"Morgion, along with the Dark Queen, was driven from the world long ago."

"Was he?" asked Michael gently. "Have plagues and illness left the world? No. What do we say, then? We say that it is the unworthy who suffer. Was your mother unworthy?"

Brother and sister were silent, absorbing this thought.

Then Nicholas frowned and stirred. "What is your counsel, then, Brother Michael? Do we defy the Kingpriest? Thinkwell before you answer." The knight smiled wanly. "As the one in charge of our spiritual guidance, you will be in as much danger from the inquisitor as my sister and I."

Michael did not respond immediately. He rose to his feet, paced thoughtfully about the hall, hands clasped behind his back, as if again wondering what to say, how to say it.

Brother and sister drew near each other, held hands. At last, Michael turned to face them.

"Do nothing. Not yet. I ... I cannot explain, but I have had strange dreams of late. Last night, Mishakal came to me as I slept. I saw her clearly. Her face was grieved, her eyes sad. She started to say something to me, to tell me something. She reached out her hand to me, but, at the last moment, she faded away. I will pray for her return tonight, pray that she will speak to me. And then, hopefully, I will be able to guide you."

Nicholas looked relieved; the burden lifted, for a time, from his shoulders. Nikol smiled tremulously at Michael.

Reaching out her hand, she took hold of his, pressed it warmly.

"Thank you, Brother. We have faith in you."

Michael's hand tightened on hers. He couldn't help himself. She was so lovely, so caring. Nikol, looking into his eyes, flushed, removed her hand from his grasp.

"Nicholas," she said, "it is time for our sword work. I, for one, could use the exercise."

Her brother went to the weapons rack, lifted a sword.

"Yes, and I feel the need to sweat the touch of that fat priest out of my pores."

He tossed the weapon to her. She caught it expertly.

"I'll change my clothes first. It wouldn't do to put any more rents in this poor dress of mine." Teasing, she glanced demurely at Michael. "You need not come with us, Brother.

I know how fighting, even in practice, disturbs you."

She didn't love him. Liked and respected him, but she didn't love him. How could he expect her to? What was he?

A healer, not a warrior. How often he had seen her eyes shine when she listened to tales of courage and valor on the battlefield. Her dreams were of a bold knight, not a humble cleric.

The twins ran off, laughing and jesting, leaving him behind, empty, lonely, and afraid. Sighing, he went to the family chapel to say his prayers.

Part III "You know what it is you must do?"

"I know," growled the goblin chief. He was some part human, and thus smarter and more dangerous than most of his kind. "Give me the money"

"Half now. Half when you deliver the knight. Alive!"

"You didn't say anything about that!" The goblin glowered, his face hideous in the bright light of the red moon, Lunitari. "You just said bring you the knight. You didn't say you wanted him alive."

"And what would I do with him dead?" Akar demanded testily.

"I don't know what wizards do. And I don't care." The goblin sneered. "Alive will cost you extra." "Very well." Akar gave in with an ill grace. Reaching into a black velvet pouch, he carefully counted out a few gold pieces.

The goblin stared at them with deep suspicion.

"They're real," snapped Akar. "What do you expect them to do? Disappear?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. If they do, so do I. Remember that, wizard." The goblin chief thrust the coins into a hairy pouch at his belt. "Tomorrow night. Here."

"Tomorrow night. Here," repeated Akar.

The two parted, both skulking back into the dark shadows that bred and sheltered them.

It was the hour before dawn. Brother Michael's sleep had been restive. He woke often, thinking he heard a voice calling him. He sat upright, holding his breath, staring into the darkness of his small, windowless room.

"What? Who's there?"

No answer.

"Am I needed? Is someone ill?"

No response.

He lay back down again, telling himself he'd imagined it, and drifted into sleep, only to be roused again by the same call.

"Michael ... Michael ..."

He sat up, weary, sleep-dazed. "What now - " he began, then stopped and stared.

The image of a beautiful woman, surrounded by a radiant blue light, glimmered at the foot of his bed. He had seen her image before, but never this clearly, never this close. He knew, now, that she would speak to him, that she had come to comfort and guide him. His prayers had been answered.

Michael had no care for his nakedness, for the G.o.ddess sees all men naked, when they come into the world, sees the nakedness of their souls, their hearts. He slid from his bed and fell to his knees upon the cold stone floor.

"Mishakal. I am your servant. Command me. What is your bidding?"

The G.o.ddess's voice was lovely, like the song of myriad birds, like his mother's whisper, like silver bells on a bright new morning. "Truly you are my servant, Michael. One of my faithful servants. I need you. Come with me."

"Yes, of course, Holy One." Michael rose swiftly, began dressing himself, hardly knowing what he was doing.

The blue light surrounding him was blinding, filled his heart with uplifting joy. "Is someone sick? Someone in the village, perhaps?"

"Put aside the cares of this world, Brother Michael.

They are no longer yours." The G.o.ddess held out a hand of surpa.s.sing beauty and wondrous softness. "Come."

Michael heard horns blowing the call to battle. He heard shouts and voices, the rattle of armor and of sword.

He heard feet pounding on the battlements. He paused, looked behind him, looked toward the door that led to the family chapel.

