ord.
  v'  The  trees  stood about  seven feet  high. Their  trunks were
  graduated  in  bands  of  color,   ranging  from   deep  burgundy
  red at the base  to the  lightest of  pinks at  their rounded-off
  tops. All had branches that grew out and bent down.
    "Ugliest  trees I  ever saw,"  said Cutwood.  He left  the line
  long  enough  to  chip a  piece of  the flaky  bark off  with his
  Twenty  Tool  Pocket  Kit.  He  was  examining  the  fleshy  gray
  wood  when  the  tree's  left  branch  flexed  and   swatted  the
  specimen from his hand.
    "Hey!" he said. "The tree hit me!"
    The double row of trees launched into motion. They
  pulled  their  roots  out of  the ground  and freed  their limbs.
  Black  dishlike  eyes  opened  in the  trunks, and  ragged mouths
  split apart.
    Sturm  grabbed  for  his  hilt.  The  gnomes  bunched together
  between him and Kitiara.
    "Suffering   bloodstained   gods!   What  are   these  things?"
  Kitiara exclaimed.
    "Unless  I'm  gravely  mistaken,   these  are   our  villagers.
  They  were  expecting  us,"  Sturm  replied,  keeping the  tip of

 his sword moving back and forth to discourage the tree-
 things.
   The tree-folk emitted a  series of  deep hooting  sounds, like
 a  chorus  of  rams'  horns. From recesses  in their  own bodies
 they  produced  an  array  of swords  and spears  - all  made of
 clear  red  glass. The  tree-folk closed  the circle  around the
 besieged band.
   "Be ready," Kitiara  said, her  voice taut  with anticipation.
 "When we break through them, everybody run."
   "ъun where?" asked Fitter tremulously.
   One  tree-man,  the  tallest of  the lot,  broke ranks  with its
 fellows  and  advanced. It  did not  actually walk.  ъather, the
 tangle of roots that  made up  its feet  flexed and  carried the
 creature  forward.  The  tree-man  raised  its  crude,  hiltless
 glass sword in one bark-covered hand and hooted loudly.
   "Yah!"  Kitiara  sprang forward  and cut  at the  glass blade.
 She knocked it  aside and  swung again,  this time  striking the
 tree-man  below  its  left arm.  Her sword  bit deeply  into the
 soft  wood-flesh  -  so  deeply  that it  would not  easily come
 out.  Kitiara  ducked  the  return cut  by the  tree-man's sword
 and let go of her own. She  retreated a  few steps,  leaving her
 blade  embedded  in  the foe.  The tree-man  did not  appear too
 much discomforted by the yard of steel stuck in him.
   "Sturm, lend me your sword," said Kitiara quickly.
   "I  will  not,"  he replied.  "Calm down,  will you?  That crea-
 ture wasn't attacking, it was trying to speak."
   The  impaled  tree-man  regarded  them  with  wide,  unblink-
 ing eyes. In a raspy bass voice it said, "Men. Iron. Men?
   "Yes," said Sturm. "We are men."
   "And  we're  gnomes,"  said  Bellcrank.  "Pleased to  meet -"
   "Iron?"  The  tree-man  plucked  Kitiara's  sword   from  its
 flank, grasping it by the blade. He offered the hilt to Kitiara.
 "Iron, men -" She  gingerly took  the handle  and let  the point
 fall to the ground.
   "Men,  come,"  said  the  tree-man.  His  eyes and  mouth van-
 ished,  only  to  reappear  on  the  opposite side.  "Men, come,
 iron king."
   The  tree-man  reversed  direction  without   turning  around.
 The other tree-folk did likewise;  their eyes  closed up  on one
 side of their heads and reopened on the other.

