a CHAPTER ONE The ironbound door at the end of the narrow passage- way creaked open. An ancient man peered out and focused wrinkle-lapped eyes on Keff. Keff knew what the old one saw: a mature man, not overly tall, whose wavy brown hair, only just beginning to be shot with gray, was arrayed above a mild yet bull-like brow and deep-set blue eyes. A nose whose craggy shape suggested it may or may not have been broken at some time in the past, and a mouth framed by humor lines added to the impression of one who was tough yet instinctively gentle. He was dressed in a simple tunic but carried a sword at his side with the easy air of someone who knew how to use it. The oldster wore the shapeless garments of one who has ceased to care for any attribute but warmth and convenience. They stud- ied each other for a moment. Keff dipped his head slightly in greeting. "Is your master at home?" "I have no master. Get ye gone to whence ye came," the ancient spat, eyes blazing. Keff knew at once that this was no serving man; he'd just insulted the High Wizard Zarelb 2 Anne McCaffrey 6- Joc^y Lynn Nye himself! He straightened his shoulders, going on guard but seeking to look friendly and non-threatening. "Nay, sir," Keff said. "I must speak to you." Rats crept out of the doorway only inches from his feet and skittered away through the gutters along the walls. A disgusting place, but Keff had his mission to think of. "Get ye gone," the old man repeated. "I've nothing for you." He tried to close the heavy, planked door. Keff pushed his gaundeted forearm into the narrowing crack and held it open. The old man backed away a pace, his eyes showing fear. "I know you have the Scroll ofAlmon," Keff said, keep- ing his voice gentle. "I need it, good sir, to save the people of Harimm. Please give it to me, sir. I will harm you not." 'Very well, young man," the wizard said. "Since you threaten me, I will cede the scroll." Keff relaxed slightly, with an inward grin. Then he caught a gleam in the old mans eye, which focused over Keffs shoulder. Spinning on his heel, Keff whipped his narrow sword out of its scabbard. Its lighted point picked out glints in the eyes and off the sword-blades of the three ruffians who had stepped into the street behind him. He was trapped. One of the ruffians showed blackened stumps of teeth in a broad grin. "Going somewhere, sonny?" he asked. "I go where duty takes me," Keff said. 'Take him, boys!" His sword on high, the ruffian charged. Keff immedi- ately blocked the mans chop, and riposted, flinging the mans heavy sword away with a clever twist of his slender blade that left the mans chest unguarded and vulnerable. He lunged, seeking his enemy's heart with his blade. Stum- bling away with more haste than grace, the man spat, gathered himself, and charged again, this time followed by the other two. Keff turned into a whirlwind, parrying, THE SHIP WHO WON 3 thrusting, and striking, holding the three men at bay. A near strike by one of his opponents streaked along the wall by his cheek. He jumped away and parried just before an enemy skewered him. "Yoicks!" he cried, dancing in again. "Have at you!" He lunged, and the hot point of his epee struck the middle of the chief thugs chest. The body sank to the ground, and vanished. There!" Keff shouted, flicking the sword back and forth, leaving a Z etched in white light on the air. "You are not invincible. Surrender or die!" Keffs renewed energy seemed to confuse the two remaining ruffians, who fought disjointedly, sometimes getting in each others way while Keffs blade found its mark again and again, sinking its light into arms, shoulders, chests. In a lightning-fast sequence, first one, then the other foe left his guard open a moment too long. With groans, the villains sank to the ground, whereupon they too vanished. Putting the epee back into his belt, Keff turned to confront the ancient wizard, who stood watching the proceedings with a neutral eye. "In the name of the people of Harimm, I claim the Scroll," Keff said grandly, extending a hand. "Unless you have other surprises for me?" "Nay, nay." The old man fumbled in the battered leather scrip at his side. From it he took a roll of parchment, yel- lowed and crackling with age. Keff stared at it with awe. He bowed to the wizard, who gave him a grudging look of respect. The scroll lifted out of the wizards hand and floated toward Keff. Hovering in the air, it unrolled slowly. Keff' squinted at what was revealed within: spidery tracings in fading brown ink, depicting mountains, roads, and rivers. "A map!" he breathed. "Hold it," the wizard said, his voice unaccountably 4 Anne McCaffrey ir Jody Lynn Nye changing from a cracked baritone to a pleasant female alto. "We're in range of the comsats." Door, rats, and aged fig- ure vanished, leaving blank walls. "Oh, spacedust," Keff said, unstrapping his belt and laser epee and throwing himself into the crash seat at the control console. "I was enjoying that. Whew! Good work- out!" He pulled his sweaty tunic off over his head, and mopped his face with the tails. The dark curls of hair on his broad chest may have been shot through here and there with white ones, but he was grinning like a boy. "You nearly got yourself spitted back there," said the disembodied voice ofCarialle, simultaneously sending and acknowledging ID signals to the SSS-900. "Watch your back better next time." "What'd I get for that?" Keff asked. "No points for unfinished tasks. Maps are always unknowns. You'll have to follow it and see," Carialle said coyly. The image of a gorgeous lady dressed in floating sky blue chiffon and gauze and a pointed hennin appeared briefly on a screen next to her titanium column. The lovely rose-and-cream complected visage smiled down on Keff. "Nice footwork, good sir knight," the Lady Fair said, and vanished. "SSS-900, this is the CK-963 requesting permis- sion to approach and dock—Hello, Simeon!" "Carialle!" The voice of the station controller came through the box. "Welcome back! Permission granted, babe. And that's SSS-900-C, now, C for Channa. A lot's happened in the year since you've been away. Keff, are you there?" Keff leaned in toward the pickup. "Right here, Simeon. We're within half a billion klicks. Should be with you soon. "It'll be good to have you on board," Simeon said. "We're a little disarrayed right now, to put it mildly, but you didn't come to see me for my housekeeping." THE SHIP WHO WON 5 "No, cookie, but you give such good decontam a girl can hardly stay away," Carialle quipped with a naughty chuckle. "Dragons teeth, Simeon!" Keff suddenly exclaimed, staring at his scopes. "What happened around here?" "Well, if you really want to know..." The scout ship threaded its way through an increasingly cluttered maze of junk and debris as they neared the rotat- ing dumbbell shape of Station SSS-900. After viewing Keffs cause for alarm, Carialle put her repulsors on full to avoid the very real possibility of intersecting with one of the floating chunks of metal debris that shared a Trojan point with the station. Skiffs and tugs moved amidst the shattered parts of ships and satellites, scavenging. A pair of battered tugs with scoops on the front, looking ridiculously like gigantic vacuum cleaners, described regular rows as they seived up microfine spacedust that could hole hulls and vanes of passing ships without ever being detected by the crews inside. The cleanup tugs sent hails as Carialle passed them in a smooth arc, synchronizing herself to the spin of the space station. The north docking ring was being repaired, so with a flick of her controls, Carialle increased thrust and caught up with the south end. Lights began to chase around the lip of one of the docldng bays on the ring, and she made for it. "... so that was the last we saw of the pirate Belazir and his bully boys," Simeon finished, sounding weary. "For good, I hope. My shell has been put in a more damage resistant casing and resealed in its pillar. We've spent the last six months healing and picking up the pieces. Still waiting for replacement parts. The insurance company is being sticky and querying every fardling item on the list, but no ones surprised about that. Fleet ships are remaining 6 Anne McCaffrey 6- Jody Lynn Nye in the area. We've put in for a permanent patrol, maybe a small garrison." "You have had a hell of a time," Carialle said, sympathetically. "Now let's hear the good news," Simeon said, with a sudden surge of energy in his voice. "Where ve you been all this time?" Carialle simulated a trumpet playing a fanfare. "We're pleased to announce that star GZA-906-M has two planets with oxygen-breathing life," Keffsaid. "Congratulations, you two!" Simeon said, sending an audio burst that sounded like thousands of people cheer- ing. He paused, very briefly. "I'm sending a simultaneous message to Xeno and Explorations. They're standing by for a full report with samples and graphs, but me first! I want to hear it all." Carialle accessed her library files and tight-beamed the star chart and xeno file to Simeons personal receiving fre- quency. 'This is a precis of what we'll give to Xeno and the benchmarkers," she said. "We'll spare you the boring stuff." "If there's any bad news," Keff began, "it's that there's no sentient life on planet four, and planet three s is too far down the tech scale to join Central Worlds as a trading partner. But they were glad to see us." "He thinks," Carialle interrupted, with a snort. "I really never knew what the Beasts Blatisant thought." Keff shot an exasperated glance at her pillar, which she ignored. She clicked through the directory on the file and brought up the profile on the natives oflricon III. "Why do you call them the Beasts Blatisant?" Simeon asked, scanning the video of the skinny, hairy hexapedal beings, whose faces resembled those of intelligent grass- hoppers. "Listen to the audio," Carialle said, laughing. 'They use THE SHIP WHO WON 7 a complex form of communication which we have a socio- logical aversion to understanding. Keff thought I was blowing smoke, so to speak." 'That's not true, Can," Keff protested. "My initial con- clusion," he stressed to Simeon, "was that they had no need for a complex spoken language. They live right in the swamps," Keff said, narrating the video that played off the datahedron. "As you can see, they travel either on all sixes or upright on four with two manipulative limbs. There are numerous predators that eat Beasts, among other things, and the simple spoken language is sufficient to relay infor- mation about them. Maintaining life is simple. You can see that fruit and edible vegetables grow in abundance right there in the swamp. The overlay shows which plants are dangerous." "Not too many," Simeon said, noting the international symbols for poisonous and toxic compounds: a skull and crossbones and a small round face with its tongue out. "Of course the first berry tried by my knight errant, and I especially stress the errant," Carialle said, "was those raspberry red ones on the left, marked with Mr. Yucky Face." "Well, the natives were eating them, and their biology isn't that unlike Terran reptiles." Keff grimaced as he admitted, "but the berries gave me fierce stomach cramps. I was rolling all over the place clutching my belly. The Beasts thought it was funny." The video duly showed the hexapods, hooting, standing over a prone and writhing Keff. "It was, a little," Carialle added, "once I got over being worried that he hadn't eaten something lethal. I told him to wait for the full analysis—" 'That would have taken hours," Keff interjected. "Our social interaction was happening in realtime." "Well, you certainly made an impression." "Did you understand the Beasts Blatisant? How'd the IT program go?" asked Simeon, changing;the subject. IT stood for Intentional Translator, the universal simultaneous language translation program that Keff had started before he graduated from school. IT was in a constant state of being perfected, adding referents and standards from each new alien language recorded by Central Worlds exploration teams. The brawn had more faith in his invention than his brain partner, who never relied on IT more than necessary. Carialle teased Keff mightily over the mistakes the IT made, but all the chaffing was affectionately meant. Brain and brawn had been together fourteen years out of a twenty-five-year mission, and were close and caring friends. For all the badinage she tossed his way, Carialle never let anyone else take the mickey out other partner within her hearing. Now she sniffed. "Still flawed, since IT uses only the symbology of alien life-forms already discpvered. Even with the addition of the Blaize Modification for sign lan- guage, I think that it still fails to anticipate. I mean, who the hell knows what referents and standards new alien races will use?" "Sustained use of a symbol in context suggests that it has meaning," Keff argued. 