PROLOGUE

THE FUGITIVE DID NOT know that his arrival at the
small Rud farm was preordained. He would have
scoffed at the notion, had he been told. All he knew
was that his injured leg hurt abominably, that he was
so filthy he was disgusted, and that he was too tired to
fight or flee if discovered.

It was night again. He had hardly been aware of the
passage of time since his escape, except for the awful
sun by day and the cruel chill by night. Dehydration
and shivering, with little between except fear and
fatigue.

Yet this was a decent region, he knew, if viewed
objectively. He heard froogs croaking loudly in the
nearby froogpond, and corbean stalks rustling in the
breeze. Appleberries and razzelfruits perfumed the
air and set his stomach growling. The natives claimed
that these bitter fruits could be charmed to become
sweet, but he refused to credit such impossible claims.
He was not yet so far gone as to believe in magic! But
they certainly looked good! Hunger—there was another curse of the moment!

But thought of food had to be pushed aside, as did
dreams of a hot bath and a change of clothing. He had
come here, he reminded himself sternly, to steal a
horse. He hated the necessity, for he regarded himself
as an honorable man, but he seemed to have no
choice.

He crept nearer to the cottage, orienting on its
single faint light. How he hoped that there would be
no one awake to challenge him! He did not know how
close the Queen's guardsmen were, or how quickly
they would appear the moment there was any commo
tion. How ironic it would be to die ignobly as an
unsuccessful horse thief!

He paused, studying the light. Far off there sounded
the trebling screech of a houcat. His pursuers had lost
the trail last night, and he doubted that they would
swim the river to pick it up again. There were hazards
in that water as bad for guardsmen as for thieves, and
only a truly desperate man would have been fool
enough to risk it. Perhaps the guardsmen thought him
dead already. This fool, for the time being, was almost
safe.

He came close and peered cautiously in the window. A slender girl sat reading by the flickering light
of a lamp. He gazed at the coppery sheen of her hair,
and the planes other somewhat pointed face, and the
gentle swell and ebb of her bosom as she breathed.
How lovely she seemed! It was not that she was
beautiful, for by his standards she was not, but that
she was comfortable and quiet and clean. A girl who
read alone at night: what a contrast to the type of
woman he had known! There was an aura of decency
about her that excited his longing. He could love such
a girl and such a life-style, if ever given a chance.

For a moment he was crazily tempted to knock on
the window, to announce himself, to say, "Haloo
there, young woman, are you in need of a man? Give
me a bath and some food, and I shall be yours
forever!" But he was not yet so tired that no reason
remained. If he did that, she would start up and
scream, and the guardsmen would come, and it would
be over.

He ducked past the window and tiptoed to the bam.
He held his breath as he tried the latch on the stable
door. It opened easily, without even a squeak. This
was a well-maintained farm. He felt a certain regret
that this should facilitate the theft of an animal. It
might have been more fitting to steal from a sloppy
farm, but a squeaky door would have been an excel-
lent guardian.

From inside came the scent of horse and hay. He
felt around in the dark just past the door and found
the halter exactly where it should be. The arrangements in good Rud barns were standard.

There was the snap of a broken twig. He turned.

She stood there in the wan light from the window,
garbed in a filmy nightdress and a shawl. The first
thing he noticed was the way her firm slim legs
showed in gauzy silhouette.

The second thing he noticed was the pitchfork she
held at waist height, aimed at his chest.

He swallowed, trying to judge whether he could
dodge aside quickly enough to avoid the thrust of
those sharp tines, and whether he retained the
strength to wrestle the implement away from her. And
if he did, what, then? How could he hurt a girl he
would rather embrace? Perhaps it was a trick of the
inadequate light, but her eyes seemed to be the exact
color of violets back on his native Earth.

"Speak!" she said. "What is your business here?"
Her voice sent a thrill through him; it was dulcet
despite its tone of challenge.

What use to lie? He hated this whole business! "I
came to steal your horse. I would rather have stolen
your heart." And what had possessed him to say that?

"You are a thief? A highwayman?"

She hadn't thrust her fork at him. That was a good
sign. He decided to tell her the rest of it. "I'm not an
ordinary thief, not even a good one, as you can see,"
he said with difficulty. "I just had to have a horse. I
know you won't believe that I'm not a criminal."

"Why didn't you come openly to my door, then?"

"I—I looked in your window, and saw you reading.
You were so—so nice\ I thought you would scream if
you saw me. I—I'm a fugitive from the Queen's
dungeon. I know that doesn't make me a hero, but
maybe it carries a bit of weight."

"You have round ears," she said, her voice assum-
ing a soft, strange quality. "You cannot be of this
planet. Certainly you are no ordinary thief. Introduce
yourself, Roundear."

She seemed to have no fear of him, only a certain
caution. It was almost as if she had been expecting
him! "John Knight, of Earth," he said.

"A name may be an omen. Knight," she said. She
smiled a mysterious witching smile and lowered the
fork. "You may call me Chariain. We shall be married
on the morrow."

He stared at her. Then, tentatively, he smiled. She
returned the smile. Then, unaccountably, he laughed,
and she laughed with him.

She took him inside the house and gave him a bath
and some food, and when he was clean and fed she
kissed him and took him to her bed. He was so tired
that he fell almost instantly to sleep despite the
presence of her warm body beside him. He didn't
even care that this might be a ruse to lull him, so that
she could safely turn him in to the Queen's guards-
men. He had to believe in her.

Thus did John Knight first encounter the woman he
was to marry. She practiced fortune-telling, so had
known he was coming: a round-eared man who was a
fugitive from the Queen. She had told no one of this
vision, so knew that his arrival was no trap by the
Queen. She had known that the man would be com-
pletely unprepossessing, but would be the one she
could truly love, and that though he had known a
woman before her, he would never know one after
her.

They married on the morrow, in a secret ceremony,
and that evening he was enough recovered to remain
awake in her bed for some time. Their life together
had begun abruptly, but had an unspoken under-
standing that was at times mysterious and at other
times thoroughly natural to him.

The following year their round-eared baby was
bom, and two years after that their point-eared baby.

The prophecy that John Knight had not known
about was on its way to fulfillment. His life was
relatively placid after he settled; not so, that of his
children.

CHAPTER 1

Dragon Scale

THE ROAD WOUND LIKE a twisting dragon's tail.
Through rank underbrush and skeletal trees. Past
boulders the size of cottages. Along a sparkling moun-
tain stream bordered with high piles of debris left by
the late spring floods. It did not look like the setting
for the beginning of the fulfillment of a long-term
prophecy.

Two slim figures walked the road, carrying travel-
sacks and leading a donkey. One was sixteen, tall
enough to be handsome were it not for his round ears.
The other was fourteen but looked twelve, with
pointed ears. Both wore the garb ofRud rustics: heavy
leather walking boots, brownberry shirts, greenbriar
pantaloons, and lightweight summer stockelcaps
whose long tips ended in tassels of blue and green
yam. They could hardly have looked less like folk
destined to commence the fulfillment of a significant
prophecy.

Kelvin, the elder one, played on his mandajo as he
walked, picking out the accompaniment to "Fortune
Come a-Callin'," a Rud tune of great antiquity. The
three-stringed lute of Rud could be beautiful when
properly evoked, but Kelvin was not playing it well.
Some had magic that related to music, and some did
not; some thought they had magic when they did not.
Kelvin was of the latter persuasion, but he wouldn't
have cared if he had realized. His thoughts were far
away.

Jon, the younger one, brushed back long yellow
hair. A stranger, looking at Jon's alert greenish eyes
and large ears and face that showed no hint of a beard,
would have dismissed this as a lively boy. The stranger would have been mistaken, for Jon was Kelvin's
sister. Because it could be dangerous for a girl to
go alone into the countryside of Rud, the parents
had tried to restrict her to the farm and village.
But Jon was an adventurous sort, always eager to
go out exploring. Realizing that she could not be re-
strained, they had finally yielded with two stem
strictures: always go in company with Kelvin, and go
as a boy. That suited Jon just fine, for though she
would die rather than say it, she looked up to her
brother, and wanted to share his activities. She
also rather liked masquerading as a boy, for though
her parents had been happy to have a girl, Jon
herself envied the freedoms and prospects of the
other sex. She had become almost letter-perfect
at the masquerade, but now nature was playing on
her a disgusting trick. Her hips were broadening and
her breasts were swelling. It was getting harder to
look the part, and it would be impossible without
her solid shirt. What would she do when her rebel-
lious front became too pronounced to conceal? She
was disgusted, and the very thought put her in a bad
mood.

Now Jon peered into the underbrush and up into
the branches of the trees, looking for trouble. She
carried a sturdy leather sling whose pocket held a
carefully positioned rock of the required squirbet-
braining size. Just let one of those creatures show its
snoot now . . . !

"Fortune come a-callin', but I did hide, ah-oo-ay,"
Kelvin sang with imperfect pitch. "Fortune come
a-callin', but I did hide, bloody saber at my side,
ah-oo-ay, ah-oo-ay, ay."

"You call that old pig-gutter you're packing a
saber?" Jon demanded. She spoke with deceptive
good humor, her eyes wandering over to her brother.
To the dark handle of the war souvenir protruding
from its worn and cracked scabbard.

Kelvin lowered his instrument. His thoughts leaped
ahead to the deepening gloom and the forbidding
mountain pass. "We're not riding either," he said,
referring to another verse.

"No, but we would be if you hadn't let that horse
dealer swindle us," Jon said. She lifted the halter and
made a grimace of distaste at their pack animal. "A
horse to ride would be great, but you, you jackass, had
to buy a jackass!"

"I thought," Kelvin said lightly, his attention focus-
ing a bit, "that I could put two of them to work. You
and Mockery."

"Mockery's the name for it!" Jon snapped. "Any-
one but you would have been put off by the name, but
you had to go and hand over our last two rudnas for
it!"

"Jon, Jon, show faith in thy elder," Kelvin teased.
"We hadn't the money for a horse, and Mockery was
cheap. We'll need his strong back, and yours, to pack
out all the gold we'll find."

Jon made an uncouth noise. "If he ever lets us load!
It took us half the morning to get our pitifully few
supplies strapped to his omery back. He's got a kick
like a mule! I suppose when we want our tent, he'll
start all over."

"Not so, little brother Worrisome Wart!" Kelvin
always referred to her in the masculine, maintaining
the masquerade; what started as a game had soon
enough become second nature. "It's only that he's
jealous. We have the lighter loads. Smart animal,
Mockery. Smart enough to know when we're in drag-
on country. Anything that smart, including me and
possibly ye, knows the danger."

"Do we, Kel?" Her voice was almost pleading.

Kelvin narrowed the bluish eyes that seemed al-
most as strange as his rounded ears, in Rud. This was
not like Jon. Usually she tried with pretty good
success to appear more recklessly masculine than any
ordinary boy could be. Until today she had seemed if
anything too confident. What was bothering her?

"Jon, if you're afraid—"

"Ain't that!" Jon snapped. "Not any more than you

8 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

are, anyway. But curse it, Kel, if I'm going to get et up
by a dragon, I at least want a chance."

"Few people have a chance," Kelvin retorted.
"Dragons are big and strong and mean. If you run
into one, it will devour you fast. Once it bites off your
head, which I'm sure it will do early on, I can promise
you that you will hardly feel a thing."

"Great!" Jon said, not appreciating the humor. "So
we just stay away from it?"

"That's all anyone with any sense does. Or," he
added, giving a slight nod at Mockery, "anything with
sense."                           *

"But dragons have been killed, haven't they?"

"A few times by heroes with armor and war-horses
and lances. You know that, Jon. A few have fallen, but
not to the likes of us."

"But if we had a good sword, and a war-horse, and a
lance—"

"We'd get et, just the same," Kelvin said confident-
ly. "You ever see me ride a war-horse? Or use a sword
except for hacking brush? It takes training, Jon; it
doesn't just happen."

Jon subsided into silence as they plodded on. The
road was becoming narrower with every mile. The
debris piles were getting higher and higher. Now the
mountain walls seemed to lean inward. The sun hid
its face behind the peak of the mountain to the west.
The air became noticeably cooler as the bird and
animal sounds became more hushed and were heard
less often.

"I don't like this place," Jon said, looking about at
the tangled masses of trees the flood had left. "It's
ugly."

"Nobody comes here for a picnic, Jon. Riches
aren't found in the nicest places. If we're to get gold,
we have to put up with ugliness."

Jon flushed a little and looked away. Now and then
something Kelvin said did have a noticeable effect.
But he wondered whether he should caution her about
showing any color, that was a trait associated more
with girls, and could give her away. He decided to
keep quiet; Jon didn't like to have her female manner-
isms pointed out. There was a certain irony in this,
because in truth she was becoming a rather pretty
figure of a girl when she let herself be.

Kelvin estimated the time. It was getting to be late
in the afternoon. Soon they would stop to build camp,
and then early tomorrow they'd find gold. Or at least
they'd search for it. If the spring floods had washed it
down from the high mountains, they might find
nuggets of it along the stream. That was their hope;

that was what made this an adventure instead of just a
chance to explore. A chance for Jon to be a boy
—perhaps one of the last chances, for soon there
would be no easy way to conceal her nature.

He wondered how he would feel if he knew that he
was really a girl, and would have to resign himself to
becoming a homemaker and never going out explor-
ing again. He shuddered; he knew he would hate it.
He wished he could at least express some sympathy
for Jon, but he couldn't; it would come out all wrong,
and she would be furious.

"Gods, Kel, look what I found!"

He blinked as he strained his sight to see what
shone so brightly in Jon's hands. His eyes were not the
best; if Jon's curse was being a girl, his own was being
inadequate in various ways like this. Jon had reached
down into a clump of ugly brown weeds, and now held
something that filled her cupped palms.

Carefully, Kelvin took it from her, bringing it close
enough for a decent focus. It was a scale that could
have come from a dragon's neck. It had the heft of
gold, and some luster through the grime. It could be
very valuable.

"It's a dragon scale, isn't it? Isn't it?" she de-
manded, hopping about in her excitement.

"Easy, Jon, easy," he cautioned her. "Don't shout
or do anything to attract a dragon's attention. This
could be fresh, and—"

"Think I'm crazy?" Jon asked. Then, "It is, isn't it?

10 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

Gold that migrated to the scale from the nuggets
swallowed by the dragon? It's just as the books said!
Just like the shellfish that get metal in their shells from
ingesting bits of metal and then become unfit to eat!
We're lucky, oh so lucky!" She was dancing again.

Kelvin stopped her with an upraised hand. "Quiet,
fool! The dragon could be in hearing distance!" For
the scale of a dragon meant danger as well as wealth,
and suddenly he was quite nervous about this aspect.

"Around here?" Jon whirled happily. "If that's so,
why isn't smart-ass Mockery a-rearin' and a-rarin'
and kicking up his heels? You know dragons shed
scales! It probably happened weeks ago."

"Yes," Kelvin agreed. "But we can't be sure. We
can't be sure it's not lurking and waiting for us."

Jon gave him a look of contempt. She had always
been bolder than he. "Hah. Do you think that was just
dropped?" She pointed to a pile of dried dragon dung.

Kelvin looked at the bits of white bone sticking out
of the dung, and shivered. That, he thought, could be
the remnant of a human being.

"We have to be careful, Jon," he said. "We have to
check around here to make sure there's no fresh sign.
If a dragon's been around in the last day or so, we
want to move out. If we don't find fresh sign, we'll set
up the tent, cook the squirbet you bagged, eat, and get
a good night's sleep. Then, first thing tomorrow, we'll
search." His hands felt clammy as he put the scale
into a pocket of his pantaloons. The very notion of a
nearby dragon gave him the cold sweats.

But Jon was already climbing a high mound of
rocks and weeds and piled-up tree trunks. As usual
she did not appear to have heard a word Kelvin said.

CHAPTER 2

Dragon Ire

CONTROLLING HIS FEELINGS AS much as he could, Kel-
vin petted Mockery and made plans for putting up the
tent and cooking the squirbet Jon had knocked over
earlier during the day. He took off Mockery's pack,
put hobbles on the beast, went to the nearest sapling,
and cut a sturdy tent pole with his incredibly dull
sword.

"I found another! Two more!" Jon cried from
halfway up the pile.

Kelvin's heart leaped. He controlled it. Careful,
careful, he thought. Move too fast, make too much
noise, and the two of them could become bones in
dragon dung. Were those other bones human? Had
the dragon eaten the last intrepid gold-hunters to
brave this place?

"Kel, there's six of them! All in a bunch, and
stained! The dragon must have been in a fight with
another dragon."

So that was why so many downed trees, Kelvin
thought. The flooding river hadn't done it all; dragons
had added to the carnage of this region. He shivered
in spite of himself as he imagined the size of the
beasts. Two of them? That would account for the
ground being grassless over there and for the dirt
showing. Where would the loser go afterward, he
wondered, and thought again that he really should be
curbing Jon's noisy explorations.

"Let's make our camp now, Jon. Please." He hated
sounding like a coward, but the possible presence of a
dragon made him feel very much like one.

Jon ignored him, clambering nimbly on up the
rockpile. She had no foolish concern about monsters!
He picked at a blister on his hand as he waited for
her to finish with the pile and come down. Just how
was their tent to be constructed? And what would
they eat? The appleberry bushes had been savaged,
too; even his most ardent charm was unlikely to make
their fruit edible here.

"Kel, I've found ..." Jon's voice trailed off, forcing
Kelvin to look around for her. He spotted her atop a
jumble of boulders piled amidst tree trunks, the rock
coated with decomposed vegetation and sandy soil
from the river bottom.

"Kel, I see ... I think I see the dragon!"

"What!" "

"The dragon. I think it's dead. It's dead, Kel! It got
licked in the fight. All those scales! We're rich, Kel!
Come on up, and . . . oh-oh."

"What is it, Jon?" His heart thumped. His throat
dried instantly.

"Oh, Kel, it's alive, but I think it's almost dead. I
think we can kill it and—"

"Jon, come away from there!" If the dragon was
alive, but badly injured, they might be able to escape.

"A fortune, Kel! A fortune! Kel, I'm going to sling a
rock at it."

Total folly! "No, Jon, no!" Kelvin croaked, his
throat so tight with fear he could hardly speak.

But the intrepid little sister was already twirling her
sling. With the skill of long practice and a natural
knack she let fly and followed through with her usual
"Got him!"

Kelvin couldn't speak; his horror had closed off his
throat entirely. He held his breath as Jon stared down
the opposite side of the pile. What was she seeing
there, anyway?

"It sees me, Kel," her voice came back, rising with
sudden alarm. "It's awake. It—Kel, it's coming for
me!"

Kelvin's voice tore loose from his constricted
throat. "Run, Jon, run! Back here!"

He heard the scramble as Jon moved. Her head
appeared at the crest. She seemed to be moving
slowly, but Kelvin realized that this was really the
effect of his terror: the world seemed to have slowed
almost to a standstill. Now it came to him: this huge
pile of debris had been kicked up by the fighting
dragons!

Fighting? Then why wasn't the loser dead? A drag-
on never left prey or an enemy alive; he would chew it
to bits just out of spite, even if he wasn't hungry.
Dragons liked to kill, to make blood splatter! Every-
one knew that! When they fought each other, the loser
always died, because no dragon ever fled from any-
thing. It couldn't have been a fight!

Then what had happened? Obviously this dragon
had been only sleeping. But why had it scratched up
such a mountain of refuse? For he was sure now: the
natural hill here had been enhanced by more than
flood refuse. Dragons were known to be as lazy as any
other creature; they saved their energy for important
things like pursuing prey and fighting and—

And mating. He remembered the stories now. The
mating of dragons was almost indistinguishable from
a fight to the death. It seemed that the females never
did mate voluntarily, so the males had to run them
down and subdue them and rape them. It was said
that the effort of doing this tired out a male dragon
more than any other activity, and that some dropped
into deep sleep on the spot. That must have been the
case with this one. Probably it would have slept for
several more hours if Jon hadn't jolted him with a
rock on the snoot.

But even a tired dragon was a worse threat than any
other living creature. There was no telling how long
this one had had to recover; it might have slept for
several days, and now be largely restored, and plenty
hungry. And they, like the fools they were, had
blundered in, thinking the scales that had been torn
off in the ecstasy of rut meant that the dragon was
gone.

Jon was coming down the ragged slope, slip-sliding
across slime-slick stones. The dragons probably
hadn't even noticed the havoc they wrought on the
landscape! The male had finally tamed the female,
probably holding her" down with his huge teeth and
claws while it rammed into her torso. There would be
blood galore, his as well as hers. Once the male's urge
was spent, his grip would have relaxed, and the female
would have torn free and departed. This was the one
encounter in which dragon did not kill dragon; she
had to go gestate, and he had to let her go. So, worn
but satiated, he slept where he lay ... until this
moment.

With a cry of despair and fright elevated to unadul-
terated terror, Jon turned and dropped, screaming as
she slid through loosely piled debris and river-bome
brush. She had fallen into a hole in the pile!

But her cries were drowned out in a moment by the
loudest and most drawn-out hiss Kelvin had ever
heard or imagined. It was the sound of the biggest,
most dreaded reptile ever to slither through a night-
mare. Then a scrabbling noise, as huge claws dug at
smooth rock to find a foothold. No worn-out dragon,
that!

Kelvin looked wildly around for safety, spotted
none, and turned to his faithful steed. The donkey,
amazingly enough, was chomping grass. Obviously
the animal was stone-deaf; this was the first time
Kelvin had realized it.

"Kel, Kel! He's going to get me, Kel! He's going to
get me! He's climbing up, Kel! He's climbing!" Jon's
former boldness had been completely dissipated; now
at last she understood what he had feared when he
saw the first golden scale.

What does one do when one's sister is in dire
danger from a menace that cannot be opposed? One
does what little one can.

Raising the old sword in his already sore hand,
Kelvin rushed madly for the pile. A tree trunk lay next
to some smaller rocks and made a regular staircase
that Jon had followed. Kelvin's running feet found it
of their own accord. Panting, he reached the spot
where Jon had fallen, looked down between stacked
rocks and tree trunks, and saw her frightened face.

"I can't get out in time, Kel!" she screamed tearful-
ly. "I'm trapped! Save yourself, Kel! Save yourself!"

Kelvin, in a rear portion of his mind, recognized
this as one of his sister's better ideas, but somehow he
wasn't satisfied with it. Whether he would have taken
her up on it he could never afterward be certain, for at
that moment the golden-scaled, elongated snout of
the dragon appeared over the pile's top boulder. The
thing was simultaneously awful and beautiful: deadly
living gold. He had known that dragons were mon-
strous, but from this range that was an appalling
understatement. He judged that this one could swal-
low both of them in a single gulp. He could not see the
main torso, but guessed that its size must be equiva-
lent to that of six or seven large war-horses. No
wonder so few men had ever dared face such a
creature! The wonder was that any who had done so
had survived.

The monster levered itself up on gigantic scaled
claws. Its entire head was now visible, and the front of
its body. Kelvin could see the crest on the head and
the short, leathery wings. He knew he should be
afraid, but his emotion seemed to have shorted out
that stage, leaving him strangely clearheaded.

Kelvin raised his sword. His arm shook so that he
seemed to be fencing. He wished he had scoured off
the rust and put a razor edge on the blade. He couldn't
imagine what he could do with a sharp clean sword,
let alone this dull dirty one, but now was not a good
time for imagination anyway.

Ping!

His arm went numb. Something serpentine and
leathery and wet curled three times around his sword
blade and twice around his wrist. He lurched back-
ward in horror—and was promptly pulled forward by
the long, forked tongue.

Some sword! he thought, insanely hacking with the
edge of his free hand at the tongue's forked tip.
The edge of his hand came down precisely right, and
he yelped with pain and disgust as he numbed his own
wrist. The dragon seemed unaffected by the hand
chop that had all but fractured Kelvin's good right
arm. He got his feet wedged in a crack of a boulder
and pushed back.

The tongue uncurled from his arm, and the sword
went with it, up and into the cavernous mouth. Those
teeth—they were the size of short swords! The breath
—a poisonous hot wind from a fetid swamp.

Kelvin was falling backward. Then he saw the
sword spinning in midair, and he heard a splatting
sound. The dragon had simply spit out Kelvin's best
and only weapon. And now . . .

The ground closed in about him. He was falling
through the same hole that had swallowed Jon! His
arms spread out reflexively to catch hold of the edges,
but his fingers only tore out hunks of brush and sand.
His descent slowed, but did not stop.

There was an "Ooof!" of protest. He had landed on
something soft. His sister's body had filled out more
than he realized.

They scrambled to separate. It was dark in this hole
and smelly.

"You hurt?" he whispered.

"Just bruised," she gasped. "You?"

He didn't answer, for he heard a scrabbling sound
on the rock overhead. Could the beast move the
boulders? Could it dig them out? How tired was it?

"Kel—"

"Quiet!" he hissed. Surely the dragon could dig
them out, since it had formed this miniature moun-
tain. But would it? In its fatigued state it might decide
it wasn't worth the energy it would take to roust out
these two little morsels.

"There's a hole here," Jon whispered. Already she
was reverting to normal, ignoring his strictures.

Kelvin felt Jon's hand in the dark, and she moved it
to the place. There was indeed a hole—an aperture
formed by two large tree limbs near ground level. A
way out, possibly, but not necessarily to safety. If the
dragon discovered it, he could reach in with that
long tongue and lick them out as if they were only
ants!

This hole was more danger than help! Kelvin tried
to think of a way to seal off the opening and keep the
dragon's sinuous tongue outside. His hands went out
in quick desperation and snagged on a broken branch.
He felt along the branch and encountered a smooth,
rounded surface. Further investigation informed his
senses that here was a boulder that wasn't supporting
anything. If he and Jon could somehow move it and
use it as a plug for the hole ...

"Look!" Jon whispered, nudging him urgently.

In the dim light he saw the dragon's clawed foot,
just as it lit on something with a sound like a bursting
bladder. A moment later there was a loud hiss; then
the frantic snort and squeal of a suddenly alert
donkey.

"There goes Mockery," Kelvin said. He had an ugly
picture of the donkey in the jaws of the dragon, and he
hoped the monster would hurt his teeth on the hob-
bles. Mockery was unable to run; if only he hadn't put
those restraints on!

But he realized that this just might have saved his
life and Jon's. The dragon had found easier prey.

Jon whimpered. Kelvin hardly noticed, but sudden-
ly he realized that his sister was worming on past him,
blocking his light.

"What—Jon . . . ?"

"I won't let it! I won't let it!" Jon screamed. "It
can't have Mockery. Mockery's ours!" Evidently she
had had a change of heart about the worth of the
animal.

Kelvin grabbed hold of a slim leg above and below a
boot top and pulled her back. "You want the dragon
to discover this hole?"

Jon subsided. Kelvin breathed a silent sigh. Now, if
the incipient scream of the donkey didn't set her off—

He felt a foot on his back. "There's a root here,"
Jon said. "Or something. I think it can get back up."

A loud hiss that sounded like escaping steam drew
his attention back to the hole at ground level. The
dragon had moved. Now he could see the little donkey
hobbled near the riverbank. It no longer mattered
whether Mockery could hear; certainly he could see
and smell! The donkey's eyes were rolled back, the
nostrils flared.

Then suddenly there was a loud hiss as the dragon's
awful, golden-scaled head moved directly over the
animal. Slowly the long, serpentine neck lowered,
hunching, and the mouth gaped to display the deadly
teeth. The forked tongue shot from the mouth and
just touched the donkey's flank.

Throp!

It was a magnificent donkey kick that landed with
stunning accuracy on the huge snout. A man would
have been killed by that strike, or a war-horse disa-
bled. The dragon didn't even seem to notice. Seem-
ingly bent on tasting before devouring, it closed its
front teeth in a dreadful snap on Mockery's tail. The
tail came off in a little shower of blood.

Kelvin closed his eyes, dreading what the dragon
would do next. There was nothing he could do except
let it happen.

"Bite my ass, will you! Take that!"

Kelvin's eyes popped open as the childish scream of
defiance ended and a walnut-sized projectile struck
the dragon's bloodred eye. The rock seemed to go into
the eye like a froog into mud, then eject and lodge just
under the eye's huge lower lid.

The dragon let out a hiss that hurt Kelvin's ears.
The neck twisted the head around to stare at the pile
of debris and at the small human figure. A great claw
lifted to the lizard face and delicately flicked out the
rock from beneath the eye's lid. The slow thought
processes were almost evident. This tiny creature was
trying to attack!

The dragon hissed again as the neck went back in
striking position. This is the end of Jon, Kelvin
thought, for the moment too stunned to act.

Then Jon jumped down into the hole, landing on
him. Kelvin felt the wind go out of his chest, and a
heel bruised his left ear, and a foot hit his hand. He
was glad his sister didn't weigh more than she did!

"I got him, Kel! Got him in the eye! Right in the
big, bloody eyeball!"

"You've gotten us killed," Kelvin gasped as soon as
he could talk. "That thing might have been content
with the donkey, but now—"

Nearby snorting interrupted him. A huge, open
nostril was sucking up dust at the ground-level hole.
Certainly the dragon smelled them now! In another
instant the tongue would intrude, would search them
out, and then . . . dragon fare!

"Jon, help me roll this boulder!" Kelvin strained at
the rock, trying to get it between them and the flaring
nostril. He strained, and then he remembered a
broken branch he had felt before that might serve as a
pry and a smaller rock that might serve as a fulcrum.
Quickly he got the smaller rock and the branch
positioned, and got Jon's small hands on the branch
next to his.

"Heave, Jon, heave!"

He strained until he saw stars. Beside him, Jon
groaned. The rock quivered ever so slightly. It was
free—broken free of the dirt. Now if it would just
move.

"Kel, it's got me!" Jon said. At that moment Kelvin
realized that a rough and living rope had shot to the
side of the boulder and fastened on Jon.

"Where does he have you?" he asked quickly.

"M-my leg."

"Hang on to me. I think—" He threw his back into
the enbrt and then all his weight, buttressed by hers.
The dragon was pulling her, and that was actually
helping them to put pressure on the lever. It had to be
now, he thought, or else there would never be another
chance.

The boulder moved. Kelvin scraped up a bit more
strength from somewhere and put all he had into it.

The boulder rolled grudgingly over the soggy
ground. Now if only—

It had! The boulder had partially blocked the hole,
and—

"I'm free, Kel! It let go! But—"

A terrible hissing outside—and something moved
next to Kelvin's shoulder. He jerked away with revul-
sion, even though he knew what it was and what they
had done.

The dragon's long tongue was under the heavy
boulder—a rock the weight of perhaps two very large
men, or one very small donkey. The tongue was
pinned!

The tongue vibrated at its unpinned tip. Saliva
rained into their enclosure, and a breath that was
dizzying in its putridity came with a most stomach-
turning gagging sound.

"We got him, Jon! For now! Let's get out of here
before he forgets how he's hurting and starts using his
legs to roll that rock off his tongue!" For though the
dragon could readily have moved the rock with its legs
or even its head, it was too stupid to make that
connection. It was trying to free its tongue by reflex,
snatching it back into its mouth. That way would
never work!

Jon led the way. They helped each other out of the
trap and to the top of the pile where Jon had first
sighted the dragon. The beast lay almost level with
their faces, its eyes glaring hatred. Kelvin stared back,
almost hypnotized by its stare.

Jon picked up the fallen sword and handed it to
him. "Ypu've got to, Kel. If you don't, it may get
loose. Or it could just die here."

Kelvin's urge was to flee immediately, but he real-
ized she was right. If the dragon was truly pinned, and
never figured out how to escape, it would die a
lingering death that shouldn't be wished even on a
monster. If it did escape, the two of them and the

DRAGON'S GOLD         21

donkey would be in immediate danger, for the dragon
would sniff them out and pounce on them long before
they got home.

He took the old sword, held it tight, and considered
the best place to attack. An eye, probably, but would
the sword penetrate all the way to the beast's brain?

Gnash!

A large clawed foot came up as he hesitated, strik-
ing within an arm's length of Jon. Jon leaped back and
almost slid down the hole again.

The sword was inadequate, Kelvin concluded. He
needed a lance.

"Jon, that long tent pole I cut—can you bring it to
me?" Kelvin didn't dare move, in case the dragon
decided to ignore the pain of its tongue and rip free;

then he would have to try with the sword, however
hopeless it seemed.

"What do you want it for?"

Damn her impertinence! "Just get it! Hurry!"

From the corner of his eye he watched her scamper.
He stood just outside the range of the monster's leg. It
was unnerving to be this close, but if he retreated
farther he would not be in position to strike at the eye
if that became necessary.

Jon paused to examine Mockery's tail stump. "Jon,
Jon, Jon!" Kelvin said to himself in frustration. But
finally she brought the pole.

He used the sword to sharpen the end of the pole to
a near needle point. The dragon's eye watched him
with unnerving intensity. Did the monster know what
was coming? If so, why didn't it simply wrench out its
tongue and free itself? That would be less painful than
a stake through its eyeball! But of course it was an
animal, unable to plan ahead. No creature as powerful
as a dragon needed much in the way of intellect,
ordinarily.

It would be better if he could fasten the sword to the
pole. But then there was a haft on the sword that
would surely stop it from penetrating. The pole, if he
put his weight behind it, would stab through the jelly

22 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

of the eyeball and on through, into the pulsing,
seething brain.

Suddenly Kelvin felt faint. The vision of that brain
—could he do it, even to save his own life? Could he
kill so messily in such cold blood?

Jon watched as he put down the sword. Her face
bore a peculiar and undefinable expression. "Kel, let
me do it."

"No. It's dangerous, and I doubt you're strong
enough. I'm not even sure that I'm strong enough."

"That's what I'm afraid of. You look as if you're
about to conk out."

"No!" Stupid sister! Kelvin took the pole firmly in
his hands, balanced it until it felt right, took a deep
breath, and ran the few steps to the dragon. Staring
into the bloodred eye and trying to visualize the
location of the brain in that reptilian head, he drove
the pointed stake with all his strength.

The point hit true. The eye was so large that it
would have been difficult to miss.

It went through the pupil, sending blood and gray
stuff squirting back at him.

There was a frightful scream. The dragon's head
jerked violently. The pole snapped up into the air,
hauling Kelvin with it, for he was so frozen with fear
that he could not let go. Then his hands lost their grip
and he flew. He had a glimpse of Mockery and the
river and trees.

There was the sensation of air moving across his
face. He knew he had done all he could. Had it been
enough?

He felt only a timeless waiting, as for unknown
hands...

r

CHAPTER 3

Memories

"MAMA, WHY ARE MY ears so small and so round? Why
aren't they like yours? Why are they like Daddy's?"

He sat in the bath and put questions to his beautiful
mother. Even as a small child, he knew what a lovely
creature she was. Her hair was the hue of copper, and
her eyes of violets. Her skin was translucently white,
and her ears were large and pointed. What more could
a child ask for?

"Because, my dear, you are very special," she said.

"Special, Mama?" He knew she didn't mean it to
hurt, but it always did. He didn't want to be special,
he wanted to be normal.

"Your father is special. That is why you are, too."

"But. . . why?"

"He's from another world, dear. A world just a little
bit different from ours. There are many such worlds,
many such existences, universes. They lie side by side,
touching as the skins touch on an onlic. Each skin
subtly different, yet subtly same. We can't see the
worlds that interpenetrate ours, but they are there,
and they are real to the people or beings living there."

"There?" He didn't understand her explanation at
all. He only knew that he hated the pungent taste of
onlics.

"Here. All about us. Your father talks of atoms and
thegreat spaces between the stars, but the wise ones in
our world have different explanations."

He looked around their cottage, at the furniture and
at the water he had splashed from the tub onto the
polished yellow wood floor. "Here? Another boy?
Another boy in another world in another tub?"

"Perhaps many boys in many vessels on many
23

24       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

worlds touching and almost a part of ours. It has to
be. That may be how myths start, and superstitions,
and stories and tales from the imagination. It's
the closeness, the nearness, the very near identity."
Her fingers, so strong and shapely, soaped his
chest. "You'll understand when you're older, dear.
When you are old enough to begin to fulfill the

prophecy."

"Prophecy? What's that, Mama?"

She dried her hands on a towel, crossed the room to
his father's desk, opened it, and took out the vellum-
covered book with the bloodstain on its cover. She
brought it to him, opened it, and turned the pages so
he could see the strange, straggly letters.

"This," she said, "is the Book of Prophecy. It was
written long, long ago by Mouvar the Magnificent,
who saw ahead, and who wrote ahead, and who
became godlike in the process. Mouvar, who fought
the great battle with the dark sorcerer, Zatanas, and
who will live, some say, forever, if Zatanas does not
finally kill him and eject his essence from our contin-
uum. I'm going to read to you some of Mouvar's
words written long, long before your father and I were

born."

"Is it about me. Mama?" Excitement tingled his
hands and feet as though he had grasped an electric
bug and been shocked.

"Yes, darling. It's about you. It's in rhyme, like all
the prophecies. It doesn't give your name, but it's
about you." Squeezing one of his small hands in her
larger, stronger hand, she read:

A Roundear there Shall Surely be
Born to be Strong, Raised to be Free
Fighting Dragons in his Youth
Leading Armies, Nothing Loth
Ridding his Country of a Sore
Joining Two, then uniting Four
Until from Seven there be one
Only then' will his Task be Done

DRAGON'S GOLD      25

Honored by Many, cursed by Few
All will know what Roundear can Do.

"That's pretty, Mama. What does it mean?"

"That you will fight dragons. That you will rid Rud
of its tyrant Queen, Zoanna, daughter of Zatanas.
That you will first join two of the Seven Kingdoms,
then unite with four. That you will finally join and
unite into one land all the Seven Kingdoms."

"How will I do that, Mama?"

"When the time comes, you'll find a way. It's
prophecy. Prophecy may be misunderstood, but al-
ways comes true. Always. If not in our world, in
another almost like it."

"True about dragons, too?"

"Yes, darling. About dragons, too."

"Dragons . . . with claws and teeth and a long
tongue and scales?"

"Yes, darling. And the scales will be gold, just as in
the story I read to you."

"And will I marry the princess and will we live
happily together ever after in a great big palace? Will
we have servants and courtiers and jesters and acro-
bats and ponies?"

"You may," she said with an affectionate smile.
"But the prophecy leaves us to guess about such
details. I don't have the complete prophecy; no one
does. Bits of it are scattered around the globe. Some
talk of gloves, and some of round-eared girls, but
those may not be valid aspects of it. But I know
enough to know that you are the one."

He pondered that. "Did you know all the details
when you married Daddy?"

She laughed. "I hardly knew any, dear. I simply
knew that I had to marry a roundear if I was to have a
roundear child, and even then the chances were only
even. I hoped he would be a good man."

"You wanted a roundear son?" he asked incredu-
lously.

She drew him into her and kissed the top of his left

26       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

ear. "I did indeed, Kelvin! But had I known he would
be you, I would have wanted him even without the
prophecy."

He found himself crying, and she held him close,
comforting him. But these were not tears of grief, but
of relief. Now, finally, he could accept being special.
He had secretly feared that his point-eared little sister
had arrived because his mother was unsatisfied with
him.

His father finished twirling the rope and tossed it
over the peg. A jerk of the line and the peg shot from
the ground and followed the rope to his hands.

"All right, Kelvin. Now you try."

But Kelvin had his hands over his eyes. "It's magic,
Daddy! It's magic!"

"It's not magic!" Stem blond eyebrows, stem face.
"Magic is simply natural law that hasn't been ex-
plained. There's no such thing as magic in this world
or any other. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Father." He watched the adult roundear,
frightened, as the lasso was placed in his hands.

"Now you practice, and you practice, and you
practice. This is the only skill I had before I went into
the army, and it's the one skill I can leave you with."

"What good is it, F-father?"

"You saw me lasso the cow the other day."

"Yes, but she would have come anyway."

"Someday there may be something that won't. Now
you hold the loop in this hand, and—"

They worked at it for a very long time, but finally he
could rope the peg nearly as well as could his father.

The door flew open with a bang, scaring Kelvin as
he played with fortune cards on the cottage floor. His
father rushed in, trailing a cold wind and a swirl of
snow. He limped across the room, favoring the leg the
wild bull had kicked long ago while he was trying to
separate it from their cow.

Mama looked .up from the coat she was mending,

DRAGON'S GOLD         27

her expression the one she wore when she was expect-
ing something to happen that happened.

"Charlain, I saw them again," his father said,
taking his mother's hand. "They've tracked the ru-
mors to the village. Now I have to go. I won't
endanger you and the boy any longer!"

His mother lodged the needle in the coat sleeve,
stood up, and put her arms around his father. They
held each other for a while. By and by she said, "Your
travelsack is ready. Will you take the horse?"

"I can't take your horse," his father said. "I
couldn't take it the first time I came here, and I can't
do it now. You'll need it for plowing. Those cursed tax
collectors . . ."

"I'll fix you a lunch."

Kelvin looked at his father and together they
watched his mother go into the kitchen. Suddenly his
father was kneeling by him, holding him up against
his chest. A noise came from that chest, or perhaps his
father's throat, and it was not a sound a big, strong
man was supposed to make.

"Don't cry. Father."

But his father merely said, "Son, I want you to
listen. Listen to me now, even if you never have
before. Your mother's head is filled with nonsense.
Don't believe her, son. In my world they understand
—about atoms and the spaces between atoms. That
prophecy is nonsense. Foolish! You're just a boy, son.
You won't have to fight a dragon and fight with a
sword and lead armies the way she says. If I can, I'll
come for you someday. All three of you. If we can,
we'll go home to my world. It's not as nice as this
world in some ways, but then in other ways ..."

"Father—" He felt confused, lonely, and scared.
What was happening? Why did his father have to
leave?

"It will be, son. It must be. Promise me you won't
try to live out her prophecies. She's a fine woman,
but—"

"Here's your lunch," Mommy said. She held out a

28 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayrojf

small packet that gave forth the smell of freshly baked
bread, and a jar of the bright red razzlefruit wine that
Kelvin was not yet allowed to try.

"Chariain, oh, Charlain!" his father said, and then
the two were hugging as though there was never to be
any more of it.

"I don't want to go. I really don't. But—" There
was such anguish in his father's voice.

"It might as well have been written," she said. She
seemed so calm, so certain of her facts. "It's as true
that you have to as ... as the prophecy itself."

"Yes." He smiled, wiping at his eyes. His tone
seemed to add, "But we both know I don't believe in
that nonsense."

"Kelvin," Mommy said, placing her hand on his
head, "you stay inside and keep an eye on your sister.
Play with your cards. Read your fortune, and your
father's, and mine. I'll come back to you before it is
suppertime."

Kelvin watched them out of the house and into the
bam where the horse was kept. When they did not
immediately emerge, he did what his mother had told
him and sat down with the cards. His sister, only two
years old, was sleeping, so she was no trouble.

He looked at the painted pictures and swirling
symbols on the cards. Could these tell anything about
what the future would bring?

"Sometimes," Mommy had said, "if you look at
them and think about them."

"Nonsense," Daddy had said gruffly. "Nonsense.
All of it nonsense. Don't you believe her."

But Mommy had countered Daddy with a conspira-
torial wink. She knew what she knew, however toler-
ant she was of the ignorance of others.

The woodsman's face was grim when be brought
the news. Watching him and his mother, Kelvin felt
that she really didn't look surprised. She looked, in
fact, much as she had the day his father left.

"Nothing much to bury, ma'am. They cut the big

DRAGON'S GOLD          29

bits into little bits, the filthy highwayman or whoever
did it. The wild things had been feasting, but it was no
wild thing that was to blame."

She nodded, understanding perhaps more than her
son did or could imagine. After a painful pause, she
said, "I dreamed it would be you, Hal Hackleberry.
You to bring me the dread news, and more."

"Ma'am?"

"Charlain. I want it to be Charlain again." She
picked up a stockelcap that his father had sometimes
worn under protest, patting it as though it were alive.
She looked at what she was doing, then back at the
woodsman.

"He didn't believe," she said. "Never. Never once,
even after Kelvin happened. He just wouldn't be-
lieve."

The woodsman shifted his feet. "I understand,
ma'am. Some men are like that. It's nothing against
them, you understand."

"I know. Not against them. Some things just have
to be. Would you care for some wine?"

"Why . . . yes, ma'am, I would. But—"

"But I have already grieved," she said. "I knew
when he left that I would never see him again in this
life. I grieved, and now . . . now I am ready."

"Ma'am?"

"For a new life. A life that maybe was only inter-
rupted for a time."

Kelvin was surprised to find tears dripping from his
face. The woodsman might be a good man, he
thought, but Daddy—Daddy was special.

"Roundear, Roundear, Roundear," taunted the cir-
cle of reddish faces. They moved closer, reaching out
to poke Kelvin in the stomach and ribs with stiffened
fingers.

"You stop that!" cried eight-year-old Jon. Her fists
were clenched, and she was all fury as she turned
round and round to face the tormentors. But the
harder she shouted, and the more angry she got, the

30 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojff

bolder the teasing became. "You stop that or my
brother will fight!" Jon told the biggest and roughest
boy of the bunch. "You're just jealous 'cause he can
charm the berries better'n any of you!"

"Jon!" Kelvin said with alarm. But he knew there
was no stopping her youthful indignation. It was true
that he had developed a way with plants, being able to
encourage them to flower and to sweeten their fruit,
but that wasn't anything he cared to advertise. His
natural father would have called it magic, therefore
invalid.

"He's a hero! A big hero! Mama said!"

"Fight? Fight? You want to fight, Roundear?" the
thirteen-year-old with the tooth out in front de-
manded.

Kelvin shook his head, remembering what father
John Knight had said about the stupidity of human
beings fighting. Only if there's no other way, son. Only
if there's no other way.

"You're afraid," said the bully. "Aren't you?"

"Yes." Kelvin said it before he thought. He always
spoke the truth except to his mother when they were
pretending.

"Ha! Some hero! Come on, boys, let's go to the
pond and skip rocks."

Kelvin breathed a shuddering sigh of relief.

"He'll fight you," Jon said. "And he'll lick you,
too."

"Jon, shut up," Kelvin muttered. But he knew that
the unsayable had been said. Now, as his father had
said, there was really no other way.

"Your mother's a witch, Roundear!" the big boy
said, pushing his face close to Kelvin's. "Your sister's
a nasty little froog, and you're a scared and stupid
squirbet."

"Sticks and stones," Kelvin said, reciting the charm
his real father had taught him. "Sticks and stones may
break my bones, but words will never—"

The fist landed on his cheek, hurting terribly. The

DRAGON'S GQLD          31

boy was all strength and no bluff, and happy to
demonstrate it.

Kelvin hit back, almost by reflex. By good luck he
hit the bigger boy on the mouth. The boy stood back,
putting a hand to his bruised lips where a trickle of
blood showed.

"Now you'll get it!" the boy exclaimed. He leaped
at Kelvin, swinging with one hand while he grabbed
with the other. Kelvin tried to twist aside, and that
was partially effective as the fist grazed his ear, but the
boy's other hand caught him and hauled him roughly
in. Kelvin tried to jerk away, and only succeeded in
winding himself into a tighter hold. He pushed for-
ward, the only way he was free to go, and this
overbalanced the bigger boy. Their feet got tangled
together, and they fell on the ground.

They rolled over and over, while the other boys
cheered their hero and Jon shouted advice, mostly
inappropriate. Perhaps it looked like a good fight from
outside, because of all the motion, but it was really
just Kelvin trying desperately to get away while the
big boy sought to pin him in a position for some more
effective punishment.

Kelvin was getting the worst of it. Now the bigger
boy was on top of him, hitting him more often and
with greater force. Kelvin was losing his ability to
avoid or fend off the blows, and each one hurt awfully.

The bigger boy paused. "You eat horse dung, don't
you, Roundear!"

This was Kelvin's chance to capitulate, cutting
down on his punishment. But he couldn't lie, even
now. "No."

Fists rained down on his face, bruising, hurting,
scaring him silly with the thought that he might lose
teeth or even an eye.

"I'll help you, Kelvin!" Jon cried. She piled onto
the bully's back, fists raining as hard as an eight-year-
old girl could manage.

The bully was distracted. It gave Kelvin a chance.

32      Piers Anthony and Robert E. M.argrojf
He struck upward, his fist catching the bully's turned

head.
He had scored directly on the nose. Blood exploded

from a rupture. "Aahhhh!" the big boy screamed.

Now his face, so close and ugly, was turning as red
as the blood from his nose. Kelvin had won the fight,
amazingly, for the bully was unable to do anything
except react to the pain and horror of it. It seemed
that it had never occurred to the bully that he might
get hurt. The other boys would not interfere, for there
was a code: it had to be one on one. Jon had violated
it, but she didn't count, being a girl.

But in that moment before it broke up, a bright
shaft of sunlight lit the bully's features, turning them
to gold, and that was the image that was to remain
most firmly in Kelvin's memory. Because that color

was—
Dragon's gold.

Jon and Kelvin had been working beside Hal, their
replacement father, grubbing out some tree stumps so
that they could plant more grain. The sound of horses'
hooves on the hard road and a plume of summer's
dust warned of the approach of guardsmen.

Hal nodded toward the woods. "Better you get out
of sight, Kel, just in case." He was not their natural
father, but he was a good man, and had always treated
them well and looked out for their welfare. Charlain
had chosen well, both times she married.

"I'll go with him," Jon said.

Hal glanced at her. "Maybe that's best. You're
growing up, girl, and there's no telling what guards-
men might do."

Jon flushed, hating to be reminded of her nature.

But it was true: the Queen's guardsmen had been
known to do things to young girls that couldn't be
done to boys. That might be part of what she hated

about being a girl.

They went behind some duckberry bushes and
crouched, waiting^ Kelvin breathed on the leaves and

DRAGON'S GOLD          33

stems, and the bushes moved to provide better con-
cealment. Shortly the guardsmen were there on their
war-horses, talking down to Hal.

"You're behind on your taxes, farmer!"

"It's been a bad year."

"You'll pay a fine. A big fine."

"I'll get the money. But if I sell our horse, there'll be
no money to buy more seed grain." He patted the
large gray animal hitched to the stump. Hal was kind
to animals, too, and worked well with them.

"That's your worry, farmer." The guardsman's
voice rang with contempt. "Scum like you have to
pay. If you don't pay, we set fire to your house and
seize your boy to sell in the boy market."

"I'll pay." It was evident that though Hal was
technically subservient, he had no real respect for the
agents of the Queen. "I just have to chop some wood,
and—"

But the big guardsman's face was turning redder
and then golden in the rays of the sun. Squinting
through the bushes, Kelvin began to see him with a
snout like that of a dragon. What was the big differ-
ence between a guardsman and a dragon? Both
brought destruction on common folk!

The matter of dragons was looming larger in Kel-
vin's mind. He feared them terribly, but their scales
were gold, and represented wealth that could free the
farm of debt. He would really have to do what he had
talked about to Jon. They would have to leave here
and go after gold.

Dragon's gold.

CHAPTER 4

Highwayman

"JON!JON!"

The girl looked up at him with eyes that shone from
her face nearly as brightly as what she held in her
bloody hands. What she held was palm-size yellow
gold, and had belonged to the late dragon.

"Gee, Kel, I thought you were dead!"

"So you were getting the gold anyway." What kind
of creature was this sister of his? Sometimes it seemed
to him that if anyone was a changeling, it was Jon.

"Well, I couldn't reach you very well, and I thought
I might as well start getting the scales. They come off
hard, Kel. It's going to be a lot of work."

Kelvin wormed his way off the tree branch, held
himself poised, then swung clear and dropped. He lit
with a shock to his feet and legs that surprised him.
Dragon scales, he remembered, were far from soft,
even if gold was supposed to be a soft metal.

"I looked about some," she continued. "There's a
funny little patch of berries—"

"You didn't eat strange berries!" Kelvin exclaimed,
alarmed. "You know that many of the wild plants out

here are poisonous!"

"Of course I know," she said in an aggrieved tone.
"I can't charm them into edibility the way you can,
with your round ears. I didn't eat any. But for all I
know, they might be good, so I saved a few to show

Mommy."

