Chapter Six: Evermorn

It took Heron and Wist some time to realize that Blister was not pursuing them. By then they had left the broad avenues and had come to a sidestreet that was nearly deserted. Here they stopped for a rest on the back steps of an armourer's shop. A short time later Tormadeus caught up with them.

"I don't think you need worry any more about your friend Blister," the demon said. "From what I overheard, she has joined the service of that woman on the litter - Swenhild, if I heard correctly. So has another of our acquaintances. Did you see?"

"That monkey creature! Ugh! Yes, I saw it sitting with her. And it saw me."

"Me, actually," Tormadeus said. "I don't think it's interested in you, particularly. I must say I don't like the idea of a creature like that joining forces with a witch."

"Swenhild is a witch? You're sure?" Wist asked. When the demon nodded she went on, "Then she must be even more powerful than Voltan. I'm sure Blister wouldn't have gone to her otherwise."

"Without doubt," Tormadeus assured her. "I have not sensed such power since - well, Kalassin himself was not more mighty. Yet perhaps she has not learned the full use of her strength, for she is wounded but cannot heal herself. Instead she seeks aid from another."

"I heard," Wist said. "Evermorn of the White Garland. And do you want to know something? I'm going to see Evermorn myself."

Tormadeus frowned.

"Today? That might not be a good idea, Lady Wist. I don't know what you have to fear from another encounter with Blister, or with our monkey friend, but I am sure that you would not profit by one. Yet it is very likely that you would meet them on the road."

Heron disagreed.

"I don't think that would be a problem," he said. "I have a bit of money. We could hire horses and ride to the Thelian Wood instead of walking. That way if we did meet up with Blister we could gallop past before she had a chance to do anything."

"I don't know," said Tormadeus. "It sounds risky to me. But it's up to you, of course. What do you want of this Evermorn, Lady Wist?"

"Can't you guess?" Wist replied, her eyes shining. "I want to be his apprentice!"

The demon shook his head.

"Are you sure of that?" he asked. "I wonder if you really know what it's like to serve the White Garland. Not many are suited to that service, Lady Wist. Those who wear the Grey may live their own lives, as ordinary people do. Not so with Evermorn and the few who are like him. Even in the ancient days the White Garland had few followers, and sorcerers were more plentiful then than now, from what I have seen."

"You're right, of course," Wist said. "I don't know for sure. But I've always felt, somehow, that I didn't want to grow up to be just another wandering Grey Garlander like Voltan, and never leave a mark. If I was a White Garlander I could - I think I could - make more of a difference, somehow. Do you know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean," said Heron. "And I vote we start for Evermorn's at once. Come on, let's see if we can find some horses."

After making some inquiries the children found that they could get a pair of horses for the afternoon at a stable just inside the north gate of the city. This being done, they wasted no time in starting out for Evermorn's, and soon came to the fork of which the sentry had spoken to Swenhild that morning. Unlike Swenhild, though, Heron and Wist chose to take the shorter, harder road to the Thelian Wood. Because of this, and because they were riding briskly on horseback rather than painfully aboard a litter, they reached the Wood while the witch was still well back on the road.

The woodlands of Valinay were commonly dark, tangled and forbidding. The Thelian Wood was not: it was airy and open. Its poplars and its birches stood in dry, mostly level, ground. It was a friendly-seeming place, without threats or secrets.

They had not travelled far into the Wood when their narrow road rejoined the longer, wider one that Swenhild had chosen. There were no other travellers in sight, but there were tracks and other signs to show that the road was well used.

There was no wind that afternoon to rustle the leaves, nor much birdsong. Only the occasional hammering of a woodpecker somewhere, and the soft thudding of the horses' hooves, prevented silence.

Perhaps because it was so quiet Wist found herself listening hard. After a time she heard, or thought she heard, a sound from somewhere far behind them, like the rustling of an animal, with now and again the creaking of a branch or the snapping of a dry twig. But whatever it was kept pace with them as no wild animal would, so that the sound neither came closer nor got farther away. Wist looked questioningly at Tormadeus.

