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"Glad to be of service," I wheezed once I got my breath back. "Do you have any bronze?"

"Couple pieces." He grinned, and I knew it was coming before he got it out: "Course, bronze costs more."

I ended up with a sword and a dagger. I really wanted a shield, but I remembered one campaign—one of the old-fashioned ones that we'd played with dice and graph paper and miniatures—where I'd had to leave behind treasure. Shelton, as dungeon master, had gotten real picky and pointed out that I could only be credited with what he figured I could reasonably fit into my pockets, a fraction of what I was due. So now instead of a shield I got a large sack, and a length of rope, which I figured was something that could always come in handy, and a water skin, since Feordin had mentioned a desert.

Walking back to the Rasmussem, I started to worry about Mom. She was a reader of high-fantasy adventure stories, not a gamer. She'd been interested in what was going on, those times the group had met at our house, and had liked to listen to the campaign scenarios. She'd never been able to figure out the dice, though, and had certainly never asked to play. I wondered if she'd have asked to join us this time if Dad hadn't been gone all week on a business trip. What if, I thought, lovebirds Robin and Marian hadn't split up, despite their different classifications, and had left her on her own? What if we had to go out looking for her?

No such luck. She was already there;
everyone
was already there. Waiting. For me.

"What happened?" Brynhild demanded. "We were about to send out a rescue party."

I tried to ignore her and kept my back to Mom so she wouldn't see my face go red.

"Harek, do you have any money left?" Marian asked. "We pooled our resources and bought some food supplies, but we'd like to take what's left and get a pack animal to carry all this stuff."

This wasn't a half bad idea. I only wished somebody else had come up with it. Dawn Marie was just too bossy for me to take to her suggestions easily. I handed over my last gold piece and we all trooped out of the Rasmussem. I worked hard to make sure there was somebody between me and Mom at all times.

There was only one public stable in this town, and only one animal within our means. This was a shaggy, swaybacked thing who, we were told, answered to the name Phoenix. Even at three gold pieces, we were getting gypped.

There were ten other horses—nice respectable-looking horses—and I gazed at them longingly.

"Excuse me," Mom said. "Excuse me. Stablemaster person?"

The owner of the stable was this big, hairy guy who looked like he ate people's moms for breakfast. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.

"You see," Mom explained chipperly, "we're on an expedition to rescue the king's daughter. So, really, it'd be nice if you could give us some sort of discount for humanitarian reasons." She gave him her brightest smile. "Don't you think?"

Her enthusiasm had already begun to wilt under his scowl when finally—finally—he said, very slowly, very distinctly: "Tough. Luck. Lady. If it's the king's business you're on, then you'll be expecting a reward. If there's a reward involved, you can afford to pay me fifteen gold pieces."

While Marian and Cornelius tried to convince him that we didn't have fifteen gold pieces, I noticed that Mom was trying to get my attention. Not another brainstorm, I prayed. I pretended I didn't notice.

"Psst," Mom called in a loud whisper, "Harek."

Feordin poked me in the ribs with the handle of his mace. No way I could pretend I hadn't noticed that. Reluctantly, I faced her.

She was giving me these meaningful glances, looking from me to the doorway. Meaningful, I could tell. Meaning
what,
I couldn't.

"What is it, Felice?" Thea asked, pulling her over closer so that we formed a tight huddle, me, Mom, Thea, and Feordin.

"Any reason," Mom whispered, "we can't steal that horse? Any reason we can't steal all eleven horses?"

Crouched behind the stable, after the stableowner had thrown us out, we discussed Mom's plan.

"Well," Mom said, "what immediately comes to my mind is a diversion." She looked to Robin, the other thief. "Is that too common?"

"Not at all," Robin said. "Cornelius? Abbot Simon? Is it too early for a magic spell?"

"No," they said simultaneously—no clue there as to who was real and who was computer generated. The computer would have given us nonplayer characters to complement the rankings we had declared at the outset, and Shelton would have given himself at least a dozen spells to use. This was perhaps the main reason why he'd worked so hard to crack Rasmussem's program: his dissatisfaction over the rule that says first-time participants are to be admitted at beginner level, working upward from session to session, regardless of previous experience with other versions of the game. Shelton had been playing for five years to achieve his standing and he wasn't willing to work his way through the ranks a second time.

