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the foresters.

  As he walked, he plotted methods of using his new-found powers. Heconsidered idea after idea--then discarded them and sought further. Withhis new awareness, he could see flaws in plans which would have seemedperfect to him only a few short hours before.

  First, he realized he would have to learn to control his new powers. Hewould have to learn the ways of the nobility, their manners and theircustoms. And he would have to find a disguise which would allow him tomove about the land. Serfs were too likely to be questioned by the firstpasser-by who noticed them. Serfs belonged on the land--part of it!

  He hid in the bushes at the side of a path as a group of free swordsmenwent by. As he watched them, a plan came to him. He examined itcarefully, finally deciding it would do.

  * * * * *

  The man-at-arms sauntered through the forest, swaying a little as hewalked. He sang in a gravelly voice, pausing now and then to remember anew verse.

  Flor watched him as he approached, allowing the man's thoughts to enterhis own consciousness. They were none too complicated. The man was afree swordsman, his sword unemployed at the moment. He still hadsufficient money to enjoy the forest houses for a time, then he wouldseek service with the Earl of Konewar, who was rumored to be planning acampaign.

  The man swayed closer, finally noticing Flor. He paused in mid stride,eying the escaped serf up and down.

  "Now, here's something strange indeed," he mused. He looked closely atFlor's face.

  "Tell me, my fellow, tell me this: How is it you wear the belt andcoronet of a great noble, and yet have no other garment than the shiftof a serf?"

  As Flor looked at him insolently, he drew his sword.

  "Come," he demanded impatiently, "I must have answer, else I take you toa provost. Possibly his way of finding your secret would be to yourliking, eh?"

  Flor drew a deep breath and waited. Here was the final test of his newdevice. He had experimented, finding that even the charge of a _khada_was harmless to him. Now, he would find if a sword could be renderedharmless. At the approach of the man, he had pressed the boss on hisbelt. The man seemed suddenly a little uncertain, so Flor spoke.

  "Why, who are you," he demanded haughtily, "to question the doings ofyour betters? Away with you, before I spit you with your own sword."

  The man shook his head, smiling sarcastically. "Hah!" he said,approaching Flor. "I know that accent. It stinks of the scullery. Tellme, Serf, where did you steal that----"

  He broke off, climaxing his question with an abrupt swing of the sword.Then, he fell back in surprise. Flor had thrust a hand out to ward offthe blow, and the sword had been thrown back violently. The rebound toreit from its amazed owner's hand, and it thudded to the ground. Theman-at-arms looked at it stupidly.

  Flor sprang aside, scooping up the weapon before the man could recover.

  "Now," he cried, "stand quite still. I shall have business with you."

  The expression on the man's face told of something more than meresurprise which held him quiet. Here was proof of the powers of thecoronet. Flor looked savagely at his captive.

  "Take off your cap."

  Reluctantly, the man's hand came up. He removed his steel cap, holdingit in his hand as he faced his captor.

  "That is fine." Flor pressed his advantage. "Now, your garments. Offwith them!"

  The swordsman was nearly his size. Both of them had the heavy build oftheir mountain stock, and the garments of the free swordsman would dofor Flor's purpose, even though they might not fit him perfectly. Whoexpected one of these roving soldiers of fortune to be dressed in theheight of style? They were fighters, not models to show off the tailor'sart.

  Flor watched as his prisoner started to disrobe, then pulled off his ownsingle garment, carefully guiding it through the belt at his waist, soas not to disturb the talisman's powers.

  He threw the long shirt at the man before him.

  "Here," he ordered. "Put this on."

  He sensed a feeling of deep resentment--of hopeless rebellion. Herepeated his demand, more emphatically.

  "Put it on, I say!"

  As the man stood before him, dressed in the rough shift of a serf, Florsmiled grimly.

  "And now," he said, "none will worry too much about a mere serf, or looktoo closely into his fate. Here."

  He slashed out with the sword, awkwardly, but effectively.

