CHAPTER 4
     SHANDOAH'S POOLS OF VISION
CHAPTER 5
     THE MLEMBE AND OLD WILL ROAD
CHAPTER 6
     THE INVISIBLE VILLAGE OF THE GREENS
CHAPTER 7
     POPPA GONZALA'S FLIGHT

CHAPTER 8
     THE DUNGEONS OF THE GREENEYED SORCERESS
CHAPTER 9
     WAR FOR THE GOSSAMER GLOBES
CHAPTER 10
     EVENINGMOOT

Beasly crouched behind the grandfather clock in the foyer of Castle Biltmore and listened breathlessly to his parents' fading footsteps as they left to attend the President's Ball. Peering out a silkendraped window he watched them disappear into the evening mist; and then, as the old contraption chimed the ninth hour, he dashed down a hall and through the parlor and into his stepfather's study, with mischief on his mind.

The light of the moons cast seven pale shadows on the bookshelves and busts that lined the western wall of the study. Beasly crept silently across the shaggy carpet to an alcove behind Master Biltmore's massive desk. There in the shimmering moonlight stood the magic oaken door that led to the tallest tower in the Kingdom in the Clouds--the globetower, strictly forbidden to any but the Master himself.

Here Beasly hesitated. His breath quickened and his tongue went dry, and his heart thumped with fright--for this was once the door of a sorcerer, and the secret chant that opened it was meant to be spoken by one man only. But Beasly had spied on his stepdad many a time, there being little else for a cloudbound lad such as he to do; and on a moonless night not three weeks before, hidden behind a suit of armor and silver mail, he had overheard Master Biltmore utter the strange cryptic words that threw open the enchanted door.

The words had taunted the boy ever since, daring him in the wee hours to steal into the forbidden tower and learn its dark secrets. But now that he stood before the door he wasn't so sure he could go through with it. Stepping back, Beasly stumbled and muttered and mumbled and stuttered; and then he cleared his throat and said shyly, "Ellindanal, d'an Alnamir, Garneldaal nar Eranoir."

The oaken door didn't open. It didn't stir nor budge. It simply vanished in a poof! Flummoxed, the little sneak stepped into the spiral staircase and began to climb. Up and around and up and around hunched like a burglar he went, until at last he reached the narrow landing that led into the visionchamber.

Pushing aside a heavy black drapery Beastly entered the small, round room. It was open to the sky through five tall, arching windows, and it had a smooth, rounded, obsidian black ceiling that was polished to a shine. A gleam of light in the middle of the floor caught Beasly's eye. He tiptoed across the persian rug and there beheld a delicate silver table wrought in the form of an upturned hand, upon whose cold still fingertips rested an exquisite vestige of the genius of the ancients--a crystal globe.

The crystal was a perfect sphere about the size of a human head. Its substance was so pure that the light of the stars reflected off its surface, forming a perfect map of the heavens on the ceiling, and so clear that the starlight prisms dancing within looked like the frayed edge of a rainbow.

Kneeling before the globe Beasly peered into its depths, and for a moment it seemed to go completely black; but soon threads of colored light began to play about, and a high pitched whine like the wail of an earthbound banshee came to his ears. Then the orb began to glow in vivid spasms of blue and green and magenta, which slowly intensified, until suddenly a maelstrom of colors burst forth, and satiny strands of every shade and hue were whipped about the vision chamber as if by a silent, unfelt wind.

At once Beasly began to feel odd, as if he were being spirited away, hurtling into the endlessness of sight itself. His will swiftly waning, the lad was compelled to press his forehead firmly against the globe's icy surface and to clinch it in his trembling fingers.

A wave of dizzy detachment swept across Beasly's brain. Then to his horror his eyes seemed to melt right into the globe, the very tissue of his eyes mingling with the swirling storm of colors, until the silksoft prisms suddenly exploded, and psychedelic threads of color and light began to warp and woof and weave themselves into a peacocktail tapestry of purple and blue and cyan. Beasly was being sucked into an overwhelming vision that seemed to dash away all reality and to fill the whole of space with its fiery images:

A frothy, churning, greengrey ocean stretched to the reddening horizon. Two figures were coming across the water from the east.

One was a sinister black snake so humongous that it started tidal waves with flicks of its tail, so hideous that it left a reeking yellow slime in its wake.

The other figure, dwarfed by the titanic serpent, was a wizened old man with flowing white hair and a bright blue cape. The old gaffer walked on water, as incredible as it may seem, by virtue of his nature; for he was a wizard, a form without mass, a mere shadow on the main.

Suddenly a looming black stoem swallowed the rising sun. Thunder drummed and lightning cracked the sky, and sheets of rain were hurled as if by furious gods against the unfeeling sea. The wizard was nearly lost amid the swirling waves and waterspouts; but the serpent simply laughed above the thunder and reared its giant head a dozen fathoms high. And then with its jaws gaping and its fangs dripping venom, the beast struck downward upon the helpless old man.

With the wizard hanging limply its mouth, the snake drew itself into a tight ring of coils and began turning the ocean into a wildly spinning whirlpool, spinning faster and faster in circling circles, until with a menacing vengeance it dashed its great leathery head into the center of the vortex and disappeared, fathom by fathom, coil by coil, ending with a flick of its scaly pointed tail.

And then all was silent. The sea became as smooth as glass, and it mirrored the rising sun and the clearing skies. A shadow wriggled into the depths and was gone.

Beasly awoke as if from a dream, his cheek pressed against the cold floor of the visionchamber. Looking up he saw the crystal globe glowing like hot embers of many hues. Sparks and bolts shot from its surface, spraying the tiny room with showers of vivid red and green and aqua. A vague, high pitched whine came gradually to Beasly's ears, and as it did the muddled image in the globe began to shrink, becoming a bright white dot that slowly faded and passed from sight.

Now fright gripped Beasly by the back of the neck and flung him towards the landing, and down and around and down and around and down the spiral stairs. But when he reached the magic oaken door, the lad could find no handle or bolt, nor lock and key; and the door's spell was such that none but the boldest would dare to test its weight. After a moment of blind panic Beasly remembered the secret chant.

"Ellindanal d'an Alnamir, Garneldaal n'ar Eranoir," he said in a choked and trembly voice. The door stood firm. He ran back upstairs to the window on the western wall of the chamber and to his dismay saw that two moons had already set. He must have lain asleep on the floor for hours! He leaned out the window to look northward but saw no sign of his parents' return.

Running back down to the door Beasly began to cry. He fell to his knees and imagined himself in a dungeon with peasant debtors, or tied to a maypole in the square of an earthbound village, or thrown down from the clouds like serving girls who disobeyed their masters. In desperation he fell against the door with his face buried in his arms.

Beasly hit the floor with a painful thud. Behind him the oaken door trembled and let out an inaudible laugh. He had passed right through it! Not daring to question his luck, the boy turned tail and ran as fast as he could through the parlor and down the hall and back to his bedroom in the right wing of Castle Biltmore.

Beasly couldn't have known the depth of his mischief. Even Master Biltmore didn't fully understand the nature of the globes. For the wizardry of the ancients had been forgotten in modern times by all but a few fey magicians, and even these were rank amateurs compared to their forebears.

Worse yet, the magicians of the Coastal Empires were all in guilds under the employ of greedy merchants and bankers and five star generals, so that the dwindling spark of wizardry was wasted on frivolity and deceit. Even so the crystal globes of the aristocracy and the more crudely wrought hearthstones of the masses, marshaled as they were under the Gossamer Globe of the Greeneyed Empress in the West, were potent enough to keep the whole islandstate of Dalondria under the sway of the cloistered few who still practiced the arts of make Believe--the Milkbloods who lived in the clouds.

And by using a crystal globe for anything but the commerce of the cloud dwellers, young Beasly had unknowingly broken the golden rule of his people.

As it was, the Empress and the Milkbloods soon realized that their network had been betrayed. Immediately Her Highness the Greeneyes let loose a tirade from atop Castle Galore so violent that it sent wicked green bolts and fiery red flames flying out of every hearthstone in the land and instantly summoned her far-flung spies and agents back home to the citadel; a tirade so vicious and malignant that the earth beneath her fortress rumbled in anger and sent forth from the bowels of darkness a piercing, bloodcurdling howl that echoed into the farthest reaches of the wilderness.

Poor Beasly! If only he'd known how coveted his stolen vision would become, dark and enigmatic though it was; if only he'd known how deeply he would become embroiled in the War for the Gossamer Globes; if only he'd known how deadly the guile and treachery aimed at his innocence would be, he would have locked himself away in his room forever before he dared to spy on the secrets that lay hidden in the visionchamber or to tickle the crystalline antenna of the wizardress who ruled his land.

But fate was gentle with the lad. Even before the last moon had set early the next morn Beasly was awakened by his stepdad and taken on a special trip. In the predawn mist the boy and Master Biltmore hiked to a special place at the very edge of the Kingdom in the Clouds, a place high above the placid waters of Lake Waldinmuck--a place suitable for fishing. Beasly had never heard of fishing from the clouds, which floated peacefully above the lake at a height greater than fifty tall men. But when he and the Master were met by none other than the Right Reverend President Howdy Doodle Goldfink at the misty morning fringe of the Kingdom in the Clouds, Beasly quickly forgot his doubts and began to happily learn the arts of baiting and casting and reeling.

When the boy had sufficiently mastered the basics of fishing the president gave hind a particularly juicy grasshopper to use for bait. Soon Beasly was wispflitting and puffhopping to his heart's content, dangling his chirping lure over the edge of the clouds without a care in the world. He gloated inside over his adventure of the night before, and over his courage and his cleverness. But just as pride was about to make him blush, Beasly Lemuel Biltmore II got his comeuppance. With a jerk so sudden it pulled the ill fated lad right out of his boots, Beasly was sent tumbling head over heels out of the clouds, plummeting wildly in a dizzy dream towards the waters of the lake.

Master Biltmore shook hands with the president; then, scheming over the benefits to be had from the death of his sole heir, Beasly's stepfather headed back towards Castle Biltmore to inform his lawyer and his wife of the awful tragedy.

But Beasly Biltmore wasn't gotten rid of so easily. As luck would have it he landed in deep water near a fisherman; and since he landed feet first he was spared the brunt of impact. His only injuries were two bruised feet and a sore bottom, though the pockets were ripped right off his pants and his shirt was torn to ribbons. The fisherman was quick to row over and pull the dazed and dripping boy to safety. But just as the fall of Beasly Biltmore was far from mere happenstance, so was his rescue--for the boatman was an oracle and a journalist and a keen surveyor, and he'd seen the lad's juicy bait hanging stupidly in the air. Recalling how undesirable cloud dwellers had occasionally been given their riddance by being tricked into fishing for crows, he had watched and waited, knowing that soon the unwary fisherman would be yanked by a hungry bird to a well planned drowning.

So it was that Beasly came to his senses..in the boat of an oracle, and a nameless one at that. The Oracle was silent as he rowed the dozen furlongs to the distant pebbly shore, silent and brooding. Beasly wondered if the unkempt stranger was capable of speech, and if he knew how to take a bath. The boy had never been out of the secure confines of the clouds, nor had he ever met a peasant who wasn't a butler, cook or maid; and as he was ferried ashore he began to realize that he was stranded in an unknown land with nothing more than the torn clothes on his back.

People would think him a barefooted urchin! A peasant boy! He might be sold as a slave, or shanghaied onto a filthy clipper, or sent into the sooty nooks of a diamond mine! The gravity of his plight settled cruelly on the displaced little pauper, and it left him numb.

The boat neared the shore. As it did the sun Linda peered up puffy eyed over the horizon. Rays of light began to fan across the aquablue waters, and the heavy mist that lay on the lake retreated in every direction like the adjournment of some ghostly conventicle. The boatman made one last mighty stroke and the vessel glided onto the shore with a gravelly swish. The Oracle hopped ashore, pulled the old wooden boat clear of the water, and then squatted a few feet away from the boy and began to scan the lake intently.

Beasly stepped gingerly to the grassy bank, and for the first time in his life stood with his feet planted firmly in the hollow earth! What had seemed vague and miniature from the clouds now looked so vibrant and tactile that the boy wondered if he hadn't fallen into another psychedelic vision like the one he'd seen the night before in the globetower. The vivid green foliage, the tangled surreal matrix of branch and trunk and vine, the sublime geometrical patternings of leaf and flower all struck his eyes as sharply as a slap on the bottom of a newborn babe.

Finally the dirty boatman spoke. "What be your name, lad?" he asked, mocking the olde language of the Milkbloods.

"B Beasly L. B B Biltmore, your scraggliness," answered Beasly.

"How many B's was that?"

"Just two. Beasly L. Biltmore, that's me."

"Oh."

The Oracle stroked his thick dark beard. He stared wincing at the boy, sizing him up like a horse at auction.

"I fell from the clouds. Can you help me get back there?" Beasly asked shyly.

"Possibly," returned the stranger, "but it will require much time and labor. Now follow me, and I will show you what you must do if you wish to return to the clouds."

At that the mysterious Oracle stood up and marched promptly into the woods, heading up a shallow gully that ran between two steep bluffs, with Beasly Biltmore stumbling not far behind. Beasly had never been near a wood, for the clouds could bear only the weight of a few lucky families and their papier mache palaces; and besides, the lad had never walked uphill in his entire life. And so as he stumbled and bumbled dumbly through the thicket, he soon lost sight of his woodwise companion.