Kelvin relaxed. At least she had had some sense!
"But what's strange," she continued, "is that they
look, well, tended. Almost as if the dragon was taking
care of them. His prints are all around the patch, and
there's a path leading to it, which is how I found it.
34

DRAGON'S GOLD          35

A dragon path. I was going off to—you know."
She never liked to refer directly to natural func-
tions, partly because she couldn't perform them in
quite the manner she deemed proper for a boy. "So I
followed this path, because it was easy, and there
was this patch, almost like a garden, and the dra-
gon could've tromped all over it, but didn't. Isn't
that funny?"

It was indeed! Why would a dragon protect a simple
patch of berries? "You did right to save some," Kel-
vin said. "Dragons know about some things we
don't."

Feeling trembly and far from good, he let his legs
collapse beneath him. He sat down on the flat area
between two short wings. The dragon's tongue was
still protruding from its mouth and entering the
debris hole, but now a long pole was embedded in its
left eye socket. Evidently he had scored on the brain,
but he shivered to think how close a call it had been. If
he had not thrusted hard enough, or if the dragon's
death throes had hurled him into the trunk of a tree
instead of onto a branch . . .

Could he really have a charmed life, the way his
mother insisted? She had been right about his magic
with plants, after all, and if he really was destined to
be the hero of the prophecy, then this was not the
coincidence it seemed. Yet his father had been such a
practical man, making so much sense, that it was hard
to believe he could have been wrong about magic.

Jon came close, bringing Kelvin's sword. "You get
them off, Kel. It's far too much work."

"For you, you mean," he said, disgusted.

"Uh-huh. You're the biggest, so—" Then her com-
posure disintegrated. She flung herself into his arms,
almost stabbing him with the sword. "Oh, Kel, I
thought you were dead, maybe, and I couldn't even
reach you!"

He felt her tears soaking into his shoulder. So it had
all been an act, her nonchalance. Unable to help him,
she had gotten to work, hoping he would recover, and

36 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mwyroff

when he had, she tried to remain tough, but wasn't
able to carry it quite all the way through. How glad he
was of that; she had almost fooled him!

In a moment she recovered her composure. "Oh,
I'm getting all icky," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," he said. "Do you think I like the notion
that you don't care at all what happens to me?"

"But it's not manly to cry."

"Jon, someday you're going to have to accept the
fact that you're not—"

She cut him off with a bad word.

He dropped that aspect. "Anyway, I'd sure cry if
you got killed. But you're right; we've got to get to
work here. There's a skinning knife in the pack. I'll
use that and you use the sword and with luck we'll get
the job done."

"When?" Jon asked somewhat sourly.

"Before nightfall if you work hard. You're not go-
ing to be girlishly squeamish about dirty work, are
you?"

"No!" She hefted the sword, suddenly ready to use
it.

"I thought not. Here, let me see how it works." He
took the sword from her, stuck it under the nearest
scale, and pried. Grudgingly, it came up. Then he cut
at the leathery flesh holding it.

This would take longer than nightfall, he realized.
Even a dead dragon was tough!

He hacked the scale free and held it up. "There we
are—easy as pie." He returned the sword to her and
went to fetch the knife.

He was correct. Three grueling days later they had
finished as much of the unpleasant task as was possi-
ble without turning over the dragon, and were on their
way out of the pass. It was just as well, for the huge
carcass was decomposing, and the vultures were cir-
cling ever lower; soon the attention of other predators
or even men would be attracted, and that would be no
good for the two treasure-hunters. They had to get

DRAGON'S GOLD

37

away with their prize, and back to the farm unob-
served.

Bobtailed Mockery was in tow with two very heavy
travelsacks. They had scraped the scales as clean of
attached flesh as possible and washed them in the
river, but still some odor accompanied them. Jon had
to walk behind Mockery and swat the biting flies that
landed on the beast, because the donkey threatened to
dislodge the load when tormented by flies he could no
longer flick off with his tail.

"Do you think we should have dumped all our
stuff?" Jon asked. "Those pans and those blankets
were still good, even if Mockery did roll on them in
the river."

"We can buy more. One scale should buy all the
pans and blankets we'll need in our entire lives."

"If we don't live too long," Jon said, liking the
notion.

"Of course, Brother Wart."

They plodded on. They were out of the pass now
and the sun was shining and it looked to be a glorious
day for two rich youngsters. Kelvin was thinking that
they hadn't much of a worry in the world. A few scales
would pay off the errant taxes on the farm, and a few
more would cover all the luxuries Charlain might
want, and Hal, too, though Hal was a man of simple
tastes. They would turn the scales over to him for
safekeeping; he was honest, and would not cheat
anyone.

Suddenly a huge black war-horse appeared as if by
magic in the road ahead. It bore a man clad all in
black. Some bushes swayed at the side; the man must
have been lurking there. He leveled a sword that
flashed golden in the sun and looked extremely sharp.

"Your property or your lives!" the man said in the
time-honored manner of the highwayman.

Disaster! Kelvin swallowed. "We're without coin,"
he pleaded in the traditional way of the waylaid
traveler. He knew that the brigand would check the
travelsacks in a moment.

38

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Maryojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

39

"No coin, just scale," the man said with the certain-
ty with which Charlain announced anything after a
look at the fortune cards. "What'd you two do, find a
dead dragon?"

"No—" Kelvin started.

With a sudden swish the man's sword tip slashed
through the lashings on Mockery's pack and sent the
sacks falling. Golden platelets came loose from their
stacks and rained down. Mockery went into a bucking
protest.

Kelvin choked. He grabbed his sword, yanked it
from its scabbard, and—

Watched as it spun through the air in response to
the highwayman's quick and expert backhand mo-
tion. "Don't try that again, sonny, or it's your life!
You!" he snapped at Jon. "Drop that sling, or you'll
eat your ears!"

Mention of ears reminded Kelvin to check his own.
Fortunately he had remembered to pull down the
stockelcap, covering them. Years of getting beaten up
had made this an automatic reflex, just as was Jon's
concealment of her female attributes.

"Gods curse you, highway horse excrement!" Jon
exclaimed.

The bandit swung round to her. "You do what I say,
cubwhelp, or—"

Jon's sling started its defiant circle, but before she
could let fly, the horseman had leaped his horse to
within arm's reach and was leaning down, grabbing
the girl by her shoulders. Once, twice, the bandit
shook her, and Jon's head tossed helplessly and her
long yellow hair flopped out of the cap. Then the
highwayman thrust her aside.

Jon lit in the road and immediately scrambled back
to her feet. She had dropped the sling as the bandit
reached her, and now her face was very pale.

"You look like a damn girl!" the highwayman
muttered. "Maybe I'll just lop off some of that hair."

Jon said a word that would have gotten her a hiding
even at their liberal home. The bandit laughed. "But

appearances can be deceiving, eh? Spoken like the
man you'll someday be!"

He had not caught on! Kelvin gave a heave of relief.
Bad as their situation was, it could have gotten worse.

"Both of you, load that scale back on that beast! Tie
that strap together again so it holds," the highwayman
snapped. "And hand your own packs up here!"

They worked, Kelvin knowing that his own face
must resemble Jon's. If only the outlaw would make
some mistake!

Finished, scales all in place on Mockery's and the
war-horse's broad backs, the bandit rode over to Jon.
Leaning down, he grabbed the girl and swung her up
in front of him on the saddle.

"I'm taking this one to market," he said to Kelvin.
"An overseer's whip will teach him manners. Snarly
whelp!" He cuffed Jon, who had managed by a clever
twist to bite his hand.

Jon said something that Kelvin did not hear but
brought another cuff. Reacting at last to this new
threat, Kelvin leaped for the war-horse's bridle. He
grabbed the rein and raised an arm to try to deflect a
blow from the highwayman's sword. He saw a twisted
dark face, lips pulled back from yellowed teeth, an old
red scar that reached from the right comer of the
villain's mouth to the edge of his gaunt cheek below
his right squinty eye.

A moment later he found himself lying in the partly
filled ditch as a bird sang somewhere and the drum-
ming of the war-horse's hooves pounded off in the
distance. Once again, Kelvin had been absolutely
ineffective.

CHAPTER 5

Captive

JON HAD CEASED STRUGGLING hours ago. She had real-
ized very early that the more she resisted, the tighter
the highwayman gripped her, and it would not be long
before his hand or arm encountered aspects of her
that were not normal for a boy. She now rode docilely
ahead of the bandit on the huge black war-horse.
Waiting, she told herself repeatedly, her chance to

escape cleanly.

"Not so chipper now, little foulmouth?" the high-
wayman asked. It was a taunt, she knew, not a
question. "You know where I'm taking you? You
know what's going to happen to you?"

"You said the Boy Mart," Jon said. She knew of it.
Runaway boys, delinquent boys, boys seized for their
fathers' nonpayment of taxes, possibly even kid-
napped boys were sold like livestock to be slaves. To
work someone's plantation, or mine, or to row a
galley. It was all legal in Rud, and boys remained
slaves until they reached the legal age of manhood:

twenty-five. Quite a number, it was said, failed to live

to that age.

There was, however, one thing worse than the Boy
Mart. That was the Girl Mart. The girls, it was said,
generally lived out their terms, but hardly wanted to.
The lucky ones became housemaids or servant girls,
but many were sold to brothels or to sadistic old men.
Suicide was the leading cause of death among them.
Already Jon knew that if she didn't manage to escape,
she had better protect her secret, because the Boy

Mart was the better bet.

"Yes, the Boy Mart," the bandit repeated, taking
her silence for natural dread. "Best thing in the
40

DRAGON'S GOLD

41

world for you. The only thing in the world for you."
He laughed. Jon looked around at the towering cliffs
and the stunted trees and the new twisting path that
led through brambles and brush and on into more
bleak land. It was semidesert ahead. That was what
was called the Sadlands—a region fit only for scorpio-
crabs, giant spiders, and snakes. Outlaws such as this
one reportedly lived there, though why they should
choose to do so was a mystery.

Well, perhaps not so big a mystery. Since honest
folk stayed well clear of the Sadlands, that made it
relatively safe for outlaws. If they had good horses, as
this one did, they could range pretty far out, raiding
better regions and returning. There was a story that an
outlaw had aggravated the Queen once, and she had
sent a party of guardsmen into the Sadlands after
him, and they had never returned. Maybe it wasn't a
true story, but it had an authentic ring. Actually, the
Queen's guardsmen were little different from crimi-
nals at times, so maybe they had simply gone into
business for themselves. Maybe this one was one of
them.

"Whoa," the highwayman called, pulling on his
reins.

Jon made her decision to fight, to the extent she was
able without risking betraying her nature. Whatever
the outlaw wanted, he was not going to get much
cooperation.

The bandit slipped a dark bandanna over her face.
"Can't have you seeing where we're going for the
night, whelp."

So that was it! The outlaw was not very smart for
telling her, Jon thought. One way or the other she was
going to see through the bandanna, or over it or
around it. Since she was destined for the Boy Mart,
she probably would not be hurt if she behaved; then
when she escaped, she could tell Kelvin where the
highwayman's hideout was, so they could steal back
their gold.

But the bandanna was tight. Twice folded over her

42 Piers Anthony and. Robert E. Margrojf

eyes, it let in not a bit of light. The outlaw, unfortu-
nately, knew his business.

The horse resumed its steady walk. Jon thought
they were going uphill, not down, then down, not up.
But she wasn't sure; it could be the other way around.
She tried to edge a hand up to the bandanna, but got it
slapped down promptly.

"None of that, I tell you," the bandit said. He
didn't even sound annoyed. Maybe he took such
efforts as a matter of course.

But she had to see, Jon thought. She had to.

An insect buzzed loudly near her left ear. She shook
her head, and as she did, an idea struck.

Her ears. She could wiggle her ears. Girls weren't
supposed to do that; therefore it was one of her
proudest accomplishments.

If she could wriggle her ears just enough, the
bandanna just might be coaxed down a bit. The right
side of the blindfold wasn't folded evenly at the top. If
she could work the single thickness down, she could
see through it. If the bandit didn't stop her.

Slowly, Jon turned her head until her right ear was
directed frontward. The outlaw might not see it now.
With luck.

"Flies bothering you? Here!" The highwayman's
slap almost took her head off. Her breath hissed in
with pain—but while she shook her head in reaction,
she made her right ear twitch.

"Huh, missed the fly, hit your face. Hah."

Had he seen, Jon wondered? Could she see, now
that the bandanna had slipped a little?

Through her right eye she picked up a little light.
She could make out the bright sunlight and its sheen
on two towering rocks—one on either side of the
horse. They were going a different way than into the
Sadlands. This was back the way they had come! So
the bandit was trying to deceive her!

Now she detected the scent of the bilrose tree, and
remembered the grove they had passed through earli-

DRAGON'S GOLD

43

er. Then she heard water, and knew they were back at
the river.

The horse was taking another road, into the moun-
tains. It was the only turnoff place near the river; Jon
was certain because she had walked every step into
dragon country. It went up above the village of
Franklin and then into the mountains and then some-
where she had not been.

The horse plodded now. The outlaw was taking his
time. That meant he felt secure from discovery.

They were up in the mountains, and Jon knew the
road they had taken. The highwayman had said he
didn't want her to see where they would spend the
night, and now he seemed satisfied that she didn't
know where they had gone. So the camp or cave or
whatever must be close. How criminally clever, to
have a hideout close to a traveled road, while pretend-
ing to stay far away!

Now she heard the clip-clip-clip of the war-horse's
hooves on rock. Then they were definitely going down
a steep path. The outlaw's hand clamped on her
shoulder just as she seemed about to pitch off head-
first.

"Well, we're here," the highwayman said. With
that, he pulled the blindfold off.

Jon blinked. A rude log cabin was there, set in a box
canyon. Cactus trees were nearby. It could indeed be
the edge of the mountains in the Sadlands. The outlaw
expected her to think they had ridden on and that this
place was far away from where they had left Kelvin.

Kelvin? What had happened to him? Was he strug-
gling out into the Sadlands trying to track the high-
wayman down? He would get himself lost and die of
exposure! Kel was a decent brother, but sometimes he
was short on common sense.

But now was not the time to worry about Kelvin,
whom she could not help. Now was the time to think
about herself. Once she got free, she could see what
she could do for Kelvin.

44       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"Marta! Marta!" the highwayman called, startling
Jon. "Come look at what I brought."

A big, slovenly woman with a wart to the side of her
large nose appeared in the doorway. She could almost
be this outlaw's sister, judging by her looks. But the
way the two embraced indicated otherwise. It seemed
odd that a violent criminal should have affection for a
stupid fat wife, but it was evidently so.

"Another boy?" the woman said, her voice as
abrasive as her appearance. "Can't you do better than
that? There's a glut of them on the market; they don't

fetch the prices they used to."
Jon knew what did fetch good prices: girls. She had

to protect her secret!

"I did do better, woman!" the outlaw said cheerful-
ly. "Take a look at these." He held out scales-that still
had some messy flesh attached, despite Kelvin's and
her own best efforts.

"Uck! What?"

"Scale, love, scale! This one and his brother found a
dead dragon and pulled its scales off. They've loaded
them for me. In those bags on the donkey and in
here." He tapped his saddlebags.

"A dead dragon?"

"Must have been. The pup and his weakling brother

were still alive."

"Some people have all the luck!"

"Yah. Us!" Laughing at his own supposed wit, the
highwayman shoved Jon stumbling to the back of the
cabin. A rough cage stood there with open door.

Jon knew better than to argue. She climbed inside
the cage and watched him lock the door.

"She'll bring you a few corbeans and a jug of
water," the highwayman said. "You sleep on that old
blanket in the corner. And don't try to escape!"

"Suppose I do?" Jon asked, morbidly curious.

"Then I'll slice off your legs and leave you for the
wild houcats and the bearvers. That's if I'm in a good
mood. If I'm in a bad mood, I'll do something mean.
Har, har, bar!" fie really thought he was being funny.

DRAGON'S GOLD         45

Jon sat in the cage and stared at the back of the
cabin, knowing that it wouldn't be smart to try
anything now. She might be able to pry out part of the
cage and squeeze through, but that would surely make
noise, and they would be alert. The highwayman
might indeed be expecting some such attempt, and
have a punishment in mind. He wouldn't cut off her
legs, for that would ruin her value on the Boy Mart,
but he might rip off her clothes and beat her. Except
that once he ripped off her clothes, he wouldn't beat
her, he'd think of something worse.

The light faded. The woman brought her a plate of
stew that smelled somewhat like urine, and a jug that
smelled of the liquor it usually held, but now it had
only water. The woman did not bother to speak, only
motioning her to stay in back of the cage while she set
the food inside.

After the long and rough day Jon had had, the stew
did not taste nearly as bad as it might have. She ate
and drank.

Then she became aware of the need to relieve
herself. Would they let her out at least to urinate? But
if they did, they would surely watch her, and that
would be extremely awkward. If she tried to stand and
do it like a man, she'd only get her pantaloons soaked,
and they'd know. But if she didn't get out pretty soon,
she would have to soil herself right here in the cage.

She pondered, and decided on a course that had a
better than even chance of success. "Hey, I gotta go
poop!" she called out in the crude masculine manner.

"Just stand up and do it through the slats," the
highwayman said, laughing.

"Not in my house!" the woman exclaimed angrily.
"It stinks bad enough already!"

"Then you take him out," the man said.

"I don't want no woman watching me!" Jon pro-
tested loudly. "What do you think I am?"

"Aw, she's seen it before," he retorted. "We sure
aren't going to let you loose outside!"

The woman got up. She fetched a length of rope

46 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

from a peg on the wall. "He won't be loose." She came
and opened the cage door. "Put your head in this,"
she said, showing a noose at the end of the rope.

Jon obediently put her head forward, and the noose
slipped over. The woman tightened it just enough to
be snug on the neck. "You try to run, you know how
fast this'll tighten," she said.

"I know," Jon agreed. She would be choked in an
instant. She climbed carefully out of the cage and
walked across the room to the door. The woman had
the other end of the rope coiled twice about her hand;

she would not let it slip accidentally, and could twitch
the noose tight at any moment.

It was getting dark outside. The woman showed the
way to a rotten log some distance from the house.
There was a trench beyond it, and the smell made
clear its purpose.

Without a word Jon pulled down her pantaloons
just enough and stuck her bottom out over the trench.
She put one hand down in front as if to direct the aim
of a member there. The dusk and the hand effectively
concealed that region other body. Fortunately she did
have solid as well as liquid wastes to deposit, so the
woman had no reason to be suspicious. Men did squat
when they had to do both.

The woman proffered something white. It was
paper—a fragment of some old wrapper. Jon took it
and used it, then quickly pulled up her pantaloons, as
if embarrassed that any male anatomy might show
before a woman. It would have been far more awk-
ward if the highwayman had come with her, for then
she could not have justified her concealment.

They returned to the house. She had made it! They
had thought she might try to escape, but she had just
wanted to get her business done without destroying
her masquerade. Escape had to wait on a better
opportunity. Meanwhile, she would have to go easy
on what she drank, so that she wouldn't need to
urinate again until she could do both together. Until
darkness, again, if she didn't manage to escape first.

DRAGON'S GOLD         47

Back in the cage, she lay down on the smelly blanket
and peered out through the cracks in back at the
canyon wall outside. By twisting her head to the side
she could just manage to see some stars.

When the highwayman and his wife slept, she could
get up and pry her way out and escape. If she could do
it silently.

But when she slept, she was so tired that she never
woke till morning. Her chance to escape had passed.
She would be stuck with her luck in the Boy Mart.

CHAPTER 6

Hero

KELVIN RECOVERED HIS SWORD from the ditch, sheathed
it, and began what he knew was going to be a long
walk. The war-horse's hooves had made plenty of
tracks, but the road got harder ahead and the tracks
vanished. It was hot and it was uncomfortable and his

head hurt.

He would have to have help. There was no way he
could rescue Jon by himself. No way that he could
even hope to find the highwayman. He had to get to
Franklin. That was where the Boy Mart was. The
highwayman had said he would sell her, and he
wouldn't ride to some more distant market when
Franklin was convenient. Kelvin hoped. But when he
did get there, what could he do but get himself
arrested and sold along with his brother?

There had to be help somewhere. Guardsmen were
not to be trusted since the start of the reign of Queen
Zoanna, but once they had been good and dependable
defenders of the land. Things had been different back
before his father's time. His father—his natural fa-
ther, John Knight—had run afoul of the Queen in
some way, and that had led perhaps to his death.
Kelvin had a morbid curiosity about that, but it
wasn't something his mother liked to talk about.

He would have to go to the guardsmen's barracks
outside Franklin and tell about the highwayman and
ask and hope. He would have to be very polite and
servile, because otherwise he would be seen as a
runaway and a vagrant and taken to the Boy Mart as

merchandise.
The bandit probably had a shack out in the

48

DRAGON'S GOLD         49

Sadlands, Kelvin thought, sniffing the spicy scent of
bilrose blossoms from the grove ahead. He would take
Jon there, and then tomorrow take her to the boy
market. There Jon would be sold, to work at some-
thing hard and degrading and unworthy of her sharp
brain. If she managed to conceal her sex. That was a
special problem, and Kelvin didn't know what com-
plications it would lead to, but it made it all the more
urgent that she be rescued promptly.

He thought of Jon, hiding her nature, and being
forced to work at hard labor until she was twenty-five
years old. Not all boys survived that long, and Jon
would have twice as much trouble. The rich mer-
chants and plantation owners and shipping company
masters supported the Queen in order to keep the
custom alive, so they could have cheap labor. Other
lands had long since rid themselves of every type of
slavery, except (some wits claimed) that of matrimo-
ny. Rud was a fit land for a hero of prophecy to start!

He didn't feel like a hero. Not now that he was out
of dragon country, and not even before. It was all
nonsense, this prophecy. His father had said as much,
and he had believed. Many, many times, he had
believed in the invalidity of the prophecy, despite his
mother's certainty.

But he had slain the dragon, a perverse thought
came.

Luck! Just dumb luck. If there hadn't been that
haven in the debris pile, that rock and that stout
branch, a deaf donkey ...

But how, then, do you think prophecy works? It's the
stacking of fortune cards, the loading of prediction
dice. One has a little extra bonus in the game folks call
life.

He shook his head. He didn't like the way his
thoughts were going. It must have been that blow the
bandit had given him. That and the heat. It was
pointless to argue with himself!

Ahead were the two sentinel rocks flanking the

50       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

road, like waiting highwaymen. Such imagery came
readily now! Straight ahead were the Sadlands, while
dragon country was back the way he had come, and
the road to Franklin was to the right and across the

bridge.
He had no choice but to go right. It was almost as if

it had been prophesied. But that laugh was ringing
somewhat hollowly in his mind now.

The appleberry bushes by the bridge parted just as
he got there and a large, woolly, red-coated bearver
waddled out. The animal looked at him, sniffed,
caught the scent of dragon's blood, and turned and

ran.
Kelvin heaved a sigh. If he had been forced to face

the bearver in a bad mood with only this old sword,
he knew he would have ended up as the bearver's

meat.
That's no way for a hero to think!

Who's a hero?

I'm a hero.

Shut up!

He had to keep walking even though he was tired

and depressed and everything seemed crazy and
hopeless. His tongue felt swollen and his head whirled
so that everything shimmered in the heat haze. He
had to go under the bridge and wash his face and get a

drink.
His legs felt like cooked lengths of pasta stalk,

wobbly and weak. Slowly he made his way down to
the water. A mooear raised its handsome big-horned
head, sniffed, caught the scent of dragon on him, and

abruptly turned tail and went.

Dragon is good for one thing, anyway.

That's more than I am right now.

He knelt on the muddy bank and looked at his
reflection. He had dirt all over his clothes and all over
his face. He should wash both body and clothes before
going into Franklin, he -realized. Otherwise he would
be arrested as a vagrant for certain. Then he would go
to the Boy Mart, but not as a rescuer. Jon would cuss

DRAGON'S GOLD          51

him out roundly, before they were separated forever
by the auction.

He scooped up some of the water and drank. It was
muddy-tasting, but very cold, like snow from the high
mountaintops. His hands tingled and hurt from their
contact with the cold.

If only he had some money, he thought. If only .. .

He stripped off his clothes, sloshed them in the
river, tossed them aside, and then went to work on
himself. Without soap, it was difficult, but he
scrubbed himself with his wadded-up clothing and
managed to get some of the dirt off each. The dragon's
blood had accumulated on his boots and was caked
and noisome; that was his hardest struggle. When he
was done he was shivering blue, with welts and
bruises showing up much better now that their cover-
ing of grime was gone, but at least he didn't look as if
he had just wallowed in a mud hole and rolled around
in dragon filth.

As he was redonning his garments, something
scratched his right hand. He looked in the hip pocket
of his pantaloons and found a single golden scale. It
was the first dragon scale Jon had found. He had
slipped it into the pocket and forgotten it.

So at least I can't be arrested/or vagrancy. Not as
long as I hold that.

Luck!

Stacked cards. Weighted dice.

He had to get on to Franklin.

As he started back up the bank he spied a battered
plant. The mooear had trampled it when fleeing. But
this was no ordinary growth; it was a shade-blooming
spicerose! Those were extremely rare and valuable,
because the scent of their blooms was supposed to
send the one who sniffed one into a few minutes of
utter ecstasy.

There was a rose, on a broken stem. Kelvin lifted
the flower and sniffed. It had a very pleasant aroma,
but it didn't transport him. Either the story of the
power of a spicerose was exaggerated, or he was

52       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Marffroff

immune to it. As a roundear he had a number of
attributes that differed from those of pointears, in-
cluding his facility with plants; this could be another

example.

Too bad he couldn't heal the trampled plant! But
his magic, if such it was, was limited to facilitating
health in a living plant; he could not restore a dead
one. He felt guilty, because if he hadn't come down
under the bridge, into the shade that the spicerose
required for its blooming, the mooear would not have
spooked and the fine plant would not have been
damaged. Well, he might help the rose a little; he
could save the flower, and breathe a second blooming
into it for some other person, later.

He tucked the rose into a pocket, where the direct
sunlight would not touch it and destroy it, and

resumed his climb,

As he reached the road again, he felt better than at
any time since the highwayman rode off and left him
in the ditch. Maybe the spicerose had buoyed him!

As he started walking he wished that he had his
mandajo. He didn't feel like playing or singing, and
yet it would be company. Alas, the highwayman had
it, along with the donkey and the gold and his sister.

A squirbet chattered at him from an oaple tree.

He looked up at the fuzzy, short-tailed rodent and
thought how good the last one had tasted. Jon had
been responsible for that: Jon and her sling.

Well, at least he could eat one of the fruits of the
tree. Oaples weren't the most luscious fruits, but he
could make do. He reached up and put his hand on a
low-hanging one. "You are the oaple of my eye," he
said to it. "I long to eat your delicious substance. May
I pluck you?" He tugged, and in a moment the tough
stem let go. Like most fruiting trees, this one was
subject to flattery. Kelvin knew his father would have
said it was superstition, that he just knew how to pick
the ripe ones, but the fact was that any fruit Kelvin
touched tended to ripen and sweeten when he praised

DRAGON'S GOLD          S3

it, and to turn sour when he condemned it. His
mother had the same ability, and she had no hesita-
tion about calling it magic. "Of course it is, dear! My
family has always been good with plants." Which
meant, he reflected, that his round ears were not after
all responsible. Did it matter?

He plodded on, step by step, eating the oaple, trying
harder and harder to think that the prophecy his
mother so firmly believed in would enable him to win
out. To believe that his mother was correct. After all,
if she was right about one thing, why not another?

His lovely mother, Chariain. His homely, sturdy,
decent stepfather, Hal. What were they doing now?
Kelvin and Jon had planned for an exploration of a
week's duration; it had taken them two days to reach
the dragon, three more to get the scales off, and this
was the sixth day. They would not even be missed
until tomorrow or the day after. Unless Chariain read
the cards, and realized. But what could she do,
assuming that the cards worked? No, this was Kel-
vin's own mess to muddle through, somehow.

After an eternity on the road, he brushed sweat
from his eyes and saw the grimy barracks building
ahead. He dreaded what was likely to happen there,
but he knew he had to do it. He was, after all,
supposed to be some kind of hero.

"Ho, ho, ho! Took your little brother, did he? Said
he'd take him to market, did he? Heh, heh, ho!" The
burly guardsman clasped his sides and wiped at the
tears running down his florid cheeks.

Kelvin swallowed as he looked at this blue-and-
gold-uniformed representative of law and order. He
was at the guardhouse outside the village of Franklin.
Beyond the guardsman were others, similarly uni-
formed, similarly slovenly. Open collars and dirty
undershirts seemed to be the order of the day. Even if
the guardsmen were competent, they were an unlikely
lot to ask for help. But he had to do it. Hanging on to

54       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmrgroff
his slipping courage, he persisted: "You do arrest

highwaymen?"
"Certainly, my boy, certainly. Every now and then

when one of them doesn't divide the loot."

"Shut your fat mouth. Carpenter!" a guardsman
wearing sergeant's stripes ordered. He glared at the
man until he sobered, then swung round to Kelvin.

"Tell me, boy, was there anything of value taken?"
His tone was freighted with contempt. "Besides that

valuable brother of yours?"

Kelvin thought quickly how not to lie. He hadn't
actually said Jon was a boy, just that the outlaw was
taking Jon to the Boy Mart, and the guardsmen had
jumped to the obvious conclusion. He knew that if he
told them about the gold, they would lose what little
interest they had in justice and go for the wealth.
"Our donkey, sir. We paid out two rudnas in good
coin for him. He's bobtailed, and he's deaf. Stone-
deaf, sir, though we didn't know that when we bought

him."
"Deaf? A deaf donkey," said the first man Kelvin

had spoken to. "A skinny boy to act as a scullery hand
or stable boy! A skinny boy and a deaf-as-stone

donkey. Ho, ho, ho!"

"Carpenter!" roared the sergeant. "The next time
you bray like that you'll do a donkey's work! You

hear?"
"I hear ye, Sarge."

"Sergeant! Sergeant, you impudent jackass!"
"Sergeant," the man agreed after a pause.
Kelvin looked from private to sergeant and then
about the small guardhouse. Only one face, that of a
young guardsman only a couple of years older than
Kelvin, showed any sign of sympathy. He thought he
would prefer to talk to this man, but the sergeant was

staring straight into his face.
"You know the consequences of lying to a queen's

guardsman, don't you, boy?"

"I, ah, yes, sir."
"I can harig you or cut off your ears or cut off

DRAGON'S GOLD         55

anything else I fancy. A guardsman must not be lied
to—especially by scum. You understand?"

"Y-yes, sir."

The sergeant paused, glaring at him, and Kelvin
thought to himself that he recognized him as one of
the tax collectors who had come to his farm.

"What did this highwayman look like, boy?"

Kelvin thought fast. "He wore black, and he had a
black horse."

"That describes half the highwaymen in Rud. What
else?"

"A—a scar. From here"—his finger traced a line
on his face—"to here."

"This scar—was it deep red?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cheeky Jack!" Carpenter said suddenly. "That
rascal owes me a drink or six! I thought he moved out
to the plains, and here he is, plying his trade just like
he's been since the day he left the barracks!"

"Carpenter," the sergeant said evenly, drawing his
sword, "stick out your tongue."

"What?" Carpenter's face paled. He had evidently
pushed the sergeant too far this time.

"Stick out your fool tongue. It's flapping too much.
I believe I should shorten it."

"No, Sergeant. Please!" The man was really fright-
ened.

"Are you refusing a direct order?"

"N-no."

"Stick out your tongue!"

Carpenter's tongue protruded from his bulbous
lips. He looked sick. He wasn't laughing now. Sweat
stood out in globules on his greasy forehead. Kelvin
was suddenly conscious of the odor the man exuded
of cheese and beer and a long-unchanged undershirt.
Here he had been concerned about his own appear-
ance, and the guardsmen were just as bad!

The sergeant's sword rose and flicked, its point just
lightly pricking the man's tongue. A single drop of
blood fell to the unswept floor of the barracks. Car-

56

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

57

penter's eyes rolled, their whites showing in terror. It
was obvious that the sergeant could have done much
worse damage if he had chosen to.

"Let that be a reminder," the sergeant said, sheath-
ing his blade. "Now you," he said, turning quickly to
Kelvin. "Get out."

"Sir?"

"Out!"

"But this Cheeky Jack—will you catch him?"

"Out! I don't want to see your baby face again.
Ever. And, boy, if I find you've lied to me, whatever
happens to your brother will be nothing compared to
what I'll see happens to you. You understand me,
boy?"

"Y-yes." There went hope, he thought.

"Then get!"

Kelvin ran outside, looking wildly around at the
dusty road and the collection of houses and shops on
the adjoining street. There was no help anywhere. For
him or for Jon.

A burst of laughter from the guardhouse set him
walking. At the end of the street was a shade tree and
a bench, empty for the moment. He made for it,
reached it, and sank down on it with a sigh that made
him feel much older. Sixty, perhaps. He sat and gazed
at the grass, wishing the sergeant were under it. If only
he had such magic, to rid Rud of such monsters! If
only there were such magic! He'd give anything to
have such power instead of this worthless prophecy
that was only getting him in trouble.

"Ah, there you are! I was hoping I'd catch you."

Kelvin rose, ready to run, but it was the young
guardsman he had seen watching him. The man was
empty-handed and looked human. Of course after
Carpenter and that sergeant, anyone would look
human.

"Stay there. I'll pretend I'm chewing you out for
sitting where only guardsmen are allowed to sit. It's
not a law, but the officers have made it one. Some such
as Carpenter would beat you for sitting here."

Kelvin stared at the fellow, but there was no mock-
ery in the man's manner. The guardsman was leaning
over, staring him directly in the face.

"We're not all like that. The trouble is, with such as
Sergeant Kluff, we have to pretend to be. If I didn't,
well, then I'd be beaten, or worse. I'd like to help you,
but I'm not sure I can. You go into Windmill Square
and find my father. He's got the biggest, widest
shoulders of any man you ever saw. He looks like me,
but heavier and older, with graying hair. You talk to
him. His name's Morvin Crumb. I'm Lester Crumb.
Friends call us Mor and Les Crumb. Crumbs, it's said,
from the same loaf."

"I'm Kelvin Knight Hackleberry. Friends call me
Kel."

"Knight? What an interesting name! I wonder if it
means anything, prophecy-wise. Well, go to Windmill
Square. Just follow that side street." He nodded with
his chin. "Wait by the speaker's platform and eventu-
ally my father will show. He's a rough man, and stem,
but you'll like him. Most people like Mor Crumb."

"I—I thank you," Kelvin said. He felt over-
whelmed by this unexpected kindness.

"You just do it, Kelvin Knight Hackleberry." Les
Crumb gave him the friendliest smile yet, a smile
made brighter by a ray of sunshine that momentarily
turned his face to the color of a dragon's sheen.

"Maybe, just maybe," Les added as Kelvin started
to get up, "Father can help you to recover your
brother."

CHAPTER 7

Gauntlet

KELVIN SAT ON A bench in the park called Windmill
Square and listened to his growling stomach. It was
getting louder than the sounds of the gathering across
the square! It was difficult to decide whether his worst
complaint of the moment was hunger or fatigue, but
the longer he rested, the more the balance shifted
toward hunger. He had eaten only the single oaple this
afternoon, and there were no fruit-bearing plants in
sight. What was there to eat? He had to wait here until
Mor Crumb showed up; if he left even for a few
minutes, he might miss the man. And if he cared to
risk it, where would he go for food? To some shop
where they would charge him so much that he would
have to use the dragon scale for money, and then they
would cheat him of most of its value? No, he really
needed some honest help, and the young guardsman's
father seemed like his best bet. But when would the

man ever show?

He gazed up into the beenut tree nearby. Maybe
there would be some beenuts. They were not his first
choice of food, because of the extreme difficulty in
cracking them open, but they would certainly do for
now, and the tree was close enough to the bench so
that he could watch it from there. This was the
remnant of a once-magnificent tree, with thickly
spreading foliage to the sides, but a sadly marred
trunk. Lightning had wounded it, leaving an oozing
cleft. As a gust of wind moved the leaves about, he saw
into that cleft. There was something wedged in it that
reflected a glint as the sunlight briefly penetrated to it.

Curious, as well as hungry, Kelvin got up and
walked to the tree. None of the people in the vicinity
58

DRAGON'S GOLD          59

paid him any attention. The ground beneath it was a
tangle of weeds and briers; no one had come here
recently. But there, at about twice the height of a man,
was the wedged object. It seemed to be some kind of
heavy glove, with metallic reinforcements.

Well, where there was one glove there might be a
pair, and gloves could always be useful. Kelvin sup-
pressed his fatigue and set about climbing the tree to
reach it.

The bark was rough, so that he found fingerholds
and toeholds. He hauled himself up, and in due
course reached the glove. He took hold of it and
hauled it out of its cleft. It was more than a glove; it
was a massive gauntlet, fashioned of good quality
dragon leather, with reinforced studs of silver metal
across the knuckles. That was what had reflected the
gleam. This must have been one expensive piece of
equipment when new!

He felt around for the companion glove, but
couldn't find it. He climbed higher and inspected this
entire part of the tree, but there was nothing. Just this
single gauntlet for the left hand. How strange that it
should have been left here alone!

Still, half a pair was better than none. Might as well
use it. He shook it out to free it of whatever bugs
might have taken up residence inside, and slipped it
on his hand. The thing fit marvelously well; it was as
though it had been made to his measure. It seemed
about time that something went his way!

He climbed down. His right hand felt the abrading
roughness of the bark, but his left hand was quite
comfortable. The gloved fingers gripped with surpris-
ing accuracy and force, greatly facilitating his descent.
His hand felt as if it had infinite power.

He reached the base. Now he observed the beenuts
scattered on the ground, dropped by the tree. Those
should be edible; maybe he could after all crack some
open and get a meal of sorts.

He picked one up and brought it to his mouth. His
teeth clamped on the hard shell and bore down, but it

60 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 61

would not give. This nut was too tough for him; he
would have to bash it open with a rock.

Naturally there were no rocks around. No big
sticks, either. Well, he could bash it with the haft of
his sword. Of course that would probably either make
it explode into far-flung fragments that would be lost
in the briers, or crush shell and nutmeat into one
inedible mass. What he really needed was a nut-
cracker.

He held the nut between the thumb and forefinger
of the gauntlet and squeezed, wishing it could be that
easy.

The nut cracked.

Kelvin did a double take. Oh—he had probably
happened on a flaw, catching it just right. He picked
out the meat and put it in his mouth. It was slightly
bitter, but tasty enough. Had he picked it fresh from
the tree, he could have charmed it into a better taste,
but the fallen nuts were beyond his power to improve.
However, he was not about to climb way up to the tips
of the bearing branches to reach growing nuts; he
would probably fall and break his neck if he tried.

He picked up another and tried it similarly, be-
tween the gauntlet's thumb and forefinger. This one
cracked open as readily as the first. Good enough!

He tried the third with his right hand. He got
nowhere. He tried it between his teeth, but it was
impervious. He tried it with the gauntlet, and it
opened as if its shell were made of paper.

Now, this was interesting! He experimented, and
verified that the glove had power that the rest of him
lacked. When he linked his right hand to the gaunt-
leted left and squeezed, carefully, his right soon was
hurting, while his left never felt the pressure. Appar-
ently the glove amplified the power of any motion his
fingers made—enormously.

He reached out to grip the tough bark of the tree.
He squeezed—and the bark crumbled. He put several
nuts in the glove and squeezed hard—and they com-
pressed so quickly and thoroughly that juice spurted.

What remained when he opened his hand was just dry
mash.

Kelvin gathered as many beenuts as he could hold
and returned to the bench. There he methodically
cracked them open and ate them, feeling steadily
better as his stomach got back into business. What a
discovery this gauntlet was! How strange that it had
remained lodged in that cleft, and nobody else had
noticed it or, if they had, bothered to fetch it down.
All the people here, constantly passing through, yet
none of them really looking at the tree! Who would
have thought that the accidental acquisition of a
single glove could have brought him a decent meal!

"Young man—"

Kelvin jumped, turning. The man facing him had
the reddest countenance he had ever seen. His. shoul-
ders were as wide as the rest of him, and the rest of
him was as broad as the back of a war-horse. His ears
shone pinkly at the lobes and had little tufts of dark
hair at their tips.

"Morvin Crumb?" Kelvin asked after a moment,
recovering from his surprise. He had gotten so in-
volved in cracking nuts that he had tuned out the
world!

"That's right, youngster. And you're—"

"Kelvin Knight Hackleberry. Your son said—"

"Yes, I know." Morvin brushed a pile of beenut
shells from the bench a-nd sat down beside him. Then,
speaking in a conspiratorially low tone, he said,
"We've had a small group of vigilantes here in Frank-
lin. Crumb's Raiders, we call ourselves. Now and then
we can help someone, but it all depends on who they
are and how bad they deserve help. What's your
loss?"

"My sister," Kelvin said, thinking of nothing else.
"A highwayman named Cheeky Jack has her, and—"

"A girl? How old is she?"

"Fourteen. But she—"

The man shook his head sadly. "Then it is already
too late to help her. Don't you know what outlaws

62       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

—and guardsmen, too, for that matter—do to girls
that age?"

"Yes, but she's masquerading as a boy. So with luck
Cheeky Jack doesn't know."

Mor considered. "So you two aren't entirely naive
about traveling, then?"

"Not entirely," Kelvin agreed. "But we still got
ourselves into real trouble. If that outlaw finds out—"

"Better hope he doesn't. Then at least she has a
chance."

"He said he was taking her to—"

"Yes, yes." The man rubbed his bristly chin. "The
highwaymen stock the Boy Mart all the time. We've
had little luck in preventing it."

"Then—"

"Maybe. If Les can help. He's a good lad. Too good
for the likes of the Queen's guards."

"Then why—"

"Listen, Hackleberry, we may not have much time.
The speaker up there on the platform has been trying
to stir up trouble." He jerked a thumb, indicating the
region. "He's a windbag, and none of us noticed what
he was saying until we started noticing the crowd.
He's got about twelve listeners besides several Raid-
ers, and that's too many if—"

"I don't see any guardsmen." Kelvin looked about.
All he saw were farmers.

"They come disguised. And there are informers."

"Do you really think—"

"Any moment. That's why we have to leave. Now."

A clatter at the end of the park caused them to turn.
Three guardsmen, one of them Private Carpenter,
another Sergeant Kluff, were bearing down on the
platform and the speaker.

"You, Speaker, you're under arrest!" the sergeant
shouted. "And you. Crumb and the boy, you're under
arrest, too."

Crumb's eyes stood out in his red face as he
bellowed back: "Good people, none heard me speak
today! I was but-listening to the talk and enjoying the

DRAGON'S GOLD          63

shade! There's no cause for my arrest!"

"None for mine, either," Kelvin squeaked. He
hardly sounded like any hero now!

"Boy," Crumb said, "they mean to slay us. I'll fight
them, but they're mean. That sergeant's fast! I want
you to hold back and watch your chance. Maybe I can
get one or two of them, and if I do, you get away.
Hear!"

"I need your help!" Kelvin gasped.

"/ need someone's help," Crumb said, disgusted.
"They must have followed you."

"If I had a good sword—"

"Lad, this is nothing for a boy, this is something for
a man. Get away if you can. Save yourself, and then
maybe some other time you can save your sister. Or
somebody's sister."

Kelvin picked up his old sword. He raised it in his
right hand and the gauntlet on his left and tried to
look as defiant and fierce as Crumb. "Now I'm
armed," he said, but his attempt at a bold statement
came out as another squeak.

"Look at the fool!" cried Private Carpenter of the
pricked tongue. "Thinks because his name is Knight
he's a warrior. You protected by magic, boy?"

"Gods," Crumb exclaimed, staring at Kelvin.
"Hackleberry, that gauntlet—where did you get it?"

"Found it in the beenut tree," Kelvin replied,
wondering at the man's intensity. "It was in the wood
where the lightning struck."

"Lightning? Lightning! Gods! Hackleberry, off with
your cap!"

"What?"

"Your stockelcap, man! Off with it!"

Hesitantly, then defiantly, Kelvin reached for his
cap. He pulled it off, feeling it yank at his ears.

Crumb gave a great sigh. "A roundear! Could it be
the Roundear of Prophecy, come at last?"

"That's just a wild story!" Kelvin protested. "I'm
no hero!"

"We'd better assume it's valid, because otherwise

64       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmrgroff

we're finished," Crumb muttered. Then his voice
rose, booming across the square. "The Roundear of
Prophecy came to lead our fight!"

"But—" Kelvin protested weakly.

"Treason!" shouted Sergeant Kluff, taking a step

forward.

Now Crumb's stance and voice took on the appear-
ance and sound of the seasoned orator. "Good peo-
ple," he cried in a voice that really carried, "are
you willing to live and let your children and grand-
children live under the rule of a tyrant? We've got
a champion here—or the start of one. Think! Act!

Now!"

Suddenly hands were raised and the three guards-
men were surrounded.

"Back! Back!" the sergeant ordered. "Back, or I'll

split the lot of you!"
But the man was given a hearty shove in the back

and he stumbled forward. Crumb backed away, call-
ing over his shoulder. "Hackleberry, lad, I want you

to take my sword."

"But—"
"Just take it, son. Don't think about it. Just think

about your left arm and using it to protect yourself."

Kelvin feared his legs would go out from under
him, they felt so rubbery, but he took Crumb's sword
and let Crumb take his. Crumb looked at him and
made a motion. Carpenter and the other guardsman
were suddenly grasped by willing hands. Only the

sergeant remained free.

Then, to Kelvin's astonishment and alarm. Crumb
did an amazing thing. Sheathing the old sword, he
said, "You take him, Hackleberry."

"W-what?"
"The sergeant here. Or would you prefer to battle

all three?"
"At once?" Kelvin squeaked, terror constricting his

throat again.
"Look how scared he is," said the sergeant. "He

can't take me, gauntlet or no gauntlet."

DRAGON'S GOLD          65

"Think left hand, Hackleberry," Crumb whispered.

Kelvin hardly had time to think. As the sergeant's
blade swished out, he raised the gauntlet in what he
knew was a futile effort to stop him.

With blinding speed the gauntlet got between the
sergeant's blade and Kelvin's otherwise unprotected
face. He felt nothing but a slight tap on his wrist. Then
the sergeant's blade rebounded.

Kelvin looked at his intact left hand. That hand
should have been lying on the ground! He took a deep,
shuddering breath, raising that hand again as the
sergeant drew back his blade for another strike. The
man's teeth were gritted; he intended to make sure
that he lopped off Kelvin's entire upper section this
time!

The blade struck forward. The gauntlet moved like
a snake striking a bird. It caught the blade, then
wrenched the sword expertly from the sergeant's
hand.

Kelvin, numbed by this occurrence, still managed
to raise Crumb's sword, posing its blade in front of
the man's throat.

"Still don't believe it's his gauntlet, Sergeant?"
Crumb asked the disarmed man.

The sergeant looked at the sword point, at Kelvin's
trembling arm, then turned pale as the belly of a
froog. He dropped to his knees. "Don't slay me.
Don't!" he pleaded.

"Slay him, Hackleberry!" Crumb ordered.

Kelvin's hand shook. "I c-can't!"

"He needs slaying. He would have slain you, and
me. And any other who got in his way. He enjoys
slaying. He has no mercy, and deserves none. You
know that!"

Kelvin did know that. Still he couldn't do it. "I—"

"Hackleberry, is it possible that you don't know the
meaning of that gauntlet?"

Kelvin shook his head. He had never felt more
certain that he was unsure of anything.

"Gods!" complained Crumb. "What do they teach

66 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 67

younguns these days? It's a gauntlet once owned by
Mouvar the Magnificent, he who wrote the Book of
Prophecy. You have heard of the book?"

"Of course." Some of Kelvin's uncertainty was
replaced by ineffective indignation.

"And you do remember the story of his battle with
Zatanas, Prince of Evil, sorcerer and father of our
unwanted Queen?"

"They flew," Kelvin said. "According to legend."

"And Mouvar dropped his gauntlets. When they
are found, Zatanas will be properly vanquished."

Now Kelvin remembered. There had been such a
story in another section of the fable Chariain had read
to him. He had not made the connection before.
Could this really be one of those fabled gauntlets?
"According to legend," he said weakly.

"Right. What else?"

"'And the gauntlet great shall the tyrant take,'" he
quoted. It seemed impossible that this could be one of
those! His father, John Knight, had always pooh-
poohed such legend, despite his mother's belief, even
though the legend was the reason his Chariain had
married him. Could she be right, after all?

"That's the scripture, lad!"

"The gauntlets are supposed to contain the souls of
brave and powerful knights."

"Right! With them, you cannot be defeated."

"But—" Belief was starting to seep in. "But I have
only one."

"A detail," Crumb said. "Maybe both gauntlets
were seeking you, and this is the one that found you.
Now is the time for you to take command. To lead
your people. To excise the sore on this our gentle
land."

"I, uh—"

"To start with, what are you going to do about
this?" Crumb lightly touched the sergeant with his
foot.

Kelvin looked at the man groveling before him. So

this was what it was like to be a hero and a puppet of
prophecy!

"I—I give him his life." It was what any hero would
have done in any old storybook.

"You what?"

"I g-give him his life, if he—"

"Hackleberry, hero or no hero, you've got rocks in
your fool head!" Crumb took back his sword with a
sudden grab. Then, as the sergeant made a trium-
phant half-leap with an extended knife. Crumb swift-
ly and expertly deprived him of his head. He gave a
quick signal and the men holding the other two
guardsmen used daggers on their charges in silent
unison.

"You," Crumb said to Kelvin, "have an awful lot to
leam about being a hero."

Looking at the two dead men oozing blood, and at
the headless, spurting body of Sergeant Kluff, Kelvin
felt a sudden great illness.

The beenuts he had so avidly consumed chose this
moment to erupt from his mouth.

A moment later, Kelvin stood clutching his aching
stomach. The park and the men and the body were
whirling round and round and round.

Learn to be a hero. Learn to be a hero.

If he could. If only he could!

CHAPTER 8

Boy Mart

JON LOOKED AROUND AT the circle of boys. Some were
older than she was, and some were her own age. But
she looked younger, because she was not a boy. How
long could she maintain her masquerade? Here there
seemed to be no private place for natural functions,
and if they required the boys to strip . . .

The boys clustered around her the moment the
guards closed the door and departed. She had only a
moment to look around, noting the small barred
windows. There were three pails in the comers; one
seemed to contain water for drinking, and the other

two—

Oh, no! They were what served for elimination!
Right out in public. That was certain disaster for her.

So this was the Franklin Boy Mart, she thought as
she wondered what she was going to say to the
crowding boys. At least, this was one of the holding
pens. The odor was bad; the boys were all dressed in
rags, and seemed not to have bathed for weeks. Still,
she hadn't had a bath either, since Mockery rolled in
the river. Her dirt was now excellent protective cos-
tuming; she did look like one of these boys.

"You," the biggest, meanest-looking boy said, pok-
ing her in the stomach with a thumb. "You know

who's boss?"

"Not me," Jon said. It would do her no good to fight
here. If she fought anyone, it would be whoever
purchased her. If she couldn't manage to escape

first.
Her answer seemed to puzzle the boy. "You new?

This your first time?"

"Yeah," Jon said, trying to get some masculine husk
68

DRAGON'S GOLD          69

into her voice. "I've never been here before."

"Newly pressed?" another boy asked. This one was
a bit shorter than the first, but looked just about as
mean.

"Newly brought by a highwayman," Jon said. "I've
always been free. Never bound."

"Lucky!" the big boy said.

Jon examined the faces. Most, underneath their
dirt, seemed unnaturally hard. Village boys didn't
usually look as though they never laughed.

"I'm Bustskin," the big boy said. "I'm boss until
somebody knocks me down."

"Boss of what?" Jon asked.

"Here."

"Here? This room?"

"Yeah."

"That's not much."

"You want to challenge it?"

"No. You're the boss."

"You sure, Newskin?"

"Newskin? What's that?"

"You. When you're new, just ready to be bound.
Newskin."

"Oh. Yeah, I don't want to fight anyone. I had
enough fights before I got here."

"Yeah? Who with?"

"The highwayman. And a dragon."

"Dragon?" Bustskin was incredulous. "You?"

"And my brother. We both fought it."

"Liar."

Jon considered. She didn't like being called a liar.
She might have to fight this fellow, lest the boys take
her retreat as a sign of unboyishness, but she didn't
want to. She was older than he took her for, and she
did know a trick or two that she had taken pains to
learn after being so ineffective when trying to help her
brother in the past; she just might be able to surprise
him and knock him down. But her risk was much
greater than just victory or defeat. If she won the fight,
but her clothing got torn and revealed her nature, she

70      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff
would be a worse loser than he. What was the course

of least danger?

