Tyl ofTwo Weapons waited in the night cornfield. He had one singlestick in his handand the other tucked in his waist band, ready to draw. He had waited two hoursin silence.

      Tyl was a handsome man, sleek butmuscular. His face was set in a habitual frown stemming from years of less thanideal command. The empire spanned a thousand miles, and he was second only tothe Master in its hierarchy, and first in most practical matters. He setinterim policy within the general guidelines laid down by the Master, andestablished the rankings and placement of the major subchiefs. Tyl hadpower-but it chafed at him.

      Then he heard it: a rustle to the norththat was not typical of the local animals.

      Carefully he stood, shielded from theintruder by the tall plants. There was- no moon, for the beast never came inthe light. Tyl traced its progress toward the fence by the subtle sounds. Thewind was from the north; otherwise the thing would have caught his scent andstayed clear.

      There was no doubt about it. This was hisquarry. Now it was mounting the sturdy split-rail fence, scrambling over,landing with a faint thump within the corn. And now it was quiet for a time,waiting to see whether it had been discovered. A cunning animal-one that avoideddeadfalls, ignored poison and fought savagely when trapped. In the past monththree of Tyl's men had been wounded in night encounters with this creature.Already it was becoming known as a hex upon the camp, an omen of ill, andskilled warriors were evincing an unseemly fear of the dark.

      And so it was up to the chief to resolvethe matter. Tyl,long bored by the routine of maintaining a tribe that was notengaged in conquest, was more than satisfied by the challenge. He had no awe ofthe supernatural. He intended to capture the thing and display it before thetribe: here is the spook that made cowards of lesser men!

      Capture, not death, for this quarry. Thiswas the reason he had brought his sticks instead of his sword.