PROLOGUE

THE FUGITIVE DID NOT know that his arrival at the

small Rud farm was preordained. He would have

scoffed at the notion, had he been told. All he knew

was that his injured leg hurt abominably, that he was

so filthy he was disgusted, and that he was too tired to

fight or flee if discovered.

It was night again. He had hardly been aware of the

passage of time since his escape, except for the awful

sun by day and the cruel chill by night. Dehydration

and shivering, with little between except fear and

fatigue.

Yet this was a decent region, he knew, if viewed

objectively. He heard froogs croaking loudly in the

nearby froogpond, and corbean stalks rustling in the

breeze. Appleberries and razzelfruits perfumed the

air and set his stomach growling. The natives claimed

that these bitter fruits could be charmed to become

sweet, but he refused to credit such impossible claims.

He was not yet so far gone as to believe in magic! But

they certainly looked good! Hunger—there was another curse of the moment!

But thought of food had to be pushed aside, as did

dreams of a hot bath and a change of clothing. He had

come here, he reminded himself sternly, to steal a

horse. He hated the necessity, for he regarded himself

as an honorable man, but he seemed to have no

choice.

He crept nearer to the cottage, orienting on its

single faint light. How he hoped that there would be

no one awake to challenge him! He did not know how

close the Queen's guardsmen were, or how quickly

they would appear the moment there was any commo

tion. How ironic it would be to die ignobly as an

unsuccessful horse thief!

He paused, studying the light. Far off there sounded

the trebling screech of a houcat. His pursuers had lost

the trail last night, and he doubted that they would

swim the river to pick it up again. There were hazards

in that water as bad for guardsmen as for thieves, and

only a truly desperate man would have been fool

enough to risk it. Perhaps the guardsmen thought him

dead already. This fool, for the time being, was almost

safe.

He came close and peered cautiously in the window. A slender girl sat reading by the flickering light

of a lamp. He gazed at the coppery sheen of her hair,

and the planes other somewhat pointed face, and the

gentle swell and ebb of her bosom as she breathed.

How lovely she seemed! It was not that she was

beautiful, for by his standards she was not, but that

she was comfortable and quiet and clean. A girl who

read alone at night: what a contrast to the type of

woman he had known! There was an aura of decency

about her that excited his longing. He could love such

a girl and such a life-style, if ever given a chance.

For a moment he was crazily tempted to knock on

the window, to announce himself, to say, "Haloo

there, young woman, are you in need of a man? Give

me a bath and some food, and I shall be yours

forever!" But he was not yet so tired that no reason

remained. If he did that, she would start up and

scream, and the guardsmen would come, and it would

be over.

He ducked past the window and tiptoed to the bam.

He held his breath as he tried the latch on the stable

door. It opened easily, without even a squeak. This

was a well-maintained farm. He felt a certain regret

that this should facilitate the theft of an animal. It

might have been more fitting to steal from a sloppy

farm, but a squeaky door would have been an excel-

lent guardian.

From inside came the scent of horse and hay. He

felt around in the dark just past the door and found

the halter exactly where it should be. The arrangements in good Rud barns were standard.

There was the snap of a broken twig. He turned.

She stood there in the wan light from the window,

garbed in a filmy nightdress and a shawl. The first

thing he noticed was the way her firm slim legs

showed in gauzy silhouette.

The second thing he noticed was the pitchfork she

held at waist height, aimed at his chest.

He swallowed, trying to judge whether he could

dodge aside quickly enough to avoid the thrust of

those sharp tines, and whether he retained the

strength to wrestle the implement away from her. And

if he did, what, then? How could he hurt a girl he

would rather embrace? Perhaps it was a trick of the

inadequate light, but her eyes seemed to be the exact

color of violets back on his native Earth.

"Speak!" she said. "What is your business here?"

Her voice sent a thrill through him; it was dulcet

despite its tone of challenge.

What use to lie? He hated this whole business! "I

came to steal your horse. I would rather have stolen

your heart." And what had possessed him to say that?

"You are a thief? A highwayman?"

She hadn't thrust her fork at him. That was a good

sign. He decided to tell her the rest of it. "I'm not an

ordinary thief, not even a good one, as you can see,"

he said with difficulty. "I just had to have a horse. I

know you won't believe that I'm not a criminal."

"Why didn't you come openly to my door, then?"

"I—I looked in your window, and saw you reading.

You were so—so nice\ I thought you would scream if

you saw me. I—I'm a fugitive from the Queen's

dungeon. I know that doesn't make me a hero, but

maybe it carries a bit of weight."

"You have round ears," she said, her voice assum-

ing a soft, strange quality. "You cannot be of this

planet. Certainly you are no ordinary thief. Introduce

yourself, Roundear."

She seemed to have no fear of him, only a certain

caution. It was almost as if she had been expecting

him! "John Knight, of Earth," he said.

"A name may be an omen. Knight," she said. She

smiled a mysterious witching smile and lowered the

fork. "You may call me Chariain. We shall be married

on the morrow."

He stared at her. Then, tentatively, he smiled. She

returned the smile. Then, unaccountably, he laughed,

and she laughed with him.

She took him inside the house and gave him a bath

and some food, and when he was clean and fed she

kissed him and took him to her bed. He was so tired

that he fell almost instantly to sleep despite the

presence of her warm body beside him. He didn't

even care that this might be a ruse to lull him, so that

she could safely turn him in to the Queen's guards-

men. He had to believe in her.

Thus did John Knight first encounter the woman he

was to marry. She practiced fortune-telling, so had

known he was coming: a round-eared man who was a

fugitive from the Queen. She had told no one of this

vision, so knew that his arrival was no trap by the

Queen. She had known that the man would be com-

pletely unprepossessing, but would be the one she

could truly love, and that though he had known a

woman before her, he would never know one after

her.

They married on the morrow, in a secret ceremony,

and that evening he was enough recovered to remain

awake in her bed for some time. Their life together

had begun abruptly, but had an unspoken under-

standing that was at times mysterious and at other

times thoroughly natural to him.

The following year their round-eared baby was

bom, and two years after that their point-eared baby.

The prophecy that John Knight had not known

about was on its way to fulfillment. His life was

relatively placid after he settled; not so, that of his

children.

CHAPTER 1

Dragon Scale

THE ROAD WOUND LIKE a twisting dragon's tail.

Through rank underbrush and skeletal trees. Past

boulders the size of cottages. Along a sparkling moun-

tain stream bordered with high piles of debris left by

the late spring floods. It did not look like the setting

for the beginning of the fulfillment of a long-term

prophecy.

Two slim figures walked the road, carrying travel-

sacks and leading a donkey. One was sixteen, tall

enough to be handsome were it not for his round ears.

The other was fourteen but looked twelve, with

pointed ears. Both wore the garb ofRud rustics: heavy

leather walking boots, brownberry shirts, greenbriar

pantaloons, and lightweight summer stockelcaps

whose long tips ended in tassels of blue and green

yam. They could hardly have looked less like folk

destined to commence the fulfillment of a significant

prophecy.

Kelvin, the elder one, played on his mandajo as he

walked, picking out the accompaniment to "Fortune

Come a-Callin'," a Rud tune of great antiquity. The

three-stringed lute of Rud could be beautiful when

properly evoked, but Kelvin was not playing it well.

Some had magic that related to music, and some did

not; some thought they had magic when they did not.

Kelvin was of the latter persuasion, but he wouldn't

have cared if he had realized. His thoughts were far

away.

Jon, the younger one, brushed back long yellow

hair. A stranger, looking at Jon's alert greenish eyes

and large ears and face that showed no hint of a beard,

would have dismissed this as a lively boy. The stranger would have been mistaken, for Jon was Kelvin's

sister. Because it could be dangerous for a girl to

go alone into the countryside of Rud, the parents

had tried to restrict her to the farm and village.

But Jon was an adventurous sort, always eager to

go out exploring. Realizing that she could not be re-

strained, they had finally yielded with two stem

strictures: always go in company with Kelvin, and go

as a boy. That suited Jon just fine, for though she

would die rather than say it, she looked up to her

brother, and wanted to share his activities. She

also rather liked masquerading as a boy, for though

her parents had been happy to have a girl, Jon

herself envied the freedoms and prospects of the

other sex. She had become almost letter-perfect

at the masquerade, but now nature was playing on

her a disgusting trick. Her hips were broadening and

her breasts were swelling. It was getting harder to

look the part, and it would be impossible without

her solid shirt. What would she do when her rebel-

lious front became too pronounced to conceal? She

was disgusted, and the very thought put her in a bad

mood.

Now Jon peered into the underbrush and up into

the branches of the trees, looking for trouble. She

carried a sturdy leather sling whose pocket held a

carefully positioned rock of the required squirbet-

braining size. Just let one of those creatures show its

snoot now . . . !

"Fortune come a-callin', but I did hide, ah-oo-ay,"

Kelvin sang with imperfect pitch. "Fortune come

a-callin', but I did hide, bloody saber at my side,

ah-oo-ay, ah-oo-ay, ay."

"You call that old pig-gutter you're packing a

saber?" Jon demanded. She spoke with deceptive

good humor, her eyes wandering over to her brother.

To the dark handle of the war souvenir protruding

from its worn and cracked scabbard.

Kelvin lowered his instrument. His thoughts leaped

ahead to the deepening gloom and the forbidding

mountain pass. "We're not riding either," he said,

referring to another verse.

"No, but we would be if you hadn't let that horse

dealer swindle us," Jon said. She lifted the halter and

made a grimace of distaste at their pack animal. "A

horse to ride would be great, but you, you jackass, had

to buy a jackass!"

"I thought," Kelvin said lightly, his attention focus-

ing a bit, "that I could put two of them to work. You

and Mockery."

"Mockery's the name for it!" Jon snapped. "Any-

one but you would have been put off by the name, but

you had to go and hand over our last two rudnas for

it!"

"Jon, Jon, show faith in thy elder," Kelvin teased.

"We hadn't the money for a horse, and Mockery was

cheap. We'll need his strong back, and yours, to pack

out all the gold we'll find."

Jon made an uncouth noise. "If he ever lets us load!

It took us half the morning to get our pitifully few

supplies strapped to his omery back. He's got a kick

like a mule! I suppose when we want our tent, he'll

start all over."

"Not so, little brother Worrisome Wart!" Kelvin

always referred to her in the masculine, maintaining

the masquerade; what started as a game had soon

enough become second nature. "It's only that he's

jealous. We have the lighter loads. Smart animal,

Mockery. Smart enough to know when we're in drag-

on country. Anything that smart, including me and

possibly ye, knows the danger."

"Do we, Kel?" Her voice was almost pleading.

Kelvin narrowed the bluish eyes that seemed al-

most as strange as his rounded ears, in Rud. This was

not like Jon. Usually she tried with pretty good

success to appear more recklessly masculine than any

ordinary boy could be. Until today she had seemed if

anything too confident. What was bothering her?

"Jon, if you're afraid—"

"Ain't that!" Jon snapped. "Not any more than you

8 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

are, anyway. But curse it, Kel, if I'm going to get et up

by a dragon, I at least want a chance."

"Few people have a chance," Kelvin retorted.

"Dragons are big and strong and mean. If you run

into one, it will devour you fast. Once it bites off your

head, which I'm sure it will do early on, I can promise

you that you will hardly feel a thing."

"Great!" Jon said, not appreciating the humor. "So

we just stay away from it?"

"That's all anyone with any sense does. Or," he

added, giving a slight nod at Mockery, "anything with

sense." *

"But dragons have been killed, haven't they?"

"A few times by heroes with armor and war-horses

and lances. You know that, Jon. A few have fallen, but

not to the likes of us."

"But if we had a good sword, and a war-horse, and a

lance—"

"We'd get et, just the same," Kelvin said confident-

ly. "You ever see me ride a war-horse? Or use a sword

except for hacking brush? It takes training, Jon; it

doesn't just happen."

Jon subsided into silence as they plodded on. The

road was becoming narrower with every mile. The

debris piles were getting higher and higher. Now the

mountain walls seemed to lean inward. The sun hid

its face behind the peak of the mountain to the west.

The air became noticeably cooler as the bird and

animal sounds became more hushed and were heard

less often.

"I don't like this place," Jon said, looking about at

the tangled masses of trees the flood had left. "It's

ugly."

"Nobody comes here for a picnic, Jon. Riches

aren't found in the nicest places. If we're to get gold,

we have to put up with ugliness."

Jon flushed a little and looked away. Now and then

something Kelvin said did have a noticeable effect.

But he wondered whether he should caution her about

showing any color, that was a trait associated more

with girls, and could give her away. He decided to

keep quiet; Jon didn't like to have her female manner-

isms pointed out. There was a certain irony in this,

because in truth she was becoming a rather pretty

figure of a girl when she let herself be.

Kelvin estimated the time. It was getting to be late

in the afternoon. Soon they would stop to build camp,

and then early tomorrow they'd find gold. Or at least

they'd search for it. If the spring floods had washed it

down from the high mountains, they might find

nuggets of it along the stream. That was their hope;

that was what made this an adventure instead of just a

chance to explore. A chance for Jon to be a boy

—perhaps one of the last chances, for soon there

would be no easy way to conceal her nature.

He wondered how he would feel if he knew that he

was really a girl, and would have to resign himself to

becoming a homemaker and never going out explor-

ing again. He shuddered; he knew he would hate it.

He wished he could at least express some sympathy

for Jon, but he couldn't; it would come out all wrong,

and she would be furious.

"Gods, Kel, look what I found!"

He blinked as he strained his sight to see what

shone so brightly in Jon's hands. His eyes were not the

best; if Jon's curse was being a girl, his own was being

inadequate in various ways like this. Jon had reached

down into a clump of ugly brown weeds, and now held

something that filled her cupped palms.

Carefully, Kelvin took it from her, bringing it close

enough for a decent focus. It was a scale that could

have come from a dragon's neck. It had the heft of

gold, and some luster through the grime. It could be

very valuable.

"It's a dragon scale, isn't it? Isn't it?" she de-

manded, hopping about in her excitement.

"Easy, Jon, easy," he cautioned her. "Don't shout

or do anything to attract a dragon's attention. This

could be fresh, and—"

"Think I'm crazy?" Jon asked. Then, "It is, isn't it?

10 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

Gold that migrated to the scale from the nuggets

swallowed by the dragon? It's just as the books said!

Just like the shellfish that get metal in their shells from

ingesting bits of metal and then become unfit to eat!

We're lucky, oh so lucky!" She was dancing again.

Kelvin stopped her with an upraised hand. "Quiet,

fool! The dragon could be in hearing distance!" For

the scale of a dragon meant danger as well as wealth,

and suddenly he was quite nervous about this aspect.

"Around here?" Jon whirled happily. "If that's so,

why isn't smart-ass Mockery a-rearin' and a-rarin'

and kicking up his heels? You know dragons shed

scales! It probably happened weeks ago."

"Yes," Kelvin agreed. "But we can't be sure. We

can't be sure it's not lurking and waiting for us."

Jon gave him a look of contempt. She had always

been bolder than he. "Hah. Do you think that was just

dropped?" She pointed to a pile of dried dragon dung.

Kelvin looked at the bits of white bone sticking out

of the dung, and shivered. That, he thought, could be

the remnant of a human being.

"We have to be careful, Jon," he said. "We have to

check around here to make sure there's no fresh sign.

If a dragon's been around in the last day or so, we

want to move out. If we don't find fresh sign, we'll set

up the tent, cook the squirbet you bagged, eat, and get

a good night's sleep. Then, first thing tomorrow, we'll

search." His hands felt clammy as he put the scale

into a pocket of his pantaloons. The very notion of a

nearby dragon gave him the cold sweats.

But Jon was already climbing a high mound of

rocks and weeds and piled-up tree trunks. As usual

she did not appear to have heard a word Kelvin said.

CHAPTER 2

Dragon Ire

CONTROLLING HIS FEELINGS AS much as he could, Kel-

vin petted Mockery and made plans for putting up the

tent and cooking the squirbet Jon had knocked over

earlier during the day. He took off Mockery's pack,

put hobbles on the beast, went to the nearest sapling,

and cut a sturdy tent pole with his incredibly dull

sword.

"I found another! Two more!" Jon cried from

halfway up the pile.

Kelvin's heart leaped. He controlled it. Careful,

careful, he thought. Move too fast, make too much

noise, and the two of them could become bones in

dragon dung. Were those other bones human? Had

the dragon eaten the last intrepid gold-hunters to

brave this place?

"Kel, there's six of them! All in a bunch, and

stained! The dragon must have been in a fight with

another dragon."

So that was why so many downed trees, Kelvin

thought. The flooding river hadn't done it all; dragons

had added to the carnage of this region. He shivered

in spite of himself as he imagined the size of the

beasts. Two of them? That would account for the

ground being grassless over there and for the dirt

showing. Where would the loser go afterward, he

wondered, and thought again that he really should be

curbing Jon's noisy explorations.

"Let's make our camp now, Jon. Please." He hated

sounding like a coward, but the possible presence of a

dragon made him feel very much like one.

Jon ignored him, clambering nimbly on up the

rockpile. She had no foolish concern about monsters!

He picked at a blister on his hand as he waited for

her to finish with the pile and come down. Just how

was their tent to be constructed? And what would

they eat? The appleberry bushes had been savaged,

too; even his most ardent charm was unlikely to make

their fruit edible here.

"Kel, I've found ..." Jon's voice trailed off, forcing

Kelvin to look around for her. He spotted her atop a

jumble of boulders piled amidst tree trunks, the rock

coated with decomposed vegetation and sandy soil

from the river bottom.

"Kel, I see ... I think I see the dragon!"

"What!" "

"The dragon. I think it's dead. It's dead, Kel! It got

licked in the fight. All those scales! We're rich, Kel!

Come on up, and . . . oh-oh."

"What is it, Jon?" His heart thumped. His throat

dried instantly.

"Oh, Kel, it's alive, but I think it's almost dead. I

think we can kill it and—"

"Jon, come away from there!" If the dragon was

alive, but badly injured, they might be able to escape.

"A fortune, Kel! A fortune! Kel, I'm going to sling a

rock at it."

Total folly! "No, Jon, no!" Kelvin croaked, his

throat so tight with fear he could hardly speak.

But the intrepid little sister was already twirling her

sling. With the skill of long practice and a natural

knack she let fly and followed through with her usual

"Got him!"

Kelvin couldn't speak; his horror had closed off his

throat entirely. He held his breath as Jon stared down

the opposite side of the pile. What was she seeing

there, anyway?

"It sees me, Kel," her voice came back, rising with

sudden alarm. "It's awake. It—Kel, it's coming for

me!"

Kelvin's voice tore loose from his constricted

throat. "Run, Jon, run! Back here!"

He heard the scramble as Jon moved. Her head

appeared at the crest. She seemed to be moving

slowly, but Kelvin realized that this was really the

effect of his terror: the world seemed to have slowed

almost to a standstill. Now it came to him: this huge

pile of debris had been kicked up by the fighting

dragons!

Fighting? Then why wasn't the loser dead? A drag-

on never left prey or an enemy alive; he would chew it

to bits just out of spite, even if he wasn't hungry.

Dragons liked to kill, to make blood splatter! Every-

one knew that! When they fought each other, the loser

always died, because no dragon ever fled from any-

thing. It couldn't have been a fight!

Then what had happened? Obviously this dragon

had been only sleeping. But why had it scratched up

such a mountain of refuse? For he was sure now: the

natural hill here had been enhanced by more than

flood refuse. Dragons were known to be as lazy as any

other creature; they saved their energy for important

things like pursuing prey and fighting and—

And mating. He remembered the stories now. The

mating of dragons was almost indistinguishable from

a fight to the death. It seemed that the females never

did mate voluntarily, so the males had to run them

down and subdue them and rape them. It was said

that the effort of doing this tired out a male dragon

more than any other activity, and that some dropped

into deep sleep on the spot. That must have been the

case with this one. Probably it would have slept for

several more hours if Jon hadn't jolted him with a

rock on the snoot.

But even a tired dragon was a worse threat than any

other living creature. There was no telling how long

this one had had to recover; it might have slept for

several days, and now be largely restored, and plenty

hungry. And they, like the fools they were, had

blundered in, thinking the scales that had been torn

off in the ecstasy of rut meant that the dragon was

gone.

Jon was coming down the ragged slope, slip-sliding

across slime-slick stones. The dragons probably

hadn't even noticed the havoc they wrought on the

landscape! The male had finally tamed the female,

probably holding her" down with his huge teeth and

claws while it rammed into her torso. There would be

blood galore, his as well as hers. Once the male's urge

was spent, his grip would have relaxed, and the female

would have torn free and departed. This was the one

encounter in which dragon did not kill dragon; she

had to go gestate, and he had to let her go. So, worn

but satiated, he slept where he lay ... until this

moment.

With a cry of despair and fright elevated to unadul-

terated terror, Jon turned and dropped, screaming as

she slid through loosely piled debris and river-bome

brush. She had fallen into a hole in the pile!

But her cries were drowned out in a moment by the

loudest and most drawn-out hiss Kelvin had ever

heard or imagined. It was the sound of the biggest,

most dreaded reptile ever to slither through a night-

mare. Then a scrabbling noise, as huge claws dug at

smooth rock to find a foothold. No worn-out dragon,

that!

Kelvin looked wildly around for safety, spotted

none, and turned to his faithful steed. The donkey,

amazingly enough, was chomping grass. Obviously

the animal was stone-deaf; this was the first time

Kelvin had realized it.

"Kel, Kel! He's going to get me, Kel! He's going to

get me! He's climbing up, Kel! He's climbing!" Jon's

former boldness had been completely dissipated; now

at last she understood what he had feared when he

saw the first golden scale.

What does one do when one's sister is in dire

danger from a menace that cannot be opposed? One

does what little one can.

Raising the old sword in his already sore hand,

Kelvin rushed madly for the pile. A tree trunk lay next

to some smaller rocks and made a regular staircase

that Jon had followed. Kelvin's running feet found it

of their own accord. Panting, he reached the spot

where Jon had fallen, looked down between stacked

rocks and tree trunks, and saw her frightened face.

"I can't get out in time, Kel!" she screamed tearful-

ly. "I'm trapped! Save yourself, Kel! Save yourself!"

Kelvin, in a rear portion of his mind, recognized

this as one of his sister's better ideas, but somehow he

wasn't satisfied with it. Whether he would have taken

her up on it he could never afterward be certain, for at

that moment the golden-scaled, elongated snout of

the dragon appeared over the pile's top boulder. The

thing was simultaneously awful and beautiful: deadly

living gold. He had known that dragons were mon-

strous, but from this range that was an appalling

understatement. He judged that this one could swal-

low both of them in a single gulp. He could not see the

main torso, but guessed that its size must be equiva-

lent to that of six or seven large war-horses. No

wonder so few men had ever dared face such a

creature! The wonder was that any who had done so

had survived.

The monster levered itself up on gigantic scaled

claws. Its entire head was now visible, and the front of

its body. Kelvin could see the crest on the head and

the short, leathery wings. He knew he should be

afraid, but his emotion seemed to have shorted out

that stage, leaving him strangely clearheaded.

Kelvin raised his sword. His arm shook so that he

seemed to be fencing. He wished he had scoured off

the rust and put a razor edge on the blade. He couldn't

imagine what he could do with a sharp clean sword,

let alone this dull dirty one, but now was not a good

time for imagination anyway.

Ping!

His arm went numb. Something serpentine and

leathery and wet curled three times around his sword

blade and twice around his wrist. He lurched back-

ward in horror—and was promptly pulled forward by

the long, forked tongue.

Some sword! he thought, insanely hacking with the

edge of his free hand at the tongue's forked tip.

The edge of his hand came down precisely right, and

he yelped with pain and disgust as he numbed his own

wrist. The dragon seemed unaffected by the hand

chop that had all but fractured Kelvin's good right

arm. He got his feet wedged in a crack of a boulder

and pushed back.

The tongue uncurled from his arm, and the sword

went with it, up and into the cavernous mouth. Those

teeth—they were the size of short swords! The breath

—a poisonous hot wind from a fetid swamp.

Kelvin was falling backward. Then he saw the

sword spinning in midair, and he heard a splatting

sound. The dragon had simply spit out Kelvin's best

and only weapon. And now . . .

The ground closed in about him. He was falling

through the same hole that had swallowed Jon! His

arms spread out reflexively to catch hold of the edges,

but his fingers only tore out hunks of brush and sand.

His descent slowed, but did not stop.

There was an "Ooof!" of protest. He had landed on

something soft. His sister's body had filled out more

than he realized.

They scrambled to separate. It was dark in this hole

and smelly.

"You hurt?" he whispered.

"Just bruised," she gasped. "You?"

He didn't answer, for he heard a scrabbling sound

on the rock overhead. Could the beast move the

boulders? Could it dig them out? How tired was it?

"Kel—"

"Quiet!" he hissed. Surely the dragon could dig

them out, since it had formed this miniature moun-

tain. But would it? In its fatigued state it might decide

it wasn't worth the energy it would take to roust out

these two little morsels.

"There's a hole here," Jon whispered. Already she

was reverting to normal, ignoring his strictures.

Kelvin felt Jon's hand in the dark, and she moved it

to the place. There was indeed a hole—an aperture

formed by two large tree limbs near ground level. A

way out, possibly, but not necessarily to safety. If the

dragon discovered it, he could reach in with that

long tongue and lick them out as if they were only

ants!

This hole was more danger than help! Kelvin tried

to think of a way to seal off the opening and keep the

dragon's sinuous tongue outside. His hands went out

in quick desperation and snagged on a broken branch.

He felt along the branch and encountered a smooth,

rounded surface. Further investigation informed his

senses that here was a boulder that wasn't supporting

anything. If he and Jon could somehow move it and

use it as a plug for the hole ...

"Look!" Jon whispered, nudging him urgently.

In the dim light he saw the dragon's clawed foot,

just as it lit on something with a sound like a bursting

bladder. A moment later there was a loud hiss; then

the frantic snort and squeal of a suddenly alert

donkey.

"There goes Mockery," Kelvin said. He had an ugly

picture of the donkey in the jaws of the dragon, and he

hoped the monster would hurt his teeth on the hob-

bles. Mockery was unable to run; if only he hadn't put

those restraints on!

But he realized that this just might have saved his

life and Jon's. The dragon had found easier prey.

Jon whimpered. Kelvin hardly noticed, but sudden-

ly he realized that his sister was worming on past him,

blocking his light.

"What—Jon . . . ?"

"I won't let it! I won't let it!" Jon screamed. "It

can't have Mockery. Mockery's ours!" Evidently she

had had a change of heart about the worth of the

animal.

Kelvin grabbed hold of a slim leg above and below a

boot top and pulled her back. "You want the dragon

to discover this hole?"

Jon subsided. Kelvin breathed a silent sigh. Now, if

the incipient scream of the donkey didn't set her off—

He felt a foot on his back. "There's a root here,"

Jon said. "Or something. I think it can get back up."

A loud hiss that sounded like escaping steam drew

his attention back to the hole at ground level. The

dragon had moved. Now he could see the little donkey

hobbled near the riverbank. It no longer mattered

whether Mockery could hear; certainly he could see

and smell! The donkey's eyes were rolled back, the

nostrils flared.

Then suddenly there was a loud hiss as the dragon's

awful, golden-scaled head moved directly over the

animal. Slowly the long, serpentine neck lowered,

hunching, and the mouth gaped to display the deadly

teeth. The forked tongue shot from the mouth and

just touched the donkey's flank.

Throp!

It was a magnificent donkey kick that landed with

stunning accuracy on the huge snout. A man would

have been killed by that strike, or a war-horse disa-

bled. The dragon didn't even seem to notice. Seem-

ingly bent on tasting before devouring, it closed its

front teeth in a dreadful snap on Mockery's tail. The

tail came off in a little shower of blood.

Kelvin closed his eyes, dreading what the dragon

would do next. There was nothing he could do except

let it happen.

"Bite my ass, will you! Take that!"

Kelvin's eyes popped open as the childish scream of

defiance ended and a walnut-sized projectile struck

the dragon's bloodred eye. The rock seemed to go into

the eye like a froog into mud, then eject and lodge just

under the eye's huge lower lid.

The dragon let out a hiss that hurt Kelvin's ears.

The neck twisted the head around to stare at the pile

of debris and at the small human figure. A great claw

lifted to the lizard face and delicately flicked out the

rock from beneath the eye's lid. The slow thought

processes were almost evident. This tiny creature was

trying to attack!

The dragon hissed again as the neck went back in

striking position. This is the end of Jon, Kelvin

thought, for the moment too stunned to act.

Then Jon jumped down into the hole, landing on

him. Kelvin felt the wind go out of his chest, and a

heel bruised his left ear, and a foot hit his hand. He

was glad his sister didn't weigh more than she did!

"I got him, Kel! Got him in the eye! Right in the

big, bloody eyeball!"

"You've gotten us killed," Kelvin gasped as soon as

he could talk. "That thing might have been content

with the donkey, but now—"

Nearby snorting interrupted him. A huge, open

nostril was sucking up dust at the ground-level hole.

Certainly the dragon smelled them now! In another

instant the tongue would intrude, would search them

out, and then . . . dragon fare!

"Jon, help me roll this boulder!" Kelvin strained at

the rock, trying to get it between them and the flaring

nostril. He strained, and then he remembered a

broken branch he had felt before that might serve as a

pry and a smaller rock that might serve as a fulcrum.

Quickly he got the smaller rock and the branch

positioned, and got Jon's small hands on the branch

next to his.

"Heave, Jon, heave!"

He strained until he saw stars. Beside him, Jon

groaned. The rock quivered ever so slightly. It was

free—broken free of the dirt. Now if it would just

move.

"Kel, it's got me!" Jon said. At that moment Kelvin

realized that a rough and living rope had shot to the

side of the boulder and fastened on Jon.

"Where does he have you?" he asked quickly.

"M-my leg."

"Hang on to me. I think—" He threw his back into

the enbrt and then all his weight, buttressed by hers.

The dragon was pulling her, and that was actually

helping them to put pressure on the lever. It had to be

now, he thought, or else there would never be another

chance.

The boulder moved. Kelvin scraped up a bit more

strength from somewhere and put all he had into it.

The boulder rolled grudgingly over the soggy

ground. Now if only—

It had! The boulder had partially blocked the hole,

and—

"I'm free, Kel! It let go! But—"

A terrible hissing outside—and something moved

next to Kelvin's shoulder. He jerked away with revul-

sion, even though he knew what it was and what they

had done.

The dragon's long tongue was under the heavy

boulder—a rock the weight of perhaps two very large

men, or one very small donkey. The tongue was

pinned!

The tongue vibrated at its unpinned tip. Saliva

rained into their enclosure, and a breath that was

dizzying in its putridity came with a most stomach-

turning gagging sound.

"We got him, Jon! For now! Let's get out of here

before he forgets how he's hurting and starts using his

legs to roll that rock off his tongue!" For though the

dragon could readily have moved the rock with its legs

or even its head, it was too stupid to make that

connection. It was trying to free its tongue by reflex,

snatching it back into its mouth. That way would

never work!

Jon led the way. They helped each other out of the

trap and to the top of the pile where Jon had first

sighted the dragon. The beast lay almost level with

their faces, its eyes glaring hatred. Kelvin stared back,

almost hypnotized by its stare.

Jon picked up the fallen sword and handed it to

him. "Ypu've got to, Kel. If you don't, it may get

loose. Or it could just die here."

Kelvin's urge was to flee immediately, but he real-

ized she was right. If the dragon was truly pinned, and

never figured out how to escape, it would die a

lingering death that shouldn't be wished even on a

monster. If it did escape, the two of them and the

DRAGON'S GOLD 21

donkey would be in immediate danger, for the dragon

would sniff them out and pounce on them long before

they got home.

He took the old sword, held it tight, and considered

the best place to attack. An eye, probably, but would

the sword penetrate all the way to the beast's brain?

Gnash!

A large clawed foot came up as he hesitated, strik-

ing within an arm's length of Jon. Jon leaped back and

almost slid down the hole again.

The sword was inadequate, Kelvin concluded. He

needed a lance.

"Jon, that long tent pole I cut—can you bring it to

me?" Kelvin didn't dare move, in case the dragon

decided to ignore the pain of its tongue and rip free;

then he would have to try with the sword, however

hopeless it seemed.

"What do you want it for?"

Damn her impertinence! "Just get it! Hurry!"

From the corner of his eye he watched her scamper.

He stood just outside the range of the monster's leg. It

was unnerving to be this close, but if he retreated

farther he would not be in position to strike at the eye

if that became necessary.

Jon paused to examine Mockery's tail stump. "Jon,

Jon, Jon!" Kelvin said to himself in frustration. But

finally she brought the pole.

He used the sword to sharpen the end of the pole to

a near needle point. The dragon's eye watched him

with unnerving intensity. Did the monster know what

was coming? If so, why didn't it simply wrench out its

tongue and free itself? That would be less painful than

a stake through its eyeball! But of course it was an

animal, unable to plan ahead. No creature as powerful

as a dragon needed much in the way of intellect,

ordinarily.

It would be better if he could fasten the sword to the

pole. But then there was a haft on the sword that

would surely stop it from penetrating. The pole, if he

put his weight behind it, would stab through the jelly

22 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

of the eyeball and on through, into the pulsing,

seething brain.

Suddenly Kelvin felt faint. The vision of that brain

—could he do it, even to save his own life? Could he

kill so messily in such cold blood?

Jon watched as he put down the sword. Her face

bore a peculiar and undefinable expression. "Kel, let

me do it."

"No. It's dangerous, and I doubt you're strong

enough. I'm not even sure that I'm strong enough."

"That's what I'm afraid of. You look as if you're

about to conk out."

"No!" Stupid sister! Kelvin took the pole firmly in

his hands, balanced it until it felt right, took a deep

breath, and ran the few steps to the dragon. Staring

into the bloodred eye and trying to visualize the

location of the brain in that reptilian head, he drove

the pointed stake with all his strength.

The point hit true. The eye was so large that it

would have been difficult to miss.

It went through the pupil, sending blood and gray

stuff squirting back at him.

There was a frightful scream. The dragon's head

jerked violently. The pole snapped up into the air,

hauling Kelvin with it, for he was so frozen with fear

that he could not let go. Then his hands lost their grip

and he flew. He had a glimpse of Mockery and the

river and trees.

There was the sensation of air moving across his

face. He knew he had done all he could. Had it been

enough?

He felt only a timeless waiting, as for unknown

hands...

r

CHAPTER 3

Memories

"MAMA, WHY ARE MY ears so small and so round? Why

aren't they like yours? Why are they like Daddy's?"

He sat in the bath and put questions to his beautiful

mother. Even as a small child, he knew what a lovely

creature she was. Her hair was the hue of copper, and

her eyes of violets. Her skin was translucently white,

and her ears were large and pointed. What more could

a child ask for?

"Because, my dear, you are very special," she said.

"Special, Mama?" He knew she didn't mean it to

hurt, but it always did. He didn't want to be special,

he wanted to be normal.

"Your father is special. That is why you are, too."

"But. . . why?"

"He's from another world, dear. A world just a little

bit different from ours. There are many such worlds,

many such existences, universes. They lie side by side,

touching as the skins touch on an onlic. Each skin

subtly different, yet subtly same. We can't see the

worlds that interpenetrate ours, but they are there,

and they are real to the people or beings living there."

"There?" He didn't understand her explanation at

all. He only knew that he hated the pungent taste of

onlics.

"Here. All about us. Your father talks of atoms and

thegreat spaces between the stars, but the wise ones in

our world have different explanations."

He looked around their cottage, at the furniture and

at the water he had splashed from the tub onto the

polished yellow wood floor. "Here? Another boy?

Another boy in another world in another tub?"

"Perhaps many boys in many vessels on many

23

24 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

worlds touching and almost a part of ours. It has to

be. That may be how myths start, and superstitions,

and stories and tales from the imagination. It's

the closeness, the nearness, the very near identity."

Her fingers, so strong and shapely, soaped his

chest. "You'll understand when you're older, dear.

When you are old enough to begin to fulfill the

prophecy."

"Prophecy? What's that, Mama?"

She dried her hands on a towel, crossed the room to

his father's desk, opened it, and took out the vellum-

covered book with the bloodstain on its cover. She

brought it to him, opened it, and turned the pages so

he could see the strange, straggly letters.

"This," she said, "is the Book of Prophecy. It was

written long, long ago by Mouvar the Magnificent,

who saw ahead, and who wrote ahead, and who

became godlike in the process. Mouvar, who fought

the great battle with the dark sorcerer, Zatanas, and

who will live, some say, forever, if Zatanas does not

finally kill him and eject his essence from our contin-

uum. I'm going to read to you some of Mouvar's

words written long, long before your father and I were

born."

"Is it about me. Mama?" Excitement tingled his

hands and feet as though he had grasped an electric

bug and been shocked.

"Yes, darling. It's about you. It's in rhyme, like all

the prophecies. It doesn't give your name, but it's

about you." Squeezing one of his small hands in her

larger, stronger hand, she read:

A Roundear there Shall Surely be

Born to be Strong, Raised to be Free

Fighting Dragons in his Youth

Leading Armies, Nothing Loth

Ridding his Country of a Sore

Joining Two, then uniting Four

Until from Seven there be one

Only then' will his Task be Done

DRAGON'S GOLD 25

Honored by Many, cursed by Few

All will know what Roundear can Do.

"That's pretty, Mama. What does it mean?"

"That you will fight dragons. That you will rid Rud

of its tyrant Queen, Zoanna, daughter of Zatanas.

That you will first join two of the Seven Kingdoms,

then unite with four. That you will finally join and

unite into one land all the Seven Kingdoms."

"How will I do that, Mama?"

"When the time comes, you'll find a way. It's

prophecy. Prophecy may be misunderstood, but al-

ways comes true. Always. If not in our world, in

another almost like it."

"True about dragons, too?"

"Yes, darling. About dragons, too."

"Dragons . . . with claws and teeth and a long

tongue and scales?"

"Yes, darling. And the scales will be gold, just as in

the story I read to you."

"And will I marry the princess and will we live

happily together ever after in a great big palace? Will

we have servants and courtiers and jesters and acro-

bats and ponies?"

"You may," she said with an affectionate smile.

"But the prophecy leaves us to guess about such

details. I don't have the complete prophecy; no one

does. Bits of it are scattered around the globe. Some

talk of gloves, and some of round-eared girls, but

those may not be valid aspects of it. But I know

enough to know that you are the one."

He pondered that. "Did you know all the details

when you married Daddy?"

She laughed. "I hardly knew any, dear. I simply

knew that I had to marry a roundear if I was to have a

roundear child, and even then the chances were only

even. I hoped he would be a good man."

"You wanted a roundear son?" he asked incredu-

lously.

She drew him into her and kissed the top of his left

26 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

ear. "I did indeed, Kelvin! But had I known he would

be you, I would have wanted him even without the

prophecy."

He found himself crying, and she held him close,

comforting him. But these were not tears of grief, but

of relief. Now, finally, he could accept being special.

He had secretly feared that his point-eared little sister

had arrived because his mother was unsatisfied with

him.

His father finished twirling the rope and tossed it

over the peg. A jerk of the line and the peg shot from

the ground and followed the rope to his hands.

"All right, Kelvin. Now you try."

But Kelvin had his hands over his eyes. "It's magic,

Daddy! It's magic!"

"It's not magic!" Stem blond eyebrows, stem face.

"Magic is simply natural law that hasn't been ex-

plained. There's no such thing as magic in this world

or any other. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Father." He watched the adult roundear,

frightened, as the lasso was placed in his hands.

"Now you practice, and you practice, and you

practice. This is the only skill I had before I went into

the army, and it's the one skill I can leave you with."

"What good is it, F-father?"

"You saw me lasso the cow the other day."

"Yes, but she would have come anyway."

"Someday there may be something that won't. Now

you hold the loop in this hand, and—"

They worked at it for a very long time, but finally he

could rope the peg nearly as well as could his father.

The door flew open with a bang, scaring Kelvin as

he played with fortune cards on the cottage floor. His

father rushed in, trailing a cold wind and a swirl of

snow. He limped across the room, favoring the leg the

wild bull had kicked long ago while he was trying to

separate it from their cow.

Mama looked .up from the coat she was mending,

DRAGON'S GOLD 27

her expression the one she wore when she was expect-

ing something to happen that happened.

"Charlain, I saw them again," his father said,

taking his mother's hand. "They've tracked the ru-

mors to the village. Now I have to go. I won't

endanger you and the boy any longer!"

His mother lodged the needle in the coat sleeve,

stood up, and put her arms around his father. They

held each other for a while. By and by she said, "Your

travelsack is ready. Will you take the horse?"

"I can't take your horse," his father said. "I

couldn't take it the first time I came here, and I can't

do it now. You'll need it for plowing. Those cursed tax

collectors . . ."

"I'll fix you a lunch."

Kelvin looked at his father and together they

watched his mother go into the kitchen. Suddenly his

father was kneeling by him, holding him up against

his chest. A noise came from that chest, or perhaps his

father's throat, and it was not a sound a big, strong

man was supposed to make.

"Don't cry. Father."

But his father merely said, "Son, I want you to

listen. Listen to me now, even if you never have

before. Your mother's head is filled with nonsense.

Don't believe her, son. In my world they understand

—about atoms and the spaces between atoms. That

prophecy is nonsense. Foolish! You're just a boy, son.

You won't have to fight a dragon and fight with a

sword and lead armies the way she says. If I can, I'll

come for you someday. All three of you. If we can,

we'll go home to my world. It's not as nice as this

world in some ways, but then in other ways ..."

"Father—" He felt confused, lonely, and scared.

What was happening? Why did his father have to

leave?

"It will be, son. It must be. Promise me you won't

try to live out her prophecies. She's a fine woman,

but—"

"Here's your lunch," Mommy said. She held out a

28 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayrojf

small packet that gave forth the smell of freshly baked

bread, and a jar of the bright red razzlefruit wine that

Kelvin was not yet allowed to try.

"Chariain, oh, Charlain!" his father said, and then

the two were hugging as though there was never to be

any more of it.

"I don't want to go. I really don't. But—" There

was such anguish in his father's voice.

"It might as well have been written," she said. She

seemed so calm, so certain of her facts. "It's as true

that you have to as ... as the prophecy itself."

"Yes." He smiled, wiping at his eyes. His tone

seemed to add, "But we both know I don't believe in

that nonsense."

"Kelvin," Mommy said, placing her hand on his

head, "you stay inside and keep an eye on your sister.

Play with your cards. Read your fortune, and your

father's, and mine. I'll come back to you before it is

suppertime."

Kelvin watched them out of the house and into the

bam where the horse was kept. When they did not

immediately emerge, he did what his mother had told

him and sat down with the cards. His sister, only two

years old, was sleeping, so she was no trouble.

He looked at the painted pictures and swirling

symbols on the cards. Could these tell anything about

what the future would bring?

"Sometimes," Mommy had said, "if you look at

them and think about them."

"Nonsense," Daddy had said gruffly. "Nonsense.

All of it nonsense. Don't you believe her."

But Mommy had countered Daddy with a conspira-

torial wink. She knew what she knew, however toler-

ant she was of the ignorance of others.

The woodsman's face was grim when be brought

the news. Watching him and his mother, Kelvin felt

that she really didn't look surprised. She looked, in

fact, much as she had the day his father left.

"Nothing much to bury, ma'am. They cut the big

DRAGON'S GOLD 29

bits into little bits, the filthy highwayman or whoever

did it. The wild things had been feasting, but it was no

wild thing that was to blame."

She nodded, understanding perhaps more than her

son did or could imagine. After a painful pause, she

said, "I dreamed it would be you, Hal Hackleberry.

You to bring me the dread news, and more."

"Ma'am?"

"Charlain. I want it to be Charlain again." She

picked up a stockelcap that his father had sometimes

worn under protest, patting it as though it were alive.

She looked at what she was doing, then back at the

woodsman.

"He didn't believe," she said. "Never. Never once,

even after Kelvin happened. He just wouldn't be-

lieve."

The woodsman shifted his feet. "I understand,

ma'am. Some men are like that. It's nothing against

them, you understand."

"I know. Not against them. Some things just have

to be. Would you care for some wine?"

"Why . . . yes, ma'am, I would. But—"

"But I have already grieved," she said. "I knew

when he left that I would never see him again in this

life. I grieved, and now . . . now I am ready."

"Ma'am?"

"For a new life. A life that maybe was only inter-

rupted for a time."

Kelvin was surprised to find tears dripping from his

face. The woodsman might be a good man, he

thought, but Daddy—Daddy was special.

"Roundear, Roundear, Roundear," taunted the cir-

cle of reddish faces. They moved closer, reaching out

to poke Kelvin in the stomach and ribs with stiffened

fingers.

"You stop that!" cried eight-year-old Jon. Her fists

were clenched, and she was all fury as she turned

round and round to face the tormentors. But the

harder she shouted, and the more angry she got, the

30 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojff

bolder the teasing became. "You stop that or my

brother will fight!" Jon told the biggest and roughest

boy of the bunch. "You're just jealous 'cause he can

charm the berries better'n any of you!"

"Jon!" Kelvin said with alarm. But he knew there

was no stopping her youthful indignation. It was true

that he had developed a way with plants, being able to

encourage them to flower and to sweeten their fruit,

but that wasn't anything he cared to advertise. His

natural father would have called it magic, therefore

invalid.

"He's a hero! A big hero! Mama said!"

"Fight? Fight? You want to fight, Roundear?" the

thirteen-year-old with the tooth out in front de-

manded.

Kelvin shook his head, remembering what father

John Knight had said about the stupidity of human

beings fighting. Only if there's no other way, son. Only

if there's no other way.

"You're afraid," said the bully. "Aren't you?"

"Yes." Kelvin said it before he thought. He always

spoke the truth except to his mother when they were

pretending.

"Ha! Some hero! Come on, boys, let's go to the

pond and skip rocks."

Kelvin breathed a shuddering sigh of relief.

"He'll fight you," Jon said. "And he'll lick you,

too."

"Jon, shut up," Kelvin muttered. But he knew that

the unsayable had been said. Now, as his father had

said, there was really no other way.

"Your mother's a witch, Roundear!" the big boy

said, pushing his face close to Kelvin's. "Your sister's

a nasty little froog, and you're a scared and stupid

squirbet."

"Sticks and stones," Kelvin said, reciting the charm

his real father had taught him. "Sticks and stones may

break my bones, but words will never—"

The fist landed on his cheek, hurting terribly. The

DRAGON'S GQLD 31

boy was all strength and no bluff, and happy to

demonstrate it.

Kelvin hit back, almost by reflex. By good luck he

hit the bigger boy on the mouth. The boy stood back,

putting a hand to his bruised lips where a trickle of

blood showed.

"Now you'll get it!" the boy exclaimed. He leaped

at Kelvin, swinging with one hand while he grabbed

with the other. Kelvin tried to twist aside, and that

was partially effective as the fist grazed his ear, but the

boy's other hand caught him and hauled him roughly

in. Kelvin tried to jerk away, and only succeeded in

winding himself into a tighter hold. He pushed for-

ward, the only way he was free to go, and this

overbalanced the bigger boy. Their feet got tangled

together, and they fell on the ground.

They rolled over and over, while the other boys

cheered their hero and Jon shouted advice, mostly

inappropriate. Perhaps it looked like a good fight from

outside, because of all the motion, but it was really

just Kelvin trying desperately to get away while the

big boy sought to pin him in a position for some more

effective punishment.

Kelvin was getting the worst of it. Now the bigger

boy was on top of him, hitting him more often and

with greater force. Kelvin was losing his ability to

avoid or fend off the blows, and each one hurt awfully.

The bigger boy paused. "You eat horse dung, don't

you, Roundear!"

This was Kelvin's chance to capitulate, cutting

down on his punishment. But he couldn't lie, even

now. "No."

Fists rained down on his face, bruising, hurting,

scaring him silly with the thought that he might lose

teeth or even an eye.

"I'll help you, Kelvin!" Jon cried. She piled onto

the bully's back, fists raining as hard as an eight-year-

old girl could manage.

The bully was distracted. It gave Kelvin a chance.

32 Piers Anthony and Robert E. M.argrojf

He struck upward, his fist catching the bully's turned

head.

He had scored directly on the nose. Blood exploded

from a rupture. "Aahhhh!" the big boy screamed.

Now his face, so close and ugly, was turning as red

as the blood from his nose. Kelvin had won the fight,

amazingly, for the bully was unable to do anything

except react to the pain and horror of it. It seemed

that it had never occurred to the bully that he might

get hurt. The other boys would not interfere, for there

was a code: it had to be one on one. Jon had violated

it, but she didn't count, being a girl.

But in that moment before it broke up, a bright

shaft of sunlight lit the bully's features, turning them

to gold, and that was the image that was to remain

most firmly in Kelvin's memory. Because that color

was—

Dragon's gold.

Jon and Kelvin had been working beside Hal, their

replacement father, grubbing out some tree stumps so

that they could plant more grain. The sound of horses'

hooves on the hard road and a plume of summer's

dust warned of the approach of guardsmen.

Hal nodded toward the woods. "Better you get out

of sight, Kel, just in case." He was not their natural

father, but he was a good man, and had always treated

them well and looked out for their welfare. Charlain

had chosen well, both times she married.

"I'll go with him," Jon said.

Hal glanced at her. "Maybe that's best. You're

growing up, girl, and there's no telling what guards-

men might do."

Jon flushed, hating to be reminded of her nature.

But it was true: the Queen's guardsmen had been

known to do things to young girls that couldn't be

done to boys. That might be part of what she hated

about being a girl.

They went behind some duckberry bushes and

crouched, waiting^ Kelvin breathed on the leaves and

DRAGON'S GOLD 33

stems, and the bushes moved to provide better con-

cealment. Shortly the guardsmen were there on their

war-horses, talking down to Hal.

"You're behind on your taxes, farmer!"

"It's been a bad year."

"You'll pay a fine. A big fine."

"I'll get the money. But if I sell our horse, there'll be

no money to buy more seed grain." He patted the

large gray animal hitched to the stump. Hal was kind

to animals, too, and worked well with them.

"That's your worry, farmer." The guardsman's

voice rang with contempt. "Scum like you have to

pay. If you don't pay, we set fire to your house and

seize your boy to sell in the boy market."

"I'll pay." It was evident that though Hal was

technically subservient, he had no real respect for the

agents of the Queen. "I just have to chop some wood,

and—"

But the big guardsman's face was turning redder

and then golden in the rays of the sun. Squinting

through the bushes, Kelvin began to see him with a

snout like that of a dragon. What was the big differ-

ence between a guardsman and a dragon? Both

brought destruction on common folk!

The matter of dragons was looming larger in Kel-

vin's mind. He feared them terribly, but their scales

were gold, and represented wealth that could free the

farm of debt. He would really have to do what he had

talked about to Jon. They would have to leave here

and go after gold.

Dragon's gold.

CHAPTER 4

Highwayman

"JON!JON!"

The girl looked up at him with eyes that shone from

her face nearly as brightly as what she held in her

bloody hands. What she held was palm-size yellow

gold, and had belonged to the late dragon.

"Gee, Kel, I thought you were dead!"

"So you were getting the gold anyway." What kind

of creature was this sister of his? Sometimes it seemed

to him that if anyone was a changeling, it was Jon.

"Well, I couldn't reach you very well, and I thought

I might as well start getting the scales. They come off

hard, Kel. It's going to be a lot of work."

Kelvin wormed his way off the tree branch, held

himself poised, then swung clear and dropped. He lit

with a shock to his feet and legs that surprised him.

Dragon scales, he remembered, were far from soft,

even if gold was supposed to be a soft metal.

"I looked about some," she continued. "There's a

funny little patch of berries—"

"You didn't eat strange berries!" Kelvin exclaimed,

alarmed. "You know that many of the wild plants out

here are poisonous!"

"Of course I know," she said in an aggrieved tone.

"I can't charm them into edibility the way you can,

with your round ears. I didn't eat any. But for all I

know, they might be good, so I saved a few to show

Mommy."

Kelvin relaxed. At least she had had some sense!

"But what's strange," she continued, "is that they

look, well, tended. Almost as if the dragon was taking

care of them. His prints are all around the patch, and

there's a path leading to it, which is how I found it.

