Copyright 1993 by Tad Williams.

All Rights Reserved.

Cover An by Michael Whelan.

Maps by Tad Williams.

For color prints of Michael Whelan paintings,

please contact:

Glass Onion Graphics

P. 0. Box 88

Brookfield. CT 06804

DAW Book Collectors No. 947.

DAW Books are distributed by Penguin U. S. A.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious-

Any resemblance to persons living or dead

is strictly coincidental.

This series is dedicated to my mother,

Barbara Jean Evans,

who taught me to search for other worlds,

and to share the things I find in them.

This final volume. To Green Angel Tower,

in itself a little world of heartbreak and joy,

I dedicate to Nancy Deming-Williams,

with much, much love.

If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this

book may have been stolen properly and reported as "unsold and destroyed"

to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has re-

ceived any payment for this "stripped book."

First Paperback Printing, April 1994

19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED

U. S. PAT OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

MARC A REGISTRADA.

HECHO EN U.S.A.

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

Author's Note

And death shall have no dominion.

Dead men naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones

gone

They shall have stars at elbow and fool;

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion .,.

DYLAN THOMAS

(from "And Death Shall Have No

Dominion")

Tell all the truth but tell it slant,

Success in circuit lies,

Too bright for our infirm delight

The truth's superb surprise;

As lightning to the children eased

With explanation kind,

The truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind.

EMILY DICKINSON

Many people gave me a great deal of help with these

books, ranging from suggestions and moral support to

crucial logistical aid. Eva Cumming, Nancy Deming-

Williams, Arthur Ross Evans, Andrew Harris, Paul

xTad Williams

Hudspeth, Peter Stampfel, Doug Werner, Michael

Whelan, the lovely folks at DAW Books, and all my

friends on GEnie make up only a small (but significant)

sampling of those who helped me finish The Story That

Ate My Life.

Particular thanks for assistance on this final volume of

the Bloated Epic goes to Mary Frey, who put a

bogglesome amount of energy and time into reading

andfor lack of a better wordanalyzing a monstrous

manuscript. She gave me an incredible boost when I re-

ally needed it.

And, of course, the contributions of my editors, Sheila

Gilbert and Betsy Wollheim, are incalculable. Caring a lot

is their crime, and here at last is their well-deserved pun-

ishment.

To all of the above, and to all the other friends and sup-

porters unmentioned but by no means unremembered, I

give my most heartfelt thanks.

NOTE: There is a cast of characters, a glossary of terms,

and a guide to pronunciation at the back of this book.

Synopsis of

The DnuJonfione Chair

For eons the Hayholt belonged to the immortal Sithi, but

they had fled the great castle before the onslaught of

Mankind. Men have long ruled this greatest of strong-

holds, and the rest of Osten Ard as well. Prester John,

High King of all the nations of men, is its most recent

master; after an early life of triumph and glory, he has

presided over decades of peace from his skeletal throne,

the Dragonbone Chair.

Simon, an awkward fourteen- year old, is one of the

Hayholt's scullions. His parents are dead, his only real

family the chambermaids and their stem mistress, Rachel

the Dragon. When Simon can escape his kitchen-work he

steals away to the cluttered chambers of Doctor Mor-

genes, the castle's eccentric scholar. When the old man

invites Simon to be his apprentice, the youth is

overjoyeduntil he discovers that Morgenes prefers

teaching reading and writing to magic.

Soon ancient King John will die, so Elias, the older of

his two sons, prepares to take the throne. Josua, Elias'

somber brother, nicknamed Lackhand because of a disfig-

uring wound, argues harshly with the king-to-be about

Pryrates, the ill-reputed priest who is one of Elias' clos-

est advisers. The brothers' feud is a cloud of foreboding

over castle and country.

Elias' reign as king starts well, but a drought comes

and plague strikes several of the nations of Osten Ard.

XII Tad Williams

Soon outlaws roam the roads and people begin to vanish

from isolated villages. The order of things is breaking

down, and the king's subjects are losing confidence in his

rule, but nothing seems to bother the monarch or his

friends. As rumblings of discontent begin to be heard

throughout the kingdom, Elias' brother Josua disap-

pearsto plot rebellion, some say.

Elias' misrule upsets many, including Duke Isgrimnur

of Rimmersgard and Count Eolair, an emissary from the

western country of Hernystir. Even King Elias' own

daughter Miriamele is uneasy, especially about the

scarlet-robed Pryrates, her father's trusted adviser.

Meanwhile Simon is muddling along as Morgenes'

helper. The two become fast friends despite Simon's

mooncalf nature and the doctor's refusal to teach him

anything resembling magic. During one of his meander-

ings through the secret byways of the labyrinthine

Hayholt, Simon discovers a secret passage and is almost

captured there by Pryrates. Eluding the priest, he enters a

hidden underground chamber and finds Josua, who is be-

ing held captive for use in some terrible ritual planned by

Pryrates. Simon fetches Doctor Morgenes and the two of

them free Josua and take him to the doctor's chambers,

where Josua is sent to freedom down a tunnel that leads

beneath the ancient castle. Then, as Morgenes is sending

off messenger birds to mysterious friends, bearing news

of what has happened, Pryrates and the king's guard come

to arrest the doctor and Simon. Morgenes is killed fight-

ing Pryrates, but his sacrifice allows Simon to escape into

the tunnel-

Half-maddened, Simon makes his way through the

midnight corridors beneath the castle, which contain the

ruins of the old Sithi palace. He surfaces in the graveyard

beyond the town wall, then is lured by the light of a bon-

fire. He witnesses a weird scene: Pryrates and King Elias

engaged in a ritual with black-robed, white-faced crea-

tures- The pale things give Elias a strange gray sword of

disturbing power, named Sorrow. Simon flees.

Life in the wilderness on the edge of the great forest

Aldheorte is miserable, and weeks later Simon is nearly

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWERXIII

dead from hunger and exhaustion, but still far away from

his destination, Josua's northern keep at Naglimund. Go-

ing to a forest cot to beg, he finds a strange being caught

in a trapone of the Sithi, a race thought to be mythical,

or at least long-vanished. The cotsman returns, but before

he can kill the helpless Sitha, Simon strikes him down.

The Sitha, once freed, stops only long enough to fire a

white arrow at Simon, then disappears. A new voice tells

Simon to take the white arrow, that it is a Sithi gift.

The dwarfish newcomer is a troll named Binabik, who

rides a great gray wolf. He tells Simon he was only pass-

ing by, but now he will accompany the boy to Naglimund.

Simon and Binabik endure many adventures and strange

events on the way to Naglimund; they come to realize

that they have fallen afoul of a threat greater than merely

a king and his counselor deprived of their prisoner. At

last, when they find themselves pursued by unearthly

white hounds who wear the brand of Stormspike, a moun-

tain of evil reputation in the far north, they are forced to

head for the shelter of Geloe\ forest house, taking with

them a pair of travelers they have rescued from the

hounds. Geloe, a blunt-spoken Jorest woman with a repu-

tation as a witch, confers with them and agrees that some-

how the ancient Noms, embittered relatives of the Sithi,

have become embroiled in the fate of Prester John's king-

dom.

Pursuers human and otherwise threaten them on their

journey to Naglimund, After Binabik is shot with an ar-

row, Simon and one of the rescued travelers, a servant

girl, must struggle on through the forest. They are at-

tacked by a shaggy giant and saved only by the appear-

ance of Josua's hunting party.

The prince brings them to Naglimund, where Binabik's

wounds are cared for, and where it is confirmed that Si-

mon has stumbled into a terrifying swirl of events. Elias

is coming soon to besiege Josua's castle. Simon's serving-

girl companion was Princess Miriamele traveling in dis-

guise, fleeing her father, whom she fears has gone mad

under Pryrates' influence. From all over the north and

XIV Tad Williams

elsewhere, frightened people are flocking to Naglimund

and Josua, their last protection against a mad king.

Then, as the prince and others discuss the coming bat-

tle, a strange old Rimmersman named Jarnauga appears

in the council's meeting hall. He is a member of the

League of the Scroll, a circle of scholars and initiates of

which Morgenes and Binabik's master were both part,

and he brings more grim news. Their enemy, he says, is

not just Elias: the king is receiving aid from Ineluki the

Storm King, who had once been a pnnce of the Sithibut

who has been dead for five centuries, and whose bodiless

spirit now rules the Norns of Stormspike Mountain, pale

relatives of the banished Sithi.

It was the terrible magic of the gray sword Sorrow that

caused Ineluki's deaththat, and mankind's attack on the

Sithi. The League of the Scroll believes that Sorrow has

been given to Elias as the first step in some incomprehen-

sible plan of revenge, a plan that will bring the earth be-

neath the heel of the undead Storm King. The only hope

comes from a prophetic poem that seems to suggest that

"three swords" might help turn back Ineluki's powerful

magic.

One of the swords is the Storm King's Sorrow, already

in the hands of their enemy, King Elias. Another is the

Rimmersgard blade Minneyar, which was also once at

the Hayholt, but whose whereabouts are now unknown.

The third is Thorn, black sword of King John's greatest

knight. Sir Camaris. Jamauga and others think they have

traced it to a location in the frozen north. On this slim

hope, Josua sends Binabik, Simon, and several soldiers

off in search of Thorn, even as Naglimund prepares for

siege.

Others are affected by the growing crisis. Princess

Miriamele, frustrated by her uncle Josua's attempts to

protect her, escapes Naglimund in disguise, accompanied

by the mysterious monk Cadrach. She hopes to make her

way to southern Nabban and plead with her relatives

there to aid Josua. Old Duke Isgrimnur, at Josua's urg-

ing, disguises his own very recognizable features and fol-

lows after to rescue her. Tiamak, a swamp-dwelling

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

XV

Wrannaman scholar, receives a strange message from his

old mentor Morgenes that tells of bad times coining and

hints that Tiamak has a part to play. Maegwin, daughter

of the king of Hernystir, watches helplessly as her own

family and country are drawn into a whirlpool of war by

the treachery of High King Elias.

Simon and Binabik and their company are ambushed

by Ingen Jegger, huntsman of Stormspike, and his ser-

vants. They are saved only by the reappearance of the

Sitha Jiriki, whom Simon had saved from the cotsman's

trap. When he learns of their quest, Jiriki decides to ac-

company them to Urmsheim Mountain, legendary abode

of one of the great dragons, in search of Thorn.

By the time Simon and the others reach the mountain,

King Elias has brought his besieging army to Josua's cas-

tle at Naglimund, and though the first attacks are re-

pulsed, the defenders suffer great losses. At last Elias'

forces seem to retreat and give up the siege, but before

the stronghold's inhabitants can celebrate, a weird storm

appears on the northern horizon, bearing down on

Naglimund. The storm is the cloak under which Ineluki's

own horrifying army of Noms and giants travels, and

when the Red Hand, the Storm King's chief servants,

throw down Naglimund's gates, a terrible slaughter be-

gins. Josua and a few others manage to flee the ruin of

the castle. Before escaping into the great forest, Prince

Josua curses Elias for his conscienceless bargain with the

Storm King and swears that he will take their father's

crown back.

Simon and his companions climb Urmsheim, coming

through great dangers to discover the Uduntree, a titanic

frozen waterfall. There they find Thorn in a tomblike

cave. Before they can take the sword and make their es-

cape, Ingen Jegger appears once more and attacks with

his troop of soldiers. The battle awakens Igjarjuk, the

white dragon, who has been slumbering for years beneath

the ice. Many on both sides are killed, Simon alone is left

standing, trapped on the edge of a cliff; as the ice-worm

bears down upon him, he lifts Thorn and swings it. The

XVI

Tad Williams

dragon's scalding black blood spurts over him as he is

struck senseless..

Simon awakens in a cave on the troll mountain ot

Yiqanuc. Jiriki and Haestan, an Erkynlandish soldier,

nurse him to health. Thorn has been rescued from

Urmsheim, but Binabik is being held prisoner by his own

people, along with Sludig the Rimmersman, under sen-

tence of death. Simon himself has been scarred by the

dragon's blood and a wide swath of his hair has turned

white. Jiriki names him "Snowlock" and tells Simon that,

for good or for evil, he has been irrevocably marked.

Synopsis of

Stone of Farewed

Simon, the Sitha Jiriki, and soldier Haestan are honored

guests in the mountaintop city of the diminutive Qanuc

trolls- But Sludigwhose Rimmersgard folk are the

Qanuc's ancient enemiesand Simon's troll friend

Binabik are not so well treated; Binabik's people hold

them both captive, under sentence of death. An audience

with the Herder and Huntress, rulers of the Qanuc,

reveals that Binabik is being blamed not only for desert-

ing his tribe, but for failing to fulfill his vow of marriage

to Sisqi, youngest daughter of the reigning family. Simon

begs Jiriki to intercede, but the Sitha has obligations to

his own family, and will not in any case interfere with

trollish justice. Shortly before the executions, Jiriki de-

parts for his home.

Although Sisqi is bitter about Binabik's seeming fickle-

ness, she cannot stand to see him killed. With Simon and

Haestan, she arranges a rescue of the two prisoners, but

as they seek a scroll from Binabik's master's cave which

will give them the information necessary to find a place

named the Stone of Farewellwhich Simon has learned

of in a visionthey are recaptured by the angry Qanuc

leaders. But Binabik's master's death-testament confirms

the troll's story of his absence, and its warnings finally

convince the Herder and Huntress that there are indeed

dangers to all the land which they have not understood.

After some discussion, the prisoners are pardoned and Si-

xvinTad Williams

mon and his companions are given permission to leave

Yiqanuc and take the powerful sword Thorn to exiled

Prince Josua. Sisqi and other trolls will accompany them

as far as the base of the mountains.

Meanwhile, Josua and a small band of followers have

escaped the destruction of Naglimund and are wandering

through the Aldheorte Forest, chased by the Storm King's

Noms. They must defend themselves against not only ar-

rows and spears but dark magic, but at last they are met

by Geloe, the forest woman, and Leieth, the mute child

Simon had rescued from the terrible hounds of

Stormspike. The strange pair lead Josua's party through

the forest to a place that once belonged to the Sithi, where

the Norns dare not pursue them for fear of breaking the

ancient Pact between the sundered kin. Geloe then tells

them they should travel on to another place even more sa-

cred to the Sithi, the same Stone of Farewell to which she

had directed Simon in the vision she sent him.

Miriamele, daughter of High King Elias and niece of

Josua, is traveling south in hope of finding allies for

Josua among her relatives in the courts of Nabban; she is

accompanied by the dissolute monk Cadrach. They are

captured by Count Stredwe of Perdruin, a cunning and

mercenary man, who tells Miriamele he is going to de-

liver her to an unnamed person to whom he owes a debt.

To Miriamele's joy, this mysterious personage turns out to

be a friend, the priest Dinivan, who is secretary to Lector

Ranessin, leader of Mother Church. Dinivan is secretly a

member of the League of the Scroll, and hopes that

Miriamele can convince the lector to denounce Elias and

his counselor, the renegade priest Pryrates. Mother

Church is under siege, not only from Elias, who demands

the church not interfere with him, but from the Fire

Dancers, religious fanatics who claim the Storm King

comes to them in dreams. Ranessin listens to what

Miriamele has to say and is very troubled.

Simon and his companions are attacked by snow-giants

on their way down from the high mountains, and the sol-

dier Haestan and many trolls are killed. Later, as he

broods on the injustice of life and death, Simon inadver-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWERXIX

tently awakens the Sitha mirror Jiriki had given him as a

summoning charm, and travels on the Dream Road to en-

counter first the Sitha matriarch Amerasu, then the terri-

ble Nom Queen Utuk'ku. Amerasu is trying to understand

the schemes of Utuk'ku and the Storm King, and is trav-

eling the Dream Road in search of both wisdom and al-

lies.

Josua and the remainder of his company at last emerge

from the forest onto the grasslands of the High Thrithing,

where they are almost immediately captured by the no-

madic clan led by March-Thane Fikolmij, who is the fa-

ther of Josua's lover Vorzheva. Fikolmij begrudges the

loss of his daughter, and after beating the prince severely,

arranges a duel in which he intends that Josua should be

killed; Fikolmij's plan fails and Josua survives. Fikolmij

is then forced to pay off a bet by giving the prince's com-

pany horses. Josua, strongly affected by the shame

Vorzheva feels at seeing her people again, marries her

in front of Fikolmij and the assembled clan. When

Vorzheva's father gleefully announces that soldiers of

King Elias are coming across the grasslands to capture

them, the prince and his followers ride away east toward

the Stone of Farewell.

In far off Hemystir, Maegwin is the last of her line. Her

father the king and her brother have both been killed

fighting Elias' pawn Skali, and she and her people have

taken refuge in caves in the Grianspog Mountains.

Maegwin has been troubled by strange dreams, and finds

herself drawn down into the old mines and caverns be-

neath the Grianspog. Count Eolair, her father's most

trusted liege-man, goes in search of her, and together he

and Maegwin enter the great underground city of

Mezutu'a. Maegwin is convinced that the Sithi live there,

and that they will come to the rescue of the Hernystiri as

they did in the old days, but the only inhabitants they dis-

cover in the crumbling city are the dwarrows, a strange,

timid group of delvers distantly related to the immortals.

The dwarrows, who are metalwrights as well as stone-

crafters, reveal that the sword Minneyar that Josua's peo-

ple seek is actually the blade known as Bright-Nail,

xxTad Williams

which was buried with Prester John, father of Josua and

Elias. This news means little to Maegwin, who is shat-

tered to find that her dreams have brought her people no

real assistance. She is also at least as troubled by what

she considers her foolish love for Eolair, so she invents

an errand for himtaking news of Minneyar and maps of

the dwarrows' diggings, which include tunnels below

Elias' castle, the Hayholt, to Josua and his band of survi-

vors. Eolair is puzzled and angry at being sent away, but

goes.

Simon and Binabik and Sludig leave Sisqi and the

other trolls at the base of the mountain and continue

across the icy vastness of the White Waste. Just at the

northern edge of the great forest, they find an old abbey

inhabited by children and their caretaker, an older girl

named Skodi. They stay the night, glad to be out of the

cold, but Skodi proves to be more than she seems: in the

darkness, she traps the three of them by witchcraft, then

begins a ceremony in which she intends to invoke the

Storm King and show him that she has captured the

sword Thorn. One of the undead Red Hand appears be-

cause of Skodi's spell, but a child disrupts the ritual and

brings up a monstrous swarm of diggers. Skodi and the

children are killed, but Simon and the others escape,

thanks largely to Bmabik's fierce wolf Qantaqa. But Si-

mon is almost mad from the mind-touch of the Red Hand,

and rides away from his companions, crashing into a tree

at last and striking himself senseless. He falls down a gul-

ley, and Binabik and Sludig are unable to find him. At

last, full of remorse, they take the sword Thom and con-

tinue on toward the Stone of Farewell without him.

Several people besides Miriamele and Cadrach have ar-

rived at the lector's palace in Nabban. One of them is

Josua's ally Duke Isgrimnur, who is searching for

Miriamele. Another is Pryrates, who has come to bring

Lector Ranessin an ultimatum from the king. The lector

angrily denounces both Pryrates and Elias; the king's em-

issary walks out of the banquet, threatening revenge.

That night, Pryrates metamorphoses himself with a

spell he has been given by the Storm King's servitors, and

TO GREEN ANOEL TOWER

XXI

becomes a shadowy thing. He kills Dinivan and then bru-

tally murders the lector. Afterward, he sets the halls

aflame to cast suspicion on the Fire Dancers. Cadrach,

who greatly fears Pryrates and has spent the night urging

Miriamele to flee the lector's palace with him, finally

knocks her senseless and drags her away. Isgrimnur finds

the dying Dinivan, and is given a Scroll League token for

the Wrannaman Tiamak and instructions to go to the inn

named Pelippa 's Bowl in Kwanitupul, a city on the edge

of the marshes south of Nabban.

Tiamak, meanwhile, has received an earlier message

from Dinivan and is on his way to Kwanitupul, although

his journey almost ends when he is attacked by a croco-

dile. Wounded and feverish, he arrives at Peiippa's Bowl

at last and gets an unsympathetic welcome from the new

landlady.

Miriamele awakens to find that Cadrach has smuggled

her into the hold of a ship. While the monk has lain in

drunken sleep, the ship has set sail. They are quickly

found by Can Itai, a Niskie, whose job is to keep the ship

safe from the menacing aquatic creatures called kilpa. Al-

though Gan Itai takes a liking to the stowaways, she nev-

ertheless turns them over to tne ship's master, Aspitis

Proves, a young Nabbanai nobleman.

Far to the north, Simon has awakened from a dream in

which he again heard the Sitha-woman Amerasu, and in

which he has discovered that Ineluki the Storm King is

her son. Simon is now lost and alone in the trackless,

snow-covered Aldheorte Forest. He tries to use Jiriki's

mirror to summon help, but no one answers his plea. At

last he sets out in what he hopes is the right direction, al-

though he knows he has little chance of crossing the

scores of leagues of winterbound woods alive. He ekes

out a meager living on bugs and grass, but it seems only

a question of whether he will first go completely mad or

starve to death. He is finally saved by the appearance of

Jiriki's sister Aditu, who has come in response to the

mirror-summoning. She works a kind of traveling-magic

that appears to turn winter into summer, and when it is

finished, she and Simon enter the hidden Sithi stronghold

xxiiTad Williams

of Jao e-Tinukai'i. It is a place of magical beauty and

timelessness. When Jiriki welcomes him, Simon's joy is

great; moments later, when he is taken to see Likimeya

and Shima'onari, parents of Jiriki and Aditu, that joy

turns to horror. The leaders of the Sithi say that since no

mortal has ever been permitted in secret Jao e-Tinukai'i,

Simon must stay there forever.

Josua and his company are pursued into the northern

grasslands, but when they turn at last in desperate resist-

ance, it is to find that these latest pursuers are not Elias'

soldiers, but Thrithings-folk who have deserted Fikolmij's

clan to throw in their lot with the prince. Together, and

with Geloe leading the way, they at last reach Sesuad'ra,

the Stone of Farewell, a great stone hill in the middle of

a wide valley. Sesuad'ra was the place in which the Pact

between the Sithi and Norns was made, and where the

parting of the two kin took place. Josua's long-suffering

company rejoices at finally possessing what will be, for a

little while, a safe haven. They also hope they can now

discover what property of the three Great Swords will al-

low them to defeat Elias and the Storm King, as promised

in the ancient rhyme of Nisses.

Back at the Hayholt, Elias' madness seems to grow

ever deeper, and Earl Guthwulf, once the king's favorite,

begins to doubt the king's fitness to rule. When Elias for-

ces him to touch the gray sword Sorrow, Guthwulf is al-

most consumed by the sword's strange inner power, and

is never after the same. Rachel the Dragon, the Mistress

of Chambermaids, is another Hayholt denizen dismayed

by what she sees happening around her. She learns that

the priest Pryrates was responsible for what she thinks

was Simon's death, and decides something must be done.

When Pryrates returns from Nabban, she stabs him. The

priest has become so powerful that he is only slightly in-

jured, but when he turns to blast Rachel with withering

magics, Guthwulf interferes and is blinded. Rachel es-

capes in the confusion.

Miriamele and Cadrach, having told the ship's master

Aspitis that she is the daughter of a minor nobleman, are

treated with hospitality; Miriamele in particular comes in

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWERXXI11

for much attention. Cadrach becomes increasingly mo-

rose, and when he tries to escape the ship, Aspitis has him

put in irons. Miriamele, feeling trapped and helpless and

alone, allows Aspitis to seduce her.

Meanwhile, Isgrimnur has laboriously made his way

south to Kwanitupul. He finds Tiamak staying at the inn,

but no sign of Miriamele. His disappointment is quickly

overwhelmed by astonishment when he discovers that the

old simpleton who works as the inn's doorkeeper is Sir

Camaris, the greatest knight of Prester John's era, the

man who once wielded Thorn. Camaris was thought to

have died forty years earlier, but what truly happened re-

mains a mystery, because the old knight is as witless as a

very young child.

Still carrying the sword Thorn, Binabik and Sludig es-

cape pursuing snow-giants by building a raft and floating

across the great storm-filled lake that was once the valley

around the Stone of Farewell.

In Jao e-Tinukai'i, Simon's imprisonment is more bor-

ing than frightening, but his fears for his embattled

friends are great. The Sitha First Grandmother Amerasu

calls for him, and Jiriki brings him to her strange house.

She probes Simon's memories Tor anything that might

help her to discern the Storm King's plans, then sends

him away.

Several days later Simon is summoned to a gathering

of all the Sithi. Amerasu announces she will tell them

what she has learned of Ineluki, but first she berates her

people for their unwillingness to fight and their unhealthy

obsession with memory and, ultimately, with death. She

brings out one of the Witnesses, an object which, like

Jiriki's mirror, allows access to the Road of Dreams.

Amerasu is about to show Simon and the assembled Sithi

what the Storm King and Nom Queen are doing, but in-

stead Utuk'ku herself appears in the Witness and de-

nounces Amerasu as a lover of mortals and a meddler.

One of the Red Hand is then manifested, and while Jiriki

and the other Sithi battle the flaming spirit, Ingen Jegger,

the Nom Queen's mortal huntsman, forces his way into

xxivTad Williams

Jao e-Tinukai'i and murders Amerasu, silencing her be-

fore she can share her discoveries.

Ingen is killed and the Red Hand is driven away, but

the damage has been done. With all the Sithi plunged into

mourning, Jiriki's parents rescind their sentence and send

Simon, with Aditu for a guide, out of Jao e-Tinukai'i. As

he departs, he notices that the perpetual summer of the

Sithi haven has become a little colder.

At the forest's edge Aditu puts him in a boat and gives

him a parcel from Amerasu that is to be taken to Josua.

Simon then makes his way across the rainwater lake to

the Stone of Farewell, where he is met by his friends. For

a little while, Simon and the rest will be safe from the

growing storm.

Foreword

^

GutfvwuSf, EorC of Uianyeat/ ran his fingers back

and forth across the scarred wood of Prester John's Great

Table, disturbed by the unnatural stillness. Other than the

noisy breathing of King Elias' cupbearer and the clank of

spoons against bowls, the great hall was quietfar qui-

eter than it should be while almost a dozen people ate

their evening meal. The silence seemed doubly oppressive

to blind Guthwulf, although it was not exactly surprising:

in these days only a few still dined at the king's table, and

those who spent time in Elias' presence seemed more and

more anxious to get away again without tempting fate by

anything so risky as supper-table conversation.

A few weeks before, a mercenary captain named Uigart

from the Meadow Thrithing had made the mistake of jok-

ing about the easy virtue of Nabbanai women. This was a

common view among Thrithings-men, who could not un-

derstand women who painted their faces and wore dresses

that displayed what the wagon-dwellers thought of as a

shameless amount of bare flesh. Uigart's coarse joke

would generally have gone unremarked in the company of

other men, and since there were few women stil! living in

the Hayholt, only men sat around Elias' table. But the

mercenary had forgottenif he had ever knownthat the

High King's wife, killed by a Thrithings arrow, had been

a Nabbanai noblewoman. By the time the after-supper

custard arrived, Uigart's head was already dangling from

an Erkynguardsman's saddle horn, on its way to the

26

Tad Williams

spikes atop the Nearulagh Gate for the delectation of the

resident ravens.

It was a long time since the Hayholt's tabletalk had

sparkled, Guthwulf reflected, but these days meals were

eaten in almost funereal silence, interrupted only by the

grunts of sweating servitorseach working hard to take

up the slack of several vanished fellowsand the occa-

sional nervous compliments offered by the few nobles

and castle functionaries unable to escape the king's invi-

tation.

Now Guthwulf heard a murmur of quiet speech and

recognized Sir Fluiren's voice, whispering something to

the king. The ancient knight had just returned from his

native Nabban, where he had been acting as Elias' emis-

sary to Duke Benigaris; tonight he held the place of honor

at the High King's right hand. The old man had told

Guthwulf that his conference with the king earlier that

day had been quite ordinary, but still Elias had seemed

troubled all through the meal. Guthwulf could not Judge

this by sight, but decades of time spent in his presence let

him put images to each straining inflection, each of the

High King's strange remarks. Also, Guthwulf's hearing,

smell, and touch, which seemed far more acute since he

had lost the use of his eyes, were sharper still in the pres-

ence of Elias' terrible sword Sorrow.

Ever since the king had forced Guthwulf to touch it,

the gray blade seemed to him almost a living thing, some-

thing that knew him, that waited quietly but with terrible

awareness, like a stalking animal that had caught his

scent. Its mere presence lifted his hackles and made all

his nerves and sinews feel tight-strung. Sometimes in the

middle of the night, when the Earl of Utanyeat lay

blackly awake, he thought he could feel the blade right

through the hundreds of cubits of stone that separated his

chambers from the king's, a gray heart whose beating he

alone could hear.

Elias pushed back his chair suddenly, the squeak of

wood on stone startling everyone into silence. Guthwulf

pictured spoons and goblets halted in midair, dripping.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

"Damn you, old man," the king snarled, "do you serve

me or that pup Benigaris?"

"I only tell you what the duke says. Highness," qua-

vered Sir Fluiren. "But 1 think he means no disrespect. He

is having troubles along his borders from the Thrithings-

clans, and the Wran-folk have been balky...."

"Should I care?!" Guthwulf could almost see Elias nar-

rowing his eyes, so many times had he watched the

changes that anger worked on the king's features. His

pale face would be sallow and slightly moist. Lately,

Guthwulf had heard the servants whispering that the king

was becoming very thin.

"I helped Benigaris to his throne, Aedon curse him!

And I gave him a lector who would not interfere!"

This said, Elias paused. Guthwulf, alone of all the com-

pany, heard a sharp intake of breath from Pryrates, who

was seated across from the blind earl. As though sensing

he might have gone too far, the king apologized with a

shaky Jest and returned to quieter conversation with

Fluiren.

Guthwulf sat dumbstruck for a moment, then hurriedly

lifted his spoon, eating to cover his sudden fright. What

must he look like? Was everyone staring at himcould

they all see his treacherous flush? The king's words about

the lectorship and Pryrates' gasp of alarm echoed over

and over in his mind. The others would no doubt assume

that Elias referred to influencing the selection of the pli-

able Escritor Velligis to succeed Ranessin as lectorbut

Guthwulf knew better. Pryrates' discomfiture when it

seemed the king might say too much confirmed what

Guthwulf had already half-suspected: Pryrates had ar-

ranged Ranessin's death. And now Guthwulf felt sure that

Elias knew it, tooperhaps had even ordered the killing.

The king and his counselor had made bargains with de-

mons and had murdered God's highest priest.

At that moment, sitting with a great company around

the table, Guthwulf felt himself as alone as a man upon a

windswept peak. He could not bear up under the burdens

of deception and fear any longer. It was time to flee. Bet-

ter to be a blind beggar in the worst cesspits of Nabban

28

Tad Williams

than stay a moment longer in this cursed and haunted

keep.

Guthwulf pushed open the door of his chamber and

paused in the frame to let the chill hallway air wash over

him. It was midnight. Even had he not heard the proces-

sion of sorrowful notes ring from Green Angel Tower, he

would have recognized the deeper touch of cold against

his cheeks and eyes, the sharp edge that the night had

when the sun was at its farthest retreat.

It was strange to use eyes to feel with, but now that

Pryrates had blasted away his sight, they had proved to be

the most sensitive part of him, registering every change in

wind and weather with a subtlety of perception finer even

than that of his fingertips. Still, useful as his blinded orbs

were, there was something horrible about using them so.

Several nights he had wakened sweating and breathless

from dreams of himself as a shapeless crawling thing

with fleshy stalks that pushed out from its face, sightless

bulbs that wavered like snail's horns. In his dreams he

could still see; the knowledge that it was himself that he

looked at dragged him gasping up from sleep, time and

again, back into the real darkness that was now his per-

manent home.

Guthwulf moved out into the castle hallway, surprised

as always to find himself still in blackness as he stepped

from one room to another. As he closed the door on the

chamber, and thus on his brazier of smoldering coals,

the chill grew worse. He heard the muffled chinking of

the armored sentries on the walls beyond the open win-

dow, then listened to the wind rise and smother the rattle

of their surcoats beneath its own moaning song. A dog

yipped in the town below, and somewhere, past several

turns of the hallway, a door softly opened and closed.

Guthwulf rocked back and forth uncertainly for a mo-

ment, then took a few more steps away from his door. If

he were to leave, he must leave nowit was useless to

stand maundering in the hallway. He should hurry and

take advantage of the hour: with all the world blinded by

night, he was almost on equal terms again. What other

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

29

choice was left? He had no stomach for what his king had

become. But he must go in secret. Although Elias now

had little use for Guthwulf, a High King's Hand who

could not ride to battle, still Guthwulf doubted that his

once-friend would simply let him go. For a blind man to

leave the castle where he was fed and housed, and also to

flee his old comrade Elias, who had protected him from

Pryrates' righteous anger, smacked too much of treach-

eryor at least it would to the man on the Dragonbone

Chair.

Guthwulf had considered this for some time, had even

rehearsed his route. He would make his way down into

Erchester and spend the night at St. Sutrin'sthe cathe-

dral was all but deserted, and the monks there were char-

itable to any mendicants brave enough to spend nights

inside the city walls. When morning came, he would mix

with the straggle of outgoing folk on the Old Forest Road,

traveling eastward into Hasu Vale. From there, who

knew? Perhaps on toward the grasslands, where rumor

whispered that Josua was building a rebel force. Perhaps

to an abbey in Stanshire or elsewhere, some place that

would be a refuge at least until Elias' unimaginable game

finally threw down everything.'

Now it was time to stop thinking. Night would hide

him from curious eyes; daylight would find him sheltered

in St. Sutrin's. It was time to go.

But even as he started down the hallway he felt a

feather-light presence at his sidea breath, a sigh, the in-

definable sense of someone there. He turned, hand flailing

out. Had someone come to stop him after all?

"Who... ?"

There was no one. Or, if someone was indeed near, that

one now stood silent, mocking his sightlessness.

Guthwulf felt a curious, abrupt unsteadiness, as though

the floor tilted beneath his feet. He took another step and

suddenly felt the presence of the gray sword very

strongly, its peculiar force all around. For a moment he

thought the walls had fallen away. A harsh wind passed

over and through him, then was gone.

What madness was this?

Tad Williams

30

Blinded and unmanned. He almost wept. Cursed.

Guthwulf steeled himself and walked away from the

security of his chamber door, but the curious sense of dis-

location accompanied him as he made his way through

the Hayholt's acres of corridors. Unusual objects passed

beneath his questing fingers, delicate furnishings and

smooth-polished but intricately figured balusters unlike

anything he remembered from these halls. The door to the

quarters once occupied by the castle chambermaids

swung unbolted, yet though he knew the rooms to be

emptytheir mistress had smuggled all of her charges

out of the castle before her attack on Pryrateshe heard

dim voices whispering in the depths. Guthwulf shud-

dered, but kept walking. The earl already knew the shift-

ing and untrustworthy nature of the Hayholt in these

days; even before he lost his sight it had become a

weirdly inconstant place.

Guthwulf continued to count his paces. He had prac-

ticed the journey several times in recent weeks: it was

thirty-five steps to the turning of the corridor, two dozen

more to the main landing, then out into the narrow, wind-

chilled Vine Garden. Half a hundred paces more and he

was back beneath a roof once again, making his way

down the chaplain's walking hall.

The wall became warm beneath his fingers, then ab-

ruptly turned blazingly hot. The earl snatched his hand

away, gasping in shock and pain. A thin cry wafted down

the corridor.

'*... T'si e-isi'ha as-irigH... /"

He reached a trembling hand out to the wall again and

felt only stone, damp and night-cold. The wind fluttered

his clothingthe wind, or a murmuring, insubstantial

crowd. The feeling of the gray sword was very strong.

Guthwulf hurried through the castle corridors, trailing

his fingers as lightly as he could over the frighteningly

changeable walls. As far as he could tell, he was the only

real living thing in these halls. The strange sounds and the

touches light as smoke and moths' wings were only phan-

tasms, he assured himselfthey could not hinder him.

They were the shadows of Pryrates' sorcerous meddling.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

3i

He would not let them obstruct his flight. He would not

stay prisoned in this corrupted place.

The earl touched the rough wood of a door and found

to his fierce joy that he had counted truly. He fought to

restrain a cry of triumph and overwhelming relief. He had

reached the small portal beside the Greater Southern

Door. Beyond would be open air and the commons that

served the Inner Baitey.

But when he pushed it open and stepped through, in-

stead of the bitter night air the earl had expected, he felt

a hot wind blowing and the heat of many fires upon his

skin. Voices murmured, pained, fretful.

Mother of God.' Has the Hayholt caught fire?

Guthwulf stepped back but could not find the doorway

again. His fingers instead scrabbled at stone which grew

hotter beneath his touch. The murmurs slowly rose into a

drone of many agitated voices, soft and yet piercing as

the hum of a beehive. Madness, he told himself, illusion.

He must not give in. He staggered ahead, still counting

his steps. Soon his feet were slipping in the mud of the

commons, yet somehow at the same moment his heels

clicked on smooth tiles. The invisible castle was in some

terrible flux, burning and trembling one moment, cold

and substantial the next, and all in total silence as its ten-

ants slept on, unaware.

Dream and reality seemed almost completely interwo-

ven, his personal blackness awash in whispering ghosts

that confused his counting, but still Guthwulf struggled

on with the grim resolve that had carried him through

many dreadful campaigns as Elias' captain. He trudged

on toward the Middle Bailey, stopping at last to rest for

a moment nearaccording to his faltering calculations

the spot where the castle doctor's chambers had once

stood. He smelled the sour tang of the charred timbers,

reached out and felt them crumble into rotted powder be-

neath his touch, and distractedly remembered the confla-

gration that had killed Morgenes and several others.

Suddenly, as though summoned up by his thoughts, crack-

ling flames leaped all around him, surrounding him with

fire. This could be no illusionhe could feel the deadly

32 Tad Williams

blaze! The heat enclosed him like a crushing fist, balking

him no matter which way he turned- Guthwulf gave a

choked cry of despair. He was trapped, trapped! He must

bum to death!

"Ruakha, ruakha Asu'a!" Ghostly voices were crying

from beyond the flames. The presence of the gray sword

was inside him now, in everything. He thought he could

hear its unearthly music, and fainter, the songs of its un-

natural brothers. Three swords. Three unholy swords.

They knew him now,

There was a rustle like the beating of many wings, then

the Earl of Utanyeat suddenly felt an opening appear be-

fore him, an empty spot in the otherwise unbroken wall of

flamea doorway that breathed cool air. With nowhere

else to turn, he threw his cloak over his head and stum-

bled down into a hall of quieter, colder shadows.

Under Strange Skies

*

Simon. SfWinteft up at the stars swimming in the black

night. He was finding it increasingly difficult to stay

awake. His weary eyes turned to the brightest constella-

tion, a rough circle of lights hovering what seemed a

handsbreadth above the gaping, broken-eggshell edge of

the dome.

There. That was the Spinning Wheel, wasn't it? It did

seem oddly ellipticalas though the very sky in which

the stars hung had been stretched into an unfamiliar

shapebut if that wasn't the Spinning Wheel, what else

could be so high in the sky in* mid-autumn? The Hare?

But the Hare had a little nubbly star close beside itthe

Tail. And the Hare wasn't ever that big, was it?

A claw of wind reached down into the half-ruined

building. Geloe called this hall "the Observatory"one

of her dry jokes, Simon had decided. Only the passing of

long centuries had opened the white stone dome to the

night skies, so Simon knew it couldn't really have been

an observatory. Surely even the mysterious Sithi couldn't

watch stars through a ceiling of solid rock.

The wind came again, sharper this time, bearing a

flurry of snowflakes. Though it wracked him with shiv-

ers, Simon was thankful: the cHill scraped some of his

drowsiness away. It wouldn't do to fall asleepnot this

night of all nights.

So, now I am a man, he thought. Well. almost. Almost

a man.

Simon drew back the sleeve of his shirt and looked at

Tad Williams

36

his arm. He tried to make the muscles stand up, then

frowned at the less than satisfactory results. He ran his

ringers through the hair on his forearm, feeling the places

where cuts had become ridged scars: here, where a

Hune's blackened nails had left their mark; there, where

he had slipped and dashed himself against a stone on

Sikkihoq's slope. Was that what being grown meant?

Having a lot of scars? He supposed it also meant learning

from the wounds, as wellbut what could he learn from

the sort of things that had happened to him during the last

year?

Don't let your friends get killed, he thought sourly.

That's one. Don't go out in the world and get chased by

monsters and madmen. Don't make enemies.

So much for the words of wisdom that people were al-

ways so eager to share with him. No decisions were ever

as easy as they had seemed in Father Dreosan's sermons,

where people always got to make a clean choice between

Evil's Way and the Aedon's Way. In Simon's recent expe-

rience of the world, all the choices seemed between one

unpleasant possibility and another, with only the faintest

reference to good and evil.

The wind skirling through the Observatory dome grew

more shrill. It put Simon's teeth on edge. Despite the

beauty of the intricately sculpted pearlescent walls, this

was still a place that did not seem to welcome him. The

angles were strange, the proportions designed to please an

alien sensibility. Like other products of its immortal ar-

chitects, the Observatory belonged completely to the

Sithi; it would never feel quite comfortable to mortals.

Unsettled, Simon got up and began to pace, the faint

echo of his footsteps lost in the noise of the wind. One of

the interesting things about this large circular hall, he de-

cided, was that it had stone floors, something the Sithi no

longer seemed to utilize. He flexed his toes inside his

boots as a memory of Jao e-Tinukai'i's warm, grassy

meadows tugged at him. He had walked barefoot there,

and every day had been a summer day. Remembering, Si-

mon curled his arms across his chest for warmth and

comfort.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

37

The Observatory's floor was made up of exquisitely cut

and fitted tiles, but the cylindrical wall seemed to be one

piece, perhaps the very stuff of the Stone of Farewell it-

self. Simon pondered. The other buildings here were also

without visible joint or seam. If the Sithi had carved all

the buildings on the surface directly from the hill's rocky

bones, and had cut down into Sesuad'ra as wellthe

Stone seemed shot through with tunnelshow did they

know when to stop? Hadn't they been afraid that if they

made one hole too many the whole rock would collapse

in on itself? That seemed almost as amazing as any other

Sithi magic he had heard of or seen, and just as unavail-

able to mortalsknowing when to stop.

Simon yawned. Usires Aedon, but this night was long!

He stared at the sky, at the wheeling, smoldering stars.

/ want to climb up. I want to look at the moon.

Simon made his way across the smooth stone floor to

one of the long staircases that spiraled gradually up

around the circumference of the rooms, counting the steps

as he went. He had already done this several times during

the long night. When he got to the hundredth step, he sat

down. The diamond gleam of a certain star, which had

been midway along a shallow notch in the decayed dome

when he made his last trip, now stood near the notch's

edge. Soon it would disappear from sight behind the re-

maining shell of the dome.

Good. So at least some time had passed. The night was

long and the stars were strange, but at least time's journey

continued.

He clambered to his feet and continued up, walking the

narrow stairway easily despite a certain light-headedness

mat he had no doubt would be cured by a long sleep. He

climbed until he reached the highest landing, a pillar-

propped collar of stone that at one time had circled (tie

entire building. It had crumbled long ago, and most of it

had fallen; now it extended only a few short ells beyond

its joining with the staircase. The top of the high outer

wall was just above Simon's head. A few careful paces

took him along the landing to a spot where the breach in

the dome dipped down to only a short distance above

Tad Williams

38

him. He reached up, feeling carefully for good finger-

holds, then pulled himself upward. He swung one of his

legs over the wall and let it dangle over nothingness.

The moon, wound in a wind-tattered veil of clouds,

was nevertheless bright enough to make the pale ruins be-

low gleam like ivory. Simon's perch was a good one. The

Observatory was the only building within Sesuad'ra's

outwall that stood even as high as the wall itself, which

gave the settlement the appearance of one vast, low build-

ing. Unlike the other abandoned Sithi dwelling places he

had seen, no towers had loomed here, no high spires. It

was as though the spirit of Sesuad'ra's builders had been

subdued, or as though they built for some utilitarian rea-

son and not pure pride of craft. Not that the remains were

unappealing: the white stone had a peculiar lambent glow

all its own, and the buildings inside the curtain wall were

laid out in a design of wild but somehow supremely log-

ical geometry. Although it was built on a much smaller

scale than what Simon had seen of Da'ai Chikiza and

Enki-e-Shao'saye, the very modesty of its scope and uni-

formity of its design gave it a simple beauty different

from those other, grander places.

All around the Observatory, as well as around the other

major structures like the Leavetaking House and the

House of Watersnames that Geloe had given them; Si-

mon did not know if they were anything to do with their

original purposesnaked a system of paths and smaller

buildings, or their remnants, whose interlocking loops and

whorls were as cunningly designed yet naturalistic as the

petals of a flower. Much of the area was overgrown by

encroaching trees, but even the trees themselves revealed

traces of some vestigial order, as the green space in the

middle of a fairy-ring would show where the ancestral

line of mushrooms had begun.

In the center of of what obviously had once been a set-

tlement of rare and subtle beauty lay a strange tiled pla-

teau. It was now largely covered with impertinent grass,

but even by moonlight it still showed some trace of its

original lustily intricate design. Geloe called this central

place the Fire Garden. Simon, comfortably familiar only

TOGREENANGELTOWER

39

with the workings of human habitations, would have

guessed it to be a marketplace.

Beyond the Fire Garden, on the other side of the

Leavetaking House, stood a motionless wavefront of pale

conical shapesthe tents of Josua's company, grown now

to a sizable swell by the newcomers who had been trick-

ling in for weeks. There was precious little room left,

even on me broad tabletop summit of the Stone of Fare-

well; many of the most recent arrivals had made them-

selves homes in the warren of tunnels that ran beneath the

hill's stony skin.

Simon sat staring at the flicker of the distant campfires

until he began to feel lonely. The moon seemed very far

away, her face cold and unconcerned.

He did not know how long he had been staring into

empty blackness. For a moment he thought he had fallen

asleep and was now dreaming, but surely this queer feel-

ing of suspension was something realreal and frighten-

ing- He struggled, but his limbs were remote and

nerveless. Nothing of Simon's body seemed to remain but

his two eyes. His thoughts seemed to burn as brightly as

the stars he had seen in the sRywhen there had been a

sky, and stars; when there had been something besides

this unending blackness. Terror coursed through him.

Usires save me, has the Storm King come? Will it be

black forever? God, please bring back the light!

And as if in answer to his prayer, lights began to kindle

in the great dark. They were not stars, as they first

seemed, but torchestiny pinpoints of light that grew

ever so slowly larger, as though approaching from a great

distance away. The cloud of firefly glimmers became a

stream, the stream became a line, looping and looping in

slow spirals. It was a procession, scores of torches climb-

ing uphill the way Simon himself had climbed up

Sesuad'ra's curving path when he had first come here

from Jao e-Tinukai'i.

Simon could now see the cloaked and hooded figures

who made up the column, a silent host moving with ritual

precision.

40

Tad Williams

I'm on the Dream Road, he realized suddenly. Amerasu

said that I was closer to it than other folk.

But what was he watching?

The line of torchbearers reached a level place and

spread out in a sparkling fan, so that their lights were

carried far out on either side of the hilltop. It was

Sesuad'ra they had climbed, but a Sesuad'ra that even by

torchlight was plainly different than the place Simon

knew. The ruins that had surrounded him were ruins no

longer. Every pillar and wall stood unbroken. Was this the

past, the Stone of Farewell as it once had been, or was it

some strange future version that would someday be

rebuiltperhaps when the Storm King had subjugated all

Osten Ard?

The great company surged forward onto a flat place Si-

mon recognized as the Fire Garden. There the cloaked

figures set their torches down into niches between the

tiles, or placed them atop stone pedestals, so that a garden

of fire indeed bloomed there, a field of flickering, rip-

pling light. Fanned by the wind, the flames danced;

sparks seemed to outnumber the very stars.

Now Simon found himself suddenly pulled forward

with the surging crowd and down toward the Leavetaking

House. He plummeted through the glittering night, pass-

ing swiftly through the stone walls and into the bright-lit

hall as though he were without substance. There was no

sound but a continuous rushing in his ears. Seen closely,

the images before him seemed to shift and blur along

their edges, as though the world had been twisted ever so

slightly out of its natural shape. Unsettled, he tried to

close his eyes, but found that his dream-self could not

shut out these visions; he could only watch, a helpless

phantom.

Many figures stood at the great table. Globes of cold

fire had been placed in alcoves on every wall, their blue,

fire-orange, and yellow glows casting long shadows

across the carved walls. More and deeper shadows were

cast by the thing atop the table, a construct of concentric

spheres like the great astrolabe Simon had often polished

for Doctor Morgenesbut instead of brass and oak, this

TOGREENANGELTOWER

41

was made entirely from lines of smoldering light, as

though someone had painted the fanciful shapes upon the

air in liquid fire. The moving figures that surrounded it

were hazy, but still Simon knew beyond doubt that they

were Sithi- No one could ever mistake those birdlike pos-

tures, that silken grace.

A Sitha-woman in a sky-blue robe leaned toward the

table and deftly scribed in trails of finger-flame her own

additions to the glowing thing. Her hair was blacker than

shadow, blacker even than the night sky above Sesuad'ra,

a great cloud of darkness about her head and shoulders.

For a moment Simon thought she might be a younger

Amerasu; but though there was much in this one that was

like his memories of First Grandmother, there was also

much that was not.

Beside her stood a white-bearded man in a billowing

crimson robe. Shapes that might have been pale antlers

sprouted from his brow, bringing Simon a pang of

uneasehe had seen something like that in other, more

unpleasant dreams. The bearded man leaned forward and

spoke to her; she turned and added a new swirl of fire to

the design.

Although Simon could not see the dark woman's face

clearly, the one who stood across from her was all too

plain. That face was hidden behind a mask of silver, the

rest of her form beneath ice-white robes. As if in answer

to the black-haired woman, the Norn Queen raised her

arm and slashed a line of dull fire all the way across the

construct, then waved her hand once more to lay a net of

delicately smoking scarlet light over the outermost globe.

A man stood beside her, calmly watching her every move.

He was tall and seemed powerfully built, dressed all in

spiky armor of obsidian-black. He was not masked in sil-

ver or otherwise, but still Simon could see little of his

features-

What were they doing? Was this the Pact of Parting

that Simon had heard offor certainly he was watching

both Silhi and Norn gathered together upon Sesuad'ra.

The blurred figures began to talk more animatedly.

Looping and crisscrossing lines of flame were thrown

42

Tad Williams

into the air around the spheres where they hung in noth-

ingness, bright as the afterimage of a hurtling fire-arrow.

Their speech seemed to turn to harsh words: many of the

shadowy observers, gesticulating with more anger than

Simon had seen in the immortals he knew, stepped for-

ward to the table and surrounded the principal foursome,

but still he could hear nothing but a dull roaring like wind

or rushing water. The flame globes at the center of the

dispute flared up, undulating like a wind-licked bonfire.

Simon wished he could move forward somehow to get

a better view. Was this the past he was watching? Had it

seeped up from the haunted stone? Or was it only a

dream, an imagining brought on by his long night and the

songs he had heard in Jao e-Tinukai'i? Somehow, he felt

sure that it was no illusion. It seemed so real, he felt al-

most as though he could reach out... he could reach out

... and touch....

The sound in his ears began to fade. The lights of

torches and spheres dimmed.

Simon shivered back into awareness. He was sitting

atop the crumbling stone of the Observatory, dangerously

close to the edge. The Sithi were gone. There were no

torches in the Fire Garden, and no living things visible

atop Sesuad'ra except a pair of sentries sitting near the

watchfire down beside the tent city. Bemused, Simon sat

for a little while staring at the distant flames and tried to

understand what he had seen. Did it mean something? Or

was it just a meaningless remnant, a name scratched upon

a wall by a traveler which remained long after that person

was gone?

Simon trudged back down the stairway from the Ob-

servatory roof and returned to his blanket. Trying to un-

derstand his vision made his head hurt. It was becoming

more difficult to think with every hour that passed.

After wrapping his cloak around himself more

tightlythe robe he was wearing beneath was not very

warmhe took a long swallow from his drinking skin.

The water, from one of Sesuad'ra's springs, was sweet

and cold against his teeth. He took another swig, savoring

TOGREENANGELTOWER

43

the aftertaste of grass and shade-flowers, and tapped his

lingers on the stone tiles. Dreams or no dreams, he was

supposed to be thinking about the things Deornoth had

told him. Earlier in the night, he had repeated them over

and over in his mind so many times that they had finally

begun to seem like nonsense. Now, when he again tried to

concentrate, he found that the litany Deomoth had so

carefully taught him would not stay in his head, the words

elusive as fish in a shallow pond. His mind roved instead,

and he pondered all the strange happenings he had en-

dured since running away from the Hayholt.

What a time it had been! What things he had seen' Si-

mon was not sure that he would call it an adventurethat

seemed a little too much like something that ended hap-

pily and safely. He doubted the ending would be pleasant,

and enough people had died to make the word "safely" a

cruel jest ... but still, it was definitely an experience far

beyond a scullion's wildest dreams. Simon Mooncalf had

met creatures out of legends, had been in battles, and had

even killed people. Of course, that had proved much less

easy than he had once upon a time imagined it would be,

when he had seen himself as a potential captain of the

}.king's armies; in fact, it had proved to be very, very up-

'setting.

Simon had also been chased by demons, was the enemy

of wizards, had become an intimate of noble folkwho

..",didn't seem much better or worse than kitchen-and-pantry

_folkand had lived as a reluctant guest in the city of the

undying Sithi. Besides safety and warm beds, the only

?thing his adventure seemed to be lacking was beautiful

?maidens. He had met a princessone he had liked even

.,when she had seemed just an ordinary girlbut she was

long gone, the Aedon only knew where. There had been

'rprecious little else in the way of feminine company since

i,then, other than Aditu, Jiriki's sister, but she had been a

'little too far beyond Simon's awkward understanding.

:Like a leopard, she was: lovely but quite frightening. He

yearned for someone a little more like himselfbut better

^ looking, of course. He rubbed his fuzzy beard, felt his

prominent nose. A lot better looking. He was tired of be-

I

44

Tad Williams

ing alone. He wanted someone to talk tosomeone who

would care, who would understand, in a way that not

even his troll-friend Binabik ever could. Someone who

would share things with him ...

Someone who will understand about the dragon, was

his sudden thought.

Simon felt a march of prickling flesh along his back,

not caused by the wind this time. It was one thing to see

a vision of ancient Sithi, no matter how vivid. Lots of

people had visionsmadmen by the score in Erchester's

Battle Square shouted about them to one another, and Si-

mon suspected that in Sesuad'ra such things might be

even more common occurrences. But Simon had met a

dragon, which was more than almost anyone could say.

He had stood before Igjarjuk, the ice-worm, and hadn't

backed down. He had swung his swordwell, a sword; it

was more than presumptuous to call Thom hisand the

dragon had fallen. That was truly something wonderful. It

was a thing no man but Prester John had ever done, and

John had been the greatest of all men, the High King.

Of course, John killed his dragon, but I don't believe

Igjarjuk died. The more I think about it, the more certain

I am. I don't think its blood would have made me feel the

way it did if the dragon was dead. And 1 don't think that

I'm strong enough to kill it, even with a sword like Thorn.

But the strange thing was, although Simon had told ev-

eryone exactly what happened on Urmsheim and what he

thought about it all, still some of the folk who now made

the Stone of Farewell their home were calling him

"Dragon Killer," smiling and waving when he passed.

And although he had tried to shrug off the name, people

seemed to take his reticence for modesty. He had even

heard one of the new settlers from Gadrinsett telling her

children the tale, a version that included a vivid descrip-

tion of the dragon's head struck loose from its body by

the force of Simon's blow. Someday soon, what really

happened wouldn't matter at all. The people who liked

himor liked the story, ratherwould say he had single-

handedly butchered the great snow dragon. Those who

didn't care for him would say the whole thing was a lie.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

45

The idea of those folk passing false stories of his life

made Simon more than a little angry. It seemed to

cheapen things, somehow. Not so much the imagined

naysayersthey could never take away that moment of

pure silence and stillness atop Urmsheimbut the others,

the exaggerators and simplifiers. Those who told it as a

story of unworrying bravery, of some imaginary Simon

who sworded dragons simply because he could, or be-

cause dragons were evil, would be smearing dirty fingers

across an unstained part of his soul. There was so much

more to it than that, so much more that had been revealed

to him in the beast's pale, emotionless eyes, in his own

confused heroism and the burning instant of black blood

. .. the blood that had shown him the world . . . the

world....

Simon straightened up. He had been nodding again. By

God, sleep was a treacherous enemy. You couldn't face it

and fight it; it waited until you were looking the other

way, then stole up quietly. But he had given his word, and

now that he would be a man, his word must be his solemn

bond. So he would stay awake. This was a special night.

The armies of sleep had forced him to drastic measures

by dawn's arrival, but they had not quite managed to de-

feat him. When candle-bearing Jeremias entered the Ob-

servatory, his entire frame tense with the gravity of his

mission, it was to discover Simon sitting cross-legged in

a puddle of fast-freezing water, wet red hair dangling in

his eyes, the white streak that ran through it stark as an

icicle. Simon's long face was alight with triumph.

"I poured the whole water skin over my head," he said

with pride. His teeth were chattering so hard that Jeremias

had to ask him to repeat himself. "Poured water over my

head. To stay awake. What are you doing here?"

"It's time," the other said. "It's nearly dawn. Time for

you to come away."

"Ah." Simon stood up unsteadily. "I stayed awake, Jer-

emias. Didn't sleep once."

Jeremias nodded. His smile was a cautious one. "That's

46

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good, Simon. Come on. There's a fire at Strangyeard's

place."

Simon, who felt weaker and colder than he had thought

he would, draped his arm around the other youth's lean

shoulder for support. Jeremias was so thin now that it was

hard for Simon to remember him as he once had been: a

suety chandler's apprentice, treble-chinned, always huff-

ing and sweating. But for the haunted look that showed

from time to time in his dark-shadowed eyes, Jeremias

looked just like what he now wasa handsome young

squire.

"A fire?" Simon's thoughts had at last caught up with

his friend's words. He was quite giddy. "A good one?

And is there food, too?"

"It's a very good fire." Jeremias was solemn. "One

thing I learned . .. down in the forges. How to make a

proper fire." He shook his head slowly, lost in thought,

then looked up and caught Simon's eye. A shadow flitted

behind his gaze like a hare hunted in the grass, then his

wary smile returned. "As for foodno, of course not.

Not for a while yet, and you know it. But don't worry,

pig, you will probably get a heel of bread or something

this evening."

"Dog," Simon said, grinning, and purposefully leaned

in such a way that Jeremias stumbled under the added

weight. Only after much cursing and mutual insult did

they avoid tumbling over onto the chilly stone flags. To-

gether they staggered through the Observatory door and

out into the pale gray-violet glow of dawn. Eastern light

splashed all across the summit of the Stone of Farewell,

but no birds sang.

Jeremias had been as good as his word. The blaze that

burned in Father Strangyeard's tent-roofed chamber was

gloriously hotwhich was Just as well, since Simon had

stepped out of his robe and into a wooden tub. As he

stared around at the white stone walls, at the carvings of

tangled vines and minute flowers, the firelight rippled

across the stonework so that the walls seemed to move

beneath shallow pink and orange waters.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

47

Father Strangyeard raised another pot of water and

poured it over Simon's head and shoulders. Unlike his

earlier self-inflicted bath, this water had at least been

warmed; as it ran down his chilly flesh, Simon thought

that it felt more like flowing blood than water.

*1... May this ... may this water wash away sin and

doubt." Strangyeard paused to fiddle with his eyepatch,

his one squinting eye netted in wrinkles as he tried to re-

member the next passage of the prayer. Simon knew it

was nerves, not forgetfulness: the priest had spent most of

yesterday reading and rereading the short ceremony. "Let

... let then the man so washed and made shriven fear not

to stand before Me, so that I might look into the glass of

his soul and see there reflected the fitness of his being,

the righteousness of his oath ... the righteousness of ...

of his oath ..." The priest squinted again, despairingly,

*0h . -."

Simon let the heat of the fire beat upon him. He felt

quite boneless and stupid, but that was not such a bad

way to feel. He had been sure he would be nervous, ter-

rified even, but his sleepless night had burned away his

fear.

Strangyeard, running his hand fitfully through his few

remaining wisps of hair, at last summoned up the rest of

the ceremony and hurried through to the ending, as

though afraid the memory might slip away again. When

he finished, the priest helped Jeremias to dry Simon off

with soft cloths, then they gave him back his white robe,

this time with a thick leather belt to wrap around his

waist. Then, as Simon was stepping into his slippers, a

small shape appeared in the doorway.

"Is he now ready?" Binabik asked. The troll spoke very

quietly and gravely, as always full of respect for someone

else's rituals. Simon stared at him and was filled with a

sudden fierce love for the little man. Here was a friend,

trulyone who had stood by him through all adversity.

"Yes, Binabik. I'm ready."

The troll led him out, Strangyeard and Jeremias follow-

ing behind. The sky was more gray than blue, wild with

fragmented clouds. The whole procession matched itself

48

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to Simon's bemused, wandering pace as they made their

way in the morning light.

The path to Josua's tent was lined with spectators, per-

haps ten score in all, mostly Hotvig's Thrithings-folk and

the new settlers from Gadrinsett. Simon recognized a few

faces, but knew that those most familiar to him were

waiting up ahead with Josua. Some of the children waved

to him. Their parents snatched at them and whispered

warningly, fearful of disrupting the solemn nature of the

event, but Simon grinned and waved back. The cold

morning air felt good on his face. A certain giddiness had

taken him over once more, so that he had to repress an

urge to laugh out loud. Who would ever have thought of

such a thing as this? He turned to Jeremias, but the

youth's face was closed, his eyes lowered in meditation

or shyness.

As they reached the open place before Josua's lodging,

Jeremias and Strangyeard dropped back, moving to stand

with the others in a rough semicircle. Sludig, his yellow

beard new-trimmed and braided, beamed at Simon like a

proud father. Dark-haired Deornoth stood beside him

dressed in knightly finery, with the harper Sangfugol, the

duke's son Isom, and old Towser all close bythe jester,

wrapped in a heavy cloak, seemed to be muttering quiet

complaints to the young Rimmersman. Nearer the front of

the tent stood Duchess Outrun and young Leieth. Beside

them stood Geloe. The forest woman's stance was that of

an old soldier forced to put up with a meaningless inspec-

tion, but as Simon caught her yellow eyes she nodded

once, as if acknowledging a job completed.

On the far side of the semicircle were Hotvig and his

fellow randwarders, their tall spears like a thicket of slim

trees. White morning light bled through the clotted

clouds, shining dully on their bracelets and spearheads.

Simon tried not to think about the others, like Haestan

and Morgenes. who should be present but were not.

Framed in the opening between these two groups was a

tent striped in gray, red, and white. Prince Josua stood be-

fore it, his sword Naidel sheathed at his side, a thin circlet

of silver upon his brow. Vorzheva was beside him, her

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

49

own dark cloud of hair unbound, lush upon her shoulders

and moving at the wind's touch.

"Who comes before me?" Josua asked, his voice slow

and measured. As if to belie his heavy tone, he showed

Simon a hint of smile.

Binabik pronounced the words carefully. "One who

would be made a knight. Princeyour servant and God's.

He is Seoman, son of Eahlferend and Susanna."

"Who speaks for him and swears that this is true?"

"Binbiniqegabenik of Yiqanuc am I, and I am swearing

that this is true." Binabik bowed. His courtly gesture sent

a ripple of amusement through the crowd.

"And has he kept his vigil, and been shriven?"

"Yes!" Strangyeard piped up hurriedly. "He didI

mean, he has!"

Josua fought another smile. "Then let Seoman step for-

ward."

At the touch of Binabik*s small hand on his arm, Simon

took a few steps toward the prince, then sank to one knee

in the thick, rippling grass. A chill moved up his back.

Josua waited a moment before he spoke. "You have

rendered brave service, Seoman. In a time of great dan-

ger, you have risked your life for my cause and returned

with a mighty prize. Now, before the eyes of God and of

your fellows, I stand prepared to lift you up and grant you

title and honor above other men, but also to lay upon your

shoulders burdens beyond those that other men must

carry. Will you swear to accept them all?"

Simon took a breath so his voice would be steady, and

also to make sure of the words Deomoth had so carefully

taught him. "I will serve Usires Aedon and my master. I

will lift up the fallen and defend God's innocents. I will

not turn my eyes from duty. I will defend my prince's

realm from enemies spiritual and corporeal. This I swear

by my name and honor, with Elysia, Aedon's holy

mother, as my witness."

Josua stepped closer, then reached down and laid his

one good hand upon Simon's head. "Then I name you my

man, Seoman, and lay on you the charges of knighthood."

He looked up. "Squire!"

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Tad Williams

Jeremias stepped forward. "Here, Prince Josua." His

voice shook a little.

"Bring his sword."

After a moment's confusionthe hilt had gotten tan-

gled in Father Strangyeard's sleeveJeremias ap-

proached bearing the sword in its tooled leather scabbard.

It was a well-polished but otherwise undistinguished

Erkynlandish blade. Simon felt a moment of regret that

the blade was not Thom, then chastised himself as an

overweening idiot. Could he never be satisfied? Besides,

think of the embarrassment if Thom did not submit to the

ritual and proved heavy as a millstone. He would look a

perfect fool then, wouldn't he? Josua's hand upon his

head suddenly felt as weighty as the black sword itself.

Simon looked down so that no one could see his spread-

ing flush.

When Jeremias had carefully buckled the scabbard onto

Simon's belt, Simon drew the sword, kissed its hilt, then

made the sign of the Tree as he set it on the ground before

Josua's feet.

"In your service. Lord."

The prince withdrew his hand, then pulled slender

Naidel from its scabbard and touched Simon's shoulders,

right, left, then right again.

"Before the eyes of God and of your fellowsrise. Sir

Seoman."

Simon rose tottering to his feet. It was done. He was a

knight. His mind seemed nearly as cloudy as the lowering

sky. There was a long, hushed moment, then the cheering

began.

Hours after the ceremony, Simon awoke gasping from

a dream of smothering darkness to find himself half-

strangled in a knot of blankets. Weak, wintery sunlight

was beaming down on Josua's striped tent; bars of red

light lay across Simon's arm like paint. It was daytime, he

reassured himself. He had been sleeping, and it had only

been a terrible dream....

He sat up, grunting as he unwrapped himself from the

tangle of bedclothes. The tent walls throbbed beneath the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

5'

wind. Had he cried out? He hoped not. It would be humil-

iating indeed to wake up screaming on the afternoon that

he had been knighted for bravery.

"Simon?" A small shadow appeared on the wall near

the door. "Are you awake?"

"Yes, Binabik." He reached over to retrieve his shirt as

the little man ducked in through the tent flap.

"Were you sleeping well? It is no thing of easiness to

stay awake all the night, and sometimes it is then making

it hard for sleeping after."

"I slept." Simon shrugged. "I had a strange dream."

The troll cocked an eyebrow. "Do you remember it?"

Simon thought for a moment. "Not really. It sort of

slipped away. Something about a king and old flowers,

about the smell of earth ..." He shook his head. It was

gone.

"That, I am thinking, is just as well." Binabik bustled

around the prince's tent, looking for Simon's cloak. He

found it at last, then turned and tossed it to the new-made

knight, who was pulling on his breeches. "Your dreams

are often disturbing to you, but seldom of much help in

gaining more knowledge. Probably, then, it is best you are

not troubled with the memory of each one of them."

Simon felt vaguely slighted. "Knowledge? What do

you mean? Amerasu said that my dreams meant some-

thing. And so did you and Geloe!"

Binabik sighed. "I was meaning only that we are not

having much luck discovering their meaning. So, it seems

to me better that you are not troubled by them, at least for

this moment, when you should be enjoying your great

day!"

The troll's earnest face was enough to make Simon

thoroughly ashamed of his momentary ill humor. "You're

right, Binabik." He buckled on his sword belt. Its unfa-

miliar weight was one more unusual thing in a day of

wonders. "Today I won't think about ... about anything

bad."

Binabik gave him a hearty hand-smack. 'That is my

companion of many journeys that speaks! Let us go now.

Besides the kindness of his tent for your sleeping com-

52

Tad Williams

fort, Josua has made sure that a fine meal awaits us all,

and other pleasures, too."

Outside, the encampment of tents that stood in the shel-

ter of Sesuad'ra's long northeastern wall had been hung

with ribbons of many colors which snapped and streamed

in the powerful wind. Seeing them, Simon could not help

but think of his days in Jao e-Tinukai'i, memories he usu-

ally tried to hold at bay because of the complicated and

unsettling feelings that came with them. All today's fine

words couldn't change the truth, couldn't make the Storm

King go away. Simon was tired of being fearful. The

Stone of Farewell was a refuge only for a little while

how he longed for a home, for a safe place and freedom

from terror! Amerasu the Ship-Bom had seen his dreams.

She had said he need carry no further burdens, hadn't

she? But Amerasu, who had seen so many things, had

also been blind to others. Perhaps she had been wrong

about Simon's destiny as well.

With the last stragglers, Simon and his companions

passed through the cracked doorway and into the torchlit

warmth of the Leavetaking House. The vast room was

full of people seated on spread cloaks and blankets. The

tiled floors had been cleared of centuries of moss and

grasses; small cookfires burned everywhere. There were

few enough excuses for merriment in these hard days: the

exiles of many places and nations gathered here seemed

determinedly joyful. Simon was called upon to stop at

several fires and share a congratulatory drink, so that it

took some part of an hour before he at last made his way

to the high tablea massive decorated stone slab that

was part of the original Sithi hallwhere the prince and

the rest of his company waited.

"Welcome, Sir Seoman." Josua motioned Simon to the

seat at his left. "Our settlers of New Gadrinsett have

spared no effort to make this feast a grand one. There is

rabbit and partridge; chicken, I think; and good silver

trout from the Stefflod." He leaned over to speak more

quietly. Despite the weeks of peace, Simon thought the

prince's face seemed gaunt. "Eat up, lad. Fiercer weather

TOGREENANGELTOWER53

is coming soon. We may need to live on our fat, like

bears."

"New Gadrinsett?" Simon asked.

"We are but visitors on Sesuad'ra," said Geloe. "The

prince rightly feels that it would be presumptuous to call

our settlement by the name of their sacred place."

"And since Gadrinsett is the source of many of our res-

idents, and the name is appropriate'Gathering Place* in

the old Erkynlandish tongueI have named our tent city

after it." He lifted his cup of beaten metal. "New

Gadrinsett!" The company echoed his toast.

The sparse resources of valley and forest had indeed

been put to good use; Simon ate with an enthusiasm that

bordered on frenzy. He had gone unfed since the midday

meal of the day before, and much of his nightlong vigi'

had been taken up with distracted thoughts of food. Even-

tually, sheer exhaustion had taken his appetite away, but

now it had returned at full strength.

Jeremias stood behind him, refilling Simon's cup with

watered wine each time he emptied it. Simon was not yet

comfortable with the idea that his Hayholt companion

should wait upon him, but Jeremias would have it no

other way.

When the one-time chandler's boy had reached

Sesuad'ra, drawn east by the rumor of Josua's growing

army of the disaffected, Simon had been surprisedrot

only by the change in Jeremias' appearance, but by ^lie

very unlikeliness of meeting him again, especially in such

a strange place. But if Simon had been surprised, Jere-

mias had been astounded to discover that Simon was

alive, and even more amazed by the story of what had be-

fallen his friend. He seemed to view Simon's survival as

nothing less than a miracle, and had thrown himself into

Simon's service as one entering religious orders. Faced

with Jeremias' unswerving determination, Simon gave

way with no little embarrassment. He was made uneasy

by his new squire's selfless devotion; when, as sometimes

happened, a hint of their old mocking friendship surfaced,

Simon was much happier.

Although Jeremias made Simon tell and retell all the

54

Tad Williams

things that had happened to him, the chandler's boy was

unwilling to talk much about his own experiences. He

would say only that he had been forced to work in the

forges beneath the Hayholt, and that Inch, Morgenes'

former assistant, had been a cruel master. Simon could

sense much of the untold tale, and silently added to the

slow-talking giant's tally of deserved retribution. After

all, Simon was a knight now, and wasn't that something

that knights did? Dispense justice... ?

"You stare at nothing, Simon," said Lady Vorzheva,

waking him from his thoughts. She was beginning to

show the signs of the growing child within her, but still

had a slightly wild look, like a horse or bird that would

suffer human touch but would never be quite tame. He re-

membered the first time he had seen her across the court-

yard at Naglimund, how he had wondered what could

make such a lovely woman look so fiercely unhappy. She

seemed more contented now, but a hard edge still re-

mained.

"I'm sorry. Lady, I was thinking about ... about the

past, I suppose." He flushed. What did one talk about at

table with the prince's lady? "It is a strange world."

Vorzheva smiled, amused. "Yes, it is. Strange and terri-

ble."

Josua rose and banged his cup on the stone tabletop

until the crowded room at last fell silent. As the host of

unwashed faces stared up at the prince's company, Simon

had a sudden, startling revelation.

All those Gadrinsett folk, with their mouths hanging

open as they watched Josuathey were him! They were

like he had been! He had always been outside, looking in

at the important folk. And now, wonderfully, unbeliev-

ably, he was one of the high company, a knight at the

prince's long table, so that others stared at him

enviouslybut he was still the same Simon. What did it

mean?

"We are gathered for many reasons," me prince said.

"First, and most importantly, to give thanks to our God

that we are alive and safe here upon this place of refuge,

surrounded by water and protected from our enemies.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

55

Also, we are here to celebrate the eve of Saint Granis'

Day, which is a holy day to be observed by fasting and

quiet prayerbut to be observed the night before with

good food and wine!" He lifted his cup to cheers from the

throng. When the noise had died down, he grinned and

continued. "We also celebrate the knighthood of young

Simon, now called Sir Seoman." Another chorus of

cheers. Simon blushed and nodded. "You have all seen

him knighted, seen him take his sword and swear his

oath. But you have not seenhis banner!"

There was much whispering as Outrun and Vorzheva

bent over and hauled up a roll of cloth from beneath the

table; it had been lying right at Simon's feet. Isorn

stepped forward to help them, and together they lifted and

unfurled it.

"The device of Sir Seoman of New Gadrinsett," the

prince declared.

On a field of diagonal gray and red stripesJosua's

colorslay the silhouette of a black sword. Twined about

it like a vine was a sinuous white dragon, whose eyes,

teeth, and scales had all been meticulously stitched with

scarlet thread. The crowd hooted and cheered.

"Hooray for the dragon slayer!" a man cried; several

echoed him. Simon ducked his head, face reddening

again, then quickly drained his wine cup. Jeremias, smil-

ing proudly, refilled it. Simon drank down that one, too.

It was glorious, all of it, but still ... deep in his heart, he

could not help feeling that some important point was be-

ing missed. Not just the dragon, although he hadn't slain

it. Not Thorn, although it certainly wasn't Simon's sword,

and might not even be of any use to Josua. Something

was not quite right....

S'Tree, he thought disgustedly, don't you ever gel tired

of complaining, mooncalf?

Josua was banging his cup again. "That is not all! Not

all!" The prince seemed to be enjoying himself.

It must be nice for him to preside over cheerful events

for once.

"There is more!" Josua cried. "One more present, Si-

mon." He waved, and Deomoth stepped away from the

Tad Williams

table, heading for the back of the hall. The hum of con-

versation rose again. Simon drank a little more watered

wine, then thanked Vorzheva and Outrun for their work

on his banner, praising the quality of the stitchery until

both women were laughing. When a few people near the

back of the crowd began to shout and clap their hands, Si-

mon looked up to see Deomoth returning. The knight led

a brown horse.

Simon stared. "Is it... ?" He leaped up, banging his

knee on the table, and hurried limping across the crowded

floor. "Homefinder!" he cried. He threw his arms around

the mare's neck; she, less overwhelmed than he, nosed

gently at his shoulder. "But I thought Binabik said she

was lost!"

"She was," said Deomoth, smiling. "When Binabik and

Sludig were trapped by the giants, they had to set the

horses free. One of our scouting parties found her near

the ruins of the Sithi city across the valley- Maybe she

sensed something of the Sithi still there and felt safe,

since you say she spent time among them."

Simon was chagrined to find himself weeping. He had

been certain that the mare was simply one more addition

to the list of friends and acquaintances lost in this terrible

year. Deomoth waited until he wiped his eyes, then said:

"I'll put her back with the other horses, Simon. I took her

away from her feed. You can see her in the morning."

"Thank you, Deomoth. Thank you." Simon stumbled

back to the high table.

As he settled in, accepting Binabik's congratulations,

Sangfugol rose at the prince's request. "We celebrate Si-

mon's knighthood, as Prince Josua has said." The harper

bowed toward the high table. "But he was not alone on

his journey, nor in his bravery and sacrifice. You also

know that the prince has named Binabik of Yiqanuc and

Sludig of Elvritshalla to be Protectors of the Realm of

Erkynland. But even there, the tale is not all told. Of the

six braves ones who set out, only three returned. I have

made this song, hoping that in later days they will none

of them be forgotten."

At a nod from Josua, he picked out a delicate succes-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

57

sion of notes on the harp which one of the new settlers

had crafted for him, then began to sing,

"In farthest north, where storm winds blow

And winter's teeth are fierce with rime,

Out of the deep eternal snows

Looms the mountain, cold Urmsheim.

At prince's call six men did ride

From out of threatened Erkynland,

Sludig, Grimmric, Binabik the troll,

Ethelbeam, Simon, and brave Haestan.

They sought Camaris' mighty sword

The black blade Thorn from old Nabban,

Splinter of fallen heaven-star

To save the prince's tortured land ..."

As Sangfugol played and sang, the whispering

stopped, and a hush fell over the gathering. Even Josua

watched, as though the song could make the triumph a

real one. The torches wavered. Simon drank more wine.

It was quite late. Only a few musicians were still

playingSangfugol had exchanged his harp for his lute,

and Binabik had brought out his flute late in the

proceedingsand the dancing had more or less degener-

ated into staggering and laughing. Simon himself had

drunk a great deal of wine and danced with two girls from

Gadrinsett, a pretty plump one and her thin friend. The

girls had whispered back and forth between themselves

almost the whole time, impressed by Simon, his youthful

beard and grand honors. They had also giggled uncontrol-

lably every time he tried to talk to them. At last, bewil-

dered and more than a little irritated, he had bid them

good night and kissed their hands, as knights were sup-

posed to do, which had occasioned more flumes of nerv-

ous laughter. They were really little more than children,

Simon decided.

Josua had seen Lady Vorzheva off to bed, then returned

58 Tad Williams

to preside over the final hour of the feast. He sat now,

talking quietly with Deomoth. Both men looked tired-

Jeremias was sleeping in a corner, determined not to go

to bed while Simon was still up, despite the fact that his

friend had the advantage of having slept until past noon.

Still, Simon was beginning to think seriously about lurch-

ing off to bed when Binabik appeared in the doorway of

Leavetaking House. Qantaqa stood beside him, sniffing

the air of the great hall with a mixture of interest and dis-

trust. Binabik left the wolf and came inside. He beckoned

to Simon, then made his way over to Josua's chair.

"... So they have made him a bed? Good." The prince

turned as Simon approached. "Binabik brings news. Wel-

come news."

The troll nodded. "I do not know this man, but Isom

seemed to think that his coming was an important thing.

Count Eolair, a Hemystirman," he explained to Simon,

"has just been brought across the water by one of the

fishermen, brought here to New Gadrinsett." He smiled at

the name, which still seemed clumsily new-minted. "He

is very tired now, but he is telling that he has important

news for us, which he will give us in the morning if the

prince is willing it."

"Of course." Josua stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Any

news of Hemystir is valuable, although I doubt that much

of Eolair's tale is happy."

"As it may be. However, Isorn was also saying,"

Binabik lowered his voice and leaned closer, "that Eolair

claims to have learned something important about," his

voice became quieter still, "the Great Swords."

"Ah!" muttered Deomoth, surprised.

Josua was silent for a moment. "So," he said at last.

"Tomorrow, on Saint Grams' Day, perhaps we shall leam

if our exile is one of hope or hopelessness." He rose and

turned his cup over, giving it a spin with his fingers.

"Bed, then. I will send for you all tomorrow, when Eolair

has had a chance to rest."

The prince walked away across the stone tiles. The

torches made his shadow jump along the walls.

"Bed, as the prince was saying," Binabik smiled.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

59

Qantaqa pushed forward, thrusting her head beneath his

hand. "This will be a day for long remembering, Simon,

will it not?"

Simon could only nod.

2

Cfwins of Many Kinds

*

Princess Miriomete considered the ocean.

When she had been young, one of her nurses had told

her that the sea was the mother of mountains, that all the

land came from the sea and would return to it one day,

even as lost Khandia was reputed to have vanished into

the smothering depths. Certainly the ocean that had

beaten at the cliffs beneath her childhood home at

Meremund had seemed eager to reclaim the rocky verge.

Others had named the sea as mother of monsters, of

kilpa and kraken, oruks and water-wights. The black

depths, Miriamele knew, did indeed teem with strange

things. More than once some great, formless hulk had

washed up on Meremund's rocky beaches to lie rotting in

the sun beneath the fearful, fascinated eyes of the local

inhabitants until the tide rolled it away again into the

mysterious deeps. There was no doubt that the sea birthed

monsters.

And when Miriamele's own mother went away, never

to return, and her father Elias sank into brooding anger

over his wife's death, the ocean even became a kind of

parent to her. Despite its moods, as varied as the hours of

sunlight and moonlight, as capricious as the storms that

roiled its surface, the ocean had provided a constancy to

her childhood. The breakers had lulled her to sleep at

night, and she had awakened every morning to the sound

of gulls and the sight of tall sails in the harbor below her

father's castle, rippling like great-petaled flowers as she

stared down from her window.

TOGREENANGELTOWER6l

The ocean had been many things to her, and had meant

much. But until this moment, as she stood at the aft rail

of the Eadne Cloud with the whitecaps of the Great Green

stretching away on all sides, she had never realized that it

could also be a prison, a holdfast more inescapable than

anything built of stone and iron.

As Earl Aspitis' ship coursed southeast from Vinitta,

bound toward the Bay of Firannos and its scatter of is-

lands, Miriamele for the first time felt the ocean turn

against her, holding her more surely than ever her father's

court had bound her with ritual or her father's soldiers

had hemmed her all around in sharp steel. She had es-

caped those wardens, had she not? But how was she to es-

cape a hundred miles of empty sea? No, it was better to

give in. Miriamele was tired of fighting, tired of being

strong. Stone cliffs might stand proudly for ages, but they

fell to the ocean at last. Instead of resisting, she would do

better to float where the tides took her, like driftwood,

shaped by the action of the currents but moving, always

moving. Earl Aspitis wasn't a bad man. True, he did not

treat her with quite the same solicitude as he had a fort-

night ago, but still he spoke kindlythat is, when she did

as he wished. So she would do as he wished. She would

float like an abandoned spar, unresisting, until time and

events dropped her onto land again....

A hand touched the sleeve of her dress. She jumped,

surprised, and turned to find Gan Itai standing beside her.

The Niskie's intricately wrinkled face was impassive, but

her gold-flecked eyes, though sun-shaded, seemed to glit-

ter.

"I did not mean to startle you, girl," She moved up to

the rail beside Miriamele and together they stared out

over the restless water.

"When there's no land in sight," Miriamele said at last,

"you might as well be sailing off the edge of the world.

I mean, it seems as if there might not be any land any-

where."

The Niskie nodded. Her fine white hair fluttered

around her face. "Sometimes, at night, when I am up on

62 Tad Williams

the deck alone and singing, I feel as though I am crossing

the Ocean Indefinite and Eternal, the one my people

crossed to come to this land. They say that ocean was

black as tar, but the wave crests glowed like pearl."

As she spoke, Gan Itai extended her hand and clasped

Miriamele's palm. Startled and unsure of what to do, the

princess did not resist, but continued to stare out to sea.

A moment later the Niskie's long, leathery fingers pushed

something into her hand.

"The sea can be a lonely place." Gan Itai continued as

though unaware of what her own hand was doing. "Very

lonely. It is hard to find friends- It is hard to know who

can be trusted." The Niskie's hand dropped away, disap-

pearing back into the wide sleeves of her robe. "I hope

you will discover folk you can trust ... Lady Marya."

The pause before Miriamele's false name was unmistak-

able.

"So do I," said the princess, flustered.

"Ah." Gan Itai nodded. A smile tilted her thin mouth-

"You look a little pale. Perhaps the wind is too much for

you. Perhaps you should go to your cabin." The Niskie

inclined her head briefly, then walked away, bare brown

feet carrying her artfully across the rocking deck.

Miriamele watched her go, then looked up to the tiller

where Earl Aspitis stood talking to the steersman. The

earl lifted his arm to free himself from his golden cloak,

which the wind had wrapped about him. He saw

Miriamele and smiled briefly, then returned to his conver-

sation. Nothing about his smile was unusual, except per-

haps its perfunctory quality, but Miriamele suddenly felt

chilled to the heart. She clutched the curl of parchment in

her fist more tightly, fearful that the wind might pull it

loose from her grasp and send it fluttering right up to

Aspitis. She had no idea what it was, but somehow she

knew beyond doubt that she did not want him to see it.

Miriamele forced herself to walk slowly across the

deck, using her empty hand to clutch the rail. She was not

nearly so steady as Gan Itai had been.

TOGREENANGELTOWER63

In the dim cabin, Miriamele carefully uncurled the

parchment. She had to hold it up beside the candle flame

to read the tiny, crabbed letters.

/ have done many wrongs.

she read,

and I know you no longer trust me, but please be-

lieve that these words are honest. I have been

many people, none of them satisfactory. Padreic

was a fool, Cadrach a rogue. Perhaps I can be-

come something better before I die.

She wondered where he had gotten the parchment and

ink, and decided that the Niskie must have brought it to

liim. As she stared at the labored script, Miriamele

thought of the monk's weak arms weighted by chains.

She felt a stab of pitywhat agony it must have been for

-lim to write this! But why could he not leave her alone?

Why could no one simply let her be?

If you are reading this, then Gan Itai has done

as she promised. She is the only one on this ship

you can trust ... except perhaps for me. I know

that I have cheated and deserted you. I am a

weak man, my lady, but in my warnings at least

I have served you well, and still try to do so. You

are not safe on board this ship. Earl Aspitis is

even worse than I guessed him to be. He is not

just a gilded creature of Duke Benigaris' court.

He is a servant of Pryrates.

I have told you many lies, my lady, and there

are also many truths that I have kept hidden, I

cannot set all to right here. My fingers are tired

already, my arms are sore. But I will tell you this:

there is no one alive who knows the evil of the

priest Pryrates better than I. There is no one

alive who bears more responsibility for that evil,

since I helped him become what he is.

64Tad Williams

It is a long and complicated tale. Enough to say

that I, to my eternal and horrible shame, gave

Pryrates the key to a door he should never have

opened. Worse, I did so even after I knew him for

the ravening beast he is. I gave in to him because

I was weak and frightened. It is the worst thing I

have ever done in a life of grievous errors.

Believe me in this, lady. To my sorrow, I know

our enemy well. I hope you will also believe me

when I say that Aspitis does not only the bidding

of his lord Benigaris, but the work of the red

priest as well. It was common knowledge in

Ymitta.

You must escape. Perhaps Can Itai can help

you. Sadly, I do not think you will ever again go

under such light guard as you did on Vinitta. My

cowardly attempt at flight will assure that. I know

not how or why, but I beg you to leave as soon as

you can. Flee to the inn called Pelippa's Bowl, in

Kwanitupul. I believe Dinivan has sent others

there, and perhaps they can help you escape to

your uncle Josua.

I must stop because I hurt. I will not ask you to

forgive me. I have earned no forgiveness.

A smear of blood had stained the edge of the parch-

ment. Miriamele stared at it, her eyes blurring with tears,

until someone knocked sharply on the door and her heart

erupted into frenzied pounding. She crumpled the note in

her palm even as the door swung open-

"My sweet lady," said grinning Aspitis, "why do you

hide yourself down here in the dark? Come, let us walk

on the deck."

The parchment seemed to burn her, as though she

clutched a smoldering coal.

"I ... I do not feel well, my lord." She shook her head,

trying to hide her shortness of breath. "I will walk an-

other time."

"Marya," the earl chided, "I told you that it was your

country openness that charmed me. What, are you becom-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

ing a moody court wench?" He reached her side in a long

step. His hand trailed across her neck. "Come, it is no

wonder you feel poorly, sitting in this dark room. You

need air." He leaned forward and brushed his lips below

her ear. "Or perhaps you prefer it here, in the dark. Per-

haps you are merely lonely?" His fingers dragged deli-

cately across her throat, soft as spiderwebs on her skin.

Miriamele stared at the candle. The flame danced

before her, but all around it was sunken deep in shadow.

A

The stained glass windows of the Hayholt's throne

room had been broken. Ragged curtains restrained the

flurrying snow, but did not keep out the freezing air. Even

Pryrates seemed to feel the cold: although he still went

bareheaded, the king's counselor was wearing red robes

lined with fur.

Alone of all the folk who came into the throne room,

the king and his cupbearer did not seem to mind the chill

air. Elias sat bare-armed and bare-footed on the

Dragonbone Chair; but for the great scabbarded sword

that hung from his belt, he was dressed as casually as if

he lounged in his private chambers. The monk Hengfisk,

the king's silent page, wore a threadbare habit and his

customary lunatic grin, and appeared no less comfortable

than his master in the frosty hall.

The High King slouched deep in the cage of dragon's

bones, chin on chest, peering out from beneath his eye-

brows at Pryrates. In contrast to the black malachite stat-

ues which stood on each side of the throne, Elias' skin

seemed white as milk. Blue veins showed at his temples

and along his wiry arms, bulging as though they might

burst through the flesh.

Pryrates opened his mouth as if to say something, then

Closed it again. His sigh was that of an Aedonite martyr

overwhelmed with the foolish wickedness of his persecu-

tors.

"Damn you, priest," Elias snarled, "my mind is made

up."

66 Tad Williams

The king's advisor said nothing, but only nodded; the

torchlight made his hairless skull gleam like a wet stone.

Despite the wind that fluttered the curtains, the room

seemed full of a curious stillness.

"Well?" The king's green eyes were dangerously

bright.

The priest sighed again, more softly. His voice, when

he spoke, was conciliatory. "I am your counselor, Elias. I

only do what you would wish me to: that is, help you de-

cide what is best."

"Then I think it best that Fengbald take soldiers and go

east. I want Josua and his band of traitors driven out of

their holes and crushed. I have delayed too long already

with this business of Guthwulf and with Benigaris' fum-

blings in Nabban. If Fengbald leaves now, he and his

troops will reach my brother's den in a month. You know

what kind of winter it will be, alchemistyou of all peo-

ple. If I wait any longer, the chance is lost." The king

pulled at his face irritably.

"As to the weather, there is little doubt," Pryrates said

equably. "I can only once again question the need to pur-

sue your brother. He is no threat. Even with an army of

thousands, he could not stop us before your glorious,

complete, and permanent victory is assured. There is only

a little while longer to wait."

The wind changed direction, making the banners that

hung from the ceiling ripple like pondwater. Elias

snapped his fingers and Hengfisk scuttled forward with

the king's cup. Elias drank, coughed, then drank again un-

til the goblet was empty. A bead of steaming black liquid

clung to his chin.

"That is simple for you to say," the king snarled when

he had finished swallowing. "Aedon's Blood, you have

said it often enough. But I have waited long already. I am

cursedly tired of waiting."

"But it will be worth the wait. Majesty. You know

that."

The king's face grew momentarily pensive. "And my

dreams, have been getting more and more strange,

Pryrates. More ... real."

TOGREENANGELTOWER67

"That is understandable." Pryrates lifted his long fin-

gers soothingly. "You bear a great burdenbut all will

soon be made right. You will author a reign of splendor

unlike anything the world has seen, if you will only be

patient. These matters have their own timinglike war,

like love."

"Hah." Elias belched sourly, his irritation returning.

"Damned little you know of love, you eunuch bastard."

Pryrates flinched at this, and for a moment narrowed his

coal-black eyes to slits, but the king was gazing down

morosely at Sorrow and did not see. When he looked up

again, the priest's face was as blandly patient as before.

"So what is your payment for all this, alchemist? That

I've never understood."

"Besides the pleasure of serving you, Majesty?"

Elias' laugh was sharp and short, like a dog's bark.

"Yes, besides that."

Pryrates stared at him appraisingly for a moment. An

odd smile twisted his thin lips. "Power, of course. The

power to do what I want to do ... need to do."

The king's eyes had swung to the window. A raven had

alighted on the sill and now stood preening its oily black

feathers. "And what do you want to do, Pryrates?"

"Leam." For a moment the priest's careful mask of

statecraft seemed to slip; the face of a child showed

througha horrible, greedy child. "I want to know every-

thing. For that I need power, which is a sort of permis-

sion. There are secrets so dark, so deep, that the only way

to discover them is to tear open the universe and root

about in the very guts of Death and Unbeing."

Elias lifted his hand and waved for his cup once more.

He continued to watch the raven, which hopped forward

on the sill and tilted its head to return the king's stare.

"You talk strangely, priest. Death? Unbeing? Are they not

the same?"

Pryrates grinned maliciously, although at what was not

clear. "Oh, no. Majesty. Not remotely."

Elias suddenly whirled in his chair, craning his head

around the yellowed, dagger-ranged skull of the dragon

68 Tad Williams

Shurakai. "Curse you, Hengfisk, did you not see me call

for my cup!? My throat is burning!"

The pop-eyed monk hurried to the king's side. Elias

carefully took the cup from him and set it down, then hit

Hengfisk on the side of his head so swiftly and power-

fully that the cupbearer was flung to the floor as if

lightning-struck. Elias then calmly drained the steaming

draught. Hengfisk lay boneless as a jellyfish for several

long moments then rose and retrieved the empty cup. His

idiot grin had not vanished; if anything, it had become

wider and more deranged, as though the king had done

him some great kindness. The monk bobbed his head and

backed into the shadows once more.

Elias paid him no attention. "So it is settled. Fengbald

will take the Erkynguard and a company of soldiers and

mercenaries and go east. He will bring me back my broth-

er's smirking, lecturing head on a lance." He paused, then

said thoughtfully: "Do you suppose that the Norns would

go with Fengbald? They are fierce fighters, and cold

weather and darkness are nothing to them."

Pryrates raised an eyebrow. "I think it unlikely, my

king. They do not seem to like to travel by day; neither

do they seem to enjoy the company of mortals."

"Not much use as allies, are they?" Elias frowned and

stroked Sorrow's hilt.

"Oh, they are valuable enough. Majesty." Pryrates nod-

ded his head, smiling. 'They will render service when we

truly need them. Their masteryour greatest allywill

see to that."

The raven blinked its golden eye, then uttered a harsh

noise and took wing. The tattered curtain fluttered where

it passed out through the window and into the stinging

wind-

A

"Please, may I hold him?" Maegwin extended her

arms-

With a worried look on her dust-smeared face, the

young mother handed the baby to her. Maegwin could not

TO GREEN ANOEL TOWER69

help wondering if the woman was frightened of herthe

king's daughter, with her dark mourning clothes and

strange ways.

"I'm just so afraid he'll be wicked, my lady," said the

young woman. "He's been crying all day, till I nearly run

mad. He's hungry, poor little thing, but I don't want him

., screaming 'round you, Lady. You've more important

; things to think about."

Maegwin felt the chill that had touched her heart thaw

a little. "Never worry about that." She bounced the pink-

^ faced baby, who did seem to be on the brink of another

^ outburst. "Tell me his name, Caihwye."

^The young woman looked up, startled. "You know me,

^ t^y9"

Maegwin smiled sadly. "We are not so very many, any

more. Far less than a thousand in these caverns all told.

No, there are not so many people in Free Hemystir that I

have trouble remembering them."

Caihwye nodded, wide-eyed. "It is terrible." She had

probably been pretty before the war, but now she had lost

teeth and was dreadfully thin. Maegwin was certain that

she had been giving most of what food she had to her

baby.

"The child's name?" Maegwin reminded her.

"Oh! Siadreth, my lady. It was his father's name."

Caihwye shook her head sadly; Maegwin did not ask after

the child's namesake. For most of the survivors, discus-

sions about fathers, husbands, and sons were sadly pre-

dictable. Most of the stories ended with the battle at the

Inniscrich.

"Princess Maegwin." Old Craobhan had been watching

silently until now. "We must go. There are more people

waiting for you."

She nodded. "You are right." Gently, she handed the

child back to his mother. The small pink face wrinkled,

preparing to shed tears. "He is very beautiful, Caihwye.

May all the gods bless him, and Mircha herself give him

good health. He will be a fine man."

Caihwye smiled and jiggled young Siadreth in her lap

70 Tad Williams

until he forgot what he had been about to do. "Thank you,

Lady. I'm so glad you came back well."

Maegwin, who had been turning away, paused- "Came

back?"

The young woman looked startled, frightened she'd

said something wrong. "From under the ground. Lady."

She pointed downward with her free hand. "From down

in the deeper caverns. It is you the gods must favor, to

bring you back from such a dark place."

Maegwin stared for a moment, then forced a smile, "I

suppose. Yes, I am glad to be back, too." She stroked the

baby's head once more before turning to follow

Craobhan.

"I know that judging disputes is not so enjoyable a task

for a woman as dandling babies," Old Craobhan said over

his shoulder, "but this is something you must do anyway.

You are Lluth's daughter."

Maegwin grimaced, but would not be distracted. "How

did that woman know I had been in the caverns below?"

The old man shrugged. "You didn't work very hard to

keep it secret, and you can't expect people not to be inter-

ested in the doings of the king's family. Tongues will al-

ways wag."

Maegwin frowned. Craobhan was right, of course. She

had been heedless and headstrong about exploring the

lower caverns- If she wanted secrecy, she should have

started worrying about it sooner.

"What do they think about it?" she asked at last. "The

people, I mean."

"Think about your adventuring?" He chuckled sourly.

"I imagine there's as many stories as there are cookfires.

Some say you went looking for the gods. Some think you

were looking for a bolt hole out of this whole muddle."

He peered at her over his bony shoulder. His self-

satisfied, knowing look made her want to smack him. "By

the middle of winter they'll be saying you found a city of

gold, or fought a dragon or a two-headed giant. Forget

about it. Stories are like haresonly a fool tries to run af-

ter one and catch it."

Maegwin glowered at the back of his old bald head.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

71

She didn't know which she liked less, having people tell

lies about her or having people know the truth. She sud-

denly wished Eolair had returned.

Fickle cow. she sneered at herself.

But she did. She wished she could talk to him, tell him

of all her ideas, even the mad ones. He would understand,

wouldn't he? Or would it only confirm his belief in her

wretchedness? It mattered little, anyway: Eolair had been

gone for more than a month, and Maegwin did not even

know if he still lived. She herself had sent him away.

Now, she heartily wished that she had not.

Fearful but resolute, Maegwin had never softened the

cold words she had spoken to Count Eolair down in the

buried city of Mezutu'a. They had barely conversed dur-

ing the few days that passed between their return from

that place and his departure in search of Josua's rumored

rebel camp.

Eolair had spent most of those days down in the an-

cient city, overseeing a pair of stronghearted Hernystiri

clerks as they copied the dwarrows' stone maps onto

more portable rolls of sheepshide. Maegwin had not ac-

companied him; despite the dwarrows' kindness, the

thought of the empty, echoing city only filled her with

sullen disappointment. She had been wrong. Not mad, as

many thought her, but certainly wrong. She had thought

the gods meant her to find the Sithi there, but now it

seemed clear that the Sithi were lost and frightened and

would be no help to her people. As for the dwarrows, the

Sithi's once-servants, they were little more than shadows,

incapable of helping even themselves.

At Eolair's parting, Maegwin had been so full of war-

ring feelings that she could muster little more than a curt

farewell. He had pressed into her hand a gift sent by the

dwarrowsit was a glossy gray and white chunk of crys-

tal on which Yis-fidri, the record-keeper, had carved her

name in his own runic alphabet. It almost looked as

though it might be part of the Shard itself, but it lacked

that stone's restless inner light. Eolair had then turned and

mounted his horse, struggling to hide his anger. She had

72 Tad Williams

felt something tearing inside her as the Count of Nad

Mullach rode away down the slope and vanished into the

flurrying snow. Surely, she had prayed, the gods must

bear her up in this desperate time. The gods, though,

seemed slow to lend their aid these days.

Maegwin had thought at first that her dreams about an

underground city were signs of the gods' willingness to

help their stricken followers in Hernystir. Maegwin knew

now that somehow she had made a mistake. She had

thought to find the Sithi, the ancient and legendary allies,

to force her way in through the very gates of legend to

bring help to Hernystirbut that had been prideful fool-\

ishness. The gods invited, they were not invaded.

Maegwin had been mistaken in that small thing, but^

still she knew that she was not altogether wrong. No mat-^

ter what misdeeds her people had done, the gods would^

not so easily desert them. Brynioch, Rhynn, Murhaghf.

One-Armthey would save their children, she was sureS"

of it. Somehow, they would bring destruction to Skali and^

Elias the High King, the bestial pair who had brought

such humiliation on a proud and free people. If they did

not, then the world was an empty jest. So Maegwin would

wait for a better, clearer sign, and while she waited, she

would go quitely about her duties ... tending to her peo-

ple and mourning her dead.

"What suits do I hear today?" she asked Old Craobhan.

"Some small ones, as well as a request for judgment

that should prove no joy," Craobhan replied. "That one

comes from House Earb and House Lacha, which were

neighboring holdings on the Circoille fringe." The old

man had been king's counselor since Maegwin's grandfa-

ther's day, and knew the fantastical ins and outs of

Hernystiri political life the way a master smith knew the

vagaries of heat and metal. "Both families shared a sec-

tion of the woods as their vouchsafe," he explained,

"the only time your father had to declare separate

rights to forest land and draw up a map of possession for

each, like the Aedonite kings do, just to keep Earb-men

and Lacha-men from slaughtering each other. They loathe

TOGREENANGELTOWER73

each other and the two houses have fought forever. They

barely took time to go to war against Skali, and they may

not have noticed that we lost." He coughed and spat.

"So what is wanted of me?"

Craobhan frowned. "What would you guess, Lady?

They quarrel now over cavern space" his voice rose in

mockery, " 'this place is for me, this for thee. No, no,

it's mine; no, mine.' " He snorted. "They squabble like

piglets over the last teat, even as we all shelter together in

danger and poor conditions."

"They sound a disgusting group." Maegwin had little

temper for such petty nonsense.

"I couldn't have said fairer myself," the old man said-

Neither House Lacha nor House Earb benefited much

from Maegwin's presence. Their dispute proved just as

petty as Craobhan had predicted. A tunnel to the surface

had been dug out and widened to useful size by men from

both houses with the additional help of Hernystirmen

from other, less important families who shared the com-

mon cavern- Now each of the feuding houses insisted that

it alone was the tunnel's owner, and that the other house

and all other cavern-dwellers should pay a tithe of

goatsmilk for taking their flocks up and down the tunnel

each day.

Maegwin was mightily disgusted by this and said so.

She also proclaimed that if such rank nonsense as people

"owning" tunnels ever came up again, she would have the

remainder of Hemystir's fighting men gather up the male-

factors, take them to the surface, and throw them from the

highest cliffs that craggy Grianspog could provide.

Houses Lacha and Earb were not pleased by this judg-

ment. They managed to put aside their differences long

enough to demand that Maegwin be replaced as judge by

her stepmother Inahwenwho was after all, they said, the

late King LIuth's wife, and not merely his daughter.

Maegwin laughed and called them conniving fools. The

spectators who had gathered, along with the remaining

families that shared the cavern with the feuding houses,

74

Tad Williams

cheered Maegwin's good sense and the humbling of the

haughty Earb- and Lacha-folk.

The rest of the suits went quickly. Maegwin found her-

self enjoying the work, although some of the disputes

were sad. It was something she did wellsomething that

had little to do with being small or delicate or pretty. Sur-

rounded by lovelier, more graceful women, she had al-

ways felt herself an embarrassment to her father, even at

a rustic court like the Taig. Here, all that mattered was

her good sense- In the past weeks, she had foundto her

surprisethat her father's subjects valued her, that they

were grateful for her willingness to listen and be fair. As

she watched her people, tattered and smoke-smudged, she

felt her heart tighten within her. The Hemystiri deserved

better than this low estate. They would get it, somehow,

if it was within Maegwin's power.

For a while, she managed to forgot almost entirely

about her cruelty to the Count of Nad Mullach.

That evening, as she lay on the edge of sleep, Maegwin

found herself abruptly falling forward into a darkness

vaster and deeper than the ember-lit cavern where she

made her bed. For a moment she thought some cataclysm

had torn open the earth beneath her; a moment later, she

was certain that she dreamed. But as she felt herself

slowly spinning into emptiness, the sensation seemed far

too immediate for a dream, and yet too strangely dislo-

cated to be anything so real as an earth tremor. She had

felt something like this before, those nights when she had

dreamed of the beautiful city beneath the earth....

Even as her confused thoughts fluttered in darkness

like startled bats, a cloud of dim lights began to appear.

They were fireflies, or sparks, or distant torches. They

spiraled upward, like the smoke of a great bonfire,

mounting toward some unimaginable height.

Climb, said a voice in her head. Go to the High Place.

The time is come.

Swimming in nothingness, Maegwin struggled toward

the distant peak where the flickering lights congregated.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

75

Go to the High Place, the voice demanded. The time is

come.

And suddenly she was in the midst of many gleaming

lights, small and intense as distant stars. A hazy throng

surrounded her, beautiful yet inhuman, dressed in all the

colors of the rainbow. The creatures stared at each other

with gleaming eyes. Their graceful forms were vague; al-

though they were man-shaped, she somehow felt sure

they were no more human than rain clouds or spotted

deer.

The time is come, said the voice, now many voices- A

smear of leaping, coruscating light glowed in the midst of

them, as though one of the stars had fallen down from the

vaulting sky. Go to the High Place....

And then the fantastic vision was bleeding away, drain-

ing back into darkness.

Maegwin woke to discover herself sitting upright on

her pallet. The fires were only glowing coals. There was

nothing to be seen in the darkened cavern, and nothing to

hear but the sound of other people breathing in sleep. She

was clutching Yis-fidri's dwarrow-stone so tightly that

her knuckles throbbed with J>ain. For a moment she

thought a faint light gleamed in its depths, but when she

looked again she decided she had fooled herself: it was

only a translucent lump of rock. She shook her head

slowly. The stone was of no importance, anyway, com-

pared to what she had experienced.

The gods. The gods had spoken to her again, even more

plainly this time. The high place, they had said. The time

had come. That must mean that at last the lords of her

people were ready to reach out and aid Hemystir. And

they wanted Maegwin to do something. They must, or

they would not have touched her, would not have sent her

this clear sign.

The small matters of the day just passed were now

swept from her mind. The high place, she told herself.

She sat for a long time in the darkness, thinking.

76

Tad Williams

After checking carefully to make sure that Earl Aspitis

was still up on deck, Miriamele hurried down the narrow

passageway and rapped on the low door. A murmuring

voice inside fell silent at the sound of Miriamele's knock.

The reply came some moments later. "Yes? Who is

there?"

"Lady Marya. May I come in?"

"Come."

Miriamele pushed against the swollen door. It gave

grudgingly, opening on a tiny, austere room. Gan Itai sat

on a pallet beneath the open window, which was little

more than a narrow slit near the top of the wall. Some-

thing moved there; Miriamele saw a smooth expanse of

white neck and a flash of yellow eye, then the seagull

dropped away and vanished.

"The gulls are like children." Gan Itai showed her

guest a wrinkled smile. "Argumentative, forgetful, but

sweet-hearted."

Miriamele shook her head, confused. "I'm sorry to

bother you."

"Bother? Child, what a foolish idea. It is daylight, 1

have no singing to do for now. Why would you be a

bother?"

"I don't know, I just .. -" Miriamele paused, trying to

collect her thoughts. She wasn't really certain why she

had come. "I ... I need someone to talk to, Gan Itai. I'm

frightened."

The Niskie reached over to a three-legged stool which

appeared to serve as a table. Her nimble brown fingers

swept several sea-polished stones off the seat and into the

pocket of her robe, then she pushed the stool over to

Miriamele.

"Sit, child. Do not hurry yourself."

Miriamele arranged her skirt, wondering how much she

dared to tell the Niskie. But if Gan Itai was carrying se-

cret messages for Cadrach, how much could there be that

she still did not know? She had certainly seemed to know

that Marya was a false name. There was nothing to do but

roll the dice.

"Do you know who I am?"

TOGREENANGELTOWER

77

The sea-watcher smiled again. "You are Lady Marya, a

noblewoman from Erkynland."

Miriamele was startled. "I am?"

The Niskie's laugh hissed like wind through dry grass.

"Are you not? You have certainly told enough people that

name. But if you mean to ask Gan Itai who you truly are,

I will tell you, or at least I will start with this: Miriamele

is your name, daughter of the High King."

Miriamele was curiously relieved. "So you do know."

"Your companion Cadrach confirmed it for me. I had

suspicions. I met your father, once. You smell like him;

sound like him, too."

"I do? You did?" Miriamele felt as though she had lost

her balance. "What do you mean?"

"Your father met Benigaris here on this boat two years

gone, when Benigaris was only the duke's son. Aspitis,

Eadne Cloud's master, hosted the gathering. That strange

wizard-creature was here, toothe one with no hair."

Gan Itai made a smoothing gesture across her head.

"Pryrates." The name's evil taste lingered in her

mouth.

"Yes, that is the one." Gan Itai sat up straighter, cock-

ing her ear to some far-away sound. After a moment she

turned her attention back to her guest. "I do not learn the

names of all the folk who ride this boat. I do pay sharp at-

tention to everyone who treads the gangplank, of

coursethat is part of the Navigator's Trustbut names

are not usually important to sea-watchers. That time,

though, Aspitis told me all their names, as my children

used to sing to me their lessons about the tides and cur-

rents. He was very proud of his important guests."

Miriamele was momentarily distracted. "Your chil-

dren?"

"By the Uncharted, yes, certainly!" Gan Itai nodded. "I

am a great-grandmother twenty times over."

"I've never seen Niskie children."

The old woman looked at her dourly. "I know you are

a southerner only by birth, child, but even in Meremund

where you grew up there is a small Niskie town near the

docks. Did you never go there?"

78

Tad Williams

Miriamele shook her head. "I wasn't allowed."

Gan Itai pursed her lips. "That is unhappy. You should

have gone to see it. We are fewer now than we once were,

and who knows what will come on tomorrow's tide? My

family is one of the largest, but there are fewer than ten

score families all together from Abaingeat on the north

coast all the way down to Naraxi and Harcha. So few for

all the deep-water ships'" She shook her head sadly.

"But when my father and those others were here, what

did they say? What did they do?"

"They talked, young one, but about what I cannot say.

They talked the night away, but I was on deck, with the

sea and my songs. Besides, it is not my place to spy on

the ship's owner. Unless he wrongly endangers the ship,

it is not my place to do anything at all except that which

I was born for: to sing the kilpa down."

"But you brought me Cadrach's letter." Miriamele

looked around to make sure the passageway door was

closed. "That is not something Aspitis would want you to

do."

For the first time, Gan Itai's golden eyes showed a

trace of discontent. "That is true, but I was not harming

the ship." A look of defiance crept onto the lined face.

"We are Niskies, after all, not slaves. We are a free peo-

ple."

She and Miriamele looked at each other for a moment.

The princess was the first to look away. "I don't even

care what they were talking about, anyway. I'm sick and

tired of men and their wars and arguments. I just want to

go away and be left aloneto climb into a hole some-

where and never come out."

The Niskie did not reply, only watched her.

"Still, I will never escape across fifty leagues of open

water." The uselessness of it all pulled at her, making her

feel heavy with despair. "Will we make land anytime

soon?"

"We will stop at some of the islands in Firannos Bay.

Spenit, perhaps RisaI am not sure which ones Aspitis

has chosen."

"Maybe I can escape somehow. But I'm sure I will be

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

79

heavily guarded." The leaden feeling seemed to grow

stronger. Then an idea flickered. "Do you ever get off the

ship, Gan Itai?"

The sea-watcher looked at her appraisingly. "Seldom.

But there is a family of Tinukeda'yaof Niskiesat

Risa. The Injar clan. Once or twice I have visited them.

Why do you ask?"

"Because if you can leave the ship, you could take a

message for me. Give it to someone who might get it to

my Uncle Josua."

Gan Itai frowned. "Certainly I will do it, but I am not

sure that it will ever get to him. It would be a piece of

long luck."

"What choice do I have?" Miriamele sighed. "Of

course it's foolish. But maybe it would help, and what

else can I do?" Tears abruptly welled in her eyes. She

wiped them away angrily. "No ,one will be able to do any-

thing, even if they want to. But I have to try."

Gan Itai stared in alarm. "Do not cry, child. It makes

me feel cruel for having dragged you out of your hiding

place in the hold."

Miriamele waved a tear-dampened hand. "Someone

would have found us."

The Niskie leaned forward. "Perhaps your companion

would have some idea of who to give your note to, or

some special thing that could be written in it. He seems

to me a wise man."

"Cadrach?"

"Yes. After all, he knew the true name of the Naviga-

tor's Children." Her voice was grave but proud, as though

knowing her people's name was evidence of godlike wis-

dom.

"But how ..." Miriamele bit off the rest of her ques-

tion. Of course Gan Itai knew how to get to Cadrach. She

had already brought a note from him. But Miriamele was

not quite sure that she wanted to see the monk. He had

caused her so much pain, sparked so much anger.

"Come." Gan Itai rose from the pallet, climbing to her

feet as easily as a young girl. "I will take you to him."

She squinted out the narrow window. "They will not

8o Tad Williams

bring him food for almost another hour. That will leave

plenty of time for a pleasant conversation." She grinned,

then moved quickly across the small room. "Can you

climb in that dress?"

The Niskie slid her fingers in behind a board on the

bare wall and pulled. A panel, so closely fitted that it had

been all but invisible, came free; Gan Itai set it down on

the floor. A dark hole lined with pitch-smeared beams

showed where the panel had been.

"Where does it lead?" Miriamele asked, surprised.

"Nowhere, particularly," Gan Itai said. She clambered

through and stood up, so that only her thin brown legs

and the hem of her robe showed in the opening. "It is

merely a way to get quickly to the hold or the deck. A

Niskie-hole, as it is called." Her muffled voice had a

slight echo.

Miriamele leaned in behind her. A ladder stood against

the far wall of the tiny cubicle. At the top of the confining

walls, a narrow crawlspace extended in both directions.

The princess shrugged and followed the Niskie up the

ladder.

The passageway at the top was too low to be negotiated

except on hands and knees, so Miriamele knotted the end

of her skirt up out of her way, then crawled after Gan Itai.

As the light of the Niskie's room disappeared behind

them, the darkness pulled in closer, so that Miriamele

could only follow her nose and the quiet sound of Gan

Itai crawling. The beams creaked as the ship flexed.

Miriamele felt as though she were creeping down the gul-

let of some great sea beast.

Some twenty cubits from the ladder, Gan Itai stopped.

Miriamele bumped into her from behind.

"Careful, child." The Niskie's face was revealed in a

growing wedge of light as she pried up another panel.

When Gan Itai had peered through, she beckoned

Miriamele forward. After the darkness of the crawlspace,

the dim hold seemed a cheerful, sunlit place, though all

that lit it was a propped hatchway at the far end.

"We must keep our voices low," the sea-watcher said.

The hold was stacked nearly to the rafters with sacks

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

8l

and barrels, all tied down so they would not roll free in

high seas. Against one wall, as though he, too, were re-

strained against capricious tides, was the huddled figure

of the monk. A heavy length of chain was at his ankles;

another depended from his wrists.

"Learned one!" called the Niskie. Cadrach's round

head came up slowly, like a beaten dog's. He stared up

into the shadowed rafters.

"Gan Itai?" His voice was hoarse and weary. "Is that

you?"

Miriamele felt her heart plummet in her breast.

Mercieful Aedon, look at him! Chained like a poor dumb

brute!

"I have come to talk to you," the Niskie whispered.

"Are the warders coming soon?"

Cadrach shook his head. His chains rattled quietly. "I

think not. They never hurry to feed me. Did you give my

note to ... to the lady?"

"I did. She is here to talk to you."

The monk started as if frightened. "What? You brought

her here?" He lifted his clanking shackles before his face.

"No! No! Take her away!"

Gan Itai pulled Miriamele forward. "He is very un-

happy. Speak to him."

Miriamele swallowed. "Cadrach?" she said at last.

"Have they hurt you?"

The monk slid down the wall, becoming little more

than a heap of shadows. "Go away. Lady. I cannot bear to

see you, or to have you see me. Go away."

There was a long moment of silence. "Speak to him!"

Gan Itai hissed.

"I am sorry they have done this to you." She felt tears

coming. "Whatever has happened between us, I would

never have wished to see you tormented this way."

"Ah, Lady, what a dreadful world this is." The monk's

voice had a sobbing catch to it. "Will you not take my ad-

vice and flee? Please."

Miriamele shook her head in frustration, then realized

he could not see her up in the shadow of the hatchway.

"How, Cadrach? Aspitis will not let me out of his sight.

82 Tad Williams

Gan Itai said she would take away a letter from me and

try to get it to someone who will deliver itbut deliver

it to whom? Who would help me? I do not know where

Josua is. My motor's family in Nabban have turned trai-

tor. What can I do?"

The dark shape that was Cadrach slowly stood up.

"Pelippa's Bowl, Miriamele. As I told you in my letter.

There may be someone there who can help." He did not

sound very convinced.

"Who? Who could I send it to?"

"Send it to the inn. Draw a quill pen on it, a quill in a

circle. That will get it to someone who can help, if any-

one useful is there." He lifted a weighted arm. "Please go

away. Princess. After all that has happened, I want only to

be left alone. I do not wish to have you see my shame any

longer."

Miriamele felt her tears overspill her eyes. It took a

few moments before she could talk. "Do you want any-

thing?"

"A jug of wine. No, a wineskin: it will be easier to

hide. That's all I need. Something to make a darkness

within me to match the darkness around me." His laugh-

ter was painful to hear. "And you safely escaped. That,

too."

Miriamele turned her face away. She could not bear to

look at the monk's huddled form any longer. "I'm so

sorry," she said, then hurriedly pushed past Can Itai and

retreated a few cubits up the crawlspace. The conversa-

tion had made her feel ill.

The Niskie said some last words to Cadrach, then

lowered the panel and plunged the tiny passageway into

darkness once more- Her thin form pushed past, then she

led Miriamele back to the ladder.

The princess was no sooner back into daylight when a

fresh bout of sobbing came over her. Gan Itai watched

uncomfortably for a while, but when Miriamele could not

stop crying, the Niskie put a spidery arm around her.

"Stop, now, stop," she crooned. "You will be happy

again."

Miriamele untied her skirt, then lifted the comer and

TOGREENANGELTOWER83

wiped her eyes and nose. "No I won't. Nor will Cadrach.

Oh, God in Heaven, I am so lonely!" Another storm of

weeping came over her.

Gan Itai held her until she stopped crying.

"It is cruel to bind any creature that way." The Niskie's

voice was tight with something like anger. Miriamele, her

head in Gan Itai's lap, was too drained to reply. "They

bound Ruyan Ve, did you know? The father of our peo-

ple, the great Navigator. When he would have taken the

ships and set sail once more, they seized him in their an-

ger and bound him in chains." The Niskie rocked back

and forth. "And then they burned the ships."

Miriamele sniffled. She did not know who Gan Itai was

talking about, nor did she care at this moment.

"They wanted us to be slaves, but we Tinukeda'ya are

a free people." Gan Itai's voice became almost a chant, a

sorrowful song. "They burned our shipsburned the

great ships that we could never build again in this new

land, and left us stranded here. They said it was to save

us from Unbeing, but that was a lie. They only wanted us

to share their exilewe, who did not need them! The

Ocean Indefinite and Eternal could have been our home,

but they took our ships away'and bound mighty Ruyan.

They wanted us to be their servants. It is wrong to put

anyone in chains who has done you no harm. Wrong."

Gan Itai continued to hold Miriamele in her arms as

she rocked back and forth and murmured of terrible injus-

tices. The sun fell lower in the sky. The small room began

to fill with shadow.

Miriamele lay in her darkened cabin and listened to the

Niskie's faint song. Gan Itai had been very upset.

Miriamele had not thought the sea-watcher held such

strong feelings, but something about Cadrach's captivity

and the princess' own tears had brought up a great out-

pouring of grief and anger.

Who were the Niskies, anyway? Cadrach called them

Tinukeda'yaOcean Children, Gan Itai had said. Where

did they come from? Some distant island, perhaps. Ships

on a dark ocean, the Niskie had said, from somewhere far

84

Tad Williams

away. Was that the way of the world, that everyone

longed to go back to some place or some time that was

lost?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the

door.

"Lady Marya? Are you awake?"

She did not answer. The door slowly swung open.

Miriamele cursed herself inwardly: she should have

bolted it.

"Lady Marya?" The earl's voice was soft. "Are you ill?

I missed you at supper."

She stirred and rubbed her eyes, as if awakening from

sleep. "Lord Aspitis? I'm sorry, I am not feeling well. We

will talk tomorrow, if I feel better."

He came on cat-soft feet and sat down on the edge of

her bed. His long fingers traced her cheek, "But this is

terrible. What ails you? I shall have Gan Itai look to you.

She is well-versed in healing; I would trust her past any

leech or apothecary."

"Thank you, Aspitis. That would be kind. Now I

should probably go back to sleep. I'm sorry to be such

poor company."

The earl seemed in no hurry to leave. He stroked her

hair. "You know. Lady, I am truly sorry for my rough

words and ways of the other evening. I have come to care

deeply for you, and I was upset at the idea that you might

leave me so soon. After all, we share a deep lovers' bond,

do we not?" His fingertips slid down to her neck, making

the skin tighten and sending a chill through her.

"I fear I am not in good condition to talk about such

things now, Lord. But I forgive you your words, which I

know were hasty and not heartfelt." She turned her eyes

to his face for a moment, trying to judge his thoughts. His

eyes seemed guileless, but she remembered Cadrach's

words, as well as Gan ItaTs description of the gathering

he had hosted, and the chill returned, bringing a tremor

that she was hard-pressed to conceal.

"Good," he said. "Very good. I am glad you understand

that. Hasty words. Exactly."

