light of oil lamps and pipes. Smoke rose out of tin stoves and
barrels, and the smell of fish hung over everything.
‘ ‘Maybe they’ve given up on us for the night,” Par suggested
at one point. “The Seekers, I mean. Maybe they won’t bother
looking anymore until morning-or maybe not at all.”
Coil glanced at him and arched one eyebrow meaningfully.
“Maybe cows can fly too.” He looked away. “We should have
insisted we be paid more promptly for our work. Then we
wouldn’t be in this fix.”
Par shrugged. “It wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“It wouldn’t? We’d at least have some money!”
‘ ‘Only if we’d thought to carry it with us to the performance.
How likely is that?”
Coil hunched his shoulders and screwed up his face. “That
ale house keeper owes us.”
They walked all the way to the south end of the docks without
speaking further, stopped finally as the lighted waterfront gave
way to darkness, and stood looking at each other. The night was
cooler now and their clothes were too thin to protect them. They
were shivering, their hands jammed down in their pockets, their
arms clamped tightly against their sides. Insects buzzed about
them annoyingly.
Coil sighed. “Do you have any idea where we’re going. Par?
Do you have some kind of plan in mind?”
Par took out his hands and rubbed them briskly. “I do. But
it requires a boat to get there.”
“South, then-down the Mermidon?”
“All the way.”
Coil smiled, misunderstanding. He thought they were headed
back to Shady Vale. Par decided it was best to leave him with
that impression.
“Wait here,” Coil said suddenly and disappeared before Par
could object.
Par stood alone in the dark at the end of the docks for what
seemed like an hour, but was probably closer to half that. He
walked over to a bench by a fishing shack and sat down, hunched
up against the night air. He was feeling a mix of things. He was
angry, mostly-at the stranger for spiriting them away and then
abandoning them-all right, so Par had asked to have it that
way, that didn’t make him feel any better-at the Federation for
chasing them out from the city like common thieves, and at
himself for being stupid enough to think he could get away with
using real magic when it was absolutely forbidden to do so. It
was one thing to play around with the magics of sleight of hand
and quick change; it was another altogether to employ the magic
of the wishsong. It was too obviously the real thing, and he
should have known that sooner or later word of its use would
get back to the authorities.
He put his legs out in front of him and crossed his boots.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Coil and he
would simply have to start over again. It never occurred to him
to quit. The stories were too important for that; it was his re-
sponsibility to see to it that they were not forgotten. He was
convinced that the magic was a gift he had received expressly
for that purpose. It didn’t matter what the Federation said-that
magic was outlawed and that it was a source of great harm to
the land and its people. What did the Federation know of magic?
Those on the Coalition Council lacked any practical experience.
They had simply decided that something needed to be done to
address the concerns of those who claimed parts of the Four
Lands were sickening and men were being turned into some-
thing like the dark creatures of Jair Ohmsford’s time, creatures
from some nether existence that defied understanding, beings
that drew their power from the night and from magics lost since
the time of the Druids.
They even had names, these creatures. They were called
Shadowen.
Suddenly, unpleasantly, Par thought again of the dreams and
of the dark thing within them that had summoned him.
He was aware then that the night had gone still; the voices of
the fishermen and dockworkers, the buzz of the insects, and
even the rustle of the night wind had disappeared. He could hear