"In other words, you're fond of the place?"

"I guess that's what I was trying to say."

"Well, if you don't want to make pots with me, why not get yourself a villa there? You'd have your variety, in a place you're truly fond of..."

Red was silent for a time. He searched out a match and relit his cigar.

Then, "It's a nice dream," he said, "and I could do it for a few years. Then I'd get restless and I'd be back on the Road again. I know it."

"Because of whatever it is you're looking for?" Flowers said.

"Yes ... I suppose so. But I've thought about it a lot ... Even if there were nothing special I were seeking, even then... I'd just get restless."

He puffed on the cigar.

"Then I'd get back on the Road and my problem would still be there, waiting for me," he finished.

"That turnoff is coming up now."

"Yeah, thanks, I see it"

He cut down and across onto this tributary of the Road. He passed a variety of vehicles and was passed himself as he sped along.

"That closes one option," Mondamay said.

"What?" .,,.,,. "You can't just quit and hide, because you can't stay

hidden. The time interval spent off the Road—even if it is a long one—would mean nothing once you return

to it."

"So your retirement from the Road should only be for purposes of planning or arming."

"Again, true."

"Or you can return to the Road, go about your business, stay alert, and hope to win out in all the ensuing

assaults—"

"I might just do that."

"—bearing in mind that every one of them is going to be managed by a professional in this line of work, and that your enemy can afford to hire uniquely talented individuals from virtually anywhere."

"The thought had passed through my mind. Nevertheless ..."

"Or you could choose your own battleground. Select some comfortable, well-fortified spot, let it be known that you are there, and let them come after you."

"There's the motel now," Red announced as a large stone structure several stories in height, topped with cupolas, glittering in the dayglow, came into view on the left. The sign in front said SPIRO'S.

He passed the establishment. A little farther ahead, there was a cloverleaf. He spun about it, emerged on the proper side of the road, headed back. The sky faded, brightened, faded, faded, as he slowed and turned off toward the building. It was a cool, dark night when he entered the lot and parked. Somewhere a cricket was singing.

He removed Flowers from her compartment and got out of the car. He fetched his backpack from the rear. Mondamay climbed out and joined him.

"Red?" Mondamay said as they headed toward the front doors.

"Yes?" "Get two rooms, will you?" "Okay. How come?" "One for Flowers and myself. We just want to be

alone—together." "Oh. Sure. I'll take care of it."

They entered the flagstoned lobby, where he left

Flowers with Mondamay and headed for the registra tion office. He was in it for several minutes. "Sorry we couldn't be on the same floor," he said as

they moved toward the stairs. "You are below the

third balcony, though. I'm above it. Come on up to my

room for a while. I want to continue our discussion. "This was our intention also." | They went round and round, the stairs creaking be

neath Mondomay's tread.

Two

Dreaming roadmaps and gold, the great dragons of Bel'kwinith drift and twist on the breezes of morning, when they were not dreaming in their caves. Timeless collaborators with destiny, they move their wills across the landscape of dream and desire...

"Patris," said the younger one, "you have said that if a certain event occurs, I may enter his cave to remove the hoard that awaits him there and add it to my own."

The older one opened one eye. Minutes passed.

Then, "I have said that," Patris acknowledged.

More minutes passed.

Finally, "You say nothing more, Chantris," the older one stated. "Has it occurred?"

"No, not yet..."

"Then why do you trouble me?"

"Because I feel that it may soon come to pass."

"Feel?"

"It seems likely."

"Likelies and their uns have seldom concerned us here. I know your desire, and I say that you may not yet have his hoard."

"Yes," said Chantris, showing many of her teeth. "Yes," Patris repeated in their sibilant tongue, and he opened his other eye. "And you have just spoken one

"

word too many. You know my will and you seek to toy with it." He raised his head. The other drew back. "Do you challenge me?"

"No," said Chantris.

"... And by that you say 'not yet.'"

"I would not be so foolish as to choose this time and this spot."

"Good sense. Though I doubt it will save you in the end. Face the north wind and depart."

"I was about to anyway, Lord Patris. And I bid you remember we need no Road. Farewell!"

"Hold, Chantris! If you go to damage these chains you have seen, if you go to harm this one in his other form, then you may have chosen your time and your place!"

But the other had already departed, to seek and stop one who would return to the wind but knew it not wholly, yet.

Patris revolved his eyes. Times and places moved behind them. He found the channel of his desire and adjusted the fine tuning.

One

Red sat on his bed, Mondamay on the floor. Flowers on the table between them. Cigar smoke twisted about the room. Red raised an ornate goblet from the table and sipped a dark wine.

"All right Where were we?" he asked, unlacing his boots and dropping them beside the bed.

"You had said that you did not want to come home with me and make pots," Mondamay stated.

"That's true."

"... And you agreed that it would be difficult for you to leave the Road and stay in hiding indefinitely."

"Yes."

"You also conceded that remaining on the Road and going about your business could be hazardous."

"Right."

"Then the only course of action I can see is for you

to go on the offensive. Get Chadwick before he gets you."

"Hmm." Red closed his eyes. "That would be an interesting variation," he said. "But he's pretty far from here, and it would certainly not be easy .. ." Where is he now?"

"The last I knew, he'd put down pretty firm roots

in C Twenty-seven. He is a very wealthy and powerful man."

"But you could find him?"

"Yes."

"How well do you know his time and place?" Mondamay asked.

"I lived there for over a year."

"Then your best course of action seems obvious: go after him."

"I suppose you are right."

Red suddenly put down his goblet, rose to his feet and began pacing rapidly.

"You suppose! What else is there left to do?"

"Yes, yes!" Red replied, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it onto the bed. "Listen, we'll have to finish talking about it tomorrow."

He unbuckled his belt, stepped out of his trousers, threw them next to the shirt. He resumed pacing.

"Red!" Flowers said sharply. "Are you having one of your spells?"

"I don't know. I feel a little peculiar, that's all. Possibly. I think you'd better go now. We'll talk more in the morning."

"I think we'd better stay," Flowers answered. "I'd like to know what happens, and perhaps—"

"No! I mean it! I'll talk to you later! Leave me!" .

"All right. As you say. Let's go, Mondy."

Mondamay rose and removed Flowers from the table.

"Is there anything at all that I can do, that I can get you?" he asked.

"No."

"Good night, then."

"Good night."

He departed. As he moved down the stairs, Mondamay asked Flowers, "What is it? I've known him for some time, but I never knew of any illness—any spells... What's he got?"

"I have no idea. He does not get them often, but

when he does, he always manages to be alone. I believe he has recurrent bouts of insanity—some sort of manic thing.