Miriamele decided to test that courtier's sincerity of

TOGREENANGELTOWER85

his. "But of course, Aspitis, you must understand my own

unhappiness. My father, you see, does not know where I

am. Perhaps already the convent will have sent word to

him that I did not arrive. He will be sick with worry. He

is old, Aspitis, and I fear for his health. You can see why

I feel I must forsake your hospitality, whether I wish to or

not."

"Of course," said the earl. Miriamele felt a flicker of

hope. Could she have misread him after all? "It is cruel to

let your father worry. We will send him word as soon as

we next make landfallon Spenit Island, I think. And we

will give him the good news."

She smiled. "He will be very happy to hear I am well."

"Ah." Aspitis returned her smile. His long, fine jaw and

clear eyes could have served as a sculptor's model for one

of the great heroes of the past. "But there will be more

good news than just that. We will tell him that his daughter

is to marry one into of Nabban's Fifty Families!"

Miriamele's smile faltered. "What?"

"Why, we will tell him of our coming marriage!"

Aspitis laughed with delight. "Yes, Lady, I have thought

and thought, and although your-family is not quite so el-

evated as mineand Erkynlandish, as wellI have de-

cided for love's sake to spit in the face of tradition- We

will be married when we return to Nabban." He took her

cold hand in his warm grip. "But you do not look as

happy as I would have hoped, beautiful Marya."

Miriamele's mind was racing, but as in a dream of fear-

ful pursuit, she could think of nothing but escape. "I ...

I am overwhelmed, Aspitis-"

"Ah, well, I suppose that is understandable." He stood,

then bent over to kiss her. His breath smelled of wine, his

cheek of perfume. His mouth was hard against hers for a

moment before he pulled away. "After all, it is rather sud-

den, I know. But it would be worse than ungentlemanly of

me to desert you ... after all we have shared. And I have

come to love you, Marya. The flowers of the north are

different than those of my southern home, but their scent

is just as sweet, the blossoms just as beautiful."

86

Tad Williams

He stopped in the doorway. "Rest and sleep well. Lady.

We have much to talk about. Good night." The door fell

shut behind him. Miriamele immediately leaped from her

bed and drove home the bolt, then crawled back under her

blanket, overcome by a fit of shivering.

3

East of the World

*

"I'm a kmght now, aren't I?" Simon ran his hand

through the tnick fur of Qantaqa's neck. The wolf eyed

him impassively.

Binabik looked up from his sheaf of parchment and

nodded. "By an oath to your god and your prince." The

troll turned back to Morgenes' book once more. "That is

seeming to me to fit the knightly particulars."

Simon stared across the tiled expanse of the Fire Gar-

den, trying to think of how to put his thought into words.

"But ... but I don't feel any different. I'm a knighta

man! So why do I feel like the same person?"

Caught up in something he was reading, Binabik took

a moment to respond. "I am sorry, Simon," he said at last.

"I am not being a good friend for listening. Please say

what you were saying once more."

Simon bent and picked up a piece of loose stone, then

flung it skittering across the tiles and into the surrounding

undergrowth. Qantaqa bounded after it. "If I'm a knight

and a grown man, why do I feel like the same stupid scul-

lion?"

Binabik smiled. "It is not only you who has ever had

such feelings, friend Simon. Because a new season has

passed, or because a recognition has been given, still it is

not changing a person very much on the inside. You were

made Josua's knight because of bravery you showed on

Urmsheim. If you were changing, it was not at (he cere-

mony yesterday, but on the mountain that it was happen-

ing." He patted Simon's booted foot. "Did you not say

88 Tad Williams

that you had learned something there, and also from the

spilling of the dragon's blood?"

"Yes." Simon squinted at Qantaqa's tail, which waved

above the heather like a puff of smoke.

"People, both trolls and lowtanders, are growing in

their own time," said the little man, "not when some-

one says that it is so. Be content. You will always be ex-

tremely Simon-like, but still I have been seeing much

change in the months we have been friends."

"Really?" Simon paused in mid-toss.

"Truth. You are becoming a man, Simon. Let it happen

at the swiftness that it needs, and do not be worrying

yourself." He rattled the papers. "Listen, I want to read

something to you." He ran a stubby finger along the lines

of Morgenes' spidery handwriting. "I am grateful beyond

telling to Strangyeard, that he brought this book out of the

ruin of Naglimund. It is our last tie to that great man,

your teacher." His finger paused. "Ah. Here. Morgenes

writes of King Prester John;

".. . If he was touched by divinity, it was most ev-

ident in his comings and goings, in his finding

the correct place to be at the most suitable time,

and profiting thereby ..."

"I read that part," Simon said with mild interest.

"Then you will have noticed its significantness for our

efforts," the troll replied.

"For John Presbyter knew that in both war and

diplomacyas also with love and commerce, two

other not dissimilar occupationsthe rewards

usually do not fall to the strong or to even the

just, but rather to the lucky. John also knew that

he who moves swiftly and without undue caution

makes his own luck."

Simon frowned at Binabik's pleased expression. "So?"

"Ah." The troll was imperturbable. "Listen further."

TOGREENANOELTOWER89

"Thus, in the war that brought Nabban under his

imperial hand, John took his far-outnumbered

troop through the f)nestrine Pass and directly

into the spear-points of Ardrivis' legions, when

all knew that only a fool would do so. It was this

very foolhardiness, this seeming madness, that

gave John's smaller force a great advantage of

surpriseand even, to the startled Nabbanai

army, an aura of God-touched irresistibility."

Simon found the note of triumph in the little man's

voice faintly disquieting. Binabik seemed to think that

the point was somehow very clear. Simon frowned, think-

ing.

"Are you saying that we should be like King John?

That we should try to catch Elias by surprise?" It was an

astonishing idea. 'That we should ... attack him?"

Binabik nodded, his teeth bared in a yellow smile.

"Clever Simon! Why not? We have only been reacting,

not acting. Perhaps a change will be helpful."

"But what about the Storm King?" Shaken by the

thought, he looked out at the beclouded horizon, Simon

did not even like to say that name beneath the wide slate

sky in this alien place. "And besides, Binabik, we are

only a few hundred. King Elias has thousands of soldiers.

Everybody knows it!"

The troll shrugged. "Who says we must be fighting

army to army? In any case, our little company is growing

every day, as more folk come across the meadows to ...

what was Josua's naming? Ah. New Gadrinsett."

Simon shook his head and flung another shard of wind-

smoothed stone. "It seems stupid to meno, not stupid.

But too dangerous."

Binabik was not upset. He whistled for Qantaqa,

who came trotting back across the stone flags. "Perhaps

it is being just that, Simon. Let us walk for a little

while."

A

Tad Williams

Prince Josua stared down at the sword, his face trou-

bled. The good cheer he had shown at Simon's feast

seemed entirely gone.

It was not that the prince was truly any happier of late,

Sir Deornoth decided, but he had learned that his self-

doubts made those around him uneasy. In times like these,

people preferred a fearless prince to an honest one, so

Josua labored to present a mask of calm optimism to his

subjects. But Deomoth, who knew him well, had little

doubt that Josua's responsibilities still weighed on him as

heavily as they ever had.

He is like my mother, Deornoth realized, A strange

thing to think of a prince. But like her, he feels he must

take the worries and fears of all onto himself, that no one

else can bear the burden.

And, as Deomoth had seen his mother do, Josua also

seemed to be aging faster than those around him. Always

slender, the prince had become very thin during the com-

pany's flight from Naglimund. He had regained a little of

his girth, but there was a strange aura of fragility about

him now that would not go away: Deomoth thought him

a little unworldly, like a man just risen from a long ill-

ness. The gray streaks in his hair had increased drastically

and his eyes, although still as sharp and knowing as ever,

held a slightly feverish gleam.

He needs peace. He needs rest. I wish I could stand at

the foot of his bed and protect him while he slept for a

year. "God give him strength," he murmured.

Josua turned to look at him. "I'm sorry, my mind was

wandering. What did you say?"

Deomoth shook his head, not wishing to lie, but not

caring to share his thoughts either- They both turned their

attention back to the sword.

Prince and liege-man stood before the long stone table

in the building Geloe had named Leavetaking House. All

traces of the previous night's feast had been cleared away,

and now only one gleaming black object lay upon the

smooth stone.

"To think that so many have died at the end of that

blade," Deornoth said at last. He touched the cord-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

91

wrapped hilt; Thorn was as cold and lifeless as the rock

on which it rested.

"And more recently," the prince murmured, "think of

how many have died that we might have it."

"But surely, if it cost us so dearly, we should not just

leave it lying here in an open hall where anyone may

come." Deomoth shook his head. "This might be our

greatest hope. Highnessour only hope! Should we not

hide it away safe, or put it under guard?"

Josua almost smiled. "To what purpose, Deornoth?

Any treasure can be stolen, any castle thrown down, any

hiding place nosed out. Better it should lie where all can

see and feel what hope is in it." He narrowed his eyes as

he stared down at the blade. "Not that I feel much hope

looking at it. I trust you will not think me any the less

princely if I say it gives me a kind of chill." He slowly

ran his hand down the length of the blade. "In any case,

from what Binabik and young Simon have said, no one

will take this sword where it does not wish to go. Besides,

if it lies here in view of all, like Tethtain's ax in the heart

of the fabled beech tree, perhaps someone will come for-

ward to tell us how it may serve."

Deomoth was puzzled. "You mean one of the common

people. Highness?"

IThe prince grunted. "There are all kinds of wisdom,

i Deomoth. If we had listened sooner to the common folk

'living on the Frostmarch when they told us that evil was

abroad in the land, who knows what anguish we might

;1have been spared? No, Deomoth, any word of wisdom

^about this sword is valuable to us now, any old song, any

, half-remembered story." Josua could not hide his look of

^discontent. "After all, we have no idea of what good it

|can do usin fact, no idea that it will do good at all, but

;'for an obscure and ancient rhyme...."

A harsh voice sang out, interrupting him.

"When frost doth grow on Cloves' bell

And shadows walk upon the wad

When water blackens in the Well

Three Swords must come again."

92 Tad Williams

The two men turned in surprise. Geloe stood at the

doorway. She continued the rhyme as she walked toward

them.

"When Bukken from the Earth do creep

And Hunen from the heights descend

When Nightmare throttles peaceful Sleep

Three Swords must come again.

"To turn the stride of treading Fate

To clear the fogging Mists of lime

If Early shall resist Too Late

Three Swords must come again.

"I could not help hearing you. Prince JosuaI have

keen ears. Your words are very wise. But as to doubting

whether the sword will help ..." She grimaced. "Forgive

an old forest woman for her bluntness, but if we do not

believe in the potency of Nisses' prophecy, what else do

we have?"

Josua tried to smile. "I was not disputing that it means

something significant to us, Valada Geloe- I only wish I

knew more clearly what kind of a weapon these swords

will be."

"As do we all." The witch woman nodded to Deomoth,

then flicked a glance at the black sword. "Still, we have

one of the three Great Swords, and that is more than we

had a season ago."

"True. Very true." Josua leaned back against the stone

table. "And we are in a safe place, thanks to you. I have

not grown blind to good fortune, Geloe."

"But you are worried." It was not a question. "It is be-

coming harder to feed our growing settlement, and harder

to govern those who live here."

The prince nodded. "Many of whom are not even sure

why they are here, except that they followed other set-

tlers. After such a freezing summer, I do not know how

we will survive the winter."

"The people will listen to you. Highness," said

Deomoth. When the witch woman was present, Josua

TOGREENANGELTOWER

93

seemed more like a careful student than a prince. He had

never learned to like it, and had only partially learned to

hide his annoyance. "They will do what you say. We will

survive the winter together."

"Of course, Deomoth." Josua laid his hand upon his

friend's shoulder. "We have come through too much to be

balked by the petty problems of today."

He looked as if he would say more, but at that moment

they heard the sound of footsteps on the wide stairs out-

side. Young Simon and the troll appeared in the doorway,

followed closely by Binabik's tame wolf. The great beast

sniffed the air, then snuffled at the stone on all sides of

the door as well before trotting off to lie down in a far

comer of the hall. Deomoth watched her go with some re-

lief. He had seen numerous proofs of her harmlessness,

but he had been raised a child of the Erkynlahdish coun-

tryside, where wolves were the demons of fireplace tales.

"Ah," Josua said cheerfully, "my newest knight, and

with him the honored envoy from far Yiqanuc. Come, sit

down." He pointed to a row of stools left from the previ-

ous evening's festivities. "We wait on only a few more,

including Count Eolair." The prince turned to Geloe.

"You saw to him, did you not?'Is he well?"

"A few cuts and bruises. He is thin, toohe has ridden

far with little food. But his health is good."

Deomoth thought she would not say much more if the

Count of Nad Mullach had been drawn and quartered

but still would have him on his feet again soon. The witch

woman did not show his prince proper respect, and had

few traits that Deomoth considered womanly, but he had

to admit that she was very good at the things she did.

"I am happy to hear it." Josua tucked his hand under

his cloak. "It is cold here. Let us make a fire so we can

speak without our teeth chattering."

As Josua and the others talked, Simon fetched pieces of

wood from the pile in the comer and stacked them in the

firepit, happy to have something to do. He was proud to

be part of this high company, but not quite able to take

his membership for granted.

94

Tad Williams

"Stand them touching at the top, spread at the bottom,"

Geloe advised.

He did as she suggested, making a conical tent of fire-

wood in the middle of the ashes. When he had finished,

he looked around. The crude firepit seemed out of place

on the finely-crafted stone floor, as though animals had

taken up residence in one of the great houses of Simon's

own kind. There seemed no Sithi-built equivalent of the

pit anywhere in the long chamber. How had they kept the

room heated? Simon remembered Aditu running barefoot

on the snow and decided that they might not have both-

ered.

"Is Leavetaking House really the name of this place?"

he asked Geloe as she came forward with her flint and

steel. She ignored him for a moment as she squatted be-

side the firepit, putting a spark to the curls of bark that

lay around the logs.

"It is as close a name as any. I would have called it

'Hall of Farewell,' but the troll corrected my Sithi gram-

mar." She showed a tight smile. A thread of smoke

floated up past her hands.

Simon thought she might have made a joke, but he

wasn't quite sure. " 'Leavetaking' because this room was

where the two families split up?"

"I believe it is the place where they parted, yes. Where

the accord was struck. I imagine it has or had some other

name for the Sithi, since it was in use long before the

parting of those two tribes."

So he had been right: his vision had shown him the

past of this place. Pondering, he stared along the pillared

hall, at the columns of carved stone still clean and sharp-

edged after countless years. Jiriki's people had once been

mighty builders, but now their homes in the forest were

as changeable and impermanent as the nests of birds. Per-

haps the Sithi were wise not to put down deep roots. Still,

Simon thought, a place that was always there, a home that

did not change, seemed right now to be the finest treasure

in the world.

"Why did the two families separate?"

Geloe shrugged. "There is never one reason for such a

TOGREENANGELTOWER95

great change, but I have heard that mortals had something

to do with it."

Simon remembered the last, terrible hour in the Yasira.

"The Nom QueenUtuk'ku. She was mad that the Sithi

hadn't... 'scourged the mortals from the land,* she said.

And she also said that Amerasu wouldn't leave the mor-

tals be. Us mortals. Like me." It was hard to think of

Amerasu the Ship-Bom without shame: her assassin had

claimed that he followed Simon to Jao e-Tinukai'i.

The witch woman stared at him for a moment. "I forget

sometimes how much you have seen, boy. I hope you do

not forget when your time comes."

"What time?"

"As to the parting of Sithi and Nom," she continued,

ignoring his question, "mortals came into it, but also it is

told that the two houses were uneasy allies even in the

land of their origin."

"The Garden?"

"As they call it. I do not know the stories wellsuch

tales have never been of much interest to me. I have al-

ways worked with the things that are before me, things

that can be touched and seen and spoken to. There was a

woman in it, a Sitha-woman, and a man of the Hikeda'ya

as well. She died. He died. Both families were bitter. It is

old business, boy. If you see your friend Jiriki again, ask

him. It is the history of his own family, after all."

Geloe stood and walked away, leaving Simon to warm

his hands before the flames.

These old stories are like blood. They run through peo-

ple, even when they don't know it or think about it. He

considered this idea for a moment. But even if you don't

think about them, when the bad times come, the old sto-

ries come out on every side. And that's just like blood,

too.

As Simon sat contemplating, Hotvig arrived with his

right-hand man Ozhbern. They were quickly followed by

Isorn and his mother, Duchess Gutrun.

"How is my wife. Duchess?" asked Josua.

"Not feeling well, your Highness," she replied, "or she

96

Tad Williams

would have been here. But it is only to be expected. Chil-

dren aren't just difficult after they arrive, you know."

"I know very little, good lady," Josua laughed. "Espe-

cially about this. I have never been a father before."

Soon Father Strangyeard appeared, accompanied by

Count Eolair of Nad Mullach. The count had replaced his

traveling garments with Thrithings clothes, breeches and

shin of thick brown wool. He wore a golden torque at his

neck, and his black hair was pulled back in a long tail. Si-

mon remembered seeing him long ago, at the Hayholt,

and once again had to marvel at the strangeness of Fate,

how it moved people about the world like markers in a

vast game of shent.

"Welcome, Eolair, welcome," Josua said. "Thanks be

to Aedon, it does my heart good to see you again."

"And mine. Highness." The count tossed the saddle-

bags he carried against the wall by the door, then touched

a knee briefly to the ground. He rose to Josua's embrace.

"Greetings from the Hemystiri nation in exile."

Josua quickly introduced Eolair to those he had not

met. To Simon, the count said: "I have heard something

of your adventures since I arrived." The smile on his thin

face was warm. "I hope you will put aside some time to

speak with me."

Flattered, Simon nodded. "Certainly, Count."

Josua led Eolair to the long table where Thorn waited,

solemn and terrible as a dead king upon his bier.

"The famous blade of Camaris," said the Hemystirman.

"I have heard of it so many times, it is strange to see it

at last and realize it is a real thing, forged of metal like

any other weapon.'"

Josua shook his head. "Not quite like any other

weapon."

"May I touch it?"

"Of course."

Eolair was barely able to lift the hilt from the stone ta-

ble. The cords of his neck stood out in sharp relief as he

strained at it. At last he gave up and rubbed his cramped

fingers. "It is as weighty as a millstone."

"Sometimes." Josua patted his shoulder. "Other times

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

97

it is as light as goosedown. We do not know why, nor do

we know what good it will do us, but it is all we have."

"Father Strangyeard told me of the rhyme," the count

said. "I think I have more to tell you about the Great

Swords." He looked around the room. "If this is the

proper time."

"This is a war council," Josua said simply. "All these

folk can be told anything, and we are anxious for any

news about the swords. We also wish to hear of your peo-

ple, of course. I understand that Lluth is dead. You have

our great sympathy. He was a splendid man and a fine

king."

Eolair nodded. "And Gwythinn, too, his son."

Sir Deornoth, seated on a stool nearby, groaned. "Oh,

that is foul news! He set out from Naglimund shortly be-

fore the siege. What happened?"

"He was caught by Skali's Kaldskrykemen and butch-

ered." Eolair stared down at the ground. "They dumped

his body at the foot of the mountain, like offal, and rode

away."

"A curse on them!" Deomoth snarled,

"I am ashamed to call them countrymen," said young

Isom.

His mother nodded her agreement. "When my husband

returns, he will deal with Sharp-nose." She sounded as

certain as if she spoke of sunset coming.

"Still, we are all countrymen, here," Josua said. "We

are all one people. From this day forward, we go together

against common enemies." He gestured to the stools that

stood against the wall. "Come, everybody sit down. We

must fetch and carry for ourselves: I thought that the

smaller this group remained, the easier it would be to

speak openly."

When all were arrayed, Eolair told of Hernystir's

downfall, beginning with the slaughter at the Inniscrich

and Lluth's mortal wounding. He had barely started when

there was a commotion outside the hall. A moment later,

the old jester Towser stumbled through the door with

Sangfugol tugging at his shirt, trying to restrain him.

"So!" The old man fixed Josua with a reddened stare.

98 Tad Williams

"You are no more loyal than your murdering brother'" He

swayed as Sangfugol pulled at him desperately. Pink-

cheeked and wild-hairedwhat little hair was left

Towser was clearly drunk.

"Come away, curse you!" the harper said. "I'm sorry,

my prince, he just suddenly leaped up and ..."

'To think that after all my years of service," Towser

spluttered, "that I should be ... should be ... excluded,"

he pronounced the word with proud care, unaware of the

strand of spittle that hung from his chin, "should be

shunned, barred from your councils, when I was the one

closest to your father's heart.. -."

Josua stood up, regarding the jester sadly. "I cannot

talk to you now, old man. Not when you are like this." He

frowned, watching Sangfugol struggle with him.

"I will help. Prince Josua," Simon said. He could not

bear to watch the old man shame himself a moment

longer. Simon and the harper managed to get Towser

turned around. As soon as his back was to the prince, the

fight seemed to drain out of him; the jester allowed him-

self to be steered toward the door.

Outside, a bitter wind was blowing across the hilltop.

Simon took off his cloak and draped it around Towser's

shoulders. The jester sat down on the top step, a bundle

of sharp bones and thin skin, and said: "I think I will be

sick." Simon patted his shoulder and looked helplessly at

Sangfugol, whose gaze was less than sympathetic.

"It is like taking care of a child," the harper growled.

"No, children are better-behaved. Leieth, for example,

who doesn't talk at all."

"/ told them where to find that damnable black sword,"

Towser mumbled. 'Told them where it was. Told them

about the other, too, how 'Lias wouldn't hold it. 'Your fa-

ther wants you to have it,' I told him, but he wouldn't lis-

ten. Dropped it like a snake. Now the black sword, too."

A tear ran down his white-whiskered cheek. "He tosses

me away like an orange rind."

"What is he talking about?" asked Simon.

Sangfugol curled his lip. "He told the prince some

things about Thorn before you left to find it. I don't know

TOGREENANGELTOWER

99

what the rest's about." He leaned down and grasped Tow-

ser's arm. "Huh. Easy for him to complainhe doesn't

have to play nursemaid to himself." He showed Simon a

sour smile. "Ah, well, there are probably bad days in a

knight's career, too, are there not? Like when people hit

you with swords and so on?" He pulled the jester to his

feet and waited for the old man to get his balance. "Nei-

ther Towser nor I are in a very good mood, Simon. Not

your fault. Come see me later and we'll drink some

wine."

Sangfugol turned and walked away across the waving

grass, trying both to support Towser and simultaneously

keep him as far as possible from the harper's clean

clothes.

Prince Josua nodded his thanks when Simon reentered

Leavetaking House; Simon felt odd being commended for

such disheartening duty. Eolair was finishing his descrip-

tion of the fall of Hemysadharc and of his people's flight

into the Grianspog Mountains. As he told of the remain-

ing Hemystirfolk's retreat into the caves that riddled the

mountain and how they had been led there by the king's

daughter. Duchess Outrun smiled.

"This Maegwin is a clever girl. You are lucky to have

her, if the king's wife is as helpless as you say."

The count's smile was a pained one. "You are right,

Lady. She is indeed her father's daughter. I used to think

she would make a better ruler than Gwythinn, who was

sometimes headstrongbut now I am not so sure."

He told of Maegwin's growing strangeness, of her vi-

sions and dreams, and of how those dreams had led

Lluth's daughter and the count down into the mountain's

heart to the ancient stone city of Mezutu'a.

As he told of the city and its unusual tenants, the

dwarrows, the company listened in amazement. Only

Geloe and Binabik did not seem astonished by Eolair's

tale.

"Wonderful," Strangyeard whispered, staring up at

Leavetaking House's arched ceiling as though he were

even now deep in the bowels of Grianspog. "The Pattern

Hall! What marvelous stories must be written there."

100 Tad Williams

"You may read some of them later," Eolair said with

some amusement. "I am glad that the spirit of scholarship

has survived this evil winter." He turned back to the com-

pany. "But what is perhaps most important of all is what

the dwarrows said about the Great Swords. They claim

that they forged Minneyar."

"We are knowing some of Minneyar's story," said

Binabik, "and the dwarrowsor dvernings, as the north-

men call themare in that story."

"But it is where Minneyar has gone that most concerns

us," Josua added. "We have one sword. Elias has the

other. The third ..."

"Nearly everyone in this hall has seen the third," Eolair

said, "and seen the place where it now lies as wellif the

dwarrows are correct. For they say that Minneyar went

into the Hayholt with Fingil, but that Prester John found

it ... and called it Bright-Nail- If they are right, Josua, it

was buried with your father."

"Oh, my!" Strangyeard murmured. A moment of

stunned silence followed his utterance.

"But I held it in my hand," Josua said at last, wonder-

ingly. "I myself placed it on my father's breast. How

could Bright-Nail be Minneyar? My father never said a

word about it!"

"No, he did not." Outrun was surprisingly brisk- "He

would never even tell my husband. Told Isgrimnur it was

an old, unimportant story." She shook her head. "Se-

crets."

Simon, who had been listening quietly, spoke up at last.

"But didn't he bring Bright-Nail from Warinsten, where

he was born?" He looked to Josua, suddenly fearful that

he was being presumptuous. "Your father, I mean. That is

the story I knew."

Josua frowned, considering. "That is the story that

many told, but now that I think c^ it, my father was never

one of them."

"Of course! Oh, of course!" Strangyeard sat up, slap-

ping his long hands together. His eyepatch slid a little, so

that its comer edged onto the bridge of his nose. "The

passage that troubled Jarnauga so, that passage from Mor-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 101

genes' book! It told how John went down to face the

dragonbut he carried a spear! A spear! Oh, good-

ness, how blind we were!" The priest giggled like a

young boy. "But when he came out, it was with Bright-

Nail! Oh, Jamauga, if only you were here!"

The prince raised his hand. "There is much to think of

here, and many old tales that should be retold, but for the

moment there is a more important problem. If the

dwarrows are right, and somehow I feel that they are

who could doubt such a mad tale, in this mad sea-

son?we still must get the sword, call it Bright-Nail or

Minneyar. It lies in my father's grave on Swertclif, just

outside the walls of the Hayholt. My brother can stand on

his battlements and see the grave mounds. The Erkyn-

guard parade on the cliff's edge at dawn and dusk."

The giddy moment was over. In the heavy silence that

followed, Simon felt the first stirrings of an idea- It was

vague and unformed, so he kept it to himself. It was also

rather frightening.

Eolair spoke up- "There is more, your Highness. I told

you of the Pattern Hall, and of the charts the dwarrows

keep there of all the delvingg they have done." He rose

and walked to the saddlebags he had deposited near the

doorway. When he returned, he spilled them upon the

floor. Several rolls of oiled sheepskin tumbled on.

"These are the plans for the diggings beneath the

Hayholt, a task the dwarrows say they performed when

the castle was named Asu'a and belonged to the Sithi."

Strangyeard was the first down on his knees. He un-

furled one of the sheepskins with the tender care of a

lover. "Ah!" he breathed. "Ah!" His rhapsodic smile

changed to a look of puzzlement. "I must confess," he

said finally, "that I am, ah, somewhat ... somewhat dis-

appointed. I had not thought that the dwarrows' maps

would be ... dear me! ... would be so crude."

"Those are not the dwarrows' maps," said Eolair,

frowning. "Those are the painstaking work of two

Hernystiri scribes laboring in cramped near-darkness in a

frightening place, copying the stone charts of the

102 Tad Williams

dwarrows onto something I could carry up to the sur-

face."

"Oh!" The priest was mortified. "Oh! Forgive me,

Count! I am so sorry...."

"Never mind, Strangyeard." Josua turned to the Count

of Nad Mullach. "This is an unlooked-for boon, Eolair.

On the day when we can finally stand before the

Hayholt's walls, we will praise your name to the heav-

ens."

"You are welcome to them, Josua. It was Maegwin's

idea, if truth be told. I am not sure what good they will

do, but knowledge is never badas I*m sure your archi-

vist will agree." He gestured to Strangyeard, who was

rooting among the sheepskins like a shoat who had un-

covered a clump of truffles. "But I must confess I came

to you in hope of more than thanks. When I left

Hemystir, it was with the idea that I would find your

rebel army and we would together drive Skali of

Kaldskryke from my land. As I see, though, you are

scarcely in a position to send an army anywhere."

"No." Josua's expression was grim. "We are still very

few. More trickle in every day, but it would be a long

wait before we could send even a small company to the

aid of Hernystir." He stood and walked a little way out

across the room, rubbing the stump of his right wrist as

though it pained him. "This whole struggle has been like

fighting a war blindfolded: we have never known or un-

derstood the strength brought against us. Now that we be-

gin to grasp the nature of our enemies, we are too few to

do anything but hide here in the remotest regions of Osten

Ard."

Deomoth leaned forward. "If we could strike back

somewhere, my prince, people would rise on your behalf.

Very few beyond the Thrithings even know that you still

live."

"There is truth to that. Prince Josua," Isom said. "I

know there are many in Rimmersgard who hate Skali.

Some helped to hide me when I escaped from Sharp-

nose's war camp."

"As far as that, Josua, your survival is only a dim ru-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

103

mor in Hemystir as well," said Eolair. "Just to carry that

information back to my people in the Grianspog will

make my journey here a great success."

Josua, who had been pacing, stopped. "You will take

them more than that. Count Eolair. I swear to you, you

will take them more hope than that." He passed his hand

across his eyes, like one wakened too early, "By the Tree,

what a day! Let us stop and take some bread. In any case,

I would like to think about what I have heard." He smiled

wearily. "Also, I should go and see my wife." He waved

his arm. "Up, all, up. Except you, Strangyeard. I suppose

you will stay behind?"

The archivist, surrounded by sheepskins, did not even

hear him-

Immersed in dark and mazy thoughts, Pryrates did not

for some time notice the sound.

When at last it cut through the fog of his preoccupa-

tion, he stopped abruptly, teetering on the edge of the

step.

"Azha she'she t'chako, urun she'she bhabekro ..."

The sound that rose from the darkened stairwell was

delicate but dire, a solemn melody that wove in and out

of painful dissonance: it might have been the contempla-

tive hymn of a spider winding its prey in sticky silk.

Breathy and slow, it slid sourly between notes, but with a

deftness that suggested the seeming tunelessness was

intentionalwas in fact based in an entirely different

concept of melody.

"Mudhul samat'ai. Jabbak s'era memekeza sanayha-z.'d

Ninyek she 'she, hamut 'tke agrazh 'a s 'era ye ..."

A lesser man might have turned and fled back toward

the upper reaches of the daylit castle rather than meet the

singer of such an unsettling tune. Pryrates did not hesi-

104 Tad Williams

tate, but set off downward once more, his boots echoing

on the stone steps. A second thread of melody joined the

first, just as alien, just as dreadfully patient; together they

droned like wind over a chimney hole.

Pryrates reached the landing and turned into the corri-

dor. The two Noms who stood before the heavy oaken

door abruptly fell silent. As he approached, they gazed at

him with the incurious and faintly insulting expression of

cats disturbed while sunning.

They were big for Hikeda'ya, Pryrates realized: each

was tall as a very tall man, though they were thin as

starveling beggars. They held their silver-white lances

loosely, and their deathly pale faces were calm within the

dark hoods.

Pryrates stared at the Morns. The Norns stared at

Pryrates.

"Well? Are you going to gape or are you going to open

the door for me?"

One of the Noms slowly bowed his head. "Yes, Lord

Pryrates." There was not the slightest hint of deference in

his icy, accented speech. He turned around and pulled

open the great door, exposing a corridor red with torch-

light and more stairs. Pryrates stepped between the two

guards and started downward; the door swung shut behind

him. Before he had gone ten steps, the eerie spider-

melody had begun once more.

Hammers rose and fell, clanging and clattering, pound-

ing the cooling metal into shapes useful to the king who

sat in a darkened throne room far above his foundry. The

din was terrible, the stenchbrimstone, white-hot iron,

earth scorched to dry salt, even the savory-sweet odor of

burned manflesheven worse.

The deformity of the men who scurried back and forth

across the floor of the great forge chamber was severe, as

though the terrible, baking heat of this underground cav-

ern had melted them like bad metal- Even their heavy,

padded clothing could not hide it. In truth, Pryrates knew,

it was only those hopelessly twisted in body or spirit or

both that still remained here, working in Elias' armory. A

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER105

few of the others had been lucky enough to escape early

on, but most of the able-bodied had been worked to death

by Inch, the hulking overseer. A few smallish groups had

been selected by Pryrates himself to aid in certain of his

experiments; what was left of them had eventually been

returned here, to feed the same furnaces in death they had

served in life.

The king's counselor squinted through the hanging

smoke, watching the forge men as they struggled along

beneath huge burdens or hopped back like scalded frogs

when a tongue of flame came too close. One way or the

other, Pryrates reflected. Inch had dealt with all those

more lovely or clever than himself.

In fact, Pryrates thought, grinning at his own cruel lev-

ity, if that was the standard it was a miracle anyone at all

remained to stoke the fires or tend the molten metals in

the great crucibles.

There was a lull in the clangor of hammers, and in that

moment of near-quiet, Pryrates heard a squeaking noise

behind him. He turned, careful not to appear too hurried,

in case someone was watching. Nothing could frighten

the red priest: it was important that everyone know that.

When he saw what made the sound, he grinned and spat

onto the stone.

The vast water wheel covered most of the cavern wall

behind him. The mighty wooden wheel, steel-shod and

fixed on a hub cross-cut from a huge tree trunk, dipped

water from a powerful stream that sluiced through the

forge, then lifted it up and spilled it into an ingenious lab-

yrinth of troughs. These directed the water to a number of

different spots throughout the forge, to cool metal or to

put out fires, or evenwhen the rare mood struck

Inchto be lapped at by the forge's parched and misera-

ble laborers. The turning wheel also drove a series of

black-scummed iron chains, the largest of which reached

vertically up into the darkness to provide the motive force

for certain devices dear to Pryrates' heart. But at this mo-

ment it was the digging and lifting of the wheel's paddles

that engaged the alchemist's imagination. He wondered

idly if such a mechanism, built mountain-large and spun

io6 Tad Williams

by the straining sinews of several thousand whimpering

slaves, could not dredge up the bottom of the sea and ex-

pose the secrets hidden for eons there in darkness.

As he contemplated what fascinating things the

millenial ooze might disgorge, a wide, black-nailed hand

dropped down upon his sleeve. Pryrates whirled and

slapped it away.

"How dare you touch me?!" he hissed, dark eyes nar-

rowing. He bared his teeth as though he might tear out the

throat of the tall, stooping figure before him.

Inch stared back for a moment before replying. His

round face was furred by a patchwork of beard and fire-

scarred flesh. He seemed, as always, thick and implacable

as stone. "You want to talk to me?"

"Never touch me again." Pryrates' voice was restrained

now, but it still trembled with a deadly tension. "Never."

Inch frowned, his uneven brow wrinkling. The hole

where one eye had been gaped unpleasantly. "What do

you need from me?"

The alchemist paused and took a breath, forcing down

the black rage that had climbed up into his skull. Pryrates

was surprised at his own violent reaction. It was foolish

to waste anger on the brutish foundrymaster. When Inch

had served his purpose, he could be slaughtered like the

dull beast he was. Until then, he was useful to the king's

plansand, more importantly, to Pryrate's own.

"The king wishes the curtain wall refortified. New

joists, new cross-bracingthe heaviest timbers that we

can bring from the Kynslagh."

Inch lowered his head, thinking. The effort was almost

palpable. "How soon?" he said at last.

"By Candlemansa. A week later and you and all your

groundlings will find yourselves above the Nearulagh

Gate keeping company with ravens." Pryrates had to re-

strain a chuckle at the thought of Inch's misshapen head

spiked above the gate. Even the crows would not fight

over that morsel. "I will hear no excusesthat gives you

a third of a year. And speaking of the Nearulagh Gate,

there are a few other things you must do as well. A few

very important things. Some improvements to the gate's

TOGREENANGELTOWERI0y

defenses." He reached into his robe and produced a scroll.

Inch unfurled it and held it up to better catch the fitful

light of the forge fires. "That must also be finished by

Candlemansa."

"Where is the king's seal?" Inch wore a surprisingly

shrewd look on his puckered face.

Pryrates' hand flew up. A flicker of greasy yellow light

played along his fingertips. After a moment the glow

winked out; he let his hand drop back to his side, hidden

in a voluminous scarlet sleeve. "If you ever question me

again," the alchemist gritted, "I will blast you to flakes of

ash."

The foundry master's face was solemn. "Then walls and

gate will not be finished. No one makes them work as fast

as Doctor Inch."

"Doctor Inch." Pryrates curled his thin lip. "Usires

save me, I am tired of talking to you- Just do your Job as

King Elias wishes. You are luckier than you know, bump-

kin. You will see the beginning of a great era, a golden

age." But only the beginning, and not much of that, the

priest promised himself. "I will be back in two days. You

will tell me then how many men you need, and what other

things."

As he strode away, he thought he heard Inch call some-

thing after him, but when Pryrates turned, the forgemaster

was staring instead at the water wheel's thick spokes

passing in a never-ending circle. The clatter of hammers

was sharp, but still Pryrates could hear the ponderous,

mournful creaking of the turning wheel.

Duke Isgrimnur leaned on the windowsill, stroking his

new-sprouted beard and staring down at the greasy water-

ways of Kwanitupul. The storm had passed, the sprinkling

of bizarrely unseasonal snow had melted, and the marshy

air, though still oddly cool, had returned to its usual stick-

iness. Isgrimnur felt a strong urge to be moving, to do

something.

Trapped, he thought. Pinned down as surely as if by

io8 Tad Williams

archers. It's like the damnable Battle of Clodu Lake all

over again.

But of course there were no archers, no hostile forces

of any kind. Kwanitupul, at least temporarily freed from

the cold's grip and restored to its usual mercenary exis-

tence, paid no more attention to Isgrimnur than it did to

any of the thousands of others who occupied its ram-

shackle body like so many busy fleas. No, it was circum-

stance that had trapped the former master of Elvritshalla,

and circumstance was right now a more implacable en-

emy than any human foes, no matter how many and how

well-armed.

Isgrimnur stood up with a sigh and turned to look at

Camaris, who sat propped against the far wall, tying and

untying a length of rope. The old man, once the greatest

knight in Osten Ard, looked up and smiled his soft, idiot-

child's smile. For all his white-haired age, his teeth were

still good. He was strong, too, with a grip most young

tavern brawlers would envy.

But weeks of constant effort on Isgrimnur's part had

not altered that maddening smile. Whether Camaris was

bewitched, wounded in the head, or simply deranged with

age, it all came to the same end: the duke had not been

able to summon forth even a flicker of recollection. The

old man did not recognize Isgrimnur, did not remember

his past or even his own true name. If the duke had not

once known Camaris so well he might even have begun to

doubt his own senses and memory, but Isgrimnur had

seen John's paramount knight at every season, in every

light, in good times and evil times. The old man might no

longer know himself, but Isgrimnur was not mistaken.

Still, what should be done with him? Whether he was

hopelessly mad or not, he should be helped. The most ob-

vious task was to get the old man to those who would re-

member and revere him. Even if the world Camaris had

helped build was now crumbling, even if King Elias had

laid waste to the dream of Camaris' friend and liege-lord

John, still the old man deserved to spend his last years in

some better place than this backwater pesthole. Also, if

anyone yet survived of Prince Josua's folk, they should

TOGREENANGELTOWER

109

know that Camaris lived. The old man could be a power-

ful emblem of hope and of better daysand Isgrimnur, a

shrewd statesman for all his bluff disavowals, knew the

value of a symbol.

But even if Josua or some of his captains had somehow

survived and regrouped somewhere to the north of here,

as Kwanitupul market rumor suggested, how could

Isgrimnur and Camaris reach them through a Nabban full

of enemies? How could he leave this inn in any case? Fa-

ther Dinivan, with his dying breath, had told Isgrimnur to

bring Miriamele here. The duke had not found her before

being forced to flee the Sancellan Aedonitis, but

Miriamele might already know of this placeperhaps

Dinivan himself had mentioned it to her! She might come

here, alone and friendless, and find Isgrimnur already

gone. Could the duke risk that? He owed it to Josua

whether the prince was living or deadto do his best to

help her.

Isgrimnur had hoped that Tiamakwho in some

unspecified way was an intimate of Dinivan'smight

know something about Miriamele's whereabouts, but that

hope had been immediately dashed. After much prodding,

the little brown man had admitted that Dinivan had sent

him here as well, but without explanation. Tiamak had

been very preoccupied with the news of the deaths of

Dinivan and Morgenes and afterward had offered nothing

helpful to Isgrimnur at all. In fact, the duke thought him

somewhat sullen. Although the marsh man's leg was ob-

viously painfula cockindrill had bitten him. he said

still Isgrimnur thought that Tiamak could do more to help

solve the various riddles that plagued them both,

Dinivan's purpose uppermost among them. But instead he

seemed content just to sulk around the rooma room

paid for by Isgrimnur!or to spend long hours writing or

limping along the wooden walkways of Kwanitupul, as he

was doubtless doing now.

Isgrimnur was about to say something to silent Camaris

when there was a knock at the door. It creaked open to

reveal the landlady, Charystra.

"I've brought the food you asked for." Her tone im-

I 10 Tad Williams

plied that she had made some great personal sacrifice in-

stead of merely taking Isgrimnur's money for grossly

overpriced bed and board. "Some nice bread and soup.

Very nice. With beans." She set the tureen on the low ta-

ble and clanked down three bowls beside it. "I don't un-

derstand why you can't come down to eat with everyone

else." Everyone else was two Wrannaman feather mer-

chants and an itinerant gem cutter from Naraxi who was

looking for work.

"Because I pay not to," Isgrimnur growled-

"Where's the marsh man?" She ladled out the

unsteaming soup.

"I don't know, and I don't think it's business of yours,

either." He glowered. "I saw you go off with your friend

this morning."

"To the market," she sniffed. "I can't take my boat, be-

cause he" hands full, she waggled her head in the direc-

tion of Camaris, "never fixed it."

"Nor will I let him, for the sake of his dignityand

I'm paying you for that, too." Isgrimnur's sour temper

was rising. Charystra always tested the boundaries of the

duke's chivalry. "You are very quick with your tongue,

woman. I wonder what you tell your friends at the market

about me and your other strange guests."

She darted an apprehensive look in his direction.

"Nothing, I'm sure."

"That had better be true. I gave you money to keep si-

lent about . . . about my friend here." He looked at

Camaris, who was happily spooning oily soup into his

mouth. "But in case you think to take my money and still

spread tales, remember: if I find you have talked about

me or my business ... / will make you wish you hadn't."

He let his deep voice rumble the words like thunder.

Charystra took a step back in alarm. "I'm sure I

haven't said nothing! And you've no cause to be threaten-

ing me, sir! No cause! It's not right!" She started toward

the door, waving the ladle as if to fend off blows. "I said

I wouldn't say anything and I won't. Anyone will tell

youCharystra keeps her word'" She quickly made the

TOOREENANGELTOWER

III

sign of the Tree, then slipped out into the hall, leaving a

spatter of soup spots on the plank flooring.

"Hah," Isgrimnur snorted. He stared at the grayish

fluid still rippling in me bowl. Pay for her silence, indeed.

That was like paying the sun not to shine. He had been

throwing money around as though it were Wran water

soon it would run out. Then what would he do? It made

him angry just to think about it. "Hah!" he said again.

"Damn me."

Camaris wiped his chin and smiled, staring at nothing.

^

Simon leaned around the standing stone and peered

downward. The pale sun was nearly straight overhead; it

knifed down through the undergrowth, revealing a flicker

of reflection on the hillside.

"Here it is," he called back, then leaned against the

wind-smoothed pillar to wait- The white stone had not yet

shed its morning chill, and was even colder than the sur-

rounding air. After a moment, Simon began to feel his

bones turning to ice. He stepped away and turned to sur-

vey the line of the hill's edge. The standing stones circled

Sesuad'ra's summit like the spikes of a king's crown.

Several of the ancient pillars had fallen down, so the

crown had a somewhat bedraggled look, but most stood

tall and straight, still doing their duty after a span of un-

gues sable centuries.

They look just like the Anger Stones on Thisterborg, he

realized.

Could that be a Sithi place, too? There were certainly

enough strange stories told about it.

Where were those two? "Are you coming?" he called.

When he received no answer, he clambered around the

stone and made his way a short distance down the hill-

side, careful to keep a solid grip on the sturdy heather de-

spite the resultant prickling: the ground was muddy and

potentially treacherous. Below, the valley was full of gray

water that barely rippled, so that the new lake around the

hill seemed solid as a stone floor. Simon could not help

ii2Tad Williams

thinking of the days when he had climbed to the

bellchamber of Green Angel Tower and felt himself sit-

ting cloud-high above the world. Here on Sesuad'ra, it

was as though the entire hill of stone had just now been

bom, thrusting up from the primordial muck. It was easy

to pretend there was nothing beyond this place, that this

was how it must have felt when God stood atop Mount

Den Haloi and made the world, as told in the Book of the

Aedon.

Jiriki had told Simon about the coming of the

Gardenbom to Osten Ard. In those days, the Sitha had

said, most of the world had been covered in ocean, just as

the west still was. Jiriki's folk had sailed out of the rising

sun, across unimaginable distances, to land on the verdant

coastline of a world innocent of humanity, a vast island in

a great surrounding sea. Some later cataclysm, Jiriki had

implied, had men changed the face of the world; the land

had risen and the seas had drained away to east and south,

leaving new mountains and meadows behind them. Thus,

the Gardenborn could never return to their lost home.

Simon thought about this as he squinted out toward the

east. There was little to see from atop Sesuad'ra but

murky steppes, lifeless plains of endless gray and dull

green, stretching to where vision failed. From what Si-

mon had heard, the eastern steppes had been inhospitable

territory even before this dread winter: they grew increas-

ingly barren and shelterless the farther east of Aldheorte

Forest one went. Beyond a certain point, travelers

claimed, even the Hyrkas and Thrithings-folk did not

journey. The sun never truly shone there and the land was

sunken in perpetual twilight. The few hardy souls who

had crossed that murky expanse in search of other lands

had never returned.

He realized he had been staring a long time, yet he was

still alone. He was just about to call again when Jeremias

appeared, picking his way carefully through the brambles

and waist-high grass toward the edge of the hill. Leieth,

barely visible in the swaying undergrowth, held the young

squire's hand. She seemed to have taken a liking to Jere-

mias, although it was shown only by her constant proxim-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

113

ity. She still did not speak, and her expression remained

perpetually solemn and abstracted, but when she could

not be with Geloe, she was nearly always with Jeremias.

Simon guessed that she might have sensed in the young

squire something like her own pain, some shared afflic-

tion of the heart.

"Does it go down into the ground," Jeremias called,

"or over the edge?"

"Both," said Simon, pointing.

They had been following the path of this spring from

the point where it appeared in the building Geloe had

named the House of Waters. Issuing mysteriously from

the rocks, it did not drain away after pooling at the base

of the springwhere it provided fresh drinking water for

New Gadrinsett, and thus had become one of the centers

of gossip and commerce for the infant settlementbut

rather gurgled out of the little pond in a narrow streamlet,

passing out of the House of Waters, which was at one of

the highest points on Sesuad'ra, then running across the

summit as a tiny rivulet, appearing and disappearing as

the features of the ground changed. Simon had never seen

or heard of a spring that behaved in such a waywho

had ever heard of a spring on a hilltop, anyway?and he

was bound and determined to discover its path, and per-

haps its origin, before the storms returned and made the

hunt impossible.

Jeremias joined Simon a little way down the hillside.

They both stood over the swift-flowing rivulet.

"Do you think it goes all the way down," Jeremias ges-

tured to the vast gray moat around the base of the Stone

of Farewell, "or does it go back into the hill?"

Simon shrugged. Water that sprang from the heart of a

Sithi sacred mountain might indeed pass back into the

rock once more, like some. incomprehensible wheel of

creation and destructionlike the future approaching to

absorb the present, then quickly falling away again to be-

come the past. He was about to suggest further explora-

tion, but Leieth was making her way down the hill. Simon

worried for her, although she herself seemed to pay little

li4

Tad Williams

attention to the hazardous trail. She could easily slip, and

the slope was steep and dangerous.

Jeremias took a couple of steps up and reached for her,

catching her under her thin arms and lifting her down to

stand beside them. As he did so, her loose dress rode up,

and for a brief moment Simon saw her scars, long in-

flamed weals that covered her thighs. They must be far

worse on her stomach, he reflected.

He had been thinking all morning about what he had

heard in Leavetaking House about the Great Swords and

other things. These matters had seemed abstract, as

though Simon, his friends and allies, Elias, even the

dreadful Storm King himself, were no more than pieces

on a shent board, tiny things that could be considered in

a hundred different configurations. Now, suddenly, he

was reminded of the true horrors of the recent past.

Leieth, an innocent child, had been terrorized and sav-

aged by the hounds of Stormspike; thousands more just as

innocent had been made homeless, been orphaned, tor-

mented, killed. Anger suddenly made Simon sway on his

feet, as if the very force of his fury might knock him

stumbling- If there was any justice, someone would pay

for what had happenedfor Morgenes, Haestan, Leieth,

for Jeremias with his now-thin face and unspoken sor-

rows, for Simon himself, homeless and sad.

Usires have mercy on me, I would kill them all if I

could. Elias and Pryrates and their white-faced Nomsif

only I could, I would kill them with my own hands.

"I saw her at the castle," said Jeremias. Simon looked

up, startled. He had clenched his fists so tightly that his

knuckles hurt.

"What?"

"Leieth." Jeremias nodded at the child, who was

smearing her dirty face as she stared out across the

flooded valley. "When she was Princess Miriamele's

handmaiden. I remember thinking, 'what a pretty little

girl.' She was all dressed in white, carrying flowers- I

thought she looked very clean." He laughed quietly.

"Look at her now."

Simon found he did not want to talk about sorrowful

TOGREENANGELTOWER

115

things. "And look at you," he said. "You're one to be

talking about clean."

Jeremias would not be distracted. "Did you really

know her, Simon? The princess, I mean."

"Yes." Simon didn't want to tell Jeremias that story

again. He had been bitterly disappointed to find

Miriamele was not with Josua, and horrified that no one

knew where she was. He had dreamed of telling her his

adventures, of the way her bright eyes would go wide as

he told her of the dragon. "Yes." he repeated, "I knew

her."

"And was she beautiful, like a princess should be?"

Jeremias asked, suddenly intent.

"I suppose so." Simon was reluctant to talk about her.

"Yes, she wasI mean, she is."

Jeremias was about to ask something else, but was in-

terrupted. "Ho!" a voice cried from above. "There you

are'"

A strange, two-headed silhouette was looking down at

them from beside the standing stone. One of the heads

had pointed ears.

"We're trying to find out where the spring comes from

and where it goes, Binabik," Sunon called-

The wolf tilted her head and barked.

"Qantaqa thinks you should stop your water-following

for now, Simon," Binabik laughed. "Besides, Josua has

asked all to be returning to the Leavetaking Hall- There is

much to talk about."

"We're coming."

Simon and Jeremias each took one of Leieth's small

cold hands and clambered back up toward the hillcrest.

The sun stared down on them all like a milky eye.

All who had been gathered in the morning had returned

to Leavetaking House. They talked quietly, perhaps over-

awed by the size and strange dimensions of the hall, so

much more unsettling when it was not filled with a dis-

tracting crowd as it had been the night before. The sickly

afternoon light leaked in through the windows, but with

so little strength that it seemed to come from no direction

n6 Tad Williams

at all, smearing all the room equally; the meticulous wall-

carvings gleamed as though by their own faint inner light,

reminding Simon of the shimmering moss in the tunnels

beneath the Hayholt. He had been lost there in choking,

strangling blackness. He had been in a place beyond de-

spair. Surely to survive that meant something. Surely he

had been spared for a reason!

Please, Lord Aedon, he prayed, don't bring me so far

just to let me die?

But he had already cursed God for letting Haestan per-

ish. It was doubtless too late for making amends.

Simon opened his eyes to find that Josua had arrived.

The prince had been with Vorzheva, and assured them all

that she was feeling better.

Accompanying Josua were two who had not been at the

morning council, Sludigwho had been scouting the pe-

rimeter of the valleyand a heavyset young Falshireman

named Freosel, who had been chosen by the settlers as

constable of New Gadrinsett. Despite his relative youth,

Freosel had the wary, heavy-lidded look of a veteran

street fighter. He was liberally scarred and two of his fin-

gers were missing.

After Strangyeard had spoken a short blessing, and the

new constable had been cautioned to hold secret the

things he would hear. Prince Josua stood.

"We have many things to decide," he said, "but before

we begin, let me talk to you of good luck and of more

hopeful days.

"When it seemed that there was nothing left but despair

and defeat. God favored us- We are now in a safe place,

when a season ago we were scattered over the world, the

castaways of war. We undertook a quest for one of the

three Great Swords, which may be our hope of victory,

and that quest has succeeded. More people flock to our

banner every day, so that if we only can wait long

enough, we will soon have an army that will give even

my brother the High King pause-

"Our needs are still great, of course. Out of those peo-

ple driven from their homes throughout Erkynland, we

can indeed mount an army, but to overcome the High

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

117

King we will need many more. It is also certain that we

are already hard-pressed to feed and shelter those who are

here. And it is even possible that no army, however large

and well-provided, will be great enough to defeat Elias'

ally the Storm King." Josua paused. "Thus, as I see it, the

important questions we must answer this day are three:

What does my brother plan to do? How can we assemble

a force that will prevent it? And how can we retrieve the

other two swords, Bright-Nail and Sorrow, that we may

have a hope of defeating the Norns and their dark master

and mistress?"

Geloe lifted her hand. "Your pardon, Josua, but I think

there is one more question: How much time do we have

to do any of these things?"

"You are right, Valada Geloe. If we are able to protect

this place for another year, we might gather a great

enough force to begin disputing Elias on his own ground,

or at least his outermost holdingsbut like you, I doubt

we will be left unmolested so long."

Others raised their voices, asking about what further

strength could be expected from the east and north of

Erkynland, territories that chafed beneath King Elias'

heavy hand, and where other alKes might be found. After

a while, Josua again called the room to silence.

"Before we can solve any of these riddles," he de-

clared, "it is my thought that we must solve the first and

most important onenamely, what does my brother

want?"

"Power!" said Isom. "The power to cast men's lives

around as if they were dice."

"He had that already," Josua replied. "But I have

thought long, and can think of no other answer. Certainly

the world has seen other kings who were not content with

what they had. Perhaps the answer to this most crucial

question may remain hidden from us until the very end. If

we knew the shape of Elias' bargain with the Storm King,

perhaps then we would understand my brother's secret in-

tent."

"Prince Josua," Binabik spoke up, "I myself have been

puzzling about a different thing. Whatever your brother is

n8 Tad Williams

wishing to do, the Storm King's power and dark magics

will be helping him. But what is the Storm King wanting

in return?"

The great stone hall went silent for a moment, then the

voices of those assembled rose once more, arguing, until

Josua had to stamp his boot on the floor to silence them.

"You ask a dreadful question, Binabik," said the prince.

"What indeed could that dark one want?"

Simon thought about the shadows beneath the Hayholt

where he had stumbled in a terrible, ghost-ridden dream.

"Maybe he wants his castle back," he said.

Simon had spoken softly, and others in the room who

had not heard him continued to talk quietly among them-

selves, but Josua and Binabik both turned to stare at him.

"Merciful Aedon," said Josua. "Could it be?"

Binabik thought for a long moment, then shook his

head slowly. "There is being something wrong in that

thoughtalthough it is clever thinking, Simon. Tell me,

Geloe, what is it that I am half-remembering?"

The witch woman nodded. "Ineluki cannot ever come

back to that castle- When Asu'a fell, its ruins were so

priest-blessed and so tightly wound in spells that he could

not return before the end of time. No, I do not think he

can have it back, much as he no doubt burns to reclaim

it... but he may wish to rule through Elias what he can-

not rule himself. For all their power, the Noms are few

but as the shadow behind the Dragonbone Chair, the

Storm King could reign over all the lands of Osten Ard."

Josua's face was grave. "And to think that my brother

has so little care for either his people or his throne that he

would sell them for some trifling prize to the enemy of

mankind." He turned to the others assembled there, anger

poorly hidden on his thin features. "We will take this as

truth for now, that the Storm King wishes to rule mankind

through my brother. Ineluki, I am told, is a creature sus-

tained mostly by hatred, so I do not need to tell you what

sort of reign his would be. Simon has told us that the

Sitha-woman Amerasu foresaw what the Storm King de-

sired for men, and she called it 'terrible.' We must do all

that we caneven up to tithing our lives, if neces-

TOGREENANGELTOWER119

saryto halt them both. Now the other questions must be

addressed. How do we fight them?"

In the hours that followed many plans were proposed.

Freosel cautiously suggested that they merely wait in this

place of refuge as disaffection with Elias grew throughout

Osten Ard. Hotvig, who for a plainsman seemed to be

taking well to stone-dweller intrigue, put forward a bold

scheme to send men who, with Eolair's maps, would

sneak into the Hayholt and kill both Elias and Pryrates.

Father Strangyeard seemed distressed at the idea of send-

ing the precious maps off with a band of brutish murder-

ers. As the merits of these and other proposals were

introduced and debated, tempers grew hot. When at one

point Isom and Hotvig, who normally were cheerful com-

rades, had nearly come to blows, Josua at last ended the

discussion.

"Remember that we are friends and allies here," he

said. "We all share a common desire to return our lands

to freedom." The prince looked around the room, calming

his excited advisers with a stem gaze, as a Hyrka trainer

was said to quiet horses without touching them. "I have

heard all, and I am grateful for vpur help, but now I must

decide." He placed his hand on the stone table, near

Thorn's silver-wrapped hilt. "I agree that we must wait

yet a while before we will be ready to strike at Elias," he

nodded in Freosel's direction, "but we may not stand

still, either. Also, our allies in Hemystir are trapped. They

could be a valuable irritant on Elias' western flank if they

were free to move once more. If the westerners were to

gather together some of their scattered countrymen, they

could be even more than that. Thus, I have decided to

combine two purposes and see if they cannot serve each

other."

Josua beckoned forward the lord of Nad Mullach.

"Count Eolair, I will send you back to your people with

more than thanks, as I promised. With you will go Isom,

son of Duke Isgrimnur." Outrun could not restrain a muf-

fled cry of sadness at this, but when her son turned to

comfort her, she smiled bravely and patted his shoulder.

120 Tad Williams

Josua bowed his head toward her, acknowledging her sor-

row. "You will understand when you hear my plan. Duch-

ess, that I do not do this without reason. Isorn, take with

you a half-dozen or so men. Perhaps some of Hotvig's

randwarders will consent to accompany you: they are

brave fighters and tireless horsemen. On your journey to

Hernystir, you will gather as many of your wandering

countrymen as you can. I know that most of them do not

love Skali Sharpnose, and many I hear are now unhomed

on the Frostmarch. Then, on your own judgment, you can

put those you find to serviceeither helping to break

Skali's siege of Eolair's folk, or if that is not possible, re-

turning with you here to help us in our fight against my

brother." Josua looked fondly at Isom, who was listening

with eyes downcast in concentration, as though he wished

to learn each word by heart. "You are the duke's son.

They respect you, and they will believe you when you tell

them that this is the first step in regaining their own

lands."

The prince turned back to the assembly. "While Isom

and the others undertake this mission, we here will work

to further our other causes- And there is indeed much to

do. The north has been so thoroughly savaged by winter,

by Skali, by Elias and his ally the Storm King, that I fear

that however successful Isorn is, the lands north of

Erkynland will not prove sufficient to provide all the for-

ces we need. Nabban and the south are firmly in the grip

of Elias1 friends, especially Benigaris, but I must have the

south myself. Only then will we truly have the number of

fighting men to confront Elias. So, we will work, and

talk, and think. There must be some way of cutting

Benigaris off from Elias' help, but at the moment I cannot

see it."

Simon had been listening impatiently, but had held his

tongue. Now, when it seemed as though Josua had fin-

ished with what he had to say, Simon could not stay quiet

any longer. While the others had been shouting, he had

been thinking with growing excitement about the things

he had discussed with Binabik that morning.

"But Prince Josua," he cried, "what about the swords?"

TOGREENANGELTOWER

121

The prince nodded. "Those, too, we will have to think

about. Do not worry, Simon: I have not forgotten them."

Simon took a breath, determined to plunge on. "The

best thing to do would be to surprise Elias. Send Binabik

and Sludig and me to get Bright-Nail. It's outside the

walls of the Hayholt. With just the three of us, we could

go to your father's grave and find it, then be away before

the king even knew we'd been there- He'd never suspect

that we'd do such a thing." Simon had a momentary vi-

sion of how it would be: he and his companions bearing

Bright-Nail back to Sesuad'ra in glory, Simon's new

dragon banner flapping above them.

Josua smiled but shook his head. "No one doubts your

bravery, Sir Seoman, but we cannot risk it."

"We found Thorn when no one thought we could."

"But the Erkynguard did not march past Thorn's rest-

ing place every day."

"The dragon did!"

"Enough." Josua raised his hand. "No, Simon, it is not

yet time. When we can attack Elias from west or south

and thus distract his eye away from Swertclif and the

grave mounds, then it will be time. You have earned great

honor, and you will no doubt earn more, but you are now

a knight of the realm, with all the responsibilities that go

with your title. I regretted sending you away in search of

Thorn and despaired of ever seeing you again. Now that

you have succeeded beyond all hope, I would have you

here for a whileBinabik and Sludig, too ... whom you

neglected to consult before volunteering them for this

deadly mission." He smiled to soften the blow. "Peace,

lad, peace,"

Simon was filled with the same stifling, trapped feeling

that had beset him in Jao e-Tinukai'i. Didn't they under-

stand that to wait too long to strike could mean they

would lose their chance? That evil would go unpunished?

"Can I go with Isorn?" he pleaded. "I want to help,

Prince Josua."

"Learn to be a knight, Simon, and enjoy these days of

relative freedom. There will be enough danger later on."

The prince stood. Simon could not help seeing the weari-

122 Tad Williams

ness in his expression. "That is enough. Eolair, Isorn, and

whoever Isorn chooses should make ready to leave in two

days' time- Let us now go. A meal has been prepared

not as lavish as the meal celebrating Simon's knighthood,

but something that will do us all good, nevertheless."

With a wave of his hand, he ended the gathering.

Binabik approached Simon, wanting to talk, but Simon

was angry and at first would not answer. It was back to

this, was it? Wait, Simon, wait. Let others make the deci-

sions. You'll be tola what to do soon enough.

"It was a good idea," he muttered.

"It will still be a good idea later," said Binabik, "when

we are then distracting Elias, as Josua was telling."

Simon glared at him, but something in the troll's round

face made his anger seem foolish. "I just want to be use-

ful."

"You are far more than that, friend Simon. But every-

thing is having its season. 'Iq ta randayhet suk biqahuc,'

as we say in my homeland: 'Winter is not being the time

for naked swimming.' "

Simon thought about this for a moment. "That's supid,"

he said at last.

"So," Binabik responded testily. "You may be saying

what you pleasebut do not then come weeping to my

fire when you have chosen the wrong season for swim-

ming."

They walked silently across the grassy hill, haunted by

the cold sun.

4

Tfte Sifent Oufcf

AWlOUCfh the air was warm and still, the dark clouds

seemed unnaturally thick. The ship had been almost mo-

tionless all day, sails slack against the masts.

"I wonder when the storm is coming," Miriamele said

aloud.

A young sailor standing nearby looked up in surprise.

"Lady? You say to me?"

"I said that I wondered when the storm was coming."

She gestured at the clot of overhanging clouds.

"Yes, Lady." He seemed uneasy talking with her. His

command of Westerling speech was not great: she

guessed that he was from one of the smaller southern is-

lands, on some of which the residents didn't even speak

Nabbanai. "Storm coming."

"I know it's coming. I was wondering when."

"Ah." He nodded his head, then looked around fur-

tively, as though the valuable knowledge he was about to

impart might draw thieves. "Storm come very soon." He

showed her a wide, gummy smile. His gaze traveled up

from her shoes to her face and his grin widened. "Very

pretty."

Her momentary pleasure in having a conversation,

however limited, was dashed. She recognized the look in

this sailor's eyes, the insulting stare. However free he was

in his inspection, he would never dare to touch her, but

that was only because he considered her a toy that right-

fully belonged to the ship's master, Aspitis. Her flash of

indignation was mixed with a sudden uncertainty. Was he

124

Tad Williams

right? Despite all the doubts she now harbored about the

earlwho, if Gan Itai spoke rightly, had met with

Pryrates, and if Cadrach spoke rightly, was even in the

red priest's employshe at least had believed that his an-

nounced plan to marry her was genuine. But now she

wondered if it might only be a ruse, something to keep

her pliant and grateful until he could discard her in

Nabban and go looking for new flesh. He no doubt

thought she would be too ashamed to tell anyone what

had happened.

Miriamele was not sure which upset her more at this

point, the possibility of being forced to marry Aspitis or

the conflicting possibility that he could lie to her with the

same airy condescension he might show to a pretty tavern

whore.

She stared coldly at the sailor until at last, puzzled, he

turned and made his way back toward the bow of the

ship. Miriamele watched him go, silently willing him to

tnp and bash his smug face on the deck, but her wish was

not granted. She turned her eyes back to the sooty gray

clouds and the dull, metallic ocean.

A trio of small objects were bobbing in the water off

the stern, a good stone's throw from the ship. As

Miriamele watched, one of the objects moved closer, then

opened its red hole of a mouth and hooted. The kilpa's

gurgling voice carried well across the calm waters;

Miriamele jumped in surprise. At her motion, all three

heads swung to face her, wet black eyes staring, mouths

gaping loutishly. Miriamele took a step back from the rail

and made the sign of the Tree, then turned to escape the

empty eyes and almost knocked over Thures, the young

page who served Earl Aspitis.

"Lady Marya," he said. and tried to bow, but he was

too close to her. He banged his head against her elbow

and gave out a little squeak of pain. When she reached

out to soothe him, he pulled away, embarrassed. "'S

Lordship wants you."

"Where, Thures?"

"Cabin." He composed himself. "In his cabin. Lady."

"Thank you."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

125

The boy stepped back as if to lead her, but Miriamele's

eyes had again been caught by a movement in the water

below. One of the kilpa had drifted away from the other

two and now swam slowly up next to the ship. With its

empty eyes fixed on hers, the sea-thing lifted a slick

gray hand from the water and ran its long fingers along

the hull as if casually searching for climbing holds.

Miriamete watched with fascinated horror, unable to

move. After a moment, the unpleasantly manlike creature

dropped away again, vanishing smoothly into the sea to

reappear a few moments later a stone's throw back from

the ship. It floated there, mouth glistening, the gills on its

neck bulging and shrinking. Miriamele stared, frozen as if

in a nightmare. Finally she tore her eyes away and forced

herself back from the rail. Young Thures was looking at

her curiously.

"Lady?"

"I'm coming." She followed him, turning to look back

only once. The three heads bobbed in the ship's wake like

fishermen's floats.

Thures left her in the narrow passageway outside

Aspitis' cabin, then vanished back up the ladder, presum-

ably to perform other errands. Miriamele took advantage

of the moment of solitude to compose herself. She could

not shake off the memory of the kilpa's viscous eyes, its

calm and deliberate approach toward the ship. The way it

had staredalmost insolently, as though daring her to try

to stop it. She shuddered.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a series of quiet

clinking noises from the earl's cabin. The door was not

completely closed, so she stepped forward and peered

through the crack.

Aspitis sat at his tiny writing table. A book of some

kind was open before him, its parchment pages reflecting

creamy lamplight. The earl swept two more piles of silver

coins off the table and into a sack, then dropped the clink-

ing bag into an open chest at his feet, which seemed

nearly full with other such sacks. Aspitis then made a no-

tation of some kind in the book.

126 Tad Williams

A board creakedwhether from her weight upon it or

from the movement of the ship Miriamele did not know

but she moved back hurriedly before Aspitis could look

up and see her in the narrow slit of open doorway. A mo-

ment later, she stepped forward and knocked firmly.

"Aspitis?" She heard him close the book with a muf-

fled thump, then another sound she guessed was the chest

being dragged across the floor.

"Yes, my lady. Come in."

She pushed on the door and walked through, then

closed it gently behind her but did not let the latch fall.

"You asked for me?"

"Sit down, pretty Marya." Aspitis gestured to the bed,

but Miriamele pretended she had not noticed and instead

perched on a stool beside the far wall. One of Aspitis'

hounds rolled aside to make room for her feet, thumped

its heavy tail, then fell asleep again. The earl was wearing

his osprey crest robe, the one she had admired so much at

their first shared supper. Now she looked at the gold-

stitched talons, perfect machines for catching and clutch-

ing, and was filled with remorse for her own foolishness.

Why did I ever let myself become entrapped in these

stupid lies! She would never have told him so, but

Cadrach had been right. If she had said she was only a

commoner, Aspitis might have left her alone; even if he

had forcibly bedded her, at least he would not be planning

to wed her as well.

"I saw three kilpa swimming beside the ship." She

stared at him defiantly, as if he might deny that it was

true. "One swam up alongside and looked like it was go-

ing to climb aboard."

The earl shook his head, but he was smiling. "They

will do no such thing. Lady, do not fear. Not on Eadne

Cloud"

"It touched the ship!" She raised her hand, shaped into

a groping claw. "Like this. It was looking for handholds."

Aspitis' smile faded. He looked grim. "I will go on

deck when we have finished talking, I will put a few ar-

rows into them, the fishy devils. They do not touch my

ship."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 127

"But what do the kilpa want?" She could not get the

gray things out of her mind. Also, she was in no hurry to

talk with Aspitis about whatever he was thinking. She

was positive now that no good could come to her out of

any of the earl's plans.

"I do not know what they want, Lady." He wagged his

head impatiently. "Or rather, I do knowfood. But there

are many easier ways for the kilpa to catch their meals

than to come onto a ship full of armed men." He stared at

her. "There. I should not have said it. Now you are fright-

ened."

"They eat ... people?"

Aspitis shook his head, this time with greater vehe-

mence. "They eat fish, and sometimes birds that do not

take off swiftly from floating on the water." He absorbed

her skeptical look. "Yes, other things, too, when they can

find them. They have sometimes swarmed small fishing

boats, but nobody knows why for certain. Anyway, it does

not matter. I told you, they will not harm Eadne Cloud.

There is no better sea-watcher than Gan Itai."

Miriamele sat silently for a moment. "I'm sure you're

right," she said at last.

"Good." He stood up, ducking beneath a beam of the

low cabin roof. "I am glad Thures found youalthough

you could not go very far on a ship at sea, could you?"

His smile seemed a little harsh. "We have many things to

discuss."

"My lord." She felt a strange sense of lassitude sweep

over her. Perhaps if she did not resist, did not protest, es-

pecially if she did not care, then things would just go on

in this unsatisfactory but impermanent way. She had

promised herself that she would drift, drift....

"We are becalmed," said Aspitis, "but I think that there

will be winds coming soon, far ahead of the storm. With

a little luck, we could be on the island of Spenit tomor-

row night. Think of that, Marya! We will be married

there, in the church sacred to Saint Lavennin."

It would be so easy not to resist, but just to float, like

Eadne Cloud herself, borne slowly along on the wind's

128 Tad Williams

unambitious breath. Surely there would be some chance

to escape when they made landfall at Spenit? Surely?

"My lord," she heard herself saying, "I ... there are

... problems."

"Yes?" The earl cocked his golden head. Miriamele

thought he looked like someone's trained hound, miming

civilization while he sniffed for prey. "Problems?"

She gathered the material of her dress in her damp

hand, then took a deep breath. "I cannot marry you."

Unexpectedly, Aspitis laughed. "Oh, how foolish' Of

course you can! Do you worry about my family? They

will come to love you, even as I have. My brother mar-

ried a Perdruinese woman, and now she is my mother's

favorite daughter. Do not fear!"

"It's not that." She clutched her dress more tightly.

"It's ... it's just that ... there is someone else."

The earl frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I am already promised to someone else. Back

home. And I love him."

"But I asked you! You said to me there was no one.

And you gave yourself to me."

He was angry, but so far he had kept his temper.

Miriamele felt her fear ease somewhat. "I had an argu-

ment with him and refused to marry him; that is why my

father sent me to the convent. But I have realized that I

was wrong. I was unfair to him ... and I was unfair to

you." She detested herself for saying this. It seemed only

a very slight chance that she was truly being unfair to

Aspitis; he had certainly not been over-chivalrous with

her. Still, this was the time to be generous. "But of the

two of you, I loved him first."

Aspitis took a step toward her, his mouth twisting.

There was a strange, trembling tension to his voice. "But

you gave yourself to me."

She lowered her eyes, anxious not to cause offense. "I

was wrong. I hope you will forgive me. I hope that he

will forgive me, although I do not deserve it."

The earl abruptly turned his back on her. His words

were still tight, barely controlled. "And that is that you

TOGREENANGELTOWER

129

think? You will just say, 'Farewell, Earl Aspitis!' That is

what you think?"

"I can only rely on your gentleman's honor, my lord."

The little room seemed even smaller. She thought she

could feel the very air tighten, as if the threatening storm

was reaching down for her. "I can only pray for your

kindness and pity."

Aspitis' shoulders began to shake. A low, moaning

noise welled up from him. Miriamele shrunk back against

the wall in horror, half-certain he would turn into a raven-

ing wolf before her eyes, as in some old nurse's tale.

The earl of Eadne and Drina whirled. His teeth were in-

deed bared in a lupine grimace, but he was laughing.

She was stunned. Why is he... ?

"Oh, my lady!" He was barely able to control his

mirth. "You are a clever one!"

"I don't understand," she said frostily. "Do you think

this is funny?"

Aspitis clapped his hands together. The sudden thunder

crack of noise made Miriamele jump. "You are so

clever." He shook his head. "But you are not quite as

clever as you think ... Princess."

"Whwhat?"

He smiled. It was no longer even remotely charming.

"You think quickly and you invent pretty little lies very

wellbut I was at your grandfather's funeral, and your

father's coronation as well. You are Miriamele. I knew

that from the first night you joined me at my table."

"You ... you ..." Her mind was full of words, but

none of them made sense. "What... ?"

"I suspected something when you were brought to me."

He reached out a hand and slid it along Miriamele's face

into her hair, his strong fingers clasping her behind the

ear. She sat unmoving, holding her breath. "See," he said,

"your hair is short, but the part closest to your head is

quite golden ... like mine." He chuckled. "Now, a young

noblewoman on her way to a convent might cut her hair

before she got therebut dye it, too, when it was already

such a handsome color? You can be sure I looked at your

face very closely at supper that night. After that, there

130 Tad Williams

was not much difficulty. I had seen you before, if not

closely. It was common knowledge that Elias' daughter

was at Naglimund, and missing after the castle fell." He

snapped his fingers, grinning. "So. Now you are mine,

and we will be married on Spenit, since you might find

some way to escape in Nabban, where you still have fam-

ily." He chortled again, pleased. "Now they will be my

family, too."

It was difficult to speak. "You really want to marry

me?"

"Not because of your beauty, my lady, though you are

a pretty one. And not because I shared your bed. If I had

to marry all the women I have dallied with, I would need

to give my army of wives their own castle, like the

Nascadu desert kings." He sat down on the bedcover,

leaning back until he could rest his head against the cabin

wall. "No, you will be my wife. Then, when your father's

conquests are over and he grows tired at last of Benigaris,

as I did long agodid you know, after he killed his father

he drank wine and cried all night long' Like a child!

when your father grows tired of Benigaris, who better to

rule Nabban than the one who found his daughter, fell in

love with her, and brought her back home?" His smile

was a knife-glint. "Me."

She stared at him, her skin turning cold; she almost felt

she could spit venom like a serpent. "And if I tell him

that you kidnapped and dishonored me?"

He shook his head, amused. "You are not so good a

schemer as I thought, Miriamele. Many witnessed you

board my boat with a false name, and saw me pay court

to you, although I had been told you were a minor baron's

daughter. Once it is known that you have been

dishonored, you said?do you think your father would

offend a legitimate and high-bom husband? A husband

who is already his ally, and who has done your father

many,"he reached over and patted his hand against

something Miriamele could not see"important ser-

vices?"

His bright eyes burned into hers, mocking and im-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

131

mensety pleased. He was right. There was nothing she

could do to prevent him. He owned her. Owned her.

"I am going." She rose unsteadily.

"Do not cast yourself in the ocean, pretty Miriamele.

My men will be watching to make sure you play no such

tricks. You are far too valuable alive."

She pushed at the door, but it would not open. She was

hollow, empty and hurting as if all the air had been forced

out of her.

"Pull it," Aspitis suggested.

Miriamele staggered out into the corridor. The shad-

owed hall seemed to lurch crazily.

"I will come to your cabin later, my beloved," the earl

called. "Prepare for me."

She was barely off the ladder and onto the deck before

she sank to her knees. She wanted to fall into blackness

and disappear.

*

Tiamak was angry.

He had gone through a great deal for the sake of his

drylander associatesthe League of the Scroll, as they

called themselves, although Tiamak sometimes thought

that a group of a half-dozen or so was a bit small to be

called a league. Still, Doctor Morgenes had been a mem-

ber and Tiamak revered the doctor, so he had always done

his best when someone in the league wanted information

that only the little Wrannaman could provide. The

drylanders didn't often need marsh-wisdom, Tiamak had

noticed, but when they didwhen, for instance, one of

them needed a sample of twistgrass or Yellow Tinker,

herbs not to be found in any drylander marketplacethey

would scratch off a note to Tiamak quickly enough. Occa-

sionally, as when he had arduously prepared a bestiary of

marsh animals for Dinivan, complete with his own pains-

taking illustrations, or had studied and reported to old

Jamauga which rivers reached the Wran, and what hap-

pened when their fresh water met the salt of the Bay of

Firannos, he would receive a long letter of gratitude from

132 Tad Williams

the recipientin fact, Jarnauga's letter had so burdened

its carrier that the pigeon's journey had taken twice the

usual time. In these grateful letters. League members

would occasionally hint that someday soon Tiamak might

be officially counted in their number.

Little appreciated by his own villagefolk, Tiamak was

terribly hungry for such recognition. He remembered his

time in Perdruin, the hostility and suspicion he had felt

from the other young scholars, who had been astonished

to find a marsh lad in their midst. If not for Morgenes*

kindness, he would have fled back to the swamps. Still,

beneath Tiamak's diffident exterior, there was more than

a trace of pride. Had he not, after all, been the first

Wrannaman ever to leave the swamplands and study with

the Aedonite brothers? Even his fellow villagers knew

there was no other marsh-dweller like him. Thus, when he

received encouraging words from Scrollbearers, he had

sensed that his time was coming. Some day he would be

a member of the League of the Scroll, the very highest of

scholarly circles, and travel every three years to the home

of one of the other members for a gatheringa gathering

of equals. He would see the world and be a famously

learned man ... or so he had often imagined.

When the hulking Rimmersman Isgrimnur came to

Pelippa's Bowl and gave him the coveted Scrollbearer's

pendantthe golden scroll and feather penTiamak's

heart had soared. All his sacrifices had been worth the re-

ward! But a moment later Duke Isgrimnur had explained

that the pendant came from Dinivan's dying hand, and

when stunned Tiamak had asked about Morgenes,

Isgrimnur gave him the shattering news that the doctor

was dead, too, that he had died almost half a year ago.

A fortnight later, Isgrimnur still did not understand

Tiamak's desperation. He seemed to think that although it

was sad that the two men had died, Tiamak's brooding

melancholy was extreme. But the Rimmersman had

brought no new strategy, no useful advice; he was not, he

admitted, even a member of the League! Isgrimnur did

not seem to comprehend that this left Tiamakwho had

waited many painful weeks for word of what Morgenes

TOGREENANGELTOWER

133

plannedterribly adrift, spinning like a flatboat in an

eddy. Tiamak had sacrificed his duty to his people for a

drylander errandor so it sometimes seemed when he

was angry enough to forget that it had been the crocodile

attack that had forced him to give up his embassy to

Nabban. In any case, he had clearly failed the people of

Village Grove.

Tiamak did have to admit that at least Isgrimnur was

paying for his room and board at a time when the

Wrannaman's own credit had run out. That was some-

thing, anywaybut then again, it was only fair; the

drylanders had made money from the sweat of the

marshfolk for untold years. Tiamak himself had been

threatened, chased, and abused in the markets of Ansis

Pelippe.

Morgenes had rescued him then, but now Morgenes

was dead. Tiamak's own people would never forgive him

for failing them. And Isgrimnur was obsessed with old

Ceallio the doorkeeper, who he claimed was the great

knight Camaris; Isgrimnur no longer seemed to care

whether the little marsh man was alive or dead. Taken all

together, it was clear to Tiamak that he was now as use-

less as a crab with no legs.

He looked up, startled. He had wandered far away from

Pelippa's Bowl into a section of Kwanitupul that he did

not recognize. The water here was even grayer and greas-

ier than usual, dotted with the corpses of fish and

seabirds. The derelict buildings that overlooked the canals

seemed almost to bend beneath the weight of centuries of

grime and salt.

A dizzying sense of bleakness and loss swept over him,

He Who Always Steps on Sand, let me come safely back

to my home again. Let my birds be alive. Let me ...

"Marsh man!" The braying voice interrupted his

prayer. "He's coming!"

Startled, Tiamak looked around. Three young

drylanders dressed in white Fire Dancer robes stood on

the far side of the narrow canal. One of them pushed back

his hood to display a partially shorn head, uncut tufts of

i34

Tad Williams

hair still sticking up like weeds. His eyes, even from a

distance, seemed wrong.

"He's coming!" this one shouted again, his voice

cheerful, as though Tiamak were an old friend-

Tiamak knew who and what these men were; he wanted

no part of their madness. He turned and limped back

along the uneven walkway. The buildings he passed were

boarded up, empty of life.

"Storm King's coming! He'll fix that leg!" On the far

side of the canal, the three Fire Dancers had turned as

well. They paced along directly across from Tiamak,

matching him step for hobbling step, shouting as they

walked. "Haven't you heard yet? Sick and the lame will

be scourged! Fire bum 'em, ice bury *em!"

Tiamak saw a gap in the long wall to his right. He

turned into it, hoping it was not a dead end. The jeers of

the Fire Dancers followed him.

"Where do you go, little brown man? When he comes,

the Storm King will find you if you hide in the deepest

hole or on the highest mountain! Come back and talk with

us or we will come and get you!"

The doorway led into a large open court that might

once have been a ship-building yard, but now contained

only a few castoffs of its vanished owners, a litter of

weather-twisted gray spars, splintered tool handles, and

pieces of shattered crockery. The planks of the courtyard

floor were so warped that when he looked down he could

see long stripes of the muddy canal flowing beneath him.

Tiamak made his way carefully across the dubious

flooring to a door on the far side of the yard, then out

onto another walkway. The cries of the Fire Dancers grew

fainter, but seemed nevertheless to become more fiercely

angry as he quickly strode away-

For a Wrannaman, Tiamak was quite familiar with cit-

ies, but even the residents found it easy to get lost in

Kwanitupul. Few of the buildings remained in use for

long, or even remained standing; the small, select group

of establishments that had existed as long as a century or

two had also changed location a dozen timesthe sea air

TOGREENANGELTOWER

135

and the murky water chewed away at paint and pilings

alike. Nothing was permanent in Kwanitupul.

After walking for a while Tiamak began to recognize a

few familiar landmarksthe rickety spire of crumbling

Saint Rhiappa's, the bright but decaying paint of the Mar-

ket Hall dome. As his nervousness about being lost and

threatened receded, he began to ponder his dilemma once

more. He was trapped in an unfriendly city. If he wished

to make a living, he must sell his services as a scribe and

translator. This would mean living near the marketplace,

since evening business, especially the small transactions

on which Tiamak made his livelihood, would never wait

until daylight. If he did not work, he was dependent on

the continuing charity of Duke Isgrimnur. Tiamak had no

urge to suffer the hospitality of the dreadful Charystra a

moment longer, and in an attempt to solve this very prob-

lem he had suggested to Isgrimnur that they all move

closer to the market so Tiamak could earn money while

the duke nursed the idiot doorkeeper. The Rimmersman,

however, had been adamant. He was certain there was a

good reason Dinivan had wanted them to wait at

Pelippa's Bowlalthough what that reason might be, he

could not say. So, although Isgrimnur did not like the inn-

keeper any more than Tiamak did, he was not ready to

leave.

Tiamak was also worried about whether he was actu-

ally a member of the League of the Scroll. He had appar-

ently been chosen to join, but the members he knew

personally were dead and he had heard nothing from any

of the others for months. What was he supposed to do?

Last, but certainly not the least of his problems, he was

having bad dreams. Or rather, he corrected himself, not

bad dreams so much as odd ones. For the last several

weeks, his sleep had been haunted by an apparition: no

matter what he dreamed, whether it was of being chased

by a crocodile with an eye in every one of its thousand

teeth, or of eating a splendid meal of crab and bottomfish

with his resurrected family in Village Grove, a ghostly

child was presenta little dark-haired drylander girl who

watched everything in utter silence. The child never inter-

136

Tad Williams

fered, whether the dream was frightening or enjoyable,

and in fact seemed somehow even less real than the

dreams themselves. Were it not for the constancy of her

presence from dream to dream, he would have forgotten

her entirely. Lately she seemed to be getting fainter each

time she appeared, as though her image was receding into

the murk of the dreamworld, her message still un-

voiced. ...

Tiamak looked up and saw the barge-loading dock. He

remembered beyond doubt that he had passed it on his

way out. Good. He was back on familiar territory.

So here was another mysterywho or what was this si-

lent child? He tried to remember what Morgenes had told

him of dreams and the Dream Road and what such an ap-

parition might signify, but he could remember nothing

useful. Perhaps she was a messenger from the land of the

dead, a spirit sent by his late mother, wordlessly chastis-

ing him for his failure....

"The little marsh man!"

Tiamak whirled to see the three Fire Dancers standing

on the walkway a few paces behind him. This time, no

canal separated them from him.

The leader stepped forward. His white robe was less

than pristine, smeared with dirty handprints and splotches

of tar, but his eyes were even more frightening than they

had been at a distance, bright and burning as if with some

inner light. His stare seemed almost to jump out of his

face.

"You don't walk very fast, brown man." He grinned,

showing crooked teeth. "Somebody bend your leg, yes?

Bend it bad?"

Tiamak backed up a few steps. The three young men

waited until he stopped, then slouched forward, casually

regaining their proximity. It was clear that they were not

going to let him walk away. Tiamak lowered his hand

onto the hilt of his knife. The bright eyes widened, as

though the slender marsh man proposed a newer and

more interesting game.

"I have done nothing to you," Tiamak said.

The leader laughed soundlessly, skinning his lips back

TOGREENANGELTOWER

137

and showing his red tongue like a dog- "He is coming,

you know. You cannot run from Him."

"Does your Storm King send you to devil innocent

strollers?" Tiamak tried to put strength in his voice. "I

cannot believe that such a being would stoop so low." He

gently eased the knife loose in its sheath.

The leader made a humorous face as he looked to his

fellows. "Ah, he talks good for a little brown man,

doesn't he?" He turned his gleaming eyes back on

Tiamak. "The master wants to see who is fit, who is

strong. It will go hard on the weak when He comes."

Tiamak began to walk backward, hoping either to reach

a place where there might be others to help himnot

very likely in this backwater section of Kwanitupulor

at least to find a spot where his back would be protected

by a wall and where these three would not have such free-

dom of movement on either side of him. He prayed to

They Who Watch and Shape that he would not stumble.

He would have liked to be able to feel behind him with

his hand, but knew he might need that arm to ward off the

first blow and give himself a chance to draw his knife.

The three Fire Dancers followed him, each face as in-

nocent of consideration as a crocodile's- In fact, Tiamak

thought, trying to make himself brave, he had fought a

crocodile and survived. These beasts were little different,

except that the crocodile would at least have eaten him.

The youths would kill him for pure pleasure, or for some

warped idea of what their Storm King wanted. Even as he

walked backward, locked in a strange death-dance with

his persecutors, even as he desperately sought some place

to make a stand, Tiamka could not help wondering how

the name of a little-known demon legend from the North

should these days be upon the lips of street bullies in

Kwanitupul. Things had changed indeed since he had last

left the swamps.

"Careful, little man." The leader looked past Tia-

mak. "You will fall in and drown."

Startled, Tiamak glanced backward over his shoulder,

expecting to see the unfenced canal just behind him.

When he realized instead that he was at the mouth of a

138 Tad Williams

short alleyway, and that he had been tricked, he turned

back quickly to his pursuers, just in time to avoid the

hurtling downstroke of an iron-tipped cudgel which

crashed against the wooden wall beside him. Splinters

flew.

Tiamak pulled his knife free of the sheath and slashed

at the cudgel-wielding hand, missing but tearing the

sleeve of a white robe. Two Fire Dancers, one of them

waving a tattered sleeve in mockery, moved to either side

of him as the leader took up his own position directly in

front. Tiamak backed into the alley, waving his knife in

an attempt to keep all three at bay. The leader laughed as

he pulled his own cudgel out from beneath his robe. His

eyes were full of a terrifying, guiltless glee.

The youth on the left suddenly made a quiet sound and

disappeared back around the mouth of the alleyway onto

the walkway they had just deserted. Tiamak guessed that

he was serving as lookout while his friends finished with

their victim. An instant later the vanished youth's cudgel

reappeared without its owner, hurtling into the alleyway

and striking the Fire Dancer on Tiamak's right hand,

flinging him against the wall of the alleyway. His head

left a red smear down the planking as he crumpled into a

white-robed heap. As the shaven-headed leader stood,

staring in astonishment, a tall shape stepped into the alley

behind him, grasped him firmly around the neck and then

whipped him through the air and into the walkway rail-

ing, which shattered into flinders as though struck by a

catapult stone. The limp body sagged free of the remnants

of the walkway and tumbled into the canal; then, within

a long, silent moment, it sank out of sight in the oily wa-

ter-

Tiamak discovered he was trembling uncontrollably

with excitement and terror. He looked up into the kind,

slightly confused face of Ceallio, the doorkeeper.

Camaris. The duke said he is Camaris, was Tiamak's

dazed thought. A knight. Sworn to, sworn to ... to save

the innocent.

The old man laid his hand on Tiamak's shoulder and

led him back out of the alleyway.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

139

That night the Wrannaman dreamed of white-shrouded

figures with eyes that were flaming wheels. They came at

him across the water like sails flapping. He was splashing

in one of the sidestreams of the Wran, desperate to es-

cape, but something held his leg. The more he struggled,

the harder it became to keep afloat.

The little dark-haired girl watched him from the bank,

solemn and silent. She seemed so faint this time that he

could hardly see her, as though she were made of mist.

Eventually, before the dream ended and he woke up gasp-

ing, she faded entirely.

A

Diawen the scryer had made her cave in the mountain's

depths into something very much like the small house she

had once inhabited on the outskirts of Hernysadharc,

close by the Circoille fringe. The small cavern was closed

off from its neighbors by woolen shawls hung across the

doorway. When Maegwin gently tugged one of the cur-

taining shawls aside, a wave of sweetish smoke billowed

out.

The dream of flickering lights had been so vivid and so

obviously important that Maegwin had found it difficult

to go about her business all morning. Although her peo-

ple's needs were many, and she had done her best to sat-

isfy them, she had moved all day in a kind of fog, far

away in her heart and mind even as she touched the trem-

bling hands of an old person or took one of the children

in her arms.

Diawen had been a priestess of Mircha many years ago,

but had broken her vowsno one knew why, or at least

no one could say for certain, though speculation was

constantthen left the Order to live by herself. She had

a reputation as a madwoman, but was also known for

true-telling, for dream-reading and healing. Many a trou-

bled citizen of Hernysadharc, after leaving a bowl of fruit

and a coin for Brynioch or Rhynn, waited until after dark

and then went to Diawen for more immediate assistance.

140 Tad Williams

Maegwin remembered seeing her once in the market near

the Taig, her long, pale brown hair fluttering like a pen-

nant. Maegwin's nurse had quickly pulled her away, as

though even looking at Diawen might be dangerous.

So, faced with a powerful but confusing dream, and

having made a grave mistake in her last interpretation,

Maegwm had this time decided to seek help. If anyone

would understand the things that were happening to her,

she felt sure, it was Diawen.

For all the smoky haze that hung thick as Inniscrich

fog, the inside of the scryer's cave was surprisingly neat.

She had carefully arranged the few possessions saved

from her home in Hemysadharc, a collection of shiny

things that might have aroused the envy of a nesting mag-

pie. Dozens of gleaming bead necklaces hung on the

cave's rough walls and caught the light of the fire like

dew-spotted spiderwebs. Small mounds of shiny

baublesmostly beads of metal and polished stone

were arranged on the flat rock that was Diawen's table. In

various niches around the chamber stood the equally

shiny tools of the scryer's craft, mirrors ranging in size

from a serving tray to a thumbnail, made of polished

metal or costly glass, some round, some square, some el-

liptical as a cat's eye. Maegwin was fascinated to see so

many in one place. A child of a rustic court, where a la-

dy's hand mirror was, after her reputation, perhaps her

most cherished possession, she had never seen anything

like it.

Diawen had been beautiful once, or so everyone always

said. It was hard to tell now. The scryer's upturned brown

eyes and wide mouth were set in a gaunt, weathered face.

Her hair, still exceptionally long and full, had turned a

very ordinary iron gray. Maegwin thought she looked like

nothing more than a thin woman growing old fast.

Diawen smiled mockingly. "Ah, little Maegwin. Come

for a love dram, have you? If it's the count you're after,

you'll have to heat his blood first or the charm won't

take. He's a careful one, he is."

Maegwin's initial surprise was quickly overtaken by

shock and rage. How could this woman know of her feel-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

141

ings for Eolair? Did everyone know? Was she the object

of laughter at every cookfire? For a moment, her deep

sense of responsibility for her father's subjects evapo-

rated. Why should she fight to save such a pack of snig-

gering ingrates?

"Why do you say that?" she snapped. "What makes

you think I love anyone?"

Diawen laughed, untouched by Maegwin's anger. "I am

the one who knows- That is what I do, king's daughter."

For a long moment, her eyes smarting from the cling-

ing smoke and her pride stinging from Diawen's bold as-

sessment, Maegwin wanted only to turn and leave. At

last, her sensible side took charge. There might be loose

talk about Lluth's daughter, certainlyas Old Craobhan

had pointed out, there always was. And Diawen was just

the type to prowl about listening for valuable castoffs

useful little facts that, when polished up and then cun-

ningly disclosed, would make her prophesying seem more

uncanny. But if Diawen was the type to rely on such

trickery, would she be any use to Maegwin's current

need?

As if sensing her thoughts, Diawen gestured for her to

take a seat on a smooth lump-of stone covered with a

shawl and said; "I have heard talk, it's true. No magical

arts were needed to reveal your feelings for Count

Eolairjust seeing you together once taught me all I

needed to know. But there is more to Diawen than keen

ears and sharp eyes." She poked at the fire and set sparks

to hopping, unleashing another billow of yellowish

smoke, then turned a calculating look upon Maegwin.

"What do you want, then?"

When Maegwin told her that she wished the scryer's

help interpreting a dream, Diawen became quite business-

like. She refused Maegwin's offers of food or clothing.

"No, king's daughter," she said with a hard smile, "I will

help you now and you will owe me a favor. That will suit

me better. Agreed?"

After being assured that the favor was not to be repaid

with her firstborn son, or with her shadow, or soul, or

voice, or any other such thing, she consented.

142

Tad Williams

"Do not fret," Diawen chuckled, "This is no fireplace

tale. No, someday I will simply want help ... and you

will give it. You are a child of Hern's House and I am

only a poor scryer, yes? That is my reason."

Maegwin told Diawen the substance of the dream, and

of the other strange things she had dreamed in the months

before, as well as what had happened when she let the vi-

sions lead her down into the earth with Eolair.

The smoke in the little chamber was so thick that when

she finished telling of Mezutu'a and its denizens, she had

to step out past the hanging for a while to breathe. Her

head had begun to feel very strange, as if it were floating

free of her body, but a few moments out in the main cav-

ern restored her to clear-mindedness.

"That story is almost payment enough, king's daugh-

ter," the scryer said when Maegwin returned. "1 had heard

the rumors, but did not know whether to believe them.

The dwarrow-folk alive in the earth below us!" She made

a strange hooking gesture with her fingers. "Of course, I

have always thought there was something more to the

Grianspog tunnels than just the dead past."

Maegwin frowned. "But what about my dream? About

the 'high place*about how the time has come."

Diawen nodded. The scryer crawled to the wall on her

hands and knees. She ran her fingers over several of the

mirrors, then at last selected one and brought it back to

the fireside- It was small, set in a wooden frame gone

nearly black from untold years of handling.

"My grandmother used to call this a 'wormglass,' "

Diawen said, holding it out for Maegwin's inspection. It

looked like a very ordinary mirror, the carving worn

down until it was almost completely smooth.

"A wormglass? Why?"

The scryer shrugged her bony shoulders. "Perhaps in

the days of Drochnathair and the other great worms, it

was used to watch for their approach. Or perhaps it was

made from the claws or the teeth of a worm." She

grinned, as though to show that she herself, despite her

livelihood, did not hold with such superstition. "Most

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

143

likely the frame was once carved to look like a dragon.

Still, it is a good tool."

She held the mirror above the flames, moving it in slow

circles for a long while. When at last she turned it upright

once more, a thin film of soot covered its surface. Diawen

held it up before Maegwin's face; the reflection was ob-

scured, as though by fog. "Think of your dream, then

blow."

Maegwin tried to fix in her mind the strange proces-

sion, the beautiful but alien figures. A tiny cloud of soot

puffed from the mirror's face.

Diawen turned the glass around and studied it, biting

her lower lip as she concentrated. With the firelight di-

rectly below her, her face seemed even thinner, almost

skeletal. "It is strange," the scryer said finally. "I can see

patterns, but they are all unfamiliar to me. It is as though

someone is speaking loudly in a house nearby, but in a

tongue I have never heard before." Her eyes narrowed.

"Something is wrong, here, king's daughter. Are you sure

this was your own dream and not one that someone told

to you?" When Maegwin angrily reaffirmed her owner-

ship, Diawen frowned. "I can tell you little, and nothing

from the mirror."

"What does that mean?"

"The mirror is as good as silent. It is speaking, but I do

not understand. So, then, I will release you from your

promise to me, but I will also tell you somethinggive

you my own advice." Her voice implied that this would

be just as good as whatever the mirror might have told

them- "If the gods truly mean for this to be made clear to

you, do what they say." She briskly wiped the mirror

clean with a white cloth and set it back into its niche in

the cavern wall.

"What is that?"

Diawen pointed up, as though at the ceiling of the cave.

"Go to the high place."

Maegwin felt her boots sliding on snow-slicked rock

and flung out a gloved hand to catch a prong of stone be-

side the steep path. She bent her knees and edged her feet

144 Tad Williams

under her body until she had regained her balance, then

stood straight once more, looking back down the white

hillside at the dangerous distance she had already

climbed. A slip here could easily topple her off the nar-

row path; after that, nothing would stop her tumble down

the slope but the tree trunks that would dash out her

brains long before she reached the bottom.

She stood panting, and found to her mild surprise that

she was not very frightened. Such a fall would certainly

end in death one way or anothereither immediately, or

by leaving her crippled on a snowy mountain in the

Grianspogbut Maegwin was giving her life back into

the hands of the gods: what difference could it make if

they decided to take her now rather than later? Besides, it

was glorious to be out beneath the sky again, no matter

how cold and grim it might be.

She shuffled a little farther toward the outside edge of

the trail and turned her gaze upward. Almost half the

height of the hill still loomed between Maegwin and her

destinationBradach Tor, which jutted from me pinnacle

like the prow of a stone ship, its underside blackly naked

of the snow that blanketed the slopes. If she went hard at

it, she should reach the summit before the weak morning

sun, which now shone full in her face, had climbed far

past noon.

Maegwin shouldered her pack and turned her attention

back to the path, noting with satisfaction that the flutter-

ing snow had already erased most of the marks of her re-

cent passage. At the base of the hill where she had begun,

the tracks had no doubt been completely obliterated. If

any of Skali's Rimmersmen came sniffing around this

part of the Grianspog, there would be no sign she had

been here. The gods were doing their share. That was a

good sign.

The steep path forced her to make most of the ascent

leaning forward, grasping at the handholds that presented

themselves. She felt a small, sour pride at the strength of

her body, at the way her muscles stretched and knotted,

pulling her up the slope just as swiftly as most men could

climb. Maegwin's height and strength had always been

TOGREENANGELTOWER

145

more of a curse to her than a blessing. She knew how un-

womanly most thought her, and had spent most of her life

pretending not to care. But still, it was somehow very sat-

isfying to feel her capable limbs work for her. Sadly, it

was her body itself that was the greatest impediment to

her given task. Maegwin felt sure she would be able to let

it go if she had to, although it would not be easy, but it

had been even harder to turn against Eolair, to pretend a

contempt for him that was the opposite of her feelings.

Stilt, she had done it, however sick it made her feet.

Sometimes doing the gods' bidding required a hardened

heart.

The climb did not get easier. The snowy path that she

followed was really little more than an animal track. In

many places it vanished altogether, forcing her to make

her way awkwardly over outcroppings of stone, trusting

tangles of leafless heather or the branches of wind-twisted

trees to hold her weight until she could haul herself up to

another area of relative safety.

She made several stops to catch her breath, or to

squeeze her sodden gloves dry and rub the feeling back

into her fingers. The clouded un was well into the west-

ern sky by the time she clambered up the last rise and

found herself atop Bradach Tor. She scraped away snow,

then slumped down in a heap on the black, wind-polished

rock.

The forested skirts of the Grianspog spread below her.

Beyond the mountain's base, hidden from her eyes by

swirling snow, stood Hemysadharc, the ancestral home of

Maegwin's family. There, Skali the usurper strode the

oaken halls of the Taig and his reavers swaggered through

Hemysadharc's white-clad streets. Something had to be

done; apparently it was something only the daughter of

the king could do.

She did not rest long. The heat generated by her exer-

tion was being rapidly sucked away by the wind, and she

was growing chilled. She emptied her pack, pouring all

the possessions she thought she would need in this world

onto the black stone. She wrapped herself in the heavy

146 Tad Williams

blanket, trying not to dwell childishly on how the onset of

night might deepen the already unpleasant cold. Her

leather sack of flints and her striking stone she put to one

side: she would have to clamber back off the tor to find

some firewood.

Maegwin had brought no food, not only to show trust

in the gods, but also because she was tired of acceding to

her body's demands. The flesh she inhabited could not

live without meals, without lovein truth, it was the low

clay of which she was made that had confused her with

its constant need for food and warmth and the good will

of others. Now it was time to let such earthy things fall

away so that the gods could see her essence.

There were two articles nestled in the bottommost folds

of her sack. The first was a gift from her father, a carved

wooden nightingale, emblem of the goddess Mircha. One

day, when a younger Maegwin had cried inconsolably

over some childhood disappointment. King Lluth had

stood and plucked the graceful bird from the rafters of the

Taig where it hung among the myriad of other god-

carvings, then put it into her small hands. It was all that

she had left to remind her of how things had been, of

what had been lost. After pressing it for a moment against

her cold cheeks, she set it on a rounded outcropping of

stone where it rocked in the brisk wind.

The last treasure in the bag was the stone that Eolair

had given her, the dwarrow's gift. Maegwin frowned,

rolling the strange object between her palms. She had pre-

tended that the reason she packed it was because she had

been holding it when she had the god-sent dream, but re-

ally she knew better. The count had given it to her, then

he had ridden away.

Tired and stupefied from her climb, Maegwin stared at

the stone and her name-rune until her head hurt. It was a

perfectly useless thingher name given a sort of false

immortality, as much of a cheat as the great stone city be-

neath the ground. All things of the heavy earth were sus-

pect, she now understood.

At the gods' own clear urging, she had come to this

high place. This time, Maegwin had decided, she would

TOGREENANGELTOWER147

let the gods do what they wished, not struggle to antici-

pate them. If they wanted to bring her to stand before

them, then she would plead for salvation of her folk and

the destruction of Skali and the High King, the bestial

pair who had brought such humiliation on a blameless

people; if the gods did not wish to help her, she would

die. But no matter the ultimate result, she would sit here

atop the tor until the gods made their wishes known.

"Brynioch Sky-lord!" she shouted into the wind.

"Mircha cloaked in rain! Murhagh Armless, and bold

Rhynn! I have heard your call! I await your judgment!"

Her words were swallowed up in gray and swirling

white.

*

Waiting, Miriamele fought against sleep, but Aspitis

hovered on the edge of wakefulness for a long time,

mumbling and shifting on the bed beside her. She found

it very hard to keep her own thoughts fixed- When the

knock came on her cabin door, she was floating in a sort

of a half-slumber, and did not at first realize what the

noise was.

The knock came again, a little louder. Startled,

Minamele rolled over. "Who is it?" she hissed. It must be

Gan Itai, she decidedbut what would the earl mink

about the Niskie visiting Miriamele in her room? A sec-

ond thought followed swiftly: she did not want Gan Itai to

see Aspitis here in her bed. Miriamele had no illusions

about what the Niskie knew, but even in her wretchedness

she wished to preserve some tiny fragments of self-

respect.

"Is the master there?" The voice, to both her shame and

relief, was maleone of the sailors.

Aspitis sat up in bed beside her. His lean body was un-

pleasantly warm against her skin. "What is it?" he asked,

yawning.

"Pardon, my lord. You're needed by the helmsman.

That is, he begs your pardon, and asks for you. He thinks

he sees storm signs. Odd ones."

Tad Williams

The earl sagged onto his back once more. "By the

Blessed Mother! What is the hour, man?"

"The Lobster's just gone over the horizon. Lord

Aspitis. Mid-watch, four hours till dawn. Very sorry, my

lord."

Aspitis swore again, then reached down to the cabin

floor for his boots. Although he must have known that

Miriamele was awake, he did not say a word to her.

Miriamele saw the sailor's bearded face etched in lamp-

light when the door opened, then listened as the two sets

of footsteps passed down the corridor to the deck ladder.

She lay in the darkness for dragging minutes, listening

to her own heartbeat, which was louder than the still-

becalmed ocean. It was plain that all the sailors knew

where Aspitis wasthey expected to find the earl in his

doxy's bed! Shame choked her. For a moment she thought

of poor Cadrach down in the shadowed hold. He was

bound by iron chains, but were her own fetters any more

comfortable for being invisible?

Miriamele could not imagine how she could ever again

walk across the deck under the eyes of those grinning

sailorscould not imagine it any more than she could

imagine standing naked before them. It was one thing to

be suspected, another to be part of the casual knowledge

shared by the entire ship: when he was needed in the

night watches, Aspitis could be found in her bed. This lat-

est degradation seemed to creep over her like a heavy,

numbing chill. How could she ever leave the cabin again?

And even if she did, what did she have to look forward to

in any case but a forced marriage to the golden-haired

monstrosity? She would rather be dead.

In the dark, Miriamele made a small noise. Slowly, as

if approaching a dangerous animal, she considered this

last idea for a momentit was stunning in its power,

even as an unvoiced thought. She had promised herself

that she could outlast anything, that she could float with

any tide and lie happily beneath the sun on whatever

beach received herbut was it true? Could she even

marry Aspitis, who had made her his whore, who had

aided in murdering her uncle and was a willing catspaw

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

149

of Pryrates? How could a girlno, a woman now, she re-

flected ruefullyhow could a woman with the blood of

Prester John in her veins allow such a thing to happen to

her?

But if the life that stretched before her was so unbear-

able that death seemed preferable, then she need be afraid

no longer. She could do anything.

Miriamele slipped from the bed. After dressing quickly.

she edged out into the narrow passageway.

Miriamele climbed the ladder as quietly as she could,

lifting her head above the hatchway just far enough to

make sure that Aspitis was still talking to the helmsman.

They seemed to be having a very animated discussion,

waving their lamps so that the flaming wicks left streaks

across the black sky. Miriamele dropped down to the pas-

sageway as quickly as she could. A kind of cold clever-

ness had come over her along with her new resolution,

and she moved quietly and surely along the corridor to

Aspitis' doorway. When she had slipped through the door

and closed it behind her, she took the hood off her lamp.

A quick examination of Aspitis' room turned up noth-

ing useful. The earl's sword lay across his bed like some

heathen wedding token, a slim, beautifully wrought blade

with a hilt in the shape of a spread-winged seahawk. It

was the earl's favorite possessionexcept perhaps for

her, Miriamele thought grimlybut it was not what &he

sought. She began to investigate a little more thoroughly,

checking the folds of all his clothing, rummaging througi'i

the caskets in which he kept his jewelry and gaming-dice

Although she knew that time was growing ever shorter,

she forced herself to refold each garment and lay it back

where it had been. It would do her cause no good to alert

Aspitis.

When she had finished, Miriamele stared around the

cabin in frustration, unwilling to believe that she could

simply fail. Abruptly, she remembered the chest into

which she had seen Aspitis pushing bags of money.

Where had that gone? She dropped down onto her knees

and pushed aside the bed's hanging coverlet. The chest

was there, draped by Aspitis* second-best cloak- Certain

150 Tad Williams

that any moment the Earl of Eadne and Drina would walk

through the door, Miriamele forced herself under the bed

and dragged it out into the light, wincing at the loud

scraping as its metal corners cut into the plank floor.

The chest was, as she had seen, full of bags of money.

The coins were mostly silver, but each sack contained

more than a few gold Imperators as well. It was a small

fortune, but Miriamele knew that Aspitis and his family

were the possessors of a very large fortune beside which

this was a mere handful. She carefully lifted out a few of

the sacks, trying to keep them from jingling, noting with

some interest that her hands, which should have been

shaking, were as steady as stone. Hidden beneath the top

row of sacks was a leather-bound ledger. It contained lists

in Aspitis1 surprisingly fastidious handwriting of places

the Eadne Cloud had stoppedVinitta and Grenamman,

as well as other names that Miriamele decided must have

been ports visited on other voyages; beside each entry

was a line of cryptic markings. Miriamele could make no

sense of it, and after a moment's impatient study she put

it aside. Beneath the ledger, rolled into a bundle, was a

hooded robe of coarse white clothbut this was not what

she was looking for either. The trunk contained no further

secrets, so she repacked it as well as she could, then

pushed it back beneath the bed.

Time was running short. Miriamele sat on the floor, full

of a dreadful, cold hatred. Perhaps it would be easiest just

to slip up on deck and throw herself into the ocean. It was

hours until dawn; no one would know where she had

gone until it was too late to stop her. But she thought of

the kilpa, patiently waiting, and could not imagine joining

them in the black seas.

As she stood, she saw it at last. It had been hanging on

a hook behind the door all along. She took it down and

slipped it into her belt beneath her cloak, then stepped

into the doorway. When she was certain that no one was

coming, she hooded her lamp and made her way back to

her own cabin.

Miriamele was crawling under her blanket when she

suddenly understood the significance of the white robe. In

TOGREENANGELTOWER

15'

her oddly detached state, this realization was only one

more tally added to the earl's overloaded account, but it

helped to stiffen her resolve. She lay unmoving, breathing

quietly, waiting for Aspitis' return, her mind set on her

course so firmly that she would not allow any thoughts to

distract hernot memories of her childhood and her

friends, not regrets about the places she would never see-

Her ears brought her every creak of the ship's timbers and

every slap of the waves on the hull, but as the trudging

hours passed, his booted footsteps never sounded in the

passageway. Her door did not creak open. Aspitis did not

come.

At last, as dawn was glimmering in the sky above-

decks, she fell into a heavy, muddy sleep with the earl's

dagger still clutched in her fist.

She felt the hands that shook her, and heard the quiet

voice, but her mind did not want to return to the waking

world.

"Girl, wake up!"

At last, groaning, Miriamele rolled over and opened her

eyes. Gan Itai peered down at her, a look of concern fur-

rowing her already wrinkled brow. Morning light from

the hatch in the passageway outside spilled in through the

open door. The achingly painful memories of the day be-

fore, absent for the first few moments, rolled back over

her.

"Go away," she told the Niskie. She tried to push her

head back under the blanket, but Gan Itai's strong hands

clutched her and pulled her upright.

"What is this I hear on deck? The sailors are saying

that Earl Aspitis is to be married on Spenitmarried to

you! Is that true?"

Miriamele covered her eyes with her hands, trying to

keep out the light. "Has the wind come up?"

Gan Itai's voice was puzzled. "No, we are still be-

calmed. Why do you ask such a strange question?"

"Because if we can't get there, he can't marry me,"

Miriamele whispered.

152

Tad Williams

The Niskie shook her head. "By the Uncharted, then it

is true! Oh, girl, this is not what you want, is it?"

Miriamele opened her eyes. "I would rather be dead."

Gan Itai made a little humming noise of dismay. She

helped Miriamele to get her feet out of bed and onto the

floor, then brought over the small mirror that Aspitis had

given to Miriamele when he had still been pretending

kindness.

"Do you not wish to brush your hair straight?" the

Niskie asked. "It looks rumpled and windblown, and that

is not how you like it, I think."

"I don't care," she said, but the look on Gan Itai's face

touched her: the sea-watcher could think of no other way

to help. She reached out her hand for the mirror. The hilt

of Aspitis' dagger, which had been covered in the folds of

blanket, caught in her sleeve and clattered onto the floor.

Both Miriamele and the old Niskie stared at it for a mo-

ment. Suddenly, chillingly, Miriamele saw her one door

of escape closing. She leaped from the bed to grab it, but

Gan Itai had bent first. The Niskie held it up to the light,

a look of surprise in her gold-flecked eyes.

"Give it to me," said Miriamele.

Gan Itai gazed at the silver osprey carved so that it

seemed to be alighting on the dagger's pommel. "This is

the earl's knife."

"He left it here," she lied. "Give it to me."

The Niskie turned to her, solemn-faced. "He did not

leave it here. He only wears this with his best clothes, and

I saw how he was dressed when he came on deck in the

night. In any case, he was wearing his other dagger on his

belt."

"He gave it to me as a present, a gift...." Abruptly,

she burst into tears, great convulsive sobs that shook her

whole body. Gan Itai jumped up in alarm and pushed the

cabin door shut.

"I hate him!" Miriamele moaned, rocking from side to

side. Gan Itai curled a thin dry arm around her shoulders.

"I hate him!"

"What are you doing with his knife?" When she re-

ceived no answer, she asked again. "Tell me, girl."

TOGREENANGELTOWER

153

"I'm going to kill him." Miriamele found strength in

saying it; for a moment, her tears subsided. "I'm going to

stab that whoremongering beast, and then I won't care

what happens."

"No, no, this is madness," the Niskie said, frowning.

"He knows who I am, Gan Itai." Miriamele gulped air.

It was hard to speak. "He knows I am the princess, and he

says he will marry me ... so he can be master of Nabban

when my father has conquered all the world." The idea

seemed unreal, yet what could prevent it from happening?

"Aspitis helped kill my uncle Leobardis, too. And he is

giving money to the Fire Dancers."

"What do you mean?" Gan Itai's eyes were intent.

"The Fire Dancers, they are madmen."

"Maybe, but he has a chest filled with sacks of silver

and gold, and there is a book that lists payments made.

He also has a Fire Dancer's robe rolled up and hidden

away. Aspitis would never wear such a coarse weave." It

had been so clear, suddenly, so laughably obvious: Aspitis

would die before wearing something so common ... un-

less there was a reason. And to think she had once been

impressed by his beautiful clothes! "I am certain he goes

among them. Cadrach said that he does Pryrates* bid-

ding."

Gan Itai lifted her arm from Miriamele's shoulder and

sat back against the wall. In the silence, the sound of men

moving about on deck drifted down through the cabin

ceiling, "The Fire Dancers burned down part of

Niskietown in Nabban," the old woman said slowly.

"They wedged doors shut, with children and old ones in-

side. They have burned and slaughtered in other places

where my people live, too. And the Duke of Nabban and

other men do nothing. Nothing." She ran her hand

through her hair. "The Fire Dancers always claim some

reason, but in truth there never is a reason, just love of

other folks' suffering. Now you say that my ship's master

is bringing them gold."

"It doesn't matter. He'll be dead before landfall."

Gan Itai shook her head in what looked like astonish-

ment. "Our old masters put Ruyan the Navigator into

154

Tad Williams

chains. Our new masters bum our children, and ravage

and kill their own young as well." She put a cool hand on

Miriamele's arm and left it there for a long time. Her up-

turned eyes narrowed in thought. "Hide the knife," she

said at last. "Do not use it until I speak to you again."

"But ..." Miriamele began. Gan Itai squeezed hard.

"No," the Niskie said harshly. "Wait! You must wait!"

She stood and walked out of the room. When the door

shut behind her, Miriamele was left alone, tears drying on

her cheeks.

Wastctawt of Dreams

Tne SRy was filled with swirling streamers of gray. A

thicker knot of clouds loomed like an upraised fist on the

distant northern horizon, angry purple and black.

The weather had gone bitterly cold again. Simon was

very grateful for his thick new wool shirt. It had been a

present from a thin New Gadrinsett girl, one of the two

young women who had attached themselves to him at his

knighthood feast. When the girl and her mother had come

to bestow the gift, Simon had been properly polite and

thankful as he imagined a knight should be. He just hoped

they didn't think he was going to marry the girl or some-

thing. He had met her half a dozen times now, but she had

still said scarcely anything to him, although she giggled a

lot. It was nice to be admired, Simon had decided, but he

couldn't help wishing that someone was doing the admir-

ing besides this silly girl and her equally silly friend. Still,

the shirt was well-made and warm.

"Come, Sir Knight," Sludig said, "are you going to use

that stick, or are we going to give up for the day? I'm as

tired and frozen as you are."

Simon looked up. "Sorry. Just thinking. It is cold, isn't

it?"

"It is seeming our short taste of summer has come to

its ending," Binabik called from his seat on a fallen pillar.

They were in the middle of the Fire Garden, with no shel-

ter from the brisk, icy wind.

"Summer!?" Sludig snorted. "Because it stopped

156

Tad Williams

snowing for a fortnight? There is still ice in my beard ev-

ery morning."

"It has been, in any case, an improvement of weather

over what we were suffering before," said Binabik se-

renely. He tossed another pebble at Qantaqa, who was

curled in a furry loop on the ground a few steps away,

She peered at him sideways, but then, apparently deciding

that an occasional pebble was not worth the trouble of

getting up and biting her master, closed her yellow eyes

once more. Jeremias, who sat beside the troll, watched the

wolf apprehensively.

Simon picked up his wooden practice sword once more

and moved forward across the tiles. Although Sludig was

still unwilling to use real blades, he had helped Simon

lash bits of stone to the wooden ones so that they were

more truly weighted. Simon hefted his carefully, trying to

find the balance. "Come on, then," he said.

The Rimmersman waded forward against the surging

wind, heavy tunic flapping, and brought his sword around

in a surprisingly quick two-handed swipe. Simon stepped

to one side, deflecting Sludig's blow upward, then re-

turned his own counterstroke. Sludig blocked him; the

echo of wood smacking wood floated across the tiles.

They practiced on for most of an hour as the shrouded

sun passed overhead. Simon was finally beginning to feel

comfortable with a sword in his hand: his weapon often

felt as though it were part of his arm, as Sludig was al-

ways saying it should. It was mostly a question of bal-

ance, he now realizednot just swinging a heavy object,

but moving with it, letting his legs and back supply the

force and letting his own momentum carry him through

into the next defensive position, rather than flailing at his

opponent and then leaping away again.

As they sparred, he thought of shent, the intricate game

of the Sithi, with its feints and puzzling strikes, and won-

dered if the same things might work in swordplay. He al-

lowed his next few strokes to carry him farther and

farther off-balance, until Sludig could not help but notice;

then, when the Rimmersman swept in on the heels of one

of Simon's flailing misses with the aim of catching him

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

157

leaning too far and smacking him along the ribs, Simon

let his swing carry him all the way forward into a tum-

bling roll. The Rimmersman's wooden sword hissed over

him. Simon then righted himself and whacked Sludig

neatly on the side of his knee. The northerner dropped his

blade and hopped up and down, cursing.

"Ummu Bok! Very good, Simon!" Binabik shouted. "A

surprising movement." Beside him, Jeremias was grin-

ning.

"That hurt." Sludig rubbed his leg, "But it was a clever

thought. Let us stop before our fingers are too numb to

hold the hilts."

Simon was very pleased with himself. "Would that

work in a real battle, Sludig?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not if you are wearing armor. Then

you might go down like a turtle and not be able to get up

in time- Be very sure before you ever leave your feet, or

you will be more dead than you are clever. Still, it was

well done." He straightened up. "The blood is freezing in

my veins. Let us go down to the forges and warm up."

Freosel, New Gadrinsett's young constable, had put

several of the settlers to work building a smithy in one of

the airier caves. They had taken to the task briskly and ef-

ficiently, and were now melting down what little scrap

metal could be found on Sesuad'ra, hoping to forge new

weapons and repair the old ones.

"The forges, for warming," Binabik agreed. He clicked

his tongue at Qantaqa, who rose and stretched.

As they walked, shy Jeremias dropped behind until he

trailed them by several paces- The wind blew cuttingly

across the Fire Gardens, and the sweat on the back of Si-

mon's neck was icy. He found his buoyant mood settling

somewhat. "Binabik," he asked suddenly, "why couldn't

we go to Hemystir with Count Eolair and Isom?" That

pair had departed the previous day in the gray of early

morning, accompanied by a small honor guard made up

mostly of Thrithings horsemen.

"I am thinking that the reasons Josua gave you were

true ones," Binabik replied- "It is not good for the same

people always to be having the risksor gaining the glo-

Tad Williams

ries." He made a wry face. "There will be enough for all

to do in coming days."

"But we brought him Thom. Why shouldn't we try to

at least get Minneyar as wellor Bright-Nail, rather?"

"Just because you are a knight, boy, does not mean you

will have your way all the time," Sludig snarled. "Count

your good fortunes and be content. Content and quiet."

Taken by surprise, Simon turned to the Rimmersman.

"You sound angry."

Sludig looked away. "Not me- I am only a soldier."

"And not a knight." Simon thought he understood.

"But you know why that is, Sludig. Josua is not king. He

can only knight his own Erkynlanders. You are Duke

Isgrimnur's man. I'm sure he will honor you when he re-

turns."

"If he returns." There was bitterness in Sludig's voice.

"I am tired of talking about this."

Simon thought carefully before speaking. "We all know

what part you played, Sludig. Josua told everyonebut

Binabik and I were there and we will never forget." He

touched the Rimmersman's arm. "Please don't be angry

with me. Even if I am a knight, I am still the same moon-

calf you've been teaching how to swing a sword. I am

still your friend."

