But the Faerie Folk were coming out to meet them, dancing to the music of harps-tall, slender men of whipcord and sinew with long swords at their hips, turquoise eyes, wildly blowing hair; women dancing in gowns that glittered in every extravagant shape and form, women like the Queen, impossibly slender, impossibly voluptuous, with billows of fair, almost silver, hair, and huge eyes that glowed as cats' eyes do.

"Why, how is this?" cried one of the men. "What hath our proud lady caught this day?"

"Aye!" said another, hand on his sword hilt. "What art thou, mortal?"

"He is but a thing of no consequence," a third said with a languid wave.

Indignation surged, and Magnus opened his lips to answer. . . .

The whole crowd leaned forward, lips parted, eyes avid. Magnus remembered the Queen's injunction, and bit off the words before they formed.

The Faerie Folk leaned back, mouths tightening with disappointment.

Magnus glanced up at the lady and found her looking down at him with a small smile of amused approval.

"Nay, handsome fellow!" A beautiful woman who looked almost new to life compared to the ageless youthfulness of the others, swayed toward Magnus, eyes half closed. "I do not wonder at thy taking, for thou art truly comely. Wilt thou withhold thy favors from all but one alone? Or wilt thou not bestow thy blessings on others who would welcome thee?" She leaned close, very close, and she was so tall that her lips were only a few inches below his. Almost without willing it, he found his eyes gazing deeply into hers, his head lowering, lips parting....

"Come, thou must give answer," she breathed. "Thou must needs say if thou wouldst have me or no." And she drew back just a little.

Again, the words were on the tip of Magnus's tongue-a gallant reply that, fair though she was, he must needs be loyal to his mistress. But the thought of the Queen made him hesitate, remembering her injunctions; whatever she had bade him do or not do, he would devoutly heed. So he tried to show his apology and regret in his look, giving the lovely lass a sad smile and a shake of the head. She drew back with a hiss, though more of excitment than of anger. She looked up to the Queen. "Nay, Majesty, when thou dost tire of this one, thou must needs let me have him to toy with."

The term "toy" bothered Magnus in some vague way that he couldn't identify.

" 'Tis for him to give of himself, not me," the Queen retorted, and the whole throng burst into laughter. Magnus frowned about at them all, wondering at the nature of the jest.

Laughing, they dispersed, turning away to their pastimes, pausing for a drink while the faery harpers took up their instruments again. Then they began to play, and the dancing resumed.

"Take, my wizard."

Magnus turned away from the dancing and saw the Queen holding down garments for him.

"Take off thy gross and palpable garments," she said, "and don the robes of Faerie."

Magnus took the garments, glancing quickly from side to side, but could see nothing resembling an enclosed space, not even a grove.

"Thou hast no need of a tiring house," she admonished. "Come, take off thy mortal dross; no folk of Faerie fear to be seen in the glory of their naked skin."

His was scarcely glorious, Magnus thought-but he overcame his reluctance with remarkable ease, and stripped off his clothes, though he did feel immensely exposed. The faerie queen's eyes sparkled as she watched him, but she made no comment.

Magnus put on the hose rather quickly, but was somewhat disconcerted to discover they were little more than leggings. He pulled the tunic on, and found it to be more of a coat, of good, dark broadcloth-something less than his own brocade doublet, but cooler, too. He slipped his feet into the shoes-soft and supple soles, a very limber leather, with uppers that were green velvet.

"Thou art right handsome, when comely clad." The Queen reached down a hand to Magnus. "Come, aid me to alight, that I may tread the measure."

Magnus reached up, and she took his hand to steady herself as she dropped, feather-light, to the ground. Then, still holding his hand, she led him away to the ring. Turning about, she led him through the measure. He was about to protest that he did not know her dances, when he found that his shoes were guiding him through the steps, even taking the lead, with a stately deliberation that showed he knew them intimately.

But that stately deliberation became less and less, as the music began to beat faster and faster. Magnus was amazed to find that his feet kept pace with the increase of the tempo, swirling about and about, faster and faster, until only the Queen was clear in his vision, rotating in the center as he capered madly about her, all others only a blur of colors and faces behind her in the moonlight, churning through their own madcap dance, weaving about as he revolved around their queen. And the two of them swung about the musicians in the circle of the ring, faster and faster, Magnus giddy and delighted, feeling the sensations rising through his legs, up past his knees into his thighs, even as his delight in the dance seemed to coalesce, drawing together into an actual physical thrilling in the center of his abdomen, then pushing lower, as the Queen became not only the center of his vision but also the totality of it, her face seeming to be all that he could see, her lips growing more deeply red as they parted with excitement, her eyes seeming to swell, to absorb him....

A shout and a clash, a jarring of discords, and the music fell apart. The Faerie Folk keened in high anger, and the men whirled toward something that had come into their center. Magnus turned with them, shouting in fury, instantly enraged at whatever had stopped the progress of ecstasy, to confront ...

Himself.

Or it might just as well have been himself-tall and gaunt, lantern jawed and muscular, cold steel glittering in his hand in the shape of a long and naked blade, and the faerie men shied away with oaths of anger.

Magnus, though, had no need to fear a steel sword any more than any other weapon, and strode forward to meet the interloper, hand slapping toward his own hilt ...

And finding it gone.

Of course; it was with the clothes he had discarded in favor of the elven garments. For an instant, he felt terribly vulnerable; then anger surged, and he remembered the training in combat his father had drilled him in so long, and so often. He strode toward the sword with only a little fear, glaring at the interloper; yet his spirit quailed oddly at the feeling that he should know this man, this mirror image of himself, whose eyes sparked with his own anger, and whose lips parted to say:

"Thou hast stolen my place."

Magnus stopped, rooted to the spot, galvanized.

"Get thee hence!" the doppelganger snapped. "Is't not enough for thee that thou must needs wear my face and body? Must thou also needs steal my doom?"

Magnus found his voice. "I have stolen naught."

"That hast ta'en my fate! For she who should have ta'en me, took thee instead!"

"But dost thou not see!" cried a voice at his side. Magnus looked down, and was shocked to see Gregory standing by the doppelganger, calling up to him, imploring. "Didst thou not see what a fool she had made of him? Didst thou not see how he capered at her whim, how she dressed him in these foolish rags, how she stripped him of his sword?"

"What matter these?" the doppelganger grated. "She gave him pleasure, she gave him delight! Nay, even more, and greatly more-she gave him forgetfulness, that he might think no more of what he might have been but had not become, that he might go unmindful of the ruin of his life!"

"Thy life is no ruin, and thou hast in no way failed!"

"Failed to win glory, in mine own name? Failed to hew out a place of mine own? Failed to find love? Most surely I have failed in all of these!"