34

DRAGON'S GOLD 35

A dragon path. I was going off to—you know."

She never liked to refer directly to natural func-

tions, partly because she couldn't perform them in

quite the manner she deemed proper for a boy. "So I

followed this path, because it was easy, and there

was this patch, almost like a garden, and the dra-

gon could've tromped all over it, but didn't. Isn't

that funny?"

It was indeed! Why would a dragon protect a simple

patch of berries? "You did right to save some," Kel-

vin said. "Dragons know about some things we

don't."

Feeling trembly and far from good, he let his legs

collapse beneath him. He sat down on the flat area

between two short wings. The dragon's tongue was

still protruding from its mouth and entering the

debris hole, but now a long pole was embedded in its

left eye socket. Evidently he had scored on the brain,

but he shivered to think how close a call it had been. If

he had not thrusted hard enough, or if the dragon's

death throes had hurled him into the trunk of a tree

instead of onto a branch . . .

Could he really have a charmed life, the way his

mother insisted? She had been right about his magic

with plants, after all, and if he really was destined to

be the hero of the prophecy, then this was not the

coincidence it seemed. Yet his father had been such a

practical man, making so much sense, that it was hard

to believe he could have been wrong about magic.

Jon came close, bringing Kelvin's sword. "You get

them off, Kel. It's far too much work."

"For you, you mean," he said, disgusted.

"Uh-huh. You're the biggest, so—" Then her com-

posure disintegrated. She flung herself into his arms,

almost stabbing him with the sword. "Oh, Kel, I

thought you were dead, maybe, and I couldn't even

reach you!"

He felt her tears soaking into his shoulder. So it had

all been an act, her nonchalance. Unable to help him,

she had gotten to work, hoping he would recover, and

36 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mwyroff

when he had, she tried to remain tough, but wasn't

able to carry it quite all the way through. How glad he

was of that; she had almost fooled him!

In a moment she recovered her composure. "Oh,

I'm getting all icky," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," he said. "Do you think I like the notion

that you don't care at all what happens to me?"

"But it's not manly to cry."

"Jon, someday you're going to have to accept the

fact that you're not—"

She cut him off with a bad word.

He dropped that aspect. "Anyway, I'd sure cry if

you got killed. But you're right; we've got to get to

work here. There's a skinning knife in the pack. I'll

use that and you use the sword and with luck we'll get

the job done."

"When?" Jon asked somewhat sourly.

"Before nightfall if you work hard. You're not go-

ing to be girlishly squeamish about dirty work, are

you?"

"No!" She hefted the sword, suddenly ready to use

it.

"I thought not. Here, let me see how it works." He

took the sword from her, stuck it under the nearest

scale, and pried. Grudgingly, it came up. Then he cut

at the leathery flesh holding it.

This would take longer than nightfall, he realized.

Even a dead dragon was tough!

He hacked the scale free and held it up. "There we

are—easy as pie." He returned the sword to her and

went to fetch the knife.

He was correct. Three grueling days later they had

finished as much of the unpleasant task as was possi-

ble without turning over the dragon, and were on their

way out of the pass. It was just as well, for the huge

carcass was decomposing, and the vultures were cir-

cling ever lower; soon the attention of other predators

or even men would be attracted, and that would be no

good for the two treasure-hunters. They had to get

DRAGON'S GOLD

37

away with their prize, and back to the farm unob-

served.

Bobtailed Mockery was in tow with two very heavy

travelsacks. They had scraped the scales as clean of

attached flesh as possible and washed them in the

river, but still some odor accompanied them. Jon had

to walk behind Mockery and swat the biting flies that

landed on the beast, because the donkey threatened to

dislodge the load when tormented by flies he could no

longer flick off with his tail.

"Do you think we should have dumped all our

stuff?" Jon asked. "Those pans and those blankets

were still good, even if Mockery did roll on them in

the river."

"We can buy more. One scale should buy all the

pans and blankets we'll need in our entire lives."

"If we don't live too long," Jon said, liking the

notion.

"Of course, Brother Wart."

They plodded on. They were out of the pass now

and the sun was shining and it looked to be a glorious

day for two rich youngsters. Kelvin was thinking that

they hadn't much of a worry in the world. A few scales

would pay off the errant taxes on the farm, and a few

more would cover all the luxuries Charlain might

want, and Hal, too, though Hal was a man of simple

tastes. They would turn the scales over to him for

safekeeping; he was honest, and would not cheat

anyone.

Suddenly a huge black war-horse appeared as if by

magic in the road ahead. It bore a man clad all in

black. Some bushes swayed at the side; the man must

have been lurking there. He leveled a sword that

flashed golden in the sun and looked extremely sharp.

"Your property or your lives!" the man said in the

time-honored manner of the highwayman.

Disaster! Kelvin swallowed. "We're without coin,"

he pleaded in the traditional way of the waylaid

traveler. He knew that the brigand would check the

travelsacks in a moment.

38

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Maryojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

39

"No coin, just scale," the man said with the certain-

ty with which Charlain announced anything after a

look at the fortune cards. "What'd you two do, find a

dead dragon?"

"No—" Kelvin started.

With a sudden swish the man's sword tip slashed

through the lashings on Mockery's pack and sent the

sacks falling. Golden platelets came loose from their

stacks and rained down. Mockery went into a bucking

protest.

Kelvin choked. He grabbed his sword, yanked it

from its scabbard, and—

Watched as it spun through the air in response to

the highwayman's quick and expert backhand mo-

tion. "Don't try that again, sonny, or it's your life!

You!" he snapped at Jon. "Drop that sling, or you'll

eat your ears!"

Mention of ears reminded Kelvin to check his own.

Fortunately he had remembered to pull down the

stockelcap, covering them. Years of getting beaten up

had made this an automatic reflex, just as was Jon's

concealment of her female attributes.

"Gods curse you, highway horse excrement!" Jon

exclaimed.

The bandit swung round to her. "You do what I say,

cubwhelp, or—"

Jon's sling started its defiant circle, but before she

could let fly, the horseman had leaped his horse to

within arm's reach and was leaning down, grabbing

the girl by her shoulders. Once, twice, the bandit

shook her, and Jon's head tossed helplessly and her

long yellow hair flopped out of the cap. Then the

highwayman thrust her aside.

Jon lit in the road and immediately scrambled back

to her feet. She had dropped the sling as the bandit

reached her, and now her face was very pale.

"You look like a damn girl!" the highwayman

muttered. "Maybe I'll just lop off some of that hair."

Jon said a word that would have gotten her a hiding

even at their liberal home. The bandit laughed. "But

appearances can be deceiving, eh? Spoken like the

man you'll someday be!"

He had not caught on! Kelvin gave a heave of relief.

Bad as their situation was, it could have gotten worse.

"Both of you, load that scale back on that beast! Tie

that strap together again so it holds," the highwayman

snapped. "And hand your own packs up here!"

They worked, Kelvin knowing that his own face

must resemble Jon's. If only the outlaw would make

some mistake!

Finished, scales all in place on Mockery's and the

war-horse's broad backs, the bandit rode over to Jon.

Leaning down, he grabbed the girl and swung her up

in front of him on the saddle.

"I'm taking this one to market," he said to Kelvin.

"An overseer's whip will teach him manners. Snarly

whelp!" He cuffed Jon, who had managed by a clever

twist to bite his hand.

Jon said something that Kelvin did not hear but

brought another cuff. Reacting at last to this new

threat, Kelvin leaped for the war-horse's bridle. He

grabbed the rein and raised an arm to try to deflect a

blow from the highwayman's sword. He saw a twisted

dark face, lips pulled back from yellowed teeth, an old

red scar that reached from the right comer of the

villain's mouth to the edge of his gaunt cheek below

his right squinty eye.

A moment later he found himself lying in the partly

filled ditch as a bird sang somewhere and the drum-

ming of the war-horse's hooves pounded off in the

distance. Once again, Kelvin had been absolutely

ineffective.

CHAPTER 5

Captive

JON HAD CEASED STRUGGLING hours ago. She had real-

ized very early that the more she resisted, the tighter

the highwayman gripped her, and it would not be long

before his hand or arm encountered aspects of her

that were not normal for a boy. She now rode docilely

ahead of the bandit on the huge black war-horse.

Waiting, she told herself repeatedly, her chance to

escape cleanly.

"Not so chipper now, little foulmouth?" the high-

wayman asked. It was a taunt, she knew, not a

question. "You know where I'm taking you? You

know what's going to happen to you?"

"You said the Boy Mart," Jon said. She knew of it.

Runaway boys, delinquent boys, boys seized for their

fathers' nonpayment of taxes, possibly even kid-

napped boys were sold like livestock to be slaves. To

work someone's plantation, or mine, or to row a

galley. It was all legal in Rud, and boys remained

slaves until they reached the legal age of manhood:

twenty-five. Quite a number, it was said, failed to live

to that age.

There was, however, one thing worse than the Boy

Mart. That was the Girl Mart. The girls, it was said,

generally lived out their terms, but hardly wanted to.

The lucky ones became housemaids or servant girls,

but many were sold to brothels or to sadistic old men.

Suicide was the leading cause of death among them.

Already Jon knew that if she didn't manage to escape,

she had better protect her secret, because the Boy

Mart was the better bet.

"Yes, the Boy Mart," the bandit repeated, taking

her silence for natural dread. "Best thing in the

40

DRAGON'S GOLD

41

world for you. The only thing in the world for you."

He laughed. Jon looked around at the towering cliffs

and the stunted trees and the new twisting path that

led through brambles and brush and on into more

bleak land. It was semidesert ahead. That was what

was called the Sadlands—a region fit only for scorpio-

crabs, giant spiders, and snakes. Outlaws such as this

one reportedly lived there, though why they should

choose to do so was a mystery.

Well, perhaps not so big a mystery. Since honest

folk stayed well clear of the Sadlands, that made it

relatively safe for outlaws. If they had good horses, as

this one did, they could range pretty far out, raiding

better regions and returning. There was a story that an

outlaw had aggravated the Queen once, and she had

sent a party of guardsmen into the Sadlands after

him, and they had never returned. Maybe it wasn't a

true story, but it had an authentic ring. Actually, the

Queen's guardsmen were little different from crimi-

nals at times, so maybe they had simply gone into

business for themselves. Maybe this one was one of

them.

"Whoa," the highwayman called, pulling on his

reins.

Jon made her decision to fight, to the extent she was

able without risking betraying her nature. Whatever

the outlaw wanted, he was not going to get much

cooperation.

The bandit slipped a dark bandanna over her face.

"Can't have you seeing where we're going for the

night, whelp."

So that was it! The outlaw was not very smart for

telling her, Jon thought. One way or the other she was

going to see through the bandanna, or over it or

around it. Since she was destined for the Boy Mart,

she probably would not be hurt if she behaved; then

when she escaped, she could tell Kelvin where the

highwayman's hideout was, so they could steal back

their gold.

But the bandanna was tight. Twice folded over her

42 Piers Anthony and. Robert E. Margrojf

eyes, it let in not a bit of light. The outlaw, unfortu-

nately, knew his business.

The horse resumed its steady walk. Jon thought

they were going uphill, not down, then down, not up.

But she wasn't sure; it could be the other way around.

She tried to edge a hand up to the bandanna, but got it

slapped down promptly.

"None of that, I tell you," the bandit said. He

didn't even sound annoyed. Maybe he took such

efforts as a matter of course.

But she had to see, Jon thought. She had to.

An insect buzzed loudly near her left ear. She shook

her head, and as she did, an idea struck.

Her ears. She could wiggle her ears. Girls weren't

supposed to do that; therefore it was one of her

proudest accomplishments.

If she could wriggle her ears just enough, the

bandanna just might be coaxed down a bit. The right

side of the blindfold wasn't folded evenly at the top. If

she could work the single thickness down, she could

see through it. If the bandit didn't stop her.

Slowly, Jon turned her head until her right ear was

directed frontward. The outlaw might not see it now.

With luck.

"Flies bothering you? Here!" The highwayman's

slap almost took her head off. Her breath hissed in

with pain—but while she shook her head in reaction,

she made her right ear twitch.

"Huh, missed the fly, hit your face. Hah."

Had he seen, Jon wondered? Could she see, now

that the bandanna had slipped a little?

Through her right eye she picked up a little light.

She could make out the bright sunlight and its sheen

on two towering rocks—one on either side of the

horse. They were going a different way than into the

Sadlands. This was back the way they had come! So

the bandit was trying to deceive her!

Now she detected the scent of the bilrose tree, and

remembered the grove they had passed through earli-

DRAGON'S GOLD

43

er. Then she heard water, and knew they were back at

the river.

The horse was taking another road, into the moun-

tains. It was the only turnoff place near the river; Jon

was certain because she had walked every step into

dragon country. It went up above the village of

Franklin and then into the mountains and then some-

where she had not been.

The horse plodded now. The outlaw was taking his

time. That meant he felt secure from discovery.

They were up in the mountains, and Jon knew the

road they had taken. The highwayman had said he

didn't want her to see where they would spend the

night, and now he seemed satisfied that she didn't

know where they had gone. So the camp or cave or

whatever must be close. How criminally clever, to

have a hideout close to a traveled road, while pretend-

ing to stay far away!

Now she heard the clip-clip-clip of the war-horse's

hooves on rock. Then they were definitely going down

a steep path. The outlaw's hand clamped on her

shoulder just as she seemed about to pitch off head-

first.

"Well, we're here," the highwayman said. With

that, he pulled the blindfold off.

Jon blinked. A rude log cabin was there, set in a box

canyon. Cactus trees were nearby. It could indeed be

the edge of the mountains in the Sadlands. The outlaw

expected her to think they had ridden on and that this

place was far away from where they had left Kelvin.

Kelvin? What had happened to him? Was he strug-

gling out into the Sadlands trying to track the high-

wayman down? He would get himself lost and die of

exposure! Kel was a decent brother, but sometimes he

was short on common sense.

But now was not the time to worry about Kelvin,

whom she could not help. Now was the time to think

about herself. Once she got free, she could see what

she could do for Kelvin.

44 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"Marta! Marta!" the highwayman called, startling

Jon. "Come look at what I brought."

A big, slovenly woman with a wart to the side of her

large nose appeared in the doorway. She could almost

be this outlaw's sister, judging by her looks. But the

way the two embraced indicated otherwise. It seemed

odd that a violent criminal should have affection for a

stupid fat wife, but it was evidently so.

"Another boy?" the woman said, her voice as

abrasive as her appearance. "Can't you do better than

that? There's a glut of them on the market; they don't

fetch the prices they used to."

Jon knew what did fetch good prices: girls. She had

to protect her secret!

"I did do better, woman!" the outlaw said cheerful-

ly. "Take a look at these." He held out scales-that still

had some messy flesh attached, despite Kelvin's and

her own best efforts.

"Uck! What?"

"Scale, love, scale! This one and his brother found a

dead dragon and pulled its scales off. They've loaded

them for me. In those bags on the donkey and in

here." He tapped his saddlebags.

"A dead dragon?"

"Must have been. The pup and his weakling brother

were still alive."

"Some people have all the luck!"

"Yah. Us!" Laughing at his own supposed wit, the

highwayman shoved Jon stumbling to the back of the

cabin. A rough cage stood there with open door.

Jon knew better than to argue. She climbed inside

the cage and watched him lock the door.

"She'll bring you a few corbeans and a jug of

water," the highwayman said. "You sleep on that old

blanket in the corner. And don't try to escape!"

"Suppose I do?" Jon asked, morbidly curious.

"Then I'll slice off your legs and leave you for the

wild houcats and the bearvers. That's if I'm in a good

mood. If I'm in a bad mood, I'll do something mean.

Har, har, bar!" fie really thought he was being funny.

DRAGON'S GOLD 45

Jon sat in the cage and stared at the back of the

cabin, knowing that it wouldn't be smart to try

anything now. She might be able to pry out part of the

cage and squeeze through, but that would surely make

noise, and they would be alert. The highwayman

might indeed be expecting some such attempt, and

have a punishment in mind. He wouldn't cut off her

legs, for that would ruin her value on the Boy Mart,

but he might rip off her clothes and beat her. Except

that once he ripped off her clothes, he wouldn't beat

her, he'd think of something worse.

The light faded. The woman brought her a plate of

stew that smelled somewhat like urine, and a jug that

smelled of the liquor it usually held, but now it had

only water. The woman did not bother to speak, only

motioning her to stay in back of the cage while she set

the food inside.

After the long and rough day Jon had had, the stew

did not taste nearly as bad as it might have. She ate

and drank.

Then she became aware of the need to relieve

herself. Would they let her out at least to urinate? But

if they did, they would surely watch her, and that

would be extremely awkward. If she tried to stand and

do it like a man, she'd only get her pantaloons soaked,

and they'd know. But if she didn't get out pretty soon,

she would have to soil herself right here in the cage.

She pondered, and decided on a course that had a

better than even chance of success. "Hey, I gotta go

poop!" she called out in the crude masculine manner.

"Just stand up and do it through the slats," the

highwayman said, laughing.

"Not in my house!" the woman exclaimed angrily.

"It stinks bad enough already!"

"Then you take him out," the man said.

"I don't want no woman watching me!" Jon pro-

tested loudly. "What do you think I am?"

"Aw, she's seen it before," he retorted. "We sure

aren't going to let you loose outside!"

The woman got up. She fetched a length of rope

46 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

from a peg on the wall. "He won't be loose." She came

and opened the cage door. "Put your head in this,"

she said, showing a noose at the end of the rope.

Jon obediently put her head forward, and the noose

slipped over. The woman tightened it just enough to

be snug on the neck. "You try to run, you know how

fast this'll tighten," she said.

"I know," Jon agreed. She would be choked in an

instant. She climbed carefully out of the cage and

walked across the room to the door. The woman had

the other end of the rope coiled twice about her hand;

she would not let it slip accidentally, and could twitch

the noose tight at any moment.

It was getting dark outside. The woman showed the

way to a rotten log some distance from the house.

There was a trench beyond it, and the smell made

clear its purpose.

Without a word Jon pulled down her pantaloons

just enough and stuck her bottom out over the trench.

She put one hand down in front as if to direct the aim

of a member there. The dusk and the hand effectively

concealed that region other body. Fortunately she did

have solid as well as liquid wastes to deposit, so the

woman had no reason to be suspicious. Men did squat

when they had to do both.

The woman proffered something white. It was

paper—a fragment of some old wrapper. Jon took it

and used it, then quickly pulled up her pantaloons, as

if embarrassed that any male anatomy might show

before a woman. It would have been far more awk-

ward if the highwayman had come with her, for then

she could not have justified her concealment.

They returned to the house. She had made it! They

had thought she might try to escape, but she had just

wanted to get her business done without destroying

her masquerade. Escape had to wait on a better

opportunity. Meanwhile, she would have to go easy

on what she drank, so that she wouldn't need to

urinate again until she could do both together. Until

darkness, again, if she didn't manage to escape first.

DRAGON'S GOLD 47

Back in the cage, she lay down on the smelly blanket

and peered out through the cracks in back at the

canyon wall outside. By twisting her head to the side

she could just manage to see some stars.

When the highwayman and his wife slept, she could

get up and pry her way out and escape. If she could do

it silently.

But when she slept, she was so tired that she never

woke till morning. Her chance to escape had passed.

She would be stuck with her luck in the Boy Mart.

CHAPTER 6

Hero

KELVIN RECOVERED HIS SWORD from the ditch, sheathed

it, and began what he knew was going to be a long

walk. The war-horse's hooves had made plenty of

tracks, but the road got harder ahead and the tracks

vanished. It was hot and it was uncomfortable and his

head hurt.

He would have to have help. There was no way he

could rescue Jon by himself. No way that he could

even hope to find the highwayman. He had to get to

Franklin. That was where the Boy Mart was. The

highwayman had said he would sell her, and he

wouldn't ride to some more distant market when

Franklin was convenient. Kelvin hoped. But when he

did get there, what could he do but get himself

arrested and sold along with his brother?

There had to be help somewhere. Guardsmen were

not to be trusted since the start of the reign of Queen

Zoanna, but once they had been good and dependable

defenders of the land. Things had been different back

before his father's time. His father—his natural fa-

ther, John Knight—had run afoul of the Queen in

some way, and that had led perhaps to his death.

Kelvin had a morbid curiosity about that, but it

wasn't something his mother liked to talk about.

He would have to go to the guardsmen's barracks

outside Franklin and tell about the highwayman and

ask and hope. He would have to be very polite and

servile, because otherwise he would be seen as a

runaway and a vagrant and taken to the Boy Mart as

merchandise.

The bandit probably had a shack out in the

48

DRAGON'S GOLD 49

Sadlands, Kelvin thought, sniffing the spicy scent of

bilrose blossoms from the grove ahead. He would take

Jon there, and then tomorrow take her to the boy

market. There Jon would be sold, to work at some-

thing hard and degrading and unworthy of her sharp

brain. If she managed to conceal her sex. That was a

special problem, and Kelvin didn't know what com-

plications it would lead to, but it made it all the more

urgent that she be rescued promptly.

He thought of Jon, hiding her nature, and being

forced to work at hard labor until she was twenty-five

years old. Not all boys survived that long, and Jon

would have twice as much trouble. The rich mer-

chants and plantation owners and shipping company

masters supported the Queen in order to keep the

custom alive, so they could have cheap labor. Other

lands had long since rid themselves of every type of

slavery, except (some wits claimed) that of matrimo-

ny. Rud was a fit land for a hero of prophecy to start!

He didn't feel like a hero. Not now that he was out

of dragon country, and not even before. It was all

nonsense, this prophecy. His father had said as much,

and he had believed. Many, many times, he had

believed in the invalidity of the prophecy, despite his

mother's certainty.

But he had slain the dragon, a perverse thought

came.

Luck! Just dumb luck. If there hadn't been that

haven in the debris pile, that rock and that stout

branch, a deaf donkey ...

But how, then, do you think prophecy works? It's the

stacking of fortune cards, the loading of prediction

dice. One has a little extra bonus in the game folks call

life.

He shook his head. He didn't like the way his

thoughts were going. It must have been that blow the

bandit had given him. That and the heat. It was

pointless to argue with himself!

Ahead were the two sentinel rocks flanking the

50 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

road, like waiting highwaymen. Such imagery came

readily now! Straight ahead were the Sadlands, while

dragon country was back the way he had come, and

the road to Franklin was to the right and across the

bridge.

He had no choice but to go right. It was almost as if

it had been prophesied. But that laugh was ringing

somewhat hollowly in his mind now.

The appleberry bushes by the bridge parted just as

he got there and a large, woolly, red-coated bearver

waddled out. The animal looked at him, sniffed,

caught the scent of dragon's blood, and turned and

ran.

Kelvin heaved a sigh. If he had been forced to face

the bearver in a bad mood with only this old sword,

he knew he would have ended up as the bearver's

meat.

That's no way for a hero to think!

Who's a hero?

I'm a hero.

Shut up!

He had to keep walking even though he was tired

and depressed and everything seemed crazy and

hopeless. His tongue felt swollen and his head whirled

so that everything shimmered in the heat haze. He

had to go under the bridge and wash his face and get a

drink.

His legs felt like cooked lengths of pasta stalk,

wobbly and weak. Slowly he made his way down to

the water. A mooear raised its handsome big-horned

head, sniffed, caught the scent of dragon on him, and

abruptly turned tail and went.

Dragon is good for one thing, anyway.

That's more than I am right now.

He knelt on the muddy bank and looked at his

reflection. He had dirt all over his clothes and all over

his face. He should wash both body and clothes before

going into Franklin, he -realized. Otherwise he would

be arrested as a vagrant for certain. Then he would go

to the Boy Mart, but not as a rescuer. Jon would cuss

DRAGON'S GOLD 51

him out roundly, before they were separated forever

by the auction.

He scooped up some of the water and drank. It was

muddy-tasting, but very cold, like snow from the high

mountaintops. His hands tingled and hurt from their

contact with the cold.

If only he had some money, he thought. If only .. .

He stripped off his clothes, sloshed them in the

river, tossed them aside, and then went to work on

himself. Without soap, it was difficult, but he

scrubbed himself with his wadded-up clothing and

managed to get some of the dirt off each. The dragon's

blood had accumulated on his boots and was caked

and noisome; that was his hardest struggle. When he

was done he was shivering blue, with welts and

bruises showing up much better now that their cover-

ing of grime was gone, but at least he didn't look as if

he had just wallowed in a mud hole and rolled around

in dragon filth.

As he was redonning his garments, something

scratched his right hand. He looked in the hip pocket

of his pantaloons and found a single golden scale. It

was the first dragon scale Jon had found. He had

slipped it into the pocket and forgotten it.

So at least I can't be arrested/or vagrancy. Not as

long as I hold that.

Luck!

Stacked cards. Weighted dice.

He had to get on to Franklin.

As he started back up the bank he spied a battered

plant. The mooear had trampled it when fleeing. But

this was no ordinary growth; it was a shade-blooming

spicerose! Those were extremely rare and valuable,

because the scent of their blooms was supposed to

send the one who sniffed one into a few minutes of

utter ecstasy.

There was a rose, on a broken stem. Kelvin lifted

the flower and sniffed. It had a very pleasant aroma,

but it didn't transport him. Either the story of the

power of a spicerose was exaggerated, or he was

52 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Marffroff

immune to it. As a roundear he had a number of

attributes that differed from those of pointears, in-

cluding his facility with plants; this could be another

example.

Too bad he couldn't heal the trampled plant! But

his magic, if such it was, was limited to facilitating

health in a living plant; he could not restore a dead

one. He felt guilty, because if he hadn't come down

under the bridge, into the shade that the spicerose

required for its blooming, the mooear would not have

spooked and the fine plant would not have been

damaged. Well, he might help the rose a little; he

could save the flower, and breathe a second blooming

into it for some other person, later.

He tucked the rose into a pocket, where the direct

sunlight would not touch it and destroy it, and

resumed his climb,

As he reached the road again, he felt better than at

any time since the highwayman rode off and left him

in the ditch. Maybe the spicerose had buoyed him!

As he started walking he wished that he had his

mandajo. He didn't feel like playing or singing, and

yet it would be company. Alas, the highwayman had

it, along with the donkey and the gold and his sister.

A squirbet chattered at him from an oaple tree.

He looked up at the fuzzy, short-tailed rodent and

thought how good the last one had tasted. Jon had

been responsible for that: Jon and her sling.

Well, at least he could eat one of the fruits of the

tree. Oaples weren't the most luscious fruits, but he

could make do. He reached up and put his hand on a

low-hanging one. "You are the oaple of my eye," he

said to it. "I long to eat your delicious substance. May

I pluck you?" He tugged, and in a moment the tough

stem let go. Like most fruiting trees, this one was

subject to flattery. Kelvin knew his father would have

said it was superstition, that he just knew how to pick

the ripe ones, but the fact was that any fruit Kelvin

touched tended to ripen and sweeten when he praised

DRAGON'S GOLD S3

it, and to turn sour when he condemned it. His

mother had the same ability, and she had no hesita-

tion about calling it magic. "Of course it is, dear! My

family has always been good with plants." Which

meant, he reflected, that his round ears were not after

all responsible. Did it matter?

He plodded on, step by step, eating the oaple, trying

harder and harder to think that the prophecy his

mother so firmly believed in would enable him to win

out. To believe that his mother was correct. After all,

if she was right about one thing, why not another?

His lovely mother, Chariain. His homely, sturdy,

decent stepfather, Hal. What were they doing now?

Kelvin and Jon had planned for an exploration of a

week's duration; it had taken them two days to reach

the dragon, three more to get the scales off, and this

was the sixth day. They would not even be missed

until tomorrow or the day after. Unless Chariain read

the cards, and realized. But what could she do,

assuming that the cards worked? No, this was Kel-

vin's own mess to muddle through, somehow.

After an eternity on the road, he brushed sweat

from his eyes and saw the grimy barracks building

ahead. He dreaded what was likely to happen there,

but he knew he had to do it. He was, after all,

supposed to be some kind of hero.

"Ho, ho, ho! Took your little brother, did he? Said

he'd take him to market, did he? Heh, heh, ho!" The

burly guardsman clasped his sides and wiped at the

tears running down his florid cheeks.

Kelvin swallowed as he looked at this blue-and-

gold-uniformed representative of law and order. He

was at the guardhouse outside the village of Franklin.

Beyond the guardsman were others, similarly uni-

formed, similarly slovenly. Open collars and dirty

undershirts seemed to be the order of the day. Even if

the guardsmen were competent, they were an unlikely

lot to ask for help. But he had to do it. Hanging on to

54 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmrgroff

his slipping courage, he persisted: "You do arrest

highwaymen?"

"Certainly, my boy, certainly. Every now and then

when one of them doesn't divide the loot."

"Shut your fat mouth. Carpenter!" a guardsman

wearing sergeant's stripes ordered. He glared at the

man until he sobered, then swung round to Kelvin.

"Tell me, boy, was there anything of value taken?"

His tone was freighted with contempt. "Besides that

valuable brother of yours?"

Kelvin thought quickly how not to lie. He hadn't

actually said Jon was a boy, just that the outlaw was

taking Jon to the Boy Mart, and the guardsmen had

jumped to the obvious conclusion. He knew that if he

told them about the gold, they would lose what little

interest they had in justice and go for the wealth.

"Our donkey, sir. We paid out two rudnas in good

coin for him. He's bobtailed, and he's deaf. Stone-

deaf, sir, though we didn't know that when we bought

him."

"Deaf? A deaf donkey," said the first man Kelvin

had spoken to. "A skinny boy to act as a scullery hand

or stable boy! A skinny boy and a deaf-as-stone

donkey. Ho, ho, ho!"

"Carpenter!" roared the sergeant. "The next time

you bray like that you'll do a donkey's work! You

hear?"

"I hear ye, Sarge."

"Sergeant! Sergeant, you impudent jackass!"

"Sergeant," the man agreed after a pause.

Kelvin looked from private to sergeant and then

about the small guardhouse. Only one face, that of a

young guardsman only a couple of years older than

Kelvin, showed any sign of sympathy. He thought he

would prefer to talk to this man, but the sergeant was

staring straight into his face.

"You know the consequences of lying to a queen's

guardsman, don't you, boy?"

"I, ah, yes, sir."

"I can harig you or cut off your ears or cut off

DRAGON'S GOLD 55

anything else I fancy. A guardsman must not be lied

to—especially by scum. You understand?"

"Y-yes, sir."

The sergeant paused, glaring at him, and Kelvin

thought to himself that he recognized him as one of

the tax collectors who had come to his farm.

"What did this highwayman look like, boy?"

Kelvin thought fast. "He wore black, and he had a

black horse."

"That describes half the highwaymen in Rud. What

else?"

"A—a scar. From here"—his finger traced a line

on his face—"to here."

"This scar—was it deep red?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cheeky Jack!" Carpenter said suddenly. "That

rascal owes me a drink or six! I thought he moved out

to the plains, and here he is, plying his trade just like

he's been since the day he left the barracks!"

"Carpenter," the sergeant said evenly, drawing his

sword, "stick out your tongue."

"What?" Carpenter's face paled. He had evidently

pushed the sergeant too far this time.

"Stick out your fool tongue. It's flapping too much.

I believe I should shorten it."

"No, Sergeant. Please!" The man was really fright-

ened.

"Are you refusing a direct order?"

"N-no."

"Stick out your tongue!"

Carpenter's tongue protruded from his bulbous

lips. He looked sick. He wasn't laughing now. Sweat

stood out in globules on his greasy forehead. Kelvin

was suddenly conscious of the odor the man exuded

of cheese and beer and a long-unchanged undershirt.

Here he had been concerned about his own appear-

ance, and the guardsmen were just as bad!

The sergeant's sword rose and flicked, its point just

lightly pricking the man's tongue. A single drop of

blood fell to the unswept floor of the barracks. Car-

56

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

57

penter's eyes rolled, their whites showing in terror. It

was obvious that the sergeant could have done much

worse damage if he had chosen to.

"Let that be a reminder," the sergeant said, sheath-

ing his blade. "Now you," he said, turning quickly to

Kelvin. "Get out."

"Sir?"

"Out!"

"But this Cheeky Jack—will you catch him?"

"Out! I don't want to see your baby face again.

Ever. And, boy, if I find you've lied to me, whatever

happens to your brother will be nothing compared to

what I'll see happens to you. You understand me,

boy?"

"Y-yes." There went hope, he thought.

"Then get!"

Kelvin ran outside, looking wildly around at the

dusty road and the collection of houses and shops on

the adjoining street. There was no help anywhere. For

him or for Jon.

A burst of laughter from the guardhouse set him

walking. At the end of the street was a shade tree and

a bench, empty for the moment. He made for it,

reached it, and sank down on it with a sigh that made

him feel much older. Sixty, perhaps. He sat and gazed

at the grass, wishing the sergeant were under it. If only

he had such magic, to rid Rud of such monsters! If

only there were such magic! He'd give anything to

have such power instead of this worthless prophecy

that was only getting him in trouble.

"Ah, there you are! I was hoping I'd catch you."

Kelvin rose, ready to run, but it was the young

guardsman he had seen watching him. The man was

empty-handed and looked human. Of course after

Carpenter and that sergeant, anyone would look

human.

"Stay there. I'll pretend I'm chewing you out for

sitting where only guardsmen are allowed to sit. It's

not a law, but the officers have made it one. Some such

as Carpenter would beat you for sitting here."

Kelvin stared at the fellow, but there was no mock-

ery in the man's manner. The guardsman was leaning

over, staring him directly in the face.

"We're not all like that. The trouble is, with such as

Sergeant Kluff, we have to pretend to be. If I didn't,

well, then I'd be beaten, or worse. I'd like to help you,

but I'm not sure I can. You go into Windmill Square

and find my father. He's got the biggest, widest

shoulders of any man you ever saw. He looks like me,

but heavier and older, with graying hair. You talk to

him. His name's Morvin Crumb. I'm Lester Crumb.

Friends call us Mor and Les Crumb. Crumbs, it's said,

from the same loaf."

"I'm Kelvin Knight Hackleberry. Friends call me

Kel."

"Knight? What an interesting name! I wonder if it

means anything, prophecy-wise. Well, go to Windmill

Square. Just follow that side street." He nodded with

his chin. "Wait by the speaker's platform and eventu-

ally my father will show. He's a rough man, and stem,

but you'll like him. Most people like Mor Crumb."

"I—I thank you," Kelvin said. He felt over-

whelmed by this unexpected kindness.

"You just do it, Kelvin Knight Hackleberry." Les

Crumb gave him the friendliest smile yet, a smile

made brighter by a ray of sunshine that momentarily

turned his face to the color of a dragon's sheen.

"Maybe, just maybe," Les added as Kelvin started

to get up, "Father can help you to recover your

brother."

CHAPTER 7

Gauntlet

KELVIN SAT ON A bench in the park called Windmill

Square and listened to his growling stomach. It was

getting louder than the sounds of the gathering across

the square! It was difficult to decide whether his worst

complaint of the moment was hunger or fatigue, but

the longer he rested, the more the balance shifted

toward hunger. He had eaten only the single oaple this

afternoon, and there were no fruit-bearing plants in

sight. What was there to eat? He had to wait here until

Mor Crumb showed up; if he left even for a few

minutes, he might miss the man. And if he cared to

risk it, where would he go for food? To some shop

where they would charge him so much that he would

have to use the dragon scale for money, and then they

would cheat him of most of its value? No, he really

needed some honest help, and the young guardsman's

father seemed like his best bet. But when would the

man ever show?

He gazed up into the beenut tree nearby. Maybe

there would be some beenuts. They were not his first

choice of food, because of the extreme difficulty in

cracking them open, but they would certainly do for

now, and the tree was close enough to the bench so

that he could watch it from there. This was the

remnant of a once-magnificent tree, with thickly

spreading foliage to the sides, but a sadly marred

trunk. Lightning had wounded it, leaving an oozing

cleft. As a gust of wind moved the leaves about, he saw

into that cleft. There was something wedged in it that

reflected a glint as the sunlight briefly penetrated to it.

Curious, as well as hungry, Kelvin got up and

walked to the tree. None of the people in the vicinity

58

DRAGON'S GOLD 59

paid him any attention. The ground beneath it was a

tangle of weeds and briers; no one had come here

recently. But there, at about twice the height of a man,

was the wedged object. It seemed to be some kind of

heavy glove, with metallic reinforcements.

Well, where there was one glove there might be a

pair, and gloves could always be useful. Kelvin sup-

pressed his fatigue and set about climbing the tree to

reach it.

The bark was rough, so that he found fingerholds

and toeholds. He hauled himself up, and in due

course reached the glove. He took hold of it and

hauled it out of its cleft. It was more than a glove; it

was a massive gauntlet, fashioned of good quality

dragon leather, with reinforced studs of silver metal

across the knuckles. That was what had reflected the

gleam. This must have been one expensive piece of

equipment when new!

He felt around for the companion glove, but

couldn't find it. He climbed higher and inspected this

entire part of the tree, but there was nothing. Just this

single gauntlet for the left hand. How strange that it

should have been left here alone!

Still, half a pair was better than none. Might as well

use it. He shook it out to free it of whatever bugs

might have taken up residence inside, and slipped it

on his hand. The thing fit marvelously well; it was as

though it had been made to his measure. It seemed

about time that something went his way!

He climbed down. His right hand felt the abrading

roughness of the bark, but his left hand was quite

comfortable. The gloved fingers gripped with surpris-

ing accuracy and force, greatly facilitating his descent.

His hand felt as if it had infinite power.

He reached the base. Now he observed the beenuts

scattered on the ground, dropped by the tree. Those

should be edible; maybe he could after all crack some

open and get a meal of sorts.

He picked one up and brought it to his mouth. His

teeth clamped on the hard shell and bore down, but it

60 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 61

would not give. This nut was too tough for him; he

would have to bash it open with a rock.

Naturally there were no rocks around. No big

sticks, either. Well, he could bash it with the haft of

his sword. Of course that would probably either make

it explode into far-flung fragments that would be lost

in the briers, or crush shell and nutmeat into one

inedible mass. What he really needed was a nut-

cracker.

He held the nut between the thumb and forefinger

of the gauntlet and squeezed, wishing it could be that

easy.

The nut cracked.

Kelvin did a double take. Oh—he had probably

happened on a flaw, catching it just right. He picked

out the meat and put it in his mouth. It was slightly

bitter, but tasty enough. Had he picked it fresh from

the tree, he could have charmed it into a better taste,

but the fallen nuts were beyond his power to improve.

However, he was not about to climb way up to the tips

of the bearing branches to reach growing nuts; he

would probably fall and break his neck if he tried.

He picked up another and tried it similarly, be-

tween the gauntlet's thumb and forefinger. This one

cracked open as readily as the first. Good enough!

He tried the third with his right hand. He got

nowhere. He tried it between his teeth, but it was

impervious. He tried it with the gauntlet, and it

opened as if its shell were made of paper.

Now, this was interesting! He experimented, and

verified that the glove had power that the rest of him

lacked. When he linked his right hand to the gaunt-

leted left and squeezed, carefully, his right soon was

hurting, while his left never felt the pressure. Appar-

ently the glove amplified the power of any motion his

fingers made—enormously.

He reached out to grip the tough bark of the tree.

He squeezed—and the bark crumbled. He put several

nuts in the glove and squeezed hard—and they com-

pressed so quickly and thoroughly that juice spurted.

What remained when he opened his hand was just dry

mash.

Kelvin gathered as many beenuts as he could hold

and returned to the bench. There he methodically

cracked them open and ate them, feeling steadily

better as his stomach got back into business. What a

discovery this gauntlet was! How strange that it had

remained lodged in that cleft, and nobody else had

noticed it or, if they had, bothered to fetch it down.

All the people here, constantly passing through, yet

none of them really looking at the tree! Who would

have thought that the accidental acquisition of a

single glove could have brought him a decent meal!

"Young man—"

Kelvin jumped, turning. The man facing him had

the reddest countenance he had ever seen. His. shoul-

ders were as wide as the rest of him, and the rest of

him was as broad as the back of a war-horse. His ears

shone pinkly at the lobes and had little tufts of dark

hair at their tips.

"Morvin Crumb?" Kelvin asked after a moment,

recovering from his surprise. He had gotten so in-

volved in cracking nuts that he had tuned out the

world!

"That's right, youngster. And you're—"

"Kelvin Knight Hackleberry. Your son said—"

"Yes, I know." Morvin brushed a pile of beenut

shells from the bench a-nd sat down beside him. Then,

speaking in a conspiratorially low tone, he said,

"We've had a small group of vigilantes here in Frank-

lin. Crumb's Raiders, we call ourselves. Now and then

we can help someone, but it all depends on who they

are and how bad they deserve help. What's your

loss?"

"My sister," Kelvin said, thinking of nothing else.

"A highwayman named Cheeky Jack has her, and—"

"A girl? How old is she?"

"Fourteen. But she—"

The man shook his head sadly. "Then it is already

too late to help her. Don't you know what outlaws

62 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

—and guardsmen, too, for that matter—do to girls

that age?"

"Yes, but she's masquerading as a boy. So with luck

Cheeky Jack doesn't know."

Mor considered. "So you two aren't entirely naive

about traveling, then?"

"Not entirely," Kelvin agreed. "But we still got

ourselves into real trouble. If that outlaw finds out—"

"Better hope he doesn't. Then at least she has a

chance."

"He said he was taking her to—"

"Yes, yes." The man rubbed his bristly chin. "The

highwaymen stock the Boy Mart all the time. We've

had little luck in preventing it."

"Then—"

"Maybe. If Les can help. He's a good lad. Too good

for the likes of the Queen's guards."

"Then why—"

"Listen, Hackleberry, we may not have much time.

The speaker up there on the platform has been trying

to stir up trouble." He jerked a thumb, indicating the

region. "He's a windbag, and none of us noticed what

he was saying until we started noticing the crowd.

He's got about twelve listeners besides several Raid-

ers, and that's too many if—"

"I don't see any guardsmen." Kelvin looked about.

All he saw were farmers.

"They come disguised. And there are informers."

"Do you really think—"

"Any moment. That's why we have to leave. Now."

A clatter at the end of the park caused them to turn.

Three guardsmen, one of them Private Carpenter,

another Sergeant Kluff, were bearing down on the

platform and the speaker.

"You, Speaker, you're under arrest!" the sergeant

shouted. "And you. Crumb and the boy, you're under

arrest, too."

Crumb's eyes stood out in his red face as he

bellowed back: "Good people, none heard me speak

today! I was but-listening to the talk and enjoying the

DRAGON'S GOLD 63

shade! There's no cause for my arrest!"

"None for mine, either," Kelvin squeaked. He

hardly sounded like any hero now!

"Boy," Crumb said, "they mean to slay us. I'll fight

them, but they're mean. That sergeant's fast! I want

you to hold back and watch your chance. Maybe I can

get one or two of them, and if I do, you get away.

Hear!"

"I need your help!" Kelvin gasped.

"/ need someone's help," Crumb said, disgusted.

"They must have followed you."

"If I had a good sword—"

"Lad, this is nothing for a boy, this is something for

a man. Get away if you can. Save yourself, and then

maybe some other time you can save your sister. Or

somebody's sister."

Kelvin picked up his old sword. He raised it in his

right hand and the gauntlet on his left and tried to

look as defiant and fierce as Crumb. "Now I'm

armed," he said, but his attempt at a bold statement

came out as another squeak.

"Look at the fool!" cried Private Carpenter of the

pricked tongue. "Thinks because his name is Knight

he's a warrior. You protected by magic, boy?"

"Gods," Crumb exclaimed, staring at Kelvin.

"Hackleberry, that gauntlet—where did you get it?"

"Found it in the beenut tree," Kelvin replied,

wondering at the man's intensity. "It was in the wood

where the lightning struck."

"Lightning? Lightning! Gods! Hackleberry, off with

your cap!"

"What?"

"Your stockelcap, man! Off with it!"

Hesitantly, then defiantly, Kelvin reached for his

cap. He pulled it off, feeling it yank at his ears.

Crumb gave a great sigh. "A roundear! Could it be

the Roundear of Prophecy, come at last?"

"That's just a wild story!" Kelvin protested. "I'm

no hero!"

"We'd better assume it's valid, because otherwise

64 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmrgroff

we're finished," Crumb muttered. Then his voice

rose, booming across the square. "The Roundear of

Prophecy came to lead our fight!"

"But—" Kelvin protested weakly.

"Treason!" shouted Sergeant Kluff, taking a step

forward.

Now Crumb's stance and voice took on the appear-

ance and sound of the seasoned orator. "Good peo-

ple," he cried in a voice that really carried, "are

you willing to live and let your children and grand-

children live under the rule of a tyrant? We've got

a champion here—or the start of one. Think! Act!

Now!"

Suddenly hands were raised and the three guards-

men were surrounded.

"Back! Back!" the sergeant ordered. "Back, or I'll

split the lot of you!"

But the man was given a hearty shove in the back

and he stumbled forward. Crumb backed away, call-

ing over his shoulder. "Hackleberry, lad, I want you

to take my sword."

"But—"

"Just take it, son. Don't think about it. Just think

about your left arm and using it to protect yourself."

Kelvin feared his legs would go out from under

him, they felt so rubbery, but he took Crumb's sword

and let Crumb take his. Crumb looked at him and

made a motion. Carpenter and the other guardsman

were suddenly grasped by willing hands. Only the

sergeant remained free.

Then, to Kelvin's astonishment and alarm. Crumb

did an amazing thing. Sheathing the old sword, he

said, "You take him, Hackleberry."

"W-what?"

"The sergeant here. Or would you prefer to battle

all three?"

"At once?" Kelvin squeaked, terror constricting his

throat again.

"Look how scared he is," said the sergeant. "He

can't take me, gauntlet or no gauntlet."

DRAGON'S GOLD 65

"Think left hand, Hackleberry," Crumb whispered.

Kelvin hardly had time to think. As the sergeant's

blade swished out, he raised the gauntlet in what he

knew was a futile effort to stop him.

With blinding speed the gauntlet got between the

sergeant's blade and Kelvin's otherwise unprotected

face. He felt nothing but a slight tap on his wrist. Then

the sergeant's blade rebounded.

Kelvin looked at his intact left hand. That hand

should have been lying on the ground! He took a deep,

shuddering breath, raising that hand again as the

sergeant drew back his blade for another strike. The

man's teeth were gritted; he intended to make sure

that he lopped off Kelvin's entire upper section this

time!

The blade struck forward. The gauntlet moved like

a snake striking a bird. It caught the blade, then

wrenched the sword expertly from the sergeant's

hand.

Kelvin, numbed by this occurrence, still managed

to raise Crumb's sword, posing its blade in front of

the man's throat.

"Still don't believe it's his gauntlet, Sergeant?"

Crumb asked the disarmed man.

The sergeant looked at the sword point, at Kelvin's

trembling arm, then turned pale as the belly of a

froog. He dropped to his knees. "Don't slay me.

Don't!" he pleaded.

"Slay him, Hackleberry!" Crumb ordered.

Kelvin's hand shook. "I c-can't!"

"He needs slaying. He would have slain you, and

me. And any other who got in his way. He enjoys

slaying. He has no mercy, and deserves none. You

know that!"

Kelvin did know that. Still he couldn't do it. "I—"

"Hackleberry, is it possible that you don't know the

meaning of that gauntlet?"

Kelvin shook his head. He had never felt more

certain that he was unsure of anything.

"Gods!" complained Crumb. "What do they teach

66 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 67

younguns these days? It's a gauntlet once owned by

Mouvar the Magnificent, he who wrote the Book of

Prophecy. You have heard of the book?"

"Of course." Some of Kelvin's uncertainty was

replaced by ineffective indignation.

"And you do remember the story of his battle with

Zatanas, Prince of Evil, sorcerer and father of our

unwanted Queen?"

"They flew," Kelvin said. "According to legend."

"And Mouvar dropped his gauntlets. When they

are found, Zatanas will be properly vanquished."

Now Kelvin remembered. There had been such a

story in another section of the fable Chariain had read

to him. He had not made the connection before.

Could this really be one of those fabled gauntlets?

"According to legend," he said weakly.

"Right. What else?"

"'And the gauntlet great shall the tyrant take,'" he

quoted. It seemed impossible that this could be one of

those! His father, John Knight, had always pooh-

poohed such legend, despite his mother's belief, even

though the legend was the reason his Chariain had

married him. Could she be right, after all?

"That's the scripture, lad!"

"The gauntlets are supposed to contain the souls of

brave and powerful knights."

"Right! With them, you cannot be defeated."

"But—" Belief was starting to seep in. "But I have

only one."

"A detail," Crumb said. "Maybe both gauntlets

were seeking you, and this is the one that found you.

Now is the time for you to take command. To lead

your people. To excise the sore on this our gentle

land."

"I, uh—"

"To start with, what are you going to do about

this?" Crumb lightly touched the sergeant with his

foot.

Kelvin looked at the man groveling before him. So

this was what it was like to be a hero and a puppet of

prophecy!

"I—I give him his life." It was what any hero would

have done in any old storybook.

"You what?"

"I g-give him his life, if he—"

"Hackleberry, hero or no hero, you've got rocks in

your fool head!" Crumb took back his sword with a

sudden grab. Then, as the sergeant made a trium-

phant half-leap with an extended knife. Crumb swift-

ly and expertly deprived him of his head. He gave a

quick signal and the men holding the other two

guardsmen used daggers on their charges in silent

unison.

"You," Crumb said to Kelvin, "have an awful lot to

leam about being a hero."

Looking at the two dead men oozing blood, and at

the headless, spurting body of Sergeant Kluff, Kelvin

felt a sudden great illness.

The beenuts he had so avidly consumed chose this

moment to erupt from his mouth.

A moment later, Kelvin stood clutching his aching

stomach. The park and the men and the body were

whirling round and round and round.

Learn to be a hero. Learn to be a hero.

If he could. If only he could!

CHAPTER 8

Boy Mart

JON LOOKED AROUND AT the circle of boys. Some were

older than she was, and some were her own age. But

she looked younger, because she was not a boy. How

long could she maintain her masquerade? Here there

seemed to be no private place for natural functions,

and if they required the boys to strip . . .

The boys clustered around her the moment the

guards closed the door and departed. She had only a

moment to look around, noting the small barred

windows. There were three pails in the comers; one

seemed to contain water for drinking, and the other

two—

Oh, no! They were what served for elimination!

Right out in public. That was certain disaster for her.

So this was the Franklin Boy Mart, she thought as

she wondered what she was going to say to the

crowding boys. At least, this was one of the holding

pens. The odor was bad; the boys were all dressed in

rags, and seemed not to have bathed for weeks. Still,

she hadn't had a bath either, since Mockery rolled in

the river. Her dirt was now excellent protective cos-

tuming; she did look like one of these boys.

"You," the biggest, meanest-looking boy said, pok-

ing her in the stomach with a thumb. "You know

who's boss?"

"Not me," Jon said. It would do her no good to fight

here. If she fought anyone, it would be whoever

purchased her. If she couldn't manage to escape

first.

Her answer seemed to puzzle the boy. "You new?

This your first time?"

"Yeah," Jon said, trying to get some masculine husk

68

DRAGON'S GOLD 69

into her voice. "I've never been here before."

"Newly pressed?" another boy asked. This one was

a bit shorter than the first, but looked just about as

mean.

"Newly brought by a highwayman," Jon said. "I've

always been free. Never bound."

"Lucky!" the big boy said.

Jon examined the faces. Most, underneath their

dirt, seemed unnaturally hard. Village boys didn't

usually look as though they never laughed.

"I'm Bustskin," the big boy said. "I'm boss until

somebody knocks me down."

"Boss of what?" Jon asked.

"Here."

"Here? This room?"

"Yeah."

"That's not much."

"You want to challenge it?"

"No. You're the boss."

"You sure, Newskin?"

"Newskin? What's that?"

"You. When you're new, just ready to be bound.

Newskin."

"Oh. Yeah, I don't want to fight anyone. I had

enough fights before I got here."

"Yeah? Who with?"

"The highwayman. And a dragon."

"Dragon?" Bustskin was incredulous. "You?"

"And my brother. We both fought it."

"Liar."

Jon considered. She didn't like being called a liar.

