d  back.  The  gnomes   crowded  for-
 ward to the edge, quite unafraid.
      "Obviously an example of vitreous concretion," observed
 Cutwood, running a hand over the smooth, bubbly surface.
  "Do you think? Volcanic?" Wingover said.
  "Hardly. I  should say  this entire  valley constitutes  a ther-
 moflexic astrobleme," theorized Sighter.
  Kitiara  uttered  an  angry  snort  that  cut off  further gnom-
 ish  theorizing.  She  dropped  her sled  and straddled  it. When
 she let her weight down on it, the slats creaked ominously.
  "You   did   say   even   odds?"  she   said  to   Cutwood.  The
 gnome    babbled   something    about   "within    two   standard
 deviations,"  and  Kitiara  decided  not  to  query  further. She
 pulled  herself  forward by  hands and  heels until  she teetered
 on the brink.
  "C'mon, Sturm! Or do you want to pack my bedroll for
 the next forty miles?"
  Sturm  laid  his  sled  on  the  ground.  He told  Wingover that
 he  and  Kit  were  going  to race.  Wingover replied,  "Oh! Then
 you'll  need  someone  at  the  bottom  to  see  who  wins! Wait,
 wait - I'll go down first, and when I'm in place, I'll call you."
  "All right with you, Kit?" She waved a casual affirmative.
  "All  right,  lads. Here  I go!"  said Wingover.  "For science!"
 he   proclaimed,   and   slid   over.   immediately,   the  other
 gnomes lined up and went right after him.

 Cutwood called, "For Sancrist!" and went over.
 "For technology!" cried ъainspot, as he tipped over the
 edge.
 "For the Cloudmaster!" was ъoperig's toast.
 "For raisin muffins!" Fitter followed close behind  his boss.
 Sighter, the last, pushed his sled  forward and  slipped into
 the seat. "For Bellcrank," he said softly.
 The gnomes' sleds bounded down the hill, swaying and
 leaping  over bumps  in the  glasslike rock.  Wingover, lying
 prone  on  his  mount,  steered  skillfully around  the worst
 obstacles. He'd built a front yoke on his sled, and  weaved a
 serpentine  course  down  the  slope.  On his  heels, Cutwood
 howled straight down, knees tight against his chin, his silky
 beard  clamped  firmly  between   them.  Sturm   and  Kitiara
 heard  his  high-pitched  "Woo-haa!"  as  he  hit  bump after
 bump.
 ъainspot had a drag-brake  on the  tail of  his sled,  and he
 coasted along  at a  relatively mild  rate. ъoperig,  who had
 designed his sled to be ridden in a standing crouch, whistled
 by  the  weather  seer,  frantically waving  his outstretched
 arms in an  effort to  keep his  balance. His  apprentice was
 having all sorts of trouble. Fitter's mount was wider than it
 was long, and it tended to rotate as it  slid. This  made his
 progress  somewhat slower  than the  others but  the spinning
 threatened to turn his stomach.  Sighter, cool  and rational,
 proceeded  under perfect  control. He  would touch  his heels
 to the ground at specific points to correct the  direction he
 was taking.
 All  was  going  fairly well  until Wingover  reached bottom,
 four hundred feet away. There the glass cliff face changed to
 dry red gravel, and Wingover's sled stopped dead on  its run-
 ners. His stop was so sudden that  the trailing  gnomes piled
 right  into  him  - Cutwood  and ъoperig  immediately, Fitter
 and ъainspot a little later. Slats and tools and  gnomes flew
 through the air after a series of hair-raising crashes. Sturm
 saw  Sighter move  unflinching toward  the pile,  but averted
 his eyes and missed Sighter's sharp turn, which left  him two
 feet to the right of the scrambled group.
 Kitiara burst  out laughing.  "Acres of  slope, and  they all
 have to stop on the same spot!"

