Aktos grinned in triumph. "There now. Now, where were we—"

  "Here," Koric said. His staff made a whoosh through the air as he swung it with all his strength against the back of Aktos's skull.

  §

  "Careless," Tymon said, as he looked at Aktos’s body. "No good to slay the dragon if you ignore the wolf."

  Koric shivered miserably. "I’m not a wolf," he said.

  "It was a metaphor. He talks that way, often as not. You get used to it." Seb took the blanket that the golem had dropped before its attack on Aktos and wrapped Koric in it. "Sit down. You look nigh to keeling over."

  Koric sat down on a boulder. His eyes had not left Aktos’s still form. "I killed him," he said.

  Tymon nodded. "Yes. I’m sorry it came to that, but I was working under very short notice and didn’t realize your danger until it was almost too late."

  Koric shuddered. "You made that thing for me? Well ... thank you."

  "You’re welcome. And it was the least we could do, since I gather you were trying to warn us about Aktos and his companion?"

  "Yes. They came to Kuldun looking for you. The Abbot sent me on ahead, but I guess they discovered what we were up to. And there’s another one," Koric said, almost as an afterthought. He’ll be along soon, I’m sure."

  "So am I," Tymon said. "I’m expecting him. I don’t think he’s the tracker that Aktos was; he may need a bit of help. And we do have a funeral to see to, so that works out nicely."

  It turned out that it wasn’t Aktos Tymon was referring to. Oh, they covered his body with a cairn of stones, but then there was no more said of it. Instead Tymon found a flat piece of rock and carefully gathered up the pieces of his broken golem and set flint and steel to them, its own body serving as the fuel for the pyre.

  Tymon gave a wistful sigh as he watched the flames catch and grow. "A shame to be called so soon to life, even of a sort, and to leave again so soon. Hardly time to get used to the idea, then back to the void with you. It desereved better."

  Koric watched the flames. "That thing was alive? Animated, I thought, and marvel enough. Alive?"

  "It had a spirit," Tymon said. "Of what or who I couldn’t say. The part of the technique that animates dead wood is to create a temporary home for some wandering soul and make that home known. Only at great need would you attempt to summon a specific spirit."

  "What if a demon or worse answered the summons?" Seb asked. "Now that we’re on the subject, I always wanted to ask you that."

  "It doesn’t work that way. A demon is corporate in its own realm; it cannot abandon it’s true body without great risk, nor inhabit such a lowly vessel without destroying it on the spot. Plus, there are safeguards built into the summons. They usually find the right spirit for the work."

  "Comforting," Seb said.

  Koric didn’t seem to be listening. "Could I learn to do that?"

  "Perhaps," Tymon said, then he glanced at Seb, who nodded. Apparently it was a signal. "We’ll discuss it later. Right now we have a guest."

  Tymon turned and addressed the darkness toward the south. "You may as well show yourself, Lord Vor. We know you’re here. I gather you have business with me? Come out and let’s discuss it."

  "I’d like that," said the darkness and then Vor of House Dyrlos, sword in hand, stalked into the firelight. He barely paused, just long enough to judge the distance to Tymon and then he lunged. Tymon wasn’t there. And just off Vor’s path stood Seb, patiently waiting. He struck as Vor passed. His weapon, one booted foot. Vor stumbled and went down headlong, his sword slipping from his grasp to clatter on the stones. Koric had the presence of mind to scoop it up as it slid toward him. He prepared to strike, then hesitated.

  "No, Koric. To me."

  Koric gave the sword to Tymon gratefully. Tymon pointed it at Vor’s throat as the man glared up at him. "This boy warned you I was coming, but how could you be so sure I’d try for you?"

  "Despite the fact that it’s three to one and you hadn’t a chance of surviving, even if you killed me? It was obvious."

  "More damn sorcery!"

  "Not even a little, I’m afraid."

  Vor, prepared to die, willing to die, apparently insisted on an answer he could understand. "Then how?"

  Tymon shrugged. "Because," he said, "you’re that kind of damned fool."

  §

  "Margy, wake up."

