ArfONG the lands east of the Herdyun Sea, the greatest in size
s Rhadaz; so vast the distances between its borders that a
man astride the swiftest mare could not cross from the coastal
marshes of Dro Pent to the mountain-locked dells of Fahlia in
the southeast in fewer than six days. So vast and unwieldy
Rhadaz, with all its varied lands and peoples, that the great-
great-great-grandfather of the present Emperor, Shesseran IX,
divided Rhadaz into nine Duchies and gave control of these
smaller kingdoms to his nine nearest friends, who founded the
Nine Households from which the Dukedoms all descend to this
day. Shesseran IX of course continued to take his taxes and such
other levies of goods and men as necessary; the Dukes were
accountable to him for following Rhadazi customs, for keeping
the fests and holy days, for maintaining the standards set by the
Emperor. But Shesseran left actual governing in the hands of his
friends. He sent no special auditors, observers or spies to watch
openly or in secret. He kept strict control thereafter of only his
own massive estates and the surrounding game preserves com-
posing the Duchy of Andar Perigha—and, of course, his capital
city and chief port, Podhru.

Shesseran IX was widely criticized for having entrusted so
much of Rhadaz to mere friends and not kindred—but he was a
shrewd man and knew not only who was most loyal to him, but
how to secure that loyalty: All Rhadaz prospered under the
Duchy system, from the merchants of Sikkre to the Zeiharri
woodcrafters, even to the meanest herders and nomad tribes of
outermost Dro Pent and Holmaddan and Genna.

In Shesseran XI's time, the Duchies were reconfirmed to the
descendants of the original nine friends, and the inheritance con-

2                  RU EM6RSON

firmed bloodline. The Emperor preserved his right to interfere
in the internal workings of those Duchies but the grandson of
Shesseran IX interfered even less in Duchy business than had
his grandsire. He had, after all, more than enough matters to
occupy his time and talents just managing his estates and pre-
serves. And Podhru had become the richest and greatest trading
port anywhere on the eastern seaboard.

Shesseran XTV— Shesseran the Golden—inherited wealth and
power greater than that of all his forebears together. More im-
portantly, he had his forefathers' shrewd understanding of trade
and the increasingly complex politics inherent to the Herdyun
Sea trade routes, and the patience to deal with them.

It is held that Shesseran XIV made only two serious errors in
judgment during his long reign, and those were near its end,
when ill health and age began to increasingly influence his de-
cisions. He had turned recently to religion, spending increasing
amounts of time and vast sums of money on festivals and galas
for Podhru's motley blend of gods—perhaps hoping they could
cure his ills on earth, or possibly to ensure his welcome beyond
it. He left negotiations for trading pacts to his advisors so he
would have more time for the artists, poets and musicians who
cluttered his court; for celebrations and plays. He no longer
hunted, but pursued a lifelong interest in the breeding of game
and the tame herds on his estates. This left little time for any-
thing outside Andar Perigha, but then, Shesseran the Golden
cared for little outside his city, his household and his preserves,
particularly so long as everything outside that worid functioned
quietly and well.

He maintained the trust of his many-times great-grandfather
in his Dukes, but with less cause. The men who ruled the nine
little kingdoms no longer held immediate gratitude to the Em-
peror for what had so long been theirs, and their primary con-
cerns were their own well-being, their own households and
families, their own pockets. And there was not one of them who
did not know how great the cause would need to be for Shes-
seran to interfere in Duchy matters.

The Emperor's second error was held to be his relaxation of
the five-hundred-year-old prohibition against Hell-Light and its
Light-Shaping Triads. Shesseran had not intentionally permitted
the return of Shapers, even though it had been so many years
since the rise of Hell-Light and the resulting civil war. Some-
how, Shapers had been included among other priests when the

WE CALLINQ OF T:HE FHREE        3

bill was presented to the Emperor, listing religions and cults that
would no longer be actively persecuted.

It seemed unnecessary to fret over Hell-Light, after so many
hundreds of years: Shapers were few, Triads extremely rare. But
several major trading families and at least two nobles breathed
relieved sighs that they would no longer need to hide household
magicians who touched on Hell-Light. Certain nobles, however,
kept Triads and prudently kept them still secret. One never knew.
after all.

It is also held that Shesseran the Golden suffered only three
reversals of tuck in his fortune-blessed reign. The first was the
invasion of Podhru Harbor by Lasanach raiders and the simul-
taneous attack on distant, northern Dro Pent that cut its trade
lines with the Gyn Hort nomads; the second, that two Lasanachi
died suddenly and woundless within Dro Pent walls. The plague
they carried decimated six-tenths of the townspeople. Worse still:

Even after the Empiric Navy and a rough fleet of Bezjerian cargo
ships routed the Lasanachi, the Gyn Hort were no longer on
terms of trust with Dro Pent, a link not repaired for nearly a
generation.

The third event was not as readily linked to the Emperor, not,
until long after. In the year 770, nineteen years before the in-
vasion of Podhru Harbor and fifty leagues due north in the deep-
est forests ofZelharri, Duke Amami-'s horse went suddenly wild
during a hunt and threw his master. The Duke fell full into a
previously undiscovered pool of Hell-Light and wasted away over
the next four days. When he died the pool was visible day or
night and Amami was no longer even recognizable as a man.
He was survived by his widow Lizelle and their two young chil-
dren, the nera-Duke Aletto and the sin-Duchess Lialta. and
mourned by al] his Duchy. That number included his younger
brother Jadek. who had ridden to the hunt with him, had pulled
him from the Hell-Light without consideration of the personal
risk. He had remained by his brother's bed most of the Duke's
last days and appeared at the funeral in deepest mourning. His
escort of fifty armsmen also wore mourning bands.

Once Duke Amami was sealed in his stone cairn, however,
young Lord Jadek showed no signs of returning to the lands
granted the Duke's younger son, nor of sending his armsmen
away. Two days after the funeral, he announced his betrothal to
the Duchess Lizelle—to help her, he said earnestly, with the
enormous tasks of governing the Duchy until Aletto should come
of age.

4                  RU EM6RSON

Like his brother, Jadek was handsome, easygoing, comfort-
able with other nobles and his householdmen alike. Unlike his
brother, Jadek was not greatly loved, though few people could
find any reason why they did not like him. A set to his mouth,
or the flat way his eyes fixed on them, perhaps.

The betrothal raised heavy suspicion of Jadek's motives and
rumor was rife throughout Zeiharri. But there was no specific
wrong thing to point to. Lizelle herself had appeared with "him:

pale, quiet and clad in deep red mourning. But she made no
protest at any time, then or after the wedding, which Jadek held
at the beginning of Gourding-Month, a mere nine days later.

Suspicion remained high thereafter, though most common men
and women had the wit to voice such suspicions in whispers, if
at all. Particularly when it became clear that men who spoke
louder now and again vanished. And men who had served Duke
Amami—his closest friends and highest-ranked householdmen—
left Duke's Fort. Most of those left the Duchy entirely. Merchant
families complained of new competition or restructured taxes
and fees, and moved away—many to neighboring Sikkre with its
sprawling market at the center of four trade-roads; others to
coastal Bezjeriad, which increasingly rivaled the Emperor's port
city for traffic.

Emperor Shesseran knew within hours of Amami's death, and
of Jadek's actions after, for Zeiharri bordered the northern edge
of his Andar Perighan estates. But so long as Jadek paid the
Duchy's semiannual taxes and sent the proper number of arms-
trained men on request, he did nothing. And Jadek, knowing
the Emperor would not interfere without greater cause than a
dreadful accident and a hasty marriage, was much too clever to
make any overt move to supplant nera-Duke Aletto.

After all, he knew there was no need while Aletto was still a
green boy and so barred from ruling. Until the nera-Duke passed
his twenty-fifth birthday, Jadek was for all practical purposes
Duke. Even after that date passed, there had been excuses, ways
to keep wealth and power, ways that did not involve a frontal
attack. Particularly if one took into account all factors, including
Aletto's physical condition.

There was also Lizelle, of course; she had been still young,
and she had already borne healthy children. There could have
been an heir for Jadek—a boy who would not be next in the
succession but would have a foot in the door. Unfortunately for
Jadek, Lizelle irritatingly never quickened.

And so, Jadek waited, and planned, until the Spring of the

WE CALLINQ OF FHE CTREE        5

Emperor's Blossom-Month Fest—Fifth Month, Sixth Day of the
year 789. The numbers would not fall in such a pattern again
for more than a hundred years and a full moon-season of secular
and religious festivals were being set. While Shesseran XIV was
so deeply involved in planning and rehearsing the Fest, the man
who had taken his brother's wife and her right of interim rule
moved to consolidate the rest of the Duchy. His Duchy.

I

SIN-DUCHESS Lialla had eaten bread spread with a sweetened
apple mash in the small courtyard, rather than face a midday
meal at the family table. It wasn't enough food and she would
be hungry again by late afternoon, but that was small price to
pay for avoiding her uncle and the general unpleasantness be-
tween him and her mother, the undercurrents to conversation.
Not that hiding had helped this particular afternoon, not entirely.
She pulled the black scarf higher on the back of her neck, shiv-
ered as she left the sunny little garden and hurried along the
shadowed walkway. It ran like a hall between the public and
private portions of Duke's Fort; chill wind flowed its length win-
ter and summer.

She turned left at the third opening, crossed a darkened and
empty room. A narrow staircase built into the thick stone wall,
seldom used except by herself and her mother's woman—the
Night-Thread Wielder Merrida—was illuminated by a finger of
daylight from somewhere high above. She climbed carefully; the
steps did not have a uniform rise and they were all just enough
too tall that it was impossible to adjust to them. They passed by
the second floor without egress and came out in the middle of
an equally small room on the third and uppermost floor of the
family apartments.

There were no windows in this chamber, no lamps. A small
fire was kept burning in the grate near the door, giving just
enough illumination for the young woman to find her way across.
Merrida's doing, that fire. A servant of her own saw to it, saw
that it was never allowed to die out entirely. Merrida's books-
ancient clay tablets, some of them, or rolled hide, pulped reed
or wood—were hidden in this room, hidden behind a maze of

X:HE CALL1NQ OF T:HE FHREE         7

Thread that kept the chamber beneath Jadek's notice. He passed
it at least once a day, on his way from his and Lizelle's apart-
ments to the lower halls. He hadn't paid it the least heed in
years.

Lialla scrubbed the back of her hand across her lips. The
apples had been mealy-soft and too sweet before the cooks
mashed and honeyed them; the mess on her bread had left her
mouth feeling coated, her lips and fingers sticky even though
she'd dipped them in the fountain before coming away.

Her palms were damp, but that had nothing to do with the
food. Jadek had sent her a summons, sending one of his men to
her small, sunny sanctum. One of his grubby, hulking men, all
creaking smelly leather and cold steel blades. He'd watched her
with black, intent eyes; his fingers had actually tried to touch
hers when she took the folded paper from him. She wouldn't go
back to that patio again, not soon—not alone. Not with that to
remember it by.

The message itself was courteously phrased, but an order all
the same: '*! would speak with you on the subject of your future,
Daughter. If it is not inconvenient, your mother and I will be in
my accounting room at third hour." Not inconvenient, Lialla
thought as she slipped past the heavy door and hurried down the
hall to her small suite—two rooms and a privy. And if I said it
was, what would he do then? She-wasn't certain she wanted the
answer to that question. Jadek had never actually used force
against her. But his voice could flay her; he knew every least
insecurity and played upon it. She'd cringed under his voice for
years. And violence—she knew he was capable of it; he'd let her
see how capable more than once, against servants, or commons.
People who couldn't hit back. People like herself.

It didn't matter, though, that last. His voice would be enough.
If she didn't come, she wouldn't hear the end of it for days.
• The halls were empty at this hour. Servants would be eating
or airing curtains and bedding on this first warm day in so many;

they'd welcome the opportunity to stay outdoors as long as pos-
sible. Lizelle seldom left her private rooms unless Jadek required
her presence at a formal dinner or at council. Merrida often slept
at this hour. And Aletto—gods. Lialla slipped into her rooms
and pressed the door shut behind her. Aletto was nearly as much
a recluse of late as their mother.

Perhaps more, and with more cause. Three years past the time
to claim his rights' Jadek gave such smooth excuses to postpone
the ceremony, Aletto couldn't counter him, and Lialla knew how

8                  RU EMGRSON

that angered and frustrated him. Besides, his limp was more
pronounced during the damp spring months; with nothing else
to occupy his time, he had begun hiding behind his door, drink-
ing until both the physical pain and the emotional were tempo-
rarily dulled.

Lialla slid the bar across her door from habit. It had been
there as long as she could remember; she'd only begun to use it
the past year or so. Jadek's armsmen, some of them, walked" the
halls of the family apartments. And Jadek himself—now and
again he stopped on his way to Lizelle, to tap on her door. To
talk, he said, or to ask a question. . . . She didn't think anything
certain; she didn't let herself go so far as that. She set the bar
in place whenever she was in her rooms.

It was warmer here. Sun pooled on the floor by her bed, and
with the windows closed the room was rather stuffy. But when
she pushed one ajar, a chill breeze blew across her face and the
backs of her hands; she shivered, and shut it again.

It was a nice room, alt light wood and whitewash, low-
ceilinged enough to be easily warmed in winter. The glass was
truly ancient, thick and bubbled in places; it gave her a headache
to look out for long across the main courtyard, the horsebams,
the outer curtain of the fort. There was little to see out there,
anyway; a few of Jadek's men on the walls of the curtain, one
or two in the yard and now and again a horse.

Horse. She sighed. She wasn't permitted to ride in winter or
bad weather. Even now that it had turned nice, Jadek hadn't
issued new orders. If he was in a decent mood, perhaps she'd
ask him this afternoon. Winter and its close confinement left her
cross; inaction made her feel loggy, bloated and soft.

Her bedding was faded with age, the carpets frayed and
patched. Jadek would doubtless have given her better if she'd
asked. She didn't care enough to bother. Her clothing was in no
better shape, but she cared even less for her appearance. There
had been no suitors in three years, none she'd accept before that.
Men like her lather were rare, men like Jadek all too common,
from what she'd seen. She wouldn't grow old earty like her
mother, a faint look of drawn suffering pinching her cheeks, her
eyes all wary, sidelong looks. She had more important things to
do with her life.

Jadek had made no objection at all to her summary rejection
of applicants for her hand; Lialla suspected he would rather keep
her dowry to himself. But she couldn't leave: She was all Aletto
had to keep him from drinking himself to death, even though

l:HE CALL1NQ OF ^HE WREE        9

her influence over him was almost nonexistent nowadays. It was
still greater than Lizelle's. Her mother hardly bothered any more.

But that was another thing: Lizelle needed her, too. She
couldn't just abandon her mother. Lizelle had Merrida, of course:

'Merrida had been with her forever.

And that, of course, was a thing at least as important as any
other: Merrida. Merrida had taught Lizelle to Wield, and Lialla
suspected it was Night-Thread magic that kept Jadek sonless.
She herself was a black-sashed initiate, Merrida's pupil. One day
she'd be a full-fledged Wielder, and then—oh, then! Jadek would
learn, he'd pay for everything, and she'd—

She turned that thought off. Merrida had warned her never to
plan such things in advance. "Vengeance is better when you
don't try to work it out too long beforehand—for the satisfaction
as much as for the spell. But it's foolish to let such thoughts fill
you: They interfere with other things, and Jadek may have his
own ways of knowing them. Better, isn't it, to catch him un-
aware?"

"As if he doesn't know how deeply I loathe him," Lialla
mumbled bitterly. She turned her back on the sun and dug into
the chest where her clothes were stored.

An initiate Wielder traditionally wore plain black. Lialla had
two changes of such blacks, the baggy trous worn over knee-
length leggins and bound at the ankle with thin, charcoal gray
cord only slightly paler than the .rusty and faded black. A thin,
body-hugging, sleeved and high-necked shirt of tight, smooth
weave tucked into the trous; a sleeveless, shapeless overshirt was
caught at the hips with a wide sash. Her sash was black, Mer-
rida's pale lemon yellow. Her mother's, kept in Merrida's firelit
room with the blacks she hadn't worn since her husband's death,
was deep orange. There were two ranks above Memda's, but
according to the old woman, no one in all Rhadaz had wrapped
his blacks or her blacks in either silver or white since Hell-Light
was confined to pools and the Triads unmade or driven into
hiding.

It was a practical garb for riding, walking, some sort of stren-
uous activity, or long hours in the dark and chill of the night,
manipulating Threads. It was not designed to be attractive, bun-
dling the body into shapelessness as it did, and black did not
suit Lialla. It muffled the red in her dark brown hair and made
her look sallow, too thin, and alarmingly young. Lialla was un-
aware of that, and would not have cared if she knew. She tucked

10 RU EM6RSON

Jadek's message in her sash, shoved her feet into short black
boots, and went down to see what Jadek wanted.

ALETTO'S door was closed; a small stack of used dishes sat be-
side it, next to a bowl of congealing soup. Small flies hovered
in a cloud over a dish of sliced fruit. Lialla closed her eyes
briefly, hesitated, brought her fist up. After a moment, she let it
fall to her side, stepped back and went on down the hall. '

THE man who opened the door to her was middle-aged and
broad-shouldered. Grizzled brown hair ringed a sunburned and
freckled pate. He was unfamiliar to her; his livery was similar
to that worn by Jadek's personal servants, vaguely unsettling. He
stepped aside, let her in, pulled the door to behind her and re-
mained beside it- Lialla cast him another glance, sidelong from
under her lashes. A red silhouette of a hunting dog on the sleeve.
Carolcm. Carolan was at Duke's Fort.

She kept her face utterly still as she stepped into the spacious
room that had been her father's library, and that Jadek called his
accounting room. She saw her mother first, a too-slender figure
seated near tall, mullioned windows that cast bars of shadow
across her pale blue skirts. Behind her mother's chair, Merrida
stood, so still she might have been part of the fabric of curtains
or the chair; she wore black, but not Wielder black. Merrida's
eyes held hers briefly; her fingers shifted along the side of the
chair, index fingers overlapping for the least instant, then slip-
ping back out of sight. Lizelle's hands were neatly folded in her
lap, thumbs joined.

Caution. Danger. They were warning her. Lialla knew that
much already, though. One cause for it sat at the long table,
polished wood stretching to either side of him. Jadek had scarcely
aged at all in the years he'd held Duke's Fort: Even with full sun
on his face, there were no lines save faint ones around his eyes;

his dark hair was as thick as ever, and only a few pale hairs
marred it. He was clean-shaven, though, and had been since his
mustache began coming in a mix of red and silver. His smile
was still wide, and he had all his teeth. The smile went no higher
than his teeth; his eyes were very pale blue, ringed with darker
blue, and as chilly as a hunting bird's. Lialla inclined her head
in a dutiful child's greeting, then waited for him to speak first.

She would not let herself look at the man who stood behind
Jadek's chair: Carolan, Jadek's disgusting, horrible cousin, was

WE CALLINQ OF •CHE FHREE      II

smiling the way he no doubt had practiced before a mirror, and
trying to catch her eye.

"Daughter, thank you for coming." Jadek's prepared little
speech brought her eyes up to his face. He was going to be
particularly slow at coming to his point this afternoon, she could
tell already. And the point was already dreadfully clear, with
Carolan in his best and least soiled garb—pale lavender velvet,
an ocean of purple edged in gold thread; a broad, sequined sash
crossed one shoulder and came back across his enormous belly.
Carolan, whose exploits among the paid women of Sikkre's mar-
kets had even reached her carefully sheltered ears.

It took what seemed hours: Lialla managed somehow not to
fidget when Jadek spoke of her age, her station, her rank. She
bit the comers of her mouth not to either interrupt or shout with
laughter when Jadek began to list Carolan's virtues—a long list
of very invented virtues. Her uncle's color was becoming high;

try to speak now and he'd lose his temper. As she now stood,
she couldn't see her mother without turning her head, but she
could almost touch Lizelle's tension.

But Jadek was finishing up his speech. "And so, my cousin
Carolan has come to me, to ask your hand. What say you,
daughter?"

Lialla drew a deep breath, cast a swift glance at the smirking
creature behind the chair. "I thank him for the honor. But I
must decline it." Carolan stirred and would have spoken; Jadek
held up a hand.

"It's an honorable offer, Lialla," he said reasonably. "You
are at an age where you will not receive many more of them."

"I do not wish to marry. My thanks for your concern and for
your cousin's request, but no." Silence. She drew another deep
breath and used it to steady her voice. "It is my right."

Jadek leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Not if
the succession is in question. And it may be. Your mother and
I have no children of my blood—"

"But Aletto—!" The words were out, her voice sounding high
and frightened. She bit her lip, swallowed the rest. Jadek gazed
at her with that lack of expression that knotted her stomach. His
eyes had gone even colder.

"Aletto has not—has not been well for some time, as you
know. And his infirmity may well preclude him from the suc-
cession."

"But he's not really ill, you know that! Not any more! He's
only—"

12 RU EM€RSON

"Are you contradicting me, Lialla?" Silence. Then Jadek
slammed both palms on the table with a crack that echoed. Lialla
flinched; Jadek's voice was suddenly a bellow, hammering into
her. "How dare you interrupt me? How dare you gainsay me?
When did your brother last teave his rooms?"

Aletto—he'd put Aletto's rights aside entirely! Fear vanished;

Lialla's temper flared. "I always knew you'd steal his birthright!
You couldn't wait to take Mother after Father died, couldn't wait
to take Duke's Port for your own. and you won't give it up now,
will you?"

Jadek caught hold of her sleeve and yanked her across the
table, off her feet; his free hand cracked across her face. The
room blurred, and she blinked tears aside furiously. "Aletto is
a drunk and a cripple," Jadek said flatly. "Is that what you want
me to say? Should I let your father's Duchy—my brother's birth-
right, you wretched girt!—fall to ruin at the hands of an incom-
petent, limping, winebibber?" Because you made him a drunk,
she thought defiantly, but the words wouldn't come. Her knees
were trembling so much that he must have felt the tremor through
the hand that gripped her elbow. "Well, Lialla?" Jadek's voice
rang through her; he brought his hand up again and she shrank
away from him. He lowered it, gazed at her in silence for some
moments, then let go of her arm and resumed his seat.

"You shouldn't anger me like that, Lialla. It grieves me to
hurt you." She kept her eyes on the floor before her feet and
tried to keep tears behind her eyelids. He'd never hit her before;

and to strike her in front of her mother, her tutor—in front of
Carolan. "I know your intentions and your desires, Lialla."
Jadek offered her a smile; his eyes were still cold. Lialla glanced
at him, away again. "These aren't the best of times for them.
And it's not natural, what you want. Magic," he said, and
laughed a little. "It's not safe, dabbling in the unknown. Some-
thing terrible might happen to you. Besides, rumor has it the
Emperor may again restrict such things, once his Festival is past,
and he has time to devote to the matter." Not Night-Thread
magic^ Lialla thought dully.

"I don't say," Jadek went on quietly, "that Aletto might not
take his rightful place and rule for his fall years. I hope that he
will; I love the boy as much as I love you, Lialla. But if anything
happens to him, there is no immediate heir but you—that is to
say, of course, a son of yours." Silence. He was waiting for her
to speak; she still couldn't trust her voice. Merrida, her mother-
she could see them from under her lashes. They might as well

WE CALL1NQ OF TTHE t:HREE

have been statues. No help at all, not from them. You could say
something! she thought miserably. Jadek was still speaking; she'd
missed a few words. "You've turned down Dahven in Sikkre—
he's wild, admittedly, but still a proper mate for a noblewoman.
Ybu refused both the heir and his younger brother in Bezjeriad.
Of course, the heir has no interests at all save that curious Hol-
maddian religion and they say he's gone quite gaunt from all the
fasting. And there were rumors about the brother and other
young men—well, but that's all beside the point." Silence again,
and this time he was watching her, visibly waiting. Growing
angry at her stubborn refusal to speak.

"Rhadazi women are allowed to choose not to marry," she
said finally; her voice was low and flat, utterly expressionless.
She sounded sullen to her own ears, and that wasn't good; Jadek
wouldn't want to hear that.

"Rhadazi common women are permitted choice," Jadek cor-
rected her gently. "Duke's daughters are allowed that right only
when there is no succession difficulty. Even your own father,
Lialla, would have been quite angry if you'd chosen a common
soldier or a stableboy for your husband. I 'm sure he'd never have
approved your playing with magic, and he'd never have let you
substitute it for a husband and children."

She shook her head. "I can't—I need time to decide."

"No. You have had years, more time than you should have
been permitted. My cousin Carolan has made you an honorable
offer, and he is waiting for an answer.''

"But I already told you I can't-—"

Jadek rose; Lialla took an involuntary step back from the ta-
ble. Her uncle's face was flushed, his lips compressed into a
tight line. "That was an unacceptable answer, Lialla." His eyes,
all pupil, fixed on hers. "I suggest you try again. Right now."
She opened her mouth, closed it again as no sound came. Jadek's
eyes terrified her, but she was more afraid to look away from
him.

A heavy blow on the door pulled his black glance away from
her. Cardan's man reached for the latch and the door slammed
back, knocking him sideways into the wall. He sat on the floor,
abruptly, clutching his nose and moaning.

Jadek's eyes narrowed; Carolan's chubby mouth sagged. Lialta
slid sideways along the table, four steps and out of her uncle's
leach, before she turned- Aletto stood in the open doorway,
braced against the jamb. He clutched a sword awkwardly in his
.right hand, the knob of his walking stick in the left.

14 RU EMGRSON

Jadek recovered first. "Nephew. What are you doing here?
You were not asked!"

Aletto tried to laugh; what came out was a snort. "Doing
here? S'— That's good, Uncle!"

Jadek blinked, then smiled. "You don't look welt at all."

"You mean I'm drunk," Aletto snapped. "P'raps. I've had
wine. Then 1 heard 'bout this. Disgusting." He shifted against
the doorway, waved his stick to take in the room.

"Heard. How did you hear, Aletto?"

"None 'fyour business. Got m' sources. Uncle. Li?"

She swallowed past a terribly dry throat. "Aletto?"

"You're all right?" he demanded. She nodded. "Didn't agree
to—t' anything, did you?" She shook her head. "Good. Don't."

"It isn't your concern," Jadek said flatly.

"Liar!" Aletto roared, silencing him. "S'— It's my sister!
My dukedom!'' He rubbed the back of his sword hand over his
eyes, swayed back and forth the least bit. Lizelle shifted in her
chair. Aletto glanced at her; his mouth twisted and he looked
away. "Uncle, my sister won't marry that—that—" He shook
his head to try and clear it, edged himself a little more upright
on the door frame. "I w—won't have it."

Lialla gripped the table behind her back lest she sag at the
knees, and caught both lips between her teeth. She wasn't cer-
tain if she'd laugh or cry, just now, only that she wouldn't stop
if she once started. Then Aletto pushed himself away from the
door, and came into the light, into the open . . . and there was
nothing amusing at all in watching Aletto walk.

Marsh fever: It struck the young, mostly boys just at puberty,
and most of those it killed. Those boys it didn't kill, it maimed;

there was no cure. no way to avert it, and Memda's magic had
been only partly successful. She'd saved his life; he had use of
his eyes and his ears, his wits were intact. But his heart some-
times kept an erratic pattern all its own, there was no feeling in
the toes of his left foot and entirely too much feeling in the rest
of his leg. His left shoulder was too high, and particularly when
he was tired his head inclined toward it. The light side of his
face—once easily as handsome as his father's—was scarred,
partly dead.

He could walk more or less normally at times, but this wasn't
one of them. Wild with fury and addled with drink, he lurched
across die room, virgin steel held out to the side, high and well
away from his body.

She wanted to close her eyes; she didn't dare, knowing he'd

WE CALLINQ OF ^HE FHREE

15

see and take it for pity. His eyes gleamed as Carolan took one
involuntary step back.

Jadek didn't move, and after that first startled glance, he hadn't
so much as looked at the sword. "You're being a fool, Aletto.
Tftmr sister and my cousin will make a good marriage; it will
take some of the pressure from you to find a wife."

"What, one who'd have me?"

"I didn't say that."

"You've never had to! It's in your eyes, all the time!" Aletto
shouted as he came up against the table.

"They needn't leave, of course," Jadek went on. "They can
remain here at the fort, if you wish. We'll provide them a proper
suite." Aletto tried to balance himself against the table's edge
and bring the sword up for a broadside stroke. The blade hissed
through the air well away from Jadek or Carolan and cut into
(he side of the table. Aletto swore wildly and yanked it free,
nearly sending himself to the floor.

"You'd bed my sister with that?" Aletto glared across the
table, over Jadek's shoulder.

"He's my cousin, he's noble-—"

"He's a pig," Aletto snarled. He got no further. Jadek lunged,
caught hold of the nera-Duke's wrist and squeezed. The sword
clattered to the floor; Jadek shifted his grip to Aletto's ear and
brought their faces close together.

"You will apologize to Carolan for that remark," he began,
but got no further. Aletto's walking stick caught him a stunning
Now across the shoulder. Lialla screamed; Jadek released Aletto
JU) suddenly that his nephew fell heavily,'striking the side of his
ftce on the table's edge. Before he could recover, Jadek had
..ftrown himself across the table, caught up Aletto's stick and
brought it down across his back. Lialla caught at his arm as he
traised it for another blow; he shook her off with no effort at all
and Carolan's hands—unexpected muscle under the softness—
gripped her shoulders and pulled her away. His breath was warm
•ad herbed against her ear.

"He sought this, beloved; leave be." Lialla twisted against
his grip but subsided at once when his breathing quickened and
be leaned into her. Aletto swore as the stick cracked down again,
^Ihen screamed when the fourth blow broke it in half. He went
'|nnp in Jadek's hold, hair falling across his face.

.^ There were other men in the room suddenly; it was full of

;n in Jadek's livery. Lialla blinked to clear her vision; Carolan
her in such a tight grip she couldn't even wipe her eyes.

16 Ru EMSRSON

Jadek stood between her and her brother, blocking her view
entirely. Two household men came at his gesture and picked the
nera-Duke up. Jadek dropped both pieces of the walking stick
on Aletto's chest, handed the sword to another man. "Put this
back in his rooms."

"Do you want him locked in, sir?"

"Of course not," Jadek said gravely. "He's the Duke's heir."
He watched the procession leave the room, then turned to his
cousin and Lialla. "Lialla, you look distressed. Go to your
rooms, stay there until your nerves are eased. Until you can give
sensible thought to the matters we spoke of eartier." He laid
gentle fingers against her bruised cheek; she somehow managed
not to wince away from his touch. "Go and rest. Tonight—no,
tonight's impossible. We'll dine together here, tomorrow at mid-
day, Just the three of us."

"Tomorrow," she whispered. And Jadek stood aside as one
of his householdmen held the door for her.

Her arms felt the pressure of Carolan's fingers long after he
let go of her. Somehow she avoided the kiss Carolan would have
put on her cheek, or her shoulder, but not the one he placed on
her palm; somehow she escaped the room without setting Jadek's
anger off once more. She walked two long halls and three flights
of stairs to her rooms, alone and unaided, and could never after
remember which way she'd gone, or whom she had passed.

She retained just enough wit to bar the door behind her before
the tears came.

TTENNIFER glanced up as a telephone rang—one of the partners*
^private lines, far down the hall where the larger and more
luxurious offices were. The service took care of calls on the
regular lines at this time of night. After fifteen echoing rings, it
finally went quiet again. Jennifer smothered a yawn against the
back of her hand, let her glasses slide down her nose and rubbed
tired eyes before she went back to the piles of books, docu-
ments, files and yellow pads that buried the top of her desk.
Somewhere behind a stack of California Appellate reports, her
desk radio was playing Mahler.

It was late; hours after the secretaries and the receptionist had
left; hours after the cleaners had roared down the hall with the
vacuum, banging trash cans, talking loud Spanish over a boom
box playing Latino hits. At this end of the hall, offices were
small, strictly functional. Hers was sparsely furnished: old ma-
ple desk; credenza of the same wood but a slightly different
style; two brown chairs for the odd client who saw her instead
of the partners she worked under. The only new piece of fumi-
tore was her high-backed brown leather chair; she'd bought that
at an outlet, Christmas present to herself. The nick in the wooden
grip didn't show, once she'd rubbed oil stain into it. A few
framed items, a shelf holding a spill of blooming ivy geranium
and half a dozen books completed it.

From the windows of her seventeenth-floor office, the lights
on the roof of the parking garage below were mustard-colored
pools, picking out an occasional still-parked Toyota or Ford se-
dan. The Mercedeses and BMWs weren't parked on the roof,
and they'd be gone by this hour of a Thursday night, anyway.
There wasn't much else to see out that window at night—another

18 RU EMGRSON

building blocked most of her view. But she kept the curtains
open, smiled briefly and tiredly at the drawn woman reflected
on the glass before she turned back to her research. A year and
a half ago, there hadn't been windows; there had only been a
closet-sized cubby shared with another law clerk and mounds of
current files, boxes of closed cases, a computer terminal and
numberless yellow pads and blue stick medium-point pens.

She stifled another yawn. rubbed the back of her neck where
the muscles had gone hard and tight hours before, finally gave
it up and shoved herself onto her feet. There might still be coffee
in the pot; if not, she'd make some.

The day felt like it had gone on for weeks; the particular facet
of eminent domain she was researching was duller than tax law.
But there was nothing for it but to wade on through, finish. A
senior partner needed his answer by Monday morning. Friday,
actually; his client's deposition was Monday at ten.

The coffee pot wasn't quite empty but the stuff in the bottom
resembled molasses; she sniffed, grimaced and poured it out.
While water trickled through fresh grounds, she leaned against
the counter, stretching out her back, her neck. the backs of her
legs. "I did this better when I was twenty-five," she mumbled
to the pot. It spat the last of its water through the filter, emitted
a series of obscene noises. She rinsed her cup and refilled it,
sipped gingerly. Not great; but hot and drinkable anyway. At
least caffeine didn't give her the shakes, just kept her awake like
it was supposed to. She topped off the cup and went back down
the empty hall.

Someone in the back comer was running the ancient draft
printer, James Neatly and his secretary staying late, finishing yet
another draft of a trial brief for the four partners involved in the
case to pick apart, no doubt. James spent more late-night and
eariy-morning hours here than she did. As she turned into her
office, she heard voices, words indistinguishable over the rattle
of the old daisy wheel. James, coat in hand, came by moments
later.

"Hi. Thought Mandy and I had the place to ourselves."

"You were leaving her alone?" The partners frowned on that,
particularly after dark. And James was ordinarily good about
walking Mandy to her car at night.

"In the office. She's finishing section seven; I'm off for some
racquetball. I come back, we look it over, I walk her out. And
probably spend the rest of the night tearing it apart so she can

^HE CALLINQ OF ^HE T:HREE

19

T-
^'

Start over tomorrow, poor girl. But what're you doing here alone
at this ungodly hour?''

Jennifer smiled. "The rule's for secretaries; good ones are
less expendable than mere law clerks and associates."

"Because there are so many of you," James chided. "So how
about coming over to the club with me?" And as she began
snaking her head, he continued, "Just across the street. I know
you keep your gym bag in your trunk; you can borrow a racquet.
Sou need a break, Jen." He looked over her shoulder at the
mess spilled across the desk. "That's Charlie's crap, isn't it?
The boundary dispute? It shouldn't take you long to finish up;

you're pushing a tired brain, giri. Give it a break, why don't
you?"

"Yeah, I know. Next time, all right?"

"Look, Jennifer—" He sighed, gave her a gentle shove, jerked
his head toward her office and followed her in, closing the door
behind him. "You look like hell tonight, you know that?"

"Thanks."

"You know what I mean. Look, there's nothing wrong with
sticking with the game plan here. You don't need to prove how
good you are to anyone."

She shook her head. ' 'It's not that. I don't think it is. It's just—
what I want. Partner in three years, Jimmy."

He flopped into one of the client-chairs. Jennifer moved her
stack of books aside, turned the radio down a notch and began
fiddling with the tuning. He looked at the windows, past the
framed law degree, let his eyes rest briefly on the matted poster
of Ayers Rock in Australia, before turning his attention to the
enlarged snapshot of a woman and a boy—Jennifer's older sister
Robyn and her nephew, her only family. There was no resem-
blance between the faded, overweight blonde in the picture and
the woman sitting behind the desk. Jennifer was tall and rangy,
all cheekbones and dark brown hair. The wide-set hazel eyes
under the glasses belied the intelligence behind them; he had
Suspected for years she wore glasses rather than contact lenses
because people wouldn't take her seriously otherwise. Some
people—like certain senior (male) partners, older (male) judges,
opposing (older, male) counsel. Anyone who worked with her
like he did, any other associate or law clerk at Heydrich & Har-
rison knew better.

There was no sign of the driven determination that was Jen-
nifer's in the photograph of Robyn and her son Christopher. And
the contrast between Chris and either woman was ludicrous.

20 RU EMERSON

Robyn, with her long, straight, center-parted hair, looked like a
refugee from a revival of Hair, Jennifer like a model for the
cover of a magazine for executive women- Chris, with his shaggy
hair, black jeans, that leather jacket—Chris might have come
straight from an MTV video.

The two in the picture didn't explain Jennifer to him; and
Jennifer, though he'd worked with her since their first summer
clerking for this firm. hadn't ever given him much clue lo her
drive. Just now, she was playing with a ball-point, doodling on
the edge of a yellow pad covered with notes, cleariy waiting for
him to go so she could get back to work. The radio was playing
something sloshy and orchestral. "No one makes partner here
in under five years," he said finally. Jennifer's generous mouth
quirked in what might have been a dubious grin or a grimace;

she shrugged. "All right, Steve did it in three and a half. But
not your way, remember? He brought in a pharmaceutical com-
pany and an office furniture chain; they've kept Heydrich & Har-
rison in petty cash for years."

"I know that."

"You might know it, but I don't think you've taken it to heart.
It's not just the hard work. And all this grunt work—five years
of this nonstop, you'll look like a drudge and your brains'll turn
to pudding."

Jennifer stirred indignantly and set the pen down. "That's not
nice, James. Or even true. It's part of the game, we all do it.
Besides, what am I supposed to do the next time Harrison comes
by with a research project—Just Say No?"

James laughed and settled his body a little lower in the chair,
crossing navy blue trousered legs under the edge of her desk.
"Don't be silly. Besides, you can't ask me that. I'm Steve's
camel, remember? The guy who carries me briefcase and pulls
the baggage can when we go into court. Of course we all do it;

sometimes you even get lucky and get landed by a firm like this
one where the partners still resemble humans. But even the hon-
chos over at Gimmel and Charies don't insist their grunts work
nonstop, barring the odd emergency."

"I know someone over mere myself; everything's an emer-
gency." Jennifer laughed, shook her head. "Look. it's not that
bad; we work differently, that's all. And as for looks-what's the
big deal? This isn't the Foro Agency, is it?"

"You start looking like death wanned over and you can kiss
court time goodbye."

"Nonsense."

•CHE CALL1NQ OF ^HE CHREE        21

"All right, that's only an ugly clerk-room rumor. All the same,
you can't afford to wear yourself down like this. You want to
bum out?"
"I won't."

"Harrison's last secretary probably said that once. The one
who left him last year? Sold french fries at Burger King for six
months. I think she's pushing cosmetics or see-through undies
at house parties now.''
"I remember Cindy. I'm not like that."
"You need contacts," James said bluntly. "I'm putting in the
hours myself, I'm pulling down points, it all counts, after all.
Look." He sat up and leaned forward, planted his elbows on
two yellow pads. "Why do you think I joined the health club
across the street? And the one over in Santa Monica? Because—
of—the—contacts." His fingers tapped her desk, emphasizing
me words. "I'm just telling you. Bring in an Iranian condo de-
veloper, get a big-name actor. Bring in money, prestige or
perks."

"Just like that."

He sighed. "You're in a sour mood tonight, aren't you? That's
the gravy that gets you partner early."

In spite of her rising irritation, Jennifer laughed. "James, I'd
like to strangle you sometimes. You sound like a used-car sales-
man."

"How do you think I put myself through law school?"
"Cute. I'm not going to pick my friends because they might
get me somewhere here. I'm not a damned ambulance chaser."

"Well, neither am I," he growled. The chair rocked as he
pushed to his feet; he steadied it, bent down and retrieved a
pencil from the floor and tossed it onto the desk. "I am, how-
ever, a realist." He shoved his jacket sleeve back, glanced at
his watch. "I'm late, gotta go." He paused in the doorway.
' "Look, I wouldn't have brought it up at all, except that frankly,
girt, you look like hell lately. You can't make partner if you kill
. yourself before Christmas, all right? And if you think you have
to prove how good you are to anyone else—well, you don't."
^ He was gone, out the door and down the hall before she could
f.aay anything.

•^ Jennifer scowled at his back, brought her attention back down
^ to the case she'd left half-read. She shook her head and sighed
^tiredly as he yanked the outer door closed behind him, turned
tap her radio, turned over a blank sheet on the top yellow pad
t^and began writing.

22 RU EMCRSON

* * *

HOURS later, the coffee pot was empty, her eyes dry and itchy,
her throat rough from dictating. 1\vo tapes, her notes, opposing
counsel's latest pleadings and the case file made a daunting heap
on her secretary's desk, ready for her to start the memo; the last
page of a yellow pad, still attached to the cardboard back, leaned
against the pile, on it a red felt scrawl: "Jan, Harrison needs
this ASAP. Hope it makes sense, JAC." She rubbed he? eyes,
resettled her glasses and focused on her watch. Ugh. It wasn't
late any more, it was earty.

The night air was damp and smelled faintly of fog; a street
cleaner rattled past. No other traffic on Century Park East; the
last movies must have let out an hour or more earlier. The chill
revived her a little; she left windows down just a slit to keep her
awake as she drove down Avenue of the Stars, out Pico toward
the beach.

Her apartment—in Santa Monica, but nearly a mile from the
ocean—was dark and what seemed abnormally quiet; Chris had
spent most of the summer and early fall with her but when Rob-
yn's latest boyfriend finally moved out a week before, he went
back home. Jennifer turned on lights, turned the stereo on low-
without Chris around, she didn't have to adjust the volume or
the station—and stared into the refrigerator.

She didn't really feel hungry, but not eating would be a mis-
take- She dragged out a Coke, cottage cheese and a small can
of peaches, carried them into the living room and ate at the
coffee table- Imagine leaving Coke in the fridge and finding it
still there, she thought. Chris drove her crazy sometimes; at the
moment, she rather missed him.

"Friday already." she told the bathroom mirror as she brushed
her teeth. A rather long Friday, from the look of it, but Charles
Harrison was taking her and her secretary Jan to lunch, as
partner-style thanks for the rush research and the typing. She'd
taken lunch all week at her desk, eating whatever Jan could
forage in me nearby sandwich shops for both of them.

And she was safe counting on the weekend: Barring total di-
saster, no one at Heydrich & Harrison Law Corp. worked Sat-
urday or Sunday. She glanced at her watch again, considered,
finally shrugged and punched the first button on her auto-dialer.
The phone at Robyn's rang only four times before Chris picked
it up.

"Hi, kid. Aren't you supposed to be in bed at this hour?"
"Aunt Jen? Hiya. Why should I be?"

•CHE CALLiNQ OF X:HE •CHREE

"Beats me. School?" He was in his senior year, in a high
'school in Robyn's neighborhood where some of the sophomores
geared Jennifer half silly.

"No classes tomorrow, teacher conference."

"Good planning on your part."

"Hey. I try."

"Your mother still up?"

"Asleep," he said briefly. Passed out, his tone of voice said.

"Oh. We still on for Saturday?"

"You bet." More enthusiasm this time. "Devil's Punchbowl,
though, not Vasquez Rocks. Too many city types out there."

Jennifer laughed. "Sure, country boy. What did Robyn say?"

"Said she'd do a picnic, chicken and stuff."

"Swell." Jennifer didn't take this any more seriously than
Chris did; experience was that Robyn's intentions were good but
a bottle of wine usually got between her and the intentions.
There were places on the way to pick up food, plenty of fruit
and vegetable stands on the other side of me mountains. "What
do you think, if we leave your place about ten?"

"Sounds fine." Robyn wouldn't be conscious any earlier,
probably. "Say—what're you still doing up, Aunt Jen? Don't you
work any more?"

"No one likes a smart-assed kid," Jennifer told him sternly,
but she was smiling, and he knew it. Chris was still chuckling
as he hung up.

She was tired; glassy-eyed tired. Sleep evaded her. The apart-
ment was stuffy, her window air conditioner only partly effec-
tive, and the noise it made was irritating. The sheets were new,
the dye not yet softened by time and washing, and they scraped
against her legs. Yellow paper, blue-lined, danced before her
eyes; case names echoed in her thoughts. A theme from the
Mahler symphony repeated itself. She tossed and turned, finally
got up and found her aspirin bottle, dumped three into her hand
fUad swallowed them. They left an unpleasant taste in her mouth,
and she doubted they'd be very effective.

There was another bottle in the cabinet, a prescription bottle
; of small blue tablets; they'd put her to sleep, all right. God knew

the same stuff, stronger dosage, had been effective for Robyn for
; years. Jennifer had opened the bottle a dozen times the past year
and recapped it each time, still full.

When she climbed back into bed, the office was gone, pushed
aside by another mental treadmill: Robyn. Poor, weak Robyn;

? poor addictive-personality elder sister. I'm not that way, Jennifer

24 RU EMCRSON

told herself- But it was because of Robyn that she couldn't make
herself take the pills.

Guilt, fear, concern, worry—there wasn't an end to it, there
never had been. She barely recalled first grade or anything be-
fore it, back when there'd been a real family. Except her parents
fighting, constantly fighting, and then the divorce. She'd been
such an object of pity and curiosity; divorce in a smalt Wyoming
town in the early sixties had caused a major sensation. Ostensi-
bly it started when Marion Cray began talking to the Watchtower
people but rumor on that had gone both ways—that George had
driven her to it, that she*d driven him to file for the separation
when she cut herself off from former friends, her old church,
everything not Adventist.

And George—he had only filed for separation when Marion
threatened to take their daughters with her. Mill Junction people
had been relieved when the judge gave him custody. Marion had
gone away by then, the sensation died down for a while. But
George hadn't known what to do with his six- and fifteen-year-
old daughters, now that he had them.

"Wasn't particularly interested," Jennifer told the ceiling in
a near-soundless whisper. It still hurt. He'd only cared that she
didn't win, and he couldn't bear to look bad in front of his co-
workers at the mine, or his drinking buddies. Jennifer and Robyn
had been shipped off to a second cousin and his wife in Southern
California as soon as the ink was dry on the final decree.

Jennifer had been lost, bewildered by a world where city
stretched on alt sides of them, where the other girls judged her
by her clothes and who she knew, who or what her parents were.
A girt from a one-room grade school in Mill Junction, Wyo-
ming, couldn't possibly fit in a Sherman Oaks school where
three kids in her class had TV actors for parents and others were
picked up in Cadillacs and Lincolns. She'd have been lost even
if she'd had money for constantly changing fads. And their new
guardians—Aunt Betty, Uncle Hal were almost old enough to be
Jennifer's grandparents, childless. They didn't understand things
like that, even if they could have afforded them.

The checks from their father had stopped after the first year;

Jennifer hadn't seen or heard from him except for a Christmas
card a few years ago. He'd put a return address on it, but she'd
dumped the envelope without writing it down. Her mother might
never have existed, for all anyone had heard of her over the past
twenty or so years.

Junior high was better; Jennifer had made some friends by

T:HE CALL1NQ OF T:HE FHREE

men, and she'd discovered music. She stilt owned the cello she'd
played in the high school orchestra. Now she played only for
herself, and between work and family she hadn't taken it out in
nearly a year.

She'd wanted it, badly, in high school: seeing herself acting,
or playing—cello with the symphony, singing with a rock group
on the Strip, it didn't matter. Common sense and a grim deter-
mination not to stay poor any longer than she could help it forced
die dream aside. She went into pre-law and then to law school.

That had been—she didn't like to think what it had been. The
grades to get her in. Tuition. She'd lived on campus, in the com-
munal house for girls who couldn't afford dorm fees and hadn't
die pull to make a sorority; she'd worked a full-time night job
for three years, took in typing, worked weekends in the school
cafeteria. Those years were a blur, little ever standing out. Law
school wasn't any easier, but at least summer clerking for Hey-
drich & Harrison paid well enough to fund most of her next
year's classes, and—her second year—for the decent haircut, the
makeup, the two good dresses and the sharp red suit that put
her above the poverty-stricken, dowdy clerk bracket. Suddenly,
there was an offer of a job, the Bar was behind her, there was
nowhere to go but up.

Professionally, anyway.

Personally—there wasn't any personally. Lying under the
scratchy sheet, listening to the clunk of her air conditioner, to
someone's dog barking down the block in response to a motor-
cycle revving from stop sign to stop sign, she thought about this
briefly. Shook her head as the rumble of the bike faded. It didn't
matter—correction, it shouldn't matter. Any more than Jimmy's
remarks, which still rankled.

"If it doesn't matter—if you don't need to prove anything to
anybody, then why are you still chewing on it, Cray?" she asked
me ceiling.

Personally—it really didn't matter. She hadn't dated much in
high school and there hadn't been much time for guys in college.
In law school now and then she'd go off with one crowd or
another for pizza and beer, or half a dozen of them would con-
gregate outside the library. There'd been a few movies with a
classmate, a couple of dances. Since coming into the firm, she'd
taken in a few movies with James, played tennis with him once
or twice—when? Maybe a year ago, he'd thrown over tennis for
racquetball about then.

James was nice, but not her type; she didn't think she was his

26

RU EMCRSON

type, either. And dipping the pen in company ink wasn't a good
idea. She sighed, turned over and stared at the far wall, at the
hot blue-white pattern the street light made through her closed
blinds. There'd be someone; she wasn't in a particular hurry and
now wasn't a good time to start a relationship anyway.

Was she trying to prove something? To herself, that she
wouldn't become another Robyn? To her father or her mother,
that she could succeed without them? "Sounds like one of Jan's
magazines; pop psychiatry in two columns, cure all your prob-
lems," she growled, and rolled onto her other side.

She worried about the wrong things, in that case. She had
little in common with her father, that she remembered. Nothing
with her mother. She couldn't become another Robyn; they had
things in common, but they weren't really alike. One of them
had firm control of her life and where it was going. The other—

"God. Poor Robyn."

Poor old Robyn. She loved her sister, everything notwith-
standing; she always had loved Robyn. Robyn was sweet, kind,
caring. But when the partners had suggested she invite Robyn to
the Christmas party this last winter, and to the celebration when
they won the Mayer case in April, she'd found an excuse both
times and not mentioned either to her sister. Was she ashamed

of Robyn?

Frankly, brutally, she knew the answer had to be yes. At least,

in certain company. There wasn't any polish to Robyn; she
looked like an aging hippy or a redneck compared to all those
varnished attorneys' wives, of course, but then, Robyn weis an
aging hippy, and not apologetic for what she'd done; Jennifer
respected her for at least having the courage of her convictions.
But she could almost hear the whispered comments behind both
their backs, the jokes . . . And Robyn wasn't safe to take places,
sometimes. Her language, her interests, the things she stood up
for could get embarrassing, and she got even louder and more
plain-spoken when she drank. Robyn drunk: Jennifer had night-
mares about Robyn, a Heydrich & Harrison party, and booze.
"Fifteen years from now, here you are, senior partner, brilliant
advocate, trial lawyer—hell, why not?—the next F. Lee Bailey,
and still finding reasons why your sister can't come to the office
parties," she mumbled. "(Mi, hell.*' Shit rolled onto her stom-
ach and pounded the side of the mattress. Hand.

It wasn't fair. God knew, she loved Body, bat— "But. I did
it, by myself, no one helped me, I came out all right. I didn't
go to hell in a handbasket and use Daddy for an excuse. And I

X:HE CALL1NQ OF WE TTHREE

27

. don't see why I should have to choose between my new life and
my family, either."

By 1966, Robyn was hanging out weekends on Sunset Strip
or up on Hollywood Boulevard. Then afternoons and evenings
after school. When Aunt Betty rather timidly protested, Robyn
threw a fit, quit school and moved out, staying wherever she
could find a place for her sleeping bag. Or with any guy who'd
take her in. Her phone calls came less and less frequently, then
stopped. She wouldn't come out to the house in Shennan Oaks
any more. Aunt Betty didn't help; she wouldn't even try to get
Robyn back, just said she was over sixteen and responsible for
herself now.

Robyn moved in with a guy named John somewhere along the
line; Jennifer remembered being old enough to go off by herself
and she'd taken the bus down to Hollywood once or twice. But
she was scared and appalled by the casual atmosphere and the
number of people actually living in the grubby apartment; the
constant, thick smoke made her dizzy and ill. And it didn't seem
to matter to Robyn if she came or not; Robyn was distant, usu-
ally stoned, often hallucinating, sometimes simply drunk. John
tried to corner her when Robyn wasn't around, or his friends
did. The last time she went there, someone followed her down
the hall and out to the bus stop, left only when she nagged down
a cop. She quit visiting. John had BO phone; now it was three
or four months between Robyn's calls.

When Jennifer was in high school, Robyn simply vanished. She
showed up for Jennifer's graduation, though: too thin, dressed
in torn jeans, a mirrored T-shirt, and ugly, flat sandals,
with skinny little Chris in tow and one of her husbands—
Kari, Jennifer thought. They'd both been pretty odd, Robyn's
eyes didn't track, and she couldn't finish her sentences. Only her
affection for Chris reassured Jennifer. Even then, the boy seemed
to be parenting Robyn rather than the other way around.

Chris dated from her stay on a commune in Arizona—the
members had shared everything, and Robyn had no idea which
of the men was the boy's father. She was happy there, and left
only when the group decided to go entirely macrobiotic and ban
^ alcohol, pills and psychedelics. She moved back to Los Angeles.
•^:   By the time Jennifer was at Berkeley, she got letters from
)' Robyn—a few sentences, badly spelled and in handwriting worse
.-.':'' than any lawyer's, on cheap lined tablet paper. Or postcards from
'^ Chris. Now and again Robyn called when something went
H"sideways," as she called it. Things often did. She was un-

28 RU EMERSON

trained and uneducated, and unwilling to deal with the main-
stream—the "straight world." She went instead from relief
program to relief program, from disastrous boyfriend to even
more disastrous boyfriend. There were two more husbands in
there somewhere; Jennifer no longer tried to remember who, or
when.

Robyn quit dropping acid the second summer Jennifer clerked
in L.A., but only after a bad trip and a week in County General;

she quit smoking weed but increased her cigarette intake. She
managed to get herself off the prescription pills she'd gotten
hooked on after one of her live-in boyfriends put her in the
hospital with a concussion and a broken arm. Jennifer had a
suspicion she'd quit taking those only because Chris read her the
riot act—but now she was drinking again.

Nothing changed. Jennifer sighed miserably, rolled over, sat
up and stared at the bedroom door. Her stomach was beginning
to hurt. But it wasn't all bad, she assured herself. Robyn at least
no longer took illegal stuff—partly out of concern for Chris.
She'd always been a good mother, even when things were tight;

none of her various men had ever laid a hand on the boy. And
according to Chris, Robyn had kicked Arnold out herself, when
he started leaning on her.

Jennifer groaned as she looked at her clock. Damn James,
nice, helpful James, it was his fault. She ordinarily kept all this
"Family from Hell" business decently closeted. He'd unwit-
tingly pushed all the right buttons to bring it out-
Damn Birdy, for that matter. If Robyn wanted to ruin her own
life, fine; she'd been trying long enough- Most of her original
crowd had long since vanished or died. But it wasn't right; it
was hard on everyone around her. It still amazed Jennifer how
well Chris was turning out. Profiting by his mother's example,
probably.

Damn herself for that matter, Jennifer thought sourly. Wor-
rying about things at this hour, particularly things she couldn't
change. "Why not worry about whether you can stop the next
earthquake?" she demanded of her pillow. After all, Heydrich
& Harrison wouldn't dump her if—oh, God, if Robyn got caught
in die midst of a big drug bust, or got drunk at an office party,
or buttonholed Mrs. Harrison, with her fur coats, about seal
hunts. Someone might suggest on the quiet that Robyn not ac-
company her to office functions any more, that would be about
all. But a midnight fantod like that hanging over her head wasn't
doing her stomach any good, or her concentration. Any more

mE CALLING OF T:HE T:HREE      29

than the aspirin were. She reset her alarm for an extra hour-
Jan wouldn't have any hani copy for her until nine anyway-" ay
back, resolutely closed her eyes and began running a Bachce^
sona^ through her mmd. It took time' but soKer^ during
the third movement, she fell asleep.                       g

IT was nearly dark. Lialla had slipped into the hall long enough
to light two candles from one of the lamps and then barred
the door securely behind her. There was enough water left from
the morning to bathe her face. Her cheekbone protested the least
touch. She let the air dry it and avoided her mirror. It wasn't
the first bruise Jadek had put on her, just the first physical, vis-
ible one. She'd never seen him in such a rage before.
What had set him off? Or had it been deliberately planned, to

send her cowering into Carolan's pudgy grasp? She couldn't think
about that, not about any of it. The mere thought of Jadek's
furious face was enough to set her shivering uncontrollably.

The woman who took care of her rooms hadn't come to light
the fire yet; she wondered dully if Jadek had forbidden it.
Shrugged finally. Myssa was under Lizelle's direction, Jadek
never bothered with any of the household servants if he could
help it, let alone the women. And there was no reason for him
to forbid her her woman. He must think her cowed by what he'd

done to Aletto if not to her.
"Aletto. Oh, gods.9' Her hands were trembling again. That

had been pure rage, no pretense at all once Aletto had dared to
hit him. It threatened to make her ill. Was it somehow her fault?
If she'd done something differently—anything save swear to hor-
rid Carolan, because Aletto would never have given way if she
had done that; he wouldn't have believed it. But if she'd kept
her tongue civil, not angered Jadek so before Aletto came at
him! Her mind scurried in an endless circle. She shook her head

to clear it and only succeeded in making it ache.

Aletto. Three years her senior, and one of the very first things

she could remember was when he'd named himself her cham-


T:HE CALL1NQ OF T:HE TTHREE       31

pion, like a hero in the tales his tutors told him. Even now he
tried to hold to the vow made in the dark hours after their father's
death. "Whatever threatens, sister, I'll protect you." Such grand
words, contrasting ludicrously with his piping boy's voice.

If she'd followed that wild urge to laugh, so many years ago,
his feelings would have been hurt, but this afternoon might never
have happened. Not if Aletto hadn't felt responsible for her. Not

if she hadn't let him.

She stood, paced between bed and windows, then windows
and door. The hall was silent, deserted; her windows reflected
torchlight from the courtyard and the outer walls. She crossed
die room, yanked the bar aside, pulled the door wide and hurried

down the hall.
The empty pile of crockery was gone from beside Aletto's

door; so was the soup. A wooden tray covered with a blue cloth
stood on a small bench in place of the mess, a straight-sided,
tall stone jug of water next to it. Lialla hesitated, glanced ner-
vously up and down the hall, tapped on the door.              :

Silence. She swallowed dread and the sensation that someone
stood just beyond the light, well down the hallway, watching.
Jadek, or one of his householdmen, someone who'd report her '
out of her rooms. Jadek hadn't forbidden her to come here, but !
that wouldn't stop him from punishing her for it if the mood
took him. She knocked harder, hissed, "Aletto, it's me!" against :

the wood.

Silence again. Then Aletto's muffled voice. "Li? Go away."

"No." Silence. She lifted the latch and tried the door; he'd
braced it from inside. "Aletto, there's food and water out here,

let me in."

"No."
She closed her eyes briefly, marshalled pain and fear-scattered

thoughts. "Shall I stand out here until Jadek finds me? I'm not

leaving until I see you."                                     :

He muttered something; probably as well she couldn't hear it,
she thought. But she heard him moving about, heard something
scrape across the floor. Lialla picked up the tray and jug and
,.-. slipped into the darkened room as her brother pushed the door'
t closed. He turned and walked slowly and carefully across the|
^ room, back into shadow. His limp was not obvious, but he moved]

1 stiffly,                                                     i
i:.   "You have what you wanted," he said neutrally.
^;   Lialla set the tray on the long table next to an empty wineskin
H..and a pile of books. Aletto made a faint, protesting noise as she

RU EMCRSON

32

lit another candle from the guttering puddle of wax near the door
and lit his silver reading lanterns with it. He let his eyes close
and eased himself slowly down onto the corner of his bed. His

shoulders sagged.
Lialla bit back a cry as harsh light struck his face. The right

side was swollen and purple; his eye was turning black from
where he'd hit the edge of the table. He managed the least smile,
all left-sided, but his eyes were dark and brooding. "You haven't
seen the best of it yet. I haven't, either; I'm afraid to look."

"Is any—-*' She drew a deep breath and forced the tremor
from her voice. "Is anything broken?" Aletto's thin shirt hung
on his lean frame. The front was smudged and grubby from the

floor of Jadek's accounting room.

"I don't know. Never broke anything before; I haven't any-
thing for comparison." He sighed, and his shoulders sagged
further. The almost smile vanished. "You're here. You might as

well look."
Lialla steeled herself, took both lanterns and went behind him.

The once cream-colored fabric of his shin was torn in two places,
snagged in others, spotted and streaked with his blood. "That's

got to come off."

"I know. I couldn't; when I finally tried, my arms won't move

over my head. But 1 didn't want to send for anyone."

"No. Wait." She felt in her pocket, found the sewing bag
with its small gold scissors. "There's no saving the shirt. I'm

sorry, I know you like it."

"I did." In his place, she wouldn't have worn it again any-
way, she realized. Not after today. He sat very still while she
snipped. She wanted to weep when she finally set the ruined fabric
aside. Pour long, black welts ran across his back. He hissed when
she touched them, swore when she ran light fingers across his ribs.

"Aletto, something might be broken. You can't leave it. Let
me get Merrida; she can do a better job than I—"
"No," he said flatly.

"I know you don't like her, but she can help."
"Oh, yes?" Aletto said, even more flatly. Lialla sighed and
left it. Aletto and Merrida had never liked each other, not since
she'd failed to completely heal the marsh-sickness that left him
permanently lamed- He sat in tight-lipped silence while she
bathed his back. "You take care of it, Lialla; that's enough for

me. For now."

"All right. I have some oil in my rooms. I can get it."

There was hesitation in her voice; he caught it and the reason

WE CALL1NQ OF •CHE T:HREE

33

\ for it. "Jadek's gone until midmoming, remember? There's a
hunt tonight on Carolan's lands."

That was what he had meant eariier; tonight was impossible.
"I didn't know. Don't move." He hadn't moved when she came
back; he didn't so much as twitch when she smeared fragrant
oil into his bruised skin, protested only a little when she cut the
loose shirt into strips and bound his lower ribs with it. "You'll
sleep on your stomach tonight," she said.

