"So!" the grand count thundered. "It is time to determine your punishment."

"My lord uncle— "

"Silence!" Fizziak roared, cutting off the blenching Maheal in midsentence. "I did not give you leave to speak. If you interrupt me again it will go hard with you — and do not call me uncle!"

"You heard mine nuncle!" Preppyn said with a smirk. "Speak only when his grand lordship addresses you!"

"Oh, shut that fat face of yours, Preppyn!" Lord Fizziak muttered angrily in the general direction of the dithering official. "Sometimes I wish that more robust breeding were to be found within our lineage," he added to himself as he eyed the pale chamberlain sourly.

Gord thought that the grand count certainly bore little resemblance to either of his kinsmen. Lord Fizziak was tall, lean, and muscular despite advancing years. At one time he must have led a soldier's life, and Gord imagined that the grand count would happily take the field at the head of an army once again if the opportunity arose. The nobleman tugged absently at one of his drooping, iron-gray mustaches as he glared at his captives.

"Your crimes are great, and were it strictly up to me you all would have been dealt with already," Lord Fizziak snapped. Then, harrumphing, he went on: "I must be ruled by my liege. King Archbold, in this matter, so I now pronounce the sentence of the king." The Lord Fizziak produced a sheet of heavy vellum that bore the Royal Seal of Nyrond at its bottom and began reading. "I, Archbold III, King of Nyrond, Duke of Flinthill, etc., etc., do hereby decree that the prisoners, to wit Lord Maheal, the commoners called Chert and Gord, and the creature named Pinkus, an ogre or ogre-magus of some unknown sort, are charged with numerous crimes against Nyrond. Having been found guilty, the four must either be brought to justice by beheading or accept a test of perilous nature. If the former course is taken, sentence will be carried out instantly. ..." -

The grand count ceased reading at this juncture, for Lord Maheal had fainted, and the noise of his sudden fall disturbed the process. "You there!" he said irritably to the officer of the guards. "Stand that lily-livered nephew of mine upright, and slap him smartly until he is again in possession of his senses, such as they are." Then, looking hard at the limp Maheal. he waited until the fellow was again conscious before resuming his reading.

". . . sentence will be carried out instantly and in any order Lord Fizziak determines best. However, should the condemned prisoners elect to show mettle and courage and accept the test, sentence is withheld until such time as they complete the trial. Royal Pardon will be bestowed upon all who accept said test and meet death or succeed. Failure in the completion of the test shall mean death — one way or the other."

The grand count looked at each prisoner, then asked. "Is it to be the axe or the test? You have one minute to decide."

Gord and Chert took a step forward without hesitation, signaling their desire for the latter choice. Grumbling about apish barbarism, Pinkus followed. Maheal fell forward in another swoon, a gesture that Fizziak took as concurrence.

"That is that," Lord Fizziak said with a shrug as he toed his nephew's body. "Guards, see that these prisoners are taken to the Tower of Winds. Our Court Wizard Phompton and Good Priest Boffly will take charge of them there." Without another word the grand count stumped back to his private room.

"Awaken!"

At the command, all four prisoners snapped alertly erect in the stiff wooden chairs in which they had slumped moments before. A wizard with bushy, black brows and an even bushier beard was peering at them with his startlingfy blue eyes. Beside the magic-user stood Good, Priest Boffly. smiling benignry upon the quartet.

"You are now charged and properly directed upon your test." the cleric said with a smile. "And my blessing is upon you all," he added.

"What Boffly here means," the Court Wizard of Fizziak said in a gravelly voice, "is that you have been geased, enthralled, and otherwise tampered with to assure that you'll either see the mission through or die in the trying. If you so much as turn aside you'll be stricken with pain, a burning itch, and far worse if you attempt to deviate further!"

"But what is the test?" Gord demanded. "Nobody's bothered to tell us!"

"Oh no, my son," the Good Prtest Boffly said with a tone of hurt fatherliness in his voice. "We have taken great pains to instruct each of you in all matters pertaining to the test. You will recall them as time and circumstances demand."

Bristling beard thrust forth, the Wizard of Fizziak interjected, "What Boffly means is that you'll know what you need to know when you have need to know it — and not a moment sooner! We don't want you wandering about spilling everything in the meantime, so we have used various forms of dweomercraefting and priestly spell-tinkering to lock the knowledge safety away until proper events trigger it forth."

"Unkindly put," the priest said with a long-suffering look upon his benign countenance, "but quite true, nonetheless. By means of my inspired powers and a bit of help from the arcane craft that Wizard Phompton here manages tolerably well, you are safely directed and protected. Go about your test with the blessing of St. Trowbane upon your undeserving heads!"

As the wizard scowled at Boffly, and the cleric returned the glare with mild triumph expressed on his features, Gord, Chert, Pinkus and Maheal looked at each other blankly. It was immediately apparent that none of them had the faintest idea what they were supposed to do next. Before any of them could say so, however, the wizard saw their confusion.

"There, Boffly, is another sign of your incompetence! You failed to give the initial command, see?" Phompton stood with long arms folded in hauteur, stressing his point. Somewhat deflated. Good Priest Boffly allowed a tiny frown to cross his mild countenance. This was instantly replaced by a cheerfulsmile and with a wave of dismissal he said, "Good boys! Go get 'em!"

Resisting the urge to let his tongue hang out of his mouth, Gord turned obediently and headed for the door. The others were following without question. Each of the four knew that they were leaving Castle Fizziak and heading north. There was little else to worry about.

"Coercion of this sort is ignoble!" Maheal said as he scratched vigorously at various parts of his body. As this particular scene had been repeated several times previously, everyone else paid no heed whatsoever to the complaining and rode on in silence. This didn't deter the young nobleman a jot. He kicked his mount to hasten its pace and came alongside the huge horse ridden by the ehjure.

"I say, Pinkus! You have magical powers, I'm sure of it. Do something to remove this blasted compulsion and the base effects of disobeying it!"

The eight-foot-plus ogre looked down his pug nose at Lord Maheal in a manner which the most vain dandies would have been proud to ape. "Get away from me, minimus, or else I'll boot your ass clean over your palfrey's head." As he said this, he swung one leg free of its stirrup and made threatening motions with it.

"Savage!" Maheal cried as he quickly got out of the way. "You must be addlepated, the lot of you! From the way you're all acting, one would suppose you were eager to enter this dismal wilderness and meet a coven of warlocks and witches!"

After getting well clear of the grand count's massive stronghold and the attendant settlements, the four had known suddenly that their course was not northward at all. Maheal had exaggerated when he claimed to dwell in Rel Mord. Fizziak lands bordered Relmor Bay on the south and ran northward about a hundred miles. This was a place quite removed from the capital of Nyrond. And the test was to take place elsewhere — specifically, about forty leagues to the west. They were to cross the Duntide River and enter the Gnatmarsh area. Fortunately, they had been allowed to take all of their possessions when they left — all except Gord's and Chert's fortune in jewels, of course. Weapons, provisions, and horses they had aplenty. Even the reluctant Maheal was bristling with an array of weapons. It was probable the szek would have trouble finding the pointy end of his sword, but that was another matter entirely.