  Lady Margate was aware of someone shaking her gently as she climbed out of the depths of a nap. Ashesa stood in front of her, smiling a tentative smile, Galan standing a discreet distance behind her. Lady Margate yawned and stretched demurely. "Just resting my eyes, Highness. So. What’s it to be? Wedding or execution?"

  "A wedding," said Princess Ashesa, looking pale and tired but happy. "As soon as...." She hesitated, and Galan stepped forward.

  "As soon as some unfortunate business is concluded and, I hope and pray, soon. I’ve been a fool, Lady Margate. Thank you for pointing that out."

  "I would not presume, Highness," Lady Margate said. "Though I am glad to hear it just the same."

  "Rhsmmmzzit..."

  They looked at the other form, stretched out on a bench. Sir Tals, snoring peacefully.

  "I suppose I should give him the news," Galan said.

  Lady Margate smiled impishly. "Later, if you please, Your Highness. He’s had such a long day. Perhaps we should just let him sleep."

  Ω

  12 monsters in training

  "You’ll have to kill me, you know," Vor said. "So why delay the inevitable?"

  Tymon sighed. "Lord Vor, you are hardly in a position to tell me what I must do."

  Vor’s position indeed seemed very uncomfortable; a boulder for a stool, his arms tied behind him firmly, and Seb holding a small arbalest ever so casually pointing in the general but really very exact direction of Vor’s heart.

  Vor shrugged. "I merely point out the realities of the situation. You knew I was coming so you must know I’m sworn to kill you. Killing me first is the only way to save yourself."

  Seb nodded. "He’s right, you know."

  Tymon just sighed. "As much as I like to see any of us agreeing on anything, in this I must beg to differ." He turned to Vor. "Lord Vor, why are you stalking me?"

  Vor laughed harshly. "You can kill me, but you can’t make me play your game, whatever it might be. You know the answer as well as I."

  "I assume it was because I threatened Duke Laras’ family, yes?"

  "What else?"

  "What else? Why at all? All he need do to insure his family’s safety is to forego his planned treachery."

  Vor’s expression went stone cold. "What you call treachery others call justice, and the righting of an old wrong. Now that you’ve joined Galan’s party you’ve made yourself an obstacle to that justice."

  Tymon’s expression matched Vor’s and bested it by a few degrees. Koric, watching the exchange with silent bewilderment, shivered.

  "If you think I’m in Prince Galan’s employ," Tymon said. "You are mistaken."

  Vor shook his head. "It doesn’t matter if you support Galan for gold or a whim. I won’t dispute with you, sorcerer, nor plead for my life. There’s no point. I don’t believe you and you’d be more than a fool to believe anything I might say to save my skin. All you can believe of me is this: you are an obstacle and a danger to House Dyrlos. Kill me if you want to live a little longer. There will be others following me."

  "If you say so then I suppose it must be true," Tymon conceded. "But not just yet. Come, let’s get moving."

  Seb frowned. "Where to?"

  "To where Lord Vor will be staying for a while. What it lacks in comfort it makes up for in isolation."

  "The grave," Vor said grimly.

  Tymon sighed. "I must remind you again that I am in charge here, Lord Vor. Your life is mine to do with as I will, and you will die when it is convenient for me and not one instant sooner. Do we understand one another?"

  "Arrogant bastard!" Vor spit at Tymon, missed.

  "Apparently the gentleman does not." Seb motioned Vor to his feet. "I doubt that you can appreciate this, but Tymon’s really a very amiable fellow," he said, "once you get to know him." He turned to Tymon. "Is the boy coming with us now? Wouldn’t it be safer to send him back to the Abbot?"

  "It would appear so," Tymon conceded, "but for the moment I think he’ll have to stay with us. You don’t mind, do you lad?"

  Koric shook his head. "As much as I’d like to return to my studies, I’d rather stay. I won’t be in the way."

  Seb just shook his head. "He doesn’t have as much sense as I thought."

  Tymon smiled. "By that I assume you mean: more sense than yourself?"

  "Yes," Seb said wryly. "That’s it exactly."

  After they had been busy for some hours, Tymon spoke to Koric again. "Once more you are caught up in matters beyond your control or comprehension. I think I should apologize."