He nodded, winced and let himself down onto the mattress,
pulling cushions under his chest and stomach. "I think I'll start
now. Your hands hurt more than my stick did." He stared at the
wall behind his bed. "Of course, I had a skin of wine in me
then, and I was angry. It's harder to feet anything when you're
drunk and mad."

"I'll try and remember that." Lialla pulled a stool around to
\ the head of his bed, dragged the tray and the jug down to the
: end of the desk and tossed the cloth aside. It had covered flat
bread* strong cheese, more mealy apples. Peasant food for the
nera-Duke, she thought, while Jadek dines with his cousin Car-
olan on game .birds in honey sauces. She was briefly furious, but
that passed. At least there was food. She poured water into his
cup, smeared cheese over a comer of the bread and tore it loose
for him. It was cold and tough.

Aletto took it, sniffed and made-a face. "Lialla. You can't
marry Carolan." He touched the back of her hand as she let her
eyes close.

"I—" She shook her head angrily. "I—oh, Aletto, damn!
How can Jadek do this to me? Carolan, of all men! He's fifty,
he's enormous and soft and stupid—he thinks of nothing but
hunting!" She bunched her hands into fists, crushing black fab-
..-ric between her fingers. "To think I turned Dahven down be-
^ cause I thought him unsuitable!"

••••• "Dahven is unsuitable; he's crazy. He only thinks of ale houses
^and women, he must have bastards all over Sikkre's market by
i now. And I wouldn't be surprised if the Thukar disowns him in
a^&vor of his younger brothers, the twins are much more suited
||to following the old man; you wouldn't have even had Sikkre for
^consolation, if you'd wed Dahven—in my opinion. But you un-
"'•terestimated our uncle and stepfather, Lialla." Aletto tore at the
ough bread with his teeth, chewed vigorously and washed the
rite down with most of the water.
"Again."
"Don't look so awful about it; I'm no better than you- I never

34

RU EMERSON

suspected this trick with Carolan, and I—well. Never mind that."
He looked up at her. "Is that a shadow or dirt on your face, or

did he strike you?"

She shook her head and fought the urge to pull her face back

into shadow. Ashamed—but it was Jadek who should be
ashamed, hitting a woman so much smaller than he and with no

recourse against him. "I wish you hadn't hit him."

"I'm not sorry." Aletto closed his eyes; his mouth was a thin,
grim line on the overty narrow face. "Because even with what
he did, I learned something. I'm not a child any more, Liatla.
Jadek isn't a man three times my size; he's better muscled and
he's trained to fight—the way he wouldn't let me be trained,"
he added bitterly. "My leg, you know, my weakness." He
brooded on this momentarily, held up a hand when Lialla tried
to speak. "He's no larger than I am, and I hurt him." He smiled,
a most unpleasant smile. "I was drunk; I don't think I'd have
done it otherwise—and worried about you, of course. I do re-
member that much. But he's not a god, he's not someone to
cringe away from. Never again, Lialla."

"Aletto, don't-—"
"Oh, I don't intend to challenge him directly, I'm not quite

so lost to sense as mat!'' he assured her. * 'But Carolan—we can't
simply let him go on with this, Lialla. It'll mean my death,
Mother's—very likely yours, I can't say."

"Don't," Lialla protested.

'*Shh, listen. Mother won't give Jadek heirs. I'm twenty-eight
now, three years past majority. He's found excuses for postpon-
ing the succession ceremony for three years now, but he can't
put me aside for good and all without greater cause than he now
has: I'm a cripple, I drink to excess, but a Duke isn't called on
to be an army captain, and what he drinks is his own business.
Emperor Shesseran will eventually want better reasons than that
for Jadek's continued grip on Father's title and lands.

"But Jadek is no fool, as you and I know. He wanted eldest's
rights from the first and now that he has them, he won't give
them up. Whether he somehow engineered Father's death—" He
shrugged, winced and closed his eyes briefly, then rolled cau-
tiously and stiffly onto one side. "This"~a gesture took in his
weak left leg—"wasn't any accident." Lialla stared at him,
shocked into silence. "I can't prove that, either, but I think he
brought in marsh fever, in hopes I would die of it or be left so
hopelessly mad or crippled he would be free to take Zeiharri.
And there have been one or two near accidents recently- Again,

CHE CALLINQ OF ^HE FHREE

35

nothing provable, but that's so like Jadek, isn't it? And how
convenient for him to be able to say I had attempted too much
on a maimed leg and fallen to my death. I nearly did last moon-
season, on the kitchen stairs.

"Nothing since that, however. And I can see why now. If
Carolan begets a son on you—"

"Don't." Lialla's agonized whisper momentarily silenced him;

he gripped her fingers then and went relentlessly on.

"When you have a son, Jadek will be able to dispose of me.
Carolan is no matter, he carries too much weight for a man of
his years, he wheezes at the least effort. A young wife could be
the death of him with no comment but a snicker here and there-
Who'd lay that to our uncle's door? And then, there'd be no one
to sit upon the Duke's Chair save your son, and no one to serve
in his place but Jadek. It wouldn't be his son, but I doubt he
cares what happens to the succession after him. He only wants
to keep what he's had since Father's death." He ate the rest of
his bread absently. "Is there more water?" Lialla spilled more
on his carpets than went in the cup. Aletto was too distracted to
notice. "You can't marry Carolan. So you can't stay here any
- longer."

She shook her head so fiercely hair flew wildly, whipping

across her brother's face- He winced and drew back. "Aletto, I
can't leave!"

"Oh, yes, you can! Unless you want me dead soon and your-
self and Mother not long after! Do you think you can light can-
dles with old Merrida and hold him off? That hasn't done much
good, has it? Not lately, anyway!" He paused. Lialla looked at
him, temporarily unable to speak. Aletto touched the back of
her band. "Here in Duke's Fort, you're as good as buried; no
one outside knows what's going on inside. Isn't that so? But if
you went to the Emperor and petitioned him for your rights—"

Lialla shook her head again, silencing him. "No. That's no
answer. Shesseran's so deep in his Festival of Numbers, he's no
time to listen and no interest in anything else. And why should
'<fae Emperor care what man my guardian thinks a fit mate for
^''fte? Jadek's arguments would carry more weight than mine, Al-
^Oto, and he'd see they reached Court before I could. And what
"Ipke said today—" She sighed. "I would have to give way to his
choice if the succession were in danger."

^!. "Lialla, listen to me, will you? For the first time in months,
i*^** reasonably sober and I'm thinking. It's not easy, so bear
i me, will you? All right, maybe not Shesseran, maybe you




36

have to get access to someone else—one of Father's old allies.
Someone who can present a petition to the Emperor, maybe for

both of us."
Silence. Aletto eased back down onto his stomach; Lialla

stared across his shoulders. "Mother might know someone—she
certainly wasn't any use herself today," Lialla said, and the
bitterness in her voice surprised her. "But why Merrida didn't

even fry!"
Aletto shifted, swore as pain flared across his back. "Oh,

for—the woman is a servant, Lialla! I think you forget that all
too often; I swear she orders you about as though your stations
were reversed! But she's a servant, a member of the lower class,
and you know the law! I'm sure she doesn't forget it around
jadek! Cross him in look, word or deed—Jadek would cut her
throat. And Mother—what do you expect? She didn't even pro-
test when Jadek married her!" He sighed; after an uncomfort-
able little silence, he went on. "Think about what he's done to
us both, and ask yourself what she must go through, sleeping in
his bed all these years?" Lialla shook her head. "I've watched
him, Lialla. I know how his mind works, or I'm starting to.

Think about why Mother was there today."

Lialla closed her eyes. "Not to give consent, or to back him.
So he could show me that there's nothing Mother can do to

oppose his choice."
"Smart girt," Aletto said dryly. "So, there's only one way

out. You've got to cut and run for it, Lialla."

She stirred. "1 will. If you'll go with me." The words were
out almost before she realized what she'd intended to say. When
she looked up, Aletto was staring at her in wide-eyed surprise.

"It's my dukedom, my inheritance. I won't abandon it," he

said indignantly.

"You won't be abandoning it! But it certainly isn't yours now,

is it? You can't take it from him if he has Carolan and"~she
swallowed hard—"and Carolan's get to hold over us both. But

you should shift the balance."

"Not by leaving. Talk sense,"

"I am talking sense! I could find someone to petition the
Emperor for you—why couldn't you petition him yourself? Or
find that someone? Gyrdan is in Sikkre, they say. He was Fa-
ther's right-hand man, but he left as soon as Jadek announced
himself, and most of his men went with him. Gyr would support
you, I'm sure of it." She waited. Aletto was gazing into the
room, across her shoulder. He reluctantly shook his head.

T:HE CALLINQ OF •CHE T:HREE

37

"A good thought, if you had a whole man to seek his fortune
in Sikkre."

Lialla gripped his forearm angrily. "You aren't as weak or
useless as all that!"

"Let me be honest about this; we'll need honesty. I walk with
a stick; I don't ride well and I cannot fight at all, since my uncle
in his concern for my health forbade me horses, sword training
or anything like it."

"You can leam, then," Lialla said flatly. Her eyes were darkly
furious. "By rights I should have learned to property sit a horse
myself, to use a throwing spear; I should know simple wrestling
throws. It's law. Jadek found reasons against my learning, too.
But I can ride; I taught myself. If there's a way, I'll leam the
rest." Aletto's face was unreadable. "You have the one thing
that counts: Father's blood. The rest can come, if you want it
badly enough. But Gyrdan will back you, because of Father."

Aletto looked at her dubiously. "A fight for what's rightfully
mine, though—"

"There won't be a fight. The Emperor would take your side
if it came to a battle, and Jadek knows it. Civil war is the one
dung Shesseran would never allow. You need only return from
Sikkre with enough of Father's men to prove your point, and to
outnumber Jadek."

"There's a flaw in your logic. There must be." But Atetto
smiled. "I suppose there are flaws in mine as well. There's no
right choice, no simple one." The smile faded; he closed his
eyes, mumbled to himself. "He'll want an answer before long.
JBas he said when?"

Dread temporarily submerged rose to twist her stomach once
more. "Tomorrow, midday. A meal for the three of us, alone."

"Then say yes." Aletto laid a hand across his sister's lips
when she began protesting and shook his head. "Say it only,
.you can deny it once you're away. Say your consent was forced.
;:'®ut consent for now; let Jadek choose the day, be agreeable, say
^ycs to whatever he wants. Tomorrow night, late, we'll go. The
,?4»o of us." He let his hand fall; Lialla looked at him with
^'ilipprehensive eyes, finally nodded. Aletto took hold of her hands
!:)IBld squeezed the fingers. "I'll keep you safe, I swear it. What-
^?!?ver happens."

|i;., "I know you will." There was nothing else she could say. He
" ggered to his feet and let her out, shut the door. She heard




! chair slide across the floor to thump into the door moments

er.

38 RU EM6RSON

Lialla walked back down to her room, but stopped just short
of her door. Merrida. If she and Aletto were to escape Duke's
Fort and reach Sikkre safely, they'd need all the aid they could
get. And Lialla had spoken from a half-formed plan she hadn't
even known was there until the words came out. Merrida would
have ideas of her own; Merrida would know what to do.

BACK down the deserted hallway, past Aletto's closed door. The
room with the stairs was dark, the fire sunk to faint embers
under thick ash. Thread, invisible and unworkable during day-
light hours, crossed and recrossed the chamber, there for those
who could to see and touch—and use. "Merrida?" she whis-
pered. No answer. But the thread which bore the old woman's
feel/scent was directly overhead and when Lialla drew it down
to her it reverberated under her fingers, sensation traveling from
one to the other and back. "Merrida, I know you're here."

"Shhh!" The sibilant hissed through her, carrying a mix of
fear and anger. Thread slipped from her fingers as she felt the
tug on its other end, and Merrida was suddenly and simply there,
in the middle of the chamber. Silver thread surrounded her like
a lacework ball and ran out in all directions across the floor,
briefly and brilliantly lit. "Hold still and be quiet!" Merrida
stood still, eyes screwed tightly shut, mouth twisted in concen-
tration, ample chin cushioned on her breast- Thread shifted, be-
coming again momentarily visible; tendrils split and redivided,
snaking across the floor or floating from the upper curve of the
ball to surround the younger woman. Merrida brought her head
up and her hands together, working them as though she shaped
dough into a sphere. The safety encircled them both and the
silver light faded once more, leaving them in near total darkness.

Lialla was just as glad for that; Merrida's face had visibly aged
since the last time she'd seen the woman, and her eyes bore sign
of something that would have been panic had the eyes been any-
one else's. It shook her, badly. Merrida never showed fear, sel-
dom even showed concern unless it was for her Lizelle.

But when Lialla's eyes adjusted to the dark, the haggard look
was gone, leaving her uncertain whether it had been a trick of
the light or if she'd imagined it.

"We're leaving," she said abruptly. "Aletto and I. Tomor-
row."

Merrida nodded. "I know."

So calm, so knowing—Lialla felt an unreasoning fury. "I'm
not a first-day novice or a goat broker, to be stunned by your

•CHE CALL1NQ OF FHE CTREE

39

marvels, Merrida! I know that you know, and I know how you
know, and I'm not particularly impressed! This is real!" She
fetched her breath with a little gasp, shut her mouth in a hard
line to prevent any further words spilling out, turned away. Mer-
rida waited her out. "I'm sorry."

"I know that, too. And I'm glad you realize the gravity of
your situation. It is real." Silence. "I would advise, girl, that
you work harder to stifle that temper; it does your Wielding no
good and it loses you allies." Silence. "And it gets you into
trouble—but you know that also, don't you? Come here." Mer-
rida's fingers slid lightly across her cheekbone and jaw; Lialla
winced and would have pulled back but Merrida had her hair in
a tight grip. "Pay close attention; the boy was worse hit than
you but you'll have to do this for him, if you can."

"1 can't heal," Lialla mumbled defiantly. It irritated her that
Merrida never called Aletto by name.

"You can ease the pain and swelling in a damaged face; sim-
ply do exactly as I am doing for you. It is an exercise learned
by rote and nothing more. Thus." The fingers of her left hand
traced a wavy path over skin, the right clutched the air before
Lialla's face. She felt Thread pulling, lugging uncomfortably at
her skin and the hair over her temples, then a sensation under
her skin, as though a knot unraveled. "Take hold, feel which
ones I have. The boy won't let me-touch him. His back—that
will simply have to be borne." Lialla drew a relieved breath and
let her eyes close as the pain went out like a guttered candle.
Merrida's fingers gripped her shoulder, hard. "Pay heed, I am
not finished. There—no, not those, the pale yellow—ihat'."

"I can't—wait. I have it." Thread resolved itself under her
fingers.

Merrida folded her arms across her chest and leaned back
against the wall. "Are you able to talk sensibly now?" Lialla
ran a cautious hand across her face, nodded. The bruise might
never have been there. "I hope that you are, and ready to listen
as well. Jadek has become impatient, he's caught in a bind of
time with the boy's twenty-fifth birthday years gone and his own
early dreams failing to set fruit. Your plan to leave and seek out
help is the most sense you've shown. It's a pity it took Jadek's
fist to knock it into you."

"I don't—"

"No." Merrida overrode her sourly. "You do not. A young
woman of sense would have wed by now, a husband with the
status of a Dahven of Sikkre would have helped her remove the

40 Ru EMERSON

Duke's power from Jadek's grasp, over time. If you'd had chil-
dren by now, that would have done more. Instead"—Merrida
compressed her tips into a thin line—"you not only avoid mar-
riage but you goad your uncle into a rage when he not surpris-
ingly acts as he did today and seeks to betroth you to his cousin."

Lialla spun away on her heel, blazingly furious; it was several
moments before she could control her voice and her trembling
jaw to reply. "I never intended to marry. You know that."

Merrida laughed. "Why not? Your mother did."

"Mother never planned to Wield—"

"Your mother reached Orange Sash; it's an honorable level
and skilled. You can hope for Orange, Lialla, but you're deceiv-
ing yourself to want more. I know what you see in yourself, but
I tell you that you do not have the concentration, the talent, the
memory, the skills necessary. There's no shame in Orange, or
Yellow—even in Blue. which will be yours by your brother's next
birthday if you both live and retain your wits." Silence. Merri-
da's stare dug into Lialla's back; Lialla chewed at her thumb and
ignored the prickling between her shoulder blades. "There has
been no White in three hundred years, no Silver since the wars
when Hell-Light was confined. The skill for either level is be-
yond me, I admit it; it is well beyond you." More silence. "It's
another reason you must go, though. Jadek does not approve of
Wielders."

"But you—"

"I do nothing that will permit him to see me; your mother
does less than I and spends more effort covering what Wielding
she does. He considers us dabblers and so harmless. But there
is something you don't know, girl: Jadek is Shaping Light."
Lialla whirled around to stare at her.

"He can't be!"

"No?" The old woman chuckled mirthlessly. "He has dene
so, off and on, for a number of years now. But this past moon-
season, he's done more: He has a Triad." Lialla clapped a hand
over her mouth and shook her head. "I tell you he has. Oh—
not here, not in Duke's Fort. Shesseran has removed the restric-
tions on Light, by default rather than intent, but Jadek is sensibly
quiet about his forays into Shaping, and his Triad. I smell them
on him when he comes home after an absence."

"Carolan—Oh, gods, Carolan is sheltering them, then," Lialla
whispered, and the whisper shook.

"1 suspect it. I will not attempt to prove it, since by my
inaction they do not know I know." She shifted herself away

•CHE CALL1NQ OF ?:HE •CHREE      4)

from the wall and suddenly became all brisk business. "He'll
return to the fort tomorrow; he'll want your answer for his
cousin. You'll consent, of course; if possible you'll do it without
formally swearing, and you'll ask a full moon-season, thirty-two
days, to prepare. He'll not expect you to agree to such a short
time; that will work to your advantage in escaping. If you for-
mally swear, it will take Carolan's death to free you, even if the
swearing was under duress. Do you understand that?"

Lialla nodded. **If Jadek insists, though—"

"Then you'll swear if you must; they must both think you
broken and compliant, and Carolan will then have to die." She
turned to stare into the fire, squatted heavily and stirred the
ashes, added a bundle of twigs and a scoop of charcoal to them.
The wood flared up, lighting her face from beneath, accenting
long lines running from her nose to the comers of her mouth,
down into her chin. She looked immeasurably old and tough,
but when she glanced up her eyes were dark with worry. "You'll
need aid."

"There's no one here Aletto will trust, save Mother, and she's
no use!" Lialla bit her lower lip and forced herself to silence.

"Hush, girl," Merrida said sternly. "She's been more use
these years than you know! But not all bruises are as visible as
yours, and the worst are not physical"

Lialla buried her face in her hands, ran them back through her
hair, dislodging pins and two fine ties. "I'm sorry. I just—"

"It was no easier for her, today, watching, than it was for
you being watched," Merrida snapped. "A lesser woman might
have slain herself years ago and left you entirely to Jadek's
whims."

"I know."

"Never mind. There's no go with here; your brother is right
in that. I haven't used a sending spell in all too many years, but
I still remember how; I'll find men to aid you. Somewhere—
let's see, the shallow cave a half-league from the road that leads
to Sikkre—not the main caravan route, the north herdsman's trail;

you know it?"

"There's a stream that crosses the road four times, a pool of
Hell-Light to the south of that, a dell that curves north?" Mer-
rida nodded. "You and Mother took me there as a girl, be-
fore"—she drew a deep breath and expelled it hard—"before
Father died. Several times."

"Berrying. You remember well. The cave is another forty

42 RU EM€RSON

paces up the dell, through a tight copse to the left side; it's not
sealed against Light or any such thing, but it is safeguarded.
Like this room. I'll send whatever aid I can draw through there,
you stay until it comes. Your brother's no swordsman and you*ve
no training in women's weapons."

"No."

"At least you realize your liabilities. Good. If the chance
presents itself, seek out that training; you're not physically strong
enough now, but you can become strong. Persuade your brother
to whatever training you can.

"Avoid the Thukar of Sikkre. He has a Light Shaper among
his household magicians but no Wielder; he sizes men and
women and situations in terms of coin."

"Dahven?"

"The son? I don't know. That's for you to decide. There, are
men of your father's in Sikkre; you may need help in finding
them." Merrida stood stiffly and clasped Lialla's shoulders be-
tween her hands. She shook the younger woman slightly. "I
won't come to you or speak to you tomorrow, so this is farewell
for a time. You have brains and skill; mind you use both. Your
brother will need all the aid you can give him." Lialla nodded
and swallowed dread. "I'll go out as soon as I dare tomorrow
evening before you and he leave—you'll wait until the dead hour
to do that, if you're wise. If I don't deceive myself, if I can still
draw down outside aid; it'll reach you by dawn. Don't tell your
brother how it came or he'll reject it!" Lialla nodded. "Arms-
men, if I can, of course; a hill armed guard if possible. But,"
she sighed, "it isn't always my choice. An outside drawing often
takes life of its own and when the magic chooses—be aware of
that; accept whatever comes to you."

"I'll—I'll try," Lialla said. Merrida laughed and kissed her
on both cheeks.

"At least you're honest about it! Go now."

Lialla hesitated. "The kitchens—we'll need food."

"Food, blankets, at least one horse, proper clothing. Stay
away from the kitchens and the stables; Jadek will have men
watching for you to attempt escape tonight. I'll deal with the
former and your brother can take care of the horses tomorrow;

the man who has brought him information all this past winter is
trustworthy. Besides, it will make the boy feel of use." Merrida
hesitated, turned Lialla around and shoved her gently toward the
door. "Remember that, too: Jadek has all but destroyed the boy's

rHE CALLINQ OF OIE •CHREE      43

faith in himself. You'll need to let him rebuild it, if he can. If
he's to rule in Zemarri when he returns."

"I—understand. Merrida, thank you."

"Don't thank me tonight; wait until it's certain I've done any-
thing to be thanked for. Go; both of us in this place wear on my
safeguards."

4

It was dully warm in the central L.A. Basin, slightly foggy on
the west side of the freeway, nearer the beach. Smoggy in the
Valley. Jennifer drove through thick Saturday traffic until she left
the Santa Monica Freeway and headed north; by the time she
set the Honda climbing out of the Valley, traffic was almost
reasonable and moving swiftly. There were fewer cars heading
out into Antelope Valley, and once they crossed the pass and
came down into desert, there were only a few pickup trucks, an
occasional camper.

Robyn had managed the lunch, but Jennifer wasn't sure how;

she sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed, and her color wasn't
good. Hung over, Jennifer thought grimly, but wisely kept her
mouth shut. Not that Birdy would lose her temper; she never
did. One of her problems, so far as her younger sister was con-
cerned, was that she didn't, which made it all that easier for
people to walk all over her. Particularly men. She had other ways
of dealing with anger and resentment, though: One word about
her drinking and Robyn would make nasty, sarcastic cracks off
and on for the rest of the day. On balance, Jennifer would have
preferred a nice, clean shouting match. Just once.

"Thought I got to drive today," Chris said, and brought her
out of an in-spiral of gloomy thought. She looked in the rear-
view mirror. He was spread out across the back seat, side to
side, one enormous sneakered foot shoved hard against the driv-
er's seat.

"Not this morning," Jennifer said. "I want to be awake
enough to bully you into doing it right." Chris opened his mouth,
shut it again, and looked momentarily rebellious. Only momen-
tarily, though. Jennifer cast him a smile over her shoulder, and

•CHE CALLING OF T:HE •CHREE

45

wondered as she so often did whether he was just a little too
agreeable. Whether it was true that mass murderers started out
as agreeable little boys, the way all those TV tabloid interviews
with neighbors tended to indicate. "Haul that foot out of my
back," she added. Chris obediently shifted, sat cross-legged in
the middle of the back seat so he could see out the windshield.
"If I have to hit the brakes and you aren't belted in, and you go
through the window . . ." she began wamingly.

Chris laughed. "I'm wedged in back here so tight, where
would I go? Besides, I'm insured, right, Mom?"

"Mmmm—much as I am,'* Robyn mumbled. "Which means
County General or the Free Clinic, all like the other poor slobs."
She opened one eye, looked out at the bright landscape, moaned
and let the eye close. "God. Why'd I say I'd come out here with
you two this morning? This is awful, I'm dying."

"Obviously you're a masochist. Mom," Chris assured her
cheerfully.

Robyn groaned again. "I must be, keeping a smart-mouth kid
like you around. Why don't you go run with the gangs like other
guys your age, 'stead of hanging over my shoulder all the time?"
She didn't sound even remotely serious and Chris just grinned.
"We gonna stop at the fruit stand?"

Jennifer nodded. "Sure, Birdy. Won't be much fresh good
stuff in right now, though. Too eariy."

"Hell with fruit, I'm out of cigarettes."

"Now, Mom," Chris began. He stopped as his mother held up
a hand and half-turned in her seat to fix him with a cold eye.

"Later, kid. Much later. I can't handle the lecture at this hour,
all right?" Chris patted her shoulder. "Don't do that, damnit,
you're making my head ache." But Robyn laid her fingers over
his hand briefly and managed an almost-smile to take the sting
from her words. Chris smiled back and nodded, but his smile
vanished and his eyes were darkly concerned as soon as Robyn
turned away and let her head fall back against the headrest.

Poor kid, Jennifer thought. Chris had been mothering Robyn
for so long, making sure she ate, that she took prescribed pills
when she needed them, or got to the doctor when she was sick,
that she got some exercise. He fussed over her when her men
left, listened when she needed to talk about them before or after
they left—he bullied her about her smoking and drinking as much
as he dared, saw to it she got out and did things, dragged her
off to the movies or an occasional cheap concert at one of the
small clubs—to see groups or people who'd been big back in the

46 RU EMGRSON

sixties and stilt played locally. He hadn't had much chance to be
a kid himself, certainly not in the past five years or so.

They bought grapes and two enormous pomegranates; got a
jug of sage honey for Robyn, who swore by it for sore throats;

bought canned pop and Robyn's cigarettes—three packs. Chris
scowled but kept his opinion to himself; Robyn still looked aw-
ful. She stuffed two boxes in the bottom of her ancient denim
shoulder bag, rumbled out a disposable lighter and expertly
peeled clear wrap from the box, had one going before they got
back to the car. Robyn looked at her across the car, hand on the
passenger door; Jennifer looked back, eyebrows drawn together.
"All right, I know. Not in your car."

"Not in my car," Jennifer said firmly. "You smoke, Chris
and I will go over there and stare in the windows."

Robyn looked where her sister pointed. "Yah. Antiques. Old
coffee cans with rust holes, purple bottles and chipped Depres-
sion glass. Have fun, children." She turned away from the car
and walked back over to the long porch that ran along two sides
of the store, sank down onto the edge and sat there, eyes closed,
smoking.

Chris and Jennifer walked across the road. There were several
so-called antique stores, mostly unpainted wood, windows that
hadn't been washed in a century by the look of them, oddments
scattered in the yard out front, dim and cluttered interiors. They
walked between rusting claw-foot bathtubs to mount a rickety
pair of steps and peer through a window. "Your mother's a
witch," Jennifer said.

"What, the coffee cans?" Chris put on a good show, keeping
up banter. He didn't look around; neither did Jennifer. "Or the
purple glass? Tell her that, though; she'd like it." He bent over
and shaded his eyes. "God, there are campaign buttons in there
older than you are."

"What, Eisennower?" Jennifer demanded sarcastically, and
Chris grinned at her impudently.

"Naw. Stevenson." She aimed an open-handed swing at his
ear; he ducked.

"Why?"

"Why—oh, why a witch?" He drove both hands through spiky
hair and absently began to pull at the ends, separating them into
stiff points. Jennifer had to bite back a laugh; Chris got defensive
about getting caught playing with his hair. "I think it's her latest
direction; I think she's gone weird since lovely Arnold left."

"What, not cards and all that?"

T;HE CALLINQ OF •CHE TTHREE      47

"I Ching," Chris said briefly. Jennifer cast her eyes up. "I
know, don't even say it. The tarots haven't been out of the closet
yet—that I know about, anyway. And I bet she doesn't know
where the rest of that junk is any more—like the Ouija board
and things. She's been talking about Wicca, though." He sighed.
"I don't know much about it, except it's a witch-thing, right? I
mean, I can just see it now, Mom's going to get hooked up with
another bunch of weirdos, until the next Amie comes along. I
mean, witches? Come on! I can see it now, can't you? 1 mean,
the guys at school and stuff: 'Hey, Chris, saw your mother flying
over the tops of the palm trees again last night!' ''

"I don't think it's quite like that," Jennifer replied. "There's
a strong mystic side, I think. Feminine mysteries, of course.
Other than that, I know someone who did it for a while. She
called it a great female support group. Maybe your mother needs
that, and we both know the mysticism won't throw her."

Chris was tugging at his hair again. "Naw. She likes all that
stuff. God. Feminine mysteries. I can see it now; she gets hooked
in with them and kicks me out of her life for being one of the
Oppressor Sex, and—hell, I don't know. It just gets hard to live
with."

"I know it does."

"Yeah, I guess you would. Look—don't say anything, will
you? About this Wicca stuff. I don't want her thinking the wrong
thing."

"You know I won't."

"Yeah, I know. One of the best things about you. Aunt Jen."
They walked on down the dirt, sand and fine rock that substi-
tuted for sidewalk. Chris peered through a double gate and into
the back acreage of one of the shops. "God, how can they stand
all that clutter? Oh. well. I guess being a witch is no worse than
being Buddhist, except when she used to read me to sleep with
Alan Watts, for God's sake. Or, when she'd tell the Watchtower
people that—you know, that she was a Buddhist, I swear she did
it just to push their buttons, because they'd stand on the porch
and argue at her for hours." H& stopped talking abruptly, eyed
her sidelong.

"No broken bones," Jennifer assured him. "I wasn't respon-
sible for Mother's choice, after all."

"Sure," he said doubtfully. "Well, anyway. Mom doesn't have
any money, so it's not like she's siphoning off my inheritance to
keep Reverend Ike in limousines."

48 RU EMCRSON

Jennifer stopped in front of the next window. "You should
move out, Chris. Seriously, you should."

He looked at her, shook his head fiercely. "You know I can't
just leave her.''

Jennifer sighed. "You know darned well what I mean, Chris.
Not tomorrow or next week; but you should plan on your own
life; you can't spend all of it watching over your mother. Robyn
can take care of herself, even if she doesn't take care of herself
the way either of us would like her to. And you need to clear
your head, Chris. Do a semester of college down in San Diego
or up in the Bay Area. It's not like that's the moon; you can call,
drive home weekends. It's not necessarily forever, either." Si-
lence. His mouth was set; stubborn, like Robyn, she thought
with an inner sigh. "You need to step back from things some-
times, get a chance to see them and yourself with clear vision.
Even just for a little while."

"I can't," he said flatly.

"Think about it, will you?" He shrugged; she had to take that
for an answer. "Better get back to the car before she lights up
again," Jennifer added. Chris closed his eyes momentarily.

"God. I wish she wouldn't." He led the way back across the
road. Robyn was waiting for them, sitting in the passenger side,
feet on the ground and door open. She let Chris help her up so
he could get into the back seat and swatted his jeans as he went
in headfirst.

"Talking about me," she said severely. "Teach you, brat."
But she was smiling, and her eyes behind the oversized sun-
glasses were almost properly open.

'"Ibid you she was a witch," Chris said from the back seat.
"You called two out of the three on the junk in the window,
Mom." Robyn laughed, winced and climbed back into the pas-
senger seat. Jennifer leaned over to pull the seat belt into place.

"County General," she said as Robyn would have protested.
"Free Clinic. You'd look like Boris Karioffwith stitches all over
your face."

"Planning on an accident?"

"Just planning," Jennifer said, clipped her own belt and
turned the key.

It was nearly noon by the time they turned off the main high-
way and onto the narrow road leading south into the backside
of the San Gabriel Mountains. Narrow roads ran down through
dry washes, around tight curves. Jennifer drove slowly, feeling
Robyn tense every time her tires squealed even faintly, every

WE CALL1NQ OF T:HE tHREE

49

time a car went by the other direction—Chris in the back seat,
fairly vibrating with impatience because she was going so slowly.
Driving with both of them in the car was invariably a nerve-
wracking experience, but it would have been a worse one to
bring poor half-awake Robyn—pounding head, morning impa-
tience, queasy stomach and all—up this road with Chris at the
wheel.

The park was visible only in brief, tantalizing glimpses until
the car was through the gates and over the cattle guard; once
in the parking lot, Jennifer could see the vast stabs of sandstone
(hat gave the Punchbowl its name: long, inclined flat slopes of
yellowish stone, enormous piles of stone and rubble; the deep,
narrow cleft with the stream at its base. The steep wall of rock
on the other side that drew free-climbers. Stone ledges and cliffs
worked gradually down on that side of the water, but Jennifer
had never crossed over, never hiked that side. She came here
too seldom and when she did, preferred to sit and watch from
places with a view of a vast stretch of valley, others where she
could see nothing but brush and more rock.

It wasn't a popular park, not well known, and there was no
camping, no major trails. No drinking water for miles. Only two
other cars were in the parking lot when Jennifer pulled in. Two
white-haired women in corduroy trousers and hiking boots snared
a picnic at one of the tables and a family with three small chil-
dren clustered around the glass case with the tarantula in it.
Jennifer and Chris set out down the main trail, clambered up the
first long exposed slab and sat on the uppermost edge. Robyn
didn't like walking fast, particularly hung over; neither of them
could bear to amble the way she did. She'd be several minutes
catching up with them.

Jennifer inhaled dry, crisp air—it was a little cooler up here
than in town, much cooler than it had been at the store. "Witch-
craft aside—how is she holding up?"

"Without Marvelous Amie? Actually, pretty good, consider-
ing. Watching everything on TV and smoking too much." Chris
drew his knees up to his chin and stared out north. "She was
pretty sloshed last night, but, you know, Friday—1 guess Amie
was going to take her somewhere, she wouldn't say where, and
of course he kept the tickets. So, you know. She hasn't been
drinking that much lately. Not really—"

"Really?"

"C'mon, don't look at me like that, last night was . . ." His
voice trailed away; he shrugged and shifted his gaze. A glider

Ru EMERSON

sailed across the valley floor and vanished to the west. "Hell. 1
think it was the Civic, the Ventures or somebody like that.
Doesn't matter. She'll get over it." Jennifer eyed him from un-
der her lashes. Robyn would; she wondered if Chris would. He
never mentioned girlfriends; she never asked, but just now, she
found herself wondering.

She cleared her throat, gave the subject a nudge away from
the edge where it was heading. "She's taking forever. Do you
want to bet she's down there by the nature walk sign still, talking
to that woman and fussing over the kids?''

"No bet. Without the kids thinking what a geek she is, too.
You know she was the only mom in my seventh-grade class that
none of the kids felt uncomfortable around? My friends used to
say you could talk to Mom, used to tell me how neat she was."
He smiled faintly. "Think all those kids are theirs?"

Jennifer laughed. "What, those people we passed? Come on,
Chris, three kids?"

Robyn came into sight moments later, walking slowly down
the path with the young woman and two of the children. One of
them tugged at Robyn's sleeve; Robyn bent down to exclaim over
the child's pine cone, or branch, or whatever she held. then
straightened and talked to their mother for a moment longer,
until the woman was dragged away by her two excited offspring,
both now shouting for their father.

Robyn smiled and watched them go, then looked up at the
ledge and the two waiting for her. She sighed, shook her head,
and—bent nearly double, both hands ready to grab handholds in
case her feet should slip—she crawled up to join them. She was
panting when she got there.

"Your lungs are full of crud, Ma," Chris said. Robyn sat,
well down from the edge, before she tried to clip his ear. He
ducked, too late, and yelped. "Child abuse, child abuse, this
woman is beating me!"

"Shut up, mat poor woman down there might take you seri-
ously." She looked up at Jennifer, nodded her head in Chris's
direction. "How'd I wind up with a brat like this?" Chris
smirked, cowered in mock terror as Robyn brought her arm up
again. "God, all the way to the top? I'm the one who should
yell abuse; I hate high places and rock scrambling scares me
silly. I suppose you're both going to scream if I light up, aren't
you?"

"Fire danger, Birdy."

"Likely excuse. Never mind." She tucked the denim shoulder

T:HE CALLINQ OF ^HE T:HREE

51

bag between her knees, strap wrapped firmly over her knees,
and gazed all around. "Why don't I get out of town like this
more often? God, 1 love this place!" And as Chris stood, "Hey,
kid, why don't you be useful, go get the lunch. At least one of
my orange sodas."

Chris jumped up; Robyn tightened her grip on solid rock and
shuddered. "Sure. We can't eat up here, though; picnic area
only, remember?" He scrambled down the rock, took the last
twenty feet in three giant strides and walked back to the parking
lot. Robyn watched him go.

"To answer my own question, I don't know how I got a kid
like that. Too damn lucky, I guess- Couldn't be good karma,
I'm convinced I'm still working out the last two lives, getting
rid of the screw-ups so I don't have to come back next time as
a lizard." She ran both hands over her long, straight hair, tucked
it behind her ears. "Hell, never mind all that. Job going all
right, kid?"

"Not bad. Worked my tail off this last week, doing research."

"So some man can take all the credit for being smart, right?"

"This time, right." Jennifer grinned. "Last time, it was for
one of the women partners."

"Hah," Robyn said good-naturedly. "Window dressing."

"Not lately, Robyn. You need to come out of the early sev-
enties."

Robyn tilted her chin back and shifted so she could look up
at her sister. "Hah," she said again. "You don't think we've
won—you're not that dumb."

"No."

"You're not going to argue it with me either, though, are
you?" Robyn laughed. "Don't let them turn you into window
dressing, kid. You're too smart for that."

"They haven't shown any tendency to that, we're too busy,"
Jennifer said. "Working me half to death—that's different. Part
of the dues you pay for becoming a lawyer, especially in a good-
sized firm. Men, too, before you say anything," she added
sweetly.

"Ouch. You do that so well, I would say you and I have had
this conversation before. I would also say you probably don't
have to worry much about being measured for a pedestal, do
you?"

"Not as long as Heydrich needs research done; it's too hard
to jump on and off the darned thing with all those books."

Robyn laughed at that. She sighed, then, and turned to look

52 Ru EMSRSON

down the path, out across the desert. "It's so damned crazy. I
remember when they said you'd probably go into acting or mod-
eling; you were always the pretty one, the talented one. All that
music, all those plays. I was supposed to be the one with the
brains."

"You've got brains, Birdy."

"Hah. Sure. Bird-brains, for all I've done with them. I don't
know.'' She shook her head; the heavy blonde hair swayed and
Jennifer repressed a dual urge: long-felt jealousy for Robyn's
wonderful hair, and a wish that she'd do something—anything'—
with it. Not cut it, never that; but she'd worn it just like it was
now since 1967—straight, center parted, no bangs, all one length
well below her waist. It made her look older than she was. It
typecast her, Jennifer realized suddenly. Portrait of an aging
hippy, nonproductive member of society, dropout. Doper.
Bleeding heart.

"And those labels were Aunt Betty's, remember? Speaking of
bird-brains, however well intentioned? "

"Yeah, right." Robyn sounded more depressed, instead of
less. "Funny, I was thinking about her last night. Haven't done
that in ages. Her and Uncle Hal—God, poor Straights, what did
they ever do to get stuck with me? Mom's blood coming out, I
guess—"

"Birdy. that's crap. Don't—"

Robyn turned and looked up at her. "Sure, I haven't started
hawking Watchtower yet. Skip it, drop it. It's not important. I—
it's hard to remember that far back, not what I did, but why. I
can't even see what was so damned exciting about it, all I can
remember are the bad trips—and that was most of them, getting
wiped out on acid or speed and some guy trying to play with
my mind, rearrange my head. Stuff like that."

"You can't think about the past when you're in a bad mood.
I remember all the stuff from college I'd rather not ever think
about again."

"College," Robyn said gloomily. "I never even finished high
school. I wanted to go to college, never figured out what I'd
take, though."

"Zoology," Jennifer said gravely. Robyn cast her an aston-
ished look.

"Are you nuts? Alt the animal rights rallies and petitions I've
done, and I still don't eat red meat—" She stopped, managed a
weak grin. "Nice. I'm not awake enough yet to hassle, girt."

FHE CALL1NQ OF TTHE tTHREE

53

"Sure. No red meat, but you eat chicken and fish. What kind
of vegetable do you class them as, carrot or broccoli?"

"We aren't going to get into that today," Robyn said firmly.
"No. it was thinking about all that stuff that got me going-
Chris told you I was pretty blotto last night, didn't he?"

"No. One look at you this morning did, though."

"God. Disgusting. What am I—ten years older than you are?
1'in living in a dump of an apartment, furnished in Goodwill
classic—" She held up a hand as Jennifer stirred. "Look, don't
say it, you don't get to help me, I don't need a lot of things."

"Material possessions are such a drag," Jennifer quoted
gravely, but her eyes were alight.

Robyn shrugged; an embarrassed grin crossed her face. "I
got out of the habit of owning things years ago, before I had
Chris. I wasn't hinting for that kind of help, and we do all right."

"I know. You can squeeze more from a dollar than I can from
twenty."

"Practice, kiddo. All the same, I thought a lot last night-
while I still could, after a while it got pretty fuzzy. I need to
glue myself together, do something with myself before it's too
late and I'm a candidate for the old folks home. I hate people
who say they should have done things; I don't want to become
one of those. Besides, Chris'll be moving out one of these days,
going to college. Getting married, i don't know. Did you know
he's decided to major in history?"

"He hadn't told me. What can you do with a degree in his-
tory?"

"You lawyers," Robyn scoffed easily. "So damned practical.
I don't have any idea. Probably teach, though; he just hasn't
made up his mind about teaching. But you know how he was a
couple years ago. couldn't tell Florida from Italy?" Jennifer
nodded; she remembered, because she'd had to coach him for
two solid weeks so he could pass World History. "Well, then he
got hyped on alt those games—Dungeons & Dragons stuff, I
don't know what they play any more, I guess it's all different,
but suddenly he was really into maps. Got books on them, map
books of battlefields—" She sighed. "I hated that; he was all
the time going on about things like Waterloo. Wars and fighting
and killing. It's not real to him, 1 had to try and remember that.
And it's his life; I always swore that even if he wanted to go lifer
in the Marines, I wouldn't bitch at him, I went through it and I
saw too much of it. Anyway, after that, it was books about the
battles, and then what led up to them, and now he's got Amer-

54 Ru EMERSON

ican history books all over the house and it's the damnedest stuff,
not just wars and battles. Who'd have thought?"

"He'd be a good teacher—I think."

Robyn laughed. "Hard to picture, isn't it? Skinny kid with a
black leather jacket and a punk haircut standing in front of a
class? He's enthusiastic, I always liked that in a teacher." She
sobered. "God, you know he's a senior already? I worry about
the kid, he spends entirely too much of his time taking care of
me. I know, you both think I don't know that. I see it. If I could
find a way to push him out the door and into some giri's arms-
part of the time, anyway—I'd do it. Maybe he'll do it on his
own yet- But what I was trying to say: I can't just keep coasting
like I have been." She brooded over this. "Where'd he go for
that soda pop of mine, back to L.A.?"

"Probably talking to someone; remember last time, the guy
with the metal detector?"

"Right. Or somebody with a truck and a good sound system
in the paiking lot." She fished for her cigarettes; she looked at
the pack, sighed again and stuffed them back in the bag. "Fire
danger, I remember. I'm thirty-eight years old, Jen, with no job,
no man, no way out of L.A., nowhere I want to go, even if I
don't want to stay. A kid who's old enough to be in college. I
smoke and drink too much, and I haven't done anything worth-
while in years." She sniffed faintly, surreptitiously rubbed her
nose with the back of her hand. "I hope you never have to sit
and face a mess like that and realize you did it all yourself. Of
course, I can't imagine how you'd ever come close, it's not your
style. But it's not fim at all to figure out what a screw-up you
are, and realizing you can't go back and fix it."

"Birdy—"

"Let me, okay? I'm not hitting on you for sympathy. It's just—
somehow, I was a kid and then I woke up and I was middle-
aged, with a half-grown kid and an old lady's bod. I just can't
believe I got from the Sunset Strip to this rock with all that stuff
in between. All the good stuff's gone, Jen."

"Oh, crap," Jennifer said cheerfully. She slid down the ledge
and wrapped an arm around Robyn's shoulders, squeezed hard.
Robyn wouldn't welcome pity. "Thirty-anything isn't middle-
aged, you goop. Listen to you, maybe you should go act."

"It's not eighteen, either," Robyn mumbled; she leaned into
Jennifer's embrace briefly.

"So? Eighteen's a disgusting age; I was all arms and legs at

T:HE CALL1NQ OF tHE TTHREE

eighteen and I still had zits. Think about it without the rose-
colored glasses, why don't you?"

"Yeah, well—here comes Chris, God, do I look like I've been
crying?"

Jennifer examined her critically. "A little. Here, look up, let
him think you got dust in your eye."

"Both of them?" Robyn demanded, but she managed a smile,
and by the time Chris got back up the rock with three cold cans
of pop, she was near enough her normal self that she could pick
on him for taking so long.

THEY climbed—or rather, Chris and Jennifer climbed; Robyn
found a depression not far from where she'd been sitting, and
watched them. A little later, when the rocks began to sizzle,
they slid down to the main path and walked back up to the
shaded picnic area. Chris fetched the cooler; Robyn broke out
excellent fried chicken and a salad. The air was clear, dry and
blazingly hot.

Chris took one last wing and walked down the switchback to
sit with his feet in the creek; Jennifer and Robyn moved to an-
other table so they could stay under the trees and still watch
him. It was a long way down; by the time he reached the bottom
he was a very small, foreshortened figure with brown arms and
legs, spiky blond hair. He was standing in the water watching a
vulture high overhead.

Robyn was quiet and withdrawn; Jennifer wasn't certain if she
was still headachy and hung over or if she was regretting her
earlier outburst. Hard to tell. Robyn seldom shared things like
that—she thought of it as bleeding all over people. When Chris
finally started back up, Jennifer walked partway down the trail
to meet him; Robyn sat on the picnic table, feet on the bench,
and smoked.

A few other people came and went throughout the afternoon:

two hikers with daypacks and binoculars; a young couple with
a baby, who followed the marked trails conscientiously and with
the air of those who'd fulfilled a duty. They left as soon as they'd
finished the marked route, returning the information brochure to
the box as they left. A middle-aged man came in as they left; he
wore baggy orange Bermudas, a mismatched shirt, and black
dress socks, and he ran over the entire picnic area with a loudly
beeping metal detector. Chris had to be restrained from overt
rudeness. A camper pulled into the parking lot near sunset; a
middle-aged man stood on the hard ground and stretched for

RU EMGRSON

several minutes, then climbed into the back and drew the cur-
tains. Chris walked down the trail and clambered up his favorite
rock to watch the sunset; Robyn took one last trip to the rest-
room, checked the cooler and stowed it behind the back seat.

Jennifer gathered up loose paper napkins, crumpled foil, pa-
per plates, the paper cup Robyn had faithfully used for not only
her cigarette butts, but also the ashes, and tossed them in the
trash. When Chris came back to join them, she held out the car
keys and indicated the car with a nourish. She had to bite back
a grin at the expression on his face—or more correctly, lack of
it. He was trying very hard to look as though driving the Honda
was an everyday event.

Robyn climbed into the back seat and fastened the seat belt
with a nice loud click; Chris cast a dark look over his shoulder,
carefully adjusted his mirrors and the seat. Jennifer fastened
herself into the passenger seat less ostentatiously and leaned back
comfortably. "Got enough leg room back there?"

"Just fine."

Chris backed past the camper and started down the narrow
dirt road. He drove carefully, back overiy straight, hands grip-
ping the wheel just above the midpoint. The car moved as stiffly,
shifting back and forth a little on the downhill side of the road.
"Relax, kid," Jennifer said finally, "it's insured. Besides, you're
not going to hit anything."

"Don't intend to," Chris said. The words came out cau-
tiously, as though they might interfere with the car's steering or
his concentration. But his knuckles no longer showed white
against tanned hands and his shoulders were a little less unnat-
urally squared.

"You won't," Jennifer said calmly, and she turned away to
gaze out the passenger window. Chris, more assured by this than
by her words, relaxed even more. He drove slowly—probably
slower than he'd have liked to. Robyn leaned back in her seat
with an almost inaudible sigh; Jennifer heard it, but Chris ap-
parently—or fortunately—didn't. They came onto pavement after
a few miles, and he turned on the headlights. Jennifer turned the
radio on low, rolled down her window partway and watched sage

slide past.

The air was cool, pleasant after the heat of the day. Chris sped
up a tittle on the straightaway. "I forgot, I've got club tonight
at eight-thirty. How long d'you think it'll take us to get back?"

Jennifer consulted her watch. "You'll make it. What, more
Dungeons and Dragons? Thought you were over that."

T:HE CALL1NQ OF WE FHREE

57

"Come on, you know that's ancient stuff, we're well beyond
that. What we have now—"

"Never mind," Robyn said firmly from the back seat. "You
drive."

"Come on. Mom, I'm not that bad a driver! Besides, you
should try it, really. We've got access to two IBM computers
now, it's hot." Silence. He slowed to negotiate a tight comer,
picked up a little speed on the straightaway again, lost it precip-
itously as an oncoming car topped the ridge and sped past them.

"I wouldn't know which end of a computer to talk to," Robyn
said. "And those games worry me."

"Don't you dare tell me they're devil stuff. Mom," Chris
warned. "I hear enough of that crap!"

"Me? Not likely!"

Jennifer laughed. "1 don't think you have a lot to worry about
that way, not from us. But I thought it was boards and funny
dice, not computers. Or are you doing the arcade stuff, too?"

"Not exactly. It's still dice and like that. The computer games
have been around forever but they were always just words, or
maybe some cheesy graphics tossed in. Good puzzles but dull
visually. Some of the new ones, though—Charlie's got access to
some rental games and he has an IBM. The games are high-res,
a lot better than they used to be. You used to arcade, right,
Jen?"

"A little."

"Okay. Difference between Pong and Pac-Man, all right?"

"Got it."

"I like it. It's not a substitute, the IBM, but it lets me try
different stuff. Like, I'm a warrior in Saraband, but I get to be
a magic wielder on one of the other games, and I actually made
it most of the way through before I got killed off.''

"I don't think I'd like that," Robyn said. "Getting killed,
even in a game."

"They aren't all war games, Mom. Some of your fellow
peaceniks are computer wizards these days." Chris laughed; he
deftly geared down for a sharp turn and the Honda ran down a
steep hill, into thick shade under cottonwoods. It was nearly
dark down here, though they could still see blue sky overhead
and a brilliant band of yellow and orange to the west, through
and under the branches. "But I forget, you don't even like play-
ing checkers. Mom. You just don't like losing."

"She used to hate playing Old Maid for the same reason,"
Jennifer grinned. She rolled the window up; the air down in this

RU EMERSON

swale was damp and absolutely chill, and Robyn gasped in the
back seat as it hit her. "Sorry, Birdy; getting cold out there,
isn't it? I just—my God, what is thai?" Robyn let out an airless
little scream; the car skidded and Jennifer gave Chris her full
attention. "Foot away from the brake, Chris!" The back wheels
broke, the rear of the car came around; gravel flew. Chris swore;

his voice cracked. The car slid sideways down the road, heading
with what he would have sworn was intent, its goal a pool of
absolute night that filled the lowest point of the road. It obscured

eyerything beyond it.

Chris was panting; Jennifer leaned hard against the cross-strap
of her seat belt, gripped his biceps and got his attention. "Do
not use the brake! Ease the clutch in—that's right, slowly, you're
doing fine, Chris! Gear down—slowly; don't try to steer, just
hold the wheel steady, concentrate on the shifter, get it slowed
down!" She shook his arm, repeated her instructions. Chris was
following them but the car was not responding to the wheel, and
at first she wasn't certain if it was even slowing; it was entirely
too dark where they now were to see. The car topk one last
sharp turn; the back tires bit into something and the car came
to a stop, sideways on the road. Or she thought sideways, it felt
that way, but she had no point of reference any more. Whatever
caused that unnatural darkness, they were in the midst of it.

Chris had fallen forward over the wheel; Jennifer shook his
arm, her own blood thudding so loudly in her ears that at first
she couldn't tell if he was breathing. Behind her, Robyn began
whimpering; that reached him. "Mom?" He sat up, gripped
Jennifer's fingers where they had hold of his arm.

"No. Back seat, don't you remember? Robyn, are you all

right?"

"N-n-n-no. God, no! It's—it's all black out there. God, what
is it?" Robyn's teeth were chattering. Jennifer heard the click of
Chris's seat-belt release, felt the car shift as he slewed around
in the bucket seat. Suddenly she could see again, just a little;

the headlights were still on, glaring whitely into nothingness.
The dash lit the interior, very faintly.

"It's all right. Mom." Chris's voice was too high and it threat-
ened to crack again. "It's nothing, I just got startled. I guess
it's some kind of fog? Anyway, sorry." Little noises from the
back seat, no real response; Robyn trying hard to gain some
kind of control over herself. In the dashboard illumination, Jen-
nifer saw Chris turn the key. Nothing happened.

U4E CALL1NQ OF WE CHREE

S9

"Floor it," she said. A faint gleam of eyes as he turned to
look at her.

"I am," he said. "There's nothing there."

"The battery's new," Jennifer said. She stopped. The head-
lights weren't dimming; there was power, the engine simply
wasn't responding. "Oh, God," Robyn whispered from the back
seat; there were tears in her voice.

"It's all right, Birdy." Jennifer's voice stayed steady; it was
something she'd always been able to do, staying calm for others
when she had to. Like when Robyn had broken her arm back in
Wyoming, or when a friend in swim class had panicked in the
deep end of the pool. Collapse later, when it's over, she told
herself. After the car starts and we're back on the highway.
Chris's fingers trembled on the key, then fell away.

"That was a rough stop," he said. "Maybe something in the
wiring came loose. I'll check it—"

"Don't get out of the car!" Robyn threw herself forward in
the gap between the front seats and grabbed her son's arm with
both hands.

"I'll do it," Jennifer said. "There's nothing out there, Birdy;

we'd see it, with the headlights on. And we didn't go far, so if
the car won't start, we'll just walk back."

"I—" Robyn was shaking her head frantically. Chris took her
hands between his and shifted in the seat to touch his forehead
against hers. He was whispering reassuringly, as Jennifer dug
her flashlight out of the glove compartment and unfastened her
seat belt.

It wasn't as scary as she had feared; she had too much to
worry about anyway. It was even darker outside, or so it
felt—as though the air was saturated with blackness. But
when she tilted her head back and looked up, it seemed there
might be stars up there, above thick trees. The car appeared
undamaged; there was nothing she could see under the hood that
' was loose.

Unnatural dark; unnaturally dead car. This was no place to
be. They'd have to walk back up the road, find the place where
everything had changed on them, find a farm house or a passing
car, get help . . . Help for or against what, though? And how
were they ever going to get poor Birdy on her feet? Jennifer
sighed and walked around the car to the driver's side. Chris let
the window down an inch.

"We can't leave your car on the road; someone will hit it.
Jen, you and I can push it, can't we? Mom, you come out on

60

RU EMGRSON

this side—no, come on, it's all right, hold onto my hand, you'll

be fine."

"I—I can't—"
"Come on. Mom, you can't stay here." He opened the door,

swung his feet out and set them down; his mouth sagged and his
eyes went wide in an almost comic expression of surprise as his
feet touched down on a cushioned, springy surface. He looked
up at Jennifer, who was playing the flashlight on the ground in
from other. "Jen?" he whispered urgently. "Where'd the road

go?"
Good question, Jennifer thought grimly. The front wheels had

still been on asphalt when the car slid to a stop, the rear ones in
sand and gravel. Now, all four sat in thick pine needles, springy
grass and fern. Robyn, fortunately, was too shaken to notice
anything. At least, until they got back past the rear bumper.
They didn't go much farther. Four paces down what had been
road, Chris fetched up hard against something solid. Jennifer
brought up the flashlight, and in her surprise, neariy dropped it.
All around them were trees, an entire forest of enormous fir.
The air was heady with the smell of resinous fir. And by the
girth of the one directly in front of her, they'd been where they
were for a hundred years or more.

5

I IALLA sat hunched over her knees in the dark, just to one
A^side of her door. Her legs were beginning to cramp but she
was afraid to move yet, even enough to straighten them out or
to massage the calves.

It was late, well past middle night; moonlight had slid across
her bed, down over faded rugs and bare floor, had shone briefly
against the mirror near her door, spraying the room with shards
of light. It was gone now, save the least light on the thick stone
wall beyond her windows. She'd sat on that ledge as a child,
until her nurse caught her at it; she*d studied then how a deft
person could work down from the deep ledge to the narrow,
wooden lattice two floors below that shielded most of the bal-
cony.

She hoped it wouldn't come to that tonight; she had all too
clear a vision of how such a trip might end, particularly for a
young woman who hadn't the strength to pull herself into a sad-
dle without hard effort.

But the hall was a veritable highway this night, or so it seemed
to a young woman crouched by her door, using a marketplace
charm to tell her where people were—common market charm.
she thought in despair, because Thread evaded her sweaty-
palmed, racing-hearted, frightened grasp. She glared at the
beaten image on the surface of the small coinlike object: too
thick for a real coin, of course, a long-eared rabbit on its one
side, an owl on the other. A peasant could buy such a charm, if
he had the coin for it; any of Lizelle's serving women could own
such a charm. She, Lialla, who had wrought Thread for half her
;life, had bought this and two others a year before, on a whim—
she'd never thought she'd have cause to rely on any of them.

62

RU EMSRSON

One ofJadek's personal men, there—up the hall and down the
main stairway, two servants back the other way. Two men not
long behind them, two more later, when she'd almost begun to
shift her weight and the bar across the door. Those had been
regular housemen, sworn to Jadek but not necessarily loyal to
him. She hadn't Memda's ability to read people, though; she
wasn't certain Merrida had all the ability she claimed for that
particular skill. People were complex, even the simplest of them,
and Merrida was notoriously fond of denning them in two di-
rections and one color. Arrogant, Lialla thought as yet another
set of footsteps came along the corridor—a maid's this time.

Carolan had returned with Jadek from the hunt; he'd unex-
pectedly remained after the luncheon. Lialla wasn't certain where
they'd bedded him. Surely Jadek wouldn't be so brazen as to
house the man so near his affianced! Even with Lialla's perceived
free consent to the wedding, there were forms to be adhered
to—neither man would be so foolish as to attempt to circumvent
those, would he? A noblewoman was expected to remain pure
until wed; even Shesseran would not—! She tore her thought
from an increasingly hysterical path and stared at the carpeting,
at her rough boots, until her breathing came back to normal.

That wasn't Jadek's style; he was only crude in words and
blows. And he had adhered to the formalities so far; he'd con-
tinue to do so—as long as things went his way.

She heard a skittering, a low and throaty growl, a shrilling
abruptly cut off. It took her a moment to realize it was distant,
a sudden and unexpected response of Thread to an earlier com-
mand, now multiplying the strength of the market charm: only
one of the cats after mice in the pantry. Outside the door, up
and down the hall, there was no sound at all. Someone breathing
on the landing of the main stair; a guard, perhaps, or one of the
housemen. Nearer, muffled sound that must be Aletto behind
his own closed and braced door, since it went nowhere.

How much longer would it take? She could not Wield once
the sun rose; unlike Merrida, she couldn't even draw in Threads
at night to set working later. The charm would not last the night,
if she continued to draw upon it so heavily, and she'd have no
access to another this side of Sikkre.

And they had to reach those caves before dawn! The second-
ary road would be alive with people and beasts by the time the
stars faded; there were markets in all the villages and this time
of year good weather served as an excuse for holiday, and for a
visit to Duke's Fort and the City of Sehfi surrounding it. Women

WE CALLINQ OF ^HE CTREE

63

brought fine needlework done over the winter, or wool, young
animals and eggs; the men came with worked leather to trade,
tools, hides. Only in deep winter or planting and harvest months
could they have chanced to travel the roads unseen, or to step
from them. The forests held huntsmen and pig-herders, anything
not woods was a farm, a herd-holding, and even high country
was watched over by hawksmen or shepherds.

She shifted one leg cautiously, kneaded the ankle tendon.
Leaving Lizetle still bothered her, and Memda's assurances
meant nothing: Jadek would surely suspect Lizelle's complicity
when she and Aletto disappeared. Even if he didn't, that tem-
per— She shivered, rubbed at her other leg, forced herself to
stand.

She had to continue to trust in her stepfather's cunning, and
his determination to keep Duke's Fort for himself: With Aletto
and herself gone, he'd have no member of the immediate family
in his control save Lizelle- He'd have to keep her alive. Until he
catches us, she thought, and shivered again.

There was no one moving in the hall, no one there at all;

there hadn't been in some moments. But she was trembling as
she pulled the door in enough to let her look out.

One lantern shoved too far back in its niche well down the
other way cast ominous shadows across the fioor. She gathered
up the two bags, pulled the wide leather strap across her arm
and pulled the door closed behind her. Setting the bar from
outside took only a moment; she'd readied that what must have
been hours earlier, leaving Thread tangled around the end. It
wouldn't serve to hide the emptiness within for long, of course—
.by midday, Jadek or Carolan would remark her absence and the
door would wind up splintered. At least this way no one would
push the door wide with her breakfast at first light.

The packs were awkward and heavy: built for a horse to carry,
not an overly thin young woman. She ran down the inventory,
suddenly certain she'd left some important item on the floor be-
tween her bed and the windows. Silk cloth for sleeping and to
layer under her scarves if they encountered rain or cold. Tinder,
in case she must start a fire during daylight. Water bags—one
full, two empty. As much food as she'd been able to save from
her tray, as Merrida had been able to scrounge in the kitchens
for her. A knife—but not a woman's fighting knife, which she
couldn't have used anyway. The blade was broad at the base,
sharp on one side and thick and rough on the other. The cooks

64

RU EM6RSON

used such knives for skinning meat, beating tough cuts, gutting

fish.
One spare shirt and a presentable skirt of dark, lightweight

fabric. If they somehow went to Comekka or Dro Pent, she'd
not dare show herself in public in breeches, whether Wielder-
cut or otherwise. Breeks and women didn't go together in either
Duchy, and even a noblewoman could be publicly beaten for

flaunting her legs.

Medicines, a small bag of them. She'd had a time of it, getting

Merrida to provide her with anything—Merrida had calmly waved
aside her concerns about need. Lialla, bitterly aware that her
attempt to heal Aletto's cheek was barely successful, had finally

gone plundering on her own.
Aletto's door was closed, and no light showed under the lower

edge. When she scratched at the wood, he opened it at once,
pulled her in and leaned against it. His face was drawn; she
thought he might have been standing there for hours, waiting.
"You weren't followed, were you?" he whispered anxiously.

She shook her head. "Sure?"

"I can tell," she replied. Aletto frowned and she bit back an
angry remark that was at least half anxiety of her own. "You
ready? We have to get going, it's a long way where we're go-
ing."

