LITMIR.BIZ

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fighting the warmth of the water, a drowsy mineral warmth that soothed and relaxed every muscle in his body. He was stifling yawns by the time he saw the man-sized shape, slipping through the water ahead of him some thirty feet away and headed for the islet.

      Zayn let the man get a good head-start, then drew and nocked an arrow in his bow and followed him, keeping well back on the edge of his enemy’s visibility. Sliding in the muck, cursing under his breath, the man reached the island and clambered up the rocky bank. Zayn saw him kneel down by Palindor’s body and lay his bow aside. Zayn stood up, the bow ready, and waited. He had no hopes of actually hitting a target with the unfamiliar Tribal bow; he merely hoped to distract the enemy with the shot, then dodge to one side and approach from a new direction. At last the enemy rose, his bow dangling in his hand. Zayn loosed. Much to his shock, the arrow hissed home and struck its target in the side of his chest. The man screamed, twisted and clawed at the shaft, and fell to his knees. By the time Zayn made his way over to the islet, he lay dead with bloody foam crusting on his lips and chin.

      Zayn slung his bow over his back, then crouched down by the bleeding corpse and turned him over: a Kazrak. His eyes were pale grey and his straight hair dark, but he was a young Kazrak, all right, with a beaky nose and dark skin, wearing a tunic over his leather trousers. Zayn had never seen him before in his life.

      He ran across the island, grabbed the spirit staff, and kept running to the farther bank. He slipped into the water and started back across the lake. He was half-way to the first hummock when he heard another false croak, coming from the opposite direction of the first, as if there were a net of men being drawn around him. As fast as he could, Zayn slogged on. Every now and then he would crouch down and look back, only to see nothing but mist.

      By the time he gained the lake shore, it was growing dark. Tapping his way with the staff, desperately looking for the traces he’d left in the morning, he picked his way through the swamp. In the twilight, the only sign of treacherous bogs were little glimmers of silver from standing water. When he realized that he had miles between him and safety, his exhaustion caught him. He would find another islet and sleep. If he died of exposure, then he’d never have to wake up, and at the moment, that seemed a blessing. When he looked back, he saw the bluish lights drifting in the mists behind him, soft round balls, drifting like watchers for the gods. The sight drove him onward.

      Zayn went about half a mile on before he saw the light ahead of him, a pale blue fire bobbing as if it were a lantern held in someone’s hand. He fell to one knee, laid the staff down, and nocked an arrow in his bow. As the light came closer, he suddenly wondered if it were an evil spirit; if so, the bow would be useless.

      ‘Zayn?’ Ammadin called out. ‘Is that you?’

      Zayn sighed aloud, a sharp hiss of relief.

      ‘Yes. Stay where you are! You could be in danger.’

      Zayn put the arrow back in the quiver, picked up the spirit staff, and went on, stumbling on the mossy ground. When he finally saw Ammadin, he swore aloud. She was holding her hand shoulder high, and from her fingers streamed a pale bluish light like cold fire. When she spoke, he couldn’t answer: all he could do was stare at the light on her hand.

      ‘I had the feeling you’d be back at sunset,’ she said. ‘Here – what? By the gods, where did you get that bow?’

      Zayn could only shrug and watch the streaming light.

      ‘Tell me.’ Ammadin grabbed his arm with her other hand. ‘What danger? Are you hurt?’

      ‘No. The bow? I took it from a man who tried to kill me with it. Someone was hunting me out there.’

      ‘Who?’

      Zayn made an effort and looked away from the magical fire. How could he tell her the truth? Palindor had loved her once.

      ‘Someone I don’t know. Kazraks.’

      ‘Don’t lie to me.’ Ammadin’s voice turned hard. ‘Who?’

      ‘Very well, then. Palindor. But he had a couple of Kazraks with him.’

      Ammadin went stiff and still, her hand still tight on his arm.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Zayn went on, ‘but he had this bow. He was trying to kill me. I swear it. I’m sorry.’

      ‘No need for apologies. I believe you. Come along. We’ve got to get back to the others.’

      ‘But he – I mean Palindor. Aren’t you sorry he’s dead?’

      ‘I’m sorry he broke the law. There’s no time for chatter. Come on!’

      Once he was sitting by a fire with a bowl of stew in his hands, the day turned so dream-like in his mind that he was almost grateful to Palindor, because the death threat at least seemed real, preserving the other memories with it. In a silent grim crowd, the comnee crowded close to hear about his quest. While Ammadin, her hand now stripped of the magical light, told the story, Zayn gobbled stew and let the fire-warmth soak into him. When she finished, Apanador took the captured bow and studied the decoration on it.

      ‘It’s Palindor’s, all right,’ the chief said. ‘Well, his mother’s comnee is going to have some harsh words about this.’

      ‘Why should they?’ Dallador rose from his place. ‘Palindor acted like an ugly little coward. He went out there to murder a man with all the odds on his side.’

      ‘I know that. But will his mother see it that way?’

      ‘She’ll have to.’ Ammadin turned to Zayn. ‘He broke the laws of the gods as well as our law. When a man goes to vigil in the Mistlands, his life is as sacred as a spirit rider’s. Who would go seek a vision if he thought his enemies would be waiting for him in the holy places?’

      The comnee nodded in grim-faced agreement. Dallador sat down, satisfied.

      ‘And as for these Kazraks,’ Apanador said, ‘they’re no concern of ours. If they come hunting a comnee man, they’ll have to pay the price. Zayn, do you have enemies in the khanate?’

      ‘I must.’ Zayn picked his words carefully. ‘Maybe it’s that chief whose wife I took. But I don’t understand. That Kazrak I killed? I’ve never seen him before in my whole life. Maybe he was just a friend of Palindor’s who offered to help him.’

      ‘If another Kazrak were riding with the comnees,’ Apanador said, ‘we would have heard about it long before this. Let me think. Palindor’s mother rides with Lanador’s comnee. I don’t even know where they are – west, I think. Holy One, should we seek them out?’

      ‘No,’ Ammadin said. ‘She’s better off without a son like that. If the gods will that her path crosses ours, I’ll offer her a horse in restitution. One is about all he was worth.’

      ‘Do you think she’ll take it?’ Zayn asked.

      ‘Why not?’ Apanador glanced his way. ‘I know her, and she’ll be pleased to get any kind of blood price. By rights, we don’t have to offer her anything at all since her son was bent on murder.’

      ‘Zayn?’ Dallador broke in. ‘But do you want retribution? For the broken vision quest, I mean.’

      ‘No,’ Zayn said. ‘I just wish it hadn’t happened. I didn’t want to kill anyone, much less him.’

      Ammadin and Apanador exchanged a satisfied glance. As the crowd broke up, Dallador came over to Zayn and laid a friendly hand on his arm.

      ‘Not bad,’ Dallador said. ‘A man’s hunting you with a bow, and you’ve only got a knife, but you managed to kill him anyway.’

      ‘You gave me a good knife, that’s why.’

      Dallador grinned.

      ‘Palindor used to eat at your fire, didn’t he?’ Zayn went on. ‘Am I still a friend of yours?’

      ‘What happened was between you and him, and he was in the wrong, anyway.’

      ‘Thanks,

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