Aftermath

A MERCY WORSE THAN NONE by John Brunner

By lamplight, by firelight, on a winter evening, Jarveena of Forgotten Holt sat at dinner with the less-than-man whose foreign agent she had been for these seven years.

In the years since she had served him merely as a scribe-interpreter, Master Melilot had changed but little He was portlier, admittedly-the satin robe he splashed with grease as he gnawed at the carcass of his third wild duck stretched smooth across his ample paunch-but his suety face was equally innocent of wrinkles and would no doubt remain so till his death

Most certainly of all, his inner nature had not altered Though he was a great deal richer than of yore-Jarveena knew that for a fact, having put several immensely profitable deals his way, and having laid the foun- dations of a fortune for herself-the outward signs of his prosperity were few He was still reluctant to part with money save when it was unavoid- able, food still came to his table from the fire shared between the kitchen and the bindery adjacent to the scriptorium on the entrance floor, and those who clambered up and down the ladderlike stairs with wine jars and full and empty dishes were still the same sort of apprentices, not engaged just now in copying or studying A thousand others would have flaunted their wealth by buying slaves, or installed one of the hoists of late so popular in Ranke, which delivered food piping-hot by way of a shaft sunk in the wall Not Melilot He knew that an excessive display of worldly goods was a sure way to attract the interest of thieves, and he had no wish to be at the expense of hiring armed watchmen It was cheaper to rely, by day, on the constant vigilance of his staff, and by night on the geese he had installed on the roof, in what formerly had been the nauseous dwelling of the drunken nobleman whose ancestors had built this once fine mansion. He had gone to his repose; now the geese could be trusted to disturb everybody's at a nocturnal shout or footfall, a com- plaining bolt, or the creaking of a shutter jimmied open.

Besides, here in Sanctuary, what guards were available were as likely as anyone else to rob their employers if they felt they could get away with their loot.

Despite his visibly good appetite, Melilot was uneasy. As well as Jarveena, another guest sat at his table. It was not his custom to admit strangers to his private quarters. Had the fellow not been vouched for by Jarveena personally, he would never have set foot outside the public areas below.

Yet he had been vouched for in a most disturbing fashion. Had he somehow ensnared the girl-woman, Melilot corrected himself, remem- bering how much time had elapsed-perhaps by magic? Was their pres- ence part of some secret plot against him? It was second nature to all in Sanctuary to think in such terms, from lifelong habit.

Keeping up, between mouthfuls, a flow of gossip as entertaining as might be heard anywhere in the city and a sight more trustworthy than most, given that it was based on what he daily gleaned from the docu- ments given him to transcribe or translate, Melilot studied Jarveena from the corner of his eye. She had changed more than he had in the past decade-and small wonder, given the difference in their age and bodily condition-but she still affected mannish garb, boots and breeches and laced jerkin. She was still, moreover, patterned with vicious scars, though they were far less conspicuous than formerly. Therein lay the reason for her annual returns to Sanctuary, and also why she was not already as rich as Melilot. Spells were not cheap, particularly when one must apply to Enas Yorl for them: one of the three greatest wizards in the land.

Under his care, the lash marks on her hands and arms had faded until they were no more than a tracery beneath her tawny skin-and no doubt elsewhere on her body, for her once unequal bosom swelled identically now on left and right, signifying that the old brown keloid had been spirited away and left her form as shapely as that of anyone her age not yet a mother, and more than most thanks to her active way of life. Oddly, though, she had not begun where most young women would have, with her face as being most exposed to public view. Still, when she tossed her head in laughter at some especially extravagant yam recounted by her host, one might glimpse the hideous cicatrix she could reveal by drawing down her eyebrows, that mark which in the days when she resided here she had used to such effect in cowing disobedient junior apprentices ...

Oh, she had always been a strange one, this Jarveena! He had been positively glad when she decided to take ship away from Sanctuary after that unpleasant episode involving an enchanted scroll, treachery on the part of a trusted officer, and an attempt to assassinate the Prince.*

Yes, indeed. Life was a great deal more comfortable knowing that this unpredictable person, half loyal employee and half explosive spitfire, was safe at sea or bargaining on his behalf in distant ports. The times when she came back to claim her pay, and spend the greater part of it again in a single day, were far from the happiest of Melilot's existence ...

And now she had arrived, for the first time ever, with a companion. Male, at that. Discarding the third duck, belching unrestrainedly and calling for more wine, he shifted his attention to this stranger even as he launched into the best and funniest of the rumors he had lately garnered. It concerned the plight of a rascally sea captain, Stong by name, half mariner, half smuggler, who had taken aboard, all unwitting, both a chestful of silver put long ago by Mizraith under a geas that sooner or later would compel its restoration to its rightful owner, and also the victim of a S'danzo curse designed to drive him away from Sanctuary for all time. He decorated the tale with all sorts of risible detail, much of which he invented on the spot, and Jarveena, relaxed by his good wine, enjoyed it to the full. One of the changes she had undergone during her extensive travels was the acquisition of a keen sense of humor. In her teens she had had little to laugh at, or about.

Her companion, however, made no pretense even of smiling. His glum face remained as impassive as a stone idol's except at reference to the S'danzo curse, whereupon he favored Jarveena with a scowl.

What, Melilot asked himself, could have persuaded her to bring this boorish fellow here? So far he knew nothing about him save his name, and that was outlandish and nearly unpronounceable, something like "Klikitak" except that it ended with a rasp: Klikitagh?

