"Worse than that, I may have done something foolish. I underestimated how things have changed on the Dream Road."

Tiamak the Scrollbearer, glutton for knowledge, was starting to settle in for the tale before he remembered his nominal duty. "Is there anything else I can bring to you, Lady Aditu?"

She smiled at something, but did not explain. "No. I am well."

"Then please tell me what you meant about the Dream Road."

"I will tell you what I can-but there is a reason I said 'yes and no' when you asked whether I knew what had happened. I am not quite sure what did happen. The Road of Dreams was far more chaotic than I have ever found it, but that I expected. What I did not expect was some terrible thing to be waiting for me there."

Tiamak was uneasy. "What do you mean, a 'thing'? A demon? One of our ... enemies?"

"It was not like that." Aditu's amber eyes narrowed in concentration. "It was ... a structure, I suppose. Something very powerful and very strange that had been ... built there. There is no other word. It was something as huge and menacing in its own way as the castle that Josua plans to attack here in the waking world."

"A castle?" Tiamak was mystified.

"Nothing so simple, nothing so much like anything you know. It was a construction of the Art, I believe-an intelligent construction, not like the shadow-things that spontaneously spring into being along the Other Ways. It was a maelstrom of smoke and sparks and black energies-a thing of great power, something that must have been long in the building. I have never seen or heard of anything like it. It caught me up as a whirlwind draws in a leaf, and I only barely won free again." She pressed her temples again. "I was lucky, I think."

"Is it a danger to us? And if it is, is there anything you can think of that might help solve this riddle?" The Wrannaman was reminded of his earlier thought about unfamiliar ground: this was territory about which he knew nothing.

"I find it hard to believe that such an unusual thing would not have something to do with Ineluki and the other events of these days." She paused, considering. "One thought I had might mean something, although it means nothing to me. When I first perceived it, I heard or felt the word 'Sumy'asu.' 'Sumy'asu.' In the speech of the Gardenborn, that means 'The Fifth House.' " In the speech of the Gardenborn, that means 'The Fifth House.' "

"The Fifth House?" repeated Tiamak, mystified.

"Yes." Aditu lay back. "It means nothing to me, either. But that was the name I heard when I first encountered this powerful thing."

"I will ask Strangyeard," said Tiamak. "And I suppose we should tell Josua, too. In any case, he will be relieved to hear you are well."

"I am tired. I think I will lie here quietly a while and think," Aditu made a gesture unfamiliar to the Wrannaman. "My thanks to you, Tiamak."

"I did nothing."

"You did what you could." She closed her eyes and leaned back. "The Ancestors may understand all this-but I do not. I am frightened. I would give much to speak to my kin."

Tiamak rose and made his way back out onto the Kynslagh's snowy sh.o.r.es.

The cart rolled to a stop and the wooden wheels fell silent. The Count of Nad Mullach was certain that he would be very tired of the painful sound of their creaking by the time his journey was finished.

"Here we say farewell," he called to Isorn. He left his horse in the care of one of the soldiers and walked through the snow to the young Rimmersman, who dismounted and embraced him.

"Farewell, indeed." Isorn looked to the cart and Maegwin's shrouded body. "I cannot tell you my sorrow. She deserved better. So do you, Eolair."

The count gave him a last handclasp. "In my experience," he said with more than a touch of bitterness, "the G.o.ds do not seem to care much what their servants deserve-or at least the rewards they give are too subtle for my understanding." He closed his eyes for a moment. "But enough. She is dead, and all the lamenting in the world, all the railing against Heaven, cannot bring her back. I will bury her with her loved ones and then I will help Inahwen and the rest of my folk do what they can to rebuild."

"And after that?"

Eolair shook his head. "I think that depends on whether the Sithi are able to stop Elias and his ally. I hope you do not think I wish you ill luck if I say that we may keep the caves of the Grianspog prepared in case we need them again."

Isorn smiled thinly. "You would be a fool not to."

"And you will go with them? Your own people will be looking for help, now that Skali is gone."

