"Oh! Well, then ... mercy! I suppose I should go, since I have had the most time to study these things of anyone remaining."

"Yes, Strangyeard, my good drylander friend, of all of us, you know the most about the swords. But you have only one eye, and the sight in that one is not good. And you are many years older than I am, and not so used to climbing and getting in and out of tight places. If Binabik of Yiqanuc were here, I would let him go and wish him well, since he is more learned in these things than I, and at least as capable in other ways-not to mention the least likely to get stuck in a narrow tunnel of any of us." Tiamak wagged his head sadly. "But Binabik is gone, and the wisewoman Geloe is gone, and all the old Scrollbearers are dead. So it falls to me, I think. You have taught me much in a short time, Strangyeard." He let out another heartfelt sigh. "I have evil dreams still about being in the ghant nest, of the pictures I saw in my head, of hearing my own voice clacking away in the dark. But I fear this may be worse."

After a long silence, the priest went and pawed through his belongings, coming back at last with a skin bag. "Here. This is a strong drink made from berries. Jarnauga brought it with him to Naglimund: he said it was a shield against the cold." He laughed nervously. "Cold we certainly have, don't we? Try a little." He pa.s.sed Tiamak the sack.

The liquor was sweet and fiery. Tiamak swallowed, then took another swig. He pa.s.sed the bag back to Strangyeard. "It is good, but strange-tasting. I am used to sour fern beer. Try some."

"Oh, I think it too potent for me," the priest stammered. "I wanted you ..."

"A little will help to keep out the chill-perhaps it will even help set free that elusive thought you spoke of."

Strangyeard hesitated, then lifted the sack to his lips. He took a tiny sip and worked it around his mouth, then took a little more. Tiamak was pleased to see he did not choke. "It's ... hot," the priest said, wonderingly.

"It feels that way, does it not?" The Wrannaman sank back against one of the priest's saddlebags. "Have another, then pa.s.s it to me again. I will need more than a few swallows before I work up the nerve to tell Josua what I have decided."

The sack was mostly empty. Tiamak had heard the sentries change outside, and knew it must be near midnight. "I should go," he said. He listened to the words as he formed them, and was proud of how well-articulated they were. "I should go because I need to tell Prince Josua what I will do."

"What you will do, yes." Strangyeard was holding the wineskin by its cord strap and watching it swing back and forth. "That is good."

"So in a moment I will get up," Tiamak pointed out.

"I wish Geloe were here."

"Geloe? Here?" Tiamak frowned. "Drinking this Rimmersgard liquor?"

"No. Well, I suppose." Strangyeard reached up his free hand and set the skin swinging again. "Here to talk to us. She was a wise one. Frightening, a little-didn't she frighten you? Those eyes ..." His forehead creased as he remembered Geloe's alarming stare. "But solid. Rea.s.suring."

"Of course. We miss her." He got unsteadily to his feet. "Terrible thing."

"Why did those ... things do it?" the priest wondered.

"Kill Geloe?"

"No, Camaris." Strangyeard carefully placed the skin on top of a blanket. "Why did they kill Camaris? No." He smiled, abashed. "I mean ... why did they try try to kill Camaris? Just him. Doesn't make sense." to kill Camaris? Just him. Doesn't make sense."

"They wanted to take the sword. Thorn."

"Ah," Strangyeard replied. "Ah. P'raps so."

Tiamak struggled out through the tent flap. The chilly air was like a blow. He looked over at the priest, who had followed him out. "Where are you going?"

"With you," Strangyeard said matter-of-factly. "Tell Josua I'm going, too. Down in the tunnels."

"No, you're not." Tiamak was firm. "That would be a bad idea. I told you before."

"I'll come with you anyway. To talk with him." The priest's teeth were already chattering. "Can't let you walk in the cold by yourself." He staggered a few steps, then stopped, peering upward, and frowned broadly. "Look at that red star. Mad thing. Causing all this trouble. The stars should leave us alone." He raised his fist. "We're not afraid!" he called to the distant spot of light. "Not afraid!"

