nice dream," he said, "and I could do it for a few years. Then I'd get restless and I'd be back on the Road again. I know it."
"Because of whatever it is you're looking for?" Flowers said.
"Yes . . . I suppose so. But I've thought about it a lot . . . Even if there were nothing special I were seeking, even then . . . I'd just get restless."
He puffed on the cigar.
"Then I'd get back on the Road and my problem would still be there, waiting for me," he finished.
"That turnoff is coming up now."
"Yeah, thanks, I see it"
He cut down and across onto this tributary of the Road. He passed a variety of vehicles and was passed himself as he sped along.
"That closes one option," Mondamay said.
"What?"
"You can't just quit and hide, because you can't stay hidden. The time interval spent off the Road — even if it is a long one — would mean nothing once you return to it."
"So your retirement from the Road should only be for purposes of planning or arming."
"Again, true."
"Or you can return to the Road, go about your business, stay alert, and hope to win out in all the ensuing assaults — ”
"I might just do that."
“—bearing in mind that every one of them is going to be managed by a professional in this line of work, and that your enemy can afford to hire uniquely talented individuals from virtually anywhere."
"The thought had passed through my mind. Nevertheless . . . "
"Or you could choose your own battleground. Select some comfortable, well-fortified spot, let it be known that you are there, and let them come after you."
"There's the motel now," Red announced as a large stone structure several stories in height, topped with cupolas, glittering in the dayglow, came into view on the left. The sign in front said SPIRO'S.
He passed the establishment. A little farther ahead, there was a cloverleaf. He spun about it, emerged on the proper side of the road, headed back. The sky faded, brightened, faded, faded, as he slowed and turned off toward the building. It was a cool, dark night when he entered the lot and parked. Somewhere a cricket was singing.
He removed Flowers from her compartment and got out of the car. He fetched his backpack from the rear. Mondamay climbed out and joined him.
"Red?" Mondamay said as they headed toward the front doors.
"Yes?"
"Get two rooms, will you?"
"Okay. How come?"
"One for Flowers and myself. We just want to be alone — together."
"Oh. Sure. I'll take care of it."
They entered the flagstoned lobby, where he left Flowers with Mondamay and headed for the registration office. He was in it for several minutes. "Sorry we couldn't be on the same floor," he said as they moved toward the stairs. "You are below the third balcony, though. I'm above it. Come on up to my room for a while. I want to continue our discussion."
"This was our intention also."
They went round and round, the stairs creaking beneath Mondomay's tread.
TWO
Dreaming roadmaps and gold, the great dragons of Bel'kwinith drift and twist on the breezes of morning, when they were not dreaming in their caves. Timeless collaborators with destiny, they move their wills across the landscape of dream and desire . . .
"Patris," said the younger one, "you have said that if a certain event occurs, I may enter his cave to remove the hoard that awaits him there and add it to my own."
The older one opened one eye. Minutes passed.
Then, "I have said that," Patris acknowledged.
More minutes passed.
Finally, "You say nothing more, Chantris," the older one stated. "Has it occurred?"
"No, not yet . . . "
"Then why do you trouble me?"
"Because I feel that it may soon come to pass."
"Feel?"
"It seems likely."
"Likelies and their uns have seldom concerned us here. I know your desire, and I say that you may not yet have his hoard."
"Yes," said Chantris, showing many of her teeth.
"Yes," Patris repeated in their sibilant tongue, and he opened his other eye. "And you have just spoken one word too many. You know my
"Because of whatever it is you're looking for?" Flowers said.
"Yes . . . I suppose so. But I've thought about it a lot . . . Even if there were nothing special I were seeking, even then . . . I'd just get restless."
He puffed on the cigar.
"Then I'd get back on the Road and my problem would still be there, waiting for me," he finished.
"That turnoff is coming up now."
"Yeah, thanks, I see it"
He cut down and across onto this tributary of the Road. He passed a variety of vehicles and was passed himself as he sped along.
"That closes one option," Mondamay said.
"What?"
"You can't just quit and hide, because you can't stay hidden. The time interval spent off the Road — even if it is a long one — would mean nothing once you return to it."
"So your retirement from the Road should only be for purposes of planning or arming."
"Again, true."
"Or you can return to the Road, go about your business, stay alert, and hope to win out in all the ensuing assaults — ”
"I might just do that."
“—bearing in mind that every one of them is going to be managed by a professional in this line of work, and that your enemy can afford to hire uniquely talented individuals from virtually anywhere."
"The thought had passed through my mind. Nevertheless . . . "
"Or you could choose your own battleground. Select some comfortable, well-fortified spot, let it be known that you are there, and let them come after you."
"There's the motel now," Red announced as a large stone structure several stories in height, topped with cupolas, glittering in the dayglow, came into view on the left. The sign in front said SPIRO'S.
He passed the establishment. A little farther ahead, there was a cloverleaf. He spun about it, emerged on the proper side of the road, headed back. The sky faded, brightened, faded, faded, as he slowed and turned off toward the building. It was a cool, dark night when he entered the lot and parked. Somewhere a cricket was singing.
He removed Flowers from her compartment and got out of the car. He fetched his backpack from the rear. Mondamay climbed out and joined him.
"Red?" Mondamay said as they headed toward the front doors.
"Yes?"
"Get two rooms, will you?"
"Okay. How come?"
"One for Flowers and myself. We just want to be alone — together."
"Oh. Sure. I'll take care of it."
They entered the flagstoned lobby, where he left Flowers with Mondamay and headed for the registration office. He was in it for several minutes. "Sorry we couldn't be on the same floor," he said as they moved toward the stairs. "You are below the third balcony, though. I'm above it. Come on up to my room for a while. I want to continue our discussion."
"This was our intention also."
They went round and round, the stairs creaking beneath Mondomay's tread.
TWO
Dreaming roadmaps and gold, the great dragons of Bel'kwinith drift and twist on the breezes of morning, when they were not dreaming in their caves. Timeless collaborators with destiny, they move their wills across the landscape of dream and desire . . .
"Patris," said the younger one, "you have said that if a certain event occurs, I may enter his cave to remove the hoard that awaits him there and add it to my own."
The older one opened one eye. Minutes passed.
Then, "I have said that," Patris acknowledged.
More minutes passed.
Finally, "You say nothing more, Chantris," the older one stated. "Has it occurred?"
"No, not yet . . . "
"Then why do you trouble me?"
"Because I feel that it may soon come to pass."
"Feel?"
"It seems likely."
"Likelies and their uns have seldom concerned us here. I know your desire, and I say that you may not yet have his hoard."
"Yes," said Chantris, showing many of her teeth.
"Yes," Patris repeated in their sibilant tongue, and he opened his other eye. "And you have just spoken one word too many. You know my
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