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plumped himself down on the unusual formation. 'Futter me blind - it's real! A Demon Seat! What say all three of us beg a miracle? I know what I'd ask: Let me be Prince Heritor in place of Orry. I'll gladly wed Princess Hyndry. They say she's a fine lusty wench for all that she's a widow, and older.'
    'Coro, you prattling fool!' The novice dragged his brother down and flung him into the snow. Corodon uttered a halfhearted curse.
    Orrion helped his aggrieved twin back onto his feet. 'Let him be, Bram. He meant nothing by it. It's only his bit of fun.'
    Vra-Bramlow knew better; but he swallowed his indignation and growing sense of unease and squinted up at the clouds. They had thickened and the sun had dropped halfway to the horizon, resembling a disk of dull white vellum against a murky background. 'We can't stay here long. Do you still want to do this, Orry?'
    The Prince Heritor drew in a breath. 'Yes. Tell me how.'
    While Corodon crouched in a sheltered niche, munching sausage and drinking from the wine flask, Bramlow explained the simple conjuration procedure.
    'Stand by the seat and place one hand on it. Close your eyes. Try to clear your mind of all distracting thoughts. Assume an attitude of childlike humility and reverence, as a worthy petitioner of the Sky Realm should.'
    Corodon gave a muffled snort of laughter.
    'Be quiet!' Bramlow barked. Another sound from you, and I'll make you wait downslope.'
    'What then?' Orrion demanded. 'How shall I summon the demons? Do I simply state my wish: Let me be able to wed Lady Nyla Brackenfield?’
    'Don't call them demons. They might be insulted. If you must address them, say Lords of the Sky. The ancient writings were unclear as to the wording of the petition. I'd say, first name yourself, then speak out your plea naturally but briefly. Avoid any tinge of fear or disrespect. These beings must decide for themselves whether you're worthy of their miracle.' He folded his arms about Orrion in a brief embrace. 'Good luck, my brother.'
    'And so say I also,' Corodon called gruffly. 'May you receive your heart's desire.'
    Vra-Bramlow withdrew a dozen paces, dropped to his knees in the shallow snow, and bowed his head.
    Orrion approached the seat as if he were a man half-asleep. A sudden gust of cold wind hit his face like a knife-cut. He removed his gloves, placed his right hand upon the irregular milky slab that formed the back of the natural throne, and closed his eyes.
    'Great Lords of the Sky!' He spoke firmly.‘Ibeseech you to grant me a favor - if it should be your will, and if you find me worthy.'
    For a long time nothing happened. Then he felt a slow-growing warmth beneath the hand that rested on the frigid rock surface. One of his brothers gave a soft gasp of mingled fear and amazement. Orrion dared to crack open his eyelids for the merest instant and saw that the entire Demon Seat formation was aglow with an interior luminosity, at first dim as a will o' the wisp, then increasingly bright. The heat beneath his right hand gradually increased. Before he could ihink what to do next, he felt a sudden thrust of pain smite his brain. Then there were voices speaking in unison, deep ,ind inhuman, questioning him in an oddly hesitant manner.
    Orrion knew instinctively that they spoke to his soul and were inaudible to the others. WHO . . . WHAT . . . WHY?
    He tried to keep panic from his response. 'Great Lords of the Sky, my name is Orrion Wincantor. I'm here to beg a miracle of you, if you please. I - I ask your help because I have nowhere else to turn.'
    HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT US? HOW DID YOU KNOW TO COME TO THIS PLACE?
    'My older brother read an ancient tract. It told how you had granted miracles to others many years ago.'
    YES ... SOME OF US FREELY GAVE BOONS TO HUMANS. WE REMEMBER NOW. WE HOPED TO GAIN AN ADVANTAGE OVER THE EVIL ONES. THOSE WERE STRANGE TIMES IN THE SKY REALM AND ON THE GROUND. THE TACTIC WAS NOT VERY SUCCESSFUL.
    The demonic ramblings made no sense to Orrion. His