As if she had spoken aloud the demon said, "Yes. We are being followed. And I can guess by whom."

Wist nodded.

"Blister. And you thought she'd leave me alone."

"No! You may be sure that Lady Blister is still getting to know her new mistress. It is our furry acquaintance of Aligoth who pursues us now - who pursues me, I should say."

"But why?"

"No doubt to keep track of where I am, so that later on one of Swenhild's minions can steal me. The creature may even make the attempt itself, though probably it will not. You would find that I was a very different demon if Swenhild were wearing the chain. With power such as hers to sustain me I would be mighty indeed! Although there would be little point now in turning back, I am more certain than ever that it was a mistake to come this way today."

Wist shivered.

"I don't like to think of what Swenhild might do with you," she said. "If she's really a sorceress I just know she's a Black Garlander, so she isn't going to spend all her time doing good works! The only thing is, if she's as powerful as you say, how am I going to stop her from stealing you if she wants to?"

"That is a problem," Tormadeus agreed. "But if I were you I should certainly try. I will think it over. There may be precautions we could take. That we must discuss later, though, for unless I am mistaken, we are drawing very near to Evermorn's."

He pointed up the road a short distance to a trail leading off to one side. At the trail entrance was a wooden sign. In place of writing the sign bore a painted picture of an orange sun rising over mountains.

It seemed that the sign was hardly even necessary, as the horses of their own accord left the road and turned eagerly up the trail as though they were impatient to arrive at their destination. When they had travelled a short distance further on the children suddenly became aware of a chorus of birdsong, which sounded startlingly loud after the silence earlier on. They had hardly had time to think what this might mean than the trail turned a corner, then widened, and they found themselves on the verge of Evermorn's glade.

The first thing Wist noticed was a small knot of people talking near the centre of the glade, though she was too far away to hear what they were saying. There were five in all. One was a stout man of about fifty, wearing a heavy red cloak with black trim: fashionable, Wist thought, but he looked very hot. He was standing in front of another man, also of middle age, but gaunt. This man, who sat on a tree stump while the others stood, wore a green robe, but from where she was Wist could not see his face. The other three were a young man and woman, and their baby, who cried miserably in the man's arms. They had their backs to Wist, so she could not tell what manner of people they were, though their clothing was not that of the well-to-do. None of the group looked like a sorcerer.

There were three horses in the glade. These were not tethered but roamed freely, cropping the grass that grew thick everywhere. There were also birds, many more than Wist had expected even from the amount of noise they were making, which was considerable. Every branch was full, seemingly, in every tree at the glade's edge. There were starlings and woodpeckers, swallows and nuthatches, chickadees, grosbeaks, and ravens. There were owls, blinking dazedly in the bright daylight. There were even a couple of falcons, for whom the smaller birds present would have made a pleasant little snack, yet they sat peaceably like the others.

On the ground at the fringe of the glade were other birds - grouse, partridge, quail - and animals too: harmless creatures like rabbits, squirrels, and groundhogs; but also a fox, a brown bear (asleep, or Wist would have been more frightened), a beautiful lynx with black tufts on its ears and tail. All of these creatures squatted or sat, and seemed to have no particular purpose in being where they were, except that they looked more often than not into the centre of the glade, where the people were.

"Wow!" Wist heard Heron mutter, and knew they were feeling the same thing. But she was also thinking, "It's because he serves the White Garland. That's why they're here - just to watch, and be with him." She felt more strongly than ever that to wear the White Garland was the only thing that could make her happy.

Now they dismounted, and let their horses loose like the others. The animals showed no interest in wandering from the glade. A little nervously, Heron and Wist made their way to the group of people in the middle of the glade, to wait with them, they supposed, for Evermorn to show himself.

Where was the sorcerer? wondered Wist. There was no sign of a house, hut, or any other kind of dwelling about the glade. Wist glanced around nervously, half expecting a white-cloaked wizard suddenly to appear in a puff of smoke, or perhaps to fly into the glade aboard a winged horse.