Several times the boy shouted out, only to hear the trill of a bluebird in response. Guessing it to be a signal from the Oracle he followed the sound, barely able to pick his way along the secret twisted path that led to the stranger's lair. But he was oblivious to the twigwoven wreaths and the cleverly strewn stones that marked the trail for those keen enough to find them.

The Oracle, it seems, was an outlaw, as poets and prophets are apt to be, and so he hid his den, foxlike. He lived in a cave deep in the cliffs that overlooked Waldinmuck Lake from the north, and it proved to be quite a hike for the chubby little cloud dweller. When Beasly finally happened upon the granite ledge that led to the Oracle's retreat his feet were bruised and bleeding, and he was sweating and panting and rightly perturbed at his host, who stood there with his arms folded smugly and a wry smile on his lips.

"I thought you'd ditched me," said Beasly.

In silence the Oracle motioned to Beasly to follow and led him along the grey granite ledge, which grew narrower and narrower as it curved just out of sight around a bulge in the cliff. The ledge, after curving round the mountain for some forty of fifty feet, with a precipice of two hundred feet below and a hundred above opened up onto the broad, porchlike entrance to the Oracle's cave. From this sunwarmed perch the whole of Lake Waldinmuck was visible, and across the water to the southeast the tallest buildings of Yorkmere could be dimly seen. And out in the middle of the aquablue lake floated the Cloud Kingdom of the Eastern Empire, sporting bright banners and spires and fivestory steeples, and latticeworks galore.

Beasly's heart sank. He longed for the plush spongy feel of the clouds beneath his feet--the earth was so hard and full of brambles. He longed for the fresh, thin air of his papier mache kingdom--the forest smelled so dank and rich. But here he sat, marooned and hungry and all alone, except for the strange smelly man who had fished him out of the lake. Beasly sized up his newfound companion. The Oracle had wild brown hair that draped across his fathmic brow, and wild eyes that seemed full of some exotic wisdom, and an unkempt beard as tangled as a birdnest; and he wore torn, stained clothing that reeked of weeds and sweat.

"This is where I live," said the Oracle flatly.

The sound of voices within the cave startled Beasly; and stooping beneath the lowhung entranceway there suddenly emerged two of the queerest men the brat had ever seen. One was a tall, slender man with skin the color of cocoa; the other was an even taller man with broad shoulders and skin of an odd reddish hue. Both men had long black hair that tumbled about their shoulders; but the brown man's hair fell in long kinky locks, while the red man's was straight and shiny.

The Oracle put his hand on Beasly's shoulder and pushed him towards the strangers. Beasly recoiled with fear. He'd never seen a man of color in the clouds, and he feared that these must be demons or warlocks.

"Meet Truman Allabam, Prince of Mlembe; and Aleksar Akanoo, Prince of Shandoah," said the Oracle, and first the brown man and then the red man stepped forward and bowed.

"And this--this is Jonathan Beasly, a friend of mine, and a fine fisherman."

Puzzled by his new name Beasly stepped forward and bowed likewise. But he said nothing, for he had begun to believe that he was being kidnapped by hooligans or pirates, and he wanted to draw as little attention as possible while he planned an escape.

Now a third man emerged from the cave, and he was pink, like Beasly. He was shorter than the other men, but his arms were knotted with muscle, and his chest was as thick as a barrel. He had dark flashing eyes and auburn hair, and a sandy red beard that tickled his bellybutton. From his leather stockings to his feathered green cap he was the picture of a rapscallion, and his face beamed with the promise of tales of thievery and espionage.

"And I'm Homer Mugwump, Outlaw of the Outlands, rebel without no flaws, pure as spring snow and righteous as a thunderclap, stealer from the rich and giver to the poor (minus a reasonable percentage, of course), sworn enemy of the Greeneyes and . . ."

"Quiet, you fool," the Oracle snapped. "Save it for the tavern."

Beasly was sure now. He was trapped in a den of thieves with four outlaws. If only he could wake up and find himself still fishing with his stepdad and the kindly president!

Now the brown man spoke up. "How does this little 'Blood concern us?" he asked suspiciously.

"All in good time," replied the Oracle. "Jonathan hasn't met our comrade yet."

With that an old man in a strange blue cape came stooping out of the cave. He walked over to Beasly and put out his hand--but before the boy could shake it he jumped back in fright. For the hoary old geezer was the very same one he'd seen in the vision in the crystal globe! The wizard laughed, and his eyes danced like two skycrystal kaleidoscopes. Beasly began to feel clammy and dazed, as if he'd been conked on the noggin or poisoned with some exotic potion.

"And I'm the wizard Kristomarkus," chuckled the wizened old warlock. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jonathan Beasly." Like a tender grandfather the wizard reached out and took the lad by the hand. "Take heart, little man," he said, "you're aSout to go on an adventure the likes of which are made into fables and folklore. For I am Kristomarkus the Fair, and beneath my cloak I carry a Gossamer Globe!"

The wizard made a dramatic swoop with his cape and produced; from its inner folds a dark blue globe no larger than an apple which was fastened to a fine silver chain. The globe was made~of a dense, satiny fabric that seemed to glow dimly like the smiling midnight sky, and its make was such that all who beheld it were subtly drawn and charmed by its beauty. Indeed it was § rare moment when the wily warlock revealed the source of hit power; but Kristomarkus had gathered the four men with a grave purpose, and he had to win their respect--and their fear--if he was to carry off his plot.

He spoke with guile, and holding aloft the globe he said, "Behold the Eveningsky Gossamer Globe, one of only three in all the world. I have used it to quietly rule over the fringes of Panazhia, even as your Empress Zamelda Galore has used the Emeraldstone to lord over Dalondria; but never have I corrupted my power to extort jewels and gems, nor to plunge whole islands into debt, nor to plunder the weaker tribes of the Southerly Isles. While I have lived humbly with naught but this staff and small pack, the Greeneyed Empress has built herself a castle as tall as the mountains!"

"Just a moment," interrupted the Oracle. "We don't need to hear a litany of the sins of the Greeneyes. What we want to know is what you can do for us."

The wizard was taken aback, and his eyes flashed angrily. But he was yet a newcomer to the Dalondrians, and he dared not risk offending them. He let the Oracle continue.

"We have but one purpose--to destroy the power of Zamelda Galore. I sent for you to help us, not to lead us. We have suffered too long under the foot of the Greeneyes, and we welcome your help: But we do not wish to trade the dominion of the Emeraldstone for that of the Eveningsky Globe."

So said the Oracle, and Beasly saw the wildhaired fisherman in a new light. Rare was the man of sufficient wit to joust with a wizard, and rarer still one with the gall. Kristomarkus considered the frankness of the Oracle. In wisdom the two were equals; but the Oracle apparently had these agents of Dalondria's tribes already under some kind of sway. The wizard concluded that a noble gesture was needed to assuage their suspicions.

"My friends," he began in his most grandfatherly tone, "I understand your fear of me. So as a token of my intentions I grant you this, Oracle of the Waldinmuck."

To the surprise of all Kristomarkus let dangle the Gossamer Globe--and held it out to the Oracle! "Now if you'll but follow me on my journey to the castle of the Greeneyes, you will be the guardian of my powers."

Now it was the Oracle who was taken aback. If the truth be told, the nameless fisherman was quite shy and awkward. :Besides, he had his hermit work to do, what with tending the paths of the wilder beasts and keeping journals of the seasons and such. He sized up the wizard, measuring his brow and the furrows on his forehead. Somehow the whitehaired old gaffer seemed content in his wanderings, free of unseemly ambitions. The Oracle sensed a kinship with the hoary warlocks who had come from a faraway island with only enough gear to five off the land and yet was willing to give up the focus This powers.

"Kristomarkus the Fair," he said finally," I know your intentions already, for I have a power of my own--the power to see beyond the thin veil of the obvious. And as I am regrettably forced to remain here at my vigil, I propose a compromise."

Now the Oracle took the globe from the wizard andexamined it, turning it in his hand as gently as if it were a newborn kitten. It was connected by a tiny silver clasp shaped like a human hand to a delicate silver chain as fine as spidersilk.

"This I will do," he said after a pause; and turning slowly towards Beasly he ceremoniously placed the Eveningsky Globe around the astounded boy's neck! "To assure against trickery on either part, the boy Jonathan Beasly will carry the globe under this condition: that whosoever dares to remove it from his neck will do so under pain of death. As witness I hold Aleksar Akanoo to oath on the part of the Shandoans; and I hold Truman Allabam to oath on the part of the Mlembe; and Homer Mugwump on the part of the Greens in their Invisible Village."

Each of the three bowed in his turn, and said, "By my blood I swear my people to this oath."

"Now the warriors of three great tribes are sworn to slay he who dares to remove the globe from this boy's breast," continued the Oracle. "And you most of all, Jonathan Beasly; for you are now obliged to follow Kristomarkus into battle, and you will likely see more adventure in the coming cycle of moons than the heartiest warrior sees in a lifetime."

So said the Oracle, and then he chuckled at the disbelieving expression on the young boy's ashen face. The sun was still climbing in the eastern sky; yet in the hours since his stepdad had awakened him just before dawn, Beasly Lemuel Biltmore had traded his name and a life of blissful ease in the clouds for a dangerous and uncertain voyage into the midst of a battle between a wizard and a wizardress And to top it all off, he was now forced to carry around his frail pink neck a wizard's Gossamer Globe! How could things possibly be worse?

Kristomarkus seemed pleased by the Oracle's plan. "I assent to this, and I congratulate you on your wisdom," he said. "Perhaps you've gleaned some other insights as well?"

But i even as the wizard spoke a chill came into the air. Aleksar Akanoo was staring with his mouth agape at the eastern shore of the lake. Truman Allabam fell to his knees looking in the same direction, his eyes wide with awe. Then Beasly saw it. Approaching across the water was an ominous black form. As it grew nearer at a tremendous speed the snakelike undulations of its.enormous length became apparent, as did its massive black head and neck riding as tall as the treetops above the parting wave caps. The tall princes of the proudest tribes in lDalondria stood dumbstruck at the sight, and the grizzly bearded woodsman flinched and turned away. Beasly went cold in thy face and fainted flat on the granite floor.

"He has come," said the wizard gravely. "Gorthogorn the Mighty, Gorthogorn the Last, bane of all life and hope. He has come at the bidding of the Greeneyed Empress, though I fear she will trick her minions into thinking that I have brought him hereto wreak havoc on your island."

The Dalondrians eyed the wizard with suspicion; and coming half out of his swoon Beasly was vaguely reminded of his stolen vision off the night before.

With death in his eyes the wizard went on. "She knows I have come--I can feel it. She will send the serpent after me, for she covets my power above all things. Come, my friends, we must hurry. We may be lost before we've begun. Away! Awake! Arise! Grab your packs and follow me--already our time is nigh!"

One by one the confederates shook themselves free of paralyzing fear, and all except the Oracle ducked into the gloomy cave and emerged with heavily laden backpacks. The wizard grabbed up the limp little boy and set off with long powerful strides across the ledge and into the forest.

Packless, the Oracle came up close behind and grabbed Kristomarkus by the shoulder; but the wizard only slackened his pace.

"Where are you going?" the Oracle shouted brusquely. "We should hold a council."

"We must make haste," answered the wizard. "You must trust me in this. We are going to the Bank of Blote, as I have a withdrawal to make."

"But that . . . the middle of the Marketsquare?" stammered the Oracle. "The stronghold of the 'Bloods? But I must . . . my work . . ."

"Trust me," replied the wizard calmly over his shoulder, "I have friends there." And he left the Oracle standing mute in the woods.

Truman strode up beside Kristomarkus and said, "I, too, have business with the Bank of Blote. I think we should follow, if only for a while."

Aleksar Akanoo nodded and said from behind, "The Bank is well fortified but I will go there, even to face death."

Just then Beasly awoke from his swooning. Cradled in the wizard's arms, his mind went back to the mysterious vision of the night before, and he wondered if he should speak of it. As he watched the changing landscape of the lake's heavily logged eastern shore, the boy finally summoned up the courage to ask a single question of the tireless bluecaped wizard.

"W what was the creature we saw on the lake?" he asked meekly.

Kristomarkus glanced sternly at the lad. "I suppose you should know," he said, "for the stories of the beast and of your people are intertwined; and it seems now that his fate and yours may rest in the balance." Then he set the lad down, and placing his hand firmly on the back of Beasly's neck he set off towards the distant skyline of Yorkmere. And this is the lore of which he spoke:

There came a wind across the universe, and it made the planet egg Wobble. The wobble caused the golden sun Sarinda to strike the northerly island of Panazhia at a shallow angle, and soon great masses of ice came to cover all the northern lands. Most of the creatures there perished; but others retreated to the southern fringes of the island, along with most of the wandering tribes of man.

But one tribe remained in the north, where they lived for generations indoors without benefit of the sun. They were forced to invent weapons, and they began to eat the flesh of their fellow warmbloods; and somewhere in the Age of Ice they learned to drain their own blood and replace it with milk, which turned their skin as white as the snow and left their hearts cold and passionless. And there was one species that neither perished nor fled to the south--the serpents, who slithered by the thousands into deep underground cracks and caverns, where they slept halffrozen awaiting the thaw.

When the sun returned to health the Milkbloods made use of their tools and weapons to seek dominion over the peaceful tribes of the south. They made war and took slaves to carry their plunder, and soon they had taken for their own the most fertile and beautiful lands.

