Rod smiled, amused. “Yes. I suppose if you can deal with those who wear their authority like mantles, you can deal with anything.”

“Aye.” Simon frowned, leaning forward. “And even as I have done, so mayest thou do also.”

Rod stared at him a minute, then turned away. He started back toward the roadway, to avoid having to meet Simon’s gaze. “What—withhold my anger, even against such a sink of corruption as Alfar?” He shook his head. “I can’t understand how you can do that, with someone who’s caused so much misery to so many people!”

At the mention of Alfar’s name, Flaran climbed out of the cart, and came to join them where they stood.

“Loose anger at the deeds,” Simon murmured, “but withhold it from the man.”

Rod ground his teeth. “I hear your words, but I can’t comprehend their meaning. How can you separate the man from his actions?”

“By being mindful that any human creature is a precious thing, and can turn aside from his own evil, if he can but recognize it.”

“Can, sure.” Rod’s shoulders shook with a heave of inner laughter. “But, will? What are the odds on that, Master Simon?”

“Any person may be misled.”

Rod shook his head. “You’re assuming that Alfar’s basically good—just an ordinary man, who’s given in to the temptation for revenge, discovered he can actually gain power, and been corrupted by it.”

“Certes.” Simon peered up at him, frowning. “Is it not ever thus, with those who wreak wrong?”

“Maybe—but you’re forgetting the possibility of evil. Actual, spiritual evil.” Rod looked up, and noted Flaran’s presence. He weighed what he was about to say, and decided that he didn’t mind Flaran’s hearing it. “Sure, all human souls have the potential for goodness—but in some, that potential is already buried before they’re two years old. And it’s buried so deeply that it’s almost impossible to uncover it. They grow up believing that nobody’s really capable of giving. They themselves can’t love, or give love—and they assume everybody who talks about it is just putting on an act.” He took a deep breath, and went on. “Though it’s not really necessary to talk about that. All you really need is the word ‘corruption.’ Alfar succumbed to the temptation to do something he knows is wrong, because he loved the idea of being powerful. And now that he’s tasted power, he’ll do anything rather than give it up. No matter who he has to hurt, how many he has to kill, how much suffering he causes. Anything’s better than going back to being what he really is—just an ordinary, humdrum human being, who probably isn’t even very well-liked.”

Flaran’s eyes were huge; he stood frozen.

“Yet be mindful, he’s human,” Simon coaxed. “Hath that no meaning for thee, friend Owen?”

Rod shook his head. “Don’t let the fact that he’s human, make you believe that he thinks you are. He can’t—he’s treating people as though they were bolts for a crossbow—something to use, then forget about. He tramples through other minds without the slightest thought. Doesn’t he realize these are real, feeling people, too?” He shook his head. “He can’t, or he wouldn’t be doing it. He’s got to be totally without a conscience, totally calloused—really, actually, evil.”

“Yet he is a person withal,” Flaran piped up, timidly. “Even Alfar is not a devil, Master Owen.”

“Not in body, maybe,” Rod grunted. “I can believe he doesn’t have horns, or a barbed tail. His soul, though…”

“Yet he doth have a soul,” Flaran pleaded. “Look you, he may be an evil man—but he’s a man nonetheless.”

Rod drew a deep, shaky breath, then let it out slowly. “Friend Flaran… I beg you, leave off! I’ve seen Alfar’s works, and those of his minions. Let us not speak of his humanity.”

Flaran was silent, but he stared at Rod, huge-eyed.

Rod steeled himself against the look and picked up the reins. He slapped them on Fess’s back, and the robot-horse started forward.

When the silence had grown very uncomfortable, Rod asked, “That fat little loudmouth, who was leading that mob—how did he figure out that Flaran was a warlock?”

“Why… he heard my neighbors speak of it. I would guess…”

“Doesn’t seem likely,” Rod said, frowning. “He was a stranger, after all. How would he find out about the local skeletons, so quickly?”

“I think,” Simon said, “that Alfar doth have adherents, minor witches and warlocks who can do little but read minds, salted here and there about the duchy—and their prime duty is to espy those of Power.”

“Oh?” Rod held himself still, kept his tone casual. “How’d you hear about that?”

“I did not; but now and again, I’ve felt the touch of a mind that quested, but did not seek anything, or anyone, of which it was certain. And, anon, I’ve caught snatches of thought clearly between warlocks, warning that such-and-such had some trace of Power.”

“How did they not espy thee?” Flaran asked, surprised.

Simon smiled. “I am, as we’ve said, rather weak at warlockery. And, too, I’ve learned to hide what poor weak powers I have, thinking like one who hath none at all, keeping the surface of my thoughts ever calm, and quite ordinary. Tis the key to not letting slip the odd comment that doth reveal thee—to think like an ordinary man; then you’ll speak and act like one.”

Flaran nodded, gaze locked onto Simon’s face. “I will hearken to that. I will heed thee.”

“Do so; ‘twill save thee much grief. Nay, begin to think like John Common even now, for we never know when Alfar’s spies may be listening.”

Flaran started, darting a quick glance over each shoulder, then huddled in on himself.

“And, friend Owen, there’s naught to fear for thee,” Simon reassured Rod, “no spy would even know thou’rt there!”

Flaran looked up, astounded. “Why! How is that?”

“Oh, I’m, er, uh—invisible. To a mind reader.” Rod said it as nonchalantly as he could, and tried to throttle down a burst of anger. How dare Simon let slip information about him! Serves you right, he told himself, in an attempt at soothing. And it was true; he should’ve known better than to confide in a stranger. But Simon was so damn likeable…

“Ah, if only I could so hide me!” Flaran cried. “Nay, then, tell! How dost thou do it?”

“Nice question,” Rod grated. “I really couldn’t tell you. But I think it has something to do with my basic dislike of all human beings.”

Flaran stared at him, shocked.

“When you really get down to it,” Rod admitted, “I guess I just don’t really like people very well.”

That rather put a damper on the conversation for a while. They rode on northward, each immersed in his own thoughts.

For his part, Rod couldn’t help feeling that both of his companions were trying to become immersed in his thoughts, too. Not that they didn’t both seem to be good people—but Rod was beginning to be very suspicious. The talk about mental spies had made him nervous, and he found himself remembering that Simon and Flaran were both strangers, after all.

A wave of loneliness hit him, and he glanced up at the skies. In spite of the longing, he was relieved to see the air clear, with a singular dearth of winged wildlife. At least his family was safe from getting mixed up in the mess.

Odd, though. He wasn’t used to having Gwen listen to him.