Outside, the comet’s glow filled the night. Bomanz felt its power showering the earth. How much more spectacular would it become by the time the world entered its mane?

Suddenly, she was there, beckoning urgently. He reexam-ined his ties to his flesh. Yes. Still in trance. Not dreaming. He felt vaguely ill at ease.

She led him to the Barrowland, following the path he had opened. He reeled under the awesome power buried there, away from the might radiating from the menhirs and fetishes. Seen from his spiritual viewpoint, they took the form of cruel, hideous monsters leashed on short chains.

Ghosts stalked the Barrowland. They howled beside Bomanz, trying to breach his spells. The power of the comet and the might of the warding spells joined in a thunder which permeated Bomanz’s being. How mighty were the ancients, he thought, that all this should remain after so long.

They approached the dead soldiers represented by pawns on Bomanz’s chart. He thought he heard footsteps behind him... He looked back, saw nothing, realized he was hearing Stancil back at the house.

A knight’s ghost challenged him. Its hatred was as timeless and relentless as the pounding surf along a cold, bleak shore. He sidled around.

Great green eyes stared into his own. Ancient, wise, merciless eyes, arrogant, mocking, and contemptuous. The dragon exposed its teeth in a sneer.

This is it, Bomanz thought. What I overlooked... But no. The dragon could not touch him. He sensed its irritation, its conviction that he would make a tasty morsel in the flesh. He hurried after the woman.

No doubt about it. She was the Lady. She had been trying to reach him, too. Best be wary. She wanted more than a grateful chela.

They entered the crypt. It was massive, spacious, filled with all the clutter that had been the Dominator’s in life. Clearly, that life had not been spartan.

He pursued the woman around a furniture pile-and found her vanished. “Where?...”

He saw them. Side by side, on separate stone slabs. Shackled. Enveloped by crackling, humming forces. Neither breathed, yet neither betrayed the grey of death. They seemed suspended, marking time.

Legend exaggerated only slightly. The Lady’s impact, even in this state, was immense. “Bo, you have a grown son.” Part of him wanted to stand on its hind legs and howl like an adolescent in rut.

He heard steps again. Damn that Stancil. Couldn’t he stand still? He was making racket enough for three people.

The woman’s eyes opened. Her lips formed a glorious smile. Bomanz forgot Stancil.

Welcome, said a voice within his mind. We have waited a long time, haven’t we?

Dumbstruck, he simply nodded.

have watched you. Yes, I see everything in this forsaken wilderness. I tried to help. The barriers were too many and too great. That cursed White Rose. She was no fool.

Bomanz glanced at the Dominator. That huge, handsome warrior-emperor slept on. Bomanz envied him his physical perfection.

He sleeps a deeper sleep.

Did he hear mockery? He could not read her face. The glamor was too much for him. He suspected that had been true for many men, and that it was true that she had been the driving force of the Domination.

was. And next time...

“Next time?”

Mirth surrounded him like the tinkle of wind chimes in a gentle breeze. You came to learn, O wizard. How will you repay vour teacher?

Here was the moment for which he had lived. His triumph lay before him. One part to go...

You were crafty. You were so careful, took so long, even that Monitor discounted you. I applaud you, wizard.

The hard part. Binding this creature to his will.

Wind-chimes laughter. You don’t plan to bargain? You mean to compel?

“If I have to.”

You won’t give me anything?

“I can’t give you what you want.”

Mirth again. Silver-bells mirth. You can’t compel me.

Bomanz shrugged imaginary shoulders. She was wrong. He had a lever. He had stumbled onto it as a youth, had recognized its significance immediately, and had set his feet on the long path leading to this moment.

He had found a cipher. He had broken it and it had given him the Lady’s patronym, a name common in pre-Domination histories. Circumstances implicated one of that family’s several daughters as the Lady. A little historical detective work had completed the task.

So he had solved a mystery that had baffled thousands for hundreds of years.

Knowing her true name gave him the power to compel the Lady. In wizardry, the true name is identical with the thing...

I could have shrieked. It seemed my correspondent ended on the brink of the very revelation for which I had been searching these many years. Damn his black heart.

This time there was a postscript, a little something more than story. The letter-writer had added what looked like chicken scratches. That they were meant to communicate I had no doubt. But I could make nothing of them.

As always, there was neither signature nor seal.

The rain never ceased. Mostly it was little more than a drizzle. When the day went especially well, it slackened to a falling mist. But always there was precipitation. Corbie went out anyway, though he complained often about aches in his leg.

“If the weather bothers you so, why stay here?” Case asked. “You said you think your kids live in Opal. Why not go down there and look for them yourself? At least the weather would be decent.”

It was a tough question. Corbie had yet to create a convincing answer. He had not yet found one that would do himself, let alone enemies who might ask.

There was nothing Corbie was afraid to do. In another life, as another man, he had challenged the hellmakers themselves, unafraid. Swords and sorcery and death could not intimidate him. Only people, and love, could terrify him.

“Habit, I guess,” he said. Weakly. “Maybe I could live in Oar. Maybe. I don’t deal well with people, Case. I don’t like them that much. I couldn’t stand the Jewel Cities. Did I tell you I was down there once?”

Case had heard the story several times. He suspected Corbie had been more than down there. He thought one of the Jewel Cities was Corbie’s original home. “Yeah. When the big Rebel push in Forsberg started. You told me about seeing the Tower on the way up.”

“That’s right. I did. Memory’s slipping. Cities. I don’t like them, lad. Don’t like them. Too many people. Sometimes there’s too many of them here. Was when I first came.

Nowadays it’s about right. About right. Maybe too much fuss and bother because of the undead over there.” He poked his chin toward the Great Barrow. “But otherwise about right. One or two of you guys I can talk to. Nobody else to get in my way.”

Case nodded. He thought he understood while not understanding. He had known other old veterans. Most had had their peculiarities. “Hey! Corbie. You ever run into the Black Company when you was up here?”

Corbie froze, stared with such intensity the young soldier blushed. “Uh... What’s the matter, Corbie? I say something wrong?”

Corbie resumed walking, his limp not slowing a furiously increased pace. “It was odd. Like you were reading my mind. Yes. I ran into those guys. Bad people. Very bad people.”

“My dad told us stories about them. He was with them during the long retreat to Charm. Lords, the Windy Country, the Stair of Tear, all those battles. When he got leave time after the battle at Charm, he came home. Told awful stories about those guys.”

“I missed that part. I got left behind at Roses, when Shifter and the Limper lost the battle. Who was your dad with? You’ve never talked about him much.”

“Nightcrawler. I don’t talk about him because we never got along.”

Corbie smiled. “Sons seldom get on with their fathers. And that’s the voice of experience speaking.”