The Pixilated Peeress

IX – The Disappearing Delta

Thorolf lay close beside Yvette in the darkness of his little tent, which accom­modated two sleepers only by crowding. The cold com­pelled them to sleep in their clothes, he in his Sophonomist robe and she in her nightwear, with his cloak over both.

Once they were out of sight of Zurshnitt, he unbound her hands, warning her that, if she tried to flee back to Castle Hill, she would get lost and perish. She had obeyed in a dazed sort of way, as if Orlandus' death had robbed her of all volition. Thorolf could understand how her delta became quiescent when its sorcerer-master was no longer present to command it; but still he was wary. The spirit might force Yvette to do some­thing utterly unpredictable.

When they retired, Thorolf had tied up his sword with his scarf and lain down upon the bundle, so that Yvette could not draw the weapon without arousing him. His dagger had gone out the window with Orlan­dus.

The lumpy bundle, together with the cold, made sleep hard to come by, despite the fact that the night had been well along towards dawn before Thorolf halted their flight to set up the tent. A nasty little thought kept steal­ing into his mind: If he tried to futter her now, she would probably not resist, at least not hard or long. Feeling ashamed of himself, Thorolf banished the idea; but it kept creeping back.

He was lying in the dark, concocting and discarding plans for taking care of Yvette until she was restored, when he became aware of a faint illumination that was not dawnlight. A little twinkling point of blue light, like that of a firefly, appeared over Yvette's face. It rose, danced about for a few heartbeats, then streaked out the crack in the tent flap.

Thorolf raised himself on one elbow to watch the apparition's progress. The movement aroused Yvette, who sat up crying: "Where am I?"

"In my tent," said Thorolf, "on our way to the Sharmatt Range."

"Your voice doth sound familiar—are you Sergeant Thorolf?"

"The same, madam." He gathered himself to rise. "Let me strike a light."

Soon he had a rushlight sending up its feeble flame. Yvette reached out and touched his face. "I do perceive that you are in sooth Thorolf! I recall your taking me from Castle Zurshnitt when something befell the Psy­chomagus; but all is confused. Is he dead?"

"I have reason to think so. And the delta that pos­sessed you, left masterless, has departed your body."

"Ah, it all comes back! To you I owe my liberation; you are a true hero even if a Rhaetian." She seized his head between her hands and kissed him. "A pity you are of your class, or I should know how truly to reward you. And now I can talk again!"

"Why couldn't you before?"

"When the Master asked me how you escaped from the castle, my delta would have answered; whilst I stood firm against exposing the secret, lest you essay another rescue and be trapped. So bitter was this opposition internal that I found myself stricken dumb. How came you to my chamber so timely? By the tunnel again?"

"I followed the sketch of the interior made under your direction. Finding the room empty, I sat down to await your return."

"I was with that beast Parthenius."

"So I feared. Did he—ah—you and he were disputing the matter when I broke in before."

"Aye, nor did he abandon his quest. But today, at his behest, Orlandus commanded my delta to obey Par­thenius; so tonight I did attend him."

"How—I mean, was it? ..." Embarrassed, Thorolf let his voice trail off.

"Did he pleasure me, mean you? Never! He is brutal and insatiable; after three bouts he finally fell asleep and I slipped away, or he'd be at it yet. A troll were a meeter lover."

"Poor dear!" said Thorolf, whose mind was running on the reward Yvette said she would have given him had he only a little noble blood. Her tale gave him a mixture of disappointment and relief. He had long fan­tasized about making love to her, if he haled her away from the castle and got rid of her delta. But his antici­pation was qualified by a tiny fear that she would make some scathing comment, comparing him to one or an­other of her former lovers. He therefore felt some relief at having their relationship settled for the time being. Perhaps his father was right in warning him away from titled ladies.

Yvette said: "And you are the lad who cared nought for rescuing maidens—or at least ladies—from vile en­chanters! Now tell me all that has befallen!" She spoke briskly, fast resuming her old authoritarian self.

When Thorolf had recounted Bardi's magical blun­der, she put in: "I should like to pull out that old fool's whiskers, hair by hair!"

"You can't. Bardi is dead."

"How so?"

"Some of Duke Gondomar's men slew him as they robbed his house."

"Oh, the poor old dodderer! Now tell me whither we are bound, and to what end?"

