    




    I
    the throne stood upon was built of sandlewood
    
    4
    
    Ilya could smell it fil
              A
    
     Behind the throne was a huge tapestry, but it was not woven 0 wool
    or linen, not even silk; it was made of millions of glass beads woven into
    a fabric. It depicted a snake devouring a bird, and if the sublect had been
    more pleasant, the tapestry would have been gorgeous. As it was, the
    thing was stunning, in the way the light played on it and through it. The
    snake was a huge cobra, bright green, with the double-loop design on its
    
    hood in scarlet. The bird it was eating was yellow and red, and the back-
    ground was a brilliant blue. The snake was outlined in gold, the bird in
    black, and each scale of the snake had been picked out carefully in dif.
    ferent colors of green, each feather on the bird in varied yellows and reds
    
     There was no sign of the Katschei today; he didn't often come to his
    throne-room unless he had business with someone he wished to lmpres~,
    and when he did that, he always summoned his captive maidens. llY9,
    had heard about this from the young women themselves. These sessioni
    always began with a demand for them to dance and play for him, an(
    
    ended with a scene in which he humbled their spirits and they pledge(
    to obey him in all things. He could have dominated their spirits b
    magic, but be seemed to enjoy doing this without the use of magic. 11)
    sometimes wondered whv he bothered having a throne-roo at all I
    
     Thus tar, Ilya had seen the throne-room, the outside ot the Katsche
    private rooms, the armory, the barracks, and the hall where the monst(
    all ate their meals. He was rather surprised to learn that there was a ro(
    where the monsters also were supposed to bathe-not that all of thi
    did, or even most of them, but they were supposed to. He didn't use t]
    room himself-, he confined himself to cold baths in one of the gard
    pools. He wouldn't risk the chance that one of them might come in ~
    
     He had also seen many of the gardens; and again it was strange,
    the Katschei had all manner of gardens, and he allegedly set great s
    by them, but he seldom used them himself. There was the kitcl
    ,Qarden, of course, and two herb-gardens, one for the kitchen and om
    
    the Katschei's purposes alone Ilva had considered aoing there one n

    




    jD
    
    ts
    k-
    in
    if-
    Is.
    
    S's
    
    [ya
    ms
    nd
    'ed
    b y
    Jya
    be
    
    .ei's
    ters
    7
    1,ern
    that
    len-
    and
    
    :, for
    ;tore
    ben-
    [e for
    iigbt
    
    F I R E B I R D    257
    
    and wreaking as much havoc as be could, but be doubted that such an
    action would have much effect on the Katscbel's activities. There were
    many kinds of pleasure-garden; the maidens'garden, of course, was one
    of those. There was also a garden laid out like a tiny piece of wilderness,
    complete with artificial ruins; there was one laid out in geometric pat-
    terns. There was a water-garden, which featured linked water-lily-filled
    pools of fish, and fountains, waterfalls, and babbling streams, all com-
    pletely artificially created and maintained. There was a rock-gardcn, and
    a garden of trees shaped into animals and cones, birds and cubes, and
    linked balls. He still had not seen all the gardens-he hadn't yet found
    the garden of statues, nor the one that held the oak trce and the dragon
    guarding it.
     And the Katschei never left the palace to walk in any of his gardens,
    unless he did so when there was no one present to see him.
     Ilya could not fathom this man. He took pleasure in nothing, so far
    as Ilya could tell. So why did he have all these things? Was it purely for
    the power of owning them? But where was the point in that, if you didn't
    enjoy them?
     If he were the master here, he would spend every waking moment en-
    joying all the pleasures to be bad here. He would be eating fine food, sit-
    ting in his marvelous throne-room, walking in his gardens with one of
    his lovely maidens at his side-
     And that was another thing. The Katschei had twelve of the most lus-
    cious women in all of Rus living right under his roof, and yet he did noth-
    ing with them! Oh, no-that was not quite true. He had them dance for
    "bim, and he humiliated them, and presumably these actions reinforced
    bis sense of power over them. But he probably could have had all of them
    fawning over him, if he had bee ' n kind to them rather than cruel. What
    maiden could ever resist the combination of good (if sinister) looks, a
    little politeness and kindness, luxurious living, and unlimited wealth?
     Well, maybe Tatiana. But the rest had been going into arranged mar-
    riages , anyway-this could have been little different from going to a man
    their fathers had effectively bartered them to. So why didn't the Katschei
    exert himself to charm and win them, and then enjoy the fruits of that
    exertion?

    




    %5S    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    Is it because he has no heart? Is that the price of his invulnerabilitytqnd
    his immortality? To lose all pleasure in life, to be forced to an existence of
    cold chastity because there is no longer any desire? If so, the price was far
    more than Ilya would ever have been willing to pay.    I
     But perhaps his father would have found it an acceptable bargain, had
    it been offered to him.
     Ilya had learned one thing about the Katschei that the Firebird h
    not told him: The Katschei was said, by his servants and guards, at least,
    to be immortal.
     And in an elaboration on what the Firebird had told him, Ilya bad
    heard, as he eavesdropped unobserved on some of the more intellectu-
    ally gifted of the servants, that the Katschei did not bleed if cut or
    stabbed and that he would live "as long as he cared to." So there was no
    point in getting him into a fight, cutting him up, and trying to get him
    to bleed to death; it wouldn't happen. He also didn't seem to be affected
    much by pain. The demons, however, did bleed, feel pain, and die. The
    Katschei had killed several out of pure pique since Ilya had been here,
    and had punished many more. So perhaps they weren't demons after all,
    and were merely monsters.
     All of which merely pointed to the fact that it would be foolish and
    probably futile to try and attack the Katschei physically. The monsters
    stood between him and attack, and any attack that got as far as the
    Katschel himself would do absolutely nothing.
     Ilya stifled a yawn and looked up at the ceiling, trying to identify the
    subjects of the paintings there. At a guess, they were scenes from ancient
    myths, such as the old Greeks and Romans had believed in. Father
    Mikail had a book about them once, but he hadn't let Ilya look at it too
    often, for he considered the subjects distasteful for any real Christian,
    since they often concerned gods and goddesses. He bad reluctantly (and
    after much persuasion) allowed Ilya to peruse it, as he wanted Ilya to ex-
    ercise his Greek and there were few books in Greek available to them
    Ilya had then made an injudicious, if innocent, comment about bow 0
    it was that the classical Hippocrates and St. Hippocrates were virtua
    identical except for the little detail of who they worshiped and sw
    by- and the book had been sent back to its donOL

    




    11
    
    F I R E R I R 0    259
    
     Ilya rather enjoyed the paintings, and would have liked to see them
    closer-especially the paintings of the women, who were not what his
    stepmother would describe as "modestly dressed." He wondered how
    they were supposed to stay warm, dressed that way. Perhaps the climate
    in Greece, like that of the Turks, was warmer than Rus's.
     There was no way to judge the passage of time in this room, but it
    seemed as if he had been standing there forever when the next group of
    monsters came to relieve them. The group Ilya was with moved out
    smartly as far as the doors to the throne-room-huge carved and gilded
    things so large it took two creatures to open one of them. But once they
    got past the door, their smart formation fell to pieces, and they turned
    into a mob, most heading toward their dinner. But Ilya had managed to
    hide a fair amount of food in "his" room, in part by filching it from the
    garden, in part by biding it in his clothing at dinner, and he had beard
    that tonight's meal was to be a stew featuring insects. So be lagged be-
    bind the others until they outdistanced him, and when they were far
    enough ahead of him that they wouldn't notice his departure, he sepa-
    rated himself from the pack and headed for the kitchen-court.
     Now that he was not with the others, be walked briskly, as if he was
    on an errand. As long as he did that, it was less likely that anyone would
    stop him, for these monsters walked briskly only when they were on an
    errand. If they were wandering about on their own, they shambled and
    shuffled, taking as much time to get from one place to the next as pos-
    sible, and generally looking guilty about it.
     It wasn't quite sunset. The kitchen-court was full of activity when he
    got there, so he simply walked straight over to the corner nearest his
    door-but not directly in front of it-and grounded his makeshift pike,
    standing at rigid attention. No one stopped to ask him what he had been
    sent to guard; no one stopped to ask him anything at all. It made no sense
    by human standards-who would have sent a guard to stand at atten-
      n in a kitchen-court?-but it didn't have to.
      The moment that the court was quiet, he slipped into his hideaway.
    As soon as the door was closed tightly behind him, he groped for the shelf
    'he bad built just inside the door, and found the candle-end be had put
     there; a little farther along was a fire-starter. This was a small cast-iron
    
    I

    




    260    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    pot with a vented lid with a coal in it; he was able to get a fresh one cvr.N
    morning from the kitchen when they swept out the ovens. He'd gotten
    the fire-starter pot by stealing it from a table in one of the halls; perha
    elsewhere it was used for incense, but it worked just fine as a fire-start
    lie uncovered the coal, which glowed at him like a baleful red eye, a,,'
    blew on it, applying the wick of the candle to it at the same time.
     The wick caught, and he set his light in the puddle of wax by the door
    and pulled off his headgear and nose, which were the least comfortable
    pieces of his disguise.
     He had tried to use the Firebird's feather as a light, but it hard
    glowed at all in here, and eventually he just kept it in his shirt, where
    would at least be safe. It was a distinct relief to be in his room at last'; al-
    though the most dangerous moments for him were when he was not with
    a group of lesser monsters engaged in some task, he was always nervo
    when he was out. At any point, one of the lieutenants could spot h
    and then his masquerade would be over. If he was lucky, he could still
    play the Fool and the Katschei might find his costume amusing. If he
    was not lucky, the lieutenant would simply assume he was another in-
    truder, and he would be in the soup.
     Literally.
     He rummaged about in the storage-chest he'd repaired and came up
    with bread, cheese, a turnip, and onions. That was enough for dinner,
    and be could replenish the bread and cheese by staying up tonight until
    the Kitchen Monster and its staff had gone to bed and raiding the
    kitchen for leftovers. Or he could hide more in his clothing the next time
    he went with the others to eat.
     Eating with the monsters always made him nervous, though, and h
    didn't like to do it too often, only when he hadn't been able to restock
    his supplies as well as he liked. He wished he dared raid the orchards as
    well as the kitchen-garden; he hadn't had anything sweet for so long that
                                              e
    
    his teeth ached when he thought of an apple or a pear.
     The fruit was strictly reserved for the Master, though what he did'Aith
    all of it was a mystery. No single man could eat the bushels of fruit that
    the orchards produced every day. Each piece of fruit was counted and
    had to be accounted for, however, and the Kitchen Monster's special task

    




    F I R E B I R D    261
    
    was to take the fruit and produce elaborate dishes and preserves for the
    Master's table.
     Maybe the fruit serves as tribute to whatever gave him his power in the
    first place. Or maybe it goes as bait to catching creatures like the Firebird.
     Ilya ate his dinner slowly and thoughtfully, while he decided what his
    direction tonight would be. He had spied on Tatiana and the others at
    least every other night, although they had no idea that he was watching.
    He wondered what she had thought when he had suddenly turned into
    the Fool before her very eyes. Had she thought be was mad? Or had she
    realized that it was part of a plot?
     He wished he could tell her that he was not only still alive, but was
    still working to free her and the others, but he knew he didn't dare. The
    Katscbei probably bad them all under his control so thoroughly that they
    would be forced to tell him anything they knew. They were certainly
    under compulsion to delay any rescuers who got as far as the maidens'
    garden and maidens' tower, and to take the weapons if they could. That
    much was common knowledge among the monsters; Ilya had not yet
    found out just where the weapons were kept. He also hadn't gone back
    for his pack yet-perhaps that ought to be his task for tonight. There
    were a great many things he could use right now in that pack, including
    a change of clothing.
     So once it was dark, that was what he did; stealing regretfully past the
    lighted walls of the maidens' garden, and moving on into the orchards,
    with his pike clutched at the correct angle as if he were one of the reg-
    ular guards.
     He told himself not to count on the pack still being there; be hadn't
    done a particularly skillful job of concealing it, and by now the monsters
    might very well have uncovered it, particularly if the patch of sod he'd
    transplanted to cover it had refused to grow. But as he came to the first
    walls of the maze and began to walk along them, be saw to his relief that
    the patch of sod, while still visible as a patch, did not appear to be dis-
    turbed. Although it was fully dark at this point, the castle itself provided
    enough reflected light for him to see clearly.
     With a quick look around to be sure that no one was near, he dug up
    the sod and found his pack still waiting beneath. It was a little damp,
    
    ~~i

    




    262    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    but only on the outside. After some quick consideration of how he 04t
    to proceed, he decided to carry it openly, just as if it was something he'd
    been sent for.
     He was actually within sight of his shelter when the possibility he had
    most been dreading came to pass.
     "You there!" snapped a harsh voice, as he turned into the kitchen-
    court. "What are you doing? Where are you going with that?"
     He stopped dead in his tracks, and turned slowly. Behind him was one
    of the Katschei's lieutenants, an odd, purple-skinned creature, talland
    curiously attenuated, as if someone had taken a normal man and
    stretched his limbs and body. The creature wore a one-piece black gar-
    ment that clung to its limbs and covered it from neck to ankle. Its head,
    a round, fur-covered ball, with tiny, shiny, round black eyes-eyes like a
    pair of black beads-and a stubby snout of a nose was crowned mith
    huge, flaring, pointed ears, exactly like a bat's.
     "What is that?" the creature asked sharply.
     Ilya cringed, but did not move any nearer. The creature peered at him,
    squinting, as if it was shortsighted. His only hope was that it was, and
    that it would not penetrate his disguise. "Rags, sir-m'lord," he mumbled,
    his voice trembling. "Cleaning rags."
     The creature wrinkled its nose fastidiously, and its ears quivered as l1Na
    shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Rags? And where are vou
    going -with thcm?"
     "Yon storeroom, sir-m'lord," Ilya replied. Fortunately, he didn't have
    to hide his trembling, for he wasn't certain he could have. The crcaturc
    had only to see him clearly and demand that he open the pack, and it
    would all bc over.
     It frowned and peered at him more closely, taking a
    
    I
    
                                     few steps neare
    as Ilya's heart nearly stopped. "I don't remember seeing your type be-
    fore. . . ." the creature began.
    
     Ilya shuffled a few steps backward and decided to take a cha d-
    "Please, sir-m'lord," he pled desperately. "I got to go. I got to put the'
    up. I got to get back. They tol' me t' get back quick, sir-m'lord. I'm ]a
                                           ._~U=
    already-I won't get no supper if I don' get back quick. . . ."   ~- ,
                                           ;A
     Perhaps it was that last which convinced the creature to let him go.

    




    F I R E a I R D    263
    
    Certainly, if he'd been a hero in disguise, he wouldn't have been worried
    about food! The demon waved a hand at him. 'All right, off with you,"
    it said with contempt. 'And try to think a little less of your stomach and
    more of your duties."
     "Yessir!" He made his attempt at a bow as comical and awkward as
    possible. "Thankee, sir! Right away, sir!" He kept bobbing up and down
    until the creature lost interest completely, turned on its heel, and stalked
    around a corner. Only then did Ilya retreat to his biding place.
     Once he was safely back in hiding, he sank onto the bed and shook
    for a while. That was far too close. This isn't going to be as easy as
    thought.
     Finally, after his heart stopped pounding, he plundered his pack, con-
    cealing his belongings all over the room, just in case someone happened
    to come in while he was on duty somewhere and decided to poke around.
    His cloak and coat went into the pile of old bedding, his clothing he
    stuffed into a pillow that had long since lost every feather it had once
    been stuffed with. All his other belongings went into piles of rubbish,
    so that it was not immediately obvious that these things were not rub-
    bish.
     Everything, however, but his spare knives. Those he put on his belt,
    immediately, and felt much, much better. It was hard to believe that he
    had spent these several days in the company of monsters, for the most
    part completely unarmed, and had never once needed a weapon. His luck
    had been extraordinary. At least now if several of them cornered him,
    he'd have more than a stick to defend himself with.
     There should still be time to explore another garden and gather up
    some supplies from the kitchen-garden, now that he had things he
    needed. He wished he had a sword-but he'd have a hard time explain-
    ing his possession of one, so maybe he was better off this way.
     I'd better get the supplies first, though, he thought ruefully. There
    Wouldn't be anyone in the kitchen-garden at this hour-all the kitchen
    staff were working at full gallop, putting together the nightly feast for
    ~he Master. The Katschei hadn't had visitors since Ilya arrived, but his
    lieutenants, those creatures he entrusted with commanding his lesser
    minions, were entertained nightly.

    




    264    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
     The lieutenants, from all Ilya had been able to Judge, did not s4are
    the dining habits or tastes of the underlings. This bewildered the lesser
    monsters, whose table-manners were nonexistent, and who saw no need
    for such amenities as forks and napkins, and who used their knives more
    often to threaten one another over a choice "dainty" than to carve their
    food into bite-size portions. Nor did the lieutenants share the lesser crea-
    tures' preference for "edibles" that Ilya preferred not to contemplate.
    They ate what humans did, for the most part, though their food was a
    notch or so above that served at Tsar Ivan's table. The Katschel, of
    course, ate dishes of the kind Ilya used to daydream about, when be pic-
    tured himself as a sultan or in a favored position at the court of the Great
    Tsar, the Father of all Rus.
     Ilya took a pillow that he had emptied of feathers to use as a b4" and
    slipped into the kitchen-garden. He was always careful to take his thefts
    from the ends of rows which had already been picked that dayr 0 It
    wouldn't be obvious that someone was helping himself. There welev-
    eral sorts of vegetables that he hadn't been able to touch yet, and even
    night he pillaged the garden, he looked longingly at them. It wasn't hard
    to get weary of turnips and parsnips.
     He'd been hoping for three days that the Kitchen Monster would fi-
    nally get into the radishes so that he could take some, and today it bad
    happened. It was with great pleasure that he helped himself to a
    There were always turnips, and he took two, but toc,   bad
    begun harvesting a row of beets, and he got one of those as well. And
    they'd begun to pick the peas! He'd been lusting after those sweet peas
    for longer than he'd been watching the radishes. Carrots were still off-
    limits, and beans, rhubarb, and most of the greens, but he helped him-
    self to those longed-for peas. His supplies would be more varied now than
    they had been since he came here. He slipped back into his hiding-place
    with his bag bulging with produce, reflecting that now he was no better
    than the Firebird, pillaging where he did not belong.
     A heavy mist had begun to arise while he was in the garden,,:nl bv
    the time he got done storing all his plundered vegetables, it bad b come
    quite thick. This might have been the result of the difference betwe
    the summery weather in the Katschei's gardens and the winter weath

    




    F I R E B I R D    265
    
    outside the maze. But rather than deterring him, the presence of the
    mist encouraged him to go exploring; any patrols would not be able to
    see him. He was beginning to know and understand these monsters very
    well; in thick mist, they would huddle together in one spot on the
    grounds that if they went out in it, they might get lost. And indeed, they
    probably would. Their sense of direction wasn't bad; they simply didn'
    bave one.
     His goal tonight was the garden beyond the one with the sculpted
    frees. He checked the coal in his little iron pot, and found that it was
    still alive, blew out the candle, and ventured out into the The curious thing about the mist was the way it gathered up the light
               dispersed it, making it look as if there was more
               light without making it possible to actually see anything more. It turned
               the gardens into a milky sea, as if he were wandering about underwater.
               The mist thinned a bit as be reached the shaped trees, but the moment
               he got on the other side of the hedge dividing that garden from the next,
               it thickened again, quite without warning. He literally took a single
               breath and the mist closed in all around him.
     At that point be knew be had made a mistake in coming out into un-
     known territory. The mist shut him inside a tiny space that moved with
     him, and he couldn't see more than the length of his arm.
      He turned around and tried to make his way back to the tree-garden,
    -but even though he couldn't have been
    
                            more than a few dozen paces
    fiorn the hedge, he couldn't find it. He took three dozen steps-and
    I here was nothing. Three dozen more, and he still hadn't found it, and
    
    by now he should have run right into it. There was no shadow in the mist
    the hedge was, nothing at all but himself and the
    
       For a moment he panicked, his heart racing with fear; then he forced
       himself to calm down. It wouldn't do any good to start running around,
       'hoping he'd bump into the hedge; what he needed to do was to start a
       search in an ever-widening circle. Most people circled when they were
       lost, ir~,way.
        And it didn't matter. It wasn't as if he was lost in the forest. The only
        thing that would be out in the gardens tonight were the monster-guards,
    
    M
    A

    




    266    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    and he already knew that they would stick close to a few spots where t4efc
    was light and perhaps a fire. Even if he didn't find the hedge, by morning
    the sun would burn the mist away, he would make his way back to the
    kitchen, and he could go spend the day sleeping. He didn't have to stand,
    duty like the other monsters, and he already had enough food to keep,'
    him for the day. He didn't have a superior now to miss him, and
    didn't show up, no one would be curious about where he was.
     He began moving cautiously in a sunwise circle, or trying to, at least.
    The great danger was that he would encounter something out here that
    was smart enough to recognize that he wasn't one of the Katsebei s
    monsters. If that happened, he could only hope that he could kill it be-
    fore it raised an alarm.
     At just that moment, he bumped into something cold, hard, and
    human-shaped.
     With a stifled yell, he jumped back, his heart pounding, his throat'
    closed, ready to flee or fight. Without his making a conscious deei'slion
    to draw a weapon, the knife was already in his hand.
     Nothing happened. There was a dark shape in
    
                                   the mist where he
    thought the thing he had bumped into was. It didn't move, and neithcr
    did he. He strained his ears, but heard nothing but his own harsh
    breathing.
     He didn't even hear the unknown breathing, shifting its weight.
     What is this?
     He took a cautious step forward, then another, and finally came face-
    to-face with the other. He put out his hand and touched that face.
     And encountered a cool, smooth surface; not entirely like stone, but
    definitely not alive either. It was a human face, though, and as his fin-
    gers traced the features, they seemed to be constricted in a grimace.
     That's odd. All the other statues have either been completely grotesq
                                             U,
    or beautiful works of art.
     He felt farther down and encountered what might have been the fold
    of clothing, had they not been cool and hard. That was when he knm
    he had finally found one of the two gardens he'd been looking for. Eithe
    ta
    he had found the garden holding the men who'd been turned into s at
    ues, or the Katschei had an incredibly lifelike sculpture. Judging by th

    




    F I R E B I R D    267
    
    fact that every single detail of a warrior's garb was present in this statue,
    including a couple of places where leather armor had frayed and rough-
    ened due to wear, he rather doubted it was just a sculpture. He didn't
    think an artist would know of or want to reproduce that sort of detail.
     As he explored the form, he recalled belatedly that Tatiaria had told
    him these "statues" continued to experience everything that went on
    around them. What must this fellow think, being groped in the middle
    of the night by a complete stranger?
    
     "My apologies, friend," he murmured to it. "I wasn't taking liberties,
    I was just trying to figure out what you were. I beg your pardon for any
    embarrassment I've caused you. You ought to know that I'm hoping to
    be able to cure your condition by eliminating the cause, if you catch my
    meaning,
     He didn't dare get more specific, just in case the Katschei had the
    means of interrogating these petrified fellows.
     "Just try to believe," he added, "and wish me luck, if you'd be so kind."
    He bowed a little, and backed slowly away.
     In the time it had taken him to examine the statue, the mist had lifted
    considerably, and now he was able to make out more shapes in the gar-
    den. There were quite a few of them, and it made him wonder soberly
    ust how long the Katschei had been at his games. There was no way for
    the maidens to ludge the passage of time in a place where every season
    was like every other season, unless they kept track of the lengthening and
    shortening of the days-and he rather doubted that they paid a great
    deal of attention to such things. In their place, he wouldn't.
     He made his way carefully over to three of the other statues, and found
    That of the four be examined, three were typically warriors of his land,
    and one was clearly a Turk. So, it appeared that the Katschei had cast
    his nets widely, and had caught a diverse lot over the years.
     Could they speak with one another, locked as they were in shells of
     agic? Or were they forced to stand mute, even among themselves, while
    others came and went in their garden prison? He thought that such a
    fate would be likely to drive one mad-which was probably the Katschei's
    intention in the first place. Every time he thought he'd taken the mea-
    sqre of the Katschel's cruelty, he encountered something worse.