Of course, a few hints could be deduced from his appearance. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep, his hands large and sinewy: the figure of a man of action. Moreover he was of a striking color, for be- tween his fair beard and bushy fair hair his cheeks and forehead were windburned to a pale clear red after so many days at sea.

But never in all his life, not even when dealing with some nobleman's illiterate wife desperate to know whether letters brought secretly to her husband and intercepted described her infidelities, had Melilot seen such unalloyed misery on a human countenance Why, even Enas Yorl, sport of a thousand mindless spells that changed his shape, his sex, and now and then his species, contrived to extract a certain wry and resigned humor from his predicament . .

He ended his story, and Jarveena, hooting with laughter, clapped her hands. The pretty ten-year-old girl who stood silently m one corner be- side the wine jug mistook her applause for a signal to replenish their mugs, and made haste to obey Melilot did not correct her He had hopes of loosening the stranger's tongue, and in that project liquor was his chiefest ally

"I note, sir," he said with disapproval that was only partly feigned, "you were not amused by the plight of Captain Stong Is one to take it that it was because you are unfamiliar with crucial references therein, as to the S'danzo curse and legendary Mizraith's skill as an enchanter^ You have the air of a far-traveled man, not acquainted with the ways and notables of Sanctuary."

Klikitagh stirred, and for the first time uttered more than a discourte- ous grunt; he had not even expressed thanks for the generous repast that had been set before him

"No, sir," he returned "Is because in part I can not well to understand your saying "

Hmm' That aroused Melilot's professional instincts What could this fellow's native language be7 The accent was none that he recognized, nor was the curious turn of phrasing Mayhap Klikitagh was literate in some language lacking from the list posted at the door of his scriptorium, though that was longer by three, possibly four, than the best his rivals had to oner If only to learn how to recognize a script he hadn't run across before, it would be worth his while to pick the stranger's brains

Before Melilot could formulate any proposal, however, the other had gone on

"And in other bigger part because is not a matter for make jest, a curse Speak as pitiably victim knowing well from agony anti-justice, cruelness, of making curse against mnocency man, me, self"

That emphatic addition occurs in Yemzed, but never at the end of a sentence . . Oh, I'm really on to something here' Excited, Melilot beck- oned the girl back from her corner to pour still more wine

But Klikitagh refused, covering his mug with a broad palm

"Tired I to sleep Must go, we "

As though taking Jarveena's consent for granted, he gathered the sword belt he had hung on the back of his chair and rose, extending his hand to help her up also.

She ignored it

A sudden angry flush deepened the color of Klikitagh's cheeks He said, "You not-"

"I have business to discuss with Melilot," she cut m "One of the kids will show you to the guest apartment I'll join you later "

Hastily, for fear of Klikitagh provoking a quarrel that. as surely with Jarveena as with any haughty bladesman of the city, might become a fight, Melilot forced his immense bulk out of his chair.

"That is so, sir," he confirmed. "But I assure you I shall keep our conversation as brief as may be " He hesitated, trying to gauge the depth and cause of Klikitagh's ill temper "If perchance you fear I may trespass on some right of intimacy the lady has, for the time being, granted to yourself, I pray you consider the-ah-visible signs of my incompetence m that regard "

Klikitagh's face remained blank Melilot realized he was so nervous that out of habit he had used formal, high-flown terms, incomprehensible to this foreigner He made hasty amends

"It is as Jarveena has said My guest apartment is at your disposal During your stay at Sanctuary I look forward to chatting with you about your native country and its script and language, it would be most inter- esting, indeed a positive pleasure, to hear you on the subject Accord- ingly, rather than dismiss you to some flea-ridden tavern like the Vulgar Unicorn, I suggest you make my home your base until you have com- pleted whatever business brings you here Feel free to come and go ..."

His words trailed away Klikitagh was scowling worse than ever His hand would have fallen to his sword hilt-he had refused to be parted from the weapon, bad manners though it was to bring it into his host's dining room-had Jarveena not caught his fingers in her own, slimmer but almost as strong With a sour gnn she said, "You've upset the poor bastard Not surprising I'll take him away and pacify him, and come back "

"Pacifying" Klikitagh took so long that Melilot, growing drowsy from the fumes of wine, was on the point of postponing further conversation with Jarveena to the morrow-the street outside having reached that pitch of quietness after which almost any noise might set his geese to cackling-when, silent as a shadow, she returned wearing nothing but her skin and slumped back into her chair He noticed that his guess about the keloid on her chest had been correct

"Foof" she exclaimed, though she kept her voice low "If I'd known what a handful Klikitagh can be I'd never have agreed to help him Still, you can't help feeling sorry for the poor devil, can you?"

"Personally," Melilot grunted, "I find it the easiest thing in the world to avoid doing so. What spell has he cast on you, who never before to my knowledge felt sorry for anybody save yourself-and maybe Enas Yorl?"

She pantomimed hurling her wine mug at him, but cancelled the move- ment with a wry smile at his reflexive flinch. The mug turned out to be empty. Glancing around, she saw that the little girl in the corner had dozed off. Remembering, perhaps, the days when she, too, had had to wait on Melilot's pleasure after dinner, she went to help herself. Having taken a swig and topped it up a second time, she resumed her place.

"All right." She sighed. "I guess I'd better tell you Klikitagh's story."

"I'd rather hear about the deals with-"

"Tomorrow will do!" she interrupted. "Or more likely the day after."

"I was afraid of that," the master scribe muttered. "On the first full day of each of your visits to Sanctuary, you invariably have urgent busi- ness ... Still, if this time you can afford to have Enas Yorl charm away the scar on your forehead"-brightening-"you'll no longer present such an alarming aspect every time you shake aside your forelock."