Thorolf told how he had sought refuge among the trolls. "But there's a complication." He reported his forced wedding to Bza, and his leaving his marital du­ties to Bza's lover Khop.

"It matters not," said Yvette, "since neither this Bza nor I has any wish to wed you."

"I hope no trouble arise from that matter. I apologize in advance for the village. You'll find a troll settlement a foul sort of place."

"One of my rank," she snapped, "can take the rough with the smooth. Only the lower classes expect things to go on lifelong without change." She paused. "And then what next, my good Sergeant? I trust you expect me not to pass my life amongst trolls!"

"Of course not! But I have not yet decided upon a plan. If Orlandus be dead, perchance the spines of gov­ernment will stiffen enough to seize the castle and bring those within to book. Orlandus' use of deltas would support a list of indictments as long as your arm."

She sniffed. "Always your cautious Rhaetian legal­isms! A true hero would round up a band of followers, seize the castle, slaughter the miscreants, and let the lawyers argue legality. That is what I should have done had they obtained a foothold in Grintz."

"So indeed would I, were I sure that more good than evil would flow from the deed. But we Rhaetians know that, if it's the practice to take the law into one's own hands, the winner will be the most faithless and ruth­less, be he never such a villain."

"A true knight would act first and then ponder the ifs and buts—"

"Oh, go to sleep! You'd liefer argue than eat, and we have two days' walk ahead of us."

The sun was well up when, fatigued as they were, they at last woke up for good. Thorolf served Yvette an aus­tere breakfast of hardtack and trollish beer, the latter slightly improved by straining it through a clean sock before jugging it. Although Yvette's face registered dis­taste, she downed the repast without verbal complaint.

When they set out, they went more slowly than Tho­rolf had expected because Yvette could not keep up with his walking pace. Moreover, her bedroom slippers soon began to wear out on the rough pathways. They stopped in midmorning while Thorolf dug his goatskin slippers out of the pack. These proved so much too large for her that they came off at every step.

At last he got out his spare socks and put them on over her bedroom slippers, tying them in place with one of the strips of cloth he had brought to bind and gag her.

When they resumed, Yvette paused where the trail ran through a muddy patch. "Ugh!" she said. "Your socks will be full of mud, unless we climb around."

"The socks will be done for by the time we reach the village in any case. This is a little-used path the trolls revealed me. Here, I'll carry you."

He picked her up and started across. Halfway he paused, staring at the ground. "What is't?" she asked.

"An interesting track, and recent." He stepped to one side and stood Yvette on a small boulder. "Stand for a trice whilst I study it."

"Oh, come on! Wouldst waste the day trailing beasts?"

Thorolf ignored the comment. "Here's a man in proper mountain boots, and here we have two—nay, three others—in common shoon, apparently following him."

"How know you which came first?"

"Because here, and again here, one of the trio stepped on the print of the booted man."

He picked her up again and bore her to the end of the slough. She asked: "Were those following the booted man, or did they come by long after?"

"That I cannot tell." Later, he paused where the path forked, pointing to footprints on the right-hand path. "Thither went that dubious quartet. Our path lies to the left, but methinks I'll make a cast along the right-hand path to ascertain whither it leads."

"Nay, do not so! I wish to reach this trollish village forthwith; I tire."

Thorolf gave Yvette a hard look. "Harken, Countess; we've been through this before. I'll investigate this mat­ter as I see fit—"

"You shall not! Your first duty is to me!"

"Rubbish, my dear Yvette! You're not my feudal su­zerain. Abide at the fork or come with me, as you like; the latter were safer."

Thorolf started off on the right-hand fork. Yvette waited until he had gone a few steps, then hurried after him. muttering: "Whoreson knotpate! Incondite ass! Defying thy betters like a god-detested revolutionary—"

Thorolf turned his head to say: "Oh, shut up! To a free Rhaetian, no one's a better."

She subsided. Thorolf tramped ahead, scanning the ground for tracks. After half an hour he held up a cau­tionary hand, whispering:

"Something's up, ahead! Be very quiet!"

"But—"

"I said quiet! Must I gag you?"

Cautiously they advanced. In a small depression in the path ahead, three armed men had Doctor Berthar, the director of the Zoological Park in Zurshnitt, backed against a boulder. Holding weapons against his chest and throat, they were relieving him of any detachable possessions.