    




    293    MERCEDES LICKEV
    
     He left the fourth statue to itself, and decided not to examine any of
    the others; there was nothing to be gained, and a great deal to lose, if hp,~
    caused these imprisoned warriors any distress.
     He looked up at the sky, trying to judge by the moon if it was time for
    the kitchens to clear out. He guessed that it probably was, and the
    sooner he headed in that direction, the better: The exterior lighting of
    the palace would be going out soon.
     The mist settled again as he reached the water-garden, and the palace
    lights went out about the same time he got to the first of the pleasure-
    gardens. He reached the kitchen as the last of the weary pot-scrubbers
    scuttled off to whatever hole it slept in; he recognized it, a thing with
    the muzzle of a dog, the horns of a goat, and the tall of a donkey. He
    waited, but heard nothing stirring in the kitchen itself. He nudged the
    door open and slipped inside.
     There was bread on the table, hot and smelling like nothing thi's side
    of heaven, waiting for the morning. Tempting, tempting, but he knew
    better than to take any. It would be missed.
     Take nothing that will be missed....
     One such theft he might get away with, even two-tbe drudges would
    be accused, would deny they had done anything, and be punished any-
    way, since they would deny it whether they were guilty or innocent. But
    after a third incident, traps would be set, and he would be caught.
     Freeing Tatiana was a larger goal than filling his belly with hot bread.
    In this place of great greed, it was easy to become infected with even
    smaller greeds, but if he allowed them to tempt him, he doomed hilfl-
    self and his cause. He bad never quite understood the words of the Pa-
    ternoster so clearly before; to be afflicted with many small temptations
    daily, any one of which could be his downfall, was to understand just how
    powerful a "small" temptation could be.
     So he crept around the hot and deserted kitchen, making his way by
    the furtive light of the fireplaces, where great carcasses roasted for the
    morrow, turned by mechanical devices rather than dogs or small boys,
    as was the case in Ivan's palace. As the flames blazed and died, de-
    pending on whether an errant bit of fat escaped the dripping-pan and
    hit the hot coals, be took a half-loaf of bread here, a forgotten sliver of

    




    F I R E B I R D    269
    
    cheese there, and hovered for a moment, wondering if he dared trust the
    end of a bam that had been discarded with a few shreds of meat still on
    it. He wished he could see the entire leg-bone; was it pig or something
    else?
     His hunger for meat was great, but he decided to risk something else.
    By the time the carcasses on the spits were done, the thinner meat on
    the ends of the legs would be charred and useless. And now that he bad
    his knife, he could carefully pare away the hot meat and crackling skin
    while it was still good, and by the time the Kitchen Monster arrived in
    the morning, there would be no way to tell that anything had ever been
    taken. Two oxen, a deer, and a pig were turning above the flames, and
    Ilya carved careful bits off all four, his mouth watering at the savory
    arorna.
     He had just gotten himself and his booty into his hideaway, and was
    settling down to a feast, when a ground-sbaking crash just outside his
    door made him leap for the candle and snuff it out. It sounded as if some-
    one had used a battering-ram on the kitchen door. He waited, trembling
    in the darkness, for something to come pounding on his door to break
    it down; he had taken off his disguise in order to sleep, and he couldn't
    possibly get it on in the dark, since be didn't know where half the pieces
    were at the moment. With his nerves keyed up, he listened for some clue
    as to what was going to happen, but beard nothing but his own pound-
    ing heart.
     Finally, unable to bear the tension anymore, he slipped to the door
    and cracked it open.
     In the middle of the kitchen-court was a wagon. There were no horses
    nor oxen bitched to the singletree, and the wheels were broken off at the
    axle, as if it bad been dropped there. It was laden with all manner of bales
    and boxes, and there was no one whosoever in sight.
     He blinked, trying to figure out what, precisely, had Just happened out
    here. What-why- Now it was not the tension but his own curiosity that
    impelled Ilya out into the courtyard. He kept a watchful eye and ear on
    the rest of the court, ready to shoot back into hiding like a frightened
    mouse if he caught even a hint of anyone coming, and moved step by
    silent step to the wagon.

    




    270   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    1%
    
     It was heavily laden with boxes, barrels, bags-he peeked inside one
    of the bags, and saw with dumbfounded surprise that it held a hug!
    wheel of cheese. He looked in another and found hams. He poked at
    third, and decided it must hold dried beans.
     And now be recognized this wagon for what it was-a load of staples,
    going from the country into a large town, one too large to supply all its
    own needs from the fields and farms around it. His father sent their sur-
    pluses into one of the greater towns several times each year, especial
    in winter. So this was how the Katschei got his supplies! There were
    ways wagons that went missing, and it was usually supposed that rob-
    bers took them. Perhaps sometimes that was the case, but it seemed,
    sometimes, the robber worked by magic, while the horses were un-
    hitched and the drivers sleeping. A great many otbcrwise-puzzling lael's
    were explained-as far as Ilya had learned, there were no dairy cattle here
    and although there was butter and cheese in the Katschei's kitchens,
    there was never any milk or cream, sour or sweet, nor any sign of a dairy.
     So the Katschei is a thief, and I have been eating at the table of a thief.
    Somehow, oddly enough, that eased his own conscience about his thefts
    in the kitchen and garden. It seemed only just that the great thief should
    have his own possessions nibbled on by the little thief.
     He poked about in the wagon a little and found several more whole
    hams. This time, knowing that what had not been counted could not
    be missed, he made free with the smallest one, a parmikin of butter, a
    pot of honey, and with one of the smaller wheels of cheese. Now he need
    not scuttle about in the kitchen like a rat when the craving for some-
    thing besides vegetables came on him.
     He carried them away with a sense of triumph, and stowed them all
    in old barrels, which he hid in turn under broken furniture. And with
    the sense of having done a good night's work, he finished his belated dill-
    ner and went to sleep.
                                             4M
    1 LVA had been waiting and watching for the better part of the morn-
    ing now. "So, Ali, do you think it will be a fine day today?" the odd lit-
    tle demon who tended the gardens asked the statue of the Arab. The
                                             L~
    
    monster cocked his head as if he was listening for a moment, and nod-
    
                                              A
    
    I-'

    




    I
    
    F I R E 8 1 R D    271
    
    ded. "Yes, I think so too. I'll be certain to keep the pigeons from using
    you as a sunning-perch this afternoon, I promise. I'll leave a puppet to
    chase them off."
     The statues in the garden looked even stranger by day than they did
    by night, because they had been painted to look like living men. The
    painter was the monster in charge of the gardens, a rabbity little fellow
    with no fangs, only huge bucktceth and a harelip, a long, limp tail, and
    long, floppy cars like a bound's. In color be was a faded blue all over, and
    seemed to be covered with a short, soft fur. He wore nothing but a pair
    of breeches cut off at the knee. Ilya bad never seen him eat anything but
    vegetables, he never even killed so much as a pigeon, and the other
    demons despised him. He was lonely, poor fellow, and this was one mon-
    ster that Ilya could find a reason to pity. He had painted the statues to
    appear more lifelike so that he could talk to them, for no one else would
    talk to him.
     Ilya had been watching him for two days now, making up his mind if
    he was going to befriend the little fellow. If he was ever going to find the
    dragon, for instance, this monster would be the one to consult. This
    morning, af er spending part of last night watching his Tatiana sitting
    by herself and embroidering while the other maidens played at blind-
    man's bluff, he made up his mind that it was time to actually do some-
    thing, even if he wasn't quite sure what, yet,
     He strode through the gate in the hedges with a confident air-
    which, of course, caused the rabbit-monstcr to ignore him. In this little
    one's mind, anyone with a confident air could not possibly have anything
    to do with him.
     "Ho, friend," Ilya addressed him, startling him so that his floppy ears
    stood straight up for a moment. "I've been assigned to help you, they
    tell me. So, where do I start?"
     "You?" he squeaked. "You've been assigned to help me? But-but-
    you'rc a warrior-"
     "I've stomach troubles, friend," Ilya said, drooping a bit, as if it pained
    him to confess the weakness. "I'm no good for fighting anymore, and
    they won't keep a fellow around who isn't any use, if you take my

    




    272   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
     The demon shuddered, as if he knew better than Ilya what happen
    to monsters that were no longer useful.
     "To tell you the truth," Ilya continued, lowering his voice so that t
    rabbit-demon put his own head close to Ilya's and cocked up the ear(
    that side, "I never really could get to like fighting, killing, and may]
    that's why I got sick. Didn't have the stomach for it, eh?" He chuckle
    and after a puzzled moment, the rabbit-demon got the joke and chUG
    led too.
     "Well, if you've really been assigned to help me, the best place to sta
    would be with this garden," the little fellow said, but doubtfully, as if ~J
    really didn't believe anyone was going to help him and that this was a
    a I 'oke on the part of the other monsters.
     "Fine," Ilya replied heartily. "I've often wondered just how it is tha
    one stout fellow can tend all of the gardens and keep them in the kini
    of shape that pleases the Master. He's damned hard to please. I'm Ilya
    by the way."
     Now the small monster brightened. "Do you really think so? Thati,
    do a good 'ob, I mean? I'm Sergei.
     So these creatures have names just like the rest of us! How odd! I WOUIC
    have thought it would be Razzlefratz, or Gezornenplotz, or something.
    None of the other monsters had ever given him a name, and he hadn't
    volunteered his own until now, thinking that "Ilya" would not be suffi.
    ciently demonic.
     "Of course yqu do, and you know how you can tell? Nobody co
    plains, not ever." Ilya grinned at him and slapped him on the back, doing
    his best not to make little Sergel stagger. "Now, how do you manage this?"
     "Oh, I couldn't, if it wasn't for the puppets," Sergel said modestly, his
    face turning a slightly darker blue. "Look, I'll show you now, since youl
    be doing this too."
     He went to one of the box-benches and took out a strange little beast
    about the size of a rabbit. It had a bard carapace, like a beetle, pincers
    that looked like clippers, four pointed legs, and two tails. One was a
    pointed paddle, and the other a wicked-looking stiletto-tail.
     14 These are the puppets," Sergel explained as Ilya hunched down next
    to him. "There are sets of them in each of the gardens, and they won't
                                           :7

    




    F I R E B I R D    273
    
    go beyond the hedges. The Master made them, and every day you take
    them out and tell them what to do for the day. Today, for instance, in
    this garden the grass needs to be trimmed."
     Sergei held the puppet up to his face, and although Ilya couldn't see
    any ears, he got the eerie feeling that the creature was listening to the
    demon. "Now, puppet, today I want you to cut any blade of grass that is
    longer than my thumbnail," he said, slowly and carefully "Don't touch
    anything that isn't grass." He plucked a blade of grass. "This is grass,"
    he said, holding it up before the puppet. "This is my thumbnail," he con-
    tinued, doing the same thing with that digit.
     He put the puppet down in the grass, and it immediately set to work,
    trimming a path as wide as its pincers could reach, exactly the height of
    Sergei's thumbnail. Sergei looked up expectantly. "Now you try."
     141 have an idea," Ilya said. "What do you do about all the grass clip-
    pings?
     "We'll have to rake them up when the puppets are done," Sergel
    replied, his ears drooping. "The puppets aren't big enough to rake. It's
    a lot of work-"
     Ilya grinned and reached into the box-bencb, pulling out a puppet
    himself, He held it up to his face. "Today I want you to find all the pieces
    of grass that have been cut and chop them up into twenty smaller pieces
    with your clippers," be said. He held up a bit of cut grass. "This is what
    the pieces of grass you are to chop up look like. They aren't standing up
    like the others. Don't touch any of the grass that is standing up, only the
    loose pieces of grass."
     He put the puppet down in the path the other one bad cut, and sure
    enough, it followed along, slower than the first, chopping the grass clip-
    pings fine until they sifted down among the roots to form a nice mulch.
      He looked up expectantly at Sergel, who stared at the puppet, dumb-
 "founded, then looked at him. "How did you think of that?" he de-
     manded, his pinched little face aligbt. "How did you think of that?"
     Ilya shrugged, concealing his alarm. He had forgotten just how
     unimaginative these monsters were; had he just made himself conspic-
     uous? "I don't want to rake any more than you do," he replied. "Stands
     to reason, if you chop something up small enough, you don't have to

    




    274   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    worry about it. Bet we can do that with everything these things trim
    off, eh?"
     "Ilya, this is wonderful!" Sergei said, with unfeigned pleasure-the
    first real pleasure, other than in food, Ilya had seen one of these demons
    show. "This is absolutely wonderful! It will take them longer to do a job,
    because we'll have to use half clippers and half choppers, but we won't,,.
    have to do it!"
     "That was the idea," Ilya told him, with a broad wink. "Now, let's get
    the rest of these little fellows going, and then we can spend our hard-
    working time enjoying the sun and this garden." He looked around os-
    tentatiously. "I've never been here; you'll have to show it all to me."
     "Delighted!" little Sergel crowed. "Now, the puppets are all in the box-
    benches along this path; you go that way, and I'll go this. just set them
    down anywhere; they'll wander about until the whole lawn is done."
     Ilya followed Sergei's orders and was finished in a reasonably short pe-
    riod of time. The little bright green creatures scuttled about like so
    many giant beetles, making paths that meandered about the lawn, and
    avoiding the shrubbery, the flowerbeds, and the garden path. He watched
    them for a moment, then got to his feet and went the other way, look-
    ing for Sergei.
     He found the little monster,setting out the last of his puppets.
    "There!" Sergei said, getting to his feet. "Now we simply watch them
    and see that they don't get stuck in corners or something of the sort.
    Telling them how to get out of a corner is more than they can handle,
    so we have to keep track of them."
                                               A
     "What happens when they're finished working?" he asked. "When
                                               AM
    
    there's no more grass or clippings?"
     "They each come back to the bench they came out of, and we put
    them back in." Sergei cast a quick glance around the garden, checking
    on the progress of the puppets, and nodded, satisfied. "You said you've
    never been here?"
     "Never," Ilya told him. He stretched, as if enjoying the sunlight.
    "Never been out of the orchard. So, what is this place? It's certainly hand-
    some.
     "One of the Master's favorite gardens," Sergel said earnestly, vin

    




    F I R E R I U D    275
    
    his arms about to indicate the breadth of the place. "This is where he
    puts all of the warriors he turns into statues."
     Ilya contrived to look impressed. "Really? I didn't know that. Do you
    know who they are-I mean, were? That would be really interesting."
     "I know about all of them!" Sergei said proudly, raising himself as tall
    as he could. "When the Master brings the maidens here, I listen when
    he tells them, and I remember everything. I have a very good memory"
     Which is more than can be said of most of these monsters!
     "Why don't you give me a tour, then?" Ilya replied. "I've never even
    seen one of these statue-warriors, much less all of them at once."
     Sergei was only too happy to oblige, pointing with pride to All ibn
    Hussein, the Arab prince who had arrived with a contingent of fierce
    desert warriors; Vlktor Terenko, a powerful boyar who had done the
    san-ie. There were hunters who were known to have killed powerful bears
    and tigers, heroes who had fought in famous battles; there were boyars
    and a tsarevitch and even a sorcerer or two. All told, there were several
    dozen of these statues, but not all of them were what Sergei called "the
    special ones." These stood in their own little grouping, and there were
    twelve in all, but the twelfth was off in a corner, and Sergel pointedly
    ignored him. Ilya was extremely curious, however, and walked over to
    the statue, which was positioned so that its back was to them. That ar-
    rogant back seemed oddly familiar, somehow, though he couldn't quite
    place it.
     Ilya walked around to the front of the statue, and found to his shock
    that he was staring into the face of his brother Pletor, who had a sur-
    prised-not to say stupefied-expression.
     "Who's this?" he heard himself asking.
     "Oh, some nobody." Sergei dismissed Pletor with a shrug. "I painted
    him up so he'd match the others, but I don't really talk to him. He was
    wandering around in the maze for a while; he didn't even know about
    the maidens before he got here. But he found his way into the maidens'
    garden and challenged the Master to single combat, winner takes all, and
    the Master was bored enough that day to oblige him. And of course, since
    the Master had fought him, and he was a tsarevitch, or so he said, the
    Master felt obligated to put him with the others." Sergei snickered.
    
    ~ ~, ~, A~

    




    276   MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    "Lucky for him, otherwise he'd have ended up in the stew,
    horses did."
     I wonder how Pietor likes being called a "nobody"? He must be ready to
    burst with anger inside that stone shell of his. I'm surprised there isn't
    steam rising off him. I wonder if he recognizes me? Probably not. He can't
    be so stupid that he thinks I'm a monster, but I doubt he can see past this
    leather nose.
     "He certainly sounds stupid," Ilya remarked and walked away "I ve
    heard that these fellows can hear and see everything that goes on around
    them. Is that true?"
     "The Master says it is, and he should know." Sergel paused beside the
    handsome boyar and patted his knee fondly. "I like to talk to them, an ' N-
    way. And after I painted them up to look more lifelike, the Master
    thought it was funny, and it really gave the maidens a turn the first time
    they saw what I'd done. You should have heard them squeal!"
     Ilya examined the boyar again, and had to admit that Sergei had a tal-
    ent for this sort of thing. The statues did look lifelike; Sergel had an eye
    for detail, and there was nothing slipshod or garish about what he'd done
    except for the colors of the clothing, which were rather loud. The faces,
    hair, and hands were astonishingly lifelike.
     Ilya faked a laugh. "The maidens squeal a lot, and they do it for t
    stupidest reasons," he replied. "Can't imagine why these fellows would
    
    want to have anything to do with such a lot of flighty flitters."
     "Nor me." Sergei shook his head. "So, what else would you like to see?
    
    We have to walk around the garden now and again to make sure the pup-
    pets are all right, but otherwise all we have to do is stay here till they're
    finished."
     Ilya thought about asking more questions about the statues-for in-
    stance, could the Katschei's magic be broken?-but decided not to shm
    too much curiosity. "Do you have anything you like to do?" he replied.
    "Some game or other, maybe?"
     Sergei looked wistful. "I don't suppose ...
    naughts and crosses, do you?"
    
    I don't suppose you play
    
     Sergei seemed surprisingly intelligent for one of these monsters, but
    it was logical that the demonic equivalent for a challenging game like

    




    F I R E B I R D    277
    
    chess was the children's game of naughts and crosses. Ilya feigned en-
    thusiasm; what was the harm? Sergel might be the closest thing he had
    to a friend here. "Naughts and crosses! That's my favorite!"
     Little Sergel positively glowed, every short hair on end, he was so
    pleased. His ears perked up, and even his limp tail acquired some life.
    "How about a few rounds, then, while we wait?"
     Ilya had spent more tedious mornings, especially while be was play-
    ing the Fool, so it wasn't too bad. In fact, it was rather like entertaining
    a young child in such a way that he didn't realize he was being enter-
    tained. It got to be something of a challenge to make sure that Sergei
    won games, rather than having them all come out as draws. Ilya did his
    level best to make sure that when the last puppet chopped up the last
    bit of grass, Sergei was slightly ahead of both Ilya and the games that
    had ended in draws.
     That made Sergei very happy, as did the wedge of cheese he won from
    Ilya as a side-wager. "I never get cheese," he said sadly when Ilya had pro-
    posed the bet. "I don't much like meat, but I like cheese. I suppose I
    could bet you some turnips, though."
     "Turnips are fine," Ilya said, smacking his lips and rubbing his stom-
    ach. "Good for a fellow with tummy troubles, eh?"
     When the tallies were counted up, and Sergei found he'd won, he took
    the cheese with a mixture of glee and guilt. "I get cheese as often as you
    get turnips," Ilya assured him, which, after last night's theft, was certainly
    true. Sergel didn't even tuck the cheese away in a pocket after that; he
    devoured it on the spot, then they went to collect the puppets. The lawn
    was immaculate, with not a sign of scattered grass-clippings.
     "Now," Sergei said cheerfully, as they put away the last of the puppets
    in the garden. "We have to go set the puppets running in the vegetable
    gardens. That will take a bit more time-we have to set three on each
    row. One to weed, one to cultivate, and one to kill insects. That's what
    the stinger on the end is for, and they can really only get the large, slow
    ones, like caterpillars. We have to have the birds get the smaller ones."
      "They can't be set to do three things, then?" Ilya asked with interest.
     Scrgei shook his head. "Only one thing at a time, and only one thing
    I . 11 each day."

    




    278   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     Interesting.
     "I'll have to leave you there; there's one garden I have to go do
    self," Sergei continued. "I'm the only one it recognizes, and it'll kic
    an awful row if it sees anyone else."
    
     "It?" Ilya raised an eyebrow. "Just what are you talking about?"
     "Well, I'm not supposed to talk about this, but you are my assistant
     and all Sergel paused, and motioned to him to lean down so the
    little fellow could whisper in his car. "It's a dragon. The Master has a
    dragon chained to a tree in the next garden. It's guarding something, I
    suppose, or else it's a pet. Or maybe he does something else with it."
     'A dragon?" Ilya asked with interest. "Really? I've never seen a dragon.
    
    That d be worth a look at! I don t suppose there s any way you could get
    me a look, is there?
     "Well . . . " Sergel said, looking a little worried. "I don't suppose there'd
    be any harm in you looking in at the gate. The dragon's pretty short-
    sighted; it can't seem to see that far. It doesn't usually see me until I'm
    halfway down the path."
     "Then I'd like to have a look. Please?" Ilya urged. It was the "please"
    that did it; Sergei was so unused to being addressed politely that he sur-
    
    I               I        I
    
    rendered completely.
     He led Ilya to a thick wooden gate in a garden wall; Ilya look
    Sergel was unlocking the gate, and saw one tree that towered a
    rest over the top of the wall. Was there a chest in the topmost
    There was certainly something dark and vaguely rectangular in the shad-
    ows behind the leaves. Ilya didn't want to think about how tall that trcc
    really was. Half as tall as the palace, maybe. It would no~ be easy to get
    up there, assuming you could get past the dragon.
     Sergel got the door unlocked and opened it, motioning to Ilya to
    come up beside him. "You can look, but don't say anything," he said qui-
    etly. "It knows my voice, but it doesn't know yours, and if it starts a rm, '
    the Master will come out. He doesn't like having to come out for no rea-
    son, and he'll have both of us beaten."
     Having seen the Katschei's anger when Ilya played the
    
    Fool for him,
    there was no doubt in Ilya's mind that Sergei was being accurate and hon-

    




    Se ci's shoulder.
    
    F I R E B I R D    275
    
    est. And it was quite possible that the Katschel would know if Ilya pu
    a sinLle foot inside the forbidden garden. He nodded and necred ove
    
     There at the end of the lane was the trunk of an enormous tree. I
    was too far away to say if the tree was an oak or not but there was n
    reason to think that the Firebird had been wrong, and anyway, it didn't
    really matter what kind of tree it was, The trunk was so huge that Ilya
    auessed all twelve maidens could encircle the trunk with their arms out-
    
    stretched and bareiv have their hands touchina.
    
     There was something else encircling the trunk, and it wasn't maid-
    ens. It lay in coils, like a giant serpent, but no serpent was ever as color-
    ful as this one: red on the belly, shaded into purple along the sides
    which shaded in turn into blue on the back and the ridge of spines-
    metallic gold glinted at the edge of scales and the tips of the spines.
    There was a suggestion of wings lying in shadow along the back, like
    the dark blue shadows of storm-clouds. Ilya couldn't see a head, but
    he didn't need to. He'd never seen a dragon, no one he knew had, but
    if ever there was something he would immediately call a dragon, this
    
    was it.
    