"Yes, Lady, but there is fighting! They will need me - "

"Not for long," said the G.o.ddess. "Paladine has them inhis keeping. He will gather their souls to him, remove them from a world that soon will erupt in fire. Lay down your burden, Michael, and walk with me."

"And I will see them again? Nicholas, Nikol?"

"On the other side. You will wait for them. It will not be long."

"Then I will come." He was glad to leave, glad to give up the pain of living, the pain of his desires. Soon, he would be able to love her purely. He reached out his hand to take the hand of the G.o.ddess....

A scream shattered the dawning. Fists pounded on his door.

''Michael! Brother Michael! You must come! It's Nicholas! He's hurt! He needs you!"

"Nikol's voice!" Michael trembled; his hand shook.

"There is nothing you can do, Brother," the G.o.ddess told him sadly. "True, the valiant knight is wounded, but, even as his sister stands here, pleading for your aid, the knight is being carried away by his attackers. You will arrive too late to save him."

"But if Nicholas has taken ill, who will lead the men?

The manor will fall - "

"Brother Michael! Please!" Nikol's voice was raw with shouting.

The G.o.ddess gazed at him with cool eyes. "What will happen, will happen. You can do nothing to prevent it.

Have faith in us, believe that all is for the best, though you do not understand. You said yourself, 'What mortal can know the mind of a G.o.d?' If you refuse, if you lack faith, if you stay and interfere, you run the risk of dooming yourself, the woman, and the world to a terrible fate!"

"Michael! I need you!" Nikol cried. Fists pounded on the wood.

"Then so be it, Lady," he said heavily, "for I cannot leave them." His hand dropped to his side. He could no longer look on the radiance of the G.o.ddess. It hurt his eyes. "I love her. I love them both. I can't believe that their deaths would be for the best! Forgive me, Mishakal."

He started toward the door. His hand was on the handle. His heart ached. He longed to go with the G.o.ddess.

Yet, outside, he heard Nikol crying. He placed his hand upon the door. The light around him seemed to soften. He glanced back.

"Tomorrow night, the Night of Doom, the bridge at the Lost Citadel will open to all true clerics. Only those who have faith may pa.s.s."

The blue light glimmered and died. Michael yanked open the door.

Nikol clutched at him. "Where have you been? What have you been doing? Didn't you hear me call?"

"I was ... at my prayers," Michael said lamely.

Her eyes flashed. Daughter of a knight, she could not understand the soft cleric who fell to his knees and prayed to his G.o.ddess to save him, when other men were grabbing shield and sword. Catching hold of his hand, she began running down the hallway. He stumbled to keep up with her. She was clad in her nightclothes. Her long gown whipped around her ankles, nearly tripping her. Blood stained the white cloth. Michael had no need to ask whose it was. "They carried him inside," Nikol was talking feverishly, as they ran. "We stripped off the armor. His wound is deep, but not mortal. We have to hurry. He's lost so much blood. I left old Giles with him...."

No, we don't need to hurry! Michael cried silently. Too late. We will be too late! But he found himself running all the faster, as if he could outrun destiny.

They reached a room on the ground level, near the entrance. They had not carried the wounded man far.

"Giles!" Nikol cried, pushing on the door. "I've brought the healer. I - Nicholas? Where are you? Giles! Oh, G.o.d, no! Paladine, no!"

Her heartbroken cry went through Michael like iron.

Nikol caught up the body of the elderly servant, lifted him gently from the floor.

"Giles! What happened? Where's Nicholas?"

Michael knelt beside the old man. A goblin arrow stuck out of his chest, the shaft buried deep.

"Mishakal, heal..." Michael's voice cracked. The holy medallion of Mishakal he wore around his neck, the symbol of his faith that gleamed blue with the radiance of the G.o.ddess, was dark, its light gone. He stammered; his words halted.

The old man gasped. "They ... took him!"

"Who took him? Giles, answer me!" Nikol cried.

"Goblins ..."

The old man stared at her, but his eyes no longer saw her. His head lolled in her arms. She laid him on the floor, her face expressionless, shocked past hurt and sorrow.

Michael stood, looked around the room. Broken gla.s.s littered the floor; the window swung crazily on its hinges.

It had been smashed open with a heavy object, probably a club or mace. Blood smeared the windowsill.

"They carried him out this way," he said.

"But why?" Nikol stared at the empty bed, the bloodstained, rumpled sheets. Her face was whiter than the linen. "Why would they take him? Goblins butcher and kill. They never take prisoners.... Oh, Nicholas!"

A shudder swept over her. She buried her face in the still-warm bedclothes, twisted the cloth in her fingers.

Michael ached to comfort her. He drew near, reaching out to her. His hand touched her shoulder.

"My lady - "

Nikol rounded on him with a savage cry. "You! This is your fault! If you had been here, instead of hiding behind the skirts of your G.o.ddess, my brother would be well! He would be alive! He could have fought them - "

A bowman, bloodied and disheveled, appeared in the doorway.

"Where's my lord?" he demanded harshly. "The enemy is a.s.saulting in force. What are his orders?"

Michael straightened, was about to give the man the terrible news that his lord was gone.

Sharp nails dug into his skin. Nikol pushed past him.

"My lord will be with you presently," she told him, her voice cold and level. "We are binding his wound."

"Pray Paladine he comes swiftly," said the bowman, and dashed off.

"Katherine!" Nikol cried. "Katherine - There you are."