"The initiation is to be tonight? I'd thought it was not held until near the end of things?"

"Normally, that is the case," Larick replied, "but I had not been reading my ephemeris recently. I only learned last night when I was appointed to this post that there will be a particularly favorable conjunction of planets tonight--whereas things will not be nearly so good later on."

"Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Larick began to shake his head, then eyed the pot.

"Yes, I am thirsty. Thanks."

He drew up a chair while Pol signaled for a fresh pot.

"My friend's name is Mouseglove," Pol said.

The men studied each other and clasped hands.

"Glad."

"The same."

Larick produced a piece of parchment and a writing stick.

"By the way, I do not really have your name, Madwand, for the list of candidates. How are you actually called?"

In instant reaction Pol's mind slid over the present and back to an earlier time.

"Dan," he said, "Chain--son."

"Dan Chainson," Larick repeated, writing it. "You are fourth on my list. I still have six to go."

"I take it that the rescheduling is as much a surprise to all those involved?"

"I'm afraid so. That's why I have to find everyone in a hurry."

The tea arrived and Pol poured.

"We will meet at the Arch of the Blue Bird," Larick said, gesturing. "It is the farthest archway to the west. It is somewhat south of here, also."

Pol nodded.

"I'll find it. But when do we meet?"

"I was hoping we could all get together by noon," he answered. "But that seems unrealistic, the way things are going. Let's say by the time the sun lies midway between noon and sunset."

"All right. Anything special I should bring?"

Larick studied him for a moment.

"How much preparation have you had for thisP" he asked.

Pol wondered whether the flush he felt in his cheeks was visible through his magical disguise, scar and all.

"It depends upon what you mean by preparation," he said. "I've had some instruction as to the metaphysical side of things, but I was counting on more time here for learning something of the practical aspects."

"Then you did not--as your nickname implies--serve what might be referred to as a normal apprenticeship?"

"I did not. I know what I know by means of aptitude, practice and some study--on my own."

Larick smiled.

"I see. In other words, you have had as little preparation as one can have had and still be said to have had some preparation."

"I'd say you've put it properly."

Larick took a drink of tea.

"There is some risk, even for those with full training," he said.

"I already know that."

"Well, it is your decision, and I will have time to go over things somewhat during the climb and while we wait for sundown outside the entrance. To answer your first question, though, bring nothing but the clothes you wear, one small loaf of bread and a flask of water. These may be consumed at any time during the journey, up until the actual entry into the mountain. I would suggest you keep most of it until near the end, as we maintain a total fast during the night's progress through Belken."

Larick finished his tea and rose.

"I'll have to be locating the others now," he said. "Thanks for the tea. I'll see you at the Blue Bird Archway."

"A moment," said Mouseglove.

"Yes?"

"At what point on the mountain will you be emerging in the morning?"

"We'll come out of a cave low on the eastern fece--this side, that is. You can't see the place from here. If you want to walk along with me I'm going up to a higher level now. I might be able to point it out to you from there."

"Yes, I'll come."

Mouseglove rose. Pol did also.

A flight of tarnished butterflies swept by as they mounted the stair. When Pol rested his hand against an ornamental column, it felt more like the trunk of a tree than cold stone. The huge gems set into walls had lost much of their brilliance in day's hard glare. But Pol smiled, for the impression of beauty still held despite all of this.

They climbed a hill and Larick pointed at the mountain.

"Yes. Over there," he said. "Near the base--that triangular, darkened area. You can see it if you look closely."

"I see it," Mouseglove said.

"Yes," said Pol.

"Very well. Then I must be on my way. I will see you later."

They watched him head off toward a group of buildings to the south.

"I'll be waiting there when you come out," Mouseglove said. "Don't trust anybody while you're inside."

"Why not?"

"I've gotten the impression here and there that Madwands are looked down upon and resented by those who have served regular apprenticeships. I don't know how strong the feelings might be, but there'll be nine of them in there with you. I wouldn't turn my back on them in any dark corridors."

"You might have a point there. I won't give them any opportunities."

"Shall we stroll back and see whether Ibal is receiving company yet?"

"Good idea."

But Ibal was not yet receiving. Pol left a message that the schedule had been advanced and that he would be leaving that afternoon. Then he returned to his own quarters and stretched out upon his bed, to rest and meditate. He thought over the entire story of his life as he now knew it--the story of the son of a powerful and evil sorcerer, his life preserved in exchange for his heritage as he was exiled to another world, one which knew no magic. He recalled the day of his return, his bitter reception in this world when he was recognized by means of the dragon birthmark upon his right wrist. He remembered his escape, his flight, his discovery of the ruined family seat at Rondoval and all that went with it--his identity, his powers, his control over the savage beasts that slept there. He relived his conflict with his brilliant but warped step-brother, Mark Marakson, in the anomolous center of high technology which that one had resurrected atop Anvil Mountain in the south. He thought of his brief but doomed affair with the village girl Nora, who had never stopped loving Mark. And now...

The Seven. The peculiar manipulation of his life by the seven statuettes, which seemed to have ended that day atop Anvil Mountain, returned to plague his thoughts. He still had no notion as to their true functions, purposes, aims. He felt that he would never enjoy full freedom from apprehension until he came to terms with them. And then the recent unexplained attempt upon his life, and the midnight encounter with the sorcerer who seemed to have answers but did not care to share them...

About the only personal thing that did not pass through his mind was a consideration of his recurrent dreams. Soon he fell asleep and had another.

He took his loaf and his water flask with him to the Arch of the Blue Bird. Mouseglove accompanied him to that point. Larick and six of the others were already present. The westering sun had encountered a cloudbank and the city took on its evening sheen prematurely. The other candidates were uniformly young and nervous; and Pol forgot their names--except for Nupf, with whom he was already acquainted.

The sky continued to darken while they waited for the others, and Pol idly let his vision slip into the second seeing. As he cast his gaze about he noted a blue-white pyramid or cone near the center of town, a thing which had not registered itself upon his normal perceptions. Continuing to watch it for a time, he gained the impression that it was growing. He moved his seeing back to its normal mode and the phenomenon faded.

Making his way past the other candidates, he approached

Larick who stood, obviously impatient now, watching the massing clouds.

"Larick?"

"What do you want?"

"Just curious. Would you know what that big cone of blue light growing up over there is?"