His arms were lissome and shapely for all their grey color. His hands had three thick fingers that ended in squared-off nails. A shapeless hood hung low over his brow, but concealed no eyes. Two slitlike nostrils flared as he breathed, and his mouth was a puckered seam. But he it was that filled the Gate and held it, his presence and training keeping open the rift between the worlds.

'I am Yoleth, of the Windsingers,' she announced formally.

'I am the Keeper of the Gate, servant of the Limbreth.' Whatever name he had ever borne had been swallowed by his duty. 'Where is the one who would go through the Gate?'

'She has not yet reached Jojorum,' Yoleth said hastily, surprised by his directness. 'Her route is not a straight one; bad roads may delay her. But I thought it best to have the Gate ready before she arrived.'

'Your snare is set, then, but the prey has not yet arrived.' The Keeper chuckled sonorously. 'By trickery and by treachery do they come, those who go through my Gate. Is she a fool or a victim of her trust in you?'

'That is none of your affair,' Yoleth rebuked him haughtily. 'My agreement is with your master, and your duty is to honor it.'

'As I shall. I shall sit within my Gate and wait. When you are ready to use the Gate, you have only to bring your victim here. I will be ready. I have already selected the one from our side that will enter your world to keep the balance.'

Yoleth frowned quickly, the Human lines of it wrinkling strangely the alienized contours of her face. 'But I understood that you would call her in for me; that I had only to tell you that she was within the city, and you could call her through the Gate.'

The Keeper snorted. 'Your tales of us must be old indeed. As well ask me to call a particular bird out of a flock in the sky. I can call one through the Gate, yes. But the choosing is not mine when I call one from your side. I can but call, and those unwary ones within the range of my call must answer.'