     And it was huge, not like the bear-sized creatures he'd seen in draw-
    ings in Father Mikall's books. Not that they weren't formidable, with
    their armored bodies and huge fangs and claws-but this creature wasn't
    just formidable, it was impossible. When the Firebird had told him
    about the oak tree and the dragon, this was not the picture he'd had in
    
    mind.
    
     He retreated, and Sergel locked the gate after them both. "I'll come
    back here after I show you what to do in the vegetable garden," the lit-
    tle fellow said. "I'm really glad you're helping me, Ilya. I'll be done long
    
    before dark, and I used to have to work until moonrise to get everything
    
    done, even with all the puppets helping."
    
     How can you work around that creature?" Ilya replied without think-
    ing. "I'd be too afraid to move! I can't believe there's a chain in the world
    
    that could hold it If it wanted something!"
    
    Sergei laughed quite cheerfully and completely without fear. "It

    




    2so    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    doesn't pay any attention to me, that's how The Master took me to i
    and now it knows me, and I'm nothing more to it than one of the pup-
    pets. It would make short work of anything that came in here, though."
     Ilya shivered. "I can believe that. Well, let's see to the vegetables, eh?"
     His mind was still trying to grasp the size of his foe, and the size of
    the tree he was going to have to climb. Assuming he could get past the
    dragon, or kill it, how would he ever climb that tree? There weren't al ' iv
    limbs anywhere near the ground, at least not that he saw in those few
    moments.
     But climbing the tree would obviously be the least of
    
                                       his problems.
    That dragon was the size of a barn. Something like that would eat a lot,
    and he had no doubt that the Katschei kept it sharp, a little underfed,
    so it would be particularly keen to attack anything it didn't recognize.
     Could he poison it? What would poison a dragon, anyway?
     He and Sergei arrived at the vegetable garden with Sergei chattering
    away while he answered absently. Evidently Sergel didn't notice that he
    was preoccupied, possibly because the little fellow had been so used to
    talking to himself that he didn't notice the long silences.
     Here in the vegetable garden, the puppets were in small boxes at the
    end of each row of vegetables, and they were just like the ones in the
    first garden. Sergel sent the weeders out first, showing them the plants
    that were supposed to be in their row, and telling them to cut off even-
    thing that didn't look like that particular plant. Then he sent out the
    cultivators, which were to use the pointed paddle on their first tall to
    dig gently around the base of each vegetable. Then came the insect-
    killers, whose job was to kill the caterpillars, snails, and large beetles.
     These had to be watched more carefully than the grass-cutters; their
    taas were more complicated and they tended to get into trouble more
    often. Since the weeders were cutting off everything that didn't look like
    a particular plant, only one type of vegetable could be worked at a time,
    and the puppets that bad been used once for weeding could not be used
    on a different kind of vegetable. That meant that as soon as they were
    done with a row, the weedcrs had to be collected at once and put awaN. '
     Once Sergei was certain Ilya would be able to take care of the veg-

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    281
    
    etable garden, he went off to tend the dragon-garden, leaving Ilya alone.
    Monsters from the kitchen-staff came and went, giving him no more
    than a single, incurious glance. Even those who had seen him as the pot-
    scrubber didn't recognize him.
     Tending the puppets was tedious, but far less tedious than doing any
    of the weeding or cultivating by band would have been. Ilya let his mind
    work on the problem of the dragon while he added a little variety to his
    work by picking off bugs that were out of reach of the insect-killing pup-
    pets and dropping them in the puppets' paths. When Sergei returned
    to help, he saw what Ilya was doing and did the same.
     They finished the kitchen-garden in the late afternoon, helping them-
    selves to whatever vegetables they chose by way of a moving lunch.
    Sergel insisted that this was fine, that it was a privilege of his Job, and
    Ilya was not going to disagree with him when it allowed them both to
    14graze" at will. Certainly none of the other monsters stopped them or
    interfered with them. Ilya finally got some of those carrots he'd been cov-
    eting, and ate his fill of fresh peas.
     "I must go tend the maidens' garden now," Sergei said. 'And I know
    you will understand that it is something I must again do alone. The Mas-
    ter does not allow anyone in there except himself and his chosen servants.
    He doesn't want to frighten the maidens so much that they get sick and
     1 11
    
     "Of course," Ilya replied, although he was disappointed. How could
    he not have been? A chance to see Tatiana-but of course, she would
    recognize him, and by virtue of the spells of the Katschei, be forced to
    betray him, so perhaps it was just as well. He could always watch her over
    the wall tonight, now that he no longer had to hunt for the dragon. "Is
    there another lawn I could clip, perhaps?"
     "The water-garden; it won't take long, and that will be one we will not
    have to do tomorrow," Sergel replied immediately, and with gratitude.
    Ilya knew why. It wasn't likely that a real monster would have volunteered
    for extra work. "Then when you are finished, you might as well go
    straight to dinner. Don't wait for me; this will take me some time, and
    I seldom eat with the others, anyway."

    




    MMMMLLL
    
    2S2    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     Ilya nodded sympathetically; he had noticed that the few monstcrs
    who did not share the rather bizarre culinary tastes of the others tried
    to avoid eating with them as much as possible. This was not because thcN
    found the others' food distasteful to look at, but because the others tor-
    mented them about it. "I'll just get my bowl of mush and get off to bed,
    then," he responded cheerfully. "I'll see you in the morning!"
     "Don't bother to come too early," Sergei called after him. "We can't
    work until after the dew burns off; the puppets can't take the damp. 11
    
     Ilya nodded and waved, secretly relieved that be wasn't expected to
    get to work at dawn, and went off to the water-garden. Once again, the
    puppets were in a box-bench, and as there was precious little lawn in this
    garden, they were soon done. He got into his hideaway with no trouble,
    and settled down to a feast of bread and ham, cheese and honey. He eyed
    the wheel of cheese, decided that there was no way that he could finish
    it himself before it dried out, and decided to share it with Sergei from
    now on. Unlike the rest of the monsters, Sergel seemed capable of things
    like gratitude.
     Didn't Tatiana say that the Katschei had turned all the people in this
    palace into monsters? he thought to himself. I wonder if Sergel i's one of
    those? He's certainly the most likely.
     But if that was the- case, he obviously didn't remember being human,
    although perhaps that was in the Katschei's interest. The monsters
    wouldn't continue to serve him if they remembered what they had been.
    Perhaps that explained why they were so stupid as well; this was the
    Katschel's way of making sure that his victims wouldn't regain their
    memories. Or it was a side-effect of removing those memories.
     Well, that was all speculation, though it had been rather delightful
    to find Pictor staring at him in the guise of a statue. Given all of the mis-
    ery Pletor had caused him, it had been a moment of sweet revenge.
     But he wouldn't want even his brother to remain frozen in the form
    of a statue indefinitely. If Pictor had been here for as long as llvi
    thought-assuming he'd been caught by the Katschei a few days or
    weeks after he'd fled Ivan's palace and holdings-that was long enough.
    And how humiliating, to be thought a "nobody" by a little blue mon-
    ster who no one respected or regarded!

    




    F I R E B I R D    283
    
     What a sweet, sweet revenge it would be if I could kill the Katschei,
    marry Tatiana, and become the tsar of all this land, and free Pietor. He'd
    have to be grateful to me, and if he stayed here, he'd have to obey me. That
    would be marvelous.
     It would be marvelous if he could do it, and right now, that didn't look
    very likely.
     Well, how was he to dispose of the dragon? Getting into the garden
    would be easy: He could either climb the wall, or the next time that
    Sergei went inside, he could )am the lock. I could ask Sergel about the
    dragon and find out if it has any weaknesses at all. He had the depress-
    ing feeling, though, that there weren't any. Even if it was monumentally
    stupid, it didn't have to have anything other than relatively good eye-
    ~ight and a keen sense of smell and hearing to be able to protect that
    tree.
     I could poison it, if I could keep it from eating me and go for what I'd
    poisoned. That was worth looking into, if he could discover what would
    poison it, if the poison didn't make it sick so that it threw up its dinner
    before its dinner killed it, and if be could get enough poison into it to
    kill it in the first place. Anything that big would require a lot of poison.
     I could feed it something that would kill it, other than poison. Dogs
    often died from eating the brittle bones of cooked fowl; maybe the same
    thing would happen to the dragon. It couldn't be cooked fowl, though;
    it would have to be something like tiny bits of metal or broken glass. He'd
    have to find a way to hide it in pieces of food small enough that the
    dragon would bolt them whole.
     I could attack it. Yes, if he was monumentally stupid. That was not a
    good idea in the least. Unless, of course, be could discover a weakness
    in it.
     I could lure it to the end of its chain, then attack it. That had Promise,
    provided that its bellowing didn't bring the Katscbei.
     But of course, Sergel bad already said that it would start raising a row
    as soon as anything got halfway down the lane, and that the Katschel al-
     ys responded when it made noise. Naturally he does, and in person-
    I were he, I would too. That's his heart up that tree, the one vulnerability
    he has.
    
    ~ I!

    




    284    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
     He decided not to go look at Tatiana tonight. That would be adding
    too much torment atop everything else. No, the best thing to do would
    be to sleep on the problem. Maybe he'd have answers in the morning.
    
    H IS answer came, not that night, but several nights later, when his sleep
    was broken by the sound of another wagon crashing to the ground out-
    side his door. He made sure that no one was going to come unload Ann-
    mediately before slipping out to investigate.
     And that was where he found his answer, for the wagon was full of
    dressed fowl, frozen as hard as little boulders and stacked up like a pile
    of snowballs in their burlap bags. One of those would be a tempting
    morsel for a dragon-too tempting to resist, maybe?
     He filched one and ducked back into his room. just in time, too, for
    although the last wagon had been left till morning before anyone un-
    loaded it, a moment after he had closed his door, he heard the sounds
    of feet slapping the pavement and irritated muttering. Someone had
    roused workers to come take the contents to a safe place before thev
    thawed.
     His heart beat faster for a moment, when he cracked his door and
    pecked out, as he realized just how easily he could have been caught.
    He closed his door again and sat back down on his bed, wondering if
    stealing the bird had been worth the risk.
     There was no way he could stuff enough poison in that one chicken
    to kill a dragon. The only poisons he could get his hands on all grew in
    the gardens, and would require barrel-loads to kill something the size of
    that beast.
     But there had been his other thought: metal shavings and broken
    glass. His big problem with using those had been in trying to find a wav
    to stuff them into something without them falling out again. That
    wouldn't happen with a bird; he could fill the body-cavity and sew it shut,
    just as if he were going to cook it.
    
    for the dragon to reach it.
    
     As to how to get the dragon to take it-well, the best thing he could
    think of was to get into the garden, get as close as he could without arous-
    ing the creature, then toss the chicken at it and hope it got close enou 11

    




    F I R E B I R P    285
    
     He went back to sleep and spent the day as usual with Sergel, who
    was looking much more cheerful and content now that he had help and
    someone to talk to. Ilya kept thinking about the chicken thawing back
    in his room, hoping that it wasn't thawing so quickly that it would start
    to smell and possibly attract attention, and trying to plan how he would
    
    sling the stuffed bird at the dragon.
     When he and Sergei got done for the day, he gave the little fellow a
    huge wedge of cheese to go with his evening meal. Sergei was so grate-
    ful he hardly knew how to respond.
     Ilya had planned this carefully, however.
     "You'd better go and hide this somewhere, or take it where you won't
    be seen to eat it," be cautioned. "You know how the other fellows are: If
    ,they see it, they'll try and take it away from you."
     "Oh dear, you're right!" Sergei responded with alarm. "I'd better go-
    I know just the place! Oh, thank you again, friend Ilya!"
     He hurried off quickly. Ilya smiled to himself. He'd given Sergei such
    an enormous wedge, nearly a quarter of the wheel, that the little mon-
    ster would never be able to gobble it down in a hurry. That got Sergel
    out of the way for the afternoon and evening.
     He got in and out of his hiding place with the now-thawed chicken,
    though at such a busy time of the afternoon it wasn't easy. The chicken
    was beginning to get ripe, but not so much that it had made an odor in
     s room, just enough so that it would not be amusing to handle. Still,
    That might make it attractive to the dragon. He headed straight for the
    trash-beap; if there was anywhere in the palace that he'd find what he
    needed, it would be there.
     He couldn't find any metal bits, but he did locate broken crockery
    (perhaps the very pieces be himself bad broken in the kitchen) and
    some broken glass. He hoped that those would do, and he added any-
    thing he found that looked hazardous, just on general principle. He
    soon discovered that stuffing a chicken with broken bits of glass, which
    are quite likely to cut the handler, was not an easy task. He was concen-
    trating so hard on it that he didn't notice that he wasn't alone until a
    shadow fell on him.
      And by then, of course, it was too late.

    




    286    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
 I LVA lay facedown at a pair of all-too-familiar boots, and blubbered.
     'And he was a-stuffin' this rotten chicken with trash, Master," the
     monster that caught him reported. "So I thought I'd better haul hini
     to YOU."
     It had been Ilya's misfortune to be caught by one of the Katscbel's
    more intelligent lieutenants, one with unimpaired vision, who was able
    to see through his disguise. Without a word, the monster had grabbed
    him by the collar and hauled him in front of the Katschei himself.
     Ilya heard a great sigh of exasperation, and one of the boots moved
    to toe him in the side.
     "I suppose it's too much to ask you what you thought you were doing?"
    the Katschel asked in pained tones.
     "Ev-ev-everybody else was stuffing chickens!" Ilya wailed. "I wanted
    to stuff a chicken too! All I w-wanted w-was to s-stuff a chicken, and th
    w-wouldn't g-g-give me one!"
     "Cook says he threw the idiot out because he broke everything be
    touched," the lieutenant continued. "Then he disappeared."
     "Disappeared." The Katschei groaned. "To most of those cretins, if
    he draped a cloth over himself he'd disappear. Why is it so hard to get
    intelligence out of them?"
     The lieutenant prudently didn't answer, and the Katschei didn't wait
    to hear one, anyway. Once again, the boot-toe prodded Ilya in the sidc.
    "Just what were you doing with that ridiculous bat and that nose?"
     Ilya wailed even louder, drool running out of the corner of his mouth
    and mucus from his nose. "I-I-I wa-wa-wanted to 1-1-look 1-1-like every-
    b-b-body else!" he howled. "I wa-wa-wanted to b-b-be I-like everyb-b-
    body else! I w-wanted t-to s-stuff a chicken!"
     "I hate to say this, Master, but he's telling the truth," the lieutenant
    said.
     Of course he was; just in case either the Katschei or his underling
    as good at ferreting out lies as Mother Galina had been, he was strlctlv
    telling the truth. Everybody in the kitchen was stuffing chickens toda~,
    and he had wanted to stuff a chIcken-his way. And of course he wanted
    to look like all the monsters!

    




     "He's too dangerous to keep, too worthless to make into a statue-
    and as I said before, I'd be afraid to feed him to the troops, or they might
    
    F I R E R I R D    287
    
    become more stupid than they are now," the Katschel said in disgust.
     "if you kill him, they'll find him and eat him anyway, no matter what
    you do with the body," the lieutenant warned.
     The Katscbei groaned. "What a waste of magical power! Well, never
    mind. It can't be helped; it would take more to burn him to ash, and I
    don't dare leave the burning to the staff-they'll just decide to cook and
    eat him instead. I want him out of here before he really does some
    damage."
     Oh, Holy Virgin-help me now! be prayed desperately, as he lay curled
    up in a ball with his eyes tightly shut.
     "Begone," said the Katschei.
     There was a moment of vertigo-then Ilya gasped and his eyes flew
    open as cold struck him like a physical blow.
     He was outside the maze, lying in the snow, while more snow fell out
    of a dark gray sky like a thick curtain of white.

    




    114 E-
    
    ILVA HAD on nothing more than his shirt and breeches and the
    boots he'd been wearing; no coat, no cloak, no hat. He didn't even have
    the rags he'd stuffed in his shirt to make a hump; he'd stopped wearing
    the hump when he started working in the gardens. It was already horri-
    bly cold; an old proverb said that Father Winter killed more foreign in-
    vaders than all the armies of Rus combined. The sun was going down
    and it was going to get colder in a moment. He was going to freeze to
    death before be ever got to the part of the maze where winter turned to
    warmer weather.
     Assuming be could remember how to get that far in the first place.
    He couldn't count on a friendly nightingale coming to help him twice,
    and right now he could hardly remember his own name, he was so
    cold....
     Already he was shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering so hard
    he was afraid they might start chipping. And he wasn't anywhere near
    the entrance to the maze, either. He was going to have to find the en-
    trance first, before he could even try to get to the warmer part.
     Shock gave way to panic, and his mind went numb. He couldn't think
    of anything except that he was going to die.
     He was going to die. He was going to die out here in the snow, and
    the Katschei didn't even think he was important enough to turn into a
    statue. He wasn't going to die because the Katschei recognized him as
    an enemy, he was going to die because the Katschei thought he was,an
    
    %S8

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    289
    
    idiot, and too dangerous to be around his imbeciles because he might
    get them into trouble.
     Get up. Get out of the snow, Ilya. Your father couldn't break you, your
    brothers couldn't break you, and you made more headway against the
    Katschei than anyone else so far. Don't give up now!
     He got to his feet, pulled his collar up around his ears, and wrapped
    his arms tightly around his chest. If he was going to die, he wasn't going
    to do so lying down in the snow in despair. But the wind picked up, grow-
    ing stronger as the sun went down. He shoved his way through snow that
    had drifted up to his waist, hoping the exertion would get him warm
    enough to survive.
     You have to keep moving in a situation like this. You can't stop moving;
    if you do, you'll drop, and if you drop, you'll die.
     If only there was some sort of shelter! But he couldn't see anything
    for the snow, and he was afraid to get away from the wall of the maze or
    he'd lose it. As he stumbled through the drifts, though, be did start to
    feel a sensation of warmth, right at about the level of his heart.
     Maybe I'm warming myself up a little. Maybe if I can run, I can keep
    myself warm. Encouraged, he tried harder, hoping to find the entrance
    of the maze before the last of the light faded, hoping to spread that ten-
    tative warmth farther. The warmth under his crossed arms increased, but
    it didn't seem to spread much past his chest. In fact, it was all concen-
    trated in a single spot, exactly as if he had a warmer with a live coal in
    it tucked into his shirt right there.
     Was it all an illusion? He wanted to stop and check inside his shirt to
    see if there was something he'd forgotten.
     The Firebird's feather? Maybe-and if ever there was a time to use it,
    that time was now! But with the wind howling around him, if he pulled
    it out, it would be snatched right out of his hands! No, I can't stop now,
    I have to find the entrance of the maze. Whatever is going on, it just might
    keep me alive long enough to save myself The bit of warmth was just
    enough to keep him going, just enough to keep him from giving up, and
    enough to help keep him from getting so cold that no amount of
    power could prevent him from sinking down into the snow.
      The maze wall made an abrupt right-angle turn and continued on.

    




    290    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    He followed it, but now he was fighting his way into the wind. He could
    hardly feel his feet; he kept his hands tucked into his armpits or he kne~k
    he would risk losing fingers to frostbite. The wind drove snow into his
    face; his exposed skin burned, and he would have given just about an~-
    thing for a rag to wrap around his head to protect his cars. His high col-
    lar didn't seem to be doing any good.
     The light failed then, and suddenly there was nothing around him but
    blowing snow. He stopped where he was, unable to see where he was
    going, unable even to see the wall. Any step he took might be a step in
    the wrong direction. He was completely lost, and the wind wasn't help-
    ing give him any direction, for it seemed to be blowing around him, com-
    ing from all directions at once.
     This is it. I haven't a chance.
     "Hey, boy!" The barked voice came out of the dark, and something
    small, furry, and warm brushed up against his leg. "You want to get into
    the maze, I bet! Follow me, I can get you there!"
     He looked down, and he could barely see the dark shape of a fox
    against the white of the snow. A slim muzzle lifted in his direction as
    the fox looked up at him. "I'll stay with you, just follow where I lead you."
     The fox moved off, and be stumbled after her. She took great care not
    to get more than a step ahead of. him, so that he could always see her
    vague shape against
    
                the snow He would never know how long it took to
    find the entrance to the maze, because everything blurred into a fight
    against the wind and the cold, but eventually she whisked off to his right,
    and he followed, to find that he had blundered into a place hemmed in
    by walls on both sides, windless and calm. He was in the maze! The snow
    fell straight down here, and without the wind, it almost seemed warm.
     The first thing he did was take his hands out of his armpits and clap
    them over his ears. They burned as fiercely as if he'd dipped them in a
    fire, but he gritted his teeth and endured the pain until his ears and his
    hands were the same general temperature-cold, but not frozen.
     "Hey, boy, did you know your chest is glowing?" the fox asked with some
    interest.
     He looked down at his chest, and there was a faint patch of glowing
    light visible through the fabric of his shirt, about where the spot of

    




    F I R E B I R D    291
    
    warmth was. He reached into his shirt and brought out the Firebird's
    feather. He'd kept it with him at all times, waking or sleeping; keeping
    it had become such a habit he'd actually forgotten about it until now.
    Then again, it had stopped glowing once he was inside the Katschei's
    palace and gardens, and he'd wondered if the Katschei's magic had over-
    powered the Firebird's.
     Once it was in the open, it redoubled its light, until it was as bright
    as a good lantern. Holding it over his head, Ilya found that he could see
    for some distance. He had not dared to have real hope before; it had only
    been determination that kept him on his feet. Now, for the first time
    since he found himself outside the maze, he began to hope that he
    would survive.
     "Now it's your turn, boy," the vixen told him. "I don't know my way
    around in here."
     "Don't worry, I do," he replied, and holding the feather up, he led the
    way into the maze.
     Even though it wasn't in his shirt anymore, it did cast a faint warmth
    over him, wherever the light from it fell. It wasn't enough to make him
    comfortable or even close, but it did keep him from freezing; exactly like
    wearing a very light cloak.
     He followed the pattern the Firebird had taught him for navigating
    the maze, repeating it over and over: take the first right, then skip one
    and take the second, skip two and take the third, skip five and take the
    sixth, skip eleven and take the twelfth, then start over again. The falling
    snow thinned, then stopped altogether. Gradually, the snow-cover grew
    lighter: from knee-deep to calf-deep, from calf-deep to ankle-deep, then
    finally to a thin covering that barely showed the impressions of his soles.
    He started trotting the moment the snow got down to ankle-deep, and
    this time the exertion did warm him. The feather streamed back from
    his hand like a torch-flame. The snow-cover seemed to stay as a thin layer
    for a long time, but eventually it vanished, leaving him with only grass
    beneath his feet.
     He paused then, for just a moment. The fox looked up at him ex-
    pectantly, but a little puzzled, as if she was curious about why he had

    




    292    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     The truth was that he was wondering if he ought to wave the feather
    now. The Firebird was afraid of the Katschei, and had told him more than
    once that she was no match for that powerful sorcerer, and he wasn't at
    all certain that he had the right to ask her to help, or that she would agree
    to help him. But there was no doubt in his mind that he needed her; it
    this point, unless she would help him, he couldn't think of any way he
    could defeat the dragon and kill the Katschei.
     For that matter, he didn't know if he could do it with her help, but at
    the moment he couldn't think of any way he could succeed on his own.
     He also wasn't certain if he should go farther in and wait or stay herc
    and wait. He decided to compromise: He would wave the feather but
    keep going. Being a flying creature, she should have no trouble spotting
    her own feather as a glowing spot in the dark maze, even through a snow-
    storm, and there was no point in wasting time waiting for her that he
    could be using to get closer to his goal.
     Once, twice, three times he waved the feather over his head. The light
    from it flared for a moment, then resumed its steady glow. Satisfied that
    something had happened, he continued on into the maze.
     At some point be stopped shivering, and farther on he actually began
    to feel warm again. When that happened, he suddenly wanted to sit
    down; he was absolutely exhausted. It came on him all at once, and he
    stumbled and nearly fell; he knew if he had fallen, he would not have
    been able to get to his feet again.
     "Fox!" be called out. "I have to rest. I'm about to collapse."
     "I could use a chance to breathe, myself " the fox replied, swishing her
    bushy tail. "Just pick the spot, you're the leader in here."
     He waited until be was about to begin the turn sequence again so that
    be would remember where he'd left off, then stumbled into one of the
    dead-ends. He went all the way to the end, the fox still trotting beside
    him, and eased himself down onto the turf at the end of the passage.
    He stuck the end of the feather into the turf so that it stood upright,,
    like a candle.
     "I don't suppose you have anything to eat, do you, boy?" the fox asked
    without hope.
     But as a matter of fact, he did. He'd taken to keeping a meal