   "Fascinating,"  said  Cutwood.  "Completely  saves  them  the
 trouble of turning around."
   "Do we go with them?" asked ъainspot.
   Sturm  looked  away  to the  trail of  the stolen  flying ship.
 "For now," he said. "We should  pay our  respects to  this iron
 king. Maybe he knows what could've taken our ship."
   The  tree-folk  made  straight for  the village  keep. Sturm,
 Kitiara,  and the  gnomes fell  in behind  them. Closer  to the
 village, they saw  signs of  damage to  the walls  and gardens.
 Something  had  battered  down a  long section  of wall,  and a
 crib  full  of  yellow  fruit shaped  like corkscrews  had been
 plundered.  Slippery  pulp  and  seeds  were splashed  all over
 the place.
   The  tree-men's  leader,  the  one  Kitiara  had  cut, halted
 before the door  of the  keep. The  gate consisted  of overlap-
 ping  slabs  of  red  glass,  hanging from  hinges of  the same
 material.  The  tree-man  boomed,   "King!  Men,   iron  come."
 Without  waiting  for  any  reply, the  tree-man leaned  on the
 gate,  and it  swung in.  The tree-man  did not  enter himself,
 but stood  back, and  with a  sweep of  his arm  indicated that
 the visitors should go in.
   Kitiara  slipped  in,  her  back  pressed  against  the rough
 stone  wall.  With  a  practiced eye  for danger,  she surveyed
 the scene. The interior was well lit,  as it  had no  roof. The
 walls rose ten feet and slanted in, but  no thatch  or shingles
 kept out the sun. The room  she'd entered  was actually  a cor-
 ridor, branching off  to the  left and  right. The  facing wall
 was  blank,  though  smoothly  plastered  with   gritty  mortar
 painted white.
    "It's clear," she reported. Her voice was taut and low.
 Sturm let the gnomes enter.
   "Man." Sturm looked  up at  the impassive  eyes of  the tree-
 man. "Iron king. Him." It pointed left.
   "I   understand.   Thank  you."   The  tree-man   tapped  his
 long, jointed finger on the gate and Sturm pushed it shut.
   "Our host will  be found  down the  left corridor,"  he said.
 "Everyone,  be  on  your guard!"  Kitiara moved  to the  end of
 the line, steeled for signs of treachery. The hall turned right
 and  widened. The  high walls  and lack  of ceiling  made Sturm
 feel as if he were in a maze.

   They  came  upon  an  unexpectedly  familiar  artifact:  a low,
 thick  door  made  of  oak  and strapped  with iron  hinges. This
 relic leaned against the wall. Fitter peeked behind it.
   "It doesn't lead anywhere," he said.
   "There's something familiar about it," mused Cutwood.
   "You silly loon, of course it's familiar. You've seen doors
 before!" said Bellcrank.
   "No, it's the style that's familiar. I have it! This is a ship's
 door!" he announced.
   "It's not from the Cloudmaster, is it?" Sturm said,
 alarmed.
   "No, this door is oak, the Cloudmaster's are pine."
   "Now how would a ship's door get on the  red moon?"
 Wingover asked rhetorically. Cutwood was composing an
 answer when Kitiara shooed him on.
   They  passed  more   debris  from   their  world:   empty  kegs,
 clay pots and cups,  tatters of  canvas and  scraps of  leather, a
 rusty,  broken  cutlass.  Some  coils of  rope were  identified by
 an  eager  ъoperig  as  ship's  cordage  made in  southern Ergoth.
 Excitement   mounted   as   more   and  more   tantalizing  things
 cropped up.
   The  corridor  turned  right  again,  this  time  into   a  wide
 room.  There,  standing  by  an   overturned  wooden   chair,  was
 a  man.  A  genuine  man,  short  and  scrawny.  He   was  dressed
 in  a  dirty  tan  vest  and  cut-off pants,  rope sandals,  and a
 peaked  canvas  cap.  His  face  was  dirty and  his gray-streaked
 beard came down almost to his stomach.
     "Heh, heh, heh," rasped the man. "Visitors at last. I've
 been wanting visitors for a long, long time!"
   "Who are you?" asked Sturm.
   "Me? Me? Why, I'm the King of Lunitari," proclaimed the
 tattered scarecrow.