The serpents, too, felt the earth warming above them; but they awakened to a gnawing hunger, and in the fetid bowels of Panazhia they began an orgy of cannibalism that stained the surrounding ocean with redblack blood. For many years they fought and devoured each other, swimming beneath the earth in pools of blood and vomit and the decaying carrion of their own kind.

When only a few remained, the bloated, bloodthirsty serpents dragged their gigantic bodies back to the surface; but they now had only one appetite, and that was for each other. They hunted each other down and fought great battles, growing longer and fatter as the years went by, fat on the carnage of their kindred, until at last only two were left to fight.

Of that final battle little is known, for much of Panazhia was laid ruin. But the great beast Gorthogorn, whose full name traces every battle and every victim of his might, was victorious, and he slithered off weak and injured into the ocean to heal his festering wounds, the last of his line that would ever be.

When Kristomarkus had finished, Beasly longed to tell the wizard about his stolen vision and to ask him a thousand questions. But he could muster only one.

"Why has Gorthogorn come?" Beasly asked.

"He has come to do the bidding of the Greeneyed Empress," answered the wizard. "And I fear he will try to hunt down this globe, which she covets above all else."

Beasly gazed at the Gossamer Globe on his chest. He fingered it lightly, and it felt like a tightly wound ball of silk, not at all like a crystal globe or hearthstone. As he peered into its cobalt depths it seemed to emanate a life of its own, as if it were full of enough odysseys and elixirs and exotic creatures to people a whole universe.

And so it was--but that is a story that will await its time.

The remainder of the day was spent hiking along the southeastern shore of Waldinmuck Lake. At every turn the confederates expected to see the hideous beast Gorthog or so me sign of his passage; but whenever the marshy brush afforded a view of the lake the snake could be seen basking in the ~ fun beneath the Kingdom in the Clouds, floating in great coils ~ and frolicking lazily. For Gorthogorn awaited a meeting with the Right Reverend President Howdy Doodle Goldfink, sworn ambassador of the Greeneyed Empress Zamelda Galore. At the appointed hour the president was lowered from the clouds in a gilded basket, and the redbellied serpent raised his giant head a hundred feet above the surface to meet him.

"I welcome you in the name of The Coastal Empires of Dalondria," said the president, "and in the name of our beautiful Empress." Howdy Doodle spoke in a humble, innocent voice that reeked of sincerity, and he smiled so broadly that the rouge on his cheekbones formed two little red spots that bopped farcically up and down. But beneath his dignified manner was a man frightened out of his limited wits at the sight of the enormous black beast, with its flat diamond shaped head as large as a wagon and its scarred and slimy belly.

Without warning the serpent arched its massive neck like a cobra and flicked its leathery tongue at the suspended cage, which dangled there like a butterfly on a grizzly bear's nose. The fleshy forks of the snake's tongue were stronger than steel, and as they wrapped themselves sinisterly about the basket Howdy felt the putrid breath of the beast, breath so rank with venom and mile that it seemed to coat the president with a choking poisonous gas.

Gorthog lifted the cowering man up to his huge, livid red eye. ''Ssso, my little maggot," the serpent hissed in a rumbling gravelly voice as loud as an avalanche. "What iss the wish of my sisster? And why bass she called me here, so long banned and banished?"

President or not, Howdy Doodle Goldfink was so awed by the size of the snake that he couldn't speak, and. he nearly fainted flat on the floor, as Milkbloods are wont to do.

"Sspeak, you insignificant slug!" bellowed the beast. Gorthog drew the gilded cage closer to his pus yellowed eye, the narrow pupil as tall as a boy, the crimson iris a heartless, hypnotizing threat. The eyes of Gorthogorn had one further quality--they resembled in every respect those of a man, as did his thin sneery lips; so that the massive head of the monster looked for all the world like that of a giant, grossly deformed human being.

At length Howdy Doodle regained his well rehearsed composure long enough to speak.

"I speak for Zamelda Galore, your vastness. She is troubled by the discontent of the wildland tribes, and by visions of a wizard who will come from the east to incite a rebellion. She asks that you ravage the petty tribes of the Outlands into submission, and that you scour the lands for the scent of this wizard. If you can bring the wizard dead or alive to her in weltering Fornica you will be paid a bounty of a billion pieces of gold; and if you agree to intimidate the darkskins I will give you here and now an equal number of silver bits."

Gorthogorn released the basket and let it swing roughly back and forth. The serpent served kings and masters in every corner of the boundless ocean, and he'd heard many times of a wandering warlock who roamed Panazhia spreading mischief and revolution and toppling ancient empires. Many a time Gorthog had slathered up to the finest palaces, only to find them full of drunken peasants and slaves, whom he ate in lieu of the regular tribute. And once or twice he actually thought he'd caught the scent of the whitehaired wizard who puzzled whole armies with riddles and fireworks, and always disappeared into the weeds without a trace.

Now the beast became enraged, for he realized that the wizard, who seemed to live only in whispers and folktales, was threatening to upset the lucrative conspiracy he had long enjoyed with his sister the Greeneyes; for by feigning violent hatred for each other, and by waging puppet wars on tiny islands from sea to shining sea, Gorthogorn and Zamelda had managed over the years to slyly divide in half all the lands of the known world.

"Then feed me you worm!" hissed the snake, and his malice caused the hills around Lake Waldinmuck to tremble to their roots. A billion bits of silver were then funneled down his gullet, and he devoured them in a frenzy as a gutteral laugh erupted from his trickling belly. Then Gorthog heaved his great hulking body back into the lake, sending powerful waves into every cove and inlet; and with a menacing thrust of his lethal black coils he set out to the west to sow chaos and to seek out the scent of the secretive warlock.

Even from the cover of the sparse and dwindling Reston Wood the confederates heard the splash and the thunderous belch of Gorthogorn; and rushing to the lakefront they were just able to discern his dark slashing form disappearing into the west.

"The wizard has led us well," said Aleksar Akanoo, and Beasly, who had been chasing his captors through the woods all afternoon, suddenly saw the tall redman in all his princely glory. The brave Shandoan wore colorful feathers in his hair, and a leather vest that was frayed at the edges. His pants were also leather and were inlaid with tiny gemstones.

"I too am well pleased," added Truman Allabam, and he laughed heartily, which set the whole troupe to chuckling with relief.

But Beasly Biltmore did not laugh. The boy had been pondering his plight during the hike--his only hope lay ahead in the grand Marketsquare of Yorkmere, which had been rising in the distance to the south as the band of outlaws approached along the waterfront. There Beasly could escape into a crowd, or flag down a constable and explain who he was. But as the troupe neared the outskirts of the walled city of the Yorks, where the scrubby woods gave way to farmlands and footpaths and fallendown fences, the wizard stopped abruptly. Taking Beasly by the shoulder Kristomarkus began to speak.

"We cannot gain entrance to the city looking like this," he said with a broad sweep of his arm. "I must use the globe to cast a spell of disguise--unless you prefer to walk like sheep into a den of wolves."

This shook Beasly, because it could spoil his chance to escape. But now the woodsman Homer Mugwump, who had been silently eyeing the wizard all day, spoke up. "I for one am not willing to stroll into the Bank of Blote on the heels of a warlock," he said, "until I know something of his plans, and of his credentials. For I am pledged by my queen in the Northcross Cascades to march straight to the castle of the Greeneyes to demand that she free from her dungeons the King of Olde, Damakros the Forsaken, who is remembered only by the scribes in the invisible village of my people."

This stirred Truman Allabam to speak. "And I have vowed to infiltrate the castle of Zamelda Galore, and to steal if I can her Gossamer Globe, the Emeraldstone of which legends tell." He hung his head, for his was a desperate quest on behalf of a desperate people.

But Kristomarkus did have a plan, and a clever one at that. For the wizard had come to Dalondria incognito many times before, and he knew more than he let on. The elders of the Shandoans and the Mlembe and the hidden Greens also knew more than they let on. They had not sent their favorite sons to the meeting at the cave of the Oracle without having some foresight of the wizard's intentions--to do battle at last with the Greeneyed Sorceress, and to end her dominion forever by destroying the Emeraldgreen Gossamer Globe.

"Listen to me now!" the wizard said in a commanding tone. "Each of us will be charged with a mission in the mutiny to come, but none so grave as the one just spoken--to penetrate the very citadel of Zamelda Galore, and to wrest from her the focus of her powers."

But before Kristomarkus could ask the question, Aleksar Akanoo put his hand on Truman's shoulder and said, "I will go with my brother. And if my fondest dream comes true I will find her myself and chop off her head!"

Now the band turned to Homer Mugwump. The stubborn woodsman was still staring doubtfully at the wizard and at Jonathan Beasly. "Why has this young cloud dweller been chosen to carry the globe?" he asked, slowly folding his arms across his chest. "I have my suspicions, warlock. I was raised among Milkbloods, and I know their ways."

"But do you not trust the Oracle?" asked Kristomarkus, and his voice was as smooth as the silky Gossamer Globe that hung weightlessly around Beasly's pale, plump neck. Still Homer Beauregard Mugwump, Outlaw of the Outlands, the favorite son of the wild renegade Greens, stood defiantly before the troupe and shook his head.

"And what of the serpent?" he demanded. "Surely he will return to seek out the wizard--for one~reason or other."

Aleksar Akanoo turned to face the stocky woodsman and said, "If I have guessed rightly, the lizard will not be looking for three men such as we, but for the wizard and the globe. And so the boy and Kristomarkus must surely go another way--to the south, perhaps--while we pass through the Northcross Cascades on our way to the back door of the witch's castle."

"You have guessed well, my friend," answered Kristomarkus. "Jonathan Beasly and I will go south and muster the tribes such as we find there. For without the aid of the southwestern clans of Gonzalon, I fear we are lost. As for the beast Gorthog--well, I have played cat and mouse with him for many years. In this you must trust me."

As if to prove his point the wizard made a broad swoop of his velvety blue cape, and it began to glow with strange colors and mists; and the Eveningsky Globe around Beasly's neck began to vibrate and hum and to emanate a dim blue light that seemed as deep as the pearldomed midnight sky and as soft as a prism on a. curtain of silk. Swirls of mist and purple sparks danced between the globe and the wizard's outstretched cape, and he began to chant.

''Dzarjhan deldorath, lindenel I'an d'or, Verusilef ungornedel, dzarjhan Navrinor!" he cried, and from the globe a warm, dry wind began to blow like the breath of desert dunes. As it whipped the hair and clothing of the confederates it*b~gan to surround each of them with a faint blue mist that' grew brighter and brighter. And then two dark forms appeared before the bedazzled troupe, slowly taking the likenesses of two strapping animals that grew out of the satiny blue storm as if under the brush of some ethereal artist.

Suddenly a clap of thunder ripped through the air, and the sparks and mists and the warm blue wind retreated into the wizard's cape and vanished. To the astonishment of all, the garments of the five travelers had been transformed into the flowing robes of a band of foreign traders! And where before there had been four hefty backpacks, there now stood a sturdy mule that carried an ornate, diamond studded chest full of incense and statues and golden urns from faraway exotic isles. Beside the mule was a handsome jetblack panther with rippling muscles and bright, intelligent eyes. And each man felt beneath his robe a heavy sabre of ancient make, and a scabbard of handtooled leather.

"Behold, comrades, a wizardly spell!" exclaimed Kristomarkus proudly, as if he had expended a great deal of his powers in materializing the charade. "Now let us delay this quarrel until nightfall, when we will be safe in the catacombs of my associates in Yorkmire. We must not be late to our appointment at the Bank of Blote."

The band set out again, with Homer and the wizard up front, followed by an ever more bemused Beasly and the two princes. Aleksar and Truman were obliged to lead the animals, for they now played the parts of two colored servants in the group of foreign traders. Gradually the buildings of the marketsquare of the Yorks grew on the horizon, and the countryside gave way to cartpaths and cottages and mountainside castles. Once or twice they met a peasant or smith, whom Kristomarkus greeted in a foreign tongue; and each time Beasly wanted to cry out but was stayed by his fear of his lawless kidnappers.

By the time their shadows had begun to grow long, the troupe was less than half a league from the center of the city. They began to meet many wains and handcarts and wagontrains, and they were forced to compete for a piece of the roadway with brash horsemen and teamsters and heartless charioteers. Now the tall buildings could be seen full view up ahead, and they stood as high as trees, though of trees there were none, nor flower nor bush only short, stubbly grass was allowed to grow in the busy marketplace of the Yorks, and this was carefully trimmed and weeded by cropped uniformed workers.

Rising up from the center of the city was an ominous black building that dwarfed all the others. It was the Bank of Blote, and in its vaults and chambers were kept the paper riches of the Milkbloods. The hum and hubbub of commerce soon surrounded the band, who blended right in with the extravagantly costumed merchants and bankers and barristers of Yorkmere. Mere they saw all manner of booths and bins and scales and hucksters, and everywhere baubles and baskets and bits of precious metals were being offered for sale. Here and there were great pavilions where row upon row of haggard peasants labored to make dresses and bracelets and hats and rings, chairs and lounges and tables and lamps. Huge hourglasses parceled out the time, and bells were rung to pace the movements of the workers, who sat silently slumped over their chores as if in prayer, or perhaps in mourning. Around one corner was a great cart loaded with frilly boxes of perfume, around the next was a meeting of finely dressed barons and counts and dukes, or of ragged beggars and sooty twisted urchins.

