"If it's what I think, nothing. Now let me work."

Paks turned to stare at the mysterious glowing shape, which grew slowly as she watched. It seemed to spread, widening itself to the width of the dais, and slowing its forward movement as it did so. At first she had been able to see through it clearly, but as it grew and thickened, she could no longer see the doors behind it. She felt sweat crawling through her hair. Her intuition had been right, but what was this thing? Surely there was a way to fight it. Now it reached the forward edge of the dais. Paks could hear Macenion muttering behind her. She heard a feint sizzle, then a little pop. Macenion cursed softly and went back to muttering. The glowing shape extended along the front edge of the dais, and began to grow taller. Slowly it filled the s.p.a.ce above the dais, from the doors behind to the lowest step in front, rising higher and higher to the canopy that hung between the dais and the ceiling. When .

71.this s.p.a.ce was full, the glow intensified again. It seemed more and more solid, as if it were a definite shape settling there. As it solidified, it contracted a little, no longer so regular. Just as Macenion's triumphant "Got itl" broke her concentration, Paks thought she could see the shape it was condensing toward.

"Come on, Paks. Quickly!" Macenion grabbed her arm to hurry her through the now-open door, and looked back. "Great Orphin, protect us, it is a - Come on!"

Paks tore her eyes from the glowing shape, and darted through the door after Macenion. He waited on the other side and threw his weight against the heavy panel. As it swung closed, a curious hissing noise came from the hall they had left.

"Help me - close it!" Macenion looked as frightened as Paks had ever seen him. She, too, leaned on the door, as Macenion fumbled for something in his pouch with one hand. It seemed reluctant to stay closed, as if pressure were on it from the other side. "Don't let it come open," warned Macenion. "If that gets out, we're dead. "

^What is it?"

"Not now! I'm trying to - " Macenion grunted suddenly, and began to mutter in a language Paks didn't know. Suddenly Paks felt a great shove from the other side of the door. "Blast! Wrong one. " Macenion began muttering again, as Paks held the door with all her strength. She heard an abrupt click, and found that she needed no strength to hold the door. Macenion sighed. "That should do it," he said. "I expect it will. You can let go now, Pales."

"What was that?" Paks noticed that Macenion still looked worried.

"I don't know how to explain it to you."

'A sort of evil spirit, then, that can take solid form, and attack any intruder, elves preferred. It has many ways of attacking, aH of them unpleasant."

"And a sword would be no use against it?"

Macenion laughed. "No."

"Is it the thing we came to find? What's holding the other thing prisoner?"

72."No. Unlikely. I fear, though, that it may be in league with it. This may prove harder than I thought. And we certainly can't risk returning this way to the surface."

"Unless we've destroyed that thing." Paks felt better. Her intuition had been right after all, and, as always, the joining of the fight roused her spirits. Macenion looked at her curiously.

"Don't you understand? We can't destroy that-and we don't know any other way out. If what we're looking for is as bad or worse, we may never get out."

Paks grinned. "I understand. We took the bait, and we're in the trap: and we don't even know the size of the trap. But they, Macenion, don't know the size of their catch." She drew her sword and looked along the blade for a moment. "You managed to shut the door against that thing. I can deal with more fleshly clangers. And-I've been in traps before."

"Yes, but- Well, there's no help for it. We'd better keep moving. We want to be well away from that door if it breaks through."

They were in a short corridor, lit as the stairwell and hall had been, and ahead of them was an archway into a larger room. Here, too, the floor was thick with dust. Paks led the way forward, sword out and ready. Macenion followed.

The room had obviously been a kitchen. Not a stick of furniture remained, but two great hearths, blocked up with hasty stonework, told the tale of many feastings. On the left, a narrower archway led to another corridor. On their right, a short pa.s.sage led to another room, just visible beyond it.

"That should have been the cellar," said Macenion. "I wonder if any of the wine is left."

Paks chuckled. "After so long? It wouldn't be worth trying."

"I suppose not. We'll go this way, then. He gestured to the left. As they crossed the kitchen, Paks looked around for any sign of recent disturbance but saw nothing.