Thorolf searched among the stones beside the path and found one a little larger than one of his own fists. He breathed: "Stay here whilst I fordo those rogues!"

"But three, and at least one in mail! If you lose, what of me?"

"Flee back to Zurshnitt and take refuge with my fa­ther, the Consul. I have my reasons."

Without further words, Thorolf drew his sword. Holding the hilt in his left hand and the stone in his right, he stalked quietly toward the group in the hollow. So quietly did he move and so intent were the robbers on their victim that he was a mere dozen yards away when one of them cried: "Ho! Look around!"

Thorolf broke into a run until, a few feet from the group, he hurled his stone at the mailed swordsman. The rock struck the side of the man's head and flung him sprawling in the herbage.

Thorolf shifted his sword to his right hand and bored in. He faced one man with a sword and one with a long dagger, neither apparently mailed. He attacked the swordsman with a tremendous backhand slash. It was not the skilled swordplay of which Thorolf was capable; but he did it advisedly—and what he hoped for hap­pened. The man easily parried, but the other's lighter weapon broke at the impact of Thorolf's heavier blade.

The man threw the stump of his sword at Thorolf, who ducked. Then both robbers fled along the trail. Tho­rolf ran after them; but they steadily widened the gap be­tween them and their pursuer. Breathing hard, Thorolf came back to where Berthar was gathering up the loot that the robbers had dropped.

"Thorolf!" exclaimed Berthar. "I never expected rescue. If ever I take my seat on the Board, you shall have an appointment for the asking. 'Twere useless for me to fight at those odds."

Thorolf bent over the fallen man, who was beginning to revive. Thorolf put the point of his sword to the man's throat, saying: "Correct me if I err, sirrah, but methinks you're one of those rascals sent by the Duke of Landai, who assailed my father and me on the banks of the Rissel last month. Did Gondomar also command you to rob honest citizens of Rhaetia?"

When the man merely glared in silence, Thorolf pushed his sword a little harder. "Ouch!" said the man. "If I answer, will you then slay me?"

"Nay. I promise not to—this time, anyway—an your replies be truthful. I know enough of your doings to catch you in lies. Swink you still for the Duke?"

"Nay. We decided in council to quit his service."

"After you took the old wizard's treasure chest. Why didst kill poor old Bardi?"

" 'Twas not I but Ragned who cut his throat, whilst Offo held him. He'd begun to mutter some spell. Had we not killed him, he had conjured up some demon or monster to slay us instead."

"After you killed him, what then?"

"We agreed it were more profitable to divide the loot and go our ways than to go on risking our lives for this niggardly Duke. Besides, we and our comrades had thrice failed in our efforts to capture that countess with whom he's besotted, and his Pomposity would have taken a fourth failure ill indeed."

"How gat you the chest open, since it was locked by a magical spell?"

"We took it to one of your Zurshnitt magicians," said the robber.

"Which? Methinks I know, but tell me natheless."

"Ouch! Pray, stop prodding me with that thing. 'Twas Doctor Avain."

"Thought so. There were seven of you. What's be­fallen the others?"

"When we divided the contents, Lodovic accused our captain, Cheldimus, of cheating him, and Cheldimus stabbed Lodovic. That left six to share. Cheldimus took his portion and vanished, saying he was bound for Tyrrhenia to buy an estate and retire. Something about beating's hanger into a plowshare. Ragned got drunk and boasted, so the constables took him. I ween he's been hanged."

"Not yet but soon. Go on!"

"That left Offo. His pelf was stolen by a whore he bedded; I know not whither he went."

"And the surviving trio?"

"Alas! Drink and gambling and whoring frittered away our fortunes at a rate ye could scarce believe. Ere we knew, we were down to our last few coins. We durst not return to Landai, for the Duke would hang us for flouting his commands. So here we are—or at least, here am I. Now, wilt abide your promise to let me live?"

"Aye," said Thorolf, "for now. If I meet you again, you're a dead man. But first I'll collect a small bounty, as you were doing to Doctor Berthar. Take his weapons and purse, Berthar; and pull off that mail shirt and hood ... We can use those good boots, too. Give me his dagger, pray; I lost mine."

Berthar unclasped the gold-and-garnet brooch that held the robber's cloak. "Ho!" cried the robber. "Take not my cloak, I beg; or I shall freeze to death on these cold nights!"

