The Pixilated Peeress

V – Maleficent Murder

In the fading twilight, Tho­rolf strode briskly to Bardi's house. When the soldier had told his tale, Bardi fingered his straggling beard and mused: "My congratulations. Thorolf, on your self-restraint. Few stout fellows of your age would have shown the like."

"Hardest damned 'nay' I ever said in my life," grunted Thorolf.

"As for your lady, it sounds to me as if she were possessed by a delta. She is what the country folk call 'pixilated'. Were I seeking a woman, an unlikely thing at my age—" Bardi gave a dry chuckle. "—I should choose one less prone to magical misfortunes."

"Some of which you yourself brought about," grumped Thorolf. "And just what, pray, is a delta?"

"A delta is one of the inhabitants of the spirit world. Members of this species are invisible on this plane, save that in the dark you can see one as a point of twinkling light. Also, a skilled sorcerer can capture it, force it into this world, and compel it to occupy the body of a human being."

"Wouldst call that diabolic possession?"

"Not exactly, nay. Deltas are not evil spirits: they have no special bent toward inflicting weal or woe upon us mortals. They are not highly intelligent and, when controlled by a wizard, obey the commands of him who captures them, like well-trained dogs. Thus they com­pel the bodies they possess to do as the magus orders. But I must see your lady with mine own eyes."'

"Come, then." As they walked toward the Green Dragon, Thorolf asked: "How complete is the sorcer­er's domination? Will a delta-possessed victim slay him or herself at the mage's command?"

"I know not for certain," said Bardi. "Methinks it doth depend upon two factors: the servility of the delta toward the mage and the strength of mind of the victim. These factors vary. I have heard that, when the sorcerer gives the delta a command that violates the most fervent conviction of the possessed one, the subject's body is frozen to immobility. Pray slow down, Thorolf," he puffed. "Mine aged limbs are not up to your soldiery stride!"

At the Green Dragon, Thorolf found the chamber fee­bly lit by a single candle and Yvette asleep in the bed. Upon the arrival of Thorolf and Bardi, she awoke and sat up, the blanket and sheet falling away from her slen­der torso.

"Sergeant," she asked in her leaden monotone, "who is this man?"

"You've met Doctor Bardi, Yvette," said Thorolf. "Remember that we sought out Doctor Bardi when you wished to change your appearance to foil pursuers?"

She shook her head. "It is all confused. But what brings him hither? Would he bed me, also? I am not empowered to grant—"

"Thankee for the compliment," murmured Bardi. "But—"

"Nay, nay!" Thorolf interposed hastily. "He would merely verify your health."

"My health is excellent," she said. "If he fear injury from your great—"

"Nought like that, my dear," Thorolf interrupted. "Do but sit you quiet for a moment!"

Bardi changed his eyeglasses, lit another candle, and held it close to Yvette while studying her eyes and look­ing down her throat. Then he set down the candle.

"Wilt see me safely home, Thorolf?" he asked. "I am too old and frail to wander the nighted streets alone, with ruffians aprowl. But pray, run not mine old legs off!"

"Certes," said Thorolf. "I shall soon return, Yvette. Go back to sleep, my dear."

As he and the ancient mage traversed the darkened streets, Thorolf said: "Well, Doctor, what thinkst?"

"Meseems a plain case of delta possession."

"Can this spirit be exorcised?"

"Not by me, and mayhap not even by Orlandus, who placed it there. Betimes the deltas come to enjoy resid­ing in a mortal frame and refuse to vacate, like mun­dane tenants who fall behind with their rent. Perchance Magus Myrdhin in Kymri or Archmage Valentius in Aemilia could force the interloper out."

"Is it not illegal so to possess another?"

"Aye, aye; it's one of the worst forms of magical malpractice. But ye know as well as I that dark deeds are done even in our law-abiding land. It were hard to assemble evidence that would stand the test in court, even could we discover jurymen not so terrified of sor­cerers as to refuse to convict.

"Moreover, our public prosecutors dislike cases in­volving magic. To forestall employment of spells to subvert justice, the prosecutor must either hire a rival wizard, at public expense, to guard the court by counterspells; or bind and gag the magician, leaving but one of's hands unbound to write his answers."

"Would Orlandus banish the delta when we have paid all of his bill?" asked Thorolf hopefully.

"Count not upon it. His diaphanes are the primary tools wherewith he hopes to further his ambitions; so why should he yield up one?"

"We ought to have been more careful in making an agreement with him."