"You going to let me call you a liar, Newskin?"
Jon shrugged. "You could lick anyone here," she
said, hoping he wouldn't notice the change of subject.

"Yeah. And don't you forget it, Newskin." The big
boy half turned, as though to leave, then suddenly
slammed a rock-hard fist into her stomach.
Jon doubled over, gasping.

"That's just for being a liar. For being a Newskin."
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" several of the boys chanted.
Jon found tears in her eyes. That fellow could really
hit! At the same time, she was thankful he hadn't
struck her in the chest. How awful it would be to be
bound with him on the same plantation! Judging by
Bustskin's darkened skin and ruddy complexion, he
had never been in a mine, and he didn't look as if he
had ever rowed a galley. Chances were he would get a
foreman's job bossing field workers, and just possibly
he would survive to reach twenty-five. If someone

didn't slay him first.
"You going to fight, Newskin?" the bully asked.

"Don't do it, Jon! Don't!"

Jon blinked. It was a red-haired lad she remem-
bered from the village. He was a decent sort, but had
been given up for a tax penalty a year before. His
parents and brother and sisters had all cried.

But he represented perhaps a worse threat to her
than the bully did. Because he had called her by name.
He knew her—and therefore knew she was a girl. If he

gave her away—
"Tom? Tom Yokes?" She had hardly recognized the

boy, so changed was his appearance. He had scars on
his arms and legs; both his eyes were blacked. "He did
this to me," Tom said, indicating the scars and his
eyes. "If I couldn't lick him, then you sure can't. I'm
bigger than you, and stronger."

Because he was a boy. He had avoided reference to
age, knowing they were the same age, so as not to
betray her. He was keeping her secret.

DRAGON'S GOLD         71

Jon wished fleetingly that her brother were here.
Kelvin didn't like to fight, but he could when he had
to, and he was almost as big as Bustskin. Bustskin
deserved a lesson.

But she was not the one to give him that lesson. Not
now, not this way. Slowly Jon straightened, letting go
of herself. Her stomach still hurt. She hadn't balled
her fists, and she knew that with Bustskin standing
there so eagerly that it wouldn't be wise.

"Tom . . . can I talk to you?" she asked. "Over
there in the comer?"

Tom nodded.

"You win, Bustskin," Jon said. "I ran away from
home. I was caught by someone on a black horse. I
never saw a dragon and I never learned to fight."

Several of the boys broke into a halfhearted cheer.
It irked her to lie. Kelvin, she knew, would have stuck
to the truth or kept his mouth shut. She really
respected Kelvin for that, but she just couldn't do it
herself.

Bustskin drew back his fist and waved it in front of
Jon's mouth. "I should hit you once or twice for lying
to me."

"You did," Jon said.

"No, Bustskin, don't!" Tom cried.

Bustskin whirled on him. "You want some more,
Redhead?"

"N-no. We're going to be sold soon, Bustskin.
Now's not the time to fight. Besides, you've licked
everyone here."

"Yeah, I have, haven't I?" Bustskin turned and
clapped another boy on the back. "Let me tell you
about the girl I had on the Finch plantation. She was
the overseer's daughter and she brought us slops. One
day when she came too near and the overseer was
away, I reached out and—"

As he spoke, he turned again and reached out by
way of illustration, grabbing the closest material avail-
able: Jon's dirty brownberry shirt. This could not
have been accidental; probably he intended it as one

72 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff' DRAGON'S GOLD 73

final humiliation. He hauled in and up, pulling it out
of the waistband. The material was too tough to tear,
but the jerk did cause her to stumble forward, and as
her head came low, he pulled the shirt up over her
head, blinding her.

There was an abrupt silence. Quickly Jon brought
down her shirt, but she knew it was too late. They had
seen.

"I'll be damned!" Bustskin exclaimed. "It's a girl!"

Jon tried to bluff it out. "So I didn't want them to
know," she snapped. "It's not so bad, being sold as a
boy. You don't have to tell."

"Tell? Hell!" Bustskin's eyes were round. "I've got
better things to do with a girl than tell!" He stepped
toward her. "Give me some of that skin, honey. I
don't have to talk about what I did to that plantation
girl; I'll show 'em!"

"Not with me, you don't!" Jon retorted.

"Oh, yeah?" He grabbed for her again.

Now Jon really had to fight. She kicked him in the
shin, knowing the pain would be enough to double
him over. But he was tough; he only winced, and hung
on, hauling her into him again. "Let's just get those
pants down," he said, pawing at her pantaloons.

Jon brought up a knee, aiming for the groin. But the
bully was street-wise, and twisted his torso to the side,
so that the blow missed. He caught her raised leg and
held it, drawing on the pantaloons, pulling them down
around her bottom.

"Yeah; that's nice, very nice!" he grunted, his hands
squeezing at her buttocks as he continued to work on
the pantaloons. The other boys watched, fascinated
by the proceedings. Most of them were young enough
so that this would be their first such experience.

"You can't do that!" Tom Yokes protested, trying to
interfere.

Bustskin paused just long enough to slam Tom in
the gut with a backhand fist. "You knew her—and
didn't tell!" he said savagely. "I'll pulverize you
—after I finish with her!"

Tom clutched his front, his breath knocked out. It
was clear that he was unable to fight the bully, no
matter how proper his instincts were. But this distrac-
tion gave Jon time to regroup.

When Bustskin turned his attention back to her, she
let him have a prime smash in the nose, just the way
Kelvin had done it to another bully years before.

But again the bully's experience saved him. Even as
her arm moved, he jerked back his head, and the blow
only caught him on the mouth. It smashed his lip
against his teeth, and the lip started to bleed, but the
injury wasn't serious enough to make him pause.
Meanwhile, Jon's knuckles stung; teeth were hard!

Now the line of battle was at her thighs, as Bustskin
struggled to get her pantaloons the rest of the way
down and she clung to them to keep them up. Her
head thrashed back and forth, her hair flying out, and
she kicked her feet, but could not break free of the
bully's grasp. She saw Tom retreating to the door, and
with a fraction other mind wished he had been just a
little bit bigger, stronger, and bolder. He was a decent
kid; that was his problem. He couldn't have helped
her much anyway; if he had hauled Bustskin off,
another boy would have hauled Tom off, and held him
until Bustskin was through with her.

Slowly and erratically, the pantaloons came down,
until finally they were all the way off, and she was
bare-legged. Another snatch, and her ragged under-
pants were torn off. The watching boys could have
been zombies for all the expression on their faces; it
seemed that most of them had never before seen the
thighs of a fourteen-year-old girl.

She kicked at the bully, then hunched over and
butted him with her head, but he simply shifted his
grip, threw her down, and pinned her to the floor with
his body. Now he started working on his own cloth-
ing, to get the essential section open for business. It
was evident that he had not been making up the story
of the overseer's daughter; he knew how to get a girl
down.

74

Piers Anthony and. Robert E. M.a.rgroff'

She snapped at him with her teeth, but this, too,
was ineffective. Now he was ready below; he used a
knee to wedge her legs apart. She was worn out from
fighting; she could no longer resist him. But she
refused to give up; she continued to squirm as much
as she was able, hoping for a chance to hit him where
it would do the most good.

Then the hulking shape of a guard loomed over
them. A ham-hand caught Bustskin by the collar and
hauled him literally up in the air. "A girl!" the guard
exclaimed. "You idiot! Don't you realize that a virgin
girl is worth ten times as much as you on the open
market? You know what the penalty is for ruining
value like that?"

Bustskin swallowed. His hands went to his front.
He was getting a glimmer of the penalty.

The guard dropped him, staring at Jon appraisingly
as she scrambled for her pantaloons. Obviously he
had seen everything he needed to. "Definitely prime,"
he said. "We'll get a bonus for this discovery! Come
with me, girl."

Jon really had no choice at this stage. She drew up
her pantaloons and followed the guard to the door.

There Tom Yokes stood, cringing. "Sir, remem-
ber—"

The guard paused. "Yeah, you did call us," he said.

"They'll kill me now, if—"

"Okay, you get a separate cell," the guard decided.
"Come on out."

"It was the only way—" Tom said to Jon as they left

the cell.

She touched his hand briefly. "I know."
Then she was hustled off to the section that was the

holding pen for the Girl Mart, while Tom was taken to

his solitary cell. She didn't know whether she would

ever see him again.

CHAPTER 9

Girl Mart

THE BOY MART had smelled of unwashed bodies and
manure-coated boots. The Girl Mart was cleaner, but
Jon feared it more. Boys were sold for work, but girls
could be bought for play, and that could be much
worse.

The boys had been rowdy and rough. The girls were
quiet—too quiet, for it was the silence of despair.

Jon found herself in a dusky chamber where eight
or ten girls sat, each isolated by her own thoughts. She
had endured the impersonal preparations: the strip-
ping by a matron, inspection of her private parts to
verify that she was healthy and was indeed a virgin, a
stiff shower and scrubbing, and garbing in a rough
smock and slippers. Now she stood before the deso-
late girls of all ages, feeling naked under the smock,
for she had no underclothing anymore. Obviously
girls were supposed to be rendered naked at short
notice so that buyers could appreciate their assets.

She had salvaged one small vestige of her pride,
however. She had saved the handful of dragonberries
in her pocket by putting them in her mouth. She
hadn't needed or wanted those berries; she had done
it simply as a matter of principle, to prove that they
could not fathom all her secrets or deprive her of all
her possessions. Actually, the berries tasted awful,
though she neither chewed nor sucked on them; her
cheek had become numbed by their presence. But she
had carried them past the gauntlet of inspection and
changes, and so they represented her small victory.
After all, they could have been gold coins if she had
had any to save.

She took a step forward—and reeled, abruptly
75

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mfvrgroff

dizzy. She almost fell, then caught herself, then recon-
sidered and collapsed to the floor.

An older girl got up and came to her. "I know it's
rough, honey, the first time. Did they beat you?"

Jon opened her mouth, but couldn't speak. Instead
the sodden berries dribbled out.

"God! Don't tell me—!" the girl exclaimed. "Are
those what they look like?" She squatted to pick one
up. Her smock hiked up over her knees, and Jon saw
that she, too, was naked under it. "They areV

"I just didn't want—" Jon said, but then her voice
failed her again, and more berries slid out.

"Did you swallow any of those?"

"No, I just—"

"Grackle! Tanager!" the girl cried to the other girls.
"Come here, haul her up, take her to the bucket and
wash her mouth out good! Quickly! Maybe it's not too
late!"

Two husky girls came and hauled Jon up by the
arms. "But I didn't even swear," Jon protested
weakly.

The leader girl laughed. "Swear! Who cares about
that! Don't you know what those berries are?"

"No, I just found them near a dragon lair."

Grackle and Tanager got her head down by the
bucket. "Take a mouthful, spit it out," one said.

Jon obeyed, and did it again, and again, until all
trace of the berries was gone, though her mouth
remained sore.

"I guess you'll live," the girl said. "What's your
name? Mine's Thomflower."

"Jon, just Jon," Jon said, feeling somehow inade-
quate. Their names were so fancy!

"We make up our own," Thornflower explained,
catching on to Jon's confusion. "To conceal our
shame. So news doesn't get around about what hap-
pened to us, you know."

"Oh. But about those dragonberries—"

"They're poison! One of them makes a person sick,
two puts her in a coma, three will kill her. You had a

T

DRAGON'S GOLD          77

dozen in your mouth! Whatever possessed you to do
that?"

"I'm just ornery. I wanted to hide something from
them, just to prove I could do it, and the berries were
all I had."

Thomflower shook her head. "I understand, I sup-
pose. But dragonberries! Of all the things to put in
your mouth! Why, just the juice from their hulls will
make you sick."

"I know," Jon said wanly. "Now."

"You better pick a room and lie down. You need to
recover your strength for the auction tomorrow, be-
cause if you're sick they'll think you're faking, and
they'll beat you. No malingerers here! Which do you
want?"

"I get a choice?" Jon asked, amazed.

"Any room that has a free bunk, if the other girl
doesn't object. We're not boys, you know; we're
halfway civilized."

Jon stood unsteadily and looked at the rooms. They
opened off the main chamber, and each had two beds.
Girls were lying on some, or sitting on them with their
heads in their hands. The accommodations were
much better than those of the Boy Mart, probably
because the proprietors didn't want bruises or dirt to
interfere with the marketability of the girls.

In one chamber a girl sat hunched in a corner, her
hands over her ears. "What's the matter with her?"
Jon asked.

"That's Flambeau. She's really bad off. She's a
roundear. That's why she covers—"

"A roundear?" Jon asked, coming abruptly alert.

"You know, one of the offspring of some intruder
from that other planet. They're pretty much like us,
except for those horrible ears."

"I'll room with her," Jon said.

"She won't talk to you," Thomflower warned. "She
just wants to die."

Jon stooped to pick up the berries that had washed
out of her mouth. "Well, if these really do—"

78      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Maryoff

"Say, that's one tough notion!" Thomflower said
admiringly. "But don't let the guards know you gave
them to her, because—"

"They'll beat me," Jon finished. "No one will tell?"

"No one will tell," Thomflower promised.

"Thanks. I like it better here than at the Boy Mart."

"You were there?"

"I was pretending to be a boy. Bustskin found out,
and tried to—"

Thomflower sighed. "The first time's the worst. I
remember mine, when I was ten."

"You were raped when you were ten?" Jon asked,
appalled.

"The first time, yes. By a middle-aged man. He
wasn't too rough, actually, but he was so dirty and
clumsy, I felt like dying."

Jon glanced again at the huddled girl. "Is that
why—?"

"Sure, I thought you realized. She's a roundear, so
isn't worth much on the market, so the guards knew
there wasn't anything to lose."

"The guards?"

"Didn't you know? No, I guess you didn't, because
they don't do it to virgins, of course. Just to us who
can't lose that kind of value."

"You mean—you, too?"

"All of us. Or at least any they want. If we cooper-
ate, they give us little things, like extra rations or clean
water. If we don't:—well, then it gets ugly."

"And Flambeau—"

"Didn't cooperate," Thomflower finished. "She's
new here, like you. She didn't understand."

"I guess I'm pretty well off", after all," Jon said,
shuddering.

"Depends how you see it," Thomflower said,
shrugging.

Jon thanked her, and went to the room. She sat
down near the huddled girl. "Flambeau," she said.

There was no response.

DRAGON'S GOLD         79

"Flambeau, listen to me," Jon said. "My brother is
a roundear."

Slowly the girl lifted her head. She had black hair
and brown eyes, and would have been quite pretty if
the hair weren't matted and the eyes swollen from
crying.

Then she dropped her face again. "Don't tease me!"
she said, and her body was racked with renewed sobs.

"No, he really is. I'm half roundear, too, only my
ears came out like my mother's. When they said you
were one—"

Jon stopped, because the girl's hands were clamped
tightly over her ears, effectively blocking the sound.

Well, if she really thought she wanted to die, Jon
would just call that bluff! She opened her hand and
put it down under the girl's nose, showing half a
dozen dragonberries.

Flambeau saw them. She snatched at them, surpris-
ing Jon. In a moment, she had swept up three and
popped them into her mouth.

"Wait!" Jon cried. "Those are—"

The girl lifted her head again. She swallowed. "I
know. Thanks."

Jon had not meant to have the girl really commit
suicide! Now what was she to do?

Well, she could alert the other girls and have them
haul Flambeau to the bucket and poke a finger down
her throat to make her vomit up the berries. That
would save her life. But to what purpose? If she really
did want to die, maybe it was better to let her do it in
peace. Jon knew how rough it could be on a roundear,
because of Kelvin, and how it could be for a girl. So
maybe Flambeau had reason.

Her alternative was to let nature take its course. She
was in doubt, so she did nothing—which meant the
second choice. She did not feel at all easy about it, but
that was it. If she was cooperating in a death, maybe
that was just the way it had to be, here in this awful
place.

80 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mar^rojf DRAGON'S GOLD 81

Lunch came. Thomflower supervised the doling out
of portions of the rough bread and thin soup. It wasn't
much, but no one complained; they were all aware of
how readily and capriciously it could be cut off.

Flambeau remained on her bunk, where Jon had
laboriously hauled her. The girl had a well-fleshed
body, and would have been a real prize on the market
if it hadn't been for her round ears. At least what little
she would have brought would now be denied to the
owners of the Marts. That was a very small consola-
tion; Jon now wished she hadn't ever shown her the
deadly berries. But what was done was done; she
reacted as she had when she wasn't sure whether
Kelvin had survived the dragon's toss: she went on
with her business. What else was she to do?

But after about three hours, Flambeau stirred. She
was alive! Jon went to her. "I'm sorry I gave you those
dragonberries!" she cried. "I didn't think you'd
really—"

The girl opened her eyes. "I found him," she said.

"What?"

"I found your brother. With the round ears. He's a
hero."

Jon laughed. "You were dreaming! My brother's a
great guy, but he's not really a hero. Just the notion of
fighting puts him in a cold sweat, though he does it
when he has to."

"Kelvin," she said. "He has a gauntlet."

"Kelvin doesn't have any such thing!" Then Jon did
a double take. "How did you know his name? I never
told you!"

"I was there. I ranged out from my body and found
him. He was easy to find, because he's the only other
roundear in the vicinity. All I could think of was what
you said, so I just concentrated on those round ears,
and suddenly I was there. He's handsome!"

"You what?" Jon understood the words, but they
weren't making much sense.

"I went out and found him. I could see him and

hear him, but I couldn't talk to him, because I was
only a ghost." Then Flambeau did a double take.
"What am I saying?"

That was better! The girl was as confused as Jon
was. "You swallowed three dragonberries and almost
died. I guess you could have been a ghost! But you
weren't, because you recovered, and here you are.
How do you feel?"

"Very weak," the girl said. Then: "My name is
Heln."

"They told me—"

"My given name. After my roundear mother,
Helen. Heln Flambeau."

"Oh." Jon was disconcerted. "I'm Jon. Jon Hackle-
berry."

"I know. Kelvin spoke of you. He means to rescue
you."

"You dreamed all that?"

"I don't think it was a dream," Heln said.

"You mean to say that the dragonberries didn't
poison you, they just sort of sent your soul out
wandering for a while?"

"I suppose so. I didn't exactly wander, I could go
anywhere I wanted. I just sort of flew, only I could get
somewhere without even flying, just by being there. So
I decided to be where there was that roundear you
spoke of, just because—" She shrugged. "Now I don't
think I want to die anymore. I—I got—something
terrible happened, and I really wanted to die, but now
I have something back that sort of makes up for it. It's
as if I've entered a whole new realm, and what
happened in the old one doesn't matter so much
anymore. I've left that old, spoiled life behind. Now I
want to live, and travel astrally again."

"Better not," Jon said. "Those berries kill most
folk, and if you took too many, too fast—"

"Yes. I'll wait. But now I have something to live for.
I want to meet your brother, in the flesh. Kelvin's
nice. He's my age."

82       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mwryoff

"He's nice," Jon agreed. Could she really believe
this? She decided to be forthright. "Look, Hein, this is
hard to believe all at once. I really don't know if you
were dreaming or if you really did it. Could you tell

me more about my brother?"

Hein smiled. "His eyes are sort of blue, and his hair
brown. He's thin. He wants to rescue you, and get
back some dragon scales, but he got all caught up in
being a hero, because of the gauntlet."
"What gauntlet? He doesn't have any gloves!"
"He found it somewhere. I came along after that, so
I don't know where, but everyone says it means he's
the hero of the prophecy. I don't know what the

prophecy is, though."

Jon realized that there was no way Hein could have
known all that unless she had been there. Obviously
she hadn't been there physically. So she must have
been spiritually. "But the berries are poison! Why

didn't they kill you?"
"I don't know. Unless—did your brother eat any?"

"No. Why?"

"Maybe they don't work the same on roundears.
Maybe they kill the folk of Rud, but just separate the
souls of roundears, because our metabolism is differ-
ent. Where did you get them?"

Jon explained about the garden near the dragon.

"Why would a dragon tend a garden? Do they like

to eat berries?"
"Those few little berries wouldn't feed a dragon

more than a second!" Jon exclaimed. "They eat hot

flesh."
"But they must have some reason to tend those

gardens, if other dragons have gardens. At least that
one did. Suppose it had the same effect on a dragon?
Made it able to explore without going anywhere?
Wouldn't that help it forage for prey?"

"It sure would!" Jon agreed. "I always wondered
why it's supposed to be so hard to catch a dragon!
When hunters get together in big parties and try to
run a dragon down, the dragon's never there. We

DRAGON'S GOLD          83

thought it was because the dragons heard them com-
ing, but maybe—"

"I think we've just discovered the dragon's secret,"
Hein said. "No one knew about it, because the drag-
ons are able to guard their gardens pretty well, and
anyone who ate the berries died. Just as I meant to
die, because—" Here she faltered. It seemed that
despite her words, she had not yet let go of the bad
experience.

"Thomflower told me what happened to you," Jon
said. "I'm sorry. I almost got, well, the same thing. So
I guess I understand. But you know, the other girls
seem to have survived it all right."

Hein considered, "Kelvin—would he—?"

"He wouldn't rape anyone!" Jon exclaimed, horri-
fied.

"I mean, would he—would he be able to like a girl
who—"

Oh. "I'm sure he doesn't judge by that sort of thing.
I mean, he knows how bullies are. It wasn't your fault.
And I came to you because you have round ears, like
him. I think he'd really like you, if he met you."

"I'm glad. Because I think I really like him. He was
so confused, but trying to do the right thing, instead
of being so brutal the way the others are. Unsure of
himself"

"That's my brother!"

"Yes. While the others—they don't seem to care
anything about—they just use—"

"Yeah," Jon said, understanding. "He's not like
them."

"But of course we're both going to be sold in the
auction tomorrow. If only I could have told him! But I
couldn't say anything to him; I was completely invisi-
ble and silent. He knows you're here, because some-
one told him, but—"

"Kelvin will rescue me somehow, I know it!" Jon
said stoutly. "And then he'll get back our gold. And
when he rescues me, I'll tell him to rescue you, too. I
know he'll want to meet you, and you can help him so

84       Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

much if you can do that thing with the berries again."
She paused. "But suppose they only work once? And
the second time they really do poison you?"

"Next time I'll only take one berry. That's not
supposed to kill a person anyway. I'll see if it works.
But I think not today; they did leave me rather washed

out."

"Well, you could be hungry, you know. You missed
the noon meal."

Hein laughed weakly. "I suppose I could be. I'll
make sure to eat all I can tonight."

CHAPTER 10

Auction

MOST OF THE POTENTIAL bidders were buyers for the
larger plantations. Here and there on the tiers of seats
forming a half circle around the ring was to be seen a
seaman in search of new galley hands. The seamen's
blue shirts and trim sea trousers contrasted with all
the brownberry shirts and greenbriar pantaloons. The
seamen's flat, tight-fitting caps shone like white rocks
in the tossing sea of bobbing green and yellow stockel-
caps.

Back where Queeto sat, the noise was the steady
murmur of men talking crops and the buying and
selling of crophands. Feeling a sliver from the plank
seat digging into his squat behind, tasting the bitter
bile that always rose in his throat amid such sur-
roundings, Queeto retreated into his favorite fantasy.
In his mind the clouds of hatred roiled thick and
black as he imagined himself with the money to buy
boys for his own purpose. In this favored daydream he
did not have an enlarged and humped back, but
instead was straight and tall, with a high, black-
crowned forehead. In fact, in this vision he resembled
the one he was proud to acknowledge Master: Zata-
nas, Confounder of Righteousness, Defender of the
Ugly and Misshaped.

At last the auctioneer made his appearance. Stand-
ing tall, dressed in black, he was almost the picture of
an ancient prophet with his gray, flowing beard. He
cleared his throat at the lectern, banged his gavel
twice with reports like exploding skulls, and waited
for silence. Then, having achieved it, he began.

"Some of you have come from distant kingdoms
and may not know all of our Rud customs governing
85

86

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

87

the Boy and Girl Marts. Some of our stock have been
seized for nonpayment of taxes; others are convicted
felons. Most were young vagrants who have been
properly and legally impressed."

Queeto squirmed, reminded that he, too, had been
a vagrant, though not one a bounty hunter would have
taken for sale at a Boy Mart. As a lad, his had been a
hard lot: tormented constantly by smooth-cheeked
boys and ugly soldiers; in constant flight from those
who knew he had stolen something; eating whatever
and wherever he could. In those days he had to eat,
unlike the days following Master.

"And now," the auctioneer was saying, "our first lot
of six boys from MacGregor Plantation. Used for one
season and now to be replaced with fresh hands.
These still have a lot of work left in them, gentlemen,
and seasoned as only MacGregor seasons them—"

In the center ring, prodded by the overseer's whip,
six lanky boys with whip marks and protruding ribs
walked the circle. Obviously they had been recalci-
trant and repeatedly disciplined. Useless, because of
one year of hardness, for Master's (and Queeto's own)
exacting purposes.

The boys were sold to one of the smaller planta-
tions. The purchaser was a man of such evil counte-
nance as to be identified as such even by the
approving dwarf.

Small lot followed small lot, and soon it was down
to single, broad-shouldered farm boys seized for their
father's nonpayment of taxes. Watching their misery,
remembering the torments of his long-ago youth,
Queeto felt a little, though only a little, avenged.

But none of these were quite suitable for Master.
Queeto knew better than to buy any boys that weren't
precisely right. He sighed; he would just have to
report no purchases, this time.

"And now," the auctioneer announced, "the Girl
Mart."

Immediately the lagging attention of the buyers

revived. Even those who had no intention of bidding
liked to look at the girls!

The girls were herded out, in their slippers and
smocks. Most were motley, not attractive despite their
youth and the management's evident effort to get
them prettied up. It took more than the combing of
the hair and washing of the face to make a hardened
young slut into an attractive package! But a few were
interesting. One had an excellent chassis and good
face, marred only by a stockelcap someone had inex-
plicably pulled down around her ears. Another looked
to be thirteen or fourteen, with good lines, long fair
tresses, and a bearing that indicated her spirit had not
yet been broken. She was exactly the kind Master
wanted!

The auctioneer hauled a girl out of the bunch. "And
what am I bid for this fine specimen of womanhood?"
he asked rhetorically. "Let's start it at ten rudnas."

"Five," a seaman said.

The girl made a gesture at him with a finger. She
was no innocent youngster! That of course lowered
her value; the average buyer preferred to degrade a
girl in his own fashion, rather than wrestle with one
who had already been broken in. Queeto watched in
silence.

Finally the auctioneer brought out the lively young
one. Her yellow hair glistened in the sun, and her
smooth skin was marked only with a purpling bruise
across her face. Her cheeks were healthy and ruddy.
She was full of the good red juice of life. Yes. Exactly
what his appetite craved and the Master specified.
Either sex would do, as long as it had the right
attributes.

"And here's a fresh virgin, age fourteen, just turned
in by a public-spirited citizen. She was caught trying
to steal a donkey."

"I was not!" the girl retorted. Oh, she was a prize!

"Fourteen rudnas," the auctioneer said, acknowl-
edging a bid from a wide-shouldered, red-faced man

r

88

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

DRAGON'S GOLD

89

accompanied by two younger men on Queeto's right.
"Who will make it twenty?"

There was a pause. This one was obviously worth
more, but the buyers were still appraising her, decid-
ing how high they should go. Meanwhile the girl,
looking at the first bidder, did a double take. Did she
know him? That could be good for her, or bad,
depending on the nature of the prior contact.

"Twenty," a plantation buyer said. She would get
plenty of use in a hurry if he took her home to the

farmhands!

"Gentlemen, let's get serious," the auctioneer said.
He whipped off the girl's smock, rendering her

abruptly naked.

The body thus revealed was full-hipped but still
light in the breasts. She was just coming into her
prime, with some growing yet to do. Her half-defiant,
half-chagrined attitude spoke more clearly than any
words the auctioneer could say of her naivete. Oh, she
was certainly a prize, probably abducted directly from

some farmer's house!

There was bound to be heavy bidding here. Queeto
decided to preempt -it. "One hundred rudnas," he
called. This was a princely sum, but money was of no
consequence to him or to the Master. This borderline
child would never again be at this stage of innocence!
"One hundred and two rudnas," said the big man.
Queeto was shocked. He hadn't expected to be bid
against at this level. He had made a preemptive bid!
But he hesitated only a heartbeat, then called, "One

hundred and twenty-five."

There were gasps from all around, and murmurs,
and even a few snickers. They knew he had gone over
the limit for even the most delectable of young flesh.
It wasn't a matter of money now, but of propriety.
Why fatten the Mart's percentage beyond what was
reasonable? Queeto clenched his teeth, and hoped the
other man wouldn't force him into further embarrass-
ment by bidding again.

The girl, still naked, was signaling frantically to the

big man. She pointed to the girl with the cap. What
was she trying to do, get him to bid on someone else?
Well, the other man could have the capped girl, who
was obviously concealing some serious flaw under
that cap. Otherwise the auctioneer would never have
put it on her.

"One hundred twenty-five going once," the auction-
eer said happily. "One hundred and twenty-five going
twice, one hundred and twenty-five going thrice. Sold,
to the gentleman with the sack of gold between his
shoulders!"

That was a punnish reference to Queeto's obvious
hump. The auctioneer would not be so frivolous,
Queeto thought, if he had known him to be an
immortal.

The next girl up was that capped one. Suddenly,
defiantly, she reached up and tore off the cap. The
audience gasped. Her ears were round! That de-
stroyed her value. No wonder it had been concealed.
The auctioneer was furious; any play he might have
made had just been destroyed.

There was only one bid for that one, of two rudnas,
and the big man took her. Well, at least she was cheap!
Queeto wondered what use the man would find for a
nonvirginal roundear girl; no matter how sweet her
shape, she simply wasn't worthwhile.

After the silently glaring young purchase had been
placed, securely shackled at ankles and chained at
wrists, into his specially appointed carriage, Queeto
found the bile subsiding in his stomach. After all, he
had prevailed, and the chattel was his. Perhaps it was
just as well that the stupid man had bid against him,
because it had given him a chance to prove that such
opposition was hopeless. Such reminders were in
order, periodically.

The wind out here on the open road blew fresh,
carrying tree smells and grass odors. The stars shone
down, twinkling. Owlarks hooted and whistled.
Froogs chirped. Queeto smiled as best he could,

90

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

DRAGON'S GOLD

91

thinking of Master, of good red juice, and of what lay
in store for his purchase. A healthy, spirited virgin
—that was the very best kind to degrade, because
there was much more reaction for the effort. Master
would be very pleased.

"Hold there!"

What was this? Three men. Highwaymen? Yes, all
had bandannas round their faces. How did they dare?
He thought all highwaymen knew that the Master's
tribute could become the Master's vengeance if they
molested one of his own. A stem warning should
suffice.

Then, by the light of the stars, he recognized the
big, broad-shouldered bidder at the Mart, and the two
who had been with him. Obviously some amateur
going into business for himself. The fool!

"I represent someone of great importance," Queeto
said loudly. "If it's gold you want, I have little left
after the Mart." Thanks, he thought, to the man's
idiot bidding.

"It's not gold we're after," said the big man. "It's
the girl."

"My master—"

"Damn your master!"

Queeto's shock was renewed. Such disrespect for
persons of power was almost unheard-of! Had the
man no concern for his health or his sanity, let alone
his life? But he was in no position to fight; he would
simply have to tolerate this affront, and make a full
report to Master.

Queeto watched as the two stockelcapped young
men sheathed swords, dismounted, and threw open
the door to the carriage compartment.

"Kel!" cried the girl who had cost a fortune.

"Brother Wart," said the young man. That was odd
indeed; why call a girl "brother"? Then, to the other,
"She's shackled."

"Key, dwarf!" the big man ordered.

Queeto knew better than to argue. These were
rough men showing Jittle caution; anyone who would

waylay a carriage of the Master would hardly hesitate
to slay the Master's underling. He tossed the big man
the key ring, who caught it and quickly transferred it
to the slighter built of the thieves.

With a jingle, they released the girl. Then the big
man cut the harness on the carriage's horse.

A moment later they were gone, one horse carrying
double. Queeto was alone on a lonely road with an
empty carriage. They hadn't even had the decency to
steal his animal, he thought bitterly, but instead had
left it for him to catch—or to try to catch.

"Damn!" Queeto said, wishing himself adept in
magic. "Master isn't going to like this. Master isn't
going to like this at all!" That was of course an
understatement so gross as to be humorous, but he
wasn't laughing. There was no telling against whom
Master's rage would first strike.

DRAGON'S GOLD          93

CHAPTER 11

Leader

WELL AWAY FROM THE carriage, they slowed to a walk,
so that the double-loaded horse would not be unduly
fatigued. Kelvin, riding with Jon behind him, intro-
duced her to his new friends: the father-and-son team
ofMorvin and Les Crumb. "They are members of the
Raiders," he explained. "They oppose the Queen and
her evil policies. But they have to operate in secret, or
the Queen's guards will wipe them all out."

"What about Hein?" Jon demanded. "You bought
her, didn't you?"

Morvin Crumb laughed. "How could we fail, after
you signaled so strongly! Then when she took off her
cap, and we saw she was a roundear, we understood.
That had the incidental effect of ruining her value; the
auctioneer was furious!"

"We had to hurry down with the money," Les
agreed. "Otherwise we knew she'd be severely
beaten."

"Then where is she now?" Jon asked.

"She was very tired," Kelvin said. "I think she'd
been sick. She said something about eating dragon-
berries, and how glad she was to see me, and then she
just, well, slept. So Mor carried her to his horse, and
took her out to a hideout cabin he has in the wilder-
ness, and got a girl to tend her, and that's where
we're going now. How did you find her? Where
did she come from? Why did she seem to know
me?"

Jon explained about her discovery and removal to
the Girl Mart, and how she had picked Hein Flam-
beau for company because other round ears. "I knew
right then she was the perfect match for you, Kel!" she
92

said, and Kelvin felt himself blushing. Then she told
of what she had learned about the dragonberries she
had saved, and how Hein had tried to commit suicide
with them.

"Suicide!" Kelvin exclaimed. "Why?"

"She had been raped, Kel. She's a delicate girl,
always treated well before; when that happened, she
just wanted to die. I told her it wouldn't make any
difference to you."

"Of course it makes a difference!" Kelvin said.
"Who did it? We'll have to kill—"

"I mean in the way you feel about her."

"But I don't even know her!" Kelvin protested,
blushing again.

"You must have seen her ears—and her body," his
sister said. "What more do you need to know?"

Kelvin shut up, knowing that she was baiting him.
Indeed, he had seen her ears and her body, and been
somewhat smitten on the spot, but hadn't wanted to
admit it. "I—of course it wouldn't make any—.if
I—" He faltered to a stop.

"Just make sure you tell her that," Jon said firmly.
"She likes you, Kel."

"But she never saw me before!"

"She saw you. The berries didn't kill her; they only
sent her into a trance, and her spirit left her body and
traveled around, and she saw you. She liked your ears,
of course; there couldn't have been any other reason,
could there?"

She was still teasing him. She was certainly back to
normal! Kel did not protest any further.

But Mor Crumb was interested. "She traveled as-
trally? I thought that ability was lost centuries ago!"

"We think maybe it was her ears," Jon said. "That
maybe the berries kill the folk of Rud, but only stun
those with Earthblood, so their spirits can travel for a
while. Maybe if Kel ate some berries—"

"No!" Mor cried with surprising vehemence. "He's
the hero of the prophecy. We can't risk him on poison
berries!"

r

94

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

95

"I told Hein she could be very useful, because she
can travel anywhere, see and hear anything. That's
why I signaled you to buy her."

"You did well, girl," Mor Crumb said. "The Raid-
ers can really use a talent like that! We can spy on the
guardsmen, on the Queen herself!"

"But if the berries are poison—" Kelvin said
weakly.

"We'll have to find out what the minimum number
is she can take that will let her spirit travel, without
harming her," Mor said. "Obviously the effort takes a
lot out other, so we won't overdo it. But what a tool!"

Kelvin could see the point, but remained troubled.
He didn't like thinking of a beautiful girl like Hein
Flambeau as a tool.

They reached the cabin in due course. Mor knocked
in a code pattern on the door, and the girl opened it,
then slipped out and disappeared into the darkness.
They went in.

Hein Flambeau was up, having recovered from her
fatigue. By the wan, flickering light of a lone candle
Kelvin saw her face, round ears and all. She had
brushed out her black hair, and now it shone beside
the candle, and her half-shadowed face was lovely.
She had been bedraggled and then unconscious be-
fore, not presenting her best aspect; now, animate, she
was beautiful.

Jon nudged him. Kelvin opened his mouth. "I'm,
uh, beautiful," he said.

"You jackassi" Jon hissed.

Morvin Crumb burst out laughing. In a moment
everyone was laughing.

Hein approached gracefully. "I'd like to be your
friend, Kelvin," she said. "Did your sister tell you—"

"No difference!" he exclaimed.

"... about the experience I had with the dragon-
berries?" she finished.

Kelvin choked. "I did," Jon said.

"I saw you with the gauntlet. I realize you are a
hero, but if there's any way I can help—"

"I'm no—" Kelvin began.

"You sure can!" Morvin said. "We need informa-
tion on the whereabouts and activities of the Queen's
guardsmen. If you can spy on them without their
knowing—"

"I think I could," Hein said. "But I would need
more berries, and I don't think I could do it too often,
because it really took the strength from me, that one
time."

Kelvin tried to get a grip on himself. "You actually
saw me and heard me?"

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "Of course it was all rather
confused, because you weren't explaining anything,
you were just going somewhere, but everyone was
saying you were a hero, and something about a
prophecy, and I couldn't stay long. I never did this
before, I mean going about in astral form, and I
suppose I'm not very good at it."

"I'm not very good at being a hero!" Kelvin
blurted.

She smiled. "I think we have a lot in common."

"Round ears," Kelvin said.

"That, too."

For some unaccountable reason he felt himself
blushing again. He hoped the dim light masked it.

"We'd better bunk down here," Morvin said.
"We're going to be busy, the next few days. You two
girls better take the bed, and the rest ofus'll lie on the
floor."

They settled. Kelvin was tired, but also buoyed by
the rescue of his sister, and by the discovery of Hein
Flambeau. He had never dreamed of meeting a
roundear girl, let alone a beautiful one his own
age! And she liked him! It was almost too good to
be true. He hated to think it, but it seemed that the
highwayman's abduction of Jon had been a net bless-
ing.

Morvin Crumb's face got very dark, his heavy
eyebrows knitting together like dark caterpillars. He

96 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

stared at the bedraggled farmer and the pinch-faced
woman Kelvin guessed to be the man's wife.

"Say that again, Jeffreys," Crumb said, making no
move as yet to dismount from his horse.

"They burned my barn. Ransacked my house. Car-
ried away everything they wanted and smashed and
destroyed the rest. We watched them from the
woods."

"Damn, and I suppose that's just the start!"

"Must be," Jeffreys said. "I heard one of 'em say
they would hit Al Reston next. You know what it's
about, Morvin?"

"Revenge," the big man said.

"I—I smell smoke!" Jon said from the front part of
Kelvin's mount. The big bay shifted on his feet and
whinnied, as though he had caught the scent.

"That would be Gaston Hays," Morvin said.
"Looks as if they're trying to get us all. All of us with
the Raiders."

"Sir," Kelvin said, speaking determinedly. "If it's
all because of me—because of what happened in the
park—if it is, sir, perhaps I should, uh . . ." He
swallowed. What had he been about to say?

Morvin glared at him, seemingly seeing into his
very soul. "It had to come, youngster. Prophecy or
none, slain bullies or no. We planted right, and now
we reap the expected crop."

"They won't have killed many," the younger
Crumb said, kneeing his dappled gray to within
touching distance. "The Raiders were expecting it.
Most have been setting watches every night for weeks,
and every time there's trouble in the park everyone
sets a watch."

"It's an excuse to play cards and read books late
a'night," said Jeffreys. "Few will have been taken by
surprise."

"Fewer yet, if I have my way," Crumb muttered,
and Kelvin knew he was thinking of Hein, who
remained back at the cabin. Obviously astral spying
could do a lot to help them oppose raids like this. If

r

97

DRAGON'S GOLD

they could learn exactly where and when each raid
was planned ...

"We will round up those who have suffered," Mor-
vin said. "Then we disband Crumb's Raiders. What
we have now we'll call Knights. That's appropriate,
isn't it? Kelvin Knight Hackleberry Knights. Knights
of the Roundear."

Kelvin felt himself blushing again. So absurd of
Crumb—and yet there was the gauntlet.

"What does he mean, Kel?" Jon whispered. She was
back in boy guise, feeling most comfortable that way,
especially after what had almost happened in the Boy
Mart.

Kelvin poked his sister lightly and explained all
with a brotherly word: "Quiet!"

"We'll have to hide out for now," Morvin said.
Kelvin realized irrelevantly that the man's chronical-
ly red face probably spared him the embarrassment of
blushing; who would know the difference? "But when
we can, we'll gather men and arms, and then, come
good or come evil, we'll fight. This time to win!"

"What will you use for money?" spoke up Jeffreys'
wife.

"What we have. What we can scrape up. If only we
had some gold. Say half a dragon's worth!"

"I know where we can get gold!" Jon said, and
immediately Kelvin wished his sister's captor had left
her with a gag.

"That so?" Morvin asked. He sounded interested
rather than disbelieving.

"My sister's just a child," Kelvin started, and
promptly got Jon's elbow poked into his stomach.

"Let 'er speak, Hackleberry," Crumb said.

Jon sneezed, lightly, brushing some hair back under
her stockelcap, and said, "Our dragon—the one Kel-
vin slew—"

"He slew a dragon?"

"Yeah. With a tent pole, right through the eye
socket and into the old brain pan. That's where I
found the dragonberries."

98

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

99

"Gods!" Morvin exclaimed. "And here he pre-
tended to be afeard of a couple of mere guardsmen!"

That was exactly the reaction Kelvin had feared. He
knew he was no hero, and that the dragon business
had been mostly luck and desperation, as had the
gauntlet business. What would he be in for now?

"Well," Jon continued blithely, "we packed out the
gold, but Cheeky Jack's got it. He's the bandit who
kidnaped me for the auction. I heard his name
when—"

"Impressed you for the auction," Crumb said.
"They don't call it kidnaping, because there's sup-
posed to be a law against that. You wouldn't, eh, know
where old Cheeky is hiding, would you, youngster?"

"You bet I would!" Jon said enthusiastically, while
Kelvin cringed. He knew that more heroic business
was coming up.

They saw Mockery grazing behind the lean-to
shack, from the rim of the canyon nearly a quarter of
a mile away. Morvin suggested an arrow to stop the
equine's mouth, but Jon quickly protested, and Kel-
vin hastily explained that the donkey was deaf as a
stone and unlikely to sound an alarm.

"In that case we'll slip down that steep bank behind
those trees and come in from the southeast," Morvin
said, pointing with his sword tip.

"Jack will be home. That's his horse," Jon said,
indicating the black stallion hobbled near the door.

"Um, now, that one could make a bit of noise if we
don't come in just right," Morvin said. "Any ideas?"

"My idea is that he won't," said his son. "Donkeys
are the ones who make the commotions. Horses can
be passed."

"Then let's pass," Morvin said. He turned to Kel-
vin. "Son, you got that gauntlet on right?"

"I think so, sir." Why was Crumb calling him son,
he wondered? What must the man's actual son think?

"Good. Because I'll let you do the killing. You need
the experience."-

Kelvin swallowed in private agony. He had known
that this was part of what leadership entailed. If there
was one thing he did not want to experience, it was
killing. Not even villains who would steal gold and
sell his sister for a plantation hand.

"All right. Go," Crumb said, dispensing orders as
naturally as everyone around seemed to take them.

After a downhill run, a careful descent, and a
cautious walk, there was a silent crawl. They were
almost to the black horse when Jack emerged from the
shack and saw them.

"Well!" he said, his hand going for his sword.

"Take him, Hackleberry," Morvin said.

Kelvin found himself on his feet, good sword in
right hand, gauntlet on left.

"Baby boy's brother," said Jack, "come to get his
head split." He never had learned of Jon's deception.

"Get him, Kel!" Jon cried, sounding bloodthirsty.

Kelvin trembled, though he knew (he kept telling
himself) how this should end. Magic was after all
magic, and the fight in the park had convinced him
that the gauntlet was that. If only it was for the proper
hand!

"You fight with bare sword hand, sonny?" Jack
seemed amused. "What's the mitten for? You going to
use it to wipe something? Your nose, maybe? Perhaps
your blood?"

"I'm ready, mister," Kelvin said. It was as brave a
statement as he could muster. Yet the highwayman's
taunts were making it easier.

"Are, huh? Well, in that case—" The sword
swished and darted like a striking serpent.

To be caught and flung away with one lightning
move on the part of the gauntlet.

Jack blinked and opened and closed his mouth like
a fish drowning in air. "What—what—?"

Kelvin raised the tip of his sword to the highway-
man's throat. "If you have anything to say, say it fast."
Because if this takes any time, I'll lose my nerve! he
thought.

100      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"I didn't mean—I only wanted—" The eyes of the
bandit were wild as they darted from sword tip to the
face of the elder Crumb, to Jon's face, to his own
sword still quivering in the trunk of a tree.

"Don't kill him! Don't!" It was a large slovenly
woman standing in the doorway of the cabin.

"Watch her, men," Mor Crumb snapped.

Kelvin realized that this was the man's wife. Could
he kill a man with a wife and maybe a child? Even
such a man as this? After all, Cheeky Jack hadn't
really hurt Kelvin or Jon, he had just taken their gold
and sold Jon to the Boy Mart. All that evil was now

being undone.

"You're sorry, aren't you? And you won't do it
again?" Kelvin hardly realized what he was saying. He
only knew that the Crumbs were watching him and
that Morvin was trying to get him blooded: to shed his

first human lifeblood.
Jack shook. "I never saw anything like that move!

You just grabbed my blade right out of my hand! You

must be—"

"You better believe it," the elder Crumb said.
The highwayman raised his hands, eyes now on the
gauntlet. "It hardly seems fair. Magic—"

"You prate of 'fair'?" Crumb demanded. "You who
attack nearly unarmed and unskilled boys? You who
prey on them with no other object than enriching
yourself? You who prey on the weak without a sign of

conscience?"

"Kill me, then," Jack said, regaining a bit of defi-
ance. "Kill me and get it over with!"

"Kill him, youngster!" Morvin said.

"Kill him, Kel!" Jon's shrill voice echoed the elder

man's.

"Yes," the younger Crumb said. "Strike!"
Kelvin closed his eyes, bunched his muscles, and
tried to will the deed. But Jack, trembling there with
his bare arms raised, was now just as helpless as
anyone he had ever slain. Villain he might be, but now

DRAGON'S GOLD         101

he was helpless before a sword, and to strike now
would make Kelvin feel like a murderer.

"Murderer!" the woman screamed, echoing his

thought.
"Shuddup!" Mor said to her. "Another word,

woman, and—"

She was silent. Kelvin could imagine the gesture
Mor must have made.

"Go on!" Crumb said. "I swear I won't do't this
time! Ye's got to do for ye'self!"

Do for myself and kill, Kelvin thought. Kill an
unarmed man before a woman who loves him. This is
how a leader acts?

Abruptly he lowered the sword point. "I give him
his life," Kelvin said.

"What!" Crumb shouted, outraged. "Hackleberry,
may I ask why?"

Because this hero wasn't cut out for murder, he
thought. But he knew Morvin would snort at that.

"Because," he said, and fought to find some accept-
able reason. "Because he's only a—a man. Only a
highwayman. Only one bandit."

"What? Are ye daft?"

"Only one highwayman," Kelvin said, his mind
racing with all the velocity of a Slug. What was he
trying to think of? "But there are others," he contin-
ued with sudden inspiration. "Many others—as your
son has told me."

"What are you blathering about?"

"He can spread the word. He and his wife. About
us. What we did today. We won't allow boys to be
pressed any longer. Or girls. We won't allow anyone to
rob and to steal and to kill as he has done."

"We'll do it! We'll do it!" the woman said.

Morvin silenced her with a wave. He raised a hand
and rubbed his chin. "Hackleberry, I do believe you
make a little sense. Let him spread the word to his
friends, and if he's up to his villainy again, we disarm
him and we gut him!"

r

102      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"Right, sir!" Kelvin cried, weak-kneed with relief.

"Gods, but I believe you'll make a leader yet! Me,
I'd never have thought of that."

Not that it mattered, Kelvin thought, but he wasn't
sure that even he himself had thought of it. He had
wanted to avoid killing, and somehow an excuse had
come. An acceptable excuse, he had realized, even
while making it, but nothing but an excuse.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something to the
prophecies.

But somehow he still wanted terribly to doubt.

CHAPTER 12

Dragonberries

"BUT I CAN'T EVEN try it without more dragonberries,"
Hein Flambeau protested. "We lost the rest of them at
the Girl Mart. I'm willing to try, if we can get the
berries."

Kelvin had hoped she wouldn't be willing, but he
couldn't say that. What would he do if she ate the
berries again, and this time they poisoned her? Maybe
it had been a fluke before.

"Then we'll just have to fetch more berries," Mor-
vin Crumb said. "Actually, we'll need the rest of the
scales from that dead dragon, just to be sure we have
enough gold. Jon tells me you only got them from the
topside of the beast, the easiest place to reach."

Damn his big-mouthed little sister! Now they
would have to go back to the dragon, and Kelvin
didn't like the notion of bracing even a dead dragon.

"We'll take a full crew, so we have the manpower to
turn the critter over," Mor continued. "We'll get them
all this time, to be sure! And Jon will get a whole
basketful of the berries at the same time."

"Yeah!" Jon said enthusiastically.

"I should come along," Hein said.

"No!" Kelvin cried.

"But why not, Kelvin? The berries are for me."

"I don't want you in dragon country! There could
be another dragon!"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Gods, Hein, the thought of anything happening to
you—"

"Then you do care for me," she said as if it were a
discovery.

"Of course I—" But then he got all tongue-tied.
103

104 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf DRAGON'S GOLD 105

"He's right, Flambeau," Mor said. "Dragon coun-
try is no place for women."

"Now, just a minute!" Jon protested. "I'm— "

"Or children," Mor added.

That didn't sit any better with her. "Now, I won't
let you exclude me! I found those berries, I know
where they are!"

"Right. I said you're coming. Let's get on with it."
He turned away.

Jon jumped for joy. Then she paused. "But what
does that make me? If not a woman or a child—"

"A Knight," the man said as he moved out toward
the horses.

"Oh. Yes." Abruptly pleased again, she hurried
after him.

Hein turned to Kelvin. "Please, be careful, hero,"
she said. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Kelvin felt himself blushing yet again. Why was he
so helpless in her presence? She gave him chances
without end to say something meaningful, but he
always muffed it. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled, true to
form, and stumbled off to join the party.

There were thirty of them now: all the farmers and
townsmen who had called themselves Crumb's Raid-
ers and now called themselves Knights of the Round-
ear. Dressed in their brownberry shirts, greenbriar
pantaloons, and lightweight summer stockelcaps, they
looked like anything but an army. Smelling of natural
fertilizing agents, they didn't even have the aroma of
an army, Kelvin thought as he rode along with the
Crumbs, Mor and Les, and with Jon sharing his big
bay mare. What an outfit, and what a mission! They
were going back to dragon country to find the rotting
carcass and get all the scales and all the berries.

"You play this?" Les asked, his horse sidling nearer.

"Huh? Oh." Lester held out the mandajo they had
found in Jack's shack.

"A little. It's mine."

"Play it. Now."'

Kelvin hesitated but a second to test the tension on
the strings. He knew he was not the best minstrel,
indeed, not better than mediocre, but he enjoyed
playing and singing and felt comfortable doing it, and
there was much to be said for pleasure and comfort
after the disruption and tension of recent events. He
strummed a little, then burst into his favorite theme:

"Fortune come a-callin', but I did hide, ah-oo-ay.
Fortune come a-callin', but I did hide, bloody saber at
my side, ah-oo-ay, ah-oo-ay, ay."

