Ross remembered his panic. If he had been able to do so, he would have bolted instantly, run for his life, consequences and appearances be damned. But he was settled back in his easy chair, encumbered by his book and various notepads, so there was no possibility of leaping up to escape. His staff lay on the floor beside him, but he didn’t bother to reach for it. He knew, without having ever been given any real proof of it, that trying to use the staff’s magic against O’olish Amaneh, even in self-defense, would be a big mistake.

“What do you want?” he asked instead, fighting to keep his voice steady.

O’olish Amaneh stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. He was wearing a heavy winter parka, which he unzipped and removed. Underneath, he wore fatigue pants and combat boots, a checked flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a fisherman’s vest with mesh pockets. A wide leather belt with a silver buckle bound his waist, metal bracelets encircled his wrists, and a beaded cord held back his long, black hair. His blunt features were wind-burnt and raw with the cold, and his dark eyes were flat and empty as they fixed on Ross.

He crossed his arms over his massive chest with the parka folded between them, but made no move to come closer. “You are making a mistake,” he rumbled.

Ross put aside the book and notepads and straightened slightly. “Did the Lady send you?”

“What did I tell you, John Ross, about trying to cast off the staff?”

“You told me not to. Ever.”

“Did you not believe me?”

“I believed you.”

“Did you fail to realize that when I told you not to cast off the staff, I meant spiritually as well as physically?”

Ross’s mouth and throat went dry. This was the Lady’s response to his attempt to return the staff at the Fairy Glen. This was her answer to his abdication of his responsibilities as a Knight of the Word. She had sent O’olish Amaneh to discipline him. He still remembered the Indian delivering the staff to him fifteen years earlier, forcing him to take it against his will. He remembered the pain when he had touched the staff for the first time and the magic had bound them as one, joining them irrevocably and forever. He was terrified then. And now.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

O’olish Amaneh studied him expressionlessly. “What should I do?”

Ross took a deep breath. “Take back the staff. Return it to the Lady.”

The Indian shook his head. “I cannot do that. It is not permitted. Not while you remain a Knight of the Word.”

Ross leaned forward in the chair and pushed himself to his feet. Whatever was going to happen, he wanted to be standing for it. He reached for the staff and used it to lean upon as he faced the big man. “I am no longer a Knight of the Word. I quit. I tried to tell the Lady, but she wouldn’t speak to me. Maybe you can tell her. I just can’t do it anymore. The truth is, I don’t want to do it.”