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his recent quests. It is said that he is preparing for a third. He has been given a certain map—a southward map . . .”
    â€œI wish him luck for the third time then,” Milo returned. “We go our own way, Master Trainer. As for your guards—there are those in plenty here who need fill for their purses and are willing to take sword oath for the road.”
    â€œA pity,” Helagret shook his head. “It is in my mind we might have dealt well together, swordsman. You may discover that pushing away the open hand of Fortune may bring ill in return.”
    â€œYou threaten—beast chaser?” Naile took a step forward.
    â€œThreaten? Why should I threaten? What have you to fearfrom me?” Helagret moved both his hands wide apart as if displaying that he was not in the least challenging a short-tempered berserker.
    â€œWhat indeed.” Ingrge spoke for the first time. “Man of Hither Hill.”
    For the first time that smile was lost. There was a spark for a second in the dark eyes—quickly gone. Then Helagret nodded as one who has solved a problem.
    â€œI am not ashamed of my blood, elf. Are you of yours?” Yet he did not wait for any answer but turned abruptly and moved away.
    Milo felt a faint warmth at his wrist and looked hurriedly to the bracelet. It was glowing a little but none of the dice swung. An exclamation from Naile brought his attention elsewhere. Ingrge held out his hand. There was a bright blaze of color and he was staring hard at the dice which were awhirl for him, using, Milo guessed, every fraction of control he could summon to aid in their spin.
    The glow flashed off, yet Ingrge continued for a long moment to watch the dice. Then he raised his head.
    â€œThe half-blood did not succeed—in so much is the wizard right.”
    â€œWhat was it?” Milo was irritated at his own ignorance. It was plain that Ingrge had encountered, or perhaps they had all faced, some unknown danger. But the nature of it—
    â€œHe keeps company.” Naile had softened his usual heavy growl to a mutter. From under the shadow of his helm he stared across the length of the market. There the circle of flares and lanterns gave a wavering light—perhaps not enough to betray some lurkers. But the burnished shine of Helagret’s clothinghad caught a gleam. He must have retreated very quickly to reach that distance. He stood before another now, who wore a loose robe that was nearly the same color as the drab shadows. Since the hood of the robe was pulled well forward, he was only a half visible form.
    â€œHe speaks with a druid,” Ingrge returned. “As to what he tried—he is of the half-blood from the Hither Hills.” The cold note of repudiation in that was plain enough to hear. “He sought to lay upon us a sending—perhaps to bend us to his will. But not even the full-blood can work such alone. There must be a uniting of power. Therefore, this Helagret merely furnished a channel through which some other power was meant to flow. He established eye contact, voice contact—then he struck!”
    â€œWhat power? The druid?” hazarded Milo. “Chaos?”
    Slowly Ingrge shook his head. “The druid—perhaps. But this was no spelling I have ever heard of. He carried on him some talisman which had its own smell, and that was alien. However,” once more the elf regarded his wrist and the bracelet on it, “alien though that was—I could defeat it. Yes, the wizard was right. Brothers”—there was more animation in his usually calm voice than Milo had heard before—“we must hone and sharpen our minds, even as the dwarf swordsmiths hone and sharpen their best of blades. For it is that power which may be both shield and weapon to us, past our present knowing!”
    â€œWell enough,” Naile said. He clenched his huge fist. “With my hand—thus—or with the axe or with the