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blurring in violent motion。
Mark loosed his arrow； aimed at Doon； but missed。 Dmitry's rock； flung with unexpected speed and skill； missed Mark but at the last instant just grazed the bow held in Mark's hands。 The shaft flew wide； to break against a rock。
Some headlamps went off； others flashed on； beams dancing crazily about the cave； as different people tried different strategies。 It was hopeless now to try to use the bow； and Mark dropped it along with his quiver； he had already slipped out of the straps of his backpack。 Switching his own headlamp off； he drew his long knife and crouched down waiting。
Darkness was conquering the cave as that strategy became unanimous。 Mark thought he could hear Ariane's sling； a short distance to his right； whine softly； one spin； two； and then unload itself at high velocity。 Amid the faint staccato of scrambling sounds within the cave the result was impossible to distinguish。
Now the darkness was total； except for the strained glow from the besieged doorway。 Outside； the demon still mumbled in his wrath and tried to paw his way in through the spells。 Inside the room； rocks continued to click gently； as furtive feet and crawling knees disturbed them。 Some people were repositioning themselves； while others waited listening。 Those on the other side would be trying to close in on Ariane。 She had Ben as one defender to her right； Mark to her left。 And she herself； even if her voice did sometimes turn childish； was no timid； helpless。。。
Mark started； as Mitspieler's voice cried out； shouting at full volume into darkness： 〃Stop it； you fools； all of you！〃 There was a momentary pause； then the wizard's voice came back； a notch lower： 〃Ben； Mark； isn't it better for one to die than。。。〃
He cut off there； abruptly。 It was as if he had heard or sensed something that stopped him。 Now to Mark all was utter silence in the cave； except for the muted rush of the small stream。 Whatever Mitspieler had sensed had probably been perceptible to him alone。
Now there were stumbling footsteps in the darkness； those of one person moving； careless of being heard。 And now Mitspieler had turned his headlamp on again； deliberately； as if he had decided or divined that the time for fighting was now over； or else that fighting had bee irrelevant。 The back reflection of his light revealed his own face； aged； untidily bearded as were the faces of all the men； and slack jawed now with fear or awe。
The wizard stood in the middle of the cave。 He was looking at the sealed doorway； the translucent barrier that he had himself erected。 Again he spoke； and yet again his voice was changed。
〃Wait。 This is no ruse。 The demon is gone。 Gone somewhere。。。 I don't know how far； but。。。 〃
Suddenly Mitspieler slumped to his knees； still staring at the fragile…looking barrier of magic。
Now Mark could hear a new kind of movement just outside； different from the demon's。 And there was a change in the faint light； a brightening out in the tunnel。 And now something appeared in the center of the barrier。 It was a hand； not armored； and quite human…looking； except that it was larger than the hand of any normal human being。 But it had neither the Whitehands' deformity nor the armor of the giant fist of the demon。 The hand； whomever it belonged to； brushed Mitspieler's blocking spells out of its way just as a man might have flicked aside a cobweb。
Now the owner of the hand entered the cave behind it； bringing with him his own kind of alteration。 A giant human figure； male； youthful…looking and lightly clad； wearing a Phrygian cap and carrying in one hand a staff。 Mark understood that for the first time in； his life he was looking at a god。 And in the next moment he recognized the god as Hermes。
Most of the cave was now not lighted so much as revealed； by Hermes' presence。 The beam of Mitspieler's headlamp had bee irrelevant。 Mark's own vision was now able to peer into the far recesses of the cave； and it seemed to him that he could almost see behind the rocks。 Hermes had e here seeking something； and in the face of that seeking any kind of human concealment seemed to have bee impossible。
None of the humans moved or spoke。 All of them remained sitting； crouching； kneeling； just as they had been。 Casually Hermes looked around。 Then； with the matter…of…fact movements of a strong man who had to interrupt some toddlers' squabble in the course of business of his own； Hermes approached Ben。
Ben was down on his backside； the Sword still in his right hand； quaking as the god approached him。 At the last moment he was unable to keep his eyes open； and had to raise one hand to hide his face。 When Hermes reached out and took Dragonslicer away from him； Ben's huge frame quaked in a spasm that might have been meant as resistance … but it came too late； and in any case would have been hopeless。
The god dropped something small into the sand in front of Ben … Mark caught the flash of gold。 Then Hermes turned away； already seating Dragonslicer in one of the empty scabbards at his belt。 Only now did Mark notice that Hermes was wearing perhaps a dozen empty sheaths in all； hanging like a fringe around his waist。
And now Mark found himself getting to his feet； he was not sure why。 He was standing straight up； even though his knees were shaking with the fear of it。
Hermes observed this movement。 The god paused in mid…stride； on his way back across the cave。 He turned his head and looked at Mark。 It was a brief look but expressive … even though Mark was not quite sure what it expressed。 Recognition … what； you here？ … seemed to be at the start of it； with unreadable plexities trailing off from there。
But the pause and the look were only momentary。 Hermes had e here on his own business； in pursuit of which he now approached the Baron。
Doon； finding himself in the path of this advance； made a great effort and struggled to his feet。 With both hands he raised Wayfinder to guard position。
Hermes halted in front of him； and spoke for the first time。 His voice was huge； remote； aloof。 〃Give it me。 That Sword that you are holding。〃
〃Never。 It is mine by right。〃 The words were barely understandable； but Doon managed to get them out。 He was shaking almost as badly as Ben had been； as Mark's knees still were。 Shaking with what must have been fear； pounded by anger and helplessness。
The deity deigned to speak to him once more。 〃I suppose you're going to argue that you've been using it properly； unlike some of the others。 In accordance with the game。 Well； perhaps you have。 But that no longer matters。〃 〃I am。 I have。 It's mine； it's mine。〃
The god reached out impatiently。 Doon struck at him。 The stroke would have been a killing blow against a human； but appeared now as no more than some child's petulant protest against authority。 Then the Sword was in the hand of Hermes Messenger； who with a flick of his staff； more a gesture than anything else； stretched Doon out on the floor of the cave。 The man lay there in agony； crying with pain and frustrated rage。
〃Unseemly pride；〃 the god remarked； sliding Wayfinder into a shea