"You drank too much," Tiamak said as he took the archivist's elbow.

Strangyeard bobbed his head. "I might have done."

Josua watched the archivist and the Wrannaman lurch out of his tent and into the night, then turned to Isgrimnur. "I would never have believed it."

"A drunken priest?" The duke yawned despite the tension that roiled his stomach. "That's nothing strange." There was a dull pressure behind his eyes. It was past the middle of the night, and the next day promised to be something dreadful. He needed sleep.

"Perhaps, but a drunken Strangyeard?" Josua shook his head slowly. "I think that Tiamak is right about going, though-and he is, from what you've told me, a useful fellow."

"Wiry as a hound," Isgrimnur said. "Brave, too, and so well-spoken I'm still not used to it. I'll confess, I didn't think marsh men were that learned. Camaris could do far worse than to take Tiamak, even with his limp. That was a c.o.c.kindrill bit him there, did you know?"

Josua's mind was on other things. "So that is two of our mortal contingent." He rubbed his temple. "I cannot think any more-it feels like three days have pa.s.sed since this morning's sun rose. We will begin the siege tomorrow, and tomorrow evening will be time enough to make the final decision on who shall go." He rose and looked almost with tenderness at Camaris, who was stretched full-length on a pallet at the far side of the tent, moving fitfully in his sleep. The squire Jeremias, who seemed to attach himself to troubled folk, was curled up on a pile of blankets near the old knight's feet.

"Can you find your way back?" Josua asked the duke. "Take the lantern."

"I'll find my way right enough. Isorn will be up telling tales with Sludig and the rest, I have no doubt." He yawned again. "Wasn't there a time when we could stay up all night drinking, then fight in the morning, then start drinking all over again?"

"Maybe for you, Uncle Isgrimnur," Josua said with a tiny smile. "Never for me. G.o.d grant you good rest tonight."

Isgrimnur grunted, then picked up the lamp and made his way out of the tent, leaving Josua standing in its center, staring at the sleeping Camaris.

Outside the storm clouds had dispersed. The stars spread a faint light over the Hayholt's silent walls. The Conqueror Star seemed to hang just above Green Angel Tower like a flame above a candle.

Go away, you cursed, ill-omened thing, he demanded, but he knew that it would not comply. he demanded, but he knew that it would not comply.

Shivering in the chill, he stumped slowly through the snow toward his tent.

"Jeremias! Boy! Wake up! Wake up!"

The young squire sat up, fighting his way out of sleep. "What?"

Josua stood over him, half-dressed. "He's gone. He's been gone far too long." The prince s.n.a.t.c.hed up his sword belt and leaned to pluck his cloak from the floor. "Put on your boots and come help me."

"What? Who's gone, Prince Josua?"

"Camaris, curse it, Camaris! Come and help me. No, rouse Isgrimnur and find some men to help. Have them bring torches."

The prince took a brand from the fire, then turned and pushed out through the door flap. He looked down at the snow, trying to make some sense out of the muddle of footprints. At last he chose a set of tracks that led downhill toward the Kynslagh. Within moments he was beyond the light of the few campfires still burning. The moon had vanished from the sky, but the Conqueror Star still burned like a signal beacon.

The trail twisted erratically, but within half a furlong it was clear that the footprints had turned toward the cliffs east of the Hayholt's seawall. Josua looked up to see a pale figure moving along the edge of the sh.o.r.eline, silhouetted against the wall of empty blackness that was the Kynslagh.

"Camaris!" Josua called. The figure did not stop, but moved along unsteadily toward the edge, lurching like a puppet with knotted strings. The prince began to run, floundering in the deep snow, then slowed as he reached the cliffs. "Camaris," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Where are you going?" Josua called. The figure did not stop, but moved along unsteadily toward the edge, lurching like a puppet with knotted strings. The prince began to run, floundering in the deep snow, then slowed as he reached the cliffs. "Camaris," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Where are you going?"

The old man turned to look at him. He wore no cloak, and his loose shirt flapped in the wind. Even seen by starlight there was something odd in his posture.