  Koric wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, and rested from his labors for a few moments. "I’m still alive, and more, discovering an entire world that has nothing to do with milking or weeding or hauling fodder."

  "I think you would have discovered that sooner or later without my help," Tymon said. "As for the other, one day you may look back at hauling fodder as a nobler use of a life, by comparison."

  Koric shrugged. "Who can say? But in the meantime, could you show me that glyph again?"

  Tymon and Koric kneeled near the entrance to a small dead end canyon adjoining the pass, working on another stick golem while Seb kept an eye on Lord Vor. Lord Vor, in turn, was keeping all his attention on Tymon and Koric; his increasing puzzlement was apparent. Tymon finally called a halt, satisfied with their handiwork on the assembly.

  "What are you doing?" Vor asked.

  "Constructing your jailer," said Tymon. He turned back to Koric. "Now watch carefully."

  Tymon demonstrated the tracings of the glyph again, then went through the step by step procedure for carving it legibly into the prepared space on the trunk of the golem. "All this is preparation, you understand. It’s the final step that does it, and that I will not show you just yet," Tymon saw Koric about to protest, and held up a hand to silence it. "I would no more give that knowledge to you at your current understanding than your mother would hand a toddler a sharpened knife, and for much the same reason. Be patient, Koric. Time is not the plodding thing you may think."

  "It is at his age," Seb said dryly.

  "Even so. Now be quiet, all of you."

  Tymon closed his eyes. In a moment the golem sat up, with a creak of rope under tension and the almost musical tones of wood on stone. It was much larger than the one Tymon had sent ahead to intercept Aktos, nearly half a head taller than Tymon himself. Its construction, while still crude, was much more solid than the earlier mannequin. It rose very unsteadily to its stump feet, but in a few moments of experimentation it was moving very easily. It thumped its way to just inside the entrance to the canyon. Vor regarded it contemptuously.

  "And just what is the purpose of this thing?"

  "To keep you here, of course," Tymon said. "Didn’t I already mention that?"

  "How? I destroyed your earlier automaton. What makes you think I can’t do the same to this one?"

  "You’re welcome to try," Tymon said, softly.

  Vor smiled and sprang into motion. He scooped up a rock almost the size of his own head and rushed the creature, the stone held aloft in both hands to smash the clumsy looking stick figure. He brought it down with all his strength.

  The golem caught the rock.

  Twiggy fingers cradled the stone as Vor pushed against it to no avail. Then he suddenly released the stone and tried to slip past. A swat from the thing’s left arm sent him sprawling, whereupon it reached down, picked him up by the back of his breeks and dropped him back in the canyon, then resumed its post, still holding the stone he had taken. It dropped it just as Vor charged it again. Vor tried twice more with much the same result. He finally stopped, out of breath and battered.

  "I’ll find a way," he said. "You don’t dare leave me here alive."

  Tymon shrugged. "Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. But in case you’re thinking about climbing the canyon walls...."

  Tymon nodded at the golem, which picked up the last stone it had taken away from Lord Vor. The creature read his intent in ways that no one else there could fathom. Tymon pointed at a small dead bush about thirty feet up on the canyon’s sheer back wall.

  "Hit it."

  The golem hurled the rock. Its branches creaked and groaned like a catapult and the stone flew through the air almost as fast as an arrow and more accurately. It smashed the dried out bush to kindling; Vor was forced to cover his head as the rain of shattered stone and wood rained down. "I’ll also note," Tymon said drily, "that it neither eats nor sleeps. It does not get cold, it does not get tired. If you try to leave this canyon it will stop you. If you try too hard, it will kill you."

  "I’ll find a way," Vor said, though he seemed to be telling himself as much as Tymon.

  "Assuming you don’t." Tymon picked up Vor’s pack. "Did you check it, Seb?"

  Seb shrugged. "Of course. There were a few items of lethal potential. I’ve removed them. The rest is food and bedding."

  Tymon swung the pack underhand and it clattered to a stop at Vor’s feet. "I’d suggest you ration yourself, Lord Vor. Otherwise you may starve before we return. Unless of course you do manage to escape. Come along."