"I know. But I must find my family, and Josua. My wounds have healed well enough that I can ride, so I will go with the Sithi. The only mortal, I will be. It will get lonely on the way to Erchester."

Eolair smiled. "The way that Jiriki's folk ride, I do not think it will be a long journey." He looked to his ragged troop of men. He knew that they preferred crossing the blizzard-ridden Frostmarch to any more travels with the immortals. "But if things go in such a way that the men of Hernystir are needed, send word to Hernysadharc. I will find a way to come."

"I know."

"Fare you well, Isorn."

Eolair turned and walked back toward his horse. As he mounted, Likimeya and Jiriki, who had been hanging back, rode toward them.

"Men of Hernystir." Likimeya's eyes were bright beneath her black helm. "Know that we honor you. Not since the days of Prince Sinnach have your folk and ours fought side by side. Your fallen lie with our own dead, both here and in your home country. We thank you."

Eolair wanted to ask the stern-faced Sitha what value there had been in the deaths of four score Hernystiri, but this was not the time to recommence such an argument. His men stood, nervous but silent, wanting only to be on their way.

"You freed Hernystir from a great scourge," he replied dutifully. There were observances that had to be made. "We thank you and honor you, as well."

"May you find some peace at the end of your journey, Count Eolair," said Jiriki. His dark blade Indreju hung at his hip. He, too, was armored and looked every bit as much a strange warrior G.o.d as his mother. "And when you find it, may it last."

"May Heaven preserve you." Eolair swung up into his saddle, then waved his arm, signaling the carter. The wheels slowly began to turn. Maegwin's shroud rippled in the stiff, sharp wind.

And as for me, he thought, may the G.o.ds from this moment leave me alone. They have broken my people and my life. Let them now turn their attention elsewhere so we can begin to build anew.

When he looked back, the Rimmersman and the Sithi still stood motionless, outlined by the rising sun. He raised his arm; Isorn returned the gesture of leavetaking.

Eolair looked west across the snows. "Come, my countrymen," he called to his tattered band. "We are going home."

26.

Song of the of the Red Star Red Star

"Here, drink." The troll held out a water skin. "I am Binabik of Mintahoq. Ookequk was my master. And you are Padreic. He was speaking of you many times." The troll held out a water skin. "I am Binabik of Mintahoq. Ookequk was my master. And you are Padreic. He was speaking of you many times."

"Padreic is dead," the monk gasped. He took a sip of water, letting some run down his chin. He was clearly exhausted. "I am a different man now." He put up a trembling hand to push the bowl away. "By all the G.o.ds, old and new, that was a powerful ward on the door. I have not tried to defeat such a thing in two decades. I think it almost killed me." He shook his head. "Better if it had, perhaps."

"Listen to you!" Miriamele cried. "You appear from nowhere, but you are still spouting the same nonsense. What are you doing here?"

Cadrach would not meet her eye. "I followed you."

"Followed me? From where?"

"All the way to Sesuad'ra-then followed after you when you fled." He looked at the dwarrows, who had closed the stone door and now stood in huddled colloquy at the far end of the cavern, peering at the newcomer as though he might be a Norn in disguise. "And there they are-the domhaini." domhaini." He grimaced. "I thought I felt their clever hand in that door-ward, but I couldn't be sure. I had never encountered one of theirs so new-minted." He grimaced. "I thought I felt their clever hand in that door-ward, but I couldn't be sure. I had never encountered one of theirs so new-minted."

Miriamele would not be distracted. "What are you doing here, Cadrach? And who is following you?"

The monk turned his gaze down to his own hands, which were clenched in the folds of his tattered robe. "I fear I have brought the Norns down on you and your allies. The white monsters have been following me almost since I descended through the catacombs. I have been hard-pressed to stay ahead of them."

"So you led them to us?" Miriamele still did not know what she felt about seeing Cadrach again. Since he had deserted her and the rest of the company in the Lake Thrithing, she had done her best to put him out of her mind. She still felt shame about the argument over Tiamak's parchment.