"It's true that I intend to wait on Enas Yorl tomorrow, as I always do." Jarveena wasn't looking at him, but at the fading glories of the painted ceiling, on which the lamps and the flames from the dying logs combined to cast curious and intersecting shadows, as though some ma- gician were eavesdropping on them and letting his attention wander now and then from the spell that assured his invisibility. "But this time, not for my own sake."

"For ... his?" Reaching for his own mug, Melilot was so astonished he almost spilled the contents.

"Yes indeed."

After that there was a lengthy silence, broken only by the occasional sputtering of a jet of gas boiled out from the dampest and longest-lasting log across the fire dogs.

Eventually noise drifted from outside: the tramp of booted feet on cobblestones. One of the night patrols was passing, composed of men trained locally to Hell-Hound standards of discipline; yet even they did not dare to venture abroad except in twos, so lawless and unruly was this premier melting pot of cities. The geese were accustomed to the sound of their passage, and the boss gander marked it with no more than an evil- sounding hiss.

Having watched the gleam of the patrol's lantern approach and fade on the curtains that masked his streetward window, Melilot said, "Are you sure he has not cast a spell on you? Last year you said this was to be the time of your final visit to Enas Yorl, at least for personal reasons. You said that after it your face would be restored to the same condition as your"-he coughed behind one plump hand-"the rest of you."

"I'm having second thoughts," Jarveena muttered. "It's sometimes not a bad thing to be able to turn off an unwanted suitor just by doing this." And she drew her eyebrows down, glaring at him from beneath their two graceful arcs. At once Melilot's gaze, against his will, was drawn away from the rest of her face and horribly concentrated on the livid cicatrix that marred her forehead and instantly made her handsome features more repulsive than the worst invention of Sanctuary's hawkmasks.

"You haven't done it to him." Melilot suggested.

"Yes. At first. It had no effect. That was what got me interested Klik- itagh." She had perfectly mastered the final sound of the name; Melilot, to his shame, knew that he would have to practice it half a dozen times aloud and in private before he dared address the man directly.

"What, then, followed?"

"The discovery that something worse could happen to a person than what I went through as a child."

For an instant her face reflected memories of long ago and far away. Melilot, knowing what was in her mind, shivered. To have been raped repeatedly, then whipped and left for dead among the ruins of her native village Holt-not for nothing now referred to as Forgotten-when she was no more than nine ... Was that not sufficient horror to enter into anybody's life?

Yet she had found someone who, in her view, had suffered even more. What monstrous events, then, lay in the past of Klikitagh?

Huskily he said, "Tell me his tale."

"Let it begin," she said after reflection, "with the reason why he took offense at your offer of free lodging. I know you'd not have made it had you not expected quid pro quo. It's all, of course, beside the point, but what he might be able to teil you of his mother tongue would be quite useless. Whether he can write I've not inquired; the same applies."

"Still, knowledge of any distant language-"

"Even a dead one? Dead for centuries?"

"What?" Melilot jolted forward on his chair, one careless elbow over- setting his mug-but it was empty, and he lacked the energy to rise and fill it for himself.

"Do you not believe there were great magicians in the past?" Jarveena challenged.

"You mean ..." Melilot sank back slowly into his usual pot-bellied slouch, staring into nowhere.

"Out with it!"

"He's under an immortality spell?"

"That's only the half of it. Don't imagine you should envy him!"-in a sharp tone of warning. "On the contrary! He is the most pitiable creature I have ever met, and in your service 1 have traveled back and forth across the whole known world. Is that not so?"

Melilot nodded dumbly.

"Then listen." She leaned toward the fire with chin on fists; the flames made patterns of darkness dart across her face and body. "What lies on him is no mere spell, but a tremendous curse. In it consists the reason why he was angry when you offered him lodging. He cannot accept. Nor will he eat your dinner tomorrow or on any other evening. You see ..."

She weighed her words with care.

"He is bound never to sleep two nights in the same bed, nor eat a second meal from the same table. And this has been his doom for a thousand years."

Now for a great while Melilot sat motionless, save insofar as the play of fire- and lamplight kept up a constant illusion of movement through- out the room. Finally he had to stifle a yawn. But behind his plump, inscrutable face it seemed his mind had been working hard enough, albeit along lines that were familiar in Sanctuary more than any other place.

"Would this not imply that he cannot be kept in jail?" he suggested.

"Why, you-!" Jarveena leaped to her feet, brandishing her mug as though to brain him with it. Only a warning hiss from the gander beyond the ceiling prevented her. But her face was aglow with fury as she sat down again. "Is that all you can think about? How would you like to be in his shoes?"

"Not at all," the fat one answered candidly. "I'm sorry; I hadn't thought the matter through ... To what is owed this fearful geas, then?"

"I've no idea. Moreover, nor does he."

"But that's ridiculous!" Melilot stared at her. "You mean he won't admit-"

"I mean precisely what I said!" Do you think I haven't pestered him with questions? Do you think I haven't put him under oath? He has sworn by all the gods and goddesses whose names I recognize, plus one or two I never ran across before, that he believes the curse to be unjust. He says, and I've been able to confirm, that he has consulted every magi- cian whom he could afford to pay, and none has given him surcease. What is more, none has contrived to relieve his misery by telling him the curse indeed is warranted. Were he aware of what he is accursed for, he might at least attempt an expiation. Can you think of a crueler fate than his? He is being punished-endlessly, horribly punished-for something he has no memory of having done! Is he not truly to be pitied?"

A shudder plus a vigorous nod made Melilot's gross body wobble under his fine robe.