Jon got out her new sling and a rock. As on their
first trip into dragon country—such a short time ago,
and yet seemingly so long ago—she seemed alert for
squirbets. Or, Kelvin thought uncomfortably, some-
thing larger.

"You say it's along this bank?" Mor asked, leaning
down from the extra-big plow horse he rode.

Kelvin nodded. They should be seeing buzvuls
soon, he thought, looking at the overcast sky for the
dark scavenger birds. Normally buzvuls were said to
be an ill omen.

"There!" Les exclaimed, pointing. At the same
time, the stench of the rotting carcass reached them
on the breeze. Kelvin felt his nose wrinkle and his
stomach lurch. Somehow the odor made him feel
even less like a hero or leader; he had no nose and no
stomach for it.

"Yup, that's dragon stink," Mor said with a smile as
broad as his back. He might have been talking about a
gentle perfume, or—Kelvin's gut tried to lurch again
—a toothsome delicacy.

"I wonder—the buzvuls aren't landing. They're
just hovering in the sky," Les Crumb remarked,
glancing up.

"Who cares?" Mor replied. "The body's there,
there's still scale to gather. That's what counts."

"There was another dragon," Jon said. "We saw its
tracks. It looked as though they fought."

"Or mated?" Les asked.

"Much the same thing, with dragons," Mor said.

106      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyrojf

Kelvin put away the mandajo in his horse's saddle-
sack. It was, after all, his. As usual ao one had seemed
to pay much attention to his playing. Mor and Les had
come to the same conclusion he had: that the two
dragons had probably been mating. Did that mean
that the other would return to this vicinity? Farm
animals, he knew, could require several matings be-
fore it took, and it could be the same with dragons.
What would happen if the female came back and
found men crawling over the corpse of her mate? The
thought made him shudder, but no one else seemed
concerned. Were they fools, or was he a coward?
Somehow he didn't really like either alternative.

As they rounded the river bend, the word went back
and forth from man to man, and soon all were craning
their necks, reddened or dark-tanned as the case
might be, as they strained to see the sight. Soon
everyone who had been behind moved up front,
leaving the Hackleberries and the Crumbs and Keith
Sanders, the rabble-rouser from the park, and burly,
graying Gaston Hayes.

Kelvin felt himself frowning. Something wasn't
exactly right, but he couldn't quite pin it down.

"What is it, bold brother mine?" Jon asked brightly.
As often was the case, Jon seemed to sense her
brother's sensing.

Then he realized what it was. "The scales—they
were scattered about like petals from flowers. I just
had a glimpse, but—we didn't leave them like that.
We loaded all we could onto Mockery, and stacked the
rest neatly near the body. Wasn't that so, Jon?"

Her mouth grew tight. "Yeah."

"The other dragon!" Kelvin cried, his forebodings
now assuming full force. "It's been here—feeding."

"You sure?" Morvin barked.

"The scales have been moved!"

"Maybe Jack?"

"He didn't know where the dragon was," Jon said.

"He could've smelled it," Mor pointed out.

DRAGON'S GOLD         107

"Then why would he scatter the scales instead of
taking them?" Les asked. "Dad, I think—"

Abruptly he broke off, for a very live dragon's snout
had appeared over the side of the dead one. Blood-
stained jaws gaped, gobbets of spoiling flesh hung on
the terrible teeth. The thing rose up on its front legs
and issued a long and penetrating hiss. Its bloodred
eyes seemed to fasten on them instantly.

"Gods!" Crumb muttered. If he hadn't taken the
notion of a companion-dragon seriously before, he
certainly did now.

"Run for your lives!" someone cried. It was, Kelvin
realized a moment later, Keith Sanders. It seemed
that the man was just as proficient at urging rabble to
flee as urging it to fight.

"No! Stand and fight!" Lester called. His sword
came out of its scabbard with the whisper of polished
steel being bared for action. No coward, he!

The dragon gave a frightful snort that raised dust
from the road's surface. It came charging, hard.

Men and horses scattered. Men shouted. Horses
squealed. Men and horses screamed together as the
huge jaws snapped, again and again. If there was one
thing a dragon preferred to a rotting carcass, it was
live meat. It also liked fighting better than sleeping.
This dragon was having a ball.

The tail lashed, like a big, thick rawhide whip,
knocking down horses and flinging off riders. The
jaws crunched indiscriminately on men and animals.
Blood and other bodily substances stained nearby
rocks and trees and roadway. The dragon wasn't
trying to feed, just to disable, so that the maximum
amount of prey could be rendered helpless before
fleeing. Then the feeding would be done at leisure.

"No! No! No! We've got to stand!" Lester called.
"United, organized, disciplined—"

He was of course correct, and his military training
helped him. But his words had all the effect of the
proverbial cry down a dry well. Men, so eager to do

108

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmgrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

109

battle earlier in the day, now fell over themselves and
collided with one another following Keith Sanders'
pusillanimous advice.

In that moment Kelvin realized that most men were
just as cowardly as he knew himself to be. The
difference between them was that he anticipated the
things he feared, while others ignored them until it
was too late. That didn't make him feel much better,
but he did think his way was less foolish.

Meanwhile, the dragon was having a field day with
cowards and bold men alike; it didn't care one way or
the other about the social qualities of its prey.

Gaston Hayes brushed back gray hair from his face
and raised his ancient crossbow. He aimed into the
dust of the dragon's activity; his rheumy eyes
squinted, and he squeezed the trigger.

The bolt went thunk. It had not even struck a
dragon scale, but had lodged in a tree instead.

"Damn ye for cowards!" Morvin Crumb exclaimed
angrily, addressing the running Knights. He moved
out of the way of a horseman who seemed blind to his
presence and all else but the way of escape. He
adjusted the lance he carried. He had a polished,
never-used lance that he had brought just for this
unlikely situation.

Mor kneed his big plow horse out to meet the
dragon. The lance lowered, aimed roughly at the
creature's head. The whites of the horse's eyes
showed, but he leaped a plow horse's ungainly leap at
his master's urging. The dragon, who had been com-
ing fast, wriggling almost comically from side to side,
now put on its brakes. Its front feet locked and
skidded. Its broad tail swished as it swung around and
down, hard.

The tail caught Morvin Crumb across his chest. It
struck the mailed vest he wore with a loud metallic
clank. Crumb, big man that he was, went spinning like
a child's tantrum-tossed toy. He lit in some nettle-
bushes, wind gone and senses fled, on his broad back.

So much, Kelvin thought fleetingly, for courage.

"Help him," Les urged Kelvin. "If we go in fast,
maybe we can save him!"

"Yeah!" said Jon.

Looking at his sister's eager young face, Kelvin did
what he felt he had to, and pushed Jon off their horse.

"What are you doing!" Jon protested. But she
knew. What he was doing was putting little sister out
of the way of danger—or as nearly out of danger as
was possible at the moment. This act infuriated her,
but it was necessary.

He and Lester charged at the side of the dragon.
Just as they reached it, its enormous head snapped
around.

Les delivered a quick, slapping sword low to the
snout, the monster's eyes being far out of reach. The
creature's great clawed forefoot rose and swept him
almost casually from his mount. Les flew, and lit
down in the bushes not far from his father.

Kelvin felt his gauntlet pull the horse's reins. The
animal responded by halting abruptly. Kelvin saved
himself from going over the horse's head by a sudden
grab at the bay's tossing mane. His sword slipped
from his fingers, slid by the horse's neck without
cutting, and clanked harmlessly on the roadway. Des-
perately he tried shifting his weight to keep his seat.
Hero, indeed! He could hardly even keep his seat!

Morvin was up now. Shaking his big head, he
looked for the lance.

Kelvin found, it, or rather his left hand did. The
gauntlet wrenched his shoulder, reaching he knew not
for what. He saw the ground come up at him and he
had to fling out both hands to avoid striking his head.
He lit with a thump that at another time might have
brought forth a cry of agony. Clouds of choking, gray
road dust rose around him. His left hand fought him,
finally closing on a smooth shaft.

Kelvin forced himself to his feet, the shaft of the
lance smooth in his right hand and gripped clumsily
and higher up by his left. He felt dizzy. Because of the
dust he could see neither horse nor dragon.

110     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Maymjf

A great chilling hiss froze him. Terrible, swordlike
teeth flashed directly overhead. Hot and carrion-
scented air blew sickeningly into his face.

Glunk!

He felt the shaft driven into the ground. His left
arm remained steady as he tried but failed to retain
his balance.

Dust swirled. Stench overpowered. Saliva and
blood dripped down on his face. The ground shook,
heaved, and rocked. A great hiss was followed by a
bubbling noise, which in turn was followed by a loud,
gusty, fading sigh.

Barely conscious, Kelvin saw figures emerge from
the settling dust. Mor and Les Crumb came to stand
over him. Jon, coming up behind, looked as if she
were crying.

"Ye did it again, son," Morvin said.

"Huh?" What a brilliant retort, the cynical back of
his mind remarked.

"Look, lad!"

Kelvin struggled to his elbow.

He was lying, he discovered, in a messy bubble of
thick, sticky, steaming dragon blood.

While above him, staring with a single fading eye,
held upright by the lance that impaled its mate and
entered the hidden recesses behind the socket, swayed
the dead, nightmarish head of the once unconquera-
ble dragon.

CHAPTER 13

The Haw

"So THIS is THE Kingdom of Throod," said Kelvin,
sniffing the spicy smell of orlemon cakes that reached
them from the beehive-shaped ovens. It was as hilly as
Rud, but the trees and the crops were different, the
trees running much to citrus.

"Good enough for me," Jon said from Mockery's
back. She wiped some limfruit juice from her mouth,
licked the rind, and then tossed the rind at a barking
wolfox's pointed face. The wolfox promptly disap-
peared into the thicket of hazbert brush.

"You've got some treats in store," Lester Crumb
said, riding up to their left. "I was here for nearly a
month, once. Prettiest girls in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Girls, phooey!" Jon said.

Little sister, Kelvin thought, would soon enough be
changing her attitude, once she got into a situation
where boys behaved decently toward girls. Of course
they always had behaved well toward certain girls. He
wondered what Maybell Winterjohn, the prettiest and
freckledest girl in school, had done since he left. If
things had been different . . . but there had been no
choice. But of course she would never have been
interested in a roundear.

"A rudna for your thoughts," Hein murmured.

Kelvin jumped. He hadn't seen her ride up beside
Jon. "I, uh, um, that is—"

"Why do you feel you have to blush every time the
subject of women comes up?" she asked.

Hein, of course, was not turned off by round ears.
That made her so obviously the girl for him that he
wondered why he was unable to believe it. He blushed
harder.

Ill

112     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mtvyroff

"I was only teasing you, Kel," she said. "I know it's
hard for you to adjust to being a hero, just the way it's
hard for me to live with the fact that I got—" But now

she choked off.

"N-no difference!" he exclaimed.

"I think that's what I like about you—besides your
burning red round ears—that you represent no threat
to me," she continued after a pause. "You aren't like
those beasts. You wouldn't ever—"

"Never!" he agreed fervently.

"Because I guess you know that it's likely to be a
long time before I can—that is—you know."

And probably just as long a time for him. She had
drawn a nice analogy, between his supposed heroism
and her degradation. Both of them had had to do
things for which they had been totally unprepared,
and it remained difficult to adjust to the new realities.
They were indeed well matched, in devious as well as

the obvious ways.

He looked at her, and she smiled at him, and
suddenly he wished he could just take her in his arms
and do all the things with her that made him blush to
think about but that he never had the nerve to take
seriously. He felt his blush intensifying yet more. But
then he saw that she was blushing, too, and that
helped a great deal.

"Say—" Jon started.

"Quiet!" Kelvin and Hein said together.

"I hope I never get like that," Jon said, and rode on
ahead, affronted.

"I hope she does\" K-elvin said.

"She's ready now—when she meets the right boy."

"Never!" Jon called back.

A blue and white bird different from any in Rud
flew over, calling from its long beak: "Cau-sal-i-ty!
Cau-sal-i-ty!" At least that was what it sounded like to
Kelvin. That could only be the creature known as the
primary bird. Rud's bluebins and robjays were so
much more sensible; at home birds sounded like
birds, not aged'philosophers.

DRAGON'S GOLD         113

The road ran downhill, past a stone caim dedicated
to the memory ofThrood's soldiery who had perished
in the two-hundred-year-old war with Rud. It was
discomfiting to imagine the shades of those soldiers
out there on the grass in front of the cairn. What
would they think, Kelvin mused, of the two Crumbs
and two Hackleberries and one Flambeau come
to their homeland for mercenaries to fight in a war
that hadn't happened yet? Probably they would
approve; after all, soldiers were soldiers. How many
had ever fought in the name of a cause so noble or
for pay so magnificent? Yes, they would have to
approve.

Mockery made his mockery sound, and Lester
looked over at him, and then at his father. Kelvin
knew what the latter was thinking. They should have
taken more men. With Mockery and the one pack
horse loaded with scale, they could be in danger from
highwaymen. But Throod for some strange reason
was far more law-abiding than its neighboring king-
doms, especially Rud.

"Whoa," called Morvin suddenly.

They drew their mounts to a stop as the big man
dismounted and crossed the road to a rough, wooden
fence. He crossed the fence into a field filled with
trellises supporting large yellow clusters of curapes.
He spoke briefly to the farmer dressed in creaseless
brownskins, paid him a full scale, and came back with
his arms loaded. Kelvin took the fruit handed to him
and popped and squirted the sweet tart ovoids into
his mouth. Paradise, he thought, paradise. The most
luscious fruit growing anywhere in the Seven King-
doms, and yet the boys of Throod took up soldiering
for the highest bidders in other lands. Strange, but
then maybe Rud would look like paradise to someone
who didn't know. Possibly the government here was
not much different from Rud's, though all he knew
was that they voted for officials and changed officials
frequently. In civics class he had heard Throod's
government described as "one weak step above anar-

114 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 115

chy." He hadn't understood that exactly, but then it
had seemed probable that he would never need to.

"Recruitment House ahead," said Mor, wiping
yellow juice from his mouth and pointing. "We'll
order our men and supplies, show that we've got gold
to pay for them, and then head back."

"By way of The Flaw," Lester said, verbally capital-
izing. "Visitors have to see The Flaw while they're in
Throod. Wouldn't be right if they didn't."

Mor made no reply other than a grunt as they rode
on to the large, unadorned structure that was not
unlike a barracks.

"I do hope Captain Mackay will be here as agreed,"
Mor said, worried. "He's supposed to have the men

—experienced warriors and experienced officers

—ready for us. But there's a saying that Throod
mercenaries, though reliable, do get into scrapes. I
remember last time I was here, back in the big
conflict, when a third of the men were unavailable.
Seems some of them had started a mercenaries' union
to fix rates, and some liked the idea and some didn't.
So add to the other reasons we lost and the Queen
won the fact that we didn't get the right men."

Kelvin thought that if he had been a mercenary he
would have wanted a union to fix rates. But then he
hadn't been a paid soldier, wasn't now, and never
would be. The mercenary's life of endless marches
and battles until wounded too badly to function or
continuing until either slain or too old to fight had no
appeal. Better a fanner's life, or even the life of a
tradesman.

They entered the door of Recruitment House and
stood looking around at the scant furnishings and the
dozen or so men. No one moved or spoke for a
moment, and then the big, gray-haired man with one
arm stood up from his table in the comer. He held out
his hand, gray eyes meeting Morvin's blue.

"Morvin Crumb. I'm Captain Mackay. Welcome to
Recruitment House and the Kingdom of Throod."

Morvin merely glanced at the empty sleeve. Good

officers, after all, were traditionally warriors who had
lost something in a fight. There were officers with
patches over eyes, or with wooden stumps for legs, or
misshapen shoulders, or deformed backs. Experience
was what counted, and that with the training and
leading of more able men to fight.

"You know why we've come," Morvin said. "This
here"—he indicated Kelvin with a thumb—"is the
Roundear. Kelvin, take off your cap."

Hesitantly, Kelvin reached up and pulled the head-
covering off his straw-colored hair. He didn't like
being placed on display like this, but he knew it was
necessary. Jon and Hein were both now wearing
stockelcaps, for different reasons, and he was glad of
that.

"Glad to meet you, Roundear," Captain Mackay
said, gripping his hand. It was a rough hand callused
by years of sword wielding and horse handling. It was
a large hand, which all but engulfed his.

"I'm not certain I'm the right roundear," Kelvin
confessed. "But I do have this gauntlet I found, and
it's evidently the one of prophecy. With it on, I just
can't lose in a sword fight."

"And the gauntlet great shall the tyrant take. The
magician bad, by the gauntlet had," quoted the
Throodian. "Yes, one of the interesting prophecies,
clumsy as their wording tends to be. Don't worry
about whether you're the one or not, son. As long as
you've got the gauntlet and people think you're the
one, it helps. What really counts of course is some-
thing else—military tactics and men trained to carry
them out. How are you on tactics?"

"I, uh—"

"Don't worry. You'll learn. And you'll have good
officers, I'll see to that. Well, sit down and we'll make
our plans."

Kelvin took the proffered chair, as did the rest of
the party. It seemed to him that though he was
supposed to be the hero of the prophecy, he did little
but let others move him around. Still, it was sensible

116      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margraff'

to sit here in this quiet place and make plans. That .
was true even if he had little to do with making them.

"We brought- scale to get things started," Morvin
said, waving away the amber bottle the captain silent-
ly indicated. "We'll need everything—swords, lances,
shields, body armor, war-horses, the works."

"I understand," the captain said, pouring himself a
glass and not offering the refreshment to Kelvin or
Lester or Jon or Heln. "You've come to the right

place. But the terms—"

"When we win, each man gets a choice of citizen-
ship and land, or a mercenary's top wages plus

bonus."
"And if the fighting lasts and the men need gold to

send to their families?"
"More scale. There are more dragons where the last

two came from."
"Last two? You went on a hunting expedition into

dragon country?"
Morvin nodded. "We did that. But I've got to tell

you, this roundear here slew both of them."

The gray eyebrows raised. Kelvin felt the steely eyes
going over him. "You don't look like a warrior," he

said.
"I'm not," Kelvin said. "But the prophecy and the

gauntlet—they made the difference."

"Tell me how."
Kelvin took a deep breath. He had told the tale so

many times in recent days that it was almost like
reciting a piece. "When Jon, my younger sibling here,
and I arrived in dragon country the first time, we were
all on our own. Just Jon and me and the deaf donkey
outside. I had a sword, but it was an old sword. Jon's
the best with a sling, of anyone I've seen. When Jon
saw the dragon, Jon thought it dead, and—" On and

on with the familiar tale.
Captain Mackay listened intently. His eyes turned

to fix on Jon, and it was evident that he understood
her nature quickly enough, but he gave no overt
indication. He was the kind of soldier who could keep

DRAGON'S GOLD         117

a secret. Silently he motioned to the grizzled officers
drinking at the other tables. They rose and came
across the room. All stood listening raptly, now and
then one or another breaking his silence with a brief
and appropriate curse.

"And I never even knew until I regained conscious-
ness," Kelvin concluded. "There he was, skewered
right through the eye, just as the first had been
skewered by the tent pole."

"Wizard's Teeth!" cried a bearded man with one
ear missing and an ugly scar across his cheek. "That
was some adventure! You're either the Roundear of
Prophecy or the luckiest roundear in any of the Seven
Kingdoms!"

"Yes, I guess that's so," Kelvin said. "But I don't
feel special, and without the gauntlet—"

"You'll do just fine until another contender comes
along," the captain said. "Personally I don't think
anyone could be that lucky. It has to be the proph-
ecy."

"I agree with you," Morvin said. "He just don't
realize what he is yet."

"He's learning, though!" Jon piped up.

Kelvin gave his sister his customary light kick. His
sister, experienced in his ways, drew her foot back
under the table, and the captain gave a slight jerk as
the kick connected.

But the grim oldster was smiling. "I, too, had a
sibling once, Roundear. And whether this one be your
blood sibling or your friend sibling, I know what
prompted that kick."

"Blood sibling," Kelvin said. "Our father was a
roundear, our mother a pointear, so the chances were
even, and that's the way it happened: one of each.
Then our father was killed, and our mother remar-
ried."

"Who was your father?"

"He called himself John Knight. He was from
Earth."

"I know of him."

118

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff'

DRAGON'S GOLD

119

"You do?" Jon exclaimed eagerly.

"That is to say, I heard of him. That was all." But
by the way his jaw tightened, Kelvin realized that the
man knew more than he was telling. Was it something
bad? It couldn't be! Yet—

"About our business," Morvin suggested.

"Eh," the captain agreed, switching his attention.
"The business will be concluded satisfactorily. I know
my trade. Crumb."

"Mor. Mor Crumb."

"Mor."

"Yes, I'm sure you do." Morvin stood up. "If it's
agreed, then, two thousand men and at least thirty
good officers. With your men and our men when our
men get trained—"

"It will be a battle," the captain said. "That Queen
of yours—I'm not sure we have any edge. We could
take 'em in regular combat, but they've got a magician
that's as slippery as a greased eelshark, and twice as
mean. So don't be thinking this is any pushover."

"We have a secret weapon," Mor said.

"Eh? Where?"

"I can't tell you that in front of your men."

The captain nodded. "You aren't bluffing?"

"No."

"Then tell me when you're ready. If it's enough to
make up for the edge their magic gives them—"

"It may be."

"Then I trust we'll have a satisfactory outcome. I'll
have the men and supplies ready in half a day. Come
back here and we'll all ride together for Rud."

"Agreed," Morvin said.

"Then why don't you take these young folk sight-
seeing? Take them to see The Flaw."

"I had it in mind," Morvin agreed. "Come,
Knights."

They trooped out. Kelvin, however, felt less than
satisfactory. "You know we haven't tried using Hein
for spying yet," he said. "It may not work."

"And then again, it may," the ruddy man re-

sponded. "If we can spy out their plans ahead of time,
we can lick them every time. I'd call that a good
edge."

"Still—." Kelvin said.

Hein put a fine fair hand on his arm. "It will be all
right, Kel," she said. "Those berries didn't hurt me
before, and now we have plenty of them. I'm sure I
can do what needs to be done."

Kelvin was silent, still not liking the risk either to
her or to their effort if this ploy failed. But again, what
choice was there? He seemed to be fated to participate
in things he didn't like or trust, again and again. Was
this a hero's lot?

"The Flaw," Jon asked brightly. "It's near here?"

"Very near," Mor said.

"It's just a big old crack without a bottom," Jon
said, giving Mockery's neck a pat as they walked past.
"Who wants to see that?"

"You do," Lester said. "And so does your brother.
Believe me, it's something you're never going to
forget."

Jon snapped a rock from her sling into a tall oaple
tree, disturbing a squirbet who was packing off a
sugary nut high amid the branches. It was a for-fun
shot, Kelvin knew, and not one that Jon intended to
score.

"Schoolmaster used to tell us that when he brought
out the strap," Jon said. "And you know, he was right:

I never forgot. But maybe you're right. Maybe a dumb
old hole in the ground is worth seeing."

"It's behind that high board fence over there," Mor
said, "It's got slits you can see through. You can poke
an arm and your head through if you've a mind to, but
there's no sense in that. I've heard of women who've
been jilted by soldiers dropping their engagement
rings down there. Waste of good metal and precious
stones."

In a moment they were at the barrier, some distance
from others who had come to see The Flaw. Like the
others, they approached the nearest openings in the

120 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 121

fence. The sawn-out viewing place was chest-high on
Morvin and Les, head-high on Kelvin, and chin-high
on Jon. Hein was just the right height for it. Hesitantly
and just a bit fearfully, on Kelvin's part, they looked.

Down, down at twinkling stars set amid velvety
blackness. Now and then a bright object such as was
seen in the night streaked through the black, trailing a
long tail: a luminous tadpole in a froogpond of space.

Kelvin shifted his feet, half fearful that the solid
ground would disappear beneath them. Then he
looked over at open-mouthed Jon and Hein, and the
big eyes of Mor and Les.

"The metaphysicians say it's a tear or a rip in the
physical universe," Les said. "It's said that two uni-
verses, two realities, are here joined; that one bleeds
or oozes into the other."

"And sometimes something or someone manages to
cross," Hein murmured. "Like my mother—"

"Or my father," Kelvin finished, awed.

If the mood touched Jon, she flung it off. "I'm going
to get a star," she said briskly. She hurled. The rock
flew over the barrier and plummeted. A quick flash
and it was gone.

"Didn't lead it enough," Jon said, and tried again.
Again the flash in the adjoining starfield.

"You really think you'll hit a star?" Les asked,
sounding amused.

"I will if I keep trying," Jon said.

"Not a star, Jon. They're too big and too distant.
You haven't a chance."

"You sound like a schoolmaster," Jon said.

"I might have been," Les said. Then, giving Kelvin
a nudge he felt in his back, he pointed to two
dark-haired tourist girls a short distance away. "I bet
those two are from the Kingdom of Aratex," he said.
"Let's go talk to them."

Heln's hand clamped firmly on Kelvin's hand. She
didn't say a word, but he received the message. "Some
other time, maybe," he said.

Morvin laughed. "'Maybe never, eh, son?"

But Kelvin didn't reply. He was too conscious of
Heln's hand on his. He would be satisfied, he realized,
if she never released it. But he couldn't say so. Maybe
this was another flaw in his character—one that
faintly echoed the amazing Flaw they had just experi-
enced.

CHAPTER 14

Messages

"Now, I WANT," Morvin Crumb said, leaning over
Kelvin at the writing table, "for this to be just right.
Read what you've written."

Kelvin looked at Jon and Lester and the odd dozen
or so Knights crowded around their outdoor table. He
cleared his throat and read.

"To Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Zoanna of Rud.
Your Majesty: Whereas you have seized power with-
out popular mandate, and whereas your rule has
become oppressive in the extreme, I, Kelvin Knight
Hackleberry of Rud, the Roundear of Prophecy, call
upon you to abdicate the throne and restore to it your
rightful consort, King Rufurt, should he live, or
someone of the people's choice, should Rufurt be
presently slain or incapacitated beyond ihe ability to
rule. You have seven days from the receipt of this
message to announce your abdication. Should you not
abdicate within that time, the Knights of the
Roundear shall attack with all their magic-supported
strength and fury, seize the imperial palace, and force •
your abdication, if need be, by sword point."

Morvin frowned. "It seems right, but—"

"It should be more insulting," Jon said. "Say,
perhaps, 'Your Imperial Majesty, Usurper, Hag, and
Meanie.'"

Les laughed; but his father seemed to consider it.
"Perhaps," the elder said, "usurper might fit . . ."

"But we want her to agree!" Kelvin protested.

"Hmm, quite right. She won't, of course, but—oh,
hang it, Hackleberry, just write 'In the Name of
Freedom, I am.' l;

122

DRAGON'S GOLD         123

"In the Name of Freedom, I am," Kelvin said,
writing.

"There. Hold it. You got the wax ready, Les?"

"I have. Father."

"Then affix his signature."

Lester leaned over and deposited a drop of wax on
the paper.

"No, no, not there, you idiot! Quick, scrape that
off."

Lester scraped, using a knife blade. The wax came
off cleanly.

"There, above where the wax was, write 'Kelvin
Hackleberry, Roundear of Prophecy.'"

Kelvin did so, feeling uncomfortable about the
prophecy part.

"Now date it. Anybody got the date?"

"It's June twenty-first of twenty twenty-four," Les-
ter said.

Kelvin marked the date.

"Now fold in past the middle and overlap the
edge."

Kelvin followed instructions.

"Now, Lester. Your wax."

Lester dripped wax, in a round, big circle. The wax
made a small puddle across the overlapping edges.

Lester blew on it.

"Now, Hackleberry, your ear," Morvin ordered.

"You want me to—"

"Just do it, Hackleberry!"

With a sigh, Kelvin turned his head sideways and
pressed his right ear in the wax.

"My, that looks like fun," Jon remarked.

"Hold it, hold it, hold it," Morvin snapped as
Kelvin showed signs of bolting upright. "It has to set.
All right, now up, carefully."

Kelvin raised his head. He looked at the paper. The
impression was that of a round ear, more or less. That
had been Morvin's idea, as had almost everything. He
touched his ear. How smooth it now felt!

124 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

He glanced across the landscape, to the cabin where
Hein was fixing food. He wished he could go feel her
round and smooth ears, not to mention her round and
smooth—

"Messenger!" Morvin shouted.

One of the Knights was almost instantly at his
shoulder. Kelvin recognized him as one whose farm
had been burned.

Morvin put the document in a message tube and
capped it. "Deliver this to the imperial palace. Just
call out, 'A message for the Queen,' and toss it to the
gateman. Then ride out—fast."

"Aye, sir," said the Knight, giving them a faintly
impudent smile. "I'm on my way."

As he left, Morvin remarked, "We have to get more
discipline.  Now,  about  these  posters  and
handbills ..."

All afternoon they were putting them up. They
would ride to the edge of a village, find a likely tree,
and while one of them kept a lookout for the Queen's
minions, the other nailed poster to tree. All the
posters read the same, and by now Kelvin, if not Jon,
was thoroughly sick of them.

Each poster said:

ATTENTION: A new day is coming and those who
would help bring it about are invited to join with
us in our demand that Queen Zoanna abdicate.
Sign the petition and deposit it with your local
representative Knight; he will tell you how you
can help further by resisting oppression locally or
by joining our ranks. We are all free people and
will not long continue to suffer tyranny. Right
and Prophecy is on our side!

(signed) Knights of the Roundear

Kelvin sighed as he nailed up another one. He was
growing so tired! No one had told him that revolution
would have so much tedious labor.

DRAGON'S GOLD         125

The distribution of handbills was hard work that
soon became a bore. After the posters came the
handbills, freely thrown from horses and placed also
in many reaching hands:

PEOPLE OF RUD: Should the Queen not abdi-
cate her position by the end of this week, we are at
war. To join the right side, the winning side, see
your local recruiter. Give any snooping soldiery
short shrift or the long shaft, as appropriate. Join
now, today, while you still can.

Knights of the Roundear

Some job for a hero, Kelvin thought, tossing the last
of the flyers to a boy he almost recognized. And now,
back home to the tent, and then another day of doing
Crumb's bidding.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Plunk! Plunk! Plunk!
They were getting a little better, Kelvin thought, as
he watched the arrows hit the scarecrow targets the
mercenaries had set up. Most farmers, and some
townsmen, did after all hunt for game. But in a battle,
with other men for targets? He shivered, just at the
thought of it.

"You're sure it's safe?" Morvin Crumb demanded.
"We've tested those berries on animals, and you
know every one of them died. I can't see that the
shape of the ear should make that much of a differ-
ence."

"It's not just the shape of the ear," Hein said. "It's
the Earthly ancestry. Those of us with round ears
must be breeding true to our heritage, so are not
affected the same way as the natives are. Anyway, I
survived it before."

"Could be a fluke," Mor said.

"I'll just take one berry this time," she promised.
"If I make it to astral separation, I'll do something
simple, like—"

126 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"I don't trust this either," Kelvin said. "To gamble
on poison—"

"Like visiting my folks—and yours," she contin-
ued brightly. "To be sure they're all right."

Kelvin's protests dried up. Of course he wanted to
know that his folks were all right! So, reluctantly, he
acceded to the experiment. After all, they did need to
know whether it worked reliably.

Hein solemnly consumed a single berry, from the
horde they had harvested from the dragon's garden.
Again Kelvin wondered why a dragon should have
tended it so carefully. Of course the ability to separate
astrally could be an immense advantage—but were
dragons smart enough to realize that? Or did they
simply like the feeling of astral travel? Maybe that was
it; they did for recreation what they could have done
for phenomenal power over their environment
—because they were stupid creatures. A man would
never be that foolish!

Or would he? Kelvin thought about some of the
people he knew, and remained disquieted.

Hein sank into sleep. Then she stopped breathing.
"She's dying!" Kelvin cried, horrified. He leaped
toward her, though there really wasn't anything he
could do.

"No, don't touch her!" Jon said. "She was like that
before. It's the astral separation!"

"But she's not even—"

"That's the way it is. She looks dead, but she's not,
quite. When her spirit returns, she'll recover. I'm
sure. I think."

With that note of confidence, Kelvin had to be
satisfied.

After an hour there was a tremor at Heln's breast.
She was recovering!

Soon she was able to talk. "I did it!" she said. "I
traveled to my folks, and they're all right. Then to
yours, and they're all right. Only—"

"Only they need gold to cover the taxes," Kelvin
said, with a dark glance at Morvin Crumb.

DRAGON'S GOLD         127

"No, they aren't being bothered about that. But I
saw guardsmen camped around their farm. Not doing
anything, just watching. What does that mean?"

Morvin slapped his thigh. "It means confirmation!"
he exclaimed. "Just as I suspected! Your folks and
their farm are a trap for you, Kelvin! They're waiting
for you to visit home; then they'll nab you. That's why
I didn't want you to go, not even to take them money
they might need. The Queen's guards won't bother
your folks as long as they remain bah—but you can't
go back there."

Kelvin felt weak in the knees. The big man had
been right all along, saving him from a horrendous
mistake!

"I didn't know how much time I had," Hein
continued. "So I looked around, and I found I could
orient on people who were thinking of you, Kelvin.
There were a lot of them, all friendly, but one was
very unfriendly. So I went to that one, and it was
Zatanas."

"Zatanas!" Morvin exclaimed. "The Queen's evil
sorcerer!"

"Yes. He was talking with the dwarf, the one who
bought Jon—"

"What did he say?" Morvin asked, almost drooling
in his excitement.

"Something about how he had brought the round-
ears here—"

"He did it?" Kelvin asked, amazed.

"And something about lizards. Then my time
ended, and my spirit was hauled back to my body. I'm
sorry I couldn't have stayed a little longer. Maybe I
should have eaten two berries . . ."

Then, exhausted, she slept again, but this time her
breathing did not stop. It seemed to Kelvin that one
berry had been quite risky enough; probably the new
ones were more potent than the ones Jon had carried
around squashed in her pocket, and then soaked in
her mouth. Three full-strength dragonberries might
very well have killed Hein!

128      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

Morvin looked at Kelvin. "That was a message we
didn't expect!" the big man said. "Why should Za-
tanas make a claim like that? About bringing the

roundears here?"                              .
"And what does he want with lizards? Kelvin

added.                            , „ _,    ,
"It's beyond me! I only hope we don t find out the

hard way!"                              .    ,

Hein slept the rest of that day, and on into the
night. Obviously astral separation took a lot from her!
Kelvin sat beside her for hours, finally working up the
courage to take her hand. What a lot of information
she had gathered, in that one brief hour of astral
travel! But he remained worried about its effect on her

health.                          ..   ,  ,   ,
Mainly, though, he just liked holding her hand.

CHAPTER 15

Zatanas

THE LABORATORY WHERE ZATANAS performed his mira-
cles was a veritable rat's nest of stacked caldrons,
rolled-up pentagrams and other magical charts, old
books of spells and sciences, and other traditional
tools of the trade. The place smelled of a thousand
herbs, intermixed with the scent of burned incense
and charred bones. In the center of the room an
owlhawk perched on a human skull held upright by a
dagger stuck in the remaining neck vertebra. Another
skull had been sawn lengthwise, one-half serving as an
incense burner, the other as a receptacle for some
vile-smelling unguent. Light streamed in from the
high windows, and yet the place was dark, as though
the interior drank the light, or forbade its passage.

Zatanas, dark of visage, long of face and nose and
claw, hummed contentedly to himself as he sat at a
table and munched the simple repast that Queeto, his
dwarf, had set out for him. Unlike Queeto, he still
sometimes ate when the physical act of eating pleased
him, as it did now. The meat tasted like dragon, he
thought, though actually it was axoglatter, a particu-
larly ugly lizard with a green skin that in the right light
shone like the scales of a dragon.

"A little less, strong and a little more rancid,"
Zatanas said, musing as much to himself as to the
hovering dwarf.

"What, Master?"

Zatanas belched loudly and reached for the flagon
of good orange wine on his table. The wine was
specially spiced, as was most of the magician's fare. A
little dried blood from the right sources added greatly
to taste.

129

130 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 131

"I said," Zatanas said, "that the meat is aged to
perfection. A little less aging and it would be tough. A
little more and it would be leather."

"Thank you. Master," the dwarf said, widening his
already wide mouth. He frequently responded like
that, no matter what Zatanas said. That was one of his
more endearing traits, and made it slightly harder to
punish him properly when he erred. Zatanas had been
furious at Queeto's recent loss of his purchase at the
Girl Mart, but had elected for the time being to
withhold action. When Queeto began to think of
becoming impudent, then Zatanas would punish him
for that error, restoring appropriate equilibrium to
their relationship. The dwarf, knowing this, was
meanwhile being extremely well behaved, as servile as
he had ever been. That was good.

However, this matter of the abduction of the girl
could not remain unattended. He would have to
locate the culprits and deal with them in a manner
that would discourage any repetitions. That meant
that simple extinction was not enough; their deaths
had to be public and horrible beyond any reasonable
expectation. He knew their identities, of course; that
wasn't the problem. The problem was bringing them
down in precisely the right manner, an object lesson
for all time in all the land.

First, however, he had to get hold of them. As long
as they remained hidden in the wilderness, mov-
ing constantly about, he was unable to pin them
down.

So Zatanas watched, and waited, unwilling to act
until he could accomplish his full purpose in his own
exacting way. He had patience; his ire, once incited,
never cooled. Sooner or later the stupid round-eared
boy would seek to visit his home farm, and walk into
the trap, and the idiotic would-be revolutionist
Crumb would try to rescue him, and then—ah, then
it might begin.

Meanwhile, he had a rebellion to quell. He trusted
that Crumb would not risk either himself or the

roundear boy in a direct conflict. That was important,
because he didn't want anything to happen to either,
prematurely. It wouldn't make much of an impression
if they both died coincidentally in battle.

Zatanas picked daintily at a foreleg with its three
toes still attached and crunchy. "I have decided to
hold a conference with my daughter the Queen."

"Will I attend, Master?"

"No. She doesn't wish for you to be in her sight."

Queeto frowned, his toad mouth and swine eyes
making a face. "Why, Master?"

"Because you frighten her. She still thinks you're a
demon from another world. I don't see any reason to
enlighten her, do you?"

Queeto grinned more broadly than ever. He, as
Zatanas well knew, liked being feared by royalty. In
fact, he liked being feared by anyone.

"You tell her about the lizards, Master?"

Zatanas tossed the leg bone to the owlhawk. The
owlhawk caught it in its strong beak with a snap and
immediately set to pulverizing it. Zatanas swallowed
more wine.

"Just what do you think you know about the
lizards?"

The dwarf answered promptly, almost as though
rehearsed: "That they are little brothers to the drag-
ons, Master."

"Right. Most fortunately."

Zatanas rose and crossed the dimly lit room to the
worktable. On it he had set up and molded hills and
valleys of clay and dirt and sand. It was a perfect
miniature landscape of the terrain for leagues about
the castle. A carved palace occupied the same position
in the miniature landscape as the castle they were in
did the real landscape. There were miniature houses
and even a miniature river that had to be continuous-
ly fed from a small spigot and a bucket behind the
scene of distant hills and houses. All in order, a work
of incredible delicacy that had taken many pains and
much time.

132 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 133

"You see, Queeto, bringing roundears to this world
was a mistake on my part."

"You, Master?" Queeto was properly incredulous
that Zatanas could make any mistake, let alone admit
to it, even in complete privacy.

"Yes, a possibly serious mistake," Zatanas contin-
ued, enjoying the effect on his minion. "You might
call it a grotesque flaw." He smiled, appreciating a
private joke. "I reckoned not with Mouvar and the
force of his prophecies. But no matter," he said,
waving the dwarf's concern away. "It's a mistake that
my daughter and I will soon rectify."

"With lizards, Master?"

"With dragons, small friend. In this very place."

Queeto looked at him, baffled. "You and the Queen,
your daughter—here?"

Zatanas rubbed at a speck of lizard dung on the
tabletop. "She out there. You and I in here."

"Ah."

Just as if he understood. Remarkable animal, this.
Almost as remarkable as dragons. Not quite as large,
not quite as stupid.

"Queeto, little brother, remember what I told you
about the magic that can be performed with minia-
tures?"

"Yes, Master. The doll that looks like an enemy and
that you break so that the enemy breaks."

"Exactly. Well, here we have a small copy of the
land and the palace and the houses and the river. Over
there"—he pointed at the lush growth of transplanted
shrubs forming a forest—"is where in our actuality is
dragon country. If little brothers emerge from here,
they will appear to us to be the size of real dragons in
relation to the palace and the farms."

"I—understand, Master."

"Do you? Well, watch."

Taking a lizard from a cage, Zatanas set it among
the plants. He then took a clay figure molded to look
like a mounted knight with tiny sword and placed it in
an open field. From a jar he took a bit of honey on a

knife blade and applied it to the figure. He stood back,
and soon a large fly was buzzing at the honey.

"Now!" he said, and dropped a pinch of herbal
powder on the lizard.

The lizard raised its dragon head, sniffing. Its green
scales seemed to flash gold; it raised its small hood.
Suddenly it was running full tilt, wriggling from side
to side.

The lizard reached the knight, pulled it down, and
licked it with its long tongue. The fly, buzzing loudly,
disappeared down the creature's throat.

"Now, what," the magician asked rhetorically, "do
you suppose the real knight will look like when a real
dragon steps on him?"

Queeto looked at the squashed clay. "Gooey," he
said happily. "Blood making a crimson puddle, bones
all white and broken, brains a pulpy pink mess."

"Exactly. And that's why I am going to hold a
conference with the Queen. Her spies will locate the
enemy, and there's where I'll have a dragon—or
several dragons." He made an expansive gesture.
"And that," he finished dramatically, "is how dragons
doing my magical bidding will win the war."

Queeto's exclamation of servile appreciation of
genius seemed almost genuine.

The Knights and the Queen's guardsmen were met
in battle. Horses neighed or screamed, men cried
challenges or curses or groans, swords clanged, cross-
bows twanged, blades and missiles made meaty clunk-
ing sounds. Dust rose in clouds beneath the horse's
hooves and obscured everything that wasn't happen-
ing over a horse's length away.

War, Kelvin realized, was no more glamorous in
practice than was dragon-fighting. It seemed to con-
sist of flowing blood, billowing dust, and endless
confusion. Where was the glory and the honor men
spoke of? All he saw was phenomenal wasted effort.

He had trained for days to try to use his gauntleted
left hand with his sword, but it was all but hopeless. In

134      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Ma.rgroff'

order to stay mounted he needed at least his right
hand on the reins, and the left, even with practice,
could hardly counter a sword swung with a good right

arm.

Except, he discovered, under actual battle condi-
tions. Then as in previous encounters, the gauntlet
knew the threat, and countered sword blows, darting
in to stab or disarm attackers. There was blood on the
sword and the gauntlet, and Kelvin didn't want to
look at either. Fortunately it made little difference.
When a guardsman was close, the gauntlet knew
before Kelvin did.

"Gods, but you're a fighter, Hackleberry!" Morvin
Crumb said at his right. "Reminds me of me when I
was your age."

Kelvin wondered what it would do to his image if
he vomited—again. Taking lives, even the lives of evil
men who wanted to kill him, just wasn't the way it
was presented in storybooks. At least, not for him. He
was appalled by this whole business.

"Just got me another, Dad!" Lester said to the far
side of his father. "Makes three."

"Four for me," Morvin said. "The lad here polished
off half a dozen. Without, I think, a sweat."

Kelvin wondered whether Mor was being kind.
Kelvin was sure he was bathed in cold sweat. If he had
to think about more than guiding the horse and
ducking an occasional blow, he would soon be ex-
hausted. His left arm was beginning to ache. Without
the gauntlet, he would have been finished long before.

"Bet this whole pass looks like one big rolling
cloud," Morvin said with gusto.

Reminded of the dust, Kelvin tasted it. He spat,
and the spittle didn't quite clear his chin. His left
hand tingled and he knew another enemy ap-
proached.

"Gods!" Morvin exclaimed. "There's something

—Gods!"

Kelvin's blade met an enemy's, deflected it, and
lunged, nearly unseating Kelvin. He saw the guards-

DRAGON'S GOLD

135

man, no older than himself, give him a stricken look,
then drop his sword, slump forward, and slide from
the saddle under their horses' feet.

"Seven," Lester said. He had moved past his father
to Kelvin's back.

"Gods! Oh, Gods!" repeated the elder Crumb,
delighted.

But Kelvin knew that it was little of his own doing.
He had tried to intercept the enemy's blade, true, but
his aim had been bad. He would have been skewered
had not his gauntleted left hand shoved him over so
that, losing balance, he had whipped his other arm
about—so that the sword had made a completely
unplanned and unexpected trick motion, deflecting
the other blade and continuing with horrible force
into the other man's body. Certainly it had looked
clever, but the cleverness had all been in the self-
willed gauntlet, which seemed determined to make a
deadly fighter of him despite his ineptitude. This had
been happening all along.

What would the gauntlet do if he threatened to
vomit on it? Cut off his head?
"Kel! Kel! Wait!"

Kelvin's head snapped around. It couldn't be! But it
was. Coming full tilt down the hill, Mockery, and on
his back—

"Jon! Jon! Over here!"

Guardsmen started for the girl. Three of them.
Kelvin needed no gauntlet to put his steed into
motion. He kneed the horse, turned its head, was
yanked down by the gauntlet and thereby ducked a
blow from his right. His horse made a leap over a
crawling guardsman and a wounded Knight, and
detoured around others not identified. Kelvin yanked
the reins, bringing it back on course. Then he was
there on the hillside, and his sword was flashing and
his reins lifted with his buckler as a blow almost took
him across the face. It was amazing, the precision
with which that gauntlet yanked him about, just so, so
that every move was right.

136      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

A Knight on a black stallion flashed to his right, and
then that Knight was confronting his attacker on his
right hand as Kelvin lurched, pulled about yet again
by the gauntlet, and his wildly flailing sword dealt
with the man to his left.

Two bodies fell.

Kelvin sighed. Lester sighed, for what he was sure
was a different reason. The bodies of their late foes lay
unmoving in the dirt.

"Watch out, Kel!"

Jon's warning saved him just in time. He ducked,
even as his left arm unsheathed the sword from its
gory grip in the throat of a third foe and swung
around to counter and disarm this fourth.

But the fourth attacker was no fool. He whirled his

horse and fled.
"Jon, you idiot!" Kelvin exclaimed. "Why did you

come here?"

"Hein remembered!" the girl cried.
"What's this?" Mor Crumb asked gruffly.
"She remembered about the lizards!" Jon said.

"From when she saw Zatanas! So I had to come warn

you!"
"What about the lizards?" Mor demanded.

"They're dragons!"

"What?" Kelvin was having trouble following this.

"And I saw them! 'Cause I knew to look! The

dragons!"

"You saw dragons?" Mor cried.
"Three of them! Big brutes! Coming here!"
"I don't understand," Kelvin said, understating the

case.
But suddenly Morvin Crumb did. "Sympathetic

magic! Lizards are like miniature dragons! That evil
sorcerer must've enchanted dragons by working

through lizards!"
"I could see them from above," Jon continued.

"Coming up the pass."

"You sure?" Kelvin asked, somewhat dully.
"I saw them!" Jon repeated. "Just as Hein said.

DRAGON'S GOLD         137

Three lizards. 'Cause Zatanas didn't think you'd be
fool enough to go into battle yourself!"

Kelvin turned to Morvin, baffled. "Does that make
any sense?"

"It must, in some twisted way," the ruddy man
said. "Gods! Nothing can face three dragons!",

"That's why Hein was so worried!" Jon said. "She'd
been trying to remember all these days, and just
couldn't, and then she saw a lizard and it clicked. So
she told me, and I—"

"You did right," Kelvin said. "If those monsters
catch us—"

"We'd better retreat, fast!" Lester said.

"Son, I think you're right. Kelvin, you get that hom
to your lips and you blow the way I told you you never
would!" Shaking in spite of himself, Kelvin lifted the
polished ox horn Morvin Crumb had hung about his
neck. Three long notes meant retreat, and would give
the other Knights their location.

He blew. The sound came out and carried.
Whoomp! Whoomp! Whhhoooommmmp!

Blowing it made his head swim. So did the heat. So
did the action he had just seen.
_"Come on, now," Morvin cried. "Uphill and fast!
Dragons don't like heights, everyone knows that!"

Kelvin hadn't known that, however. Still, it proba-
bly made sense. Flying creatures liked heights, and
the local dragons were landbound.

They turned their mounts uphill, donkey and Jon
just ahead of them. Looking back, Kelvin saw other
Knights, some of them barely holding on to their
horses, coming at a gallop. Behind them a cheer
sounded as guardsmen thought they had won.

"We were beating them!" a Knight exclaimed.
"Why did you sound retreat? Now we're in disarray,
and soon's they regroup they'll come after us and
destroy us on the run!"

"Maybe, maybe not," Morvin said. "We got word
there's—"

"Ahhhhr someone screamed behind.

138      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

And there it was: a dragon riding out of the dust,
with a man in its mouth. Then another dragon and
another, shimmering gold and deadly.

"Run for your lives!" Lester cried.

They ran, ail of them, including the donkey. Now
no one questioned the wisdom of their sudden disen-
gagement from the fray.

Panting, standing at the top of the steep hill and
looking down into the pass where the dust roiled and
men and horses were being slain and rapidly de-
voured, the Knights knew they had made their escape
just in time. The pursuing guardsmen hadn't been
that fortunate, for the dragons had come up behind
them.

"The girl saved us!" Morvin exclaimed. "That
division of the Queen's guardsmen—they'll never be
the same!"

"But if Zatanas sent the dragons," Kelvin asked,
musing it out, "wouldn't he have known that his own
side would be in the way? Why would he do that?"

Morvin nodded. "Something doesn't add up. We'd
better get right back, and your girl will have to eat
another berry. We'd better spy on the evil magician,
and find out what's he really up to."

Kelvin hated having Heln. risk her life again, but
realized that it was necessary. The dragon attack had
been too near a thing.

CHAPTER 16

Doubts

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND IT," Heln agreed. "Maybe that's
why I couldn't remember about the dragons—I mean,
how they related to the lizards Zatanas had. It seemed
impossible that they could be the same, or that he
would send dragons to ravage his own side as well as
the enemy. So I suppose I just didn't believe it, until
almost too late."

"Better take another berry and find out," Morvin
said gruffly. "We can't afford many more surprises
like dragons coming into the fray! I never guessed the
evil sorcerer could control dragons!"

"But it's been only a few days since she had a
berry," Kelvin protested. "We don't know whether
it's safe for her to—"

"It isn't safe to go into battle against dragons!" Mor
exclaimed vehemently. "Those could have been our
boys as well as theirs getting chomped!"

Heln put her hand on Kelvin's. "I'm sure it's all
right," she said. "I do feel woozy after a berry, but a

good night's sleep helps, and I recover strength next
day."

"I don't know," Jon put in. "You're losing weight."
Morvin's great fists clenched, but his voice was

controlled. "Why don't you go outside and play,

child?" he said to Jon.

"I'll try to eat better," Heln said, smiling tolerantly.

"You look just fine to me!" Kelvin said without
thinking, distracted as he always was when she took
his hand. Then, of course, he started blushing.

Heln smiled at him. "You're getting better at ex-
pressing yourself, I think," she remarked.

"Here's the situation," Mor said. "Our camp is
139

140 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf DRAGON'S GOLD 141

closer to the site of the battle than Zatanas' den is,
and we hurried, so I'm sure we got home first. But the
evil sorcerer will be getting the news about the battle
within the hour. If we can spy on his reaction when he
leams, we may find out what we need to know. It's the
best possible time; we know that it's no use wearing
you out spying when Zatanas is asleep or eating or not
doing anything special. We have to catch him when
he's plotting against us; then we can counter his
plots."

It did make sense, Kelvin had to agree. He hated to
see Hein seem to die, but she did recover, and they
did need the information. That business with the
dragons had been entirely too close!

Hein settled on her bed and swallowed a dragon-
berry. Soon she sank into her coma. The others left,
but Kelvin remained beside her, ill at ease. If only she
didn't have to risk her life this way, to help their
cause!

And if only he could express himself adequately to
her! Instead of always being so confounded tongue-
tied. She had made it plain that she would be recep-
tive to his advances, within reasonable limits. He felt
so silly, bumbling about; but every time he tried to do
something about it, he wound up blushing again.