The band turned a cobblestone corner, and suddenly the monolithic Bank of Blote stood looming above them, blocking out the sun and half of the sky. There were but a few windows in the bank, and these were high up on the topmost parapets of the perfectly square, block shaped obsidianblack structure, and were protected by heavy iron bars. The single door was cut deep into the eastern wall, where a forbidding flight of stairs narrowed up to the dark entranceway. Two files of the York Militia flanked the stairway, their grim faces as cold as the steeltipped spears and double edged scimitars they wielded in defense of the stronghold of the Milkbloods. Kristomarkus led the band to the base of the stairs, where a balding little man in a black suit sat at a wooden desk.

"We wish to see Mortimer Blote," the wizard announced in his newfound accent.

The little man surveyed the group, straightened the red kerchief around his pencilly neck, jotted down a few notes on a scroll and lightly waved his hand, indicating that the request had been denied.

"I said, we wish to see Mortimer Blote," repeated the wizard, and as he spoke he raised his arms and stretched out his velvetblue cape. "We have come from afar as emissaries, bringing a proposition that will surely interest your master. I would not want to be the one who cheated Master Blote out of his fortune."

The wizard hardened his gaze. Again the doorkeep straightened his red necktie, and his Adam's apple bobbed nervously up and down as he gulped his reply. "One moment, your elderliness," he said, running up the steps like a weasel with burnt whiskers.

Soon after a much larger man who also wore a black suit and a red necktie walked slowly down the stairs and welcomed the travelers into the bank. They were taken up a dozen more flights of stairs to a foyer in the topmost story of the bank, where after being led through a labyrinth of suites and hallways and vaults they came at last to the outer office of Mortimer Blote, the bank president. A pair of ornate mahogany doors into which the letters "M" and "B" had been meticulously carved stood closed at the threshold of the ominous office.

After a long wait, Beasly, Homer and Kristomarkus were shown into the office. While Aleksar Akanoo, Prince of Shadoah, and Truman Allabam, a Mlembe chieftain among chieftains, were obliged to sit on the floor outside the doorway, the wizard and the boy and the pinkskinned woodsman were ushered down a long goldtrimmed carpet to a dais where three tall cushiony chairs sat facing the desk of Mortimer Blote.

Blote's desk was as large as some folk's homes in the Outlands, and worth a thousand times as much, what with its pearl inlays and gilded trim and jeweled bevels, and the proud initials M. B. carved in the ancient redwood frontispiece. The man himself was larger than life; and there he sat, resting his feet on a footrest of ivory and primping his silk and feather pillows. He wore a black pinstriped suit with mink lapels and silklace trim, and a bright red neckerchief was tied about his neck. Mortimer Blote weighed more than six average men; folds of fat cascaded down his torso, and he had several chins. His face was so bloated as to erase the features, so that he looked for all the world like a giant flustered pig in a circus costume. His small black eyes nearly disappeared into his veiny flushed face, and his thin silver hair was matted down to his blubbery noggin with the finest imported hair oil.

The office was lit through a thin golden dome above, and a circlet of columns as tall as young pines surrounded the dome and the dais below. Heavily framed paintings of fat, sternlooking men in black suits with red ties covered the walls, men with names like Shylocke j Fellowrocker, Trumplip and Hearse--past presidents, perhaps, or wealthy directors--and below each face was an accounting of each man's wealth and power carved in square marble pedestals that stood out from the wall.

Kristomarkus was the first to speak. "Your blotedness," he began, overdoing his phony accent, "I am Haldavir, ambassador of the vast southern isle of Derth, sent to discuss matters of import between our nations."

Mortimer sat back in his throne and surveyed the impudent old man. "I have never heard of your island, nor have I seen it on any maps of our foreign holdings. It must be quite small and insignificant. Unless you can pay a tribute of earnestness to my mistress the Greeneyes, I'm afraid I can't help you. Shall we say, a thousand pieces of gold?" he said arrogantly.

"You have already extracted that sum ten thousand times over, Mortimer Blote. And you've not seen maps of our nation because it is boundless," replied Kristomarkus wryly. "But we have watched for many years as your magicians roamed the seas in search of plunder, and now we are here to make a withdrawal in recompense for what was lost."

The bank president now thought the old man to be mad, or under the influence of some elixir; but by his dress he was yet a man of means.

"I am sorry, sir," he said to the wizard seated below. "But if you have no more earnestness than that I'm afraid I'll have to refer you to one of my lesser agents. Perhaps you could arrange to have your riches lent out to peasants, at a reasonable rate of interest of course. You might triple your investment or acquire a parcel of slaves." Mortimer meant this last remark as a dismissal, but the disguised wizard did not move.

"That is not satisfactory," said the wizard calmly; and with an invisible malice he bent his gaze and his wizardly will on the fat banker, who recoiled in fright. Then with a gesture like a swooping hawk Kristomarkus leapt upon the desk, and with his arms above his head he said in a grave tone, "Take me to the vault, Mortimer. Do as I say!"

The banker seemed to struggle for a moment, in vain. Kristomarkus' eyes flashed angrily; then the wizard furrowed his forehead and widened his eyes, and from beneath his thickety white brows there came a sparkling mist of deepest blue that surrounded and subdued Mortimer Blote as surely as a vessel of apple squeezing or a pipefull of poppies'

The fat banker heaved his obesity off his throne and waddled briskly out the door. Kristomarkus took Beasly's hand and followed, with Homer, Aleksar and Truman close behind Not far from the president's office a secret passageway led down two flights of stairs to the thickly walled vaultroom of the Bank of Blote. Mortimer squeezed his way to the door and opened it with a key of jade and an incantation. Yet another hallway, this one lined with two more flanks of the York Militia, led to an iron door, which Blote opened by arranging a set of levers in a secret configuration. He heaved the great door Open and the five compatriots filed in.

The cavernous vault was the size and shape of an upsidedown pyramid, and it resembled an arena, with a dozen or so broad terraces narrowing down to the bottom floor, the rectar~ular gaming pit. The terraces were packed with desks and bureaus and cabinets and huge iron safeboxes, and hundreds of clerks and scriveners were busily hunched over heaps and mounds of paper. The lower terraces were full of imposing men in black suits with red neckerchiefs, who watched intently the strange drama being played out in the gaming pit below.

The band descended the terraces, awed by the size of the vault. They slowed to gaze at the gold and silver and diamonds heaped about; but Kristomarkus hurried the fat president on down towards the pit. When the troupe came near enou;gl' to see what was happening there, they stopped and found a crowded spot from which to watch, and Truman lifted Beasly onto his shoulders piggyback style so the boy could also see. Several of the men in black suits with red ties glanced severely at Mortimer and the unseemly entourage, especially at the darkskins.

On the floor of the gaming pit was a mosaic map of the Greeneyed Empress' half of the known world, with Dalondria situated in the center and the lesser isles set around the edges. Every border and boundary was marked by a bold black line. There on the east coast was Yorkmere, and on the west coast was the parish of Fornica; and scattered about the mountains and forests and plains of the island's dwindling interior, where dwelt the Shandoans and Mlembe, the Greens and Gonzalin, the exiled and the aged, were piles and piles of lumber and furs and minerals and crops. Around the edge of the pit wound a row of painted squares marked on the margins by crests and glyphs. Dressed in colorful armor stood the standard bearers, who moved piles of goods from square to square or changed beads on the abacuses at the bidding of the gamesmasters.

The players were all standing at a rail on the lowest terrace just a few feet above the pit; and behind them were hundreds of messengers and numbersmiths who scurried wildly from terrace to terrace and from clerk to clerk, tallying up profits and losses and speculating 04 the future course of the games. The players all wore black suits with red neckties, and they were all Milkbloods, though a few had features that resembled the colored tribes. They rolled their golden die in turns and spun roulette wheels; and by some indiscernible code they kept a tenuous order to the frenzied competition.

"What are they doing?" asked Beasly from his perch atop the blackman's shoulders.

"They are playing their game," answered Kristomarkus, "and their pawns are the people of the Outlands and the Southerly Isles."

Beasly had heard of these places, the savage interior wildlands and untame southern islets; but he knew as little about them as he did about the exotic fiefdoms of inner Panazhia, which is to say he knew only of the products that were taken there, the furs and perfumes and frankincense and jewels. His comrades knew quite well the people of the Outlands and the Southerlies and knew that the piles and squares on the mosaic map represented much more than goods and land. For the queer game of the haughty Milkbloods, while enriching a few lucky counts and barons and dukes and cloud dwellers, was slowly but surely sapping the life out of the forests of the wilderlands and threatening oblivion to the clans and tribes of darkskins and renegades.

After a short time Kristomarkus motioned to Tr;uman to set Beasly down. Then turning slowly on Mortimer Mote the wizard threw back his head and cried, "Awaken, ye sleepers! Arise!'

So shrill was his voice in that moment that everyone in the Vault, from the most arrogant trader to the meekest snivelling accountant, was seized with fright, and they all turned timidly towards the wizard. Kristomarkus lifted his arms and stretched out his cape, and it seemed as if he suddenly towered above the gaming pit like an eagle swooping on a shrew. Nodding to his confederates to follow, the maddened wizard strode right down to the middle of the gaming pit, his white hair and blue cape flowing behind. Putting his left hand on the Gossamer Globe around Beasly's neck the wizard threw back his right arm and hurled a whirlwind of red and yellow flames at the door to the Vault to keep the guardsmen at bay. The enchanted bank president was then made to wallow around on his belly like a pig, and Kristomarkus caused the writhing bankster to follow and erase the bold black boundarylines that checkered the map into biddingsquares for the players.

One outraged gamer, the velvet gloved Count Morenmore, threw down his die and yelled, "Who is this heathen to defile our temple? Upon him!" But not one of the pale Milkbloods moved. Indeed, the wizard glanced but once his way and the pompous merchant retreated quickly up the terraces. Aleksar, Homer and Truman drew forth their swords, and the garners and their companies of clerks and scriveners and numbersmiths were herded into a high corner of the arena.

Savoring the moment, Kristomarkus stepped boldly up to the platform of the gamesmasters at the northern end of the pit; and with a dramatic intensity he threw down their extravagant chairs and tables, strewing papers and fountain pens and piles of gold far across the floor.

"Awaken, Mortimer Blote, Arise!" cried the wizard, and the bankster suddenly came out of his trance. The astonished look on his fat flustered face set the Outlanders to laughing; but Mortimer was furious, and he charged at the wizard like a bear with a buttful of briars. With surprising grace Kristomarkus dodged his foe and tripped him, sending him bellyflopping awkwardly across the pit.

"Elmenduur Ellindole, harak! harak! Garneldole!" the wizard cried, and out of nowhere a warm whoosh of wind swept through the vaultroom. Papers were sent flying in every direction, cabinets and safeboxes flew open and emptied their leaflets and ledgers into the air, and the Vault was soon filled with a torrent of parchment and paper that swirled and eddied like feathers at a chickenhouse tornado. The wizard raised his cape high, and as he chanted every piece of paper made a dash straight for Mortimer, who was soon buried in a manhigh pile of deeds and contracts and mortgages. Kristomarkus held out his hand and wiggled a pinky, levitating the astounded banker bellyup on top of the pyre.

"Now, Mort, it is your turn to pay tribute," said the wizard. "A tribute to the victims of your success."

The paralyzed banker's eyes grew wide with fright, for he knew now that his empress in the west had been true in her visioning. If only he could get to his crystal globe to warn her! But Kristomarkus was a wily wizard, if not a bit lazy and cynical; and he had other things in mind. Spreading his arms like a bird its wings, the wizard caused a tornado of fire to fly from his breast, and it hovered threateningly above Mortimer Blote.

"Morty, my friend, methinks it would be wise if you'd but grant me one small favor. Swear an oath!" said the wizard, "An oath to forgive every debt your numbersmiths have connived on the Outlanders and on the Southerly Isles; an oath to release the lands of Dalondria from the false claims you have made; an oath to end for good this game of usury and hoard. For in your thirst for riches you have created an ugly plunder that poisons the very fringe of the heavens. Swear it, Mortimer! Swear it I say!"

This caused a din among the blacksuited Milkbloods above, and a few anonymous threats were hollered down to Blote. He paid them little heed, for the tail of the fiery tornado began to dance and play above the pyre until it singed the papers at its edge.

"I cannot!" whined the banker. "What will we do? Go live in the woods?"

"That would be a finer dwelling than your costliest palace, and would return a greater profit than your most lucrative swindle," retorted Aleksar Akanoo, and Homer and Truman raised their swords in agreement.

"But we have done nothing wrong," whimpered the banker. "If any have suffered it is only by their own weakness."

The tail of the flame licked the banker's red tie, and Kristomarkus raised his voice in anger. "You confuse iniquity with vanity, Mortimer Blote. Swear it now!" A shower of sparks flew from the flame suspended above the quivering banker, and wriggles of smoke began to surround him.

"I swear it! I swear it!" he cried, and the mightiest man in the parish, Mortimer Blote himself, began to blubber and wail like a baby.

"Say it again!" demanded the wizard.

"I swear it! I swear it!" cried the banker through his pitiful sobs.

