If I Pay Thee Not In Gold

• Chapter 11

The numbers of Pacha never increased to the point beyond Xylina's ability to conjure, but she often went to her rest feeling strained to her limits. She had little time to get to know the men she commanded, and less time to learn anything about Ware. The strategy of feasting and entertaining the barbarian horse-folk never failed to work, however; not once during their crossing of the Pacha lands did the nomads ever seem the least unfriendly. Rather, each new tribe greeted them with the same enthusiasm as the last. It occurred to her that waking up alone and without hangovers after a night of feasting was as convenient for them as it was for the Mazonite party, because they did not have to make any exchange gifts.

Faro still slept near her, and she was glad of that. But she was feeling increasingly alone. She caught herself wondering what it would be like to spend the night with a man. To wake and find him beside her. To be the object of his passion. Even a demon. She knew that if she asked Ware to join her, he would gladly do so.

No! She had sworn to pay him in silver if not in gold, and she intended to hold true to that. This mission was really a third way to pay him, doing a service for the Queen. Once that service was done, Xylina would be free not only of her monetary debt, but of the dread harassment that had ruined her family. She knew her proper course.

Still, she almost wished she could put on paw-mittens and pretend to be from the Animal Kingdom, just for one hour. Just to see what it was like. Just in case she was missing anything. But of course that was impossible.

Ware, however, was possible.

She banished that thought and focused on sleep. Faro was right: she had more important concerns than such foolishness.

A new challenge was waiting for them on the other side of the great red-earth wilderness. Ware confessed that he was not familiar with the peoples beyond Pacha lands, although he thought he would probably know their tongue, since he was a student of languages. The Pacha themselves were no more help than the demon. At first, when asked about those who dwelled on their border, they could only shrug and say, "we do not know these people." Then, as the expedition drew nearer to the border, the tribes would say, "they close themselves behind their thorn-wall, they do not travel, they do not trade, we do not go there. We call them the Hates-All-People."

Not a lot of information, and it was difficult to tell if the Pacha had ever really tried to make contact with this new nation. Nor was it certain what some of their primitive descriptions of the "Hates-All-People" meant. Xylina had been certain from the moment that she heard those words that the reference to a "thorn-wall" was the barbarians' attempt to describe the kind of fortified border she had expected on the Mazonite side of the Pacha lands. Certainly a border-wall with spikes to prevent climbing would answer the description of a "thorn-wall." But when at last they approached this "thorn-wall," she saw for herself that the Pacha had not been descriptive, but literal.

The Thorn-Wall began as a shadow on the horizon, a gray mist that neither she nor those with her could see over or past. Xylina stared at it in puzzlement as they continued their journey, for it would not resolve itself into anything more substantial, even though they drew nearer to it with every footfall. It was something like a dark gray fog-bank looming up ahead of them, yet it could not be fog, for it did not move or dissipate despite the heat of the sun or the movement of the wind. It did, however, seem to grow taller; she had first judged it to be about twenty or thirty cubits in height, but the nearer they approached it, the taller it seemed. She felt a stirring of cold fear in her throat as she took in how large it was-how could anyone build something so very tall? It must have taken hundreds of years to complete it!

Then, finally, as her eyes were struggling to make sense of this senseless, formless structure, Faro cursed. "By the gods! Those red savages were right! It is a wall of thorns! Who are these people, to use plants to guard their borders for them?"

She blinked, and suddenly what had been making no sense to her eyes became clear. The "structure" was no structure at all, but a massive hedge of thorny branches, so tightly interwoven that it must be pitch-black a few paces deep within. What her puzzled eyes had taken for tendrils of mist were in reality twining branches.

The road led up to a hole in this hedge, and there seemed to be no viable alternate routes. If they were to pass into the next realm, it must be via this passageway or none at all. There was no other way through, not that she could see, and to leave the road was to court death from lack of water. The Thorn-Wall stretched from horizon to horizon; it was either go on, or go back-or, she suddenly realized, try to make a home among the Pacha.

That might not be too terrible, really. She could certainly keep them happy with nightly drinking-bouts and occasional feasts of magic meat! But she knew, really, that such a thing was not possible-not without losing whatever small honor she still possessed. She must go on; the Pacha had not said that these people were hostile, only that they avoided contact. They could be friendly; they could simply be frightened of the Pacha. People who hid behind a wall of thorns could be gentle and unwarlike.