"Gods, Hein, I wish I weren't such an ass with
you!" he exclaimed aloud. She, of course, could not
hear him; she had just stopped breathing. Her hand in
his was growing cool; that had alarmed him before,
and it troubled him now. It was so like death, this
astral separation!

"I wish I could just take you in my arms," he said,
venting his frustration aloud, because that made him
feel marginally better. "I wish I could kiss you, and
say, 'Hein, I think I love you, and I want to be always
with you!' But I just can't! I know I'm a jackass, and I
hate it, but my stupid tongue just tangles in my mouth
and I blush—Gods, I wish I didn't blush!"

He looked at her, so deathly still. "How I would
curse myself if you didn't wake!" he continued. "If

somehow the berries—if the worst happened, and
you—if I'd never even said to you—" Then every-
thing clouded up, and he found himself bent over her
cold hand, his tears flowing as he kissed it. "Damn,
damn, damn!" he muttered brokenly. "If I'm a hero,
they just don't make them the way they used to!"

Then, embarrassed anew, he pulled out his shirt tail
and used it to dry off her hand. If she should ever
suspect he had made a scene like this—!

Hein recovered consciousness as her spirit sepa-
rated from her body. This was the third time she had
traveled astrally, and she was learning its pattern. The
first time she had been trying to die, and had thought
her spirit was going to the afterlife. She had been
amazed when she discovered otherwise, and then
intrigued. Separation was actually an exhilarating
experience; she was so free, with no body to drag after
her or worry about! Of course she paid for it when she
became physical again; Jon was right about her losing
weight. She just couldn't seem to force herself to eat
enough to make up for the energy she lost. Perhaps
astral separation was part of the process of dying, and
it was easier to die than to live. She had wanted to die,
that first time; maybe that had made the whole
experience easier. But the experience itself had gone
far to restore her will to live, and, indeed, to partici-
pate in life as the woman she was, rather than as the
object of degradation the guards of the Girl Mart had
made of her. How glad she was that Kelvin was not at
all like that! Every time he stammered and blushed,
she liked him better.

She hovered above her body, gathering her pres-
ence, getting ready to make the jump to the evil
magician's lair. Her vision cleared, and then her
hearing. Kelvin was with her body, as he had been the
last time; she really appreciated his loyalty. He was
holding her hand.

"Gods, Hein, I wish I weren't such an ass with
you!" he exclaimed abruptly.

142      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

What was this? He hadn't spoken before, as far as
she knew. She decided to wait a moment more, and
see what this led to.

"I wish I could just take you in my arms," he said.

Well! Apparently Kelvin could be much more ex-
pressive when he thought he was alone!

"I wish I could kiss you," he exclaimed. "And say,
'Hem, I think I love you, and I want to be always with
you!'" he continued.

"Well, why don't you?" she asked, but of course he
couldn't hear, because she had no voice in this state.

"But I just can't!" he added, sounding tortured.

Hein continued to listen and watch, until he com-
pleted his statement. When it was evident that he
would say no more, she gathered herself for the jump
to the other place. But she was thoughtful. She under-
stood Kelvin better now; how could she make the best
use of this explanation of his puzzling behavior?

Because of her delay, she arrived at Zatanas' resi-
dence just after the messenger left. She hoped she
hadn't missed anything critical. She phased into the
dusky chamber where the evil sorcerer and his dwarf
henchman were.

"I don't like it! I don't like it at all!" Zatanas
stormed, startling the owlhawk into flopping its great
wings as it perched atop its human-skull pedestal.
Queeto, too, looked scared.

"That messenger just now said we lost nearly two
hundred guardsmen! To dragons. Dragons! What in-
credible, astounding luck! Black Star curses on the
witless beasts!"

"But Master, didn't they attack the Knights? Didn't
they get some of them, at least?"

"No!" The sorcerer looked as if he felt like taking
out his anger on the dwarf, but managed to refrain.

"But why, Master?" the dwarf asked plaintively.

Zatanas chewed his lower lip, perhaps deliberately
making himself hurt. "Because, stupid dwarf, dragons

DRAGON'S GOLD

143

destroy all men without natural discrimination. They
have very small brains. Even smaller than yours."

"But you directed them with lizards. The images
were dressed as Knights."

So that was it, Hein realized. The dragons had been
guided to attack the Knights first—and of course the
guardsmen would have quickly gotten out of the way.
Hein knew that Morvin and Kelvin would be glad to
know that explanation. Costumes were the key!

"Quite right," the sorcerer was saying. "But the
infernal Knights were not present. Somehow they got
out of the pass before the dragons came. And the
guardsmen were still there, luxuriating in the Knights'
rout."

"Then they were defeated. Master! The guardsmen
had the ruffians beat!"

"That's what the guardsmen want to think. But not
1.1 think that somehow one of the Knights must have
been above the pass and seen ,the dragons and called
retreat."

Hein held her breath, before remembering that she
wasn't breathing in this state. If the evil magician ever
realized exactly how the Knights had known the
dragons were coming—

"But—" the dwarf protested.

"Exactly. It shouldn't have happened. Next time it
will not happen. Next time the dragons will see
Knights and not be tempted by guardsmen."

"How, Master?"

Yes, how? Hein echoed. Morvin had been right: this
was exactly the time to spy on the sorcerer!

"Through sensible intelligence. I intend to make
good use of my daughter's spies. Her official spies."

"But your magic, Master. Can't you see ahead
without—"

"No. The ingredients are missing for the spells.
Anyway, you are confusing precognition with clair-
voyance."

"What?"

144

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

DRAGON'S GOLD

145

"Seeing ahead is precognition. That magic I can do,
when I have the right ingredients for the magic, which
ingredients are so devious and perishable that I am
chronically short of them. Seeing around is
clairvoyance—knowing what is happening elsewhere
without going there. That magic I lack. How I wish I
had an astral propensity!"

"Master?"

"Oh, never mind! Mouvar, cursed be his memory,
was precognitive, and he believed that there would be
clairvoyance among men someday. But he was mis-
taken; only the dragons have it, and they're too stupid
to take advantage of it, fortunately. What a waste it
was, for Mouvar to have precognition, when / could
have used it to conquer the planet! And the
dragons—"

"Master, will the dragons do your bidding?"

"They will," Zatanas said grimly. "Everything will.
In time."

"And the Queen's guardsmen will defeat the
Knights?"

"They will be defeated," Zatanas said, "as surely as
I am the supreme sorcerer."

Then Heln's time was running out, and she had to
return to her body. She hoped she had learned
enough; certainly she now had explanations for some
mysteries. So the dragons did use the berries for astral
separation, and Zatanas knew it—but didn't know
about Heln's own ability to do it, too. And Mouvar
had had precognition! That suggested that the proph-
ecy Mouvar had made was valid. Still, why, then, did
Zatanas have such confidence of his own victory?

Kelvin paced the outside length of the tent, the side
farthest from the campfire. His mind was not on the
scent of woodsmoke or the calling hoots and wails of
wild things in the forest. Rather his concern was the
sour bile taste in his mouth left by continual efforts to
vomit.

It wasn't fear that caused his stomach to revolt. Not
exactly. It was doubts. They formed and re-formed
like the long, grotesque shadows of the Crumbs and
two of the Knights on the other side of the tent wall.

What he was doing was right and just. He had to
believe that. But the killing was as unheroic as slaugh-
tering a farm animal. His gauntlet did it, and each
time he felt sick. He wanted to escape the destiny the
prophecy claimed for him, but that was according to
all accounts impossible.

He sat down under a tree and looked at the moon
peering like a yellow goblin face through the twisty
dark branches. By and by he raised his hands to his
eyes, and quietly, so as not to be heard and discov-
ered, he wept.

It's hell being the victim of prophecy, he thought.
"Kelvin." He jumped; it was Heln's voice.
He tried to clean up his face, but it was way too late
for that; she had seen. "You should be resting," he
muttered.

"There is something more important," she said.
"The revolution," he agreed, and his stomach gave
another twinge.

"That, too." She came close. "You don't look well,
Kelvin; I'm concerned about you."

He shrugged. "I'm just not much of a hero, for
sure!"

"I suppose the only thing harder than being brutal-
ized is having to be brutal yourself."

He stared at her. Could she understand?

"I was raped," she reminded him. "I wanted to die.
I tried to die. I think I felt as bad as you do now."

Surely so! "I guess I really don't have much to
complain about," he said. "I guess I wasn't thinking."

She reached out and took his limp hand. "No, Kel,
no! That's not what I mean at all! I mean I do
understand! You're in a horribly difficult situation,
having to do things you don't like at all, like going out
into battle and killing people. You're a gentle person,

146

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

147

you don't like to fight, and I see it tearing you up, just
the way it would tear me up if I had to do it. And I
wish I could make it easier for you."

"I—" But as usual he froze up, and couldn't have
said what he wanted to say even if he had known what
it was.

"Kel, I like you the way you are," she continued
earnestly. "It's not just your round ears, and it's
certainly not the prophecy. I liked you when I first saw
you, in my first astral separation, when everyone else
was hustling you along and you didn't know what to
do, you just wanted to save your sister from the Mart.
You gave me reason to want to live, because you were
like me in the ears, and that helped a lot, but I think I
would have liked you anyway. And I liked you even
more when I just saw you, in my last astral journey."

"What?"

"Kel, I didn't go right away. I heard you talking to
me—"

Oh, no! Kelvin felt the blush rising so hot and fierce
that it threatened to make his face blister. He tried to
retreat, but she hung on to his hand.

"Do you know what I have to say to that?" she
asked softly. Her eyes in the shadow seemed huge,
their brown turning black.

"If I'd known—I'm so sorry—" he stumbled.

She reached around him, embracing him, drawing
him in close. "Kel, I think I love you," she said. Then
she drew him in closer yet, and lifted her face, and
kissed him.

It seemed almost as though he had separated astral-
ly himself. Part of him looked down at the embracing
figures from above, while another part of him simply
floated in a tide of sheer bliss. What he had always
wanted—and she had brought it to him\

At last she broke the kiss and gazed at him. "Now
you may slap my face, if you wish," she said.

Caught off guard, he started to laugh. Then they
were both laughing helplessly, clinging to each other

for support. She felt phenomenally good that way,
too.

"But there is a condition," she said as it ebbed.

"No difference!" he exclaimed.

"And that is that if I'm going to be close to you, I
want you more like the hero you are supposed to be."

Now he felt dread. "I just can't enjoy killing!"

"Nor should you. I want you to assert yourself. You,
not Morvin Crumb, are the Roundear of Prophecy!
You should make the key decisions."

"But—he's the only one who knows—"

"Listen to him, certainly, but don't be governed by
him."

"Uh, I suppose—"

"Make up your mind, hero, or I'll kiss you again."

"I, I just doubt that I can—"

She kissed him again.

When it was over, he felt pleasantly giddy. "I'll
try," he said.

"See that you do," she said, smiling.

"Now we'll attack this guardsmen's barracks," said
Morvin Crumb, pointing at the map. The heads of all
those who had been designated officers nodded agree-
ably.

Kelvin swallowed. He thought of Heln's kisses.
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I mean no!" Even so, he
surprised himself. It's now or never, he thought, know-
ing that Hein was right. Now is the time for me to
make my stand.

The eyes of all the six strong men in the tent were
turned to him. Morvin seemed amused; the others
were either surprised or openly incredulous. They all
knew that Kelvin was a mere figurehead.

"I don't understand, youngster," Pete Palmweaver
said. He was the youngest and in many ways the most
likable of the graybeards who had fought guardsmen
before Kelvin's birth.

Now he had committed himself to an opinion; he

148      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

had to follow through. "I may be a youngster to you,"
he said, "but I'm also the Roundear of Prophecy. I
feel that I should decide what is done in my name."

They watched him, not indicating whether they
were taking him seriously. He found that unnerving,
but again he thought of Heln's kisses, and knew that
they were rewards, not punishments, and he wanted
to be worthy of such rewards. "I feel strongly that we

should not attack there."

"Where, then?" asked Morvin, setting down his
pointer, now looking less amused and sounding it.

Where? He had thought this out before, and de-
cided, but now his mind threatened to go blank. He
wrestled it back into focus. "We must move as close to
the palace as possible. Bypass the barracks and attack
here," he said, pointing with his finger to the area in

front of the palace.
"That will be hard to do," Morvin said. "It will

mean going over Craggy Mountain."

"We will do it," Kelvin said. "Instead of attacking
Heenning, we bypass Heenning, and Dawlding,- and
Kencis. We move directly to Gorshen."

"I don't know, youngster. That's a pretty illogical

move, seems to me."

"Maybe," Kelvin said, feeling inspired in this mo-
ment, "that's exactly what the Queen's strategists will
think. They could have ambushes at any of those
places. We can't afford to take the chance."

Morvin considered. "Just could be. Too bad we
don't have any way to know for sure."

"Yes, too bad," Kelvin agreed, feeling on firmer
ground. They had not spread the news of Heln's
ability, because that would make her a high-priority
target, and she was completely helpless while in astral
separation. They had made it a policy not to send her
on such missions unless they had reason to believe
there was something significant to be learned, so she
was not spying out the locations of the guardsmen this
time. Morvin had declared that they could not afford

DRAGON'S GOLD

149

to become too dependent on her information, and
with that Kelvin heartily agreed.

"Hmm, you think they will expect us to attack the
barracks at Heenning."

"I do." And I, after all, am the Roundear, he
reminded himself.

"Well, I suppose we could give out the story that we
planned an attack on Heenning, with subsequent ones
in mind for the others," Morvin said. "Then we could
do as you suggest. Just in case there are any spies."
"There aren't any spies," Palmweaver said.
But Kelvin wondered. He did not always trust the
faces he saw turned to follow his every move when he
strolled around camp. It occurred to him that Morvin
didn't either. Maybe it was Morvin's notion to test for
spies in this manner, to rout them out before they
found out about Heln. Certainly he had the impres-
sion that Morvin didn't really mind Kelvin's assump-
tion of power. Still, his doubts, about both their
situation and his ability to lead, were not fading out.

CHAPTEBJL7

Queers Ire

KELVIN LOOKED BACK. AT the column of Knights follow-
ing him and Jon and the Crumbs and Palmweaver.
They had gone about two leagues and already the
horses were noticing the steep ascent. No road here,
only the paths made by deoose, meer, and other large
game. The footing was rough; broken shale and fallen
boulders made it hard on men and horses. The sky
was overcast, threatening rain. Ozone made the air
sharp, as did the needletrees' scent of aromatic green
spice. Owlhawks hooted in the woods. A bearver
lumbered across their path, its dark red coat blending
subtly with the reddish moss that grew on the tree

trunks and boulders.
"It's a long, long way to Gorshen, as I told you,"

Morvin said. "By now we could be at Heenning."

Yes, Kelvin thought, and an hour from now we
could all be dead. But he did not say such to Morvin,
mainly because he knew it wouldn't be expected of a

tool of prophecy.
"What say, Kel?" Lester asked jovially.
"I say that we will take them by surprise at Gor-
shen."
"I sure hope you're right, brother mine," Jon

gasped. She had insisted on coming along, but her
enthusiasm was waning as she got tired.

At Heenning, a huge dragon reared its golden head,
smacked its enormous mouth, and looked about the
deserted barracks. Where were the brownberry shirts
and greenbriar pantaloons of the morsels it had been
driven here to find? It stepped on a fence, squashed a
roof, and bit in,two a large timber that had formed
150

DRAGON'S GOLD

151

part of a now ruined catapult. The dragon always
knew hunger and rage, but now it knew more. It also
knew the growing frustration of having come so far
and finding not the tasty bits that had somehow
beckoned. How much better it would have been to
dream with some dragonberries, and range across the
world and down into The Flaw with complete aban-
don!

Behind the big dragon were four lesser dragons that
came barely above the rooftops of the barracks. They
reacted as strongly. Dragons liked feasting and
dreaming and mating, in that order, and combina-
tions of the three when they could work it. They did
not like hunger or boredom.

Tails lashed. Walls smashed. Timbers splintered.
The strong smell of dragon urine and excrement
mingled with the lesser odor of human beings. The
smell of food. But where was it? The buildings were
being demolished, but they were empty.

Then the breeze changed. The big dragon raised his
snout, sniffing.

There, hiding on the hillside: food

As appetites sharpened, the dragons rushed for the
blue-and-gold-clad men hiding behind bushes and
trees and rocks. They brushed aside the little sticks
that rained off their scales, and the larger sticks
leveled at them by men astride horses. The dragons
slapped their tails, gnashed their teeth, chomped,
squashed, and ate.

There was food here after all.

The Queen's guardsman arrived on a lathered horse
at the gate of the palace. He called to the gateman and
was admitted, then was taken by a guard directly to
the audience chamber.

Watching from the window of his quarters, Zatanas
half guessed the meaning of the man's appearance. He
took time only to clap on his pointed wizard's
cap—an affectation that had once impressed his
daughter—and then ran. He hurried down the three

152      Piers Anthony and. Robert E. Maryoff

winding staircases to the little antechamber beside the
room where the Queen held a hurried audience.

The Queen, of course, would know he was there,
though he was hidden behind a curtain. He listened as
the messenger told his disturbing story.

"0 Queen, we deserted the barracks and waited, as
commanded, but the enemy did not appear. The
dragons did appear. They destroyed Heenning, as we
expected they would, and then—then they found

us."

"Do you mean to say," exclaimed the Queen, "that
the dragons attacked guardsmen againT'

"Yes, .Your Majesty. The enemy was not about. The
dragons attacked. They destroyed us! There's not a
guardsman alive who can stand up to a dragon!"

"Father!" the Queen called abruptly. "Father, come
in here now and explain why you have done this to

me!"

Zatanas took a deep breath, cursed himself for the
foolishness of ever having a child, and went through
the velvet curtain.

The Queen was a sight he would rather have
missed. She sat on her golden throne, her skin red as
dragon-sheen hair, and her eyes the color of dark
green feline magic alight with the cometing yellow
lights of intense anger. Her fingers gripped the carved
arms of her throne like talons, and she looked more
like a witch than a monarch. A witch from some land
deep down through The Flaw, more inhuman than
human. In short, his daughter in her natural state.

"My dear daughter and proudest materialization,"
he said in a suitably placating fashion, though he
knew that little but dripping flesh would placate a
dragoness, "the enemy is using magic. Mouvar's
magic, cursed be his name. How else than by magic
could they have known—"

"The question is, Father, why didn't you know? Are
you a sorcerer or are you not?"

That again. Well, he wasn't about to plead lack of
expertise! If she ever guessed that he wasn't all-

DRAGON'S GOLD

153

powerful, she might decide to destroy him. She was
his flesh, after all.

"I was depending on your spies," he said. "Why
haven't they—"

"Foolish old fraud! My spies gathered their intelli-
gence. The Roundear's Knights were supposed to
have attacked Heenning. You stood here when they
reported. You knew—"

"I knew what they said. But the Knights were not
there. Your Majesty, as this man has just testified."

"Don't belabor the obvious! Then I suppose they
are somewhere else?"

"Undoubtedly," he agreed with a certain irony.
"The question is where."

"The question is why there should be a question at
all!" she flared. "If you can't—"

They were interrupted by a second guardsman who
burst into the audience chamber in the company of a
guard. "Your Majesty!" the man cried, falling to his
knees. "I beg to report that the Roundear Knights
have attacked Gorshen! Caught unprepared, we were
outnumbered, and—"

"Beaten?" the Queen supplied with deceptive calm.

The man hung his head.

After brief questioning that established the extent
of the disaster, the Queen dismissed the others, re-
maining alone with her father. She inhaled.

Zatanas felt the Queen's eyes. "You—you unmiti-
gated wretch!" she exclaimed. "I should have you
castrated in the public square! Why didn 't you know of
this?"

"Think carefully before you threaten me, daugh-
ter," Zatanas said grimly, knowing that she was not
given to bluffing. There was a time for placation, and a
time for self-defense, and this was the latter. "It was
my magic that made you Queen."

"Yes, magic made me Queen. Roundear magic! I
used it then and I'll use it again."

"No, no, you mustn't." Now he felt desperate. "You
must never use roundear magic again."

r

154      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"Mustn't I?" The threat sounded in her tone.
"No, it's . . . risky. Better to destroy all roundears
and all tools brought by roundears. Better my magic

than—"

"Father," she said severely, "would you have me
destroy my own magic?"

"No. No, of course not." What had he been think-
ing of? There would be no talking her out of this now.
They faced horrible danger—all because he had

slipped.

Looking very much his daughter, which was to say
much like a dragon, she said, "I intend to use all tools
and all persons to secure my throne."

"Of course, daughter. But with care, due care!

Otherwise—"

"It's this roundear stripling who claims to represent
the prophecy!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to use my
spy in their camp to eradicate him once and for all.
Then this nuisance will fade out."

"But you shouldn't waste an emplaced spy!" Zat-

anas protested.

"What good has he been to me so far? If he can't get
word about the enemy's movements to me in time, I
might as well use him in a manner that counts."

She was making a certain amount of sense, but
Zatanas didn't trust this. It would be almost impossi-
ble to get another spy placed, once this one was
exposed, and if he failed in his mission, as was quite
possible considering the way the breaks had been

going-
Still, this was better than risking the wrong kind of
magic. It was true that the elimination of the enemy
figurehead could have considerable impact, and per-
haps so demoralize the upstarts that their effort would
fall apart. "What do you have in mind, daughter?"

"I was always apt at poisons," she said briskly. "It
will be nice to get my hand in again."

"Very good, daughter," Zatanas agreed.

DRAGON'S GOLD

155

Jon skipped a rock on the smooth stretch of creek.
It hopped three times, as a well-skipped rock was
supposed to. The circles formed and raced outward.

"I'll bet there's fish in here," Jon said aloud.

A Knight heard her and smiled. "You're probably
right."

"If I had some equipment," Jon told him, "I could
catch us some!"

"Not enough for the whole camp, you couldn't,"
the man said, coming over. His hair color was brick,
and his name, appropriately, was Appleton. She had
seen him around often enough. He was, she guessed,
about three years older than Kelvin, and halfway
handsome.

"But I'd enjoy trying," Jon said. "I get tired of just
running errands for you fellows. I'd like to be doing
something besides polishing boots and fetching fire-
wood and spring water."

"I don't blame you," Appleton said, his hands still
occupied with the rope he was braiding. He stood
close to her, gazing out over the stream. "It does get
dull here."

"I wish/had some magic!" she exclaimed. "I wish I
was a Knight!"

"You're useful enough," Appleton said, abandoning
his rope braiding. "But you know, you should try
dressing your own way."

"How's that?" Jon asked, not understanding.

"Like a woman. You'd be a really pretty girl if you
ever let yourself."

"I don't want to be a girl!" she said vehemently.
"Well, I could see your point if you were an
ordinary girl. But even though you try to cover them
up, I can see the lines of you. You would be no
ordinary girl."

Something strange overtook her certainty. "I
wouldn't?"

"Not at all! I tell you, you could start smiting hearts
right here in this camp if you tried."

156      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayroff

"Me!" she exclaimed derisively.

"You," he agreed, with no derision. "You've got the
face, you've got the lines. Look at the way that
roundear girl took over your brother. You're as pretty

as she is."

"Never!" But she felt herself flushing.

"I'll make you a bet that if you borrowed one of her
dresses, and walked out in the camp, you could
beckon to any man here, and he would come to you."

This was beyond belief. "You're teasing me!"

"Am I? Then laugh this off."

And he took her by the shoulders, brought her into
him, and kissed her on the mouth.

She was too amazed to react. She felt the pressure of
his hands on her, so strong and firm, and his lips on
hers, and she felt as if she were floating.

Then he drew his head back, and released her.
"There," he said. "I'd be lying if I said that wasn't
fun. But I suppose you'd better slap me."

"Wh-what?" Her knees felt like sodden reeds.

"I just made a pass at you," he said. "Because
you're an attractive young woman. Now you slap me,
because I shouldn't have done it. That's the way it is."

"I couldn't do that," she said, feeling faint. She had
to sit down on the bank, before she fell down.

He sat beside her. "Well, maybe next time," he said.
"A girl can't be too free, is all. Bad for her reputa-
tion."

"When I was at the Boy Mart, they found out and
tried to, to—" she said, starting to babble and quickly
stalling. She didn't know how she felt.

"Like Miz Flambeau," he said. "That's different.
They do it to anything they can get their hands on.
But among civilized folk, it's different. You're in no

danger here."

"I don't know," Jon said. "It's a whole different
realm. It's like magic." Indeed, the notion of being an
attractive young woman was like being a changeling,
becoming something she had never thought to be.

DRAGON'S GOLD

157

"Magic is what you make it. I know the feeling. My
granny was a witchwoman and spell-maker."

"Really?" Jon asked, impressed, and glad enough to
change the subject. "She turned people into froogs
and batbirds?"

"Hardly!" he said, laughing. He found a dry bed of
red moss and sprawled on it. "She could mend a
broken arm, ease the pangs of childbirth, cure barren-
ness, that sort of thing."

"Oh. No real magic."

"I wouldn't say that. She knew a thing or two, Gran
did."

"About what?" Her attention was drifting back to
the kiss, and her feelings associated with it, that still
hovered about her like little vague clouds. Could she
really be a girl—and like it?

"Oh, about our name fruits, for instance—oaples
and appleberries."

"What did she do with them?" Really borrow a
dress from Hein? How well would it fit her?

"Put magic into them. She could make a weak man
strong or a strong man weak, and I learned from her."

"You did, huh? Magic?" Magic: beckoning any
man, and making him respond.

"That's what I said, Hackleberry."

That brought her attention back to reality. She
wasn't a girl, not any way it counted. Just as her
brother wasn't a hero. "Could you help Kelvin?"

"Help him? In what way?"

Jon thought about the night she had seen Kelvin
crying. "I don't think he's as brave as he could be. Or
as strong."

"Hmmm. I could probably help him there, if that's
true."

"You could?" And if it was possible to help her
brother become brave, then it might be possible to
help her become a proper girl.

"I think so. I know the spells. Let me fix him a
stockelcap full of appleberries, and you take them to

158      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff'

him. Only don't tell him they're magicked. If you do,
they won't work."

"I won't tell," she agreed. "And he'll eat them.
Kelvin never could resist a stockelcap full of fresh
wild appleberries."

Kelvin was sitting on a log, staring glumly at a map
and picking at a scab on his hand where a knife had
slipped. Jon rode up on Mockery. Wordlessly Jon held
out a stockelcap filled with ripe red and white apple-
berries.

"For me, Jon?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Got lucky," she said. "Found a whole patch of
them. Maybe not as sweet as you can make them when
you do the picking, but pretty good anyway."

Kelvin eyed the berries. "It's awfully soon after
lunch and my stomach's been bothering me."

"Appleberries should fix that right up," she said
eagerly.

"You never brought me appleberries before. Usual-
ly I had trouble keeping you out of those I picked."

"I'm reformed," Jon said, "and you're important.
Gol' dang it, Kel, can't I do something nice for my
own brother?"

"Of course you can, Jon! Of course. But climb on
down and we'll eat them together."

"They're all for you," Jon said. "I ate my fill where I
found them."

"I should have known." But he hesitated.

"What's the matter, Kel?" she asked, concerned.

"This fool gauntlet. All of a sudden it feels warm.
Matter of fact, it tingles. There aren't any of the
Queen's own around, are there?"

"I d-don't think so, Kel." What was bothering him?

"Well—" Kelvin took the stockelcap with his right
hand and placed it at the end of his log. But as he set it
down, his left hand shot out and sent the stockelcap
flying. The berries rolled into the dust under Mock-
ery's snorting nose.

"Now, why did it do that?" Kelvin asked, an-

DRAGON'S GOLD         159

noyed. "That gauntlet ruined the treat you brought
me!"

Jon wondered, too. Could the gauntlet object to
Kelvin becoming brave? So that maybe he wouldn't
need it so much?

Mockery didn't wonder. His nostrils flared. He
lowered his head and began to eat appleberries.

Kelvin watched, frowning more deeply. "Jon, is
there something different about these berries?"

"Different?" Jon felt apprehensive. If Kelvin knew,
the magic wouldn't work, Appleton had said. But of
course it made no difference now, because the berries
had been spilled.

Mockery gave a jerk. His eyes rolled until the whites
showed. He trembled from nose to tail and then, to
Jon's complete horror, he slowly sank downward.

"Jon, what's going on?" Kelvin demanded. "What's
the matter with Mockery? What—where did you get
those berries? What's wrong with them, anyway?"

Jon was scrambling to get off the donkey's back.
Then, sitting in the dust and looking at Mockery's
closed eyes and protruding tongue, a horrible suspi-
cion came over her. Mockery, she felt certain, was
either dying or dead. She let that sink in until she not
only believed it, she understood the cause. Then,
painfully, she answered Kelvin:

"He said the berries were magicked—that they
would help make you brave."

"Jon, your donkey's been poisoned," Kelvin said,
looking into the animal's mouth. Then he looked
from Jon to the donkey and back, a new expression
sweeping his face.

"I didn't know!" Jon protested, starting to cry. "I
didn't, Kel. Honest! I thought—oh, I was a fool!"
Poor Mockery, she thought. Poor dear, deaf, faithful,
brave, true Mockery. What had she done to him?
What might she have done to her brother? The tears
flowed faster.

"I believe you, Brother Wart," Kelvin said. "No
need to cry."

160      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"Yes, there is!" she cried. "He—he sweet-talked
me, told me I'd make a pretty girl, and I believed

everything!"

"Well, he was right about that much," Kelvin said.
"You'd be as pretty as Hein is, if you tried."

"But it was only to fool me, so I'd bring you
p-poison!" she said. "Oh, Kel, I'm so ashamed!"

"No need, no need, Jon! Anyone would have been
fooled. We'll find him and—" His face turned grim.
"Question him. Who was it?"

"Appleton. Oh, I hate him! I hate him!"

Kelvin blew on his horn, and every Knight within
hearing dropped what he was doing and came.

But Appleton, of course, was not among them.

CHAPTER 18

Roundear

"I'VE GOT TO DO it, Kel," Hein said. "You know that!
After what happened—"

Kelvin nodded. "After they tried to poison me.
That means that Appleton was a spy for the Queen,
and we'd better find out if there are any others."

"Yes. I can scout around, astrally, and see if I can
locate Appleton. But mainly, I'd better spy on Za-

tanas, and try to learn what mischief he's cooking up
next."

"Better wait a bit," Morvin said. "They have scouts
out, and we can spot those, but let them go. When the
first one reports to the Queen, that's when we'll likely
learn something from her or Zatanas. Timing is
everything, in spying as in battle."

Kelvin had to agree with the logic of that. He
certainly didn't want Hein taking such a risk for
nothing. Also, it meant she could wait another day or
two before eating a berry. He still hated to have her go
into that temporary death.

Zatanas scowled his blackest and tried his best to
look the part of the menacing warlock. His daughter,
unfortunately, did not seem impressed.

"I want you to drain his blood," she said.

"But why? His blood is worthless to me. Only the
blood of some truly innocent person, or a virgin of
either sex, has the potency required for my magic."

"Never mind that. I want revenge. He was supposed
to have destroyed the upstart, claimed he did, and
what had he done but send a girl on a man's mission?
No wonder it failed! Let him now take the place of the
girl."

161

162     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayrojf

"Better I work on my invincibility spell. Your agent
failed, and that is unfortunate, but then the Roundear
was protected by magic."

"You think so?"
"I know it," he said. "Just as I know that no part of

your agent—Applebee, was that his name?—is of any
worth. Perhaps my lizards can feed on him. That
should cause him some reasonable agony."

"You won't take his blood?"
"No. If you want him bled, use your royal torturer.

That pig likes to waste flesh."
"But it's you he fears. He knows the royal torturer

will harm only his body, whereas you—"
"I gave you my final word, daughter. I won't waste

my time on worthless flesh."
"Stubborn old man!" she snapped, but she did not

seem displeased.
"Bothersome witch!"
Perhaps they would not have talked that way if they

had thought anyone could be overhearing.

The messenger arrived covered with dust and
sweat, smelling of blood and horse. He was quickly
ushered by the palace guards directly into the Queen's

audience chamber.
"0 Queen," the messenger cried, falling to his

knees before her throne. "I beg to inform you that the
Roundear's Knights are nearing Skagmore, but one

day's ride from this palace!"

The Queen scowled at the messenger and then at
Peter Flick, her latest, and weakest-chinned, consort.

She liked her men servile.
"What do you think of that, Peter? The old man's

magic isn't helping us."

"I say," Peter said with the high squeak that desig-
nated his excitement, "that now is the time! Use
roundear magic against your roundear enemy. Do it
now, Your Majesty, while there is yet time!"

He was saying exactly what she already wanted to

DRAGON'S GOLD        163

do. She liked that in a man. If only her father weren't
such a curmudgeon!

Nevertheless, she argued the other side of the case,
hoping this would provoke a truly convincing refuta-
tion. "Prophecy," she said. "How can mortals, or
even immortals, fight against it? Prophecy always
works out."

"Not always as expected," Peter piped. "There's a
roundear who is your enemy, but is he the only
roundear? No, certainly not! You have one. One of
your own, my Queen."

"Yes, so you've reminded me." Casually she
tweaked one of Peter's very pointed ears. "So why do
I hesitate?"

Peter looked at her with that abject lustful longing
that was his prime attraction; he existed to treasure
her mind and body as fully as was possible. So intense
was his stare that she found her own passion respond-
ing; perhaps she would take him to her private cham-
bers soon, and have her way with him. "Dare I remind
you, 0 Queen? Dare I say that you have a, shall we
say, an intimate relationship?" He licked his lips,
being eager for intimacy himself.

"There is that," she agreed in an offhand manner.
"But if the prophecy doesn't apply, then we lose."

"Well, maybe," he said, reluctant to concede such a
possibility.

"If my best guardsmen and my father's magic don't
stop the enemy, I will use roundear magic. But—"

"Queen, you must have a roundear fighting on your
side. Only in that way can the prophecy be fulfilled to
our—to your—satisfaction."

"Yes," she said. "There will indeed be a roundear
fighting on our side. In the next battle. And he, dear
Peter, will go equipped with the strongest possible
kind of ages-old magic."

He licked his lips again, his desire for her causing
him to flush and fidget. "Which is?"

"A mother's love."

164      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mivrgroff

"Uh, yes," he agreed, disgruntled.

She decided it was time. She reached out to stroke
him in a sensitive region. "Come to my chambers
now," she murmured, turning away.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" He was practically slavering
with anticipation.

"They know we're near Skagmore," Hein reported
as she recovered. She was still woozy, as she tended to
be after astral separation, but knew she had to report
quickly.

"Of course they do," Morvin agreed. "We let their
spy go through. But what are they going to do about
it?"

"They're going to use roundear magic," she said.

"But I'm the Roundear of Prophecy!" Kelvin ob-
jected.

"The Queen said she would have a roundear fight-
ing on her side, at Skagmore, and that he would have
the strongest possible magic—a mother's love."

"What does that mean?" Kelvin asked querulously.

"I don't know. She didn't say any more about it.
She had this—this courtier, who, well, dotes on her,
and they—well, it's not relevant. But it certainly
seems as though they have another roundear."

"I don't know anything about any other roundear,"
Morvin growled. "But I do know of that palace
flunky. The Queen's latest in a long line of panderers.
She beds them until she tires of them, and then gets
rid of them. There's a name for men like that."

"And for women like that," Les put in.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know it," Hein said delicately.
"But that's all I got. They're worried about the
prophecy, but think they can nullify it with this
roundear. The Queen certainly didn't seem to be
joking or bluffing."

"What of Zatanas?" Morvin asked. "He's the dan-
gerous one."

"He's against it. He doesn't like the use of roundear

DRAGON'S GOLD         165

magic, and tried to talk the Queen out of it. But if his
magic doesn't stop us, then she'll use what she's got.
Whatever that is. I wish I could have learned more,
but I have no way to question them."

"You learned enough, girl," Morvin said gruffly.
"We're well warned to be alert for the unexpected.
Better rest now."

Hein made a tired smile and sank back on the bed,
sinking immediately into a normal slumber.

Kelvin felt his stomach burn as they left the tent.
Tomorrow—Skagmore, and the battle that would
decide if they were about to push on for Sceptor and
the palace. Hein had required him to assert himself,
and he had done so, and saved the Knights much
misery as a result, but still he hated this warfare. He
just wasn't cut out to be a soldier!

"Fortune come a-callin'; and I did hide. Little
devils at my side."

Kelvin jumped. Morvin was singing! This was
uncharacteristic and unmusical, but the big man was
definitely doing it.

Then the man laughed, seeing Kelvin's wonder.
"Just making a point, maybe," he said. "I can see you
don't much like this business, Hackleberry."

Kelvin could only nod agreement.

"Come to my tent. We've got some talking to do."

Kelvin followed him into his tent, feeling uneasy.
When they passed the tent flap, he half expected to see
Crumb's son or some of the designated officers, set up
for a briefing. Instead there was only a large amber
bottle.

Morvin picked it up and waved it at him. "Drink,
youngster?"

"No," Kelvin said uneasily. He had tasted liquor
and hated it. Whether this was a conditioned response
because of what he had seen it do to others, or
whether it simply tasted awful, he wasn't sure. It
probably didn't matter exactly why the stuff was vile.

166      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrqff

He had learned that Hein felt the same way about it,
so perhaps the stuff affected roundears differently

than it did natives.
"You ever hear me tell about the old days?" Morvin

inquired. "About fighting with the loyalists and the
upstarts? We were winning, youngster, and make no
mistake. Got about as far as Skagmore, and then—"

Kelvin felt a chill. Skagmore was to be the site of
tomorrow's battle. Obviously Morvin was not just
rambling. "Magic?" he asked, dreading the answer he

knew was coming.

"Roundear magic, son. Took us by surprise. The
roundears—not as the Gods intended, Hackleberry.

Not as the Gods intended."

"Tell me about it," Kelvin said, abruptly twice as
interested. If the big man knows about the roundears

of the past. . .
"It was 'fore your time, but I remember it as though

it were this afternoon. I killed roundears with my

sword—did you know that?"

"I—I think I guessed it," Kelvin said. He sat down
on the stool Morvin kept for visitors, and his hand
reached out almost of its own volition to touch the
battered map case. He knew that Morvin Crumb had
been a good soldier, like his father before him and his

son after him.
"Hard to kill, they were. Great fighters. But the

worst of it was, they had magic. Weapons such as no
sane mind ever imagined. Not swords and crossbows,

no. Magical."

"Tell me," Kelvin repeated, eager to hear every-
thing.

Morvin took a drink. He wiped his mouth on the

hairy back of his hand and said: "Explosive thunders
that blew apart men and horses. Lightning that struck
with a red bolt and went right through men and
war-horses and good solid armor. Oh, I tell you,
Hackleberry, it was awful! And some of them flew
—flew overhead, but not as birds fly. I saw two of
them high in the sky pierced by crossbow bolts. I saw

DRAGON'S GOLD         167

them fall to their deaths, Hackleberry. But then I saw
another, equally high. This one controlled the light-
nings. I saw men, horses, trees—just smoking red
holes where the lightning struck. We ran and we ran.
We had to. There was no fighting that."

"I understand," Kelvin said, and thought that per-
haps he did.

"Do you? Do you really?" Morvin took hold of his
arms and looked drunkenly into his face. "It was as if
we were weeds and grass before a fiery scythe. Do you
understand what it is to face such beings?"

"You say I'm one of them," Kelvin reminded him.
It was the sharpest retort he had ever given Crumb.

Morvin looked at him hard and shook his head.
"You may be one of 'em, son, but you haven't their
magic. Not that I've seen, anyway."

"No," Kelvin admitted. Why did he feel that Mor-
vin saw to his depths? Saw the fear he knew was there,
however hard he tried to bury it? He swallowed a
lump. "Not now, I haven't. Just a little plant-
charming, and I guess that isn't the same. But—"

"But you will have, won't you?"

"I—I don't know." Tearing himself away, Kelvin
pushed through the tent flap to the outside and the
good, clean night air. It occurred to him in a rare flash
of fancy that all he faced now were the uncaring and
unknowing eyes of distant, unreachable stars.

CHAPTER 19

Skpigmore

"How BAD DO YOU think it'll be?" Jon asked.

"It gives me a deep chill," Hein answered. "They
know we're coming, and when and where, so they'll be
ready. They aren't bringing in the dragons this time,
because we've been able to turn the dragons against
the Queen's guardsmen too often, but they've got a lot
of troops. I wish—"

"Me, too," Jon said. "But Morvin's determined to
fight and win, and he's convinced Kelvin, so I guess it
just has to happen. Men are such fools!"

"You're finally seeing the light!"

"I'm finally seeing the light," Jon agreed morosely.
"What good can it be, to be a man, if you just go out
and get yourself killed?"

"Not much. That's why there are women. To catch
the men and make them settle down on farms and live
decent lives."

"You like farm life? It bores me!"

"I like it a lot better than warfare or the Girl Mart!"

Jon nodded, seeing the point. "Still—"

"But it has to be with the right man."

"I don't have a man, right or wrong."

"But you're young yet, Jon! I'm young! We have
time."

"Not if all the men get killed fighting!" Jon re-
torted.

"We just have to hope that the Knights win this
battle, and don't get killed, and that then the Queen
will abdicate and there won't be war anymore. Then
I'll capture your brother, and you—you can find
someone."

"Do you really think I—?"
168

DRAGON'S GOLD

169

"Of course! You're a pretty girl, if you'd just let
yourself be!"

"When I tried to—to let myself be, I almost got my
brother poisoned!" Jon said bitterly.

"He was a bad man. He was using you. But if you
really went looking, you could find a good one."

"If any good ones survive the fighting."

Hein smiled. "I'll make you a deal, Jon. If we win
this battle, then good men will survive. If we win, I'll
help you all I can to be a completely female girl, and
you'll give it a really honest try."

"I don't know—"

"You'd rather have the Queen win?"

That brought home the horror of the alternative. "If
my being a girl-type girl can encourage our side to
win, then it's a deal!"

"Every little bit of magic helps," Hein said. They
shook hands.

Skagmore was particularly ugly. Faded army bar-
racks, stripped paint, unrepaired fences, scattered
refuse piles. Appalling. The place smelled, as only an
army town could, of horse dung and latrines and
unhauled garbage. Altogether unbeautiful.

The place was so still that one could hear the rustle
of a bird's wing. Kelvin looked from Morvin to Lester
Crumb and then at the rest of the accompanying
Knights, their main force, and wondered. It was
remarkable that this place, so near to their ultimate
goal, was deserted. The enemy knew that the Knights
were coming; Hein had spied on the messenger's
delivery of word to the evil Queen. But the enemy
didn't know that the Knights knew they knew. So this
apparent vacancy could only be a trap.

And were they to walk right into it? Yes, they were,
for that was the only way to spring their countertrap.
They had drilled for this. To lure the enemy into open
battle in a seemingly advantageous position, so that

they would attack with confidence, and carelessly.
Then—

170

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

DRAGON'S GOLD

777

Kelvin felt his stomach twist. They had planned so
carefully, but it was risky. Suppose their surprise
didn't work? Suppose something went wrong? Then
what?

There was only one answer: they had to make sure
that nothing did go wrong.

So they moved down into the town, seemingly
innocently, commenting loudly about the marvel of
its emptiness. "We scared them off!" "They knew they
couldn't win!" "See if there's any food left in the
storehouse!" That sort of thing, also rehearsed.

They rode all the way into the tov/n square. Then
the trap sprang. Horsemen were suddenly racing
down each alley, pikes ready, swords drawn. The
enemy plainly outnumbered the Knights, and were
now closing in for the quick kill.

Kelvin raised the signaling horn and blew the blast
that signaled the formation of the phalanx. Now his
fear was dissipating into excitement. This had to
work!

The Knights formed a close living fence with
shields joined at the edges and spears raised and ready
to stab. They had never separated far; a formation
had been maintained, of its special loose kind, so that
each man had only a few feet to step to reach his key
position. In the center the horses waited, secure until
the line should burst. Archers and crossbowmen
formed a line between the horses and the spearmen.
In practice it had seemed impenetrable; now it
seemed less so, but it was ready.

They had picked up many recruits in the past few
weeks. Many of them were without horses, and a few
without even swords. But their mercenaries had
taught the recruits well, and the knowledge that it was
their land they fought for gave even the least experi-
enced men courage. The Queen, obviously, had no
respect for farm boys turned fighters, and the guards-
men evidently proposed to cut them down without
mercy.

Arrows rained from the advancing foe, as the
Queen's archers stepped from their concealment be-
hind the horsemen and aimed their shafts over their
vanguard. Almost casually, because of the practice
they had had, the Knights raised shields and stopped
the missiles that sought their blood. The rattle
sounded like hail. The barrage that should have cut
down as much as a third of the force at one stroke,
and demoralized the rest, brought no casualties and
no demoralization. The phalanx remained tight and
strong.

With a great cry that rose like a wave at sea, the men
in blue and gold uniforms threw themselves hard
against the waiting phalanx. They met much fiercer
resistance than they had anticipated. Men cried out as
waiting spears stabbed through their bodies. More
came, for they could not stop their impetus. These
were met by the strokes of swords. The enemy forma-
tion was crashing against the wall of shields and
breaking like a wave across a rocky shore. Still they
came, seemingly maddened beyond reason, still not
believing that the Knights were fighting back so effec-
tively.

Bows twanged. Missiles flew. Blue and gold uni-
forms sprouted feathered barbs. But the sheer mass of
the charge had its effect, and the phalanx lost cohe-
sion. Brown-and-green-clad Knights cried out here
and there, dropping their arms, dying as bravely as
any soldier.

The phalanx had done its work. The thrust of the
charge had been broken, and three or four guardsmen
were down for every Knight lost. Still they came, and
came. The guardsmen outnumbered the Knights by as
much as ten to one. This was worse than Morvin's
worst projections! The Queen had thrown all her
reserves into this effort, holding nothing back, and
that threatened to make the trap effective after all.

Now Kelvin and the Crumbs were fighting from
their steeds. Kelvin was glad that Jon had been

172     Piers Anthony and Robert E. M.wyroff

banned from this engagement; it would have been
terrible to have his little sister see their end! Immedi-
ately he condemned himself for thinking so quickly of
defeat. They were supposed to win!

Kelvin's left hand, with the gauntlet, knew what to
do. He had learned how to make it hold a sword, and
it was now fighting with that sword so expertly that
any surviving observer would have thought him left-
handed. But gradually his left arm grew tired. The
hand was powered by the gauntlet, but the arm was
not; it obeyed the imperatives of the hand, but at the
cost of increasing fatigue.

In a brief lull, realizing that even the gauntlet could
not save him if his left arm became too tired to follow
its dictates, Kelvin changed sword for shield in his left
hand, and took the sword in his right. He had no
magic there, but did have some training, and at least
that arm was relatively fresh.

Now, you devils, come on, he thought, maneuvering
his horse away from corpses. His stomach had no
qualms now, despite the bleakness of the likely out-
come of this encounter; he was ready for the next

stage of the fray.

Suddenly there were three guardsmen before him,
each mounted. They were charging him as if he were a

magnet.
Mor Crumb saw the situation and angled across to

engage one of the attackers. Les Crumb moved too
slowly, and was knocked off his mount by a lucky
blow from the second. The third reached Kelvin,

striking at him.

Kelvin's sword blade missed as his gauntlet raised
the shield and deflected the enemy's sword. Now they
fought, and steel clanged against steel. Each blow and
counter shook Kelvin's whole arm and shoulder and
the shock seemed to reach right through to his mind,

dulling it.

Kelvin was tiring. Now it was not merely his left
arm; it was his whole body. Battle was hard work! He

DRAGON'S GOLD         773

wished he could get out of this, just quit fighting and
go home to the farm, but of course he could not.

There was something else bothering him. His oppo-
nent's face—young, determined, and somehow enor-
mously familiar. He racked his brain in the midst of
the fight, but all he could think of was that the
stranger bore a slight resemblance to Jon. That was
impossible, of course; Jon was a girl, and this one was
a man, several years older than Kelvin himself.

Then the other made a deft move, and Kelvin was
unhorsed. He landed hard, twisting about, and saw
the enemy sword swishing down at his unprotected
face. His shield was pinned partly under him, no help
now.

His incredible gauntlet let loose of the shield and
snapped across to grab the naked blade.

The stranger did not release his weapon. Kelvin's
left hand jerked.

Crash! The stranger hit the dust beside him, his
sword flung wide. Now neither combatant was armed
with a blade.

The stranger raised his head, as jarred by his fall as
Kelvin was. For a moment they sat face-to-face,
staring at each other. There was a resemblance to Jon,
or somebody like her, a resemblance that bothered
Kelvin as much as the notion of imminent defeat and
death.

Now, in his fatigue, he saw something else. It had
failed to register before, but on the right hand of the
stranger was a gauntlet identical to his own.

The other man moved—and Kelvin's left arm
jerked up. His gauntlet met the opposite gauntlet and
grasped it. He felt the effort down the length of his
worn-out arm. The two gauntlets were struggling
against each other—the two that should be a pair!

Back and forth, up and down and around, the
gauntlets and the trapped hands struggled, stirring up
sweat and dirt. Kelvin saw exhaustion on the other
man's face, and fear. The stranger felt the same

174     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mavgroff

exhaustion and fear Kelvin did, but was a similar
captive to his gauntlet!

The other gauntlet pulled his down, as if seeking to
pin it to the ground. Kelvin reached with his right
hand to help, and met the left hand of the stranger.

Their two bare hands grasped and squeezed and
struggled and fought, exactly like the two gauntlets,
but more weakly.

Suddenly there was a noise close at hand.
Horsemen—but of which side? Kelvin was too weary
to raise his head. Too weary to really think. So, it
seemed, was the stranger. The battle had devolved to
their four struggling hands; little elsewhere seemed

important.

Their bare hands weakened, and fell apart. Human
flesh had met its limit; they could fight no more.

But the gauntlets still fought like scorpiocrabs in a

bottle.

Other figures came to stand by the combatants. One
person or the other was about to be struck down.
Which one would that be? It hardly seemed to matter.

It seemed to Kelvin that there would never be,
could never be, an end.

Mor Crumb maneuvered his war-horse as close to
his son as he could. Les, on the ground, guarded
somewhat by his well-trained horse, was either dead

or unconscious.

"Oh, please, Gods, if Gods there be, let him be only
unconscious," Mor mumbled as he simultaneously
fought off two attackers.
Neither Les nor the gods made a sound.
Mor finished the attacker on his left with a well-
aimed thrust. The guardsman on his right got through
his guard, to the side of his shield, and sliced his left

forearm.

Mor felt the sharp sting and the wetness and knew
he was wounded. But the mailed vest he wore was still
doing its duty and the shield remained strapped

DRAGON'S GOLD        775

securely to his now bleeding arm. "Oh, ye would,
would ye? Well—"

He barely got his sword around, saving his face and
possibly his head by the slimmest margin. He felt the
swish of the enemy's sword and felt his left ear sting.
He had lost part of the ear from that blow. How
much, he couldn't now be concerned about.

Somehow his sword deflected the guardsman's, and
then, with less science than he felt he usually com-
manded, he got his blade under the other's helmet and
drove upward.

"Ahhhh!"The man fell, pierced to the brain. Part of
his nose had been lobbed off by the blade's keen edge.

Now to see to his son.

Lester was still lying there, his face turned upward.

"Damn ye, you've got to be all right!" Mor shouted.
It was a foolish thing to say, and he realized it. Where
was help? There had to be help for them. For him,
Morvin mentally amended. For Lester. For his pre-
cious son. If Les didn't live, then all of this was for
nought. It was for Lester and Lester's future children,
if any, that this war was being fought.

A horse wheeled to his left. Mor jerked on the reins.

A brownberry shirt and greenbriar pantaloons,
much dusted and a little smeared with blood. A
freckle-faced boy who should be out working his
father's fields and whom Mor remembered they had
left with the main force at the edge of town.

"We have to retreat," the boy said. "There's too
many for us!"

"Greenleaf, is that you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, Mor. Show a little respect!"

The boy managed a faint smile. A good lad, this.
Mor recognized him from their training sessions.
Greenleaf had been as clumsy as Kelvin Hackleberry
without his gauntlet, but then had learned. As they all
had to learn.