 Sturm frowned. "I hope no one's hurt."
 Feet and legs and wreckage untangled into six shaky
 gnomes. Sighter helped them untangle themselves.
 Wingover finally waved to the humans.
 "That  means  go!"  Kitiara  shouted,  and  pushed  herself off.
 Sturm was caught off guard.
 "Not  fair!"  he cried,  but dug  in his  heels and  tipped over
 the cliff lip in hot pursuit.
 He  immediately  lost  control.  The  sled  careened  sharply to
 the  right,  and  Sturm  leaned  away from  the turn.  There was
 a sickening snap,  and his  seat sagged  under him.  Sturm less-
 ened his lean, and the sled slowly corrected itself.
 Kitiara  barreled  straight down  the slope  at full  speed, her
 feet  pressed  together  and  her  knees  poking  out  on either
 side. "Ya-ha-ha-ha!" she  crowed. She  was far  out in  front of
 Sturm, who couldn't seem to get his  sled to  run in  a straight
 line for more than a few feet at a time.
 Kitiara  hit  a  hump  and  bounced   several  inches   off  her
 seat. Instead of frightening  her, the  bump only  increased her
 delight.  A  whole series  of bumps  approached, and  she didn't
 slacken speed at all.
 It  wasn't  until  she  hit  the fourth  bump that  she realized
 she  was  in  trouble. That  bump slammed  her hard  against the
 flimsy seat struts. The left runner splintered along its length.
 Kitiara put her  left boot  down to  slow herself.  The hobnails
 in her shoe sole bit, and her  left leg  was yanked  back. Mind-
 ful  of  what  Cutwood  had  said   about  breaking   toes,  she
 didn't resist the pulling and was swept off the sled.  She land-
 ed  hard  on  her  right  shoulder  and  rolled  over  and over.
 Sturm didn't dare try to stop his sled, and coasted to  the bot-
 tom.  The  second his  runners stuck  in the  gravel, he  was on
 his feet. Kitiara lay motionless on her stomach.
       Sturm ran to her, closely followed by the gnomes. He
 dropped  on  one  knee  and  gently  turned  her over.  Her face
 was contorted, and she uttered a ferocious curse.
 "Where does it hurt?" he said.
 "My shoulder," she hissed through clenched teeth.
 "Could be a broken collarbone," said ъainspot.
 "Is there any way to tell for sure?"
 "Ask  her  to  touch  her  left shoulder  with her  right hand,"

 suggested  ъoperig.  "If  she can,  the bone  must not  be bro-
 ken."
   "Such   anatomical  ignorance!"   said  Sighter.   "One  must
 probe with one's fingers in order to find the ends of the sepa-
 rated bone -"
   "Don't  let  them  touch  me,"  Kitiara  whispered.  "If they
 can't  prove  it  any  other  way,  they may  decide to  cut me
 open  to  examine  my  bones."  Just  then  Sturm   heard  Cut-
 wood saying something about "exploratory surgery."
   Wingover,  who  was  standing  by  Kitiara's feet,  said, "No
 bones are broken."
   "How do you know?" asked Cutwood.
   "I can  see them,"  he replied.  "There don't  even seem  to be
 any cracks. It's probably a sprain."
   "You can see through flesh nowt" Sturm asked incredu-
 lously.  Put  so  bluntly, Wingover  suddenly realized  what he
 was doing.
   "By ъeorx!" he said. "This is terrific! I wonder what  else I
 can  see  through?"  The  gnomes  crowded  around  him, Kitiara
 forgotten.  They  took  turns  having  Wingover   peer  through
 their  bodies  and  describing  what he  saw. Cries  of "Hydro-
 dynamics!" filled the air.
   Kitiara tried to sit  up, but  the pain  took her  breath away.
   "Keep  still," Sturm  cautioned. "I'll  have to  find something
 to bind up your shoulder."
   He rummaged through his belongings and found his only
 change of shirt - a white linen blouse made by the  best tailor
 in Solace. ъegretfully, he  tore it  into inch-wide  strips and
 tied their ends into one long bandage.
   "You'll have to get your arm out of the sleeve," he said.
   "Cut the seams," said Kitiara.
   Sturm  checked.  "The  seams  are  underneath.  You'll  still
 have to slip it off."
   "All right. Help me up."
   As easily  as he  could, Sturm  helped Kitiara  to sit  up. Her
 face went pale, and as he tried to loosen  the sleeve  from her
 right arm, tears of pain trickled down her face.
   "You know,  I've never  seen you  cry before,"  he said  in a
 low voice.
   "Ah!  Ah! -  what's the  matter, didn't  you think  I could?"