Kristomarkus spat, and the tornado of fire vanished. Just as suddenly the great pile of papers began to wrinkle and rattle violently so that the bloated form of the bank president was rolled like a beached whale onto the goldstrewn floor of the gaming pit. All were silent. The Bloods were not accustomed to being toyed with by a sorcerer; in fact, their empire had been built on the power of a sorceress, and the thought of such power being used against them left them numb.

"You have chosen well," Kristomarkus told the banker. "And your word here is as binding as a contract in stone. But lest you or your cohorts here be tempted to back out, I fear I must put our understanding to paper." At that the quaking of the pile of papers became so violent that the sound was like a raging fire. The wizard held his arms straight out and curled his fingertips downward, and silent bolts of electricity began to strike the papers. Kristomarkus furrowed his brow, and by some miracle or illusion the runes and crests and figures that had been meticulously scripted onto the deeds and contracts and mortgages began to fall off like pepper off a plate! Soon every scroll and parchment was bare, except for the elaborate initials M. B. at the top of every page.

"See how fragile a kingdom of paper can be!" cried the wizard, and he grabbed up a struggling Beasly Biltmore and sped back up the terraces towards the door. The colored princes and Homer Mugwump (who was now quite convinced of the wizard's credentials) brandished their swords and followed. Kristomarkus blew out the whirlwind that still held the militiamen at bay, and the guards lunged into the vaultroom hungry for battle.

The wizard waved his wooden sword and yelled "Harak! Harak! Garnolindole!" and every~piece of gold and silver and every pointed diamorid and gem came hurtling from the piles and safeboxes below; and the mass of metal and rock roared like a river out the chamberdoor, a flood of freed hoard that hurled the guards to the ground and tossed them into walls and down corridors with all the force of a dambreak. For several chaotic moments the current of riches flowed greedily through the halls and out the double front doors, which it burst asunder with strength enough to scatter the facing files of the York Militia roughly down the obsidian stairs and into the dusty marketsquare.

Amid the confusion Kristomarkus led his band back through the maze of bureaus and halls. What opposition they met was handled skillfully by the practiced swords of the wildland princes. At the sundered entrance to the yet sturdy Bank of Blote the troupe met the redfaced remnant of redcoated Yorks, who now stood in defiance atop the piles of gold and silver and gems and jewels that covered the obsidian stair. Behind them gathered a growing horde of peasants and teamsters and workers mixed with smatterings of merchants and barristers and finely dressed cloud dwellers.

Now the wizard performed his tour de force, a feat of sorcery worthy of folklore and poetry. For in that moment Kristomarkus the Fair began to wave his arms in circles,. and he uttered an incantation that sent every last piece in the pile to shaking and clattering. Then the whole pile shot up into the air in the form of a net, capturing the helpless mercenaries and dangling them above the gasping crowd. The net was then swept as if on the hand of an invisible giant towards the lake, where it hovered mockingly above the shining waters.

"To the lake!" cried the wizard, and the throng of curious peasants stampeded to the lakefront, with Kristomarkus dragging a reluctant Beasly in the lead. When they arrived the lake was ablaze with ripples of sunset pink as the very last rays of the most horrible day in Beasly Biltmore's young life glimmered off the shiny net.

Just then a great wind came out of the east, a wind so strong that it seemed to push the sun right over the horizon, so that only the net high above the waterfront and the cloud kingdom in the distance were still lit by Sarinda's gold.

Kristomarkus held his hand aloft, and in it was a perfect diamond as large as an apple. "Behold!" he cried, and he heaved the great gem straight into the net; and then several things happened at once. The net was burst asunder, and the militiamen were baptized in the humbling waters of the Waldinmuck. The wind redoubled in a sudden blast that carried the gold and silver and gems and jewels high, high into the air, where they were borne on the four winds to every nook and cranny of Dalondria. The Kingdom in the Clouds was whipped roughly about, and the papier mache palaces of the Bloods were ripped and torn and sent like holiday confetti into the swirling skies.

The throng of peasants and workers and teamsters let out a hearty cheer, and they tossed their hats high into the reckless winds; but before they sounded the third hooray they were scattered by the sight of a company of guards streaming out of the Bank and descending on them with weapons drawn. The assault was led from behind by Mortimer Blots, who, having rallied the dozens of guards as they lay dazed on the floors of his precious Bank, had ordered every scribe and accountant and measly clerk to join in the attack on the impudent wizard and his thugs.

But all the banksters saw as they swarmed onto the lakefront were the heels and elbows of a thousand happy peasants, among wltom ran an old geez and a woodsman and two wildland Plirices' and a fighting, screaming little boy from the clouds. For even as the great diamond had left the wizard's hand, his power had waned, and in a wisp the panther and the mule and the colorful foreign robes had vanished.

Weak and numb, Kristomarkus led his wary band down alleys and stairwells, through sewers and over bridges, with the sounds of the Yorks fading behind them in blind pursuit.

That night every home and shed in the city was~s.ea~Fched, and a council was held between the shaken cloud dwellers and the directors of the Bank of Blote. No wizard was Found, and no conspiracy uncovered; but even as the forces of Zamelda Galore were being marshalled from the eastern capes of Yorkmere to the western mounts of Fornica, and even as the thralls of the Milkbloods were uncovering their stores of armaments, a revolution was whispering its way across the Outlands.

And in the Underground catacombs of the wizard's confederates, a keg of ale was drunk in celebration.

The next morning Howdy Doodle Goldfink was dispensed from the clouds in his gilded basket and ferried off to Yorkmere to survey the damage. Being a very important man worth several thousand peasants in the reckoning of the Bank of Blote, the president was continually surrounded by a buzzing entourage of aides and counselors, who made quite a display of themselves as they tugged and quarreled over his daily course.

As for Howdy--well, he just loved being the center of attention. Year after year the people of the Coastal Empires marveled at the fact that he had never once been seen, either in person or on a crystal globe or hearthstone, without a hearty smile on his face and a robust wave for his charges. So loved was the old fogey that even among the peasants and workers he was simply called "Howdy," a name so appropriate that a public relations man couldn't have dreamt up a better one.

Zamelda Galore had chosen the president wisely, for his charm and manner were so endearing to the good people of Dalondria that he was never blamed for his odours, and he often took credit for good weather. And as an added bonus he lacked the wits to question her schemery or to be of any danger, for he knew well that the minds of men are small and weak and open to enchantment.

And so it happened that the Right Reverend President and his lovely wife Narny Faye met with Mortimer Blote on the sunsplashed lakefront. The banker's report was numbing. In less time than it takes to bake a cake the bulk of the riches of the eastern cloud dwellers had been scattered with the winds. Gone were the deeds that entitled them to most of the easterly half of the islandstate, including the very best farmlands and hillsides and mineral rich peaks; gone were the mortgages on the shacks and shanties of the peasantry. And gone forever were thousands upon thousands of iron clad contracts that through the guile of the numbersmiths had indebted the peasants for generations to come.

It was with great trepidation that Howdy and Mortimer entered the ruptured bank and plodded up to the bankster's visionchamber, which lay hidden in the topmost western corner of the square black building. There Mortimer placed his hands on the icy globe and felt himself laid bare by its power. Soon the globe began to glow, and a green mist filled the room; and then the face of Zamelda Galore slowly materialized, looking as if she were peering through a fishbowl full of algae. The effect of Zamelda's visioning Emeraldstone made it appear as if she were covered with some poisonous green film; but in reality her skin was a pale, pasty white, whiter than the ass of a newborn. Her eyes were indeed green, though, green and menacing, and her thin pointed eyebrows arched high above them like the wings of a vulture. Her nose was short and pointed, and it turned up at the tip, having been altered ages ago by a magician of surgery. Her mouth was thin and sneery, and her teeth were pointed like jackals', and she painted her lips with sugary red gloss. Her high, pointy cheekbones gave way to deep, sallow cheeks, and her chin, which had once nearly touched the tip of her nose, came to a sharp, pimply point that poked out from her face like a boxer's jab.

"What has happened!" she screamed, and her voice was as sharp as the icy darts of a frigid north wind. "Tell me, you fools!"

"We have not found the wizard," said the banker, "but the president is with me, and he is ready to speak to the people. I think . . ."

"I don't give a tinker's dam what you think!" screeched the sorceress, and she let loose a short harangue that stood both men's hair on end. When she had finished her cursing and carrying on she spoke coldly to Howdy Doodle.

"I want you to make a speech," she said, "and this is what I want you to say." She then told the dimwitted president exactly what to say and do as a cowering scribe was brought in to record the script. For despite his charisma Howdy could not be trusted to speak in public unless he had a carefully worded script in front of him, it having been said by certain cynics that his foot spent more time in his mouth than did his silverplated spoons.

By the time the president had rehearsed the speech enough to satisfy the wizardress the sun was high in the sky, and the people had begun to creep out of their homes to see what was happening in the marketsquare. Rumors of rebellion and renegade wizards abounded, and the whole parish was soon abuzz with gossip about warlocks and darkskins and the giant serpent that had followed the rebels into the city.

Now the summonsbell was sounded from atop a high steeple, and soon the hills and valleys of the Yorks were alive with anticipation. By early afternoon every child and~granny was seated beside the fireplace, and every eye was trained on a hearthstone. pi

Meanwhile in weltering Fornica, in her globetower high above Castle Galore, the Greeneyed Empress opened a pair of redwood doors and stepped out onto an eastfacing balcony. Raising her arms high to spread out her flowing batskin cape, she began to chant the rhythmic spell that opened the dome of the fabled Tower of Bubel. Behind her, cradled in the delicate fingers of a golden table wrought in the form of an upturned hand, the Emeraldgreen Gossamer Globe began to glow and spark; and then bright green lightningbolts and dragontails began to flash between the witch's tower and the Tower of Bubel, which stood as tall as the castle in the center of the Fornican marketsquare.

All at once in an exploding flash of color the Tower of Bubel burst open its dome, and trillions upon trillions of tiny glass bubbles were sent flying into the sky, flying like a zillion shooting stars on their journeys to the far reaches of Dalondria. For several longdrawn minutes the maelstrom of red and blue and green and cyan spread into the sky, every bubble magically tinted with prismic lodestones and glimmering precious metals. Then the colored glass bubbles began to trinkle faster than the eye could see down chimneys and flues from the loneliest miningtown in northern Fornica to the liveliest hamlet in the south of Yorkmere, and as they burst in rapid succession onto a hundred thousand glowing translucent hearthstones, the face of the Right Reverend President Howdy Doodle Goldfink faded humbly into view. With his famous smile and a characteristic bob of the head the president greeted his subjects, and in a voice as sincere as a sister's kiss he began to read his speech.

"My fellow Dalondrians," he said as his head swayed with practiced sincerity, "we stand at the verge of a calamity, a calamity so calamitous that not one of you will be spared. An enemy has come among us, an evil warlock with hideous intent, a killer of babes and puppies who wishes to throw down our empire, which we have built for the benefit of all; and I fear that he will try to poison us from within.

"So I must ask of you a small favor. I ask this in the name of our forefathers, who built the armadas of olden days, and earned through their enterprise the just claims of the Milkbloods. I ash it in the name of the Bank of Blote, which services us all, and has kept the ship of state on a steady course in the seas of disaster and hostility, and made possible the plentitude we all enjoy.

"And so, my fellow Dalondrians, I simply ask that you faithfully fulfill the contracts that were destroyed in yesterday's Armed robbery, and also the mortgages, leases and loans; for we are in dire need of resources to fight this evil warlock and his humongous pet serpent, the monster Gorthogorn, from wthom our beautiful Greeneyed Empress has so long protected~hese shores. Do this not for the Bank merely, but for your children and your loved ones, and most of all for this, our exalted nation, the vast and magnanimous Coastal Empires of Dalondria"

Now a faint strain of patriotic music began to rise behind the president's masterful voice, and the waving glory of the islandstate's venerated flag began to fade into view behind him.

"To ensure that all is done within the laws of our land," continued the president, "the honorable Militia of Yorkmere and Fornica will be garrisoned at the estates of those who have surpassed the rank of count, whereto each head of a household will be required to pay a visit and divest three tithes of his holdings in tribute to the Empress. Hereby in Proclamation of the Coastal Empires I order that these tithes be paid on or before the tolling of the noonbells tomorrow, so that we may quickly bring our forces to bear on the diabolical sorcerer who has infiltrated the very heart of the fatherland. And furthermore I order that whatever steps become necessary in this crisis shall be made law by the word of the Greeneyed . . ."

But even as Howdy Doodle Goldfink spoke, and even as Zamelda Galore began to feel the invisible weight of suasion tipping in her favor, a cloaked old wizard in a deephewn cave placed his leathery jaundiced hand on a Gossamer Globe of eveningsky blue and sent a shudder of mischief through the webwork of hearthstones that peppered Dalondria; for at that moment in every den in every dale in every ham and hamlet, the hearthstones turned from green to aquablue, and the Right Reverend President was suddenly seen standing as naked as the day he was born, giving his speech with all the pomp of an emperor of olde!

Zamelda became furious at her own folly. In a flash she threw down her arms and dashed into her globetower, slamming the redwood doors behind her. In every hearthstone across the land the image of the naked president vanished, and the light in every stone turned into a bright white dot that slowly faded from sight.

Surprise gave way to mirth as laughter exploded like runaway fireworks from coast to coast, and soon a flight of gossip was spreading throughout the land that the Bank was now powerless and had no money even to pay the militiamen. At dawn's early lighf the next day a bold group of docksmen seized a schooner from one of Mortimer Blote's companies and ceremoniously dumped its cargo of exotic herbs and teas into Shallowford Bay, which was the principal harbor of the Yorks. And by that forenoon several peasants had been shot clean through by notched arrows with black shafts and feathered green quarrels as they went to pay the tax.

