A dirt trail split the lawn and led to the village two leagues away. Grantin hummed as he walked. The air was filled with the scent of growing plants and a faint hint of wood smoke from luncheon fires.
Ahead the trail zigzagged through a farmer's meadow in order to take advantage of a small area of infertile ground. Off to the left stood the farmer, engaged in the traditional rites preparatory to planting his next crop. Above his head he held a diamond-shaped piece of heavy metal wire. One prong projected from the upper apex of the wire, curling and ending in a hook. This contrivance was clenched in his right fist while with his left hand he moved his index finger in a slow counterclockwise motion. His lips chanted the ancient words. With his eyes closed he began to walk forward, legs moving of their own accord in an apparently erratic pattern. Mounted on the farmer's back was a sack of chalk. A hose ran from the bag and down his left leg, terminating in the hollow heel of his boot.
As the farmer walked the chalk recorded the pattern of his movements. At the conclusion of the trance there would exist an outline of the most fertile area in which to plant the seed.
Knowing that a greeting would only startle the farmer and force him to begin again, Grantin maintained his silence and went on. At half past the seventh hour be neared the edge of the village which straddled the River Out. A community of some one thousand people, it maintained a full complement of servitors, magicians, factors, artisans, scribblers, and even three warriors who functioned as the town police.
The buildings on the outskirts of Alicon seemed, at first glance, haphazardly set upon their foundations. This appearance derived from the fact that the structures were sited by members of a subclass of the Wizards' Guild known variously as builders, structors, or tectors according to their skill. Each construct was located, designed, built, and adorned according to plans derived through secret guild spells. Grantin knew that by and by the open spaces between the buildings would be filled with structures of a suitable construction and shape.
Occasionally one saw vacant fields of the most peculiar proportions, filled with flowers and wild grasses, in an otherwise densely populated portion of a town. Now and then hardheads would decide that this was pure waste. Sometimes they sought to appropriate these lots and build their own edifices. Invariably the structures toppled, sometimes with great loss of life. Usually the catastrophe was due to inherent weakness of the soil, latent quicksand, or the sudden appearance of geysers and springs. While a few disgruntled people occasionally claimed that these disasters were precipitated not by natural forces but by the wizardry of the Structors' Guild as punishment for disobeying their edicts, most of the populace, being reasonable and intelligent citizens, ignored the charges.
When Grantin passed the first few such isolated structures he remembered his uncle's command to wear the amulet about his neck. He had taken to carrying his coat draped over his left arm, and now he reached into the pocket. His fingers touched only air, leather, and tiny clumps of lint. The amulet was gone! Grantin looked up with a start, his face pale, his body suddenly as hollow as a dried gourd. He whirled and studied the ground. There was no sign of the necklace.
Grantin raised his eyes, trying to decide what to do next. At his left was a building two stories tall, the first floor of stone, the second of wood. Grantin chanced to read the emblem which hung above the doorway: