dwan Jar is here now." 
"He must not have it; he is a man who demands much. If he were to control the 
Dwan Jar, he would demand more, and we would be forced to glut his avarice." The 
Fwai-chi produced a dusty vial containing half a gill of dark liquid. "Your 
memory is locked and there are no keys to the locks. Drink this liquid." Efraim 
took the vial and examined it curiously. 
"What will it do to me?" 
"Your corporeal substance itself contains memory; it is called instinct. I give 
you a medicine. It will prompt all your cells to erupt memories - even those 
very cells which now block your memory. We cannot unlock the doors; but we can 
batter them open. Do you dare take this draught?" 
"Will it kill me?" 
"No." 
"Will it make me insane?" 
"Perhaps not." 
"Will I know everything I knew before?" 
"Yes. And when you have your memory, you must protect our sanctuary." 
Efraim went thoughtfully up the steps. 
By the balustrade Singhalissa and Destian stood waiting. Singhalissa asked 
sharply: "What is that vial?" 
"It contains my memory. I need only drink it." 
Singhalissa leaned forward, her hands quivered. Efraim moved back. She asked: 
"And will you drink it?" 
"Naturally." 
Singhalissa chewed at her lip. Efraim's vision suddenly seemed totally keen and 
clear; he noticed the lack of bloom on Singhalissa's skin, the minute wrinkles 
around her eyes and mouth, the bird-like thrust of her sternum. 
"This may seem an odd point of view," said Singhalissa, "but consider. Events go 
well for you! You are Kaiark; you are about to make trisme with a powerful 
realm. What else do you need? The contents of the vial may well disturb these 
conditions!" 
Destian spoke with an air of authority: "If I were in your position, I would let 
well enough alone!" 
Singhalissa said: "You had best confer with Kaiark Rianlle; he is a wise man; he 
will advise you." 
"The matter would seem only to concern myself," remarked Efraim. "I doubt if 
Rianlle's wisdom can apply in this case." He passed into the reception hall, to 
meet Rianlle coming down the grand staircase. Efraim paused. "I hope you enjoyed 
your rest." 
Rianlle bowed politely. "Very much indeed." 
Singhalissa came forward. "I have urged Efraim to solicit your advice in a very 
important matter. The Fwai-chi have provided him a liquid which they claim will 
restore his memory." 
Rianlle reflected. "Excuse me a moment or two." He took Singhalissa aside; the 
two conversed in mutters. Rianlle nodded and thoughtfully returned to where 
Efraim waited. 
"While I rested," said Rianlle, "I reviewed the situation which has caused a 
tension between our realms. I propose that we postpone further consideration of 
Dwan Jar. Why allow so paltry a matter to interfere with the trisme I have 
suggested? Am I not correct?" 
"Entirely." 
"However, I have no confidence in Fwai-chi drugs. Often they promote cerebral 
lesions. In view of our prospective relationship I must insist that you do not 
dose yourself with some vile Fwai-chi potion." 
Very odd, thought Efraim. If the truncation of his memory were so advantageous 
to other folk, then the disadvantage to himself would seem correspondingly 
great. "Let us join the others who await us in the parlor." 
Efraim seated himself at the red table and looked around the faces: fourteen 
Scharde and four Eccord eiodarks; Singhalissa, Destian, Sthelany; Rianlle, the 
Kraike Dervas, Maerio, and himself. He carefully placed the vial on the table 
before him. 
"There is a new circumstance to be considered," said Efraim. "My memory. It is 
contained in this bottle. At Port Mar someone robbed me of my memory. I am 
intensely anxious to learn the identity of this person. Of the folk who were 
with me in Port Mar, two are dead - by coincidence, or perhaps not 
coincidentally after all, both were murdered. 
"I have been advised not to drink this draught. I am told that it is best to let 
sleeping dogs lie. Needless to say, I reject this point of view. I want my 
memory back, no matter what the cost." He unstoppered the vial, raised it to his 
mouth and poured the contents down his throat. The flavor was soft and earthy, 
like pounded bark and mold mixed with stump water. 
He looked around the circle of faces. "You must forgive this act of ingestion 
before your very eyes . . . I feel nothing yet. I would expect a delay while the 
material permeates my blood, courses around my body . . . I notice a shifting of 
lights and shadows - your faces flicker. I must shut my eyes . . . I see 
splashes of light: they shatter and burst . . . I see everywhere in my body . . 