"It is Josua." The prince lifted his arms as though to embrace the old man. "Come back with me. We will sit by the fire and talk."

Camaris stared as though the words were animal noises, then began to make his way down the rocks. Josua hastened forward.

"Stop! Camaris, where are you going?" He scrambled over the edge, struggling to keep his balance on the muddy slope. "Come back with me."

The old knight whirled and pulled Thorn from its scabbard. Although he seemed fearfully confused, he handled the sword with unthinking mastery. His horn Cellian dangled on its baldric, drawing Josua's eye as it swung back and forth. "It is time," Camaris whispered. He was barely audible above the waves that slapped on the sh.o.r.e below.

"You cannot do this." Josua reached out his hand. "We are not ready. You must wait until the others can go with you." He advanced a few slithering steps down the slope. "Come back."

Camaris abruptly swung the sword in a wide, flat arc; it was nearly invisible in the darkness, but it hissed as it pa.s.sed the prince's chest.

"Aedon's Blood, Camaris, do you not recognize me?" Josua took a step back. The old man raised the sword for another stroke.

"It is time! time!" he said, and swung, this time with deadly aim.

Josua threw himself backward. His feet skidded from beneath him and he whirled his arms for a moment, struggling for balance, then fell and tumbled down the slope, through long gra.s.ses and over mud and stones, landing at last in a drift of dirty snow where he lay for long moments, wheezing in pain.

"Prince Josua?!" A head appeared at the top of the rise. "Are you down there?"

Josua dragged himself onto his feet. Camaris had made his way down to the bottom of the hill and onto the beach. Now he was a ghostly shape moving along the cliff face. "I'm here," he called to Jeremias. "d.a.m.n it, where is the duke!?"

"He's coming, but I don't see him yet," the youth said excitedly. "I ran back after I told him. Shall I come down and help you? Are you hurt?"

Josua turned and saw Camaris hesitating before one of the black openings in the cliff wall. A moment later he vanished into the hole. "No!" Josua shouted, then called up to Jeremias: "Get Isgrimnur, make him hurry! Tell him Camaris has gone into one of the caves down here-I will mark which one! We will lose him if we wait any longer. I am going to bring him out."

"You ... you ..." The squire was confused. "You're going to follow him?"

"d.a.m.n me, I can't let him go down there himself-he is mad. Aedon knows what-he might fall, be lost ... I will bring him back somehow, even if I have to outfight him myself and carry him back on my shoulder. But for G.o.d's sake, tell Isgrimnur to hurry with the torches and men. Go on, boy, run!"

Jeremias hesitated a moment longer, then vanished from the prince's sight. Josua crawled the short distance to where his torch lay sputtering on a muddy outcropping, then clambered down the slope to the beach. He quickly made his way to the place where Camaris had disappeared and found a cave mouth little different than any of the others along the cliff. Josua grabbed several stones and piled them next to the opening, then stepped in, holding the torch before him.

Isgrimnur stared at the soldiers. "What do you mean, gone?"

The man looked back at him, half-apologetic and half-defensive. "Just that, Duke Isgrimnur. The hole splits off, goes different ways. We thought we saw some marks, like from a torch-end, up on the walls, but we didn't find anybody that way. We searched the other pa.s.sages, too. It's like wormholes in there, tunnels everywhere."

"And you shouted?"

"Called the prince's name loud as we could. n.o.body called back."

Isgrimnur stared at the gap in the cliff wall, then looked at Sludig. "Ransomer preserve us," he groaned. "Both gone. We'll have to get the Sithi after them now." He turned to the soldier. "I'll be back before sunrise. Until then, keep looking and calling."

The man nodded. "Yes, sire."

Isgrimnur pulled at his beard for a moment, then began making his way back along the beach. "Oh, Josua," he said quietly. "You fool. And me, too. We've all been fools."

28.

Abandoned Ways

Binabik touched her arm. "Miriamele, what are you thinking?" her arm. "Miriamele, what are you thinking?"