'That's the basis of the program." "How do you tell the difference between a repeated movement with meaning and one without?" Carialle asked, reviving the old argument. "Supposing a jellyfish's wiggle is sometimes for propulsion and sometimes for dis- semination of information? Listen, Simeon, you be the judge." "All right," the station manager said, amused. "What if members of a new race have mouths and talk, but impart any information of real importance in some other way? Say, with a couple of sharp poots out the sphincter?" "It was the berries," Keff said. 'Their diet caused the repeating, er, repeats." "Maybe that. . . habit. . . had some relevance in the beginning of their civilization," Carialle said with acer- bity. "However, Simeon, once Keff got the translator working on their verbal language, we found that at first they just parroted back to him anything he said, like a primitive AI pattern, gradually forming sentences, using words of their own and anything they heard him say. It seemed useful at first. We thought they'd leam Standard at light-speed, long before Keff could pick up on the intricacies of their language, but that wasn't what happened." 'They parroted the language right, but they didn't really understand what I was saying," Keff said, alternating his narrative automatically with Carialle's. "No true compre- hension." "In the meantime, the flatulence was bothering him, not only because it seemed to be ubiquitous, but because it seemed to be controllable." "I didn't know if it was supposed to annoy me, or if it meant something. Then we started studying them more closely." The video cut from one scene to another of the skinny, hairy aliens diving for ichthyoids and eels, which they cap- tured with their middle pair of limbs. More footage showed them eating voraciously; teaching their young to hunt; questing for smaller food animals and tiiding from larger and more dangerous beasties. Not much of the land was dry, and what vegetation grew there was sought after by all the hungry species. Early tapes showed that, at first, the Beasts seemed to be afraid of Keff, behaving as if they thought he was going to attack them. Over the course of a few days, as he seemed to be neither aggressive nor helpless, they 10 Anne McCaffrey 6- Jody Lynn Nye investigated him further. When they dined, he ate a meal from his own supplies beside them. 'Then, keeping my distance, I started asking them questions, putting a clear rising interrogative into my tone of voice that I had heard their young use when ask- ing for instruction. That seemed to please them, even though they were puzzled why an obviously mature being needed what seemed to be survival information. Interspecies communication and cooperation was unknown to them." Keff watched as Carialle skipped through the data to another event. 'This was the pot- latch. Before it really got started, the Beasts ate kilos of those bean-berries." "Keff had decided then that they couldn't be too intelli- gent, doing something like that to themselves. Eating foods that caused them obvious distress for pure cere- mony's sake seemed downright dumb." "I was disappointed. Then the IT started kicking back patterns to me on the Beasts' noises. Then I felt downright dumb." Keff had the good grace to grin at himself. "And what happened, ah, in the end?" Simeon asked. Keff grinned sheepishly. "Oh, Carialle was right, of course. The red berries were the key to their formal com- munication. I had to give points for repetition of, er, body language. So, I programmed the IT to pick up what the Blatisants meant, not just what they said, taking in all movement or sounds to analyze for meaning. It didn't always work right..." "Hah!" Carialle interrupted, in triumph. "He admits it!" "... but soon, I was getting the sense of what they were really communicating. The verbal was little more than pro- tective coloration. The Blatisants do have a natural gift for mimicry. The IT worked fine—well, mostly. The systems just going to require more testing, that's all." "It always requires more testing," CariaUe remarked in a THE SHIP WHO WON 11 long-suffering voice. "One day we're going to miss some- thing we really need." Keff was unperturbed. "Maybe IT needs an AI element to test each set of physical movements or gestures for meaning on the spot and relay it to the running glossary. I'm going to use IT on humans next, see if I can refine the quirks that way when I already know what a being is com- municating." "If it works," Simeon said, with rising interest, "and you can read body language, it'll put you far beyond any means of translation that's ever been done. They'll call you a mind-reader. Softshells so seldom say what they mean— but they do express it through their attitudes and gestures. I can think of a thousand practical uses for IT right here in Central Worlds." "As for the Blatisants, there's no reason not to recom- mend further investigation to award them ISS status, since it's clear they are sentient and have an ongoing civilization, however primitive," Keff said. "And that's what I'm going to tell the Central Committee in my report. Iricon Ill's got to go on the list." T wish I could be a mouse in the wall," Simeon said, chuckling with mischievous glee, "when an evaluation team has to talk with your Beasts. The whole party's going to sound like a raft of untuned engines. I know CenCom's going to be happy to hear about another race ofsentients." "I know," Keff said, a little sadly, "but it's not the race, you know." To Keff and Carialle, the designation meant that most elusive of holy grails, an alien race culturally and technologically advanced enough to meet humanity on its own terms, having independently achieved computer sci- ence and space travel. "If anyone's going to find the race, it's likely to be you two," Simeon said with open sincerity. Carialle closed the last kilometers to the docking bay and 12 Anne McCaffrey 6- Jody Lynn Nye shut off her engines as the magnetic grapples pulled her close, and the vacuum seal snugged around the atrlock. "Home again," she sighed. The lights on the board started flashing as Simeon sent a burst requesting decontamination for the CK-963. Keff pushed back from the monitor panels and went back to his cabin to make certain everything personal was locked down before the decontam crew came on board. "We're empty on everything, Simeon," Carialle said. "Protein vats are at the low ebb, my nutrients are redlining, fuel cells down. Fill 'er up." "We're a bit short on some supplies at the moment," Simeon said, "but I'll give you what I can." There was a brief pause, and his voice returned. "I've checked for mail. Keff has two parcels. The manifests are for circuits, and for a 'Rotoflex.'What's that?" "Hah!" said Keff, pleased. "Exercise equipment. A Rotoflex helps build chest and back muscles without strain on the intercostals." He flattened his hands over his ribs and breathed deeply to demonstrate. "All we need is more clang-and-bump deadware on my deck," Carialle said with the noise that served her for a sigh. "Where's your shipment, Carialle?" Keff asked inno- cently. "I thought you were sending for a body from Moto-Prosthetics." "Well, you thought wrong," Carialle said, exasperated that he was bringing up their old argument. "I'm happy in my skin, thank you." "You'd love being mobile, lady fair," Keff said. "All the things you miss staying in one place! You can't imagine. Tell her, Simeon." "She travels more than I do. Sir Galahad. Forget it." "Anyone else have messages for us?" Carialle asked. THE SHIP WHO WON 13 "Not that I have on record, but I'll put out a query to show you're in dock." Keff picked his sodden tunic off the console and stood up. , "I'd better go and let the medicals have their poke at me," he said. "Will you take care of the rest of the com- puter debriefing, my lady Cari, or do you want me to stay and make sure they don't poke in anywhere you don't want them?" "Nay, good sir knight," Carialle responded, still playing the game. "You have coursed long and far, and deserve reward." 'The only rewards I want," Keff said wistfully, "are a beer that hasn't been frozen for a year, and a little compan- ionship—not that you aren't the perfect companion, lady fair"—he kissed his hand to the titanium column—"but as the prophet said, let there be spaces in your togethemess. If you'll excuse me?" "Well, don't space yourself too far," Carialle said. Keff grinned. Carialle followed him on her internal cameras to his cabin, where, in deference to those spaces he men- tioned, she stopped. She heard the sonic-shower turn on and off, and the hiss of his closet door. He came out of the cabin pulling on a new, dry tunic, his curly hair tousled. Ta-ta," Keff said. "I go to confess all and slay a beer or two." Before the airlock sealed, Carialle had opened up her public memory banks to Simeon, transferring full copies of their datafiles on the Iricon mission. Xeno were on line in seconds, asking her for in-depth, eyewitness commentary on their exploration. Keff, in Medical, was probably answering some of the same questions. Xeno liked subjec- tive accounts as well as mechanical recordings. At the same time Carialle carried on her conversation with Simeon, she oversaw the decontam crew and loading 14 Anne McCaffrey i.fAUV-'iyi I <-/M <^ -/<-/M'l/ 'Telekinesis." "And how about knitting lightning between your hands? Or causing smoke and fireballs without fuel? This is the stuff of legends. Magic." "Its sophisticated legerdemain, I'll grant that much, but there's a logical explanation, too." Keff laughed. 'There is a logical explanation. We've dis- covered a planet where the laws of magic are the laws of science." "Well, there's physics, anyhow," Carialle said. "Our magimen up there are beginning to fatigue. Their energy levels aren't infinite." Ripostes and return attacks were slowing down. The magiwoman maintained an expression of grim amusement throughout the conflict, while the magiman couldn't dis- guise his annoyance. As if attracted by the conflict, a bunch of globe-frogs appeared out of the brushy undergrowth at the edge of the crop fields. They rolled into the midst of the Noble Primi- tives, who were huddled into the gap, watching the aerial battle. The indigenes avoided contact with the small crea- tures by kicking out at them so that the globes turned away. The little group trundled their conveyances labori- ously out into the open and paused underneath the sky-bome battle. Keff watched their bright black eyes focus on the combatants. They seemed fascinated. "Look, Carialle," Keff said, directing his contact-button camera toward them. "Are they attracted by motion, or light? You'd think they'd be afraid of violent beings much larger than themselves." "Perhaps they are attracted to power, like moths to a candle flame," Carialle said, "although, mind you, I've never seen moths or candles in person. I'm not an expert in animal behaviorism, but I don't think the attraction is unusual. Incautious, to the point of self-destructive, perhaps. Either of our psi-users up there could wipe them out with less power than it would take to hold up those chairs." The two mages, sailing past, parrying one another's magic bolts and making their own thrusts, ignored the cluster which trailed them around the field. At last the lit- tle creatures gave up their hopeless pursuit, and rolled in a group toward Keff and Carialle. 