    




    F I R E B I R D    293
    
    and cheese with him at all times, wrapped in a clean rag, since he never
    knew how long be might be kept away from his hiding-place. He still had
    that packet on him, for the Katschei's lieutenant had not even given him
    a cursory search, had not even taken his knife. Why bother, when the
    Katschei couldn't be killed, anyway?
     He pulled the slightly squashed packet out of the breast of his tunic
    and shared the generous chunk of cheese with the fox. The cheese was
    fine; the bread was a flattened pancake, but it still tasted good. The food
    made him feel better, and the fox looked distinctly more cheerful when
    she'd eaten. She didn't bolt her portion as he thought she might; she
    nibbled at it daintily, enjoying every crumb.
     They had both just finished their portions when the Firebird ap-
    peared, flying just above the top of the maze, her blazing feathers
    dimmed so that she showed as hardly more than a ghost of herself. Ev-
    idently, she didn't want to draw too much attention to herself this close
    to the Katschel's palace. She dipped down into the maze itself when she
    saw them, skimming the ground exactly like a swallow chasing insects,
    until she reached them. Then she swooped up a little, and dropped
    down beside them with scarcely enough breeze from her wings to stir
    Ilya's hair.
     She glowed brighter for a moment; stretched and grew to human-
    height even as he got to his own feet. A moment later, with a motion of
    her wings as if she were tossing back the sides of an enveloping cloak,
    she transformed herself into her maiden-form.
     She stood before him in a gown of golden feathers, with a cloak
    shaped like a pair of folded wings lying softly on her shoulders. She was
    not, to his eyes, as heartbreakingly beautiful as his Tatiana, but she was
    lovely, more beautiful than anyone but Tatiana. Her hair, the color of
    golden embers, flowed loosely along her shoulders, and was confined by
    a band of gold with a single stone exactly like one of her blue eyes set at
    the front. Her sharp little face with cheekbones like sculptured arches
    looked up at him wisely. Her thin lips smiled, but not as if she was
    amused at his predicament; rather, her smile was a little sad, as if she
    found him in a place where she had hoped he would not come.
     "Ilya Ivanovitch, you called me, and I have come as I promised. You

    




    294    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    have been in the Katschei's home, I see," she said without preamble.
    'And having got that far, I suspect you have fallen in love with one of his
    maidens."
     How did she know that? he thought with astonishment, but he cer-
    tainly could not deny it. "I have lost my heart to the captive maiden
    called Tatiana," he replied with a sigh. "I went into the Katschel's do-
    main because I was curious, but now I cannot live if I must be without
    her. Firebird, I must rescue her!"
     The Firebird bent her head with a sigh of her own. "I warned you
    she replied softly. 'And I wish that you would remember all of that warn-
    ing. In the Katschei's domain, nothing is what it seems, neither as sim-
    ple nor as complicated, as innocent nor as safe. The only constant that
    you may be certain of is his deception."
     He shook his head. "Lady, you cannot argue with your heart," he re-
    sponded. "It goes where it will, and not where you would have it go. I
    saw her, and I loved her in that moment; I have watched her without her
    knowing for some time, and I do not love her any less for what I have
    seen of her. If anything, I love her the more."
     Her head remained bent a moment longer, and he could not see her
    face. "How well I know that one cannot love where one wills," she mur-
    mured, with another small sigh. 'And how well I know that the heart can-
    not be commanded by good sense." Then she raised her ageless and wise
    eyes to his again. "So, tell me what you have done thus far, and I will tn
    to counsel you."
     She sank down on the grass with the grace of a falling feather, and he
    sat beside her. The fox curled up between them both, her intelligent gaze
    going from one to another as they spoke. The feather served to light their
    conversation; it seemed to him that she had deliberately dimmed her
    magical light tonight. He told her all that he had done so far, ending with
    his capture and expulsion.
     She tapped her lips with a finger as she thought, her fingernail re~
    flecting the light of the feather with a pearly iridescence. "Well," she said
    at last, "the notion of poisoning the dragon was a good one, but I fear
    that it does not eat. That is whv it needs no tendinLy. I believe it is a crea-

    




                       F I R E B I R D     295
    
    ture like the gardening-beetles, but much more complex. It slays the crea-
    tures it captures quite handily, but they go to feed the Katschei's min-
    ions, not the dragon itself." She shook her head sadly, her hair flowing
    with the movement. "I have eyes and cars everywhere in the Katschei's
    realm, for all the birds tell me what transpires. The birds watched him
    build the creature, and have watched it carefully ever since then."
     He felt utterly crestfallen, for that was the one question be could have
    asked Sergei and didn't. Shaking his head, he could only curse his own
    stupidity.
     "I am sorry that I did not tell you that," she added, looking a little
    crestfallen herself, "but I was trying to dissuade you from going into the
    Katschei's realm, and I was hoping that I had. It never occurred to me
    that if you saw the thing, you might try to kill it. You are one man alone,
    and such a thing would daunt an army Even less did I think you would
    venture near enough to try to poison the beast."
     " Oh, even if the dragon did eat and I had tried, it probably wouldn't
    have worked," Ilya admitted. "I probably couldn't have gotten the
    chicken close enough to him without getting too close myself, and get-
    ting caught."
     'And even if you had," the fox observed, licking her paws, "I had a
    cousin once who was poisoned-he cried and whined for a long time be-
    fore he died. The Katschei would know at once that something was wrong,
    for the dragon would surely have cried and roared in pain as the glass cut
    its stomach. Surely such a thing would give it a terrible bellyache."
     "That is a very good point, fox," Ilya admitted, and rested his chin on
    his hand, discouraged and depressed. "Now I don't know what I could
    pos sibly do to get rid of it, and get rid of it I must, if I am to get at the
    heart."
     "I don't suppose I can persuade you to give up the attempt, can l?"
    the Firebird asked, without much hope.
     He shook his head. 'As long as I live, I shall try to free her," he replied.
    "I will live in the rubbisb-room beside the kitchen forever, if need be.
    My disguise is still good among the lesser monsters, and the monster
    called Sergel will help me simply by standing as my superior. I can work

    




    296    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    in the gardens and steal whatever other food I need; I simply will I'hav I e,
    to be careful that I am never seen by the Katschei or any of his ~lic
    tenants. If I grow old there, I will still keep trying."
     The Firebird sighed and shrugged. "Then I must help you, how ever
    mistaken I think you are," she told him, looking quite depressed. '*th
    because I have promised, and because you are deserving of help."
     "This could be fun, " the fox observed, eyes sparkling, tall swishing hap,
    pily. "I will help, too. What is life without risk? Besides, it is summer there
    and winter here; you can probably get me more cheese, and I know there
    must be many mice to catch there, and few things to catch them."
     Ilya closed his eyes for a moment with relief. "Thank you. Thank you
    both."
     "Just remember me with cheese," the vixen grinned up at him, tongue
    lolling. "Now, this beast-could we lure it away, and shut it up in some
    other place? One of my cubs lured a troublesome dog away once, and we
    managed to lure it right up to a bear's den. The bear ate it, then we went
    and ate the hens the dog was guarding."
     "It's chained to the tree," Ilya said regretfully. Then another idea oc-
    curred to him, and he turned to the Firebird. "Could you sing it to sleep,
    as you did my brothers in the orchard?"
     "No," she told him firmly, but with regret, for that would have been
    the easiest answer for all of them. "The dragon is like the garden bee-
    tles. It can hear quite well, but it cannot respond to anything it has not
    been commanded to." She smiled sadly. "I tried that, once. I hate the
    Katschei, and I am afraid of him, and I thought perhaps I could succeed
    with trickery where the warriors had failed with force. I cannot put it to
    sleep any more than the garden beetles would come to your call or pay
    attention to a conversation in the garden above their heads."
     Ilya ground his teeth in frustration, for it seemed that the dragon was
    almost as immune to attack as the Katschel. "Tell me everything you
    know about it, please," he asked the Firebird. "Maybe I can think of
    something while you talk."
     She nodded, her thick hair swaying like a curtain of embers spun into
    strands. "The dragon is a creation of the Katschcl," she began. "It is heavi-

    




    F I R E B 1 2 D    297
    
    ly armored, and I do not know if its armor has any weaknesses, for I have
    never heard of anyone harming it. It has keen senses, and anything that
    it hears or scents that is out of the ordinary will alert it, even in the depths
    of sleep. If it is aroused, it will watch and wait to see what roused it. If
    it is a human or animal that it does not recognize, it will roar, as a guard-
    ing dog will bark. If whatever it is comes within reach of the chain, the
    dragon will try to kill it, although it will not eat what it has killed. You
    cannot tempt it to lunge against the chain, for it knows precisely how
    long the chain is and will always stop a little short. But because it knows
    precisely how long its reach is, the moment you come into that reach, it
    will strike like lightning."
     Ilya nodded. "Does the Katschei always come in person when the
    dragon begins to make noise?"
     'Always," the Firebird affirmed. "No matter what time of day or night
    it is. If the dragon is engaged in killing something, he never breaks the
    fight off, but stays until the end. He likes to watch," she added with a
    frown.
     "Typical," Ilya muttered, and thought for a moment. "Does the
    dragon ever make false alarms?"
     The Firebird looked uncertain. "I suppose it must, but I would not
    think that such a thing woZild happen very often. Still, it must some-
    times see a wild animal such as a deer that has somehow threaded the
    maze and come that far, or a very large bird such as an eagle-owl. Those
    are large enough to make it sound a false alarm."
     Ilya grinned, for Ivan had once had a guard-dog that barked at every-
    thing. If it saw the grass moving in a way it thought suspicious, if it heard
    something it did not recognize, it barked a full alarm. Ivan eventually
    grew tired of the noise and got rid of the dog, for he could not go a full
    night without having his sleep disturbed.
     "The Katschel is not infallible," he said with confidence. 'And what
    is more, he is quite well aware that he is not infallible. He said as much
    in complaining about his own monsters. So he must know that the
    dragon can sound a false alarm. Now, he might not mind one false alarm,
    and two or three times of being awakened would only annoy him a bit-

    




    298    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    but what if the dragon was to sound the alarm all night long? What wo d
    he do then?"
     Now the Firebird looked interested, and the fox nodded.approvingly,
    "Now you are thinking like a fox, boy!" she said, her ears perked sharph
    up. "If he was a farmer, he would shut the dog in the shed."
     "I do not know what be will do," the Firebird said slowly, "but he
    most likely to think that something has gone wrong with his creation.
    And be is not likely to think that he needs to fix it at that very moment.
    I do not know what he will do, but I think that we should try and
                                            Ul
    
    find out."
     Ilya rose, picking up the feather and putting it back in the breast of
    his tunic.
     "Lead on, boy," the vixen said, getting to her feet and swishing hcr
    tail. "The best time to find out is tonight."
    
    I LVA had made several advance preparations in the garden that day.
    For one thing, he had stuffed the mechanism that locked the garden gate
    with clay, and Sergel had never noticed the difference. He opened the
    gate stealthily, and the fox slipped in with him, then he knocked the clay
    out of the mechanism so that it would lock behind them, leaving no trace
    that anyone had gotten inside. As he closed the gate, the Firebird landed
    on a branch just above his head, once again in the form of a bird, but
    with her fiery feathers muted to almost nothing. They stood together at
    the end of a long lane that led directly to the great oak tree. It looked to
    Ilya as if there were lanterns or torches all around the clearing that held
    the tree and the dragon, for it was as bright as day down there.
     The Firebird bent her bead down to him. "You and the fox take it in
    turn to tease the dragon," she said, though the words came strangely ac-
    cented out of her beak instead of lips. "I will keep watch for the Katschei
    and call warning in time for you to get to hiding. Find hiding-places first,
    before you go to tease the beast. Ilya, you be the first, and fox, you, the
    second."
     "Sounds like fun," the fox observed cheerfully. "Let's get to it!"
     She trotted down the lane with Ilya coming cautiously behind. In the

    




    F I R E B I R D    299
    
    light from the circle of lanterns, he could see only three great coils, like
    three fat necklets of amethyst, ruby, and sapphire, twined around the
    base of the tree. But as Sergci had warned him, the moment they got
    about halfway down the lane, those coils began to stir.
     In another moment, the dragon's head came into view, as it peered
    into the shadows of the lane suspiciously.
     Ilya expected smoke to wreathe up from its nostrils, but evidently this
    dragon was not the fire-breathing sort. Instead, a long, scarlet forked
    tongue lashed out from the front of its mouth, twitching nervously be-
    fore being withdrawn.
     Around its neck was a brass collar as thick as Ilya's waist, and a bronze
    chain as thick as his thigh hung down from a ring on the collar. Its head
    was shaped like a lizard's, with a ridge of spines running from the mid-
    dle of the forehead on down along the neck. Its eyes were a deep, bright
    yellow, and Ilya could not yet see its teeth, for it had not opened its
    mouth, but he suspected that they would be as long as his hand, at least.
     The fox scampered off to the right, off the lane; Ilya took a moment
    to go to the left. The dragon was not yet alarmed, but it was aroused,
    and he knew that it was listening carefully to every move he and the fox
    made.
     This was not such a bad thing, since it distracted the dragon from the
    Firebird, who was flying up into the branches of the great oak tree to hide
    herself.
     It took Ilya some time to find a hiding-place for himself, but even-
    tually he found one, in an ornamental pond. The end nearest the lane
    had been allowed to grow over with reeds and other water-plants; he
    paused long enough to cut himself a hollow reed to breathe through, and
    then stepped back onto the lane.
     Now the dragon was restless, up on its feet, and prowling back and
    forth on the chain, peering into the shadows beneath the trees. One of
    the strangest things about it was its ability to move with very little noise.
    It had worn all the grass beneath the oak tree away with its prowling, and
    had polished every exposed rock to a shiny gloss. It was obvious, now that
    it was moving about, that its wings were purely ornamental; they were

    




    300    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    much too small to have ever carried it in flight. Its claws weren't orn
    mental, though; wicked scimitars of gold, they were as long as Ilya's arm,
    and as highly polished as the rocks.
     It was quite obvious how far the dragon's chain stretched, but Ilvaiwd
    no intention of getting even that close. All he had to do was get 411ar
    enough that the dragon would start to make noise-
     Which it did, as soon as that thought had crossed his mind. It finally
    caught sight of him, recognized that he was not someone it knew, and
    let out a furious bellow.
     And that was where Ilya stopped, although be did not stand still. In-
    stead, he danced in place, waving his arms at the dragon, taunting i
    and capering about like a grouse at mating-time. The dragon responde
    by leaping at him, stopping just short of the end of its chain, and stand-
    ing there, cutting deep furrows in the ground with its claws and bel-
    lowing. Ilya had never heard such a noise before: Part growl, part howl,
    and part roar, it was louder than anything but the loudest thunder, and
    far more irritating. No one could ever hope to sleep through that! It
    spurred him on to wilder capers, just to see if he could get a higher level
    of noise out of the creature.
     A sharp, piercing whistle carried over the dragon's screams, and Ilya
    sprinted for his chosen hiding place. He took a deep breath as he dove
    into the pond, but the shock of the cold water nearly made him lose it.
    He kept his eyes open as he swam, staying underwater until he reached
    the water-plants. He pulled the cut reed out of his shirt and poked it
    above the surface of the water cautiously, holding himself in place with
    both hands anchored in the roots of the plants sunk into the mud. It
    had occurred to him that the Katschei might have the equivalent of
    hounds, and here in the water his scent would be lost. The vixen, of
    course, could probably trick any hound ever born.
     He had just gotten as comfortable as he was likely to get underwater,
    when a burst of light illuminated the end of the pond. A trail of mov ' ing
    lights passing by the water told him that the Katschei had come to s
 what had alerted his dragon. Shortly thereafter, the bellowing stopped.
     Ilya concentrated on his breathing. It was difficult to get enough air
     through a tiny little reed, and that gave him something to think about

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    301
    
    without worrying his head over what the Katschei was doing. After a
    while, the lights passed by again, and silence and darkness fell over the
    grardcn.
     Cautiously, Ilya poked his head above the water, still well-concealed
    by the reeds, taking in a deep breath of air, slowly and silently, just in
    case there was still something waiting out there. Once again, the garden
    was empty, but he heard the dragon snorting impatiently beyond the
    trees, the clanking of the chain as it moved, and the grating of its claws
    on the ground.
     Now that he was used to it, the water wasn't all that cold. He stayed
    in the pond for the moment, figuring that he would be colder if he got
    out and stood in the breeze in soaking-wet clothing. He took the op-
    portunity to explore the pond further, and found several more hiding
    places in it: beneath the low arch of an ornamental bridge, under an over-
    hang of rock, and best of all, Just behind a waterfall. He decided to use
    the bridge next time, when he heard the dragon bellowing again. He
    moved to his chosen spot beneath the bridge, and found to his pleasure
    that he could actually see a small section of the dragon's "yard."
     The fox was much more daring than he would have been, actually div-
    ing in and out of reach of the frustrated serpent. She yipped at it inso-
    lently, and as she got out of reach, she gave a barking laugh. Sooner than
    last time, the same sharp whistle Yang out, and the fox whisked out of
    sight, so quickly Ilya didn't even see her move-one moment she was
    there, and the next, there was just a patch of leaves quivering at the edge
    of the clearing. Ilya ducked under the bridge, a venue that just left his
    nose, his eyes, and the top of his head above water. He felt safe there,
    even if someone happened to lean over to look beneath the bridge, for
    he was down at the end of the arch, with some supporting rocks hiding
    him on either side. With any luck, here in the darkness his head would
    look Just like another rock.
     This time he did see a little of the Katschei's procession; the magi-
    cian led a small parade of torch-bearers and lesser flunkies; none of his
    lieutenants were with him. Most of the monsters were smaller than the
    Katschel, and the sorcerer himself was resplendent in breeches, ankle-
        vest, and tunic of black silk trimmed in gold. He got only a

    




    302    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    glimpse of them, however; soon they were out of sight, and he strained
    his ears to hear anything at all.
     The dragon stopped bellowing, and in the silence, the Katschei's ir-
    ritated voice rang out like the sharp crack of nearby thunder.
     "Search the grounds!" he snapped. 'And this time, do it right! What-
    ever is irritating my pet must be here, and I expect you to find it,"
     The Katschei's minions scattered about, searching dutifully through
    the garden grounds, but Ilya noticed that they did not look as closely as
    humans might have. They didn't bother to hunt for clever hiding places~
    although the problem might simply have been that they didn't have
    enough imagination to guess where clever hiding-places might be. They
    looked under bushes and peered squinting up into the trees, but they
    seldom searched areas too small for a human to hide in.
     For whatever reason, although several of them thudded over Ilya's
    bridge, they never once looked under it, and he was entirely safe the
    whole time. During all of this, their master waited with a scowl on his
    face and his arms crossed over his chest. With a mutter of annoyance,
    the Katschei received their negative reports as they came to him by ones
    and twos, and when they were all gathered again, he stalked away with
    them, anger in the very set of his back.
     Now it was Ilya's turn again, and he was quite ready to play his part.
    He got out of the pond at the grassy verge, where the water dripping from
    him wouldn't be so obvious, and worked his way through the plantings
    to the dragon's clearing.
     Now the beast was extremely suspicious and fully aroused; it took one
    look at him and began screaming in frustrated rage. Once again, he
    teased and taunted it, and it tore up huge clods of earth and even moved
    the huge boulders in its anger, for it knew it would not be able to touch
    him and didn't even try. This was a good thing, for if it had gone to the
    end of its chain and torn up the ground there, that would have pointed
    to the place where he had stood while he teased it. He danced in place
    as much to keep warm as to arouse the beast; with the breeze on his wet
    clothing, he was cold, and he couldn't wait to get back into the relatively
    warm water.

    




    F I R E R I R D    303
    
     The expected whistle came, and he raced back to the pond, launch-
    ing himself at the water in a flat racing dive that carried him most of the
    way across the pond under the water. He felt for the rocks where the
    bridge was with his hands in front of him, found them, and came up be-
    ncath the bridge. He bad a few moments to settle himself beneath the
    end of the arch, and then the Katschei arrived for the third time. He
    cursed the incompetence of his minions; the sorcerer's voice carried
    
    clearly across the water. The poor monsters bumbling along in his wake
    were trembling and visibly unhappy, expecting punishment or even
    death at any moment.
     Once again, the Katschel ordered a search of the grounds, and once
    again the monsters came up empty-handed. The Katschei glared about
    him as if he wanted to make the garden itself give up its secrets. Then
    he glared at the monsters as if he dared any of them to give him an ex-
    cuse for violence.
     But these were evidently veterans of his anger, and they had more
    sense to do anything other than stand with their eyes on their feet and
    tremble. The Katschei cursed, and stalked out again, followed by the ter-
    rified monsters.
     Ilya waited, but for the moment, nothing happened, and the dragon
    settled down again, grumbling to itself. The time stretched, the dragon
    shifted restlessly, and there was no sign of the vixen. He wondered if the
    fox had lost interest in the game, and debated getting out to tease the
    dragon himself, but at that moment the little vixen came trotting up to
    the water's edge, her nose in the air, sniffing carefully for his scent.
     "Boy!" she called softly. "I have your scent. Are you near the pond?"
     "Here," he whispered, swimming out from under the bridge. He
    stayed in the pond, looking up at her. She trotted briskly over to the
    bridge and stood at the end of it, looking down curiously at him.
     "It seemed to me that for the best effect, we ought to let the dragon set-
    tle down and its master get to sleep, or else to get interested in something
    and forget about the dragon," she said, and chuckled heartlessly. "Let him
    just get comfortable, or begin to amuse himself and then we'll rouse him
    out again. He won't like that!"
    
