ing hot. And he
was thirsty.

"Hope that gunk they used to monkey up my complexion doesn't sweat
out," he told himself. "That would do it for sure."

He glanced up at the sky. It was getting close to midday. Ahead, he
could see a few men sitting at the side of the road, leaning back
against their packs. He went forward a few more paces, then selected a
comfortable looking bit of moss.

So what had happened? A little guy named Donald Michaels had been
disguised as a clanless mat maker. He leaned back against the pack.
And, brother, had they given him a stock of mats to sell. This clansman
in Riandar would be busy for a month, just unloading all these things
from his stock.

He thought of those daydreams he had once had. A king's councilor, he
had imagined, was a highly important, greatly respected individual. He
had dreamed of himself, dressed in the ornate formal robes he'd seen in
pictures of the old nobility. He'd pictured himself exchanging urbane
chatter with other beautifully turned out characters, who hung on his
every word. He'd seen himself striding between low-bowing lines of
assorted courtiers and soldiery, pausing now and then to tap at the
pavement with his jeweled staff. He'd---- Hah!

He looked at the dusty trail. He'd been striding, all right, but the
field reeds didn't look too much like bowing lines of---- Yeah, and his
staff didn't have too many jewels, either. No pavement, even, and this
fool pack didn't feel much like a finely tailored robe of office. He
shrugged.

"This is no dream," he told himself. "You let one of Stern's people get
suspicious, and you'll find out just how real things can get." He
twisted around to get the package of food and the water bottle which
dangled from the pack.

Distastefully, he looked at the little packet of powder which was in
the food package. He glanced around quickly, then dumped the powder
into his mouth, quickly gulping water to wash it down.

"Gaah!" he growled, "does it have to taste like the inside of an old
shoe? Oh, well, it'll keep me nice and dark for the next thirty hours
or so." He pulled a strip of dried meat from the package. Maybe this
will help take the taste out.

He sighed and worked his jaws on the leatherlike substance. It started
to soften a little.

Well, anyway, he knew how to get to the vault where the ancestral
volumes of the Waernu were kept. And he knew just which volume to pick
out. Only one small problem remained. How was h