"I—" He shrugged, scooped up a length of thick brown wool

and slid it over his head, wrapping the front twice around his
shoulders and fastening it with a plain black clip. Another piece
of the same stuff clipped to the throat of the cloak wrapped over
his head, covering his pale hair and face. He paused with a hand

on the door latch. "She's promised us armsmen?"

Lialla nodded; anything to get him moving, she thought guilt-
ily. Merrida intended armed protection; what she drew in might
be another matter but Aletto would be safely outside the fort and
well away from it by that time. Aletto gripped a bag similar to
hers in his left hand, balancing it awkwardly atop his second-
best stick. In his right, he carried his boots and the sword-
harness. The hilt-straps napped loose.

Lialla pushed past him, stopped him as he started for the main
stair, and drew him into Merrida's little room. His eyebrows
went up. "Forgot this was here," he whispered- The sound was
deadened, even the sound of her boots scraping softly against
the stone steps. Lialla stepped into the long corridor, keeping
well in shadow, and hurried past the open double doors that led
to the kitchens and kitchen gardens.

T:HE CALLINQ OF WE •CHREE

65

TIie door into the courtyard stood mostly closed, and for a
moment her heart stopped; Aletto leaned across her shoulder
and gave it a shove with his stick. It swung silently out, revealing
an expanse of dirt churned by countless hooves and the smell of
horsebams. "Avers said he'd leave it so." Aletlo's voice was
less than a breath against her ear. He caught hold of her arm,
pulled her directly across the open while the two guards high on
the outer curtain were at the far end, conversing under the lan-
tern at the comer watch-pedestal. There were normally no guards
ih the courtyard or the stables, but brother and sister were cau-
tious, waiting against the stable wall for several long, still mo-
ments. Aletto slid down the wall to pull his boots on. He shifted
the folds of cloak, reached across his shoulder. The least gleam
of lantern from high above touched the knife he'd drawn from a
neck-sheath. Lialla opened her mouth, shut it again without
comment. As Aletto vanished into the stables, she knelt long
enough to pull the cook's knife from her bag, then followed him.

Aletto was the least darker motion against a very dark interi-
or. Horses moved, scenting them; subsided as the two moved on,
down toward the far entrance and the postem gate. Most of the
stalls at this end were empty, but against the far wall were three
shapes: two horses and a mule with a bulging pack. Lialla edged
past him, pushed the pack across the nearest horse's neck. Fin-
gers and inner sense assured her this was one of the mounts she
knew; the trappings were not her usual ones, but had the feel of
plain, unmarked ones. But as she leaned forward to detach reins
from the wall, Aletto's hand closed over her arm, wamingly.
Before she could react, he was gone, back out into the open.

Lialla dropped leather straps and coarse mane, fumbled across
Thread before finding what she sought. It took longer to get any
response. Then; multicolored, dull, black against a darker black,
Thread everywhere—and two men coming stealthily toward
them. Aletto—he'd moved off to one side, and the dagger was
m his left hand now; as she turned her attention to him, he
dropped the sword, shifted the dagger to his right. His staff
swung out and clattered into a wooden divider. No, they'll hear!
she thought frantically, and clapped a hand over her mouth to
keep the sound in. But the men already knew who was there,
and approximately where he stood. They moved too easily for
anything else to be true.

.  "My lord Aletto, abroad at such an hour?" Caroian's silky
voice. Carolan, it was rumored, could see like a wolf. The arms-
man at his elbow was the one who'd mounted guard over the

',s-

•fe

66

RU EM6RSON

accounting-room door two days before. He towered over the nera-
Duke, and there was a look of profound satisfaction on his face.
Looking forward to getting even for that door, Lialla realized.
"This is an uncivilized hour for a ride, don't you think?"

"But not to come and talk to the horses." Aletto's voice was
steady, with just the right touch of impatience. "I often do that

when I cannot sleep."                               ,

"Ah. Just so. But then, why are the beasts nearest you pre-
pared for travel? And the other—surely that is a pack animal,
and laden? Perhaps to sustain a boy in exile?''

"I don't know what you mean," Aletto said evenly. "And I
don't need to answer to you."

"No? As the promised of your sister—"

"That has nothing to do with me, Carolan." Oh, gently, Lialla
thought at him, urgently. Carolan wouldn't appreciate the miss-
ing honorific.

"No? Only in theory, young Lord." Carolan took another

step forward and his voice went hard. "Where is she? Your

sister. She's not in her chamber—"

"Or perhaps she chooses.not to answer you when you knock,"
Aletto snapped. "My sister has an eye to her repute, if you have

no concern for it!''

"Perhaps; but I know the sound of empty rooms, as against
those where a woman sits silent. Where is she, I say? Does she
come here, or has she already gone?"

"The Lady Lialla," Aletto replied coldly, "is not accountable

to you. Yet."

"I asked a question you will answer for me, here and now,"
Carolan said, "or will you have yet another stick broken across

your over-proud back?"

"Never by a pig like you!" Aletto hissed, and suddenly
launched himself at both men. Carolan, startled, fell back, arms
flailing wildly. Aletto's stick caught his temple with a nasty
crack; Lialla heard him groaning, swearing furiously, thrashing
for balance in deep straw, but her eyes were fixed on her brother
and the annsman. And then Carolan lurched back across the
open aisle, and threw himself into the fight. Aletto cursed as
steel slid along steel with a rasping scree. He pulled away from
Carolan's man and fell back, braced his shoulders against a par-
tition and used it to hold to his feet. Carolan came on, dagger
up and out; he shoved so hard his own annsman went stagger-
ing. Aletto parried Carolan's blade twice but not the third time.
Lialla clapped both hands over her mouth; Aletto grabbed at his

WE CALLINQ OF WE FHREE

67

left biceps but as Carolan relaxed his grip on the hilt, Aletto
turned and feinted with his left arm. His right came up and over
in a long, fast arc and the knife made a horrid noise as it entered
noble flesh. Carolan drew one long, whistling breath, turned
away and fell. Aletto swore faintly, and slid down the partition.
Lialla hurled herself into the open.

For once this night, Thread readily obeyed her rattled com-
mands: Thread-clarified vision let her see too well for her own
.peace of mind. Aletto lay unconscious in the dirt, blood running
down his arm. A dagger handle wavered back and forth above
his shoulder, all that was visible. Carolan lay curled in on him-
self, curiously delicate, Aletto's knife protruding from between
his shoulder blades. Dead, or as good as dead. But his armsman
was untouched, and as she stopped, he drew another knife from
his boot and took a step toward her.

/ can 'l do this! she thought frantically. / don 'l know how, they
never taught me! But she had the cook's knife in her hand, elbow
high and out, thumb underneath, the way she'd seen others do
it. Carolan's man laughed; the sound was high-pitched, almost
a giggle, and the suddenness of the sound nearly made her drop
the knife. She tightened her grip, bent her knees slightly.

"Here, girl," he said. "That's no way to be, I'll not hurt
you."

"No, you won't." Her voice was breathy, a pant unrecogniz-
able as hers. "Not me or my brother!"

"Certainly not." But he took another step forward and
laughed again as she took an involuntary step back. Aletto—she
did her feet sideways, trying to force herself to move, to get
between Carolan's man and her unconscious brother. "But you
.have a problem, haven't you? How to get the nera-Duke on a
;; horse, how to get yourselves past me. How to prevent me giving
y-^ne alarm." Lialla shook her head. "We might benefit each
Mother— "

^ "I haven't that kind of coin," she began haltingly. Carolan's

man pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, as (hough sur-
!; prised. She didn't think he really was. "Not the kind of coin
^you'd ask. And I wouldn't trust you."

1  "No? Well, then, that's not the way to hold a knife. If you
^intend to kill me, girl, you bring it up so," he demonstrated.
•pThat's the way to gut a man with such a short blade." He was
| trying to horrify her into dropping it, she suddenly knew; per-
t'iiaps hoping to anger her so she'd lunge at him and he could grip
|'it. But she was between him and Aletto now; so long as he

66

RU EMSRSON

thought himself safe playing her and didn't shout an alarm, he
could say anything he wanted. She crouched a little lower, shifted

her grip the way he'd done it.

Straw everywhere, deep drifts of it in the stalls, shreds of it
tittering the corridor between stalls. And Lialla, though a far
from competent Wielder, could plait rope under ordinary cir-
cumstances without even thinking about it. At a time like this—
but for some reason, now that her need was so great, it again
responded. She reached sideways with her left hand, as though
for balance. Questing fingers closed on Thread, pulled it toward
her, and other Thread went down to the drift of straw behind
Carolan. Thread and straw: She began to plait it, spinning out
a length of near-invisible, extremely strong rope. She fell back
another step as the man brought his knife up. Out of the corner
of her eye, she could see a fine length of straw rope snaking

across the open floor.

Now for the most difficult part: Now to wait until there was
enough of it, strongly woven enough, to bind the man and stop

his mouth.
Carolan shifted the least bit and a bubbling, whispery groan

broke the silence. Lialla nearly shrieked. Carolan's man. su-
premely sure of himself at this moment, turned to look at his
dying master. Lialla let the knife fall, brought both hands up
and sketched a knot in the dark air before her face. The rope
responded, caught him about ankles and knees, drew around his
thighs and went tight, yanking the legs from under him; he fell
with a heavy thud, air exploding from his lungs in a loud huff.
The knife was under him when he went down. He jerked twice,
brought his head up a little off the floor to look at her. His eyes
were wide, already dead before his head fell back to the dirt.

She was going to be sick; Lialla fought the urge, knelt on the
floor and pounded both fists in the dirt until she was certain she
would not gag. She pulled herself across on hands and knees to

Aletto's side.

He was whimpering faintly, but fell silent when she took hold
of the knife hilt. It was deep in the muscle of his upper arm; it
had missed bone and the large artery, but when she pulled it
out, the wound started bleeding again. Something—anything . . .
She caught Thread, a mess of fine thread like spiderweb, and
used it to staunch and bound it with a length of cloth from
Carolan's cloak. It was all she could do, except get him away;

return to the fort, for Merrida to heal him, and that would be

T:HE CALLINQ OF TTHE CHREE

69

his death for certain. And if Lialla couldn't heal it, she could at
least tend it and make certain he didn't bleed or infect.

She pinched his eariobe, then, hard; he groaned and opened
his eyes. "Aletto, hssst! Aletto, let's go!" He mumbled grog-
gily, words she couldn't catch, let his eyes close again. Lialla
cast a glance at the horses, back down at him; she couldn't shift
that much dead weight. "Aletto, hurry! It's not safe here, they'll
find us! You've got to get up on that horse!"

"—protect you," he muttered, and fell back against her. She
icould have screamed at him, hit him, could have wept. The smell
of blood was making the horses nervous; someone would come
to check on them to see what the matter was. The smell of blood
was going to make her ill any moment- She thought Carolan
moved behind her in the dark; she had to fight the urge to turn
and watch him lest he be only pretending injury so he could
catch her unawares, take hold of her with those soft, deceptively
strong hands.

"Aletto!" she implored; something of her urgency and fear
got through, finally. She crawled across the floor, came back
with Aletto's stick; at his insistent urging, she fought the dagger
free of Carolan's back, wiped it on straw and restored it to the
sheath at Aletto's neck. She was sick then, and that left her
shaking so she wasn't much use getting him to his feet. He was
too weak and disoriented to notice-her state, and once she got
him onto the horse, he passed out.

Lialla found a length of rope—real rope—and ran a length
around his chest to bind him to the saddle, two shorter pieces
to fasten his ankles to the boot-stalls. The reins went around his
wrists under the horse's neck. She dropped the loop in the mule's
lead-rope over the knob on the high cantle behind her, gathered
up her reins and her brother's, and led both horses and the mule
" out of the stable, through the unfastened postern and onto the

•-darkened road.

-• Behind her, Duke's Fort was a gloomy block of building and
wall against the torch and lantern light of the city. High on the
curtain wall, two men stood close to the lantern. Dicing, per-
haps; they were laughing and talking, intent upon something
below the level of the wall. They paid no attention whatever to
the road that ran past the fort.

^**OH, jeez," Chris whispered; his eyes were all black pupil. He
-clutched his mother's arm; Robyn sagged alarmingly until he
^•"gave her a shake. "Mom, don't you dare conk out, this isn't a

70

RU EM€R90N

good place for it!" He considered this, stared at the trees picked
out by Jennifer's flashlight and made a strong effort to speak
normally. "You know, that would sound awfully damned funny
under other circumstances. What the hell's happened to us?"

"Don't swear," Robyn whispered automatically. She let her
eyes close, let them turn her around and walk her back to the
car. Chris let out a short, humorless bark of laughter.

"I can see stars," Jennifer said suddenly. "It's not as dark as

it was—I think.''

"It was hardly dark at all," Chris began indignantly, but he
subsided as Jennifer cast him a warning look over Robyn's head.
Chris shut his mouth, and when they reached the car he opened
the door so his mother could drop into the passenger seat.

Jennifer slid in on the other side and turned the key; the light
went out of her face as she got absolutely no response. She
sighed heavily, pulled the key out of the ignition, then hit the
light switch. Darkness surrounded them; Robyn huddled in on
herself and whimpered. "Better save the battery," Jennifersaid.
She got back out of the car and looked up. There were trees all
around them, visible as blacker shapes against a dark night;

wonderful bright stars overhead, but nothing she recognized.
"Chris?" He stood up and leaned over the roof of the Honda,
then let his head fall back as Jennifer jerked a thumb up. "You're
better at constellations than I am; you recognize anything?"

Silence. He leaned alarmingly back, turned slowly on one
heel. "Jeez. I don't know, I can't tell. You think we're where
we were, somehow? Lost some time or something? I can't see
enough. Shh, Mom; s'all right, okay?"

"It's not, it's not, it's not," Robyn mumbled tearfully.
"Yeah—well, all right, it isn't. But okay, listen, maybe we
got caught in some weird thing, like a Bermuda Triangle thing—
you know, like on the cover of the Enquirer or something? Picked
us up near L.A. and let us out near the Kremlin or down in
Australia or something? Hey!" He clapped his hands together.
"That's all right, we could sell the story, get rich!"

"Mind if we get out first?" Jennifer asked him dryly, but she
found his enthusiasm heartening, manufactured or not.

"Yeah, well, maybe getting out is part of figuring out how we
got here and where we are first, you know? Like the games I've
played. We can't drive the car because it won't start and it won't
go through trees, and we can't just leave it and walk off into the
dark; we gotta figure it out, use logic. Now, there has to be a
logical reason for all this, unless we just fell down the rabbit

WE CALLINQ OF ^HE ^HREE

71

hole." He turned back to look at Jennifer and his young face
was briefly drawn and very old indeed. "Doesn't there?"

"Thinking already. That's good." Chris froze; Jennifer let out
a startled gasp and spun on her heel, as an elderly, wheezing
voice broke over them. "It chose well, even if not what I'd have
had." Silence then, except branches crackling under Chris's feet
and Robyn's frightened, panting breathing. Jennifer swung the
flashlight in a circle, but it wasn't illuminating far now, and
without warning, it faded to a dull, yellow glow not much better
than candlelight. She swore, turned the switch off. Oddly, she
could see better without it; see well enough to pick out the figure
between trees not far behind the car.

Jennifer felt her seldom-shown temper peak, heating her face.
She threw the flashlight into the car and strode back past it.
"What do you mean, chose? Are you responsible for this?"

"I?" The figure moved, came forward to meet her. A woman,
clad in dark swaths of fabric, and if the voice was any clue, very
old. She laughed unpleasantly, breathily, and when she walked she
swayed slightly. "Save your anger; mere are better directions for it
than Merrida. I'd never have asked for such as you, but it chose."

' 'You said that already.'' Chris came up to stand next to Jennifer.
"And it doesn't tell us any more this time; stop talking in riddles.
Where is this? What kind of name is^Merrida? Spanish?"

She shook her head, laughed helplessly. Chris swore furiously
and grabbed her arm. Jennifer wasn't certain what happened; the
boy was on the ground, the old woman standing where she'd been
but no longer laughing. At least, not aloud; her eyes danced with
some joke of her own. "Not Spanish; that's yourworid and this is
mine. They don't touch often, and only when great need drives,
and certain conditions are met." Teeth gleamed in the dark. "You,
boy—you're virgin, aren't you?" Chris stared up at her, and though
i Jennifer couldn't see him clearly she knew he was bright red from
his blond hair right down to his throat. Merrida nodded. "Thought
you must be; the drawing had no business going beyond Rhadazi
borders for aid but it saw greater need than I, and virgin blood—''
She spread her hands wide and shrugged.

Chris scrambled to his feet, and Jennifer held out a hand to
restrain him if need be. But he simply stood where he was, eyes
fixed on the old woman. "Wait," he said. "Your world—our
world. Alternate universe. Parallel world? But then, how come
you speak English?"

"English," Merrida said. "It's a function of Thread, if one

72 Ru EMGRSON

knows how to draw upon it. Picking up foreign speech and mak-
ing sense of it. Fortunately for you."

Chris considered this only briefly. "Magic?" he said finally,
and his voice was a soft, almost reverent whisper. Merrida glared
at him, then past him to the dark, silent car.

"It's—ah, call it that, if you wish, it responds, call it anything
you choose. If you understand how to make it work, that is. But
there's no time for this."                                '

"Then quit wasting time and tell us," Chris said. "Since we
understand each other's words, at least." Jennifer blinked, shook
her head. The conversation seemed to be taking place on several
levels at once, different meanings to everything. But Chris, at
least, had no doubts of the situation.

"You'll do, boy," Merrida said, and Jennifer heard grudging
respect in her voice. "But this is no game. Death's real, remem-
ber that." Chris made a noise low in his throat, an impatient
gesture. Merrida turned to look searchingly at Jennifer, then to
touch her shoulder. Some of the tension went from her. "He
brought you through, but it was you it chose. Which is it, young
woman? Music or dance?"

"I—? 1 play—I used to play—" She couldn't remember what
she used to play; for the first time she wondered how this strange
old woman came to be speaking English. Her accent was ex-
tremely guttural, hard to listen to.

"It was music, then." Merrida folded her arms across her
chest in a flurry of black scarves and gazed at Jennifer in satis-
faction. "All right. Listen. Half a league from here, straight
through the trees the direction I'll show you, there's a road. Find
it, turn left and walk along it until you come to a stream that
crosses and recrosses under four bridges. Beyond them, you,
young woman, will feel a tug. Like this." Jennifer clasped both
hands over her breast; there was an extremely odd and not very
pleasant sensation under her ribs. "The nera-Duke Aletto and
his sister are down the dell you'll find, in a cave. He's been hurt,
he needs your help."

"I don't know first aid," Jennifer managed.

"You'll have access to what I have, at least for the night, by
the same kind of means you will all have access to Rhadazi
speech. Unlike the language, the healing will not stay with you;

I cannot do that for you, or Lialla would not need you to heal
her brother. And so I tell you, pay heed to what it does and how
it does; there's something in you that will respond. Lialla's a
Wielder, she will help you."

WE CALLINQ OF ^HE ?:HREE

73

l "^
1 -;'.

"You're not really explaining," Chris complained. "Where
are we?"

"Compared to what?"

"How should I know?" Chris growled. "Why do you think
we'll help you? How do we know you're not evil?"

"How do you know that of anyone?" Merrida looked up at the
sky, off into the distance. She shrugged. "Words won'(prove much,
anyone can say anything. But there's a little time." She explained,
briefly. Jennifer simply stared at her, caught between utter disbelief
and the undeniable circle of trees around her car. Chris, with all
his games and books, seemed to have less difficulty.

"You did that to us? Brought us here like this, to fight some-
one else's war, to—what are we supposed to do with this Jadek
and his what-d'you-call-it? His Triad? Kill them?"

"You do nothing to Jadek and his Triad," Merrida snapped.
"Weren't you listening? I asked for those who could help the
nera-Duke find his father's loyal housemen, men scattered from
one border to another, some possibly across the sea, who knows?
It's been years since any of them were seen in Zeiharri. and I
had my hands full. The boy has need, and the Threads chose.
Do you use weapons, any of you? Real weapons, against real
men, and to the death?'' she added sharply as Chris opened his
mouth. His shoulders sagged, he shut his mouth without saying
anything. "Or do you use the magic that is in your world?"

"My mother used to read tarots when she was a hippy," Chris
said evenly.' 'And she played with a Ouija board and black candles.
I don't think that's quite what you had in mind, though, is it?"

"And music isn't a form of magic," Jennifer added tartly.
"You know, I simply cannot believe you dared risk our lives
like this!"

"I've risked more than mere lives over the past years," Mer-
rida said flatly. "And music—you know better than what you
just said. If you don't, you'll leam. I can't return you, not all of
you." She gazed over Jennifer's shoulder at the car. "One, per-
haps. With the car. But I cannot guarantee her safety."

"She slays with me," Chris said firmly. He turned away and
walked over to the passenger side, knelt by the open door and
took his mother's hands. When he glanced up, it was Merrida
beside him, taking Robyn's fingers away from him. He watched,
a faint twinge of anger or jealousy stirring; Robyn drew a deep
breath and brought her head up, gazed into Merrida's eyes.

"What are you going to do with us?" she whispered.

74 Ru EMERSON

"I? Nothing. Save to equip you as best I can and send you to
help the young Duke take back what's rightfully his."

Robyn managed the least, shaky smile. "Just like a Dumas
novel. I remember when I wanted to live one of them." She
swallowed, the smile faded. "Now—"

"I can send you back, you alone, with this automobile—" She
stopped talking. Robyn was laughing, leaning back against the car
seat and laughing helplessly. Merrida waited her out impatiently.

"Send me back? Without my sister and my boy? With Jen's
car that I can't even drive? Isn't that all I need?" She moaned
and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God, I need a drink!"

"I've nothing for drinking save a jug of water. What is your
choice? I'm sorry," she added grudgingly as Robyn peered at
her over her fingers. "I've no choice myself, and the hour's
getting late. The car is creating a hazard, it must go before much
longer or it'll reveal all of you, reveal my purpose—perhaps even
expose Aletto to his stepfather's Triad." She gazed at Robyn;

Robyn gazed back. Robyn held out a hand to Chris then, and let
him pull her to her feet. Merrida dragged herself stiffly to her
feet. "If there are garments in this car, anything you want or
need from it, take it now. I 've spring-weight woolen scarves to
cover your outlandish clothing; that wilt see you through to
Sikkre. And I have a little coin, enough to dress you for the
climate and against odd looks."

"Language—" Chris began uncertainly.

"Understand me, don't you? You'll understand other Rhadazi
and you'll speak the language when you leave me—enough of it
to get you by. It's similar enough to your own language; at least
that will make things easier for me."

"Similar," Chris mumbled. He began tugging his hair- "Then
this is a parallel worid?"

Merrida glared at him. "That's never been a matter of interest
to me; find someone else to pester with such fool's questions.
You'll understand all but the thickest accents within Rhadaz."
She held out a hand to Robyn, took her by the shoulders, and
gave her a gentle shake. "You'll be safe enough, woman; these
two will see to it. And the boy—the nera-Duke Aletto—he'll
protect you. He needs to feel himself useful." Chris stirred at
her elbow, eyes nan-owed; Merrida ignored him. ' 'If this venture
is to succeed, we need his sense of self intact—as much of one
as he has." She let go Robyn's shoulders and turned to Jennifer.
"Music—you'll have my healing talent for tonight. Mind that
you reach that dell before first light; Night-Thread doesn't work

rHE CALLINQ OF •CHE tHREE

75

except in dark, and it won't stay with you. Pay close attention
to what it does; pay attention to Lialla, also. She Wields, if
largely by rote and determination, and not by talent. She may
resent you, but she'll teach you, if you find the place within you
and the desire to expand it. We'll meet again, you and I."

"What's that, sixth sense?" Jennifer demanded. Merrida
smiled faintly.

"A sense of some sort. Perhaps a hunch. Does it matter?"

"It—yes. Damnit, yes, it matters! You just took—reached
out and took us away! I have a deposition Monday, I have a
career--!"

"You haven't anymore. What you have is here. in Rhadaz. I
won't apologize," Merrida said flatly. "If your loss is great, it
would be an impertinence- Whatever you left in your worid,
though, know this: You've an honorable task here, and the future
Duke of Zeiharri in your debt when you're done."

"If we don't die first," Jennifer said. But that didn't sound
real.

"I may die myself, if that powered wagon of yours isn't gone
soon; at Jadek's hands or his Triad's, or simply from the drain
on my strength."

Robyn came around the back of the car, oversized denim
handbag slung across her shoulder; Chris called her back, held
up the picnic hamper. The two went into a huddle over it and
Robyn pulled her purse off her shoulder. Merrida gazed at her
back, stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Watch her. Her temper—"

"Temper? Birdy?" Jennifer shook her head. "You're kidding
me!"

"She has a temper," Merrida corrected her gently. "In your
worid, she may have buried it deep, but I can see a disturbing
aura around her. It is there, and if it comes out in this worid—
here there are things that seize on anger and shift it or twist it.''
Robyn suddenly laughed, swatted at Chris. Jennifer turned and
looked at them, a relieved smile on her face.

"What now, you two?"

"Well, I just told Mom that—"

"Jen, tell this brat of mine he's too old to get his picture on
a milk carton, will you?" She yanked on Chris's ear, pulled him
close and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Besides, who'd want the
little monster but me?''

6

MERRIDA scowled. "What makes you think there's time for
jokes?" Chris slipped his mother's grasp and closed the
distance between them. The old woman had to tilt her head back
to look up at him; he glared down at her and his fingers were
twitching.

"I think you've done enough, upsetting my mother, you old
bat. It's none of your business if I can make her feel better, so
don't you start telling her crap and scaring her again. You got
me, lady?" They stared at each other for another long, tense
moment; then Merrida turned away as though she'd lost interest,
Chris as though he'd scored a point. "C'mon, Mom. Let's make
sure we have everything we need; the old bat isn't letting us
keep the car." Merrida cast one black look at his back and
crooked a finger at Jennifer. The old woman's hand curled around
her wrist briefly, then released it. Merrida's skin felt oddly cool,
but there was nothing else.

"There, it's done."

"I can't feel anything. Are you certain?"

"Of course I am. It's there, for when you've need. Pay atten-
tion; after tonight anything you see or-do'will be all your own
and none of mine. Another warning. Lialla will welcome you
for any help you can give her brother; she's got him safe but she
can't mend him. I warn you, though, she'll resent that you can
do that for him and she can't."

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's just wonderful. Anything
else you can do to make this as rough as possible for us?"

"I'm warning you, that's all. Pride and anger interfere with
Wielding, and Lialla thinks she wants that above all else. But
she doesn't know any world outside Zeiharri or any men save

^HE CALLINQ OF TTHE FHREE

77

her uncle and his like, that's warped her badly. And the boy-
he's other problems besides that; you'll see for yourself." Mer-
rida gazed at her, eyes narrowed. "You've less knowledge of our
world than either of those children, but you're no fool, I'd say.
Know something of people and how to care for yourself. And
your music—" She sighed faintly, stared across Jennifer's shoul-
der toward the car; Chris was stuffing something in Robyn's
denim shoulder bag and making her laugh again. "Ever think
about magic, young woman?"

"No. That's Robyn's kind of thing, telling fortunes and the
like. I don't believe in it, quite honestly. Chris reads a lot of
stuff, he plays games. But that's fiction, nothing real."

"He'll think this a game, given the chance. Don't let him."

Jennifer shook her head. "You told him. A boy his age doesn't
accept death as anything personal. And his games are all puz-
zles, nothing in the real world."

"Well, watch him, and your sister. But you will anyway, I
can see that. Here." She fumbled under fluttering ends of black
cloth and brought out a small, flat wooden box on a leather
strap. "Coin and four precious stones, from the Duchess. You
three will need clothing once you reach Sikkre, you'll all need
food, and there may be a need for bribes. Lialla will know."
She swayed slightly. "Go, hurry then; the fabric's stretched by
that machine of yours and I can't afford to become much more
worn." Jennifer nodded and turned away; Merrida touched her
arm, bringing her back. "I warned you against Hell-Light. You'll
know it when you see it." She managed a brief, drawn smile.
"Anyone of ordinary sense would see it's nothing to approach,
even without knowledge. But now and again, it hides. Be care-
ful." Jennifer merely nodded again and hurried over to the car.

Careful. God. There couldn't be enough caution, in their own
world and this one, for her; Merrida's world sounded as safe as
a snakepit.

She sat in the driver's seat and fumbled through her own leather
bag, checking the contents by feel. Makeup bag—she doubted
she'd call on Max Factor much, but couldn't bring herself to
simply abandon the contents. Her toothbrush and paste were in
there, too, along with hand lotion, vitamins, a small clean-up
kit, and first-aid stuff, a separate mirror, a hairbrush. She pulled
the curling iron out and dropped it on the back seat as useless,
leaned across and fished in the glove compartment for the pair
of leather gloves, a spare pack of tissues, aspirin bottle, her
pocket knife, matches. There wasn't anything else useful. At

79 RU EM6RSON

least she'd been caught out in jeans and good sneakers, instead
of a poly-silk dress and three-inch heels.

She rummaged through the bag again, found the bundle of
pens and the small yellow pads on the bottom; together with a
few of her loose sugar packets; patted the steering wheel and
got out. There was a lump in her throat as she closed the driver's
door; her first brand-new car, she'd been so proud of herself.

Robyn and Chris waited by the rear hatch. They were muffled
in the long, lightweight woolen scarves. Chris carried Jennifer's
old gym bag slung over one elbow. He waggled it at her. "Hope
you don't mind, it's the rest of the lunch and the blue ice to keep
it fresh." He gripped Robyn's shoulder. "All right. Mom?"

Robyn closed her eyes momentarily, then nodded. "I'm—I
think I am. Something—I don't know, I think she did something.
I should be shivering and I'm not any more. Maybe it's just so
bad, I don't know what to be afraid of.'*

Merrida came up behind them; she looked even more drawn
and her gait wasn't entirely steady. She stopped in front of Chris
and held out a long, thin bundle. "Here." Her voice was still
rough but not much above a whisper. Chris undid the end and
slid a bow partway out. "If you can use one, so much the better;

they're weapons in your world, too. If not, leam, one of you."
Robyn opened her mouth to protest, shut it again. Chns pulled
the cloth back over the end of the bow, tugged the strings tight
and slid the case under the strap of the bag he already carried.
He managed not to pull back when Merrida took his head be-
tween her hands; Robyn flinched visibly when Merrida moved
on to her; Jennifer felt an intense wave of dizziness hit her like
a blow. The same moment the old woman withdrew her hands
and it was gone. "Go," Merrida said finally, and the word was
guttural, foreign—Rhadazi, Jennifer realized with- an uncom-
fortable start. "Go, now!" Chris turned, took Robyn's arm and
started across the clearing. Jennifer, with one final wistful look
at her car, followed.

Merrida leaned against the Honda and watched them go.
Worn—Gods of the Warm Silences, she was well beyond worn!
But with the vehicle returned now, she'd recover. Perhaps even
have enough strength left to tap into the Night and find a bundle
of Thread to return herself to the fort. Second Plane travel was
considerably easier than the way she'd come; she might even be
able to use it to repair her strength, a little. If she found con-
necting Thread. But first things first. The fabric shifted, swelled
briefly, then snapped back into place with a reverberation that

T:HE CALLINQ OF t:HE T:HREE

79

shook her teeth; the machine and its contents were gone- As she
sank to the ground and let her eyes close, she heard a distant
snapping of twigs. It faded.

IT was dangerously dark at first; tree-shadow blending with tree-
trunks. At Chris's suggestion they walked in file, hands out to
keep from running into anything; he and Jennifer changed places
often, keeping Robyn between them, until they reached the road.
• The road came into sight about the time they began to think
they'd somehow missed it. "Well, at least she didn't lie about
that," Chris whispered. "I wish my watch worked."

"It doesn't?" Jennifer fumbled a hand from under the dark
swathings of wool, worked her other hand free to press the light
button. Nothing happened.

"I checked, back at the car. It's acting all screwy. Which way?
She said left, didn't she?"

"Wait a minute." Now that the time had come to leave the
woods and step onto that narrow, rutted track, Jennifer felt ex-
posed. But she heard nothing in either direction, not even wind
or animals in the leaves. It was silent enough, just now, that
they'd hear anyone coming along the road. And anyone using
magic, like Merrida, would see them anyway. Magic. She looked
down at her hands, dubiously. They felt a little cold, nothing
else. She tucked them back inside the wool, shoved them into
the pockets of her jacket.

"If we're waiting for ores to come and grab us," Robyn said
in a small voice, "I wish we wouldn't. Okay?" Chris laughed
very quietly and wrapped a long arm around her shoulder.

"Mom, trust me, this isn't Middle Earth. No ores, no trolls,
nobody to turn you into a pie."

"Don't, it's not funny."

"No? Look, nothing overhead either, no nasties on wings—"
He stopped as Robyn giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"You're right," she said finally. "It's silly, and I'm silly."

"Yah," Chris scoffed. "You were afraid of bears and rabid
skunks and Bigfoots when we went camping, remember? Jen, I
can't see anything out there; let's go."

It wasn't much lighter on the roadway, just easier walking.
There was no sound save a very occasional whisper of breeze
through high branches and once a high-pitched wail that might
have been a bird. For the most part they kept quiet, too, at least
until the immediate fear of the comparative open space wore orf.

Chris cleared his throat. "Um, listen. What she said, about

80 RU EM6RSON

not going back—that might not be true, you know. I mean, she's
like the guy I took shop from last year, knew everything. If he
didn't know the right answer, he'd make one up and say it like
it was gospel. But she might not know, either. I mean, some-
body else might be able to do something to get us home ..."
His voice faded away.

"I—you know, right this minute, I don't really care," Robyn
said. "Staying or not. Not that I want to be anywhere rigfit now
but on the way home, just like we were. But—well, it could be
worse. I have nothing to go back to but an apartment full of junk
and a bunch of bills. All I really care about is you two, and
you're here."

"Yeah," Chris said. "That's us. And my feeling is, if we can
get back, I wanna look around here first, see everything I can.
Write books when I get home, make a fortune. Aunt Jen?"

Jennifer laughed quietly and without humor. "It reminds me
of a college friend of mine, a medieval history major. Said he'd
love to visit the middle ages or Troy or something, but only if
they'd let him take penicillin with him. But—" She swallowed
and walked on in silence. Her job, her apartment, her car: she'd
thrown herself headlong into school, only coming up for air after
she'd passed the Bar; the apartment, like the job, was a start in
the right direction. My cello, she thought with an anguished
pang. And realized when Chris turned to look at her that she'd
spoken aloud. "Sorry," she managed. Robyn dropped back to
walk beside her and gave her a quick hug.

"Yeah, well, don't sweat it," Chris said doubtfully. "But let's
figure, all right? You saw what that old bat gave me, didn't you?
A plain old bow and arrows? That says something about this
place, about the people. Because if they had guns, it would make
sense that she'd have given us a pistol or a rifle instead of a bow.
It's easier to kill someone with one of those than with an arrow.
Shh, mom, I'm working something out, I know you don't like
the 'K' word. I think this place is pretty primitive, like medieval,
and without penicillin, but they have magic. That Merrida
must've used some pretty impressive fireworks to drag us here.
And she mentioned healing, so I guess that's one plus."

"You can't scare me with primitive," Robyn said, and she
sounded almost cheerful. "I spent four years in a commune,
remember?''

"Fifteen years ago." Chris reminded her.

"Crap, I can't be that old. But it's like falling off a bicycle,"
Robyn said. "You don't forget. Jennifer, are you keeping track

?:HE CALL1NQ OF WE ^HREE

of distance and markers and stuff? Getting lost would be the
absolute end."

"Yes. Don't distract me, something's—look, over there." She
stopped in the middle of the road and pointed. "Do you see
that?"

Chris leaned over her shoulder and squinted, sighting over her
arm. "Not really, it's—wait. Wooo, lookit that." It was fading
again, brightening: a near-circular patch of woods not ten feet
from the road. Golden light, like late afternoon sunlight, filtered
down through branches, dust motes or the air itself sparkling.
For one brief moment they saw grass, brilliantly green grass,
and pale flowers nodding in a breeze they could not feel where
they stood.

"I don't like that," Robyn whispered. "That's not natural, I
don't like it at all."

"Me, too," Chris said. Jennifer stared. Something touched
her, tickling her stomach, running along the hairs on her fore-
arms. Something from that Light, but not her own fear. At least,
she didn't think so. Either way, nasty.

She turned away. "Let's go. It's messing up my night vision."

"No argument." Chris replied. Robyn was already several
paces ahead of them. Her feet thudded hollow on wood and the
air around them suddenly turned chill and damp. "I just found
a bridge, Jen; this must be the creek she told us about." They
could see white, churning water in the starlight; hear the faint
roar of a waterfall in the distance. Jennifer pulled the woolen
wrap snug around her throat; it was positively freezing, partic-
ularly when they went down a few paces into a depression. By
contrast, the night was almost balmy when they climbed to the
last of the four bridges, and then up a low slope to open ground.

Robyn stopped. "Ssst. I hear something."

"I don't—" Chris 1>egan; Jennifer clapped a hand across his
mouth. Robyn had the sharpest ears of anyone she knew. After
several moments, she heard it, too. Horses, coming up the road
behind them, fast. Chris must have caught the sound when she
did; he turned away, grabbed Robyn's shoulders and hurried her
off the road, into a cluster of thin-trunked trees. Jennifer sprinted
after them and threw herself flat in the shadows. Four horses
passed them at a dead run, were gone. She was back on her feet
and out on the road almost before they were out of sight.

Chris and Robyn came up behind her. Robyn's face was pale,
her mouth set in an angry line. "What are you doing, trying to
Set caught?"

92 RU EM6RSON

"Don't be silly, I just wanted to see if they left the road,"
Jennifer said. "We're near where those two are hiding; I should
be able to sense them pretty quickly, if Merrida didn't lie—or
overestimate what she says she gave me."

"You can't tell?" Chris demanded. She shrugged. He cast
Robyn a sidelong look and squared his shoulders. "Well, look,
all right, I don't think we have much to worry about with those
four on the horses; they were going much too fast to be looking
for anyone nearby. Well, unless they're using magic themselves.
But look, logically this stepfather must think they've run for it,
gone on to the next town, whatever it is, so they'd be way on
ahead somewhere. So they might be on their way there—to the
town, I mean, the four guys, to warn someone to watch for the
other two, or maybe they'd be looking further up the road, where
it's more likely those two might have made it." He glanced back
down the road. "That's not to say there aren't others like them
out here, of course."

"Thanks, kid," Robyn said dryly. She brushed dirt and dry
leaves off her front. "Can we go, please? Before I think about
that and either puke or sit down right here in the road?'' But as
Jennifer started off, Robyn stopped cold and buried her face in
her hands. "Oh, God. I just realized."

"What?" Jennifer and Chris spoke together.

' 'I *ve got one and a half packs of cigarettes left.'' Chris opened
his mouth and she glared him into silence. "One word about
this being the perfect time to quit, and I'll—"

"Didn't say anything. Mother." Chris tugged at her scarf-
ends and got her moving. "Didn't say a word." But he was
smiling complacently as he followed her down the road.

The smile slipped several steps later, and he nearly sat down
in the road himself. Music. Unless they came through this alive,
and got back to L.A., he'd heard his last rock music on the way
past Palmdale this morning. His new CD player, all the comers
he'd cut getting the coins together for it, the small collection of
really good stuff— It settled in his stomach and his throat in a
great, sharp-cornered lump.

They walked in silence. The forest was thinning, trees now
clumps and bunches, shading into brush. Jennifer held up a hand.
"Look, both of you. I feel like a damned fool, but Merrida said
I'd be able to sense them from somewhere around here. I suspect
I'd better try. Keep watch, will you? 1 don't know how much
concentration this will take." She spread her feet apart for bal-
ance and stared off toward the north.

•CHE CALLINQ OF •CHE •CHREE

Her ears rang with the silence. But she was faintly aware of
small creatures out there; of a large, still bird high above them,
watching for the least movement. Chris's misery over his new
Paula Abdul CD—she could feel it, almost as keenly as if it
were her loss. Robyn, watching her avidly and, so deeply buried
even she wasn't aware of it, with envy. Poor Robyn. All those
years of tarots and I Ching coins, and it was Jennifer who'd been
chosen to bear magic. Jennifer wondered if it would upset her
more if she knew how little her sister wanted it.

• There was a nagging pain in her left arm; she massaged it,
snatched her fingers away as it flared in red-hot agony into her
shoulder and down her side. Caught hold of the arm just below
the shoulder and squeezed, hard, until the pain ebbed. His pain.
Aletto's pain. She turned to face up the road; it faded. Increased,
throbbingly, as she turned back to the north and walked off the
road. "They're this way."

"I don't believe it." Chris breathed, awed.

"I wish I didn't," Jennifer said shortly; it might be Aletto's
wound, but it was hurting her terribly, making her breath come
short. Merrida hadn't warned her about that. Probably just as
well. "Let's go."

Brush barred their way; Chris found a way through. The dell
was shallow at this point, but it sloped steeply and the ground
was boggy in places. It narrowed alarmingly once or twice, but
around a bend and then another, opened out once more. Jennifer
led, guided by the pain in her arm. Chris put his mother in front
of him and rummaged under his woolen wrap, finally bringing
out the bow and a long-shafted arrow. It took him only a mo-
ment to string it; memories from a summer camp, years before.
He'd remembered how to arc the bow, how to attach the string—
at least this one was a no-nonsense, no-frills bow like the camp
ones. He hoped he'd remember how to shoot it, if he had to.

And that Robyn would forgive him, if he had to kill anything.
Or anybody.

He started as movement to his right, beneath rock and over-
hanging brush, caught his eye, relaxed as a tethered horse moved
partway out and back again. And then Jennifer slowed. "We're
close, very close," she whispered. "Stay with me." A black-
ness darker than the night, or the overhang sheltering the horses,
loomed before them. Before Jennifer could edge through fallen
loose stone and shattered boulders to reach the cave opening, a
hand came down and gripped her forearm. "Lialla?" she
gasped.

84 RU EM6RSON

"Who asks?" came a low, grim reply.

"We—Merrida sent us. We came to help you."

"She—come, you can't stay out here. Hurry, all of you!" The
hand stayed on Jennifer's arm, drew her forward. Jennifer sensed
rather than saw the flutter of black scarves like Memda's, a long,
pale face. She let herself be led, waved an imperious hand to
those behind her. Robyn swallowed, hesitated, but Chris caught
her by the shoulders and hurried her after.

"Stay right behind Jen, Mom, we don't want to lose her,
right?" Robyn swallowed again, nodded and stumbled across
rubble and into the dark. ' 'Cave; watch your head, Mom.'' Once
inside, there was a faint bluish light, just enough to see the
ceiling had gone high, vaulting into an unguessed distance. Chris
pushed past Robyn, took her hand in his and led her after Jen-
nifer and Lialla, both now distant, dark shadows.

The light grew a little; they passed around a bend and into a
small, smooth-walled chamber. A metal box, the source of the
light, was wedged between two stones at shoulder level. Another
was set on the smooth dirt floor, and by its light, Chris could
see Jennifer, kneeling beside a dark-haired man. His face looked
terribly pale and drawn; the woman kneeling on his other side—
Lialla, he guessed—was nearly as pale. She watched anxiously
as Jennifer pushed the cover away from his arms.

Chris dropped the gym bag on smooth dirt. It couldn't be
harder than Jennifer's couch, where he had slept a good part of
the summer. "Mom, you look done in. That was a long walk
for you."

"Yeah. My feet hurt," she whispered. Her eyes were fixed
on Aletto's face.

"Well, sit down, then. Who knows, we may be on our way
again before dawn." Robyn sighed unhappily, eased herself to
the floor and tugged at the grip-tape straps on her sneakers.
"Don't take them off. Mom, not unless you've got blisters or
something. I didn't see any running water for you to soak your
feet in, and if they swell, you're barefoot."

"/ know. I used to hike a lot, remember?" Robyn dragged
her purse up by Chris's gym bag. Her eyes went back to Atetto.
"Poor guy. I hope he's going to be all right." She lay down,
then, and let her eyes close. Chris cast Aletto a dubious glance
before he stretched out next to his mother. He'd seen that look
before: Robyn, with her infinite capacity for sympathy, was about
to pick up another wounded bird. It was something he admired,
really: All the times she'd been stepped on by those she'd tried

FHE CALLJNQ OF WE •CHREE

85

to help, and it never stopped her from trying once more. All the
same . . .

All the same, that was how Robyn had wound up with Amie,
and the one or two before Amie—and the Mediterranean type
who'd really been a jerk. Chris levered up onto one elbow and
gazed at the limp form between Lialla and Jennifer. All he knew
about this Aletto wasn't much, but he didn't sound like such a
great deal. "I don't care how blankety-damned noble he is,"
Chris mumbled under his breath as he punched the gym bag flat
under his ear. "A jerk's a jerk. And if this guy's a jerk, he's not
going to mess Mom up. Not if I can help it.''

"MERRIDA sent you?" Lialla stared as Jennifer unpinned and
unwrapped the long wool scarf and shook her hair out. There
was a visible lack of confidence in both the look and her voice.
"You three? That's all?"

"It wasn't our idea," Jennifer said shortly. "It wasn't hers,
either—that's what she said, anyway." She bit back a further
angry retort. Lialla's gaze had slipped from Jennifer's face; her
eyes were dark with worry. Aletto stirred and moaned as she
touched his arm. "Look, this Merrida of yours said I could help
him. Why don't you let me try?"

Lialla sat back on her heels and studied her in silence for a
long moment. She shrugged. "She- knew, then—never mind.
You're not Rhadazi, you don't have the took of anyone I've ever
seen before and your speech is very oddly accented." One hand
hovered protectively over her brother. "How, help him? Wait,
though. Give me your hand." Jennifer shoved the woolen wrap
and her leather satchel aside and held out both hands. Lialla's
fingers were icy, her grip hard. "Curious. You're a Wielder? An
outlandWielder?"

"No. I'm an American." The proper noun fell oddly in the
midst of the implanted speech, and for the first time since Lialla
had gripped her wrist, Jennifer felt the oddity of speaking this
language not her own, when before it had come as naturally as
English. "And I'm no—what did you say?—no Wielder; there is
no magic where I come from. Anything you sense is Memda's."

Lialla frowned, finally released her hands, "if you say so."
She sat back again. "It doesn't matter. My brother matters. He
was hurt when we left Duke's Fort, knifed by Carolan. I—" Her
lips twisted. "I can't heal him, I'm not capable of that, all I
could do was bind the bleeding, to keep him alive."

"Give me light." Jennifer leaned over the unconscious nera-

86 RU EMGRSOM

Duke and gently pulled the thin blanket from his fingers. It must
have hurt Lialla to admit that, and she clearly loved her brother.
"What you did saved his life; there's nothing wrong with that."
Lialla looked at her, away again.

It took several minutes for the two women, working together,
to soak the binding from Aletto's biceps. Jennifer could feel the
Mood leave her face when she saw the wound, and was glad she
wasn't standing. It was a deep cut, rough-edged and seeping a
little; the skin and muscle gaped. Ugly. The shock of such a
wound alone would account for his present state, even if he
hadn't bled much. and a cut like this would ordinarily bleed.
Should still be bleeding. Jennifer extended a very reluctant hand
and brought it, palm down, over his arm, just above the wound,
not actually touching it. Her own upper arm ached fiercely,
throbbed rhythmically.

Night-Thread? She could sense it, suddenly; she could see it
cluttering the wound, a white wadded mess of it. And unless
she was going mad, she could hear it: There was music, faint
music, in the stuff under her fingers, a distant piccolo or a reed
flute—but it faded when she tried to concentrate on the sound.
Concentrate, she told herself, on what you're doing. The sense
of music stayed with her; the nera-Duke's arm was cool under
her fingers. She drew them back when he moaned and shifted
restlessly.

Between her hand and his arm, a network of faint, luminous
lines was becoming visible. Silver, black—all colors. Some ran
straight, others curved, or spiraled, or gathered in rainbow clus-
ters, ran helixlike, binding together and separating. It blurred
before her eyes, separated even more cleariy as she blinked.
There was music everywhere, a faint blending of disparate
sounds that was not unpleasant, if not particularly melodic.

There. She knew, all at once, which of them would serve her;

her right hand caught a twist of Thread, four shades of blue; her
left took hold of another, reds shading to purples. "Lialla—
Lady. Can you remove what you did?" Lialla, wide-eyed, nod-
ded. "Do it, now." Thread writhed in her hands; blood welled
up and spilled down Atetto's arm. Jennifer swallowed bile and
laid her right hand across the wound, fiat. Blood oozed between
her fingers. "Think what you're doing," she whispered. "Not
what you feel." It helped, a little; and then the music caught
her ear and took hold of her. Instruments or voices similar to
flute or violin, all soprano; faint, though. But she had the line
of it, and with that, sudden and profound gut-deep understand-

WE CALL1NQ OF T:HE T:HREE       97

ing of why those particular Threads were right, what they did.
How to seek them out on her own.

It shook her; this was utterly illogical, so unlike anything she'd
ever done in her life. The music wavered briefly, resubmitted
itself to her ears as she stopped trying to analyze. The Thread
itself was cottony and slightly sticky to the touch. It clung to
her hands, then to torn and outraged muscle, veins, skin. Alet-
to's pain, once nearly unbearable, became a mere itch in the
)>ack other mind. And was gone. She blinked. The music faded.
When she lifted her hand, there was nothing left of the wound
but a faint, pink line. Aletto stirred, mumbled something neither
woman could hear, and subsided into a much more natural-
looking sleep. Lialla scrubbed a sleeve over her eyes and pulled
the cover up to his chin.

"Here, I think your companions are asleep; let's take the light,
move away a little. I have wine, you'd better drink some."

Jennifer swayed as she stood, kept one hand on the cave wall
as she followed Lialla, and gratefully sat once again. The wine
Lialla handed her was over-sweet for her taste but not cloying.
She drank, felt the worid steady, and handed the leather bag
back. "Thank you. Lady; I needed that."

"Lialla to you, Healer. And I am just a sin-Duchess; only my
mother is called Lady.''

"Lialla. You can't call me Healer; though; that was Merrida's
magic."

"Say some of it was."

Jennifer shrugged. She'd have to put some time between her-
self and what just happened before she'd even think about ana-
lyzing it. "Call me Jennifer."

"Jennisar—Jenniser?" Lialla couldn't make it work. "That's
no name anywhere, I've never heard it."

"It's a mouthful. Try Jenny, or Jen if that's easier."

"Jenny." Lialla *s "j" came out soft, more like a "z." "Your
friends—"

"My sister and my nephew. Robyn and Christopher, everyone
calls him Chris, though. I—look. I have to know. This Merrida
said she couldn't send us home again. Is that so?"

Lialla shrugged, took a swallow of wine and set the leather
sack between them. "I don't know. I don't know anything about
such things. If she says so, it must be true. But I'm only an
initiate; when she said she would find someone, I thought she
meant—I don't know what I thought she meant. Men from the
Emperor's city, perhaps; or maybe nomad men who carry knives

88 RU EMGRSON

and fight for anyone, for enough coin. We—Aletto expected
armed men, Jadek never let him leam to fight, I haven't even
the training given Rhadazi women. I can't—" She shrugged,
smiled bleakly and closed her eyes. "No, I can't say that; I still
cannot use a dagger property, I simply killed a man with one
tonight, as much ill luck as anything. And now, Aletto has me,
and you—and those two. He won't like this."

Jennifer let her eyes close and counted to ten. "He isn't" the
only one who doesn't like it. And then all this mystery! She said
she wanted armed guards for you, but then she said the magic
chose us instead. That's a rotten explanation, if you ask me."

Lialla shook her head. "That's just how Merrida is. A good
Wielder doesn't explain, particularly if she doesn't know."

"God. Chris was right. But I can't think why this magic would
choose us\ It's ridiculous! I know law, I know music, but I'm
not a great lawyer yet and I never was a great musician, and
there's nothing useful about either, that I can see, anyway! My
sister hasn't killed anything larger than a housefly in her life. she
hates violence, and I don't think her so-called ability to read
cards is going to be exactly handy. Chris plays games and reads
books. People like us—ordinary people where we come from—
we don't fight or kill or any of that. That's for TV and spy
novels!"

Lialla bit her lip. "You're using odd words I don't know. But
we have to trust what Merrida told you. If the magic chose you,
then there's nothing more to be said."

Jennifer shifted. The ground was uncomfortably hard under
her hip, and the cold was seeping through her jeans. "Oh, there's
plenty to be said. What you're doing, where you're going. Where
we are. Why somebody cut him like that, and who this man is
who got killed. Above all, why. Tell me."

"I can try." Lialla turned so she could watch Aletto sleep.
"A long time ago, the Emperor broke Rhadaz into nine individ-
ual Dukedomes, and turned them over to his friends. The orig-
inal Duke of Zeiharri was a many-times great-grandfather of our
father. Father died nearly twenty years ago, an accident I only
recently began to see as convenient; my uncle—his brother-
forced our mother to marry him, and took control of the house-
hold and the council appointed to oversee Aletto until his
twenty-fifth birthday, when he would be named Duke. I just
knew Jadek never intended to relinquish control, if he could help
it." Lialla gazed at her brother; a tear eased out of the comer
of one eye and slid down her cheek. "There's more, but I can't

T:HE CALLINQ OF WE •CHREE

89

tell it just now. It's enough for you to know that Aletto began to
believe only the past few days. He and I left the fort, in hopes
we could find men who were loyal to Father. With enough such
men at my brother's back, we can return home and Jadek will
have to abdicate."

Right, Jennifer thought sourly. The way Noriega did. Who is
going to run him out. an Emperor with gunboats and Marines ?
But she let it pass; Lialla might not be as naive as she sounded
on that point, and if not it couldn't hurt to leave her that illusion
for the moment. "Where are we going, and when?"

"Tomorrow night, no sooner, and that's if he can travel."
Lialla turned away from Aletto. "It's drylands from here for
most of a night's journey, and that slopes down to Sikkre." The
name was gutteral in the back of her throat. "There are men
there, or so we hear, and the Duke's son—the Thukar's son,
Dahven—may be able to help us. We'll need more food, better
clothing for you three." Jennifer rummaged through her bag and
gave Lialla the little wooden coin box. "That's Mother's." She
opened it and looked in, shook it experimentally. "That will
help, considerably—at least, if we can find a gemsmith who'll
exchange any of these for coin, without uncomfortable ques-
tions. In Sikkre, that won't be hard. You'd better keep it, though,
in case we're separated. I have money of my own."

"All right." She carefully didn't mink about being separated;

she wouldn't breathe the least hint of it to Chris or particularly
to Robyn.

"Are you hungry?" Lialla asked. Jennifer shook her head.
"Tired?"

"Not just now. If you are, go ahead and sleep; I'll watch him.
I need to think more than I need sleep."

"I—all right." It was hard, admitting to anyone how very
tired she was. Lialla hadn't allowed herself to know until just
now. It was even harder, trusting a complete stranger like this
Jen with her brother's life. A hard woman, this one, but cool
and extremely competent— particularly if she'd come into magic
for the first time mis night. "I scarcely slept last night, and not
at all since."

Jennifer nodded. "If I hear anything, I'll wake you. I wouldn't
know what to do." Lialla wrapped the black scarves around her
arms, folded them across her chest and curled up on the hard
ground in a tight little ball. She was asleep almost as soon as
her eyes closed.

90 Ru EMGRSON

JENNIFER shoved her bag behind her back as a pillow and leaned
against the smoothed stone wall. Robyn was sleeping, Chris next
to her, one hand protectively on her elbow. Aletto seemed to be
breathing normally and the drawn, white look had left his face.

She wanted to think about it, but she couldn't: too much, too
soon, and most of it too painful. Heydrich & Hamson—they'd
notice she was gone right away, when she didn't show up for
that deposition. "I wanted that, really wanted it," she whis-
pered. Long, red-carpeted halts. Jimmy's cheerful smile, Jan's
Xeroxed magazine articles on her chair when she came to work
in the morning—even the nasty squeal the copy machine emitted
when it first started up and the unpleasant burr of the dot matrix
printer just outside the office—she felt their loss like a great,
gaping hole inside her. She forced her thoughts away from red-
carpeted halts, artificial flower displays on polished conference
room tables, the oddball assortment of receptionists who clashed
so interestingly with the reception area full of antiques. It no
longer mattered; she couldn't afford to let it. Any more than she
could entertain Chris's possible return. Dare to think there would
be a way back, tonight or any other night, and she'd tear herself
to pieces, wanting it.

Three missing Angelenos in a city so large, their car eventu-
ally found on a narrow high desert road—they would make a
very small ripple indeed. A few people would notice them gone,
but not many would and not for long.

And for the rest, everything since Chris—poor virginal Chris,
she thought, and nearly laughed aloud—had driven them into
Memda's net. But of all of them, Chris was the only one who'd
landed on his feet, thinking almost at once. The only one of the
three who'd had any idea what had happened. / read the wrong
things, she thought wryly, and momentarily felt better.

That faded rapidly. Magic: Merrida's, that unnatural light be-
side the road—what she had done just now, to that young man's
arm. "Why me? Why not Birdy, who's fiddled with all that
stuff? Why not Chris?" There was no answer to that. Except,
just possibly, the music.

It was there, just outside her hearing, ready for her if she
needed it.

Outside the cave a nightbird or some small animal cried out;

she jumped, banging her shoulder against rock, and swore. Al-
etto stirred, pushed himself groggily partway up and rubbed his
eyes. "Lialla?" Lialla shifted, mumbled something under her

WE CALLINQ OF CHE TTHREE

breath. Jennifer crawled past her. "Merrida?" he whispered and
blinked furiously. "You're not Merrida."

"She sent us to help you, three of us."

"Oh." He considered this in silence. "You're not a Rhadazi,
lean tell."

"No."

"Oh." He rubbed his eyes once more, yawned and lay back
down, asleep once more without having been properly awake.

7

Jk LETTO woke again, hours later; Jennifer gave him water and
/\her name—like his sister, he had difficulty with it. He ap-
parently remembered nothing of the attack in the stables and
Jennifer decided to leave it to Lialla to decide what to tell him.
Lialla woke not long after Aletto lay down again, and Jennifer
curled up where the other woman had slept, leather bag under
her ear and Merrida's woolen thing wrapped snugly around her.
The cool air drifting along the floor felt refreshing on her face
but unpleasant against her arms. But the thin wool seemed more
than adequate to deal with the chill, once she managed to get it
in place.

She drifted toward sleep, but individual events ran wild
through her mind: the way the car had slid on gravel, her first
jolting sight of Merrida, standing tike a tree in those darkened
woods. Hell-Light; Thread-sound—or music, if she dared think
it that. Aletto. Poor, handicapped Aletto.

No one had said, except for the vague hints Merrida had
dropped. Nothing had prepared her for the hitched-up shoulder,
the slightly slurred speech, the mouth mobile only on the left
side, the faint acnelike marks running along his right jaw and
up under his ear. She had not been certain where to look, com-
ing on his disability so suddenly. She knew Lialla saw her em-
barrassment, which made it all the worse. Young, noble,
handicapped. Probably, judging by what was left, once ex-
tremely handsome. And no doubt he was used to looks like hers:

surprise, shock, pity, all mixed. Fortunately, he hadn't been
conscious when she dealt with his wound, but from the look on
his sister's face, she at least wasn't resigned to his condition,
and she visibly hated pity.

WE CALLINQ OF WE TTHREE

93

Illness, then. Illness or accident. If he'd been like this from
birth, even a woman like Lialla would have adjusted to it by
now. Then again, a woman like Lialla . . .

Lialla was all Merrida had warned her of, though Merrida
hadn't used such blunt words as occurred to Jennifer: arrogant,
imperious, impatient. The kind of Type A that gave all other
Type A personalities a bad name.

Well, she was sorry she'd let so much show; ordinarily, it
wouldn't have happened, but the circumstances were scarcely
ordinary. Lialla wouldn't see it like that, most likely. Aletto
wouldn't either, if Lialla were stupid enough to tell him. Rub-
bing salt in the wound—no, not likely she'd tell her brother. Not
after a night to think about it. Unless Jennifer had badly misread
the initiate Wielder. Fortunately, she herself had a little time to
think about it; she would just have to go on as though nothing
had happened. Let it pass. If she apologized, that could only
keep discomfort fresh between herself and Lialla. And she had
an uncomfortable feeling there would be enough of that in the
days to come. Lialla was pretty obviously a strong-willed woman,
and not used to dealing with another of the same ilk.

Jennifer yawned, stretched hard, and curled back on her side.
She wished in passing that she could warn Chris and Robyn.

She thought she heard Robyn mumbling, Chris's whispered
reply. Poor Chris. Of the three of them, he really had the most
to lose, coming here. And he hadn't fully realized it yet, the
way Jennifer had. When it hit him—God. At least worry for his
mother kept him from worrying about himself. That was the last
thing she remembered thinking before sleep took her.

SUN touched the cave floor and momentarily dazzled her; she
shut her eyes, moved her head cautiously into shade and squeezed
them open the least bit once again. There were gaps in the rock,
partway up. Jennifer shifted, edged over flat onto her back. and
stretched, cautiously. Sleeping in a wad on hard ground, with a
loaded purse for a pillow, had given her bruised hip bones, ach-
ing joints and a ferocious headache. That healing of Merrida's
would come in useful just now. But the old woman had been
right; she couldn't sense anything beyond herself, nothing be-
yond her normal senses.

Night-Thread, her sleep-fuzzed brain reminded her- Curious;

magic that only worked at night. At least, good magic that only
worked at night. Fortunately it wasn't like some of the ancient
earth stuff she seemed to recall reading about, magic that only

94 Ru EMERSON

worked during a fill! moon, or at seasonal changes or even once
a year. Unfortunately, she'd never read much about magic; prob-
ably it wouldn't be useful here anyway.

Well, she probably couldn't cure a headache with Merrida's
magic anyway. Merrida had certainly tried to imbue it with a
massive importance that would raise it beyond such petty con-
cerns. Fortunately, Jennifer had her usual enormous bottle of
aspirin in the bottom of her bag. Probably the hard object that
had given her the headache in the first place. She sat up, dragged
the leather satchel open and rummaged; her eyes misted as her
fingers closed over the hard plastic container. Her secretary had
given her such a hard time over that bottle—jug, Jan had called
it. So had Jimmy when he'd seen it. Well, but it had been so
cheap, and easy to find in her bag. She blinked angrily, shook
three out and choked them down dry, then eyed the bottle du-
biously before she stowed it away again. Suddenly a half-full
seven-hundred-count bottle no longer seemed excessive; she'd
have to hoard the darned things and use them only in emergen-


cies.

It was quiet in the cave; so quiet she knew even before her
eyes adjusted that she had it to herself. She dragged a comb
through her hair, considered braiding it and abandoned that when
an appraisal of the contents of her bag revealed nothing to tie it
with. Not that it braided well: It was thick enough but too fine
to stay put, and her hairdresser had cut it in about fourteen
different layers the last time. It had looked great with a suit and
discreet gold hoops; she didn't want to think how it looked just
now. She swore when the tortoise-shell pick snagged in a messy
end composed of tangled hair, dirt and two small branches. One
of the sticks had thorns, and she swore again as she eased it
free, sucked blood from an oozing puncture in her thumb.

