him, sank into him and shone through him. Then he slumped, steamed ...
and was nothing but dust falling toward the carpet. The salamander
turned, heading toward the others. But it was to Nema it went, rather
than the two men. She was trying something desperately, but fear was
thick on her face, and her hands were unsure.

Abruptly, Sather Karf was in the doorway. His hand lifted, his fingers
dancing. Words hissed from his lips in a stream of sibilants too quick
for Dave to catch. The salamander paused and began to shrink doubtfully.
Sather Karf turned, and again his hands writhed in the air. One hand
darted back and forward, as if he were throwing something. Again he made
the gesture. With each throw, one of the false orderlies dropped to the
floor, clutching at a neck where the skin showed marks of constriction
as if a steel cord were tightening. They died slowly, their eyes bulging
and faces turning blue. Now the salamander moved toward them, directed
apparently by slight motions from Sather Karf. In a few moments, there
was no sign of them.

The old man sighed, his face slumping into lines of fatigue and age. He
caught his breath. He held out a hand to the salamander, petted it to a
gentle glow and put it back over Dave's chest.

"Good work, Nema," he said wearily. "You're too weak to control the
salamander, but this was done well in the emergency. I saw them in the
pool, but I was almost too late. The damned fanatics. Superstition in
this day and age!"

He swung to face Dave, whose vocal cords were still taut with the shock
of the sight of the knife. "Don't worry, Dave Hanson. From now on, every
Ser and Sather will protect you with the lower and the upper magic. The