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unmoving.
    Respecting Quienyin’s preliminary insertion of his kharrna into unspecified but occult dimensions, we also sat still.
    Quienyin began to tremble.
    His whole plump body shook. His shoulders moved. He brought his hands down slowly from his face.
    His eyeballs were rolled up, and the whites of his eyes glared out in a sightless blasphemy of a gargoyle head. Hunch choked back in his throat. We sat, enthralled, knowing how Quienyin battled himself as he sought to hurl his kharrna through realms unguessed of by ordinary men.
    Breathing almost at a standstill, Quienyin appeared to gather himself, as a zorca gathers himself at an obstacle. With a wavering cry he rose slowly to his feet. His arms lifted, rising out from his sides, lifting to the horizontal. His fingers were stiffly outthrust. Gently at first, and then faster and faster, he revolved, whirling about, his arms razoring the air.
    As always, my mind conjured the vivid impression of a whirling Dervish, a maniac cyclone, a hurricane-whirled scarecrow.
    Abruptly, Quienyin ceased to whorl about so madly. He sank to the ground and resumed that calm pose of contemplation. Both his hands rested flat on the ground.
    And then he looked up at us and was ready to answer our questions.
    Rather, he was ready to speak to Prince Tyfar.
    What the Wizard of Loh had to say reassured the young prince. Had it not done so, I own, I would have found the subsequent confusion inconvenient.
    Yet, even as I relate these events, I am touched by the weirdness of it all. Here Quienyin sat, and he was aware of and could tell us of events transpiring dwaburs away across the land. Just how far a Wizard of Loh can see in lupu is a matter of serious conjecture. They, for sure, give nothing of their secrets away to the casual inquirer. True, in conversation with Quienyin I had learned much. But, then, that was before he had recovered his powers. I wondered, as he spoke to Tyfar, if he would recall with displeasure what he had said, and seek in some nefarious and occult way to rob me of the knowledge.
    “Is it possible, San—?” began Modo Fre-Da.
    “May we crave, San—?” began Logu Fre-Da.
    Both spoke together.
    So Quienyin told them what they wished to know. I listened, for I needed to learn of my comrades, bearing in mind what I half-purported toward them. They asked for their mother, for their father was long dead, having met his end gallantly on an unmarked battlefield. She lived in Dolardansmot, whereaway that was I did not know, and they were very tender toward her. They made inquiry about no other person.
    Nodgen and Hunch, Barkindrar and Nath, all received news, good or bad — Barkindrar’s younger brother had died of a fall down a disused well, which depressed him for a space, until he reflected, half aloud, that what the Resplendent Bridzilkelsh ordained must be accepted as one accepts the needle —
    and they all turned to look at me.
    “Well, Jak,” said Quienyin, kindly, although he looked tired, “and where in the world of Kregen shall I seek for your loved ones?”

Chapter three
The Bonds of Comradeship
    Before replying, I pulled off the boot taken from a dead Muzzard and chucked it down. The boot was not so much either too tight or too loose as badly fitting; it was well enough for riding, but walking in it and its mate would be agonizing. I wriggled my bare toes. The eight pairs of eyes regarded me expectantly. I scratched under my anklebone.
    “Well, Jak? And is there no one in the whole wide world?”
    “Without disrespect, San — you are clearly tired. Your exertions have exhausted you.” I pulled off the other boot and wriggled those bare toes in turn. “And, you are quite clearly possessed of very great powers indeed, for you have been able to give us news of our relations, people you have never met or seen. This, I know, is unusual—”
    “Yes, Jak. Although I do not think I am fully recovered, I am able to do more in lupu than many Wizards of