Sludig peered at him for a moment from beneath bushy

yellow brows. "Enough," he said. "You are a mooncalf

indeed, and I need something to drink."

"And a warm fire." Simon tried not to smile.

Binabik, who had listened to the exchange in silence,

nodded solemnly.

Geloe was waiting for them at the edge of the Fire Gar-

den. She was bundled up against the cold, a scarf

wrapped about her face so that only her round yellow

eyes showed. She raised a chill-reddened hand as they ap-

proached.

"Binabik. I wish you and Simon to join me just before

sundown, at the Observatory." She gestured to the ruined

shell several hundred paces to the west. "I need your as-

sistance."

TOGREENANGELTOWER

159

"Help from a magical troll and a dragon-slaying

knight," Sludig's smile was not entirely convincing.

Geloe turned her raptor's stare on him. "It is no honor.

Besides, Rimmersman, even if you could, I don't think

you would wish to walk the Road of Dreams. Not now."

"The Dream Road?" Simon was startled. "Why?"

The witch woman waved toward the ugly boil of

clouds in the northern sky. "Another storm is coming. Be-

sides wind and snow, it will also bring closer the mind

and hand of our enemy. The dream-path grows ever risk-

ier and soon may be impossible." She tucked her hands

back beneath her cloak. "We must use the time we have."

Geloe turned and walked away toward the ocean of rip-

pling tents, "Sundown!" she called.

"Ah," said Binabik after a moment's silence. "Still,

there is time for the wine and the hand-warming we were

discussing. Let us go to the forges with haste." He started

away. Qantaqa bounded after him.

Jeremias said something that could not be heard over

the rising voice of the wind. Simon stopped to let him

catch up.

"What?"

The squire bobbed his heaA "I said that Leieth wasn't

with her. When Geloe goes out to walk, Leieth always

walks with her. I hope she's well."

Simon shrugged. "Let's go and get warm."

They hurried after the retreating forms of Binabik and

Sludig. Far ahead, Qantaqa was a gray shadow in the

waving grass.

Simon and Binabik stepped through the doorway into

the lamplit Observatory. Beyond the sundered roof, twi-

light made the sky seem a bowl of blue glass. Geloe was

absent, but the Observatory was not empty: Leieth sat on

a length of crumbled pillar, her thin legs drawn up be-

neath her. She did not even turn her head at their en-

trance. The child was usually withdrawn, but there was

something about the quality of her stillness that alarmed

Simon. He approached and spoke her name softly, but al-

though her eyes were open, fixed on the sky overhead,

i6o Tad Williams

she had the slack muscles and slow breath of one who

slept.

"Do you think she's sick?" Simon asked. "Maybe

that's why Geloe asked us to come." Despite worry over

Leieth, he felt a glimmering of relief: thoughts of travel-

ing the Dream Road made him anxious. Even though he

had reached the safety of Sesuad'ra, his dreams had con-

tinued to be vivid and unsettling.

The troll felt the child's warm hand, then let it drop

back into her lap. "Little there is that we could do for her

that Geloe could not be doing better. We will wait with

patientness." He turned and looked around the wide, cir-

cular hall. "I am thinking this was a very beautiful place

once. My people have long been carving into the living

mountain, but we are having not a tenth of the skill the

Sithi had."

The reference to Jiriki's people as though they were a

vanished race bothered Simon, but he was not yet ready

to give up the subject of Leieth's well-being. "Are you

sure we shouldn't get something for her? Perhaps a

cloak? It's so cold."

"Leieth will be well," said Geloe from the doorway. Si-

mon jumped guiltily, as if he had been plotting treason.

"She is only traveling a little way on the Dream Road

without us. She is happiest there, I think."

She strode forward into the room. Father Strangyeard

appeared behind her. "Hello, Simon, Binabik," the priest

said. His face was as happy and excited as a child's at

Aedontide. "I'm going to go with you. Dreaming, I mean.

On the Dream Road. I have read of it, of courseit has

long fascinated mebut I never imagined ..." He wag-

gled his fingers as if to demonstrate the delightful unlike-

liness of it all.

"It is not a day of berry-picking, Strangyeard," Geloe

said crossly. "But since you are a Scrollbearer now, it is

good that you learn some of the few Arts left to us."

"Of course it is notI mean, of course it is good to

leam. But berry-picking, noI mean ... oh." Defeated,

Strangyeard fell silent.

"Now I am knowing why Strangyeard joins us,"

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER l6l

Binabik said. "And I may be good for helping, too. But

why Simon, Valada Geloe? And why here?"

The witch woman passed her hand briefly through

Leieth's hair, eliciting no response from the child, then

sat down on the pillar beside her. "As to the first, it is be-

cause I have a special need, and Simon perhaps can help.

But let me explain all, so no mistakes will be made." She

waited until the others had seated themselves around her.

"I told you that another great storm is coming. The Road

of Dreams will be difficult to walk, if not impossible.

There are other things coming, too." She held up her hand

to forestall Simon's question. "I cannot say more. Not un-

til I speak to Josua. My birds have brought news to me

but even they will go to their hiding places when the

storm comes. Then we atop this rock will be blind."

As she spoke, she deftly built a small pile of sticks on

the stone floor, then lit it with a twig she had set aflame

from one of the lamps. She reached into her cloak pocket

and produced a small sack. "So," she continued, "while

we can, we will make a last try to gather those who may

be useful to us, or who need the shelter we can give. I

have brought you here because it is the best spot. The

Sithi themselves chose it when they spoke with each

other over great distance, using, as the old lore says,

'Stones and Scales, Pools and Pryes'what they called

their Witnesses." She poured a handful of herbs from the

sack, weighing them on her palm. "That is why I named

this place the 'Observatory.' As clerics in the observato-

ries of the old Imperium once watched the stars from

theirs, so the Sithi once came to this place to look over

their empire of Osten Ard. This is a powerful spot for

seeing."

Simon knew more than a little about the Witnesseshe

had summoned Aditu with Jiriki's mirror, and had seen

Amerasu's disastrous use of the Mist Lamp. He suddenly

remembered his dream from the night of his vigilthe

torchlit procession, the Sithi and their strange ceremony.

Could the nature of this place have something to do with

his clear, strong vision of the past?

"Binabik," Geloe said, "you may have heard of

162 Tad Williams

Tiamak, a Wrannaman befriended by Morgenes. He sent

messages sometimes to your master Ookekuq, I think."

The troll nodded. "Dinivan of Nabban also knew Tiamak.

He told me that he had instigated some well-meaning

plan, and had drawn the Wrannaman into it." Geloe

frowned. "I never found out what it was- Now that

Dinivan is dead, I fear the marsh man is lost and without

friends- Leieth and I have tried to reach him, but have not

quite managed. The Dream Road is very treacherous

these days."

She reached across the pillar and lifted a small jar of

water from the rubble-strewn floor. "So I hope your

added strength will help us find Tiamak. We will tell him

to come to us if he needs protection. Also, I have prom-

ised Josua that I will try to reach Miriamele once more.

That has been even strangerthere is some veil over her,

some shadow that prevents me from finding her. You

were close to her, Simon. Perhaps that bond will help us

finally to break through."

Miriamele. Her name sent a rush of powerful feelings

through Simonhope, affection, bitterness. He had been

angry and disappointed to discover that she was not at

Sesuad'ra. In the back of his mind he had been somehow

certain that if he won through to the Stone of Farewell

she would be there to welcome him; her absence seemed

like desertion. He had been frightened, too, when he dis-

covered that she had vanished with only the thief Cadrach

for company.

"I will help any way I can," he said.

"Good." Geloe stood, rubbing her hands on her

breeches. "Here, Strangyeard, I will show you how to

mix the mockfoil and nightshade. Does your religion for-

bid this?"

The priest shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It might

.,. that is, these are strange days."

"Indeed." The witch woman grinned. "Come, then, I

will show you. Consider it a history lesson, if you wish."

Simon and Binabik sat quietly while Geloe demon-

strated the proportions for the fascinated archivist.

"This is the last of these plants until we leave this

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

163

rock," she said when they had finished. "Another encour-

agement to succeed this time. Here." She dabbed a little

on Simon's palms, forehead, and lips, then did the same

for Strangyeard and Binabik before setting down the pot.

Simon felt the paste grow chill against his skin.

"But what about you and Leieth?" Simon asked.

"I can get by without it. Leieth has never needed it.

Now, sit and clasp hands. Remember, the Road of Dreams

is strange these days. Do not be frightened, but keep your

wits about you."

They put one of the lamps on the.floor and sat in a cir-

cle beside the crumbling pillar, Simon clutched Binabik's

small hand on one side and Leieth's equally small hand

on the other. A smile spread slowly across the little girl's

face, the blind smile of someone who dreams of happy

surprises-

The icy sensation spread up Simon's arms and all

through him, filling his head with a kind of fog. Although

twilight should still have been clinging overhead, the

room swiftly grew dark. Soon Simon could see nothing

but the wavering orange tongues of the fire, then even

that light passed into blackness . . . and Simon fell

through.

Beyond the black all was a universal, misty graya

sea of nothingness with no top or bottom. Out of that

formless void a shape slowly began to coalesce, a small,

swift-moving figure that darted like a sparrow. It took

only a moment before he recognized Leiethbut this was

a dream-Leleth, a Leieth who whirled and spun, her dark

hair flying in an unfelt wind. Although he could hear

nothing, he saw her mouth curl in delighted laughter as

she beckoned him forward; even her eyes seemed alive in

a way he had never seen. This was the little girl he had

never metthe child who, in some inexplicable way, had

not survived the mauling jaws of the Stonnspike Pack.

Here she was alive again, freed from the terrors of the

waking world and from her own scarred body. His heart

soared to watch her unfettered dance.

Leieth swept along before him, beckoning, silently

pleading with him to hurry, to follow her, to follow' Si-

164

Tad Williams

mon tried, but in this gray dream place it was he who was

lamed and lagging. Leieth's small form quickly quickly

became indistinct, then vanished into the undending gray-

ness. His dream-self felt a kind of warmth disappear with

her. Suddenly, he was alone again and drifting.

What might have been a long time passed. Simon

floated without purchase until something tugged at him

with gentle, invisible fingers. He felt himself pulled for-

ward, gradually at first, then with growing speed; he was

still unbodied, but nevertheless caught up by some incom-

prehensible current. A new shape began to form out of

the emptiness before hima dark tower of unstable

shadow, a black vortex shot through with red sparks, like

a whirlpool of smoke and fire. Simon felt himself drawn

toward it even more swiftly and was suddenly fearful.

Death lay in that whirling darkdeath or something

worse. Panic welled up in him, stronger than he had

imagined it could be. He forced himself to remember that

this was a dream, not a place. He did not have to dream

this dream if he did not want it. A part of him remem-

bered that at this very moment, in some other place, he

was holding the hands of friends....

As he thought of them, they were there with him, invis-

ible but present- He gained a little strength and was able

to halt his slide inward toward the boiling, sparking

blackness. Then, bit by bit, he pulled himself away, his

dream-self somehow swimming against the current. As he

put distance between himself and the black roil, the whirl-

pool abruptly fell in upon itself and he was free and sail-

ing into some new place. The grayness was placid here,

and there was a different quality to the light, as though

the sun burned behind thick clouds.

Leieth was there before him. She smiled at his arrival,

at the pleasure of having him with her in this place

although Simon knew now beyond a doubt that he could

never share all she experienced.

The formlessness of the dream began to change; Simon

felt as though he hovered above something much like the

waking world. A shadowed city lay below him, a vast

tract of structures formed from a haphazard collection of

TOGREENANGELTOWER165

unlikely thingswagon wheels, children's toys, statues of

unfamiliar animals, even toppled siege-towers from some

long-ago war. The haphazard streets between the madly

unlikely buildings were full of scurrying lights. As he

stared down, Simon felt himself drawn toward one partic-

ular building, a towering structure made entirely of books

and yellowing scrolls, which seemed ready at any mo-

ment to collapse into a rubbish heap of old parchment.

Leieth, who had been moving around him in circles, swift

as a bumblebee, now whirled down toward a gleaming

window in the book-tower.

Upon a bed lay a figure. Its shape was unclear, as

something seen through deep water. Leieth spread her

thin arms above the bed and the dark shape tossed in un-

easy sleep.

"Tiamak." said Leiethbut it was Geloe's voice, and it

contained traces of his other companions' voices as well.

"Tiamak! Wake to us!"

The shape on the bed moved more fitfully, then slowly

sat up. The figure seemed to ripple, and the sense of be-

ing underwater was strengthened. Simon thought he heard

it speak, but the voice at first was wordless.

"..... ??"

"It is Geloe, TiamakGeloe of the Aldeheorte Forest.

1 want you to come and join me and others at Sesuad'ra.

You will be safe there."

The figure rippled again. "... .dreaming? ..."

"Yesbut it is a true dream. Come to the Stone of

Farewell. It is hard to speak to you. Here is how you can

find it." Leieth stretched her arms over the shadowy fig-

ure once more, and this time a blurry image of the Stone

began to form.

"... Dinivan ... wanted ..."

"/ know. All is changed now. If you need refuge, come

to Sesuad'ra." Leieth lowered her hands and the waver-

ing picture was gone. The form on the bed also began to

fade.

".../..." It was trying to tell some urgent thing, but

it was rapidly vanishing into mist, even as the tower in

which it lay and the surrounding city were vanishing, too.

i66 Tad Williams

"... from the North ... grim ... found the old night..."

There was a lag, then a last heroic effort. ".. - Misses'

book ..."

The dream-shadow vanished and all was murky gray

once more.

As the intangible mist surrounded him once more, Si-

mon's thoughts turned to Miriamele. Surely, since they

had somehow reached Tiamak, Gelog would now turn her

attention to the missing princess. And indeed, even as

Miriamele's image came to his mindhe saw her as she

had been in Geloe's house, dressed in boy's clothing, hair

blackened and close-shornthat very picture began to

form in the nothingness before him. Miriamele shim-

mered for a momenthe thought her hair might have

turned gold, its natural huethen it dissolved into some-

thing else. A tree? A tower? Simon felt a sense of cold

foreboding. He had seen a tower in many dreams, and it

never seemed to signify anything good. But no, this was

more than one tall shape. Trees? A forest?

Even as he strained to make the image clearer, the

shadowy vision began to coalesce, until he at last could

see that it was a ship, as blurry and imprecise as had been

the dream-Tiamak in his parchment tower. The tall masts

were hung with lank sails and fluttering ropes, all made

from cobwebs, gray and dusty and tattered. The ship

rocked as though in a great wind. The black waters be-

neath were studded with glowing whitecaps, and the sky

overhead was just as black. Some force pushed at Simon,

holding him away from the vessel despite his desperation

to approach. He fought hard against it. Miriamele might

be there!

Exerting his will to the utmost, Simon tried to force

himself nearer to the ghostly ship, but a great dark curtain

swept before him, a storm of rain and mist so thick as to

be almost solid. He stopped, lost and helpless. Leieth was

suddenly beside him, her smile gone, her small face set in

a grimace of effort.

Miriamele! Simon cried. His voice pealed outnot

from his own, but from Leieth's mouth. Miriamele! he

shouted again. Leieth forced herself a little nearer to the

TOGREENANGELTOWER167

phantom, as though carrying his words as close as she

could before they spilled from her mouth. Miriamele,

come to the Stone of Farewell!

The boat had now vanished entirely and the storm was

spreading to cover all the black sea. At its heart, Simon

thought he saw jumping arcs of red light like those that

had pierced the great whirlpool. What did this mean? Was

Miriamele somehow endangered? Were her dreams in-

vaded? He forced himself to a final effort, pushing hard

against the swirling dream-storm, but to no avail. The

ship was gone- The storm itself had completely sur-

rounded him. It growled and hummed through his very

being like the tolling of huge brazen bells, shaking him so

powerfully that he thought he could feel himself breaking

apart. Now Leieth was gone, too. The spark-shot black-

ness held him like an inky fist, and he suddenly thought

that he would die here, in this place that was no place-

A patch of light appeared in the distance, small and

gray as a tarnished silver coin. He moved toward it as the

blackness battered him and the red sparks sizzled through

him like tiny lances of fire. He tried to feel his friends'

hands but could not. The gray seemed to be no closer. He

was tiring, as would a swimmer far out at sea.

Binabik, help me! he thought, but his friends were lost

beyond the unending blackness. Help me! Even the tiny

spot of gray was fading. Miriamele, he thought, / wanted

to see you again....

He reached for the spot of light one last time and felt

a touch, as of a fingertip pressing his, although he had no

hands to touch or be touched. A little strength came, and

he slipped closer to the gray ... closer, with black all

around ... closer....

A

Deomoth thought that in different circumstances, he

would have laughed. To see Josua sitting, listening with

such rapt and respectful attention to this unusual pair of

counselorsa hawk-faced woman with mannish hair and

168 Tad Williams

man's clothing, and a waist-high trollwas to see the

upside-down world personified.

"So what do you hope that this Tiamak will bring,

Valada Geloe?" the prince asked. He moved the lamp

closer. "If he is another wise one like Morgenes and your-

self, I am sure we will welcome him."

The witch woman shook her head. "He is not a wielder

of the An, Josua, and he is certainly not a planner of

wars. In truth, he is a shy little man from the swamp who

knows much about herbs that grow in the Wran. No, I

have tried to call him here only because he was close to

the League, and because I fear for him. Dinivan had some

plan to use him, but Dinivan is dead. Tiamak should not

be abandoned. Before the storm arrives, we must save all

we can."

Josua nodded his head, but without much enthusiasm.^

Beside him, Vorzheva looked no happier. Deornoth

thought that the prince's wife might resent any more re-

sponsibilities being piled on her husband's shoulders,

even one very small responsibility from the marsh coun-

try.

"Thank you for that, Geloe," he said. "And thank you

for trying again to reach my niece Miriamele. I grow in-

creasingly worried for her."

"It is strange," the witch woman replied. 'There is

something odd there, something I cannot make sense of.

It is almost as though Miriamele has erected some barrier

to us, but she has no such talents, I am puzzled." She

straightened, as if dismissing a useless thought. "But

there is more to tell you."

Binabik had been shifting from foot to foot. Before

Geloe could continue, he touched her arm. "Forgive me,

but I should be looking to Simon, to make sure the un-

pleasantness of the Dream Road has left him and that he

is resting well."

Geloe almost smiled, "You and I can speak later."

"Go, Binabik," urged Josua. "I will go to him later my-

self. He is a brave boy, although perhaps a bit over-

eager."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER169

The troll bowed low and trotted out through the tent's

door flap-

"I wish my other news was good. Prince Josua," Geloe

said, "but the birds have brought me worrisome tidings.

There is a large force of armored men coming toward us

from the west."

"What?" Josua sat up, startled. Beside him, Vorzheva

draped her hands protectively across her belly. "I don't

understand. Who has sent you this message?"

The witch woman shook her head. "I do not mean birds

like Jamauga's, who carry little scraps of parchment. I

mean the birds of the sky. I can speak with them ... some-

what. Enough to understand the sense of things. There is a

small army on the march from the Hayholt. They have rid-

den through the valley towns of Hasu Vale and are now fol-

lowing the southern border of the great forest toward the

grasslands."

Deornoth stared at her. When he spoke, his voice

sounded weak and querulous, even to his own ears. "You

talk with birds?"

Geloe turned a sharp glance on him. "Your life may

have been saved by it. How do you think I knew to come

to you on the banks of the Stefflod, when you would have

fought Hotvig's men in the dark? And how do you think

I found you in the first place in all the vastness of

Aldheorte?"

Josua had laid his hand on Vorzheva's shoulder as if to

soothe her, although she looked quite calm. When he

spoke, his voice was unusually harsh. "Why have you not

told us of this before, Geloe? What other information

could we have had?"

The forest woman seemed to suppress a sharp reply. "I

have shared everything vital. There has been precious lit-

tle to share during this yearlong winter. Most of the birds

are dead, or hiding from the coldcertainly not flying.

Also, do not misunderstand: I cannot talk to them as you

and I are speaking now. Their thoughts are not people's

thoughts, and words do not always fit them, nor can I al-

ways understand. Weather they understand, and fear, but

those signs have been clear enough for us to read our-

170 Tad Williams

selves. Beyond that, it is only something as plain as a

large body of men on foot and horseback that can even

catch their attention. Unless some man is hunting them,

they think very little about us."

Deomoth realized he was staring and looked away. He

thought she did more than just talk with birdshe re-

membered the winged thing that had struck at him in the

copse above the Stefflodbut he knew it was foolish to

bring it up. It was more than foolish, he decided suddenly,

it was rude. Geloe had been a loyal ally and helpful

friend. Why did he begrudge her the secrets on which her

life was plainly founded?

"I think Valada Geloe is correct, sire," he said quietly.

"She has proven time and again that she is a valuable

ally. What is important now is the news she brings."

Josua stared at him for a moment, then nodded once in

assent. "Very well, Geloe, have your winged friends any

idea how many men are coming, and how fast?"

She thought for a moment. "I would say the number is

somewhere in the hundreds, Josua, although that is a

guess. Birds do not count as we do, either. As for when

they will be here, they seem to be traveling without hurry,

but still, I should not be surprised to see them inside a

month."

"Aedon's Blood," Josua swore. "It is Guthwulf and the

Erkynguard, that would be my wager. So little time. I had

hoped we might have until the coming spring to prepare."

He looked up. "Are you sure they come here?"

"No," said Geloe simply. "But where else?"

For Deomoth, the fear this announcement brought was

almost overwhelmed by a surprising sense of relief. It

was not what they had wanted, not so soon, but the situ-

ation was by no means hopeless. Despite their own scant

numbers, as long as they held this eminently defensible

rock entirely surrounded by water, there was at least a

small chance they could fight off a besieging force. And

it would be the first chance to strike back at Elias since

the destruction of Naglimund. Deornoth felt the knife-

edge of violence pressing against him. It would not be en-

tirely bad to simplify the world, since there seemed to be

TOGREENANGELTOWER171

no other choice. What was it that Einskaldir used to say?

"Fight and live, fight and die. God waits for all." Yes,

that was it. Simple.

"So," Josua said finally- "Caught between a bitter new

storm and my brother's army." He shook his head. "We

must defend ourselves, that is all. So soon after we have

found this place of refuge, we must fight and die again."

He stood up, then turned and bent to kiss his wife.

"Where are you going?" Vorzheva raised a hand to

touch his cheek, but did not meet his eyes. "Why do you

leave?"

Josua sighed. "I should go and speak to the lad Simon.

Then I will walk for a while and think."

He strode out into the night and the swift wind.

In the dream, Simon was seated upon a massive throne

made of smooth white stone. His throne room was not a

room at all, but a great sward of stiff green grass. The sky

overhead was as unnaturally blue and depthless as a

painted bowl. A vast circle of courtiers stood before him;

like the sky, their smiles seemed fixed and false.

"The king brings rebirth!" someone cried. The nearest

of the courtiers stepped up to the throne. It was a dark-

eyed woman dressed in gray with long straight hair; there

was something terribly familiar about her face. She set

before him a doll woven of leaves and reeds, then stepped

away again and, despite the absence of hiding places on

all sides, disappeared. The next person moved into place.

"Rebirth!" someone shouted; "Save us!" cried another.

Simon tried to tell them that he had no such power, but

the desperate faces continued to circle past, continuous

and indistinguishable as the spokes of a turning wheel.

The pile of offerings grew larger. There were other dolls,

and sheaves of summer-yellow wheat, as well as bunches

of flowers whose brightly colored petals seemed as artifi-

cial as the paint-blue sky. Baskets of fruit and cheeses

were placed before him, even farm animals, goats and

calves whose bleating rose above the importuning voices.

172 Tad Williams

"I can't help you!" Simon cried. "There's nothing to be

done!"

The endless parade of faces continued. The cries and

moans began to swell, an ocean of pleading that made his

ears ache. At last he looked back down and saw that a

child had been placed on the spreading mass of offerings,

as though atop a funeral bier. The infant's face was som-

ber, the eyes wide.

Even as Simon reached out to the child, his eye was

caught by the doll that had been the first gift. It was rot-

ting before his eyes, blackening and sagging until it be-

came little more than a smear upon the obscenely bright

grass. The other offerings were changing, too, decaying at

a horrible ratethe fruits first bruising and dimpling,

then seeming almost to froth as a blanket of mold swept

over them. The flowers dried to ashy flakes, the wheat di-

minished to gray dust. As Simon watched in horror, even

the tethered animals sagged, bloated, then were skeleton-

ized in heartbeats by a pulsing mass of squirming white

grubs.

Simon tried to clamber down off his throne, but the un-

likely seat had begun buckling and sliding beneath him,

pitching as though in an earth tremor. He tumbled to his

knees in the muck. Where was the baby? Where? It would

be consumed like the rest, crumbled into putrefaction un-

less he rescued it! He dove forward, shoveling through

the rotting, stinking humus that had been the pile of offer-

ings, but there was no sign of the childunless that was

a wink of gold, down there in the heap.... Simon scraped

down into the dark mass until it was all around him, clog-

ging his nose and filling his eyes like graveyard earth.

Was that gold, there, beaming through the shadows? He

must go deeper. Hadn't the child worn a golden bracelet?

Or had it been a ring, a golden band... ? Deeper. It was

so hard to breathe. -..

He awoke in the dark. After a moment of panic, he

fought free of his cloak and rolled toward the doorway,

then fumbled open the flap so he could see the few stars

not smothered by clouds. His heart slowed its pounding.

TOGREENANGELTOWER173

He was in the tent he and Binabik shared. Geloe and

Strangyeard and the troll had helped him stumble here

from the Observatory. Once they had laid him down on

his pallet, he had fallen into sleep and dreamed a strange

dream. But there had been another dream as well, hadn't

therethe journey on the Dream Road, a shadow house

and then a haunted ship? It was hard now to remember

which had been which, and where the separation was. His

head felt heavy and cobwebbed.

Simon pushed his head out and breathed the cold air,

drinking it in as though it were wine. Gradually his

thoughts became clearer. They had all gone to the Ob-

servatory to walk the Dream Road, but they had not found

Miriamele. That was the important thing, far more impor-

tant than some nightmare about dolls and babies and

golden rings. They had tried to reach Miriamele, but

something had prevented it, as Geloe had warned might

happen. Simon had refused to give up. Pushing on when

the others did not, he had almost lost himself in some-

thing badsomething very bad indeed.

/ almost reached her! Almost! I know I could do it if I

tried again!

But they had used the last ofGeloe's herbs, and in any

case, the time when the Dream Road could be walked had

almost ended. He would never have another chance ...

unless . . .

The ideaa frightening, clever ideahad just begun to

make its presence felt when he was startled from his

thoughts.

"I am surprised to find you awake." The lamp Josua

held limned his thin face in yellow light. "Binabik said he

had left you sleeping."

"I just woke up, your Highness." Simon tried to stand,

but tangled himself in the tent flap and nearly fell down

again.

"You should not be up. The troll said you had a diffi-

cult time. I do not quite understand all that you four were

doing, but I know enough to think you should be abed."

"I'm well." If the prince thought him sickly, he would

never let him go anywhere. Simon did not want to be left

174

Tad Williams

out of any further expeditions. "Truly. It was only a sort

of bad dream. I'm well."

"Hmm." Josua stared at him skeptically. "If you say it

is so. Come, thenwalk with me for a little while. Per-

haps afterward you will be able to go back to sleep."

"Walk... ?" Inwardly, Simon cursed himself. Just at a

time when he truly wanted to be alone, his stupid pride

had tricked him again. Still, it was a chance to talk to

Josua.

"Yes, just a short way across the hilltop. Get something

to wrap yourself in. Binabik will never forgive me if you

catch some ague under my care."

Simon ducked back into the tent and found his cloak.

They walked for a while in silence. The light of Josua's

lamp reflected eerily from the broken stones of Sesuad'ra.

"I want to be a help to you. Prince Josua," he said at

last. "I want to get your father's sword back."

Josua did not reply,

"If you let Binabik go with me, we will never be no-

ticed. We are too small to attract the king's attention. We

brought you Thorn, we can bring you Bright-Nail as

well."

"There is an army coming," said the prince. "It seems

my brother has learned of our escape and seeks to remedy

his earlier laxness."

As Josua related Geloe's news, Simon felt a surprising

sense of satisfaction growing within him- So he would not

be denied his chance to do something after all! A moment

later he remembered the women and children and old folk

who now made New Gadrinsett their home and was

ashamed at his pleasure. "What can we do?" he asked.

"We wait." Josua stopped before the shadowy bulk of

the House of Waters. A dark rivulet ran down the crum-

bling stone sluice at their feet- "All other roads are closed

to us, now. We wait, and we prepare. When Guthwulf or

whoever leads this troop arrivesit could even be my

brother himselfwe will fight to defend our new home.

If we lose ... well, then all is finished." The hilltop wind

lifted their cloaks and tugged at their clothing. "If some-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

175

how God grants that we win, we will try to move forward

and make some use of our victory."

The prince sat down on a fallen block of masonry, then

gestured for Simon to sit beside him. He set the lamp

down; their shadows were cast giant-sized on the walls of

the House of Waters. "We must live our lives day to day,

now. We must not think too far ahead or we will lose

what little we have."

Simon stared at the dancing flame. "What about the

Storm King?"

Josua drew his cloak tighter. "I do not knowit is too

vast a matter. We must stick to the things we can under-

stand." He lifted his hand toward the slumbering tent city.

"There are innocents to be protected. You are a knight

now, Simon. That is your sworn task."

"I know. Prince Josua."

The older man was silent for a while. "And I have my

own child to think of, as well." His grim smile was a

small movement in the lampglow. "I hope it is a girl."

"You do?"

"Once, when I was a younger man, I hoped my first-

born would be a son." Josua lifted his face to the stars. "I

dreamed of a son who would tove learning and justice,

but have none of my failings." He shook his head. "But

now, I hope our child is a girl. If we lost and he survived,

a son of mine would be hunted forever. Elias could not let

him live. And if we were to win somehow ..." He trailed

off.

"Yes?"

"If we were to win, and I took my father's throne, one

day I would have to send my son off to do something I

could not dosomething dangerous and glorious. That is

the way of kings and their sons. And I would never sleep

again, waiting to hear that he had been killed." He sighed.

"That is what I hate about ruling and royalty, Simon. It is

living, breathing people with whom a prince plays the

games of statecraft. I sent you and Binabik and the others

into dangeryou, who were little more than a child. No,

I know you are now a young manwho knighted you, af-

ter all?but that does not ease my remorse. With

176 Tad Williams

Aedon's mercy, you survived my attentionbut other

companions of yours did not."

Simon hesitated a moment before speaking. "But being

a woman does not save anyone from being caught by war,

Prince Josua. Think of Miriamele. Think of your wife,

Lady Vorzheva."

Josua nodded slowly. "I fear you are right. And now

there will be more fighting, more warand more helpless

ones will die." After a moment's thought he looked up,

startled. "Elysia, Mother of God, this is wonderful medi-

cine for someone suffering from nightmares!" He grinned

shamefacedly. "Binabik will kick me for thistaking his

ward out and talking to him of death and misery." He put

his arm around Simon's shoulder for a brief instant, then

rose to his feet. "I will take you back to your tent. The

wind is getting fierce."

As the prince bent to retrieve the lamp, Simon watched

his spare features and felt a painful kind of love for

Josua, a love mixed with pity, and wondered if all knights

felt this way about their lords. Would Simon's own father

Eahlferend have been stern but kind like Josua if he had

lived? Would he and Simon have talked together about

such things?

Most important of all, Simon thought as they pushed

through the waving grass, would Eahlferend have been

proud of his son?

They saw Qantaqa's gleaming eyes before they could

make out Binabik, a small dark figure standing beside the

tent door.

"Ah, good," the troll said- "1 was, I must confess, full

of worrying when I found you gone, Simon."

"It is my fault, Binabik. We were talking." Josua turned

to Simon. "I leave you in able hands. Sleep well, young

knight." He smiled and took his leave.

"Now." said Binabik sternly, "it is back to your bed

that you should go." He directed Simon through the door,

then followed him inside. Simon suppressed a groan as he

lay down. Was this to be a night when everyone in New

Gadrinsett would wish to talk with him?

TOGREENANGELTOWER177

His groan became actual as Qantaqa, following them

into the tent, stepped on his stomach.

"Qantaqa1 Hinik aia!" Binabik swatted at the wolf. She

growled and backed out of the door flap. "Now, time for

sleeping."

"You're not my mother," Simon muttered. How could

he ever do anything about his idea with Binabik hanging

about? "Are you going to sleep now, too?"

"I cannot." Binabik took an extra cloak and threw that

over Simon as well. "I am on watch with Sludig this

night. I will return to the tent with quietness when it is

finished." He crouched at Simon's side. "Are you wishing

to talk for a while? Was Josua telling you about the armed

men who are coming here?"

"He told me." Simon feigned a yawn. "I'll talk to you

about it tomorrow. I am sleepy, now that you mention it."

"You have had a day of great difficulty. The Dream

Road was treacherous, as Geloe was warning."

Simon's desire to get on with his plans was blunted for

a moment by curiosity- "What was that, Binabikthat

thing on the Dream Road. Like a storm, with sparks in it?

Did you see it, too?"

"Geloe is not knowing, and neither am I. Some distur-

bance, she called it. A storm is a good word, because I am

thinking it was something like bad weather on the Road

of Dreams. But what was causing it is something for

guessing about, only. And even the guessing is not good

for nighttime and the dark." He stood up. "Sleep well,

friend Simon."

"Good night, Binabik." He listened as the troll made

his way outside and whistled for Qantaqa, then he lay

quietly for a long time after, counting ten score heartbeats

before he slid out from beneath the sheltering cloaks and

went searching for Jiriki's mirror.

He found it in the saddlebags Binabik had saved from

Homefmder. The White Arrow was there, too, as was a

heavy drawstring sack that momentarily puzzled him. He

hefted it, then struggled with the knotted cord that held it

shut. Memory came back to him suddenly: Aditu had

given it to him at their parting, saying it was something

178

Tad Williams

sent from Amerasu to Josua. Curious, Simon wondered

for a moment if he should take it with him and open it in

a more private place, but he felt time pressing- Binabik

might come back sooner than expected; it would be better

to be berated for being absent than to be stopped before

he had a chance to try out his idea. He reluctantly pushed

the sack back into the saddlebag. Later, he promised him-

self. Then he would give it to the prince, as he had prom-

ised.

Stopping only to root out the small pouch containing

his flints, he slipped out of the tent and into the cold

night.

Scant moonlight leaked through the clouds, but it was

enough for him to find his way across the hilltop. A few

shadowy figures were moving through the tent city on

one sort of errand or another, but none challenged him,

and soon he had passed out of New Gadrinsett and into

the central ruins of Sesuad'ra.

The Observatory was deserted. Simon crept through the

deep-shadowed interior until he found the remains of

the fire Geloe had made. The ashes were still warm. He

added a few pieces of kindling that lay beside the embers,

then sprinkled it with a handful of sawdust from his

pouch. He struck at the blunt edge of his iron with his

flint until he finally managed to catch a spark. It died be-

fore he could breathe it into full life, so he laboriously re-

peated the procedure, cursing quietly. At last he managed

to start a small fire burning.

The carved rim of Jiriki's mirror seemed warm to his

touch, but the reflecting surface, when he held it near his

cheek, was as cold as a sheet of ice. He breathed on it as

he had breathed on the hard-won spark, then held it up

before his face.

His scar had lost some of its angry flame; it was now

a red and white line curving down his cheek from his eye

to his jaw. It gave him, he thought, a certain soldierly

lookthe appearance of one who had fought for what

was right and honorable. The snow-white streak running

through his hair also seemed to add a touch of maturity.

His beard, which he could not resist fluffing with his fin-

TOGREENANGELTOWER179

gers while he stared, made him look, if not like a knight,

at least like a young man rather than a boy. He wondered

what Miriamele would think if she could see him now.

Maybe I'll find out soon.

He tilted the mirror a little, so that the firelight illu-

mined only half his face, leaving the remainder in red-

tinged shadow. He thought carefully about what Geloe

had said about the Observatory, how it had once been a

place where the Sithi saw and spoke to each other over

great distances. He tried to pull its antiquity and silence

|around him like a cape. He had found Miriamele once be-

vfore in the mirror, without trying: why not now, in this

potent place?

As he stared at his own halved reflection, the quality of

the firelight seemed to change. The flicker became a gen-

tle wavering, then slowed to a methodical pulse of scarlet

light. The face in the mirror dissolved into smoky gray,

and as he felt himself falling forward into it, he had time

for a brief, triumphant thought.

And nobody wanted to teach me magic!

The frame of the mirror had vanished and the grayness

was all around him. After his joumeyings earlier in the

day, he was undaunted: this was-old and familiar territory.

But even as he told himself this, another thought suddenly

came to him. He had always had a guide before, and other

travelers with him. This time there would be no Leieth to

share his troubles, and no Geloe or Binabik to help him if

he should go too far. A thin frost of fear descended, but

Simon fought it back. He had used the mirror to call Jiriki

once, had he not? There had been no one to help him

then. Still, a small pan of him guessed that calling for

help might be a little less difficult than exploring the

Road of Dreams by himself.

But Geloe had said that time was running short, that

soon the Dream Road would be impassable. This might

be his last chance to reach Miriamele, his last chance to

save her and guide her back. If Binabik and the others

found out, it would certainly be his last chance. He must

go forward. Besides, Miriamele would be so astonished,

so pleased and surprised....

i8o Tad Williams

The gray void seemed thicker this time. If he swam, it

was in gelid, muddy waters. How did one find his way

here, without landmarks or signs? Simon formed the im-

age of Miriamele in his mind, the same that he had held

at sunset, dream-traveling with the others. This time,

though, the picture would not hold together. Surely that

was not what Miriamele's eyes looked like? And her hair,

even when she had dyed it for disguise, was never that

shade of sorrel brown? He fought with the recalcitrant vi-

sion, but the features of the lost princess would not come

right. He was even having trouble remembering what they

should look like. Simon felt as though he tried to build a

stained glass window with colored water: the shapes ran

and merged together, heedless of his efforts.

Even as he struggled, the grayness around him began to

change. The difference was not immediately obvious, but

if Simon had been in his bodywhich he suddenly

wished he werethe hair on the back of his neck would

have risen and goosebumps would have carbuncled his

skin. Something shared the void with him, something

much vaster than he was. He felt the outward wash of its

power, but unlike the dream-storm that had caught at him

before, this thing was no mindless force: it exuded intel-

ligence and evil patience. He felt its remorseless scrutiny

as a swimmer in the open sea might sense a great-finned

thing pass beneath him in the black depths.

Simon's solitude suddenly seemed a kind of dreadful

nakedness. He struggled, desperate to make contact with

something that might pull him away from this shelterless

void. He felt himself dwindling with fear, guttering like a

candleflamehe did not know how to get away! How

could he leave this place? He tried to startle himself out

of the dream, to come awake, but as in childhood night-

mares, there was no breaking the spell. He had entered

this dream without sleeping, so how could he wake from

it?

The blurry image that was not Miriamele remained. He

tried to force himself toward it, to pull away from what-

ever great, slow thing was stalking him-

Help me.' he screamed silently, and felt a glimmer of

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

l8l

recognition somewhere on the horizon of his thoughts. He

reached for it, grasping at it like a castaway at a spar.

This new presence became a little stronger, but even as it

grew in strength, the thing that shared the void with him

extended a fraction more of its own power, just enough to

keep him from escaping. He sensed a malicious alien hu-

mor that delighted in his hopeless struggle, but he also

sensed that the thing was tiring of the diversion and

would soon end the game. A kind of deadening force

reached out and surrounded him, a coldness of the soul

that froze his efforts even as he reached out one more

time toward the faint presence. He touched her then,

across a dreadful span of dream, and clung.

Miriamele? he thought, praying that it was so, terrified

to let loose of the tenuous contact. Whoever she was, she

seemed finally to realize that he was there, but the thing

that had him did not falter now. A black shadow moved

over and through him, smothering light and thought....

Seoman!? Another presence was with him suddenly

not the hesitant feminine one, not the dark, deadly other.

Come to me. Seoman! it called. Come!

A warmth touched him. The chill grasp of the other

squeezed more tightly for a Tnoment, then let gonot

overpowered, he sensed from its retreating thought, but

bored and unwilling to trouble with such small matters, as

a cat might lose interest in a mouse that had run under a

stone. The gray came back, still featureless and direction-

less, then began to swirl like breeze-twisted clouds. A

face formed before himthin-boned, with eyes like liq-

uid gold.

"Jiriki!"

"Seoman," the other said. His face was worried. "Are

you in danger? Do you need help?"

"I am safe now, I think." Indeed, the lurking presence

seemed gone completely. "What was that horrible

thing?"

"I do not know for sure what had you, but if it was not

of Nakkiga, there is more evil in the world than even we

suspected." Despite the strange disconnectedness of

dream-vision, Simon could see the Sitha studying him

182 Tad Williams

carefully. "Do you mean to say you did not call me for a

reason?"

"/ didn't mean to call you at all." Simon replied, a lit-

tle shamed now that the worst was over. "I was trying to

find Miriamelethe king's daughter. I told you about

her."

"By yourself, on the Road of Dreams?" With the anger,

there was a kind of chilly amusement. "Idiot manchild! If

I had not been resting, and thus near to the place you

arenear in thought, I meanthen only the Grove knows

what would have become of you." After a moment, the

feeling of his presence warmed. "Still, I am glad you are

well."

"I'm happy to see you, too." And he was. Simon had

not realized how much he missed Jiriki's calm voice. "We

are at the Stone of FarewellSesuad'ra. Elias is sending

troops. Can you help us?"

The Sitha's angular face turned grim. "/ cannot come

to you any time soon, Seoman. You must keep yourself

safe. My father Shima 'onari is dying."

"I'm ... I'm sorry."

"He slew the hound Niku'a, greatest beast ever

whelped in the kennels ofNakkiga, but he took his death-

wound in the doing of it. It is another knot in the overlong

skeinanother blood-debt to Utuk'ku and ..." he hesi-

tated, "the other. Still, the Houses are gathering. When

my father at last is taken to the Grove, the Zida'ya will

ride to war again." After his earlier flash of anger the

Sitha had returned to his customary implacability, but Si-

mon thought he could detect an underlying feeling of ten-

sion, of excitment.

Simon's hopes rose. "Will you join with Josua? Will

you fight with us?"

Jiriki frowned. "I cannot say, Seomanand I would not

make false promises. If I have my way, we will, and one

last time the Zida'ya and Sudhoda'ya will fight together.

But there are many who will speak when I speak, and

many will have their own ideas. We have danced the

year's end many hundreds of times since all the Houses

were together for a war-council. Look!"

TOGREENANOELTOWER

183

Jiriki's face shimmered and faded, and for a moment

Simon could see a cloudy scene, a vast circle of silver-

leaved trees that stretched tall as towers. Gathered at their

feet was a great host of Sithi, hundreds of immortals clad

in armor of wildly different forms and colors, armor that

glinted and shimmered in the columns of sunlight that

spilled down through the treetops.

"Look. The members of all the Houses are joined at

Jao e-Tinukai'i. Cheka'iso Amber-Locks is here, as is

Zinjadu, Lore-Mistress of lost Kementari, and Yizashi

Grayspear. Even Kuroyi the tall horseman has come, who

has not joined with the House of Year-Dancing since

Shi'iki and Senditu's day. The exiles have returned, and

we will fight as one people, as we have not done since

Asu 'a fell. In this, anyway, Amerasu 's death and my fa-

ther 's sacrifice will not be in vain."

The vision of the armored host faded, then Jiriki faced

Simon once more. "But I have only a little power to guide

this gathering offerees," he said, "and we Zida'ya have

many obligations. I cannot promise we will come,

Seoman, but I will do my best to uphold my own duties to

you. If your need is great, call me. You know I will do

what I can."

"I know, Jiriki." There seemed many other things that

he should tell him, but Simon's mind was in a whirl. "/

hope we see each other soon."

At last, Jiriki smiled. "As I said once before, manchild,

a very unmagical wisdom tells me we shall meet again.

Be brave."

"I will."

The Sitha's face grew serious. "Now go, please. As you

have found, the Witnesses and the Dream Road are no

longer reliablein fact, they are dangerous. I also doubt

that words spoken here are safe from listening ears. That

the Houses are gathering is no secret, but what the

Zida 'ya will do is. Avoid these realms. Seaman."

"But I need to find Miriamele," Simon said stubbornly.

"You will only find trouble, 1 fear. Leave it alone. Be-

sides. perhaps she is hiding from things that might not

184 Tad Williams

find her unless, without meaning to, you lead them to

her."

Simon thought guiltily of Amerasu, but realized Jiriki

had not intended to remind him of that, but only to cau-

tion him, "If you say so," he acceded. So it had all been

for nothing-

"Good." The Sitha narrowed his eyes, and Simon felt

his presence begin to fade. A sudden thought came.

"But I don't know how to get back!"

"I will help you. Farewell for now, my Hikka Staja."

Jiriki's features blurred and evaporated, leaving only

shimmering gray. As even that emptiness began to fade,

Simon felt again a faint touch, the feminine presence to

which he had reached out in his moment of fear. Had she

been with them all along? Was she a spy, as Jiriki had

warned about? Or was it indeed Miriamele, separated

from him somehow, but nonetheless feeling that he was

near? Who was it?

As he came back to himself, shivering in the cold be-

neath the Observatory's broken dome, he wondered if he

would ever know.

6

The Sea-Grave

Miriomefe had paced back and forth across the small

cabin so many times that she could almost feel the plank

flooring wearing away beneath her slippered feet.

She had nerved herself to an exquisite pitch, ready to

slit the earl's throat as he lay sleeping. But now, at Gan

Itai's direction, she had hidden the pilfered dagger and

was waitingbut she did not know for what. She was

trembling, and no longer just with anger and frustration:

the gnawing fear, which she had been able to suppress

with the thought that all would be over quickly, had re-

turned. How long could it be until Aspitis noticed the

theft of his knife? And would he have even a moment's

doubt before he fixed the blame in the obvious place?

This time, he would come to her wary and prepared; then,

instead of the bindings of shame and society, she would

go to her impending wedding in chains as real as

Cadrach's.

As she paced, she prayed to blessed Elysia and Usires

for help, but in the offhand way that one spoke to an

ancient relative who had long ago gone deaf and numb-

witted. She had little doubt that whatever happened to her

on this drifting ship was of scant interest to a God who

could allow her to reach this sorry state in the first place.

She had been proved wrong twice. After a childhood

surrounded by flatterers and lackeys, she had been certain

the only way to make a life worth living was to listen

only to her own counsel and then push forward against

any impediment, letting no one stay her from whatever

i86 Tcsd Williams

seemed importantbut it was just that course which had

brought her to this horrible position. She had fled her un-

cle's castle, certain that she alone could help change the

course of events, but the faithless tides of time and his-

tory had not waited for her, and the very things she hoped

to prevent had occurred anywayNaglimund fallen,

Josua defeatedleaving her without purpose. So it had

seemed wisest to cease fighting, to put an end to a life-

time's worth of stubborn resistance and simply let events

push her along. But that plan had proven as foolish as the

first, for her listlessness had brought her to Aspitis' bed,

and soon would make her his queen. For a while this re-

alization had toppled Miriamele back into heedlessness

she would kill him, and then likely be killed by Aspitis'

men; there would be no mucking about in the middle

ground, no complicated responsibilities. But Gan Itai had

stopped her, and now she drifted and circled just as the

Eadne Cloud idled on the windless waters.

This was an hour of decision, the sort Miriamele had

learned about from her tutorsas when Pelippa, the pam-

pered wife of a nobleman, had to decide whether to de-

clare her belief in the condemned Usires. The pictures in

her childhood prayer book were still fresh in her memory.

As a young princess, she had been chiefly fascinated by

the silver paint on Pelippa's dress. Miriamele had given

little thought to Pelippa herself, to the actual people

caught up in the legends, written of in stories, painted on

walls. Only recently had it occurred to her to wonder how

it felt to be one of those folk. Had the warring kings im-

mortalized in the Sancellan's tapestries walked back and

forth in their ancient halls as they agonized over deci-

sions, thinking little of what people would say in centu-

ries unborn, but rather sorting the smalt facts of the

moment, trying to see a pattern that might guide them to

a wise choosing?

As the ship gently rocked and the sun rose into the sky,

Miriamele paced and thought- Surely there must be some

way to be bold without being stupid, to be resilient with-

out becoming malleable and yielding as candle wax.

Along some course midway between these two extremes,

TOGREENANGELTOWER

IS?

might there be a way she could survive? And if there was,

could she then fashion from it a life worth living?

In the lamplit cabin, hidden from the sun, Miriamele

pondered. She had not slept much the night before and

she doubted she would sleep in the night that was coming

... if she lived to see it.

When the knock came upon her door, it was a quiet

one. She thought herself ready to face even Aspitis, but

her fingers trembled as they reached for the door handle.

It was Gan Itai, but for a moment Miriamele thought

that some other Niskie had come aboard, so changed did

the sea-watcher look. Her golden-brown skin seemed

almost gray. Her face was loose and haggard and

her sunken, red-rimmed eyes seemed to gaze out at

Miriamele across a vast distance. The Niskie had wrapped

her cloak closely about her, as though even in the swol-

len, humid air that presaged a storm, she feared catching

a chill.

"Mercy of Aedon!" Miriamele hustled her inside and

pushed the door closed. "Are you ill, Gan Itai? What has

happened?" Aspitis had discovered the theft and was on

his way, of coursethat could "be the only reason for the

Niskie to look so dreadful. Miriamele faced this resolu-

tion with a kind of cold relief. "Do you need something?

Water to drink?"

Gan Itai raised her weathered hand. "I need nothing. I

have been ... thinking."

"Thinking? What do you mean?"

The Niskie shook her head- "Do not interrupt, girl. I

have things to say to you. I made my own decision." She

sat down on Miriamele's bed, moving as though two

score years had been added to her age. "First, do you

know where the landing boat is?"

Miriamele nodded. "Near midship on the starboard

side, hanging from the windlass ropes." There was at

least some advantage to having lived among waterfaring

folk most of her young life-

"Good. Go to it this afternoon, when you are sure you

are unobserved. Hide these there." The Niskie lifted her

188 Tad Williams

cloak and dumped several bundles out onto the bed. Four

were water skins, tight-filled; two more were packages

wrapped in sacking. "Bread, cheese, and water," Gan Itai

explained. "And some bone fishhooks, so you may per-

haps have some flesh to eke out your provisions. There

are a few other small things that may also prove useful."

"What does this mean?" Miriamele stared at the old

woman. Gan Itai still looked as though she carried some

dreadful burden, but her eyes had lost some of the

clouded look. They glinted now.

"It means you are escaping. I cannot sit and watch such

wickedness forced on you. I would not be one of the Nav-

igator's true children if I did."

"But it cannot happen!" Miriamele fought against the

rush of witless hope. "Even if I could get off the ship,

Aspitis would hunt me down within a few hours. The

wind will come up long before I reach land. Do you think

I can vanish in a dozen leagues of empty sea, or outrow

the Eadne Cloudr

"Outrow her? No." There was a strange pride in Gan

Itai's expression. "Of course not- She is fleet as a dol-

phin. But as to how ... leave that to me, child. That is

the rest of mv duty. You, however, must do one other

thing."

Miriamele swallowed her arguments. Heedless, stub-

born pushing had done her little good in the past.

"What?"

"In the hold, in one of the barrels near the starboard

wall, tools and other metal goods are packed in oil. There

is writing on the cask, so do not fear you will not find it-

Go to the hold after sunset, take a chisel and a mallet

from the barrel, and strike off Cadrach's chains- Then he

must hide the fact that the chains are broken, in case

someone comes."

"Break his chains? But everyone on the ship will hear

me." Weariness descended on her. Already it seemed

clear that the Niskie's plan could never succeed.

"Unless my nose betrays me, the storm will be here

soon. A ship at sea in heavy wind makes many noises."

^

,}.,'.

TOGREENANGELTOWER189

Gan Itai lifted her hand to still further questions. "Just do

those tasks, then leave the hold and go to your cabin or

anywhere, but do not let anybody bolt you in." She wag-

gled her long fingers for emphasis. "Even if you must

feign sickness or madness, do not let anyone put a bolt

between you and freedom." The golden eyes stared into

her own until Miriamele felt her doubts wither away.

"Yes," she said. "I will."

"Then, at midnight, when the moon is just there" the

Niskie pointed at a spot on the ceiling, as if the sky were

spread directly over them, "get your learned friend and

help him to the landing boat. I will make sure you get a

chance to put it overboard." She looked up, caught by a

sudden thought. "By the Uncharted, girl, make sure that

the oars are in the boat! Look for them when you hide the

food and water."

Miriamele nodded- So the matter was resolved. She

would do her best to live, but if she failed, she would not

struggle against the inevitable. Even as her husband,

Aspitis Preves could not keep her alive against her will.

"And what will you do, Gan Itai?" she asked.

"What I have to."

*

"But it was not a dream!" Tiamak was growing angry,

What did it take to convince this great brute of a Rim-

mersman? "It was Geloe, the wise woman of Aldheorte

Forest. She talked to me through a child who has been in

all my dreams of late. I have read of this. It is a trick of

the Art, something adepts can do."

"Calm yourself, man. I didn't say you imagined it."

Isgrimnur turned from the old man, who was waiting pa-

tiently for the next question the duke might ask him. Al-

though unable to answer, he-who-had-been-Camaris

seemed to get a quiet, childlike satisfaction from the at-

tention, and would sit smiling back at Isgrimnur for

hours. "I have heard of this Geloe. I believe you, man.

And when we can leave, your Stone of Farewell is as

good a destination as anyI have heard that Josua's

190

TOGREENANGELTOWER

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191

camp is somewhere near where you say the place is. But

I cannot let a dream of any kind, no matter how urgent it

seems, take me away Just yet."

"But why?" Tiamak was not even sure himself why it

seemed so important that they leave. All he knew was

that he was tired of feeling worthless. "What can we do

here?"

"I am waiting for Miriamele, Prince Josua's niece,"

said the Rimmersman. "Dinivan sent me to this godfor-

saken inn. Perhaps he sent her as well. Since it is my

sworn duty to find her, and I have lost the trail, I must

stay for a time here where the track ends."

"If he sent her, then why is she not here now?" Tia-

mak knew he was making trouble, but could not help

himself.

"Perhaps she's been delayed. It is a long journey on

foot." Isgrimnur's mask of calm slipped a little. "Now be

quiet, damn you! I have told you all I can. If you wish to

go, then go! I won't stop you."

Tiamak closed his mouth with a snap, then turned and

limped unhappily to his bundle of belongings. He began

to sort through them in halfhearted preparation for depar-

ture.

Should he leave? It was a long journey, and would

certainly be better made with companions, however short-

sighted and uncaring of his feelings they might be. Or

maybe it would be better just to slink back to his house

in the banyan tree, deep in the marsh outside Village

Grove. But his people would demand to know what had

become of his forsaken errand to Nabban on their behalf,

and what would he tell them?

He Who Always Steps on Sand, Tiamak prayed, save

me from this terrible indecision!

His restless fingers touched heavy parchment. He drew

out the page of Nisses* lost book and cradled it briefly in

his hands. This small triumph, anyway, no one could take

from him. It was he and no one else who had found it.

But, sadness of sadnesses, Morgenes and Dinivan were no

longer alive to marvel at it!

". .. Bringe from Nuanni 's Rocke Garden,"

he read silently,

"... The Man who tho' Blinded canne See

Discover the Blayde that delivers The Rose

At the foote of the Rimmer 's greate Tree

Find the Call whose lowde Claime

Speakes the Call-bearer's name

In a Shippe on the Shallowest Sea

When Blayde, Call, and Man

Come to Prince's right Hande

Then the Prisoned shall once more go Free ..."

He remembered the dilapidated shrine to Nuanni he had

found in his wanderings a few days earlier. The wheezing,

half-blind old priest had been able to tell him little of im-

port, although he was quite happy to talk after Tiamak

dropped a pair of cintis-pieces into the offering bowl.

Nuanni was, apparently, a sea god of ancient Nabban whose

glory days had passed even before the upstart Usires ap-

peared. Old Nuanni's followers were few indeed these days,

the priest had assured him: were it not for the tiny pockets

of worship still clinging to life in the superstitious islands,

no one living would remember Nuanni's name, although the

god had once bestrode the Great Green, first in the hearts of

all seafarers. As it was, the old priest guessed that his was

the last shrine still on the mainland.

Tiamak had been pleased to hear the now-familiar

name from his parchment at last given substance, but had

thought little more of it than that. Now he let his mind

run on the first line of the puzzling rhyme and wondered

if "Nuanni's rock garden" might not refer to the scattered

islands of Firannos Bay themselves... ?

"What do you have there, little man? A map, hey?"

From the sound of his voice, Isgrimnur was trying to be

friendly, perhaps in an effort to offset his earlier

gruffnessbut Tiamak was having none of it.

"Nothing. It is not your business." He quickly rolled

192 Tad Williams

the parchment and pushed it back into his clump of be-

longings.

"No need to bite my head off," the duke growled.

"Come, man, talk to me. Are you truly leaving?"

"I do not know." Tiamak did not want to turn and look

at him. The Rimmersman was so large and imposing that

he made the Wrannaman feel terribly small. "I might. But

it would be a long way for one to go alone."

"How would you go, anyway?" Isgrimnur's interest

sounded genuine.

Tiamak considered. "If I did not go with you two, there

would be no need to be inconspicuous. So I would go the

straightest way possible, overland across Nabban and the

Thrithings. It would be a long walk, but I am not afraid

of exertion." He frowned, thinking of his injured leg. It

might never heal, and certainly was not now capable of

carrying him a long distance. "Or perhaps I would buy a

donkey," he added.

"You certainly speak fine Westerling for a Wran-man,"

Isgrimnur smiled. "You use words I don't know myself."

"I told you," Tiamak replied stiffly. "I studied with the

Aedonite brothers in Perdruin. And Morgenes himself

taught me much."

"Of course." Isgrimnur nodded. "But, hmm, if you did

have to travelinconspicuously, I think you said? If you

did have to travel without being noticed, what then?

Some secret marsh-man tunnels, or something like?"

Tiamak looked up. Isgrimnur was watching him care-

fully. Tiamak quickly lowered his gaze, trying to hide a

smile of his own. The Rimmersman was trying to trick

him, as though Tiamak were a child! It was funny, actu-

ally. "I imagine I would fly."

"Fly!?" Tiamak could almost hear the look of incredu-

lity twist the duke's features. "Are you mad?"

"Oh, no," said Tiamak earnestly, "it is a trick known to

all Wran-dwellers- Why do you think that we are only ob-

served in places like Kwanitupul, where we choose to be

seen? Surely you know that great blundering drylanders

come into the Wran and never see a living soul. It is be-

cause when we have to, we can fly. Just like birds." He

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

*93

darted a sideways glance. Isgrimnur's baffled face was

everything he could hope. "Besides, if we could not fly

... how would we reach the treetop nests where we lay

our eggs?"

"S'Red Blood! Aedon on the Tree!" Isgrimnur swore

explosively. "Damn you, marsh man! Mock me, will

you?!"

Tiamak cringed in expectation of having some heavy

object thrown at him, but a moment later looked up to see

the duke grinning and shaking his head. "I suppose I

asked for that. You Wrannamen have a sense of humor, it

seems."

"Perhaps some drylanders do also."

"Still, the problem remains." Isgrimnur glowered.

"Life seems nothing but difficult choices these days. By

the Ransomer's Name, I have made mine and must live

with it: if Miriamele does not appear by the twenty-first

day of OctanderSoul's Day, that isthen I, too, will

say 'enough' and head north. There is my choice. Now

you must make yours: stay or go." He turned back to the

old man, who had observed their entire conversation with

benign incomprehension. "I hope you stay, little man,"

the duke added quietly.

Tiamak stared for a moment, then stood and walked to

the window. Below, the murky canal gleamed like green

metal in the afternoon sun. He pulled himself up onto the

sill and dangled his wounded leg out the window.

"Inihe Red-Flower had dark hair, "

he crooned, watching a flatboat bob past,

"Dark hair, dark eyes. Slender as a vine she was,

And she sang to the gray doves.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, she sang to them all the night long.

"Shoaneg Swift-Rowing heard her,

Heard her, loved her. Strong as a banyan he was,

But he had no children.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, he had no one to carry his name.

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"Shoaneg called out to Red-Flower,

Wooed her, won her. Swift as dragon/lies their love

was,

And she came back to his home.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, her feather hung over his door.

"Inihe, she bore a boy-child,

Nursed him, loved him. Sweet as cool wind he was.

And he bore Swift-Rowing's name.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, water was safe to him as sand.

"The child grew up to wander,

Rowing, running. Footloose as a rabbit he was,

Traveled far from his home.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, he was stranger to the hearth.

"One day his boat came empty,

Spinning, drifting. Empty as a nutshell it was,

Red-Flower's child was gone.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, he had blown away like thistledown.

"Shoaneg said forget him,

Heartless, thoughtless. Like a foolish nestling he was,

Who flies from his home.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, his father cursed his name.

"Inihe could not believe it,

Missed him, mourned him. Sad as drifting leaves she

was,

Her tears soaked the floor-reeds.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, she cried for her missing son.

"Red-Flower burned to find him,

Hoping, praying. Like a hunting owl she was,

Who would search for her son.

Ah-ye, ah-ye, she would find her lost child.

"Shoaneg said he forbade her,

Shouted, ordered. Angry as a beehive he was,

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

195

If she went, he had no wife.

Ah~ye, ah-ye, he would blow her feather from his

door ..."

Tiamak broke off. A barge, crewed by shouting

Wrannaman, was being poled awkwardly into a narrow

side-canal. It scraped hard against the wharf pilings which

jutted at the front of the inn like rotten teeth. The surface

of the water boiled with waves. Tiamak turned to look at

Isgrimnur, but the duke had left the room. Only the old

man remained, his eyes fixed on nothing, his face vacant

but for a small, secretive smile.

It was long since Tiamak's mother had sung that song

to him. The tale of Inihe Red-Flower's terrible choice had

been her favorite. Thinking of her brought a tightness to

Tiamak's throat. He had betrayed the trust she would have

wanted him to keepthe debt he owed to his own people.

Now what should he do? Wait here with these drylanders?

Go to Geloe and the other Scrollbearers who had asked

him to come? Or return in shame to his own Village

Grove? Wherever he went, he knew that his mother's

spirit would watch him, mourning because her son had

turned his back on his people.

He frowned as if tasting something bitter. Isgrimnur

was right about one thing, anyway. These days, these

bleak days, life seemed nothing but difficult choices.

A

"Pull her back!" the voice said. "Quickly!"

Maegwin woke to find herself staring straight down

into white nothingness. The transition was so strange that

for a moment she thought she still dreamed. She leaned

forward, trying to move through this emptiness as she had

moved through the gray dream-void, but something re-

strained her. She gasped as she felt the fierce, biting cold.

She was leaning out over an abyss of swirling snow.

Rough hands were clutching at her shoulders.

"Hold her!"

She flung herself backward, scrabbling for safety,

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struggling against those who held her. When she could

feel stone solidly beneath her on all sides, she let out a

deep rush of close-held breath and went limp. The flurry-

ing snowflakes were quickly filling the indentations left

by her knees along the outer edge of the precipice.

Nearby, the ashes of her small campfire had all but disap-

peared under a mantle of white.

"Lady Maegwinwe are here to help you!"

She looked around, dazed. Two men still held her

tightly; a third stood a few paces behind her. All were

heavily cloaked, and wore scarves wrapped around their

faces. One wore the tattered crest of the Croich clan.

"Why have you brought me back?" Her voice seemed

slow and clumsy. "I was with the gods."

"You were about to fall. Lady," the man at her right

shoulder said. She could feel from the hand that gripped

her that he was shivering. "We have been searching for

you three days."

Three days! Maegwin shook her head and looked at the

sky. From the indistinct gleam of the sun, it was only a

little after dawn. Had she really been with the gods all

that time? It had seemed scarcely an instant. If only these

men had not come....

No, she told herself. That is selfish. I had to come

backand I would have been of no use if I had tumbled

down the mountain and died.

After all, she now had a duty to survive. She had more

than duty.

Maegwin unwrapped her chilled fingers from the

dwarrow-stone, letting it tumble to the ground. She felt

her heart swell inside her. She had been right! She had

climbed Bradach Tor as the dream had bidden her. Now,

here in the high place she had dreamed again, dreams just

as compelling as the ones that had brought her here.

Maegwin had felt the messenger of the gods reaching

out for her, a messenger in the form of a tall, red-haired

youth. Although his features had been misted by the

dream, she guessed that he was very beautiful. Perhaps he

was a fallen hero of old Hernystir, Airgad Oakheart or

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWhR

197

Prince Sinnach, taken to live in the sky with Brynioch

and the rest'

During the first vision back in the cavern she had

merely sensed him looking for her, but when she tried to

reach out to him the dream had dissolved, leaving her

chill and lonely atop her rock. Then, when she had fallen

back into sleep, she had felt the messenger searching for

her once more. She had felt that his need was urgent, so

she had strained herself to the utmost, trying to bum as

bright as a lamp so that he could find her, stretching her-

self out through the substance of the dream so she could

reach him. Then, when she had touched him at last, he

had instantly carried her to the threshold of the land

where the gods lived.

And surely that had been one of the gods she had seen

there! Again, the dream-vision had been foggedperhaps

living mortals could not witness the gods in their true

formsbut the face that had appeared before her was

nothing bom of man or woman. If nothing else, the burn-

ing, inhumanly golden eyes would have proved that. Per-

haps she had seen cloud-bearing Brynioch himself! The

messenger, whose spirit had remained with her, seemed to

tell the god something aboura high placewhich could

only be the spot where Maegwin's sleeping body lay

while her soul flitted in dreamthen the messenger and

the god spoke of a king's daughter and a dead father. It

had all been very confusing, the voices seeming to come

to her garbled and echoing, as if through a very long tun

net or across a mighty chasmbut who else could they

have been speaking of but Maegwin herself and her own

father Lluth, who had died protecting his people?

Not all the words spoken reached her, but the sense of

them was clear: the gods were readying themselves for

battle. Surely that could only mean they were going to in-

tervene at last. For a moment she had even been vouch-

safed a glimpse into the very halls of Heaven. A mighty

host of them had waited there, fiery-eyed and streaming-

haired, clad in armor as colorful as the wings of butter-

flies, their spears and swords shimmering like lightning in

a summer's sky. Maegwin had seen the gods themselves

198

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in their power and glory. It was true, it must be! How

could there be any doubt now? The gods meant to take

the field and to wreak revenge on Hemystir's enemies-

She swayed back and forth and the two men steadied

her- She felt that if she leaped from Bradach Tor at this

moment she would not fall, but would fly like a starling,

arrow-swift down the mountain to tell her people the

wonderful news. She laughed at herself and her foolish

ideas, then laughed again with joy that she should be cho-

sen by the gods of field, water, and sky to bear their mes-

sage of coming redemption.

"My lady?" The man's worry was clear in his tone.

"Are you ill?"

She ignored him, afire with ideas. Even if she could not

truly fly, she must hurry down the mountain to the cave

where the Hemystiri nation labored in its exile. It was

time to go!

"I have never been better," she said. "Lead me to my

people."

As her escorts helped her back along the tor,

Maegwin's stomach rumbled. Her hunger, she realized,

was returning swiftly. Three days she had slept and

dreamed and stared into the snowy distance from this

high place, and in that time she had eaten almost nothing.

Full of the words of heaven, she was now also hollow as

an empty barrel. How would she ever fill herself up? She

laughed uproariously and paused, smacking the snow

from her clothing in powdery bursts of white. It was bit-

terly cold, but she was warmed. She was far from her

home, but she had her leaping thoughts for company. She

wished she could share this sense of triumph with Eolair,

but even the thought of him did not sadden her, as it al-

ways had before. He was doing what he should do, and if

the gods had planted the seed of his going in her mind,

there must be some reason for it. How could she doubt,

when all else that had seemed promised had been given

all but the last and greatest gift, which she knew was

coming soon?

"I have spoken with the gods," she told the three wor-

TOGREENANGELTOWER199

ried men. "They are with us at this terrible timethey

will come to us."

The man nearest her looked quickly at his companions,

then did his best to smile as he said: "Praise to all their

names."

Maegwin gathered her sparse possessions into her sack

so hastily that she chipped the wooden wing of Mircha's

bird. She sent one of the men back to get the dwarrow-

stone, which she had dropped in the snow at the cliff's

edge. Before the sun had moved a handsbreadth above the

horizon, she was making her way down the Grianspog's

snowy slope.

She was hungry and very tired, and she had also finally

begun to feel the cold. Even with the help of her rescuers,

the journey down was even more difficult than the climb

up. Still, Maegwin felt joy pulsing quietly within her like

a child waiting to be boma joy that, like a child, would

grow and become ever more splendid. Now she could tell

her people that help was coming! What could be more

welcome after this bleak twelvemonth?

But what else should be done, she suddenly wondered-

What should the Hernystiri people do to prepare for the

return of the gods?

Maegwin turned her thoughts to this as the party made

its careful way down and the morning slipped away

across the face of the Grianspog. She decided at last that

before anything else, she must speak to Diawen again.

The scryer had been right about Bradach Tor and had un-

derstood instantly the importance of the other dreams.

Diawen would help Maegwin decide what to do next.

Old Craobhan met the search party, full of angry words

and poorly-hidden worry, but his fury at her heedlessness

rolled off Maegwin like rain from oiled leather. She

smiled and thanked him for sending men to bring her

safely down, but would not be hindered; she ignored him

as he first demanded, then asked, then at last begged her

to rest and be tended. Finally, unable to convince her to

200Tad Williams

accompany them, unwilling to use force in a cavern full

of curious onlookers, Craobhan and his men gave up.

Diawen was standing before her cave as though she

had expected Maegwin to come at just that time. The

server took her arm and guided her into the smoky cham-

ber-

"I can see by your face." Diawen peered solemnly into

Maegwin's eyes. "Praise Mircha, you have had another

dream."

"I climbed up to Bradach Tor, just as you suggested."

She wanted to shout her excitment. "And the gods spoke

to me!"

She related all that she had experienced, trying not to

exaggerate or glorifysurely the bare reality was marvel-

ous enough! When she had finished, Diawen gazed back

at her in silence, eyes bright with what looked like tears.

"Ah, praise be," said the scryer. "You have been given

a Witnessing, as in the old tales."

Maegwin grinned happily. Diawen understood, just as

Maegwin had known she would. "It's wonderful," she

agreed. "We will be saved." She paused as the thought

she had been holding made itself felt. "But what should

we do?"

"The gods' will," Diawen replied without hesitation.

"But what is that?"

Diawen searched among her collection of mirrors, at

last selecting one made of polished bronze with a handle

in the shape of a coiling serpent. "Quiet now, I did not

walk in dreams with you, but I have my own ways." She

held the mirror above the smoldering fire, then blew away

the accumulated soot. For a long time she stared into it,

her dark brown eyes seemingly fixed on something be-

yond the mirror. Her lips moved soundlessly. At last, she

put the mirror down.

When Diawen spoke, her voice was remote. "The gods

help those who are bold. Bagba gave cattle to Hem's folk

because they had lost their horses fighting on behalf of

the gods. Mathan taught the art of weaving to the women

who hid her from her husband Murhagh's rage. The gods

help those who are bold." She blinked and pushed a lock

TOGREENANGELTOWER

201

of gray hair from her eyes. Her voice resumed its ordi-

nary tone. "We must go to meet the gods. We must show

them that Hem's children are worthy of their help."

"What does that mean?"

Diawen shook her head. "I am not sure."

"Should we take up arms ourselves? Go forth and chal-

lenge Skali?" Maegwin frowned. "How can I ask the peo-

ple to do that, few and weak as we are?"

"Doing the will of the gods is never easy," Diawen

sighed. "I know. When I was young, Mircha came to me

in a dream, but I could not do what she asked. I was

afraid." The scryer's face, lost in memory, was full of

fierce regret. "Thus I failed in my moment and left her

priesthood. I have never felt her touch since, not in all the

lonely years...." She broke off. When she turned her

gaze to Maegwin once more, she was brisk as a wool

merchant. "The will of the gods can be frightening, king's

daughter, but to refuse it is to refuse their help as well. I

can tell you no more."

"To take arms against Skali and his reavers . . ."

Maegwin let the thought flow through her like water.

There was a certain mad beauty in the idea, a beauty that

might indeed please the heavens. To lift the sword of

Hemystir once more against the invaders, even for one

brief moment. Surely the gods themselves would shout to

see such a proud hour! And surely at that moment the sky

could not help but open up, and all of Rhynn's lightnings

leap forth to bum Skali Sharp-nose and his army into

dust....

"I must think, Diawen. But when I speak to my father's

people, will you stand with me?"

The scryer nodded, smiling like a prideful parent. "I

will stand with you, king's daughter. We will tell the peo-

ple how the gods spoke."

A

A shower of warm rain was falling, the first outrider of

the approaching storm. The thick bank of clouds along

the horizon was mottled gray and black, touched at the

202Tad Williams

edges by the orange glare of the late afternoon sun it had

almost swallowed. Miriamele narrowed her eyes against

the spattering drops and looked carefully all around. Most

of the sailors were busy preparing for the storm, and none

seemed to be paying any attention to her at all. Aspitis

was in his cabin, where she prayed he would be too en-

grossed in his charts to notice the theft of his fanciest

dagger-

She slid the first of the water skins out from beneath

her belted cape, then loosened a knot that held the heavy

cloth cover in place over the open landing boat. After one

more quick survey of the surroundings, she let the water

skin slide down into the boat to nestle beside the oars,

then quickly sent down the other. As she stood on tiptoe

to push the parcels of bread and cheese in, somebody

shouted in Nabbanai.

"Hoy! Stop that!"

Miriamele froze like a cornered rabbit, heart pounding.

She let the food bundles slide out of her fingers and down

into the boat, then slowly turned-

"Fool! You've put it wrongside-round!" the sailor

screamed from his perch in the rigging. Twenty cubits up,

he was staring indignantly at another sailor working

above him on the mast. The object of his criticism gave

him the goat-sign and cheerfully continued doing what-

ever it was that had proved so offensive. The first sailor

shouted for a while longer, then laughed and spat through

the wind before resuming his own labors.

Miriamele closed her eyes as she waited for her knees

to stop shaking- She took a deep breath, filling her nose

with the scents of tar, wet planks, and the sodden wool of

her own cloak, as well as the bristly, secretive odor of the

approaching storm, then opened her eyes again. The rain

had grown stronger and was now running off her hood, a

tiny cascade falling just beyond the tip of her nose. Time

to get below-decks. It would be sunset soon and she did

not want to defeat Gan Itai's plan through simple care-

lessness, however faint the hope of success- Also, while it

was not inexplicable that Miriamele should be on deck in

this rapidly worsening rain, if she encountered Aspitis it

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

203

might stick in his mind as a curious thing. Miriamele did

not know exactly what the Niskie was arranging, but she

knew it would not be helped by putting the earl on guard.

She made her way down the hatchway stairs without

attracting attention, then padded silently along the corri-

dor until she reached the Niskie's sparsely furnished

room. The door had been left unbolted and Miriamele

quickly slipped inside. Gan Itai was goneout preparing

the master-stroke of her plan, Miriamele felt sure, how-

ever hopeless even the Niskie thought it to be. Gan Itai

had certainly seemed weary and heartsick when she had

seen her this morning.

After Miriamele had tied up her skirt, she pulled free

the loose section of wall paneling, then agonized for a

long moment over whether to bolt the outer door of the

room. Unless she could replace the panel perfectly from

the inside of the hidden passageway, anyone entering the

room would instantly know someone had gone through,

and might be interested enough to investigate. But if she

threw the bolt, Gan Itai might return and be unable to get

in.

After a little consideration, she decided to leave the

door alone and take her chances with accidental discov-

ery. She took a stub of candle from her cloak and held it

to the flame of Gan Itai's lamp, then climbed through and

pulled the panel closed behind her. She held the candle-

end in her teeth as she climbed the ladder, saying a silent

prayer of thanks that her hair was wet and still cropped

short. She hastily dismissed an image of what might hap-

pen if someone's hair caught fire in a narrow place like

this.

When she reached the hatchway, she dripped some wax

on the passageway floor to hold the candle, then lifted the

trapdoor and peered through the crack. The hold was

darka good sign. She doubted that any of the sailors

would be walking around among the precariously stacked

barrels without light.

"Cadrach!" she called softly. "It's me! Miriamele!"

There was no reply, and for an instant she was sure that

she had come too late, that the monk had died here in the

204

Tad Williams

darkness. She swallowed down the clutch in her throat,

retrieved her candle, then climbed carefully down the lad-

der fixed to the sill of the hatchway. It ended short of the

ground, and when she dropped the remaining distance she

struck sooner than she expected to. The candle popped

from her hand and rolled across the wooden flooring. She

scrambled after it, burning herself with a panicky grab,

but it did not go out.

Miriamele took a deep breath. "Cadrach?"

Still unanswered, she snaked her way through the lean-

ing piles of ship's stores. The monk was slumped on the

floor beside the wall, head sunken on his breast. She

grabbed his shoulder and shook, making his head wobble.

"Wake up, Cadrach." He moaned but did not awaken.

She shook harder.

"Ah, gods," he slurred, "that smearech fleann ... that

cursed book ..." He flailed as if caught in a terrible

nightmare. "Close it! Close it! I wish I had never opened

it...." His words fell away into unintelligible mumbling.

"Curse you, wake up!" she hissed.

His eyes opened at last. "My ... my lady?" His confu-

sion was pitiable. Some of his substance had withered

away during his captivity: his skin hung loosely on the

bones of his face and his eyes peered blearily out of deep

sockets. He looked like an old man. Miriamele took his

hand, wondering a little that she should do so without

hesitation. Wasn't this the same tosspot traitor she had

pushed into the Bay of Emettin and hoped to watch

drown? But she knew he was not. The man before her

was a miserable creature who had been chained and

beatenand not for any real crime, but only for running

away, for trying to save his own life. Now she wished she

had run with him. Miriamele pitied the monk, and re-

membered that he had not been entirely bad. In some

ways, he had even been a friend.

Miriamele suddenly felt ashamed of her callousness.

She had been so certain about things, so sure about what

was right and what was wrong that she had been ready to

let him drown. It was hard to look at Cadrach now, his

eyes wounded and frightened, his head bobbing above the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER205

stained robe. She squeezed his cold hand and said: "Don't

fearI will return in a moment." She took her candle and

went off to search the ranked barrels for Gan Itai's prom-

ised tools-

She squinted at faded markings as footsteps echoed

back and forth overhead. The ship rolled abruptly, creak-

ing in the grasp of the storm's first winds- At last she

found a barrel helpfully marked "Otillenaes." When

she had also located a pry-bar that hung near the ladder,

she unlidded the cask. A treasure trove of tools were

packed inside, all neatly wrapped in leather and floating

in oil like exotic supper birds. She bit her lip and forced

herself to work calmly and carefully, unwrapping the ooz-

ing parcels one at a time until she found a chisel and a

heavy mallet. After wiping them off on the inside of her

cloak, she took them back to Cadrach.

"What are you doing. Lady? Do you plan to favor me

with a blow from that pig-slaughterer? It would be a true

favor."

She frowned, fixing the candle to the floor with hot

wax. "Don't be a fool. I'm going to cut your chains. Gan

Itai is helping us to escape."

The monk stared at her for a'moment, his pouchy gray

eyes surprisingly intent. "You must know that I cannot

walk, Miriamele."

"If I have to, I will carry you. But we will not go until

tonight. That will give you a chance to rub some life back

into your legs. Perhaps you can even stand up and try

pacing a bit, if you are quiet about it." She pulled at the

chain that hung from his ankles. "I suppose I must cut

this on each side or you will rattle when you walk, like a

tinker." Cadrach's smile, she guessed, was mostly for her

sake.

The long chain between his leg irons ran through one

of the tying-bolts in the floor of the hold. Miriamele

pulled one side taut, then set the chisel's sharp blade

against the nearest link to the shackle. "Can you hold it

for me?" she asked. "Then I can use both hands on the

hammer."

The monk nodded and clutched the spike of iron.

206 Tad Williams

Miriamele hefted the mallet a few times to get the feel of

it, then raised it above her head.

"You took like Deanagha of the Brown Eyes," he whis-

pered.

Miriamele was trying to listen to the creaking rhythm

of the boat's movement, hoping to find a noisy moment in

which to strike. "Like who?"

"Deanagha of the Brown Eyes." He smiled. "Rhynn's

youngest daughter. When his enemies surrounded him

and he lay sick, she pounded on his bronze cauldron with

her spoon until the other gods came to rescue him." He

stared at her. "Brave she was."

The boat rolled and the timbers gave out a long, shud-

dering groan.

"My eyes are green," Miriamele said, then brought the

mallet down as hard as she could. The clank seemed loud

as thunder. Certain that Aspitis and his men must now be

racing toward the hold, she looked down. The chisel had

bitten deep, but the chain was still uncut.

"Curse it," she breathed and paused to listen for a long,

anxious moment. There seemed no unusual sounds from

the deck above, so she lifted the mallet, then had a

thought. She took off her cloak and folded it over, then

folded it once more. She slid this cushion beneath the

chain. "Hold this," she ordered, and struck again.

It took several cuts, but me cloak helped soften the

noise, though it also made striking a hard blow more dif-

ficult. At last the iron link parted. Miriamele then

pounded laboriously through the other side as well, and

even managed to sever one side of Cadrach's wrist chains

before she had to stop. Her arms felt as though they were

afire; she could no longer lift the heavy mallet above her

shoulder. Cadrach tried, but was too weak. After he had

struck at it several times without making an appreciable

dent, he handed her back the hammer.

"This will be sufficient," he said. "One side is enough

to free me, and I can wrap the chain about my arm so it

will make no noise. The legs were what mattered, and

they are free." He wiggled his feet carefully to demon-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER207

strate. "Do you think you could find some dark cloth in

this hold?"

Miriamele looked at him curiously, but got up and be-

gan a weary search. At last she returned. Aspitis' knife,

which had been tied to her leg with a scarf, was in her

hand. 'There's nothing around. If you really need it, we'll

take it off the hem of my cloak." She kneeled and held

the blade over the dark fabric- "Shall I?"

Cadrach nodded. "I will use it to tie the chains to-

gether. That way they will hold unless someone pulls

them hard." He exerted the effort to grin. "In this light,

my guards will never notice that one of the links is made

of soft Erkynlandish wool."

When they had done this, and when all the tools had

been wrapped and replaced, Miriamele picked up her can-

dle and stood. "I will be back for you at midnight, or just

before."

"How is Gan Itai planning to work this little trick?"

There was a flavor of his old ironic tone.

"She has not told me. Probably she thinks it's best I

know little, so I will worry less." Miriamele shook her

head. "There she has failed."

"It is not likely that we will get off the boat, nor that

we will get far even if we do." The painful effort of the

last hour showed in Cadrach's every halting movement.

"Not likely at all," she agreed. "But Aspitis knows that

I am the High King's daughter and he is forcing me to

marry him, so I do not care what is likely or unlikely."

She turned to go.

"No, Lady, I imagine you do not. Until tonight, then."

Miriamele paused. Somewhere in the hour just passed,

as the chains were falling away, an unspoken understand-

ing had arisen between the two of them ... a sort of for-

giveness.

"Tonight," she said. She took the candle and made her

way back up the ladder, leaving the monk sitting in dark-

ness once more.

The hours of evening seemed to inch past. Miriamele

208 Tad Williams

lay in her cabin listening to the mounting storm, wonder-

ing where she would be this time tomorrow.

The winds grew stronger. The Eadne Cloud heaved and

rolled. When the earl's page came and rapped at the door

to say that his master bid her come to a late supper, she

claimed illness from the restless seas and declined the in-

vitation. A while later, Aspitis himself arrived.

"I am sorry to hear you are sick, Miriamele." He

lounged in the doorway, loose-jointed as any predator.

"Perhaps you would like to sleep in my cabin tonight, so

you will not be alone with your misery?"

She wanted to laugh at such hideous irony, but resisted.

"I am sick. Lord. When you marry me, I will do what you

say. Leave me this last night to myself."

He seemed inclined to argue, but shrugged instead. "As

you wish. I have had a long evening, preparing for the

storm. And, as you say, we still have our entire lives be-

fore us." He smiled, a line thin as a knife-slash. "So,

good night." He stepped forward and kissed her cold

cheek, then stepped to the small table and pinched the

wick of her lamp, snuffing the flame. "This will be a

rough night. You do not want to start a fire."

He walked out, pulling the door closed behind him. As

soon as his steps had receded down the passageway, she

leaped from her bed to make sure he had not somehow

locked her in- The door swung open freely, revealing the

dark corridor. Even with the upper hatchway closed, the

wail of the wind was loud, full of wild power. She closed

the door and went back to her bed-

Propped upright, swaying to the ship's powerful move-

ments, Miriamele drifted in and out of a light, restless

sleep, surfacing with a start from time to time, the rags of

dream still clinging, then hastening to the passageway

and up the ladder to sneak a look at the sky. Once she had

to wait so long for the moon to reappear in the

stormclouded heavens that, still not completely awake,

she feared that it had vanished altogether, chased away

somehow by her father and Pryrates. When it appeared at

last, a winking eye behind the murk, and she saw that it

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 209

was still far from the place of which the Niskie had spo-

ken, Miriamele glided back to her bed.

It even seemed that once, as she lay half-awake, Gan

Itai opened the door and peered in at her. But if it was

truly her, the Niskie said nothing; a moment later, the

doorway was empty. Soon after, in a lull between gusts of

wind, Miriamele heard the sea-watcher's song keening

across the night.

When she could wait no longer, Miriamele rose. She

pulled out the bag she had hidden underneath the bed and

removed her monk's clothing, which she had put away in

favor of the lovely dresses Aspitis had provided. After

donning the breeches and shirt and belting the loose robe

close about her waist, she donned her old boots, then

threw a few select articles into the bag. Aspitis' knife,

which she had worn that afternoon, she now thrust under

her belt. Better to have it available than to worry about

discovery. If she met someone between here and Gan

Itai's cabin, she would have to try and hide the blade

under the robe's wide sleeve.

A quick inspection proved the corridor empty.

Miriamele tucked her sack under her arm and moved as

silently as she could down th& passageway, aided in her

stealth by the rain that was beating down on the deck

above her head like a drum struck by a thousand hands.

The Niskie's song, rising above the storm noises, had a

weird, unsettled quality, far less pleasant to the ear than

usual. Perhaps it was the Niskie's obvious unhappiness

coming out in her song, Miriamele thought. She shook

her head, disturbed.

Even a brief glance out through the hatchway left her

drenched. The torrential rains were being swept almost

sideways by the wind, and the few tamps still burning in

their hoods of translucent horn banged and capered

against the masts. The Eadne Cloud's crewmen, wound in

flapping cloaks, hurried about the decks like panicked

apes. It was a scene of wild confusion, but even so,

Miriamele felt her heart grow heavy. Every seaman

aboard seemed to be on deck and hard at work, eyes alert

for a tearing sail or a flapping rope. It would be impossi-

210 Tad Williams

ble for her and Cadrach to sneak from one side of the

boat to the other unobserved, let alone lower the heavy

landing boat and escape over the side- Whatever Gan Itai

had planned, the storm would surely bring the scheme to

rum.

The moon, though almost completely obscured, looked

to be near the place that the Niskie had indicated. As

Miriamele squinted into the rain, a pair of cursing sailors

approached the hatchway dragging a heavy coil of rope.

She quickly lowered the door and scrambled back down

the ladder, then hurried along the passage to Gan Itai's

room and the Niskie-hole that led to Cadrach.

The monk was awake and waiting. He seemed a little

improved, but his movements were still weak and slow.

As Miriamele wrapped the length of chain around his arm

and secured it with the strips from her cloak, she worried

about how she would manage to get him across the deck

to the landing boat unobserved.

When she had finished, Cadrach lifted his arm and

wagged it bravely. "It is almost no weight at all. Lady."

She stared at the heavy links, frowning. He was lying,

of course. She could see the strain in his face and his pos-

ture. For a moment she considered reopening the barrel

and having another try with hammer and chisel, but she

feared to take the time. Also, with the ship pitching so

strongly, there was a great chance she might somehow

wound herself or Cadrach by accident. She doubted their

escape would succeed, but it was her only hope. Now that

the time had come, she was determined to do her best.

"We must go soon. Here." She pulled a slim flask out

of her sack and handed it to Cadrach. "Just a few swal-

lows."

He took it with a wondering look. After the first gulp,

a smile spread over his face. He took several more long

drinks.

"Wine." He licked his lips. "Good red Perdruin! By

Usires and Bagba and ... and everyone else! Bless you,

Lady!" He took a breath and sighed. "Now I can die

happy."

"Don't die. Not yet. Let me have that."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

211

Cadrach looked at her, then reluctantly handed over the

flask. Miriamele upended it and drank the last few swal-

lows, feeling the warmth trickle down her throat and nes-

tle into her stomach. She hid the empty vessel behind one

of the barrels.

"Now we will go." She picked up her candle and led

him to the ladder.

When Cadrach at last made his way up the ladder and

into the passageway of the Niskie-hole, he stopped to

catch his breath. As he wheezed, Miriamele considered

the next step. Overhead, the ship hummed and vibrated

beneath the downpour.

"There are three ways we can get out," she said aloud.

Cadrach, steadying himself against the rocking of the

ship, did not seem to be listening. "The hatchway out of

the holdbut that opens directly in front of the aft deck,

where there is always a steersman. In this weather some-

one will certainly be there and be wide awake. So that's

out." She turned to look at the monk. In the small circle

of candlelight, he was staring down at the passageway

boards beneath him. "We have two choices. Up through

the hatchway in the main passage, right past Aspitis and

all his sailors, or down this passage to the far end, which

probably opens onto the foredeck."

Cadrach looked up. "Probably?"

"Gan Itai never told me and I forgot to ask. But this is

a Niskie-hole; she said she uses it to get across the ship

quicldy. Since she always sings from the foredeck, that

must be the place it leads to."

The monk nodded wearily. "Ah."

"So I think we should go there. Perhaps Gan Itai is

waiting for us. She didn't say how we should get to the

landing boat or when she would meet us."

"I will follow you. Lady."

As they crawled along the narrow passageway, a huge

concussive thump made the very air in their ears seem to

burst. Cadrach let out a muffled cry of terror.

"Gods, what is it?" he gasped.

- "Thunder," said Miriamele. "The storm is here:"

212

Tad Williams

"Usires Aedon in His mercy, save me from boats and

the sea," Cadrach groaned. "They are all cursed. Cursed."

"From one boat to another, and even closer to the sea."

Miriamele began inching along again. "That's where

we're goingif we're lucky." She heard Cadrach come

scrambling after her.

Thunder tolled two more times before they reached the

end of the passage, each peal louder than the last. When

at last they crouched beneath the hatchway, Miriamele

turned and laid her hand on the monk's arm.

"I'm going to snuff the candle. Now be quiet."

She inched the heavy door up until the opening was as

wide as her hand. Rain flew and splashed. They were just

below the forecastlethe steps mounted up only a few

paces from the hatchand some twenty cubits from the

portside railing. A glare of lightning momentarily il-

luminated the whole deck. Miriamele saw the sil-

houetted shapes of crewmen all around, caught in

mid-gesticulation as though painted on a mural. The sky

was pressing down on the ship, a roil of angry black

clouds that smothered the stars. She dropped down and let

the hatchway close as another smack of thunder rattled

the night.

"There are people all around," she said when the

echoes had faded. "But none of them are too close. If we

get to the rail and wear our hoods up, they may not notice

we are not of the crew. Then we can make our way aft to

the boat."

Without the candle she could not see the monk, but she

could hear him breathing in the narrow space beside her.

She had a sudden thought.

"I did not hear Gan Itai. She was not singing."

There was a moment's silence before Cadrach spoke. "I

am afraid, Miriamele," he said hoarsely. "If we are to go,

let us go soon, before I lose what little nerve I have left."

"I'm afraid, too," she said, "but I need to think for a

bit." She reached out and found his chilly hand, then held

it while she pondered. They sat that way for some while

before she spoke again. "If Gan Itai is not on the fore-

deck, then I don't know where she is. Maybe waiting for

TOGREENANGELTOWER

213

us at the landing boat, maybe not. When we get there,

we'll have to undo the tie-ropes that hold it to the ship

all but one. 1*11 go look for her, and when I come back

we'll drop the boat down and jump into the water. If I

don't come back, you must do it yourself. It will only be

one knot, though. It won't take much strength."

"Jump ... into the water?" he stammered. "In this ter-

rible storm? And with those demon-creatures, those kilpa,

'swimming there?"

"Of course, jump," she whispered, trying to hold down

her annoyance. "If we let the boat go while we're in it,

we'll probably break our backs. Don't worry, I'll go first

and give you an oar to hang onto."

"You shame me. Lady," the monk said, but did not let

go of her hand. "It should be me protecting you. But you

know I hate the sea."

She squeezed his fingers. "I know. Come on, then. Re-

member, if someone calls to you, pretend you can't hear

them properly and keep walking. And keep your hand on

the railing, for the deck is sure to be slippery. You don't

want to go overboard before we get the landing boat into

the water."

Cadrach's laugh was giddy with fright. "You are right

about that. Lady. God save us all."

Another sound abruptly rose over the roar of the storm,

a little quieter than the thunder but somehow just as pow-

erful. Miriamele felt it surge through her and had to brace

herself against the wall for a moment as her knees be-

came weak. She could not think what it might be. There

was something terrible about it, something that went to

her heart like a spike of ice, but there was no time left to

hesitate. A moment later, when she had mastered herself

once more, she pushed up the hatchway door and they

clambered out into the driving rain.

The strange sound was all around, piercingly sweet yet

as frightfully compelling as the pull of a riptide. For a

moment it seemed to soar up beyond the range of mortal

ears, so that only a ghost of its fullness remained and her

skull was full of echoes that piped like bats; then, a mo-

ment later, it descended just as swiftly, swooping down so

214

Tad Williams

rumblingly deep that it might be singing the slow and

stony language of the ocean's floor. Miriamele felt as

though she stood inside a humming wasp's nest big as a

cathedral: the sound quivered right down to her innards.

A part of her burned with the need to fling her body into

sympathetic motion, to dance and scream and run in cir-

cles; another part of her wanted only to lie down and beat

her head against the desk until the sound stopped.

"God save us, what is that horrible noise?" Cadrach

wailed. He lost his balance and tumbled to his knees.

Clenching her teeth, Miriamele put her head down and

forced herself to inch away from the forecastle steps to-

ward the rail. Her very bones seemed to rattle. She

grabbed at the monk's sleeve and pulled him with her,

dragging him like a sledge across the slippery planks.

"It's Gan Itai," she gasped, fighting against the stunning

power of the Niskie's song. "We're too close."

The velvety darkness, lit only by the yellow-streaming

lanterns, suddenly went stark blue and white. The rail be-

fore her, Cadrach's hand in hers, the empty blackness of

the sea beyond bothall were seared on her eyes in an

explosive instant. A heartbeat later the lightning flared

again, and Miriamele saw, imprisoned in the flash, a

smooth round head poking up above the portside rail. As

the lightning faded and thunder double-cracked, another

half-dozen loose-jointed shapes came swarming onto the

ship, slick and gleaming in the dim lantern light. Realiza-

tion struck, hard as a physical blow; Miriamele turned,

stumbling and sliding, then plunged toward the starboard

side of the ship, dragging Cadrach after her.

"What is happening?" he shouted.

"It's Gan Itai!" Ahead of her sailors ran back and forth

like ants from a scattered nest, but it was no longer the

Eadne Cloud's crew she feared. "It is the Niskie!" Her

mouth filled with rainwater and she spat. "She is singing

the kilpa up!"

"Aedon save us!" Cadrach shrieked. "Aedon save us!"

Lightning glared again, revealing a host of gray,

froglike bodies slithering over the starboard rail. As the

kilpa flopped down onto the deck, they swung their gape-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

215

mouthed faces from side to side, staring like pilgrims who

had finally reached a great shrine. One of them threw out

a thin arm and caught a reeling crewman, then seemed to

fold around him, dragging the screaming man down into

darkness as the thunder bayed. Sickened, Miriamele

turned and hurried along the length of the ship toward the

spot where the landing boat hung. Water tugged at her

feet and ankles. As in a nightmare, she felt that she could

not run, that she was going slower and slower. The gray

things continued to spill over the side, like ghouls from a

childhood tale swarming out of an unhallowed grave. Be-

hind her Cadrach was shouting incoherently. The Niskie's

maddening song hung over all, making the very night

pulse like a mighty heart.

The kilpa seemed to be everywhere, moving with a ter-

rible, lurching suddenness. Even through the noise of the

storm and Gan Itai's singing, the deck echoed with de-

spairing cries from the beleaguered crewmen. Aspitis and

two of his officers were backed against one of the masts,

holding off a half-dozen of the sea beasts; their swords

were little more than thin glints of light, darting, flashing.

One of the kilpa tottered backward, clutching at an arm

that was no longer attached to its body- The creature let

the limb fall to the deck, then hunched over it, gills puff-

ing. Black blood fountained from the stump.

"Oh, merciful Aedon!" Ahead, Miriamele could finally

see the dark shadow that was the boat. Even as she

dragged Cadrach toward it, one of the lamps burst against

the crosstree overhead, raining burning oil down onto the

watery deck. Gouts of steam leaped up all around and a

smoldering spark caught on Miriamele's sleeve. As she

hastily beat out the flame, the night erupted into orange

light. She looked up into a blinding torrent of raindrops.

A sail had caught fire, despite the storm, and the mast

was rapidly becoming a torch.

"The knots, Cadrach!" she shouted. Nearby, someone's

choking scream was buried in the rumble of thunder. She

grabbed at the rain-slicked rope and struggled, feeling

one of her fingernails tear as she tried to loose the swol-

len rope. At last it slipped free and she turned to the one

2l6 Tad Williams

beside it. The landing boat swung with the roll of the

ship, bumping her away from her task, but she hung on.

Nearby, Cadrach, pale as a corpse, struggled with another

of the four ropes that held the windlass over the deck of

the Eadne Cloud.

She felt a wave of cold even before the thing touched

her. She whirled, slipping and falling back against the

hull of the landing boat, but the kilpa took a step closer

and caught her trailing sleeve in its web-fingered hand.

Its eyes were black pools that glowed with the flames of

the burning sail. The mouth opened and then shut, opened

and shut. Miriamele screamed as it dragged her nearer.

There was a sudden rush of movement from out of the

shadows behind her. The kilpa fell back but retained its

grip on her arm, dragging her down after it so that her

outflung hand smacked the slippery resilience of its belly.

She gasped and tried to rip herself loose, but the webbed

hand gripped her too tightly. Its stench enwrapped her,

brine and mud and rotting fish.

"Run, Lady!" Cadrach's face appeared behind the crea-

ture's shoulder. He had pulled his chain taut around its

throat, but even as he tightened the strangling hold,

Miriamele saw the gills on the kilpa's neck pulsing in the

half-light, translucent wings of delicate gray flesh, pink at

the edges. She realized with a numbing sense of defeat

that the beast did not need its throat to breathe: Cadrach

had the chain too high. Even as he strained, the kilpa was

drawing her in toward the other reaching arm, toward its

slack mouth and gelid eyes.

Gan Itai's song ended abruptly, although its echo

seemed to linger for long moments. The only sounds that

rose above the wind now were screams of fear and the

dull hoots of the swarming sea-demons.

Miriamele had been fumbling at her belt, but at last her

hand closed around Aspitis' hawk-knife. Her heart

skipped as the hilt caught in a fold of her sodden robe,

but with a tug it came free. She shook it hard to knock

loose the sheath, then slashed at the gray arm that held

her. The knife bit, freeing a line of inky blood, but failed

to loosen the creature's grip.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

217

"Ah, God help us!" Cadrach screeched-

The kilpa rounded its mouth but made no sound, only

pulled her closer until she could see the rain beading on

its shiny skin and the soft, pale wetness behind its lips.

With a cry of disgusted rage, Miriamele threw herself for-

ward, plunging the knife into the thing's gummy midsec-

tion. Now it did make a sound, a soft, surprised whistle.

Blood bubbled out over Miriamele's hand and she felt the

creature's grasp weaken. She stabbed again, then again.

The kilpa spasmed and kicked for what seemed an eter-

nity, but at last fell limp. She rolled away. Then, shud-

dering, she plunged her hands down into cleansing water.

Cadrach's chain was still wrapped about the thing's neck,

making a grisly tableau for the next flash of lightning.

The monk's eyes were wide, his face stark white.

"Let it go," Miriamele gasped. "It's dead." Thunder

echoed her.

Cadrach kicked the thing, then crawled on his hands

and knees toward the landing boat, struggling for breath.

Within moments he had recovered enough to fumble open

his two knots, then he helped Miriamele, whose hands

were shaking uncontrollably, to finish hers. With one of

the oars they swung the scaffolding out from the side of

the ship, guiding it until it was perpendicular to the deck

and only one tie held the boat suspended from the wind-

lass over the dark, surging water.

Miriamele turned to look back across the ship. The

mast was burning like an Yrmansol tree, a pillar of flame

whipped by the winds. There were pockets of struggling

men and kilpa scattered across the deck, but there also

seemed to be a relatively clear line between the landing

boat and the forecastle.

"Stay here," she said, pulling her hood down to ob-

scure her face. "I must find Gan ItaL"

Cadrach's look of astonishment quickly turned to rage.

"Are you mad? Goirach cilagh! You will find your

death!"

Miriamele did not bother to argue. "Stay here. Use the

oar to protect yourself. If I don't come back soon, drop

the boat and follow it. I will swim to you if I can." She

2l8

Tad Williams

turned and trotted back across the deck with the knife

clutched in her fist.

Pretty Eadne Cloud had become a hell-ship

something that might have been crafted by the devil's

boatwrights to torment sinners on the deepest seas of

damnation. Water covered much of the deck, and the fire

from the central mast had spread to some of the other

sails. Burning rags rode the winds like demons. The few

bloodied sailors who still remained topside had the

crushed, brutalized look of prisoners punished far past

what any crime could warrant- Many kilpa had been

slaughtered, tooa pile of their corpses lay near the mast

where Aspitis and his officers had fought, although at

least one human leg protruded from the heapand quite

a few more of the sea creatures seemed to have seized a

meal and leaped back overboard, but others still hopped

and slid after survivors.

Miriamele waded to the foredeck without being set

upon, although she had to pass much closer than she

wished to several groups of feeding kilpa- A part of her

was amazed to find that she could look on such things

without being overcome by terror. Her heart, it seemed,

had hardened: a year before, any one of these atrocities

would have had her weeping and searching for a place to

hide. Now she felt that if she had to, she could walk

through fire.

She reached the stairs and made her way swiftly up to

the forecastle- The Niskie had not stopped singing alto-

gether: a thin drone of melody still hung over the fore-

deck, a thin shadow of the power that had outstormed

even the wind. The sea watcher sat cross-legged on the

deck, bent forward so that her face nearly touched the

planks.

"Can Itai," Miriamele said- "The boat is ready!

Come!"

At first the Niskie did not respond. Then, when she sat

up, Miriamele gasped. She had never seen such wretched-

ness on the face of a living creature.

"Ah, no!" the Niskie croaked- "By the Uncharted, go

away! Go!" She waved her hand feebly. "I have done this

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

219

for your freedom. Do not make the crime pointless by

failing your escape!"

"But aren't you going to come?'"

The Niskie moaned. Her face seemed to have aged a

hundred years. Her eyes were sunken deep into her head,

their luster burned away. "I cannot leave. I am the ship's

only hope to survive. It will not change my guilt, but it

will ease my ruined heart. May Ruyan forgive meit is

an evil world that has brought me to this!" She threw

back her head and gave out a groan of misery that

brought Miriamele to tears. "Go!" the Niskie wailed.

"Go! I beg you!"

Miriamele tried again to plead with her, but Gan Itai

lowered her face to the deck once more. After a long si-

lence, she at last resumed her weak, mournful song. The

rain eased for a moment as the wind changed direction.

Miriamele saw that only a few figures still moved on the

firelit deck below. She stared at the huddled Niskie, then

made the sign of the Tree and went down the stairs. She

would think later. Later she would wonder why. Later.

It was a wounded sailor, not a kilpa, who grabbed at

Miriamele on her return. When she slashed at his hand

the crewman let go and collapsed back onto the sloshing

deck. A few steps farther along she waded past the body

of Thures, the earl's young page. There were no signs of

violence upon him. The boy's dead face was peaceful be-

neath the shallow water, his hair undulating like seaweed-

Cadrach was so happy to see her he did not utter a

single word of reproach or ask any questions about her

solitary return. Miriamele stared at where the last

windlass-rope was tied, then reached out with the dagger

and sawed through it, leaning back as the cut end

whipped free. The winding-drum spun and the landing

boat plummeted down. A fountain of white spray sprang

up as it hit the waves.

Cadrach handed her the oar he had been clutching.

"Here, Miriamele. You're tired. It will help you float,"

"Me?" she said, surprised almost into a smile,

A third voice interrupted them. "There you are, my dar-

ling."

220

Tad Williams

She whirled to see a ghastly figure limping toward

them. Aspitis had been slashed bloody in a dozen places,

and a long cut that snaked down his cheek had closed one

eye and flecked his golden locks with gore, but he still

held his long sword- He was still as beautiful and terrify-

ing as a stalking leopard.

"You were going to leave me?" he asked mockingly.

"Not stay and help clean up after our ..." he grinned, a

dreadful sight, and gestured toward him, "... our wed-

ding guests f He took another step forward, waving the

sword slowly from side to side. It glinted in the light of

burning sails like a whisker of red-hot iron. It was

strangely fascinating to watch it pass back and forth .. -

back and forth... *

Miriamele shook her head and stood up straighter. "Go

to hell."

Aspitis' smile dropped away. He leveled the tip of the

sword toward her eye. Cadrach, who stood behind her,

cursed helplessly. "Should I kill you," the earl mused, "or

will you still be useful?" His eyes were as inhuman as a

kilpa's.

"Go ahead and kill me. 1 would die before I let you

have me again." She stared at him. "You are paying the

Fire Dancers, aren't you? For Pryrates?"

Aspitis shook his head. "Some only. Those who are not

... firm believers. But they are all useful." He frowned.

"I do not wish to talk of such unimportant things. You are

mine. I must decide ..."

"I have something that is yours," she said, and raised

the dagger before her. Aspitis smiled oddly, but lifted his

sword-blade to fend off a sudden throw. Instead,

Miriamele tossed the knife into the water at his feet. His

dreaming eye caught its glitter and followed it down. As

his head dipped, ever so slightly, Miriamele thrust the oar

handle into his gut. He gasped for breath and took a stag-

gering step backward, his sword jabbing blindly like the

sting of an injured bee. Miriamele brought the oar up

again with both hands, then swung it with all the might of

her arms and back, sweeping it around in a great arc that

ended with a crunch of bone. Aspitis shrieked and fell to

TO GREEN ANGF-L TOWER221

the deck holding his face. Blood spurted from between

his fingers.

"Hah!" Cadrach shouted with exultant relief. "Look at

you, you devil! Now, you will have to find something else

to bait your woman-trap with!"

Miriamele fell to her knees, then pushed the oar across

the slippery deck to Cadrach. "Go," she panted. "Take

this and jump."

The monk stood in confusion for a moment, as if he

could not remember where he was, then staggered to the

side of the ship. He closed his eyes and muttered some

words, then plunged overboard. Miriamele rose and took

a last look at the earl, who was bubbling red froth out

onto the deck, then scrambled over the railing and pushed

herself out into emptiness. For a moment she was falling,

flying through the dark. When the water closed on her

like a cold fist, she wondered if she would ever come

back up, or if instead she would just continue downward

into the ultimate depths, into blackness and quiet....

She did come up. When she had reached the boat and

helped Cadrach to clamber aboard, they fitted the oars

and began to row away from the wounded ship. The

storm still hovered overhead^ but it was diminishing.

Eadne Cloud grew smaller behind them until it was only

a point of burning light on the black horizon, a tiny flame

like a dying star.

Storm King's AnviC

A

At tfte TlOtftenrmOSt edge of the world the mountain

stood, an upthrusting fang of icy stone that shadowed the

entire landscape, towering high above even the other

peaks. For long weeks the smokes and steams and vapors

had crept from vents in the mountain's side. Now they

wreathed Stormspike's crown, spinning in the awesome

winds that circled the mountain, gathering and darkening

as though they sucked the very substance of ultimate

night from between the stars.

The storm grew and spread. The few scattered folk who

still lived within sight of the terrible mountain huddled in

their longhouses as the beams creaked and the wind

howled. What seemed an unceasing blizzard of snow

piled above their walls and onto their roofs, until all that

remained were white mounds like so many grave bar-

rows, marked as dwellings of the living only by the thin

pennants of smoke that fluttered above the chimney-

holes.

The vast expanse of open land known as the Frost-

march was also engulfed by driving snows. Only a few

years before, the vast plain had been dotted with small

hamlets, thriving towns and settlements fed by the traffic

of the Wealdhelm and Frostmarch roads. After half a

dozen seasons of continuous snow, with crops long dead

and virtually all the animals fled or eaten, the land had

become a desolate waste. Those who huddled in the foot-

hills along its border or in the sheltering forests knew it

as the home only of wolves and wandering ghosts, and

TOGREENANGELTOWER

223

had come to call the Frostmarch by a new namethe

Storm King's Anvil. Now an even greater storm, a dread-

ful hammer of frost and cold, was pounding on that anvil

once more.

The storm's long hand reached out even beyond

Erkynland to the south, sending gusts of freezing wind

across the open grasslands, turning the Thrithings bone-

white for the first time in memory. And snow returned to

Perdruin and Nabbanthe second time in a season, but

only the third time in five centuries, so that those who

had once scoffed at the Fire Dancers and their dire warn-

ings now felt a squeeze of fear on their hearts, a fear

much more chilling than the powdery snow sifting down

onto the domes of the two Sancellans.

Like a tide moving toward some unimaginable high

water mark, the storm spread farther than ever before,

bringing frost to southern lands that had never felt its

touch and draping a great cold shroud over all of Osten

Ard. It was a storm that numbed hearts and crushed spir-

its.

*

"That way!" the leading rider shouted, pointing to the

left. "A prenteiz, menup and after!" He spurred forward

so swiftly that his clouded breath was left hanging in the

air behind him. Snow spouted from beneath his horse's

hooves.

He bore down on the empty space between two tumble-

down, snow-covered dwellings, his mount slashing

through the drifts as effortlessly as through fog. A dark

shape bolted out into the open from behind one of the

buildings and dashed away, bounding erratically across

the flat. The leading pursuer vaulted a low, snow-buried

fence, landed, and followed close after. The horse's

pounding strides obliterated the smaller prints of its flee-

ing quarry, but there was no need now for tracking: the

end was in sight. Half a dozen other riders came hurtling

from between the houses and spread out like an opening

fan, surrounding the quarry like a riverman's fishing net.

224 Tad Williams

A moment to draw the net closedthe riders reining in as

a narrowing circlethen the hunt was over. One of the

men who had ridden the wing leaned down until his lance

touched the captive's heaving side. The leader dis-

mounted and took a step forward.

"Well run," said Duke Fengbald, grinning. "That was

excellent sport."

The boy stared up at him, eyes wide with terror.

"Shall I finish him. Lord?" asked the rider with the

lance. He gave the boy a hard poke. The child squealed

and flinched away from the sharp lance-head.

Fengbald peeled off his gauntlet, then turned and flung

it into the rider's face. Its metal beadwork left a cross-

hatching on the man's cheek that welled with blood.

"Dog!" Fengbald scowled. "What am Ia demon? You

will be whipped for that." The rider shied away, pulling

his horse a few steps back from the circle. Fengbald

glared after him. "I do not murder innocent children." He

turned his eyes down to the cowering boy. "We had a

game, that is all. Children love games. This one has

played with us as well as he could." The duke retrieved

his gauntlet and put it back on, then smiled. "And a merry

chase you led us, boy. What is your name?"

The child grimaced, baring his teeth like a treed cat,

but made no sound.

"Ah, too bad," Fengbald said with a philosophical air.

"If he will not talk, he will not talk. Put him with the

restone of these shack-women will feed him. They say

a bitch will always nurse a stranger's pups."

One of Fengbald's men-at-arms dismounted and

grabbed the boy, who put up no resistance as he was

draped across the front of the soldier's saddle.

"I think he is the last," said Fengbald. "The last of our

sport, too. A shamebut still, better than if we let them

run ahead of us and spoil our surprise." He grinned^'

broadly, pleased with his own wit. "Come. I want a warm|

cup of wine to take off the chill. This was a hard, cold

ride."

He vaulted up into the saddle, then swung his mount

TOGREENANGELTOWER225

around and led his company back into the snow-

smothered remnants of Gadrinsett.

Duke Fengbald's red tent sat in the middle of the

snowy meadow like a ruby in a puddle of milk. The silver

falcon, the duke's family emblem, stretched its wings

from corner to comer above the door-flap; in the stiff

winds that blew down the river valley, the great bird

trembled as though longing to take flight. The tents of the

duke's army were clustered all around, but set at a re-

spectful distance.

Inside, Fengbald reclined on a pile of figured cushions,

his cup of mulled wineseveral times refilled since he

had returnedheld loosely, his dark hair unbound and

trailing down across his shoulders. At Elias' coronation

Fengbald had been lean as a young hound. Now the mas-

ter of Palshire, Utanyeat, and the Westfold had grown a

little soft in the waist and jowls. A fair-haired woman

kneeled on the floor near his feet. A thin page, pale and

anxious-looking, waited at his lord's right hand.

On the far side of the brazier that warmed the tent was

a tall man, squint-eyed and bearded, dressed in the leather

and rough wool of the Thrithings-dweller. Refusing to sit

as city-folk did, he stood spread-legged, arms crossed.

When he shifted, his necklace of finger-bones made a

clinking music.

"What else is there to know?" he demanded. "Why

more talking?"

Fengbald stared at him, eyes slowly blinking. He was a

little befuddled by drink, which for once seemed to curb

his belligerence. "I must like you, Lezhdraka," he said at

last, "because otherwise I would have become sick of

your questions long ago."

The mercenary chieftain stared back, unimpressed.

"We know where they are. What more do we ask?"

The duke took another drink, then wiped his mouth

with the sleeve of his silken shirt and gestured to his

page. "More, Isaak." He returned his attention to

Lezhdraka. "I learned some things from old Guthwulf, for

all his failings. I have been given the keys to a great king-

226

Tad Williams

dom. They are in my hand, and I will not throw them

away by acting too fast."

"Keys to a kingdom?" said the Thrithings-man scorn-

fully. "What stone-dweller nonsense is that?"

Fengbald seemed pleased by the mercenary's incom-

prehension. "How do you plains-folk ever hope to drive

me and the other city-dwellers into the sea, as you are al-

ways babbling about? You have no craft, Lezhdraka, no

craft at all. Just go and fetch the old man. You like the

night airdo your people not sleep, eat, piss, and sport

beneath the stars?" The duke chuckled.

The High King's Hand, having turned to watch his

page fill his cup, did not witness the Thrithings-man's

venomous look as he left the tent. But for the wind strum-

ming the fabric, the tent fell quiet.

"So, my sweet," Fengbald said at last, prodding the si-

lent woman with his slippered foot, "how does it feel to

know that you belong to the man who will one day hold

all the land in his grasp?" When she did not reply, he

pushed her again, more roughly. "Speak, woman."

She looked up slowly. Her pretty face was empty,

drained of life as a corpse's. "It is good, my lord," she

murmured at last, the Westerling words thickly accented

by a Hemystiri burr. She let her head sink back down, her

hair falling like a curtain before her features. The duke

looked around impatiently.

"And you, Isaak? What do you think?"

"It is well, master," the page said hurriedly. "If you say

it will happen, it will happen."

Fengbald smiled. "Of course it will. How can I fail?"

He paused for a moment, frowning at the boy's expres-

sion, then shrugged. There were worse things than being

feared.

"Only a fool," he resumed, quickly warming to the

topic once more, "only a fool, I say, could not see that

King Elias is a dying man." He waved his hand expan-

sively, slopping a little wine over the rim of his cup.

"Whether he has caught some wasting illness, or whether

the priest Pryrates is slowly poisoning him, I do not care.

The red priest is an idiot if he thinks he can rule the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

227

kingdomhe is the most hated man in Osten Ard. No.

when Elias dies, only someone of noble blood will be

able to rule. And who will that be? Guthwulf has gone

blind and run away." He laughed shortly. "Benigaris of

Nabban? He cannot even rule his own mother. And Skali

the Rimmersman is no more noble or civilized than that

animal Lezhdraka. So when I have killed Josuaif he

even truly livesand put down this petty rebellion, who

else will be fit to rule?" Excited by his own words, he

drained the remainder of his cup in a single draught.

"Who else? And who would oppose me? The king's

daughter, that fickle slut?" He paused and eyed the page

intently, so that the young boy towered his gaze. "No,

perhaps if Miriamele came begging to me on her knees, I

might make her my queenbut I would keep her closely

watched. And she would be punished for spuming me."

He smirked and leaned forward, placing his hand on the

pale neck of the woman who knelt before him. "But never

fear, little Feurgha, I would not cast you aside for her. I

will keep you, too." As she shrunk away he tightened his

hand, holding her, enjoying the tension of her resistance.

The tent flap bulged and flapped inward. Lezhdraka en-

tered, snowflakes shimmering "in his hair and beard. He

held the arm of an old man whose bald head was red with

too much sun and whose white ruff of beard was stained

and discolored by the juices of citril root. Lezhdraka

roughly shoved the man forward. The captive took a few

stumbling steps, then fell stiffly to his knees at

Fengbald's feet and did not look up. His neck and shoul-

ders, exposed by the open collar of his thin shirt, were

covered with yellowing bruises.

When the nervous page had filled the duke's cup once

more, Fengbald cleared his throat. "You look somewhat

familiar. Do I know you?" The old man wagged his head

from side to side. "So. You may look up. You claim to be

the Lord Mayor of Gadrinsett?"

The old man nodded slowly. "I am," he croaked.

"You were. Not that there would be much glory in be-

ing mayor of this pesthole in any case. Tell me what you

know about Josua."

228 Tad Williams

"I ... I don't understand, Lord."

Fengbald leaned forward and gave him a brief but solid

push. The Lord Mayor toppled over to lie on his side; he

did not seem to have the strength to sit up again. "Don't

play the fool with me, old man. What have you heard9"

Still curled on his side, the Lord Mayor coughed.

"Nothing that you have not learned. Duke Fengbald," he

quavered, "nothing. Riders came from the evil-omened

valley up the Stefflod. They said that Josua Lackhand had

escaped from his brother, that he and a band of warriors

and magicians had driven out the demons and made a

stronghold on the witch-mountain in the middle of the

valley. That all who came to join him there would be fed,

and have places to live, and that they would be protected

from bandits and from . . . and from . . ." his voice

dropped, "... from the High King's soldiers."

"And you think it is a pity you did not listen to these

treasonous rumors, eh?" Fengbald asked. "You think that

perhaps Prince Josua might have saved you from the

king's vengeance?"

"But we did no wrong, my lord'" the old man moaned.

"We did no wrong!"

Fengbald looked at him with perfect coldness. "You

harbored traitors, since everyone who joins Josua is a

traitor. Now, how many are with him on this witch-

mountain?"

The mayor shook his head vehemently. "I do not know,

lord. In time, some few hundred of our folk went. The

first riders who came said there were five or six score

there already, I think."

"Counting women and children?"

"Yes, lord."

Fengbald snapped his fingers- "Isaak, go find a guards-

man and bid him come to me."

"Yes, sire." The youth hurried out, happy with any er-

rand that took him out of his master's reach for a few

moments.

"A few more questions." The duke settled back against

the cushions. "Why did your people believe it was Josua?

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 229

Why should they leave a safe haven to go to a place of

bad reputation?"

The old man shrugged helplessly. "One of the women

who lived here claimed she had met Josuathat she had

sent him to the rock herself. A gossipy creature, but well-

known She swore that she had fed him at her fire and had

marked him instantly as the prince. Many were convinced

by her. Others went because ... because they heard you

were coming. Duke Fengbald. People from Erkynland and

the western Thrithmgs came here, fleeing ... moving east

ahead of your lordship's progress." He cringed as if ex-

pecting a blow. "Forgive me, lord." A tear ran down his

wrinkled cheek.

The tent flap rustled. Isaak the page entered, followed

by a helmeted Erkynguardsman. "You wanted me, lord?"

the soldier said.

"Yes." Fengbald gestured toward the old man. "Take

this one back to the pens. Treat him roughly, but do not

hurt him. I will wish to speak to him again later." The

duke turned, "You and I have things to talk about,

Lezhdraka." The guardsman dragged the mayor to his

feet. Fengbald watched the process with contempt. "Lord

Mayor, is it?" he snorted. 'There is not a drop of lordly

blood in you, peasant."

The old man's rheumy eyes opened wide, staring at

Fengbald. For a moment, it seemed he might do some-

thing entirely mad; instead, he shook his head like some-

one waking from a dream. "My brother was a nobleman,"

he said hoarsely, then a fresh outpouring of tears spilled

down his cheeks. The soldier grabbed his elbow and has-

tened him out of the tent.

Lezhdraka stared insolently at Fengbald. " 'Do not hurt

him?' I thought you were harder than that, city-man."

A slow, drunken smile spread across Fengbald's face.

"What I said was, 'treat him roughly but do not hurt him.*

I don't want the rest of his folk to know he will spill his

guts any time I ask. And he may prove useful to me

somehow, either as a spy in the pens or as a spy among

Josua's folk. Those traitors take in all who flee my terri-

ble wrath, do they not?"

230 Tad Williams

The Thrithings-man squinted. "Do you think my horse-

men and your armored city-dwellers cannot smash your

king's enemies?"

Fengbald waved an admonitory finger. "Never throw a

weapon away. You never know when you may need it.

That's another lesson that sightless fool Guthwulf taught

me." He laughed, then waved his cup. His page scurried

after the wine ewer. -

Outside, darkness had fallen. The duke's tent glowed

crimson, smoldering like an ember half-buried in fire-

place ashes.

A

A rat, Rachel thought bitterly. Now I'm no better than

a rat in the walls.

She peered out at the darkened kitchen and suppressed

a bitter curse. It was just as well that Judith had long

since quit the Hayholt. If the huge, galleon-stately Mis-

tress of the Kitchens were to see the condition of her be-

loved domain, it would probably kill her dead. Rachel the

Dragon's own work-callused hands itched as she felt her-

self torn between a desire to repair the damage and an

equally strong urge to throttle whoever had let the castle

fall into this dreadful state.