She tried not to show her trepidation as the column approached the Thorn-Wall; she could well imagine why the Pacha had never bothered to attempt to traverse the tunnel leading into the heart of the wall. To them, worshipers of the sun as she had learned them to be, it would have been a descent into a nightmare-hell of their worst fears, to dive down into this dark hole with only the hope of light on the other side. Their tales of the afterlife for evil-doers depicted a dark and unending void. Surely this tunnel must seem a tunnel to that terrible afterlife to them.

She halted the men just outside of the passageway, and considered it, and the wall. The Wall itself seemed to be composed of millions of plants rather than just one; each one reaching upward to the sun, tangled with its neighbors until there was no saying where one began and the next ended. The branches ranged from limbs the thickness of a man to twigs slimmer than her little finger; the thorns from fearsome projections as long as a horse to mere threads. All ended in points that were probably as sharp as they looked; she did not care to test them herself. They could be envenomed; she had no way of knowing. The branches were covered with tiny round leaves, a dusty gray-green in color, thick and waxy, and about as large as her thumb. That was what had given the mist-like quality to the Wall when they were still some distance from it.

She stared upwards at the Thorn-Wall, deep in thought, trying to imagine who or what had grown this prodigy. For surely nothing like this could have occurred without a controlling mind behind it! It was too deliberate, too regular, and too purposeful to have simply sprung into being accidentally. She saw no signs of pruning or other shaping within the tunnel, and yet it was as regular as if it had been cut by an exacting hand. Someone must have control over these plants. And besides, the Pacha had spoken of people on the other side of the Wall.

She peered into the darkness of the tunnel, shading her eyes with her hand, but saw nothing. No sign of the other end at all. They probably have some kind of gate or guard on the other side, she thought, considering how impossible it would be to climb to the top of the thing, much less climb over it. There was no sign of light, as though the tunnel came to a dead-end, but a gate closed across the other end would account for that. She did not want to consider the idea that it did not go all the way through.

And yet she must.

If it did not go through-why would there be a road here? They couldn't completely close themselves off. No, there must be a portal on the other side; this road was made by someone or something. And it went beneath the thorns. So that was where they had to follow. There were other possibilities; that the "road" was no road at all, and that the tunnel was the work of the plants in order to trap prey within. But others must have come here; the bolder of the Pacha must have dared this road. They did not have reports of folk being devoured by the plants, or of vanishing, never to return. She must trust in that.

Finally, she conjured oil and ordered the lanterns brought out and lit. If they must travel under this monstrous thing, at least it need not be in darkness. She sent the lanterns down the line, one to every two men. They seemed glad of her foresight; she was just grateful that conjured oil burned as readily as "real" oil.

A few cubits into the tunnel, and it was as black as a starless night-and quite surprisingly cold. Not cold enough to freeze, but certainly as chilly as the nights hereabouts became. And damp, as well: a kind of clamminess that clung to the skin and penetrated her clothing. She had ordered one of the men to walk in front of her with a lantern, and his little circle of light illuminated bare, dark earth, of a dark brown that was nearly black, utterly unlike the soil outside. The light cast upward from his lantern shone on a densely interwoven mat of gray-green branches and thorns, as tightly intertwined as any basket she had ever seen. And still no sign of the marks of pruning. The air, besides being chilly and damp, smelled like the earth in a cellar: dank and redolent with mildew.

The men and even the beasts became strangely silent.

She had no wish to break that oppressive silence with so much as a whisper. She had the uncanny and uneasy feeling that to do so would be to call down unwelcome attentions on all of them. From time to time, she thought perhaps she heard rustlings out there just beyond that mat of thorns, or whisperings from the darkness ahead of them and behind them. But she did not want to halt the column and call for silence. She did not want to know that she heard these things.

There seemed no end to this tunnel, and no way of judging how long they had been inside it. With no light of day to tell, it could have been mere moments, or hours. She kept herself from looking back at the bright circle of light behind her for as long as she could. After all, what was behind her did not matter, really.

When she looked back at last, she could no longer see the end of the tunnel. She fought down panic at that; it occurred to her that it might have grown closed the moment they passed it-

No. No, she couldn't think that. There was no evidence that these plants could grow that quickly. And it wouldn't matter if they could; she could always conjure oil and burn them free, or conjure great slabs of stone to crush the branches at the entrance. There were a hundred things she could do. So long as she did not panic. No, probably they had been curving off to the right or the left, and the end of the tunnel was hidden behind that curve. There was no easy way to tell if the tunnel curved from within it.