"Les," Mor said, indicating his fallen son. "I'd like

176      Piers Anthony and Robert E. M.a.rgroff

to get him out of here. He got clubbed by the flat of a
blade. He will live, I think. If we can take him to

safety."

"I—I'll see what I can do, s—Mor." Then, turning
his head slightly, Greenleaf called, "Broughtner! Over

here!"

A dapple gray war-horse joined them. This one was
ridden by a craggy-faced, ruddy-complexioned fellow
who had some months ago been working hard to be a
Franklin's ne'er-do-well.

"You called, Greenleaf?"

"Les, he's down."

Broughtner arrived. "Um, I see."

"Can we take him back?"

"Can try."

"You'll do more than try!" Mor told them. Then,
simply because it seemed the appropriate thing to do,

he began to swear.

"Look out!" Broughtner cried. In the same instant,
Mor's horse gave a terrible scream and started to

collapse under him.

Mor got his head twisted around as he fell. He saw
the big guardsman who had ridden in at them and the
pike that had been deflected downward by Brought-
ner's blade. The pike had gotten his mount right

behind the rib cage.
He had allowed himself to forget that they were still

amidst the battle!

Mor hit the ground and rolled over as a war-horse's
big hooves tried hard to trample him. Then the big
guardsman was coming down to join him and Les. As
he fell with flailing arms, Mor saw that his intestines

had been split.

"Good work, Greenleaf!" Broughtner called.
"Uh, uh, uh," Greenleaf said, shuddering at his

own act.
Saved by a boy and a man whose previous destiny

had been to drink himself to death. The ignominy of
it! But better alive, better alive than dead.

DRAGON'S GOLD         177

"You look a bit battered, Mor," Broughtner said.

Mor stood up, shaking his head. It did have a buzz
in it, he discovered.

"You'll need Les's horse," Broughtner said. "Better
cut the throat of this one."

Mor reluctantly had to recognize the man's good
sense. Better do it now, he thought, before the animal
suffered more.

He placed his sword tip against the horse's neck,
drew back, and mentally called upon whatever gods
there were for strength. "Sorry, old friend," he said,
and swung hard at the vein he knew was pulsing just
beneath the slick hide.

The horse gave a very loud sigh. Blood spurted,
catching Mor's face and sword arm. He moved back,
wiping at it, refraining from cursing because it
wouldn't do to curse his dying equine friend.

"You certain he's alive?" Broughtner asked.

Mor gave him a hard look. "Can't you see that I just
killed him?"

"Your son. Not your horse."

Gods! For a moment he had actually forgotten.

Moving as swiftly as his wounds and weariness
permitted, he knelt by Lester as Broughtner caught
and held the horse. The mount neighed, but steadied
under Broughtner's hand.

"Lester, Les, speak to me, speak to me!" But there
was no response.

He raised the head a little, and there was blood. Not
a lot, not as much as soaked his own clothing, but
some. Internal bleeding—how bad was it?

He drew off a gauntlet, wishing again that he might
wear the gauntlet the Roundear had. That glove
was—

The Roundear! Where was he? Mor lurched up,
gazing across the battle. There was no sign of Kelvin
Hackleberry!

"Find the Roundear!" he panted. "We can't lose
him\".

178 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mcnyrojf

"Yes, Mor." Greenleaf cast about, searching.

Mor returned his attention to his son. He felt under
the brownberry shirt, trying to find a heartbeat.

"If he's dead, we'll have to leave him," Broughtner
said.

Damn the man! "He's alive!" he snapped.

"Then get him on the horse. This horse. You take
his."

It took almost all Mor's strength, but he placed his
hands underneath Les's arms and hoisted his body up
to Broughtner. He had never before felt so incredibly
weak! It must be the bleeding, and the drinking last
night and the fact that he hadn't really slept. I've
gotten old, he thought sadly. But I recognize it.

Broughtner took Les and positioned him in front of
him on the horse. Meanwhile, Greenleaf returned,
spreading his hands: he had been unable to locate the
Roundear.

"I can't fight this way," Mor complained. "You two
will have to watch out for me."

"We will," Greenleaf said.

Mor wished that he could feel as confident.

"The Roundear!" Broughtner cried. "There he is!"
He wheeled his horse, almost knocking Mor down.

Mor strained his eyes. He counted six guardsmen
riding hard. Slung over the neck of the leading horse-
man's mount was a slight figure wearing the green and
brown. No wonder Greenleaf hadn't spotted Kelvin;

he had been draped across an enemy horse!

"After them!" Greenleaf cried, his own dismay
sounding.

"No! No, they've got him," Broughtner said. "We
can't even catch them, let alone overcome them. Best
we get back to the others with the word. Best we get
back alive."

Mor grabbed hold of the mane on his son's war-
horse and levered himself up to a mounted position.
His head whirled. He all but slid off. Any notion he
had of pursuing was obviously futile.

DRAGON'S GOLD         779

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "Too many guardsmen
Too many for us to fight anymore."   ' guardsmen-

"YS^nI,0,^1' regr0^'" ^""gl^er said.
events         m^y^es.8111 he was thinking'

DRAGON'S GOLD         181

CHAPTER 20

Nurse

IT WAS A SAD party that straggled back to the camp.
Morvin Crumb was wounded, his son was uncon-
scious, and more than half the Knights were missing.
Jon and Hein ran out together. "Where's Kelvin?"
Jon cried, horrified as she failed to spot her brother in

the group.
"Captured," Mor said wearily. Then he fell over in

his saddle, and others had to catch him before he

dropped from his horse.

Jon turned to look at Hein, and found the other's
face a reflection of her own horror. Kelvin—
captured! What would become of him?

Quickly they learned the details of Kelvin's loss. He
had been carried off by several guardsmen, after
apparently fighting against one with another gauntlet
like his own. "That other—he had round ears!" a
Knight said. "I caught one glimpse of him, before I
had to defend myself from another charge."

"Roundear magic!" Hein said. "A roundear with a
magic gauntlet! That's what the Queen meant!"

"If only we had understood better!" Jon said, her
heart gripped by the horror and grief of her brother's

fate.

"I must find him!" Hein cried.

Mor, now standing on the ground, propped by two
other Knights, responded. "Girl, get that notion from
your head! You can't go after him!"

"I meant—my way," she said.

"It's too soon, girl! You haven't recovered from the

last time!"

"I love him!" she exclaimed. "I must find him!"
Mor glanced across at the stretcher on which his
180

son lay. "I know how that is. Then do what ye must,
girl—but only this once. It won't do him any good if
you die from overdosing."

"I'll watch over her," Jon said quickly.

Morvin turned away. "Les—got to get a nurse for
him—"

But there was nobody to tend the unconscious man.
All the survivors were tired, many of them wounded;

it was all they could do to take care of their own.

"Put him in our tent," Jon said. "I can watch two as
well as one."

No one argued; they were glad to have her assume
this burden, so that the others could collapse. They
hauled the stretcher in and got the unconscious young
man on Jon's bunk.

Then Hein ate a berry and lay down, and Jon
watched both: the unconscious woman and the un-
conscious man. Both were so still it was as if they were
dead. One should recover; the other—

Jon went to Lester Crumb and checked him more
closely. There was a trace of blood on his lips, and
more in his mouth; something had ruptured inside
him and this was the only evidence. How bad was it?
She had no way to know, but the fact that he remained
unconscious did not bode well.

She decided to do the job right. There was no one
else to do it, after all. She got a basin of water and a
cloth and washed off his face. Then she stripped his
clothing, discovering numerous cuts and bruises, and
cleaned these off. She tied bandages around the bad
ones, so that no further blood leaked, and formed a
more comprehensive bandage for his head, because
the whole side of it was one massive purple bruise. It
looked as though the blow to his head had caused him
to bite his cheek and tongue, and that was the source
of the blood in his mouth; that suggested that he had
no bad bleeding deeper in his body. That same blow
had put him in a coma, and she could do nothing for
that except make him comfortable. She covered him
over with all the blankets she had, trying to keep his

182

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

DRAGON'S GOLD

183

cold body warm, and hoped. Lester Crumb was a
decent man, who had helped Kelvin and had always
been courteous to Jon herself. It would be awful to
have him die.

Hein was normal for this stage, lying as still as a
statue, her breathing stopped or was so slight it wasn't
evident. There was nothing more for Jon to do except
wait.

After half an hour, Les groaned. Jon hurried across
and took his hand. Was he pulling out of it?

He turned his head, choked, and spluttered out
some saliva and blood. Jon grabbed his shoulders and
helped him sit up so that he could cough and get his
throat clear. He retched, and spat, and then sank
back. She washed off his face again, and found that
now it was hot: he was running a fever. But he sank
back into a more natural sleep, and that meant that he
was recovering. His color was better now, despite (or
maybe because of) the fever; he was a handsome man.

Not long later he stirred again, and again she helped
him sit up and retch. This time his eyes opened.
"Thanks," he said, and slept again.

Then Hein began to recover, and Jon went to attend
to her. By this time she was feeling very much the
nurse; both her patients were improving!

For the next hour she shuttled between the two,
doing her best to keep each comfortable. Hein woke
and reported:

"I found him!" she said weakly. "They took him to
the dungeon under the Queen's palace and dumped
him there with two older men. I think they drugged
him, because he never woke up, and somebody said
something about how he would sleep for at least
another day. He didn't look injured. So I think he'll be
all right, and maybe the long sleep will even do him
good. But we've got to get him out of that dungeon!"

"That's for sure," Les said, startling them.

Jon fumed to him. "I thought you were sleeping."

He smiled. "I was, until I heard you two talking. I
seem to be in the wrong tent."

"No, they brought you here so I could watch you,"
Jon said. "You were unconscious, and your father was
wounded, and over half the Knights are gone and the
rest in bad state, so—"

"I thank you. But now I had better get out. What
happened to my clothes?"

"But you're feverish!"

"Not anymore, I'm sure. We Crumbs heal quickly."

Jon went and put her hand on his forehead. Sure
enough, the fever was down. Maybe that was his little
bit of magic. She explained about the clothes, and
brought them back to him, then turned her back while
he dressed.

He stood, and wavered, and she had to run to
provide support before he fell. "I think you'd better
lie down again," she said.

"No, I've got to consult with my father, plan
strategy," he said. "With Kelvin captive—"

Jon could hardly argue with that. "Then I'd better
help you walk."

"Ooo, my head!" he said. "I'm dizzy! I think you'd
better."

"I'll be all right," Hein said. "Get him to Morvin. If
there's any way to rescue Kel—"

Jon supported Les as he staggered out, and got him
to Morvin's tent. There a strategy meeting was al-
ready in progress. The generals had the war map
unrolled and were fretting over it.

"Son!" Mor exclaimed, lurching up to embrace Les.
"How are you?"

"Some fool is still slashing about with a sword
inside my head," Les said with a pained smile. "But
Jon here got me patched up, and Hein has found out
that Kelvin's in the Queen's dungeon, so I had to
come here."

"The Queen's dungeon!" Mor said. "They haven't
killed him?"

"Drugged him. They say he'll sleep for another day.
So they can't be planning anything sooner than that."
"They've got their own wounds to lick," Mor said

184      Piers Anthony and Robert E. M-cvrgroff

grimly. He looked terrible; the top part of his left ear
had been sliced away so that he looked like half a
roundear. His left arm was in a sling.

"There's not much we can do but surrender,"
General Jeffreys said. "The Queen's terms, total and
unconditional surrender, aren't to my liking, but—"

"Ye talk like a fool!" Mor snapped. "Surrender
unconditionally and she'll hang or imprison the lot of

us!"
"She might not," Jeffreys said, looking sheepish

and as though he wished he could be back on his farm.
"And I say she will! The officers, at least!"

"I—I agree with my father," Les said. His eyes did
not quite focus, but his mind seemed sound. "I gather
a messenger arrived while I was sleeping. That means
the Queen knows our location, and this may just be
stalling for time while she gets together another army
to destroy the last of us. If we surrender now, we have
to be prepared to flee Rud. Maybe some of us can
survive in the Sadlands, a few can venture into dragon
country, but most of us will have to get all the way
out. I'm hoping that most of us can find our way to

Throod. But—"
"You can be sure you'll be taken in," said Captain

MacKay. "We Throodians don't abandon our

friends."
"I appreciate that, Captain," Les said with dignity.

"But my point is, that we could be better off not
surrendering and being dispersed, with many of us
executed out of hand. We might best stick together
and fight on. The worst that could happen is that we'd

get killed."
"When most of us could live, if we surrender,"

General Jeffreys said. "Understand, the word is gall in
my mouth, but I'm trying to be practical. We have
scant resources remaining to fight, and—"

"Har-rumph," said Mor, drawing attention back to
himself. "I'm not prepared to say we surrender un-
conditionally."

"Why not?" General Saunders demanded.

DRAGON'S GOLD        185

"Because of the Roundear."

"He's captured. Imprisoned in her dungeon. He'll
be killed, probably publicly. Even if we had the
manpower to raid the dungeon, they'd just kill him
before we could fight our way in. They'd like nothing
better than to have us present our remaining troops
for slaughter like that."

Mor nodded. "Hmm, I hate to agree with you, but
I fear you're right. There's little we can do to save
him."

"Yes, there is!" Jon exclaimed before she thought.
Abruptly all eyes turned to her.

"Jon!" Mor snapped. "Why are you still here? This
is a strategy conference! Go outside and—"

"Play?" Jon suggested, knowing that that was not
what he had been about to say. "The Roundear you
talk about is my brother! He didn't want to be a hero
and fight this war. You, Mor, and you, Les, you forced
it on him! He'd be back on the farm now, if you
hadn't interfered!"

"She's got a point, Father," Les said. "She has a
right to be here, and—"

"She doesn't know what she's saying!" Mor said.
"She's only a girl!"

"Yes, a girl!" Jon agreed hotly. "And Kel's only a
boy. But then, who else are you fighting the war for?"

There was a stunned silence. Jon leaped into it,
determined to express her thought. "You told us over
and over, Mr. Crumb. 'It's for the young, it's not for
the old, that we're fighting this.' Everyone here heard
you say it. Everyone in the camp!"

"She's right," Les said.

"Youngster," Mor said, looking sad, "if I could help
your brother through direct action—"

"But you can! You can! He fought for you, and now
you talk of abandoning him. What kind of people are
you? What kind—"

"The realistic kind," Mor said. "We know the
difference between fact and fancy. We can't—"

Without giving herself a chance to think, Jon ran at

186      Piers Anthony paid Robert E. Margroff

Mor, fists raised. She wanted to punch him into some
kind of agreement, crazy as that was.

But Saunders caught her and held her. "What kind
of respect is this, you gamin?" His face, normally so
calm and solemn, was now fierce.

Jon felt all her madness go. Here she was trying to
act like a man again, and succeeding only in childish-
ness. She would be lucky if the general didn't shake
her in humiliating fashion.

"Let. her go, Saunders," Les said. "She has reason to
react. It's her brother we're writing off. My father
would react much the same if I were the one being

deserted."

Mor started to speak, then paused thoughtfully.
"Gods," he muttered. "It's true. When I saw you
down, son, I couldn't think of anything but—"

Saunders' grip tightened briefly. Then he let go.

"You got anything to say, Jon?" Mor asked. "Any-
thing we need to know?"

"I think we should fight," Jon said. "That's all I
have to say."

"We?"

"We patriots. We who care about Rud."

"You're only fourteen, Jon, and female, but you
may be right," Les said. "Maybe we should make an
all-out effort. Tell the Knights we're making one last
effort to take the capital, defeat the Queen, and rescue

the Roundear."

"Are you daft?" Mor demanded of his son. "After
all you've been through, you still want to fight? I
wasn't going to suggest attack, merely that we not

surrender."
"I don't want to fight at all," Les said. "But you've

convinced me time after time. Father. We have to
defeat this tyrant. We have to rid this land of its ugly
sore so that it will heal and become fair and free once
more. How many times have you said it. Father? How

many?"

Mor looked away. "I don't want you to be killed,
son. You came too close today! I don't want any more

DRAGON'S GOLD         187

deaths. I don't want to surrender, but if we surrender
now and get us to—"

"She'll never let us out. She'll want a formal surren-
der, with you and me and the main officers. Then you
know what will happen? Then she will send us to the
dungeons. If we ever get out from there, it won't be in
any condition to fight anybody, and more likely just
for execution. There's no reprieve in surrender!"

"I_"

"You know it's-so!" his son said challengingly.

Jon kept her mouth shut. What a beautiful job Les
Crumb was doing, arguing her case! She was glad she
had helped him recover.

Mor swallowed, his big throat producing a gurgling
sound. "You may be right, son. You may—"

"I say he is right!" Saunders said suddenly. "I say
we'd better fight another battle and make it an all-out
one. Even if we don't win, maybe we can force
surrender terms."

"How can we win?" Mor asked, his face rigid.
"They've got magic."

"No more than we had! Father, we've got arms."

"Um, maybe so. One all-out attack on the capital."

"She won't be expecting it nov/. Not after that last
defeat. And she doesn't have that many guardsmen in
good shape right now."

Mor turned to the map. As the big man traced a
possible route of march and attack, Jon noticed that
the river ran all the way into the capital. Why not go
by the river, she wondered? But Mor was talking.

"We've lost a lot of ground, and a lot of lives. But if
we start our march tomorrow and we're not stopped
before we get there, four days will see us there."

"Four days?" Jon asked. "I thought it was only one
day's ride from Skagmore to the capital."

"One day's ride for a messenger on a fast horse,"
Les explained. "Four days for a tired army, hauling
supplies, foraging for food. The Queen's guardsmen
will take longer than that, because they're licking their
wounds and don't believe there is any need to return

188      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

rapidly to the capital. That's our advantage: striking
by surprise, at their weak spot: the capital whose
reserves have been expended for the battle just past."

"I'll come along!" Jon said.

"No, you won't, girl," Mor said, turning on her.
"Your mother needs to be sure of at least one child. If
we fail, that's you. Before we leave, you are starting
your march home. The same goes for the roundear

girl."
Jon started to protest, but Les made a warning

signal. She understood: Les knew that his father had
gone as far as he would go, and that it was best to
settle for that. And, she realized, Mor was probably
right; this tough march and battle, using the remnants
of their army, would be no place for two young
women. She had to quit while she was ahead.

CHAPTER 21

Travel

JON WAVED AT THE Knights who had brought them to
the road and were now riding back to the camp. They
didn 'l even give us horses! she thought angrily. They
could at least have spared us two of the lame ones. But
then, of course, they would have had to lead the
animals, and move slow, and find grain and water for
them. Besides which, all the animals were needed by
the army for this final effort. So they could travel
faster than the guardsmen would, and fall upon the
capital when its defenses were minimal. She didn't
question that; it was her brother who stood to benefit.

Except that the Queen would surely have him killed
the moment the attack materialized. What would they
gain then, even if they won?

She brushed at some perspiration on her forehead,
squinting into the morning mists, wondering why it
had to be so hot, hoping the mists would soon rise.
They had a long walk ahead.

Maybe, just maybe, they should go back, she
thought. But she knew that no girls would be allowed
along. Mor had made that absolutely plain.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Hein in-
quired.

"Yes, but they'd never let us do it."

"How could they stop us, if we went by a separate
route?"

"Separate route?"

"Maybe you didn't know that my folks' farm is
between here and the capital."

The capital! If they could get there ahead of the
army and rescue Kelvin, so that the Queen couldn't
kill him—!

189

190     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyrojf

Then Jon sobered. "I might sneak in, in the guise of
a boy; I've had a lot of practice. But you could never
pass for anything but a beautiful girl, and besides that,

your ears—"

"But I want to save Kelvin as much as you do!"

"And how do you think you'll help him, if they
catch you and rape you again?"

Hein was silent, and Jon was immediately sorry.
She was sounding just like Morvin Crumb!

"I mean—" she started awkwardly.

"No, no, you're right," Hein said. "I really can't
help him directly. But maybe I can help you to help
him. If I eat a dragonberry, and spy out the terrain for
you, so that you'll know exactly where to look and

what to avoid—"

"Yes!" Jon exclaimed. "Then I could sneak in and
free him, before the attack, and then when the attack
started it would be easier to get out in the confusion!"

"But first you have to get there," Hein pointed out.
"I know my folks would help, if we asked them—"

"Let's go!" Jon exclaimed.

But they were afoot, and that made the distance to
Heln's folks' farm stretch out. They plodded step by
step, resting when they had to, and gradually the mists

lifted.

Ahead was the bridge. She remembered crossing it
on the way to dragon country and adventure. How
long ago that seemed! Why then, just weeks ago, she

had been a child!

She touched the top other pantaloons and her sling.
At least Mor had left her that, she thought. It was a
wonder it hadn't been confiscated for the war effort!

They walked on, this time not toward the Hackle-
berry farm, but toward the Flambeau farm. And by
dusk, weary, dirty, and hungry, they reached it.

There was a flurry of amazed greetings as Hein
made herself known. She explained how Morvin
Crumb had purchased her, and freed her, but that she
hadn't been able to communicate with them because

DRAGON'S GOLD        191

that could have alerted the Queen's guardsmen to the
whereabouts of the Knights.

"We wondered why they had guardsmen camped
nearby, watching us," her father said. "They never
did anything, just watched. Until they were called
away a few days ago—"

"To fight at Skagmore," Hein finished. "And that's
why we're here. This is Jon Hackleberry—"

"Hackleberry! You mean—?"

"His sibling. Jon needs to get quickly to the capital,
to help rescue Kelvin, who is the Roundear of Prophe-
cy. I said you'd help—"

"Certainly we'll help. The river flows right down
there. We have a raft—"

"A raft!" Jon exclaimed. "Of course!"

So it was arranged. They had a great supper, and
then Jon slept while Hein ate another berry. This was
risky, because it was the third in as many days, but the
need was great.

In the morning, Hein told Jon what she had spied.
Kelvin was still asleep, but was supposed to wake
soon. The two other prisoners were friendly, and
would take care of him. She had studied the layout of
the dungeons as well as she could, with all their
approaches, and the city around, so was able to make
a fair map. Jon now knew where the guards marched,
and where the river bypassed their observation.

Heln's point-eared father took her down to the raft
tied at the river's edge. "It isn't the fanciest craft," he
said apologetically. "We made it to carry firewood
down from the forest, and we just lashed the larger
logs together with what vines we could find. I think it
will hold, but—"

"It's great, sir!" Jon exclaimed. "Much better than I
could make!"

"Then the Gods be with ye, lad, and may you rescue
your brother just as he rescued our daughter." He set
a bag of supplies on the raft.

"Thank you, sir." She didn't like deceiving these

192      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyrojf

good folk about her nature, but feared they would not
have let her go if they knew. She scrambled on and
took up the heavy pole.

Flambeau untied the raft and shoved it out into the
channel. The current caught it and bore it on, slowly
rotating, until Jon managed to steady it by poling. She
was on her way!

The novelty of it palled soon enough. All she had to
do was keep the raft in the channel where the current
was strongest, using the pole to push it away from the
banks and shallows. Every so often it snagged, but all
it took was work to free it. At this rate, she would
arrive well before the Knights! She hoped.

A wave rippled up beside the raft. It didn't look
natural. She hefted the pole, watching.

There was a great splash, and a sheet of water
drenched her. Something the size of a small colt dived
underneath the raft. The craft rocked, dipped, and
swirled.

A bearver, Jon realized. Probably just playing, but
maybe—

A shaggy red head broke the surface. The bearver
looked at her, large ears laid back, seemingly consid-
ering.

This game was not nearly as much fun for Jon as for
the animal. "Go 'way!" Jon called, splashing with the

pole.

The bearver seemed not to notice. It dived.

Jon grabbed hold of the edge of her raft just as a
loud thump sounded on the bottom, and the whole
craft lifted. The thing bowed, the logs sinking down at
the edges. "Hold, vines, hold!" Jon prayed. This was a
sturdy raft, but it wasn't constructed for this kind of
stress!

The support dropped out. The raft smacked the
water. The vines parted. Jon found herself in the
water with floating logs. She struggled, kicking out.

Then something grabbed her leg.

Now I'm finished, she thought as her head dipped
under. All her grand notions of rescuing her brother,

DRAGON'S GOLD         193

and she couldn't even get there without drowning! She
inhaled water, and then her head was above water
again, and she was choking and spitting it out.

The bearver's head broke water right beside her. It
was a cub. An infernal brat!

"Shoo! Scram!" Jon said. She didn't think it in-
tended to eat her. At least, she hoped it didn't.

The bearver blinked muddy-orange eyes. "Ooom-
pth?" it inquired.

"I don't talk bearver," Jon said. "Beat it!"

The animal paddled along beside, far more com-
fortable in the water than she was.

Jon grabbed a floating log. She was a good swim-
mer, but the water was swift. She could tire quickly
enough even if the bearver let her alone.

She had her sling tucked into the top of her panta-
loons. She slid a hand down and got it. But she didn't
have any ammunition.

"Shoo, bearver!" she cried, and smacked the crea-
ture right across the face.

The bearver looked surprised. Then it opened a
large mouth, displaying sharp yellow teeth.

What have I done? What have I done? She wished
she could undo what she had done, but of course it
was too late.

The bearver shook its head, splashed water on her
with a paw, and swam away.

Jon sighed, amazed at her luck. Apparently she had
hurt its feelings more than its body, and it had
retreated in a pique instead of advancing in a rage. A
mature one might have reacted otherwise. She
grabbed at a new log, and determined that she would
rebuild the raft if she possibly could, adding new and
stronger vines.

She was in luck. The main part of the raft remained
tangled together; not all the vines had broken. Her bag
of supplies was bobbing nearby. She clambered
aboard the remnant, got the pole, used it to snag the
bag, and then pushed for shore.

Landing the craft proved to be no problem. Repair-

194     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

ing it was more difficult. Here there were no decent
vines; she had to use the ones she had come with, and
she didn't trust them.

She sat on the shore and opened the bag, pondering
what to do. Inside she discovered really nice food:

nuts, fruits, and bread, now sodden but still good.
Heln's folks had been kinder to her than she had
known!

She finally gave up on the notion of rebuilding the
raft; she just didn't have the time to go in search of the
necessary vines. At last, regretfully, she tied the bag of
supplies to her waist, and launched out from the shore
with a floating log with a vine looped around it.

The log promptly dunked her. When she climbed
back on, it dunked her again. It wasn't nearly as easy
to stay on a single log as she had supposed!

It's a long, long way, she thought. Could she make
it? Could she make it there ever, let alone on time?
She began, not for the first time this day, to feel really
sorry for herself.

A stinging fly flew down and lit on her nose. Jon
struck at it. She missed the fly but scored on her face.
Her hand came loose from the vine she was holding,
and then she was at pains to get hold of it again.

Was it going to be this way all the way, she won-
dered? She was very much afraid that it was. Still, she
intended to get there, no matter what. She clung to the
log and let the central current carry her. This wasn't
much fun, but it was getting her in the right direction.

As it grew dark she found a sandbar, landed, ate
some more from the bag—bless the Flambeaus!
—stretched herself out, and lapsed into a fully ex-
hausted sleep.

CHAPTER 22

Tommy

JON WOKE FOR THE second morning in a row feeling
stiffer and sorer than she had ever felt before. How she
wished that the bearver hadn't broken up her raft! She
had managed to lash two logs together so that she
could lie on them and float with some efficiency, but
then the sun beat down on her back, and she had to
spend much of the time in the water anyway. She had
made, by her best estimate, adequate time, staying
constantly in the swiftest current, but it was one
wearing effort!

She crawled out from behind the log where she had
slept, stretched, yawned, and rubbed her eyes. Blearily
she walked to the nearest appleberry bush and pro-
ceeded methodically to eat her breakfast. She lacked
her brother's finesse with ripening the fruits being
plucked, but these were pretty good anyway. She was
fortunate that these bushes grew all along the river,
and even more fortunate that the bag of supplies the
Flambeaus had provided had enabled her to remain
all day in the river, not having to break to forage for
food while traveling. That was perhaps the major
reason for her moderate progress.

She discovered a few rounded stones near the
bushes. She picked them up; they were just right for
her sling. She didn't want to encounter a bearver
again without ammunition.

As she made ready for yet another siege of log-
clinging, her spirits dampened. This is turning out to
be one miserable adventure, she thought. She chewed
the last of the appleberries, relishing the taste less
than she had on the first morning. /'// never get to the
195

196      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff'

capital, and if I do, what can I do? I haven't an army.

All I've got is my sling.

She felt sorrier for herself and more discouraged
than ever before in her life. Why was she even
bothering to try to be a stupid male-type hero? She
wasn't even a male! The very notion of getting there
in time, and then being able to sneak past the guards
into the dungeon, and then get her brother out—what
had ever made her think she could manage all that?
The guardsmen would surely catch her, and discover
what she was, and she knew what they would do then.
Maybe she should admit that her mission was impos-
sible, and quit right now.

She wiped appleberry juice from her mouth and
looked across the river. And her heart made a leap like
that of a fly-snaring fish.

There was a boat. A small boat, containing one
man. The man was hunched over, rowing, and two
fishing poles stuck out of the back of the craft. As it
drew near, Jon could see the man's gray hair and
seasoned face. Soon he had pulled almost abreast of

her.

Could she somehow wangle a ride? That would be
an enormous help! Maybe she could, after all, make it
in time. Then—well, she would worry about the rest
when the time came. After all, she did know the
layout, thanks to Heln's astral visit. What had seemed
doubtful now seemed promising.

"Catching any?" she called.

The boatman paused in his rowing, tugging a large
ear with freckled spots on it. "Eh?"

He couldn't hear well, Jon realized. She should have
kept still and let him row right past. But curse it, she
hadn't seen other than bearvers and mooear for the
past two days, and she didn't know how far she had
still to go. She was anxious for information and any
help she could beg.

The boat's oarlocks squeaked as the old man re-
sumed rowing, drawing closer. He was coming in to

297

DRAGON'S GOLD

meet her. Jon waited, working out what she would
say. She stepped a little nearer to the bank.

The boat bumped shore and the old boatman raised
rheumy eyes to look at her. "Eh?" he repeated.

"I said, sir, I was wondering how far to the capital?"

"The capital's right over there, lad," he said, point-
ing a trembly hand at the opposite shore.

Jon blinked. The morning fog still hid the other
bank. It might have been possible for her to float right
by the capital and not know it!

"Uh, thanks," she said. Now she was uncertain
again, because she had decided to worry about getting
past the guards when she arrived, and here she was
already! Did she really want to risk this? Did she have
any chance, realistically?

The old man was looking at her speculatively, his
forehead furrowed and his hand on his chin. "You
wouldn't be one of the bound boys, would you?"

"Bound boy!" Jon kicked herself mentally. She had
all but forgotten both her situation and her masquer-
ade. She had indeed been sold in the Mart, and
remained technically the property of the dwarf who
had bought her, and of course the old boatman had
taken her for the boy she pretended to be. "I'm not
bound to anyone," she said, deciding it was true. Her
delivery to the Boy Mart had been illegal, so nothing
that had followed was legal, and anyway, she had been
rescued. Certainly she had never been a bound boy\

"Not with the maintenance crew, then?"

"What maintenance crew?"

"What maintenance crew? My, you are a stranger,
aren't you! The maintenance crew at the palace. The
grounds maintenance crew. Never less than a dozen
boys, cutting grass, trimming trees, repairing walks.
You say you're not one?"

"I'm not," Jon said, wondering if he was an agent
for the Queen. No, that was unlikely; the old man
could hardly row his boat, let alone recapture a bound
boy.

198      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mar^grof

"Well, if ye are, I'm not blaming you. Dirty busi-
ness, this bound boy business. Dirty business!"
"Yes, it is," Jon said. Glad you think so, oldster.' You

could be my big break!

"I've got a grandson got bound. Little skinny fel-
low. You know him? His name's Tommy. Tommy

Yokes."

Jon felt her mouth open. Tommy? Here? The boy
who had kept her secret at the Boy Mart, then
summoned the guards so as to stop her from getting
raped? She could hardly think of a person she would
rather encounter, if she needed help getting into the

dungeon undiscovered.

"I—I know him," she said.

"You do? Really?"

Jon nodded. "We went to school together after he
moved to our village. I'm—" No, better not give her
name, she realized; the old man just might recognize
it, and know her for a girl. "A friend of his."

"Ye are! Why, that's something, that is!"

"Yes, it is. It really is. Is Tommy working with the

maintenance crew?"

"He is. Has to. You see, he has no choice."
"I know. Once a boy's been sold into slavery—I

mean, legally bound—"

"Ye had it right the first time, lad! The way the
Queen squeezes the common workingman—"

"Could you row me across the river, Mr. Yokes? I
haven't anything to pay you with, but—"

"I can row you. But ye'd best not go. Many a greedy
hand in the capital would have you impressed, bound,
and sold. You'd be working with Tommy, then, but

you wouldn't like it much."
"I'm sure I wouldn't like it!" Jon agreed. "But

I—I've business."
"But no money?"
Jon shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Yokes. I'd pay

you if I could."
Yokes scratched an ear again. "Maybe I can lend

DRAGON'S GOLD         199

you a wee coin until you've seen Tommy from a
distance. That what you want to do?"

"That's part of it."

"Yes, I can lend you a rudna. And if one of the
guardsmen grabs you, tell him I'm your employer.
Tell him you're checking on my grandson for me."

"I'll do that!" Jon agreed.

"Well, get in the boat."

Jon got in and pushed them free of the bank. The
old man rowed. Straining her eyes, Jon could make
out the piled-box affair that was the royal palace. She
wondered if she would actually get there, and if she
did, would she see Tommy and maybe find out a little
more about Kelvin? It had now been three days since
Hein had checked, and anything could have hap-
pened. Her brother might even have been moved to
some other prison. At the moment she just couldn't be
sure of anything. That was part of what made it such
nervous business.

"Well, here we are," the old man called as their boat
bumped the opposite shore.

Jon scrambled to get out. "Thanks, Mr. Yokes,
and—"

"Here. Here's the rudna. Now, you be sure and look
me up and tell me you've seen Tommy."

"I will, Mr. Yokes." The grandfather was as decent
a man as the grandson!

"I'll be fishing all day. I fish all day every day. But
I've a house over there. Just a shack, with a couple
goeep staked out front. If you need a place to stay, you
can stay with me and fish."

"Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Yokes. I've a
brother—"

"Oh, then you're not alone in the world."

"No. Not quite."

"You're lucky, then. But if you need help keeping
out of the Boy Mart, come to me. I'll help any young
fellow I can."

"Thank you. Thank you," Jon repeated. She had

200      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroj/f

never felt more grateful to anyone, or more guilty.
This old man was giving her trust and help, and she
was deceiving him about her nature and her mis-
sion. Yet, if he knew either, would he let her go into
that danger? She couldn't risk it. She took the
rudna, pocketed it, and prepared to climb out of the

boat.
"One thing more," the old man said. "This being so

early, the grounds maintenance crew will be at their
camp back of the orchard. That's along the palace
wall and then right. Just follow that big wall, but keep
away from guardsmen and anyone else you see. Some
of those fellows are real eager to 'press; they get a
bonus for anything they bring in, you know."

"I'll remember," Jon said. She hardly needed that
particular warning! She wondered whether her green-
briar pantaloons and brownberry shirt would identify
her as from the country. Well, it was way too late to

change.
She climbed out, bending over to hold on to the rim

of the boat while she stepped to shore.
"Hold on, that won't do at all," the man said. "Not

at all."
"What?" she asked, pausing with one foot out and

one in.
"Got to patch up that tear in your shirt, or the

whole world'll know."

Jon looked down. Indeed, her shirt was torn, and at
the moment, the tear was gaping open, showing her
bosom quite clearly. She had never worn an undergar-
ment in that region, considering it unmasculine.
"Oops." The material must have snagged on a sharp
branch when she got dunked, because no normal
stress would damage the tough fabric.

"I have needle and thread," he said. "I patch my
own, you know, these days." He fumbled in a small
chest, and brought them out.

Jon climbed back into the boat. It occurred to her
that the man didn't seem surprised. "You knew?"

"I'm halfway deaf, but I'm not blind, child. I raised

DRAGON'S GOLD        201

a son and a daughter, and I still know the difference
atween them. You were doing such a good job of being
a boy, I figured you might pass if you wanted to, so I
let it be. I know a girl wouldn't dare go where you're
going. But that tear's worse'n I thought. Here, I'll get
it."

Jon sat still in the boat while he worked on her
front, carefully sewing the tear closed. It wasn't the
neatest job, but it was adequate, and it made it
impossible to see through to her body. Though his
hands had to brush her front frequently to complete
the job, he took no liberties; he was just making sure
the job was done right. He was like his grandson in
this respect too: he could keep a secret, and offered
help only when it was warranted.

"I—I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Yokes,"
she said as he finished and knotted and broke off the
thread.

"Just make sure nobody else catches on," he said.
"You're playing a dangerous game, girl."

She stood, leaned forward, and kissed him on his
weathered cheek. Then, quickly, she stepped out.

"And she said she didn't know how to thank me,"
the old man muttered as she shoved his boat out into
deeper water. He touched his cheek, then grabbed the
oars. Jon had to smile.

Following the wall as the old man had instructed,
she soon came to a squalid series of tents. Hem had
not described these, which meant that they must have
been set up in the last two or three days. Probably the
boys pitched their tents in whatever section of the
palace grounds they had to work on that day. As she
looked out from behind a tree, she saw a large boy
belaboring another with a stick.

"You going to work today, Tommy Yokes? Or are
you going to hang back again and pretend you're
sick?"

"I'll work," Tommy said, cringing back from the
stick. "I know you're the foreman, Bustskin, but I
can't work when I'm sick."

202

Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

DRAGON'S GOLD

203

"You can try," Bustskin said, and poked his stick in
the thinner boy's stomach.

Then the big boy turned—and saw Jon.

Suddenly Jon felt enraged. After all she had been
through, after facing a bearver at very close range,
Bustskin held little terror for her. She knew he would
recognize her in a moment, and she knew what he
would do then. She had a vision of Hein, huddled in
her cell, the victim of rape. That enraged her further.
What right did any male have to—

Bustskin's mouth opened. Tommy, spying her him-
self, reached for him, as if to stop him from going
after her. Bustskin swung his fist backhanded, not
even looking, and smacked him hard on the chest.

Then Jon's sling was in her hand, and she was
putting a stone in it, and her arm was swinging
forward, seemingly all in the same motion. Bustskin
was wide open, because of his strike at Tommy.

The rock flung true. It struck Bustskin in the
stomach, hurled with all the force Jon could muster.
He doubled over, dropping the stick and clutching
himself in surprise and pain.

"Get him!" Jon said, starting forward herself. She
knew that if Bustskin got away, or even got a chance
to yell, her effort would be all over.

The younger boy leaped on Bustskin's back and
bore him to the ground. Tommy began pummeling
him, as Bustskin tried futilely to defend himself. Jon
picked up the stick, ready to knock the big boy on the
head. But now Tommy seemed to require little help.
He was raining blows on Bustskin, smashing into his
chest, neck, and face.

"Stop! Stop!" Jon cried. "He's unconscious!"

"I want him that way!" Tommy gasped. "I want
him never to wake up!"

Such fury! Now that Tommy had a chance to get
even, he was almost uncontrollable. But she had a
more important task than beating up the bully.

"We have to tie him up and get him out of sight."

"Why? A lot of kids'll be glad he got what's been
coming to him!"

"And a lot of guardsmen won't! I want to take his
place."

^What?" He was dumbfounded.

"So that I can go with you through the palace gate
onto the palace grounds, and get inside the building.
So that I can rescue my brother from whatever
dungeon he's in."

Tommy looked at her, freshly amazed. "You're
crazy! The guardsmen will kill you!"

"Not," Jon said evenly, "if I have your help Do I
have your help?"

Tommy grinned sickly. He looked at his enemy on
the ground. "You've got more than that," he said.

You have my friendship—right up until a guards-
man takes your life, and mine. Because once they find
out what we've done here—"

That, Jon thought, feeling the chill of what she had
gotten into, could be all too soon. But she shrugged it
off. "Your grandfather sends his greeting," she said as
they got to work tying and hauling Bustskin "I
promised to tell him how you're doing, but now I
think I'd better deliver you personally to him. There'll
be no life for you here, after this."

"That's for sure!" he agreed.

DRAGON'S GOLD        205

CHAPTER 23

Kian

THE FIRST THING KELVIN was aware of was the smell:

stale and musty. Then he heard the drip, drip, drip of
moisture. His mouth tasted bad and his head ached.
He placed a hand on the back of his skull and felt a
lump, but he did not remember being hit. Slowly,
hating the necessity, he opened his eyes.

Rock walls. Chains. Two faces, bearded and dirty,
looking down at him. He felt around and discovered
he was lying on straw. High overhead a barred win-
dow let in a little light that illuminated only this end
of the cell.

"Welcome to the Queen's dungeon, lad," the man
with the grayer beard said.

His gauntlet was gone, Kelvin discovered. That
other fellow probably had the pair, assuming the two
gloves hadn't destroyed each other.

"I'm the former King of this land," said the gray-
beard. "Not that it makes any difference now. Who,
lad, might you be?"

Kelvin took a deep breath. So this was the rightful
King of this land—King Rufurt! Somehow he had the
impression that the King already knew Kelvin's iden-
tity.

And the other man—Kelvin's head whirled when
he looked at him. The man's eyes were as blue as his
own. That was what had caught his attention about
his enemy, the one wearing the right-hand magic
gauntlet. The enemy's eyes had been dark and blue,
too.

And—this man had round ears!

"Recognize me, Kelvin?" the man asked in a husky
voice. His voice seemed to choke as he said it.
204

"F-father?" Kelvin gasped.

Then, suddenly, he and his father were hugging
each other. "I thought you were dead!" Kelvin said.

"It's a long story," John Knight said. "A long, long
story. But we have plenty of time. Tell me how you
come to be here. All we know is that you've been
unconscious from the drug for two days; we were
concerned that you would suffer amnesia or some-
thing."

Kelvin did not have amnesia. He told them every-
thing. It took some time.

His father listened to all his adventures without
comment. He did flinch when told of his wife's
remarriage, but relaxed when reassured that Hal
Hackleberry was a good man who'had taken excellent
care of all members of the family. He swore briefly
and colorfully when told of Cheeky Jack's stealing the
gold and kidnaping Jon. He was skeptical about the
magic gauntlet at first, but then seemed to accept it.
He was interested to leam of Hein, the female round-
ear. The forming of the Knights of the Roundear, and
the subsequent battles, fascinated him.

John Knight asked many questions when Kelvin
was done. Kelvin answered patiently. Finally his
father began to talk himself, and then it was Kelvin's
turn to be fascinated.

"Son, I've long hoped to talk to you this way, but I
thought it unlikely that the chance would ever come.
It's high time! You see, I was bom in another—I
suppose you could call it another existence. Things
are different there. Not better, necessarily, just differ-
ent. Many of the things that are here regarded as
make-believe are normal there. Flying machines,
horseless carriages, talking boxes, moving pictures,
thinking machines, nuclear bombs. Fantasy here, but
reality there. And in my world much of what is taken
for granted here is regarded as fantasy. Magicians,
prophecies, magic gauntlets, astral separation—I
never believed in these things until too late. I suppose
there's a leakage between the universes, somehow, so

206     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayrof

that the visions, if not the reality, cross over. People
in this world imagine horseless carriages, while people
in my original world imagine magic gauntlets."

The man paused, rubbing his eyes. "It is better in
my world in some ways; many of us have conveni-
ences that you can only dream about, literally. But it
is also worse in some ways. We have pollution, crime,
inflation—these become complex to explain, but they
are nevertheless pervasive evils. So when I came here,
I thought this world a paradise. It seemed so peaceful,
so safe from such things as bombs—"

Kelvin could keep silent no longer. "How did you
get here?" he asked. "To this world. Zatanas claims he
brought the roundears here—"

"Zatanas! That old fraud? He had nothing to do
with it! He just pretends he did, so that others will
think him more powerful than he is. He's strictly a
magic man, not an alternate-worlds man."

"I thought as much," Kelvin said. "But if it wasn't

him, then—"

"How?" His father seemed to look backward into
time, sorting it all out behind his suddenly closed
eyelids. "They called it a 'clean atomic artillery
shell,'" he said. "They said we were in no danger. Just
testing, as they'd tested other weapons on other
human sacrifices. We were soldiers, but not one of us
wanted to be there, any more than the boys and girls
sold at the Marts want to be there. I was a platoon
leader. There were twelve men in my squad, counting
Mary Limbeck and Jeanne Donovan. The girls were
the only ones who tried to pretend it was a lark. The
shells were supposed to whiz overhead, but one of
them didn't. I saw it coming in, yelled 'Hit the dirt!'
and then ... I suppose the other squad escaped, but
us, we were right under. Somehow, someway, we

ended up—"

"In Rud?" Kelvin asked excitedly. Now at last he
was getting answers to questions he had had all his
life, and he could hardly contain himself. The miser-

DRAGON'S GOLD        207

ies of his bruised head and body, and his confinement
in this dungeon, were for the moment forgotten.

"In Throod. At the lip of what you call The Flaw
—that big, incredible tear right through the center
of... existence. Anyway, we were there, wearing
combat equipment. All twelve of us. We had on our
uniforms. We each had a laser pistol and hand gre-
nades. Four of us had jet-propulsion backpacks. None
of us had radiation sickness, though at first we
feared—"

"Radiation sickness?"

"Forget it. Or think of it as a hostile type of magic
that causes people to bleed from unbroken skin and
waste away and die, with no cure. Just let me tell you
that we were all right. All right! That was our miracle,
perhaps our first taste of magic. We set about living,
and we found that we were in the one land where
mercenaries were commonly recruited. We heard of
some fighting in Rud. The two women, wouldn't you
know, married locals and settled in Throod—"

"Heln's mother!" Kelvin exclaimed.

"I don't think so," John Knight said. "Every one of
their children I know of had pointed ears. Round ears
seems to be a patrilineal trait, here."

"But—"

"What was her mother's name?"

"Helen."

He nodded. "I may have an alternative explanation
for you, in a moment. To continue: we brave ten men
were out to get our fortunes."

"Fortune came a-callin'," Kelvin said.

"Right! Fortune came a-calling, and only the
women hid—we thought. We ten went to Rud and to
Rud's contemptible would-be Queen. Queen Zoanna,
she calls herself, and I can well believe her father is
the legendary sorcerer. She bewitched us, I tell you.
Every one of us, but especially me."

"What did you do. Father?" Kelvin was breathless.

"What did I do? What weak men have ever done

208 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff DRAGON'S GOLD 209

when confronted with the likes of her. She convinced
me that the King here"—he jerked a finger at Rufurt

—"was dead. I didn't know different. I fought for her,
with my nine men. She got her kingdom and four of
the men got their deaths, pierced by arrows or spears
or lances. The six of us roundears who survived the
campaign thought we'd lead rich and idle lives."

He shook his head. "Ha! We were fools. She dis-
trusted us too much. She was devilishly clever in the
manner she first divided us, then eliminated us. Me,
she married; the others she imprisoned one by one. I,
befuddled by her wiles, didn't catch on until it was too
late, and I realized that I alone remained free—and I
was in fact captive in the palace. I tried to leave, and
could not. Then I knew what I should have known at
the outset. I stormed at her, threatened to kill her. But
I was a fool even then, for she had deprived me of my
weapons. Before I knew it, guards had hold of me and
were dragging me to the dungeon on her orders."

"But the Queen—" Kelvin started.

"The Queen. Yes, the Queen. She took a new
consort, the first of a long line of them. She never
made the mistake of choosing a strong-willed one
again; each was a marvel ofspinelessness. The latest is
a jellyfish by the name of Peter Flick, a coward and a
sniveler of the worst sort. Perhaps that's why she fell
under the spell other father, who claims responsibili-
ty for our being here. He was the only strong man
remaining in her life. He gave her advice, and she
killed—I call it murder, but she called it execution

—my remaining men, one by one. You see, she still
wanted something from me, and each time she asked
for my cooperation and I told her to go to hell, she
killed one of my men, and made sure I knew it.
Finally, to save the last of the five, I agreed to do part
of what she asked. It wasn't totally against my will, I
confess. In that manner I bought his freedom; she
swore to me that she would let him go, let him out of
Rud unharmed, and I think she honored that. I never

knew what happened to him after that, though I think
I can guess now."

"I don't understand! What did you agree to do, and
why do you think the Queen honored the agreement?"

"The two are linked, Kelvin. The Queen keeps me
alive because she—we—have a son. It's not that she
has any particular affection or loyalty to either of us,
but her magician father advises her to maintain us
both in health. Again, I never knew why—until I
heard your story. The favor she wanted was for me to
train our son in the way of roundear magic, as she
puts it, and I think she honored her agreement to free
my last man because she was afraid that if she didn't,
and I found out, I would take it out on the boy. So she
offered a life for a life—my man's life against our
son's life. I did train our boy, and I did not try to turn
him against his mother. I kept my part of the bargain,
and now I am glad I did, because I see that she kept
hers."

"But how can you know that?"

"Your roundear girlfriend—who do you think was
her natural father?"

"Hein!" Kelvin exclaimed. "She—had a roundear
mother, who had to give her up, and—"

But John Knight was shaking his head. "My surviv-
ing man was nicknamed St. Helens, after a volcano,
because his temper—well, that's irrelevant."

"Helens?" There was the name, all right! "But—"

"Think it through, son. If you married a pointear
and wanted to protect her from possible malice by the
Queen, what would you do?"

Then it came to him. "They put out the story that it
was the woman who was the roundear! So that the
Queen's guards would not realize that the man had'a
child, or where he was—"

"And when things got too hot anyway, then he just
disappeared, drawing away the pursuit—"

"And Heln's pointear mother remarried—just as
my mother did! And Hein herself never knew—"

210      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"That's the way it goes," John Knight agreed.
"Surely St. Helens knew that his daughter would be
safer in a point-eared family, and that her mother
would take care of her, just as I knew that your
mother would do the right thing. Surely it was painful
for him, as it was for me, but necessary."

"Yes, Mr. Flambeau is a fine man," Kelvin agreed.
"He protected her, but when the taxes got too bad, she
volunteered to go to the Mart—and I guess I'm glad
she did, even though she got—"

"There are aspects of the life of the good folk of
Rud that none of us like," John Knight said gravely.
"That's why the prophecy is so important, about
the overthrow of the tyranny. I never believed that
prophecy, but now I think I do. If you really are the

one—"

"But you—how did you get free to—?"
"To sire you and Jon? Kelvin, I escaped once. My
other son helped me, though I didn't ask him to.
Apparently even the Queen could not eradicate all
decency from him. He was only three at the time, but
he managed to distract a guard so that my cell gate
didn't get properly locked, and 'accidentally' let me
get out. I'm proud to say that I destroyed every
weapon that remained from my own world, with the
exception of one flying unit, which I couldn't find but
know the Queen has hidden away somewhere. And a
few grenades and laser pistols. Your mother was
—now, there is a real queen! She knew where I had
come from, what I had been doing, and accepted me
anyway. She was—is—the most beautiful woman I
know, outside and inside. There, on that land with
her, and with you and Jon, that was really paradise.
But it couldn't last. I knew it couldn't. I heard of the
spies coming, and I left you and my only true wife,
and I took with me the grenades and the pistols. I used
those weapons to defend myself. I left fragments of
guardsmen, and suspect that those were found and
identified as me. That's why the word went out that I
was dead. Well, long life to Charlain! She deserves

DRAGON'S GOLD        211

better than an otherworld roundear!" He paused,
wiping his eyes.

Kelvin considered what he had learned. Now at last
he knew the full story of his father's origin, and his
own! But there was one other matter. He took a deep
breath. "About your son—yours and the Queen's."

"Kian. Yes, fine boy, Kian. Or he could be. You met
him under unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps when
he visits you—"

"Visits me?" Kelvin could not conceal his surprise.
"Here, in this dungeon?"

"Turn around and look," his father advised.

Kelvin fumed, startled. There stood his opponent
of the battlefield, the one he had fought gauntlet-to-
gauntlet. Kian, blue eyes, blond hair, a light blond
mustache, and round ears. Four years older than
Kelvin himself. How had he failed to recognize him
immediately as his half brother? Because he hadn't
known he had a half brother!