The rest of us aren't as devoted to the game as Shelton is, but all the same, considering what Rasmussem charges per session, it
is
exasperating to have to start without experience points. Warriors, thieves, magic-users: we all have to gradually build up our skills, and the game is kind of boring when you're just starting out. That's why we made Mom a full-fledged thief instead of an apprentice, even though she'd never played the game in any form before.

"I think," Cornelius said, "some sort of illusion would do nicely."

I started to rack my brains, determined to prove my worth in something.

"The king himself, come to requisition the horses?" Feordin suggested.

Cornelius considered, then shook his head. "Too risky. These people are likely to refuse him."

"Duplicate horses?" Robin said. "We could switch them for the real thing."

"Too time-consuming."

Suddenly it came to me. Proud of myself I said, "Pay them in fake gold."

"Too dull."

Well, thank you very much.

"Some natural disaster?" Mom suggested. "Like a storm, or flood, or earthquake?"

Cornelius stroked his long white beard.

Suddenly there was a sparkle in Mom's eye. "Or a dragon?"

Cornelius grinned. Everybody grinned. Nocona patted Mom on the back.

"Dragons aren't a natural disaster," I grumbled.

"They are around here," Brynhild snapped.

Wasn't anybody on my side?

Cornelius scanned the sky, then pointed out a small fluffy cloud near the horizon. He rolled his sleeves back. "
Suki choolu,
" he said, or some such. "
Ollafranix propus.
" He wiggled his fingers and got bug-eyed.

The cloud drifted closer, which made it look bigger, and now I could see that it wasn't as white as I had originally thought. Cornelius was more interesting, with his face all red and sweaty, looking like he was about to burst a blood vessel or something.

"
Churlindoe, hermandix, fie
z." And so on, and so on.

I stifled a yawn and checked to see how the rest of the group was reacting. They were staring at the sky, enthralled. I took another look and saw that the cloud had taken on the color of a burned-out lightbulb. Thunder rumbled. Wind tugged at our clothes and hair. And the shape kept changing. Too fast for wind currents, it seemed to throb, reminding me of the film we'd seen in science class of a beating heart. Lumps formed, and lumps on top of lumps. Then curves, and angles, too precise for something as insubstantial as a cloud. The color darkened noticeably even as I watched.

Townspeople stopped whatever they'd been doing and were looking upward in dismay. The thing definitely looked like a dragon silhouette now, and was almost directly overhead. Lightning flashed in the vicinity of the creature's head. Simultaneously, thunder cracked, loud enough to make me jump. I blinked, to get the jagged image of the lightning out of my eyes. But part of it remained: a chip of unnatural brightness where the dragon's eye would be. People on the street started to back away. Those still in their homes began to slam their doors shut, to latch their windows.

And then the cloud began to rotate. From a side view to head-on it moved, with its lightning-chip eyes too bright, too horrible to look at. It opened its huge mouth, displaying gleaming teeth and—it took a moment for me to register it—a blood-red tongue. It gave a cry, its voice the roar of thunder, and it swooped down on the town.

People scattered, screaming.

Even knowing what it was, I was tempted to do the same.

Cornelius's dragon breathed out fire. Buildings burst into flame—the Rasmussem Inn, the stalls of the arms merchants, a cloth seller's shop. The stable.

People ran back and forth, unable to decide which was more dangerous, indoors or out. The wind caused by the beating of the dragon's wings stirred up the dust of the street till our stinging eyes ran with tears. The smell of the dragon's sulfur breath tingled in my nose and throat. And the fires blazed unchecked.

Behind us there was a particularly bloodcurdling scream. The door to the burning stable banged open. The stableowner lurched out, flames running like liquid over his body. I could feel the heat of him, could smell the charred flesh.

Mom grabbed Cornelius's arm, breaking his concentration. "Are you sure this is just illusion?" she demanded in a voice of horror, as the human torch ran down the street, and the townspeople fled from him.