. I see with my hands and inside my legs and down my back." Efraim's voice 
became hoarse. "The sounds - everywhere . . ." He could speak no more; he leaned 
back in his chair. He felt, he saw, he heard: a jumble of impressions: whirling 
suns and dancing stars, the froth of salt spume, the warmth of swamp mud; the 
dank flavor of waterweeds. The thrust of spears, the scorch of fire, and 
screaming women. Timelessness: visions swarmed past, then back, then away, like 
shoals of fish. Efraim became faint; his legs and arms went numb. He fought away 
the lethargy, and watched in fascination as the first furious explosion of 
images retreated and swirled away. The succession of sensations continued, but 
at a pace less blurred, as if to the control of chronology. He began to see 
faces and hear voices: strange faces, strange voices, of persons inexpressibly 
dear, and tears ran down his cheeks. He felt the extent of space; he knew the 
grief of departures, the exultation on conquest; he killed, he was killed; he 
loved and knew love; he nurtured a thousand families; he knew a thousand deaths, 
a thousand infancies. 
More slowly came the images, as if the source were almost drained. He was the 
first man to arrive on Marune; he led the tribes east from Port Mar; he was all 
the Kaiarks of Scharrode and of many other realms as well; he was many of the 
ordinary folk; he lived all these lives in the course of five seconds. 
Time began to decelerate. He watched the construction of Benbuphar Strang; he 
prowled by mirk; he scaled the Tassenberg and struck a blond warrior toppling 
down the face of the Khism. He began to see faces to which he could almost put 
names; he was a tall auburn-haired child who grew into a tall spare man with a 
bony face and short thick beard. With beating heart Efraim followed this man 
whose name was Jochaim through the chambers of Benbuphar Strang, by aud, isp, 
umber, and rowan. By mirk he wandered the mirk-ways, and he felt the 
intoxication of striding forth, clad only in shoulder-piece, man-mask, and boots 
into the chamber of his sometimes terrified elect. To Benbuphar Strang came the 
maiden Alferica from Cloudscape Castle, to be taken in trisme by Jochaim, and in 
due course a child was born who was named Efraim, and Jochaim faded from 
consciousness. 
Efraim's youth passed. His mother, Alferica, drowned during a visit to Eccord; 
presently to Benbuphar Strang came a new Kraike, Singhalissa, with her two 
children. One of these was dark vicious Destian; the other, a pale big-eyed 
waif, was Sthelany. 
Tutors educated the three children; they chose cogences and eruditions. Sthelany 
professed the writing of poetry in an abstruse poetic language, the working of 
mothwing tapestry, and star-names, as well as the contriving of fumes and 
fragrances which all well-born ladies were expected to include among their 
skills. She also collected Glanzeln flower vases, glazed an ineffable 
transparent violet, and unicorn horns. Destian collected precious crystals, and 
replicas of medallions on the hilts of famous swords; he also, professed 
heraldry and the intricate lore of fanfares. Efraim professed the architecture 
of castles, mineral identification, and the theory of alloys, although 
Singhalissa considered the choice insufficiently erudite. 
Efraim politely acknowledged Singhalissa's remarks and put them to the back o� 
his mind. He was First Kang of the Realm; Singhalissa's opinions need not 
concern him. 
Singhalissa herself professed a dozen skills, didactics, and expertises; she was 
quite the most erudite person of Efraim's acquaintance. Perhaps once a year she 
visited Port Mar, that she might buy supplies and materials for the specialized 
needs of those at Benbuphar Strang. When Efraim learned that Kaiark Rianlle of 
Eccord, with the Kraike Dervas and the Lissolet Maerio, planned to accompany 
Jochaim and Singhalissa to Port Mar, he decided to join the party. After 
considerable discussion, Destian and Sthelany also decided to undertake the 
journey. 
Efraim had been acquainted with Maerio for years, under the formal circumstances 
imposed upon all visits between kaiarkal households. At first he considered her 
frivolous and eccentric. She lacked all erudition, she was clumsy with the 
vials, and she seemed always to be restraining herself from some reckless 
spontaneity, which caused Singhalissa's eyebrows to twitch and Sthelany to look 
away in ostensible boredom. These very factors induced Efraim to cultivate 
Maerio. Gradually he noticed that her company was extraordinarily stimulating, 
and that she was remarkably pleasant to look at. Forbidden thoughts wandered 
into his mind; he ejected them from loyalty to Maerio, who would be shocked and 
horrified! 