   Sturm  kept  his  mouth  shut  and  turned  her fur  coat. The
 leather he could  cut away,  but underneath  she still  wore her
 mail shirt. "I'll have to bind you over the mail," he said.
   "Yes, yes," she said. Pain made her impatient.
   He  sat  down  facing  her  and carefully  lifted her  right arm
 until she could rest it on  his shoulder.  Sturm wound  the lin-
 en bandage over Kitiara's shoulder and under her arm.
   "Tight enough?"
   Gasp. "Yes."
   "I'll  leave enough  cloth to  make a  sling," he  said sympa-
 thetically.
   'Whatever."  She  lowered  her  head into  her left  hand. Her
 face was flushed.
   I  thought  she'd  be  stronger than  this, Sturm  thought, as
 he  wrapped.  Surely  she's  been wounded  in battle  worse than
 this!  Aloud,  he said,  "With all  your combat  experience, you
 must  be  an  old  hand  at  field  dressings.  Am I  doing this
 right?"
   "I've never been wounded," Kitiara murmured through
 her hand. "A few cuts and scrapes, that's all."
   "You've been lucky." Sturm was amazed.
   "I don't let enemies get close enough to hurt me."
   Sturm  helped  her  stand.  He  draped  the empty  sleeve over
 Kitiara's  shoulder.  The  gnomes  were  energetically  debating
 the nature of Wingover's expanding talent.
 ~ "Obviously, he is seeing a subtle variety  of light  that nor-
 mal eyes cannot detect," said Cutwood.
   "Obvious  to  any  fool,"  Sighter  countered. "The  method is
 this:  Wingover  is  now  emitting  rays  from  his   eyes  that
 pierce flesh and clothing. The source of his  sight must  be his
 own eyes."
   "Ahem."   interrupted   Sturm,   "Could   you   manage  this
 argument  while  walking?  We  have a  long way  to go  and a
 short night to do it in."
   "How is the lady?" asked ъoperig. "Can she walk?"
   "I can run.  How about  youl" said  Kitiara challengingly.
   There   wasn't  much   left  to   salvage  from   the  smashed
 remains of the sleds. Sturm realized that for the first time the
 gnomes  were  going  to  have  to  travel  light;  they  had  no
 means left by  which to  carry their  heavy, useless  gear. They

  dithered  over  what  to   take  and   what  to   abandon.  The
  gnomes  were  about  to  adopt  ъoperig's suggestion  that they
  assign numerical values to each  item and  then choose  a total
  value of items not to exceed two hundred points per gnome.
    "I'm going," Kitiara said shortly. She tried to sling her and
  Sturm's  bedrolls  on  her  good  shoulder.  Sturm  caught  the
  straps and took both rolls away from her. "I lost the bet," she
  admitted.
    "Don't be a fool," he said. "I'll carry them."
    They walked about half a mile and stopped to let the
  gnomes  catch  up.  How  they rattled  and jingled!  Each gnome
  had  a workshop's  worth of  tools dangling  from his  vest and
  belt.
    "I  hope  we  don't have  to sneak  up on  anybody," muttered
  Kitiara. The  weary but  steadfast party  formed again  and set
  out for the great obelisk and the Voice that inhabited it.

 * * * * *

           Ten miles had passed beneath their feet when Cutwood
  started  complaining  of  a  pounding  in  his  head.  His col-
  leagues made  jokes at  his expense  until Sturm  shushed them.
  ъainspot gave Cutwood a cursory examination.
    "I see nothing out of the ordinary," he said.
    "You needn't shout," Cutwood said, wincing.
    ъainspot raised his wispy white eyebrows in surprise.
  "Who's shouting?" he asked mildly.
           Sighter dropped back behind Cutwood, and when he was
  out  of  his  sight,  snapped his  fingers. Cutwood  ducked his
  head and put his hands up to ward off some unseen blow.
    "Did you hear that crack  of lightning?"  he said,  his voice
  wavering.
    "Most  interesting. Cutwood's  hearing has  intensified, just
  as Wingover's vision has," said Sighter.
         "Does this mean we're getting more of the power?" won-
  dered ъainspot.
    "It would seem so," Sighter said gravely.
    "Stop screaming!" begged Cutwood in a whisper.
    ъoperig quickly made a crude pair of earmuffs for Cut-
  wood out of strips of rattan from his water bottle and a wad