They joined the others at the centre of the clearing. The young man and woman had given their baby to the green-cloaked man on the stump. This man was bald, and very short - his feet dangled above the ground - but in every other way he seemed perfectly ordinary as he crooned over the baby. Even to Wist, who knew little of healing, it was plain that the infant was badly ill, though it stopped crying at last as the man rocked it.

"She won't eat," the woman said plaintively. "Look how thin she is! And she's hardly slept in two weeks!"

"She never used to be pale like that," added her husband. "Just since she took sick she's lost all her colour - and now she looks like to die."

"Well, I hope that won't happen," said the small man. "I will try to help her, if you are willing."

"Oh!" cried Wist at once. "Don't you think you should wait for Ev-"

At that moment exactly she noticed the very tiny garland of white flowers sewn on the sleeve of the green cloak.

"-ermorn," she finished in a tiny voice. She realized uncomfortably that every eye was suddenly on her. The married couple looked at her with astonishment, the stout man with stern disapproval, Evermorn himself with something like amusement in his blue eyes. "I-I'm sorry!" she stammered. "I didn't mean - "

"It's my own fault, isn't it?" said Evermorn gently. "I really don't look much like a sorcerer."

He smiled an odd smile and stared straight into Wist's eyes as though he were seeing through to her mind. Then he began to change. His clean-shaven face sprouted a stubble that in a space of seven heartbeats grew to a huge snowy beard. His eyebrows became bushy; long white hair sprang from his bald head and flowed down over his collar. At the same time his skin became furrowed with heavy wrinkles, his teeth yellowed, his fingernails lengthened into claws. He stood up. He was tall and commanding, even though his back was stooped. He leaned on a heavy staff shod with silver. His cloak was purple with a gold collar and trim. His pointed hat was purple too, and had yellow stars on it.

"Does this satisfy you?" he thundered. "Now do you know who I am?"

Wist began to back away, fearful and uncertain. All at once the illusion dissolved, and Evermorn was again a thin little man in a green cloak. He giggled apologetically, and turned to the others who were looking on with baffled expressions. Apparently they had seen nothing unusual.

"A little joke between myself and the young lady," he explained. "Now - let us see what we can do for this little one."

Evermorn slid down off his stump and sat the little girl on a patch of green grass.

"You be good, my dear," he told the child, "and I'll give you something to play with."

So saying he began to shake his left arm as though he had something lodged up the sleeve of his cloak, and sure enough, after a few seconds, a big wooden rattle appeared in his open hand. It was bright red, with a beautifully coloured butterfly, black and green and gold, painted on the upper side. He held the rattle out to the child who took it, but without much interest. She looked as though she might start crying again at any time.

The baby's parents watched worriedly. This was far from what they had expected.

Finally the woman spoke up hesitantly.

"Is - is that all?" she asked in a quavering voice. She sounded as though she were not far from crying herself. "Aren't you going to help her?"

Evermorn looked solemn.

"That is all," he told her. "I can do no more. Who is next? You, sir?"

Clearing his throat the plump man came forward. He paid no attention to the baby or its parents, who had moved a few steps away and were talking to each other in low, disappointed tones. Their little girl had taken the rattle in both hands and was chewing fretfully on the handle. Evermorn appeared to have put her out of his mind altogether.

"My name is Gloring," the plump man said with an air of self-importance. "I have come to seek your aid in a matter of property. Naturally I will see that you are well rewarded if you are able to help me."

"If you would be so good as to explain the problem," murmured Evermorn in reply, "I will tell you if I am able to help."

"The matter is a delicate one," replied Gloring. "It concerns a will, my mother's. She unhappily passed away a little less than a month ago, at the ripe age of -"

"No need to beat around the bush!" said Evermorn mildly. "It doesn't matter how old she was. Get to the point. She left you no money, is that it?"

Doing his best to look insulted, Gloring all the same continued hastily, "That is true! And I her eldest son! Of course, I do not blame her. Her wandering aged mind had grown forgetful these last years. But to cut me off without so much as a copper - I, who was so deserving, and (with the cost of things today) so needful - well, you may imagine how I feel!"