The Kaiark Rianlle, Kraike Dervas, and Maerio flew over the mountains to 
Benbuphar Strang; on the morrow all would journey to Port Mar. Rianlle, Jochaim, 
Efraim; and Destian gathered in the Grand Parlor for an informal talk; bobbing 
their heads behind etiquette screens they discreetly took small cups of arrack. 
Rianlle was at his best. Always a remarkable speaker, on this occasion his 
conversation was brilliant. Like Singhalissa, Rianlle was most erudite; he knew 
the Fwai-chi signals and all the trails of their "Path through Life"; he knew 
the Pantechnic Metaphysic; he had collected and studied the insects of Eccord, 
and had indited three monographs upon the subject. Additionally Rianlle was a 
notable warrior, with remarkable exploits to his credit. Efraim listened to him 
with fascination. Rianlle was discussing Dwan Jar, the Whispering Ridge. "It has 
occurred to me," he told Jochaim, "that here is a site of sublime beauty. One of 
us should make use of it. Be generous, Jochaim; let me build myself a summer 
garden with a pavilion on the Dwan Jar. Think how I would rest and muse to the 
wild whispering sound!" 
Jochaim had smiled. "Impossible! Have you no sense of fitness? My eiodarks would 
drive me forth for a madman if I agreed to your proposal. Additionally, I am 
bound by a covenant with the Fwai-chi. Certainly you are making a joke." 
"No joke whatever. Truly I covet that bit, that trifle, that insignificant wisp 
of land!" 
Jochaim shook his head. "When I am dead, I can no longer oppose; Efraim must 
then assume that responsibility. While I live, I must deny you your fancy." 
Rianlle said: "It would seem that by the process of dying, you withdraw your 
opposition. I would not have you dead on that account, however. Let us talk 
along easier subjects. . ." 
The group had flown into Port Mar, and as usual taken accommodation at the Royal 
Rhune Hotel, where the management knew and respected their customs . . . 
Efraim raised his head from his hands and looked wildly around the table. Taut 
faces everywhere; eyes fixed upon him; silence: He closed his eyes. 
Recollections came soft and slow now, but with a wonderful luminous clarity. He 
felt himself leaving the hotel in company with Destian, Sthelany, and Maerio for 
a stroll through Port Mar, and perhaps a visit to the Fairy Gardens, where 
Galligade's Puppets provided entertainment. 
They walked down the Street of Brass Boxes and across the bridge into New Town. 
For a few minutes they strolled along the Estrada, peering into the beer gardens 
where the folk of Port Mar and students from the college drank beer and devoured 
food in full view of everyone. 
Efraim at last asked direction from a young man emerging from a book shop. 
Seeing the party to be Rhunes, he volunteered serving as their escort to the 
Fairy Gardens. To everyone's disappointment the entertainment was at an end. 
Their guide introduced himself as Matho Lorcas and insisted upon ordering a 
bottle of wine, along with suitable etiquette screens. Sthelany raised her 
eyebrows in a fashion reminiscent of Singhalissa and turned away. Efraim, 
catching Maerio's eye, sipped the wine, protected by the propriety of the 
screen. Maerio, greatly daring, did likewise. 
Matho Lorcas seemed a person of buoyant disposition and irrepressible wit; he 
refused to allow either Sthelany or Destian to sulk. "And how are you enjoying 
your visit?" he asked. 
"Very much," said Maerio. "But surely there is more excitement than this? We 
always think of Port Mar as a place of wild abandon." 
"Not quite accurate. Of course this is the respectable part of town. Doesn't it 
seem so to you?" 
"Our customs are rather different," said Destian frostily. 
"So I understand, but here you are in Port Mar; why not attempt the Port Mar 
customs?" 
"That logic does not quite follow," murmured Sthelany. 
Lorcas laughed. "Of course not! I wondered if you'd agree. Still - don't you 
have any inclination to live - well, let us say, normal lives?" 
Efraim asked: "You think we don't live normal lives?" 