The tunnel itself remained the same size, which was reassuring-tall enough for a tall woman to ride a tall horse, carrying a banner, and still have a cubit to spare above the tip of the banner, and wide enough for three horses to walk side-by-side with comfortable space between them and between the sides of the outermost and the walls. There was certainly enough room for her men and wagons to pass along it. And interestingly enough, the horses gave no signs of fear or restiveness.

Perhaps they had no concern about vegetation, which was what this was.

Nothing changed. They rode on and on, and nothing changed; there was only the endless tunnel before them, the same tunnel behind them. Finally, when she was beginning to wonder in despair if there was no land, no people, only an unending thorny growth over the length and breadth of this county, there seemed to be a change in the texture of the darkness just ahead of them.

She narrowed her eyes against the darkness, and leaned forward, trying to see beyond the little circle of light ahead of her. A moment later, and she was certain of the change ahead. And that was when she noticed that the tunnel itself was beginning to widen, opening up like a great funnel.

Finally, after being beneath the hedge long enough that she was chilled to the bone and longing for a bit of sun and warmth, they came to the end: a huge, bark-covered slab, with a round, door-like aperture in it, without visible hinges or any way to swing it forward or back to open it.

Before she could direct her man to knock on that door, it opened, and a single, slender figure stepped through to face them fearlessly.

That figure was as strange as the hedge; it was dressed in a bright blue, form-fitting garment of something shiny and flexible, a fabric that moved with it as easily as a skin. "It," she thought, because she could not put a sex to the person; there was no sign of external genitalia, neither breasts nor penis, and in that garment the existence of either would have been quite obvious. There did not even seem to be nipples on the chest, only flawless skin. The face was as smooth as a prepubescent child's, with no sign of beard or other facial hair, but the hair upon its head, of a white-gold in color, was as long and luxuriant as Xylina's own. Its eyes were a bright, unnatural blue, and its skin was a dark brown, as dark as the earth beneath this hedge. It did not seem to have a weapon, but she did not take that as being evidence that it was weaponless. For one thing, it could very well have formidable, and unknown, magic. And probably did. The very arrogant posture was a challenge, a dare to attack and face the consequences. She did not intend to try and call the creature's bluff.

It looked over Xylina and her expedition with a cool, calculating gaze, and a complete lack of expression. After staring at the slaves for a long moment, its gaze returned to her, and there its attention remained. "Ah," it said after a pause, in a high, fluting voice. "A Mazonite. A Mazonite warrior and her entourage of slaves. And one other. A demon, it would seem."

To Xylina's surprise, it spoke her tongue, with no discernible accent or inflection. She wondered where and how the creature had learned the language.

"Yes," she said simply, deciding in that very breath to keep the real task of their expedition a secret. "We are sent by Queen Adria, and our mission lies beyond your borders. May we pass your land? This is all we ask, that you not hinder our passage."

The creature continued to gaze at her, as she attempted to keep her face as expressionless as the one it showed her. "You passed the Pacha without incident?" it asked, finally. "You spilled no blood, murdered none of the savages?"

"We passed peaceably. The Pacha tribes have declared themselves our brothers," Xylina replied, making no attempt to elaborate on that statement. Perhaps this would be enough. She really didn't want to lie to this creature. It might have ways of detecting such a lie. She could not guess how it might react if it knew that she was lying. But she was also dubious about the impression the truth would make.

The creature burst into peals of bell-like laughter; Xylina fought down her resentment, for it was making no effort to conceal the fact that it was laughing at her. "Fitting!" it crowed at last. "Oh, fitting! One barbarian declares himself to be brother to the next! Pledging eternal peace like a pair of children promising to be best of friends forever!" And it resumed laughing.

Xylina stared at her mule's ears, and told herself that if this creature called the Mazonites "barbarians," it probably had good reason to.She was petitioning to cross its land. There was no point in getting it angry with her. There was even less point in getting angry with it. Nothing she could say or do would change its opinion of her civilization or supposed barbarity.

Get it angry, and it might make them go all the way back through that tunnel again, she chided herself, and suppressed a shiver. No, it was worth bearing with a little laughter, to avoid that. At least the creature wasn't actively hostile; it was not rejecting their request to travel out of hand.

Finally the creature composed itself. "What is your mission?" it asked. "If it is to seek out lands for conquest, you have come to the wrong place. We could shut the door here, and let the Thorn-Wall grow up, and you could throw your pitiful conjurations against it for the next thousand years with no effect. Our science is beyond your meager magic; we can eliminate you without risking so much as a patch of skin. So tell me now: what is it you come here for?"