"No doubt; but we were under emergent pressure and could not afford lengthy negotiations. Besides, pa­per promises are still paper promises, which the promiser may break unless the promisee have some exigent hold upon him."

"Such, say, as a hostage?"

"Aye." Bardi fingered his straggly beard. "As things do stand, the only sure release of these deltas back to their native plane is the death of him who installed them. Then, soon or late, they quit the bodies thus possessed and retreat to their proper sphere. I ween they wax homesick."

Thorolf frowned. "To slay the Psychomage were a large order, to say nought of the law I've sworn to up­hold."

"Oh, my dear Sergeant, think not of such a foray! Orlandus will anticipate your assault and, though he be not a wizard to the highest class, will ready a lethal defense."

"Then how to rescue the lady? Could I not seek mag­ical aid of mine own?"

Bardi spread his hands helplessly. "I were as useless against him as a fly whisk against a dragon."

"Who, then?"

"Dear me! I know not who might better serve your turn. Sordamor would charge an emperor's ransom; Gant hath been effective but is now enslaved by his drug; Avain is a treacherous rascal."

"That smiling little man?"

"Yea verily. As the playwright Helmanax wrote, a man can smile and smile and still be a scoundrel."

Thorolf pondered, his worried thoughts flitting back to the Green Dragon. As they reached the wizard's house, he asked: "Doctor, may I catch a night's sleep here, instead of returning to the inn?"

"Assuredly. But wherefore, with the Queen of the Fays awaiting you in bed?"

"That's just the trouble. Were I alone with her again, I might be more than tempted to sign that cursed doc­ument. I'm in love with the woman she was, so I trust not my resistance. I refused her once, but 'twas a damned near thing."

"With your muscle, she could hardly deny you if you employed force."

"Not my wonted way; and if I did, what then? She said she'd stab any wight who so used her in's sleep. I doubt not that her delta be under orders to do the like."

"Well, use yonder couch if ye like." Bardi fingered his whiskers. "There's something I did mean to tell you, but I've forgotten what. A moment ..." The wrinkled face cleared. "Ah, yea! I found the book wherein I stowed my notes on the learned Doctor Fausto's volume, Of the Unrigging of Illusions. I bethought me yestereve, and by good hap I've bought a phial of Fausto's formula from the apothecary. Bide ye in yon chair for the nonce."

As he rummaged, the magician continued: "Know, Thorolf, that spells fall into two classes: illusory and substantive. Illusory spells do but alter the appearance of things, exempli gratia the cheaper spell I offered to put upon the Countess, to make her seem a short, dark, dumpy woman. Such spells are relatively simple.

"Substantive spells, on t'other hand, cause actual re­arrangement of the atoms whereof the thing or person be constructed ..."

He droned on about the rival theories of the modus operandi of spells. Then, "Ah, here it is!" He pulled out an ancient codex with a cracked and grimy cover of gilded red leather. Presently Bardi presented Thorolf with a pill and a cupful of water. "Wash it down!" he commanded.

While Thorolf obeyed, Bardi grasped a piece of char­coal and, stooping, marked a small pentacle on the floor. He made a few passes and chanted verses in an unknown tongue. "How feel ye, Sergeant?"

"I tingle all over," said Thorolf. "A slight head­ache, as if my skull were pressing on my brain."

"That is normal; it will pass."

"I hope this turn me not into some lower form of life!"

"Never fear! I have taken precautions against such an error."

"Is there any way to test the spell?"

"Aye; I'll summon an illusion, and ye shall see how it works."

Bardi lit four black candles and set them in candle­sticks on the floor, where they burned with a sinister greenish light. He went through a magical procedure, with words and gestures, causing smokes of magen­ta, turquoise, and lemon green to rise from the candles. When at last he clapped his hands, the smokes co­alesced into a big, black-maned lion, which twitched its tail and gave a hollow roar. Thorolf started back and reached for his sword.

"Do but look closely," said Bardi.

The young man became aware that this lion was transparent; he could see a couple of candleflames through it. He said:

"I understand now, Doctor. How long might this spell last?"

Bardi clapped his hands and uttered a word; the lion faded back into smoke. He gathered and snuffed the candles, saying:

"Belike a month; then it needs renewal. Time was when I had to crush and mix the ingredients of that pill myself, and a tedious business it was. Now I need but call at the shop of Frigered the Apothecary, where I can purchase many magical preparations made up in pills and drops."

