At last she lay all but unconscious, satiated; and Lythande watched in agony.When she opened her eyes again, Lythande was looking down at her, sorrowfully.

Bercy stretched up languid arms. 'Truly, my beloved, you have loved me as nowoman has ever been loved before.'

For the first and last time, Lythande bent over her and pressed her lips in along, infinitely tender kiss. 'Sleep, my darling.'

And as she sank into ecstatic, exhausted sleep, Lythande wept.

Long before she woke, Lythande stood, girt for travel, in the little roombelonging to Myrtis.

'The spell will hold. She will make all haste to carry her tale to Rabben - thetale of Lythande, the incomparable lover! Of Lythande, of untiring virility, whocan love a maiden into exhaustion!' The rich voice of Lythande was harsh withbitterness.

'And long before you return to Sanctuary, once freed of the spell, she will haveforgotten you in many other lovers,' Myrtis agreed. 'It is better and safer thatit should be so.'

'True.' But Lythande's voice broke. 'Take care of her, Myrtis. Be kind to her.'

'I swear it, Lythande.'

'If only she could have loved me' - the magician broke and sobbed again for amoment; Myrtis looked away, wrung with pain, knowing not what comfort to offer.

'If only she could have loved me as I am, freed of Rabben's spell! Loved mewithout pretence! But I feared I could not master the spell Rabben had put onher ... nor trust her not to betray me. knowing ...'

Myrtis put her plump arms around Lythande, tenderly.

'Do you regret?'

The question was ambiguous. It might have meant: Do you regret that you did notkill the girl? Or even: Do you regret your oath and the secret you must bear tothe last day? Lythande chose to answer the last.

'Regret? How can I regret? One day I shall fight against Chaos with all of myorder; even at the side of Rabben, if he lives un-murdered as long as that. Andthat alone must justify my existence and my secret. But now I must leaveSanctuary, and who knows when the chances of the world will bring me this wayagain? Kiss me farewell, my sister.'

Myrtis stood on tiptoe. Her lips met the lips of the magician.

'Until we meet again, Lythande. May She attend and guard you for ever. Farewell,my beloved, my sister.'

Then the magician Lythande girded on her sword, and went silently and by unseenways out of the city of Sanctuary, just as the dawn was breaking. And on herforehead the glow of the Blue Star was dimmed by the rising sun. Never once didshe look back.

It was a dark and stormy night...

Actually, that Thursday night before Boskone '78 was a very pleasant night. LynnAbbey, Gordy Dickson, and I were enjoying a quiet dinner in the BostonSheraton's Mermaid Restaurant prior to the chaos which inevitably surrounds amajor science fiction convention.

As so often happens when several authors gather socially, the conversationturned to the subject of writing in general and specifically to problemsencountered and pet peeves. Not to be outdone by my dinner companions, I voicedone of my long-standing gripes: that whenever one set out to write heroicfantasy, it was first necessary to re -invent the universe from scratchregardless of what had gone before. Despite the carefully Grafted Hyboreanworld of Howard or even the delightfully complex town ofLankhmar which Leibercreated, every author was expected to beat his head against the writing tableand devise a world of his own. Imagine, I proposed, if our favourite sword-and-sorcery characters shared the same settings and time -frames. Imagine thestory potentials. Imagine the tie-ins. What if...

What if Fafhrd and Mouser had just finished a successful heist. With an angrycrowd on their heels, they pull one of their notorious doubleback escapes andelude the pursuing throng. Now suppose this angry, torch-waving pack runsheadlong into Conan, hot and tired from the trail, his dead horse a day's walkbehind him. All he wants is a jug of wine and a wench. Instead, he's confrontedwith a lynch mob. What if his saddlebags are full of loot from one of his ownventures, yet undiscovered?

Or what ifKane and Eiric took jobs marshalling opposite armies in the same war?

Why, I proclaimed, the possibilities are endless. Pouring a little more wine, Iadmitted that one of my pet projects under consideration was to do a collectionof fantasy stories featuring not one, but an array of central characters. Theywould all share the same terrain and be peripherally aware of each other'sexistence as their paths crossed. The only problem: my writing schedule wasfilling up so fast I wasn't sure when or if I'd ever get a chance to write it.

More wine flowed.

Gordy sympathized eloquently, pointing out that this was a problem all writersencountered as they grew more and more successful. Time! Time to fulfil yourcommitments and still be able to write the fun things you really want to write.As an example, he pointed out that there were countless story potentials in hisDorsai universe, but that he was barely able to find the time to complete theChilde Cycle novels, much less pursue all the spin-offs.

More wine flowed.

The ideal thing, Lynn suggested, was to be able to franchise one's ideas andworlds out to other authors. The danger there, Gordy pointed out, was the dangerof losing control. None of us were particularly wild about letting any Tom,Dick, or Harry play around with our pet ideas.

More wine flowed.

Anthologies! If we went to an anthology format, we could invite authors toparticipate, as well as having final say as to the acceptability of the storiessubmitted.

Gordy ordered a bottle of champagne.

Of course, he observed, you'll be able to get some top-flight authors for thisbecause it'll be fun. They'll do it more for the love of the idea than for themoney.

I remarked on the ease with which 'our' idea had become 'my' anthology. As theweight of the project had suddenly come to rest on my shoulders, I asked whetherhe intended to assist or at least contribute to the anthology. His reply set theclassic pattern for nearly all the contributors to Thieves' World: I'd love to,but I don't have the time. It's a lovety idea, though.

(Five minutes later) I just thought of a character who would fit into thisperfectly.

(Fifteen minutes later ... thoughtful stare into nothingness converting into asmug grin) I've got my story!

During this last exchange, Lynn was saying very little. Unbeknownst to me, shehad mentally dealt herself out of the project when Gordy proposed 'establishedwriters only'. At that point in time, she had in her suitcase the manuscript forDaughter of the Bright Moon, hoping to find an interested editor at Boskone. Shewas far from being 'established'. It is to her credit, however, that shesuccessfully hid her disappointment at being excluded, and accompanied Gordy andme as we finished the last of the champagne and went'trolling for editors'.

It may seem to you that it was rather early to try to find a publisher for sucha nebulous work. That's how it struck me at the time. Gordy pointed out,however, that if we could find an editor and nudge him into an appraisal of thedollar value of the idea, I would have a better feel for what my budget would bewhen I went to line up my authors. (The fact that this made sense to me at thetime will serve as an indication of the lateness of the hour and the amount ofwine we had consumed.)