Falcons of Narabedla

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

Behind me the door suddenly opened and I was flung backward, sprawling, into the room within. "Well, Mike," the old tired voice of Rhys said, "Gamine is a fool, but you are no better. Yes, I knew you were coming, I knew Adric is going, I know where Narayan is and I know what they plan to do. There is only one person who can stop all this, Mike Kenscott. You."

Gaping stupidly, I picked myself up from the floor. The old Dreamer, his wrinkled face serene under the peaked hood, watched me placidly. "What—how—" I stammered.

"Gamine is a prescient. And I am not a complete fool." Rhys smiled wearily. The dreamy look of the very old or the very young was on his face. "I cannot help you; but I will make Gamine help."

The spell-singer came into the room, and I could almost see resentment through that strange halo of nothingness. "Gamine," Rhys said. "It is time. You, and Narayan, must go with him to the Dreamer's Keep."

"No—" Gamine whispered in protest, "Narayan—cannot go! His—his—talisman was destroyed! Only outside the tower—he cannot go in!"

"There is still—mine. Give it to him." At Gamine's cry of dismay, Rhys' voice was suddenly a whip-lash. "Give it to him, Gamine! I still have power to—compel that! What does it matter what happens to me? I am old; it is Narayan's turn; your turn."

"I'll—keep it for Narayan—" Gamine faltered.

"No!" Rhys spoke sharply. "While you keep it—and I am bound to you—there is still the bondage. Give it to him!"

Gamine sobbed harshly. From the silken veils she drew forth a small jewelled thing; wrapped in insulating silk like Evarin's mirror. She untwisted the silk. It was a tiny sword; not a dagger, but a perfectly modelled sword, a Toy. Evarin's too; but different. I recalled that Evarin had called himself Toymaker. Gamine clung to it, the robed shoulders bent.

"Mike must take it," Rhys' voice was gentler. "If you keep it, I am still bound to you. If Adric had it, it would bind Narayan again. If Mike keeps it—near Narayan—Narayan is free. Free to go where he will, even in the Dreamer's Keep. Give it to him, Gamine." Rhys sat down, wearily, as if the effort of speech had tired him past bearing. I stood and listened with a rebellious patience; I was eager to be gone. But my eyes were on the little jewelled Toy in Gamine's hands. It winked blue. It shimmered. It pulsed with a curious heartbeat, hypnotic. Rhys watched, too, his tired face intent and almost eager. "Gamine; if Adric had seen you, had remembered—"