"Doubly bereaved!" exclaimed Evermorn.

"Exactly!"

"And you will reward me if I am able to help you," the sorcerer went on. "Is that what you said?"

"Yes, yes!" agreed Gloring eagerly.

"Well," Evermorn said, "here is what I am able to do. You have brothers and sisters?"

Gloring nodded.

"And they are mentioned in the will?"

Puzzled, Gloring nodded again.

"I don't see - " he began, but Evermorn interrupted him.

"I am able to cause one of their names to vanish from the will and yours to be put in its place. Would that be satisfactory?"

A greedy grin appeared on Gloring's pudgy face.

"Even my sister Ruthan?" he wanted to know. "The largest share is allotted to her."

"I am able to change whichever name you choose," Evermorn told him. "You will give me my reward?"

"Yes, yes, certainly!" cried Gloring. "May I suggest five gold pieces?"

"That is a goodly sum," replied Evermorn. "However, you have fifty in your purse, and another hundred in your saddle bags. Give me thirty."

"Thirty!"

"You can afford it!" Evermorn shouted angrily. "And is not the will worth much more?"

"Oh, very well," muttered Gloring, and counted out the money from the purse into Evermorn's hand. As he was doing so, Wist nudged Heron.

"Let's go," she said in a low voice. "I don't want to hang around here any more."

Heron nodded, and they turned to leave. But Evermorn looked up sharply.

"Just a moment, you!" he said. "I thought you had something to ask of me!"

"Oh, no," Wist answered sadly, turning to face him. "I guess I didn't, really. I thought - "

"Yes?"

"Well, just look at that little girl!" Wist cried indignantly. They all did. The child was holding the rattle in her right hand and studying the painted butterfly with interest. "You didn't do anything for her at all!" Wist continued. "And you're supposed to be so mighty! But when this man" - here she pointed at Gloring, who had just finished counting out Evermorn's reward - "when this ghoul comes along and tries to rob his sister you can't wait to help! So I don't think I want to talk to you."

Evermorn took the purse of money from Gloring and pushed it up his left sleeve.

"Look at her now," he said softly, pointing at the baby.

At last the little girl gave the rattle a shake, and her eyes widened as the painted butterfly lifted itself off the wood and became solid. It launched itself into the air and flew a dazzling series of loops about the child's head. Finally it landed back on the rattle, in a different spot, and once more became paint.

The onlookers gasped; the little girl only laughed, and shook the rattle again. Again the bright butterfly flew about, and then again, and again, as the child shook it free whenever it alighted. And as the game went on, a pink glow crept into the deathly pale skin of her hand where the rattle touched it, and slowly spread up her arm. Soon the pink reached her face, then across to her other arm. With each flight of the painted butterfly she looked stronger and healthier than before, her eyes brighter and happier. At last Evermorn leaned over her and took the rattle, which she gave him willingly. He gave it a last shake. The butterfly flew up - and away, into the forest. Evermorn put the toy where he apparently kept everything - up his sleeve - and drew out the purse of gold coins, which he gave to the little girl's parents.

The mother hugged him. The man said, "We are carpenters. We could build you a fine house here in your glade if you would let us."

Evermorn only smiled and said, "Thank you. You don't have to do anything for me. Only come back if you should have troubles in the future."

They made ready to depart, as did Gloring. But the stout man was dismayed.

"You needn't have charged me so much if you were just going to give it to them!" he told Evermorn. "Plainly they are low folk, and have no use for so much money. Besides, why go to the trouble of helping me and not keep anything for yourself?"

"I haven't helped you, sir," the sorcerer replied. "Nor shall I. I know well how you treated your poor mother when she was alive, how you treat your brothers and sisters who have less than you do, how you treat the people who borrow money from you and have made you rich! You are a great fool to seek aid from one who serves the White Garland!"

Gloring turned bright red with rage as Evermorn spoke, then pale again as he thought of his lost gold pieces.

"But you said that you would help me!" he spluttered. "You lied! I shall have you up before the magistrate for this, see if I don't!"