By nightfall a pregnant hush squatted brooding in the empty marketsquare. Whispered tales of a bluecaped warlock and a gang of darkskins soon gave way to rumors of a merry old Elf in a bright blue suit who had skipped and sung around the square, tossing out gold and diamonds to the children of the peasants. And the word out on the grapevine was that the laughing blue leprechaun had freed every indentured servant and debtor and slave from bondage, and that the kingdoms in the clouds were to be made into commons, and that the president's tax was nothing but a ruse perpetrated by Mortimer Blote to return to a few barons and counts and cloud dwellers their precious lost wealth.

No one slept that night, save babes in their mothers' arms. In the coastal parishes of Yorkmere and Fornica the joy of the day was quickly replaced by the heart emptying fear of war; and for the cloud dwellers and the milkblooded aristocracy the hours rang as cold and black as the deathbed of an impious man.

Deep in the catacombs that lay furtively beneath the city, Kristomarkus the Fair, with his velvetblue cape hidden away in his bulging backpack, and Aleksar Akanoo, whom the troupe now called simply Leks, and the brown prince Truman Allabam set off in the company of two renegade pinkskins on a dark and dangerous quest, a two pathed journey into the shadows of Castle Galore in the weltering hills of Fornica. For in the night as torchlight shadows wavered on the jagged mineralstained walls of a cavern deep beneath the basement of a gentleman leafleteer, the wizard had lain down his plan, and it called for the comrades to go their separate ways. Before the light of day, Kristomarkus and Beasly would head south out of Yorkmere and then go west, mustering the Mlembe and the Gonzalin as they went; while Homer, Leks and Truman marched north and then west, mustering the Shandoans and the Greens. But while the wizard would lead the four tribes in a bold and reckless southerly assault on the citadel of the Greeneyed Sorceress, to be launched in twelve day's time at the setting of the full moons, the three Outlanders would attempt to penetrate the castle and seek out the Emeraldgreen Gossamer Globe, and to steal it from under the nose of its mistress as she focused her power on the wizard's attack.

And in order to deceive the empress Kristomarkus bade his companions to~spread the word from coast to coast that the roads of the Milkbloods were to be avoided at all cost, especially the broad Imperial Road. For despite the misgivings of his friends, the insistent wizard promised to reopen long forgotten Old Will Road, a timeworn footpath that ran like its paved rival from the eastern mountains to the western shore; and though Old Will Road, long thought impassable, meandered on a southerly course all choked with thick forests and kudzu, while the Imperial Road shot straight across the heart of the island and could be traversed in seven day's time, the wizard was convinced that the scattered tribes and clans of the Outlands would be quickly crushed if they trespassed on the empress' cold stone highway.

At an hour they judged to be midnight the confederates hefted their backpacks and followed a line of everlit torches through the ancient caves, which led eventually to a dark and musty corridor where the torches stopped abruptly. Never had any of the Outlanders experienced a darkness as complete as that of the secretive bowel into which the wizard now led them. Only by following the sounds of his burglarsoft footfalls did the troupe manage to stay together, and it soon became apparent that they were slowly climbing a shallow grade towards the surface above. On and on into the gloomy darkness they marched, up and up they climbed, and each was heartened by the thought of again seeing the open countryside and of taking a draught of skywashed air.

But just as their hopes of any easy escape seemed right around the corner, a ghostly light began to emanate from the globe, which throbbed erratically, bathing the band in a series of eerily melding colors.

"What is it?" asked Beasly in a whisper.

"It is the will of the Greeneyes," answered the wizard solemnly. "The globe is showing both red and green, which means that even now she is communicating with Gorthogorn through the Crimsonflame Globe, which rests with the bones of my fallen cousin the Red Wizard in the belly of the beast. Now come, we must not tarry!"

Kristomarkus, it seems, understood what few had gleaned--that for age upon age the Crimsonflame had been carried deep in the belly of Gorthogorn the Mighty. For long before Kristomarkus ever took on the burden of the Eveningsky Globe, another of his line had possessed the bright red Crimsonflame Globe. This Red Warlock had become overly proud and intemperate, and in his ambition he had courted the loyalty of the great serpent; and after years of profiting unjustly the heartless lizard had devoured the wizard along with his crimsonred globe, never guessing the import of the shiny gem that still rested in his skeleton strewn gut.

Ever since that time Zamelda had been nurturing her secret alliance with Gorthog the Great, all the while offering him to her people as a relentless, ruthless enemy. In reality the conspiracy between the witch and the snake had, more than anything else, filled the endless coffers of Castle Galore with mountains of gold and diamonds and emeralds and rubies, and all manner of elixirs and spelldusts and deadly glowing firestones.

And so it happened that even as Kristomarkus and his followers were striding up the tunnel, Gorthogorn wash ;thering through the streets of Yorkmere in search of their scent.~The forked, leathery tongue of the serpent darted herertand there along the cobblestones, and his nostrils flared as he wound and contorted himself across the marketsquare and past the Bank of Blote and down to the waterfront. Children hid under their beds at the passing of the beast, and so did many of the bravest men in the parish; horses in their stables and dogs under porches and cats on the prowl all cowered and closed their eyes, paralyzed with fright at the mere presence of Gorthogorn the Mighty.

But he could find no scent of the wizard or the uncouth darkskins. Instead, a faint stirring awoke deep in his malevolent soul, and he felt himself being drawn hypnotically to the west, drawn by a force silent and invisible--the ethereal magnetism of the Gossamer Globes, which attracted each other out of kind, and whose potent suasion could be bent like a prism to the wiles of sorcery.

That is why the confederates had seen splatterings of red and green in the Eveningsky Globe, and why Kristomarkus now walked with a thoughtful stoop, his fuzzy white eyebrows all knotted and wrinkly and his lips all pursed and puckery. Upon reaching the brierpatch that hid the mouth of the catacombs the band paused to listen for any hint of the York Militia--but all they heard were the melancholy moans of an owl and the steady orchestrations of a meadowful of crickets. Leks led the way through the thick briers, and soon, scratched and itching, the five comrades stood at the base of an escarpment on the crest of a ridge, a moonlit, westfacing perch from which could be clearly seen the pockmarked cement roadway that ran out of Yorkmere.

A voice out of the darkness startled the band. `'So you have made it!" said the Oracle as he stepped quietly from behind a boulder. "And half the night still to travel."

Kristomarkus chuckled, then stepped up and shook the Oracle by the forearm. "And you have been spying on me," he said.

"And I'm hungry," said Beasly Biltmore.

With a heavy sigh the Oracle released the wizard's arm. "I know you must hurry," he said nervously. "But first spare a moment, and let me give you prescience of your journey." At that the odd fellow took from his shirtpocket a small bag of crumbled leaves, which he emptied onto his hands; and then blowing. a quick burst into his hands he scattered the leaves into shafts of moonlight. After a moment he closed his eyes and spoke..

"You leave behind you the parish of Yorkmire and the Cloud Kingdom of the Eastern Empire, born of fratricide and calamity. But you see there only the surface of things, a mere shadowpuppet play; for the power of this empire resided in scraps of paper that a kitten could tear to shreds. Behold! The kingdom was built of paper, for paper is all such a kingdom can bear! pi

"There is another Kingdom in the Clouds, and it floats above the weltering hills of Fornica, over the Lake of the Eye of the Greeneyed Sorceress. And the power of the Western Empire resides in bubblefine glass; for that is all such a kingdom can bear. It is a power as deadly as the Greeneyes herself, yet it rests in tiny bubbles of tinctured glass that a puppy could shatter with a sneeze!

"Remember this--when cows walk backwards, and you can't find the key to get out of the sewer, disaster will be nigh; and when the moons wax full, new leaders will step forth, and your very lives may be forfeit."

The Oracle had no sooner finished his soothsaying than he dashed into the thicket with an eerie shriek. The confederates shivered at the sound, for they knew that it came from his horror at his own vision. But nothing they could imagine filled them with dread to compare with the creeping black dominion of Zamelda Galore and her Milkblood thralls, which gave their hearts a deathless courage like elven steel.

"We must go quickly," said Kristomarkus, and they set out down the embankment in the pale moonlight until they reached the gully at the shoulder of the road. They would follow this road together for only a while--for less than a league to the west it forked, and there the wizard and the chubby young pinkskin would part company with the trio of rebel Outlanders.

The moment Beasly set foot on the roadway a flurry of fiery red serpent tongues leapt violently out of the Eveningsky Globe, which began to glow in shades of purple and magenta. The eyes of the wizard went grey.

"It is just as I feared," the wizard said grimly, and his trepidation was doubled on the others. "Gorthog is nearby, but exactly where I cannot say."

"Why don't you use the dadgum thing to find out?" asked Homer, still a bit suspicious of the wizard's intentions.

"Because that would reveal our whereabouts," replied Truman coolly.

"There is but one thing to do," Kristomarkus mused; and then he let go an unexpected laugh that set his eyes to dancing again. "We must run for our lives! Make for the parting of the ways as fast as you can! Away! Awake! Arise!"

And off he ran,~grabbing Beasly up in his winnowy old arms and looking as silly as the neurotic Yorks who were known to run in great circles around the city for no apparent reason. Leks and Homer and Truman followed close behind; but while the tall princes of Shandoah and Mlembe ran with smooth, graceful strides, the stocky woodsman had to strain and waddle just to keep up, and his muscleknotted legs soon began to ache and cramp.

On and on the comrades ran as perched in the wizard's cradling arms Beasly watched the countryside of northern Yorkmere speed by. Great farms and orchards he saw with tall barns and silos, and wagons laden with goods ready to embark for the marketsquare. Tanneries and canneries dotted the landscape, and here and there stood grand mills and manufactories that billowed acrid, opaque plumes into the night sky. As the hurried troupe left the city farther and farther behind, huge pitscars and stripmines began to deform the land, and whole forests were seen reduced to brush. In the lowlands marshes of sludge and muck spread to the horizon, and films of grease and oil burned on stagnant streams.

On and on they ran, until they came to a hilltop laid bare by traffic and loggers; and from its weathered peak the fork in the roadway came suddenly into view. Bent with weariness Kristomarkus stopped and set down his little friend. Leks and Truman were close behind, and though their breasts heaved they seemed ready and willing to run until the earth itself grew weary beneath their feet. And then came Homer Mugwump, panting and wheezing and crying "At last!" as he fell whitefaced to his knees.

But even as Homer spoke a rumbling growl was heard in the distance, and the Gossamer Globe began to shower Beasly with whistling red sparks; and there on the horizon, slathering madly over hill and dale, the confederates could barely make out the hulking form of Gorthogorn heading straight towards them up the road from Yorkmere.

"Into the brush!" cried Kristomarkus, and Homer, Leks and Truman scampered hysterically into the sparse forest that flanked the hill. Beasly Biltmore froze in terror; but the wizard patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, and placing his hand on the Eveningsky Globe he began to chant.

"Deldorran deldorath, Verusilef al Garn, Ekwinar! Lindole! Harak! Harak! Andar!" he sang, and then he stepped back from Beasly and raised his arms high into the air. As if from nowhere a handsome coalstreaked stallion leapt suddenly onto the road, and it shook its silvermaned head proudly and snorted, scraping its left front hoof boldly into the gravel.

"Behold Verusilef, the wizardsteed, as swift as vision!" laughed Kristomarkus, and he hopped heartily onto the great horse's broad back. Lifting the boy onto Verusilef before him, the wizard took off like a hurricane down the winding road.

But even the wizardsteed could not outrun a serpent the size of Gorthogorn the Mighty on open ground. With treecrushing thrusts of his gargantuan coils the snake slithered full of malice after the frantic hoofbeats he now heard in the distance. Deep within his wicked heart Gorthog felt an irresistible urge drawing him westward, and in the pit of his belly a searing flame licked at his skullstrewn entrails. Now his nostrils caught the scent of fleeing foes, and the moment he crested the weathertopped hill he saw ahead of him the lightningflash of the proud stallion's hooves and the fluttering blue cape of his enemy.

Crashing through fences, flocks and fields the beast came rampaging down on the wizard and his steed and the frightened boy from the clouds. In his rage he flattened whole stands of sturdy piney trees and oakses, and he left a row of migrants' shacks dashed and crumbled on top of their unlucky occupants. But Verusilef was charged with the spark of the moment. Taking staccato strides so long that he almost seemed to fly, the grey stallion streaked up to the fork in the road, and without slowing took the leftrunning path into the moondrenched west. Still the beast was close upon his heels, gaining by the second.

Kristomarkus yanked the Gossamer Globe from around Beasly's neck and held it aloft. The spiderfine silver necklace flapped in the breeze, and the globe seemed to melt like blue smoke into the pearldomed heavens. Then uttering an incantation the wizard caused a great mirror to form in the sky, and he turned it to just such an angle that his reflection would be aimed at Gorthogorn. Now soft prisms of light began to play between the globe and the mirror, and they were reflected like dancing starbeams onto the glaring red eyes of the serpent.

