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spring.
    â€œTurjan,” he said, “you are lost. Before you may utter a syllable, I will open the floor and drop you a great dark distance. Can your charms avail against this?”
    Turjan halted in mid-motion, fixed his eyes upon Kandive’s red and gold face. Then he dropped his eyes sheepishly. “Ah, Kandive,” he fretted, “you have outwitted me. If I return you the amulet, may I go free?”
    â€œToss the amulet at my feet,” said Kandive, gloating. “Also Laccodel’s Rune. Then I shall decide what mercy to grant you.”
    â€œEven the Rune?” Turjan asked, forcing a piteous note to his voice.
    â€œOr your life.”
    Turjan reached into his pouch and grasped the crystal Pandelume had given him. He pulled it forth and held it against the pommel of his sword.
    â€œHo, Kandive,” he said, “I have discerned your trick. You merely wish to frighten me into surrender. I defy you!”
    Kandive shrugged. “Die then.” He pushed the spring. The floor jerked open, and Turjan disappeared into the gulf. But when Kandive raced below to claim Turjan’s body, he found no trace, and he spent the rest of the night in temper, brooding over wine.

    Turjan found himself in the circular room of Pandelume’s manse. Embelyon’s many-colored lights streamed through the sky-windows upon his shoulder — sapphire blue, the yellow of marigolds, blood red. There was silence through the house. Turjan moved away from the rune in the floor, glancing uneasily to the door, fearful lest Pandelume, unaware of his presence, enter the room.
    â€œPandelume!” he called. “I have returned!”
    There was no response. Deep quiet held the house. Turjan wished he were in the open air where the odor of sorcery was less strong. He looked at the doors; one led to the entrance hall, the other he knew not where. The door on the right hand must lead outside; he laid his hand on the latch to pull it open. But he paused. Suppose he were mistaken, and Pandelume’s form were revealed? Would it be wiser to wait here?
    A solution occurred to him. His back to the door, he swung it open.
    â€œPandelume!” he called.
    A soft intermittent sound came to his ears from behind, and he seemed to hear a labored breath. Suddenly frightened, Turjan stepped back into the circular room and closed the door.
    He resigned himself to patience and sat on the floor.
    A gasping cry came from the next room. Turjan leapt to his feet.
    â€œTurjan? You are there?”
    â€œYes; I have returned with the amulet.”
    â€œDo this quickly,” panted the voice. “Guarding your sight, hang the amulet over your neck and enter.”
    Turjan, spurred by the urgency of the voice, closed his eyes and arranged the amulet on his chest. He groped to the door and flung it wide.
    Silence of a shocked intensity held an instant; then came an appalling screech, so wild and demoniac that Turjan’s brain sang. Mighty pinions buffeted the air, there was a hiss and the scrape of metal. Then, amidst muffled roaring, an icy wind bit Turjan’s face. Another hiss — and all was quiet.
    â€œMy gratitude is yours,” said the calm voice of Pandelume. “Few times have I experienced such dire stress, and without your aid might not have repulsed that creature of hell.”
    A hand lifted the amulet from Turjan’s neck. After a moment of silence Pandelume’s voice sounded again from a distance.
    â€œYou may open your eyes.”
    Turjan did so. He was in Pandelume’s workroom; amidst much else, he saw vats like his own.
    â€œI will not thank you,” said Pandelume. “But in order that a fitting symmetry be maintained, I perform a service for a service. I will not only guide your hands as you work among the vats, but also will I teach you other matters of value.”
    In this fashion did Turjan enter his apprenticeship to Pandelume. Day and far into the