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making history out of the myths of my own world, High Kavalaan. Ironjade sent me to Avalon at great expense to search the data banks of the old computers for just that purpose. Yet I spent two years of study there, had much free time, and developed an interest in the broader history of man.”
    Dirk said nothing but only looked out again toward the dawn. The red disc of Fat Satan was half-risen now, and a third yellow star could be seen. It was slightly to the north of the others, and it was only a star. “The red star is a supergiant,” Dirk mused, “but up there it seems only a bit larger than Avalon’s sun. It must be pretty far away. It should be colder, the ice should be here now. But it’s only chilly.”
    “That is our doing,” Vikary told him with some pride. “Not High Kavalaan, in truth, yet outworld work nonetheless. Tober preserved much of the lost forcefield technology of the Earth Imperials during the collapse, and the Toberians have added to it in the centuries since then. Without their shield no Festival could ever have been held. At perihelion, the heat of the Hellcrown and Fat Satan would have burned off Worlorn’s atmosphere and boiled its sea, but the Toberian shield blocked off that fury and we had a long bright summer. Now, in like manner, it helps to hold in the heat. Yet it has its limits, as does everything. The cold will come.”
    “I did not think we’d meet like this,” Dirk said. “Why did you come up here?”
    “A chance. Long years ago Gwen told me that you liked to watch the dawn. And other things as well, Dirk t’Larien. I know far more of you than you of me.”
    Dirk laughed. “Well, that’s true. I never knew you existed until last night.”
    Jaan Vikary’s face was hard and serious. “But I do exist. Remember that, and we can be friends. I hoped to find you alone and tell you this before the others woke. This is not Avalon now, t’Larien, and today is not yesterday. It is a dying Festival world, a world without a code, so each of us must cling tightly to whatever codes we bring with us. Do not test mine. Since my years on Avalon, I have tried to think of myself as Jaan Vikary, but I am still a Kavalar. Do not force me to be Jaantony Riv Wolf high-Ironjade Vikary.”
    Dirk stood up. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. “But I think I can be cordial enough. I certainly have nothing against you, Jaan.”
    That seemed to be enough to satisfy Vikary. He nodded slowly, and reached into the pocket of his trousers. “An emblem of my friendship and concern for you,” he said. In his hand was a black metal collar pin, a tiny manta. “Will you wear it during your time here?”
    Dirk took it from his hand. “If you want me to,” he said, smiling at the other’s formality. He fixed it to his collar.
    “Dawn is gloomy here,” Vikary said, “and day is not much better. Come down to our quarters. I will rouse the others, and we can eat.”
             
    The apartment that Gwen shared with the two Kavalars was immense. The high-ceilinged living room was dominated by a fireplace two meters high and twice as long, and above was a slate-gray mantel where glowering gargoyles perched to guard the ashes. Vikary led Dirk past them, over an expanse of deep black carpet, into a dining chamber that was nearly as large. Dirk sat in a high-backed wooden chair, one of twelve along the great table, while his host went to fetch food and company.
    He returned shortly, bearing a platter of thinly sliced brown meat and a basket of cold biscuits. He set them in front of Dirk, then turned and left again.
    No sooner had he gone than another door opened and Gwen entered, smiling sleepily. She wore an old headband, faded trousers, and a shapeless green top with wide sleeves. He could see the glint of her heavy jade-and-silver bracelet, tight on her left arm. With her, a step behind, came another man, nearly as tall as Vikary but several years younger and much more slender, clad in a