"Ssso you can.fly, old man," growled Gorthog; and sure enough, there above him he saw the bothersome blue warlock, galloping through the sky astride a silvermaned stallion. "But I can stretch my snout as high into the sssky as a furrow is long!" he hissed. With that the snake pulled himself into a tight ring of coil and flung himself like a spring high above the treetops until his gaping jaws reached their zenith and hovered like a leaping cobra's six hundred feet above the ground. But no matter how he strained and stretched, the wizard and the steed seemed just beyond his reach, until at last the faint sound of mocking laughter sent him into a frenzy of loops and leaps as he tried to snatch his quarry out of the sky with the steel grip of his leathery forked tongue.

"Maggots!" he grumbled, "Pipsqueak worms! You're not worthy to so much as garnish a meal for Gorthog the Great. But I shall devour you! I SHALL DEVOUR YOU!"

On and on Verusilef ran, and his hooves left no scent, for he was a vision, a shade, born of the imagination of Kristomarkus the. Fair. On and on they ran, leaving the enraged serpent behind, and distancing themselves on a weltering track from their lurking enemies in Yorkmere. On and on, until the road became a footpath and the forest thickened into a pale moonlightgreen canopy, and the sky descended like living slee.p on the weary riders.

As the steady hoofbeats of Verusilef put Beasly slowly to rest, he passed into a dream. And in his dream Schwas soaring through the air, being pulled aloft by the glowing Eveningsky Globe, like the boy who lassoed a shooting star. The gossamer fabric of the globe seemed to fray and frazzle like the soft edges of the universe; and forming in the silken warmth of its depths Beasly saw visions of armies and wizards and witches and wains, and cannons and catapults and fire. But of all that happened in his dream he could never recall, and he kept it to himself, just as he kept to himself his vision of the serpent devouring Kristomarkus on a stormy morning sea.

Lying flat on their stomachs in a hollow full of briers, Homer, Leks and Tru could just barely make out the flailing form of Gorthogorn through the trees in the distance. They heard the beast moan and growl as he struck again and again at the shrinking image in the sky, which slowly receded and was gone. A deafening silence followed; then the trio heard the unmistakeable sound of the snake approaching deliberately up the road.

Upon reaching the base of the weathertopped hill, Gorthog became deathfully still, and the sound of his malevolent voice sent a chill through the sparse fringe of the forest. "What is thisss I smell?" he hissed to himself. "Darkskins. And a pinkskin! What a fine potpourri."

Not one of the three moved, nor took so much as a breath. They heard the gravelly movements of the redbellied serpent on the road and then the crackling of treetrunks as he entered the wood. Lines of tall pines ready for harvest were felled like matchsticks, until not a hundred feet away the rebels could dimly discern the massive head of Gorthog swaying back and forth above the treetops scenting like a hound.

But there he wavered; and then he cocked his head as if to listen to some faint faraway beckoning; and after a moment he turned his lethal coils around and crashed off towards the west.

"Perhaps it is a trick," whispered Homer.

"I think not," answered Truman. "He has caught the scent of the wizard again. He will not return."

The trio pulled themselves out of the thorny hollow. Silently they crept up to the splintery clearing left by the passage of Gorthogorn the Mighty and with a sickly awe followed it back to the road. As far as they could tell from the markings up ahead at the fork in the road, Kristomarkus and Beasly had taken off into the sky astride the coalstreaked stallion, just eluding the vicious heavenward strikes of the earthshaking snake.

"Let us go quickly while it is still dark," said Leks Akanoo after several moments pause. "We are near the border of Shandoah, and the village of my people is but two day's walk from there. Many times have I trod this road on journeys of treaty, only to return scorned by the leaders of Yorkmire. I swore never to go back unless in search of vengeance; but now it seems we must avenge our fathers with petty espionage and womanly tricks."

"In my land women are considered most wise," replied Truman. "Perhaps their ways are sometimes better than rash male pride."

"Truly spoken," said Leks, "though I should like to see some day a land where women are thought wiser than men."

"In my land," interjected Homer Mugwump, "we keep our opinions about the sexes to ourselves, it being well known which is superior in argumentation."

The darkskins chuckled, and their mirth swept away the ominous memory of Gorthog.

"I wonder where the redskin wizard has gone," said Leks as he hefted his pack to leave.

"But he was a browomon!" retorted Truman, and his eyes opened wide at the mistake of the Shandoan prince.

"Are you both blind?" cried Homer. "He was as pale as I am!"

For such was the power of Kristomarkus the Fair, that whosoever beheld him did so in like image to their forefathers. For in fact his order of wizards transcended the false subdivisions of the tribes, who after years of intermarriage and nomadism were no longer so distinct; the Mlembe ranging in color from cocoa brown to a tawny beige, and the Shandoans from mahogany red to a copper terra cotta; the Gonzalin from chocolate bronze to a titian sienna, and the Greens from walnut toast to a pale coralline. Only the Milkbloods were truly distinctive, and then only because they replaced their blood with milk at the age of thirteen in order to take on the sallow white lactescence which in their vanity they deemed most lovely, and which they felt cleansed them of the savage passions of the hotblooded darkskins.

Shrugging their weary shoulders the three Outlanders set off northward on the road to Shandoah, pondering the magic of their wizardly leader. Had he really ascended into the sky like the gods of myth? And how could even a wizard hope to marshal the scattered tribes of the Outlands with a flabby little Milkblood to drag along besides? Or to march on Castle Galore with an army of farmers and hunters and gatherers of nuts and roots and berries? Were plowshares to be weilded against the tempered steel lances of the Imperial Guard, and sickles against scimitars? And what of the dragon Gorthogorn?

As the three~wildland princes marched northward, each in his own mind questioned the fate of his ancestral home and of his people. Each could not help but imagine the black dominion of Zamelda Galore, which now threatened to suck dry the lifeblood of Dalondria and cast her adrift into the endless night of oblivion.

Despite their misgivings the travelers were soon comforted by the green canopy of the dawnlit northern forest. Alder, linden and spruce they saw, and sprays of jasmine and laurel, and eyepleasing patches of moss and fern. Birdsong eased their hearts, and playful groups of squirrels scampered in the branches; for every living thing was awakened by the return of the Shandoan Prince Aleksar Akanoo.

The stone roads of the Yorks gradually gave way to the soft footpaths of the gentle Shandoans. Here and there were clearings where scented herbs and clover grew in profusion amid patches of well married corn and beans, or else furrows full of seed and sapling racer down to a quiet pond or glade. As Sarinda rose on the third morning out, the three comrades crested an azaleastrewn ridge and beheld the village of Shandoah in the wakening valley below.

As they descended into the valley the trio saw children emerging with hearty yawns from buckskin tents and earther~ halls, and women preparing meals beneath thatched pavilions, and men swaying lazily in hammocks made of hemp. The dwellings of the clans and families were spread out in a loose circle around a tall, broad councilmound which stood as high as five men and ran in like width for over a hundred feet. Some lived in skin huts near a spring or meadow, or in a pine carpeted clearing near a brook. Others had built long wooden halls roofed with moss and mud, which bordered on the common plots of corn and bean and okra. Leks pointed out where a young couple had set their honeymoon pavilion beside a lillyfishpond, and he showed his guests the lonely leanto of an aging herbmaster; and as they walked he explained their customs of burial, birth and marriage, and their rites of passage and distribution.

The passing of the three princes did not go unnoticed. Soon a buzz and rumor had spread, and from atop the councilmound an antlerhorn was blown. From every clan an elder now ascended the mound, and the people of the tribe gathered in circles around it. Up front sat the warriors and matrons and medicine men, and behind them young maidens and braves, and finally, leaving a respectful gap, sat the bloodless girls and the boys who had yet to pass their trials.

Leks, too, climbed to the top of the councilmound and bade his fellows follow; but at its crest stood an old man draped in feathers who held his hand up to halt to the tall Mlembe and the pinkskinned woodsman. He was Aldaan, Stargazer, chieftain of Shandoah, and when he spoke all were silent, even babes and sylvan creatures.

"None but redmen may enter here," he said, "save in times of war or peril."

"And such a time is at hand, father," replied Aleksar Akanoo. "These are the sons of our distant cousins to the south and west, and they come to lay before you their loyalty and their lives, if you will join them in war against the Greeneyes."

Aldaan scrutinized the strangers. "Very well," he said. "I welcome you in the name of my father's fathers, and offer you the blessings of our land." Placing one hand on the shoulder of Truman Allabam and the other on the shoulder of Homer Beauregard Mugwump, he led them to a low bench at the center of the councilmound, where they sat surrounded by the wise elders of Shandoah.

As Sarinda flooded the valley with morningflame, the council of elders sat and listened to the tale of the three rebels, from their secret meeting at the cave of the Oracle to the sack of the Bank of Blote, to the wizard's skyborne escape from Gorthogorn the Mighty. The people below were stirred by the descriptions of the velvetcaped Kristomarkus and the redbellied Gorthog; but the elders did not flinch, nor did they give pause to the tellers.

When at last the advice of the Oracle and the wizard had been weighed and the plan to steal the Gossamer Emeraldstone from Zamelda Galore told, the elders began a daylong debate over the role of the tribe in the war to come. They laid out patterns of red and yellow and blue and white corn, and they made intricate designs on the earth with similarly colored handfuls of sand. They passed a long feathered pipe between them that made Homer and Tru feel giddy. By the first starlook they had agreed to send a great army of warriors on the perilous way to weltering Fornica, led by a contingent of horsemen following their ancestral traderoutes to Old Will Road; and then on to do battle with the greeneyed witch whose forces had destroyed all but a tithe of their wooded homeland, and whose cavalries had slaughtered long ago the greater part of their line.

As the bloodred halo of sunset faded beneath the horizon and the midmoon peaked its brow up over the rim of hills in the east, Aldaan raised his hand and spoke to his patient people. "All Shandoah heed me now," he began in a firm and measured voice. "For many turns of the seven moons we have lain up the stores of war, that when the spirit awakened we would be prepared to defend our home against the Greeneyes. But now a great one has come out of the East, and prophecy calls him a distant cousin of

Shandoah; and his powers over wind and beast will be at the vanguard of what is to come. For in this time of creeping black nothingness we must live as the beaver, who waits not for the blessing of the land, but builds for himself a world to his liking.

"Rise up! Take courage! For tomorrow you will go west to seek redress in battle, that your children's children may again enjoy the bounty of the mother of us all. Arise! Awalien. Leave your women behind to tend the homeland, just as two poles of a tent, whereby one must stay to hold things still while the second is sharpened to a spearpoint to set wickedness aright."

And then a din arose from the people, and it became a rhythmic chant that lasted through the night. Fires were built that burned in great rings around the councilmound, wives lay with their husbands as if for the last time, fathers held their and she often locked herself in the spiraling globetower where dwelt the satiny green Emeraldstone. But she dared not use the Gossamer Globe without great care, not with the Blue Warlock lurking about.

It was in this lofty prison that she met with every magician and general and master of espionage in her command to plot out the final destruction of the Outlanders and the capture of the audacious sorcerer who dared to confront her in the very seat of her power. For more than anything else she now longed to posses the Eveningsky Globe, the one thing that could grant her complete dominion over the spreading oceans. And so even as Kristomarkus had led his band of rebels through the catacombs of Yorkmere, the Greeneyed Wizardress had been unleashing her two deadliest thralls on the burgeoning revolution. Of the first, Gorthog the Great, much has been said already. Though the second creature was not nearly as humongous as the redbellied serpent, in silent guile and icy black secrecy it far surpassed the stupid snake, and by its very nature sent a cold dart into the hearts of those few who beheld it verily.

Born of the consciencelessness of Zamelda Galore, this invisible arm of her far reaching thralldom was the very grip of greed; and indeed it was an arm, or a severed hand to be exact, which dragged behind it a maggotridden trail of sinew and muscle and bone. Its name was Mandelev the Invisible, and for generations it had acted as surely as if it were the severed hand of the Greeneyes herself, crushing the hopes of the lowly in its vicegrip and squeezing the last Earthing out of every pauper and stooge.

Zamelda took great pride in her mastery over this mindless spy. To any but those purest in sight and highest in thought the Hand was indeed invisible. By day or night it roamed the countryside at will, robbing debtors and killing poets and frolicking in every sort of natural and economic disaster. Many a peasant had foolishly sung the praises of the Greeneyed Empress, while under his nose her invisible right hand was putting the farm into mortgage and the family into generations of servitude. And many a banker or merchant had sent the Hand out to extract gold from a debtor or drought stricken farmer, who blindly praised Her Highness on his way to her prison.

Mandelev the Invisible she called it proudly, the long arm of the law, unseen slayer of sleeping lasses and dasher of poor mens' dreams. The hideous hand pulled itself along the ground with its three outside fingers in a grotesque, crablike threestep, steadying its course with its thumb and pointing its forefinger straight ahead like a blind man's cane. In this manner it felt its way about barns and basements and bedrooms and silos, stealing and killing and ravaging crops, and loosing flocks and herds, and sweeping up the dregs of failed enterprise to be ground into fodder. Measuring well over six feet from the top of its thumb to the tip of its pinky, Mandelev's grip was as strong as the clenching jaws of a dozen crocodiles, so that neither man nor beast could hope to escape death in its clutches. And even if it seemed a bit clumsy, the hand could gallop nearly as fast as a horse, alternating fingers and thumb, one two three one, kangaroolike in twentyfoot strides, thumpety thump, until at last it lunged on its victim and choked out its final gasp.

