But it was not that. This was a different kind of cold; as if the very spirit, the identity of the place, had no warmth.

Now on foot and leading their horses, they had stepped directly into what seemed to be a large formal hall, furnished not with tables-or the trestles that could be covered with boards and tablecloths to set up as tables-but merely a few great torches that burned with unnatural white flames and lit up the arching stone walls that came to a meeting far overhead. Only, in that torchlight, there could be seen a dais at the far end of the chamber, with a tall throne on it that looked as if it had been carved out of a single block of ice.

“You will wait here, my Lord, Messire,” said the knight, also leading his horse and having brought them to the edge of the platform. He turned away. He and his horse literally vanished.

“James...” said Brian, in a low, but troubled voice.

“It’s all right,” said Jim, making no effort to keep his own voice down; and his words came back to him, repeated out of order and all tangled with each other, from different reflecting areas of the upcurving walls. “I think I’m supposed to be impressed.”

He turned himself once more into a dragon. The echoes all stopped suddenly, as if they were part of a public address system which had just been switched off.

Jim turned back into a knight again. In the stone wall behind the throne a small door that had not been visible before opened suddenly; and a tall young woman, not unlike the one who had run out to question them at the castle of the Bright Knight, emerged and curtsied.

“If you will follow me, my Lords?”

She led them through the door from which she had come. This was high and wide enough to let them tow the horses through also. They did so, following her into a room that, by contrast with the one they were leaving, was bright with illumination. But that illumination turned out to be nothing more than the brightness of Lyonesse’s outdoors. It was the room itself that was startling.

It was not so much a room as-impossibly-a section of Lyonesse itself, seen as if from above a range of snow-crowned mountains, somewhat inland from the stony seashore. It was spread out, miles of it, underneath them, forest and plain, as if they looked down from several thousand feet of altitude; but there seemed nothing holding them up. They looked down, without any feeling of height, from this apparently unbelievable altitude; and Jim’s first thought-A glass floor!-was instantly rejected. A sheet of glass this size, of necessary thickness and clearness, was not manufactured anywhere in the fourteenth-century world-let alone in Arthurian times.

Part of the impossibility was the fact that neither Brian nor any of the horses seemed bothered by finding themselves standing on nothing but air. Brian might simply be dismissing it as magick-which made anything possible. But what made the horses indifferent was unanswerable; unless it was that they could neither smell nor hear anything from the landscape below, so dismissed it as unimportant.

“Well, my Lord Dragon,” said a woman’s sharp voice, “you find me overseeing and guarding my realm. What brings you to beg audience with me?”

Jim took his eyes off the scene below him, and saw a thin, rather elderly-looking woman, sitting in a smaller version of the ice-colored throne he had seen in the great room they had just left. About her was all the clutter of a bedroom that was lived in as much as it was a place for sleep; a bed with tall curtains half pulled back, showing rumpled bedclothes, three small padded chairs without arms, and some small tables, all loaded either with plates and decanters or carelessly tossed clothing-all white in color.

Their young guide had already vanished, and with her, evidently, any pretense that the visitors had a right to speak as equals or near equals with this lady.

“Punch holes in them first, then go in with the crusher!” Jim had continually been advised by his high school debating coach-who had also taught boxing.

Accordingly, Jim now waved a hand, indifferently.

“Why, nothing of importance, now that I see you at your duties,” he said lightly. “You seem to be handling them pretty well, yes-pretty well, everything considered. I guess there’s nothing I should feel concerned about here.”

“My duties!” she exploded. “It is my pleasure to rule Northgales and all that doth pertain to it! What impertinence is this, that you might pass judgment or concern yourself with me and mine?”

“Come, come,” said Jim cheerfully, “when was concern for another of the Craft an impertinence? We must stand together as even a family does, when an enemy approaches.”

“Enemy?” The word came out scornfully enough; but Jim felt she delayed a little too long in answering, as if to see if he would enlarge upon what he had just said. “There is no enemy. No enemy would dare approach Northgales.”

“Indeed! You had not heard, then?”

“Heard? Of course I’ve heard-everything there is to be heard in my realm. There is no thing amiss.”

“Ah, well,” said Jim sadly. “I see I can be of no help, after all.” He turned to Brian. “You were right, Brian.”

“Right?” Brian stared at Jim.

“Yes. We should have gone to the Queen of the Out Isles first, since time presses.

But seeing we had the Dark Powers for foe again, I was so sure this great ruler of Northgales...” Jim let his voice trail off.

“Sure of me? How might you be sure of me? What is this of Out Isles, and your pretence of having some sorts of Powers as foes?”