"But how does he make shift aboard a ship?" he demanded. "If he may not sleep twice in the same bed-"

"He brought a hammock, and each night slung it from two different posts or hooks. This is permissible."

"Then: eating twice from the same table?"

"Until this evening I had not seen him eat from a table at all. Aboard ship, he carried his dish to a different spot on deck or in the 'tween-decks, but this strategem did not entirely serve; our voyage, as you know, was prolonged by a contrary wind, and for the last two days he did not eat at all. In the tavern where I met him, where he had already spent a week, he had to bribe its keeper to move him each night to a different bunk or pallet, and since there were only two tables for the customers he was reduced to eating on the floor, like a dog. He was much mocked in consequence."

"Has he described what happens when he tries to defy the curse?"

"He cannot. He says he's never had the power to do so. It is, he says, as though he has become a well-trained animal. Though he might sit down to your table tomorrow, be he never so hungry his hands would remain in his lap, refusing to lift food to his lips; though he might fall upon the softest couch in the world, weary to the marrow of his bones, only the first time would he be allowed repose. Thereafter he would toss about all night, unless exhaustion drove him to prefer the floor. He must, he says, avoid the highest and the lowest sorts of lodging: the former because the wealthy often buy antiques, the latter because the poor make shift with what's been handed down or looted from abandoned homes. This carven table might be one he ate from centuries ago, that horsehair pallet might have been in use elsewhere. The curse still holds, even at so remote a reach; he starves, he grows red-eyed with lack of sleep, until he wanders on and falls exhausted."

"How does he live? What trade is open to him?" Melilot demanded.

Jarveena shrugged. "I think when all else fails he has to rob. But there are tasks even a wanderer may undertake. He goes a lot to sea; sometimes he enlists to guard a caravan; he has hinted at having been a courier, and carried confidential mail. Naturally, though, he can't serve long on any given route."

"Naturally," Melilot said in a dry tone, and had to hide another yawn. "Well, my dear Jarveena, if it's any consolation, you have indeed elicited my sympathy. Your vivid picture of his unendurable existence must move the stoniest of hearts-which mine, as you're aware, is not. Let us hope for both your sakes that Enas Yorl relieves the curse tomorrow. Go now and tell your friend I wish he may sleep soundly in my guest room, since it may only be this once. And leave me your report and your accounts, so I may peruse them while you're with the wizard."

"You'll find them all in order."

"Are they not always so?"

"Of course. How otherwise could I have kept on your right side so long?"

Rising with a chuckle, she headed for the door. Passing his chair, she bent to plant a kiss on his shaven pate.

"Thank you for allowing Klikitagh to stay. It can't be often that he enjoys such luxury."

Said Melilot: "I didn't notice him enjoying it ..."

And his little joke sent him contentedly to bed.

Waking, but with eyes still closed, Jarveena abruptly grew aware of another presence near at hand, apart from Klikitagh. She tensed, sliding her fingers beneath her pillow in search of the knife that never left her reach.

It wasn't there. Come to that, neither was the pillow!

She sat up with a jerk, eyes wide in alarm. Melilot's guest room had vanished. This was another place entirely, a long low-ceilinged stone- walled hall, wherein she found herself on an oblong padded couch, Klik- itagh still at her side. The air was pleasantly warm, pervaded with fra- grance from dried herbs sprinkled on a brazier.

Looking down on her, clad in a many-layered cape, was a tall and rather handsome youth ... but where a normal person's eyes would be, there burned two red betraying sparks. She exhaled with a gasp.

"Enas Yorl!" she exclaimed.

Her voice roused Klikitagh. He came together all of a piece, instantly swinging his legs to the floor-which was spread with soft pelts, sable, marten, and sea otter. He cast around for his sword, but there was no sign of it, or of his clothing. Perceiving in the unknown youth a captor and perhaps a rival, he shook sleep from his brain and advanced with both fists clubbed,

Or rather, tried to do so. When he set his foot down a second time, his limbs slowed, as though he were forcing his way through deep water against a fierce contrary current. With vast effort he achieved another step, but that was all; eventually he remained utterly still, balanced ab- surdly on his left leg, mouth ajar in a face that had become a mask of fury and frustration.

Jarveena knew how he was feeling. Just so had she been trapped at her first unexpected entry into the magician's palace. Guarded by basilisks, it lay beside and beneath Prytanis Street, to the southeast of the Avenue of Temples.

Except, of course, when it was somewhere else ...

Licking her lips, for even after all these years it awed her to be in the presence of Enas Yorl, especially naked-there was no point in adding "and defenseless," for few there were in all of the known world who could withstand the power of such a wizard-she said, "Sometimes I wonder why you keep basilisks and yet enforce that spell in person. Do they not jest about the man who kept a dog and barked himself?"

"Who fold you there was no trace of basilisk in me?" replied the seeming youth in mocking tones. "Welcome back to Sanctuary, Jarveena. You were most royally entertained by Melilot the pinchpenny last night. The flavor of those roasted ducks must have been excellent!"

Even as he spoke, his face was slowly altering. His eyebrow ridges in particular were thickening. Meantime his shoulders, gradually hunched. Jarveena knew what such a rapid change betokened. •

"You've been engaged in a considerable magic," she deduced. "Were you indeed one of the shadows that played around the fat one's dining room?"

He inclined his head.

"Can you have been that eager to see me again? Did you wish to find out whether I'd added any more scars to my toll, making more work for you in fading them?"

But these gibes were a mere cover for her nervousness. Besides, Enas Yorl was paying them no heed. He was contemplating Klikitagh with a frown. After a moment he touched the man's temples gently and briefly with his forefingers.