"I will let him keep his cloak," said Berthar. "But one of those who fled got away with my good clasp; so I'll keep this one."

Thorolf looked around to see Yvette approaching. He said: "Madam, do you remember Doctor Berthar, of the Zoological Park?"

Berthar was struggling with the mail hood, the links of which had been driven by the stone into the flesh of the robber's cheek and ear. The Carinthian bled freely when the mesh was pulled away.

"I remember Doctor Berthar," Yvette said, "though my memories of the time I was possessed are vague and dreamy. Greetings, Doctor. Thorolf, I'm surprised that one as powerful as you failed to catch those twain."

Thorolf grinned embarrassedly. "Running is not my strongest point."

"No wonder, with that great mass of flesh! You should starve yourself down to slimness like unto mine. Then you could outrun such cullions."

"Madam!" said Thorolf. "That at which you cavil is not fat but solid thew. If you believe me not, I'll swing you round my head by the ankles to prove it, as I did with that soldier who jeered at my morals."

"Doctor Berthar! Wilt stand by and let this gorbellied lob shend me with insults?"

"My dear Countess," said Berthar, "since he hath half mine age and twice my size, I see not what I can do about it. Certes, the sight of your Highness being whirled about thus were a robustious spectacle. He'd fling you into the next province."

"Trust you men to hang together!" she snapped.

"Anyway," said Thorolf, "nought incites a man to speed like a deadly foe in pursuit. You may doff my socks, Yvette, ere they crumble like last month's jour­ney cake, and put this rogue's shoon on over yours. Methinks they're big enough."

"I will also take his cloak," she said. "These flimsy nightclothes suffice me not in this clime."

The captive started to protest, but a flourish of Thorolf's sword silenced him. Thorolf turned to Berthar. "What brings you into the Sharmatts?"

"A little red-and-black salamander," Berthar re­plied, "like unto that which you saw in my chamber. It lurks under stones by day. Now they'll be hibernat­ing, and I hope to gather a few for my terraria."

"Why should anyone," began Yvette in scornful tones, "take trouble over a tiny, wormy lizard—"

Berthar interrupted: "But this is a rare specimen, not hitherto known from this region! If these prove a new species, I may have it named for me!" He bent to peer at the prostrate Carinthian. "Sirrah, be ye not one of the rogues who, essaying to kidnap Countess Yvette, delivered my dragon from his cage?"

"Well—ah—" mumbled the man, "we sought not to harm anyone; merely to create a diversion ..."

"Diversion!" shouted Berthar. "Risking the life of my priceless specimen! For that ye shall suffer the extremest penalty!"

Yvette spoke: "Forsooth, Thorolf, what meanst to do with this knave?"

"I promised not to kill him; so I shall let him go."

"What?" cried Berthar. "A mad idea! He should be haled back to Zurshnitt to stand trial for his felonies. It is the court's business whether to lengthen his neck or shorten it."

"Nonsense!" said Yvette. "You'd make a pother over nought. Thorolf, all we need is one good slash, and we can bury the head and the body."

"Not done in our orderly, legal manner, madam," said Berthar.

"Oh, futter your republican legalisms!" she snapped. "You idiot, the right thing is to kill him, and the sooner the better."

"I cannot," said Thorolf. "I promised, even though I owe him a debt for his part in my friend's murder. But to slay him now were dishonorable."

"Honor! You?" cried Yvette scornfully. "There's no such thing in Rhaetia, since you have no nobles—not even knights. / could not slay him after promising life; but with you—"

"I have mine own code of honor—" began Thorolf, but she rushed on:

"My dear Sergeant, persons of the lower classes have no concern with honor. As commoners go you're a fine fellow; but for you to prate of honor is like a frog lec­turing on literary style."

Thorolf snorted angrily; but Berthar spoke: "The main thing is to assure a swift, just punishment; and that means—"

"And how wouldst get him to Zurshnitt by yourself?" asked Thorolf.

"Ye could hold him prisoner whilst I went to town and sent the constables—"

"You mean, stand over this wittol for a week? Be not absurd—"

"You're two hairsplitting noddies!" shrilled Yvette. "The only sane course—"

All three were shouting and gesticulating. While Thorolf's attention was distracted, the prisoner rolled suddenly to his feet and fled. Thorolf ran after him; but the man, though in stocking feet, ran like a deer. Tho­rolf gave up and returned, panting.