Interestingly, it made no mention whether it could tell if they were speaking the truth. It seemed to Xylina that if she were in its place, and she had that power, she would make a point of it. Still, this creature hardly seemed human, and she could not make assumptions about how it would think. She had already made clear that they were only passing through, and it refused to credit that truth. What would it accept?

"We are here for trade," Ware said. "As you know, the Mazonites are skilled in many things, but only lately have they looked beyond their borders for things other than conquest. The Queen and my people are looking out for new opportunities for trade, for my own kind are skilled at such things. Obviously, it is no use to them to expand the boundaries of Mazonia beyond the place where women's conjuration reigns supreme. It is therefore much more logical to expand by commerce rather than conflict. The Queen has heard of lands of great wealth and civilization beyond the Pacha territories, and she has sent us to find the truth of the matter. It is logical to send one of her subjects to discover this, rather than depending upon the tales of travelers and foreign traders."

The creature turned its strange blue eyes upon him with seeming approval. Xylina noted Ware's emphasis on the word "logical" and wondered if this had some meaning for the creature. "It is," it agreed. "You show a firm grasp of reality. Perhaps you are not as barbarous as you once were, you Mazonites. Well, come. You may travel through our land, and see what you will, and when you come again, perhaps you will have some trinkets we think worth trading for. We, of course, will have much that you will want. Some of it we may be willing to trade."

Such arrogance! Xylina forcefully reminded herself that it was better to deal with an arrogant person than a savvy one, because the advantage was with the realist. She quelled her ire. It was possible that the creature was trying to make her angry, so that it would have the advantage.

"Thank you," Ware said gravely.

"Before you enter our land, I must search your belongings," the creature continued. "In particular, I must see what you carry in your wagons."

That was hardly an unreasonable request. Xylina had heard that many lands required a search at the border. She nodded acquiescence, and waited patiently while the creature rummaged through their goods.

But it paid no attention to the weapons, the gold, or even the souvenirs the men had picked up from the Pacha. What it did pay close attention to was the kitchen-stuff. Finally, when it was through, Xylina asked it what on earth it had been looking for.

Its face hardened for a moment. "Plants," it said in a dire voice. As if "plants" were carriers of some deadly peril. Xylina simply blinked, and said nothing. Plants? This creature was afraid of plants? Surely this was some kind of joke!

The creature touched the door behind it, and the shaggy brown bark moved-but now Xylina saw that rather than swinging open as a door in an ordinary wall might, the wood actually receded, irising open large enough to permit the wagons to move through. She urged her mule out into the sunlight beyond, and it was eager to go.

On the other side of the Thorn-Wall, she saw that the branches on this side, besides sporting thorns and little leaves, were ablaze with palm-sized, three-lobed, flat, vermilion flowers. What she had taken for a slab of wood seemed to be a huge, flat trunk of some other kind of plant, grown athwart the entrance to the Thorn-Wall, its thornless branches mingling in apparent symbiosis with the thorny ones. The brown bark of its vining tendrils twined among the gray of the Thorn-Wall, and it, too nourished palm-sized, trumpet-shaped flowers, of a deep cerulean. It was an unexpectedly lovely sight, and it took her breath away. The air here within this place was perfumed with scents she could not name, all of them mingling to form a heady, delicious aroma. The sun shone down, but without the punishing heat of the desert on the other side of the wall. The heat felt wonderful after the dark and cold of the tunnel.

She turned to look about her, and could hardly believe her eyes. On the other side of this growth, there was arid near-desert. But here-here there was a veritable jungle of vegetation of every sort, most of which she could not put any kind of name to beyond that of "tree," "flower," or "bush."

Huge silvery trees reached for the sky, smooth barked, and branchless for hundreds of cubits, then branching out with mushroom-shaped growth at their very tops; the leaves were a golden-green, and formed a lovely dome-shape above trunks so perfectly smooth that they could have been created on a lathe. Beneath these trees grew clusters of smaller trees. Some resembled the oaks and ashes and poplars that she was familiar with. Others were strange things that dangled sausage-like brownish-green growths on long vines beneath their branches, or grew huge, red and yellow fruits the size of both her hands. There were even trees that seemed to have very little foliage at all, but consisted mostly of trunks with small twiggy growths at the top, covered with tiny emerald leaves and white flowers.

Among all these were trees that were stranger yet. Akin to the plant that barred the entrance to the Thorn-Wall, these were round rather than flat, with enormous, barrel-like trunks and slender, flower-covered, viny branches. Those trunks were so huge that they were larger than Xylina's house in girth, and reached twenty or thirty cubits tall or more. These trees were riddled with holes-

Holes which had been fitted with glass windows, and beaded curtains; holes which sported balconies of twisted, polished vines, and stairs which spiraled down the sides of the parent trunk.