'Tour animal magnetism operating again," Carialle noted. The globe-frogs, paddling hard on the inner wall of their spherelike conveyances with their oversize paws, steered over the rocky ground and up the ramp, making for the inside of the ship. "Ooops, wait a minute! You can't come in here. Out!" she said, in full voice on her hatchway speakers. "Scat!" The frogs ignored her. She tracked them with her inter- nal cameras and directed her servos into the airlock to herd them out the door again. The frogs made a few deter- mined tries to get past the low-built robots. Thwarted, they reversed position inside their globes and paddled the other way. "Pests," Carialle said. "Is everyone on this planet intent on a free tour of my interior?" The globe-frogs rolled noisily down the ramp and off the rise toward the underbrush at the opposite end of the clearing. Keff watched them disappear. "I wonder if they're just attracted to any vibrations or emissions," he said. "Could be— Heads up!" Carialle trumpeted suddenly She put her servos into full reverse to get them out of Keffs way Without waiting to ask why or what, Keff dove sideways into Carialle's hatch and hit the floor. A split second later, he felt a flamethrowerlike blast of heat almost singe his cheek. If he'd remained standing where he was, he'd have gotten a faceful of fire. 'They're out of control! Get in here!" Carialle cried. Keff complied. The battle had become more serious, and the magic-users had given up caring where their bolts hit. Another spell flared out of the tips of the woman's fin- gers at the male, only a dozen meters from Keff. The brawn tucked and rolled through the inner door. Carialle slid the airlock door shut almost on his heels. Keff heard a whine of stressed metal as something else hit the side of the ship. "Yow!" Carialle protested. That blast was cold! How are they doing that?" Keff ran to the central cabin viewscreens and dropped into his crash seat. "Full view, please, Cari!" The brain obliged, filling the three surrounding walls with a 270° panorama. Keff spun his pilots couch to follow the green contrail across the sky, as the male magician retreated to the far end of the combat zone. He looked frustrated. The last, unsuccessful blast that hit Carialles flank must have been his. The female, beautiful, powerful, sitting up high in her chair, prepared another attack with busy hands. Her green eyes were dulling, as if she didn't care where her strike might land. The five magimen on the sidelines looked bored and angry, just barely restraining themselves from interfering. The battle would end soon, one way or another. Even inside the ship, Keff felt the sudden change in the atmosphere. His hair, including his eyebrows and eye- lashes and the hair on his arms, crackled with static. Something momentous was imminent. He leaned in toward the central screen. Out of nothingness, three new arrivals in hover-chairs blinked into the heart of the battle zone. Inadvertentiy Keff recoiled against the back of his chair. Tow! They mean business," Carialle said. "No hundred meters of clearance space. Just smack, right into the mid- dle." The spells the combatants were building dissipated like colored smoke on the wind. Carialle's gauges showed a distinct drop in the electromagnetic fields. The mage and magess dropped their hands stiffly onto their chair arms and glared at the obstacles now hovering between them. If looks could have ignited rocket fuel, the thwarted combatants would have set Carialles tanks ablaze. Whatever was powering them had been cut off by the three in the center. "Uh-oh. The Big Mountain Men are here," Keff said, flippantly, his face guarded. The newcomers' chairs were bigger and gaudier than any Keff and Carialle had yet seen. A host of smaller seats, containing lesser magicians, popped in to hover at a respectful distance outside the circle. Their presence was ignored by the three males who were obviously about to discipline the combatants. "Introductions," Keff said, monitoring IT. "High and mighty. The lad in the gold is Nokias, the one in black is Femgal, and the silver one in the middle who looks so nervous is Chaumel. He's a diplomat." Carialle observed the placatory gestures of the mage in the silver chair. T don't think that Femgal and Nokias like each other much." But Chaumel, nodding and smiling, floated suavely back and forth between the gold and black in his silver chair and managed to persuade them to nod at one another with civility if not friendliness. The lesser magicians promptly polarized into two groups, reflecting their loyalties. "Compliments to the Big Mountain Men from my pretty lady and her friend," Keff continued. "She's Potria, and he's Asedow. One of the sideliners says they were something—bold? cocky?—to come here. Aha, that's what that word Brannel used meant: forbidden! That gives me some roots for some of the other things they're saying. I'll have to backtrack the datahedrons—I think a territorial dispute is going on." Nokias and Femgal each spoke at some length. Keff was able to translate a few of the compliments the magi- men paid to each other. "Something about high mountains," he said, running IT over contextual data. "Yes, I think that repeated word must be 'power,' so Femgal is referring to Nokias as having power as high, I mean, strong as the high mountains and deep as its roots." He laughed. "It's the same pun we have in Standard, Cari. He used the same word Brannel used for the food 'roots.' The farmers and the magicians do use two different dialects, but they're related. It's the cognitive differences I find fascinating. Completely alien to any lan- guage in my databanks." "All this intellectual analysis is very amusing," Carialle said, "but what are they saying? And more to the point, how does it affect us?' She shifted cameras to pick up Potria and Asedow on separate screens. After the speeches by me two principals, the original combatants were allowed their say, which they had with many interruptions from the other and much pointing towards Carialle. 'Those are definitively possessive gestures," Keff said uneasily. "No one puts a claim on my ship," Carialle said firmly. "Which one of them has a tractor beam on me? I want it off." Keff listened to the translator and shook his head. "Nei- ther one did it, I think. It may be a natural phenomenon." 'Then why isn't it grounding any of those chairs?" "Cari, we don't know that's what is happening." "I have a pretty well-developed sense of survival, and that's exactly what its telling me." "Well, then, we'll tell them you own your ship, and they can't have it," Keff said, reasonably. "Wait, the diplomats talking." The silver-robed magician had his hands raised for attention and spoke to the assemblage at some length, only glancing over his shoulder occasionally. Asedow and Potria stopped shouting at each other, and the other two Big Mountain Men looked thoughtful. Keff tilted his head in amusement. "Look at that: Chaumel's got them all calmed down. Say, he's coming this way." The silver chariot left the others and floated toward Carialle, settling delicately a dozen feet from the end of the ramp. The two camps of magicians hovered expec- tantly over the middle of the field, with expressions that ranged from nervous curiosity to open avarice. The magi- cian rose and walked off the end of the chairs finial to stand beside it. Hands folded over his belly, he bowed to the ship. "So they can stand," Carialle said. "I gather from the shock on the faces of our Noble Primitives over there that that's unusual. I guess these magicians don't go around on foot very often." "No, indeed. When you have mystic powers from the astral plane, I suppose auto-ambulatoly locomotion is rele- gated to the peasants." "He's waiting for something. Does he expect us to signal him? Invite him in for tea?" Keff peered closely at Chaumel's image. "I think we'd better wait and let him make the first move. Ah! He's com- ing to pay us a visit. A state visit, my lady." Chaumel got over his internal debate and, with solemn dignity, made his way to the end of the ramp, every step slow and ponderous. He reached the tip and paused, bow- ing deeply once again. "I feel honored," Carialle said. "If I'd'a known he was coming I'd'a baked a cake." a CHAPTER SIX 'The initiative is ours now," Keffsaid. He kept watch on the small screen of his Intentional Translator as it processed all the hedrons Carialle had recorded while he was unconscious and combined it with the dialogue he had garnered from Brannel and the magicians' discussions. The last hedron popped out of the slot, and Keff slapped it into his portable IT unit on the control panel. 'That's it. We have a working vocabulary of Ozran. I can talk with him." "Enough to ask intelligent questions?" Carialle asked. "Enough to negotiate diplomatically for our release, and inform them, 'by the way, folks, we're from another planet'?" "Nope," Keff said, matter-of-factiy. "Enough to ask stu- pid questions and gather more information. IT will pick up on the answers I get and, I hope, translate them from con- text." 'That IT has never been worth the electrons to blow it up," Carialle said in a flat voice. "Easy, easy, lady," Keffsaid, smiling at her pillar. 123 "Sorry," she said. "I'm letting the situation get to me. I don't like being out of control of my own functions." "I understand perfectly," Keff said. "That's why the sooner I go out and face this fellow the better, whether or not I have a perfect working knowledge of his language." "If you say something insulting by accident, I don't think you'll survive a second blast of that lightning." "If they're at all as similar to humans as they look, their curiosity will prevent them killing me until they leam all about me. By then, we'll be friends." "Good sir knight, you assume them to be equal in cour- tesy to your good self," Carialle said. "I must face the enchanters knight, if only for the sake of chivalry." "Sir Keff, I don't like you leaving the Castle Strong when there's a dozen enchanters out there capable of fling- ing bolts of solid power down your gullet, and there's not a thing I can do to protect you." 'The quest must continue, Carialle." "Well..." she said, then snorted. "I'm being too protec- tive, aren't I? It isn't exactly first contact if you stay inside and let them pelt away at us. And we'll never get out of here. We have to establish communications. Xeno will die of mortification if we don't, and mere go our bonuses." 'That's the spirit," Keff said, buckling on his equipment harness. Carialle tested her exterior links to IT. "Anything we say will come out in pidgin Ozran. Right?" Keff paused, looked up at her pillar. "Should you speak at all? Are they ready for die concept of a talking ship?" "Were we ready for flying chairs?" Carialle countered. "We're at least as strange to them as they are to us." "I'd rather not have them know you can talk," Keff said thoughtfully. "But they already know I can speak independently. I talked to Brannel while you were unconscious. Unless he thought you were having an out-of-body experience." "Supposing Brannel had the nerve to approach our magicians, he wouldn't be able to explain the voice he heard. He was gutsy with me, but you'll notice on the screen that he's staying well out of the way of the chair-riders. They're in charge and he's a mere peon." "He is scared of them," Carialle agreed. "Remember how he explained punishment came from the mountains when one of his people is too curious. It's no problem for them to dispense punishment. They're endlessly creative when it comes to going on the offensive." "Contrariwise, I take leave to doubt that any of the magicians would give him a hearing if he did come forward with the information. There's a big crowd of Brannel's folk out there on the perimeter and the wizards haven't so much as glanced their way. No one pays the least attention to the peasants. Your secret is still safe. That's why I want you to keep quiet unless need arises." "All right," Carialle said at last. 