Thorolf said: "When I studied at Genuvia, a profes­sor of natural philosophy said that men were working on simpler forms of spells. Instead of all the compli­cations of pentacles, invocations, gestures, and smokes, the complete spell would be contained in a pill, dis­pensed by an apothecary. This anti-illusion spell, me-seems, is a step thither."

"I've heard such rumors," grumbled Bardi, "but I do not believe 'twill ever come to that. If it be ever reduced to ready-made pills and powders, it will be time for me to take down my sign and retire."

"Why? You could still sell the pills and powders."

"So can any man with wit to read a formula and keep his stock in order."

"So he won't mistakenly turn his client into a tentacled sea monster?" said Thorolf with a grin.

"Nasty, nasty!" Bardi wagged a bony forefinger. "But if all my special skills and knowledge were wasted, I should become a mere file clerk."

"You could learn the new—"

"My son, there comes a time when one is just too old and tired to cram new skills into one's aged skull." Bardi rapped his scalp with his knuckles. "At any rate, methinks those Serican tubes whereof I hear will put many of my colleagues out of business, since one dis­charge can wreak more woe in the blink of an eye than a wizard can work with a month of spells."

"What about your fee? Orlandus will have beggared us by the time he's through."

Bardi waved a hand. "Since he hath forced us into alliance, forget the fee for now. When we be again sol­vent, it will be time to settle our mutual accounts. Now excuse me; I must to my rest."

Thorolf left Bardi's house well before dawn. Back at the Green Dragon, whose guests were not yet stirring, he found the room empty. Yvette had taken her beau­tiful new clothes and her reticule, including the contract offered to Thorolf, and vanished. Vasco had not seen her go.

Thorolf hastened back to Bardi's house, finding the iatromage at his meager breakfast. The soldier reported Yvette's disappearance.

"Curse of the green slime!" cried Thorolf. "I should have locked her in, or tied her to the bed, or something to restrain her. Now she'll have returned to the castle."

Bardi raised bushy gray eyebrows. "It would have accomplished nought. If I know aught of delta posses­sion, she'd have climbed out the window, or screamed for help and asked Master Vasco to release her."

"Then I should have stayed and taken my chances on being able to refuse that indenture."

"But had ye remained steadfast in your refusal, she would still have departed."

"I could have held her by force."

"Then she'd have cried for help and charged you with kidnapping."

"I should natheless have thought of something. I am nought but an idiot." He pounded his skull with his knuckles.

"Take it not so to heart, Thorolf. Ye did your best, which is all any of us can do. Here, share my feeble fare. 'Twill cheer you up."

"I doubt that, Doctor," gloomed Thorolf. "But thanks anyway."

Fortified with Bardi's breakfast, Thorolf repaired to the barracks to take up his duties. After the morning's drill, he hied himself up Castle Hill. Over the castle gate, above the portcullis, workmen were installing a ban­ner. This was a long yellow ribbon of yard-wide cloth on which was painted in scarlet letters the legend: SOPHONOMY SAVES THE WORLD!

Thorolf's heart beat faster, as it always did when he thought he was nearing Yvette. As the gate guards crossed their halberds before him, he said: "Pray in­form Yvette, Countess of Grintz, that Sergeant Thorolf would speak with her."

The guard soon returned, not with Yvette but with the stout, red-haired, red-robed man with whom he had spoken on his second approach to the castle. This one, eyeing Thorolf coldly, said in a voice like a steel blade on a grindstone:

"What do ye here, sirrah?"

"I wish to speak to Countess Yvette."

"Forsooth? Know that she does not wish to speak with you."

Thorolf felt a flush of anger rising; he fought to keep himself under control. "If you will send her out, or admit me to where she is, she can tell me so in per­son."

"That is unnecessary. I have told you all you need know; now depart and cease to trouble us."

"Pox on you!" shouted Thorolf as his self-control began to slip. "You've put her under some damnable spell, for which you shall answer to me!"

"Ye have mine answer," snapped the red-haired man. Turning to the guards, he said: "Call out the duty squad!"

The guard blew a whistle, and more mailed men bus­tled through the gate, drawing swords as they came. The two on guard lowered their halberds, pointing the spearheads at Thorolf's chest.

By reflex, Thorolf whipped out his own sword. He was enraged enough to take on the whole duty squad singlehanded, though the rational part of his mind knew that he would be hacked to pieces in a trice. As the guards crowded toward him, he backed warily toward the downward path. If he could get them where they could only come at him one at a time ...