Were these-houses? It seemed as if they were, yet how could they have been formed from the flesh of still living trees?

Even as she gaped at them, a smaller version of the creature guarding the entrance spilled out of one of the doors, ran laughing down the staircase, its pallid hair flying like a flag, and ran off into the undergrowth. It sported a kind of skintight singlet of brilliant scarlet and violet-pink.

The creature that had met them emerged from the door behind the last wagon, and stroked the bark. The portal irised closed again. "Simply follow the road," it said, with evident indifference. "We are educated beings. Most of us speak either your tongue, Pacha, or both; many languages are part of our learning from childhood. You cannot become lost, for if you do not take any turnings, this road will lead you to the portal in the Thorn-Wall on the other side of our land. If you wish to purchase food, ask along the way. If you wish to make a camp, you may do so at any clearing linked to the road."

It started to turn away, then turned back, as if it had suddenly thought of something. "We permit nothing to be killed," it said, sternly. "Do not presume to cut wood for your fires, nor take what you think to be game for your meals. I can see by your clothing and equipage that you are still barbarous enough to kill for the feeding of your bodies; we do not do so here."

Then it turned its back upon them, and walked away before Xylina could think of anything to say. In a moment, the foliage beside the road had closed about it, hiding it from view.

Ware looked at her out of the corner of his eyes as she stared after the creature, rather taken aback. She had feared many things; it seemed that the worst these creatures could be bothered to greet them with was contempt.

Ware seemed to feel the same astonishment and resentment. "So friendly," he drawled, in a voice heavy with irony. "Do you know, I believe I prefer the Pacha."

She managed a smile; Faro chuckled.

"For once, demon," the slave said, "I believe I agree with you."

Before they had traveled a league, Xylina had grown heartily weary of being the object of so much unpleasant attention. The inhabitants of this place-which, she had learned, was called "Sylva"-seemed to treat her and her expedition as a kind of circus-cavalcade of freaks, when they were not regarding them as if they were some kind of unreasoning beasts.

The inhabitants, dressed in a myriad of odd, brightly-colored costumes that displayed their sexlessly beautiful bodies as if they were pleasure-slaves, gathered curiously beside the road as they made their way along it. Everywhere the result was the same, the natives pointing and making comments in their own tongue, which was a singsong affair that reminded her of the chanting of priestesses.

And from the laughter that most of those comments elicited, she was fairly certain that none of them were flattering.

The men were just as uncomfortable under this scrutiny as she was; the column drew close together, as if to minimize the amount of time anyone would have to spend under those critical blue eyes.

Every one of the inhabitants looked like every other; even the children were no more than miniature copies of the adults. Xylina had the uncanny feeling that she was traveling through a land of cast-clay dolls: beings as sexless and identical as the cheap toys sold for boy-children in the marketplaces of Mazonia. As she continued to pass these creatures, she became aware of something else as well- none of these beings showed any signs of aging. Their faces were all unlined and placid; their hair the same white-gold, with no threads of gray. That unnerved her further; were these creatures immortal?

It was difficult to tell time with so much of the sky covered by branches, but the hints of deepening shadows gave her the notion that it might be time to call a halt. Accordingly, she began to watch for one of the clearings the first Sylvan had told her of.

She soon found one: it seemed to have a well with a hand-pump and a long trough for water beneath the elaborate spout. That was something of a relief; at least there would be real water for drinking and cooking, and they would not need to use the stale stuff in their water-casks.

She directed the expedition to begin making camp, and took her mule off to one side to picket it for the night. Ware joined her, and for once she welcomed the demon's company. He seemed far more human than any of these creatures.

While they were unsaddling, one of the Sylvans, its mask-like face actually creased with a faint frown, approached them with a hint of aggression in its posture.

"What are you doing with these poor, gentle beasts?" the Sylvan demanded. "Why are you torturing them like this? What gives you the right to treat them like slaves, exploit and abuse them?"

Since Xylina's mule was cropping the grass with every evidence of content, she could not for a moment imagine what the creature was talking about. And as for rights-an animal could not reason, and had no responsibilities, so how could it have rights? Didn't having rights also mean that you had to take on responsibilities too?

"I'm afraid I don't understand you," she said carefully. "Could you be a bit more specific?"