"See—see what happens when you engage in foolish disputes?" he gasped.

"Ye were disputing as loudly as any," growled Ber­thar. "To loose a villain who's harmed one of my ani­mals—"

Yvette broke into a peal of laughter. "Confess, my good friends, we were all a pack of zanies! I still think I was right; but now the rascal hath settled the matter for us. 'Twere a scene from one of Helmanax's come­dies. Let's be on our ways."

Thorolf and Berthar grinned shamefacedly. Thorolf asked: "We are bound for the village of the Sharmatt trolls; whither for you?"

Berthar thought. "If I may, I'll go with you. I know Chief Wok, and meseems it were safer with him then wending alone. I might meet those three seeking re­venge."

"Fair enough. Take the rogue's sword."

Thorolf led the way back to the fork. Walking with Yvette, Berthar said: "Countess, today ye seem like a different person, compared to how ye were at the park. Then ye were as silent as a tomb."

"Oh, I can explain," said Yvette, launching into a voluble account of her captivity and rescue.

The delay meant an extra night of camping out before reaching the village. Thorolf and Berthar pooled their remaining food. When Yvette had stepped away for pri­vacy, Berthar said:

"Your little Countess is amazing, Thorolf. Tell me, are ye and she—ah—well, betrothed or something of the sort?"

Thorolf frowned. "Nay, neither betrothed nor 'some­thing of the sort.' To her Rhaetians are lower-class per­sons and hence ineligible. Why?"

"I did but wonder. 'Tis plain the pair of you know each other passing well; yet from the way ye squabble one would think you an old married couple."

"So far, Yvette's company has entailed many pains of the wedded state without the pleasures."

Staring into their little fire, Berthar said: "Since my whilom wife absconded, I've been alone. Your Count­ess mightily attracts me. Ye'll not mind?"

"N-no," said Thorolf. "But I warn you, she'll give your suit a rough reception."

When Yvette returned, she said: "Where wilt sleep, Doctor Berthar? The sergeant and I can barely fit into that little tent."

"I brought a sleeping sack," said Berthar, pulling it out of his pack. "It will suffice me."

"Thorolf!" said Yvette in her commanding voice. "Let you take the good Doctor's sack, whilst he and I occupy the tent!"

Startled, Thorolf said: "Well—ah—wherefore? "

"You're so thick of thew, there's in sooth room for but you in the tent. I must needs lie pressed against you, in dread that the great mass of muscle roll over and crush the life from me. I dream that I am but an insect upon whom your boot is descending. Berthar, being of sparer figure, would better fit." She wrinkled her nose. "Besides, I have reason to suspect you've not bathed lately."

"She makes sense," murmured Berthar, "but I would not dislodge you without your consent."

"Oh, fiddle-faddle!" cried Yvette. "I've stated my wishes!"

Thorolf felt the stirring of jealousy and of annoyance at being so rudely displaced. On the other hand, he did not wish to antagonize Berthar, who might some day help his reentry into Academe. It was partly to concil­iate Berthar that he had attacked the three Carinthians singlehanded. Besides, he admitted to himself that he must stink from his unwashedness.

"Oh, very well," he grumbled. "Do not mind Yvette's manner, Berthar. Betimes she confuses herself with Frea, the mother goddess of her Dualist Faith, and thinks all us mortals her subjects."

"Insolent jackanapes!" she said. Ignoring the com­ment, Thorolf crawled into the sleeping sack and watched unhappily as his companions fitted themselves into the tent.

Next morning, Thorolf was up and had the little fire going before Berthar and Yvette emerged from the tent, yawning and stretching mightily and grinning as if viewing Helmanax's hilarious masterpiece, Mistress in Name Only. The play had been banned in Zurshnitt as subversive of morality; but a group of players gave se­cret performances in a barn beyond the city limits.

Thorolf looked dourly at his companions. They had slept fully clad; but that was no insuperable obsta­cle ...

"Sleep well?" he snapped.

"Magnificent well!" said Yvette. " 'Twas as sound as in mine own palace. You were a dear to permit it!" She leaned over and kissed Thorolf's cheek. Some­times, he thought, she acted almost human.

Through the day, the Countess and the park super­intendent chattered, joked, and laughed in high good humor. Drawing inferences, Thorolf became ever more dour and silent.