"Was that thing back there what drove the elves out?" asked Paks.

73."No. I don't think so. Enough high elves together would be able to drive it away. It's-weD, you humans know of G.o.ds, don't you? Good and evil G.o.ds?"

"Of course." Paks glared at him for an instant.

"Do you know of the Court of G.o.ds? Their rankings, and all that?"

Paks shook her head. "G.o.ds are G.o.ds."

"No, Paksenarrion, they are not. Some are far more powerful than others. You should have learned that in Aarenis, even as a soldier. You fought in Sibili, didn't you? Yes-and didn't you see the temple of the Master of Torments there? I heard it was sacked."

Paks shivered as she remembered die a.s.sault on Sibili. "I was knocked out," she said. "I didn't see it."

"Well, you've heard of the Webmistress-"

"Of course. But what-"

"Liart-die Master of Torments-and diat odier, they're both fairly low in the court of evil. Between the least of the G.o.ds and die common evils of the world, there are still beings-they have more power than any human or elf, but not nearly so much as a G.o.d."

Paks was suddenly curious. "What about the heroes and saints like Gird and Pargun?"

"Who knows? They were humans once; I don't know what, if anything, they are now. But that creature, Paks, is more powerful than any elf, and yet is far below the G.o.ds. Our G.o.ds-the G.o.ds of elves."

The corridor they traveled curved slightly to the left. Paks glanced back and saw that the kitchen entrance was now out of sight. Ahead was a doorway blocked by a dosed door, this one of carved wood. As they neared it, Paks noticed that the dust on the floor was not nearly so deep; their footsteps began to ring on the stone and echo off the stone walls. She wondered what had moved the dust. Macenion, when she pointed it out, looked around and shook his head.

"I don't know. Draft under that door, possibly-"

"Underground?" Paks remembered that she didn't know much about underground construction, and put that thought aside. She moved as quietly as possible toward the door.

74.In the cool white light of the corridor, its rich red and black grain and intricate carving seemed warm and alive. She reached out to touch it gently. It felt a slightly warm under her hand. "That's odd. It's-"

The door heaved under her hand; Paks jumped backward just in time to avoid a blow as it swung wide. Facing them were several armed humans in rough leather and woolen clothes; the leader grinned.

" 'Ere's our bonus, lads!" he said. "The ears off these'll give us something to show the lord-"

Paks had her sword in motion before he finished; his boast ended in a howl of pain. She took a hard blow on her shield, and dodged a thrust meant for her throat. Behind her, she heard Macenion draw, then the ring of his blade on one of the others. The noise brought two more fighters skidding around the corner ahead to throw themselves into the fight. Paks and Macenion fought almost silently; they had no need for words. Paks pressed ahead, finding the attackers to be good but not exceptional fighters. She had the reach of most of them, and she was as strong as any. Macenion yelped suddenly, breaking her concentration; as she glanced for him, a hard blow caught her in the side. She grunted, grateful for the chain shirt she wore, and pushed off from the wall to skewer her opponent. Macenion's arm was bleeding, but he fought on. Paks shifted her ground to give him some respite. She took a glancing blow on her helmet that gashed her forehead as it pa.s.sed. She could feel the blood trickling down toward her eye. Macenion lunged forward, flipping the sword away from one of their attackers; Paks downed the man with a blow to the face. They advanced again; the other attackers seemed less eager. Finally only two were still fighting. The others, dead or wounded too badly to fight, lay scattered on the corridor floor. Paks expected them to break away and flee, but they didn't; instead, they fought doggedly on, until she and Macenion managed to kill them.

Chapter Five.

Paks leaned against the wall breathing heavily. Her side ached, and she could feel a trickle of blood running down die side of her face. Her shield had broken; she pufled the straps free and dropped the pieces. Macenion had ripped a length of cloth from his tunic, and was wrapping the wound on his arm. As he moved, she caught a gnmpse of the bright mail under his outer clothing.