Mandelev had. been dragging its bloody entrails across Dalondria day and night since the very first rumors of the wizard from the East, passing through the western mounts and across the Outlandish Plains; and even now it was bearing down on Shandoah. For it was in the land of the ancient redskins that Zamelda expected the first seeds of dissent to sprout, and she wanted to send the ignorant savages an example of her might.

But even with Mandelev on the prowl and Gorthog on a rampage; and even with the ranks of thee Fornican Militia and the Imperial Guard at 'the ready and the York Militia calling all mercenaries to the Imperial Road; and even secured untouchable atop the globetower of Castle Galore, the wizardress was racked with doubts and uncertainties. For deep in her heart she feared that with the aid of the Blue Warlock the uncounted masses of savages and disloyal peasants would find a way to drag her from her cloister and chop off her head, or to dip her slowly in boiling tar, or impale her on a splintered spike of wood.

As she sat contemplating the revolt to come, a bead of sweat made its way down her forehead, and it slipped silently down her nose and dropped unheard into the thick carpet at her feet.

Homer, Leks and Truman watched the procession of warriors disappear into the hills. Aldaan raised his head in prayer on the mound above. After a heartrending pause the chieftain descended to.:where the travelers stood watching the now empty west. Al'daan passed his wrinkled hands across the shoulders of the three and without speaking led them on a northrunning path out of the village. A short walk later they found themselves at the foot of a tall rounded mountain whose face was dotted with smoothfalIing cliffs. The chieftain led them up an overgrown sidepath that ended at the base of a granite overhang; Frem a hidden cleft in the rock he drew out three oil tipped torches, which he lit with an awkward striking of flint. Handing them to the trio, he approached a huge boulder among the talus that littered the crumbly cliff. Ducking behind it he crawled on his stomach into a tight, damp tunnel.

Reluctantly the comrades followed.The tunnel ran in snakelike undulations deep into the mountainside. The three Outlanders had to drag their torches before them, for in many places it was only after a terrifying struggle that they managed to round a corner or slip beneath a suspended rock; and more than once Homer had to be yanked and pushed like a cork out of a particularly tight spot. One or the other often dragged his torch too long in the moist gravel and put it out, and once Homer and Truman both lost their flames at the same time.

Just when each had despaired of ever being freed from the maggothole the tunnel began to broaden, and soon they were walking along a mineralstained corridor that grew taller and wider as they went. They saw huge frozen droplets of every color hanging down from the ceiling in waxlike tapers, and below each of these was an equally bizarre squat of the same color and mass. Crickets they saw that were white as snow, and winged brown rats slept clinging to the walls and roof .

Aldaan led them on into the darkness, his keen eyes needing no torch to see. Now pools of crystal water were visible here and there, and trickling rivulets were heard echoing shyly in the gathering gloom. Once they had to cross a deep chasm on a long mossy logbridge with no rail, and several times the path hugged one wall or the other as a bottomless abyss loomed below. Finally Aldaan slackened his pace and stopped; for they had come to the pebbly shore of the Pools of Vision.

"Behold the last untainted water on all of Dalondria," he said, "whose purity grants clarity of vision: to those willing to see." Then the ruffled old chieftain gathered up--the torches--and to the dismay of all doused them in the water!

But dismay quickly gave way to wonder. For as their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness they began to discern dim shapes and patterns moving on the stone~,till surface of the Pools, at:ld, they soon realized that these were in fact the shades of men and'~omen and children and beasts; but none gave heed to the four visitors. Though Homer and Leks and Tru saw the mouths of the spirits moving in song and laughter, nothing was to be heard except the roar of perfect stillness.

"You have reached the window on the shadow world," --~' whispered Aldaan after a while. Now the astonished trio saw that cthe whole cavern was filled with strolling shades for whom no rules of gravity or mass seemed to apply. They could float out of walls or pass righ t through each other; and as the. eyes 0f the visitors grew ever more used to the darkness, they b--eecame 'aware that the whole mass of color and movement resembled a flickering fire!

"Behold the Frinndly Flame," said the chieftain, "the spark of the Evermind, before whom you now stand like newborn babes looking crosseyed into a mirror."

Aldaan reached into his buckskin britches and drew out three doeskin flasks, which he filled gently with water from the Pools. "These waters have great powers," he continued. "When drunk they give the power of foresight, which is both a curse and a blessing; and when dropped in the eyes they give the power of truesight, which destroys spellwork and wizardry, and frees the seer from deceitful visions and conjurations. Be frugal in its use, lest you fall under its control, or run short when need arises. And beware of its heat, which may burn in your belly or your eye, but which harms only those who are evil."

The ripples that Aldaan had sent in widening circles from the spot where he drew the frindle died down quickly. He handed a flask to each of the confederates, and he blessed them by dipping his fingers into the Pools of Vision and touching them each on the forehead.

"Take a drop from your flask and wet your eyes," he said, and they obliged him. "Now we must go."

Tucking the torches under his arm, Aldaan walked off alone into the darkness. Truman gasped at this, and Homer fell down to the ground feeling for the soft footworn path; but Leks stood silently waiting for the effect of the frindle to slowly seep into his vision. Retracing their steps they came at length to the narrowing tunnel that led back through the mountainside and into the open air; and though no one spoke it each in his heart knew somehow that having once seen the Frinndly Flame, they were all bound to be drawn back to its shores before many more passings of the moons.

Again the trio squirmed wormlike into the tunnel, and again Homer had to be pushed and prodded around the tight corners and under hanging boulders. This time the trip seemed shorter, and before long all three were standing beneath the granite overhang brushing the dirt and dust from their clothing. They shouldered their packs and made ready to leave. Suddenly a shriek rose from somewhere below.

"Aldaan!" cried Leks, and he bounded down the mountain towards the sound. Truman and Homer scurried after, but they could not keep up with the redman.

"Aleksar Akanoo can see the wind, and he feels the light of the stars," said Tru as he slowed down and held Homer by the arm. "Let us go warily and wait for a sound; for I fear some great evil is nearby."

Sure enough they soon heard another shriek, *nd shortly after a warcry rent the woods. "This way!" shouted Homer, and off they ran towards a clearing a short way below.

When they reached the clearing a horrible scene was taking place. Aldaan was struggling against a giant, bloody hand which crushed and squeezed the old chief while Leks stabbed wildly at its manthick fingers. The hand was straining to pull Aldaan deeper into its deathgrip as it flicked its first finger in powerful jabs that threw Leks onto his back like a flopping ragdoll.

Homer drew his sword and ran headlong at the creature, while Truman cleverly uncapped his flask and followed. Before Homer could make a lunge at the monster, it dropped Aldaan and seized Leks in its mighty fingers and threw him right on top of the charging woodsman. Quick as a cat Mandelev leapt again onto the chieftain; but this time it gripped him around the neck and torso and began to grind its fingers into his fragile ribs, crushing him as easily as a bear opening a melon.

Truman was now upon the back of the invisible hand, and he poured a fourthpart of his flask across the creature's knuckles. Mandelev threw Aldaan and writhed like a snake in a fire, sending Truman flying through the air in a somersault. Then it bounded off like a scalded dog, thumpety thump, fingers and thumb, one two three one, down the path and into the woods and off to who knows where.

Leks ran and threw himself beside~Aldaan; but the proud old chief was clearly drawing his last. "Mourn not, my sons," he moaned quietly. "I am called home to my makers. I have my peace." So passed Aldaan, Stargazer, shepherd of Shandoah.

"What sort of monster has done this?" cried Aleksar Akanoo, and he buried his face in the chieftain's breast.

"I don't know," said Truman. "But surely it was a demon of the Greeneyes sent to frighten us away from our cause. We must now be always vigilant, for I fear that but for the frindle we would have been unable to see this thing."

"And but for the frindle it might have killed us all," added Homer. "A drop of your wit saved us as surely as my name is Homer Beauregard Mugwump the Third."

Leks looked into the eyes of his companions. "You are good ones to have along. But I fear I must delay you--for it is my sworn duty to bear my father back home to the Burial Wood. I will i~pUerstand if you must go on."

"Shucks, we'll help you," said Homer, and the woodsman linked: elbows with Truman Allabam so that their arms made a seat on which to carry the fallen chief. Leks lifted the old man onto their arms and walked behind them, hugging the limp, tortured body into an upright position.

But the water from the Pools of Vision still lingered in their eyes; and to their amazement Aldaan seemed to stand up and walk like a shadow right out of his body, so that while the crushed corpse remained heavy on their arms, the grasped shade of Aldaan the Feathercrowned walked silent and proud back up the mountain and into the cave.

And though the three mourners were not there to see it, as the spirit of the chief entered into the tunnel it reached back with one hand and drew the granite boulder snug against the cliff, forever sealing the path to the Pools of Vision to any but the dead and the purest of heart; for a time of great peril was upon the world.

Verusilef ran until daybreak, picking his path like a Sightseeing shade through the tangled underbrush of the southernmost Reston Wood. At intervals Kristomarkus drew from beneath his cloak a bag of traildust, which he sprinkled to disguise his scent and direction. All through the day they rode, resting only briefly, and again through the night. As Sarinda rose lazily the next morn, the galloping charger and the bluecaped old wizard and the fat little boy from the clouds passed out of the land of Yorkmere and entered the forest of the noble tribe Mlembe.

No sooner had they crossed that timeweary border than their presence was relayed to the tribal elders on lowpitched drums made of ancient hollow logs, and a band of scouts was sent out to capture them. Before they knew it they were ambushed from the treetops by a dozen proud warriors, who took the old man and the sleepy boy gently from the horse's back and covered their eyes with black bands of cloth.

It was a day and a half's walk still to the center of the Mlembe bazaar. At every turn Beasly expected to hear the massive black hulk of Gorthog crashing through the trees; but for now the serpent was slathering madly across the hills and dales of the Eastern Empire, enraged by the burning dust that seared at his nostrils as he sniffed and snivelled for the wizard's scent.

On their third day out of the catacombs, as the noonday sun fell heavily on their shoulders, Kristomarkus and Beasly marched blindfolded into the village of the Mlembe. There seated on the ground beneath a circle of blossoming ghinkos they met with the wise priestess of the tribe, Maggie Mandelin.

"Why have you come unannounced into our land?" she asked Kristomarkus. "And why does a yellow warlock travel with a young Milkblood so far from shack or shore?"

"You see truly," returned the wizard, who was indeed jaundiced with age. "Do you not know the answer to your own question?"

"Perhaps," she replied. "But in these time one cannot be too careful, what with wizards and dragons about."

"Nor can one be too suspicious, when help comes unlooked for," said Kristomarkus.

"Make no claims you cannot keep," she snapped. "For to betray the trust of a priestess is punishable by death."

"And to tarry while serpents of legend hunt is punishable by the same," he retorted. "Now can't we go inside and speak freely?"

Maggie Mandelin stood and motioned her warriors away. "Follow me," she said curtly, and Kristomarkus took Beasly by the hand and strode off behind the ambrosiaskinned priestess. Her figure was lithe and lean, with round hips and shoulders and breasts. She wore a one piece cloak of red and yellow and green wrapped over her left shoulder and tied loosly at her waist. Her hair shone jet black, and the tight curls were cropped close to the scalp. Her beauty rivaled any nymph or riverdaughter, with cheekbones like the shoulders of high mountains framing her velvetsoft cheeks, and full lips presiding over a delicately cleft chin, and eyes like glowing chestnut gemstones.

The handsome priestess led them from the bazaar on a twisting southward trail that wound around pastures and mud houses and goatpens and fields. When they had cleared the outskirts of the village she headed across a broad meadow towards a hillock beside a small spring. There into the warm southern side of the hill a cave had been opened and carpeted with a bed of dried moss covered over with buffalo hides. Maggie drew back a flap and entered, motioning to the wizard to follow. Once inside the flap was sealed, and total darkness enveloped the trio.

"This is the womb of my vision," she said softly. "From here I can sense the very web of Spider Grandmother as she spins away eternities. The light of the black sun yields the purest sight. You yourself spoke of truesight, wizard. Perhaps you care for a drop of holy water?"

"Then if I am evil, my eyes will burn until I go blind," Kristomarkus returned.

"If your eyes burn, you were blind already," replied Maggie as she placed a drop of the water in her eye. A long silence ensued,

Beasly, who had become less suspicious of his wizardly captor, was chilled to the bone by mentions of dark suns and death. The black witch Mandelin seemed to the lad a frogfaced demoness an angel of the dark, and he fancied that she was secretly plotting to tear out his heart for a snack, or to make him a.iombie. If he ran he guessed he would be quickly hunted down and slain, and if he spoke unwisely he might be turned into a jackass by Kristomarkus. How he longed for a tweLve~course meal and a bubblebath in the clouds! One thing was for certain. The boy had to think of a way to escape the oppressive darkness of the black woman's lair.

"Your wizardliness, sir?" he finally peeped in a high and quivering voice. "I, um, gotta go, um . . ."

Kristomarkus laughed heartily at this, and Maggie let go a smirk. "Go on then," said the wizard, reaching up to open the flap. The sunlight streaming in nearly blinded the lad, and he winced tightly as he stumbled back onto the hillside. "Don't be long," the wizard said after him, "and be sure to go downhill."

As Beasly glanced back at Kristomarkus the glaring sun happened to strike the old trickster full on the forehead, and the image of his old face was burned in the youngster's mind. It was like the sunwrinkled face of some ancient mariner, full of flavor and character, with deeprunning c