slightly, accepting. Still he did not speak.
The Old Man closed the gate, led Varthlokkur into the castle.
The wizard studied the dusty halls as he followed the Old Man, noting the age and gloom, and lack of life-signs in the pools of gray light cast by sunbeams stealing through high windows. Obviously, little happened here.
In a place deep within the fortress, carved from the rock of the mountain itself, the Old Man made passes before a large, dusty cabinet. Varthlokkur nodded, recognizing the counter to a spell of stasis. The cabinet front vanished. Dust cascaded.
The Old Man gestured while he considered the contents. Varthlokkur needed no orders. With a minimal spell of repulsion, he removed the dust from a stone table. The Old Man produced a time-shielded flask of wine. Varthlokkur set out plates, silverware, and pewter mugs. The Old Man brought forth a platter of hot, steaming ham, and another with fresh fruit. He produced new clothing, and hastily dressed. Once he stopped shivering, he joined Varthlokkur.
The wizard found the wine excellent, though it resurrected old sorrows. It was the golden, spiced wine of Ilkazar, as delicate as a virgin's kiss, and nearly unicorn-rare.
"I am Varthlokkur."
The Old Man considered that. Finally, he nodded. "The Silent One Who Walks With Grief. Of Ilkazar."
"And Eldred the Wanderer."
"A sad man. I watched him occasionally. He drank a bitter wine. Dogs can be more humane than men. They don't know the meaning of ingratitude. Nor of treachery."
"True. But I've abandoned anger and disappointment."
"As have I. They'll be what they'll be, and nothing will change them. You came seeking?"
"A place away from all places, and men, and loneliness. Two centuries among men... are enough."
"Any changes these past hundred years? I slept them out, being bored with repetitiveness."
"I thought so. Yes. Cities have fallen. Kingdoms have risen. But kings and men are the same in their hearts."
"And will always be. Fangdred is a refuge from that.
You're welcome. But there's a lot to do to make this place livable. Maybe servants and artisans should be engaged. Why here?"
"As I said, I need a place away, yet not lonely. To wait."
"For?"
"A woman, and destiny. I haven't performed the divination for decades. Would you like to watch? You'd understand better."
"Of course. How soon?"
"She's still two centuries down the river. The Fates hold a veil across the flow, concealing most of her age. Their hands will be in deep then, in a time of strife and true changes. Great powers will contest for empires. Wizards will war as never before. That's what I've divined so far. Seldom have I seen a divination so clouded."
"Ah? What's this about the Fates? Have they ranged themselves against you?" The Old Man's gray eyes flashed as though he were considering challenging the unchallengeable.
"They've taken sides, but I don't know how, nor the nature of my role. They're playing a complex game, apparently against the Norns, with incomprehensible rules and stakes. The players are uncertain, and their allegiances ephemeral."
"You've got a theory?" The Old Man tugged his beard thoughtfully.
"A tenuous one. That possibly the antagonists are systems of manipulation. Magic versus science. Romantic stasis versus clinical progress. The stakes could be the validity of magic and godhead. That puts us on the side of the gods. But I can't understand the Norns fighting us. If they are. They'd have no place in an orderly world either."
The Old Man ran a wrinkled hand through his hair. "I see. Ours is an enchanted world, with magical laws. That system has no room for newness or change. Which's why it hasn't changed much since the advent of the Star Rider." That event antedated even the Old Man's earliest memories-though he knew more than he would ever admit.
"And it'll stay that way unless the Power fails. I don't know if that's right. I have to stay with the magical system. My choices have been made for me, long ago,
The Old Man closed the gate, led Varthlokkur into the castle.
The wizard studied the dusty halls as he followed the Old Man, noting the age and gloom, and lack of life-signs in the pools of gray light cast by sunbeams stealing through high windows. Obviously, little happened here.
In a place deep within the fortress, carved from the rock of the mountain itself, the Old Man made passes before a large, dusty cabinet. Varthlokkur nodded, recognizing the counter to a spell of stasis. The cabinet front vanished. Dust cascaded.
The Old Man gestured while he considered the contents. Varthlokkur needed no orders. With a minimal spell of repulsion, he removed the dust from a stone table. The Old Man produced a time-shielded flask of wine. Varthlokkur set out plates, silverware, and pewter mugs. The Old Man brought forth a platter of hot, steaming ham, and another with fresh fruit. He produced new clothing, and hastily dressed. Once he stopped shivering, he joined Varthlokkur.
The wizard found the wine excellent, though it resurrected old sorrows. It was the golden, spiced wine of Ilkazar, as delicate as a virgin's kiss, and nearly unicorn-rare.
"I am Varthlokkur."
The Old Man considered that. Finally, he nodded. "The Silent One Who Walks With Grief. Of Ilkazar."
"And Eldred the Wanderer."
"A sad man. I watched him occasionally. He drank a bitter wine. Dogs can be more humane than men. They don't know the meaning of ingratitude. Nor of treachery."
"True. But I've abandoned anger and disappointment."
"As have I. They'll be what they'll be, and nothing will change them. You came seeking?"
"A place away from all places, and men, and loneliness. Two centuries among men... are enough."
"Any changes these past hundred years? I slept them out, being bored with repetitiveness."
"I thought so. Yes. Cities have fallen. Kingdoms have risen. But kings and men are the same in their hearts."
"And will always be. Fangdred is a refuge from that.
You're welcome. But there's a lot to do to make this place livable. Maybe servants and artisans should be engaged. Why here?"
"As I said, I need a place away, yet not lonely. To wait."
"For?"
"A woman, and destiny. I haven't performed the divination for decades. Would you like to watch? You'd understand better."
"Of course. How soon?"
"She's still two centuries down the river. The Fates hold a veil across the flow, concealing most of her age. Their hands will be in deep then, in a time of strife and true changes. Great powers will contest for empires. Wizards will war as never before. That's what I've divined so far. Seldom have I seen a divination so clouded."
"Ah? What's this about the Fates? Have they ranged themselves against you?" The Old Man's gray eyes flashed as though he were considering challenging the unchallengeable.
"They've taken sides, but I don't know how, nor the nature of my role. They're playing a complex game, apparently against the Norns, with incomprehensible rules and stakes. The players are uncertain, and their allegiances ephemeral."
"You've got a theory?" The Old Man tugged his beard thoughtfully.
"A tenuous one. That possibly the antagonists are systems of manipulation. Magic versus science. Romantic stasis versus clinical progress. The stakes could be the validity of magic and godhead. That puts us on the side of the gods. But I can't understand the Norns fighting us. If they are. They'd have no place in an orderly world either."
The Old Man ran a wrinkled hand through his hair. "I see. Ours is an enchanted world, with magical laws. That system has no room for newness or change. Which's why it hasn't changed much since the advent of the Star Rider." That event antedated even the Old Man's earliest memories-though he knew more than he would ever admit.
"And it'll stay that way unless the Power fails. I don't know if that's right. I have to stay with the magical system. My choices have been made for me, long ago,
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