Evermorn held up a finger to silence him.

"You agreed to reward me if I was able to help you," he said. "Were those not your very words? Well, I am able, so the reward is mine. But I am not willing. Good day to you, Master Gloring."

Gloring whistled for his horse, mounted, and galloped away, passing the married couple and their baby without a glance as they too rode off. Now Evermorn beckoned Wist nearer. He motioned for her to sit on the grass, and did the same himself.

"Tell me your name," he said.

"Wist. This is my friend Heron."

Evermorn bowed.

"I am pleased to meet you both."

He scratched absent-mindedly at his bald head for a moment, then went on. "It isn't enough, you know, just to be good at sorcery," he said. "It's different with us who serve the White than it is for Greys like - what was your master's name?"

"Voltan."

"Yes, like Voltan. A good man, and a good sorcerer, too. I have met him more than once. Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay with him? He'll teach you a lot more than you probably expect. And perhaps you'd be happier with an adventurous fellow like him than a quiet type like me. Hmm?"

Wist didn't answer the question at once. Instead she said, "How did you know so much about me? It's just like it was with that moneylender - Gloring. You seemed to know everything about him. Can you read minds? If you can, I think you should say so. It isn't fair to pry in people's thoughts without telling them, is it?"

Evermorn chuckled.

"Be at ease," he said. "I can't read minds. But to be a sorcerer you have to be a good guesser, among other things. And some guesses are easy. You may not have known that Gloring was a moneylender before today, but I did. I have seen him often in Thelos. And did it surprise you when I suggested to him that he had been cruel to his family? Of course not. You would hardly have believed anything else.

"And what have I guessed about you, my dear? Why, very little. Only that you have had some schooling in sorcery, and that you have recently been in Aligoth. And - perhaps I am flattering myself - I have the idea that you would like to become my apprentice."

"You can read minds!" cried Wist.

"Not at all," answered the sorcerer. "That chain you are wearing: unmistakable Aligoth workmanship. And if you had no sorcery, then your wearing of the chain would not have produced - you!"

On his last word Evermorn flung his right hand out to point directly at Tormadeus, who had been standing - safely invisible, he had thought - only a few steps away. The demon squawked and jumped backwards in surprise.

"Such a being as you I have not met for many a year," Evermorn said. "Truly the old lords of Aligoth made many wonders. Yet I am surprised that at your age you are still content to serve - even such a pleasant mistress as Wist."

"I was made to serve the wearer of the chain," replied Tormadeus. "I do so by my nature. What good would it do me to pretend otherwise?"

"Perhaps you are freer than you think," Evermorn suggested. "Shouldn't you find out? As for you, Wist, you would like to be my apprentice. Well, perhaps you have heard that no Garland is more difficult to serve than the White. This is the truth. Those of the Grey Garland do as they will, and use sorcery to serve themselves or others as they please, although they may not use their power for harm except in self-defence. Black Garlanders help none but themselves; those who are not positively evil have generally retired from human society altogether. We of the White may not please ourselves. We may harm no one, even to protect ourselves. Sometimes that is a heavy price. Do you think it is one you wish to pay?"

"I think so," Wist said slowly. "I think it is good to use your life to help other people. But I will tell you the truth - I don't know for sure if I am cut out to be a White Garlander." Her voice faltered a little as she added, "I-I was hoping you could tell me."

Evermorn smiled and shook his head.

"No. It must be your decision. But it is not one you need make now. Before you could come to me you would have to ask Voltan to release you." He looked at the children sharply. "You did run away, didn't you?" They nodded shamefacedly, but Evermorn merely said, "Well, I cannot take you on without his permission. Perhaps he will even have good advice for you. If he agrees, and if you do not change your mind, come back to me and we will talk again. All right?"

"All right," agreed Wist. "By the way, before we go, I should tell you that there's someone else coming to see you today - a woman we met in town. She seems to be very ill, but she's also really tall and - and powerful-looking. Tormadeus here says she's a witch."

"Oh, yes?" replied Evermorn absently. "Well, he's probably right. Thank you for letting me know - I'll be sure not to go anywhere before she arrives, since she needs my help."

