He turned to Moonbird.

Wish I could take you with--but the entrance is too small.

I will guard. You will play sweet music for me later.

I appreciate your confidence.

Pol turned and looked up the sand-scoured roadway, pylons and beasts converging upon the dark rectangle of the structure's entranceway.

...Walking into a vanishing point, he mused.

"Okay, Nora. Let's go," he said.

His vision blurred and cleared again as they advanced. For a moment, he thought it was an effect of the brilliant sunlight or the sudden activity after hours of sitting crouched. Then he saw what he took to be flames pouring forth from the opening before them. He flinched.

Nora took hold of his arm.

"What is it?"

"I--oh, now I see. Nothing."

The flames resolved themselves into great billows of what he had come to think of as the weft of the world. He had never seen them bunched so thickly before, save in the great ball in the caverns of Rondoval--and here they were flapping and drifting freely.

"You must have seen something," she said as they continued on.

"Just an indication of sorts, showing a concentration of magical power."

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know."

She loosened her blade in its scabbard. He did the same.

His right wrist, which had not stopped its itching and tingling was now throbbing steadily, as if that special part of him which was best suited to deal with such matters was now fully alert.

He brushed his fingertips across the massed strands and felt a surge of power. He tried to locate some clue as to its nature, but nothing suggested itself.

The rod, the rod ... he concentrated. Somewhere among you , . .

A pale green strand, like milky jade, drifted toward him, separating itself from the mass. As he raised his hand, it seemed drawn toward his fingertips. Once he touched it, he willed it to adhere and held it, knowing that this was the one.

"Now," he told Nora, advancing to the threshold, "I know the way--though I know nothing of what it will be like."

He entered the narrow passage and halted again. The dimness about them deepened to an inky blackness only a few paces ahead.

"Wait," he said, commencing the mental movements which had summoned the phantom dragon from his wrist the night he had fled her village.

It rose and drifted before him again, exactly as it had on that earlier occasion.

Is this a phenomenon I am destined never to use in the absence of danger? he wondered.

Behind him, Nora drew her blade. His chuckle rang hollowly.

"That is my doing," he told her. "It is our light. Nothing more."

"I believe you," she said, "but it seems a good time to have a weapon."

"I can't argue," he replied, beginning to move once again, following the pale thread through the new light.

They came to a flight of steps where they descended perhaps ten meters, the air growing pleasantly cool, then clammy about them. From the foot of the steps, passages ran to the right, the left and straight ahead. The thread followed the one before them. Pol followed the thread.

After several paces, the passage began to slant downward, its angle of steepness seeming to increase as they continued. The air was thick now, and stale, with a scent of old incense or spices buried within its dampness.

The light danced before him. The walls vanished. At first, he thought that they had come to another set of side passages. As he willed his light to brighten and move, however, he saw that they had come into a room.

He sent the dragon-light darting before him, outlining the chamber, revealing its features. The walls were decorated with a faded frieze, the ceiling was cobwebbed, the floor dusty. At the far end of the room was a stone altar or table, a band of carvings about its middle. A dark rectangle stood behind it. The strand at Pol's fingertips ran directly across the block of stone and vanished into the shadowy oblong.

Pol listened but heard nothing other than their own breathing. He moved forward, Nora at his side, their footsteps muffled. For him, the air was alive with strands, as if they passed through a three-dimensional web woven of rainbows. Still, the milky green strand could not be lost. Eyes open or closed, he knew precisely where it hung.

They separated to pass around the altar, and Pol increased his pace to reach the small doorway first, duck his head and pass within, a mounting feeling of anticipation hinting at some climax beyond its threshold.

The light shot in before him and, on his willed command, rose to a level above his head and increased in brilliance.

This room was smaller than the outer one and it, too, possessed something resembling a low altar at its farther end. Flanking this was a pair of stone or stuffed jackals, eyes fixed forward. A great mass of the strands, all of them of the darker shades, were woven into strange patterns about the altar and the jackals. No doorway was visible behind this carved block, but rather a tall, shadowy figure, roughly man-shaped save for its head which resembled those of the jackals. Something small and glowing rested upon a dark green cushion atop the stone before it.

Pol swept his arm backward, halting Nora.

"What do you see?" he asked her.

"Another table and two statues," she said. "Something on the table ..."

"According to the description and the sketch, that appears to be what I'm after," he said. "I want you to wait here while I go and try to take it. I expect to meet some sort of resistance and I'll probably have to improvise. All those braided areas look menacing."

"Braided areas? What do you mean?"

"There is some sort of spell protecting it. You stand guard while I find out what it does."

"Go ahead. I'm ready."

He took a single step forward. A pulse of light raced about the loops, the knotted junctions, leaping from figure to figure. He took a second step.

Hold, came a command he was certain that Nora could not hear. It seemed to beat upon him from the sudden vibrations of all the strands, passing down them from the shadowy figure behind the stone.

Why? he sent back immediately, deciding that it was no time to be shy.

He halted, to see what the reaction would be. The figure actually seemed to deliberate for a moment. Then,

You approach a thing I guard, presumably to remove it, it replied. I will not permit it.

You refer to the section of rod on the stone before you?

That is correct.

I confess that I would like to have it. Does your charge permit you to make any sort of deal whatsoever for it?

No.

Pity. It would make life so much simpler for both of us.

I see that you are a young sorcerer, but recently come to the Art. If you were to live, you would probably become a great one. If you depart immediately, you will have that opportunity. I will let you go unmolested.

Pol took another step forward.

That is your answer?

I'm afraid so.

The jackal-headed figure raised its right arm, pointed a finger. The hovering dragon-light went dark. Pol felt a shock in his wrist. His vision seemed unimpaired, however, as if he viewed the chamber in the light of all the strands.

"Pol! What happened?" Nora cried.

"It's all right," he said. "Stay put."

He decided against resummoning the glowing image. That did not seem terribly imaginative, and it would probably just be put out again. It seemed that some measure of variety and originality should govern in these matters.

He sent the power that throbbed in his wrist out along the jade strand, causing the rod-section itself to begin glowing where it lay upon the table of stone. He pictured himself turning a lamp switch for a three-way light bulb, willing more wattage, raising the glow. The chamber brightened on a mundane level.