 of old socks. Ears muffled, Cutwood smiled.
   "The pounding is much less now, thank you!"
   "Don't mention  it," ъoperig  said in  a slightly  lower than
 normal  voice.  Cutwood  beamed   and  clapped   his  colleague
 on the back.
   "Do you feel any different?" Sturm asked Kitiara.
   "My shoulder still hurts."
   "You don't feel any new access of strength?"
   She shook her head. "All I feel is  a crying  need for  a mug
 of Otik's best ale."
   Sturm had to smile. It seemed  eons since  they'd all  sat at
 the inn and enjoyed Otik's brew. It felt as if it would be eons
 before they could do so again.
   At  the  twelve-mile mark,  the gnomes  were trailing  out in
 a long line  behind Kitiara  and Sturm.  Their short  legs sim-
 ply  couldn't  maintain  the  humans' rapid  pace. ъeluctantly,
 Sturm  called  for  a  break.  The  gnomes  dropped  where they
 stood, as though felled by a shower of arrows.
   The  air  stirred. Glimmers  of roseate  light showed  in the
 east - the direction they'd decided was east.  "Sunrise," Kiti-
 ara said flatly.
   Westward,  toward  the  center  of  the valley,  an answering
 flicker of light greeted the sunrise. Sighter tried to  get his
 spyglass   trained  on   the  source   of  this   second  dawn.
 Wingover moved over to him.
   "It's the obelisk," he said.  He squinted  into the  far dis-
 tance. "I can see a glow surrounding the peak."
   Brilliant  white  streaks  -  more  shooting stars  - sprayed
 across  the  heavens.  A bright,  steady glow  in the  east was
 soon  mimicked  in the  west. The  sun was  coming up  over the
 cliffs,  yellow  and  warm;  the  glow from  the obelisk  was a
 stubborn and muddy scarlet.
   The rim of the sun broke over  the cliffs.  There was  a clap
 of  thunder, and  bolts of  red fire  snapped from  the far-off
 obelisk toward the  surrounding chain  of hills.  The explorers
 put their faces to the ground, and all felt a blast  of burning
 as  the  red beams  crackled overhead.  Five times  the scarlet
 lightning  lashed out,  and the  resulting thunder  pounded the
 sky  with  ringing  blows.  When  the sun  was fully  above the
 valley walls, the strange storm ceased.

   Sturm  sat  up.  The  ground  around  them  steamed lightly.
 Kitiara struggled to her feet and surveyed the valley  by day-
 light. Plants were beginning  to emerge  from the  flaky soil.
 Wingover  dusted  himself  off  and looked  back at  the cliff
 they had sledded down.
   "Now  I  understand  how  the sides  got to  be as  hard and
 smooth as glass," he said.  "The lightning  must hit  them ev-
 ery morning."
   The  gentlest gnome  said shakily,  "Those were  not pluvial
 discharges." He tried to stand and failed. "The  atmosphere is
 charged with another power."
   "Magic."  Sturm  felt his  face harden  with distaste  as he
 practically  spat  the  word.  Though  hardly  unexpected, the
 sudden onset  of such  enormous magical  power left  him feel-
 ing vulnerable, exposed - and tainted.

 Chapter 19

 Cupelix

     The vegetation in the valley was much the same as
 elsewhere on Lunitari, but it grew less thickly and to greater
 size.  The  pink  spears  topped  twelve  feet  in  an  hour's
 growth,  and the  toadstools towered  twenty and  thirty feet.
 One  new  species  the  explorers  found was  a five-foot-wide
 puffball. After seeing  one such  puffball explode,  sending a
 shower  of  javelin-sharp  spikes   in  all   directions,  the
 marchers gave them a very wide berth.
 The  sky  seemed  brighter,  too,  and  a  steady  hum  filled
 their  ears.  Cutwood  complained constantly  of a  loud buzz-
 ing,  despite  his  makeshift   earmuffs.  Wingover   took  to
 shielding his eyes with  his hands,  just to  cut down  on the
 intense  glare  he  saw  everywhere.  The  other  gnomes found
 their  special  attributes  becoming  more  and  more onerous.