'Til keep mumchance. But, if you're in danger... I don't know what I'll do." "Agreed." And Keff shot her column an approving grin. "Let's test the system," Carialle said. The small screen to the right of the main computer lit up with a line diagram of Keffs body. He rose and stood before it, holding his arms away from his sides to duplicate the posture. 'Testing," he said. "Mah, may, mee, mo, mu. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. Maxwell-Corey is a fardling, fossicking, meddling moron." He repeated the phrases in a subvocal whisper. Small green lights in the image's cheeks lit up. "Got you," Carialles voice said in his ear. Lights for the mastoid implants clicked on, followed by the fiber optic pickups implanted in the skin at the outer comers of his eyes. "I'm not trusting the contact buttons alone. The lightning earlier knocked them out for a while." Heart, respiration, skin tension monitors in his chest cavity and the muscles of his thighs lighted green. The lights flicked out and came on again as Carialle did double backup tests. "You're wired for sound and ready to go. I can see, hear, and just about feel anything that happens to you." "Good," Keffsaid, relaxing into parade rest. "Our guest is waiting." "Here comes the stranger." Keffs implant translated Asedow's comment as he stepped outside. He assumed the same air of dignity that Chaumel displayed and walked to the bottom of the ramp. He paused, wondering if he should stay there, which gave him a psychological advantage over his visitor who had to look up at him. Or join the fellow on the ground as a mark of courtesy. With a smile, he sidestepped. Chaumel backed up slightly to make room for him. Face-to-face with the sil- ver magician, Keff raised his hand, palm out. "Greetings," he said. "I am Keff." The eyewitness report had been correct, Chaumel real- ized with a start. The stranger was one of them. The oddest thing was that he did not recognize him. There were only a few hundred of the caste on all of Ozran. A family of mages could not conceal a son like this one, grown to mature manhood and in possession of such an incredible power-focus as the silver cylinder. "Greetings, high one," Chaumel said politely, with the merest dip of a nod. "I am Chaumel. You honor us with your presence." The man cocked his head, as if listening to something far away, before he responded. Chaumel sensed the faint- est hint of power during the pause, and yet, as Nokias had informed him, it did not come from die Core of Ozran. When at last he spoke, the strangers words were arranged in uneducated sentences, mixed with the odd word of gibberish. "Welcome," he said. "It is ... my honor meet you." Chaumel drew back half a pace. The truth was that the stranger did not understand the language. What could pos- sibly explain such an anomaly as a mage who used power that did not come from the core of all and a man of Ozran who did not know the tongue? The stranger seemed to guess what he was thinking and continued although not ten words in twenty made sense. And the intelligible was unbelievable. "I come from the stars," Keffsaid, pointing upward. He gestured behind him at the brainship, flattened his hand out horizontally, then made it tip up and sink heel first toward the ground. "I flew here in the, er, silver house. I come from another world." "... Not. . . here," Chaumel said. IT missed some of the vocabulary but not the sense. He beckoned to Keff, turned his back on the rest of his people. "You don't want me to talk about it here?" Keffsaid in a much lower voice. "No," Chaumel said, with a cautious glance over his shoulder at the other two Big Mountain Men. "Come . . . mountain ... me." IT rewound the phrase and restated the translation using full context. "Come back to my mountain with me. We'll talk there." "No, thanks," Keffsaid, with a shake of his head. "Let's talk here. It's all right. Why don't you ask the others—uh!" "Keff!" Carialle's voice thudded against his brain. He knew then why all the Noble Primitives were so submis- sive and eager to avoid trouble. Chaumel had taken a gadget like a skinny flashlight from a sling on his belt and jabbed it into Keffs side. Fire raced from his rib cage up his neck and through his backbone, burning away any con- trol he had over his own muscles. For the second time in as many hours, he collapsed bonelessly to the ground. The difference this time was that he remained conscious of everything going on around him. Directly in front of his eyes, he saw that, under the hem of his ankle-length robe, Chaumel wore black and silver boots. They had very thick soles. Even though the ground under his cheek was dry, dust seemed not to adhere to the black material, which appeared to be some kind of animal hide, maybe skin from a six-pack. He became aware that Carialle was speaking. "... Fardle it, Keff! Why didn't you stay clear of him? I know you're conscious. Can you move at all?" Chaumel s feet clumped backward and to one side, out from Keffs limited field of vision. Suddenly, the ground shot away. Unable to order his muscles to move, Keff felt his head sag limply to one side. He saw, almost disinterest- edly, that he was floating on air. It felt as if he were being carried on a short mattress. Unceremoniously, Keff was dumped off the invisible mattress onto the footrest of Chaumel s chariot, his head tilted at an uncomfortable upward angle. The magician stepped inside the U formed by Keifs body and sat down on the ornamented throne. The whole contraption rose suddenly into the air. Telekinesis," Keff muttered into the dental implant. He found he was slowly regaining control of his body. A finger twitched. A muscle in his right calf contracted. It tingled. Then he was aware that the chair was rising above the fields, saw the upper curve of the underground cavern in which Brannel's people lived, the mountains beyond, very high, higher than he thought. "Good!" Carialles relief was audible. "You're still con- nected. I thought I might lose the links again when he hit you with that device." "Wand," Keff said. He could move his eyes now, and he fixed them on the silver magicians belt. "Wand." "It looked like a wand. Acted more like a cattle prod." There was a momentary pause. "No electrical damage. It seems to have affected synaptic response. That is one sophisticated psi device." "Magic," Keff hissed quietly. "We'U argue about that later. Can you get free?" "No," Keff said. "Motor responses slowed." "Blast and damn it, Galahad! I can't come and get you. You're a hundred meters in the air already. All right, I can track you wherever you're going." Carialle was upset. Keff didn't want her to be upset, but he was all but motionless. He managed to move his head to a slightly more comfortable position, panting with the strain of such a minor accommodation. Empathic and psionic beings in the galaxy had been encountered before, but these people s talents were so much stronger than any other. Keff was awed by a telekmetic power strong enough to carry the chair, Chaumel, and him with no apparent effort. Such strength was beyond known scientific reality. "Magic," he murmured. "I do not believe in magic," Carialle said firmly. "Not with all this stray electromagnetic current about." "Even magic must have physics," Keff argued. "Bah." Carialle began to run through possibilities, some of which bordered a trifle on die magic she denied, but something which would bring Keff back where he belonged—inside her hull—and both of them off this planet as soon as her paralysis, like Keffs, showed any signs of wearing off. Brannel hid alone in the bushes at the far end of the field, waiting to see if Mage Keff came out again. After offering respect to the magelords, the rest of his folk had taken advantage of the great ones' disinterest in them and rushed home to where it was warm. The worker male was curious. Perhaps now that the battle was over, the magelords would go away so he could approach Keff on his own. To his dismay, the high ones showed no signs of departing. They awaited the same event he did: the emergence of Magelord Keff. He was awestruck as he watched Chaumel the Silver approach the great tower on foot. The mage waited, eyes on the tight-fitting door, face full of the same anticipation Brannel felt. Keff did not come. Perhaps Keff was making them all play into his hands. Perhaps he was wiser than the magelords. That would be most satisfyingly ironic. Instead, when Keff emerged and exchanged words with the mage, he suddenly collapsed. Then he was bundled onto the chariot of Chaumel the Silver and carried away. All Brannels dreams of freedom and glory died in that instant. All the treasures in the silver tower were now out of his reach and would be forever. He muttered to himself all the way back to the cave. Fralim caught him, asked him what he was on about. "We ought to follow and save Magelord Keff." "Save a mage? You must be mad," Fralim said. "It is night. Come inside and go to sleep. There will be more work in the morning." Depressed, Brannel turned and followed the chiefs son into the warmth. Q CHAPTER SEVEN "Why . . . make things more . . . harderest . . . than need?" Chaumel muttered as he steered the chair away from the plain. IT found the root for the missing words and relayed the question to Keff through his ear-link. "Why must you make things more difficult than they need to be? I want to talk... in early..." "My apologies, honored one," Keff said haltingly. He had sufficiently recovered from the bolt to sit up on the end of Chaumel s chair. The magician leaned forward to clasp KefFs shoulder and pulled him back a few inches. Once he looked down, the brawn was grateful for the reas- suring contact. From the hundred meters Carialle had last reported, they had ascended to at least two hundred and were still rising. He still had no idea how it was done, but he was beginning to enjoy this unusual ride. The view was marvelous. The seven-meter square where Brannel and his people laid their gathered crops and the mound under which the home cavern lay had each shrunk to an area smaller than Keffs fingernail. On the flattened hilltop, the brainship was a shining figure like a 131 literary statuette. Nearby, the miniature chairs, each con- taining a colorfully dressed doll, were rising to disperse. Keff noticed suddenly that their progress was not unat- tended. Gold and black eye spheres flanked the silver chair as it rose higher still and began to fly in the direction of the darkening sky. More spheres, in different colors, hung behind like wary sparrows trailing a crow, never getting too close. This had to be the hierarchy again, Keff thought. He doubted this constituted an honor guard since he had gath- ered that Nokias and Femgal outranked Chaumel. More on the order of keeping watch on both the Silver Mage and the stranger. Keff grinned and waved at them. "Hi, Mum," he said. "It'll take you hours at that rate to reach one of those mountain ranges," Carialle said through the implant. "I'd like to know how long he can fly that thing before he has to refuel or rest, or whatever." Keff turned to Chaumel. "Where are we ..." Even before the question was completely out of his mouth, the view changed. « • f^?? • • • going? Keff gaped. They were no longer hanging above Bran- nels fields. Between one meter and another the silver chariot had transferred effortlessly to a point above snow- capped mountain peaks. The drop in temperature was so sudden Keff suffered a violent, involuntary shudder before he knew he was cold. "—Ramjamming fardling flatulating dagnabbing planet!" Carialle's voice, missing from his consciousness for just moments, reasserted itself at full volume. 