There wasn't much a long hike and a nap like that could do
to harm her clothes—jeans and a leather jacket and leather high-
tops were about as hardy as you could get. She'd probably be
ready to kill for a chance to wash her shirt by nightfall, though.
She groaned as she stood and stretched. "Don't say kill," she
told herself in a fierce whisper as she squatted and rummaged
through the bag once again and came up with the black nylon
padded pouch. "Not here. Not for a smelly shirt." The little
bag contained deodorant, hand lotion, all the so-called survival
items a young lawyer might need when suddenly scheduled for
a one-thirty nearing. She ran a little paste onto her brush and

•CHE CALLINQ OF T:HE TTHREE

95

scrubbed it dry over her front teeth, stuffed everything back in
the satchel and went outside.

The air was still, clear and slightly damp; the sun's rays nearly
level. Still quite eariy, then. Someone had started a small fire
near the entrance. She looked at it, brow creased, then shrugged.
Lialla or Aletto surely wouldn't be foolish enough to draw at-
tention to this place with a fire! Then again—dry wood, she
thought as she studied it, and remembered things from eariy
camping trips in Wyoming. There was very little smoke at shoul-
der level, just a haze that distorted things when she looked
through it. At a height of ten feet, even that couldn't be seen.
Relax, she told herself sternly, and leaned over to warm her
fingers.

There was a pot sitting among the embers, not much bigger
than a decent-sized coffee mug; an unfamiliar but not unpleasant
herby, sagey smell rose from it. Not coffee. No coffee, Jennifer
thought with a pang, and then pushed the thought and the ac-
companying misery aside. She'd have to promise herself, no re-
grets. She could drive herself crazy, missing things. She wouldn't
give in to hope, either; Chris's little series of notions about going
home again might make Robyn happier, or make him less un-
happy. She couldn't afford to let herself think there might be a
way back.

She could see the horses a small-distance away—horses and
the unmistakable long ears of a mule or a burro. And then Lial-
la's equally distinctive ffuttery black wrappings. The sin-Duchess
turned and waved, and came back up the narrow draw with a
leather bag in one hand. She settled down on the rocks near the
fire and brought out a small loaf of bread. "Here," she said
gruffly. "We'll have to watch the food but this stuff doesn't
keep. And here." She pulled out a thick, flat bit of dark leather
that opened into a son of cup and dipped it into the steaming
liquid. Jennifer set the bread on her knees and took the cup
awkwardly. The sides weren't at all stiff and it wasn't easy to
keep it from collapsing and spilling hot liquid all over her lap
until she got hold of opposite sides with both hands. Lialla rose'
without another word and walked on into the cave.

"God, another morning person," Jennifer mumbled, and
swore as she scalded her upper lip. "We'll kill each other."

"Nah, she's just generally bitchy." Chris had come up un-
noticed. Jennifer jumped, managed to balance the sagging cup
and steer it away from her knee before it sloshed. She fixed her
nephew with a cold eye.

96                 Rll EMERSON                                         WE CALL1NQ OF FHE •CHREE

97

."Warn me next time, damnit."

He grinned cheerfully; Jennifer closed her eyes and began
counting. Unlike her—or his mother—Chris was happily on his
feet and moving as soon as the sun rose. Most of the time,
Jennifer managed not to hold it against him. The look on her
face must have warned him, because when she reached ten and
opened her eyes, he was gone again. She sipped hot liquid
doubtfully and wondered briefly if it was safe for him to wander
around. And where was Robyn?

There was entirely too much of the drink for a first taste, and
it needed sugar. But even though she had those few paper pack-
ets in her bag, she'd have to conserve them even more closely
than the aspirin—at least until she found out if there was sugar
here. "Or coffee," she whispered, and once again had to remind      -a
herself that subject was forbidden.                                ^

There didn't seem to be any caffeine in the tea, but the com-
bination of cool, crisp air and the heat of the liquid were helping
a little. She was at least able to pay some attention to her sur-
roundings.

She couldn't see far down the ravine; it bent sharply to the
right just beyond the horses, she remembered from the night
before. From here, the bend wasn't visible; it looked like one
solid rock wall. There was water, a narrow and slow-moving     f.
stream with a silly, brown bottom. Where the horses and the     ^
mule were tethered, there were trees so like cottonwood she
couldn't be certain they weren't in fact cottonwood, unfamiliar
bushes, thick, brightly green grass that rose to the animals'
knees. Beyond them, rock and brush climbed abruptly to a high
ledge; the trees there were a mixture, deciduous and pinon pine.
Or, she reminded herself, something like that- The resemblance
was strong, and the animals were certainly unmistakably horses    , f
and a mule.                                                    -

Just as Lialla and Aletto were unmistakably human—at least,
to her eye. It unnerved her more than difference would, consid-     ^
ering everything. How could it be possible, a completely other     ^
place, nowhere on Earth, and yet so many things just like Earth     ^
things?                                                        ";

She must have spoken aloud, and Chris, who'd come down     \-
from the ledge beside her, heard. "You don't read much, do     ^
you. Aunt Jen?"                                             :&-,.

*'I read—" she began defensively. Chris laughed,                'a

"Not the right kinda stuff. Alternate universes? Parallel     ,^
worlds?" Jennifer scowled at him, finally shook her head.     '^.

"Didn't think so. The idea being, something happened and at
that point things went one way and wound up being us—you
know, L.A., current day, you as a lawyer, all that. But at that
same time, maybe it happened differently, too, or should have,
and another world went that way. And wound up being this
place."

Jennifer nodded. "All right, I've heard the theory. The 'what
if Hitler won' idea."

Chris applauded silently. "That's one of them. So there would
be two worlds, right? One where he did, one where he didn't.
Or a bunch of 'em, right? Horses in both, people in both, same
kind of trees in both—but some things very different.'' He sat
down close to her, tore a piece from her loaf and stuffed it in
his mouth. "Like the bread. Tastes a little weird."

"Any bread that isn't that cellophane special white stuff would
taste funny to you," Jennifer told him.

"Well, anyway." Chris swallowed, held out a hand. "You
done with that stuff? It's pretty good, compared to some of the
herb tea Mom makes, but don't tell her I said so." He drained
the leather cup, spilling only a little, and handed it back to her.
"Well, with a parallel worlds thingie, the land masses would be
the same, too."

"But that's all fiction," Jennifer protested. Chris shrugged.

"Maybe. I mean, how do you know it wasn't there first and
writers started using the idea?''

"Like the Bermuda Triangle?"

"C'mon, you know what I mean."

"Everything you've said so far reeks of the National Enquirer
and bad pseudoscience."

"Yeah, I just knew you'd say that. Anyway, I've been talking
to Aletto this morning and I can't figure it out. If we're on a
parallel world, I don't see where and when we are, in relation
to our world."

"You know so much about geography, of course," Jennifer
said.

"Not fair! I got better after last year; too much razz from Mr-
Ediey about not knowing where places were, and besides, you
helped me, didn't you? Besides, maps are neat. Well, some
maps."

"Game maps, you mean," Jennifer said shrewdly. Chris
shrugged. "What's he like?"

"He? Oh. Aletto? Alt right, I guess. Not like I thought a Duke
would be." What he thought, Chris didn't say. Jennifer was

98

Ru EMGRSON

relieved and rather pleased to notice he seemed to have taken
Aletto's physical problems in stride. But then. Chris would;

Robyn would have seen to that. "He's up top, looking around.
Said he wanted to talk when he came down, though. You want
the rest of that bread? 'Cause if not, I'm starving." Jennifer
sighed quietly, shook her head and handed it to him.

ALETTO did come down, moments later. Jennifer glanced up in
alarm as she saw rock slithering and bouncing not very far away,
then looked down; Aletto's gait was awkward in the extreme on
such uneven ground, and she wondered that he would even try
it.

Unfortunately, he was at least as observant as Lialla, and just
as touchy. "You don't have to pretend I'm not here," he growled
as he limped over to the fire. "I don't always walk that funny."

Jennifer drew a deep breath, let it out and tried to send most
of her irritation with it. It didn't work. "Look," she said and
shielded her eyes so she could look up at him. "I was just as
concerned about Chris sliding down there. Don't be so damned
sure the world rises and sets on you!" Horror momentarily shut
her mouth and guilt opened it again as she shoved herself to her
feet- He was no taller than she; his face at the moment was
unreadable. "All right, that was harsh. Put it down that I don't
have a sense of humor in the morning."

He stood still for just enough longer that she wondered what
else she should say; a faint smile creased his mouth, then, and
warmed his dark blue eyes. "I'm not fond of this kind of hour
myself," he admitted. "Nor to such a bed; one grows soft even
in my uncle's loving care. And I seem to have missed my usual
helping of late wine." He took hold of her arms at the elbows
and squeezed, briefly, "You're Jenni—I can't say it."

' 'Jen.''

"Jen. I remember that now, you told me. You—?" He glanced
across her shoulder and Jennifer, turning, saw Robyn down there,
talking to the horses- "You and she, and the boy—you're the
help that woman brought us?"

Doesn't like Merrida by his tone of voice, or magic either,
Jennifer thought, and she remembered Merrida's odd way of
referring to Aletto. "Him," "the boy," no name. Apparently
she didn't like him much, either. Looking at his face, at the
shoulder drawn up under his right ear, his head inclining toward
it, remembering that limp—maybe he had cause. Had the old

•CHE CALLINQ OF CHE rHREE

99

woman tried and failed, or simply not tried? "We're what Mer-
rida got," she said.

Aletto's smile faded. "We need to talk," he said. "And that
most urgently.''

IT took her several minutes to round up Chris and send him after
Robyn; Aletto was seated by the small fire, Lialla standing be-
hind him. Jennifer let Chris help his mother find a half-
comfortable place to sit and to drop down next to her; she
elected, like Lialla, to stay on her feet.

It was quiet; Aletto looked up at Lialla, across the fire at the
others, opened his mouth and closed it again. The silence
stretched, and when Jennifer finally broke it, Robyn started ner-
vously. "I suppose this is a council of war, to decide what we're
doing," she said. Lialla shrugged gloomily.

Aletto stared down at his hands. "Council of war? Five of us,
and look at who we are! It's utterly hopeless."

He might have gone on but Lialla's hand closed on his good
shoulder; her knuckles stood out white. "You're not going back!
I can't—"

"I never said that!" Aletto protested sharply, and began tug-
ging at her fingers. "Jadek would kill me right then, or bury me
alive in the cellars, and say I'd never returned. And you—" He
tore her hand free of his arm, imprisoned the fingers between
both of his hands. "I doubt he'd treat you kindly, either."

"No," Lialla said faintly.

"He'd wed you to Carolan before the dirt settled on my
grave."

"Stop—" Lialla took a deep breath. Her face had gone an
ugly shade of pale green. " Carolan's dead."

Aletto let go of her hand, turned to stare up at her. Lialla
nodded. Silence. She closed her eyes momentarily, mumbled to
herself. When she opened them again, she looked more herself.
Aletto gazed into the fire, then out across the meadow, back into
the fire again. Jennifer thought he looked inordinately pleased
with himself. "I did that, didn't I?" Lialla nodded, realized he
wasn't watching.

"You did that."

"Carolan knifed me? I think I remember that. It hurt and my
eyes didn't want to stay open. He's dead? His man—they're both
dead?"

"Both dead," Lialla agreed flatly.

100 Ru EMCRSON

"We're not going back," Aletto said after a long silence. "We
wouldn't dare."

Lialla stirred. "We don't have to, we can go north. He won't
look for us in Holmaddan!"

"No? You think he won't turn Rhadaz inside out until he finds
us?" Aletto shook his head.

Chris sat forward. "Look, you two are talking in riddles.
Somebody, two somebodies got killed last night after you got
out the back door, and you two are responsible, right? And that's
going to make the old man—this Jadek that's running the place
for you—it's going to make him even madder than he already is,
right?" He settled his elbows on his knees, let his hands dangle
between his shins. One leg jiggled rapidly, making his hands
tremble. Jennifer, who knew his moods fairly welt, considered
saying something, then decided not to: Better to let her nephew
work out his anger at once, it was worse when he chewed on it.
"You mind if I ask where we come in?" Lialla glanced down
at Aletto, who had gone back to a contemplation of his hands.
Chris sighed heavily. "I ask because, you remember, we got
dragged here by that old witch, who said you needed us. Us
particularly. To go looking for people so you could take back
what's yours." Silence. "I can follow that, it's logical. But now
you're talking about running off or going home, or hiding
out—"

Aletto brought his chin up; his eyes were hard and his mouth
set. "My sister said that. I didn't. 1 intend to go on. But you
three—'* he gestured, taking them in. "You aren't—aren't—"

"Aren't what?" Chris demanded. "Aren't brutes with broad-
swords? Heroes in silver armor?"

"I didn't say—!"

"You didn't have to say that, I can tell you mean it."

"Can you even use that bow you're carrying?" Aletto coun-
tered hotly.

"I could once, how about you?" Chris snapped. "If we ever
get squared away here, I'm sure going to go practice with it.
Have I ever killed anybody with one? No! Who'd you kill lately,
besides this Caro—this whatsis." The two glowered at each
other. Lialla touched Aletto's shoulder.

"It's dangerous," she began. Chris laughed and effectively
silenced her.

"Oh, sure- Look, where I live there are machines that would
eat you for breakfast; there are men on the streets who carry
knives and cut people just for fun. Boys and young girls who do

•CHE CALL1NQ OF WE I:HREE      101

that. I'll tell you what I'm scared of here, lady. Not magic, not
that old bat who got us here, not even big warriors with shiny
swords. I'm scared you'll try to dump us right here, walk off
and leave us." There was an ugly little silence; Lialla's eyes
were mere slits. "For myself, I don't care nearly as much. But
you try to do that to my mother, lady, and you'll be sorry you
ever left home." Chris drew a deep breath, expelled it in a loud
whoosh and sat back. His color was high and a pulse beat rapidly
in this side of his neck, but he'd worked out the worst of it.

Or so Jennifer thought until Lialla glared down at him. "Don't
you threaten me, boy! It was Merrida who found you, not
me—"

"Give me a break, lady!" Chris jumped to his feet, waving
his arms. Lialla, startled, took a pace backwards, then reclaimed
her ground. "Merrida—why not blame the magic, the way she
did? Or my—well, never mind that! I know all about compara-
tive guilt and moral responsibility. You might not have done the
work, but you asked for the help, didn't you? You think you
don't have any responsibility for us? Think again!"

"I—look," Lialla said. She ran a hand through her hair, scat-
tering a handful of fine brass-colored pins. "I didn't have any
choice! Unless I married Carolan and let—let Alelto—" She
spun away on one heel and slammed both hands into the rock
wall behind them. "There's a moral question for you." Her
voice was muffled by stone. "The lives of fighting men—Why
should I have thought it would choose us anyone else?—or Al-
etto's life?" She turned back and leaned into the rock. "You're
right, Aletto, we can't go back; we've got to go on the way we
started."

"I know. I'm dead if we return; he'll hunt us down and he
won't quit until we're found, otherwise. If we can reach Sikkre,
find men who were loyal to Father— Even if we can't find Gyr-
dan, or even if Gyr won't help us, there will be someone. Some-
one to help us plan the next step." He drew a deep breath and
suddenly looked much less miserable. "We don't need to plan
it in fine detail just now; only the first step. Isn't that right?"

Chris answered him, and his voice was back to normal- "It
doesn't hurt to have a step or two ahead in reserve, but that much
should be a good start. Where is this Sikkre?" He couldn't man-
age the guttural consonant properly. "And how far from here?
And is this uncle of yours going to suspect that's where you're
going?"

102 RU EMGRSON

Lialla shook her head. "He'll have an eye out in all direc-
tions."

"Good. Unless he's got an unlimited number of men, that
means he'll be spread pretty thin."

"Just so," Lialla said, and eyed him with a grudging respect.
"I think, though, he'll suppose Aletto's going to the Emperor
down in Podhru, to petition for his rights. It's the logical thing
to do, under the circumstances—two unarmed and untrained
people out alone, where else would they go, except to hide?
Also, I don't think it's common knowledge where Gyrdan is.
And Sikkre's not—it's not exactly unsafe. But the Thukar has a
coin value on everything and everyone. Sikkre shouldn 't be
where we'd go. The Thukar's not safe, and his eldest son is—"

"Dahven's all right," Aletto said, and he managed a faint
smile in her direction. "You don't like him because they wanted
you to marry him."

"So." Chris gnawed a knuckle and considered this in silence
for some time. "Sikkre—what is it?" Brother and sister looked
at him in confusion; both shook their heads. "City, village, open
pit mine, forest—what?"

"Dukedom, like Zeiharri," Aletto said. "But Sehfi, the town
surrounding Duke's Fort, is smaller. Sikkre's main city has the
same name as the Dukedom; it's the center of four inland trading
routes including the main one from the seaport of Bezjeriad."
Chris shaped this silently, closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Sikkre's market alone is four times the size of all of Sehfi;

people of all kinds come there, outland traders coming from
Bez, nomads coming down from Dro Pent—"

"Maps," Chris said. "I need a map. It sounds," he added
cautiously, "like a place where even if someone expected you
to go there, you might be able to get in and around without being
found." Aletto nodded; Chris smiled. "See? You don't need
brutes with broadswords after all. We don't look that different
from you two that we should stand out very much. Not like
hulking swordsmen would."

Lialla sighed. Let her eyes close. Chris would have gone on
but Aletto held up a warning finger, shook his head slightly; his
expression was as close to friendly as Chris had seen so far.
Lialla finally nodded. "Gods. You're right, though. Whatever
else comes to pass, we can't leave you here."

"That's settled, then." Chris smiled and held out a hand. Alet-
to looked at it, puzzled, finally took it in his own. Chris turned

t:HE CALLiNQ OF tHE t;HREE       103

to say something to Robyn and stopped short, jaw hanging.
Robyn was no longer there. And none of them had seen her go.

CHRIS stared all around but Aletto saw her first. "There, by the
horses," he said.

"She doesn't like arguing," Jennifer said. Aletto looked up
at her in surprise, as though he'd forgotten her presence entire-
ly. He turned his gaze back down the ravine. Chris started to rise.
but Aletto pulled himself upright and skirted the fire. "Wait-
I'll apologize." He walked rapidly down the ravine; the limp
was painful to watch and Jennifer turned away before he'd gone
the distance. Chris cast one black took at the nera-Duke's back
but let him go. He'd started the yelling, as he uncomfortably
recalled—as Robyn would doubtless remind him if he went after
her right now. Not only yelling, but yelling at a nobleman. Not
the best way to accumulate points.

Lialla stirred. Her face was utterly expressionless, her eyes
chill. "It's apparently been decided for us, Jen; you and I can
settle the details, I suppose." Chris squirmed uncomfortably.
Jennifer grinned down at him.

"Go get my leather bag," she told him. "It's where I was
sleeping. There's paper and a couple pens, for maps."

"A couple pens? A couple dozen pens," Chris said. "If I
know you. Never mind, I found some in the back seat and threw
them in my bag." He was whistling as he went back out of sight.

Jennifer sighed. "It's temper," she began. Lialla shook her
head.

"Don't apologize, he was right. And I have a temper myself."
She drew herself up and met Jennifer's eyes. "I doubt this is
going to be an easy journey, if only because we're both strong
women. Not used to standing aside while someone else decides
for us. I haven't dared; Aletto wants to protect me, our mother
tried to shield us both. Merrida says she succeeded to an extent;

it wasn't enough. I've known what I wanted, and more impor-
tantly what I didn't want, and I've known for years what kind of
man I was dealing with in my uncle and stepfather. Even if I
didn't give him his full due. But I've had to work on my own to
achieve everything I have."

Jennifer nodded. "You're right, we're alike. Strong—or hard,
depending on the point of view. I had to find my own way, and
I'm not good at being protected or coddled. My sister—Robyn
needs that; she's never been good at taking care of herself, not
in the most basic ways. She had husbands, other men. Now she

104 Ru EMERSON

has Chris; in some ways, he's the parent, she's the child."
She considered this a moment, sighed and shook her head. "She
won't be easy to live with; there are—certain things she craves.
Until she adjusts to their loss, she may be tense, snappish, weepy.
I don't know. This, Just now—" She gestured down the ravine;

Aletto stood in the high grass, leaning across one glossy brown
back, talking earnestly. They couldn't see anything of Robyn but
the gleam of sun on the top of her blonde head. She must^iave
said something amusing; Aletto laughed, reached across the
horse to touch her shoulder. "She hates arguing, fighting. Any-
thing like that. Even when she's not part of it; she just fades
out." Lialla sighed in turn. Jennifer turned back to her. "She's
not all wet," she added. "Truly. She's a kind woman, a good-
hearted one. People like her."
"Aletto seems to," Lialla said dryly.

A shy little silence had fallen over the two down in the ravine.
Aletto toyed with the horse's mane; Robyn, who had been pick-
ing smalt wildflowers, stood and held them out. She only just
managed not to jerk her hand back when the strong, white horse
teeth closed over the petals and pulled the plants from her hand.
"They're very placid," Aletto assured her.

"They're pretty," Robyn said. She dusted her hand on her
jeans, glanced up at him and away again. "I'm not used to being
close to them; I guess you can tell they make me nervous."

"Some of them frighten me," Aletto said. "The hunting
horses my uncie rides. Of course, I can't manage such horses,
so it doesn't really matter."

"Oh, but it does," Robyn said. "It's in your voice, don't you
know?" She came around the horse and gestured at his leg.
"What happened to you?"

He'd steeled himself against the question from one of them,
even though Merrida or Lialla would surely have warned them—
they warned everyone: "Don't stare, don't ask, it upsets him."
To his surprise, he didn't mind her question; perhaps it was her
voice—curious, no overtone of pity to it. "There was marsh
fever, when I was fifteen, just in Sehfi and the fort. Two of my
companions died at once, three more within an eight-day. By
the end of a moon-season, it had run its course." He shrugged
gloomily. "I was lucky, they say; I can use the teg still, and
this"—a gesture took in the raised shoulder, the lilt of his head,
the scars on his face—"this is nothing compared to what it could
have been." He managed a faint smile. "It remains to be seen

•CHE CALLINQ OF ^HE T:HREE

105

whether the disease spared all of me, since I've had no oppor-
tunity yet to test whether my seed is good."

"Oh." Robyn considered this in silence. "That's not right."
She sounded so indignant—on his behalf?—he felt rather warmed
by it.

"I'm used to it," he said.

Robyn met his eyes squarely. "No, I don't think you could
be. I wouldn't be, I'd hate it."

He caught his breath. "I'm sorry myself—for what Merrida
did to you. My part in it."

"Your—? Oh." Robyn touched his arm, drew her hand back.
"All that shouting, that was Chris. I don't feel the same way,
not exactly. I agree with him in theory; you can't order some-
thing done, or ask someone to do it for you, and then say it
wasn't your fault at all when it goes wrong. That's dishonest.
For the rest, it's too soon, I don't know how I feel yet, really.
About coming here, not going back. But I didn't ever have much
where we were, except them: Chris and Jennifer. As long as I
have them, I don't need much else." She swallowed, let her
eyes close momentarily. "I—it probably sounds stupid to you.
But I'm scared. I—all my life, I've hated killing, I wouldn't even
eat any kind of meat for years because that was killing. I'm—I
can see it coming, here; killing. Two men have already died."
She drew a ragged breath. "More, probably, that I don't know
about. If Chris had to kill someone, or if I did, somehow—Oh,
God. I'd hate that'"

Aletto caught her hands in his, drew them close to his chest;

die fingers were cold and they trembled. He looked down at her
long, blonde hair, and something of his own fear left him. '' You
won't," he assured her quietly.

"If I could believe that," she whispered.

"Believe it," he said, and with such confidence that Robyn
felt her spirits lift for the first time since Jennifer's car had slid
into Merrida's night.

8

JENNIFER had doubts: massive ones. She and Lialla had man-
aged to find common ground but she failed to see how useful
it would be to know they were both used to being in charge and
doing things their own way. Lialta was a formidable combination
of personality and upbringing: stubborn and strong-willed, no-
ble, trained in a form of magic that seemed to require arrogance
as part of its working—at least, Merrida was certainty no
shrinking violet. Jennifer had no use for class distinctions and
Merrida's mysticism heartily bored her. She wasn't going to let
Lialla order her around because of rank or because she knew
more magic; Jennifer had no intention of letting Aletto take
charge either, not because he ranked them by what Jennifer saw
as accident of birth, definitely not because she was female. And
Lialla, for all her determination to organize the party on her own
lines, tended to fold alarmingly when Aletto voiced an opinion,
even though he had no more experience than she.

She reminded herself that Lialla might be operating on affec-
tion for her brother, rather than deferring to male superiority.
But that wasn't going to work either. Not considering the stakes.

They finally managed to agree on a few things; Chris had his
map, courtesy of Aletto—he also had Aletto's rather grudging
agreement that he could make suggestions based on his study of
the map, without brother or sister shouting him down. Jennifer
and Lialla had figured their provisions down to the last bit of
bread and fruit, from Lialla's bag, and the last chicken wing,
from Jennifer's, still cold thanks to the blue ice but not for much
longer. They then turned responsibility for feeding the party
over to Robyn. "She needs something to steady her," Jennifer
told Lialla firmly. "She's no servant, she's my sister, and I hope

TTHE CAL-tiNQ OF T:HE ^HREE      ]07

you'll remember that. But she has a talent for getting the most
from a small amount of food and she cooks better than I do."
Lialla glared at her briefly, then relaxed and almost managed a
smile.

"All right. I'll try and remember not to insult her. That
shouldn't be difficult if I'm kept grateful for a full stomach,
should it?" The smile widened. "Besides, if she keeps on as
she's begun with Aletto—"

"That's her decision, not mine," Jennifer said. "But she's
not the sort to hurt anyone."

Aletto had fallen almost at once into a light, chivalrous man-
ner toward Robyn: protective, but different from Chris's protec-
tive ways. Chris was too sensitive to his mother's ways with men
not to have noticed the budding friendship between her and Al-
etto, but any resentment he felt he was keeping to himself. It
was likely, Jennifer thought, that Chris didn't take it seriously.
She could only hope Robyn wouldn't. Because Robyn could never
possibly marry a man ten years younger and noble, and of a
completely different land. She'd had enough trouble with that
Greek a few years before. And if Aletto took back his birthright,
he might not want her. Even if he did, he might not be allowed
a choice.

She sighed and shoved the matter resolutely from her mind.
It was Robyn's problem; she wasn't going to mix in it at all this
time. Let Chris, if he wanted to; that, also, wasn't her problem.

Chris had charge of maps, Aletto of the horses and the mule.
Robyn the food. That left Lialla largely free to work magic, if
needed, or to instruct Jennifer—as much instruction as Jennifer
could absorb, or wanted. "I'm barely trained myself," Lialla
warned her. "At least, from the standpoint of teaching."

Jennifer shrugged. "It might be better. You aren't as set in
your ways as a true instructor, and you'll remember better how
you learned things. Some of my best tutors were not long out of
school themselves."

"Well—we'll know better tonight, after dark, whether it's any
use at all, trying," Lialla said. "I'd get some sleep in the mean-
time, if I were you. It's a long way to that oasis and we only
nave the one horse to trade off riding. I doubt we'll be done
traveling until dawn, possibly after." She grimaced- "Don't tell
Aletto that, and keep Chris quiet about the distances. I've had
enough argument for one day."

"Chris isn't any better than Aletto at figuring speed over dis-

109

Ru EMGRSON

tance, but I'll watch him." Jennifer looked at the sky. "Nearly
midday, isn't it? It's awfully warm here."

"Always cool in the cave," Lialla told her. "And it'll be
hotter out in the desert tomorrow. Just so you know.'' She van-
ished into the cave.

By the time Jennifer followed her in, she was a still, black
shadow well toward the back wall. Jennifer took back the place
where she'd spent most of the night, scooped dirt out under her
hips and folded the woolen scarf under her head. It was much
cooler, particularly since the sun no longer shone through the
eariy morning gaps. She closed her eyes, adjusted the hard, flat
pillow and thought her way through the final spats, arguments,
to what they actually had decided. It seemed pitifully inade-
quate, considering.

The road they would take tonight was actually a narrow track,
wide enough for one horse, or two afoot. It more or less fol-
lowed the secondary road out of Zeiharri, but wound out through
dry and uninhabited lands before heading south once more; it
and the road crossed near the ZeIharri-Sikkre border. Fortu-
nately it hadn't been necessary to argue out that part of the
journey yet; that wouldn't come until late the next night. Ac-
cording to Lialla—who had ridden the track on a hunt—they
should only reach the oasis used by caravans traveling between
Holmaddan and Dro Pent, and between both to Sikkre. If there
were several caravans at the oasis, they would have to skirt it.
But that was unlikely just now, Lialla assured them. Jennifer
hoped so; they had few water bottles and she'd heard too many
horror stories about people dehydrating and going mad in the
desert.

She hoped it would be another truly dark night. Lialla had
described the country to them, and it sounded like parts of Wy-
oming: flat and brushy, no real cover. With a good moon, they'd
be visible for miles.

Jennifer sighed, sat up and folded the wool into another thick-
ness, then lay back down, shut her eyes and began reciting Hayes
on Torts in a soundless whisper. It worked; it had worked even
in law school before finals, the night before she took the Bar;

somewhere between Section 1.4(b)(7) and 1.4(b)(8), she fell
asleep.

A distance beyond her, Lialla lay propped against her cloak,
eyes wide and unblinking. She couldn't sleep, even knowing
how desperately tired she'd be later. Two horses, a mule, five

T:HE CALLINQ OF ^HE TTHREE      109

people. And even though he'd already been forced to agree about
being sensible, Aletto would give her trouble; he'd hate riding
when the women must walk. He'd be touchy all night if Lialla
refused to let him walk, he'd be hurting all over and slow them
dangerously if she did let him. She couldn't heal, and if Jen had
got it right, Merrida had given her help for the one night and
the one occasion only. But no one had ever been able to do much
about Aletto's game leg—or any other leftover damage from the
fever.

She wondered about that, at odd intervals, but she wasn't go-
ing to let this be one of them. It was scarcely the time or place
to worry whether Jadek had had anything to do with it, as Mer-
rida insisted. Or whether that was simply Merrida finding an
excuse for her failure to completely cure the nera-Duke—what
Merrida, Lialla corrected herself, saw as failure. But it wasn't
time to worry about that, either.

At least Merrida had been able to find someone who could
help Aletto last night. Lialla had barely been able to stop him
bleeding to death. But three of them—three foreign, helpless and
likely useless outlanders—Lialla took hold of her hair and tugged,
two-handed, blanking the end of that thought.

Unfortunately, her mind turned to gnaw at another. Was Mer-
rida right? "Am I as good a Wielder as I will ever be?" she
whispered- Despair filled her and she suddenly wanted nothing
more than to roll over and weep. Nothing more, except that
silver sash; except to be Zeiharri's greatest ever Wielder, if not
the greatest in Rhadaz. Maybe her thinking was all wrong; Per-
haps Night-Thread eluded her for the very arrogance of her de-
sire. But then, Merrida would never have gone beyond a deep
purple, let alone all the way to yellow!

Was it Merrida's arrogance? Unable to exact skill from her
pupils, mother and daughter, would she blame them instead of
herself? "Would she really discourage me because if she couldn't
teach me then I must be unteachable?" It wasn't a pleasant
thought, either.

Lialla resolutely forced her eyes to close, and went over her
inner lists one more time. Food, water. It might not be safe at
the Hushar Oasis, not if a large caravan was in. Aletto's dis-
ability was known; he could be recognized. If it was dangerous
for them to camp at Hushar, she'd have to go in herself, to draw
water and perhaps to bargain for a horse. She was not particu-
larly notable, and everyone knew Wielders were unpredictable;

110

Ru EMSRSON

it wouldn't be so odd for one to appear afoot anywhere in
Rhadaz.

Lialla smiled grimly. Jennifer thought she'd convinced her not
to try such a thing; well, she either misunderstood, or misinter-
preted Lialla's silence for agreement. Jennifer didn't realize how
long it might take a party like theirs to reach Sikkre; how much
they'd want that horse by the time they got to Hushar Oasis; how
unlikely they'd find anyone to trade them coin for meal efse-
where.

Their horses: Aletto's man had chosen well, getting them
strong, placid animals. It was a pity they couldn't have had
desert-raised horses but then, Jadek would have at once known
they were bound for Sikkre. This way—he would have sent a
man or two to Sikkre, possibly they'd be searching the Sikkre
road together with every other major road. But because of that,
they'd be spread thin, easier to avoid.

He didn't have that many men to spare from Duke's Fort. She
must remember that. And he-didn't know everything, however
he—like Merrida, really—acted as though he did.

Water was worrying; what if they had to stay out an extra day?
She wouldn't let herself think about that: She had done all she
could to provide for such emergencies. They had extra water
bottles, anyway.

Somehow, somewhere in the middle of gloomy thoughts, she
dozed off.

IT was after sunset when Chris and Aletto brought the horses up
to the cave so they could be saddled and loaded. It was almost
funny, Jennifer thought; watching the poor, patient horses and
the temperamental mule bear with five very ignorant humans.
By the time the last strap was snugged down, there was little
light left in the sky, and the last pack went in place by feel. The
mule balked when Chris led it away from grass and water; it
took what seemed like forever to get it moving.

Then Aletto wanted to balk once more at riding the entire
way. Robyn finally leaned over and said something to him no
one else heard; his face was still set in that stubborn expression
but he got on the brown and stayed there. Robyn pulled her bag
strap over the broad saddlebow and tied it down with one of the
seemingly innumerable straps sewed to the colorfully painted
leather.

The road was considerably more open than the dell had been;

the surface was pale and seemed to shine. It took them several

tHE CALLING OF riHE rHREE     III

minutes to work up the courage to step onto it—even after Lialla
pronounced it deserted for at least a league in both directions.

"How did you do that?" Jennifer asked as they fell in behind
the horses. Chris had the mule moving and kept it just ahead of
the horses; Robyn rode close to Aletto.

"Do—oh." Lialla launched into an explanation of Thread,
almost verbatim the one Merrida had given her years before; she
stopped as Jennifer held up a hand.

"I know about Thread—Merrida told me pretty much what
you're telling me. Why don't you just tell me which ones tell
you if people are about, and how you do it?"

"I—all right." Lialla cast her companion a sideways glance.
She couldn't see anything but tall, moving shadows in front of
her and Jennifer's dark form pacing her. She had to think a
moment, finally nodded. "Can you see Thread? Try—oh, you
can? Well, the ones you want are pale, kind of red."

Jennifer found it disconcerting, trying to walk and seeing both
the real world and what Merrida had told her was the underlying
fabric of it—all at the same time. And hearing—she opened her
mouth to ask, closed it again. Merrida hadn't mentioned sound
at alt; neither had Lialla. If it was important, surely one or both
would have told her. Music. Well—Merrida had mentioned mu-
sic.

Now she needed to pay attention to the road, the Thread,
Lialla, all three. "Can you touch the Thread?" Jennifer nodded;

she was momentarily beyond speech. "Good. Now. when you
take hold of them—lightly. Just thumb and finger, if you're prac-
ticed—and depending how good you are, of course, you should
be able to feel the movement along the Thread that tells you if
someone's disturbing it- After you've done it a few times, you
have a better feel for how many, how far, even how fast they're
coming. Not those, Jen. Move your hand—those."

"Oh," Jennifer felt extremely awkward with Lialla watching
her so closely- She took hold of Thread, and found she was also
suddenly terrified she might take hold of the wrong ones and
create havoc. And it was so far from exact! The ones Lialla
called red were actually a light mauve. Touch relieved her of
some of her fear; she'd know these again, know how to take hold
of them, how to utilize them. They were silent but she thought
she could tell how they'd feel if they moved; she could hear the
music they'd sing for her. Music—not true music, but nearer
music than not. She contemplated Thread, found the ones she'd
used to heal Aletto's arm the night before. The music hadn't

112 RU EMGRSON

changed; that took the last of her fear. She was wildly curious
now, cautious about revealing her enthusiasm, wary of mention-
ing sound. Careful to remember the promise she'd made herself
not to annoy Lialla. "How do you not see Thread?"

Lialla laughed quietly. "Concentrate on what you do want to
see."

Silence. Then: "It's not working," Jennifer said vexedly.
Lialla caught hold of her shoulder and pulled her to a stob in
the middle of the road.

"Lean close to me and listen carefully. I can't repeal it." It
was an odd sound, the faintest of whispers against Jennifer's ear-
"Can you remember that? Don't say it aloud!" she added in
alarm as Jennifer cleared her throat.

"I wasn't going to."

"I'm just warning you. Think it and look at the road."

It took several minutes, but eventually it worked; Thread faded
from sight, the real world established itself once more. Jennifer
realized Lialla was watching her thoughtfully.

"I don't understand how you can just do that. It took me the
better pan of a winter to leam it.'' There was a grudging respect
in her voice, tempered with surprise and a hefty measure of
resentment.

Well, Jennifer thought, she had a tittle resentment of her own,
being manipulated by that damned old woman! "I don't know!
How should I know? I told you, there is no real magic in my
world. I'm a musician, not even what you'd call a good one. For
some reason, Merrida thought it made a difference."

"Oh." Lialla considered this, finally shrugged. "Perhaps. It's
nothing she ever told me, but I'm less a musician than I am a
Wielder."

THE road ran level through low trees and aromatic brush for an
hour or more, then began to descend, working down a series of
long straightaways and sharp-elbowed turns. At the end of one
such turn, the road dived steeply down and through a tunnel;

Robyn shivered and hunched over the horse's neck, closing her
eyes until they came out the other side. Jennifer, who normally
didn't mind tunnels, didn't care at all for this one: It had been
carved out of the slope, shored with what seemed to her to be
an insufficient amount of wood. Loose, dry dirt sifted down onto
them all the way through.

As the road leveled out again, a sickle moon came over the
crest, casting only a very faint light over them. But they could

WE CALL1NQ OF FHE •CHREE

113

see how far they'd dropped. Chris whistled faintly. "Wow. It
didn't look that steep coming down. No wonder my legs ache."

"We'll stop here," Lialla said. "Not long." Aletto dis-
mounted rather stiffly, then helped Robyn down. After what Chris
considered to be a very vague inquiry after his health, Robyn
turned her attention back to Aletto.

"You need to walk a little, and so do I," she said. To Lialla's
surprise, Aletto accepted this and limped off down the road with
her. When they returned, he was walking a little less unevenly;

Robyn had both fists dug into the small of her back, kneading
sore muscles. Chris fumbled through the novice web of ropes
and knots that held the mule's pack in place, finally dragged out
a leather water bag. His stomach growled; he ignored it as best
he could. Supposedly there would be something to eat once they
found this oasis. He'd helped his mother pack the food, though,
and he was uncomfortably aware how small a bundle it made.

Something his kind of adventures didn't really get into—hard
to take hunger seriously when your supplies were a list on paper
and your stomach was comfortably full.

Water helped get him moving again: His legs felt less dead,
his mind more alert. He took the bottle over to Lialla, who drank
and handed it to Jennifer; Jennifer drank, shuddered as she swal-
lowed warm water that tasted unpleasantly of its bag.

Lialla waited until Robyn and Aletto came back. "All right.
Aletto, you did the map, and Chris, you've looked at it enough.
I rode this way once, but it's been some time. We leave the road
here. The track comes in close to the road nearby. And it's better
if we start north from here, where the ground is harder. We'd
leave traces further on."

The track wasn't exactly where she'd remembered it; or per-
haps looking for it at night made a difference. It took too much
time until they found it, miles north of where it was supposed
to be. Chris remarked on this, pointedly, and retraced the line
on his map. Lialla was fortunately too far ahead to realize he
was addressing her, and Jennifer quelled him with a look, before
he could start another argument. She had been riding in Robyn's
place the past hour; now she slid down and put the reins in his
free hand. "You want to play with your map, it's easier riding
than walking; the ground's pretty rough here."

"Hey, I can't let you—"

"You can't stop me, I'm not Robyn. Besides, I'm wearing
walking shoes. And I have less padding than your mother does."
Chris found the arrangement of stirrup and saddle only vaguely

114 RU EM6RSON

similar to American Western style; he was awkward getting up,
and the saddle, as Jen had said, was extremely hard. Jennifer
looked up at him. "Have fun; he's all yours until Lialla or your
mom wants him. I never was any good on one of the damned
things." Robyn laughed; she was walking next to Aletto's knee,
on the other side of his horse. Nothing of her visible, between
the darkness of the night and Merrida's woolen scarf. "Birdy,
how are your feet?"

"I'm fine," came the answer.

Jennifer and Lialla took turns with the mule and with watching
for other people. When they stopped for a short rest, Chris gave
the horse back over to Robyn and took charge of the pack ani-
mal.

The track was not well used this near the western Zeiharri
border, and at present utterly deserted. Lialta, whose training
enabled her to differentiate, couldn't even sense animals any-
where near. The trail often vanished in brush or tall, sparse
grass. There was no sign anyone or anything had passed through
since the grass had come to height. Dry as it was now—dry
enough to crackle at their passage—it would be bent over for
days after they reached Sikkre. After an hour of leading and
searching out the safest way for the horses, Jennifer's eyes were
dry and tired. She dropped back to take the mule from Chris
and threw an arm across it. The animal had apparently worked
out its earlier spirit; it paid no attention to her, even when she
leaned more of her weight on it.

The track widened out and became a visibly worn rut around
midnight; by then, the moon had ridden well up behind them,
and two other trails had come in from the flat, arid north to join
theirs. They stopped in the shadow-darkness of a small grove of
trees. There had been drinkable water here, earlier in the season;

the horses pawed through a sandy depression. Chris knelt and
dug down a little ways with his hands. The mule nudged him
aside and shoved its nose into the muddy trickle. He wiped
grubby hands on its flank.

Lialla handed him the water bottle and pushed a chunk of
rather tough bread into his other hand. "Here," she said. "It
won't last if we try to hoard it. Besides, I remember how my
stomach felt the years I was growing. Always empty."

"Uh." -He looked at it, nodded finally and took it. "Uh,
thanks." He wouldn't have suspected Lialla of such insight, or
such a kindness. Probably just didn't want to listen to his stom-


rHE CALL1NQ OF WE TTHREE

115

ach growling any more. He drank, handed the bottle on, held
out the bread. "Anyone else want some of this?"

"Not hungry," Jennifer said briefly. Aletto waved a negating
hand.

"My teeth aren't that good," Robyn said. "Eat, kid." He felt
a little awkward, being the only one eating, but he didn't let that
stop him. It was too dark in this grove to see anyone very clearly
anyway. The cramp in his stomach vanished; he sighed happily
and tried not to think about the kind of stuff he'd rather have
had.

THE air was clear and turning cool, finally. Jennifer pulled the
woolen wrap closer around her throat; she was leading, with
Robyn and Aletto riding just behind her, Chris leading the mule.
Lialla brought up the rear.

The moon was westering, casting enough light that Jennifer
could readily make out the trail. The horizon was flat all around
them; the slope they'd come down hours earlier no longer visi-
ble. Light touched bushes—sparsely leaved, thickly branched,
fragrant. They were everywhere, and at first Jennifer had passed
them nervously, expecting men to jump from behind them at any
moment. Or beasts—lions or something worse. But the night
wore slowly on and the worst she saw was either a lizard or a
snake: close to the ground, too fast to see clearly. Nothing to
worry about, if it ran like that.

Lialla came forward a short while later. "The oasis isn't much
farther, if I've gauged distance right. And I think I can feel
water."

"How do you do that?"

"Blue, very dark, thick Thread; when you touch it you can
just tell."

"Oh." Jennifer bit back a sigh; Lialla's descriptions left
something to be desired. "Just tell," indeed.

But it worked. At least, it did this time, she thought sourly. It
was more nearly purple than blue, and the sound that came with
it was so high she lost much of it. It reminded her of that New
Age stuff; nice, evocative, but nonmelodic. A repetitive motif
rather than a full line of music. Harder to recognize.

Three now: water, movement, medicinal. She wondered how
much her mind could keep sorted; how much other stuff she'd
have to bury to learn more of this- If—when—fhey got home,
she'd have a devil of a time recalling real things, truly important
mings.

116 Ru EM6RSON

"It's pretty far, still," Lialla said, and Jennifer thought she
sounded worried. "We might have to find shelter between where
we are now and the oasis, if the sun catches us. It gets hot.'*

"I can believe that. About this water-Thread; how do you tell
distance?"

"Um—" Lialla considered this in silence for a distance.
"Thickness, mostly. A little by the color—I don't ordinarily have
to track water, it's—let me think about it, try it again a few
times."

"Fair enough. I—what's that?" The least sudden light, sharp
movement, a faint breeze where there had once been none all
evening. Lialla spun around to face north; Aletto, warned by
Jennifer's sharp outcry and his sister's sudden stop, drew his
horse to a halt and caught hold of Robyn's reins. The mule
bumped into them and protested shrilly. Chris cursed it roundly
and dragged it back.

"I don't see any—wait. Light? No, it's gone again." The two
women stepped off the track to peer into the distance; tall brush
defeated them. "Nothing to do with us, it's far enough away.
Aletto," she snapped, "don't stop here, keep moving, go!"

The mule, now halted, didn't want to go forward again; Jen-
nifer and Lialla had to take hold of the ropes and pull while
Chris shoved. "Stop cussing, Chris," Jennifer said. "It's a dumb
animal, and I want to listen. I thought I heard something out
there."

Chris glared at her. "Jeez, Aunt Jen, why don't you get me
as scared as this thing is? Come on, you damned Jackass, long-
eared—" He went on like that for several minutes, but much
more quietly and when Jennifer cleared her throat wamingly, he
fell altogether silent. The mule suddenly decided the horses were
getting away from it and decided to cooperate, so abruptly that
the two women were nearly run down.

The brush was lower, barely knee high. Lialla waved an arm
at it. "By the time we reach the oasis, there won't be any of this
visible anywhere. Just dirt and sand, until we get to the trees."

"And you think we'll find shelter in that?" Jennifer de-
manded. Lialla shrugged; Jennifer reminded herself of the ad-
vice she'd given Chris and kept her mouth prudently closed.

Lialla dropped back a few paces, caught at Jennifer's scarf
and tugged. "Look where you thought you saw light, will you?
I've been trying to remember what it's tike up that way, and as
far as I can remember, it's flat. We should be able to see fires

tHE CALLINQ OF •CHE t:HREE

117

from someone's camp for a long distance, but I should be able
to sense human presence just as far. And there's no one there."

"I'll try." Jennifer peered into darkness. Unsuccessfully. She
had no luck with Thread either, but she hadn't expected to—not
over distance, certainly not the first time. She turned, found
Robyn, Chris and Aletto at once; the strands in her fingers vi-
brated so hard, her fingertips itched when she let go. "If there's
anyone out there, I can't see them. It's far enough, it shouldn't
worry us."

"No—you're right." Lialla stepped back onto the track.
"They're getting ahead of us, come on."

But Aletto stopped, dragging his horse back so suddenly and
so hard it spun clear around. He wrapped the reins around his
good arm and across his palm, held them in place across the
saddlebow. "Someone coming!"

"Don't shout!" Lialla implored and ran forward.

"Ambush?" Jennifer called out. Chris had the trail blocked;

he had the mule's rope firmly under one heel and he was working
hastily to free the bow from its cloth case and string it. Jennifer
skirted him, stopped on the track and turned to face north. "How
could it be, though? We both searched—" She clapped both
hands across her mouth, muffling a scream, as men on tall white
horses, men clad in pale flowing robes, came riding across the
open desert, straight for them. Four men, four horses. Four
broad-bladed swords. Curved swords. Scimitars, Jennifer thought
dazedly, and stood watching them come. More men rode behind
them, pale faces framed by dark hoods and black flying robes.
Their camels were nearly as pale as the horses; they shone an
eery blue in the moonlight.

"Jen!" Lialla's outcry roused her; Jennifer turned and ran.
Men shouted; she felt the wind of their passing, the hiss of air
parted by steel; she smelled the sweat of men and horses, the
unfamiliar odor that must be camel. Then nothing. She stopped,
spun on one heel. There was no one where the attackers should
be, but a vast distance to the south, she saw light again. It faded,
grew, faded once more.

"What is that?" she shouted.

"Don't yell!" Lialla implored. Her face was as white as one
of the horses.

"Why not?" Jennifer shouted. "They know where we are!
Whatever they are!"

"You don't want to know what they are!" Lialla said. She

118

Ru EMERSON

looked down at her hands, stuffed them inside her sleeves. "Just
keep your voice down, will you?"

"Why? They're gone!" Jennifer's voice seemed to have a life
of its own; her legs didn't want to hold her up.

"Listen to me, carefully." Lialla gripped her shoulders and
shook her hard. "They'll cross this track four times. They know
we're here, but they can't see us cleariy. They can't touch you
unless you stand right in front of them. Do that, and yoo're
dead—or one of them, no one knows which."

"Don't let them—" Robyn's voice rose in hysteria; Aletto
pulled her off her horse and wrapped both sets of reins around
his good arm.

Lialla looked at them and nodded. "Aletto, watch to the south,
be ready. Chris, I admire what you're doing but it won't work;

you can't touch them with any human weapon. I can't touch
them; I don't know if there's anything that can. Watch for them,
they don't give you much warning."

"Coming!" Aletto cried out. Jennifer stood still, knees flexed
for flight, and watched them come. Magnificent horses, and who
would have thought a camel could be so graceful in full gallop?
They rode in a close group, horses, camels, across the track,
once more gone. A faint gleam of light in the distance. No
sound, though a moment ago the air had been heavy with the
creak of harness leather and the clink of metal, the harsh breath-
ing of men and beasts, the beat of so many hooves on hard, dry
ground.

"Watch," Lialla ordered, and there was a quaver in her voice.
"Watch the trail, both ways; watch the north. It's said they
sometimes break ranks—" The words were scarcely out of her
mouth when the horde came at them, angling across the hard-
packed trail- The last time they spread out, practically turned on
their own trace, just beyond the small, shivering group.

Robyn screamed; Jennifer started and turned her attention from
the oncoming horses for a dangerously long moment. Lialla's
wordless cry brought her back around, barely in time: She faked
one way, back the other as a horseman separated from the pack
and rode straight at her- The muscles in the white chest rippled,
silver and red harness gleamed dully; dark, eager eyes tried to
meet hers, to catch them. She threw herself down and rolled
under a low bush. A small shower of dry leaves and brittle sticks
slithered down her back and fell into her eyes; something small
wriggled from under her hand. She jumped back, scrubbed her
hand down her jeans.

WE CALLINQ OF X:HE -CHREE

119

Another scream, this one nonhuman; Jennifer scrambled into
the open and onto her knees. Another of the horsemen had bro-
ken ranks and rode straight for Aletto and Robyn; two of the
camel riders followed close on his heels. Aletto used his horse
as a shield, hauled Robyn behind it by mere strength. The reins
were torn from her hands. "No, come back—!" Her voice was
drowned by the thunder of hooves, her horse's among them. The
white horse rode after it and the two remaining horsemen turned
to join the hunt. The brown tried to turn, too late; the whites
rode it down; the camel-riders rode across where it had been.
The white horses wheeled precisely, turned back to the north
and were swallowed up by the night. The camel-riders followed.
Sight and sound of them was gone entirely, as though they had
never been.

Chris took two reluctant steps, a third. Stopped; the mule
trailed along behind him, suddenly docile, rope dragging in the
dirt. Aletto and Robyn joined him, Aletto leading the remaining
horse, Robyn trying not to cry and only just succeeding. Jennifer
came up, shaking out her shirt-tails and picking twigs out of her
hair. Lialla came back from well up the track. They all stopped
and stared down at the narrow track. There was no sign of the
second horse anywhere.

9

y^HE night spun and tilted around her; Jennifer took a step
\»-back along the path, braced herself on wide-set heels and
folded over at the waist, knees bent, forearms pressed against
thighs. Her head flopped and everything went momentarily com-
pletely black. The roaring in her ears faded, slowly. Greatly
daring, she opened her eyes, fixed her gaze on the tips of her
sneakers, concentrated on breathing slowly and normally until
they no longer blurred. Even then, she didn't straighten up; she'd
never had a fainting spell before and it frightened her nearly as
much as the cause for it had.

She did raise her head finally. Turned it, carefully. Lialla, a
faint shadow in the gloom, sat right in the middle of the track
not far away, unmoving. Jennifer could hear her harsh breathing.
Behind her, she heard Chris draw a ragged, shuddering breath;

as she turned to look at him, he knelt and carefully began wrap-
ping the mule's lead-rope around his fist, all his concentration
fixed intently on the turns of rope, on keeping them flat. The
mule rubbed its muzzle against his shirt, lipped his spiked hair.

"Lady—Robyn?" Aletto's voice, scarcely recognizable, but
he sounded more worried about her than himself. God, Birdy,
Jennifer thought, and pushed against her knees with trembling
hands. Everything swam once more as she got herself properly
upright, finally settled into place. Aletto had turned from the
empty stretch of track, dropped the horse's reins. The animal
pressed close to him, nosing at his neck for reassurance.

Robyn stood a few paces away from him, both hands over her
mouth; tears were spilling down her face and her shoulders
shook. But when Aletto took hold of her arms and tried to pull
her to him, she tore free of him, whirled around and pushed past

•CHE CALLINQ OF FHE FHREE      121

Jennifer to kneel by Chris's side. Rope still twisted around his
right hand, he turned away from the mule, sat on the hard-
packed dirt and wrapped his arms around her. Robyn clutched
him fiercely and sobbed against his shoulder.

Aletto gazed down at her, tight-lipped, then turned and limped
away. He stopped ten feet or so off the path, just as Jennifer was
about to call out to him; the horse followed him anxiously.

Lialla had apparently noticed none of this; she still sat in the
middle of the track and was mumbling to herself, words Jennifer
couldn't make out until she got closer. "My fault, all my fault.
I should have known, I should have—"

Jennifer bit back a sigh, bit back angry words that had to be
partly reaction, mostly a strong distaste for people who talked
that way. This certainly wasn't the time or place for breast-
beating. "Lialla, what was that? Those men?" Lialla stopped
muttering, looking up at her blankly. Jennifer flung out an arm
to take in the whole desert north of the track. "That, what just
happened. Is that Hell-Light, or ghosts, or just what? Are they
going to follow us, or come back? Because frankly, I'd rather
not meet up with them again, and I don't think I want to go the
way mat horse did. But I sure don't intend to sit here and wait
for them'"

"No, of course not." Lialla got up, rather like a small child
reacting to an adult's orders. Jennifer wondered if she was in
shock; her eyes weren't focused properly and she was making
fanny little noises. She wondered how a noblewoman would take
to being slapped. Lialla blinked, shook her head. "Hell-Light?
That wasn't Hell-Light."

"Are you all right?"

"I—fine, why?" Lialla blinked at her vaguely.

"I'm glad to hear it," Jennifer said dryly. "That—what just
attacked us. Is it going to come back?"

"Not—I don't know. They say not, once it's taken life."

Jennifer resisted an even stronger urge than the first one to
slap her out of that trancelike calm. "They say. In other words,
you don't know. Wonderful. In that case, why don't we get them
moving, find that oasis, get away from here, now? Before some-
thing else goes wrong? Let's do something, damnit!"

Lialta blinked again, rubbed her eyes hard. "I—look, why are
you blaming me? Do you think it's my fault they attacked, or
that we lost the horse?"

"1 think it's going to be both your fault and mine," Jennifer
interrupted her angrily, "if it comes back and catches us a sec-

,*.-
-fei

122 RU EMSRSON

ond time. Otherwise, I frankly don't give a damn who's to
blame."

Lialla stared at her in stunned surprise and a rising anger;

before she could draw breath to reply, Chris was on his feet,
staring down at the place where the horse had been.

"That could have been one of us—that could have been my
mother. What the hell is wrong with you people, leading us \ato
this kind of disaster?" He was shaking violently, fury and re-
action mixed. When Robyn, who still knelt at the mule's head,
tugged at his jeans and mutely shook her head, he pulled away
from her. "Don't, Mom, you let me handle this! You'd say it's
all right, anything to avoid a fight. Well, it's not all right!"

Jennifer stepped between him and Lialla and grabbed his
shoulders. "I happen to agree with you, Chris. I resent being
dragged out here and getting attacked like that is insult on top
of injury. Of course it's not all right, but this isn't the place or
the time to discuss it- It certainly isn't time to assign blame
before we know what's going on. Now, move." She released his
arms and gave him a shove. "Get your mother on her feet; let's
get moving." And, as Robyn tried to say something, "Birdy,
please, just stow It, unless you see something about to land on
us, nothing is that important." Robyn let Chris help her up but
then pulled free of his hand and turned her back on all of them.

Lialla broke a rather nasty silence; her voice was too high but
she was clearly trying to keep a grip on it. "You're right, of
course, this isn't the place to decide anything." She raised her
voice a little. "Aletto, where are you? Are you all right?"

"Fine," came a muttered, sullen response from the far side
of the remaining horse.

"Get back over here. We can't afford to be spread all over me
landscape." He limped back across loose sand, his lame foot
sending small stones clattering off the path. His face was pale,
set and unreadable. Lialla ignored him; her attention was all
for the horse. She felt his chest, his legs, patted his nose and
felt the few bags slung around his neck.

"I can't even begin to guess what's left here. What was on
the other horse?"

Aletto shrugged. "Not much, I don't think. Don't remem-
ber." He wouldn't look at Robyn and apparently didn't intend
to talk to her, either. Jennifer's fingers twitched; she stuffed them
in her jeans pockets and turned away. There was an unnatural
hush all around them, and it was utterly black to the north. She
stared into the night until her eyes ached, kept an ear on the

^HE CALLINQ OF T:HE rHREE     12?

conversations behind her, and somehow kept herself from turn-
ing around and screaming at them all.

It took everything she had in the way of courage to turn her
back on the north and refocus her attention on her companions.

Chris was talking to the mule, making soothing noises against
its ear; the beast didn't seem particularly upset but Chris was
still too pale and his hands were shaking. He was looking back
over the animal's ears, watching his mother, visibly uncertain
what to say to her. Robyn was a stiff, unmovable object behind
the mule, staring back the way they'd come. Jennifer went to
her. "Robyn—Birdy. We're waiting on you, I think. We have to
go." Silence- "You don't want to stay here, do you?"

"No." Robyn's voice trembled. She turned around, rubbed
her hand under her nose. "I don't want any more of this, Jen, I
want to go home. But I'm so scared right now I don't think I
can move."

"Sure you can. That oasis isn't much farther."
"Who knows what's waiting for us thereV'* Robyn said wildly.
"Water," Chris said blandly. Robyn looked up at him,
stunned, then managed a very faint smile.
"Smart kid," she whispered; her voice broke.
"Mom, your bag wasn't on the horse, was it?"
"Oh, God, that horse." Robyn drew a deep breath and Jen-
nifer held hers, afraid she'd start crying once more. "My bag-
on, God, I didn't, did I? My cigarettes . . ." Her voice trailed
away. "No, wait, it's—God, I must be nuts, it's right here on
my shoulder under this woolly thing and I didn't even feel it."

"You've got every right," Jennifer said. Robyn managed a
watery smile that was no more real than the last one and began
ftimbling under her wrap. Her hands were shaking so badly it
took her several minutes to drag it free and open it. Jennifer
opened her mouth, shut it again as Robyn pulled out cigarettes
and began fishing for a lighter. She looked up and her eyes went
hard, her mouth set.

"Either one of you—any of you!—say one word, and that's
it," she said flatly. "I'll stay here, and hell with you all. Got
it? Not one damned word!" No one did; Aletto and his sister
watched in astonishment as Robyn found a cigarette, found her
lighter and took a mouthful of smoke. She exhaled and a little
of the tension went out of her shoulders. Aletto's nostrils
twitched. "God, I needed that. Chris, stop glaring at me, your
feelings aren't that hurt. Just go on, I'll bring up the rear with
the mule."

124 RU EM6RSON

"Mom—"

"Don't give me a load of crap, I'm obviously as safe back
here as anywhere, go on!" He did, mumbling to himself. Aletto
glared at his back, got himself back on the horse and nudged it
forward.

It was hard, moving forward across the fiat, open ground once
more. They felt vulnerable, and it was slow going, walking^and
watching for lights on all sides. All the same, Jennifer felt no
safer once the track plunged into tall brush again. She kept look-
ing over her shoulder to the north, searching for that faint glim-
mer of light. There was nothing; that failed to reassure her.

Lialla had moved out with Aletto at first, apparently trying to
talk to him. Jennifer was far enough back that she couldn't hear
any of their conversation—it was all one-sided, anyway. Aletto
occasionally turned his head to glare down at her, his mouth set
in a tight, lipless line. Lialla finally threw her hands wide,
snarled something and turned on her heel. Chris stepped aside
for her, his own steps lagging a little to allow additional room
between himself and Aletto.

Lialla walked next to Jennifer for several silent minutes. "That
back there wasn't Hell-Light," she said finally; her words were
clipped, unfriendly. "I don't know much about it, the nomads
call it the Spectral Host, I already knew it did—what you saw.''

Jennifer stared at her. "Ghosts?"

"Don't laugh," Lialla said sharply.

"Believe me, I wouldn't—not after that. It's just—oh, never
mind. Spectral Host. Go on."

"There is more than one—supposedly, anyway. But there must
be, since some have no horsemen, or the horses are different
colors, or all camels. I knew there was one said to be near the
caravan way from Holmaddan somewhere along the last furlongs
to the oasis; few travel that stretch at night. When we—when I
decided on this way, I didn't consider it might have a range that
overiapped the track."

"I thought Hell-Light was the bad magic. If this isn't Hell-
Light, where does it fit in?''

Lialla shook her head. "Hell-Light is bad. You don't know
until you've seen it in use."

"Well, I've seen it, along the road two nights ago. I wouldn't
have tampered with it; it left me feeling unclean. I'll trust you,
it's bad. This other thing, though. Tell me."

"This—what happened tonight—it's older by far."

"The Spectral Host?"

"CHE CALLINQ OF X:HE ^HREE       125

"Yes—no. It's—that's a symptom of other magic, older than
Hell-Light, different. No one knows for certain how old it is,
but it's tied to the land itself. Hell-Light isn't nearly so ancient;

it goes back only five hundred years or so. And it's created
magic; does that make sense?"

"Natural versus created? Anything's possible, I suppose."
Kistulating magic at all. Jennifer thought, but kept that to her-
self. That much still didn't want to register, even with the reality
of Thread jangling in her ears.

"They say Hell-Light was first shaped from the old magic,
but I truly know very little about that. Get Aletto to tell you if
that interests you; he knows more Rhadazi history than I do.
Thread-magic was well established by the time Hell-Light came
into existence; it's—" she paused, searching for the right word.
Her voice was losing the rough, clipped edge. "The Thread is
there, it just took the right people to find it and work out how
to use it."

