"Thirty-four cycles the one, and sixteen the other: spring and summer in one bed, with me, the king of seasons," he bragged.

Narmora was unimpressed. "I'd say you're more of a wanton farmer who can't help plowing foreign fields. For the most part, they accept your attentions because they're neglected by their own farmers-or because they pity a man with such a miniscule plowshare."

Rodario stopped searching the crowd and focused on sparring with Narmora. "My dear lady, I understand your fascination with my mighty apparatus, but I'm most discerning about my choice of fields. Stony meadows give you bruises; they may appeal to some laborers, but not to me." He flashed a smile at Furgas, then remembered what Boпndil had asked him. "Дlfar, did you say?" he inquired with sudden seriousness. "Right here in Sovereignston? Why didn't you-"

"That's him!" the shout went up. "That's the scoundrel!" Rodario spotted the approaching pitchfork and fled. In no time he was through the gates and wending his way nimbly among the queuing carts. A moment later four men rushed past in hot pursuit.

Bavragor and Boпndil fell about laughing, Boлndal shook his head silently, and Goпmgar clung to his shield, ready to take shelter in case the long-uns gave up on the adulterer and took their anger out on him.

But the cuckolded husbands and their friends were intent on apprehending Rodario, who had successfully evaded them, leaving his pursuers searching furiously in the rain.

The rest of the company left Sovereignston in a more dignified fashion.

"Дlfar?" said Narmora, returning to the initial question. "Where?"

"Yesterday in the city. I was attacked by one. You didn't see any, then?" Tungdil couldn't help feeling a mild aversion toward the actress, perhaps because of her elven looks. She's an ordinary woman, he told himself. That's all.

She shook her head. "They left us alone. At least we're forewarned." She laid her right hand on Crescent.

About a mile from Sovereignston they were reunited with the philandering impresario, who was waiting under a fir tree and trying to shelter from the rain.

Bavragor couldn't help laughing. "I hope they were worth it!"

"Indeed they were." A look of delectation came over Rodario's face. "I suspect I wasn't the first to enjoy their combined attentions, but they certainly knew how to please." Realizing that the ponies were getting away from him, he sped up to a jog. "That's all in the past now. Come, my loyal companions, let's make haste to the firstling kingdom where unparalleled wonders await us!" His stirring words were somewhat spoiled by the squelching beneath his feet, but he still cut a dash as an adventurer.

Tungdil's memories of Sovereignston weren't nearly as fond. He picked up the pace, unmoved by the city's fluttering pennants and colorful panorama of tiled roofs. Nothing could induce him to look back. Hurrying away from the pride of Weyurn, he tried not to think of the дlf's murderous eyes.

I hope my mysterious rescuer killed him.

III

Kingdom of Weyurn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle As soon as the opportunity arose, the travelers purchased a small cart for their baggage and a pair of horses-one for Rodario and the other for Narmora and Furgas. From then on, the journey westward proceeded considerably faster, not to mention more comfortably.

Rodario, fearing the wrath of the cuckolded husbands, was especially keen to make progress-although it didn't deter him from using his charm and eloquence to make a string of conquests on the way.

A fierce northerly brought with it the season's first snowstorm, the white flakes settling on the frozen ground to form a thick icy layer. Winter seemed to descend on the land and its inhabitants faster and more vigorously than usual. Sleeping in the open was too dangerous, so the company camped out in places where they would be sheltered from the elements, under trees or rocky overhangs, or in derelict houses or ruined forts.

The vast lakes that made up three-quarters of Weyurn's surface were covered in ice. The sun and clouds played on the frozen water, creating glorious displays of shadow and light, but the glittering spectacle could do nothing to win over the twins, who were too afraid of the icy depths to go fishing with Rodario and Furgas.

"Ice is just as dangerous as water," Boпndil told them. He set about making a fire in the ruined temple where they were camping for the night. "It looks so pretty that you forget to be careful, and then whoa, you find yourself sinking to the bottom, never to be seen again."

"It's like marriage," observed Rodario. "Women tempt you into their arms and before you know it, you're trapped for life. I'm more of the type for-"

"Bedding other people's wives. Not to mention being beaten by angry husbands and dying of the clap," Narmora finished for him.

"Still jealous, I see," he riposted, flashing her a dazzling smile as he hurried after Furgas, who was heading for a nearby stream.

Boпndil chuckled. "My old billy goat was a bit like Rodario. He mounted anything that stayed still for two seconds."

"What became of him?"

"The old lecher jumped on a nanny goat and didn't notice that she was grazing near a cliff. He plummeted to his death." He ran a razor over his cheeks to get rid of the stubble that was drawing attention away from his magnificent beard.

"In other words, Rodario will get his comeuppance by falling out of bed and breaking his neck," said Tungdil, grinning.

"Who said anything about a bed? It might be the window!" Boлndal pointed out.

His brother hooted with laughter. "What a sight!" He scrambled along a fallen column that was propped up amid the ruins and came to a halt at the top end where he could see for miles around. He took a seat and lit his pipe. Boлndal tossed him his share of the food. "It would serve the old prattler right," chuckled Boпndil, turning his attention hungrily to the cheese.

Goпmgar, wrapped in two blankets with his shield laid across him like a third, had said nothing for some time. Eyes closed, he seemed to be asleep.

The temple's moss-covered walls were alive with flickering shadows. Over the cycles, the frescoes had faded and there were holes in the crumbling plaster. Not that the dwarves would have recognized the painted deities anyway: To their minds, there was only one god and that was Vraccas. The rest weren't worth the time of day.

The warmth from the blazing fire spread rapidly, casting a soft light throughout the temple and making the timeworn sculptures seem strangely alive.

Tungdil found himself thinking of the performance in the Curiosum. He still couldn't decide how much of what he had seen had been acted by the players and how much had unfolded in his mind. It all seemed so real.

Muttering to himself, Bavragor returned from his tour of the ruins. "Not bad," was his verdict on the masonry, "but not worthy of us dwarves."

Tungdil offered him some bread and ham. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

Bavragor accepted the food. "Sounds ominous."

"It's been playing on my mind. You know the business with your sister…"

"Smeralda." Bavragor placed the sandwich on a stone to warm the bread and bring out the flavor of the meat. He took a long slug of brandy before continuing and said bitterly, "I can't forgive him for what he did."

Tungdil didn't press him. He had a feeling that Bavragor was ready to open up to him, and after a while the mason cleared his throat.

"She was a slip of a thing, a lass of forty cycles, but as soon as he clapped eyes on her, he wanted her for himself. She was as much of a warrior as he was, and she trained like a demon because she wanted to be able to fight by his side." He clenched his fists as the memories flooded back. "The rest of us were worried about his fiery spirit, and we begged her to stay away. Smeralda wouldn't listen, and everything went on as before. The two of them were fighting a band of orcs when he…" He broke off, covering his good eye with one hand and raising his pouch to his mouth with the other. "He killed her, Tungdil. He was so far gone in bloodlust that he took her for an orc."