"Zoombee, I am not afraid of being forgotten; before we reach the One Death, we must forget all." The tiefling looked up; there were emerald tears welling in her eyes. "I am sad because you are going the wrong way!" Dream Girl

I thought him stronger than to sit ruby-faced with his salt-damp back to the ashen wall, wound fever burning in his eyes and a thief's craving smoldering in his soul. For an hour (or a day or a week or a minute, for all it matters to us or him) he has been sitting there, staring at those crocodile sandals and that golden sword, wondering: do I dare, and do I dare? He has walked the narrow streets and breathed the yellow fog; he has cracked the jar of memories and split the gates of Sigil and dared disturb the multiverse, and now he frets over a giant's booty?

Call him honorable, call him ethical if you like; it makes no difference to me. The Thrasson has taken himself to a place where there is only desire and action and consequence, and now he has gone off into the blinds to search for right and wrong and lost his way. There are no commandments or codes in the mazes; the madman who looks for guidance is more lost than the fool who does not; he imagines reasons to turn one w»y and not the other; he waits upon signs that have no meaning; he does not act for fear of offending deities that cannot see him and would not care if they could.

I call him a coward.

In the end, the Amnesian Hero will lace those sandals on his feet, and he will learn the name of his parent-but first he must agonize over his scruples. He must consider his honor and ask his gods for guidance, he must weigh the killing of the giant against his oath to deliver the amphora, and he must find sanction to claim the plunder. Until then, we are expected to wait while he deliberates, to watch through a mind clouded with fever and wine as he sits and thinks and argues-and I won't abide that kind of drivel.

So I will tell you now what will happen. The Thrasson will put the sandals on the ground, then he will bare one foot and set it upon a rugged sole. He will feel an uncomfortable sizzling in the arch of his foot. A pair of ashen arms will sprout beside his ankle; they will take up the legging thews and wrap them about his calves, and a wispy voice will come on the wind:

"I offer you this advice, my son: when you reach the palace of King Aegeus, do not tell him at once whose blood flows in your veins. Say instead that you bear greetings and news from his friend in Troezen, King Pittheus. When he sees the sandals you wear and the sword that hangs at your side, he will ask where you came by them; if King Aegeus strikes you as a good and honorable man, you may tell him how you found them. In that manner, he will discover for himself that you are his son and will not doubt your claim to his city. But if King Aegeus seems a jealous and selfish man, you must tell him they are a betrothal gift from a granddaughter of King Pittheus; he will think I bore him a daughter and bear you no malice, and then you will be free to return home without fear of treachery or harm."

Thus will the Thrasson discover the name of one father.

He will cry out in joy. He will shake so hard that when he sets his brick foot upon the second sandal, he will almost lose his balance-but you will have to wait to learn what happens then. Now, the Amnesian Hero still sits against the ashen wall, seeking consent to do what we all know he will surely do; Jayk rests warm against his flank, as idle and silent as a corpse; Tessali is limping up the passage, one swollen knee as red and round as a blood melon.

"Go ahead." The elf has hung his shredded cloak over his shoulders, though the monster did not leave enough of the garment to conceal the stitch lines striping his slender torso. "There's nothing stopping you…"

"Stopping me from what?" The Amnesian Hero's voice had finally returned to normal, and if his tongue sounded a little thick, he felt sure that it had more to do with his fever than with the wine he had drunk. He swung his gaze back toward the adjacent passage and stared into the swirling cloud of ash. "I am only keeping watch."

"Yes-on those." Tessali raised his arm and-wincing at the pain it caused him-pointed at the sandals in the Thrasson's lap. "You want to put them on and see what happens."

"How do you know that?" The Amnesian Hero sounded less contradictoly than irritated. "Can a man have no privacy even in his own thoughts?"

"Not when he wears them on his face for everyone to see. Besides, if you think it was your mother you saw…"

"I did see my mother."

"Of course." Tessali nodded as though he had never doubted it. "So it's only natural that you should want to see what happens if you wear the sandals. I don't see any reason you shouldn't"

"Except that the sandals are not mine to wear."

"How do you know that unless you try them on?"

The Amnesian Hero narrowed his eyes. "You seem anxious for me to wear them."

Tessali shrugged. "We will not solve this mystery until you do." The elf cast a wary glance at the amphora, which the Thrasson had tried to patch with a coating of wine-soaked ash. "And it would be better to know the truth before we start out again. Assuming the exit is close to where Silverwind found the thread-"

"It is."

The Thrasson's conviction did not seem to reassure Tessali. "Yes – well, in that case, the last thing we'll want is another surprise from your jar."

The Amnesian Hero smirked. "I know what you're thinking, elf."

"So, I'm not the only one who reads minds?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, the Amnesian Hero said, "Your plan won't work." He wiped a bead of fever sweat from his eyes, then looked at Tessali. "Even if I put the sandals on and remember nothing more of my mother, I would not be disappointed enough to throw the amphora over a wall – nor would I allow you to."

Tessali raised his arched eyebrows just enough to make the Amnesian Hero wonder if he had guessed wrong. "So, what are you afraid of?"

"Nothing!" Even as the Amnesian Hero snapped the word, he realized the very quickness of his answer had betrayed him. Addled as his thoughts were by fever and fatigue – and by wine as well – perhaps now was not the best time to match wits with Tessali. "But I have sworn an oath, and I do not take oaths lightly."

"I can see you don't." Tessali sighed, sounding more relieved than disappointed. "If there's no convincing you, I guess I'd better just have a look at Jayk."

"Perhaps we should let Silverwind do it." It was growing increasingly difficult to guess Tessali's game, and the Amnesian Hero did not want Jayk's condition to become part of the elf's manipulations. "He was the one who mended her skull."

"Sorry. The Imaginer of the Multiverse has worn himself out mending his creations." Tessali nodded toward the back of the passage, where Silverwind lay stretched out on his side. The old bariaur's eyes were closed, and his ribs were rising with the steady rhythm of someone deep in sleep. "Let's hope he's dreaming of us. I'd hate to vanish just because he fell asleep."

The Amnesian Hero would not let the elf's humor disarm him. "We can wait."

Tessali shook his head. "We don't want her to sleep too long. It's dangerous for people with head injuries."

With no further debate, the elf stepped around the Amnesian Hero and went to Jayk's side. As he squatted down beside her, he grimaced and dropped a hand to his ribs.

"I hope the monster does not find us soon. I won't be able to run," groaned Tessali. "Silverwind claims he healed the cracked ones, but they still feel broken to me."

"Good. I will know where to hit you if this is another ruse."

Tessali accepted the warning with a good-natured smile. "You are a peery one, aren't you?"

The elf turned back to Jayk, calling her name and gently jostling her shoulder. She did not stir. Tessali frowned and pulled her away from the Amnesian Hero's side, shaking her more violently.