what, he ran with it into the jungle surrounding the temple closely. This was a dreamgrowth of spectacular colors, very different from the scrubby woods that his waking eyes had beheld covering most of the island. But as soon as Nestor had reached the jungle, the sword-hilt in his hand turned into something else — and before he could understand what it had become, he was waking up, gasping with his fear.
Night-creatures were being noisy at a little distance, yet the darkness round him was peaceful enough, though he was breathing as hard as if he had been fighting. The gibbous moon was by now almost directly overhead, in a sky patched with clouds; it was some time near the middle of the night.
The image of Barbara remained vividly with Nestor for some time after he had awakened. Ought he to have stood by the spilled wagon, sword in hand, to fight for her and for the others?
Nonsense. Before he'd managed to get his hand on a sword, they'd all run away, scattering and hiding as best they could. He would have been killed, and it would have done no one any good at all.
Maybe he knew that he would have run away, even if the others hadn't. But it was nonsense, dredging up such theoretical things to worry about.
Though the unpleasantness of the dream lingered, Nestor soon fell asleep again. He woke with the feeling that no time at all had passed, though the sun was now fully up in a bright sky, and monkbirds were exchanging loud cries in branches not far above his head.
Nestor sat up, reflecting on how well he felt, how rested. He rubbed the shoulder that yesterday had been — he was sure of it broken. It felt as good as the other shoulder now.
He vaguely remembered having some disagreeable dream, but he no longer remembered what it had been about.
The sword was at his side, just where he had put it down. What had Draffut said, that sounded like quoted verse?
Long roads the Sword of Fury makes,
Hard walls it builds around the soft…
Nestor would have given something to hear the rest.
Beside the sword now was a pile of fresh fruit that certainly had not been there when he last fell asleep. Nestor sniffed at something yellow and round then nibbled cautiously. Then, suddenly ravenous, he fell to. The sword made a convenient tool to slice and peel.
Before Nestor had fully satisfied his appetite, Draffut appeared, walking tree-tall from among the trees. The giant exchanged rather casual greetings with Nestor, and claimed credit for the provision of the marls breakfast, for which Nestor thanked him. In the bright morning Draffut's fur glowed delicately, just as it had in twilight and after dark, holding its own light. As Draffut stood on the ground outside the temple his face was approximately on a level with Nestor's, who was standing on what had once been a second floor.
This morning Nestor felt no impulse to kneel. He realized that his awe of Draffut was already fading into something that approached familiarity, and in an obscure way the man partially regretted the fact. As soon as a few conversational preliminaries had been gone through, he asked: 'Draffut, will you tell me about the gods? And about yourself. If you maintain you are not one of them, I don't intend to argue with you. But perhaps you can understand why I thought you were.'
Draffut answered thoughtfully. 'I understand that humans often show a need for beings greater than themselves. But I repeat that I can tell you very little about the gods. Their ways are often beyond my understanding. As for my own story, it is very long and I think that now is not the time for me to begin to tell it. Right now it is more important that I learn more about your sword.'
'Very well.' Nestor looked down at the blade with which he had been halving fruit, that was not really his. He sighed, and shook his head, thinking of the one he'd lost. Then he explained as briefly as he could how the wagon he had been driving had been pursued, and had tipped over, and what had happened to him after that, and what he surmised might have happened to his companions. 'So, the landwalker, which I suppose was your creature too, attacked Duke Fraktin's men in the vicinity of the wagon — or at least that's what it sounded like. I could not stay to see who won the fight, for your messenger came to invite me to be your guest. So, that boy may have my sword now. Or the Duke might have it, or some of his soldiers. As for this blade here, the boy told me that it can kill fighting men with great efficiency. I've never put it to the test.'
Draffut stared as if he thought a particularly interesting point had been raised. Then the giant asked: 'You have fought against other men at some time in the past, though? And killed them sometimes?'
Nestor paused warily before he answered. 'Yes, when it seemed to me there was no way of avoiding such a fight. Soldiering is not a profession that I'd choose to follow.'
'It is no more dangerous than hunting dragons, surely.'
'Less so, perhaps, most of the time. Still I'd not choose it.' And at the same time, Nestor could not help wondering again what might have happened back at the wagon if he had turned with this sword in hand to fight the Duke's patrol. Probably if he'd survived that by some magic, he would have had to fight the dragon too. Almost certainly he'd now be dead, magic swords or not, just like the brother that young Einar — if that was his real name — had spoken of. Well, he was sure he was going to die in some kind of a fight, sometime, somewhere. But there was an inescapable fascination about the particulars.
Meanwhile Draffut stood in thoughtful silence, considering Nestor's answer. Once the giant reached with two fingers to the pile of fruit, and popped several pieces into his mouth at once, chewing with huge fangs that appeared much better suited to a carnivorous diet. To Nestor, this mere fact of eating somehow added force to Draffut's disclaimer of divinity though if he thought about it, he recalled that the deities were often described as feasting.
Nestor at last broke the silence with a question: 'What do you plan to do with me?'
Draffut roused himself from thought with a shake of his head. 'I am sorry now that I sent dragons to bring you here, at risk of your being killed or injured. For it seems that you can tell me little that is useful.'
'I would if I could.'
'I believe it. I could arrange for the flying dragon to carry you out of the swamp again.'
'Thank you, no. I think I would rather remain here as your guest for the next twenty years or so. Is there some other alternative?'
'The number of alternatives is quite limited. Still, I can probably arrange something to get you out of the swamp. In which direction would you prefer to go?'
'I was headed with my companions toward the domain of Kind Sir Andrew, with whom I had a hunting contract to discuss. If my friends somehow managed to survive both the dragons and the Duke's men, they are probably there now, looking for me.'
'And if they should still have with them your own sword… '
'Dragonslicer. Or, the Sword of Heroes, so Hermes told me. Yes, it may be there too.'
Draffut took a little time to consider before he spoke again. 'Would you be willing to make the trip on the back of a large landwalker? I can influence them, as you have already seen. But they are somewhat less docile and dependable than the flying dragons. Also I fear that the journey would probably take longer that way, several days at least.'
'Are there no boats to be had here in the swamp? No people living here at all?' Nestor was sure that there were at least a few, grubbing around in savage conditions. 'If it comes down to the choice, I'll try to carve my own boat out of a log and paddle it out, rather than depend again on the whim of any dragon. Regardless of what spells you may be able to put on them.'
'I put no spells on dragons,' said Draffut almost absently. 'I am no magician.'
'You spoke of influencing them… '
'As for making your own boat, I do not think that you would live for many hours in the swamp, traveling alone in any boat you could build for yourself under these conditions. And unfortunately I cannot spare the time it would take to escort you to safe land myself. But I will see what I can do to help you.'
You cannot spare the time from what? Nestor wondered. But he kept the question to himself; the giant had already turned and was walking purposefully away. In a few moments Draffut had vanished from Nestor's view behind a screen of trees. His head briefly reappeared, topping a screen of shorter trees in the middle distance. Then it sank abruptly below the treetops' level, as if he had stepped into the swamp.
Left to himself, Nestor out of curiosity soon undertook a more or less complete exploration of the temple. In several of the rooms he examined the carvings on the walls fairly closely. These reliefs depicted men, women, and
