Summoned to Tourney by Mercedes Lackey; Ellen Guon

puckered up, took a deep breath, and began to whistle the first thing that came to his mind, thinking very hard about being invisible. His mind had no sense of priorities; it chose a jaunty Irish tune, “The Rakes of Mallow.” He nearly lost the melody as the blond man dashed around the corner, slipping on some of the scattered garbage. The stranger quickly regained his footing, and looked around the alley.
    Frowning.
    His glance slid over Eric as though he wasn’t there.
    I’m not, really. Just part of the garbage in the alley, m’friend. Managing to calm down a little, since the trick was working, Eric whistled the Bpart, willing the man to give up, turn away; willing the man to see nothing.
    It was a long, tense moment.
    Finally the blond man obliged, a snarl of frustration on his face, walking back toward the plaza.
    It was tempting to run off. Even more tempting to stay where he was—
    Beth. If those men have her—
    Still whistling, Eric strolled after him, simultaneously thinking about being invisible while rooting in his pocket for the stub of pencil he usually kept there. He snatched up a bit of litter as the man reached his car, then jotted down the number of the Mercedes’ license plate on the scrap of sandwich-paper he’d caught up. The blond man conferred with another business-suited type standing by the car, then they both got into their vehicle and drove away.
    Eric didn’t stop whistling until the car turned the corner onto Market Street and disappeared into traffic.
    Then he sat down on the curb and thought, very hard. Harder than he ever had in his life. About kidnappers in fancy cars. Kory, who was still gone after several hours. And Bardic music, which had saved them once, back in Los Angeles, and was probably the only thing which could save them this time.
    God knows, I sure can’t go to the San Francisco cops over this! And where in the hell is Kory?
     
    Korendil, Knight of Elthame Sun-Descending and Elihame Mist-Hold, squire of the High Court, Magus Minor, and Child of Danaan, stood with his arms crossed, trying to understand the forces behind an electrical fence.
    He had sensed the danger from it, and noted the way that the grass had been carefully cleared away from it. Then, trying to understand what was so alarming about a plain metal fence strung with wires, he was treated to the spectacular sight of what happened when a hapless sparrow had the bad sense to try landing on the fence.
    Just as dazzling as his battle with Perenor, in a small way… and with the same result for the sparrow.
    It would seem that climbing this fence is not a good idea, he thought, considering the scorched bird lying dead at his feet. Even if Beth is here, somewhere under the ground ahead of me. She was there; he was sure of it. It had been intensely frustrating to try to make the Bard understand that his ability to track Beth depended not so much on spell-born magic as on the spiritual bond that the three of them had forged. Tracing her had been like playing the child’s game of “warm—getting warmer.” That was as close as he could come.
    Perhaps it was just as well that Eric had remained behind to try human means of tracking. Without the Bard nearby to confuse the vague tuggings in his heart, it was easier to pinpoint Beth. He walked back toward the road and the place where the bus driver had stopped to let him out, and then to the guard gate. Beyond the gate, he saw that the road led into a large parking lot, surrounded by several block-like gray buildings. “Excuse me?” he asked politely, knocking on the glass panel of the guard house at the gate.
    The panel slid open, and a woman peered belligerently out at him. She wore a uniform that Kory liked immediately, a dark blue jumpsuit with different badges pinned on it. It was very attractive. The woman would have been, too, if she had not been frowning. He wondered what he could possibly have done that would so raise her ire.
    “Go away, kid. Your