"Not from my point of view. You're smothered in convention. You're walking 
bundles of neuroses." 
"Peculiar," said Maerio, "I feel quite well." 
"I feel well," said Efraim. "You must be mistaken." 
"Aha! Well, possibly. I'd like to visit one of the Realms and see how things go 
for myself. Do you like the wine? Perhaps you'd prefer punch." 
Destian looked around the table. "I think we'd better return to the hotel. 
Haven't we seen enough of New Town?" 
"Go, if you like," said Efraim. "I'm in no hurry." 
"I'll wait with Efraim," said Maerio. 
Matho Lorcas spoke to Sthelany. "I hope you'll wait too. Will you not?" 
"Why?" 
"I want to explain something which I believe you want to hear." 
Sthelany languidly rose to her feet and without a word moved off. Destian, with 
a dubious look back at Efraim and Maerio, followed. 
"A pity," said Lorcas. "I found her extremely attractive." 
"Sthelany and Destian are both most stately," said Maerio. 
Lorcas asked with a sly smile, "And what of you? Aren't you stately too?" 
"When ceremony makes demands on me. Sometimes I find Rhune ways rather tiresome. 
If Efraim weren't here I'd try that punch. I'm not ashamed of my inner 
workings." 
Efraim laughed. "Very well. If you will, I will too. But wait until Destian and 
Sthelany are out of sight." 
Matho Lorcas ordered rum punch for all. Efraim and Maerio drank first behind the 
screens, then spluttering with embarrassed laughter, brought the goblets into 
the open and drank. 
"Bravo!" declared Lorcas soberly. "You have taken a long step on the road to 
emancipation." 
"It doesn't amount to all that much," said Efraim, "I'll buy another round. 
Lorcas, what about you?" 
"With pleasure. Still, it wouldn't do for the two of you to stagger into the 
hotel drunk, would it?" 
Maerio clasped her head. "My father would turn purple. Of all the folk alive he 
is the most rigid." 
"My father would simply look the other way," said Efraim. "He seems rigid, and 
of course he is, but essentially he is quite reasonable." 
"So, you two are not related?" 
"Not at all." 
"But you're fond of each other?" 
Efraim and Maerio looked sidewise at each other. Efraim laughed uncomfortably. 
"I won't deny it." He looked again at Maerio, whose face was twisting. "Have I 
offended you?" 
"No." 
"Then why do you look so doleful?" 
"Because we must come to Port Mar to tell each other such things." 
"I suppose it is absurd," said Efraim. "But Port Mar is so much different from 
Eccord and Scharrode. Here I can touch you, and it is not mirk." He took her 
hand. 
Matho Lorcas heaved a sigh. "Ah me. I should leave you two alone. Excuse me a 
moment; for a fact there is someone I wish to see." 
Efraim and Maerio sat together. She leaned her head against his shoulder; he 
bent down, kissed her forehead. "Efraim! It is not even mirk!" 
"Are you angry?" 
Lorcas appeared beside the table. "Your friend Destian is here." 
Efraim and Maerio drew apart. Destian approached and looked curiously from one 
to the other. He addressed Maerio. "The Kaiark Rianlle has asked me to conduct 
you back to the hotel." 
Efraim stared up at Destian, who, so he knew, was not above misrepresenting 
facts. Maerio, sensing friction, jumped to her feet. "Yes. I'll welcome some 
rest, and look! with umber and the overcast and the shade from these enormous 
trees it is almost like mirk!" 
Destian and Maerio departed. With a debonair gesture Lorcas settled into the 
seat beside Efraim. "And that is the way things go, my friend." 
"I am embarrassed," said Efraim. "What will she think of me?" 
"Get her alone somewhere and find out." 
"That is impossible! Here in Port Mar perhaps we lost our equilibrium. In our 
realms we could never consider such display." He rested his chin on his hands 
and looked gloomily across the restaurant. 
"Come along," said Lorcas. "Let's move down the avenue. I'm due at the Three 
Lanterns presently; first I'll show you a bit of the town." 
Lorcas took Efraim to a cabaret frequented by students. They listened to music, 
drank light beer. Efraim explained to Lorcas how life went in the Realms. "A 
place like this by comparison seems a zoo of fecund animals. The Kraike 
Singhalissa, at least, would adopt this view." 