The Hayholt's great kitchen might have become a den

of wild dogs. The pantry doors were off their hinges and

the few remaining sacks of foodstuffs lay ripped and scat-

tered about the chamber. It was the waste as much as the

filth that set a fire of anger burning in Rachel's heart.

Flour lay all across the floors, ground into the cracks be-

tween flagstones, crisscrossed with the prints of heedless,

booted feet. The great ovens were black with grease, the

baking paddles charred from inexpert use. Staring out at

the wreckage from her hiding hole behind a hanging cur-

tain, Rachel felt tears coursing down her face.

God should strike those who did this dead. This is

wickedness with no purposedevil's work.

And the kitchen, for all the damage done, was one of

the places least affected by the evil changes that had over-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

231

taken the Hayholt. Rachel had seen much in her forays

out of hiding, all of it disheartening. The fires were no

longer set in most of the great chambers and the dark

hallways were almost misty with cold. The shadows

seemed to have lengthened, as though a strange twilight

had settled over the castle: even on the days when the sun

broke through the clouds, the Hayholt's passages and gar-

dens were steeped in shade. But the night itself had be-

come almost too frightening to bear. When the dim sun

set, Rachel found herself hiding-places in the abandoned

places of the castle and did not stir until dawn. The un-

earthly sounds that floated through the darkness were

enough to make her pull her shawl over her head, and

sometimes as evening came along there were shifting, un-

solid shapes that hovered just at the edge of vision. Then,

when the bells rang midnight, dark-robed demons silently

walked the halls.

Clearly some dreadful magic was at work all around.

The ancient castle seemed almost to breathe, imbued with

a chilling vitality that it had never had before, for all its

illustrious history. Rachel could feel a crouching pres-

ence, patient but alert as a predatory beast, that seemed to

inhabit the very stones. No, this ruined kitchen was only

the smallest, mildest sample of the evil Elias had brought

down on her beloved home.

She waited, listening, until she was certain no one was

about, then pushed her way out past the curtain. The

closet behind this hanging had a false back hung with

shelves of vinegar and mustard jars; the shelves hid a pas-

sageway into one of the network of corridors that ran be-

hind, above, and beneath the Hayholt's walls. Rachel,

who for many weeks now had made her home in these

between-places, still marveled at the web of secret ways

that had surrounded her all her life, unseen and unrecog-

nized as a riot of mole tunnels beneath a formal garden.

Now I know where that rascal Simon used to disappear

to. By the Blessed Mother, no wonder I sometimes thought

the boy'd been swallowed up by the earth when there was

work to be done.

She made her way out to the center of the kitchen,

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moving as quietly as her stiff old bones would allow so

she would not obscure the sounds of anyone approaching.

There were few people left in the great keep these days

Rachel did not think of the king's white-faced demons as

peoplebut there were still some mercenaries from the

Thrithings and elsewhere billeted in me castle's scores of

empty rooms. It was such barbarians as those, Rachel felt

sure, who had reduced Judith's kitchen to its hideous con-

dition. Surely abominations like those devil-Norns did not

even eat earthly food. Drank blood most likely, if the

Book of the Aedon was any guideand it had been Ra-

chel's only guide since she was old enough to understand

what the priests said.

There was nothing remotely fresh to be found any-

where. More than once Rachel opened a jar to discover

the contents rotted, covered with blue or white mold, but

after much patient searching she was able to find two

small containers of salted beef and a jug of vegetables

pickled in brine that had rolled beneath a table and some-

how been missed. She also discovered three loaves of

bread, hard and stale, wrapped in a napkin in one of the

pantries. Although the sample piece she pulled from a

loaf was painfully hard to chewRachel had few teeth

left, and felt sure that such fare as this would finish off

the survivorsit was edible, and when dipped in the beef

brine would make a nice change indeed. Still, this raid

had turned up scant results. How much longer would she

be able to keep herself alive on what she could thieve

from the Hayholt's untended larders? Thinking of the

days ahead, she shivered. It was horribly cold, even in the

rock fastness of the castle's internal passageways. How

long could she go on?

She wrapped the fruits of her scavenging in her shawl

and dragged the heavy bundle across the floor toward the

closet and its hidden door, doing her best to obscure the

tracks she made in the flour. When she reached the closet,

where the flourso eerily like the snow outsidehad not

yet drifted, she unwrapped her take for a moment and

used the shawl to brush away all the nearest marks, so

TOGREENANGELTOWER233

that no one might wonder at tracks that disappeared into

an abandoned closet and failed to come out again.

As she was rebundling her salvage, she heard voices in

the hallway outside. A moment later, the great kitchen

doors began to swing inward. Her heart suddenly beating

as swiftly as a bird's, Rachel leaned forward and caught

at the curtain with fumbling fingers, then pulled the hang-

ing across the closet entrance just as the outer door

thumped back against the wall and booted footsteps

sounded on the flagstones.

"Damn him and his grinning face, where is he?!"

Rachel's eyes widened as she recognized the king's

voice-

"I know I heard someone in here!" Elias shouted.

There was a crash as something was swept off one of the

knife-scarred tables, then the rhythmic clatter of someone

pacing back and forth across the great length of the

kitchen floor. "I hear everything in this castle, every foot-

step, every murmur, until my head pounds with it! He

must have been here! Who else could it be?"

"I told you. Majesty, I do not know."

The Mistress of Chambermaids' heart skipped and

seemed to stumble between beats. That was Pryrates. She

thought of him as he had stood before herher knife

standing from his back, no more effective than a twig

and felt herself sagging toward the floor. She reached out

a hand to steady herself and brushed against a copper

trivet hanging on the wall, setting it swinging. Rachel

grasped it, holding its heavy weight out from the wall so

that it would make no noise.

Like a rat! Her thoughts were wild and fragmented.

Like a rat. Trapped in the walls. Cats outside.

"Aedon burn and blast him, he is not to leave my

side!" Elias' hoarse voice, teetering on the edge of some

strange despair, seemed almost to reflect Rachel's own

panic. "Hengfisk!" he shouted. "Damn your soul, where

are you!?" The sound of the king's furious pacing re-

sumed. "When I find him, I will slit his throat."

'7 will prepare your cup for you, Majesty. I will do it

for you now. Come."

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"It's not just that. What is he doing? Where could he

be? He has no right to go off wandering!"

"He will be back soon, I'm sure," the priest said. He

sounded impatient. "His needs are few, and easily satis-

fied. Come now, Elias, we should go back to your

chamber."

"He's hiding'" Rachel could hear the king's steps sud-

denly grow louder. He stopped, and she heard a squeak of

hinges as he yanked at one of the broken doors. "He is

hiding in the shadows somewhere!"

The footsteps approached. Rachel held her breath, try-

ing to be as stilt as stone. She heard the king come nearer,

muttering angrily as he yanked at doors and kicked piles

of fallen hangings out of his way. Her head whirled.

Darkness seemed to descend before her eyes, a darkness

threaded with fluttering sparks of light.

"Majesty!" Pryrates voice was sharp. The king stopped

thrashing and quiet descended on the kitchen. "This is ac-

complishing nothing. Come. Let me prepare your cup.

You are overtired."

Elias groaned softly, a terrible sound like a beast in

final pain. At last, he said: "When will it all end,

Pryrates?"

"Soon, Majesty." The priest's voice resumed its sooth-

ing tone- "There are certain rituals to be performed on

Harrow's Eve. Then, after the year turns, the star will

come and that will show that the final days are at hand.

Soon after, your waiting will be over."

"Sometimes I cannot bear the pain, Pryrates. Some-

times I wonder if anything is worth this pain."

"Surely the greatest gift of all is worth any price,

Elias." Pryrates' footfalls moved closer. "Just as the pain

is beyond what others must bear, so are you brave beyond

other men. Your reward will be equally splendid,"

The two men moved away from her hiding spot. Rachel

let out her breath in a near-silent hiss.

"I am burning up."

"I know, my king." The doors thumped shut behind

them.

TOGREENANGELTOWER235

Rachel the Dragon sank to a crouch on the closet floor.

Her hand shook as she traced the sign of the Tree.

A

Guthwulf could feel stone at his back and stone be-

neath his feet, and yet at the same moment he felt that he

stood before a great abyss. He folded to his knees and

reached cautiously before him, patting at the ground, cer-

tain that any moment he would feel his hand waving in

empty space. But nothing was before him but more of the

endless stone of the passageway floor.

"God help me, I am cursed!" he shouted. His voice rat-

tled and echoed from a distant ceiling, obliterating for a

moment the whispering chorus that had surrounded him

for a length of time he could not guess. "Cursed!" He fell

forward, cradling his face on his outstretched arms in an

unconscious attitude of prayer, and wept.

He knew only that he must be somewhere beneath the

castle- Since the moment he had stepped through the un-

seen doorway, fleeing from flames that burned so hot that

he was certain they would char him to cinders, he had

been as lost as a damned soul. He had wandered through

these mazy depths so long that he could no longer re-

member the feeling of wind and sunshine on his face, no

longer recall the taste of food other than cold worms and

beetles. And always the ... others ... had accompanied

him, the quiet murmurs just below the level of intelligibil-

ity, the ghostly things that seemed to move beside him but

mocked his blindness by slipping away before he could

touch them. Countless days he had stumbled miseeing"

through this netherworld of mournful whispers and shift-

ing forms, until life was only that which made him sensi-

ble to torment. He had become little more than a cord

tight-stretched between terror and hunger. He was cursed.

There could be no other explanation.

Guthwulf rolled over onto his side and slowly sat up. If

Heaven was punishing him for the wickedness of his life,

how long would it go on? He had always scoffed at the

priests and their talk of eternity, but now he knew that

236

Tad Williams

even an hour could stretch to a terrible, infinite length.

What could he do to end this dreadful sentence?

"I have sinned!" he screamed, his voice a hoarse croak.

"I have lied and killed, even when I knew it was wrong!

Sinned!" The echoes flew and dissipated. "Sinned," he

whispered.

Guthwulf crawled forward another cubit, praying that

the pit he had sensed was truly there before him, a hole

into which he would tumble and perhaps find the release

of deathif he were not already dead. Anything was

preferable to this unending emptiness. Were it not as

grave a sin as the murder of another, he would have long

since smashed his head against the stone that surrounded

him until life fled, but he feared that he would only find

himself awakened to an even more dreadful sentence after

the added crime of self-slaughter. He groped ahead in

desperation, but his crawling ringers found nothing but

more stone, the unending, winding passageway floor.

Surely this was but another element of his punishment,

the shifting reality of his prison. Just as a moment earlier

he had known beyond doubt that a great chasm lay before

hima chasm that his fingers now proved did not

existhe had at other times encountered great columns

that rose to the ceiling, and had run his hands over their

intricate carvings, trying to read in their crafted textures

some message of hope, only to find a moment later that

he stood in the midst of a great and empty chamber as va-

cant of columns as it was of other human company.

What of the others, he suddenly wondered? What of

Elias and the devil Pryrates? Surely if divine justice had

been meted out, they had not escapednot with crimes

on their souls vaster and more evil by far than Guthwulf *s

poor tally. What had happened to them, and to all the

other uncountable sinners who had lived and died on the

spinning earth? Was each condemned to his or her own

solitary damnation? Did others as afflicted as Guthwulf

wander just on the other side of the stone walls, wonder-

ing if they, too, were the last creatures in the universe?

He clambered to his feet and stumbled toward the wall,

pounding on it with the flat of his hand. "Here I am!" he

TOGREENANGELTOWER

237

cried. "I am!" He let his fingers drag down the cool,

faintly damp surface as he slumped to the floor again.

In all the years when he had been alivefor he could

not help but feel that his life was now over, even if he

still seemed to inhabit a body that hurt and hungered

Guthwulf had never realized the simple wonder of com-

panionship. He had enjoyed his associations with

othersthe rough company of men, the satisfying com-

pliance of womenbut he had always been able to do

without them. Friends had died or left. Some Guthwulf

had been forced to turn his back on when they opposed

him, some one or two he had been forced to remove, de-

spite previous comradeship. Even the king had turned on

him at last, but Guthwulf had been strong. To need was to

be weak. To be weak was not to be a man.

Now Guthwulf thought of the most precious thing he

had. It was not his lionor, for he knew he had given that

up when he did not raise a hand to help Elias combat his

growing madness; it was not his pride, for he had lost that

with his sight, when he became a staggering invalid who

had to wait for a servant to bring him a chamber pot.

Even his courage was no longer his to give or receive, for

it had fled when Elias made him touch the gray sword

and he had felt the blade's horrible, cold song run through

him like poison. No, the only thing left to him was the

most ephemeral of all, the tiny spark that still lived and

still hoped, buried though it was beneath such a weight of

despair. Perhaps that was a soul, that thing the priests

prattled about, and perhaps it wasn'the no longer cared.

But he did know that he would give even that last, crucial

spark away if he could only have companionship once

more, if there could be some end to this hideous loneli-

ness.

The empty darkness suddenly filled with a great wind,

a wind that blew through him but did not rustle a hair on

his head. Guthwulf groaned weakly: he had felt this be-

fore. The void that surrounded him filled with cluttering

voices that brushed by him moaning and sighing words

that he could not understand, but that he felt were full of

loss and dread. He stretched out a hand, knowing as he

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238

did so that there was nothing to grasp ... but his hand

touched something.

With a gasp of shock, Guthwulf snatched the hand

back, A moment later, as the rush of wailing shades dwin-

dled down the endless corridor, something touched him

again, this time bumping against his outstretched leg. He

squeezed his eyelids shut, as though whatever was there

might horrify even the eyes of a blind man. There was an-

other insistent push at his leg. He slowly reached out once

more and felt ... fur.

The catfor surely that was what it was: he could feel

its back arching beneath his hand, the sinuous tail sliding

between his fingersthumped his knee with its small,

hard head. He let his fingers rest on it, not daring to move

for fear of frightening it away- Guthwulf held his breath,

half-certain that this would prove to be like other things

of this inconstant netherworld, that a moment's time

would find it vanished into air. But the cat seemed

pleased with its own substantiality; it put two paws up on

his thin leg, delicately sinking its claws into his skin as it

moved beneath his careful touch.

For a moment, as he scratched and patted, and as the

unseen animal wriggled with pleasure, he remembered

that he had eaten nothing but crawling things since he had

come to this place of damnation. The warm flesh moved

beneath his hand, a starving man's banquet of meat and

hot, salty blood separated from him only by a thin layer

of fur.

/(would be so easy, he thought, his fingers gently cir-

cling the cat's neck. Easy. Easy. Then, as his fingers tight-

ened just a little bit, the cat began to purr. The vibrations

moved up through its throat and into his fingers, a throb

of contentment and trust as piercingly beautiful as any

music of angelic choirs. For the second time in an hour,

Guthwulf burst into tears.

When the one-time Earl of Utanyeat awoke, he had no

idea how long he had been asleep, but for the first time in

many days he felt as though he had truly rested. His mo-

ment of peace ended quickly when he realized that the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

239

warm body that had nestled in his lap was gone. He was

alone once more.

Just as the emptiness swept back down upon him, there

was a soft pressure against his leg, then a small cold nose

pressed against his hand.

"Back," he whispered. "You came back." He reached

down to touch the cat's head, but instead found he was

pressing something smaller, something warm and slickly

wet. The cat purred as he felt the thing that it had pushed

against his hip: it was a rat, recently killed.

Guthwulf sat up, saying a silent prayer of thanks, and

pulled the offering apart with trembling fingers- He re-

turned an equal portion to the founder of the feast.

*

Deep beneath the dark bulk of Stormspike Mountain,

the eyes of Utuk'ku Seyt-Hamakha suddenly opened. She

lay motionless in the onyx crypt that was her bed, staring

up into the perfect blackness of her stone chamber. She

had wandered far along her web, into places in the dream-

world that only the eldest of the immortals could goand

in the shadows of the most distant improbabilities, she

had seen something she had not expected. A sharp sliver

of unease pierced her ancient heart. Somewhere at the

;outermost edges of her designs, a strand had snapped.

.'What that meant, she could not know, but an uncertainly

had been added, a flaw in the pattern she had woven so

long and so faultlessly.

The Nom Queen sat up, her long-fingered hand claw-

,ing for her silver mask. She placed it on her face, so that

"once more she appeared as serenely emotionless as the

moon, then she sent out a cold and fleeting thought. A

,' door opened in the blackness and dark shapes entered,

?. bringing with them a little light, for they, too, wore

;masks, theirs of faintly glowing pale stone. They helped

,:-their mistress to rise from her vault and brought her royal

t' robes of ice-white and silver, which they wrapped about

5sher with the ritual care of burial priests swaddling the

t- dead. When she was dressed, they scuttled away, leaving

240 Tad Williams

Utuk'ku alone once more. She sat for a while in her light-

less chamber; if she breathed, she made no sound doing

so. Only the almost imperceptible creaking of the moun-

tain's roots sullied the pure silence.

After some time, the Nom Queen rose and made her

way out through the twisting corridors that her servants

had carved from the mountain's flesh in the deeps of the

past. She came at last to the Chamber of the Breathing

Harp and took her seat upon the great throne of black

rock. The Harp hovered in the mists that rose from the

vast well, its shifting dimensions glinting in the lights that

shone from the deeps below. The Lightless Ones were

chanting somewhere in the depths of Stormspike, their

hollow voices tracing the shapes of songs that had been

old and already forbidden back in the Lost Garden,

Venyha Do'Sae. Utuk'ku sat and stared at the Harp, let-

ting her mind trace its complexities as the steams of the

pit met the chamber's icy air and turned to frost upon her

eyelashes.

Ineluki was not there. He had gone, as he sometimes

did, into that place that was no place, where he alone

could goa place as far beyond the dreamworld as

dreams were beyond waking, as far beyond death as death

was beyond living. For this time, the Nom Queen would

have to keep her own counsel.

Although her shining silver face was as impassive as

ever, Utuk'ku nevertheless felt a shadow of impatience as

she stared into the untenanted Well. Time was growing

short now. A lifetime for one of the scurrying mortals was

a scant season for the eldest, so the short span that

stretched between now and the hour of her triumph could

seem scarcely more than a few heartbeats if she chose to

perceive it so. But she did not choose that. Every moment

was precious. Every instant brought victory closerbut

for that victory to come to pass, there could be no mis-

takes.

The Queen of the Noms was troubled.

8

Nights of Fire

A

Simon's blood seemed almost to boil in his veins. He

looked around him, at the white-blanketed hills, at the

dark trees bending in the fierce, chilling winds, and

wondered how he could feel so full of fire. It was

excitementthe thrill of responsibility ... and of danger.

Simon felt very much alive.

He leaned his cheek against Homefinder's neck and

patted her firm shoulder. Her wind-cooled skin was damp

with sweat.

"She is tired," Hotvig said, cinching the strap on his

own mount's saddle. "She is net meant for such fast trav-

eling."

"She's fine," Simon shot back. "She's stronger than

you think."

"The Thrithings-folk know horses if they know any-

thing," Sludig said over his shoulder. He turned away

from the tree trunk, lacing his breeches. "Do not be so

proud, Simon."

Simon stared at the Rimmersman for a moment before

speaking. "It is not pride. I rode this horse a long way. I

will keep her."

Hotvig raised his hand placatingly. "I did not mean to

make you angry. It is just that you are thought of well by

Prince Josua. You are his knight. You could have one of

our fleet clan-horses for the asking."

Simon turned his stare on the braid-bearded grassland-

er, then tried to smile. "I know you meant it well, Hotvig,

and one of your horses would be a gift indeed. But this is

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different. I called this horse Homefinder, and that is

where she will go with me. Home."

"And where is that home, young thane?" asked one of

the other Thrithings-men.

"The Hayholt," Simon said firmly.

Hotvig laughed. "The place where Josua's brother

rules? You and your horse must be mighty travelers in-

deed, to ride into such fierce weather."

"That's as may be." Simon turned to look at the others,

squinting against the oblique afternoon light streaming

past the trees. "If you're all ready, it's time to go. If we

wait longer, the storm may die. We'll be under the light

of an almost full moon tonight. I'd rather have the snow

and the sentries all hunkered down over a fire."

Sludig started to say something, then thought better of

it. The Thrithings-men nodded in agreement and swung

easily into their saddles.

"Lead on, thane." Hotvig's laugh was short but not un-

friendly. The little company eased down out of the copse

and back into the bitter clutches of the wind.

Simon was almost as grateful for the simple chance to

do something as he was of this evidence of Josua's trust.

The days of increasingly bad weather, coupled with the

important duties granted to his companions but not to

him, had left Simon restless and ill-tempered. Binabik,

Geloe, and Strangyeard were in deep discussion over the

swords and the Storm King; Deomoth oversaw the arm-

ing and preparing of New Gadrinsett's ragtag army; even

Sangfugol, thankless as he found the task, had Towser to

watch. Before Prince Josua had called him to his tent, Si-

mon had begun to feel as he had in days he had hoped

long pastlike a drummer boy hurrying along after the

Imperator's soldiers.

"Just a little spying work," Josua had called this task,

but to Simon it was almost as splendid as the moment he

had been knighted. He was to take some of Hotvig's

grasslanders and ride out for a look at the approaching

force-

"Don't do anything" the prince had said emphatically.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

243

"Just look. Count tentsand horses if you see them.

Look for banners and crests if there's enough light. But

don't be seen, and if you are, ride away. Quickly."

Simon had promised. A knight leading men to war: that

was what he had become. Impatient to be off on this glo-

rious quest, he had squirmedunobtrusively, he

hopedas he waited for Josua to finish with his instruc-

tions.

Sludig, surprisingly, had asked to come along. The

Rimmersman was still smarting over Simon's high hon-

ors, but Simon suspected that, like Simon himself, Sludig

was feeling a little left out, and would even prefer being

Simon's subordinate for a short time to the frustration of

waiting atop Sesuad'ra. Sludig was a warrior, not a gen-

eral: the Rimmersman was interested only when the fight-

ing became real, blade on blade.

Hotvig had also offered his services. Simon guessed

that Prince Josua, who had come to both like and trust the

Thrithings-man, might have asked Hotvig to go along and

keep an eye on his youngest knight. Surprisingly, this

possibility did not bother Simon. He had begun to under-

stand a little of the burden of power, and knew that Josua

was trying to do his best for aH concerned. So, Simon had

decided, let Hotvig be Josua's eye: he would give the

grasslander something good to report.

The storm was worsening. All the Stefflod river valley

was covered with snow, the river itself only a dark streak

running through a field of white. Simon pulled his cloak

tight and wrapped his woolen scarf more tightly around

his face.

The Thrithings-men, for all their confident bantering,

were more than a little frightened by the changes the

storm winds had brought to their familiar grasslands. Si-

mon saw their eyes widen as they looked around, the un-

easy way they spurred their horses through the deeper

drifts, the small reflexive signs to ward evil that they

made with crossed fingers. Only Sludig, child of the fro-

zen north, seemed unaffected by the bleak weather.

"This is truly a black winter," said Hotvig. "If I had

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not already believed Josua when he said there was an evil

spirit at work, I would believe him now."

"A black winter, yesand summer only just ended."

Sludig flicked snow from his eyes. *The lands north of

the Frostmarch have not seen a spring for more than a

year. We fight against more than men."

Simon frowned. He did not know how superstitious the

clan men were, but he did not want to stir up any fears

that might interfere with their task- "It is a magical

storm," he said loudly enough to be heard over the cloak-

snapping wind, "but it's still only a storm. The snows

can't hurt youbut they might freeze off your tail."

One of the Thrithings-men turned to him with a grin. "If

tails freeze, then you will suffer most, young thane, riding

that bony horse." The other men chortled. Simon, pleased at

the way he had changed the conversation, laughed with

them.

Afternoon swiftly melted into evening as they rode, a

journey almost silent but for the soft chuffing of the

horses' hooves and the eternal moaning of the wind. The

sun, which had been overmatched by clouds all day, at

last gave up and dropped down below the low hills- A vi-

olet, shadowless light enveloped the valley. Soon it was

almost too dark for the little company to see where they

rode; the moon, enmeshed in clouds, was all but invisible.

There was no sign of stars.

"Should we stop and make camp?" Hotvig shouted

above the wind.

Simon considered for a moment. "1 don't think so," he

said at last. "We are not too far awaymaybe another

hour's riding at most. I think we could risk a torch."

"Should we also blow some trumpets?" Sludig asked

loudly. "Or perhaps we could find some criers to run

ahead and announce that we are coming to spy out

Fengbald's position."

Simon scowled but did not rise to the bait. "We still

have the hills between us and Fengbald's camp at

Gadrinsett. If the people who fled his army are right

about where he is, we can easily put our light out before

we are within sight of his sentries." He raised his voice

TOGREENANGELTOWER

245

for emphasis. "Do you think it would be better to wait

until morning light, when Fengbald's men are rested and

there is sun to make us even easier to spot?"

Sludig waved his hand, conceding.

Hotvig produced a torcha good, thick branch,

wrapped in strips of cloth and soaked in pitchand

struck a spark with his flints. He shielded the flame from

the winds until it was burning well, then raised the brand

and rode a few paces ahead of the others, mounting the

slope of the riverbank as he headed for the greater shelter

of the hillside. "Follow, then," he called.

The procession resumed, moving a little more slowly

now. They passed across the uneven terrain of the hills.

letting the horses feel their way. Hotvig's torch became a

jogging ball of flame, the only thing throughout the

storm-darkened valley that could hold a wandering eye:

Simon almost felt he tracked a will-of-the-wisp across the

misty barrens. The world had become a long black tunnel,

an endless corridor spiraling down into the earth's light-

less heart.

"Anybody know a song?" Simon asked at last- His

voice sounded frail lifted against the mournful wind.

"A song?" Sludig wrinklecMiis brow in surprise.

"Why not? We are still far off from anyone- In any

case, you are an arm's length away and I can scarcely

hear you over this damnable wind. So, a song, yes!"

Hotvig and his Thrithings-men did not volunteer *o

sing, but they seemed to have no objection. Sludig made

a face, as if the very idea was foolish beyond belief.

"Up to me, then?" Simon smiled. "Up to me. Too bad

that Shem Horsegroom isn't here. He knows more songs

and stories than anyone." He wondered briefly what had

happened to Shem- Was he still living happily in the

Hayholt's great stables? "I'll sing you one of his. A song

about Jack Mundwode."

"Who?" asked one of the Thrithings-men.

"Jack Mundwode. A famous bandit. He lived in

Aldheorte Forest."

"If he lived at all," scoffed Sludig.

"If he lived at all," Simon agreed. "So I'll sing one of

246

Tad Williams

the songs about Mundwode." He wrapped his reins

around his hand once more, then leaned back in the sad-

dle, trying to remember the first verse.

"Bold Jack Mundwode,"

he began at last, timing the song to the thudding rhythm

of Homefinder's pace;

"Said: 'I'll go to Erchester,

I've heard that there's a maiden sweet

Who is a-living there.'

" 'Hruse her name is:

Hair of softly flowing gold,

Shoulders pale as winter snows,

Hruse young and fair.'

"Jack's bandits warned him,

Said: 'The town's no place for you.

Their lord has sworn to take your head,

He's a-waiting there.'

"Jack only laughed then.

Lord Constable he knew of old

Many times had Jack escaped him

By a slender hair.

"Jack put on rich dress,

Shining silks and promise-chain

Told Osgal: 'You're the servant

Who'll stand behind my chair.

" 'Duke of Flowers I'll be,'

Said Jack, 'a wealthy nobleman.

A man of grace and gifts and gold

Come to the county's fair.' "

Simon sang just loudly enough to let his voice cany

above the wind. It was a long tune, with many verses.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

247

They followed Hotvig*s torch through the hills as Si-

mon continued the story of how Jack Mundwode entered

into Erchester in disguise and charmed Hruse's father, a

baron who thought he had found a wealthy suitor for his

daughter. Although Simon had to pause from time to time

to catch his breath, or to remember wordsShem had

taught him the song a very long time agohis voice grew

more sure as the ride progressed. He sang about how Jack

the trickster paid court to the beautiful Hrusesincerely,

since he had fallen in love at his first sight of herand

sat beside the unknowing Lord Constable at the baron's

supper. Jack even convinced the greedy baron to take a

magical rose bush as Hruse's dowry, a bush whose deli-

cate blossoms each contained a shining gold Imperator,

and which, the supposed Duke of Flowers assured

Hruse's father and the constable, would bear fresh coins

every season as long as its roots were in the ground.

It was only as Simon neared the end of the songhe

had begun the verse that told how a drunken remark by

the bandit Osgal spoiled Jack's disguise and led to his

capture by the constable's menthat Hotvig reined up his

horse and waved his arm for silence.

"I think that we are very close." The Thrithings-man

pointed. The hillside sloped downward ahead, and even

through the swirling snows it was clear that open land lay

before them.

Sludig rode up beside Simon. The Rimmersman's

frosty breath hung in the air around his head. "Finish the

song on the way back, lad. It is a good tale."

Simon nodded.

Hotvig rolled over his saddle and down onto the

ground, then snuffed his torch in a drift of snow. He pat-

ted it dry on his saddle blanket before slipping it under

his belt and turning to Simon with an expectant look.

"Let's go, then," Simon said. "But carefully, since we

have no light."

They spurred their horses forward. Before they had

gone halfway down the long hill, Simon saw distant

lights, a sparse collection of gleaming dots.

"There!" he pointed, and immediately worried he had

248

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spoken too loudly. His heart was hammering. "Is that

Fengbald's camp?"

"It is what is left of Gadrinsett," said Sludig.

"Fengbald's camp will be near it."

In the valley before them, where the invisible Stefflod

met the equally unseeable Ymstrecca, only a scatter of

fires burned. But on the far side, camped near what Si-

mon felt sure was the Ymstrecca's northern bank, a

greater concentration of lights lay spread across the dark-

ened meadows, a myriad of fiery points arranged in rough

circles.

"You're right." Simon stared. "That will be the

Erkynguard there. Fengbald is probably in the middle of

those rings of tents. Wouldn't it be nice to put an arrow

through his blanket."

Hotvig rode a little nearer. "He is there, yes. And I

would like to kill him myself, just to pay him for the

things he said about the Stallion Clan when we last met.

But we have other things to do tonight."

Stung, Simon took a breath. "Of course," he said at

last. "Josua needs to know the strength of armies." He

paused to think. "Would it be useful to count the fires?

Then we should know how many troops he has brought."

Sludig frowned. "Unless we know how many men

share each fire, it will mean little."

Simon nodded, musing. "Yes. So we count the fires

now, then ride closer and find out if each tent has one, or

every dozen."

"Not too close," Sludig warned. "I like a fight as much

as any God-fearing man, but I like odds that are a little

better."

"You are very wise," Simon smiled. "You should take

Binabik on as your apprentice."

Sludig snorted.

After counting the tiny points of flame, they rode down

the hill.

"We are lucky," Hotvig said quietly. "I think the stone-

dweller sentries will be standing close to their campfires

tonight, staying out of the wind."

TOGREENANGELTOWER

249

Simon shivered, bending a little closer to Homefinder's

neck. "Not all stone-dwellers are that smart."

As they came down onto the snowy meadows, Simon

again felt his heart racing. Despite his fear, there was

something heady and exciting about being so close to the

enemy, about moving silently through the darkness

scarcely more than an arrow flight from armed men. He

felt very alive, as though the wind blew right through his

cloak and shirt, making his skin tingle. At the same time,

he was half-convinced that Fengbald's troops had already

spotted his little companythat even at this moment the

entire Erkynguard was crouching with bows drawn, eyes

glittering in the deep darkness between the shadowy tents.

They made a slow circuit around the outside of

Fengbald's camp, trying to move from the shelter of one

clump of trees to another, but trees were in unpleasantly

short supply on the edge of the grasslands. It was only

when they came close to the riverside and the western-

most end of the encampment that they felt themselves

safe for a while from staring eyes.

"If there are less than a thousand men at arms here,"

Sludig declared, "then I'm a Hyrka."

"There are Thrithings-men in that camp," Hotvig said.

"Men-of-no-clan from the Lake Thrithing, if I know any-

thing."

"How can you tell?" Simon asked- At this distance the

tents showed no markings or distinctive featuresmany

of them were little more than cloth shelters staked to the

ground and then roped to bushes or standing stonesand

none of the inhabitants of the camp's perimeter were out

in such fierce weather.

"Listen." Hotvig cupped his hand behind his ear. His

scarred face was solemn.

Simon held his breath and listened. The windsong cov-

ered everything, drowning even the sound of the men

riding beside him. "Listen to what?"

"Listen with more care," said Hotvig. "It is the har-

nesses." Beside him, one of his clansmen nodded his head

solemnly,

Simon strained to hear what the grasslander did. He

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thought he could make out a faint clinking. 'That?" he

asked.

Hotvig smiled, showing the gap in his teeth. He knew

it was an impressive feat. "Those horses are wearing

Lakeland harnessesI am sure of it."

"You can tell what kind of harnesses they wear by the

sound?" Simon was astonished. Did these meadow-men

have ears like rabbits?

"Our bridles are different as the feathers of birds," one

of the other Thrithings-men said. "Lakeland and Meadow

and High Thrithings harness are all different to our ears

as your voice is from the northerner's, young mane."

"How else could we know our own horses at night,

from a distance?" Hotvig frowned. "By the Four-Footed,

how do you stone-dwellers stop your neighbors stealing

from you?"

Simon shook his head- "So we know where Fengbald's

mercenaries are from. But can you tell how many of the

men down there are Thrithings-folk?"

"By their shelters, I guess that more than half these

troops are from the unclanned," Hotvig replied-

Simon's expression turned grim. "And good fighters,

I'd wager."

Hotvig nodded. There was more than a trace of pride in

the set of his jaw. "All the grasslanders can fight. But the

ones without clans are the most ..." he searched for a

word, "... the most fierce."

"And the Erkynguard are no sweeter." Sludig's voice

was sour, but his eyes held a faintly predatory spark. "It

will be a strong and bloody battle when iron and iron

meet."

'Time to go back." Simon looked out to the stripe of

dark emptiness that was the Ymstrecca. "We've been

lucky so far."

The little company crossed back over the exposed

spaces. Simon again felt their vulnerability, the closeness

of a thousand enemies, and thanked the heavens that

the stormy weather had enabled them to come close to the

camp without having to leave their horses behind. The

idea of having to flee on foot if they were discovered by

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

mounted sentriesand flee through wind and snow at

thatwas a disheartening one.

They reached the shelter of a copse of wind-stripped el-

ders that stood forlornly on the slope of the lowest-lying

foothills. As Simon turned to stare back at the sprinkling

of lights that marked the edge of Fengbald's placid camp,

the anger that had been hidden by his excitement sud-

denly began to well inside hima cold fury at the

thought of all those soldiers lying securely in their tents,

like caterpillars that had gorged on the leaves of a beau-

tiful garden and now lay safely wrapped in their cocoons.

These were the despoilers, the Erkynguardsmen who had

come to arrest Morgenes, who had tried to throw down

Josua's castle at Naglimund. Under Fengbald, they had

crushed the whole town of Falshire as thoughtlessly as a

child might kick over an anthill. Most importantly to Si-

mon, they had driven him from his home, and now they

would try to drive him from Sesuad'ra as well.

"Which of you has a bow?" he said abruptly.

One of the Thrithings-men looked up in surprise. "I

do."

"Give it to me. Yes, and an arrow, too." Simon took the

bow and hooked it over his saddle hom, still staring out

at the dark shapes of the clustered tents. "Now give me

that torch, Hotvig."

The Thrithings-man stared at him for a moment, then

pulled the unlit brand from his belt and handed it to him.

"What will you do?" he asked quietly. His expression be-

trayed nothing but calm interest.

Simon did not reply. Instead, with his concentration on

other matters freeing him for a moment from self-

consciousness, he swung down from the saddle with sur-

prising ease. He unpeeled the pitchy rag from the end of

the torch and wrapped it instead around the head of the

arrow, tying it tightly with the length of leather thong that

had bound his Qanuc sheath against his thigh. Kneeling,

sheltered from the wind by Homefinder's bulk, he pro-

duced his flints and iron bar.

"Come, Simon." Sludig sounded midway between

252

Tad Williams

worry and anger. "We have done what we came for. What

are you up to?"

Simon ignored him, striking at the iron until a spark

nestled in the sticky folds of the rag wound around the ar-

row's tip. He blew on it until the flame caught, then pock-

eted his flints and swung back up into the saddle. "Wait

for me," he said, and spurred Homefinder out of the stand

of trees and down the slope. Sludig started after him, but

Hotvig reached out a hand and caught the harness of the

Rimmersman's mount, pulling him up short. They fell

into an animated, but whispered, argument.

Simon had found little chance to practice with a bow,

and none at all to shoot one from horseback since the ter-

rible, swift battle outside of Haethstad when Ethelbeam

had been killed. Still, it was not accuracy or skill that was

important now so much as his desire to do something, to

send a small message to Fengbald and his confident

troops. He nocked the arrow while still holding the reins,

clinging with his knees to the saddle as Homefinder

jounced across the uneven snow. The flame blew back

along the arrow's shaft until he could feel it hot on his

knuckles. At last, as he swept down onto the valley floor,

he pulled up. He used his legs to turn Homefinder slowly

in a wide circle, then pulled the bowstring back to his ear.

His lips moved, but Simon himself did not know what he

was saying, so all-absorbing was the ball of flame quiv-

ering at the end of the shaft. He took a breath, then let the

arrow go.

It flew out, bright and swift as a shooting star, and

arched across the night sky like a finger dipped in blood

being drawn across black cloth. Simon felt his heart leap

as he watched its erratic flight, watched the wind that

nearly extinguished the flame carry it first to this side,

then that, then drop it at last in among the crowded shad-

ows of the camp. A few moments later a bright blossom

of light arose as one of the tents caught fire. Simon

watched for a moment, his heart beating as swiftly as a

bird's, then turned and spurred Homefinder back up the

hill.

He did not say anything about the arrow when he

TOGREENANGELTOWER

253

caught up with the rest of his companions. Even Sludig

did not question him. Instead, the little company fell in

around Simon and together they rode swiftly through the

darkened hills with the wind blowing chill against their

faces.

A

"I wish you would go and lie down,'* Josua said.

Vorzheva looked up. She was sitting on a mat beside

the brazier with the cloak she was repairing spread out on

her lap. The young New Gadrinsett girl who was helping

her also looked up, then quickly lowered her eyes to the

mending once more.

"Lie down?" Vorzheva said, cocking her head quizzi-

cally. "Why?"

Josua resumed his pacing. "It ... it would be better."

Vorzheva ran a hand through her black hair as she

watched him cross from one wall of the tent to the other

then start back again, a journey of little more than ten cu-

bits. The prince was tall enough that he could only stand

upright at the very center of the tent, which gave his pac-

ing progress an odd, hunchbacked look.

"I do not want to lie down, Josua," she said at last, still

watching him. "What is wrong with you?"

He stopped and flexed his fingers. "It would be better

for the baby ... and for you ... if you did lie down."

Vorzheva stared at him for a moment, then laughed.

"Josua, you are being foolishthe child will not come

until the end of winter."

"I worry for you. Lady," he said plaintively. "The bitter

weather, the hard life we live here."

His wife laughed again, but this time there was a slight

edge in her voice. 'The women of the Stallion Clan, we

give birth standing up on the grasslands, then we go back

to work. We are not city women. What is wrong with you,

Josua?"

The prince's thin face flushed violently. "Why must

you always disagree with me?" he demanded. "Am I not

254

Tad Williams

your husband? I fear for your health and I do not like to

see you working so strenuously, late into the night."

"I am no child," Vorzheva snapped, "I only am carry-

ing one. Why do you walk here and back, here and back?

Stand and talk to me!"

"I try to talk with you, but you quarrel with me!"

"Because you tell me what things I should do, like you

tell a child. I am not a fool, even though I do not speak

like your castle ladies!"

"Aedon curse it, I never said you were a fool!" he

shouted. The moment the words were out of his mouth,

he stopped his agitated walking. After staring at the

ground for a moment, he raised his eyes to Vorzheva's

young helper. The girl was huddled in mortification,

doing her best to vanish into the shadows. "You," he said.

"Would you leave us for a while? My wife and I wouldy

like to be alone."

"She is helping me!" Vorzheva said angrily.

Josua fixed the girl with his hard gray eyes. "Go.";

The young woman leaped to her feet and fled out-;

through the tent flap, leaving her mending in a heap on^

the floormats. The prince stared after her for a moment,H

then turned his attention back to Vorzheva. He seemed^

about to say something, then stopped and swiveledf

around to the tent flap.;^

"Blessed Elysia," he murmured. It was hard to tell^

whether it was a prayer or a curse. He walked toward theH

doorway and out of the tent.X

"Where do you go?" Vorzheva called after him.^

Josua squinted into the darkness- At last he saw a

lighter shape against one of the tents not far away. He

walked toward it, clenching and unclenching his fist-

"Wait." He reached out to touch the young woman's

shoulder. Her eyes widened. She had backed herself

against the tent; now she raised her hands before her as if

to ward off a blow. "Forgive me," he said. "That was an

ungentle thing for me to do. You have been kind to my

lady and she likes you. Please forgive me."

"For-forgive you. Lord?" she sniffled. "Me? I am no

one."

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

255

Josua winced. "God values each soul at the same mea-

sure. Now please, go to Father Strangyeard's tent over

there. There, you can see the light of his fire. It will be

warm, and I'm sure he will give you something to eat and

drink. I will come to fetch you when I have finished talk-

ing to my wife." A sad, tired smile crept onto his lean

face. "Sometimes a man and woman must have some

time alone, even when they are the prince and his lady."

She sniffled again, then tried to curtsy, but was pressed

back so firmly against the fabric of the tent that she could

not bend. "Yes, Prince Josua."

"Go on, then." Josua watched her hurry across the

snowy ground toward the circle of Strangyeard's fire. He

saw the archivist and someone else stand to greet her,

then he turned and walked back to the tent.

Vorzheva stared at him as he entered, curiosity clearly

mixed with anger on her face. He told her what he had

done.

"You are the strangest man I have ever known." She

took a deep, shaky breath, then looked down, squinting at

her needlework.

"If the strong can bully the weak without shame, then

how are we different from the beasts of forest and field?"

"Different?" She still avoided his eyes. "How is it dif-

ferent? Your brother chases us with soldiers. People die,

women die, children die, all for grazing land and names

and flags. We are beasts, Josua. Have you not seen that?"

She looked up at him again, more kindly this time, as a

mother at a child who has not learned life's harsh lessons.

She shook her head and returned to her task.

The prince moved to the pallet, then sat down among

the piles of cushions and blankets. "Come sit with me."

He patted the bed beside him.

"It is warmer here, close to the fire." Vorzheva seemed

engrossed in her stitchery.

"It would be just as warm if we sat together here."

Vorzheva sighed, then put down her sewing, stood, and

walked to the bed. She fell down beside him and leaned

back upon the cushions. Together they stared up at the

roof of the tent, which sagged beneath its burden of snow.

256 Tad Williams

"I am sorry," Josua said. "I did not mean to be harsh.

But I worry- I fear for your health, and for the child's

health."

"Why is it that men think they are brave and women

are weak? Women see more blood and pain than men ever

do, unless men are fightingand that is foolish blood."

Vorzheva grimaced. "Women tend the hurts that cannot

be helped."

Josua did not reply. Instead, he slid his arm around her

shoulder and let his fingers move in the dark curls of her

hair.

"You have no need to fear for me," she said. "Clan

women are not weak. I will not cry. I will make our child

and it will be strong and fit."

Josua maintained his silence for a while, then took a

deep breath. "I blame myself. I did not give you a chance

to understand what you were doing."

She turned suddenly to look at him, her face twisting in

fear. She reached up and plucked his hand from her hair,

then held it tightly. "What are you saying?" she de-

manded. 'Tell me."

He hesitated, looking for words. "It is a different thing

being a prince's wife than it is being a prince's woman."

She swiftly moved a little way across the bed so she

could turn and face him. "What are you saying? That you

would bring some other woman to take my place? I will

kill you and her, Josua! I swear on my clan!"

He laughed softly, although at that moment she looked

quite capable of carrying out her threat. "No, that is not

what I mean. Not at all." He looked at her and his smile

faded. "Please, my lady, never think anything like that."

He reached out and clasped her hand again. "I meant only

that as prince's wife, you are not like other womenand

our child is not like other children."

"So?" The fear still lingered. She was not yet appeased.

"I cannot let anything happen to you, or to our child. If

I am lost, the life you bear within you might be the only

remaining link to the world as it was."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that our child must live. If we failif

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

257

Fengbald defeats us, or even if we survive this battle, but

I diethen one day our child must avenge us." He rubbed

his face. "No, that is not what I mean. This is more im-

portant than vengeance. Our child could be the last light

against an age of darkness. We do not know if Miriamele

will come back to us, or if she even lives. If she is lost,

then a prince's sonor a prince's daughter, for that

mattera grandchild of Prester John, would raise the

only banner that could bring together a resistance to Elias

and his ungodly ally."

Vorzheva was relieved. "I told you, we Thrithings-

women bear strong children. You need have no worry

our child will live to make you proud. And we will win

here, Josua. You are stronger than you know." She moved

closer 10 him. "There is too much worry in you."

He sighed. "I pray that you are right. Usires and His

mercy, is there anything worse than being a ruler? How I

wish I could simply walk away."

"You would not do that. My husband is no coward."

She lifted herself to look at him closely, as if he might be

an impostor, then settled back once more.

"No, you are right. It is my lotmy test, perhaps ...

my own Tree. And each nail is sharp and cold indeed. But

even the condemned man is allowed to dream of free-

dom."

"Do not talk of this any more," she said into his shoul-

der. "You will bring bad luck."

"I can stop speaking, my love, but I cannot so easily

silence my thoughts."

She pushed her head against him like a young bird try-

ing to force its way out of an egg. "Be quiet now."

A

The worst of the storm had passed, moving southeast.

The moon, although curtained and invisible, still shed

enough light to give a faint shine to the snow, as though

all the river valley between Gadrinsett and Sesuad'ra

were sprinkled with powdered diamonds.

Simon watched the snow fountain up from the hooves

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Tad Williams

of Sludig's horse and wondered if he would live to look

back on this year. What might he be, if by some odd

chance he managed to survive? A knight, of course,

which was already something so grand he had only imag-

ined it in his most childish daydreamsbut what did a

knight do? Fought for his liege in war, of course, but Si-

mon did not want to think about wars. If there were peace

someday, and if he lived to see ittwo possibilities that

seemed sadly remotewhat sort of life would he have?

What did knights do? Ruled over their fiefdoms, if they

had land. That was more or less like being a farmer,

wasn't it? It certainly didn't seem grand, but suddenly the

idea of coming home from a wet day spent walking

through the fields seemed very appealing. He would pull

off his cloak and boots and wiggle into his slippers, then

warm himself in front of a great roaring fire- Someone

would bring him wine, and mull it with a hot poker ...

but who? A woman? A wife? He tried to conjure a suit-

able face out of the darkness, but could not. Even

Miriamele, if she lost her legacy and consented to marry

a commoner, and if she would choose Simon in any

caseif the rivers ran uphill and fish flew, in other

wordsMiriamele would not be, he sensed, the kind of

woman who would wait quietly at home for her husband

to return from the fields. To imagine her thus was. almost

to think of a beautiful bird with its wings tied.

But if he did not marry and have a household, what

then? The thought of tournaments, that staple of the

knight's spring and summer entertainment which had oc-

cupied his excited thoughts for several years, nearly sick-

ened him now. That healthy men would hurt each other

for no reason, lose eyes and limbs and even their lives for

a game when the world was already such a dreadful and

dangerous place, made Simon furious. "Mock-war" some

called it. as though any mere sport, no matter how haz-

ardous, could approach the horror of the things Simon

had seen. War was like a great wind or an earth tremor,

something dreadful that should not be trifled with. To im-

itate it seemed almost blasphemous. Practicing at tilting

and swordwork was something you did to stay alive if

TOGREENANGELTOWER259

war caught you. When this all endedif it endedSimon

wanted to get as far away from war, mock or otherwise,

as he could.

But one did not always go looking for war, for pain and

terror; certainly death did not need to be sought out. So

shouldn't a knight always be ready to do his duty defend-

ing himself and others? That was what Sir Deornoth said,

and Deomoth did not strike Simon as the kind who fought

needlessly or happily. And what was it that Doctor Mor-

genes had said once about the great Camaris? That he

blew his famous battle hom Cellian not to summon help

or make himself glorious, but to let his enemies know he

was coming so they could safely escape. Morgenes had

written time after time in his book that Camaris took no

pleasure in battle, that his mighty skills were only a bur-

den, since they drew attackers to him and forced him to

kill when he did not want to. There was a paradox. No

matter how adept you were, someone would always wish

to test you. So was it better to prepare for war or to avoid

it?

A clump of snow fell from a branch overhead and, as

if it had life, avoided his heavy scarf and slid easily down

the back of his neck. Simon gave a muffled squeak of dis-

may, then quickly looked around, hoping none of the oth-

ers had heard him make such an unmanly noise. No one

was looking at him; the attention of all his companions

seemed fixed on the silver-gray hills and spiky, shadowy

trees.

So which was better? To flee war, or to try to make

yourself so strong that no one could hurt you? Morgenes

had told him that such problems were the stuff of king-

ship, the sort of questions that kept goodhearted mon-

archs awake at night when all their subjects were

sleeping. When Simon had complained about such a

vague response, the doctor had smiled sadly.

- "That answer is certainly unsatisfactory, Simon," the

old man had said. "So are all possible answers to such

questions. If there were correct answers, the world would

be as orderly as a cathedralflat stone on flat stone,

pure angle mating with pure angleand everything as

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solid and unmoving as the walls of Saint Sutrin's." He

had cocked his beer jug in a sort of salute. "But would

there be love in such a world, Simon? Beauty or charm,

with no ill-favor to compare them to? What kind of place

would a world without surprises be?" The old man had

taken a long drink, wiped his mouth, then changed the

subject. Simon had not thought any more of what the doc-

tor had said againuntil this moment.

"Sludig." Simon's voice was startlingly loud as it broke

the long silence.

"What?" Sludig turned in his saddle to look back.

"Would you rather live in a world without surprises? I

mean without good ones and bad ones both?"

The Rimmersman glared at him for a moment. "Don't

talk foolishness," he grunted, then turned back, using his

knees to urge his horse around a boulder standing stark

against the white drifts.

Simon shrugged. Hotvig, who had also looked back,

stared intently for a moment, then swiveled around once

more.

The thought would not quite go away, however. As

Homefinder plodded along beneath him, Simon remem-

bered a bit of a recent dreama field of grass whose

color was so even that it might have been painted, a sky

as cold and unchanging as a piece of pottery, the whole

landscape eternal and dead as stone.

I'll take surprises, I think, Simon decided. Even with

the bad ones included.

They heard the music first, a thin, piping melody that

wove in and out through the noise of the wind. As they

came down the hillside into the bowl-shaped valley

around Sesuad'ra, they saw a small fire burning at the

edge of the great black tarn that surrounded the hill. A lit-

tle round shape rose from beside the fire, draped in

shadow, silhouetted by flame as it lowered a bone flute.

"We heard you playing," Simon said. "Aren't you wor-

ried that someone else might hear you, too? Someone un-

friendly?"

"I have protection of sufficiency." Binabik smiled just

26l

TOGREENANGELTOWER

a little. "So, you are returned." He sounded studiedly

calm, as if worrying was absolutely the last thing he

might have been doing. "Are you all well?"

"Yes, Binabik, we're well. All Fengbald's sentries were

staying close to their fires."

"As I have myself been doing," the troll said. "The

flatboats are over there, where I am pointing. Would you

like to rest and warm yourselves, or should we be going

up the hill now?"

"We should probably get the news to Josua as soon as

possible," Simon decided. "Fengbald has something near

a thousand men, and Hotvig says that almost half of them

are Thrithings mercenaries." He was distracted by a shape

moving along the shadowy shore. When it passed before

a high snow drift, he saw that it was Qantaqa slipping

along the water's edge like a driblet of quicksilver. The

wolf turned to look toward him, her eyes reflecting the

firelight, and Simon nodded. Yes, Binabik was indeed

protected; no one would sneak up on Qantaqa's master

without first dealing with her.

"That is not truly good news, but I am thinking it could

be less good," Binabik said as he gathered together the

pieces of his walking-stick. "The High King could have

thrown all his forces upon us, as he was doing at

Naglimund." He sighed. "Still, a thousand soldiers is not

a comforting thought." The troll pushed the assembled

stick through his belt and took Homefinder's reins.

"Josua is gone to sleep for the night, but I think you are

sensible when you say you will go straight up. Better we

all go to the safeness of the Stone. Even if the king's ar-

mies are still distant, this is a wild place, and I am think-

ing that the storm may bring strange things out into the

night."

Simon shivered. "Then let's get ourselves out of the

night and into a warm tent."

They followed Binabik's short steps down to the edge

of the lake. It seemed to have an odd sheen.

"Why does the water look so strange?" Simon asked.

Binabik grimaced. "That is my news, it gives me sor-

row to say. I fear that this last storm has brought us more

262

Tad Williams

evil luck than we had guessed. Our moat, as you castle-

dwellers would call it, is becoming frozen."

Sludig, who was standing close by, cursed richly. "But

the lake is our best guard against the king's troops!"

The little man shrugged. "It is not all frozen yet

otherwise there would be terrible difficulties to get our

boats back across. Perhaps we will be having a thaw. and

then it will be a shield to us again." The look on his face,

shared by Sludig, suggested that it was not very likely,

Two large flatboats waited at the lake's edge. "Men and

wolves are to go in this one," Binabik said, gesturing.

"The other will take the horses and one man for watching

them. Although, Simon, I am thinking your horse has

been with Qantaqa enough to bear the trip in our boat."

"It's me you should worry about, troll," growled

Sludig. "I like boats less than I like wolvesand I don't

like wolves much more than the horses do."

Binabik waved a small, dismissive hand. "You are

making jokes, Sludig. Qantaqa has risked her life at your

side many times, and that you are knowing."

"So now I have to risk my own again on another of

your damned boats," the Rimmersman complained- He

seemed to be suppressing a smile. Simon was surprised

again by the strange fellowship that seemed to have

grown between Binabik and the northerner. "Very well,

then," Sludig said, "I will go. But if you trip over that

great beast and fall in, I am the last person who will jump

in after you."

"Trolls," Binabik said with great dignity, "do not 'fall

in.' "

The little man plucked a burning brand from the

flames, extinguished the campfire with a few handfuls of

snow, then clambered onto the nearest flatboat. "Your

torches have too much brightness," he said. "Put them

out. Let us be enjoying this night, when some stars can at

last be seen." He lit the horn-shielded lamp hanging at the

front of the barge, then stepped gingerly from one rocking

deck to the other and fired the wick on the other boat as

well. The lamplight, lunar and serene, spread out across

the water as Binabik dropped his torch overboard. It dis-

TOGREENANGELTOWER263

appeared with a hiss and a belch of steam, Simon and the

others doused their own brands and followed the troll

aboard.

One of Hotvig's clansmen was deputed to ferry the

horses in the second barge, but the mare Homefmder, as

Binabik had predicted, seemed unruffled by Qantaqa's

presence and so was deemed fit to ride with the rest of the

company. She stood in the stem of the leading boat and

gazed back at the other horses like a duchess eyeing a

gang of drunkards carousing beneath her balcony.

Qantaqa curled up at Binabik's feet, tongue lolling, and

watched Sludig and Hotvig as they poled the first barge

out onto the lake. Mist rose up all around; in a moment

the land behind them had vanished and the two boats

were floating through a netherworld of fog and black wa-

ter.

In most places the ice was little more than a thin skin

across the water, brittle as sugar candy. As the front of the

boat pushed through, the ice crackled and rang, a delicate

but unnerving sound that made the back of Simon's neck

prickle. Overhead, the passage of this wave of the storm

had left the sky almost clear; as Binabik had said, a few

stars could indeed be seen blinking in the murk.

"Look," the troll said softly. "While men prepare for

fighting, Sedda still goes about her business. She has not

caught her husband Kikkasut yet, but she does not stop

her trying."

Simon stood beside him and stared up into the deep

well of the sky. But for the soft tinkling of the water's

frozen crust parting before them, and an occasional muf-

fled thump when they struck a larger piece of floating ice,

the valley was supematurally silent.

"What's that?" Sludig said abruptly. "There."

Simon leaned to follow his gaze. The Rimmersman's

fur-cloaked arm pointed out across the water to the dark

edge of the Aldheorte, which stood like a castle outwall

above the north shore of the lake.

"I can't see anything," Simon whispered.

"It's gone now," Sludig said fiercely, as though Simon

264

Tad Williams

had spoken from disbelief instead of inability. "There

were lights in the forest. I saw them."

Binabik stepped closer to the edge of the boat, peering

out into the darkness. "That is near where the city Enki-

e-Shao'saye stands, or what is remaining of it."

Hotvig now moved forward as well. The barge rocked

gently. Simon thought it good that Homefinder still stood

placidly in the stem, otherwise the shallow flatboat might

have overbalanced. "In the ghost city?" The Thrithings-

man's scarred features were suddenly childlike in their

apprehension. "You see lights there?"

"I did," Sludig said. "I swear by the Blood of Aedon I

did. But they are gone now."

"Hmm." Binabik looked troubled. "It could be that

somehow our own lamps were shining back from some

mirroring surface there in the old city."

"No." Sludig was firm. "One was bigger than any lamp

of ours. But they went dark so quickly!"

"Witch lights," said Hotvig grimly.

"It is also possible," Binabik offered, "that you only

saw them for a moment through trees or broken buildings,

then after that we passed from where we could be seeing

them." He thought for a moment, then turned to Simon.

"Josua has set tonight's task for you, Simon. Should we

back water for a way to see if we can be finding these for-

est lights again?"

Simon tried to think calmly of what was best, but he

truly did not want to know what was on the far side of the

black water. Not tonight.

"No." He tried to make his voice measured and steady.

"No, we will not go and look. Not when we have news

that Josua needs. What if it is a scouting party for

Fengbald? The less they see of us, the better." Stated that

way, it sounded rather reasonable. He felt a moment of re-

lief, but that was quickly followed by shame that he

should try to falsely impress these men, who had risked

their lives under his command. "And also," he said "I am

tired and worriedno, frightened is what I am. This has

been a hard night. Let's go and tell Josua what we've

seen, including the lights in the forest. The prince should

TOGREENANGELTOWER

265

decide." As he finished, he was suddenly aware of a vast

presence at his shoulder. He turned quickly, unnerved, to

be confronted with the great bulk of Sesuad'ra looming

up from the water beside him; it had appeared so unex-

pectedly through the fog that it might have just that mo-

ment pushed up from beneath the lake's obsidian surface

like a breaching whalefish. He stood and stared up at it,

open mouthed.

Binabik stroked Qantaqa's broad head. "I am thinking

Simon speaks with good sense. Prince Josua should be

deciding what to do about this mystery."

"They were there," Sludig said angrily, but shook his

head as though not as sure now as he had been.

The flatboats sailed on. The forested shore vanished

once more into the cloaking mist, like a dream receding

before the light and noises of morning.

A

Deornoth watched Simon as the youth made his report,

and found that he liked what he was seeing. The young

man was flushed with the excitement of his new respon-

sibilities, and the gray morning light was reflected in

eyes that were perhaps a little too bright for the gravity

of the things discussednamely, Fengbald's army and its

overwhelming superiority in numbers, equipment, and

experiencebut Deomoth noted with pleasure that the

youth did not rush through his explanations, did not jump

toward unwarranted conclusions, and thought carefully

before answering each of Prince Josua's questions. This

new-minted knight had seen and heard much in his short

life, it seemed, and had paid attention. As Simon related

their adventure and Sludig and Hotvig nodded agreement

with the young man's conclusions, Deomoth found him-

self nodding, too. Though Simon's beard still had the

chick-feathered look of youth, Deomoth's experienced

eye saw beneath it the makings of a fine man. He guessed

that the lad might someday be one such as other men

might follow to their benefit.

Josua was holding his council before his tent, where a

266 Tad Williams

blazing fire kept the morning chill at bay and served as a

centerpiece to their deliberations. As the prince ques-

tioned and probed, Freosel, New Gadrinsett's stocky con-

stable, cleared his throat to gain Josua's attention.

"Yes, Freosel?"

"Strikes me, sire, that all things your knight here says

he saw, well, they be like what the Lord Mayor told us-"

Simon turned to the Falshireman. "Lord Mayor? Who's

that?"

"Helfgrim, who was once mayor of Gadrinsett," Josua

explained. "He came to us just after you and the others

rode out. He escaped from FengbakTs camp and made his

way here. He is sickly and I have ordered him to bed, oth-

erwise he would be with us this moment. He had a long,

cold journey on foot, and Fengbald's men had treated him

badly."

"As I said, your Highness," Freosel resumed, polite but

determined, "what Sir Seoman here says bears out all

Helfgrim's talk. So when Helfgrim says he knows how

Fengbald will attack, and where, and when . . ." the

young man shrugged, "well, seems we should pay heed.

Would be a boon to us, and we have small enough to

work with."

"Your point is well taken, Freosel. You said the mayor

is a trustworthy man, and you, as another Falshireman,

know him best." Josua looked around the circle. "What

think you all? Geloe?"

The witch woman looked up quickly, surprised. She

had been staring into the shifting orange depths of the

fire. "I do not pretend to be a war strategist, Josua."

"That I know, but you are a keen judge of people. How

much weight can we place on the old Lord Mayor's

words? We have few enough forceswe cannot spare

anything on a bad gamble."

Geloe thought for a moment. "I have only spoken with

him briefly, Josua, but I will say this: there is a darkness

in his eyes I do not likea shadow. I suggest you take

great care."

"A shadow?" Josua looked at her intently. "Could it be

TOGREENANGELTOWER267

a mark of his suffering, or are you saying you read

treachery in him?"

The forest woman shook her head. "No, I would not go

so far as to say anything about treachery. It could be pain,

certainly. Or he could be addled by harsh treatment, and

the thing I see is a mind hiding from itself, hiding behind

imaginings of knowing what the great ones are thinking

and doing. But go carefully, Josua."

Deomoth sat up straighter. "Geloe is wise, sire," he

said quickly, "but we shouldn't make the error of a

caution so great we fail to use what could save us."

Even as he spoke, Deornoth wondered whether he was

so concerned that the witch woman might talk his master

into passivity that he was ignoring the possible truth of

what she said. Still, it was important in these final days to

keep Josua resolved. If the prince was bold and decisive,

it would overcome many small mistakesthat, in

Deornoth's experience, was the way of war. If Josua wa-

vered and hesitated too long, over this matter or any oth-

ers, it might steal away what little fighting spirit remained

to New Gadrinsett's army of survivors.

"I say we pay close attention to what Helfgrim the

mayor has to offer," he asserted.

Hotvig spoke up in Deornoth's support, and Freosel

was clearly already in agreement. The others held their

peace, although Deomoth could not help noticing that

Binabik the troll had an uneasy look on his round face as

he poked at the fire with a length of stick. The little man

put too much stock in Geloe and her magical trappings,

Deornoth thought. This was different, though. This was

war.

"I think I will have a talk with the Lord Mayor to-

night," Josua said at last. "Providing he is strong enough,

that is. As you say, Deornoth, we cannot afford to be too

proud to accept help. We are needy, and God, it is said,

provides what His children need if they trust Him. But I

will not forget your words, Geloe. That would also be

throwing away valuable gifts."

"Your pardon. Prince Josua," Freosel said. "If you be

done with this, there are other things I need speak on."

268

Tad Williams

"Of course."

"We have more problems than just readying to fight,"

the Falshireman said. "You know food is dreadful scarce.

We fished the rivers until they be nearly emptybut now

ice has come, we cannot even do that. Every day hunters

go farther and come back with less. This woman," he

nodded toward Geloe, "helped us find plants and fruits

we did not know were good to eat, but that only helps

stretch stores gone mighty thin." He stopped and swal-

lowed, anxious about speaking so forwardly, but deter-

mined to say what was needed. "Even do we win here

and beat off siege ..." at the word, Deornoth felt an al-

most imperceptible shudder travel around the circle,

"... we'll not be able to stay. Not enough food to last us

through winter, that is the length of it."

The baldness of his statement dropped the makeshift

council into silence.

"What you say is not truly a surprise," Josua said at

last. "Believe me, I know the hunger our people are feel-

ing. I hope the settlers of New Gadrinsett are aware that

you and I and these others are not eating any better than

they are."

Freosel nodded. "They know, your Highness, and that's

stopped any worse trouble than grumbling and complain-

ing. But if people starve, they won't care that you be

starving, too. They'll go. Some be gone already."

"Goodness!" said Strangyeard. "But where can they

go? Oh, the poor creatures!"

"Don't matter." Freosel shook his head. "Back to tag

along the edges of Fengbald's army begging for scraps, or

back across plains toward Erkynland, Only a few be gone.

So far."

"If we win," Josua said, "we will move on. That was

my plan, and this only proves to me that I was right. If

the wind swings in our favor, we would be fools not to

move while it blows at our backs." He shook his head.

"Always more troubles. Fear and pain, death and

hungerhow much my brother has to answer for!"

"It's not just him. Prince Josua," Simon said, his face

tight with anger. "The king didn't make this storm."

TOGREENANGELTOWER269

"No, Simon, you are correct. We cannot afford to for-

get my brother's allies." Josua seemed to think of some-

thing, for he turned toward the young knight. "And now

I am reminded. You spoke of seeing lights on the north-

east shore last night."

Simon nodded. "Sludig saw thembut we are certain

they were there," he hastened to add, then darted a look

over at the Rimmersman, who was listening attentively.

"I thought it best we tell you before doing anything."

"This is another puzzle. It could be some feint of

Fengbald's, I supposesome attempt to outflank us. But

it makes little sense."

"Especially with his main army still so far away,"

Deomoth said. It did not seem like Fengbald's method,

anyway, he thought. The duke of Falshire had never been

the subtle sort.

"It seems to me, Simon, that it could be your friends

the Sithi coming to Join us. That would be a happy

chance." Josua cocked an eyebrow. "I believe you had

some conversation recently with your Prince Jiriki?"

Deomoth was amused to see the young man's cheeks

turn bright scarlet. "I ... I did, your Highness," Simon

mumbled. "I shouldn't have done it."

"That is not to the point," Josua said dryly. "Your

crimes, such as they were, are not for this gathering.

Rather, I wish to know if you think it might be them."

"The fairy-folk?" blurted out Freosel. 'This lad talks to

the fairy-folk?"

Simon ducked his head in embarrassment. "Jiriki

seemed to say that it would be a long time before he

could join us, if he even could. Alsoand I cannot prove

this. Highness, it is just a feelingI think he would let

me know somehow if he were coming to bring us help.

Jiriki knows how impatient we mortals are." He smiled

sadly. "He knows how much it would lift our spirits if we

knew they were coming."

"Merciful Aedon and His mother." Freosel was still

stunned. "Fairies'"

Josua nodded thoughtfully. "So. Well, if the folks who

make those lights are not friends, they are most likely

270 Tad Williams

enemiesalthough, now that I think on it, perhaps you

saw the campfires of some of the folk Freosel spoke of,

those who have fled Sesuad'ra." He frowned. "I will

think on this, too. Perhaps we will send a scouting party

tomorrow. I do not wish to remain ignorant of whoever

might be sharing our little corner of Osten Ard." He

stood, brushing ashes from his breeches, and tucked the

stump of his right wrist into his cloak. "That will be all.

I release you to find what slim provender you can to

break your fast."

The prince turned and walked into his tent. Deomoth

watched him go, then turned to look out at the edge of the

great hill, where the standing stones loomed against a

gray mist, as though Sesuad'ra floated in a sea of noth-

ingness. He frowned at the thought and moved closer to

the fire.

A

In the dream. Doctor Morgenes stood before Simon,

dressed as though for a long journey, wearing a traveling

cloak with a tasseled hood and scorchmarks blackening

its hem, as though its owner had ridden through flames.

Little of the old man's face could be seen in the darkened

depths of the hooda glint from his spectacles, the white

flash of his beard; other than that, the doctor's face was

only hint and shadow. Behind Morgenes lay no familiar

vista, but only a swirling patch of pearlescent nothingness

like the eye of a blizzard.

"It is not enough merely to fight back, Simon," the doc-

tor's voice said, "... even if you are only fighting to stay

alive. There must be more."

"More?" As delighted as he was to see this dream-

Morgenes, Simon somehow knew he had only moments

to grasp what the old man said to him. Precious time was

slipping away- "What does that mean, 'more'?"

"It means you must fight for something. Otherwise you

are no more than a straw man in a wheatfieldyou can

scare the crows away, you can even kill them, but you will

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 271

never win them over. You cannot stone all the crows in the

world...."

"Kill crows? What do you mean?"

"Hate is not enough. Simon ... it is never enough."

The old man seemed about to say more, but the white

emptiness behind him was abruptly slashed by a great

stripe of vertical shadow which seemed to grow out of the

very nothingness. Although without substance, still the

shadow seemed oppressively heavya thick column of

darkness that could have been a tower, or a tree, or the

upright rim of an oncoming wheel; it bisected the void

behind the doctor's hooded figure as neatly as a heraldic

blazon.

"Morgenes!" Simon cried, but in this dream his voice

was suddenly weak, almost stifled by the weight of the

long shadow. "Doctor.' Don't leave!"

"I had to leave a long time ago," the old man cried, his

voice faint, too. "You've done the work without me. And

rememberthe false messenger!" The doctor's voice sud-

denly slid upward in pitch until it became a piping shriek.

"False!" he cried. "Faaaallllsssse!"

His hooded shape began to crumple and shrink, the

cloak flapping madly. At last,-the old man was gone;

where he had stood, a tiny silver bird beat its wings. It

suddenly darted up into the emptiness, circling first sun-

wise, then widdershins, until it was only a speck. An in-

stant later it was gone.

"Doctor!" Simon squinted after it. He reached up, but

something was restraining his arms, a heavy weight that

clung to him and pushed him down, as though the milky

void had become thick as a sodden blanket. He struggled

against it. "No! Come back! I need to know more. ..."

"It is me, Simon!" Binabik hissed. "More quiet,

please!" The troll shifted his weight once more until he

was almost sitting on the young man's chest. "Stop now!

If you keep up these strugg ling-about movements, you

will hit my nose again."

"What. . . ?" Simon gradually stopped thrashing.

"Binabik?"

272

Tad Williams

"From bruised nose to wounded toes," the troll sniffed.

"Have you finished with your flinging of arms and legs?"

"Did I wake you up?" Simon asked.

Binabik slid down and crouched beside the pallet. "No.

/ was coming to wake youthat is the truth of it. But

what was this dream that caused you so much worry and

tearfulness?"

Simon shook his head. "It's not important. I don't re-

member it very well, anyway."

He actually remembered every word, but he wished to

think about it a while longer before he discussed the sub-

ject with Binabik. Morgenes had seemed more vivid in

this dream than he had in othersmore real. In a way, it

had almost been like having a last meeting with his be-

loved doctor. Simon had grown covetous of the few

things he could call his own: he did not yet wish to share

this small thing with anybody. "Why did you wake me?"

He yawned to cover the change of subject. "I don't have

to stand guard tonight."

"That is true." Binabik's surprising smile was a brief

pale blur in the light of the dying embers. "But I am

wishing you to get up, put on your boots and other

clothes for traveling out of doors, and then be coming

with me."

"What?" Simon sat up, listening for the sound of

alarum or attack, but heard nothing louder than the ever-

present wind. He slumped back down into his bed and

rolled over, turning his back to the troll. "I don't want to

go anywhere. I'm tired. Let me go back to sleep."

"This is a thing that you will be finding is worth your

trouble."

"What is it?" he grumbled into his upper arm.

"A secret, but a secret of great excitingness,"

"Bring it to me in the morning. I'll be very excited

then."

"Simon!" Binabik was a little less jovial. "Do not be so

lazy. This is being very important! Do you have no trust

in me?"

Groaning as though the entire weight of the earth had

been tipped onto his shoulders, Simon rolled over again

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER273

and levered himself into a sitting position. "Is it really

important?"

Binabik nodded.

"And you won't tell me what it is?"

Binabik shook his head. "But you will soon be discov-

ering. That is my promise."

Simon stared at the troll, who seemed inhumanly cheer-

ful for this dark hour of the night. "Whatever it is, it's

certainly put you in a good mood," he growled.

"Come." Binabik stood up, excited as a child at the

Aedontide feasting. "I have Homefinder with her saddle

upon her back already. Qantaqa is also waiting with im-

mense wolfly patience. Come!"

Simon allowed himself to be coerced into boots and a

thick wool shirt. Dragging his bed-warm cloak about him,

he stumbled out of the tent after Binabik, then nearly

turned and stumbled right back in again. "S'Bloody

Tree!" he swore. "It's cold!"

Binabik pursed his lips at the oath, but said nothing.

Now that Simon had been made a knight, the troll seemed

to have decided that he was a grown man and could curse

if he wished to. Instead, the little man lifted a hand to

gesture toward Homefinder, who stood pawing at the

snowy ground a few paces away, bathed in the light of a

torch thrust handle-first into the snow. Simon approached

her, stopping to stroke her nose and whisper a few muzzy

words in her warm ear, then dragged himself clumsily

into the saddle. The troll gave a low whistle and Qantaqa

appeared silently out of the darkness. Binabik sank his

fingers in her thick gray fur and clambered onto her broad

back, then leaned over to pick up the torch before urging

the wolf forward,

They made their way out of the close-quartered tent

city and across the broad summit of Sesuad'ra, across the

Fire Garden where the wind whirled little eddies of snow

across the half-buried tiles, then past Leavetaking House,

where a pair of sentries stood. Not far beyond the armed

men was a standing stone which marked the edge of the

wide road that wound down from the summit. The sen-

tries, bundled up against the cold so that only the gleam

274

Tad Williams

of their eyes could be seen below their helms, raised their

spears in salute. Simon waved, puzzled.

"They don't seem very curious about where we're go-

ing."

"We have permission." Binabik smiled mysteriously.

The skies overhead were almost clear. As they made

their way down the hill along the crumbling stones of the

old Sithi road, Simon looked up to see mat the stars had

returned. It was a cheering sight, although he was be-

mused to find that none of them seemed quite familiar.

The moon, appearing for a moment from behind a spit of

clouds, showed him that it was earlier than he had at first

thoughtperhaps only a few hours after sunset. Still, it

was late enough that almost the whole of New Gadrinsett

was abed- Where on earth could Binabik be leading him?

Several times as they made their spiraling circuit of the

Stone, Simon thought he saw lights sparkling in the dis-

tant forest, tiny points dimmer even than the stars high

overhead- But when he pointed them out, the troll merely

nodded as though such a sight was no more than he had

expected,

By the time they reached the place where the old road

widened out once more, pale Sedda had vanished behind

a curtain of mist on the horizon. They came down onto

the sloping shoulder of land at the hill's base. The waters

of the great lake lapped against the stone. A few drowned

treetops still protruded above the surface like the heads of

giants sleeping beneath the black waters.

Without a word, Binabik dismounted and led Qantaqa

to one of the flatboats moored near the end of the road.

Simon, lulled into an unquestioning dreaminess, slid

down from the saddle and led his horse aboard. Once

Binabik had lit the lamp in the bow, they lifted their poles

and pushed out onto the freezing water.

"Not many more trips can we make this way," Binabik

said quietly. "Luckily, that will not matter soon."

"Why won't it matter?" Simon asked, but the troll only

waved his small hand.

Soon the slope of the submerged valley began to fall

away beneath the boat, until at last their poles reached

TOGREENANGELTOWER275

down and touched nothing. They took up the paddles that

were lying in the barge's shallow bottom. It was hard

workthe ice seemed to grab and cling to hull and

paddle-blade alike, as though urging the boat to stop and

become part of the greater solidification. Simon did not

notice for a while that Binabik had steered them toward

the northeast shore, where Enki-e-Shao'saye had once

stood and where the strange glimmerings had appeared.

"We're going to the lights'" he said. His voice seemed

to sigh and quickly fade, vanishing into the enormity of

the darkened valley.

"Yes."

"Why? Are the Sithi there?"

"Not the Sithi, no." Binabik was staring out across the

wind-rippled water, his posture that of one who could

barely contain himself. "I am thinking that you spoke

truly: Jiriki would not keep his coming a secret."

"Then who is there?"

"You will see."

The troll's whole attention was now fixed on the far

shore, which grew ever closer. Simon saw the great

breakfront of trees looming up, shadowy and impenetra-

ble, and suddenly remembered how the writing-priests

back at the Hayholt would lift their heads almost as one

movement when some errand brought him into their

sanctuarya vast crowd of ancient men tugged up from

their parchmenty dreams by his blundering entrance.

Soon the bottom of the boat scraped, then ran aground.

Simon and Binabik stepped out and pulled it up onto a

more secure spot while Qantaqa loped in wide, splashing

circles around them. When Homefmder had been coaxed

out onto the shore, Binabik relit his torch and they rode

into the forest.

The trees of the Aldheorte grew close together here, as

though huddling for warmth. The torch revealed an in-

credible profusion of leaves in an uncountable variety of

shapes and sizes, as well as what seemed to be every va-

riety of creeper, lichen, and moss. all grown together into

a disordered riot of vegetation. Binabik led them onto a

narrow deer track. Simon's boots were wet and his feet

276 Tad Williams

were cold and getting colder. He wondered again what

they were doing in this place at such an hour.

He heard the noise long before he could see anything

but the choke of trees, a whining, discordant skirling of

flutes that wound in and out around a deep, almost inau-

dible drumbeat. Simon turned to Binabik, but the troll

was listening and nodding and did not see Simon's inquir-

ing glance. Soon they could see light, something wanner

and less steady than moonlight, flickering through the

thick trees. The odd music grew louder, and Simon felt

his heart began to beat more swiftly. Surely Binabik knew

what he was doing, he chided himself. After all the dread-

ful times they had survived together, Simon could trust

his friend. But Binabik seemed so strangely distracted'

The little man's head was cocked to one side in an atti-

tude that mirrored Qantaqa's, as though he heard things in

the weird melody and incessant drums that Simon could

not even guess at.

Simon was full of nervous anticipation. He realized

that he had been smelling something vaguely familiar for

a long while. Even after he could no longer ignore it, he

was at first certain that it was nothing more than the scent

of his own clothing, but soon the pungency, me aliveness

of it could no longer be denied.

Wet wool.

"Binabik!" he criedthen, recognizing the truth, he

began to laugh.

They came down into a wide clearing. The crumbled

ruins of the old Sithi city lay all around, but now the dead

stone was painted with leaping flames: life had returned,

if not the life its builders had intended. All along the up-

per part of the dell, crowding and quietly clamoring,

bumped a great herd of snow-white rams. The bottom of

the dell, where the fires burned merrily, was equally filled

with trolls. Some were dancing or singing. Others were

playing on trollish instruments, producing the skittering,

piping music. Most simply watched and laughed.

"Sisqinanamook!" Binabik shouted. His face was

stretched in an impossibly delighted smile. "Henimaatuq!

Ea kup!"

TOGREENANGELTOWER

A score of faces, two score, three score or more, all

turned to stare up at the spot where he and Simon stood.

In an instant a great crowd was pushing up past the dis-

gruntled, sour-bleating rams. One small figure outstripped

the rest and within moments had reached Binabik's wide-

spread arms.

Simon was surrounded by chattering trolls. They

shouted and chuckled as they tugged at his garments and

patted him; the good will on their faces was unmistak-

able. He felt himself suddenly in the midst of old friends

and found that he was beaming back at them, his eyes

overbrimming. The strong scent of oil and fat that he re-

membered so well from Yiqanuc rose to his nostrils, but

at this moment it was a very pleasant scent indeed. He

turned, dazed, and looked for Binabik.

"How did you know?" he cried.

His friend stood a little way distant, an arm wrapped

around Sisqi. She was smiling almost as widely as he, and

the color had come out in her cheeks. "My clever

Sisqinanamook was sending me one ofOokequk's birds!"

Binabik said. "My people have been at camp here for two

days, building boats!"

"Building boats?" Simon felt himself gently jostled

from side to side by the ocean of little people that

hemmed him close.

'To come across our lake for joining Josua," Binabik

laughed. "One hundred brave trolls is Sisqi bringing to

help us! Now you will truly see why the Rimmersmen

still frighten their children with whispered stories of

Huhinka Valley!" He turned and embraced her again.

Sisqi ducked her head into the side of his neck for a

moment, then turned and faced Simon. "I read Ookekuq

book," she said, her Westerling awkward but understand-

able. "I speak more now, your talk." Her nod was almost

a bow. "Greetings, Simon."

"Greetings, Sisqi," he said. "It is good to see you

again."

"This is why I was wanting you to come, Simon."

Binabik waved his hand around the clearing. "Tomorrow

278

Tad Williams

will be enough time for talking of war. Tonight, friends

are being together again. We will sing and dance!"

Simon grinned at the joy evident in Binabik's face, a

happiness that was mirrored in the dark eyes of his be-

trothed. Simon's own weariness had melted away. "I'd

like that," he said, and meant it.

9

Pages in an 0(d Book

*

CuXWvike hands grasped at her. Empty eyes stared.

They were all around her, gray and shiny as frogs, and

she could not even scream.

Miriamele awakened with her throat so tightly con-

stricted that it ached. There were no clutching hands, no

eyes, only a sheet of cloth above her and the sound of

slapping waves. She lay on her back for long moments,

fighting for breath, then sat up.

No hands, no eyes, she promised herself. The kilpa, ap-

parently sated by their feast on the Eadne Cloud, had

scarcely troubled the landing boat.

Miriamele slid out from beneath the makeshift awning

she and the monk had constructed from the boat's oiled

broadcloth cover, then squinted, trying to- find some trace

of the sun so she could gauge the time of day. The ocean

that surrounded her had a dull, leaden look, as though the

vast sheet of water surrounding the boat had been ham-

mered out by a legion of blacksmiths. The gray-green ex-

panse stretched in every direction, featureless but for the

wave-crests glimmering in the diffuse light.

Cadrach was sitting before her on one of the front

benches, the oar handles held beneath his arms while he

stared down at his hands. The bits of cloak he had

wrapped around his palms for protection were in tatters,

shredded by the repetitive slide of the oar handles.

"Your poor hands." Miriamele was surprised by her

own rasping voice. Cadrach, more startled than she,

flinched.

280

Tad Williams

"My lady." He peered at her. "Is all well?"

"No," she said, but tried to smile. "I hurt. I hurt all

over. But look at your hands, they are terrible."

He stared ruefully at his ragged skin. "I have rowed a

little too much, I fear. I am still not strong."

Miriamele frowned. "You are mad, Cadrach! You have

been in chains for dayswhat are you doing pulling at

oars? You will kill yourself"

The monk shook his head. "I did not work at it long,

my lady. These wounds on my hands are a tribute to the

weakness of my flesh, not the diligence of my labors."

"And I have nothing to put on them," Miriamele fret-

ted, then looked up suddenly. "What time of the day is

it?"

It took the monk a moment to answer the unexpected

question. "Why, early evening. Princess. Just after sun-

set."

"And you let me sleep all day' How could you?"

"You needed to sleep. Lady. You had bad dreams, but

I'm sure that you are still much better for ..." Cadrach

trailed off, then lifted his curled fingers in a gesture of

insufficiency- "In any case, it was best."

Miriamele hissed her exasperation. "I will find some-

thing for those hands. Perhaps in one of Gan Itai's pack-

ages." She kept her mouth firm, despite the quiver she

felt at the corners when she spoke the Niskie's name.

"Stay there, and do not move those oars an inch if you

value your life."

"Yes, my lady."

Moving gingerly for the comfort of her painful mus-

cles, Miriamele at last turned up the small oilcloth packet

of useful articles that Gan Itai had bundled with the water

skins and food. It contained the promised fishhooks, as

well as a length of strong and curiously dull-colored cord

of a type Miriamele had not seen before; there was also

a small knife and a sack that contained a collection of

tiny jars, none of them bigger than a man's thumb.

Miriamele unstoppered them one by one, sniffing each

cautiously.

"This one's salt, I think," she said, "but what would

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 28l

someone at sea need with salt, when they could get their

own by drying water?" She looked to Cadrach, but he

only shook his round head. "This one has some yellowish

powder in it." She closed her eyes to take another sniff.

"It smells fragrant, but not like something to eat. Hmm."

She opened three more, discovering crushed petals in one,

sweet oil in the second, and a pale unguent in the third

which made her eyes water when she leaned close.

"I know that scent," said Cadrach- "Mockfoil- Good

for poultices and suchthe staple of a rustic healer's

apothecary."

"Then that's what I was looking for." Miriamele cut

some strips from the nightshirt she still wore underneath

her masculine clothing, then rubbed the unguent into

some of the strips and bound them firmly around

Cadrach's blistered hands. After she had finished, she

wrapped a few bits of dry cloth around the outside to

keep the others clean.

"There. That will help some, anyway."

"You are too kind. Lady." Although his tone was light,

Miriamele saw an unexpected glimmer in his eye, as

though a tear had blossomed. Embarassed and a little

unsure, she did not look too tlosely.

The sky, which had long since bled out its brighter col-

ors, was now rapidly going purple-blue. The wind quick-

ened, and Miriamele and Cadrach both drew their cloaks

closer about their necks. Miriamele leaned back against

the railing of the boat for a long, silent moment, feeling

the long craft roll from side to side on the cradling wa-

ters-

"So what do we do now? Where are we? Where are we

going?"

Cadrach was still prodding at the dressings on his

hands. "Well, as to where we are at this moment. Lady, I

would say we were somewhere between Spenit and Risa

Islands, in the middle of the Bay of Firannos. We're most

likely about three leagues off shorea few days' rowing,

even if we pull oars the day long...."

"There's a good thought." Miriamele crawled forward

to the bench Cadrach had occupied and lowered the oars

282 Tad Williams

into the water- "Might as well keep moving while we're

talking. Are we facing the right direction?" She laughed

sourly. "But how could you say when we probably don't

know where we're going?"

"In truth, we should do well as we are headed. Prin-

cess. I'll look again when the stars come out, but the sun

was all I needed to know that we are pointing northeast,

and that is as fine as we need to be for now. But are you

sure you should tire yourself? Perhaps I can manage a lit-

tle more...."

"Oh, Cadrach, you with your bleeding hands'? Non-

sense." She dipped the oarblades into the water and

pulled, slipping backward on the seat when one of them

popped free of the water. "No, don't show me," she said

quickly. "I learned how when I was littleit's only that

I haven't done it for a long time." She scowled in concen-

tration, searching for the half-remembered stroke. "We

used to practice on some of the Gleniwent's small back-

waters. My father used to take me."

The memory of Elias on a rowing bench before her,

laughing as one of the oars floated away across green-

scummed water, blew through her. In that snatch of recol-

lection, her father seemed scarcely older than she now

was herselfperhaps, she suddenly realized with a kind

of startled wonder, he had been in some ways still a boy,

for all his manly age. There was no question that the im-

posing weight of his mighty, fabled, and beloved father

had pressed down upon him hard, forcing him to wilder

and wilder feats of valor. She remembered her mother

fighting back fearful tears at some report of Elias' battle-

field madness, tears that the tale-bringers never under-

stood. It was strange to think about her father this way.

Perhaps for all his bravery he had been unsure and

afraidterrified that he would stay a child forever, a son

with an undying sire.

Unsettled, Miriamele tried to sweep the curiously

clinging memory from her mind and concentrate instead

on finding the ancient rhythm of oars in water.

"Good, my lady, you do very well." Cadrach settled

back, his bandaged hands and round face pale as mush-

TOGREENANGELTOWER23

room flesh in the swiftly darkening evening. "So, we

know where we areadd or subtract a few million buck-

ets of seawater. As to where we are going ... well, what

say you, Princess? You are the one who rescued me, after

all."

She suddenly felt the oars heavy as stone in her hands.

A fog of purposelessness rolled over her. "I don't know,"

she whispered. "I have nowhere to go."

Cadrach nodded his head as though he had expected

her answer. "Then let me cut you a bit of bread and a

ciniis-wortn of cheese, Lady, and I will tell you what I am

thinking."

Miriamele did not want to stop rowing, so the monk

kindly consented to feed her bites between strokes. His

comical look while dodging the backswing of the oars

made her laugh; a dry crust stuck in her throat. Cadrach

thumped her back, then gave her a swig of water.

"That is enough. Lady. You must stop for a moment

and finish your meal. Then, if you wish, you may start

again. It would fly in the face of God's mercy to escape

the kil ... the many dangers we have, then to die of a

foolish strangulation." He watched her critically as she

ate. "You are thin, too. A girl y'our age should be putting

meat on her bones. What did you eat on that cursed

ship?"

"What Gan Itai brought me. The last week, I could not

bear to sit at the same table with ... that man." She

fought back another wave of despair and instead waved

her heel of bread indignantly. "But look at you! You are

a skeletona fine one to talk?" She forced the lump of

cheese he had given her back into his hand. "Eat that."

"I wish I had a jug." Cadrach washed the morsel down

with a small swallow of water. "By Aedon's Golden Hair,

a few dribbles of red Perdruin would do wonders."

"But you don't have any," Miriamele replied, irritated.

*tThe^e is no wine for ... for a very long way. So do

something else instead. Tell me where you think we

should go, if you really do have an idea." She licked her

fingers, stretched until her bruised muscles twinged, then

reached for the oars. "And tell me anything else you want

284

Tad Williams

as well. Distract me." She slowly resumed her rhythmic

pulling.

For a while, the chop-swish of the blades diving and

surfacing was the only sound except for the endless mur-

muration of the sea.

'There is a place," said Cadrach. "It is an inna hos-

tel, I supposein Kwanitupul."

"The marsh-city?" Miriamele asked, suspicious. "Why

would we want to go thereand if we did, what differ-

ence would it make which inn we chose? Is the wine so

good?"

The monk put on a look of injured dignity. "My lady,

you wrong me." His expression became more serious.

"No, I suggest it because it may be a place of refuge in

these dangerous timesand because it is where Dinivan

was going to send you."

"Dinivan!" The name was a shock. Miriamele realized

that she had not thought about the priest in many days,

despite his kindness, despite his terrible death at Pryrates'

hands. "Why on earth would you know what Dinivan

wanted to do? And why should it matter now anyway?"

"How I know what Dinivan wanted is easy enough to

explain. I listened at keyholesand other places. I heard

him discuss you with the lector and tell of his plans for

you ... although he did not inform the lector of all the

reasons why."

"You did such a thing!?" Miriamele's outrage was

quickly dampened by the memories of doing just such a

thing herself. "Oh, never mind. I am beyond surprise. But

you must change your ways, Cadrach. Such skulkingit

goes with the drinking and lying."

"I do not think you know much about wine, my lady,"

he said with a wry smile, "so I may not consider you

much of a teacher in that study. As for my other flaws

well, 'necessity beckons, self-interest comes following,'

as they say in Abaingeat- And those flaws may prove the

saving of us both, at least from our current situation."

"So why did Dinivan plan to send me to this inn?" she

asked. "Why not let me stay at the Sancellan Aedonitis,

where I would be safe?"

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER285

"As safe as Dinivan and the lector were, my lady?"

Despite the harshness, there was real pain in his voice.

"You know what happened therealthough, the gods be

thanked, you were spared seeing it with your poor young

eyes. In any case, Dinivan and I had a falling out, but he

was a good man and no fool. Too many people in and out

of that place, too many folk with too many different needs

and wants and problems to solve .. - and most of all, too

many wagging tongues. I swear, they call Aedon's monu-

ment Mother Church, but at the Sancellan she is the most

babble-breathed old gossip in the history of the world."

"So he planned to send me to some inn in the

marshes?"

"I think so, yeshe spoke in a general way even to the

lector, with no naming of names. But I am convinced I

have it right because it is a place we all knew. Doctor

Morgenes helped its owner to buy it. It is a place closely

entangled with the secrets Dinivan and Morgenes and I

shared."

Miriamele brought the oars to an awkward stop, lean-

ing on the poles as she stared at Cadrach. He gazed back

calmly, as though he had said nothing unusual. "My

lady?" he asked at last.

"Doctor Morgenes ... of the Hayholt?"

"Of course." He lowered his chin until it seemed to rest

on his collarbone. "A great man. A kind, kind man. I

loved him. Princess Miriamele. He was like a father to so

many of us."

Mist was beginning to hover above the surface of the

water, pale as cotton wool. Miriamele took a deep breath

and shivered. "I don't understand. How did you know

him? Who is 'us'?"

The monk let his gaze pass from her face out onto the

shrouded sea. "It is a long story. Princessa very long

one. Have you ever heard of something called the League

of the Scroll?"

"Yes! At Naglimund. The old man Jamauga was part of

it."

"Jamauga." Cadrach sighed. "Another good man, al-

though the gods know, we have had our differences. I hid

286 Tad Williams

from him while I was at Josua's stronghold. How was

he?"

"I liked him," Miriamele said slowly. "He was one of

those people who really listenbut I only talked with

him a few times. I wonder what happened to him when

Naglimund fell." She looked sharply at Cadrach. "What

does all that have to do with you?"

"As I said, it is a long tale."

Miriamele laughed; it quickly turned into another

shiver. "We don't have much else to do. Tell me."

"Let me first find something else to keep you warm."

Cadrach crawled back into the shelter and brought out her

monk's cloak. He draped it around Miriamele's shoulders

and pulled the hood over her short hair. "Now you look

like the convent-bound noblewoman you once claimed to

be."

"Just talk to methen I won't notice the cold."

"You are still weak, though. I wish you would put the

oars down and let me take a turn, or at least lie down

under the awning, out of the wind."

"Don't treat me like a little girl, Cadrach." Although

she frowned, she was strangely touched. Was this the

same man she had tried to drownthe same man who

had tried to sell her into slavery? "You're not going to

touch the oars tonight. When I get too tired, we'll drop

the anchor. Until then, I'll row slowly. Now talk."

The monk waved his hands in a gesture of surrender-

"Very well." He fluffed his own cloak around him, then

settled down with his back against a bench and his knees

drawn up before him so that he looked up at her from the

darkness of the boat's bottom. The sky had gone almost

completely black, and there was just enough moonlight to

show his face. "I am afraid that I don't know where ex-

actly to begin."

"At the beginning, of course." Miriamele raised the

oars from the water and slid them back in again. A few

drops of spray spattered her face.

"Ah. Yes." He thought for a moment. "Well, if I go

back to the true beginnings of my story, then perhaps the

later parts will be easier to understandand that way I

TO GREEN ANOEL TOWER287

can also postpone the most shameful tales for a little

while longer. It is not a happy story, Miriamele, and it

winds through a great deal of shadow ... shadow that has

now fallen over many people besides a drunken

Hernystiri monk.

"I was born in Crannhyr, you knowwhen I say I am

Cadrach ec-Crannhyr, only the last part is true. I was bom

Padreic, I have had other names, too, few of them pleas-

ant, but Padreic I was born, and Cadrach I now am, I sup-

pose.

"I stretch no truth when I say that Crannhyr is one of

the strangest cities in all of Osten Ard. It is walled like a

great fortress, but it has never been attacked, nor is there

anything particularly worth stealing in it. The people of

Crannhyr are secretive in a way that even other Hernystiri

do not understand. A Crannhyr-man, it is said, would

sooner buy everyone at the inn a drink than let even his

closest friend into his homeand no one yet has seen a

Crannhyr-man buy anyone's drink but his own. Crannhyr

folk are close; that is the best word, I think. They talk in

few wordshow unlike the rest of the Hernystiri, in

whose blood runs poetry!w^ they make no show of

wealth or luck at all, for fear that the gods will become

jealous and take it back. Even the streets are close as con-

spirators, the buildings leaning so near together in some

spots that you have to blow out all your breath before you

go in and cannot suck in more air until you come out at

the far end.

"Crannhyr was one of the first cities built by men in

Osten Ard, and that age breathes in everything, so that

people talk quietly from birth, as though they are afraid

that if they speak too loud the old walls will tumble down

and expose all their secrets to the light of day. Some peo-

ple say that the Sithi had a hand in the making of the

place, but although we Hernystirmen are never foolish

enough to disbelieve in the Sithiunlike some of our

neighborsI for one do not think the Peaceful Ones had

anything to do with Crannhyr. I have seen Sithi ruins, and

they are nothing like the cramped and self-protective

288 Tad Williams

walls of the city in which I spent my childhood. No, men

built itfrightened men, if my eye tells me anything."

"But it sounds a terrible place," Miriamele said. "All

that whispering!"

"Yes, I did not like it much myself." Cadrach smiled, a

tiny gleam in the shadow. "I spent most of my childhood

wanting to get away. My mother died when I was young,

you see, and my father was a hard, cold man, fitly made

for that hard, cold city. He never spoke a word more to

me or my brothers and sisters than was necessary, and did

not embellish even those words with kindness. He was a

coppersmith, and I suppose that hammering at a hot forge

all day to put food into our mouths showed that he recog-

nized his obligations, so he felt bound to do no more.

Most Crannhyri are like thatdour, and scornful of those

who are not. I could not wait to make my own way in the

world.

"Strangely, thoughand it is often the wayfor one

so bedeviled by secrets and quietude. I developed a sur-

prising love for old books and ancient learning. Seen

through the eyes of the ancientsscholars like Plesinnen

Myrmenis and Cuimnhe's Frethiseven Crannhyr was

wonderful and mystical, its secretive ways hiding not just

old unpleasantness, but strange wisdoms that freer, less

arcane places could not boast. In the Tethtain Library

founded in our city centuries ago by the great Holly King

himselfI found the only kindred souls in that entire

walled prison, people who, like myself, lived for the

lights of earlier days, and who enjoyed running down a

bit of lost lore the way some men revel in chasing down

a buck deer and putting an arrow in its heart.

"And that is where I met Morgenes. In those days

and this is almost two score years ago, my young

princesshe was still inclined to travel. If there is a man

who has seen more than Morgenes, who has been to more

places, I have never heard of him. The doctor spent many

hours among the scrolls of the Tethtain Library and knew

the archives better man even the old priests who watched

over them. He saw my interest in matters of history and

forgotten lore and took me in hand, guiding me toward

TOGREENANGELTOWER289

useful paths that 1 would otherwise never have found.

When some years had passed, and he saw that my devo-

tion to learning was not a thing to be sloughed off with

childhood, he told me of the League of the Scroll, which

was formed long ago by Saint Eahlstan Fiskerne, the

Hayholt's Fisher King. Eahlstan inherited FingiFs castle

and his sword Minneyar, but he wanted nothing to do

with the Rimmersman's heritage of destruction

especially the destruction of learning. Eahlstan wanted in-

stead to conserve knowledge that might otherwise vanish

into shadowand to use that knowledge when it seemed

necessary."

"Use it for what?"

"We often argued about that. Princess. It was never 'for

Good' or 'for Righteousness'the Scrollbearers realized

that once such a broad ideal is in place, one must meddle

in everything. I suppose the clearest explanation is that

the League acts to protect its own learning, to prevent a

dark age that would bury again the secrets it has so labo-

riously unearthed. But at other times the League has acted

only to protect itself rather than its products.

"However, I knew little of such difficult questions

then. For me, the League -sounded like a dream of

heavena happy brotherhood of extraordinary scholars

searching out the secrets of Creation together. I was delir-

iously eager to join. Thus, when our shared love of schol-

arship had ripened into a friendshipalthough on my pan

it was more like a love for a kind fatherMorgenes took

me to meet Trestolt, who was Jarnauga's father, and old

Ookekuq, a wise man of the troll people who live in the

far north. Morgenes put me forward as fit for the League,

and those two took me in without hesitation, as whole-

heartedly and trustfully as if they had known me all their

livesbut that was because of Morgenes, you see. With

the exception of Trestolt, whose wife had died a few

years before, none of the other Scrollbearers was married.

This has often been the case throughout the League's cen-

turies of existence. Its members are generally the kind of

folkand it is true of the women who have carried the

Scroll as wellwho are more in love with knowledge

290 Tad Williams

than with mankind. Not that they do not care for other

people, you must understand, but they love them better

when they can keep them at a distance; in practice, people

are a distraction. So for the Scrollbearers, the League it-

self became a kind of family. Thus, it was no surprise that

any candidate put forward by the doctor should be

warmly greeted. Morgenesalthough he resisted any

move to grant him powerwas in a way a father to all

the League's members, despite the fact that some of them

seemed older than he did. But who will ever know when

or where Morgenes was born?"~

Down in the darkness of the hull, Cadrach laughed.

Miriamele slowly dipped the oars into the water, listening

dreamily to his words as the boat rose and fell.

"Later," he continued, "I met the other Scrollbearer,^

Xorastra of Perdruin. She had been a nun, although by the&

time I met her she had left her order. The inn at^

Kwanitupul that I spoke of earlier belongs to her, by the

way. She was a fiercely clever woman, denied by her sex

the life she would otherwise have led: she should have

been a king's minister, that one. Xorastra also accepted

me, then introduced me to a pair of her own candidates,

for she and Morgenes had long had it in their minds to

bring the numbers of the League back up to seven, which

had traditionally been its full measure.

"Both of them were younger than I was. Dinivan was

a mere youth at the time, studying with the Usirean broth-

ers. Sharp-eyed Xorastra had seen the spark in him, and

thought that if he were brought into contact with Mor-

genes and the others, that spark might become a great and

warming fire by which the church she still loved could

greatly benefit. The other that she put forward was a

clever young priest, just ordained, who came from a poor

island family, but who had made his way into a small sort

of prominence by the swiftness of his mind. Morgenes,

after much talk with Xorastra and their two northern col-

leagues, accepted these two new additions. When we all

met the next year in Tungoldyr at the longhouse of

Trestolt, the numbers of the League of the Scroll were

seven once more."

TOGREENANGELTOWER29!

Cadrach's words had become heavy and slow, and

when at last he paused, Miriamele thought he might be

falling asleep. But instead, when he spoke again there

was a terrible hollowness to his voice. "Better they had

kept us all out. Better that the League itself had fallen

back into the dust of history."

When he did not speak more, Miriamele straightened

up. "What do you mean, Cadrach? What could you have

done that was so bad?"

He groaned. "Not me, Princessmy sins came later.

No, it was in the moment we brought that young priest

into our midst ... for that was Pryrates."

Miriamele sucked in a deep breath, and for a moment,

despite her warming feelings for Cadrach, felt the web of

some terrible conspiracy gathering around her. Were all

her enemies in alliance? Was the monk playing some

deeper game, so that now she was in his hands utterly,

adrift on an empty sea? Then she remembered the letter

that Gan Itai had brought her.

"But you told me that," she said, relieved. "You wrote

to me and said something about Pryratesthat you had

made him what he was."

"If I said that," Cadrach replied sadly, "then I was ex-

aggerating in my grief. The seeds of great evil must have

been in him already, otherwise it could never have flow-

ered so swiftly and so forcefully ... or such is my guess.

My own part came much later, and my shame is that al-

though I already knew him for a black-souled and heart-

less creature, I helped him anyway."

"But why? And helped him how?"

"Ah, Princess, I feel the drunken honesty of the

Hemystiri on me tonight without even tasting a swallow

of winebut still there are things I would rather not tell.

The story of my downfall is mine alone. Most of my

friends who were near me in those years are dead now.

Let me say only this: for many reasons, both because of

the things that I studied, many of which I wish I had left

alone, and because of my own pain and the many drunken

nights I spent trying to kill it, the joy that for a time I

found in life soon faded away. When I was a child, I be-

Tad Williams

lieved in the gods of my people. When I was older, I

came to doubt them, and believed instead in the single

god of the Aedonitessingle, though He is dreadfully

mixed up with Usires His son and Elysia the blessed

mother. Later, in the first blossoming of my scholarship,

I came to disbelieve in all gods, old and new. But a cer-

tain dread gripped my heart when I became a man, and

now I believe in the gods once more .,. Ah, how I be-

lieve! ... for I know myself to he cursed." The monk qui-

etly wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. He was

sunken now in a shadow even the moonlight could not

pierce.

"Cursed? What do you mean? Cursed how?"

"I do not know, or I would have found some hedge-

wizard to grind me up a powder-charm a long time ago.

No, I am joking, my lady, and a bleak joke it is. There are

curses in the world no spell can dismissjust as, I pre-

sume, there is good luck that no evil eye or envious rival

can overthrow, but which can only be lost by its posses-

sor. I only know fhat long ago the world became a heavy

burden on me, one that my shoulders have proved too

weak to bear. I became a drunkard in earnestno local

clown who drinks too many pots and sings the neighbors

awake on his way home, but a chill-spirited, heart-lonely

seeker of oblivion. My books were my only solace, but

even they seemed to me full of the breath of tombs: they

spoke only of dead lives, dead thoughts, and worst of all,

dead and juiceless hopes, a million of them stillborn for

every one that had a brief butterfly moment under the

sun.

"So I drank, and I railed at the stars, and I drank. My

drunkenness sent me down into the pit of despond, and

my books, especially the volume with which I was then

most deeply involved, only made my dread worse. So

oblivion seemed even more desirable. Soon I was not

wanted in the places where once I had been everyone's

friend, which made me even more bitter. When the keep-

ers of the Tethtain Library told me I would no longer be

welcomed there, I fell down as into a deep hole, a season-

long riot of black drunkenness from which I awoke to

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWfcR

293

find myself by the side of a road outside Abaingeat, na-

ked and without a cintis-piece. Clothed only in brambles

and leaves like the lowest beast, I made my way by night

to the house of a nobleman I knew, a good man and a

lover of learning who had been, from time to time, my

willing patron. He let me in, fed me, then gave me a bed

for the night. When the sun rose, he gave me a monk's

gown that had belonged to his brother and wished me

good luck and Godspeed away from his house.

"There was disgust in his eyes that morning. Lady, a

kind of loathing that I pray you never see in the eyes of

another person. He knew of my habits, you see, and my

tale of abduction and robbery did not fool him. I knew, as

I stood in his doorway, that I had passed beyond the walls

that surrounded my fellow men, that I was now as one

unclean from plague. You see, all my drinking and

wretched acts had only done this: it had made my curse as

plain for others to see as it had been to me long before."

Cadrach's voice, which had grown more deathly during

this recitation, now trailed off in a hoarse whisper.

Miriamele listened to him breathing for a long while. She

could think of nothing to say.

"But what had you actually done?" she tried at last.

"You speak of being cursed, but you hadn't done any-

thing wrongbesides drinking too much wine, that 's."

Cadrach's laugh was unpleasantly cracked. "Oh, ,he

wine was only to dull the pain. That is the thing with

these stains, my lady. Though others, especially innocents

like yourself, cannot always see them, the stain is there

nevertheless, and others sense it, as the beasts of the field

sense one of their number who is sick or mad. You tried

to drown me yourself, didn't you?"

"But that was different'" Miriamele said indignantly.

"That was for something you did!"

"Never fear," the monk murmured. "I have done

enough wrong since that night by the road in Abaingeat to

justify any punishment."

Miriamele pulled the oars in. "Is it shallow enough to

drop the anchor?" she asked, trying to keep her voice

calm. "My arms are tired."

294

Tad Williams

"I will find out."

While the monk rooted the anchor out of the hold and

made sure that its cord was tied firmly to the boat,

Miriamele tried to think of something she could do to

help him. The more she made him talk, the deeper the

wounds seemed to be. His earlier good cheer, she sensed,

was nothing but a thin skin that had grown over these raw

places. Was it better to make him speak, when it was ob-

viously painful, or simply to let it go? She wished that

Getoe were here, or little Binabik with his shrewd and

careful touch.

When the anchor had splashed over the side and the

rope had fizzed down into the depths behind it, the two of

them sat quietly for a while. At last, Cadrach spoke, his

voice a little lighter than it had been.

"The cord only played out twenty ells or so before it

struck bottom, so we may be closer to shore than I had

thought. Still, you should try to sleep again, Miriamele.

The day will be long tomorrow. If we are to reach shore,

we will have to take turns at those oars so we can keep

moving all day."

"Might there not be a ship around somewhere that

might see us and pick us up?"

"I don't know if that would be the luckiest thing for us-

Do not forget that Nabban now belongs utterly to your fa-

ther and Pryrates. I think we will be happiest if we can

make our way quietly to shore and disappear into the

poorer parts of Nabban, then find our way to Xorastra's

inn."

"You never explained about Pryrates," she said boldly,

inwardly praying that it was not a mistake. "What hap-

pened between the two of you?"

Cadrach sighed. "Would you really force me to tell you

such black things. Lady? It was only weakness and fear

that led me to mention them in my letter, when I was

frightened you would mistake the Earl of Eadne for

something better than he was."

"I would not force you to do anything that would hurt

you more, Cadrach. But I would like to know. These are

TOGREENANGELTOWER

295

the secrets that are behind our troubles, remember? It is

not the time to hold them back, however bad they are."

The monk nodded slowly. "Spoken like a king's

daughterbut spoken well. Ah, gods of earth and sky, if

I had known that one day I would have to tell such stories

and say "that is my life,' I think I would have pushed my

head into my father's kiln."

Miriamele made no reply but pulled her cloak tight.

Some of the nust had blown away, and the sea stretched

away beneath them like a great black tabletop. The stars

overhead seemed too small and chill to give off light;

they hung unsparkling, like flecks of milky stone.

"1 did not leave the fellowship of ordinary men com-

pletely empty-handed," Cadrach began. "There were cer-

tain things I had obtainedmany of them legitimately, in

my early days of scholarship. One was a great treasure

which no one knew that I had. My possessionsthose I

had not sold to buy wineremained in the care of an old

friend. When it was decided I was no longer fit for the

company of those I had known, I took them back from

him ... against his protestations, for he knew I was not a

reliable keeper. Thus, when times became particularly

bad, I could usually find a dealer m rare manuscripts or

church-forbidden books andusually at prices so low as

to approach robberyget some money in exchange for

one of my prized books. But, as I said, one thing that I

had found was worth a thousandfold more than all the

rest. The story of its getting is a night's tale in itself, but

it was for long the one thing with which I would not part,

however desperate my circumstances. For you see, I had

found a copy of Du Svardenvyrd, the fabled book of mad

Nisses, the only copy that I have ever heard to exist in

modern days. Whether it was the original I do not know,

for the binding had long since disappeared, but the ...

person from whom I obtained it swore that it was genu-

ine; indeed, if it was a forgery, it was a work of brilliance

in itself. But copy or no, it contained the actual words of

Nissesof that there was no doubt. No one could read

the dreadful things that I did, then look at the world

around him, and disbelieve."

296 Tad Williams

"I have heard of it," said Mirimele. "Who was Nis-

ses?"

Cadrach laughed shortly. "A question for the ages.

He was a man who came out of the north beyond

Elvritshalla, from the land of the Black Rimmersmen who

live below Stormspike, and presented himself to Fingil,

King of Rimmersgard. He was no court conjuror, but it. is

said that he gave Fingil the power that enabled him to

conquer half of Osten Ard. That power may have been

wisdom, for Nisses knew the facts of things that no one

else had even dreamed existed. After Asu'a was con-

quered and Fingil died at last, Nisses served Fingil's son

Hjeldin. It was during those years that he wrote his

booka book that contained part of the dreadful knowl-

edge he had brought with him when he appeared in a

murderous snowstorm outside Fingil's gates. He and

Hjeldin both died in Asu'athe young king by throwing

himself out the window of the tower that bears his name.

Nisses was found dead in the room from which Hjeldin

had leapt, with no mark upon him. There was a smile on

his face; the book was clutched in his hands."

Miriamele shuddered. 'That book. They spoke of it at

Naglimund, Jarnauga said that it supposedly tells of the

Storm King's coming and other things."

"Ah, Jarnauga," Cadrach said sadly. "How he would

have loved to see it! But I never showed it to him, nor to

any of the Scrollbearers."

"But why? If you had it, even a copy, why didn't you

show it to Morgenes and the others? I thought that was

just the sort of thing that your League was for."

"Perhaps. But by the time I had finished reading it, I

was no longer a Scrollbearer. I knew it in my heart. From

the moment I turned the last page I gave up the love of

learning for the love of oblivionthe two cannot live to-

gether. Even before I found Nisses' book, I had gone far

down the wrong paths, learning things that no man should

learn who wishes to sleep well at night. And I was jealous

of my fellow Scrollbearers, Miriamele, jealous of their

simple happiness with their studies, angry with their calm

assurance that all that could be examined could be under-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

297

stood. They were so certain that if they could look closely

enough at the nature of the world they could divine all its

purposes ... but / had something they did not, a book the

mere reading of which would not only prove to them

things I had already suggested, but would crumble the pil-

lars of their understanding. I was full of rage, Miriamele,

but I was also full of despair." He paused, the pain clear

in his voice. "The world is different once Nisses has ex-

plained it. It is as though the pages of his book were

dipped in some slow poison that kills the spirit. I touched

them all."

"It sounds horrible." Miriamele remembered the image

she had seen in one of Dinivan's books, a horned giant

with red eyes. She had seen that image since, in many

troubling dreams. Could it be better not to know some

things, to be blind to certain pictures and ideas?

"Horrible indeed, but only because it reflected the true

terror that lurked beneath the waking world, the shadows

which are the obverse image of sunlight. Still, even such

a powerful thing as Nisses' book eventually became noth-

ing more to me than another instrument of forgetting:

when I had read it so many times that it made me sick

even to stare at it, I began to'sell its pages off, one by

one."

"Elysia, Mother of Mercy! Who would buy such a

thing?"

Cadrach chortled harshly. "Even those who were sure it

was a deft forgery stumbled over themselves in their haste

to take a single page from my hands. A banned book has

a powerful fascination, young one, but a truly evil book

and there are not manydraws the curious as honey lures

flies." His laughter grew for a moment, then was choked

off in what sounded like a sob, "Sweet Usires, I wish that

I had burned it!"

"But what about Pryrates?" she prodded. "Did you sell

pages to him?"

"Never!" Cadrach almost shouted. "Even then, I knew

he was a demon. He was forced out of the League long

before my own downfall, and every one of us knew what

a danger he was!" He recovered his composure. "No, I

298 Tad Williams

suspect that he merely frequented the same peddlers of

antiquities that I didit is a rather small community, you

knowand that some scraps made their way into his

hands. He is tremendously learned in dark matters. Prin-

cess, particularly the most dangerous areas of the Art. It

was not difficult, I'm sure, for him to discover who had

possessed the powerful thing from which those pages

came- Neither was it hard for him to find me, despite the

fact that I had sunk myself as deeply into shadows as I

could, bending all my own learning into making myself

unimportant to the point of invisibility. But, as I said, he

found me. He sent some of your father's own guardsmen

after me. You see, he had already become a counselor to

princesor in your sire's case, kings-to-be."

Miriamele thought of the day she had first met

Pryrates. The red priest had come to her father's apart-

ments in Meremund, bringing Elias information about

events in Nabban. Young Miriamele had been having a

difficult time speaking to her father, struggling to think of

something she could tell him that might make him smile

even for a moment, as he often had in the days when she

was the light of his eye. Matters of state providing a use-

ful excuse for avoiding another uncomfortable conversa-

tion with his daughter, Elias had sent her away. Curious,

she had caught Pryrates' gaze on her way out the door.

Even as a young girl, Miriamele had become used to

the variety of different looks she inspired among her fa-

ther's courtiersirritation from those who considered her

an impediment to their affairs, pity from those who recog-

nized her loneliness and confusion, honest calculation

from those who wondered who she might marry someday,

or whether she would grow into an attractive woman, or

whether she would be a pliable queen after her father's

death. But never until that moment had she been exam-

ined with anything like Pryrates' inhuman regard, a stare

cold as a plunge in ice water. There seemed not the slight-

est bit of human feeling in his black eyes: she had known

somehow that had she been flayed meat on a butcher's ta-

ble his expression would have been no different. At the

same time, he had seemed to see right into her and

TOGREENANGELTOWER

299

through her, as though her every thought were being

made to walk naked before him, squirming beneath his

inspection.-Aghast, she had turned from his terrible gaze

and fled down the corridor, inexplicably weeping. Be-

hind, she heard the dry buzz of the alchemist's voice as

he began to speak. She realized she meant no more to this

new intimate of her father's than would a flythat he

would ignore her with never another thought, or crush her

without a qualm if it suited his purposes. To a girl raised

in the nurturing certainty of her own importance, an im-

portance that had even outlasted her father's love, it was

a horrifying realization.

Her father, for all his faults, had never been a monster

of that sort. Why, then, had he brought Pryrates into his

inner circle, so that eventually the devil-priest became his

closest and most trusted advisor? It was a deeply trou-

bling question, and one for which she had never discov-

ered an answer.

Now, in the gently pitching boat, she struggled to keep

her voice steady. 'Tell me what happened, Cadrach."

The monk plainly did not want to start- Miriamele

could hear his fingers scratching quietly against the

wooden seat, as though he searched for something in the

darkness. "They found me in the stable of an inn in south

Erchester," he said slowly, "sleeping in the muck. The

guardsmen dragged me out, then threw me in the back of

a wagon and we rode toward the Hayholt. It was during

the worst year of that terrible drought, and in the late af-

ternoon light everything was gold and brown, even the

trees stiff and dull as dried mud. I remember staring, my

head ringing like a church bellI had been sleeping off

a long bout of drinking, of courseand wondering if the

same dryness that made my eyes and nose and mouth feel

as though they were packed with dust had somehow

leached away all the colors of the world as well.

"The soldiers, I'm sure, thought I was nothing but an-

other criminal, and one not fated for a long life beyond

that afternoon. They talked as though I were already

dead, complaining about the onerous duty of having to

carry out and bury a corpse as fetid and unwashed as

300 Tad Williams

mine. A guardsman even said he would demand an extra

hour's pay for the unpleasant labor. One of his compan-

ions smirked and said: 'From Pryrates?'. The braggart fell

silent. Some of the other soldiers laughed at his discom-

fort, but their voices were forced, as though the mere

thought of demanding anything from the red priest was

enough to spoil the day. This was the first time I had any

inkling of where I was going, and I knew it to be a great

deal worse than simply being hung as a thief or a

traitorboth of which I was. I tried to throw myself out

of the cart, but was quickly pulled back in again. 'Ho,'

one of them said, 'he knows the name!'

" 'Please,* I begged, 'do not take me to that man. If

there is Aedonite mercy in you, do anything else with me

you like, but do not give me to the priest.' The soldier

who had last spoken stared at me, and I think there might

have been some pity in his hard eyes, but he said; 'And

bring his anger down on us? Leave our children father-

less? No. Bear up, and face it like a man.'

"I wept all the way to the Nearulagh Gate.

"The cart stopped at the iron-banded front door of

Hjeldin's Tower and I was dragged inside, too weak with

despair to resistnot that my wasted body would have

served me for much against four armed Erkynguards. I

was half-carried through the anteroom, then up what

seemed like a million steps. At the top, two great oaken

doors swung open. I was shoved through like a sack of

meal and fell to my knees on the hard flags of a cluttered

chamber.

"The first thing I thought. Princess, was that I had tum-

bled somehow into a lake of blood. The entire room was

scarlet, every niche and cranny; my very hands held be-

fore my face had changed their color as well. I looked up

in horror to the tall windows. Every one was fitted from

top to bottom with panes of bright red glass; the setting

sun streamed through them, dazzling the eye, as though

each window were a great ruby. The red light stripped ev-

erything inside the room of color, just as evening does.

There seemed no shades but black and red. There were ta-

bles and tall, leaning shelves, none of which touched the

TOGREENANGELTOWER

301

chamber's single curving outer wall, but instead were

clustered toward the middle of the room. Every surface

was draped in books and scrolls and ... and other things,

many of which I could not bear to look at for long. The

priest has a terrible curiosity. There is nothing he will not

do to discover the truth about somethingor such truths

as are important to him. Many of the subjects of his in-

quiries, mostly animals, were locked in cages stacked

haphazardly among the books; most of them were still

alive, although it would have been better for them if they

had not been. Considering the chaos in the center of the

room, the wall was curiously uncluttered, naked except

for certain painted symbols.

" 'Ah,* a voice said. 'Greetings, fellow Scrollbearer.' It

was Pryrates, of course, seated on a narrow, high-backed

chair at the center of this strange nest. 'I trust your jour-

ney was a comfortable one?'

" 'Let us not bandy words,' I said- With despair had

come a certain resignation. 'You are a Scrollbearer no

longer, Pryrates, nor am I. What do you want?'

"He grinned. He was in no mood to speed what was,

for him, an enjoyable diversion. *0nce a member of the

League, always a member, I should think,' he chuckled.

'For are we not both still intimately concerned with old

things, old writings ... old books?'

"When he said this last, my heart stumbled in my

chest. At first I had thought he wanted only to torment

me, to take revenge for his ousting from the League

although others were more responsible for that than I

was; I had already begun my slide into darkness when he

was forced out. Now I realized he wanted something

quite different. He plainly desired some book he thought

I hadand I had little doubt as to which book that might

be-

"I dueled with him for part of an hour, using words as

a swordsman does his blade, and for a while held my

ownthe last thing a drunkard loses, you see, is his cun-

ning: it outlasts his soul by a long seasonbut we both

knew that I would give in at the end. I was tired, you see,

very tired and sick. As we spoke, two men came into the

302 Tad Williams

room. These were not more Erkynguardsmen, but rather

somber-robed, shaven-headed men who had the dark-

haired, dark-skinned look of southern islanders. They nei-

ther of them spokeperhaps they were mutesbut

nevertheless, their purpose was clear: they would hold me

so that Pryrates might have his hands and attention unim-

peded as he moved on to more strenuous means of nego-

tiation. When the two grabbed my arms and dragged me

close to the priest's chair, I gave up. It was not the pain

I feared, Miriamele, or even the other soul-horrors that he

could have inflicted. I swear that to you, although why it

should matter I don't know. Rather, I simply no longer

cared. Let him have what he would of me, I thought. Let

him do what he pleased with it. It was not, I told myself,

as though this sin-blackened world might receive unde-

served punishment ... for I had dwelt in the depths so

long that I saw nothing left that was good but nothingness

itself.

" 'You have been making free with pages from a cer-

tain old volume, Padreic,' he said. 'Or do I remember that

you call yourself something different now? No matter. I

need that book. If you tell me where you keep it hidden,

you will walk free into the evening air.' He gestured to

the world beyond the scarlet windows. 'If not ...' He

pointed at certain objects that were lying on the table

close by his hand, objects already filthy with hair and

blood.

" *I do not have it anymore,' I told him. That was the

truth. I had sold the remaining few pages a fortnight

earlier: I had been sleeping off the last of the proceeds in

that noisome stable.