She might have to fight this fellow, lest the boys take

her retreat as a sign of unboyishness, but she didn't

want to. She was older than he took her for, and she

did know a trick or two that she had taken pains to

learn after being so ineffective when trying to help her

brother in the past; she just might be able to surprise

him and knock him down. But her risk was much

greater than just victory or defeat. If she won the fight,

but her clothing got torn and revealed her nature, she

70 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

would be a worse loser than he. What was the course

of least danger?

"You going to let me call you a liar, Newskin?"

Jon shrugged. "You could lick anyone here," she

said, hoping he wouldn't notice the change of subject.

"Yeah. And don't you forget it, Newskin." The big

boy half turned, as though to leave, then suddenly

slammed a rock-hard fist into her stomach.

Jon doubled over, gasping.

"That's just for being a liar. For being a Newskin."

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" several of the boys chanted.

Jon found tears in her eyes. That fellow could really

hit! At the same time, she was thankful he hadn't

struck her in the chest. How awful it would be to be

bound with him on the same plantation! Judging by

Bustskin's darkened skin and ruddy complexion, he

had never been in a mine, and he didn't look as if he

had ever rowed a galley. Chances were he would get a

foreman's job bossing field workers, and just possibly

he would survive to reach twenty-five. If someone

didn't slay him first.

"You going to fight, Newskin?" the bully asked.

"Don't do it, Jon! Don't!"

Jon blinked. It was a red-haired lad she remem-

bered from the village. He was a decent sort, but had

been given up for a tax penalty a year before. His

parents and brother and sisters had all cried.

But he represented perhaps a worse threat to her

than the bully did. Because he had called her by name.

He knew her—and therefore knew she was a girl. If he

gave her away—

"Tom? Tom Yokes?" She had hardly recognized the

boy, so changed was his appearance. He had scars on

his arms and legs; both his eyes were blacked. "He did

this to me," Tom said, indicating the scars and his

eyes. "If I couldn't lick him, then you sure can't. I'm

bigger than you, and stronger."

Because he was a boy. He had avoided reference to

age, knowing they were the same age, so as not to

betray her. He was keeping her secret.

DRAGON'S GOLD 71

Jon wished fleetingly that her brother were here.

Kelvin didn't like to fight, but he could when he had

to, and he was almost as big as Bustskin. Bustskin

deserved a lesson.

But she was not the one to give him that lesson. Not

now, not this way. Slowly Jon straightened, letting go

of herself. Her stomach still hurt. She hadn't balled

her fists, and she knew that with Bustskin standing

there so eagerly that it wouldn't be wise.

"Tom . . . can I talk to you?" she asked. "Over

there in the comer?"

Tom nodded.

"You win, Bustskin," Jon said. "I ran away from

home. I was caught by someone on a black horse. I

never saw a dragon and I never learned to fight."

Several of the boys broke into a halfhearted cheer.

It irked her to lie. Kelvin, she knew, would have stuck

to the truth or kept his mouth shut. She really

respected Kelvin for that, but she just couldn't do it

herself.

Bustskin drew back his fist and waved it in front of

Jon's mouth. "I should hit you once or twice for lying

to me."

"You did," Jon said.

"No, Bustskin, don't!" Tom cried.

Bustskin whirled on him. "You want some more,

Redhead?"

"N-no. We're going to be sold soon, Bustskin.

Now's not the time to fight. Besides, you've licked

everyone here."

"Yeah, I have, haven't I?" Bustskin turned and

clapped another boy on the back. "Let me tell you

about the girl I had on the Finch plantation. She was

the overseer's daughter and she brought us slops. One

day when she came too near and the overseer was

away, I reached out and—"

As he spoke, he turned again and reached out by

way of illustration, grabbing the closest material avail-

able: Jon's dirty brownberry shirt. This could not

have been accidental; probably he intended it as one

72 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff' DRAGON'S GOLD 73

final humiliation. He hauled in and up, pulling it out

of the waistband. The material was too tough to tear,

but the jerk did cause her to stumble forward, and as

her head came low, he pulled the shirt up over her

head, blinding her.

There was an abrupt silence. Quickly Jon brought

down her shirt, but she knew it was too late. They had

seen.

"I'll be damned!" Bustskin exclaimed. "It's a girl!"

Jon tried to bluff it out. "So I didn't want them to

know," she snapped. "It's not so bad, being sold as a

boy. You don't have to tell."

"Tell? Hell!" Bustskin's eyes were round. "I've got

better things to do with a girl than tell!" He stepped

toward her. "Give me some of that skin, honey. I

don't have to talk about what I did to that plantation

girl; I'll show 'em!"

"Not with me, you don't!" Jon retorted.

"Oh, yeah?" He grabbed for her again.

Now Jon really had to fight. She kicked him in the

shin, knowing the pain would be enough to double

him over. But he was tough; he only winced, and hung

on, hauling her into him again. "Let's just get those

pants down," he said, pawing at her pantaloons.

Jon brought up a knee, aiming for the groin. But the

bully was street-wise, and twisted his torso to the side,

so that the blow missed. He caught her raised leg and

held it, drawing on the pantaloons, pulling them down

around her bottom.

"Yeah; that's nice, very nice!" he grunted, his hands

squeezing at her buttocks as he continued to work on

the pantaloons. The other boys watched, fascinated

by the proceedings. Most of them were young enough

so that this would be their first such experience.

"You can't do that!" Tom Yokes protested, trying to

interfere.

Bustskin paused just long enough to slam Tom in

the gut with a backhand fist. "You knew her—and

didn't tell!" he said savagely. "I'll pulverize you

—after I finish with her!"

Tom clutched his front, his breath knocked out. It

was clear that he was unable to fight the bully, no

matter how proper his instincts were. But this distrac-

tion gave Jon time to regroup.

When Bustskin turned his attention back to her, she

let him have a prime smash in the nose, just the way

Kelvin had done it to another bully years before.

But again the bully's experience saved him. Even as

her arm moved, he jerked back his head, and the blow

only caught him on the mouth. It smashed his lip

against his teeth, and the lip started to bleed, but the

injury wasn't serious enough to make him pause.

Meanwhile, Jon's knuckles stung; teeth were hard!

Now the line of battle was at her thighs, as Bustskin

struggled to get her pantaloons the rest of the way

down and she clung to them to keep them up. Her

head thrashed back and forth, her hair flying out, and

she kicked her feet, but could not break free of the

bully's grasp. She saw Tom retreating to the door, and

with a fraction other mind wished he had been just a

little bit bigger, stronger, and bolder. He was a decent

kid; that was his problem. He couldn't have helped

her much anyway; if he had hauled Bustskin off,

another boy would have hauled Tom off, and held him

until Bustskin was through with her.

Slowly and erratically, the pantaloons came down,

until finally they were all the way off, and she was

bare-legged. Another snatch, and her ragged under-

pants were torn off. The watching boys could have

been zombies for all the expression on their faces; it

seemed that most of them had never before seen the

thighs of a fourteen-year-old girl.

She kicked at the bully, then hunched over and

butted him with her head, but he simply shifted his

grip, threw her down, and pinned her to the floor with

his body. Now he started working on his own cloth-

ing, to get the essential section open for business. It

was evident that he had not been making up the story

of the overseer's daughter; he knew how to get a girl

down.

74

Piers Anthony and. Robert E. M.a.rgroff'

She snapped at him with her teeth, but this, too,

was ineffective. Now he was ready below; he used a

knee to wedge her legs apart. She was worn out from

fighting; she could no longer resist him. But she

refused to give up; she continued to squirm as much

as she was able, hoping for a chance to hit him where

it would do the most good.

Then the hulking shape of a guard loomed over

them. A ham-hand caught Bustskin by the collar and

hauled him literally up in the air. "A girl!" the guard

exclaimed. "You idiot! Don't you realize that a virgin

girl is worth ten times as much as you on the open

market? You know what the penalty is for ruining

value like that?"

Bustskin swallowed. His hands went to his front.

He was getting a glimmer of the penalty.

The guard dropped him, staring at Jon appraisingly

as she scrambled for her pantaloons. Obviously he

had seen everything he needed to. "Definitely prime,"

he said. "We'll get a bonus for this discovery! Come

with me, girl."

Jon really had no choice at this stage. She drew up

her pantaloons and followed the guard to the door.

There Tom Yokes stood, cringing. "Sir, remem-

ber—"

The guard paused. "Yeah, you did call us," he said.

"They'll kill me now, if—"

"Okay, you get a separate cell," the guard decided.

"Come on out."

"It was the only way—" Tom said to Jon as they left

the cell.

She touched his hand briefly. "I know."

Then she was hustled off to the section that was the

holding pen for the Girl Mart, while Tom was taken to

his solitary cell. She didn't know whether she would

ever see him again.

CHAPTER 9

Girl Mart

THE BOY MART had smelled of unwashed bodies and

manure-coated boots. The Girl Mart was cleaner, but

Jon feared it more. Boys were sold for work, but girls

could be bought for play, and that could be much

worse.

The boys had been rowdy and rough. The girls were

quiet—too quiet, for it was the silence of despair.

Jon found herself in a dusky chamber where eight

or ten girls sat, each isolated by her own thoughts. She

had endured the impersonal preparations: the strip-

ping by a matron, inspection of her private parts to

verify that she was healthy and was indeed a virgin, a

stiff shower and scrubbing, and garbing in a rough

smock and slippers. Now she stood before the deso-

late girls of all ages, feeling naked under the smock,

for she had no underclothing anymore. Obviously

girls were supposed to be rendered naked at short

notice so that buyers could appreciate their assets.

She had salvaged one small vestige of her pride,

however. She had saved the handful of dragonberries

in her pocket by putting them in her mouth. She

hadn't needed or wanted those berries; she had done

it simply as a matter of principle, to prove that they

could not fathom all her secrets or deprive her of all

her possessions. Actually, the berries tasted awful,

though she neither chewed nor sucked on them; her

cheek had become numbed by their presence. But she

had carried them past the gauntlet of inspection and

changes, and so they represented her small victory.

After all, they could have been gold coins if she had

had any to save.

She took a step forward—and reeled, abruptly

75

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mfvrgroff

dizzy. She almost fell, then caught herself, then recon-

sidered and collapsed to the floor.

An older girl got up and came to her. "I know it's

rough, honey, the first time. Did they beat you?"

Jon opened her mouth, but couldn't speak. Instead

the sodden berries dribbled out.

"God! Don't tell me—!" the girl exclaimed. "Are

those what they look like?" She squatted to pick one

up. Her smock hiked up over her knees, and Jon saw

that she, too, was naked under it. "They areV

"I just didn't want—" Jon said, but then her voice

failed her again, and more berries slid out.

"Did you swallow any of those?"

"No, I just—"

"Grackle! Tanager!" the girl cried to the other girls.

"Come here, haul her up, take her to the bucket and

wash her mouth out good! Quickly! Maybe it's not too

late!"

Two husky girls came and hauled Jon up by the

arms. "But I didn't even swear," Jon protested

weakly.

The leader girl laughed. "Swear! Who cares about

that! Don't you know what those berries are?"

"No, I just found them near a dragon lair."

Grackle and Tanager got her head down by the

bucket. "Take a mouthful, spit it out," one said.

Jon obeyed, and did it again, and again, until all

trace of the berries was gone, though her mouth

remained sore.

"I guess you'll live," the girl said. "What's your

name? Mine's Thomflower."

"Jon, just Jon," Jon said, feeling somehow inade-

quate. Their names were so fancy!

"We make up our own," Thornflower explained,

catching on to Jon's confusion. "To conceal our

shame. So news doesn't get around about what hap-

pened to us, you know."

"Oh. But about those dragonberries—"

"They're poison! One of them makes a person sick,

two puts her in a coma, three will kill her. You had a

T

DRAGON'S GOLD 77

dozen in your mouth! Whatever possessed you to do

that?"

"I'm just ornery. I wanted to hide something from

them, just to prove I could do it, and the berries were

all I had."

Thomflower shook her head. "I understand, I sup-

pose. But dragonberries! Of all the things to put in

your mouth! Why, just the juice from their hulls will

make you sick."

"I know," Jon said wanly. "Now."

"You better pick a room and lie down. You need to

recover your strength for the auction tomorrow, be-

cause if you're sick they'll think you're faking, and

they'll beat you. No malingerers here! Which do you

want?"

"I get a choice?" Jon asked, amazed.

"Any room that has a free bunk, if the other girl

doesn't object. We're not boys, you know; we're

halfway civilized."

Jon stood unsteadily and looked at the rooms. They

opened off the main chamber, and each had two beds.

Girls were lying on some, or sitting on them with their

heads in their hands. The accommodations were

much better than those of the Boy Mart, probably

because the proprietors didn't want bruises or dirt to

interfere with the marketability of the girls.

In one chamber a girl sat hunched in a corner, her

hands over her ears. "What's the matter with her?"

Jon asked.

"That's Flambeau. She's really bad off. She's a

roundear. That's why she covers—"

"A roundear?" Jon asked, coming abruptly alert.

"You know, one of the offspring of some intruder

from that other planet. They're pretty much like us,

except for those horrible ears."

"I'll room with her," Jon said.

"She won't talk to you," Thomflower warned. "She

just wants to die."

Jon stooped to pick up the berries that had washed

out of her mouth. "Well, if these really do—"

78 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Maryoff

"Say, that's one tough notion!" Thomflower said

admiringly. "But don't let the guards know you gave

them to her, because—"

"They'll beat me," Jon finished. "No one will tell?"

"No one will tell," Thomflower promised.

"Thanks. I like it better here than at the Boy Mart."

"You were there?"

"I was pretending to be a boy. Bustskin found out,

and tried to—"

Thomflower sighed. "The first time's the worst. I

remember mine, when I was ten."

"You were raped when you were ten?" Jon asked,

appalled.

"The first time, yes. By a middle-aged man. He

wasn't too rough, actually, but he was so dirty and

clumsy, I felt like dying."

Jon glanced again at the huddled girl. "Is that

why—?"

"Sure, I thought you realized. She's a roundear, so

isn't worth much on the market, so the guards knew

there wasn't anything to lose."

"The guards?"

"Didn't you know? No, I guess you didn't, because

they don't do it to virgins, of course. Just to us who

can't lose that kind of value."

"You mean—you, too?"

"All of us. Or at least any they want. If we cooper-

ate, they give us little things, like extra rations or clean

water. If we don't:—well, then it gets ugly."

"And Flambeau—"

"Didn't cooperate," Thomflower finished. "She's

new here, like you. She didn't understand."

"I guess I'm pretty well off", after all," Jon said,

shuddering.

"Depends how you see it," Thomflower said,

shrugging.

Jon thanked her, and went to the room. She sat

down near the huddled girl. "Flambeau," she said.

There was no response.

DRAGON'S GOLD 79

"Flambeau, listen to me," Jon said. "My brother is

a roundear."

Slowly the girl lifted her head. She had black hair

and brown eyes, and would have been quite pretty if

the hair weren't matted and the eyes swollen from

crying.

Then she dropped her face again. "Don't tease me!"

she said, and her body was racked with renewed sobs.

"No, he really is. I'm half roundear, too, only my

ears came out like my mother's. When they said you

were one—"

Jon stopped, because the girl's hands were clamped

tightly over her ears, effectively blocking the sound.

Well, if she really thought she wanted to die, Jon

would just call that bluff! She opened her hand and

put it down under the girl's nose, showing half a

dozen dragonberries.

Flambeau saw them. She snatched at them, surpris-

ing Jon. In a moment, she had swept up three and

popped them into her mouth.

"Wait!" Jon cried. "Those are—"

The girl lifted her head again. She swallowed. "I

know. Thanks."

Jon had not meant to have the girl really commit

suicide! Now what was she to do?

Well, she could alert the other girls and have them

haul Flambeau to the bucket and poke a finger down

her throat to make her vomit up the berries. That

would save her life. But to what purpose? If she really

did want to die, maybe it was better to let her do it in

peace. Jon knew how rough it could be on a roundear,

because of Kelvin, and how it could be for a girl. So

maybe Flambeau had reason.

Her alternative was to let nature take its course. She

was in doubt, so she did nothing—which meant the

second choice. She did not feel at all easy about it, but

that was it. If she was cooperating in a death, maybe

that was just the way it had to be, here in this awful

place.

80 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mar^rojf DRAGON'S GOLD 81

Lunch came. Thomflower supervised the doling out

of portions of the rough bread and thin soup. It wasn't

much, but no one complained; they were all aware of

how readily and capriciously it could be cut off.

Flambeau remained on her bunk, where Jon had

laboriously hauled her. The girl had a well-fleshed

body, and would have been a real prize on the market

if it hadn't been for her round ears. At least what little

she would have brought would now be denied to the

owners of the Marts. That was a very small consola-

tion; Jon now wished she hadn't ever shown her the

deadly berries. But what was done was done; she

reacted as she had when she wasn't sure whether

Kelvin had survived the dragon's toss: she went on

with her business. What else was she to do?

But after about three hours, Flambeau stirred. She

was alive! Jon went to her. "I'm sorry I gave you those

dragonberries!" she cried. "I didn't think you'd

really—"

The girl opened her eyes. "I found him," she said.

"What?"

"I found your brother. With the round ears. He's a

hero."

Jon laughed. "You were dreaming! My brother's a

great guy, but he's not really a hero. Just the notion of

fighting puts him in a cold sweat, though he does it

when he has to."

"Kelvin," she said. "He has a gauntlet."

"Kelvin doesn't have any such thing!" Then Jon did

a double take. "How did you know his name? I never

told you!"

"I was there. I ranged out from my body and found

him. He was easy to find, because he's the only other

roundear in the vicinity. All I could think of was what

you said, so I just concentrated on those round ears,

and suddenly I was there. He's handsome!"

"You what?" Jon understood the words, but they

weren't making much sense.

"I went out and found him. I could see him and

hear him, but I couldn't talk to him, because I was

only a ghost." Then Flambeau did a double take.

"What am I saying?"

That was better! The girl was as confused as Jon

was. "You swallowed three dragonberries and almost

died. I guess you could have been a ghost! But you

weren't, because you recovered, and here you are.

How do you feel?"

"Very weak," the girl said. Then: "My name is

Heln."

"They told me—"

"My given name. After my roundear mother,

Helen. Heln Flambeau."

"Oh." Jon was disconcerted. "I'm Jon. Jon Hackle-

berry."

"I know. Kelvin spoke of you. He means to rescue

you."

"You dreamed all that?"

"I don't think it was a dream," Heln said.

"You mean to say that the dragonberries didn't

poison you, they just sort of sent your soul out

wandering for a while?"

"I suppose so. I didn't exactly wander, I could go

anywhere I wanted. I just sort of flew, only I could get

somewhere without even flying, just by being there. So

I decided to be where there was that roundear you

spoke of, just because—" She shrugged. "Now I don't

think I want to die anymore. I—I got—something

terrible happened, and I really wanted to die, but now

I have something back that sort of makes up for it. It's

as if I've entered a whole new realm, and what

happened in the old one doesn't matter so much

anymore. I've left that old, spoiled life behind. Now I

want to live, and travel astrally again."

"Better not," Jon said. "Those berries kill most

folk, and if you took too many, too fast—"

"Yes. I'll wait. But now I have something to live for.

I want to meet your brother, in the flesh. Kelvin's

nice. He's my age."

82 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mwryoff

"He's nice," Jon agreed. Could she really believe

this? She decided to be forthright. "Look, Hein, this is

hard to believe all at once. I really don't know if you

were dreaming or if you really did it. Could you tell

me more about my brother?"

Hein smiled. "His eyes are sort of blue, and his hair

brown. He's thin. He wants to rescue you, and get

back some dragon scales, but he got all caught up in

being a hero, because of the gauntlet."

"What gauntlet? He doesn't have any gloves!"

"He found it somewhere. I came along after that, so

I don't know where, but everyone says it means he's

the hero of the prophecy. I don't know what the

prophecy is, though."

Jon realized that there was no way Hein could have

known all that unless she had been there. Obviously

she hadn't been there physically. So she must have

been spiritually. "But the berries are poison! Why

didn't they kill you?"

"I don't know. Unless—did your brother eat any?"

"No. Why?"

"Maybe they don't work the same on roundears.

Maybe they kill the folk of Rud, but just separate the

souls of roundears, because our metabolism is differ-

ent. Where did you get them?"

Jon explained about the garden near the dragon.

"Why would a dragon tend a garden? Do they like

to eat berries?"

"Those few little berries wouldn't feed a dragon

more than a second!" Jon exclaimed. "They eat hot

flesh."

"But they must have some reason to tend those

gardens, if other dragons have gardens. At least that

one did. Suppose it had the same effect on a dragon?

Made it able to explore without going anywhere?

Wouldn't that help it forage for prey?"

"It sure would!" Jon agreed. "I always wondered

why it's supposed to be so hard to catch a dragon!

When hunters get together in big parties and try to

run a dragon down, the dragon's never there. We

DRAGON'S GOLD 83

thought it was because the dragons heard them com-

ing, but maybe—"

"I think we've just discovered the dragon's secret,"

Hein said. "No one knew about it, because the drag-

ons are able to guard their gardens pretty well, and

anyone who ate the berries died. Just as I meant to

die, because—" Here she faltered. It seemed that

despite her words, she had not yet let go of the bad

experience.

"Thomflower told me what happened to you," Jon

said. "I'm sorry. I almost got, well, the same thing. So

I guess I understand. But you know, the other girls

seem to have survived it all right."

Hein considered, "Kelvin—would he—?"

"He wouldn't rape anyone!" Jon exclaimed, horri-

fied.

"I mean, would he—would he be able to like a girl

who—"

Oh. "I'm sure he doesn't judge by that sort of thing.

I mean, he knows how bullies are. It wasn't your fault.

And I came to you because you have round ears, like

him. I think he'd really like you, if he met you."

"I'm glad. Because I think I really like him. He was

so confused, but trying to do the right thing, instead

of being so brutal the way the others are. Unsure of

himself"

"That's my brother!"

"Yes. While the others—they don't seem to care

anything about—they just use—"

"Yeah," Jon said, understanding. "He's not like

them."

"But of course we're both going to be sold in the

auction tomorrow. If only I could have told him! But I

couldn't say anything to him; I was completely invisi-

ble and silent. He knows you're here, because some-

one told him, but—"

"Kelvin will rescue me somehow, I know it!" Jon

said stoutly. "And then he'll get back our gold. And

when he rescues me, I'll tell him to rescue you, too. I

know he'll want to meet you, and you can help him so

84 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

much if you can do that thing with the berries again."

She paused. "But suppose they only work once? And

the second time they really do poison you?"

"Next time I'll only take one berry. That's not

supposed to kill a person anyway. I'll see if it works.

But I think not today; they did leave me rather washed

out."

"Well, you could be hungry, you know. You missed

the noon meal."

Hein laughed weakly. "I suppose I could be. I'll

make sure to eat all I can tonight."

CHAPTER 10

Auction

MOST OF THE POTENTIAL bidders were buyers for the

larger plantations. Here and there on the tiers of seats

forming a half circle around the ring was to be seen a

seaman in search of new galley hands. The seamen's

blue shirts and trim sea trousers contrasted with all

the brownberry shirts and greenbriar pantaloons. The

seamen's flat, tight-fitting caps shone like white rocks

in the tossing sea of bobbing green and yellow stockel-

caps.

Back where Queeto sat, the noise was the steady

murmur of men talking crops and the buying and

selling of crophands. Feeling a sliver from the plank

seat digging into his squat behind, tasting the bitter

bile that always rose in his throat amid such sur-

roundings, Queeto retreated into his favorite fantasy.

In his mind the clouds of hatred roiled thick and

black as he imagined himself with the money to buy

boys for his own purpose. In this favored daydream he

did not have an enlarged and humped back, but

instead was straight and tall, with a high, black-

crowned forehead. In fact, in this vision he resembled

the one he was proud to acknowledge Master: Zata-

nas, Confounder of Righteousness, Defender of the

Ugly and Misshaped.

At last the auctioneer made his appearance. Stand-

ing tall, dressed in black, he was almost the picture of

an ancient prophet with his gray, flowing beard. He

cleared his throat at the lectern, banged his gavel

twice with reports like exploding skulls, and waited

for silence. Then, having achieved it, he began.

"Some of you have come from distant kingdoms

and may not know all of our Rud customs governing

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87

the Boy and Girl Marts. Some of our stock have been

seized for nonpayment of taxes; others are convicted

felons. Most were young vagrants who have been

properly and legally impressed."

Queeto squirmed, reminded that he, too, had been

a vagrant, though not one a bounty hunter would have

taken for sale at a Boy Mart. As a lad, his had been a

hard lot: tormented constantly by smooth-cheeked

boys and ugly soldiers; in constant flight from those

who knew he had stolen something; eating whatever

and wherever he could. In those days he had to eat,

unlike the days following Master.

"And now," the auctioneer was saying, "our first lot

of six boys from MacGregor Plantation. Used for one

season and now to be replaced with fresh hands.

These still have a lot of work left in them, gentlemen,

and seasoned as only MacGregor seasons them—"

In the center ring, prodded by the overseer's whip,

six lanky boys with whip marks and protruding ribs

walked the circle. Obviously they had been recalci-

trant and repeatedly disciplined. Useless, because of

one year of hardness, for Master's (and Queeto's own)

exacting purposes.

The boys were sold to one of the smaller planta-

tions. The purchaser was a man of such evil counte-

nance as to be identified as such even by the

approving dwarf.

Small lot followed small lot, and soon it was down

to single, broad-shouldered farm boys seized for their

father's nonpayment of taxes. Watching their misery,

remembering the torments of his long-ago youth,

Queeto felt a little, though only a little, avenged.

But none of these were quite suitable for Master.

Queeto knew better than to buy any boys that weren't

precisely right. He sighed; he would just have to

report no purchases, this time.

"And now," the auctioneer announced, "the Girl

Mart."

Immediately the lagging attention of the buyers

revived. Even those who had no intention of bidding

liked to look at the girls!

The girls were herded out, in their slippers and

smocks. Most were motley, not attractive despite their

youth and the management's evident effort to get

them prettied up. It took more than the combing of

the hair and washing of the face to make a hardened

young slut into an attractive package! But a few were

interesting. One had an excellent chassis and good

face, marred only by a stockelcap someone had inex-

plicably pulled down around her ears. Another looked

to be thirteen or fourteen, with good lines, long fair

tresses, and a bearing that indicated her spirit had not

yet been broken. She was exactly the kind Master

wanted!

The auctioneer hauled a girl out of the bunch. "And

what am I bid for this fine specimen of womanhood?"

he asked rhetorically. "Let's start it at ten rudnas."

"Five," a seaman said.

The girl made a gesture at him with a finger. She

was no innocent youngster! That of course lowered

her value; the average buyer preferred to degrade a

girl in his own fashion, rather than wrestle with one

who had already been broken in. Queeto watched in

silence.

Finally the auctioneer brought out the lively young

one. Her yellow hair glistened in the sun, and her

smooth skin was marked only with a purpling bruise

across her face. Her cheeks were healthy and ruddy.

She was full of the good red juice of life. Yes. Exactly

what his appetite craved and the Master specified.

Either sex would do, as long as it had the right

attributes.

"And here's a fresh virgin, age fourteen, just turned

in by a public-spirited citizen. She was caught trying

to steal a donkey."

"I was not!" the girl retorted. Oh, she was a prize!

"Fourteen rudnas," the auctioneer said, acknowl-

edging a bid from a wide-shouldered, red-faced man

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DRAGON'S GOLD

89

accompanied by two younger men on Queeto's right.

"Who will make it twenty?"

There was a pause. This one was obviously worth

more, but the buyers were still appraising her, decid-

ing how high they should go. Meanwhile the girl,

looking at the first bidder, did a double take. Did she

know him? That could be good for her, or bad,

depending on the nature of the prior contact.

"Twenty," a plantation buyer said. She would get

plenty of use in a hurry if he took her home to the

farmhands!

"Gentlemen, let's get serious," the auctioneer said.

He whipped off the girl's smock, rendering her

abruptly naked.

The body thus revealed was full-hipped but still

light in the breasts. She was just coming into her

prime, with some growing yet to do. Her half-defiant,

half-chagrined attitude spoke more clearly than any

words the auctioneer could say of her naivete. Oh, she

was certainly a prize, probably abducted directly from

some farmer's house!

There was bound to be heavy bidding here. Queeto

decided to preempt -it. "One hundred rudnas," he

called. This was a princely sum, but money was of no

consequence to him or to the Master. This borderline

child would never again be at this stage of innocence!

"One hundred and two rudnas," said the big man.

Queeto was shocked. He hadn't expected to be bid

against at this level. He had made a preemptive bid!

But he hesitated only a heartbeat, then called, "One

hundred and twenty-five."

There were gasps from all around, and murmurs,

and even a few snickers. They knew he had gone over

the limit for even the most delectable of young flesh.

It wasn't a matter of money now, but of propriety.

Why fatten the Mart's percentage beyond what was

reasonable? Queeto clenched his teeth, and hoped the

other man wouldn't force him into further embarrass-

ment by bidding again.

The girl, still naked, was signaling frantically to the

big man. She pointed to the girl with the cap. What

was she trying to do, get him to bid on someone else?

Well, the other man could have the capped girl, who

was obviously concealing some serious flaw under

that cap. Otherwise the auctioneer would never have

put it on her.

"One hundred twenty-five going once," the auction-

eer said happily. "One hundred and twenty-five going

twice, one hundred and twenty-five going thrice. Sold,

to the gentleman with the sack of gold between his

shoulders!"

That was a punnish reference to Queeto's obvious

hump. The auctioneer would not be so frivolous,

Queeto thought, if he had known him to be an

immortal.

The next girl up was that capped one. Suddenly,

defiantly, she reached up and tore off the cap. The

audience gasped. Her ears were round! That de-

stroyed her value. No wonder it had been concealed.

The auctioneer was furious; any play he might have

made had just been destroyed.

There was only one bid for that one, of two rudnas,

and the big man took her. Well, at least she was cheap!

Queeto wondered what use the man would find for a

nonvirginal roundear girl; no matter how sweet her

shape, she simply wasn't worthwhile.

After the silently glaring young purchase had been

placed, securely shackled at ankles and chained at

wrists, into his specially appointed carriage, Queeto

found the bile subsiding in his stomach. After all, he

had prevailed, and the chattel was his. Perhaps it was

just as well that the stupid man had bid against him,

because it had given him a chance to prove that such

opposition was hopeless. Such reminders were in

order, periodically.

The wind out here on the open road blew fresh,

carrying tree smells and grass odors. The stars shone

down, twinkling. Owlarks hooted and whistled.

Froogs chirped. Queeto smiled as best he could,

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91

thinking of Master, of good red juice, and of what lay

in store for his purchase. A healthy, spirited virgin

—that was the very best kind to degrade, because

there was much more reaction for the effort. Master

would be very pleased.

"Hold there!"

What was this? Three men. Highwaymen? Yes, all

had bandannas round their faces. How did they dare?

He thought all highwaymen knew that the Master's

tribute could become the Master's vengeance if they

molested one of his own. A stem warning should

suffice.

Then, by the light of the stars, he recognized the

big, broad-shouldered bidder at the Mart, and the two

who had been with him. Obviously some amateur

going into business for himself. The fool!

"I represent someone of great importance," Queeto

said loudly. "If it's gold you want, I have little left

after the Mart." Thanks, he thought, to the man's

idiot bidding.

"It's not gold we're after," said the big man. "It's

the girl."

"My master—"

"Damn your master!"

Queeto's shock was renewed. Such disrespect for

persons of power was almost unheard-of! Had the

man no concern for his health or his sanity, let alone

his life? But he was in no position to fight; he would

simply have to tolerate this affront, and make a full

report to Master.

Queeto watched as the two stockelcapped young

men sheathed swords, dismounted, and threw open

the door to the carriage compartment.

"Kel!" cried the girl who had cost a fortune.

"Brother Wart," said the young man. That was odd

indeed; why call a girl "brother"? Then, to the other,

"She's shackled."

"Key, dwarf!" the big man ordered.

Queeto knew better than to argue. These were

rough men showing Jittle caution; anyone who would

waylay a carriage of the Master would hardly hesitate

to slay the Master's underling. He tossed the big man

the key ring, who caught it and quickly transferred it

to the slighter built of the thieves.

With a jingle, they released the girl. Then the big

man cut the harness on the carriage's horse.

A moment later they were gone, one horse carrying

double. Queeto was alone on a lonely road with an

empty carriage. They hadn't even had the decency to

steal his animal, he thought bitterly, but instead had

left it for him to catch—or to try to catch.

"Damn!" Queeto said, wishing himself adept in

magic. "Master isn't going to like this. Master isn't

going to like this at all!" That was of course an

understatement so gross as to be humorous, but he

wasn't laughing. There was no telling against whom

Master's rage would first strike.

DRAGON'S GOLD 93

CHAPTER 11

Leader

WELL AWAY FROM THE carriage, they slowed to a walk,

so that the double-loaded horse would not be unduly

fatigued. Kelvin, riding with Jon behind him, intro-

duced her to his new friends: the father-and-son team

ofMorvin and Les Crumb. "They are members of the

Raiders," he explained. "They oppose the Queen and

her evil policies. But they have to operate in secret, or

the Queen's guards will wipe them all out."

"What about Hein?" Jon demanded. "You bought

her, didn't you?"

Morvin Crumb laughed. "How could we fail, after

you signaled so strongly! Then when she took off her

cap, and we saw she was a roundear, we understood.

That had the incidental effect of ruining her value; the

auctioneer was furious!"

"We had to hurry down with the money," Les

agreed. "Otherwise we knew she'd be severely

beaten."

"Then where is she now?" Jon asked.

"She was very tired," Kelvin said. "I think she'd

been sick. She said something about eating dragon-

berries, and how glad she was to see me, and then she

just, well, slept. So Mor carried her to his horse, and

took her out to a hideout cabin he has in the wilder-

ness, and got a girl to tend her, and that's where

we're going now. How did you find her? Where

did she come from? Why did she seem to know

me?"

Jon explained about her discovery and removal to

the Girl Mart, and how she had picked Hein Flam-

beau for company because other round ears. "I knew

right then she was the perfect match for you, Kel!" she

92

said, and Kelvin felt himself blushing. Then she told

of what she had learned about the dragonberries she

had saved, and how Hein had tried to commit suicide

with them.

"Suicide!" Kelvin exclaimed. "Why?"

"She had been raped, Kel. She's a delicate girl,

always treated well before; when that happened, she

just wanted to die. I told her it wouldn't make any

difference to you."

"Of course it makes a difference!" Kelvin said.

"Who did it? We'll have to kill—"

"I mean in the way you feel about her."

"But I don't even know her!" Kelvin protested,

blushing again.

"You must have seen her ears—and her body," his

sister said. "What more do you need to know?"

Kelvin shut up, knowing that she was baiting him.

Indeed, he had seen her ears and her body, and been

somewhat smitten on the spot, but hadn't wanted to

admit it. "I—of course it wouldn't make any—.if

I—" He faltered to a stop.

"Just make sure you tell her that," Jon said firmly.

"She likes you, Kel."

"But she never saw me before!"

"She saw you. The berries didn't kill her; they only

sent her into a trance, and her spirit left her body and

traveled around, and she saw you. She liked your ears,

of course; there couldn't have been any other reason,

could there?"

She was still teasing him. She was certainly back to

normal! Kel did not protest any further.

But Mor Crumb was interested. "She traveled as-

trally? I thought that ability was lost centuries ago!"

"We think maybe it was her ears," Jon said. "That

maybe the berries kill the folk of Rud, but only stun

those with Earthblood, so their spirits can travel for a

while. Maybe if Kel ate some berries—"

"No!" Mor cried with surprising vehemence. "He's

the hero of the prophecy. We can't risk him on poison

berries!"

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95

"I told Hein she could be very useful, because she

can travel anywhere, see and hear anything. That's

why I signaled you to buy her."

"You did well, girl," Mor Crumb said. "The Raid-

ers can really use a talent like that! We can spy on the

guardsmen, on the Queen herself!"

"But if the berries are poison—" Kelvin said

weakly.

"We'll have to find out what the minimum number

is she can take that will let her spirit travel, without

harming her," Mor said. "Obviously the effort takes a

lot out other, so we won't overdo it. But what a tool!"

Kelvin could see the point, but remained troubled.

He didn't like thinking of a beautiful girl like Hein

Flambeau as a tool.

They reached the cabin in due course. Mor knocked

in a code pattern on the door, and the girl opened it,

then slipped out and disappeared into the darkness.

They went in.

Hein Flambeau was up, having recovered from her

fatigue. By the wan, flickering light of a lone candle

Kelvin saw her face, round ears and all. She had

brushed out her black hair, and now it shone beside

the candle, and her half-shadowed face was lovely.

She had been bedraggled and then unconscious be-

fore, not presenting her best aspect; now, animate, she

was beautiful.

Jon nudged him. Kelvin opened his mouth. "I'm,

uh, beautiful," he said.

"You jackassi" Jon hissed.

Morvin Crumb burst out laughing. In a moment

everyone was laughing.

Hein approached gracefully. "I'd like to be your

friend, Kelvin," she said. "Did your sister tell you—"

"No difference!" he exclaimed.

"... about the experience I had with the dragon-

berries?" she finished.

Kelvin choked. "I did," Jon said.

"I saw you with the gauntlet. I realize you are a

hero, but if there's any way I can help—"

"I'm no—" Kelvin began.

"You sure can!" Morvin said. "We need informa-

tion on the whereabouts and activities of the Queen's

guardsmen. If you can spy on them without their

knowing—"

"I think I could," Hein said. "But I would need

more berries, and I don't think I could do it too often,

because it really took the strength from me, that one

time."

Kelvin tried to get a grip on himself. "You actually

saw me and heard me?"

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "Of course it was all rather

confused, because you weren't explaining anything,

you were just going somewhere, but everyone was

saying you were a hero, and something about a

prophecy, and I couldn't stay long. I never did this

before, I mean going about in astral form, and I

suppose I'm not very good at it."

"I'm not very good at being a hero!" Kelvin

blurted.

She smiled. "I think we have a lot in common."

"Round ears," Kelvin said.

"That, too."

For some unaccountable reason he felt himself

blushing again. He hoped the dim light masked it.

"We'd better bunk down here," Morvin said.

"We're going to be busy, the next few days. You two

girls better take the bed, and the rest ofus'll lie on the

floor."

They settled. Kelvin was tired, but also buoyed by

the rescue of his sister, and by the discovery of Hein

Flambeau. He had never dreamed of meeting a

roundear girl, let alone a beautiful one his own

age! And she liked him! It was almost too good to

be true. He hated to think it, but it seemed that the

highwayman's abduction of Jon had been a net bless-

ing.

Morvin Crumb's face got very dark, his heavy

eyebrows knitting together like dark caterpillars. He

96 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

stared at the bedraggled farmer and the pinch-faced

woman Kelvin guessed to be the man's wife.

"Say that again, Jeffreys," Crumb said, making no

move as yet to dismount from his horse.

"They burned my barn. Ransacked my house. Car-

ried away everything they wanted and smashed and

destroyed the rest. We watched them from the

woods."

"Damn, and I suppose that's just the start!"

"Must be," Jeffreys said. "I heard one of 'em say

they would hit Al Reston next. You know what it's

about, Morvin?"

"Revenge," the big man said.

"I—I smell smoke!" Jon said from the front part of

Kelvin's mount. The big bay shifted on his feet and

whinnied, as though he had caught the scent.

"That would be Gaston Hays," Morvin said.

"Looks as if they're trying to get us all. All of us with

the Raiders."

"Sir," Kelvin said, speaking determinedly. "If it's

all because of me—because of what happened in the

park—if it is, sir, perhaps I should, uh . . ." He

swallowed. What had he been about to say?

Morvin glared at him, seemingly seeing into his

very soul. "It had to come, youngster. Prophecy or

none, slain bullies or no. We planted right, and now

we reap the expected crop."

"They won't have killed many," the younger

Crumb said, kneeing his dappled gray to within

touching distance. "The Raiders were expecting it.

Most have been setting watches every night for weeks,

and every time there's trouble in the park everyone

sets a watch."

"It's an excuse to play cards and read books late

a'night," said Jeffreys. "Few will have been taken by

surprise."

"Fewer yet, if I have my way," Crumb muttered,

and Kelvin knew he was thinking of Hein, who

remained back at the cabin. Obviously astral spying

could do a lot to help them oppose raids like this. If

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DRAGON'S GOLD

they could learn exactly where and when each raid

was planned ...

"We will round up those who have suffered," Mor-

vin said. "Then we disband Crumb's Raiders. What

we have now we'll call Knights. That's appropriate,

isn't it? Kelvin Knight Hackleberry Knights. Knights

of the Roundear."

Kelvin felt himself blushing again. So absurd of

Crumb—and yet there was the gauntlet.

"What does he mean, Kel?" Jon whispered. She was

back in boy guise, feeling most comfortable that way,

especially after what had almost happened in the Boy

Mart.

Kelvin poked his sister lightly and explained all

with a brotherly word: "Quiet!"

"We'll have to hide out for now," Morvin said.

Kelvin realized irrelevantly that the man's chronical-

ly red face probably spared him the embarrassment of

blushing; who would know the difference? "But when

we can, we'll gather men and arms, and then, come

good or come evil, we'll fight. This time to win!"

"What will you use for money?" spoke up Jeffreys'

wife.

"What we have. What we can scrape up. If only we

had some gold. Say half a dragon's worth!"

"I know where we can get gold!" Jon said, and

immediately Kelvin wished his sister's captor had left

her with a gag.

"That so?" Morvin asked. He sounded interested

rather than disbelieving.

"My sister's just a child," Kelvin started, and

promptly got Jon's elbow poked into his stomach.

"Let 'er speak, Hackleberry," Crumb said.

Jon sneezed, lightly, brushing some hair back under

her stockelcap, and said, "Our dragon—the one Kel-

vin slew—"

"He slew a dragon?"

"Yeah. With a tent pole, right through the eye

socket and into the old brain pan. That's where I

found the dragonberries."

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99

"Gods!" Morvin exclaimed. "And here he pre-

tended to be afeard of a couple of mere guardsmen!"

That was exactly the reaction Kelvin had feared. He

knew he was no hero, and that the dragon business

had been mostly luck and desperation, as had the

gauntlet business. What would he be in for now?

"Well," Jon continued blithely, "we packed out the

gold, but Cheeky Jack's got it. He's the bandit who

kidnaped me for the auction. I heard his name

when—"

"Impressed you for the auction," Crumb said.

"They don't call it kidnaping, because there's sup-

posed to be a law against that. You wouldn't, eh, know

where old Cheeky is hiding, would you, youngster?"

"You bet I would!" Jon said enthusiastically, while

Kelvin cringed. He knew that more heroic business

was coming up.

They saw Mockery grazing behind the lean-to

shack, from the rim of the canyon nearly a quarter of

a mile away. Morvin suggested an arrow to stop the

equine's mouth, but Jon quickly protested, and Kel-

vin hastily explained that the donkey was deaf as a

stone and unlikely to sound an alarm.

"In that case we'll slip down that steep bank behind

those trees and come in from the southeast," Morvin

said, pointing with his sword tip.

"Jack will be home. That's his horse," Jon said,

indicating the black stallion hobbled near the door.

"Um, now, that one could make a bit of noise if we

don't come in just right," Morvin said. "Any ideas?"

"My idea is that he won't," said his son. "Donkeys

are the ones who make the commotions. Horses can

be passed."

"Then let's pass," Morvin said. He turned to Kel-

vin. "Son, you got that gauntlet on right?"

"I think so, sir." Why was Crumb calling him son,

he wondered? What must the man's actual son think?

"Good. Because I'll let you do the killing. You need

the experience."-

Kelvin swallowed in private agony. He had known

that this was part of what leadership entailed. If there

was one thing he did not want to experience, it was

killing. Not even villains who would steal gold and

sell his sister for a plantation hand.

"All right. Go," Crumb said, dispensing orders as

naturally as everyone around seemed to take them.

After a downhill run, a careful descent, and a

cautious walk, there was a silent crawl. They were

almost to the black horse when Jack emerged from the

shack and saw them.

"Well!" he said, his hand going for his sword.

"Take him, Hackleberry," Morvin said.

Kelvin found himself on his feet, good sword in

right hand, gauntlet on left.

"Baby boy's brother," said Jack, "come to get his

head split." He never had learned of Jon's deception.

"Get him, Kel!" Jon cried, sounding bloodthirsty.

Kelvin trembled, though he knew (he kept telling

himself) how this should end. Magic was after all

magic, and the fight in the park had convinced him

that the gauntlet was that. If only it was for the proper

hand!

"You fight with bare sword hand, sonny?" Jack

seemed amused. "What's the mitten for? You going to

use it to wipe something? Your nose, maybe? Perhaps

your blood?"

"I'm ready, mister," Kelvin said. It was as brave a

statement as he could muster. Yet the highwayman's

taunts were making it easier.

"Are, huh? Well, in that case—" The sword

swished and darted like a striking serpent.

To be caught and flung away with one lightning

move on the part of the gauntlet.

Jack blinked and opened and closed his mouth like

a fish drowning in air. "What—what—?"

Kelvin raised the tip of his sword to the highway-

man's throat. "If you have anything to say, say it fast."

Because if this takes any time, I'll lose my nerve! he

thought.

100 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"I didn't mean—I only wanted—" The eyes of the

bandit were wild as they darted from sword tip to the

face of the elder Crumb, to Jon's face, to his own

sword still quivering in the trunk of a tree.

"Don't kill him! Don't!" It was a large slovenly

woman standing in the doorway of the cabin.

"Watch her, men," Mor Crumb snapped.

Kelvin realized that this was the man's wife. Could

he kill a man with a wife and maybe a child? Even

such a man as this? After all, Cheeky Jack hadn't

really hurt Kelvin or Jon, he had just taken their gold

and sold Jon to the Boy Mart. All that evil was now

being undone.

"You're sorry, aren't you? And you won't do it

again?" Kelvin hardly realized what he was saying. He

only knew that the Crumbs were watching him and

that Morvin was trying to get him blooded: to shed his

first human lifeblood.

Jack shook. "I never saw anything like that move!

You just grabbed my blade right out of my hand! You

must be—"

"You better believe it," the elder Crumb said.

The highwayman raised his hands, eyes now on the

gauntlet. "It hardly seems fair. Magic—"

"You prate of 'fair'?" Crumb demanded. "You who

attack nearly unarmed and unskilled boys? You who

prey on them with no other object than enriching

yourself? You who prey on the weak without a sign of

conscience?"

"Kill me, then," Jack said, regaining a bit of defi-

ance. "Kill me and get it over with!"

"Kill him, youngster!" Morvin said.

"Kill him, Kel!" Jon's shrill voice echoed the elder

man's.

"Yes," the younger Crumb said. "Strike!"

Kelvin closed his eyes, bunched his muscles, and

tried to will the deed. But Jack, trembling there with

his bare arms raised, was now just as helpless as

anyone he had ever slain. Villain he might be, but now

DRAGON'S GOLD 101

he was helpless before a sword, and to strike now

would make Kelvin feel like a murderer.

"Murderer!" the woman screamed, echoing his

thought.

"Shuddup!" Mor said to her. "Another word,

woman, and—"

She was silent. Kelvin could imagine the gesture

Mor must have made.

"Go on!" Crumb said. "I swear I won't do't this

time! Ye's got to do for ye'self!"

Do for myself and kill, Kelvin thought. Kill an

unarmed man before a woman who loves him. This is

how a leader acts?

Abruptly he lowered the sword point. "I give him

his life," Kelvin said.

"What!" Crumb shouted, outraged. "Hackleberry,

may I ask why?"

Because this hero wasn't cut out for murder, he

thought. But he knew Morvin would snort at that.

"Because," he said, and fought to find some accept-

able reason. "Because he's only a—a man. Only a

highwayman. Only one bandit."

"What? Are ye daft?"

"Only one highwayman," Kelvin said, his mind

racing with all the velocity of a Slug. What was he

trying to think of? "But there are others," he contin-

ued with sudden inspiration. "Many others—as your

son has told me."

"What are you blathering about?"

"He can spread the word. He and his wife. About

us. What we did today. We won't allow boys to be

pressed any longer. Or girls. We won't allow anyone to

rob and to steal and to kill as he has done."

"We'll do it! We'll do it!" the woman said.

Morvin silenced her with a wave. He raised a hand

and rubbed his chin. "Hackleberry, I do believe you

make a little sense. Let him spread the word to his

friends, and if he's up to his villainy again, we disarm

him and we gut him!"

r

102 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"Right, sir!" Kelvin cried, weak-kneed with relief.

"Gods, but I believe you'll make a leader yet! Me,

I'd never have thought of that."

Not that it mattered, Kelvin thought, but he wasn't

sure that even he himself had thought of it. He had

wanted to avoid killing, and somehow an excuse had

come. An acceptable excuse, he had realized, even

while making it, but nothing but an excuse.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something to the

prophecies.

But somehow he still wanted terribly to doubt.

CHAPTER 12

Dragonberries

"BUT I CAN'T EVEN try it without more dragonberries,"

Hein Flambeau protested. "We lost the rest of them at

the Girl Mart. I'm willing to try, if we can get the

berries."

Kelvin had hoped she wouldn't be willing, but he

couldn't say that. What would he do if she ate the

berries again, and this time they poisoned her? Maybe

it had been a fluke before.

"Then we'll just have to fetch more berries," Mor-

vin Crumb said. "Actually, we'll need the rest of the

scales from that dead dragon, just to be sure we have

enough gold. Jon tells me you only got them from the

topside of the beast, the easiest place to reach."

Damn his big-mouthed little sister! Now they

would have to go back to the dragon, and Kelvin

didn't like the notion of bracing even a dead dragon.

"We'll take a full crew, so we have the manpower to

turn the critter over," Mor continued. "We'll get them

all this time, to be sure! And Jon will get a whole

basketful of the berries at the same time."

"Yeah!" Jon said enthusiastically.

"I should come along," Hein said.

"No!" Kelvin cried.

"But why not, Kelvin? The berries are for me."

"I don't want you in dragon country! There could

be another dragon!"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Gods, Hein, the thought of anything happening to

you—"

"Then you do care for me," she said as if it were a

discovery.

"Of course I—" But then he got all tongue-tied.

103

104 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf DRAGON'S GOLD 105

"He's right, Flambeau," Mor said. "Dragon coun-

try is no place for women."

"Now, just a minute!" Jon protested. "I'm— "

"Or children," Mor added.

That didn't sit any better with her. "Now, I won't

let you exclude me! I found those berries, I know

where they are!"

"Right. I said you're coming. Let's get on with it."

He turned away.

Jon jumped for joy. Then she paused. "But what

does that make me? If not a woman or a child—"

"A Knight," the man said as he moved out toward

the horses.

"Oh. Yes." Abruptly pleased again, she hurried

after him.

Hein turned to Kelvin. "Please, be careful, hero,"

she said. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Kelvin felt himself blushing yet again. Why was he

so helpless in her presence? She gave him chances

without end to say something meaningful, but he

always muffed it. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled, true to

form, and stumbled off to join the party.

There were thirty of them now: all the farmers and

townsmen who had called themselves Crumb's Raid-

ers and now called themselves Knights of the Round-

ear. Dressed in their brownberry shirts, greenbriar

pantaloons, and lightweight summer stockelcaps, they

looked like anything but an army. Smelling of natural

fertilizing agents, they didn't even have the aroma of

an army, Kelvin thought as he rode along with the

Crumbs, Mor and Les, and with Jon sharing his big

bay mare. What an outfit, and what a mission! They

were going back to dragon country to find the rotting

carcass and get all the scales and all the berries.

"You play this?" Les asked, his horse sidling nearer.

"Huh? Oh." Lester held out the mandajo they had

found in Jack's shack.

"A little. It's mine."

"Play it. Now."'

Kelvin hesitated but a second to test the tension on

the strings. He knew he was not the best minstrel,

indeed, not better than mediocre, but he enjoyed

playing and singing and felt comfortable doing it, and

there was much to be said for pleasure and comfort

after the disruption and tension of recent events. He

strummed a little, then burst into his favorite theme:

"Fortune come a-callin', but I did hide, ah-oo-ay.

Fortune come a-callin', but I did hide, bloody saber at

my side, ah-oo-ay, ah-oo-ay, ay."