He said at length, "I heard his story as you recounted it last night. Now I can tell you one extremely curious fact. He does believe, with all his heart, that the curse upon him is unjust. But in my centuries of life- brief though they be compared to his, of course-I have read, been told, found though experience, that to impose so powerful and durable a spell on an innocent victim is, if not forbidden, self-defeating. It must turn again upon the one who cast it. So say all the best authorities."

"Might there not have been exceptions in the past?" Jarveena ven- tured- "Could there not have been ancient powers that since have been forgotten?"

"How can that be so, when Klikitagh has trudged from wizard to enchanter to magician for a thousand years, telling them his tale and begging them to strike off the fetters of his life9 There's more to this than meets the inward eye Come' Let us start the day with food "

That was not the usual first engagement she had with the wizard. Puzzled by the change, though not especially dismayed, she ascribed it perhaps to his unwillmgness to engage in the lists of love with a third party present-though she was sure he must have rendered Klikitagh blind and deaf and lost to the passage of time

In her heart of hearts, though, she knew it was because he was inter- ested much more by the stranger than herself

Turning away, Enas Yorl made a pass in the air and the far end of the immense hall drew obediently closer There stood a table set with bread and fruit and bowls of steaming broth, along with stoups of fragrant wine Assuming a high-backed chair, as though by afterthought he said, "Oh-clothe my visitors "

Unseen hands wrapped Jarveena in a silken gown, even to the point of fastening its sash She glanced at Klikitagh, a robe of homespun cloth as harsh as sacking fell around his awkwardly posturing frame

"You will not let him join us9" she suggested

"He is feeling neither hunger nor thirst," replied the wizard "Besides, I may need to loose his tongue by conventional means, as Melilot essayed to do last night with scant success How can I, if he has already eaten from my table9"

"But surely . ." she began, and bit her lip

"You were going to say," came the resigned reply, "you have such confidence in my abilities, you fully expect him to be set free by nightfall Well, if so he will of course be dead-had that point not occurred to you9 But the outcome is by no means certain Join me' Sit down' Toast your return beneath my roof"

She obeyed, having no alternative The wizard's wine, as ever, was superb Compared to it the best of Melilot's was sharp as vinegar

The food, too, was exceptional, but she found she had little appetite, though Enas Yorl ate briskly enough. He had let slip, long ago, that magic was a tiring business, draining the practitioner of energy as much as any normal kind of plain hard work. Jarveena, however, was dis- tracted by the way his face and hidden body kept on changing, as the minutes ebbed away . .

At last she could contain herself no longer She burst out, "Old friend -if I may call you so-what drew your interest to Klikitagh?

"Old friend? Enas Yorl repeated, wiping lips that now were broader and flatter than before, beneath a broader, flatter nose and beetling brows "Why, there are few so kindly disposed to me as to call me friend at all-and that, of course, is by design' Nonetheless, I'll not hold your choice of words against you'" He gave a harsh laugh and drained his goblet.

"Know, then, that it was much despite my will I guard myself from sentimental ties that might bind me to this world, hoping for the day when I myself can be released by death I would not care to overlook the chance of escape because I regretted leaving anyone, or anything, be- hind . " He seemed oddly reluctant in his speech, as though making a shameful confession

"Nonetheless I have developed a certain attachment to yourself There is, admittedly, an element of sensuality involved, that apart, however, I prefer to keep it on the level of-shall we say9-respectful admiration Few who have so much reason to devote their lives to seeking revenge break away from their obsession, you have done so "

"Because the taste of vengeance was not sweet," Jarveena muttered "It turned to ashes in my mouth "

"Even so, even so ... Reverting to the point when I discerned that you had taken up with a companion, I rejoiced I watch you sometimes m my scrying glass, you know "

"I didn't'" she said, startled "I don't know whether to be flattered, or -Never mind' Continue'"

"As I say I rejoiced, hoping that our attachment would thereby be weakened Despite my best intentions, though, I grew curious concerning him what manner of man, I asked myself, could win Jarveena from her wild, her willful ways? Inevitably, in the moment I found out, I was ensnared "

"I don't see- Oh'" Jarveena leaned her elbows on the table, goblet cradled in brown hands "If he is truly innocent, the curse on him must be stronger than the spells that bind yourself Break his, and you may find the way to break your own "

"Did I not know you to be ungifted in that area, I might well say you read my mind "

There was silence between them for a while At last Jarveena looked him straight in his unhuman eyes

"What are you going to do9"

"I have already begun You would not know what day it is today, the calendar that counts it has been long disused But it was necessary that you and he should come here now-not yesterday and not tomorrow Otherwise one would have had to wait a quarter year "

"You conjured up the wind that delayed our ship'"

"It was imperative "

"Then you must think there's a chance'"

"Of freeing Klikitagh? Perhaps. First, though, I must learn the reason why the curse is on him."

"But you said already that he doesn't know! So how-?" "Wait." The magician raised one hand which no longer matched his handsome youthful countenance-not that he was so handsome any longer, either. "What I said was that he honestly believes it was put upon him unjustly. That does not mean there was no reason for it. I assure you, even a thousand years ago no one would have undertaken such a work without a reason. Klikitagh may indeed be innocent; if so, there is a great and long-outstanding blame to visit on the perpetrator of a crime against him. Or, more like, descendants of those who benefited by its perpetration."

"But how can he not be innocent, having sworn by-? I waste my breath. You must already know."

"Indeed I do. That is perhaps the most remarkable aspect of the mat- ter."