A group of trolls stopped them, demanding tribute. Thorolf talked their way past this border guard, and the trio reached Wok's village in midafternoon.

The Chief came puffing up, crying: "Ah, good my Thorolf! And the learned Doctor Berthar! What seek ye this time? Worms or gnats?"

"A species of salamander—" began Berthar, but Wok ignored his reply, saying:

"Is this your other mate, Thorolf?"

"She is Countess Yvette of Grintz, from Carinthia. Countess, I present the mighty Chief Wok—"

"What this?" said Bza loudly in Trollish, pushing brusquely into the group. "No say can have other mate!"

"What's she grunting about?" asked Yvette.

"Well—ah—this is Bza, of whom I told you—"

"Want other mate, ask me first!" shouted Bza. "Me boss; her servant!"

Thorolf said: "She claims mastery over you, as se­nior wife—"

"I never heard of aught so ridiculous!" cried Yvette. "Tell this apish she-pig where to stick her wishes!"

"Bza!" said Thorolf in a soothing manner. "Listen! She no mate; just friend. Nobody boss—"

"Me know lowland word!" screamed Bza. "Me kill!"

Bza hurled herself at Yvette; the two came together in a shrieking whirl of golden hair. Bza was trying to tear out a double handful of Yvette's tresses, while the Countess fiercely punched and kicked her antagonist.

Thorolf cried: "Stop them, Wok!" He caught Bza from behind and whacked her knuckles with the hilt of the dagger he had taken from the Carinthian until she released Yvette's hair. Wok had seized Yvette around the waist and whirled her away from Bza. Thorolf turned Bza around and gave her a shove that sent her staggering away.

"Enough from you twain!" he shouted, sheathing his dagger. "No fight, Bza! Or me beat!"

"Limp lowlander, no can futter!" yelled Bza.

Before Thorolf could find further words, he felt his dagger snatched from its sheath. Next, Yvette was run­ning at Bza, the dagger raised for a downward stab.

Thorolf hurled himself after the Countess, catching her just before she reached her victim. With the flying tackle he brought Yvette to earth. She rolled over, shrieking:

"Loon! Whoreson rudesby! Lickspittle! Roynish pa-jock! I'll teach thee to lay vile hands upon my princely person!"

She tried to stab Thorolf, who caught her wrist and twisted until she released the knife. Since the tirade continued, he slapped her, hard.

"Idiot!" he growled. "Want them to cut you up and boil you for dinner? That's what they do to bothersome lowlanders."

Yvette dissolved in tears. Thorolf added: "And next time you try to stab someone, hold the knife point up." He looked up to see a scowling Khop, Bza's lover, looming over him.

"Hurt Bza, fight me!" rumbled the troll.

"Thorolf!" said Berthar's voice. "I cannot have you treating a high-born lady thus!"

Thorolf rose. "If you're fain to keep those two ter­magants from killing each other," he snarled, "I wish you joy of the task. I am more concerned with my belly. Chief Wok, who has a bite to spare a hungry fellow tribesman?"

As the day died, Thorolf pitched his little tent at the edge of the village and pulled off his boots. Berthar asked:

"What do ye, Thorolf?"

"As any fool can see, I am stalking a Pantorozian tiger," snapped Thorolf.

"Oh, come, be not angry! Ye were right to separate those twain even if compelled to be rough with them. Are ye going to sleep?"

"Aye. Having been on the dodge for a sennight, I weary."

"Ye take not your usual tent, with Bza?"

"She threatened to cut off my manhood whilst I slept, so I shall rest better alone."

"Then what of the Countess and me? My sack is not spacious enough for two ..."

"Ask Wok to find spaces for the twain of you. Yvette was right; this shelter is really not large enough for more than one. Good night."

Later, finding sleep elusive despite his fatigue, Tho­rolf heard Yvette say:

"... in Grintz, a commoner who laid violent hands upon me would be torn between wild horses."

"But, my dear, he had to! He did after all save your life."

"So I ween; but it's hard to forgive such presump­tuous treatment. My elbow was skinned in the fall, and my arm aches from the twist he gave it."

"Ye should make amends."

"I would have, earlier; but he professed not to hear when I spake. Now he sulks, because I gave him not what ..."

The voices faded with distance. Thorolf mentally fin­ished her last sentence: "... what I gave you." He uttered a little snort of disgust, partly at himself for being, despite all, still in love with the jade.