Jon got out her new sling and a rock. As on their

first trip into dragon country—such a short time ago,

and yet seemingly so long ago—she seemed alert for

squirbets. Or, Kelvin thought uncomfortably, some-

thing larger.

"You say it's along this bank?" Mor asked, leaning

down from the extra-big plow horse he rode.

Kelvin nodded. They should be seeing buzvuls

soon, he thought, looking at the overcast sky for the

dark scavenger birds. Normally buzvuls were said to

be an ill omen.

"There!" Les exclaimed, pointing. At the same

time, the stench of the rotting carcass reached them

on the breeze. Kelvin felt his nose wrinkle and his

stomach lurch. Somehow the odor made him feel

even less like a hero or leader; he had no nose and no

stomach for it.

"Yup, that's dragon stink," Mor said with a smile as

broad as his back. He might have been talking about a

gentle perfume, or—Kelvin's gut tried to lurch again

—a toothsome delicacy.

"I wonder—the buzvuls aren't landing. They're

just hovering in the sky," Les Crumb remarked,

glancing up.

"Who cares?" Mor replied. "The body's there,

there's still scale to gather. That's what counts."

"There was another dragon," Jon said. "We saw its

tracks. It looked as though they fought."

"Or mated?" Les asked.

"Much the same thing, with dragons," Mor said.

106 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyrojf

Kelvin put away the mandajo in his horse's saddle-

sack. It was, after all, his. As usual ao one had seemed

to pay much attention to his playing. Mor and Les had

come to the same conclusion he had: that the two

dragons had probably been mating. Did that mean

that the other would return to this vicinity? Farm

animals, he knew, could require several matings be-

fore it took, and it could be the same with dragons.

What would happen if the female came back and

found men crawling over the corpse of her mate? The

thought made him shudder, but no one else seemed

concerned. Were they fools, or was he a coward?

Somehow he didn't really like either alternative.

As they rounded the river bend, the word went back

and forth from man to man, and soon all were craning

their necks, reddened or dark-tanned as the case

might be, as they strained to see the sight. Soon

everyone who had been behind moved up front,

leaving the Hackleberries and the Crumbs and Keith

Sanders, the rabble-rouser from the park, and burly,

graying Gaston Hayes.

Kelvin felt himself frowning. Something wasn't

exactly right, but he couldn't quite pin it down.

"What is it, bold brother mine?" Jon asked brightly.

As often was the case, Jon seemed to sense her

brother's sensing.

Then he realized what it was. "The scales—they

were scattered about like petals from flowers. I just

had a glimpse, but—we didn't leave them like that.

We loaded all we could onto Mockery, and stacked the

rest neatly near the body. Wasn't that so, Jon?"

Her mouth grew tight. "Yeah."

"The other dragon!" Kelvin cried, his forebodings

now assuming full force. "It's been here—feeding."

"You sure?" Morvin barked.

"The scales have been moved!"

"Maybe Jack?"

"He didn't know where the dragon was," Jon said.

"He could've smelled it," Mor pointed out.

DRAGON'S GOLD 107

"Then why would he scatter the scales instead of

taking them?" Les asked. "Dad, I think—"

Abruptly he broke off, for a very live dragon's snout

had appeared over the side of the dead one. Blood-

stained jaws gaped, gobbets of spoiling flesh hung on

the terrible teeth. The thing rose up on its front legs

and issued a long and penetrating hiss. Its bloodred

eyes seemed to fasten on them instantly.

"Gods!" Crumb muttered. If he hadn't taken the

notion of a companion-dragon seriously before, he

certainly did now.

"Run for your lives!" someone cried. It was, Kelvin

realized a moment later, Keith Sanders. It seemed

that the man was just as proficient at urging rabble to

flee as urging it to fight.

"No! Stand and fight!" Lester called. His sword

came out of its scabbard with the whisper of polished

steel being bared for action. No coward, he!

The dragon gave a frightful snort that raised dust

from the road's surface. It came charging, hard.

Men and horses scattered. Men shouted. Horses

squealed. Men and horses screamed together as the

huge jaws snapped, again and again. If there was one

thing a dragon preferred to a rotting carcass, it was

live meat. It also liked fighting better than sleeping.

This dragon was having a ball.

The tail lashed, like a big, thick rawhide whip,

knocking down horses and flinging off riders. The

jaws crunched indiscriminately on men and animals.

Blood and other bodily substances stained nearby

rocks and trees and roadway. The dragon wasn't

trying to feed, just to disable, so that the maximum

amount of prey could be rendered helpless before

fleeing. Then the feeding would be done at leisure.

"No! No! No! We've got to stand!" Lester called.

"United, organized, disciplined—"

He was of course correct, and his military training

helped him. But his words had all the effect of the

proverbial cry down a dry well. Men, so eager to do

108

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmgrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

109

battle earlier in the day, now fell over themselves and

collided with one another following Keith Sanders'

pusillanimous advice.

In that moment Kelvin realized that most men were

just as cowardly as he knew himself to be. The

difference between them was that he anticipated the

things he feared, while others ignored them until it

was too late. That didn't make him feel much better,

but he did think his way was less foolish.

Meanwhile, the dragon was having a field day with

cowards and bold men alike; it didn't care one way or

the other about the social qualities of its prey.

Gaston Hayes brushed back gray hair from his face

and raised his ancient crossbow. He aimed into the

dust of the dragon's activity; his rheumy eyes

squinted, and he squeezed the trigger.

The bolt went thunk. It had not even struck a

dragon scale, but had lodged in a tree instead.

"Damn ye for cowards!" Morvin Crumb exclaimed

angrily, addressing the running Knights. He moved

out of the way of a horseman who seemed blind to his

presence and all else but the way of escape. He

adjusted the lance he carried. He had a polished,

never-used lance that he had brought just for this

unlikely situation.

Mor kneed his big plow horse out to meet the

dragon. The lance lowered, aimed roughly at the

creature's head. The whites of the horse's eyes

showed, but he leaped a plow horse's ungainly leap at

his master's urging. The dragon, who had been com-

ing fast, wriggling almost comically from side to side,

now put on its brakes. Its front feet locked and

skidded. Its broad tail swished as it swung around and

down, hard.

The tail caught Morvin Crumb across his chest. It

struck the mailed vest he wore with a loud metallic

clank. Crumb, big man that he was, went spinning like

a child's tantrum-tossed toy. He lit in some nettle-

bushes, wind gone and senses fled, on his broad back.

So much, Kelvin thought fleetingly, for courage.

"Help him," Les urged Kelvin. "If we go in fast,

maybe we can save him!"

"Yeah!" said Jon.

Looking at his sister's eager young face, Kelvin did

what he felt he had to, and pushed Jon off their horse.

"What are you doing!" Jon protested. But she

knew. What he was doing was putting little sister out

of the way of danger—or as nearly out of danger as

was possible at the moment. This act infuriated her,

but it was necessary.

He and Lester charged at the side of the dragon.

Just as they reached it, its enormous head snapped

around.

Les delivered a quick, slapping sword low to the

snout, the monster's eyes being far out of reach. The

creature's great clawed forefoot rose and swept him

almost casually from his mount. Les flew, and lit

down in the bushes not far from his father.

Kelvin felt his gauntlet pull the horse's reins. The

animal responded by halting abruptly. Kelvin saved

himself from going over the horse's head by a sudden

grab at the bay's tossing mane. His sword slipped

from his fingers, slid by the horse's neck without

cutting, and clanked harmlessly on the roadway. Des-

perately he tried shifting his weight to keep his seat.

Hero, indeed! He could hardly even keep his seat!

Morvin was up now. Shaking his big head, he

looked for the lance.

Kelvin found, it, or rather his left hand did. The

gauntlet wrenched his shoulder, reaching he knew not

for what. He saw the ground come up at him and he

had to fling out both hands to avoid striking his head.

He lit with a thump that at another time might have

brought forth a cry of agony. Clouds of choking, gray

road dust rose around him. His left hand fought him,

finally closing on a smooth shaft.

Kelvin forced himself to his feet, the shaft of the

lance smooth in his right hand and gripped clumsily

and higher up by his left. He felt dizzy. Because of the

dust he could see neither horse nor dragon.

110 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Maymjf

A great chilling hiss froze him. Terrible, swordlike

teeth flashed directly overhead. Hot and carrion-

scented air blew sickeningly into his face.

Glunk!

He felt the shaft driven into the ground. His left

arm remained steady as he tried but failed to retain

his balance.

Dust swirled. Stench overpowered. Saliva and

blood dripped down on his face. The ground shook,

heaved, and rocked. A great hiss was followed by a

bubbling noise, which in turn was followed by a loud,

gusty, fading sigh.

Barely conscious, Kelvin saw figures emerge from

the settling dust. Mor and Les Crumb came to stand

over him. Jon, coming up behind, looked as if she

were crying.

"Ye did it again, son," Morvin said.

"Huh?" What a brilliant retort, the cynical back of

his mind remarked.

"Look, lad!"

Kelvin struggled to his elbow.

He was lying, he discovered, in a messy bubble of

thick, sticky, steaming dragon blood.

While above him, staring with a single fading eye,

held upright by the lance that impaled its mate and

entered the hidden recesses behind the socket, swayed

the dead, nightmarish head of the once unconquera-

ble dragon.

CHAPTER 13

The Haw

"So THIS is THE Kingdom of Throod," said Kelvin,

sniffing the spicy smell of orlemon cakes that reached

them from the beehive-shaped ovens. It was as hilly as

Rud, but the trees and the crops were different, the

trees running much to citrus.

"Good enough for me," Jon said from Mockery's

back. She wiped some limfruit juice from her mouth,

licked the rind, and then tossed the rind at a barking

wolfox's pointed face. The wolfox promptly disap-

peared into the thicket of hazbert brush.

"You've got some treats in store," Lester Crumb

said, riding up to their left. "I was here for nearly a

month, once. Prettiest girls in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Girls, phooey!" Jon said.

Little sister, Kelvin thought, would soon enough be

changing her attitude, once she got into a situation

where boys behaved decently toward girls. Of course

they always had behaved well toward certain girls. He

wondered what Maybell Winterjohn, the prettiest and

freckledest girl in school, had done since he left. If

things had been different . . . but there had been no

choice. But of course she would never have been

interested in a roundear.

"A rudna for your thoughts," Hein murmured.

Kelvin jumped. He hadn't seen her ride up beside

Jon. "I, uh, um, that is—"

"Why do you feel you have to blush every time the

subject of women comes up?" she asked.

Hein, of course, was not turned off by round ears.

That made her so obviously the girl for him that he

wondered why he was unable to believe it. He blushed

harder.

Ill

112 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mtvyroff

"I was only teasing you, Kel," she said. "I know it's

hard for you to adjust to being a hero, just the way it's

hard for me to live with the fact that I got—" But now

she choked off.

"N-no difference!" he exclaimed.

"I think that's what I like about you—besides your

burning red round ears—that you represent no threat

to me," she continued after a pause. "You aren't like

those beasts. You wouldn't ever—"

"Never!" he agreed fervently.

"Because I guess you know that it's likely to be a

long time before I can—that is—you know."

And probably just as long a time for him. She had

drawn a nice analogy, between his supposed heroism

and her degradation. Both of them had had to do

things for which they had been totally unprepared,

and it remained difficult to adjust to the new realities.

They were indeed well matched, in devious as well as

the obvious ways.

He looked at her, and she smiled at him, and

suddenly he wished he could just take her in his arms

and do all the things with her that made him blush to

think about but that he never had the nerve to take

seriously. He felt his blush intensifying yet more. But

then he saw that she was blushing, too, and that

helped a great deal.

"Say—" Jon started.

"Quiet!" Kelvin and Hein said together.

"I hope I never get like that," Jon said, and rode on

ahead, affronted.

"I hope she does\" K-elvin said.

"She's ready now—when she meets the right boy."

"Never!" Jon called back.

A blue and white bird different from any in Rud

flew over, calling from its long beak: "Cau-sal-i-ty!

Cau-sal-i-ty!" At least that was what it sounded like to

Kelvin. That could only be the creature known as the

primary bird. Rud's bluebins and robjays were so

much more sensible; at home birds sounded like

birds, not aged'philosophers.

DRAGON'S GOLD 113

The road ran downhill, past a stone caim dedicated

to the memory ofThrood's soldiery who had perished

in the two-hundred-year-old war with Rud. It was

discomfiting to imagine the shades of those soldiers

out there on the grass in front of the cairn. What

would they think, Kelvin mused, of the two Crumbs

and two Hackleberries and one Flambeau come

to their homeland for mercenaries to fight in a war

that hadn't happened yet? Probably they would

approve; after all, soldiers were soldiers. How many

had ever fought in the name of a cause so noble or

for pay so magnificent? Yes, they would have to

approve.

Mockery made his mockery sound, and Lester

looked over at him, and then at his father. Kelvin

knew what the latter was thinking. They should have

taken more men. With Mockery and the one pack

horse loaded with scale, they could be in danger from

highwaymen. But Throod for some strange reason

was far more law-abiding than its neighboring king-

doms, especially Rud.

"Whoa," called Morvin suddenly.

They drew their mounts to a stop as the big man

dismounted and crossed the road to a rough, wooden

fence. He crossed the fence into a field filled with

trellises supporting large yellow clusters of curapes.

He spoke briefly to the farmer dressed in creaseless

brownskins, paid him a full scale, and came back with

his arms loaded. Kelvin took the fruit handed to him

and popped and squirted the sweet tart ovoids into

his mouth. Paradise, he thought, paradise. The most

luscious fruit growing anywhere in the Seven King-

doms, and yet the boys of Throod took up soldiering

for the highest bidders in other lands. Strange, but

then maybe Rud would look like paradise to someone

who didn't know. Possibly the government here was

not much different from Rud's, though all he knew

was that they voted for officials and changed officials

frequently. In civics class he had heard Throod's

government described as "one weak step above anar-

114 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 115

chy." He hadn't understood that exactly, but then it

had seemed probable that he would never need to.

"Recruitment House ahead," said Mor, wiping

yellow juice from his mouth and pointing. "We'll

order our men and supplies, show that we've got gold

to pay for them, and then head back."

"By way of The Flaw," Lester said, verbally capital-

izing. "Visitors have to see The Flaw while they're in

Throod. Wouldn't be right if they didn't."

Mor made no reply other than a grunt as they rode

on to the large, unadorned structure that was not

unlike a barracks.

"I do hope Captain Mackay will be here as agreed,"

Mor said, worried. "He's supposed to have the men

—experienced warriors and experienced officers

—ready for us. But there's a saying that Throod

mercenaries, though reliable, do get into scrapes. I

remember last time I was here, back in the big

conflict, when a third of the men were unavailable.

Seems some of them had started a mercenaries' union

to fix rates, and some liked the idea and some didn't.

So add to the other reasons we lost and the Queen

won the fact that we didn't get the right men."

Kelvin thought that if he had been a mercenary he

would have wanted a union to fix rates. But then he

hadn't been a paid soldier, wasn't now, and never

would be. The mercenary's life of endless marches

and battles until wounded too badly to function or

continuing until either slain or too old to fight had no

appeal. Better a fanner's life, or even the life of a

tradesman.

They entered the door of Recruitment House and

stood looking around at the scant furnishings and the

dozen or so men. No one moved or spoke for a

moment, and then the big, gray-haired man with one

arm stood up from his table in the comer. He held out

his hand, gray eyes meeting Morvin's blue.

"Morvin Crumb. I'm Captain Mackay. Welcome to

Recruitment House and the Kingdom of Throod."

Morvin merely glanced at the empty sleeve. Good

officers, after all, were traditionally warriors who had

lost something in a fight. There were officers with

patches over eyes, or with wooden stumps for legs, or

misshapen shoulders, or deformed backs. Experience

was what counted, and that with the training and

leading of more able men to fight.

"You know why we've come," Morvin said. "This

here"—he indicated Kelvin with a thumb—"is the

Roundear. Kelvin, take off your cap."

Hesitantly, Kelvin reached up and pulled the head-

covering off his straw-colored hair. He didn't like

being placed on display like this, but he knew it was

necessary. Jon and Hein were both now wearing

stockelcaps, for different reasons, and he was glad of

that.

"Glad to meet you, Roundear," Captain Mackay

said, gripping his hand. It was a rough hand callused

by years of sword wielding and horse handling. It was

a large hand, which all but engulfed his.

"I'm not certain I'm the right roundear," Kelvin

confessed. "But I do have this gauntlet I found, and

it's evidently the one of prophecy. With it on, I just

can't lose in a sword fight."

"And the gauntlet great shall the tyrant take. The

magician bad, by the gauntlet had," quoted the

Throodian. "Yes, one of the interesting prophecies,

clumsy as their wording tends to be. Don't worry

about whether you're the one or not, son. As long as

you've got the gauntlet and people think you're the

one, it helps. What really counts of course is some-

thing else—military tactics and men trained to carry

them out. How are you on tactics?"

"I, uh—"

"Don't worry. You'll learn. And you'll have good

officers, I'll see to that. Well, sit down and we'll make

our plans."

Kelvin took the proffered chair, as did the rest of

the party. It seemed to him that though he was

supposed to be the hero of the prophecy, he did little

but let others move him around. Still, it was sensible

116 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margraff'

to sit here in this quiet place and make plans. That .

was true even if he had little to do with making them.

"We brought- scale to get things started," Morvin

said, waving away the amber bottle the captain silent-

ly indicated. "We'll need everything—swords, lances,

shields, body armor, war-horses, the works."

"I understand," the captain said, pouring himself a

glass and not offering the refreshment to Kelvin or

Lester or Jon or Heln. "You've come to the right

place. But the terms—"

"When we win, each man gets a choice of citizen-

ship and land, or a mercenary's top wages plus

bonus."

"And if the fighting lasts and the men need gold to

send to their families?"

"More scale. There are more dragons where the last

two came from."

"Last two? You went on a hunting expedition into

dragon country?"

Morvin nodded. "We did that. But I've got to tell

you, this roundear here slew both of them."

The gray eyebrows raised. Kelvin felt the steely eyes

going over him. "You don't look like a warrior," he

said.

"I'm not," Kelvin said. "But the prophecy and the

gauntlet—they made the difference."

"Tell me how."

Kelvin took a deep breath. He had told the tale so

many times in recent days that it was almost like

reciting a piece. "When Jon, my younger sibling here,

and I arrived in dragon country the first time, we were

all on our own. Just Jon and me and the deaf donkey

outside. I had a sword, but it was an old sword. Jon's

the best with a sling, of anyone I've seen. When Jon

saw the dragon, Jon thought it dead, and—" On and

on with the familiar tale.

Captain Mackay listened intently. His eyes turned

to fix on Jon, and it was evident that he understood

her nature quickly enough, but he gave no overt

indication. He was the kind of soldier who could keep

DRAGON'S GOLD 117

a secret. Silently he motioned to the grizzled officers

drinking at the other tables. They rose and came

across the room. All stood listening raptly, now and

then one or another breaking his silence with a brief

and appropriate curse.

"And I never even knew until I regained conscious-

ness," Kelvin concluded. "There he was, skewered

right through the eye, just as the first had been

skewered by the tent pole."

"Wizard's Teeth!" cried a bearded man with one

ear missing and an ugly scar across his cheek. "That

was some adventure! You're either the Roundear of

Prophecy or the luckiest roundear in any of the Seven

Kingdoms!"

"Yes, I guess that's so," Kelvin said. "But I don't

feel special, and without the gauntlet—"

"You'll do just fine until another contender comes

along," the captain said. "Personally I don't think

anyone could be that lucky. It has to be the proph-

ecy."

"I agree with you," Morvin said. "He just don't

realize what he is yet."

"He's learning, though!" Jon piped up.

Kelvin gave his sister his customary light kick. His

sister, experienced in his ways, drew her foot back

under the table, and the captain gave a slight jerk as

the kick connected.

But the grim oldster was smiling. "I, too, had a

sibling once, Roundear. And whether this one be your

blood sibling or your friend sibling, I know what

prompted that kick."

"Blood sibling," Kelvin said. "Our father was a

roundear, our mother a pointear, so the chances were

even, and that's the way it happened: one of each.

Then our father was killed, and our mother remar-

ried."

"Who was your father?"

"He called himself John Knight. He was from

Earth."

"I know of him."

118

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff'

DRAGON'S GOLD

119

"You do?" Jon exclaimed eagerly.

"That is to say, I heard of him. That was all." But

by the way his jaw tightened, Kelvin realized that the

man knew more than he was telling. Was it something

bad? It couldn't be! Yet—

"About our business," Morvin suggested.

"Eh," the captain agreed, switching his attention.

"The business will be concluded satisfactorily. I know

my trade. Crumb."

"Mor. Mor Crumb."

"Mor."

"Yes, I'm sure you do." Morvin stood up. "If it's

agreed, then, two thousand men and at least thirty

good officers. With your men and our men when our

men get trained—"

"It will be a battle," the captain said. "That Queen

of yours—I'm not sure we have any edge. We could

take 'em in regular combat, but they've got a magician

that's as slippery as a greased eelshark, and twice as

mean. So don't be thinking this is any pushover."

"We have a secret weapon," Mor said.

"Eh? Where?"

"I can't tell you that in front of your men."

The captain nodded. "You aren't bluffing?"

"No."

"Then tell me when you're ready. If it's enough to

make up for the edge their magic gives them—"

"It may be."

"Then I trust we'll have a satisfactory outcome. I'll

have the men and supplies ready in half a day. Come

back here and we'll all ride together for Rud."

"Agreed," Morvin said.

"Then why don't you take these young folk sight-

seeing? Take them to see The Flaw."

"I had it in mind," Morvin agreed. "Come,

Knights."

They trooped out. Kelvin, however, felt less than

satisfactory. "You know we haven't tried using Hein

for spying yet," he said. "It may not work."

"And then again, it may," the ruddy man re-

sponded. "If we can spy out their plans ahead of time,

we can lick them every time. I'd call that a good

edge."

"Still—." Kelvin said.

Hein put a fine fair hand on his arm. "It will be all

right, Kel," she said. "Those berries didn't hurt me

before, and now we have plenty of them. I'm sure I

can do what needs to be done."

Kelvin was silent, still not liking the risk either to

her or to their effort if this ploy failed. But again, what

choice was there? He seemed to be fated to participate

in things he didn't like or trust, again and again. Was

this a hero's lot?

"The Flaw," Jon asked brightly. "It's near here?"

"Very near," Mor said.

"It's just a big old crack without a bottom," Jon

said, giving Mockery's neck a pat as they walked past.

"Who wants to see that?"

"You do," Lester said. "And so does your brother.

Believe me, it's something you're never going to

forget."

Jon snapped a rock from her sling into a tall oaple

tree, disturbing a squirbet who was packing off a

sugary nut high amid the branches. It was a for-fun

shot, Kelvin knew, and not one that Jon intended to

score.

"Schoolmaster used to tell us that when he brought

out the strap," Jon said. "And you know, he was right:

I never forgot. But maybe you're right. Maybe a dumb

old hole in the ground is worth seeing."

"It's behind that high board fence over there," Mor

said, "It's got slits you can see through. You can poke

an arm and your head through if you've a mind to, but

there's no sense in that. I've heard of women who've

been jilted by soldiers dropping their engagement

rings down there. Waste of good metal and precious

stones."

In a moment they were at the barrier, some distance

from others who had come to see The Flaw. Like the

others, they approached the nearest openings in the

120 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 121

fence. The sawn-out viewing place was chest-high on

Morvin and Les, head-high on Kelvin, and chin-high

on Jon. Hein was just the right height for it. Hesitantly

and just a bit fearfully, on Kelvin's part, they looked.

Down, down at twinkling stars set amid velvety

blackness. Now and then a bright object such as was

seen in the night streaked through the black, trailing a

long tail: a luminous tadpole in a froogpond of space.

Kelvin shifted his feet, half fearful that the solid

ground would disappear beneath them. Then he

looked over at open-mouthed Jon and Hein, and the

big eyes of Mor and Les.

"The metaphysicians say it's a tear or a rip in the

physical universe," Les said. "It's said that two uni-

verses, two realities, are here joined; that one bleeds

or oozes into the other."

"And sometimes something or someone manages to

cross," Hein murmured. "Like my mother—"

"Or my father," Kelvin finished, awed.

If the mood touched Jon, she flung it off. "I'm going

to get a star," she said briskly. She hurled. The rock

flew over the barrier and plummeted. A quick flash

and it was gone.

"Didn't lead it enough," Jon said, and tried again.

Again the flash in the adjoining starfield.

"You really think you'll hit a star?" Les asked,

sounding amused.

"I will if I keep trying," Jon said.

"Not a star, Jon. They're too big and too distant.

You haven't a chance."

"You sound like a schoolmaster," Jon said.

"I might have been," Les said. Then, giving Kelvin

a nudge he felt in his back, he pointed to two

dark-haired tourist girls a short distance away. "I bet

those two are from the Kingdom of Aratex," he said.

"Let's go talk to them."

Heln's hand clamped firmly on Kelvin's hand. She

didn't say a word, but he received the message. "Some

other time, maybe," he said.

Morvin laughed. "'Maybe never, eh, son?"

But Kelvin didn't reply. He was too conscious of

Heln's hand on his. He would be satisfied, he realized,

if she never released it. But he couldn't say so. Maybe

this was another flaw in his character—one that

faintly echoed the amazing Flaw they had just experi-

enced.

CHAPTER 14

Messages

"Now, I WANT," Morvin Crumb said, leaning over

Kelvin at the writing table, "for this to be just right.

Read what you've written."

Kelvin looked at Jon and Lester and the odd dozen

or so Knights crowded around their outdoor table. He

cleared his throat and read.

"To Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Zoanna of Rud.

Your Majesty: Whereas you have seized power with-

out popular mandate, and whereas your rule has

become oppressive in the extreme, I, Kelvin Knight

Hackleberry of Rud, the Roundear of Prophecy, call

upon you to abdicate the throne and restore to it your

rightful consort, King Rufurt, should he live, or

someone of the people's choice, should Rufurt be

presently slain or incapacitated beyond ihe ability to

rule. You have seven days from the receipt of this

message to announce your abdication. Should you not

abdicate within that time, the Knights of the

Roundear shall attack with all their magic-supported

strength and fury, seize the imperial palace, and force •

your abdication, if need be, by sword point."

Morvin frowned. "It seems right, but—"

"It should be more insulting," Jon said. "Say,

perhaps, 'Your Imperial Majesty, Usurper, Hag, and

Meanie.'"

Les laughed; but his father seemed to consider it.

"Perhaps," the elder said, "usurper might fit . . ."

"But we want her to agree!" Kelvin protested.

"Hmm, quite right. She won't, of course, but—oh,

hang it, Hackleberry, just write 'In the Name of

Freedom, I am.' l;

122

DRAGON'S GOLD 123

"In the Name of Freedom, I am," Kelvin said,

writing.

"There. Hold it. You got the wax ready, Les?"

"I have. Father."

"Then affix his signature."

Lester leaned over and deposited a drop of wax on

the paper.

"No, no, not there, you idiot! Quick, scrape that

off."

Lester scraped, using a knife blade. The wax came

off cleanly.

"There, above where the wax was, write 'Kelvin

Hackleberry, Roundear of Prophecy.'"

Kelvin did so, feeling uncomfortable about the

prophecy part.

"Now date it. Anybody got the date?"

"It's June twenty-first of twenty twenty-four," Les-

ter said.

Kelvin marked the date.

"Now fold in past the middle and overlap the

edge."

Kelvin followed instructions.

"Now, Lester. Your wax."

Lester dripped wax, in a round, big circle. The wax

made a small puddle across the overlapping edges.

Lester blew on it.

"Now, Hackleberry, your ear," Morvin ordered.

"You want me to—"

"Just do it, Hackleberry!"

With a sigh, Kelvin turned his head sideways and

pressed his right ear in the wax.

"My, that looks like fun," Jon remarked.

"Hold it, hold it, hold it," Morvin snapped as

Kelvin showed signs of bolting upright. "It has to set.

All right, now up, carefully."

Kelvin raised his head. He looked at the paper. The

impression was that of a round ear, more or less. That

had been Morvin's idea, as had almost everything. He

touched his ear. How smooth it now felt!

124 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

He glanced across the landscape, to the cabin where

Hein was fixing food. He wished he could go feel her

round and smooth ears, not to mention her round and

smooth—

"Messenger!" Morvin shouted.

One of the Knights was almost instantly at his

shoulder. Kelvin recognized him as one whose farm

had been burned.

Morvin put the document in a message tube and

capped it. "Deliver this to the imperial palace. Just

call out, 'A message for the Queen,' and toss it to the

gateman. Then ride out—fast."

"Aye, sir," said the Knight, giving them a faintly

impudent smile. "I'm on my way."

As he left, Morvin remarked, "We have to get more

discipline. Now, about these posters and

handbills ..."

All afternoon they were putting them up. They

would ride to the edge of a village, find a likely tree,

and while one of them kept a lookout for the Queen's

minions, the other nailed poster to tree. All the

posters read the same, and by now Kelvin, if not Jon,

was thoroughly sick of them.

Each poster said:

ATTENTION: A new day is coming and those who

would help bring it about are invited to join with

us in our demand that Queen Zoanna abdicate.

Sign the petition and deposit it with your local

representative Knight; he will tell you how you

can help further by resisting oppression locally or

by joining our ranks. We are all free people and

will not long continue to suffer tyranny. Right

and Prophecy is on our side!

(signed) Knights of the Roundear

Kelvin sighed as he nailed up another one. He was

growing so tired! No one had told him that revolution

would have so much tedious labor.

DRAGON'S GOLD 125

The distribution of handbills was hard work that

soon became a bore. After the posters came the

handbills, freely thrown from horses and placed also

in many reaching hands:

PEOPLE OF RUD: Should the Queen not abdi-

cate her position by the end of this week, we are at

war. To join the right side, the winning side, see

your local recruiter. Give any snooping soldiery

short shrift or the long shaft, as appropriate. Join

now, today, while you still can.

Knights of the Roundear

Some job for a hero, Kelvin thought, tossing the last

of the flyers to a boy he almost recognized. And now,

back home to the tent, and then another day of doing

Crumb's bidding.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Plunk! Plunk! Plunk!

They were getting a little better, Kelvin thought, as

he watched the arrows hit the scarecrow targets the

mercenaries had set up. Most farmers, and some

townsmen, did after all hunt for game. But in a battle,

with other men for targets? He shivered, just at the

thought of it.

"You're sure it's safe?" Morvin Crumb demanded.

"We've tested those berries on animals, and you

know every one of them died. I can't see that the

shape of the ear should make that much of a differ-

ence."

"It's not just the shape of the ear," Hein said. "It's

the Earthly ancestry. Those of us with round ears

must be breeding true to our heritage, so are not

affected the same way as the natives are. Anyway, I

survived it before."

"Could be a fluke," Mor said.

"I'll just take one berry this time," she promised.

"If I make it to astral separation, I'll do something

simple, like—"

126 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"I don't trust this either," Kelvin said. "To gamble

on poison—"

"Like visiting my folks—and yours," she contin-

ued brightly. "To be sure they're all right."

Kelvin's protests dried up. Of course he wanted to

know that his folks were all right! So, reluctantly, he

acceded to the experiment. After all, they did need to

know whether it worked reliably.

Hein solemnly consumed a single berry, from the

horde they had harvested from the dragon's garden.

Again Kelvin wondered why a dragon should have

tended it so carefully. Of course the ability to separate

astrally could be an immense advantage—but were

dragons smart enough to realize that? Or did they

simply like the feeling of astral travel? Maybe that was

it; they did for recreation what they could have done

for phenomenal power over their environment

—because they were stupid creatures. A man would

never be that foolish!

Or would he? Kelvin thought about some of the

people he knew, and remained disquieted.

Hein sank into sleep. Then she stopped breathing.

"She's dying!" Kelvin cried, horrified. He leaped

toward her, though there really wasn't anything he

could do.

"No, don't touch her!" Jon said. "She was like that

before. It's the astral separation!"

"But she's not even—"

"That's the way it is. She looks dead, but she's not,

quite. When her spirit returns, she'll recover. I'm

sure. I think."

With that note of confidence, Kelvin had to be

satisfied.

After an hour there was a tremor at Heln's breast.

She was recovering!

Soon she was able to talk. "I did it!" she said. "I

traveled to my folks, and they're all right. Then to

yours, and they're all right. Only—"

"Only they need gold to cover the taxes," Kelvin

said, with a dark glance at Morvin Crumb.

DRAGON'S GOLD 127

"No, they aren't being bothered about that. But I

saw guardsmen camped around their farm. Not doing

anything, just watching. What does that mean?"

Morvin slapped his thigh. "It means confirmation!"

he exclaimed. "Just as I suspected! Your folks and

their farm are a trap for you, Kelvin! They're waiting

for you to visit home; then they'll nab you. That's why

I didn't want you to go, not even to take them money

they might need. The Queen's guards won't bother

your folks as long as they remain bah—but you can't

go back there."

Kelvin felt weak in the knees. The big man had

been right all along, saving him from a horrendous

mistake!

"I didn't know how much time I had," Hein

continued. "So I looked around, and I found I could

orient on people who were thinking of you, Kelvin.

There were a lot of them, all friendly, but one was

very unfriendly. So I went to that one, and it was

Zatanas."

"Zatanas!" Morvin exclaimed. "The Queen's evil

sorcerer!"

"Yes. He was talking with the dwarf, the one who

bought Jon—"

"What did he say?" Morvin asked, almost drooling

in his excitement.

"Something about how he had brought the round-

ears here—"

"He did it?" Kelvin asked, amazed.

"And something about lizards. Then my time

ended, and my spirit was hauled back to my body. I'm

sorry I couldn't have stayed a little longer. Maybe I

should have eaten two berries . . ."

Then, exhausted, she slept again, but this time her

breathing did not stop. It seemed to Kelvin that one

berry had been quite risky enough; probably the new

ones were more potent than the ones Jon had carried

around squashed in her pocket, and then soaked in

her mouth. Three full-strength dragonberries might

very well have killed Hein!

128 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

Morvin looked at Kelvin. "That was a message we

didn't expect!" the big man said. "Why should Za-

tanas make a claim like that? About bringing the

roundears here?" .

"And what does he want with lizards? Kelvin

added. , „ _, ,

"It's beyond me! I only hope we don t find out the

hard way!" . ,

Hein slept the rest of that day, and on into the

night. Obviously astral separation took a lot from her!

Kelvin sat beside her for hours, finally working up the

courage to take her hand. What a lot of information

she had gathered, in that one brief hour of astral

travel! But he remained worried about its effect on her

health. .. , , ,

Mainly, though, he just liked holding her hand.

CHAPTER 15

Zatanas

THE LABORATORY WHERE ZATANAS performed his mira-

cles was a veritable rat's nest of stacked caldrons,

rolled-up pentagrams and other magical charts, old

books of spells and sciences, and other traditional

tools of the trade. The place smelled of a thousand

herbs, intermixed with the scent of burned incense

and charred bones. In the center of the room an

owlhawk perched on a human skull held upright by a

dagger stuck in the remaining neck vertebra. Another

skull had been sawn lengthwise, one-half serving as an

incense burner, the other as a receptacle for some

vile-smelling unguent. Light streamed in from the

high windows, and yet the place was dark, as though

the interior drank the light, or forbade its passage.

Zatanas, dark of visage, long of face and nose and

claw, hummed contentedly to himself as he sat at a

table and munched the simple repast that Queeto, his

dwarf, had set out for him. Unlike Queeto, he still

sometimes ate when the physical act of eating pleased

him, as it did now. The meat tasted like dragon, he

thought, though actually it was axoglatter, a particu-

larly ugly lizard with a green skin that in the right light

shone like the scales of a dragon.

"A little less, strong and a little more rancid,"

Zatanas said, musing as much to himself as to the

hovering dwarf.

"What, Master?"

Zatanas belched loudly and reached for the flagon

of good orange wine on his table. The wine was

specially spiced, as was most of the magician's fare. A

little dried blood from the right sources added greatly

to taste.

129

130 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 131

"I said," Zatanas said, "that the meat is aged to

perfection. A little less aging and it would be tough. A

little more and it would be leather."

"Thank you. Master," the dwarf said, widening his

already wide mouth. He frequently responded like

that, no matter what Zatanas said. That was one of his

more endearing traits, and made it slightly harder to

punish him properly when he erred. Zatanas had been

furious at Queeto's recent loss of his purchase at the

Girl Mart, but had elected for the time being to

withhold action. When Queeto began to think of

becoming impudent, then Zatanas would punish him

for that error, restoring appropriate equilibrium to

their relationship. The dwarf, knowing this, was

meanwhile being extremely well behaved, as servile as

he had ever been. That was good.

However, this matter of the abduction of the girl

could not remain unattended. He would have to

locate the culprits and deal with them in a manner

that would discourage any repetitions. That meant

that simple extinction was not enough; their deaths

had to be public and horrible beyond any reasonable

expectation. He knew their identities, of course; that

wasn't the problem. The problem was bringing them

down in precisely the right manner, an object lesson

for all time in all the land.

First, however, he had to get hold of them. As long

as they remained hidden in the wilderness, mov-

ing constantly about, he was unable to pin them

down.

So Zatanas watched, and waited, unwilling to act

until he could accomplish his full purpose in his own

exacting way. He had patience; his ire, once incited,

never cooled. Sooner or later the stupid round-eared

boy would seek to visit his home farm, and walk into

the trap, and the idiotic would-be revolutionist

Crumb would try to rescue him, and then—ah, then

it might begin.

Meanwhile, he had a rebellion to quell. He trusted

that Crumb would not risk either himself or the

roundear boy in a direct conflict. That was important,

because he didn't want anything to happen to either,

prematurely. It wouldn't make much of an impression

if they both died coincidentally in battle.

Zatanas picked daintily at a foreleg with its three

toes still attached and crunchy. "I have decided to

hold a conference with my daughter the Queen."

"Will I attend, Master?"

"No. She doesn't wish for you to be in her sight."

Queeto frowned, his toad mouth and swine eyes

making a face. "Why, Master?"

"Because you frighten her. She still thinks you're a

demon from another world. I don't see any reason to

enlighten her, do you?"

Queeto grinned more broadly than ever. He, as

Zatanas well knew, liked being feared by royalty. In

fact, he liked being feared by anyone.

"You tell her about the lizards, Master?"

Zatanas tossed the leg bone to the owlhawk. The

owlhawk caught it in its strong beak with a snap and

immediately set to pulverizing it. Zatanas swallowed

more wine.

"Just what do you think you know about the

lizards?"

The dwarf answered promptly, almost as though

rehearsed: "That they are little brothers to the drag-

ons, Master."

"Right. Most fortunately."

Zatanas rose and crossed the dimly lit room to the

worktable. On it he had set up and molded hills and

valleys of clay and dirt and sand. It was a perfect

miniature landscape of the terrain for leagues about

the castle. A carved palace occupied the same position

in the miniature landscape as the castle they were in

did the real landscape. There were miniature houses

and even a miniature river that had to be continuous-

ly fed from a small spigot and a bucket behind the

scene of distant hills and houses. All in order, a work

of incredible delicacy that had taken many pains and

much time.

132 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 133

"You see, Queeto, bringing roundears to this world

was a mistake on my part."

"You, Master?" Queeto was properly incredulous

that Zatanas could make any mistake, let alone admit

to it, even in complete privacy.

"Yes, a possibly serious mistake," Zatanas contin-

ued, enjoying the effect on his minion. "You might

call it a grotesque flaw." He smiled, appreciating a

private joke. "I reckoned not with Mouvar and the

force of his prophecies. But no matter," he said,

waving the dwarf's concern away. "It's a mistake that

my daughter and I will soon rectify."

"With lizards, Master?"

"With dragons, small friend. In this very place."

Queeto looked at him, baffled. "You and the Queen,

your daughter—here?"

Zatanas rubbed at a speck of lizard dung on the

tabletop. "She out there. You and I in here."

"Ah."

Just as if he understood. Remarkable animal, this.

Almost as remarkable as dragons. Not quite as large,

not quite as stupid.

"Queeto, little brother, remember what I told you

about the magic that can be performed with minia-

tures?"

"Yes, Master. The doll that looks like an enemy and

that you break so that the enemy breaks."

"Exactly. Well, here we have a small copy of the

land and the palace and the houses and the river. Over

there"—he pointed at the lush growth of transplanted

shrubs forming a forest—"is where in our actuality is

dragon country. If little brothers emerge from here,

they will appear to us to be the size of real dragons in

relation to the palace and the farms."

"I—understand, Master."

"Do you? Well, watch."

Taking a lizard from a cage, Zatanas set it among

the plants. He then took a clay figure molded to look

like a mounted knight with tiny sword and placed it in

an open field. From a jar he took a bit of honey on a

knife blade and applied it to the figure. He stood back,

and soon a large fly was buzzing at the honey.

"Now!" he said, and dropped a pinch of herbal

powder on the lizard.

The lizard raised its dragon head, sniffing. Its green

scales seemed to flash gold; it raised its small hood.

Suddenly it was running full tilt, wriggling from side

to side.

The lizard reached the knight, pulled it down, and

licked it with its long tongue. The fly, buzzing loudly,

disappeared down the creature's throat.

"Now, what," the magician asked rhetorically, "do

you suppose the real knight will look like when a real

dragon steps on him?"

Queeto looked at the squashed clay. "Gooey," he

said happily. "Blood making a crimson puddle, bones

all white and broken, brains a pulpy pink mess."

"Exactly. And that's why I am going to hold a

conference with the Queen. Her spies will locate the

enemy, and there's where I'll have a dragon—or

several dragons." He made an expansive gesture.

"And that," he finished dramatically, "is how dragons

doing my magical bidding will win the war."

Queeto's exclamation of servile appreciation of

genius seemed almost genuine.

The Knights and the Queen's guardsmen were met

in battle. Horses neighed or screamed, men cried

challenges or curses or groans, swords clanged, cross-

bows twanged, blades and missiles made meaty clunk-

ing sounds. Dust rose in clouds beneath the horse's

hooves and obscured everything that wasn't happen-

ing over a horse's length away.

War, Kelvin realized, was no more glamorous in

practice than was dragon-fighting. It seemed to con-

sist of flowing blood, billowing dust, and endless

confusion. Where was the glory and the honor men

spoke of? All he saw was phenomenal wasted effort.

He had trained for days to try to use his gauntleted

left hand with his sword, but it was all but hopeless. In

134 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Ma.rgroff'

order to stay mounted he needed at least his right

hand on the reins, and the left, even with practice,

could hardly counter a sword swung with a good right

arm.

Except, he discovered, under actual battle condi-

tions. Then as in previous encounters, the gauntlet

knew the threat, and countered sword blows, darting

in to stab or disarm attackers. There was blood on the

sword and the gauntlet, and Kelvin didn't want to

look at either. Fortunately it made little difference.

When a guardsman was close, the gauntlet knew

before Kelvin did.

"Gods, but you're a fighter, Hackleberry!" Morvin

Crumb said at his right. "Reminds me of me when I

was your age."

Kelvin wondered what it would do to his image if

he vomited—again. Taking lives, even the lives of evil

men who wanted to kill him, just wasn't the way it

was presented in storybooks. At least, not for him. He

was appalled by this whole business.

"Just got me another, Dad!" Lester said to the far

side of his father. "Makes three."

"Four for me," Morvin said. "The lad here polished

off half a dozen. Without, I think, a sweat."

Kelvin wondered whether Mor was being kind.

Kelvin was sure he was bathed in cold sweat. If he had

to think about more than guiding the horse and

ducking an occasional blow, he would soon be ex-

hausted. His left arm was beginning to ache. Without

the gauntlet, he would have been finished long before.

"Bet this whole pass looks like one big rolling

cloud," Morvin said with gusto.

Reminded of the dust, Kelvin tasted it. He spat,

and the spittle didn't quite clear his chin. His left

hand tingled and he knew another enemy ap-

proached.

"Gods!" Morvin exclaimed. "There's something

—Gods!"

Kelvin's blade met an enemy's, deflected it, and

lunged, nearly unseating Kelvin. He saw the guards-

DRAGON'S GOLD

135

man, no older than himself, give him a stricken look,

then drop his sword, slump forward, and slide from

the saddle under their horses' feet.

"Seven," Lester said. He had moved past his father

to Kelvin's back.

"Gods! Oh, Gods!" repeated the elder Crumb,

delighted.

But Kelvin knew that it was little of his own doing.

He had tried to intercept the enemy's blade, true, but

his aim had been bad. He would have been skewered

had not his gauntleted left hand shoved him over so

that, losing balance, he had whipped his other arm

about—so that the sword had made a completely

unplanned and unexpected trick motion, deflecting

the other blade and continuing with horrible force

into the other man's body. Certainly it had looked

clever, but the cleverness had all been in the self-

willed gauntlet, which seemed determined to make a

deadly fighter of him despite his ineptitude. This had

been happening all along.

What would the gauntlet do if he threatened to

vomit on it? Cut off his head?

"Kel! Kel! Wait!"

Kelvin's head snapped around. It couldn't be! But it

was. Coming full tilt down the hill, Mockery, and on

his back—

"Jon! Jon! Over here!"

Guardsmen started for the girl. Three of them.

Kelvin needed no gauntlet to put his steed into

motion. He kneed the horse, turned its head, was

yanked down by the gauntlet and thereby ducked a

blow from his right. His horse made a leap over a

crawling guardsman and a wounded Knight, and

detoured around others not identified. Kelvin yanked

the reins, bringing it back on course. Then he was

there on the hillside, and his sword was flashing and

his reins lifted with his buckler as a blow almost took

him across the face. It was amazing, the precision

with which that gauntlet yanked him about, just so, so

that every move was right.

136 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

A Knight on a black stallion flashed to his right, and

then that Knight was confronting his attacker on his

right hand as Kelvin lurched, pulled about yet again

by the gauntlet, and his wildly flailing sword dealt

with the man to his left.

Two bodies fell.

Kelvin sighed. Lester sighed, for what he was sure

was a different reason. The bodies of their late foes lay

unmoving in the dirt.

"Watch out, Kel!"

Jon's warning saved him just in time. He ducked,

even as his left arm unsheathed the sword from its

gory grip in the throat of a third foe and swung

around to counter and disarm this fourth.

But the fourth attacker was no fool. He whirled his

horse and fled.

"Jon, you idiot!" Kelvin exclaimed. "Why did you

come here?"

"Hein remembered!" the girl cried.

"What's this?" Mor Crumb asked gruffly.

"She remembered about the lizards!" Jon said.

"From when she saw Zatanas! So I had to come warn

you!"

"What about the lizards?" Mor demanded.

"They're dragons!"

"What?" Kelvin was having trouble following this.

"And I saw them! 'Cause I knew to look! The

dragons!"

"You saw dragons?" Mor cried.

"Three of them! Big brutes! Coming here!"

"I don't understand," Kelvin said, understating the

case.

But suddenly Morvin Crumb did. "Sympathetic

magic! Lizards are like miniature dragons! That evil

sorcerer must've enchanted dragons by working

through lizards!"

"I could see them from above," Jon continued.

"Coming up the pass."

"You sure?" Kelvin asked, somewhat dully.

"I saw them!" Jon repeated. "Just as Hein said.

DRAGON'S GOLD 137

Three lizards. 'Cause Zatanas didn't think you'd be

fool enough to go into battle yourself!"

Kelvin turned to Morvin, baffled. "Does that make

any sense?"

"It must, in some twisted way," the ruddy man

said. "Gods! Nothing can face three dragons!",

"That's why Hein was so worried!" Jon said. "She'd

been trying to remember all these days, and just

couldn't, and then she saw a lizard and it clicked. So

she told me, and I—"

"You did right," Kelvin said. "If those monsters

catch us—"

"We'd better retreat, fast!" Lester said.

"Son, I think you're right. Kelvin, you get that hom

to your lips and you blow the way I told you you never

would!" Shaking in spite of himself, Kelvin lifted the

polished ox horn Morvin Crumb had hung about his

neck. Three long notes meant retreat, and would give

the other Knights their location.

He blew. The sound came out and carried.

Whoomp! Whoomp! Whhhoooommmmp!

Blowing it made his head swim. So did the heat. So

did the action he had just seen.

_"Come on, now," Morvin cried. "Uphill and fast!

Dragons don't like heights, everyone knows that!"

Kelvin hadn't known that, however. Still, it proba-

bly made sense. Flying creatures liked heights, and

the local dragons were landbound.

They turned their mounts uphill, donkey and Jon

just ahead of them. Looking back, Kelvin saw other

Knights, some of them barely holding on to their

horses, coming at a gallop. Behind them a cheer

sounded as guardsmen thought they had won.

"We were beating them!" a Knight exclaimed.

"Why did you sound retreat? Now we're in disarray,

and soon's they regroup they'll come after us and

destroy us on the run!"

"Maybe, maybe not," Morvin said. "We got word

there's—"

"Ahhhhr someone screamed behind.

138 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

And there it was: a dragon riding out of the dust,

with a man in its mouth. Then another dragon and

another, shimmering gold and deadly.

"Run for your lives!" Lester cried.

They ran, ail of them, including the donkey. Now

no one questioned the wisdom of their sudden disen-

gagement from the fray.

Panting, standing at the top of the steep hill and

looking down into the pass where the dust roiled and

men and horses were being slain and rapidly de-

voured, the Knights knew they had made their escape

just in time. The pursuing guardsmen hadn't been

that fortunate, for the dragons had come up behind

them.

"The girl saved us!" Morvin exclaimed. "That

division of the Queen's guardsmen—they'll never be

the same!"

"But if Zatanas sent the dragons," Kelvin asked,

musing it out, "wouldn't he have known that his own

side would be in the way? Why would he do that?"

Morvin nodded. "Something doesn't add up. We'd

better get right back, and your girl will have to eat

another berry. We'd better spy on the evil magician,

and find out what's he really up to."

Kelvin hated having Heln. risk her life again, but

realized that it was necessary. The dragon attack had

been too near a thing.

CHAPTER 16

Doubts

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND IT," Heln agreed. "Maybe that's

why I couldn't remember about the dragons—I mean,

how they related to the lizards Zatanas had. It seemed

impossible that they could be the same, or that he

would send dragons to ravage his own side as well as

the enemy. So I suppose I just didn't believe it, until

almost too late."

"Better take another berry and find out," Morvin

said gruffly. "We can't afford many more surprises

like dragons coming into the fray! I never guessed the

evil sorcerer could control dragons!"

"But it's been only a few days since she had a

berry," Kelvin protested. "We don't know whether

it's safe for her to—"

"It isn't safe to go into battle against dragons!" Mor

exclaimed vehemently. "Those could have been our

boys as well as theirs getting chomped!"

Heln put her hand on Kelvin's. "I'm sure it's all

right," she said. "I do feel woozy after a berry, but a

good night's sleep helps, and I recover strength next

day."

"I don't know," Jon put in. "You're losing weight."

Morvin's great fists clenched, but his voice was

controlled. "Why don't you go outside and play,

child?" he said to Jon.

"I'll try to eat better," Heln said, smiling tolerantly.

"You look just fine to me!" Kelvin said without

thinking, distracted as he always was when she took

his hand. Then, of course, he started blushing.

Heln smiled at him. "You're getting better at ex-

pressing yourself, I think," she remarked.

"Here's the situation," Mor said. "Our camp is

139

140 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf DRAGON'S GOLD 141

closer to the site of the battle than Zatanas' den is,

and we hurried, so I'm sure we got home first. But the

evil sorcerer will be getting the news about the battle

within the hour. If we can spy on his reaction when he

leams, we may find out what we need to know. It's the

best possible time; we know that it's no use wearing

you out spying when Zatanas is asleep or eating or not

doing anything special. We have to catch him when

he's plotting against us; then we can counter his

plots."

It did make sense, Kelvin had to agree. He hated to

see Hein seem to die, but she did recover, and they

did need the information. That business with the

dragons had been entirely too close!

Hein settled on her bed and swallowed a dragon-

berry. Soon she sank into her coma. The others left,

but Kelvin remained beside her, ill at ease. If only she

didn't have to risk her life this way, to help their

cause!

And if only he could express himself adequately to

her! Instead of always being so confounded tongue-

tied. She had made it plain that she would be recep-

tive to his advances, within reasonable limits. He felt

so silly, bumbling about; but every time he tried to do

something about it, he wound up blushing again.