                     Chapter 14

                  ъapaldo the First

  "You  don't believe  me,"  said  the  self-proclaimed
 monarch.
  "You hardly conform to  the stereotypical  archetype," said
 Sighter. The king of Lunitari cocked his head.
  "What'd you say?" he asked.
  "You don't look like a king," Sturm interpreted.
  "Well  I am!  ъapaldo the  First, mariner,  shipwright, and
 absolute ruler of the  red moon,  that's me."  He approached
 the band in a nervous, hesitant shuffle. "Who are you?"
  The   gnomes   eagerly   pushed   themselves  up   to  King
 ъapaldo, shaking hands in quick succession and  rattling off
 the  shorter  versions  of  their  impossibly   long  names.
 ъapaldo's eyes glazed over from the barrage.
 Sturm cleared his throat and gently steered Fitter, the last

 gnome,  away  from  the  bewildered  man.  "Sturm  Brightblade
 of Solamnia," he said of himself.
      Kitiara stepped forward and pushed back her fur collar.
 ъapaldo gasped aloud. "Kitiara Uth Matar," she said.
   "L-Lady,"  ъapaldo  stammered. "I  have not  seen a  real lady
 in many, many years."
   "I'm  not sure  you're seeing  one now,"  Kitiara said  with a
 laugh.  ъapaldo  gently  took  her hand.  He held  it carefully,
 looking  at  the  back  and  palm with  embarrassing intentness.
 Kitiara's  hands  were not  refined or  delicate. They  were the
 strong,  supple hands  of a  warrior. ъapaldo's  reverent inter-
 est amused her.
   As  if  suddenly  aware  that  he  was being  foolish, ъapaldo
 dropped  Kitiara's  hand  and  drew  himself  up  to   his  full
 height  -  not  much  more  than  five  and  a  half feet  - and
 announced,  "If  you  would  follow  me  to  the  royal audience
 hall, I'll hear the story of your coming here, and tell the tale
 of  my  own  shipwreck."   He  went   back  to   his  overturned
 chair and righted it. "This way," said the king of Lunitari.
   They  followed  ъapaldo  through  a  series  of  mostly  empty
 rooms,  all  open to  the sky.  What furniture  there was  had a
 nautical cast to it, here a seaman's chest, there a  railed cap-
 tain's  chair.  Other  bits  of ship  were hung  on the  wall. A
 brass hawse pipe  liner, some  loops of  anchor chain,  a lathe-
 turned rail studded with iron spikes.
   Bellcrank  tugged  on  Sturm's  sleeve.  "Metal,"  he  whis-
 pered. "Lots of it."
   "I see it," Sturm said calmly.
   "This way. This way," ъapaldo said, gesturing.
   The  very  center  of  the  keep  was  the  audience  hall,  a
 square  room  ten  yards  wide.  When  ъapaldo  entered,  a half
 dozen  tree-men  snapped  glass  spears  to   their  nonexistent
 shoulders  in  salute. They  hooted in  unison three  times, and
 dropped their spears to a ported position.
   "My palace guard," ъapaldo said with pride.
   "Are they intelligent?" asked Wingover.
   "Not like you and I are. They learn things I teach them,
 remember  orders,  and  such  like,  but they  weren't civilized
 when I first came here."
   At the  far end  of the  room, a  crude throne  was set  up, a

  high-backed  chair  mounted  on  a   thick  rectangle   of  ruby
  glass.  The  chair  had  obviously  been  cobbled  together from
  ship's timbers; the peg holes from the trenails were still visi-
  ble.
    ъapaldo  hopped  upon  the  glass   pedestal  and   picked  up
  his scepter from the  seat of  the chair.  He turned  around and
  sat down with a sigh,  laying the  emblem of  his office  in the
  crook of his arm. It was a broadhead axe.
    "Hear ye, hear  ye. The  royal court  of Lunitari  may begin,"
  ъapaldo  recited  in  a  high-pitched  voice.  He  coughed once,
  and  his  skinny chest  convulsed. "I,  King ъapaldo  the First,
  am present and speaking.
    "In  honor  of   the  unexpected   guests  who   have  arrived
  today, I, King  ъapaldo, will  relate the  marvelous tale  of my
  coming to this place." ъoperig and Fitter,  sensing that  a long
  story was beginning, sat down.
    ъapaldo leaped to his feet.  "You will  stand in  the presence
  of  the  king!"  he  shouted,  punctuating  the  command  with a
  sweep  of  his scepter-axe.  The two  gnomes stood  with alacri-
  ty.  ъapaldo  shivered  with  fury.  "Those  who  do   not  show
  respect will be removed by the ъoyal Guard!"
    Sturm  flashed  Kitiara   a  knowing   look.  She   bowed  and
  said, "Forgive us,  Your Majesty.  We've not  been in  the pres-
  ence of a king for quite some time."
    Her  intervention  had  an  almost  magical   effect.  ъapaldo
  relaxed  and  sat  on  his  wooden  throne  again.  There  was a
  distinct  clink  as  he  did so.  Sturm spied  a glint  of chain
  around his waist.
    "Better,  better.  What's  a  king  without  subjects  who pay
  him respect? A captain  without a  ship, a  ship without  a rud-
  der?  Ta-ra!"  ъapaldo gripped  the arms  of his  throne tightly
  for  a  moment. "It's  been t-ten  years since  last I  spoke to
  another human being," he said. "If I rattle and prattle,  lay it
  to that fact."
    He  drew  a  deep  breath. "I  was born  the son  and grandson
  of sailors,  on the  island of  Enstar, in  the Sirrian  Sea. My
  father  was  slain by  Kernaffi pirates  when I  was but  a lad,
  and  the  day  the  word  came  home,  I  ran  away  to  sea.  I
  learned to use the axe and adze."
             Cutwood heard this and squirmed to comment. Sighter

