"I have taught you to fly," he said. "But you are as yet clumsy. It takes practice to do it well. When you can do it well, we can fly outside. Now come down, carefully."

She changed her motions, then her knees bent and she almost lost her balance. She recovered, and stood normally, her bosom heaving. "I am down!"

"The lesson is over," he said. "Do not attempt to fly again tonight. Fix this experience in your memory. When I snap my fingers you will be free of my power."

He waited a moment, then snapped his fingers.

Her attitude changed. She looked warily at him. "You enchanted me!" she exclaimed.

"I enchanted you," he agreed.

"But I flew!"

"You did, and you did not. It is a matter of perspective. I made you seem to fly, but later I can make you fly in reality. This is an aspect of my power."

She looked about the room. "It was so real! But I didn't really fly?"

"You had a vision of flying. It would not have been safe for you really to fly at this time. You aren't dressed for it."

She glanced down at herself, and quickly pulled in her arms, covering the flaws in her dress. "Why did you do this to me?"

"To show you the kind of power I have, taught me by my father, the Sorcerer. I appeal now to your logic: if I can make you believe you are flying, do you understand I could make you believe that you must undress and do whatever I ask of you?"

She considered. "Yes," she whispered, awed.

"Can you now believe that what I am telling you is true? That I value your person, and want your love, not your enchantment?"

"Almost," she whispered.

"That I will teach you these things I know, that you may join me in the practice of this kind of magic, for the good of the village?"

"Almost."

He saw that it wasn't enough. If she had this doubt immediately after the experience, that doubt would grow when she went home. His effort of persuasion had not been sufficient.

He had only one more thing to try. It seemed the weakest of his devices, but it was all that remained. If it failed, then he would have to admit defeat.

"I will sing to you," he said. "Then you may go, your father's debt acquitted. But here-I promised you a coin, in token of the employment I offer you. In token of all I ask of you. Take it, and return to me if you will." He fetched the tiny copper coin from his pocket and gave it to her.

"You are letting me go, without-?"

"After my song." Then he breathed deeply, twice, and sang. He composed the words extemporaneously, and the melody; it was a thing he had always had a talent for. That was part of what the Sorcerer had discovered in him.