"And you respect her judgment?" 
"To the contrary; this is the principal reason I am here. I hope to discover 
benefits and redemptions in what I confess seems sickening behavior. Look at 
that couple yonder. Sweating, panting, shameless as dogs in rut. At the very 
least their activity is unhygienic." 
"They are relaxed. Still, yonder other folk sit quite decorously, and none seem 
offended by the antics of the two reprobates." 
"I am confused," admitted Efraim. "Trillions inhabit Alastor Cluster; not all 
can be deluded. Perhaps anything and everything is innocent." 
"What you see here is relatively innocent," said Lorcas. "Come, I'll show you 
places less so. Unless you prefer your illusions, so to speak?" 
"No. I will come with you, as long as I do not have to breathe too much fetid 
air." 
"When you've seen enough, just say the word." He glanced at his watch. "I have 
just an hour to spare, then I must go to work at the Three Lanterns." 
The two walked up the Street of Limping Children, then turned along the Avenue 
of Haune, Lorcas pointing out the more disreputable places of the tower - an 
expensive bordello, bars frequented by sexual deviates, and a dim establishment, 
purportedly a tea shop which operated illegal nerve machines in the upper rooms; 
other sordid places offering even more questionable entertainment. 
Efraim observed all with a stony face. He found himself not so much shocked as 
detached, as if what he saw were intended as a grotesque stage-setting. At last 
they reached the Three Lanterns, a rambling old structure from which issued the 
sound of fiddles with banjos playing merry jigs after the style of the Tinsdale 
Wayfarers. 
Singhalissa was right, thought Efraim, when she declared music no more than 
symbolic sebalism - well, perhaps "sebalism" was not quite the right word. 
"Passion," perhaps, which encompassed sebalism and all the other strong emotions 
as well. At the Three Lanterns, Lorcas took his leave of Efraim. "Remember, I'd 
be enchanted for the opportunity to visit the Realms. Perhaps someday - who 
knows?" 
Efraim, thinking of the frigid reception Lorcas would certainly receive at the 
hands of Singhalissa, retrained an invitation. "Perhaps some day. At the moment 
it might not be convenient." 
"Good-by then. Remember, directly back down the avenue of Haune, turn south on 
any of the side streets to the Estrada, and along to the bridge. Then up the 
Street of Brass Boxes to your hotel." 
"I am exactly oriented; I will not get lost." 
Somewhat reluctantly Lorcas went into the Three Lanterns; at the entrance he 
waved farewell. Efraim turned back the way they had come. 
Clouds hung heavy; the time was yet umber, though very dull. Furad hung low 
behind Jibberee Hill, and both Maddar and Cirse were obscured by overcast Gloom 
almost as dense as mirk shrouded Port Mar, and colored lights invested the 
Avenue of Haune with a tipsy gaiety. 
As Efraim walked, his thoughts returned to Maerio; how he wished she were with 
him now! But futile to counter the will of the Kaiark Rianlle, whose rectitude 
was matched only by that of Singhalissa. 
Efraim at this moment was passing the expensive bordello, and even as he 
reflected upon the character of the Kaiark Rianlle, out the door of the 
bordello, his face blurred and clothes disheveled, stepped the Kaiark Rianlle 
himself. 
Efraim stared, unbelievingly. He began to laugh first incredulously, then with 
the intoxication of total mirth. 
Rianlle stood with his mouth first open, then closed; first swelling with purple 
wrath, then trying to achieve a comradely grin. Under the circumstances neither 
could be convincing or effective. Ridicule to a Rhune was insupportable; when 
Efraim told the story, as surely he must - the episode was too good to keep; 
even Rianlle realized this - the Kaiark Rianlle would thereafter be a figure of 
fun, and furtive snickers would accompany him through life. 
Rianlle by dint of some desperate inner contortion composed himself. "What are 
you doing out along the avenue?" 
"Nothing! Investigating weird antics!" And Efraim again began to chuckle. 
Rianlle managed a steely grin. "Ah, well, you must not judge me too harshly: 
Unfortunately for myself, I am expected to represent the apotheosis of Rhune 
gallantry. The pressure becomes overwhelming. Come along; we will take a hot 
drink together as the folk do without shame here at Port Mar. The drink is 
called coffee and is not considered intoxicating." Rianlle led the way along the 
Street of the Clever Flea to an establishment called "The Great Alastor Coffee 
Emporium." He ordered the refreshment for both, then excused himself. "A moment; 
I have a small errand." 