"All right. I can accept that, too. This other, though, this
Host. Where else are we going to find one of these things, and
how do we avoid them?"

"There aren't any more between here and Sikkre—I don't
think."

"You don't—you mean you don't know?"

Lialla sighed, clearly exasperated. "There aren't said to be
any! That doesn't mean we're entirely safe, though, does it?"

Jennifer set her jaw and stuffed her hands back in her jeans
pockets. "I hardly expected entirely safe, not after our initial
introduction to your land. I would just like to know what to
watch for!"

"Welt," Lialla retorted waspishty, "watch for anything." She
turned her head and looked behind them, swore as she stubbed
her toe on a half-buried stone and tripped. Jennifer caught her
arm and steadied her. "She's still behind us, your sister is. Is
she always so easily scared?"

"She doesn't usually have cause to be," Jennifer retorted.
"Chris protects her; so do I, when I can."

Lialla scowled, looked over her shoulder again. "What is she
doing7"

"Calming her nerves," Jennifer said.

Lialla's nose wrinkled. "Smells terrible."

"I happen to agree with you. It's nearly impossible to argue
with a smoker, though." The two women looked at each other.

126 RU EM6RSON

Lialla managed a brief smile that had something of apology to
it.

"Well. They say some of the Lasanach raiders breathe smoke,
and that certain of the far northern nomads do. Some have said
the smoke-breathing was me cause of the plague the Lasanachi
brought, but that's foolish. Plague is like the marsh-sickness that
took Aletto; people breathe it on each other."           -,

Jennifer shifted her leather bag to her other shoulder; the bones
and muscles on the left side of her neck were beginning to ache
from the weight. "I didn't know you knew that much about
illness."

"We are civilized, after all."

"Just so. Marsh-sickness? Is that why he walks with a limp?
I didn't like to ask—"

"I wouldn't ask Aletto; it's ten years—more than that,
now—and he still won't talk about it. But he was extraordinarily
fortunate, though he won't believe it." Lialla glanced at her
brother's stiff back a distance ahead, and lowered her voice.
' 'Fortunate, I mean, having two Wielders to care for him. People
normally die of it; the paralysis stills the organs and freezes the
blood. Merrida and Mother saved his life, but two close friends,
boys his age, died. His personal servant lost use of his legs
entirely. I think he died, later. Jadek sent him away; I never
really knew." She was silent for some minutes, her eyes fixed
on the path just ahead of her feet. "Knowing how marsh-sickness
comes, I guess Jadek could have brought it about himself. It
would be like him; hoping Aletto would die with no blame to
him. Or go mad, or be paralyzed so he couldn't inherit. And
there'd be so little danger to Jadek; the disease does not touch
the grown or any female, only boys and young men."

"That's ghastly!"

Lialla nodded. "You say that as if you don't believe it could
be true."

"I didn't say that. Men do—people where I come from do
terrible things, not just men, you know. But the news and the
history books are full of them."

"Perhaps. But you don't know Jadek. He's—he looks like Fa-
ther did, the way I remember him. Tall, handsome. Father—his
smile tit up his whole face. But more than that, people loved
Father. He was kind; he took care of his people and his Duchy.
He was—oh, thoughtful, even in little things. Once, when 1 was
very small, he was called to Podhru for some parley with the

FHE CALLING OF T:HE ^HREE      127

Emperor. He came back with gifts, and mine I remember even
now because they were things he knew I liked and wanted.

"Jadek—his smile is something he creates; when he's nice,
it's for a specific purpose. People who don't know him think
he's like Father, kind, thoughtful. He's thinking all the time,
scheming. He's—" She stopped speaking abruptly.

"I know people like that," Jennifer said finally. She could
think of two immediately: a woman partner in another firm, and
one of the law clerks at her own firm. Power brokers, all of
them.

"People." Lialla shuddered. "One of Jadek is enough."

Jennifer cast a thoughtful glance at Aletto's back. The two
women walked together a while in silence—an almost compan-
ionable silence. "Knowing this Jadek as you do, you can't really
think he'll just give up and step down when you come back, do
you?"

Lialla contemplated her hands. "He has to," she said finally.
"He won't have any choice, he'll have to." Jennifer considered
mis and decided to leave it; Lialla was obviously fooling only
herself if she believed that. But if it made her feel better to
believe that, then that, too, was her business.

Robyn had finished her cigarette; she moved forward and
handed the mule over to Chris, walked next to him. Chris was
unusually silent; Robyn coughed once or twice and even that
didn't provoke one of his usual comments about her smoking.
But Robyn wasn't in a talkative mood, either, and Lialla had
gone gloomily silent. Jennifer left her to mount a rear guard and
went up with Aletto.

He looked down at her, face still tight, then turned his atten-
tion back to the trail. Jennifer let the silence stretch for a while.
Finally, she said, "He's her son, you know."

He didn't bother to pretend he didn't understand her reference.
"I know," Aletto said flatly.

"He's all she has, the only one besides me who's ever stuck
with her; there've been a lot of men who haven't. Chris has
always been there for her, no matter what. You have to expect
she'll turn to him when she's that frightened."

"Oh."

Jennifer looked up at him in sudden irritation. "Don't say it
like that. She isn't deliberately trying to upset you. Birdy's the
way she is, she's always been stubborn and she's set in her ways.
She isn't a tough woman. She's a survivor, but it's not the same
thing."

128 RU EMGRSON

"I don't understand—"

"No, I know you don't. That's why I'm telling you, so you'll
quit thinking bad thoughts at her and poisoning the air all around
you. She's a—I'm not finding the word in your language, she
doesn't believe in war and killing. Not even killing animals. As
crazy as her life has been, all these years, she's always avoided
violence. Any violence—against herself, against other people,
animals. So what happened just now was twice as bad for her
as it was for me." Silence. Aletto let the horse pick its own
way; he was leaning forward, arms resting on the padded sad-
dlebow. "And Chris is very protective of her."

"I noticed," Aletto said dryly. Jennifer laughed, and to her
surprise, Aletto chuckled. He sobered at once. "It was my
fault."

"You and your sister both. Stop that."

"It was. I should have stayed mounted, I couldn't move fast
enough and then Robyn was trying to help me run. When they
came at us that last time, her knees buckled she was so fright-
ened. I was trying to hold her up and myself up, and I let go
the reins. The horse ran at once. My fault," he concluded
gloomily.

Jennifer shook her head. "Your reasoning is as flawed as Lial-
la's. All right, you let the horse go. Hardly on purpose, did you?
And they took it. I have mis much in common with Birdy; I
wish they hadn't come, and I'm very sorry that poor beast went
like it did. But it satisfied them, didn't it? A life. Would you
rather have died in its place?"

"Well—"

"Feeling bad is one thing," Jennifer said. "Feeling guilty
isn't useful at all. It keeps you from thinking what you should
be doing."

He shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, but—"

"Let it go, all right? Tell me about this place we're going
instead."

Aletto obediently launched into a description of Sikkre. It was
liberally splattered with "they tell me" and "it's said." Aletto
had not been to Sikkre since he was very small and remembered
only a very few things: the interior of the Thukar's magnificent
palace; sneaking out to one of the parts of the market not nor-
mally open to children with the Thukar's son Dahven; the small,
plain room where he and Dahven had been put for punishment
when they got caught—until Dahven got them out again. It kept
Jennifer entertained all the way to their next stop.

•CUE CALL1NQ OF ^HE FHREE      129

THEY rested on the crumbling bank of a dry wash, shared a little
water. Lialla rested her chin on her knees and stared blankly
into the distance—now very dark indeed since the moon had set.
She finally pointed. "We're close, a couple furlongs or so. The
animals should smell water soon."

"Anyone already there?" Chris asked. "Or can you tell that?"

"Some people, five or six. Camels and horses. Small trading
party probably; maybe a lead group for a caravan, that kind of
thing I can't tell. They're well up at the north end, near the
spring."

Jennifer's back was beginning to ache, and now that her fear
and anger had worn off, she was exhausted. And she couldn't
remember how long a furlong was. American furlong, she re-
minded herself. Here, it could be entirely different. But she could
feel the cooler air once they crossed the wash, and then the
definite chill of damp-laden air as they went down a long in-
clined slope. Brush grew more thickly here, shifted from the
pungent dry-land stuff.

It was beginning to get light out, and somewhat to her sur-

•t^prise. she saw willow and aspen, white-barked birch clumps.
^ Chris passed her, the mule tugging him along, heading for the
?^ water they could all hear. Aletto leaned from the horse and
\: caught its bridle. "Don't let him drink here. Get him down onto
^ the rocks, there!"

"^  He pointed. Chris turned his head and was nearly yanked off
"; his feet. "Let?" he said. But the two got the stubborn beast

turned and when Jennifer came limping slowly down to the wa-
iter's edge, she could see Aletto, Chris and Robyn crouched on

•g^a sloping ledge of rock, the mule and the horse between them
l|<agerly drinking.

T'   "Oasis?" Jennifer said aloud. She turned in place, gazing at
^fthe surrounding rock, brush and trees.

"Oasis," Aletto said- He sat down to strip off his boots, un-
y. wrapped strips of fabric that served for stockings and plunged
^ his feet into the water. "Oh, that feels good. Any washing is
Undone downstream here. Drinking water is up, that way." He
'X pointed.

^   "Makes sense," Chris said. "Urn—we're one short. Where's
^ Lialla?"

^   Jennifer turned and looked back the way they'd come. "She's
|L aot in sight. Wait." She shut her eyes, swayed gently as she
H tried to concentrate. Word—Thread. It was fading, the sound of

130 Ru EMERSON

it barely audible. "Night-Thread," she reminded herself. But
she only needed a moment. "I thought as much; she's gone that
way." She jabbed a finger upstream.

Aletto dropped his boots and swore. "I—damn her, anyway'
I was going to tell her not to—"

"So she's already done it." Jennifer sighed. "No, don't do
that," she added as Aletto dropped down and began pulling the
boots on again. "She's right, we need things and she's best
suited for getting them. Your going after her won't help any-
thing, you're too recognizable, and we three aren't any better.
And we're hardly an armed party to go rescue her if she's mis-
judged them." She fixed Aletto with a hard look. "Is she that
stupid, to walk into an encampment that might be dangerous to
her?"

"Lialla isn't stupid," Aletto said angrily.

"Then put your feet back in the water and wait. If she hasn't
returned before the sun comes up, we'll try something else."
He gave her an unfriendly look, but slowly pulled the half-on
boot free, threw it across flat rock and went back to soaking his
feet. Jennifer rolled her eyes. Her first Duke, and this was how
she talked to him? But who expected members of a noble house-
hold to act like a couple of headstrong brats? Particularly a pair
as old as this pair.

Chris cleared his throat and waded out into the stream. "This
is an oasis?"

"Water, trees, shade." Aletto indicated them all with a wave
of his hand. "What else should an oasis be?"

"Where I come from, it's palm trees and sand, maybe a well
or a spring."

"They're like that if you take the north road into Dro Pent.
But this is a spring; it comes out of the ground up near where
the caravan is. The water runs down here, drops into rock just
past where we are."

"We're safe here?" Jennifer didn't care much for a caravan
so near; then again, after their earlier surprise, she didn't tike
the thought of having the oasis to themselves, either-

"I don't know. I hope so."

"Well." Jennifer ran her hands through her hair. It felt hor-
ribly gritty. "At least you're honest."

"I'm also thirsty.*" Aletto got to his feet and walked slowly
up the rock ledge, gingerly across dry sand. "There should be
a regular place to drink. Upstream from where the animals arc
supposed to be."

T:HE CALLINQ OF •CHE TTHREE

131

Above the ledge where the mule still drank, the water was
deep, moving fast over a pebbly bottom. Aletto walked north
along the shore until he found a pocked granite ledge jutting out
into the stream, squatted on its edge and pulled a leather cup
from his belt. He drank, filled it again, held it up. Jennifer
looked at the stream with misgivings, doubtfully at the cup and
its contents, finally shrugged and drank. It couldn't possibly be
clean, but what she'd been drinking throughout the night couldn't
have been, either.

By the time they got back downstream, Chris had the horse
unsaddled and the packs off the mule. Robyn had her shoes off
and was sitting cross-legged on the sand, rummaging through
the food bags. "No fire, I suppose?" she asked doubtfully.

"I'd rather not," Jennifer said. "I don't like the idea of mark-
ing our location, do you?" Robyn shook her head so hard that
blonde hair flew. She pulled out the last of the bread, some fruit,
the remainder of the chicken.

"Eat it now or forget it," she said gloomily. "The blue ice
is Just barely cool; the chicken's going to turn gross on us."
Jennifer ate fruit, gnawed at hard bread. It wasn't much, barely
enough to ease her hunger. Aletto soaked his bread in cold wa-
ter, squeezed the water out of it and ate it; Robyn followed his
example. Chris offered the chicken.around, had no takers, and
finished it himself. He brought out the map Aletto had done for
him, scooted around so they had it between them.

"Where are we on here, and how much farther to this
Sikkre?"

Aletto answered his second question. "Haifa night if we were
all ahorse. Most of one otherwise." He shifted, pulled his feet
up and began rubbing his toes. Those on the left foot were too
white, oddly jumbled together. "If Lialla—" He stared back the
way they'd come, brow puckered, shrugged gloomily and went
back to his stale bread. "If she bargains well, there will still
only be two horses and the mule. She won't dare get more, if
she's pretending to be alone."

"Better than no beasts at all," Jennifer said. "Do your mules
cany people?"

"I'd never try to ride one," he said. "But as you choose."

"Not if it hasn't been trained for it." Jennifer moistened the
end of her index finger and blotted up crumbs from her lap. "I
barely know how to stay on a horse." She sucked the last crumbs
from her fingertips and yawned. "Look, I'll do what I can to

)?2 RU EMERSON

stay awake until Lialla comes back, just in case. But I absolutely
can't sit up another single minute."

"Sun will come up where you are," Aletto said. He pointed.
"Ground's as soft over there and it'll be shaded."

"That's for me, then." Jennifer stood, stretched and groaned
faintly as her back protested. There was dry sand where Aletto
indicated, rather than the grass and fallen leaves she would have
preferred. But there were branches overhead, bushes all around.
Probably where the scorpions and snakes live, she thought un-
happily and dug the knuckles of both hands into the small of her
back. She scraped hollows with her foot, edged them out with
her hip and shoulder and spread the woolen scarf out. She could
hear Chris still talking to Aletto, then Robyn walking nearby.

"Jen?"

"Mmmm? Birdy?" It was almost too much effort to speak;

suddenly she was blindly exhausted.

"I'm over here, other side of the bush, all right?"

"Mmmm. Sure, fine."

TIRED as she was, she couldn't sleep at such an odd hour, and
the sun was barely up when she quit trying. Lialla was back,
sitting on the rock ledge with her legs in the water to the knee,
the black Wielder breeks discarded and the long overshirt hiked
over her thighs- She yanked it down as she heard footsteps,
relaxed again as Jennifer came into sight, and grinned at her
ruefully. "If my mother could see me like this!" She held up a
heavy cloth bag in deep blue. It bulged. And behind her, with
her boots over its back, was a small bay. It shied and rolled its
eyes at them, but calmed as Lialla tugged on the rope halter and
spoke to it in a language Jennifer hadn't heard before. She ap-
proached slowly, held out a hand. The pony shook its head;

shaggy mane flew wildly. It nosed her fingers tentatively, let her
rub its nose. "Not used to kindness," Lialla said. "Most nomad
ponies aren't, at least not Holmaddi ones. The foreign nomads
north of Dro Pent sleep with their horses, they say. I've seen
three; they're the most beautiful things I ever did see. Breathe
in his nostrils," she added. "So he knows you."

Jennifer eyed her doubtfully, bent down and blew. It had no
effect that she could see, but the horse let her stroke his nose
and then his neck. "Poor thing, he looks like he's had a hard
life. He's awfully thin. Are you sure he can carry any of us?"
His ribs were too visible to her eye, his tail had been hacked
short, his nose was scarred.

•CHE CALLINQ OF T:HE ^HREE

133

"They all look that way; they're tough, though. Desert-
trained."

Jennifer gave the horse one last pat and moved away from him
to wash her dusty hands in the stream. "You didn't have any
trouble?"

Lialla grinned. "Just with Aletto, when I got-back. Wasn't
that what woke you?''

"You arguing? Never heard it." She shook water from her
hands.

"The men up there were an advance for a caravan. The rest
of the family will reach the oasis tonight; they'll probably take
up the entire area. I know of the clan, they're not likely to gossip
with outsiders in Sikkre, but we ought to be gone before they
arrive. I got enough to feed myself all the way to Podhru; that's
where I told them I was going. There should be enough to last
all of us today and tonight. By dawn, we'll be in Sikkre."

"And what then?"

Lialla shrugged, and some of the light went out of her face.
"I wish I knew." Jennifer looked down at her; Lialla looked
up. She shrugged again. "Oh, within reason: I know of three
different inns said to be safe. I know places within the market
safe to go to buy food and the like, and others not; I certainly
know to avoid the Thukarand any of his men. His son Dahven . . .
Dahven is a little mad, but he and I were nearly trothed once.
And he genuinely likes Aletto. I think if we can somehow
attract his attention, he can help us plan from there."

Jennifer didn't tike the sound of Dahven at all. "If you think
you can trust him—"

"We have to," Lialla said earnestly. "We don't have anyone
rise, until we find Gyrdan." She ran both hands through her
hair, tugged at the ends. "Truthfully, I'm not completely certain
he is in Sikkre. That was never more than rumor, and it's been
a while since I first heard it. And he may not want to help
Aletto, in which case—-"

"I wouldn't worry about that yet. I'd find him first. And as
for locating him and all the rest of that, we'll just have to walk
carefully and keep our eyes open, won't we?" Jennifer turned
to look downstream. It was time to change the subject; Lialla's
plan seemed to have more holes every time she heard any of it,
and it was beginning to frighten her just how shaky the whole
flung was. "There's sun on the water down there, past where
the horses were drinking earlier. I'm going to grab it while ev-
eryone's still asleep; my hair is disgusting and I'm filthy."

134 Ru EMGRSON

Lialla stood up and shielded her eyes. "I think there's a pool,
if I recall from the other time I came through here. Just a shal-
low one. Wait—" She dug in the small bag hanging from her
belt and held out a soft cloth pillow that smelled of lavender and
something tangy, citrusy. "There's herb stuff in here and soap."
For the first time, Lialla's smile was relaxed and friendly.
"Thank you."

"You're welcome. But for what?"

"For not telling me none of it's going to work. I know how
bad it looks and I wager you do, too. I appreciate not hearing
it."

"It does look bad. That doesn't mean we don't stand a
chance," Jennifer said. She took the soap bag and returned Lial-
la's smile.

y^HE water was icy; her fingers were blue and trembling un-
^».controllably by the time she was finished, but she was washed
and her hair was at least reasonably clean. After Lialla bathed,
Jennifer waded to the other side of the stream and sat in the sun
on the far bank until the chill baked out of her bones and her
hair was dry, then waded back and sought her previous resting
place. It was unexpectedly cool down on the sand, even with
only dappled shade to cover her. A breeze blew across her face,
rustling aspen leaves. It put her in mind of a camping trip, long
years before, when her mother and father had still been to-
gether—perhaps a picnic, down along a stream bed. Yellow and
red leaves everywhere, tall mountains with snow on their peaks.
Aspen rustling. She smiled, and fell into a long, heavy sleep.

The shadows faced the other direction when she woke, too
warm, disoriented from the nap, and hungry. The shade was
still dappled but there was more sun mixed in it now; the breeze
was stronger and hot, now; desert-dry. Her eyelids felt gummy,
her face and hands horribly dry from sand and wind. "Caf-
feine," she groaned, and pushed herself up onto her knees. Some
attorneys carried packets of instant coffee around with them.
"Some attorneys have foresight and brains," she muttered
crossly. "And if I ever get home, I'll never be caught out with-
out it again." It occurred to her suddenly there might be some-
thing similar here, something in Sikkre. After all, Chris might
be right, there might be a crossover point. She sighed. She
wouldn't dare let herself hope any such thing. The letdown would
be horrible if she was wrong.

She could hear two voices above the noise of the creek—Chris's
and Aletto's. Apparently the high feelings of the previous night

136 RU EMGRSON

had been talked out or temporarily forgotten; they had the map
between them once more and were at least talking. Chris tapped
the paper and ran a finger along it. "So, anyway, this place up
here, what'd you call those guys?" He looked up. "Hey, Jen, I
think I'm getting a feel for where we branched."
"Huh?"

"Branched," Robyn said with heavy patience from Aletto's
other side. She was sitting cross-legged in the sand, wet hair
hanging over her shoulders; her eyes were slightly glazed as
though she had heard the word entirely too many times this
afternoon.

"Branched," Chris echoed. "Look, if you go back far
enough, we've got people and place names in common, just like
I told you we would."

Jennifer blocked a yawn and pressed her knuckles into the
small of her back. "Names. Such as?"

"Rome. Caesar. Moors. Castile. Maya. Cortez." Chris
shrugged. "Buncha others. Somewhere around Cortez, it starts
falling apart, though. So—"
"Is this actually useful data?"

"Jennifer!" Chris broke into English; it sounded strange, af-
ter two days of continuous Rhadazi. "I mean—you know?"

She answered him in kind, sternly: "I-mean-you-know doesn't
tell me one damn thing. Try real English."
"I mean—well, yeah'"
"This data helps us get home?"

"Well, not exactly, but—" He shrugged. *'It could, you know.
Eventually." He shifted back to Rhadazi, and now it sounded
even stranger than English had. "Look, I think that old bat
doesn't know everything, and besides, he says there are sup-
posed to be other people who've come here. And gone." Jen-
nifer, who knew Chris pretty well, eyed him thoughtfully and
then transferred the look to the nera-Duke. Not exactly a meet-
ing of minds; more like a temporary truce.

Aletto looked up, shrugged and smiled ruefully. He had moved
slightly closer to Robyn while Chris was talking; Robyn appar-
ently wasn't keeping any of Chris's grudges, because unless Jen-
nifer's eyes were blurrier than she thought, Robyn had also edged
in Aletto's direction. "Truly, I can't say for certain about Amer-
icans." He'd picked up the word from Robyn or Chris but the
**c" was almost a guttural, the "s" nearly nonexistent. "There
are legends, of course; men or women who suddenly appear—
often not knowing any language spoken in Rhadazi or among

^HE CALL1NQ OF t:HE TTHREE

137

the Trade Leagues. Dressed oddly. But if I had not met you
three—well . . . Certain of those in Sikkre may know. Dahven
claims to have met such a foreign."

"Fascinating," Lialla said dryly. She had come unnoticed
from the brush upstream and was trying to adjust her breeches,
yawning cavemously. "I have heard stories of that sort myself,
though Dahven never said anything to me of meeting Ameri-
cani- All the same ..." Her voice trailed away; she nodded in
Chris's direction as she stifled another yawn. "Merrida is my
instructor in all things to do with Thread. I must defend her if
only to say she would not willingly have brought you here. But
it is not in her to apologize, either." She tucked the ends of her
sash in place.

"We noticed," Chris said sarcastically.

Lialla glared him into silence. "What point to apologize? She
could not return you, she hadn't intended you—"

Chris shifted; Robyn reached across Aletto's lap to grab Chris's
arm, hard, and he subsided. "She intended to ruin someone's
life." Robyn said flatly. "An apology wouldn't have made it
better, but it would have been nice."

"Nice?" Lialla's eyebrows went up.

"Nice," Robyn said firmly. "I would have preferred to think
she was sorry to disrupt our lives." She released Chris's arm,
and Aletto slid his hand across his lap to intercept her fingers.
Robyn cast him a brief smile. "Look, let's drop it; we already
said we'd drop it."

"Fine," Lialla said, before Chris could say anything else. She
looked up at the sky, thoughtfully at the creek, now more than
half in shade. "I think we should eat now. Refill the water bags,
water the horses and that mule. We have to get moving as soon
as the heal goes off the sand a little. That caravan is due in here
any time."

"We've just been waiting for you," Robyn said. She freed her
fingers with an apologetic smile in Aletto's direction, then
opened the cloth bag and pulled out unleavened bread that
crunched like crackers, flat pieces of dry fruit and some ball-
shaped things she stared at doubtfully. Lialla snapped one up,
bit an enormous chunk out of it, tucked it in her cheek and spoke
around it.

"Oat cake," she mumbled. "Wonderful things, got as many
as I could. Grain, honey, fruit—wonderful stuff. Didn't get as
many as I wanted, dam nit."

"There aren't that many in the whole world," Aletto grinned.

Ru EMERSON

As soon as they ate, Robyn found two ancient rubber bands in
the bottom of her bag; she and Jennifer took turns braiding each
other's hair while Lialla filled the water bottles. Chris saddled
the horse, Aletto snugged the blanket around the nomad pony,
and it took both of them to attach the packs and harness on the
mule, though the ropes went on much more quickly than they
had the night before, and the animal showed no tendency to balk
this time.

There was no sun left on the water, and they could hear men
now above the noise of the stream—men, and the high, glad
voices of women, the shrill wail of a hungry baby. The pony
whickered urgently, sensing familiar voices. Lialla led them
swiftly across the sloping stone ledge and through the brush.
The running water vanished only a few paces downstream, where
it slid between slabs of rock. Almost immediately after, the trees
ended. Willow and aspen straggled on a little ways, gave way to
dryer things, finally to sage and a gray-and-yellow flowered thing
that had a sour smell. It, too, straggled off, ten per small area,
then five. then one; all brush vanished at once, then, almost as
though a line had been drawn across the sand. Ahead of them
was yellow or black rock, sand, and dirt; an occasional scrubby,
ground-hugging bush or gray. dry tufts of grass. The sun was
an enormous orange ball dipping toward the horizon; a hot wind
swiried dirt and tiny shards of rock.

Aletto mounted; Robyn was persuaded onto the nomad pony.
Chris dropped behind them, mule in tow. Lialla and Jennifer
took the lead. Lialla held them up only long enough to point out
their line of travel. "There—between those two hills, can you
see?"

"I suppose so," Jennifer said. She squinted. By a stretch of
imagination, there might be two knobs out there that could qual-
ify as hills.

Chris came up between them. shaking his head. "Won't be
able to see landmarks in an hour. Which direction is that?"

Lialla shrugged. Aletto looked at the sky, thought a moment.
"Just south of true west."

"What I thought; hard to tell without watching the sun move,
though. We'll need to use the stars. Mom, you're the astrono-
mer, can you figure?"

"God," Robyn sighed. "I don't know, I haven't been watch-
ing much. Are they the same, or," she turned to Aletto, "can
you point out constellations?"

•CHE CALL1NQ OF CTE T:HREE

It was Chris's turn to sigh. "I've been watching. Mom."

"You only know two constellations, kid, the Big Dipper and
Orion."

"So? I saw the Dipper last night. You can track us to the west
and a little south, can't you?"

"Well, but if they aren't the same, or if they aren't on the
same plane, if the direction is off—"

"Mom!" Chris sighed again, exasperated now. "Lookit. all
right? The stars have to be the same, if they only branched here
five hundred years ago. The sun's okay, isn't it?"

"If—" Jennifer began. Chris fortunately didn't hear her and
she shut her mouth immediately. No sense breaking his confi-
dence; at least one of them had some.

He was fumbling at his watch band. "Damn. I have that little
compass that hooks onto my watch. I usually take it when we
do the Punchbowl. I think I lent it to somebody. Damn, any-
way,"

"Don't swear," Robyn said.

Chris turned to give her an injured, indignant took. "Damn's
not swearing. Mom, not really. And look, can we get out of
here?"

ONCE the sun went down, it got dark^ very quickly. The wind let
up for some time after sunset but picked up after that and now
blew harder than ever. Jennifer snugged the ends of the wool
scarf around her hair; it might stay clean but it would be utterly
flat when the scarf came off. "Hell," she muttered to herself.
"Why do you care? You aren't going from here to court, are
you? Who's going to care what you look tike?" She turned her
head to one side and then the other, blinked furiously to keep
her eyes clear; gusts blew sand against her face. It itched.

They found a pile of rock somewhere near middle night; it
shielded them from the worst of the head-on wind, though not
from the eddies that swiried around and up. They huddled to-
gether, ate more of the flat bread and drained one of the water
bottles. Robyn leaned back against Chris and gazed up. "You're
right, kid. It's the same night sky."

"Don't sound so amazed. I told you it was."

"Yeah, right, smart kid. Shut up, let me concentrate. We still
know which way we're going?"

"We were due west when we started out," Chris said.
"Right?" Atetto nodded. "So—what do you think?"

140 RU EM6RSON

"West, but a little south, too? I'd say we're doing all right,"
Robyn said.

Lialla handed the second water bottle around. "Drink up; if
it's still hot here it's going to stay hot most of the rest of the
night. Sure about our direction, Robyn?"

"I—sure. Unless your stars shift funny, but it doesn't look
like it to me. I've spent a lot of years watching them instea4 of
TV."

"All right." Lialta had apparently given up on trying to make
sense of the occasional bit of English thrown into a conversation.
"So we should be in good shape."

"I'd prefer the road," Aletto said. "But as long as we don't
get lost ..."

"We won't," Lialla said flatly. The caravan road cut well to
the south before heading back in to Sikkre, to take advantage of
water and to meet up with the road that went on to Podhru and
another that branched off toward BezJeriad. Lialla had decided
they'd do better to avoid any of the roads because Jadek surely
had men out looking for them, and so they both could cut off
the extra distance, and come into Sikkre from a direction un-
expected. Jennifer decided from the conversation that she'd
missed quite an argument earlier, when she napped.

Chns nodded. "Besides, if we go too far south, we'll hit the
road and know to turn. We're not likely to get so goofed around
we head north by mistake."

"Don't even think that," Lialla said. "It would take a sand-
storm, and I don't want you calling one down on us."

Chris snorted with suppressed laughter, but he let it go. The
wind was still high when they stepped out of shelter, but not as
bad as it might have been. Robyn had a clear view of the night
sky all the way to the point where they could see the lights of
Sikkre.

CHRIS leaned against the mule and shook sand out of his sneak-
ers. "Wow, look at that! All lit up like L.A.!"

"That's the market," Aletto said. "There are houses south
and west of the market; you can't see all that from here. Some
of the market is dark at night, many of the standard merchants.
There's a vast portion of it that goes all the time, other parts that
only operate after dark.''

"You should know," Lialla said mildly, and Aletto laughed.
"Have a heart, I had maybe six winters when Dahven and I
snuck out; I don't remember half of it."

•CHE CALLINQ OF T:HE TTHREE       }4I

"Just as well." Lialla stretched, hard. "We can take a short
rest here—just a few minutes, though. I want to get us in some-
where between the east and north gates well before dawn; there
are inns all over that area and most of them more loyal to the
market and the caravans than to the Thukar. That's where their
money comes from, after all. We can get a little food, a little
sleep, before we do any searching. We'll need clothing—most
of us- That first, I suppose."

"Weapons," Aletto said.

Lialla cast him a dark look. "Maybe."

"Not maybe; we need them. If I hadn't had that knife in the
horsebams—" Lialla held up a hand, silencing him.

"Point made. Protective weaponry, at least. Information.
We'll talk about that after we get inside the city and find a place
to sleep, all right?" She turned back. "Jennifer?"

"Mmm—ready." Jennifer turned the water bottle over to Chris
and started forward. She was tired, and that was making it dif-
ficult for her not to see Thread. So many people out there—so
much activity. Magic, too; And some of what she could sense
within Sikkre's walls worried her.

Lialla wasn't as much help as Jennifer needed; she was at least
as tired as Jennifer and already thinking ahead to possible con-
versations with a nosy innkeeper. "I can tell it's alt there, of
course—the City, anyway," she said- "Specific things, though,
I can't really. Not unless I just sat down and concentrated."

Jennifer nodded and backtracked to safer topics; Lialla was
still defensive about her own skill level and unreasonably jealous
of anything she perceived as a superior talent in this outlander.
Jennifer didn't want to break the comfortable truce they'd estab-
lished this morning; she had a sneaking, unpleasant suspicion
they'd need each other over the next few days, just to survive
Sikkre.

"Neutral magic," she said finally. "You said the thing last
night was neutral."

The tension went out of Lialla's shoulders at once. "In the
sense it's not ours or Hell-Light, it's neutral." she said and fell
into step with Jennifer ahead of the horses. "True neutral magic
is something you'll see plenty of in Sikkre—in Bez, too, they
say; the Bez market isn't nearly as vast as Sikkre's, but it's more
exotic. More true foreigners, because of the harborand the roads
that come in from Podhru. Sikkre gets a few foreigners, mostly
the caravans that ply routes north and west, though; they're
largely clans, the routes hereditary. There's magic among them,

142 RU EMERSON

or so Merrida told me. Neutral, I suppose, they use it only for
themselves—medical, now and again love spells. That kind of
thing."

"Love spells,'* Jennifer echoed, and laughed.

"What's fanny about love spells?" Lialla demanded.

"Nothing—except it doesn't sound like it would be neutral to
the one affected."

Lialla thought about this and chuckled. "I suppose not. But
if it's a good spell, why would he ever know? They're sold in
the market, of course—the spells, not the lovers. At least," she
added thoughtfully, "not the parts of the market I ever saw.
There are places it's said you can buy anything—which probably
includes anyone. Neutral magic, though. Personal magic like
that is neutral, unless it's Thread-worked. Or—fortune-tellers.
Some of the caravaners do that for extra coin. Shapeshifters, but
they're pretty rare. Well, I've never seen one, but I've only been
to Sikkre two times, and both times I was rather carefully es-
corted."

"Magic," Aletto muttered behind them. Lialla cast a swift
glance over her shoulder and motioned Jennifer forward. They
put a little more distance between themselves and the horses.

"I don't know if it's all because of the marsh-sickness," she
said in a low voice. "You can see how he feels about it, all of
it. But a lot of our people are that way about fortunes, and the
shapeshifters are a breed apart. They're most usually women,
sometimes men. Some can shift their bodies from human to a
dozen or more outward forms of beasts or birds. Others can take
only one shape; some are involuntary but some of them can do
it at will. Those are the ones I've heard about, in Sikkre. If you
see something like that, you'll know."

"Right," Jennifer said doubtfully. She let her grip on the or-
dinary night around them relax; Thread shivered and vibrated
all around her, moving with their passing, making sound for
those who could hear, visual change for those who could see. It
made her nervous indeed to think someone in the city before
them might now be watching them. If someone was watching,
though: She had nothing but that odd, uncomfortable sensation.
Possibly paranoia. Then again . . .

THERE were no walls around Sikkre; none were needed, since
its very isolation counted as its walls. Even during the most
recent invasion through Dro Pent, Sikkre had never been in dan-
ger of attack. The Emperor permitted no squabbling between

T:HE CALLINQ OF tHE FHREE      143

the Dukedoms, but regardless, Sikkre was safe from attack: Her
marketplace created wealth for those who traded here, and none
of them wished to tamper with such sure good fortune.

The Thukar kept a small Outer Guard—largely ceremonial-
on the main gates. The Inner Guard was large, heavily armed,
composed of well-trained men who walked the city in pairs, for
thieves and pickpockets were innumerable, and the Thukar him-
self made a large percentage of his wealth in levies, taxes and
fines- It was very much to his advantage to know what went on
throughout the city.

The side street Lialla found for them was narrow and pitch
black; small, flat houses lined it, doors even with the dirt road,
side walls nearly touching. Here and there a light burned, some
householder awake, a housewife preparing food or a craftsman
readying his goods for transport.

They walked some distance before she found a cross street,
and then another. Jennifer, who barely knew the stars at all, was
immediately lost, and even Chris looked nervous. A third street
opened out almost at once and split around a massive, rectan-
gular brick pool. Beyond it was a long, two-story building, a
glass-shielded candle burning before the door. Lialla brought
them to a halt. "All right. You wait here; Jen and I will go get
a room. Objection? Make it now."

There wasn't any objection, but'Aletto stirred. "Where are
we?"

"Cap and Feather. Thukar's Tower is that way." She pointed.

"Oh. 1 don't know anything about it. How far's the Tower?"

"Far enough. Robyn, pull that scarf end over his head- We
can't afford anyone recognizing him."

Robyn nodded, dragged the wool forward with trembling
hands. Aletto took them between his as Lialla and Jennifer
skirted the fountain, stepped over the light and pushed the door
open, vanishing into utter darkness. "Lady—Robyn? It's all
right, honestly.''

"If you say," she whispered. "It looks—people get murdered
in places that look like this!"

"No. Not here, trust me." He squeezed her hands, let them
go and slid from his horse as Lialla came back out the front door
and gestured.

There was a narrow passageway, invisible from the street, that
led back into a courtyard and a stable. An oil lamp lit a high
wall, an open and empty stall, and across the roughly cobbled
yard, a door partway ajar. It led into the inn. There was light

144 RU EMGRSON

along the passage, and faint light spilled out the door. A boy
stood there, a small, thin outline of a boy with tousled hair and
a long, loose shirt. He came forward to take the horses and
unsaddle them; Chris unpacked the mule and let the boy put it
next to the horses; he and Robyn split most of the bags, leaving
Aletto to gather up the last of them.

Robyn stayed back with him, one anxious eye on the boy,
another for Aletto, who was walking slowly and doing his best
not to limp. He was reasonably successful, but Robyn didn*t
draw a full breath until they reached the dark beyond the kitch-
ens and stopped at the foot of the stairs.

Lialla stood at the door, outlined in ruddy firelight, talking to
someone inside. "I'd rather we stayed below, if it's possible. We
want one room anyway; three beds, if possible."

"Perhaps." A woman's voice, thin and waspish. "Carava-
ners?''

"Advance, We left part of our clan at water, awaiting the rest.
The room would be two, perhaps three days."

Silence. "You have coin?"

"Enough."

"Two ceris and a sef a night," the woman said-

Lialla laughed. "What room do you offer us, the Thukar's?"

"It's busy season," the woman countered flatly. Jennifer
shifted nervously, wishing for an end to it. Her eyes met Aletto's
a distance down the hallway. He had an arm around Robyn for
support and was leaning against a heavy bench. Robyn's face
was white, all frightened eyes. Chris sagged against the wall just
beyond them.

"Two ceris, for all of us, with wine and a meal," Lialla coun-
tered.

The woman came forward, wiping her hands down her
breeches. She was tall, gray-haired, bone-thin, and her eyes were
hard but not particularly interested in either of the women, or
those waiting for them. "Caravaners! Two ceris," she agreed,
and held out a hand. "Coin now, though, two nights."

"Sikkreni," Lialla spat in reply, but fished inside her scarves
for a pair of many-sided silver coins.

The woman took them, tilted her head and eyed Lialla rather
thoughtfully. "A Wielder?"

"Red Hawk Clan," Lialla replied.

"Oh. Descendant of Mioffan? "

"Distant."

The woman lost interest, bit one of the coins and stuffed both

T:HE CALLINQ OF T:HE TTHREE

145

in a pocket. She smiled. "Don't be so chill; it's not unheard of
for caravaners to stay and leave without paying. After all, you
have a world all around to go to and no need to return to this
house."

"No one in Red Hawk would do that," Lialla protested.

The woman merely smiled disbelievingly, and came into the
hallway to point. "At the end of the corridor, there's a door,
left- It lets into my herb plot and the well; your door is opposite.
There's a fire laid if you find the night air chill."

"Coming from Genna and Holmaddan? Overly warm, per-
haps." Lialla sketched a bow and turned away. "Having ridden
the night, we are, however, most tired. Your pardon, and a good
night to you."

Jennifer glanced over her shoulder as she came even with Al-
etto and Robyn; the innkeeper was wiping flour-covered hands
down her breeches and gazing after them, head cocked aside.
Jennifer turned back and hurried to catch up with Lialla as that
worthy was pushing the door to their room open. "I don't think
1 trust her."

Lialla shrugged that aside. "She's curious; most innkeeps are,
I should think." Her voice was brusque, tired; Jennifer eyed her
thoughtfully as she conjured a spark of light and lit candles with
it to illuminate the room. Lialla's face was an old woman's, alt
tired, drawn muscle sagging to a down-turned mouth. Not the
time to bully her over her choice of inn and keeper, perhaps-
better to wait until they'd all slept.

But the room itself did nothing to ease Jennifer's worries: It
was small, dirt-floored, and the ceiling was so low she fought
not to duck beneath the ugly, smoke-blackened beams. There
were no windows, save a pair of brick-sized holes cut high in
the wall, near the roof and in the outer wall—smoke egress, most
likely. The door was the only way in or out.

The beds were wide and long, but on close examination noth-
ing more than thick cloth stuffed with not entirely clean straw.
This was covered with even thicker woolen blankets; a handful
of cushions and pillows were scattered across the surface. As
Chris and Jennifer exchanged stunned looks, Lialla brushed her
hands together briskly. "Well! Not precisely the style in which
I was kept my last journey here, but certainly above what we
might expect!"

Chris found his voice, with effort. "Might expect—wait, let
me figure it. One large room, everyone bundled together in a

146

RU EMERSON

reeking pile—?" He sniffed, cautiously. "How many would or-
dinarily bed down here?"

"Fifteen, twenty—who knows?" Lialla shrugged. "They
would be of a single party, however; that's the best of private
rooms—no sharing with strangers who might be murderers."

Chris sniffed again, louder this time. "It's a little close in
here. Unpleasant, actually."                              ,

Lialla glared at him. "You noticed, how clever of you! If
you're truly clever, though, reason that one out as well, why
don't you?" She moved away, stopped short of the widest bed.
"We women can share this; the men may shift as they please."

"Not having windows," Chris said stiffly, "keeps out thieves
and other riffraff. Second floor I think there were a few win-
dows, but since people sleep all together, who cares what comes
in from the streets?" Lialla turned and gave him silent applause.
Chris executed a sweeping bow, but nearly fell when he over-
balanced. "For my reward, I'm taking this lump right here."
He pulled wool around his shoulders, sat down gingerly, untied
his high-tops and eased them off, sighing loudly and happily as
he got himself flat and shut his eyes.

Aletto looked down at him a long moment, then nodded de-
cisively and limped over to me other small bed. But on the way,
he stopped, thought, and went up to the door instead. There was
a bar; Lialla had dropped it into place. But he couldn't be certain
the wood was solid, and there was no other fastening, not even
a latch on the door handle. He looked around the room thought-
fully, finally tested the table near the fireplace. It was awkward,
moving it, but it seemed heavy enough. Chris edged back up
onto one elbow; the women fell silent. Lialla alone glanced up,
saw what he was doing, and turned her attention back to the
bedding. Aletto edged the table under the cross-pieces that held
the door bar, wedged it in as firmly as he could. He turned away;

Lialla, who was on her knees on the far side of the wide bed,
tossing pillows and cushions over to Robyn, looked up. She met
his eyes. finally gave him a curt nod. Aletto turned away, edged
himself down onto the bed and got his feet out of the heavy
boots. He sniffed the blankets cautiously, finally wrapped him-
self in them and pulled pillows under his head and shoulders.

Robyn already had her sneakers off and was prowling all
around the bed barefoot. Jennifer stood watching her, arms were
full of cushions that smelled of a mix of herb, very faint mildew,
woodfire and an even fainter hint of wine. Her back ached again,
and she was beginning to have an unpleasant feeling she knew

T:HE CALL1NQ OF T:HE TTHREE

147

why. Alt I need, she thought despairingly, and let her eyes close.
She was swaying gently, half asleep on her feet, when Lialla and
Robyn relieved her of her burden and shoved her down in the
middle of them.

Robyn's hair tickled her nose; she freed a hand, pushed it
away, and tucked the hand back under blankets once more, rolled
onto her side and curled into a ball. Tired as she was, though,
sleep wouldn't come, no matter how she wooed it. She lay fi-
nally, curied the other way, and watched light grow in the two
vents near the ceiling.

Magic. And in particular, Night-Thread Magic. How had
someone stumbled onto that, made it work? Harnessed it? And
how, magic here and none in her own world? None, of course,
verified. And why only at night? She considered this last, finally
shut her eyes, and thought about Thread.

It was there, lines going in all directions, all colors, all thick-
nesses of strand—multicolored strand, and strand doubling back
on itself, or twining around other strands. Healing strand, some
of that last, and yet not all of it was. The music—odd, she could
hear that, too: perhaps not quite as loudly as the previous night,
but then, the thread was almost a pastel of itself in daylight.

So little she knew how to do yet: Suddenly, she wanted to
know, all of it. The names of each kind, and its use, and where
it went and what it did, how it connected to itself and to the
world, and how one simply walked through it unnoticing, until
one found it in need or after training. The sound of it—why that
reached her and why Lialla made no mention of it.

Perhaps Merrida could sense it at all hours; perhaps Lialla
could. They hadn't said anything about that, merely that it was
only workable at night. But—was that true, either? Because. . . .

She reached, feeling her way across Thread cautiously, gin-
geriy seeking out known substance, until she found the familiar
ones. People there—above them but not directly above, and many
people. People down, straight—back in the kitchens. The horses,
beyond the kitchens. How curious; did she recognize the sub-
stance of their own horses or was that wishful thinking? But
there was no mistaking the mule. Jennifer let out a pleased sigh
and glanced around the room again. She let Thread fade from
sight, men, and turned to another, more immediate considera-
tion: this marketplace. What would they absolutely need, apart
from any considerations of Lialla's for them? She was deep in
thought, running up a mental list, when she suddenly fell asleep.

II

NOISE in the courtyard roused her: poultry nearby, someone
trudging down the hall, heavy-footed and grumbling loudly,
to feed them. There was a thin gray light coming through the
vents, a little stealthy noise overhead—as though some of those
who woke early wished to avoid waking others sleeping in the
large room. Jennifer sniffed cautiously; there was an off smell
coming from somewhere. The bedding? No; at least, the blanket
she was wrapped in, fully clad, and the straw-filled cushion that
prickled the back of her neck were a little musty but nothing
worse. Probably the food. Correction: It had to be the food; it
smelled just like her Aunt Bet's stroganoff. She stifled a groan,
lay back and closed her eyes. Inedible, awful stuff. How long,
she wondered, can a woman live on oat cakes and flat bread-
even with a medium-sized bottle of vitamins in the bottom of
her leather bag?

And at the moment—how long could she hold her breath?
Somehow, she slid back into sleep. When Lialla wakened her a
while later, there was a little sun coming through the vents and
a great deal of noise coming from the street beyond—men shout-
ing, women shouting in particularly shrill voices, horses and the
high-pitched noise made by camels and mules. And what
sounded like someone walking slowly past the inn and banging
on an immense gong. Lialla gave her another shake. "Get up,
we need to hurry."

Why? Jennifer thought irritably, but kept quiet while she found
her hairbrush, picked Robyn's rubber band out of the ends and
unsnarled her hair. She dabbed a little paste on the tip of a
finger, ran it over her teeth. "Water?"

Lialla handed her one of the leather bottles. Jennifer made a

rHE CALLINQ OF WE ^HREE

149

face at it, ran a little into her mouth and swooshed it around,
spat it into the fireplace. The taste of leather nearly overcame
peppermint. "Ready?" Lialla was practically trembling in her
hurry to be out and gone.

"Nearly." Jennifer's socks were stiff along the soles, sagging
at the tops, and the length stretched. The heels rode up to the
top of her sneakers when she pulled them on. Wash water, when
they got back. She wasn't about to put up with those long, nar-
row wraps people used here until she had to. Nurse those socks
along, she thought, tucked the ends of her laces in the tops of
the sneakers and stood up. Lialla tugged at the woolen shawl
and disposed its ends over her feet.

"Shoes stand out," she said. "Try to keep them out of sight,
will you?" She didn't wait for an answer; at the door, she turned
back and looked around the room. "Aletto, promise me you'll
wait for us." Aletto, still half-asleep, hair nearly as spiky as
Chris's, yawned cavemously. Jennifer turned away to stifle a
yawn ofher own. "Aletto," Lialla repeated insistently. He nod-
ded.

"Promise. No good my going out until dark, remember?"

"Just stay here, we'll be back soon after the market closes for
midday. Maybe before that." She looked at Chris, who was still
sound asleep, then across to Robyn, who was sitting cross-legged
on the wide bed, rebraiding her hair.

"Don't worry about me," Robyn said. "I'm not going any-
where except maybe back to steep. I'm certainly not going out
there!"

"Good." Lialla pulled the door open, turned back again after
she shooed Jennifer through. "Eat whatever you like; we'll bring
food."

It was still very early, already quite warm. Jennifer let Lialla
tog the woolen scarf ends over her forehead without protest but
she shuddered as the sin-Duchess turned away and began walk-
ing swiftly up the wide street. Wool in such heat! She knew
Saharan nomads did it—the very thought had made her itch then,
too. She threaded her way through heavy foot traffic, behind a
line of young camels, around a wagon and three carts drawn up
across from the inn. Lialla waited for her just beyond them.

"Look," she said. "You'd better let me do the talking this
morning. Your accent, your lack of experience in trading, they
both would mark you. I haven't much marketing experience but
it's enough to get us by."

150

Ru EMERSON

"I don't mind," Jennifer said easily, and Lialla looked less
anxious. "Let's go, before one of us gets run over."

The market itself was all Lialla had said: Jennifer, who had
spent any number of Sundays at the larger swap meets, found
herself astonished by the physical vastness as much as by the
variety of things for sale. Those would seem to include any-
thing and everything—clothing, new and used; fine work. jewel-
ry, prosaic cooking pots and hammered silver dishes. Rugs,
boots, armor and weaponry. Food—any kind of cooked food,
sweets, fresh grown, bread still warm from hive-shaped clay
ovens; meat fresh, dried, roasted, stewed. Meat and poultry
killed to order—that she fortunately only saw, and heard and
smelled, from a goodly distance.

She let Lialla lead her for some distance down wide aisles,
then succeedingly narrower ones, before she caught up to her
and gripped her sleeve to pull her to a halt. "Food first," she
said firmly. Lialla considered this blankly, finally nodded.

"You're right, I—Merrida tells me I get this way, all pointed
in one direction to the exclusion of others. I forget to eat."

Jennifer grinned. "I do that, too, but not this morning. My
stomach's growling something awful, and something around here
smells wonderful."

Lialla tested the air, pulled Jennifer out of the middle of the
aisle and back the way they had just come, then down an ex-
tremely narrow corridor between permanent wooden stalls.
"Honey and spice cakes," she said over her shoulder. "You
obviously have excellent taste."

"Smells better than what was cooking at the inn this mom-
ing," Jennifer replied.

"Mutton," Lialla said. "They eat a good deal of it in this
part of Rhadaz, or so I hear. One thing 1 considered when the
Thukar's son asked Jadek for my hand." She grinned and
shrugged. Jennifer laughed. "Well," Lialla temporized, "I
would have, if I'd intended to marry anyone."

They bought two cakes apiece, a mug of cool herb tea to wash
them down with. Jennifer handed the empty cup back to the stall
owner and sighed. "I'd kill for coffee."

Lialla shook her head. "Coffee? Another of those words of
yours! / don't know it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist,
just that it's not a Zeiham thing." Jennifer sighed again and
followed her back into the wider—and now considerably more
crowded—aisles.

They left hours later, both laden with bundles. Lialla had found

T:HE CALLINQ OF tHE ^HREE

'51

a money changer and, leaving the gemstones in Jennifer's bag
for later, had turned her coins and Jennifer's into readily nego-
tiable silver and brass coins—the standard fare for all but highly
expensive items. "And we're not buying rare oversea furs, or
racing camels anyway," Lialla said. She found black garments
for Jennifer—breeches similar to her own, a pair of loose shirts,
a plain black sash that would pass for an initiate Healer's sash.
A long, charcoal gray cloak to replace Merrida's scarf. "Since
you won't be parted from those shoes," Lialla said.

, "I paid a fortune for them, and if 1 have to walk all the time
I'm certainly not giving them up," Jennifer retorted vigorously.
"Besides, if Merrida's right, if your brother's stories are, there
are other people from our worid around here- Sneakers can't be
common, but surely they aren't that outlandish!"

Lialla scowled. "I wish you'd quit sprinkling your conversa-
tion with these foreign words. Sneakers," she spat. But she didn't
argue the matter further, merely paid the stallholder for the black
garments, wrapped them in the scarf and tossed the cloak around
Jennifer's shoulders, and stalked off.

Robyn and Chris, then: Cloaks for both, a loose, long dress
for Robyn, thick brown breeches and an overshirt for Chris, a
hardened leather vest that laced under the arms. "Aletto will
Just have to make do, same as I will/' Lialla said. "We're cov-
ered and we won't freeze; it should be enough."

Food next: They went from stall to shop to stall, checking,
bargaining, purchasing fresh fruit, net bags of dried meat, and
tightly woven cloth bags of thin-sliced, cured meat—no; sheep
of any age, Lialla assured Jennifer. Jennifer, after a cautious
sniff and a gingerly tasted sample offered by the standkeeper,
decided she could live with the stuff; Chris wouldn't care so long
as he had enough to eat. And Robyn, as a legacy of her years
in a commune and more of them on welfare, would eat abso-
lutely anything—well, anything that wasn't red meat, at least.
Most of what they had didn't encompass red meat, except the
dried meat; she could simply avoid that.

Lialla bought more bags of caravaner's supplies: oat cakes and
thin, crisp bread like crackers, boxes of fine-cut and dried veg-
etables for soup or stew, two strings of onions and another of
assorted peppers, a woven ring of fresh herbs, a bag that smelled
of lavender. "Soap," Lialla said-
Jennifer ran a hand through her hair. "Great. Get a couple
more of those; I'm used to washing more often than you are."

152 Ru EMCRSON

"I noticed," Lialla said. "I don't think it's good for you, all
that water."

"Yah, Louis XIV said that, too," Jennifer said cheerfully.
Lialla made an uncouth noise.

The sun was nearing zenith, the morning becoming unbear-
ably warm, but the pack of bodies was thinning out as more
people left the main thoroughfares of the market to seek shade,
a noon meal, a long nap. Lialla, already burdened with bundles
and bags, wanted one more stop, for a pair of lightweight pots
and a knife or two. Jennifer, who was now in the lead, stopped
so abruptly Lialla cannoned into her. That smell—that wonder-
ful smell. "Coffee," she breathed. Lialla bit back an angry re-
mark, adjusted her bags, picked up the bundle she'd dropped.
She doubted Jennifer would have heard her anyway. Jennifer
inhaled deeply, turned and began walking down the alley be-
tween two poultry sellers. Lialla followed.

Jennifer stopped two stands on. Lialla came up behind her,
sniffed dubiously and looked at the pale blue awning, the darker
blue carpet spread under it. "You can't go in there. That place
is for men, caravaner men!"

Jennifer turned and scowled at her. "Want to bet it is? You
smell that? Know what it is? It's coffee. The stuff I said I'd kill
for. You only think I didn't mean it."

The look on her face was certainly formidable enough. "You
can't go in there; women aren't allowed, and besides we don't
have that much coin left.''

"Oh? Remember three pairs of boots we didn't have to buy?"
Jennifer glared at her so fiercely Lialla retreated a pace. "We
have money. Think of something—and get me some of that
stuff!"

Lialla glowered down at her hand, loosened her grip on Jen-
nifer's sleeve only slightly. "All right—wait. Let me think a
minute." She gazed at the carpet, scarcely seeing it. thought
furiously. "Right. I think it might work, wait here, hold these
things. And keep your mouth shut! I'll do what I can for you."

It cost; Lialla clearly thought it an exorbitant cost to purchase
the stuff, ostensibly as part bribe, part dowry to one of the car-
avan masters for a younger sister. "The gods will have my tongue
for a string of lies like that; this coffee of yours had better be
worth it, Jen!" she growled. Jennifer scarcely heard her. She
was contemplating certain of the items she carried, adding up a
value that had nothing whatever to do with coin value. A flat
pan for roasting, a grinder, a pot capable of brewing two large

tHE CALLINQ OF T:HE 'CHREE

153

cups of what her father would've called "cowboy coffee,"
grounds and water all together until a dose of cold water sent
most of the grounds to the bottom. And her left forearm was
rapidly growing numb under the weight of a large bag of green
coffee beans. Coffee, she thought happily. Genuine, honest cof-
fee. This wretched world could throw whatever it liked at her
now; she was ready for it.

ALETTO was prowling the room when they returned. Chris lay
on his bed, feet propped on the wall, watching him upside down.
Robyn had shifted to the room's one chair. "Good thing you got
back," Chris said.

Jennifer grinned. "Why, kid, you hungry again?"

"Well, that too, of course."

Lialla dumped her bundles on the bed the three women had
shared and went back out. "I'll get something for us. Wait
here."

"Wait here," Aletto mumbled sourly. He turned, met Robyn*s
anxious eye, and walked over to touch her hair.

"Christmas time, folks," Jennifer said, and began rummag-
ing through the piled bundles. "Birdy, here, clothes for you and
Chris. Hope you can handle the skirts on this thing—wait, that's
mine—here. It should go over your jeans and it'll pretty much
cover your sneakers."

"What, no boots?" Chris demanded.

"They don't make them with good insoles; you'd be crippled
in no time," Jennifer said. She caught her breath, tried to let it
out normally, made herself not turn and look at Aletto, not apol-
ogize. Damn, she thought angrily.

There was a flat little silence behind her, but when she turned
around, Robyn was shaking out her dress, holding it up to her
shoulders. "What do you think? Personally, I've never liked me
in black."

Aletto gazed at her appraisingly before replying, "You look
pale." Jennifer opened her mouth, closed it again without saying
anything. Maybe he hadn't heard her faux pas.

CHRIS and Aletto went out later, to tend the horses and the mule
and to get wash water, to let the women change and clean up.
When they came back, Robyn, Jennifer and Lialla went out into
the road, across to the fountain. There was a bare trickle of water
running from a clay pipe in one comer of it, and the water bore
a thin film of dust from the road.

154 RU EMGRSON

Robyn hitched up her skirts and sat on the edge of the stone
wall and gazed around her. "I feel like a raven, or somebody's
Italian grandmother,*' she said. Jennifer laughed.

"Try wearing these pants with the funny crotch," she replied.
"They feel like a pair of tights two sizes too small, except for
all the material bunched up above the knees."

"Pass," Robyn grinned. She turned her attention back tq the
road. "Camels—I don't know why, I find the camels hardest to
accept."

"I know, they're odd-looking beasts, aren't they? Like some-
thing made up."

"No, not that. Just that—if Chris is right, and this would have
been our world except for something changing, say, five hundred
years ago, then it seems right there'd be desert, and horses,
and—well, I guess, all this. But camels—"

Jennifer considered this in turn as Robyn's voice faded. "Well.
If you want to believe what Chris gets from Aletto's bad maps,
and all. There were camels in Arizona and Texas, that end of
the country anyway, in the 1800s. Probably got brought over
from Africa in this history line, too." Lialla looked from one
of them to the other, her face reflecting lack of understanding
and a growing irritation at the fact. ' 'But since they also seem
to have imported coffee, I don't really care what else got brought
in."

"And you pick on me for my cigarettes," Robyn said, but
she was smiling. The smile faded; she was watching people
passing, gazing at the visible faces of the nearest. "The other
thing—what Merrida said. About other people. Be funny,
wouldn't it, if you saw someone here you actually knew?"

Jennifer shrugged. "She wasn't very specific. I think it might
just be rumor; Aletto's stories and all that. But I can't think of
anyone / personally know who's gone missing—unless this is
where Amelia Earhart and Judge Crater came." Robyn laughed;

Lialla cleared her throat and Jennifer looked at her. "Sorry.
Just—family joke.''

"You should be a little careful," Lialla said sharply. "Your
accents aren't enough to cause a problem in Sikkre but all these
words you use just might be."

CHRIS found the leather vest uncomfortable but agreed to wear
it while he and Aletto prowled the market that evening. Jennifer,
who was becoming increasingly sensitive to mood, was uncom-
fortably aware of Aletto's impatience to be gone. And Lialla,

•CHE CALLINQ OF WE TTHREE

155

now seated in shadow on the wide bed, back against the wall
and feet tucked under her, biting her lip to keep herself from
blurting out her worries—Aletto of all of them could be recog-
nized, Aletto alone was worth taking, he must not risk him-
self. - . . But Lialla also knew only Aletto and Chris could go
in search of Gyrdan, at night and in the less wholesome corners
of the market when and where women weren't permitted. And
Aletto would not forgive her for coddling him.

Chris was going with him. To Aletto, that seemed to be all
the argument necessary to silence his sister. The market, after
all, was a place he and Dahven had explored when very young,
and they'd come from it unscathed. Chris seemed to have no
more concern than Aletto for what might await them; Robyn had
apparently given up trying to warn him, and Jennifer saw no
point in alienating either young man. Since they were going to
go anyway . . . And Chris had Angeleno street smarts; he knew
better than to get caught in dark corners. It would simply have
to do.

But Jennifer had waited until Robyn was deep in conversation
with Aletto before she fished in the pack of kitchen goods and
brought out one of the knives. She wrapped Chris's hand around
it and pushed the hand back under his cloak. "Don't let your
mother see it; you know it'll just upset her. You told me once
you thought you could use a knife, if you had to. Did you mean
it?" Startled, he nodded. "All right, remember we both need
you, and so does Aletto. Doesn't that vest thing have a place to
put a knife?"

"Think it does," Chris said cautiously, and felt around the
waist. "Yeah, at the back; tight fit, though."

"Don't get it in too tight, then," Jennifer said evenly. "And
buy yourself one that fits, why don't you?" She wrapped his
hand around four coins. "It goes pretty far out there. Let him
do the bargaining, though."

"Right." Chris stuffed the coins into a pocket and gripped
her arm. "Hey, I think we're finally ready."

"Be careful." Jennifer gripped his shoulder in turn. Aletto
was at the door, looking down the hall. He gestured imperiously;

Chris settled the black cloak over his shoulders rather self-
consciously, and followed. Robyn gazed after them anxiously,
long after Lialla closed the door behind them.

ALETTO walked down the long hallway, stopped just short of the
common room. It was busy at this hour, two past sunset, but

156 Ru EMERSON

most of the traffic was over near the fire and the bar. Only two
men sat at the nearest long bench, and neither noticed the two
young men who walked behind them, skirted the ends of three
more benches, and went out the open doors into the night.

The road was comparatively quiet but still far from empty: A
few horsemen rode together, stopped at the fountain to let their
horses drink. A pair of caravaner wagons passed them; a, boy
with two dogs and another herding ducks came after. Two horse-
men going the other direction, at a canter. An old woman lead-
ing a laden camel, another wagon and an empty cart. Aletto
eased into the stream of traffic, Chris right behind him and then
at his side. In the midst of so many, and in the evening gloom,
the nera-Duke's limp was scarcely noticeable, with the way Rob-
yn had adjusted his cloak and the throat and shoulders of his
leather jerkin, his imbalanced shoulders were even less visible.