Kian was now wearing the gauntlets as a pair. Did
they work as well for him? If they did, he must be
truly invincible, immune to anything short of a pro-
jectile. No swordsman alive could fight as well as
those gauntlets could!

"Kelvin, brother," Kian said. His voice, too, was a
little high-pitched, much like Kelvin's own.

Kelvin stood up from the bed of straw that served
as furniture. He felt woozy, and his head hurt, but in a
moment he steadied. "We are brothers," he agreed.
No use denying it, and he really couldn't bear Kian a
grudge.

"I'm glad you were not killed," Kian said. "You
could never be my brother, dead, or my friend."

"Yes," Kelvin said. Was Kian as lonely as he, deep
inside?

"You know about the prophecy," Kian said. "It
refers to me. I'm to rid the land of Rud of a sore: your
band of Knights, Kelvin. Now that the confusion
engendered by the separation of the gauntlets has
been abated."

212     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayroff'

Kelvin choked back an exclamation of astonish-
ment. That was one enormously interesting interpre-
tation! What would his mother Chariain have made of
it? What had John Knight and King Rufurt made of

it?

"We both have round ears, Kelvin," Kian contin-
ued. "My mother, the Queen, explained it to me."

Kelvin looked at his father, and his father shrugged.
Then, seemingly taking pity on him, John Knight

spoke.
"If prophecy isn't all nonsense, he could be right,

Kelvin. But of course it could refer to you, too, or to
Hein Flambeau. Who knows, where prophecy is con-
cerned?"

"I did defeat you in battle," Kian said.
"No, you didn't!" Kelvin said hotly. "I fought you

to a standstill!"
"He's got you there, Kian," their father said. "I

think it has to be called a draw."
"Without the gauntlet you were wearing—" Kian

started.

"And without the one you were wearing—"
Both broke off, and Kelvin had half an impulse to
laugh. If the situation had not been so serious—

"You see, Kelvin," their father said, "Peter Flick
has been after Zoanna to get Kian trained to the
jet-propulsion backpack unit and the laser pistols
—all the otherworld weapons left. I trained him in the
background of our world, its philosophies and politics
and technology, so he understands the principles, but
not the specifics. He knows enough to know that if he
tries to use that jet unit he's likely to break it or get
himself killed in an accident, and of course he doesn't
know how to charge the pistols. So my input remains
necessary; that was one safeguard I kept. Kian's
loyalty is to his mother, and he thinks he can't have it
for an alien creature such as me. Right, Kian?"

Kian shook his head. "No. I would be loyal to you,
Father, were you not the sworn enemy of my mother."
John Knight tdrned away, and Kelvin realized that

DRAGON'S GOLD        213

he had hoped for a more positive answer. He had
challenged Kian to agree that his own father was an
alien creature unworthy of loyalty, or to disagree and
to change sides; instead Kian had steered a careful
course between the extremes. Kelvin had to respect
that.

But Kian's face was stricken for a moment. Kelvin
realized that Kian wished he did not have to choose
between his father and his mother, and felt bad about
doing it. Kian was free, and in the Queen's favor, but
his course was not easy.

"We may be on different sides," Kelvin said, "but
we're still brothers."

Kian flashed him a look of gratitude, then covered
that, too. Obviously he could not afford much emo-
tional attachment to the enemies of his mother,
whatever his private inclinations might be.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" a new voice came. A man
virtually pranced in, like a high-spirited pony. He
came to stand beside Kian, his right hand on his
sword. "The roundears united. Unnatural father and
two unnatural sons."

"You scum!" John Knight exclaimed. He was sud-
denly at the bars, reaching through them like an
enraged animal.

"What are you doing here, Peter Flick?" Kian
inquired coldly. "Did my mother get tired of spank-
ing your fanny and dump you in the dungeon with
your betters?"

Kelvin saw the expression of wild fury pass from
the face of his father to the face of the Queen's consort
without losing anything in transition. A backhand
across the face could not have been more effective.
Flick's right hand went for his sword—but Kian's left
hand shot out to intercept it halfway there. The
gauntlet must have squeezed cruelly, for Flick
clenched his teeth.

"One day you will go too far, alien spawn!" Flick
gritted.

"I doubt you'll ever see it, rear-kisser," Kian re-

214 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mayrojf

torted. "Now state your foolish business and get out;

you're making the cell stink." He released the man's
wrist and turned his back.

Kelvin couldn't help himself; he was getting to like
his half brother. Naturally Kian didn't like the man
who was taking his father's place in the Queen's
bedroom, and because Kian was of the Queen's own
flesh, he had immunity to the threats of the other. So
he really wasn't being brave. But he had a very pretty
turn of the phrase.

"I'm here to lay out the facts," Flick said. "Either
you, John, cooperate in teaching Kian to use the
magic flying harness and the magic lightning-makers,
or your Rud brat here will pay. Neither Zoanna nor I
have love for that one—Zoanna least of all. I remind
you that the torturer's coals are hot. The chains are
oiled. The spikes are very sharp. Finally, should all
that fail, there is her dear old father and the use he has
for youthful blood. For the boy's sake, you had really
better cooperate."

Kelvin looked at his father and felt great fear.
Would this man whom he hardly knew help his enemy
in order to save him? Would John Knight let him be
tortured? And what was that about the magician and
his need for blood?

"You disgust me, you dragon dropping," Kian said,
flashing a look of pure ire at Flick. "That is my
brother you're threatening with torture!"

"Then you'd better help convince your father to
cooperate," Flick said with satisfied malice. "You are
the one who will benefit, you know."

"How can you trust me?" John asked. He seemed
genuinely curious.

"Why, the usual way, of course. There will be
expert crossbowmen watching. And of course you
won't be allowed to touch the otherworld artifacts.
You will stand back and direct Kian with your voice.
And you will direct correctly, or—" He looked at
Kelvin significantly.

Kelvin wondered if he could stand torture. He

DRAGON'S GOLD

215

doubted it. The very thought made him ill. Looking at
his father's clenched fist, seeing how much it was
costing him, he still wished him to agree

"All right!" John said. "All right! Tell her I'll do
what she wants, but to keep her father out of it."

"Agreed," Peter Flick said, smirking. He danced on
out.

"I want you to know I had no part of this ugly
ploy," Kian said, his gauntleted fists clenching.

"I know it, son," John Knight said.

Kian turned abruptly and strode from the dungeon
Kelvin knew this was not anger but his effort to
conceal his flush of pleasure at the term their father
had used. Kian might hate Flick and the Queen's
methods, but he was on the Queen's side, and had to
maintain his composure.

DRAGON'S GOLD

227

CHAPTER 24

Irony

HELN COULDN'T STAND THE suspense any longer. It was
now the fourth day since Jon's departure; had she
made it in time? Were the Knights attacking as they
had planned? And, most important, what about Kel-
vin? Was he still in the dungeon with the two older
men, or had something worse happened to him? She
had to know, even if she couldn't do anything about

any of it!

She had explained to her folks about the dragon-
berries, and how they had helped the Knights fight.
Her mother was concerned, but agreed that if the
berries had worked several times before, they should
be safe enough to try again. She promised not to panic
when Hein seemed to go into a coma or even to die.
She understood about youth and love. "After all, I
loved your roundear father," she said gently. "I was
grief-stricken when he had to go."

"What?" Hein asked, thinking she had misheard.

"It is time for you to know, dear. You were not
completely adopted. Your father, not your mother,
was the roundear. I always was your mother. I did not
want to burden you with this knowledge before, but
now that you have found a roundear of your own—"

"But why7' Hein asked. She had no memory of the
one she had been told was her original mother. Now,
abruptly, she had learned that the parent she thought
adoptive was genuine, while the one she thought
genuine was adoptive. Her mother, not her father, was
natural. She had never suspected!

"The Queen's guardsmen were searching for a
grown roundear man," she said. "I believe now, from
what you have told me, that it was your friend
216

Kelvin's father. But they would have killed any
roundear man they found. It was just too risky for my
husband to stay; too many people knew him, knew he
was of foreign origin. So I moved with you to Rud,
where they would never expect the family of a round-
ear to go, and he went the opposite way. I never heard
from him again, and fear he is dead. But if they had
caught him with us, they would have killed us too, just
to be sure. Your father saved us by deserting us, just as
Kelvin's father did. I remarried for the same reason
Kelvin's mother did: to complete the concealment.
We hid your ears, and I married Frond Flambeau, and
that is the way it has been ever since. I'm afraid I
rather threw myself at him; he was a good man, but
plain, a widower, and it seemed to me he would be a
decent provider. So I promised him everything he
might wish in a woman, if he would keep the secret
and treat you as his own. He agreed, and he did that,
and I don't regret my decision, though I never really
loved him. He even protected me by claiming that he
was your natural father, from an affair with a round-
ear woman, so that no one would suspect you were the
child of a hunted man."

"You—you made yourself a plaything of a man you
didn't love—just to protect me?" Hein asked, horri-
fied.

"For myself, too, dear," her mother said. "I needed
the security. This land is not necessarily kind to a
woman without protection. I never deceived Frond
about my motives, and as it turned out, he needed a
woman to manage the farm, and I think perhaps I was
a more attractive woman than he might otherwise
have had. Not all marriages are made in paradise, but
they can work well enough when their basic aspects
are understood. If you marry another roundear, you
may face similar realities."

Hein thought about her ravishment at the Girl
Mart. She had not told her mother of that aspect of
her experience, but perhaps she suspected. Sometimes
desperate measures were required to keep body and

218      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

sanity together. Hein had pretty much thrown herself
at Kelvin similarly, wanting a man who would under-
stand about her ears and who would not try to do to
her what the guards had. How could she blame her
mother for choosing rationally and doing what was
necessary to secure her situation? Frond Flambeau
was a good man, just as Hal Hackleberry was, and it
seemed that in each case attractive women had used
them for their own purposes but rewarded them too.
Hein knew that Frond Flambeau had loved her moth-
er deeply from the outset, and had taken excellent
care of Hein herself in order to be sure that her
mother would never wish to leave him. It had been no
choice of his to send her to the Mart! But Hein, feeling
guilty for the extra burden her existence placed on
him and the family, had insisted, and had paid a
worse price than she ever expected, and received a
better reward than she had dreamed of, in encounter-
ing Jon and Kelvin.

"I think I am ready for those realities," Hein said.

"I always believed Frond was my father, and I see no
reason to change my opinion now."

"I am pleased to hear you say that," her mother
said. Her words were mild, but there were tears

streaming down her face.
Then Hein took a dragonberry, and sank into her

sleep of astral separation.

Soon she drew free other body, and saw her mother
sitting nervously beside that body, trusting that what
Hein had told her was true, but nevertheless afraid of
her seeming death. She was sorry her mother had to
suffer this concern, but there was no other way.

She willed herself to the capital, and to the dungeon
where she had found Kelvin before. She was horrified
when she found the cell empty; where had they taken
him? But a quick search located Kelvin and an older
man: they were going up a dark, hidden flight of stairs.

They were escaping!

But would they succeed in getting out of the palace
and off the grounds? Hein moved about some more,

DRAGON'S GOLD        219

scouting the vicinity. She found few guards; they
seemed to have been sent elsewhere.

She lifted up above the palace—and froze in hor-
ror. She saw dragons—many, many dragons, huge
and ugly, converging on the grounds. And beyond
them she spied the Knights ofMorvin Crumb's force;

the Queen was evidently sending the dragons against
them! That would be disaster!

Yet she could do nothing except hope that the
Knights would realize their danger in time, and flee.

Where was Jon? Hein zeroed in on her essence, and
found her in a field near the palace. She was with a
boy Hein recognized: one who had been sold that day
at the Mart. And with several others, marching in
together. They were heading in toward the palace
—and toward the dragons.

Finally Hein saw the strangest sight of all: a man
flying through the air! She knew that was impossible,
but there he was doing it! He was flying toward Jon.
What would happen when they met?

Then Heln's time was up, and she was drawn
rapidly back into her body. She had seen much, but
she understood little of it, and she still didn't know
what would happen. But with all those dragons ram-
paging, she very much feared the worst. She hoped
that Jon would succeed in helping Kelvin, and not in
getting herself chewed up by a dragon. What an irony,
to have Jon getting so close, only to be walking into so
many unexpected dangers!

Tommy fitted her out in a pair of bound-boy
coveralls and a large floppy straw hat. On the back of
the coveralls were the letters BB. The clothing smelled
of sweat from the boy who had worn it previously, but
fit as well as any was likely to. She was getting entirely
too broad across the hips! She pretended that Tommy
wasn't trying not to stare, feeling perversely flattered.
If she managed to get through this mission alive, she
might have more to say to him. Tommy was a nice
boy, and he had helped her a lot.

220      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

Jon stretched her legs and arms. Snug only around
the rear, and fortunately loose around the chest.
Reasonably comfortable.

"I'll want to get in with my sling and some rocks,"
she said.

Tommy shook his head. "You think you can defeat
guardsmen?"

"I can avoid them," Jon said, wishing she were
more confident. "The sling and the rocks are for
getting my brother out."

"You think you'll just knock a few guards out and
then unlock a door? Assuming you can find a door?"

"I can find a door." She remembered the layout
Hein had described well enough; that was not her
problem.

Jon checked over the river rocks in the bucket
Tommy had brought her. A couple she discarded, but
most were of the right weight and size.

"I think," Jon said, "that if I carry the rocks and
sling in the bucket and you push the wheelbarrow
ahead of me and everyone else just goes in as
usual—"

"The guards will notice you."

"You said that new bound boys come and go all the
time."

"Yes, but the gate guards probably know when new
boys are with us."

"Just let Jerry," she said, referring to the boy whose
clothes she wore, "stay here and—"

"We'd be one short. They count, I'm sure."

Jon pondered. To be so close, and yet to be kept
from entering! "Bustskin has to lead us," she said.

"He does if we're to get through the gate. The
guards know him already. He struts."

"Hmmm. Leave Jerry here, and have Bustskin lead
as usual."

"Can't be done."

"Why not?"

"He won't cooperate."

DRAGON'S GOLD        221

"We'll make him," Jon said.

"How?"

Jon looked at Bustskin's hard, somewhat battered
face. Even if the boy would lead, the bruises and black
eye might make the guards suspicious. If the guards
questioned them, that meant she would be caught,
and she didn't care to be caught. Not at all!

"The guards," she said seriously, "will have to be
distracted."

"Take off your clothes," he suggested with a fleeting
smile.

"Not distracted that much," she said, with as brief
a return smile. She liked Tommy.

"I know. But how?"

Yes, how? How would a great hero handle this?
"Um, maybe we could start a fire."

"They'd look, but they'd look back again."

Yes, he was probably right. The shift was about to
change, and they would soon have to move. She
looked over at sullen Bustskin, and an inspiration
struck. "Bustskin will have to escape, and Jerry with
him!"

"What!" Tommy and bound Bustskin exclaimed in
unison.

"We get all lined up to go through the gate. Then
Bustskin starts running and Jerry right after him."

"I won't!" Bustskin said.

"Yes, you will," Jon said, "because there's going to
be a slip noose around your neck, and Jerry running
right behind you with the end of the rope."

"I'm not afraid of him," Bustskin said.

"And your hands will be tied."

"I'll yell," Bustskin said.

"And choke?"

"If I have to."

He probably would, she realized. The problem with
Bustskin was that he was a terrible person but no
coward.

She looked at the noose she had been making in the

222      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyroff

leather thong that had been part of the tent lashings.
There had to be a way! But if they couldn't make
Bustskin cooperate . . .

Then Jon, desperate for an answer, thought she saw
one. "Jerry will have to run and get the guards to
chase him. Bustskin will stay with us, with a knife at
his back."

"It will never work," Tommy said realistically.
"He'll yell the moment the guards are close enough to
hear."

Jon faced Bustskin. "Listen, jerk. Remember what
you tried to do to me, at the Boy Mart?"

"Yeah, and I'll do it again," he said. "The moment
I—"

"So can you guess where my knife is going to strike
first, the moment you make a peep? So that even if
you get me caught, you won't be the one to do that
thing, to me or anyone, ever again?"

Bustskin gulped.

"You doubt me?" she asked, fingering the blade of
the knife and eyeing his crotch. "You think I'll have
anything more to lose, the moment you squeal?"

"Uh—"

"Do you think it will be worth it?" she persisted.

He was silent. He knew she had a score to settle
with him, and that the main thing holding her back
was the fact that she needed his cooperation.

"I think Bustskin will cooperate," she said. "Maybe
I hope he won't. Meanwhile, I'll carry this knife low,
like this." She held the blade down flat against her
thigh. "And move it like this." She brought it up
suddenly to crotch level, the point spearing forward.
"If I don't score the first time, I'll just try again. Even
from behind, I should manage to skewer something."
She lowered the knife, then repeated her motion, this
time stabbing upward with full strength. The odd
thing was, she was absolutely serious; her memory of
what Bustskin had tried to do to her was very clear,
and it was mixed up with the memory of Hein
huddled on the floor. There was a vengeance owing!

DRAGON'S GOLD        223

"I'll do it," Bustskin said, sweating.

"You bet you will," she agreed. She turned to Jerry.
"You can do your part?"

"I—I think so," said the pale boy with smaller than
average ears. "They won't kill me. They'll just beat
me and bring me back."

"Good," Jon said. Then, looking at the sun, "We'd
better go."

Jerry walked with them as far as the gate. Bustskin
led the troupe, Jon close behind, actually touching his
rear every so often, which made him jump. Indeed,
her knife was ready!

But when they got there, the gate was wide open
and there were no guards. The sound of fighting rose
from some distance away, and with it clouds of dust
Jon now associated with a proper fight.

The battle, she thought, has begun!

With no other thought than rescuing her brother
before the dungeon guards realized what was happen-
ing and killed him, she ran through the gate, across
the lawn, and into the flower garden. She knew her
way from here; Hein had described it.

Glancing back, she saw bound boys scattering in
every direction. One, who just had to be Tommy,
hesitated for a moment and then ran with the others.

Jon heaved a sigh. Of course Tommy had to try to
save himself. But it would have been nice if he had
decided to help her first, just to get her on down into
the dungeons.

She paused. What was that? That roaring sound?
That wasn't regular battle!

A figure hung in the air, then began moving slowly
as she watched. It moved at treetop height—an
otherworld sky demon such as the Knights had talked
about.

No, no, no, she thought. They couldn't have discov-
ered her presence. They couldn't have!

The figure kept coming, heading right for her.

There was only one thing to do. She would have to
bring down the sky demon.

224      Piers Anthony and. Robert E. Margrojf

Jon hefted her sling, fitting a rock. She waited, teeth
clenched, determined not to let the sky person close.

The figure came nearer, and with it a whooshing
noise like a great wind from the nostrils of a gigantic
flying dragon. Jon was terrified, but she knew that if
this demon got her, her brother could be doomed.

CHAPTER 25

Interpretation

As SOON AS THE guards had left, taking John Knight
with them, Kelvin had set about trying to think of a
way that he and King Rufurt might escape. It was
obvious to him that his father was really powerless to
resist Queen Zoanna. Certainly that was the case
while he, Kelvin, remained hostage for his father's
cooperation.

"I think," he said to the King when they were alone,
"that we'd better act fast. Is there any decent soil
here?"

"There's manure from rats, and slops," the King
said. "But—"

"That will do. Gather a pile of it and wet it down."

"Look, young man, I may be a prisoner, but I'm still
a king! I don't do that sort of work!"

Kelvin had forgotten the man's rank for the mo-
ment. "Okay, I'll do it myself. But time is of the
essence."

"You have something in mind?"

"I have a few seeds I saved," Kelvin said, fishing
them out of his pocket. "Some of them seem to
respond better to roundears than to natives. If I can
grow something special, it might help us escape."

"Impossible," the King said. "It would take weeks
to grow anything, and there's no decent daylight
here.';

"Um, yes." Then Kelvin's questing fingers found
the shriveled husk of the flower he had plucked. It bad
lain for weeks in his pocket, forgotten. He drew it
carefully out. It was battered but intact: a desiccated
spicerose. "But maybe I can revive this."
225

226     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"You can speak to flowers?" the King asked,
amazed.

"Oh, sure. Flowers and fruits like me, I don't know
why."

"I recognize that species," the King said, excited.
"That's the shade-blooming spicerose—one of the
most prized flowers! I used to grow them in my
chambers, but they would respond to only one gar-
dener."

"Yes, that's why I saved it," Kelvin agreed. "A
mooear trampled the plant and broke the stem, so I
thought I might restore it when there was someone
who could appreciate it. But then things got compli-
cated, and I forgot."

"You can restore that rose?"

"Yes, I think so. They prefer shade, and we have
that here, so—"

"I'll get the damp manure!" the King exclaimed. He
busied himself, scraping the stuff up from the edges of
the cell, while Kelvin cradled the dry rose in his
hands, breathing on it. Already it was beginning to
revive.

The King brought a double handful of fairly foul
stuff. "Hold it there," Kelvin said. "I'll just put the
stem in, and then talk to it..."

This time the King did as he was bid without
protest. He held the manure, while Kelvin planted the
rose in it, then cupped the faded blossom with his
hands and whispered to it. "Oh, lovely spicerose,
bloom again for me, if you please," he said to it. "I
long for your rare fragrance."

"It's working!" the King exclaimed. "The petals are
filling out!"

"Yes. But it won't last; it's been dry too long."

"Careful! When the fragrance comes, a single sniff
can put you out."

"No, it doesn't affect me that way," Kelvin said. "I
like the smell, but it doesn't put me into a dream."

"The glory and penalty of being a roundear," the

DRAGON'S GOLD         227

King remarked sagely. "To have the power to restore a
rare flower, but to be unable to reap its proffered
reward."

"That seems to be the nature of heroism," Kelvin
agreed with a shrug. "If I had my choice—"

They heard the steps of the guard returning. "But a
native—" the King said.

"Yes. Pretend you want it, so he notices."

"I understand. Tell me when the rose is ready. I
don't dare smell it myself."

The guard returned to his station outside the cell.
He was bored, of course, just waiting until his shift
changed.

Kelvin nursed the rose along. The petals filled out
and pale red color came. The smell manifested.
"Ready," Kelvin murmured.

"Hey, boy," the King said abruptly. "Save some of
that for me!"

"No, it's mine!" Kelvin replied, playing the game.

"But I'm the King! I am entitled to the first sniff!"

The guard came alert. "What's that?"

"He's got a spicerose, and he won't share," the King
said indignantly.

"A spicerose!" the guard exclaimed. "I don't be-
lieve it!"

"You fool," Kelvin said. "Don't tell him\ He'll just
take it for himself!"

"You bet I will!" the guard said, spying the rose.
"Give it here!"

"But it's mine!" Kelvin protested.

"Give it here, or I'll club you on the head!" the
guard said.

With obvious regret, the King brought the handful
of manure and the rose to the bars. The guard leaned
forward and took a deep sniff of the rose. His eyes
glazed, his mouth curved into an idiotic smile, and he
fell against the bars.

"Get his keys!" the King said urgently, holding the
rose to the man's descending nose.

228      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

Kelvin reached through and grabbed the keys. Then
he unlocked the gate, stepped out, and unlooped the
rope he kept coiled beneath the waistband of his
pantaloons. Made of lightweight thistlehemp fiber, it
had gone unnoticed by his captors. He passed it
around the body of the slumped guard and tied him
securely.

"But we may need that rope," the King said, setting
manure and flower down.

Kelvin agreed. So they tied the guard again, this
time using strips torn from his own uniform. They
hurried, because the blissful sleep produced by a
spicerose lasted only a minute or two. This rose had
been good for about two sniffs; now its petals were
shriveling again. Its moment of glory was over, and
there would be no reviving it again.

"You did well, rose," Kelvin said, and it almost
seemed that the petals gave a final quiver before they
curled up in death.

"Too bad it did not have a worthier subject for its
joy," the King remarked.

"Now," Kelvin said, "maybe we can get out of
here."

"Follow me," the King said, and started running
full tilt up the stairs. The guard was stirring, but
would be unable to free himself in time to do them
any harm.

Kelvin followed, surprised at how fast the old King
could run after months, no, years, of confinement.
Perhaps all those exercises the King and his father did
each day had kept them in better condition than even
they could have hoped.

"This way," said the King, taking a branching flight
of stairs. "This leads to the secret passage I had
constructed. Even the Queen doesn't know."

The stairs took them to an apparent dead end. The
King threw his weight against what appeared to be
solid rock. At first nothing happened, but then as the
King continued to push, his groans were answered by
a louder groan. Slowly, protestingly, a heavy stone

DRAGON'S GOLD        229

door swung in. It opened, at long last, on an empty
room with dust and cobwebs and only a little light.

"But this isn't out!" Kelvin said, looking at the
dirt-encrusted windows with dismay.

The King touched his elbow. "Follow me."

This time he led the way through a door he uncov-
ered behind a worn tapestry hanging on the wall. This
passage led outside, emerging at a solid clump of
shrubbery. They had to force their way through it, and
when Kelvin looked back, there was no sign of the exit
they had used. This was a concealed escape the King
had thoughtfully provided for himself back before
Kelvin was bom. Just in case events should make it
necessary.

After a determined struggle, they stood outside in
the strong sunlight. Kelvin took a breath of fresh air,
untainted with dungeon odors, and smelled the spicy
sweet scent of appleberries and other fruit. Then, as
the song of a bird broke off in the nearby orchard, a
strange roaring noise took its place.

Kelvin's first thought was a dragon. But then he
realized what it was, even as he heard the King say,
"He's teaching him!"

So they would see Kian fly, Kelvin thought. But
should they risk it? Maybe they should just get away.
By the time the practice session was over, they could
be all the way off the palace grounds. But what would
happen to John Knight, then? They couldn't desert
him!

The roar became a whooshing sound as they sud-
denly saw Kian moving slowly across the grounds at
treetop height. He looked thrilled but scared, his
gauntleted hands clutching tightly to the harness.

Kelvin stared, hardly believing his eyes. The King,
beside him, seemed as enraptured. This was true
roundear magic!

As they watched, a small missile looped from the
garden to their left. It was headed right for Kian's
face. The gauntlets ripped the harness in their effort to
intercept the missile, and caught it, but now the

230 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

apparatus was out of control. The noise coming from
Kian's back increased to a tortured whine. He shot up
toward the palace's roof.

There was a sickening meaty smack when he struck.

Kian fell, his backpack unit smashed and smoking,
twisting and turning in the air, until he landed on the
hard cobblestones below.

Then there was silence, and a streamer of oily
smoke.

Kelvin and the King reached Kian a few steps
ahead of John Knight and his pursuing guards.

Kian looked up at Kelvin. Blood ran from the
corners of his mouth. He made a wheezing sound. He
tried to move, to sit up, but could not. His gauntleted
right hand reached Kelvin's bare hand and held it, not
squeezing.

"You're the one, Kelvin," Kian gasped. "The
prophecy refers to you, not to me. I know that now."

"Don't try to talk, Kian," Kelvin said. He knew
this was foolish; he should have run in the other
direction. He could have escaped, and now he would
be recaptured. Yet he could not desert his half brother
in this time of tragedy.

The gauntlet seemed to grow warm in his hand.
"I'm glad it's you, Kelvin," Kian gasped. "Take the
gauntlets. Take them and . . ."

The eyes, so much like Kelvin's own, took on a
glassy look. The hurt face relaxed. A sigh, ever so
gentle, escaped the thin lips.

"Kian, Kian," Kelvin said, finding his eyes wet.

"Kian, son," said John Knight. He was there on the
ground beside them, his fingers stripping off a gauntlet
and feeling the wrist.

"Is he—?"

"There's a pulse," John Knight said. "He's not gone
yet. If we can get help for him—"

From outside the palace grounds there was the
clang of swords, the neighing of horses, and the shouts
of men: the sounds of a wild battle just beyond the
garden walls.

DRAGON'S GOLD

231

_ _ _ —                    ^^^JJ.

"I should never have let you use that harness,
Kian," John Knight said brokenly. "They made me
show you before you were ready. She made me. Your
reactions were wrong! Those gauntlets tried to save
you, but they aren't attuned to roundear science. They
did exactly the wrong thing!" He seemed not to hear
the battle sounds.

"Now I'll have to use these myself," John Knight
said. With scarcely any comprehension, Kelvin saw
his father remove the two otherworld weapons from
short scabbards belted around Kian's waist.

What did any of this matter? The roundear magic
had come close to killing Kian, and it was uncertain
whether he would live or die. The prophecy had
turned out to be purely a matter of interpretation, not
anything to be counted on. Here they were, stuck in
the middle of the palace grounds, surrounded by the
Queen's guardsmen. What hope remained?

DRAGON'S GOLD

233

CHAPTER 26

Dragon Slayer

KELVIN RAISED HIS HEAD and saw a guardsman aiming a
crossbow at him. He had allowed himself to be
distracted far too long with Kian; now he was helpless
before the enemy. He didn't even have the gauntlet to
defend him.

He reached for the left gauntlet, the one John
Knight had removed from Kian's hand, the one
Kelvin had used before. But he knew it was too late;

already the guardsman's finger was squeezing the
trigger. He couldn't possibly don the gauntlet before
that arrow pierced him.

Perhaps, then, Kian had been right in his interpre-
tation: he,-not Kelvin, was the Roundear of Prophecy.
Because Kelvin was about to be dead, while Kian still
lived. If that was the way it was, then so be it; Kelvin
had no time for fright or anger, just for regret. Hein
would be sad .. .

A ruby beam hit the crossbowman in the chest and
went right on through him, stabbing on out the other
side. The man dropped, a smoking hole in his chest.
His shaft fired into the ground.

Dazed, Kelvin watched, his hand still reaching for
the gauntlet. What was happening?

A second guardsman started to raise his crossbow.
Another red ray appeared, transfixing him. The man
never uttered a sound as he dropped backward onto
the grass.

Kelvin saw his father lower one of the weapons he
had taken from Kian. His face was grim. Astonished,
Kelvin realized that the magic lightning weapons—or
laser pistols, as his father called them—were really as
deadly as the legends portrayed them.
232

"Come," said his father, and raced for a flight of
stairs that led to a balcony at the front of the palace.

Kelvin lurched to his feet. He looked at Kian, and
realized that his half brother's fate was out of his
hands; Kian would live or die as the prophecy de-
creed, and all Kelvin could do was leave him alone.
He would only get himself killed if he lingered here,
and the guardsmen would drag Kian to safety and
medical care soon enough.

He snatched up the left gauntlet, then tore the right
one off Kian's unresisting hand. Then he whirled and
followed John Knight, his heart beating hard, the
memory of Kian's glassy eyes and last words all too
sharp. Kian might be his enemy, technically, but he
hoped Kian lived. But Kian didn't need the gauntlets
at the moment; Kelvin did.

King Rufurt was running too, panting as he strug-
gled to keep up. Now the steps were slapping beneath
Kelvin's feet, and then there were no more steps and
the three of them were on the balcony.

Below the balcony were walks and a garden and a
beautifully cared-for lawn. Beyond the garden fence,
quite visible from here, a battle was going on. Men in
blue and gold uniforms were battling hard against
men in green pantaloons and brownberry shirts. Men
were hurting and men were dying, as were war-horses
and plow horses. The din of the battle carried clearly,
especially the cries of the wounded and dying.

His side was winning, Kelvin thought, straining his
eyes to see through the dust. He had never thought the
Knights would come here to fight, after losing the
battle at Skagmore! But maybe they hadn't lost;

maybe the tide of that battle had turned after he,
Kelvin, lost consciousness. Was that big man Mor
Crumb? It seemed to be. And with him, Les! Victory
was, after all, within their grasp!

A frightful roar shook the very walls of the palace.
Below, bright gold monsters smashed walls, trampled
men, and lifted huge snouts holding men in brown-
berry shirts impaled on swordlike teeth. Horses

234      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

neighed and screamed as tremendous clawed feet
came down.

Dragons! At least twelve! Several times as many as
any living man had ever seen! How could this be?

Kelvin heard a gasp of astonishment and horror,
and realized that it was his own. The beasts were at
the back and flank of the Knights. The Knights of the
Roundear—his men! They weren't touching the
Queen's army, just his.

That explained how the dragons had come. Zata-
nas, the Queen's evil magician father, had summoned
them, just as he had for the first battle.

He looked at the gauntlets he had taken from Kian.
Were they really invincible? How could they defeat
that many dragons? Yet the monsters had to be
stopped. They had to be, or all was lost! He drew them
both on, and they made his hands tingle with their
special animation.

Kelvin looked at his father. John Knight was adjust-
ing knobs on the otherworld weapons. He lifted one of
them, aimed it like a crossbow, and pressed a trigger.

The red beam speared out. It jumped instantly to a
dragon, whose head was lifted high, golden scales
reflecting bright in the sun. The dragon was munching
a mangled red thing that had surely been someone
Kelvin had known and joked with. Blood was oozing
down from the morsel between the sword teeth,
dripping down from the dragon's golden chin, splat-
tering across its golden breast. Dragon's gold
—drenched in blood. There was a symbol of the
Queen's rule!

But as the beam struck, the dragon's head disap-
peared in a puff of smoke and steam and dissipating
vapor, leaving only a neck attached to a body. The
body and neck settled downward as the tail lashed;

the tail had not yet realized that the monster was
dead.

"One," John Knight said.

Both Kelvin and the King simply stared. No won-
der roundear magic was legendary!

DRAGON'S GOLD        235

The man aimed his weapon again. The beam lanced
through another dragon, burning into the great body,
the scales reflecting a coruscating splay of light before
the heat penetrated to the vital heart and the creature
collapsed.

"Two." Then, in rapid succession, "Three. Four.
Five. Six."

Kelvin wanted to scream. Those beautiful, terrible
dragons! They would never have come here on their
own; they normally left men alone unless men braved
their wilderness fastness. The evil magician had used
the lizard magic Hein had described to compel them
to come, and now they were dying. One after the
other, the red beam caught their raised heads or
exposed breasts. One, larger than the others, retained
part of a ruined head with a wide hole through it
where the nostrils and eyes had been. One, caught
lower down, simply collapsed with a great smok-
ing, bubbling hole in its throat. They all were going
down!

"Seven," John counted. "Eight. Nine. That will
even the odds. Now if number ten will get into
position so I don't have to risk hitting a horse . . ."

"I wouldn't have believed it possible," King Rufurt
said. He was gasping for air, his chest still heaving
from the run up the balcony steps.

Kelvin saw the magician before the rest of them. He
appeared on the balcony with them, and his face was a
study in fury and disbelief.

"My dragons! My lovely dragons! You're frustrating
my dragons!"

John turned from the balcony edge, the offworld
weapon still in his hand. He looked surprised to see
the magician. Then, his face singularly grim, he raised
the weapon.

At the same time, Zatanas raised his arms. He made
a gesture and spoke a spell.

The red beam came from the weapon, stopped just
before reaching its target, and made a bend. The beam
went up into the sky and vanished. The magician

236      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

stood there, unharmed. From a doorway behind him
the hunchbacked dwarf emerged.

"What?" John said, amazed. He looked down at his
weapon.

Zatanas pointed a finger. John Knight froze in the
act of checking his laser pistol. He stood as still as a
statue, seemingly locked in place.

King Rufurt moved. "Your evil sorcery—" he
began.

The magician's finger moved again. King Rufurt
froze in place, his mouth still open in speech.

This was potent magic! Kelvin knew that it was
up to him to deal with the sorcerer. He raised his
arms.

Once more Zatanas' finger moved. Kelvin felt a
new tingle in all his body except his two hands,
enclosed by the gauntlets. He could not move even an
eyelid. He was off-balance, but his body did not fall.
Only the gauntlets retained the power of action. But
they held no weapon, and the magician and the dwarf
were several horse lengths away, their backs to the
balcony stairs. Despite the magic of the prophecy,
Kelvin was helpless.

Suddenly a small white object struck the magician's
pointed hat and head. Zatanas stumbled over to the
railing, eyes unfocused, reaching a hand to the back of
his skull. The pointed cap fell from his head, flipped
over the railing, and dropped.

The dwarf ran to the magician and stopped him
from falling too, bolstering him with outstretched
arms. "Master! Master! What is it, Master?"

Behind the two, Kelvin saw a small figure drop out
of sight on the stairs. Could it be? Had she come too?
Suddenly Kelvin understood why Kian had gone out
of control!

A great hissing sound came from below. A gigantic
dragon reared its golden-scaled head up over the
railing. Red eyes focused on the nearest human be-
ings. Its mouth opened, gaping awesomely, and its
long, forked tongue flicked out.

DRAGON'S GOLD        257

The dwarf screamed shrilly as the dragon's tongue
yanked servant and master over the edge.

Kelvin found that he could move now, and he saw
at a glance that his father and the King were similarly
free. The sorcerer's spell had been broken by Jon's
rock.

Without a thought for the danger of his action,
Kelvin rushed to the railing, which was still dripping
with dragon saliva, and looked down over the edge.
The dwarf's shrill scream seemed to hang in the air
long after it was uttered. Below were the mashed
hedges and fences and men, and only the tail of the
dragon as it ran around to the palace's east side.

It was John Knight who brought Kelvin's attention
back to the balcony. The man's hand was on his
shoulder, and the other hand pointed the offworid
weapon at the golden tail. But no destructive beam
emerged; it was pointless to make a strike that would
merely wound, not kill.

"Father, I—" But Kelvin faltered. Could he tell
John Knight about Jon? If the man learned about her
sling, he would know what had happened to Kian.
How would he react to that? What would he, Kelvin,
do if that dread alien weapon were to point at his little
sister?

"Damn," said his father. "A second earlier and I
could have had him! But he did us a favor, that dragon
did. Somehow he broke through the force field that
held us. I don't understand magic, but I do recognize
a force. A force field by any other name—"

"Kel! Kel! Kel!" Jon was running across the balco-
ny. The sling was in her hands. Would John Knight
see it and raise that terrible weapon now? If he did,
could Kelvin or his gauntlets stop him?

The weapon did not come up. Jon ran right past
John Knight and flung herself into Kelvin's arms.
"Kel, Kel, I knew you'd come through alive! I knew
it!"

"We haven't won yet," Kelvin reminded her.
"There's still the battle. And the dragons."

238      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyroff

"Speaking of dragons," John Knight said, still

searching for one.

"How did you get here, Jon?" Kelvin asked, hoping
to divert attention from the sling.

"The river," she said. "And a little help from some
friends afterward. Brother mine, did you see that old
magician reel when I conked him? I saved your lives,

that's what I did!"

That did it! But John Knight merely turned to her
and said, "I don't think you recognize me, just as I
didn't recognize you at first. You have grown, and I
think undergone a metamorphosis."

"A what?" Jon asked blankly.

"You were a girl when I last knew you."

She turned to Kelvin. "Who—?"

"I am John Knight," their father said. "You were

named after me."

Her mouth dropped open. "But—"

"He didn't die," Kelvin said. "He was captured by
the Queen. I found him in the dungeon."

"You were only two years old when I left," John

Knight said.

"You have round ears!" she exclaimed abruptly.

He laughed. "Yours are like your mother's."

"So you must really be my—"

A hiss like that of escaping steam put all of their
attention on the dragon peering over the balcony. The
beast was looking at them, seemingly trying to decide
which one to consume first.

"You use the laser like this, Kelvin," John Knight
said. "Sight here, the same as a crossbow, squeeze this

trigger, and—"

The bright red beam caught the dragon in its mouth
and bore on through. As the beam vanished, so did
most of the dragon's head. The rest of the beast
collapsed into a golden pile on the palace's lawn.

"You really must leam to use this," John Knight
said. "Ordinarily I'd say no, but now's the time, and if
you don't finish off dragons before they finish your
Knights, what's left for this land?"

DRAGON'S GOLD         239

Kelvin didn't know. He was astonished that his
father was carefully placing the weapon in his hands.

"There's one! Watch until its head isn't in line with
a Knight, then aim and press the trigger."

Kelvin shook, but his gauntleted hands were steady.
He raised the weapon and squinted through the
aperture, which, indeed, was not unlike a sight on a
crossbow. The gauntlets animated his hands, making
his aim confident.

He followed the dragon's head. He focused the
cross so that it was between the creature's eyes. Then,
firmly, of its own volition, his gauntlet pressed the
trigger.

The dragon's head disappeared, exactly as the oth-
ers had done.

"Good shot, Kel!" his sister exclaimed.

"You've got the warrior's eye and nerves," said his
father. "Now I want you to get any others that are
destroying your men. It's your responsibility, from
now on."

"But—"

"You three go stop the dragons. I think we've gotten
most of them, but we want to be sure. Tell the men the
fighting's over. And, son, give me your word that
when all of this is over, you'll destroy the laser. Get
rid of it, as you get rid of dragons that destroy the
people and the land."

"But the dragons don't really do that!" Kelvin
protested. "They stay in dragon country, mostly. It's
only when the evil sorcerer makes them come that
they—"

John Knight smiled. "A conservationist! You, the
dragon slayer!"

"But the dragons themselves aren't evil! They culti-
vate magic berries that—"

"I'll watch out with this other laser while you go out
front. Your men will rally round you when they see
it's you and the King. Kill any guardsmen who refuse
to surrender. Only remember, it isn't good to kill
helpless men."

240      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

"I'll remember," Kelvin said. It was evident
that his natural father still didn't really believe in
magic.

CHAPTER 27

Blood Sorcery

HELN REVIVED, AND FOUND her mother waiting anx-
iously. "I saw them!" she exclaimed. "All getting
ready for battle, and Kelvin escaping, and Jon, and
dragons—"

"I'm so glad you're safe!" her mother exclaimed. "I
was so concerned—"

"But they don't know about the dragons!" Hem
cried. "Those dragons will destroy them! I must warn
them!"

Her mother shook her head. "There is no way, my
child. We are too far from the palace."

"I know, I know!" Hem said impatiently. "But if I
don't warn them, they'll die! Kelvin, and Jon, and all
the brave Knights! And if they die, I will too!"

Her mother only shook her head sympathetically.

"The astral separation!" Hem exclaimed. "That's
the only way I can reach them instantly! I've got to go
back, find some way to warn them!"

"But you said you can't speak to anyone in your
astral state!"

"I can't, but I've got to, this time! I've just got to!
Otherwise everything is over, for all of us!"

"But isn't it dangerous? You said you had to rest
between—"

"I ate three berries the first time!" Hein said,
suddenly impatient with caution. "They separated me
for longer, and it took me longer to recover, but I did
recover."

"Still—"

"Mother, I've got to help!"

Her mother spread her hands, knowing better than
to argue further. Hein took another berry, and soon
sank back into her deathlike state.
242

242      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

It was different, this time, because she had not yet
properly recovered from the prior berry. It was as if
her body was eager to give up the spirit, and the spirit
eager to be free. She seemed to leap out of herself,
finding herself spinning in the air above the house.
Then she willed herself to the capital, and she was
there, looking down on the palace grounds.

The battle was in full swing. Men in brownberry
shirts were fighting the blue and gold guardsmen, and
the Knights seemed to be having the best of it,
perhaps because of the element of surprise.

Then the dragons came, and tore into the Knights
of the Roundear. Hein screamed inaudibly as she saw
people she knew getting crunched in those terrible

J olden jaws. She had to stop it—but she was helpless.
he was only tormenting herself by watching this!

She sought Kelvin. Somehow she had to find a way
to communicate with him, to tell him—what? That
there were dragons attacking? He surely knew it
already! What could she do, even if she could talk to
him? She had been foolish to think she could make
any difference, regardless!

But she was here now, and she had about an hour to
use up. She could look around, and maybe she would
leam something useful. At least sh& would have a
better notion how the battle was going.

She found Kelvin on a balcony. He was talking with
one of the older men who had been in the dungeon
with him. As she came close, one of the men pointed
an object at a dragon. Red light appeared, and the
dragon's head puffed into smoke.

That was a weapon! A powerful roundear magic
weapon, for the man had round ears! Kelvin had
found a marvelous ally! But—round ears? Who could
that man be?

The man aimed at another dragon, and killed it.
Then, in rapid succession, several more. Hein almost
felt sorry for the monsters!

Then the Queen's sorcerer, Zatanas, appeared on
the balcony, with his dwarf henchman. He pointed at

DRAGON'S GOLD         243

Kelvin and the men, and they froze where they were.
The evil magician was overcoming them with his
magic!

Hein went into a frenzy. Stop Zatanas! she
screamed with all her being. Go there, stop him, now!

Huh? something responded.

Hein paused in mid-frenzy. Someone had heard
her! Someone had answered! She oriented on that
response, her spirit jumping instantly to that spot.

She paused, amazed. It was a dragon!

You heard me? she called to it, hardly believing.

The dragon's head whipped abou+ and its ears
perked forward, as if it were tryi-     locate the
speaker. It did hear her!

Actually, it made sense. She was ^aing dragon-
berries for astral separation, and this was a dragon. If
these monsters ate the berries, and used them for
astral separation, they must have some sensitivity to
the astral state. Maybe they could communicate with
each other's spirits. So this one heard her, but because
she wasn't another dragon, it was confused.

Well, she could certainly use this discovery. "Trou-
ble by the balcony!" she cried, knowing that it was her
thought, not her voice, it heard. "Go stop Zatanas!"
She wasn't sure how much of this the dragon could
understand, but the urgency of direction and action
should be clear enough.

The dragon turned and lumbered for the balcony.

Hein jumped there ahead of it. This time she spied
Jon Hackleberry approaching the balcony. Jon saw
Zatanas, and brought out her sling, and heaved a
stone. Her aim was true, and the evil sorcerer reeled
from a strike on the head. So Jon was succeeding in
helping her brother! Maybe Heln's effort had been
unnecessary.

The dragon reared below the balcony, lifting its
golden head. Its tongue whipped out and wrapped
about the magician and the dwarf, pulling both over
the edge. It ran off with its prey as the frozen men
recovered. Maybe she had helped after all!

244     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

Now Jon ran up. There was a flurry of
introductions—and, listening, Hein suddenly real-
ized what should have been obvious before. The
grown roundear was K-el and Jon's father! The round-
ear from the other planet! No wonder he knew the

roundear magic!

The man was showing Kelvin how to use the
terrible dragon-slaying weapon. Then another dragon
appeared at the balcony; perhaps it, too, had re-
sponded to her directive to the first one. She didn't
know how broadly her thoughts were broadcast, or
how sensitive the monsters were to them.

John Knight killed the dragon with the roundear
weapon. Then he put the weapon in Kelvin's shaking
hands and told him to use it on the next dragon. It was
obvious that Kelvin was in no state to accomplish
this; he seemed to be as much afraid of the weapon as
of the dragons. Poor, dear, uncertain Kel! How she

loved him!
"Hold it steady, Kel!" she cried, knowing he could

not hear.

But something heard! She felt a quiver of response.
Then Kelvin's hands became rock-steady. When he
sighted another dragon, his aim was perfect, and he

killed it.

What had responded to her this time? It hadn't
been a dragon! Hein spread her awareness out, search-
ing. She had to know exactly what her astral self could
communicate with; it might make a big difference!

She didn't find what she wanted, but she did find a
surprise. She was at the dragon she had first brought
to the balcony—and it hadn't eaten the magician and
the dwarf! It had brought the two to a hidden spot.
Was it going to eat them now? She paused and
listened, absorbing the scene.

Queeto dropped down from the slippery tongue
and lit feet-first in a cluster of thornbushes. He
seemed hardly aware of the smart of the scratches or
of his torn tunic as he watched the sorcerer.

Casually, Zatanas was uncoiling the dragon's dark

DRAGON'S GOLD         245

purple tongue from around his own waist. He seemed
quite oblivious to the golden-scaled face overhanging
him, puffing forth moist, rancid dragon breath.

"It w-won't harm us, will it, Master?" Queeto
asked. He looked as though he had never been more
frightened.

"It won't hurt me" the sorcerer said, his voice
carrying the strong conviction of the magic-protected.
"Not my little brother."

"A spell protects us both. Master?"

"The dragon does my bidding." The sorcerer
rubbed the back of his head where a red lump was
showing. "Good thing it happened to be in the
vicinity when I got struck; I hadn't summoned it."

Hein was mortified. Her effort had helped, the evil
magician? By bringing a dragon who carried him away
to safety, when he would otherwise have been killed
by the roundears? She should have left well enough
alone!

The magician glanced about. "Let's go around to
the courtyard and the three flights of stairs to our
quarters," he said. "We've plans to make."

Plans? Hein knew she had to keep listening!

"But, Master, the dragon—"

"Ah, yes, the dragon," Zatanas agreed. He faced the
monster. "You may go to eat more Knights. But not
back to the balcony. Stay away from there."

As though it understood, the great beast drew in its
tongue. Without a backward glance it strolled off
across the grounds, knocking over statuary, crushing
ornamental plants, hedges, and whatever it chanced
to tread upon. Its great tail swished twice, and then it
was doing the wriggle-run that in its small brother the
lizard was so comical. It raced through the orchard,
knocking aside bushes and splintering trees. Then,
having reached the high wall, it stretched up, hooked
its talons at the top, and pulled itself over. It perched
there like a great, ungainly bird, then dropped out of
sight.

Queeto sighed, evidently now feeling his scratches.

246      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

A dragon was a sight to behold, and few men ever
beheld them so close and lived to speak of it. Hein was
impressed, too; Zatanas really did have power! He
was now doubly dangerous, because Kelvin and his
father thought the evil sorcerer was dead, and were no
longer on guard against him.

"Come!" the magician said.

Meekly, Queeto followed him. The dwarf licked his
lips, as though the sour taste of fear had been replaced
by the eager, peppery feel of anticipation. Nothing
seemed to be able to destroy Zatanas, or even hurt
him, not even the most powerful beast alive. Whatev-
er evil he planned was surely a horror Hein had to spy

out!
"Hurry!" Zatanas snapped. "You waddle so slow!"

They had come now into the courtyard at the back
of the palace where all the trade goods were normally
brought: the special foods and furnishings and sup-
plies.

Queeto was muttering, talking to himself as he

scurried to catch up. "From here that roundear boy
tried to fly. Dangerous, having the roundear man
teach the roundear son to do that. I knew that, I could
have told them, but the Queen wanted it for some fool
reason. I wanted to watch, but the Master had busi-
ness, bringing dragons here to once and for all devour
the Roundear and the Roundear's Knights. I could
have told them that was even more dangerous, but did
anybody want my opinion? No, nobody listens to

Queeto!"
"Get moving!" Zatanas called back irritably.

"Only something happened that Master hadn't an-
ticipated," the dwarf continued to himself, evidently
getting some satisfaction from the narration. "The
flying roundear boy fell, and the roundear man got the
roundear weapons. I could have told them that some-
thing like that would happen! That lightning-hurler
stick—look what it did to the dragons! Master had to
stop that! But then he got conked on the head by a
stone from nowhere—"

DRAGON'S GOLD        247

"Stop that muttering!" Zatanas exclaimed. "You
drive me crazy with your nothing-comments!"

Queeto shut up, and followed the sorcerer up the
three flights of stairs. By this time he was puffing too
hard to mutter anyway. But Hein had learned some
interesting things. She had seen the flying man, going
right toward Jon, but had had to return to her body
too soon. Now she knew that the man had fallen.
Knowing how apt Jon was with her sling, Hein could
piece together what had happened. Jon was making
her presence count!

The stairs at the back of the palace led up to the
sorcerer's quarters. Hein saw that three other flights
ran down from those quarters to a secret anteroom
adjoining the Queen's throne room. The sorcerer was
really set up for spying!

"Hate these stairs!" Queeto wheezed briefly as his
short legs carried him to the top. He sounded almost
like the choking breath of the dragon that had carried
them. He surely would have preferred to have the
dragon carry them all the way here, if he hadn't been
so afraid it was about to eat them!

An owlhawk greeted them with a squawk. Its huge
yellow eyes looked for food, its talons pulling at first
one and then the other leather thong that bound it to
its perch.

Zatanas went straight to a dusty old book. He
opened it, scanned its yellowed pages, then set it
aside. He took a pinch of powder, tossed it in the air,
and said, "Abidda bebop teevee a zee hop." At least,
that was what it sounded like to Hein.

Smoke puffed as yellow grains of powder settled. A
picture formed as the sorcerer held his arm out
toward it and furrowed his uncapped forehead.

In the picture were Queeto and Zatanas, as well as
the three others. It was the way things had been on the
balcony, but now the view was from a spot that took
in the balcony and part of the stairs.

On the top stair a small figure twirled a sling and
sent a stone flying at the imaged magician's head.

