Free Certain Symmetry by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller Page A

Sintia."
    She took the disk, felt the smoothness of
the paint, the rough edge of wood where the caress of many fingers
had worn the paint away. No illusion, this. She handed it back.
    "I find it a common wooden counter," she
said, for she must also practice the eloquence of his speech, which
served, so he said, to divert the attention of an audience and give
a magician valuable seconds in which to work. "Such as might be
found in any gaming house on the planet."
    "Excellent," he said, receiving the token on
his callused palm.
    "A common counter." He tossed it lightly
into the air, caught it on the back of his hand and walked it
negligently across his fingers.
    "Behaving commonly." He flipped his hand,
caught the counter between thumb and forefinger and held it
high.
    "Now, behold its uncommon attribute."
    Moonhawk stifled a curse: There was nothing
between the magician's thumb and forefinger but sunshine and cool
spring air.
    Lute lowered his hand and smiled. "Another
lesson that may be practiced as one walks. Though we haven't far to
walk now. Tonight, we shall eat one of Veverain's splendid dinners,
sample somewhat of last year's vintage and sleep wrapped in soft,
sweet-smelling blankets."
    Moonhawk stared from him to the red wooden
counter in her hand.
    "I'm to practice? Pray what am I to
practice, Master Lute? I saw neither pass nor Witch power."
    Lute smiled. "You saw that it was possible."
He bent and retrieved his bag. "Come. Veverain's hospitality tugs
my heart onward."
    * * *
    THE TRACK CURVED 'round a grove of
dyantrees, and there was Karn, tidily laid out along two main
streets and a marketplace. To the east of the village lay the
fields; to the west, the winter livestock pens. Behind the village
rose a hill, showing terrace upon terrace of leafless brown
vines.
    There were folk about on the streets, and
Lute's stride lengthened. Moonhawk stretched her own long legs to
keep the pace, the red counter forgotten for the moment in the
pocket of her cloak.
    "Ho, Master Lute!" A stocky man in a leather
apron raised a hand. "Spring is here at last!"
    "And not a moment too soon," Lute agreed
with a smile, crossing the street to where the man stood in the
tavern's doorway, Moonhawk a step behind him. "How came the village
through the winter?"
    The man looked sober. "We lost a few to the
cold--oldsters or infants, all. The rest of us came through well
enough. Except for--." The man's face changed, and Moonhawk caught
the edge of his distress against her Witch sense.
    "You're bound for Veverain's?" he asked,
distress sharpening.
    "Of course I am bound for Veverain's! Am I a
fool, to pass by the best food, the snuggest bed and the most
gracious hostess in the village?"
    "Not a fool," the man returned quietly,
"only short of news."
    Lute went entirely still. Moonhawk, slanting
a glance at his face, saw his mouth tighten, black eyes abruptly
intense.
    "Our Lady of the Snows has taken Veverain?"
he asked, matching the other's quiet tone.
    The man moved his hand -- describing
helplessness. "Not--That is to say--Veverain. Ah, Goddess take me
for a muddlemouth!" He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through
his thinning hair.
    "It was Rowan went out to feed the stock one
morning in the thick of winter, and when he didn't come back for
the noon meal, Veverain went out to find him." He paused to draw a
deep, noisy breath. "He'd never gotten to the pens. A tree
limb--heavy, you understand, with the ice--had come down and
crushed him dead."
    Lute closed his eyes. Moonhawk raised her
hand and traced the sign of Passing in the air.
    "May he be warm, in the Garden of the
Goddess."
    The tavern-keeper looked at her, startled.
Lute opened his eyes, hands describing one of his elegant gestures,
calling attention to her as if she were a rare gemstone.
    "Behold, one's apprentice!" he said, but
Moonhawk thought his voice sounded strained. "Moonhawk, here is the
excellent Oreli, proprietor of the justly renowned tavern, Vain
Disguise."
    Oreli