  "I shall have to find a new name," he told himself as he dressed in thegarments of his victim. "No free swordsman would have a name like Flor.They all have two names."

  He thought of the names he had heard used by the guards of the Earl.Flor, he thought, could be part of a name. But one of the swordsmenwould make it Floran, or possibly Florel. They would be hunters, orslayers of elk--not simply elk. He looked at the steel cap in his hands.An iron hat--_deri kuna_.

  "So," he told himself, "I shall be Florel Derikuna."

  He inspected his new garments, being sure they hid the belt, and yetleft the bosses available to easy reach. At last, he put on the ironcap. It covered the coronet, effectively hiding it.

  Taking up the sword, he replaced it in its scabbard and swaggeredthrough the forest, imitating the man-at-arms' song.

  At one stroke, he had improved his status infinitely. Now, he could roamthe land unquestioned, so long as he had money. He smiled to himself.There was money in his scrip, and there would be but slight problemsinvolved in getting more. Tonight, he would sleep in a forest house,instead of huddling in a thicket.

  * * * * *

  As the days passed, to grow into weeks and then, months, Florel wanderedover the land. Sometimes, he took service with a captain, who wouldengage in a campaign. Sometimes, he took service with one of the lessernobility. A few times, he ran with the bands of the forest and road, torob travelers. But he was cautious to avoid the great Earls, realizingthe danger of detection.

  Always, he kept his direction to the east, knowing that he would have toreach the sea and cross to the eastern land before he could feelcompletely safe. His store of money and of goods grew, and he hoarded itagainst the time when he would use it.

  Sometimes, he posed as a merchant, traveling the land with the caravans.But always, he followed his path eastward.

  * * * * *

  Florel Derikuna looked back at the line of pack animals. It had been along trip, and a hard one. He smiled grimly to himself as he rememberedthe last robber attack. For a time, he had thought the caravan guard wasgoing to be overwhelmed. He might have had to join with the robbers, ashe had done before. And that would have delayed his plans. He lookedahead again, toward the hill, crowned with its great, stone castle.

  This, then, was the land of the east--the farthest march of the land ofthe east. It had taken him a long, cautious time to get here. And he hadspent his days in fear of a searching party from Budorn, even when hehad reached the seacoast itself. But here, he would be safe. None fromthis land had ever been even to the mountainous backbone of his ownland, he was sure. And certainly, there would be no travelers who hadguided their steps from here to faraway Budorn and back.

  None here knew Budorn, excepting him. Flor, the serf--now FlorelDerikuna, swordsman at large--was in a new land. And he would take anew, more useful identity. He looked at the stone buildings of the townand its castle.

  They were not unlike the castles and towns of his native land, hethought. There were differences, of course, but only in the smallthings. And he had gotten used to those by now. He had even managed tolearn the peculiar language of the country. He smiled again. Thatcoronet he always wore beneath his steel cap had served him well. It hadmore powers than he had dreamed of when he had first held it in hishands in those distant woods.

  Here in Dweros, he thought, he could complete his change. Here, he couldtake service with the Duke as a young man of noble blood, once afflictedwith a restless urge for travel, but now ready to establish himself. Bynow, he had learned to act. It had n
ot been for nothing that he hadcarefully studied the ways of the nobility.

  The caravan clattered through the gate beneath the castle, twistedthrough the streets just beyond the wall, and stopped in the marketplace. Derikuna urged his mount ahead and confronted the merchant.

  "Here is my destination," he said. "So, we'll settle up, and I'll be onmy way."

  The merchant looked at him with a certain amount of relief. The man, heknew, was a tough fighter. His efforts had been largely the cause of thefailure of bandits to capture the caravan only a few days before. Butthere was something about him that repelled. He was a man to be feared,not liked. Somehow, the merchant felt he was well rid of this guard,despite his demonstrated ability. He reached into his clothing andproduced two bags.

  "We hate to lose you, Derikuna," he dissembled. "Here is your normalwage." He held out one bag.