"If I a known you wore mail," she said finally, "I wouldn't have worried so much. I was sure you were being skewered."

Macenion glanced up. "I nearly was. By Orphin, you're a good fighter in trouble. I wouldn't have made it alone, even with mail." He looked at her more closely. "You're bleedings-is it bad?"

"I don't think so. Just a cut on the head, and they always bleed-a mess." Paks swiped at her face with her free hand, and found the cut itself, a shallow gash near the edge of her helmet.

Here-" Macenion sheathed his sword and came over. "Let me clean that out." Paks looked at t.i.tle bodies on the floor as he wiped out the cut with something from a jar in his pack. It burned, but the bleeding stopped. The bodies 75.76.did not move, this time. When Macenion finished, she pushed herself off the wall, grunting at the pain in her side, and wiped her sword clean on the dirty cloak of the nearest enemy. She wished they could stop and rest, but she distrusted the flavor of the air down here.

"I suppose we ought to keep going," she said, half hoping that Macenion would insist on rest and food.

'Definitely. Whatever sent these guards will know, soon enough, that we've pa.s.sed them. If we're to have any surprise at all, well have to go on. Why? Are you hurt?"

"No." Pales sighed. "Bruised, but no more. I wish we were out of here."

"As do I." Macenion gave a short laugh. "I begin to think that my elven relatives have more wit than I gave them credit for-they may have been right to tell me that I would find more trouble here than treasure."

But along with her fear and loathing of the underground maze in which they were wandering, Paks felt a pull of excitement and interest. With each encounter they were pressed more closely, but so far they had won, penetrating deeper and deeper into their enemy's lair. In a corner of her mind, Paks saw herself telling this tale to Vik and Arne in an inn somewhere. She checked her sword for damage, finding none, and turned to Macenion. He nodded his readiness, and she set off carefully, sword ready.

They pa.s.sed an open door into an empty room on their right, and another like it a few feet down on the left. Ahead of them, the corridor turned again. Paks looked at Macenion and he shrugged. She flattened against the wall and edged forward to the turn. She could hear nothing. She widened her nostrils, hoping for a clue to what lay ahead. Her own smell, and Macenion's, overwhelmed her nose. Finally, with a mental shrug, she peeked around the corner. An empty corridor, its dusty floor scuffed and disturbed. Four doorways that she could see in the one quick look she allowed herseE A crossing corridor a short run ahead.

"Do you have any of your feelings about any of this?" asked Macenion when she described what she'd seen.

77."No. Not really. The whole things feels bad, but nothing in particular."

"Nor can I detect anything. I wish our friend who wants our help would give us some guidance."

Paks felt around in her mind to see if anything stirred. Nothing but a feint desire to get moving. She sighed. "Let's go, then."

The doors that opened off the corridor were all of wood; all bore the scars of some sort of fire. One was burned half through, and they could see into a small room with stone shelves built into the walls. At the cross corridor, Paks took one corner and Macenion the other. To the right, her way, the corridor ended in a blank stone wall perhaps fifty paces away. To the left, it opened after perhaps thirty paces into a chamber whose size they could not guess. Macenion c.o.c.ked his head that way, and Paks began to edge along the wall of the cross corridor toward the chamber door. Macenion stayed where he was.

As she neared the opening, Paks felt a wave of confidence. Surely they were going the right direction. Macenion was being too cautious, as usual. She hesitated only a moment before putting her head around to see what the chamber was like.

Here, for the first time, was something not desolate and ruined. The floor had been laid of colored blocks of stone, pale green and gold, and was swept clean of dust so that the pattern was clearly visible. At the far end of the chamber, a great ring of candles seemed to hover in midair. After a moment, Paks realized that they were attached to a metal framework suspended from a chain that ran to a ringbolt in the high ceiling. Candlelight warmed the cool white light of the corridors to a friendlier hue. In that warm glow, on a brilliantly colored carpet, stood a tall figure robed in midnight blue. Its face was subtly like Macenion "s, and yet different; Paks knew at once that she stood in the presence of an elf, and someone of high rank. Along the for wall of the chamber were several motionless figures: humans, for the most part, clad in rough garments of gray and brown like poor servants. Paks looked at the elf's face. Its bones showed clearly 78.under the skin, yet there was no hint of age or decay. Hie eyes were a clear pale green. She felt no fear, though she was fully aware of the elf s power, so much greater than Macenion's. The elf s wide mouth curved in a smile.