'There you are! You are one hundred and seventy four kilometers northeast from your previous position." "Lady dear, what language!" Keff gasped out between chatters. "Not at all suitable for my lady fair." "But appropriate! You've been missing a long time. Confound it, I was worried!" "It only felt like a second to me," Keff said, apologeti- cally. "Fifty-three hundredths of a second," Carialle said crisply. "Which felt like eons to my processing gear. I had to trace your vital signs through I don't know how many power areas before I found you. Luckily your evil wizard told us you were going to a mountain. That did cut down by about fifty percent the terrain I had to sweep." "We teleported," Keff said, wonderingly. "I ... tele- ported! I didn't feel as if I was. It's effortless!" "I hate it," Carialle replied. "You were off the air while you were in transit. I didn't know where you had gone, or if you were still alive. Confound these people with their unelectronic toys and nonmechanical machines!" "My . . . mountain home," Chaumel announced, inter- rupting Keffs subvocal argument. The silver magician pointed downward toward a gabled structure built onto the very crest of the highest peak in the range. "How lovely," Keff said, hoping one of the expressions he had gleaned from Carialle's tapes of the broadcasting drones was appropriate. By Chaumel's pleased expression, it was. At first all he could see was the balcony, cantilevered out over a bottomless chasm, smoky purple and black in the light of the setting sun. Set into the mountaintop were tall, arched glass windows, shining with the last highlights of day. They were distinguishable from the blue-white ice cap only because they were flat and smooth. What little could be seen of the rest of the mountain was jagged outthrusts and steep ravines. "Mighty . . . not. . . from the ground," Chaumel said, pantomiming something trying to come up from under- neath and being met above by a fist. IT rewound the comment and translated it in Keffs ear as 'This is a mighty stronghold. Nothing can reach us from the ground." "No, to be sure." Well, that stood to reason. No mage would want to live in a bastion that could be climbed to. Much less accessible if it could be reached only by an aer- ial route. The balcony, as they got nearer, was as large as a com- mercial heliport, with designated landing pads marked out in different colored flush-set paving stones. One square, nearest the tall glass doors, was silver-gray, obviously reserved for the lord of the manor. The chariot swung in a smooth curve over the pad and set down on it as daintily as a feather. As soon as it landed, the flock of spy-eyes turned and flew away. Chaumel ges- tured for Keffto get down. The brawn stepped off the finial onto the dull stone tiles, and found himself dancing to try and keep his bal- ance. The floor was smooth and slick, frictionless as a track-ball surface. Losing his footing, Keff sprawled back- ward, catching himself with his hands flat behind him, and struggled to an upright position. The feel of the floor dis- concerted him. It was heavy with power. He didn't hear it or feel it, but he sensed it. The sensation was extremely unnerving. He rubbed his palms together. 'What's the matter?" Carialle asked. 'The view keeps changing. Ah, that's better. Hmm. No, it isn't. What's that dreadful vibration? It feels mechanical." "Don't know," Keff said subvocally, testing the floor with a cautious hand. Though dry to look at, it felt tacky, almost clammy "Slippery," he added, with a smile up at his host. Dark brows drawn into an impatient V, Chaumel ges- tured for Keff to get up. Very carefully, using his hands, Keff got to his knees, and tentatively, to his feet. Chaumel nodded, turned, and strode through the tall double doors. Walking ding-toed like a waterfowl, Keff followed as quickly as he could, if only to get off the surface. Each time he put a foot down, the disturbing vibration rattled up his leg into his spine. Keff forced himself to ignore it as he tried to catch up with Chaumel. The silver maglman nattered on, half to Keff, half to himself. Keff boosted the gain on IT to pick up every word, to play back later. The glass doors opened out from a grand chamber like a ballroom or a throne room. Ceilings were unusually high, with fantastic ornamentation. Keff stared straight up at a painted and gilded trompe d'oeil fresco of soaring native avians in a cloud-dotted sky. Windows of glass, rock crystal, and colored minerals were set at every level on the wall. There was one skylight cut pielike into the ceiling. Consid- ering that his host and his people flew almost everywhere, Keff wasn't surprised at the attention paid to the upper reaches of the rooms. The magifolk seemed to like light, and living inside a mountain was likely to cause claustro- phobia. The walls were hewn out of the natural granite, but the floor everywhere was that disconcerting track-ball surface. 'This (thing)... mine ... old," Chaumel said, gesturing casually at a couple of framed pieces of art displayed on the wall. Keff glanced at the first one to figure out what it represented, and then wished he hadn't. The moire abstract seemed to move by itself in nauseous patterns. Keff hastily glanced away, dashing tears from his eyes and controlling the roil of his stomach. "Most original," he said, gasping. Chaumel paused briefly in his chattering to beam at Keffs evident perspi- cacity and pointed out another stomach-twister. Keff carefully kept his gaze aimed below the level of the frames, offering compliments without looking. Staring at the silver 100 magicians heels and the hem of his robe, Keff padded faster to catch up. They passed over a threshold into an anteroom where several servants were sweeping and dusting. Except when raising their eyes to acknowledge the presence of their master, they also made a point of watching the ground in front of them. It was no consolation to Keff to realize that others had the same reaction to the "artwork." Chaumel was the only bare-skin Keff saw. The staff appeared to consist solely of fur-skinned Noble Primitives, like Brannel, but instead of having just four fingers on each hand, some had all five. 'The missing links?" Keff asked Carialle. These beings looked like a combination between Chaumel s people and Brannels. Though their faces were hairy, they did not bear the animal cast to their features that the various villagers had. They looked more humanly diversified. "Do you sup- pose that the farther you go away from the overlords, the more changes you find in facial structure?" He stopped to study the face of a furry-faced maiden, who reddened under her pelt and dropped her eyes shyly. She twisted her duster between her hands. "Ahem! A geographical cause isn't logical," Carialle said, "although you might postulate inbreeding between the two races. That would mean that the races are genetically close. Very interesting." Chaumel, noticing he'd lost his audience, detoured back, directed Keff away from the serving maid and toward a stone archway. "Will you look at the workmanship in that?" Keff said, admiringly. 'Very fine, Chaumel." "I'm glad you . . ." the magiman said, moving on through the doorway into a wide corridor. "Now, this . . . my father. . ." This" proved to be a tapestry woven, Carialle informed Keff after a microscopic peek, of dyed vegetable fibers blended with embroidered colorful figures in six-pack hair. "Old," she said. "At least four hundred years. And expert craftwork, I might add." "Lovely," Keff said, making sure the contact button scanned ft in full for his xenology records. "Er, high worker-ship, Chaumel." His host was delighted, and took him by the arm to show him every item displayed in the long hall. Chaumel was evidently an enthusiastic collector of objets d'art and, except for the nauseating pictures, had a well-developed appreciation of beauty. Keff had no trouble admiring handsomely made chairs, incidental tables, and pedestals of wood and stone; more tapes- tries; pieces of scientific equipment that had fallen into disuse and been adapted for other purposes. A primitive chariot, evidently the precursor of the elegant chairs Chaumel and his people used, was enshrined under- neath the picture of a bearded man in a silver robe. Chaumel also owned some paintings and repre- sentational art executed with great skill that were not only not uncomfortable but a pleasure to behold. Keff exclaimed over everything, recording it, hoping that he was also gathering clues to help free Carialle so they could leave Ozran as soon as possible. A few of Chaumel s treasures absolutely defied descrip- tion. Keff would have judged them to be sculpture or statuary, but some of the vertical and horizontal surfaces showed wear, the polished appearance of long use. They were furniture, but for what kind of being? "What is this, Chaumel?" Keff asked, drawing the magi- mans attention to a small grouping arranged in an alcove. He pointed to one item. It looked like a low-set painters easel from which a pair of hardwood tines rose in a V. 'This is very old." "Ah!" the magiman said, eagerly. "... from old, old day- day." IT promptly interpreted into "from ancient days," and recorded the usage. "I'm getting a reading of between one thousand six hun- dred and one thousand nine hundred years," Carialle said, confirming Chaumel's statement. The magiman gave Keff a curious look. "Surely your people didn't use these things," Keff said. "Can't sit on them, see?" He made as if to sit down on the narrow horizontal ledge at just above knee level. Chaumel grinned and shook his head. "Old Ones used ... sit-lie," he said. 'They weren't humanoid?" Keff asked, and then clari- fied as the magiman looked confused. "Not like you, or me, or your servants?" "Not, not. Before New Ones, we." 'Then the humanoids were not the native race on this planet," Carialle said excitedly into Kerfs implant. 'They are travelers. They settled here alongside the indigenous beings and shared their culture." 'That would explain the linguistic anomalies," Keff said. "And that awful artwork in the grand hall." Then speaking aloud, he added, "Are there any of the Old Ones left, Chaumel?" "Not, not. Many days gone. Worked, move from empty land to mountain. Gave us, gave them." Chaumel strug- gled with a pantomime. "All... gone." "I think I understand. You helped them move out of the valleys, and they gave you . . . what? Then they all died? What caused that? A plague?" Chaumel suddenly grew wary. He muttered and moved on to the next grouping of artifacts. He paused dramati- cally before one item displayed on a wooden pedestal. The gray stone object, about fifty centimeters high, resembled an oddly twisted um with an off-center opening. "0\d-0ld-0nes," he said with awe, placing his hands possessively on the um. "Old Ones—Ancient Ones?" Keff asked, gesturing one step farther back with his hand. "Yes," Chaumel said. He caressed the stone. Keff moved cipser so Carialle could take a reading through the contact button. "It's even older than the Old Ones' chair, if that's what that was. Much older. Ask if this is a religious artifact. Are the Ancient Ones their gods?" Carialle asked. "Did you, your father-father, bring Ancient Ones with you to Ozran?" Keff asked. "Not our ancestors," Chaumel said, laying three imagi- nary objects in a row. "Ozran: Ancient Ones; Old Ones; New Ones, we. Ancient," he added, holding out the wand in his belt. "Carialle, I think he means that artifact is a leftover from the original culture. It is ancient, but there has been some modification on it, dating a couple thousand years back." Then aloud, he said to Chaumel. "So they passed usable items down. Did the Ancient Ones look like the Old Ones? Were they their ancestors?" Chaumel shrugged. "It looks like an entirely different culture, Keff," Carialle said, processing the image and running a schematic overlay of all the pieces in the hall. 