He lay, weak and gasping, on the bed. Sweat covered his body. His hand was limp, too weak to hold Jonathan's. Jonathan cradled the trembling limb in both his own. A single tear trailed into his beard.

Tereza stared at him; no tears, but he could see a deep roaring pain in her eyes. He had never seen her cry. He was glad this would not be the first time.

Konrad had moved away from the bed, arms folded, angry eyes uncertain.

"Let me bring in the others. They need to say good-bye." Jonathan's voice was a soft rumble.

"No," Calum gasped. He wanted to shake his head but was too weak. Talking was almost beyond him. "Young ones. . should not. . see me. . like this."

"They love you, Calum."

"Frighten them … it will frighten them."

Jonathan didn't argue. He raised Calum's hand very gently to his face, pressing the weak flesh to his beard. "You have always been a good friend to me, Calum. I wish I could help you in this."

"Do you want me to get the housekeeper?" Kon-rad asked. "She said the doctor should be here soon." He seemed eager to leave, to have something to do besides stare at the end of all flesh.

"Go," Calum said.

Konrad did not wait to be told again. He went, his strong body striding across the rug, easily, unthinkingly. Calum hated him for it.

The housekeeper entered. She was a small, round woman, her hair in a neat bun on top of her head. She smiled at the room as if nothing were wrong. In front of company, she was always her same cheerful self. In private she had mastered his moods. When he needed sympathy, she gave it. When he needed matter-of-factness, she gave that. Calum had come to love that plain, smiling face.

The doctor followed at her heels. He was a small, bent man with a mane of snow-white hair. If Calum hadn't been twenty years older, the doctor would have seemed old. His face was professionally cheerful. Nothing showed on his face or body unless the doctor wished it to. Calum envied his control.

"I'm afraid this visit has to end," the doctor said. "I need to see how our friend here is doing."

Jonathan pressed his hand. "I'll see you soon, Calum."

Calum stared into his friend's face and said nothing. They both knew this might be the last time.

Tereza kissed him on the forehead, her lips soft.

Her long hair fanned around his face, smelling of herbs: pinenut, rosemary, sweet lavender. She said something in her native tongue-musical, guttural. A blessing, or a curse. It mattered little now.

Konrad had never returned. He did not come to say good-bye. He had never been comfortable around the sick. Calum hadn't wanted any of them to see him like this. Now the fact that Konrad had not said good-bye filled him with rage.

The doctor's visit was mercifully short. He left another bottle of medicine, for what good it would do, and took his leave, still pleasant, still smiling. What do you say to a patient who is dying, and everyone knows it?

The housekeeper followed the doctor out. She would escort all his friends outside, see they had a cup of tea or a sandwich. Her glance paused on the far wall and the brilliant wall hanging that covered it. Her pleasant face flashed in disapproval, then she closed the door behind her.

In the silence of the room the tapestry pulled back with a soft, thick sound. A tall, slender man stepped from the hidden door. His hair was long, thick, and so black that the weak sunlight made blue highlights on it. His fashionably trimmed beard and mustache framed a handsome face. A face for women to sigh over in romantic moments. He had a graceful, swinging stride that brought him gliding into the room. He always entered a room as if it were his very own private chamber, as if everywhere he went he carried his own kingdom in a circle around his body, so that he was always at home, always at ease.

His shirt was white silk, covered by a scarlet vest with gold embroidery. His pants were also scarlet, stuffed into gleaming black boots. A basket-hiked sword rode his hip. A matching scarlet hat dangled from one hand, complete with a sweeping black feather. Rings glittered from his long fingers. "Well, Calum, what do you think of your young friend now?" His voice was a rich tenor that held something of the music he made his living from.

Calum lay on his back now, pillows cradling him so that he could only stare at the man. "Have you come to whisper more lies in my ears?"

"Not lies, my friend, promises."

"What do you want of me, Harkon?"

"Your help." Harkon Lukas laid his hat on the foot of the bed and leaned against the bedpost.

"I cannot betray my friends."

Harkon smiled, even white teeth flashing in his dark face. "I have given you my word that none of the others will be harmed. I want only Konrad Burn."

"Why him?"

Harkon shrugged, a somehow graceful gesture in the tall man. "He is handsome, young, strong. He can travel beyond the boundaries of Kartakass. You can't tell me as a bard you have not longed to escape this prison, to travel the lands your friend Jonathan and his gypsy woman have told you of. The songs I could sing. The tales to be told. Think of it, Calum."

"But to possess his body? What becomes of Konrad when you are inside him?"

"He will get my body." Harkon glided round the bed. Calum could only move his eyes to follow the bard.

"Don't you think my body a fair trade for his?"

Calum did. It was a strong, healthy body. "If you truly command some. . sorcery that will switch your body with Konrad's, but not harm him, why not ask him? Why not gain his cooperation?"

"Do you really think he would agree? Our angry, honor-bound Konrad?"

"Would anyone agree?"

Harkon sat on the edge of the bed. The slight movement caused Calum to gasp. "Oh, my friend," Harkon said, "did my sitting down hurt you?" He leaned forward, face concerned.

Calum did not want the man to touch him. He knew the concerned looks would fade instantly, chased by whatever new emotion entered Harkon's mind. He was as changeable as a spring wind, and as reliable.

Harkon's hand fell back into his lap. He smiled down at Calum. "I have found a body for you. A man in his twenties. Tall, strong, in perfect health, handsome. He is a little shorter than you were in your prime, more slender, perhaps a shade more handsome, though."

To be young again, with his whole life ahead of him, but with the knowledge of a lifetime. To leave his pain-ridden body behind. To live. It was a tempting offer, and Harkon knew that. Why make it otherwise?

Calum licked his lips. "And what happens to this young man if I take his body?"

"Why, he gets yours."

"He would die, horribly."

"As you are dying?" Harkon stood and paced back to the foot of the bed.

"Yes!"

"But, Calum, don't you plan to give the boy back his body? As I plan to give Konrad back his?"

He stared into that handsome face. The dark eyes mocked him. He knew if he once tasted the freedom of a new, healthy body, he could never return to this dying shell. He wanted to live. But at what cost?

"Mo one would agree to such a trade."

"But I assure you, the young man will."

"How could I come back to this pain once I was free?" Calum closed his eyes. "I would not be strong enough to make such a choice."

"Then make another choice, Songmaster," Harkon said.

Calum opened his eyes to find the tall man looming over him. "What do you mean?"

Harkon smiled a knowing smile. "Keep the body, be young and healthy. Escape this dying husk."

"What of the young man?"

"He will die."

"You would kill him?"

The smile deepened. "I would do anything to see you whole and well again, my friend."

"You don't plan to give Konrad back his body, do you?"

Harkon gave a soft, purring laugh. "Oh, Calum, do you really want to know?"