"He said: 'I do not believe you, little man,' then his

servants did something to me until I screamed. When I

still could not tell him where it was, he began to take a

more active hand himself, stopping only when I could

shriek no longer and my voice was a cracked whisper.

'Hmm,' he said, scratching his chin as though aping Doc-

tor Morgenes, who would often muse that way over a del-

icate translation. 'Perhaps I must believe you after all. I

find it hard to think that offal such as you would stay si-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

303

lent on purely moral grounds. Tell me who you sold it

toall the pieces.'

"Damning myself silently for the murder of these var-

ious merchantsfor Pryrates, I knew, would have them

killed and their wares confiscated without a moment's

hesitationI told him all the names I could remember.

When I hesitated, I was helped along by ... by ... his

servants...."

Cadrach suddenly broke into deep, chesty sobs.

Miriamele heard him trying to repress them, then he

broke off in a fit of coughing. She leaned forward and

caught his cold hand, squeezing hard to let him know that

she was there. After a while, his breathing became more

regular.

"I am sorry. Princess," he rasped. "I do not like to

think of it."

There were tears in Miriamele's eyes as well. "It's my

fault. I should never have made you talk about it. Let's

stop, and you can sleep."

"No." She could feel him shaking. "No, I have begun

it. I will not sleep well in any case. Perhaps it will help

me if I finish the tale." He reached out and patted her

head. "I thought he had gotten everything from me he

could wish, but I was wrong. 'What if these gentlemen no

longer have the pieces I need, Padreic?' he asked. Ah,

gods, there is nothing fouler than that priest's smile! 'I

think you should tell me what you rememberthere is

still some wit left in that wine-soaked head, is there not?

Come, recite for me, little acolyte.'

"And tell him I did, every bit and every line that I

could recall, the order as tumbled as you would expect

from a creature as wretched as I was. He seemed most in-

terested in Nisses' cryptic words on death, especially

something termed 'speaking through the veil,' which I

gathered to be the rituals that allow one to reach what

Nisses had called 'songs of the upper air'that is, the

thoughts of those who are somehow beyond mortality,

both the dead and the never-living. I disgorged it all, ach-

ing to please, with Pryrates sitting there nodding, nod-

ding, his shiny head gleaming in the strange light.

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Tad Williams

"Somehow, in the middle of this terrible experience, I

noticed something strange. It took a while, as you can

imagine, but since I had begun to talk freely about my

memories of Nisses' book I had been left unharmedone

of the unspeaking servitors even gave me a cup of water

so that I could speak more clearly. While I rattled on, an-

swering Pryrates' every question as eagerly as a child/at

its first holy mansa, I noticed something disturbing about

the way the light was moving across the room. At first, in

my weary, pained state, I was convinced that somehow

Pryrates had managed to make the sun roll backward in

its tracks, for the light that should have been passing from

east to west across the bloody windows was slipping the

other way instead. I mused on thisat such times, it is

good to have something to think about other than what is

happening to youand realized at last that the laws of

heaven had not been countermanded after all- Rather, it

was the tower itself, or at least the topmost section where

we were, that was spinning slowly sunward, a little faster

than the passage of the sun itselfso slowly that, when

combined with the sameness of the tower's uppermost

story, I would guess that none have ever marked it from

the outside.

"So that was why nothing was allowed to lean against

the stones of these chamber walls, I thought' Even in the

extremity of my pain and terror, I marveled at the huge

gears and wheels that must be moving silently behind the

mortar or below my feet. Such things were once a joy of

mineI spent many hours of my youth studying the me-

chanical laws of the spinning globe and the heavens- And,

the gods help me, it gave me something to think about be-

side what had been done to me, and what I, in turn, was

doing to my fellow men.

"Looking around the circular room as I continued my

prattling, I saw for the first time the subtle marks incised

in the red window glass, and how those marks, thrown

forward as faint lines of darker red, crossed over the

strange symbols marked all around on the tower's interior

wall. I could think of no other explanation but that

Pryrates had turned the top of Hjeldin's Tower into some

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

305

kind of vast water clock, a time-keeping device of fantas-

tic size and intricacy. I have pondered and pondered, but

to this day I still can think of nothing else that fits the

facts as well. The black arts in which Pryrates has be-

come involved, I suppose, have made hourglass and

sundial unhelpfully imprecise."

Miriamele let him pause for a long time. "So what hap-

pened, Cadrach?"

Cadrach still hesitated. When he resumed, he spoke a

little more swiftly, as though this part was even more

troubling man what had preceded it. "After I had finished

telling Pryrates all I knew, he sat thinking for the time it

took the last sliver of the sun to drop out one of the win-

dows and appear at the edge of the next. Then he stood,

waved a hand, and one of his servants stepped up behind

me. Something struck me on the head and I knew no

more. I woke up lying in a thicket in the Kynslagh, my

torn clothes stained with the fluids of my own body. I be-

lieve they thought me dead. Certainly Pryrates did not be-

lieve me worth any more effort, not even the effort to kill

me properly." Cadrach stopped to take a deep breath.

"You would think that I would have been deliriously

happy to be alive, to have survived when I did not expect

to, but all I could do was crawl deeper into the under-

brush and wait for death. But those were warm, dry days;

I did not die. When I was enough recovered, I made my

way down into Erchester. There I stole some clothing and

some food. I even bathed in the Kynslagh, so that I could

go to into the places where wine was sold." The monk

groaned. "But I could not leave the town, although I

burned to. The sight of Hjeldin's Tower looming up above

the Hayholt's outwall terrified me, but still I could not

flee: I felt as though Pryrates had pulled out a part of my

soul to keep me tethered, as though he could call me back

any time he wished and I would go. This despite the fact

that he clearly did not care if I was alive or dead. I re-

mained in the town, thieving, drinking, trying without

success to forget the terrible, treacherous thing I had

done. I have not forgotten it, of courseI will never for-

get it-although I eventually grew strong enough to

306 Tad Williams

wrench myself free of the tower's shadow and flee

Erchester." He looked for a moment as though he might

say something more, but shuddered and fell silent.

Miriamele again clutched the monk's hand, which had

been scraping fretfully at the wooden bench. Somewhere

to the south a seagull raised its lonely cry. "But you can't

blame yourself, Cadrach. That is foolish. Anyone would

have done what you did."

"No, Princess," he murmured sadly. "Some would not

have. Some would have died before telling such dreadful

secrets And more importantly, others would not have

given up a treasure in the first placeespecially a dan-

gerous treasure like Nisses' bookfor the price of a few

jugs of wine. I had a sacred trust. That is what the League

of the Scroll is meant for, Miriameleto preserve knowl-

edge, and also to preserve Osten Ard from those like

Pryrates who would use the old knowledge for power

over others. I failed on both those counts. And the League

was also meant to watch for the return of Ineluki, the

Storm King. There I failed most miserably of all, for it

seems clear to me that I gave Pryrates the means of find-

ing that terrible spirit and interesting it in humankind

once moreand all this evil I accomplished simply so 1

could guzzle wine, so I could make my already dim brain

a little darker."

"But why did Pryrates want to know all that? Why was

he so interested in death?"

"I don't know." Cadrach was weary. "His is a mind

that has gone rotten like a piece of old fruitwho knows

what strange prodigies will hatch from such a thing?"

Angry, Miriamele squeezed his hand. "That is no an-

swer."

Cadrach sat up a little straighten "I'm sorry, my lady,

but I have no answers. The only thing I can say is that

from the questions Pryrates asked me, I do not think that

he was seeking to contact the Storm Kingnot at first.

No, he had some other interest in, as he called it, 'speak-

ing through the veil/ And I think that when he began to

explore in those lightless regions, he was noticed. Most

living mortals who are discovered there are destroyed or

TOGREENANOELTOWER

307

made mad, but my guess is that Pryrates was recognized

as i possible tool for a vengeful Ineluki. From what you

and others have told me, he has been a very useful tool

indeed."

Miriamele, chilled by the night breeze, crouched lower.

Something in what Cadrach had just said tugged at her

mind, asking to be examined. "I want to think," she said.

"If I have disgusted you, my lady, it is only reason-

able." He seemed very distant. "I have grown unutterably

disgusted with myself."

"Don't be an idiot." Impulsively, she lifted his cold

hand and pressed it against her cheek. Startled, he left it

there for a moment before pulling it back again. "You

have made mistakes, Cadrach. So have I, so have many

others." She yawned. "Now we need to sleep, so we can

get up in the morning and start rowing again." She

crawled past him toward the boat's makeshift cabin.

"My lady?" the monk said, surprise evident in his

voice, but she did not say anything more.

Some time later, as Miriamele was drifting toward

sleep, she heard him crawl in beneath the oilcloth shelter.

He curled up near her feet, but his breathing stayed quiet,

as though he, too, were thinking. Soon, the gentle smack

of the waves and the rocking of the anchored boat pulled

her down into dreams.

10

Riders of tfte Dawn

A

Despite trie cft-iCC morning mists that covered

Sesuad'ra like a gray cloak, New Gadrinsett was in al-

most a festival mood. The troop of trolls, led back across

the slowly freezing lake by Binabik and Simon, were a

new and pleasant wonder in a year whose other oddities

had been almost entirely bad. As Simon and his small

friends made their way up the last winding stretch of the

old Sithi road, a rush of chattering children who had

legged out ahead of their parents and older siblings began

to gather around them. The mountain rams, hardened by

the din of Qanuc villages, did not break stride. Some of

the smaller children were lifted up by rough brown hands

and dropped into the saddle to ride with troll herders and

huntresses. One little boy, not expecting such a sudden

and intimate introduction to the newcomers, broke into

loud crying. Grinning worriedly through his sparse beard,

the troll-man who had picked him up held the struggling

lad gently but firmly in place lest he fall and be hurt

among the hom-bumping rams. The boy's wailing out-

stripped even the shouting of the other children and the

unrestrained banging and tootling of Qanuc marching mu-

sic.

Binabik had told Josua of his folk's arrival before tak-

ing Simon down to the forest; in turn, the prince had done

his best to see that a suitable welcome was prepared. The

rams were taken to warm cavern stables where they

cropped hay contentedly beside New Gadrinsett's horses,

then Sisqi and the rest of her troll contingent marched to

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

309

the wind-bumished hulk of Leavetaking House, still sur-

rounded by a flock of gaping settlers. Sesuad'ra's meager

stores were combined with the traveling food of the trolls

and a modest meal was shared. There were now enough

citizens in New Gadrinsett that the addition of five score

of even such diminutive men and women filled the cav-

ernous Sithi hall to its limits, but the closeness made it a

warmer place. There was little food, but the company was

exotically exciting.

_ Sangfugol stood, dressed in his bestif perhaps a little

th'readbaredoublet and hose, and presented a few favor-

ite old songs. The trolls applauded by smacking their

boots with the palms of their hands, a custom that much

amused the citizens of New Gadrinsett. A man and

woman of the Qanuc, urged on by their fellows, next pre-

sented an acrobatic dance that employed two of their

hooked sheep-herder's spears and involved much leaping

and tumbling. Most of the people of New Gadrinsett,

even those who had entered the hall suspicious of these

small strangers, found themselves warming to the new-

comers. Only among those few settlers originally from

Rimmersgard did there seem to be any lingering ill-

feeling: the longtime enmity of trolls and Rimmersmen

would not be banished by a single banquet and a little

dancing and singing.

Simon sat and watched proudly. He did not drink, since

the blood was still thudding uncomfortably in his head

from the previous night's kangkang, but he felt as plea-

surably giddy as if he had just downed a skinful. All

Sesuad'ra's defenders were grateful for the arrival of new

alliesany allies. The trolls were small, but Simon re-

membered from Sikkihoq what brave lighters they were.

There was still little chance that Josua's folk would be

able to hold off Fengbald, but at least the odds were bet-

ter than they had been the day before. Best of all, how-

ever, Sisqi had solemnly asked Simon to fight alongside

the trolls- From what he could gather, they had never

asked another Utku, which made it an honor indeed. The

Qanuc thought very highly of his bravery, she told him,

and the loyalty he had shown to Binabik.

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Simon could not help gloating a little, although he had

decided to keep it to himself for the time being. Still, he

could not keep from grinning cheerfully down the long ta-

ble at anyone whose eye he caught.

When Jeremias appeared, Simon forced him to sit

down beside him. In the company of the prince and the

other "high folk," as Jeremias called them, the onetmie

chandler's boy was still generally more comfortable wait-

ing on Simon as his body-servantsomething that Simon

did not find comfortable at all.

"It's not right," Jeremias grunted, staring down at the

cup that Simon had placed in front of him. "I'm your

squire, Simon. I shouldn't be sitting at the prince's table.

1 should be filling your cup."

"Nonsense." Simon waved his hand airily. "That's not

the way things work here. Besides, if you had gotten out

of the castle when I did, it would have been you that had

the adventures, and me who wound up in the cellar with

Inch...."

"Don't say that!" Jeremias gasped, eyes full of sudden

fright. "You don't know... '" He struggled to control

himself. "No, Simon, don't even say ityou'll bring bad

luck, make it come true!" His expression changed, the

fear gradually giving way to a look of wistfulness. "Be-

sides, you're wrong. Such things wouldn't have happened

to me, Simonthe dragon, the fairy-folk, any of that. If

you can't see that you're special, then ..." He took a

deep breath, "... then you're just being stupid."

This kind of talk made Simon even more uncomforta-

ble. "Special or stupid, make up your mind," he growled.

Jeremias stared at him as if sensing his thought. He

seemed to consider pursuing the subject, but after some

moments his face twisted into a mocking smile instead.

"Hmm. 'Specially stupid* would be about right, now that

you mention it."

Relieved to find himself back on safer footing, Simon

dipped his fingers in his wine cup and flicked droplets

onto Jeremias' pale face, making his friend splutter. "And

you, sirrah, are no better. I have anointed thee, and now

I dub thee 'Sir Stupidly Special.'" He gravely flicked a

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER311

few more drops. Jeremias snarled and swiped at the cup,

spilling the dregs onto Simon's shirt, then they began to

arm-wrestle, laughing and swatting back and forth with

their free hands like sportive bear cubs.

"Specially Stupid!"

"Stupidly Special!"

The contest, although still good-natured, soon became

a little more heated; those guests seated closest to the

combatants moved back to give them room. Prince Josua,

despite certain reservations, found it hard to maintain his

look of detached propriety. Lady Vorzheva laughed out-

right.

The trolls, whose state occasions took place in the awe-

some vastness of.Chidsik ub Lingit and never included

anything as trivial as two friends wrestling and rubbing

wine in each other's hair, watched the proceedings with

grave interest. Several wondered aloud if any particular

augury or prophesy was determined by the result of this

contest, others whether it would be insulting to their

hosts' religious beliefs if they made a few quiet wagers

on who might be the winner. Regarding this last, a quiet

consensus developed that what was not noticed could not

offend; the odds changed several-times as one or the other

of the combatants seemed on the brink of crushing defeat.

As long moments passed and neither warrior showed

any sign of surrender, the interest of the trolls grew. For

such a thing to go on so long at a celebratory banquet in

the cavern of these lowlanders' Herder and Huntress

well, clearly, the more cosmopolitan of the Qanuc folk

explained, it must be more than a mere contest. Rather,

they told their fellows, it was obviously a very compli-

cated sort of dance that solicited luck and strength from

the gods for the upcoming battle. No, others said, it was

likely nothing more intricate than a combat for the right

to mate- Rams did it, so why not lowlanders?

When Simon and Jeremias realized that almost every-

one in the room was watching them, the arm-wrestling

match suddenly came to a halt. The two embarrassed con-

testants, red-faced and sweating, straightened their chairs

and addressed themselves to their food, not daring to look

312

Tad Williams

up at any of the other guests. The trolls whispered sadly.

What a shame it was that neither Sisqi nor Binabik had

been present to translate their many questions about the

odd ritual. A chance for a greater appreciation of Utku

customs had been lost, at least for the time being.

Outside Leavetaking Hall, Binabik and his betrothed

stood ankle-deep in the snow that blanketed the crum-

bling tiles of the Fire Garden. The cold bothered them not

at alllate spring in Yiqanuc could be far worse, and

they had not been alone together in a long time.

The hooded pair stood close, face to face, warming

each other's cheeks with their breath. Binabik reached up

a gentle hand and brushed a melting particle of sleet from

Sisqi's cheek.

"You are even more beautiful," he said. "/ had thought

that my loneliness was playing tricks on me, but you are

more lovely even than I remembered."

Sisqi laughed and pulled him close. "Flattery, Singing

Man, flattery. Have you been practicing on these huge

lowland women? Be careful, one of them might take of-

fense and smash you flat."

Binabik made a mock-frown. "/ see no one else but

you, Sisqinanamook, nor have I since the first time your

eyes opened before mine."

She wrapped her arms about his chest and squeezed as

tightly as she could. When she let him go, she turned and

began walking once more. Binabik fell into step beside

her.

"Your news was welcome," he said. "I have worried for

our people since the day I left Blue Mud Lake."

Sisqi shrugged. "We will get on. Sedda's children al-

ways do. Still, it was like taking a stone from the foot of

an angry ram to convince my parents to let me bring even

this small mustering of our folk."

"The Herder and Huntress may be reconciled to the

truth of what Ookequk wrote," said Binabik, "but just be-

cause an unpleasant thing is known to be true does not

make it more palatable. Still, Josua and the others are

truly gratefulevery arm, every eye, will help. The

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER313

Herder and Huntress have done a good thing, however

unwillingly." He paused. "And you have done a good

thing also. I thank you for your kindness to Simon."

Sisqi looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Asking him to join the Qanuc troop. That meant much

to him."

She smiled. "It was no favor, beloved. It is a deserved

honor, and our choiceand not just mine, Binabik, but

that of the folk who came with me."

Binabik stared at her, surprised. "But they do not know

him!"

"Some do. A few of those who survived our march

down Sikkihoq are among this hundred. You saw Snenneq,

surely? And those who were at Sikkihoq brought back sto-

nes to the rest. Your young friend has made a strong im-

pression on our folk, beloved."

"Young Simon." Binabik thought about this for a mo-

ment. "/(is strange to think it, but I know you speak the

truth."

"He has grown much, your friend, even since we parted

at the lake. Surely you have seen that?"

"I know you do not mean in sizehe has always been

large, even for one of his folk:"

Sisqi laughed and squeezed him again. "No, of course

not. I mean that since he came down from our mountains,

he looks like one who has taken the Walk of Man-

hood. "

"The lowlanders do not do as we do, my lovebut f

think that the whole of the last year has been, in a way,

his manhood-walk. And I do not think it is over yet."

Binabik shook his head, then folded her hand in his. "But

still. I have done Simon a disservice by guessing you had

given this as a kindness. He is young and he is changing

quickly. I am so close to him, perhaps I do not see the

changes as clearly as you do."

"You see more clearly than any of us, Binbiniqegabenik.

That is why I love youand that is also why no harm must

come to you. I gave my parents no rest until I could be at

your side with a troop of your own folk."

"Ah, Sisqi," he said wistfully, "a thousand, thousand of

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Tad Williams

the stoutest trolls could not keep us safe in these terrible

timesbut better than a million spears is having you

close to me again."

"Flattery again," she laughed. "But so wonderfully

spoken."

Arm in arm, they walked through the snow.

Provisions were scarce, but wood was not: inside

Leavetaking House, the fire had been banked high with

logs so that the smoke blackened the ceiling. Normally,

Simon would have been upset by such a smirching of the

Sithi's sacred place, but tonight he saw it as no more than

what was neededa brave and happy gesture in a time

scant of hope. He looked toward the circle of people that

had formed around the blaze once supper was finished.

Most of the settlers had wandered back to their tents

and sleeping caves, tired after a long day and an unex-

pected celebration. Some of the trolls had also gone off,

a few to look in on the ramsfor what, they had asked

themselves, did lowlanders truly know about sheep?and

others to bed down in the caverns the prince's folk had

prepared for them. Binabik and Sisqi were now sitting at

the high table with the prince, talking quietly, their faces

far more serious than those of the rest of the revelers,

who were passing a few precious wineskins around the

fire-circle. Simon debated for a moment, then headed to-

ward the group gathered near the fire.

Lady Vorzheva had left the prince's table and was

moving toward the doorDuchess Outrun was walking

beside her, delicately holding the Thrithings-woman's el-

bow like a mother ready to restrain an impulsive child

but when Vorzheva saw Simon, she paused. "There you

are," she said, and beckoned. The child growing in her

was beginning to show, a bulge at her middle.

"My lady. Duchess." He wondered if he should bow to

them, then remembered that they had both seen him

thumping Jeremias earlier. He blushed and bent hastily to

hide his face.

Vorzheva sounded as though she was smiling. "Prince

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

315

Josua says that these trolls are your sworn allies,

Simonor should I call you Sir Seoman?"

It was getting worse and worse. His cheeks felt woe-

fully hot. "Please, my lady, just Simon." He sneaked a

look, then slowly straightened.

Duchess Outrun chuckled. "Heaven help you, lad, don't

get so worried. Let him go and join the others, Vorzheva

he's a young man and wants to stay up late, drinking and

bragging."

Vorzheva looked at her sharply for a moment, then her

expression softened. "I wanted only to tell him ..." She

turned to Simon. "I wanted only to tell you that I wish I

knew more about you. I had thought our lives since going

from Naglimund were strange, but when Josua tells me

things you have seen ..." She laughed again, a little

sadly, and spread her long fingers on her stomach. "But it

is good of you to bring help to us. I have never seen any-

thing like these trolls!"

"You have known ... mmmmhh ... Binabik for a long

time," Outrun said, yawning behind her hand.

"Yes, but seeing one small person is different than see-

ing many, so many." Vorzheva turned to Simon as if for

help. "Do you understand?"

"I do. Lady Vorzheva." He grinned, remembering.

"The first time I saw the city where Binabik's people

livehundreds of caves in the mountainside, and swing-

ing rope bridges, and more trolls than you can imagine,

young and oldyes, it was far different than knowing

only Binabik."

"Just so." Vorzheva nodded. "Well, again I thank you.

Perhaps one day you will come to tell me more of your

travels. I am sick now some days, and Josua worries so

much for me when I go out and walk around" she

smiled again, but there was a touch of bitterness in it,

"so it is good to have company."

"Of course. Lady. I would be honored."

Outrun tugged at Vorzheva's sleeve. "Come along now,

Vorzheva. Let the young man go and talk to his friends."

"Yes. Well, good night to you, Simon."

"Ladies." He bowed again as they left, a little more

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Tad Williams

gracefully this time. Apparently it was something that im-

proved with practice-

Sangfugol glanced up as Simon reached the fire. The

harper looked tired. Old Towser was seated beside him,

carrying on one half of a rambling argumentan argu-

ment that Sangfugol seemed to have abandoned a while

earlier.

"There you are," said the harper. "Sit down- Have

some wine." He offered a skin.

Simon took a swallow just to be friendly. "I liked that

song you did tonightthe one about the bear."

"The Osgal tune? It is a good one. I remembered you

saying that they have bears up in the trollish country, so

I thought they would like it."

Simon did not have the heart to reveal that only one of

their hundred new guests spoke even a single word of

Westerlingthat the harper could have sung about

swamp fowl for all they would have noticed. However,

although the subject matter had been a complete mystery,

the Qanuc had enjoyed the song's energetic choruses and

Sangfugol's goggling facial expressions. "They certainly

clapped for it," Simon said. "I thought the roof would

come down."

"Smacked on their bootsdid you see?" Thinking

back on such a triumph, Sangfugol visibly lifted himself

straighter. He might be the only harper ever to be ap-

plauded by troll feetsuch a thing was not said even of

the legendary Eoin-ec-Cluias.

"Boots?" Towser leaned forward and clutched at Sang-

fugol's knee. "And who taught 'em to wear boots at all,

that's what I'd like to know. Mountain savages don't wear

boots."

Simon started to reply, but Sangfugol shook his head,

irritated. "You're talking nonsense again, Towser. You

don't know the first thing about trolls."

Abashed, the jester looked around, the lump in his

throat bobbing. "I just thought it strange that ..." He

looked at Simon. "And you know them, son? These little

people?"

TOGREENANGELTOWER

317

"I do. Binabik is my friendyou've seen him here of-

ten, haven't you?"

"So I have, so I have." Towser nodded, but his watery

eyes were vague; Simon was not sure that he truly did re-

member.

"Well, after we left Naglimund and went to the dragon-

mountain," Simon said carefully, "the mountain that

you helped us find, Towser, with your memories about the

sword Thornafter we were on the mountain, we went to

the place where Binabik's people live and met their king

and queen. And now they have sent these folks to be our

allies."

"Ah, very kind. That's very kind." Towser squinted

suspiciously across the fire at the nearest group of trolls,

half a dozen men who were laughing and throwing dice in

the damp sawdust. The aged jester looked up, brighten-

ing. "And they're here because of what I said!"

Simon hesitated, then said: "In a way, yes. That's true."

"Hah!" Towser grinned, exposing the stumps of his few

remaining teeth. He looked truly happy. "I told Joshua

and all those others about the sword, didn't I? About both

swords." He looked at the trolls again. "What are they

doing?"

"Throwing dice." '

"Since I brought 'em here, I should show 'em how a

real game is played. I should teach 'em Bull's Horn."

Towser rose and stumbled a few paces to where the trolls

were gambling, then flopped himself down cross-legged

in their midst and began to try to explain the playing of

Bull's Horn. The trolls chortled at his obvious drunken-

ness, but also seemed to be enjoying his visit. Soon the

jester and the newcomers were engaged in a hilarious

dumb show as Towser, already befuddled by drink and

the excitement of the evening, tried to explain the more

delicate nuances of the dice game to a group of tiny

mountain men who could not understand his words.

Laughing, Simon turned back to Sangfugol. "That will

probably keep him occupied for a few hours, at least."

Sangfugol made a sour face. "I wish I'd thought of that

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myself. I would have sent him over to pester them a long

time ago,"

"You don't have to be Towser's keeper. I'm sure that if

you told Josua how much you dislike the task, he'd ask

someone else to do it."

The harper shook his head. "It's not that simple."

"Tell me." From close up, Simon could see dark grit in

the shallow creases around Sangfugol's eyes, a smudge

on his forehead beneath his curly brown hair. The harper

seemed to have lost more than a little of his fastidious-

ness, but Simon was not sure that this was a good thing:

an unkempt Sanfugol seemed a blow against nature, like

a slovenly Rachel or a clumsy Jiriki.

"Towser was a good man, Simon." The harper's words

came out slowly, grudgingly* "No, that is not fair. He is

a good man still, I suppose, but these days he is mostly

old and foolishand drunk whenever he can be. He is not

wicked, he is just tiresome. But when I first began my

craft, he took the time to help me although he owed me

nothing. It was all from kindness. He taught me songs and

tunings I did not know, helped me leam to use my voice

properly so that it would not fail me in time of need."

Sangfugol shrugged. "How can I turn away from him just

because he wearies me?"

The voices of the trolls nearby had risen, but what

seemed for a moment the beginning of an argument was

instead the swelling of a song, a guttural and jerky chant;

the melody was strange as could be, but the humor so ev-

ident even in an unfamiliar tongue that Towser, in the

midst of the singers, giggled and clapped his hands.

"Look at him," Sangfugol said with a touch of bemuse-

ment. "He is like a childand so may we all be. some-

day. How can I hate him, any more than I would hate an

infant that did not know what it did?"

"But he seems to drive you mad!"

The harper snorted- "And do children not sometimes

drive parents mad? But someday, the parents become as

children themselves and are revenged on their sons and

daughters, for then it is the old parents who cry and spit

and bum themselves at the cookfire, and it is their chil-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

319

dren who must suffer." There was little mirth in his laugh.

*T thought myself well away from my own mother when

I went off to make my fortune. Now, see what I have in-

herited for my unfaithfulness." He gestured at Towser,

who, with head thrown back, was singing along with the

trolls, baying wordlessly and tunelessly as a dog beneath

a harvest moon.

The smile that this sight engendered faded quickly

from Simon's face. At least Sangfugol and others had a

choice about staying or not staying with parents. It was

different for orphans.

"Then there is the other side." Sangfugol turned to look

at Josua, who was still in deep conversation with the

Qanuc- "There are those who, even when their parents

die, still cannot get free of them." The gaze he leveled at

his prince was full of love and, surprisingly, anger.

"Sometimes he seems to be almost afraid to move, for

fear he might have to step across the shadow of old King

John's memory."

Simon stared at Josua's long, troubled face. "He wor-

ries so much."

"Yes, even when there is no-use in it." As Sangfugol

spoke, Towser came swaggering back. The kangkang of

his Qanuc dicing partners seemed to have lifted the old

man to a newer and more alert stage of drunkenness.

"We are about to be attacked by Fengbald and a thou-

sand troops, Sangfugol," Simon growled. "That is cer-

tainly some reason for Josua to worry. Sometimes worry

is called 'planning,' you know."

The harper waved his hand in apology. "I know, and I

do not criticize him as a war-leader. If anyone can think

of a way of winning this fight, it will be our prince- But

I swear, Simon, I sometimes think that if he ever looked

down at his feet and noticed the ants and fleas he must

kill with every pace, he would never walk again. You can-

not be a leaderlet alone a kingwhen every hurt done

to one of your people galls as though it happened to you.

Josua suffers too much, I think, ever to be happy on a

throne."

320 Tad Williams

Towser had been listening, his eyes bright and intent.

"He is his father's child, that's certain."

Sangfugol looked up, annoyed. "You are talking non-

sense again, old fellow. Prester John was the very oppo-

site, as everybody knowsas you should know better

than anybody!"

"Ah," Towser said solemnly, his face unexpectedly se-

rious. "Ah. Yes." After a moment's silence, when it

seemed he might say more, the jester turned abruptly and

walked away again.

Simon shrugged off the old man's strange remark.

"How can a good king not hurt when his people are in

pain, Sangfugol?" he asked. "Shouldn't he care?"

"Certainly he should. Aedon's Blood, yes!otherwise

he'd be no better than Josua's mad brother. But when you

cut your finger, do you lay down and not move until it is

healed again? Or do you staunch the blood and get on

with what you have to do?"

Simon considered this. "You mean that Josua is like the

farmer in that old storythe one who bought the finest,

fattest pig at the fair, then couldn't bear to slaughter it, so

he and his family starved but the pig lived."

The harper laughed. "I suppose, yes. Although I am not

saying that Josua should let his people be butchered like

swinejust that sometimes bad things happen, no matter

how hard a kind prince tries to prevent it."

They sat staring into the fire as Simon thought about

what his friend had said. When Sangfugol at last decided

that Towser would be safe in the company of the Qanuc

the old jester was laboriously teaching them ballads of

dubious proprietythe harper wandered off to sleep. Si-

mon sat and listened to the concert for a while until his

head began to hurt, then went to have a few words with

Binabik.

His troll friend was still talking with Josua, although

Sisqi was now practically asleep, her head propped on

Binabik's shoulder, her long-lashed eyes half-closed. She

smiled muzzily as Simon approached, but said nothing.

The two lovers and Josua had been joined by the burly

constable Freosel and a thin old man Simon did not rec-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

321

ognize. After a moment he realized that this must be

Helfgrim, the onetime Lord Mayor of Gadrinsett who had

fled from Fengbald's camp.

As he watched Helfgrim, Simon remembered Geloe's

doubts about him. He certainly looked anxious and unset-

tled as he spoke to the prince, as though at any moment

he might say the wrong thing and bring some terrible

punishment down on himself. Simon could not help won-

dering how far they should trust this twitchy old man, but

a moment later he chided himself for such callousness.

Who knew what torments poor old Helfgrim had suffered

that made him look the way he did? Hadn't Simon him-

self wandered like a wild animal in the woods after his

escape from the Hayholt? Who could have seen him then

and still thought him reliable?

"Ah, friend Simon." Binabik looked up. "I am glad to

see you. I am doing a thing for which your help will be

needed tomorrow."

Simon nodded to show his availability.

"In truth," Binabik said, "it is being two things. One is

that I must teach you some Qanuc, so that you can be

talking to my folk in battle."

"Of course." Simon was pleased that Binabik remem-

bered. It made it more real, to hear it spoken in the seri-

ous presence of Josua. "If I have the prince's leave to

fight with the Qanuc, of course." He looked at Josua.

The prince said: "Binabik's folk will help us most if

they can understand what we need from them. Their own

safety will also be best served that way. You have my

leave, Simon."

"Thank you. Highness. What else, Binabik?"

"We must also be collecting all the boats that belong to

the folk of New Gadrinsett." Binabik grinned. "There

must be two score of them all counted together."

"Boats? But the lake around Sesuad'ra is frozen. What

good will they do us?"

"Not the boats themselves will be doing good," said the

troll. "But parts of them will."

"Binabik has a plan for the defense of this place,"

Josua elaborated. He looked doubtful.

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"It is not just being a plan." Binabik was smiling again.

"Not just an idea that has landed on me like a stone. It is

a certain Qanuc way that I will show to you Utkuand

that is a great luckiness for you." He chuckled with self-

satisfaction.

"What is it?"

"I will tell you tomorrow as we are at our boat-hunting

task."

"One other thing, Simon," Josua said. "I know I have

spoken of it before, but I feel it is worth asking again. Do

you think there is any chance that your friends the Sithi

will come? This is their sacred place, is it not? Will they

not defend it?"

"I do not know, Josua. As I said, Jiriki seemed to think

that his people would need a great deal of convincing."

"A pity." Josua drew his fingers through his short-

cropped hair. "In truth, I fear we are just too few, even

with the arrival of these brave trolls. The aid of the Fair

Ones would be a great boon. Ha! Life is strange, is it not?

My father prided himself that he had driven the last of the

Sithi into hiding; now his son prays for them to come and

help defend the remnants of his father's kingdom."

Simon shook his head sadly. There was nothing to say.

The old Lord Mayor, who had listened silently to this ex-

change, now looked up at Simon, examining him closely.

Simon tried to see some hint of the old man's thoughts in

his watery eyes, but could make out nothing.

"Wake me up when it's time to go, Binabik," Simon

said at last. "Good night, all. Good night. Prince Josua."

He turned and walked toward the doorway. The singing of

the trolls and lowlanders around the fire had quieted, the

tunes grown slow and melancholy. The fire, dwindling,

set red light shimmering along the shadowy walls-

*

The late morning sky was almost empty of clouds. The

air was bitterly cold: Simon's breath clouded before his

face. He and Binabik had been practicing a few important

words in the Qanuc speech since first light, and Simon,

TOGREENANGELTOWER

323

showing greater than usual patience, was making good

progress.

"Say 'now.' " Binabik cocked an eyebrow.

" Ummu."

Qantaqa, trotting beside them, lifted her head and

huffed, then found her voice for a short bark. Binabik

laughed.

"She is not understanding why you are now speaking

to her," he explained. "These are words she hears only

from me."

"But I thought you said that your people had a whole

different language that you spoke to your animals." Si-

mon banged his gloved hand together to keep his fingers

from turning into icicles.

Binabik gave him a look of reproach. "I am not talking

to Qantaqa as we trolls are speaking to our rams, or to

birds or fish. She is my friend. I speak to her as I would

to any friend."

"Oh." Simon eyed the wolf. "How do you say 'I'm

sorry,' Binabik?"

"Chem ea dok."

He turned and patted the wolf's wide back. "Chem ea

dok, Qantaqa." She grinned hugely up at him, panting

steam.

After they had walked a little farther. Simon said;

"Where are we going?"

"As I was telling the night before: we are going to go

and collect the boats. Or rather, we are to be sending the

boat-owners to the forge, where Sludig and others will be

breaking the boats up. But we will give each person one

of these" he displayed a wad of parchment scraps with

Josua's rune printed large on each, "so that they know

they are having the prince's word that they will be re-

paid." .

Simon was puzzled. "I still don't understand what

you're going to do. Those people need their boats to catch

fish, to feed themselves and their families."

Binabik shook his head. "Not when even the rivers are

now so thick with ice. And if we do not win here, it will

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matter little what plans the folk of New Gadrinsett are

having."

"So are you going to tell me what your plan is?"

"Soon, Simon, soon. When we are finished with this

morning's work, I will take you to the forge and you will

then be seeing."

They strode along toward the settlement.

"Fengbald will probably attack soon."

"I am certain," said Binabik. "This cold must wear

down the spirits of his men, even if they are having pay-

ment from the king's gold."

"But they'll be too few to lay siege, don't you think?

Sesuad'ra is quite large, even for a thousand men."

"I am agreeing with your thought, Simon." Binabik

considered. "Josua and Freosel and others were speaking

of this last night. They are thinking that Fengbald will not

try to besiege the hill. In any case, I am doubting that he

knows how sad is our preparedness or scant our sup-

plies."

"So what will he do, then?" Simon tried to think like

Fengbald. "I guess that he'll simply try to overwhelm us.

From what I've heard about him, he's not the patient

type."

The troll looked up at him appraismgly, a twinkle in his

dark eyes. "I think that you have thought well, Simon.

That is seeming most likely to me, also. If you could lead

a force of spying men to Fengbald's camp, it is only sense

that he has sent spies here as wellSludig and Hotvig

think they have seen evidence of this, tracks of horses and

such. So, he will know that there is a broad road that

leads up the hill, and while it is something we can be de-

fending, it is not like a castle wall where stones can be

thrown down from above. I am guessing that he will try

to overwhelm the resistance with his more strong and

fearsome soldiers and drive all the way to the hilltop."

Simon pondered this. "We have more men than he may

know, now that your folk are here. Maybe we can hold

him longer than he thinks."

"Without doubt," Binabik said briskly. "But ultimately

we will fail. They will be finding other ways up the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

325

slopealso unlike a castle, the hill can be climbed by

men of determination, even in this cold and slippery

weather."

"Then what can we donothing?"

"We can be using our brains as well as our hearts,

friend Simon." Binabik smileda gentle, yellow smile.

"That is why we are now hunting for boatsor rather, for

the nails that are holding boats together."

"Nails?" Simon was even more puzzled.

"You will see. Now quick, give me the word that is

meaning 'attack'!"

Simon thought. "Nihuk."

Binabik reached over and gave him a little shove on the

hip. "Nihut. With the sound of 't,' not 'k.'"

"Nihut!" Simon said loudly.

Qantaqa growled and looked around, searching for an

enemy.

*

Simon dreamed that he stood in the great throne room

of the Hayholt, watching Josua and Binabik and a host of

others search for the three swords. Although they were

hunting in every corner, lifting each tapestry in turn and

even looking beneath the malachite skirts of the statues of

the Hayholt's former kings, only Simon seemed able to

see that black Thorn, gray Sorrow, and a third silvery

blade that must be King John's Bright-Nail were propped

in plain sight on the great throne of yellowing ivory, the

Dragonbone Chair.

Although Simon had never seen this third sword from

any nearer than a hundred feet when he had lived at the

Hayholt, it was remarkably clear to his dream-vision, the

golden hilt worked in the curve of a holy Tree, the edge

so polished that it sparkled even in the dim chamber. The

blades leaned against each other, hilts in the air, like some

unusual three-legged stool; the great, grinning skull of the

dragon Shurakai stretched over them, as though at any

moment it would gobble them down, sucking them out of

sight forever. How could Josua and the others not see

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them? It was so obvious! Simon tried to tell his friends

what they were missing, but could find no voice. He tried

to point, to make some sound that would draw their atten-

tion, but he had somehow lost his body. He was a ghost,

and his beloved friends and allies were making a terrible,

terrible mistake....

"Damn you, Simon, get up!" Sludig was shaking him

roughly. "Hotvig and his men say Fengbald is marching.

He will be here before the sun is above the tree line."

Simon struggled to a sitting position. "What?" he gur-

gled. "What?"

"Fengbald is coming." The Rimmersman had retreated

to the doorway. "Get up!"

"Where is Binabik?" His heart was beating swiftly

even as he fought toward full wakefulness. What was he

supposed to do?

"He is already with Prince Josua and the others. Come

now." Sludig shook his head, then grinned with fierce ex-

hilaration. "Finallysomeone to fight'" He ducked

through me tent flap and was gone.

Simon scrambled out from beneath his cloak and fum-

bled on his boots, snagging a thumbnail in his chill-

fingered hurry. He swore quietly as he threw on his outer

shirt, then found his Qanuc knife and strapped on the

sheath. The sword Josua had given him was wrapped in

its polishing cloth beneath his pallet; when he unwrapped

it, the steel was icy against his hand. He shuddered.

Fengbald was coming. It was the day they had talked of

for so many weeks. People would die, perhaps some of

them before the gray sun even reached noon. Perhaps Si-

mon himself would be one of them.

"Bad thoughts," he mumbled as he buckled his sword

belt. "Bad luck." He made the sign of the Tree to ward

off his own ill-speaking. He had to hurry. He was needed.

As he foraged in the comer of the tent for his gloves he

came upon the strangely-shaped bundle that Aditu had

given him. He had forgotten it since the night he had sto-

len out to the Observatory. What was it? He had a sudden

and sickening recollection that Amerasu had wanted it

given to Josua.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

327

Merciful Aedon, what have I done?

Was it something that might have saved them? Had he,

in his foolishness, in his mooncalf forgetful ness, ne-

glected a weapon that might help keep his friends alive?

Or was it something with which to summon the aid of the

Sithi? Would it now be too late?

Heart thudding at the magnitude of his mistake, he

snatched up the bagnoticing even in his fearful haste

the odd, slithering softness of its weavethen dashed out

into the icy dawn light.

A huge crowd was gathering in the Leavetaking House,

caught up in a frenzy of activity that seemed ready at any

moment to spill over into panicked flailing. At the center

of it all Simon found Josua and a small group that in-

cluded Deornoth, Geloe, Binabik, and Freosel. The

prince, any trace of indecision vanished, was calling out

orders, reviewing plans and arrangements, and exhorting

some of the more anxious of New Gadrinsett's defenders.

The brightness of Josua's eye made Simon feel like a trai-

tor.

"Your Highness." He took a step forward, then dropped

to a knee before the prince, who looked down in mild sur-

prise.

"Up, Simon," Deornoth said impatiently. "There is

work to do."

"I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake. Prince Josua."

The prince paused, visibly willing himself to calm at-

tention. "What do you mean, son?"

Son. The word struck Simon very hard. He wished that

Josua could truly have been his fatherthere was cer-

tainly something in the man that he loved. "I think I have

done a foolish thing," he said. "Very foolish."

"Speak with care," said Binabik. "Tell just the facts

that have importance."

Prince Josua's alarmed expression eased as he listened

to Simon's worried explanation. "Give it to me, then," he

said when Simon had finished. "There is no point in tor-

menting yourself until we know what it is. I feared from

the look on your face that you had done something to

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leave us open to attack. As it is, your bundle is most

likely only some token."

"A fairy gift?" Freosel asked doubtfully. "Be those not

perilous?"

Josua squatted and took the bag from Simon. It was

difficult for him to untie the knotted drawstring with only

one hand, but no one dared offer him aid. When the

prince had at last worked it open, he upended the bag.

Something wrapped in an embroidered black cloth rolled

out into his lap.

"It is a horn," he said as he pulled away the covering

and held it up. It was made of a single piece of ivory or

unyellowed bone, chased all over with fine carvings. The

lip and mouthpiece were sheathed in a silvery metal, and

the horn itself hung on a black baldric as sumptuously

worked as the wrapping. There was something unusual in

the shape of it, some compelling but not quite recogniza-

ble essence. Although age and much use were suggested

by its every line, still at the same time it shone as though

newly made. It was potent, Simon saw: though it was not

like Thom, which sometimes almost seemed to breathe,

the hom had something in it which drew the eye.

"It is a beautiful thing," Josua murmured- He tilted it

from side to side, squinting at the carvings. "I can read

none of these, although some look like writing-runes."

"Prince Josua?" Binabik held out his hands. Josua

passed the hom to him. 'They are all Sithi runesnot a

surprising thing on a present from Amerasu."

"But the winding-cloth and the baldric are of mortal

weave," Geloe said abruptly. "That is a strange thing."

"Can you read any of the writing?" Josua asked.

Binabik shook his head. "Not now. It might be so with

some studying."

"Perhaps you can read this." Deornoth leaned forward

and plucked a scrap of shimmery parchment out of the

bell of the hom. He opened it, whistled in surprise, then

handed it to Josua.

"It is written in our Westeriing letters!" said the prince.

" 'May this be given to its rightful owner when all seems

lost.' Then there is a strange signlike an *A.'"

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

329

"Amerasu's mark." Geloe's deep voice was sorrowful.

"Her mark."

"But what can it mean?" Josua asked. "What is it, and

who could be its rightful owner? It is clearly something

of worth."

"Beggin' pardon. Prince Josua," Freosel said nerv-

ously, "but p'raps would be best not to meddle with such

thingsp'raps there be curse on it or somewhat like that-

The gifts of the Peaceful Ones, they say, can cut both

ways."

"But if it is meant to summon aid," said Josua, "then it

seems a shame not to use it. If we are vanquished today,

all will not just seem lost, it will be lost."

He hesitated for a moment, then lifted the horn to his

lips and blew. Astonishingly, there was no sound at all.

Josua stared into the bell of the hom in search of some

obstruction, then puffed his cheeks again and blew until

he was bent almost double, but still the hom was silent-

He straightened with a shaky laugh. "Well, I do not seem

to be the thing's rightful owner. Someone else try

anyone, it matters not."

Deomoth at last accepted it from him and lifted it, but

had no more luck than Josua. Freosel waved it away. Si-

mon took it, and although he puffed until black flecks

whirled before his eyes, the hom remained mute.

"What is it for?" Simon panted.

Josua shrugged. "Who can say? But I do not think you

have done any harm, Simon. If it is meant to serve some

purpose, that purpose has not yet been revealed to us." He

wrapped the hom again, then placed it back into the sack

and put it down beside his feet. "We have other things to

occupy us now. If we survive this day, then we will look

at it againperhaps Binabik or Geloe will be able to puz-

zle out its carvings. Now, bring me the tally of men,

Deomoth, and let us make final dispositions."

Binabik pulled away from the group and came and took

Simon's arm. 'There are still a few things you should

have," he said, "then you should go to be with your

Qanuc troop."

Simon followed his small friend across the milling con-

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fusion of the Leavetaking House. "I hope your schemes

work, Binabik."

The troll made a hand sign. "As I am hoping, too. But

we will do what is our best to do. That is all the gods, or

your God, or our ancestors can be expecting."

Against the far corner of the western wall a line of men

stood before a dwindling pile of wooden shields, some of

which still bore river-moss stains from their previous ex-

istence as boat timbers. Sangfugol, wearing a sort of

battle-dress of ragged gray, was overseeing the distribu-

tion.

The harper looked up. "There you are. It's in the cor-

ner. Ho, stop that, you!" he snarled at a bearded older

man who was pawing through the pile. 'Take the one

that's on top."

Binabik went to the place Sangfugol had indicated and

drew something out from beneath a pile of sacking. It was

another wooden shield, but this one had been painted with

the arms Vorzheva and Outrun had created for Simon's

banner, the black sword and white dragon intertwined

over Josua's gray and red.

"It is not done with the hand of art," the troll said. "But

it was done with the hand of friendship."

Simon bent and embraced him, then took the shield and

thumped it with the heel of his hand. "It's perfect."

Binabik frowned. "I am only wishing that you were

having more time for practicing with its use, Simon. It is

not easy to be riding and using a shield and fighting, too."

His look grew more worried as he gripped Simon's fin-

gers in his own small fist. "Do not be foolish, Simon. You

are yourself of great importance, and my people are being

very important as well ... but the finest of all things that

I am knowing will be with you, also." He turned his

round face away. "She is a huntress of our folk and brave

as a thunderstorm, butQinkipa!how I wish Sisqi were

not in this fighting today."

"Aren't you going to be with us?" Simon asked, sur-

prised.

"I will be with the prince, acting as messenger since

Qantaqa and I can be moving with swiftness and quiet

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

331

where a bigger man on a horse might be observed." The

troll laughed softly. "Still, I will be carrying a spear for

the first time since my manhood-walk. It will be a

strangeness to have that in my hand." His smile vanished.

" *No' is the answer to your questioning, SimonI will

not be with you, at least not closely by. So please, my

good friend, keep an eye out for Sisqinanamook. If you

are keeping her from harm, you keep away a blow to my

own heart that might be the killing of me." He squeezed

Simon's hand again. "Come. There are things we must

still be doing. It is not enough to have clever schemes,"

he tapped his forehead and smiled mockingly, "if they are

not completed with propemess,"

They met at last in the Fire Garden, all of Sesuad'ra's

defenders, those who would fight and those who would

stay behind, gathered together on the great commons-yard

of tiles. Although the sun was well into the sky, the day

was dark and very cold; many had brought torches. Si-

mon felt a pang at seeing the flames fluttering in this

open place, as they had in his vision of the past. A thou-

sand Sithi had once waited here, just as his friends and al-

lies now waited, for something" that would change their

lives forever.

Josua stood on a section of broken wall so that he

could look out over the hushed crowd. Simon, standing

close beside him, saw the prince's look of disappoint-

ment. The defenders were so few, his face said clearly,

and so poorly prepared.

"People of New Gadrinsett and our kind allies of

Yiqanuc," Josua called, "there is little need to speak

about what we are doing. Duke Fengbald, who slaugh-

tered the women and children of his own fiefdom in

Falshire, is coming. We must fight him. There is little

more to it than that. He is the tool of a great evil, and that

evil must be stopped here or there will be none left to re-

sist it. A victory here will not by any means overthrow

our enemies, but if we lose it will mean that those ene-

mies have won a great and total victory. Go and do your

best, both those who will fight and those who will remain

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behind with their own tasks to do. Surely God is watching

and will see your bravery."

The murmurs that had risen when Josua spoke of evil

turned into cheers as he finished. The prince then reached

down to help Father Strangyeard climb into place to say

the benediction.

The archivist fretfully smoothed his few strands of hair.

"I am certain I will muddle it," he whispered.

"You know it perfectly," said Deomoth. Simon thought

he meant it kindly, but the knight could not keep impa-

tience from his voice.

"I fear I am not meant to be a war-priest."

"Nor should you be," Josua said harshly. "Nor should

any priest, if God were doing all that he ought to."

"Prince Josua!" Startled, Father Strangyeard sucked in

air and coughed. "Beware of blasphemy!"

The prince was grim. "After these last two years of tor-

ment across the land. God must have learned to be a little

... flexible. I am sure He will understand my words."

Strangyeard could only shake his head.

When the priest had finished his blessing, much of

which was inaudible to the large crowd, Freosel mounted

the wall with the ease of one used to climbing. The

heavyset man had taken on an increasing burden of the

defense, and seemed to be thriving under the responsibil-

ity.

"Come on, then," he said loudly, his rough voice reach-

ing out to every one of the several hundred gathered in

that cold, windy place. "You heard what Prince Josua

said. What more need you know? Defending our home's

what we be doing. Even a badger'll do that without think-

ing a moment. Will you let Fengbald and them come and

take your home, kill your families? Will you?"

The assembled folk called back a ragged but heartfelt

denial.

"Right. So, let's go to it."

Simon was caught up for a moment by Freosel's words.

Sesuad'ra was his home, at least for now. If he had any

hope of finding something more permanent, he would

have to survive this dayand they would also have to

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

333

beat back Fengbald's army. He turned to Snenneq and the

other trolls who were waiting quietly a little apart from

the rest of the defenders.

"Nenit, henimaatuya," Simon said, waving them to-

ward the stables where the ramsand Simon's horse

were waiting patiently. "Come on, friends."

Despite the chill of the day, Simon found himself

sweating heavily beneath his helmet and chain mail. As

he and the trolls turned off from the main road and started

downslope through the clinging brush, he realized that he

was, in a way, all alonethat no one would be near who

could truly understand him. What if he showed himself a

coward in front of the trolls, or something happened to

Sisqi? What if he let Binabik down?

He pushed the thoughts away. There were things to do

that would require his concentration. There could be no

mooncalf foolishness, as with the forgotten gift from

Amerasu.

As they neared the base of the hill and the hidden

places near the foot of the road, Simon's company dis-

mounted and led their beasts into place. The hill slope

was covered here with ice-blasted bracken that snatched

at feet and tore cloaks, so it took them a good part of an

hour before they had finally selected their spots and the

crackling and rustling had ceased. When all the troop was

settled in, Simon climbed up out of the shallow gulley so

that he could see the barricade of felled trees that Sludig

and others had built at the skirt of the hill, blocking en-

trance to the wide, stone-paved road. It was to be his re-

sponsibility to relay the prince's commands.

Out beyond the expanse of ice that had once been

Sesuad'ra's floodwater moat, the near shore was covered

with a dark, seething mass. It took Simon a few startled

moments to realize that this was Fengbald's army, settled

in along the edge of the frozen water. It was more than an

army, for the duke appeared to have brought a large sec-

tion of the squatter town of Gadrinsett with him: tents and

cookfires and makeshift forges spread lumpily into the

distance, filling the small valley with smokes and steams.

334

Tad Williams

Simon knew it was an army of only a thousand or so, but

to one who had not seen the army ten times larger that

had besieged Naglimund, it seemed as vast as the legend-

ary Muster of Anitulles that had covered the hills of

Nabban like a blanket of spears. Chill sweat began to

bead on his forehead once more. They were so near! Two

hundred ells or more separated Fengbald's forces from Si-

mon's hidden perch, yet he could clearly see individual

faces among the armored men. They were people, living

people, and they were coming to kill him. Simon's com-

panions would in turn try to kill as many of these soldiers

as possible. There would be many new widows and or-

phans at the end of this day.

An unexpected trill of melody behind him made Simon

jump. He whirled to see one of the trolls rocking slowly

from side to side, his head lifted in quiet song. The troll,

alerted by Simon's sudden movement, looked up at him

questioningly. Simon tried to smile and waved for the lit-

tle man to continue- After a moment the troll's plaintive

voice rose once more into the freezing air, lonely as a bird

in a leafless tree.

/ don't want to die, thought Simon. And God, please, I

want to see Miriamele again/ truly, truly do.

A vision of her came to him suddenly, a memory of

their last desperate moment near the Stile, when the giant

had come crashing down on them just as Simon had fi-

nally sparked his torch alight. Her eyes, Miriamele's eyes

... they had been frightened but resolute. She was brave,

he remembered helplessly, brave and lovely. Why had he

never told her how much he admired hereven if she

was a princess?

There was a movement downslope near the barricade

of tumbled trunks. Josua, his crippled right arm marking

him even at a distance, was climbing onto the makeshift

wall. A cloaked and hooded trio mounted to stand beside

him.

Josua cupped his hand before his mouth- "Where is

Fengbald?" he shouted. His voice echoed out across the

frozen lake and reverberated in the hollows of the close-

looming hills. "Fengbald!"

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER335

After some moments a small group of figures detached

themselves from the horde along the shore and came a

short way out onto the ice. In their midst, mounted on a

tall charger, rode one who was armored in silver and

cloaked in bright scarlet. A silver bird flared its wings

upon his helmet, which he removed and tucked beneath

his arm. His long hair was black, and fluttered in the stiff

wind.

"So you are there after all, Josua," the rider shouted. "I

was wondering."

"You are trespassing on free lands, Fengbald. We do

not acknowledge my brother Elias here, for his crimes

have stolen away his right to rule my father's kingdom. If

you leave now, you may go away freely and tell him so."

Laughing, Fengbald threw back his head in what

seemed quite genuine amusement. "Very good, Josua,

very good!" he bellowed. "No, it is you who must con-

sider my offer. If you will surrender yourself to the king's

justice, I promise that all but the guiltiest few of your

traitorous mob will be allowed back to take their place as

honorable subjects. Surrender, Josua, and they will be

spared."

Simon wondered what effect this promise would have

on the frightened and unhopeful army of New Gadrinsett.

Fengbald was doubtless wondering the same.

"You lie, murderer!" someone shouted from near Josua,

but the prince lifted his hand in a calming gesture.

"Did you not make that same promise to the wool mer-

chants of Falshire," Josua called, "before you burned

their wives and children in their beds?"

Fengbald was too distant for his expression to be dis-

cernible, but from the way he straightened in the saddle,

pushing against his stirrups until he was almost stand-

ing, Simon could guess at the anger surging through him.

"You are in no position to speak so insolently, Josua," the

duke shouted. "You are a prince of nothing but trees and

a few tattered, hungry sheepherders. Will you surrender

and save much bloodshed?"

Now one of the other figures standing beside Josua

stepped forward. "Hear me!" It was Geloe; she pulled

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Tad Williams

back her hood as she spoke. "Know that I am Valada

Geloe, protectress of the forest." She waved her cloaked

arm toward the shadowy face of the Aldheorte, which

loomed on the hillcrest like a vast and silent witness.

"You may not know me, lord from the cities, but your

Thrithings allies have heard of me. Ask your mercenary

friend Lezhdraka if he recognizes my name."

Fengbald did not reply, but appeared to be in conversa-

tion with someone standing near him.

"If you would attack us, think of this," Geloe called.

"This place, Sesuad'ra, is one of the Sithi's most sacred

spots. I do not think they would like it spoiled by your

coming. If you try to force your way in, you may find that

they make a more terrible enemy than you can guess."

Simon was sure, or at least thought he was sure, that

the witch woman's speech was an idle threat, but he

found himself wishing again that Jiriki had come. Was

this what a condemned man felt as he sat looking through

the window slit at his gallows a-building? Simon felt a

dull certainty that he and Josua and the rest could not

win. Fengbald's army seemed a great infection upon the

snowy plain beyond the lake, a plague that would destroy

them all.

"I see," Fengbald shouted suddenly, "that you have not

only gone mad yourself, Josua, but that you have sur-

rounded yourself with other mad folk as well. So be it!

Tell the old woman to hurry and call out to her forest

spiritsperhaps the trees will come and rescue you. 1

have lost patience!" Fengbald waved his hand and a flurry

of arrows spat out from the men along the shoreline. They

all fell short of the barricade and skittered along the ice-

Josua and the others clambered down into the under-

growth surrounding the pile of logs, disappearing once

more from Simon's view.

At another cry from Fengbald, something that looked

like a huge barge moved slowly out onto the ice. This

war-engine was pulled by stout dray horses who were

themselves covered in padded armor, and as it scraped

along the ice it made a continual shrieking noise. From

the dreadful sound, it might have been a market cart full

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

337

of damned souls. The bed of the sledge was piled high

with bulging sacks.

Simon could not help shaking his head, impressed de-

spite his sudden fear. Someone in Fengbald's camp had

been planning well.

As the great sledge moved out across the ice, the mea-

ger swarm of arrows coming back from the defenders

they had few to begin with, and Josua had warned them

repeatedly against wastebounced ineffectually from its

steel-shod sides, or stuck harmlessly in the armor of the

horses that drew it until they began to resemble some fab-

ulous species of long-legged porcupines. Where the

sledge passed, its crosswise runners scraped the ice raw.

From holes in the mountain of sacks, a wide shower of

sand dribbled down the sledge's sloping bed and spattered

across the frozen surface of the lake. Fengbald's soldiers,

following the sledge in a wide column, found much fir-

mer footing than Josua and the defenders had ever sus-

pected they might.

"Aedon curse them!" Simon felt his heart sink within

his breast. Fengbald's army, a pulsing column like a

stream of ants, moved forward across the moat.

One of the trolls, eyes wide, said something Simon

could only partially understand.

"Shummuk." For the first time Simon felt real fear coil-

ing inside him like a serpent, crushing hope. He must

keep to the plan, although all now seemed doubtful.

"Wait. We will wait."

A

Far from Sesuad'ra, and yet somehow strangely near,

there was a movement in the heart of the ancient forest

Aldheorte. In a deep grove that was touched only lightly

by the snows that had blanketed the woods for many

months, a horseman rode out from between two standing

stones and turned his impatient mount around and around

at the center of the clearing.

"Come out!" he cried- The tongue he spoke was the

oldest in Osten Ard. His armor was blue and yellow and

338

Tad Williams

silver-gray, polished until it gleamed. "Come through the

Gate of Winds!"

Other riders and their mounts began to make their way

out between the tall stones until the dell was foggy with

the clouds of their breath.

The first rider reined up his horse before the assembled

throng. He lifted a sword before him, lifted it as though

it might pierce the clouds. His hair, bound only by a band

of blue cloth, had once been lavender. Now it was as

white as the snow clinging to the tree branches.

"Follow me, and follow Indreju, sword of my grandfa-

ther," Jiriki cried. "We go to the aid of friends. For the

first time in five centuries, the Zida'ya will ride."

The others lifted their weapons, shaking them at the

sky. A strange song began to build, deep as the booming

of marsh bitterns, wild as a wolf cry, until all were sing-

ing and the glade shook with the force of it.

"Away, Houses of the Dawn!" Jiriki's thin face was

fierce, his eyes alight, burning like coals. "Away, come

away! And let our enemies tremble! The Zida'ya ride

again!"

Jiriki and the resthis mother Likimeya on her tall

black horse, Yizashi of the gray spear, bold Cheka'iso

Amber-Locks, even Jiriki's green-clad uncle Khendraja'aro

with his longbowall spurred their horses out of the clear-

ing with a great shout and a singing. So great was the tu-

mult of their going that the trees seemed to bend away

before them' and the wind, as if abashed, was momentarily

silent in their wake.

11

The Road Back

Minomefe slouched lower inside her cloak, trying to

vanish. It seemed that every person who passed by

slowed to look at her, the slender Wrannamen with their

calm brown eyes and rigorously expressionless faces as

well as the Perdroinese traders in their slightly shabby

finery. All seemed to be pondering the appearance of this

crop-haired girl in a stained monk's habit, and it was

making her very anxious. Why was Cadrach taking so

long? Surely she should have known better by now than

to let him go into an inn by himself.

When the monk appeared at last he wore an air of self-

satisfaction, as though he had completed some immensely

difficult task.

"It is down by Peat Barge Quay, as I should have re-

membered. A none-too-savory district."

"You have been drinking wine." Her tone was harsher

than she wanted it to be, but she was cold and fretful.

"And how could I expect a publican to give me good

directions if I bought nothing?" Cadrach was not to be so

easily thrown off stride. He seemed to have rebounded

from the despair that had filled him on the boat, although

Miriamele could see where it was imperfectly hidden,

where the deadly bleakness peered past the ragged edges

of the jollity he had drawn over himself like a cloak.

"But we have no money!" she complained. "That's

why we have to walk all over this cursed town, trying to

find a place you said you knew!"

"Hush, my lady. I made a small wager on a coin-flip

340

Tad Williams

and wonand just as well, too, since I'd no coin to

match the bet. But all's well now. In any case, it is trav-

eling on foot through this city of canals that has confused

me, but with the innkeeper's instructions, we will have no

more problems."

No more problems- Miriamele had to laugh at that, if

bitterly. They had been living like beggars for three

weeksparched on the boat for several days, then slog-

ging through the coast towns of southeastern Nabban beg-

ging meals where they could and taking rides on farm

wagons when they were lucky enough to get them. The

largest portion of the time had been spent walking, walk-

ing, walking, until Miriamele felt that if she were to

somehow remove her legs from her body they would con-

tinue pacing along without her. This kind of life was not

unfamiliar to Cadrach, and he seemed to have returned to

it complacently, but Miriamele was growing more than

tired of it. She could never live in her father's court

again, but suddenly the stifling surroundings of Uncle

Josua's castle at Naglimund seemed a great deal more ap-

pealing than they had a few months before-

She turned to say something else sharp to Cadrach

she could smell the wine on his breath at an arm's

distanceand caught him by surprise, unguarded. He had

let his buoyant expression slip; the hollowness in his once

round cheeks and the shadows beneath his haunted eyes

chastened Miriamele into a kind of irritated love.

"Well ... come on, then." She took his arm. "But if

you don't find this place soon, I'm going to push you into

the canal."

Since they did not have the price of a boatman's fare,

it took the better part of the morning for Cadrach and

Miriamele to make their way through the daunting maze

of Kwanitupul's wooden walkways to Peat Bog Quay. Ev-

ery turn seemed to bring them to another dead end, an-

other passage that ended in an abandoned boatyard or a

locked door with rusty hinges or a rickety fence beyond

which was only yet another of the ubiquitous waterways.

Thwarted, they would retrace their steps, try another tum-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

34'

ing, and the maddening process would begin again. At

last, with the noon sun whitening the cloudy sky, they

stumbled around the corner of a long and very deterio-

rated warehouse and found themselves staring at a salt-

rotted wooden sign that proclaimed the inn before which

it hung as Pelippa s Bowl. It was indeed, as Cadrach had

warned, in a rather unsavory district.

While Cadrach searched for the doorthe front of the

building was an almost uniform wall of gray, weathered

woodMiriamele wandered out onto the inn's front deck

and stared down at a wreath of yellow and white flowers

floating on the choppy canal near the wharf ladder.

"That's a Soul's Day wreath," she said.

Cadrach, who had found the door, nodded.

"Which means it was more than four months ago that

I left Naglimund," she said slowly. The monk nodded

again, then pulled the door open and beckoned.

Miriamele felt a wild sorrow course through her. "And it

was all for nothing! Because I was a headstrong fool!"

"Things would have gone no better, and perhaps worse,

if you had stayed with your uncle," Cadrach pointed out.

"At least you are alive, my lady. Now, let us go and see

if Soria Xorastra will remember an old, if fallen, friend."

They entered the inn through the dooryard, past the

corroding hulks of a pair of fishing boats, and quickly re-

ceived two unpleasant surprises. The first was that the Hn

itself was ill-kept and smelled distinctly of fish. The sec-

ond was that Xorastra had been dead for three years, anc1

her jut-jawed niece Charystra quickly proved to be quite

a different sort of innkeeper than her predecessor.

She stared at their threadbare and travel-stained cloth-

ing. "I don't like the look of you. Let me see your

money."

"Come, now," Cadrach said as soothingly as he could.

"Your aunt was a good friend of mine. If you let us have

a bed for the night, we will have money to pay you by the

morningI am well known in this town."

"My aunt was mad and worthless," Charystra said, not

without some satisfaction, "and her stinking charities

left me with nothing but this tumbledown bam." She

342

TOGREENANGELTOWER

Tad Williams

343

waved her hand at the low-ceilinged common room,

which seemed more like a burrow belonging to some dis-

heartened animal. "The day I let a monk and his doxy

stay without paying is the day they take me back to

Perdruin in a wooden box."

Miriamele could not help looking forward to such a

day, but she knew better than to let the innkeeper know it.

"Things are not as they appear," she said. "This man is

my tutor. I am a nobleman's childBaron Seoman of

Erkynland is my father. I was kidnapped, and my tutor

here found me and saved me. My father will be very kind

to anyone who helps with my return." Beside her,

Cadrach straightened up, pleased to be the hero of even a

mythical rescue.

Charystra squinted. "I've heard more than a few wild

stories lately." She chewed at her lip. "One of them

turned out to be true, but that doesn't mean yours will."

Her expression turned sour. "I've got to make a living,

whether your father is a baron or the High King at the

Hayholt. Go out and get the money, if you say it's so

easy. Let your friends help you."

Cadrach began once more to wheedle and flatter, now

taking up the strands of story Miriamele had begun and

weaving them into a richer tapestry, one in which

Charystra would retire with bags of gold, a gift from the

grateful father. Hearing the wild way in which the story

grew beneath Gadrach's manipulation, Miriamele almost

began to feel sorry for the woman, whose practicality was

obviously being strained by her greed, but just before

Miriamele was about to ask him to give it up, she saw a

large man coming slowly down the stairway into the com-

mons room. Despite his clotheshe wore a cowled cloak

much like Cadrach's, belted with a ropeand a beard that

was scarcely a finger's breadth thick, he was so instantly

familiar that for a moment Miriamele could not believe

what she was seeing. As he came down into the light of

the tallow lamps, the man also stopped, wide-eyed.

"Miriamele?" he said at last. His voice was thick and

hesitant. "Princess?"

"Isgrimnur'" she shrieked. "Duke Isgrimnur!" Her

heart seemed to expand within her breast until she

thought she might choke. She ran across the cluttered

room, dodging past the crooked-legged benches, then

flung herself against his broad belly, weeping.

"Oh, you poor thing," he said, squeezing her, crying

himself. "Oh, my poor Miriamele." He lifted her away for

a moment, staring with reddened eyes. "Are you hurt?

Are you well?" He caught sight of Cadrach and his eyes

narrowed. "And there's the rogue who stole you!"

Cadrach, who like Charystra had been staring open-

mouthed, flinched. Isgrimnur cast a large shadow.

"No, no," Miriamele laughed through her tears.

"Cadrach is my friend. He helped me. I ran awaydon't

blame him." She hugged him again, burying her face in

his reassuring bulk. "Oh, Isgrimnur, I have been so un-

happy. How is Uncle Josua? And Vorzheva, and Simon,

and Binabik the troll?"

The duke shook his head. "I know little more than you

do, I would guess." He sighed, his breath trembling out.

"This is a miracle. God has heard my prayers at last.

Blessed, blessed. Come, sit down." Isgrimnur turned to

Charystra and waved his hand impatiently. "Well? Don't

just stand there, woman! Bring-us some ale, and some

food, too!"

Charystra, more than a little stunned, went lurching

away.

"Wait!" Isgrimnur shouted. She turned to face him. "If

you tell anyone about this," he roared, "I'll pull your roof

down with my own hands."

The innkeeper, beyond surprise or fear, nodded slackly

and headed for the sanctuary of her kitchen.

Tiamak hurried along, although his lame leg allowed

him scarcely more speed than what would have been a

normal walking pace. His heart was thumping against his

ribs, but he forced himself to keep the worry from his

face.

He Who Always Steps on Sand, he murmured to him-

self, let no one notice me! I am almost there!

Those who shared the narrow walkways with him

344

Tad Williams

seemed determined to hinder his progress. One burly

drylander carrying a basket full of sandfish thumped into

him and almost knocked him down, then turned to shout

insulting names as Tiamak limped on. The little man

ached to say somethingKwanitupul was a Wrannaman

town, after all, no matter how many drylander traders

built expensive stilt houses on the edge of Chamul La-

goon, or had their massive trading barges poled through

the canals by sweating crews of Tiamak's folkbut he

dared not. There was no time to waste in quarrels, how-

ever justified.

He hurried through Pelippa's Bowl's common room,

sparing barely a glance for the proprietress, despite

Charystra's strange expression. The innkeeper, clutching

a board laid with bread and cheese and olives, was sway-

ing at the foot of the stairs as though deciding whether to

go up or not was an overwhelming strain.

Tiamak angled past her and hobbled up the narrow

staircase, then onto the landing and the first warped, ill-

hung door in the passageway- He pushed it open, his chest

already filling with air to spill out his news, then stopped,

surprised by the odd tableau before him.

Isgrimnur was sitting on the floor. In the comer stood

a short, husky man, dressed as was the duke in the cos-

tume of a pilgrim Aedonite monk, his squarish face curi-

ously closed. Old Camaris sat on the bed, his long legs

crossed sailor-style. Beside him sat a young woman with

yellow hair close-cropped. She, too, wore a monk's robe,

and her pretty, sharp-featured face was set in an expres-

sion of bemusement almost as complete as Charystra's.

Tiamak closed his jaw with a snap, then opened it once

more. "What?" he said.

"Ah!" Isgrimnur seemed immensely cheerful, almost

giddy. "And this is Tiamak, a noble Wrannaman, a friend

of Dinivan and Morgenes. The princess is here, Tiamak.

Miriamele has come."

Miriamele did not even look up, but continued to stare

at the old man. "This is ... Camaris?"

"I know, I know," Isgrimnur laughed. "I couldn't credit

it myself. God strike mebut it is him' Alive, after all

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

345

this time!" The duke's face suddenly became serious.

"But his wits are gone, Miriamele. He is like a child."

Tiamak shook his head. "I ... I am glad, Isgrimnur.

Glad that your friends are here." He shook his head

again. "I have news, too."

"Not now." Isgrimnur was beaming. "Later, little man.

Tonight we celebrate." He lifted his voice. "Charystra!

Where are you, woman!?"

The inn's proprietress had just begun to push the door

open when Tiamak turned and shut it in her face. He

heard a surprised grunt and the thud of a heavy bread loaf

bounding down the stairway. "No," Tiamak said. "This

cannot wait, Isgrimnur."

The duke frowned at him, thick brows beetling.

"Well?"

"There are men searching for this inn. Nabbanai sol-

diers."

Isgrimnur's impatience suddenly dropped away. He

turned his full attention to the little Wrannaman. "How do

you know?"

"I saw them down by Market Hall. They were asking

questions of the boatmen there, treating them very

roughly. The leader of the soldiers seemed desperate to

find this inn."

"And did they find out?" Isgrimnur rose to his feet and

walked across the room, taking up his sword Kvalnir

from where it stood bundled in the comer.

Tiamak shrugged. "I knew I would not be able to go

much faster than me soldiers, even though I am sure I

know the city better than they do- Still, I wanted to delay

them, so 1 stepped forward and told the soldiers that /

would talk to the boatmen since they were all Wrannamen

like me." For the first time since beginning his recitation,

Tiamak turned to look at the young woman. Her face had

gone quite pale, but the dazed expression had vanished.

She was listening carefully. "In our swamp-language I

told the boatmen that these were bad men, that they

should talk only to me, and only in our tongue- I told

them that when the soldiers left, they should leave, too,

and not come back to the Market Hall until later- After I

346 Tad Williams

had talked with them for a few moments longer, pre-

tending to receive directions from themin truth they

were merely telling me that these drylanders acted like

madmen!I told the leader of the soldiers where he and

his men could find Pelippa's Bowl. Don't scowl so. Duke

Isgrimnur' I told them that it was on the other side of

town from here, of course! But it was so strange: when I

told that man, he shivered all over, as though knowing

where this place was made him itch."

"What ... what did the leader look like?" There was

strain in Miriamele's voice.

"He was very odd." Tiamak hesitated. He did not know

how to address a drylander princess, even one dressed

like a man. "He was the only one not dressed as a soldier.

Tall and strong-looking, wearing rich drylander's clothes,

but his face was purple with bruises, his eyes red as a

boar's, full of blood. He looked as though his head had

been crushed in a crocodile's jaws. He was missing teeth,

as well."

Miriamele groaned and slid down from the pallet onto

the floor. "Oh, Elysia, save me! It is Aspitis!" Her ragged

voice was now entirely given over to desperation.

"Cadrach, how could he know where we were going?!

Have you betrayed me again?"

The monk winced, but his words held no anger. "No,

my lady. Obviously he got back to shore, and I would

guess that he then somehow exchanged messages with his

true master." Cadrach turned toward Isgrimnur. "Pryrates

knows this place well, my lord Duke, and Aspitis is his

creature."

"Aspitis?" Isgrimnur, strapping his sword belt around

his broad middle, shook his head in bafflement. "I do not

know him, but I gather that he is no friend."

"No." Cadrach looked to Miriamele where she sat on

the floor, head in hands- "He is no friend."

Isgrimnur made a noise deep in his throat. Tiamak

turned to him with a startled look, for the duke sounded

like nothing less than an angry bear, but Isgrimnur was

only thinking, twisting his fingers in his short beard. "En-

emies are at our heels," he said at last. "Even were we sit-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

347

ting with the Camaris of forty years agoah. Lord love

him, Miriamele, he was the mightiest man of allstill I

would not like the odds. So, then, we must leave ... and

leave quickly."

"Where can we go?" asked Cadrach.

"North to Josua." Isgrimnur turned to Tiamak. "What

did you say that time, little man? That if you were trav-

eling with Camans and me as fugitives, you would find

another way?"

Tiamak felt his throat tighten. "Yes. But it will not be

easy." He felt a chill, as though the cold breath of She

Who Waits to Take All Back whispered against his neck.

He suddenly did not like the idea of taking these

drylander friends into the mazy Wran.

Miriamele arose. "Josua is alive?"

"So rumor says. Princess." Isgrimnur shook his head.

"Northeast of the Thrithings, it is claimed. But it may be

false hope."

"No!" Miriamele's face, still tearstained, wore a

strange look of surety. "I believe it."

Cadrach, still leaning in the comer like a neglected

house-god, shrugged. "There is nothing wrong with be-

lief, if it is all we can cling to. But what is this other

way?" He turned his brooding eyes on the marsh man.

"Through the Wran." Tiamak cleared his throat. "It

will be nearly impossible for them to follow us, I think.

We can make our way north to the outermost part of the

Lake Thrithing."

"Where we will be trapped on foot in the middle of a

hundred leagues of open ground," said Cadrach grimly.

"Damn it, man," Isgrimnur snarled, "what else can we

do? Try to make our way through Kwanitupul, past this

Aspitis fellow, then across all of hostile Nabban? Look at

us! Can you imagine a more unlikely and memorable

company? A girl, two monksone beardeda childish

old giant and a Wrannaman? What choice do we have?"

The Hemystirman seemed prepared to argue, but after

a moment's hesitation he shrugged once more, drawing

back into himself like a tortoise retreating inside its shell.

"I suppose there is no choice," he said quietly.

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Tad Williams

"What should we do?" Miriamele's fear had receded a

little. Though still shaken, she seemed bright-eyed and

determined. Tiamak could not help admiring her spirit.

Isgrimnur rubbed his large paws together. "Yes. We

must leave, certainly by the time an hour has passed,

sooner if we can, so there is no more time to waste.

Tiamak, go and watch from the front of the inn. Someone

else may give these soldiers better directions than you

did, and if they catch us unaware, we are lost. You will be

the least likely to be noticed." He looked around, think-

ing. "I will put Camaris to work patching the less man-

gled of those boats in the dooryard. Cadrach, you will

help him. Remember, he is simple-wilted, but he has been

working here for yearshe knows what to do and he un-

derstands many words, though he does not speak. I will

finish gathering up the rest of our things, then I will come

help you finish the boat and carry it down to the water."

"What about me, Isgrimnur?" Miriamele was actually

bouncing from one foot to the other in her need for some-

thing to do.

'Take that shrew of an innkeeper and go down to the

kitchens and provision us. Get things that will keep, since

we don't know how long we must go without ..." He

paused, snagged by a sudden thought. "Water! Fresh wa-

ter! Sweet Usires, we are going to the swamps. Get all

you can, and I will come help you carry the jugs or what-

ever you find to put it in. There is a rain barrel in the yard

behind the innfull, I think. Hah! I knew this foul

weather would be good for something!" He tugged at his

fingers, thinking frantically. "No, Princess, don't go yet.

Tell Charystra she will be paid for everything we take,

but don't dare say a word of where we are going! She

would peddle our immortal souls for a bent cintis-piece

each. I wish I were the same, but I will pay her for what

we take, though it will empty my purse." The duke took

a deep breath. "There! Now go to. And wherever you are,

all of you, listen for Tiamak's call and run to the dooryard

if you hear it."

He turned and pulled open the door. Charystra was sit-

ting on the top step in a scattering of foodstuffs, her face

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

349

a mask of confusion. Isgrimnur looked at her for a mo-

ment, then stepped over to Miriamele and bent to her ear;

Tiamak was close enough to hear his whisper.

"Don't let her stray from you," the duke murmured.

"We may have to take her with us, at least far enough

away to protect the secret of which way we've gone. If

she kicks up rough, just shout and I'll be there in a mo-

ment." He took Miriamele's elbow and guided her toward

Charystra's seat on the steps.

"Greetings again, goodwife," the princess said to her.

"My name is Marya. We met downstairs. Come now, let

us go to the kitchen and get some food for my friends and

mewe have been traveling and we are very hungry."

She leaned down and helped Charystra to her feet, then

bent again to retrieve the bread and cheese that had fallen.

"See?" she said cheerfully, taking the dumbfounded

woman by the arm. "We will be sure to waste nothing,

and we will pay for all."

They disappeared down the stairs.

Miriamele found herself working in a sort of haze. She

was concentrating so intently on the task at hand that she

lost all track of the reasons fof what she was doing until

she heard Tiamak's excited cry and his rabbitlike thump-

ing on the roof overhead. Her heart speeding, she

snatched up a last handful of wizened onionsCharystra

went to few pains to keep her larder well-stockedand

bolted for the dooryard, hurrying the protesting innkeeper

along before her.

"Here, what do you think you're at?" Charystra com-

plained. "There's no cause to be treating me this way,

whoever you are!"

"Hush! All will be well." She wished she believed it.

As she reached the common room door, she heard

Isgrimnur's heavy footsteps on the stairs. He quickly

moved up behind, allowing the balking Charystra no

room for escape, and together they pushed through into

the dooryard. Camaris and Cadrach were working so in-

tently that they did not look up at the entrance of their

comrades. The old knight held a pitch-smeared brush, the

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monk a stnp of heavy sailcloth which he was hacking at

with a knife.

A moment later Tiamak came slithering down from the

rafters. "I saw soldiers, not far distant," he said breath-

lessly. "They are a thousand paces away, maybe fewer,

and they are coming here'"

"Are they the same ones?" Isgrimnur asked. "Damn

me, of course they are! We must go. Is the boat patched?"

"I would guess that it wilt keep the water out for a

while," Cadrach said calmly. "If we bring these things

with us," he indicated the pitch and sailcloth, "we can do

a better and more thorough job when we stop."

"If we get a chance to stop at all," the duke growled.

"Very well. Miriamele?"

"I have stripped the larders. Not that it took much

work."

Charystra, who had regained a little of her haughtiness,

drew herself up. "And what are my guests and I going to

eat?" she demanded. "The finest table in Kwamtupul, I'm

known for."

Isgrimnur's snort fluttered his whiskers. "It's not your

table that's the problem, it's the muck you put on top of

it. You'll be paid, womanbut first you're going to take

a little voyage."

"What?" Charystra shrieked. "I'm a God-loving

Aedonite woman! What are you going to do with me?"

The duke grimaced and looked at the others. "I do not

like this, but we cannot leave her here. We will put her off

somewhere safewith her money." He turned to

Cadrach. "Take some of that rope and tie her up, will

you? And try not to hurt her."

The last few preparations were finished to the accom-

paniment of Charystra's outraged protests. Tiamak, who

seemed quite worried that Isgrimnur might have forgotten

some precious items of their baggage, ran upstairs to

make certain nothing had been left behind- When he re-

turned, he Joined the others in their efforts to move the

large boat out through the broad side-door of the yard.

"Any decent boatyard would have a windlass,"

Isgrimnur complained. Sweat was pouring down his face.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER351

Miriamele worried that one of the two older men might

hurt themselves, but Camaris, for all his years, seemed ut-

terly untroubled by carrying his share of the weight, and

Isgrimnur was still a powerful man. Rather, it was

Cadrach, wrung out by their misadventures, and slender

Tiamak who had the most trouble. Miriamele wanted to

help, but did not dare leave bound Charystra alone for a

moment for fear she would raise an alarm or fall into the

water and drown.

As they staggered down the ramp to the rear dock,

Miriamele was certain she could hear the tramping

bootsteps of Aspitis and his minions. The progress of the

boat seemed horrifically slow, a blind eight-legged beetle

that snagged itself on every narrow turning.

"Hurry!" she said. Her charge Charystra, understanding

nothing but her own plight, moaned.

At last they reached the water. As they eased the boat

over the edge of the floating dock, Cadrach reached down

between the benches and lifted out the heavy maul from

the pile of tools they had brought for patching the hull,

then went back up the ramp toward the inn,

"What are you doing?" Miriamele shouted. "They'll be

here at any moment!"

"I know." Cadrach broke into an uneven trot, the huge

hammer cradled against his chest.

Isgrimnur glowered. "Is the man mad?"

"I don't know." Miriamele urged Charystra toward the

boat, which was scraping gently against the side of the

dock. When the innkeeper resisted, old Camaris stood up

and lifted her down as easily a father might his small

daughter, then placed her on the bench beside him. The

woman huddled there, a tear snaking down her cheek;

Miriamele could not help but feel sorry for her.

A moment later Cadrach reappeared, pelting down the

gangway. He clambered into the boat with the help of the

others, then pushed it away from the dock. The nose

swung out toward the middle of the canal.

Miriamele helped the monk squeeze onto the bench.

"What were you doing?"

Cadrach took a moment to catch his breath, then care-

352

Tad miliams

fully laid the maul back down atop the bundle of sail-

cloth. "There was another boat. I wanted to make sure

that it would take them a lot longer to patch it than we

took on this. You can't chase anyone through Kwanitupul

without a boat."

"Good man," said Isgrimnur- "Although I'm sure they

will get a boat soon enough."

Tiamak pointed. "Look!" A dozen blue-cloaked, hel-

meted men were passing along the wooden walkway to-

ward Pelippa's Bowl.

"First they will knock," Cadrach said quietly. "Then

they will push down the door. Then they will see what

we've done and start searching for a boat"

"So we'd better take advantage of our head start.

Row!" Suiting action to word, Isgrimnur bent to his

sweep, Camaris also bent, and as their two oar-blades bit

at the green water the little boat leaped forward.

In the stem, Miriamele peered back at the diminishing

inn. In the antlike movement of people near the entrance-

way, she thought she could discern a momentary flash of

golden hair. Stricken, she dropped her eyes to the choppy

canal and prayed to God's mother and several saints that

she would never have to see Aspitis again.

"It is only a little farther." The wall-eyed Rimmersman

looked at the palisade of gnarled pine trees as fondly as

at a familiar street. "There you can rest and eat."

"Thank you, Dypnir," Isom said. "That will be good."

He might have said more, but Eolair had caught at his bri-

dle and slowed his horse- Dypnir, who had not seemed to

notice, let his own mount carry him a little ahead until he

was only a shadow in the forest dusk.

"Are you sure you can trust this man, Isorn?" the

Count of Nad Mullach asked. "If you are not, let us de-

mand some further proof of him now, before we ride into

an ambush."

Isom's wide brow furrowed. "He is of Skoggey. Those

folk are loyal to my father."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

353

"He says that he is from Skoggey. And they were loyal

to your father." Eolair shook his head, amazed that the

son of a duke could have so little craft. Still, he could not

help admiring Isom's kind and open heart.

Anyone that can keep himself so, in the midst of all this

horror, is someone to be treasured, the count thought, but

he felt a responsibility for, among other things, his own

skin that would not let him be silent, even if it risked of-

fending Duke Isgrimnur's son.

Isom smiled at Eolair's worry. "He knows the folk he

should know. In any case, this is a rather tricksy way to

go about ambushing a half-dozen men. Don't you think

that if this fellow was Skali's we would simply have been

fallen upon by a hundred Kaldskrykemen?"

Eolair frowned. "Not if this fellow is only a scout, and

looking to earn his spurs with a clever capture. Enough,

then. But I will keep my sword loose in the sheath."

The young Rimmersman laughed. "As will I, Count

Eolair. You forget, I spent much of my childhood with

Einskaldir, Aedon rest himthe most mistrusting man

who ever drew breath."

The Hemystinnan found himself laughing a little, too.

Einskaldir's impatience and quick temper had always

seemed more in keeping with the old pagan Rimmersgard

whose gods were as volatile as the weather, hard as the

Vestivegg Mountains.

Eolair and Isom and the four Thrithings-men sent by

Hotvig had been traveling together for several weeks

now. Hotvig's men were friendly enough, but the journey

through the civilized lands of eastern Erkynland

civilized with houses and fields that bore the marks of

cultivation, though at the moment it seemed largely

unpopulatedhad filled them with a certain unease. More

and more, as the trek wore on and the grasslanders found

themselves farther each day from the plains of their birth,

they became moody and sullen, speaking almost entirely

to each other in the guttural Thrithings tongue, sitting up

at night around the fire singing the songs of their home-

land. As a result, Isorn and Eolair had been thrown back

almost entirely on each other's company.

354

Tad Williams

To the count's relief, he had found there was a great

deal more to the duke's yellow-haired bear of a son than

was at first apparent. He was brave, there was little doubt

of that, but it seemed unlike the courageousness of many

brave men Eolair had known, who felt that to be other-

wise was to fail somehow in the sight of others. Young

Isom simply seemed to know little fear, and to do the

things he did only because they were right and necessary.

Not that he was completely nerveless. His shuddersome

story about his captivity among the Black Rimmersmen,

of the torture he and his fellows had suffered and of the

haunting presence of pale-skinned immortal visitors, still

affected him so strongly that he found it difficult to tell.

Yet Eolair, with his sharp intriguer's eye, thought that

anyone else who had suffered such an experience would

have taken it even more to heart. To Isom it was a terrible

time that was now over, and that was that.

So, as the little company had passed along the hillsides

above eerily empty Hasu Vale and through the fringes of

the Aldheorte, wide-skirting the menace of snowbound

Erchester and the Hayhottand also, Eolair could not

help recalling, of tall Thisterborgthe Count of Nad

Mullach had found himself growing more and more fond

of this young Rimmersman, whose love for his father and

mother was so firm and uncomplicated, whose love of his

people was almost as strong and was virtually inseparable

from his feelings for his family. Still, Eolair, tired and

bruised by events, sick already of the horrors of war be-

fore this most recent one had begun, could not help won-

dering if he himself had ever been as young as Isom.

"Almost there." Dypnir's voice brought Eolair's mind

back to the dim forest track.

"I only hope they have something to drink," Isom said,

grinning, "and enough of it to share."

As Eolair opened his mouth to reply, a new voice

cracked through the evening.

"Hold! Stand where you are!" It was Westerling, spo-

ken with the thickness of Rimmersgard. Isom and Eolaii

reined up. Behind them, the four Thrithings-men brought

TOGREENANGELTOWER

355

their horses to an effortless halt. Eolair could hear them

wh'spering among themselves.

"It's me," their guide called, leaning his bearded head

to the side so the hidden watcher could mark him.

"Dypnir. I bring allies."

"Dypnir?" There was a note of doubt in the question. It

was followed by a flurry of Rimmerspakk. Isom seemed

to be listening carefully.

"What do they say?" Eolair whispered. "I cannot fol-

low when they speak so fast."

"About what you would expect. Dypnir has been gone

several days, and they ask him why. He explains about his

horse."

Eolair and his companions had found Dypnir beside a

forest trail in the western Aldheorte, hiding near the

corpse of his mount, whose leg had been broken in a hole

and whose throat Dypnir himself had slit a few moments

before. After sharing out the burdens of one of the pack-

horses, they had given that mount to the Rimmersman in

exchange for his aid in finding men who could help

themthey had not been too specific about the type of

help they needed, except that it seemed understood by all

parties that it would not be to the benefit of Skali Sharp-

nose.

"Very well." The hidden sentry returned to Westerling

speech. "You will follow Dypnir. But you will go slow,

and with your hands where we can see them. We have

bows, so if you think to play foolish games with us in a

dark forest, you will be sorry."

Isorn sat straighter. "We understand. But play no games

with us, either." He added something in Rimmerspakk.

After a moment of silence, some sign was given and

Dypnir started forward, Eolair's party behind him.

They plodded on for a little while into the deepening

evening.

At first all that the Count of Nad Mullach could see

were tiny sparks like red stars. As they rode forward and

the lights wavered and danced, he realized that he was

seeing the flames of a fire through close-knit, needled

branches. The company turned abruptly and rode through

356

Tad Williams

a hedge of trees, ducking at Dypnir's whispered insist-

ence, and the warm light of the blaze rose up all around

them.

The camp was what was called a woodsman's hall, a

clearing in a copse of trees that had been walled against

the wind by bundles of pine and fir branches tied between

the trunks. In the center of the open space, ranged about the

firepit, sat perhaps three or four dozen men, their eyes glint-

ing with reflected light as they silently observed the strang-

ers. Many of them wore the dirty and tattered remnants of

battle costumes; all bore the look of men who had long

slept out-of-doors,

Rhynn 's Cauldron, it is a camp of outlaws. We will be

robbed and killed. Eolair felt a brief clutch of dismay at

the thought that his quest should end so pointlessly, and

of disgust that they should have ridden so trustingly to

their deaths.

Some of the men nearest the entrance to the copse drew

their weapons. The Thri things-men shifted on their

horses, hands snaking down to their own hilts. Before

anyone's untoward movement could touch off a fatal con-

frontation, Dypnir flapped his hands in the air and slid

down from his borrowed steed. The husky Rimmersman,

far less graceful on land than on horseback, stumped to

the center of the clearing.

"Here," he said. 'These men are friends."

"No one is a friend who comes to eat out of our pot,"

one of the grimmest-looking growled. "And who is to say

they are not Skali's spies?"

Isorn, who had been watching as quietly as Eolair, sud-

denly leaned forward in the saddle. "Ule?" he said won-

deringly. "Are you not Ule, the son of Frekke Grayhair?"

The man stared at him, eyes narrowed. He was perhaps

Eolair's age. So much dirt was on his lined, weathered

face that he seemed to be wearing a mask. A hand-ax

with a pitted blade was thrust through his belt. "I am Ule

Frekkeson. How do you know my name?" He was stiff,

tensed as if to spring.

Isom dismounted and took a step toward him. "I am

Isorn, son of Duke Isgrimnur of Elvritsnalla. Your father

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

357

was one of my own father's most loyal companions. Do

you not remember me, Ule?"

A dry rustle of movement around the clearing and a

few whispered comments were all this revelation engen-

dered- If Isom expected the man before him to leap up

and joyfully embrace him, he was disappointed. "You

have grown since I last saw you, manling," said Frekke's

son, "but I see your father's face in yours," Ule stared at

him. Something was moving behind the man's quiet an-

ger. "Your father is duke no longer, and all of his men are

outlaws. Why do you come to plague us?"

"We come to ask your help. There are many beside

yourself unhomed, and they have begun to gather together

to take back what was stolen from them. I bring you tid-

ings from my father, the rightful dukeand from Josua of

Erkynland, who is his ally against Skali Sharp-nose."

The murmur of surprise grew louder. Ule paid no atten-

tion. "This is a sad trick, boy. Your father is dead at

Naglimund, your Prince Josua with him. Do not come to

us with goblin stories because you think it would be nice

to rule over a pack of house-carls again. We are free men

now." Some of his companions-growled their agreement.

"Free men?" Isom's voice suddenly grew tight with

fury. "Look at you! Look at this!" He gestured around the

clearing. Watching, Eolair marveled to see this sudden

passion in the young man. "Free to skulk in the woods

like dogs who have been whipped from the hall, do you

mean? Where are your homes, your wives, your children?

My father is alive... !" He paused, steadying his voice.

Eolair wondered if the thought had entered Isom's head

that Isgrimnur's safety was not quite so sure as he made

it sound, "My father will have his lands back," he said.

"Those who help him will have their own steadings back

as welland more beside, because when we are finished

Skali and his Kaldskrykemen will leave behind many un-

husbanded women, many an untended field. Any true

men that we find to follow us will be well rewarded."

A harsh laugh rose up from the watching men, but it

was one of enjoyment at the boast, not mockery. Eolair,

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Tad Williams

sensibilities honed by years of courtly sparring, could feel

the spirit of the moment beginning to turn their way.

Ule suddenly rose, his beariike body wide in his ragged

furs. The noise of the onlookers dwindled away. 'Tell me

then, Isom Isgrimnurson," he demanded- 'Tell me what

happened to my father, who served your father all his life.

Does he wait for me at the end of your road, like the man-

hungry widows and the wide, masterless fields you speak

of? Will he be waiting to embrace his son?" He was shak-

ing with rage.

Clear-eyed Isorn did not flinch. He took a slow breath.

"He was at Naglimund, Ule. The castle fell before the

siege of King Elias. Only a few escaped, and your father

was not one of them. If he died, though, he died brave-

ly." He paused, lost for a moment in memory. "He was

always very kind to me."

"The damned old man loved you like his own grand-

child," Ule said bitterly, then took a lurching step for-

ward. In the moment of stunned silence Eolair fumbled

for his sword, cursing his own slowness. Ule grabbed

Isom in a rib-cracking embrace, dragging the duke's son

forward and lifting the taller man off the ground.

"God curse Skali!" Tears made pale tracks on Ule's

dirty face. "The murderer, the devil-cursed murderer! It is

bloodfeud forever." He let Isom go and wiped his face

with his sleeve. "Sharp-nose must die. Then my father

will laugh in heaven."

Isom stared at him for a moment, then tears came to

his eyes. "My father loved Frekke, Ule. 1 loved him, too."

"Blood on the Tree, is there nothing to drink in this

wretched place!?" Dypnir shouted. All around, the tat-

tered men came pressing forward to welcome Isom home.

*

"What I am going to say to you will sound most

strangely," Maegwin began- More nervous than she had

thought she would be, she took a moment to smooth the

folds of her old black dress. "But I am the daughter of

King Lluth, and I love Hemystir more than I love my own

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

359

life. I would sooner tear out my own heart than lie to

you."

Her people, gathered together in the largest of the cav-

erns beneath the Grianspog, the great high-ceilinged cat-

acomb where Justice was dispensed and food was shared

out, listened attentively. What Maegwin said might in-

deed prove strange, but they were going to hear her out.

What could be so odd as to be unbelievable in a world as

mad as the one in which they found themselves?

Maegwin looked back to Diawen, who stood just be-

hind her. The scryer, eyes radiant with some personal

happiness, smiled her approval. "Tell them!" Diawen

whispered.

"You know that the gods have spoken to me in

dreams," Maegwin said loudly. "They put a song of the

elder days into my head and taught me to bring you here

into the rocky caverns where we would be safe. Then

Cuamh Earthdog, the god of the depths, led me to a secret

place that had not been seen since before Tethtain's

timea place where the gods had a gift in store for us.

You!" She pointed at one of the scribes who had de-

scended to Mezutu'a with Eolair to copy the dwarrow's

maps- "Stand and tell the people what you saw."

The old man rose unsteadily, leaning for support on one

of his young pupils. "It was indeed a city of the gods,"

he quavered, "deep in the earthbigger than all Hemy-

sadharc, set in a cavern wide as the bay at Crannhyr." He

threw his thin arms apart in a helpless attempt to indicate

the stone city's vastness. "There were creatures in that

place like none I have seen, whispering in the shadows."

He raised his hand as several of the onlookers made signs

against evil. "But they did us no harm, and even led us to

their secret places, where we did what the princess asked

us to do."

Maegwin gestured for the scribe to sit down. "The gods

showed me the city, and there we found things that will

help turn the tide of battle against Skali and his master,

Elias of Erkynland. Eolair has taken those gifts to our

alliesyou all saw him go."

Heads nodded throughout the crowd. Among people as

360 Tad Williams

isolated as these earth-dwellers had become, the departure

of the Count of Nad Mullach on a mysterious errand had

been the subject of several weeks' worth of gossip.

"So twice the gods have spoken to me. Twice they

have been correct."

But even as she spoke, Maegwin felt a twinge of worry.

Was that really true? Hadn't she cursed herself for

misinterpretingeven at times blamed the gods them-

selves for sending her cruel, false signs? She paused, sud-

denly beset by doubt, but Diawen reached forward and

touched her shoulder, as if the scryer had heard her trou-

bled thoughts. Maegwin found the courage to go on.

"Now the gods have spoken to mea third time, and

with the mightiest words of all. I saw Brynioch himself"

For surely, she thought, it must have been him. The

strange face and golden stare burned in her memory like

the afterimage of sun against the blackness of closed eye-

lids. "And Brynioch told me that the gods would send

help to Hemystir'"

A few of the audience, caught up in Maegwin's own

fervor, raised their voices in a cheer. Others, unsure but

hopeful, exchanged glances with their neighbors.

"Craobhan," Maegwin called. "Stand and tell our peo-

ple how I was found."

The old counselor got up with obvious reluctance. The

look on his face told all: he was a statesman, a practical

man who did not hold with such high-flown things as

prophecies and the gods speaking to princesses. The folk

gathered in the cavern knew that. For this reason, he was

Maegwin's master stroke.

Craobhan looked around the chamber. "We found Prin-

cess Maegwin on Bradach Tor," he intoned. His voice

could still carry powerfully despite his years; he had used

it to great effect in the service of Maegwin's father and

grandfather. "I did not see, but the men who brought her

down are known to me, and ... and trustworthy. She had

been three days on the mountain, but had taken no hurt

from the cold. When they found her she was .. ." he

looked helplessly at Maegwin, but saw nothing in her

TOGREENANGELTOWER361

stem face that would allow him to escape this moment,

"... she was in the grip of some deep, deep dream."

The gathering buzzed. Bradach Tor was a place of

strange repute, and it was stranger still that it should be

climbed by a woman during frozen winter.

"Was it just a dream?" Diawen said sharply from be-

hind Maegwin. Craobhan looked at her angrily, then

shrugged.

"The men said it was like no dream they had ever

seen," he said. "Her eyes were open, and she spoke as

though to someone who stood before her ... but nothing

was there but empty air."

"Who was she speaking to?" Diawen asked.

Old Craobhan shrugged again. "She ... was speaking

as though she addressed the godsand she listened be-

times, as though they were speaking to her in turn,"

"Thank you, Craobhan," Maegwin said gently. "You

are a loyal and honest man. It is no wonder my father val-

ued you so highly." The old counselor sat down. He did

not look happy. "I know that the gods have spoken to

me," she continued. "I was given a sight of the place

where the gods dwell, of the gods themselves in their in-

vincible beauty, caparisoned for war."

"For war?" someone shouted. "Against who, my lady?

Who do the gods fight?"

"Not who," Maegwin said, raising an admonitory fin-

ger. "But for whom. The gods will fight for us." She

leaned forward, quelling the rising murmur of the crowd.

"They will destroy our enemiesbut only if we give our

hearts to them wholly."

"They have our hearts, lady, they do!" a woman cried.

Someone else shouted: "Why have they not helped us

before now? We have always honored them."

Maegwin waited until the clamor died down. "We have

always honored them, it is true, but in the manner that

one honors an old relative, out of grudging habit. We

have never shown them honor worthy of their power,

their beauty, worthy of the gifts they have given our peo-

ple!" Her voice rose. She could feel again the nearness of

the gods; the sensation rose inside her like a spring of

362Tad Williams

clear water. It was such an odd, heady feeling that she

burst out laughing, which brought amazement to the faces

of the people around her. "No!" she shouted. "We have

performed the rites, polished the carvings, lit the sacred

fires, but very few of us have ever asked what more the

gods might wish as proof that we are worth their aid."

Craobhan cleared his throat. "And what do they want,

Maegwin, do you think?" He addressed her in a way that

seemed untowardly familiar, but she only laughed again.

"They want us to show our trust! To show our devo-

tion, our willingness to put our lives in their handsas

our lives have been all along. The gods will help us, this

I have seen for myselfbut only if we show that we are

worthy! Why did Bagba give cattle to men? Because men

had lost their horses fighting in the wars of the gods, in

the time of the gods' truest need."

Even as she spoke, it all suddenly became clear to

Maegwin- How right Diawen had been! The dwarrows,

the frightened Sitha-woman who had spoken through the

Shard, the frighteningly endless winterit was all so

clear now!

"For you see," she cried, "the gods themselves are at

war! Why do you think that snow has fallen, that winter

has come and never left although more than a dozen

moons have changed? Why do ancient terrors walk the

Frostmarchthings not seen since Hem's day? Because

the gods are at war even as we are at war. As the soldier-

ing games of children ape the combats of warriors, so is

our small conflict beside the great war that rages in the

heavens." She took a breath and felt the god-feeling bub-

bling inside her, filling her with joyful strength. She was

sure now that she had seen the truth. It was bright as sun-

light to a new-wakened sleeper. "But just as the learning

of childhood is what shapes the wars of grown folk, so

does our strife here on the green earth affect the wars of

heaven. So if we wish the help of the gods, we must help

them in turn. We must be bold, and we must trust in their

beneficence. We must work the greatest magic against

darkness that we have."

TOGREENANGELTOWER363

"Magic?" a voice cried, an old man's distrustful rasp.

"Is that what the scryer woman's taught you?"

Maegwin heard Diawen's hiss of indrawn breath, but

she was feeling too bold for anger. "Nonsense!" she

shouted. "I do not mean the fumblings of conjurors. I

mean the sort of magic that speaks as loudly in heaven as

it does upon the earth. The magic of our love for

Hemystir and the gods. Do you wish to see our enemies

vanquished? Do you wish to walk your green land

again?"

'Tell us what we must do!" a woman near the front

shouted.

"I will." Maegwin felt a great sense of peace and

strength. The cavern had grown silent, and several hun-

dred faces peered intently up at her. Just before her, old

Craobhan's deep-lined, skeptical brow was creased with

anger and worry. Maegwin loved him at that moment, for

she saw in his defeated look the vindication of her suffer-

ing and the proof of the power of her dreams. "I will tell

you all," she said again, louder, and her voice echoed and

echoed again through the great cavern, so strong, so full

of triumphant certainty that few could doubt that they

were indeed hearing the chosen messenger of the gods.

A

Miramele and her companions lingered only a few mo-

ments to put Charystra ashore on an isolated dock in the

furthest outskirts of Kwanitupul. The innkeeper's violated

feelings were only partially soothed by the bag of coins

Isgrimnur tossed onto the weathered boards at her feet.

"God will punish you for treating an Aedonite woman

this way!" she cried as they rowed away. She was still

standing on the edge of the rickety dock, waving a fist

and shouting incomprehensibly, as their slow-sliding boat

nosed down a canal lined by twisted trees and she was

lost from view.

Cadrach winced. "If what we have experienced lately

has been God's way of showing His favor, I think I would

364

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be willing to try a little of His punishment, just for a

change."

"No blasphemy," Isgrimnur growled, leaning hard on

his oar. "We are still alive, against all reason, and still

free. That is indeed a gift."

The monk shrugged, unimpressed, but said no more.

They floated out into an open lagoon, so shallow that

stalks of marsh-grass poked from the surface and wavered

in the wind. Miriamele watched Kwanitupul slipping

away behind them. In the late afternoon light, the low

gray city seemed a collection of drifting flotsam that had

snagged on a sandbar, vast but purposeless. She felt a ter-

rible longing for some place to call home, for even the

most mindless and stifling routines of everyday life. At

the moment there was not a single scrap of charm left in

the idea of adventuring.

"There is still no one behind us," Isgrimnur said with

some satisfaction. "Once we reach the swamps, we will

be safe."

Tiamak, sitting in the bow of the boat, gave a curious,

strangled laugh. "Do not say such a thing." He pointed to

the right. "There, head for that small canal, just between

those two large baobab trees. No, do not talk like that.

You might attract attention."

"What attention?" asked the duke, irritated.

"They Who Breathe Darkness. They like to take men's

brave words and bring them back to them in fear."

"Heathen spirits," Isgrimnur muttered-

The little man laughed again, a sad and helpless giggle.

He slapped his hand against his bony thigh so that the

smack rang echoing across the sluggish water, then he so-

bered abruptly. "I am so ashamed. You people must think

me a fool. I studied with the finest scholars in

PerdruinI am as civilized as any drylander! But now we

are going back to my home ... and I am frightened. Sud-

denly the old gods of my childhood seem more real than

ever."

Next to Miriamele, Cadrach was nodding in a coldly

satisfied way.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWF.R365

The trees and their raiment of clinging vines grew

thicker as the afternoon wore on, and the canals down

which Tiamak directed them grew progressively smaller

and less well-defined, full of thick weeds. By the time the

sun was scudding toward the leafy horizon, Camaris and

CadrachIsgrimnur was taking a well-deserved rest

could hardly drag their oars through the mossy water.

"Soon we will have to use the oars as poles only."

Tiamak squinted at the murky waterway. "I hope that this

boat is small enough to go where we must take it. There

is no doubt we will soon have to find something with a

more shallow draft, but it would be good to be farther in,

so that there will be less chance our pursuers will dis-

cover what we have done."

"I don't have a cintis-piece left." Isgrimnur fanned

away the cloud of tiny insects that hovered around his

head. "What will we use to trade for another boat?"

"This one," Tiamak said. "We will not get anything so

sturdy in return, but whoever trades with us will know

that they can sell this in Kwanitupul for enough to buy

two or three fiatboats, and also a barrel of palm wine."

"Speaking of boats," Cadrach said, resting against his

sweep for a moment, "I can feel more water around my

toes than I like. Should we not stop soon and patch this

one, especially if we are condemned to keep it for a few

more days? I would not care to look for a camping place

on this mucky ground in the dark."

"The monk is right," Tiamak told Isgrimnur. "It is time

to stop."

As they glided slowly along, with the Wrannaman

standing in the bow inspecting the tangled coastline for a

suitable mooring place, Miriamele occasionally caught a

glimpse through the close-leaning trees of small, ram-

shackle huts. "Are those your people's houses?" she

asked Tiamak.

He shook his head, a slight smile curving his lips. "No,

lady, they are not. Those of my folk who must live in

Kwanitupul for their livelihood live in Kwanitupul. This

is not the true Wran, and to live in this place would be

worse for them than simply enduring the two seasons a

366 Tad Williams

year they spend in the city, then returning to their villages

after their money is earned. No, those who live here are

drylanders mostly, Perdruinese and Nabbanai who have

left the cities. They are strange folk who are not much

like their brethren, for many of them have lived long on

the edge of the marshes. In Kwanitupul they are called

'shoalers' or 'edge-hoppers,' and are thought to be odd

and unreliable." He smiled again, bashfully, as if embar-

rassed by his long explanation, then returned to his search

for a campsite.

Miriamele saw a wisp of smoke trailing upward from

one of the hidden houses, and wondered what it would be

like to live in such an isolated place, to hear no human

voice from the start of the day until the end. She looked

up at the overarching trees and their strange shapes, the

roots twisted like serpents where they ran down to the

water, the branches gnarled and grasping. The narrow wa-

tercourse, now shadowed from the dying sun, seemed

lined by lonely shapes that reached out as if to clutch at

the small boat and hold it fast, to pinion it until the waters

would rise and the mud and roots and vines would swal-

low it. She shivered. Somewhere in the shaded hollows, a

bird screeched like a frightened child.

12

Raven's Dance

At first the battle did not seem real to Simon. From his

position on the lower slopes of Sesuad'ra, the great ex-

panse of frozen lake lay before him like a marble floor,

and beyond it the snow-stippled downs stretched to the

snow-blanketed, wooded hills across the valley. Every-

thing was so smallso far away! Simon could almost

trick himself into believing that he had returned to the

Hayholt and was peering down from Green Angel Tower

on the busily harmless movements of castle folk.

From Simon's vantage point, the initial sally of

Sesuad'ra's defendersmeant (o keep Duke Fengbald's

troops out on the ice and away from the log barricade that

protected the entrance to the Sithi roadseemed a caper-

ing display of intricate puppetry. Men waved swords and

axes, then fell to the ice pierced by invisible arrows,

dropping as suddenly as if some titanic master had loosed

their strings. It all seemed so distant! But even as he mar-

veled at the miniature combat, Simon knew that what he

was watching was in deadly earnest, and that he would be

seeing it closer soon enough.

The rams and their riders were both growing restive.

Those of Simon's Qanuc troop whose hiding places did

not allow them a view of the frozen lake were calling

whispered questions to those who could see. The steamy

breath of the entire company hung close overhead. All

around, the branches of the trees shimmered with droplets

of melting snow.

Simon, as impatient as his trollish companions, leaned

368 Tad Williams

into Homefinder's neck. He inhaled her reassuring smell

and felt the warmth of her skin. He wanted so to do the

right thing, to help Josua and his other friends; at the

same time, he was mortally afraid of what might happen

down there on the glassy surface of the frozen lake- But

for now, he could only wait. Both death and glory would

have to be put off, at least for Simon and these small war-

riors.

He watched carefully, trying to make sense of the chaos

before him. The line of Fengbald's soldiers, which was

holding tightly to the sandy path laid for them by their

battle-sledges, rippled as the wave of defenders struck

them. But although they wavered, Fengbald's force held,

then struck back at their attackers, hitting and then dis-

persing the initial clump into several smaller groupings.

The leading company of Fengbald's soldiers then

swarmed around their attackers, so that the firm line of

the Duke's forces quickly became a number of actively

moving points, each small skirmish largely self-

contained. Simon could not help thinking of wasps clus-

tering around a scatter of scraps.

The muffled sounds of combat were rising. The faint

clanking as swords and axes struck armor, the dim bel-

lows of rage and terror, all added to the sense of remote-

ness, as though the battle were being fought beneath the

frozen lake instead of atop it.

Even to Simon's untrained eye, it quickly became obvi-

ous that the defenders' opening sally had failed. The sur-

vivors were breaking away from Fengbald's line, which

was still swelling as more and more of his army made its

way out onto the lake. Those of Josua's soldiers who

could pull free were skidding and crawling back over the

naked ice to the dubious safety of the barricade and the

wooded hillside.

Homefinder snorted beneath Simon's stroking hand and

wagged her head restively. Simon gritted his teeth. They

had no choice, he knew. The prince wished them to wait

until they were called, even if it looked as if all might be

lost before their time came.

TOGREENANGELTOWER369

Waiting. Simon let out an angry sigh. Waiting was so

hard....

A

Father Strangyeard was hopping about in an agony of

worry.

"Oh!" he said, almost slipping on the muddy earth.

"Poor Deomoth!"

Sangfugol reached out a hand and snagged the archi-

vist's sleeve, saving the priest from a long tumble down

the hillside.

Josua was standing upslope, peering down at the battle

site. His red Thrithings-horse, Vinyafod, stood nearby,

reins tied loosely around a low branch. "There!" Josua

could not keep the exultation from his voice. "I see his

cresthe is still on his feet!" The prince leaned forward,

teetering precariously. Below, Sangfugol made a reflexive

gesture to go toward him, as though the harper might

have to catch his master as he had rescued the priest.

"Now he has broken free!" Josua cried, relief in his

voice. "Brave Deomoth! He is rallying the men and they

are falling back, but slowly. Ah; God's Peace, I-love him

dearly!"

"Praise Aedon's name." Strangyeard made the sign of

the Tree. "May they all come back safely." He was

flushed with exertion and excitement, his eyepatch a

black spot atop the mottled pink-

Sangfugol made a bitter noise- "Half of them are lying

bloody on the ice, already. What is important is that some

of Fengbald's men are doing the same." He clambered

atop a stone and squinted down at the milling shapes. "I

think I see Fengbald, Josua!" he called.

"Aye," the prince said. "But has he taken the feint?"

"Fengbald is an idiot," Sangfugol replied. "He will

take it like a trout takes a shadfly."

Josua looked away from the battle for a moment, turn-

ing to the harper with a look of cool, if somewhat dis-

tracted, amusement. "Oh, he will, will he? I wish I had

your confidence, Sangfugol."

370

Tad Williams

The harper flushed. "I beg your pardon. Highness. I

only meant that Fengbald is not the tactician that you

are."

The prince returned his attention to the lake below.

"Don't waste time with flattery, harperat this moment,

I fear I'm too busy to appreciate it- And don't make the

mistake of underestimating an enemy, either." He stared,

shading his eyes against the glare of the shrouded sun,

which was climbing behind the clouds. "Damnation! He

hasn't taken it, not entirely! There, see, he has only

brought part of his troop forward. The rest are still hud-

dled at the edge of the lake."

Embarrassed, Sangfugol said nothing. Strangyeard was

hopping up and down again. "Where is Deomoth? Oh,

curse this old eye!"

"Still falling back." Josua leaped down from his perch,

then made his way down the hill to where they stood.

"Binabik has not yet returned from Hotvig and I cannot

wait any longer. Where is Simon's boy?"

Jeremias, who had been crouching beside a toppled log,

trying to stay out of the way, now leaped to his feet.

"Here, Your Highness."

"Good. Go now, first to Freosel, then down the hill to

Hotvig and his riders. Tell them to make readythat we

will strike now after all. They will hear my signal

shortly."

Jeremias bowed quickly, his face pale but composed,

then turned and dashed up the trail-

Josua was frowning. Down on the ice, Fengbald's army

of Erkynguardsmen and mercenaries indeed seemed to

be moving forward only hesitantly, despite their success

in the first engagement. "Welladay," said the prince,

"Fengbald has grown more cautious with his advancing

years and greater burdens. Damn his eyes! Still, we have

no choice but to pull the trapdoor shut on whatever of his

force we can catch." His laugh was sour. "We will leave

tomorrow for the Devil."

"Prince Josua!" gasped Strangyeard, so shocked that he

ceased hopping. He sketched another hasty Tree in the air

before him.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

371

The hot breath of men and horses hung over the lake as

a mist. It was hard to see clearly for more than a few ells

in any direction, and even those men Deomoth could see

were dim and insubstantial, so that the clamor of combat

seemed to come from some ghost battle.

Deomoth caught the guardsman's downward stroke on

his hilt. The impact nearly shivered his blade loose from

his grip, but he managed to retain it in his tingling fingers

long enough to bring it up for a counterswipe. His stroke

missed, but slashed the guardsman's mount on an unpro-

tected legl The dappled horse shrieked and bounced back

a few steps, then lost its footing and tumbled to the

ragged ice with a crash and a spurt of powdery snow.

Deomoth reined in Vildalix; they danced away from the

fallen charger, who was thrashing wildly. Its rider was

trapped beneath, but unlike the horse, he was making no

noise.

Breath whistling in the confines of his helmet,

Deomoth raised his sword and hammered it against his

shield as loud as he could. His hornsman, one of the

young and untrained soldiers from New Gadrinsett, had

gone down in the first crush, and now there was no one

to blow the retreat.

"Hark to me!" Deomoth shouted, redoubling the clat-

ter. "Fall back, all men, fall back!"

As he looked around, his mouth filled with something

salty and he spat. A gobbet of red flew out through the

helmet's vertical slot and onto the ice. The wetness on his

face was blood, probably the wound he had gotten when

another of the guardsmen had dented his headgear. He

could not feel ithe never did feel such small hurts while

the fight was ragingbut he offered a quick prayer to

Mother Elysia that the blood would not run into his eyes

and blind him at an important moment.

Some of his men had heard and were collapsing back

around his position. They were not true fighting men yet,

God knew, but so far they had shown themselves bravely

against a formidable line of Erkynguards. They were not

372

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meant to break Fengbald's leading force, but only to slow

them, and perhaps to lure them incautiously toward the

barricade and the first of Josua's surprises: New

Cadi-insert's few dependable archers and their small hoard

of arrows. Bowmen alone would not change the course of

this battlethe mounted knights on both sides were too

well-armoredbut they would wreak some havoc, and

force Fengbald's men to think twice before launching an

unbridled assault against the base of Sesuad'ra. So far,

very few arrows had flown from either side, although a

few of Deomoth's makeshift troops had gone down in the

first moments of their assault with shafts quivering in

their throats or even punched through chain mail into a

chest or stomach. Now the fog caused by the rising sun

would make it even more difficult for Fengbald's men to

make use of their bows.

Thank God it is Fengbald we are fighting, Deomoth

thought. He was almost immediately forced to duck, sur-

prised by the flailing blade of a mounted guardsman who

appeared without warning out of the murk. The horse

clattered by, receding into insubstantiality once more.

Deomoth took a few quick, deep breaths-

Mounted knights and kems we can deal with, at least

for a while. Only Fengbald would be so foolhardy as to

besiege a fortified hill without a company or two of

longbowmen! They could have cut us all down in the first

moments.

Of course, for all his arrogance, Fengbald had not

proved quite as foolish as Josua and the others had hoped.

They had prayed that he would send at least a major force

of the Thrimings-men in first, trusting to their superior

horsemanship on the treacherous ice. The grasslanders

were fearsome fighters, but they loved the heroisim of in-

dividual combat. The prince had felt sure that a few net-

tling attacks from Deomoth's troop would lure the

mercenaries out of formation, where they would be more

easily dealt with, and which would also throw Fengbald's

advance into confusion. But they had all reckoned with-

out the sledgesand whose clever plan was that,

Deornoth could not help wonderingand the improved

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

373

footing brought by the blanket of sand had allowed the

duke to send in his disciplined Erkynguard.

There was a sound as of a swelling drum roll. Deomoth

looked up to see that the guardsman who had missed on

his first pass had finally turned his horse aroundthe

footing was so dreadful and necessitated such careful

movement by both sides that the entire battle had the look

of some strange underwater danceand was now bearing

down on him out of the fog again, slowly this time, urg-

ing his horse forward at no more than a cautious walk.

Deomoth gave Vildalix a polite heel, bringing the bay

around to face the attacker, then lifted his sword. The

Erkynguardsman raised his in turn, but still continued his

approach at little more than a man's hiking pace.

It was strange to see the green livery of the Erkynguard

draping an enemy. It was stranger still to have so much

time to deliberate on the oddness of it while waiting for

that enemy to make his measured way across the ice. The

guardsman ducked a wild sword-swing from one of

Deomoth's comrades, a blow that flashed out of the mist

like a serpent's darting tongueJosua's men were all

around, fighting desperately now to pull close enough to-

gether for an orderly retreatand came on, undaunted.

Deomoth could not help wondering for a brief moment if

the face beneath this bold soldier's helm was one he

would recognize, someone he had drunk with, diced

with....

Vildalix, who despite his bravery seemed sometimes as

sensitive as flayed skin, took Deomoth's minute pull on

the reins and lurched heavily to one side just as the at-

tacker reached them, so that the guardsman's first stroke

scraped harmlessly across Deomoth's shield. Vildalix

then danced in place for a moment, trying to avoid step-

ping on the crumpled form of the rider who had earlier

gone down beneath his own mount, and thus Deomoth's

own return blow missed widely. The attacking guardsman

pulled up, his horse's legs spreading slightly as it skidded

in an attempt to make a sudden stop. Seeing his opening,

Deomoth dragged Vildalix around and went after him.

The Thrithings-horse, who had been trained on ice as

374

Tad Williams

Josua's men prepared, was able to turn fairly easily, so

that Deornoth caught up with the Erkynguard before he

had completed his own awkward revolution.

Deornoth's first blow caromed off the guardsman's

lifted shield, raising a brief plume of sparks, but he let the

sword's own momentum carry it around for a second

blow, rotating his wrists and leaning almost sideways ^n

the saddle so he would not be forced to break his grip. He

caught the green-liveried guardsman a powerful backhand

blow to the head just as the man lowered his shield once

more; the side of the Erkynguardsman's helmet crumpled

inward at a hideous angle. Blood already sluicing down

his neck and onto his bymie, the guardsman toppled out

of his saddle, tangling for a moment in his stirrups, then

clanged to the ice where he lay twitching feebly.

Deomoth turned away, pushing any regrets from his mind

with the ease of long experience. This bleeding hulk

might once have been someone he knew, but now any

Erkynguardsman was only an enemy, no more.

"Hark, men, hark!" Deomoth shouted, standing upright

in his stirrups so that he could better view their position

through the mist. "Follow me on the retreat! Careful as

you go!" It was hard to tell, but he thought he saw some-

thing more than half the force he had taken out now ring-

ing him round- He raised his sword high, then spurred

Vildalix in the direction of the great log barricades. An

arrow whipped past his head, then another, but the aim

was poor, or else the archers were confused by the mist.

Deornoth's men lifted a thin cheer as they rode.

A

"Where is Binabik?" Josua fumed. "He was to be my

messenger, but he has not come back from Hotvig." The

prince made a face. "God grant me patience, listen to me!