248     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyojf

The stone struck. The sorcerer staggered. Queeto
helped him. The dragon came. The long tongue
snaked out. It wrapped itself around the magician's
waist, then Queeto's. They went over the side of the
balcony. Hein was amazed at the accuracy of this
vision; it showed exactly what had happened! Jon was
quite recognizable as she ran up to join the others.

"Master! Master!" Queeto cried. "It's her! It's the
girl I bid upon! The virgin girl the brigands took from
me! The Roundear's sister. Master!"

"Yes," Zatanas said calmly. "I thought it might be.
The fool came to help her brother."

"Will you bleed her, Master? Will you bleed all her
blood out and skin her alive while she screams with
horror and shrieks with agony?"

The magician's hand reached down to pat the bald
spot on Queeto's head. "We will bleed them, little
brother. I will put the silver needle into the virgin's
arm, and you will catch the blood as it drips, drop by
tasty drop, into the golden um."

"Oh, Master!" Queeto said, licking his lips. "That
makes me so happy!"

It hardly made Hein happy! This was worse than
she had feared. They planned to capture Jon and take
her blood!

"And at the same time we will bleed the other,"
Zatanas continued. "Not of his blood, but of his
strength. As the sister weakens, so will the brother. So,
too, may the roundear father."

"Like the lizards and the dragons. Master?"

The clawlike hand patted his head again. "Exactly
like the lizards and the dragons, Queeto. This is the
nature of sympathetic magic, of blood sorcery. It is
the way I brought the roundears from Throod to Rud
to help my daughter secure her throne, a generation
ago. Stick-figure men, but the real ones had to follow,
because the stick figures had round ears. Only it will
not be dragon appetite the Roundear feels, but weak-
ness, and then much, much pain, until finally, at long
last, we allow him death. He cannot escape it, for it

DRAGON'S GOLD

249

will stem from his blood sibling, whom we shall
control absolutely. His gauntlets will not avail him
then, and neither will the roundear weapons."
"Oh, Master! I wish we could make it last forever!"
"We will try, little friend. We certainly will try."
Abruptly, Zatanas returned to his book and began
turning pages.

Hein, appalled, drifted from the chamber. She had
to warn Kelvin of the threat to his sister, and to
himself! But how could she? Not through the dragons,
certainly!

She returned to Kelvin. He was now on the field,
holding the roundear weapon, looking for dragons to
slay. Jon was with him, but Hein was sure that the evil
sorcerer was devising some way to abduct her. Kel-
vin's gauntlets would protect him, but Jon had no
such security. They had to be warned!

But how? Heln's time was ending; soon she would
be drawn back to her body, and she knew that it
would not be safe to take a third berry. The second
one had worked too well, sending her out too strongly;

a third might vault her out so far she would never
return. She had to do what she had to do now.

What about that response she had felt before, the
one she had been trying to identify, when she found
the dragon and Zatanas instead? It had been near
Kelvin, but it hadn't been Kelvin himself.

"Where are you?" she cried desperately. "Answer
me!"

She felt the response! It was near Kelvin again. She
jumped over to it, and found herself hovering right in
front of him, as if he were holding her with his
gauntlets.

The gauntlets . . .

"Is that you, gauntlets?" she asked. "Do you hear
me?"

She received the feeling of agreement. Was she
imagining it? It was so hard to tell! At least the
dragons could move in the direction she sent them, so
she could tell by their actions. But these gloves—

250      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

"Left gauntlet, lift!" she exclaimed.

Kelvin's left arm came up, as though he were
waving. He looked startled.

She could do it! She could command the gauntlets!
It must be because she was another roundear, and
they were attuned to roundears. That was why only
roundears could use them; back at the camp, Kelvin
had tried lending his left gauntlet to other men, but
their hands had been rent by pain when they tried to
don it. The gloves accepted only roundears.

But now she felt the first slow tug of her faraway
body. She was about to leave; she had only a few
seconds left. There was no time to try to make the
gauntlets signal in air or write a note; what could she
do?.

The second tug came, drawing her away. "Zatanas'
lair!" she screamed. "Gauntlets, Jon will be in Zat-
anas' lair! Take Kelvin there, when—"

But now the third pull was drawing her back, and
she could say no more. How she hoped the gloves
understood! If they could somehow guide Kelvin, so
that he could save his sister before her demise brought
them both low. . . .

CHAPTER 28

Sympathetic Magic

JON TIGHTENED HER GRIP on her sling as the horseman
approached, but it was one of the Knights. The
swirling dust had made it uncertain until the beast
and its rider had drawn quite close.

"Gods!" Les Crumb exclaimed, recognizing them
at the last second. "It's the Roundear! And Jon!
And—"

"And your rightful King!" exclaimed Greenleaf as
he strode on foot with bared and bloody sword. His
dead horse lay next to the wall surrounding the palace
grounds, as did half a dozen dead guardsmen.

"Then—" Lester began.

Kelvin raised the laser. "We've won!" he shouted.
"With this weapon I can slay any dragon, any guards-
man!"

"Hold up," Mor protested. "I haven't figured out
what Jon is doing here, let alone all the rest. I sent the
girls home—"

Through the dust rode a guardsman with raised
sword, ready to chop. He was almost upon a startled
Greenleaf before Kelvin acted. The red beam reached
out, took away part of the Queen's wall and the man's
sword and sword arm. The guardsman screamed as
his horse barely missed running down Greenleaf.

They waited until the horse and one-armed rider
had vanished in the swirling dust. Then Lester
reached down and grabbed Kelvin's arm. "Come,
Kelvin! There's dragons and foe to be slain!"

"But—" said Jon.

"You, girl, and you. Your Majesty," Mor said, "you
should be safe here. See to it, Greenleaf, and—" He
251

252      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

paused as another figure loomed from the dust, but
this one wore their colors. "We'll be back. See that
these two are kept safe until we end the fighting."

Then he and Kelvin were away in the dust, leaving
Jon and King Rufurt and the few Knights who had

appeared.

Jon wanted to swear. Here she was, the hero who
had helped destroy the magician and his apprentice,
and helped save Kelvin and John Knight and the
King. Here she was, being treated like a child or,
worse, a girl who had to be protected.

"It shouldn't take long," King Rufurt said. "The
guardsmen won't want to fight magic, and the dragons
will either have to retreat back to dragon country or

be slain. We've all but won!"

Jon knew the King was right. That was, after all,
what Kelvin's father had said, and who, after all,
would know better? Still, there was an awful lot of
noise, and a lot of fighting remaining. She wished she
could be at Kelvin's side, or at least somewhere where
she could watch Kelvin. If only Kelvin had given her a
fancy weapon! But such a thought, she knew, had

never occurred to him.

Dust was so thick that it was hard to see even the
nearer Knights, though so far she had recognized
every one who came up. She wiped at her tearing eyes
and drippy nose, hating the dust. Battle dust took the
glory right out of it! That, and all the gore. Maybe it
would be better just to be a girl, and leave the mess to
the men. She had never actually fought in battle with

a sword.

Jon felt a man's hand on her shoulder. Looking up,
she saw a Knight on a horse. How had he come so
close without her being aware of him? It was not one

she recognized.

"Want up on the horse?" the man asked.
Why not? Maybe she would get to fight after all. Just

so she could say she had done it, when this was over.
She threw her leg up as the man hauled on her. In

half a breath she was astride the big war-horse. This

DRAGON'S GOLD        253

reminded her of the time she had been on a black
stallion with another man's big arm around her.

Another man?

She twisted to look in shock into the dark face,
seeing the scar under grime, the gleam in the man's
eyes. That could mean only one thing. The man was
an enemy, and one she recognized!

"Che—" she started to say.

Cold steel touched her throat. "Shut up, or I'll
decapitate you right here and throw your head to your
friends. Keep your mouth shut, don't struggle, and
you'll live to be of some use. My use."

It was humiliating and scary, but what could she do
but keep silent? One little squeak on her part, and she
felt certain the highwayman would do what he threat-
ened. How had the bandit gotten here, and dressed
like a Knight? Had he learned that she was not the boy
he had sold to the Boy Mart? Of course she couldn't
ask! All she could do was keep her mouth shut and try
to stay alive.

Jon felt the horse leap forward, and then King
Rufurt and the Knight guarding him were behind and
there was dust swirling all around. An open section of
wall loomed ahead. With a single tremendous leap the
war-horse cleared the rubble. Behind them were
shouts and the sounds of another horse.

The man holding her swung around. He slashed
quickly at their pursuer, and then as the man drew
close, he stabbed.

Greenleaf fell soundlessly from his horse, pierced
through the heart. Jon stifled a cry; if only she had
thought to jog the bandit's arm or something, she
might have saved the Knight! She was a helpless
female after all.

The palace's walls loomed. Then they were behind
the palace, in the courtyard, the horse halting in
response to the quick pull on its reins.

"Down!" Cheeky Jack ordered. "Slowly."

Jon moved slowly, the sword at her throat.

Her captor swung down, dropped the reins, and

254      Piers Anthony and Robert E. M.cwgroff

slapped the war-horse's flank.Jon saw with astonish-
ment that the beast raced into the orchard where
broken branches and downed trees suggested a dragon
had been. As it neared the first trees, the horse started
to change. It seemed to grow in size. It developed a
lizard's tail and a snout. It was turning into a dragon!

Jon shook her head, hardly believing what she had
seen. Had she really just ridden a dragon? She
couldn't have! Yet now a dragon was scrambling over
the orchard wall.

The highwayman laughed, and it was a cackle. As
she looked, startled, at Cheeky Jack's face, it seemed
to melt and flow. The scar vanished. The hair changed
from black to dark gray. The nose elongated. The chin
became sharp and protruding.

In a moment it was the evil sorcerer who stood

there.

Had she realized his true identity, she would have
screamed warning at the outset, no matter what! But
she had been sure he was dead! How could he have
survived the attack by the dragon?

The dragon. But the magician could tame dragons!
That was how he had survived!

"Wh—what are you going to do with me?" Jon
asked. Then she remembered to add "Zatanas," so as
not to aggravate him further. If he merely kept her
prisoner for a time, hoping to use her to bargain for
his life when the Knights won—

Again the cackly laugh. "I shall use you, of course,
in my magic. I shall use your blood and your skin and
your bones and your eyeballs and your stupid little
soul. I shall use you to gain, once and for all, full
control over this, my rightful land."

Jon shuddered. She felt certain that whatever else
the black magician might be, he was as powerful as he
was insane.

Regretfully, Kelvin sighted the laser at the charging
dragon. His gauntlet steadied his aim, and squeezed

DRAGON'S GOLD        255

the trigger. The red beam went out like the finger of a
deadly lightning god.

The dragon collapsed in a golden pile, its head
mostly disintegrated.

Kelvin felt real regret, and he hoped this was the
last such killing he would have to perform. They had
now ridden down three dragons. The real hero was the
pair of gauntlets, which made his aim perfect. But he
wished the dragons had fled back to dragon country,
so that no more had had to be destroyed. There was a
lot of dragon's gold on the battlefield, and some
Knights were already hacking away at the precious
scales, taking their spoils, but how much better it
would have been to leave the dragons alone in their
own haunts!

Kelvin squirmed in the saddle. It was a nice war-
horse, and nice accouterments. The Crumbs had
captured it for him. But all he really wanted was for
the fighting and killing to stop. The guardsmen hadn't
a chance against him, and once the word got out, they
would realize it. How many guardsmen had charged
him and been slain? How many had seen him destroy
dragons, and had ridden to spread the news? Round-
ear magic was indeed the key to victory!

"I think," Kelvin said, "that I weary of the fight."
That was a dragon-sized understatement!

Lester frowned. His father, some distance away,
had not heard, and therefore did not bellow his
customary protest. "You want to go back to Jon and
the King? Until this is over with?"

Kelvin nodded.

"All right. I'll cover for you. I'll get Father away
from here, and when we're out of sight, you go back."

Kelvin appreciated Les's help. The elder Crumb
had become so obsessed with the fighting that he
seemed not to want to stop. Not that Mor killed
guardsmen who weren't trying to kill him, but he
didn't avoid meeting them either. For Kelvin to drop
out of the fighting before the guardsmen had accepted

256      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

defeat must be barely understandable to Les, and not
at all comprehensible to Mor.
Already, Kelvin felt guilty. "But maybe I

should—"

"No, I understand," Les said. "I get pretty sick of it
myself. I almost got taken out at Skagmore, you know.
Father dragged me back unconscious, and your sister
nursed me back to consciousness. She's some little
woman, when she wants to be."

Kelvin laughed shortly. "But she doesn't want to
be! That's the problem."

Les shrugged. He shaded his eyes with a hand.
"Over there!" he called suddenly. "Behind those
trees! Someone in a guardsman's uniform!"

"Let's get him!" Morvin cried, wheeling his horse
around. The Crumbs raced for the trees at full gallop.
There was a cry of dismay from the trees; evidently
the guardsman had hoped to remain undiscovered.
Kelvin could understand that.

As he watched them, he felt a tingle in his gauntlets

—both hands. Usually this meant danger, but now
there was no danger. Once, his left gauntlet had lifted
of its own accord when there was no enemy to fend
off. Now the tingle was back, with no visible threat.

Kelvin locked the safety mechanism on his laser the
way his father had done, and bolstered it. It still
didn't feel comfortable hanging from his waist.

The Crumbs disappeared among the trees. Was the
tingle for them—a danger they faced?

As though in answer, the gauntlets grew warm. He
felt them tug at the horse's reins. They were up to
something, and he could not afford to assume they
were mistaken. They often seemed to know best.

As the horse turned, the right gauntlet slapped its
flank. The steed leaped forward, and proceeded to a
full gallop away from the trees and the Crumbs.

He was going back to join Jon and King Rufurt

—but the gauntlets were doing it, not himself. Were
they tired of battle, too?

DRAGON'S GOLD        257

Then the gauntlets turned the horse again. An
opening appeared in the wall, and they were racing for
it.

Kelvin barely remembered to flatten himself and
nudge the horse with his knees before the leap. Then
they were over, on the palace grounds. Broken hedges
and flowers and a tipped-over statue showed where
another beast had run. A war-horse, or a dragon?
Where were the gauntlets taking him, and why?

A man lay dead on the ripped-up lawn. As they
raced by, Kelvin recognized the dead one as Green-
leaf. How had he come to be here? Whom had he been
chasing, and who had slain him? But the gauntlets did
not slow the horse.

They were at the side of the palace now, approach-
ing the rear and the courtyard. He recognized the side
of the balcony and its stairs. The balcony was now
empty, and there seemed to be no living thing near the
stairs.

The horse's hooves clattered on cobblestones. The
gauntlets pulled the reins. Now they walked, to anoth-
er flight of stairs. The gauntlets, almost uncomforta-
bly hot now, urged him to dismount. They had never
before shown so much will of their own!

Kelvin swung out of the saddle, left his steed to
wander or wait as it wished, and raced up the stairs.
He slowed his steps as he neared the top. He felt
uncomfortably weak and light-headed—weaker than
he had felt at any time except when he was sick. He
must have gotten more tired than he thought! Maybe
that drug they had given him to make him sleep so
long had weakened him. He had been quite active
recently, and maybe shouldn't have pushed his limits.

An owthawk tethered on a skull flopped its wings
and snapped its beak as he entered a darkened room
thick with unusual and unidentifiable smells. What
was this place?

For a moment he stood weakly swaying in the
doorway as his eyes adjusted and his gauntlets all but

258      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

burned his hands. Then he saw the magician and the
dwarf. The two he had thought devoured by a dragon!
And—

Shock struck him, even as the sorcerer made a puff
of pink-colored smoke appear. "Jon!" Kelvin whis-
pered. "Jon!"

For there was his sister, strapped to a table. She was
very pale. A needle was in her arm, and her blood was
dripping into a golden vessel held by the hunchbacked
dwarf.

Kelvin had sworn to protect her—and look what
had happened! They were bleeding her to death!

Zatanas was mumbling something, gesturing as he
had on the balcony. Instantly Kelvin felt frozen,
paralyzed by the power of magic. His natural father
had tried to convince him that such magic did not
exist, but on this matter John Knight had been
horribly mistaken.

Kelvin remembered the laser weapon in its holster.
If he could reach it—if the gauntlets . . .

The sorcerer made a gesture. Instantly the mystery
weapon slid from its holster and floated in midair.
The laser turned, steadied before Kelvin's nose,
poised there briefly like a hummerfly, then retreated
as suddenly to the magician's waiting hand.

"An interesting toy," Zatanas said, moving the
laser to a vacant shelf and dropping it. "But against
me, worthless. It's not true magic, you see. Not like
mine."

Kelvin tried to speak. There was no sound from his
lips. In his ears, steadily, was the drip, drip, drip of his
sister's lifeblood.

"I really hadn't expected you to be fool enough to
come here," the sorcerer continued. "That is why I
devised a demise for you that would strike wherever
you were, inescapably. But this is even better."

Kelvin still stood, feeling weaker and more hopeless
every moment. Why couldn't he even try to fight this
man?

"Let me explain for you one of the basic principles

DRAGON'S GOLD        259

of sympathetic magic," said Zatanas. "Like affects
like. As your sister and you share a parentage, so you
share a bond greater than that of strangers. As her
blood leaves her and she weakens, you weaken, too.
Slowly, slowly, over a good long time. It would be
inartistic to rush it! Every stage must be properly
savored. When we skin her, you will feel some of the
agony. When we pluck out her eyes, your vision will
weaken until you are blind. When we—"

But Kelvin had ceased to listen. He was thinking
only of Jon and the gauntlets, and of the necessity,
somehow, someway, to overcome this horror. Yet he
remained powerless.

Drip, drip, drip, drip . . .

261

CHAPTER 29

Queen

JOHN KNIGHT ROAMED THE palace rooms, searching.
He had not told the Knights (he found the name
entertaining) what he intended to do, knowing that
would only have diverted them from the necessary
business of winning the battle. This was an aspect of it
he just had to do himself.

He was looking for the Queen. His son and hers lay
outside, perhaps receiving the medical attention he
desperately needed, perhaps already beyond the
power of any such help. The Queen was not directly
responsible for Kian's situation, but she was certainly
indirectly responsible, for she had set him up to fight
the Knights, and that had brought him crashing
down. It was ironic that it was Jon's daughter's slung
stone that had done it, but it had had to be done,
because once Kian mastered the flying harness and
the laser pistols, he would have destroyed the Knights
and ended the threat to the Queen's evil dominance.
John had had deep reservations about showing Kian
the proper use of these items, but with Kelvin in the
Queen's power, he had had no choice. Now the
weapons had changed sides, and he had his daughter
to thank for that, and only hoped that this had not
cost him Kian's life. His hatred for the Queen was
built upon such matters as this: that she had set John
Knight's children to fighting each other.

He wondered whether he was quite sane, to hate her
so. Yet he knew that the Queen and her consort had to
be destroyed. They had brought this fair and won-
drous land almost to total ruin, and if allowed to live
would wrea'k further evil. It was Zoanna's nature to
260

^ bring destruction on others; that was why she herself
tiad to be destroyed.

DRAGON'S GOLD

Yet he had thought he loved her, once. Certainly he
had fallen under her spell for a time. Her body—

John Knight shook himself. He could not afford to
be distracted by that! The woman he had more truly
loved was Chariain, even though he had had to leave
her. So now he would eliminate the Queen, and if he
lost his own life in the process, well, that would leave
Charlain's life less complicated. She had remarried,
thinking him dead, and he could not fault her for that.
She and her second husband had done a fine job with
the children, both of them.

He entered another room, a ballroom where once
he had danced with the Queen. Crystal chandeliers
hung above, and along the walls were heroic life-size
statuary of royal family members from ancient days,
and the floors were polished inlaid rare woods. What
happiness he had had here for a time, when he had
supposed himself a kind of king! He had thought he
had the love of a beautiful Queen!

He paused, searching with narrowed gaze, holding
the laser ready, willing himself to hate her as he had
hated her every day of his imprisonment. As he
had hated her when she acceded to Flick's demand
that Kian try to be the Roundear of prophecy. As he
had hated her when she forced him to train Kian. As
he had hated her when Kian fell.

His eyes rested momentarily on a doorway he
didn't remember, and a shimmer there made him
think "ghost." Then she was there in all her beauty,
undimmed by twenty years, hair undone, dressed in
the filmiest of nightgowns. She beckoned him, and his
hate evaporated; it was impossible to oppose such a
creature! He knew that magic, another aspect of that
sorcery he had tried not to believe in, kept her
eternally youthful in body, if not in mind. Suddenly it
didn't seem to matter. Despite himself, he took a step
forward.

262      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

The floor vanished beneath his feet.

He landed in a painful heap, the laser still in his
hand. Something struck his wrist, and his fingers
opened involuntarily. The laser clattered to the floor.
Something struck him on the head, dizzying him.

"Go ahead, Peter, finish him!"

It was her voice. Hers! He blinked, seeing her now,
trying to see the reality he knew was there.

She stood before a reflecting mirror that sent her
image up to the mirror placed in the ballroom, and to
this cellar, too. She was no ghost! She remained
hidden, physically, while her image supervised the
action here. The floor had not simply dematerialized;

above him, in the ceiling, was the opened trapdoor.

It had been a simple trap. Mirror and trapdoor.
Planned for him since he agreed to teach Kian? Or
just here, waiting for its time of need? Waiting for
John Knight to come seeking her? Waiting for the
laser in his hand and his heart full of hate? The Queen
was evil, but no fool. She had known he would one
day attempt to take her life.

As his sight cleared, he saw Peter Flick standing
over him. The Queen's cruel consort had the sword
turned flat side toward him, ready for another swing.
"Finish him, Peter! Use the edge!"
Was that the woman he had loved? No, it was just
the illusion, the reality of her as deceptive as the
mirror image. Magic enhanced her, and always had.
He had fought so hard against a belief in magic
because he had wanted the illusion to be real. He had
tried, even after his first imprisonment, to believe that
it was real. That refusal to accept magic had even
misled Kelvin, and now—
"I want him to suffer," Peter said.
"Fool!" she retorted. "That man is dangerous!
Finish him!"

John Knight tried putting his hands out, to brace
himself against the floor. The floor seemed to spin.
Then there was agony, as Peter Flick trod heavily on
his right hand. He felt Flick's full weight. He heard a

DRAGON'S GOLD        263

snapping sound, and knew that his trigger finger had
broken.

"He can live a long time yet," Flick said. "Just as
long as I'm willing to let him. Let's keep him alive a
while and enjoy him, love."

"Peter," Zoanna said icily, "remember who you
are! / am the one to say, and I say kill him."

John Knight realized that because the Queen wasn't
here physically, being present merely in mirror image,
she had to act through her consort, and Flick was
taking advantage of the situation. Evidently the man
was too stupid to realize what that would cost him,
the moment the Queen didn't need him anymore. He
saw Flick's evil grin, and then he saw him pick up the
laser.

"No! No!" John said. He was trying to play for
time; he wasn't really that weak.

"Yes, yes," Flick taunted. "Yes, I will fix you with
this. That's more appropriate, don't you think? To be
slain by your own ofiworld weapon. Offworld magic,

offworld science, as you call it—it's all the same to
me."

"Peter, that's dangerous!" the Queen said.
Peter Flick examined the weapon, turning it over
and over in his delicate fingers. His hands were more

accustomed to the touch of fine linen and fragile art
objects.

"You don't know how to use it!" the Queen said.
"Remember what it did!"

"I'm remembering. I think I'll start with his legs."
John watched his enemy turn the laser until it
pointed at his feet. He saw the grin he had come to
know so well, and knew that Flick would take his time
squeezing the trigger. More time than he needed.

He watched the finger start to tighten. He took a
deep breath and kicked out. His heavily booted foot
struck Peter's left kneecap.

Peter gasped and lost his balance. His arm came up.
His finger tightened involuntarily.
The ruby beam cut halfway through the supporting

264 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf DRAGON'S GOLD 265

column at John's back. A chunk the diameter of a
dragon's neck vanished. It left a hole between the
column's base and the rest of it.

The column dropped, its end smoking. It twisted
sideways and fell, breaking apart in segments.

But Flick was not paying attention. His finger still
pressed the trigger, and the beam still shone. It raced
on, cutting a trench through the overhead floor.
Flick's right arm went all the way back as he fell.

The ceiling gave way with a crack louder than a
pistol shot. Bits of statuary rained down. The floor
sagged where a jagged, zigzag cut had been made. It
shook, starting to collapse from the center.

It was coming down, John realized. The ballroom
floor was crashing down on Peter Flick's head!

"The Queen was right," John said as he scrambled
for the relative safety of an arch. "That thing is
dangerous."

Then, with a crunch like that of a gigantic dragon's
jaws, the ballroom floor gave way completely and
crashed into the basement.

John Knight saw Peter Flick caught under the
descending roof. The man had not had the wit to seek
immediate shelter. Dust rose in choking clouds so
thick that John could not see, and his ears felt as
muffled as his eyes, and it was hard to breathe. He
curled up, covering his ears as well as he could, closing
his eyes, and putting his mouth against his shirt to
inhale.

Finally, as the noise ceased to reverberate and only
a great ache remained, he crawled through the settling
dust to the region where Flick had disappeared. There
was a large timber there now, with something sticky
beneath it. The laser had stopped showing; evidently
the weapon had been crushed, too. Well, he had
planned to dispose of it anyway, in due course.

That left—

"Zoanna!" he called gently.

There was no answer. He strained his eyes to see in
the dim light c'oming through a break from above.

The entire palace must have collapsed, or at least the
main section. The wings, including the one where
Zatanas had his quarters, might still be standing. The
evil sorcerer had to be eliminated, too, for he was the
power behind the Queen.

"Peter. Pe-ter." Her voice, very faint.

Damn her! So he would have to kill her after all!
Why couldn't she have been crushed with Flick? John
didn't have his laser now, or even a sword. He would
have to kill her with his bare hands, and he wouldn't
have liked that even if his right hand hadn't been
crushed.

He felt his way over broken picture frames, torn
canvases, chunks of statuary, and wads of drapes. He
located her by the sound; she thought it was her
consort coming.

He saw her left arm, pinned by part of a fallen
column. Her mouth was wide now, as were her eyes,
but there was no blood that he could see. She ap-
peared to be hurt mainly by shock. This was the real
Queen, the physical one; the mirrors had been bro-
ken.

"Peter," she said. "Peter, help me." It was her old
voice, almost. The voice that had weakened him and
hypnotized him. It was a voice as could work enchant-
ment even without the help of magic.

He knew he should throttle her. But he couldn't do
it one-handed.

"There's a passage," she said. "Trapdoor. River.
Escape."

Did she know to whom she spoke? Did she even
know where she was? Her eyes seemed to suggest no,
but her words could be taken either way.

He hardly knew where he found the strength, but he
worked until he pulled her arm free. She had been
lucky; the full mass of the column had not come down
on her. It had fallen across statuary that supported
most of its weight. He only needed to excavate around
her arm, making more room, to work it free.

The arm hung loosely from her shoulder. Certainly

266 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff' DRAGON'S GOLD 267

it was damaged, but at least it was there. He got one of
his own arms around her and helped her to stand,
bending slightly because of the sagging ceiling here.
Her body was light, and its contours sweet against
him; how he wished that—

"Trapdoor. There. There," she said. Her good arm
pointed to the far right comer of the room, and at a
statue of a dead hero whose head was now detached
and whose sword arm was broken. That seemed
appropriate!

He half dragged, half carried her as he made his way
step by step to the spot she indicated. When he got
there he had to put her down and drag aside the
statue. Then he had to pull back the rug with its
fighting-dragons motif, to strain to lift the trapdoor by
its iron ring.

When the trapdoor opened all the way, he gave out
an involuntary groan and almost plummeted head
foremost down the crumbling wooden and moss-
grown stairs. The cool, moist air of an underground
river came up to meet him. Of course—the capital
was beside a river, and this would be a tributary.

He shook his head, fighting off the dizziness that
assailed him. Somehow he got her to her feet again.
Somehow he got started down the stairs. It seemed a
.long, long way down. Longer than he had ever
climbed down before. He felt weaker and weaker by
the second, as though his blood were leaving him. But
his body was intact except for his broken hand; he
wasn't bleeding.

"Raft. Raft," she said. "Hurry. Hurry."

He hardly knew what to answer, and didn't try; he
needed all his remaining strength to do the job.

Step by step, downward, they went. Her thigh
against his, her body close against him. She was a
middle-aged woman now, and surely she had no
magic enhancing her anymore, yet she was alluring in
every aspect. He couldn't hurt her!

His feet slipped, and he stopped, steadying himself

with grim determination. Then he went on, step by
slow step down, and she went with him.

At the bottom of the first flight there was a landing,
then a second flight of stairs. John dragged them
down. At the bottom of the second there was another
landing and a third set of stairs. How deep was the
stream? But finally they were there at a crumbling and
moss-covered dock. There was an old raft tied here
that appeared to have remained for an eternity.

He stopped, tottering, half collapsing on the dock.
He felt the water lapping, lifting and lowering about
him, and he knew he hadn't finished, but he was too
exhausted to do any more.

Now she seemed to be supporting him, bearing him
up, helping him onto the raft. His feet obeyed her, as
once his whole body and mind had done. Now this
foot, now that foot, and now he seemed to be on the
raft with her and she seemed to be lifting a pole
attached there by a rope, and she seemed to be poling
them out into the current.

He struggled to sit up, to make sense of what was
happening. He thought he heard a splash.

Pulling himself up to sitting position, he saw a
string of silvery bubbles in the dark water behind the
raft. Nothing else. He was alone.

He was too weary and disoriented to think or

Eonder anything. He couldn't even feel the pain in his
and.

The raft drifted. It passed between rock walls
covered with eerily glowing moss that gave a strange
green color to everything. The stream didn't seem to
be flowing into the river that served the capital.

John Knight moved on to an unknown and perhaps
unknowable destination.

CHAPTER 30

Recovery

KELVIN WATCHED THE BLOOD dripping into the golden
um, feeling, thanks to Zatanas' magic, that it was his
own blood as well as his sister's. Jon, wide awake,
unable to move because of the straps, whispered
softly, "Kel, Kel, save me."

"Yes, why don't you save her, Kelvin Roundears?"
Zatanas inquired. It was almost as though he expected
an answer.

"He can't, Master," Queeto said, and swished the
blood in its vessel, shaking all over as he croaked his
laughter. "Not ever. Not him. He can't move, Master.
And he's getting weaker. Weaker and weaker and
weaker!"

Kelvin knew that the vicious dwarf was right.
Queeto was having his revenge for the way they had
taken Jon from him, after the sale at the Mart. There
would be no mercy there. But if he willed the gaunt-
lets to move, and if they did so, and brought along the
rest of his body ...

But there was little use. Zatanas had his laser on a
shelf and he hadn't acquired a sword or even a dagger
since leaving the palace balcony. There was little even
the gauntlets could do as long as Queeto and Zatanas
stayed out of reach. Only if he could reach them, he
thought. Only if—

A great crashing, splintering noise came from below
the floor. Clouds of dust rose in the room, books fell,
glassware rattled. Something crashed over and made a
foul stink.

The room shook violently. Almost as if a quake had
come.

268

DRAGON'S GOLD        269

Queeto stumbled back, still on his feet but losing
his balance. He pulled the golden vessel away from the
tube in Jon's arm, splashing Jon's blood on himself.

His hump seemed to pull him over, on his back,
against Kelvin.

Instantly the gauntlets acted. Pulling Kelvin's un-
feeling arms along, the gauntlets fastened on the
dwarf's thick throat.

"Master! Master!" Queeto cried. His short, power-
ful arms reached back but couldn't stretch to the
gauntlets and Kelvin's arms.

Kelvin willed strength to the gauntlets. Never be-
fore had he wanted to destroy any living thing as
badly as he wanted to destroy this dwarf!

Queeto made a choking sound. His eyes bulged. It
was magic strength squeezing the life out of him. But
the gauntlets did not wait for him to suffocate; they

crushed so hard that his neck collapsed, and he was
dying.

Zatanas struggled up from the corner where he had
been flung. His breath came in shallow, whispering
drafts. His eyes bulged in sympathy with the dwarf's.

"Lit-tle bro-ther," he whispered. "Like links like.
The spell I cast—it's affecting us!"

He choked, wheezed, and gasped horribly. On his
feet, he rose unsteadily to his height. He began to raise
a hand to gesture.

"Kel," Jon whispered. It wasn't much, but it dis-
tracted him for a moment. He had to save her!

Kelvin felt a bit of strength. He could move now!
He concentrated, trying to aid the gauntlets in their
grisly task. He put all his remaining strength into
it—and the terrible fingers crushed in so hard that
they pulped the tissues of the dwarf's neck, and
Queeto was abruptly dead.

Zatanas tottered. Then, with no sound, no real
warning, dwarf and master crumbled into unequal
piles of dust. Only their clothing remained with the
dust rising up from it and then settling down again.

270 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

Kelvin stepped on the dwarf's clothing and the dust
as he fought to get to Jon. It was only his own
weakness that slowed him now, instead of the sorcer-
er's magic, but that was enough. He struggled to her,
almost falling, and clawed at the needle in her arm.
He hauled on it, trying to pull it out; the gauntlets
were clumsy for this.

He wrenched it out, and blood flowed across her
arm. He reached down for the dwarf's sash and
brought it up to make a tourniquet for her arm, but
couldn't get it right, and still the blood flowed.

"Just untie me," she said. "I'll take care of my
arm."

He put the gauntlets on the straps, and the gloves
ripped the straps apart. Jon sat up unsteadily, and put
her free hand on the wound, stanching the flow at last.
Then she glanced at the floor, where the dust was.
"Kel, what—?"

"Dust," he said. "Magic kept them alive, and now
magic has destroyed them. The prophecy was right:

'And the gauntlet great, shall the tyrant take.' You
remember those words, Jon?"

She raised her gaze. "Well, you saved me, Kel. But
the Queen may still be lurking."

Kelvin picked up his father's weapon from the
shelf. He made certain the safety was on, then placed
it in the holster.

The room shook. More books hit the floor. More
glassware trembled and fell. The odor got worse. The
floor seemed to give a little. Below, something creaked
and grumbled.

"The palace!" Kelvin said. "I think it's collaps-
ing!"

The owlhawk fluttered. The poor creature was a
victim, he thought, just as Jon had been.

He untied the leather thongs holding the bird to its
grisly perch on a human skull. He watched it fly to the
window overhead, then go through to its freedom.

He put his arm under Jon's shoulders and helped
her sit up. His strength was returning, but hers was

DRAGON'S GOLD

272

not. "I'm so tired, Kel," she said. "So very tired."

"Yes, I know." He had felt the power of the linkage,
and knew exactly how tired she felt. He understood
how the evil magician had died when the dwarf did;

the magic transference was potent.

Jon pushed her legs over the side of the table. "We
have to get out of here, Kel," she said faintly. "Before
they—" She nodded at the dust. "Before they return
to life."

"They won't return to life," Kelvin said. But he had
seen and felt the power ofZatanas' magic; now he was
no longer sure of its limit.

Jon rubbed at a cheek. "They won't, will they?
Never again. You—you've killed them." Yet she, too,
sounded uncertain.

"Say rather that the gauntlets killed them. Lean on
my shoulder and I'll walk you out."

"I'm very weak, Kel."

"I know." How well he knew! "But you'll make it.
We both will." He hoped. His confidence in things
was only a shadow of what it had been, back before
they went hunting for dragon's gold.

It seemed to take forever to cross the room and
descend the stairs. In the courtyard, his superb war-
horse waited for them, the only living creature re-
maining there.

Jon, recovering slightly, pulled herself up to the
front of the saddle, while Kelvin sat behind her with
the reins. It was good to be mounted again; this entire
region made him nervous. Of course the evil sorcerer
was permanently dead! Yet, somehow . . .

"Master! Master!"

"Courage, little brother apprentice. We will regain
our bodies. Do as I do."

Dust motes drifted in the silent room. Slowly they
settled downward. Heaps of dust began drifting to-
gether, eddying into larger and larger clumps.

More dust swirled, coming together. Slowly the
particles attached to others of their kind. Bit by bit, a

272      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margraff

skeleton formed. A shape that was as yet nothing but

form.

A lizard, escaped from its cage, raised its head,
flared its hood, and scuttled for the comer.

With agonizing slowness, the skeleton assumed
greater solidity. Other dust particles attached to it. A
figure began to shape. It was a faceless mannequin,
and then a faceless corpse. Tiny whirlwinds moved
about the floor, sucking up dust that had once formed
the sorcerer Zatanas.

"Master! Master!"

"Try, Queeto. It is your only chance."

Now other dust particles at the other side of the
room began to move. Slowly, slowly they lifted, then
swirled, then formed. "Master! Master! I'm doing it!"

"I knew you would. Apprentice like Master, al-
ways." The dust whirlpool swirled, moving hither and
yon, questing for dust in obscure corners.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the two bodies formed.

"Will there be enough, Master? Will there be

enough?"

"There will be. If not enough from us, then enough
from other sources. Dust is dust."

"How much time. Master? How much time?"

"Enough. Work, Queeto, work!"

Now the body of Zatanas lay stark on the floor by a
broken gold vessel and a slash of crimson. An opened
book lay almost beneath the magician's form. Hair
grew, fingernails, eyelashes. But the body did not

breathe.

Queeto's hump was finished. His short legs and
powerful forearms appeared as they had in life. The
whirlwinds fed the form at an increasing pace.

"When can we enter. Master? When?"

"When the bodies are set. For now they are only
forms. Mine is almost ready; yours is not."

The body of Queeto emerged from the dust. Or-
gans, blood and bone, ugly, misshapen, monstrous, all
dust. But the dust was being set by the solidifying

DRAGON'S GOLD        273

action of agglutination. Magic was converting it to
form. Soon it would be living flesh.

"I'm done. Master! I'm done! I'm whole!"

"Almost. There must be time for setting."

The owlhawk's shadow touched the window. Then
it was inside the room, diving for a lizard on the floor.

The lizard ran into a pile of clothing. The owlhawk
swooped, caught the lizard up in its talons, and
carried it to its perch. It lit on the skull, opened its
beak, and with one swift motion bit the lizard's head
off.

"Master! Master!"

"It will go away. It must!"

The owlhawk devoured its repast. Another lizard
crawled along the wall. The big bird flopped its wings,
scattering dust, dislodging particles, making of two
apparent corpses two apparently faceless manne-
quins. But it caught its prey.

"Master!"

"It will go away, Queeto. We can live again as long
as there is our dust."

Again the owlhawk returned to its perch. Again it
devoured its dripping repast, this time more slowly.
Bits of lizard blood and lizard juices dripped from its
opened beak.

"Master! Master!"

"When it has fed, it will sleep. Owlhawks sleep in
the day."

The bird finished its second lizard, rotated its head,
and stretched its wings.

"Master, it—"

A third lizard ran along a shelf of glass bottles and
retorts. This was too much temptation. The owlhawk
flew, talons extended. The wings stirred up dust in a
swirling cloud. The talons touched the lizard, and
needle claws sank into its greenish sides.

The blood dripped as the bird dropped, lizard
clutched in its claws. As it dropped, its wingtips
fanned and brushed bottles and glassware.

274 Piers Anthony and Robert E. ^wrgroff

A beaker fell. A bottle tipped, i
and burst explosively on the floor.
followed.

d off the shelf,
Another bottle

Fanned by the commotion, the dust figures col-
lapsed inward on themselves.

Unperturbed, the owlhawk carried its prey to its
longtime perch. Green flames shot from the broken
bottle. They rose high, crackling, giving off smoke.

"Master! Master!"

"Fear not. If I live, I will bring you back. If not as
Queeto, then as an object. A magical staff, or—"

"But, Master, I don't want to be a staff!"

"You will take what you will get! Cursed bird, I will
enter you and—"

The bird lifted from its perch, dropping the man-
gled lizard in its wake. It rose to the highest shelf, its
wings dislodging boxes and containers and bottles
that fell and burst with hideous noise.

Now it was flying for the window, and outside.

"Master! Master!"

"Cursed-bird, why didn't it wait?"

Now the room was filling with dancing green flame.
The flame grew, devouring what it reached. Clothing
charred and blackened. The owlhawk's perch burned,
and so did the dust.

"Master, Master, I fade."

"Oh, the ignominy of it! Destroyed by a bird!"

"Mas-ter. Mas-i-er . . ."

The green flames licked up the walls, shot out of the
windows, and then onto the roof.

Soon the crackling flames were being witnessed by
nothing living, semi-living, or with any hope of living.

EPILOGUE

THEY GATHERED IN THE great tent that had been
pitched on the Hackleberry farm, the temporary
headquarters of the new government while the palace
was being rebuilt. The Hackleberries and the Flam-
beaus had met, and liked each other, and were cooper-
ating in the plans for Kelvin's marriage to Heln. King
Rufurt had decreed that all back taxes on both farms
were excused, in return for the services that members
of these families had rendered in restoring the rightful
government. The scales from the slain dragons had
become part of the royal treasury, and were backing
the new currency and paying for the rebuilding and all
other obligations. A program of tax reform was being
instituted, so that no longer would farmers be impov-
erished by taxes, and of course the Boy and Girl
Marts were abolished.

Yet certain mysteries remained, and it was to inves-
tigate these that they were here. They had discovered,
because of certain remarks made by Heln's mother,
that a person who touched Heln while she was astrally
separated could pick up some of what her spirit was
doing. Indeed, it was possible to communicate with
her when she knew that the person was there to hear;

she could not see or hear the person when her spirit
was elsewhere, but she could send her thoughts to that
person through her unconscious body. They had tried
it experimentally, Kelvin lying beside her and holding
her hand while she separated, and he had received an
ongoing narration of her experiences.

After the palace had burned down, workers going
through the wreckage, preparing the site for the new
palace, had discovered flights of stairs descending to a
275

276     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

nether dock, where a subterranean river passed. There
were signs that suggested that John Knight and Queen
Zoanna had fled the collapsing palace by that route,
and taken a boat down the river. But the stream did
not flow into the surface river that flowed by the
capital; it wended its way elsewhere. Men had
searched as far as they could along it, but it wound so
deviously through its channels that they had been
unable to trace it far, and their labors were needed for
the work on the new palace. There had been no sign of
either John Knight or the Queen; possibly they had
drowned, or floated far away. But it was necessary to
know their fate, for if John Knight lived, Charlain's
marriage to Hal Hackleberry was in question, and if
the Queen lived, the kingdom itself was in danger. So
now, a week after the victory of the Knights, Hem was
going to explore the river labyrinth astrally, and
Kelvin was going to report her findings as they
occurred. Everyone who counted was here for this
quest.

Hem swallowed a dragonberry. "Stay with me,
dear," she said to Kelvin as she sank back on the bed.

"Always, dear," he agreed. He held her hand firmly
and sat on a chair beside her. Much had changed, but
this had not: the use of the endearment still caused
him to blush. The others pretended not to notice.

"I wish I had someone to call me 'dear,'" Jon
murmured. She was seated on Kelvin's other side. She
remained pale from her loss of blood, and was weak,
but was otherwise in good condition.

"What about that boy who helped you get into the
palace grounds?" Les Crumb asked, standing on her
other side.

"Tommy Yokes?" She smiled briefly. "I liked him,
but he went back to his girlfriend the moment the
King freed the bound boys." She shrugged. "I guess I
wasn't cut out to be anyone's girlfriend."

Kelvin's eyes were closed, as Heln's breathing
slowed andAer hand grew cold. But though he felt the

DRAGON'S GOLD

277

impact of the transference, he remained conscious in
the tent. Jon was speaking quietly, so that only those
closest to her could hear, but he was one of them.

"When I was knocked out in battle," Les said, "I
felt myself sinking down and down, and I did not
know whether I would ever rise up again. When I
woke I couldn't move at all, and I felt terrible. But
then I felt a hand cooling my brow, and I knew
someone was taking care of me, and I knew that if I
recovered I would owe that person my life."

"That's silly," Jon said. "Your father brought you
in. I only helped clean you up."

"Yes. I was delirious. My thoughts made no sense.
When I opened my eyes and saw you, it was as though
I had never seen you before. You were absolutely
beautiful."

"Oh, shut up," she said, embarrassed.
"That vision remained with me after I recovered,"

he continued. "You are as lovely this moment."
"What are you saying?" she asked, disturbed.
"I thought your interest was elsewhere. After all,

you are young. But you showed great courage when

you went to rescue your brother. When it seemed you

were dying, I—"

"Please, I don't like to think about that blood."
"When you recover, if—what I'm trying to say
is—you don't seem that young anymore, to me—"
Jon finally got his drift. "You mean—you see me

as—as—"

"As a woman," Les finished. "And if you were to
find it in you to consider me as a man—"

Then Kelvin received the first signal from Heln.
"I'm at the underground river now," he said, verbaliz-
ing her thought as he received it. There had been stray
murmurings in the tent, from several conversations;

now it was abruptly quiet. "I jumped to this site as
soon as I got fully separated, but now I shall have to
move more slowly, or I might miss something impor-
tant. I hope you are receiving this, Kel."

278     Piers Anthony and Robert E. Mmyroff

There was a brief wave of mirth in the tent; obvi-
ously he was receiving it. He kept his eyes closed, to
concentrate entirely on her thought.

"The water winds about," he continued, speaking
for her. He began to glimpse it himself: the dark
water, the cold cave walls. "It splits into several
channels, but I see they merge again farther down,
and there's only one big enough for a boat. I'm
following that one. I'm sort of flying just above the
water, moving faster now; I'll spot any boat if it's
here."

She was silent for a time, evidently having nothing
to report as she followed the buried river.

"You mean it?" Jon whispered, and Kelvin knew
she was not talking to him.

"With all my heart," Les whispered back.

There was a disturbance at the tent entrance. "Am I
permitted?" Kian asked. "I know I was on the wrong
side, but those are my parents you seek."

"Permitted," King Rufurt said gruffly. "You be-
haved as you had to, and you are Kelvin's kin. We are
glad you survived."

It grew quiet again. Kelvin could tell by the sound
of his sister's breathing that she was deep in thought.
Les Crumb had certainly caught her by surprise! But
Kelvin remembered how the man had remarked fa-
vorably on her; it seemed he had been serious.

"I just don't see any boat," Kelvin said for Heln.
"The current seems stronger now; I suppose it could
have carried the boat quite far. I've traced the river a
long way—oh!" She was uncommunicating for a
moment; then: "It drains into The Flaw! The Flaw!
The water just, just—falls in. Into the starry dark! I
don't know how far I can follow it, there; I think it's
not safe for me."

"Get away from there!" Kian cried. "Zatanas said
something about The Flaw once—it's an astral bridge
as well as a physical one!"

Get away! Kelvin thought as hard as he could,
hoping he could reach her. So far the communication

DRAGON'S GOLD        279

had all been one way, but if it was humanly possible to
reverse it—

"Suddenly I'm very nervous," Kelvin said for Heln.
"I don't trust this place at all. I'm going back up the
river; maybe I missed something."

Kelvin heard a general sigh of relief. They had
thought that only Heln's body was vulnerable when
she separated, because she had no control of it then,
but now it seemed that there were places her spirit
could not safely go.

"I am feeling weak," Jon said. "Would you help me
walk back home, Les?"

"Certainly." There was a smaller disturbance as
they walked from the tent, Les supporting Jon with
his arm about her waist.

That was interesting, Kelvin thought. Ordinarily
his sister would have fainted rather than admit any
feminine weakness. But of course she had lost a lot of

blood, and a week wasn't nearly time enough to
replace it.

"I did miss something," he said for Heln abruptly.
"Not the boat; I'm afraid that's gone, and if they were
in it, they're gone, too. But there's another channel of
the river, or maybe it's a tributary. I must have
overlooked it because I was going the other way, and it
comes in at an angle. It's actually larger than the
other; the caves are rounder here, almost polished, as
if this is an artificial channel. And it leads—oh!"

Every breath in the tent seemed to be held. Kelvin
strained to see what Heln was seeing, and made out a
round door of some sort.

"There's a door here, perfectly round, like round
ears," she said, chuckling. "I'm going through; it can't
stop me, though it seems to be locked tight. Inside
—it's a chamber, in the shape of a sphere, and
there's—why, there's a parchment sitting on a table.
Let me look—yes, I can read it! It says: To whom it
may concern—I suppose that's me!—;/ you have
found this cell, you are a roundear, because only a
roundear could penetrate to it without setting off the

280 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf

self-destruct mechanism." She paused. "I am a round-
ear; this message is meant for me! But this chamber
must be hundreds of years old! How could it—oh, I'd
better keep reading it! / am Mouvar—"

"Mouvar!" King Rufurt exclaimed.

'•'And I am a roundear."

"A roundear!" everyone exclaimed.

"But because the natives look with disfavor on
aliens, I masked my ears so that I could work among
them without hindrance. I used the technology of my
home frame to set things straight, then retired, for it
was lonely. I set up the prophecy of my return, or the
appearance of any roundear, to facilitate better accept-
ance in future centuries. The tools of my frame are
here, and you may use them as you find necessary. If
you wish to contact me directly, seek me in my home
frame, where I will be in suspended animation. Direc-
tions for using The Flaw to travel to the frame of your
choice are in the book of instructions beside this letter.
Please return any artifacts you borrow. Justice be with

you"

"Mouvar—a roundear!" Mor Crumb exclaimed.
"Suddenly some funny things make sense!"

"There's another pair of gauntlets," Kelvin said for
Heln. "And something that looks like a roundear
weapon. And a jar of seeds—they are labeled 'Astral
Berries'—and something labeled a levitation belt,
and—oops, my time is running out; I must return."

Then, after a moment, "That's funny! They're
kissing! I didn't know they felt that way about each
other!"

And, finally, Heln's hand warmed, and Kelvin
knew she was waking.

"Kissing?" King Rufurt asked. "No one's kissing
here! What does she mean?"

Then Heln's eyelids flickered. "Did—did you
hear?" she asked Kelvin.

"Everything!" Kelvin agreed excitedly. "You found
Mouvar's retreat! He was a roundear!"

"Yes—but' I think not from our fathers' world. He

DRAGON'S GOLD        281

spoke of frames, and that big book of instructions—I
think The Flaw leads to many worlds, and on some
the people have pointed ears, and on some round
ears—"

"We'll leam it all, now we know the chamber
exists!" King Rufurt said.

"Not necessarily, Your Majesty," Mor Crumb rum-
bled. "I don't know much about alien magic, but I
know what 'self-destruct' means! Only a roundear can
get in there!"

"But we have roundears!" the King said.

Kelvin exchanged a glance with Heln. "We shall do
as we feel best," Kelvin said. "Those tools are too
powerful to let loose on this world. We've already
gotten rid of the bad government; we don't need even
the gauntlets Mouvar lost anymore. In fact, I'll be
happy if I never kill another dragon."

"The dragons guarded the astral berries," Heln
said. She was weak from her experience, but ani-
mated. "They should continue to guard them, so that
if things get bad again, centuries hence, the berries
will be there for the next Roundear of Prophecy."

"Then I'll appoint you Guardian of the Dragons!"
the King said. "You can use the berries to check the
whole of dragon country, and warn me of any poach-
ers; we shall take the gold only of dragons who die of
natural causes. We won't use Mouvar's magic at all."

"If I may—" Kian said. He was bandaged and
weak, but intense.

The King looked at him. "I don't think we could
afford to trust you with—"

"My father—and my mother," Kian said. "They
were in that boat on that river. They must have floated
into The Flaw. They must be in some other world
—some other frame, as Mouvar calls it. If I could go
there to search for them—"

"That seems fair," Kelvin said. "You know the
danger, Kian. You may never return, if you lose
yourself in The Flaw."

"I realize the danger," Kian said. "But there really

282      Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margroff

is no place for me here, and if I have a chance to find
them—"

"Granted," King Rufurt said quickly. "Hein will
read the instructions for you, so you can travel
through The Flaw."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Kian said.

"Now I am very tired," Hein said.

"Everybody out of the tent!" the King said, and
immediately there was motion as the people moved
out. "We have much to think about, and much yet to
learn." And the King, too, departed, leaving Kelvin
alone with Hein.

"But one thing more, before I sleep," she said.

"Anything!" Kelvin agreed.

"Just give me what Les is giving Jon."

"What?" But then he caught on, and bent down to
embrace her and kiss her.