"They will never take me again," the monk said fer vently. "If I had not been able to force the door, I would have thrown myself down the Tan'ja Stairs before falling into their hands."

"But now the Norns are outside, you say, and the cavern has only one door for leaving," Binabik pointed out. "This is not much good you have done for yourself, Cadrach or Padreic or whichever name you now wear." Binabik had heard many stories about the monk from her and from Simon. Miriamele could see his respect for what the Hernystirman had once been warring with distrust of anyone who could betray one of the troll's friends. He shrugged. "Chukku's Stones! Enough of talking. Let us be seeing to important things now." He rose and padded across the cavern toward the dwarrows.

"Why did you run away, Cadrach? I told you I was sorry about Tiamak's parchment ... about all that."

The monk finally turned his eyes to hers. His gaze was curiously flat. "Ah, but you were right. Miriamele. I am a thief and a liar and a drunkard, and that is the truth of many years. That I did a few honest deeds does not change that."

"Why do you always say such things?" she demanded. "Why are you so determined to see the worst in yourself?"

The look on his face became something almost accusa tory. "And why are you determined to see the best in me, Miriamele? You imagine that you know all about the world, but you are only a young girl, after all is said and done. There are limits to your imagination, to your understanding of how black a place the world truly is."

Stung, Miriamele turned away and busied herself looking in the saddlebag. He had only been back a few moments, and already she wanted to strangle him-yet she was searching diligently for something to feed him.

I suppose I might as well keep him healthy until I decide to kill him.

Cadrach was leaning against the cavern wall, head thrown back and eyes closed, overcome with exhaustion. She took the opportunity to look him over. He had grown even thinner since he had abandoned her on the gra.s.slands; his face sagged, the skin deprived of its padding of flesh. Even in the pink light of the dwarrows' stones, the monk looked gray.

Binabik returned. "Our safeness may not last long. Yis-fidri is telling me the door-wards will never be as strong now that they have once been forced. Not all the Norns are being masters like your monkish friend, but some of them might be. And even if none of them can open it, it is likely that Pryrates will not be prevented."

"Masters? What do you mean?"

"Lore-masters. Learned in the Art-what folk who are not Scrollbearers sometimes are calling magic."

"Cadrach said he couldn't do magic any more."

Binabik shook his head in bemus.e.m.e.nt. "Miriamele, once Padreic of Crannhyr was perhaps the most adept user of the Art in all of Osten Ard-although that was in part being so because other Scrollbearers, even the greatest, Morgenes, chose not to risk its deepest currents. It is seeming that Cadrach has not lost his skills, either-how else did he force the dwarrows' door?"

"It all happened so fast. I suppose I hadn't thought about it." She felt a brief upsurge of hope. Perhaps fate had brought the monk here for a reason.

"I did what I had to," Cadrach said abruptly. Miriamele, who had thought he was asleep, jumped. "The White Foxes would have caught me in a few more moments. But I am not what I was, troll. Working the Art takes discipline and hard work ... and peace. I have been a stranger to those things for many years." He let his head fall back against the cavern wall. "Now the well is dry. I have no more to give. Nothing."

Miriamele was determined to have answers. "You still have not explained why you followed me, Cadrach."

The monk opened his eyes. "Because there is nothing else. The world holds nothing else for me." He hesitated, then looked at Binabik angrily, as though the little man was eavesdropping on something he had no right to hear. The words came slowly. "Because ... because you were kind to me, Miriamele. I had forgotten what it feels like. I could not go with you to face the questions, the looks, the disgust of all those others-Duke Isgrimnur and the rest-but neither could I let go of that small touch of life ... life as it once was. I could not let go." I could not let go." He reached up with both hands and rubbed at the skin of his face, then laughed wretchedly. "I suppose I am not so much a dead man as I thought." He reached up with both hands and rubbed at the skin of his face, then laughed wretchedly. "I suppose I am not so much a dead man as I thought."

"Was it you who followed Simon and me in the forest?"