Chris felt a warm, satisfied glow spreading through him as
they slid through'the crowd: the thick and exotic mix of smells,
the look of people, the buildings—it was wonderful! And here
he was, part of it all. All the books he'd read, all the movies,
the games—never in his most ridiculous and embarrassing
dreams had he ever reckoned himself in such a situation! He'd
never felt so alive, so aware of things. The people around them—
now and again someone would glance at them, but no one paid
any real attention to them. Partly the dark, he decided; partly
that people who were strangers in such a crowded place as this
market—like people back home—tended to mind their own busi-
ness fairly strictly.

His fingers slid across the knife hilt that lay sideways along
the small of his back. The person for whom this leather armor
had been made no doubt knew how to draw and use a knife from
such a position—or draw and throw it. Chris wondered if he'd
be able to get the blade free; he'd jammed it in pretty tightly to
make certain it didn't fall out, or slide around and somehow cut
him. He wondered if he'd be able to use it, if he had to.

Get mad enough—that was all it ought to take. He hoped he
wouldn't need to find out tonight, though.

It took time; Aletto had difficulty finding the right area of the
market, and then finding the right kinds of shops. And then more
time still, finding the right style and class of blades, the right
degree of ornamentation, or lack of it. It took what seemed
forever for him to bargain down prices. Eventually, Aletto had
two swords—short, wide-bladed, double-edged weapons which
Chris found to be uncomfortably heavy. There were unadorned

T:HE CALLINQ OF t:HE tHREE

'57

leather shoulder straps for them, a hardened leather buckler that
looked woefully inadequate to protect anything, not even the
forearm it was strapped to. A fine-bladed dagger fastened to
the upper arm strap of the buckler, another on the inside of the
shield-curve. More arrows for Chris's bow.

Another part of the market, a dizzying number of aisles down
and across. Chris no longer had any idea in which direction the
inn lay, and the thought of being separated from Alello made
him nervous. Aletto seemed unconcerned by anything. He went
to a seller of maces, then to an alesman, seeking information—
this mostly, bafflingly to Chris, dealing with caravans and the
northern and western roads from Sikkre.

Chris's attention wandered, his eyes fixed on the men and
women walking past them. The women were very few, and for
the most part richly dressed. The men, on the other hand, were
a wildly contrasting group: Men in dark, dusty leathers, carrying
enormous swords or pikes, rubbed elbows with men in richly
colored, flowing fabrics covered in embroidery, beads, jewels.
Everything and anything.

He was getting hungry again. Hollow teg, he thought ruefully.
Dinner—bread and a funny-tasting but thick and filling soup—
had been all right but it seemed hours ago. Alelto was leaning
across the alesman's counter, talking to two men, deeply ab-
sorbed in his conversation—he'd be'forever. Chris stepped out
into the open, glanced one way and then the other. They were
near a comer—two stands down. And this place had torches and
banners both, he couldn't possibly lose sight of it, particularly
if he only went around the comer to look . . .

Aletto, deep in his conversation, didn't even notice as Chris
cast him another appraising glance, and eased away.

He sniffed. Nothing but a mixed smell of leather, horses and
sweat. Garlic on almost everyone's breath. No vampires here,
he thought with a grin. The smell of dust coated everything.

The comer stand was given over to pottery: blackware, or so
it looked in the light of a cluster of lanterns on the counter. Jugs,
bowls and cups, anyway. Practical stuff. Beyond it, leather and
wood, a rope holding fifty or more of the flat leather cups like
the one Lialla carried. More pottery cups and some jugs beneath
the curved rope. Chris glanced over his shoulder, was reassured
to see light striking the familiar banners. One more stall, then
he'd try the other direction.

But just past the leather cups, there was an opening, a narrow
way he at first took for an alley between stalls. There was light

Ru EMERSON

back there, though: dim light of a guttering lantern, high above
a woven box, perhaps six feet on a side. The lantern cast long
shadows out across Chris's feet. It was so dim back there, below
the light, that it took him several moments to realize someone
inside the cage was staring back at him.

His heart stopped, then thudded heavily; his knees threatened
to give as he backed two steps away.

"Sssst! Boy!" A whisper floated out between the branches
that formed the weave of the cage; a long, thin hand edged
between them to beckon. Chris-stayed right where he was. A
flush of anger buried the terror that had nearly dropped him,

"You scared me half to death! Come out of there and I'll teach
you to scare people like that!''

"Can't!" came the urgent, whispered reply. "Locked in, both
of us." Chris took one cautious step forward, squinted. There
might be two of them; the light was snapping and fading errat-
ically, making it nearly impossible to tell. "Let us out, eh?"

"Why?"

"Why what? We were put in here for theft, but we didn't this
time. Wasting time; let us out."

"Why should I?" But Chris could think of several reasons-
all those horror stories about one-handed Iranians. "What will
they do to you?"

"I'd rather not think about that," the voice replied shortly.
"What's the matter, you afraid?"

Chris glanced over his shoulder. There was no one around;

the shops on both sides apparently closed for the night. Three
men stood talking across the narrow aisle to the proprietor of
another shop, but none of them paid the least attention to him.
"I'm not afraid; I might be sensible."

"Look," the voice said persuasively. "Semeden's gone for
the guard—the leather goods next to you. Freoda has the other
stand, but she's half deaf anyway. Unlatch the door; we'll wait
until you're gone before we come out, no one will blame you."
Chris took another reluctant step forward.

"Someone will have seen me—"

"Why would anyone bother? You don't stand out until you
open your mouth. Now, pay attention, the latch is in the center
of me wall, there's a loop—look, just come over here, pay heed,
will you?" Before he knew it, almost, he was standing in the
shadow created by the woven cage, rumbling with the unfamiliar
lock while the calm, rather resonant voice inside talked him

WE CALL1NQ OF X:HE ^HREE

159

through it. "That's done it. Thank you. Wait, don't go just yet.
You're the boy with the spiky hair, aren't you? Gold hair?"

"I—" Chris stared. He could make out general shapes: a long,
thin face, an angular body; someone a little shorter behind, gath-
ering up something, practically vibrating with the need to leave.
"How did you know that?"

"Because we saw you earlier, of course. But word's already
getting around. The one you're with—no names, please!—tell
him there are folk here who'd help him, ones he knows and
others, friends of the true line, not the Usurper's. Tell him, be
cautious; give his identity to no one, there are plenty in Sikkre
who'd betray him for fear or for coin—or both. Tell him—never
mind. You'd better go. We'll find you later."

"But—" Chris swallowed. What had he done?

The voice was urgent; it pressed him back into action. "Go,
quickly, we'll give you time to get away. No—not back out that
way! That way"—a hand came out to point—"and along the far
side of Freoda's place. There's an eatery, just across; buy some-
thing. Walk back the way you came, then, as though that had
been your only intent, coming this way."

"It was all I intended," Chris retorted waspishly. *But if you
try and pull anything—"

"Go!" the voice pleaded. He turned on his heel, and went.

12

PART of one of the brass coins went for a round sweet bread
and two soft oranges; he got back a pile of oddly shaped
copper coins in return. Aletto was standing at the corner when
he came back up the narrow aisle, clasping and unclasping his
hands and trying to look as though he were merely considering
the next place to spend his own coin. But his eyes were black
and wide, his jaw wabbled. "Where were you?" he demanded.

"Hungry," Chris mumbled, and offered him pan of the bread.
Fortunately neither his own jaw nor his voice gave him away;

he'd had enough time to think the past few moments and he was
terrified of what he'd done. Aletto shook his head, cast his eyes
heavenward, finally took one of the oranges.

"Warn me next time," he growled. "I thought the guard had
you."

"Sony. Didn't want to interrupt you back there. Where next?"
"Tavern," Aletto said rather indistinctly around a mouthful
of orange. He swallowed. "Called the Dancing Ram."
Chris chewed and swallowed hastily. "Tavern?"
Atetto scowled at him. "Tavern," he growled. "So?"
So I'm neariy five years under age for taverns back home,
Chris thought, and shrugged. "Nothing. Why?"

"Nothing," Aletto said, before he turned and stalked off-
Chris watched him rather anxiously. But Aletto was still walking
fairly normally, if a little slowly. Chris took another bite of his
orange, spat pips into his palm and tossed them onto the ground,
then followed. Aletto wasn't even bothering to see if he was
there.

They passed the cage; it was silent, dark, the door closed, but

•CHE CALLINQ OF T:HE ^HREE       161

Chris could tell the difference at once. What had possessed him?
he wondered angrily. He'd given in to an impulse based on ir-
rational emotion; for all he knew those two could be axe mur-
derers. He gazed at Aletto's stiff back, just in front of him, and
debated whether to tell him about it. He finished the orange,
rubbed his hand down the harsh trouser leg, and decided to leave
well enough alone. So long as one of them knew to keep watch
for anyone who might be following them.

They walked for some distance: The market crowd grew,
changed, thinned out and grew more dense. There were fewer
women, then none—at least, not walking around. Chris closed
his sagging mouth tightly and kept it shut as they walked through
an area devoted to entertainment. "Jeez, look like a geek, why
don't you?' * he mumbled to himself. Many of the buildings here
were low, one-story and not very tall at that. Many were open
7, all across the front, some closed off with sheer fabric one could
^ almost see through—enough to see dancers. Music everywhere.
Most of the traffic here was wealthy, and all of it male. Now
and again there might be a woman or two, discreetly veiled,
before one of the stalls, or perhaps a sedan chair or an enclosed,
curtain-covered lounge waiting outside. Nothing so obvious as
money changing hands, but once he saw a giri who must have

- been years younger than he was, being led from the interior of

•- one of the stalls to such a chair. She* was veiled to her cheek-
bones; he caught only a glimpse of dulled eyes: drugged or lost
to hope.

He'd read enough to have an idea of what was going on here;

slave trade. The idea of it had been amusing, or rather exciting,
depending on the content of the book or the story; in person, it
sobered him and it made him a little ill. He set his jaw, reminded
himself of his various promises to his mother and his aunt, told
himself sternly that one upset kid wasn't going to change any-
thing, and followed Zeiharri's would-be Duke.

Moments later, he came to a sudden halt, practically cannon-
ing into Aletto's back. The nera-Duke was staring with narrowed
eyes and a tight mouth at a half-clad woman who stood on a low
platform at the entrance to a wood and brick building. Woman-
no. Her form rippled and she shifted shape as Chris stared at
her, glassy-eyed. Woman—now there was more cat to her than
human female. But—cat? A faint music played softly, some-
where; she did not actually dance to it, simply swayed in time.
Cat/woman became wolf/woman; she raised long, black-haired
arms, arched her back; hair became feathers. . . .

162 Ru EMCRSON

"Were," Aletto hissed the word; Chris blinked and turned
away. Aletto caught hold of his forearm and yanked, pulling him
off balance. "Were! Get away from it!"

"Were?" Chris let himself be dragged off, unprotesting; the
music followed him, mocking, taunting—tugging at a part of
him Aletto's hand could not reach. "She's a—what is she?"

"Shapeshifter," Aletto mumbled. "She does that for cpin, to
amuse people!" He looked and sounded utterly disgusted.

Chris sighed and dug his heels in; Aletto stopped perforce,
since his only alternative was to let go Chris's arm. "Right. I've
heard that kind of talk most of my life. You don't look that
dumb, so you must just not know any better. Maybe she doesn't
have any other way of earning enough to eat, ever think of that?' *
Aletto just looked at him; his mouth twisted. "All right," Chris
added wearily. "Don't think about it, don't worry about it, you
have a way to live, who cares about her, right?"

Aletto glared at him until someone passing stumbled into his
shoulder and swore. "It's disgusting," he said flatly, turned and
stalked off.

It was darker here, past the shapeshifter's platform. A few
more anonymous stands crowded into ancient buildings, stands
where, apparently, women could be purchased. A scryer's tent,
wedged between two buildings, as readily marked with signs as
any palmist's Chris had seen in L.A. Weapon dealers, then—a
clutter of them on both sides, then all around an open square,
two-story buildings here, with dark balconies overlooking the
square. In the square itself, a bonfire, torches, a double pair of
jugglers entertaining a large number of men, a few heavily veiled
women.

Heat, on the far side: heat and a hellish noise. Aletto was
waiting when Chris came up. "Smithy," he shouted over the
racket. "I wonder—the man I just spoke with said a man named
Gyrdan had a forge, somewhere."

Chris's eyes went wide. "You asked about him, by nameV

"And gave him mine," Aletto snapped angrily. "Of course I
didn't! Stupid! I used care. But 1 did leam that much, and maybe
I can leam more here, if someone doesn't keep raising idiotic
objections!"

Gloves off, Chris thought as heat flooded his face, and not my
fault, either. "Oh, right," he sneered. "You're supposed to be
a caravaner, and you just go and ask all these stupid questions
they'd know the answers to? Besides, who else would want to

T:HE CALLINQ OF CHE U-1REE      163

know about the old Zeiharri Duke's General, who'd ask for him
by name—who just happens to be missing from home—?''

"I'm not going to raise any suspicions," Aletto interrupted.

"Sure you're not," Chris said. "Because you probably al-
ready have! Look, anything you ask anybody in this market could
be suspicious!"

"Anything 1 don't ask, bay, might keep us in that inn another
night or two and get us taken in!" Aletto hissed.

Chris glared back at him, finally shrugged. "All right, what-
Jover you want. Go ask questions, get us killed." And, under his
breath, "Jerk."

"He's not a Zeiharri man in there," a voice murmured behind
Aletto's ear. He started to turn. Chris, who started forward as
Aletto shifted stance, found a hand gripping his arm, a familiar
voice against his ear. "Hold," was all it said. "Don't call at-
tention to yourself, sir," the other voice said to Aletto. "The
market's wide open at this hour but a drawn blade causes com-
ment. You shouldn't want that, and we don't either."

Aletto let the dagger slide back into place and removed his
right hand from behind the leather buckler. His shoulders were
still tense, and his eyes locked on Chris's briefly; Chris could
read the thought in them as clearly as if they'd been friends or
arms-mates for years: Wait for my signal, attack when I do.
Attack with what? Chris thought unhappily. Aletto was as green
as he was. "Who are you?" was all he said.

"Friends." The man who held Chris's arm stepped briefly
into a patch of light, revealing himself to be the tall and overly
thin fellow from the thieves' cage. Chris eyed him in surprise:

A boy, really; he was Chris's age, or even younger. "Sikkreni,"
he added, with a courteous nod in Aletto's direction, "but a
friend all the same."

Chris opened his mouth, closed it again. Somehow, he was
certain the other wasn't going to mention that cage, and Chris's
part in freeing him and his companion. Well, that was fine with
him; he had no intention of mentioning that impetuous act ei-
ther. Not that he was going to trust the fellow just because he
saved them both another argument with Aletto.

He turned and looked the other guy over: He wasn't very tall,
either; just thin enough to make his height look excessive. His
face was all bones and hollows, his eyes dark and expressionless.
Even so, he was so average in appearance, size and shape that
Chris wasn't certain he'd recognize him again. Perhaps he was
a thief after all, like he'd said.

164 RU EMGRSON

"Whose friend?" Aletto demanded; but he'd lowered his

voice.

The thief smiled faintly. "Would you mind if we walked as
we discuss this? Since that will draw far less attention than if
we continue to stand here like two dogs, sniffing and growling
at each other'?" Aletto eyed him warily, glanced at the surround-
ing market. "1 think you are intelligent enough to remain-jn the
open and the light, where no harm can come to you; I am cer-
tainly intelligent enough not to try and lure you into the dark
and away from people."

In spite of himself, Chris laughed. When Aletto glared at him,
he bit the comers of his mouth and thrust his hands in his belt,
to keep them from shaking. "You could be taking us to some-
one, here in the market, who'd harm us," he said, and promptly
wished he hadn't thought of that.

"Anything is possible, of course," the thief agreed genially.
"But if the direction we walk is your choice, then again, what
harm?"

For answer, Aletto turned and walked back across the square,
skirted the jugglers and the crowd watching them, took three
rapid turns in succession and wound up walking down a broad
thoroughfare leading into the main part of the city. "Now," he
said as the others drew even with him. "Tell me what your
intentions, and why you spoke to us back there. And no more
riddles, so please you," he added. "I seldom walk so far as
this, and I am growing weary."

"If your leg hurts, we know a place nearby you can sit and
drink a cup of decent wine. I agree, no riddles, there's little
time for that, and no purpose served by them. My name is Ed-
rith, I'm Sikkreni by vocation if not birth. My friend who speaks
so seldom is Vey." Edrith gestured; his silent companion in-
clined his head the least amount. "You, if rumor has it right,
are Aletto, the true heir to Zeiharri's Ducal seat, and you occupy
rooms at the Cap and Feather with three women—one said to be
the sin-Duchess, two others to be outlanders like this boy with
you tonight." Chris opened his mouth, shut it again as Edrith
looked at him curiously and Aletto glared at both of them.

"Say I am Aletto," he said finally. "What then?"

"Then?" Edrith spread his hands wide, shrugged, drew his
arms in hastily as an older man ran into him and swore furiously.
"Well. Sikkre is not the best place for you to be, but of course
Duke's Fort was worse. Here, at least, there are those who would

T:HE CALLINQ OF •CHE ^HREE

165

aid you, if only to collect on the various wagers circulating the
city—"

"Wagers?"

"Well, of course! As to which of you will rule Zeiharri, you
or Jadek. And, if Jadek, what tale he will post to Shesseran to
convince the Emperor that he had nothing to do with your de-
mise." Silence; an uncomfortable silence as they waded through
thick crowds and turned down a narrow alley between market
stalls. "The Thukar is of course his own man, not Jadek's ally.
But he appreciates coin and the things one trades for coin; by
that, you must surely see that unless you bring wealth with you,
and a promise of more when you assume your father's seat, the
Thukar will either back Jadek outright, or he will play you, one
against the other, so long as it pleases or profits him. Then he
will sell one of you to the other." Chris cast Aletto a black
look; Aletto, concentrating on his footing, on Edrith's words,
and on following the pace Vey set, didn't see it.

"Father's men—if you know so much, do you know where
any of Father's men are?"

"Certain of them I know personally. After all, it is my busi-
ness to know people, and things. Otherwise one such as myself
tends to vanish from a marketplace quite young, and not be seen
again. A very few went into the Thukar's forces, when your
uncle took Zeiharri. Most went on—a few to Dro Pent, some to
Holmaddan. Most who remained guardsmen passed through
Sikkre and took the road to Bezjeriad, and thence went to sea
or took service overseas. Those who stayed behind buried their
swords under mattresses or gardens. Or, like Gyrdan, hung them
as signs to lure custom, and made others."

"Can you take me to him—Gyrdan?" Aletto demanded. Ed-
rith shook his head.

"Not directly, no. It's not safe, for you or for him. He kept
his sword in plain sight but buried his name, safer all around.
The Thukar knows him, of course; and after Jadek's men came
to Sikkre, warning of your escape, such places as his are being
watched."

Chris drew a deep breath, made himself let it out slowly and
without any of the words he wanted to say. But he thought them,
furiously, at Aletto's back: All your fault, he thought. If my
mother is harmed at all, even scared again like she was by that
old bat Merrida, I'll—! He didn't finish the thought; he was
trembling again, but this time he was angry, so furious he
couldn't think coherently- That wasn't useful; the most useful

166 Ru EMGRSON

thing he could do would be to get Alelto back to the inn and out
of sight. If he could. If not, the second most useful would be to
get him simply out of sight, and the tavern Aletto had men-
tioned, the Dancing Ram, would do as well as anything else.
Jadek's men—well, of course they had already come to Sikkre!
Well horsed, riding hell-for-leather while the five of them fought
that lousy mule and drank stale water, and ran from ghost-cam-
els-!

"There are others who can help you," Edrith said; Chris tried
to set aside everything else and concentrate on what the fellow
was saying. Thief, he thought, and therefore not really com-
pletely trustworthy- But if anyone would know how to stay alive
in a dicey situation, a thief would. "A few, anyway. There's a
tavern, the Dancing Ram. It's nearby."

Aletto turned to eye him; Chris thought he looked a little
nervous, all at once. Maybe it was simple exhaustion; they'd
been on their feet for hours now. "The others you speak of—
they'll be at this inn?"

"Perhaps. If not, there is another inn, perhaps a third after
that. The folk you seek are cautious, which cannot be of much
surprise to you, can it? We'll find those who can find those you
want to see." Edrith spread his hands in that broad shrug again.
"Roundabout, but necessary. One uses the Thukar's methods
against him, and so lives. We can take you to a man you know.
My cousin's gone to leave messages for him."

"For who?" Chris demanded roughly. Edrith grinned at him,
rather challengingly.

"Forward, aren't you? You know, I might have thought you a
servant of his, but the accent gives you away. You're an out-
lander, obviously, and your kind brags of being no man's lesser,
don't you?"

"Outlander?" Chris fastened on that eageriy. "You mean,
there's more people like me around here?"

"Later," Aletto growled. "Not here!" Edrith nodded.

"We'll talk, and about that at least, I'll answer any questions
you ask, if I can. Better we were all inside for the time being,
however."

Aletto considered this, then turned away and started walking.
Edrith touched his arm, directed him down a narrow and nearly
deserted alley to his left. Vey had vanished, gone on his errand
before Chris noticed. "If—" Aletto ran a hand through his hair.
"If you recognized me, if you know so much about me, then
the Thukar—"

^:HE CALLINQ OF -CHE T:HREE       167

"You're still safe," Edrith assured him. "But we'll get your
party moved tomorrow morning, first thing. Don't fret that just
now; concentrate on walking, on making no move to call atten-
tion to us."

Chris's feet were starting to ache; one of his socks was
bunched up against the outside of his left foot, rubbing against
his small toe. Raising a blister, probably, he thought gloomily.
He wondered how much longer he'd be able to stay awake, and
hoped this Edrith wasn't planning on walking them all the rest
of the way across the city.

Somehow he'd pictured a different kind of building entirely
for the Dancing Ram—certainly not this grubby, windowless,
squat building. It was much smaller than the Cap and Feather-
only a single room for drinking and eating, if anyone were fool
enough to eat here—and a space on the flat roof where men
could sleep for a copper the night. The entry had no door; a
mingled odor of stale, unwashed bodies and flat ale, and heat
from many lanterns hit him like a blow. Aletto wrinkled his
nose, but kept moving, following Edrith who pushed his way
into the room and found them space at the end of a trestle bench
against the far wall.

The room was jammed, the noise level almost painful. Chris
forced himself not to stare, tried to-look as though none of this
were new, or odd—certainly not frightening. The men here were
not the kind he'd normally run across; even his mother, among
all the odd types she'd brought home, had never found anyone
quite on the scale of these men. They looked like bikers: the
same kind of swaggery-tough, loudly, obnoxiously macho trou-
ble. He slid back on the bench until his spine touched the wall,
and kept his hands firmly tucked in his belt so they wouldn't
shake and give him away.

Edritfi stood and waved a hand, shouted something over Chris's
head. Some time later, an older man pushed through the crowd
carrying a small bucket and a handful of dull metal mugs. He
shoved bucket and mugs into Chris's lap, took coin from Edrith
with an evil grin that showed a three-tooth gap, and went back
the way he'd come. Edrith dipped a deep red liquid into cups,
shared them out and lifted his. "To easy takings and deep shad-
ows," he said. Aletto took a deep draught of his, made a face
and choked. He contented himself with short sips after that.
Chris sniffed suspiciously. Wine. Sweet wine, the kind that made
for hellish headaches, and he didn't like wine much anyway. He

168 RU EMGRSON

held the cup to his lip and barely wet it, then began looking for
a place he could dump the stuff.

Edrith gave him a shove to move him over closer to Aletto
and squeezed in between Chris and an extremely overweight
man whose greasy shirt smelled like camels. Chris cleared his
throat; Edrith laid a finger across his lips, gestured faintly with
his head. Vey was quietly and suddenly there.             ,

"He's here, Edrith. The potsman's daughter caught up with
him just inside the doorway, though." Vey was shorter than
Edrith, extremely small—lack of decent food, Chris thought,
rather than build—and hatchet-faced. His only memorable fea-
tures were a wide, mobile mouth and very blue eyes that at the
moment gleamed with malicious amusement, "it may take him
time to assure Kosilla he had business last night that wasn't
another innkeeper's daughter.''

Edrith sighed and closed his eyes momentarily. "By all the
little brown sand-gods at once, if he gets us killed for a bit of
soft flesh—well, never mind," he added, and jumped to his feet.
Before Chris could move or react, someone else took his place,
a young man who dropped onto the bench with enough force to
rattle the man on the other side. The camel-scented man scowled;

his eyes widened suddenly and a moment after, he was on his
feet and gone. Edrith took the place he'd vacated before anyone
else could- "Dahven, did Kossi forgive you?"

The new arrival nodded. "For the moment, silly woman. Jeal-
ousy's so irritating, doesn't she know that?" He leaned back
against the wall, rolled his head and fixed very dark and intense
eyes on Chris. He smiled then. "I know your companions, you
I don't, but I've heard about you from Vey, and market rumor—
not necessarily true, the latter." He held out both hands, palm
up, then clapped Chris's arms with them. "I'm Dahven."

"Dahven," Chris echoed. "I'm Chris." Title? he wondered.
Do I call him Lord, or something? But Aletto didn't use one—
and this Dahven seemed even less likely to. Dahven grinned at
him and turned away to talk to Aletto, who had greeted his
arrival with visible pleasure and excitement he was clearly hav-
ing trouble holding in.

This Dahven wasn't particularly tall; and unlike most of the
men and boys Chris had met or seen so far, he had good, visible
arm and shoulder muscle. Brownish hair that looked sun-
bleached fell just over the neck of his shift and curled a little at
the ends. A dark face—suntanned, Chris thought, even though
his eyes were nearly black. They darted from one to another of

T:HE CALLINQ OF X:HE •CHREE

169

his new companions, around the room, never quite still, and
there was something about him overall—wild, Chris decided.
Like Lialla had said. He tried to picture stiff, proper, arrogant
Lialla married to this Dahven and failed utterly. But the man
seemed genuinely glad to see Aletto, even if he was not as ef-
fusive about it.

Aletto was babbling like a kid, Chris thought critically. Poor
guy, his home life must really be dull.

Dahven gripped his hand finally. "Careful," he said and cast
his eyes at the men nearest them. Aletto colored, nodded. Dah-
ven turned to look at Chris. "This isn't the place to talk, I was
just reminding Aletto. So we'll slip out as soon as the wine's
gone, if you don't mind. That's if I can evade Kosilla. You
know," he added appraisingly as he looked at Chris again, "she
might find you interesting. Maybe you'd distract her for me? I
could make it worth your while." To his annoyance, Chris felt
the color heating his face; he shook his head. Dahven grinned
at him. "It wasn't a good idea anyway; I might want her back."
Chris nearly laughed; as though anyone could take a giri from
someone who looked like that and was royal to boot! Dahven
leaned over, ostensibly to top off Chris's cup, and murmured
against his ear: "Vey told me what you did tonight; most folk
wouldn't have."

"I—Frankly, I don't know why / did," Chris said.

"No?" Dahven's eyebrow went up. "I should wager you let
trapped things go, rather than the other way about. You have that
look. I'm surprised Aletto would back you in such an act, how-
ever. He's not unfeeling but he has too much riding on his de-
cisions to dare operate from the heart just now.' *

Chris cast a glance at Aletto, who was deep in conversation
with Vey, and shook his head. "He—uh—doesn't know."

Dahven's other eyebrow joined the first. "Mmmm. And you
don't want him to know, that it? Don't want—wait, let me finish,
will you? You don't want him thinking you're impulsive and so
not particularly trustworthy to watch his back. Never mind, I
won't give you away.''

"Thanks." Chris wet his lip with wine a second time; it tasted
terrible. He was tired, suddenly; too much stale air, state bodies,
not enough sleep. He stifled a yawn. "It probably wasn't the
brightest thing I've done, turning them loose. They could have
been anything."

"True enough. You aren't going to worry about it now, are

170

RU EM6RSON

you? After all, they're all right and so are you. Drink up, have
another.''

Chris shook his head. "I don't, usually." Dahven laughed,
took the cup out of his fingers and eased the contents onto the
floor under the bench. He leaned across and got Vey's attention
then.

"Go ahead, we'll be only a few moments behind you. The
Purple Fingers, an hour from now, get a room and tell Halydd
it's for me and a—well, for me. You know what to say. But tell
him to keep his mouth shut! Father's got the guard out for me—
but between us, the guard isn't looking only for me. Under-
stand?"

"You, a—hem-—a lady, room," Vey enumerated on stubby
fingers. Chris noticed with a painful dropping sensation of his
stomach that one finger was missing, severed at the first joint.
He looked away. "Ground-level room?"

Dahven snorted. "Certainly not! Circumspect, that means the
comer room one up. Halydd knows which I want. It's easy to
find, easy to get in."

Vey nodded; he went back to his conversation with Aletto,
moments later setting aside his empty winecup and wandering
away. Chris watched the door but never actually saw him go.
Edrith somehow got hold of Aletto shortly after and the two of
them walked off; Dahven took Chris's sleeve and held him back
when he would have followed. "Wait. Watch to see if anyone's
interested."

Chris cast him an irritated look. "I can barely see anything
in here! And who d'you-think I am, James Bond?"

"You said you were Chris," Dahven replied mildly. This
struck Chris as extremely funny; he had to clap a hand across
his mouth to keep from spluttering all over both of them. By the
time he got his mirth under control, Dahven was on his feet and
ready to go. "Look," he directed, "over there. Young woman,
red hair, lots of it loose down her back?" Chris squinted, saw
what looked like red hair between and just beyond two bulky
men in indeterminately gray, sloppily loose robes, and nodded.
"That is Kositla. I love her dearly—well, so as to speak of
course. She's in rather a temper tonight, and we truly haven't
time to deal with one of her longer and louder fits. So if you see
her eye on us, warn me, will you? And be prepared to run."

It must be because he was so tired; Chris found mis funny,
too. If Robyn could see him now, sneaking out of the local
equivalent of a biker bar with a lunatic young nobleman who

•CHE CALLINQ OF ^HE LHREE

171

looked like that adventure guy on TV with the Swiss Army knife
and the duct tape, slithering away from some blousy barmaid
who was—now he could see her clearly—literally half out of her
dress . . . that thought sobered him, rather abruptly. Robyn
would not see the humor.

Outside, Dahven pulled him into a darkened doorway and kept
him there for several long, silent breaths. "No one following
us, good." No, Chris thought in some despair, I'm certainly not
James Bond. He hadn't even considered the possibility of some-
one following them, and now that he had, he didn't care for it.
It took everything he had, for the rest of the night, not to keep
peering nervously over one shoulder.

"Where we going?" he asked finally; he kept his voice at a
whisper, easier to disguise the wobble in it. Dahven didn't seem
in the least concerned; he looked like a fellow out on the town,
a guy out for a good time. Of course, it was his town, and he
knew where he was and who people were. Who knew, maybe
he did this kind of thing all the time.

"Purple Fingers Inn," Dahven replied promptly. "Weren't
you listening?"

"Sure—for all that tells me. Where is it—like, how far?"

"Oh. Not very." It wasn't; at least, it couldn't have been as
far as it seemed. Chris's watch—it had decided to work again,
somewhere during the previous night—showed it had been barely
a half hour since they'd left the other inn. He was definitely
growing a blister on that little toe, though, by the time they
moved into the edges of the market. Two streets further on, there
was a pool—round, instead of rectangular, but otherwise much
like the one in front of the Cap and Feather. Beyond it, a width
of deserted, cobbled street, and directly across from the pool, a
sign, illuminated by twin hurricane lanterns. It was garish,
dreadfully proportioned, a hand with six fingers and an outsized
thumb; Chris couldn't make out color but it certainly seemed to
him purple would be right. He didn't have much time to look at
it; Edrith and Aletto were sitting on the edge of the fountain,
waiting; as the other two came up, they stood and Edrith swept
them all across the street and into a gated alley that ran down
one side of the inn.

It reeked of goat or sheep—something much stronger than mere
horse, less immediately recognizable than camel. They came out
into a courtyard not much wider than the alley—no stables back
hens that Chris could see. But he could hear animals, and the
stench was at least as strong. He pinched his nostrils, hard, to

172 Ru EMSRSON

fight a sneeze, and breathed through his mouth. Dahven had hold
of his sleeve now, and pulled him along, behind the darkened •
inn. Someone sleeping in the room above them let out an explo-
sive snort; the two young men stopped cold and Chris leaned
into the wall for support. Silence, then a loud, rumbling snore.
Dahven looked up, shook his head, and caught hold of Chris's
sleeve once more.                                    '

It was a full ten feet or more up to that comer room. and at
first Chris wasn*t certain he could manage it. His knees were
still weak from the sudden noise that had startled him. But after
Dahven pointed out the first uneven bricks in a very roughly laid
wall and got Aletto started up it behind him, it was easy: Chris
pulled himself up behind Aletto, and Edrith came last.

The air was smoky from several oil lamps; chill and rather
dusty, as though the room hadn't been used in some time. There
were cushions all along three walls, a bench and the narrow
balcony on the fourth. A table in the middle of the room, with
lamps clustered on one end, Dahven perched on the other. One
of its two benches was occupied by a broad-shouldered man of
middle years; two others standing behind him looked older, but
that might have been their stoop-shouldered stance, the long
beards that were heavily grayed. Aletto ignored the two older
men, however; his attention was all for the third. And that man
pushed the bench back to stand, to close the distance between
them. He momentarily loomed over the nera-Duke, then went
stiffly down onto one knee.

"Gyrdan? Is it you?" Aletto's voice wasn't entirely steady;

nor was the hand that gripped the man's shoulder.

"My Duke." Gyrdan looked up at him and held out both
hands. "They said you'd come to Sikkre; I wasn't certain I be-
lieved the rumor. How do I serve you?"

You had to give him credit, Chris thought. Aletto was at least
ten years older than he, but one would hardly know it—the guy
wasn't any bigger, no more muscled, and he was hardly worldly
and sophisticated, the way a naive twentieth-century American
might expect a nobleman to be. But it must have been there
despite his uncle, despite his upbringing- Something in the blood.
Aletto squared his shoulders and brought his chin up and some-
how, in that moment, he was all the Duke anyone could want.
Not chilly and distant, though, the way Chris might have ex-
pected Aletto to be under the circumstances. The smile that

T:HE CALLINQ OF WE CHREE

173

turned his lips warmed his entire face, and his hand stayed on
the older man's shoulder.

"Gyrdan, I'd not have known you in the street. You've
changed—as much as I, likely."

"You've the build of your father," Gyrdan said simply. "And
his mouth."

"Not enough else of his," Aletto said ruefully, "or else I'd
have had his seat the past three years. It's for that cause I've left
Duke's Fort and come in search—of you, and men like you."
He drew Gyrdan to his feet, indicated one of the benches and
sat next to the man.

Gyrdan nodded. "We get gossip and rumor, now and again
letters or messages from friends still there. And two days ago,
word spread across the market that you and the Lady Lialla had
vanished entirely, with rumor wild as to the cause." He listened
while Aletto made him a succinct tale of matters. "You might
go to the Emperor, but I personally would not recommend it.
Jadek surely expects that, and he certainly has ears of his own
at Court. Or men there, to put forth his own version of matters."
He set his elbows against his knees, buried his chin in his hands
and thought, hard. "Direct force of arms would not be advis-
able, either."

"No," Aletto said soberly; his eyes were nervous when he
turned away and Chris could almost read the thought there: Was
Gyrdan refusing to help him? If the man had been so many years
in Sikkre—if he had family and a trade, could anyone blame him
for not wanting to put himself in the position of a traitor to one
side because he supported the other? "I don't want any man
dead, not even my uncle. But I am scarcely a man to lead such
an expedition, even if I wanted it."

Gyrdan cast him a sharp glance. "No." he said. "And thank
the gods you've the intelligence to realize it. I've seen loo many
men sacrificed to such lack of ability to countenance it in my
ays. Besides, the Emperor would surely take exception to in-
fighting. He has not interfered in Ducal matters in the past but
that does not mean he would not now—whether to back the
rightful heir against a usurper or the other way about. Shesseran
is in ill health and very old; there is no certainly and logic to
his decisions these days.

"But Jadek has only a standard-size household; if anything,
he has decreased the number of armsmen he holds—they say this
is so no one thinks he keeps you from your rights by physical
threat."

174 Ru EMGRSON

"Well, that is to Aletto's advantage, isn't it?" Dahven asked.
"He can return home with a company of his father's men—not
as armsmen threatening the gates, not as an oven threat to Jadek,
rather an honor guard of those who served his father and who
look to the privilege of serving Aletto once the confirmation
ceremonies are finally held. Jadek would be forced to act as
though he of course intended to confirm Aletto. And, of course,
Aletto, there you would be, surrounded by your armsmen—your
father's householdmen, pardon me'—returned from across
Rhadaz to serve you now that you are Zeiharri's Duke. Of course
they would never be men armed to depose Jadek, would they?"

"Why, of course not," Aletto said dryly, and they both
laughed.

Gyrdan spread his hands wide, shrugged massively. "Shes-
seran in such an event—no violence on your pan because you
intend none, no violence on Jadek's pan because there are more
men supponing you—Shesseran would accept your version of
events. Particularly if you were named Duke, or about to be.
And since it is your proper place, after all. Jadek surely knows
that."

Dahven stirred. "He's kept Aletto close-quanered all these
years for that reason, hasn't he? Any fighting would reflect badly
on the man who claims to be only serving as regent until Aletto
is able to take his rightful place. But Aletto, you'll need those
men, and you'll need money. And he'll find little of one here
and less of the other, Gyrdan." Silence, a momentary one. "Ex-
cept if you help him, of course, Gyrdan," Dahven finished, and
smiled.

Gyrdan shook his head but the smile he offered Aletto was a
friendly one. "Pay no heed to him, young Duke, he's a wheedler
born." Dahven laughed. "All these young women purring in his
ear, that's what does it. No, he's right, though: There's little in
Sikkre for you, but there are Zetharri merchant families in Bez.
Fedthyr, whose grandsire grew plants and made dyes, and who
now presides over an empire of weavers and cloth-traders in Bez,
with strong connections in Sikkre. He owes that empire to Duke
Amami, and he can afford to be generous. And he will certainly
see that others like him subscribe to your efforts. I know men
who can ask on my behalf and yours among the merchant-ships
and locate men I once led."

He rose to his feet, paced back and forth. "There are not
many of us in Sikkre; the Thukar is suspicious of us and keeps
us under close scrutiny."

T:HE CALLINQ OF ^HE T:HREE

)75

"Speak of whom," Dahven said, and pulled a small, dark
ornament out of some inner pocket. He studied it for a moment-
Chris came over and stared as it pulsed a dull red. Dahven folded
his fingers around it, shrugged, relumed it to its hiding place.
"Just checking." he said. And, to Chris. "Father's always been
mad for magicians, and of late he has one or more of them trying
to keep an eye on me. I doubt any of us want his friendly eye
on us tonight! But I always have at least one token about me to
ward off interference with my private comings and goings; no
one is at this hour interested in us." He grinned at Chris. "I
think, myself, because at this hour I'm too often in Kossi's
room—or someone else's. Magicians can be such prudes." Chris
managed a nod; he could feel the blood hot in his cheeks and
throat. It wasn't what he said, damnit, more the way he said it.

Aletto was back on his feet, hands clasping both of Gyrdan's.
"I am reminded by this; we should not stay together long. 1 had
no real plans beyond finding you. I am grateful for any aid you
feel prepared to give me. But I don't feel safe in Sikkre: the
Thukar has no reason to suppon me over my uncle and I have
no means to persuade him. I think it would be best if I went to
Bez as soon as possible." But he sounded and looked rather
doubtful. Gyrdan nodded firmly.

"I agree. Remember these names—Fedthyr in the Street of
Weavers, Kamahl at the wharves, on or near the ship Gu//."
Aletto repeated the names, the locations. Gyrdan nodded again.
"They'll help, and they'll find others, or direct you to them. I'll
do all I can here. I'll send my own messages through to Bez;

with luck, they'll precede you." He sighed. "My family—aye,
better they were out of this city as well, whatever the future
holds. I'll send them to Bez and myself go to Podhru. We can
meet there. Lord Evany has taken a house within Podhru's walls,
near the pon. I know Evany; he and I grew up together."

"Evany," Alelto mumbled. He brightened momentarily. "I
remember him; he was on Father's council, he did magic at the
supper table with pigeons in his sleeves."

"I'd forgotten that," Gyrdan said. "But I do know he'd return
to Zeiharri tomorrow if his estates were given back to him. And
he'd be properly grateful to you. Also, he has access to the Em-
peror's Coun and other important places in Podhru. He knows
where certain of your father's magicians have gone, and unless
what he tells me is wildly amiss, you could still persuade many
of those men and women to return.

"But we're overstaying our time here, I'd be tucked up in my

176 RU EM6RSON

blankets behind my forge before daylight takes me, and I'd rather
you were back at that inn, my Duke. I'll send word with Dahven
if I must speak with you again before you depart; any other
messages I'll send on to Bez." He inclined his head briefly,
gripped the hands Aletto held out to him. "I had given up; even
tonight, coming here, I wasn't certain I'd care to leave the life
I've built up here. But you're my Duke's son. We'll ,win
through." He and his men left. Aletto stood where Gyrdan had
left him, face pale and unnaturally solemn.

Dahven led them out the door this time, into an absolutely
dark hall, down a dozen or more deep stone steps and back into
the narrow courtyard. There was no light from the chamber
they'd just left, no sound. Nothing but that snore, muted now,
broken by a fit of thick coughing as they slipped silently into the
side passage, and into the street. Once on the street, they made
better time. Chris looked around for the two thieves, but saw no
sign of them. He couldn't, now that he thought about it, remem-
ber when they'd faded from that room.

It wasn't important, though. Keeping his footing on streets
that were unevenly and damply paved or thick in dust and rock
occupied all his attention. Fortunately, it wasn't that far from
the Purple Fingers to the Cap and Feather; almost at once he
recognized a few landmarks. But it was starting to get light;

people were moving around and Chris could hear increased ac-
tivity in the market, some distance off to their left. And he was
uncomfortable; there was an itch in the back of his neck, or
somewhere in his mind—as though someone were thinking about
him. the way his mother used to say that worked. Here, with
magic thick on the ground, maybe it really did. God. He hunched
his head down between his shoulders and caught up closer to
Aletto, who was right behind Dahven.

A corner, a second, and then that familiar rectangular foun-
tain, a blue-gray shape in the false dawn. Chris tensed and re-
laxed his shoulders a few times to ease the muscles, let out a
sigh, and moved into the shadow, between the inn and the pas-
sageway back to the stables. Dahven came to a halt abruptly,
caught hold of the edge of his cloak and shook his head. "Wait,"
he mouthed silently, and his eyes were urgent, compelling—
every bit of humor drained out of them.

Chris waited nervously, shifting from foot to foot until an
irritated shake of Aletto's head stopped him. Dahven drew out
one ornament, another that was a complex figure of multicolored
pale string. He squatted on his heels and bent over these for

WE CALUNQ OF ^HE -CHREE     177

several moments, then gestured urgently. Aletto dropped awk-
wardly to one knee beside him; Chris squatted, nearly overbal-
anced, caught himself on both hands, stingingly against the stone
wall of the inn. Both waited impatiently, nervously. Dahven
clutched his odd assortment of baubles in one hand, motioned
them close and mouthed: "Something's gone wrong in there."
Aletto tried to stand, subsided as Dahven wrapped his hand in
Aletto's sleeve and yanked him back down. "I can't tell who,
but I can smell what's waiting in there." He held up his fistful
of charms; they and his grimly set face were all too visible in
the increasing morning light. "It's a trap."

AT the Cap and Feather, in the last room across from the
garden door, the night crawled; the room itself was stuffy,
even with occasional puffs of breeze coming down the smoke
hole and in the two vents. Lialla opened the door for several
minutes, late in the evening, but even though she'd been standing
there the entire time, watching, Robyn was nervous, and had
said so, loudly. More to silence her than anything else, Lialla
had finally shut the door. But she was impressed when Robyn
dragged one of the knives out of a food pack and wedged it
firmly in the door.

"Learned that trick years ago, living in Hollywood," she said.
"Great way to make sure you finished a night alone, if that was
what you wanted." The momentary lift in her voice faded; she
looked at Lialla anxiously, at Jennifer unhappily. "Urn—look,
you two don't need me, I'm going to try and get some sleep.
Wake me when they get back, will you?"

"Sure, Birdy," Jennifer said, and hoped her face looked as
reassuring as she made her voice sound. Sleep was the last thing
on her mind just now; she frankly doubted Robyn would sleep,
either, from the look on her face. Jennifer shifted the new black
trousers, tugged at the loose waistband, dropped onto the edge
of the bed Aletto'd used and patted the edge. "Sit down here,
why don't you, Lialla? Save your feet for later. Come on, tell
me things."

"Things," Lialla said distractedly. She perched on the edge
of the bed where she could keep both eyes on the door. Most of
her weight was still on her feet. "I shouldn't have let him go,"
she muttered.

Jennifer sighed, loudly and deliberately. "Look, you did that

WE CALLINQ OF T:HE ^THREE

179

hours ago, you let him go. He's gone. It's done. Tearing your
hair and wailing won't change that, and it won't alter anything
that's happening right now. Tell me things, teach me things! I'm
probably not much use to you but I won't be any use to you or
anyone else if I don't know a damned thing, don't you think?"

"What makes you think you'll be any use even if you know
things?" Lialla demanded.

"How should I know? Maybe I won't! I've done all right so
far, though, haven't I?" Silence. Lialla took her eyes off the
door long enough to glare at Jennifer. Jennifer folded her arms
and waited. Lialla's shoulders sagged the least bit; her gaze
slipped. "Tell me things," Jennifer said again, mildly.

"Things." Lialla sighed tiredly and went back to her study
of the door. "All right. Things like what?" And as Jennifer
cleared her throat, Lialla rounded on her. "Keeping in mind I
don't know everything you're going to ask."

"So? Tell me what you know."

"Like what?" Lialla was brooding on the door once again.

"Magic," Jennifer said. "What else?"

"That's a broad subject; even you must know that by now,"
Lialla said flatly. "Specify."

"Well—all right. They've been gone long enough that you're
worried. So why don't you just check on them, or can't you do
that with Thread?" Lialla turned to gaze at her blankly. Jennifer
shrugged broadly. "I don't pretend to have read the right kind
of books—1 don't have time for that kind of fiction and the occult
stuff bores me half to death. But Chris reads books with magic,
so I hear about it, some. It seems to me one of the favorite
devices is an ability to see or sense particular people at a dis-
tance. Talk with them—communicate that way. Can't you use
Thread format?"

Lialla shook her head. "I don't know. I can sense people,
animals, tell them apart. Not—I can't just pick out a person. I
never have, I've never heard of doing that. Merrida's never said
anything about it."

"But that doesn't mean it's impossible," Jennifer said persua-
sively, "Just that she never mentioned it. Maybe if it's some-
thing particularly advanced, she wouldn't have. Of course, if
your books don't mention it, either—?" She paused; Lialla was
shaking her head again.

"I never saw any books on Night-Threads. At least, Merrida
has books but not—there aren't teaching books, nothing like
that."

ISO RU EM6RSON

"No books to tell you how? No—spell books?"

"No!" Lialla said firmly. "You don't use spells with Night-
Threads, not the way you mean. And books to tell yoi
how—that's stupid, why would there be?"

"Why? Because what one person could remember every-
thing?" Jennifer was keeping her voice relaxed, the way she'd
learned when questioning difficult witnesses or eliciting testi-
mony from hostile ones. Lialla seemed to take any lack of
knowledge personally, and any remarks against Merrida's teach-
ing set her off even worse. Maybe Chris was right, maybe the
old woman wasn't half as good as she thought, massive drawing
spell across worlds or no. She certainly had Lialla convinced
she was among the immortals, though.

Lialla did have additional reason for her shaky temper, of
course; Jennifer could see her fingers drumming the prickly straw
mattress. Well, Jennifer thought, she's not alone in that, my
nephew is out there too, and with even less to gain by it than
her brother has.

Lialla sighed. "Thread-magic is handed down the way it is,
teacher to initiate, because there are only certain ways to do
things. If you had books, if just anyone could open a book and
begin Wielding—" She hesitated, frowned, began chewing on
her lower lip,

"What?" Jennifer prodded her finally. "I thought you said it
couldn't be misused."

"It can't!"

"Well then-?"

"You have to have someone teach you the right way to do it
because that's how it is, that's all!" Lialla got the words out in
a rush, plumped herself further back on the bed and drew her
feet up.

"Terrific logic," Jennifer said dryly.

"What do you know about it? Coming from a world with no
magic?"

"We have enough other dangerous learning experiences—all
right, forget that. But tell me this: You showed me how to find
people, out in the desert. Now, I was able to do that, at least
with real people. So, using that same Thread, I can right now
reach out into that hall, or in the street, or even further away—
as far as my grip on the Thread will hold, and I will be able to
locale people. Isn't that right?" Lialla nodded, one sharp dip of
her chin. There was a mulish set to her mouth. "Now, is there
anything else to that particular Thread—1 mean, another way to

t:HE CALLINQ OF T:HE -CHREE       181

hold it, another way to look at what you find, or is it only that
much knowledge? What I mean is, can you only recognize life-
people or horses or camels but who knows which it is?~or peo-
ple as a general type separate from the animals? Is there a way
to tell men from women?"

Lialla nodded unwillingly. "All right. People from animals,
you usually can, unless there's a real pack, like the market was
in places today. Then you can only tell there's a lot of living
things there."

"That makes sense," Jennifer said; Lialla's shoulders relaxed
slightly, and when she went on she sounded slightly less defen-
sive.

"Ordinarily you can tell people from horses and camels, any-
where like the desert—could you tell on the trail?''

Jennifer shook her head. "There was a little excitement just
about then; I don't remember, frankly."

A faint smile moved Lialla's mouth. It faded as her eyes were
drawn back to the door. "Even in Sehfi, you can usually tell.
Here, though . . . You couldn't do that here in Sikkre, it would
be impossible, there are too many people—"

Jennifer held up a finger and cut off the increasingly rapid flow
of words. "But! No, wait a minute, let me finish, will you?
There aren't very many people walking around Sikkre at night,
are there? Not in the areas where people live, or around the inns
like this one? There certainly weren't last night, when we first
got here, after all. So—except in certain parts of the market and
in the ale houses. Am I right?" Lialla nodded. Jennifer shifted
her visual focus, found Thread and took gentle hold of it.
"And—correct me if I'm wrong, please—it's those particular
Threads, isn't it?"

"That, and those," Lialla corrected her quickly. "And—not
like that, that way!" She held up her own hand, then folded her
amis across her chest and watched in narrow-eyed silence. Jen-
nifer wriggled back on the bedding and stared blankly across
the room, eyes falling on the door but not seeing it except as a
thickening of certain Thread. She blinked finally and found her
way back to the normal world.

"All right. It's harder than it was in the desert, that's for
certain. But I can tell there are people in the big room out there.
Several people, not exact numbers or anything else about them.
In the street, though, there's the fountain—1 remembered how
to find water—and on the far side of the fountain, there are five
men." She paused doubtfully. "I'm only fairly certain of men,

182 RU EM6RSON

but I know there are five of them and beasts—horses, I think."
She brought her chin up a little. "Go ahead, check me, why
don't you?"

Lialla's mouth twisted but her own chin came up and her at-
tention left the door. She mumbled to herself, finally swore
under her breath and closed her eyes, both hands moving
shoulder-high in front of her. Thread jangled against Jennifer's
senses, and she filed another question to ask—later. She'd prob-
ably done alt the asking she'd dare tonight. Lialla finally opened
her eyes and nodded. "You can't tell who they are, though. Can
you?"

"Well, of course not!" Jennifer replied irritably. "Who do I
know here, besides you and Birdy—and Chris, who's got no
business prowling dark, unfamiliar streets or being in a tavern
at his age—and your brother?"

"Who's got no business being—" Lialla sighed and shook her
head. "I wish he had no business. Aletto's only been here as a
child. He's hardly been out of Duke's Fort at all, he only knows
the world through the kinds of books his tutors gave him." She
sighed again. "Ancient, out of date, foolish books, I can't think
why anyone would want to open them. Heroes, and quests, and
the women are all fair and to be protected—" She stopped in
sudden surprise; Jennifer was laughing quietly and shaking her
head.

"Heroes and quests and magic swords, and helpless dam-
sels—but the women in Chris's books and games are just as
likely to wear the swords as the men are."

"1 was supposed to have been taught to fight," Lialla said
gloomily. "Dagger and kick-fighting, mostly, it's expected for
women to be able to protect themselves. My uncle—Jadek
wouldn't permit it." She drove both hands through her hair.
"Jadek. Gods. If Jadek's men found Aletto, or if the Thukar's
men did!" She got off the bed and began prowling the room. "I
cannot believe they've had business out there all these hours.
And it's fading."

"What is?" Jennifer watched her pace.

"Thread," Lialla said impatiently. "Can't you tell? It's al-
most dawn. If they don't come—! But we can't do anything now
until after sundown."

"Fading?" Jennifer shook her head. "But it's not, I can still
see it—" Her voice faded as Lialla stopped and stared at her,
much as though she'd said something utterly obscene. "Look,

WE CALLING, OF WE, •CHREE      I8?

Lialla, it's paler than it was, and not quite as loud, but it's right
there, I can still touch it, I can still differentiate between—"

"You can't!" Lialla said sharply. "No one can!"

Jennifer stared at her in bewilderment. "But I can! It's
right—"

"Don't say things like that' You can't, no one can do that, not
with Thread!" Her voice was almost a howl; she clapped a hand
over her mouth as Robyn moaned and sat up, blinking sleepily.
"You cannot see Thread in day," Lialla insisted in a fierce whis-
per. "What kind of—of thing are you? Oh, gods, Merrida, what
have you done to us?" She turned away to lean her head against
the wall. Jennifer stared at her in astonishment. As though she'd
accused a Christian saint of being the Antichrist. She opened
her mouth, closed it again. There wasn't anything she could say
and none of the questions she wanted to ask seemed to be a
good idea. But if she couldn't ask Lialla about such things, then
who?

"Jennifer?" Robyn yawned. "Everything all right?"

"Shhh, go back to sleep, Birdy," Jennifer said automatically;

all her attention was on Lialla. Silence. Robyn yawned again,
pulled the harsh blanket around her shoulders and lay back down.
Jennifer glanced at her, then turned back to Lialla, and sighed
soundlessly. Good intentions would-have to go to the wall; this
wasn't going to be the place for them, and there wasn't time.
"Lialla," she said gently. "Lialla, listen to me. Please."

Silence. Then: "I'm listening," Lialla mumbled against the
wall.

"Do that. This is all new to me, remember? Your world, your
language, your magic. Maybe my grip on the words isn't right.
But we're misunderstanding each other and we can't afford that."

Silence. "No."

"I'm not trying to break the rules or do something deliberately
wrong, if that's what's got you upset. I'm just telling you what I
see. If it's a problem, I'm sorry. 1 have no intention of doing
anything to hurt you or Aletto, and I certainly will never inten-
tionally hurt Robyn or Chris—or myself, as a matter of fact. So
why don't you explain it to me? If I'm breaking some law
or some moral matter, tell me what it is. Tell me what I'm doing
wrong."

Lialla raised her head, braced herself with both hands flat on
the wall. "Wrong?" As Jennifer shifted and straw rustled under
her, Lialla turned on her. Her face was terribly pale against the

184 RU EMGRSON

black scarves, and her chin trembled. "I don't think I want to
hear this."

"Why?" Jennifer demanded. "Give me a reason why, Lialla!
Is it because utilizing Thread during the daytime is wrong, be-
cause it doesn't work the same way as at night? Because it does
bad things? Because you've never heard it can be done, so that
means it can't? Or maybe it's because you can't do it—or your
precious Merrida can't—and that makes it wrong?''

"You can't talk to me like that!" Lialla shouted.

"Oh, can't I?" Jennifer pushed herself off the bed and closed
the distance between them. "Look here, woman, what do you
want? Respect for noble blood and rank to the point where I
stay totally ignorant and get us killed? Is it more important to
you that I kiss your feet than that I help you? As an equal?"

"It's not—"

"Not what? Not that simple? Welcome to the real worid,
honey! Look, you've got me, and by God, I'm going to get pretty
damned mad if you don't use me! I had a good life going where
I was, and it's bad enough to lose all that without losing it for
nothing! Or because someone else was stubborn and stupid'"
Lialla stared at her blankly. ' 'You think about that, and you think
hard," Jennifer finished evenly. "And if you have something
useful to say, come talk to me, all right?" She turned away and
walked over to sit down next to Robyn. Robyn rolled over, let
out a genteel little snore and subsided into her wrappings.

Jennifer looked down at her sister for some time, then up at
the vents near the ceiling. Odd. She could see the first light
against the wall. It was still too faint to illuminate anything
inside the room, too early for the sun, but she could see Thread!
She could still hear it very cleariy. Wonderful, she thought sourly,
as Lialla threw herself into the room's one chair. Neither one of
us knows a damned thing about this stuff, and she's about as
useful as a paper umbrella. Except paper umbrellas don't sulk,
and they don't throw screaming fits when someone suggests a
different way around a problem.

Well, let her sulk, then. Jennifer turned away from her and
experimentally, cautiously, shifted her vision once more and took
hold of Thread. The main room of the inn was now empty, save
for two people asleep on benches against the far wall. Two def-
initely, and human. Somewhere beyond them, perhaps another
room away, someone walking back and forth across a small space
with definite purpose in the stride—the innkeeper, preparing her
bread, no doubt. Jennifer cast Lialla a dark look—the look went

•CHE CALLINQ OF T:HE T:HREE

185

right through the collection of shifting, varicolored Thread—and
altered her grasp on what she held. Female? Was it a different
feel, a different sound?—thickness, actually, she thought. The
two sleepers were both the same sex, surely male. Different
from the one. The five she'd found earlier, out by the foun-
tain. . . .

But they weren't there any longer. The beasts were, however.
Jennifer's brows drew together. Horses, she thought. Not—
chickens or goats, at least. Surely they could not be the same
horses from an hour or so earlier, could they?

No, surely not the same. Because then, where were the men
who'd been with them?

A puzzle. Thread jangled discordantly nearby, dragging her
attention from the feel of water and—surely!—horses; she shifted
her grip, feeling wildly all around her, and sensed the men only
one brief moment before she heard the sound of a door opening
nearby. It was the door leading into the herb garden. Men—five
men coming straight toward them, so near her hands were
numbed by quivering Thread.

She couldn't regain her place in the real world entirely, and
doubled vision made her dizzy. Stealthy, slow movements now,
then no movement at all. They stood just beyond that door.
Their door. Jennifer reeled to her feet, conscious of Lialla star-
ing at her in sudden alarm, halfway-to her feet. Jennifer fought
shirting vision and light-headedness, trying to find the inner word
that would clear Thread from her sight; it evaded her. Her mouth
wouldn't work, words wouldn't form, her hands moved with
nightmare slowness, to join and shakily point at the door—at
Robyn's knife, the handle protruding above the latch. It was
moving up and down, the door nudging in a little at a time as
someone tried to quietly shove it open. She found her voice
finally, began to shout out a warning; the door slammed into the
wall, the knife flew across the room to clatter at her feet.

Five men stood there, four in dark leather and darker metal
armor. Two of those held drawn swords. They fanned into the
room, watchful, making way for the fifth. He wore plain black,
trousers, boots, long-sleeved shirt, long cloak. Jennifer, still
badly disoriented from doubled vision, had to fight an urge to
laugh. The swords hardly looked real at all, and the men holding
them were dressed like opera extras. The fifth man resembled
something out of a very badly costumed fantasy movie; or some-
one trying to create an aura. If that was his intention, he cer-
tainly wasn't frightening her.

186 Ru EMSRSON

She fought her way out of Thread-vision, back into the "real"
worid. Poor creature, he needed all the aura he could get, she
thought, but without sympathy. He was tall, over six feet, but
too thin. His shoulders were narrower than hers, his Adam's
apple prominent, his face all hollows, even with all the hair-
mustache blending into beard into sideburns, into long, dark hair
that tangled wildly over his shoulders and looked as though he
hadn't combed it in days, and hadn't washed it in weeks. "The
black shirt was open further than it should have been, revealing
a thin white chest and ribs instead of muscle or hair. He carried
a long staff with some kind of silver device on top of it, wore
another silver object on a long chain—she couldn't see what
either was. Probably, she thought in amusement, something that
says "I am a wizard" in the local patois.

Robyn was struggling to come awake; shivering in the sudden
influx of cool air, blinking muzzily at the strange men. It sud-
denly wasn't as amusing; Jennifer eased a step or two sideways
to place herself between the bed and the door.

The wizard wasn't even looking at her, though. Lialla had
crossed the room to confront him angrily. "Who are you and
what outrage is this?"

"There are three of you; there were said to be five," he re-
plied indirectly. "Where are the other two?"

"Not here," Lialla said crisply.

He smiled; not a nice smile. "I see as much. Where are they
now?"

Lialla bared her teeth at him in turn. "They've gone on to
join with our family. Gray Fisher's Carts, Red Hawk Clan, com-
ing down out of Holmaddan—"

"A lie, every word of it. That is unimportant, however; we'll
have the truth."

Lialla let her lip curi and took a step back. "You sorcerers!
You think by such a show of confidence to frighten the untu-
tored?"

"We'll have the truth," he repeated, and stepped around her
as though he'd lost interest. He cast one brief glance in Jennifer's
direction, then walked past her to nudge their packs and bags
with one booted foot. Several more aimless paces brought him
to the foot of the bed the three women had shared. Robyn, now
thoroughly awake, shoved hair back across her shoulders and
stared up at him glassily. The color left her face. "Bring them.
And their belongings, all of them. Sin-Duchess Lialla, His Se-
rene Honor Dahmec asks your company. A certain matter to do

^:HE CALLINQ OF FHE ^HREE

187

with your brother." He stared down at Robyn, began to turn
away, then stopped. For a very long moment, he looked at her;

there was no expression on his face or in his eyes. Suddenly he
spun on one heel and walked out of the room.

The armsmen were thorough and swift; the bags were bundled
together and piled beside the door. Jennifer had to help Robyn
on with her shoes and her cloak; Robyn trembled violently but
was otherwise either in shock or too frightened to move. Lialla
stood by the door; she was still trying to argue them free, now
with one of the swordsmen, a squarely built man with a small
silver token on one shoulder. "You'll make no friends of our
family, doing this."

"Give it over, sin-Duchess," the man replied shortly. "Bet-
ter, tell us where the other two are, save us the trouble of looking
for them."

"Look all you like,*' Lialla snapped. "You won't find them!"

"We may not," the armsman said; a nod of his head indicated
the man in the hall. "He will, though; the Thukar puts trust in
that particular of his magicians and wizards. And with good
reason. But you'll see."

