"His eye! It was injured!"

Pol turned. The man in the khaki jumpsuit with numerous bulging pockets was now approaching a peculiar device which covered his left eye changing color as he left the shade, becoming a bright, then deep blue. A vivid scar passed down his forehead above it, emerged on his cheek below it. Pol stepped forward to meet him.

"I'm Pol Detson," he said. "Nora wants to talk to you. So do I."

Mark halted at a distance of about two meters and studied him. Finally, he nodded curtly.

"I'm Mark Marakson." He immediately turned to look at Moonbird. "I've never seen a dragon before... Gods, he's big!"

He returned his attention to Pol, not even glancing at Nora.

"Detson... Magician?"

"I suppose so."

"I don't understand magic."

"I'm still working at it myself."

Mark gestured suddenly, a sweeping motion of his left arm, apparently intended to take in the entire city.

"This I understand," he said.

"Me, too. There's a lot of it where I come from."

Mark rubbed the scar on his cheek.

"What do you mean? Where is that?" he asked.

"We are step-brothers," Pol replied. "Your parents raised me, in a land much like this place you have restored. Excuse me if I stare, but you do bear Dad a very strong resemblance."

Mark turned away, paced several steps, returned.

"You're joking," he said at last.

"No. Really. For most of my life, I bore the name you were given as a child."

"Which is?"

"Dan Chain."

"Dan Chain," Mark repeated. "I rather like that... But how could this be? I did learn only recently that I'd been adopted, but this--Too much coincidence! I can't believe it."

"Well, it's true, and it's not entirely coincidence. In fect--Wait a minute..."

Pol dug in his hip pocket, withdrew his wallet. He opened it and flipped through the card case.

"Here," he said, stepping forward, extending it. "These are pictures of Mother and Dad."

Mark reached toward him, accepted the wallet, stared.

"These aren't drawn!" he said. '"There's a very sophisticated technology involved!"

"Photography's been around for awhile," Pol replied.

The lens brightened as Mark stared.

"Their names?" he asked.

"Michael Chain--and Gloria."

"I--Yes, I see myself in these faces. May I--Have you others?"

"Yes. I have some more further down. You can take those. Just slide them out. Yes, like that."

Mark passed the wallet back.

"What sort of work does he do?"

This time Pol made a sweeping gesture.

"He builds things. Designs them, rather. Much on the order of what you've apparently been doing here."

"I would like to meet him."

"I believe he'd like you. But I was thinking--as I acquired certain recent skills of my own--on the means by which I was brought to this world. It would take more research and some experimenting, but I believe I could learn to duplicate Mor's stunt in transporting me. It's occurred to me that a guy like you might not be happy here--especially after the story I heard--and I wondered whether you might be interested in going to the place from which I came. You might like it a lot better there."

Mark finally looked up from the photos and inserted them into a small thigh pocket. He stared at Nora as if seeing her for the first time.

"She told you what they did to me, to my--stepfather?"

Pol nodded.

"You have my sympathy. I received very similar treatment myself, for different reasons."

"Then you must understand how I feel." He looked again at Moonbird. "Do you have plans for them?"

"At first, I did. But now, no. I can almost understand, almost forgive. That's close enough. The longer I let it go, the less it should bother me. Let them go their ways, I'll go mine."

Mark struck his right fist against his left palm and turned away.

"It is not that easy," he said, pacing again. "For you--a stranger--perhaps. But I lived there, grew up there, knew everyone. I took them a gift. It was rejected under the worst circumstances. Now--Now I'm going to force it upon them."

"You will cause a lot of pain. Not just for them. For yourself, too."

"So be it," Mark said. "They've made their own terms."

"I think I could send you home--a place you'd probably like--instead."

For a moment, Mark looked at him almost wistfully. Then, "No. Maybe afterwards," he said. "Now it's no longer the gift, but its acceptance. In a matter of weeks, I'll be ready to move. Later... We'll see."

"You ought to take some time to think it over."

"I've had more than enough time. I've done plenty of thinking while recovering from our last encounter."

"If I could send you back for just a little while--and you rethought it in a different place--you might get a whole new perspective, decide that it isn't really worth doing. ..."

Mark took a step nearer, lowered his head. His new eye hummed and the lens shone gold.

"You seem awfully eager to be rid of me," he said slowly. Then he turned and looked again at Nora. "Might she be the reason?"

"No," Pol said. "She's known you for years, me for only a few days. There is nothing between us."

"A situation you would probably like to remedy in my absence."

"That's your idea, not mine. I'd like to keep you from making a mistake I almost made. But she can talk for herself."

Mark turned toward her.

"Do you want to get rid of me, also?" he asked.

"Stay," she told him. "But leave the village alone. Please."

"After what they did?"

"They showed you their feelings. They were too harsh, but you'd scared them."

"You're on their side!"

"I was the one who warned you."

"...And his side!" He gestured at Pol, lens flashing. "Magic! Dragons! He represents everything archaic and reactionary! He stands in the way of progress! And you prefer him to me!"

"I never said that!"

She took a step forward, beginning to reach toward him. He turned away. He waved his right fist in Pol's face.

"I could kill you with one hand. I was a blacksmith."

"Don't try it," Pol said. "I was a boxer."

Mark looked up. Moonbird looked down at him.

"You think that ancient beast makes you invincible? I, too, have servants."

He raised his left hand, peeled back the sleeve. A large control bracelet, covering half his forearm, gleamed in the space between them. His fingers danced upon the studs. The man-sized machines all turned in their direction and began to advance.

Pol raised his right hand. His loose sleeve fell back. The dragonmark moved visibly upon his pulse.

"It is not too late," Pol said, "to stop what I think I see coming."

"It is too late," Mark replied.

One by one, the machines faltered and grew still, some emitting static and strange noises, others ceasing all movement abruptly, without sound. Mark ran his fingers over his controls once again, but nothing responded.

"Dad used to call that my poltergeist effect," Pol stated. "Now--"

Mark swung at him. Pol ducked and drove a fist into his midsection. Mark grunted and bent slightly. Pol caught him on the jaw with a left jab. He'd a chance for a second blow to the other's face but pulled the punch for fear of striking the eye prosthesis. In that off-balance moment of hesitation, Mark swung his entire left arm like a club, his heavy bracelet striking Pol on the side of the head.

Pol fell to his knees, covering his head with both arms. He saw a boot coming and fell to the side to avoid it.

Squash? Burn?

He realized that he had come into contact with the great beast.

No, Moonbird! No!

But a low rumble from the dragon caused Mark to draw back, looking upward, raising his hands.

Vision dancing, Pol saw the strands all about them. That red one...

From the corner of his normal eye, Mark saw the fallen man gesture with his left hand. He moved to kick at him again and felt his legs grow immobile. He began to topple.