"I'm trying to think of what we can do." Her head was pounding. The shadowed cavern seemed to be closing in. "We have to get out, somehow. We have to. I don't want to be trapped in here." She caught her breath and looked at Cadrach huddled against the wall on the far side of the cavern. "How could he do such things, Binabik? How could he betray us all that way?"

"He was not knowing you then," the troll pointed out. "So he could not be thinking that it was you he was betraying."

"But he didn't tell us afterward! He didn't tell us anything! All that time we were together."

Binabik lowered his head. "It is done. Now we must be thinking on other things." He gestured to the dwarrows, who were seated in a circle, singing quietly. "They are thinking the Norns come soon, they have said to me. Already the ward is crumbling. The door will not hold for a much lengthier time."

"And they're just going to sit and wait," said Miriamele bitterly. "I can't understand them any more than I can understand Cadrach." She stood and walked past the troll. "Yis-fidri! Why are you mooning around like this when the Norns are outside? Don't you understand what will happen to us?" She heard her voice rising shrilly, but she did not care.

The dwarrows stared up apprehensively, mouths agape. Miriamele thought they looked like a nestful of baby birds. "We are waiting ..." he began.

"Waiting! That's just it, you're waiting." She quivered with anger. They were all waiting for those fishbelly white things to come in and take them-take her and the troll, too. "Then let's open the door now. Why put it off any longer? Binabik and I will fight to win free and probably be killed-killed because you brought us here to this trap against our will-and you will sit and be slaughtered. So there is no sense waiting any longer."

Yis-fidri goggled. "But ... perhaps they will go...."

"You don't believe that! Come, open the door!" Her fear beat higher, rising like storm-tossed waves. She leaned down and grabbed the dwarrow's long wrist in her hand and tugged. He was as unmovable as stone. "Get up, d.a.m.n you!" she shouted, and yanked as hard as she could. Alarmed, the dwarrows burbled at each other. Yis-fidri's eyes widened in consternation; with a flick of his powerful arm he dislodged Miriamele's grip. She fell back on the cavern floor, breathless.

"Miriamele!" Binabik hurried to her side. "Are you hurt?"

She shook off the troll's helping hand and sat up. "There!" she said triumphantly. "Yis-fidri, you didn't tell the truth."

The dwarrow stared at her as though she had begun to foam at the mouth. He curled his flat fingers protectively against his chest.

"You didn't," she said, and stood. "You will push me away to keep me from forcing you against your will, so why not the Norns? Do you want to die, then? Because the Norns will certainly kill you, kill me, kill us all. Or perhaps they will make you slaves again-is that what you are hoping for? Why do you resist me and not resist them?"

Yis-fidri turned briefly to his wife; she stared back at him, silent and solemn-eyed. "But there is naught we can do." The dwarrow seemed to be pleading for Miriamele's understanding.

"There is always always something you can do," she snapped. "It may not change anything, but you will have tried. You are strong, Yis-fidri-you dwarrow-folk are very strong, and you can do many things: I watched your wife shaping stone. Maybe you have always run away before, but now there is nowhere left to hide. Stand with us, d.a.m.n you!" something you can do," she snapped. "It may not change anything, but you will have tried. You are strong, Yis-fidri-you dwarrow-folk are very strong, and you can do many things: I watched your wife shaping stone. Maybe you have always run away before, but now there is nowhere left to hide. Stand with us, d.a.m.n you!"

Yis-hadra said something in the dwarrow tongue, which brought a murmuring but swift reply from others in the group. Yis-fidri entered in, then for a long time the dwarrows argued among themselves, voices rushing and burbling like water chiming on stone.

At last Yis-hadra rose. "I will stand with you," she said. "You speak rightly. There is nowhere left to run, and we are almost the last of our kind. If we die, no one then will be left to tend and harvest the stone, no one to find the beautiful things in the earth. That would be a shame." She turned to her husband and again spoke rapidly to him. After a moment, Yis-fidri lidded his huge eyes.

"I will do as my wife does," he said with obvious reluctance. "But we do not speak for our fellow Tinukeda'ya."

"Then speak to them," Miriamele urged. "There is so little time!"