"I doubt it." Lialla turned away and caught up her cloak. Her
eyes met Jennifer's, rested a brief moment on Robyn. The thought
was as clear as if she'd spoken, and Jennifer shook her head
minutely; there was no way Robyn'would be able to stay on her
feet just now. Fear and some other emotion Jennifer couldn't
fathom had her helpless. Lialla let her eyes close briefly, then
pushed past the armsman to take hold of one of Robyn's elbows.
The woman rose unresisting between her and Jennifer, her breath
coming in little faint whimpers. "Come," Lialla said loudly.
"Let's get this done with. One can only hope their master has
the brains to see the stupidity of what they've done."

Brave words, Jennifer thought, and schooled her face to in-
difference as they half-carried Robyn out between them, sur-
rounded by armed men. She fought a shiver as they came into
the street, fought an urge to let go of her sister's arm and run
madly. The men hadn't drawn any weapons, but they were
watching her very closely—waiting, she thought, for just such a
reaction. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of dragging her
down the street, kicking and screaming. And Robyn needed her.

God knew how Chris and Aletto would find them.

The horses were piled with their bags; they and their guard
walked behind the horses, through a deserted market, down a
welter of streets, alleys, narrow walkways, until she and Robyn

I SB Ru EMGRSON

both were completely lost. As they came into a vast open area,
all hard-packed dirt, Lialla hissed, "Thukar's palace." One of
the men shoved her so hard she momentarily lost her grip on
Robyn, who staggered and in turn nearly fell.

"Keep silent," he ordered. Lialla glared at him, shut her
mouth with a visible effort, and kept walking.

"What arc they going to do to us?" Robyn gulped. Jennifer
patted her shoulder and drew up a reassuring smile from some-
where. She didn't feel particularly confident, and Robyn didn't
look reassured.

Three locked gates separated them from the outside world:

one at each end of a long, damp stone tunnel, a courtyard with
a third that led into the main building. The horses were left
behind, the bags, taken up by two of the armed men.

There was a vast, echoing hall, empty except for a fountain
in its center, gloomy despite the openings to the outside. A se-
ries of painted arches beyond that. They were led beneath the
arches, down a dark corridor, up stairs. Two—three floors. Per-
haps four; Jennifer couldn't keep count. A heavy, iron-bound
and barred door, then. One of the men undid the bars; the room
beyond was very dark and smelled musty. The three women
were shoved into it, their bags tossed in behind them, the door
shut solidly, and a series of rattles and slams followed. The
clatter of retreating boots.

"Was that all of them?" Jennifer asked. She sensed rather
than saw the look Lialla cast her.

"You said you could still see Thread in daylight, you tell me!"

"How do you think I saw them—'!" Jennifer began hotly. She
stopped as Robyn sagged against her arm and sat hard on the
floor, sobbing heavily. She knelt, wrapped both arms around her
sister. "Shhh, Birdy, don't, pull yourself together, don't—Lialla,
are there any windows, or candles, or lights, or anything in here?
I don't think you need Thread to find that, do you?"

Silence. Then Lialla's feet scraping across the floor as she
shuffled and felt her way to the nearest wall and along it. "I
think—no, damn, that's the door—wait." More furtive noises,
then the rustle of cloth, the scent of ancient dust, and a thin line
of light. "Here—I think—that's got it." The room was flooded
with daylight, blinding after even a few minutes in total dark.
Jennifer looked over Robyn's head.

Lialla leaned across a deep windowsill flanked by thick gray
curtains of some heavy fabric that were held back by wooden
shutters; dust motes danced in the near level rays of morning

T:HE CALLINQ OF T:HE ^HREE

189

sun. It shone on a dull, filthy wooden floor. Lialla's footprints
showed clearly. Beyond those, two padded benches against the
opposite wall, a door leading into another room, as dark as theirs
had been. Nothing else. Lialla turned away from the window
and leaned back against the sill. The outer wall was at least two
feet thick.

"It's far enough down that you'd break your neck, if you
jumped."

"We knew that from the climb up," Jennifer said impatiently.

Lialla cast her a dark look, pushed away from the sill and
walked past the benches. "It's filthy enough to have been the
apartments of the Thukar's last wife; she died four years ago and
it can't have been used since. There's stuff all over the floors
and it's filthy. Gods, I hate dust, makes me sneeze." She did
sneeze, resoundingly, rubbed her nose on her sleeve and peered
through the doorway into the dark. "There must be a bedcham-
ber in here, maybe a privy. I'll see if I can't find more shutters."
She vanished into the room; swore loudly as something went
clattering across the floor. "Ow! Who'd leave—oh, damn!"
Something fell; moments later there was light, dimmer this time.
"We must be in one of the comer towers; I'm looking out toward
sunset from this side. I think I can see our inn from here."

"Robyn—Birdy, will you wait here for me?" Jennifer whis-
pered. Robyn's fingers tightened on her forearm, and Robyn
shook her head fiercely. "Well then, get up, will you? Come on,
let's go look, get out of this hallway, all right?" But she froze
where she was as the outer door opened once again, and three
men came into the room.

They wore uniforms—the Thukar's housemen, Jennifer later
learned—and though none of them was visibly armed, they were
large and solid-looking enough. She had no urge to challenge
them—even when one of the three crossed to the pile that was
their goods, squatted down, and began emptying bags onto the
floor. A second went in search of Lialla and brought her back
with him, the third stood by the tantalizingly open door they'd
just come in by.

The searcher took knives, Chris's spare arrows. He seemed
puzzled by most of the items in Jennifer's and Robyn's bags, but
he asked no questions, made no comments, and took nothing
but the weapons. The third man held the door for the other two,
paused in the opening. "The Thukar asks you to dine with him
at midday—himself and his family. A discussion between those

190 Ru EMERSON

of equal rank, he said to tell you." The door closed heavily, and
the three women heard the faint rattle of chain on the far side.

Jennifer got to her feet, tested the latch, tugged at the door.
Shook her head. "No chance; it's solid. That leaves us a few
hours and the windows, doesn't it?" The other two looked at
her blankly. "Unless you're looking forward to this lunch," she
added flatly. Her eyes locked on Liatla's, challengingly. "It's, up
to you."

Lialla glared back at her. "I can't do anything; you know that.
I told you."

"All right." Jennifer came back into the room and patted
Robyn's shoulder. Robyn still sat mid-floor, now gazing discon-
solately at the wild disarray all around her. "Birdy, why don't
you get everything put back where it belongs, so we're ready to
get out of here if there's a chance?"

"All right," Robyn whispered. She cleared her throat and
spoke in English. "You gonna kill me if I smoke?"

Jennifer let her eyes close, finally shook her head and replied
in the same language. "You earned it, lady; you've been a real
trooper.''

Robyn fumbled through the tangle of things at her feet, finally
came up with her battered cigarette packet and matches. She
thinned her lips, finally broke one of the remaining two tubes in
half and lit the end. ' 'You don't know the half of it,'' she mum-
bled around a cloud of acrid smoke. "I know that guy." She
glanced up as Lialla shifted her weight impatiently, and switched
to Rhadazi. "I know the guy. The wizard. I can't remember
where right now. I will, something about the eyes— Look, Lialla,
you'd go crazy sorting out the words that don't translate, let me
work this in my own language first, will you?" She pointed to
the door with the stub of cigarette, brought it back and drew on
it. "God," she mumbled in English. "What a helluva way to
quit smoking!" She took another drag, pulled a hairpin out of
her bag and used it to grip the tiny remaining bit of burning
tobacco for one last puff".

"You know the Thukar's pet wizard?" Lialla stared down at
her. "He's supposed to be one of the Thukar's favorites, he's
called Snake—" She stopped abruptly; Robyn was rocking back
and forth among the contents of her bag and laughing.

Jennifer eyed her dubiously and brought up a hand; Robyn
caught hold of it and shook her head. "Don't—I'm all right, oh,
God, Snake! I can't believe it—" She thought about it briefly,
and something set her laughing again. "All right," she said in

•CHE CALLINQ OF WE •CHREE

191

Rhadazi. "I was right, I know him. Give me a minute, it's com-
plex." She tugged on Jennifer's black breeks and brought her
down into the rubble of their goods.

"All right. Snake," she shifted to English, and her cadence
changed. It was, Jennifer realized after a moment's confusion,
'"nearer the way Robyn had talked in the late sixties than the way
she did now. "I used to, like, hang out at the Whiskey, remem-
ber it?"

"Club," Jennifer nodded.

"Yeah, right. Whenever I could cadge enough cash on Hol-
lywood Boulevard, or when someone would take me. Saw a lot
of really good groups there, too. And some you've never heard
of, of course. Anyway, I can't remember exactly when it was—-
before the big earthquake, I think, but after Manson. I wasn't
hitching rides on the Strip any more and I still lived close in.
The Doors were way too big for the local clubs—maybe this was
' after Morrison bought it, I don't know, too much shit went down,
too long ago, and I was pretty stoned most of the time. What-
ever. There was this one group, called Blue Borealis, played
funky stuff, cross between Kaleidoscope and Blues Connec-
tion—electric fiddle, all that. The kid on fiddle—Ray, I remem-
ber, because I had a terrible thing for him for the longest
? time—anyway, it was his group. They weren't going anywhere,
' though—too much like everyone else^ and most of the guys spent
• too much time inside their heads instead of writing and playing.

"Then this guy comes along—tall, skinny, dark guy, really
intense black eyes and this way of looking at people mat a lot
of the chickies really dug. Called himself Vmcente de Balboa,
and there were all these rumors about how he was half Mayan,
or ftill-blooded Maya. Well, next thing you know, he's taken over
Ray's group and now they're calling themselves Quetzal and he's
El Serpente—and there's all this really weird shit they're doing
now, strange sounds and these lyrics—" Robyn shook her head.
"Wow. Myself, I was never so far gone on Morrison, but this
guy was filling a gap for a lot of chickies—so to speak. Word
was, though, he'd picked off most of the giris on the Strip. Bun-
cha guys, too, supposedly liked everything that moved and wasn't
picky about how he got it.

"So they cut an album, did really good with it—1 mean, it
comes out the guy's really plain old Vinnie Harris, he was work-
ing on a psych degree before he dropped out, his old man was
filthy rich and a friend of the governor—Reagan, right? All that
went around and no one even cared, that's how good these guys

Ru EMCRSON

were. Anyway, his old man was a Central American anthropol-
ogist, so that's where he got names and stuff. And later I could
see he'd obviously read all the Carios Castaneda books, all his
Mexican witchcraft stuff was too pat. Real weird stuff, not sa-
tanic but definitely dark. Not my kinda stuff—Central American
myths and that are too damned violent—but it was going down
big with other people.

"So Vinnie and Ray were coming down from Mulhollan'd'one
night to join the rest of the guys, they were working on the
second album—and poof! they just vanished." Robyn cocked
her head to one side and watched Jennifer in silence for a mo-
ment. "And then, the cops and everybody, they're looking,
right? And there's the bike, the Hariey the guys were riding, it's
parked on the side of the road, not a scratch on it, but it hadn't
been there before. And no one saw either of those guys again."
She shrugged. "Well, people did just take off back then. Some
of us figured it was the guy's way of dropping out and going
back to the straight world again but he had to make a production
out of it- Odd about Ray, of course—anyway, it got talked about
for a while, then something else took over. No big deal. And
then he shows up here." She sighed. "There ain't no justice."

Jennifer let her head fall back, closed her eyes. "Vinnie Har-
ris." She laughed faintly. "Yeah, I can see it. Poor geek."

"Wasn't much geeky about him on a stage," Robyn said so-
beriy. "He had presence like you wouldn't believe. He wasn't a
real sorcerer, of course. But he liked having people think he
was—more of that Mexican witchcraft and Mayan religion jazz.
Of course," she added thoughtfully, "you weren't a magician
before, either. But—music?"

"Music," Jennifer agreed somberly. "Maybe it's a key to
more than Thread. It's not important just now. Is he going to
recognize you?"

"Doubt it. I only met him once, and he spent most of his
time coming on to another chick. I got bored with him trying to
play with my mind and let him know it. Besides, it's been twenty-
something years." She considered this. "There really ain't no
justice. He doesn't look it, does he?"

Jennifer shrugged. "He doesn't look any forty-odd, no. Maybe
he's got a fountain of youth in his closet."

Robyn managed a weak smile. "Yeah, right." She sobered
again. "Look, magic or not, he wasn't anyone to cross back
then. He liked mind games and sex—I don't know in what or-
der—and he really used to get pissed when things didn't go his

rHE CALLINQ OF FHE ^HREE

193

way. He'd blow on stage, and I knew a couple chicks he blew
on. Not a nice guy. And people like that don't change. You warn
Miss High Horse there, I'm gonna get stuff put back where it
belongs. And please—" She caught Jennifer's hand as her sister
got to her feet. ^Please don't get her screaming again, will you?
You know I hate that!"

"That's so easy, of course," Jennifer retorted sourly. "But
I'll do what I can."

14

IT was dark where the four crouched: dark and extremely dirty.
Aletto peered toward the faint line of light, shifted impa-
tiently, subsided again as Dahven caught hold of his forearm.
He more sensed than saw his friend shake his head. He knew
Dahven's face was uncommonly grim; it had been since they'd
huddled along the side of the inn, just inside the passageway that
led to the stables, and watched the rest of their party being led
away. It had remained that way the entire time they followed
Edrith through a maze of narrow market alleys and narrower
paths.

It was a little lighter now, perhaps. Aletto stifled a sneeze
against his sleeve, pinched his nose until the urge subsided. They
were in what remained of an ancient mud-brick structure in the
very midst of the market: fallen roof timbers and crackly, an-
cient palms, woven branches and the rubble of brick returning
to its primary form. A faint breeze blew across the floor, stirring
dust that was definitely mud-flavored. Aletto sniffed hard, and
tensed as something snapped not far away- It was Vey, sliding
under what looked to be an impassable, tilted doorway and into
the open area. He and Edrith had led the other three here—they'd
practically had to threaten Aletto to get him to come, and then
nearly had to gag Chris to keep unwelcome attention off them.

Aletto had scrapes down his back, under his shirt and cloak,
from working his way into the small sanctuary, since he was not
limber enough to easily fit the opening. Inside, it was surpris-
ingly large, considering the state of the outside; there was an
aged carpet or two for sitting, a pair of ancient and tattered
cushions, a little food. A large covered jug of cool water, a cup
tied to its cracked handle.

tHE CALL1NQ OF tHE TTHREE

195

And now there was the least light; Vey had fixed the maximum
shielding around a candle, but there was still enough nickering
yellow light to see faces, the nearest wall. "Keep your voices
low, we can talk," he said. His own voice barely reached Alelto.

Dahven shifted. "I can't stay here much longer; Father be-
comes difficult when I'm not at morning table and tends to re-
strict my movements. And of course, 1 can leam where they are
and what Father thinks he's up to."

"Selling them back to Jadek," Aletto hissed.

Dahven raised one eyebrow. "Well, of course that. But those
weren't Father's personal men, those were Snake's. Anyone else,
and I might say he'd merely been sent to bring them in for the
old man, but with Snake—he has motives of his own, and at
least one scheme going at all times." Dahven cast Chris a glance.
"He's one of those said to be from your world, but not one I'd
suggest you question about it." Chris merely nodded; he was
afraid to use his voice, afraid they'd all see how frightened he
was. His lips moved continuously as he whispered over and over
what was becoming a litany: "Mom, it'll be all right, you hang
on, I'll come get you, I swear I will. Mom—" He started as
Dahven gripped his arm.

"We have to get them back," Aletto said. He didn't sound
very hopeful; his shoulders had sagged and he was biting his
lip, blinking furiously.

"Oh, we'll get them back," Dahven said flatly. "You know,
I've never really wanted to succeed Father—such a horrid, bor-
ing life he leads'—but I do resent the way he's given Sikkre a
reputation I'll find it hard to live down, once I do succeed him.
There's such a thing as honor, after all." He considered this
briefly, then shrugged. "It's growing late and I can't go directly
back to my apartments from here, of course. Aletto, swear to
me you won't act without me!" Aletto hesitated. Dahven caught
him by both shoulders and gave him a hard shake. "Swear it!"
Aletto nodded reluctantly. "Not good enough, tell me."

"I—all right. I swear I won't act without you."

"Good." Dahven let go of him. "I know I can trust your
sworn word. You won't regret it. Chris—" He stood, looked
down at the boy. Chris looked up at him, his face carefully
blank. "We'll get her back for you. Whatever Father and his
sorcerers think. Whatever Jadek thinks." Chris nodded once,
abruptly, let his eyes drop to the candle. When he looked up
again, Dahven and Vey were gone, and there was only the faintest
of noises to tell which way they'd gone.

196 RU EMERSON

* * *

JENNIFER did what she could to condense Robyn's story and
make sense out of it in Rhadazi for Lialla. Fortunately, Lialla
had heard about this particular of the Thukar's wizards before,
or she probably would have found the story harder to believe.
She gazed over Jennifer's shoulder for some moments, watching
Robyn restore the last of the food to one of the new bags^then
looked out the window behind her. "Nearly midday. What do
we do?"

Jennifer considered this briefly, then nodded. "Several things.
But for a start, you*ll have to trust me."

Lialla hesitated. "I—well, why not? My thought processes
have been reduced to mush. All I could think of was to keep up
the pretense—" She shook her head. "But they must know."

"Never mind," Jennifer said. "Just trust me." She turned
away and went over to collect her leather bag from Robyn, beat
the worst of the dust off one of the benches and sat down facing
the sun. Lialla watched with puzzled curiosity as Jennifer broke
out a brush and her makeup bag. She turned to grin at her com-
panions briefly, then went back to applying liner and shadow.
"One of the tricks of confidence—having to do with how good
you feel about how you look. Robyn." She wiped her fingers on
a tattered tissue and broke out blush and gloss. "Both of you,
just let me talk, will you? No matter what, let me talk."

Lialla opened her mouth, closed it again as Robyn touched
her forearm. "She went through a lot of years of training for
this very sort of thing, Lialla."

"You're a negotiator? I thought you were a musician?"

"A better negotiator than I am a musician," Jennifer mum-
bled as she spread gloss over her lower lip and studied her re-
flection in the small mirror. "Or we'd better all hope so, hadn't
we?"

She got her hair brushed out more or less the way it was
supposed to look, the brush returned to her bag, the Initiate
Wielder's blacks brushed and pulled neat before the three house-
men came for them. Back down the stairs, but not alt the way-
mis time they turned partway down and followed a long corridor
that on its right side was lathe and vines for shade against a
miserably hot sun, with dark openings or closed, heavy doors
on the left. Around a comer, stairs mounting another tower like
theirs. And then an open doorway into an exquisitely tiled room.
Water spilled down the wall on both sides of the door, imme-
diately cooling the air; water ran from the wall through a series

^HE CALLINQ OF WE CTREE

197

of pipes and ducts, down and away from the door, into low-
' walled ponds that flanked a low table. The melodic sound of
water falling on hard stone, on pottery pipes, on ceramic tile,
was all around them. There was no other sound except their own
fcet and Robyn's discreet cough.

There were several persons around the table, but at first it was
difficult to see them: Lighting was subdued and most of it day-
light through latticework high on the walls. As they came nearer,
(he three men escorting them—guarding them—moved away and
vanished into shadow beyond the left-hand pond. A man seated

- near the middle of the table rose to his feet and inclined his
^ upper body, extending his hands to either side.

y   He was tall, slender except for the stomach that tugged at his
^ light-colored shirt that he wore loose and unsashed over wide-
^ legged britches of a slightly darker shade, a faint line of em-
||- broidered leaves running down the outside of one leg. The fabric
'<-" might have been silk; it was undoubtedly expensive.

He was otherwise a very medium man: brown hair and eyes,
skin not very dark but not pale—nothing to mark him as impor-
^ tant save his taste in garb and his bearing. "Ladies," he said,
^.and Robyn fought not to smile. His voice was reedy, thin and
^petulant-sounding—not at all what she'd expect of a ruler's.
^**Welcome to my household; eat and drink with me and my
^Sons." He resumed his seat, indicated places for them across
y from him.

-7  Dahven? Lialla didn't see him—only the twins; nearly impos-

- sibte to tell apart, dark-haired and olive-skinned like their
V mother, black-eyed. Very much heavier than the last time she'd
^.9cea them. Not surprising, considering the way they were eating.
^? They look like chubby little baby tux attorneys, Jennifer
^thought irreverently. Or accountants. The kinds who didn't wear
"• white socks with their suits or pocket protectors for their pens,
but fit that classic niche every bit as well as their less classity
clad brethren. Quite obviously, neither of these young men could
be Dahven, even if they hadn't been mirror images of each other.

There was a cool soup waiting for the women, deep bowls but
, BO spoons. Jennifer, watching Lialla pick hers up and use it like
^ a cup, took a cautious sniff. Fruit. It had an odd but not entirely
;' unpleasant taste. She met Robyn's eye, nodded briefly. Robyn
eyed the bowl with misgivings, picked it up, and drank. The
Thukar waited until they had finished and a servant had removed
. tile crockery before he spoke again.

„  "It is a very great pleasure to welcome the sin-Duchess Lialla

199

Ru EMGRSON

and her companions to my household," he said smoothly, "and
to tell her that her uncle and her mother will be most glad to
hear she is safe under these ceilings." There was a chill little
silence. Lialla opened her mouth, shut it as Jennifer jabbed her,
hard, in the hip.

"If I may suggest," Jennifer said, her voice as smooth as the
Thukar's, "that I speak for all of us?" The man's eyebrows
joined over his long and very thin nose. "It is our position that
a—call it a mistake, shall we?—a mistake has been made. May
I finish, please?" He stared across the table at her, rather glass-
ily; Jennifer thought it unlikely anyone had interrupted him in
such a fashion in all his life. Then again, she'd been polite about
it, hadn't she?

It felt damned odd trying to conduct a settlement in Rhadazi-

"Also, I believe the Thukar is unlikely to prefer that three
women speak at the same time," she finished, and sat back to
await his reply.

He blinked at her, twice, fiddled with one of his numerous
rings, finally grinned. "A—mistake."

"Her mistake," one of the twins mumbled around his food.

The Thukar shook his head. "No—this is not what I expected,
let us hear her out, shall we?"

Treacherous, Jennifer thought. Even without everything Lialla
and Aletto had told her about the man, she knew the type. So
sharp he'd cut himself, given the chance—or meet himself com-
ing and going. So long as he didn't cut them, she thought with
a sudden nervous pang, and took a sip of the wine someone had
just set by her elbow. "You think this woman is Lialla, the sin-
Duchess of Zeiharri, if I understand correctly. As I say, a mis-
take, but an honest one, given my companion's years and that
she, like the sin-Duchess, is a Black-Sash Wielder."

"Say, rather," the Thukar said, with a rather unpleasant smile,
"that we are quite willing to sell all three of you to the uncle of
the sin-Duchess. Oh," he added as Jennifer would have spoken
once more, "perhaps there is a chance in a thousand that she is
who you say and who the innkeep at the Cap and Feather says:

a Wielder from Red Hawk come early to Sikkre. Say the chance
becomes less, considering one of her companions is a young
man with the mark of marsh fever clearly on him—a young man
who searches the night markets for word of a Zeiharri Smith
who may be named Gyrdan?" He paused; just as Jennifer opened
her mouth and drew a deep breath, he smiled and went on.
"Such coincidences; the fortune-tellers might dote upon them,

•CHE CALLINQ OF FHE CTREE

199

•       •/.

^
^

but I find them difficult to believe in, don't you?" He shrugged.
"All the same, it might be true—but I might still collect a sum
from my neighbor for delivering all of you to his householdmen.
Jadek is so tight with his coin, it would be a veritable pleasure
to take his reward and then watch him fight for its return when
he found the goods rendered not exactly what he wanted."

Lialla reached under the table to grip her leg; her face re-
mained expressionless and she was applying herself to bread and
a poultry broth with the other hand. Robyn was visibly nervous,
swallowing frequently. Jennifer hoped she wasn't about to be
sick. She sopped up broth with her bread, caught Robyn's eye
and nodded. No red meat in it. Robyn's face bore the sheen of
sweat as she bent over her plate.

"Yes," Jennifer said finally, pleasantly. "I can see yourpoint-
However, I would suggest you consider two things: If my com-
panion is Red Hawk, if we are, then surely their goodwill is
worth more than a tightfisted usurper's? And the same would
certainly hold true if she is who you say she is? More, though.
In either case, you may find us worth more in solid coin, now,
than Jadek could offer." The Thukar considered this. As he be-
gan shaking his head, Jennifer let her fingernail ping against the
winecup. "No, think! A tightfisted man such as Jadek might
have unsuspected ways of retrieving coin, if he finds himself
cheated."

"So might the nomads," the Thukar grumbled, but there was
a faint light in the narrowed eyes now.

"They'd be harder to manage if they found their honor
breached. They are not only allies, but, they contribute great
amounts of coin to the operations of your market, they bring in
trade goods from outside, and take Sikkreni goods away. Is that
not worth more than a single portion of coin from a man not
even legally Duke? But there is another consideration," she
added sweetly. "You have only the three of us. Surely the Zei-
harrian would demand five, in return for his payment?"

"All five." The wizard Snake stood just behind the Thukar;

Jennifer would have sworn she'd seen no sign of movement. The
wizard looked down at her and smiled. "We have all five; we
found the others just a short while since, and brought them in."

Robyn started to rise to her feet; Jennifer caught her elbow
and held her down, and cast Lialla one sharp glare, a desperate
thought she hoped the woman could somehow catch. He's lying
to us! Can't you see that? That's one of the oldest bricks—!
Robyn went limp under her grasp, buried her face in her hands.

200 RU EM€RSON

Jennifer watched the wizard watch Robyn, and she didn't care
at all for the look on the man's face. Lialla drew herself up and
tipped her head back to eye the man down the full length of her
nose.

"Why should we believe you? Anyone can say anything! Let
me see them'"

Snake shook his head; a lazy smirk touched his face. "Not
just yet. One of the Thukar's men is questioning them." Jennifer
got a new grip on Robyn's arm; fortunately, Robyn didn't seem
to hear what he said.

"Lies," Lialla said flatly.

"He is the nera-Duke Aletto," the wizard said, as flatly.
"That, and your brother. Even if he had not told us so, the limp
would have given him away."

"Ah." Jennifer smiled. She sounded supremely unconcerned.
"And his companion—the name of the fifth person?" It gave
her a good deal of pleasure to see the faint uncertainty in the
man's eyes.

"He—he hadn't said when I left. An outlander—" Now it was
Lialla's turn to look uncertain, and her eyes were definitely
frightened. Jennifer felt her stomach drop, even as most of her
mind was assuring her the man was lying.

"You do not have possession of the nera-Duke," she said
evenly, and her voice sounded pleasant, belying her hard eyes.
"Or of the young man who is our companion. He twisted his
ankle at Hushar Oasis; we brought him with us as a protector
and to heal his injury." Silence. "Marsh-sickness is a dreadful
thing, but none of us have it." Another silence, this one rather
unpleasant. Thukar and wizard eyed each other, then turned as
one to gaze at their unwilling guests. But before either could
speak, Jennifer heard rapid footsteps behind her; Snake colored
noticeably and stepped back a pace.

The Thukar's eyes left her face for the first time in a long
time. The footsteps came close behind her, then went around,
skirting the far edge of the table. "Father, so sorry to be late,
it seems I overslept." She couldn't see him clearly yet, he was
still all shadow, but his voice was dryly, lightly sarcastic.

The Thukar's color was ruddier than it had been. "Over-
slept!" he snorted. "You were again not in your rooms this past
night! The heir has no business-—!"

"Now, Father, I did oversleep, truly. Unfortunately, you have
caught me again, I fear; I was not in my rooms until quite late-


^HE CALLINQ OF ^HE ^HREE     201

or early, if you prefer. But why not? I'm simply trying to leam
my future holdings a street at a time."

"And a woman at a time," someone mumbled—the twin
nearest the approaching man. Jennifer could see him a little bet-
ter now; a tall man with pale, wildly tousled hair and excellent
shoulders under a shirt like the Thukar's. Unlike the Thukar's
shirt, this one fit snugly against a flat stomach and was neatly
tucked into bright blue breeks under an ornate sash.

Dahven—it could only be Dahven, Jennifer thought blankly-
stopped to clap his brother resoundingly on the back. He laughed
as the young man choked on his bread. "Well, dear Deehar,
since no woman of Sikkre—none of them with taste, that is—
would look at you or Dayher, .someone certainly must take over
the task. Think of it," he added tenderly, "that I remove an
onerous burden from your—hmmm—amp/c shoulders, to let you
concentrate on those things you love best. And since you aren't
heir, who cares how many children you breed to back me for
the succession?"

"Father," Dayher began in a plaintively high voice. Dahven
laughed, silencing him, and dropped into the place next to—but
not quite within reach of—Deehar, who glared at him, coughed
one last time, and went back to his food.

"No, truly, I did oversleep; it's most unkind of you to make
me out a liar before these young women. Am I to know who
they are?"

"Fool," the wizard growled. Dahven ignored him.

"You know perfectly well who that woman is," the Thukar
said peevishly and pointed at Liatla. Easy to see where the twins
got the whiny voice, Jennifer thought. "That is your once-
affianced."

"Oh?" Dahven leaned forward and planted his elbows on the
table so he could look down the table. Jennifer got her first good
look at him.

She felt suddenly light-headed, too warm; she must be blush-
ing, her cheekbones burned, he certainly would see her gawping
at him like a teen-aged girl. But she couldn't move, could only
watch him, dumbfounded, until he leaned back again and picked
up his cup. She sat back herself then, heart thudding against her
ribs, face afire and the blood bubbling in her veins.

Why? He wasn't that handsome; his mouth wasn't her idea of
good, his cheeks were too hollow; she didn't even like blond
men! And this—she'd never gone silly over a man at first sight
before; had the Thukar drugged her food or wine? She couldn't

202 Ru EM€RSON

tell; with Snake standing right there, she was afraid to probe
Thread. She didn't feel particularly different, except for this—
this strangeness. Stupid, she assured herself tartly. But she didn't
dare look at him again, not when so much depended on what
was left of her wildly scattered wits.

"It might be the sin-Duchess," Dahven said carelessly. Long-
fingered hands deftly tore flat bread into strips, which he dipped
into his winecup. His brother eyed him with disgust. "I haven't
seen her in some time, and I confess I paid little attention to her
at the time; she clearly did not want to marry me and life isn't
long enough to waste on lost causes, is it? Really, Father, there
are so many women who would meet such a description- But
I'm curious, where did you find these women? Lialla never leaves
Duke's Fort." The Thukar muttered something under his breath;

Jennifer couldn't catch words but it sounded ominous. Dahven
began tearing more bread into strips. "Well, I admit there are
rumors all over the City; but I heard the nera-Duke was with
her. If this is Lialla, I don't see my friend Aletto. I think I'd
know him."

Before the Thukar could swallow, Robyn leaned forward. Her
eyes were wet and her voice a mere whisper. ' 'He says they took
them, too. That they have them here, Aletto and—'* Jennifer's
hand tightened on her elbow; Robyn cast her sister a frightened,
reproachful glance and bit her lip.

The wizard shifted his weight. Dahven laughed, interrupting
whatever he was about to say. "What nonsense! Father, have
you been letting your Lizard frighten these poor ladies? How
very unkind of you—"

"Snake," the wizard gritted through clenched teeth.

"Of course, I'm so sorry," Dahven replied smoothly. "But
they aren't here, of course; no prisoners have been brought here
save you three." A doubled roar broke over whatever else he
said. The Thukar was positively purple; the wizard's eyes glit-
tered unpleasantly and his hands clenched as though he'd like a
certain throat between them. Dahven came partway up onto his
knees so he could look at his father over his startled brother's
head. He looked quite hurt. "I—well! How was I to know you
didn't want them told? But that isn't a nice way to treat ladies;

how can you seriously expect I'd have known that was what you
intended?" Another roar; the Thukar had fought free of surround-
ing cushions; Deehar ducked as a wineglass, still mostly full,
sailed over his head. Dahven avoided it easily, then brushed at
the few mauve drops on his shirt, apparently aware of nothing

WE CALLINQ OF -CHE ^HREE      203

else. But he tilted his head up just the least bit, just enough to
meet Jennifer's eyes, and let one of his lids droop shut. She
could only stare back. There was nothing playful in that wink;

there was a solemn intensity in his dark eyes that left her hands
suddenly cold and her fingers trembling.

The Thukar roused her; he was swearing furiously, viciously,
and in several different languages. Dahven stood, inclined his
head, tentatively held out his hand; the Thukar slapped it away.
"Father, your heart. Get the poor man another cup of wine,
someone, and give him his special liquid, all this fuss isn't good
for him. Deehar, Dayher, one would think that you long for the
day 1 take his place, for all the care you take of our father. And
Snake, you must know your future in Sikkre depends upon keep-
ing the present Thukar in very good health indeed?" The smile
was suddenly an extremely chill one; his eyes had gone hard.
The wizard shifted his weight onto his toes, fists closed. There
was a brief, tense silence. The wizard suddenly turned away.

"Someone get the Thukar's man, have him bring the Digi-
talis." Robyn jumped as the English word hit her. "And return
these women to their rooms." He looked at each of the three in
turn, black eyes brooding on them. Robyn wouldn't even look
at him; Jennifer did, without expression—Lialla's eyes and the
set of her jaw were challenging.

Dahven was nowhere in sight. The way back to the upper
rooms was extremely hushed after the echoing scene in the fam-
ily dining room.

DAHVEN had taken a shortcut—via halls created for the ser-
vants—to his rooms. He was high in an east-facing tower, one
of seven. The height of the tower never kept him from coming
and going, whatever his father's desires on the subject, though
occasionally he had to wait longer than he wanted, and to take
chances he'd rather not. But to tamely accept the old man's quer-
ulous and meaningless orders! "After all," Dahven murmured
to his small reception hall as he barred the outer door and leaned
momentarily against it, "it isn't as if he didn't have at least as
much fun when he was a lad! Now he's beyond it, no one else
must enjoy himself, apparently." He made a half-turn and
sketched a mocking bow in what might have been the Thukar's
direction, finished it with a very rude flipping of fingers past his
smooth-shaven chin.

He crossed the room quickly, divesting himself of formal sash
and the heir's ruby, tossed them in the direction of the bed—they

204 RU EMCRSON

both missed by a wide margin—and leaned across the deep win-
dowsill to study the wall and the courtyard below him. He twisted
around to pull himself up onto the sill, sat momentarily with his
back to the view, then gripped stone on both sides and leaned
back to gaze up. No sign of anyone there; and no one below
him in the courtyard at this hour—particularly in such unseason-
able heat—was bothering to look up. It took him a moment of
hard blinking, one brief release of his left hand on stable stone
to shade his eyes. No Vey, but the slender, tan rope was there,
dangling to his left. Not far. He braced both legs against the
sides of the sill and leaned, flailed himself back to upright, and
slid back into the room with a gusty sigh of relief. "Dear and
Beloved Hosath—and all the other sand gods, too!—I used to
climb that wall? Must have been mad!"

He laid the rope across the sill, secured it there with the heavy
cloak he'd worn the night before, and went back across the room
to find ink and pens, either a bit of paper or something else—
anything else'—to convey his message. Before Aletto lost what
little patience he could have left, and came out of hiding.

Fortunately his servants were more organized than he, Dahven
thought; the inlaid box that matched his table contained three
pens, recently pointed, ink that was still liquid—barely, anyway—
and there were two full sheets of thick cloth pulp paper and one
cut half-skin that someone had salvaged from a draft document.
He used that; easier to roll and tie, smaller and so less likely to
draw attention. And the pulp stuff was so expensive, even in the
market, that it made him nervous to set pen to it.

Too bad he'd never managed to get on with that outland wizard
of his father's, like the twins had. Both had wooden writing
sticks with the flexible ends for taking writing away. Snake's gift.
Yes, well; Dahven thought sourly. As well covet that paper Snake
had for music and the system for writing it down, there was a
thing to covet! The twins Couldn't care less about such a trea-
sure, and Snake would never offer it to him. "Cannot think why
he doesn't like me better," Dahven said to the inlaid box, and
laughed aloud.

He sobered as he gazed at the thin parchment, considered,
began writing, and when he was done, rolled the skin into a thin
tube and eyed it critically. It wouldn't be much more visible than
the rope, though, and no one had noticed that. And it was the
heat of the afternoon. He crossed the room, wrapped the tube
in coils of rope, tied the end securely and tugged gently on the
end. Several moments—nerve-wracking moments indeed-


CHE CALL1NQ OF T:HE T:HREE       205

passed before he felt the answering tug, and then watched as the
tube was jerked up through the open window, and on toward the
flat roof some distance above his head. Vey had it now; Vey
would find his way unseen from the Thukar's palace—as he often
did—and would see that Aletto got the message-

Until sunset, then, Dahven had little to do except think. He
dropped onto his bed, stretched out on his back, and stared up
at the ornately patterned ceiling. Think. He wasn't certain he
wanted to think, knowing what—who, actually—he would think
about.

After so many women over so many years, how was it possible
this astonishing, glorious outlander should so capture his heart?

VEY crossed the tower roof and two narrow ledges, dropped
down a long, thin incline of crumbling brickwork, crossed two
more flat roofs and entered a hole broken in the next: There
were old rooms here, rooms built by the Thukar's many-times
great-grandsire, when the market was new and small, and if tales
were true, all colored tents grouped around the blue well near
Genhali's cloth shop. No one used these rooms now; they were
_,   pulled down a wall or a room at a time, when brick became
necessary elsewhere, or when walls or timbers grew dangerously
old and unstable. He hurried through a long corridor, out a win-
dow and down a leafless vine that grew long spines in summer.
Just now it was sticky and prickled a little in places, nothing
more. He rubbed his hands in dust when he reached the ground,
to counter the sap, skirted the base of the deserted hall. There
was a tunnel, its inner opening lost under mounds of rubble.
Like the hiding place where Aletto now paced and fretted, the
opening was hard to find, narrow; the inner area was opened
out and shored up, the tunnel a sudden drop into utter blackness.
Vey counted fifteen steps down, seventy-nine paces on packed,
damp sand. This came out into the city's underground water
cisterns, or would, if he went left. At eighty paces, his hand
groped air; he turned to the right and began counting again.
Seventy-nine paces; another turn, this time to the left; there was
dust underfoot now, and then, ten paces on, a little gray light
and steps leading up.

The escape end of the palace tunnel had originally come out
inside the curtain wall surrounding the palace. That original wall
had fallen long since, little of it remaining save here and there,
including the mound of rubble certain nearby merchants had
planted in small citrus bushes and trees. They and their shade

206 RU EMERSON

neatly masked the sod-covered block of stone that covered the
stairs, and the nearest merchant owed Edrith certain favors. He
paid absolutely no attention as Vey slid from shadow to shadow,
past the fruit-piled counter, and into the dark shop and living
space behind.

The rest of his journey was uneventful; no one had seen him
or followed him. Vey took two more detours to make certain,
then cut back across the market and pressed himself between
fallen stones, back through the narrow tunnel, into the open
area. He was there before Aletto saw him—almost, Vey realized
smugly, before Edrith did. He put the thin tube of hide in Al-
etto's hands and turned away. "I'd like water," he said to Edrith.
"It was hot work, waiting on that roof."

Chris was hanging over Aletto's shoulder, scowling at Dah-
ven*s message. He couldn't read it; apparently Merrida hadn't
thought of reading when she gave them the language. Another
one he owed her, that. "Read it aloud," he said.

" k Aletto, all three women safe for now, let Vey bring you to
the palace at first dark, I think I have a way to get them out.
Remember your word.' " Aletto stared at the writing, shook his
head. "He thinks he does? That's the best he can do?"

"Better than what we had five minutes ago," Chris urged.
"Go on, that can't be all of it."

"No, there's more. Get Edrith or Vey to purchase a blurring-
stone before then." Aletto's lip curled. "Magic!"

"Magic?" Chris echoed blankly.

"Blurring-stone," Edrith said helpfully. "It's a charm, keeps
people from noticing you're where you are."

Chris scowled at his hands. Funny: Once he would have been
thrilled at the very thought of such casual use of magic. Now all
he could think was, How good was it? "Invisibility?"

Edrith shook his head. "Don't I wish they'd sell a charm for
that! I'd be rich tomorrow!" He laughed. "The look on your
face, boy!"

"That's dishonest," Chris growled.

Edrith laughed again. "Of course it is! Merely dishonest, it's
not murder." Chris waved a hand, shook his head and turned
away in disgust. "A blurring-stone just makes you hard to see.
Better than nothing.'' He looked around the ruin of fallen stone,
crumbling brick and wood that housed them. "They're hard to
find. too—very few places sell blurring-stones. Vey, we'd better
both go." He held up a hand for silence as Aletto crushed the
message in one fist and opened his mouth to argue. "You stay

WE CALL1NQ OF ^HE -CHREE      207

here; you're a little too obvious, particularly in daylight. Be-
sides, you promised Dahven, I heard you. You stay with him,"
he said to Chris.

Chris glared at him. "I wouldn't go out with you two; we
could all wind up in one of those boxes, and who'd get us out
then?" He glowered at the dust in front of his feet, on his grubby
high-tops. "God, I don't believe this. Bring something to eat,
will you? I'm starved."

TENNIFER moved across to the nearest window as soon as she
Jheard the door bolt slide into place behind them. She leaned
out across the sill, looked down. Shook her head. "It's a long
way down there. Lialla, isn't there anything we can do?" And
as Lialla made an impatient, wordless sound, she added testily,
"After it gets dark, all right, I understand that! Can we do any-
thing? Anything at all?"

"Not to the door; at least, I don't think so. I could bolt my
door at home from the other side, but I had to set that from
inside, before I went through it- The window, though . . ." She
contemplated it, finally shrugged. "It's a matter of how badly
you want out, and whether the thought of hanging your feet over
all that space makes you ill. I don't like any of that very much;

I can do it if there isn't any other way. Just now, I don't see
one." Momentary silence. "Besides, there was Dahven."

"Dahven." Hard, even getting his name out, and Jennifer
could feel the blood in her face. She turned to look out the
window.

"You couldn't have seen it, I don't think. He—somehow, he
knows Wielder hand sign. He passed me a message before
he sat down: Second hour dark, grove. Blur. Rescue."

"Rescue?" Robyn's voice rose to a squeak.

Lialla shrugged. "We're doing most of our own rescue, the
way I see it, if I understood him correctly. Being Dahven, he
might have simply been moving his hands, not knowing what
he—no, that can't be right. But we have to get down to the
grove—one of those groves of trees out there!—at or about sec-
ond knell after sunset. Then he—or they, his signing is not very

^HE CALLINQ OF T:HE ^THREE

209

clear—he'll come get us out of the palace grounds, and to
safety.''

"God," Robyn whispered. "Out that window?" Lialla nod-
ded reluctantly. "I hate heights. But if I have to—" Robyn was
pale, her eyes closed, but her jaw was set. "Just get me out of
here, will you? Get us down to that grove. 1 don't care what it
takes to do that."

"I really don't care," Jennifer said. "Height doesn't bother
me."

Lialla nodded. "Good. One of us should have enough nerve
left to take charge, then. So let me explain to you about Thread
and rope. And about using Thread to make your presence less
obvious." She glanced at Robyn. "Why don't you see what you
can find in that bedroom? We'll need—oh, 1 don't know. String,
straw, ties from the bedding, old cloth that will tear into strips—
anything like that. It doesn't have to be in good shape, or strong,
it doesn't have to be very thick. It's just to reinforce Thread."
Robyn pushed herself heavily to her feet, poked briefly around
the entry room, tested the curtains, sneezed at the cloud of re-
sulting dust. She backed away, went on into the next room.
Something solid hit the floor, followed by the sound of cloth
tearing.

"1 hope you're right about the condition of the reinforce-
ment," Jennifer said mildly. "Whatever she's got sounds utterly
rotten."

"Rope." Lialla managed to pull her scattered wits back to
the moment. "You braid Thread with something real, how much
or how little depends upon your skill, but the resulting rope is
as strong as Lasanachi rigging rope, or so I'm told. I know it
will hold to get us out of here and down to the ground.''

"That's enough," Jennifer said- "Braid? Just—like hair?"

"Like hair. Three-strand—four if you're using it for a longer
time, three-strand won't hold above a couple hours. Five, ac-
cording to legend, can only be made by a White or Silver Sash.
That, they say, stays woven until it's unmade, deliberately." She
sighed faintly. "I can't show you the Thread yet; I'll do that
later. It's twisted, easy to find and use. / can do it, after all,"
she added bitterly. "Even under pressure."

Jennifer folded her arms and leaned back against the wall. "1
simply don't understand you. Why are you doing this to
yourself?"

"Doing what?" Lialla demanded.

"Fighting so hard for something that eludes you. Look, I can

210 RU EMCRSON

understand wanting something badly; I wanted music that way
for years. But I compromised, I kept the music to myself and
went in another direction to earn my keep. Why can't you do
that?"

"Do what?"

"I—hell, I don't know! Compromise! Find another kind of
magic, something that isn't so hard on you! Or a better teacher!
Or something else entirely, there must be something else ^ou
like or want, or—"

"What business is that of yours?" Lialla snapped. Her eyes
were black and narrowed.

"I'd say none," Jennifer replied evenly. "Except that I think
you can be a pretty enjoyable person to be around; I've seen a
little of that when you aren't so knotted up over your damned
Threads. It's got to be hard on everyone around you; did you
ever think of that?'* She paused. Lialla just looked at her. "And
it's eating you alive. Why do you have to be the best ever? To
prove something to yourself, or to Merrida, or your uncle?"

Another silence. Lialla bared her teeth. "How dare you say
such things?" She wrapped her arms across her ribs and held
onto herself; she wouldn't give this outland woman the pleasure
of seeing her tremble! But somehow, it was just as though Jen-
nifer had read all her uncertainties of the past days and put them
into words, as though she'd deliberately found the pain and
pressed as hard as she could. "You have no right!"

"Oh, yes, I do! Because every time I try to get information
out of you, we wind up fighting. I hate these shouting matches,
Lialla. They aren't productive, they waste time, and they upset
my sister." Lialla glared at her; Jennifer shifted her shoulders
against the hard stone wall. "Look, how many times do I have
to say this? It wasn't my idea to come here! It was not my idea
to have this magic; we can wring Merrida's neck together when
this is all over, if you like! And I'm sorry it bothers you so
damned much that I can use the wretched stuff!" She straight-
ened up; Liallas breath went in on a hiss. "That's the real prob-
lem, isn't it? That I just came in and picked it up, like it was
natural? That you still fight it, and I haven't had to do that yet?"

"It's not—!" Lialla's voice went up a notch; Jennifer sighed
inwardly and strove to keep her own voice reasonable.

"Look, I don't know. Maybe that's the answer; have you
thought of that? Maybe if you try what I'm doing, just go at it
a different way, see what works, put your preconceptions and
Merrida's out of mind, quit saying it doesn't or you can't."

FHE CALLINQ OF t:HE TTHREE     211

"You can't—!"

"Or," Jennifer overrode her loudly, "why not supplement
what skill you have? You keep telling me there is so much dif-
ferent magic; it's not tike saying you should incorporate Hell-
Light with Night-Thread Magic! Maybe—maybe flesh out your
talent with some neutral magic! Use charms, you might not have
to forever! There can't be anything wrong with that, can there?"

"Charms?" Lialla laughed breathily. "Charms?" Her voice
went up another notch. "How do you think I got us out of
Duke's Fort in the first place?'' Her laugh gained in volume and
trembled on the edge of hysteria. "But after you came! Oh, no,
I couldn't use them then, could I? A year short of my first Color
and here Merrida sends me a novice, an Initiate all my own! My
first big chance to show how great a Wielder I am; a great
Wielder would never stoop to supplementing Thread, would she?
And you didn't need charms and neutral magic; how could I
think I was better than you if I used them? I never even saw the
Host out there on the trail, or those men at the Cap and Feather,
I told you out there it was all my fault, and you wouldn't listen!
I guess you don't know everything after all, do you?"

She was practically screaming. "Stop that," Jennifer said, her
voice cutting through Lialla's with hard authority. Lialla shook
her head and tears flew. Hysteria. Jennifer reluctantly grabbed
for her shoulders.

Lialla flinched away from her, averted her face sharply. Jen-
nifer snatched her hands back. Lialla looked at her, face drained
of color and eyes all black pupil; she spun around abruptly and
ran into the next room.

Jennifer stood still, uncertain what to do next. "God," she
whispered. "Her uncle! Why didn't I see it before, it was all
there—!" But even if she'd realized, what good would that
knowledge have done either of them, besides serving as a re-
minder to Jennifer to keep her hands off Lialla? "She thought I
was going to hit her, going to hurt her—" It made her faintly
ill. She turned away and planted her elbows on the windowsill
so she could gaze out across city and the desert beyond it.

There was nothing she could say, this was Aletto's handicap
and worse—a hands-off situation. And she had never known what
to say to Robyn, even after Robyn's old man put her in County
General. Robyn had never welcomed any intrusion into that part
other life. The way Lialla felt about Jennifer, she'd want it even
less. Jennifer let her head fall forward and drove her hands

212 RU EMGRSON

through her hair. "I can't handle this. Damn. Why do people
have to be so damn complex?''

LIALLA leaned her forehead against cool stone near the west
window and closed her eyes. A faint sound brought her around;

she'd forgotten about Robyn, who sat on the ftoor next to the
bed, a ruined mattress cover rapidly becoming a pile of gray^sh
cloth strips, a pile of musty-smelling straw that had been mat-
tress behind her.

Robyn cleared her throat again, tentatively. Lialla turned away
and let her forehead rest on the stones again. They were cool,
smoothed and felt pleasant at the moment. "Lialla," Robyn said
quietly. "It was your stepfather. Wasn't it?"

"What was?" Her voice sounded rusty.

"Atetto told me a little about him, you know. When we were
riding together, out in the desert that first night."

"Told you—what?"

"Not much. He never came out and said Jadek hit either of
you. 1 didn't know that until just now. I understand—"

Lialla shook her head, rubbing skin against stone. "No. You
can't."

"I can. Your stepfather isn't the only man like that. They
aren't nearly rare enough—men who hit people who can't or
won't hit them back." Lialla turned her head just enough to look
at Robyn in disbelief. Robyn nodded. "I've been there, Lialla.
That's how I know. The little your brother told me—about Jadek.
How he always managed to sound like he really loved you, ex-
cept the way he said things left you feeling like you weren't
worth it." Silence. It somehow wasn't an uncomfortable silence.
"I know thai kind of man," Robyn continued; her voice was
soft, soothing. '*! was wed to one, I lived with another. They—
after a while, you know you can't do anything, that you aren't
good enough, or pretty or clever enough. Some of them come
right out and tell you how stupid you arc, how worthless, but
they all make certain you know it.''

"Jadek never really—" Lialla bit her lip, shook her head. Rob-
yn waited, and when Lialla shook her head again, went on.

"No, he's one of the other ones, isn't he? I think they're worse,
myself. Because you can't lay a finger on it, they never say any-
thing right out, so you can't tell yourself, 'It's not me, it's him.'
But after a while, there isn't enough brain left in you to do that.''
She fell silent; there was a sound of ripping cloth as she went
back to tearing mattress cover into strips. She focused her gaze

FHE CALL1NQ OF WE •CHREE      213

on the work. as though it was the only thing important, but she
was watching the window out of the comer of her eye, too. "He
hit you, too, didn't he?" Lialla opened her mouth twice; sound
wouldn't move past her tight throat. She nodded once, abruptly.
"All right, don't. I won't push you. But if it helps you to know,
I had one of those, too. Unlike you, I didn't get mine when my
mother married him; I chose him myself. I don't know if that
makes it worse, I can't compare. It's bad enough, however it
happens."

"He—" Lialla shook her head, swallowed. Robyn was some-
how on her feet, near enough that Lialla could smell the tobacco
smoke that clung to her clothes.

"Don't." Robyn touched her shoulder- "Don't try to talk
about it if you don't want to. I understand that, too. But remem-
ber this: You're away from him now, you don't have to hear that
ever again. He won't hit you again. Or Aletto." There was grim
promise in her voice at the end. Lialla blinked and looked at her
through wet lashes. "No, he didn't say. I told you, I know what
it's like, I could see it. He won't learn from me that I know.
Remember something else, too: If you ever want to talk about
it, I'm here, all right? I've been there, and I'll listen. There isn't
anything you can say to shock me, I know what it's like." Lialla
nodded. Robyn touched her arm again and turned back to her
pile. "I think I have most of this done; is it safe to just leave it
here?"

Lialla shook her head. "Covering—was there once a blanket
or anything over the mattress? I don't remember." It was hard
to talk, but not as hard as it had been. She looked up as move-
ment in the other room caught her eye. "Jennifer—I'm sorry.
It's-"

Jennifer came into the room, sliding sideways through the
doorway, their bags an enormous burden between her arms.
"Let's not worry about it right now, we can talk about anything
once we're out of here. No emotionally charged subjects for the
rest of the day, if no one minds."

"I don't mind," Lialla whispered.

"Good." Jennifer cast her a faint smile. "So the only ac-
ceptable topic is Out, and its major parts How and When." She
dumped the bags on the floor. "Here, pile the stuff back on the
mattress and strew these over everything, that should camouflage
pretty well." She dropped onto the edge of the bed and looked
up. "Lialla, you said the Thukar has no Wielder. Is it likely any
of his magicians understand Wielding? I ask because of this,"

214

RU  EM6RSON

she added hastily, indicating the pile of cloth strips and straw
with a wave of her hand. "Is it going to be immediately apparent
we're making rope once we start? Or even that we intend to
make it later? Is there a way for one Wielder to read another's
mind—whether the second wants it or not?"

"I—" Lialla managed the faintest of smiles, more a peace
offering than anything else. "I don't know. I doubt anyone in
this palace understands Wielding, not if they aren't Wielders.
Wielders don't ordinarily spread their knowledge about. It's rare
that a Wielder will go on,'' she added with an even fainter shrug,
"to another form of magic, once he's been a Wielder. Or that
someone who isn't attuned to Thread as a Wielder could utilize
it—1 don't believe it would be that simple to see someone mak-
ing rope anyway, unless you were doing nothing but watching
that person closely. We're already imprisoned, so why would
they?"

"The Thukar has a lot of kinds of magicians," Jennifer said
doubtfully. "Using Thread doesn't touch off another kind of

magic?''

"The questions you ask' I've never heard of it. I guess that
doesn't mean much. Charms—perhaps. Again, I think they would
have to be watching us closely, through that charm, doing noth-
ing else. Unless the Thukar or one of his magicians thought I
might somehow contact Aletto using Thread—but he's never
made any attempt to learn any form of magic, and I think his
aversion to it is fairly well known. The Thukar must know, be-
cause Dahven does."

"So, chances are we're reasonable safe—but we work as
quickly as we can, as soon as we can." Jennifer considered the
view she'd had of the courtyard below the window and the Thread
itself: Even if she'd wanted to chance another of Lialla's fits of
hysteria by trying to Wield during the day, she couldn't be a
hundred percent certain the result of daytime Wielding would be
the same. She couldn't chance anything less than total certainty.
Besides, there were men below, horses—guards on the walls,
walking the stones. They'd be seen as soon as they touched
ground, if not sooner.

And there were trees, small, tight groves of them, within fifty
feet of the base of their tower. They would be pools of deep
shadow after nightfall. She considered that and felt a certain
degree of relief. After dark, it would not be as easy to see ground
from the tower window. Jennifer did not like heights at all when
they were man-made ones. She twisted around so she could look

^HE CALLING OF ^HE FHREE

215

out the west-facing window. "How many more hours until
dark?"

"Too many," Robyn replied gloomily. She studied the pile of
stuff at her feet and wrinkled her nose. "Is this enough? The
material is hard to rip and the straw is making my nose run."

THE thick stub of candle was burning down, flickering occa-
sionally. Chris sat on a frayed, ancient and dusty rug, knees
drawn up to his chin, and scowled at it. Edrith and Vey had gone
out what seemed hours before and Aletto was no decent com-
pany at all. He mumbled to himself and seemed unaware there
was anyone else in this miserable hole. Chris's scowl deepened
as his stomach snarled at him.

He heard the footsteps only a moment before he smelled that
smoky, incenselike odor that he identified with Edrith. A long
hand reached over his shoulder to dangle a cloth bag close to his
nose. Chris caught it as Edrith let go the strings. "All yours,"
the thief assured him. "I brought another for the rest of us, and
Vey is arranging both food for tonight and transport from
Sikkre."

Aletto came around at that; his face was drawn and his jaw
set. "I'm not leaving—"

"Transport for everyone," Edrith overrode him somehow
without even raising his voice. ' 'We're retrieving your missing
women after dark, remember?" He opened a second bag, pulled
out bread and tore it in half, stuffing one piece in Aletto's un-
willing fingers. "Eat, or I'll sit on you and force it down. You
can't help your sister or anyone else if you're light-headed, and
you'll call down the Thukar's guard if your belly's howling."
He ripped a piece from his bread, stuffed it in one cheek and
squatted down to pull other things from the bag—a wide-mouthed
pot with a heavy wax seal; a tall, corked jug that smelled of
sweet red wine, even closed. Aletto's nostrils quivered; he closed
his eyes and waved the wine bottle aside. He concentrated on
opening the pot, dipped his bread in the contents and chewed.
"It's two hours until sunset," Edrith went on around his mouth-
ful. He tore off another bite and dipped it in the pot. "There's
another of these in your bag, Chris; it's a meat broth."

"Let me try it, first," Chris rather gingeriy tested the stuff:

The meat could have been anything, its flavor was so buried in
an eye-watering chili powder. "Wow," he gasped, and went
digging in his own bag. There was water and wine both; the
bread did a better job of putting out the fire, though. His own

216 RU EMGRSON

pot of stuff wasn't quite as fiercely hot, and he was only certain
the meat wasn't beef. Possibly sheep?

"All right?" Edrith inquired.

Chris nodded. "Mom wouldn't eat it, she only eats chicken
and fish. I'm not nearly as hard to please, especially when I'm
hungry. Long as it goes down, fills the hole and stays put is all
I care about." Edrith laughed. Chris looked at the bread, at
Edrith. "Damn. I suppose you paid for this?"          T

Edrith clapped him on the shoulder. "You know, I like you
despite myself! I've never heard outlanders were so narrow in
their interpretations of ownership— particularly hungry ones'"

Chris glared at him. "All right, big joke, really funny. I don't
usually make it so easy for people but you looked like you needed
a laugh. I just—" He looked at the bread, back at the still smil-
ing but obviously puzzled Edrith. "I'm sorry, I just never could
see it. It's dishonest."

"It also feeds some people who wouldn't otherwise eat," Ed-
rith said lightly.

"Oh, right. Look, 1 know the arguments, okay? You think I
haven't heard them from my friends and kids in school and even
the guys running our country? It's still stealing and it's still
wrong' How about the people you take from? How about maybe
what you took was the difference between their family eating
and not eating?"

Edrith shook his head; the smile was gone but he didn't look
unfriendly. "I don't take from people as poor as myself. Or
anywhere near as poor. That would be dishonest." He tore more
bread from his portion and dipped it in the pot he and Aletto
shared. "Eat, If 1 took food merely to have it wasted, that is
also wrong, isn't it?"

Chris rolled his eyes, but obediently went back to his meal.

THE setting sun was an uncomfortable presence in the tower
bedroom, level rays coming across the city and over the sill,
making the room stuffily hot, making it impossible to see any-
thing for the glare of sun on floating dust. The women moved
back into the entry alcove.

"Not long now," Lialla murmured as she stretched out on
one of the benches and brought up her knees so she could flatten
her spine out on the hard surface. It was the first thing she'd said
in hours. Jennifer nodded absently. She was rubbing lotion into
the backs of her chapped knuckles. She eyed the bottle with
resignation—it was nearly empty—and returned it to her leather

•CHE CALLINQ OF •CHE tHREE

217

bag, pulled the zipper closed with finality. She was dithering
out of nerves and boredom in equal mixture; she hated women
who played with their purses when they were bored.

Robyn was running a brush through her hair, a rubber band
and four bobby pins clenched between her lips. Lialla absently
watched as she pulled the golden stuff over one shoulder to braid
it, flipped the colored band around the end and crossed the pins
over the loose ends above her ears. She looked younger with it
off her face; her eyes were too wide and frightened. She swal-
lowed. "Um. This thing, this rope thing. It's safe, right?"

"Won't unravel," Lialla assured her firmly. "I'll go first, to
prove it." Robyn looked only partly assured. But she turned
then, held up a hand.

"Someone's coming."

"No, they're not," Lialta began, but then she could hear it
too: boots, at least two sets of them. And men's voices. She sat
up, glanced anxiously toward the doorway leading into the bed-
room, at the destroyed mattress and its piled bags and parcels.
At Jennifer's hissed warning, she brought her eyes back to the
door. The bar clattered, wood against wood, a scrape of metal.
Jennifer stood as the wizard Snake came into the room. The
man behind him, one of those who'd been at the inn, stepped
back into the hall at the wizard's gesture and pulled the door
closed. He didn't look particularly' pleased about it, Jennifer
thought. She doubted this Vinnie-person would be very pleased
himself, if he knew his man didn't think him safe in a locked
tower with "merely" three women.

He leaned back against the door, crossed one booted ankle
over the other and folded his arms across his chest. Metal glim-
mered down his sleeves—tiny silver buttons running all the way
from shoulder to cuffs—and there were a few discreet gems on
the high collar.

Silence, a long one: He was clearly trying to score some sort
of point by making them speak first. But Robyn was too nervous
to trust her voice, and Jennifer was serenely confident she could
outwait him. His stance was slightly off-balance, she thought
with amusement. But by his measure, he'd lose points if he
moved, or if he let them see him wobble. Lialla leaned back
against the bench and managed to somehow make herself
scarcely noticed. But then. Snake's full attention was directed
toward the outlanders. And, after the first moment, when he cast
Jennifer a confident grin, he focused his intense gaze on Robyn.
"You know, you look so damned familiar," he began easily,

218 RU EM6RSON

and in English. Robyn started, looked up at him and back down
at the floor. She shook her head. "No, really. It could be just,
like, the hair, the no makeup. You're not local, either one of
you, I knew that right away. Not only that, you're American—
they always used to say you could tell, wherever you were. Guess
so, huh?" Silence. "That's not it, though. Blonde—there was
this little blonde, spent a week with me up in Santa Barbara-^''

"I've never been to Santa Barbara," Robyn said softly.

"Right. Tell you what it is, chickie baby. You used to hang
out on the Strip back when it was happening, din'cha?'' Robyn
cast a desperate sideways glance at Jennifer, who shrugged mi-
nutely. She didn't know what to do either.

Robyn brought her chin up finally, tilted her head thoughtfully
to one side. "Maybe," she said finally. "Maybe I did. So?
There were a lot of people hung out on the Strip—Sunset Strip,
right? Lot of people in a lot of places. America's a big country,
remember?"

"Don't try mind games, babe. Not with me. So, maybe it was
the Haight instead, huh? Maybe we got stoned together some-
place?"