"Yes, and through Stanshire and Falshire as well. It was only when this one joined you," he indicated Binabik, "that I had to fall farther behind. That wolf has a keen nose."

"You were not much help when the Fire Dancers caught us."

Cadrach only shuddered.

"So you followed us all the way here?"

"I lost your track after Hasu Vale. It was pure luck I found you again. If you had not come to Saint Sutrin's, where I had found a sheltering roof courtesy of that madman Domitis, I think we would never have met again." He laughed again, harshly. "Think on that, my lady. Your luck went bad when you entered G.o.d's house."

"Enough of this." Miriamele was losing patience with Cadrach's self-loathing. "You are here. What do we do now?"

Before the monk could offer any suggestion, Yis-fidri came shambling up. The dwarrow looked mournfully at Cadrach, then turned to Miriamele and Binabik. "This man is right in one thing. Someone else is now outside this cavern. The Hikeda'ya have come."

There was a silence as the words sank in.

"Are you certain?" Miriamele held little hope they were wrong, but the thought of being hemmed in the cavern with the corpse-faced Norns outside was dreadful. The White Foxes had been fearsome enough as characters in her uncle's tales of the fall of Naglimund, but on the hillside above Hasu Vale she had seen them for herself. She never wished to see them again-but she doubted she would be so lucky. Her panic, which had abated with the surprise of Cadrach's entrance, now returned. She was suddenly short of breath. "You're certain it's the Norns, not just some of my father's soldiers?"

"This man we did not expect," said Yis-fidri, "but we know what things move through our tunnels. The door does for now hold them out, but soon that may change."

"If these are your tunnels, you must know a way we can escape!"

The dwarrow said nothing.

"Perhaps we will after all be using those stones we gathered," Binabik said. "We should give thought to trying an escape before more of our enemies arrive." He turned to Yis-fidri. "Can you tell how many are being outside?"

The dwarrow fluted what sounded like a question to his wife. After listening to her reply, he turned. "The number of one hand's fingers, perhaps. But that will not be true for long."

"That few?" Miriamele sat up. "We should fight! If your folk will help us, surely we can defeat so few of them and escape!"

Yis-fidri shrank back, plainly uneasy. "I have told you. We are not strong. We do not fight."

"Listen to what the Tinukeda'ya say." Cadrach's voice was cold. "Not that it will make much difference soon, but I for one prefer to await the end here rather than be spitted on one of the White Foxes' spears."

"But the end is certain if we wait. At least if we try to escape, there is a chance."

"There is no chance either way," the monk replied. "At least here, we can make our peace and die by our own choice when it suits us."

"I cannot believe what a coward you are!" cried Miriamele. "You heard Yis-fidri! A half-dozen Norns at the most! That is not the end of the world. We have a chance!"

Cadrach turned to her. Sorrow and disgust and barely-concealed fury warred in his expression. "It is not the Norns that I fear," he said finally. "But it is the end of the world."

Miriamele caught something unusual in his tone, something beyond even his ordinary pessimism. "What are you talking about, Cadrach?"

"The end of the world," he repeated. He took a deep breath. "Lady, if you and I and this troll could somehow slaughter every Norn in the Hayholt-every Norn in Stormspike, too-stilt it would make no difference. It is too late to do anything. It was always always too late. The world, the green fields of Osten Ard, the people of its lands ... they are doomed. And I have known it since before I met you." He looked up imploringly. "Of course I am bitter, Miriamele. Of course I am almost mad. Because I know beyond doubt that there is no hope." too late. The world, the green fields of Osten Ard, the people of its lands ... they are doomed. And I have known it since before I met you." He looked up imploringly. "Of course I am bitter, Miriamele. Of course I am almost mad. Because I know beyond doubt that there is no hope."

Simon woke from cloudy, chaotic dreams into utter darkness. Someone was moaning nearby. Every part of his body throbbed, and he could barely move his wrists and ankles. For long moments he was certain he had been captured and was bound in some black cell, but at last he remembered where he was.

"Guthwulf?" he croaked. The moans continued, unchanging.