Perhaps something has happened to him." He turned to

young Jeremias, who stood by, panting. "And Hotvig said

Binabik left his side some time ago?"

"Yes, Highness. He said the sun has lifted a hand since

the troll left, whatever that means."

TOGREENANGELTOWER

375

"Damnable luck." Josua began pacing, but his eyes

never left the battle below. "Well, there is nothing for it.

I do not trust the call to carry so far, lad, so go to Simon

and tell him that if hears nothing by the time he has

counted five hundreds or so after Hotvig's men have rid-

den out, then he and the trolls are to rush in. Do you have

that?"

"If he doesn't hear the hom, wait to a count of five

hundreds after Hotvig appears, then rush in, yes." Jere-

mias considered before adding: "Your Highness."

"Fine, Go, thenrun. We are at the time when mo-

ments matter." Josua waved him off, then turned to

Sangfugol. "And you are ready, too?"

"Yes, sire," the harper said. "I have been trained by the

best. I should have little difficulty wringing a few honk-

ing sounds out of something so simple as a horn."

Josua chuckled grimly. "There is something reassuring

about your insolence, Sangfugol. But remember, master

musician, you must do more than honk: you must play a

victory call."

*.

Simon was looking over the small company, mostly to

keep himself busy, when he suddenly realized that Sisqi

was not among the gathered trolls. He quickly went

among the Qanuc, checking every face but finding no

sign of Binabik's betrothed. She was their leaderwhere

could she have gone? After a moment's thought, Simon

realized that he had not seen her since the muster before

Leavetaking House.

Oh, Aedon's mercy, no, he thought desperately. What

will Binabik say? I've lost his beloved before the battle

even begins!

He turned to the nearest of the trolls. "Sisqi?" he asked,

trying to show by shrugs and gestures that he wished to

know her whereabouts. Two troll women looked at him

uncomprehendingly. Damn, that was what Binabik called

her. What was her full name? "SisSisqimook?" he

tried. "Sisqinamok?"

3?6

Tad Williams

One of the women nodded urgently, pleased to have

understood. "Sisqinanamook."

"Where is she?" Simon could not think of the troll

words. "Sisqinanamook? Where?" He pointed around to

all sides and then shrugged again, trying to convey his

question. His small companions seemed to grasp his

meaning: after a long round of murmuring Qanuc-speech,

those nearest indicated to him with perfectly under-

standable gestures that they did not know where

Sisqinanamook had gone.

Simon was cursing roundly when Jeremias arrived.

"Hullo, Simon, isn't this glorious?" his squire asked.

Jeremias seemed quite excited. "It's just like what we

used to dream of back in the Hayholt."

Simon made a pained face. "Except we were hitting

each other with barrel staves, and those men down there

will use sharp steel instead. Do you know where Sisqi

isyou know, the one Binabik is going to marry? She

was supposed to be here with the other trolls."

"No, I don't, but Binabik's missing, too. Stop, though,

SimonI have to give you Josua's message first." Jere-

mias proceeded to relay the prince's instructions, then du-

tifully ran through them a second time, just in case.

"Tell him that I'm ready ... that we're ready. We'll do

what we're supposed to. But Jeremias, I have to find

Sisqi. She's their leader!"

"No, you don't." His squire was complacent- "You've

become a trollish war chieftain now, Simon, that's all. I

have to run back to Josua. With Binabik gone, I'm his

chief messenger. It happens that way in battles." He said

it lightly, but with more than a touch of pride.

"But what if they won't follow me?" Simon stared at

Jeremias for a moment. "You seem very cheerful," he

growled. "Jeremias, people are being killed here. We may

be next."

**I know." He became serious. "But at least it's our

choice, Simon. At least it's an honorable death." A

strange look flitted over his face, twisting his features as

though he might suddenly burst into tears. "For a long

time, when I was ... under the castle ... a quick, clean

TOGREENANGELTOWER

377

death seemed like it would be a wonderful thing." Jere-

mias turned away, hunching his shoulders. "But I suppose

I must stay alive now. Leieth needs me as a friendand

you need someone to tell you what to do." He sighed

and then straightened up, gave Simon an oddly flat smile

and a half-wave, then trotted back into the shrouding

greenery, disappearing in the direction from which he had

come. "Good luck, SimonSir Seoman, I mean."

Simon started to call after him, but Jeremias was al-

ready gone.

A

Binabik's return was abrupt and somewhat startling.

Josua heard a soft rustling noise and looked up to find

himself staring into the yellow eyes and sharp-toothed

maw of Qantaqa, panting on a rise just above him. The

troll, seated atop her back, pushed some branches away

from his round face and leaned forward. "Prince Josua,"

he said calmly, as though they were meeting at some

court function.

"Binabik!" Josua took a backward step. "Where have

you been?"

"I ask your pardoning, Josua." The troll slid off

Qantaqa and made his way down to the level place where

the prince stood. "I saw some of Fengbald's men who

were exploring where they should not be going. I fol-

lowed them." He gave Josua a significant look. "They

were looking for a place with better climbing. Fengbald is

not being so foolish as we were thinkingit is clear he is

knowing he may not dislodge us with this first attack."

"How many were there?"

"Not a great number. Six ... five,"

"You couldn't tell? How closely did you watch them?"

Binabik's gentle smile did not reach his eyes. "There

were six at first." He patted his walking-stick, and the

hollow tube and darts contained therein. "Then one was

falling down the hill again."

Josua nodded. "And the rest?"

"After they had been led away from the places they

378

Tad Williams

should not be, I left Sisqi behind for distracting them

while I went quickly up the hill. Some of the women of

New Gadrinsett came down to help us."

"The women? Binabik, you are not to place women

and children in danger."

The little man shook his head. "You know that they

will be righting just as bravely for saving their home as

any menwe have never known any other thing among

the Qanuc. But be of quieter heart. All they did was come

for helping Sisqi and myself in the rolling of some large

stones." He flattened his hand in a gesture of completion.

"Those men will be no danger to us any more, and their

searching will bring no reward for Fengbald."

Josua sighed in frustration. "I trust that at least you did

not drag my wife along to help roll your stones?"

Binabik laughed. "She was eager to go. Prince Josua,

that I will say- You have a wife of some fiercenessshe

would make a good Qanuc bride! But Outrun was not al-

lowing her a step out of camp." The troll looked around,

"What is happening below? I could not easily be watch-

ing as I made my way back."

"Fengbald, as you said, was better prepared than we

expected. They have built some kind of sleds or carts that

roughen the ice so that the soldiers can move more easily.

Deornoth's attack was pushed back, but Fengbald's

Erkynguard did not chase him; they are still massing on

the lake. I am about tobut enough. You will see what I

am about to do."

"And do you need me to go to Hotvig?" Binabik asked.

"No. Jeremias has taken on your tasks while you were

introducing Fengbald's spies to the ladies of New

Gadrinsett." Josua smiled briefly. "Thank you, Binabik. I

knew that if you were not hurt or trapped, you would be

doing something importantbut try to let me know next

time."

"Apologies, Josua. I was fearing to wait too long."

The prince turned and beckoned to Sangfugol, who

came quickly to his side. Father Strangyeard and Towser

were both standing solemnly, watching the battle, al-

though Towser seemed to be listing slightly, as if even the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

379

deadly combat below was not enough excitement to keep

him from his midday nap much longer.

"Blow for Freosel," Josua said. "Three short bursts,

three long."

Sangfugol lifted the hom to his lips, puffed out his thin

chest, and blew. The call echoed down the wooded hill-

side, and for a moment the flurry of battle on the ice

seemed to slow. The harper gasped in another great

draught of air, then blew again. When the echoes died, he

gave the call a third time.

"Now," Josua said firmly, "we shall see how ready

Fengbald is for a real fight. Do you mark him down there,

Binabik?"

"I think I am seeing him, yes. In the red flapping

cape?"

"Yes. Watch and see what he does."

Even as Josua spoke, there was a sudden convulsion in

the front line of Fengbald's army. The clot of soldiers

nearest the wooden barricades abruptly stopped and

swirled back in disorder.

"Hurrah!" Strangyeard shouted and leaped; then, seem-

ing to remember his priestly gravity, he donned his look

of worried concern once more-'

"Aedon's Blood, see how they jump!" Josua said with

fierce glee. "But even this will not stop them for long.

How I wish we had more arrows!"

"Freosel will be making good use of those we are hav-

ing," Binabik said. " 'A well-aimed spear is worth three,'

as we say in Yiqanuc."

"But we must use the confusion Freosel's bowmen

have given us." Josua paced distractedly as he watched.

When a little time had passed, and he evidently could

bear the waiting no longer, he cried: "Sangfugol

Hotvig's call, now!"

The trumpet blared again, two long, two short, two long.

*

The flight of arrows from Sesuad'ra's defenders caught

Fengbald's men by surprise: they spilled back in confu-

380 Tad Williams

sion, leaving several score of their fellows lying skewered

on the ice, some trying to crawl back across the slippery

surface, trailing smears of blood like the tracks of snails.

In the chaos, Deornoth and his remaining force were able

to make their escape.

Deomoth himself went back three times to help carry

the last of the wounded past the great wall of logs. When

he was sure there was no more he could do, he slumped

to the trampled mud in the shadow of the high barricade

and pulled off his helmet. The sounds of struggle still

raged close by.

"Sir Deomoth," someone said, "you are bleeding."

He waved the man away, disliking to be fussed over,

but took the piece of cloth that was offered to him.

Deomoth used the rag and a handful of snow to wipe the

blood from his face and hair, then probed at his head

wound with chilled fingers. It was only a shallow cut. He

was glad he had sent the man off to aid those in greater

need. A strip of the now bloodied cloth made an adequate

bandage, and the pressure as he knotted it helped to

soothe the ache in his head.

When he had finished looking over his other injuries

all quite minor, none as bloody as the nick in his scalphe

pulled his sword out of its scabbard. It was a plain blade,

the hilt leather-wrapped, the pommel a crude hawk's head

worn almost featureless by long handling. He wiped it

down with an unbloodied comer of the cloth, frowning in

displeasure at the new notches it had gained, however hon-

orably. When he had finished, he held it up to catch the

faint sunlight and squinted to make sure he had not left any

blood to gnaw at the honed edge.

This is no famous blade, he thought. It has no name,

but it has still served well for many years. Like me, I sup-

pose. He laughed quietly to himself; a few of the other

soldiers resting nearby looked at him. No one will remem-

ber me, I think, no matter how long the names of Josua

and Elias are spoken. But 1 am content with that. I do

what the Lord Usires would have me dowas He any less

humble ?

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER381

Still, there were times when Deomoth wished that the

people of Hewenshire could see him now, see the way he

fought loyally for a great prince, and how that prince de-

pended on him. Was that too prideful for a good

Aedonite? Perhaps....

Another horn call shrilled from the hillside above, dis-

rupting his thoughts- Deomoth scrambled to his feet, anx-

ious to see what was afoot, and began to climb the

barricade. A moment later, he dropped down and went

back for his helmet.

Pointless to take an arrow between the eyes if I can

avoid it, he decided.

He and several other men carefully lifted themselves so

they could nose over the topmost logs and peer out

through the crude observation slots that Sludig and his

helpers had cut with their hand-axes. As they squeezed

into place, they heard a great shout: a company of riders

was breaking from the trees a short distance to the east,

heading out onto the ice and directly toward Fengbald's

rallying forces. There was something different about this

company, but in the confusion of mists and flailing men

and horses it took a moment to see what it was.

"Ride, Hotvig!" Deomoth shouted. The men beside

him picked up the cry, cheering hoarsely. As the

Thrithings-men pounded across the frozen lake, it quickly

became apparent that they were moving far more easily

and skillfully than Fengbald's men. They might almost

have been riding on firm ground, so sure was their horse-

manship.

"Clever Binabik," Deomoth breathed to himself. "You

may save us yet!"

"Look at them ride!" one of the other men called, a

bearded old fellow who had last joined a battle when

Deomoth was a swaddled baby. "Those troll-tricks work,

sure enough."

"But we are still far outnumbered," cautioned Deor-

noth. "Ride, Hotvig! Ride!"

In a matter of moments, the Thrithings-men were

sweeping down on Fengbald's guardsmen, the horses'

hooves making an oddly clangorous thunder on the ice.

382

Tad Williams

They struck the first lines of men like a club, smashing a

path through them without difficulty. The noise, the clash-

ing of weapon and shield, the shrieking of men and

horses, seemed to double in a moment. Hotvig himself,

his beard festooned with scarlet war-ribbons, was plying

his long spear as swiftly as an expert river-fisher; every

time he darted it forward it seemed to find a target, bung-

ing forth flaring sprays of blood as red as the silken knots

in his whiskers- He and his grasslanders sang as they

fought, a shouting chant with little tune but a horrible sort

of rhythm which they used to punctuate each thrust and

slash. They wheeled around Fengbald's men with amaz-

ing ease, as though the battle-hardened Erkynguardsmen

were swimming in mud. The leading edges of the duke's

forces wavered and fell back. The Thrithings-men's fierce

song grew louder.

A

"God's Eyes'" Fengbald screamed, waving his long

sword in purposeless fury, "hold your lines, damn you!"

He turned to Lezhdraka- The mercenary captain was star-

ing with slitted, feral eyes at Hotvig and his riders. "They

have some damnable Sithi magic," the duke raged.

"Look, they move across the ice as though they were on

a tourney field."

"No magic," Lezhdraka growled. "Look at their

horses' hooves. They wear some special shoesee, the

spikes are flashing! Somehow your Josua has shod his

horses with metal nails, I think."

"Damn him!" Fengbald stood high in his stirrups and

looked around. His pale, handsome face was beaded with

sweat. "Well, it is a brave trick, but it is not enough. We

are still far too many for him, unless he has an army three

times that size hidden up therewhich he has not. Bring

up your men, Lezhdraka. We will shame my Erkynguard

into giving a better account of themselves." He rode a lit-

tle way toward his leading forces and raised his voice in

a shriek. "Traitors! Hold your lines or you will go to the

king's gibbet!"

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

383

Lezhdraka grunted in disgust at Fengbald's frenzy, then

turned to his first company of Thrithings mercenaries,

who had been sitting stolidly in their saddles, caring little

for what happened until their own turn should come to

ply their trade. They all wore boiled leather cuirasses and

metal-rimmed leather helmets, the armor of the grass-

lands. At Lezhdraka's gesture, the large company of

scarred and silent men straightened. A light seemed to

kindle in their eyes.

"You carrion dogs," Lezhdraka shouted in his own

tongue, "listen! These stone-dwellers and their High

Thrithing pets think that because they have ice-shoes on

their horses, they will scare us off. Let us go and bare

their bones!" He spurred his horse forward, taking care to

stay on the path provided by one of the battle sledges.

With a single grim shout, his mercenaries fell in behind

him.

"Kill them all," Fengbald shouted, riding in circles be-

side their column and waving his sword. "Kill them all,

but especially, do not let Josua leave the field alive. Your

master. King Elias, demands his death!"

The mercenary captain stared at the duke with poorly-

hidden contempt, but Fengbald-was already spurring his

horse forward, screeching at his faltering Erkynguard. "/

care little for these stone-dweller quarrels," Lezhdraka

shouted to his men in the Thrithings-tongue, "but I know

something that idiot does not: a live prince will get us

better pay than Fengbald would ever give usso I want

the one-handed prince alive. But if Hotvig or any other

whelp of the High Thrithing walks living from this field,

I will make you scum eat your own guts."

He waved again and the column surged forward. The

mercenaries grinned in their beards and patted their weap-

ons. The smell of blood was in the aira very familiar

smell.

A

Deomoth and his men were struggling back into their

| battle array when Josua appeared, leading Vinyafod- Fa-

384

Tad Williams

ther Strangyeard and the harper Sangfugol straggled after

him, muddy and disarrayed.

"Binabik's ice-shoes have workedor at least they

have helped us catch Fengbald off-guard," Josua called.

"We have been watching. Highness." Deornoth gave

the inside of his helmet another thump with his sword-

hilt, but the dent was too deep for such simple repairs. He

cursed and pulled it on anyway. There was nowhere near

enough armor to go around; New Gadrinsett had strained

to supply even what small weaponry and gear they had,

and if Hotvig's Thrithings-men had not brought their own

leather chestplates and headware, less than a quarter of

the defenders would have been armored. There were cer-

tainly no replacements available, Deomoth knew, except

those which could be gleaned from the newly dead. He

decided he would stick with his original helm, dented or

not.

"I am glad to see you ready," said Josua. "We must

press whatever advantage we have, before Fengbald's

numbers overwhelm us."

"I only wish we had more of the troll's boot-irons to

pass around." As he spoke, Deomoth strapped on his own

set, numbed hands fumbling awkwardly. He fingered the

metal spikes that now jutted from his soles. "But we have

used every piece of metal we could spare."

"Small price if it saves us, meaningless if it does not,"

Josua said. "I hope you gave preference to the men who

must fight on foot."

"I did," Deornoth replied, "although we had enough for

nearly all the horses, anyway, even after outfitting

Hotvig's grasslanders."

"Good," Josua said. "If you have a moment, help me

fit these on Vinyafod." The prince smiled an uncharacter-

istically straightforward smile. "I had the good sense to

put them aside yesterday."

"But my lord!" Deomoth looked up, startled. "What do

you want them for?"

"You do not think that I will watch the whole battle

from this hillside, do you?" Josua's smile vanished. He

seemed honestly surprised. "It is for my sake that these

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

385

brave men are fighting and dying down on the lake. How

could I not stand with them?"

"But that is precisely the reason." Deornoth turned to

Sangfugo) and Strangyeard, but those two merely looked

away shamefacedly. Deornoth guessed that they had al-

ready argued this point with the prince and lost. "If some-

thing happens to you, Josua, any victory will be a hollow

one."

Josua fixed Deomoth with his clear gray eyes. "Ah, but

that is not true, old friend. You forget: Vorzheva now

bears our child. You will protect her and our baby, just as

you promised you would. If we win today and I am not

here to enjoy it, I know that you will carefully and skill-

fully lead the people on from here. People will flock to

our bannerpeople who will not even know or care if I

am alive, but will come to us because we are fighting my

brother, the king. And Isom will soon return, I am sure,

with men of Hemystir and Rimmersgard. And if his fa-

ther Isgrimnur finds Miriamelewell, what more legiti-

mate name could you have to fight behind than King

John's granddaughter?" He watched Deomoth's face for a

moment. "But, here, Deornoth, do not put on such a seri-

ous face. If God means me to'overthrow my brother, not

all the knights and bowmen of Aedon's earth can slay me.

If He does notwell, there is no place to hide from one's

fate." He bent and lifted one of Vinyafod's feet. The

horse shifted anxiously but held its position. "Besides,

man, this is a moment when the world is delicately bal-

anced. Men who see their prince beside them know that

they are not being asked to sacrifice themselves for some-

one who does not value that sacrifice." He fitted the

leather sack with the stiffened bottom and protruding

spikes over Vinyafod's hoof, then wrapped the long ties

back and forth around the horse's ankle. "It is no use ar-

guing," he said without looking up.

Deornoth sighed. He was desperately unhappy, but a

part of him had known his prince might do thisindeed,

would have been surprised if he had not. "As you wish,

Highness."

"No, Deornoth." Josua tested the knot. "As I must."

386

Tad Williams

Simon cheered as Hotvig's riders smashed into

Fengbald's line. Binabik's clever stratagem appeared to

be working: the Thrithings-men, although still riding

more slowly than normal, were far swifter than their op-

ponents, and the difference in maneuverability was star-

tling. Fengbald's leading troops were falling back, forced

to regroup several hundred cubits back from the barri-

cade.

"Hit them!" Simon shouted. "Brave Hotvig!" The trolls

cheered, too, strange bellowing whoops. Their time was

fast approaching. Simon was counting silently, although

he had already lost track once or twice and had to guess.

So far, the battle was unfolding just the way Josua and the

others had said.

He looked at his strange companions, at their round

faces and small bodies, and felt an overwhelming affec-

tion and loyalty sweep through him. They were his re-

sponsibility, in a way. They had come far to fight in

someone else's causeeven if it might ultimately prove

to be everyone's causeand he wanted them all to reach

their homes safely once more. They would be fighting

bigger, stronger men, but trolls were accustomed to fight-

ing in these wintry conditions. They, too, wore boot-irons,

but of a far more elaborate type than those Binabik had

taught the forge men to make. Binabik had told Simon

that among his people these boot-spikes were precious

now, since the trolls had lost the trade routes and the trad-

ing partners which had once made it possible to bring

iron into Yiqanuc; in this present era, each pair of boot-

spikes was handed down from parent to child, and they

were carefully oiled and regularly repaired. To lose a pair

was a terrible thing, for there was now almost no way to

replace them.

Their saddled rams, of course, had no need for such tri-

fles as iron shoes: their soft, leathery hooves would cling

to the ice like the feet of wall-walking flies. A flat lake

was little challenge when compared to the treacherous

frozen trackways of high Mintahoq.

TOGREENANGELTOWER387

"I come," someone said behind him. Simon turned to

find Sisqi looking up at him expectantly. The troll wom-

an's face was flushed and pearled with sweat, and the fur

jacket she wore beneath her leather jerkin was tattered

and muddy, as if she had crawled through the under-

growth.

"Where were you?" he said. He could see no trace of

a wound on her, and was grateful for that.

"With Binabik. Help Binabik fight." She lifted her

hands to mime some complicated activity, then shrugged

and gave up.

"Is Binabik well?" Simon asked.

She thought for a moment, then nodded. "Not hurt."

Simon took a deep breath, relieved. "Good." Before he

could say more, there was a flurry of movement down be-

low. Another group of shapes suddenly scrambled forth

from near the log barricade, hurrying to join the battle. A

moment later Simon heard the faint, mournful cry of a

hom. It blew a long note, then four short, then two long

blasts that echoed thinly along the hillside. His heart

leaped and he felt suddenly cold and yet tingling, as

though he had fallen into icy water. He had forgotten his

count, but it did not matter. That was the callit was

time!

Despite his nervous excitement, he was careful not to

scrape Homefmder's side with his irons as he scrambled

into the saddle. Most of the Qanuc words Binabik had so

carefully taught him were blasted from his head.

"Now!" he shouted. "Now, Sisqi! Josua wants us!" He

drew his sword and waved it in the air, catching it for a

moment in a low-hanging tree branch. What was the word

for "attack"? M-something. He turned and caught Sisqi's

eye. She stared back, her small face solemn. She knew.

The troll woman waved her arm and called out to her

troops.

Everybody knows what happens now, he realized. They

don't need me to tell them anything.

Sisqi nodded, giving him permission.

"Nihut!" Simon shouted, then spurred down the muddy

trail.

388 Tad Williams

Homefinder's hooves skidded as they struck the frozen

lake, but Simonwho had ridden her unshod on the same

surface a few days beforewas relieved when she

quickly caught her balance. The noise of conflict was

loud before them, and now his trollish comrades were

shouting too, bellowing strange war-cries in which he

could discern the names of one or two of the mountains

of Yiqanuc. The din of battle swiftly rose until it crowded

all other thoughts from his mind. Then, before it seemed

that he even had time to think, they were in the thick of

it.

Hotvig's initial attack had split Fengbald's line and

scattered it away from the safety of the sledge-scraped

track. Deomoth's soldiersall but a few on foothad

then surged out from behind the barricade and flung

themselves on those Erkynguard who had been cut off

from their own rearguard by Hotvig's action. The fighting

near the barricade was particularly fierce, and Simon was

startled to see Prince Josua in the thick of it, standing tall

in red Vinyafod's saddle, his gray cloak billowing, his

shouted words drowned in the confusion. Meanwhile,

though, Fengbald had brought up his Thrithings merce-

naries, who, instead of helping to stiffen the line behind

the retreating Erkynguardsmen, were swarming around

the broken column in their haste to engage Hotvig's

horsemen.

Simon's troop struck the mercenaries from the blind

side; those closest to the oncoming Qanuc had only a mo-

ment to look around in amazement before being skewered

by the short spears of the trolls. A few of the Thrithings-

men seemed to regard the onmshing Qanuc with a shock

that seemed closer to superstitious terror than mere sur-

prise. The trolls howled their Qanuc war-cries as they

charged, and whirled stones on oiled cords over their

head, which made a dreadful buzzing sound like a swarm

of maddened bees. The rams moved swiftly between the

slower horses, so that several of the mercenaries' mounts

reared and threw their masters; the trolls also used their

darting spears to poke at the horses' undefended bellies.

TOGREENANGELTOWER389

More than one Thrithings-man was killed beneath his

own toppled steed.

The din of battle, which at first had seemed to Simon

a great roaring, quickly changed as the conflict drew him

in, and became instead a kind of silence, a terrible hum-

ming quiet in which snarling faces and the steaming,

white-toothed and red-throated mouths of horses loomed

up from the mist. Everything seemed to move with a hor-

rible sluggishness, but Simon felt that he was moving

even more slowly. He swung his sword around, but al-

though it was mere steel, it seemed at that moment as

heavy as black Thom.

A hand-ax struck one of the troll-men beside Simon.

The small body was flung from the saddled ram and

seemed to tumble slowly as a falling leaf until it disap-

peared beneath Homefinder's hooves. Through the dron-

ing emptiness, Simon thought he heard a faint,

high-pitched shriek, like the cry of a distant bird.

Killed, he thought distractedly as Homefinder stumbled

and again found her footing. He was killed. A moment

later he had to fling his own blade up before him to ward

off a swordstroke from one of the mounted mercenaries.

It seemed to take forever for Ihe two swords to meet;

when they did, with a thin clink, he felt the shock down

'his arm and into his chest. Something brushed by him

from the other side. When he looked down, he saw that

his makeshift corselet had been torn and blood was rilling

; up in a wound along his arm; he could feel only a line of

' icy numbness from wrist to elbow. Gaping, he lifted his

; sword to strike back, but there was no one within reach.

He pulled Homefinder around and squinted through the

mist rising off the ice, then spurred her toward a knot of

tangled shapes where he could see some of the trolls at

bay.

After that the battle rose around him like a smothering

hand and nothing made very much sense. In the midst of

the nightmare, he was struck in the chest by someone's

shield and tumbled from his saddle. As he scrambled to

find purchase, he quickly realized that even shod with

^Binabik's magic spikes, he was still a man struggling for

390 Tad Williams

footing on a glassy sheet of ice. By luck, the reins had

stayed tangled around his hand so that Homefinder did

not bolt, but this same luck almost killed him-

One of the mounted Thrithings-men came out of the

murk and pressed Simon backward, trapping him against

Homefmder's flank. The gaunt swordsman had a face so

covered with ritual scars that the skin showing beneath

his helm looked like tree bark. Simon was in a terrible

position, his shield arm still snagged in the reins so that

he could barely get half of his shield between himself and

his attacker. The grinning mercenary wounded him twice,

a shallow gouge along his sword arm parallel to his first

blooding of the day and a stab in the fat part of his thigh

below his mail shirt. He would almost certainly have

killed Simon in a few more moments, but some-

one else came up suddenly out of the foganother

Thrithings-man, Simon noted with dazed surpriseand

accidentally collided with Simon's adversary, knocking

the man's horse toward Simon and pushing the mercenary

part of the way out of his saddle. Simon's half-desperate

thrust, more in self-defense than anything else, slid up the

man's leg and into his groin; he fell to the ground, blood

fountaining from his wound, then screamed and writhed

until his convulsions shook his helmet from his head. The

man's thin, staring-eyed face, contorted with pain,

brought back to Simon a Hayholt memory of a rat that

had fallen into a rain barrel. It had been horrible to see it

paddling desperately, teeth bared, eyes bulging. Simon

had tried to save it, but in its terror the rodent had

snapped at his hand, so he had run away, unable to bear

watching it drown. Now an older Simon stared at the

shrieking mercenary for a moment, then stepped on his

chest to stop him rolling and pushed his sword blade into

the man's throat, holding it there until all movement had

stopped.

He felt curiously light-headed. Several long moments

passed during which he tore loose the corpse's baggy

sleeve and cinched it tightly around the wound in his own

leg. It was only when he had finished and put his foot

into Homefmder's stirrup that he realized what he had

TOGREENANGELTOWER

391

just done. His stomach heaved, but he had not made the

mistake of eating that morning. After a brief pause he was

able to drag himself up into the saddle.

Simon had thought he would be a sort of second-in-

command of the trolls, Josua's hand among the prince's

Qanuc allies, but he quickly discovered that it was hard

enough work just to stay alive.

Sisqi and her diminutive troops were scattered all over

the misty battlefield. At one point he had managed to find

the area where they were most concentrated, and for a

while he and the trolls had stood togetherhe saw Sisqi

then, still alive, her slim spear as swift as a wasp sting,

her round face set in a mask so fierce she looked like a

tiny snow-demonbut at last the ebb and flow of combat

had broken them apart again. The trolls did not do their

best fighting in an orderly line, and Simon quickly saw

that they were more useful when they moved quickly and

unobtrusively among Fengbald's bigger horsemen. The

rams seemed sure-footed as cats, and although Simon

could see many small shapes of Qanuc dead and wounded

scattered here and there among the other bodies, they

seemed to be giving as good as they were getting, and

perhaps better.

Simon himself had survived several more combats, and

had killed another Thrithings-man, this time in a more or

less fair fight.

It was only as he and this other were hacking at each

other that Simon abruptly realized that to these enemies

he was no child. He was taller than this particular merce-

nary, and in his helmet and mail-shirt, he doubtless

seemed a large and fearsome fighter. Abruptly heartened,

he had renewed his attack, driving the Thrithings-man

backward. Then, as the man stopped and his horse came

breast to breast with Homefinder, Simon remembered his

lessons from Sludig. He feinted a clumsy swing and the

mercenary seized the bait, leaning too far forward with

his return stroke. Simon let the man's sword carry him

well off-balance, then slammed his shield against the

man's leather helm and followed with a sword thrust that

392Tad Williams

slid between the two halves of the man's chest armor and

into his unprotected side. The mercenary stayed in his

saddle as Simon pulled Homefinder back, tugging loose

his sword, but before Simon turned away his opponent

had already fallen awkwardly to the bloody ice-

Panting, Simon had looked around him and wondered

who was winning.

Whatever beliefs about the nobility of war that Simon

still retained died during that long day on the frozen lake.

In the midst of such terrible carnage, with fallen friends

and enemies alike scattered about, maimed and bloodied,

some even made faceless by terrible wounds; with the

crying and pleading of dying men ringing in his ears,

their dignity ripped away from them; with the air rank

with the stenches of fear-sweat, blood, and excrement, it

was impossible to see warfare as anything other than

what Morgenes had once termed it: a kind of hell on earth

that impatient mankind had arranged so it would not have

to wait for the afterlife- To Simon, the grotesque unfair-

ness of it was almost the worst of all. For every armored

knight dragged down, half a dozen foot-soldiers were

slaughtered. Even animals suffered torments that should

not have been visited on murderers and traitors. Simon

saw screaming horses, hamstrung by a chance blow, left

to roll on the ice in agony. Although many of the horses

belonged to Fengbald's troops, no one had asked them if

they wanted to go to war; they had been forced to it, just

as had Simon and the rest of the folk of New Gadrinsett.

Even the king's Erkynguard might have wished to be

elsewhere, rather than here on this killing ground where

duty brought them and loyalty prisoned them. Only the

mercenaries were here by choice. To Simon, the minds of

men who would come to this of their own will were sud-

denly as incomprehensible as the thoughts of spiders or

lizardsless so, even, for the small creatures of the earth

almost always fled from danger. These were madmen, Si-

mon realized, and that was the direst problem of the

world: that madmen should be strong and unafraid, so

that they could force their will on the weak and peace-

TOGREENANGELTOWER393

loving. If God allowed such madness to be, Simon could

not help thinking, then He was an old god who had lost

His grip.

The sun was vanished high above, hiding behind

clouds: it was impossible to tell how long the battle had

raged when Josua's hom blew again. This time it was a

summons note that sliced through the misty air. Simon,

who did not think he had ever been wearier in his life,

turned to the few trolls nearby and shouted: "Sosa!

Come!"

A few moments later he nearly ran down Sisqi, who

stood over her slaughtered ram, her face still strangely

emotionless. Simon leaned toward her and extended his

hand. She grasped it in her cold dry fingers and pulled

herself up to his stirrup. He helped her into the saddle.

"Where is Binabik?" she asked him, shouting above the

din.

"I don't know. Josua is calling us. We go to Josua

now."

The horn blew again. The men of New Gadrinsett were

falling back rapidly, as though they could not have fought

a moment longerwhich might not have been far from

the truthbut they were retreating so swiftly that they

seemed almost to evaporate around Simon, like the de-

posited foam of a sea-wave vanishing into the beach.

Their departure left a knot of half a dozen trolls and a

couple of Deomoth's foot-soldiers encircled by a ring of

mounted Erkynguardsmen some fifty ells out on the ice.

Without help, Simon knew, the defenders would be

smothered. He looked around at the small company and

grimaced. Too few to do any good, certainly. And those

trolls had heard the retreat just as Simon and the others

hadwas it his duty to rescue everyone? He was tired

and bleeding and frightened, and sanctuary was only a

few moments awayhe had survived, and that was al-

most a miracle!but he knew he could not leave those

brave folk behind.

"We go there?" he said to Sisqi, pointing to the clump

of beleaguered defenders.

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Tad Williams

She looked and nodded wearily, then screamed some-

thing to the few surrounding Qanuc as Simon pulled

Homefinder around and moved toward the Erkynguards at

a slithering trot. The trolls fell in behind. There were no

howls this time, no singing: the little company rode in the

silence of utter exhaustion.

And then there was another nightmare of hacking and

slashing. The top of Simon's shield was smashed by a

sword blow, splinters of painted wood flying through the

air. Several of his own blows struck against solid ob-

jects, but the chaos prevented him knowing what he had

hit. The encircled trolls and men, seeing that help had

come, redoubled their effort and managed to cut their way

out, although at least one more of the Qanuc fell. His

blood-spattered ram, when it had shaken its dead master's

boot loose from the stirrup, leaped away from the corpse

and ran off across the lake as though pursued by demons,

zigzagging wildly until it vanished into the darkening

mist. The weary Erkynguards, who after the initial mo-

ments seemed no more willing to prolong the struggle

than Simon and his company, fought fiercely but gave

ground, trying to herd Simon and the rest back toward the

strength of Fengbald's forces. Simon finally saw an open-

ing and shouted to Sisqi. With a last convulsion of sol-

diers and horses and trolls and rams, Simon's company

broke away from the Erkynguards and fled toward

Sesuad'ra and the waiting barricades.

Josua's horn was blowing again as Simon and the

trollsless than two score gathered together, he noted

with dismayreached the great wall of logs at the base of

the hill-trail. Many of Sesuad'ra's other defenders were

around them, and even those who were unwounded

looked as beaten down and gray as dying men. A few of

Hotvig's Thrithings-folk, however, were singing hoarsely,

and Simon saw one of them had what looked like a pair

of bloody heads dangling from his saddle-hom, bouncing

to the horse's strides.

An immense feeling of relief struck Simon as he saw

Prince Josua himself standing before the barricade, wav-

ing Naidel in the air like a banner and shouting to the re-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

395

turning combatants. The prince was grim, but his words

were meant to be heartening.

"Come on," he cried. "We have given them a taste of

their own blood! We have showed them some teeth! Back

now, backthey will come no more this day!"

Again, even through the chill that had settled on his

heart like a frost, Simon felt a deep and loving loyalty to-

ward Josuabut he also knew that the prince had little

left to offer except brave words. Sesuad'ra's defenders

had nearly held their own against better trained and better

equipped forces, but they could hardly match Fengbald

body for bodythe duke had almost three times as many

menand now any element of surprise, such as Binabik's

boot-irons, had been played to its utmost. From here on,

the war would be one of attrition, and Simon knew that

he would be on the losing side.

On the ice behind them the ravens were already feeding

on the fallen. The birds hopped and pecked and argued

raucously among themselves. Half-hidden by the mist,

they might have been tiny black demons come to gloat at

the destruction.

Sesuad'ra's defenders limped up the hillside, leading

their panting mounts- Although-he felt curiously numb,

Simon was still pleased to see that more of the Qanuc had

survived than just those he and Sisqi had led off the ice.

These other survivors rushed forward to greet their kin

with cries of happiness, although there were sounds of

keening sorrow, too, as the trolls counted their losses.

For Simon, an even greater joy came when he saw

Binabik standing with Josua. Sisqi saw him, too. She

leaped down from Simon's saddle and rushed to her be-

trothed. The two of them embraced at Josua's side, heed-

less of the prince or anyone else.

Simon watched them for a moment before staggering

on. He knew he should look for his other friends, but at

the moment he felt so battered and wrung out that it was

as much as he could do just to put one foot before the

other. Someone walking beside him passed him a cup of

wine. When he had drunk it off and handed the cup back,

he took a few limping steps up the hill to where the

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Tad Williams

campfires had been lit. Now that the day's fighting had

ended, some of the women of New Gadrinsett had come

down to bring food and to help care for the wounded.

One of them, a young girl with stringy hair, handed Si-

mon a bowl of something that faintly steamed. He tried to

thank her, but could not summon the strength to speak.

Although the sun was just now touching the western

horizon and the day was still quite light, Simon had no

sooner finished his thin soup than he found himself lying

on the muddy ground, still wearing all of his armor but

for his helm, his head cushioned on his cloak. Home-

finder stood nearby, cropping at the few thin stalks of

grass that had survived the general trampling. A moment

later Simon felt himself sliding down toward sleep. The

world seemed to tilt back and forth around him, as though

he lay on the deck of some huge, slow-rolling ship.

Blackness was coming on fastnot the black of night,

but a deep and smothering dark that welled up from in-

side him. If he dreamed, he knew, for once it would not

be of towers or giant wheels. He would see screaming

horses, and a rat drowning in a rain barrel.

Isaak, the young page, leaned close to the brazier, try-

ing to absorb some warmth. He was chilled right through.

Outside, the wind strummed on the ropes and poked at the

rippling walls of Duke Fengbald's vast tent as though

seeking to uproot it and carry it away into the night. Isaak

wished he had never been forced to leave the Hayholt.

"Boy!" Fengbald cried. There was an edge of violence

in his voice, barely contained. "Where is my wine?"

"Just mulling. Lord," Isaak said. He took the iron out

of the pitcher and hurried to replenish the duke's goblet.

Fengbald ignored him as he poured, turning his atten-

tion to Lezhdraka, who stood by scowling, still dressed in

his bloodied leather armor. By contrast, the duke was

bathedIsaak had been forced to heat innumerable pots

of water on the one small bed of coalsand wore a robe

of scarlet silk. He had put on a pair of doeskin slippers,

TO GREEN ANOEL TOWER

397

and his long, black hair hung on his shoulders in wet

ringlets. "I will listen to no more of this nonsense," he

told the mercenary captain.

"Nonsense?" Lezhdraka snarled. "You say that to

me! I saw the magic folk with my own eyes, stone-

dweller!"

Fengbald's eyes narrowed. "You had better leam to

speak more respectfully, plainsman."

Lezhdraka clenched his fists, but kept his arms at his

side. "Still, I saw themyou did, too."

The duke made a noise of disgust. "I saw a troop of

dwarfsfreaks, such as can be seen tumbling and caper-

ing before most of the thrones of Osten Ard. Those were

not the Sithi, whatever Josua and this scrub-woman Geloe

might claim."

"Dwarfs or fairy-folk I cannot prove, but that other is

no ordinary woman," Lezhdraka said darkly. "Her name

is well-known in the grasslandswell-known and well-

feared. Men who go into her forest do not return."

"Ridiculous." Fengbald drained his cup, "I do not

quickly mock the dark powers ..." he trailed off, as

though some uncomfortable memory was clamoring for

attention, "... I do not mock, but neither will I be

mocked. And I will not be frightened by conjuring tricks,

however they may affect superstitious savages."

The Thrithings-man stared at him for a moment, his

face suddenly gone serenely cold. "Your master, from

what you have said before, has dabbled much in what you

call 'superstition.'"

Fengbald's return glance was equally chilly. "I call no

man master. Elias is the king, that is all." The moment of

imperiousness quickly dissolved. "Isaak!" he called petu-

lantly. "More wine, damn you." As the page scurried to

serve him, Fengbald shook his head. "Enough quibbling.

We have a problem, Lezhdraka. I want to solve it."

The mercenary chief folded his arms. "My men do not

like the idea of Josua having magical allies," he growled,

"but do not fear. They are not womanish. They will

fight anyway. Our legends have long told us that fairy-

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blood spills just as man-blood does. We proved that to-

day."

Fengbald made an impatient gesture. "But we cannot

afford to beat them this way. They are stronger than I

thought. How can I return to Elias with most of his

Erkynguard dead at the hands of a few cornered peas-

ants?" He tapped his finger on the rim of his goblet. "NQ,

there are other ways, ways that will assure that I return to

Erkynland in triumph."

Lezhdraka snorted- 'There are no other ways. What,

some secret track, some hidden road as you talked of be-

fore? Your spies did not come back, I notice. No, the only

way now is the way we have started. We will beat them

down until none are left."

Fengbald was no longer paying attention. His gaze had

shifted to the door flap of the tent and a soldier who stood

there, unsure of whether to come in. "Ah," the duke said.

"Yes?"

The soldier dropped to one knee. 'The captain of the

guard has sent me. Lord ..."

"Good." Fengbald settled back in his chair. "And you

have brought with you a certain person, yes?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Bring him in, then wait outside until I summon you

again."

The soldier went, trying to hide a look of dismay at

having to stand outside the tent in the jagged wind.

Fengbald threw a mocking glance toward Lezhdraka.

"One of my spies has come back, it appears."

A moment later the tent flap opened again- An old man

stumbled in, his ragged clothes speckled with snowflakes.

Fengbald grinned hugely. "Ah, you have returned to

us! Helfgrim, is it not?" The duke turned to Lezhdraka,

his good humor returning as he played out his little show.

"You remember the Lord Mayor of Gadrinsett, don't

you, Lezhdraka? He left us for a while to go a-visiting,

but now he has returned." The duke's voice became

harsh. "Did you get away unseen?"

Helfgrim nodded miserably. "Things are confused. No

one has seen me since the battle started. There are others

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

399

missing, too, and bodies still lost on the ice and in the for-

est along the hill's base."

"Good." Fengbald snapped his fingers, pleased. "And

of course you have done what I asked?"

The old man lowered his head. "There is nothing,

Lord."

Fengbald stared at him for a moment. Color rose in the

duke's face and he began to stand, then sat down again,

clenching his fists. "So. You seem to have forgotten what

I told you."

"What is all this?" Lezhdraka asked, irritated.

The duke ignored him. "Isaak," he called, "fetch the

guard."

When the shivering soldier had come in, Fengbald

summoned him to his side, then whispered a few words

in his ear. The soldier went out through the flap once

more-

"We will try again," Fengbald said, turning his atten-

tion back to the Lord Mayor. "What did you find out?"

Helfgrim could not seem to meet his eyes. The old

man's weak-chinned, reddish face worked as though with

some barely hidden grief. "Nothing of use, my lord," he

said at last.

Fengbald had evidently gained control of his anger, for

he only smiled tightly. A few moments later, the tent flap

bulged once more. The guard came in, accompanied this

time by two more guardsmen. They were escorting a pair

of women, both of middle years, with threads of gray in

their dark hair, both of them grimy and dressed in thread-

bare cloaks. The ashen, fearful expressions of the women

changed to startlement as they saw the old man who

cringed before Fengbald.

"Father!" one of them cried.

"Oh, merciful Usires," the other said, and made the

sign of the Tree.

Fengbald surveyed the scene coolly. "You seemed to

have forgotten who holds the whip hand, Helfgrim. Now,

let me try again. If you lie to me, I will have to cause

I, your daughters pain, much as it troubles my Aedonite

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Tad Williams

conscience. Still, it will be your conscience that will suf-

fer most, for it will be your fault." He smirked. "Speak."

The old man looked at his daughters, at the terror on

their faces. "God forgive me," he said. "God forgive me

for a traitor!"

"Don't you do it. Father," one of the women cried. The

other daughter was sobbing helplessly, her face buried in

the sleeve of her cape.

"I cannot do other." Helfgrim turned to the duke.

"Yes," he said quaveringly. "There is another way onto

the hill, one that only a few of the folk there know. It is

another old Sithi track. Josua has put a guard onto it, but

only a token force, since the bottom of it is hidden by

overgrowth. He showed it to me when we were planning

his defense."

"A token force, eh?" Fengbald grinned and looked tri-

umphantly at Lezhdraka. "And this track, it is wide

enough for how many?"

Helfgrim's voice was so low as to be almost inaudible.

"A dozen could march abreast, once the first few cubits

of brambles are cleared away."

The mercenary captain, who had listened quietly for a

long time, now stepped forward. He was angry, and his

scars showed white against his dark face. "You are too

trusting," he snarled at Fengbald. "How do you know this

is no trap? How do you know that Josua will not be wait-

ing for us with his whole army?"

Fengbald was unmoved. "You grasslanders are too

simple-minded, Lezhdrakadid 1 not tell you that be-

fore? Josua's army will be busy trying to fight off our

frontal assault tomorrowfar too busy to spare any more

soldiers than his token forcewhen we go to make our

surprise visit on Helfgrim's other road. We will take a siz-

able company. And just to make sure that there is no

treachery, we will take the Lord Mayor with us."

At this, the two women burst into tears. "Please, do not

take him into battle," one said desperately. "He is but an

old man'"

"That is true." Fengbald appeared to consider the point.

"And hence he might not be afraid to die, if there is some

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

401

kind of trapif Josua's force is more than token. So we

will take you, too."

Helfgrim leaped up. "No! You cannot risk their lives'

They are innocent!"

"And they will be safe as doves in a dovecote,"

Fengbald grinned, "as long as your story has been true.

But if you have tried to betray me, they will die. Quickly,

but painfully."

The old man begged him again, but the duke slouched

back in his chair, unmoved. At last the Lord Mayor went

to his daughters. "It will be well." He patted them awk-

wardly, inhibited by the presence of cruel strangers. "We

will be together. No harm will come." He turned to

Fengbald, anger showing beneath his trembling features;

for a moment his voice almost lost its quaver. "There is

no trap, damn youyou will seebut there are a few

dozen men, as I said. I have betrayed the prince for you.

You must show honor toward my children, and keep them

out of danger if there is fighting. Please."

Fengbald waved his hand expansively. "Never fear. I

promise on my honor as a nobleman that when we hold

this dreadful hill and Josua is de.ad, you and your daugh-

ters will go free. And you will tell those you meet that

Duke Fengbald keeps his bargains." He rose and gestured

to the guards. "Now take them all three awayand keep

them separate from the rest of their folk."

After the prisoners had been removed, Fengbald turned

to Lezhdraka. "Why so silent, man? Can you not admit

you were wrongthat I have solved our problem?"

The Thrithings-man seemed to want to argue, but in-

stead reluctantly nodded his head. "These stone-dwellers

are soft. No Thrithings-man would betray his people for

: the sake of two daughters."

Fengbald laughed. "We stone-dwellers, as you call us,

treat our women differently than you louts do." He

walked to the brazier and warmed his long hands over the

coals. "And tomorrow, Lezhdraka, I shall show you

how this stone-dweller treats his enemiesespecially

.those who have defied him as Prince Josua has." He

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Tad Williams

narrowed his lips "That cursed fairy-hill wilt run red

with blood."

He stared into the gleaming embers, a smile curling the

corners of his mouth The wind wailed outside and

rubbed against the tent cloth like an animal.

13

Tfte Nest Bwfders

Tiamak Stared at the still water. His mind was only

half on his task, so when the fish appeared, a dark shadow

flitting between the water lilies, the Wrannaman's strike

was far too late. Tiamak stared down at the handful of

dripping vegetation in disgust and dropped the clump of

weeds back into the muddied water. Any fish in the vicin-

ity would be long gone now.

They Who Watch and Shape, he thought miserably, why

have you done this to me?

He moved closer to the edge of the waterway and

sloshed as delicately as he could down to the next back-

water, then set himself in place to begin his wait once

more.

Ever since he had been a small boy, it seemed, he had

gotten less than he wanted. As the youngest of six chil-

dren, he had always felt that his brothers and sisters ate

better than he did, that when the bowl came at last to

Tiamak, there was little left. He had not grown up as large

as any of his three brothers or his father Tugumak, nor

had he ever been able to catch fish as well as his swift

sister Twiyah, or find as many useful roots and berries as

his clever sister Rimihe. When at last he had found some-

thing he could do better than anyone elsenamely, mas-

ter the drylander skills of reading and writing, and even

leam to speak the drylander tonguesthis also proved

too small a gift. This scurrying after the knowledge of

drylanders made scant sense to his family, or to the oth-

er residents of Village Grove. When he went away to

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Tad Williams

Perdruin to study in a drylander school, were they proud?

Of course not. Despite the fact that no other Wrannaman

in memory had done itor perhaps because of thathis

family could not understand his ambitions. And the

drylanders themselves, all but a very few, were openly

scornful of his gifts. The indifferent teachers and mocking

students had let young Tiamak know in no uncertain

terms that no matter how many scrolls and books and

learned discussions he devoured, he would never be any-

thing better than a savage, a performing animal who had

mastered a clever trick.

So it had been for all of his life until this fatal year, his

only meager comforts found in his studies and the occa-

sional correspondence of the Scrollbearers. Now, as if

They Who Watch and Shape sought to pay all back in a

single season, everything that came to him was too

muchfar, far too much.

This is how the gods mock us, he thought bitterly. They

take our fondest wish. then grant it in such a way that we

beg to be released from it. And to think that I had stopped

believing in them!

They Who Watch and Shape had set the trap neatly

enough, of that there was no doubt. First they had forced

him to choose between his kin and his friends, then they

had sent the crocodile that forced him to fail his kin. Now

his friends needed to be conducted through the vast

marshlands, in fact depended on him for their very lives,

but the only safe route would take him back through Vil-

lage Grove, back to the people he had forsaken. Tiamak

only wished that he himself could have learned to build

such a faultless snarehe would have eaten crabs for

supper every night!

He stood hip-deep in the greenish water and pondered.

What could he do? If he returned to his village, his shame

would be known to all- It might even be possible that they

would not let him go again, holding him as a traitor

against the clan. But if he tried to avoid the wrath of the

villagers, he would have to go leagues out of the way to

find a suitable boat. The only other villages close to this

end of the Wran, High Branch Houses, Yellow Trees, or

TOGREENANGELTOWER

405

Flower-in-the-Rock, were all farther to the south. To go to

one would mean leaving the main arterial waterways and

crossing some of the most dangerous stretches of the en-

tire marsh. Still, there was no choice: they had to stop in

Village Grove or one of the farther settlements, for with-

out a flatboat Tiamak and his companions would never

reach the Lake Thrithing. As it was, their present craft

was leaking badly. They had already been forced to make

several dangerous trips across the unpredictable mud,

carrying the boat around places in the waterway that were

too shallow.

Tiamak sighed. What was it that Isgrimnur himself had

said? Life seemed nothing but difficult choices these

daysand he was right.

There was a flirt of shadow between his knees. Tiamak

swiftly darted a hand down and felt his fingers close

around something small and slippery. He lifted it high,

holding tightly. It was a fish, a pinch-eye, although not a

very large one. Still, it was better than no fish at all- He

turned and pulled up the cloth sack that floated beside

him, anchored to a thick root. He dropped the wriggling

thing in, tightened the drawstring, then lowered the sack

back into the water. A good" omen, perhaps. Tiamak

closed his eyes to make a short prayer of thanks, hoping

that the gods, like children, could be confirmed in good

behavior by praise. When he had finished, he gave his at-

tention back to the green water once more.

A

Miriamele was doing her best to keep the fire going,

but it was difficult. Since entering the marshes they had

found nothing that resembled dry wood, and the small

blazes they had been able to light burned fitfully at best.

She looked up as Tiamak returned. His thin brown face

was closed, and he only nodded as he put down a leaf-

wrapped bundle, then continued to where Isgrimnur and

^ the others were working on the boat. The Wrannaman

seemed very shy: he had said only a few words to

: Miriamele in the two days since they had left Kwanitupul.

406 Tad miiams

She wondered briefly if he might be embarrassed by his

lilting Wrannaman accent. Miriamele dismissed the

thought: Tiamak spoke the Westerling tongue better than

most people who had grown up with it, and Isgrimnur's

thick consonants and Cadrach's musical Hemystiri vow-

els were far more noticeable than the slight up and down

quality of the marsh man's speech.

Miriamele unbundled the fish Tiamak had brought and

gutted them, wiping her knife clean on the leaves before

sheathing it again. She had never cooked in her life be-

fore fleeing the Hayholt, but traveling with Cadrach she

had been forced to learn, if only to avoid starving on

those frequent nights when he was too drunk to be of any

help. She wondered if there was some marsh plant that

might add flavorperhaps she could wrap the fish in the

leaves and steam them. She wandered over to ask the

Wrannaman for advice.

Tiamak stood watching as Isgrimnur, Cadrach, and

Camaris tried for the fourth or fifth time to seal the leaks

that kept the bottom of their small boat almost constantly

full of water. The marsh man held himself a little apart,

as though to stand shoulder to shoulder with these

drylanders might be presumptuous, but Miriamele sud-

denly found herself wondering if she might have it back-

ward: maybe Wrannamen did not feel that those who

lived outside the marsh were worth very much. Could

Tiamak's stolidity be pride rather than shyness? She had

heard that some savages, like the Thrithings-men, actually

looked down on those who lived in cities. Could that be

true with Tiamak, too? She realized now that she knew

little about people outside the courts of Nabban and

Erkynland, although she had always thought herself a

shrewd judge of humanity. However, it was a much larger

and more complicated world on the other side of the

castle walls than she had ever suspected.

She reached out a hand toward the Wrannaman's shoul-

der, then pulled it back again. "Tiamak?" she said.

He jumped, startled. "Yes, Lady Miriamele?"

"I would like to ask you some questions about plants

for the cook-pot, that is."

TOGREENANGELTOWER

407

He lowered his eyes and nodded. Miriamele could not

believe that this was a man too proud to speak. The two

of them walked back to the fire. After she had asked him

a few questions and had shown that she was genuinely in-

terested, he began to talk more freely- Miriamele was as-

tonished. Although his reserve did not completely vanish,

the Wrannaman turned out to be so full of plant lore, and

so pleased to share some of it, that she quickly found her-

self overwhelmed with information. He found for her half

a dozen flowers and roots and leaves that could be safely

used to add savor to food, plucking them as he walked

her around the campsite and down to the water's edge,

and he listed a dozen more that they would encounter as

they traveled through the Wran. Caught up, he began to

point out other bits of greenery that were useful as med-

icine or ink or countless other things.

"How do you know so much?"

Tiamak stopped as if he had been struck. "I am sorry,

Lady Miriamele," he said quietly. "You did not wish to

hear all this."

Miriamele laughed. "I think it's wonderful. But where

did you leam it all?"

"I have studied these things for many years."

"You must know more than anyone in the world!"

Tiamak averted his face. Miriamele was fascinated.

Was he blushing? "No," he said, "no, I am just a stu-

dent." He looked up shyly, but with a hint of pride. "But

someday I do hope that my studies will be knownthat

my name will be remembered."

"I'm sure that it will." She was still somewhat awed,

This slender little man with his unruly mop of thinning

black hair, dressed now like any other Wrannaman in

nothing but a belt and a loincloth, seemed as learned as

any of the writing-priests of the Hayholt! "No wonder

Morgenes and Dinivan were your friends."

His pleased look abruptly evaporated, leaving behind a

kind of sadness. 'Thank you. Lady Miriamele. Now I will

leave you to do what you will with those small fish. I

have bored you long enough."

He turned and walked back across the marshy clearing,

408 Tad Williams

stepping without visible attention from one tussock of

solid earth to another, so that when he reached the far side

and sat down on a log his feet were still dry. Miriamele,

who had mud up to her shins, was forced to admire his

sure-footedness.

But what did I say to upset him? She shrugged and

took her handful of marsh-blossoms back to the waiting

fish.

After supperTiamak's savory touches had proven

most welcomethe company stayed seated around the

fire. The air remained warm, but the sun had gone down

behind the trees and the marsh was filling with shadows.

An army of frogs that had begun booming and croaking

at the first onset of evening was contesting with a vast ar-

ray of whistling, chirping, and screeching birds, so that

the twilight was as noisy as a holiday fair.

"How big is the Wran?" Miriamele asked.

"It is almost as large as the peninsula of Nabban." said

Tiamak. "But we will only have to cross a small part of

it, since we are already in the northernmost region."

"And how long will it take, 0 guide?" Cadrach was

leaning back against a log, trying to make a flute out of

a marsh reed. Several crumpled stalks, the victims of pre-

vious attempts, lay beside him.

The sad look that Miriamele had seen earlier returned

to the Wrannaman's face. 'That depends."

Isgrimnur cocked a bushy eyebrow. "Depends on what,

little man?"

"On which way we go." Tiamak sighed. "Perhaps it is

best I share my worries with you. I suppose it is not a de-

cision I should make alone."

"Speak, man," the duke said.

Tiamak told them of his dilemma. He made it plain that

it was not only the shame of returning to his village-folk

after having failed their errand that he feared, but that

even if the rest of the company were allowed to leave

again, Tiamak himself might not be, stranding them deep

in the Wran without a guide-

"Could we not hire another of the villagers?" Isgrimnur

TOGREENANGELTOWER

asked. "Not that we want to see anything happen to you,

of course," he added hastily.

"Of course." Tiamak's glance was cool. "As to your

question, I do not know. Our clan has never been one to

cause trouble for others, unless actual harm is done to

someone of Village Grove, but that does not mean that

the elders might not prevent anyone in the settlement

from helping you. It is hard to say."

The company debated as night came on. Tiamak did his

best to explain the distance and the dangers involved in a

trip to any alternate settlement south of Village Grove. At

last, as a troop of chittering apes scrambled past over-

head, making the tree branches dip and waver, they ar-

rived at a decision.

"It's hard, Tiamak," Isgrimnur said, "and we will not

force you against your will, but it seems best we go to

your village."

The Wrannaman nodded solemnly. "I agree. Even

though I have done no wrong to the clanfolk of High

Branch Houses or Yellow Trees, there is no certainty that

they would take kindly to strangers. At least my people

have been tolerant of the few drylanders that have come."

He sighed. "I think I will walk'for a short while. Please,

stay near the fire." He rose and ambled down toward the

waterway, quickly vanishing in the shadows.

Camaris, bored by the others' talk, had long since

curled up with his head on a cloak and gone to sleep, his

long legs drawn up like a small child's. Miriamele,

Isgrimnur, and Cadrach faced each other over the flicker-

ing blaze. The hidden birds, who had quieted as Tiamak

walked out of the campsite, swelled into raucous voice

again.

"He seems very sad," Miriamele said.

Isgrimnur yawned. "He's been steady enough, in his

way."

"Poor man." Miriamele lowered her voice, worried that

the Wrannaman might return and hear them. No one liked

to be pitied. "He knows a lot about plants and flowers.

It's too bad that he has to live so far away from people

who could understand him."

4io

Tad Williams

"He is not the only one with such a problem," said

Cadrach, mostly to himself.

Miriamele was watching a small deer, white-spotted

and round-eyed, that had come down to the watercourse

to drink. She held her breath as it stilted along the sandy

bank, a bare three cubits from the boat; her companions

had all fallen silent in the afternoon heat, so there was

nothing to frighten the deer away. Miriamele rested her

chin on the railing of the boat, marveling at the creature's

graceful movements.

As it dipped its nose to the muddy river, a toothy snout

suddenly erupted from the water. Before it could leap

back, the little deer was seized by the crocodile and

dragged down thrashing into the brown darkness. Nothing

remained but ripples. Miriamele turned away, revolted

and more than a little frightened. How swiftly death had

come!

The more she watched, the more fickle the Wran

seemed, a place of waving fronds, shifting shadows, and

constant movement. For every beautygreat bell-like

scarlet flowers as heavily scented as any Nabbanai dow-

ager, or hummingbirds like streaks of jeweled light

Miriamele saw what seemed to be a corresponding

ugliness, like the great gray spiders, large as supper

bowls, that clung to the overhanging branches.

In the trees she saw birds of a thousand colors, and

mocking apes, and even dappled snakes that hung from the

branches like swollen vines. At sunset, clouds of bats

leaped out from the upper branches and turned the sky into

a whirling storm of wings. Insects, too, were everywhere,

buzzing, stinging, wings shimmering in the uneven sunlight.

Even vegetation moved and shifted, the reeds and trees

bending in the wind, the water plants bobbing with every

ripple. The Wran was a tapestry in which every thread

seemed to be in motion. Everything was alive.

Miriamele remembered the Aldheorte, which had also

been a place of life, of deep roots and quiet power, but

that forest had been old and settled. Like an ancient peo-

ple, it seemed to have found its own stately music, its

TOGREENANGELTOWER

411

own measured and unchanging pace. She remembered

thinking that the Aldheorte could easily remain just as it

was until the end of time. The Wran seemed to be invent-

ing itself every moment, as though it were a curl of foam

on the boiling edge of creation. Miriamele could just as

easily imagine returning in twenty years to find it a howl-

ing desert, or a jungle so thick that there would be no pas-

sage through it, a clot of green and black where the

twining leaves would shut out the very light of the sun.

As the days passed and the boat and its small crew

moved deeper into the marshlands, Miriamele felt a

\;weight lift from her being. She felt anger still, at her fa-

ther and his terrible choices, at Aspitis who had tricked

her and violated her, at the supposedly kindly God that

had so twisted her own life from her grasp ... but it was

^ an anger that did not bite so fiercely now. When all

t/ around her was so full of weirdly vibrant and changing

^ life, it was hard to hold on to the bitter feelings that had

ruled her in the weeks before. When the world was cease-

lessly recreating itself on every side, it was almost impos-

sible for her not to feel as though she, too, were being

made anew.

"What are all these bones?" Miramele asked. On either

side of the waterway, the shoreline was littered with skel-

etons, a jumble of spines and rib cages like the bleached

staves of ruined ships, strangely white against the mud- "I

I hope they belong to animals."

"We are all animals," said Cadrach. "We all have

bones."

"What are you trying to do, monk, frighten the girl?"

Isgrimnur said angrily. "Look at those skulls. Those were

cockindrills, not men."

"Ssshh." Tiamak turned from the prow of the boat.

"Duke Isgrimnur is right. They are the bones of croco-

diles. But you must be quiet for a while now. We are

^-coming to the Pool of Sekob."

1 "What is that?"

| "It is the reason for all these remains." The

I'Wrannaman's eyes lit on Camaris, who was trailing his

^

412 Tad Williams

veined hand in the water, watching the ripples with the

absorbed stare of childhood. "Isgrimnur! Do not let him

do that!"

The duke turned and lifted Camaris' hand out of the

water. The old man looked at him with mild reproach, but

kept his dripping hand in his lap.

"Now, please be quiet for a little while," said Tiamak.

"And row slowly. Do not splash."

"What is this all about?" Isgrimnur demanded, but at a

look from the Wrannaman he fell silent. He and

Miriamele did their best to make their touch on the oars

gentle and steady.

The boat floated down a waterway so draped with the

fronds of leaning willows that it seemed hung with a solid

green curtain. When they had passed the willows, they

discovered that the passage had suddenly opened before

them into a wide, still lake. Banyan trees grew down to

the water's edge, serpentine roots forming a wall of curl-

ing wood around most of the lake. On the far side the

banyans fell away and the lake floor sloped up into a

broad beach of pale sand. A few small islands, mere

bumps on the surface of the water near the beach, were

the only thing that marred the lake's glassy smoothness.

A pair of bitterns stalked along the water's edge at the

near end, bending to probe in the mud. Miriamele thought

that the wide strand looked like a wonderful place to

campthe lake itself seemed an airy paradise after some

of the wet and tangled places they had stoppedand she

was about to say so when Tiamak's fierce look stilled her.

She supposed that this was some kind of sacred spot for

me Wrannaman and his folk. Still, there was no cause for

him to treat her like a misbehaving child.

Miriamele turned away from Tiamak and looked out

across the lake, memorizing it so that someday she would

be able to summon up the feeling of pure peace it repre-

sented. As she did, she had a sudden disquieting sensation

that the lake was moving, that the water was flowing

away to one side. A moment later she realized that it was

the small islands that were moving instead. Crocodiles!

She had been fooled before, seen other logs and sandbars

TOGREENANGELTOWER413

that abruptly lurched into life; she smiled at her own city-

bred innocence. Perhaps it would not be such a wonderful

choice for camp after allstill, a few crocodiles did not

spoil the looks of the place,...

The moving bumps rose farther out of the water as they

neared the beach. It was only when the immense, impos-

sible thing finally crawled up onto the sand, dragging its

bloated form into the clear light of the sun, that

Miriamele finally realized that there was only one croco-

dile.

"God's mercy on us'" Cadrach said in a strangled

whisper. Isgrimnur echoed him.

The great beast, long as ten men, wide as a mason's

barge, turned its head to regard the little boat slipping

across the lake. Both Miriamele and Isgrimnur ceased

rowing, hands clammy and nerveless on the sweeps.

"Don't stop!" Tiamak hissed. "Slowly, slowly, but keep

-going!"

^Even across the expanse of water, Miriamele thought

J- she could see the creature's eye glitter as it watched them,

|: feel its cold and ancient stare. When the immense legs

t whirled and the clawed feet dug briefly at the ground as

^though the giant would turn and re-enter the water,

|Miriamele feared her heart would stop. But the great

^crocodile did no more than send a few gouts of sand into

jme air, then the huge, knobby head dropped down to the

||beach and the yellow eye closed.

I". When they had made their way across to the water-

pway's outlet, Miriamele and Isgrimnur began rowing

g^aid, as if by silent agreement. After a few moments they

|were breathing heavily. Tiamak told them to stop.

t "We are safe," he said. "The time has long gone when

l&e could follow us up this way. He has gotten far too

sa.^

"What was it?" Miriamele gasped. "It was horrible."

"Old Sekob. My folk call him the grandfather of all

|terocodiles. I do not know if that is true, but he is certainly

jfte master of all his kind. Year after year other crocodiles

~Mne to fight him. Year after year he feeds on these dial-

lers, swallows them whole, so he never has to hunt

414

Tad Williams

any more. The strongest of all sometimes escape the lake

and crawl as far away as the riverbank before they die.

Those were the bones you saw."

"I've never seen anything like it." Cadrach had gone

quite pale, but there was a quality of exhilaration in his

tone. "Like one of the great dragons'"

"He is the dragon of the Wran," Tiamak agreed. "There

is no doubt of that. But unlike drylanders, we marsh-folk

leave our dragons alone. He is no threat to us, and he kills

many of the largest man-eaters that would otherwise prey

on me Wran people. So we show him respect. Old Sekob

is far too well-fed to need to chase such a puny morsel as

we would make."

"So why did you want us to be quiet?" asked

Miriamele.

Tiamak gave her a dry look. "He might not need to eat

us, but you do not go into the king's throne room and

play children's games, either. Especially when the king is

old and quick to temper."

"Elysia, Mother of God." Isgrimnur shook his head.

Sweat beaded his forehead, although the day was not par-

ticularly warm. "No, we certainly would not want to get

that old fellow upset."

"Now come," said Tiamak. "If we keep on until first

dark, we should be able to reach Village Grove by tomor-

row midday."

As they traveled, the Wrannaman became more talka-

tive. When they had reached waters so shallow that

rowing was no use, there was little else to do but listen

to each others' stories as Tiamak stood and poled the boat

along. Under Miriamele's questioning he told them much

about the life of the Wran, as well as about his own un-

usual choices which had marked him out from his fellow

villagers.

"But your people have no king?" she asked.

"No." The small man thought for a moment. "We have

elders, or we call them that, but some of them are no

older than I am. Any man can become one."

"How? By asking to?"

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

"No. By giving feasts." He smiled shyly. "When a man

has a wife and childrenand whatever other family lives

with himand can feed them all with some left over, he

begins to give what is left to others. In return, he might

ask for something like a boat or new fishing floats, or if

he chooses he can say: 'I will ask payment when I give

my feast.' Then, when he is owed enough, he 'calls for

the crabs,' as we say, which means he asks all those who

owe him things to pay him back; then he invites everyone

in the village for a feast. If everyone is satisfied, that man

becomes an elder. He must then give such a feast once ev-

ery year, or he will not be an elder in that year."

"Sounds daft," Isgrimnur grumbled, scratching. He had

been by far the greatest target for the local insect life; his

broad face was covered in bumps. Miriamele understood,

and forgave him his short temper.

"No more daft man passing land down from father to

son." Cadrach's response was mild, but held an edge of

sarcasm. "Or getting it in the first place by braining your

neighbor with an axas your folk did until fairly re-

cently, Duke."

"No man should have what he is not strong enough to

protect," Isgrimnur responded,- but he seemed more pre-

occupied with digging at a difficult spot between his

shoulder blades than with continuing the debate.

"I think," Tiamak said quietly, "that it is a good way.

It makes certain that no one starves and that no one

hoards his wealth. Until I studied in Perdruin, I could not

imagine that there was another way of doing things."

"But if a man doesn't wish to be an elder," Miriamele

pointed out, "then there's nothing to make him give up

the things he is gathering."

"Ah, but then no one in the village thinks very highly

of him." Tiamak grinned. "Also, since the elders decide

what is best for the village, they might just decide that the

excellent fish pond beside which a rich and selfish man

has built his house now belongs to all the village. There

is little sense in being rich and not being an elderit

causes jealousy, you see."

Duke Isgrimnur continued to scratch. Tiamak and

4i6

Tad Williams

Cadrach fell into a quiet conversation about some of the

more intricate points of Wran theology. Miriamele, who

had grown tired of talk, took the opportunity to watch old

Camaris.

Miriamele could stare without embarrassment: the tall

man seemed quite uncaring, no more interested in the

business of his fellows than a horse in a paddock might

be with the traders talking by the fence. Observing his

bland but certainly not stupid face, it was almost impos-

sible to believe that she was in the presence of a legend.

The name of Camaris-sa-Vinitta was nearly as famous as

that of her grandfather Prester John, and both of them,

she felt sure, would be remembered by generations yet

unborn. Yet here he was, old and witless, when all the

world had thought him dead. How could such a thing

have come to pass? What secrets hid behind his guileless

exterior?

Her attention was drawn down to the old knight's

hands- Gnarled and callused by decades of toil at

Pelippa's Bowl and on countless battlefields, they were

still somehow quite noble, huge and long-fingered but

gentle. She watched him twisting aimlessly at the material

of his ragged breeches and wondered how such deft, care-

ful hands could have dealt death as swiftly and terribly as

his legend said. Still, she had seen his strength, which

would have been impressive even in a man half his age,

and in the few moments of danger the little company had

experienced in the Wran, when the boat had threatened to

overturn or someone had fallen into a pit of sucking mud,

he had responded with amazing quickness.

Miriamele's eyes strayed back to Camaris' face once

more. Before encountering him at the inn, she had never

met him, of coursehe had disappeared a quarter of a

century before her birthbut there was something trou-

blingly familiar about his face. It was something that she

only saw at certain angles, a phantom glint that left her

feeling as though she were on the verge of some revela-

tion, of some profound recognition ... but the moment

would always pass and the familiarity would disappear.

Just now, for instance, the nagging sensation was not

TOGREENANGELTOWER417

present: at this moment, Camaris looked like nothing but

a handsome old man with a particularly serene and other-

worldly expression-

Perhaps it was only the paintings and tapestries,

Miriamele reasonedafter all, she had seen so many pic-

tures of this famous man! There were likenesses of him in

the Hayholt. in the ducal palace at Nabban, even in

Meremund ... although Elias had only hung them when

his father John was coming, to honor the old man's

friendship with Osten Ard's greatest knight. Her father

Elias, who had considered himself the paramount knight

of his father's kingdom in latter days, had shown little pa-

tience with stories of the old times of the Great Table, and

particularly with tales about the splendor of Camaris....

Miriamele's thoughts were interrupted by Tiamak's an-

nouncement that they were nearing Village Grove.

"I hope you will forgive me if we stop and spend the

night at my little house," he said. "I have not seen it for

several months and I would like to make sure that my

birds have survived. It would take us another hour or so

to reach the village anyway, and it is later in the day than

I thought it would be." He waved a hand toward the red-

dening western sky. "We may as well wait until morning

to go see the elders."

"I hope your house has curtains to keep the bugs out,"

Isgrimnur said somewhat plaintively.

"Your birds?" Cadrach was interested. "From Mor-

genes?"

Tiamak nodded. "To begin with, although I have long

since been raising my own. But Morgenes taught me the

art, it is true."

"Could we use them to send a message to Josua?"

Miriamele asked.

"Not to Josua," Tiamak said, frowning in thought. "But

if you know of any Scrollbearers who might be with him

we could try. These birds cannot find just anybody. Ex-

cept for certain people whom they have been trained to

seek out, they only know places, like any ordinary mes-

senger birds. In any case, we will talk about this when we

are under my roof."

4i8

Tad Williams

Tiamak guided the boat through a succession of tiny

streamlets, some so shallow that the whole company was

forced to stand waist-deep in the water to lift the rowboat

over the sandbars. At last they entered a slow-moving wa-

terway that took them down a long alley of banyan trees-

They drew up at last before a hut so cunningly hidden

that they would surely have drifted past if its owner were

not guiding the boat. Tiamak hooked down the ladder of

twisted vines and one by one they climbed up into the

Wrannaman's house.

Miriamele was disappointed to find the interior of the

hut so spare. It was obvious that the little scholar was a

man of humble means, but she had at least hoped in this,

her first experience of a Wran dwelling, to find a little

more in the way of exotic furnishings. There were neither

beds, tables, nor chairs. Other than the firepit set into the

floor of the house beneath a cleverly vented smoke hole,

the only household belongings were a small chest of

wickerwork, another much larger and sturdier wooden

chest, a stretched-bark writing board, and a few other

odds and ends. Still, it was dry, and that alone was such

a change from the last few days that Miriamele was grate-

ful.

Tiamak showed Cadrach the wood piled beneath the

eaves outside one of the high windows, then left the

monk to start a fire while he himself clambered up onto

the roof to see to his birds. Camaris, whose height made

him seem a giant in the small housealthough Isgrimnur

was not much shorter and was certainly a great deal

heaviersquatted uncomfortably in the comer.

Tiamak appeared at the window, upside down- He was

leaning over the edge of the roof, and he was clearly de-

lighted. "Look!" He held up a handful of powdery gray-

"It is Honey-Lover! She has come back! Many of the oth-

ers, too!" He disappeared from sight as though jerked up

by a string. After a moment, Camaris went to the window

and climbed out after him with his usual surprising dex-

terity.

"Now if we could only find something to eat," Is-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

grimnur said. "I don't really trust Tiamak's marsh-

mucknot that I'm not grateful." He wet his lips, "It's

just that I wouldn't turn down a joint of beef or some-

thing like. Keep our strength up."

Miriamele could not help laughing. "I don't think there

are many cows in the Wran."

"Can't be sure," Isgrimnur muttered distractedly. "It's

a strange place. Could be anything here."

"We met the grandfather of all crocodiles," Cadrach

said as he fumbled with the flints. "Could it be. Duke

Isgrimnur, that somewhere in the dank shrubbery lurks

the gigantic grandmother of all cows? With a brisket big

as a wagon?"

The Rimmersman would not be baited. "If you mind

your manners, sirrah, I might even leave you a bite or

two."

There was no beef. Isgrimnur, along with the rest of the

company, was forced to make do with a thin soup made

: from various kinds of marsh-grass and a few slivers from

|the one fish Tiamak was able to catch before dark.

llsgrimnur made an offhand remark about the charm of an

Bember-roasted pigeon, but the Wrannaman was so horri-

"i'fied that the duke quickly apologized.

t; "It's just my way, man," he grumbled. "I'm damned

wry. Wouldn't touch your birds,"

Even had he been serious, he might have found it more

'Ticult than expected. Camaris had taken to Tiamak's pi-

ons as though to a long-lost family. The old knight

_ 3nt most of the evening up on the roof of the house

^with his head stuck in the dovecote- He came down for

'^y a few moments to drink his share of the soup, then

limbed back to the roof again, where he sat in silent

pmmunion with Tiamak's birds until everyone else had

uried up in their cloaks on the board floor. The old man

stumed at last and lay down, but even then he stared fix-

dly at the shadow-darkened ceiling as though he could

" through the thatch to where his new friends roosted;

eyes were still open long after the sound of Isgrimnur

1 Cadrach snoring had filled the small room. Miriamele

420 Tad Williams

watched him until drowsiness began to send her own

thoughts spinning slowly around like a whirlpool.

So Miriamele fell asleep in a house in a tree with the

quiet slapping of water beneath her, the questioning cries

of night birds above.

Different birds were shrilling when the tree-filtered

sunlight awoke her. Their voices were coarse and repeti-

tive, but Miriamele did not find it too distracting. She had

slept astonishingly wellshe felt as though she had got-

ten the first solid night's sleep since leaving Nabban.

"Good morning!" she said cheerily to Tiamak, who

was huddled over the firepit- "Something smells nice."

The Wrannaman bobbed his head. "I found a pot of

flour I had buried in the back. How it stayed dry I will

never know. Usually my seals don't hold." He pointed his

long fingers at the flat cakes bubbling on a hot stone. "It

is not much, but I always feel better when I get hot food."

"Me, too." Miriamele took a deep, savoring sniff. How

astonishing yet reassuring it was that someone raised

around the groaning banquet tables of Erkynlandish roy-

alty could still find herself so pleased by unleavened bis-

cuits cooked on a rockif only the circumstances were

right. There was something profound in that, she knew,

but it seemed a shame to brood so early in the morning.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

'Trying to clear some rocks out of the narrow part of

the waterway. If we can get the boat past this spot, we

will have an easy time in to Village Grove. We will be

there long before noon."

"Good." Miriamele considered for a moment. "I want

to wash. Where should I go?"

"There is a rainwater pool not too far away," Tiamak

said. "But I should take you there."

"I can go by myself," she said, a little briskly.

"Of course, but it is very easy to make a bad step here,

Lady Miramele." The slender man was embarrassed to

have to correct her, and Miriamele immediately felt

ashamed.

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

421

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's very kind of you to take me,

Tiamak. Whenever you're ready, we'll go."

He smiled. "Now. Just let me pull these cakes off, so

they do not bum. The first crabs should go to the one who

made the trap, don't you think?"

It was not easy to climb down from the house while

juggling hot cakes. Miriamele almost fell off the ladder.

Their three companions were a little way up the estu-

ary, waist-deep in green, scummy water. Isgrimnur

straightened up and waved. He had doffed his shin, and

his great chest and stomach, covered with reddish-brown

fur, were revealed in all their glory beneath the murky

sun. Miriamele giggled. He looked just like a bear.

"There is food inside," Tiamak called to them. "And

batter in the bowl to make more."

Isgrimnur waved again.

After wading through the thick, clinging underbrush for

a few moments, skirting patches of sucking mud,

Miriamele and Tiamak began to climb a short, low rise.

'This is one of the little hills," Tiamak said. "There are

a few in this part of the Wranthe rest is very flat." He

pointed into the distance, which was just as tree-choked

where he pointed as in any other direction. "You cannot

see from here, but the highest point in the Wran is there,

half a league away. It is called Ya MologiCradle Hill."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I think that She Who Birthed Mankind

is supposed to have lived there." He looked up, shy again.

"One of our gods."

When Miriamele did not comment, the little man

turned around and pointed along the rise a short distance

to a place where the land folded in upon itself. A row of

tall trees grew therewillows again, Miriamele noticed.

They seemed far more robust than the surrounding vege-

tation. "There." Tiamak headed toward the spot where the

land dipped down.

It was a tiny canyon, a mere wrinkle in the hillside, less

than a stone's throw from end to end. The bottom was al-

most entirely filled with a standing pond choked with hy-

acinths and water lilies and long trailing grasses. "It is a

422 Tad Williams

rainwater pond," Tiamak said proudly. "It is the reason

my father Tugumak built his house here, although we

were far from Village Grove. There are a few other such

ponds in this part of the Wran, but this is much the nic-

est."

Miriamele looked it over a little doubtfully. "I can

bathe in it?" she asked. "No crocodiles or snakes or any-

thing else?"

"A few water beetles, nothing more," the Wrannaman

assured her. "I will go and leave you to your washing.

Can you find your way back?"

Miriamele thought for a moment. "Yes, I'm close

enough to shout if I get lost, in any case."

"True." Tiamak turned and made his way back up the

shallow defile, then disappeared through the hedge of wil-

lows. When she heard his voice again, it was quite faint.

"We will save some food for you. Lady!"

He did that to let me know he was far away, Miriamele

thought, smiling. So I wouldn't worry that he was staying

to watch. Even in the swamp, there are gentlemen.

She undressed, enjoying the morning warmth that was

one of the few nice things about the swamp, then waded

into the pond. She sighed with pleasure as the water

reached her knees: it was quite comfortable, only a little

cooler than a tub bath. Tiamak had given her a small gift,

she realized; it was one of the nicest she had been given

in a long while-

The bottom of the pond was covered with soft, firm

mud that felt good beneath her toes. The willows that

loomed so closely and drooped so low, as if greedy for

the pondwater, made her feel almost as protected and pri-

vate as if she had been in her chamber at Meremund. Af-

ter wading partway around the rim of the pool, she found

a spot where the grass grew thick beneath the surface.

She sat on it as though it were a carpet, sinking down un-

til the water almost reached her chin. She splashed water

on her face, then wetted her hair and tried to loosen the

tangles. Now that it was beginning to grow out again, she

could not treat it as carelessly as she had of late.

After she had finished, she simply sat for a while, lis-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

423

tening to the racket of birds and the warm wind moving

the trees.

As Miriamele was belting her dirty and somewhat od-

oriferous monk's robe around her waist once moreand

grumbling to herself as she did because she had not been

foresighted enough to bring a change of clothing with her

out of Pelippa 's Bowlthe rustle of leaves overhead sud-

denly became louder. Miriamele looked up, expecting a

large bird or perhaps even one of the marsh apes, but

what she saw instead caused her to suck in her breath in

shocked surprise.

The thing hanging from the branch was only as big as

a young child, but that was still unpleasantly large. It

looked something like a crab and something like a spider,

but despite its crustacean exterior it had, as far as

Miriamele could tell, only four limbs; each was jointed,

ending in a recurved claw. The creature's body was cov-

ered in a homy, leathery shell, gray and brown splashed

with inky black, crisscrossed with uneven trails of lichen.

Its eyes were the worst pan, though: their beady black

glimmersomehow so oddly intelligent, despite the mal-

formed head and chitinous bodysent her stumbling

backward until she was sure it could not reach her, no

matter how prodigious a leaper it might be. The thing did

not move. It seemed to watch her in a disturbingly human

way, but the creature was otherwise not human in the

least; it did not even have a mouth that she could see, un-

less the little clicking things in the cleft at the bottom of

its blunt head served that purpose.

Miriamele shivered in disgust. "Go away!" she cried,

waving her hands as she might try to shoo a dog. The glit-

tering eyes stared at her with what almost seemed an at-

titude of amused malice.

But it has no face, she told herself. How can it have

feelings?! It was an animal, and it was either dangerous

or not. How could she think she saw feelings in some-

thing that was no more than a huge bug? Still, she found

the creature terrifying. Although it made no hostile move-

ment, she circled the tree widely as she made her way up

424

Tad Williams

out of the little canyon. The thing made no move to fol-

low her, but it turned to watch her go.

"A ghant," Tiamak explained as they were all climbing

back into the boat. "I am sorry it frightened you. Lady

Miriamele. They are ugly things, but they seldom attack

people, and almost never anyone larger than a child." -

"But it looked at me like a person would!" Miriamele

shuddered. "I don't know why, but it was dreadful."

Tiamak nodded his head. "They are not just low ani-

mals, Ladyor at least I do not think so, although others

of my folk insist they are no cleverer than crayfish. I

wonder, though: I have seen the huge nests they build,

and the clever way they hunt for fish and trap birds."

"So you would suggest they are thinking creatures?"

Cadrach asked dryly, "That would come as a disturbing

thought to the hierarchy of Mother Church, I should

think. Must they not then have souls? Perhaps Nabban

will have to send missionary priests out to the Wran to

bring them to the bosom of the True Faith."

"Enough of your mockery, Hemystirman," Isgrimnur

grunted. "Help me get this damnable boat off the sand-

bar."

It was a short journey to Village Grove, or so Tiamak

had said. The morning was bright and only comfortably

warm, but even so, the ghant had darkened Miriamele's

mood. It had reminded her of the terrible, alien nature of

the marsh country. This was not her home. Tiamak might

be able to live happily herealthough she doubted that

such was the case even with himbut she herself cer-

tainly never could.

The Wrannaman, poling now with the oar handle,

directed them down an ever-turning succession of inter-

woven canals and streamlets, each one hidden from the

next by the thick shield of vegetation that grew along its

sandy, unstable banksdense walls of pale reeds and

dark, tangled growth festooned with bright but somehow

feverish-looking flowersso that every time that a side

course took them from one waterway to the next, the pre-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

425

vious one had vanished behind them almost as soon as the

stem of the boat had crossed over to the new one.

Soon the first houses of Village Grove began to appear

on either side of the waterway. Some were built in trees,

like Tiamak's; others loomed on tree-trunk stilts. After

they had floated past a few, Tiamak pulled the boat up be-

neath the landing of a large stilt-house and loudly hailed

the occupants.

"Roahog!" he called. When there was no reply, he

banged the oar handle against one of the pilings; the rat-

tling drove a bevy of green and scarlet birds shrieking

from the trees overhead, but brought no other response.

Tiamak shouted again, then shrugged.

"The potter is not home," he said. "I saw no one in the

other houses, either. Perhaps there is a gathering at the

landing-place."

They poled on. The houses that now began to appear

were closer together. Some of the dwellings seemed to be

composed of many small houses of different shapes and

sizes that had been grafted onto an original hutclumps

; of muddled shapes pocked with irregular black windows,

like the nests of cliff-dwelling owls. Tiamak stopped and

, called at several of them, but nd' one ever answered his

hail.

"The landing-place," he said firmly, but Miriamele

thought he looked worried. "They must be at the landing-

place."

;This proved to be a great, flat dock that protruded

halfway out into the middle of the widest part of the wa-

'tercourse. Houses gathered thickly around it on all sides,

and parts of the landing-place itself were equipped with

..thatched roofs and walls. Miriamele guessed these areas

'might be used for market stalls. There were other signs of

^recent lifelarge decorated baskets set back in the leafy

tshade, boats bobbing at the end of their paintersbut no

| people.

I Tiamak was clearly shaken. "They Who Watch and

|Shape," he breathed, "what has happened here?"

t "They're gone?" Miriamele looked around. "How

|could a whole village be gone?"

426 Tad Williams

"You've not seen the north, my lady," Isgrimnur said

dourly. 'There are many towns on the Frostmarch that are

empty as old pots."

"But those people have been chased out by war. Surely

there's no war here. Not yet."

"Some in the north have been chased out by war,"

Cadrach murmured. "Some by fear of things more diffi-

cult to name. And fear is everywhere in these days."

"I do not understand." Tiamak wagged his head as

though he still could not believe what he saw. "My peo-

ple would not just run away, even if they were afraid of

the warwhich I doubt they have even heard about. Our

life is here. Where would they go?"

Camaris stood up suddenly, setting the boat rocking

and filling the other passengers with alarm; but when the

old man had balanced himself, he merely reached up and

plucked a long yellowish seedpod from one of the tree

branches hanging overhead, then sat back down again to

examine his prize.

"Well, there are boats here, anyway," Isgrimnur said.

"They're what we need. I don't mean to be cruel, Tiamak,

but we should pick one and be on our way. We'll leave

our boat for trade, as you said." He made a face, trying to

think of the knightly thing to do. "Maybe you can scratch

a letter on one of your parchments or somesuchlet 'em

know what we've done."

Tiamak stared for a moment as though he had suddenly

forgotten the Westerling language. "Oh," he said at last.

"A new boat. Of course." He shook his head. "I know we

have need for haste. Duke Isgrimnur, but would you mind

if we stopped here a little time? I must look aroundsee

if my sisters or anyone else left word of where they have

gone."

"Well . . ." Isgrimnur peered at the deserted dock.

Miriamele thought the duke seemed a little reluctant.

There was indeed something eerie about the empty vil-

lage. The inhabitants seemed to have vanished quite sud-

denly, as though they had been swept away by a strong

wind- "I suppose that's all right, certainly. We thought it

might take us the whole day, after all. Certainly."

TOGREENANGELTOWER

"Thank you." Tiamak nodded. "I would have felt ..."

He started again. "So far I have not done all that I could

do for my people. It would not be right Just to take a flat-

boat and float away without even looking about."

He caught hold of one of the tie posts and made their

boat fast to the landing-place.

The people of Village Grove did seem to have left in a

hurry. A cursory inspection showed that many useful

things had been left behind, not least of which were sev-

eral baskets of fruits and vegetables. While Tiamak went

off to search for some indication of why and where his

people had fled, Cadrach and Isgrimnur began to harvest

this unexpected bounty, loading their new vessela large

and well-constructed flatboatuntil it floated rather

lower in the water than Tiamak might think was best. On

her own, Miriamele found some flower-colored dresses in

one of the huts near the landing-place. They were baggy

and shapeless, quite unlike anything she would ever have

worn at home, but in these conditions they would serve

nicely for a change of clothing. She also discovered a

pair of leather slippers, thong-stitched, that seemed as

though they might make a nice change from the boots

she had been wearing almost continuously since leaving

Naglimund. After a moment's hesitation over the pro-

priety of taking someone's belongings without leaving

anything in return, Miriamele steeled herself and appro-

priated the clothes- After all, what did she have to

exchange?

As morning slid into afternoon, Tiamak returned occa-

sionally to pass on his news, which was generally no

news. He had discovered the same curious evidence of

hasty retreat, but could find nothing to indicate why the

flight had occurred. The only possible clue was that sev-

eral spears and other weapons were missing from the hut

where the village's elders metweapons that Tiamak said

were not the property of individuals but of the village as

a whole, important weapons which were only taken down

in time of battle or other conflict.

"I think I will go to Older Mogahib's house," said the

428 Tad Williams

Wrannaman. "He is our chief elder, so anything important

would be there. It is a good distance up the watercourse,

so I will take a boat. I should be back before the sun hits

the treeline." He pointed to indicate the sun's westward

path.

"Do you want to eat before you go?" Isgrimnur asked-

"I'll have the fire going in a moment."

Tiamak shook his head- "I can wait until I return. As I

said, there will still be much of the day left when I get

back."

But the afternoon waned and Tiamak did not return.

Miriamele and the others ate turnipsor at least some-

thing that looked like turnips, bulbous, starchy things

which Tiamak had assured them were safely edibleand

a squishy yellow fruit that they wrapped in green leaves

and baked in the coals of the fire. A brown, dovelike bird

that Cadrach captured with a snare, when boiled for soup,

helped to fill out the meal- As the shadows lengthened

across the green water and the hum of insects began to

rise, Miriamelfr became worried.

"He should have been back by now. The sun went be-

low the trees a long time ago."

"The little fellow's fine," Isgrimnur assured her. "He's

probably found something interestingsome damned

marsh-man scroll or something- He'll be back soon."

But he did not come back, not even when the sun had

gone and the stars came out. Miriamele and the others

made their beds out on the landing dockmore than a lit-

tle reluctantly, since they still had no idea what had hap-

pened to Village Grove's vanished citizensand were

glad for the embers of the fire- Miriamele did not fall

asleep for a long time.

The morning sun was high when Miriamele awoke.

One look at Isgrimnur's worried face was enough to con-

firm what she had feared.

"Oh, poor Tiamak! Where is he? What could have hap-

pened!? I hope he isn't hurt!"

"Not just poor Tiamak, Lady." Cadrach's studiedly

sour tone did not entirely cover his deep unease. "Poor us

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

429

as well. How will we ever find our way out of this god-

less swamp by ourselves?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. There was

nothing to say.

A

"There's nothing else to do," Isgrimnur said on the sec-

ond Tiamak-less morning. "We have to try and find our

way out by ourselves."

Cadrach made a bitter face. "We might as well give

ourselves to the grandfather crocodile, Rimmersman. At

least it would save time."

"Damn you," Isgrimnur snarled, "don't expect me to

crawl off and die! I've never given up in my life, and I've

been in some tight spots."

"You've never been lost in the Wran before," Cadrach

pointed out.

"Stop it! Stop it now!" Miriamele's head hurt. The

wrangling had been going on since the middle of the day

before. "Isgrimnur's right. We have no other choice."

Cadrach seemed about to say something unpleasant,

but shut his mouth instead and stared off at the empty

houses of Village Grove.

"We will go the same direction Tiamak went," declared

Isgrimnur. "That way, if something has happened to

himI mean if he is hurt or holed his boat or something

likeat least we may chance upon him."

"But he said he was not going farjust to the other

end of his people's village," she said. "When we leave the

last houses, we will not know where he meant us to go

next, will we?"

"No, curse it, and I was too foolish to think to ask him

when I could have." Isgrimnur scowled. "Not that any-

thing he said would have made much sensethis damna-

ble place just turns my head around."

"But the sun is still the same, even over the Wran,"

Miriamele said, a touch of desperation now making itself

felt. "The stars, too. We should be able to decide which

direction is north toward Uncle Josua, at least."

430

Tad Williams

Isgrimnur smiled sadly. "Aye. That's true, Princess. We

will do our best."

Cadrach stood suddenly, then walked to the flatboat

they had selected, stepping around the old man Camaris,

who was dangling his feet off the dock into the green wa-

ter. Earlier Miriamele had dangled her own feet similarly

and been bitten by a turtle, but the old man seemed to-

have established more amicable relations with the river's

inhabitants.

Cadrach bent and hefted one of the sacks piled on the

dock. He heaved it to Camaris, who caught it with ease

and dropped it into the boat. "I will not argue any fur-

ther," the monk said as he stooped for a second sack. "Let

us load what food and water we can. At least we will not

die from hunger or thirstalthough we soon may wish

we had."

Miriamele had to laugh. "Elysia, Mother of God,

Cadrach, could you be more gloomy if you tried?! Maybe

we should just kill you now and put you out of your mis-

ery."

"I've heard worse ideas," grunted Isgrimnur.

Miriamele watched with apprehension as the center of

Village Grove disappeared behind them. Although it had

been empty, nevertheless it had clearly been a place

where people had lived; the marks of their recent habita-

tion were everywhere. Now she and her remaining friends

were leaving this bastion of comparative familiarity and

heading back into the unknowable swamps. She suddenly

wished they had decided to wait a few more days for

Tiamak.

They continued to float past deserted houses well into

the morning, although the dwellings were becoming ever

more widely separated from each other. The greenery was

as dense as ever. Watching the endless mural of vegeta-

tion unroll on either side, Miriamele for the first time

found herself wishing they had not followed Tiamak into

this place. The Wran seemed so heedless in its vegetative

enterprise, so busily unconcerned with anything as mean-

ingless as people. She felt very small.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

431

It was Camaris who saw it first, although he did not

speak or make any noise; it was only by his stance, the

sudden alertness like a hound on the point, that the others

were drawn to squint down the waterway at the drifting

speck.

"It's a flatboat!" Miriamele cried. "Someone's in it

lying down! Oh, it must be Tiamak!"

"It's his boat, all right," isgrimnur said, "the one

with the yellow and black eyes painted on the front."

"Oh, hurry, Cadrach!" Miriamete almost toppled the

monk into the waterway as she pushed at his arm. "Pole

faster!"

"If we tip over and drown," Cadrach said through

clenched teeth, "then we will do the marsh man little

good."

They approached the flatboat. The dark-haired, brown-

skinned figure lay curled in the bottom with one arm

hanging over the side, as though he had fallen asleep try-

ing to reach his hand down to the water. The boat was

drifting in a slow circle as Miriamele and her companions

pulled alongside. The princess was the first to cross over,

setting both boats rocking' as she hurried to the

Wrannaman's aid.

"Careful, my lady," Cadrach said, but Miriamele had

already lifted the small man's head onto her lap- She

gasped at the blood that had dried on the dark face, then

a moment later, gasped again.

"It's not Tiamak!"

The Wrannaman, who had obviously suffered much in

recent days, was stouter and a little lighter-skinned than

their companion. His skin was covered with some sticky

substance whose odor made Miriamele wrinkle her nose

in discomfort. Nothing else could be discovered, though,

for he was completely insensible. When she lifted the

water-skin to his cracked lips, Miriamele had to be very

careful not to choke him. The stranger managed to down

a few swallows without ever appearing to wake.

"So how did this blasted other marsh man wind up

432

Tad Williams

with Tiamak's boat?" Isgrimnur grumbled, digging the

mud from his bootheels with a stick. They had come

ashore to make a temporary camp while they decided

what to do; the ground in this spot was somewhat soggy.

"And what's happened to Tiamak? Do you think this fel-

low waylaid him for his flatboat?"

"Look at him," Cadrach said. 'This man could net

strangle a cat, I am sure. No, the question is not how he

got the boat, but why Tiamak isn't in it with him, and

what happened to this unlucky fellow in the first place.

Remember, this is the first of Tiamak's folk we've seen

since we left Kwanitupul for the marshes."

"That's true." Miriamele stared at the stranger. "Maybe

whatever happened to Tiamak's villagers happened to this

man, too! Or maybe he was running away from it ... or

... or something." She frowned. Instead of finding their

guide, they instead had discovered a new mystery to

make things even more complicated and unpleasant.

"What do we do?"

"Take him with us, I suppose," Isgrimnur said. "We

will want to ask him questions when he wakes upbut

the Aedon only knows how long that will be. We can't af-

ford to wait."

"Ask him questions?" Cadrach murmured. "And how,

Duke Isgrimnur, will we do that? Tiamak is a rarity

among his people, as he told us himself."

"What do you mean?"

"I doubt this fellow can speak anything other than the

Wran-tongue."

"Damn! Damn and damn and thrice damned!" The

duke colored. "Begging your pardon. Princess Miriamele.

He's right, though." He pondered a moment, then

shrugged. "Still, what else can we do? We'll bring him."

"Maybe he can draw pictures, or maps," Miriamele of-

fered.

"There!" Isgrimnur was relieved. "Maps! Clever, my

lady, very clever. Maybe he can do that, indeed."

The unknown Wrannaman slept through the rest of the

afternoon, not stirring even when the boat was scraped

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

433

down the muddy bank and relaunched into the water-

course. Before departure. Miriamele had cleaned his skin,

discovering to her relief that most of his wounds were not

seriousat least the ones she could see. She could think

of nothing else to do.

Isgrimnur's thankless task of trying to find a safe pas-

sage through this treacherous and unfamiliar land was

made easier by the relatively straightforward nature of

this section of the waterway. Because there were few side

streams and few forks, it had seemed easiest to simply re-

main in the center of the watercourse, and so far it was

working. Although there had been a few junctures at

which Isgrimnur could have gone a different way, they

were still seeing occasional houses, so there seemed no

cause yet for worry.

Somewhat after the sun had passed the midpoint of the

sky, the strange Wrannaman suddenly woke up, startling

Miriamele, who was shading his eyes with a broad leaf as

she mopped his brow. The man's brown eyes widened in

fear as he saw her, then darted from side to side as though

he were surrounded by enemies. After a few moments his

hunted look softened and he became calmer, although he

still did not speak. Instead, he lay for a long while staring

up at the canopy of branches sliding past overhead. He

breathed shallowly, as though just to keep his eyes open

and watching represented the farthest limit of his

strength. Miriamele talked softly to him and continued

moistening his brow. She was certain that Cadrach was

right when he guessed that this man could not speak her

tongue, but she was not trying to tell him anything impor-

tant: a quiet and friendly voice, she hoped, might make

him feel better even if he did not understand any of her

words.

A little over an hour later the man was at last recovered

enough to sit partway up and take a little water. He still

seemed quite confused and ill, so it was no surprise when

the first noises he made were moans of discomfort, but

the unhappy sounds continued even as Miriamele offered

him another drink. The Wrannaman pushed away the skin

434

Tad Williams

bag, gesturing up the watercourse and showing every sign

of extreme disquiet.

"Is he mad?" Isgrimnur peered at the man suspiciously.

"Just what we need, some mad swamp fellow."

"I think he's trying to tell us to turn back," Miriamele

said, then realized with a sudden vertiginous drop in her

innards what she was saying. "He's telling us it's ... bad

to go the way we're going."

The Wrannaman at last found his words. "Mualum

nohoa!" he gabbled, obviously terrified. "Sanbidub

nohoa yia ghanta!" When he had said this again several

times, he tried to drag himself over the side and into the

water. He was weak and distracted; Miriamele was able to

restrain him with little difficulty. She was shocked when

he burst into tears, his round brown face as defenseless

and unashamed as a child's.

"What can it be?" she asked, alarmed. "He thinks it's

dangerous, whatever it is."

Isgrimnur shook his head. He was helping Cadrach

keep the boat off the tangled bank as they negotiated a

bend in the waterway. "Who knows? Could be some an-

imal, or some other group of marsh men who are at war

with these fellows. Or it could be some heathen

superstitiona haunted pond or something like."

"Or it could be what emptied Tiamak's village,"

Cadrach said- "Look."

The Wrannaman sat up again, straining to escape

Miriamele's grip. "Yia ghanta!" he burbled.

"Ghanta," Miriamele breathed, staring across the wa-

terway. "Ghants? But Tiamak said ..."

"Tiamak may have found out that he was wrong."

Cadrach's voice had dropped to a whisper.

On the far side of the watercourse, now revealed as the

flatboat made its way past the bend, sprawled a huge and

bizarre structure. It might almost have been built in par-

ody of Village Grove, for like that place it was obviously

the dwelling place of many. But where the village had

clearly been the work of human hands, this lopsided ag-

glomeration of mud and leaves and sticks, although it

stretched up from the water's edge into the trees to many

TOGREENANGELTOWER

435

times a man's height, and along the bank for what looked

like well over a furlong, was just as clearly not built by

human beings at all. A buzzing, clicking sound issued

from it and out across the Wran, a great cloud of noise

like an army of crickets in an echoing, high-arched room.

Some of the builders of the huge nest could be seen

clearly, even from the far side of the wide canal. They

moved in their distinctive manner, dropping deftly from

one stump of branch to a lower, scuttling swiftly in and

out of the black doors of the nest.

Miriamele felt both terror and a certain disgusted fasci-

nation. A single ghant had been disturbing. From the size

of the dwelling, she did not doubt that hundreds of the

unpleasant creatures were sheltering in this pile of dirt

and sticks.

"Mother of Usires," Isgrimnur hissed. He turned the boat

and poled rapidly back up the waterway until the bend in

the river shielded them once more from the alarming sight.

"What kind of hell-thing is that?"

Miriamele squirmed as she remembered the mocking

eyes that had watched her bathe, dots of jet pivoting in an

inhuman face. "Those are the ghants Tiamak told us

about."

The sick Wrannaman, who had fallen into deathly si-

lence when the nest came into view, began to waggle his

hands. "Tiamak!" he said hoarsely. "Tiamak nib dunou

yia ghanta!" He pointed back to where the nest lay hid-

den from their view by a wall of greenery. Miriamele did

not need to speak the Wran-tongue to know what the

strange man was saying.

"Tiamak's in there. Oh, God help him, he's in that nest.

The ghants have him."

14

Dorfc Corridors

The Stairs were steep and the sack was heavy, but Ra-

chel felt a certain joy, nevertheless. One more tripjust

one more time that she would be forced to brave the

haunted upper rooms of the castleand then she would

be finished-

Just off the shadowy landing, halfway down the stairs,

she stopped and set down her burden, careful not to let the

jars clank. The doorway was hidden by what Rachel the

Dragon felt sure was the oldest, dustiest arras in the entire

castle. It was a measure of the importance of her hiding

hole remaining inconspicuous that she could pass it every

day and leave it uncleaned. Her very soul rebelled each

time she had to lay her hands on the moldering fabric, but

there were circumstances when even cleaning had to take

second place- Rachel grimaced. Hard times make odd

changes, her mother had always said. Well. if that wasn't

Aedon's holy truth, what was?

Rachel had taken great care to oil the ancient hinges, so

when she lifted the tapestry and pushed at the handle, the

door swung in almost silently. She lifted her bag over the

low threshold, then let the heavy tapestry slip back into

place behind her so it would again hide the door. She un-

shielded her lamp, set it in a high niche, and went to work

unpacking.

When the last jar had been removed and Rachel had

drawn a picture of the contents on its outside with a straw

dipped in lamp-black, she stepped back to survey her lar-

der. She had labored hard over the last month, surprising

TO GREEN ANOEL TOWER437

even herself with her daring pilferage. Now she wanted

only the sack of dried fruit she had spotted on today's

raid, then she would be able to last out the entire winter

without risking capture. She needed that sack: a lack of

fruit to eat would mean the clenches, if not something

worse, and she could not afford to become ill with no one

to tend her. She had planned everything with great care so

that she could be alone: there was certainly no one left in

the castle she could trust.

Rachel had searched patiently for just the right place to

make her sanctuary. This monk's hole, far down in one of

the long-unused sections of the Hayholt's underground

rooms, had worked out perfectly. Now, thanks to her

ceaseless hunting, it was stocked with a larder that many

a lord of troubled Erkynland might envy. Also, just up a

few flights she had found another unused roomnot as

well-hidden, but with a small slit window that protruded

just above ground level. Outside that window hung the

drain spout from one of the Hayholt's stone gutters- Ra-

chel already had a full barrel of water in her cell; as long

as the snows and rains lasted, she would be able to fill a

bucket every day from the spouL outside the room above,

and not have to touch her precious store of drinkable wa-

ter at all.

She had also scavenged spare clothing and several

warm blankets, as well as a straw mattress, and even a

chair to sit ina fancy chair, as she marveled, with a

back on it! She had wood for the tiny fireplace, and so

many rows of jars of pickled vegetables and meats and

wrapped piles of hard-baked bread were stacked along the

walls that there was scarcely room to walk from the door

to the bed. But it was worth it. Here, in her hidden room

filled with provender, she knew she could last the better

part of a year. What might happen by the time the provi-

sions ran out, what event might take place that would al-

low her to leave her den and reemerge into daylight,

Rachel wasn't sure ... but that was something she could

not worry about. She would spend her time staying safe,

keeping her nest clean, and waiting. That lesson had been

438

Tad Williams

pounded into her since childhood: Do what you can. Trust

God for the rest.

She thought about her youth a great deal these days.

The constant solitude and the secretive nature of her daily

life conspired, limiting her activities and throwing her

back on her memories for entertainment and solace. She

had remembered thingsan Aedonmansa when her father

had been feared lost in the snow, a straw doll that her sis-

ter had once made for herthat she had not thought of

for years. The memories, like the foodstuffs floating in

the briny darkness of the jars she was rearranging, were

only waiting to be taken out once more.

Rachel pushed the last jar back a little farther, so that

they made an even row. The castle might be falling apart,

but here in her haven she would have order! Only one

more trip, she thought. Then I won't have to be afraid any

more. Then I can finally have a little rest.

The Mistress of Chambermaids had reached the top of

the stairway and was reaching for the door when a feeling

of immense cold suddenly swept over her. Footsteps were

approaching on the other side of the door, a dull ticking

sound like water dripping on stone. Someone was com-

ing! She would be caught!

Her heart seemed to be beating so swiftly she feared it

would climb right up out of her chest. She was gripped by

a nightmarish immobility.

Move, idiot woman, move!

The footsteps were growing louder. She finally pulled

back her hand, then, seeing that movement was possible

after all, forced herself to back down onto a lower step,

looking around wildly. Where to go, where to go?

Trapped!

She backed farther down the slippery steps. Where the

stairway bent around the comer there was a landing,

much like the one where she had discovered her new

home. This landing, too, was graced with a musty, ragged

arras. She grabbed at it, struggling as the heavy, dusty

cloth resisted her. It seemed too much to hope that a room

was hidden behind this one, too, but at least she could

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

439

press herself flat against the wall and hope that the person

who was even now pulling at the door above her was

shortsighted, or in a hurry.

There was a door! Rachel wondered momentarily if

there hung a single tapestry in the sprawling castle that

didn't shield some hidden portal. She tugged at the an-

cient handle.

Oh, Aedon on the Tree, she mouthed silentlysurely

the hinges would creak! But the hinges did not make a

sound, and the door swung open quietly, even as the door

at the top of the stairs above her scraped across the stone

flags. The noise of bootheels grew louder as they de-

scended the steps. Rachel pushed herself through and

pulled the door after her. It swung most of the way

closed, then stopped with a little less than a hand's width

remaining. It would not shut.

Rachel looked up, wishing she dared to unshutter her

lantern, but grateful that at least there was a torch burning

fitfully in the stairwell outside. She forced herself to

search carefully, even though black spots were swirling

before her eyes and her heart was rabbiting in her breast.

There' The top of the arras was caught in the door ... but

it was far above where she could reach. She grasped the

thick, dust-caked velvet to shake it free, but the footsteps

were almost on the landing. Rachel shrank back from the

open crack of the doorway and held her breath.

As the noise came closer, so, too, did the sensation cf

colda bone-deep chill like walking out of a hot room

into mid-winter winds. Rachel began shivering uncon-

trollably. Through the crack of the doorway she saw a

pair of black-clad figures- The quiet noise of their con-

versation, which had just become audible, abruptly

ceased- One of them turned so that its pale face was mo-

mentarily visible from Rachel's hiding place. Her heart

lurched, seeming to lose its beat. It was one of those

witch-thingsthe White Foxes' It turned away again,

speaking to its companion in a low but oddly musical

voice, then looked back up the steps they had just de-

scended. Another clatter of footsteps came echoing

down the stairwell.

440 Tad Williams

More of them?

Rachel, despite a horror of moving or doing anything at

all that might make a noise, began to back away. As she

stared at the partially opened doorway, praying that the

things would not notice how it was ajar, Rachel kept feel-

ing behind her for the rear wall. She took several steps

backward, until the doorway was only a thin vertical line

of yellowish torch-glow, but still her hand encountered no

resistance. She stopped at last and turned to look, terrified

by the sudden idea that she might stumble over something

stored in this room and send it clattering to the ground.

It was not a room. Rachel stood in the mouth of a cor-

ridor that led away into darkness.

She paused for a moment, forcing herself to think.

There was no sense in remaining here, especially with a

flock of those creatures just beyond the door. The stark

stone wall was devoid of hiding places, and she knew that

any moment now she might make an involuntary noise, or

worse, grow faint and fall noisily to the floor. And who

knew how long those things might stand there, murmur-

ing to themselves like carrion birds on a branch? When

their fellows all arrived, they might next enter this very

passageway! At least if she went now she might find

some better place to hide or another way out.

Rachel tottered down the corridor, trailing one hand

along the wallthe horrible, grimy things that she felt

beneath her fingers!and holding the darkened lantern in

front of her with the other, trying to make sure that it did

not bump against the stone. The thin sliver of light from

the doorway disappeared behind a bend in the hallway,

leaving her in utter darkness. Rachel carefully pulled

back the lantern's hood a little way, allowing a single

beam to leap out and shine on the flagstones before her,

then began to walk swiftly down the passageway.

Rachel held the lamp high, squinting down the feature-

less corridor into the unexplored darkness beyond the

pool of light. Was there no end to the castle's maze of

passageways? She had thought she knew the Haynolt as

well as anyone, yet the last few weeks had been a revela-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

441

tion. There seemed to be another entire castle beneath the

basement storehouses that had once been the downward

limit of her experience. Had Simon known about these

places?

Thinking of the boy was painful, as always. She shook

her head and trudged forward. There had been no sound

of pursuit yetshe had finally caught her fear-shortened

breathbut there was no sense standing around waiting.

But there was a problem to be solved, of course: if she

dared not go back, what could she do? She had long

ceased trusting her ability to find her way in this warren.

What if she took a wrong turn and went wandering into

darkness forever, lost and starving... ?

Fool woman. Just don't turn off from this hallor at

least mark the turn if you do. Then you can always find

the landing and the stairs again.

She snorted, the same chuff of sound that had reduced

many a novice chambermaid to whimpers. Rachel knew

discipline, even if it was she herself that needed it this

time.

No time for nonsense.

Still, it was strange to be wandering here in these

lonely, between-ish spaces. It was a little like what Father

Dreosan had said about the Waiting Placethat spot be-

tween Hell and Heaven where dead souls waited for judg-

ment, where they remained for a timeless time if they

were not bad enough for the former but not ready for the

latter. Rachel had found this a rather uncomfortable idea:

she liked her distinctions clean and forthright. Do wrong,

be damned and burnt. Lead a life of cleanliness and

Aedonite rigor and you could fly up to heaven and sing

and rest beneath eternal blue skies. This middle place that

the priest had spoken of just seemed unpleasantly myste-

rious. The God that Rachel worshiped should not work in

such a way.

The lamp's light fell upon a wall before her: the corri-

dor had ended in a perpendicular hallway, which meant

that if she wished to continue, she had to go right or left.

Rachel frowned. Here she was already, having to leave

the straight path. She didn't like it. The question was, did

442

Tad Williams

she dare go back, or even remain in the hallway? She

didn't think she'd traveled very far since leaving the stair-

case.

The memory of the whispering, white-faced things

gathering on the steps decided her,

She dipped a finger in lampblack, then stood on tiptoe

to mark the left wall of the corridor in which she stood.

That would be what she would see on returning. She then

turned reluctantly down the right-hand side of the inter-

secting corridor.

The passageway wound on and on, crisscrossed by

halls, opening out from time to time into small,

unwindowed galleries, each as empty as a plundered

tomb. Rachel dutifully marked each turn. She was begin-

ning to worry about the lampsurely she would run out

of oil if she went much farther before turning back

when the passageway ended abruptly at an ancient door.

The door had no markings, nor any bolt or lock. The

wood was old and warped and so waterstained that it was

splotched like the shell of a tortoise. The hinges were

great clumsy chunks of iron, fastened by nails that

seemed little more than shards of rough metal. Rachel

squinted at the floor to make sure that no recent footprints

other than her own were there, then made the Tree before

her breast and pulled at the stubby handle. The door grit-

ted open partway before grinding to a halt, wedged by

what must have been a century's worth of dust and rubble

on the floor. Beyond lay another darkened space, but this

darkness was glazed with reddish light.

It's Hell! was Rachel's first thought. Out of the Waiting

Place and through the door to Hell! Then: Elysia the

Mother! Old woman, you aren't even dead! Be sensible!

She stepped through.

The passageway on the far side was different than

those through which she had come. Instead of being lined

with cut and fitted stone, it was walled with naked rock.

The glimmers of red light which writhed across the rough

walls seemed to be coming from farther up the corridor to

me left, as though somewhere just around a comer a fire

was burning.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

443

Despite her uncertainty over this new development, Ra-

chel was just about to take a few steps up the passage to-

ward the source of the red glow when she heard a sudden

noise from the opposite direction, down the new corridor

to her right. She hurriedly stepped back into the doorway,

but it was still stuck fast and would not close. She pushed

herself back into the shadows and tried to hold her breath.

Whatever made the new noise did not move very

quickly. Rachel cringed as the faint scraping slowly grew

louder, but mixed with the fear was a deep anger. To think

that she, the Mistress of Chambermaids, should be made

to cower in her own home by ... by things! Trying to

slow her racing heart, she relived the moment when she

had struck out at Pryratesthe hellish excitement of it,

the odd satisfaction of being able to actually do some-

thing after all those bleak months of suffering. But now?

Her strongest blow had not seemed to affect the red priest

at all, so what could she hope to do against a whole gang

of demons? No, it was better to stay hidden and save the

anger for when it might do her some good.

When the figure passed the stuck doorway, Rachel was

at first tremendously relieved .to see that it was only a

mortal after all, a dark-haired man whose form was barely

distinguishable against the red-lit rocks. A moment later

her curiosity came rushing back, buoyed by the same fury

she had felt earlier. Who felt so free to walk these dark

places?

She poked her head out through the doorway to watch

the retreating figure. He was walking very slowly, trailing

his hand along the wall, but his head was back and

waving from side to side, as though he tried to read some-

thing written on the corridor's shadowed ceiling.

Mercy, he's blind! she suddenly realized. The hesita-

tion, the questing handsit was obvious. A moment later,

she realized that she knew the man. She flung herself

back into the darkness of the doorway.

Guthwulf! That monster! What is he doing here? For a

moment she had the dreadful certainty that Elias* hench-

men were still looking for her, combing the castle hall by

444

Tad Williams

hall in meticulous search. But why send a blind man?

And when had Guthwulf gone blind?

A memory came back, fragmented but still unsettling.

That had been Guthwulf on the balcony with the king and

Pryrates, hadn't it? The Earl of Utanyeat had grappled

with the alchemist even as he, with Rachel's dagger

standing in his back, rounded upon the Mistress of Cham-

bermaids who lay stunned on the floor. But why would

Guthwulf have done that? Everyone knew that Utanyeat

was the High King's Hand, most hardhearted of Elias'

minions.

Had he actually saved her life?

Rachel's head was whirling. She peered out through the

open doorway again, but Earl Guthwulf had disappeared

around a bend in the corridor, heading toward the red

glow. A tiny shadow detached itself from the greater

darkness and skittered past her feet, following him into

the shadows. A cat? A gray cat?

The world beneath the castle had become altogether too

confusingly dreamlike for Rachel. She unshuttered her

lantern again and turned back in the direction she had

come, leaving the door to the rough passageway ajar. For

now, she wanted no dealings with Guthwulf, blind or not.

She would follow her own careful marks back toward the

staircase landing and pray that the White Foxes had gone

on about their unholy business. There was much to think

abouttoo much. Rachel wanted only to shut herself

safely away in her sanctuary and go to sleep.

*

As Guthwulf trudged along, his head was full of seduc-

tive, poisonous musica music that spoke to him, that

summoned him, but that also frightened him as nothing

else ever had.

For a long time in the endless darkness of his days and

nights he had heard that song only in dreams, but today

the music had come to him at last in his waking hours,

summoning him up from the depths, driving even the

whispering voices that were his regular companions out

TOGREENANGELTOWER

445

of his mind. It was the voice of the gray sword, and it was

somewhere nearby.

A part of the Earl of Utanyeat knew perfectly well that

the sword was only an object, a mute stem of metal that

hung on the king's belt, and that the last thing in the

world he should want to do was seek it out, since where

it was. King Elias would also be. Guthwulf certainly did

not want to be caughthe cared little for his safety, but

he would rather die alone in the pits below the castle than

be seen by the people who had known him before he had

become such a pitiable wreckbut the presence of the

sword was hugely compelling. His life was now little

more than echoes and shadows, cold stone, ghostly

voices, and the tapping and scraping of his own footsteps.

But the sword was alive, and somehow its life was more

powerful than his own. He wanted to be near it.

/ will not be caught, Guthwulf told himself. / will be

clever, careful. He would merely venture close enough to

feel its singing strength....

His thoughts were disrupted by something twining

through his anklesthe cat, his shadow-friend. He bent

to touch the animal, running his fingers along its bony

back, feeling its lean muscles. It-had come with him, per-

haps to keep him out of trouble. He almost smiled.

Sweat dripped down his cheek as he straightened. The

air was getting warmer. He could half-believe that after

all the stairs he had climbed, all the long upward ramps

he had trudged, he might be approaching the surfacebut

could things have changed so much in his time below-

ground? Could the winter be fled, replaced by hot sum-

mer? It did not seem that so much time could have

passed, but perpetual darkness was deceptive. Blind

Guthwulf had already learned that while still in the castle.

As for the weather . -. well, in such ill-omened and con-

fusing times as these, anything was possible.

Now the stone walls were beginning to feel warm be-

neath his questing fingers. What was he walking into? He

pushed the thought down. Whatever it was, the sword was

there. The sword that was calling to him. Surely he

should go just a little farther....

446 Tad Williams

That moment when Sorrow had sung inside him, filling

him ...

In the moment Elias had forced him to touch it, it had

seemed that Guthwulf had become a pan of the sword. He

had been subsumed in an alien melody- For that moment

at least, he and the blade were one.

Sorrow needed its brothers. Together they would make

a music greater still.

In the king's throne room, despite his horror, Guthwulf

had also yearned for that communion. Now, remember-

ing, he ached for it again. Whatever the risks, he needed

to feel the song that had haunted him. It was a kind of

madness, he knew, but he did not have the strength to re-

sist it. Instead, it would take all his reserves of cunning

and self-restraint just to get closer without being revealed.

It was so near now....

The air in the narrow corridor was stifling. Guthwulf

stopped and felt around. The little cat was gone, probably

retreated to some place less injurious to its pads. When he

put his hand back onto the corridor wall, he could only

drag it for a short distance before he had to snatch it away

once more. From somewhere ahead he could now hear a

faint but continuous rush of sound, a near-silent roar.

What could lie before him?

Once a dragon had made its lair beneath the castlethe

red worm Shurakai, whose death had made Prester John's

reputation and provided the bones for the Hayholt's

throne, a beast whose fiery breath had killed two kings'^

and countless castle-dwellers in an earlier century. Might

there still be a dragon, some whelp of Shurakai, grown to

adulthood in darkness? If so, let it kill him if it would

let it roast him to ashes. Guthwulf was beyond caring

much about such things. All he wished was to bask first

in the song of the gray sword.

The pathway took a sharp upward angle, and he had to

lean forward to make any headway. The heat was fierce;

he could imagine his skin blackening and shriveling

like the cooked flesh of a holiday pig. As he struggled

against the slope, the roaring noise became louder, a deep

unsteady growl like thunder, or an angry sea, or the trou-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

447

bled breath of a sleeping dragon. Then the sound began to

change. After a moment, Guthwulf realized that the pas-

sageway was widening. As he turned the corner, his blind

man's senses told him that the hall had not only widened

but grown higher as well. Hot winds billowed toward

him. The grumbling noise echoed strangely.

Another few steps and he knew the reason. There was

some much larger chamber beyond this one, something

vast as the great dome of Saint Sutrin's in Erchester. A

fiery pit? Guthwulf felt his hair wafting in the hot breeze.

Had he somehow arrived at the fabled Lake of Judgment

where sinners were cast into a pool of flame forever? Was

God Himself waiting down here in the rocky fastnesses?

In these confused, distracted days Guthwulf did not re-

member much of his life before the blinding, but what he

did remember now seemed full of foolish, meaningless

actions. If there was such a place, such a punishment, he

doubtless deserved it, but it would be a pity never to feel

the strong magic of the gray sword again.

Guthwulf began taking smaller steps, dragging each

foot in a careful side-to-side arc before setting it down.