"I doubt it." There was a little color in her face, a little
challenge in her voice. "Why?"

"Wait." He finally shifted his feet when it seemed to Jennifer
he must fall over if he didn't move. "Naw, it wasn't the Bay,
you don't have the look. Besides, I didn't do much Frisco." He
snapped his fingers. "Spent most of my time out on the west
end by Doheney—and yeah, right. You were one of the chickies
from the Whiskey, wasn't it?"

"Come on," Robyn protested. "It's years since all that. You
remember all the people you ever saw, let alone the ones you
knew, from way back then? I sure don't."

"Cool it, I'm thinking—right. It throws me, it's the time thing,
runs funny here. Little skinny blonde chickie, real head, used
to wear a thing in your hair with beads and a couple peacock
feathers?" Robyn stared at him, then shook her head. He
laughed- "Right, I got you now, it was those feathers. And you
were always right up there by the stage, used to come drool over
funky little Ray and that damned squawky fiddle of his, right?''

"You're out of it, man," Robyn said flatly- "All those years,
you don't remember all that suff,"

"Only five years since /left," he said. "And I remember the
broads that turned me down, you know?"

•CHE CALUNQ OF T:HE ^HREE

2)9

"What," Robyn asked with heavy sarcasm, "all both of us?
Come on, Vinnie-babe, you weren't that cool'"

Jennifer blinked to try to pull herself out of this oddly synched
conversation. Lialla, of course, wasn't following any of it, ex-
cept perhaps by the tone of voice. Jennifer caught her eye, cast
a swift glance toward the west window; the sun had left the
window except for the uppermost corner of the recessed sill, and
the sky was a dusky purply blue.

She turned back to watch the wizard; he hadn't moved but he
looked considerably less casually relaxed—and would-be more
satisfied—than he had. He nodded. "Right, I knew it!" But he
seemed at a loss for something else to say.

Robyn watched him in silence for some moments. "Where is
Ray?" she asked finally. He shrugged.

"Who knows? Didn't stay with me, but we didn't like each
other much. Could be dead, for all I know; this Rhadaz is a
rough place, chickie." He scratched his neck thoughtfully,
looked at his fingernails. "You know, like, maybe you could use
a little protection."

"Got all I need," Robyn said flatly.

"Oh, right! Me, too," he chuckled. "You mean the young
Duke with the game leg or that kid that's with you? You balling
'em young these days, or is he yours?" He straightened abruptly,
pushing himself away from the door with a twist of his shoul-
ders. The air around him went briefly very dark indeed, co-
alesced in shifting patterns about his hair. "Protection, babe. A
gimp and a green kid and a couple snotty broads ain't gonna
keep the sky from falling on ya. I got pulled through by one of
the Thukar's best wizards. I can protect you from everything but
a full Triad."

"Thanks, no," Robyn said. She edged back though, scooting
on her backside. The wizard chuckled. "That's a nice light
show," she added politely. "You could really clean up back
home with that kind of act."

He turned his head and spat. "That was all such bullshit, all
of it. All the good shit's illegal, the people in power are pigs,
guys like me don't stand a chance." He grinned at her unpleas-
antly, cast Jennifer a black, warning glance as she shifted her
own weight. "Pigs like you, lady. Arrogant ball-busting broads
in fancy clothes, talking big words, swaggering around like you
think you're tough, pushing guys like me around. You wish,
lady, not here. Not a chance. You sit down over there next to
the Duchess, got it? You don't even think about moving, not

220 RU EMCRSON

until I say it's all right, you got me?" The air between them
crackled with tension. Jennifer finally moved, before he could.
Let him finish his ranting, she only wanted him out of this room,
gone so they could go themselves! In the meantime, she was
right where she wanted to be, next to Lialla and out of direct
sight-line. Lialla looked at her sidelong, cast a cautious glance
in the direction of the window and the fading light beyond it.
Her hand moved, touched Jennifer's leg, and as Snake turned
away from them, her lips moved, shaping the words: "Get
ready!"

Robyn broke a long silence. "Look, Vinnie, I can't see where
we have a lot to talk about," she said carefully. "I don't plan
on staying here, anyway. And you and I never did have anything
to share, that I remember."

"Don't jump to conclusions, babe. The Thukar's gonna send
you home all right. With her and her brother. And Jadek'll off
the lot of you, you got that?"

"He may decide not to."

"Guess you haven't met him yet." He grinned- "He's not a
nice dude, not like me. Guess you'll see, though, babe. Last
chance, all right?" Robyn shook her head. "Well, if you're
gonna be like that." He took hold of her arm and brought her
to her feet. Jennifer's muscles tensed; she forced herself to re-
main where she was as Lialla tugged at her sash; her eyes were
wide, full of warning. "So, how about one for the road? You
and I never did get it together before." Robyn looked at him
blankly. "Look, you're gonna find it's not easy for a chick here,
you can't just go cruisin' around and find something pretty to
ball. Myself, I can have what I want, but the local broads just
don't smell and act right."

Robyn managed a faint smile. "Thanks all the same, I'd really
rather not."

"I wasn't asking," he overrode her sharply. "Look, chickie
baby, we can do this two ways, my way or the hard way, got
that? Nothing against us having a little fun, the local girls don't
do me, and what's my odds of finding another sixties free spirit,
huh?"

"Nothing, except I'd rather not," Robyn said firmly.

His grip on her arm tightened. "You know, you had a nasty
tongue back then, too! All right, you want a different set of
rules, huh? That it, huh?" He was leaning over her now; his
voice had gone up a notch and the hand that gripped her arm
trembled. Obviously not pleased with rejection, Jennifer thought,

^HE CALLINQ OF OfE ^HREE      221

however nicely phrased. "Maybe I just get the guy outside the
door to carry you off; he ain't gonna care what you say. Or
maybe I should Just find a decent pry bar, huh? That what you
want, a better reason to say yes? Don't want them to think you're
loose, that it? That kid of yours, the little square with the bas-
ketball sneakers and the weirdo hair?"

"What about him?" Robyn said faintly.

"Right, we'll get him up here, too, then you and I can talk
some more, huh? Or not talk, maybe, you get me?"

"You don't have him—!"

"Bulls/n/ I don't! All I gotta do is pound on the door; that
dude I left outside knows right where to go. Come on, baby,"
he murmured against her hair, "let's have some fun."

Stop /urn—Jennifer was halfway to her feet. She hesitated, but
Snake had forgotten them both—everything, apparently, but the
trembling Robyn. The room was noticeably darker. Thread ready
to her fingers, but she stopped short of touching it. Which?

Thread vibrated all around her, the room tilted. Jennifer tore
her gaze from the far side of the room, forced her vision back
to normal. Lialla was bent forward over her knees, eyes closed
in fierce concentration. Thread moved, vibrating the air all
around them, and movement on the bed in the next room caught
Jennifer's stunned eyes. She wrenched her gaze from the rope
forming under their bags, slithering down from the bed frame,
braced herself hard against the wall and reached for Thread.
Lialla's hand clamped down on hers. Hard. "Make us a long
piece," she muttered. "To get out with. I'll get him."

"Get your hands off me!" Robyn hissed. She flailed out
wildly; the wizard swore and grabbed for her. A little blood ran
down his temple and ear where her nails had caught him. "You
lay one hand on me and I'll—"

"What, yell for the cops? Don't like nice, is that it? Want it
rough, huh, baby? All right, you got it—you and that skinny
blond kid of yours both." Robyn let out a wordless squawk of
fury and lunged for him, this time deliberately and with clear,
murderous intent. The air shimmered between them and stopped
her as though she'd run into the wall. Snake laughed nastily and
beckoned with one hand; the other was dabbing his cut cheek-
"Well, hey, tiger, come on! You want to stop me getting that
kid of yours up here? Come on, let's see it." He deliberately
turned his back on her, slowly started toward the door, brought
up his fist to hit the thick wood. Robyn's scream rose, shifted to

222 RU EMGRSON

a much higher note. The wizard ignored her until Lialla's sud-
den, startled curse and Jennifer's frightened shout warned him.

Robyn's body shimmered, like fog or ink in water and for one
terrified moment, Jennifer thought the wizard's spell had some-
how taken her. Rope, wizard—everything was forgotten: Robyn
seemed briefly to tower over them all, her body formed and
reformed like a shadow under moving lights. Jennifer heard the
distinctive fwump of large wings unfurling and felt air move
through the room. The scream that filled the chamber was no
longer human.

Vinnie Harris stood with his back against the door, staring
open-mouthed; he brought his hands up to shield .his eyes,
dodged reflexively. Jennifer saw a flurry of dark wings, the out-
line in failing light of what might have been an eagle or a con-
dor—if such birds grew to human size. Her vision blurred. She
stuffed a finger between her teeth and bit down on it to keep
from fainting; this was not the time or place for it. She heard
vast wings; the hair lifted from her forehead in their wind. The
sound she heard then she only later realized was a human neck
snapping. She found herself staring down at the fallen wizard's
body; his head was at an odd angle. He looked ineffective, rather
pathetic—a child in costume, seeking to frighten grown-ups.

But that bird. Bird . . . "Robyn?" she whispered. "Birdy?"
A cold, black eye fell on her; the creature that had been her
sister furled its wings and was somehow on the sill, out the
window. Jennifer turned to follow its progress, but lost it almost
immediately in the gloom.

"Jen! Rope!" Lialla bellowed. The door slammed open,
bounced off the wizard's body and nearly slammed shut again.
Jennifer fell back against the opposite wall, finger still gripped
tightly between her teeth, and somehow found the correct Thread
once more. Rope: Thread and straw and cloth, and Thread and
straw and cloth. She could feel it working; she couldn't see it.
She didn't have to see it, so long as the braid came together
smoothly. Three-part, over and in, over and in—she hadn't the
mind left for anything more complex.

But she couldn't take her eyes off the three men standing just
inside the doorway; the original guard stared down at the dead
man, a second at Lialla, who at casual glance might have been
ill or mad, hunched over her knees, muttering insanely and rock-
ing back and forth. The third man forced his way past them and
drew his sword. Lialla bared her teeth at him and abruptly sat
up, hair a wild aureole around her face, partly over her eyes.

t:HE CALLINQ OF T:HE CTREE

The man slowed uncertainly; Lialla sketched the tying of a knot
in the air before her. She yanked; the rope which had slipped
unnoticed across the shadowed floor wrapped around his ankles,
hard. A second strand caught the man standing just behind him.
The last was blinking dazedly as he bent over the body of his
wizard-master. Jennifer threw herself across the small room,
grabbed his arm, spun into him and pulled his feet out from
under him with a yank of her leg. His head hit the stone wall
with a nasty crack and he fell soddenly.

Lialla kept her distance from the first two men until they were
tightly bound; she skirted them cautiously, knelt to check the
other for pulse. She shrugged, reached behind her for rope. Jen-
nifer giggled weakly, clapped a hand across her mouth to keep
the sound inside. It did no good; after a moment she gave it up.
There was no sense or sanity here: The rope end Lialla had
plaited was following her across the floor like a pet four-strand
snake. Jennifer looked toward the bedroom and giggled again;

a long strand of rope, her own three-part braided rope, was
slithering down off the bed and heading straight for her feet.

"That was a good wrestling trick, you must teach it to me,"
Lialla said flatly. Jennifer's laughter faded.

"It was dumb," she said. "Getting that close to him."

Lialla eyed her with a rising irritation; somehow, she kept her
voice level. "No, it wasn't stupid;'ne was off-balance and not
prepared. And it worked. Stop making that noise'" she added
irritably.

Jennifer swallowed. The giggle was trapped just below her
Adam's apple, threatening to resurface. "My sister just flew out
the window!"

"Your sister just flew out the window," Lialla agreed evenly.
"You want to be down there when she shifts back, don't you?
You want out of here, don't you?" Jennifer found herself sud-
denly and appallingly unamused.

"Did I—is he dead?"

"Why would I waste rope and time on a dead man? No, of
course you didn't kill him, not with such a kick, or such a blow
to the head. A man like that has a skull harder than mere stone,
wouldn't you suppose? But he won't come after us himself. Not
tonight or tomorrow, either." Silence. "Can we go, Jen? Be-
fore—as Robyn would say—before someone else comes? Wait-
have you got your bag? I'll throw the others, once you're down.
Remember what Dahven said—remember to try to blur; can you
manage all that?"

224 RU EM€RSON

"I think I can. But—but Birdy—!"

"She'll find us, Jen! At least, if we get out of here alive, she'll
stand a chance of finding us! Where's that rope of yours?" For
answer, Jennifer felt around the bench for her shoulder bag,
hoisted it high onto her arm, and crawled up onto the sill, one
end of the rope in hand. She felt the movement as Lialla carried
off the other end and tied it somewhere, tugged at it uncertainly.

She looked down cautiously. It had taken her weeks to get
used to seventeen floors of sheer drop at her office. This, for-
tunately, wasn't anywhere near that high and there were no lights
around them; in the growing dusk, it was impossible to see very
far below her feet. There was no bird in sight—there was abso-
lutely nothing to see, except, possibly, the darker shade that was
the nearest of the groves of trees. Where Dahven—no. She ab-
solutely would not think of Dahven.

She worked her feet determinedly over the edge of the deep
window sill, caught hold of the rope in both hands and began
to slide down it. It wasn't comfortable wrapped as it was across
the back of her right ankle, but her sneakers held her firmly in
place and that let her take some of the strain from her shoulders
and forearms. "Lialla?" She tilted her head back and hissed
into the darkened opening. "Lialla! What if someone comes?"

Lialla was leaning across the window ledge, staring down.
She glanced over her shoulder toward the open door. "Hurry
and they won't. Get down and wait for me. Remember how I
told you to blur?' * Jennifer nodded.

"I think so."

"Good. It's not perfect, but it might help- Speed will help
more. I'll throw the other things down once you're below. Give
a tug on the rope if it's safe, two if I should wait. I'll bring your
sister's bag. Go!"

Jennifer slid most of the way; rope burning her palms and her
calves. One of her feet cramped, eased only a little as she flexed
it cautiously. Her forearms and her shoulders burned with the
extreme overuse. "I'll pay for this one tomorrow," she whis-
pered. Her feet fortunately touched ground a bare moment later.
She listened to dead silence, then yanked gingerly on the rope,
felt Lialta's answering tug, limped back against the wall and
worked her cramped foot between two numbed and rope-burned
hands until she could stand on it again.

Blur. For the first time, she felt unequal to the task; the Thread
she needed was slippery and made no sound she could identify.
And she could still see herself so clearly—how could she tell if

mE CALLINQ OF ^:HE ^HREE

225

it was working or not? Bags fell all around her, one with a muted
clatter—the cooking pots must be in that one—how, possibly,
could no one have heard it? And then the rope jerked madly
back and forth, and Lialla was down, Robyn's enormous denim
bag pulling down one thin shoulder. She shook blood back into
her hands, grimaced as she stretched the muscles across her
shoulders, and gathered up several of the fallen bundles. Jennifer
grabbed up the rest. And then Jennifer waited, increasingly ner-
vous, as Lialla walked several paces to either side and peered
into the by now near complete darkness. She sensed rather than
saw the woman's gloomy shrug.

"Doesn't matter, I suppose," she whispered. "There's two
groves of trees close by; either could be right. I can't sense
. anyone in either, could you?" Jennifer shook her head. "May
' not have arrived yet. I think the one right in front of us is maybe

• closer. Trees are taller, anyway, that makes it a better choice;

•' let's go." She started off directly, confidently, across the open.

Jennifer wasn't certain she could convince her shaking legs to
\cany her that way. She caught up with Lialla just as the other
^ woman reached deeper shadow. Very chill shade confronted
t'tiiem. Trees, Jennifer realized. Lialla stopped, dropped her bags,
and sat abruptly on the hard ground. Jennifer eased down cau-
tiously beside her. Lialla put her head close, tugged on Jennifer's
arm and whispered against her ear,'"I hate to keep saying I

• don't know. I really don't know much about shapeshifting. Ex-
cept your Robyn certainly did an impressive first shift, didn't
She? She's extremely sensitive to people in her present form."

"The size of her—she could be anywhere by now!"

"No. That is still Robyn; unless she's a lot stronger than she
.looks, she'll be ready to come down and roost if she hasn't
already done so. You think descending that rope was hard—-
imagine pulling yourself through the air with those wings! But
she will want you, Jen, I'd wager on it, she'll want someone
familiar and close to her. Knowing that—she'll find you."

"She'll—how does she shift back?" Jennifer's voice cracked;

she clapped a hand over her mouth, let her eyelids close. She
was suddenly so terribly tired.

"They do. They always do." Lialla sounded so reassuring.
For a moment, it eased the inner tension. But a breath later,
Jennifer was doing her best not to remember how little Lialla
actually knew about the real world—and about her own magic,
let alone any other variety.

16

WHAT could she do? Jennifer wrapped her arms around her
chest and paced back and forth until she sensed Lialla's
dark eyes on her; sensed Lialta's tension. And became aware of
the silence all around them. If there were men anywhere around
them—men watching the Thukar's palace, waiting for the least
movement where no movement should be ...

But Lialla was using Thread now, taking over from Jennifer,
blurring not the entire grove but the area nearest them. Now that
she was not responsible for manipulating that Thread, she could
see how it was being moved, how it worked. For the moment,
unless a very powerful magician was searching for a Wielder or
for them, personally, they would be safe. They'd certainly be
safe from accidental discovery by any of the Thukar's house-
holdmen.

She looked up, all around her, finally moved across the dark-
ened glade and stopped just short of an immense tree. Its bark
was rough, thick like that of a fir; it wasn't fir. That for Chris,
she thought dryly. How would he fit this into his latest scenario
for where and when they were, in relation to their own world?
She settled her back against the bark, eased herself down until
she was squatting on the ground, and prepared to wait for Robyn.

How to tell?

She knew so little! In truth, nothing. Even though there were
books—intentional fiction and the other kind, books written in
supposed sober truth or at least sober belief about worlds no one
could have visited—books that told about such shifts in body
shape and kind. Jennifer had read so few of them, and even now
she couldn't believe there was the least amount of truth to any
of them- There was no Atlantis, no Mu, no hollow earth, no

T:HE CALLINQ OF ^HE ^HREE

227

ancient aliens come to teach feebleminded cavemen how to be-
come human! How would people who made up such wild fan-
tasies have any clue to a real shift of human shape? But there
was a tale, something Robyn had read her once, long ago: a
Celtic tale wonderfully retold—a boy killed and fed to pigs, his
soul transmuted into a vast hunting bird. And the brother or the
father, she couldn't recall which, who'd sung him back into his
human body. She let her head fall back, hair catching in coarse
bark, and began to sing.

Lialla cast her one horrified look, then turned away and began
desperately weaving Thread around them, blurring as heavily as
she could—or dared. If another magician sensed the spell, if
Dahven could not find them because of it!

The song had very little melody—not to Lialla, who seldom
found pleasure in music. But the words caught at her heart,
foreign though they were. And Jennifer, she realized with knee-
weakening relief, could sing quietly and could pitch her voice
the direction she wished it to go: '0, Mio Babbino Caro"
scarcely reached Lialla's ears but it rose straight up the tall trunk
behind her, seeking the sky beyond.

And it found what it sought.

An enormous black-winged bird paused in its stow, awkward
flight, tilted its head consideringly, circled the grove. There was
water down there—there was something else. Something—there
was protection down there. With what might have been a sigh
of relief, the bird brought vast wings in partway and began to
descend. Some distance above the singer, it found a branch and
folded the wings, sat listening. Singer—something of that voice,
something that said warmth, safety. The bird came down a few
feet, a few more, head turned aside to catch the least sound, the
faintest nuance of that disturbing voice. By the time Jennifer had
finished, the bird was balanced on a narrow, broken end of long-
dead branch not far above her head. Jennifer looked up at her
without blinking.

"Robyn? Robyn, come down, I need you," she said quietly.

Can't, the bird thought in sudden panic, but she had already
partly furled the great wings, and somehow they were changing,
shifting, feathers fading . . . and then she knew, the remainder
of the shift went as she decreed it. She fell forward onto trem-
bling hands and knees that would no longer hold her upright,
felt Jennifer's strong, young hands on her arms and then around
her shoulders, heard Jennifer's voice murmuring simple, reas-
suring nothings against her ear. For several minutes she buried

228 RU EMERSON

her face in Jennifer's shoulder and let the past hour wash over
her, and shook uncontrollably.

"Shhh, Birdy, it's all right, don't worry about it." Jennifer
smoothed her wildly ruffled hair. "We're out of there, it's all
right.*'

"Vinnie's dead," Robyn whispered. She saw his death with
two sets of eyes; somehow, that knowledge brought her ap.un-
expected calm. She pulled a little away from Jennifer's protective
embrace and looked at her sister. "He's dead, and 1 killed him."
And as Jennifer hesitated, then began to shake her head: "Don't!
I remember—oh. God, I couldn't ever forget that!" Jennifer
looked at her helplessly, shook her head again. '*! thought-
when they turn into werewolves in the movies, they don't re-
member. ' *

"I know. It's different, Birdy. Don't worry about it, it isn't
your fault."

"Don't," Robyn said quietly, and for the first time in this
particular world, she fell calm, somehow in control. Perhaps
because the worst had happened—or at least one kind of worst:

A woman who had sworn all her grown life to prevent death-
human or animal—had sought another human's death. Worse
still: She wasn't sorry. *'I killed him," she said.

"Yes. You broke his neck," Jennifer agreed soberly. "He
never felt a thing. But if you hadn't done that, Birdy, I hate to
think what he'd have done."

"I know. But don't, Jen, it's all right. I'm not sorry, truly.
He—what he would have done to Chris. Or to me- To anyone, a
woman out of that market, sold to him for a handful of coin. He
deserved it." Silence. Jennifer pulled herself together with an
effort, patted Robyn's arm. "What was that you were singing?
It sounded familiar, kind of."

"No, it didn't," Jennifer said with an embarrassed grin. "It's
opera. Puccini." With lyrics that translate roughly, as "If I can't
marry that young man, I'll simply die." God. Her subconscious
was having a great time with her. Sensible women in the real
worid, sensible women nearing thirty, didn't act like that! "Birdy,
you never listen to opera."

"Hah," Robyn grinned weakly in reply. "They used that on
TV for a champagne commercial, I knew it was familiar. Lovely
melody. Oh, God," she added in sudden despair, "I'd kill for a
drink!"

"Nothing here but pond water," Jennifer said mildly. "Let's
get you on your feet, shall we? And truly, I'm sorry this hap-


WE CALLINQ OF FHE T:HREE

229

pened, Birdy; I'm only glad you're taking it so well. If you want
to talk, you'll tell me, won't you? Promise you will."

"I promise."

"Not around Aletto, though," Lialla said quietly; there was
an urgency in her low voice. Robyn shook her head; Jennifer
looked up at her uncertainly. "I told you how he feels about
magic. This—he mustn't know this happened. There aren't any
witnesses but us; he won't find out otherwise."

Robyn nodded. "I know, he's said. How he feels about—
shapeshifters." Robyn felt her voice come from a vast distance;

her vision was suddenly tunneling at an alarming speed. ' 'I don't
feel very well," she added faintly. She was barely aware of
Jennifer's arms around her, Lialla's worried exclamation. The
little light around them faded and she went limp in Jennifer's
grasp.

She could only have been unconscious for moments; the light
from various windows and from the city beyond the Thukar's
palace hadn't changed; the grove itself was still extremely dark,
only a little light from overhead stars and the reflection of city
light on a few clouds reaching them. Jennifer's damp fingers
lingered on her throat; Robyn pushed them away. "Don't—that's
cold," she whispered.

"You're awake, good." Lialla's voice. "I haven't seen any
sign of the boys, and we can't stay here long; even if the Thukar
wasn't likely to want us tonight, someone might miss Snake. I
must have misread Dahven's sign. It doesn't matter; we're out,
that's the hard part."

Robyn let her eyes close again briefly- She didn't really want
to sit up, ever again. Aletto—he'd find out; he'd change from a
friendly—if shy and young for his years—man to a slit-eyed
stranger. The thought was terribly depressing. But mention of
Snake reminded her of Chris; thought of Chris was enough to
get her moving. Lialla handed over her shoulder bag, two small
bags of food, and the container of cooking pots. Robyn arranged
the too-thin straps so they wouldn't cut her shoulders. The three
women crept across the glade, stopped just short of the sound
of falling water.

It was another of the walls of water: This one was no taller
than Jennifer's shoulder, and water slid in a thin sheet down its
tilted surface to fall into a circular pool. As they came up, she
heard a large fish splashing in deep water some distance away.
She held up a hand for silence, gripped Robyn's arm when the
latter tried to speak, shook her head.

230

Ru EMSRSON

"It's Father's favorite pool." Dahven's voice sent a chill down
her back and threatened to weaken her knees. She hadn't sensed
him; his presence neither surprised nor alarmed her, somehow.
"He had fish brought from Podhru years ago, tiny things; I
remember they were scarce the size of my thumb, all gold and
black and white." He materialized from the darkness, took Jen-
nifer's fingers from Robyn's arm and transferred them to^us
own; she could feel his heart beating rapidly through thick cloth.
"They're quite large now. Perhaps some day you can come and
see them in daylight." He turned as Chris caught Robyn's shoul-
ders and hugged her fiercely, as Aletto took hold of his sister.

"Li—you're all right?"

"We're fine now, thanks to you," Lialla whispered. Jennifer
opened her mouth to protest—all that work with rope, everything
else they had done themselves! Lialla's warning look in her di-
rection kept her silent. "Let's go, before they become aware of
us."

For answer, Aletto led her around the edge of the pool. "Dah-
ven? Can we?"

"Waiting on you only," Dahven murmured cheerfully. He
pulled something that glittered red from a pocket, held it up and
turned slowly from side to side. "All clear, at least in our di-
rection. You and Chris go ahead, we'll bring up the rear." Al-
etto was already gone, a faint shadow against the outermost trees,
Lialla's hand clenched tightly in his. A count of five later, Chris,
arm around his mother's shoulder and most of her bundles mak-
ing him a lumpy, top-heavy looking shadow, followed. Dahven
counted down on his fingers, held up a closed fist and turned a
carefully expressionless countenance in Jennifer's direction.
"Blurring-stone." He held it out so she could touch it. "I know
very little about Thread, and anyway, it seemed prudent for us
to bring our own safety with us." He laughed quietly as he
stowed it away. "Besides, I like magic—-particularly this kind;

one buys it and uses it, and there's no other effort to it." Jennifer
couldn't think of anything to say; she nodded. Dahven led her
after the others. "Chris says you don't care for enclosed places.
Can you bear them?"

Jennifer laughed breathily. Dahven's presence was bubbling
her blood like champagne; she was keenly aware of the warm
touch of his fingers through the Wielder blacks. She was glad he
couldn't read the thought behind her eyes. "After tonight, there
isn't much I couldn't bear! Lead me to it."

Dahven laughed quietly in turn and touched her hair. "There's

WE CALLINQ OF -CHE -CHREE     231

my lady," he whispered, and with one hand on her wrist to
guide her, he started out, skirting the pool and going back the
other way through the Thukar's favorite glade.

There was a young man—tall and angular in an ill-fitting dark
robe that was too short in the sleeves—waiting where the trees
ended. Waiting, Jennifer realized with a breath-stopping pang,
next to an opening half-hidden behind a thick wall of scented,
flowering vine, hand on an enormous stab of carefully balanced
stone. It led down into darkness. She stifled a sneeze, fought
another, braced a finger hard under her septum until the thick
odor was behind them. A flight of broken stairs lit by one of
those odd blue lights Lialla had used their first night—she swal-
lowed dread and picked her way down. At the bottom, Dahven
pulled her to a halt and waited himself, listening. Silence. And
then a deep, hollow thump; the ground under her feet vibrated
briefly. And the young man caught up with them, blue light
balanced on one open palm.

He glanced up; Dahven's eyes followed his. "Closed the en-
try. Not for good, of course; it's too useful."

"Well, of course," Dahven said mildly. "Edrith, this is a
kinswoman of Chris, the Lady Jennifer.'' He managed her name
with a soft "J," and the last syllable definitely rhymed with
"air"—almost Frenchified.

"Go on, I'll bring up the end,*' Edrith said. Dahven took
Jennifer's hand in his and turned her away from the stairs.

The others were already out of sight. Jennifer swallowed hard
and began walking. She wouldn't think about the stone that now
covered the way they had come down. She wouldn't let herself
think about the size of the tunnel she could barely see stretching
before them. The passageway was narrow, barely wide enough
for two if they walked very close; the ceiling was a full foot
over her head but still too low, and the floor was unpaved, damp-
smelling and littered with fallen stone and loose dirt. Some-
where she heard a constant, slow drip of water. Robyn, she told
herself firmly. Robyn needed her; Chris did. Her fingers tight-
ened instinctively on Dahven's; his held hers reassuringly. Just
before the tunnel became oppressive beyond bearing, it started
to slope upward. It was enough. She drew a deep, easy breath
when the steps appeared, leading up into darkness. Edrith went
ahead here, Jennifer following, Dahven a warm, reassuring pres-
ence at her back. And then she was scrambling over flat slabs
of tilted stone and mounds of loose rubble, into fresh, warm
nieht air. There were liehts before them, sootv night behind, a

2?2 RU EMGRSON

few stars overhead. Someone pulled her back against a low wall.
Edrith's voice was a hissing collection of sibilants against her
ear and nothing else at first. "New outer walls here," she finally
understood. "Behind us. Old walls over there—" A hand pointed
at the rubble they'd just left. "Civic improvement," Edrith
grinned.

"Go." Dahven was on her other side; his single word apd
gesture for Edrith. He turned to Jennifer as their companion
vanished with only the faintest click of overturned stone to mark
his passage. "Ready?" She nodded. The tunnel had taken al-
most all her reserves of strength and nerve. Thoughts of Robyn,
Chris—they were confused, muddled thoughts; nothing at the
moment was real except the warm, long-fingered hand that lay
across her fingers. "There's a place to hide for a while, it's rough
but safe. I'll get you there." She nodded again, let him take her
arm, and followed blindly where he led.

SHE vaguely expected an alarm of some kind; it never came
while they were in the open, not until the Thukar sent for his
pet outlander magician at sunrise and discovered his bed undis-
turbed, his laboratory and plant rooms empty, three of his
personal guard missing.

She followed Dahven through parts of the market she recog-
nized, more of them she didn't, some she would have sworn
she'd seen at least twice since they escaped the Thukar's walls.
She saw the backs of buildings, the insides of buildings-
wrinkled her nose at curious and downright horrid odors. Her
legs ached and were beginning to tremble, one of her high-tops
was rubbing against an irritated tendon; shoulder muscles and
mid-back muscles ached steadily from that rapid rope descent.
And her stomach ached from lack of food. All at once, there
was a particularly dark and dusty area, two- and three-story
buildings that leaned alarmingly toward each other over a nar-
row, muddy street; a pile of rubble where one had fallen in on
itself. Somehow, Dahven had her on her knees, was guiding her
under thick wooden beams, past piles of brick and over shifting
mounds of junk. There was the least light before her; then sud-
denly enough—two candle lanterns and two of the blue lights—
to make out everyone.

The tall young man and his companion—Chris reluctantly
turned his attention away from Robyn long enough to introduce
Jennifer, Lialla and Robyn to Edrith and Vey—had food and
water for them. Robyn ate a handful of dried fruit, took a bite

•CHE CALL1NQ OF CHE •CHREE

233

of bread and chewed exhaustedly, eyes closed. Chns hovered
anxiously next to her, Aletto—once he was reassured Lialla was
all right—at her other elbow. "Mom?"

"Chris?" Robyn dropped the chunk of tough bread to her lap
and shook her head miserably. "Chris, I've had it. I need wine."

He shifted uneasily, looked across her bent head. "Mom.
we're leaving tonight, I don't think—"

"I don't care," she whispered intensely. "I need wine! You
don't know!"

"No." It was Aletto who answered from her other side. "I
do, though." He gestured; Vey came over and squatted next to
him. "Wine—do we have anything but that red?" Vey shrugged.
"I'd appreciate it, greatly, if you could find a bottle for the lady,
preferably one which isn't sweet." Chris looked at Robyn un-
happily, cast Aletto a very hard look, and turned away. Aletto
ignored him; Robyn was mumbling into her hands. "Lady?
Robyn? I can't understand what you're saying."

"You'll think I'm awful," she said miserably.

Aletto touched her shoulder and when she looked up from
under wet lashes, he smiled. "You're not awful," he said.
"Some people can cope with anything. They have all the an-
swers, or at least, the answers that satisfy them. The rest of
us—" He shrugged. "The rest of us are still looking. I looked
in enough winecups before I left Duke's Fort."

"It's no answer," Robyn whispered. "I know that." She
shuddered, let her eyes close. "But tonight—"

"You don't need to find excuses," he said. "It's all right.
Whatever you do, whatever you need."

"For tonight, anyway," Robyn whispered; this time, Aletto
didn't hear her. Vey came back a short while later with an ex-
tremely tart, pale yellow wine. It was also extremely potent:

Robyn washed down her bread and fruit and something similar
to smoked halibut with two cups of the stuff and fell asleep in
Aletto's arms moments later. Chris cast him one black look but
his heart wasn't in it: Robyn had visibly relaxed with that first
cupful. And the look on Aletto's face as he gazed down at her—
how could he hate a guy who looked at his mother like that?

He turned back to Edrith and Vey, who were sitting and eating
with him and playing some kind of complicated dicing game at
the same time. "I think he likes her," he said. Edrith glanced
over Chris's shoulder, watched Aletto measuringly for some mo-
ments. He nodded.

"You care for her a good deal yourself, don't you?"

Ru EMERSON

Chris considered this in mild surprise. "She's my mother—"

"Everyone has a mother," Edrith said. "Vey—how much long-
er have we?''

"Third hour hasn't rung yet. We'll need to be gone by fourth,
to meet Red Hawk Clan near the north gates."

"Good. Plenty of time." Edrith tossed dice, picked up several
bits of stick he'd culled initially from the rubble around them,
pulled several out and tossed the rest into the oval he'd inscribed
on the ground between them. "Vey, it's going to be strange, not
having you at my elbow.''

The younger boy shrugged, tugged at one ear. His dark face
showed red across me high cheekbones. "Edrith, I admire you.
going with them. I would be useless outside Sikkre. It's all I
know, all I'm good at."

"I know. I'll still miss you."

"Going with us?" Chris fastened on that. "Who says?"

"Aletto," Edrith said promptly. "And Gyrdan. I have been
to Bez, I can find the Street of Weavers and get all of you out
of sight before there is comment and gossip all up and down to
the very wharves- Besides," he added. "I have a piece of infor-
mation—written evidence against Jadek. Aletto knows; I told
him earlier when you slept.''

"What evidence?"

Edrith shrugged. "My mother owns a stand close by, in the
old market; she sells fruit and—well, other things. She is Sik-
kreni by blood, but Zeiharri because she was married to one of
the old Duke's housemen. When Duke Amami died, there was
a good deal of upset, of course; hardly anyone noticed mat my
father vanished a few days after the funeral. My mother never
knew what came of him; she was given a sum of coin—Father's
pension—and came back here. By then, her own family was
scattered but she had no use for them anyway; she used the
money to buy her place in the market." Edrith sighed. "I see
her seldom any more; she doesn't like me much because I re-
mind her of Father and all she lost when he died. And she always
has one man or another; they like me around even less."

"I spent the entire last summer at Jen's house, when Mom
had one of her men living in," Chris said sympathetically, and
reached out to grip Edrith's shoulder. "I've been lucky with
Mom, but some of her men—"

"Yeah." Edrith gripped his fingers. "Anyway, I went by her
stand this afternoon, when I was getting food. Told her I was
going awav, somethine to do with Zeiharri and all the rumors

tHE CALL1NQ OF ^HE T:HREE

235

about the nera-Duke. She gave me something Father had Duke
Amarni's scribe write down for him. She's had it ever since-
afraid to keep it, afraid to throw it out even though she'd never
use it. She's probably regretting she gave it to me, now. It says
he was not far from the Duke's side when the pool of Hell-Light
opened up. He said the Duke's brother did it himself, that he
forced the Duke's horse into it."

Chris stared at him in a blank lack of comprehension, then
rising excitement. "But—then all Aletto needs to do is take that
to the Emperor!" Silence. "Isn't it?"

"Proof." Aletto shrugged; Robyn murmured something in
her sleep, shifted, and slid down in his arms a little. Aletto
pushed damp strands of hair off her forehead. "It was sworn to,
of course. But Elar—Edrith's father, you know—and the scribe
are both dead."

"Insufficient evidence, then," Chris said flatly. "Damn. All
the same, it's something to know—isn't it?"

"I suppose," Aletto said. He was stroking Robyn's hair, gaz-
ing down at her thoughtfully. "It doesn't change much. We still
go to Bezjeriad, once we get free of the Thukar and his city. But
now, Edrith goes with us, and we try to make better speed and
cut less of a wide path as we go." He looked up at Chris; Chris
merely nodded.

"Is it you, Chris?" Robyn's whisper barely moved the air in
front of her. Her forehead puckered; that was wrong. The scent,
the shape of him . . . "Aletto?" His arm tightened briefly around
her shoulders.

"It's all right, you're safe and there's still time. Sleep if you
like."

She shook her head faintly, pulled herself up into a more com-
fortable position and leaned her cheek against his chest. "I'm
not really sleepy Just now. I think—we need to talk."

"We?" He liked the sound of that; his voice showed it, the
smile he turned in her direction did. Robyn smiled back at him,
rather helplessly.

"Aletto, I—you're a wonderful person. I'm just—I don't think
I'm suitable—"

"I say you are," he interrupted her firmly.

"Aletto, you're a nobleman! Surely you can't just marry any-
one you want." He shook his head reluctantly. "Well then—
Aletto, please, before you get past being able to think, I've been
wed before—"

236 RU EMERSON

"That's no barrier—"

"I have a son—"

"It's always good to know a Duke's wife can bear heirs." His
mouth quirked and despite herself, Robyn laughed.

"Silly! I'm—God, I'm thirty-eight, I must be ten years older
than you!"

"That's right. But it's not so many, not compared to some."

"People will laugh at you!"

"They won't."

"They will! Look at me," she overrode him. "I smoke—I
used to smoke," she said bitterly, "until I came here and ran
out of tobacco. I'm going to ache for the stuff forever until I get
it out of my system, it's going to make me bitchy. I drink too
much. I've never yet chosen a decent man, all the men I've had—
there's another thing to consider—"

"Hush," he said, and laid a hand over her mouth. "I'm
twenty-eight, and three years past my majority; my left leg
doesn't work quite right nor half my face, and I've never dared
speak to any woman not my mother, my sister or a servant be-
cause of my face—and all the rest. I drink too much. I may not
be able to father children. My temper isn't stable, I'm arrogant
and the next moment uncertain whether I have the right to
breathe, even. There—is that match enough for you?" Silence.
Robyn looked up at him, sighed, and reached up to take hold of
the fingers he was using to stroke her hair.

"I don't know," she said simply. "I like you, Aletto. But it's
not fair to you, and I can't trust myself."

"I'll worry about fair to me," he assured her. "I can trust
you. I do, you must see that. But it's all right. And we have a
long way to go to reach Duke's Fort. Don't worry, it will sort
itself out."

Did she see him with doubled vision—her own and the bird's?
She pushed that thought aside fiercely, tightened her grip on his
hand. She wouldn't think about that, not until she must. She
wouldn't think about Snake, about that tower, about throwing
herself from the deep windowledge and sailing on black wings,
out over a darkened courtyard. She blinked, looked up at him,
and brought up a smile from somewhere. "It just might."

VEY had disappeared again. Jennifer sipped at a pottery cup of
Robyn's tart white wine, nibbled the last of her bread to wash
down the aftertaste. She looked up to find Dahven's dark, ap-
praising eyes on her; felt color wash her face and throat. His

^HE CALLINQ OF T:HE CHREE

237

own color was rather high, and he looked away at once. "I wish
I could go the entire way with you," he said abruptly. "But it
wouldn't be sensible. Father would make a fuss. I don't care for
myself, you understand," he added with an engaging smile and
one swift glance at her face. "But his tempers become worse all
the time; I fear one of these days he'll fall down dead in the midst
of one and I'll be stuck with Sikkre. I really don't want it yet.
And he turns increasingly petty in his rages; they never do the
city any good." He sighed. "Fortunately, no one ever expects
me to be in my own bed at night. So I shall ride out with you."

"If you were caught . . ." Jennifer said hesitantly.

"I shouldn't worry about that," Dahven said. "At least, not
in the sense you mean it." He shook his head. "I know twenty
songs or more that describe such a thing, and yet, had anyone
asked me if it were possible to see a woman's face, one partic-
ular woman's face of all the faces in the world—" He shrugged
helplessly.

Jennifer laughed. "I know plenty of the same kinds of songs,
and I'd have said it wasn't likely. Not for me, at least; I'm far
too sensible."

"I'm much too practical," Dahven said and grinned impu-
dently.

"It's not the word I've heard most used of you," Jennifer
replied with a grin of her own; the off-balance feeling she'd had
since her first fall look at him moved somewhere into the back-
ground, still very much there and likely to catch her at odd
moments but now hidden behind a much safer certainty that here
was someone who could be a very good friend.

"Oh?" Dahven laughed. "You've spoken to Lialla," he ac-
cused.

"Among others. But you said songs. Do you—are you a mu-
sician?"

"Not the musician I would like to be; unfortunately, it takes
time and care, and long hours with the a'lud, longer ones learn-
ing the words to songs. There are too many things competing
format time."

"A'lud?"

"I forget, you're outlander." He smoothed the dirt between
them and drew something vaguely guitar-shaped, seven-stringed,
then held his hands apart to measure a length something less
than guitar, more than violin. Jennifer sighed.

"I had a—something like that. It's larger, played so, between

Ru EMERSON

the knees." She did her best to convey cello playing from a
cross-legged posture on the floor. "I miss it."

"I'm sorry I don't have my a'lud with me tonight." He leaned
over and touched her hand. "There's nothing like you describe
here, but there are other things, other instruments. I'd like to
hear these songs."

Jennifer smiled. "Cultural exchange?" she said.

"Everyone trades songs," Dahven said. He glanced around
the untidy, ill-lit chamber thoughtfully. "Once we're on our way
tonight. I can borrow an a'lud, I daresay. From one of the Red
Hawk."

"You're certain it's safe to go—"

"Safer than letting you all leave without me," he said with
certainty. "None of you know which way you go once you've
left the caravan. There's a route that winds through rough back
country and into Bezjeriad from the north and west. Much safer
for you than the Bez road. 1 can get you started in the right
direction; that's surely worth some risk." Jennifer still looked
so doubtful he smiled and took her near hand between both of
his. "Keep in mind also," he added soothingly, "that I'm the
Thukar's heir. Only Father has any right to beat me—and he
never has, it's not his way." He brought her fingers up and
looked at them, turned them over and kissed her thumb. "It
gives me several extra hours with you; don't you want them?"

Jennifer shook her head. "If I said no, would you believe
me?"

17

y^HERE had been a shift in the weather, a least breeze coming
^ffrom the north and west that shifted again to north. The air
was chill for the first time and Jennifer shivered inside the
Wielder blacks. The line of Red Hawk carts and caravans was a
variety of darker shadows in the dark hour before dawn. Here
and there she heard muted voices, a clink of pans, now and again
the squeal of some foul-tempered beast objecting to harness.

She wanted to object when Dahven draped his own cloak over
her shoulders, but somehow didn't He gripped her shoulder
briefly, leaned over to speak against her ear. "I won't be long;

one last talk with the Grandmother and the caravan master. I
can't think why there's been no search anywhere yet."

"I wish you hadn't reminded me," Jennifer whispered back.
but Dahven was already gone. Robyn came up beside her, Chris
hovering nervously behind her.

"Reminded you of what?"

"Hmmm? Oh. Nothing, Birdy."

"Nothing, Birdy," Robyn said, but she showed no real incli-
nation to argue. "Are we leaving soon?"

"I hope so." Jennifer looked at the east horizon—could she
see anything there yet, the least shift in color? Robyn let Chris
lead her back to the horses Vey had bargained for them, the
small horse-drawn covered caravan that would carry them out of
Sikkre and bear their goods until they left Red Hawk. Jennifer
peered after them. Odd that Aletto would let Robyn out of sight
or reach. She thought she saw him two carts down. arguing with
Edrith. If we could go, now— She sighed and let the thought go;

it sounded too much like a very frightened Robyn.

"Don't look so down." Dahven's whisper tickled her neck-

240

RU EM6RSON

"I'm only coming with you partway, you know." She turned to
smile a( him; the smile widened as he held up his right hand
and something jangled rather sweetly. "The old woman's a'lud;

there's trust for you!"

Jennifer laughed quietly. "Trust—or the thing's so old it's be-
yond tuning."

"Well now, that had not occurred to me," Dahven adnnit-
ted. He held it up close to his face and peered at it thoughtfully,
then turned and held out an arm. "They're ready to go, any
moment now. It only remains for the city guard to give them
passage—"

"City guard—"

"Don't look so unnerved; it doesn't seem at all fitting to you.
It's a mere formality, probably dating back to the days when they
had to bribe the guard or submit to search in order to escape.
Of course, the caravans—Red Hawk in particular—keep Father
in gold to pay his magicians and fund their experiments, so it's
in his best interests to indulge them."

"Don*t," Jennifer replied, her light, bantering tone matching
his, "sound so blase; it doesn't fit you." Dahven laughed and
let his hand slide down her forearm to take hold of her fingers.

"I hope you've thought," he warned her. "I fully expect to
hear every one of those songs."

"You're under a matching obligation, remember." Jennifer
clambered up the two steps that led into the back of the covered
caravan—gypsy wagon, she decided as she looked approvingly
at the interior. One blue light showed it to advantage: walls lined
with stretched canvas, painted or stenciled in flowers and signs
she could not decipher, pots and other oddments hanging from
the comers. There was no window, only another hanging length
of quilted canvas blocking the way to the front seat. She could
hear Chris, Robyn and Edrith out there, Aletto off to one side-
mounted, apparently. And then Lialla, somewhere to the other
side. She was laughing at something Chris had said; it sounded
very odd.

A creak of leather and wood, the sound of hooves and metal-
bound wheels against stone. Their own cart started with a sharp
jerk; Dahven, thrown off-balance, fell back into the wall, mak-
ing the caravan sway. Robyn's voice came back through the cur-
tain. "Sorry!"

"Both alive," Jennifer replied dryly. "Don't press your luck,
though." Robyn giggled; Jennifer held out her hand and righted
Dahven.

WE CALLINQ OF T:HE ^HREE

241

"Novice drivers," he said and rubbed his hip. "Fortunately
the Grandmother's a'lud isn't damaged; she'd have my ears for
that!"

"You'd look odd without them," Jennifer said gravely. Dah-
ven laughed.

It was quiet for some time, save the various, continuous noises
made by the carts as they moved slowly through deserted Sik-
kreni streets and into the open country north of the city. After
a time, there was only the steady creak of unoiled wood and
leather harness. An occasional, distant growl of thunder.

She felt twenty pounds lighter, as though someone had taken
weights off her shoulders. "We escaped," Jennifer whispered.
Dahven laughed quietly and nodded toward the front of the car-
avan. Beyond the quilted curtain, she could hear Robyn and Chris
bantering, Edrith's occasional remark. Aletto's laugh. Even Lial-
la's. They sounded light-headed, every one of them. And little
wonder.

"Another hour." Dahven said, "and we'll cross the Sikkreni
border. Father knows better than to come after a Red Hawk
caravan anyway, but he'd never bother one in Dro Pent lands-
even if Jadek offered him an Emperor's ransom for you." He
brought up the a'lud to his ear and began tuning it. Jennifer slid
down off her perch on the narrow bed so she could watch his
hands and hear what he was doing. '

She'd seldom played a guitar; this looked similar but enough
different that it would probably confuse anyone who had played
guitar. And Dahven, despite his earlier disclaimers, was an ex-
cellent player. His singing voice was thin and flatted a little in
the mid-range, but it was pleasant enough, particularly for the
rather sweet love songs he sang to her.

He broke off, partway through one. "I feel quite foolish, sing-
ing these things to you," he said.

Jennifer drew her knees up to her chin and shook her head.
"Why?"

He bent his head over the strings, began fiddling with a com-
plex picking pattern. "Because—oh, I mink of the last time I
played this one, in particular—"

"Dahven." Jennifer leaned forward to touch his hand. He
glanced up at her, colored oddly and went back to a study of his
picking hand. "Dahven, I'm twenty-eight years old. I'm not the
kind of young girl who expects a boy in virginal whites to match
her own." Silence, except for a burst of laughter outside and the
faint sound of a'lud within. She set her fingers under his chin

242 RU EM6RSON

and raised it. "Please. Whatever this thing is—it doesn't need
to make us totally foolish, does it?"

"Well—" He tilted his head to one side and grinned. "You
make me feel very foolish at this moment. You're right, though.
I'm not the boy in that last song—"

"I'm not the girl," Jennifer finished for him, and added,
"Thank God." She held out a hand. "Here, let me see that
instrument. I may not get another chance to touch one for some
time to come."

It wasn't easy; she finally sorted out three basic chords with
Dahven's help and sang him the few Child and folk ballads she
knew that utilized only three chords.

"Curious language," he said finally. "I almost begin to think
I understand it, or a word here and there, and then I'm no longer
certain. You'd better stop, though; your fingers will hurt if you
don't."

"I know." They already did hurt; she shook them out, used
Thread to staunch one small broken and bleeding blister on her
index finger. ' 'Let's see if they want a change of driver out there;

I'm falling asleep and I'd like to see the countryside."

"There isn't much to see just yet," Dahven said. But he set
the a'lud carefully aside and held the curtain for her.

Robyn moved into the back to rest; Lialla went with her and
handed the horse over to Chris, who went around the back of
the caravan and came up on Aletto's other side. The two moved
off a short distance and for some moments Jennifer could hear
them talking—inevitably—about local history, language, the odd
time shift Snake had mentioned and his mother had passed on.

Jennifer huddled down in Dahven's cape and folded her hands
up snugly under her armpits, letting Dahven take the reins. "I
don't know the first thing about this; I'll watch."

"Sensible woman," he said. He held the leather straps eas-
ily, in one hand. "Though admittedly, in the middle of a string
like this, there isn't much to do. The beasts are all very well
trained, and it's unheard of for anything to come and spook
them. I did warn you," he added, "that there wasn't much to
see."

"You warned me," Jennifer agreed. She could see the out-
lines of tall, scrubby poplar along one side of the dirt road, and
beyond them, open land that might have been grain fields or
pasture or simply desert. Here and there she saw narrow water-
ways—irrigation canals—and once they passed right by a flooded

WE CALLINQ OF T:HE tHREE

243

rice field. The air was suddenly quite cool and there were mos-
quitoes everywhere.

The change was subtle; there was little water, and then small,
fiat streams everywhere: The road dipped through wide, dry beds
or crossed clattery wooden bridges over others.

The Red Hawk clan stopped for a short while just before the
road began to climb toward foothills that flanked the Holmad
River most of its way down to the sea. When they went on again,
Jennifer and Dahven had taken horse, leaving the interior of the
caravan to a deeply sleeping Robyn and Lialla. Aletto, Chris
and Edrith sat on the driving seat now and joked back and forth.

"Tell me about yourself." Jennifer started; it was the first
thing Dahven had said in what seemed hours.

"There isn't much to tell, really."

"How can you say that, coming from an entire other worid?
And such a world! When Snake first came—bless old Fiddkro
for finding him, poor old idiot—I think he hoped to win my
approval, perhaps thinking it would be useful in getting Father's
eye. Poor stupid Lizard—but then, he didn't know. But when he
first came, he told me such wonderful things."

"Well—" Jennifer considered this.

"Some quite odd ones too, of course. But they say outlanders
are not all alike, and of course I can see that for myself now.''
He leaned over and touched her knee*. ' 'Tell me about yourself.''

She did; told him about her office, her music.

' 'Then you also know about the special paper for writing down
music."

"I—? Oh. Of course."

"I'd deariy like to leam how to do that," he said wistfully.
"If things sort themselves out, after this night—" He looked at
her sidelong, and his face was troubled. "If they do, I'll make
you a bargain. An a'lud, and the teaching of my old music mas-
ter, in exchange for which you will teach me how to write down
music."

"It's a bargain," Jennifer said. She looked over his shoulder
into heavy brush, back across the road to a shelving bank and
scrubby, dry trees. "We haven't much longer, have we? And
you haven't told me anything about yourself."

"1_"

"I can always ask Lialla," Jennifer added gravely. Dahven
laughed.

"Don't, please! Poor lady, I wonder how well she slept when
my father first sent messages to Jadek proposing to merge our

244 RU EM6RSON

houses' But as to myself—what can I tell you? I'm Father's el-
dest, two years above Aletto but since Father still enjoys breath
if not true good health, I am still an heir, not a Thukar. My
beloved brothers you met at Father's table; they're a trifle short-
sighted, caring for little if it isn't a column of figures, or food
prepared and within reach—or one of Father's innumerable nasty
little schemes which he calls hard bargaining. It's certain^ un-
fortunate for him that either Deehar or Dayher isn't eldest; they
might have sprung three seeds from the same pod. However!

"I have all the usual education expected of a man of my class
and station—at least, as much of it as they could force into me.
I frankly have no use for figures or the intricacies of geometry.
I learned the nomad language quite rapidly, and took well to
music and dance. I read passably, depending on what it is I read,
and absorbed almost nothing of the history they held me to—"

"Hold, please!" Jennifer was laughing. "I didn't ask for a
list of accomplishments, you know!"

"Oh." He considered this blankly, then rallied with an im-
pudent grin. "I am also considered very good at selling myself
to attractive women—"

"You're hopeless."

"I know." He sighed heavily, but the grin hadn't shifted. "Do
you know anything about the country you will be crossing?"

It was a change of subject; maybe, Jennifer thought, he didn't
want to open up to her. Again, maybe he simply didn't know
how. And that wild crash of feeling aside, they scarcely knew
each other. She let it go; they could talk another time. Whenever
I see him again, she thought and realized with a sudden pang
that it might be a very long time indeed. Don't think, she told
herself fiercely- "I don't know anything about the country around
here." She managed normal-sounding words through a very right
throat. "Tell me."

SOMEWHERE around midnight, there was a longer stop. Edrith
broke out water, a small, leather-wrapped pottery bottle of
brandy, hard sausage and bread. As they finished eating, Jennifer
became aware of the two women standing just behind them.
Caravaner women, come to take the wagon. "Oh, no, not yet,"
she whispered. Robyn looked at her as though she hadn't quite
heard. Jennifer shook her head, turned away to catch the back
of her hand in her teeth, blinking hard. When she turned back,
Chris and Aletto were distributing bags on the pack horse's
back, Edrith was strapping riding pads on the last two riding

WE CALLINQ OF CHE FHREE

245

horses. Lialla was deep in conversation with an older woman
under a blue-light lantern hanging from the caravan just in front
of theirs. Robyn made a face at the smell of brandy, sipped a
little water and went when Chris called her. Jennifer stood alone,
still blinking by the front seat of the caravan; Dahven was sud-
denly at her side, peering at her uncertainly.

"It's all right," he said, and wrapped an arm around her
shoulder. She leaned into him momentarily. Nodded once.

"I'm being foolish. I'm not like this, honestly."

"It's all right, I know. I'd far rather stay, but I think there
would be more trouble for you if I did. The gadgets I carry and
the magic you and Lialla use are no match for a Triad. Father
has access to two of those, and I fear he'd use them. If I stayed,
he might find you through me."

"I—you take care of yourself," she said finally, and pulled
back to look at him. Dahven nodded once, abruptly, and brushed
her hair with his lips.

"I'm quite good at that, you know," he said mildly. "But
you—"

"Oh, I'm a survivor," Jennifer said. "If nothing else, I intend
to reach Duke's Fort so I can murder Merrida for bringing us
here and ruining my life—you know," she added thoughtfully,
"maybe I won't, after all."

"Keep the thought," Dahven'grinned. "It's good to have
something to look forward to." He reached back behind his
neck, fumbled under the collar of his outer shirt, finally pulled
a slender chain over his head and held it out. "I got this a while
back, just because I liked the look of it. But it's also a charm;

a small one. It's said to bring fortune to the wearer."

"I can't—"

"Please." He somehow had it over her head, settled around
her throat before she could push it away. "Think how much
better I'll sleep."

She laughed shakily, held up the pendant. It was lost wax
formed, silver by the look and feel of it—a sign made of crossed
lines and a spiral. There was a small unfaceted stone set in the
center of the spiral; she couldn't tell what. "Think how awful
I'll feel if you don't have it and something happens to you," she
said.

"Something," Dahven scoffed gently. "I'm the Thukar's el
dest son and his heir; things don't happen to a collection of title
like that."

"Pray you're right," she said somberly. He gazed at her fo

246 RU EMGRSON

a long moment, then bent down and kissed the fingers holding
the pendant.

"I'd best go," he said decisively. But it took him a visible
effort to take his eyes away from hers, to let go her fingers. He
turned, walked away with a firm step and did not look back.

BY first light, the six riders and their spare horse were miles
from the caravaner*s road, back in the hills up a trail that ran
through a series of draws and out onto a high, crumbling ledge.
Edrith and Chris argued over the map here while the others
rested; finally they turned the horses right. It was another hour
before they reached the base of a massive oval bluff, almost an
hour after that until they came up the last steep portion of rain
gully and onto the windswept, flat and neariy treeless surface.
The sun was above the horizon, now; the air warm.

Edrith, Chris and Aletto found heavy brush and a fallen tree
to secure the horses—they were carrying on like a pack of goofy
teenage boys, all three of them. Robyn sighed, stretched and
began foraging through the food bags—Chris would be hungry,
even if no one else was, though Edrith showed symptoms of the
same hollow leg. Lialla wandered around the plateau; her face
was drawn and wan and she seemed to be avoiding them all.
Jennifer hesitated only briefly, then turned away. She'd raised
enough bruises on the poor woman's psyche; let Lialla come to
her if she wanted to talk.

The talisman was warm against her throat. She smiled, shook
her head in mild wonder at two grown fools acting like lovesick
adolescents, and walked back the way they'd come to shade her
eyes and took toward Sikkre. He'd be home by now—home, and
safely abed and asleep. She sighed happily and turned away.

THE market was beginning to wake when Dahven rode through
the north gates. He left the horse at Gyrdan's smithy, left a
message with the man's apprentice for when he should come in,
and hurried across the market. It was later than he'd intended,
still not overly late. Not that it really mattered. He skirted the
main gates, worked his way across a low and seldom occupied
portion of wall—more decorative than anything else—passed the
great pond with its enormous fish, and slid from shadow to
shadow until he fought his way through strangling lengths of
vine to get into a long, deserted hallway. There was a new fall
of stone on the floor; the whole thing would be down around

FHE CALLINQ OF FHE •CHREE      247

their ears one day soon, he thought, and hurried toward the
occupied end ff the building.

He missed hii charms, and wondered briefly if it had been
necessary to give them all away last night.

The door to his room was ajar. One of the servants come early
to wake him, he thought impatiently as he walked in. They
should know better, after all these years.

He stood still, staring; his heart must have stopped momen-
tarily, because he was horribly aware when it began pounding
wildly. His mouth was dry; it hurt to swallow, but he managed
a genuine smile, and his voice sounded almost normal. "Father!
Isn't the hour a tittle early for you?" The Thukar was seated in
his best chair, the contents of both his desk boxes strewn across
the surface. His brothers sat side by side on his bed and he
realized with a sinking feeling that they were both smiling. This
could not possibly bode well. Not for him, at least.

But there was someone else, too. As his eyes adjusted to the
light pouring through open shutters, he made out the three men
standing behind his father.

The Thukar pushed heavily to his feet and gestured; the men
came forward and took hold of Dahven's arms. He fought them,
automatically and uselessly; they were half again his size. Mas-
sive, callused hands dug into muscle until he forced himself to
standstill. "Lasanachi," he whispered. One of his brothers gig-
gled; he'd spoken aloud. "Father, you can't do this—"

The Thukar looked at him coldly. "I can do whatever I choose.
It's a pity you've never bothered to understand that." He stood,
arms folded across his chest, watching; a third Lasanachi sea-
man came forward with black metal leg-clamps and thick rope.

"You can't do this. Father! I'm your heir!"

One of the twins giggled again. "You were- It's a pity, isn't
it, Deehar? Our elder brother was always a tittle thoughtless,
and now he's simply vanished. Rumor has him halfway to Dro
Pent, with an outlander girl, a caravaner's earring and purple
slippers on his feet."

The Lasanachi bound his wrists behind him, brought the rope
around his chest and put a loop in the free end; another knelt
and dragged the boots and cloth wraps from his feet, fastened
the manacles around his ankles. Cold chain lay in a short loop
between them. Somehow he stayed on his feel, held onto what
was left of his dignity. Somehow managed to force air into an
agonizingly tight chest, out again. Pray Jennifer never knows of
this, he thought miserably. But he didn't dare think of Jennifer.

246                RU EM6RSON

One of the Lasanachi turned away from him and groped at his
belt; he held out a small, clinking coin bag, which the Thukar
took. Dahven felt heat in his face as he watched himself bought
and sold, and he looked away from them all.

"You'll regret this," he said finally. The voice no longer
sounded like his.

"I greatly doubt it," the Thukar said. "Consider that you
brought it about yourself, meddling in my affairs when you had
no right."

"Sikkre is my right, Father."

"No more. The heir is gone, rumor says to Dro Pent."

"In purple shoes. I heard," Dahven said sarcastically. He
stumbled as one of the seamen yanked on the rope, pulling him
off-balance; he twisted and caught himself against the edge^of
the table.

"Such a dreadful thing," the Thukar said evenly. "He was
captured by a Lasanachi ship off the coast of Dro Pent, and since
he had no coin to redeem himself, he was sold into snipes ser-
vice—for three years, I believe."

Dahven could think of nothing to say to this remarkably in-
different speech: Even a strong man in Lasanachi ship's service
might never live half that long, unless his luck was phenomenal.

"Where did they go?" the Thukar demanded abruptly. "Tell
me now, and I'll see they keep you a'year only."

Dahven brought his chin up and gazed at the older man. There
was a long, chill silence. He finally laughed. "I have such trust
in you. Father, of course! Only a year, why, that is most gen-
erous. Shall I kiss your feet?"

"Buffoon!" the Thukar roared. "Tell me where they have
gone, or you'll live to regret it!"

Dahven bared his teeth. "What regret can surpass having had
such kindred as I once did? But tell me, will you search for
Aletto personally? He's gone to hell, then!" He had one last,
blurred glimpse of that familiarly suffused face; his father's open
hand and a huge seaman's fist slammed into his jaw at the same
moment. Everything was gone but Deehar's high. excited voice,
a low growl of sea-slang high above him, the rattle of chain.
And then, that, too, was gone.