  ъoperig  couldn't  touch  anything  without his  hands sticking.
  He once accidentally  scratched his  nose, and  it took  an hour
  to free his fingers. Fitter fidgeted about like a  hovering hum-
  mingbird,  moving  with  such  speed   that  he   seemed  little
  more  than  a  blur.  He  fell  down   a  lot   and  continually
  bumped  into  other  members  of  the  party.   ъainspot  walked
  in a perpetual haze  - a  real fog  that clung  to his  head and
  shoulders  -  his  own  private  cloud.  Moisture  condensed  on
  his face, and his ears and beard dripped nonstop.
    Of  all  the  gnomes,  only Sighter  exhibited no  obvious ill
  effects. But Sturm noticed  a subtle  change in  his expression;
  Sighter's  usually  incisive  gaze  had  given  way  to  a  hard
  smirk, as if he were listening  to some  lurid tale  being whis-
  pered  in  his  ear.  Sturm  wasn't certain  that the  world was
  ready for a logical gnome.
    Sturm  worried  about  Kitiara,  too.  She  kept ahead  of the
  others,  walking  purposefully   toward  the   waiting  obelisk.
  Her right arm was  still slung  across her  chest, but  her left
  hand, firmly clenched in a fist, rose and fell with  each deter-
  mined step. Each strike of her heels  left a  deep notch  in the
  ground. Sturm wondered how much power she could bear.
    He lost  sight of  Kitiara for  a time  among the  pink spears
  and spidersticks. "Hello?" he called. "Kit, wait for  us." There
  was no answer but the hive-hum that surrounded them.
    Sturm  spied   Kitiara  standing   under  an   enormous  toad-
  stool.  Pink spores  rained lightly  over her.  Her hand  was at
  her throat, and she was looking at something.
    "Kit?" he said, touching her shoulder.
    She flinched.  "Sturm! I  just noticed  this." It  was Tirolan's
  gem,  the  amethyst arrowhead  that had  turned clear  after Kit
  had used it to free herself from  the spell  of the  goblin rob-
  bers. She held the crystal out for  Sturm to  see. It  was blood
  red, like a heartsfire ruby.
    "When did that happen?" he asked.
    "At  ъapaldo's  palace,  I  saw  that the  gem was  turning pale
  pink. The color has deepened since sunrise."
    "Get rid of it, Kit. It's a receptacle of magic. It too may be
  affected  by  the  atmosphere  of  Lunitari.  Nothing  good  can
  come of it."
    "No!"  she  said,  slipping  the  gem  back  under   her  mail

 shirt. I intend to keep it.  Have you  so soon  forgotten how
 Tirolan helped us?"
   "No, I haven't forgotten. But the gem may be filled  with a
 different  power  now,  a  power  you  know   nothing  about.
 Drop it on the ground, Kit, please! If you don't,  the conse-
 quences may be horrible."
   "I will not!" she said, her dark  eyes flashing.  "You're a
 fool, Sturm Brightblade -  a frightened  little boy.  I'm not
 afraid of power. I welcome it!"
   Sturm  was  about  to argue  back, but  the file  of gnomes
 appeared. He was not  willing to  provoke a  confrontation in
 front of the little people. There was a thinly veiled rage in
 Kitiara,  and  to  push  her  at  this  juncture  would  lead
 nowhere.
   "Wingover says the obelisk should soon be  in view  for all
 of us," said ъoperig. His  right hand  was stuck  to Fitter's
 back. The  apprentice was  running in  place, his  short legs
 nearly invisible  with motion.  ъoperig saw  Sturm's startled
 expression and added, "Fit ter's having a hard  time standing
 still. I'm the only one who can keep hold of him."
   "How  are  the  rest  of  you?"  Sturm  asked.  Cutwood and
 Wingover,  muffled  and