Efraim watched Rianlle cross the avenue and enter a dingy little shop whose 
windows were crowded with all manner of goods. 
The coffee was served; Efraim tasted the brew and found it savory, aromatic, and 
to his liking. Rianlle returned; the two sipped coffee in cautious silence. 
Rianlle lifted the lid to the silver ewer in which the coffee was served, peered 
within. His hand hovered, a moment over the open mouth of the ewer, then the lid 
dropped with a clang. He poured a second cup for Efraim and a second cup for 
himself. He now became affable and expansive. Efraim drank more coffee, although 
Rianlle allowed his own portion to go cold. And Efraim's mind dimmed and lost 
itself in floating mists. 
As if in a dream he felt himself walking with Rianlle along the Estrada, across 
the bridge, and by back alleys into the park at the Royal Rhune Hotel. Rianlle 
approached the hotel with great stealth; but as luck would have it, the path 
curved and Singhalissa stood before them. 
She looked in disgust from Efraim to Rianlle. "You have found him in a state of 
intoxication! What shame! Jochaim will be furious!" 
Rianlle considered a moment, then shook his head despondently. "Come with me, 
away from the path; and I will explain how things have gone." 
On a secluded bench Rianlle and Singhalissa sat; Efraim stood watching a 
firefly. Rianlle cleared his throat. "Affairs are more serious than simple 
intoxication. Someone offered him a dangerous drug which he foolishly ingested; 
his memory has completely been destroyed." 
"What a tragedy!" cried Singhalissa. "I must inform Jochaim; he will turn New 
Town topsy-turvy, and never stop until he learns the truth!" 
"Wait!" said Rianlle in a low hoarse voice. "This may not be to our best 
interests." 
Singhalissa fixed Rianlle with a cool stare which seemed to see everything. "Our 
best interests?" 
"Yes. Consider. Jochaim must ultimately die - perhaps sooner than we might wish. 
When that unhappy event occurs, Efraim will become Kaiark." 
"In his present condition?" 
"Of course not. He will rapidly become whole and alert, and Jochaim will renew 
his memories. But - what if Efraim goes traveling?" 
"And does not return?" 
"On Jochaim's death Destian than becomes Kaiark of Scharrode, and I will give 
him Maerio in trisme. Jochaim will never surrender Whispering Ridge; if I hold 
it I can levy a great toll upon the Fwai-chi. What, after all, are gems and 
elixirs to them? If Destian is Kaiark there will be no difficulty." 
Singhalissa reflected. "Do not underrate Destian; he is obstinate at times! But 
he would never deny me, were I Kraike of Eccord. In all candor, Belrod Strang is 
more to my taste than gloomy old Benbuphar." 
Rianlle grimaced and uttered a soft involuntary moan. "What of Dervas?" 
"You must dissolve the trisme; this is simple enough. If events proceed along 
these lines all will go well. If not, it is best that we forget the matter and I 
will take Efraim in to Jochaim. Never fear! Jochaim is both pertinacious and 
ruthless; he is fond of Efraim and will never stop until he learns all the 
circumstances!" 
Rianlle sighed. "Destian shall be next Kaiark of Scharrode. We will then 
celebrate two trismes: between Destian and Maerio; between you and me." 
"In that case, we will work together." 
Though Efraim overheard much of their conversation, the subject matter made 
little impression on him. 
Singhalissa went off, to return with a shabby gray suit and scissors. She cut 
Efraim's hair short, and the two dressed him in the gray suit. Then Rianlle, 
stepping into his rooms, emerged wearing a black cape and a helmet which 
concealed his face. 
Efraim's recollections blurred. He barely recalled walking to the spaceport, nor 
embarcation aboard the Berenicia, where money changed hands between Rianlle and 
the steward. 
Events gradually merged into his conscious recollections. He opened his eyes to 
look into the face of the Kaiark Rianlle. Once again he saw that mixture of 
rage, shame, and desperate affability Efraim had noted on the Avenue of Haune. 