'There're very few Ancient One artifacts here to judge by, but my reconstruction pro- gram suggests different body types for the Ancients and the Old Ones. Similar, though. Both species were upright and had rearward-bending, jointed lower limbs—can't tell how many, but the Old One furniture is built for larger creatures. Not quite as big as humanoids, though." "It sounds as if one species succeeded after another," Keff said. 'The Old Ones moved in to live with the Ancient Ones, and many generations later after the Ancients died off, the New Ones arrived and cohabited with the Old Ones. They are the third in a series of races to live on this planet: the aborigines, die Old Ones, and the New Ones, or magic-using humanoids." Carialle snorted. "Doesn't say much for Ozran as a host for life-forms, if two intelligent races in a row died off within a few millenia." "And the humanoids are reduced to a nontechnologi- cal existence," Keff said, only half listening to Chaumel, who was lecturing him with an intent expression on his broad-cheeked face. "Could it have something to do with the force-field holding you down? They got stuck here?" "Whatever trapped me did it selectively, Keff!" Carialle said. Td landed and taken off six times on Ozran already. It was dehberate, and I want to know who and why." "Another mystery to investigate. But I also want to know why the Old Ones moved up here, away from their source of food," Keff said. "Since they seem to be dependant on what's grown here, that's a sociological anomaly." "Ah," Carialle said, reading newly translated old data from IT. 'The Old Ones didn't move up here with the New Ones' help, Keff. They were up here when the humanoids came. They found Ancient artifacts in the valleys." "So these New Ones had some predilection for talent when they came here, but their contact with the Old Ones increased it to what we see in them now. Two space-going races, Carialle!" Keff said, greatly excited. "I want to know if we can find out more about the pure alien culture. Later on, let's see if we can trace them back to their original sys- tems. Pity there's so little left: after several hundred years ofhumanoid rule, it's all mixed up together." "Isn't the synthesis as rare?" Carialle asked, pointedly. "In our culture, yes. Makes it obvious where the sign language comes from, too," Keff said. "Its a relic from one of the previous races—useful symbology that helps make the magic work. The Old Ones may never have shared the humanoid language, being the host race, but somehow they made themselves understood to the new- comers. Worth at least a paper to Galactic Geographic. Clearly, Chaumel here doesn't know what the Ancients were like." The magiman, watching Keff talking to himself, heard his name and Keffs question. He shook his head regret- fully. "I do not. Much before days of me." "Where do your people come from?" Keff asked. "What star, where out mere?" He gestured up at the sky. "I do not know that also. Where from do yours come?" Chaumel asked, a keen eye holding Keffs. The brawn tried to think of a way to explain the Central Worlds with the limited vocabulary at his disposal and raised his hands helplessly. 'Vain hope." Carialle sighed. "I'm still trying to find any records of settlements in this sector. Big zero. If I could get a message out, I could have Central Worlds do a full-scan search of the old records." "So where do the Noble Primitives fit in, Chaumel?" Keff asked, throwing a friendly arm over the man's shoul- der before he could start a lecture on the next objet d'art. He pointed at a male servant wearing a long, white robe, who hurried away, wide-eyed, when he noticed the bare- skinned ones looking at him. "I notice that the servants here have lighter pelts than the people in the farm village." He gestured behind him, hoping that Chaumel would understand he meant where they had just come from. He tweaked a lock of his own hair, rubbing his fingers together to indicate "thin," then ran his fingers down his own face and held out his hand. 'They're handsomer. And some of them have five fingers, like mine." Keff waggled his forefinger. "Why do the ones in the valley have only four?" He bent the finger under his palm. "Oh," Chaumel said, laughing. He stated something in a friendly, off handed way that the IT couldn't translate, scissors-chopping his own forefinger with his other hand to demonstrate what he meant. "... when of few days—babies. Low mind. ... no curiosity . . . worker." He made the scissors motion again. "What?" Carialle shrieked in Keffs ear. "Its not a muta- tion. Its mutilation. There aren't two brands ofhumanoids, just one, with most of the poor things exploited by a lucky few." Keff was shocked into silence. Fortunately, Chaumel seemed to expect no reply. Carialle continued to speak in a low voice while Keff nodded and smiled at the magiman. "Moreover, he's been referring to the Noble Primitives as property. When he mentioned his possessions, IT went back and translated his term for the villagers as 'chattel.' I do not like these people. Evil wizards, indeed!" "Er, very nice," Keff said in Ozran, for lack of any good reply. Chaumel beamed. "We care for them, we who commune with the Core of Ozran. We lead our weaker brothers. We guard as they working hard in the valleys to raise food for us all." "Enslave them, you mean," Carialle sniffed. "And they live up here in comfort while Brannel's people freeze. He looks so warm and friendly—for a slave trader. Look at his eyes. Dead as microchips." "Weaker? Do you mean feeble-minded? The people down in the valleys have strong bodies but, er, they don't seem very bright," Keff said. 'These, your servants, are much more intelligent than any of the ones we met." He didn't mention Brannel. "Ah," Chaumel said, guardedly casual, "the workers eat stupid, not question... who know better, overlords." "You mean you put something in the food to keep them stupid and docile so they won't question their servitude? That's monstrous," Keff said, but he kept smiling. Chaumel didn't understand the last word. He bowed deeply. 'Thank you. Use talent, over many years gone, we give them," he pantomimed over his own wrist and arm, showed it growing thicker, "more skin, hair, grow dense flesh..." IT riffled through a list of synonyms. Keff seized upon one. "Muscles?" he asked. IT repeated Chaumel s last word, evidently satisfied with Keffs definition. "Yes," Chaumel said. "Good for living . . . cold valleys. Hard work!" "You mean you can skimp on the central heat if you give them greater endurance," Carialle said, contemptuously. "You bloodsucker." Chaumel frowned, almost as if he had heard Carialle's tone. "Hush! Er, I don't know if this is a taboo question, Chaumel," Keff began, rubbing his chin with thumb and forefinger, "but you interbreed with the servant class, too, don't you? Bare-skins with fur-skins, make babies?" "Not I," the silver magiman explained hastily. "But yes. Some lower . . . mages and magesses have faces with hair. Never make their places as mages of... but not everyone is ... sent for mightiness." "Destined for greatness," Keff corrected IT. IT repeated the word. "So why are you not great? I mean," he rephrased his statement for tact, "not one of the mages of—IT, put in that phrase he used?" "Oh, I am good—satisfied to be what I am," Chaumel said, complacently folding his fingers over his well-padded rib cage. "If they're already being drugged, why amputate their fingers?" Carialle wanted to know. "What do fingers have to do with the magic?" Keff asked, making a hey-presto gesture. "Ah," Chaumel said. Taking Keifs arm firmly under his own, he escorted him down the hall to a low door set deeply into the stone walls. Servants passing by showed Keff the whites of their eyes as Chaumel slipped the silver wand out of his belt and pointed at the lock. Some of the fur-skins hurried faster as the red fire lanced laserlike into the keyhole. One or two, wearing the same keen expres- sion as Brannel, peered in as the door opened. Shooting a cold glance to speed the nosy ones on their way, Chaumel urged Keff inside. The darkness lifted as soon as they stepped over the threshold, a milky glow coming directly from the substance of the walls. "Cari, is that radioactive?" Keff asked. His whisper was amplified in a ghostly rush of sound by the rough stone. "No. In fact, I'm getting no readings on the light at all. Strange." "Magic!" "Cut that out," Carialle said sulkily. "I say its a form of energy with which I am unacquainted." In contrast to all the other chambers Keff had seen in Chaumel s eyrie, this room had a low, unadorned ceiling of rough granite less than an arms length above their heads. Keff felt as though he needed to stoop to avoid hitting the roof. Chaumel moved across me floor like a man in a chapel. The furnishings of the narrow room carried out that impression. At the end opposite the door was a molded, silver table not unlike an altar, upon which rested five objects arranged in a circle on an embroidered cloth. Keff tiptoed forward behind Chaumel. The items themselves were not particularly impressive: a metal bangle about twelve centimeters across, a silver tube, a flattened disk pierced with half-moon shapes all around the edge, a wedge of clear crystal with a piece of dull metal fused to the blunt end, and a hollow cylinder like an empty jelly jar. "What are they?" Keff asked. "Objects of power," Chaumel replied. One by one he lifted them and displayed them for Keff. Returning to the bangle, Chaumel turned it over so Keff could see its inner arc. Five depressions about two centimeters apart were molded into its otherwise smooth curve. In turn, he showed the markings on each one. With the last, he inserted the tips of his fingers into the depressions and wielded it away from Keff. "Ah," Keff said, enlightened. "You need five digits to use these." "So the amputation is to keep the servers from organiz- ing a palace revolt," Carialle said. "Any uppity server just wouldn't have the physical dexterity to use them." "Mmm," Keff said. "How old are they?" He moved closer to the altar and bent over the cloth. "Old, old," Chaumel said, patting the jelly jar. "Old Ones," Carialle verified, running a scan through Keffs ocular implants. "So is the bangle. The other three are Ancient, with some subsequent modifications by the Old Ones. All of them have five pressure plates incorpo- rated into the design. That's why Brannel tried to take my palette. It has five depressions, just like these items. He probably thought it was a power piece, like these." 'There's coincidence for you: both the alien races here were pentadactyl, like humans. I wonder if that's a recur- ring trait throughout the galaxy for technologically capable races," Keff said. "Five-fingered hands." Chaumel certainly seemed proud of his. Setting down the jelly jar, he mbbed his hands together, then flicked invisible dust motes off his nails, taking time to admire both fronts and backs. "Well, they are shapely hands," Carialle said. 'They wouldn't be out of place in Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel frescoes except for the bizarre proportions." Kefftook a good look at Chaumels hands. For the first time he noticed that the thumbs, which he had noted as being rather long, bore lifelike prostheses, complete with nails and tiny wisps of hair, that made the tips fan out to. the same distance as the forefingers. The little fingers were of equal length to the ring fingers, jarring the eye, making the fingers look like a thick fringe cut straight across. Absently conscious of Keffs stare, Chaumel pulled at his litde fingers. "Is he trying to make them longer by doing that?" Carialle asked. "It's physically impossible, but I suppose telling him that won't make him stop. Superstitions are superstitions." 'That's er, grotesque, Chaumel," Keffsaid, smiling with what he hoped was an expression of admiration. 