"Has the elf gone?"

"I can't be sure," said Vrabor. "Perhaps." He sheathed his sword and sat down on the bed, hands resting on the cross guard of his weapon. "They could be biding their time."

"They?"

"Дlfar, two of them. They've been tailing us since Porista."

So it wasn't an elf after all…The дlfar, a race crueler than any other, were sworn enemies of the elves. They hated their cousins for their purity, a purity that the дlfar themselves had been denied. It was hatred and jealousy, according to the history books, that impelled them across the Northern Pass and into Girdlegard. "Is Lot-Ionan in danger?"

"Lot-Ionan will come to no harm," Vrabor assured him wearily. "The дlfar are powerless against the magi and they know it. The arrow was meant for Friedegard and me; they want to know what we're carrying. We knew they were following us as soon as we left the capital of Lios Nudin, but they waited until they could be sure of our destination before they attacked. I'm sorry, groundling," he said, responding to the unspoken question in Tungdil's eyes. "I'm sure you're a loyal messenger and I know we're indebted to your vigilance, but our business is between the council and Lot-Ionan. You'll have to save your questions for your return."

"I'm a dwarf, not a groundling." Tungdil toyed with the idea of accompanying the envoys to Ionandar the next morning and telling the magus of what he had seen, but he decided against it. His mission to the Blacksaddle was more important. He sat down and laid his ax across his knees.

The rest of the night was spent in watchful silence, their fear of the дlfar keeping tiredness at bay. None of them slept a wink, but Friedegard's spell seemed to have worked and there was no sign of their assailants. At last, with the coming of dawn, the tension finally fell away and Tungdil lay back and dozed.

Enchanted Realm of Ionandar, Girdlegard, Late Spring, 6234th Solar Cycle Reclining in his wing chair with his feet on a stool, Lot-Ionan had made himself comfortable in a corner of his study and was leafing contentedly through a grimoire, one of the many that lined his walls. In addition to his slightly shabby beige robes he wore even shabbier slippers and his pipe lay beside him, tobacco at the ready. Steam rose from a glass of herbal tea on the table. The magus was savoring the peace and quiet.

"Do you hear that, Nula?" he asked the barn owl who was perched on the back of his chair and seemed to be studying his spells. "Not a sound. No noise, no explosions. I was loath to say goodbye to Tungdil, but I know it was the right decision."

Blinking approvingly, Nula replied with a gentle twit-twoo. Lot-Ionan knew full well that she couldn't understand him, but he enjoyed their conversations. It was an excellent way of collecting his thoughts.

"I suppose it was a bit mean of me, really," he confessed. "Gorйn left the Blacksaddle goodness knows how many cycles ago. He abandoned the mountain after falling for the charms of a beautiful and intelligent elf." The owl blinked again. "You want to know how I heard about it? My former apprentice told me himself. It was all in a letter that he wrote from Greenglade. He seemed most contented with his new abode and gave a full account of the superior allure of elven women."

The thought of Gorйn's mistress reminded Lot-Ionan of his age. He had long since lost interest in pleasures of the flesh; other matters took precedence in his mind.

"Tungdil will find out his new address, I shouldn't wonder. And when he does, he won't rest until he's tracked Gorйn down and accomplished his errand." He took a sip from his steaming glass. The cold air of the vaults was conducive to study, but he found himself drinking countless cups of tea.

Nula blinked, this time almost reproachfully.

"What?" he said defensively. "Don't you remember how he and Jolosin ruined my work? You know how fond I am of Tungdil, but another incident of that kind while I'm rewriting the formula would be disastrous! I took the necessary measures to ensure a lengthy absence, that's all."

The owl seemed unconvinced.

"Come on, the journey will do him good! After everything he's read about Girdlegard, it's time he saw the country for himself. Besides, he'll be back before you know it, pleased as punch for finding Gorйn on his own. And as for Jolosin, he'll never want to look at another potato, let alone eat one, and he'll be cured of playing tricks. We'll all be better off in the long run." His eyes fell on his solar calendar. "What's that I see? Nula, we're expecting an important guest!"

The circular slide rule indicated that Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty would be visiting that orbit. Needless to say, his fellow wizard would not be putting in a personal appearance. With five hundred or more miles separating their realms, they communicated via magic, availing themselves of an elaborate ritual that could be implemented only during certain phases of the moon.

Not that Lot-Ionan minded the distance. Nudin was fast developing into the most disagreeable character that Lot-Ionan had ever known. At the same time, he was becoming a formidable magus, his growing skill as a wizard correlating almost exactly with his objectionableness as a man.

Of course everyone developed his own personal approach to studying the mystic arts, but only Nudin seemed to think that being rude, bad-tempered, arrogant, and overweight would somehow serve his cause.

"I'll be honest with you, Nula: That man has spells and charms at his fingertips that others could barely decipher, let alone perform." He reached under the table and fished out a jug of water and a glass. After giving the latter a quick polish on his robes, he held it critically in the candlelight.

There were those who said that Nudin's rising power as a magus had not been gained through study and hard work. Rumor had it that he had cast a spell on his body and invested it with the ability to retain magic indefinitely. Lot-Ionan gave the gossip no credence, but even he was forced to concede that Nudin had changed in character and appearance.

At that moment the air cooled suddenly and a fierce gust of wind swept through the room, nearly extinguishing the candles. A faint bluish haze shimmered at the center of the study, gradually assuming the contours of a man. In the span of a few heartbeats, Lot-Ionan found himself staring at Nudin's imposing bulk.

The wizard of Ionandar appraised his dark-robed guest. Nudin seemed to have grown again-outward as well as upward. His paunch looked larger than before, which was possibly the reason for his especially voluminous malachite-green robes.

Chin-length mousy hair hung limply about his face and there were dark circles around his usually lively green eyes. The apparition was a perfect replica of the real magician, who at that moment was standing in the circle he had cast in his study in Porista, working the magic for his doppelganger to appear.

The illusion was incredible. Lot-Ionan had never seen a more perfect demonstration of the phenomenon in all his 287 cycles. Apparitions usually shimmered slightly or were marred by minor imperfections, but this one was complete.

Nudin, holding a finely carved maple staff crowned with an impressive onyx in his left hand, languidly dusted his elegant robes with his right, dispatching the lingering blue sparks. Suddenly Lot-Ionan felt terribly underdressed.

"Do sit down," he said, gesturing to an armchair, and Nudin's doppelganger lowered himself smoothly into the seat. Convention dictated that the same courtesies were extended to apparitions as to real guests; it was only polite. "Can I offer you a drop of tea or would you like something else?"

The question was not as absurd as it sounded. Even from a distance of five hundred miles, Nudin would be able to taste the flavor of anything consumed by his doppelganger.