"Welcome, fair warrior. Was your companion too frightened to come so far with you?"

Paks shook her head, uncertain how to answer. She had the vague thought that no elves should be here. But perhaps this was the person they had come to help? She could not seem to think clearly. The elf was not frightened of her, and did not seem angry-and elves were, if uncanny, at least not evil. As she thought this, she realized that she was walking forward, moving out into the chamber. "Excellent," the elf continued. 'I shall be glad to receive you both into my service." He gestured to the line of servants. "You see how few I have, and you have just killed some of my best fighters. It is only fair that you take their place."

Paks found her voice at last. "But, sir, I have a deed to perform, before 1 can take service with another." She tried to stand still; her feet crept forward despite her efforts. She knew she should be afraid but she could feel nothing. "Oh?" The silvery elven voice was amused. "And what is that?"

Paks found it difficult to say, or even think. A confusion of images filled her mind: die Halveric's face as he handed her a sealed packet, the Duke's parting words, the images of victory and glory that had come in the dream of the night before. She had advanced to the edge of the carpet. This close to the elf, she noticed a distinct, slightly unpleasant odor. Even as her nose wrinkled in distaste, the odor changed, becoming spicy and attractive. She drew a deep breath.

"Now-" the elf began, but at that moment, Macenion cried out from the for end of the chamber. "Pales! What are you-"

Only for a moment those green eyes shifted from Paks; then the elf chuckled. "Well, so your companion finally gathered his courage. Stand near me, fair warrior, and show him your allegiance." And Paks stepped onto the soft .

79.carpet and stood silent beside the elf, unable to move or speak. She could just see Macenion from the corner of her eye. The elf went on. "You think yourself a mage, I understand-you have scarcely the powers to match me, crossbred runt."

Macenion reddened at this reference to his human ancestry. "You don't know what I might have-" he began.

"If you had any abilities I need worry about, you'd not have let yourself walk into this trap. You sensed nothing, at the last turn-you said so."

Macenion glared, and slid his hand stealthily under his cloak.

The elf nodded. "Go ahead-try your little spells if you wish. It won't do any good. Nor will that wand. But try it, if you like-" He laughed. "Do you not even wish to know who it is that you face, little mage? Are you in the habit of loosing spells on chance-met strangers?

"We are not chance-met, I fear," said Macenion. He came forward a short distance, then stopped. "And if I cannot put a name to you, still I have a good idea what you are."

"What and not who? What erudition! And what makes you think I cannot charm you to obedience, as I did your-delightful-companion, here?"

Macenion smiled in his turn. "Charm a mage? You well know what that would get you. If you would use me as a mage, you need my mind unclouded-"

"But not unbroken, little one. Remember that."

Macenion bowed, as arrogantly as Paks had ever seen him. "Yet a pebble," he said, "may be harder to break than a pine, though insignificant beside it."

"Are you to quote dwarvish proverbs to me?" The elf sounded slightly less amused than before. Paks, listening to all this, could scarcely pay attention to it; her mind seemed to float at a slight distance.

Macenion bowed again, even more elaborately; as he rose, he made a complicated movement of his right hand, and said a few strange words loudly. Paks heard the hiss of breath indrawn beside her as the elf gasped. Before he could move, she felt a wave of nausea and fear. She 80.whirled, sword at ready, before she even knew she could move. Where she had seen elven beauty, she now saw the ruin of it, and the stench stung her nose, "Paks!" shouted Macenion. He was cut off by a great shout from the elf. A blast of energy poured down the chamber. Paks thrust at the elf, but her sword met another in his hand.