'Thank you, Keff." The silver magiman bowed. "Show me how the objects of power work," Keff said, pointing at the table. "I'd welcome a chance to watch with- out being the target." Chaumel was all too happy to oblige. "Now you see how these are," he said graciously. He chose the ring and the tube, putting his favorite, the wand, back in its belt holster. 'This way." On the way out of the narrow room, Chaumel resumed his monologue. This time it seemed to involve the prove- nance and ownership of the items. "We are proud of our toys," Carialle said deprecatingly. "Nothing up my sleeve, alakazam!" "Whoops!" Keffsaid, as Chaumel held out his hand and a huge crockery vase appeared on the palm. "Alakazam, indeed!" With a small smile, Chaumel blew on the crock, send- ing it flying down the hall as if siddding on ice. He raised the tube, aimed it, and squeezed lightly. The crock froze in place, then, in delayed reaction, it burst apart into a shower of jet-propelled sand, peppering the walls and the two men. "Marvelous!" Keff said, applauding. He spat out sand. "Bravo! Do it again!" Obligingly, Chaumel created a wide ceramic platter. "My mother this belonged to. I do not ever like this," he said. With a twist of his wrist, it followed the crock. Instead of the tube, the silver magiman operated the ring. With a crack, the platter exploded into fragments. A glass goblet, then a pitcher appeared out of the air. Chaumel set them dancing around one another, .then fused them into one piece with a dash of scarlet lightning from his wand. They dropped to the ground, spraying fragments of glass every- where. "And what do you do for an encore?" Keff asked, sur- veying the hall, now littered with debris. "Hmmph!" Chaumel said. He waved the wand, and three apron-clad domestics appeared, followed by brooms and pails. Leaving the magical items floating on the air, he clapped his hands together. The servers set hastily to work cleaning up. Chaumel folded his arms together with satis- faction and turned a smug face to Keff. "I see. You get all the fun, and they do all the nasty bits," Keffsaid, nodding. "Bravo anyway." "I was following the energy buildup during that little Wild West show," Carialle said in Keffs ear. 'There is no connection between what Chaumel does with his toys, that hum in the floors, and any energy source except a slight response from that random mess in the sky. Geothermal is 148 Anne Mc^aJJrey u- ^oo.i/ i-ajiw iiyc silent. And before you ask, he hasn't got a generator. Ask him where they get their power from." "Where do your magical talents come from?" Keff asked the silver magiman. He imitated Potria's spell-casting tech- nique, gathering in armfuls of air and thrusting his hands forward. Chaumel ducked to one side. His face paled, and he stared baletully at Keff. "I guess it isn't just sign language," Keff said sheepishly. "Genuine functionalism of symbols. Sorry for the breach in etiquette, old fellow. But could the New Ones do that," he started to make the gesture but pointedly held back from finishing it, "when they came to Ozran?" "Some. Most learned from Old Ones," Chaumel said, not really caring. He flipped the wand into the air. It twirled end over end, then vanished and reappeared in his side-slung holster. "Flying?" Keff said, imitating the way the silver magi- man's chair swooped and turned. "Learned from Old Ones?" "Yes. Gave learning to us for giving to them." "Incredible," Keff said, with awhisde. "What I wouldn't give for magic lessons. But where does the power come from?" Chaumel looked beatific. "From the Core of Ozran," he said, hands raised in a mystical gesture. "What is that? Is it a physical thing, or a philosophical center?" "It is the Core," Chaumel said, impatiently, shaking his head at Keffs denseness. The brawn shrugged. 'The Core is the Core," he said. "Of course. Non-sequitur. Chaumel, my ship can't move from where it landed. Does the Core of Ozran have something to do with that?" "Perhaps, perhaps." Keff pressed him. "I'd really like an answer to that, Chaumel. It's sort of important to me, in a strange sort of way," he said, shrugging diffidently. Chaumel irritably shook his head and waved his hands. "I'll tackle him again later, Cari," Keff said under his breath. "Now is better . . . What's that sound?" Carialle said, interrupting herself. Keff looked around. "I didn't hear anything." But Chaumel had. Like a hunting dog hearing a horn, he turned his head. Keff felt a rise of static, raising the hair on the back of his neck. 'There it is again," Carialle said. "Approximately fifty thousand cycles. Now I'm showing serious power fluctua- tions where you are. What Chaumel was doing in the hallway was a spit in the ocean compared with this." Chaumel grabbed Keffs arm and made a spiraling ges- ture upward with one finger. 'This way, in haste!" Chaumel said, pushing him through the hallway toward the great room and the landing pad beyond. His hand flew above his head, repeating the spiral over and over. "Haste, haste!" a CHAPTER EIGHT Night had fallen over the mountains. The new arrivals seemed to glow with their own ghostlight as they flew through the purple-dark sky toward Chaumels balcony. Keff, concealed with Chaumel behind a curtain in the tall glass door, recognized Femgal, Nokias, Potria, and some of the lesser magimen and magiwomen from that afternoon. There were plenty of new faces, including some in chairs as fancy as Chaumel s own. 'The big chaps and their circle of intimates, no doubt. Wish I had a chance to put on my best bib and tucker," Keff murmured to Carialle. To his host, he said, "Shouldn't we go out and greet mem, Chaumel?" "Hutt!" Chaumel said, hurriedly putting a hand to his lips, and raising the wand at his belt in threat to back up his command. Silently, he pantomimed putting one object after another in a row. "... (untranslatable)..." "I think I understand you," Keff said, interrupting ITs attempt to locate roots for the phrase. "Order of prece- dence. Protocol. You're waiting for everyone to land." Pursing his lips, Chaumel nodded curtly and returned 150 to studying the scene. One at a time, like a flock of enormous migratory birds, the chariots queued up beyond the lip of the landing zone. Some jockeyed for better position, then resumed their places as a sharp word came from one of the occupants of the more elaborate chairs. Keff sensed that adherence to protocol was strictly enforced among the magifolk. Behave or get blasted, he thought. As soon as the last one was in place, Chaumel threw open the great doors and stood to one side, bowing. Hast- ily, Keff followed suit. Five of the chairs flew forward and set down all at once in the nearest squares. Their occu- pants rose and stepped majestically toward them. "Zolaika, High Magess of the North," Chaumel said, bowing deeply. "I greet you." "Chaumel," the tiny, old woman of the leaf-green char- iot said, with a slight inclination of her head. She sailed regally into the center of the grand hall and stood there, five feet above the ground as if fixed in glass. "Ilnir, High Mage of the Isles." Chaumel bowed to a lean man in purple with a hooked nose and a domed, bald head. Nokias started forward, but Chaumel held up an apologetic finger. "Femgal, High Mage of the East, I greet you." Nokias's face crimsoned in the reflected light from the ballroom. He stepped forward after Femgal strode past with a smug half-grin on his face. "I had forgotten, brother Chaumel. Forgive my discourtesy." "Forgive mine, high one," Chaumel said, suavely, hold- ing his hands high and apart. "Ureth help me, but you could never be less than courteous. Be greeted, Nokias, High Mage of the South." Gravely, the golden magiman entered and took his place at the south point of the center ring. He was followed by Omri of the West, a flamboyantly handsome man dressed fittingly in peacock blue. Chaumel gave him an elaborate salute. With less ceremony and markedly less deference, Chaumel greeted the rest of the visiting magi. "He outranks these people," Carialle said in Kerfs implant. "He's making it clear the/re lucky to get the time of day out of him. I'm not sure where he stands in the soci- ety. He's probably not quite of the rank of the first five, but he's got a lot of power." "And me where he wants us," Keffsaid in a sour tone. As Nokias had, a few of the lesser ones were compelled to take an unexpected backseat to some of their fellows. Chaumel was firm as he indicated demotions and ignored those who conceded with bad grace. Keff wondered if the order of precedence was liquid and altered frequently. He saw a few exchanges of hot glares and curt gestures, but no one spoke or swung a wand. Potria and Asedow had had time to change clothes and freshen up after their battle. Potria undulated off her pink- gold chariot swathed in an opaque gown of a cloth so fine it pulsed at wrists and throat with her heartbeat. Her per- fume should have been illegal. Asedow, still in dark green, wore several chains and wristlets of hammered and pierced metal that clanked together as he walked. The two elbowed one another as they approached Chaumel, striv- ing to be admitted first. Chaumel broke the deadlock by bowing over Potrias hand, but waving Asedow through behind her back. Potria smirked for receiving extra atten- tion from the host, but Asedow had preceded her into the hall, dark green robes aswirl. As Carialle and Keff had observed before, Chaumel was a diplomat. "How does one get promoted?" he asked Chaumel, who bowed the last of the magifolk, a slender girl in a primrose robe, into the ballroom. "What criteria do you use to tell whos on first?" "I will explain in time," the silver mage said. "Come." Taking Keff firmly by the upper arm, he went forth to make small talk with his many visitors. He brought Keff to bow to Zolaika who began an incomprehensible conversa- tion with Chaumel literally over Keffs head because the host rose several feet to float on the same level as die lady. Keff stood, staring up at the verbal Ping-Pong match, wish- ing the IT was faster at simultaneous translation. He heard his name several times, but caught little of the context. Most of it was in the alternate, alien-flavored dialect, pep- pered with a few hand gestures. Keff only recognized the signs for "help" and "honor." "I hope you're taking all this down so I can work on it later," he said in a subvocal mutter to Carialle. Hands behind his back, he twisted to survey the rest of the hall. "With my tongue out," Carialle said. "My, you certainly brought out the numbers. Everyone wants a peep at you. What would you be willing to bet that everyone who could reasonably expect admittance is here. I wonder how many are sitting home, trying to think up a good excuse to call?" "No bet," Keffsaid cheerfully. "Oh, look, the decorators been in." The big room, which had been empty until the guests arrived, was beginning to fill in with appropriate pieces of furniture. Two rows of sconces bearing burning torches appeared at intervals along the walls. Three magifolk chat- ting near the double doors discovered a couch behind them and sat down. Spider-legged chairs chased mages through the room, only to place themselves in a correct and timely manner, for the mages never once looked behind to see if there was something there to be sat on: a seat was assumed. Fat, ferny plants in huge crockery pots grew up around two magimen who huddled against one wall, talking in furtive undertones. A wing chair nudged the back of Zolaikas knees while an ottoman insinuated itself lovingly under the old woman's feet. She made herself comfortable as several of the junior magifolk came to pay their respects. A small table with a round, rimmed top appeared in their midst. Several set down their magical items, initiating an appar- ent truce for the duration. After kissing Zolaikas hand, Chaumel detached himself from the group and steered Keff toward the next of the high magimen in the room. Engrossed