Alos shivered and gulped down his glass of wine. He turned his face toward Arin. "This talk of Wizards and of Foul Folk, I don't like it."

"Hast thou aught against Magekind? Against the Rupt?”

Again Alos trembled. He opened his mouth as if to say something, his one good eye, watery and pale, staring at the Dylvana.

Arin leaned forward. "Alos?"

He looked at her, pain on his face, as if struggling to release even a single word… and in that moment there came a tap at the door.

The old man glanced at the entryway and slumped back in his chair and let out a long breath, then smiled his gap-toothed brown-stained grin and said, "Let's have some more wine, eh?"

As Aiko stood and stepped to the door, the Dylvana sighed and replenished Alos's glass, then looked to Egil, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts-or in his memories-a bleak look on his face. "Egil?"

He glanced up at her.

"More wine?"

Frowning, he shook his head, No, and then his gaze dropped as his thoughts turned once again inward.

Again came the tapping on the door just as Aiko opened it. "Oh my!" exclaimed the serving girl, catching her breath at the sight of the yellow warrior, crockery rattling on the tray. "I've come wi' th' noon meal, m'Lady." The girl edged past Aiko and then moved hastily to the sideboard and began laying out the food.

As Aiko resumed her seat on the floor, Egil shook his head as if to cast away ill memories, and he took a deep breath and seemed to come to himself. Then he turned to Arin and smiled. "I would hear more of this tale of yours for I am curious as to what brought you to Morkfjord. But first I would see"-he canted his head toward the bathing room and privy-"if I can make it in there and back on my own. And then let's eat; I'm famished."

The noon meal done, Egil leaned back against propped pillows and said, "Now tell us more of your story, Lady Engel, for-"

Aiko growled and started to stand, but Arin held out a staying hand toward the warrior woman, and the Ryodoan settled back, a dour look on her face.

Egil laughed, then sobered. "I'm sorry. I gave my word. And I have broken it twice in this day alone. It's just that… just that"-he took a deep breath and then plunged on-"you are my engel, Lady Arin."

Of a sudden Arin felt her heart racing, and she turned her face from him and stared into the hearth as if seeking a portent, though no fire burned this warm day.

Egil, seeing that he had disturbed her, started to hold out a hand in supplication, but instead dropped it to the coverlet. He cleared his throat and said, "Well now, the meal is finished. Pour me an ale, Alos, and pour one for yourself. And then, Lady Arin, if it pleases you, I would hear more of your tale. Why did you come to Morkfjord? Too, where are your Elven companions? -Nothing ill has befallen them, has it?"

Arin turned away from the hearth and glanced at Aiko.

Egil's gaze followed her glance, but Aiko's face revealed nought. He looked back to Arin and added, "Tell us, too, of your visit with Wizards and of their sorcerous ways."

With a clang! Alos dropped the pewter pitcher a few inches to the table, but it landed upright on its bottom, and although ale sloshed, none spilled out. Shakily the old man handed Egil a full mug and took up his own and gulped full half of it down.

As Arin looked into the deep shadow veiling the massive gates, a thought came upon her unbidden: Tonight is the full dark of the moon. Is it an ill omen touching our arrival this day?

"The ironwork-it looks to be Drimmen made," declared Perin, staring at the massive portals recessed deeply in solid black rock.

"Aye," agreed Biren, "as does the stonework. Is this a Mageholt or no?"

For some reason all eyes turned to Arin. She shrugged. "There's nothing for it but to knock on the door and ask."

Arin dismounted and led her pony among the horses and across the wide foregate court embraced by the broad recess, the sheltered smooth stretch of stone covered with but a dusting of snow. The other Elves dismounted as well and, flanking left and right, also moved forward, spreading out as they went. Stepping through shadow, they came to the great gates, the iron rimed with hoarfrost.

"Hoy, over here," called Ruar. "Runes. They seem to be written in the Drimmen manner, with another style below. I can read neither."

Vanidar Silverleaf moved to Ruar's side, then laughed. "Leave it to a Drimm to brag so."

"What does it say?" asked Perin.

Silverleaf turned, smiling. "Although I cannot read the runes of the Drimma, the ones below them are written in a Vadarian script, one of the Mage tongues, and say, 'I, Velkki Gatemaster, made this.' "

"Then it is the work of the Drimm," declared Biren.

Silverleaf nodded, smiling. "Given this translation I would deem it so."

Rissa cleared her throat. "Drimmenholt or no, I say we knock for entrance and leave the cold behind."

Just as Arin raised the butt of her quarterstaff to rap on the great iron gate, a side postern in what had seemed to be solid stone opened and an armored figure stepped out and beckoned to them.

It was a Dwarf.

Through the archway and into the chamber came a Mage wheeling a tea-service cart. As he rolled the refreshments to the table where the Wizard and the Elves sat, the bearded, broad-shouldered Dwarf turned to Irunan. "Wizard, if you have no further need for me, I shall return to my post."

"Well and good, Boluk," replied the Mage. "And on your way, if you would, send someone to the stables to see that the horses and ponies of this Elven band have been watered and fed and groomed. The journey has been long and hard on the animals, and they deserve a lengthy, well-cared-for rest."

Boluk bowed and then spun on his heel and left.

"Huah," grunted Ruar, his gaze following Boluk as the Drimm passed through the archway. "The journey has been long and hard on us as well."

Irunan smiled, his grey eyes atwinkle. "Yes. We know. Struggling through all that snow. We've been expecting you for some days now."

"The ptarmigans?" asked Biren.

"So you saw," replied Irunan, somewhat surprised.

"Yes," replied Perin. "For the past three days."

"Hmm," mused Irunan, then smiled. "Very observant." He turned to the Mage at the cart. "We shall have to take steps, Gelon, to exercise more stealth in the future."

The other Mage nodded and began setting out porcelainware along with two pitchers of clotted cream and plates piled high with scones. As Gelon did so, Irunan canted his head, his pale yellow hair falling across his shoulder. "Very rarely do we have visitors come through the hard mountain winter to our holt."

Rissa reached for a scone. "Given thy winters, I can see why. Have any others come this winter?"

"Oh no," said Gelon, setting out cups. "People must be driven by great need to brave such brutal cold. Our last winter visitor came two years back. A woman from the east. A warrior woman who now serves in our guard. From Ryodo, I believe. Said her tiger brought her here."

Perin's eyes widened. "Tiger? She rode a tiger?"

"Brother of mine, perhaps she merely followed it," said Biren.

"Oh… mayhap thou art right," said Perin, "though even to follow a tiger is no mere thing."

Both Perin and Biren turned to Irunan. Ride or follow? they both asked simultaneously.

Irunan laughed. "Neither. She came ahorse. And no tiger at all was in evidence."

"Hmm, a mystery," said Perin.

"Indeed," agreed Biren.

Now Gelon began serving tea, and Irunan asked in a polite tone, "And what, pray tell, brings you through such harsh weather unto the Mageholt of Blackstone? Not the whisperings of another tiger, is it?" He smiled.