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imself enough to realize that neither of them was more than half conscious。 Grimly he concentrated … whenever he was able to concentrate … on maintaining a generally uphill direction； that ought to at least prevent them from riding in a circle right back to Vilkata and his captive gods。
They stopped again only when full night came； and Mark could no longer see where they were going。 There was no food。 Mark had lost his bow somewhere； after his last arrows were lost； and anyway he was in no condition to try to hunt。 His limbs felt weak and he was shaking with chill。 When the young woman had dismounted again and stood beside him； he took the cloak off her and clothed her in his own long hunter's shirt； he could feel her body shivering too； with the night's approaching cold。 Then he lay down with her and huddled against her； wrapping the cloak around them both。 He was too sick to think of wanting anything more from her than warmth。 Feverishly he kept thinking that he ought to get up and do something to tend the animals； but he could not。
In pain and blood； Mark did not so much fall asleep as lapse into unconsciousness。 He woke up； half delirious； in the middle of the night。 Someone's hand had shaken him awake。
The young woman； still wearing his shirt； was sitting upright beside him。 There was firelight； somehow； on her face； and under the dirt he could see a new look of alert intelligence。
〃You are not Rostov。 Where did he go？〃
She had to repeat the question several times before Mark was able to grasp the sense of it。 Yes； of course； she had seen him as someone else； when he had been wearing the Sword。 When he had been。。。
His hand groped at his side； to find that she had disarmed him。 Weakly he managed to raise his head a little。 There was Sightblinder； lying just out of his reach。 He could see it by the light of the small fire that his panion had somehow managed to start。
〃I took it away from you； you were raving and thrashing about。 Where is Rostov？ Who are you？〃
Mark had great difficulty in trying to talk。 It crossed his mind that he was probably dying。 He could only gesture toward the Sword。
She said； puzzled； 〃You killed him with。。？ But no； you can't mean that。〃
〃No。 No。〃 He had to rest a little； to gather his strength before he spoke again。 Even so the words wouldn't e out clearly。 〃。。。 was never here。〃
The young woman stared at him。 Her face was still haggard and worn and filthy； but inner energies were making a powerful effort to revive it。 Now； as if struck by a sudden idea； she turned away to where the Sword lay； and crouched looking at it carefully。 Then she extended one hand； with the practiced gesture of a sorceress； to touch the hilt。
She froze there in that position； one finger touching black。
The grimy girl was gone； and in her place Mark saw his mother； Mala； aged a decade since he had seen her last； her dark lustrous hair now broadly streaked with gray。 It was Mala who knelt near the little campfire holding one finger against Sightblinder's hilt； wearing not Mark's hunting shirt but her own peasant's trousers and a patterned blouse that her son could still recognize。
Then the figure of Mark's mother blurred and shifted； became that of his sister Marian。 Marian was a woman of nearly thirty now； also altered by the years that had passed since Mark had seen her last； on the day that he fled their village。
Marian turned her face to look directly at him； and now in her place Mark beheld a plump girl of the Red Temple； a girl he had encountered once； casually embraced； and then； somehow； never afterward forgotten。 The Red Temple girl turned her body more fully toward Mark； letting go the Sword。
It was the young woman he had rescued from Vilkata's camp； her hair matted； her lean body clad in his dirty； tattered hunting shirt； who approached Mark and bent over him again。 Above her head； above the firelight； massed clouds of stars made a great arc。
She drew a deep breath。 〃I should have realized which Sword that was。 Though I have never seen one of them before。。。 but now I am fully awake； I hope。 I begin to understand。 My name is Kristin。 Who are you？〃
〃Mark。〃
〃Well； Mark。〃 She touched his wounded head； so gently that it barely added to the pain。 When he winced she quickly withdrew her hand again。 〃Was it you who came into … that place … with Sightblinder； and got me out？〃
He managed a nod。
〃And did you e alone？ Yes； you nod again。 Why？ But never mind that now。 I will never forget what you have done for me。 You saved my life； and more。。。 have we any water？〃