in a conversation, Ilnir barely glanced at Keff, but accorded Chaumel a cour- teous nod as he made an important point using his wrist-thick magic mace for emphasis. A carved pedestal appeared under Ilnir's elbow and he leaned upon it. Each of the higher magimen had a number of syco- phants, male and female, as escort. Potria, gorgeous in her floating, low-cut peach gown, was among the number sur- rounding Nokias. Asedow was right beside her. They glared at Chaumel, evidently taking personally the slight done to their chief. As Chaumel and Keff passed by, they raised their voices with the complaint that they had been wrongly prevented from finishing their contest. Femgal and Noldas were standing together near the crystal windows beyond their individual circles. The two were exchanging pleasantries with one another, but not really communicating. Keff, boosting the gain of his audio pickup with a pressure of his jaw muscles, actually heard one of them pass a remark about the weather. Chaumel stopped equidistant between the two high mages. His hand concealed in a fold of his silver robe, he used sharp pokes to direct Keff to bow first to Femgal, then Nokias. Keff offered a few polite words to each. IT was working overtime processing the small talk it was pick- ing up, but it gave him the necessary polite phrases slowly enough to recite accurately without resorting to ITs speaker. "I feel like a trained monkey," Keffsubvocalized. As he straightened up, Carialle got a look at his audi- ence. "That's what they think you are, too. They seem surprised that you can actually speak." Chaumel turned him away from his two important guests and.tilted his head conspiratorially close. "You see, my young friend, I would have preferred to have you all to myself, but I can't refuse access to the pre- eminent magis when they decide to call at my humble home for an evening. One climbs higher by power . . . (power-plays, IT suggested) managed, as ordered by the instructions left us by our ancestors. Such power-plays determine ones height (rank, IT whispered). Also, deaths. They are most facile at these." "Deaths?" Keff asked. "You mean, you all move up one when someone dies?" "Yes, but also when one makes a death," Chaumel said, with an uneasy backward glance at the high mages. Keff goggled. "You mean you move up when you kill someone?" "Sounds like the promotion lists in the space service to me," Carialle remarked to Keff. "Ah, but not only that, but through getting more secrets and magical possessions from those, and more. But Fem- gal of the East has just, er, discarded..." "Disposed of," Carialle supplied. "... Mage Klemay in a duel, so he has raised/ascended over Mage Nokias of the South. I must incorporate the change of status smoothly, though"—his face took on an exaggerated mask of tragedy—"it pains me to see the embarrassment it causes my friend, Nokias. We attempt to make all in harmony." Keff thought privately that Chaumel didn't look that uncomfortable. He looked like he was enjoying the dis- comfiture of the Mage of the South. 'This is a nasty brood. They make a point of scoring off one another," Carialle observed. 'The only thing that har- monizes around here is the color-coordinated outfits and chariots. Did you notice? Everyone has a totem color. I wonder if they inherit it, earn it, or just choose it." She gig- gled in Keffs ear. "And what happens when someone else has the one you want?" "Another assassination, I'm sure," Keff said, bowing and smiling to one side as Femgal made for Ilnirs group. As the black-clad magimans circle drifted off, Noldas's minions spread out a little, as if grateful for the breathing room. Keff turned to Potria and gave her his most winning smile, but she looked down her nose at him. "How nice to see you again, my lady," he said in slow but clear Ozran. The lovely bronze woman turned point- edly and looked off in another direction. The puff of gold hair over her right ear obscured her face from him com- pletely. Keff sighed. "No sale," Carialle said. "You might as well have been talking to her chair. Tsk-tsk, tsk-tsk. Your hormones don't have much sense." 'Thank you for that cold shower, my lady," Keff said, half to Potria, half to Carialle. "You're a heartless woman, you are." The brain chuckled in his ear. "She's not that different from anyone else here. I've never seen such a bundle of tough babies in my life. Stay on your guard. Don't reveal more about us than you have to. We're vulnerable enough as it is. I don't like people who mutilate and enslave thousands, not to mention cap- turing helpless ships." "Your mind is like unto my mind, lady dear," Keff said lightly. "That one doesn't look so tough." Near the wall, almost hiding in the curtains behind a rose-robed crone was the last magiwoman Chaumel had bowed into the room. IT reminded him her name was Plennafrey. Self-effacing in her simple primrose gown and metallic blue-green shoulder-to-floor sash, her big, dark eyes, pointed chin, and broad cheekbones gave her a gamine look. She glanced toward Keff and immediately turned away. Keff admired her hair, ink-black with rusty highlights, woven into a simple four-strand plait that fell most of the way down her back. "I feel sorry for her," Keff said. "She looks as though she's out other depth. She's not mean enough." Carialle gave him the raspberry. "You always do fall for the naive look," she said. 'That's why it's always so easy to lure you into trouble in Myths and Legends." "Oho, you've admitted it, lady Now I'll be on guard against you." "Just you watch it with these people and worry about me later. They're not fish-eating swamp dwellers like the Beasts Blatisant." Keff had time to nod politely to the tall girl before Chaumel yanked him away to meet the last of the five high magimen. "I know how she feels, Cari. I'm not used to dealing with advanced societies that are more complicated and devious than the one I come from. Give me the half- naked swamp dwellers every time." "Look at that," Potria said, sourly. "My claim, and Chaumel is parading it around as if he discovered it." "Mine," Asedow said. "We have not yet settled the ques- tion of ownership." "He has a kind face," Plennafrey offered in a tiny voice. Potria spun in a storm of pink-gold and glared at her. "You are mad. It is not fully Ozran, so it is no better than a beast, like the peasants." Remembering her resolution to be bolder no matter how terrified she felt, Plennafrey cleared her throat. "I am sure he is not a mere thing, Potria. He looks a true man." In fact, she found his looks appealing. His twinkling eyes reminded her of happy days, something she hadn't known since long before her father died. If only she could have such a man in her life, it would no longer be lonely. Potria turned away, disgusted. "I have been deprived of my rights." "You have? I spoke first." Asedows eyes glittered. "I was winning," Potria said, lips curled back from grit- ted white teeth. She flashed a hand signal under Asedows nose. He backed off, making a sign of protection. Plenna watched, wild-eyed. Although she knew they wouldn't dare to rejoin their magical battle in here, neither of them was above a knife in the ribs. Suddenly, she felt a wall of force intrude between the combatants. The thought of a possible incident must also have occurred to Nokias. Asedow and Potria retreated another hand-span apart, continuing to harangue one another. Plenna glanced over at the other groups of mages. They were beginning to stare. Nokias, having been disgraced once already this evening, would be furious if his underlings embarrassed him in front of the whole assemblage. Asedow was getting louder, his hands flying in the old signs, emphasizing his point. "It is to my honor, and the tower and the beast will come to me!" Potrias hands waved just as excitedly. "You have no honor. Your mother was a fur-skin with a dray-beast jaw, and your father was drunk when he took her!" At the murderous look in Asedows eye, Plenna warded herself and planted her hand firmly over her belt buckle beneath the concealing sash. At least she could help pre- vent the argument from spreading. With an act of will, she cushioned the air around them so no sound escaped past their small circle. That deadened the shouting, but it didn't prevent others from seeing the pantomime the two were throwing at one another. "How dare you!" Zolaikas chair swooped in on the pair, knocking them apart with a blast of force which dispelled Plennas cloud of silence. "You profane the sacred signs in a petty brawl!" "She seeks to take what is rightfully mine," Asedow bel- lowed. Freed, his voice threatened to shake down the celling. "High one, I appeal to you," Potria said, turning to the senior magess. "I challenged for the divine objects and I claim them as my property." She pointed at Keff. Keffwas taken aback. "Now just a minute here," he said, starting forward as he recognized the words. "I'm no one's chattel." "Hurt!" Zolaika ordered, pointing an irregular, hand- sized form at him. Keff ducked, fearing another bolt of scarlet lightning. Chaumel pulled him back and, keeping a hand firmly on his shoulder, offered a placatory word to Potria. "She's not the enchantress I thought she was," Keff said sadly to Carialle. "A regular La Belle Dame Sans Merci," Carialle said. 'Treat with courtesy, at a respectable distance." "Speaking of stating one's rights," Femgal said as he and the other high magimen moved forward. He folded his long fingers in the air before him and studied them. "May I mention that the objects were found in Klemay's terri- tory, which is now my domain, so I have the prior claim. The tower and the male are mine." He crushed his palms together deliberately. "But before that, they were in my venue," the old woman in red cried out from her place by the window. Her chair lifted high into the air. "I had seen the silver object and the being near my village when first it fell on Ozran. I claim precedence over you for the find, Femgal!" "I am no ones find!" Keff said, breaking away from Chaumel. "I'm a free man. My ship is my magical object, no one else's." "I'm mine," Carialle crisply reminded him. "I'd better keep you a piece of magical esoterica, lady, or they'll kill me without hesitation over a talking ship with its own brain." La Belle Dame Sans Merci raised a shrill outcry. Chaumel, eager to keep the peace in his own home, flew to the center of the room and raised his hands. "Mages and magesses and honored guest, the hour is come! Let us dine. We will discuss this situation much more reasonably when we all have had a bite and a sup. Please!" He clapped his hands, and a handful of servants appeared, bearing steaming trays. At a wave of their mas- ter's hand they fanned out among the guests, offering tasty-smelling hors d'oeuvres. Keff sniffed appreciatively. "Don't touch," Carialle cautioned him. "You don't know what's in them." "I know," Keff said, "but I'm starved. It's been hours since I had that hot meal." He felt his stomach threatening to rumble and compressed his diaphragm to prevent it being heard. He concentrated on looking politely disinterested. Chaumel clapped his hands, and fur-faced musicians strumming oddly shaped instruments suddenly appeared here and there about the room. They passed among the guests, smiling politely. Chaumel nodded with satisfaction, and signaled again. More Noble Primitives appeared out of me air, this time with goblets and pitchers of sparkling liquids in jewel col- ors. A chair hobbled up to Keff and edged its seat sideways toward his legs, as if offering him a chance to sit down. "No thanks," he said, stepping away a pace. The chair, unperturbed, tottered on toward the next person standing next to him. "Look around, Cari! Its like Merlins house- hold in The Sword in the Stone. I feel a litde drunk on glory, Cari. We've discovered a race of magicians. This is the pinnacle of our careers. We could retire tomorrow and they'd talk about us until the end of time." "Once