Enas Yorl rose. "Now I must further the business. Time is wasting."

"May I wait? May I be of assistance?"

"You may not," The wizard's tone was final. "You will go hence about your own affairs. About now Melilot is rising, and he will be eager to discuss your trip. He will display great reluctance to mention Klikitagh, and you yourself will give the fellow not a second thought, save perhaps to hope occasionally that I can rescue him. Until sundown. At the mo- ment when the sun cuts the horizon, you may return. Approach the entrance on Prytanis Street; address the basilisks by name-I'll teach you how-and they will let you by. If the work is not complete by dark, it will have failed."

"But these winter days are so short!" Jarveena cried.

"That is precisely why you must go now. It lacks less than an hour of dawn. Be on your way! No, wait! There's one thing more."

"Yes?"-as she turned to obey.

"No need to bring your customary fee. Reserve that for my final on- slaught on your scars. It is enough that you have given me my greatest challenge in a hundred years of weary life, the first of all that holds out hope for me ... Begone!"

And she was gone, with further words unspoken on her lips.

All transpired as had been promised. Jarveena spent the morning clos- eted with Melilot, snatched a brief lunch, and in the afternoon went to the wharf where goods that she had purchased with the money he ad- vanced her had been disposed in tidy piles: here, bales of cloth; there, jars of wine and oil; over there again small chests of spice, ingeniously carpentered, that had a resale value of their own when empty. A certain portion being set aside for her, he paid her due commission on the rest. He might at one time have dreamed of cheating her, as he was used to cheating everybody else; her friendship with the powerful magician Enas Yorl prevented that. Besides, there was an additional advantage. It was not done to steal what Jarveena or any other associate of Enas Yorl's left on the wharf before it was transferred to guarded warehouses. Or not done more than once, at any rate ...

"Well, that concludes our business for the day!" said the master scribe heartily, handing his compendium and his account scrolls to a boy-in- waiting. "And in good time, what's more; it isn't even sunset, quite. Now I'm athirst. Shall we adjourn to yonder ale house and sample their mid- winter brew? Unless, that is, you're eager to rejoin your man and find him different lodging for tonight-"

Klikitagh!

Jarveena clapped hand to forehead. How was it possible? All day, since finding herself back at Melilot's, she had thought of nothing but cargo manifests and market prices and percentages! And^ the fat one had not even commented on her willingness to spend the time with him, when normally she would have been with the magician ...

And sundown now impended!

"No! No!" she cried. "Don't hold me back an instant more!"

Incontinently she took to her heels,

The way from the harbor to Prytanis Street had never seemed so long, or so beset with moving obstacles. She lost count of the number of people she jostled against, the number of futile curses that were hurled after her. the times she herself cursed patrolmen shouting to know why she was running, imagining her to be a thief or cutpurse fleeing from her latest victim.

Somehow, though, they realized: she was not running away from, but toward ...

The twin pillars of her destination loomed in the gloaming, accorded a wide berth by the foot passengers on their way to sunset service at the nearby temples. And small wonder. At the foot of each reposed a sleep- ing basilisk, secured at neck and leg with silver chains. As Jarveena rushed toward them, they became alert. Heads raised, they snuffed the air and listened, pondering in their slow reptilian way whether or not to open their eyes and cast their petrifying glare upon her.

Enas Yorl had said, "I'll teach you how to call them by name-"

But he hadn't!

She stopped dead, searching the corridors of memory. No! She had no idea what she must say!

"He forgot!" she moaned, clenching her fists in rage.

And then, suddenly, she heard a groaning, grinding sound that made the pavement shudder underneath her feet. Looking up, she saw that the bronze door of the palace was sliding open, revealing a hall full of lumi- nescent mist. And on its threshold-

"Klikitagh!" she exclaimed.

Still in the homespun robe, barefoot, he seemed to respond to her cry. Shaking his head, he staggered down the five marble stairs that fronted the doorway. He accorded Jarveena a brief glance, but it was vacant, as though she meant no more to him than any chance-met passerby.

"Klikitagh?" she said again, uncertainly.

He struck her aside with violence, and staggered off into the darkness. In a moment the throng of temple-bound worshipers concealed him from Jarveena's view, while their chattering drowned out her shouts.

"Death and destruction!" she exploded. She spun on her heel and dashed up the marble steps, desperate to pass the door before it ground shut again.

The basilisks relaxed; lay down; resumed their former immobility.

She was inside the misty hall before she realized what had happened-

A great metallic slam announced the final closure of the door. She was alone, and more terrified than she had ever expected to be again in this life. The mist, though bright, was dense; she could not make out the walls. When she glanced down, she could barely see her own two feet.

Abruptly she was gripped with pure cold rage.

"Enas Yorl!" she shouted. "Damn you! What have you done?"

Her surroundings shifted in unpleasant fashion, as though someone had taken normal space in either hand and given it a spiral twist. She felt she was about to lose her balance, though the weight remained on her soles. Clawing her knife from its scabbard, she prepared for an attack, knowing even as she clasped the hilt that any physical action here must be pointless.

Then the mist cleared, and she recognized the subterranean hall where she had first met Enas Yorl against her will. There was the table so long it could have seated the entire nobility of Sanctuary; there was the caped figure seated at its farther end; and all around her she heard echoes that brought shivers to her spine, as of cantrips which had set the thick stone walls to ringing like a new-stuck bell.

She stood as immobile as on that first occasion, this time not by con- straint, purely from her mingled fear and anger.

"You failed!" she accused.

Her words, themselves echoing along the monstrous room, drove away the fainter echoes. At long last Enas Yorl bestirred himself.