"Why are you forcing these helpless creatures to bear you on their backs?" the Sylvan asked angrily. "Why are you forcing them to pull your wagons?"

Xylina blinked at it. "They're horses," she said finally, as if speaking to a child. "They're mules. I feed and care for them; they earn that by serving me. It's their job."

That seemed to enrage the Sylvan further. "You are not content with enslaving your own kind, but you must torture and oppress even the poor animals, who are utterly helpless to resist you! They cannot escape your unwelcome attentions, they can do nothing to protect their freedom! You oppress them, and they must bear with whatever you choose!" it exclaimed, putting one hand protectively on the shoulder of Ware's stallion. "I demand that you-"

What the Sylvan was about to demand, Xylina never discovered, for at that moment, Ware's horse, a high-tempered beast who did not suffer the hand of anyone but his master upon him, reacted. With a squeal of rage he whipped his head about on his long flexible neck, and sank his huge white teeth into the Sylvan's shoulder.

The Sylvan screamed and jerked free, its clothing torn and bloody, its shoulder lacerated. It fell into Xylina's mule, who laid his ears back, and with a joyous look on its face, kicked with all his might.

The Sylvan flew through the air and landed in an undignified heap several cubits away. A dozen or so of its fellows gathered about it, and helped it, weeping, to its feet. Surrounded by horrified Sylvans, it limped off into the darkness.

Ware looked at Xylina with suppressed laughter in his eyes. "I suppose we should punish the beasts, but-"

"Oh no," she replied, strangling her own mirth. "No, that would only confirm our barbarous natures in their eyes. After all, the poor, helpless beasts cannot defend themselves against us."

Ware turned his attention back to unsaddling his horse, but his shaking shoulders told Xylina that he was silently laughing.

They finished picketing their animals, and went to fetch the mules from the wagons. Faro brought his own mule to the picket-line, and was accosted halfway there by yet another Sylvan. Xylina was near enough to overhear every word it said.

It looked at his riding-breeches, boots, and light leather armor with disdain, standing directly in his path so that he could not avoid a confrontation with it. "Murderer!" it said. "Do you know how many poor, helpless animals died so that you might flaunt their skins on your back?"

Xylina saw Faro's face go blank; he looked very stupid at that moment, and she knew from experience that he was about to respond with something as scathing as possible.

Then he smiled; Xylina recognized that smile. It was the same one with which he had greeted his attackers in the street. That seemed a lifetime ago! "As a matter of fact," he replied jovially, "I do. I killed them all myself. It was great fun. Would you step out of my path, or would you care to become a tunic?"

The Sylvan's mouth worked silently for a moment, as it tried to deal with Faro's reply. As it stood there, face twisted with distress, the slave reached forward and lightly pinched a fold of the skin of its arm between his thumb and forefinger.

"You'd make a very nice tunic," he said helpfully. "Gloves, too, I think. Although I doubt you'd put up enough of a fight to make it entertaining. Still, my mule has acquired a taste for man-flesh since I've had him-and you look soft and sweet. I think you'd please him."

That was too much for the Sylvan, who fled in terror.

They were not disturbed for the rest of the evening.

Ware had plans for this evening that he preferred Xylina not know about. He waited until Xylina had set up the camp, using her magic to create a barrier-wall between her people and the prying eyes of the Sylvans. He knew why she was doing this, although she had said nothing to him or to Faro. It was not for protection, so much as to preserve some semblance of privacy, and he heartily agreed with her. In all his experience, he had never encountered people quite like these, and he feared that they were impolite and impolitic enough to march directly into the encampment for more of their lectures, if they were not held out by a physical barrier.

He wanted to discover a few things about these people on his own, and thought that he might best do so if he could get away from the rest of the party.

He watched patiently until darkness, then used his ability to dematerialize to pass the barrier that Xylina had created around the camp. When he emerged on the other side, he found that he was alone. Evidently the Sylvans' passion for freeing helpless creatures and confronting the murderers of animals did not outlast being confronted with an unyielding and unresponsive barrier.

Although they had been told not to leave the road, Ware decided that a look around this strange place was in order. The more information he had to bring back to Xylina, the more valuable he would be to her. And he wanted passionately to be of value to her. If she came to value him, she would be open to more intimate feelings in time. Already, she trusted him in some small things-and he had managed to make her share moments of humor with him as well. In a way, he blessed the road that had brought them all here, for in comparison to these Sylvans, he looked positively human.