"My memory is whole," said Efraim. "I know the name of my enemy and I know his 
reasons. Cogent reasons, they are. But these are personal matters and I will 
deal with them on a personal basis. Meanwhile other more important affairs 
compel our attention. 
"With the return of my memory I can now assert that the Kaiark Jochaim did 
indeed endorse the ancient covenant with the Fwai-chi, and that, also, he made 
to the Kaiark Rianlle the following remark: 'Only when I am dead will I abandon 
my opposition to your scheme,' which the Kaiark Rianlle interpreted as 'when I 
am dead, there shall be no further opposition to your scheme.' A most reasonable 
mistake, which the Kaiark Rianlle now appreciates. I suspect that he wishes to 
withdraw utterly and forever his claim to the Dwan Jar; am I right, Your Force?" 

"Quite correct," stated the Kaiark Rianlle in a monotone. "I see where I 
misinterpreted the Kaiark Jochaim's jocularity." 
"Three more matters should be considered," said Efraim. "Your Force, I apply to 
you for trisme between our houses and our realms." 
"I am honored to accede to your proposal, if the Lissolet Maerio is 
like-minded." 
"I agree," said Maerio. 
"Temporary I will abandon this happy subject," said Efraim, "to deal with the 
crime of murder." 
"Murder!" The dreadful word rustled around the table. 
"The Kaiark Jochaim," continued Efraim, "was murdered by a bolt in the back. The 
bolt was not discharged by a Gorget bore, hence the murderer is Scharde. Better 
to say, he accompanied the Scharde force. 
"Another murder occurred during mirk. I am in s sense too close to this crime to 
avoid prejudice; hence you, the eiodarks of Scharrode, shall hear my evidence, 
you shall pass judgment, and I will not quarrel with your findings. 
"I speak now as a witness. 
"When I arrived at Benbuphar Strang in company with my friend Matho Lorcas, I 
encountered the coolest of welcomes, and in fact antagonism. 
"A few days before mirk the Noble Sthelany surprised me by her cordiality and 
her assurances that for the first time she planned not to bolt her doors during 
mirk." Efraim described the events previous to, during, and after mirk. 
"It is clear that an attempt was made to entice me into Sthelany's chambers; but 
poor Lorcas entered in my stead, or else he was recognized and murdered to 
prevent him from telling me of the trap. 
"I well understand that strange deeds are done during mirk, but this murder 
falls into a different category. It was planned a week or more before mirk, and 
put into execution with cruel efficiency. It is not a mirk-deed. It is murder." 
"The assertions are malicious fabrications," said Singhalissa. "They are too 
feeble to deserve refutal." 
Efraim turned to Destian. "What is your comment?" 
"I can only echo the Noble Singhalissa's remarks." 
"And Sthelany?" 
Silence. Then presently a low voice: "I will say nothing, except that I am sick 
of life." 
At this point, in embarrassment, the party from Eccord departed from the Grand 
Parlor. The eiodarks went off to the far end of the room. For ten minutes they 
muttered together, then returned. 
"The judgment is this," said Baron Haulk. "The three equally share guilt. They 
are guilty not of mirk-deed, but murder. They shall this moment be shaved bald 
and expelled from the Rhune Realms, carrying no property except the clothes on 
their backs. Forever they are exiled and no Rhune Realm will take them in. 
Murderers, at this moment divest yourselves of all jewels, ornaments, and 
valuables. Then go down to the kitchens where your heads will be shaved. You 
will then be escorted to the aircar and flown to Port Mar, where you must live 
as best you can." 




Chapter 14


Maerio and Efraim stood on the parapets of Benbuphar Strang. "Suddenly," said 
Efraim, "we are at peace. Our difficulties have dissipated. Life lies before 
us." 
"I fear that new difficulties are just beginning." 
Efraim looked at her in surprise. "How can you say so?" 
"It is clear you have known life outside the Realms; I have had the merest hint 
of a taste. Will we be content to live as Rhunes?" 
"We can live in whatever fashion suits us," said Efraim. "I want nothing but 
happiness for us." 
"Perhaps we will want to travel to far worlds. What then? How will the Schardes 
regard us on our return? They will consider us tainted - not true Rhunes." 
Efraim looked away down the valley. "We are not Rhunes of the clearest water, 
for a fact. So then - what shall we do?" 
"I don't know." 
"I don't know either."