He said this with a little smile and Wist was not quite sure that he had fully taken in what she had told him. But then she shrugged and went for her horse. A minute later they were mounted. Wist waved goodbye; Evermorn returned the wave and sat back down on his stump. He seemed tired.

Wist looked once more around the glade before departing. There were as many birds and animals as ever, though she had the odd impression that most of those she saw now had arrived after her, and that the others had gone away, like a changing of the guard.

"Come on," Heron said, and they started out of the glade and onto the little trail.

There they met Swenhild coming the other way. Blister was walking beside the litter. She saw the children, recognized them, and stiffened, but she did not say anything or make a move towards them. The four men carrying the litter were like living statues: their faces had no expression, their eyes were fixed, only their legs moved as they walked. The witch herself was by now too far gone in her agony to pay attention to Heron or Wist. She groaned aloud with each step that her bearers took, and rolled frenziedly from side to side to take some of the pressure off the horrible wound on her back.

The litter pressed past the children and into the glade. Heron and Wist looked at each other for a moment undecided, then by unspoken agreement followed as far as the edge of the trees.

Evermorn did not stir until the litter was almost beside him. Then he stood up slowly and looked at each of Swenhild's party in turn, the witch herself last of all.

"My mistress - " began Blister.

" - can speak for herself," Evermorn said flatly. "You have a wound in your back?" he asked Swenhild.

"Yes, yes," gasped the witch. "Blister, roll me onto my side. Show him the wound."

"That isn't necessary," Evermorn said. "Tell me what kind of wound it is - how did you get it."

Swenhild framed her lips for an insulting reply, then thought the better of it. "A knife, long and sharp," she answered. "Why?"

Evermorn didn't answer, but pointed to Robon and said, "Your bearer wears a knife with a jewelled hilt. Is that the knife that stabbed you?"

Swenhild nodded weakly, but a flicker of an evil smile played on her lips.

"He wanted it," she explained. "So I let him keep it."

"But it is no knife of Valinay," observed Evermorn. "It is of Eladerian craft, is it not? How came you to be stabbed with such a weapon?"

"I lose patience," answered Swenhild. "Do not try me further! Heal me, if you can, and stop this quizzing! What is it to you if a puppy of an Eladerian prince took a dislike to me? Is that any fault of mine?" The burning eyes were half-closed as she went on, as though in a reverie, "Ah, Corbold, Corbold, you shall still pay! You who think me dead! And you, Princess Miranda, you shall pay most dearly of all! I'll pluck you again from that strange world of yours, as I plucked - "

"Enough!" cried Evermorn. "Cease your ranting! Tell me how you came from Eladeria to here. How were you carried, and by whom?"

At this question Swenhild suddenly grew furious, and leaned up on her elbow to free one fist to shake in Evermorn's face, heedless of the pain it brought her.

"Carried? Carried?" she screeched. "No one carried me! On the floor of the sea I crawled for a year and a day with the blade in my back, with no light to guide me, and only my hate to spur me on! They think I am drowned! Fools! Where is the water that can drown one such as I? Where is the hate so hard and strong and pitiless as my hate? Heal me, wizard, and let me get about my business!"

"There is a price," said Evermorn.

"Name it. I have gold."

"It is not gold. Release your bearers from the spell."

"What! They are mine!"

"Or depart unhealed."

There was a long silence. Then Swenhild tittered nastily.

"Oh, very well. There are plenty more where this lot came from. Set me down, lads."

Robon and the others lowered the litter to the ground and stepped away. Swenhild waved her hand carelessly and said, "All right, you're free."

Instantly all four dropped to the ground like sacks of grain, and slept.

"Give them an hour," Swenhild said. "They'll be themselves again."

Evermorn nodded. He knelt down beside the litter and put his hand on Swenhild's shoulder. He stared into the witch's eyes; she stared back.

Evermorn's grip on her shoulder tightened. Suddenly she screamed - long and piercingly, as though she were being sawn in two. She fell back on the litter, and did not breathe. Evermorn stood up wearily, and sighed.

