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. "Not concerned?
It was not only the white moon that was eclipsed, but the
red, as well."
Glenshadow passed the glowing tip of his staff over
the ice pool, and again it shifted. He knew from past tri-
als that it would show him nothing of Chane Feldstone
and his companions. It was, after all, only magic. It
could not see within the realm of Spellbinder. But it
would show him other things, in other places.
A scene emerged: a sundered plain where goblins
marched, and in the background the blind, leering
death's-head of Skullcap, hideous monument to the
power of magics drawn from Nuitari, the black moon.
"Chislev!" the wizard said.
The ice scene flowed, spanned across miles, and refo-
cused on a barren hillside. There, a figure stood
motionless -- a curious, oddly-jointed thing that might
have been a horse... or some woodcarver's interpreta-
tion of a horse. It was obviously a carven figure, wooden
with pin-hinged joints like a child's toy. As the ice eye
closed on the figure its carved head turned. Painted eyes
looked at the wizard.
"Which are you?" Glenshadow asked the ice.
"I am Hobby," the carved horse told him. "What wish
do you have?"
"The helm of the dwarven prince, Grallen. Do you
know where it is?"
"I know nothing except what Chislev wills," Hobby
said.
"And I have called upon Chislev and found you.
Therefore it is the will of Chislev. Hobby, where is Gral-
len's helm?"
The carved horse turned away, seeming to look about
uncertainly
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