Farslayer's Story by Fred Saberhagen

fishing village they had glimpsed from the crag above the hermit’s house. Now they were walking close beside the river, and were almost on the point of entering the settlement.
    At the point where the trail they had been following emerged from the forest, on the south bank, Zoltan paused and turned to look over his shoulder to the northeast. He thought that he could see that crag again, still clearly visible in the light of the lowering sun. Now, of course, those heights were much too far away for him to be able to make out whether the hermit or anyone else was standing there.
    He faced forward again, and with the Lady Yambu at his side approached the village. The pair of them advanced slowly, wanting to give the inhabitants plenty of time to become aware of their arrival. Three or four of the fisherfolk were visible, garbed in heavy trousers and jackets. The place seemed quite ordinary for a settlement beside a river. It consisted of twelve or fifteen bark-roofed houses, some of them raised on stilts along the shoreline, and actually extending over the water. Thin columns of smoke from several fires ascended into the air. Just behind the village the forest rose up dense and tall, beginning to be clothed in the new growth of spring. One or two of the trees loomed impressively, being of the same gigantic species as the one that had formed the hermit’s house.
    The hermit Gelimer had told the travelers that this was one of the handful of villages, all within a few kilometers of each other along the Tungri, whose inhabitants lived under the mermaid curse. Those few who were now visible to the slowly approaching travelers had nothing out of the ordinary in their appearance —not, Zoltan supposed, that there was any reason to think they would. Three or four fishing boats were tied up at a dock, and only a few patches of ice were visible along the shore. At this lower altitude the ground was completely barren of snow.
    “Remember, Zoltan, how the hermit warned us,” admonished Yambu, watching her companion closely. “In my opinion he advised us well. You should say nothing at all about mermaids while we are among these village people, at least not until we have gained some understanding of their attitude on the subject. It must be a matter that they are not inclined to treat lightly.”
    “I understand. I agree,” Zoltan answered shortly. He was having a difficult time trying to control his impatience, and he supposed the difficulty showed.
    During their long day’s hike down the mountain and through the forest he had talked at some length with Yambu about his continuing determination to seek out one particular mermaid.
    “You say, my lady, that you are making this pilgrimage to seek the Truth. Well, so am I, in my own way. My goal is to find that girl—I cannot forget her. She has come to represent Truth to me.”
    Since leaving their native lands months ago, the two pilgrims had had this same conversation, or one very much like it, several times. By now Yambu knew almost as much as Zoltan did about the particular mermaid he was seeking. And she had learned better than to argue directly against the youth’s objective. Instead she now asked him: “Exactly how many times did you really see her, in all?”
    “Three times, at least. Oh, there were other occasions on the upper river when she was only a shadow, or a ripple in the water, or a movement in the leaves along the shore. But three times, later, I saw her solidly, and talked with her and even touched her.”
    “Given the other things that happened, we must consider that those earlier appearances were a result of evil magic.”
    The young man shook his head violently. “Not her evil. Not her magic, either.”
    The woman remained perfectly calm. “No. Or at least not hers primarily. But the attraction you felt and still feel for her had its root in that same evil magic.”
    “She was enslaved then by that ghastly wizard Wood, or one of his