Heron and Wist had been watching everything; they exchanged glances. Had Evermorn killed the witch deliberately? Or had she just been too late?

Blister had been watching also. Her pinched face was grey with disappointment. She took a threatening step towards Evermorn. He held his hand up to stop her and she came no closer.

"Now rise," he said softly. "Wake and rise."

With a shout like a warrior's battle cry Swenhild bounded to her feet.

"Thank you, white wizard!" she cried mockingly. "You have healed me indeed! Only next time a good woman comes asking for your help, do not plague her with your simpleminded questions!"

Here Swenhild raised her hands and twin streams of green fire erupted from her open palms and flashed across the width of the glade to a great old oak tree. The tree at once became a mighty bonfire, with emerald flames consuming every branch.

The witch looked down at Robon and his three companions, unconscious on the ground.

"Get up, you fools!" she hissed. "I shall have work for you to do!"

The men came awake and rose awkwardly to their feet, then stood silent and motionless as before.

Swenhild turned again to Evermorn, and looked down on him with an expression of withering scorn.

"And when next your help is wanted, you hairless, tiny man, do not presume to rob a good woman of her trusted servants!"

She made a sign with her hands and called forth a puff of wind that came and went in an instant. It was hot and foul, like a dragon's breath. As it passed it blackened the grass, and withered the leaves on the trees nearby. Suddenly the glade was a desert.

"Oh, do something, Evermorn!" muttered Wist, tears springing to her eyes. But the sorcerer was chained by his White Garlander's vow, and did nothing.

Nor was Swenhild finished even yet.

"And this is just because worms like you should be made to suffer!" she hissed venomously. "You goody-goody types turn my stomach! What a fool you were to mend me! Now taste your folly!"

Again she conjured bolts of fire from her hands, and shot them wildly about the glade. This time the flames were purple instead of green, and they left the trees unharmed. But the birds and animals who watched over Evermorn were still at their posts. When the purple flames struck one of these the unlucky creature flared up instantly in a bright ball of flame, and a second later there was nothing more than a pile of smoking ash to show where it had been. Still they made no move to escape. Again and again and again Swenhild lashed out with her magic, till the glade reeked of burned flesh.

Wist looked on sobbing. She had seen Blister kill small animals for sport, and hated the sight, but that was nothing compared to this. Heron was pale but not crying. He clutched Wist's arm. "Come on!" he urged her. "Before she gets around to us!"

Swenhild chose that moment to face them. She raised her hands to strike once more, whether at the horses or the children themselves there was no way to tell.

"Ride!" shouted Tormadeus, still perched on the saddle in front of Wist. "Ride!"

Heron was already galloping out of the glade. But the commotion had unsettled Wist's horse. She shook the reins, but the beast did not respond. Swenhild grinned and licked her lips; Evermorn spoke a word.

The purple fire erupted from Swenhild's hands, straight at Wist's head. She flattened herself out in the saddle, and escaped the blast by a hand's breadth. With a startled whinny as though it had been slapped her horse answered Evermorn's word, and bounded from the glade before Swenhild could renew the attack.

At this the witch seemed to lose interest in the slaughter, and she turned once more to Evermorn with gleeful malice.

"I hope you'll remember me, White Rabbit," she cackled. "Too bad about your pets!"

"My vow protects you, witch," answered Evermorn. "I may not harm you. But I can do this" - here he made a small movement with his hands - "so that wherever you go my sign will be upon you as a warning to all!"

A tiny chalk-white mark appeared on Swenhild's forehead as Evermorn spoke, but the witch felt nothing and did not know. She gave the sorcerer a quick, puzzled glance, then turned away.

"Come on, you lot!" she said to her companions. "There's work to be done!"

Without a backward glance at Evermorn she strode out of the glade, with Blister and the four men hurrying after her.

Evermorn sat back down on his stump and sighed heavily. He shook his left sleeve and a pipe appeared, already filled and lit. It was an hour later that he finally stood up and left the ruined glade, and slowly set out walking towards Thelos.