    I I

    




    304    MERCEDES LACIKEV
    
     "You are a very clever, cunning little vixen," he replied with admira-
    tion. "You couldn't have come up with a better idea to irritate him out
    of all countenance!"
     She frisked with pleasure at his praise, bouncing a little and whisking
    her tall from side to side. "I come from a long line of cunning foxes," she
    said modestly. "I do wonder why the Master didn't leave one of the little
    fellows to watch and guard, just to see why the dragon is bellowing."
     "He can't," Ilya replied gleefully. "The dragon would only scream at
    whatever be left to watch for him. The only way be could find out what
    is going on would be to stay here himself, and I doubt that would ever
    occur to him."
     "Too important to do his own work, hmm?" the fox replied with fine
    contempt. She settled down at the edge of the pond and regarded him
    thoughtfully. "Well, why don't you tell me about what's here while we wait
    for Master Oh-So-High to get himself into a comfortable position? All I
    saw was a tiny bit of the gardens that we passed through. I'd like to know
    what's here before I decide if I'm going to take up residence."
     Ilya described the various gardens that they had briefly passed
    through, and the way that they were tended. He told her about the
    kitchen and the kitchen-midden, the trash-heap-and admitted th
    lack of chicken-yards, stables, and other places where there would be live
    stock and rodents. The fox licked her lips as she contemplated what h
    told her.
     "I can think of places for mice, and places for moles," she said with sat
    isfaction. 'And lots of places to hide, which is just as important, unless
    were to den up during the day with you. I wouldn't mind that, and I coul
    keep mice out of your food."
     "That assumes that we can't get this to work," Ilya reminded her. "I
    we do, we'll have to work quickly, for we may not get a second chance
    Once the dragon is taken care of, however the Katschei does it, the nex
    thing will be to get the chest down out of the tree and get it open."
     "I won't be much help in climbing. What's in the chest?" the fox aske
    curiously.
     Ilya described the chest and its contents. The fox tilted her head an
    squinted up her eyes, as if she wasn't certain she had heard him correctl

    




    F I R E B I R D    305
    
    "That is altogether too strange to even think about," she said, and shook
    her head until her ears flapped. "The very idea of ducks inside rabbits
    makes the inside of my head itch! How were you going to kill them?"
     "I hid a knife and my bow and arrows in one of the garden-benches
    of the garden with the statue-warriors in it when I put away the garden-
    beetles earlier today," Ilya replied. "When I thought I was going to be
    able to poison the dragon, I had figured on prying the chest open. If the
    rabbit gets away from me when I open the chest, I ought to be able to
    shoot it, then kill the duck."
     "Maybe," the vixen said with skepticism. "Remember what the Fire-
    bird said. Nothing is as simple here as it seems."
     "Right now, let's just concentrate on the dragon," Ilya told her. "We'll
    worry about the chest if we can get it out of the way."
     "Good plan. " The vixen licked her lips, and looked over her shoulder.
    'And by now, I suspect that the Master has settled in to enioy whatever he's
    doing. So now I'll go make sure he doesn't."
     She trotted off, and Ilya swam back to his hiding-place beneath the
    bridge. A moment later, the dragon bellowed with rage again, this time
    from the far side of the oak trec. The vixen had teased him over to a new
    place, which was a good idea. Now there would be no way of telling ex-
    actly where they were hiding.
     The Katschei took a bit longer to return, and he was in a fine rage him-
    self. This time, he brought with him two of his lieutenants, who were a
    great deal more human-seeming than the usual monsters. Once the
    dragon quieted, he ordered a general search, then turned to these two.
     "You take the far side of the garden, and you take the near," he said,
    his voice tight with anger. "Direct these fools; they think that if they
    search everything obvious, they've done their jobs. I'll have to stay here
    and see to it that the dragon stays quiet; it would take three days to make
    it understand that all of you are to be permitted here. So make this
    quick-I want my dinner, and I'm getting very weary of this."
     The lieutenants made no reply, or at least not one that was audible
    to Ilya. He tucked himself back under the bridge as far as he could get,
    holding very still and breathing deeply, so that if he had to duck under-
    water and hold his breath, he could at a moment's notice.

    




    306    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
     Sure enough, this time when the monsters searched around the pond,
    the lieutenant directed them in a close examination of the verge, and
    had them poke their spears into the reedy section. If he had been under
    there, he'd have been stuck, and it would all have been over right then
    When they came to the bridge, he was ready, and ducked underwater
    one leaned down with a lantern in his hand to examine the area benea
    the bridge. He could see the lantern and the vague blob of a head, b
    he was quite certain that the monster couldn't see a thing because o
    the reflection of the lantern in the water. The head and lantern both
    withdrew, then reappeared briefly on the other side of the bridge with
    the same lack of results. He waited until he heard the water-muffled
    thuds of its feet going off the bridge before he rose cautiously out of the
    water.
     His view from beneath the bridge was limited, but he had no inten-
    tion of trying to improve it. He was probably safe where he was, and he
    didn't need to know what the searchers or the Katschei was doing. The
    lanterns of the searchers moved through the garden in the middle dis-
    tance, and he took a deep but silent breath, J*ust in case someone had
    remained behind to watch and listen for a clever intruder hiding under
    the water.
     He was glad it had been the fox's turn to torment thc-dragon; if it had
    been his, he would have left splashes and water at the verge of the pond.
    They wouldn't have been visible, but there would have been an obvious
    place with wet grass where the rest of the grass was dry. If the lieutenants
    had noticed that, it would have given the searchers a real reason to con-
    centrate on the pond.
     Finally, all activity in the garden ceased, and eventually the vixen
    trotted up to the pond again.
     "They've gone," she said, her voice full of satisfaction. "I had a good
    time; I managed to slip in behind them, and I followed along as they
    searched. This is as much fun as tricking a pack of hounds. The master is
    really angry, by the way. He's cursing a great deal, and muttering."
     Ilya had to chuckle at the tone of her voice. "I don't doubt it," he
    replied. "The Katschel wouldn't like being called away from something

    




    F I R E B I R D    307
    
    he wants to do, and he wouldn't like being made a fool of. We're doing
    both to him, and what is worse, he must be thinking at this point that
    there's something wrong with his dragon. He'll bate that even more. He
    knows he can make mistakes but admitting it is a different matter."
     He climbed carefully out of the pond, and spent some time dripping
    at the edge until he was damp rather than wet so that he wouldn't leave
    any telltale splashes when he got out. It didn't matter that this was
    going to take some time; all that mattered was that he didn't leave any
    signs. He shivered in the breeze, but better cold than take any risk when
    he was so close to his goal.
     It worried him suddenly that now, after days and weeks of accom-
    plishing little besides discovering where things were and how the
    Katschei organized his domain, if he was going to succeed in destroying
    the sorcerer, everything would have to be done in the next few hours. It
    was as if a horse he was riding had gone from a slow and sleepy walk to
    a full-out gallop with no warning whatsoever.
     Yet he had no choice in that, and never had. If he'd only thought
    about it, it would have been obvious that once he eliminated the dragon,
    he would have to get the heart immediately. The Katschei would hide
    the heart somewhere else or replace the dragon with another guardian
    within a short period of time. And once Ilya got the heart, he would have
    to use it immediately. The Katschei would certainly notice if his heart
    was missing! He might even have some magical way of telling that it had
    been removed.
     All that had always been the case; he bad Just been so busy, first in
    trying to survive and find the dragon, then in trying to think of ways to
    get past the dragon, that he had not bothered to think the entire situa-
    tion through. He didn't like moving on with no plan; it made him feel
    entirely unsettled and uncertain. And the fact that if he got past the
    dragon, all the rest of his task would have to be accomplished before
    dawn, was positively frightening.
     "You're having second thoughts?" the vixen asked, shrewdly.
     He shook his head. "Not second thoughts-just worrying that we
    may not have enough time to do what we have to. Get rid of the dragon,

    




    308    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    then get the chest, then get the heart and get to the Katschei, all before
    dawn. If we can't get it done by then, we'll be in grave danger, and we
    may lose the heart-and dawn is only a few hours away."
     The little fox sat down and scratched her car meditatively. "Well ' we
    can only make our plans as far as getting that heart. After that, who
    knows? One thing at a time, and we still don't know that the Master is
    going to lock his dog in the shed for barking too much. If he doesn't, we'll
    have to think of another plan. "
     He chuckled at her simile. "True. And you had better go hide. As soon
    as I am dry enough, it will be my turn to make the dog bark."
     The vixen gave a wordless yip of agreement and trotted off. He waited
    a little while longer, until he was certain that he would not be leaving
    any wet splotches on the grass, then gathered himself and made a
    tremendous standing leap out onto the lawn, so that if he did, anvway,
    the splotch wouldn't be right beside the pond. He had left some water
    at the very edge, but only about as much as a fish jumping there would
    leave.
     Then he went off to perform his dance for the dragon, capering and
    taunting it until its shrieks of rage reached new heights of volume and
    shrillness. He knew, as the Firebird warned him and he dove into cover '
    that if the dragon ever got hold of him, it wouldn't leave enough for the
    monsters to eat. The dragon was as frustrated as its master, and taking
    it all very personally. It not only screamed with rage, it danced with rage,
    its laws snapping on air, its claws rending the breeze, as if it wanted him
    to know what it could do if it caught him.
     Once again the Katschei and his minions came and went, and it was
    clear that the sorcerer was growing more furious by the moment. This
    time the fox evidently decided that it would be much more fun if she
    alerted the dragon before the Katschei even got out of the garden gate;
    the little cavalcade hadn't been gone more than a few moments before
    the dragon began bellowing again.
     That, evidently, was the final straw. With a shriek of rage that very
    nearly rivaled the dragon's, the Katschei came storming back in the gate
    and up the lane at the head of his frightened troops.
     He was so very angry, in fact, that Ilya couldn't understand what he

    




                       F I R E B I R D     309
    
    was saying. Eit er he was cursing in a strange language, or he was so angry
    he'd becom~ecincoherent. Or-he was invoking magic. The sorcerer left
    a      of destruction in his wake, as his path along the lane was
    marked y great flashes of light and thunderclaps. As the Katschei
    sto=d*Dp)ast Ilya, he shook his fist at a small garden statue, and a bolt
    of lightning came out of nowhere and shattered it, leaving only fragments
    and scorched earth. He walked right into the dragon's clearing without
    pausing to stop it from screaming as he had before.
     Ilya wondered if he was going to treat the dragon as he had the statue,
    and braced himself for the thunderbolt. But there was no clap of thun-
    der, no flash of light. The screaming stopped, but differently from the
    other times. Before, it had tapered off, finally resolving into upset grum-
    blings and snorts. This time, the dragon's shriek was cut off in the mid-
    dle, as if it had been throttled.
     Then, in the silence that followed, Ilya heard a sound he had not ex-
    pected to hear: the clank of the great bronze chain dropping to the
    ground.
     The Katschei stalked out again, followed by his torch-bearing mon-
    sters, muttering under his breath. "I have bad enough for one night! " he
    snarled to his lieutenants. "That will hold the idiot creature until I can
     get some sleep And there was more in the same vein until the
    Katschei got out of earshot.
     There was utter and complete silence in the dragon clearing; there
    wasn't even the sound of a talon scraping the earth as the noise of foot-
    steps vanished into the distance. The garden gate slammed shut with a
    tremendous crash. Then there was nothing, no sound whatsoever. The
    few birds that had been in the garden had all left when they first teased
    the dragon, and now everything else in the garden was too afraid to make
    a sound.
     Some time passed while Ilya held his breath, wondering what to do
    next. What had the Katschei done? Had he "shut the dog in the shed"-
    or had he turned it loose to destroy whatever irritated it the next time?
    That was one possibility they had not discussed, and even the Firebird
    would not dare warn them if that was what had happened, for the dragon
    was perfectly able to climb the tree and go after her.

    




    3to   MERCEDES L&C%6EV
    
     It was his turn to go tease it, and just at the moment, he was not'
    clined to get out of the pond, lest he find a dragon, loosed from its challi,
    prowling the garden paths. Like many hunters, it could have turned silent
    and stealthy when it had finally been turned loose to hunt on its own
    rather than guarding the tree. He waited, straining his ears, every nerve
    and muscle tense with dread, wondering what had happened. He listened
    until he got a headache, until his laws ached from clenching them, until
    his back felt made of ever-tightening wires.
     Finally, just when he thought that his nerves were going to snap from
    the strain, he heard a soft call from above.
     "Ilya, little vixen, come out," the Firebird sang quietly, so quietly tba
    her words could not have gone much past the clearing, though her song
    probably reached all the way to the gate. "Come and see how the
    Katschei has treated his pet!"
     Ilya clambered out of the pond with no thought for leaving telltale
    splotches and hurried into the clearing, dripping as he came. For one
    half-crazed moment, he thought that the Firebird had somehow turne
    traitor and that he was going to be killed-for the dragon was indeed
    unchained, the bronze chain detached from its collar and cast aside. It
    glared into the garden, but it was not glaring at Ilya, and after a moment
    he realized that it wasn't glaring at anything.
     The dragon was standing stock-still and frozen; its eyes, though glit-
    tering, were curiously lifeless. It bad become a huge bejeweled and shin-
    ing ornament, no more alive than the bridge or the rocks. Light from
    the lanterns all around the clearing reflected from its ruby, amethyst, and
    sapphire scales, from its topaz eyes, its golden claws. Ilya stared at it, sure
    that this was all a trap, and that in a moment it was going to leap on
    him. But it did nothing of the sort, not even when the vixen trotted
    and sniffed at its foot.
     For a moment he could not imagine what might have happened.
     Then he knew. The Katschel had turned his own pet into a statue to
    keep it quiet!
     "Hah," the vixen said with satisfaction. "So the master muzzled the
    dog instead of putting it in the shed! Or maybe he hit it in the head to put
    it to sleep!"

    




    F I R E B I R D    311
    
     "It certainly looks that way," Ilya replied, strolling up to the quiescent
    creature, as the Firebird circled down out of the highest branches of the
    tree, hovered for a moment just above them, then dropped down beside
    them. 'And we have at least until morning to decide how I am going to
    get at that chest."
     In the brilliant lantern-light he examined the tree itself. There were
    no limbs anywhere near the ground, and the trunk of the tree nearest
    the ground was smooth and without many hand- and foot-holds. Climb-
    ing that part of it would be a risky business, if not impossible, seeing as
    he had no equipment with him whatsoever to allow him to do so. Now
    what was he going to do? He looked up into the tree; the top was barely
    visible as a darker shadow against the sky. How high up was it? He hadn't
    been able to estimate from outside, and now he couldn't from up close.
     How to get into those lower limbs? Once he got that far, there were
    places he could climb, handholds, rougher bark. The higher he went, the
    easier it would be.
     He studied the situation for a moment, then realized something: Al-
    though there were no limbs anywhere near the ground, the dragon's
    chain made a perfectly good ladder. It was wound once around the tree,
    but higher than the dragon's head, perhaps so that the dragon wouldn't
    tear at it and get himself loose. From the chain, he could easily reach
    the lowest limb. So the only question was, how heavy was that chest?
    Could he get it down by himself?
     "What is the chest like?" he asked, rubbing his hands together to
    warm them, and wondering if his wet boots were going to rub his feet
    raw before he finished climbing. Maybe I'd better take them off and climb
    in bare feet. Yes, I think that would be better; I think my boot-soles would
    be too slippery....
     "The chest is made of wood, bound with bronze. You could easily carry
    the chest down on your back, if you can get into the tree," the Firebird
    murmured softly. "It is not very heavy. But there is a problem-"
     "We don't have the key," Ilya replied immediately. That had bothered
    him, but not much. So long as the chest was made of ordinary wood,
    they could get into it.
     "Yes. And the creatures in the chest are not natural," she added.

    




    791
    
    312   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    "They are very, very swift. You might be able to shoot one, but you wou
    never get a second arrow off in time."
     The vixen looked up the tree. "I might get the rabbit, ifyou could b
    open the chest," she offered. "But you have to turn it loose down here
    can't get up there."
     "The chest is perfectly ordinary wood, and it could be broken op
    without harming the creatures inside. But what to break it open with
    the Firebird countered. "We haven't an ax-"
     "I have an idea," Ilya replied. "This is all hard ground here. If I dropp(
    the chest, it should smash. If it smashes, the rabbit will leap free. If
    doesn't smash, we'll think of something else."
     'And with luck, I -can get the rabbit," the vixen said, licking hm
    with anticipation.
     'All right, then-let me get my bow and arrows," Ilya said, with
    confidence he did not feel. "Then we'll see how good my climbing skil
    still are."
    
    IT was a very odd and disconcerting thing, to be climbing up a bug
    bronze chain beside a dragon. The creature was quite beautiful up clos
    every separate scale edged in a fine line of gold, and as hard and shin
    as a porcelain plate. The chain was an easy thing to climb, as easy as
    ladder; it had plenty of hand- and foot-holds, and Ilya swarmed up it wit
    relatively little effort. Removing his boots had been a good idea; his fee
    were still tough and callused from the summer, and gave him better co
    trol than wearing his boots.
     From the top of the chain above the dragon's head he was able t
    reach one of the lowest branches, and from there he could find enoug
    purchase in the bark to make his way slowly up the trunk.
     Then it Just became work: making sure he was firmly anchored by a
    least one hand and foot while he reached for a new hold, clinging to th
    bark with his fingertips, studying the next few feet of trunk for a new s
    of holds. All the while he was doing this, he hung on while his arms an
    legs ached, and his back complained loudly that this was a bad ide
    When he reached a branch he was able to rest for a little, standing

    




    F I R E B I R D    313
    
    sitting on it until some of the burning sensation left his limbs before he
    went on.
     He looked down after a while, and wished that he hadn't. The dragon
    was as small as a toy, and the vixen the size of a bug, and he still wasn't at
    the top yet! The vixen gazed up at him, the dragon glittered, and the lamps
    defined a neat half-circle of light. He looked out and found that he was
    above the tops of the trees around him. He was on the wrong side of the
    tree to see the palace, but he sensed its presence. What was the Katscbei
    doing? Did be sense something wrong? Or was he so angry and annoyed
    that he was not paying any attention to anything but his own anger?
     The Firebird kept him company and helped him by finding easier
    routes along the trunk. She stayed in bird-form, flitting from branch to
    branch while he tolled his way upward. He wondered why she couldn't
    have retrieved the chest at first, but then it occurred to him that as a
    maiden she wouldn't have the strength to climb this high, and as a bird
    she couldn't carry the chest. If she somehow opened it while it was still
    in the top of the tree, the rabbit would escape among the branches or
    would plunge to the ground. Being a magical creature, it would proba-
    bly survive the drop just fine, and escape. Or, as big as these limbs were,
    it could run off into the foliage and they'd never find it.
     No, he had to do this the hard way; there was no escaping that fact.
     He climbed and rested, climbed and rested until it seemed that he
    had been climbing all night. He looked out again, and was able to see
    most of the gardens below him, and the walls of the maze in the distance,
    shining under the moon. Strange; there were thick storm-clouds all
    around, except over the Katschei's land. There, the sky was clear, in a
    distinctly defined circle. So the Katschei could control the clouds, too!
     The trunk got smaller until it was no thicker than an ordinary tree's,
    The Firebird was above him now, perched beside the chest, which was
    cradled in a "nest" where several branches grew out of the same fork, tied
    in place with perfectly ordinary rope. The chest wasn't all that large, after
    all, and there was enough rope wrapped around it that he should be able
    to use it to tie the chest onto his back. He looked down again and re-
    gretted it; the ground was moving.

    




    314   MERCEDES LACIKEV
    
     No, it wasn't the ground, it was the tree, swaying in the win( . And
    from this height, the vixen was just a red dot on the brown earth....
     If he fell, there wouldn't be any need to bury him. He'd create his own
    pit where he impacted with the dirt.
     No one he'd ever heard of had ever been this high. This was crazy.
    What was he doing up here? Why had he let the Firebird talk him into
    this? He was going to fall! He was!
     Suddenly a great and terrible fear washed over him; he couldn't move,
    he could only cling to the trunk of the tree and whimper, with his eyes
    squeezed tightly shut. Every second, he expected to fall. If the wind
    picked up, it would pluck him right off the trunk. Or it would shake him
    loose, like a ripe apple. Or the top of the tree would break off and fall,
    taking him with it-
     This was no fear caused by magic, it was a perfectly natural and sane
    fear of falling to his death at any moment. ; F
     "Ilya," the Firebird said, clearly and calmly, just above him. "Ilya, look
    at me."
     "I can't," he said weakly, squeezing his eyes shut, as his stomach
    squeezed itself into a fist-sized ball. And he couldn't; he couldn't have
    gotten his eyes open if Tatiana had been sitting there beside him.
     "Ilya, look at me." There was magic behind those words, a coercive'
    magic he had never heard the Firebird use. He could not withstand the
    command in her voice, and cracked open the eye nearest her.
     She had transformed to maiden again, and sat casually on one of the
    boughs, not even holding on with both hands. "Come up, Ilya," she said,
    "It is not so far. Look! The branches are fully wide enough that you will,:~
    be secure! See how stout they are?" And to prove her point, she bounced.,
    a little on the one she was sitting on.
     Ile wanted to cry, to scream, to whimper and cling to the bark. He
    couldn't move, couldn't free so much as a finger. But he couldn't let her
    see that he was paralyzed by his fear, citbCL After all, she was afraid of
    the Katschei, and yet she was here helping him. Couldn't he face his fear
    of falling,
     Slowly, with infinite caution, he loosed the grip of his right hand and
    moved it to a higher handhold. The Firebird smiled at him encourag-

    




    F I R E B I R D    315
    
    ingly. It took all the courage he had, and he was sweating as if he had
    run a mile on the hottest day of the year, but be managed to inch his
    right foot off the branch it was braced against and onto a higher one.
     Little by little, he inched his way up the trunk those last few feet of
    the way He had his check pressed into the bark so firmly it rasped his
    skin when he moved; he had to free each finger separately, while his arms
    and legs trembled and fear became a terrible, chilling nausea. Up he
    crept, like a lizard, handhold by handhold, each one paid for in sweat
    and terror, until he sat next to the chest on the side opposite from her.
    He didn't remember the last few feet, or how he'd gotten to that posi-
    tion.
     She had already untied the rope that held the chest in place and was
    dragging it over into her lap. "Get into the fork, where the chest was,
    and I will help you tic it on your back," she said with authority, and he
    was not going to argue with her. The meeting of all those branches
    formed a secure little cup, and although it was not as good as being on
    the ground would have been, it was better than clinging to a limb.
     He crouched there, with his eyes closed, trying to pretend that he was
    on the ground as she tied the chest onto his back, making a kind of har-
    ness of the rope that passed over both shoulders and around his waist.
    "I am knotting it over the chest, but when you get to the lower parts of
    the tree you can cut the rope," she said by way of explanation, as be felt
    her shifting and tugging at the rope. "There. It is quite secure."
     Now came the worst part-the climb down.
     Climbing up had been difficult, the last part nightmarish, but the
    climb down with the chest changing his balance and threatening to pull
    him over at any moment was hellish. The Firebird stayed with him the
    entire time, helping to steady him where she could, but in her bird-form
    she wasn't much help, and in her maiden-form she simply didn't have
    the reach to climb.
     A thousand times he was certain that he was going to slip and fall,
    but each time, shaking and sweating, he managed to save himself. Sweat
    dripped into his eyes and soaked through his tunic, and the stiff breeze
    that had sprung up chilled him under the clammy tunic. At that mo-
    ment, if anyone bad asked him if be wanted to abandon the task, be prob-

    




    316   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    ably would have said yes. He kept his eyes strictly on the tree around him
    until he reached the point when he thought that the trunk was just about
    the same size that it was at the level of the ground. He got himself se-
    curely onto one of the enormous limbs and made certain of his footing.
    Then he looked down.
     The relief he felt when he saw that he was no farther above the ground
    than he would have been in the top of an ordinary large oak was so tremen-
    dous that tears sprang into his eyes and he had to stop a moment to wipe
    them away. This might be as good a place as any to drop the chest from.
     He was standing on the top of a huge limb, as broad as a highway,
    which stretched out Just above the dragon. He walked along it and sat
    down when he was right over a section of polished boulders deeply em-
    bedded in the barren ground. Those would certainly crack the chest
    opcu, if anything would.
     He took out his knife and cut the ropes holding the chest to his ba*,,,
    and lowered it onto the limb beside him. Then he got out his arrows and
    his bow, a small but powerful weapon that Yasha had given him,
    of laminated sinew, horn, and wood.
     'Are you ready?" he called down to the fox.
     She grinned up at him. "Quite," she replied, getting to within e
    leaping-distance of the cluster of boulders and readying herself to spring,
    hind-legs gathered in a crouch that would send her after the hare like a
    second arrow.
     He took a deep breath. They would have only one chance at this. If
    they failed now, the Katscbei would recapture the creature holding his
    heart and find another place to put it where it would be safer. He could
    not even begin to imagine what that would be.
     And if they failed now, there was a very good chance that the Katschei
    would catch him, and he wasn't going to be able to feign the Fool suc-
    cessfully under these conditions. He would die if that happened, or
    worse. But probably he would die; the Katschei could not take the chance
    that someone would free him from the statue-spell.
     He readied an arrow on his bow. It all came down to this, this single
    moment. Now. Before I lose my nerve.