"Cross blades with me, will you?" The green eyes blazed. Paks tore her gaze from them to watch the sword hand. "No human has skill to match an elf-arid I am no common elf." Indeed, the first ringing strokes revealed his ability. Paks fought on a rising wave of anger. Elves were never evil, ha! She avoided a quick trapping ploy, and thrust again. The tip of her blade seemed to hesitate an instant-an instant that let the enemy escape. She pressed on, furiously. Macenion had probably been killed by the blast, but he had won her freedom from whatever spell had bound her. She would fight to the end, and show this creature what human skill could be.

Again and again she managed to slip aside from a deadly blow, and just as often her own attacks fell short. Sweat rolled down her ribs, and she found herself grunting with every stroke. The elf did not seem to tire. The same smile curved his lips; the same arrogance arched his brows. Now her wrist began to ache, as he used every advantage of height and reach. She was usually taller than those she drilled with; she was not accustomed to adjusting to a longer reach. One of his blows fell true; the force of it drove her to one knee. She felt the links of mail sink into her flesh; she barely ducked the next blow and staggered back. She wanted to look for Macenion, but darea not. The elf s smile widened.

"You are outcla.s.sed, human fighter," he said lightly. "You are quite good, for a human, but not good enough. But look at my eyes, and acknowledge me your lord, and this can end."

Paks shook her head, as much to clear it as to refuse. Was that a movement behind the elf? She lunged again, her blade struck, but she narrowly avoided his. He seemed not to notice her blow. Suddenly a bit of hot wax fell on .

81.her face. As quick as the thought that followed, almost before she knew what she meant to do, Paks leaped high, grabbing the framework the candles were set on with one hand, and jerking her legs away from the elf's astonished stroke. The frame swung wildly, spattering them both with wax. With one arm over the ring, Paks swung at the elf from above. He grabbed at her leg and missed as she kicked out. She heard a squeal from above and glanced up to see the ringbolt slipping from the ceiling. She threw herself to one side, trying to clear the frame as it fell. The elf, pursuing, was struck. Before he could free himself from the ring, Paks attacked. Hampered by the framework and the candles, which caught his robe afire, he parried her blows weakly.

And then Macenion came up, panting and pale, and threw the whole of their oil supply on the elf. Paks jumped back as the candle flames flared on this fuel. A foul stench filled the chamber, and a black cloud swirled up from the fire, denser than smoke. Paks felt a wave of cold enmity that sent her staggering to her knees. The flames roared, now more blue than any fire of oil could be. Air rushed into the chamber, whistling round the corners. Paks realized that Macenion was tugging at her arms, pulling her away. She could hardly move. She managed to look around, and saw that the others in the room, the servants, were shuffling out a door in one corner as fast as they could.

When the flames died down, Paks still crouched helplessly where Macenion had dragged her. The elf s body had not been consumed in the fire, though it was horribly blackened, and all the clothing was gone. Macenion stood by it, frowning.

Paks tried several times before she could speak. "What's- wrong? He's dead, isn't he?"

"I wish I knew. That land of power-it was some spirit of evil, Paks, that took over the body of an elf. Of an elf lord. And the body is here still. I wonder if he is dead- truly. I've heard tales of such-"

Paks didn't want to move. Every muscle hurt. She managed to flex her hand, and found she still held her sword. She took a deep breath, which also hurt, and 82.forced herself to her feet. She felt as if her legs and body were only loosely connected. Another deep breath. It was hard to believe that she and Macenion were still alive, and the elf was dead. Or dead in some way. She walked over to see.

"Your magic has done well so far, Macenion. We wouldn't be here without it. Can't you do something to make sure he stays dead?"

For once Macenion did not seem complacent. "No," he said soberly. "That's beyond my abilities. I wish my old master were here. We are fortunate that he chose a simple spell to bind you. Perhaps he wanted to have plenty left for me, or perhaps he had more in use than we know. But now-"

"Couldn't we put a stake through his heart?"

"What do you think he is, a kuerin-witch? Are you thinking of dragging his corpse to a crossroads, too?"

Paks flushed. "I don't know. I just remembered some old stories ..."