His progress slowed as he devoted all his attention to

feeling his way forward. At last his foot touched air. He

stopped and squatted, tapping his fingers along the hot

passage floor. A lip of stone lay before him, stretching on

either side farther than he could reach. Beyond that was

nothing but emptiness and scorching winds.

He stood, shifting from foot to foot as the heat worked

its way through his boot soles, and listened to the great

roaring. There were other sounds, too. One was a deep, ir-

regular clanging, as of two massive pieces of metal crash-

ing together; the other was that of human voices.

The sound of metal on metal came again, and the noise

finally pushed up a memory from his life in the castle of

old. The thunderous clanging was the great forge doors

being opened and closed. Men were throwing fuel into

the blazehe had seen it many times when he had in-

spected the foundries in his role as King's Hand. He must

be standing at one of the tunnel mouths almost directly

448

Tad Williams

above the huge furnace. No wonder his hair was about to

catch fire!

But the gray sword was here. He knew that as certainly

as a foraging mouse knows when an owl is on the wing

overhead. Elias must be down among the forges, the

sword at his side.

Guthwulf backed away from the edge, thinking franti-

cally of ways he could descend to the foundry floor with-

out being observed.

When he had stood in one place long enough to bum

his feet, he had to move farther away. He cursed as he

went. There was no way to approach the thing. He might

wander through these tunnels for days without finding an-

other route down, and surely Elias would be gone by

then. But neither could he simply give up. The sword

called to him, and it did not care what stood in his way.

Guthwulf stumbled farther down the passageway, away

from the heat, although the sword called to him to come

back, to leap down into fiery oblivion.

"Why have you done this to me, sweet God?!" he

shouted, his voice swiftly disappearing in the roar of the

furnace. "Why have you hung me with this curse?!"

The tears evaporated from his eyelids as swiftly as they

emerged.

^

Inch bowed before King Elias. In the flickering forge

light, the huge man looked like an ape from the southern

junglesan ape dressed in clothes, but still a poor mock-

ery of a man. The rest of the foundrymen had cast them-

selves to the floor upon the king's entrance; the scatter of

bodies all round the great chamber made it seem as

though his very presence had struck a hundred men dead.

"We are working. Highness, working," Inch grunted.

"Slow work, it is."

"Working?" Elias said harshly. Though the foundry-

master dripped with sweat, the king's pale skin was dry.

"Of course you are working. But you are not finished

with the task I have set, and if I do not hear a reason

TOGREENANGELTOWER449

quickly, your filthy skin will be flayed and hung to dry

over your own furnace,"

The large man dropped to his knees. "We work as fast

as we can."

"But it is not fast enough." The king's gaze wandered

across the cavern's shadowy roof.

"It is hard, master, hardwe only have parts of the

plans. Sometimes we must make everything over when

we see the next drawing." Inch looked up, his single eye

keen in his dull face as he watched for the king's reaction.

"What do you mean, 'parts of the plans'?" Something

was moving in a tunnel mouth, high on the wall above the

great furnace. The king squinted, but the flirt of pale

colora face?was obscured by risking smoke and heat-

jumbled air.

"Your majesty!" someone called. "Here you are!"

Elias turned slowly toward the scarlet-robed figure. He

lifted an eyebrow in mild surprise, but said nothing.

Pryrates hurried up. "I was surprised to find you gone."

His raspy voice was sweeter, more reasonable than usual.

"Can I assist you?"

"I do not need you every moment, priest," Elias said

curtly. "There are things I can do by myself."

"But you have not been well. Majesty." Pryrates lifted

his hand, the red sleeve billowing. For a moment it

seemed he might actually take Ellas' arm and try to lead

him away, but he lifted his fingers to his own head in-

stead, brushing at his hairless scalp. "Because of your

weakness. Majesty, I only feared you might stumble on

these steep stairs."

Elias looked at him, narrowing his eyes until they were

scarcely more than black slits. "I am not an old man,

priest. I am not my father in his last years." He flicked a

glance at the kneeling Inch, then turned back to Pryrates

again. "This clod says that the plans for the castle's de-

fense are difficult."

The alchemist darted a murderous look at Inch. "He

lies. Majesty. You approved them yourself. You know that

is not so."

"You give us only part at a time, priest." Inch's voice

450

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was deep and slow, but the anger prisoned behind it was

more apparent than ever.

"Do not bandy words before the king!" Pryrates

snarled.

"I tell truth, priest!"

"Silence!" Elias drew himself up- His knob-knuckled

hand fell onto the hilt of the gray sword. "I will have, si-

lence!" he shouted. "Now, what does he mean? Why does

he get the plans only in pieces?"

Pryrates took a deep breath. "For secrecy, King Elias.

You know that several of these foundrymen have run

away already. We dare not let anyone see all the plans for

defense of the castle. What would prevent them running

straight to Josua with what they knew?"

There was a long moment of silence as Pryrates stared

at the king. The air in the forge seemed to change slightly,

thickening, and the roar of the fires grew strangely muf-

fled. The flickering lights threw long shadows.

Elias suddenly seemed to lose interest. "I suppose."

The king's gaze went drifting back to the spot along the

cavern wall where he thought he had seen movement. "I

will send a dozen more men here to the forgesthere are

at least that many mercenaries whose looks I do not care

for." He turned to the overseer. "Then you will have no

excuse."

A tremor ran through Inch's wide frame. "Yes, High-

ness."

"Good. I have told you when I wish the work on walls

and gate to be done. You will have it finished."

"Yes, Highness."

The king turned toward Pryrates. "So. I see it takes the

king to make certain things go as they should."

The priest bowed his shiny head. "You are irreplace-

able, sire."

"But I am also a little tired, Pryrates. Perhaps it is as

you saidI have not been well, after all."

"Yes, Highness. Perhaps your healing drink, then a

little sleep?" And now Pryrates did insinuate his hand

beneath Elias' elbow, turning him gently toward the stair-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER45!

case leading back up to the castle proper. The king went,

docile as a child.

<t! might lie down for a while, Pryrates, yes ... but 1 do

not think I will sleep just now." He stole a look back at

the wall above the furnace, then shook his head dreamily.

"Yes, sire, an excellent idea. Come, we will let the

forgemaster get on with his work." Pryrates stared point-

edly at Inch, whose one eye looked fixedly back, then the

red priest turned away, his face expressionless, and led

the king out of the cavern.

Behind them, the prostrated workers slowly began

sclambering to their feet, too beaten and exhausted even to

i-whisper about such an unusual happening. As they

^trudged back to their tasks. Inch remained kneeling for

g-some time, his features as frozen as the priest's had been.

Rachel carefully retraced her steps and found the orig-

inal landing once more. To her even greater relief, when

she stared out through the crack, the stairwell was empty.

The White Foxes had gone.

Off to work some kind of deviltry, no doubt. She made

the sign of the Tree.

Rachel pushed a strand of graying hair out of her eyes.

She was exhausted, not only by the dreadful corridor-

trampingshe had walked for what seemed like hours

but by the shock of near-discovery. She was not a girl

anymore, and she did not like to feel her heart beating as

it had beat today: that was not the racing blood of good

honest work.

Oldyou're getting old, woman.

Rachel was not so foolish as to lose all caution, so she

kept her footsteps light and quiet as she made her way

down the stairs, peering cautiously around each comer,

holding her shuttered lantern behind her so it would not

give her away. Thus she saw the king's cupbearer Brother

Hengfisk standing on the stairway below her a moment

before she would have otherwise run into him in the shad-

ows between wall-torches. As it was, her surprise was

452

Tad Williams

still so great that she gave a startled shriek and dropped

her lantern. It rolled thumping down to the landingher

landing, the location of her sanctuary!to lie at the

monk's sandal-shod feet as it dripped blazing oil onto the

stone. The pop-eyed man looked down at the flames burn-

ing around his feet with calm interest, then lifted his gaze

to Rachel once more, mouth stretched in a wide grin..

"Merciful Rhiap," Rachel gasped. "Oh, God's mercy!"

She tried to retreat back up the stairwell, but the monk

moved as swiftly as a cat; he was past her in a moment,

then turned to block her passage, still smiling his horrid

smile. His eyes were empty pools.

Rachel took a few tottering steps back down toward the

landing. The monk moved with her, one step at a time,

absolutely silent as he matched his movements to hers.

When Rachel stopped, he stopped. When she tried to

move more swiftly, he headed her off, forcing her

to shrink back against the stone walls of the stairwell to

avoid contact with him. He gave off a feverish warmth,

and there was a strange, alien stink about him, like hot

metal and decaying plants.

She began to cry. Shoulders quivering, unable to hold

up a moment longer, Rachel the Dragon slid down the

wall into a crouch.

"Blessed Elysia, Mother of God," she prayed aloud,

"pure vessel that brings forth the Ransomer, take mercy

on this sinner." She squeezed her eyes shut and made the

Tree sign. "Elysia, raised above all other mortals. Queen

of the Sky and Sea, intercede for your supplicant, so that

mercy may smile upon this sinner."

To her horror, she could not remember the rest of the

words. She huddled, trying to thinkoh, her heart, her

heart, it was beating so swiftly!and waited for the thing

to take her, to touch her with its foul hands. But when

long moments had passed and nothing had happened, her

curiosity overcame even her fear. She opened her eyes.

Hengfisk still stood before her, but the grin was gone.

The monk was leaning against the wall, tugging at his

garments as though surprised to find himself wearing

them. He looked up at her. Something had changed. There

TOGREENANGELTOWER453

was a new sort of life in the mancloudy, muddled, but

somehow more human than what had stood before her

moments earlier.

Hengfisk looked down at the pool of burning oil, at the

blue flames licking at his feet, then leaped back, startled.

The flames flickered. The monk's lips moved, but at first

nothing came out.

"... Vad es... ?" he said at last. "... Ufnammen Hott,

vad es... ?"

He continued to stare at Rachel as if bewildered, but

now something else was working behind his eyes. A

tightness came to his features, like an invisible hand

clutching the back of his tonsured head- The lips pulled

taut, the eyes emptied. Rachel gave a little squeak of

alarm. There was something going on that she could not

understand, some struggle inside the pop-eyed man. She

could only stare, terrified-

Hengfisk shook his head like a dog emerging from the

water, looked at Rachel once more, then all around the

stairwell on either side. The expression on his face had

changed again: he looked like a man trapped beneath a

crushing weight. A moment later, without warning,

Hengfisk turned and stumbled op the stairs. She heard his

uneven footfalls winding away into darkness.

Rachel lurched to the tapestry and pulled it aside with

clumsy, shaking fingers. When she had fumbled open the

door, she fell through and pushed it closed behind her.

She shot the bolt before throwing herself onto her mat-

tress and pulling her blanket all the way over her head,

then lay trembling as though she had a fever.

*

The song that had tempted him up from the safer

depths was growing more faint. Guthwulf cursed weakly.

He was too late. Elias was going, taking the gray sword

back up to his throne room, back to that dusty, bloodless

tomb of malachite statues and dragon's bones. Where the

sword's music had been there was now only emptiness, a

gnawing hollow in his being.

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Tad Williams

Hopelessly, he chose the next corridor that seemed to

slope downward, retreating from the surface like a worm

unearthed by a shovel. There was a hole in him, a hole

through which the wind would blow and the dust sift. He

was empty.

As the air became more breathable and the stones grew

cool beneath his touch, the little cat found him again. He

could feel its buzzing purr as it wound itself around his

feet, but he did not stop to give it comfort: at that mo-

ment, there was nothing in him to give. The sword had

sung to him, then it had gone away once more. Soon the

idiot voices would return, the ghost-voices, meaningless,

meaningless....

Feeling his way, slow as Time's great wheel, Guthwulf

trudged back down into the depths.

15

Lake of Gloss

A

The noise of their coming was like a great wind, a roar-

ing of bulls, a wildfire sweeping through dry lands. Al-

though they ran on roads unused for centuries, the horses

did not hesitate, but sped along the secret paths that

twined through forest and dale and fen. The old ways, un-

traveled for scores of mortal generations, were on this

day opened again, as though Time's wheel had been

stopped in its rut and turned back on itself.

The Sithi had ridden out of summer into a country

shackled by winter, but as they. passed through the great

forest and across the places of their ancient sovereignty

hilly Maa'sha, cedar-mantled Peja'ura, Shisae'ron with

her streams, and the black earth of Hekhasorthe land

seemed to move restlessly beneath the tread of their

hooves, as though struggling to awaken from a cold

dream. Birds flew startled from their winter nests and

hung in the air like bumblebees as the Sithi thundered

past; squirrels clung, transfixed, on frozen boughs. Deep

in their dens in the earth, the sleeping bears groaned with

hungry anticipation- Even the light seemed to change in

the wake of the bright company, as beams of sunlight

came needling down through the shrouded sky to sparkle

on the snows.

But winter's grip was strong: when the Sithi had passed

by, its fist soon closed on the forest once more, dragging

everything back down into chill silence.

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Tad Williams

The company did not stop to rest even as the red glow

of sunset drained from the sky and stars glistened be-

tween the tree branches overhead. Nor did the horses

need more than starlight to find their way along the old

roads, though ai! those tracks were covered with the

growth of years. Mortal and earthly the horses were,

made only of flesh and blood, but their sires had been -of

the stock of Venyha Do'sae, brought out of the Garden in

the great flight. When the native horses of Osten Ard still

ran untamed and frightened on the grasslands, ignorant of

hand or bridle, the forebears of these Sithi steeds had rid-

den to war against the giants, or carried messengers along

the roads that spanned from one end to the other of the

bright empire. They had borne their riders as swiftly as a

sea breeze, and so smoothly that Benayha of Kementari

was said to have painted meticulous poems while in the

saddle, with never a smeared character. The mastery of

these roads was bred into them, a knowledge carried in

their wild bloodbut their endurance seemed almost a

kind of magic. On this endless day, when the Sithi rode

once more, their steeds seemed to grow stronger as the

hours wore by. As the company sped onward and the sun

began to warm beyond the eastern horizon, the tireless

horses still ran like a surging wave rushing toward the

forest's edge.

If the horses carried ancient blood, their riders were the

history of Osten Ard in living flesh. Even the youngest,

bom since the exile from Asu'a, had seen centuries pass-

The eldest could remember many-towered Tumet'ai in its

springtime, and the glades of fire-bright poppies, miles of

blazing color, that had surrounded Jhina-T'senei before

the sea swallowed her.

Long the Peaceful Ones had hidden from the eyes of

the world, nursing their sadnesses, living only in the

memories of other days. Today they rode in armor as bril-

liant as the plumage of birds, their spears shining like fro-

zen lightning. They sang, for the Sithi had always sung.

They rode, and the old ways unfolded before them, forest

glades echoing to their horses' hoofbeats for the first time

TOGREENANGELTOWER

457

since the tallest trees had been seedlings. After a sleep of

centuries, a giant had awakened.

The Sithi were riding.

*

Although he had been battered and bruised to exhaus-

tion during the day's fighting, and had then spent over an

hour after sunset helping Freosel and others to hunt loose

arrows in the icy muda chore that would have been

hard in daytime and was cruelly difficult by torchlight

Simon still did not sleep well. He awoke after midnight

with his muscles aching and his mind running in circles.

The camp was quiet. Wind had swept the skies clean, and

the stars glittered like knife-points.

When it became obvious that sleep was indeed lost, at

least for a while, he got up and made his way to the

watchfires that burned on the hillside above the great barri-

cades. The largest blazed beside one of the weathered Sithi

monument stones, and there he found Binabik and a few

othersGeloe, Father Strangyeard, Sludig, and Deomoth

sitting with the prince, talking quietly. Josua was drinking

soup from a steaming bowl. Simon guessed that it was the

first nourishment the prince had taken that day.

The prince looked up as Simon stepped into the circle of

light- "Welcome, young knight," he said. "We are all proud

of you. You fulfilled my trust today, as I knew you would."

Simon inclined his head, unsure of what to say. He was

glad of the praise, but troubled by the things he had seen

and done on the ice. He did not feel very noble. "Thank

you. Prince Josua."

He sat huddled in his cloak and listened as the others

discussed the day's battle. He sensed that they were talk-

ing around the central point, but he also guessed that ev-

eryone at the fire knew it as well as he did: they could not

win a battle of attrition with Fengbald. They were too

badly outnumbered. Sesuad'ra was not a castle to be de-

fended against a long siegethere were too many places

where an invading army could gain a foothold. If they

could not stop the earl's forces upon the frozen lake, there

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was little else to do but sell their lives as dearly as they

could.

As Deornoth, his head bandaged with a strip of cloth,

told of the fighting tendencies he had seen in the

Thrithings mercenaries, Freosel strode up to the fire. The

constable was still wearing his battle-stained gear, his

hands and wide face dirt-smeared; despite the freezing

temperatures, his forehead was dotted with sweat, as

though he had run all the way down the hill-trail from

New Gadrinsett.

"I come from the settlement. Prince Josua," Freosel

panted. "Helfgrim, Gadrinsett's mayor, is gone."

Josua looked at Deomoth for a moment, then at GeloS.

"Did anyone see him go?"

"He was with others, watching the fighting. No one

saw what happened to him."

The prince frowned. "I do not like that. I hope no harm

has befallen him." He sighed and put down his bowl, then

stood up slowly. "I suppose we must see what we can

find out. There will be scant chance in the morning."

Sludig, who had come up behind Freosel, said: "Your

pardon. Prince Josua, but there is no need to bother your-

self with it. Let others do this so you can rest."

Josua smiled thinly. "Thank you, Sludig, but I have

other tasks up at the settlement as well, so it is no great

effort. Deomoth, Geloe, perhaps you would accompany

me. You, too, Freosel. There are things I would finish dis-

cussing with you." He pushed absently at one of the fire

logs with the toe of his boot, then drew his cloak about

him and moved to the path. Those he had summoned fol-

lowed, but Freosel turned back for a moment and came

and put his hand on Simon's shoulder.

"Sir Seoman, I spoke quick the other day, without

thinking."

Simon was confused, and more than a little embar-

rassed to hear his title in the mouth of this powerful and

competent young man. "I don't know what you mean."

"About the fairy-folk." The Falshireman fixed him

with a serious look. "You may think I made fun, or

showed disrespect. See now, I fear the Peaceful Ones like

TOGREENANGELTOWER

459

any God-fearing Aedonite man, but I know they can be

powerful friends, for all that. If summon *em you can, go

to it. We need any help we can get."

Simon shook his head. "I have no power over them,

Freoselnone at all. You don't know what they're like."

"Nor do I, that's true. But if they be your friends, tell

'em we be in hard straits. That's all I have to say." He

turned and went up the path, hurrying to catch the prince

and the others.

Sludig, who had remained, made a face. "Summon the

Sithi. Hah! It would be easier to summon the wind."

Simon nodded in sad agreement. "But we do need help,

Sludig."

"You are too trusting, lad. We mean little to the Sithi-

folk. I doubt we will see Jiriki again.'* The Rimmersman

frowned at Simon's expression. "Besides, we have our

swords and our brains and our hearts." He hunkered down

before the flames and warmed his hands. "God gives a

man what he deserves, no more, no less." A moment later

he straightened up, restless. "If the prince has no need of

me, I will go and find a place to sleep. Tomorrow will be

bloodier work than today." He nodded at Simon and

Binabik and Strangyeard, then'walked down toward the

barricade, the chain on his sword belt clinking faintly.

Simon sat watching him go, wondering if Sludig was

right about the Sithi, dismayed because of the feeling of

loss that idea brought.

"The Rimmersman is angry." The archivist sounded

surprised by his own words. "I mean, that is, I scarcely

know him ..."

"It is my thinking you speak the truth, Strangyeard."

Binabik looked down at the piece of wood he had been

carving. "Some folk there are who are not liking much to

be beneath others, especially when it was once being oth-

erwise. Sludig has become again a foot-soldier, after be-

ing chosen for questing and bringing back a great prize."

The troll's words were thoughtful, but his face was un-

happy, as though he shared the Rimmersman's pain. "I

am afraid for him to be fighting in battle with that feeling

in his heartwe have shared a friendship since our trav-

4&o Tad Williams

els in the north, but he has seemed dark and sad-hearted

to me since coming here."

A silence fell on the tittle gathering, broken only by the

crackle of the flames.

"What about what he said?" Simon asked abruptly. "Is

he right?"

Binabik looked at him inquiringly. "What are you

meaning, Simon? About the Sithi?"

"No. *God gives a man what he deserves, no more, no

less,' that's what Sludig said." Simon turned to

Strangyeard. "Is that true?"

The archivist, flustered, looked away; after a moment,

though, he turned back and met Simon's gaze. "No, Si-

mon. I don't think that is true. But I cannot know the

mind of God, either."

"Because my friends Morgenes and Haestan certainly

didn't get what they deservedone burned and one

crushed by a giant's club." Simon could not keep the bit-

terness from his voice-

Binabik opened his mouth as though he would say

something, but seeing Strangyeard had done the same, the

troll stayed silent-

"I believe that God has plans, Simon." The archivist

spoke carefully, "And it may be that we simply do not un-

derstand them ... or it may be that God Himself does not

quite know how His plans will work out."

"But you priests are always saying that God knows ev-

erything!"

"He may have chosen to forget some of the more pain-

ful things," Strangyeard said gently. "If you lived forever,

and experienced every pain in the world as though it were

your owndied with every soldier, cried with every

widow and orphan, shared every mother's grief at the

passing of a beloved childwould you not perhaps yearn

to forget, too?"

Simon looked into the shifting flames of the fire. Like

the Sithi, he thought, trapped with their pain forever.

Craving an ending, as Amerasu had said.

Binabik carved a few more chips from the piece of

wood. It was beginning to take a shape that might be a

TOGREENANGELTOWER461

wolf's head, prick-eared and long of muzzle. "If I am al-

lowed the asking, friend Simon, is there a reason that

Sludig's saying struck you with such strongness?"

Simon shook his head. "I just don't know how to ... to

be. These men have come to kill usI want them all to

die, painfully, horribly.... But Binabik, these are the

Erkynguard! I knew them at the castle. Some of them

used to give me sweets, or lift me up on their horses and

tell me I reminded them of their own sons." He fidgeted

with a stick, scuffing at the muddy soil. "Which is right?

How could they do these things to us, who never did them

any harm? But the king is making them, so why should

they be killed, any more than us?"

Binabik's lips curled in a tiny smile. "I notice you are

not having worries about the mercenariesno, say noth-

ing, there is no need! It is hard to feel sorry for those who

are searching out war for gold." He slipped the half-

finished carving into his jacket and began to reassemble

his walking-stick, socketing the knife back into the long

handle. "The questions you are asking are important ones,

but they are also questions without answers. This is what

being a man or woman means, I am thinking, instead of

a boy or girl child; you must be finding your own solu-

tion to questions that are having no true answers." He

turned to Strangyeard. "Do you have Morgenes' book

somewhere that is near, or is it now up in the settlement?"

The archivist had been staring into the flames, lost in

thought. "What?" he said, suddenly rousing. 'The book,

you say? Oh, heavenly pastures, I carry it with me every-

where! How could I trust it left in some place un-

watched?" He turned abruptly and looked shyly at Simon.

"Of course, it is not mineplease do not think I have for-

gotten your kindness, Simon, in letting me read it. You

cannot imagine how wonderful it has been, having Mor-

genes' words to savor!"

Simon felt an almost pleasurable twinge of regret at the

memory of Morgenes. How he missed that good old man!

"It is not mine, either. Father Strangyeard. He merely

gave it to me for safekeeping so that eventually people

like you and Binabik would be able to read it." He smiled

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Tad Williams

gloomily. "I think that is what I am learning these days

that nothing is really mine. I thought for a time that Thorn

was meant for me, but I doubt it now. I have been given

other things, but none of them quite do what they are sup-

posed to. I'm glad someone is getting good use of Mor-

genes* words."

"We all are getting such use." Binabik smiled back, l?ut

his tone was serious. "Morgenes planned for us all in this

dark time."

"Just a moment." Strangyeard scrambled to his feet. He

returned a moment later with his sack, inadvertently spill-

ing its contentsa Book of the Aedon, a scarf, a water

skin, a few small coins and gewgawsin his effort to get

to the manuscript lodged firmly at the bottom. "Here it

is," he said in triumph, then paused. "Why was I looking

for it?"

"Because I was asking if you had it," Binabik ex-

plained. "There is a passage I think Simon would find of

great interestingness."

The troll took the proffered manuscript and leafed

through it with delicate care, frowning as he tried to read

by the uncertain light of the campfire. It did not seem that

it would be a very swift process, so Simon got up to

empty his bladder. The wind was chilly along the hillside,

and the white lake below, which he glimpsed through a

break in the trees, looked like a place for phantoms.

When he got back to the fire he was shivering.

"Here, I have found it." Binabik waved the page.

"Would you prefer reading for yourself, or should I go to

reading it for you?"

Simon smirked at the troll's solicitousness. "You love

to read things at me. Go ahead."

"It is in the interest of your continuing education,

only," Binabik said mock-severely. "Listen: 'In fact,'

Morgenes writes,

'the debate as to who was the greatest knight in

Aedondom was for many years a source of argu-

ment everywhere, in both the corridors of the

Sancellan Aedonitis in Nabban and the taverns of

TOGREENANGELTOWER

Erkynland and Hemystir. It would be difficult to

claim that Camaris was the inferior of any man,

but he seemed to take so little joy in combat that

for him warfare might have been a penance, his

own great skills a form of punishment. Often.

when honor compelled him to fight in tourna-

ments, he would hide the kingfisher-crest of his

house beneath a disguise, thus to prevent his foes

from being overmatched simply by awe. He was

also known to give himself incredible handicaps,

such as fighting with his left hand only. not out of

bravado, but out of what I myself guess was a

dreadful desire to have someone, somewhere, fi-

nally best him, thus removing from his shoulders

the burden of being Osten Ard's preeminent

knightand hence a target for every drunken

brawler as well as the inspiration of every bal-

ladeer. When fighting in war, even the priests of

Mother Church agreed, his admirable humility

and mercy to a beaten foe seemed almost to

stretch too far, as though he longed for honorable

defeat, for death. His feats of arms, which were

talked about across the length and breadth of

Osten Ard, were to Camaris acts almost shame-

ful.

'Once Tallistro of Perdrum had been killed by

ambush in the first Thrithings Wara treachery

made famous in almost as many songs as tell of

Camaris' exploitsit was only John himself who

could ever be considered a rival to Camaris for

the title of Aedondom's greatest warrior. Indeed,

none would have suggested that even Prester

John, as mighty as he was, could have defeated

Sir Camaris in an open fight: after Nearulagh,

the battle in which they met, Camaris was careful

never even to spar with John again, for fear of

upsetting the delicate balance of their friendship.

But where Camaris' skills were to him an oner-

ous burden, and the prosecution of wareven

those wars that Mother Church sanctioned and,

464Tad Williams

some might say, occasionally encouragedwas

for Nabban's greatest knight a trial and a source

of grief. Prester John was a man who never

seemed happier than on the battlefield. He was

not cruelno defeated foe was ever shown less

than fairness by him, except for the Sithi, against

whom John held some private but powerful ill-

feelings, and whom he persecuted until they have

all but vanished from the sight of mortal men. But

since some would argue that the Sithi are not

men, and therefore do not have soulsalthough I

myself would not so argueit could then be said

that all John's enemies were treated in a way that

even the most scrupulous churchman would have

to call just and merciful. And to his subjects, even

the pagan Hemystiri, John was a generous king.

It was only in those times when the carpet of war

was spread before him that he became a danger-

ous weapon. Thus it was that Mother Church, in

whose name he conquered, named himin grati-

tude and perhaps a bit of quiet fearthe Sword

of the Lord.

'So the argument raged, and does to this day:

who was the greater? Camaris, the most skillful

man to lift a sword in human memory? Or John,

only slightly less proficient, but a leader of men,

and himself a man who welcomed a just and

godly war... ?' "

Binabik cleared his throat. "And, as he is telling that

the argument went on, so Morgenes himself is going on

for several pages more, talking in greater depth of this

question, which was of great importantness in its dayor

was anyway thought to be of such importantness."

"So Camaris killed better but liked it less than King

John did?" Simon asked. "Why did he do it, then? Why

not become a monk, or a hermit?"

"Ah, that is being the nub of what you were earlier

wondering, Simon," Binabik said, his dark eyes intent.

"That is why the writing of great thinkers is being such a

TOGREENANOELTOWER465

help to the rest of us in our own thinking. Here Morgenes

has put the words and names in a different way, but it is

the same questioning as yours: is it right to be killing,

even if it is what your master or country or church

wishes? Is it better to kill but not to enjoy it, or to not kill

at all, and then perhaps be seeing bad things happen to

those who you are loving?"

["Does Morgenes give an answer?"

"No." Binabik shook his head. "As I said, the wise

know that these questions have no true answers. Life is

-1made from these wonderings, and from the answers that

fwe each and every one are finding for ourselves."

%"Just for once, Binabik, I want you to tell me there is

c\an answer for something. I'm tired of thinking so much."

The troll laughed. "The punishment for being bom ...

no, perhaps that is too much to be calling that. The pun-

ishment for being truly alivethat is fair to say. Wel-

come, Simon, to the world of those who are every day

condemned to thinking and wondering and never ever

knowing with certainness."

Simon snorted. "Thank you,"

"Yes, Simon," There was strange, somber eamestness

in Strangyeard's voice- "Welcome. 1 pray that someday

you will be glad that your decisions were not simple

ones."

"How could that be?"

Strangyeard shook his head. "Forgive me for saying the

kind of things that old men say, Simon, but ... you will

see."

Simon stood up. "Very well. Now that you have made

my head spin, I will do as Sludig did: go away in disgust

and try to sleep." He put his hand on Binabik's shoulder,

then turned to the archivist, who was reverently placing

Morgenes' book back in his bag. "Good night, Father

Strangyeard. Be well. Good night, Binabik."

"Good night, friend Simon."

He heard the troll and the priest talking quietly as he

walked back to his sleeping spot- It made him feel a little

safer, for some reason, to know that such folk were

awake.

466 Tad Williams

In the last moments before dawn, Deomoth had run out

of tasks. His sword had been sharpened, then sharpened

again. He had reattached several buckles that had been

torn from his byrnie, which had required hard, finger-

cramping work with a tack-needle, and then laboriously

cleaned the mud from his boots. Now he would either

have to remain barefoot but for the rags that wrapped his

feeta cold, cold conditionuntil it was time to move

out onto the ice, or put his boots back on and stay where

he was. A single step across the muddy ruin that was the

encampment would certainly undo his careful work. The

footing was going to be bad enough without slick mud on

his boot soles to make it worse.

As the sky began to pale, Deomoth listened to some of

his men singing quietly. He had never fought beside any

of them before yesterday. They were a tattish army, no

doubt: many of them had never wielded a sword before,

and of those who had, more than a few were so old that

back in their shareholdings they had not come to the sea-

sonal muster for years. But fighting in defense of home

could turn even the mildest fanner into an enemy to be

reckoned with, and this bare stone was home now to

many. Deomoth's men, under the leadership of those few

of their number who had actually served under arms, had

acquitted themselves bravelyvery bravely indeed. He

only wished he had something better to offer them in the

way of reward than this coming day's slaughter.

He heard the sucking noise of horses' hooves in mud;

the quiet murmur of the men around him died away. He

turned to see a small group of riders winding their way

down the trail that ran through the camp. Foremost

among them was a tall, slender figure mounted on a

chestnut stallion, his cloak rippling in the strong wind.

Josua was ready at last. Deomoth sighed and stood up,

waving for the rest of his troops as he grabbed his boots.

The time for woolgathering was past. Still unshod, still

postponing that inevitable moment, he went to join his

prince.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

467

At first there were few surprises in the second day's

fighting. It was bloody work, as Sludig had prophesied,

breast to breast, blade against blade; by mid-moming the

ice was washed in red and ravens were feasting on the

outskirts of combat.

Those who survived this battle would call it by many

names: to Josua and his closest company, it was the Siege

of Sesuad'ra. For the captains of Fengbald's Erkynland-

ish troops, it was Stefflod Valley; to the mercenary

Thrithings-men, the Battle of the Stone. But for most who

remembered it, and few did without a shudder, the name

that was most evocative was the Lake of Glass.

War surged back and forth across Sesuad'ra's icy moat

all morning long as first one side and then the other

gained a momentary advantage. At first the Erkynguard,

embarrassed by their showing the day before, pressed the

attack so strongly that the Stone's defenders were driven

back against their own barricades. They might have been

cut down then, overwhelmed by superior numbers, but

Josua rode forth on fiery Vinyafod, leading a small

mounted group of Hotvig's Thrithings-men, and caused

enough dismay in the flanks of the king's soldiers that

they could not push their advantage to its fullest extent.

The arrows that Freosel and the other defenders had scav-

enged flew down from the hillside, and the green-liveried

Erkynguard were forced to draw back out of range, wait-

ing until the missiles were spent- Red-cloaked Duke

Fengbald rode back and forth in a clear section of ice at

mid-lake, waving his sword and gesticulating.

His troops attacked again, but this time the defenders

were ready and the wave of mounted Erkynguard broke

against the great log walls. A sallying force from the hill-

side then pierced the green line and stabbed deep into the

middle of Fengbald's forces. They were not strong

enough to split the duke's army, or the battle might have

gone very differently, but even when they were thrown

back with heavy losses, it was clear that Deomoth's

farmer-soldiers had found a renewed determination. They

468 Tad Williams

knew they could fight on this field as near-equals; it was

clear that they would not give up their home to the king's

swords without exacting a bloody price.

The sun reached the tips of the treeline, morning light

just spilling onto the far side of the valley. The ice was

again thick with mist. Down in the murk, the fighting

grew desperate as men struggled not just with each other

but with the treacherous battlefield as well. Both sides

seemed determined that things would be finished by

nightfall, the issue settled forever. From the number of

unmoving shapes that already lay sprawled across the fro-

zen lake, there seemed little doubt that by afternoon, there

would be few of Sesuad'ra's defenders left to contest the

matter.

Within the first hour after dawn, Simon had forgotten

about Camaris, about Prester John, even about God. He

felt like a boat caught in a terrible storm, but the waves

that threatened to drown him had faces and carried sharp

blades. There was no attempt today to hold the trolls in

reserve. Josua had felt sure that Fengbald would simply

throw his men against Sesuad'ra's defenders until they

were beaten down, so there was little point in trying to

surprise anyone. There was no order of battle, only a

skeleton of battlefield command, tattered banners and dis-

tant horns. The opposing armies rushed together, hit, and

clung to each other like drowning men, then withdrew

again to rest before the next surge, leaving the bodies of

the fallen splayed across the misty lake.

As the Erkynguard's assault pressed the defenders back

against the barricades, Simon saw the troll-herder

Snenneq skewered by an Erkynguardsman's lance, lifted

completely out of his ram-saddle and pinned against one

of the barricade tree trunks. Although the troll was un-

doubtedly dead or dying, the armored guardsman jerked

his weapon free and pierced the small body again as it

slid down the wall, twisting the lance as though killing an

insect. Simon, maddened, spurred Homefinder through a

gap in the crush of men and brought his sword around

with all the strength he could muster, nearly beheading

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER469

the guardsman, who crashed off his horse and fell to the

frozen lake, fountaining blood. Simon bent and caught at

Snenneq's hide jacket, pulling him up from the ground

with one hand without even feeling the weight. The troll's

head bobbed; his brown eyes stared sightlessly. Simon

cradled the small, stocky form against his own body,

heedless of the blood that soaked his breeches and saddle.

Sometime later he found himself on the edge of the

battle. Snenneq's body was gone. Simon did not know if

he had put it down or dropped it; he did not remember

anything but the dead troll's astonished, frightened face.

There had been blood on the little man's lips and between

his teeth.

It was easy to hate if he did not think, Simon discov-

ered- If he saw the faces of enemies only as pale smears

within their helmets, if he saw their open mouths as hor-

rid black holes, it was easy to ride at them and smash

them with all his strength, to try and separate the knobby

heads and flailing limbs from the bodies until the hated

things were dead. He also found that if he was not afraid

of dyingand at this moment he was not: he felt as

though all his fear had been charred awayit was easy to

survive. The men against whom he rode, even though

they were trained fighting men, many of them veterans of

several battles, seemed frightened by Simon's single-

minded assaults. He swung and swung, each blow as hard

' or harder than the last. When they lifted their own weap-

ons, he swung at their arms and hands. If they fell back

to try to lure him off-balance, he rode Homefinder full

into their sides and battered away as Ruben the Bear had

once pounded red-hot metal in the Hayholt's stables.

Sooner or later, Simon discovered, the look of fear would

creep into their eyes, the whites flashing in the depths of

their helmets. Sooner or later they would shy back, but

Simon would hammer on, slashing and hewing, until they

fled or fell. Then he would suck air deep into his lungs,

hearing little but the impossibly fast drumbeat of his own

heart, until anger rebirthed his strength and he went riding

on in search of something else to hack.

Blood spurted, hovering for long moments like a red

470

Tad Williams

mist. Horses fell, legs kicking convulsively. The noise of

battle was so loud as to be virtually unbearable. As he

pushed through the carnage, Simon felt his arms turn to

ironrigid, hard as the blade he held in his hand; he had

no horse, but rather four strong legs that took him where

he wished to go. He was spattered in red, some of it his

own, but he felt nothing but fire inside his chest and. &

spastic need to beat down the things that had come to

steal his new home and slaughter his friends.

Simon did not know it, but beneath his helm, his face

was wet with tears.

A curtain seemed to draw away at last, letting light into

the dark room of Simon's bestial thoughts. He was some-

where near the middle of the lake and someone was

calling his name.

"Simon!" It was a high voice, yet strange. For a mo-

ment he was not quite sure where he was, "Simon!" the

voice called again.

He looked down, searching for the one who had spo-

ken, but the foot-soldier who lay crumpled there would

never call to anyone again. Simon's horrifying numbness

melted a little further. The corpse belonged to one of

Fengbald's soldiers. Simon turned away, unwilling to

look at the man's slack face.

"Simon, come!" It was Sisqi, followed by two of her

troll-kin, riding toward him. Even as he brought

Homefinder around to face the new arrivals, he could not

help looking at the yellow slot-eyes of their saddle-rams.

What were they thinking? What could animals think of

such a thing as this?

"Sisqi." He blinked. "What... ?"

"Come, come fast!" She gestured with her spear to-

ward a place closer to the barricades. The battle was still

swirling, and although Simon stared hard, he knew it

would take someone like old Jamauga to make any sense

out of such chaos.

"What is it?"

"Help your friend! Your Croohok! Come!"

Simon kicked his heels against Homefinder's ribs and

TOGREENANGELTOWER

471

followed the trolls as they neatly wheeled their rams

about. Homefinder lurched as she struggled across the

slippery lake surface after them. Simon could tell that

the horse was tired, dreadfully tired. Poor Homefinder!

He should stop and give her water ... let her sleep ...

sleep ... Simon's own head was pounding, and his right

arm felt as though it had been beaten with clubs.

Aedon 's mercy, what have 1 done? What have I done to-

day?

The trolls led him back into the knot of battle. The men

he saw around him were exhausted almost to heedless-

ness, like South Islander slaves sent to fight in the old

Nabbanai arenas. Foes seemed to hold each other up as

they struck, and the clang of weaponry had a dolorous,

off-key sound, like a hundred cracked bells pealing.

Sludig and a knot of defenders were surrounded by

Thrithings mercenaries. The Rimmersman had an ax in

each hand. He had been unhorsed, but even as he strug-

gled to keep his footing on the ice he held two scarfaced

Thrithings-men at bay. Simon and the trolls came on as

swiftly as the footing would allow, falling on Sludig's at-

tackers from behind. Although Simon's cramping arm

failed to strike a clean blow, his blade struck near the un-

protected tail of one of the Thrithings-men's horses, mak-

ing the creature rear suddenly. Its rider crashed to the ice,

where he was quickly savaged by Sludig's companions.

The Rimmersman used the skidding, riderless horse as a

shield against his other enemy, then was able to get a foot

into the stirrup and clamber into the saddle, bringing one

of his axes up just in time to ward a blow from the

Thrithings-man's curved sword. Their weapons clanked

together twice more, then Sludig, roaring wordlessly,

hooked the man's blade from his grip with one ax and

buried the other in the mercenary's head, smashing down

through the stiff leather helmet as though it were an egg-

shell. He put his boot in the man's chest and wrenched

the ax free; the mercenary flopped over his horse's neck,

then slid heavily to the ground.

Simon shouted to Sludig, then turned quickly as an-

other surge of the struggle pushed a riderless horse heav-

472

Tad Williams

ily against Homefmder's shoulder, almost jarring him out

of his seat. He clutched at the reins, then righted himself

and kicked at the panicking creature, which whinnied and

scrambled for purchase on the ice before scrambling

away.

The Rimmersman stared at Simon for a moment as

though he did not recognize him. His yellow beard was

spattered with drops of blood, and his chain mail was bro-

ken and torn in several places. "Where is Deomoth?"

"I don't know! I just got here!" Simon lifted himself

higher in the saddle to look around, clutching Homefinder

with his knees.

"He was cut off." Sludig stood in his own stirrups.

"There! I see his cloak!" He pointed into a clot of

Thrithings-men nearby, in whose midst there was a flash

of blue. "Come!" Sludig spurred the mercenary's horse

ahead. The beast, fitted with no special iron spikes,

slipped and skidded.

Simon called for Sisqi and her friends, who were

calmly spearing wounded Thrithings-men. The daughter

of the Herder and Huntress barked something to her com-

panions in the Qanuc tongue and they all cantered after

Simon and Sludig.

The sky had grown darker overhead as clouds had cov-

ered the sun. Now a flurry of tiny snowflakes began to fill

the air. The mist seemed to be growing thicker, too. Si-

mon thought he saw a flash of crimson moving in the

dark sea of struggling men not far beyond Sludig. Could

it be Fengbald? Here, in the middle of things? It seemed

impossible the duke would take such a risk when numbers

and experience were on his side.

Simon had less than a moment to ponder this unlikely

possibility before Sludig had crashed into the clump of

Thrithings-men, laying about indiscriminately with his

axes. Although two men fell wounded before the

Rimmersman, opening his way, Simon saw that others

were moving into the gap, several of them still on horse-

back: Sludig would be surrounded. Simon's sense of un-

reality became even stronger. What was he doing here?

He was no soldier! This was madness. Yet what else

TOGREENANGELTOWER

473

could he do? His friends were being hurt and killed. He

spurred forward, slashing at the bearded mercenaries.

Each blow now leaped up his arm, a pain like a tongue of

fire that he felt through his shoulders into the base of his

skull. He heard the strange yipping cries of Sisqi and her

Qanuc behind him. then suddenly he was through.

Sludig had climbed down off his horse. He was kneel-

ing beside a figure in a cloak the color of an early eve-

ning sky. It was Deomoth, and his face was very pale.

Beneath Josua's knight, half-covered by his blue cloak, a

hugely-muscled Thrithings-man lay on his back, staring

sightlessly at the cloudy sky, a crust of blood on his lips.

With the sharpened clarity of near-madness, Simon saw a

snowflake flutter down to land on the mercenary's opened

eye.

"It is the leader of the mercenaries," Sludig shouted

over the clamor. "Deomoth has killed him."

"But Deomoth, is he alive?"

Sludig was already struggling to lift the knight from the

ice- Simon looked around to see if they were in immedi-

ate danger, but the mercenaries had been lured away to

some other pocket of the shifting chaos. Simon quickly

dismounted and helped Sludig lift Deomoth onto the sad-

dle. The Rimmersman climbed up and clutched at the

knight, who sagged like an understuffed doll.

"Bad," Sludig said. "He is bad. We must get him back

to the barricades."

He set out at a trot. Sisqi and the other two trolls fell

in behind him. The Rimmersman steered his horse in a

wide arc, heading for the outer fringe of the killing

ground and comparative safety.

Simon could only lean against Homefinder's side, pant-

ing, staring at Sludig's back and Deomoth's slack face

bouncing beside the Rimmersman's shoulder. Things

were as bad as could be imagined. Jiriki and his Sithi

were not coming. God had not seen fit to rescue the vir-

tuous. If only this whole nightmarish day could be wished

away. Simon shivered. It seemed almost that if he closed

his eyes this would all be gone, that he would wake in his

474

Tad Williams

bed in the Hayholt's serving quarters, the spring sunlight

crawling across the flagstones outside....

He shook his head and struggled into the saddle, legs

trembling. He spurred Homefinder forward. No time to let

the mind wander. No time.

There was the flash of red again, just to his right. He

turned and saw a figure m crimson, sitting on a white

horse. The mounted man's helm was furnished with silver

wings.

Fengbald!

Slowly, as though the ice had turned to sticky honey

beneath his horses' hooves, Simon reined up and turned

toward the armored man- Surely this was a dream! The

duke was behind a small knot of Erkynguardsmen, but his

attention seemed fixed on the fighting just before him. Si-

mon, at the outer edge of the battle, had a clear path. He

spurred Homefinder forward.

As he moved closer, picking up speed, the silver helmet

seemed to grow before him, dazzling even in the murky

light. The crimson cloak and bright chain mail were like

a wound on the dim darkness of the far-away trees.

Simon shouted, but the figure did not turn. He kicked

his boot-irons against Homefinder's side. She made a

huffing noise and increased her pace; foam flew from her

lips. "Fengbald!" Simon screamed again, and this time

the duke seemed to hear. The closed helm swiveled to-

ward Simon, the eye-slit blankly inscrutable. The duke

lifted his sword with one hand and tugged at his reins to

bring his horse around to face this attacker. Fengbald

seemed slow, as if underwater, as though he, too, found

himself in some terrible dream.

Beneath his own helm, Simon's lips skinned back from

his teeth. A nightmare, then. He would be Fengbald's

nightmare, this time. He swung his own sword back, feel-

ing the muscles in his shoulders jump and strain. As

Homefinder swept down on the duke, Simon brought his

sword around with both hands. It met the duke's blade

with a shivering impact that nearly pushed Simon back-

ward out of the saddle, but something yielded at the blow.

When he was past, and had straightened himself in the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

475

saddle, he turned Homefinder around in a careful half-

circle. Fengbald had fallen from his horse and his sword

had been knocked from his hand. The duke lay on his

back, struggling to rise.

Simon vaulted from the saddle and promptly slipped,

falling forward to land painfully on elbows and knees. He

crawled to where the duke still fought for balance, then

rose on his knees and brought the flat of his sword

against the shining helm as hard as he could. The duke

fell back, arms spread wide like the wings of the silver

eagle on his surcoat. Simon clambered on top of him and

squatted on his chest. He, Simon, had beaten Duke

Fengbald! Had they won, then? Panting, he darted a quick

look around him, but no one seemed to have seen. Neither

was there any sign that the fighting had been resolved

clots of figures still thrashed in the mist all across the

lake. Could he have won the battle without anyone notic-

ing?

Simon pulled his Qanuc knife from the sheath and

pressed it against Fengbald's throat, then fumbled at the

duke's helm. He worked it free at last, tugging it loose

with little regard for its owner's comfort. He tossed it

aside- It spun on the ice as Simon leaned forward.

His prisoner was a middle-aged man, bald where he

was not gray. His bloodied mouth was missing most of its

teeth. He was not Fengbald.

" 'S Bloody Tree'" Simon swore. The world was col-

lapsing. Nothing was real. He stared at the surcoat, at the

falcon-winged helmet lying just inches away. They were

Fengbald's, there was no question- But this was not the

duke.

Tricked!" Simon groaned. "Oh, God, we have been

tricked like children." There was a cold knot in his stom-

ach. "Mother of Aedonwhere is Fengbald!?"

*

Far across Osten Ard to the west, far from the concerns

of Sesuad'ra's defenders, a small procession emerged

from a hole in the Grianspog mountainside like a troop of

476

Tad Williams

white mice released from a cage. As they left the shad-

owy tunnels they stopped, blinking and squinting in the

snow-glare.

The Hemystiri, only a few hundred all told, most of

them women, children, and old men, milled in confusion

on the rocky shelf outside the cavern. Maegwin sensed

that with any prompting at all they would quickly dash.

back into the safety of the caves once more. The balance

was very delicate. It had taken a great effort on

Maegwin's part, all her powers of persuasion, to convince

her people even to set out on this seemingly doomed jour-;

ney.i ^

Gods of our forefathers, she thought, Brynioch and

Rhynn, where is our backbone!? Only Diawen, breathing

deeply of the cold air with her arms lifted as if in ritual

celebration, seemed to understand the glory of this march..-;

The expression on the lined face of Old Craobhan left no^

doubt as to what he thought of this foolishness. But the,1*

rest of her subjects seemed mostly fearful, looking forM

some portent, some excuse to turn back again.^

They needed prodding, that was all. It was frighteningH

for mortals to live as their deities wished them toit was^

a greater responsibility than most wished to bear.||

Maegwin took a deep breath.H

"Great days are before us, people of Hernystir," sheH

cried. "The gods wish us to go down the mountain to face%.

our enemiesthe enemies who have stolen our houses,s

our farms, our cattle and pigs and sheep- Remember whof

you are' Come with me!"f:

She strode forward onto the path. Slowly, reluctantly,H.

her followers fell into step behind her, shivering despite|t

being wrapped in the warmest clothing they had been able

to find. Many of the children were crying.

"Amoran," she called. The harper, who had been walk-

ing a little distance behindperhaps hoping that he could

fall far enough back that his presence would not be

missedcame forward, leaning against the force of the

wind.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Walk beside me," she directed. Amoran took a look

TOGREENANGELTOWER477

down at the mountain's sheer, snowy face just beyond the

narrow path, then quickly looked away again. "I want you

to play a song," Maegwin said.

"What song. Princess?"

"Something that everyone knows the words to. Some-

thing that lifts the heart." She pondered as she walked.

Amoran looked nervously down at his feet. "Play 'The

Lily of the Cuimnhe.' "

"Yes, my lady." Amoran lifted his harp and began to

pick out the opening strains, working it through a few

times to let his chilled fingers warm. Then he began in

earnest, playing loudly so that those behind could easily

hear.

"The Hernysadharc rose is fair."

he sang, lifting his voice above the wind that prowled

the mountainside and stirred the trees,

"As red as blood, as white as snow,

But still unplucked I'll leave it there

For I have somewhere else. to go."

One by one at first, then in bunches, others of

Maegwin's band began to pick up the verses of the famil-

iar song.

"At Inniscrich the violets grow

As dark as skies of early night,

But I'll not have them, even so

For I prefer my beauties bright.

"Near Abaingeat the daisies bloom

Like stars a-twinkle in the sky,

But I will leave them in the coomb

I cannot stop; I must pass by.

"The sweetest flower of all, she grows

Where river past sweet meadow flows,

4?8

Tad Williams

And where she blossoms I will go:

The Lily of the Cuimhne.

"When someday winter's winds shall blow

When leaves are withered, sap is slow,

I will recall this love, I know:

The Lily of the Cuimnhe ..."

By the refrain, scores of people had joined in. The pace

of the marching feet seemed to increase, to match itself to

the rhythm of the old song. The voices of Maegwin's peo-

ple rose until they outshouted the windand strangely,

the wind grew weaker, as if acknowledging defeat.

The remnants of Hemysadharc marched down from

their mountain retreat, singing.

They stopped on a shelf of snow-swept rock, and ate

their midday meal beneath the dim and straining sun.

Maegwin walked among her people, paying special atten-

tion to the children. She felt happy and fulfilled for the

first time in long memory: Lluth's daughter was finally

doing what she was meant to do. Satisfied at last, she felt

her love for the people of Hemystir come bubbling up

and her people felt it, too. Some of the older folk might

still have misgivings about this mad undertaking, but to

the children it was a wonderful lark; they followed

Maegwin through the camp, laughing and shouting, until

even the worried parents were able to forget for a while

the danger into which they were traveling, to put aside

their doubts. After all, how could the princess be so full

of light and truth if the gods were not with her?

As for Maegwin, virtually all her own doubts had been

left on Bradach Tor. She had the entire company singing

again and on their way before the noon hour had passed.

When they reached the bottom of the mountain at last,

her people seemed to gain hope. For all but a few of

them, this was the first time they had touched the mead-

ows of Hernystir since the Rimmersgard troops had

driven them into the high places half a year before. They

were returning home,

TOGREENANGELTOWER479

The first of Skali's pickets came forward in a rush as

they saw a small army descending from the Ghanspog,

but reined up in surprise, the hooves of their horses dig-

ging up great gouts of powdery snow, when they saw that

the army bore no weaponsin fact, carried nothing at all

in their arms but swaddled infants. The Rimmersmen,

hardened warriors every one, undaunted by the confusion

and horror of battle, stared in consternation at Maegwin

and her troop.

"Stop!" the leader cried. He was all but hidden in his

helmet and fur-lined cloak, and for a moment seemed a

startled badger blinking in the door of its sett. "Going

where are you?"

Maegwin made a haughty face at his poor command of

the Westerling tongue. "We are going to your master,

Skali of Kaldskryke."

The soldiers looked, if possible, even more bewil-

dered. "So many to surrender are not needed," the leader

said. 'Tell the women and children for waiting here. Men

with us will come."

Maegwin scowled. "Fool. We do not come to surren-

der. We come to take our land back." She waved. Her fol-

lowers, who had stopped white she spoke to the soldiers,

surged forward once more.

The Rimmersmen fell in beside them like dogs trying

to herd a flock of unimpressed and hostile sheep.

As they made their way across the snowy meadowlands

between the foothills and Hernysadharc, Maegwin felt an-

ger growing within her once more, anger that for a while

had been overwhelmed by the glory of positive action.

Here stand after stand of ancient trees, oak and beech and

alder, had been leveled by Rimmersgard axes, their car-

casses stripped of bark and dragged away across the rut-

ted ground. Skali's soldiers and their horses had churned

the earth around their camps to frozen mud, and the ashes

of their countless fires blew across the gray snow. The

very face of the land was wounded and sufferingno

wonder the gods were unhappy! Maegwin looked around

and saw her own fury mirrored in the faces of her follow-

ers, their few lingering doubts now vanishing like water

48o

Tad Williams

drops on a hot stone. The gods would make this place

clean again, with their help. How could anyone doubt that

it would be so?

At last, as the afternoon sun hung swollen in the gray

sky, they reached the outskirts of Hernysadharc itself.

They were now part of a much larger crowd: during the

slow approach of Maegwin's folk, many of the

Rimmersmen had drifted in from the encampments to

watch this odd spectacle, until it seemed that the whole

occupying army trailed along after them. The combined

company, nearing perhaps a thousand souls, made its way

through the narrow, spiraling streets of Hernysadharc to-

ward the king's house, the Taig.

When they reached the great cleared place atop the hil-

lock, Skali of Kaldskryke was waiting for them, standing

before the Taig's vast oaken doors. The Rimmersman was

dressed in his dark armor as though waiting for a fight,

and he carried his raven-helm under his arm. He was sur-

rounded by his household guard, a legion of grim,

bearded men.

Many of Maegwin's people now, at this late moment,

felt their courage suddenly falter. As Skali's own

Rimmersmen kept to a respectful distance, so, too, did

many of Maegwin's company slow and begin to hang

back. But Maegwin and a few othersOld Craobhan, al-

ways the loyal servant, was one of themstrode forward.

Maegwin moved without fear or hesitation toward the

man who had conquered and brutally subjugated her

country.

"Who are you, woman?" Skali demanded. His voice was

surprisingly soft, with a suggestion of a stutter. Maegwin

had only heard him once beforeSkali had shouted up at

the Hemystiri's hiding place on the mountain side, trumpet-

ing the gift of her brother Gwythinn's mutilated bodybut

that one horrid time was enough: shouting or whispering,

Maegwin knew that voice and loathed it. The nose that had

given Skali his nickname stood out starkly from a broad,

wind-bumed face. His eyes were intent and clever. She did

not see a hint of any sort of kindness in their depths, but

she had not expected to.

TOGREENANGELTOWER4&I

Face-to-face at last with the destroyer of her family,

she was pleased by her own icy calm. "I am Maegwin,"

she proclaimed. "Daughter of Lluth-ubh-Llythinn, the

king of Hemystir."

"Who is dead," Skali said shortly.

"Whom you killed. I have come to tell you that your

time is over. You are to leave this land now, before the

gods of Hemystir punish you."

Skali stared at her carefully. His guardsmen were

smirking at the ridiculousness of the situation, but Sharp-

nose was not. "And if I do not, king's daughter?"

"The gods will decide your fate." She spoke serenely

despite the hatred boiling within her. "It will not be a

kind one."

Skali looked at her a moment longer, then gestured to

some of his guardsmen. "Pen them. If they resist, kill the

men first." The guards, laughing openly now, moved to

surround Maegwufs people. One of the children began to

cry, then more joined in.

As the guards began to lay rough hands on her folk,

Maegwin felt her confidence waver. What was happen-

ing? When would the gods make things right? She looked

around, expecting deadly lightnings to leap from the

skies, or the ground to heave and swallow the defilers,

but nothing happened. She sought frantically for Diawen.

The scryer's eyes were closed in rapt concentration, her

lips soundlessly moving.

"No! Do not touch them!" Maegwin cried as the

guardsmen prodded with their spears at some of the cry-

ing children, trying to round them back into line with the

others. "You must quit this land!" she shouted with all the

authority she could summon. "It is the will of the gods!"

But the Rimmersmen paid no attention. Maegwin's

heart was racing as though it would burst. What was hap-

pening? Why had the gods betrayed her? Could this have

all been some incomprehensible trick?

"Brynioch!" she cried. "Murhagh One-Arm! Where are

you!?"

The skies did not answer.

482

Tad Williams

^

The light of early dawn was filtering through the tree-

tops, shimmering faintly on the crumbling stones. The

company of fifty mounted knights and twice that many

foot-soldiers passed yet another ruined wall, a precarious

stack of eroded, snow-dusted blocks glazed with brilliant

rose and shining lavender which seemed more alive than

any mere stones should. They rode by in silence, then be-

gan to wind down the hillside toward the icy lake, an ex-

panse of white streaked with blue and gray hanging

behind the outermost trees like a painter's catch-cloth.

Helfgrim, the Lord Mayor, craned his head to look

back at the ruins, although it was no little strain to do so

with his hands tied to the pommel of a saddle.

"So that is it," he said softly. "The fairy city."

"I may need you to lead me to the path," Fengbald

snapped, "but that doesn't mean I can't break your arm.

I will hear no more about any 'fairy cities.'"

Helfgrim turned, a hint of a smile curling his puckered

mouth. "It is a shame to pass so near such a thing and not

look, Duke Fengbald."

"Look all you want. Just keep your mouth shut." And

he glared at the mounted soldiers, as if daring any of

them to share Helfgrim's interest.

When they reached the shore of the frozen lake,

Pengbald looked up, smoothing his unbound black hair

away from his face. "Ah- The clouds are gathering.

Good." He turned to Helfgrim. "It would be best of all to

have done this in darkness, but I am not such a fool as to

trust an old dotard to find his way by night. Besides,

Lezhdraka and the rest should be making enough of a

ruckus on the far side of the hill by now to keep Josua

nicely occupied."

"I'm sure." Helfgrim gave the duke a wary glance.

"My lord, could we at least have my daughters to ride

here beside me?"

Fengbald stared at him suspiciously. "Why?"

The old man paused a moment. "It is hard for me to

say it, my lord. I trust your word, please don't believe I

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER483

don't. But I fear that your menwell, if they're out of

your sight. Duke Fengbald, they might perform some

mischief."

The duke laughed. "Surely you do not fear for the vir-

tue of your daughters, old fellow? Unless I miss my

guess, their maiden days are far behind them."

Helfgrim could not conceal a flinch. "Even so, my

lord, it would be a kindness to put a father's heart at

ease."

Fengbald considered for a moment, then whistled for

his page. "Isaak, tell the guardsmen who carry the women

to come ride nearer to me. Not that any should complain

at being asked to ride beside their liege-lord," he added

for the old man's benefit.

Young Isaak, who seemed to wish that he himself had

the option of riding anything at all, bowed and went

sloshing back up the muddy trail.

A few moments later the guardsmen appeared.

Helfgrim's two daughters were not bound, but each one

sat in the saddle before an armored man, so that they

looked not unlike Hyrka brideswho, it was reputed in

the cities, were frequently stolen in midnight raids and

unceremoniously carried away, "draped across their cap-

tor's saddles like sacks of meal.

"Are you well, daughters?" Helfgrim asked. The youn-

ger of the two, who had been crying, wiped her eyes with

the hem of her cloak and tried to smile bravely.

"We are quite well. Father."

"That is good. No tears, then, my little coney. Be tike

your sister. There is nothing to fearyou know that Duke

Fengbald is a man of his word."

"Yes, Father."

The duke smiled beneficently. He knew what sort of

man he was, but it was good to see that the common folk

knew it, too.

The wind blew harder as the first horses stepped out

onto the ice. Fengbald cursed as his mount misstepped

and had to splay its legs to stay afoot. "Even had I no

other reasons," he hissed, "I would kill Josua just for

bringing me to this godforsaken spot."

484

Tad Williams

"Men must run far to elude your long arm. Duke

Fengbald," said Helfgrim.

"There is no place that far."

Snow came flurrying around the great hill's northern

flank, moving almost horizontally in the strong wind.

Fengbald squinted and pulled up his hood. "Are we al-

most there?"

Helfgrim squinted, too, then nodded and pointed to a

blot of deeper shadow ahead. "There is the foot of the

hill. Lord." He continued to stare into the darting snow.

Fengbald smiled. "You look very glum," he called over

the noise of the wind. "Can it be that you still do not trust

my word?"

Helfgrim looked down at his bound wrists and pursed

his lips before speaking. "No, Duke Fengbald, but surely

I must feel some grief that I am betraying folk who were

kind to me."

The duke waved his hand at the nearest riders. 'To

save your daughtersa noble enough reason. Besides,

Josua was doomed to lose in any case. You are no more

to blame for his fall than the worm that devours the

corpse is to blame for Death's reaping." He grinned,

pleased with his turn of phrase- "No more to blame than

a worm, do you see?"

Helfgrim looked up. His wrinkled skin, speckled by

snow, seemed gray. "Perhaps you are right. Duke

Fengbald."

The hill now loomed overhead like a finger raised in

warning. The company was only a few hundred ells from

the edge of the ice when Helfgrim pointed again.

"There is me path. Duke Fengbald."

It was a tiny break in the vegetation, barely visible

even from their near vantage point. Still, Fengbald could

see enough to be satisfied that Helfgrim told the truth.

"Now, then ..." the duke said, when suddenly a voice

came rolling down from the mountainside.

"Stop, Fengbald! You may not pass!"

The duke pulled up, startled. A small group of shadowy

figures had appeared at the lip of the path. One of them

raised his hands to cup his mouth- "Go back,

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER485

Fengbaldgo away and leave this place. Ride away back

to Erkynland and we will let you live."

The duke turned suddenly and slapped Helfgrim on the

side of the head. The old man swayed and almost fell, but

his bound wrists held him in the saddle. "Traitor! You

said there would be only a few guards!"

Helfgrim's face sagged in fear. Fengbald's mark

showed red on his pale cheek. "I did not lie, my lord!

Look, they are a few only."

Fengbald waved for his troops to hold their position,

then rode a little distance forward, staring. "I see only a

handful of you," he shouted up at the men on the path.

"How will you stop me?"

The man nearest the edge stepped forward. "We will,

Fengbald. We will give our lives and more to stop you."

"Very well." The duke had evidently decided it was a

bluff after all. "Then I will let you hurry and give them."

He raised his arm to order his troops forward.

"Stop!" the figure called- "I will give you one last

chance, damn you! You don't recognize my face I know,

but how about my name? I am Freosel, Freobeom's son."

"What do I care, you madman?" Fengbald shouted.

"You are nothing to me!"

"Nor were my wife and children, my father and

mother, nor any of the others you murdered!" The stocky

figure had stepped out onto the ice with the rest of his

companions. They were less than a dozen all told- "You

burned half of Falshire, you great whoreson bastard! Now

the time has come for you to pay!"

"Enough!" Fengbald turned to wave his men forward.

"Up now and clean the madmen out- It is a rat's nest!"

Freosel and his companions bent and lifted what at first

seemed like axes, or swords, or some other weapons with

which to defend themselves. A moment later, as his men

began to guide their slipping mounts past him, Fengbald

saw to his astonishment that the hill's defenders were

swinging heavy mallets. Freosel brought his own down

first, smashing it onto the ice as though in idiot frustra-

tion. His companions on either side strode forward and

joined him.

486 Tad Williams

"What are they doing!?" Fengbald bellowed. The fur-

thermost of his soldiers were still a hundred ells from the

shore. "Have all of Josua's people gone starvation-mad?"

"They are killing you," a calm voice said beside him.

The duke whirled to see Helfgrim, still lashed to the

saddle of his horse. His daughters and their guards were

close by, the soldiers looking both excited and confused.

"What are you babbling about?" Fengbald snarled, lift-

ing his sword as if to swipe off the old man's head. Be-

fore he could move a pace closer, there was a horrible,

deafening crack, like the splitting of a giant's bones. A

moment later it sounded again. Somewhere at the fore-

most edge of Fengbald's company there was a sudden

roar of men's voices and, even more chillingly, the almost

human screaming of terrified horses.

"What is happening?" the duke demanded, straining to

see past the crush of mounted men.

"They prepared the ice for you, Fengbald. I helped

them plan it. You see, we are of Falshire, too." Helfgrim

spoke just loudly enough to be heard above the wind.

"My brother was its Lord Mayor, as you would have

known instantly if you had ever bothered to come there

except to steal our bread, our gold, even our young

women for your bed. Surely you did not think we would

stand by and let you also destroy the few of our people

who had escaped your brutality?"

There was another jarring crack, and suddenly, just

yards away from the Lord Mayor and the duke, a crevice

foamed with black water where there had been ice a mo-

ment before. More ice crumbled along the opening and

sheared loose; a pair of horsemen toppled in, flailing for

an instant until they were sucked down into darkness.

"But you will die, too, damn you!" Fengbald shouted,

urging his horse toward the old man.

"Of course I will. It is enough that my daughters and I

avenge the otherstheir souls will welcome us." And

then Helfgrim smiled, a cold smile without a scintilla of

mirth.

Fengbald suddenly found himself flung sideways as the

white surface erupted beneath him, snapping upward like

TOGREENANGELTOWER487

dragon's jaws. A moment later the duke's horse was gone

and he was clutching a jagged-edged sheet of ice which

rocked precariously. His boots and breeches were already

submerged in freezing water. "Help me!" he shrieked.

Eerily, Helfgrim and his daughters were still upright,

seated on their frantic horses just cubits away. Their

guards were scrambling away across the remaining sheet

of unbroken ice, struggling toward the shelter of the

standing stone. "Too late," the old man cried. The two

women stared down at the duke, eyes wide as they strug-

gled to contain their terror. 'Too late for you, Fengbald,"

Helfgrim repeated. A moment later, with a sudden grind-

ing crunch, the entire section on which the trio and their

mounts stood broke and collapsed into the choppy black

waters. The Lord Mayor and his daughters vanished like

ghosts chased by the dawn-knell.

"Help!" Fengbald screamed- His fingers were slipping.

As he slid, the piece of ice to which he clung began to

tilt, the far end reaching for the gray sky even as his own

end plunged inexorably downward- Fengbald's eyes

bulged. "No! I can't die! I can't!"

The ragged pane of ice, almost vertical now, over-

balanced and abruptly flipped over. The duke's gloved

hand snatched briefly at the air, then was gone.

The sun was in Maegwin's eyes. Doubt dug into her

heart, sending black rays of pain through all her limbs.

Around her, Skali's Rimmersmen were rounding up her

people, prodding them at spear-point, herding them as

though they were beasts.

"Gods of our people!" Her voice tore in her throat.

"Save us! You promisedF

Skali Sharp-nose approached, laughing, his hands

tucked into his belt, "Your gods are dead, girl. Like your

father. Like your kingdom. But I may find a use for you

yet." Maegwin could smell the stink of him, like the

tangy, rotten scent of over-aged venison. "You are plain,

488 Tad Williams

haja, but your legs are long ... and I like long legs. Bet-

ter than being a whore to my men, eh?"

Maegwin stepped back, raising her arms as though to

ward a blow. Before she could say anything, the air was

ripped by the sound of a distant horn. Skali and some of

his men turned, surprised. The horn sounded again, louder

now, clear and shrill and powerful. It played a cascade of

notes that echoed around the Taig and out over the fields

of Hemysadharc- Maegwin stared.

It was only a gleam at first, a rippling shimmer out of

the east. The hooves made a rushing sound, like a river

after strong rains. Skali's men began to scramble for the

helmets they had tossed aside when they had discovered

the nature of Maegwin's company of partisans; Skali him-

self began screaming for his horse.

It was an army, Maegwin realizedno, it was a dream,

a dream made flesh and unleashed upon the snowy mead-

ows. They were coming at last!

The hom echoed again. The riders were thundering to-

ward Hemysadharc, impossibly swift. Their armor shone

in every color the rainbow hadsky-blue, ruby-crimson,

leaf-green, the orange and vermilion of sunset fog- She

could hear them singing now as they rode, a high, bril-

liant keening like a flock of impossibly musical birds.

They could have been a hundred riders or ten thousand:^',

Maegwin could not even try to guess, for in the beautiful^

terror of their coming it was almost impossible to stare at^

them too long. They streamed with color and noise and^

light, as though the world had been torn open and the rawH

stuff of dream allowed to spill through.H

Again the hom sounded. Maegwin, suddenly all alone,||

stumbled toward the Taig, not even conscious at that mo-^

ment that this was the first time she had touched itsf],

wooden walls since Skali had put her people to flight.%-

The Rimmersmen, dismayed, were gathering on the hill-^

side below her father's great hall, milling and shouting asit

they struggled to make their horses face mis incompre"^

hensible enemy. The horns of the oncoming armyi f'.'-

sounded again.^

The gods have come! Maegwin turned in the doorway^

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER4&9

to watch. The culmination of all her agonies and hope

was here at last, burning across the snowy fields to rescue

her people. The gods! The gods! She had brought the

gods!

There was a clatter from within the Taig. More of

Skali's men came streaming forth, pulling on helmets,

fumbling with sword belts. One of them pushed into

Maegwin and sent her spinning into the path of another,

who raised his mailed fist and brought it crashing against

her head.

Maegwin's world abruptly vanished.

It was Binabik who found Simon at last, with Sisqi

helping him searchor rather it was Qantaqa, whose nose

could discern the proper scent even in the madness that

surrounded Sesuad'ra. They found him sitting cross-

legged on the ice beside a motionless figure wearing

Fengbald's armor. Homefinder stood over him, shivering

in the terrible wind, her muzzle near Simon's ear.

Qantaqa pawed at the young man's leg and made a soft

sound as she waited for her master.

"Simon!" Binabik scrambled toward him across the

rough surface of the lake. There were bodies scattered all

about, but the troll did not stop to look at any of them.

"Are you injured?"

Simon lifted his head slowly. His throat was so rough

that his voice was barely a whisper. "Binabik? What hap-

pened?"

"Are you safe, Simon?" The little man bent to examine

his friend, then straightened. "You have many wounds.

We must get you back."

"What happened?" Simon asked again. Binabik was

pulling at his shoulders, trying to help him stand, but Si-

mon could not seem to gather the strength. Sisqi ap-

proached and stood nearby, waiting to see if Binabik

would need her help.

"We have won," said Binabik. "The price we have

been paying is great, but Fengbald is dead."

490

Tad Williams

"No." A look of concern flitted across Simon's haggard

face. "It wasn't him. It was someone else."

Binabik darted a look at the figure lying nearby. "I

know, Simon. It is elsewhere that Fengbald is being

deada horrible death, and for many others than him

only. But come. You are needing a fire, and food, and

some attending to your wounds."

Simon let out a deep groan as he let the little man urge

him to his feet, a hollow noise that drew another worried

look from Binabik. Simon limped a few steps, then

stopped and caught at Homefmder's reins. "I can't get

into the saddle," he murmured sadly.

"Walk, then, if you can," Binabik said. "With slow-

ness. Sisqi and I will be walking with you."

With Qantaqa in the lead once more, they turned and

trudged toward the Stone, whose summit was painted

with rosy light from the dying sun. Thickening mist hung

over the icy lake, and all around the ravens hopped and

scuttled from body to body like tiny black demons.

"Oh, God," Simon said. "I want to go home."

Binabik only shook his head.

16

Torches m tfte Mud

^StOp," Cadrach's voice was nearly a whisper, but the

straining tone was evident. "Stop now."

Isgrimnur pushed the pole down until it touched the

muddy bottom of the watercourse, arresting their prog-

ress. The boat floated gently back into the reeds once

more. "What is it, man?" he said irritably. "We have gone

over everything a dozen times. Now it's time to move."

In the bow of the boat, ancient Camaris fingered a long

spear Isgrimnur had made from a stiff swamp reed. It was

thin and light, and the point had been scraped against a

stone until it was sharp as air assassin's dirk. The old

knight, as usual, seemed oblivious to the conversation of

his fellows. He hefted the spear and made a slow, mock

stab, slipping the point into the still water.

Cadrach took a deep, shaky breath. Miriamele thought

he looked as though he were on the brink of tears. "I can-

not go."

"Cafinot?" Isgrimnur almost shouted- "What do you

mean, cannot? It was your idea we wait for morning be-

fore going into the nest! What are you talking about

now!?"

The monk shook his head, unable to meet the duke's

eyes- "I tried to nerve myself all night. I have been saying

prayers all the morningme!" He turned to Miriamele

with a look of bleak irony. "Me! But I still cannot do it.

I am a coward, and I cannot go into ... that place."

Miriamele reached out a hand and touched his shoul-

der. "Even to save Tiamak?" She let the hand rest gently,

492

Tad Williams

as though the monk had turned to fragile glass. "And as

you said, even to save ourselves? For without Tiamak, we

may never get out of this place at all."

Cadrach buried his face in his hands. Midamele felt a

hint of her old distrust come sneaking back. Could the

monk be play-acting? What else could he have in mind?

"God forgive me. Lady," he moaned, "but I simply

cannot go down into that hole with those creatures. I can-

not." He shuddered, a convulsive movement so uncon-

trolled that Miriamele doubted it could be trickery. "I

have given over my right to be called a man long ago,"

Cadrach said through his splayed fingers. "I do not even

care for my life, believe me. ButIcannotgo."

Isgrimnur grumbled his frustration. "Well, damn you,

that is the end. I should have broken your skull when we

met, as I wanted to." The duke turned to Miriamele. "I

should never have let you talk me out of it." He shifted

his scornful gaze back to Cadrach. "A kidnapper, a

drunkard, and a coward."

"Yes, you probably should have killed me when you

first had the chance," Cadrach agreed tonelessly. "But I

promise you would still be better off doing it now than

dragging me down into that mud nest. I will not go in

there."

"But why, Cadrach?" Miriamele asked. "Why won't

you?"

He looked at her. His sunken eyes and sun-reddened

face seemed to plead for understanding, but his grim

smile suggested he expected none. "I simply cannot,

Lady. It ... it reminds me of a place I was in before."

Again he shuddered.

"What place?" she prodded, but Cadrach would not an-

swer.

"Aedon on the Holy Tree," Isgrimnur swore. "So what

do we do now?"

Miriamele stared at the waving reeds, which at this mo-

ment hid them from the sight of the ghant nest a few hun-

dred ells up the waterway. The muddy bank nearby had a

low-tide smell. She wrinkled her nose and sighed. What

could they do, indeed?

TOGREENANGELTOWER

493

,t.

They had not even been able to make a plan until late

the afternoon before. There was a strong chance that

Tiamak was already dead, which made any decision more

difficult. Although no one had wanted to say it directly,

there was some sentiment that the best thing to do would

be to go on, hoping that the Wrannaman they had found

floating in Tiamak's boat might recover enough to guide

them. Failing that, they might discover another swamp

native who would help them find their way out of the

Wran. No one had been comfortable with the idea of

abandoning Tiamak, although it seemed by far the least

risky course, but it was dreadful to think about what it

would take to find out if he still lived, and to save him if

he did.

Still, when Isgrimnur at last said that leaving Tiamak

would not be the Aedonite thing to do, Miriamele had

been relieved. She had not wanted to run away without at

least trying to save the Wrannaman, however terrifying

the idea of entering that nest. And, she reminded herself,

she had faced at least as bad in the past months. In any

case, how could she live with herself if she made it to

safety and had to remember the shy little scholar left to

those clicking monstrosities?

Cadracheven then he had seemed more frightened of

the nest than the rest of themhad argued strenuously for

waiting until morning. His reasons had seemed good:

there was little sense in trying such a foolhardy thing

without a battle plan, and even less sense starting when it

would soon be dark. As it was, Cadrach had said, they

would need not just weapons but torches, because even

though the nest seemed to have holes that let in the light,

who knew what dark passages might run through the

heart of the thing? So it had been agreed.

They found a rattling grove of heavy green reeds along

the edge of the watercourse and made camp near it. The

site was muddy and wet, but it was also a good distance

from the nest, which was recommendation enough.

Isgrimnur took his sword Kvalnir and cut a great bundle

of the reeds, then he and Cadrach hardened them over the

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embers of the campfire. Some of the stalks they had cut

and sharpened to make short stabbing spears; they split

the ends of others and forced stones between the halves,

then tied the stones in place with thin vines to make

clubs. Isgrimnur lamented the lack of good wood and

rope, but Miriamele admired the job. It was much more

reassuring to go into the nest with even such primitive

arms than to walk in empty-handed. Lastly, they sacri-

ficed some of the clothes Miriamele had brought out of

Village Grove, shredding them for rags which they wound

tightly around the remaining reeds. Miriamele crushed

one of the leaves of a tree which Tiamak had named as an

oil palm during his botanical tour a few days before, then

dabbed a rag in it and held the cloth to the campfire. It

held a flame, she discovered, although nothing like true

lamp oil; the scent of its burning was acrid and foul. Still,

it would keep the torches blazing a little while longer, and

she had a feeling that they would need all the time they

could buy. She plucked an armful of fronds and rubbed

crushed pulp on the torch rags until her hands were so

coated with sap that her fingers stuck together.

When the night sky had at last begun to lighten, just

before dawn, Isgrimnur had awakened the company. They

had decided to leave the wounded Wrannaman in camp:

there was little sense in bringing him into further danger,

since he seemed already to be exhausted and starved

nearly to death. If they survived their attempt to rescue

Tiamak, they could always come back for him; if they did

not, at least he would have a small chance to survive and

make his own escape.

Isgrimnur lifted his pole to the surface of the water and

swished off the mud that clung to the end. "So, then?

What do we do? The monk is worthless."

"There may still be a way he can help." Miriamele

looked meaningfully at Cadrach. He kept his face averted.

"In any case, we can certainly go on with the first part of

what we planned, can't'we?"

"I suppose." Isgrimnur stared at the Hemystirman as

though he would have liked to test one of the reed clubs

TOGREENANGELTOWER

495

on him. He thrust the pole into the monk's hands. "Let's

get to it. You can damn well make yourself useful,"

Cadrach poled the boat out of the waving forest of

reeds and onto the wide part of the watercourse. The

morning sun was not very bright today, hidden behind a

smudgy sheet of clouds, but the air was even hotter than

it had been the day before. Miriamele felt a sheen of

sweat on her forehead and wished that she dared to flout

the crocodiles by taking off her boots and dangling her

feet in the murky water.

They slipped along the waterway until they finally

came into view of their objective, then moved close to the

bank and slowly and cautiously up the canal, trying to use

the cover of reeds and trees to stay out of direct sight.

The nest looked just as sinister as it had the day before,

although there seemed to be fewer ghants scuttling about

outside. When they had gotten as close as they dared,

Isgrimnur let the boat drift toward the outer edge of the

waterway until a tree-lined bend in its course blocked

them completely from view of the nest.

"Now we wait," he said quietly.

They sat in silence for no little time. The insects were

a misery. Miriamele, afraid to slap at them because of the

noise, tried to pick them off with her fingers as they

landed, but they were too numerous and too persistent:

she was bitten many times. Her skin itched and throbbed

so completely that she felt she would go mad, and the

idea of leaping into the river and drowning all the bugs at

once grew stronger and stronger, until it seemed that any

moment she would be able to hold it off no longer. Her

fingers clutched the wales of the boat. It would be cool.

It would stop the stinging. Let the crocodiles come, damn

them....

"There," Isgrimnur whispered. Miriamele looked up.

Not twenty cubits from where they sat, a lone ghant

was coming down a long tree branch that snaked out over

the water. Because of its jointed legs, its movements

seemed strangely awkward, but it traveled swiftly and

confidently on the thin, swaying branch. From time to

time it would stop suddenly, becoming so utterly motion-

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Tad Williams

less that, gray and lichen-streaked as it was, it seemed

part of the bark, just a particularly large tree gall.

"Push," Isgrimnur mouthed, gesturing at Cadrach. The

monk prodded the boat away from the bank and sent it

idling down the watercourse toward the branch.

Miriamele and all the company remained as still as they

could.

The ghant did not seem to notice them at first. As they

drew closer, it continued to creep out along the bough,

moving patiently toward a trio of small birds that had lit

at the end. Like the thing that hunted them, the birds

seemed oblivious to the presence of danger.

Isgrimnur replaced Camaris in the prow of the boat,

then leaned forward, steadying himself as well as he

could. The ghant finally seemed to see the boat floating

toward it; black eyes glittered as it swayed in place, try-

ing to decide whether the approaching object was a men-

ace or a potential meal. As Isgrimnur raised the reed

spear, the ghant seemed to come to a conclusion: it turned

and began to shinny back toward the tree trunk.

"Now, Isgrimnur!" cried Miriamele. The Rimmersman

flung the spear as hard as he could; the boat rocked

treacherously with the force of his throw. The birds lifted

from the branch, squawking and flapping. The spear

hissed through the air, a length of Tiamak's precious rope

falling away behind it, and struck the ghant but did not

pierce its shell; the spear bounced away and fell to the

water, but the force of the blow was enough to knock the

animal from the bough. It splashed into the green water

and surfaced a moment later with legs flexing wildly, then

righted itself and began a strange, jerky swim toward the

bank.

Cadrach swiftly poled the boat forward until they were

beside the creature. Isgrimnur leaned low and struck it

hard twice with the flat of his sword. When it floated

back up, clearly beyond struggling, he looped a bit of

Tiamak's rope around one clawed leg so they could tow

it back to shore.

"Don't want to put the thing in the boat," he said.

Miriamele could not have agreed more.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

497

The ghant seemed deadthe carapace of its lumpish

head was cracked, oozing gray and blue fluidsbut no

one stood too near as they used the steering pole to turn

it onto its back on the sandy bank. Camaris remained in

the boat, although he seemed to be watching as curiously

as the rest of the company.

Isgrimnur scowled- "God help us. They are ugly bas-

tards, aren't they?"

"Your spear couldn't kill it." Miriamele's feelings

about their chances had sunk even lower.

Isgrimnur waved his hand reassuringly. "Got thick ar-

mor, these things. Have to make the spears a little heav-

ier. A stone spliced in the end should do it. Don't worry

yourself more than you need. Princess. We'll be able to

do what we need to."

Strangely, she believed him and felt better. Isgrimnur

had always treated her like a favorite niece, even when

his relations with her father had become strained, and she

in turn treated him with the loving, mocking familiarity

she had never been able to use on Elias. She knew he

would do his best to keep them all safeand the Duke of

Elvritshalla's best was usually very good. Although he al-

lowed his comrades and even hts house-carls to make fun

of his fierce but short-lived temper and his underlying

softheartedness, the duke was a tremendously capable

man. Miriamele was again grateful that Isgrimnur was

with her.

"I hope you're right." She reached out and squeezed

his broad paw.

They all stared at the dead ghant. Miriamele could now

see that it did have six legs, just like a beetle, not four as

she had thought. The two she had missed on her first

ghant were tiny, withered things tucked just below the

place where the neckless head met the rounded body. The

thing's mouth was half-hidden behind an odd featherlike

fringe and its shell was dull and leathery as a sea-turtle's

egg-

Turn away. Princess," Isgrimnur said as he lifted

Kvalnir. "You won't want to see this."

Miriamele suppressed a smile. What did he think she

498 Tad Williams

had been doing the last half year? "Go ahead. I'm not

squeamish."

The duke lowered his sword and placed it against the

creature's abdomen, then pushed. The ghant slid across

the mud a little way. Isgrimnur grunted, then held the car-

cass steady with his foot before pushing again. This time,

after a moment of effort, he was able to push the blade

through the shell, which gave with a faint popping noise.

A salty, sour smell wafted up and Miriamele took a step

back.

"The shells are tough," Isgrimnur said thoughtfully,

"but they can be pierced." He tried to smile. "I was wor-

ried that we might have to besiege a castle of armored

soldiers."

Cadrach had gone quite pale, but continued to stare at

the ghant, fascinated. "It is disturbingly manlike, as

Tiamak said," he murmured. "But I will not be too sorry

about this one or any others we kill."

"We kill?" Isgrimnur began angrily, but Miriamele gave

him another hand-squeeze.

"What else can mis tell us?" she asked.

"I don't see any poison stingers or teeth, so I suppose

they don't bite like spiders dothat's a relief." The duke

shrugged. "They can be killed. Their shells are not as

hard as tortoise shells. That is enough, I think."

"Then I suppose it's time to go," Miriamele said.

Cadrach poled the flatboat in to the bank. They were

only a few hundred steps from the edge of the nest now.

So far, they seemed to be unnoticed.

"But what about the boat?" Isgrimnur whispered. "Can

we leave it so we can get back to it in a hurry?" His ex-

pression soured. "And what about this damnable monk?"

"That's my idea," Miriamele whispered back.

"Cadrach, if you keep the boat in the middle of the water-

way until we come out, you can land right at the front of

the nest and get us. We'll probably be in a hurry," she

added wryly.

"What!?" Isgrimnur struggled to keep his voice soft,

with only partial success. "You're going to leave this

TOGREENANGELTOWER

499

coward in our boat, free to paddle away if he wants to?

Free to strand us here? No, by the Aedon, we will take

him with usbound and gagged if need be."

Cadrach clutched the steering pole, his knuckles white.

"You might as well kill me first," he said hoarsely, "Be-

cause I will die if you drag me in there."

"Stop it, Isgrimnur. He may not be able to go into the

nest, but he would never leave us here. Not after all he

and I have been through." She turned and gave the monk

a purposeful glance. "Would you, Cadrach?"

He looked at her carefully, as though he suspected a

trick. A moment passed before he spoke. "No, my lady, I

would notwhatever Duke Isgrimnur thinks."

"And why should I let you make such a decision. Prin-

cess?" Isgrimnur was angry. "Whatever you think you

know of this man, you also said yourself that he stole

from you and sold you out to your enemies."

Miriamele frowned. It was true, of courseand she

had not told Isgrimnur everything. She had never men-

tioned Cadrach's attempt to escape and leave her behind

on Aspitis' ship, which would certainly not argue in his

favor. She found herself wondering why she was so cer-

tain that Cadrach could be trusted to wait for them, but it

was no use: there was no answer. She just believed that

he would be there when they got out ... if they got out.

"We really have very little choice," she told the duke.

"Unless we force him to go alongand it will be hard

enough to find our way and do what we must without also

dragging a prisoner with uswe would have to tie him

up somewhere to prevent him taking the boat if he wanted

to. Don't you see, Isgrimnur, it's just the best way! If we

leave the boat untended, even if we try to hide it from the

ghants ... well, who knows what could happen?"

Isgrimnur pondered for a long moment, his bearded

jaws working as though he chewed on the various possi-

bilities. "So," he said at last. "I suppose that is true. Very

wellbut if you are not there when we need you," he

whirled on Cadrach menacingly, "I will find you some

day and crush your bones. I will eat you like a game

hen."

500 Tad Williams

Cadrach smiled sadly. "I'm sure you would. Duke

Isgrimnur." The monk turned to Miriamele. "Thank you

for trusting me, my lady. It is not easy to be a man like

myself."

"I should hope not," Isgrimnur growled. "Otherwise

there'd be more of you."

"I think it will all be well, Cadrach," said Miriamele.

"But pray for us."

"Every god I know."

The duke, still muttering angrily, struck a spark with

his flint and lit one of the torches. The rest he and

Miriamele stuck in their belts until they were both spined

like hedgehogs- Miriamele carried a club and one of the

weighted spears, as did Camaris, who handled his weap-

ons distractedly while the other two prepared. Isgrimnur

had Kvalnir sheathed on his belt, and a pair of short

spears clutched in his free hand.

"Going into battle armed with sticks," he growled.

"Going to fight bugs."

"It will make a wretched song," Miriamele whispered-

"Or a glorious one, perhaps. We'll see." She turned to the

old man. "Sir Camaris, we're going to help Tiamak. Your

frienddo you remember? He's in there." She pointed

with her spear at the dark bulk of the nest looming behind

the trees. "We have to find him and bring him out." She

stared at his unexcited expression. "Do you think he un-

derstands, Isgrimnur?"

"He has become simple ... but not as simple as he

seems, I think." The duke grabbed at a low branch and

helped himself over the side of the boat and into the shin-

deep water. "Here, Princess, let me help you." He lifted

her and set her on the bank. "Josua will never forgive me

if anything happens to you. I still think it is foolish to

bring you alongespecially when that one is staying be-

hind, cozy and safe."

"You need me," she said. "It will be difficult enough

with three."

Isgrimnur shook his head, unconvinced. "Just stay near

me."

"I will, old uncle."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

501

As Camaris sloshed to shore, Cadrach began to push

the boat out into deeper water.

"Hold," said Isgrimnur. "Wait until we are inside at

least. We don't need to attract their attention until we're

ready."

Cadrach nodded and used the pole to stop the boat.

"Bless you all," he said softly. "Good luck to you."

The duke snorted and moved away into undergrowth,

boots squelching in the mud. Miriamele nodded to

Cadrach, then took Camaris' hand and led him after the

duke.

"Good luck," Cadrach said again. He spoke in a whis-

per, and none of the others seemed to hear him.

"See!" Miriamele hissed. "There's one that's big

enough!"

A soft humming filled the air. They were very close to

the nest, so close that had Miriamele dared to stretch her

hand out from where they hid in a tangle of flowering

brush, she could almost have touched it. Upon approach-

ing the huge mud structure, they had quickly realized that

many of the doorsmere holes in the walls, actually

were far too small for even the'princess to enter, let alone

broad Isgrimnur.

"Right," said the duke. "Let's get to it, then." He

started to reach for his torch, then stopped and waved for

his companions to do the same. A few cubits away, a pair

of ghants came creeping along the perimeter of the nest.

Although they walked in file, one behind the other, they

were clicking and hissing back and forth as though they

conversed. Again Miriamele wondered how smart the

things were. The ghants walked past on all fours, jointed

legs ticking as they went. The trio watched them until

they were gone around the curve of the huge nest.

- "Now." Isgrimnur plucked his torch out of the mud; he

had set it behind him so that his broad frame masked its

light. Even in the morning sun, its flame made Miriamele

feel a little safer.

After looking cautiously in all directions, the duke

crossed the short distance to the nest and leaned into the

502 Tad Williams

ragged opening. He stepped through, then reached back to

beckon to Miriamele and Camaris.

Increasingly reluctant as the actual moment ap-

proached, Miriamele hesitated before following the duke

inside, taking a deep breath as if to dive into water. She

understood Cadrach's decision better than she did her

own. The place would be full of those crawling, clicking,

many-legged things. . . . Her knees grew weak. How

could she walk into that black hole? But Tiamak was al-

ready there, alone with the ghants. He might be screaming

for help down in the darkness.

Miriamele swallowed, then stepped into the nest.

She found herself in a circular passageway as wide as

her outstretched arms and only a little taller than her own

height. Isgrimnur had to hunch down, and Camaris, who

followed Miriamele, had to bend even lower. The mud

walls were spiky with loose stones and bits of splintered

sticks, all covered with pale froth that looked like spittle.

The tunnel was dark and steamily humid and smelled of

rotting vegetation.

"Ugh." Miriamele wrinkled her nose. Her heart was

pounding. "I don't like this at all."

"I know," Isgrimnur whispered. "It's foul. Come on,

let's see what we can see."

They followed the winding passageway, struggling for

footing on the slippery mud. Isgrimnur and Camaris had

to lean forward, which made balancing even more diffi-

cult. Miriamele felt her courage beginning to fail. Why

had she been so anxious to prove herself? This was no

place for a girl. This was no place for anyone.

"I think Cadrach was right." She tried to keep the qua-

ver out of her voice.

"No sensible person would want to come in here," the

duke said quietly, "but that's not the question. Besides, if

this is as bad as it gets, I'll be happy. I'm afraid we might

find ourselves in a smaller tunnel and have to go on our

knees."

Miriamele thought of being chased by the scuttling

ghants but not being able to run. She stared at the slickly

glistening tunnel floor and shuddered.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

503

The light from the entrance began to dim as they put

several bends of the tunnel behind them. The rotten smell

grew stronger, accompanied now by a strange spicy odor,

musty and cloyingly sweet. Miriamele slipped her club

into her belt and lit one of her brands from Isgrimnur's,

then lit another and gave it to Camaris, who took it as

placidly as an infant handed a crust of bread. Miriamele

envied his idiot calm. "Where are the ghants?" she whis-

pered.

"Don't look for trouble." Isgrimnur made the Tree sign

in the air with his torch before moving on.

The uneven passage turned and turned again, as though

they clambered through the guts of some vast animal. Af-

ter a few more squishing steps, they reached a point

where a new tunnel crossed theirs. Isgrimnur stood and

listened for a moment.

"I think I hear more noise from this one," The duke

pointed down one of the side branches. Indeed, the dull

humming did seem stronger there.

"But should we go toward it or away from it?"

Miriamele tried to wave the choking torch smoke away

from her face.

Isgrimnur's expression was fatalistic. "I think that

Tiamak or any other prisoners would be at the heart of the

thing. I say, follow the noise. Not that I like it," he added.

He reached up and scraped a circle in the froth with one

of his reed spears, exposing the muddy wall beneath- "We

have to remember to mark our way."

The froth on the walls was thicker in the new passage;

in places it hung from the tunnel roof in viscous, ropy

strands. Miriamele did her best to avoid touching the

stuff, but there was no way to avoid breathing. She could

almost feel the damp, unpleasant air of the tunnels con-

gealing inside her chest. Still, Miriamele told herself, she

had no real cause for complaint: they had been in the nest

for no little time, and still had not met any of the inhab-

itants. That alone was an incredible piece of luck.

"This place doesn't look nearly so big from outside,"

she said to Isgrimnur.

"We never saw the back of it, for one thing." He

504 Tad Williams

stepped carefully over a glob of pale muck in the pas-

sageway. "And I think that these tunnels may be looping

back on themselves. I'd wager that if you broke through

this ..." he prodded at the wall with his torch; the froth

hissed and bubbled, "... you'd find another tunnel just on

the other side of it."

"Round and round. Farther and farther in. Lik& a

chamber-shell," Miriamele whispered. It was more than a

little dizzying to think of such an endless spiral of mud

and shadows. Again she fought down rising panic.

"Still ..." she began.

There was a scuttling movement in the tunnel before

them.

The ghant had apparently stepped out of another side

tunnel; it crouched motionless in the middle of the pas-

sage as though stunned. Isgrimnur also froze for a mo-

ment, then slowly walked forward. The ghant, devoid of

anything that could truly be called a face, stared at their

approach, the tiny legs below, its head straightening and

contracting. Suddenly it turned and scuttled away up the

tunnel. Isgrimnur hesitated for a moment, then ran heav-

ily after it, struggling to keep his balance. He stopped and

hurled his spear, then pulled up suddenly with a hiss of

pain that made Miriamele's heart race.

"Damn! I've hit my head. Careful, the cursed roof is

low here." He rubbed at his forehead-

"Did you get it?"

"I think so. I can't quite see it yet." He went forward

a little way. "Yes. It's deador it looks it, anyway."

Miriamele came up beside him, peering around the

duke's wide shoulders at the thing in the pool of torch-

light. The ghant lay in the mud of the passageway with

Isgrimnur's spear protruding from the armor of its back;

the wound oozed a thin fluid a shade paler than blood.

The jointed legs twitched a few times, then slowly came

to rest as Camaris stepped forward and reached out his

long arm to turn the creature over. The ghant's face was

as blank in death as in life. The old man, with a contem-

plative look, scooped a handful of mucky earth from the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

505

tunnel floor and dropped it onto the dead thing's chest. It

was a strange gesture, Miriamele thought.

"Come," Isgrimnur muttered.

The new tunnel did not twist as much as the first had.

It ran steeply downward, bumpy and sodden, the walls as

uneven as if they had been chewed out of the mud by

monstrous jaws: looking at the gleaming strands of foam,

Miriamele decided that was not a pleasant thought to pur-

sue.

"Curse it," Isgrimnur said suddenly. "I'm stuck."

His boot had sunk deep into the squelching mud of the

tunnel floor. Miriamele held out her arm to him so he

could balance as he pulled. A terrible odor rose from

the disturbed mud, and tiny wet things brought to light by

Isgrimnur's struggles quickly buried themselves again.

The Rimmersman, for all his efforts, only seemed to sink

deeper.

"It's like that sucking sand Tiamak said they have in

the swamp. Can't get free." There was an edge of panic

in Isgrimnur's voice.

"It's just mud." Miriamele tried to sound calm, but she

could not help wondering what would happen if the

ghants came upon them suddenly. "Leave the boot if you

have to."

"It's my whole leg, not just the boot." Indeed, one leg

had now sunk to the knee, and the foot of the other boot

was also lodged in the slime. The carrion smell grew

worse.

Camaris stepped forward, then braced his own legs to

either side of Isgrimnur's foot before taking the

Rimmersman's leg in his hands; Miriamele prayed there

was only one patch of treacherous mud. If not, they might

both become trapped. What would she do then?

The old knight heaved. Isgrimnur grunted in pain, but

his foot did not come loose. Camaris pulled again, so

strenuously that the cords on his neck grew taut as ropes.

With a sucking gasp, Isgrimnur's leg came free; Camaris

tugged him away to a firmer patch of ground.

The duke stood bent over for a moment, examining the

glob of mud below his knee. "Just stuck," he said. He

506

Tad Williams

was breathing heavily. "Just stuck. Let's keep moving."

The fear was not entirely gone from his voice.

They sloshed on, trying to find the driest spots to walk.

The smoke of the torches and the stench of the mud was

making Miriamele feel ill, so she was almost heartened

when the narrow passage opened at last into a wider

room, a sort of grotto in which the white froth hung like

stalactites. They entered it cautiously, but it seemed as de-

serted as the tunnel had been. As they made their way

across the chamber, stepping around the larger puddles,

Miriamele looked up.

"What are those?" she asked, frowning. Large, faintly

luminous sacs sagged from the ceiling, hanging unpleas-

antly close overhead. Each was as long as a crofter's

hammock, with thin, cobwebby white tendrils depending

from its center, a wispy fringe that drifted lazily in the

warm air rising from the torches.

"I don't know, but I don't like them," Isgrimnur said

with a grimace of distaste.

"I think they're egg pouches. You know, like the spider

eggs you see on the bottoms of leaves."

"Haven't looked much at the bottoms of leaves," the

duke muttered. "And I don't want to look at these any

longer than I have to."

"Shouldn't we do something? Kill them or something?

Bum them?"

"We're not here to kill all these bugs," said Isgrimnur.

"We're here to get in and find that poor little marsh fel-

low, then get out. God only knows what would happen if

we started mucking around with these things."

With mud sucking at their bootheels, they made their

way quickly to the other side of the chamber, where the

tunnel resumed its former size. Miriamele, drawn by a

horrid sort of interest, turned back for a last glance. In the

fading light of the torch, she thought she saw a shadowy

movement in one of the sacs, as though something was

pawing at the maggot-white membrane, seeking a way

out. She wished she hadn't looked.

Within a few steps the passageway turned and they

found themselves facing a half-dozen ghants. Several had

TOGREEN ANGELTOWER

507

been climbing up the tunnel wall and now hung in place,

clicking in apparent surprise. The others squatted on the

floor, mud-smeared shells glimmering dully in the

torchglow. Miriamele felt her heart turn over.

Isgrimnur stepped forward and wagged Kvalnir from

side to side. Swallowing hard, Miriamele moved up be-

hind him and lifted her torch. After a few more seconds

of cluttering indecision, the ghants turned and scrambled

away down the tunnel.

'They're afraid of us!" Miriamele was exhilarated.

"Perhaps," said Isgrimnur. "Or perhaps they're going

for their friends. Let's get on." He began walking swiftly,

head hunched beneath the low ceiling.

"But that's the direction they went," Miriamele pointed

out.

"I said, it's the heart of this wretched place we want."

They passed numerous side tunnels as they traveled

downward, but Isgrimnur seemed certain of where he was

going. The humming continued to grow louder; the stench

of putrefaction grew stronger, too, until Miriamele's head

ached. They passed through two more of the egg

chambersif that was indeed what they werehurrying

through both. Miriamele no longer felt any urge to linger

and stare.

They came upon the centra) chamber so suddenly that

they almost fell through the tunnel mouth and tumbled

down the sloping mud into the vast swarm of ghants.

The room was huge and dark; the torches of Miriamele

and her companions cast the only light, but it was enough

to reveal the great crawling horde, the faint wink of their

shells as they clambered over each other in the darkness

at the bottom of the chamber, the muted glimmering of

their countless eyes. The chamber was a long stone's

throw in width, with walls of piled and smoothed mud.

The entire floor was covered with many-legged things,

hundreds and hundreds of ghants.

The humming sound that arose from the squirming

mass was stronger here, a pulsing throb of sound so pow-

erful that Miriamele could feel it in her teeth and the

bones of her head.

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Tad Williams

"Mother of Usires," Isgrimnur swore brokenly.

Miriamele felt chilly and light-headed. "W-what ..."

She swallowed bile and tried again. "What ... do we

do?"

Isgrimnur leaned forward, squinting. The swarm of

ghants did not appear to have noticed them, though the

nearest was only a dozen cubits away: they seemed en-

meshed in some dreadful and all-consuming activity.

Miriamele fought to catch her breath. Maybe they were

laying their eggs here and, caught up in the grip of Na-

ture, would not notice the interlopers.

"What's that at the middle?" Isgrimnur whispered- The

duke was having trouble keeping his voice from breaking.

"That thing they're all gathered around?"

Miriamele strained to see, although at that moment

there was nothing she would less rather look at. It was

like the worst vision of hell, a writhing pile of muddy

things without hope or joy, legs kicking poimlessly, shells

scraping as they rubbed against each otherand always

the terrible droning, the ceaseless grinding sound of the

assembled ghants. Miriamele blinked and forced herself

to concentrate. At the center, where the activity seemed

the most fervid, stood a row of pale, shining lumps. The

nearest had a dark spot at the top which seemed to be

moving. It took her a moment to realize that the spot atop

the gleaming mass was a heada human head.

"It's Tiamak," she gasped, horrified- Her stomach

heaved. "He's stuck in something terribleit's like a

pudding. Oh, Elysia Mother of God, we have to help

him'."

"Ssshhh." Isgrimnur, who looked as sickened as

Miriamele felt, gestured her to silence. "Think," he mur-

mured. "Got to think."

The tiny ball that was Tiamak's head began to wiggle

back and forth atop the gelatinous mound. As Miriamele

and Isgrimnur stared in amazement, the mouth opened

and Tiamak began to shout in a loud voice. But instead of

words, what roared out was the tormented sound of buzz-

ing, clicking ghant-speechsomething that sounded so

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

509

cruelly wrong coming from the little Wrannaman's mouth

that Miriamele burst into tears.

"What have they done to him'?" she cried. Suddenly

there was movement beside her, a rush of hot air as a

torch swished past, then the flame was bobbing down the

slope toward the floor and the squirming congregation of

ghants.

"Camaris!" Isgrimnur shouted, but the old man was al-

ready forcing his way through the outermost ghants,

swinging his torch like a scythe. The great humming

sound faltered, leaving echoes in Miriamele's ears. The

ghants around Camaris started to buzz shrilly, and others

in the vast gathering took up the cries of alarm. The tall

old man waded through them like a master of hounds

come to take the fox away. Agitated creatures swirled

around his legs, some clutching at his cloak and breeches

even as he knocked others away with his club.

"Oh, God help me, he can't do it himself," Isgrimnur

groaned- He began making his way down the slippery

mud, spreading his arms for balance. "Stay there," he

called to Miriamele.

"I'm coming with you," she shouted back.

"No, damn it," the duke cried. "Stay there with the

torch so we can find our way back to this tunnel' If we

lose the light, we're done for!"

He turned, lifting Kvalnir over his head, and swung it

at the nearest ghants. There was an awful hollow smack

as he struck the first one. He took a few steps forward

into the swarm and the noise of his struggle was lost in

the greater uproar.

The humming had completely died out. The great

chamber was now filled instead with the staccato cries of

angry ghants, a dreadful chorus of wet clicking.

Miriamele tried to make out what was happening, but

Isgrimnur had already lost his torch and was now little

more than a dark shape in the middle of a seething mass

of shells and twitching legs. Somewhere closer to the cen-

ter, Camaris' torch still cut the air like a banner of fire,

swinging back and forth, back and forth, as he waded to-

ward the spot where Tiamak was prisoned.

5io Tad Williams

Miriamele was terrified but furious. Why should she

wait while Isgrimnur and Camaris risked their lives?

They were her friends! And what if they died or were

captured? Then she would be alone, forced to try and find

her way out, pursued by those horrible things. It was stu-

pid. She wouldn't do it. But what else could she do?

Think, girl. think, she told herself, even as she hopped

up and down anxiously, trying to see if Isgrimnur was

still on his feet. Do what? What?

She couldn't stand waiting. It was too horrible. She

took the two remaining torches from her belt and lit them.

When they were burning, she thrust them down into the

mud on either side of the tunnel mouth, then took a deep

breath and followed Isgrimnur's track down the slope, her

legs so wobbly she feared she might fall down. Unreality

gripped her: she couldn't be doing this. Her skin was

pricklingly cold. No one with their wits left would go

down into that pit. But somehow her booted feet kept

moving.

"Isgrimnur!" she shrieked. "Where are you?"

Cold muddy legs clutched at her, chitinous things like

animate tree branches. The hissing creatures were all

around; knobby heads butted at her legs and she felt her

stomach thrash again. She kicked out like a horse, trying

to drive them back. A claw caught at her leg and hooked

itself into her boot top; the torch momentarily illuminated

her target, which gleamed like a wet stone. She lifted her

short spear, almost dropping the torch, which was

clutched awkwardly in the same hand, and stabbed down

as hard as she could. The spear thumped into something

which gave satisfyingly. When she jerked it back, the

claw let go.

It was easier to swing the club, but it did not seem to

kill the things. At every blow they fell and tumbled, but

a moment later they were back again, scratching, clasp-

ing, worse than any nightmare. After a few moments she

pushed the cudgel into her belt and took up the torch in

her free hand, which seemed at least to keep them at bay.

She hit one of the ghants full in its empty face, and some

of the burning palm oil spattered and stuck. The thing

TOGREENANGELTOWER

511

shrieked like a fool's whistle and dove forward, digging

itself into the mud, but another clambered over its quiv-

ering shell to take its place. She shouted in fear and dis-

gust as she kicked it aside. The army of ghants was

never-ending.

"Miriamele!" It was Isgrimnur, somewhere ahead of

her. "Is that you!?"

"Here!" she cried, her voice tearing along the edge,

threatening to become a shriek that would never stop.

"Oh, hurry, hurry, hurry!"

"I told you to stay!" he shouted. "Camaris is coming

back! See the torch!"

She stabbed at one of the things before her, but her

spear only scraped along the shell. Out in the churning

mass there was suddenly a glint of flame. "1 see it!"

"We're coming!" The duke was barely audible above

the rattling voices of the ghants. "Stay where you are and

wave your torch!"

"I'm here," she howled, "I'm here!"

The sea of writhing creatures seemed to pulse as

though a wave rolled through it. The light of the torch jig-

gled above them, moving closer. Miriamele fought

desperatelythere was still a chance! She swung her

torch in as wide an arc as she could, trying to keep her at-

tackers at a distance. A clawing leg caught at the brand

and suddenly it was gone, sizzling into the mud and leav-

ing her in darkness. She thrust out wildly with the spear.

"Here!" she screamed. "My torch is gone!"

There was no reply from Isgrimnur. All was lost.

Miriamele wondered briefly if she would be able to use

the spear on herselfcertainly she could never let them

have her alive....

Something grasped her arm. Shrieking, she struggled

but could not break free.

"It's me!" cried Isgrimnur. "Don't stick me!" He pulled

her against his broad side and shouted to Camaris, who

was still some distance away. The torch came closer, the

ghants dancing around it like water drops on a hot stone.

"How will we find our way out?" Isgrimnur bellowed.

"I left torches by the door." Miriamele turned to look,

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even as something snatched at her cloak. "There!" She re-

alized Isgrimnur could not see her pointing. She kicked

and the snagging claw fell away. "Behind you."

Isgrimnur lifted her bodily and carried her for a few

steps, clearing the way with Kvalnir until they had pushed

through a clump of buzzing creatures and found their feet

on the upward slope.

"We have to wait for Camaris."

"He's coming," Isgrimnur bellowed. "Move!"

"Did he get Tiamak?"

"Move!"

Slipping back half as far as each step took her forward,

Miriamele struggled up the muddy incline toward the

light of the twin torches. She could hear Isgrimnur's

grunting breath behind her, and at intervals the muffled

crack of Kvalnir's steel against the shells of their pursu-

ers. When she reached the top she grasped the two

torches and pulled them from the mud, then turned, ready

to fight again. Isgrimnur was right behind her, and the

flickering brand that she knew must belong to Camaris

was at the bottom of the slope.

"Hurry!" she called down. The torch paused, then

waved from side to side, as though Camaris used it to

keep the swarm away as he climbed. Now she could see

his hair gleaming silver-yellow in the torchlight. "Help

him." she pleaded with Isgrimnur. The duke took a few

steps down, Kvalnir moving in a blurry arc, and in a mo-

ment Camaris had broken free and the two of them came

tripping and sliding up the slope to the tunnel mouth.

Camaris had lost his club. Tiamak, covered with white

jelly and apparently senseless, hung over his shoulder.

Miriamele stared at the Wrannaman's slack features in

dismay.

"Go, damn it!" Isgrimnur pushed Miriamele toward the

tunnel. She tore her eyes from Tiamak's sticky form and

began to run, waving her burning brand as she went, mak-

ing shadows leap and streak madly across the dun walls.

The floor of the chamber behind them seemed to erupt

as the ghants came scurrying in pursuit. Isgrimnur pushed

through into the tunnel; a mass of angrily clicking shapes

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER513

followed him, a wave of armored flesh. The pursuing

ghants might have caught the duke and his companions

within moments, but their numbers were so great that

they filled the passage almost completely, tangling them-

selves. Those following tried to force their way past;

within instants the tunnel mouth was clogged with writh-

ing, leg-waving bodies.

"Lead the way!" the duke cried.

It was difficult to move quickly with her head hunched

down and her back bent, and the muddy floor had been

difficult to traverse even at walking speed. Miriamele fell

down several times, once giving her ankle a nasty twist.

She scarcely felt the pain, but a dim part of her thoughts

knew that if she survived, she would certainly feel it later.

She did her best to look for the marks Isgrimnur had so

conscientiously scraped in the foamy walls, but by the

time they had gone a few hundred paces from the great

chamber Miriamele realized in horror that she had missed

a turning. She knew that they should have passed through

at least one of the egg-chambers by now, but instead they

were still in one of the featureless tunnelsand this one

was sloping downward, when the return trip should have

led up.

"Isgrimnur, I think we're lost!" She slowed to a trot,

holding her torch close to the dripping walls as she

looked desperately for something that she recognized.

She could hear Camaris' heavy tread just behind.

The Rimmersman swore floridly. "Just keep running,

thencan't be helped!"

Miriamele sped her pace again. Her legs were

aching, and each breath pushed at her lungs with sharp

needles. Positive now that they had lost their course, she

chose the next of the cross tunnels that seemed to lead up-

ward. The slope was not steep, but the slippery mud made

climbing difficult. Above the sound of her own ragged

breath she could hear the clatter of the ghants rising again

behind them.

The top of the rise came into view, another tunnel run-

ning perpendicularly to theirs, about a hundred ells

above; but even as Miriamele's heart lightened a little, a

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Tad Williams

swarm of ghants came scuttling into the tunnel below

them. Moving low to the ground and traveling on four

legs instead of two, the creatures were making much

swifter time up the sloping pathway. Miriamele dug

harder, forcing herself up the final slope. She only hesi-

tated an instant before choosing the nght-hand side of the

cross-tunnel. Even Camaris' breathing was loud and harsh

now. A few of the fastest ghants reached Isgrimnur, who

was bringing up the rear. Bellowing with anger and dis-

gust, the duke made a broad sweep with Kvalnir; hissing,

the ghants tumbled back down into the boiling mass of

their fellows.

Before Minamele and her companions had gone fifty

paces down the new passage, the ghants reached the top

of the rise behind them and spilled out into the tunnel. On

flat ground they traveled even more swiftly, hopping for-

ward at a terrifying pace- Some ran directly up the walls

before swivelmg to pursue the fleeing company.

"We must turn and fight," Isgrimnur gasped. "Camaris!

Put the marsh man down'"

"Oh, God love us, no!" cried Miriamele, "I hear more

of them ahead!" It was a nightmare, a dreadful, endless

nightmare. "Isgrimnur, we're trapped!"

"Stop, damn it. stop! We'll fight here!"

"No!" Miriamele was horrified. "If we stop here, we'll

have to fight both swarms, front and back. Keep run-

ning!"

She took a few steps farther down, but she could tell no

one was following her. She fumed to see Isgrimnur star-

ing grimly at the ghants behind them, who had slowed

when their prey did and now came forward with deliber-

ate caution, their numbers swelling as dozens more

scrambled up from the tunnel below, Miriamele turned

and saw jiggling spots down the corridor before her as the

glossy, dead eyes of the ghants there began to catch the

torchlight.

"Oh, Merciful Elysia," Miriamele breathed, utterly de-

feated. Camaris, who stood beside her, was staring at the

floor as though musing on some odd but not terribly im-

portant thought. Tiamak lay against his shoulder, eyes

TOGREENANGELTOWER

515

closed and mouth open like a sleeping child. Miriamele

felt a moment of sadness. She had wanted to save the

marsh man ... it would have been so lovely to save

him....

With a bellow, Isgrimnur abruptly turned. To

Miriamele's complete astonishment, he kicked the wall

behind him as hard as he could. Caught up in what must

be some fit of insane frustration, he slammed his boot

sole against it again and again.

"Isgrimnur... !" Miriamele began, but at that moment

the duke's boot smashed through the wall, making a hole

the size of his head in the crumbling mud. He lashed out

again and another section fell through.

"Help me!" he grunted. Miriamele stepped forward, but

before she could lend any aid, Isgrimnur's next blow

knocked out a large section- There was now a hole in the

wall almost two cubits high, with nothing beyond but

blackness.

"Go on!" the duke urged her. A dozen paces away the

ghants were clicking madly. Miriamele pushed the torch

through the gap, then forced her head and shoulders after

it, half-certain she would feel jointed claws reach down

and clutch her. Slipping and -struggling, she scrambled

through, praying that there was some solid ground there,

that she would not fall into nothingness. Her hands

touched the muck of another tunnel floor; she caught a

momentary glimpse of the empty passage that surrounded

her before she turned back to help the others. Camaris

pushed Tiamak's limp form through to her. She nearly

dropped himthe slender Wrannaman did not weigh

much, but he was sagging dead weight covered with slip-

pery ooze. The old knight followed, then Isgrimnur

squeezed his own broad body through a moment later. Al-

most on his heels, the hole filled with the reaching arms

of ghants, hard and shiny as polished wood.

Kvalnir slashed out, bringing fizzing squeals of pain

from the far side of the hole. The arms were quickly with-

drawn, but the chittering of the ghants continued to grow.

"They'll decide to come through in a moment, sword

or no sword," the duke panted.

5i6

Tad Williams

Miriamele stared at the gap for a moment. The stench

of the ghants was strong, as was the coarse noise they

made as they rubbed against each other. They were gath-

ering for another attack, and they were only a few scant

inches away.

"Give me your shin," she told Isgrimnur suddenly.

"And his, too." She pointed at Camaris.

The duke looked at her for a moment in alarm, as

though she might have suddenly lost her wits, then

quickly stripped off his tattered shirt and handed it to her.

Miriamele held it to the flame of her torch until it

caughtit was a maddeningly slow process, since that

shirt was damp and mud-streakedthen used her spear-

point to push the burning cloth into the gap in the wall-

Surprised hisses and quiet snicking noises came from the

ghants on the other side. Miriamele pushed Camaris' shirt

in beside it; when it had caught fire and both garments

were burning steadily, she took Isgrimnur's heavy cloak

as well and crammed it into the remaining space.

"Now we run again," she said- "I don't think they like

fire." She was surprised at how calm she suddenly felt,

despite a certain light-headedness. "But it won't hold

them long."

Camaris scooped up Tiamak and they all hastened on.

At each turning they chose the tunnel that seemed to lead

upward. Two more times they broke through sections of

the passageway walls and sniffed at the holes like dogs,

hunting for outside air. At last they found a tunnel that,

although lower and narrower than many through which

they had passed, seemed somehow fresher.

The clamor of pursuit had begun again, although as yet

none of the creatures had come into view. Miriamele ig-

nored the gelatinous froth beneath her hands as she half-

walked, half-crawled through the low tunnel. Strands of

pale foam fell wetly across her face and fouled her hair.

A curl of it touched her open lips, and before she could

spit it out, she tasted bitter musk. At the next bend in the

passage the tunnel suddenly became larger. After a few

more lurching steps, they turned another comer and found

light splashed across the mud.

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

517

"Daylight!" Miriamele shouted. She had never been

happier to see it.

They stumbled along until the tunnel turned again, then

found themselves facing a round but ragged hole in the

tunnel wall, beyond which hung the skygray and dim,

but the sky nonetheless, the glorious sky. She threw her-

self forward, clambering through the hole and out onto a

rounded floor of lumpy mud.

Treetops waved below them, so green and intricate that

Miriamele's muck-deadened mind almost could not take

them in. They were standing atop one of the upper parts

of the nest; a scant two hundred cubits away lay the wa-

tercourse, tranquil as a great snake. There was no fiatboat

waiting.

Camaris and Isgrimnur followed her out onto the roof

of the nest.

"Where is the monk?" Isgrimnur howled. "Damnation!

Damnation! I knew he couldn't be trusted!"

"Never mind that now," said Miriamele. "We have to

get off this thing."

After a quick search they found a way down onto a

lower roof. They teetered across a slender ridge of mud

for some dozen paces before reaching the safety of the

next level, then continued from flat spot to flat spot, mov-

ing always toward the front of the nest and the waiting

watercourse. As they reached the outermost point, from

which it was only a leap of three or four ells down to the

ground, a company of ghants surged out of the hole near

the top of the nest.

"Here they come," Isgrimnur wheezed- "Jump down!"

Before Miriamele could do so, another, larger swarm of

the creatures came spilling out of one of the nest's large-

front entrances, gathering quickly into an agitated mass

directly below them. Miriamele felt a deathly, terrible

weariness settle over her. To be so closeit wasn't fair!

"Holy Aedon, save us now." There was little strength

left in the duke's voice. "Move back, Miriamele. I'll jump

first."

"You can't!" she cried. "There are too many of them."

"We can't stay here." Indeed, the other ghants were

5i8

Tad Williams

moving rapidly down across the uneven upper levels of

the nest, leggy as spiders, nimble as apes. They were

clicking in anticipation and their black eyes glittered.

A bright streak abruptly flashed across the beach. Star-

tled, Miriamele looked down at the ghanis below, who

were milling wildly. Their percussive cries were even wil-

der and more shrill than they had been, and several of

them seemed to have caught fire. Miriamele looked out to

the watercourse, trying to make sense of what was hap-

pening. The flatboat had floated into view. Cadrach, who

stood spread-legged in the square bow, held something in

his hand that looked like a large torch, its upper end burn-

ing brightly.

As Miriamele stared in numb astonishment, the monk

swung the thing forward and a ball of fire seemed to leap

from the end, arcing across the water to land amid the

ghanis clustered on the sand below her. The fiery blob

burst, scattering great splashes of flame which stuck to

the creatures like burning glue. Some of those who were

struck fell to the ground with their shells bubbling from

the heat and began to pipe like boiling lobsters, while oth-

ers ran back and forth, tearing ineffectually at their own

armor, clacking and clattering like broken wagon wheels.

Out on the flatboat, Cadrach bent; when he straightened,

another flame had blossomed at the end of his strange

stick. He threw once more and another gout of liquid fire

spattered across the shrieking ghants. The monk raised his

hands to his mouth-

"Jump now!" he cried, his voice echoing faintly.

"Hurry!"

Miriamele turned and looked briefly at Isgrimnur. The

duke's face was slack with wonder, but he drew himself

together long enough to give Miriamele a gentle but pur-

poseful shove.

"You heard him," he growled. "Jump!"

She did, then landed hard in the sand and rolled. A fi-

ery bit of something caught in her cloak, but she thumped

it out with her hands. A moment later, with a whoof of

outrushing breath, Isgrimnur crashed down beside her.

The ghants, who were squealing and dashing madly back

TOGREENANGELTOWER

519

and forth across the grass-strewn beach, paid little atten-

tion to their former quarry. The duke turned and climbed

to his feet, then reached up his hands. Camaris, leaning

far over the uneven edge of the nest, dropped Tiamak

down to him. The duke was knocked back to the sand, but

cradled the unmoving Wrannaman; a moment later

Camaris had vaulted down as well. The company dashed

across the strand. A few ghants who had not been struck

by Cadrach's fiery attack scuttled toward them but

Miriamele and Camaris kicked them out of the way. The

fleeing company stumbled down the bank and waded out

into the sluggish green water.

Miriamele sprawled in the bottom of the flatboat, gasp-

ing for air. With a few shoves of the pole, the monk sent

the boat bobbing out toward the middle of the waterway,

well out of reach of the capering ghants.

"Are you hurt?" Cadrach's face was pale, his eyes al-

most feverishly bright.

"What ... what did you... ?" She could not find the

breath to finish her sentence.

Cadrach dipped his head, shrugging- "The oil-palm

leaves. I had an idea after you-went into ... that place. I

cooked them. There are things I know how to do." He

held up the tube he had made from a large reed. "I used

this to throw the fire." The hand that clutched the tube

was covered with angry blisters.

"Oh, Cadrach, look what you've done."