    




    F I R E B I R D    317
    
     He kicked the chest-and then the world slowed about him.
     The chest fell-it seemed to float, it fell so slowly. But everything was
    like that, including himself. Only his mind raced on-or was it that the
    world was going at its normal pace, and his mind was outracing it?
     The chest tumbled as it fell, ungainly, and he held his breath, bring-
    ing the arrow up to bear on it even though he wouldn't be firing it at the
    chest. The best thing would be if it landed on a corner-
     It hit the boulders, small end first. He watched huge cracks form along
    the sides, watched the top fly off, bouncing along the ground. The splin-
    tered planks went in every direction, and the brass straps binding it
    twisted and deformed.
     He watched as a huge hare the size of a small dog leapt free of the de-
    bris and pelted off in huge jumps, as fast as a shooting star, heading for
    the undergrowth at an astonishing speed.
     But as fast as the hare was, the vixen was faster. She was a streak of
    red, a dull-copper lightning-bolt. The little fox intercepted the track of
    the hare, leapt at the same time as the rabbit, and caught it in midIcap.
    Her jaws closed on its throat; she did a fast somersault in midair as it
    tried to rake her underbelly with its powerful hind-feet. She landed,
    shook her head violently, breaking its neck, then transferred her grip to
    the belly, ripping it open with a single tug.
     But instead of blood and entrails, a duck exploded from the belly-
    cavity, wings pounding, beading for the sky above the trees.
     As if in a dream, Ilya raised his bow slowly, sighted slowly, loosed an
    arrow that drifted away from his bow. He reached for a second arrow-
     But there was no need. His first arrow flew straight and true, and
    pierced the duck squarely through the chest. The bird dropped to the
    ground without a sound.
     The vixen had already vanished, taking the hare with her as her well-
    earned reward. Ilya scrambled down the rest of the tree-trunk as fast as
    he could, hitting the ground at a dead run, until he reached the duck.
    His knife was already in his band although he didn't recall unsheathing
    it, and he seized the duck and slit it open.
     A diamond the size of two fists put together fell out of the belly of

    




    318   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    the duck; embedded in the diamond was something dark, with a strange,
    and unsettling glow to it. He stared at it, reached for it-
     The Firebird screamed as dozens of monsters fell upon Ilya and his
    prize, and seized them both.
    
      should have known you were too foolish to be true," the Katschei
    said, and the bored resignation in his voice did not hide the undertones
    of cold rage.
     Ilya could not actually see the sorcerer; his wrists had been bound be-
    hind his back, and he had been forced into a kneeling position with his
    head down, staring at the inlaid floor of the Katschel's throne-room. Up
    above him on the dais, the Katschei lounged, surrounded by the twelve
    maidens. That much Ilya had seen before the Katschei's monsters threw
    him to the floor and one of them put his boot in the small of Ilya's back
    to keep him bent over.
     "I should have guessed that it simply wasn't possible for anyone as
    monumentally stupid as you appeared to be to be able to penetrate my
    maze, much less survive for an instant among my minions," the Katschei
    continued into the otherwise silent throne room. 'And now what am I
    going to do with you?"
     Ilya did not reply; hemerely licked blood off his split lip and remained
    silent. The less he said, the more he might Icarn-and at the moment,
    he would take anything that would give him a moment more of surviv,,i].
     "Please." Ilya recognized the voice of the Arab maid, soft and exoti-
    cally accented. She sounded frantic, which was flattering, at least. 'Tot
    once, for the love of Allah, be merciful. . . ."
     Ilya wished he could see what was going on up on the dais, but he
    didn't dare raise his head. If be did, he'd be kissing the floor again. 1 do
    not care what Allah thinks of me, dear child," the Katschei replied, with
    a sardonic chuckle. 'And it would be far too risky to be merciful to this
    one. He's too clever. And, I suspect, too persistent. No matter what I did
    to him, short of death, he would find a way out of it."
     At this pronouncement, the other eleven joined the Arab maiden in
    pleading for his life, their voices mingling in a clamor of shrill intensity,
    Tatiana's voice ringing above the others. "Has he not proved a worthier

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    319
    
    foe than all the rest?" she said, in clear and ringing tones. "Surely you
    cannot merely execute such a foe! Should he not be exalted above the
    others? Given a special place among your trophies?"
     "Oh, a special fate, surely," the Katschel responded, his voice utterly
    cold and expressionless. "One who had my own-fate-in his hands, oh,
    he surely deserves a special fate. And it is well for you, my beauties, that
    you could not be the source of his oh-so-accurate information." By now,
    that voice was so full of deadly promise that it sent ice down Ilya's spine.
    'And I would like, very much, to know who told him what he knows. I
    intend to find it out before he dies."
     Silence fell again, and then he was gazing at a pair of shoes. Not boots
    before his eyes this time, but soft, black silk slippers. The Katschei
    grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head up so that he was look-
    ing into the sorcerer's eyes.
     The eyes of someone with no soul, he thought. It is not his heart that
    the Katschei has bartered for power, it is his soul. His heart was merely the
    'promissory note. He could not look away from those terrible eyes, so full
    of emptiness, and yet so very avaricious.
     "You are going to tell me where you learned about the chest," the
    Katschel said softly. "Eventually. But you are going to entertain me first,
    to make up for spoiling my entertainment earlier this evening."
     Whichever monster had his foot in the middle of Ilya's back removed
    it, With his hand still gripping Ilya's hair, the Katschel hauled Ilya to his
    feet. It felt as if the sorcerer intended to tear Ilya's hair out by the roots.
    Tears of pain sprang into his eyes, but he kept his mouth tightly clamped
    shut, for he knew this was nothing compared with what the Katschei
    planned for him. The Katschei let go of his hair, grabbed an arm, and
    flung him into the arms of two of the sorcerer's lieutenants.
     "Cut his bonds," the sorcerer said shortly. "Then make him run the
    gantlet a few times to soften him up. I want to think about an appro-
    priate fate for him before I do anything."
     One lieutenant, a strange creature with long, spindly, attenuated
    limbs and a small body and head, looking oddly like a four-limbed spi-
    der, cut his bonds while the other held him. The second one looked ex-
    actly like one of the hairy demons of Father Mikail's books, complete

    




    320    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    with horns, grotesque expression, goat-eyes, and cloven hooves. Ilya
    faced the Katschei's throne and dais as the spider-man sliced through
    the tough rope with some difficulty,
     Ilya studied the situation, looking for any advantage; the maidens were
    arranged six on each side of the throne, with the Katschei's diamond-
    heart in a niche )ust to the left of the throne, where the sorcerer could
    keep an eye on it. Tatiana stood a little aloof from the rest of the maid-
    ens, her hands clasped tightly against her breast, biting her nether-lip.
    As she got a good look at him, though, for just a moment her expression
    changed. She looked stunned, as if she had been expecting someone else.
     She must have been stunned because she was still confused by his fool
    act, and thought he had been mad. She was stunned now to think he
    had been so incredibly clever-
     Clever. He glanced quickly around, knowing the throne-room as he
    did, and was dismayed to see competent guards at all the entrances and
    exits, even the ones that were not obvious. There were guards below the
    windows above the level of the floor that let in light to shine on the
    throne during the daytime. And there were archers in the gallery above.
    The Katscbei was taking no chances.
     He had no chance to think past that moment; the spider-creature cut
    through the last few strands of his bonds; the demon spun him around,
    and he saw what he was to face to "soften him up."
     A double line of the Katschel's monsters faced him, all of them armed
    with clubs, whips, or other unedged weapons. It was obvious what was
    going to happen. He would be forced to run between them, back and forth,
    until the Katschei thought of something else to do with him. At some
    point, be would be asked who it had been that had told him the Katschei's
    secret-but that was a mere bagatelle; the Katschei wanted to know only
    if it bad been someone in his own household. Ilya could tell him anything,
    even that the Firebird had done it. That might not satisfy him, since he
    was bound to want as many victims as possible right now. There might,
    possibly, have been fear in the Katschei's eyes. The sorcerer who thought
    himself immortal had been very close to death, and knew it.
     A shove in the small of his back sent him stumbling between the two
    lines, and the rain of blows began.

    




    F I R E a I R D    321
    
     He stumbled between two demons with whips, who cut his shirt
    with their quirts before be could get to his feet and stagger on. His skin
    tung and burned where the lashes had fallen, and the next blow, aimed
    t his head, hit his shoulder instead and numbed it to the elbow. The
    demons were shouting and cheering, taunting him and catcalling as he
    staggered on.
     I have to keep my head, If I can keep my head, I can come out of this
    with less damage-if I can dodge out of reach of the ones with heavy clubs
    and take the blows from the ones with whips and sticks-
     He did just that, dashing under a pair who flailed clumsily with clubs
    that were too heavy for them, and allowing another pair to cut him with
    riding-crops. Two more had training-whips, and got in several cuts on
    his back, which tore his shirt to ribbons and felt as if the flesh had been
    flayed from his bones.
     Instead of running straight through, he lurched down the line in a
    zigzag, avoiding the deadly blows and letting the monsters with lighter
    weapons strike his back and arms, as he held both arms cupped over his
    head to protect it. The pain was incredible-but it was no worse than
    one of his brothers' beatings.
     Not as bad, really, he thought, dazedly. I can take this. Each of those
    light slices hurt dreadfully initially, but be could still move, still think-
     He staggered to the end of the gantlet and fell flat on his face; every-
    where he'd been whipped burned like a trail of fire, his arms and hands
    felt fat, swollen, and numb, and he was a bit light-beaded.
     Don't move. Make them do the work. Delay everything, Ilya. There's a
    way out of this, if only you can see it. He waited for the demons to baul
    him to his feet and face him in the right direction again. Every moment
    that he wasn't running the gantlet bought him a little more time.
     Unexpectedly, three of the maidens broke away from the group around
    the Katschel's throne. They ran out among the demons, surrounded him,
    and tried to shelter him with their bodies. "Leave him alone!" cried one
    of the Sami women angrily. "Kill him and be done with it, or let him go!
    Stop torturing him, you heartless beast!"
     The demons hauled them off, gingerly; the Katschei glared at them.
    Then be stretched out his arm and crooked his finger at them, and all

    




    322   MERCEDES LACK :,V
    
    three jerked as if he'd pulled on chains -affached to their throats. With
    a cruel smile, he gestured again, and step :)y step, they stumbled back
    up the dais to the places they'd -.117, "14 Reffli.
     But that didn't shut them up. The semsevent they reached their places,
    they began pleading or haranguing, .marsit4ing to their temperaments,
    and the others joined them, as if aware 11Tt if they all made a fuss, the
    Katschei would be unlikely to concentrate Dn any single one of them to
    punish. The Turkish girl beat on the stone ef the dais with her little fists.
    as if she would like to pound the Katschei ,,h.th them, and the other Sam:
    launched into a long series of vituperative curses in her own language.
     The demons ignored all this. Once with a shove, Ilya was pro
    pelled into the gantlet. The demons hadn'Ichanged positions at all, an(
    once again he was able to evade the worst 111ows and even gain a bit morl
    time by "failing," tumbling out of the vmy, and staggering to his fee
    again. Now, though, he was getting more Than a little light-headed; no
    disoriented yet, but the blows that did iwe(eh his head were making hir
    dizzy. The Katschei would probably have -ioticed that Ilya wasn't gel
    ting the kind of punishment the sorcerer 11ad planned, except that tb
    maidens were distracting him with their ejeas and wails.
     He landed on his face again at the WIT411end of the gantlet, and as
    waited limply for the demons to haul him to his feet for a third rouni
    he carefully assessed his physical emeT40 M*1 There was a lot of pain; no
    his entire back felt raw, and be could -mucely feel his arms. There w;
    blood streaming down his back and FFMVRI g along his ribs, and his shi
    was in ribbons. But he looked worse than ILe was.
     No, this was not bad, Not bad, but not good, and it was never goii
    to get any better. If he was going to do -isionething, it would have to I
    now, before it got any worse, before the 20schei managed to silence I
    captives. There would never be a better sooment.
     The demons who picked him up were vist hanging on to him with a
    great vigor, and he saw his chance.
     He gathered himself, and before they orwild propel him into the gai
    let again, be got his feet set and went into .wift and surprisingly cert,
    motion.
     He threw his weight to one side, Pj&ag on one foot, and manq

    




    to fling the right-hand demon into the left-band one. That broke their
    grip; putting his bead down be charged them, catching the first one in
    the stomach with his bead. The demon grunted and went down, the sec-
    ond grabbed at him but missed and Ilya continued his charge, beading
       ht for the oal he'd set himself when he knew he was in the throne-
    
    matter which. They fled the dais and ran back and forth through the
    throne-room, screaming at the tops of their lungs-no more able to es-
    cape than he was, but fully capable of complicating an already chaotic
    situation. Some of the demons tried to grab at them, and more than one
    
    of the girls reacted to this insult by further hysterics
    
     As the maidens shrieked and ran among the confused demons, con-
    fusing them even further, Ilya reached his goal: a small table with a
    heavy statue on it. He seized the statue and, evading the grasping hands
    of one demon and the flailing club of another, he whirled, hurling the
    
    It crashed through the stained-glass window to the right of the throne
    
    shattering it. And as soon as it left his hands, Ilya reached into what was
    left of the breast of his tunic and pulled out the Firebird's feather, wav-
    
     As the demons closed in on him, he held the flaming feather abov
    his head, praying that she would come, for she was his only chance.

    




    -04CHAPTER TEN
                      "W-,
    
    I IUST AS the first of the demons reached him, and grabbed his arms,
    the Firebird came, and it was obvious that she had been waiting for
    his summons. His heart rose with hope and elation-she had not de-
    serted him!
     She flew in at the shattered window, filling the throne-room with the
    light of her feathers, but her purpose was not to attack.
     Instead, she was singing, singing her magical lullaby with all of her
    soul. She went straight to the center of the room and hovered there, all
    of her concentration on the song, hanging in the air like a fabulous, gem-
    
    studded carving or an enchanting glass ornament, oblivious even to the
    archers who had their arrows trained on her.
     Don't shoot! Ilya pled silently with them, as they stared at her in fas-
    cination, half-mesmerized by her beauty and the coruscating plumage
    that shivered and shed sparks of many-colored light as she
     Every note was shaped perfectly, every phrase exquisite.
    
    sang. . ~t :1
    But Ilya was
    
    not at all interested in hearing that song-the opposite, in fact. He
    stuffed his fingers in his ears, as demons began dropping to the floor, bv
    ones and twos, all around him.
     First to go were the lesser creatures, the poor twisted and deformed,
    things that looked the least human. They dropped immediately, falliri2
    like so many weeds in a frost. The next were tougher, though, as they
    swayed in place, eyelids drooping, while they fought to stay awake. In the
    
    324

    




    F I R E R I R D    325
    
    gallery above, the arrows of the archers in the gallery slowly drooped, the
    archers likewise swayed and fought to keep their eyes open-then they
    lost the battle, arrows and bows fell from nerveless fingers, and the
    archers themselves dropped where they stood, draping their misshapen
    bodies over the railings of the gallery.
     "Stop her!" the Katschei bellowed, his voice muffled by the fingers
    Ilya had in his ears. "Don't listen to her!"
     Futile order, for the song was getting past his fingers, and despite the
    throbbing, burning agony of his back, Ilya's own eyes were beginning to
    feel heavy. Ilya dared the full song for a moment, tore loose the rags of
    his sbirt, and stuffed them into his ears, then seized a dagger and sliced
    a shallow cut across the back of his hand to keep himself awake.
     The pain jarred him alert again. The maidens were already asleep,
    draped gracefully along the steps of the dais. The medium-level mon-
    sters were falling now, as the lieutenants fought to keep their weapons
    in their hands and their eyes open. But they could not keep their weapons
    trained on her, and there was a clatter all over the throne-room as more
    and more of them lost their spears, clubs, and bows as they fought just
    to stay on their feet.
     Meanwhile, the Firebird continued to hover, wings fanning the crys-
    tals in the great banging lights until they chimed together in harmony
    with her song, her eyes closed in concentration, her head tilted back as
    her song soared ecstatically.
     Ilya moved; he worked his way toward the dais one step at a time, mov-
    ing very slowly, and avoiding the strengthless hands that reached for him.
    If the Katschei forgot he was there, or thought he was a demon-
     Seeing that his minions were falling, the Katschei stood up, fighting
    off sleep and swaying where he stood, and began to chant in that strange
    language he had used before. All of his concentration was on the Fire-
    bird, and it was clear to Ilya that he was trying to muster the power for
    a spell to stop ber. But his words faltered, and he was having trouble con-
    centrating.
     Now the last of the demons were dropping, their weapons clattering
    to the floor, their bodies collapsing into ungainly heaps.

    




    326    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
     Ilya felt sleep creeping over him, and sliced his hand a second time,
    the sharp pain cutting across the spell as the knife cut his flesh. The
    Katschei wavered, almost fell, then regained his concentration.
     Now the confrontation narrowed to a battle of wills between the two,
    the demon-tsar and the Firebird. She sang on, her voice retaininE all the
    power and purity it had when she began, but slowly the Katschei's voi
    gained in strength.
     Ilya froze for a moment-thc Katschei's voice rang out in muffled tri-
    umph through the rags in his ears. He had overcome her spell-and now
    he was about to unleash his own. In a moment, she would be blasted
    from the air.
     And Ilya made a last dash for the niche beside the throne, and lunged
    for the diamond with both hands.
     Caught unaware, the Katschei realized his mistake too late. He tried
    to turn his attention from the Firebird, tried to aim the terrible spell he
    was about to cast at Ilya instead.
     But Ilya seized the diamond, as the black thing at the heart of it
    throbbed and pulsed. He whirled toward the Katschel and raised it above
    his head.
     "No!" the Katschei screamed. "No!"
     And Ilya threw it with all of his strength, while his injured back
    screamed in protest, smashing the diamond at the sorcerer's feet.
     A soundless explosion of light caught Ilya in the chest and threw him
    through the air to land a dozen feet from where he had been standing.
    The Firebird ended her song in an unmusical squeal, and when the light
    cleared away, she was gone.
     The black thing that had lived at the heart of the diamond billowed
    up and out, a cloud of evil, oily smoke, filled with flashes of reddish light
    and the suggestion of eyes. The Katschel staggered backward, falling into
    the embrace of his throne, staring up into the cloud as it loomed over
    him, his mouth open and his face twisted into a rictus of pain.
     The smoke rose higher, then bent over toward the Katschei like a wave
    about to break. The Katschel tried to fend it off with his upraised hands,
    screaming, a high, thin wail, as every piece of glass in the throne-room
    shattered.

    




    F I R E B I R D    327
    
     The black cloud dropped and enveloped him completely, hiding him
    from view, cutting off his scream.
     There was a second explosion of light, then a bolt of lightning crashed
    through the ceiling of the throne-room and struck the place where the
    Katschel had been, blinding and deafening Ilya where he lay. Howling
    down out of the breech in the ceiling came a whirlwind, laced through
    with more lightning. Ilya clung to the floor as the wind hurled furniture,
    drapery, screaming demons, and debris around the room in an orgy of
    destruction.
     For a moment he thought that he was going to die; he was certain
    that the ceiling was going to come down and bury them all. He sheltered
    his head in his arms in an attempt to protect himself, as the floor trem-
    bled beneath him and
    wind.
     Then, suddenly, it was over.
    
    the room shook with the angry roar of the whirl-
    
     He raised his head, and his jaw dropped.
     He was lying on the floor of a very fine great hall, perhaps a bit larger
    than the one in Ivan's palace, and with better appointments, but es-
    sentially the same. The polished wooden floor was well-kept, the walls
    were decorated with highly polished carvings of birds and beasts, as were
    the beams overhead. Behind him was a tiled stove that gave off a gen-
    tle warmth. Before him was a modest dais, with three steps leading up
    to a platform that supported a fine, carved wooden table and matching
    cliairs. Behind the table, the wall was graced with a luxurious hanging
    of embroidered felt with a pattern of flowers, trees, and deer, and a
    matching piece ran the length of the table. Good beeswax candles stood
    in three candle-stands on the table, adding their clear light to the
    lanterns on the walls. More tables had been stacked with their benches
    against the walls. On the dais, twelve lovely maidens, seated at the table,
    were slowly awakening and sitting up.
     Around Ilya, a crowd of men-at-arms and servants, serfs and the well-
    born, were also awakening from slumber and getting to their feet.
     We did it! he thought wonderingly. We did it! We slew the Katschez and
    broke all his spells! Tatiana is free, and tsarina again!
     Ilya stood up with the rest of them and blinked, for once feeling

    




    328    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    as stupid as he had pretended to be. But before he could say or' do
    anything, those nearest him finally came out of their own daze to.no-
    tice him.
     "It's him! The hero!" shouted one, and "Savior!" shouted another.
    Soon they were all shouting and cheering, picking him up and carrying
    him to the dais, where he was shoved up next to Tatiana. Caught up in
    the excitement, he seized her in his arms and kissed her, while Tatiana's
    un-enchanted subjects cheered him as if they would never stop.
     They did, eventually, run out of breath-but just at that moment, a
    handsome, hawk-faced man in the robes of an Arab prince, and a tall
    and beautiful fellow dressed in a costume only a tsarevitch could afford,
    entered the hall, took one look at him, and flung themselves at his feet.
     "God be praised!" the tsarevitch cried, crossing himself, then kissing
    Ilya's hand while Ilya blushed and tried to make him stand up. "I heard
    your promise, and I prayed that you would be able to free us! May heaven
    bless you, Ilya Ivanovitch!"
     The Arab rose from his kneeling position long enough to take the mas-
    sive golden necklace from his own neck and place it around Ilya's. 'Allah
    be praised!" he said in perfect Rus. 'And praises to you, Ilya, son of Ivan!
    You arethe bravest man I have ever seen!"
     That only started the cheeringall over again, as two of the maidens
    detached themselves from the group and rushed into the arms of the
    former statues. And no sooner had the cheering stopped again, when an-
    other three warriors entered the hall, and it all began anew.
     Someone brought Ilya a new shirt, and the maidens stripped the old
    one off and dressed the wounds on his back with their own bands be-
    fore he put it on. It might have belonged to Tatiana's father; it was silk,
    but rather too big in the stomach for him. He belted it around himself
    with his own sash and tucked the Firebird's feather back next to his heart.
    He noticed that it was no longer glowing; it was a lovely feather, but oth-
    erwise perfectly ordinary.
     All the while, the former statues came in by ones and twos, falling to
    their knees at his feet, and swearing allegiance and eternal friendship
    with bim-and then one of the maidens would fling herself joyously into

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    329
    
    the new fellow's arms, and the celebrating would start up as vigorously
    as before. It was a little embarrassing, but very exciting; Ilya hardly felt
    the pain of his back at all, but he did know that his face must be quite
    red from blushing.
     "It wasn't all me," he kept saying, "There was the vixen, the Firebird,
    the nightingale . . ."
     But no one would listen to him. Tatiana clung to his elbow as if they
    were already wed, and her father's chief allies and warriors declared that
    they would have no other for tsar.
     Finally Tatiana herself waved her hand, imperiously, and the cheer-
    ing died down. "Of course I shall wed Ilya Ivanovitch," she announced,
    a high blush on her own checks. "How could I fall to reward the great
    hero who saved us all with the greatest gift in my power to give.
     Then she kissed him, and the room erupted.
     All except for one man, who had come in during the speech and now
    stood silently and sullenly at the foot of the dais, looking up at Ilya with
    a face so sour with envy that it would have set anyone's teeth on edge.
     It was Pietor-and there were no welcoming maidens for him. All of
    them had claimed their chosen warriors. As Ilya and Tatiana finally
    ended their embrace and the cheeringdied, Pietor walked stiffly to the
    dais and bowed his head slightly.
     "Well, brother," he said, his tone so ungracious that the Arab clapped
    his hand to his scimitar's hilt, and the tsarevitch's eyes flashed with
    anger. "It seems you have had some amazing good luck."
     Ilya raised an eyebrow, and held Tatiana a little closer. "Good enough
    to free you, apparently. Would you care to stay for my wedding?"
     Pietor brushed chips of paint from his shoulders and shook them out
    of his hair. "I suppose I'll have to," he said rudely, and there was some
    angry muttering among the other newly freed warriors.
     "You could go back to Tsar Ivan afterward," Ilya replied, tenderly and
    sweetly, savoring the bite of his outwardly mild words. "I'll be happy to
    give you three horses and all that you need to do so, and the proof that
    you were not at fault in the matter of the cherries, if you will bear him
    my filial greetings and give him word of my new prosperity."

