The creature died in a series of wild capers, maniac throes that took it dancing around the square.

Ulan Dhor, panting, fighting nausea, looked down to the wide-eyed woman. She was rising weakly to her feet. He reached an arm to steady her, noticing that she was slim and young, with blonde hair hanging loosely to the level of her jaw. She had a pleasant, pretty face, thought Ulan Dhor—candid, clear-eyed, innocent.

She appeared not to notice him, but stood half-turned away, wrapping herself in her gray cloak. Ulan Dhor began to fear that the shock had affected her mind. He moved forward and peered into her face.

"Are you well? Did the beast harm you?"

Surprise came over her face, almost as if Ulan Dhor were another Gaun. Her gaze brushed his green cloak, quickly moved back to his face, his black hair. "Who ... are you?" she whispered. "A stranger," said Ulan Dhor, "and much puzzled by the ways of Ampridatvir." He looked around for the fishermen; they were nowhere in sight.

"A stranger?" the girl asked. "But Cazdal's Tract tells us that the Gauns have destroyed all men but the Grays of Ampridatvir."

"Cazdal is as incorrect as Pansiu," remarked Ulan Dhor. 'There are still many men in the world."

"I must believe," said the girl. "You speak, you exist— so much is clear."

Ulan Dhor noticed that she kept her eyes averted from the green cloak. It stank of fish; without further ado he cast it aside.

Her glance went to his red coat. "A Raider .. ."

"No, no, no!" exclaimed Ulan Dhor. "In truth, I find this talk of color tiresome. I am Ulan Dhor of Kaiin, nephew to Prince Kandive the Golden, and my mission is to seek the tablets of Rogol Domedonfors."

The girl smiled wanly. "Thus do the Raiders, and thus they dress in red, and then every man's hand is turned against them, for when they are in red, who knows whether they be Grays or ..."

"Or what?"

She appeared confused, as if this facet to the question had not occurred to her. "Ghosts? Demons? There are strange manifestations in Ampridatvir."

"Beyond argument," agreed Ulan Dhor. He glanced across, the square.

"If you wish, I will guard you to your home; and perhaps there will be a corner where I may sleep tonight."

She said, "I owe you my life, and I will help you as best I can. But I dare not take you to my hall," Her eyes drifted down his body as far as his green trousers and veered away. "There would be confusion and unending explanations..."

Ulan Dhor said obliquely, "You have a mate, then?"

She glanced at him swiftly—a strange coquetry, strange flirtation there in the shadows of ancient Ampridatvir, the girl in the coarse gray cloak, her head tilted sideways and the yellow hair falling clear to her shoulder; Ulan Dhor elegant, darkly aquiline, in full command of his soul.

"No," she said. "There have been none, so far." A slight sound disturbed her; she jerked, looked fearfully across the square.