"If you consider yourself beaten I can accept your defeat," said the guide. "I doubt if the forfeit will be harsh."

"Don't you know? Haven't others had to pay the penalty?"

"Penalty?"

"Forfeit." A child's term for a child's game-but the punishment, even though decided on by a child, could be far from childish. The young were often savage. "What is the usual?"

"There is no strict rule. It depends on the moment. But you must pay it if you lose and you will lose if you cheat."

"I haven't lost yet." Dumarest dived among the trees knife lifted from his boot. "And I don't intend to lose."

A spur to make the girl use her move-once she did he would give her no chance to make another, but she didn't fall into the trap and Dumarest set to work on the trees. With the blade he cut large sections of bark, some slender poles, thicker branches together with a mass of thinly cut bark which he wove into crude ropes. With them he lashed short lengths of the thicker branches together, forming two frames which he covered with sheets of bark. The rough constructions lashed to his feet, he waddled toward the mud using the poles to maintain his balance. Crude snowshoes which would serve as well on soft ground, the extensions distributing his weight over a larger area.

He was almost at the river when the creature struck.

It was long and low and with jaws parted to show the gleam of serried teeth. A creature with clawed feet and a weighted tail which ripped at the reeds as if it were a scythe. Precariously balanced on the enlarged platforms Dumarest caught the stir of reeds as the thing darted toward him, lifting a pole to stab with it at the sloping head and eyes, to send the tip into the mouth where it tore at the lolling tongue.

To go sprawling in the mud as the beast, snarling with pain and anger, dashed against his leg.

The tail cut the air, jarring against his uplifted forearm, ripping plastic and bruising the flesh beneath the protective mesh. A blow which numbed and could have broken the limb had not Dumarest yielded to it, using his arm as a shield to deflect the blow and send the tail whipping over his head. As the creature raced past he snatched at his knife, feeling the suck of mud as he moved, one hand trapped beneath him, the shoes on his feet hampering his legs. Bark and wood shattered as he drove one against the other, kicking to free his boots, slamming them wide against the soft and spongie ground as the weight of his body drove the mud higher around him.

Moments of furious activity as the beast slid to a halt, to turn on splayed paws, to lunge with jaws gaping wide to close on face and throat. Jaws which closed on the knife which Dumarest thrust into the open mouth, point upward to transfix the palate as the hilt hit the loser jaw, saliva warm and sticky on the hand he kept clamped around the hilt.

Blood sprayed his face as the creature snarled in pain and rage, muscles jerking in his arm as it tore at the blade, the stench of its breath vile in his nostrils. For a moment the mud resisted the strength of the beast and Dumarest gritted his teeth, forcing himself to hold on, to use the beast which had tried to make him its prey. Pain made the animal back, legs stiffening, paws sinking as it struggled to rid itself of the torment in its mouth. Then it heaved, dragging Dumarest clear of the mud as it retreated toward the river, jerking itself free with torn jaws as he rolled over the edge to fall into the water.

To strike out and wash away the mud and blood and stench. To rest a while before following the thread of water toward the mountains and the castle.

It was something from a dream. A living jewel which flung a triple arch against the sky and graced with fluted towers and spires, turrets and cupolas set with drifting pennants and forked banners bearing bright devices. Light winked from crenellations; the gleam of armed and armored men watching from the battlements topping the high, gleaming walls. A moat held sportive fish which added brightness with their rainbow-leapings. A door shone with an inner effulgence and the drawbridge, lowered, shone like polished glass.

Light and brightness and all the colors from a children's story book. A building which followed no architectural discipline and would have been a hazard on any ordinary world.

The imagination of a child constructed in crystal and given solidity-the triple arch left no doubt as to whom that child must be. It would have been natural for Iduna to have copied the outstanding feature of her mother's palace.

"The castle," said Virdius. "The residence of Her Majesty. You have done well."

"More than well-I've won."

"Not as yet," corrected the guide. "You have yet to reach the castle. Beside the door, you see? A gong which must be struck by your hand. Only when you have done that will victory be granted."

He stood on the bank of the river, neat in his armor, his darkly handsome face impassive beneath the curved and pointed helmet. Standing in the water, Dumarest looked at him then at the castle. He was too low to see clearly but remembered the surround was of emerald sward which sloped from the bank to the moat. A surge and he was on land, dripping, little puddles collecting at his feet as he examined the approaches. Stepping forward he saw no advertised dangers.

Was winning to be so easy?

Halfway to the gong he heard the flap of wings and ducked as a bird, diving from a turret, suddenly darted at his eyes. A big, wide-winged creature which cawed and circled and came in again to attack his face. Again Dumarest ducked, rising with naked steel in his right hand, an edge which slashed to leave the bird flapping without a head, blood staining the grass.

"My move now, I think?"

"No, the bird is a natural part of the castle. The attack was not a calculated part of the game."

And how many more "natural" hazards would there be?

Dumarest stepped warily, watching for traps set in the grass; wires or snares triggered by the passage of his foot, even camouflaged predators trained to stay immobile until an intruder was within reach. The guide, he noted, had fallen behind him, his feet making no sound as they trod the sward.

Too easy.

It was all too easy!

Dumarest threw himself forward, turning in the air to hit the ground with his shoulders, seeing the splinter-bright flash of steel, the thin, vicious whine as the sword cut the air where he had been standing. A blow aimed to slash his legs and one delivered with enough strength to have cut them from his body. Beneath his helmet Virdius looked as impassive as before.

"You cheated!" Dumarest rolled as the blade tore grass and dirt at his side. "You've taken extra moves!"

"No, this move was incorporated in the first and that was when we met. Now it is being used."

An attack delivered without warning and one which would have crippled him and forced him to move which would have left the move to Iduna-how often had she played this murderous game before?

And how often was the guide permitted to attack?

Again steel whined through the air to touch the heel of his boot as Dumarest anticipated its fall, to roll and rise and parry the next swing, the thin, clear note of tempered metal rising as his knife met the longer sword. Longer and so more awkward to manipulate and a hindrance once an opponent was within the range of the point. Before the guide could shorten his blade Dumarest was on him, knife slamming up and into the face, the point shearing up a nostril, to smash through the sinus and into the brain. A blow aimed to kill.

One which would have killed an ordinary man but Virdius was far from that.

Backing he tore himself free of the blade and stood, his ruined face expressionless as again he lifted his sword, feet shifting to accommodate a lunge. Dumarest swayed as it came, felt the touch against his side and clamped his left arm down hard against the weapon, trapping it against his side. A step and his right hand darted forward with two rapid motions and this time Iduna had no choice. Either she moved or yielded her piece-a blinded man makes a poor warrior.