The riders were, of course, the force which trailed ten minutes behind the procession for just such an eventuality. I never got it straight just how many there were because at least some of them were taken out by Orman’s other sons, led by Gruffle, who, I understood later, was some ball of fire that night.

Whatever. We faced six, gunning their mounts on either side of the village well just as the light of dawn broke about us.

Smada and I exchanged a quick look—a much different one than before—and backed up to a wall about

a sword’s length or so apart and stood there, braced and ready and mean.

They dismounted first, which was a mistake, and then they just sent the first pair at first, which was a bigger mistake. But I think they were trying to prove their bravery or something. And I suppose they did, for they were courageous and . . .

And that’s not what I want to tell you. I don’t want to tell you about them. I mean, they were fine. They died well. Fought well, too. But that’s not what I want to tell you about.

I want to tell you about me. Or rather, about us.

We were goddam fabulous.

I don’t think I can explain it to anyone who wasn’t there at that time and not one of us, but: Think of absolute clarity and certainty of resolve and a sense of fullness and ... I dunno, rightness. I’m not advocating killing or even fighting, but neither am I going to spend my life feeling sorry for punks who enslave entire peoples and then feed them to the ravenous ghouls they make of the few men around with guts enough to die resisting them.

It was right what we did. Right, and, much more, we did it well. We fought as if we had rehearsed it. We fought as if it was the only fight that had ever been or should have had to be and pity it was not. We fought well and hard and we fought together. And when Smada turned his death’s-head grin briefly to ask for a dagger I found that I had already noticed he needed one and had it out and was tossing it to him. And later, during my third enemy, when I felt myself getting tired, it was not a source of fear, but rather the distant noticing of just one important fact among many, like glancing down on a trip and realizing it’s time to start looking for a Mobil station.

It was incredible. It was so full. Full and rich, and something else: It was the only time in my life I had not rolled in shame under my love for this.

That’s not just my opinion. When it was over and they were dead and we looked up we saw Gruffle there standing with one of his brothers, the one who chanted, I think, and just staring. Not shocked. Not

frightened. Not too selfish to help. But awed. Awed by what he was seeing.

Then we were shaking off our fugue and exchanging little smiles of satisfaction—it was impossible not to, no matter what we thought of each other. Smada stepped over to Orman and helped him up with the help of Markus, of all people, who had appeared out of nowhere carrying a sword as big as he was.

I noticed a small procession being led by the Orman boys. Three men with their hands tied behind them and an obviously feminine hooded form walking before them, and distantly I realized we’d captured the Lady Gor.

But I didn’t care. The results were irrelevant. I headed for the Hall and found the door open and the broad hearth roaring and a mug of ale with my name on it. I drank that one and then another and tried to concentrate on what the others were telling me and finally some of it did sink in.

We had lost every Orman but the old man himself, Gruffle, Temblar (the pretty one), and the one who chanted.* We had killed every guard and driver save for those three riding inside with the Lady Gor.

And the next day we were supposed to travel to the Keep of the Dead and kill Gor himself.

That woke me up. I stood up, my head clearing in a flash, and saw Smada leaning against the hearth with a mug in his hand watching me. And back came all my anger and resentment and whatever the hell else it was I felt for him and I said: “First you drag me back when I didn’t want to come and then I save your fat ass and now you want me to die killing your enemies? What in hell makes you think I’d do all that for you?”

“But you won’t be doing it for him, Felix,” said a familiar voice, and I turned around to see the Lady Gor pulling back her hood. “You’ll be doing it for me.”

It was Cri, of course.

I sat back down again. I think my mouth was probably open.

Cri smiled sweetly a smile unique to her. “We’ll talk later,” she said.

Then she walked over to the stairs and stood meekly at their foot and waited. Smada drained the last of his ale, nodded in a strangely friendly way, and walked over to her. For a second he stood looking down at her and she up at him. Then they embraced the way people do who have had practice with each other.

“Smada?” I blurted dumbly.

She smiled, knowing I wasn’t calling to him but asking her.

She smiled, said, “Of course,” and together they climbed the stairs.

Another, smaller, room was found for me.

8

“I don’t understand anything, and I mean anything, about any of this,” I said to her when she came to my room that night to talk.

“I know,” she said with understanding. She sat down in the chair across from my bed. “I hear you have cigarettes.”

I stared, said, “Uh, yeah,” and fetched one for us both.

After they were lit we sat and smoked awhile in silence.

“This is not really the Horseclans world, is it?” I blurted suddenly.

She smiled. “No. It is . . .”

“A Place,” I finished for her.

She looked surprised, then smiled again. “Yes. A Place.”

“Is it real?”

“Of course. As real as the books.”

“But you said this wasn’t the Horseclans world.”

Her tone was patient. “It isn’t. But it is close and somehow . . . connected to the mind of the man who wrote those stories. It is—I’m sure you’ve seen—a wonderful place, Felix. But it is clogged these days with the grip of horror and darkness. EvU is very real here. Evil and magic and they both work and if you had been here these past few years you would feel it and ...”

“And what?”

“And it would have felt you, too,” She was quiet a moment, looking genuinely scared. “It would have worked its way on you and into you as it has all of us. Let me tell you right now: as brave as the Ormans are, they wouldn’t have dared this fight without you. They can tell you haven’t been touched by it yet, Felix. We all can. Anyone who sees you can see it.”

“Smada has it, too?”

“Everyone has it,” she answered without hesitation, and that thought chilled me and raised the hair on the back of my arms.

“So that’s why I was brought over?”

“Among other things,” she replied and smiled know¹ ingly at me and . . .

And . . . for . . . just . . . one . . . instant ... I understood something about it all, I knew, I saw.

And then it was lost, fluttering away in my mind like a single mote in a shaft of sunlight.

I couldn’t even remember what I’d seen. And suddenly I didn’t want to remember.

“How¹ come you’re Lady Gor?” I asked too loudly.

She studied me, chose to answer. “It was the only way to get Smada free and have someone inside the Keep.”

Knowing I was being unfair, knowing that, I still said: “So you’re whoring for Smada, too, is that it?”

She bristled, held her breath, answered calmly, “We all use what tools we have. Do you like killing people?”

Ouch!

“Touche,” I said with a sort of smile.

“And let me tell you something else, little man,” she said, rising. “I’d rather kill them than have to sleep with them.”

And with that she was gone out the door.