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touching them. "You're sure you have them memorized?"
"Yes."
"Then, turn over the three of clubs."
Crisal sighted the third card from her left, imagined the tiny hands of her mind
under the edge of the card, and heaved. The card turned over, exposing the eight
of diamonds. Allenby laughed at the expression on her face. "But the eight is
here." She pointed at the card on her far right.
"You are sure?"
Crisal reached for the card arid turned it with her fingers. The six of spades.
Dorna the singer nodded in admiration. "An excellent trick, Allenby." The young
magician smiled his thanks and gathered up his cards. Crisal frowned.
"Can you tell me how Mid that, Crisal?" Allenby tucked his cards away and stood.
Crisal broke her frown long enough to deliver a curt nod. "It is a good enough
trick."
Allenby threw the hem of his robe over his shoulder and pointed south with mock
drama. "Begads, with such lavish praise at my back, I must hasten to Tarzak and
bedazzle the crowds."
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Dorna stood. "Must you go, Ashly?"
Allenby bowed and took Dorna's hand, brushing it with his lips. "Aye, beautiful
Dorna. I must make Tarzak. A cargo shuttle is said to be there. It is the first
since I came to Momus, and I must catch it to send my news back to the Quadrant
Secretary of State." He bowed toward Crisal, then hefted his sack and stepped
onto the road heading south. Dorna and Crisal both watched until long after he
was out of sight.
The girl turned toward the singer. "Dorna?"
"Yes, child?"
"I read something in your eyes, but I cannot fathom what I saw in them. Where is
my master?"
The beautiful Dorna smiled, covered her face with her robe, then lowered it.
Fyx's toothless smile grinned at the girl.
"Fyx, by Momus's boiled behind it is you?"
The old man cackled. "Turn your back, child."
"What will you do then? Turn yourself into a lizard, or me into a boy?"
"Turn around. I must reverse my robe."
Crisal turned. "All this playacting, Fyx; what did it accomplish?"
"A young magician would guard his tongue more closely with the Great Fyx than
with lovely Dorna. You may turn around now."
Crisal turned and saw Fyx before her in his black and scarlet. "Was that no
magic, too, Fyx? Where did your wrinkles go?"
"Make a frown, Crisal, and feel your forehead."
Crisal did as she was told. "So?"
"You are young, yet you can make wrinkles. I am old, and can make my skin
smooth, although it takes much effort."
"Very well, Fyx, but explain the beautiful Dorna's teeth.
You haven't one in your entire head."
"Neither did Dorna."
Crisal folded her arms. "She did too!"
"Think, Crisal. Those wide sensuous lips smiled, but never parted unless a hand
or sleeve was before them."
The girl frowned. "I remember... no, I feel I remember. You are right; I saw no
teeth." Crisal shook her head. "What had the magician to say that was of value?"
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"Here, eat." Fyx reached into their sack and produced two soggy cobit cakes.
"Allenby comes from as far north as Dirak on the other side of the Snake
Mountains. He also passed through Miira on his vay to Tarzak. Both towns are
black with despair. Rogor is leaving his mark."
Crisal swallowed a piece of cobit, then dropped the remainder into the sack.
"Fyx, can we go around Miira?"
"You are thinking of last night in Porse."
Crisal nodded. "These people do not know what faces them. We do not know. I want
no more horrors."
Fyx finished his cake and studied the girl. "You think my actions harsh?"
Crisal shrugged. "I understand why they acted as they did."
Fyx nodded. "Imagine this, Crisal: you have a knife in your hand held at Salina,
your mother's, throat; I am holding you with a knife at your throat. I tell you
that if you do not kill Salina, I will kill you. What would you do?"
Crisal bowed her head, walked to the edge of the dry sand, then walked back. "I
would like to think I would die. Is that what you want to hear?"
"That was Porse's choice, Crisal, and they failed."
The girl looked into the old man's eyes. "Will we pass through Miira?"
Fyx nodded. "We must. That is where we pick up our provisions and transportation
across the mountains." The old man picked up the sack and handed it to the girl.
"We must be off if we are to get there before nightfall."
As they climbed the steepening foothills into Miira, the setting sun picked out
with red, orange and yellow the untended fields, half cut and dressed timber
logs and deserted streets. The houses, now made of wood, stood empty. Fyx
pounded on several doors, but all those he knew in the town were gone. Walking
farther into the town, they entered
the square. Crisal gripped Fyx's arm and pointed at the center of the square.
"Look, Fyx, another murder!"
The old magician followed the direction of Crisal's finger and studied what he
saw. In the back of a two-wheeled pull cart, a huge man garbed in the freak's
green-and-yellow was sprawled on a few sacks, his massive arms and legs hanging
over the sides and end of the cart. "Come, Crisal. He only sleeps."
As they approached the cart, the huge man opened one eye, then nodded. "You are
the Great Fyx."
Fyx nodded. "And you?"
Quick and graceful for his size, the man sat, then leaped from the cart to the
ground. He bowed, aiming his bald pate in Fyx's direction. "Great Fyx, I am
Zuma, strongman of the Dirak freaks."
"Dirak?"
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"From the other side of the Snake Mountains, Great Fyx."
The old magician nodded, then passed his hand around the square. "Where are
they?"
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