questioning the existence of what we are about to seek. Phoebe, make him explain what he meant.'
Kestrel scowled. He ran forward and grabbed for the doorknob, blocking the wizard's exit with his body. 'There is time for that later,' he said smoothly. 'Wouldn't you rather I get the cadence started right away? You know I won't be able to begin until you are inside and the door able to hit the jamb.'
'Phoebe, answer me,' Geldion persisted. 'Stop denuding that flowerbed and answer me.'
'Go ahead and speak, Phoebe,' Astron said. 'I am anxious to get things concluded as much as anyone.'
Phoebe rose slowly and turned toward Astron. 'What shall I reply, master?' she said. 'You have not instructed me this time as to what you wish me to say.'
'Wait a moment,' Geldion said. 'Who is the master and who the slave? Maspanar, step back here for a moment. Now that I think of it, Phoebe has been acting most strangely. She should be examined at once to verify the freedom of her thought.'
'The gold djinn! Look, he comes now through the flames.' Kestrel pointed back into the cabin. It was an act of desperation, but things were unraveling fast. He pressed against Geldion's side but the master did not yield.
'But if not Phoebe, then who is manipulating the devil?' Geldion continued as his eyes danced about the garden. He looked from Phoebe to Astron and then to Kestrel at his side. He glanced at the wet sack of gold resting on the bottom of the pond, his eyes suddenly wide. With a strength surprising for his size, he pushed through Kestrel's restraint and staggered back into the garden. 'Guardsmen,' he shouted, 'guardsmen, attend at once.'
Kestrel heard the squeak of leather and rattle of steel in a clump of trees near a bend in the road a small distance from the cabin. He scowled at his bumbling, first with the demon and then not checking the environs to ensure a path of escape. Evidently at least one of the wizards was suspicious enough not to come by himself. The size of the treasure had been too great and he had dreamed too much on how it would be spent, rather than ensuring its capture.
Kestrel saw perhaps a half a dozen men-at-arms emerge from their hiding place and begin jogging toward the cabin, their swords drawn and shields rigidly in place. With a sudden surge, he pushed Geldion to the ground and bolted over his sprawling body. In a single fluid motion he leaped to the edge of the pond and scooped out the bulging sack of gold. He glanced a second time at the approaching warriors and back at the wizards now spilling out of the cabin. It was going to be close, he thought, but, considering his mistakes, no less than he deserved.
Kestrel ran to his wagon and started to fling the sack into its interior; but as he did, a well-aimed rock cracked painfully into his shouders, forcing him to release his grip. Like a ripe melon spewing its seeds, the wet leather pouch hit the ground and burst apart. Circles of gold flung in every direction, some rolling under the wagon and others arcing all the way back to the pond.
Kestrel bent to the ground and then hesitated. The first of the wizards was almost upon him. He would be an easy target once he crouched over. He watched the last of the coins stop their spinning and settle to the rough ground, sparkling in the sunlight. It was more than he had ever seen at one time. With an almost painful regret, he pulled himself up into the wagon, empty-handed, and grabbed for the reins.
'Block his escape! Don't let him get away!' the wizards shouted to one another.
'We have the woman. They should be punished together.'
'A barrier across the road. Quickly before he bolts!'
Kestrel slapped the reins against the hindquarters of the horse. The wagon jumped into motion. He grabbed his whip and increased its pace, all the while looking down the road and trying to judge on which side to try to run past the converging men-at-arms. He saw the upraised hands that were grabbing the side of the wagon wrench away as he gathered speed.
The wagon surged forward and Kestrel leaned to his left, looking back over his shoulder past the covered awning toward Phoebe's cabin. Only one wizard ran after him in labored slowness; three more were sprawled, on the ground where they had fallen away. Most of the rest fluttered around the spilled sack like feasting blackbirds fighting over the coins in the sand. The last two held Phoebe in tight grips on each arm, pulling her forward uncomprehendingly toward the rest. Perhaps the demon mingled among them, but in the confusion of black robes, he could not be sure.
Kestrel's eyes lingered on the woman. With him safely away, the wrath of the other wizards would all fall on her, even though she bore no responsibility for what had happened. He recalled his feelings when they stood together inside her cabin and then shook his head at the sudden impulse that welled up within him.
Madness, he thought. The only course was to be safely away before the men-at-arms could organize sufficiently to block him. But the impulse remained. He looked again at her blank face and remembered the sweet smiles it once bore, even when it carried her own caution.
'It may as well be three errors,' he muttered to himself as he suddenly pulled the reins to the left, circling the wagon just before the road narrowed to a single lane. Without reducing speed he raced back toward the cabin, aiming directly toward the wizards who held Phoebe in their grasp.
CHAPTER SEVEN
KESTREL turned the wagon around well before the men-at-arms could reach him. He slapped the reins across the mare's hindquarters, urging her back toward the cabin. The master who had chased him down the road immediately scrambled to the side and let him pass. The others, busily intent on scooping coins from the ground, took no heed until he was almost on top of them. Then they too scattered in a flurry of flapping robes and tinkling coins.
Kestrel aimed his wagon directly at the wizard on Phoebe's left. As he expected, the master dropped his grip and jumped out of the way. The horse slowed and Kestrel leaned over to the side as he passed. He extended his arm around Phoebe's waist, and she flopped against the rough planking of the wagon like a rag doll as it careened by. Even though the mare was slowing, the momentum was too great for the remaining wizard. He let go of Phoebe's arm with a protesting cry.
With his free hand, Kestrel pulled the horse to a stop. Dropping the reins, he lifted Phoebe up beside him. Her eyes were glazed, totally oblivious to what was happening. He let her sag into a heap, then leaped from his seat onto the mare's back and jerked the beast's head to the left. There was too little time to back up slowly and turn.
Hoping that the front wheels had sufficient free play, Kestrel started the horse forward, pulling it to the side as much as he dared. The mare whinnied in protest and started to rear, but Kestrel kept his grip firm and kicked her onward. Stepping into the flowerbed, the horse bumped the wagon wheels over the low boundary stones that separated the garden from the walk. Stomping the small bushes and spring blooms, they barely edged by the cabin on the right, the hub of the rear wheel scraping as it passed.
Just as the wagon bumped out of the garden and back onto the path that led to the road, the men-at-arms ran forward, shield and sword arms blocking the way. Kestrel did not falter. Focusing on the shield of the man on the far left, he dug his knees into the mare's sides. As the troops converged, he circled the horse's neck with both arms and swung from its back in a giant arc. With feet stiffly extended, he hit the upraised shield with a jarring blow, sending the man-at-arms sprawling before he could strike.
The impact sent Kestrel swinging backward. He raised his feet as high as he could to avoid the stomping hooves of the mare, now thoroughly frightened and running as fast as it could. He saw a sword's-length distance open between him and the men-at-arms who were nearest and then two lengths more. The warriors rallied to run after; but weighted down by shield and mail, they quickly realized that they could not keep up. In an instant, the clatter of pursuit and shouts of anger started to fade.
Kestrel clung to his precarious hold while the mare raced onward. The occasional clump of trees at the roadside grew into more frequent groves and then finally merged into the beginnings of true forest. Stately elms crowded the pathway, enfolding a canopy over Kestrel's head. From above, the sunlight alternately burst through unabated or was totally blocked from view. A gentle breeze swirled away the dust thrown up by the wagon's rapid