"Gods, Hein, I wish I weren't such an ass with

you!" he exclaimed aloud. She, of course, could not

hear him; she had just stopped breathing. Her hand in

his was growing cool; that had alarmed him before,

and it troubled him now. It was so like death, this

astral separation!

"I wish I could just take you in my arms," he said,

venting his frustration aloud, because that made him

feel marginally better. "I wish I could kiss you, and

say, 'Hein, I think I love you, and I want to be always

with you!' But I just can't! I know I'm a jackass, and I

hate it, but my stupid tongue just tangles in my mouth

and I blush—Gods, I wish I didn't blush!"

He looked at her, so deathly still. "How I would

curse myself if you didn't wake!" he continued. "If

somehow the berries—if the worst happened, and

you—if I'd never even said to you—" Then every-

thing clouded up, and he found himself bent over her

cold hand, his tears flowing as he kissed it. "Damn,

damn, damn!" he muttered brokenly. "If I'm a hero,

they just don't make them the way they used to!"

Then, embarrassed anew, he pulled out his shirt tail

and used it to dry off her hand. If she should ever

suspect he had made a scene like this—!

Hein recovered consciousness as her spirit sepa-

rated from her body. This was the third time she had

traveled astrally, and she was learning its pattern. The

first time she had been trying to die, and had thought

her spirit was going to the afterlife. She had been

amazed when she discovered otherwise, and then

intrigued. Separation was actually an exhilarating

experience; she was so free, with no body to drag after

her or worry about! Of course she paid for it when she

became physical again; Jon was right about her losing

weight. She just couldn't seem to force herself to eat

enough to make up for the energy she lost. Perhaps

astral separation was part of the process of dying, and

it was easier to die than to live. She had wanted to die,

that first time; maybe that had made the whole

experience easier. But the experience itself had gone

far to restore her will to live, and, indeed, to partici-

pate in life as the woman she was, rather than as the

object of degradation the guards of the Girl Mart had

made of her. How glad she was that Kelvin was not at

all like that! Every time he stammered and blushed,

she liked him better.

She hovered above her body, gathering her pres-

ence, getting ready to make the jump to the evil

magician's lair. Her vision cleared, and then her

hearing. Kelvin was with her body, as he had been the

last time; she really appreciated his loyalty. He was

holding her hand.

"Gods, Hein, I wish I weren't such an ass with

you!" he exclaimed abruptly.

142 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

What was this? He hadn't spoken before, as far as

she knew. She decided to wait a moment more, and

see what this led to.

"I wish I could just take you in my arms," he said.

Well! Apparently Kelvin could be much more ex-

pressive when he thought he was alone!

"I wish I could kiss you," he exclaimed. "And say,

'Hem, I think I love you, and I want to be always with

you!'" he continued.

"Well, why don't you?" she asked, but of course he

couldn't hear, because she had no voice in this state.

"But I just can't!" he added, sounding tortured.

Hein continued to listen and watch, until he com-

pleted his statement. When it was evident that he

would say no more, she gathered herself for the jump

to the other place. But she was thoughtful. She under-

stood Kelvin better now; how could she make the best

use of this explanation of his puzzling behavior?

Because of her delay, she arrived at Zatanas' resi-

dence just after the messenger left. She hoped she

hadn't missed anything critical. She phased into the

dusky chamber where the evil sorcerer and his dwarf

henchman were.

"I don't like it! I don't like it at all!" Zatanas

stormed, startling the owlhawk into flopping its great

wings as it perched atop its human-skull pedestal.

Queeto, too, looked scared.

"That messenger just now said we lost nearly two

hundred guardsmen! To dragons. Dragons! What in-

credible, astounding luck! Black Star curses on the

witless beasts!"

"But Master, didn't they attack the Knights? Didn't

they get some of them, at least?"

"No!" The sorcerer looked as if he felt like taking

out his anger on the dwarf, but managed to refrain.

"But why, Master?" the dwarf asked plaintively.

Zatanas chewed his lower lip, perhaps deliberately

making himself hurt. "Because, stupid dwarf, dragons

DRAGON'S GOLD

143

destroy all men without natural discrimination. They

have very small brains. Even smaller than yours."

"But you directed them with lizards. The images

were dressed as Knights."

So that was it, Hein realized. The dragons had been

guided to attack the Knights first—and of course the

guardsmen would have quickly gotten out of the way.

Hein knew that Morvin and Kelvin would be glad to

know that explanation. Costumes were the key!

"Quite right," the sorcerer was saying. "But the

infernal Knights were not present. Somehow they got

out of the pass before the dragons came. And the

guardsmen were still there, luxuriating in the Knights'

rout."

"Then they were defeated. Master! The guardsmen

had the ruffians beat!"

"That's what the guardsmen want to think. But not

1.1 think that somehow one of the Knights must have

been above the pass and seen ,the dragons and called

retreat."

Hein held her breath, before remembering that she

wasn't breathing in this state. If the evil magician ever

realized exactly how the Knights had known the

dragons were coming—

"But—" the dwarf protested.

"Exactly. It shouldn't have happened. Next time it

will not happen. Next time the dragons will see

Knights and not be tempted by guardsmen."

"How, Master?"

Yes, how? Hein echoed. Morvin had been right: this

was exactly the time to spy on the sorcerer!

"Through sensible intelligence. I intend to make

good use of my daughter's spies. Her official spies."

"But your magic, Master. Can't you see ahead

without—"

"No. The ingredients are missing for the spells.

Anyway, you are confusing precognition with clair-

voyance."

"What?"

144

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

DRAGON'S GOLD

145

"Seeing ahead is precognition. That magic I can do,

when I have the right ingredients for the magic, which

ingredients are so devious and perishable that I am

chronically short of them. Seeing around is

clairvoyance—knowing what is happening elsewhere

without going there. That magic I lack. How I wish I

had an astral propensity!"

"Master?"

"Oh, never mind! Mouvar, cursed be his memory,

was precognitive, and he believed that there would be

clairvoyance among men someday. But he was mis-

taken; only the dragons have it, and they're too stupid

to take advantage of it, fortunately. What a waste it

was, for Mouvar to have precognition, when / could

have used it to conquer the planet! And the

dragons—"

"Master, will the dragons do your bidding?"

"They will," Zatanas said grimly. "Everything will.

In time."

"And the Queen's guardsmen will defeat the

Knights?"

"They will be defeated," Zatanas said, "as surely as

I am the supreme sorcerer."

Then Heln's time was running out, and she had to

return to her body. She hoped she had learned

enough; certainly she now had explanations for some

mysteries. So the dragons did use the berries for astral

separation, and Zatanas knew it—but didn't know

about Heln's own ability to do it, too. And Mouvar

had had precognition! That suggested that the proph-

ecy Mouvar had made was valid. Still, why, then, did

Zatanas have such confidence of his own victory?

Kelvin paced the outside length of the tent, the side

farthest from the campfire. His mind was not on the

scent of woodsmoke or the calling hoots and wails of

wild things in the forest. Rather his concern was the

sour bile taste in his mouth left by continual efforts to

vomit.

It wasn't fear that caused his stomach to revolt. Not

exactly. It was doubts. They formed and re-formed

like the long, grotesque shadows of the Crumbs and

two of the Knights on the other side of the tent wall.

What he was doing was right and just. He had to

believe that. But the killing was as unheroic as slaugh-

tering a farm animal. His gauntlet did it, and each

time he felt sick. He wanted to escape the destiny the

prophecy claimed for him, but that was according to

all accounts impossible.

He sat down under a tree and looked at the moon

peering like a yellow goblin face through the twisty

dark branches. By and by he raised his hands to his

eyes, and quietly, so as not to be heard and discov-

ered, he wept.

It's hell being the victim of prophecy, he thought.

"Kelvin." He jumped; it was Heln's voice.

He tried to clean up his face, but it was way too late

for that; she had seen. "You should be resting," he

muttered.

"There is something more important," she said.

"The revolution," he agreed, and his stomach gave

another twinge.

"That, too." She came close. "You don't look well,

Kelvin; I'm concerned about you."

He shrugged. "I'm just not much of a hero, for

sure!"

"I suppose the only thing harder than being brutal-

ized is having to be brutal yourself."

He stared at her. Could she understand?

"I was raped," she reminded him. "I wanted to die.

I tried to die. I think I felt as bad as you do now."

Surely so! "I guess I really don't have much to

complain about," he said. "I guess I wasn't thinking."

She reached out and took his limp hand. "No, Kel,

no! That's not what I mean at all! I mean I do

understand! You're in a horribly difficult situation,

having to do things you don't like at all, like going out

into battle and killing people. You're a gentle person,

146

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

147

you don't like to fight, and I see it tearing you up, just

the way it would tear me up if I had to do it. And I

wish I could make it easier for you."

"I—" But as usual he froze up, and couldn't have

said what he wanted to say even if he had known what

it was.

"Kel, I like you the way you are," she continued

earnestly. "It's not just your round ears, and it's

certainly not the prophecy. I liked you when I first saw

you, in my first astral separation, when everyone else

was hustling you along and you didn't know what to

do, you just wanted to save your sister from the Mart.

You gave me reason to want to live, because you were

like me in the ears, and that helped a lot, but I think I

would have liked you anyway. And I liked you even

more when I just saw you, in my last astral journey."

"What?"

"Kel, I didn't go right away. I heard you talking to

me—"

Oh, no! Kelvin felt the blush rising so hot and fierce

that it threatened to make his face blister. He tried to

retreat, but she hung on to his hand.

"Do you know what I have to say to that?" she

asked softly. Her eyes in the shadow seemed huge,

their brown turning black.

"If I'd known—I'm so sorry—" he stumbled.

She reached around him, embracing him, drawing

him in close. "Kel, I think I love you," she said. Then

she drew him in closer yet, and lifted her face, and

kissed him.

It seemed almost as though he had separated astral-

ly himself. Part of him looked down at the embracing

figures from above, while another part of him simply

floated in a tide of sheer bliss. What he had always

wanted—and she had brought it to him\

At last she broke the kiss and gazed at him. "Now

you may slap my face, if you wish," she said.

Caught off guard, he started to laugh. Then they

were both laughing helplessly, clinging to each other

for support. She felt phenomenally good that way,

too.

"But there is a condition," she said as it ebbed.

"No difference!" he exclaimed.

"And that is that if I'm going to be close to you, I

want you more like the hero you are supposed to be."

Now he felt dread. "I just can't enjoy killing!"

"Nor should you. I want you to assert yourself. You,

not Morvin Crumb, are the Roundear of Prophecy!

You should make the key decisions."

"But—he's the only one who knows—"

"Listen to him, certainly, but don't be governed by

him."

"Uh, I suppose—"

"Make up your mind, hero, or I'll kiss you again."

"I, I just doubt that I can—"

She kissed him again.

When it was over, he felt pleasantly giddy. "I'll

try," he said.

"See that you do," she said, smiling.

"Now we'll attack this guardsmen's barracks," said

Morvin Crumb, pointing at the map. The heads of all

those who had been designated officers nodded agree-

ably.

Kelvin swallowed. He thought of Heln's kisses.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I mean no!" Even so, he

surprised himself. It's now or never, he thought, know-

ing that Hein was right. Now is the time for me to

make my stand.

The eyes of all the six strong men in the tent were

turned to him. Morvin seemed amused; the others

were either surprised or openly incredulous. They all

knew that Kelvin was a mere figurehead.

"I don't understand, youngster," Pete Palmweaver

said. He was the youngest and in many ways the most

likable of the graybeards who had fought guardsmen

before Kelvin's birth.

Now he had committed himself to an opinion; he

148 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

had to follow through. "I may be a youngster to you,"

he said, "but I'm also the Roundear of Prophecy. I

feel that I should decide what is done in my name."

They watched him, not indicating whether they

were taking him seriously. He found that unnerving,

but again he thought of Heln's kisses, and knew that

they were rewards, not punishments, and he wanted

to be worthy of such rewards. "I feel strongly that we

should not attack there."

"Where, then?" asked Morvin, setting down his

pointer, now looking less amused and sounding it.

Where? He had thought this out before, and de-

cided, but now his mind threatened to go blank. He

wrestled it back into focus. "We must move as close to

the palace as possible. Bypass the barracks and attack

here," he said, pointing with his finger to the area in

front of the palace.

"That will be hard to do," Morvin said. "It will

mean going over Craggy Mountain."

"We will do it," Kelvin said. "Instead of attacking

Heenning, we bypass Heenning, and Dawlding,- and

Kencis. We move directly to Gorshen."

"I don't know, youngster. That's a pretty illogical

move, seems to me."

"Maybe," Kelvin said, feeling inspired in this mo-

ment, "that's exactly what the Queen's strategists will

think. They could have ambushes at any of those

places. We can't afford to take the chance."

Morvin considered. "Just could be. Too bad we

don't have any way to know for sure."

"Yes, too bad," Kelvin agreed, feeling on firmer

ground. They had not spread the news of Heln's

ability, because that would make her a high-priority

target, and she was completely helpless while in astral

separation. They had made it a policy not to send her

on such missions unless they had reason to believe

there was something significant to be learned, so she

was not spying out the locations of the guardsmen this

time. Morvin had declared that they could not afford

DRAGON'S GOLD

149

to become too dependent on her information, and

with that Kelvin heartily agreed.

"Hmm, you think they will expect us to attack the

barracks at Heenning."

"I do." And I, after all, am the Roundear, he

reminded himself.

"Well, I suppose we could give out the story that we

planned an attack on Heenning, with subsequent ones

in mind for the others," Morvin said. "Then we could

do as you suggest. Just in case there are any spies."

"There aren't any spies," Palmweaver said.

But Kelvin wondered. He did not always trust the

faces he saw turned to follow his every move when he

strolled around camp. It occurred to him that Morvin

didn't either. Maybe it was Morvin's notion to test for

spies in this manner, to rout them out before they

found out about Heln. Certainly he had the impres-

sion that Morvin didn't really mind Kelvin's assump-

tion of power. Still, his doubts, about both their

situation and his ability to lead, were not fading out.

CHAPTEBJL7

Queers Ire

KELVIN LOOKED BACK. AT the column of Knights follow-

ing him and Jon and the Crumbs and Palmweaver.

They had gone about two leagues and already the

horses were noticing the steep ascent. No road here,

only the paths made by deoose, meer, and other large

game. The footing was rough; broken shale and fallen

boulders made it hard on men and horses. The sky

was overcast, threatening rain. Ozone made the air

sharp, as did the needletrees' scent of aromatic green

spice. Owlhawks hooted in the woods. A bearver

lumbered across their path, its dark red coat blending

subtly with the reddish moss that grew on the tree

trunks and boulders.

"It's a long, long way to Gorshen, as I told you,"

Morvin said. "By now we could be at Heenning."

Yes, Kelvin thought, and an hour from now we

could all be dead. But he did not say such to Morvin,

mainly because he knew it wouldn't be expected of a

tool of prophecy.

"What say, Kel?" Lester asked jovially.

"I say that we will take them by surprise at Gor-

shen."

"I sure hope you're right, brother mine," Jon

gasped. She had insisted on coming along, but her

enthusiasm was waning as she got tired.

At Heenning, a huge dragon reared its golden head,

smacked its enormous mouth, and looked about the

deserted barracks. Where were the brownberry shirts

and greenbriar pantaloons of the morsels it had been

driven here to find? It stepped on a fence, squashed a

roof, and bit in,two a large timber that had formed

150

DRAGON'S GOLD

151

part of a now ruined catapult. The dragon always

knew hunger and rage, but now it knew more. It also

knew the growing frustration of having come so far

and finding not the tasty bits that had somehow

beckoned. How much better it would have been to

dream with some dragonberries, and range across the

world and down into The Flaw with complete aban-

don!

Behind the big dragon were four lesser dragons that

came barely above the rooftops of the barracks. They

reacted as strongly. Dragons liked feasting and

dreaming and mating, in that order, and combina-

tions of the three when they could work it. They did

not like hunger or boredom.

Tails lashed. Walls smashed. Timbers splintered.

The strong smell of dragon urine and excrement

mingled with the lesser odor of human beings. The

smell of food. But where was it? The buildings were

being demolished, but they were empty.

Then the breeze changed. The big dragon raised his

snout, sniffing.

There, hiding on the hillside: food

As appetites sharpened, the dragons rushed for the

blue-and-gold-clad men hiding behind bushes and

trees and rocks. They brushed aside the little sticks

that rained off their scales, and the larger sticks

leveled at them by men astride horses. The dragons

slapped their tails, gnashed their teeth, chomped,

squashed, and ate.

There was food here after all.

The Queen's guardsman arrived on a lathered horse

at the gate of the palace. He called to the gateman and

was admitted, then was taken by a guard directly to

the audience chamber.

Watching from the window of his quarters, Zatanas

half guessed the meaning of the man's appearance. He

took time only to clap on his pointed wizard's

cap—an affectation that had once impressed his

daughter—and then ran. He hurried down the three

152 Piers Anthony and. Robert E. Maryoff

winding staircases to the little antechamber beside the

room where the Queen held a hurried audience.

The Queen, of course, would know he was there,

though he was hidden behind a curtain. He listened as

the messenger told his disturbing story.

"0 Queen, we deserted the barracks and waited, as

commanded, but the enemy did not appear. The

dragons did appear. They destroyed Heenning, as we

expected they would, and then—then they found

us."

"Do you mean to say," exclaimed the Queen, "that

the dragons attacked guardsmen againT'

"Yes, .Your Majesty. The enemy was not about. The

dragons attacked. They destroyed us! There's not a

guardsman alive who can stand up to a dragon!"

"Father!" the Queen called abruptly. "Father, come

in here now and explain why you have done this to

me!"

Zatanas took a deep breath, cursed himself for the

foolishness of ever having a child, and went through

the velvet curtain.

The Queen was a sight he would rather have

missed. She sat on her golden throne, her skin red as

dragon-sheen hair, and her eyes the color of dark

green feline magic alight with the cometing yellow

lights of intense anger. Her fingers gripped the carved

arms of her throne like talons, and she looked more

like a witch than a monarch. A witch from some land

deep down through The Flaw, more inhuman than

human. In short, his daughter in her natural state.

"My dear daughter and proudest materialization,"

he said in a suitably placating fashion, though he

knew that little but dripping flesh would placate a

dragoness, "the enemy is using magic. Mouvar's

magic, cursed be his name. How else than by magic

could they have known—"

"The question is, Father, why didn't you know? Are

you a sorcerer or are you not?"

That again. Well, he wasn't about to plead lack of

expertise! If she ever guessed that he wasn't all-

DRAGON'S GOLD

153

powerful, she might decide to destroy him. She was

his flesh, after all.

"I was depending on your spies," he said. "Why

haven't they—"

"Foolish old fraud! My spies gathered their intelli-

gence. The Roundear's Knights were supposed to

have attacked Heenning. You stood here when they

reported. You knew—"

"I knew what they said. But the Knights were not

there. Your Majesty, as this man has just testified."

"Don't belabor the obvious! Then I suppose they

are somewhere else?"

"Undoubtedly," he agreed with a certain irony.

"The question is where."

"The question is why there should be a question at

all!" she flared. "If you can't—"

They were interrupted by a second guardsman who

burst into the audience chamber in the company of a

guard. "Your Majesty!" the man cried, falling to his

knees. "I beg to report that the Roundear Knights

have attacked Gorshen! Caught unprepared, we were

outnumbered, and—"

"Beaten?" the Queen supplied with deceptive calm.

The man hung his head.

After brief questioning that established the extent

of the disaster, the Queen dismissed the others, re-

maining alone with her father. She inhaled.

Zatanas felt the Queen's eyes. "You—you unmiti-

gated wretch!" she exclaimed. "I should have you

castrated in the public square! Why didn 't you know of

this?"

"Think carefully before you threaten me, daugh-

ter," Zatanas said grimly, knowing that she was not

given to bluffing. There was a time for placation, and a

time for self-defense, and this was the latter. "It was

my magic that made you Queen."

"Yes, magic made me Queen. Roundear magic! I

used it then and I'll use it again."

"No, no, you mustn't." Now he felt desperate. "You

must never use roundear magic again."

r

154 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"Mustn't I?" The threat sounded in her tone.

"No, it's . . . risky. Better to destroy all roundears

and all tools brought by roundears. Better my magic

than—"

"Father," she said severely, "would you have me

destroy my own magic?"

"No. No, of course not." What had he been think-

ing of? There would be no talking her out of this now.

They faced horrible danger—all because he had

slipped.

Looking very much his daughter, which was to say

much like a dragon, she said, "I intend to use all tools

and all persons to secure my throne."

"Of course, daughter. But with care, due care!

Otherwise—"

"It's this roundear stripling who claims to represent

the prophecy!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to use my

spy in their camp to eradicate him once and for all.

Then this nuisance will fade out."

"But you shouldn't waste an emplaced spy!" Zat-

anas protested.

"What good has he been to me so far? If he can't get

word about the enemy's movements to me in time, I

might as well use him in a manner that counts."

She was making a certain amount of sense, but

Zatanas didn't trust this. It would be almost impossi-

ble to get another spy placed, once this one was

exposed, and if he failed in his mission, as was quite

possible considering the way the breaks had been

going-

Still, this was better than risking the wrong kind of

magic. It was true that the elimination of the enemy

figurehead could have considerable impact, and per-

haps so demoralize the upstarts that their effort would

fall apart. "What do you have in mind, daughter?"

"I was always apt at poisons," she said briskly. "It

will be nice to get my hand in again."

"Very good, daughter," Zatanas agreed.

DRAGON'S GOLD

155

Jon skipped a rock on the smooth stretch of creek.

It hopped three times, as a well-skipped rock was

supposed to. The circles formed and raced outward.

"I'll bet there's fish in here," Jon said aloud.

A Knight heard her and smiled. "You're probably

right."

"If I had some equipment," Jon told him, "I could

catch us some!"

"Not enough for the whole camp, you couldn't,"

the man said, coming over. His hair color was brick,

and his name, appropriately, was Appleton. She had

seen him around often enough. He was, she guessed,

about three years older than Kelvin, and halfway

handsome.

"But I'd enjoy trying," Jon said. "I get tired of just

running errands for you fellows. I'd like to be doing

something besides polishing boots and fetching fire-

wood and spring water."

"I don't blame you," Appleton said, his hands still

occupied with the rope he was braiding. He stood

close to her, gazing out over the stream. "It does get

dull here."

"I wish/had some magic!" she exclaimed. "I wish I

was a Knight!"

"You're useful enough," Appleton said, abandoning

his rope braiding. "But you know, you should try

dressing your own way."

"How's that?" Jon asked, not understanding.

"Like a woman. You'd be a really pretty girl if you

ever let yourself."

"I don't want to be a girl!" she said vehemently.

"Well, I could see your point if you were an

ordinary girl. But even though you try to cover them

up, I can see the lines of you. You would be no

ordinary girl."

Something strange overtook her certainty. "I

wouldn't?"

"Not at all! I tell you, you could start smiting hearts

right here in this camp if you tried."

156 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayroff

"Me!" she exclaimed derisively.

"You," he agreed, with no derision. "You've got the

face, you've got the lines. Look at the way that

roundear girl took over your brother. You're as pretty

as she is."

"Never!" But she felt herself flushing.

"I'll make you a bet that if you borrowed one of her

dresses, and walked out in the camp, you could

beckon to any man here, and he would come to you."

This was beyond belief. "You're teasing me!"

"Am I? Then laugh this off."

And he took her by the shoulders, brought her into

him, and kissed her on the mouth.

She was too amazed to react. She felt the pressure of

his hands on her, so strong and firm, and his lips on

hers, and she felt as if she were floating.

Then he drew his head back, and released her.

"There," he said. "I'd be lying if I said that wasn't

fun. But I suppose you'd better slap me."

"Wh-what?" Her knees felt like sodden reeds.

"I just made a pass at you," he said. "Because

you're an attractive young woman. Now you slap me,

because I shouldn't have done it. That's the way it is."

"I couldn't do that," she said, feeling faint. She had

to sit down on the bank, before she fell down.

He sat beside her. "Well, maybe next time," he said.

"A girl can't be too free, is all. Bad for her reputa-

tion."

"When I was at the Boy Mart, they found out and

tried to, to—" she said, starting to babble and quickly

stalling. She didn't know how she felt.

"Like Miz Flambeau," he said. "That's different.

They do it to anything they can get their hands on.

But among civilized folk, it's different. You're in no

danger here."

"I don't know," Jon said. "It's a whole different

realm. It's like magic." Indeed, the notion of being an

attractive young woman was like being a changeling,

becoming something she had never thought to be.

DRAGON'S GOLD

157

"Magic is what you make it. I know the feeling. My

granny was a witchwoman and spell-maker."

"Really?" Jon asked, impressed, and glad enough to

change the subject. "She turned people into froogs

and batbirds?"

"Hardly!" he said, laughing. He found a dry bed of

red moss and sprawled on it. "She could mend a

broken arm, ease the pangs of childbirth, cure barren-

ness, that sort of thing."

"Oh. No real magic."

"I wouldn't say that. She knew a thing or two, Gran

did."

"About what?" Her attention was drifting back to

the kiss, and her feelings associated with it, that still

hovered about her like little vague clouds. Could she

really be a girl—and like it?

"Oh, about our name fruits, for instance—oaples

and appleberries."

"What did she do with them?" Really borrow a

dress from Hein? How well would it fit her?

"Put magic into them. She could make a weak man

strong or a strong man weak, and I learned from her."

"You did, huh? Magic?" Magic: beckoning any

man, and making him respond.

"That's what I said, Hackleberry."

That brought her attention back to reality. She

wasn't a girl, not any way it counted. Just as her

brother wasn't a hero. "Could you help Kelvin?"

"Help him? In what way?"

Jon thought about the night she had seen Kelvin

crying. "I don't think he's as brave as he could be. Or

as strong."

"Hmmm. I could probably help him there, if that's

true."

"You could?" And if it was possible to help her

brother become brave, then it might be possible to

help her become a proper girl.

"I think so. I know the spells. Let me fix him a

stockelcap full of appleberries, and you take them to

158 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff'

him. Only don't tell him they're magicked. If you do,

they won't work."

"I won't tell," she agreed. "And he'll eat them.

Kelvin never could resist a stockelcap full of fresh

wild appleberries."

Kelvin was sitting on a log, staring glumly at a map

and picking at a scab on his hand where a knife had

slipped. Jon rode up on Mockery. Wordlessly Jon held

out a stockelcap filled with ripe red and white apple-

berries.

"For me, Jon?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Got lucky," she said. "Found a whole patch of

them. Maybe not as sweet as you can make them when

you do the picking, but pretty good anyway."

Kelvin eyed the berries. "It's awfully soon after

lunch and my stomach's been bothering me."

"Appleberries should fix that right up," she said

eagerly.

"You never brought me appleberries before. Usual-

ly I had trouble keeping you out of those I picked."

"I'm reformed," Jon said, "and you're important.

Gol' dang it, Kel, can't I do something nice for my

own brother?"

"Of course you can, Jon! Of course. But climb on

down and we'll eat them together."

"They're all for you," Jon said. "I ate my fill where I

found them."

"I should have known." But he hesitated.

"What's the matter, Kel?" she asked, concerned.

"This fool gauntlet. All of a sudden it feels warm.

Matter of fact, it tingles. There aren't any of the

Queen's own around, are there?"

"I d-don't think so, Kel." What was bothering him?

"Well—" Kelvin took the stockelcap with his right

hand and placed it at the end of his log. But as he set it

down, his left hand shot out and sent the stockelcap

flying. The berries rolled into the dust under Mock-

ery's snorting nose.

"Now, why did it do that?" Kelvin asked, an-

DRAGON'S GOLD 159

noyed. "That gauntlet ruined the treat you brought

me!"

Jon wondered, too. Could the gauntlet object to

Kelvin becoming brave? So that maybe he wouldn't

need it so much?

Mockery didn't wonder. His nostrils flared. He

lowered his head and began to eat appleberries.

Kelvin watched, frowning more deeply. "Jon, is

there something different about these berries?"

"Different?" Jon felt apprehensive. If Kelvin knew,

the magic wouldn't work, Appleton had said. But of

course it made no difference now, because the berries

had been spilled.

Mockery gave a jerk. His eyes rolled until the whites

showed. He trembled from nose to tail and then, to

Jon's complete horror, he slowly sank downward.

"Jon, what's going on?" Kelvin demanded. "What's

the matter with Mockery? What—where did you get

those berries? What's wrong with them, anyway?"

Jon was scrambling to get off the donkey's back.

Then, sitting in the dust and looking at Mockery's

closed eyes and protruding tongue, a horrible suspi-

cion came over her. Mockery, she felt certain, was

either dying or dead. She let that sink in until she not

only believed it, she understood the cause. Then,

painfully, she answered Kelvin:

"He said the berries were magicked—that they

would help make you brave."

"Jon, your donkey's been poisoned," Kelvin said,

looking into the animal's mouth. Then he looked

from Jon to the donkey and back, a new expression

sweeping his face.

"I didn't know!" Jon protested, starting to cry. "I

didn't, Kel. Honest! I thought—oh, I was a fool!"

Poor Mockery, she thought. Poor dear, deaf, faithful,

brave, true Mockery. What had she done to him?

What might she have done to her brother? The tears

flowed faster.

"I believe you, Brother Wart," Kelvin said. "No

need to cry."

160 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"Yes, there is!" she cried. "He—he sweet-talked

me, told me I'd make a pretty girl, and I believed

everything!"

"Well, he was right about that much," Kelvin said.

"You'd be as pretty as Hein is, if you tried."

"But it was only to fool me, so I'd bring you

p-poison!" she said. "Oh, Kel, I'm so ashamed!"

"No need, no need, Jon! Anyone would have been

fooled. We'll find him and—" His face turned grim.

"Question him. Who was it?"

"Appleton. Oh, I hate him! I hate him!"

Kelvin blew on his horn, and every Knight within

hearing dropped what he was doing and came.

But Appleton, of course, was not among them.

CHAPTER 18

Roundear

"I'VE GOT TO DO it, Kel," Hein said. "You know that!

After what happened—"

Kelvin nodded. "After they tried to poison me.

That means that Appleton was a spy for the Queen,

and we'd better find out if there are any others."

"Yes. I can scout around, astrally, and see if I can

locate Appleton. But mainly, I'd better spy on Za-

tanas, and try to learn what mischief he's cooking up

next."

"Better wait a bit," Morvin said. "They have scouts

out, and we can spot those, but let them go. When the

first one reports to the Queen, that's when we'll likely

learn something from her or Zatanas. Timing is

everything, in spying as in battle."

Kelvin had to agree with the logic of that. He

certainly didn't want Hein taking such a risk for

nothing. Also, it meant she could wait another day or

two before eating a berry. He still hated to have her go

into that temporary death.

Zatanas scowled his blackest and tried his best to

look the part of the menacing warlock. His daughter,

unfortunately, did not seem impressed.

"I want you to drain his blood," she said.

"But why? His blood is worthless to me. Only the

blood of some truly innocent person, or a virgin of

either sex, has the potency required for my magic."

"Never mind that. I want revenge. He was supposed

to have destroyed the upstart, claimed he did, and

what had he done but send a girl on a man's mission?

No wonder it failed! Let him now take the place of the

girl."

161

162 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayrojf

"Better I work on my invincibility spell. Your agent

failed, and that is unfortunate, but then the Roundear

was protected by magic."

"You think so?"

"I know it," he said. "Just as I know that no part of

your agent—Applebee, was that his name?—is of any

worth. Perhaps my lizards can feed on him. That

should cause him some reasonable agony."

"You won't take his blood?"

"No. If you want him bled, use your royal torturer.

That pig likes to waste flesh."

"But it's you he fears. He knows the royal torturer

will harm only his body, whereas you—"

"I gave you my final word, daughter. I won't waste

my time on worthless flesh."

"Stubborn old man!" she snapped, but she did not

seem displeased.

"Bothersome witch!"

Perhaps they would not have talked that way if they

had thought anyone could be overhearing.

The messenger arrived covered with dust and

sweat, smelling of blood and horse. He was quickly

ushered by the palace guards directly into the Queen's

audience chamber.

"0 Queen," the messenger cried, falling to his

knees before her throne. "I beg to inform you that the

Roundear's Knights are nearing Skagmore, but one

day's ride from this palace!"

The Queen scowled at the messenger and then at

Peter Flick, her latest, and weakest-chinned, consort.

She liked her men servile.

"What do you think of that, Peter? The old man's

magic isn't helping us."

"I say," Peter said with the high squeak that desig-

nated his excitement, "that now is the time! Use

roundear magic against your roundear enemy. Do it

now, Your Majesty, while there is yet time!"

He was saying exactly what she already wanted to

DRAGON'S GOLD 163

do. She liked that in a man. If only her father weren't

such a curmudgeon!

Nevertheless, she argued the other side of the case,

hoping this would provoke a truly convincing refuta-

tion. "Prophecy," she said. "How can mortals, or

even immortals, fight against it? Prophecy always

works out."

"Not always as expected," Peter piped. "There's a

roundear who is your enemy, but is he the only

roundear? No, certainly not! You have one. One of

your own, my Queen."

"Yes, so you've reminded me." Casually she

tweaked one of Peter's very pointed ears. "So why do

I hesitate?"

Peter looked at her with that abject lustful longing

that was his prime attraction; he existed to treasure

her mind and body as fully as was possible. So intense

was his stare that she found her own passion respond-

ing; perhaps she would take him to her private cham-

bers soon, and have her way with him. "Dare I remind

you, 0 Queen? Dare I say that you have a, shall we

say, an intimate relationship?" He licked his lips,

being eager for intimacy himself.

"There is that," she agreed in an offhand manner.

"But if the prophecy doesn't apply, then we lose."

"Well, maybe," he said, reluctant to concede such a

possibility.

"If my best guardsmen and my father's magic don't

stop the enemy, I will use roundear magic. But—"

"Queen, you must have a roundear fighting on your

side. Only in that way can the prophecy be fulfilled to

our—to your—satisfaction."

"Yes," she said. "There will indeed be a roundear

fighting on our side. In the next battle. And he, dear

Peter, will go equipped with the strongest possible

kind of ages-old magic."

He licked his lips again, his desire for her causing

him to flush and fidget. "Which is?"

"A mother's love."

164 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mivrgroff

"Uh, yes," he agreed, disgruntled.

She decided it was time. She reached out to stroke

him in a sensitive region. "Come to my chambers

now," she murmured, turning away.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" He was practically slavering

with anticipation.

"They know we're near Skagmore," Hein reported

as she recovered. She was still woozy, as she tended to

be after astral separation, but knew she had to report

quickly.

"Of course they do," Morvin agreed. "We let their

spy go through. But what are they going to do about

it?"

"They're going to use roundear magic," she said.

"But I'm the Roundear of Prophecy!" Kelvin ob-

jected.

"The Queen said she would have a roundear fight-

ing on her side, at Skagmore, and that he would have

the strongest possible magic—a mother's love."

"What does that mean?" Kelvin asked querulously.

"I don't know. She didn't say any more about it.

She had this—this courtier, who, well, dotes on her,

and they—well, it's not relevant. But it certainly

seems as though they have another roundear."

"I don't know anything about any other roundear,"

Morvin growled. "But I do know of that palace

flunky. The Queen's latest in a long line of panderers.

She beds them until she tires of them, and then gets

rid of them. There's a name for men like that."

"And for women like that," Les put in.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know it," Hein said delicately.

"But that's all I got. They're worried about the

prophecy, but think they can nullify it with this

roundear. The Queen certainly didn't seem to be

joking or bluffing."

"What of Zatanas?" Morvin asked. "He's the dan-

gerous one."

"He's against it. He doesn't like the use of roundear

DRAGON'S GOLD 165

magic, and tried to talk the Queen out of it. But if his

magic doesn't stop us, then she'll use what she's got.

Whatever that is. I wish I could have learned more,

but I have no way to question them."

"You learned enough, girl," Morvin said gruffly.

"We're well warned to be alert for the unexpected.

Better rest now."

Hein made a tired smile and sank back on the bed,

sinking immediately into a normal slumber.

Kelvin felt his stomach burn as they left the tent.

Tomorrow—Skagmore, and the battle that would

decide if they were about to push on for Sceptor and

the palace. Hein had required him to assert himself,

and he had done so, and saved the Knights much

misery as a result, but still he hated this warfare. He

just wasn't cut out to be a soldier!

"Fortune come a-callin'; and I did hide. Little

devils at my side."

Kelvin jumped. Morvin was singing! This was

uncharacteristic and unmusical, but the big man was

definitely doing it.

Then the man laughed, seeing Kelvin's wonder.

"Just making a point, maybe," he said. "I can see you

don't much like this business, Hackleberry."

Kelvin could only nod agreement.

"Come to my tent. We've got some talking to do."

Kelvin followed him into his tent, feeling uneasy.

When they passed the tent flap, he half expected to see

Crumb's son or some of the designated officers, set up

for a briefing. Instead there was only a large amber

bottle.

Morvin picked it up and waved it at him. "Drink,

youngster?"

"No," Kelvin said uneasily. He had tasted liquor

and hated it. Whether this was a conditioned response

because of what he had seen it do to others, or

whether it simply tasted awful, he wasn't sure. It

probably didn't matter exactly why the stuff was vile.

166 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrqff

He had learned that Hein felt the same way about it,

so perhaps the stuff affected roundears differently

than it did natives.

"You ever hear me tell about the old days?" Morvin

inquired. "About fighting with the loyalists and the

upstarts? We were winning, youngster, and make no

mistake. Got about as far as Skagmore, and then—"

Kelvin felt a chill. Skagmore was to be the site of

tomorrow's battle. Obviously Morvin was not just

rambling. "Magic?" he asked, dreading the answer he

knew was coming.

"Roundear magic, son. Took us by surprise. The

roundears—not as the Gods intended, Hackleberry.

Not as the Gods intended."

"Tell me about it," Kelvin said, abruptly twice as

interested. If the big man knows about the roundears

of the past. . .

"It was 'fore your time, but I remember it as though

it were this afternoon. I killed roundears with my

sword—did you know that?"

"I—I think I guessed it," Kelvin said. He sat down

on the stool Morvin kept for visitors, and his hand

reached out almost of its own volition to touch the

battered map case. He knew that Morvin Crumb had

been a good soldier, like his father before him and his

son after him.

"Hard to kill, they were. Great fighters. But the

worst of it was, they had magic. Weapons such as no

sane mind ever imagined. Not swords and crossbows,

no. Magical."

"Tell me," Kelvin repeated, eager to hear every-

thing.

Morvin took a drink. He wiped his mouth on the

hairy back of his hand and said: "Explosive thunders

that blew apart men and horses. Lightning that struck

with a red bolt and went right through men and

war-horses and good solid armor. Oh, I tell you,

Hackleberry, it was awful! And some of them flew

—flew overhead, but not as birds fly. I saw two of

them high in the sky pierced by crossbow bolts. I saw

DRAGON'S GOLD 167

them fall to their deaths, Hackleberry. But then I saw

another, equally high. This one controlled the light-

nings. I saw men, horses, trees—just smoking red

holes where the lightning struck. We ran and we ran.

We had to. There was no fighting that."

"I understand," Kelvin said, and thought that per-

haps he did.

"Do you? Do you really?" Morvin took hold of his

arms and looked drunkenly into his face. "It was as if

we were weeds and grass before a fiery scythe. Do you

understand what it is to face such beings?"

"You say I'm one of them," Kelvin reminded him.

It was the sharpest retort he had ever given Crumb.

Morvin looked at him hard and shook his head.

"You may be one of 'em, son, but you haven't their

magic. Not that I've seen, anyway."

"No," Kelvin admitted. Why did he feel that Mor-

vin saw to his depths? Saw the fear he knew was there,

however hard he tried to bury it? He swallowed a

lump. "Not now, I haven't. Just a little plant-

charming, and I guess that isn't the same. But—"

"But you will have, won't you?"

"I—I don't know." Tearing himself away, Kelvin

pushed through the tent flap to the outside and the

good, clean night air. It occurred to him in a rare flash

of fancy that all he faced now were the uncaring and

unknowing eyes of distant, unreachable stars.

CHAPTER 19

Skpigmore

"How BAD DO YOU think it'll be?" Jon asked.

"It gives me a deep chill," Hein answered. "They

know we're coming, and when and where, so they'll be

ready. They aren't bringing in the dragons this time,

because we've been able to turn the dragons against

the Queen's guardsmen too often, but they've got a lot

of troops. I wish—"

"Me, too," Jon said. "But Morvin's determined to

fight and win, and he's convinced Kelvin, so I guess it

just has to happen. Men are such fools!"

"You're finally seeing the light!"

"I'm finally seeing the light," Jon agreed morosely.

"What good can it be, to be a man, if you just go out

and get yourself killed?"

"Not much. That's why there are women. To catch

the men and make them settle down on farms and live

decent lives."

"You like farm life? It bores me!"

"I like it a lot better than warfare or the Girl Mart!"

Jon nodded, seeing the point. "Still—"

"But it has to be with the right man."

"I don't have a man, right or wrong."

"But you're young yet, Jon! I'm young! We have

time."

"Not if all the men get killed fighting!" Jon re-

torted.

"We just have to hope that the Knights win this

battle, and don't get killed, and that then the Queen

will abdicate and there won't be war anymore. Then

I'll capture your brother, and you—you can find

someone."

"Do you really think I—?"

168

DRAGON'S GOLD

169

"Of course! You're a pretty girl, if you'd just let

yourself be!"

"When I tried to—to let myself be, I almost got my

brother poisoned!" Jon said bitterly.

"He was a bad man. He was using you. But if you

really went looking, you could find a good one."

"If any good ones survive the fighting."

Hein smiled. "I'll make you a deal, Jon. If we win

this battle, then good men will survive. If we win, I'll

help you all I can to be a completely female girl, and

you'll give it a really honest try."

"I don't know—"

"You'd rather have the Queen win?"

That brought home the horror of the alternative. "If

my being a girl-type girl can encourage our side to

win, then it's a deal!"

"Every little bit of magic helps," Hein said. They

shook hands.

Skagmore was particularly ugly. Faded army bar-

racks, stripped paint, unrepaired fences, scattered

refuse piles. Appalling. The place smelled, as only an

army town could, of horse dung and latrines and

unhauled garbage. Altogether unbeautiful.

The place was so still that one could hear the rustle

of a bird's wing. Kelvin looked from Morvin to Lester

Crumb and then at the rest of the accompanying

Knights, their main force, and wondered. It was

remarkable that this place, so near to their ultimate

goal, was deserted. The enemy knew that the Knights

were coming; Hein had spied on the messenger's

delivery of word to the evil Queen. But the enemy

didn't know that the Knights knew they knew. So this

apparent vacancy could only be a trap.

And were they to walk right into it? Yes, they were,

for that was the only way to spring their countertrap.

They had drilled for this. To lure the enemy into open

battle in a seemingly advantageous position, so that

they would attack with confidence, and carelessly.

Then—

170

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

DRAGON'S GOLD

777

Kelvin felt his stomach twist. They had planned so

carefully, but it was risky. Suppose their surprise

didn't work? Suppose something went wrong? Then

what?

There was only one answer: they had to make sure

that nothing did go wrong.

So they moved down into the town, seemingly

innocently, commenting loudly about the marvel of

its emptiness. "We scared them off!" "They knew they

couldn't win!" "See if there's any food left in the

storehouse!" That sort of thing, also rehearsed.

They rode all the way into the tov/n square. Then

the trap sprang. Horsemen were suddenly racing

down each alley, pikes ready, swords drawn. The

enemy plainly outnumbered the Knights, and were

now closing in for the quick kill.

Kelvin raised the signaling horn and blew the blast

that signaled the formation of the phalanx. Now his

fear was dissipating into excitement. This had to

work!

The Knights formed a close living fence with

shields joined at the edges and spears raised and ready

to stab. They had never separated far; a formation

had been maintained, of its special loose kind, so that

each man had only a few feet to step to reach his key

position. In the center the horses waited, secure until

the line should burst. Archers and crossbowmen

formed a line between the horses and the spearmen.

In practice it had seemed impenetrable; now it

seemed less so, but it was ready.

They had picked up many recruits in the past few

weeks. Many of them were without horses, and a few

without even swords. But their mercenaries had

taught the recruits well, and the knowledge that it was

their land they fought for gave even the least experi-

enced men courage. The Queen, obviously, had no

respect for farm boys turned fighters, and the guards-

men evidently proposed to cut them down without

mercy.

Arrows rained from the advancing foe, as the

Queen's archers stepped from their concealment be-

hind the horsemen and aimed their shafts over their

vanguard. Almost casually, because of the practice

they had had, the Knights raised shields and stopped

the missiles that sought their blood. The rattle

sounded like hail. The barrage that should have cut

down as much as a third of the force at one stroke,

and demoralized the rest, brought no casualties and

no demoralization. The phalanx remained tight and

strong.

With a great cry that rose like a wave at sea, the men

in blue and gold uniforms threw themselves hard

against the waiting phalanx. They met much fiercer

resistance than they had anticipated. Men cried out as

waiting spears stabbed through their bodies. More

came, for they could not stop their impetus. These

were met by the strokes of swords. The enemy forma-

tion was crashing against the wall of shields and

breaking like a wave across a rocky shore. Still they

came, seemingly maddened beyond reason, still not

believing that the Knights were fighting back so effec-

tively.

Bows twanged. Missiles flew. Blue and gold uni-

forms sprouted feathered barbs. But the sheer mass of

the charge had its effect, and the phalanx lost cohe-

sion. Brown-and-green-clad Knights cried out here

and there, dropping their arms, dying as bravely as

any soldier.

The phalanx had done its work. The thrust of the

charge had been broken, and three or four guardsmen

were down for every Knight lost. Still they came, and

came. The guardsmen outnumbered the Knights by as

much as ten to one. This was worse than Morvin's

worst projections! The Queen had thrown all her

reserves into this effort, holding nothing back, and

that threatened to make the trap effective after all.

Now Kelvin and the Crumbs were fighting from

their steeds. Kelvin was glad that Jon had been

172 Piers Anthony and Robert E. M.wyroff

banned from this engagement; it would have been

terrible to have his little sister see their end! Immedi-

ately he condemned himself for thinking so quickly of

defeat. They were supposed to win!

Kelvin's left hand, with the gauntlet, knew what to

do. He had learned how to make it hold a sword, and

it was now fighting with that sword so expertly that

any surviving observer would have thought him left-

handed. But gradually his left arm grew tired. The

hand was powered by the gauntlet, but the arm was

not; it obeyed the imperatives of the hand, but at the

cost of increasing fatigue.

In a brief lull, realizing that even the gauntlet could

not save him if his left arm became too tired to follow

its dictates, Kelvin changed sword for shield in his left

hand, and took the sword in his right. He had no

magic there, but did have some training, and at least

that arm was relatively fresh.

Now, you devils, come on, he thought, maneuvering

his horse away from corpses. His stomach had no

qualms now, despite the bleakness of the likely out-

come of this encounter; he was ready for the next

stage of the fray.

Suddenly there were three guardsmen before him,

each mounted. They were charging him as if he were a

magnet.

Mor Crumb saw the situation and angled across to

engage one of the attackers. Les Crumb moved too

slowly, and was knocked off his mount by a lucky

blow from the second. The third reached Kelvin,

striking at him.

Kelvin's sword blade missed as his gauntlet raised

the shield and deflected the enemy's sword. Now they

fought, and steel clanged against steel. Each blow and

counter shook Kelvin's whole arm and shoulder and

the shock seemed to reach right through to his mind,

dulling it.

Kelvin was tiring. Now it was not merely his left

arm; it was his whole body. Battle was hard work! He

DRAGON'S GOLD 773

wished he could get out of this, just quit fighting and

go home to the farm, but of course he could not.

There was something else bothering him. His oppo-

nent's face—young, determined, and somehow enor-

mously familiar. He racked his brain in the midst of

the fight, but all he could think of was that the

stranger bore a slight resemblance to Jon. That was

impossible, of course; Jon was a girl, and this one was

a man, several years older than Kelvin himself.

Then the other made a deft move, and Kelvin was

unhorsed. He landed hard, twisting about, and saw

the enemy sword swishing down at his unprotected

face. His shield was pinned partly under him, no help

now.

His incredible gauntlet let loose of the shield and

snapped across to grab the naked blade.

The stranger did not release his weapon. Kelvin's

left hand jerked.

Crash! The stranger hit the dust beside him, his

sword flung wide. Now neither combatant was armed

with a blade.

The stranger raised his head, as jarred by his fall as

Kelvin was. For a moment they sat face-to-face,

staring at each other. There was a resemblance to Jon,

or somebody like her, a resemblance that bothered

Kelvin as much as the notion of imminent defeat and

death.

Now, in his fatigue, he saw something else. It had

failed to register before, but on the right hand of the

stranger was a gauntlet identical to his own.

The other man moved—and Kelvin's left arm

jerked up. His gauntlet met the opposite gauntlet and

grasped it. He felt the effort down the length of his

worn-out arm. The two gauntlets were struggling

against each other—the two that should be a pair!

Back and forth, up and down and around, the

gauntlets and the trapped hands struggled, stirring up

sweat and dirt. Kelvin saw exhaustion on the other

man's face, and fear. The stranger felt the same

174 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mavgroff

exhaustion and fear Kelvin did, but was a similar

captive to his gauntlet!

The other gauntlet pulled his down, as if seeking to

pin it to the ground. Kelvin reached with his right

hand to help, and met the left hand of the stranger.

Their two bare hands grasped and squeezed and

struggled and fought, exactly like the two gauntlets,

but more weakly.

Suddenly there was a noise close at hand.

Horsemen—but of which side? Kelvin was too weary

to raise his head. Too weary to really think. So, it

seemed, was the stranger. The battle had devolved to

their four struggling hands; little elsewhere seemed

important.

Their bare hands weakened, and fell apart. Human

flesh had met its limit; they could fight no more.

But the gauntlets still fought like scorpiocrabs in a

bottle.

Other figures came to stand by the combatants. One

person or the other was about to be struck down.

Which one would that be? It hardly seemed to matter.

It seemed to Kelvin that there would never be,

could never be, an end.

Mor Crumb maneuvered his war-horse as close to

his son as he could. Les, on the ground, guarded

somewhat by his well-trained horse, was either dead

or unconscious.

"Oh, please, Gods, if Gods there be, let him be only

unconscious," Mor mumbled as he simultaneously

fought off two attackers.

Neither Les nor the gods made a sound.

Mor finished the attacker on his left with a well-

aimed thrust. The guardsman on his right got through

his guard, to the side of his shield, and sliced his left

forearm.

Mor felt the sharp sting and the wetness and knew

he was wounded. But the mailed vest he wore was still

doing its duty and the shield remained strapped

DRAGON'S GOLD 775

securely to his now bleeding arm. "Oh, ye would,

would ye? Well—"

He barely got his sword around, saving his face and

possibly his head by the slimmest margin. He felt the

swish of the enemy's sword and felt his left ear sting.

He had lost part of the ear from that blow. How

much, he couldn't now be concerned about.

Somehow his sword deflected the guardsman's, and

then, with less science than he felt he usually com-

manded, he got his blade under the other's helmet and

drove upward.

"Ahhhh!"The man fell, pierced to the brain. Part of

his nose had been lobbed off by the blade's keen edge.

Now to see to his son.

Lester was still lying there, his face turned upward.

"Damn ye, you've got to be all right!" Mor shouted.

It was a foolish thing to say, and he realized it. Where

was help? There had to be help for them. For him,

Morvin mentally amended. For Lester. For his pre-

cious son. If Les didn't live, then all of this was for

nought. It was for Lester and Lester's future children,

if any, that this war was being fought.

A horse wheeled to his left. Mor jerked on the reins.

A brownberry shirt and greenbriar pantaloons,

much dusted and a little smeared with blood. A

freckle-faced boy who should be out working his

father's fields and whom Mor remembered they had

left with the main force at the edge of town.

"We have to retreat," the boy said. "There's too

many for us!"

"Greenleaf, is that you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, Mor. Show a little respect!"

The boy managed a faint smile. A good lad, this.

Mor recognized him from their training sessions.

Greenleaf had been as clumsy as Kelvin Hackleberry

without his gauntlet, but then had learned. As they all

had to learn.