“Oh, as it happens, Sir Brian and I have met Them several times; and conquered each time. This is known by all those of”-Jim made an effort to sound as much as possible like a fourteenth-century individual in his pronunciation of the word, for once-“Magick in the upper world, where the war to keep the Powers from disrupting History and Chance is ever active. Our experience with Them has made us more aware when They’re close. But, there is no point to talking about this if you don’t know Them and haven’t felt Them yet. Brian, we must to Out Isles, right away.”

He started to turn around.

“Show me not your back if you would keep it whole! You came at your pleasure, you will stay now until I let you go! I-“ Northgales checked the tone of her voice abruptly. “That is to say, I do so entreat you, my Lord and Messire. I am always glad to speak with any of the Craft, particularly those of your experience with these-what did you call them? Black Powers? And you have warred with them?”

Jim turned back.

“Mere bickers, only,” put in Brian, probably out of sheer social reflex. But then he clamped his mouth shut and looked at Jim with a question in his eyes.

“How well you put it, Brian,” said Jim. “Those were mere bickers, indeed, compared to the Rape of Lyonesse which the Dark Powers contemplate now.”

“The Rape of Lyonesse. What nonsense! If any Powers had any such in mind, I would have known.”

Jim decided to follow the example of Carolinus and KinetetE, who always talked down to nonmagicians, no matter what their worldly rank.

“Of course you would. Come now,” he said, “let’s not play children’s games. I happen to know you’ve known it for some time. It’d be impossible for someone like you not to know.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Exactly. So you do know, and you know Their proper name-the Dark Powers. I’ll bet you believed whoever told you you’d be an exception to Their conquest of Lyonesse; that Northgales would remain untouched and all yours, as it always has been?”

Northgales snorted. She did not sniff, she snorted.

“Hah! My Dragon Knight, don’t think you can cozen me with such nonsense! I would trust no such words as those you speak!”

“Then how do you know what I say is nonsense?”

“Because,” said the Queen, “I have the truth on an authority you know not of.”

“You could be wrong about that, too,” said Jim. “But never mind. No doubt you trust whoever told you utterly, enough to put your life in her hands. However, if that’s so, you’re already in danger. For among the first changes the Dark Powers always make happen is to turn sister against sister, brother against brother, friend against friend. But, clearly, I take it you’re sure you can defend Northgales without our help. In that case, we really must be on our way. You can’t keep such as us here if we really want to leave, you know.”

“Hah!” said Northgales. “But, on second thought, I find you tiresome. You may go.”

Jim smiled at her.

“Well, since you understand matters and have things so well in hand here,” said Jim, “there are others I must be talking to. Give you good day, my Queen, and all luck attend you on your way.”

He felt a little proud of the way he had followed his debating coach’s advice and put in the crusher. In this case, he thought he had hit just exactly the right note of regretful pity for the Queen in his last few words.

He smiled confidently once more at the Queen. She stared coldly back at him. His self-congratulations began to evaporate like the last skim of water in a pan over a blazing fire.

“Come, Brian,” he said; and started to turn away.

“Hold! I command you! Since you are here,” said Northgales, “there is no reason I should not make use of you to measure what you claim to know about these so-called Dark Powers. Have you ever seen them?”

Jim turned back.

“How could I when They have no form, no substance? But at the Loathly Tower the first time we met Them, Brian and I saw Their creatures-the Worm and the Ogre, not to mention their Harpies-“

“Harpies?”

“Come, come. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Flying creatures with women’s faces and a bite that is deadly poisonous-though it’s true one of our number, the greatest Master Bowman of all worlds, refused to die of such a bite once he discovered he was loved, and with the help of that love threw off the poison-“

He stopped speaking. She sat still on the throne, not saying a word.

“Well, farewell, as I said earlier.” Jim turned around, beginning to move toward the small door that had let them into this curious chamber.

“Did I not say ‘Hold’?” she cried, behind him. “Come, help me up.”

He looked back over his shoulder. The expression on her face had not changed. Abruptly Jim remembered how Morgan le Fay had reacted when she had reached out to strip his ward from him-as if her fingers had touched hot acid. This Queen of Northgales might not yet have sensed his ward. If not, then it was best she did not learn about it while he could keep the information from her. It might tell her more about him than he could want her to know,

“I suggest you call one of your servitors, my Queen,” he said-more confident now that she did not really want them to leave. “You seem to have many to serve you. Excuse Sir Brian and myself.”

“Neither of you will help me up?” She was looking directly at Brian now. “If there were others I could ask, do you believe I would ask you? Of your kindness, the edge of this seat always presses into my legs, and before I realize, they have gone numb. I am as one crippled. Will no one help me-no one?”

