"Mayhap," Magnus admitted, though it galled him. "Yet I find this whole village quite distasteful."

"Sickening, even?" Rod looked up at him keenly. "Then do something about it. Stand up for what you believe."

"And seek to impose mine own views upon them?" Magnus shook his head. "I have not that right."

Rod smiled, starting the quick gibe, then caught himself and frowned, thinking. He finally found a good alternative. "Would you, if you had been born as one of them?"

Magnus looked up, startled, then turned thoughtful, nodding. "Mayhap. If I were one of them, I would have the right of dissent, would I not?"

"Yes, if they acknowledge that right."

Magnus swept his hand wide in a dismissive gesture. "Acknowledge or not, the right is there. It is simply that if they do not honor it, there may be some fighting."

"Or some torture," Rod said grimly, "if there are more of them than of you."

"Such a consideration should not weigh . . ."

"How can you fight the system if you're dead?"

"A point," Magnus admitted, then stood frowning in thought.

Rod sighed and shook his head. "Whatever the right of it, you're not ready to act if you don't know what you believe. I'm not about to leave these people in the lurch, though."

Magnus looked up in alarm. "Thou didst give me thy word!"

"I know. That's the problem." Rod looked up, almost imploring the young man to understand. "If I were sure most of them liked this government, you see, I could just help the malcontents escape, and let it be-but I don't know that."

"And therefore thou must needs stay until thou dost?"

"Yes, or until I'm sure the majority really don't want the priests' rule, in which case I'll be free to do what I can to oust them."

Magnus stared, shocked and outraged. Then he reddened, and anger began to build.

"Oh, all right, all right!" Rod turned away in disgust. "I gave you my word. I'll tell you what-" He turned back to Magnus. "How about, before I actually do anything, I talk over the evidence with you, okay? Then, when you've made up your mind, we'll decide what to do together."

"If I can make up my mind, dost thou mean?" Magnus was redirecting his anger.

"Now, I didn't say that." Rod held up a hand.

"Nay, but thou hast thought it. Belike thou wouldst like me to step aside and let thee do as thou wilt."

Rod frowned up at him. "That sounds like my line, doesn't it?"

Magnus stared at him, anger piling up over hurt. Then, without a word, he yanked his horse's head about and rode off into the forest.

Rod watched him go, then turned away with a sinking heart. "Blew that one, didn't I?" he said to Fess.

"I think you made your point, Rod," the robot-horse replied.

"Yeah. I won the argument and lost the boy's respect, right?"

"I do not truly think so," Fess said slowly. "In fact, I think you may have caused him to lose respect for himself."

"Oh, no." Rod squeezed his eyes shut. "That is definitely not what I wanted." He looked up and heaved a sigh. "But what could I do? I have to stand up for what I believe in, too, don't I?"

"Principles can be frustrating, Rod, can they not?" Fess murmured.

"They sure can-especially when they're my own, coming back at me. Come on, Fess, let's go."

7

Magnus rode among the trees, trying to stave off a feeling of guilt. What made it worse was not knowing whether he was feeling guilty about abandoning the people of Wealdbinde to their fate, or about betraying his father-or both.

And, of course, there was the girl, Hester. She certainly was no raving beauty, but was pretty enough, and there was something about her that wouldn't let go of his mind. Had he deserted her, too?

Then he remembered Neil Aginson, and decided that perhaps he had not.

"Women are ever a trial," someone sighed.

Magnus looked up, jolted out of his reverie, and saw the ragpicker ambling down the trail beside Magnus's horse. "What, art thou come again?" Magnus demanded. "Get thee gone!"

"In good time. Twice now have I offered thee invulnerability for thine heart, and twice hast thou refused it-though in both cases, thou shortly thereafter hadst need of it."

"I will not take it," Magnus snapped.

"Be sure." The ragpicker grinned up at him, displaying several missing teeth. " 'Twill cost thee naught to take it, yet may cost thee dearly to tell me nay."

"Then I shall pay the price of obstinacy!" Magnus grated. "Begone, fellow! I've no use for thee!"

"Yet thou hast, or thou wouldst not be so strenuous in thy denial."

"Can I never be rid of thee?" Magnus drew his dagger, and the ragpicker laughed. "Steel cannot harm me, youngling."

"Nay, but this can." Magnus unscrewed the top of the hilt and shook out the little yellow-handled screwdriver with the image of St. Vidicon carved into it. He brandished it toward the ragpicker. "Agent of Chaos, get thee hence!"

"Thou shalt rue this denial!" The ragpicker began to flicker, like an image poorly received on a video screen. "Thou hast the wrong Agency, also . . ."

"Begone!"

And the ragpicker vanished.

Magnus slid the screwdriver back into the handle of the dagger and sheathed it with trembling fingers. He drew a long, shaky breath, telling himself that he was a fool to be so upset by the apparition.

Then he began to believe himself. He could very well be just such a fool, and a coward to boot. He rode on through the woods, his self-doubt deepening and darkening.

Magnus rode out of the woods into a river meadow. A doe saw him coming, looked up in alarm, and whisked away toward the trees, her fawns behind her. Magnus watched them go, mouth twisting in self-disgust. He knew they were only fleeing at the approach of possible danger-but it made him feel as though even the wild animals didn't want to have anything to do with him.

He dismounted, tied his horse and took the bit out of its mouth so that it might graze, and turned away to the river, following its course with his gaze, off toward the western glow where the sun had set. He thought of pitching a proper camp, then dismissed the notion as being too involved. He sat down on the bank beneath a huge old willow, to watch the water flow by, likening it to the stream of his life, wondering how so much of it could have gone by so quickly, and how his personal river had taken a wrong turning at some point. Instead of being his father's strong right hand, he had become an emcumbrance; instead of achieving rank and reputation of his own, he had become only an embarrassment to the Crown; and love seemed to elude him as thoroughly as though it had never known he existed. The only women he attracted were those who wanted to use him in one way or another, to debase him or feed off of him. He knew there were good women in the world, but they seemed to find him unappealing.

At least, he thought they were good. He hadn't come to know any of them well enough to be sure.

He threw himself back on the bank, heaving a sigh. Could he have done better? Or was this just the hand of genetic cards Fate had dealt him? All the titanic power inherited from his parents, all Fess's education and training-all of it came to nothing, less than useless, if he could not harness it to a good purpose.

There must have been a way he could have used those gifts in a more profitable fashion-more profitable for himself, and for all those about him. A huge longing welled up in him, to know, to see if he could have done better with what he had....

And he remembered Albertus, his analogue in the world of Tir Chlis, far and remote in another universe. The two of them were almost exactly alike, so much so that Magnus had been able to borrow Albertus's power when he was himself incapacitated; it was almost as though they were two different poles of the same globe.