There was a pathway leading from the road, lit by a succession of dimly-glowing blossoms of some night-blooming plant. It had occurred to him, as soon as he saw the sort of life these people led, why they had considered plants to be contraband. They evidently manipulated plants in a variety of sophisticated ways, until they served every purpose possible. Foreign plants might carry disease that could wipe out entire species of the plants the Sylvans had come to depend on. What would they do, for instance, if their house-trees began to die? Live in tents? He wondered what the trees were like inside, how they were grown. It was true that the only living part of a tree was just beneath the bark, and that birds often lived inside cavities in hollowed-out trees, but how could people do so?

He spotted one of the house-trees just off to the side of the path, and on impulse, took cover among the shadows. He saw two of the Sylvans leaving it, going down the twisted vines that served as a staircase. They walked hand-in-hand down the path away from him. Now it was the time to satisfy his curiosity, while the owners of this tree were away.

He waited, making certain that he would not be seen, then instead of climbing up the usual way, he simply passed through the rough bark-wall of the tree.

The notion of living inside a tree had seemed romantic: living so closely with nature, at one with the world. But once inside this peculiar dwelling, he found it was something other than romantic.

The floor was soft and pulpy, far from level, rather unpleasant to walk on. The rooms were dark, cramped and oddly shaped, with little space for furniture. In fact, there was little in the way of furniture: mostly large pillows for seating, and larger ones for sleeping. There seemed no

place to prepare food or store it; perhaps they ate communally. Clothing was hung in a small room, from a rod wedged across the middle of it. He could find no bathing room, and the room for elimination was a simple primitive jakes, no more sophisticated than a poor Mazonite's outhouse. There was a peculiar smell, both sharp and damp, and it appeared from the marks on the walls about the windows that they were not entirely weather-tight.

So much for romance.

Ware passed back out of the house, and followed in the wake of the two owners. In a moment, a smell of cooking wafted on the breeze from ahead of him, confirming at least one of his guesses, that these Sylvans ate communally.

A glow of light warned him that he was about to encounter the Sylvans again. He slowed his steps, hoping to see something of the strange creatures before they saw him. Perhaps he could pick one a little more sympathetic than the last few to pose his questions to.

The path dead-ended in a sizable clearing, with an outdoor kitchen set up in the midst of it. Large pots simmered over carefully tended fires, and Sylvans both adult and child walked or sat in groups. They were talking and eating from bowls containing what he assumed to be a soup or stew of some kind. No one noticed him, there in the shadows at the entrance, and he took his time looking the Sylvans over.

He could not tell if any of these people had been privy to the unpleasant encounters earlier, but looking closely, he finally saw something he had seen on no other face thus far-the slight signs of aging. It was on one of the Sylvans sitting and eating nearby, and the only one who seemed to be doing so alone. It had faint wrinkles around its mouth, crows-feet at the corners of its eyes, and its hair had a few streaks of coarser white amid the silken silvery blond.

Ware approached the creature cautiously; it looked in his direction as he neared. "Ah," it said. "You are one of the barbarian strangers, are you not?" It seemed unconscious of its rudeness. "Have you any questions? I am the oldest Sylvan here, and I should be able to answer anything you care to know."

As Ware approached and took a seat at its side, the creature said something to one of its fellows about "getting the barbarian proper food." He understood the creature only imperfectly, since it spoke so quickly its words blurred together. As the second Sylvan went off towards the cooking pots, the first turned his attention back to Ware. "I am Sharras," it said. "What would you like to know?"

Ware hesitated for a moment, but the creature's opening line gave him an opportunity he could not pass by. "You say you are the oldest Sylvan here," he replied, "And yet it is true that you all seem incredibly young and vital-how is it you remain that way?"

"Proper nutrition," the Sylvan said, proudly. "We consume nothing of animal nature. To consume such things is to degrade the flesh; we consume nothing that is not pure." Ware took a glance into the bowl of soup that had been brought to him: nothing but vegetables, with cubes of something white. Politely, he ate a bite; it seemed harmless, but nothing to be excited about, and the white stuff was virtually tasteless. "I am sure," he replied politely. "But how old are you?"

"Oh, a little above forty years," Sharras replied. Ware concealed his surprise. From the Sylvan's words and attitude, he had assumed that the creature was much older, well over a hundred. It appeared that this "proper nutrition" was no better at retarding the effects of aging than any other regimen.

Still, it could not be doubted that the creature was in excellent physical shape; the diet surely contributed to that.

"I find it difficult to tell your males from the females," Ware continued diffidently. "I know this may seem blind of me, but-"

"There are no males and females," Sharras interrupted. Ware gave him an incredulous look.