"What's all this?" said a mellow voice, as Orlandus appeared. "Call off our hounds, good Parthenius. My dear Sergeant Thorolf! So you are fain to renew your pursuit of the Lady Yvette? Even after you rejected our perfectly reasonable offer?"

"Not reasonable at all. You wish me to become spell­bound like the Countess. I demand that you exorcise the spirit possessing her and release her, forthwith!"

Orlandus chuckled. "My dear fellow! We cannot un­dertake so drastic a change in our program on your mere say-so. I'll tell you. Come in to drink and dine, and we'll discuss these matters. I am sure we can reach an amicable arrangement."

Thorolf snorted. "Me, enter that nest of vipers so you can have your men seize me and work your magic? How stupid do I look?" He had forgotten that, just before, he had demanded admission to the castle. "Send out Yvette!"

He made a slight motion with his sword. At once the men of the duty squad crowded forward, blades bared.

Orlandus sighed. "What a pity, to waste such a fine body and keen brain! Do your duty, men, to the foes of our Order!"

The guardsmen rushed forward, mail jingling. Tho­rolf, the first flush of whose rage had subsided, knew that, unarmored, he had no more chance against these bravos than the proverbial snowball in the fires of Mount Vasaetno. He ran down the path, easily outdistancing them and bearing with fortitude their shouts and jeers.

Thorolf walked the Street of Clockmakers furious, not so much with the Sophonomists as with himself, for having lost his temper in a circumstance that called for guile. He seldom let himself go so far, but once or twice a year the pressures built up and his composure rup­tured. He should, he told himself, have had better sense than to voice loud demands upon his antagonists when he had no means of enforcing those demands. Thus he had achieved nought but to make himself look foolish.

Perplexed, he wandered across the city to Bardi's house. When the old wizard had dismissed his last cli­ent, Thorolf spent an hour fruitlessly mulling over plans for storming the Sophonomist stronghold, rescuing Yvette, and ridding her of the spell whereby Orlandus controlled her.

"Tell me something, Doctor," he said. "Meseems that all of Orlandus' folk who wore those yellow robes spake in that toneless voice, as if it proceeded from some contrivance mechanical. Does that mean that they were commanded by deltas—or, I should say, com­manded by Orlandus through his deltas?"

"Aye, so I believe."

"And when he speaks of transforming selected fol­lowers into 'diaphanes,' he means merely those he has brought under deltaic possession?"

Bardi scratched his straggly beard. "Now that ye frame the thought, methinks ye be right."

"But the guards at the castle behave not thus, but as common mercenaries do everywhere."

"Let me think ... Ah! Belike I have it. Orlandus requires fighting men, dextrous in their deathly trade, however stupid in other respects. A delta lacks the prac­tice and training to make its host a skillful man of his hands. For the same reason, whilst it can compel its human host to speak the words Orlandus hath com­manded, it cannot imitate the tones of natural speech closely enough to deceive one who knows what to listen for."

Thorolf mused: "I follow your reasoning, Doctor. Now let's suppose that Orlandus gain control of the Rhaetian government, as he seems on the way to doing. He could little by little convert our soldiers to dia­phanes, drilling and exercising each wight so possessed until the delta become as skillful with arms as its soldier host had erstwhile been."

"An ominous possibility, Thorolf."

"Aye, with more to come. What befalls a delta when its host dies?"

"I suppose it return to its own plane."

"Well, methinks I know enough of the art of war to realize that, be he never so brave, skilled, and zealous, the time comes when a soldier thinks: All is lost. If I remain, I shall be slain along with my comrades, to no good purpose. Then he begins to look about for escape. Orlandus' diaphanes, howsomever, will march fear­lessly to their deaths, which mean nought to the deltas controlling them. This gives the cultmonger an advan­tage over any foes. Why, I can envisage his conquest of all the neighboring kingdoms and republics, even of the Empire. He must be stopped before his power waxes further!"

"Aye," said Bardi. "Alas that I am too old and fee­ble to face him! Ye must find sturdier allies for the deed."

Thorolf mused: "Doctor, are all of Orlandus' ser­vants, save his soldiery, thus enslaved?"

"Methinks not; only those in yellow. Those holding positions of puissance in his conspiracy remain normal; one tells them by their crimson robes. Those in gray, the largest group, are the probationers. He sucks them dry of their wealth and extorts from them menial labor gratis. When their money is gone for his alleged 'courses,' he imposes deltas upon them and calls them diaphanes. Right clever, eh?"

