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the central plaza. He shaded his eyes and looked up.
    “You are most welcome, whoever you are!” he called up. “We are but a small village and poor. We have nothing for aragorn to plunder or for slave-masters to covet, for all our strong young men and beautiful girls are gone in the plague.”
    Reterhan was still totally absorbed in his concern for his tail, but his comrade stifled a little gust of merriment at his Notor’s words.
    I felt the chill of despair.
    Vangar ti Valkanium leaned over the quarterdeck rail and bellowed.
    “We wish you no harm, old man. The plague, you say?”
    “The dropping sickness and the purple buboes. It is a visitation from Chezra-gon-Kranak for our sins, though we know not how we have offended the Great Ones.”
    I’ll give this evil Kataki lord his due; he made a convincing liar.
    “We will come and assist you, old man,” yelled down Vangar. “We have medicines—”
    I was on tenterhooks.
    The Notor waved his tail, all innocent and naked as it was.
    “I thank you, Notor, but we are few and the sickness passes.”
    Some further conception came to me then of the way these Kataki aragorn operated. The Notor could see the crowded decks and the glitter of weapons, he could see the varters ranked along the broadsides, all fully manned. He could not fail to understand that this flier and these men were a most formidable opposition. All surprise had been lost. A shower of crossbow bolts now would do little damage, and then the varters would loose and the return arrows would come in . . .
    To give him his due, he preferred to go around terrorizing the villages and taking plunder and slaves without trouble. Much though the Katakis liked a fight, they would not fight if the odds were against them. There was no profit in tangling with this powerful adversary — or so I read his thoughts.
    “You’re sure you do not require assistance?”
    That was Seg Segutorio, leaning over the rail, his black hair brilliant in the suns-glow.
    “We do not, Notor.”
    An incredibly tall figure with waist-length yellow hair stood beside Seg. Inch lifted his battle-ax.
    “You have food? Wine? Can we not help you, old man?”
    “I thank you, Notor. But we have what little we need.”
    And then Delia stood on the quarterdeck. I could stare up and see her, there, above my head, leaning over the rail, radiant, glorious in her beauty, the true princess of an island empire, and yet, as I well knew, so softly firm and tender and filled with love for me and for our twins.
    “Have you seen a man washed up from the sea?” She called down. “A man—” She paused then, and whether it was sob or laugh I did not know. “A strange man with brown hair and brown eyes, with shoulders that — with broad shoulders — a man of power, a man with an aura. Have you seen such a man — who would be very violent, I am afraid, if you or anyone tried to maltreat him.”
    “Is this man a Hyr-notor, my lady?”
    “Oh, yes, and a great villain besides. He is my husband and I search the Shrouded Sea for him—”
    “I have seen no man as you describe, my lady.”
    I was writhing in my chains and trying to break the iron links, trying to roll out into the open, trying — oh, trying to send my passionate thoughts winging from my mind into the mind of my beloved as she stood above me, looking down, her lovely face troubled and darkly shadowed by her grief — her grief for me!
    Reterhan had assured himself his tail was still attached to him. He stood up in the shadow of the huts and the trees, and he strutted toward me, holding his tail in his left hand.
    So close! So near at hand were my friends, just a tiny distance away! That just one of them might see me! I rolled and clashed my chains and Reterhan stood over me, his greave-clad legs wide-spread. He took out his thraxter. If I was to die now, then in what a fashion I was to go! This was no way that my Anglo-Saxon forebears would relish as dying well. I rolled onto my back and