"There are no males and females," Sharras insisted. "This is a society of complete equality, and there can be no equality where there are two separated sexes. We are all both male and female, and life-partners take turns in bearing the children. Only in this way can there be complete equality in all things. Life-partners wishing to bear children must wait until there have been two deaths in our land; then they both become gravid, and bear their offspring at the same time. This makes all things equal."

"So you are mortal," Ware exclaimed without thinking.

Sharras made a face, but said nothing. "All of our people are changed by our science, so that all are equally beautiful," he continued. "In this way, too, we achieve complete equality. There is no ugliness, and when the signs of age become too obvious, the Sylvan will retire from the world. I am about to do just that," it concluded proudly.

"Retire?" Ware said, carefully. "Do you mean-die?"

"Die? Great Forest, no!" Sharras laughed, as if Ware were some kind of idiot for even suggesting such a thing. "Do you understand nothing I have said? We take no lives, not even in defense. No, I will simply join the rest who are aged, in a special community, surrounded by a wall of roses, where we will clothe the signs of age with pleasant masks and costumes, where we will live the remainder of our lives with nothing but leisure to fill our days. And when the final time comes, I will be taken to a place where I shall fast and be given special herbs, so that I may meet rebirth with a tranquil spirit."

Where it would be closed off so that none of its kindred would have to look upon the terrifying reality of age and death, Ware thought in disgust. And where it would be drugged and starved so that it would die more quickly, so that someone else could have a child.

The masks and costumes would disguise the fact that the population of these little communities changed so quickly; no one who did not know the secret would guess. But Ware had centuries of observing humans and their nature, and changed as these people were, they still were human, and there was very little they could do that would surprise him. Disgust him, yes. Surprise him, hardly. "You have answered all my queries most gracefully, Sharras," he said, putting aside his stew and standing up. "And I thank you for your time and trouble. Now I must go, before my companions miss me."

He turned and walked quickly away, slipping into the shadows at the entrance to the clearing, and keeping to them as only a demon could, becoming the next thing to invisible. Sometimes he was tempted to enter Xylina's sleeping chamber this way, just to gaze on her as she slept. But he did not; he was not looking for illicit temptation, but for a relationship meaningful beyond the comprehension of most human beings. So he had to be patient. He did believe that he was making progress; Xylina no longer looked on him with disgust, and indeed seemed to be coming to respect him. In time she could come to him of her own accord.

Then, of course, he would have to tell her the rest of the truth. That well might destroy the relationship. So, much as he desired her now, he was not eager to rush the matter. This tacit relationship might be the best they were to have. When he passed through the stone walls that Xylina had erected around the camp, he found the Mazonite in her tent, discussing the Sylvans with her slave. They both looked up at his slight cough, and Xylina waved him inside. "I assume you've been out of the camp," she said, "since no one could find you in it. Did you learn anything, skulking about?"

Was there an edge to that query? Or was she genuinely concerned for him? Perhaps both. She was so lovely even in her incidental ways! "Some," he replied, and described his conversation with Sharras in detail-then added his own guesses.

Xylina made a face. "And these people callus barbarous!" she said with contempt. "Well, I will give orders to the men to take no notice of them, and to answer no provocations. I think the best way to deal with Sylvans who choose to harass us is to ignore them."

"That is probably a good idea," Ware said thoughtfully. "They may have sanctions against the taking of lives, but I would not care to find myself being drugged and 'educated' so as to see the error of my barbarous ways."

"My thought precisely," Xylina replied. "They are slippery, these Sylvans; they say one thing and mean twenty others. I think they have very little idea of honor, and I would put nothing past them. We have provisions enough to carry us across their land; I think we should eat nothing of theirs, and drink nothing but water, and have as little to do with them as may be. I do not trust them." She looked directly into Ware's eyes for the first time since the journey began. "In fact, compared to them, you are a model of honor and humanity, demon. I had far rather trust my safety with you and your word. If you can slip off every night and learn more, I would appreciate the effort."

Ware's heart exulted, although he kept his face as impassive as any Sylvan's. "I will do my best to help you, Xylina," he replied gravely. "You know this is true: I will give you every effort I can."

"Yes," she said, suddenly and unexpectedly, with a shy smile that lit her eyes. "Yes, I do. Thank you, Ware. You are proving a better and truer friend than I had given you credit for."

He bowed a little in recognition of the praise, and his heart leapt again.

She had called him "friend."

Soon, perhaps, she would be ready to call him more than that.