    




    330    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
     Pietor turned red, then white, then red again, and Ilya's new friends
    chuckled.
     But what else could he do but accept? His gear was gone, his hors
    had been eaten by demons, and he was stuck in Ilya's court without a
    groat to his name. He didn't even have a coat of his own. It was a mo-
    ment of revenge so sweet that Ilya nearly choked on it, and sweeter still
    was the knowledge that Pictor would be telling Ivan that his most de-
    spised son had become a hero, killed a powerful sorcerer, and won the
    hand and kingdom of a beautiful tsarina. Ivan would look at his aging,
    soured wife, his home full of contention and strifc, his narrow little
    kingdom, his cow of a daughter-in-law, and probably have apoplexy.
     It was wonderful, and Ilya savored every moment of it.
    
    I LVA looked down from the tower room where the accounts were kept,
    watching his eleven new friends and their brides-to-be in a carefree
    snowball fight in the courtyard, and sighed. He wished that he had cho-
                                            'd
    sen any other maiden but Tatiana, and yet he would not have wante to
    deprive any of them of their chosen brides. Not all of the former statues
    were so fortunate-the maidens they had come to save were among
    those the Katschei had disposed of when their beauty faded with age
    or they proved intrafisient. Some were remaining as Ilya's retainers, for
    they no longer had homes to return to, and others were going out to seek
    their fortunes, or taking service with the other eleven who still had
    homes and kingdoms to return to. It seemed that, for the favored eleven,
    their stories were all to have reasonably happy endings, but his-well,
    Tatiana was happy. And he was prosperous. That ought to have been
    enough.
     It isn't enough, though, he thought sadly, as Abdul romped with the
    carefree abandon of the youngest of the statues, a Sami warrior who was
    only fourteen but as fierce a fighter as the oldest boyar among them.
     In the tales, no one ever mentioned that the heroine was an idiQt,
    spoiled, and selfish. Ilya would rather be up here in the tower with the
    keeper of the accounts than spend more time than he had to listening
    to her chatter endlessly about her life, her wants, her clothes, her friends.
     She was as shallow as a rain-puddle, and couldn't speak coherently on

    




    F I R E B I R D    331
    
    any subject except herself. Ilya had gotten more sense out of the vixen
    than he did out of her, and at least the vixen had been honest in her self-
    interest.
     And the Firebird was willing to sacrifice all she had to help us.... Ta -
    tiana wouldn't have even begged the Katschei for my life if the others
    hadn't been doing so first.
     That was bad enough, but she was willful as well, and it was quite clear
    that her father had spoiled her beyond belief. She bad only to see a thing
    to want it-much like the Katschei-and she would pout and cry that
    he did not love her if he did not get it for her. If she had her way, her lit-
    tle kingdom-quite prosperous on its own-would have been ruined in
    a fortnight. She had never done without anything she wanted, and un-
    fortunately, her sojourn as the Katschei's captive had drastically raised
    her standards.
     She was just as beautiful as ever, but that was all she was. Anything
    having to do with displaying herself, she did, and did well; she danced
    and sang, played games, and groomed herself to perfection. But her
    world began and ended with her; he had never seen anyone so self-
    absorbed. Even his father, selfish as the old man was, took some thought
    for the prosperity of his realm and the well-being of those in it. She
    seeme to be of the opinion that as long as she was happy, her kingdom
    was fine.
     He had thought at first that this shallowness was a symptom of the
    relief they all felt at being free at last-that she would soon be the sen-
    sible and sensitive creature he knew in his heart she truly was. But-no.
    Lovely, spoiled, selfish little Tatiana was exactly as he now saw her, and
    he was forced to admit to himself that the wonderful woman he had cre-
    ated in his mind out of his few glimpses of her over the wall was just that:
    a creation of his own mind. He had built up an entire personality in his
    heart that had nothing to do with the real maiden; in fact, the times he
    had seen her, she bad been on her best behavior because she wanted
    something, or had just been given something, or just was too tired to
    misbehave. Now he saw the real woman, but after he had already pledged
    to wed her.
     And he was going to spend the rest of his life with her.

    




    332    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a woman who wants to pick
    our warriors by how muscle-bound and handsome they are, a woman who
    uses up all the milk in the dairy to take a bath when there are children here
    whose mothers can't nurse them, a woman who sends her little page out
    into the snow without a coat to pick holly so she can have a cheerful bou-
    quet to look at since there are no flowers here anymore. I'm going to spend
    the rest of my life hearing, "If you really love me"; "It's my kingdom an
    I can do what I like"; "But when the Katschel kept me in his palace, I had
    this-"
     He winced.
     But she was lovely There was no doubt about that. He would be the
    envy of anyone who didn't know what it was like to endure a torrent of
    tears because Tatiana could not have another rope of pearls, since he
    old rope of pearls did not quite match her pearl earrings.
     He'd solved that particular problem by having her maid get the old
    rope and the earrings for him; he'd had one of the better craftsmen take
    a few pearls from the rope and create new earrings, and presented the
    new set to her as a new set. Now as long as she never went looking for
    the old ones ...
     His eleven new friends-how he envied them! Their brides were not
    quite as beautiful as Tatiana, but they weren't quite as shallow, either.
    The Sami women and Aisha the Arab girl in particular seemed sensible
    and beautiful. And the other couples didn't seem to have the difficul-
    ties he had.
     He had hinted to a couple of the men that he was having a few little
    difficulties with Tatiana. Abdul had laughed.
     "So she pouts! Beat her, my friend! Allah decrees that a man shall have
    an obedient wife, cheerful and eager to do his will, like my own Aisha.
    And if she does not, then she must be shown discipline!" He chuckled.
    "This must be your first wife, eh? Aisha will be my fourth. The first is
    for stability, for she will rule the house. The second and third are for chilz
    dren. The fourth-ah! The fourth is for pleasure, and my dear one knows
    that she will be my little treasure, but she also knows she must obey, not
    only me, but my senior wives. With his first wife, a young man is often
    confused, afraid that he will be cruel. But I tell you, it would be cruel to

    




    F I R E B I R D    333
    
    allow her to run wild like a mare in the desert, who is useful for nothing
    and will soon get herself into trouble. No, beat her, and she will come to
    love you for it."
     Prince Igor had said much the same thing, eliminating the part about
    multiple wives. Even his Tatiana's advisors had hemmed and hawed, and
    suggested that she had been overindulged and would benefit from a lit-
    tle loving restraint.
     Ruslan said that the Firebird was a tsarina in her own right. I doubt
    that her staff would think she needs "loving restraint."
     After that, he hadn't mentioned his troubles again to anyone. It was
    easy enough to hide them, for Tatiana never had her tantrums in pub-
    lic, only when they were alone together or had caused problems with her
    staff and servants, which he had to solve. Most of the time no one even
    knew she caused those problems because he solved them before they be-
    came public knowledge. In fact, one of the old advisors had congratu-
    lated him on how well he had gotten Tatiana to settle down, since she
    formerly caused near-riots among the staff on a weekly basis!
     And the staff of servants had more than enough on their hands with
    the great weddings to take place in another four days. Poor things; no
    one had ever had to plan for the wedding of twelve extremely important
    couples all at once.
     They were all, all twenty-four of them, to be wedded on the same
    day-in part because the young men wanted to take the maidens back
    to their homelands immediately, as it would have been a terrible thing
    for the girls' reputations to return to their bomcs-unwedded maids with
    young men-unchaperoncd and unprotected. And in part because the
    warriors who had traveled farthest had brought entourages with them-
    men who had (when they had not wound up in the stew) been trans-
    formed into more of the Katschei's monsters. Now they were all back to
    human form, and they were cating their heads off, emptying Tatiana's
    stores at a terrific rate. It was dreadfully difficult to feed them all, even
    with parties going out daily for game.
     It was also difficult that hunting was one of the daily activities; not
    sport-hunting, but serious game-hunting, conducted in a systematic
    way with an eye to rounding up enough game to feed all the hungry

    




    mmi
    
    334    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    mouths in the palace. A small stream of gold was going out into the coun-
    tryside, and wagon-loads of provender arrived daily. It would be a relief
    when all these people were gone, and the quickest way to get them gone
    was to get all the young men married to their maids so they could go
    home with honor and rejoicing.
     It would have bankrupted the little kingdom, except that the cellars
    and attics were stuffed to bursting with the treasures the Katschei had
    stolen. When spring came, the factors could take those treasures, a few
    at a time, and sell them, and Tatiana's coffers would be quickly replen-
    ished. But for now, well, it would be sad to say good-bye to all his new
    friends, but there was no way that Ilya could play host to them for much
    longer.
     You would think, with all that treasure, that Tatiana would be the hap-
    piest maiden alive. Although the clothing the Katschei had given his
    maidens was often magical in nature, and their more elaborate cos-
    tumes had vanished when he did, the jewels were stolen and real enough.
    Tatiana had a chest of jewelry that was a real chest, not a miniature; it
    was as large as the dower-chests most women owned and stored their
    linens in. And the other maidens had pressed on her and on Ilya some
    of the jewels they did not care to take with them-pieces that had un-
    pleasant memories. In addition, there were yet more precious things that
    the Katschei had not yet gotten around to decking his captives with, and
    Tatiana had access to all of that.
     And yet-and yet-and yet-she was not content. She wanted the
    wardrobe that the Katschei had given her-silks from Chin and velvets
    from the west, gauzes from Hind and furs from the north. She wanted
    flowers and fruit in midwinter, strange foods from around the world, a
    bathhouse like the Turks had-not just a steamroom, but a huge pool
    of warm water to float in for hours. She wanted attendants to massage
    her with fragrant oils, to tend her complexion with creams and unguents,
    to buff her nails and rub her feet. She wanted a dozen girls to embroi-
    der for her, read to her, sing to her.
     Was she going to get any of this? Not in the heart of Rus. Not with-
    out finding another powerful sorcerer.

    




    F I R E B I R D    335
    
     Had she resigned herself to this fact?
     Did pigs fly?
     And the Firebird was content with a bit of magical fruit and the free-
    dom of the. sky....
     Ilya was just glad that the wedding would be soon; as soon, in fact, as
    a priest could be brought (the monsters had eaten the last one). There
    would be a mass wedding in the morning for the eleven captives and their
    chosen brides, and a separate wedding in the afternoon for Ilya the Hero
    and his lovely tsarina.
     Perhaps when the wedding is over, she will settle down. Or perhaps chil-
    dren will settle her. Perhaps all of her discontent is only that she longs for
    children. Some of the older women here had assured him that her dis-
    content could quickly be cured with children, who would soon absorb
    all her attention. They swore that once she became a mother, she would
    lose all her self-absorption and selfishness.
     Or, she will find wet-nurses for them the moment they are born, and
    never see them again except when she wishes to pose with them around her.
    He bated to think that of her, of any woman, but it was a possibility.
     In the meantime, he had tried his best to be gentle with her. But it
    was obvious that he was going to have to take on the management of
    the kingdom, for she didn't even know how to manage her own house-
    hold, and she didn't care to learn.
    
     But why can't I help but think that even that poor sow my brother mar-
    ried has a better heart? At least she doesn't try to hurt anyone.
     As he watched, the snowball-fight in the courtyard dissolved, and the
    combatants declared a truce and went inside. There was a tap on his door.
     "Come," he called, and the cook timidly poked her red face in the
    doorway.
     "Sir, the lady Tatiana has lust ordered me to have the gardener
    beaten," she said, tentatively.
     Ilya sighed. "What for this time?" he asked without hope.
     The Firebird never complained about anything.
     "She wanted strawberries yesterday, and he told her it was impossi-
    ble, it was midwinter. She stamped her foot, said, 'The Katschei had

    




    336    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    strawberries in midwinter, and you'd better have them tomorrow.' So
    today, she sends-no strawberries, of course-and now she wants the gar-
    dener beaten."
     "Don't beat the gardener," he said, groaning. Poor Sergel! Even when
    he is no longer a monster, he is still being abused! "Tell everyone I order
    the gardener to be left alone. For God's sake, tell the gardener to go visit
    his married children or his mother for a while until the tsarina gets over
    not having fresh fruit in midwinter. If he isn't here, she can't keep both-
    ering him for impossibilities. Have you strawberry jam put by?"
     The cook nodded.
     "Then make her strawberry tarts with the Prn, and she'll forgct all
    about it. Make sure you put a lot of beaten cream on them, and she'll
    never know they're made with jam and not fresh berries."
     The cook beamed, as if he was the cleverest man in the world, and
    bobbed a little bow at him. "Thank you, sir! I'll do just that! Thank you!"
     She took herself out again, still uttering effusive thanks, and Ilya
    moaned.
     Is it that these people can't think? Or is it that she has them so baffled
    that they've forgotten how to think?
     Or maybe it was just that they'd gotten out of the habit of thinking,
    back when they were monsters. In some strange way, their lives were
    much easier when they weren't allowed to think. Hard to believe, but
    that cheerful, red-faced woman had been the hideous Kitchen Monster
    that had ruled the Katschei's kitchens with an iron fist.
     On the other hand, I don't work in the kitchen anymore; I'm the Mas-
    ter. Maybe she still rules the kitchen with an iron fist, and I l'ust never hear
    about it.
     If only he had a little magic-not to bring strawberries in midwinter
    for Tatiana, but just to remind him that there were more things in life
    than trying to keep his bride-to-be from insulting and damaging her own
    staff. Something that would bring a little sparkle to his day, and remind
    him of what he had been and done.
     Magic. It seemed that the Katschei had taken all the magic with him,
    that it had vanished completely away. He hadn't seen anything magical

    




    F I R E B I R D    337
    
    since the Katschei's spell was broken. He'd listened as hard as he could
    but didn't get a hint of conversation when the dogs barked. None of the
    horses exchanged pleasantries with him. He guessed that magic was
    gone from his life, along with his ephemeral freedom.
     In its place was duty, a duty that was becoming a burden more and
    more with every day that passed. And in the past few days, not an hour
    went by when he didn't wish he could just pack up and leave.
     I can't abandon her. I have to stay here, for her sake, and for the sake of
    her people. If I left, I'd be breaking my pledge to her, I'd be leaving her peo-
    ple at her mercy, and Id be leaving her to the mercy of the next Katschel
    to come along. And one would; maybe not so powerful, or so evil, but one
    would. She's too beautiful not to become a prize. And she's almost help-
    less without me; she can't take care of herself or defend herself It's not her
    fault that she's spoiled, and the only way to unspoll her is to teach her. She
    can be a wonderful person, I know she can.
     But he rather wished it had been Pietor who bad rescued her, and not
    himself. Pietor would not make a bad tsar. He had a better temper than
    Ivan, he kept his cruel streak under control when it came to the servants
    and serfs, and he had a shrewd head on his shoulders when it came to
    finding others who were clever enough to take the burden of managing
    things. Pietor had made friends among the stable-people and the guards,
    and that alone proved that he didn't treat people as badly as Ivan. He
    wasn't bright, but he had managed to plan his own escape, so he wasn't
    as stupid as Ilya had thought.
     Granted, he expected women to be like dogs, there when you called
    them, and otherwise at your feet.
     Well, no one was perfect.
     But it wasn't Pletor, and I made my promises and I have to stick to them.
     Two of the former statues-two of the first that the Katschel had cre-
    ated-were neighboring boyars who were helping out with provisions for
    the horde that Ilya was playing host to. The Katschei had taken over and
    preserved their lands when he defeated them, thus ensuring that they
    had lands to return to. They had told him that they had both made bids
    to Tatiana's father to wed her, but it had been largely for the sake of her

    




    338    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    land. Being neighbors, they knew what she was like, and while in their
    cups, they had told him that not even her great beauty would have
    tempted them if she had not come with such a prize.
     Now, though, they were more than happy with the girls they'd gotten.
     "We probably would have gone to war with anyone who had married
    Tatiana," Vladimir had said last night, over drinks. "Just because, frankly,
    anyone who married her might come after our land lust to help satisfy
    her. But you don't need to worry, brother. I wouldn't dispute a single grain
    of sand with you!"
     Ilya yawned, and had to put down the pen to rub his eyes. He hadn't
    gotten much sleep last night. He hadn't been getting much sleep any
    night, actually.
     I keep dreaming of the Firebird.
     But not as a bird, not anymore. He dreamed of her as a maiden,
    mostly alone, mostly weeping. Last night he had dreamed that she was
    weeping in the famous apple-orchard, and when he awoke, he found
    himself standing under the trees in the moonlight, where he'd sleep-
    walked. Thank God he'd put on his boots in his sleep, or he'd have been
    getting married minus a set of frostbitten toes!
     But his heart ached when he thought of her, weeping so hopelessly,
    as if she were still trapped in the Katschei's net. Why was she weeping?
    Surely her life was no different-except, perhaps, that there were no more
    magical fruits to eat here. But she was a bird, a magical bird; she could
    fly into the south, the warm and sultry south, and eat magical figs from
    the trees grown by the djinn, feast on pomegranates and oranges from
    trees tended by efrits, and on almonds and dates watched over by peris.
    She could go anywhere she wanted. He was the one who should be
    weeping, trapped here in a world without magic, with a woman who was
    a lovely, spoiled, selfish doll.
     And a 1'ealous doll. She wanted all of his time; wanted to know exactly
    where he was at any given moment. If he even looked at one of the other
    maidens, she questioned him crossly about what he thought of the girl.
    She didn't want him to have any friends, and tried her best to separate
    him from the ones he'd made. Only custom and his own persistence kept

    




    F I R E R I R D    339
    
    that from happening now, but once all the men he'd rescued were gone,
    she would have a freer hand.
     He spent more and more of his time mending the things she had done
    without even thinking about them. This morning he had counter-
    manded her order that the cows should not be milked before she was
    awake, so that she could have milk warm from the udder for her break-
    fast and to wash her face in. Never mind that this would throw the dairy
    into utter chaos, delay work for hours. And never mind that the cows
    would be in agony as the milk strained their swollen udders. She wanted
    milk that was warm and absolutely fresh.
     He told them to keep a pall of milk near the fire so that it would stay
    warm until she woke, and she would never know the difference.
     Thoughtlessness. Casual cruelty Every day saw another instance-
    sometimes more than one, for today it had been both the milk and the
    strawberries.
     How am I ever going to civilize this woman? be thought despairingly.
    How am I to handle her?
     Whether be liked it or not, it looked as though his entire life was going
    to be spent in serving her-seeing to it that her whims didn't destroy
    anyone, seeing to it that she was happy so that at least there would be
    no more tantrums and tears. There would be very little time in all of that
    for bimself.
     At least when I was the Fool, my time was my own. He little thought
    that he would ever look back on that time with regret and nostalgia! And
    when I was with the Firebird-I was completely happy. Perhaps a creature
    of magic such as she is could never care for a mere human, though.
     But for Tatiana's part-except for the moments when she wept that
    he did not love her because he could not provide her with something
    impossible-she seemed utterly content. She hung all over him in pub-
    lic, draped herself on him during their chaste meetings in private, kissed
    him on the slightest provocation. She seemed astonished at his clever-
    ness and, to her credit, praised him openly and generously whenever
    there was an opportunity to do so. When he smoothed over a difficulty
    with the staff, she thanked him so prettily that for a few moments, he
    
    I

    




    340    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    actually forgot that she had been the cause of the difficulty in the first
    place. And when he was with her and she wasn't chattering, he fell in
    love with her all over again.
     Until she opened her mouth, that is.
     But it was clear to him that she was entirely enamored of him, and
    had no idea that he did not reciprocate those feelings as wholeheartedly
    as she did. He couldn't bear to abandon her and break what little heart
    she had. But he couldn't help but contrast her desperate clinging with
    the Firebird's independence of spirit, and wish with all his heart that it
    was the Firebird he was to wed on the morrow, and not Tatiana.
     But it's my word and my honor at stake here. What is happiness ifyour
    word can't be trusted and you have no honor?
     That was a question that had no answers. In fact, the only answer to
    his current unhappy restlessness was this:
     The only happy endings are in tales. The rest of us make do with what
    we have.
     But for a man who had tasted a magic cherry, talked with a vixen-fox,
    and fought a battle of wits, wiles, and spells with a Firebird, that was a
    very unsatisfactory answer.
    
    T H E R E were two gypsy bands in the courtyard playing conflicting
    mazurkas, a troupe of musicians in the great ball playing the cushion-
    dance, and a peasant-group in the great barn performing harvest-songs,
    all of them making as much noise as possible, and all of them at least partly
    drunk. Eleven couples were now man and wife, even the two Moslem cou-
    ples, who bent their faith enough to allow that a marriage performed by
    a Christian was binding enough so long as a proper Moslem rite was per-
    formed when they got home. The priest, for his part, was flexible enough
    that with coaching by Abdul, he managed a semblance of a Moslem cer-
    emony. So everyone was happy, and the wedding-feast was in full force.
     The climax of the feast was to be Ilya and Tatiana's wedding, and Ilya
    gazed at his bridal finery with a sad and reluctant sigh. The splendid out-
    fit laid out on the bed could have been a set of fetters and shackles, the
    way he felt about it. He had put off the fatal moment for as long as he
    dared, but now there was no choice. This was the end, the end of magic,

    




    F I R E 0 1 R D    341
    
    of hope, of freedom, and the beginning of a responsibility and a duty that
    would never end until he died.
     And with damned little reward, except for prosperity.
     He was coming to realize that having prosperity without happiness
    was much akin to eating too much sugar: Initially one felt pleasure and
    satisfaction, but sooner or later one ended up sick.
     "Off with you," he told his attendants, finally. "I can dress myself."
    Thank God my friends are so busy celebrating their own weddings that they
    di 'dn't feel the need to play attendant. I couldn't order them around.
     "But-" said one old man, the most senior of the servants. Ilya turned
    and glarcd at him, and he snapped his mouth shut.
     "I can dress myself," Ilya said firmly. "I've been dressing myself for
    years." The six attendants bowed and let themselves out, leaving him
    alone with his wedding-costume.
     He sighed, sat down on the edge of the bed, and began, slowly, to array
    himself for-what? He felt as if he were going to an execution; his own.
    Breeches, fine scarlet wool. Silk shirt of a pale gold. Coat, matching the
    breeches, decorated with gold braid and embroidery. All thriftily cut
    down (at his insistence) from feast-day clothing that had once been Ta-
    tiana's father's, in part to make up for the extravagance of her wedding-
    dress. Typically, she had not recognized it when she saw it on him, which
    was just as well, he supposed. A brand-new pair of boots. A magnificent
    sash, gift from Abdul. A curved knife, with a gold hilt in the shape of a
    bird's head, and a gold sheath, from Feisal.
     He held up the knife, and the sapphire in the eye winked at him; where
    Feisal had found it, he bad no idea, but it was not a bird of prey, as was
    common, but another, more splendid creature. A bird of gold. A bird of
    fire-
     Tears sprang into his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands and wept
    for his loss. Now, too late, he knew that the woman he really loved was
    the Firebird. He was deeply, irrevocably in love with a creature he bad
    not seen except in dreams since he had broken the diamond at the
    Katscbel's feet.
     Oh God. Oh, Holy Virg' 'n. Oh Rod and Perun! What have I done to my-
    self? What have I done to her?