"No," he said in a thin voice. "I succeeded."

"What?" Jarveena took a pace toward him. It seemed not to diminish the distance that separated them; in any case, she had no wish at this moment to be in his presence at all, let alone come closer. "Then why did Klikitagh brush past me without a sign of recognition-worse: shove me out of his way like a persistent streetwalker?" Recollections crowded in. "Besides, you said that if you did succeed, he'd die!"

"Yes, so I did. Nonetheless ..."

As she stood striving to unriddle the mystery, he heaved a sigh.

"Come hither. I'll explain."

The hall and table contracted to more customary dimensions; in a twinkling she found herself where she had been at daybreak, seated in the same chair. Unseen hands, as ever, had set it behind her knees just as she was about to lose her self-control completely.

Cautiously she returned her knife to its sheath, staring at the magician. But for the emberlike glow underneath his brows one could not have guessed this to be the same personage. His arms, in particular, were far too flexible. His? Might one not better say its?

But the voice remained, and was uttering slow words, as though each syllable exacted agonizing effort.

"I did succeed, Jarveena. At what cost I dare not say. Perhaps the cost of every shred of hope left in my inmost heart. I worked a rite such as has not been attempted in living memory-not, certainly, in mine , . . And worked it well."

"With what result?" she whispered.

"I learned the reason for the curse on Klikitagh."

She waited. When she could bear the waiting no longer, she demanded. "Tell me'"

"I shall not. This only will I say: His punishment is just."

"I don't understand!"

"Better you should not. Better that no one should. Had I known what a burden of knowledge I was taking on-no! Condemning myself to!-I'd never have set out to offer help."

Guessing at the meaning behind the words, Jarveena bit her lip. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes, and yet were welcome, for they disguised the ghastly form that Enas Yorl was melting into.

"Here, then, in brief, is the secret Klikitagh has hidden from every- body in the world, himself included.

"His punishment is just. He told me so."

"It cannot be! No one could deserve that fate!"

"Until today I would have said the same," Enas Yorl said solemnly, shifting on his chair as though his new form had grown unsuited to it.

"But how can he have told you so?" Jarveena persisted.

"I chose this of all days rather by enlightened guesswork than by proper knowledge. As it happened, I was right. On one day of the year, in the proper circumstances, he is able to remember why he deserves his curse."

"Tell me! Tell me!" Jarveena pleaded.

"Though you crept to me on hands and knees, bleeding in the extrem- ity of death, begging to be told before your final breath, I would not let description of such foulness pass my lips!"

Not that, strictly speaking, it was lips he now must use to speak with ...

"Know only this: after committing it, he bethought himself of his crime and repented. Haunted by self-loathing, he became a court to try himself, and passed the only sentence that was fitting. He wanted so to suffer that no person who had heard about his evil deed, and might be tempted to emulate it, would fail to hear as well about its perpetrator's punishment and change his mind-not considering that the time might come when any such would be long dead and all his victims totally forgotten. Therefore he made the sentence cruel past conceiving-save by one who was evil to the fiber of his nerves.

"He decreed that for all time he would believe, in total honesty and full conviction, that he'd done not a thing to warrant such a doom- Perhaps this affords some insight into the enormity of his misdeed."

"But what can he have done?" Jarveena shouted.

"You'll never guess. It isn't in your nature to imagine, let alone enact, so foul a crime."

"Has it tainted you?" She leaned forward accusingly, glad that she could only vaguely see the shape he now endured. "Has it deformed your mind as much as your body?" That was cruel, too, in its way, but she uttered the words regardless. "Have you no mercy? Is not a thousand years enough for even the foulest of villains?"

"Oh, yes." Enas Yorl's voice had become like the sough of wind in bare-branched trees. "More than enough, in my view.

"Not in his."

"You-you mean ..." Jarveena's mouth was suddenly dry. "You mean you tried to release him from the curse he wished upon himself?"

"I did."

"And he refused to let you, being a more powerful magician?"

"Not exactly."

She threw her hands in the air. "For pity's sake, Enas Yorl! Whether or not you pitied him, pity me who calls you friend! Never in my life before did I find anyone with better reason to hate the world than had I myself at nine years old! Make plain what you have done and not done!"

"I will try . , ." The voice grew fainter all the time. "But words must strain to compass these events. The spells required are half outside the normal universe ... I did succeed! No other wizard now alive could have accomplished what Enas Yorl achieved today, not even he at Ilsig whom they call most skilled, not he at Ranke who ato-serves the court.

"Jarveena: I gave Klikitagh his freedom."

There was a long stunned silence. When it had become more than she could bear, Jarveena husked, "But you said it would have killed him!"

"Which it did."

"What?"

"I speak in plain words, do I not? Despite the deformation I endure!" The tone was savage now, and sent new shivers down Jarveena's spine. "Well, maybe your nature fights acceptance. Words plainer then than ever must be tried.

"I gave him his release! He died! And even dead,- so dreadful is the power of that spell, he rose again and said-praise all the gods that no one save myself could hear those awful words!-'Dead or not dead, I am condemned to walk the world. I may not eat a second time from the same table, nor may I sleep a second time from the same bed. It is decreed. By me. It shall continue!'"

From his recital of the quoted words rang forth a hint, an echo, of the force that had endowed the curse on Klikitagh with its original power. It was unbearable. Crying aloud, her brain assailed by hideous visions, Jarveena slumped fainting from her chair.

In the light of torches, both her cheeks gleamed wet.