"Of course," Cornelius said. "Look. Nothing is actually being consumed by the fire."

For once I didn't mind my mother's intervention; I had needed the reassurance too.

Cornelius raised his arms again, but the spell had been interrupted and couldn't be resumed. What he had created would run its natural course, but he couldn't add anything.

I was unable to drag my gaze away as the walls of one of the shops seemed to collapse, scattering glowing embers halfway across the street. I could taste ash on my tongue. Cornelius certainly knew his stuff.

"Harek.
Harek.
" It was Thea, dragging on my arm. The others were all heading inside the burning stable, which appeared close to collapse itself. It couldn't hurt us. Even if we seemed to catch fire, the effect would go away when the spell faded.

Which suddenly made me wonder. "Cornelius," I called, running to catch up. "How long does this spell last?"

He shrugged.

Wonderful.

These townspeople were going to be awfully mad when they realized what we'd done.

The horses, unfortunately, were just as fooled as everybody else. They whinnied and reared in terror as tongues of flame flickered across the straw and up the supporting timbers. Even Phoenix, the drooping, swaybacked mare we'd almost bought, kicked at her stall, which was more energy than I'd have thought she had.

Each of us picked one of the ten other horses. Enough tack for all of them was hanging on the walls, but since I was the last one in, I had to take the saddle that appeared to be on fire.

"Steady, steady," I murmured to my chestnut-colored horse as he tried to circle in the narrow stall. I knew what to do, but it wasn't easy. Fastening the bridle first, I looped the reins around one of the timbers to hold him fast. He couldn't turn his head, but I could see his white-rimmed eyes trying to catch glimpses of me from the sides. "Steady." If those hooves came down on me, or if he bit me, the computer stimulating my brain would cause me to feel pain.

I checked to see how the others were doing. Better than me, but not by much. The only exception was Nocona. Being Indian, he didn't have to bother with a saddle, and he seemed to have a natural way with the horses. Not only had he gotten his horse bridled already, but now he was preparing Phoenix so we could use her for carrying packs. Even as I watched, he wrapped the lead rope around her stall's gate and looked us over to see who he should help.

Me, me,
I thought, but I wasn't going to ask, and he went to my mom.

"You all right?" I heard him ask.

"Just getting a headache from all this smoke," Mom answered.

I jerked my hand back in time to avoid my horse's teeth. "Stupid horse," I muttered. "Can't you feel it's not burning you?" In fact, the flames seemed to be fading, not quite so intense as before. "Spell's going," I warned the others.

But instead of being thankful for the information, Robin said, "Come on, Harek. How come you're always last?"

I gave the cinch belt one final tug, then looked up. Glaring. Daring Marian to pipe in with agreement. She didn't.

Mom did. "Ready, Ar—Harek?"

I backed the horse out of the stall and swung up onto him. Conditioning was with me: the action felt natural and easy. I dug my heels into the chestnut horse's sides, and he was so high-strung we practically flew out of the stable, despite the semblance of fire by the door.

The others were right behind me.

Outside, Cornelius's dragon still swooped and incinerated. None of the townsfolk seemed to have noticed yet that there was a patch on the creature's tail where you could see through to the sky beyond.

Our horses' hooves thudded against the packed dirt of the street as we headed west. Away from the fire. Out of the town. Toward Sannatia.

As soon as we passed the last buildings of the town, we were surrounded by tall trees. They pressed thick against each other, overhanging the narrow path on which we rode. Roots and creepers snaked across the way, forcing us to slow the horses' pace. In places, two or three of us could ride abreast. Mostly we went single file.

We rode in silence, each of us glancing back frequently to see if we were being pursued and scanning forward for any new danger. We could hear all sorts of small skitterings, and once a dark shape hurtled itself into the underbrush as we rounded a curve, but so far the biggest danger seemed to be the path itself, and the likelihood that one of the horses would trip and injure itself or its rider.

After a while the final traces of Cornelius's imitation fire disappeared from my horse's saddle. The dragon and the fires it had set in the town must have disintegrated by now also. There were going to be an awful lot of people mad at us. But, so far at least, nobody was following.