"Les," Mor said, indicating his fallen son. "I'd like

176 Piers Anthony and Robert E. M.a.rgroff

to get him out of here. He got clubbed by the flat of a

blade. He will live, I think. If we can take him to

safety."

"I—I'll see what I can do, s—Mor." Then, turning

his head slightly, Greenleaf called, "Broughtner! Over

here!"

A dapple gray war-horse joined them. This one was

ridden by a craggy-faced, ruddy-complexioned fellow

who had some months ago been working hard to be a

Franklin's ne'er-do-well.

"You called, Greenleaf?"

"Les, he's down."

Broughtner arrived. "Um, I see."

"Can we take him back?"

"Can try."

"You'll do more than try!" Mor told them. Then,

simply because it seemed the appropriate thing to do,

he began to swear.

"Look out!" Broughtner cried. In the same instant,

Mor's horse gave a terrible scream and started to

collapse under him.

Mor got his head twisted around as he fell. He saw

the big guardsman who had ridden in at them and the

pike that had been deflected downward by Brought-

ner's blade. The pike had gotten his mount right

behind the rib cage.

He had allowed himself to forget that they were still

amidst the battle!

Mor hit the ground and rolled over as a war-horse's

big hooves tried hard to trample him. Then the big

guardsman was coming down to join him and Les. As

he fell with flailing arms, Mor saw that his intestines

had been split.

"Good work, Greenleaf!" Broughtner called.

"Uh, uh, uh," Greenleaf said, shuddering at his

own act.

Saved by a boy and a man whose previous destiny

had been to drink himself to death. The ignominy of

it! But better alive, better alive than dead.

DRAGON'S GOLD 177

"You look a bit battered, Mor," Broughtner said.

Mor stood up, shaking his head. It did have a buzz

in it, he discovered.

"You'll need Les's horse," Broughtner said. "Better

cut the throat of this one."

Mor reluctantly had to recognize the man's good

sense. Better do it now, he thought, before the animal

suffered more.

He placed his sword tip against the horse's neck,

drew back, and mentally called upon whatever gods

there were for strength. "Sorry, old friend," he said,

and swung hard at the vein he knew was pulsing just

beneath the slick hide.

The horse gave a very loud sigh. Blood spurted,

catching Mor's face and sword arm. He moved back,

wiping at it, refraining from cursing because it

wouldn't do to curse his dying equine friend.

"You certain he's alive?" Broughtner asked.

Mor gave him a hard look. "Can't you see that I just

killed him?"

"Your son. Not your horse."

Gods! For a moment he had actually forgotten.

Moving as swiftly as his wounds and weariness

permitted, he knelt by Lester as Broughtner caught

and held the horse. The mount neighed, but steadied

under Broughtner's hand.

"Lester, Les, speak to me, speak to me!" But there

was no response.

He raised the head a little, and there was blood. Not

a lot, not as much as soaked his own clothing, but

some. Internal bleeding—how bad was it?

He drew off a gauntlet, wishing again that he might

wear the gauntlet the Roundear had. That glove

was—

The Roundear! Where was he? Mor lurched up,

gazing across the battle. There was no sign of Kelvin

Hackleberry!

"Find the Roundear!" he panted. "We can't lose

him\".

178 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mcnyrojf

"Yes, Mor." Greenleaf cast about, searching.

Mor returned his attention to his son. He felt under

the brownberry shirt, trying to find a heartbeat.

"If he's dead, we'll have to leave him," Broughtner

said.

Damn the man! "He's alive!" he snapped.

"Then get him on the horse. This horse. You take

his."

It took almost all Mor's strength, but he placed his

hands underneath Les's arms and hoisted his body up

to Broughtner. He had never before felt so incredibly

weak! It must be the bleeding, and the drinking last

night and the fact that he hadn't really slept. I've

gotten old, he thought sadly. But I recognize it.

Broughtner took Les and positioned him in front of

him on the horse. Meanwhile, Greenleaf returned,

spreading his hands: he had been unable to locate the

Roundear.

"I can't fight this way," Mor complained. "You two

will have to watch out for me."

"We will," Greenleaf said.

Mor wished that he could feel as confident.

"The Roundear!" Broughtner cried. "There he is!"

He wheeled his horse, almost knocking Mor down.

Mor strained his eyes. He counted six guardsmen

riding hard. Slung over the neck of the leading horse-

man's mount was a slight figure wearing the green and

brown. No wonder Greenleaf hadn't spotted Kelvin;

he had been draped across an enemy horse!

"After them!" Greenleaf cried, his own dismay

sounding.

"No! No, they've got him," Broughtner said. "We

can't even catch them, let alone overcome them. Best

we get back to the others with the word. Best we get

back alive."

Mor grabbed hold of the mane on his son's war-

horse and levered himself up to a mounted position.

His head whirled. He all but slid off. Any notion he

had of pursuing was obviously futile.

DRAGON'S GOLD 779

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "Too many guardsmen

Too many for us to fight anymore." ' guardsmen-

"YS^nI,0,^1' regr0^'" ^""gl^er said.

events m^y^es.8111 he was thinking'

DRAGON'S GOLD 181

CHAPTER 20

Nurse

IT WAS A SAD party that straggled back to the camp.

Morvin Crumb was wounded, his son was uncon-

scious, and more than half the Knights were missing.

Jon and Hein ran out together. "Where's Kelvin?"

Jon cried, horrified as she failed to spot her brother in

the group.

"Captured," Mor said wearily. Then he fell over in

his saddle, and others had to catch him before he

dropped from his horse.

Jon turned to look at Hein, and found the other's

face a reflection of her own horror. Kelvin—

captured! What would become of him?

Quickly they learned the details of Kelvin's loss. He

had been carried off by several guardsmen, after

apparently fighting against one with another gauntlet

like his own. "That other—he had round ears!" a

Knight said. "I caught one glimpse of him, before I

had to defend myself from another charge."

"Roundear magic!" Hein said. "A roundear with a

magic gauntlet! That's what the Queen meant!"

"If only we had understood better!" Jon said, her

heart gripped by the horror and grief of her brother's

fate.

"I must find him!" Hein cried.

Mor, now standing on the ground, propped by two

other Knights, responded. "Girl, get that notion from

your head! You can't go after him!"

"I meant—my way," she said.

"It's too soon, girl! You haven't recovered from the

last time!"

"I love him!" she exclaimed. "I must find him!"

Mor glanced across at the stretcher on which his

180

son lay. "I know how that is. Then do what ye must,

girl—but only this once. It won't do him any good if

you die from overdosing."

"I'll watch over her," Jon said quickly.

Morvin turned away. "Les—got to get a nurse for

him—"

But there was nobody to tend the unconscious man.

All the survivors were tired, many of them wounded;

it was all they could do to take care of their own.

"Put him in our tent," Jon said. "I can watch two as

well as one."

No one argued; they were glad to have her assume

this burden, so that the others could collapse. They

hauled the stretcher in and got the unconscious young

man on Jon's bunk.

Then Hein ate a berry and lay down, and Jon

watched both: the unconscious woman and the un-

conscious man. Both were so still it was as if they were

dead. One should recover; the other—

Jon went to Lester Crumb and checked him more

closely. There was a trace of blood on his lips, and

more in his mouth; something had ruptured inside

him and this was the only evidence. How bad was it?

She had no way to know, but the fact that he remained

unconscious did not bode well.

She decided to do the job right. There was no one

else to do it, after all. She got a basin of water and a

cloth and washed off his face. Then she stripped his

clothing, discovering numerous cuts and bruises, and

cleaned these off. She tied bandages around the bad

ones, so that no further blood leaked, and formed a

more comprehensive bandage for his head, because

the whole side of it was one massive purple bruise. It

looked as though the blow to his head had caused him

to bite his cheek and tongue, and that was the source

of the blood in his mouth; that suggested that he had

no bad bleeding deeper in his body. That same blow

had put him in a coma, and she could do nothing for

that except make him comfortable. She covered him

over with all the blankets she had, trying to keep his

182

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

183

cold body warm, and hoped. Lester Crumb was a

decent man, who had helped Kelvin and had always

been courteous to Jon herself. It would be awful to

have him die.

Hein was normal for this stage, lying as still as a

statue, her breathing stopped or was so slight it wasn't

evident. There was nothing more for Jon to do except

wait.

After half an hour, Les groaned. Jon hurried across

and took his hand. Was he pulling out of it?

He turned his head, choked, and spluttered out

some saliva and blood. Jon grabbed his shoulders and

helped him sit up so that he could cough and get his

throat clear. He retched, and spat, and then sank

back. She washed off his face again, and found that

now it was hot: he was running a fever. But he sank

back into a more natural sleep, and that meant that he

was recovering. His color was better now, despite (or

maybe because of) the fever; he was a handsome man.

Not long later he stirred again, and again she helped

him sit up and retch. This time his eyes opened.

"Thanks," he said, and slept again.

Then Hein began to recover, and Jon went to attend

to her. By this time she was feeling very much the

nurse; both her patients were improving!

For the next hour she shuttled between the two,

doing her best to keep each comfortable. Hein woke

and reported:

"I found him!" she said weakly. "They took him to

the dungeon under the Queen's palace and dumped

him there with two older men. I think they drugged

him, because he never woke up, and somebody said

something about how he would sleep for at least

another day. He didn't look injured. So I think he'll be

all right, and maybe the long sleep will even do him

good. But we've got to get him out of that dungeon!"

"That's for sure," Les said, startling them.

Jon fumed to him. "I thought you were sleeping."

He smiled. "I was, until I heard you two talking. I

seem to be in the wrong tent."

"No, they brought you here so I could watch you,"

Jon said. "You were unconscious, and your father was

wounded, and over half the Knights are gone and the

rest in bad state, so—"

"I thank you. But now I had better get out. What

happened to my clothes?"

"But you're feverish!"

"Not anymore, I'm sure. We Crumbs heal quickly."

Jon went and put her hand on his forehead. Sure

enough, the fever was down. Maybe that was his little

bit of magic. She explained about the clothes, and

brought them back to him, then turned her back while

he dressed.

He stood, and wavered, and she had to run to

provide support before he fell. "I think you'd better

lie down again," she said.

"No, I've got to consult with my father, plan

strategy," he said. "With Kelvin captive—"

Jon could hardly argue with that. "Then I'd better

help you walk."

"Ooo, my head!" he said. "I'm dizzy! I think you'd

better."

"I'll be all right," Hein said. "Get him to Morvin. If

there's any way to rescue Kel—"

Jon supported Les as he staggered out, and got him

to Morvin's tent. There a strategy meeting was al-

ready in progress. The generals had the war map

unrolled and were fretting over it.

"Son!" Mor exclaimed, lurching up to embrace Les.

"How are you?"

"Some fool is still slashing about with a sword

inside my head," Les said with a pained smile. "But

Jon here got me patched up, and Hein has found out

that Kelvin's in the Queen's dungeon, so I had to

come here."

"The Queen's dungeon!" Mor said. "They haven't

killed him?"

"Drugged him. They say he'll sleep for another day.

So they can't be planning anything sooner than that."

"They've got their own wounds to lick," Mor said

184 Piers Anthony and Robert E. M-cvrgroff

grimly. He looked terrible; the top part of his left ear

had been sliced away so that he looked like half a

roundear. His left arm was in a sling.

"There's not much we can do but surrender,"

General Jeffreys said. "The Queen's terms, total and

unconditional surrender, aren't to my liking, but—"

"Ye talk like a fool!" Mor snapped. "Surrender

unconditionally and she'll hang or imprison the lot of

us!"

"She might not," Jeffreys said, looking sheepish

and as though he wished he could be back on his farm.

"And I say she will! The officers, at least!"

"I—I agree with my father," Les said. His eyes did

not quite focus, but his mind seemed sound. "I gather

a messenger arrived while I was sleeping. That means

the Queen knows our location, and this may just be

stalling for time while she gets together another army

to destroy the last of us. If we surrender now, we have

to be prepared to flee Rud. Maybe some of us can

survive in the Sadlands, a few can venture into dragon

country, but most of us will have to get all the way

out. I'm hoping that most of us can find our way to

Throod. But—"

"You can be sure you'll be taken in," said Captain

MacKay. "We Throodians don't abandon our

friends."

"I appreciate that, Captain," Les said with dignity.

"But my point is, that we could be better off not

surrendering and being dispersed, with many of us

executed out of hand. We might best stick together

and fight on. The worst that could happen is that we'd

get killed."

"When most of us could live, if we surrender,"

General Jeffreys said. "Understand, the word is gall in

my mouth, but I'm trying to be practical. We have

scant resources remaining to fight, and—"

"Har-rumph," said Mor, drawing attention back to

himself. "I'm not prepared to say we surrender un-

conditionally."

"Why not?" General Saunders demanded.

DRAGON'S GOLD 185

"Because of the Roundear."

"He's captured. Imprisoned in her dungeon. He'll

be killed, probably publicly. Even if we had the

manpower to raid the dungeon, they'd just kill him

before we could fight our way in. They'd like nothing

better than to have us present our remaining troops

for slaughter like that."

Mor nodded. "Hmm, I hate to agree with you, but

I fear you're right. There's little we can do to save

him."

"Yes, there is!" Jon exclaimed before she thought.

Abruptly all eyes turned to her.

"Jon!" Mor snapped. "Why are you still here? This

is a strategy conference! Go outside and—"

"Play?" Jon suggested, knowing that that was not

what he had been about to say. "The Roundear you

talk about is my brother! He didn't want to be a hero

and fight this war. You, Mor, and you, Les, you forced

it on him! He'd be back on the farm now, if you

hadn't interfered!"

"She's got a point, Father," Les said. "She has a

right to be here, and—"

"She doesn't know what she's saying!" Mor said.

"She's only a girl!"

"Yes, a girl!" Jon agreed hotly. "And Kel's only a

boy. But then, who else are you fighting the war for?"

There was a stunned silence. Jon leaped into it,

determined to express her thought. "You told us over

and over, Mr. Crumb. 'It's for the young, it's not for

the old, that we're fighting this.' Everyone here heard

you say it. Everyone in the camp!"

"She's right," Les said.

"Youngster," Mor said, looking sad, "if I could help

your brother through direct action—"

"But you can! You can! He fought for you, and now

you talk of abandoning him. What kind of people are

you? What kind—"

"The realistic kind," Mor said. "We know the

difference between fact and fancy. We can't—"

Without giving herself a chance to think, Jon ran at

186 Piers Anthony paid Robert E. Margroff

Mor, fists raised. She wanted to punch him into some

kind of agreement, crazy as that was.

But Saunders caught her and held her. "What kind

of respect is this, you gamin?" His face, normally so

calm and solemn, was now fierce.

Jon felt all her madness go. Here she was trying to

act like a man again, and succeeding only in childish-

ness. She would be lucky if the general didn't shake

her in humiliating fashion.

"Let. her go, Saunders," Les said. "She has reason to

react. It's her brother we're writing off. My father

would react much the same if I were the one being

deserted."

Mor started to speak, then paused thoughtfully.

"Gods," he muttered. "It's true. When I saw you

down, son, I couldn't think of anything but—"

Saunders' grip tightened briefly. Then he let go.

"You got anything to say, Jon?" Mor asked. "Any-

thing we need to know?"

"I think we should fight," Jon said. "That's all I

have to say."

"We?"

"We patriots. We who care about Rud."

"You're only fourteen, Jon, and female, but you

may be right," Les said. "Maybe we should make an

all-out effort. Tell the Knights we're making one last

effort to take the capital, defeat the Queen, and rescue

the Roundear."

"Are you daft?" Mor demanded of his son. "After

all you've been through, you still want to fight? I

wasn't going to suggest attack, merely that we not

surrender."

"I don't want to fight at all," Les said. "But you've

convinced me time after time. Father. We have to

defeat this tyrant. We have to rid this land of its ugly

sore so that it will heal and become fair and free once

more. How many times have you said it. Father? How

many?"

Mor looked away. "I don't want you to be killed,

son. You came too close today! I don't want any more

DRAGON'S GOLD 187

deaths. I don't want to surrender, but if we surrender

now and get us to—"

"She'll never let us out. She'll want a formal surren-

der, with you and me and the main officers. Then you

know what will happen? Then she will send us to the

dungeons. If we ever get out from there, it won't be in

any condition to fight anybody, and more likely just

for execution. There's no reprieve in surrender!"

"I_"

"You know it's-so!" his son said challengingly.

Jon kept her mouth shut. What a beautiful job Les

Crumb was doing, arguing her case! She was glad she

had helped him recover.

Mor swallowed, his big throat producing a gurgling

sound. "You may be right, son. You may—"

"I say he is right!" Saunders said suddenly. "I say

we'd better fight another battle and make it an all-out

one. Even if we don't win, maybe we can force

surrender terms."

"How can we win?" Mor asked, his face rigid.

"They've got magic."

"No more than we had! Father, we've got arms."

"Um, maybe so. One all-out attack on the capital."

"She won't be expecting it nov/. Not after that last

defeat. And she doesn't have that many guardsmen in

good shape right now."

Mor turned to the map. As the big man traced a

possible route of march and attack, Jon noticed that

the river ran all the way into the capital. Why not go

by the river, she wondered? But Mor was talking.

"We've lost a lot of ground, and a lot of lives. But if

we start our march tomorrow and we're not stopped

before we get there, four days will see us there."

"Four days?" Jon asked. "I thought it was only one

day's ride from Skagmore to the capital."

"One day's ride for a messenger on a fast horse,"

Les explained. "Four days for a tired army, hauling

supplies, foraging for food. The Queen's guardsmen

will take longer than that, because they're licking their

wounds and don't believe there is any need to return

188 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

rapidly to the capital. That's our advantage: striking

by surprise, at their weak spot: the capital whose

reserves have been expended for the battle just past."

"I'll come along!" Jon said.

"No, you won't, girl," Mor said, turning on her.

"Your mother needs to be sure of at least one child. If

we fail, that's you. Before we leave, you are starting

your march home. The same goes for the roundear

girl."

Jon started to protest, but Les made a warning

signal. She understood: Les knew that his father had

gone as far as he would go, and that it was best to

settle for that. And, she realized, Mor was probably

right; this tough march and battle, using the remnants

of their army, would be no place for two young

women. She had to quit while she was ahead.

CHAPTER 21

Travel

JON WAVED AT THE Knights who had brought them to

the road and were now riding back to the camp. They

didn 'l even give us horses! she thought angrily. They

could at least have spared us two of the lame ones. But

then, of course, they would have had to lead the

animals, and move slow, and find grain and water for

them. Besides which, all the animals were needed by

the army for this final effort. So they could travel

faster than the guardsmen would, and fall upon the

capital when its defenses were minimal. She didn't

question that; it was her brother who stood to benefit.

Except that the Queen would surely have him killed

the moment the attack materialized. What would they

gain then, even if they won?

She brushed at some perspiration on her forehead,

squinting into the morning mists, wondering why it

had to be so hot, hoping the mists would soon rise.

They had a long walk ahead.

Maybe, just maybe, they should go back, she

thought. But she knew that no girls would be allowed

along. Mor had made that absolutely plain.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Hein in-

quired.

"Yes, but they'd never let us do it."

"How could they stop us, if we went by a separate

route?"

"Separate route?"

"Maybe you didn't know that my folks' farm is

between here and the capital."

The capital! If they could get there ahead of the

army and rescue Kelvin, so that the Queen couldn't

kill him—!

189

190 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyrojf

Then Jon sobered. "I might sneak in, in the guise of

a boy; I've had a lot of practice. But you could never

pass for anything but a beautiful girl, and besides that,

your ears—"

"But I want to save Kelvin as much as you do!"

"And how do you think you'll help him, if they

catch you and rape you again?"

Hein was silent, and Jon was immediately sorry.

She was sounding just like Morvin Crumb!

"I mean—" she started awkwardly.

"No, no, you're right," Hein said. "I really can't

help him directly. But maybe I can help you to help

him. If I eat a dragonberry, and spy out the terrain for

you, so that you'll know exactly where to look and

what to avoid—"

"Yes!" Jon exclaimed. "Then I could sneak in and

free him, before the attack, and then when the attack

started it would be easier to get out in the confusion!"

"But first you have to get there," Hein pointed out.

"I know my folks would help, if we asked them—"

"Let's go!" Jon exclaimed.

But they were afoot, and that made the distance to

Heln's folks' farm stretch out. They plodded step by

step, resting when they had to, and gradually the mists

lifted.

Ahead was the bridge. She remembered crossing it

on the way to dragon country and adventure. How

long ago that seemed! Why then, just weeks ago, she

had been a child!

She touched the top other pantaloons and her sling.

At least Mor had left her that, she thought. It was a

wonder it hadn't been confiscated for the war effort!

They walked on, this time not toward the Hackle-

berry farm, but toward the Flambeau farm. And by

dusk, weary, dirty, and hungry, they reached it.

There was a flurry of amazed greetings as Hein

made herself known. She explained how Morvin

Crumb had purchased her, and freed her, but that she

hadn't been able to communicate with them because

DRAGON'S GOLD 191

that could have alerted the Queen's guardsmen to the

whereabouts of the Knights.

"We wondered why they had guardsmen camped

nearby, watching us," her father said. "They never

did anything, just watched. Until they were called

away a few days ago—"

"To fight at Skagmore," Hein finished. "And that's

why we're here. This is Jon Hackleberry—"

"Hackleberry! You mean—?"

"His sibling. Jon needs to get quickly to the capital,

to help rescue Kelvin, who is the Roundear of Prophe-

cy. I said you'd help—"

"Certainly we'll help. The river flows right down

there. We have a raft—"

"A raft!" Jon exclaimed. "Of course!"

So it was arranged. They had a great supper, and

then Jon slept while Hein ate another berry. This was

risky, because it was the third in as many days, but the

need was great.

In the morning, Hein told Jon what she had spied.

Kelvin was still asleep, but was supposed to wake

soon. The two other prisoners were friendly, and

would take care of him. She had studied the layout of

the dungeons as well as she could, with all their

approaches, and the city around, so was able to make

a fair map. Jon now knew where the guards marched,

and where the river bypassed their observation.

Heln's point-eared father took her down to the raft

tied at the river's edge. "It isn't the fanciest craft," he

said apologetically. "We made it to carry firewood

down from the forest, and we just lashed the larger

logs together with what vines we could find. I think it

will hold, but—"

"It's great, sir!" Jon exclaimed. "Much better than I

could make!"

"Then the Gods be with ye, lad, and may you rescue

your brother just as he rescued our daughter." He set

a bag of supplies on the raft.

"Thank you, sir." She didn't like deceiving these

192 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyrojf

good folk about her nature, but feared they would not

have let her go if they knew. She scrambled on and

took up the heavy pole.

Flambeau untied the raft and shoved it out into the

channel. The current caught it and bore it on, slowly

rotating, until Jon managed to steady it by poling. She

was on her way!

The novelty of it palled soon enough. All she had to

do was keep the raft in the channel where the current

was strongest, using the pole to push it away from the

banks and shallows. Every so often it snagged, but all

it took was work to free it. At this rate, she would

arrive well before the Knights! She hoped.

A wave rippled up beside the raft. It didn't look

natural. She hefted the pole, watching.

There was a great splash, and a sheet of water

drenched her. Something the size of a small colt dived

underneath the raft. The craft rocked, dipped, and

swirled.

A bearver, Jon realized. Probably just playing, but

maybe—

A shaggy red head broke the surface. The bearver

looked at her, large ears laid back, seemingly consid-

ering.

This game was not nearly as much fun for Jon as for

the animal. "Go 'way!" Jon called, splashing with the

pole.

The bearver seemed not to notice. It dived.

Jon grabbed hold of the edge of her raft just as a

loud thump sounded on the bottom, and the whole

craft lifted. The thing bowed, the logs sinking down at

the edges. "Hold, vines, hold!" Jon prayed. This was a

sturdy raft, but it wasn't constructed for this kind of

stress!

The support dropped out. The raft smacked the

water. The vines parted. Jon found herself in the

water with floating logs. She struggled, kicking out.

Then something grabbed her leg.

Now I'm finished, she thought as her head dipped

under. All her grand notions of rescuing her brother,

DRAGON'S GOLD 193

and she couldn't even get there without drowning! She

inhaled water, and then her head was above water

again, and she was choking and spitting it out.

The bearver's head broke water right beside her. It

was a cub. An infernal brat!

"Shoo! Scram!" Jon said. She didn't think it in-

tended to eat her. At least, she hoped it didn't.

The bearver blinked muddy-orange eyes. "Ooom-

pth?" it inquired.

"I don't talk bearver," Jon said. "Beat it!"

The animal paddled along beside, far more com-

fortable in the water than she was.

Jon grabbed a floating log. She was a good swim-

mer, but the water was swift. She could tire quickly

enough even if the bearver let her alone.

She had her sling tucked into the top of her panta-

loons. She slid a hand down and got it. But she didn't

have any ammunition.

"Shoo, bearver!" she cried, and smacked the crea-

ture right across the face.

The bearver looked surprised. Then it opened a

large mouth, displaying sharp yellow teeth.

What have I done? What have I done? She wished

she could undo what she had done, but of course it

was too late.

The bearver shook its head, splashed water on her

with a paw, and swam away.

Jon sighed, amazed at her luck. Apparently she had

hurt its feelings more than its body, and it had

retreated in a pique instead of advancing in a rage. A

mature one might have reacted otherwise. She

grabbed at a new log, and determined that she would

rebuild the raft if she possibly could, adding new and

stronger vines.

She was in luck. The main part of the raft remained

tangled together; not all the vines had broken. Her bag

of supplies was bobbing nearby. She clambered

aboard the remnant, got the pole, used it to snag the

bag, and then pushed for shore.

Landing the craft proved to be no problem. Repair-

194 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

ing it was more difficult. Here there were no decent

vines; she had to use the ones she had come with, and

she didn't trust them.

She sat on the shore and opened the bag, pondering

what to do. Inside she discovered really nice food:

nuts, fruits, and bread, now sodden but still good.

Heln's folks had been kinder to her than she had

known!

She finally gave up on the notion of rebuilding the

raft; she just didn't have the time to go in search of the

necessary vines. At last, regretfully, she tied the bag of

supplies to her waist, and launched out from the shore

with a floating log with a vine looped around it.

The log promptly dunked her. When she climbed

back on, it dunked her again. It wasn't nearly as easy

to stay on a single log as she had supposed!

It's a long, long way, she thought. Could she make

it? Could she make it there ever, let alone on time?

She began, not for the first time this day, to feel really

sorry for herself.

A stinging fly flew down and lit on her nose. Jon

struck at it. She missed the fly but scored on her face.

Her hand came loose from the vine she was holding,

and then she was at pains to get hold of it again.

Was it going to be this way all the way, she won-

dered? She was very much afraid that it was. Still, she

intended to get there, no matter what. She clung to the

log and let the central current carry her. This wasn't

much fun, but it was getting her in the right direction.

As it grew dark she found a sandbar, landed, ate

some more from the bag—bless the Flambeaus!

—stretched herself out, and lapsed into a fully ex-

hausted sleep.

CHAPTER 22

Tommy

JON WOKE FOR THE second morning in a row feeling

stiffer and sorer than she had ever felt before. How she

wished that the bearver hadn't broken up her raft! She

had managed to lash two logs together so that she

could lie on them and float with some efficiency, but

then the sun beat down on her back, and she had to

spend much of the time in the water anyway. She had

made, by her best estimate, adequate time, staying

constantly in the swiftest current, but it was one

wearing effort!

She crawled out from behind the log where she had

slept, stretched, yawned, and rubbed her eyes. Blearily

she walked to the nearest appleberry bush and pro-

ceeded methodically to eat her breakfast. She lacked

her brother's finesse with ripening the fruits being

plucked, but these were pretty good anyway. She was

fortunate that these bushes grew all along the river,

and even more fortunate that the bag of supplies the

Flambeaus had provided had enabled her to remain

all day in the river, not having to break to forage for

food while traveling. That was perhaps the major

reason for her moderate progress.

She discovered a few rounded stones near the

bushes. She picked them up; they were just right for

her sling. She didn't want to encounter a bearver

again without ammunition.

As she made ready for yet another siege of log-

clinging, her spirits dampened. This is turning out to

be one miserable adventure, she thought. She chewed

the last of the appleberries, relishing the taste less

than she had on the first morning. /'// never get to the

195

196 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff'

capital, and if I do, what can I do? I haven't an army.

All I've got is my sling.

She felt sorrier for herself and more discouraged

than ever before in her life. Why was she even

bothering to try to be a stupid male-type hero? She

wasn't even a male! The very notion of getting there

in time, and then being able to sneak past the guards

into the dungeon, and then get her brother out—what

had ever made her think she could manage all that?

The guardsmen would surely catch her, and discover

what she was, and she knew what they would do then.

Maybe she should admit that her mission was impos-

sible, and quit right now.

She wiped appleberry juice from her mouth and

looked across the river. And her heart made a leap like

that of a fly-snaring fish.

There was a boat. A small boat, containing one

man. The man was hunched over, rowing, and two

fishing poles stuck out of the back of the craft. As it

drew near, Jon could see the man's gray hair and

seasoned face. Soon he had pulled almost abreast of

her.

Could she somehow wangle a ride? That would be

an enormous help! Maybe she could, after all, make it

in time. Then—well, she would worry about the rest

when the time came. After all, she did know the

layout, thanks to Heln's astral visit. What had seemed

doubtful now seemed promising.

"Catching any?" she called.

The boatman paused in his rowing, tugging a large

ear with freckled spots on it. "Eh?"

He couldn't hear well, Jon realized. She should have

kept still and let him row right past. But curse it, she

hadn't seen other than bearvers and mooear for the

past two days, and she didn't know how far she had

still to go. She was anxious for information and any

help she could beg.

The boat's oarlocks squeaked as the old man re-

sumed rowing, drawing closer. He was coming in to

297

DRAGON'S GOLD

meet her. Jon waited, working out what she would

say. She stepped a little nearer to the bank.

The boat bumped shore and the old boatman raised

rheumy eyes to look at her. "Eh?" he repeated.

"I said, sir, I was wondering how far to the capital?"

"The capital's right over there, lad," he said, point-

ing a trembly hand at the opposite shore.

Jon blinked. The morning fog still hid the other

bank. It might have been possible for her to float right

by the capital and not know it!

"Uh, thanks," she said. Now she was uncertain

again, because she had decided to worry about getting

past the guards when she arrived, and here she was

already! Did she really want to risk this? Did she have

any chance, realistically?

The old man was looking at her speculatively, his

forehead furrowed and his hand on his chin. "You

wouldn't be one of the bound boys, would you?"

"Bound boy!" Jon kicked herself mentally. She had

all but forgotten both her situation and her masquer-

ade. She had indeed been sold in the Mart, and

remained technically the property of the dwarf who

had bought her, and of course the old boatman had

taken her for the boy she pretended to be. "I'm not

bound to anyone," she said, deciding it was true. Her

delivery to the Boy Mart had been illegal, so nothing

that had followed was legal, and anyway, she had been

rescued. Certainly she had never been a bound boy\

"Not with the maintenance crew, then?"

"What maintenance crew?"

"What maintenance crew? My, you are a stranger,

aren't you! The maintenance crew at the palace. The

grounds maintenance crew. Never less than a dozen

boys, cutting grass, trimming trees, repairing walks.

You say you're not one?"

"I'm not," Jon said, wondering if he was an agent

for the Queen. No, that was unlikely; the old man

could hardly row his boat, let alone recapture a bound

boy.

198 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mar^grof

"Well, if ye are, I'm not blaming you. Dirty busi-

ness, this bound boy business. Dirty business!"

"Yes, it is," Jon said. Glad you think so, oldster.' You

could be my big break!

"I've got a grandson got bound. Little skinny fel-

low. You know him? His name's Tommy. Tommy

Yokes."

Jon felt her mouth open. Tommy? Here? The boy

who had kept her secret at the Boy Mart, then

summoned the guards so as to stop her from getting

raped? She could hardly think of a person she would

rather encounter, if she needed help getting into the

dungeon undiscovered.

"I—I know him," she said.

"You do? Really?"

Jon nodded. "We went to school together after he

moved to our village. I'm—" No, better not give her

name, she realized; the old man just might recognize

it, and know her for a girl. "A friend of his."

"Ye are! Why, that's something, that is!"

"Yes, it is. It really is. Is Tommy working with the

maintenance crew?"

"He is. Has to. You see, he has no choice."

"I know. Once a boy's been sold into slavery—I

mean, legally bound—"

"Ye had it right the first time, lad! The way the

Queen squeezes the common workingman—"

"Could you row me across the river, Mr. Yokes? I

haven't anything to pay you with, but—"

"I can row you. But ye'd best not go. Many a greedy

hand in the capital would have you impressed, bound,

and sold. You'd be working with Tommy, then, but

you wouldn't like it much."

"I'm sure I wouldn't like it!" Jon agreed. "But

I—I've business."

"But no money?"

Jon shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Yokes. I'd pay

you if I could."

Yokes scratched an ear again. "Maybe I can lend

DRAGON'S GOLD 199

you a wee coin until you've seen Tommy from a

distance. That what you want to do?"

"That's part of it."

"Yes, I can lend you a rudna. And if one of the

guardsmen grabs you, tell him I'm your employer.

Tell him you're checking on my grandson for me."

"I'll do that!" Jon agreed.

"Well, get in the boat."

Jon got in and pushed them free of the bank. The

old man rowed. Straining her eyes, Jon could make

out the piled-box affair that was the royal palace. She

wondered if she would actually get there, and if she

did, would she see Tommy and maybe find out a little

more about Kelvin? It had now been three days since

Hein had checked, and anything could have hap-

pened. Her brother might even have been moved to

some other prison. At the moment she just couldn't be

sure of anything. That was part of what made it such

nervous business.

"Well, here we are," the old man called as their boat

bumped the opposite shore.

Jon scrambled to get out. "Thanks, Mr. Yokes,

and—"

"Here. Here's the rudna. Now, you be sure and look

me up and tell me you've seen Tommy."

"I will, Mr. Yokes." The grandfather was as decent

a man as the grandson!

"I'll be fishing all day. I fish all day every day. But

I've a house over there. Just a shack, with a couple

goeep staked out front. If you need a place to stay, you

can stay with me and fish."

"Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Yokes. I've a

brother—"

"Oh, then you're not alone in the world."

"No. Not quite."

"You're lucky, then. But if you need help keeping

out of the Boy Mart, come to me. I'll help any young

fellow I can."

"Thank you. Thank you," Jon repeated. She had

200 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroj/f

never felt more grateful to anyone, or more guilty.

This old man was giving her trust and help, and she

was deceiving him about her nature and her mis-

sion. Yet, if he knew either, would he let her go into

that danger? She couldn't risk it. She took the

rudna, pocketed it, and prepared to climb out of the

boat.

"One thing more," the old man said. "This being so

early, the grounds maintenance crew will be at their

camp back of the orchard. That's along the palace

wall and then right. Just follow that big wall, but keep

away from guardsmen and anyone else you see. Some

of those fellows are real eager to 'press; they get a

bonus for anything they bring in, you know."

"I'll remember," Jon said. She hardly needed that

particular warning! She wondered whether her green-

briar pantaloons and brownberry shirt would identify

her as from the country. Well, it was way too late to

change.

She climbed out, bending over to hold on to the rim

of the boat while she stepped to shore.

"Hold on, that won't do at all," the man said. "Not

at all."

"What?" she asked, pausing with one foot out and

one in.

"Got to patch up that tear in your shirt, or the

whole world'll know."

Jon looked down. Indeed, her shirt was torn, and at

the moment, the tear was gaping open, showing her

bosom quite clearly. She had never worn an undergar-

ment in that region, considering it unmasculine.

"Oops." The material must have snagged on a sharp

branch when she got dunked, because no normal

stress would damage the tough fabric.

"I have needle and thread," he said. "I patch my

own, you know, these days." He fumbled in a small

chest, and brought them out.

Jon climbed back into the boat. It occurred to her

that the man didn't seem surprised. "You knew?"

"I'm halfway deaf, but I'm not blind, child. I raised

DRAGON'S GOLD 201

a son and a daughter, and I still know the difference

atween them. You were doing such a good job of being

a boy, I figured you might pass if you wanted to, so I

let it be. I know a girl wouldn't dare go where you're

going. But that tear's worse'n I thought. Here, I'll get

it."

Jon sat still in the boat while he worked on her

front, carefully sewing the tear closed. It wasn't the

neatest job, but it was adequate, and it made it

impossible to see through to her body. Though his

hands had to brush her front frequently to complete

the job, he took no liberties; he was just making sure

the job was done right. He was like his grandson in

this respect too: he could keep a secret, and offered

help only when it was warranted.

"I—I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Yokes,"

she said as he finished and knotted and broke off the

thread.

"Just make sure nobody else catches on," he said.

"You're playing a dangerous game, girl."

She stood, leaned forward, and kissed him on his

weathered cheek. Then, quickly, she stepped out.

"And she said she didn't know how to thank me,"

the old man muttered as she shoved his boat out into

deeper water. He touched his cheek, then grabbed the

oars. Jon had to smile.

Following the wall as the old man had instructed,

she soon came to a squalid series of tents. Hem had

not described these, which meant that they must have

been set up in the last two or three days. Probably the

boys pitched their tents in whatever section of the

palace grounds they had to work on that day. As she

looked out from behind a tree, she saw a large boy

belaboring another with a stick.

"You going to work today, Tommy Yokes? Or are

you going to hang back again and pretend you're

sick?"

"I'll work," Tommy said, cringing back from the

stick. "I know you're the foreman, Bustskin, but I

can't work when I'm sick."

202

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

DRAGON'S GOLD

203

"You can try," Bustskin said, and poked his stick in

the thinner boy's stomach.

Then the big boy turned—and saw Jon.

Suddenly Jon felt enraged. After all she had been

through, after facing a bearver at very close range,

Bustskin held little terror for her. She knew he would

recognize her in a moment, and she knew what he

would do then. She had a vision of Hein, huddled in

her cell, the victim of rape. That enraged her further.

What right did any male have to—

Bustskin's mouth opened. Tommy, spying her him-

self, reached for him, as if to stop him from going

after her. Bustskin swung his fist backhanded, not

even looking, and smacked him hard on the chest.

Then Jon's sling was in her hand, and she was

putting a stone in it, and her arm was swinging

forward, seemingly all in the same motion. Bustskin

was wide open, because of his strike at Tommy.

The rock flung true. It struck Bustskin in the

stomach, hurled with all the force Jon could muster.

He doubled over, dropping the stick and clutching

himself in surprise and pain.

"Get him!" Jon said, starting forward herself. She

knew that if Bustskin got away, or even got a chance

to yell, her effort would be all over.

The younger boy leaped on Bustskin's back and

bore him to the ground. Tommy began pummeling

him, as Bustskin tried futilely to defend himself. Jon

picked up the stick, ready to knock the big boy on the

head. But now Tommy seemed to require little help.

He was raining blows on Bustskin, smashing into his

chest, neck, and face.

"Stop! Stop!" Jon cried. "He's unconscious!"

"I want him that way!" Tommy gasped. "I want

him never to wake up!"

Such fury! Now that Tommy had a chance to get

even, he was almost uncontrollable. But she had a

more important task than beating up the bully.

"We have to tie him up and get him out of sight."

"Why? A lot of kids'll be glad he got what's been

coming to him!"

"And a lot of guardsmen won't! I want to take his

place."

^What?" He was dumbfounded.

"So that I can go with you through the palace gate

onto the palace grounds, and get inside the building.

So that I can rescue my brother from whatever

dungeon he's in."

Tommy looked at her, freshly amazed. "You're

crazy! The guardsmen will kill you!"

"Not," Jon said evenly, "if I have your help Do I

have your help?"

Tommy grinned sickly. He looked at his enemy on

the ground. "You've got more than that," he said.

You have my friendship—right up until a guards-

man takes your life, and mine. Because once they find

out what we've done here—"

That, Jon thought, feeling the chill of what she had

gotten into, could be all too soon. But she shrugged it

off. "Your grandfather sends his greeting," she said as

they got to work tying and hauling Bustskin "I

promised to tell him how you're doing, but now I

think I'd better deliver you personally to him. There'll

be no life for you here, after this."

"That's for sure!" he agreed.

DRAGON'S GOLD 205

CHAPTER 23

Kian

THE FIRST THING KELVIN was aware of was the smell:

stale and musty. Then he heard the drip, drip, drip of

moisture. His mouth tasted bad and his head ached.

He placed a hand on the back of his skull and felt a

lump, but he did not remember being hit. Slowly,

hating the necessity, he opened his eyes.

Rock walls. Chains. Two faces, bearded and dirty,

looking down at him. He felt around and discovered

he was lying on straw. High overhead a barred win-

dow let in a little light that illuminated only this end

of the cell.

"Welcome to the Queen's dungeon, lad," the man

with the grayer beard said.

His gauntlet was gone, Kelvin discovered. That

other fellow probably had the pair, assuming the two

gloves hadn't destroyed each other.

"I'm the former King of this land," said the gray-

beard. "Not that it makes any difference now. Who,

lad, might you be?"

Kelvin took a deep breath. So this was the rightful

King of this land—King Rufurt! Somehow he had the

impression that the King already knew Kelvin's iden-

tity.

And the other man—Kelvin's head whirled when

he looked at him. The man's eyes were as blue as his

own. That was what had caught his attention about

his enemy, the one wearing the right-hand magic

gauntlet. The enemy's eyes had been dark and blue,

too.

And—this man had round ears!

"Recognize me, Kelvin?" the man asked in a husky

voice. His voice seemed to choke as he said it.

204

"F-father?" Kelvin gasped.

Then, suddenly, he and his father were hugging

each other. "I thought you were dead!" Kelvin said.

"It's a long story," John Knight said. "A long, long

story. But we have plenty of time. Tell me how you

come to be here. All we know is that you've been

unconscious from the drug for two days; we were

concerned that you would suffer amnesia or some-

thing."

Kelvin did not have amnesia. He told them every-

thing. It took some time.

His father listened to all his adventures without

comment. He did flinch when told of his wife's

remarriage, but relaxed when reassured that Hal

Hackleberry was a good man who'had taken excellent

care of all members of the family. He swore briefly

and colorfully when told of Cheeky Jack's stealing the

gold and kidnaping Jon. He was skeptical about the

magic gauntlet at first, but then seemed to accept it.

He was interested to leam of Hein, the female round-

ear. The forming of the Knights of the Roundear, and

the subsequent battles, fascinated him.

John Knight asked many questions when Kelvin

was done. Kelvin answered patiently. Finally his

father began to talk himself, and then it was Kelvin's

turn to be fascinated.

"Son, I've long hoped to talk to you this way, but I

thought it unlikely that the chance would ever come.

It's high time! You see, I was bom in another—I

suppose you could call it another existence. Things

are different there. Not better, necessarily, just differ-

ent. Many of the things that are here regarded as

make-believe are normal there. Flying machines,

horseless carriages, talking boxes, moving pictures,

thinking machines, nuclear bombs. Fantasy here, but

reality there. And in my world much of what is taken

for granted here is regarded as fantasy. Magicians,

prophecies, magic gauntlets, astral separation—I

never believed in these things until too late. I suppose

there's a leakage between the universes, somehow, so

206 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayrof

that the visions, if not the reality, cross over. People

in this world imagine horseless carriages, while people

in my original world imagine magic gauntlets."

The man paused, rubbing his eyes. "It is better in

my world in some ways; many of us have conveni-

ences that you can only dream about, literally. But it

is also worse in some ways. We have pollution, crime,

inflation—these become complex to explain, but they

are nevertheless pervasive evils. So when I came here,

I thought this world a paradise. It seemed so peaceful,

so safe from such things as bombs—"

Kelvin could keep silent no longer. "How did you

get here?" he asked. "To this world. Zatanas claims he

brought the roundears here—"

"Zatanas! That old fraud? He had nothing to do

with it! He just pretends he did, so that others will

think him more powerful than he is. He's strictly a

magic man, not an alternate-worlds man."

"I thought as much," Kelvin said. "But if it wasn't

him, then—"

"How?" His father seemed to look backward into

time, sorting it all out behind his suddenly closed

eyelids. "They called it a 'clean atomic artillery

shell,'" he said. "They said we were in no danger. Just

testing, as they'd tested other weapons on other

human sacrifices. We were soldiers, but not one of us

wanted to be there, any more than the boys and girls

sold at the Marts want to be there. I was a platoon

leader. There were twelve men in my squad, counting

Mary Limbeck and Jeanne Donovan. The girls were

the only ones who tried to pretend it was a lark. The

shells were supposed to whiz overhead, but one of

them didn't. I saw it coming in, yelled 'Hit the dirt!'

and then ... I suppose the other squad escaped, but

us, we were right under. Somehow, someway, we

ended up—"

"In Rud?" Kelvin asked excitedly. Now at last he

was getting answers to questions he had had all his

life, and he could hardly contain himself. The miser-

DRAGON'S GOLD 207

ies of his bruised head and body, and his confinement

in this dungeon, were for the moment forgotten.

"In Throod. At the lip of what you call The Flaw

—that big, incredible tear right through the center

of... existence. Anyway, we were there, wearing

combat equipment. All twelve of us. We had on our

uniforms. We each had a laser pistol and hand gre-

nades. Four of us had jet-propulsion backpacks. None

of us had radiation sickness, though at first we

feared—"

"Radiation sickness?"

"Forget it. Or think of it as a hostile type of magic

that causes people to bleed from unbroken skin and

waste away and die, with no cure. Just let me tell you

that we were all right. All right! That was our miracle,

perhaps our first taste of magic. We set about living,

and we found that we were in the one land where

mercenaries were commonly recruited. We heard of

some fighting in Rud. The two women, wouldn't you

know, married locals and settled in Throod—"

"Heln's mother!" Kelvin exclaimed.

"I don't think so," John Knight said. "Every one of

their children I know of had pointed ears. Round ears

seems to be a patrilineal trait, here."

"But—"

"What was her mother's name?"

"Helen."

He nodded. "I may have an alternative explanation

for you, in a moment. To continue: we brave ten men

were out to get our fortunes."

"Fortune came a-callin'," Kelvin said.

"Right! Fortune came a-calling, and only the

women hid—we thought. We ten went to Rud and to

Rud's contemptible would-be Queen. Queen Zoanna,

she calls herself, and I can well believe her father is

the legendary sorcerer. She bewitched us, I tell you.

Every one of us, but especially me."

"What did you do. Father?" Kelvin was breathless.

"What did I do? What weak men have ever done

208 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 209

when confronted with the likes of her. She convinced

me that the King here"—he jerked a finger at Rufurt

—"was dead. I didn't know different. I fought for her,

with my nine men. She got her kingdom and four of

the men got their deaths, pierced by arrows or spears

or lances. The six of us roundears who survived the

campaign thought we'd lead rich and idle lives."

He shook his head. "Ha! We were fools. She dis-

trusted us too much. She was devilishly clever in the

manner she first divided us, then eliminated us. Me,

she married; the others she imprisoned one by one. I,

befuddled by her wiles, didn't catch on until it was too

late, and I realized that I alone remained free—and I

was in fact captive in the palace. I tried to leave, and

could not. Then I knew what I should have known at

the outset. I stormed at her, threatened to kill her. But

I was a fool even then, for she had deprived me of my

weapons. Before I knew it, guards had hold of me and

were dragging me to the dungeon on her orders."

"But the Queen—" Kelvin started.

"The Queen. Yes, the Queen. She took a new

consort, the first of a long line of them. She never

made the mistake of choosing a strong-willed one

again; each was a marvel ofspinelessness. The latest is

a jellyfish by the name of Peter Flick, a coward and a

sniveler of the worst sort. Perhaps that's why she fell

under the spell other father, who claims responsibili-

ty for our being here. He was the only strong man

remaining in her life. He gave her advice, and she

killed—I call it murder, but she called it execution

—my remaining men, one by one. You see, she still

wanted something from me, and each time she asked

for my cooperation and I told her to go to hell, she

killed one of my men, and made sure I knew it.

Finally, to save the last of the five, I agreed to do part

of what she asked. It wasn't totally against my will, I

confess. In that manner I bought his freedom; she

swore to me that she would let him go, let him out of

Rud unharmed, and I think she honored that. I never

knew what happened to him after that, though I think

I can guess now."

"I don't understand! What did you agree to do, and

why do you think the Queen honored the agreement?"

"The two are linked, Kelvin. The Queen keeps me

alive because she—we—have a son. It's not that she

has any particular affection or loyalty to either of us,

but her magician father advises her to maintain us

both in health. Again, I never knew why—until I

heard your story. The favor she wanted was for me to

train our son in the way of roundear magic, as she

puts it, and I think she honored her agreement to free

my last man because she was afraid that if she didn't,

and I found out, I would take it out on the boy. So she

offered a life for a life—my man's life against our

son's life. I did train our boy, and I did not try to turn

him against his mother. I kept my part of the bargain,

and now I am glad I did, because I see that she kept

hers."

"But how can you know that?"

"Your roundear girlfriend—who do you think was

her natural father?"

"Hein!" Kelvin exclaimed. "She—had a roundear

mother, who had to give her up, and—"

But John Knight was shaking his head. "My surviv-

ing man was nicknamed St. Helens, after a volcano,

because his temper—well, that's irrelevant."

"Helens?" There was the name, all right! "But—"

"Think it through, son. If you married a pointear

and wanted to protect her from possible malice by the

Queen, what would you do?"

Then it came to him. "They put out the story that it

was the woman who was the roundear! So that the

Queen's guards would not realize that the man had'a

child, or where he was—"

"And when things got too hot anyway, then he just

disappeared, drawing away the pursuit—"

"And Heln's pointear mother remarried—just as

my mother did! And Hein herself never knew—"

210 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"That's the way it goes," John Knight agreed.

"Surely St. Helens knew that his daughter would be

safer in a point-eared family, and that her mother

would take care of her, just as I knew that your

mother would do the right thing. Surely it was painful

for him, as it was for me, but necessary."

"Yes, Mr. Flambeau is a fine man," Kelvin agreed.

"He protected her, but when the taxes got too bad, she

volunteered to go to the Mart—and I guess I'm glad

she did, even though she got—"

"There are aspects of the life of the good folk of

Rud that none of us like," John Knight said gravely.

"That's why the prophecy is so important, about

the overthrow of the tyranny. I never believed that

prophecy, but now I think I do. If you really are the

one—"

"But you—how did you get free to—?"

"To sire you and Jon? Kelvin, I escaped once. My

other son helped me, though I didn't ask him to.

Apparently even the Queen could not eradicate all

decency from him. He was only three at the time, but

he managed to distract a guard so that my cell gate

didn't get properly locked, and 'accidentally' let me

get out. I'm proud to say that I destroyed every

weapon that remained from my own world, with the

exception of one flying unit, which I couldn't find but

know the Queen has hidden away somewhere. And a

few grenades and laser pistols. Your mother was

—now, there is a real queen! She knew where I had

come from, what I had been doing, and accepted me

anyway. She was—is—the most beautiful woman I

know, outside and inside. There, on that land with

her, and with you and Jon, that was really paradise.

But it couldn't last. I knew it couldn't. I heard of the

spies coming, and I left you and my only true wife,

and I took with me the grenades and the pistols. I used

those weapons to defend myself. I left fragments of

guardsmen, and suspect that those were found and

identified as me. That's why the word went out that I

was dead. Well, long life to Charlain! She deserves

DRAGON'S GOLD 211

better than an otherworld roundear!" He paused,

wiping his eyes.

Kelvin considered what he had learned. Now at last

he knew the full story of his father's origin, and his

own! But there was one other matter. He took a deep

breath. "About your son—yours and the Queen's."

"Kian. Yes, fine boy, Kian. Or he could be. You met

him under unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps when

he visits you—"

"Visits me?" Kelvin could not conceal his surprise.

"Here, in this dungeon?"

"Turn around and look," his father advised.

Kelvin fumed, startled. There stood his opponent

of the battlefield, the one he had fought gauntlet-to-

gauntlet. Kian, blue eyes, blond hair, a light blond

mustache, and round ears. Four years older than

Kelvin himself. How had he failed to recognize him

immediately as his half brother? Because he hadn't

known he had a half brother!