“Oh! Yes!” cried a high little voice. “I will!” There was a soft thud behind Jim; and Hob ran past him toward the Queen.

“You?” she said, looking down at him. “Whatever you are-you would not make more than a spoonful. Or do you, too, have magick?”

“Only in that I can ride the smoke, your Royalty,” said Hob. He had reached her throne and stepped close beside it. Now he turned around to face back toward Jim and Brian. “But I’m really strong. Just put your hand on my shoulder and lean your weight on me. Go ahead. Just push down on me and lift yourself up. It’ll be easy.”

“Hob!” said Jim. “Come back here. That’s an order!”

“I can’t, m’Lord.” Hob turned an agonized small face toward him. “She needs me!” He looked back at the Queen.

“Go ahead! It’ll work. You’ll see.”

“Very well,” said the Queen. She reached out a long arm and took a grip of Hob’s nearest shoulder. Pressing heavily on him, she levered herself upright.

“See,” said Hob... but his voice had gone suddenly weak. As the Queen let go of him, he started back toward Jim, but wavered as he got closer, as if he was dizzy. His knees gave with each step, and his steps came slowly and more uncertainly. Jim ran to him; but before he could catch him, Hob fell; and Jim, looking down at him, saw that the whole of his small body had gone white and shrunken.

Jim scooped the feather-light figure up in his arms. Hob’s eyes were closed now; and he seemed unconscious, but he was shivering convulsively. Jim held him close to his chest as he turned back toward Brian and the horses.

“Brian!” he said urgently. “Get clothes, blankets, anything warm there is to put around him, from the sumpter horse! Wrap them about both of us-Hob and me!”

“What is all this?” demanded the Queen, now standing tall beside her throne. “No doubt the creature was useful to you in making your magick, but it is not as if I cannot and will not replace it. I will get you another just as good. It was too small, that’s all. One of you two would have been all right-oh, perhaps a little chilled for a while. I have been cold all my life. Anyone who touches me must give up heat to me.”

“My Queen,” said Brian, hard-voiced, not pausing in his task of pulling cloth of all kinds out from under the rain cover on the back of the sumpter horse. His eyes were like the points of two spears aimed at her. “May God’s Justice find some kindness for you; for I would give you none!”

“Wrap us both up together,” Jim was saying, still paying no attention to the Queen.

His mind was made up. It would mean breaking his ward; and while the cloths around them would hide him from physical sight, Morgan le Fay’s magic might well see through them for the instant his guard was down. But that did not matter in this moment.

If his own body heat and any magic that was within his power could do it, Hob would live.

It grew darker around Jim as the layers of clothing and other material closed around him and Hob; but he paid little attention. All his concentration was focused on the ice-cold little body in his arms, now shivering so weakly that he could barely feel it. Then there was no light about them-only utter darkness.

So much the better, he thought. Maybe Morgan le Fay would not be able to see after all. He opened his ward and pressed Hob against his chest, closing the ward immediately again around both of them, so that even if Morgan had seen, perhaps the opening would have been too brief for her to gain any advantage.

It made no difference to the feel of Hob against his chest; but now he could use his magic. And with all his will, he concentrated on tunneling the warmth of his own body into the one he held. It was merely another version of the first aid given, when nothing else was available, to a person who had been deathly chilled, as by falling through the ice into winter-cold waters-which was to strip the victim, strip yourself, and take the freezing person into a sleeping bag with you, so that your own body heat would replace what the other had lost.

There had been no time to strip himself, but with magic he could do away with the clothing that might act as a barrier between him and the hobgoblin. He concentrated on that and the flow of heat from him to Hob.

He could feel the warmth going from him, but Hob did not seem to respond. The moments slipped by; and he conjured up a fever temperature within himself- cursing himself for not thinking of that in the first place.

But then, gradually, gradually, the faint shivering of Hob’s body became stronger; and stronger yet. Slowly, but definitely, Jim’s feverish body was beginning to feel a gradual increase of warmth in Hob’s.

He shut everything else out of his mind, concentrating only on that transfer of heat; and after what seemed like a long while, a thin voice spoke.

“Brian!” shouted Jim into the blanket end covering his mouth. “Unwrap us, will you?”

Nothing happened for a moment. Then Jim felt the outer layer being unwound from around him. Light showed through, and suddenly, the cloths that were left simply dropped to his ankles. Brian picked them up and piled them, like a small mountain, on top of the rain cover worn by the sumpter horse, who looked at Jim curiously.

“Where are we?” said Jim.

For they were no longer in the castle of the Witch Queen of Northgales. Nor were they just outside it. They were out among the great trunks of old trees, with the white sun of Lyonesse shining through their high branches and black leaves. Trees everywhere. No castles. No Witch Queens.