Caergoth.” Edzar’s meager curiosity was satisfied.

He told them they couldn’t depart right away hut must wait to see whether others might come wanting to cross the river. As it was winter and traffic was light, no one else had arrived by midmorning, so the centaur agreed to ferry them alone.

The ferry was ten paces square, worn from many years of use, but a sturdy craft. Still, Tetchy snorted and shook his black head, nervous about leaving solid ground. Early’s mount moved closer to him, and Tetchy quieted instantly. Tol was amused to see the muscular war-horse walk docilely aboard beside the much smaller pony. Longhound obviously had a calming effect.

Edzar watched them from the cupola of the station. Thick cables linked a treadmill on which he stood to pulleys on the far shore. The cables were also attached to the ferry, so as the centaur walked, the craft was drawn across the river.

During the crossing, Early pointed ahead to a thin rim of clouds on the eastern horizon.

“Gonna snow,” he said.

“Are you a weather seer as well as an official taster?” Tol asked.

“Nope. Just know snow clouds when I see ’em. Gonna snow.”

So it did. The plain west of Caergoth was largely empty, as crops had been harvested and herds driven in for the winter, and they made good progress all day. However, the low line of clouds grew steadily until the sky was uniformly gray and furrowed like a farmer’s field. Snow began to fall in late afternoon. Darkness came early, hastened by the heavy pall of clouds.

They camped on the lee side of an outcropping of boulders. Tol rigged a canvas fly to keep the snow off. They built a fire and pooled their simple rations: salt beef from Tol and “go-far” from Early. This was a concoction of potatoes, carrots, onions, peas, and other things which had been lightly cooked, then pounded into a lumpy paste. It could be fried in a pan, or simply eaten as it was. Tol found the kender rations surprisingly tasty.

As they ate, Early talked about his forebears (whether these were Stumpwaters or Thistledowns or Foxfires, Tol wasn’t sure). They hailed from Balifor originally, he said. His great-great-grandfather had been the right-hand kender to the famed Balif.

“So what was the truth about Balif-was he kender or elf?” Tol asked, biting seared beef from a skewer.

“We do not speak of that awful tragedy.”

Tol blinked at the uncharacteristically laconic response. A subject kender would not speak of? He was intrigued and tried to wheedle the tale out of Early. Surprisingly, the kender would not be persuaded.

Early soon succumbed to slumber, leaving Tol to watch the soft flakes of snow falling in the still air. The blanket of white was already ankle-deep. At this rate it would be knee-high by morning.

Tol found himself reluctant to sleep. His dream of the night before (if dream it was) filled him with a dread of closing his eyes. Stupid and illogical, of course. If Mandes meant mischief, he could do it whether Tol was asleep or awake.

Still, he kept his eyes off the fire, the dance of flames being notoriously hypnotic. Leaning back, with Number Six resting across his lap, he propped his head on the cold boulder behind him, the canvas fly keeping the snow off his face. His eyes were gritty with fatigue, so he blinked to clear them.

A gray-wrapped figure appeared between one blink and the next. It stood a little ways off in the snow, at the very edge of the campfire’s circle of light.

Not taking his eyes from the gray figure, Tol called out to rouse Early. The kender snored on. Tol pushed himself to his feet, pulling his saber from its sheath, and presenting the point to the phantom.

“Name yourself, stranger!” he said hoarsely.

I have stopped his mouth.

Tol whirled. The words had come from behind him. Much closer to him, directly over the sleeping kender in fact, stood an identically garbed phantom.

Go back to Daltigoth.

“Go to your grave, trickster!” Tol shouted.

He leaped over the fire and slashed through the Mandes phantom with his saber. His blade passed harmlessly through the specter. Tol kept moving forward, arms spread wide, intending to let the millstone’s influence disperse the spell. Sure enough, as he passed through it, the image disappeared.

Stumbling in the snow, Tol turned back toward the fire. The second ghost-Felryn? — was still there, immobile as a statue. Early was curled up as close to the fire as he could get. He’d not stirred a muscle through all the alarums. Mandes must’ve used a soporific spell on him. Of the Mandes phantom there was no sign.

Something flickered in the smoke rising from the fire. At first Tol thought it was a trick of the flames, but the amorphous shape resolved itself into the facade of a building, translucent to the smoke rising around it. The building was a familiar one. It was Elicarno’s workshop in Daltigoth.

The image shifted, as though the magical eyes through which Tol was seeing the scene were rushing toward the front door. No guards stood watch, but the heavy portal was secured by one of Elicarno’s sturdy iron locks. It proved no barrier. The scene changed to the inner room beyond.

The great room was only dimly lit, filled with Elicarno’s many machines. Unerringly the image tracked through the gears, pulleys, and standing frames until it found the stairs leading to the living quarters. With dizzying effect, the scene swung up, rising into the pitch-black stairwell.

“Stop!” Tol cried.

He raised his sword but made no other move. Whatever Mandes was doing, he was doing it from his lair. This image was intended as a mirror of what was happening in far-off Daltigoth. He could do nothing but stand and watch.

The magical invader moved along the second story, passing several open doorways and peering into each as it ghosted by. Elicarno’s crew, apprentices and journeymen alike, were sleeping four to six to a room. Although he could plainly see mouths gaping from snores, no sound came to Tol’s ears.

At the end of the upstairs hall was a closed door. Again the phantom pierced the locked panel effortlessly. This room was lit by the soft blue glow of a lamp atop a shelf near the door; the lamp’s chimney was a polished, hollowed out lump of lapis. A curtained bed stood by the far wall.

The scene halted for a moment, and for the first time Tol glimpsed the intruder-a heavy, hairy paw, tipped with ivory claws like a bear’s, came into his field of view. No longer an incorporeal wraith, the thing moved forward with deadly deliberation, reached out a claw, and parted the velvet curtains surrounding the bed.

Tol shouted with frustrated rage, advancing a step toward the fire. Plainly visible by the azure light were the sleeping forms of Miya and Elicarno. Heavy with child, Miya slept on her side, facing the intruder. Her husband lay close behind, one arm draped around the curve of her swelling belly.

Claws reached for Miya’s throat.

Tol clenched his eyes shut, praying to the gods this was not a real occurrence. It must be an illusion, designed to frighten him into giving up his mission. Mandes was a powerful sorcerer, but even he couldn’t send murderous phantoms to do his bidding from so far away, could he? Yet the golems had been sent to Tarsis to kill Tol-

Something brushed Tol’s shoulder, and he threw himself away from the odd, feathery contact. To his surprise, he saw the second gray-robed phantom had come forward out of the snow and now was standing beside him. Even at close range, he couldn’t make out the phantom’s face, but he felt a presence behind the cowl, a presence he somehow knew was both benign and terribly angry.

“Felryn, help them!” he cried, gesturing to the smoky vision.

As he continued to watch, Elicarno awakened just before the monstrous claws reached Miya’s neck. He shouted soundlessly as he grappled with the hairy paws. Miya awoke, thrashing, her throat taut with unheard cries. She rolled aside and fell out of bed. Elicarno, clad only in a breechcloth, braced a foot against his attacker’s chest. Ivory claws raked down his arms. Blood flowed.

Miya snatched up a stool from beside the bed and pounded the invader with it. The image jounced and shook with every blow she landed.

Tol cheered, but what she really needed was a blade-a table knife, a pointed tool, anything! He called upon every god he could name to send her assistance.

The monster dragged Elicarno off the bed and held him up. The engineer’s feet dangled above the floor. After raking his face and chest with its claws, the intruder hurled him against the wall. Elicarno slid down and did not

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