  and Wingover both put hands over his mouth.
      "The trade of the shipwright built a man out of a boy, heh,
  heh,  and  as the  summers passed,  I stopped  going to  sea and
  stayed  ashore  on  Enstar,  making  craft  that plied  the wide
  green  ocean."  The  royal  axe  slid  down  to  ъapaldo's  lap.
  "Had  I  stayed  a  land-bound   shipwright,  though,   I  would
  not  now  be  the  royal person  you see  before you."  A frayed
  sleeve  slipped  off  his   bony  shoulder.   Absently,  ъapaldo
  replaced  it.  "I  would  not  now  be  on  this moon,"  he mut-
  tered.  "A  prosperous  ship  owner  named  Melvalyn   hired  me
  to  sail  with  him  to  southern  Ergoth.  Melvalyn  planned to
  buy  timber  to  build  a new  fleet of  merchant ships,  and he
  wanted  an  expert  along  to  grade  the  available   wood.  We
  were to depart from  Enstar for  Daltigoth on  the third  day of
  autumn,  an  ill-starred  day. The  soothsayer, Dirazo,  the one
  I  always consulted  for times  of good  luck and  bad, parleyed
  with  the  dark  spirits  and  pronounced  the  sailing  date as
  damned by the rise of Nuitari, the  black moon.  I tried  to beg
  off,  but  Melvalyn  insisted  the  voyage  begin   as  planned.
  Heh, heh, old Melvalyn learned what it means to disregard
  the omens! Yes, he learned!
    "Cold,  contrary  winds  from  the southeast  blew us  west of
  Ergoth.  We  tacked   and  tacked,   but  made   little  headway
  against  the  Kharolis  Blow. Then,  four days  out to  sea, the
  wind died. We were becalmed.
    "There's not a more helpless  feeling than  being at  sea with
  no  wind.  Melvalyn  tried  all the  tricks, wetting  the sails,
  kedging  with the  anchors, and  such like,  but we  didn't move
  enough to measure. The  sky sort  of closed  in on  us, fish-eye
  gray, and then the father of all storms broke on us."
    ъapaldo,  caught  up  in  his  own  monologue,  stood  abrupt-
  ly. He made swift, jerky gestures to illustrate his story.
    "The  sea,  it was  running like  this, and  the wind,  it was
  blowing  like  this -"   His  hands   swung  in   from  opposite
  directions  and  clashed  in  front  of  his  face.   "ъain  was
  screeching  over  the  deck flat  sideways. The  Tarvolina, that
  was  our ship,  lost her  topmast and  yards straight  away. And
  then,  and  then,  it  came  down   and  grabbed   us."  ъapaldo
  stepped  upon  his  throne  and  crouched,  his  head  ducked to
  protect himself from the memory.