    




    A
    ,~ , , WWI
    
    342    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
     He didn't know what had happened to her after that moment. All he
    knew was that the initial explosion of light had cut her song short, and
    when the light faded, she was gone.
     Did I somehow drive her away with that? If I did, why didn't she come
    back?
     Could it be that the terrible forces he had unleashed had harmed her?
    If that was the case, then he would never, ever forgive himself.
     But he didn't know, and he didn't think he would ever know. All he
    knew was that he had somehow abandoned his true love for a false one,
    and his life was in ruins because of that foolish choice.
     He reached into the breast of his tunic and pulled out the lovely
    feather, which never left him, not even when he slept. If Tatiana knew,
    she probably would have demanded it for herself or told him to throw
    it away.
     Never.
     He gazed at it sadly, stroking the soft vanes with one finger, tracing
    the patterns and colors in it. There it was-the living symbol of every-
    thing be really wanted. Freedom, magic, and wonder, all the wonder in
    the world. This was a night full of stars so big and bright that it seemed
    all you had to do was to climb a tree and pick them like cherries. This
    was a rusalka singing to herself as she combed her hair beside her river.
    This was a laughing fox, a failing star, a talking nightingale, the faithful
    spirit of a horse who might have had a touch of the Night Wind blood
    in him....
     And he was about to give all this up, forever, to go into a captivity that
    meant the end of anything but care and responsibility. He was going to
    spend the rest of his nights beside a woman who wanted his soul, giving
    up the one who had given him freedom.
     'Ahem," said a brisk little voice at the door.
     He turned, suddenly angry that his attendants had disobeyed his or-
    ders, and stared in fury at the open door.
     The door was open, but the doorway it self was empty.
     "I said, Ahern," the voice repeated.
     He dropped his gaze, startled. Sitting squarely in the middle of the
    doorway was a vlxcn-fox, tidily licking a paw clean. His mouth dropped

    




    open and he gaped at the dainty creature, feeling very much as if he'd
    )ust been hit in the back of the head with a club.
     " Very nice feast, Ilya Ivanovitch," she said conversationally, ignoring
    his shock. "The chicken is particularly good. And the cheese is superb. "
     'Ah, thank you, " he stammered, his eyes wide. "I'm glad you came-
    I would have sent you an invitation, but I didn't know how to find you."
     Where has she come from? Where has she been? Why is she here now?
    And why can I hear her speaking now?
     "No matter; my family is inclined to invite themselves," she replied with
    a droll tilt of her head. "Your selection of refreshments is quite superb."
     "Yes, indeed, although I favor the white cake and the currant-bread, per-
    sonally," said another, sweeter voice to his left.
     He turned to the window, and there on the sill stood the nightingale,
    preeninz her wings.
     "I hope you both had your fill," he managed, wondering what this all
    meant, what had really brought them. Was it simply goodwill? Or were
    there-could there be other forces at work here?
     "Oh, we did. But there really is something you should see, Ilya
    Ivanovitch," the vixen said cheerfully. 'And we came to tellyou about it.
     "Precisely." The nightingale nodded, her entire body bobbing.
     "I'm a little busy right now," he replied inanely. "I'm about to be mar-
    r1ed, you sec."
     41 Well, this is about getting married," the nightingale replied. "Now if
    I were you, Id go pay a surprise visit to my bride right now, this very mo-
    ment. It's very, very important, Ilya Ivanovitch."
     'And I would take witnesses with me," the vixen added. Was there a
    certain malicious en)oyment in her voice? If so, he didn't think it was at
    his expense. "Plenty of big, strong witnesses who are also your friends. "
     "We will see you later, I hope, " the nightingale said and flew off. When
    he looked back to the doorway, the vixen was already gone.
     But-surprise visit to his bride? Whatever for? What could Tatiana
    possibly be doing at this moment that it was important he see her? For
    one wild instant, he wondered if perhaps she was a shape-shifter-or that
    she wasn't Tatiana at all, but the Katschei in disguise....
     No, that was ridiculous, and if something like that had been true, she
    
    F I R E 8 1 R D    343

    




    344    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    would have killed him and taken his place. She wouldn't be planning to
    marry him.
     They never gave me bad advice before.... Severely puzzled, but will-
    ing to follow their directions, Ilya went out into the rest of the palace to
    see who and what he could gather up.
     He managed to run into Lev and Vladimir as soon as he entered the
    antechamber to the great hall; the latter was a famous bear-hunter who
    had gone to challenge the Katschei to single combat, and the former was
    one of his neighbors, who had taken a small army to come to Tatiana's
    rescue. Both of them had become firm friends with him, Lev because
    Ilya understood animals, and Vladimir because Ilya understood the
    proper running of a household.
     "Our brides have gone to make themselves beautiful all over again!"
    Lev called out, clapping him on the back. "So we're here to make sure
    you are still doing well. Not too nervous, I hope?"
     'Actually," Ilya said, seeing the perfect opening for what would oth-
    erwise be a very strange request, "I've-forgive me, but I have a terrible
    feeling about Tatiana. A premonition." He laughed weakly "Please, don't
    think I'm being foolish, but I keep remembering that the Katschei had
    a habit of kidnapping his maidens on their wedding day-"
     "No, that's not foolish!" Vladimir said with alarm. 'And we have no
    real proof that the monster is dead, after all! I do not want to wake up
    and find I'm a statue again, and not a happy bridegroom in my loving
    wife's arms! Do you think we should look in on Tatiana?"
     "I do," Ilya replied, relieved. 'And you don't mind if I come with you,
    do you? I would feel much better if she were being guarded."
     "Well, your brother Pietor is doing that," Lev said ingenuously, "but
    it still wouldn't hurt to check." He frowned. "Premonitions are a serious
    business. There could be something seriously wrong here."
     But Ilya was still thinking about the previous statement, for it was en-
    tirely out of character for his brother to leave any kind of a festival where
    there was even a chance of finding a toothsome wench to go along with
    a fine meal. Pietor? Now why would Pietor volunteer to do anything that
    took him away from a feast?

    




    F I R E B I R D    345
    
     Now more puzzled than ever, but beginning to have a glimmer of sus-
    picion, Ilya followed along in the wake of his two enormous friends.
     Surely not. Surely neither of them are that treacherous, or that
    stupid....
     Tatiana's rooms were at the back of the palace, secluded and separated
    from the noise and bustle of the wedding feast. In fact, as they passed
    through the doors of the first and outermost chamber, her rooms seemed
    strangely quiet for those of a bride who was supposedly being readied
    for her own wedding. Where were all the attendants? Where were the
    servants? There should be a great deal of giggling and teasing going
    alongwith the primping and preparing.
     Now Ilya was really alarmed, and so were Lev and Vladimir, who ex-
    changed a look of dismay.
     "It's awfully quiet in here," Lev said slowly, stating the obvious.
     "Do you think?" Ilya began.
     The other two exchanged another look, this time of alarm. "The
    Katschei!" they exclaimed at the same time, and heading for Tatiana's
    bedroom, burst open the door without knocking.
     There was a feminine shriek, but not for help. This was the shriek of
    someone who had been caught doing something very wrong-mingled
    fear, despair, and dismay
     There was also a masculine roar of outrage mixed with fear and a
    touch of guilt, in a voice that Ilya knew very well indeed, for he had heard
    it roar other things, on a daily basis, for most of his life.
     Coming in behind the other two, he caught only a glimpse of what
    they must have seen clear-Tatiana, sans her lovely wedding gown, sans
    any clothing at all, for that matter. In bed.
     With Pietor, who was also showing a great deal of naked flesh.
     Suddenly, a great many things fell into place with a mental click. Ta-
    tiana's surprise when she saw that the man who had vanquished the
    dragon was not who she had expected. Pietor's sullen reaction to Ilya's
    triumph. Little remarks made by both of them over the past few weeks.
    The way she bad put him off from time to time. The way Pietor had van-
    ished during times when Ilya wasn't certain where Tatiana was.
    
    11

    




    I
    
    01 1
    
    346    MERCEDES LA.C114EV
    
    Pietor and Tatiana. Well, well, well.
    
     Tatiana was breathing heavily, her eyes wide, her hair disheveled.
    Each breath came closer and closer to a shriek, until she finally managed
    to work herself up to a full-blown case of hysterics in a remarkably short
    period of time. She clutched the sheet to her breast and pointed dra-
    matically at Pietor.
     "He forced me!" she screamed, tears starting in her eyes. "He told my
    servants he was here to protect me, then he sent them all off, and he
    forced-"
     Pictor backhanded her; she fell back into the pillows, a red mark
    standing clear on her cheek, and Lev and Vladimir started toward him,
    faces black as thunderstorms. Ilya restrained them with a hand on ei-
    ther arm. "Don't," he said in a low voice. "I think we ought to hear this."
     "You treacherous bitch!" Pletor spat at her, completely ignoring the
    trio at the door in his anger. "You were the one who came sniffing and
    whining at my heels! You were the one who kept saying you wanted a
    real man for a husband, instead of a milk-and-water half-priest! You sent
    the attendants away, you asked me to come 'guard' you in case the
    Katschel came back, and you were the one who was the first out of her
    clothes and into bed! You were the one who couldn't get enough of my
    'little man' for the past week! 'It doesn't matter,' you said. 'He'll never
    know I'm not a virgin,' you said. 'If I get with child, it will still look like
    him anyway,' you said!"
     Ilya's friends were growing angrier and angrier with every word Pietor
    uttered, but strangely, Ilya grew calmer and calmer.
     Her devotion-it was all an act! She isn't in love with me! If her own
    people hadn't insisted on it, she never would have agreed to marry me!
     If he had never come down here, he would never have known about
    this. Tatiana would have concocted some story about why she was no
    longer a virgin-or else she would have faked it; she was perfectly capa-
    ble of that. He'd heard stories....
     She probably would have had some excuse to keep Pietor under this
    roof. He'd have been cuckolded in his own home by his own brother-
    who might very well have decided to take matters into his own hands
    and get rid of Ilya. When a beautiful woman, a pile of treasure, and a
    
    t

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    347
    
    11
    
    kingdom were at stake, Pietor would hardly worry about a little thing like
    fratricide when he'd been perfectly capable of beating that brother to a
    pulp on a regular basis.
     If he'd come here alone, there might have been a terrible "accident"
    on the verge of his own wedding. How tragic for the bride. How pleas-
    ant for her that she had Pictor to comfort her in her grief ... bow kind
    of him to marry his brother's bereaved betrothed to see that she was well
    cared for.
     But he had witnesses-large, honest witnesses who were also friends
    of his. And what they did not know was that he now had the escape he
    bad never dreamed possible. An escape with honor intact.
     Well, his, anyway. After this moment, there wasn't enough left of Ta-
    tiana's honor to fill a thimble.
     A terrible, wonderful, heart-filling joy overwhelmed him, and in the
    clarity of that moment, he somehow managed to feign a rage befitting
    the Katscbei.
     "You!" he thundered, pointing an accusatory finger at his trembling
    bride. "How dare you! I risk my life, my soul to save you, I honor and
    cherish you-1 could have taken everything I wanted from you and left
    you with nothing, but no! I permitted you to retain the title and land
    that I rightfully won! I asked for your hand, in good faith and allowing
    that you might refuse me, and you pledged it, before God and your peo-
    ple! Oathbreaker! Harlot! Whore! You couldn't even wait until after we
    were married to cuckold me! You're more shameless than a bitch in
    beat! You have broken your vows, your word-you aren't even worthy to
    wash the feet of your scullery maid!"
     'And you," he continued, turning to his brother. "I rescued you, gave
    you inore than you stole from our father, trusted you, and this is how
    you repay that trust! What did you intend to do, kill me so that you could
    take my place?"
     The look of startled guilt on Pictor's face was clear enough for even
    Lev and Vladimir to see, and as one man, they clapped their bands on
    the bilts of their knives in warning, stepping instinctively to put them-
    selves between Ilya and harm.
     "Ha!" be cried. "Well, then, take her! No one else will! But don't be

    




    348    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    surprised if your neighbors celebrate your wedding by bringing armies
    to greet youl The two of you may go to hell together, for I will not be
    here to see it!"
     He turned on his heel and stormed out, breaking into a run as soon
    as he got out of sight of his two friends, for the last thing he wanted them
    to have was a chance to dissuade him. So they don't want Pietor as a neigh-
    bor-well, I don't blame them, but they can certainly take care of that lit-
    tle problem themselves. Not only do they have armies of their own, but they
    have a great deal of treasure to buy more warri . ors with.
     Once in his quarters, he worked quickly. One saddlebag he filled with
    golden jewelry that had been presented to him over the past few weeks;
    it made for a heavy pack, but gold would buy him a great deal more than
    he could carry off in the way of provisions. He packed the other bag with
    personal gear and clothing. Sword-knives-bow and arrows-spear. He
    turned to the armor-stand in the corner of his room and took everything
    but the armor itself. All the weapons were of the finest make, all left be-
    hind when the grand palace became a normal palace. He slung a grand
    sable cape, fur inside and out, over his shoulders and rolled the blankets
    on his bed into a rough but serviceable bedroll. Thus burdened, he made
    his way a bit clumsily down to the stables.
     He dropped his loot in a heap just inside the stable door, startling a
    stableboy who was enjoying the company of a milkmaid and a bottle of
    honey-wine. The two tousled heads popped up out of the straw, and both
    began to stammer something; he cut them off with a gesture.
     "You!" he barked, pointing to the girl, who was hastily pulling her
    skirts down and her blouse up. "You go to the kitchen and get me bread,
    cheese, meat, and onions, traveling food, enough for six or seven days;
    put it into a sack and bring it here. No, wait, bring extra bread and
    cheese as well. Now go!"
     "Y-y-yes, sir! " the girl stammered, and scrambled up out of the straw
    to run off to do his bidding. She edged past him and broke into a rurl as
    soon as she was out in the open.
     "You!" he continued, pointing at the stableboy. "You get me enough
    oats and swect-feed for a week, and make it up as a travel-bag. Then get

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    349
    
    me a good brush, two blankets, and a hoof-pick. Get a pack-saddle and
    lead-reins. Bring them all here."
     "Sir! " the boy jumped up to do as he was told.
     Meanwhile, Ilya went straight to the two best horses in the stable. The
    first he saddled and bridled for his own use. The second, as soon as the
    boy brought the things he'd asked for, he harnessed up as his pack-
    animal. Neither would be particularly burdened, which meant that he
    would make very good time.
     The girl returned with a surprisingly heavy bag. "I put a couple of bot-
    tles of honey-wine in there, sir," she said, bobbing shyly. 'And a nice big
    piece of wedding-cake. Since you won't be getting any?"
     He looked at her sharply; she gave him a demure but knowing smile.
    
    "The place is in an uproar, sir," she whispered. "They're looking for you,
    and threatening to hang your brother. That Arab, they've had to keep
    him from cutting the fool's head off twice now, and I don't know how
    much longer they can keep holding him back if that Pietor doesn't stop
    saying stupid things."
     "I hope he doesn't," Ilya replied heartlessly, "I hope you didn't tell
    them where I was."
     "Me, sir? No, sir," she replied promptly. "You aren't going to fQrgive
    her, are you?"
     "Would you?" he countered.
     She made a little face. "Not if I bad any sense. You can't change a goat
    into a lamb with a wedding-ring." Then she reached up, grasped his head,
    and gave him a kiss, much to his own astonishment. He stared at her,
    and she giggled.
     "I neverkissed a hero, and I don't think I'll everbave another chance!"
    she said gaily, and ran off.
     With a shake of his head, he finished loading the pack-saddle, added
    a few more things he and the boy thought might come in handy, like a
    coil of rope and leather-tools, and mounted up.
     As the dairymaid bad said, the palace was in an uproar, but people were
    running toward it and inside it, not away. No one stopped him as be rode
    out of the stables. No one even noticed him until he got to the front gate.

    




    350    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     But then he heard someone calling his name, and pulled up a little.
    He looked back over his shoulder.
     Tatiana, wearing a shift that looked to have been thrown on over her
    nakedness, her face tear-streaked, her hair a mess, her nose red as a
    hawthorn berry, ran after him, sobbing. "Ilya!" she cried, her voice thick.
    "I beg you! Come back! I love you, I cannot live without you! I will do
    anything for you, please! Forgive! Forgive!"
     She looked every inch the ruined bride, and for once, she looked nor-
    mally hysterical. This might have been the first time in her life that she
    was not putting on a performance for the benefit of an audience.
     So why ruin it for her now?
     He turned abruptly away from her and set heels to his bors'e, leaving
    her to cast herself down in the snow, sobbing heartbrokenly.
     "Forgive!" she cried. "Ilya!"
     He made it through the gates-out onto the road-and out into
    freedom.
     The moment he passed the gates, his horse broke into a canter, and
    he let it, laughing out loud for the first time since he had gotten him-
    self into this mess.
     I'm free. Free!
     "Well, boy, I hope you brought me bread for this l'ourney! " the nightin-
    gale sang out, as she winged in overhead, darting about his shoulders as
    if she were chasing insects there.
     'And I hope you remembered my cheese! " the fox laughed, bursting out
    of a snow-covered bush and leaping along at his horse's heels.
     "Bread for you, and cheese for you, and wedding-cake for all of us!"
    he shouted back.                      I
    
     "Wedd'    ing-cake! And what are you going to do about the bride?" the fox
    asked, as he slowed the horse to a walk to save it.
     "Me? Nothing. If Feisal doesn't kill my brother, I expect the rest of
    them will force him to wed her. After all, he's not only despoiled her, he's
    robbed them of a hero!" He laughed again. "Pietor probably doesn't want
    her now, but that's too bad. And I bet that once the wedding's over, the
    dividing will begin; I wonder how many of the Katschel's treasures she'll
    get to keep now?"

    




    F I R E B I R D    351
    
     "Not many, I bet," the vixen observed, looking up at him shrewdly.
    'And I bet some of the lands get carved away too. "
     "If not now, then later," Ilya agreed. "They pledged not to fight with
    me, but they have every reason to fight with him."
     "So what about the bride?" the nightingale asked. "She seemed very un-
    happy. "
     "I'm sure she is," he replied, a bit more soberly. "Maybe that clout to
    her head woke her to the fact that just because a man is gentle and treats
    a woman like a precious object worthy of respect, that doesn't mean he's
    a milksop. And just because a man tells her what a fine piece of mas-
    culinity he is, that doesn't mean he's admirable. Pietor is going to beat
    her, like Ivan beats his wife, and probably on a fairly regular basis. He'll
    insult her to her face, humiliate her in front of his guests, and betray her
    with her maids and servants. If she cries, he'll ignore her; if she throws
    a tantrum, he'll have her locked in her room; and if she does something
    stupid with the household, he'll beat her. She'd better hope the servants
    will be too afraid of his anger to make life difficult, or there will be a lot
    of dirty floors and bad meals from now on."
     "You sound sorry for her," the nightingale observed. 'Are you having
    second thoughts?"
     "I am sorry for her, and no, I am not going back to her," he told the
    bird firmly. "She opened the door of my cage and she shouldn't be sur-
    prised that I've flown away."
    I told you he was smarter than that," the bird told the vixen smugly.
    They rode for most of the afternoon; as shadows started to lengthen,
    and he judged that he was a safe distance away, he took out the Fire-
    bird's feather. It wasn't glowing with the fierce, magical light it had
    shown before, but it was no longer dead and lifeless, either.
     Carefully, reverently, he raised it over his head and waved it--once,
    twice, three times. With each wave, it glowed more strongly, until after
    the third time, it was burning as brightly as a torch.
     He didn't have long to wait, either-like a shooting star, she came
    streaking over the tops of the trees toward them, a long trail of sparks
    following her tail. He shoved the feather back into his shirt, jumped off
    the horse's back, and began running toward her.

    




    352   MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
     She swooped down to the ground and transformed in midair, going
    from bird to maiden, from flying to running, in the blink of an eye. She
    rushed to meet him, and he her, until they fell into each other's arms
    and he swung her around and around until they were both breathless.
     Then he put her down and cupped her face in both his hands.
     "Listen! " he said, gazing into those wonderful eyes. "I love you. I think
    I loved you from the moment I saw you in the orchard. I never want to
    be parted from you, no matter what it takes, no matter what you ask of
    me. I would cross the world for you, go to live in foreign lands, fight all
    your enemies, and still find time to pick berries for you!"
     To his joy, she flung herself into his arms again, sobbing with relief
    and joy of her own. "I could not bear to stay and see you taken by an-
    other!" she cried, holding him tightly. "I love you, Ilya Ivanovitch! I
    would rather never fly again than have to be without you!"
     "Well, I would never ask that of you!" he replied, and kissed her until
    she stopped weeping and started laughing instead. "Now-what are we
    to do, and where are we to go?"
     "My home-" She faltered for a moment, looking up at him. "It is far
    from here, a long and hazardous iourney-but will you make it for my
    sake?"
     "Did you need to ask?" be retorted, and kissed her again. "Will you
    fly or ride before me, my lady?"
     "I will ride, for a little." She smiled, a dazzling, joyous smile, and wiped
    the last trace of tears from her cheeks. 'And then when it is dark, I shall
    guide you to a safe place to rest."
     'And you shall guide me to a safe place for us to rest," he responded
    as be mounted, and gave her his hand to mount up and ride before him.
    She put her foot on his and leapt lightly into the saddle, nestling into
    his arms as if she had always been there and would never leave.
     'And we lived happily ever after! " The fox laughed gaily, as the nightin-
    gale caroled a wordless song of happiness; he touched the horse with his
    heels, and they rode together into magic, and legend.

    





    




    (continued from front flop)
    
    To free her, he must battle a cantankerous
    wizard and a powerful dragon. Magic
    swirls throughout this battle as Ilya uses his
    wits, his warrior's and magical skills, and
    some very unusual allies to save the day
    and win true love.
    
    MERCEDEs LACKEY is one of the brightest
    lights in modern fantasy. She is the
    extremely popular author of dozens of
    fantasy novels, including The Fire Rose
    and Sacred Ground, which appeared on
    the Locus Recommended Reading List,
    was an ALA Best Books for Young Adults
    nominee, and just missed appearing on
    the USA Today bestseller list.
      Lackey's many series include the Last-
    Herold Mage, Mage Winds, Mage Storms,
    Bardic Voices, and "Gryphon" trilogies,
    and the Diana Tregarde Investigations.
    With Andre Norton, she has written
    Elvenblood and The Elvenbone, which
    won the Science Fiction Book Club Book
    of the Year Award.
      Lackey's fan organization, Queen's
    Own, is active throughout the United
    States.
      Mercedes Lackey and her husband,
    illustrator/author Larry Dixon, live in
    Claremore, Oklahoma.
    
    Jacket art by Vladimir Nenov
    Jacket design by Carol Russo
    
    A TOR@ HARDCOVER
    
                       Distributed in the United States by
                                St. Martin's Press
                                 175 Fifth Avenue
                               New York, NY 100 10
    
                             Distributed in Canada by
                           H. B. Fenn and Company, Ltd.
    
    Printed in the USA

    




    NEWCASTLE REGION LIBRARY
    
    %, \ 11    \ lt_11~1 I-1k     11   %~   .1   %,   11   \\,~\\\\
    
    M
    
    A
    
    "She'll keep you up long past your bedtime."
                                   -Stephen King
    
   "With any book Lackey works on, the principal joy is
    story: she sweeps you along and never lets you go."
                                         -Locus
    
    "An undoubted mistress of the well-told tale." -Booklist
    
    Sacred Ground
    
    "An impressive novel."
    
    -Piers Anthony
    
   "This book, to me, shows a new dimension entirely (to
    Lackey's work). I found it absorbing-one of those
    books one reads eagerly from page to page."
                                   -Andre Norton
    
   "Explosively exciting. Ms. Lackey rises to new heights of
    excellence in this taut, nail-biting novel .... A unique and
    spellbinding adventure in reading." -Romantic 711mes
    
   "Skillfully weaving a tale of fantasy, mystery, and Native
    American folklore, Lackey has written a unique novel."
                            =School Library Journal
    
    "Page-turning, spine-tingling stuff, with loads of great
    magical scenes. Great pacing, great characters, and a
    ripping good plot."                -Bookfist
    
    ISBN0-312-85812-4
    