  The last bit was addressed to Seb and Koric, who had already gathered their things together and were ready to follow.

  They turned south. Koric fell into step with the two men. "You won’t let him starve, will you?" he asked, once they were out of earshot of the canyon.

  "He was going to kill you," Seb said drily.

  Koric blushed. "I know. I’d kill him if I had to, to defend myself, but I wouldn’t let anyone starve for no reason."

  "What if there was a reason?" Tymon asked.

  Koric thought about it. "I can’t imagine a reason good enough for that."

  "Neither can I—at the moment. The distinction is more important than you might believe now." Tymon paused, and smiled. "Oh, don’t worry. Lord Vor won’t enjoy his stay but he will survive it. A week or so at most, and he has food enough for that. Just long enough that he won’t be an obstacle to us."

  "If he gets out he’ll come after you again," Koric said.

  "More than likely."

  "You think he can escape?" Seb said. "I watched what you were doing. That’s a first class piece of work, despite its rough appearance and middling construction materials. Vor won’t get away from it easily."

  "Until the proper time comes for his escape," Tymon said, "he won’t get away from it at all."

  §

  "So. Prince Galan is still being a fool. Just on a different matter."

  Lady Margate sat with Ashesa in the Princess’ chambers, though in truth her former prison cell was only a little less sumptuous by comparison. Ashesa poured herself another cup of warm spiced wine from an earthen crock. "He is a dear in many ways," she said. "In others, I can see his brother in him and it both saddens and frightens me."

  "You’re in love with him, aren’t you?"

  Ashesa took a good sip of the warm wine. "I suppose I am. I’ve never been in love before, Margy. I didn’t realize it would be such a damn nuisance. I can’t think clearly where he is concerned, and sometimes I think he’s the same regarding me. Pity. A little hardheaded consideration on both our parts might put a stop to this mess."

  "Clarity of thought is not one of love’s attendant virtues; that’s why it plays little part in political marriages most of the time." Lady Margate sighed deeply. "So. I gather this course isn’t being forced on Galan for political reasons?"

  Ashesa shook her head. "Now that he knows Tymon is alive, Galan wants revenge for his brother. I suppose I should be grateful; it made him able to transfer his anger from me to Tymon the Black. Now he wants the magician’s head on a pike at the city gates before the wedding can proceed."

  Lady Margate considered. "Would that be such a terrible thing? Tymon’s reputation certainly warrants it."

  "If we were executing his reputation," Ashesa said drily, "I might agree."

  "He kidnapped you, worried your Father and me half to death, and put you in a situation where the best way out was to knife your fiancé. I don’t think you have reason to regard his safety overmuch."

  Ashesa contemplated her wine. "No, on the face of it you are absolutely right."

  "You don’t sound convinced."

  "Because I’m not. There’s more to this magician, Margy; even more than Galan knows or, I’m afraid, would be willing to understand. I think it’s time I told someone. I think that someone should be you."

  Lady Margate looked to heaven. "I seemed destined to hear that phrase a lot. It must be my too amiable disposition." She paused to pour a cup of the steaming wine for herself. "All right. Let’s hear the rest of it." Lady Margate sat back to listen.

  Ashesa related the rest of the story. Now that the circumstances of Daras’s’s demise were out of the way, if not forgotten, Ashesa concentrated on what she had learned of Tymon and Seb in their brief time together. At times Lady Margate seemed to be more interested in her wine than what the princess told her, but Ashesa wasn’t fooled. Margy had that distant look she got sometimes when she began to reflect on some facts before she had heard everything, but Ashesa knew her nurse had missed nothing. When Ashesa was done, Lady Margate did not speak for several long moments.

  "Well," she said finally.

  Ashesa frowned. "That’s all you have to say?"

  Lady Margate nodded. "At the moment, Highness. I must say you’ve given me a great deal to think about."

  "You do ...." Ashesa hesitated, began again. "You do believe me, don’t you Margy?"

  "Heavens, child, of course I do. I’m just not sure yet how well you—or I, come to that—understand what it means. As I said, something to ponder. Quickly, to be blunt. We don’t know what Galan plans to do or how soon."

 

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