    "What  was  it?" ъainspot  burst out  unwittingly. ъapaldo,
 waiting for this cue, didn't get angry this time.
    "A  waterspout,"  he said,  shivering. "A  mighty, twisting
 column  of  water  a  hundred  feet  wide  at  the  bottom! It
 sucked up the Tarvolina  like a  dry leaf,  and we  went right
 through the hollow middle of  it, up  and up  and up!  Some of
 the  sailors  got  scared  and  jumped  overboard.  Those that
 jumped  down  the middle  fell all  the way  back to  the sea,
 miles and miles, but those that hit the wall of twisting water
 ..." ъapaldo stamped  his foot  on the  chair. All  the gnomes
 jumped in fright. "They were ripped to  pieces. Might  as well
 have  jumped  into  an  ocean of  knife blades."  The metaphor
 seemed to please him, for he smiled. For all  his scruffiness,
 the king of Lunitari had a fine set  of straight  white teeth.
 "The waterspout carried us so high that the  blue went  out of
 the sky. Only six men out of the full crew of twenty  lived to
 the  funnel's  end.  The  waterspout  turned  inside  out, and
 dropped the Tarvolina upside down, here on Lunitari."
    King  ъapaldo  hopped down  to the  glass throne  base. His
 shaggy  eyebrows  closed   in  over   his  dark   brown  eyes.
 "Three   men  survived   the  shipwreck:   Melvalyn,  Darnino,
 the  navigator,  and ъapaldo  the First.  Melvalyn had  a bro-
 ken  leg,  and  died  not  long  after.  Darnino and  I almost
 starved, until we learned to eat the plants  that grow  by day
 and drink the dew that collects in the red turf at night."
   That's something we didn't know, Sturm thought.
   "Darnino and I stayed together until we met the Oud-
 ouhai,  the  tree-people.  The  tree-folk  had never  seen men
 before,  and  they  took us  for their  dread enemies  -" Here
 ъapaldo  paused.  He  peered at  each member  of the  group in
 turn.  "Anyway,  there was  a fight,  and Darnino  was killed.
 The  Lunitarians were  about to  kill me,  too, when  I raised
 my axe." He suited  the action  to the  words. "And  they were
 so   awestruck   that   they   proclaimed    me   oem-owa-oya,
 supreme ruler of them all and wielder of the holy iron."
   ъapaldo finished his story with a  giggle. Unmindful  of the
 guards  standing  nearby,  he  added,  "The  worthless savages
 had  never  seen  metal  before!  They  figured  it  must have
 come from the gods, and that I  was a  holy messenger  sent to
 look after them."

   "Have the  Lunitarians no  metal of  their own?"  asked Bell-
 crank.
   "There's no  metal on  the whole  bloody moon,  as near  as I
 can  tell,"  said  ъapaldo.  He  flopped  into  his  throne and
 adjusted  his  ragged  clothes with  extreme care  and dignity.
 "Now  I  would  hear  of  your  own  coming," he  said loftily.
 Wingover  started to  speak, but  the king  rapped the  side of
 his axe on the throne. "Let the lady tell it."
   Kitiara  unhooked  her  sword  belt  and  stood  the  weapon,
 in its sheath, before  her. She  leaned on  the sword  and told
 the  tale  of  how  she  and Sturm  had met  the gnomes  in the
 rainstorm, the flight to  the red  moon, their  expedition, and
 the theft of the Cloudmaster.
   "Heh,  heh, heh,"  ъapaldo laughed.  "You can't  leave things
 lying  about  unguarded,  not  even  on  Lunitari.  The Micones
 have taken your craft."
   "Micones?"
   "The  enemies  I  spoke  of. The  Oud-ouhai have  no preda-
 tors to fear, as there are no animals on Lunitari, only plants.
 But the Micones, when directed, are a plague indeed."
   "But what are they?" asked Kitiara.
   "Ants."
   "Ants?" said Sighter.
   "Giant ants," said ъapaldo. "Six feet of solid  rock crystal.
 The  magic  in  this  moon  gives  them the  power to  move and
 work, but they haven't got a single brain among them."
   "Who - or what - directs these Micones?" asked Sturm.
   The  king  of Lunitari  shrank from  the question.  "I've never
 seen it," he said evasively, "though I once heard it speak."
   Sturm  saw  Kitiara  ball  a  fist in  frustration. ъapaldo's
 quirky  behavior  was getting  on her  nerves. She  relaxed her
 hand  slowly  and  said as  evenly as  her temper  would allow,
 "Who is their mastermind, Your Majesty?"
   "The  Voice in  the Obelisk.  Some ten  miles from  my palace
 sits a great stone o