She woke, once more at dawn, and found herself alone at Melilot's, as had often happened to her in the past. Not this time, however, was her frame pervaded by the truly magic skill of Enas Yorl's caresses. Only a dull sense of deprivation filled her mind as she kicked aside the covers and moved to use her chamber pot, then douse herself with the contents of the ewer on the nightstand. Then, unconcerned as ever about naked- ness, she dragged the curtains back and threw the shutters wide to the new day- Cold air combined with cold water to bring her back to full alertness. She reached for her clothes-and checked, catching sight of her reflec- tion in the tall and expensive mirror that hung beside the window.

There was no trace of any scar upon her body. Not the faintest, lace- like, weblike hint beneath the skin could be discerned. She was as perfect as though no wire-lashed whip had ever whistled through the air to break blood from her tender flesh.

Amazed, then astounded, she flicked back her forelock. Surely the cicatrix her forehead bore-?

Gone as well

"But I told him!" she said aloud. "I mean. I told Melilot, and he was listening! I said I wanted to keep that for when it came in useful ..."

The words died away. She let her hands fall to her sides.

"Oh, you're in there, aren't you, Enas Yorl? You've sown a counterpart of yourself inside my brain! It's the same trick that taught me the names of your basilisks! Maybe you have too much on your mind to hear me at the moment, but I'm damned well going to treat your projection the same as I would yourself! Now answer me! Why did you take my forehead scar away before I gave you leave?"

The reply came, not in speech, but in a sense of warm and private intercourse, reaching below the deepest level of her mind. If it resembled anything at all, it might be likened to the impact of hot spiced wine on a cold day.

"Not me," said the mental duplicate of Enas Yorl in words that were not words. "Not by my intention, anyway. Listen, Jarveena, and remem- ber all your life!

"Not to recall what he had done was for Klikitagh a mercy. I state this on the basis of what I have found out. To live with recollection of such horror ... ! You must concede this."

She nodded, participating in this nonexistent dialogue.

"However, it became exacerbation of his punishment. It made his sen- tence unendurable. Indeed it was a mercy worse than none. He knew it, and condemned himself regardless."

Again a nod, tinged this time with terror.

"Yet you took pity on him!"

"Yes, I did!"-defiantly. "And I still feel the same!" "You were the first to do so in a thousand years."

For an instant she stood rigid. Then:

"I can't have been!"

"He told me so when I interrogated him, invoking a power greater than any god's. Not once, till he met you, had anyone felt pity for his plight."

"Then I weep for our sick world!" Jarveena cried-and abruptly it was true. Tears that had so long been unfamiliar to her flowed as freely down her face as they had last night.

"And well you may," the illusory Enas Yorl confirmed.

There was a pause.

"For you have worked a miracle."

"I don't understand." Snuffling, fighting to regain control, Jarveena resumed the donning of her clothes.

"How are your scars today?"

"Why ask? You cleared them, didn't you? And took away the one I'd thought of keeping!"

"Not I, Jarveena, but yourself."

She froze in midmovement, bending to strap her boots.

"Go forth, as soon as you are dressed, into the street. Do not ask why;

you will at once find out. I worked a greater magic than I knew. For the moment, then: goodbye. Don't try to call on me until I send for you. The names I give my basilisks are daily changed. Sometimes I cannot give them names pronounceable by human tongues- That's why I have not spoken words to you this morning ..."

The contact faded in a garble of discomfort that left Jarveena imagin- ing for several seconds that she had four stomachs and a mouthful of regurgitated hay.

The sensation passed. The laces of her jerkin still unfastened, she dashed down the slanting ladders that served this house for stairs and cuffed aside a sleepy apprentice who tried to stop her unbarring the main door on the grounds that Master Melilot was still asleep. Beyond, in the wan gray light of dawn, she saw a form upon the cobblestones, face turned aside, one arm outflung, chest smeared with blood still red thanks to the sharp cold: victim, presumably, of some chance robber's knife ...

"Klikitagh!" she whispered, dropping on one knee beside the ... corpse?

It was indeed. No pulse was to be felt. A rime of frost had formed upon its hair, its beard, its hands , . .

Slowly she straightened, gazing down in wonder.

"So your journey ended here, in Sanctuary," she murmured. "Well, death was what you most desired. And ..."

A thought occurred, as wonderful as it was terrifying.

"If I'm to believe what Enas Yorl asserts-and who but him should I believe in such a matter?-it follows that the worst crime in the history of the world has been committed. It was yours, my Klikitagh. And yours alone."

It was going to snow any moment. The air was so cold, the lips she licked were numb. She half expected to taste ice.

"But even you have reached the last stage of your pilgrimage in search of expiation. What now becomes of you will be no matter. Let your shroud be snow. Let dogs and thieves assail your body-you won't care.

Perhaps you should have come to Sanctuary sooner. It cannot just have been because of meeting me that you were saved! I won't believe it!"

So saying, she spun on her heel and marched back into the scripto- rium. Much relieved, the apprentice slammed and barred the door behind her. White flakes swirled down outside as she went to seek a breakfast of hot broth and dumplings.

By nightfall-for such had been the will of Enas Yorl-she cared no more for Klikitagh save in the sense that all misfortune must be pitied, and he had been least fortunate of all. He lingered in her memory as myth and symbol; meantime she had a life to lead herself.

"Mayhap," thought the wizard who sprawled across stone flags in guise but ill adapted to such human artifacts as chairs, "that snow en- shrouding Klikitagh, by his own verdict foulest villain of all time. will cover me in turn. Let it be soon!"

Whereafter he composed himself to patient meditation, tinged with regret that for the duration of their present encounter he and Jarveena would be unable to make love.