Wizards’ Worlds

Come travel to the ends of the world and discover the secrets of the ruins of Salzarat
. . .

Walk a path of fear to the mysterious rocks known as the “Toads of Grimmerdale” .
. .

Venture to the city of sightless Dairine, who “sees” more with her hands than eyes
dare behold . . .

Ride through a land of twisted, ancient magic as a warrior searches for his lost swordmate
. . .

Enter into worlds of magic and delight. Welcome to the Wizards’ Worlds, the worlds
of Andre Norton.

ANDRE NORTON

W
IZARDS’
W
ORLDS

Edited by Ingried Zierhut

Premier Digital Publishing - Los Angeles

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

WIZARDS’ WORLDS

Copyright © 1989 by Andre Norton

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof,
in any form.

ISBN: 0-812-54750-0

eISBN: 978-1-937957-63-6

Premier Digital Publishing

www.PremierDigitalPublishing.com

Follow us on Twitter
@PDigitalPub

Follow us on Facebook: Premier Digital Publishing

Acknowledgments

“Falcon Blood” from
Amazons,
© 1979 by Jessica Amanda Salmonson. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Toads of Grimmerdale” from
Flashing Swords!
#2, © 1973 by Lin Carter. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Changeling” from
Lore of the Witchworld,
© 1980 by Andre Norton.

“Spider Silk” from
Flashing Swords!
#3, © 1976 by Lin Carter. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Sword of Unbelief” from
Swords Against Darkness II,
© 1979 by Andrew J. Offut. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Sand Sister” from
Heroic Fantasy,
© 1979 by Gerald W. Page and Hank Reinhardt. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Toys of Tamisan” from
Worlds of IF,
© 1969 by Galaxy Publishing Corp. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Wizards’ Worlds” from
Worlds of IF.
© 1967 by Galaxy Publishing Corp. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Mousetrap” from
The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,
© 1952 by Fantasy House, Inc. Reprinted by permission of the author.

“Were-Wrath” from
Cheap Street.
© 1984 by Andre Norton.

“By a Hair” from
High Sorcery,
© 1970 by Andre Norton.

“All Cats Are Gray” from
Fantastic Universe,
© 1953 by Andre Norton.

“Swamp Dweller” from
Magic in Ithkar I.
© 1985 by Andre Norton.

Table of Contents

Falcon Blood

Toads of Grimmerdale

Changeling

Spider Silk

Sword of Unbelief

Sand Sister

Toys of Tamisan

Wizards’ Worlds

Mousetrap

Were-Wrath

By a Hair

All Cats Are Gray

Swamp Dweller

Falcon Blood

T
ANREE
sucked at the torn ends of her fingers, tasted the sea salt stinging in them. Her
hair hung in sticky loops across her sand-abraded face, too heavy with sea water to
stir in the wind.

For the moment it was enough that she had won out of the waves, was alive. Sea was
life for the Sulcar, yes, but it could also be death. In spite of the trained resignation
of her people, other forces within her had kept her fighting ashore.

Gulls screamed overhead, sharp, piercing cries. So frantic those cries Tanree looked
up into the gray sky of the after storm. The birds were under attack. Wider dark wings
spread away from a body on the breast of which a white vee of feathers set an unmistakable
seal. A falcon soared, swooped, clutched in cruel talons one of the gulls, bearing
its prey to the top of the cliff, where it perched still within sight.

It ate, tearing flesh with a vicious beak. Cords flailed from its feet, the sign of
its service.

Falcon. The girl spat gritty sand from between her teeth, her hands resting on scraped
knees barely covered by
her undersmock. She had thrown aside kilt, all other clothing, when she had dived
from the ship pounding against a foam-crowned reef.

The ship!

She got to her feet, stared seaward. Storm anger still drove waves high. Broken backed
upon rock fangs hung the Kast-Boar. Her masts were but jaggered stumps. Even as Tanree
watched, the waters raised the ship once more, to slam her down on the reef. She was
breaking apart fast.

Tanree shuddered, looked along the scrap of narrow beach. Who else had won to shore?
The Sulcar were sea born and bred; surely she could not be the only survivor.

Wedged between two rocks so that the retreating waves could not drag him back, a man
lay face down. Tanree raised her broken-nailed, scraped fingers and made the Sign
of Wottin, uttering the age-old plea:

“Wind and wave,

Mother Sea,

Lead us home.

Far the harbor,

Wild thy waves
—

Still, by thy Power,

Sulcar saved!”

Had the man moved then? Or was it only the water washing about him which had made
it seem so?

He was—This was no Sulcar crewman! His body was covered from neck to mid-thigh by
leather, dark breeches twisted with seaweed on his legs.

“Falconer!”

She spat again with salt-scoured lips. Though the Falconers had an old pact with her
people, sailed on Sulcar ships as marines, they had always been a race apart—dour,
silent men who kept to themselves. Good in battle, yes, so much one must grant them.
But who really knew the thoughts in their heads, always hidden by their bird-shaped
helms? Though this one appeared to have shucked all his fighting gear, to appear
oddly naked.

There came a sharp scream. The falcon, full fed, now beat its way down to the body.
There the bird settled on the sand just beyond the reach of the waves, squatted crying
as if to arouse its master.

Tanree sighed. She knew what she must do. Trudging across the sand she started for
the man. Now the falcon screamed again, its whole body expressing defiance. The girl
halted, eyed the bird warily. These creatures were trained to attack in battle, to
go for the eyes or the exposed face of an enemy. They were very much a part of the
armament of their masters.

She spoke aloud as she might to one of her own kind: “No harm to your master, flying
one.” She held out sore hands in the oldest peace gesture.

Those bird eyes were small reddish coals, fast upon her. Tanree had an odd flash of
feeling that this one had more understanding than other birds possessed. It ceased
to scream, but the eyes continued to stare, sparks of menace, as she edged around
it to stand beside the unconscious man.

Tanree was no weakling. As all her race she stood tall and strong, able to lift and
carry, to haul on sail lines, or move cargo, should an extra hand be needed. Sulcarfolk
lived aboard their ships and both sexes were trained alike to that service.

Now she stooped and set hands in the armpits of the mercenary, pulling him farther
inland, and then rolling him over so he lay face up under the sky.

Though they had shipped a dozen Falconers on this last voyage (since the Kast-Boar
intended to strike south into waters reputed to give sea room to the shark boats of
outlaws), Tanree could not have told one of the bird fighters from another. They wore
their masking helms constantly and kept to themselves, only their leader speaking
when necessary to the ship people.

The face of the man was encrusted with sand, but he was breathing, as the slight rise
and fall of his breast under the soaked leather testified. She brushed grit away from
his nostrils, his thin-lipped mouth. There were deep frown lines between his sand-dusted
brows, a masklike sternness in his face.