Kian was now wearing the gauntlets as a pair. Did

they work as well for him? If they did, he must be

truly invincible, immune to anything short of a pro-

jectile. No swordsman alive could fight as well as

those gauntlets could!

"Kelvin, brother," Kian said. His voice, too, was a

little high-pitched, much like Kelvin's own.

Kelvin stood up from the bed of straw that served

as furniture. He felt woozy, and his head hurt, but in a

moment he steadied. "We are brothers," he agreed.

No use denying it, and he really couldn't bear Kian a

grudge.

"I'm glad you were not killed," Kian said. "You

could never be my brother, dead, or my friend."

"Yes," Kelvin said. Was Kian as lonely as he, deep

inside?

"You know about the prophecy," Kian said. "It

refers to me. I'm to rid the land of Rud of a sore: your

band of Knights, Kelvin. Now that the confusion

engendered by the separation of the gauntlets has

been abated."

212 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayroff'

Kelvin choked back an exclamation of astonish-

ment. That was one enormously interesting interpre-

tation! What would his mother Chariain have made of

it? What had John Knight and King Rufurt made of

it?

"We both have round ears, Kelvin," Kian contin-

ued. "My mother, the Queen, explained it to me."

Kelvin looked at his father, and his father shrugged.

Then, seemingly taking pity on him, John Knight

spoke.

"If prophecy isn't all nonsense, he could be right,

Kelvin. But of course it could refer to you, too, or to

Hein Flambeau. Who knows, where prophecy is con-

cerned?"

"I did defeat you in battle," Kian said.

"No, you didn't!" Kelvin said hotly. "I fought you

to a standstill!"

"He's got you there, Kian," their father said. "I

think it has to be called a draw."

"Without the gauntlet you were wearing—" Kian

started.

"And without the one you were wearing—"

Both broke off, and Kelvin had half an impulse to

laugh. If the situation had not been so serious—

"You see, Kelvin," their father said, "Peter Flick

has been after Zoanna to get Kian trained to the

jet-propulsion backpack unit and the laser pistols

—all the otherworld weapons left. I trained him in the

background of our world, its philosophies and politics

and technology, so he understands the principles, but

not the specifics. He knows enough to know that if he

tries to use that jet unit he's likely to break it or get

himself killed in an accident, and of course he doesn't

know how to charge the pistols. So my input remains

necessary; that was one safeguard I kept. Kian's

loyalty is to his mother, and he thinks he can't have it

for an alien creature such as me. Right, Kian?"

Kian shook his head. "No. I would be loyal to you,

Father, were you not the sworn enemy of my mother."

John Knight tdrned away, and Kelvin realized that

DRAGON'S GOLD 213

he had hoped for a more positive answer. He had

challenged Kian to agree that his own father was an

alien creature unworthy of loyalty, or to disagree and

to change sides; instead Kian had steered a careful

course between the extremes. Kelvin had to respect

that.

But Kian's face was stricken for a moment. Kelvin

realized that Kian wished he did not have to choose

between his father and his mother, and felt bad about

doing it. Kian was free, and in the Queen's favor, but

his course was not easy.

"We may be on different sides," Kelvin said, "but

we're still brothers."

Kian flashed him a look of gratitude, then covered

that, too. Obviously he could not afford much emo-

tional attachment to the enemies of his mother,

whatever his private inclinations might be.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" a new voice came. A man

virtually pranced in, like a high-spirited pony. He

came to stand beside Kian, his right hand on his

sword. "The roundears united. Unnatural father and

two unnatural sons."

"You scum!" John Knight exclaimed. He was sud-

denly at the bars, reaching through them like an

enraged animal.

"What are you doing here, Peter Flick?" Kian

inquired coldly. "Did my mother get tired of spank-

ing your fanny and dump you in the dungeon with

your betters?"

Kelvin saw the expression of wild fury pass from

the face of his father to the face of the Queen's consort

without losing anything in transition. A backhand

across the face could not have been more effective.

Flick's right hand went for his sword—but Kian's left

hand shot out to intercept it halfway there. The

gauntlet must have squeezed cruelly, for Flick

clenched his teeth.

"One day you will go too far, alien spawn!" Flick

gritted.

"I doubt you'll ever see it, rear-kisser," Kian re-

214 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayrojf

torted. "Now state your foolish business and get out;

you're making the cell stink." He released the man's

wrist and turned his back.

Kelvin couldn't help himself; he was getting to like

his half brother. Naturally Kian didn't like the man

who was taking his father's place in the Queen's

bedroom, and because Kian was of the Queen's own

flesh, he had immunity to the threats of the other. So

he really wasn't being brave. But he had a very pretty

turn of the phrase.

"I'm here to lay out the facts," Flick said. "Either

you, John, cooperate in teaching Kian to use the

magic flying harness and the magic lightning-makers,

or your Rud brat here will pay. Neither Zoanna nor I

have love for that one—Zoanna least of all. I remind

you that the torturer's coals are hot. The chains are

oiled. The spikes are very sharp. Finally, should all

that fail, there is her dear old father and the use he has

for youthful blood. For the boy's sake, you had really

better cooperate."

Kelvin looked at his father and felt great fear.

Would this man whom he hardly knew help his enemy

in order to save him? Would John Knight let him be

tortured? And what was that about the magician and

his need for blood?

"You disgust me, you dragon dropping," Kian said,

flashing a look of pure ire at Flick. "That is my

brother you're threatening with torture!"

"Then you'd better help convince your father to

cooperate," Flick said with satisfied malice. "You are

the one who will benefit, you know."

"How can you trust me?" John asked. He seemed

genuinely curious.

"Why, the usual way, of course. There will be

expert crossbowmen watching. And of course you

won't be allowed to touch the otherworld artifacts.

You will stand back and direct Kian with your voice.

And you will direct correctly, or—" He looked at

Kelvin significantly.

Kelvin wondered if he could stand torture. He

DRAGON'S GOLD

215

doubted it. The very thought made him ill. Looking at

his father's clenched fist, seeing how much it was

costing him, he still wished him to agree

"All right!" John said. "All right! Tell her I'll do

what she wants, but to keep her father out of it."

"Agreed," Peter Flick said, smirking. He danced on

out.

"I want you to know I had no part of this ugly

ploy," Kian said, his gauntleted fists clenching.

"I know it, son," John Knight said.

Kian turned abruptly and strode from the dungeon

Kelvin knew this was not anger but his effort to

conceal his flush of pleasure at the term their father

had used. Kian might hate Flick and the Queen's

methods, but he was on the Queen's side, and had to

maintain his composure.

DRAGON'S GOLD

227

CHAPTER 24

Irony

HELN COULDN'T STAND THE suspense any longer. It was

now the fourth day since Jon's departure; had she

made it in time? Were the Knights attacking as they

had planned? And, most important, what about Kel-

vin? Was he still in the dungeon with the two older

men, or had something worse happened to him? She

had to know, even if she couldn't do anything about

any of it!

She had explained to her folks about the dragon-

berries, and how they had helped the Knights fight.

Her mother was concerned, but agreed that if the

berries had worked several times before, they should

be safe enough to try again. She promised not to panic

when Hein seemed to go into a coma or even to die.

She understood about youth and love. "After all, I

loved your roundear father," she said gently. "I was

grief-stricken when he had to go."

"What?" Hein asked, thinking she had misheard.

"It is time for you to know, dear. You were not

completely adopted. Your father, not your mother,

was the roundear. I always was your mother. I did not

want to burden you with this knowledge before, but

now that you have found a roundear of your own—"

"But why7' Hein asked. She had no memory of the

one she had been told was her original mother. Now,

abruptly, she had learned that the parent she thought

adoptive was genuine, while the one she thought

genuine was adoptive. Her mother, not her father, was

natural. She had never suspected!

"The Queen's guardsmen were searching for a

grown roundear man," she said. "I believe now, from

what you have told me, that it was your friend

216

Kelvin's father. But they would have killed any

roundear man they found. It was just too risky for my

husband to stay; too many people knew him, knew he

was of foreign origin. So I moved with you to Rud,

where they would never expect the family of a round-

ear to go, and he went the opposite way. I never heard

from him again, and fear he is dead. But if they had

caught him with us, they would have killed us too, just

to be sure. Your father saved us by deserting us, just as

Kelvin's father did. I remarried for the same reason

Kelvin's mother did: to complete the concealment.

We hid your ears, and I married Frond Flambeau, and

that is the way it has been ever since. I'm afraid I

rather threw myself at him; he was a good man, but

plain, a widower, and it seemed to me he would be a

decent provider. So I promised him everything he

might wish in a woman, if he would keep the secret

and treat you as his own. He agreed, and he did that,

and I don't regret my decision, though I never really

loved him. He even protected me by claiming that he

was your natural father, from an affair with a round-

ear woman, so that no one would suspect you were the

child of a hunted man."

"You—you made yourself a plaything of a man you

didn't love—just to protect me?" Hein asked, horri-

fied.

"For myself, too, dear," her mother said. "I needed

the security. This land is not necessarily kind to a

woman without protection. I never deceived Frond

about my motives, and as it turned out, he needed a

woman to manage the farm, and I think perhaps I was

a more attractive woman than he might otherwise

have had. Not all marriages are made in paradise, but

they can work well enough when their basic aspects

are understood. If you marry another roundear, you

may face similar realities."

Hein thought about her ravishment at the Girl

Mart. She had not told her mother of that aspect of

her experience, but perhaps she suspected. Sometimes

desperate measures were required to keep body and

218 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

sanity together. Hein had pretty much thrown herself

at Kelvin similarly, wanting a man who would under-

stand about her ears and who would not try to do to

her what the guards had. How could she blame her

mother for choosing rationally and doing what was

necessary to secure her situation? Frond Flambeau

was a good man, just as Hal Hackleberry was, and it

seemed that in each case attractive women had used

them for their own purposes but rewarded them too.

Hein knew that Frond Flambeau had loved her moth-

er deeply from the outset, and had taken excellent

care of Hein herself in order to be sure that her

mother would never wish to leave him. It had been no

choice of his to send her to the Mart! But Hein, feeling

guilty for the extra burden her existence placed on

him and the family, had insisted, and had paid a

worse price than she ever expected, and received a

better reward than she had dreamed of, in encounter-

ing Jon and Kelvin.

"I think I am ready for those realities," Hein said.

"I always believed Frond was my father, and I see no

reason to change my opinion now."

"I am pleased to hear you say that," her mother

said. Her words were mild, but there were tears

streaming down her face.

Then Hein took a dragonberry, and sank into her

sleep of astral separation.

Soon she drew free other body, and saw her mother

sitting nervously beside that body, trusting that what

Hein had told her was true, but nevertheless afraid of

her seeming death. She was sorry her mother had to

suffer this concern, but there was no other way.

She willed herself to the capital, and to the dungeon

where she had found Kelvin before. She was horrified

when she found the cell empty; where had they taken

him? But a quick search located Kelvin and an older

man: they were going up a dark, hidden flight of stairs.

They were escaping!

But would they succeed in getting out of the palace

and off the grounds? Hein moved about some more,

DRAGON'S GOLD 219

scouting the vicinity. She found few guards; they

seemed to have been sent elsewhere.

She lifted up above the palace—and froze in hor-

ror. She saw dragons—many, many dragons, huge

and ugly, converging on the grounds. And beyond

them she spied the Knights ofMorvin Crumb's force;

the Queen was evidently sending the dragons against

them! That would be disaster!

Yet she could do nothing except hope that the

Knights would realize their danger in time, and flee.

Where was Jon? Hein zeroed in on her essence, and

found her in a field near the palace. She was with a

boy Hein recognized: one who had been sold that day

at the Mart. And with several others, marching in

together. They were heading in toward the palace

—and toward the dragons.

Finally Hein saw the strangest sight of all: a man

flying through the air! She knew that was impossible,

but there he was doing it! He was flying toward Jon.

What would happen when they met?

Then Heln's time was up, and she was drawn

rapidly back into her body. She had seen much, but

she understood little of it, and she still didn't know

what would happen. But with all those dragons ram-

paging, she very much feared the worst. She hoped

that Jon would succeed in helping Kelvin, and not in

getting herself chewed up by a dragon. What an irony,

to have Jon getting so close, only to be walking into so

many unexpected dangers!

Tommy fitted her out in a pair of bound-boy

coveralls and a large floppy straw hat. On the back of

the coveralls were the letters BB. The clothing smelled

of sweat from the boy who had worn it previously, but

fit as well as any was likely to. She was getting entirely

too broad across the hips! She pretended that Tommy

wasn't trying not to stare, feeling perversely flattered.

If she managed to get through this mission alive, she

might have more to say to him. Tommy was a nice

boy, and he had helped her a lot.

220 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

Jon stretched her legs and arms. Snug only around

the rear, and fortunately loose around the chest.

Reasonably comfortable.

"I'll want to get in with my sling and some rocks,"

she said.

Tommy shook his head. "You think you can defeat

guardsmen?"

"I can avoid them," Jon said, wishing she were

more confident. "The sling and the rocks are for

getting my brother out."

"You think you'll just knock a few guards out and

then unlock a door? Assuming you can find a door?"

"I can find a door." She remembered the layout

Hein had described well enough; that was not her

problem.

Jon checked over the river rocks in the bucket

Tommy had brought her. A couple she discarded, but

most were of the right weight and size.

"I think," Jon said, "that if I carry the rocks and

sling in the bucket and you push the wheelbarrow

ahead of me and everyone else just goes in as

usual—"

"The guards will notice you."

"You said that new bound boys come and go all the

time."

"Yes, but the gate guards probably know when new

boys are with us."

"Just let Jerry," she said, referring to the boy whose

clothes she wore, "stay here and—"

"We'd be one short. They count, I'm sure."

Jon pondered. To be so close, and yet to be kept

from entering! "Bustskin has to lead us," she said.

"He does if we're to get through the gate. The

guards know him already. He struts."

"Hmmm. Leave Jerry here, and have Bustskin lead

as usual."

"Can't be done."

"Why not?"

"He won't cooperate."

DRAGON'S GOLD 221

"We'll make him," Jon said.

"How?"

Jon looked at Bustskin's hard, somewhat battered

face. Even if the boy would lead, the bruises and black

eye might make the guards suspicious. If the guards

questioned them, that meant she would be caught,

and she didn't care to be caught. Not at all!

"The guards," she said seriously, "will have to be

distracted."

"Take off your clothes," he suggested with a fleeting

smile.

"Not distracted that much," she said, with as brief

a return smile. She liked Tommy.

"I know. But how?"

Yes, how? How would a great hero handle this?

"Um, maybe we could start a fire."

"They'd look, but they'd look back again."

Yes, he was probably right. The shift was about to

change, and they would soon have to move. She

looked over at sullen Bustskin, and an inspiration

struck. "Bustskin will have to escape, and Jerry with

him!"

"What!" Tommy and bound Bustskin exclaimed in

unison.

"We get all lined up to go through the gate. Then

Bustskin starts running and Jerry right after him."

"I won't!" Bustskin said.

"Yes, you will," Jon said, "because there's going to

be a slip noose around your neck, and Jerry running

right behind you with the end of the rope."

"I'm not afraid of him," Bustskin said.

"And your hands will be tied."

"I'll yell," Bustskin said.

"And choke?"

"If I have to."

He probably would, she realized. The problem with

Bustskin was that he was a terrible person but no

coward.

She looked at the noose she had been making in the

222 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyroff

leather thong that had been part of the tent lashings.

There had to be a way! But if they couldn't make

Bustskin cooperate . . .

Then Jon, desperate for an answer, thought she saw

one. "Jerry will have to run and get the guards to

chase him. Bustskin will stay with us, with a knife at

his back."

"It will never work," Tommy said realistically.

"He'll yell the moment the guards are close enough to

hear."

Jon faced Bustskin. "Listen, jerk. Remember what

you tried to do to me, at the Boy Mart?"

"Yeah, and I'll do it again," he said. "The moment

I—"

"So can you guess where my knife is going to strike

first, the moment you make a peep? So that even if

you get me caught, you won't be the one to do that

thing, to me or anyone, ever again?"

Bustskin gulped.

"You doubt me?" she asked, fingering the blade of

the knife and eyeing his crotch. "You think I'll have

anything more to lose, the moment you squeal?"

"Uh—"

"Do you think it will be worth it?" she persisted.

He was silent. He knew she had a score to settle

with him, and that the main thing holding her back

was the fact that she needed his cooperation.

"I think Bustskin will cooperate," she said. "Maybe

I hope he won't. Meanwhile, I'll carry this knife low,

like this." She held the blade down flat against her

thigh. "And move it like this." She brought it up

suddenly to crotch level, the point spearing forward.

"If I don't score the first time, I'll just try again. Even

from behind, I should manage to skewer something."

She lowered the knife, then repeated her motion, this

time stabbing upward with full strength. The odd

thing was, she was absolutely serious; her memory of

what Bustskin had tried to do to her was very clear,

and it was mixed up with the memory of Hein

huddled on the floor. There was a vengeance owing!

DRAGON'S GOLD 223

"I'll do it," Bustskin said, sweating.

"You bet you will," she agreed. She turned to Jerry.

"You can do your part?"

"I—I think so," said the pale boy with smaller than

average ears. "They won't kill me. They'll just beat

me and bring me back."

"Good," Jon said. Then, looking at the sun, "We'd

better go."

Jerry walked with them as far as the gate. Bustskin

led the troupe, Jon close behind, actually touching his

rear every so often, which made him jump. Indeed,

her knife was ready!

But when they got there, the gate was wide open

and there were no guards. The sound of fighting rose

from some distance away, and with it clouds of dust

Jon now associated with a proper fight.

The battle, she thought, has begun!

With no other thought than rescuing her brother

before the dungeon guards realized what was happen-

ing and killed him, she ran through the gate, across

the lawn, and into the flower garden. She knew her

way from here; Hein had described it.

Glancing back, she saw bound boys scattering in

every direction. One, who just had to be Tommy,

hesitated for a moment and then ran with the others.

Jon heaved a sigh. Of course Tommy had to try to

save himself. But it would have been nice if he had

decided to help her first, just to get her on down into

the dungeons.

She paused. What was that? That roaring sound?

That wasn't regular battle!

A figure hung in the air, then began moving slowly

as she watched. It moved at treetop height—an

otherworld sky demon such as the Knights had talked

about.

No, no, no, she thought. They couldn't have discov-

ered her presence. They couldn't have!

The figure kept coming, heading right for her.

There was only one thing to do. She would have to

bring down the sky demon.

224 Piers Anthony and. Robert E. Margrojf

Jon hefted her sling, fitting a rock. She waited, teeth

clenched, determined not to let the sky person close.

The figure came nearer, and with it a whooshing

noise like a great wind from the nostrils of a gigantic

flying dragon. Jon was terrified, but she knew that if

this demon got her, her brother could be doomed.

CHAPTER 25

Interpretation

As SOON AS THE guards had left, taking John Knight

with them, Kelvin had set about trying to think of a

way that he and King Rufurt might escape. It was

obvious to him that his father was really powerless to

resist Queen Zoanna. Certainly that was the case

while he, Kelvin, remained hostage for his father's

cooperation.

"I think," he said to the King when they were alone,

"that we'd better act fast. Is there any decent soil

here?"

"There's manure from rats, and slops," the King

said. "But—"

"That will do. Gather a pile of it and wet it down."

"Look, young man, I may be a prisoner, but I'm still

a king! I don't do that sort of work!"

Kelvin had forgotten the man's rank for the mo-

ment. "Okay, I'll do it myself. But time is of the

essence."

"You have something in mind?"

"I have a few seeds I saved," Kelvin said, fishing

them out of his pocket. "Some of them seem to

respond better to roundears than to natives. If I can

grow something special, it might help us escape."

"Impossible," the King said. "It would take weeks

to grow anything, and there's no decent daylight

here.';

"Um, yes." Then Kelvin's questing fingers found

the shriveled husk of the flower he had plucked. It bad

lain for weeks in his pocket, forgotten. He drew it

carefully out. It was battered but intact: a desiccated

spicerose. "But maybe I can revive this."

225

226 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"You can speak to flowers?" the King asked,

amazed.

"Oh, sure. Flowers and fruits like me, I don't know

why."

"I recognize that species," the King said, excited.

"That's the shade-blooming spicerose—one of the

most prized flowers! I used to grow them in my

chambers, but they would respond to only one gar-

dener."

"Yes, that's why I saved it," Kelvin agreed. "A

mooear trampled the plant and broke the stem, so I

thought I might restore it when there was someone

who could appreciate it. But then things got compli-

cated, and I forgot."

"You can restore that rose?"

"Yes, I think so. They prefer shade, and we have

that here, so—"

"I'll get the damp manure!" the King exclaimed. He

busied himself, scraping the stuff up from the edges of

the cell, while Kelvin cradled the dry rose in his

hands, breathing on it. Already it was beginning to

revive.

The King brought a double handful of fairly foul

stuff. "Hold it there," Kelvin said. "I'll just put the

stem in, and then talk to it..."

This time the King did as he was bid without

protest. He held the manure, while Kelvin planted the

rose in it, then cupped the faded blossom with his

hands and whispered to it. "Oh, lovely spicerose,

bloom again for me, if you please," he said to it. "I

long for your rare fragrance."

"It's working!" the King exclaimed. "The petals are

filling out!"

"Yes. But it won't last; it's been dry too long."

"Careful! When the fragrance comes, a single sniff

can put you out."

"No, it doesn't affect me that way," Kelvin said. "I

like the smell, but it doesn't put me into a dream."

"The glory and penalty of being a roundear," the

DRAGON'S GOLD 227

King remarked sagely. "To have the power to restore a

rare flower, but to be unable to reap its proffered

reward."

"That seems to be the nature of heroism," Kelvin

agreed with a shrug. "If I had my choice—"

They heard the steps of the guard returning. "But a

native—" the King said.

"Yes. Pretend you want it, so he notices."

"I understand. Tell me when the rose is ready. I

don't dare smell it myself."

The guard returned to his station outside the cell.

He was bored, of course, just waiting until his shift

changed.

Kelvin nursed the rose along. The petals filled out

and pale red color came. The smell manifested.

"Ready," Kelvin murmured.

"Hey, boy," the King said abruptly. "Save some of

that for me!"

"No, it's mine!" Kelvin replied, playing the game.

"But I'm the King! I am entitled to the first sniff!"

The guard came alert. "What's that?"

"He's got a spicerose, and he won't share," the King

said indignantly.

"A spicerose!" the guard exclaimed. "I don't be-

lieve it!"

"You fool," Kelvin said. "Don't tell him\ He'll just

take it for himself!"

"You bet I will!" the guard said, spying the rose.

"Give it here!"

"But it's mine!" Kelvin protested.

"Give it here, or I'll club you on the head!" the

guard said.

With obvious regret, the King brought the handful

of manure and the rose to the bars. The guard leaned

forward and took a deep sniff of the rose. His eyes

glazed, his mouth curved into an idiotic smile, and he

fell against the bars.

"Get his keys!" the King said urgently, holding the

rose to the man's descending nose.

228 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

Kelvin reached through and grabbed the keys. Then

he unlocked the gate, stepped out, and unlooped the

rope he kept coiled beneath the waistband of his

pantaloons. Made of lightweight thistlehemp fiber, it

had gone unnoticed by his captors. He passed it

around the body of the slumped guard and tied him

securely.

"But we may need that rope," the King said, setting

manure and flower down.

Kelvin agreed. So they tied the guard again, this

time using strips torn from his own uniform. They

hurried, because the blissful sleep produced by a

spicerose lasted only a minute or two. This rose had

been good for about two sniffs; now its petals were

shriveling again. Its moment of glory was over, and

there would be no reviving it again.

"You did well, rose," Kelvin said, and it almost

seemed that the petals gave a final quiver before they

curled up in death.

"Too bad it did not have a worthier subject for its

joy," the King remarked.

"Now," Kelvin said, "maybe we can get out of

here."

"Follow me," the King said, and started running

full tilt up the stairs. The guard was stirring, but

would be unable to free himself in time to do them

any harm.

Kelvin followed, surprised at how fast the old King

could run after months, no, years, of confinement.

Perhaps all those exercises the King and his father did

each day had kept them in better condition than even

they could have hoped.

"This way," said the King, taking a branching flight

of stairs. "This leads to the secret passage I had

constructed. Even the Queen doesn't know."

The stairs took them to an apparent dead end. The

King threw his weight against what appeared to be

solid rock. At first nothing happened, but then as the

King continued to push, his groans were answered by

a louder groan. Slowly, protestingly, a heavy stone

DRAGON'S GOLD 229

door swung in. It opened, at long last, on an empty

room with dust and cobwebs and only a little light.

"But this isn't out!" Kelvin said, looking at the

dirt-encrusted windows with dismay.

The King touched his elbow. "Follow me."

This time he led the way through a door he uncov-

ered behind a worn tapestry hanging on the wall. This

passage led outside, emerging at a solid clump of

shrubbery. They had to force their way through it, and

when Kelvin looked back, there was no sign of the exit

they had used. This was a concealed escape the King

had thoughtfully provided for himself back before

Kelvin was bom. Just in case events should make it

necessary.

After a determined struggle, they stood outside in

the strong sunlight. Kelvin took a breath of fresh air,

untainted with dungeon odors, and smelled the spicy

sweet scent of appleberries and other fruit. Then, as

the song of a bird broke off in the nearby orchard, a

strange roaring noise took its place.

Kelvin's first thought was a dragon. But then he

realized what it was, even as he heard the King say,

"He's teaching him!"

So they would see Kian fly, Kelvin thought. But

should they risk it? Maybe they should just get away.

By the time the practice session was over, they could

be all the way off the palace grounds. But what would

happen to John Knight, then? They couldn't desert

him!

The roar became a whooshing sound as they sud-

denly saw Kian moving slowly across the grounds at

treetop height. He looked thrilled but scared, his

gauntleted hands clutching tightly to the harness.

Kelvin stared, hardly believing his eyes. The King,

beside him, seemed as enraptured. This was true

roundear magic!

As they watched, a small missile looped from the

garden to their left. It was headed right for Kian's

face. The gauntlets ripped the harness in their effort to

intercept the missile, and caught it, but now the

230 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

apparatus was out of control. The noise coming from

Kian's back increased to a tortured whine. He shot up

toward the palace's roof.

There was a sickening meaty smack when he struck.

Kian fell, his backpack unit smashed and smoking,

twisting and turning in the air, until he landed on the

hard cobblestones below.

Then there was silence, and a streamer of oily

smoke.

Kelvin and the King reached Kian a few steps

ahead of John Knight and his pursuing guards.

Kian looked up at Kelvin. Blood ran from the

corners of his mouth. He made a wheezing sound. He

tried to move, to sit up, but could not. His gauntleted

right hand reached Kelvin's bare hand and held it, not

squeezing.

"You're the one, Kelvin," Kian gasped. "The

prophecy refers to you, not to me. I know that now."

"Don't try to talk, Kian," Kelvin said. He knew

this was foolish; he should have run in the other

direction. He could have escaped, and now he would

be recaptured. Yet he could not desert his half brother

in this time of tragedy.

The gauntlet seemed to grow warm in his hand.

"I'm glad it's you, Kelvin," Kian gasped. "Take the

gauntlets. Take them and . . ."

The eyes, so much like Kelvin's own, took on a

glassy look. The hurt face relaxed. A sigh, ever so

gentle, escaped the thin lips.

"Kian, Kian," Kelvin said, finding his eyes wet.

"Kian, son," said John Knight. He was there on the

ground beside them, his fingers stripping off a gauntlet

and feeling the wrist.

"Is he—?"

"There's a pulse," John Knight said. "He's not gone

yet. If we can get help for him—"

From outside the palace grounds there was the

clang of swords, the neighing of horses, and the shouts

of men: the sounds of a wild battle just beyond the

garden walls.

DRAGON'S GOLD

231

_ _ _ — ^^^JJ.

"I should never have let you use that harness,

Kian," John Knight said brokenly. "They made me

show you before you were ready. She made me. Your

reactions were wrong! Those gauntlets tried to save

you, but they aren't attuned to roundear science. They

did exactly the wrong thing!" He seemed not to hear

the battle sounds.

"Now I'll have to use these myself," John Knight

said. With scarcely any comprehension, Kelvin saw

his father remove the two otherworld weapons from

short scabbards belted around Kian's waist.

What did any of this matter? The roundear magic

had come close to killing Kian, and it was uncertain

whether he would live or die. The prophecy had

turned out to be purely a matter of interpretation, not

anything to be counted on. Here they were, stuck in

the middle of the palace grounds, surrounded by the

Queen's guardsmen. What hope remained?

DRAGON'S GOLD

233

CHAPTER 26

Dragon Slayer

KELVIN RAISED HIS HEAD and saw a guardsman aiming a

crossbow at him. He had allowed himself to be

distracted far too long with Kian; now he was helpless

before the enemy. He didn't even have the gauntlet to

defend him.

He reached for the left gauntlet, the one John

Knight had removed from Kian's hand, the one

Kelvin had used before. But he knew it was too late;

already the guardsman's finger was squeezing the

trigger. He couldn't possibly don the gauntlet before

that arrow pierced him.

Perhaps, then, Kian had been right in his interpre-

tation: he,-not Kelvin, was the Roundear of Prophecy.

Because Kelvin was about to be dead, while Kian still

lived. If that was the way it was, then so be it; Kelvin

had no time for fright or anger, just for regret. Hein

would be sad .. .

A ruby beam hit the crossbowman in the chest and

went right on through him, stabbing on out the other

side. The man dropped, a smoking hole in his chest.

His shaft fired into the ground.

Dazed, Kelvin watched, his hand still reaching for

the gauntlet. What was happening?

A second guardsman started to raise his crossbow.

Another red ray appeared, transfixing him. The man

never uttered a sound as he dropped backward onto

the grass.

Kelvin saw his father lower one of the weapons he

had taken from Kian. His face was grim. Astonished,

Kelvin realized that the magic lightning weapons—or

laser pistols, as his father called them—were really as

deadly as the legends portrayed them.

232

"Come," said his father, and raced for a flight of

stairs that led to a balcony at the front of the palace.

Kelvin lurched to his feet. He looked at Kian, and

realized that his half brother's fate was out of his

hands; Kian would live or die as the prophecy de-

creed, and all Kelvin could do was leave him alone.

He would only get himself killed if he lingered here,

and the guardsmen would drag Kian to safety and

medical care soon enough.

He snatched up the left gauntlet, then tore the right

one off Kian's unresisting hand. Then he whirled and

followed John Knight, his heart beating hard, the

memory of Kian's glassy eyes and last words all too

sharp. Kian might be his enemy, technically, but he

hoped Kian lived. But Kian didn't need the gauntlets

at the moment; Kelvin did.

King Rufurt was running too, panting as he strug-

gled to keep up. Now the steps were slapping beneath

Kelvin's feet, and then there were no more steps and

the three of them were on the balcony.

Below the balcony were walks and a garden and a

beautifully cared-for lawn. Beyond the garden fence,

quite visible from here, a battle was going on. Men in

blue and gold uniforms were battling hard against

men in green pantaloons and brownberry shirts. Men

were hurting and men were dying, as were war-horses

and plow horses. The din of the battle carried clearly,

especially the cries of the wounded and dying.

His side was winning, Kelvin thought, straining his

eyes to see through the dust. He had never thought the

Knights would come here to fight, after losing the

battle at Skagmore! But maybe they hadn't lost;

maybe the tide of that battle had turned after he,

Kelvin, lost consciousness. Was that big man Mor

Crumb? It seemed to be. And with him, Les! Victory

was, after all, within their grasp!

A frightful roar shook the very walls of the palace.

Below, bright gold monsters smashed walls, trampled

men, and lifted huge snouts holding men in brown-

berry shirts impaled on swordlike teeth. Horses

234 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

neighed and screamed as tremendous clawed feet

came down.

Dragons! At least twelve! Several times as many as

any living man had ever seen! How could this be?

Kelvin heard a gasp of astonishment and horror,

and realized that it was his own. The beasts were at

the back and flank of the Knights. The Knights of the

Roundear—his men! They weren't touching the

Queen's army, just his.

That explained how the dragons had come. Zata-

nas, the Queen's evil magician father, had summoned

them, just as he had for the first battle.

He looked at the gauntlets he had taken from Kian.

Were they really invincible? How could they defeat

that many dragons? Yet the monsters had to be

stopped. They had to be, or all was lost! He drew them

both on, and they made his hands tingle with their

special animation.

Kelvin looked at his father. John Knight was adjust-

ing knobs on the otherworld weapons. He lifted one of

them, aimed it like a crossbow, and pressed a trigger.

The red beam speared out. It jumped instantly to a

dragon, whose head was lifted high, golden scales

reflecting bright in the sun. The dragon was munching

a mangled red thing that had surely been someone

Kelvin had known and joked with. Blood was oozing

down from the morsel between the sword teeth,

dripping down from the dragon's golden chin, splat-

tering across its golden breast. Dragon's gold

—drenched in blood. There was a symbol of the

Queen's rule!

But as the beam struck, the dragon's head disap-

peared in a puff of smoke and steam and dissipating

vapor, leaving only a neck attached to a body. The

body and neck settled downward as the tail lashed;

the tail had not yet realized that the monster was

dead.

"One," John Knight said.

Both Kelvin and the King simply stared. No won-

der roundear magic was legendary!

DRAGON'S GOLD 235

The man aimed his weapon again. The beam lanced

through another dragon, burning into the great body,

the scales reflecting a coruscating splay of light before

the heat penetrated to the vital heart and the creature

collapsed.

"Two." Then, in rapid succession, "Three. Four.

Five. Six."

Kelvin wanted to scream. Those beautiful, terrible

dragons! They would never have come here on their

own; they normally left men alone unless men braved

their wilderness fastness. The evil magician had used

the lizard magic Hein had described to compel them

to come, and now they were dying. One after the

other, the red beam caught their raised heads or

exposed breasts. One, larger than the others, retained

part of a ruined head with a wide hole through it

where the nostrils and eyes had been. One, caught

lower down, simply collapsed with a great smok-

ing, bubbling hole in its throat. They all were going

down!

"Seven," John counted. "Eight. Nine. That will

even the odds. Now if number ten will get into

position so I don't have to risk hitting a horse . . ."

"I wouldn't have believed it possible," King Rufurt

said. He was gasping for air, his chest still heaving

from the run up the balcony steps.

Kelvin saw the magician before the rest of them. He

appeared on the balcony with them, and his face was a

study in fury and disbelief.

"My dragons! My lovely dragons! You're frustrating

my dragons!"

John turned from the balcony edge, the offworld

weapon still in his hand. He looked surprised to see

the magician. Then, his face singularly grim, he raised

the weapon.

At the same time, Zatanas raised his arms. He made

a gesture and spoke a spell.

The red beam came from the weapon, stopped just

before reaching its target, and made a bend. The beam

went up into the sky and vanished. The magician

236 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

stood there, unharmed. From a doorway behind him

the hunchbacked dwarf emerged.

"What?" John said, amazed. He looked down at his

weapon.

Zatanas pointed a finger. John Knight froze in the

act of checking his laser pistol. He stood as still as a

statue, seemingly locked in place.

King Rufurt moved. "Your evil sorcery—" he

began.

The magician's finger moved again. King Rufurt

froze in place, his mouth still open in speech.

This was potent magic! Kelvin knew that it was

up to him to deal with the sorcerer. He raised his

arms.

Once more Zatanas' finger moved. Kelvin felt a

new tingle in all his body except his two hands,

enclosed by the gauntlets. He could not move even an

eyelid. He was off-balance, but his body did not fall.

Only the gauntlets retained the power of action. But

they held no weapon, and the magician and the dwarf

were several horse lengths away, their backs to the

balcony stairs. Despite the magic of the prophecy,

Kelvin was helpless.

Suddenly a small white object struck the magician's

pointed hat and head. Zatanas stumbled over to the

railing, eyes unfocused, reaching a hand to the back of

his skull. The pointed cap fell from his head, flipped

over the railing, and dropped.

The dwarf ran to the magician and stopped him

from falling too, bolstering him with outstretched

arms. "Master! Master! What is it, Master?"

Behind the two, Kelvin saw a small figure drop out

of sight on the stairs. Could it be? Had she come too?

Suddenly Kelvin understood why Kian had gone out

of control!

A great hissing sound came from below. A gigantic

dragon reared its golden-scaled head up over the

railing. Red eyes focused on the nearest human be-

ings. Its mouth opened, gaping awesomely, and its

long, forked tongue flicked out.

DRAGON'S GOLD 257

The dwarf screamed shrilly as the dragon's tongue

yanked servant and master over the edge.

Kelvin found that he could move now, and he saw

at a glance that his father and the King were similarly

free. The sorcerer's spell had been broken by Jon's

rock.

Without a thought for the danger of his action,

Kelvin rushed to the railing, which was still dripping

with dragon saliva, and looked down over the edge.

The dwarf's shrill scream seemed to hang in the air

long after it was uttered. Below were the mashed

hedges and fences and men, and only the tail of the

dragon as it ran around to the palace's east side.

It was John Knight who brought Kelvin's attention

back to the balcony. The man's hand was on his

shoulder, and the other hand pointed the offworid

weapon at the golden tail. But no destructive beam

emerged; it was pointless to make a strike that would

merely wound, not kill.

"Father, I—" But Kelvin faltered. Could he tell

John Knight about Jon? If the man learned about her

sling, he would know what had happened to Kian.

How would he react to that? What would he, Kelvin,

do if that dread alien weapon were to point at his little

sister?

"Damn," said his father. "A second earlier and I

could have had him! But he did us a favor, that dragon

did. Somehow he broke through the force field that

held us. I don't understand magic, but I do recognize

a force. A force field by any other name—"

"Kel! Kel! Kel!" Jon was running across the balco-

ny. The sling was in her hands. Would John Knight

see it and raise that terrible weapon now? If he did,

could Kelvin or his gauntlets stop him?

The weapon did not come up. Jon ran right past

John Knight and flung herself into Kelvin's arms.

"Kel, Kel, I knew you'd come through alive! I knew

it!"

"We haven't won yet," Kelvin reminded her.

"There's still the battle. And the dragons."

238 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyroff

"Speaking of dragons," John Knight said, still

searching for one.

"How did you get here, Jon?" Kelvin asked, hoping

to divert attention from the sling.

"The river," she said. "And a little help from some

friends afterward. Brother mine, did you see that old

magician reel when I conked him? I saved your lives,

that's what I did!"

That did it! But John Knight merely turned to her

and said, "I don't think you recognize me, just as I

didn't recognize you at first. You have grown, and I

think undergone a metamorphosis."

"A what?" Jon asked blankly.

"You were a girl when I last knew you."

She turned to Kelvin. "Who—?"

"I am John Knight," their father said. "You were

named after me."

Her mouth dropped open. "But—"

"He didn't die," Kelvin said. "He was captured by

the Queen. I found him in the dungeon."

"You were only two years old when I left," John

Knight said.

"You have round ears!" she exclaimed abruptly.

He laughed. "Yours are like your mother's."

"So you must really be my—"

A hiss like that of escaping steam put all of their

attention on the dragon peering over the balcony. The

beast was looking at them, seemingly trying to decide

which one to consume first.

"You use the laser like this, Kelvin," John Knight

said. "Sight here, the same as a crossbow, squeeze this

trigger, and—"

The bright red beam caught the dragon in its mouth

and bore on through. As the beam vanished, so did

most of the dragon's head. The rest of the beast

collapsed into a golden pile on the palace's lawn.

"You really must leam to use this," John Knight

said. "Ordinarily I'd say no, but now's the time, and if

you don't finish off dragons before they finish your

Knights, what's left for this land?"

DRAGON'S GOLD 239

Kelvin didn't know. He was astonished that his

father was carefully placing the weapon in his hands.

"There's one! Watch until its head isn't in line with

a Knight, then aim and press the trigger."

Kelvin shook, but his gauntleted hands were steady.

He raised the weapon and squinted through the

aperture, which, indeed, was not unlike a sight on a

crossbow. The gauntlets animated his hands, making

his aim confident.

He followed the dragon's head. He focused the

cross so that it was between the creature's eyes. Then,

firmly, of its own volition, his gauntlet pressed the

trigger.

The dragon's head disappeared, exactly as the oth-

ers had done.

"Good shot, Kel!" his sister exclaimed.

"You've got the warrior's eye and nerves," said his

father. "Now I want you to get any others that are

destroying your men. It's your responsibility, from

now on."

"But—"

"You three go stop the dragons. I think we've gotten

most of them, but we want to be sure. Tell the men the

fighting's over. And, son, give me your word that

when all of this is over, you'll destroy the laser. Get

rid of it, as you get rid of dragons that destroy the

people and the land."

"But the dragons don't really do that!" Kelvin

protested. "They stay in dragon country, mostly. It's

only when the evil sorcerer makes them come that

they—"

John Knight smiled. "A conservationist! You, the

dragon slayer!"

"But the dragons themselves aren't evil! They culti-

vate magic berries that—"

"I'll watch out with this other laser while you go out

front. Your men will rally round you when they see

it's you and the King. Kill any guardsmen who refuse

to surrender. Only remember, it isn't good to kill

helpless men."

240 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"I'll remember," Kelvin said. It was evident

that his natural father still didn't really believe in

magic.

CHAPTER 27

Blood Sorcery

HELN REVIVED, AND FOUND her mother waiting anx-

iously. "I saw them!" she exclaimed. "All getting

ready for battle, and Kelvin escaping, and Jon, and

dragons—"

"I'm so glad you're safe!" her mother exclaimed. "I

was so concerned—"

"But they don't know about the dragons!" Hem

cried. "Those dragons will destroy them! I must warn

them!"

Her mother shook her head. "There is no way, my

child. We are too far from the palace."

"I know, I know!" Hem said impatiently. "But if I

don't warn them, they'll die! Kelvin, and Jon, and all

the brave Knights! And if they die, I will too!"

Her mother only shook her head sympathetically.

"The astral separation!" Hem exclaimed. "That's

the only way I can reach them instantly! I've got to go

back, find some way to warn them!"

"But you said you can't speak to anyone in your

astral state!"

"I can't, but I've got to, this time! I've just got to!

Otherwise everything is over, for all of us!"

"But isn't it dangerous? You said you had to rest

between—"

"I ate three berries the first time!" Hein said,

suddenly impatient with caution. "They separated me

for longer, and it took me longer to recover, but I did

recover."

"Still—"

"Mother, I've got to help!"

Her mother spread her hands, knowing better than

to argue further. Hein took another berry, and soon

sank back into her deathlike state.

242

242 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

It was different, this time, because she had not yet

properly recovered from the prior berry. It was as if

her body was eager to give up the spirit, and the spirit

eager to be free. She seemed to leap out of herself,

finding herself spinning in the air above the house.

Then she willed herself to the capital, and she was

there, looking down on the palace grounds.

The battle was in full swing. Men in brownberry

shirts were fighting the blue and gold guardsmen, and

the Knights seemed to be having the best of it,

perhaps because of the element of surprise.

Then the dragons came, and tore into the Knights

of the Roundear. Hein screamed inaudibly as she saw

people she knew getting crunched in those terrible

J olden jaws. She had to stop it—but she was helpless.

he was only tormenting herself by watching this!

She sought Kelvin. Somehow she had to find a way

to communicate with him, to tell him—what? That

there were dragons attacking? He surely knew it

already! What could she do, even if she could talk to

him? She had been foolish to think she could make

any difference, regardless!

But she was here now, and she had about an hour to

use up. She could look around, and maybe she would

leam something useful. At least sh& would have a

better notion how the battle was going.

She found Kelvin on a balcony. He was talking with

one of the older men who had been in the dungeon

with him. As she came close, one of the men pointed

an object at a dragon. Red light appeared, and the

dragon's head puffed into smoke.

That was a weapon! A powerful roundear magic

weapon, for the man had round ears! Kelvin had

found a marvelous ally! But—round ears? Who could

that man be?

The man aimed at another dragon, and killed it.

Then, in rapid succession, several more. Hein almost

felt sorry for the monsters!

Then the Queen's sorcerer, Zatanas, appeared on

the balcony, with his dwarf henchman. He pointed at

DRAGON'S GOLD 243

Kelvin and the men, and they froze where they were.

The evil magician was overcoming them with his

magic!

Hein went into a frenzy. Stop Zatanas! she

screamed with all her being. Go there, stop him, now!

Huh? something responded.

Hein paused in mid-frenzy. Someone had heard

her! Someone had answered! She oriented on that

response, her spirit jumping instantly to that spot.

She paused, amazed. It was a dragon!

You heard me? she called to it, hardly believing.

The dragon's head whipped abou+ and its ears

perked forward, as if it were tryi- locate the

speaker. It did hear her!

Actually, it made sense. She was ^aing dragon-

berries for astral separation, and this was a dragon. If

these monsters ate the berries, and used them for

astral separation, they must have some sensitivity to

the astral state. Maybe they could communicate with

each other's spirits. So this one heard her, but because

she wasn't another dragon, it was confused.

Well, she could certainly use this discovery. "Trou-

ble by the balcony!" she cried, knowing that it was her

thought, not her voice, it heard. "Go stop Zatanas!"

She wasn't sure how much of this the dragon could

understand, but the urgency of direction and action

should be clear enough.

The dragon turned and lumbered for the balcony.

Hein jumped there ahead of it. This time she spied

Jon Hackleberry approaching the balcony. Jon saw

Zatanas, and brought out her sling, and heaved a

stone. Her aim was true, and the evil sorcerer reeled

from a strike on the head. So Jon was succeeding in

helping her brother! Maybe Heln's effort had been

unnecessary.

The dragon reared below the balcony, lifting its

golden head. Its tongue whipped out and wrapped

about the magician and the dwarf, pulling both over

the edge. It ran off with its prey as the frozen men

recovered. Maybe she had helped after all!

244 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

Now Jon ran up. There was a flurry of

introductions—and, listening, Hein suddenly real-

ized what should have been obvious before. The

grown roundear was K-el and Jon's father! The round-

ear from the other planet! No wonder he knew the

roundear magic!

The man was showing Kelvin how to use the

terrible dragon-slaying weapon. Then another dragon

appeared at the balcony; perhaps it, too, had re-

sponded to her directive to the first one. She didn't

know how broadly her thoughts were broadcast, or

how sensitive the monsters were to them.

John Knight killed the dragon with the roundear

weapon. Then he put the weapon in Kelvin's shaking

hands and told him to use it on the next dragon. It was

obvious that Kelvin was in no state to accomplish

this; he seemed to be as much afraid of the weapon as

of the dragons. Poor, dear, uncertain Kel! How she

loved him!

"Hold it steady, Kel!" she cried, knowing he could

not hear.

But something heard! She felt a quiver of response.

Then Kelvin's hands became rock-steady. When he

sighted another dragon, his aim was perfect, and he

killed it.

What had responded to her this time? It hadn't

been a dragon! Hein spread her awareness out, search-

ing. She had to know exactly what her astral self could

communicate with; it might make a big difference!

She didn't find what she wanted, but she did find a

surprise. She was at the dragon she had first brought

to the balcony—and it hadn't eaten the magician and

the dwarf! It had brought the two to a hidden spot.

Was it going to eat them now? She paused and

listened, absorbing the scene.

Queeto dropped down from the slippery tongue

and lit feet-first in a cluster of thornbushes. He

seemed hardly aware of the smart of the scratches or

of his torn tunic as he watched the sorcerer.

Casually, Zatanas was uncoiling the dragon's dark

DRAGON'S GOLD 245

purple tongue from around his own waist. He seemed

quite oblivious to the golden-scaled face overhanging

him, puffing forth moist, rancid dragon breath.

"It w-won't harm us, will it, Master?" Queeto

asked. He looked as though he had never been more

frightened.

"It won't hurt me" the sorcerer said, his voice

carrying the strong conviction of the magic-protected.

"Not my little brother."

"A spell protects us both. Master?"

"The dragon does my bidding." The sorcerer

rubbed the back of his head where a red lump was

showing. "Good thing it happened to be in the

vicinity when I got struck; I hadn't summoned it."

Hein was mortified. Her effort had helped, the evil

magician? By bringing a dragon who carried him away

to safety, when he would otherwise have been killed

by the roundears? She should have left well enough

alone!

The magician glanced about. "Let's go around to

the courtyard and the three flights of stairs to our

quarters," he said. "We've plans to make."

Plans? Hein knew she had to keep listening!

"But, Master, the dragon—"

"Ah, yes, the dragon," Zatanas agreed. He faced the

monster. "You may go to eat more Knights. But not

back to the balcony. Stay away from there."

As though it understood, the great beast drew in its

tongue. Without a backward glance it strolled off

across the grounds, knocking over statuary, crushing

ornamental plants, hedges, and whatever it chanced

to tread upon. Its great tail swished twice, and then it

was doing the wriggle-run that in its small brother the

lizard was so comical. It raced through the orchard,

knocking aside bushes and splintering trees. Then,

having reached the high wall, it stretched up, hooked

its talons at the top, and pulled itself over. It perched

there like a great, ungainly bird, then dropped out of

sight.

Queeto sighed, evidently now feeling his scratches.

246 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

A dragon was a sight to behold, and few men ever

beheld them so close and lived to speak of it. Hein was

impressed, too; Zatanas really did have power! He

was now doubly dangerous, because Kelvin and his

father thought the evil sorcerer was dead, and were no

longer on guard against him.

"Come!" the magician said.

Meekly, Queeto followed him. The dwarf licked his

lips, as though the sour taste of fear had been replaced

by the eager, peppery feel of anticipation. Nothing

seemed to be able to destroy Zatanas, or even hurt

him, not even the most powerful beast alive. Whatev-

er evil he planned was surely a horror Hein had to spy

out!

"Hurry!" Zatanas snapped. "You waddle so slow!"

They had come now into the courtyard at the back

of the palace where all the trade goods were normally

brought: the special foods and furnishings and sup-

plies.

Queeto was muttering, talking to himself as he

scurried to catch up. "From here that roundear boy

tried to fly. Dangerous, having the roundear man

teach the roundear son to do that. I knew that, I could

have told them, but the Queen wanted it for some fool

reason. I wanted to watch, but the Master had busi-

ness, bringing dragons here to once and for all devour

the Roundear and the Roundear's Knights. I could

have told them that was even more dangerous, but did

anybody want my opinion? No, nobody listens to

Queeto!"

"Get moving!" Zatanas called back irritably.

"Only something happened that Master hadn't an-

ticipated," the dwarf continued to himself, evidently

getting some satisfaction from the narration. "The

flying roundear boy fell, and the roundear man got the

roundear weapons. I could have told them that some-

thing like that would happen! That lightning-hurler

stick—look what it did to the dragons! Master had to

stop that! But then he got conked on the head by a

stone from nowhere—"

DRAGON'S GOLD 247

"Stop that muttering!" Zatanas exclaimed. "You

drive me crazy with your nothing-comments!"

Queeto shut up, and followed the sorcerer up the

three flights of stairs. By this time he was puffing too

hard to mutter anyway. But Hein had learned some

interesting things. She had seen the flying man, going

right toward Jon, but had had to return to her body

too soon. Now she knew that the man had fallen.

Knowing how apt Jon was with her sling, Hein could

piece together what had happened. Jon was making

her presence count!

The stairs at the back of the palace led up to the

sorcerer's quarters. Hein saw that three other flights

ran down from those quarters to a secret anteroom

adjoining the Queen's throne room. The sorcerer was

really set up for spying!

"Hate these stairs!" Queeto wheezed briefly as his

short legs carried him to the top. He sounded almost

like the choking breath of the dragon that had carried

them. He surely would have preferred to have the

dragon carry them all the way here, if he hadn't been

so afraid it was about to eat them!

An owlhawk greeted them with a squawk. Its huge

yellow eyes looked for food, its talons pulling at first

one and then the other leather thong that bound it to

its perch.

Zatanas went straight to a dusty old book. He

opened it, scanned its yellowed pages, then set it

aside. He took a pinch of powder, tossed it in the air,

and said, "Abidda bebop teevee a zee hop." At least,

that was what it sounded like to Hein.

Smoke puffed as yellow grains of powder settled. A

picture formed as the sorcerer held his arm out

toward it and furrowed his uncapped forehead.

In the picture were Queeto and Zatanas, as well as

the three others. It was the way things had been on the

balcony, but now the view was from a spot that took

in the balcony and part of the stairs.