Then she was quick to answer her own question； looking and finding Mark's water bottle。 She gave him a drink； first； then took a mouthful for herself。 〃Ah；〃 she said； and relaxed。
But only for a moment。 〃Are you expecting to meet help； here； anywhere nearby？。。。 No。〃 Again she stretched forth a gentle hand； that this time touched him painlessly and soothed his face。 〃Whom do you serve？〃
〃Sir Andrew。〃
〃Ah。 A good man； from all I've ever heard about him。 We in Tasavalta honor him； though we don't know。。。 but never mind。 I must try to do something for that cut on your forehead。〃
Kristin closed her eyes； and muttered spells； and Mark could feel a shivery tugging at the wound； a quasimaterial endeavor to pull out the knife of pain。 But then the knife came back； twisting more fiercely than before； and he cried out。
〃At least the bleeding has stopped；〃 Kristin muttered； with heartlessly reassuring calm。 〃But there's more wrong。 I can do little for you here。〃 She glanced up for a moment at the stars； evidently trying to judge her position or the time or both。 〃Have we any food？〃 No。
She began to move around； looking for something。 She was inspecting some of the nearby plants when Mark lost consciousness again。
When he awoke again it was still night。 He was shivering violently； though he alone was now wrapped twice round in the cloak of black and gold。 His head was supported gently in the warmth of Kristin's lap； and her warm magical fingers were trying to soothe his head。
But he hardly noticed any of that。 Something that seemed more momentous was happening also。 The tall circle of the gods had formed around them both。 Once before； when he was a boy in danger of freezing to death in the high Ludus Mountains； he had seen the gods； or dreamt them； surrounding him in such a way。 He tried now to call Kristin's attention to the ring of observing deities； but she was busy with her own efforts； her own spells。 She raised her head once to look； and murmured some agreement； and then went back to trying to soothe and heal him。
He could tell she was not really aware of the surrounding presences。 But he knew that they were there。 And； just as on that other night when he had seen them in a ring about his lonely fire； they were arguing about him。 Tonight what they were saying was even less clear than it had been then； nor were the faces of the gods as clearly visible tonight。
Eventually the vision passed。
Kristin's voice had a different tone now； murmuring real words； not incantations。 It sounded as if she were angry with him。 〃I am not going to let you die； do you hear me？ I will not let you die。〃 She raised her head。 〃This much I can do against you； Dark One； for what you did to me。 Damn you； I will not let you have this man！〃
And back to Mark： 〃You saved my life。。。 saved more than that。。。 and I am not going to surrender yours to them。 Poisoned wound or not； you'll live。 I promise you。〃
The night passed for him in periods of unconsciousness； in visions and intervals of lucidity； in a struggle to breathe that at last he seemed to have won。
In the morning they moved on。 There was no water where they had spent the night； and they were still unfortably close to Vilkata's army。 Now it was Mark who needed help to get aboard his riding beast； and Kristin who led his animal as they traveled； and she who chose the route； and sometimes kept him from falling out of the saddle in his weakness。 He endured the day。 He chewed on roots and berries when she put them into his mouth。 Again he experienced difficulty in breathing。 But he stayed alive； supported by his own grim will and Kristin's magic。
Another night passed； much like the one before； and another day of traveling much like the last。 After that day Mark lost count。 His whole life had vanished into this hideous trek； it seemed； and often now he no longer cared whether he lived or not。
At night； every night； his fever rose； and sometimes the gods regathered round Kristin's magical little fire to taunt him and to argue among themselves。 Each dawn Mark awoke to see them gone； and Kristin slumped beside him in an exhausted sleep。
A night came when his chills were more violent than ever。 Kristin bundled herself with him inside the cloak。 She slept； he thought； while the usual parade of deities walked through his fevered mind。 He awoke again at dawn； his mind feeling clearer； and told himself he had survived another night。
And then he got a sharp shock； jolting his mind into greater clarity。 This morning not all the deities were gone。 A woman； statuesque； magnificent； as real as any woman he had ever seen； stood across the ashes of the fire； holdi