"Would it not imperil Orlandus if some of the red robes, being less surely under his control, conspired to oust him and seize all power and pelf for themselves?"

"True, my son," replied Bardi. "But that is ever the dilemma of the leader. As I have said, deltas are unin­telligent and thus pose no threat to him who commands them. But no leader can minutely oversee every act of a multitude of followers, however abjectly obedient. Hence he must have able, intelligent subordinates to serve him; and able subordinates may conceive ambi­tions of their own."

"Who are Orlandus' officers?"

Bardi waved his hands helplessly. "Little is known of the inner workings of his empire, save that he hath a lieutenant, clept Parthenius."

"I have met Master Parthenius," growled Thorolf. "He is the sort to whom, if he were drowning, I should be happy to throw an anvil. Any others?"

"Likewise he hath a treasurer, hight Cadolant, whom I believe unpixilated. There are others, but I know them not.

"Now I shall run a divination anent that squad of Carinthians who take such an unwonted interest in a respectable sergeant of the Rhaetian Army."

Daylight was fading when Thorolf, his suspicion of the Duke of Landai's men confirmed by Bardi's divination, approached the barracks. A voice spoke out of the deepening dark:

"Hist! Thorolf!" It was Sergeant Regin, who had often chaffed Thorolf on his virginity.

"Aye?" replied Thorolf. "What is't?"

"Keep in the shadows and whisper," muttered Re-gin. "First, go not into the barracks!"

"Why not?"

"There's a plot against you. If ye show your face therein, 'twill be the ax or the rope."

"Good gods! What's all this?"

"During the day, a fellow in a yellow coat rode up, handed the sentry a packet, and departed. The packet was addressed to the Colonel, old Gunthram himself. By a few shrewd questions, I learnt that the packet en­compassed treasonable correspondence betwixt you and the Court of Carinthia, setting forth plans for the con­quest of Rhaetia."

Thorolf pressed his lips together. "And you believed it not?"

"Such treasons and stratagems from my innocent pure-in-heart? Nay; I know you too well."

"Methinks I could prove these letters forgeries. He of the yellow jacket sounds like one of Orlandus' min­ions."

"Chance it not, Thorolf! The officers' quarters buzzed like a nest of angry wasps. Gunthram never did take to your promotion, holding scholars too airy-fairy day dreamy to be trusted with military duties. He brought the officers' council around to his way of think­ing."

"If you can call what he does thinking," muttered Thorolf.

"True; but it remains that, step inside yon gate and ye are a dead man. Here, I've collected some of your chattels, with some food." Regin handed over a back­pack and a crossbow.

"You're sure of this?" said Thorolf hesitantly.

"Aye forsooth! Here's a broadside fresh from the press, which they've made up in case ye failed to report back."

Thorolf fumbled in the pack and brought out his ig­niter and tinderbox. Having charged the chamber with tinder, he cocked the device and pulled the trigger. A click preceded a shower of sparks, and the tinder blazed up. Thorolf held the crudely printed paper in the wavering yellow light and read: REWARD FOR CAPTURE, DEAD OR ALIVE, OF THOROLF ZIGRAMSON, FORMERLY ACTING SERGEANT OF ...

The flame went out. Thorolf said: "Whither should I flee? North to Carinthia or south to Tyrrhenia?"

"Neither! They've already sent out men to guard the passes. After this yellow-coated rogue departed, a squad in the dress of traveling merchants inquired after you in the barracks. 'Twas thought they were Carinthians, which did convince the waverers amongst the officers that ye were indeed a traitor."

Thorolf grunted. "That's what in literature we call irony. Those are men of Duke Gondomar of Landai, seeking to slay me."

"What hath Gondomar against you?"

"I rescued a damsel from his clutch."

"What'll ye do? Hide in the city?"

"Nay; with Gondomar's men, and the Sophonomists, and mine own comrades looking for me with no kindly intent, my chances were those of a pollywog in a pond of pike. I'll hie me into the higher mountains."

"Ye'll get lost or fall off a cliff!"

"I know the land well; I've spent many leaves in climbing. Three years since, I went thither with Pro­fessor Reccared of the college and a troll guide, seeking beasts for the Zoological Park."

"The trolls will devour you!"

"Methinks I can handle trolls; I know several in the mountains. And what alternative is there? Didst include any of my money in this pack?"