On the top stair a small figure twirled a sling and

sent a stone flying at the imaged magician's head.

248 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyojf

The stone struck. The sorcerer staggered. Queeto

helped him. The dragon came. The long tongue

snaked out. It wrapped itself around the magician's

waist, then Queeto's. They went over the side of the

balcony. Hein was amazed at the accuracy of this

vision; it showed exactly what had happened! Jon was

quite recognizable as she ran up to join the others.

"Master! Master!" Queeto cried. "It's her! It's the

girl I bid upon! The virgin girl the brigands took from

me! The Roundear's sister. Master!"

"Yes," Zatanas said calmly. "I thought it might be.

The fool came to help her brother."

"Will you bleed her, Master? Will you bleed all her

blood out and skin her alive while she screams with

horror and shrieks with agony?"

The magician's hand reached down to pat the bald

spot on Queeto's head. "We will bleed them, little

brother. I will put the silver needle into the virgin's

arm, and you will catch the blood as it drips, drop by

tasty drop, into the golden um."

"Oh, Master!" Queeto said, licking his lips. "That

makes me so happy!"

It hardly made Hein happy! This was worse than

she had feared. They planned to capture Jon and take

her blood!

"And at the same time we will bleed the other,"

Zatanas continued. "Not of his blood, but of his

strength. As the sister weakens, so will the brother. So,

too, may the roundear father."

"Like the lizards and the dragons. Master?"

The clawlike hand patted his head again. "Exactly

like the lizards and the dragons, Queeto. This is the

nature of sympathetic magic, of blood sorcery. It is

the way I brought the roundears from Throod to Rud

to help my daughter secure her throne, a generation

ago. Stick-figure men, but the real ones had to follow,

because the stick figures had round ears. Only it will

not be dragon appetite the Roundear feels, but weak-

ness, and then much, much pain, until finally, at long

last, we allow him death. He cannot escape it, for it

DRAGON'S GOLD

249

will stem from his blood sibling, whom we shall

control absolutely. His gauntlets will not avail him

then, and neither will the roundear weapons."

"Oh, Master! I wish we could make it last forever!"

"We will try, little friend. We certainly will try."

Abruptly, Zatanas returned to his book and began

turning pages.

Hein, appalled, drifted from the chamber. She had

to warn Kelvin of the threat to his sister, and to

himself! But how could she? Not through the dragons,

certainly!

She returned to Kelvin. He was now on the field,

holding the roundear weapon, looking for dragons to

slay. Jon was with him, but Hein was sure that the evil

sorcerer was devising some way to abduct her. Kel-

vin's gauntlets would protect him, but Jon had no

such security. They had to be warned!

But how? Heln's time was ending; soon she would

be drawn back to her body, and she knew that it

would not be safe to take a third berry. The second

one had worked too well, sending her out too strongly;

a third might vault her out so far she would never

return. She had to do what she had to do now.

What about that response she had felt before, the

one she had been trying to identify, when she found

the dragon and Zatanas instead? It had been near

Kelvin, but it hadn't been Kelvin himself.

"Where are you?" she cried desperately. "Answer

me!"

She felt the response! It was near Kelvin again. She

jumped over to it, and found herself hovering right in

front of him, as if he were holding her with his

gauntlets.

The gauntlets . . .

"Is that you, gauntlets?" she asked. "Do you hear

me?"

She received the feeling of agreement. Was she

imagining it? It was so hard to tell! At least the

dragons could move in the direction she sent them, so

she could tell by their actions. But these gloves—

250 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"Left gauntlet, lift!" she exclaimed.

Kelvin's left arm came up, as though he were

waving. He looked startled.

She could do it! She could command the gauntlets!

It must be because she was another roundear, and

they were attuned to roundears. That was why only

roundears could use them; back at the camp, Kelvin

had tried lending his left gauntlet to other men, but

their hands had been rent by pain when they tried to

don it. The gloves accepted only roundears.

But now she felt the first slow tug of her faraway

body. She was about to leave; she had only a few

seconds left. There was no time to try to make the

gauntlets signal in air or write a note; what could she

do?.

The second tug came, drawing her away. "Zatanas'

lair!" she screamed. "Gauntlets, Jon will be in Zat-

anas' lair! Take Kelvin there, when—"

But now the third pull was drawing her back, and

she could say no more. How she hoped the gloves

understood! If they could somehow guide Kelvin, so

that he could save his sister before her demise brought

them both low. . . .

CHAPTER 28

Sympathetic Magic

JON TIGHTENED HER GRIP on her sling as the horseman

approached, but it was one of the Knights. The

swirling dust had made it uncertain until the beast

and its rider had drawn quite close.

"Gods!" Les Crumb exclaimed, recognizing them

at the last second. "It's the Roundear! And Jon!

And—"

"And your rightful King!" exclaimed Greenleaf as

he strode on foot with bared and bloody sword. His

dead horse lay next to the wall surrounding the palace

grounds, as did half a dozen dead guardsmen.

"Then—" Lester began.

Kelvin raised the laser. "We've won!" he shouted.

"With this weapon I can slay any dragon, any guards-

man!"

"Hold up," Mor protested. "I haven't figured out

what Jon is doing here, let alone all the rest. I sent the

girls home—"

Through the dust rode a guardsman with raised

sword, ready to chop. He was almost upon a startled

Greenleaf before Kelvin acted. The red beam reached

out, took away part of the Queen's wall and the man's

sword and sword arm. The guardsman screamed as

his horse barely missed running down Greenleaf.

They waited until the horse and one-armed rider

had vanished in the swirling dust. Then Lester

reached down and grabbed Kelvin's arm. "Come,

Kelvin! There's dragons and foe to be slain!"

"But—" said Jon.

"You, girl, and you. Your Majesty," Mor said, "you

should be safe here. See to it, Greenleaf, and—" He

251

252 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

paused as another figure loomed from the dust, but

this one wore their colors. "We'll be back. See that

these two are kept safe until we end the fighting."

Then he and Kelvin were away in the dust, leaving

Jon and King Rufurt and the few Knights who had

appeared.

Jon wanted to swear. Here she was, the hero who

had helped destroy the magician and his apprentice,

and helped save Kelvin and John Knight and the

King. Here she was, being treated like a child or,

worse, a girl who had to be protected.

"It shouldn't take long," King Rufurt said. "The

guardsmen won't want to fight magic, and the dragons

will either have to retreat back to dragon country or

be slain. We've all but won!"

Jon knew the King was right. That was, after all,

what Kelvin's father had said, and who, after all,

would know better? Still, there was an awful lot of

noise, and a lot of fighting remaining. She wished she

could be at Kelvin's side, or at least somewhere where

she could watch Kelvin. If only Kelvin had given her a

fancy weapon! But such a thought, she knew, had

never occurred to him.

Dust was so thick that it was hard to see even the

nearer Knights, though so far she had recognized

every one who came up. She wiped at her tearing eyes

and drippy nose, hating the dust. Battle dust took the

glory right out of it! That, and all the gore. Maybe it

would be better just to be a girl, and leave the mess to

the men. She had never actually fought in battle with

a sword.

Jon felt a man's hand on her shoulder. Looking up,

she saw a Knight on a horse. How had he come so

close without her being aware of him? It was not one

she recognized.

"Want up on the horse?" the man asked.

Why not? Maybe she would get to fight after all. Just

so she could say she had done it, when this was over.

She threw her leg up as the man hauled on her. In

half a breath she was astride the big war-horse. This

DRAGON'S GOLD 253

reminded her of the time she had been on a black

stallion with another man's big arm around her.

Another man?

She twisted to look in shock into the dark face,

seeing the scar under grime, the gleam in the man's

eyes. That could mean only one thing. The man was

an enemy, and one she recognized!

"Che—" she started to say.

Cold steel touched her throat. "Shut up, or I'll

decapitate you right here and throw your head to your

friends. Keep your mouth shut, don't struggle, and

you'll live to be of some use. My use."

It was humiliating and scary, but what could she do

but keep silent? One little squeak on her part, and she

felt certain the highwayman would do what he threat-

ened. How had the bandit gotten here, and dressed

like a Knight? Had he learned that she was not the boy

he had sold to the Boy Mart? Of course she couldn't

ask! All she could do was keep her mouth shut and try

to stay alive.

Jon felt the horse leap forward, and then King

Rufurt and the Knight guarding him were behind and

there was dust swirling all around. An open section of

wall loomed ahead. With a single tremendous leap the

war-horse cleared the rubble. Behind them were

shouts and the sounds of another horse.

The man holding her swung around. He slashed

quickly at their pursuer, and then as the man drew

close, he stabbed.

Greenleaf fell soundlessly from his horse, pierced

through the heart. Jon stifled a cry; if only she had

thought to jog the bandit's arm or something, she

might have saved the Knight! She was a helpless

female after all.

The palace's walls loomed. Then they were behind

the palace, in the courtyard, the horse halting in

response to the quick pull on its reins.

"Down!" Cheeky Jack ordered. "Slowly."

Jon moved slowly, the sword at her throat.

Her captor swung down, dropped the reins, and

254 Piers Anthony and Robert E. M.cwgroff

slapped the war-horse's flank.Jon saw with astonish-

ment that the beast raced into the orchard where

broken branches and downed trees suggested a dragon

had been. As it neared the first trees, the horse started

to change. It seemed to grow in size. It developed a

lizard's tail and a snout. It was turning into a dragon!

Jon shook her head, hardly believing what she had

seen. Had she really just ridden a dragon? She

couldn't have! Yet now a dragon was scrambling over

the orchard wall.

The highwayman laughed, and it was a cackle. As

she looked, startled, at Cheeky Jack's face, it seemed

to melt and flow. The scar vanished. The hair changed

from black to dark gray. The nose elongated. The chin

became sharp and protruding.

In a moment it was the evil sorcerer who stood

there.

Had she realized his true identity, she would have

screamed warning at the outset, no matter what! But

she had been sure he was dead! How could he have

survived the attack by the dragon?

The dragon. But the magician could tame dragons!

That was how he had survived!

"Wh—what are you going to do with me?" Jon

asked. Then she remembered to add "Zatanas," so as

not to aggravate him further. If he merely kept her

prisoner for a time, hoping to use her to bargain for

his life when the Knights won—

Again the cackly laugh. "I shall use you, of course,

in my magic. I shall use your blood and your skin and

your bones and your eyeballs and your stupid little

soul. I shall use you to gain, once and for all, full

control over this, my rightful land."

Jon shuddered. She felt certain that whatever else

the black magician might be, he was as powerful as he

was insane.

Regretfully, Kelvin sighted the laser at the charging

dragon. His gauntlet steadied his aim, and squeezed

DRAGON'S GOLD 255

the trigger. The red beam went out like the finger of a

deadly lightning god.

The dragon collapsed in a golden pile, its head

mostly disintegrated.

Kelvin felt real regret, and he hoped this was the

last such killing he would have to perform. They had

now ridden down three dragons. The real hero was the

pair of gauntlets, which made his aim perfect. But he

wished the dragons had fled back to dragon country,

so that no more had had to be destroyed. There was a

lot of dragon's gold on the battlefield, and some

Knights were already hacking away at the precious

scales, taking their spoils, but how much better it

would have been to leave the dragons alone in their

own haunts!

Kelvin squirmed in the saddle. It was a nice war-

horse, and nice accouterments. The Crumbs had

captured it for him. But all he really wanted was for

the fighting and killing to stop. The guardsmen hadn't

a chance against him, and once the word got out, they

would realize it. How many guardsmen had charged

him and been slain? How many had seen him destroy

dragons, and had ridden to spread the news? Round-

ear magic was indeed the key to victory!

"I think," Kelvin said, "that I weary of the fight."

That was a dragon-sized understatement!

Lester frowned. His father, some distance away,

had not heard, and therefore did not bellow his

customary protest. "You want to go back to Jon and

the King? Until this is over with?"

Kelvin nodded.

"All right. I'll cover for you. I'll get Father away

from here, and when we're out of sight, you go back."

Kelvin appreciated Les's help. The elder Crumb

had become so obsessed with the fighting that he

seemed not to want to stop. Not that Mor killed

guardsmen who weren't trying to kill him, but he

didn't avoid meeting them either. For Kelvin to drop

out of the fighting before the guardsmen had accepted

256 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

defeat must be barely understandable to Les, and not

at all comprehensible to Mor.

Already, Kelvin felt guilty. "But maybe I

should—"

"No, I understand," Les said. "I get pretty sick of it

myself. I almost got taken out at Skagmore, you know.

Father dragged me back unconscious, and your sister

nursed me back to consciousness. She's some little

woman, when she wants to be."

Kelvin laughed shortly. "But she doesn't want to

be! That's the problem."

Les shrugged. He shaded his eyes with a hand.

"Over there!" he called suddenly. "Behind those

trees! Someone in a guardsman's uniform!"

"Let's get him!" Morvin cried, wheeling his horse

around. The Crumbs raced for the trees at full gallop.

There was a cry of dismay from the trees; evidently

the guardsman had hoped to remain undiscovered.

Kelvin could understand that.

As he watched them, he felt a tingle in his gauntlets

—both hands. Usually this meant danger, but now

there was no danger. Once, his left gauntlet had lifted

of its own accord when there was no enemy to fend

off. Now the tingle was back, with no visible threat.

Kelvin locked the safety mechanism on his laser the

way his father had done, and bolstered it. It still

didn't feel comfortable hanging from his waist.

The Crumbs disappeared among the trees. Was the

tingle for them—a danger they faced?

As though in answer, the gauntlets grew warm. He

felt them tug at the horse's reins. They were up to

something, and he could not afford to assume they

were mistaken. They often seemed to know best.

As the horse turned, the right gauntlet slapped its

flank. The steed leaped forward, and proceeded to a

full gallop away from the trees and the Crumbs.

He was going back to join Jon and King Rufurt

—but the gauntlets were doing it, not himself. Were

they tired of battle, too?

DRAGON'S GOLD 257

Then the gauntlets turned the horse again. An

opening appeared in the wall, and they were racing for

it.

Kelvin barely remembered to flatten himself and

nudge the horse with his knees before the leap. Then

they were over, on the palace grounds. Broken hedges

and flowers and a tipped-over statue showed where

another beast had run. A war-horse, or a dragon?

Where were the gauntlets taking him, and why?

A man lay dead on the ripped-up lawn. As they

raced by, Kelvin recognized the dead one as Green-

leaf. How had he come to be here? Whom had he been

chasing, and who had slain him? But the gauntlets did

not slow the horse.

They were at the side of the palace now, approach-

ing the rear and the courtyard. He recognized the side

of the balcony and its stairs. The balcony was now

empty, and there seemed to be no living thing near the

stairs.

The horse's hooves clattered on cobblestones. The

gauntlets pulled the reins. Now they walked, to anoth-

er flight of stairs. The gauntlets, almost uncomforta-

bly hot now, urged him to dismount. They had never

before shown so much will of their own!

Kelvin swung out of the saddle, left his steed to

wander or wait as it wished, and raced up the stairs.

He slowed his steps as he neared the top. He felt

uncomfortably weak and light-headed—weaker than

he had felt at any time except when he was sick. He

must have gotten more tired than he thought! Maybe

that drug they had given him to make him sleep so

long had weakened him. He had been quite active

recently, and maybe shouldn't have pushed his limits.

An owthawk tethered on a skull flopped its wings

and snapped its beak as he entered a darkened room

thick with unusual and unidentifiable smells. What

was this place?

For a moment he stood weakly swaying in the

doorway as his eyes adjusted and his gauntlets all but

258 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

burned his hands. Then he saw the magician and the

dwarf. The two he had thought devoured by a dragon!

And—

Shock struck him, even as the sorcerer made a puff

of pink-colored smoke appear. "Jon!" Kelvin whis-

pered. "Jon!"

For there was his sister, strapped to a table. She was

very pale. A needle was in her arm, and her blood was

dripping into a golden vessel held by the hunchbacked

dwarf.

Kelvin had sworn to protect her—and look what

had happened! They were bleeding her to death!

Zatanas was mumbling something, gesturing as he

had on the balcony. Instantly Kelvin felt frozen,

paralyzed by the power of magic. His natural father

had tried to convince him that such magic did not

exist, but on this matter John Knight had been

horribly mistaken.

Kelvin remembered the laser weapon in its holster.

If he could reach it—if the gauntlets . . .

The sorcerer made a gesture. Instantly the mystery

weapon slid from its holster and floated in midair.

The laser turned, steadied before Kelvin's nose,

poised there briefly like a hummerfly, then retreated

as suddenly to the magician's waiting hand.

"An interesting toy," Zatanas said, moving the

laser to a vacant shelf and dropping it. "But against

me, worthless. It's not true magic, you see. Not like

mine."

Kelvin tried to speak. There was no sound from his

lips. In his ears, steadily, was the drip, drip, drip of his

sister's lifeblood.

"I really hadn't expected you to be fool enough to

come here," the sorcerer continued. "That is why I

devised a demise for you that would strike wherever

you were, inescapably. But this is even better."

Kelvin still stood, feeling weaker and more hopeless

every moment. Why couldn't he even try to fight this

man?

"Let me explain for you one of the basic principles

DRAGON'S GOLD 259

of sympathetic magic," said Zatanas. "Like affects

like. As your sister and you share a parentage, so you

share a bond greater than that of strangers. As her

blood leaves her and she weakens, you weaken, too.

Slowly, slowly, over a good long time. It would be

inartistic to rush it! Every stage must be properly

savored. When we skin her, you will feel some of the

agony. When we pluck out her eyes, your vision will

weaken until you are blind. When we—"

But Kelvin had ceased to listen. He was thinking

only of Jon and the gauntlets, and of the necessity,

somehow, someway, to overcome this horror. Yet he

remained powerless.

Drip, drip, drip, drip . . .

261

CHAPTER 29

Queen

JOHN KNIGHT ROAMED THE palace rooms, searching.

He had not told the Knights (he found the name

entertaining) what he intended to do, knowing that

would only have diverted them from the necessary

business of winning the battle. This was an aspect of it

he just had to do himself.

He was looking for the Queen. His son and hers lay

outside, perhaps receiving the medical attention he

desperately needed, perhaps already beyond the

power of any such help. The Queen was not directly

responsible for Kian's situation, but she was certainly

indirectly responsible, for she had set him up to fight

the Knights, and that had brought him crashing

down. It was ironic that it was Jon's daughter's slung

stone that had done it, but it had had to be done,

because once Kian mastered the flying harness and

the laser pistols, he would have destroyed the Knights

and ended the threat to the Queen's evil dominance.

John had had deep reservations about showing Kian

the proper use of these items, but with Kelvin in the

Queen's power, he had had no choice. Now the

weapons had changed sides, and he had his daughter

to thank for that, and only hoped that this had not

cost him Kian's life. His hatred for the Queen was

built upon such matters as this: that she had set John

Knight's children to fighting each other.

He wondered whether he was quite sane, to hate her

so. Yet he knew that the Queen and her consort had to

be destroyed. They had brought this fair and won-

drous land almost to total ruin, and if allowed to live

would wrea'k further evil. It was Zoanna's nature to

260

^ bring destruction on others; that was why she herself

tiad to be destroyed.

DRAGON'S GOLD

Yet he had thought he loved her, once. Certainly he

had fallen under her spell for a time. Her body—

John Knight shook himself. He could not afford to

be distracted by that! The woman he had more truly

loved was Chariain, even though he had had to leave

her. So now he would eliminate the Queen, and if he

lost his own life in the process, well, that would leave

Charlain's life less complicated. She had remarried,

thinking him dead, and he could not fault her for that.

She and her second husband had done a fine job with

the children, both of them.

He entered another room, a ballroom where once

he had danced with the Queen. Crystal chandeliers

hung above, and along the walls were heroic life-size

statuary of royal family members from ancient days,

and the floors were polished inlaid rare woods. What

happiness he had had here for a time, when he had

supposed himself a kind of king! He had thought he

had the love of a beautiful Queen!

He paused, searching with narrowed gaze, holding

the laser ready, willing himself to hate her as he had

hated her every day of his imprisonment. As he

had hated her when she acceded to Flick's demand

that Kian try to be the Roundear of prophecy. As he

had hated her when she forced him to train Kian. As

he had hated her when Kian fell.

His eyes rested momentarily on a doorway he

didn't remember, and a shimmer there made him

think "ghost." Then she was there in all her beauty,

undimmed by twenty years, hair undone, dressed in

the filmiest of nightgowns. She beckoned him, and his

hate evaporated; it was impossible to oppose such a

creature! He knew that magic, another aspect of that

sorcery he had tried not to believe in, kept her

eternally youthful in body, if not in mind. Suddenly it

didn't seem to matter. Despite himself, he took a step

forward.

262 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

The floor vanished beneath his feet.

He landed in a painful heap, the laser still in his

hand. Something struck his wrist, and his fingers

opened involuntarily. The laser clattered to the floor.

Something struck him on the head, dizzying him.

"Go ahead, Peter, finish him!"

It was her voice. Hers! He blinked, seeing her now,

trying to see the reality he knew was there.

She stood before a reflecting mirror that sent her

image up to the mirror placed in the ballroom, and to

this cellar, too. She was no ghost! She remained

hidden, physically, while her image supervised the

action here. The floor had not simply dematerialized;

above him, in the ceiling, was the opened trapdoor.

It had been a simple trap. Mirror and trapdoor.

Planned for him since he agreed to teach Kian? Or

just here, waiting for its time of need? Waiting for

John Knight to come seeking her? Waiting for the

laser in his hand and his heart full of hate? The Queen

was evil, but no fool. She had known he would one

day attempt to take her life.

As his sight cleared, he saw Peter Flick standing

over him. The Queen's cruel consort had the sword

turned flat side toward him, ready for another swing.

"Finish him, Peter! Use the edge!"

Was that the woman he had loved? No, it was just

the illusion, the reality of her as deceptive as the

mirror image. Magic enhanced her, and always had.

He had fought so hard against a belief in magic

because he had wanted the illusion to be real. He had

tried, even after his first imprisonment, to believe that

it was real. That refusal to accept magic had even

misled Kelvin, and now—

"I want him to suffer," Peter said.

"Fool!" she retorted. "That man is dangerous!

Finish him!"

John Knight tried putting his hands out, to brace

himself against the floor. The floor seemed to spin.

Then there was agony, as Peter Flick trod heavily on

his right hand. He felt Flick's full weight. He heard a

DRAGON'S GOLD 263

snapping sound, and knew that his trigger finger had

broken.

"He can live a long time yet," Flick said. "Just as

long as I'm willing to let him. Let's keep him alive a

while and enjoy him, love."

"Peter," Zoanna said icily, "remember who you

are! / am the one to say, and I say kill him."

John Knight realized that because the Queen wasn't

here physically, being present merely in mirror image,

she had to act through her consort, and Flick was

taking advantage of the situation. Evidently the man

was too stupid to realize what that would cost him,

the moment the Queen didn't need him anymore. He

saw Flick's evil grin, and then he saw him pick up the

laser.

"No! No!" John said. He was trying to play for

time; he wasn't really that weak.

"Yes, yes," Flick taunted. "Yes, I will fix you with

this. That's more appropriate, don't you think? To be

slain by your own ofiworld weapon. Offworld magic,

offworld science, as you call it—it's all the same to

me."

"Peter, that's dangerous!" the Queen said.

Peter Flick examined the weapon, turning it over

and over in his delicate fingers. His hands were more

accustomed to the touch of fine linen and fragile art

objects.

"You don't know how to use it!" the Queen said.

"Remember what it did!"

"I'm remembering. I think I'll start with his legs."

John watched his enemy turn the laser until it

pointed at his feet. He saw the grin he had come to

know so well, and knew that Flick would take his time

squeezing the trigger. More time than he needed.

He watched the finger start to tighten. He took a

deep breath and kicked out. His heavily booted foot

struck Peter's left kneecap.

Peter gasped and lost his balance. His arm came up.

His finger tightened involuntarily.

The ruby beam cut halfway through the supporting

264 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf DRAGON'S GOLD 265

column at John's back. A chunk the diameter of a

dragon's neck vanished. It left a hole between the

column's base and the rest of it.

The column dropped, its end smoking. It twisted

sideways and fell, breaking apart in segments.

But Flick was not paying attention. His finger still

pressed the trigger, and the beam still shone. It raced

on, cutting a trench through the overhead floor.

Flick's right arm went all the way back as he fell.

The ceiling gave way with a crack louder than a

pistol shot. Bits of statuary rained down. The floor

sagged where a jagged, zigzag cut had been made. It

shook, starting to collapse from the center.

It was coming down, John realized. The ballroom

floor was crashing down on Peter Flick's head!

"The Queen was right," John said as he scrambled

for the relative safety of an arch. "That thing is

dangerous."

Then, with a crunch like that of a gigantic dragon's

jaws, the ballroom floor gave way completely and

crashed into the basement.

John Knight saw Peter Flick caught under the

descending roof. The man had not had the wit to seek

immediate shelter. Dust rose in choking clouds so

thick that John could not see, and his ears felt as

muffled as his eyes, and it was hard to breathe. He

curled up, covering his ears as well as he could, closing

his eyes, and putting his mouth against his shirt to

inhale.

Finally, as the noise ceased to reverberate and only

a great ache remained, he crawled through the settling

dust to the region where Flick had disappeared. There

was a large timber there now, with something sticky

beneath it. The laser had stopped showing; evidently

the weapon had been crushed, too. Well, he had

planned to dispose of it anyway, in due course.

That left—

"Zoanna!" he called gently.

There was no answer. He strained his eyes to see in

the dim light c'oming through a break from above.

The entire palace must have collapsed, or at least the

main section. The wings, including the one where

Zatanas had his quarters, might still be standing. The

evil sorcerer had to be eliminated, too, for he was the

power behind the Queen.

"Peter. Pe-ter." Her voice, very faint.

Damn her! So he would have to kill her after all!

Why couldn't she have been crushed with Flick? John

didn't have his laser now, or even a sword. He would

have to kill her with his bare hands, and he wouldn't

have liked that even if his right hand hadn't been

crushed.

He felt his way over broken picture frames, torn

canvases, chunks of statuary, and wads of drapes. He

located her by the sound; she thought it was her

consort coming.

He saw her left arm, pinned by part of a fallen

column. Her mouth was wide now, as were her eyes,

but there was no blood that he could see. She ap-

peared to be hurt mainly by shock. This was the real

Queen, the physical one; the mirrors had been bro-

ken.

"Peter," she said. "Peter, help me." It was her old

voice, almost. The voice that had weakened him and

hypnotized him. It was a voice as could work enchant-

ment even without the help of magic.

He knew he should throttle her. But he couldn't do

it one-handed.

"There's a passage," she said. "Trapdoor. River.

Escape."

Did she know to whom she spoke? Did she even

know where she was? Her eyes seemed to suggest no,

but her words could be taken either way.

He hardly knew where he found the strength, but he

worked until he pulled her arm free. She had been

lucky; the full mass of the column had not come down

on her. It had fallen across statuary that supported

most of its weight. He only needed to excavate around

her arm, making more room, to work it free.

The arm hung loosely from her shoulder. Certainly

266 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff' DRAGON'S GOLD 267

it was damaged, but at least it was there. He got one of

his own arms around her and helped her to stand,

bending slightly because of the sagging ceiling here.

Her body was light, and its contours sweet against

him; how he wished that—

"Trapdoor. There. There," she said. Her good arm

pointed to the far right comer of the room, and at a

statue of a dead hero whose head was now detached

and whose sword arm was broken. That seemed

appropriate!

He half dragged, half carried her as he made his way

step by step to the spot she indicated. When he got

there he had to put her down and drag aside the

statue. Then he had to pull back the rug with its

fighting-dragons motif, to strain to lift the trapdoor by

its iron ring.

When the trapdoor opened all the way, he gave out

an involuntary groan and almost plummeted head

foremost down the crumbling wooden and moss-

grown stairs. The cool, moist air of an underground

river came up to meet him. Of course—the capital

was beside a river, and this would be a tributary.

He shook his head, fighting off the dizziness that

assailed him. Somehow he got her to her feet again.

Somehow he got started down the stairs. It seemed a

.long, long way down. Longer than he had ever

climbed down before. He felt weaker and weaker by

the second, as though his blood were leaving him. But

his body was intact except for his broken hand; he

wasn't bleeding.

"Raft. Raft," she said. "Hurry. Hurry."

He hardly knew what to answer, and didn't try; he

needed all his remaining strength to do the job.

Step by step, downward, they went. Her thigh

against his, her body close against him. She was a

middle-aged woman now, and surely she had no

magic enhancing her anymore, yet she was alluring in

every aspect. He couldn't hurt her!

His feet slipped, and he stopped, steadying himself

with grim determination. Then he went on, step by

slow step down, and she went with him.

At the bottom of the first flight there was a landing,

then a second flight of stairs. John dragged them

down. At the bottom of the second there was another

landing and a third set of stairs. How deep was the

stream? But finally they were there at a crumbling and

moss-covered dock. There was an old raft tied here

that appeared to have remained for an eternity.

He stopped, tottering, half collapsing on the dock.

He felt the water lapping, lifting and lowering about

him, and he knew he hadn't finished, but he was too

exhausted to do any more.

Now she seemed to be supporting him, bearing him

up, helping him onto the raft. His feet obeyed her, as

once his whole body and mind had done. Now this

foot, now that foot, and now he seemed to be on the

raft with her and she seemed to be lifting a pole

attached there by a rope, and she seemed to be poling

them out into the current.

He struggled to sit up, to make sense of what was

happening. He thought he heard a splash.

Pulling himself up to sitting position, he saw a

string of silvery bubbles in the dark water behind the

raft. Nothing else. He was alone.

He was too weary and disoriented to think or

Eonder anything. He couldn't even feel the pain in his

and.

The raft drifted. It passed between rock walls

covered with eerily glowing moss that gave a strange

green color to everything. The stream didn't seem to

be flowing into the river that served the capital.

John Knight moved on to an unknown and perhaps

unknowable destination.

CHAPTER 30

Recovery

KELVIN WATCHED THE BLOOD dripping into the golden

um, feeling, thanks to Zatanas' magic, that it was his

own blood as well as his sister's. Jon, wide awake,

unable to move because of the straps, whispered

softly, "Kel, Kel, save me."

"Yes, why don't you save her, Kelvin Roundears?"

Zatanas inquired. It was almost as though he expected

an answer.

"He can't, Master," Queeto said, and swished the

blood in its vessel, shaking all over as he croaked his

laughter. "Not ever. Not him. He can't move, Master.

And he's getting weaker. Weaker and weaker and

weaker!"

Kelvin knew that the vicious dwarf was right.

Queeto was having his revenge for the way they had

taken Jon from him, after the sale at the Mart. There

would be no mercy there. But if he willed the gaunt-

lets to move, and if they did so, and brought along the

rest of his body ...

But there was little use. Zatanas had his laser on a

shelf and he hadn't acquired a sword or even a dagger

since leaving the palace balcony. There was little even

the gauntlets could do as long as Queeto and Zatanas

stayed out of reach. Only if he could reach them, he

thought. Only if—

A great crashing, splintering noise came from below

the floor. Clouds of dust rose in the room, books fell,

glassware rattled. Something crashed over and made a

foul stink.

The room shook violently. Almost as if a quake had

come.

268

DRAGON'S GOLD 269

Queeto stumbled back, still on his feet but losing

his balance. He pulled the golden vessel away from the

tube in Jon's arm, splashing Jon's blood on himself.

His hump seemed to pull him over, on his back,

against Kelvin.

Instantly the gauntlets acted. Pulling Kelvin's un-

feeling arms along, the gauntlets fastened on the

dwarf's thick throat.

"Master! Master!" Queeto cried. His short, power-

ful arms reached back but couldn't stretch to the

gauntlets and Kelvin's arms.

Kelvin willed strength to the gauntlets. Never be-

fore had he wanted to destroy any living thing as

badly as he wanted to destroy this dwarf!

Queeto made a choking sound. His eyes bulged. It

was magic strength squeezing the life out of him. But

the gauntlets did not wait for him to suffocate; they

crushed so hard that his neck collapsed, and he was

dying.

Zatanas struggled up from the corner where he had

been flung. His breath came in shallow, whispering

drafts. His eyes bulged in sympathy with the dwarf's.

"Lit-tle bro-ther," he whispered. "Like links like.

The spell I cast—it's affecting us!"

He choked, wheezed, and gasped horribly. On his

feet, he rose unsteadily to his height. He began to raise

a hand to gesture.

"Kel," Jon whispered. It wasn't much, but it dis-

tracted him for a moment. He had to save her!

Kelvin felt a bit of strength. He could move now!

He concentrated, trying to aid the gauntlets in their

grisly task. He put all his remaining strength into

it—and the terrible fingers crushed in so hard that

they pulped the tissues of the dwarf's neck, and

Queeto was abruptly dead.

Zatanas tottered. Then, with no sound, no real

warning, dwarf and master crumbled into unequal

piles of dust. Only their clothing remained with the

dust rising up from it and then settling down again.

270 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

Kelvin stepped on the dwarf's clothing and the dust

as he fought to get to Jon. It was only his own

weakness that slowed him now, instead of the sorcer-

er's magic, but that was enough. He struggled to her,

almost falling, and clawed at the needle in her arm.

He hauled on it, trying to pull it out; the gauntlets

were clumsy for this.

He wrenched it out, and blood flowed across her

arm. He reached down for the dwarf's sash and

brought it up to make a tourniquet for her arm, but

couldn't get it right, and still the blood flowed.

"Just untie me," she said. "I'll take care of my

arm."

He put the gauntlets on the straps, and the gloves

ripped the straps apart. Jon sat up unsteadily, and put

her free hand on the wound, stanching the flow at last.

Then she glanced at the floor, where the dust was.

"Kel, what—?"

"Dust," he said. "Magic kept them alive, and now

magic has destroyed them. The prophecy was right:

'And the gauntlet great, shall the tyrant take.' You

remember those words, Jon?"

She raised her gaze. "Well, you saved me, Kel. But

the Queen may still be lurking."

Kelvin picked up his father's weapon from the

shelf. He made certain the safety was on, then placed

it in the holster.

The room shook. More books hit the floor. More

glassware trembled and fell. The odor got worse. The

floor seemed to give a little. Below, something creaked

and grumbled.

"The palace!" Kelvin said. "I think it's collaps-

ing!"

The owlhawk fluttered. The poor creature was a

victim, he thought, just as Jon had been.

He untied the leather thongs holding the bird to its

grisly perch on a human skull. He watched it fly to the

window overhead, then go through to its freedom.

He put his arm under Jon's shoulders and helped

her sit up. His strength was returning, but hers was

DRAGON'S GOLD

272

not. "I'm so tired, Kel," she said. "So very tired."

"Yes, I know." He had felt the power of the linkage,

and knew exactly how tired she felt. He understood

how the evil magician had died when the dwarf did;

the magic transference was potent.

Jon pushed her legs over the side of the table. "We

have to get out of here, Kel," she said faintly. "Before

they—" She nodded at the dust. "Before they return

to life."

"They won't return to life," Kelvin said. But he had

seen and felt the power ofZatanas' magic; now he was

no longer sure of its limit.

Jon rubbed at a cheek. "They won't, will they?

Never again. You—you've killed them." Yet she, too,

sounded uncertain.

"Say rather that the gauntlets killed them. Lean on

my shoulder and I'll walk you out."

"I'm very weak, Kel."

"I know." How well he knew! "But you'll make it.

We both will." He hoped. His confidence in things

was only a shadow of what it had been, back before

they went hunting for dragon's gold.

It seemed to take forever to cross the room and

descend the stairs. In the courtyard, his superb war-

horse waited for them, the only living creature re-

maining there.

Jon, recovering slightly, pulled herself up to the

front of the saddle, while Kelvin sat behind her with

the reins. It was good to be mounted again; this entire

region made him nervous. Of course the evil sorcerer

was permanently dead! Yet, somehow . . .

"Master! Master!"

"Courage, little brother apprentice. We will regain

our bodies. Do as I do."

Dust motes drifted in the silent room. Slowly they

settled downward. Heaps of dust began drifting to-

gether, eddying into larger and larger clumps.

More dust swirled, coming together. Slowly the

particles attached to others of their kind. Bit by bit, a

272 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margraff

skeleton formed. A shape that was as yet nothing but

form.

A lizard, escaped from its cage, raised its head,

flared its hood, and scuttled for the comer.

With agonizing slowness, the skeleton assumed

greater solidity. Other dust particles attached to it. A

figure began to shape. It was a faceless mannequin,

and then a faceless corpse. Tiny whirlwinds moved

about the floor, sucking up dust that had once formed

the sorcerer Zatanas.

"Master! Master!"

"Try, Queeto. It is your only chance."

Now other dust particles at the other side of the

room began to move. Slowly, slowly they lifted, then

swirled, then formed. "Master! Master! I'm doing it!"

"I knew you would. Apprentice like Master, al-

ways." The dust whirlpool swirled, moving hither and

yon, questing for dust in obscure corners.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the two bodies formed.

"Will there be enough, Master? Will there be

enough?"

"There will be. If not enough from us, then enough

from other sources. Dust is dust."

"How much time. Master? How much time?"

"Enough. Work, Queeto, work!"

Now the body of Zatanas lay stark on the floor by a

broken gold vessel and a slash of crimson. An opened

book lay almost beneath the magician's form. Hair

grew, fingernails, eyelashes. But the body did not

breathe.

Queeto's hump was finished. His short legs and

powerful forearms appeared as they had in life. The

whirlwinds fed the form at an increasing pace.

"When can we enter. Master? When?"

"When the bodies are set. For now they are only

forms. Mine is almost ready; yours is not."

The body of Queeto emerged from the dust. Or-

gans, blood and bone, ugly, misshapen, monstrous, all

dust. But the dust was being set by the solidifying

DRAGON'S GOLD 273

action of agglutination. Magic was converting it to

form. Soon it would be living flesh.

"I'm done. Master! I'm done! I'm whole!"

"Almost. There must be time for setting."

The owlhawk's shadow touched the window. Then

it was inside the room, diving for a lizard on the floor.

The lizard ran into a pile of clothing. The owlhawk

swooped, caught the lizard up in its talons, and

carried it to its perch. It lit on the skull, opened its

beak, and with one swift motion bit the lizard's head

off.

"Master! Master!"

"It will go away. It must!"

The owlhawk devoured its repast. Another lizard

crawled along the wall. The big bird flopped its wings,

scattering dust, dislodging particles, making of two

apparent corpses two apparently faceless manne-

quins. But it caught its prey.

"Master!"

"It will go away, Queeto. We can live again as long

as there is our dust."

Again the owlhawk returned to its perch. Again it

devoured its dripping repast, this time more slowly.

Bits of lizard blood and lizard juices dripped from its

opened beak.

"Master! Master!"

"When it has fed, it will sleep. Owlhawks sleep in

the day."

The bird finished its second lizard, rotated its head,

and stretched its wings.

"Master, it—"

A third lizard ran along a shelf of glass bottles and

retorts. This was too much temptation. The owlhawk

flew, talons extended. The wings stirred up dust in a

swirling cloud. The talons touched the lizard, and

needle claws sank into its greenish sides.

The blood dripped as the bird dropped, lizard

clutched in its claws. As it dropped, its wingtips

fanned and brushed bottles and glassware.

274 Piers Anthony and Robert E. ^wrgroff

A beaker fell. A bottle tipped, i

and burst explosively on the floor.

followed.

d off the shelf,

Another bottle

Fanned by the commotion, the dust figures col-

lapsed inward on themselves.

Unperturbed, the owlhawk carried its prey to its

longtime perch. Green flames shot from the broken

bottle. They rose high, crackling, giving off smoke.

"Master! Master!"

"Fear not. If I live, I will bring you back. If not as

Queeto, then as an object. A magical staff, or—"

"But, Master, I don't want to be a staff!"

"You will take what you will get! Cursed bird, I will

enter you and—"

The bird lifted from its perch, dropping the man-

gled lizard in its wake. It rose to the highest shelf, its

wings dislodging boxes and containers and bottles

that fell and burst with hideous noise.

Now it was flying for the window, and outside.

"Master! Master!"

"Cursed-bird, why didn't it wait?"

Now the room was filling with dancing green flame.

The flame grew, devouring what it reached. Clothing

charred and blackened. The owlhawk's perch burned,

and so did the dust.

"Master, Master, I fade."

"Oh, the ignominy of it! Destroyed by a bird!"

"Mas-ter. Mas-i-er . . ."

The green flames licked up the walls, shot out of the

windows, and then onto the roof.

Soon the crackling flames were being witnessed by

nothing living, semi-living, or with any hope of living.

EPILOGUE

THEY GATHERED IN THE great tent that had been

pitched on the Hackleberry farm, the temporary

headquarters of the new government while the palace

was being rebuilt. The Hackleberries and the Flam-

beaus had met, and liked each other, and were cooper-

ating in the plans for Kelvin's marriage to Heln. King

Rufurt had decreed that all back taxes on both farms

were excused, in return for the services that members

of these families had rendered in restoring the rightful

government. The scales from the slain dragons had

become part of the royal treasury, and were backing

the new currency and paying for the rebuilding and all

other obligations. A program of tax reform was being

instituted, so that no longer would farmers be impov-

erished by taxes, and of course the Boy and Girl

Marts were abolished.

Yet certain mysteries remained, and it was to inves-

tigate these that they were here. They had discovered,

because of certain remarks made by Heln's mother,

that a person who touched Heln while she was astrally

separated could pick up some of what her spirit was

doing. Indeed, it was possible to communicate with

her when she knew that the person was there to hear;

she could not see or hear the person when her spirit

was elsewhere, but she could send her thoughts to that

person through her unconscious body. They had tried

it experimentally, Kelvin lying beside her and holding

her hand while she separated, and he had received an

ongoing narration of her experiences.

After the palace had burned down, workers going

through the wreckage, preparing the site for the new

palace, had discovered flights of stairs descending to a

275

276 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

nether dock, where a subterranean river passed. There

were signs that suggested that John Knight and Queen

Zoanna had fled the collapsing palace by that route,

and taken a boat down the river. But the stream did

not flow into the surface river that flowed by the

capital; it wended its way elsewhere. Men had

searched as far as they could along it, but it wound so

deviously through its channels that they had been

unable to trace it far, and their labors were needed for

the work on the new palace. There had been no sign of

either John Knight or the Queen; possibly they had

drowned, or floated far away. But it was necessary to

know their fate, for if John Knight lived, Charlain's

marriage to Hal Hackleberry was in question, and if

the Queen lived, the kingdom itself was in danger. So

now, a week after the victory of the Knights, Hem was

going to explore the river labyrinth astrally, and

Kelvin was going to report her findings as they

occurred. Everyone who counted was here for this

quest.

Hem swallowed a dragonberry. "Stay with me,

dear," she said to Kelvin as she sank back on the bed.

"Always, dear," he agreed. He held her hand firmly

and sat on a chair beside her. Much had changed, but

this had not: the use of the endearment still caused

him to blush. The others pretended not to notice.

"I wish I had someone to call me 'dear,'" Jon

murmured. She was seated on Kelvin's other side. She

remained pale from her loss of blood, and was weak,

but was otherwise in good condition.

"What about that boy who helped you get into the

palace grounds?" Les Crumb asked, standing on her

other side.

"Tommy Yokes?" She smiled briefly. "I liked him,

but he went back to his girlfriend the moment the

King freed the bound boys." She shrugged. "I guess I

wasn't cut out to be anyone's girlfriend."

Kelvin's eyes were closed, as Heln's breathing

slowed andAer hand grew cold. But though he felt the

DRAGON'S GOLD

277

impact of the transference, he remained conscious in

the tent. Jon was speaking quietly, so that only those

closest to her could hear, but he was one of them.

"When I was knocked out in battle," Les said, "I

felt myself sinking down and down, and I did not

know whether I would ever rise up again. When I

woke I couldn't move at all, and I felt terrible. But

then I felt a hand cooling my brow, and I knew

someone was taking care of me, and I knew that if I

recovered I would owe that person my life."

"That's silly," Jon said. "Your father brought you

in. I only helped clean you up."

"Yes. I was delirious. My thoughts made no sense.

When I opened my eyes and saw you, it was as though

I had never seen you before. You were absolutely

beautiful."

"Oh, shut up," she said, embarrassed.

"That vision remained with me after I recovered,"

he continued. "You are as lovely this moment."

"What are you saying?" she asked, disturbed.

"I thought your interest was elsewhere. After all,

you are young. But you showed great courage when

you went to rescue your brother. When it seemed you

were dying, I—"

"Please, I don't like to think about that blood."

"When you recover, if—what I'm trying to say

is—you don't seem that young anymore, to me—"

Jon finally got his drift. "You mean—you see me

as—as—"

"As a woman," Les finished. "And if you were to

find it in you to consider me as a man—"

Then Kelvin received the first signal from Heln.

"I'm at the underground river now," he said, verbaliz-

ing her thought as he received it. There had been stray

murmurings in the tent, from several conversations;

now it was abruptly quiet. "I jumped to this site as

soon as I got fully separated, but now I shall have to

move more slowly, or I might miss something impor-

tant. I hope you are receiving this, Kel."

278 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyroff

There was a brief wave of mirth in the tent; obvi-

ously he was receiving it. He kept his eyes closed, to

concentrate entirely on her thought.

"The water winds about," he continued, speaking

for her. He began to glimpse it himself: the dark

water, the cold cave walls. "It splits into several

channels, but I see they merge again farther down,

and there's only one big enough for a boat. I'm

following that one. I'm sort of flying just above the

water, moving faster now; I'll spot any boat if it's

here."

She was silent for a time, evidently having nothing

to report as she followed the buried river.

"You mean it?" Jon whispered, and Kelvin knew

she was not talking to him.

"With all my heart," Les whispered back.

There was a disturbance at the tent entrance. "Am I

permitted?" Kian asked. "I know I was on the wrong

side, but those are my parents you seek."

"Permitted," King Rufurt said gruffly. "You be-

haved as you had to, and you are Kelvin's kin. We are

glad you survived."

It grew quiet again. Kelvin could tell by the sound

of his sister's breathing that she was deep in thought.

Les Crumb had certainly caught her by surprise! But

Kelvin remembered how the man had remarked fa-

vorably on her; it seemed he had been serious.

"I just don't see any boat," Kelvin said for Heln.

"The current seems stronger now; I suppose it could

have carried the boat quite far. I've traced the river a

long way—oh!" She was uncommunicating for a

moment; then: "It drains into The Flaw! The Flaw!

The water just, just—falls in. Into the starry dark! I

don't know how far I can follow it, there; I think it's

not safe for me."

"Get away from there!" Kian cried. "Zatanas said

something about The Flaw once—it's an astral bridge

as well as a physical one!"

Get away! Kelvin thought as hard as he could,

hoping he could reach her. So far the communication

DRAGON'S GOLD 279

had all been one way, but if it was humanly possible to

reverse it—

"Suddenly I'm very nervous," Kelvin said for Heln.

"I don't trust this place at all. I'm going back up the

river; maybe I missed something."

Kelvin heard a general sigh of relief. They had

thought that only Heln's body was vulnerable when

she separated, because she had no control of it then,

but now it seemed that there were places her spirit

could not safely go.

"I am feeling weak," Jon said. "Would you help me

walk back home, Les?"

"Certainly." There was a smaller disturbance as

they walked from the tent, Les supporting Jon with

his arm about her waist.

That was interesting, Kelvin thought. Ordinarily

his sister would have fainted rather than admit any

feminine weakness. But of course she had lost a lot of

blood, and a week wasn't nearly time enough to

replace it.

"I did miss something," he said for Heln abruptly.

"Not the boat; I'm afraid that's gone, and if they were

in it, they're gone, too. But there's another channel of

the river, or maybe it's a tributary. I must have

overlooked it because I was going the other way, and it

comes in at an angle. It's actually larger than the

other; the caves are rounder here, almost polished, as

if this is an artificial channel. And it leads—oh!"

Every breath in the tent seemed to be held. Kelvin

strained to see what Heln was seeing, and made out a

round door of some sort.

"There's a door here, perfectly round, like round

ears," she said, chuckling. "I'm going through; it can't

stop me, though it seems to be locked tight. Inside

—it's a chamber, in the shape of a sphere, and

there's—why, there's a parchment sitting on a table.

Let me look—yes, I can read it! It says: To whom it

may concern—I suppose that's me!—;/ you have

found this cell, you are a roundear, because only a

roundear could penetrate to it without setting off the

280 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

self-destruct mechanism." She paused. "I am a round-

ear; this message is meant for me! But this chamber

must be hundreds of years old! How could it—oh, I'd

better keep reading it! / am Mouvar—"

"Mouvar!" King Rufurt exclaimed.

'•'And I am a roundear."

"A roundear!" everyone exclaimed.

"But because the natives look with disfavor on

aliens, I masked my ears so that I could work among

them without hindrance. I used the technology of my

home frame to set things straight, then retired, for it

was lonely. I set up the prophecy of my return, or the

appearance of any roundear, to facilitate better accept-

ance in future centuries. The tools of my frame are

here, and you may use them as you find necessary. If

you wish to contact me directly, seek me in my home

frame, where I will be in suspended animation. Direc-

tions for using The Flaw to travel to the frame of your

choice are in the book of instructions beside this letter.

Please return any artifacts you borrow. Justice be with

you"

"Mouvar—a roundear!" Mor Crumb exclaimed.

"Suddenly some funny things make sense!"

"There's another pair of gauntlets," Kelvin said for

Heln. "And something that looks like a roundear

weapon. And a jar of seeds—they are labeled 'Astral

Berries'—and something labeled a levitation belt,

and—oops, my time is running out; I must return."

Then, after a moment, "That's funny! They're

kissing! I didn't know they felt that way about each

other!"

And, finally, Heln's hand warmed, and Kelvin

knew she was waking.

"Kissing?" King Rufurt asked. "No one's kissing

here! What does she mean?"

Then Heln's eyelids flickered. "Did—did you

hear?" she asked Kelvin.

"Everything!" Kelvin agreed excitedly. "You found

Mouvar's retreat! He was a roundear!"

"Yes—but' I think not from our fathers' world. He

DRAGON'S GOLD 281

spoke of frames, and that big book of instructions—I

think The Flaw leads to many worlds, and on some

the people have pointed ears, and on some round

ears—"

"We'll leam it all, now we know the chamber

exists!" King Rufurt said.

"Not necessarily, Your Majesty," Mor Crumb rum-

bled. "I don't know much about alien magic, but I

know what 'self-destruct' means! Only a roundear can

get in there!"

"But we have roundears!" the King said.

Kelvin exchanged a glance with Heln. "We shall do

as we feel best," Kelvin said. "Those tools are too

powerful to let loose on this world. We've already

gotten rid of the bad government; we don't need even

the gauntlets Mouvar lost anymore. In fact, I'll be

happy if I never kill another dragon."

"The dragons guarded the astral berries," Heln

said. She was weak from her experience, but ani-

mated. "They should continue to guard them, so that

if things get bad again, centuries hence, the berries

will be there for the next Roundear of Prophecy."

"Then I'll appoint you Guardian of the Dragons!"

the King said. "You can use the berries to check the

whole of dragon country, and warn me of any poach-

ers; we shall take the gold only of dragons who die of

natural causes. We won't use Mouvar's magic at all."

"If I may—" Kian said. He was bandaged and

weak, but intense.

The King looked at him. "I don't think we could

afford to trust you with—"

"My father—and my mother," Kian said. "They

were in that boat on that river. They must have floated

into The Flaw. They must be in some other world

—some other frame, as Mouvar calls it. If I could go

there to search for them—"

"That seems fair," Kelvin said. "You know the

danger, Kian. You may never return, if you lose

yourself in The Flaw."

"I realize the danger," Kian said. "But there really

282 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

is no place for me here, and if I have a chance to find

them—"

"Granted," King Rufurt said quickly. "Hein will

read the instructions for you, so you can travel

through The Flaw."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Kian said.

"Now I am very tired," Hein said.

"Everybody out of the tent!" the King said, and

immediately there was motion as the people moved

out. "We have much to think about, and much yet to

learn." And the King, too, departed, leaving Kelvin

alone with Hein.

"But one thing more, before I sleep," she said.

"Anything!" Kelvin agreed.

"Just give me what Les is giving Jon."

"What?" But then he caught on, and bent down to

embrace her and kiss her.