After a pause Dhrun spoke from the darkness: "Well enough."

"If you want to drink, or ease yourselves, come down, but try no tricks as I lack patience."

Glyneth and Dhrun whispered together, and agreed that there was no reason to ride in discomfort. Warily they descended from the back of the wagon.

Carfilhiot allowed ten minutes, then ordered them back into the wagon. Dhrun went first, silent and stiff with anger. Glyneth paused with one foot on the bottom step of the ladder. Carfilhiot stood with his back to the moon. She asked: "Why have you kidnapped us?"

"So that Shimrod, whom you know as Dr. Fidelius, works no magic against me."

Glyneth tried to keep her voice from trembling. "Are you planning to set us free?"

"Not immediately. Get in the wagon."

"Where are we going?"

"Into the forest, then away to the west."

"Please let us go!"

Carfilhiot studied her where she stood full in the moonlight. A

pretty creature, thought Carfilhiot, fresh as a wildflower. He said lightly: "If you behave nicely, then nice things will happen to you. For now into the wagon with you."

Glyneth climbed into the wagon, and Carfilhiot closed the door.

Once more the wagon set off along Icnield Way. Glyneth spoke into Dhrun's ear: "This man frightens me. I'm sure that he is Shimrod's enemy."

"If I could see, I'd stab him with my sword," muttered Dhrun.

Glyneth said hesitantly: "I don't know if I could do so—unless he were trying to harm us."

"Then it would be too late. Suppose you stood by the door. When he opened it, could you thrust through his neck?"

"No."

Dhrun sat silently. After a moment he picked up his pipes and began to blow softly: trills and runs, to help himself think. He stopped short and said: "That's rather odd. It's dark in here, is it not?"

"Very dark indeed."

"Perhaps I've never played in the dark before. Or perhaps I've never noticed. But as I play, the golden bees fly in swoops and loops, as if they were annoyed."

"Perhaps you are keeping them from their sleep."

Dhrun blew into his pipes with more fervor. He played a jig and a merridown and then a caper of three parts.

Carfilhiot called back through the window: "Stop that damnable fifing; it puts my teeth on edge!"

Dhrun said to Glyneth: "Amazing! The bees dart and swoop. Like him"—he jerked his thumb forward—"they have no taste for music."

He raised the pipes to his lips, but Glyneth stopped him. "Dhrun, no! He will do us harm!"

All night the horses ran, knowing no fatigue but nevertheless furious at the demon who drove them so mercilessly. An hour after dawn Carfilhiot allowed another ten-minute halt. Neither Dhrun nor Glyneth chose to eat; Carfilhiot found bread and dried fish in the larder at the back of the wagon; he ate a few mouthfuls and once more urged the horses into motion.

All day the wagon rumbled across the pleasant landscapes of south Dahaut: a flat country of endless expanses with a great windy sky overhead.

Late in the day, the wagon crossed the Tam River by a stone bridge of seven arches and so entered Pomperol, without challenge either by the single Daut border official or his corpulent Pomperan counterpart, both preoccupied by their chess game, on a table placed precisely over the boundary at the center of the bridge.

The land altered; forests and isolated muffin-shaped hills, each crowned with a castle, reduced the vast perspectives of Dahaut to ordinary human scale.

At sunset the horses at last began to flag; Carfilhiot knew that he could not drive another long night through. He turned off into the forest and halted beside a brook. While he gingerly unharnessed the horses and tied them where they could drink and graze, Glyneth built a fire, hung the iron pot from its tripod

.and cooked a makeshift soup from materials at hand. She released her cats from their basket and let them run here and there about a strictly circumscribed area. Sitting over their meager supper, Dhrun and Glyneth spoke together in subdued undertones.

Carfilhiot, across the fire, watched them through half-closed eyelids, but said nothing.

Glyneth became increasingly disturbed by the quality of Carfilhiot's attention. At last, as twilight darkened the sky, she called her cats and put them into their baskets. Carfilhiot, seemingly lazy and passive, sat in contemplation of her slight yet unexpectedly rich contours, the easy graces and elegant little flourishes which made Glyneth her unique and endearing self.

Glyneth rinsed the iron pot, stowed it in the locker with the tripod. Carfilhiot rose to his feet, stretched. Glyneth eyed him askance as he went to the back of the wagon, reached within and brought out a pallet which he spread beside the fire.

Glyneth whispered into Dhrun's ear; together they went to the wagon, Carfilhiot stood behind them. "Where are you going?"

"To bed," said Glyneth. "Where else?"

Carfilhiot seized Dhrun and lofted him into the wagon, then closed and barred the door. "Tonight," he told Glyneth, "you and I will bed by the fire, and tomorrow you will have much to think about."

Glyneth tried to run behind the wagon, but Carfilhiot seized her arm. "Save your energy," he told her. "You will find yourself becoming tired presently, but you won't want to stop."

Inside the wagon Dhrun snatched up his pipes and began to play, in a passion of fury and helpless grief for what was happening to Glyneth. The golden bees, about to relax for the night, with only an occasional warm buzzing to remind Dhrun of their presence, flew a set of resentful loops, but Dhrun played only the harder.

Carfilhiot jumped to his feet and strode to the wagon. "Put an end to the streedle! It grinds on my nerves!"

Dhrun played with an even greater fervor which almost lifted him from his seat. The golden bees flew in zig-zag courses, turned erratic somersaults and finally in despair flew from Dhrun's eyes altogether. Dhrun played all the louder.

Carfilhiot went to the door. "I will come inside; I will break your pipes and deal you such buffets as to silence you very still."

Dhrun played on and the piping excited the bees so that they flew back and forth across the wagon, careening from side to side.

Carfilhiot raised the bar from the door. Dhrun put down the pipes and spoke: "Dassenach, to hand!"

Carfilhiot threw open the door. The bees flew out and struck his face; he recoiled, and so saved his life, as the blade hissed past his neck. He uttered a startled curse, then, seizing the sword, wrested it from Dhrun's grip and threw it into the underbrush.

Dhrun kicked at his face; Carfilhiot seized the foot and sent Dhrun reeling back into the wagon.

"No more noise!" panted Carfilhiot. "No more pounding or piping, or I will do you harm!"

He slammed the door and threw the bar. He turned to Glyneth, only to find her scrambling up into the branches of a massive old oak tree. He ran across the clearing but already she was out of his reach. He climbed after her, but she climbed higher and out to the end of a branch which sagged beneath her weight, and Carfilhiot dared not follow.

He spoke, first cajoling, then pleading, then threatening, but she made no response, and sat quietly among the leaves. Carfilhiot spoke in a final threat, which made her blood run cold; then he descended the tree. Had he an axe he would have chopped away the branch which supported her, or the tree itself, and let her die.

All the night long Glyneth huddled in the tree, cramped and miserable. Carfilhiot, on the pallet beside the fire, seemed to sleep, although from time to time he stirred to throw wood on the fire, and Glyneth was afraid to descend.

Inside the wagon Dhrun lay on his own couch, exultant in his regained sight, but sick with horror at imagined events outside by the fire.