"Nay; to withdraw it from the regimental bank were sure to arouse suspicion." Regin hauled out his purse. "I can let you have a few pence. 'Tis all I have; I lost the rest gaming with File Leader Munderic. But what about your mare? She'll not be easy to take from the stables by stealth."

"I'm leaving her in your care," said Thorolf. "Whither I'm going, a horse were more hindrance than help. Thanks for the money. When I return, I'll repay you the principal in cash, with interest in the form of tales of mine adventures. Good night!"

Thorolf walked swiftly back to Doctor Bardi's house. If the old wizard did not use the wrong formula and turn him into an olifant, Bardi could put a temporary spell of illusion on him. Thorolf might also, he hoped, be able to touch Bardi for a loan. A man on the dodge needed money, and some upland peasants were a tight-fisted lot.

At the iatromage's house, Thorolf was surprised to see the door ajar. Either Bardi was becoming more woolly minded than ever, or ... Just in case there might have been intruders, Thorolf laid hand on hilt and pushed his way in.

All was dark. Thorolf moved as silently as a stalking cat. He felt his way down the hall to the sanctum, the door of which was ajar. Silence lay as thick as the lid of a coffin.

He fired his igniter. The yellow flame showed a room in disorder—even greater disorder than usual. A chest had been upset, dumping out its contents. Books had been pulled from the shelves and scattered. Thorolf's boot struck one of the skulls lying on the floor; the cranium rolled away half a turn, seeming to grin up at him.

Before his light went out, Thorolf spied an unlit can­dle in a copper candlestick atop a row of books. He recharged and fired the igniter and got the candle lit. By the yellow light he espied a human foot projecting from behind a settle. He moved quickly; the foot proved to be that of Doctor Bardi, who lay supine with his throat cut.

Thorolf grunted. While he and Bardi had never been close, he had known the old wizard for years, had ap­plied to him for the cure of ailments, and had become fond of him despite the mage's failing powers. He won­dered: Was it common robbers, or Gondomar's men, or the Sophonomists who had slain the mage?

He thought the last the likeliest. Orlandus had learned from Yvette that Thorolf had rejected her offer. Thorolf had heard that Sophonomists were implacable toward traitors and apostates. Their leader assured them that they might, without guilt or qualm, cheat, betray, as­sault, rob, or slay those hostile to the Cause.

Thorolf had shrugged off such remarks as the typical inflation of rumors; but the speaker had evidently known whereof he spoke. They might well have added the name of Thorolf Zigramson to their list of enemies. Perhaps they thought that Bardi had advised him to re­ject Yvette ...

He scrutinized the room. The murder must have oc­curred at least an hour earlier, soon after Thorolf had left Bardi's house the last time. Bardi's blood, black in the candlelight, was fast drying but was not yet alto­gether dry.

So there was no point in crying the haro. The killers would have escaped; if Sophonomists, they would be back in their castle. From what Chief Constable Lodar had told him, there would be little use in setting the Constabulary after them. In fact, if Thorolf were found here, he would become the prime suspect. While he avidly yearned to bring the killers to book and to avenge his friend, it began to appear as if it would be all he could do to assure his own continued existence.

The settle behind which lay the corpse had not been overturned, but the seat lid had been raised and the contents scattered. Bardi had kept his dirty clothing in the settle, awaiting the weekly visits of the washer­woman. Beneath the soiled garments he also kept a small chest containing a substantial sum in gold; this chest was now missing. Thorolf had advised the wizard to put the money in a bank; but Bardi, having once been burned in a bank failure, was bank shy. He had assured Thorolf that the chest was securely locked by a spell; but Thorolf knew that such spells were easily cancelled by any competent magician.

Thorolf wondered how to get out of Zurshnitt. The army would surely have alerted the gate guards, and Bardi had not lived to put an illusion spell upon him. He still had the protection of Bardi's counterspell against illusions and possession, but that would wear off ere­long.

Thorolf hunted until he came to a wardrobe holding Bardi's spare robes. He chose a loose one bedight with magical symbols and pulled it on over the knapsack.

A half-hour later, limping heavily, bent to look hunchbacked, and leaning on Bardi's walking stick, he came to the West Gate. When challenged, he said in a disguised voice:

"I be Doctor B-Bardi's new apprentice, F-Fermin by n-name, may it p-please the gallant captain."

With a bored wave, the soldier signaled Thorolf to proceed. Thanking the small histrionic skills that he had obtained by taking part in amateur plays at the uni­versity at Genuvia, Thorolf vanished into the night.