Cadrach turned to look at Camaris and Isgrimnur, who

were huddled over Tiamak. Behind them on the shoreline,

the ghants were leaping and hissing like damned souls

made to dance. Smears of flame still burned along the

nest's front walls, sending knots of inky smoke into the

late afternoon sky.

"No, look what you've done," the monk said, and

smiled a grim but not entirely unhappy smile-

PART TWO

A

Tfte

Winding Road

17

Bonfire Night

A

"I dbn^t think- I want to go, Simon." Jeremias was

doing his best, with a rag and a smoothing stone, to clean

Simon's sword.

"You don't have to." Simon grunted in pain as he

pulled on his boot. Three days had passed since the battle

on the frozen lake, but every muscle still felt as though it

had been pounded on a blacksmith's anvil. "This is Just

something he wants me to do."

Jeremias seemed relieved, but was unwilling to accept

his freedom so easily, "But shouldn't your squire go

along when the prince calls -for you? What if you need

something that you've forgottenwho would go back for

it?"

Simon laughed, but broke off as he felt a band of pain

tighten around his ribs. The day after the battle he had

barely been able to stand. His body had felt like a bag of

broken crockery. Even now, he still moved like an old,

old man. "I'll just have to go and get it myselfor I'll

call for you. Don't worry. It's not like that here, which

you should know as well as anybody. It's not a royal

court, like at the Hayholt."

Jeremias peered closely at the blade's edge, then shook

his head. "You say that, Simon, but you never can tell

when princes will get squinty on you. You can never tell

when they might suddenly feel their blood and go all

royal."

"It's a risk I'll have to take. Now give me that damned

sword before you polish it away to a sliver."

524

Tad Williams

Jeremias looked up anxiously. He had regained a little

weight since coming to New Gadrinsett, but provisions

were scarce and he was still far from being the chubby

boy Simon had grown up with; he had a drawn look that

Simon doubted would ever completely go away. "I would

never harm your sword," he said seriously.

"Oh, God's Teeth," Simon growled, swearing with the.

practiced indifference of a blooded soldier. "I was joking.

Now give it here. I've got to go,"

Jeremias gave him a haughty look- "One thing about

jokes, Simonthey're supposed to be funny." Despite the

grin that was beginning to crinkle his lips, he handed the

blade over carefully. "And I'll let you know if you're

ever actually funny, I promise."

Simon's witty replywhich in truth he had not yet

formulatedwas forestalled by the opening of the tent

flap. A small figure appeared in the doorway, silent and

solemn.

"Leieth!" Jeremias said. "Come in. Would you like to

go for a walk with me? Or I could finish telling you that

story about Jack Mundwode and the bear."

The little girl moved a few steps into the tent, which

was her way of showing assent. Her eyes, as they turned

momentarily to Simon's, were disturbingly adult. He re-

membered how she had looked on the Dream Roada

free creature in its element, flying, exultingand felt an

obscure sense of shame, as if he were somehow helping

to keep a beautiful thing prisoned.

"I'll be on my way," he said. 'Take care of Jeremias,

Leieth. Don't let him handle anything sharp."

Jeremias flung the polishing cloth at him as he stepped

through the tent flap.

Outside, Simon took a deep breath. The air was chill,

but he thought it felt subtly wanner than it had a few days

before, as though somewhere nearby Spring was looking

for a way in.

We only beat Fengbald, he cautioned himself. We didn 't

hurt the Storm King at all. So there's not much chance

we've driven the winter away.

But the thought raised another question. Why hadn't

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

525

the Storm King sent help to Fengbald as he had to Elias

at the siege of Naglimund? Survivors' stories of the hor-

ror of the Norns' attack were almost as vivid in Simon's

mind as the memories of his own strange adventures. If

the swords were so important, and if Josua was known by

the Hikeda'ya to have one of themwhich, according to

the prince and Deomoth, was almost certainly the case

why hadn't Sesuad'ra's defenders found themselves star-

ing down at an army of ice-giants and armored Noms?

Was it something about the Stone itself?

Perhaps because it is a Sithi place. But they weren't

afraid to attack Jao e-Tinukai'i, finally.

He shook his head. It was something to share with

Binabik and Geloe, although he was sure it had already

occurred to them. Or had it? It might be almost too over-

whelming to add another unsolvable puzzle to the pile

they already faced. Simon was so tired of questions with-

out answers.

His boots crunched in the thin snow as he made his

way across the Fire Garden toward Leavetaking House.

He had gladly played the fool with Jeremias, since it

seemed to bring his friend out of his worries and evil

memories, but Simon was not in a particularly cheerful

frame of mind. His last nights had been filled with

dreams of the battle's carnage, of madness and blood and

screaming horses. Now he was going to see Josua, and

the prince was in an even blacker mood than he was. Si-

mon was not looking forward to this at all.

He stopped, his frosty breath rising around his head in

a cloud, and stared at the broken dome of the Observa-

tory. If only he dared take the mirror and try to speak

with Jiriki again! But the fact that the Sithi had not come.

despite the defenders' great need, made it clear that Jiriki

had more important things on his mind than the doings of

mortals. Also, the Sitha had expressly warned Simon that

this was a perilous time to walk the Road of Dreams. Per-

haps if he tried, he would somehow bring the Storm

King's attention to Sesuad'raSimon might shatter the

very indifference that seemed to have been the single

greatest reason for their unbelievable victory.

526Tad Williams

He was a man now, or might as well be. There could be

no more mooncalf tricks, he decided. The stakes were far

too high.

Leavetaking House was poorly lit: only a few torches

burned in the sconces, so that the great room seemed half-

dissolved in shadow. Josua was standing by the bier.

"Thank you for coming, Simon." The prince barely

raised his eyes before returning his gaze to Deomoth's

body, which was laid out on the slab of stone with the

Tree and Drake banner draped across it, as though the

knight were only sleeping beneath a thin blanket.

"Binabik and Geloe are there," the prince said, gesturing

to a pair of figures sitting beside the firepit near the far

wall. "I will Join you in a moment."

Simon walked to the fire with a careful tread, trying to

avoid disrespectful noise. The troll and the witch woman

were talking quietly-

"Greetings, friend Simon," said Binabik. "Come, sit

and be warm."

Simon sat cross-legged on the stone floor, then moved

forward to a warmer spot. "He seems even sadder than

yesterday," he whispered.

The troll looked at Josua. "It has struck him with a

great weightiness. It is as though all the people he was

loving, and for whose safety he was fearing, were all

killed with Deomoth."

Geloe made a noise of mild exasperation. "You cannot

fight battles without losses. Deomoth was a good man,

but others died, too."

"Josua is now mourning for all of them, I am

thinkingin his way." The troll shrugged. "But I have

certainty he will recover."

The witch woman nodded. "Yes, but we have little

time. We must strike while the advantage is ours."

Simon looked at her curiously. Geloe seemed as age-

less as ever, but she seemed to have lost a little of her

vast assurance. Not that it would be surprising if she had:

the past year had been a dreadful one- "I wanted to ask

TOGREENANGELTOWER

527

you something, Geloe," he said. "Did you know about

Fengbald?"

She turned her yellow eyes on him. "Did I know he

would send someone onto the field wearing his armor, to

fool us? No. But I did know that Josua had conspired

with Helfgrim, the Lord Mayor. I did not know whether

Fengbald would take the bait."

"I am afraid that I was also knowing, Simon," said

Binabik. "My help was needed for planning how to split

the ice. It was done with the helping of some of my

Qanuc fellows."

Simon felt a little warmth rise to his cheeks. "So every-

body knew but me?"

Geloe shook her head. "No, Simon. Besides Helfgrim,

Josua and myself, there were only Binabik, Deornoth,

Freosel, and the trolls that helped prepare the trapthat

was all who knew. It was our last hope, and we dared not

take a chance of it being even rumored to Fengbald."

"Didn't you trust me?"

Binabik laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "Trust

was not the thing that was mattering, Simon. You and any

others who were fighting on the ice could have been cap-

tured. Even the bravest will tell all they know if they are

under torturingand Fengbald was not being the sort for

scruples in such things. The fewer who knew, the better

were being chances that the secret would hold. If there

had been need to tell you, as there was with those others,

we would have told you with no hesitating."

"Binabik is right, Simon." Josua had come up silently

as they spoke and now stood over them. The firelight

threw his shadow across the ceiling, a long empty stripe

of darkness. "I trust you as fully as I trust anyone

anyone living, that is." A hint of something darted across

his face. "I ordered that only those necessary to the plan

should know. I am sure you can understand."

Simon swallowed. "Of course. Prince Josua."

Josua lowered himself down onto a stone and gazed ab-

sently at the wavering flames. "We have won a great

victoryit is a miracle, truly. But the price was so very

high...."

528 Tad Williams

"No price that kept innocent people alive could be too

high," Geloe replied.

"Perhaps, But there is a possibility that Fengbald

would have let the women and children go...."

"But now they are alive and free.^ said Geloe shortly.

"And a good number of the men are, too. And we have

had an unexpected victory."

The ghost of a smile flickered on Josua's lips. "Are

you to take Deomoth's place, then, Valada Geloe? For

that is what he always did for mereminded me when I

began to brood."

"I cannot take his place, Josua, but I do not think we

need to apologize for winning. Mourning is honorable, of

course. I do not seek to take that away from you."

"No, of course not." The prince looked at her for a mo-

ment, then pivoted slowly and surveyed the long hall.

"We must honor the dead."

There was a scrape of leather in the doorway. Sludig

stood there, a pair of saddlebags draped over his brawny

arm. Looking at the strain on the Rimmersman's face, Si-

mon wondered if they were packed full of stones. "Prince

Josua?"

The prince turned. "Yes, Sludig?"

"These are all that were found. They have Fengbald's

crest on them. They are soaking wet, though. I have not

opened them."

"Put them down here by the fireside. Then please sit

and speak with us. You have been a great help, Sludig."

The Rimmersman bobbed his head. "Thank you. Prince

Josua. But I also have another message for you. The pris-

oners are ready to talk nowor so Freosel says."

"Ah." Josua nodded. "And Freosel is no doubt right.

He is rough, but very clever. Not unlike our old friend

Einskaldir, eh, Sludig?"

"Just as you say. Highness." Sludig seemed uncomfort-

able talking to the prince. He was finally getting the at-

tention and credit he seemed to have wanted, Simon

noted, but did not seem completely happy with it.

Josua laid his hand on Simon's shoulder. "I suppose I

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

529

must go and do my duty, then," he said. "Would you

come with me, Simon?"

"Of course. Prince Josua."

"Good." Josua made a gesture toward the others. "If

you would be so good, attend me after supper. There is

much to speak about."

As they approached the door, Josua put the stump of

his right wrist beneath Simon's elbow and led him toward

the bier where Deomoth lay. Simon could not help notic-

ing that he was a little taller than the prince. It had been

a long time since he had stood so close to Josua, but he

was still surprised. He, Simon, was talland not just for

a youth, but for a man. It was a strange thought.

They stopped before the bier. Simon stood on the balls

of his feet, respectfully silent but anxious to move on. Be-

ing so close to the knight's body made him uncomforta-

ble. The pale, angular face that lay upon the stone slab

looked less like the Deomoth he remembered than like

something carved in soap. The skin on his face, especially

on his eyelids and nostrils, was bloodlessly translucent.

"You did not know him well, Simon. He was the best

of men."

Simon swallowed. His mouth felt dry. The dead were

... so dead. And someday Josua, Binabik, Sludig, every-

one in New Gadrinsett would be that way. Even he would

be that way, Simon realized with a feeling of distaste.

What was it like? "He was always very kind to me. High-

ness."

"He knew no other way. He was the truest knight I

have ever known."

The more Josua had spoken of Deomoth in the last few

days, the more Simon had come to realize that he had ap-

parently not known the man at all. He had seemed a sim-

ple man, kind and quiet, but hardly an exemplar of

knightliness as Josua seemed to think him, a modern

Camaris.

"He died bravely." It seemed a lame sort of condolence

to offer, but Josua smiled.

"He did. I wish you and Sludig could have reached his

side sooner, but you did your best." Josua's face changed

530

Tad Williams

abruptly, like clouds blowing across a spring sky. "I do

not mean to suggest that you two failed in some way, Si-

mon. Please forgive meI have grown thoughtless in my

grief. Deomoth could always chivvy me out of my self-

indulgence. Ah, God, I will miss him. I think he was my

best friend, although I never knew it until he was dead."

Simon was further discomfited to see tears forming in

Josua's eyes. He wanted to look away, but was suddenly

reminded of the Sithi, and of what Strangyeard had said.

Perhaps it was the highest and the greatest who always

bore the largest griefs. How could there be shame in such

sadness?

Simon reached up and took the prince's elbow. "Come,

Josua. Let's walk. Tell me about Deornoth, since I never

had the chance to know him properly."

The prince tore his gaze away from Deomoth's alabas-

ter features. "Yes, of course. We will walk."

He let Simon lead him out the door and into the hilltop

wind.

"... And he actually came to me and apologized!"

Josua was laughing now, although there seemed little joy

in it. "As though he himself had transgressed. Poor, loyal

Deornoth." He shook his head and wiped at his eye.

"Aedon! Why is it that this cloud of regret seems to sur-

round me, Simon? Either I am pleading forgiveness, or

those around me areit is no wonder that Elias thought

I was soft-headed. Sometimes I think he was right."

Simon suppressed a grin. "Perhaps the problem is only

because you are too quick to share your thoughts with

people you do not know welllike escaped scullions."

Josua looked at him narrowly for a moment, then

laughed, but this time his mirth seemed less constrained.

"Perhaps you are right, Simon. People like their princes

strong and unswerving, don't they?" He chuckled. "Ah,

Usires the Merciful, could they ever have a prince less

like that than me?" He looked up, squinting across the

field of tents. "God help me, I have wandered. Where is

the cave where the prisoners are kept?"

"There." Simon pointed to a rocky outcropping just in-

TOGREENANGELTOWER531

side Sesuad'ra's outer barrier, barely visible behind the

wind-shimmied walls of the tent city. Josua altered his

course and Simon followed, moving slowly to ease the

ache of his several wounds.

"I have let myself run far afield," Josua said, "and not

only in my search for the prisoners. I asked you to come

to me so I could ask you a question."

"Yes?" Simon could not help but be interested. What

could the prince possibly want of him?

"I wish to bury our dead on this hill." Josua waved his

arm, spanning the breadth of Sesuad'ra's grassy summit.

"You of all the people here know the Sithi best, I

thinkor at least the most intimately, for certainly

Binabik and Geloe have studied them. Do you think that

it would be allowed? This is their place, after all."

Simon thought about this for a moment. "Allowed? I

can't imagine the Sithi preventing it, if that's what you

mean." He smiled wryly. "They didn't even show up to

defend it, so I don't think that they would suddenly arrive

with an army to keep us from burying our dead."

They walked on a short way in silence. Simon pon-

dered before speaking again. "No, I don't think they

would objectnot that I could-ever claim to speak for

them," he added hurriedly. "After all, Jiriki buried his

kinsman An'nai with Grimmric, back on Urmsheim." The

days on the dragon-mountain seemed so far away now, as

though they had been spent there by another Simon, a dis-

tant relative. He kneaded the muscles of his painfully stiff

arm and sighed. "But, as I said, I cannot speak for the

Sithi. I was there forwhat, months? And I still could

never hope to understand them."

Josua looked at him keenly. "What was it like to live

with them, Simon? And what was their city likeJao ...

Jao... ?"

"Jao e-Tinukai'i." Simon was more than a little proud

at how easily the difficult syllables fell from his lips. "I

wish I could explain, Josua. It's sort of like trying to de-

scribe a dreamyou can tell what happened, but you

can't quite make someone understand how it felt. They

are old. Highness, very, very old. But to look at them,

532 Tad Williams

they are young and healthy and ... and beautiful." He re-

membered Jiriki's sister Aditu. her lovely, bright, preda-

tory eyes, her smile full of secret amusement. "They have

every right to hate us, Josuaat least I think they do

but instead they seem ... puzzled by us. As we would

feel if sheep became mighty and drove us out of our cit-

ies."

Josua laughed. "Sheep, Simon? Are you saying that the

Imperators of Nabban and King Fingil of Rimmersgard

... and my father, for that matter ... were woolly, harm-

less creatures?"

Simon shook his head. "No, I only mean that we are

that different from the Sithi. They don't understand us any

more than we understand them. Jiriki and his grand-

mother Amerasu might not be as different as somethey

certainly treated me with kindness and understanding

but the other Sithi .. -" He stopped, at a loss. "I don't

know how to explain it."

Josua looked at him kindly. "What was the city like?"

"I tried to describe it before, when I came here. I said

then that it was like a huge boat, but that it was also like

a rainbow in front of a waterfall. That's terrible, but I still

can't describe it any better than that. It's all made of cloth

strung between the trees, but it seems as solid as any city

I've ever seen. But it looks as though they could pack it

up any moment and take it somewhere else." He laughed

despairingly. "You see, I keep running out of words!"

"I think you explain it very well, Simon." The prince's

thin features were pensive. "Ah, how I would like to truly

know the Sithi someday. I cannot understand what made

my father fear and hate them so. What a storehouse of

history and lore they must possess!"

They had reached the cave entrance, which was barred

with a makeshift portcullis of heavy, rough-cut timbers. A

guard posted thereone of Hotvig's Thrithings-men

left the jug of coals over which he had been warming his

hands to raise the gateway and let them in.

Several more guards, an even mix of Thrithings-men

and FreosePs Erkynlanders, stood in the antechamber.

They saluted both the prince and Simon respectfully,

TOGREENANGELTOWER

533

much to the bemused chagrin of the latter. Freosel, rub-

bing his hands together, appeared from the depths of the

cavem.

"Your Highness ... and Sir Seoman," he said, inclining

his head. "I think time has come. They be starting to get

frisky-like. If we wait longer, we may have troubleif

you pardon my saying so."

"I trust your judgment, Freosel," said Josua. 'Take me

to them."

The inner part of the wide cavem, which was separated

from the front by a bend in the stone walls and thus hid-

den from the sun, had been divided by the use of more

stout timbers into two stockades with a sizable open

space between them.

"They do shout at each other 'cross the cave."

Freosel's grin revealed the gap in his teeth. "Blaming

each other, like. Take turns keeping each other awake

nights. Do our job for us, they do."

Josua nodded as he approached the left-hand stockade,

then turned to Simon. "Say nothing," he said firmly. "Just

listen."

In the dim, torchlit cavern, Simon at first had trouble

making out its occupants. The. smell of urine and un-

washed bodiessomething Simon had thought he could

no longer noticewas strong.

"I wish to speak with your captain," Josua called.

There was slow movement in the shadows, then a figure

in the tattered green surcoat of an Erkynguardsman

stepped up to the rough bars.

"That is me, your Highness," the soldier said.

Josua looked him over. "Sceldwine? Is that you?"

The man's embarrassment was plain in his voice. "It is,

Prince Josua."

"Well." Josua seemed to be taken aback. "I never

dreamed to see you in a place like this."

"Nor did I, Highness. Nor expected to be sent to fight

against you either, sire. It's a shame ..."

Freosel abruptly stepped forward. "Don't you listen to

him, Josua," he sneered. "He and his murdering cronies

will say anything to save their lives." He thumped his

534 Tad Williams

powerful hand against the stockade wall hard enough to

make the wood quiver. "The rest of us haven't forgot

what your kind did to Falshire."

Sceldwine, after drawing back in alarm, leaned forward

to see better. His pale face, exposed now by the torch-

light, was drawn and worried. "None of us were happy

about that." He turned to the prince. "And we did not

want to come against you. Prince Josua. You must believe

us."

Josua started to say something, but Freosel, astonish-

ingly, interrupted him. "Your people won't have it, Josua.

This ben't the Hayholt or Naglimund. We don't trust

these armored louts. If you let them live, there'll be trou-

ble."

A mumbling growl ran through the prisoners, but there

was more than a little fear in it.

"I don't want to execute them, Freosel," Josua said un-

happily. "They were sworn to my brother. What choice

did they have?"

"What choice have any of us got?" the Falshireman

shot back. 'They made the wrong one. Our blood be on

their hands. Kill them and have done. Let God worry

about choices."

Josua sighed. "What do you say, Sceldwine? Why

should I let you live?"

The Erkynguardsman seemed momentarily at a loss.

"Because we are just fighting men, serving our king,

Highness. There is no other reason." He stared out be-

tween the bars.

Josua beckoned for Freosel and Simon and walked

away from the stockade to the center of the cavern, out of

earshot.

"Well?" he said.

Simon shook his head. "Kill them, Prince Josua? I

don't .. "

Josua raised his hand. "No, no. Of course I won't kill

them." He turned to the Falshireman, who was grinning.

"Freosel has been working on them for two days. They

are convinced he wants their hides, and that the citizens

of New Gadrinsett are demanding they be hung before

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

535

Leavetaking House. We just want them in the proper

mood."

Simon was again embarrassed: he had misjudged.

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Watch me." After stalling for a few moments more,

Josua assumed an air of solemnity and walked slowly

back to the stockade and the nervous prisoners.

"Sceldwine," he said, "I may regret this, but I am going

to let you and your men live."

Freosel, scowling, snorted a great angry snort and

marched away. An audible sigh of relief rose from the

prisoners -

"But," Josua raised his finger, "we will not keep you

and feed you. You will work to earn your lives. My peo-

ple would hang me if I did any lessthey will already be

very displeased to be cheated of your executions. If you

prove yourselves trustworthy, we may let you fight at our

side when we push my mad brother from the Dragonbone

Chair."

Sceldwine gripped the wooden bars with both his

hands. "We will fight for you, Josua. No one else would

show us such mercy in these mad times." His comrades

gave ragged shouts of agreement.

"Very well. I will think further on how this is to be ac-

complished." Josua nodded stiffly, then turned his back

on the prisoners. Simon followed him out into the middle

of the room once more.

"By the Ransomer," said Josua, "if they will fight for

us, what a boon! A hundred more disciplined soldiers.

They may be the first of many more defections, when

word begins to spread."

Simon smiled. "You were very convincing. Freosel,

too."

Josua looked pleased. "I think that there may be a few

strolling players in the constable's family history. As for

mewell, all princes are born liars, you know." His ex-

pression turned serious. "And now I must deal with the

mercenaries,"

"You will not make them the same offer, will you?" Si-

mon asked, suddenly worried.

536

Tad Williams

"Why not?"

"Because ... because someone who fights for gold is

different."

"All soldiers fight for gold," Josua said gently.

"That's not what I mean. You heard what Sceldwine

said. They fought because they thought they mustthat's

at least partly true. Those Thrithings-men fought because

Fengbald paid them. You can't pay them with anything

but their lives."

"That's not an inconsiderable sum," Josua pointed out.

"But after they're armed again, how much weight will

that have? They're different than the Erkynguard, Josua,

and if you want to make a kingdom that's different than

your brother's, you can't build it on men like the merce-

naries." He stopped abruptly, horrified to discover he was

lecturing the prince. "I'm sorry," he blurted. "I have no

right to speak this way."

Josua was watching him, eyebrow raised. "They are

right about you, young Simon," he said slowly. "There is

a good head under that red hair of yours." He laid his

hand on Simon's shoulder. 'T had not planned to deal

with them until Hotvig could join me, in any case. I will

think carefully on what you have said."

"I hope you can forgive me my forwardness," Simon

said, abashed. "You have been very kind with me."

"I trust your thoughts, Simon, as I do Freosel's. A man

who will not listen carefully to advice honestly given is a

fool. Of course, a man who blindly takes any advice he

receives is a bigger fool." He gave Simon's shoulder a

squeeze. "Come, let us walk back. I would like to hear

more about the Sithi."

*

It was strange to use Jiriki's mirror for such a mundane

purpose as trimming his beard, but Simon had been told

by Sludigand none too subtlythat he was looking

rather straggly. Propped on a rock, the Sithi glass winked

in the failing afternoon light. There was a faint mist in the

air which continually forced Simon to clean the mirror

TOGREENANGELTOWER537

with his sleeve. Unfamiliar with the art of grooming with

a bone knifehe could have borrowed a sharper steel

blade from Sludig, but then the Rimmersman probably

would have stood by and made commentsSimon had

accomplished little more than causing himself a few

twinges of pain when the three young women ap-

proached.

^-Simon had seen all three of them around New

% Gadrinsetthe had even danced with two of them the

f evening he had become a knight, and the thinnest one had

made him a shirt. They seemed terribly young, even

though he was probably no more than a year older than

any of them. One of them, though, a dark-eyed girl whose

round figure and curly brown hair was a little reminiscent

of the chambermaid Hepzibah, he thought was rather

fetching.

"What are you doing. Sir Seoman?" the thin one asked.

She had large, serious eyes which she hooded with her

lashes whenever Simon looked at her too long.

"Cutting my beard," he said gruffly. Sir Seoman, in-

deed! Were they making fun of him?

"Oh, don't cut it off!" the curly-haired girl said. "It

makes you look so grand!"

"No, don't," her thin friend echoed.

The third, a short girl with straight yellow hair and a

few spots on her face, shook her head. "Don't."

"I'm just trimming it." He marveled at the silliness of

women. Just days before, people had been killed defend-

ing this place! People that these girls knew, most likely.

Yet here they were, bothering him about his beard. How

could they be so flittery? "Do you really think it looks ...

grand?" he said.

"Oh, yes," Curly-Hair blurted, then reddened, "That is,

it makes you ... it makes a man look older."

"So you think I need to look older?" he asked in his

sternest voice.

"No!" she said hurriedly. "But it looks nice."

"They say you were very brave in the battle, Sir

Seoman," said the thin girl.

538 Tad Williams

He shrugged. "We were fighting for our home ... for

our lives. I was just trying not to be killed."

"Just like Camaris would have said," the thin girl sighed.

Simon laughed aloud. "Nothing like Camaris. Nothing

at all."

The small girl had sidled around and was now looking

intently at Simon's mirror. "Is that the Fairy Glass?" she

asked.

"Fairy Glass?"

"People say ..." She faltered and looked to her friends

for help.

Thin One jumped in. "People say that you are a fairy-

friend. That the fairies come when you call them with

your magic looking-glass."

Simon smiled again, but hesitantly. Bits of truth mixed

up with silliness. How did that happen? And who was

talking about him? It was odd to think about. "No, that's

not quite right. This was given to me by one of the Sithi,

yes, but they do not simply come when I call. Otherwise,

we would not have fought by ourselves against Duke

Fengbald, now would we?"

"Can your looking-glass grant wishes?" Curly-Hair

asked.

"No," Simon said firmly- "It's never granted any of

mine." He paused, remembering his rescue by Aditu in

Aldheorte's wintery depths. "I mean, that's not really

what it does," he finished. So he, too, was mixing truth

with lies. But how could he possibly explain the madness

of this last year so that they could understand it?

"We were praying that you would bring us allies. Sir

Seoman," the thin girl said seriously. "We were so fright-

ened."

As he looked at her pale face, he saw that she was tell-

ing the truth. Of course they had been upsetdid that

mean that they could not be glad that they were alive?

That wasn't the same as being flittery, really. Should they

brood and mourn like Josua?

"I was frightened, too," he said. "We were very lucky."

There was a pause. The curly-haired girl arranged her

cloak, which had fallen open to reveal the soft skin of her

TOGREENANGELTOWER

539

throat. The weather was getting warmer, Simon realized.

He had been standing motionless here for some time, but

bad not shivered once. He looked up at the sky, as if hop-

ing to find some confirmation of winter's dwindling.

"Do you have a lady?" the curly-haired girl said sud-

denly.

"Do I have a what?" he asked, although he had heard

her perfectly well.

"A lady," she said, blushing furiously. "A sweet-

heart."

Simon waited for a moment before replying. "Not re-

ally." The three girls were staring at him raptly, expectant

as puppies, and he felt his own cheeks grow hot. "No, not

really." He had been clutching his Qanuc knife so long

that his fingers had begun to ache.

"Ah," said Curly-Hair. "Well, we should leave you to

your work. Sir Seoman." Her slender friend pulled at her

elbow, but she ignored her. "Will you be coming to the

bonfire?"

"Bonfire?" Simon furrowed his brow.

"The celebration- Well, and the mourning, too. In the

middle of the settlement." She pointed toward the massed

tents of New Gadrinsett. "Tomorrow night."

"I didn't know. Yes, I suppose I might." He smiled

again. These were really quite sensible young women

when you talked with them a while. "And thank you

again for the shin," he told Thin One.

She blinked rapidly. "Maybe you will wear it tomorrow

night."

After saying good-bye, the three girls turned and

walked off across the hillside, leaning their heads very

close together, wriggling and laughing. Simon felt a mo-

ment's indignation at the thought that they might be

laughing at him, but then he let it pass. They seemed to

like him, didn't they? That was just the way that girls

were, as far as he could tell.

He turned to his mirror once more, determined to finish

with his beard before the sun began to set. A bonfire, was

it... ? He wondered if he should wear his sword.

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Simon pondered his own words. It was true, of course,

that he had no lady love, as he supposed knights should

even the ragtag son of knight he had become. Still, it was

hard not to think about Miriamele. How long had it been

since he had seen her? He counted the months on his

hand: Yuven, Anitui, Tiyagaris, Septander, Octander ...

almost half a year! It was easy to believe she had forgot-

ten him entirely by now.

But he had not forgotten her. There had been moments,

strange and almost frightening moments, when he had

been certain that she felt as drawn to him as he was to

her. Her eyes had seemed so large when she looked at

him, so careful to take him in, as though she memorized

his every line. Could it be only his imagination? Certainly

they had shared a wild and almost unbelievable adventure

together, and almost equally certainly, she considered him

a friend -.. but did she think anything more of him than

that?

The memory of how she had looked at Naglimund

swept over him. She had been dressed in her sky-blue

gown and had been suddenly almost terrible in her

completenessso different from the ragged serving girl

who had slept on his shoulder. And yet, the very same girl

had been inside that blue dress. She had been almost hes-

itant when they had met in the castle courtyardbut was

it out of shame at the trick she had played him, or worry

that her resumption of station might have separated them?

He had seen her on a Hayholt tower top: her hair had

been like golden floss. Simon, a poor scullion, had

watched and felt like a mud-beetle catching a glimpse of

the sun. And her face, so alive, so quick to change, full of

anger and laughter, more mercurial and unpredictable

than that of any woman he had ever met ...

But it was fruitless to go on mooning this way, he told

himself. It was unlikely in the extreme that she even

thought of him as anything more than a friendly scullion,

like the servants' children with whom the nobility were

raised, but who they quickly forgot upon reaching adult-

hood. And of course, even if she did care for him at all,

there was no chance that anything could ever come of it.

TOGREENANGELTOWER541

That was Just the way of things, or at least so he had been

taught.

Still, he had been out in the world long enough now

and had seen enough oddities that the immutable facts of

life Rachel had taught him seemed much less believable.

How were common folk and those of royal blood differ-

ent, anyway? Josua was a kind man, a clever and earnest

manSimon had little doubt that he would make a fine

kingbut his brother Elias had proved to be a monster.

Could any peasant dragged from the barley fields do any

worse? What was so sacred about royal blood? And, now

that he thought about it, hadn't King John himself come

from a family of peasantsor as good as peasants?

A mad thought suddenly occurred to him: what if Elias

should be defeated, but Josua died? What if Miriamele

never returned? Then someone else must be king or

queen. Simon knew little of the affairs of the worldat

least those outside his own tangled journey of the past

half year. Were there others of royal blood who would

step forward and claim the Dragonbone Chair? That fel-

low in Nabban, Bigaris or whatever his name was? Who-

ever was the heir of Lluth, dead king of Hemystir? Or old

Isgrimnur, perhaps, if he should ever come back. He, at

least, Simon could respect.

But now the fleeting thought was glowing like a hot

coal. Why shouldn't he, Simon, be as likely as anyone

else? If the world were turned upside down, and if all

those with claims were gone when the dust settled, why

not a knight of Erkynlandone who had fought a dragon

just as John had, and who had been marked by the drag-

on's black blood? One who had been to the forbidden

world of the Sithi, and who was a friend of the trolls of

Yiqanuc? Then he would be fit for a princess or anyone

else!

Simon stared at his reflection, at the curl of white hair

like a dab of paint, at his long scar and his disconcert-

ingly fuzzy beard.

Look at me, he thought, and suddenly laughed aloud.

King Simon the Great! Might as well make Rachel the

Duchess of Nabban, or that monk Cadrach the Lector of

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Tad Williams

Mother Church. Might as well wait for the stars to shine

in the middle of the day!

And who would want to be the king, anyway?

For that was it, after all; Simon saw little but pain in

store for whoever replaced Elias on the chair of bones.

Even if the Storm King could be defeated, which seemed

a possibility small to the point of nonexistence, the whole

of the land was in ruins, the people starved and frozen.

There would be no tournaments, no processions, no

sunlight gleaming on armor, not for many years.

No, he thought bitterly, the next king should be some-

one like Bamabas, the sexton of the Hayholt's chapel

someone good at burying the dead.

He pushed the mirror back into the pocket of his cloak

and sat down on a rock to watch the sun slipping behind

the trees.

*

Vorzheva found her husband in Leavetaking House.

The long hall was empty but for Josua and the pale form

of Deomoth. The prince himself scarcely seemed like one

of the living, standing motionless as a statue beside the

altar that bore his friend's body.

"Josua?"

The prince turned slowly, as though waking from a

dream. "Yes, lady?"

"You are here too much. The day is ending."

He smiled. "I have only just returned. I was walking

with Simon, and I had some other duties."

Vorzheva shook her head. "You returned long ago,

even if you do not remember. You have been in this place

most of the afternoon."

Josua's smile faltered. "Have I?" He turned to look at

Deomoth. "I feel, I don't know, that it is wrong to leave

him alone. He was always looking after me."

She stepped forward and took his arm. "I know. Come,

walk with me."

"Very well." Josua reached out and touched the shroud

draped across Deomoth's chest.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

543

Leavetaking House had been little more than a shell

when Josua and his company had first come to Sesuad'ra.

The settlers had built shutters for the gaping windows and

stout wooden doors to make it a place where the business

of New Gadrinsett could take place in warmth and pri-

vacy. There was still something of the makeshift about it,

thoughthe crude contrivances of the latest residents

made an odd contrast when set against the graceful hand-

iwork of the Sithi. Josua let his fingers trail across a

bloom of carvings as Vorzheva led him toward one of the

doors in the back wall and out into the failing sunlight.

The garden's walls were crumbled, the stone walkways

broken and upended. A few hardy old rosebushes had sur-

vived winter's onslaught, and although it might be

months or years before they would bloom again, their

dark leaves and gray, thorny boughs looked strong and

vigorous. It was hard not to wonder how long they had

grown there, or who had planted them.

Vorzheva and Josua walked past the knotted trunk of a

huge pine tree which grew in the breach of one of the

walls. The dying sun, a blur of burning red, seemed hung

in its branches.

"Do you still think of her?'^ Vorzheva asked suddenly.

"What?" Josua's mind seemed to have been wandering.

"Who?"

"That other one. The one you loved, your brother's

wife."

The prince inclined his head. "Hylissa. No, not often.

There are far more important things to think on these

days." He put his arm about his wife's shoulders- "I have

a family now which needs my care."

Vorzheva looked at him suspiciously for a moment,

then nodded her head with quiet satisfaction. "Yes," she

said. "You do."

"And not just a family, but a whole people, it seems."

She made a quiet noise of despair. "You cannot be ev-

eryone's husband, everyone's father."

"Of course not. But I must be the prince, whether I

wish to or not."

They walked on for a while without talking, listening

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Tad Williams

to the irregular music of a lone bird perched high in the

swaying branches. The wind was chilly, but the edge

seemed a little less than it had been in the days before,

which might have been why the bird sang.

Vorzheva pressed her head against Josua's shoulder so

that her black hair fluttered around his chin. "What will

we do now?" she asked. "Now the battle is ended?"

Josua led her toward a stone bench, fallen to shards at

one end, but still with much of its surface unbroken. They

brushed off a few melting spatters of snow and sat down.

"I do not know," he said. "I think it is time for another

Raeda council. We have much to decide. I have many

doubts about what is the wisest course. We should not

wait long after ... after we have buried our fallen."

Vorzheva looked at him, surprised. "What do you

mean, Josua? Why such hurry to have this thing?"

The prince raised his hand and examined the lines on

his palm. "Because there is a possibility that if we do not

strike now, an important chance will be lost."

"Strike?" She seemed astounded. "Strike what? What

madness is this? We have lost one of every three! You

would take these few hundred against your brother!?"

"But we have won an important victory. The first any-

one has had against him since he began his mad cam-

paign. If we strike out now, while memory is fresh and

Elias is unaware of what has happened, our people here

will take heart; when others see we are moving, they will

join us, too."

Vorzheva stood, her eyes wide. She held an arm around

her middle as if to protect their unborn child. "No! Oh,

Josua, that is too stupid! I thought you were to wait at

least until the winter had passed! How can you go off to

fight now?"

"I never said I was going to do anything," he said. "I

have not decided yetnor will I, until I have called a

Raed."

"Yes, you men will sit around and talk of the great bat-

tle you fought. Will the women be there?"

"Women?" He looked at her quizzically. "Geloe will be

a part of it."

TOGREENANGELTOWER545

"Oh, yes, Geloe," she said with scorn. "Because she is

called a 'wise woman.' That is the only sort of woman

you will listen toone who has a name for it, like a fast

horse or a strong ox."

"What should we doinvite everyone from all of New

Gadrinselt?" He was growing annoyed. "That would be

foolish."

"No more foolish than listening to only men." She

stared at him for a moment, then visibly forced herself to

become calm. She took several breaths before speaking

again. "There is a story the women of the Stallion Clan

tell. It is about the bull who would not listen to his cows."

Josua waited. "Well," he said at last. "What happened

to him?"

Vorzheva scowled and moved away down the broken

path. "Go on as you are doing. You will find out."

Josua's expression seemed half-amusement, half-

displeasure. "Wait, Vorzheva." He rose and followed her.

"You are right to chide me. I should listen to what you

have to say. What happened to the bull?"

She looked him over carefully. "I will tell you some

other time. I am too angry now."

Josua took her hand and fell-into step beside her. The

path curled through the disarranged stones, bringing them

close to the tumbled blocks of the outer garden wall.

There was a noise of voices from beyond.

"Very well," she said abruptly. "The bull was too proud

to listen to his cows. When they told to him that a wolf

was stealing the calves, he did not believe, because he did

not see it himself. When all the calves were stolen, the

cows drove the bull away and found a new bull." Her

stare was defiant. "Then the wolves ate the old bull, since

he had no one to protect him while he slept."

Josua's laugh was harsh. "And is that a warning?"

She squeezed his arm. "Please, Josua. The people are

tired of the fighting. We make a home here." She pulled

him closer to the breach in the stone. From the far side

rose (he noise of the ragtag marketplace that had sprung

up in the shelter of Leavetaking House's outer walls. Sev-

eral dozen men, women, and children were bartering with

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Tad Williams

old possessions carried out of their former homes and

new things gathered on and about Sesuad'ra. "See,"

Vorzheva said, "they make a new life. You told them they

fought for their home. How can you make them move

again?"

Josua stared at a group of bundled children playing tug-

o-war with a colorful rag. They were shrieking with

laughter and kicking up puffs of snow; nearby, someone's

mother was calling angrily for her child to come in out of

the wind. "But this is not their true home," he said qui-

etly. "We cannot stay here forever."

"Who is staying forever?" Vorzheva demanded. "Until

spring! Until our child is born!"

Josua shook his head. "But we may never have a

chance like this again." He turned away from the wall, his

face grave. "Besides, I owe it to Deomoth. He gave his

life, not for us to quietly disappear, but so that we could

pay back the wrongs my brother has done."

"Owe it to Deomoth!" Vorzheva sounded angry, but

her eyes were sad. "What a thing to say! Only a man

would say such a thing."

Josua turned and caught her up, pulling her toward

him. "I do love you. Lady. I only try to do what is right."

She averted her eyes. "I know. But ..."

"But you do not think I am making the best decision."

He nodded, stroking her hair. "I am listening to everyone,

Vorzheva, but the final word must be mine." He sighed

and held her for a while without speaking. "Merciful

Aedon, I would not wish this on anyone," he said at last.

"Vorzheva, promise me something."

"What?" Her voice was muffled in his cloak.

"I have changed my mind. If something happens to

me ..." He thought. "If something happens to me, take

our child away from this. Do not let anyone put him on a

throne, or use him as the rallying symbol for some army."

"Him?"

"Or her- Do not let our child be forced into this game

as I was."

Vorzheva shook her head fiercely. "No one will take

my baby away from me, not even your friends."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER547

"Good." He looked out through the blowing tendrils of

her hair. The sun had fallen behind Leavetaking House,

reddening the entire western sky. "That makes whatever

will come easier to bear."

A

Five days after the battle, the last of Sesuad'ra's dead

were buriedmen and women of Erkynland, Rimmers-

gard, Hemystir and the Thrithings, of Yiqanuc and Nab-

ban, refugees from half a hundred places, all laid to rest

in the shallow earth on the summit of the Stone of Fare-

well. Prince Josua spoke carefully and seriously about

their suffering and sacrifice as his cloak billowed in the

winds that swirled around the hilltop. Father Strangyeard,

Freosel, and Binabik all rose in turn to say words of one

sort or another. The citizens of New Gadrinsett stood,

hard-faced, and listened.

Some of the graves had no markers, but most had some

small monument, a carved board or rough-chiseled piece

of stone that bore the name of the fallen one. After great

labors to hack into the icy ground, the Erkynguard had

buried their own dead in a mass grave beside the lake,

crowning it with a single slab of rock that bore the leg-

end: "Soldiers of Erkynland, killed in the Battle of

Stefflod Valley. Em Wulstes Duos" By God's will.

Only the fallen Thrithings mercenaries were un-

mourned and unmarked. Their living comrades dug a vast

barrow for them on the grasslands below Sesuad'rahalf

believing it would be their own, that Josua planned to ex-

ecute them. Instead, when the labor was finished they

found themselves escorted by armed men far out onto the

open lands and then set free. It was a terrible thing for a

Thrithings-man to lose his horse, but the surviving merce-

naries decided quickly that walking was better than dying.

So, at last, all the dead were buried and the ravens were

cheated of their holiday.

As solemn music played, vying with the harsh wind to

be heard, the thought came to many of those who watched

that although Sesuad'ra's defenders had won an improb-

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Tad Williams

able and heroic victory, they had paid dearly for it. The

fact that they had defeated only the tiniest portion of the

forces arrayed against them, and had lost nearly half their

number in doing so, made the winter-shrouded hillcrest

seem an even colder and lonelier place.

*

Someone caught Simon's arm from behind. He turned

swiftly, tugging his arm loose, and raised it to strike.

"Here, lad, here, don't be so hasty-quick!" The old

jester cowered, hands held over his head.

"I'm sorry, Towser." Simon rearranged his cloak. The

bonfire was glowing in the near distance and he was im-

patient to be going. "I didn't know who it was."

"No offense taken, laddie." Towser swayed slightly.

"The thing is ... well, I was just wondering if I could

walk with you a way. Over to the celebration. I'm not as

steady on my feet as I was."

Not surprising, Simon thought: Towser's breath was

heavily scented with wine. Then he remembered what

Sangfugol had said and fought down his urge to hurry on.

"Of course." He extended a discreet arm for the old man

to lean on.

"Kind, lad, very kind. Simon, isn't it?" The old man

looked up at him, his shadowed face a puzzle of wrinkles.

"That's right." Simon smiled in the darkness. He had

reminded Towser of his name a dozen different times.

"You'll do well, you will," the old man said. They

moved toward the flickering light, walking slowly. "And

I've met them all."

Towser did not stay with him long once they reached

the celebration. The old jester quickly found a group of

drunken trolls and went off to reintroduce them to the

glories of Bull's Hornand himself to the glories of

kangkang, Simon suspected. Simon wandered for a while

on the periphery of the gathering.

It was a true feast night, perhaps the first that Sesuad'ra

had seen. Fengbald's camp had proven to be groaningly

TOGREENANGELTOWER

549

full of stocks and stores, as though the late duke had

plundered all Erkynland to insure he would be as com-

fortable in the Thrithings as if he had remained at the

Hayhott. Josua had wisely made sure that most of the

food and other useful things were hidden away for later

even if the company was to leave the Stone, it would not

be tomorrowbut a generous portion had been made

available for the celebration, so that tonight the hilltop

had a genuinely festive air, Freosel, in particular, had de-

rived no little pleasure from breaching Fengbald's casks,

draining off the first mug of Stanshire Dark himself with

as much pleasure as if it had been the duke's blood in-

stead of only his beer.

Wood, one of the other things not in short supply, had

been piled high in the center of the vast flat surface of the

Fire Garden. The bonfire was burning brightly, and most

of the people were gathered on the wide field of tiles.

Sangfugol and some of the other musical citizens of New

Gadrinsett were strolling here and there, playing for knots

of appreciative listeners. Some of the listeners were more

enthusiastic than others- Simon had to laugh as a particu-

larly sodden trio of celebrants insisted on joining the

harper in his rendition of *-'By Greenwade's Shore."

Sangfugol winced but gamely played on; Simon silently

congratulated the harper on his fortitude before wander-

ing away.

The night was chilly but clear, and the wind that had

bedeviled the hilltop during the burial rites was all but

gone. Simon, after pondering for a moment, decided that

considering the time of the year, the weather was actually

rather nice. Again he wondered if the Storm King's power

might somehow be slipping, but this time the thought was

followed by an even more worrisome question.

What if he's only gathering his strength? What if he's

going to reach out now and do what Fengbald couldn't?

That was not a line of thought Simon wished to pursue.

He shrugged and readjusted his sword belt.

The first cup of wine offered to him went down very

nicely, wanning his stomach and loosening his muscles.

He had been part of the small army put to work burying

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Tad Williams

the deada ghastly task made worse by the occasional

familiar face glimpsed beneath a mask of hoarfrost. Si-

mon and the others had worked like demons to breach the

stony ground, digging with whatever they could find

swords, axes, limbs of fallen trees, but as difficult as it

had been to scrape in the frozen earth, the cold had

slowed putrefaction, making a horrible job just a little

more bearable. Still, Simon's sleep had been raddled by

nightmares the past two nightsendless visions of stiff-

ened bodies tumbling into ditches, bodies rigid as statues,

contorted figures that might have been carved by some

mad sculptor obsessed by pain and suffering.

War's rewards, Simon thought as he walked through

the noisy throng. And if Josua were to be successful, the

battles to come would make this look like an Yrmansol

dance. The corpses would be piled higher than Green An-

gel Tower.

The thought made him feel cold and sick. He went in

search of more wine.

The festival had a certain air of heedlessness, Simon

noted. Voices were too loud, laughter too swift, as though

those who talked and made merry were doing so for the

benefit of others more than themselves. With the wine

came fighting, too, which seemed to Simon as though it

should be the last thing anyone would desire. Still, he

passed more than a few clumps of people gathered around

a pair or more of swearing, shouting men, calling encour-

agement and mockery as the combatants rolled in the

mud. Those in the crowd who were not laughing looked

disturbed or unhappy.

They know we are not saved, Simon thought, regretting

his own mood on what should be a wonderful night. They

are happy to be alive, but they know the future may be

worse.

He wandered on, taking a drink when it was offered.

He stopped for a while near Leavetaking House to watch

Sludig and Hotvig wrestlea friendlier kind of combat

than he had seen elsewhere. The northerner and the

Thrithings-man were stripped to the waist and grappling

fiercely, each trying to throw the other out of a circle of

TOGREENANGELTOWER

551

rope, but both men were laughing; when they stopped to

rest, they shared a wineskin. Simon called out a greeting

to them.

Feeling like a lonely seagull circling the mast of a plea-

sure boat, he walked on.

Simon was not sure what time it was, whether it was

just an hour or so after dark or approaching midnight.

Things had begun to grow a little blurry somewhere after

his half-dozenth drink of wine.

However, at this exact moment, time did not seem very

important. What did seem that way was the girl who

walked beside him, the light of the fading bonfire glinting

in her dark, wavy hair. She wasn't named Curly-Hair, but

Uica, as he had recently learned. She stumbled and he put

his arm around her, amazed at how warm a body could

feel, even through thick clothing.

"Where are we going?" she asked, then laughed. She

did not seem terribly worried about possible destinations.

"Walking," Simon replied. After a moment's thought

he decided he should make his plan more clear. "Walking

around."

The noise of the celebration was a dull roar behind

them, and for a moment Simon could almost imagine that

he was in the middle of the battle once more, on the fro-

zen lake, slick with blood....

His hackles rose. Why would he want to think about

something like that!? He made a noise of disgust.

"What?" Uica swayed, but her eyes were bright. She

had shared the wineskin Sangfugol had given to him. She

seemed to have a natural talent for holding her wine.

"Nothing," he replied gruffly. "Just thinking. About

the fighting. The battle. Fighting."

"It must have been ... horrible!" Her voice was full of

wonder. "We watched. Welma 'n' me. We were crying."

"Welmingyou?" Simon glared at her. Was she trying to

confuse him? "What does that mean?"

"Welma. I said 'Welma an' me.' My friend, the slender

one. You met her!" Uica squeezed his arm, amused by his

clever jest.

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Tad Williams

"Oh." He reflected on the recent conversation. What

had they been talking about? Ah. The battle. "It was hor-

rible. Blood. People killed." He tried to Find some way to

sum up the totality of the experience, to let this young

woman know what he, Simon, had experienced. "Worse

than anything," he said heavily.

"Oh, Sir Seoman," she cried, and stopped, losing her

balance for a moment on the slippery ground. "You must

have been frightened!"

"Simon. Not SeomanSimon." He considered what

she had said. "Little. A little." It was hard not to notice

her proximity. She had a very nice face, really, full-

cheeked and long-lashed. And her mouth. Why was it so

close, though?

He refocused his eyes and discovered that he was lean-

ing forward, toppling toward Uica like a felled tree. He

put his hands on her shoulders for balance, and was inter-

ested by how small she felt beneath his touch. "I'm going

to kiss you," he said suddenly.

"You shouldn't," Uica said, but closed her eyes and did

not move away.

He kept his own eyes open for fear of missing his mark

and tumbling to the snow-flecked ground. Her mouth was

strangely firm beneath his, but warm and soft as a blan-

keted bed on a winter's night. He let his lips stay there for

a moment, trying to remember if he had ever done this

before and if so, what to do next. Uica did not move, and

they stood in place, breathing air gently scented with

wine into each other's mouths.

Simon discovered soon enough that kissing was more

than Just standing lip to lip, and after a short while the

cold air, the horrors of battle, even the ruckus of the bon-

fire a short distance away had disappeared from his mind.

He stretched his arms around this wonderful creature and

pulled her close, enjoying the feeling of sweetly yielding

girl pressed against him, never wanting to do anything

else in his whole life, however long it might be.

"Ooh, Seoman," Uica said at last, pulling back to catch

her breath, "you could make a girl faint."

"Mmmm." Simon drew her back again, bending his

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

553

neck so that he could nibble at her ear. If only she were

a little taller! "Sit down," he said. "I want to sit down."

They struggled along for a few joined steps, clumsy as

a crab, until Simon found a chunk of fallen masonry of

appropriate height. He wrapped his cloak around both of

them as they sat down, then pulled Uica close once more,

squeezing and kneading even as he continued to kiss her.

Her breath was warm against his face. She was soft in

some places, firm in others. What a wonderful world this

was!

"Ooh, Seoman." Her voice was muffled as she spoke

into his cheek. "Your beard, it scratches so!"

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?"

It took Simon a moment to realize that someone other

than himself had answered Uica. He looked up.

The figure standing before them was dressed all in

whitejacket, boots, and breeches. It had long hair that

streamed in the light breeze, a mocking smile, and up-

turned eyes no more human than those of a cat or a fox.

Uica stared for a moment, her mouth open. She let out

a tiny squeak of amazement and fear.

"Who. . . ?" She rose unsteadily from their seat.

"Seoman, who. -. ?"

"/ am a fairy woman," said Jiriki's sister, her voice

suddenly stony. "And you are a little mortal girl ... who

is kissing my husband-to-be! I think I shall have to do

something dreadful to you."

Uica gasped for breath and screamed in earnest this

time, pushing herself away from Simon so strongly that

he was almost toppled from the rock. Curly hair unbound

and flying behind her, she ran back toward the bonfire.

Simon stared after her stupidly for a moment, then

turned back to the Sitha-woman. "Aditu?"

She was watching the disappearing form of Uica.

"Greetings, Seoman." She spoke calmly, but with a hint

of amusement. "My brother sends his regards."

"What are you doing here?" Simon could not under-

stand what had just happened. He felt as though he had

fallen out of bed during a wonderful dream and landed on

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his head in a bear pit. "Merciful Aedon! And what do you

mean, 'husband-to-be'?!"

Aditu laughed, her teeth flashing. "I thought it would

be a good story to add to the other Tales of Seoman the

Bold. I have been haunting the shadows all evening and

have heard many people mention your name. You slay

dragons and wield fairy-weapons, so why not have a

fairy-wife?" She reached out a hand, enclosing his wrist

with cool, supple fingers. "Now come, we have much to

talk about. You can rub faces with that little mortal girl

some other time."

Simon followed, stunned, as Aditu led him back toward

the light of the bonfire. "Not after this I can't," he mum-

bled.

18

The Fox's Bargain

*

EoCtrir^S steep had been shallow and troubled, so he

woke instantly when Isom touched his shoulder.

"What is it?" He fumbled for his sword, fingers scrab-

bling through the damp leaves.

"Someone coming." The Rimmersman was tense, but

there was an odd look on his face. "I don't know," he

muttered. "You had better come."

Eolair rolled over and clambered to his feet, then

paused to buckle on his sword belt. The moon hung sol-

emnly above the Stagwood; from its position, Eolair

guessed that dawn could not ^e far away. There was

something odd in the air: the count could feel it already.

This forest the Hemystiri called Fiathcoille, which spread

in a contented clump a few leagues southeast of Nad

Mullach beside the river Baraillean, was a place he had

hunted every spring and fall as a young man, a spot he

knew like his own hall. When he had rolled himself in his

cloak and blanket to sleep, it had been familiar as an old

friend. Now, suddenly, it seemed different in a way he

could not understand.

The camp was stirring into wakefulness. Already most

of Ule's men were pulling on their boots. Their numbers

had almost tripled since he and Isom had found them

there were quite a few masterless men wandering the

edges of the Frostmarch who were happy to join an orga-

nized band, regardless of its purposeand Eolair doubted

that anything but a major force of arms could threaten

them.

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But what if Skali had received word of their presence?

They were a sizable company, but against an army like

Kaldskryke's they could not hope to be more than a brief

annoyance.

Isom stood just ahead at the forest fringe, beckoning.

Eolair moved toward him, trying to move as quietly as he

could, but even as he listened to the soft crunching of.his

own footfalls, he became aware of ... something else.

At first he thought it was the wind, wailing like a cho-

rus of spirits, but the trees around him were still, clumps

of soft snow balanced delicately at the ends of the __

branches. No, it was not the wind. The sound had a reg-

ular quality, rhythmic, even musical. It sounded, Eolair

thought, like ... singing.

"Brynioch!" he swore as he moved up beside Isorn.

"What is it?"

"The sentries heard that an hour gone," the duke's son

muttered. "How loud must it be, that we have not seen

them yet?"

Eolair shook his head. The snow-dappled plain of the

lower Inniscrich lay before them, pale and uneven as

rumpled silk. Men were moving up on either side, crawl-

ing to the edge of the trees to look out, until Eolair felt as

though he were surrounded by a crowd awaiting a royal

procession. But the anticipatory looks of the hard-faced

men around him were more than a little fearful. Many

sword-hilts were already clutched in damp palms.

The singing rose in pitch, then abruptly stopped. In its

wake, the sound of many hoofbeats echoed along the

Stagwood's fringe- Eolair, still wiping sleep from his

eyes, drew breath to say something to Isom- As it turned

out, he held that breath for a long time, and when he let

it go, it was only to suck in another.

They appeared from the east, as though they had come

out of northern Erkynlandor, Eolair thought distract-

edly, out of the depths of Aldheorte Forest. They were lit-

tle more than a shimmer of moonlight on metal at first, a

distant cloud of silvershine in the darkness. Hoofbeats

rumbled like heavy rain on a wooden roof, then a horn

winded, an oddly haunting note that pierced the night,

TOGREENANGELTOWER

557

and suddenly they seemed almost to burst into full view.

One of Ule's men went mad when he saw them. He ran

shouting into the forest, slapping at his head as Uiough it

burned, and was not seen again by any of his fellows.

Although none of the others were so badly afflicted, no

one who passed that night in the Stagwood was ever after

the same, nor could any of them quite say why. Even

Eolair was stunned, Eolair who had traveled most of the

length and breadth of Osten Ard, who had seen sights that

reduced most men to tongue-tied awe. But even the

worldly count would never be able to explain just how it

had felt to watch the Sithi ride.

As the wild company thundered past, me very quality

of the moonlight seemed to change. The air became pale

and crystalline; objects seemed to glitter at the edges, as

though every tree and man and blade of grass was limned

in diamond. The Sithi rolled past like a great ocean wave

capped with gleaming spear-points. Their faces were hard

and fierce and beautiful as the faces of hunting hawks,

and their hair streamed in the wind of their passage. The

immortals' steeds seemed to race more swiftly than any

horses could run, but they moved in a way that seemed fit

only for dreams, pace smooth as melting honey, hooves

carving the darkness into pale streaks of fire.

Within moments the bright company had dwindled to a

dark mass vanishing in the west, their hoofbeals a fading

murmur. They left behind them silence and, in some of

the watchers, tears.

"The Fair Ones . -." Eolair breathed at last. His own

voice seemed as thick and hoarse as the croaking of a

frog.

"The ... Sithi?" Isorn shook his head as though he had

been struck a blow. "But... but why? Where are they go-

ing?"

And suddenly Eolair knew. "The Fox's Bargain," he

said, and laughed. His heart felt buoyant in his chest.

"What do you mean?" Isom watched in bewilderment

as the Count of Nad Mullach turned and headed back into

the forest.

"An old song," he called back- "The Fox's Bargain!"

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He laughed again and sang, feeling the words leap out as

though they sought the night air of their own accord.

" 'We never forget,' the Fair Ones said,

'Though Time may ancient run.

You will hear our horns beneath the moon,

You will see our spears shine in the sun ..,' "

"I do not understand!" Isom cried-

"Never mind!" Eolair was almost out of sight, moving

rapidly toward the camp. "Get the men! We must ride to

Hemysadharc!"

As if to echo him, a silvery horn sounded in the distance-

^

"It is an old song of our people," Eolair called across

to Isom. Although they had been riding at speed since be-

fore the sun had risen, there was no sign of the Sithi but

for a trample of hoofprints on the snowy grass, hoofprints

already fading as the grass sprang back and the snow liq-

uefied in the morning's warmth. "It tells of the promise

the Fair Ones made to the Red FoxPrince Sinnach

before the battle of Ach Samrath: they swore they would

never forget the faithfulness of Hemystir."

"So you think they are riding against Skali?"

"Who can say? But look where they are bound!" The

count stood in the saddle and pointed out across the broad

grasslands at the tracks disappearing into the west. "True

as an arrow's flight to the Taig!"

"Even if that is where they are going, we cannot ride

all the way there at this pace," said Isom. "The horses are

flagging already, and we have only traveled a few

leagues."

Eolair looked around. The company was beginning to

slide apart, some of the riders falling well back. "Perhaps.

But, Bagba bite me, if they are going to Hemysadharc, I

want to be there!"

Isorn grinned, his wide face crinkling. "Not unless

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

559

your fairy-folk left us some of their fairy-horses, with

wings on their feet. But we will get there eventually."

The count shook his head, but pulled gently back on

the reins, slowing his gray horse to a canter. "True. We'll

do no one any good if we kill our mounts."

"Or ourselves." Isom waved his hand to slow the rest

of the company.

They stopped for a midday meal. Eolair balanced his

impatience against what he knew to be the wisdom of

having his troop at least somewhat rested; if there was to

be fighting, men who were ready to drop in their tracks

and horses who could not walk another step would make

a very indifferent contribution.

After an hour's rest they were back in the saddle again,

but Eolair now kept the pace more reasonable. By (he

time darkness arrived, they had crossed the Inniscrich to

the outskirts of the territory of Hemysadharc, although

they were still several hours' ride from the Taig. They

had passed some encampments that Eolair guessed had

belonged to Skali's men. All were deserted, but signs in-

dicated that the tenancy had been recent; in one of them

the cookfires still smoldered. The count wondered if the

Rimmersmen had fled before the onrushing Sithi, or had

suffered some other, stranger fate.

At Isom's insistence, Eolair finally brought the com-

pany to a halt near Ballacym, a walled town on a low hill-

side that looked back over the western edge of the

Inniscrich. Much of the town had been destroyed during

Lluth's losing battle with Skali nearly a year before, but

enough of the walls remained to offer some shelter.

"We do not want to arrive in the midst of any struggle at

night," Isom said as they rode through the shattered gates.

"Even if you are correct and your fairy-folk have come to

fight for Hemystir, how will they know the difference be-

tween the right and wrong sort of mortal in the dark?"

Eolair was not pleased, but he could not dispute the

wisdom of Isom's words. As he had already known, there

was little his small band could do against a large army

like Skali's, but the thought of having to wait was still

infuriating. His heart had sung to match the Sithi them-

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selves as he had watched them ride. To do somethingto

finally strike a blow at those who had devastated his land!

The idea had pushed at him like a strong wind. And now

he must wait until morning.

Eolair drank more than his usual modest portion of

wine that night, though it was in short supply, then lay

down early, uninterested in talking about what they all

had seen and what they might be riding toward. He knew

that even with the wine-fumes in his head, sleep would be

a long time coming. It was.

"I do not like this," Ule Frekkeson growled, drawing

back on his reins. "Where have they gone? And, by the

Holy Aedon, what has happened here?"

The streets of Hemysadharc were strangely deserted,

Eolair knew that few of his people had remained after

Skah's conquest, but even if all the Rimmersmen had

been driven out by the Sithiwhich seemed impossible,

since scarcely more than a day had passed since the Fair

Ones rode past, half a hundred leagues westthere

should still be at least a few of the native Hemystir-folk.

"I do not like it any more than you do," the count re-

plied, "but I cannot imagine Skali's entire army would be

hiding in ambush for our seven or eight score."

"Eolair is right." Isom shaded his eyes. The weather

was still cold, but the sun was surprisingly bright. "Let's

ride in and take our chances."

Ule bit back a rejoinder, then shrugged. The trio rode

in through the crude gates the Rimmersmen had built; the

men followed, talking among themselves.

It was disturbing enough to see a wall around

Hemysadharc. Never in Eolair's memory had there been

one, and even the ancient wall that circled the Taig re-

mained only out of the Hemystiri reverence for past days.

Most of the older wall had collapsed long ago, so that the

remaining sections stood vastly separated, like the few re-

maining teeth in an old man's jaw. But this rough yet

sturdy barrier around the innermost section of the city had

been built very recently.

What was Skali afraid of? Eolair wondered. The re-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

561

maining Hemystiri, a beaten people? Or perhaps it was

his own ally, the High King Elias, that he did not trust.

Disturbing as it was to see the new wall, it was even

more so to see what had happened to it. The timbers were

scorched and blackened as though they had been lightning-

struck, and a section wide enough for a score of riders to

pass through abreast had been blasted away entirely. A few

wisps of smoke still curled above the wreckage.

The mystery of what had happened to Hemysadharc's

inhabitants was partially solved as Eolair's company

swung out onto the wide road that had once been named

Tethtain's Way. That name had passed not long after the

great Hemystiri King, and people usually called it the

Taig Road, for it led directly up the hill to the great hall.

Now, as the company entered the muddy thoroughfare,

they saw a great crowd of people standing at the summit

of the hill, clustered around the Taig like sheep at a salt

lick. Curious but still careful, Eolair and the others rode

forward.

When Eolair saw that most of the crowd swarming on

the lower slopes of Hem's Hill seemed to be Hemystiri,

his heart rose. When a few of the outermost people

turned, alarmed at the sight of-a troop of mounted and

armored men, he hastened to reassure them.

"People of Hemysadharc!" he cried, standing in his

stirrups. Several more members of the crowd turned at the

sound of his voice. "I am Eolair, Count of Nad Mullach.

These men are my friends and will do you no harm."

The reaction was surprising. While several of those

nearest cheered and waved to him, they seemed little

moved. After staring for a moment, they turned their at-

tention back to the hilltop again, despite the fact that none

of them had a better vantage point than mounted Eolair,

and he himself could see nothing before him but the

stretching crowd.

Isorn was puzzled, too. "What are you doing here?" he

shouted to the people standing nearby. "Where is Skali?"

Several shook their heads as though they did not under-

stand, and several others made joking remarks about

Skali being headed back to Rimmersgard, but no one

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seemed inclined to waste too much time or energy en-

lightening the duke's son and his companions.

Eolair cursed quietly and spurred his horse forward,

letting the beast make room for him. Although no one ac-

tively contested his passage, it was slow going to push

through the crush of people, and no short while before

they passed between two of the standing remnants .of

ruined fortress wall and onto the ancient grounds of the

Taig. Eolair squinted, then whistled with astonishment.

"Bagba bite me," he said, and laughed, although he

could not have said why.

The Taig and its outbuildings still stood on the hilltop,

solid and impressive, but now all the fields across the

summit of Hem's Hill were covered with wildly colorful

tents. They were every shade imaginable and a hundred

different sizes and shapes; someone might have emptied a

giant basket of quilt-squares across the snowy grass.

What had been the capital of the Hemystiri nation, the

royal seat, had suddenly become a village constructed by

wild, magical children.

Eolair could see movement among the tentsslender

shapes in garb as colorful as the newly-erected dwellings-

He spurred forward, passing the last of the Hemystiri on-

lookers as he climbed the hill. These stared hungrily at

the bright cloth and the strange visitors, but seemed reluc-

tant to cross the last open space and draw too close. Many

watched the count and his company with something like

envy.

As they rode into the wind-billowed city of tents, a

lone figure came toward them. Eolair reined up, prepared

for anything, but was astonished to find that the one who

came forward to greet them was Craobhan, the royal fam-

ily's most elderly but also most loyal advisor. The old

man seemed almost thunderstruck to see them; he stared

at Eolair for a long time without speaking, but at last tears

came to his eyes and he opened his arms wide.

"Count Eolair! Mircha's wet blessing upon us, it's

good to see you."

The count scrambled down from his horse and em-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER563

braced the counselor. "And you, Craobhan, and you.

What has happened here?"

"Ha! More than I can tell you standing in the wind."

The old man chuckled strangely. He seemed genuinely

befuddled, a state in which Eolair had never thought to

find him. "By all the gods, more than I can tell you.

Come to the Taig. Come in and have somethingfood,

drink."

"Where is Maegwin? Is she well?"

Craobhan looked up, his watery gaze suddenly in-

tent. "She is alive and happy," he said. "But come. Come

see ... well, as I said, more than I can tell you now." The

old man took his elbow and tugged.

Eolair turned and waved to the others. "Isom, Ule,

come!" He patted Craobhan's shoulder. "Can our men

have something to eat?"

Beyond worrying, Craobhan waved his bony hand.

"Somewhere. Some of the people from the town have

probably hoarded a few things. There's much to do,

though, Eolair, much to do. Hardly know where to start."

"But what's happened? Did the Sithi drive off Skali?"

Craobhan pulled at his arm, leading him toward the

great hall.

The Count of Nad Mullach got scarcely more than a

glance at the score or so of Sithi who were on the hilltop.

Those he saw seemed absorbed in the task of building

their camp, and did not even look up as Eolair and the

others walked by, but even from a distance he could see

the strangeness of them, their odd but graceful motions,

their quiet serenity. Although in some places more than a

few Sithi were working together, men and women both,

they uttered no words that he could hear, going about

their tasks with a smooth uniformity of purpose that was

somehow as unsettling as their alien faces and move-

ments.

As they drew closer to the Taig, it was easy to see the

marks of Skali's occupation. The carefully cultivated gar-

dens had been dug up, the stone pathways torn apart.

Eolair cursed Sharp-nose and his barbarians, then won-

dered again what had happened to the occupiers-

Tad Williams

Inside the Taig's great doors things were no different.

The walls had been denuded of tapestries, relics had been

stolen from their niches, and the floors were scarred with

the ruts of countless booted feet. The Hall of Carvings,

where King Lluth had held court, was in better

conditionEolair guessed it had been Thane Skali's

seatbut still there were signs that the northern reavers

had not been overly reverent- Many scores of arrows bris-

tled in the high-arched ceilings, where the hanging

wooden carvings had proven tempting targets for

Kaldskryke's winter-bound soldiers.

Craobhan, who seemed to wish to avoid talking, seated

them in the hall and went to find something to drink.

"What do you suppose has happened, Eolair?" Isom

shook his head. "It makes me feel ashamed to be a

Rimmersman when I see what Skali and his cutthroats

have done to the Taig." Beside him, Ule was peering sus-

piciously into the corners of the hall, as though

Kaldskrykemen might be hiding there.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," said Eolair.

"They did not do this because they were Rimmersmen,

but because they were in someone else's country in a bad

time. Hernystiri or Nabbanai or Erkynlanders might do

the same."

Isom was not mollified. "It is wrong. When my father

has his dukedom back, we will see that the damage is re-

paired."

The count smiled, "If we all survive and this is the

worst we have to deal with, then I will gladly sell my

own home at Nad Mullach stone by stone to make it right

again. No, this will be mild, I'm afraid."

"I fear you are right, Eolair." Isom frowned. "God

knows what has happened in Elvritshalla since we were

driven out- And after the terrible winter, too."

They were interrupted by Craobhan, who tottered back

in with a young Hernystiri woman who carried four large

hammered silver tankards decorated with the leaping stag

of the royal house.

"Might as well use the best," Craobhan said with a

crooked smile. "Who's to say no in these strange days?"

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER565

"Where is Maegwin?" Eolair's apprehension had

grown when she had not appeared to greet them.

"Sleeping." Again Craobhan made a dismissive ges-

ture- "I'll take you when you've finished. Drink up."

Eolair stood. "Forgive me, old friend, but I'd like to

see her now. I'll be better able to enjoy my beer."

The old man shrugged. "In her old room. There's a

woman seeing to her." He seemed more interested in his

tankard than in the fate of the king's only living child-

The count looked at him for a moment- What had hap-

pened to the Craobhan he knew? The old man seemed

muddle-headed, as though he'd been struck with a club.

There were far too many other things that needed wor-

rying over. Eolair walked out of the hall, leaving the oth-

ers to drink and stare up at the shattered carvings.

Maegwin was indeed sleeping. The wild-haired woman

who sat beside the bed looked slightly familiar, but Eolair

gave her scarcely more than a glance before he kneeled

down and took Maegwin's hand. A wet cloth lay across

her forehead.

"Has she been wounded?" There seemed to be some-

thing Craobhan was keeping from himperhaps she was

badly hurt.

"Yes," the woman said. "But it was a glancing blow

only, and she has already recovered." The woman lifted

the cloth to show Eolair the bruise on Maegwin's pale

brow. "She is merely resting now. It has been a great

day."

Eolair turned sharply at the sound of her voice. She

looked as distracted as Craobhan, her eyes wide and fey,

her mouth twitching-

Has everyone here gone mad? he wondered.

Maegwin stirred at the sound of his voice. As he turned

back, her eyes fluttered open, closed again, then opened

once more and stayed that way.

"'Eolair... ?" Her voice was groggy with sleep. She

smiled like a young child, with no trace of the fretfulness

he had seen the last time they had spoken. "Is that you,

truly? Or just another dream. -.."

"It is me. Lady." He squeezed her hand again. She

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looked little different at that moment than when she had

been a girl and he had first felt his heart stirring with in-

terest. How could he have ever been angry with her, no

matter what she had said or done?

Maegwin tried to sit up. Her sorrel hair was disar-

ranged, her eyes still heavy-lidded. She seemed to have

been put to bed fully dressed; only her feet, which pro-

truded from beneath the blanket, were bare. "Did ... did

you see them?"

"Did I see who... ?" he asked gently, although he felt

sure he knew. Her answer, though, surprised him.

'The gods, silly man. Did you see the gods? They were

so beautiful...."

"The ... gods?"

"I made them come," she said, and smiled sleepily.

"They came for me...." She let her head fall back into

the pillow and closed her eyes. "For me," she murmured.

"She needs sleep. Count Eolair," me woman said from

behind him. There was something peremptory in her

voice that lifted Eolair's hackles.

"What is she talking about, the gods?" he demanded.

"Does she mean the Sithi?"

The woman smiled, a smugly knowing smile. "She

means what she says."

Eolair stood, holding back his anger. There was much

to discover here. He would bide his time. "Take good

care of Princess Maegwin," he said as he moved toward

the door. It was more of an order than a request. The

woman nodded.

Musing, Eolair had just re-entered the Hall of Carvings

when there was a clatter of boots at the front doors be-

hind him. He stopped and turned, his hand reflexively

dropping to his sword-hilt. A few paces away, Isom and

husky Ule also rose, alarm plain on their faces.

The figure that appeared in the door of the hall was tall

but not overly so, dressed in blue armor that, strangely,

had the look of painted woodbut the armor, an intricate

collection of plates held together by shiny red cords, was

not the strangest thing about him. His hair was white as

a snow-drift; bound in a blue scarf, it fell past his shoul-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER567

ders. He was slender as a young birch tree, and despite

the color of his hair, looked to be scarcely into his man-

hood, insofar as Eolair could read a face so angular, so

different from a human face. The stranger's upturned eyes

were golden, bright as noon sun reflected in a forest

pond.

Surprised into immobility, Eolair stared. It was as

though some creature out of elder days stood before him,

one of his grandmother's stories appearing in flesh and

bone. He had expected to meet the Sithi, but he was no

more prepared than someone told about a deep canyon

could be when they suddenly discovered they were stand-

ing on its rim.

When the count had stood frozen for some seconds, the

newcomer took a step backward. "Forgive me." The

stranger made an oddly-articulated bow, sweeping his

long-fingered hand past his knees, but although there was

something light in his movements, there was no mockery.

"I forget my manners in the heat of this memorable day.

May I enter here?"

"Who ... who are you?" Eolair asked, startled out of

his normal courtesy. "Yes, come in."

The stranger did not seem offended. "1 am Jiriki

i-Sa'onserei. At this moment I speak for the Zida'ya. We

have come to repay our debt to Prince Sinnach of

Hemystir." After this formal speech, he suddenly flashed

a cheerfully feral grin. "And who are you?"

Eolair hastily introduced himself and his companions.

Isorn was staring, fascinated, and Ule was pale and unset-

tled- Old Craobhan wore an odd, mocking smile.

"Good," Jiriki said when he had finished. 'This is very

good. I have heard your name mentioned today. Count

Eolair. We have much to talk about. But first, who is the

master here? I understand that the king is dead."

Eolair looked dazedly to Craobhan. "Inahwen?"

"The king's wife is still up in the caves in the

Grianspog." Craobhan wheezed with what might have

been laughter. "Wouldn't come down with the rest of us.

I thought she was being sensible at the time. Then again,

perhaps she was."

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"And Maegwin, the king's daughter, is asleep." Eolair

shrugged. "I suppose then I am the one with whom you

must speak, at least for the present."

"Would you be kind enough to come with me to our

camp? Or would you rather we came here to talk?"

Eolair was not sure exactly who "we" might be, but he

knew he would never forgive himself if he did not expe-

rience this moment to its fullest. Maegwin, in any case,

obviously needed her rest, which would not be best ac-

complished with the Taig full of men and Sithi.

"We will be pleased to accompany you, Jiriki

i-Sa'onserei," the count said.

"Jiriki, if it is acceptable." The Sitha stood waiting-

Eolair and his companions walked with him out the

Taig's front doors. The tents billowed before them like a

field of oversized wildflowers. "Do you mind my ask-

ing," Eolair ventured, "what happened to the wall Skali

built around the city?"

Jiriki seemed to ponder for a moment. "Ah. That," he

said at last, and smiled, "I think you probably are speak-

ing of the handiwork of my mother, Likimeya. We were

in a hurry. The wall was in our way."

"Then I hope / am never in her way," Isom said ear-

nestly.

"As long as you do not come between my mother and

the honor of Year-Dancing House," said Jiriki, "you need

not worry."

They continued across the wet grass. "You mentioned

the bargain with Sinnach," the count said- "If you can de-

feat Skali in a day ... well, forgive me, Jiriki, but how

was the battle at Ach Samrath ever lost?"

"First, we have not quite defeated this Skali. He and

many of his men have fled into the hills and out onto the

Frostmarch, so there is work still to be done. But your

question is a good one." The Sitha's eyes narrowed as he

considered. "I think we are, in some ways, a different

people from what we were five centuries gone. Many of

us were not born then, and we children of the Exile are

not as cautious as our elders- Also, we feared iron in

those days, before we learned how to protect ourselves

TOGREENANGELTOWER569

from it." He smiled, that same fierce cat-grin, but then his

face grew somber- He brushed a strand of his pale hair

from his eyes. "And these men. Count Eolair, these

Rimmersmen here, they were not prepared for us. Sur-

prise was on our side. But in the battles aheadand there

will be many, I thinkno one will be so unprepared.

Then it will be like Ereb Irigu all over againwhat you

men call 'the Knock.' There will be much killing, I fear

... and my people can afford it even less than yours."

As he spoke, the wind that rippled the tents changed di-

rection, swinging around until it blew from the North. It

was suddenly much colder on Hern's Hill.

A

Elias, High King of all Osten Ard, staggered like a

drunkard. As he made his way across the Inner Bailey

courtyard he lurched from one shadowy spot to another as

though the direct light of the sun made him ill. even

though it was a gray, cold day and the sun itself, even at

noon, was invisible behind a choke of clouds. The

Hayholt's -chapel dome loomed behind him, strangely

asymmetrical; a mass of dirty -snow, long uncleared, had

dimpled several of the leaded panes inward so that the

great dome looked like an old, rumpled felt hat.

Those few shivering peasants who were compelled to

live within the Hayholt's walls and tend the castle's crum-

bling facilities seldom left their quarters unless forced by

duty, which usually appeared in the form of a Thrithings-

man overseer, whose commands were upheld by the pos-

sibility of sudden and violent retribution- Even the

remainder of the king's army now barracked itself in the

fields outside Erchester. The story given out was that

the king was unwell and wished his peace, but it was

commonly whispered that the king was mad, that his cas-

tle was haunted. As a result, only a handful of people

were creeping about the Inner Bailey this gray, murky af-

ternoon, and of those fewa soldier bearing a message

for the Lord Constable, a pair of fearful rustics carting a

wagon full of barrels away from Pryrates' chambersnot

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a one watched Ellas' uneven passage for more than a mo-

ment before looking away. Not only would it be danger-

ous, possibly even fatal, to be caught staring at the king

in his infirmity, but there was something so dreadfully

wrong in his stiff-legged gait, some quality so terrifyingly

unnatural, that those who saw him felt compelled to turn

aside and furtively make the sign of the Tree before their

breasts.

Hjeldin's Tower was gray and squat. With the red win-

dows in its upper story gleaming dully, it might have been

some ruby-eyed pagan god of the Nascadu wastes. Elias

came to a stop before the heavy oak doors, which were

three ells high and painted an unglossy black, studded

with bronze hinges going splotchily green. On either side

of the entrance stood a figure hooded and robed in a black

even darker and flatter than the door. Each bore a lance of

strange, filigreed design, a fantastic weave of curlicues

and whorls, sharp as a barber's razor.

The king swayed in place, staring at the twin appari-

tions. It was clear that the Noms filled him with unease.

He moved another step closer to the door. Although nei-

ther of the sentries moved, and their faces were invisible

in the depths of their hoods, they seemed to become sud-

denly more intent, like spiders feeling the first trembling

steps of a fly on the outskirts of a web.

"Well?" Elias said at last, his voice surprisingly loud.

"Are you going to open the damned door for me?"

The Norns did not reply. They did not move.

"Blast you to hell, what ails you?!" he growled. "Don't

you know me, you miserable creatures? I'm the king!

Now open the door!" He took a sudden step forward- One

of the Noms allowed his lance to sag a handspan into the

doorway. Elias stopped and leaned back as though the

point had been waved in his face.

"So this is the game, is it?" His pale face had begun to

take on a gleam of madness. "This is the game? In my

own house, eh?" He began to rock back and forth on his

heels as though preparing to fling himself toward the

door. One of his hands slithered down to clutch at the

double-guarded sword which hung at his belt.

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

571

The sentry turned slowly and thumped twice on the

heavy doors with the butt of his lance. After a moment's

pause, he banged three more times before resuming his

settled stance.

As Elias stood staring, a raven screeched on one of the

tower's parapets. After what seemed like only a few

heartbeats, the door grated open and Pryrates stood in the

gap, blinking.

"Elias!" he said. "Your Majesty! You honor me!"

The king's lip curled. His hand was still tightening and

loosening on Sorrow's hilt. "I don't honor you at all,

priest. I came to talk to youand / am dishonored."

"Dishonored? How?" Pryrates' face was full of

shocked concern, but there was an unmistakable trace of

mirth as well, as though he played mocking games with a

child. "Tell me what has happened and what I can do to

make it up to you, my king."

"These ... things wouldn't open the door." Elias jerked

his hand toward the silent warders. "When I tried to do it

myself, one of them blocked my path."

Pryrates shook his head, then turned and conversed

with the Noms in their own musical speech, which he

seemed to speak well if somewhat haltingly. He faced the

king again. "Please do not blame them. Highness, or even

me. You see, some of the things I do here in the pursuit

of knowledge can be hazardous. As I told you before, I

fear that someone coming in suddenly might find himself

endangered. You, my king, are the most important man in

the world. Therefore I have asked that no one be allowed

to walk in until I am here to escort them." Pryrates

smiled, an unmodified baring of teeth that would have

seemed appropriate on the face of an eel. "Please under-

stand that it was for your safety. King Elias."

The king looked at him for a moment, then peered at

the two sentries; they had returned to their positions and

were stiff as statues once more. "I thought you were us-

ing mercenaries to stand guard. I thought these things

didn't like the daylight."

"It does not harm them," said Pryrates. "It is just that

after several score centuries living in the great mountain

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Stonnspike, they prefer shade to sun." He winked, as

though over the foibles of some eccentric relative. "But I

am at an important point in my studies, nowour studies,

Majestyand thought they would be better warders."

"Enough of this," Elias said impatiently. "Are you go-

ing to let me in? I came here to talk to you. It can't wait."

"Of course, of course," Pryrates assured him, but the

priest seemed suddenly distracted. "I always look forward

to speaking with you, my king. Perhaps you would prefer

it if I came to your apartments... ?"

"Damn it, priest, let me in. You don't make a king

stand on the doorstep, curse you!"

Pryrates shrugged and bowed. "Of course not, sire." He

stepped aside, extending his arm toward the staircase.

"Come up to my chambers, please."

Inside the great doors, in the high-ceilinged anteroom,

a single torch burned fitfully. The comers were full of

shadows that leaned and stretched as though struggling to

free themselves. Pryrates did not pause, but went immedi-

ately up the narrow staircase. "Let me go ahead and make

sure things are ready for you. Majesty," he called back,

his voice echoing in the stairwell.

Elias stopped on the second landing to catch his breath.

"Stairs," he said direly. "Too many stairs."

The door to the chamber was open, and the light of

several torches spilled out into the passageway. As he en-

tered, the king looked up briefly at the windows, which

were masked by long draperies. The priest, who was clos-

ing the lid of a large chest on what seemed to be a pile of

books, turned and smiled. "Welcome, my king. You have

not favored me with a visit here in some time."

"You have not invited me. Where can I sit downI am

dying."

"No, my lord, not dying," Pryrates said cheerfully.

"The opposite, if anythingyou are being reborn. But

you have been very sick of late, it's true- Forgive me.

Here, take my chair." He ushered Elias to the high-backed

chair; it was innocent of any decorations or carvings, yet

somehow carried an air of great antiquity. "Would you

like some of your soothing drink? I see Hengfisk has not

TOGREENANGELTOWER573

accompanied you, but I could arrange to have some

made." He turned and clapped his hands. "Munshazou!"

he called.

"The monk is not here because I have knocked in his

head, or near to," Elias growled, shifting uncomfortably

on the hard seat. "If I never see his pop-eyed face again,

I will be a happy man." He coughed, his fever-bright eyes

blinking closed. At this moment, he did not look in the

least like a happy man.

"He caused you some trouble? I am so unhappy to hear

that, my king. Perhaps you should tell me what happened,

and I will see that he is ... dealt with. I am your servant,

after all."

"Yes," Elias said dryly. "You are." He made a noise in

his throat and shifted again, trying to find a better posi-

tion.

There was a discreet cough from the doorway. A small

dark-haired woman stood there. She did not look particu-

larly aged, but her sallow face was lined with deep wrin-

kles. A mark of some kindit might have been a letter

from some foreign scriptwas scribed on her forehead

above her nose. She moved ever so slightly as she stood,

weaving in a slow, circular motion so that the hem of her

shapeless dress brushed against the floor and the tiny

bone-colored charms she wore at waist and neck tinkled

gently.

"Munshazou," Pryrates said to Elias, "my servant from

Naraxi, from my house there." He told the dark woman:

"Bring something the king can drink. And for meno, I

need nothing. Go now."

She turned with a rattle of ivory and was gone- "I apol-

ogize for the interruption," said the alchemist. "You were

telling me of your problem with Hengfisk."

"Don't worry about the monk. He is nothing. 1 just

woke suddenly and found him standing over me, staring.

Standing over my bed!" Remembering, the king shook

himself like a wet dog. "God, but he has a face only a

mother could bear. And that cursed smile always ..."

Elias shook his head. "I struck himgave him my fist.

Knocked him right across the bedchamber." He laughed

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and then coughed. 'Teach him to come spying on me

while I sleep. I need my sleep. I've been getting precious

little-..."

"Is that why you came to me. Lord?" Pryrates asked.

"For your sleep? I could perhaps make something for

youthere is a sort of wax I have that you could bum in

a dish by your bedside...."

"No!" Elias said angrily. "And it's not the monk, ei-

ther. I came to you because I had a dream!"

Pryrates looked at him carefully. The patch of skin

above his eyea spot where others had eyebrowsrose

in a questioning look. "A dream, lord? Of course, if that

is what you wish to speak with me about ..."

"Not that sort of dream, damn you! You know what

kind I mean. I had a dream!"

"Ah." The priest nodded. "And it disturbed you."

"Yes it bloody well did, by the Sacred Tree!" The king

winced and laid his hand on his chest, then burst into an-

other round of wracking coughs. "I saw the Sithi riding!

The Dawn Children! They were riding to Hemystir!"

There was a faint clicking noise from the door.

Munshazou had reappeared, bearing a tray on which

stood a tall goblet glazed in a deep rust-red. It steamed.

"Very good." Pryrates strode forward to take it from

the woman's hand. Her small, pale eyes watched him, but

her face remained expressionless- "You may go now," he

told her. "Here, Majesty, drink this. It will help your

clouded chest."

Elias took the goblet suspiciously and sipped. "It tastes

like the same swill you always give me."

"There are ... similarities." Pryrates moved back to his

position near the trunk full of books. "Remember, my

king, you have special needs."

Elias took another swallow. "I saw the immortalsthe

Sithi. They were riding against Skali." He looked up from

; his cup to fix his green gaze on Pryrates. "Is it true?"

'"Things seen in dreams are not always wholly true or

wholly false ..." Pryrates began.

"God damn you to the blackest circles of hell'" Elias

shouted, half-rising from the chair. "Is it true?!"

TOGREENANGELTOWER

575

Pryrates bowed his hairless head- "The Sithi have left

their home in the fastness of the forest."

Elias' green eyes glittered dangerously. "And Skali?"

Pryrates moved slowly toward the door, as though pre-

paring to flee. "The thane of Kaldskryke and his Ravens

have ... decamped."

The king hissed out a long breath and his hand tugged

at Sorrow's hilt, sinews jumping in his pale arm. A length

of the gray sword appeared, mottled and shiny as a

pikefish's back. The torches in the room seemed to bend

inward, as though drawn toward it. "Priest," Elias

growled, "you are listening to your last few heartbeats if

you don't speak quickly and plainly."

Instead of cringing, Pryrates drew himself upright. The

torches fluttered again, and the alchemist's black eyes lost

their luster; for a moment, the whites seemed to vanish,

almost as though they had drawn back into his head, leav-

ing only holes in a darkened skull. An oppressive tension

filled the tower room. Pryrates raised his hand and the

king's knuckles tightened on the sword's long hilt. After

a moment's stillness the priest lifted his fingers to his

neck, carefully smoothed the collar of his red robe as

though adjusting the fit, theft let the hand drop again.

"I am sorry. Highness," he said, and allowed himself a

small, self-mocking smile. "It is often a counselor's wish

to shield his liege from news that might be upsetting. You

have seen rightly. The Sithi have come to Hernystir and

Skali has been driven out."

Elias stared at him for a long moment. "What does this

mean to all your plans, priest? You said nothing about the

Dawn Children."

Pryrates shrugged. "Because it means nothing. It was

inevitable once things reached a certain point. The in-

creasing activity of ... of our benefactor was bound to

draw them in. It should not disrupt any of our plans."

"Should not? Are you saying that what the Sithi do

doesn't matter to the Storm King?"

"That one has planned long- There is nothing that will

surprise him in any of this. In truth, the Norn Queen told

me to expect it."

576Tad Williams

"She did, did she? You seem very well informed,

Pryrates," Elias' voice had not lost its edge of fury. "Then

tell me: if you knew this, why can you not tell me what

is happening with Fengbald? Why have we no knowledge

of whether he has driven my brother from his lair?"

"Because our allies deem it of little account." Pryrates

lifted his hand again, this time to forestall the king's an-

gry reply. "Please, majesty, you asked for candor and so

I give it to you. They feel that Josua is beaten and that

you waste your time with him. The Sithi, on the other

hand, have been the enemies of the Noms since time out

of mind."

"But still of no account, apparently, if what you said

before is correct." The king glowered. "I do not under-

stand how they can be more important than my treacher-

ous brother and yet not important enough for us to worry

abouteven when they have destroyed one of my chief

allies. I think you are playing a double game, Pryrates.

God help you if I find that to be true!"

"I serve only my master, Highness, not the Storm King,

not the Norn Queen. It is all a matter of timing. Josua was

a threat to you once, but you defeated him. Skali was

needed to protect your flank, but he is no longer neces-

sary- Even the Sithi are no threat, because they will not

come against us until they have saved Hemystir. They are

cursed by ancient loyalties, you see. That will be far too

late for them to be any hindrance to your ultimate vic-

tory."

Elias stared into his steaming cup. "Then why did I see

them riding in my dreams?"

"You have grown close to the Storm King, sire, since

you accepted his gift." Pryrates gestured to the gray

sword, now sheathed once more. "He is of the Sithi

bloodor was when he still lived, to speak rightly. It is

only natural that the mustering of the Zida'ya should

draw his attention and thus make its way to you." He

moved a few steps closer to the king. "You have had

other ... dreams ... before this, have you not?"

"You know I have, alchemist." Elias drained the cup,

then made a face as he swallowed. "My nights, those few

TOGREENANGELTOWER

577

when sleep actually comes, are full of him. Full of him!

Of that frozen thing with the burning heart." His eyes

wandered across the shadowed walls, suddenly full of

fear. "Of the dark spaces between ..."

"Peace, your Majesty," Pryrates said. "You have suf-

fered much, but the reward will be splendid. You know

that."

Elias shook his head heavily. His voice, when he spoke,

was a straining rasp. "I wish I had known the way this

would feel, the things ... the things tt would do to me. I

wish I had known before I made that devil's bargain. God

help me, I wish I had known."

"Let me get my sleeping-wax for you, Highness. You

need rest."

"No." The king lifted himself awkwardly from the

chair. "I do not want any more dreams. It would be better

never to sleep again."

Elias moved slowly toward the door, waving away

Pryrates' offer of assistance. He was a long time going

down the stairs.

The red-robed priest stood and listened to his entire de-

scent- When the great outer doors creaked open and then

crashed closed, Pryrates shook' his head once, as if dis-

missing an irritating thought, then went to retrieve the

books he had hidden.

Jiriki had gone ahead, his smooth strides carrying him

deceptively quickly. Eolair, Isom, and Ule followed at a

slower pace, trying to take in the strange sights.

It was particularly unsettling for Eolair, to whom

Hemysadharc and the Taig had been a second residence.

Now, following the Sitha across Hem's Hill, he felt like

a father come home to find that all his children were

changelings.

The Sithi had built their tent city so swiftly, the bil-

lowing cloths stretched artfully between the trees that

ringed the Taig, that it almost seemed it had always been

therethat it belonged. Even the colors, which had been

578

Tad Williams

so jarringly bright when seen from a distance, now

seemed to him more mutedtones of summer sunset and

dawn more in keeping with a king's house and gardens.

If their lodgings already seemed like a natural part of

the hilltop, the Zida'ya themselves seemed scarcely less

at home. Eolair saw no sign of diffidence or meekness in

those Sithi who surrounded him; they paid scant attention

to the count and his companions. The immortals walked

proudly, and as they worked they sang lilting songs in a

language that, although strange to him, seemed oddly fa-

miliar in its swooping vowels and birdlike trills. Although

they had been in the place scarcely a day, they seemed as

comfortable on the snowy grass and beneath the trees as

swans scudding across a mirror-still pond. Everything

they did seemed to speak of immense calm and self-

knowledge; even the act of looping and knotting the many

ropes that gave their tent city its shape became a kind of

conjuror's trick. Watching them, Eolairwho had always

been judged a nimble, graceful manfelt bestial and

clumsy.

The new-made house into which Jiriki had vanished

was little more than a ring of blue and lavender cloth

which hemmed one of the hilltop's magisterial oak trees

like a paddock around a prize bull. As Eolair and the oth-

ers stood, uncertain, Jiriki reemerged and beckoned them

forward.

"Please understand that my mother may stray a little

beyond the bounds of courtesy," Jiriki murmured as they

stood at the opening. "We are mourning for my father and

First Grandmother." He ushered them forward into the en-

closure. The grass was dry, swept clean of snow. "I bring

Count Eolair of Nad Mullach," he said, "Isorn

Isgrimnurson of Elvritshalla, and Ule Frekkeson of

Skoggey."

The Sitha-woman looked up. She was seated on a cloth

of pale, shining blue, surrounded by the birds which she

had been feeding. Despite the soft feathered bodies

perched on her knees and arms, Eolair had the immediate

impression that she was hard as sword-steel. Her hair was

flaming red, bound by a gray scarf across her forehead;

TOGREENANGELTOWER

579

several long, soot-colored feathers hung in her braids.

Like Jiriki, she was armored in what looked to be wood,

but hers was shiny and black as a beetle's shell. Beneath

the armor she wore a kirtle of dove-gray. Soft boots of the

same color rose above her knees. Her eyes, like her son's,

were molten gold.

"Likimeya y'Briseyu no'e-Sa'onserei," Jiriki intoned.

"Queen of the Dawn Children and Lady of the House of

Year-Dancing."

Eolair and the rest dropped to a knee.

"Get up, please." She spoke in a throaty murmur, and

seemed less comfortable with the mortal tongue than

Jiriki. "This is your land. Count Eolair, and it is the

Zida'ya who are guests here. We have come to pay our

debt to your Sinnach."

"We are honored. Queen Likimeya."

She waved a long-nailed hand- "Do not say 'queen.' It

is a title, onlyit is the nearest mortal word. But we do

not call ourselves such things except at certain times."

She cocked an eyebrow at Eolair as he and his compan-

ions rose. "You know, Count Eolair, there is an old story

that Zida'ya blood is in the House of Nad Mullach."

For a moment the count was confused, thinking she

meant some kind of injustice had been done against the

Sithi in his ancestral home. When he realized what she had

truly said, he felt his own blood turn cold and the hairs lift

on the back of his arms. "An old story?" Eolair felt as

though his head was about to float away. "I'm sorry, my

lady, I am not sure I understand. Do you mean to say that

there was Sithi blood among my ancestors?"

Likimeya smiled, a sudden, fierce gleam of teeth. "It is

an old story, as I said."

"And do the Sithi know whether it is true?" Was she

playing some son of game with him?

She fluttered her fingers. A cloud of birds leaped up

and into the tree branches overhead, momentarily hiding

her from view with the blur of their wings. "Long ago,

when mortals and Zida'ya were closer ..." She made a

strange gesture. "It could be. We know it can happen."

Eolair definitely felt himself on shaky ground, and was

580 Tad Williams

surprised at how swiftly his training in diplomacy and

politicking had deserted him. "It has happened, then? The

Fair Folk have ... mingled with mortals?"

Likimeya seemed to lose interest in the subject. "Yes.

Long ago, for the most part." She motioned to Jiriki, who

came forward with more of the shimmery, silken cloths,

which he spread for the count and his companions before

gesturing for them to sit. "It is good to be on M'yin

Azoshai again."

"That is what we call this hill," Jiriki explained. "It

was given to Hem by Shi'iki and Senditu. It was, I sup-

pose you would say, a sacred place for our folk. That it

was granted to a mortal for his steading is a mark of the

friendship between Hern's people and the Dawn Chil-

dren."

"We have a legend that says something much like

that," Eolair said slowly. "I had wondered if there was

truth to it."

"Most legends have a kernel of truth at their center."

Jiriki smiled.

Likimeya had turned her cat-bright eyes from Eolair to

his two comrades, who almost seemed to flinch beneath

the weight of her gaze, "And you are Rimmersmen," she

said, looking at them intently. "We have little cause to

love your folk."

Isom hung his head. "Yes, Lady, you do." He took a

deep breath, steadying his voice. "But please, do not for-

get that we live short lives. That was many years agoa

score of generations. We are not much like Fingil."

Likimeya's smile was brief. "You may not be, but what

about this kinsman of yours we have put to flight? I have

seen his handiwork here on M'yin Azoshai, and it looks

little different than what your Fingil BIoodfist did to the

Zida'ya lands five centuries ago."

Isom shook his head slowly, but did not reply. Beside

him, Ule had turned quite pale and looked as though he

might bolt at any moment.

"Isom and Ule fought against Skali," Eolair said hur-

riedly, "and we were bringing more men here to take up

the battle when you and your folk passed us by- You have

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER581

done these two as great a favor by putting the murderer to

flight as you have done for my own people. Now there is

hope that someday Isom's father can retain his rightful

dukedom."

"Ah." Likimeya nodded. "Now we come to it. Jiriki,

have these men eaten?"

Her son looked at the count inquiringly. "No, my lady,"

Eolair replied.

"Then you will eat with us, and we will talk."

Jiriki got up and vanished through a gap in the rippling

walls- There followed a long and, for Eolair, uncomforta-

ble silence which Likimeya seemed uninchned to break.

They sat and listened to the wind in the oak tree's upper

branches until Jiriki returned bearing a wooden tray piled

with fruit, bread, and cheese.

The count was astonished. Didn't these creatures have

servants to perform such humble tasks? He watched while

Jiriki, as commanding a presence as he had ever encoun-

tered, poured something from a blue crystal flask into

drinking cups carved from the same wood as the tray,

then handed the cups to Eolar and his companions with a

simple but elegant bow. The queen and prince of the el-

dest folk, yet they waited on themselves? The gap be-

tween Eolair and these immortals seemed broader than

ever.

Whatever was in the crystal flask burned like fire but

tasted like clover-honey and smelled like violets. Ule

sipped his cautiously, then drained it at a swallow and

gladly let Jiriki refill his cup. As he drank his own cup

dry, Eolair felt the pain of two days' hard riding dissolve

in the warm glow. The food was excellent as well, each

piece of fruit at the peak of ripeness- The count wondered

briefly where the Sithi could have found such delicacies

in the middle of a year-long winter, but dismissed it as

only another small miracle in what was rapidly becoming

a vast catalog of wonders.

"We have come to war," Likimeya said suddenly. Of

all, only she had not eaten, and she had taken no more

than a sip of the honey cordial. "Skali eludes us for a mo-

ment, but the heart of your kingdom is free. We have

582 Tad Williams

made a start. With your help, Eolair, and those of your

people whose wills are still strong, we will soon lift the

yoke from the neck of our old allies."

"There are no words for our gratitude. Lady," Eclair re-

plied. "The Zida'ya have shown us today that they honor

their promises. Few mortal tribes can say the same."

"And what then. Queen Likimeya?" Isom asked. He

had drunk three glasses of the pale elixir, and his face had

gone a bit red. "Will you ride with Josua? Will you help

him take the Hayholt?"

The look she turned on him was cool and austere. "We

do not fight for mortal princes, Isom Isgrimnurson. We

fight to honor our debts, and to protect ourselves."

Eolair felt his heart sink. "So you will stop here?"

Likimeya shook her head, then lifted her hands and

wove her fingers together. "It is nothing like that simple.

I spoke too quickly. No, there are things that threaten

both your Josua Lackhand and the Dawn Children as

well. Lackhand's enemy has made a bargain with our en-

emy, it seems. Still, we will do what we alone are fit for:

once Hemystir is free, we will leave the wars of mortals

to mortalsat least for now. No, Count Eolair, we owe

other debts, but these are strange times." She smiled, and

this time the smile was a little less predatory, a little more

like something that might stretch across a mortal face.

Eolair was struck by her angular beauty. At the same mo-

ment, in lightning juxtaposition, he realized that he sat

before a being who had seen the fall of Asu'a. She was as

old as the greatest cities of menolder, perhaps- He shiv-

ered.

"Yet," Likimeya continued, "although we wilt not ride

to the aid of your embattled prince, we will ride to the aid

of his fortress."

There was a moment of confused silence before Isom

spoke. "Your pardon. Lady. We do not understand what

you mean."

It was Jiriki who answered. "When Hemystir is free,

we will ride to Naglimund. It is the Storm King's now,

and it stands too close to the house of our exile. We will

take this place back from him." The Sitha's face was

TOGREENANGELTOWER

583

gnm. "Also, when the final battle comesand it is com-

ing, mortal men, do not doubt itwe wish to be sure that

the Noms have no bolt hole left in which to hide them-

selves."

Eolair watched Jiriki's eyes as the Sitha spoke, and fan-

cied that he saw a hatred there that had smoldered for

centuries.

"A war unlike any the world has seen," Likimeya said

A war in which many matters will be settled for once

and all. If Jinki's eyes smoldered, hers blazed

19

A Broken Smite

A

"I have done all I can do for either of them

unless ..." Cadrach rubbed fretfully at his damp fore-

head, as though to bring out some idea hiding there. He

was obviously exhausted, but just as obviouslywith the

duke's slurs still fresh in his mindhe was not going to

let that stop him.

"There is nothing else to be done," Miriamele said

firmly. "Lie down. You need some sleep."

Cadrach looked up at Isgrimnur, who stood at the bow

of the flatboat with the pole clasped firmly in his broad

hands. The duke only tightened his lips and returned to

his inspection of the watercourse. "Yes, then, I suppose I

should." The monk curled up beside the still forms of

Tiamak and the other Wrannaman.

Miriamele, recently awakened from her own evening-

long nap, leaned forward and draped her cloak across the

three of them. There was little use for the garment any-

way, except to keep off bugs. Even near midnight, the

marsh was warm as a midsummer day.

"If we snuff the lamp," Isgrimnur rumbled, "maybe

these creepy-crafties will go make a meal on something

else for a change." He slapped at his upper arm and held

the resultant smear up for inspection. "The damnable

light draws them. You'd think a lamp that comes from

that marsh-man town would keep 'em away." He snorted.

"How people can live here year-round is a puzzle to me."

"If we're going to do that, we should drop the anchor."

Miriamele did not much like the idea of floating along in

TOGREENANGELTOWER585

the dark. So far, they seemed to have left the ghants be-

hind, but she still looked carefully at every low-hanging

branch or dangling vine. But Isgrimnur had gone long

without sleep; it only seemed fair to try to bring him

some relief from the flying insects.

"That's good. I think this bit is wide enough to make us

as safe as we'd be anywhere else," Isgrimnur said. "Don't

see any branches. The little bugs are bad enough, but if I

never see one of those Aedon-cursed big ones again ..."

He did not need to finish. Miriamele's shallow sleep had

been full of dreams of clacking, scuttling ghants and

sticky tendrils that held her in place when she wanted

only to run.

"Help me with the anchor." Together they heaved the

stone up and dumped it over the side. When it had struck

bottom, Miriamele tested the rope to make sure there was

not too much slack. "Why don't you sleep first," she told

the duke. "I'll watch for a little while."

"Very well."

She glanced quickly at Camaris, sleeping soundlessly

in the stem with his white head propped on his cloak,

then she reached out and shuttered the lamp.

At first, the darkness was frighteningly complete.

Miriamele could almost feel jointed legs reaching silently

toward her, and fought the impulse to turn around and

wave her hands in the blackness to keep the phantoms at

bay.

"Isgrimnur?"

"What?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice."

Her sight began to come back. There was little enough

lightthe moon was gone, either blocked by clouds or by

the close-tangled trees that roofed the watercourse, and

the stars were only faint specksbut she could make out

forms around her, the dark bulk of the duke, the patchy

shadows of the river banks on either side.

She heard Isgrimnur rattling the pole around until he

got it well-situated, then his shadowy form sank down.

"Are you sure you don't need to sleep more yourself?" he

asked. Weariness was making his voice muddy.

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Tad Williams

"I'm rested. I'll sleep a little later. Go on now, put your

head down."

Isgrimnur did not protest furthera sure sign of his ex-

haustion. Within moments he was snoring noisily.

Miriamele smiled.

The boat moved so smoothly that it was not hard to

imagine they were floating like a cloud through the night

sky. There was no tide and no discernible current, only

the minute push of the swamp breezes that sent them

slowly circling around the anchor, moving smoothly as

quicksilver on a tilted pane of glass, Miriamele sat back

and stared up at the murky sky, trying to make out a fa-

miliar star. For the first time in some days, she could af-

ford the luxury of homesickness.

/ wonder what my father is doing now? Does he think

about me? Does he hate me?

Thoughts of Elias set other things to stirring inside her

head. Something Cadrach had mentioned their first night

after escaping the Eadne Cloud had been nagging at her.

During his long and difficult confession, the monk had

said that Pryrates had seemed particularly interested in

communicating with the dead"speaking through the

veil," Cadrach had said it was calledand that those

were the parts of Misses' book on which he had been

most fixated. For some reason, that phrase had made her

think of her father. But why? Was it something Elias had

said?

Try as she might to summon the idea that had snagged

at the back of her mind, it remained elusive- The boat

spun slowly, silent beneath dim stars.

She had drowsed a little. The first light of morning was

creeping into the skies above the marsh, turning them

pearly gray. Miriamele straightened, groaning quietly. Her

bruises and aches from the ghant nest had begun to

stiffen: she felt as though she had been rolled down a hill

in a bag of rocks-

"L-L-Lady?" It was a breathy sound, little more than

a sigh.

"Tiamak?!" She turned abruptly, causing the boat to

TOGREENANGELTOWER587

pitch. The Wrannaman's eyes were open. His face, though

pale and slack-featured, held the spark of intelligence

once more.

"Y-yes. Yes, Lady." He took a deep breath, as though

even those few words had tired him out. "Where ... are

we?"

"We are on the waterway, but I have no idea where. We

poled for most of a day after leaving the ghant nest." She

looked at him carefully. "Are you in pain?"

He tried to shake his head, but could only move it

slightly. "No. But water. Would be kind."

She leaned across the boat to take the water skin lying

near Isgrimnur's leg. She unstoppered it and gave the

Wrannaman a few careful swallows.

Tiamak turned a little to eye the still form next to him.

"Younger Mogahib," he whispered. "Is he alive?"

"Barely. At least he seems very close to ... he seems

very sick, although Cadrach and I couldn't find any

wounds on him."

"No. You would not. Nor on me." Tiamak let his head

fall back and closed his eyes. "And the others?"

"Which others?" she asked cautiously. "Cadrach,

Isgrimnur, Camaris, and I are *all here, and all more or

less well."

"Ah. Good." Tiamak's eyes remained closed.

In the prow, Isgrimnur sat up groggily, "What's this,

then?" he mumbled. "Miriamele ... what?"

"Nothing, Isgrimnur. Tiamak's woken up."

"Has, has he?" The duke settled back, already sliding

down into slumber once more. "Brains not scrambled?

Talks like himself? Damnedest thing I ever saw ..."

"You were speaking another language in the nest,"

Miriamele told Tiamak. "It was frightening."

"I know." His face rippled, as though he fought down

revulsion. "I will talk about it later. Not now." His eyes

opened partway. "Did you bring anything out with me?"

Miriamele shook her head, thinking. "Just you. And the

muck you were covered with."

"Ah." Tiamak looked disappointed for a moment, but

588 Tad Williams

then relaxed. "Just as well." A moment later, his eyes

opened wide. "And my belongings?" he demanded.

"Everything you had in the boat is still here." She pat-

ted the bundle,

"Good ... good." He sighed his relief and slid down

into the cloak.

The sky was growing paler, and the foliage on either

side of the river was beginning to emerge from shadow

into color and life.

"Lady?"

"What?"

'Thank you. Thank you all for coming after me."

Miriamele listened as his breathing grew slower. Soon

the little man was asleep again.

"As I told Miriamele last night," Tiamak said, "I wish

to thank you all. You have been better friends to me than

I could have hopedcertainly better than I have earned."

Isgrimnur coughed. "Nonsense. Couldn't have done

anything else." Miriamele thought the duke looked a little

shamefaced. Perhaps he was remembering the debate on

whether to try to save the Wrannaman or to leave him be-

hind-

The company had set up a makeshift camp near the wa-

tercourse. The small fire, its flames almost invisible in the

bright late-morning light, was burning merrily, heating

water for soup and yeltowroot tea.

"No, you do not understand. It was not merely my life

you saved. If I have a kaa soul, you would call itit

would not have survived another day in that place. Per-

haps not another hour."

"But what were they doing to you?" Miriamele asked.

"You were babbling awayyou sounded almost like a

ghant yourself!"

Tiamak shuddered. He was sitting up, wrapped in her

cloak, but he had so far moved very little. "I will tell you

as best I can, although I do not understand much myself.

But you are certain that you brought nothing out of that

place with me?"

The rest of the company shook their heads.

TOGREENANGELTOWER589

"There was ..." he began, then stopped, thinking. "It

was a piece of what looked like a mirrora looking

glass. It was broken, but there was still a bit of the frame

in place, carved with great an. They ... the ghants ...

they put it in my hands." He lifted his palms to show

them the healing cuts. "As soon as I held it, I felt cold

running through me, from my fingers right into my head.

Then some of the creatures vomited forth that sticky sub-

stance, covering me with it." He took a deep breath but

could not immediately continue. For a moment he just

sat, tears shining in his eyes.

"You don't have to talk about it, Tiamak," Miriamele

said. "Not now."

"Or at least just tell us how they got hold of you,"

Isgrimnur said. "If that's not so bad. I mean."

The Wrannaman looked down at the ground. "They

caught me as easily as if I were a just-hatched crablet.

Three of them dropped on me out of the trees," he looked

up quickly, as though it might happen again, "and while

I struggled with them, a dozen more came swarming

down and overwhelmed me. Oh, they are clever! They

wrapped me in vines, just as you or I would bind a pris-

oner, although they did not seem able to tie knots. Still,

they held the vines tight enough that I could not escape.

Then they tried to lift me into the trees, but I suppose I

was too heavy. Instead, they were forced to grab at vines

and sunken branches and pull the flatboat against the

sandbank. Then they took me to the nest. I cannot tell you

how many times I wished that they would kill me, or at

least knock me senseless. To be carried alive and awake

through that horrible pitch-black place by those chattering

things... !" He had to pause for a moment to regain his

composure.

"What they did with me, they had already done with

Younger Mogahib." He nodded toward the other

Wrannaman, who lay on the ground nearby, still locked in

feverish slumber. "I think he lived because he had not

been there long: perhaps he had not proved as useful a

tool as they thought I would. In any case, they must have

had to free him to get the mirror-shard for me. When they

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dragged him past, I cried out. He was half-mad, but he

heard my voice and called back. I recognized him then,

and shouted that my boat was still on the bank outside,

that he should escape if he could and take it."

"Did you tell him to find us?" Cadrach asked. "It was

an unbelievable stroke of luck if he was trying to."

"No, no," Tiamak said. "There were only moments.

Later, though, I hoped that if he did get free and made his

way back to Village Grove, he might find you there. But

even then, I only hoped that you would find out I had not

deserted you by choice." He frowned. "It was too much

to hope that someone would come into that place after

me...."

"Enough of that, man," Isgrimnur said quickly. "What

were they doing to you?"

Miriamele was certain now that the duke wished to

avoid the subject of their decision. She almost smiled- As

if anyone would ever doubt his good will and bravery!

Still, after what he had said about Cadrach, perhaps

Isgrimnur was a little sensitive.

"I am still not sure." Tiamak squinted, as if trying to

summon an image to his mind's eye- "As I said, they ...

put the mirror in my hand and covered me with that ooze.

The feeling of cold grew stronger and stronger. I thought

I was dyingsmothering and freezing at the same mo-

ment' Then, just when I was certain I had breathed my

last, something even stranger happened." He looked up,

meeting Miriamele's eyes as though to make sure that she

would believe him. "Words began to come into my

headno, not words. There were no words to it at all,

merely ... visions." He paused. "It was as though a door

had been openedas though someone pushed an entrance

through into my head and other thoughts came flooding

in. But, worst of all, they . . . they were not human

thoughts."

"Not human? But how could you know such a thing?"

Cadrach was interested now, leaning forward, his gray

eyes intent on the Wrannaman.

"I cannot explain, but just as you could hear a red

knifebill squawk in the trees and know it was not a hu-

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591

man voice, so I could tell that these were thoughts that

had never known a mortal mind. They were . . . cold

thoughts. Slow and patient and so hateful to me that I

would have torn my head from my shoulders if I had not

been imprisoned in that muck. If I did not quite believe in

They Who Breathe Darkness before, I do now. It was

h-horrible to have them inside of my sk-skull."

Tiamak was shaking- Miriamele reached forward to

pull the cloak up around his shoulders. Isgrimnur, nervous

and fidgeting, threw more sticks onto the flames. "Per-

haps you have told enough," she said.

"I am almost f-f-finished. F-forgive me, my t-t-teeth

are banging together."

"Here," Isgrimnur said, relieved to have something to

do. "We'll move you closer to the fire."

When Tiamak was relocated, he began again.

"I half-knew that I was speaking like a ghant, although

it did not feel like that. I felt as though I was taking the

terrible, crushing thoughts inside my head and speaking

them aloud, but somehow it came out as clicks and buzz-

ing and all the noises those creatures make. Yet it made

sense, somehowit was what I wanted to do, to talk and

talk, to let all the thoughts of the cold thing inside me just

bleed out for the ghants to understand."

"What were the thoughts about?" Cadrach asked. "Can

you remember?"

Tiamak scowled. "Some. But as I said, they were not

words, and they were so unlike the things I think or you

think that I find it difficult even to explain what I do re-

member." He snaked a hand out from the folds of the

cloak to take a bowl of yellowroot tea. "They were vi-

sions, really, just pictures as I told you. I saw ghants

swarming out of the swamps into the citiesthousands

upon thousands, like flies on a sugar-bulb tree. They were

just... just swarming. And they were all singing in their

buzzing voices, all singing the same song of power and

food and never dying."

"And this was what the ... the cold thing was telling

them?" Miriamele asked.

"I suppose. I was speaking as a ghant, I was seeing

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things as they didand that was terrible, too. He Who

Always Steps on Sand, preserve me from ever seeing

such a thing again! The world through their eyes is

cracked and skewed, the only colors are blood-red and

tar-black. Shimmery, too, as though everything were cov-

ered in grease, or as if one's eyes were full of water.

Andthis is the hardest to explainnothing had a face,

not the other ghants, not the people running screaming

from the invaded cities. Every living th-thing was just a

muddy 1-1-lump with 1-legs."

Tiamak fell silent, sipping his tea, the bowl trembling

in his hands.

"That is all." He took a deep, shaky breath. "It seemed

as though it lasted for years, but it cannot have been more

than a few days."

"Poor Tiamak!" Miriamele said with feeling. "How did

you keep your wits!?"

"I would not have if you had been any longer in com-

ing," he said firmly. "I am sure of that. I could feel my

own mind straining and slipping, as though I hung by my

fingertips over a long drop. A drop into darkness without

end." He looked down into his tea-bowl. "I wonder how

many of my fellow villagers besides Younger Mogahib

served them as I did, but were not rescued?"

"There were lumps." Isgrimnur spoke slowly. "Other

lumps in a row beside youbut bigger, with no heads

sticking out. I came close to them." He hesitated. "There

were ... there were shapes under that white ooze."

"Others of my tribe, I am sure," Tiamak murmured.

"Ah, it is horrible. They must have been used up like can-

dles, one at a time." His face sagged. "Horrible."

No one said anything for a while.

Miriamele finally spoke. "You said that the ghants had

never been dangerous before."

"No. Although I am sure now that they became danger-

ous enough after I left that the villagers made a raid on

the nest. That is why the weapons were missing from

Older Mogahib's house, almost certainly. And the things

Isgrimnur saw tells what happened to the raiders." He

TOGREENANGELTOWER

593

looked over to the other Wrannaman. "This one was

probably the last of the prisoners,"

"But I still don't understand all this about a mirror,"

the duke said. "Ghants don't use mirrors, do they?"

"No. Nor do they make anything so fine." Tiamak of-

fered the duke a weak smile. "I wonder too, Isgrimnur."

Cadrach, who had been pouring out a bowlful of tea for

silent Camaris, turned to look over his shoulder. "I have

some ideas, but I must think on them. However, one thing

is sure. If some sort of intelligence does guide those crea-

tures, or is capable of guiding them sometimes, then we

cannot afford to tarry. We must escape the Wran as

swiftly as we possibly can." His tone was cold, as though

he spoke of events that barely concerned him. Miriamele

did not like the distant look in his eyes.

Isgrimnur nodded. "The monk's right, for once. I don't

see that we have any time to waste."

"But Tiamak is sick'" Miriamele said angrily.

"There is nothing to be done. Lady. They are right. If

I can be propped up with something to lean against, I can

give directions. I can at least take us-far enough from the

nest by nightfall that we might risk sleeping on land."

"Let's to it, then." Isgrimnur rose. "Time is short."

"It is indeed," said Cadrach. "And growing shorter ev-

ery day."

His tone was so flat and somber that the others turned

to look at him, but the monk only sloshed to the water's

edge and began loading their belongings back into the

flatboat.

By the next day, Tiamak was much recovered, but

Younger Mogahib was not. The Wrannaman slid in and

out of fever-madness. He thrashed and raved, shouting

things that, when Tiamak translated them, sounded much

like the nightmarish visions he himself had experienced;

when he was quiet. Younger Mogahib lay like one dead.

Tiamak fed him concoctions made from healing herbs

gathered along the banks of the watercourse, but they

seemed little use.

"His body is strong. But I think his thoughts are

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wounded, somehow." Tiamak sadly shook his head. "Per-

haps they had him longer than I suspected."

They sailed on through the Wran, bearing north in the

large part, but going there by a circuitous route that only

Tiamak could follow. It was clear that without him they

would indeed have been doomed to wander the swamp's

backwaters for a long time. Miriamele did not like to

think about what their end might have been.

She was growing tired of the swamp. The descent into

the nest had filled her with a disgust for mud and stench

and odd creatures that now spread to include all the wild

Wran. It was stunningly alive, but so was a tub full of

worms. She would not want to spend a moment longer

than necessary in either of them.

On the third night after their escape from the nest,

Younger Mogahib died. He had been shouting, according

to Tiamak, about "the sun running backward" and about

blood pouring through the drylander cities like rainwater,

when suddenly his face darkened and his eyes bulged.

Tiamak tried to give him water to drink, but his jaws were

clamped shut and could not be opened. A moment later,

the Wrannaman's entire body went rigid. Long after the

gleam of life had faded from his wide eyes he remained

as stiff as a wooden post.

Tiamak was upset, although he tried to maintain his

composure. "Younger Mogahib was not a friend," he said

as they drew a cloak over the staring face, "but he was

the last link to my village. Now I will not know if they

were all capturedtaken to the nest..." his lip quivered,

"... or fled to another, safer village when the raiding

party failed."

"If there are safer villages," said Cadrach. "You say

there are many ghant nests in the Wran. Could this be the

only one that has become so dangerous?"

"I do not know." The small man sighed. "I will have to

come back and search for an answer to that,"

"Not by yourself," Miriamele said firmly. "Stay with

us. When we find Josua, he will help you find your peo-

ple."

TOGREENANGELTOWER595

"Now, Princess," Isgrimnur cautioned, "you can't

know that for certain...."

"Why not? Am I not of the royal blood as well?

Doesn't that count for anything? Besides, Josua will need

all the allies he can find, and the Wrannamen are nothing

to scoff atas Tiamak has proven to us time and again."

The marsh man was dreadfully embarrassed. "You are

kind. Lady, but I could not hold you to such a promise."

He looked down at Younger Mogahib's shrouded form

and sighed. "We must do something with his body."

"Bury him?" Isgrimnur asked. "How do you, when the

ground's so wet?"

Tiamak shook his head- "We do not bury our dead. I

will show you in the morning. Now, if you will forgive

me, I need to walk for a while." He limped slowly out of

the campground.

Isgrimnur looked uncomfortably at the body. "I wish

he hadn't left us with this."

"Do you fear ghosts, Rimmersman?" Cadrach asked

with an unpleasant smile.

Miriamele frowned. She had hoped that when the

monk's oil-fire missiles had helped them escape, the hos-

tility between Cadrach and Isgmnnur would diminish. In-

deed, the duke seemed ready to call a truce, but Cadrach's

anger had hardened into something cold and more than a

little unpleasant.

"There's nothing wrong with caution ..." Isgrimnur

began.

"Oh, be quiet, both of you," Miriamele said irritably.

"Tiamak has just lost his friend."

"Not a friend," Cadrach pointed out.

"His clansman, then. You heard him: this man was the

only one of his village he's found since he returned. This

is the only other Wrannaman he's seen! And now he's

dead. You'd want a little time alone, too." She turned on

her heel and walked over to sit next to Camaris, who was

twining grasses to make a sort of necklace.

"Well ..." Isgrimnur said, but then fell silent, chewing

his beard. Cadrach, too, said no more.

596 Tad Williams

When Miriamele awoke the next morning, Tiamak was

gone. Her fears were allayed a short while later when he

returned to the camp bearing a huge sheaf of oil-palm

fronds. As she and the others watched, he wrapped Youn-

ger Mogahib with them, layer after layer, as if in parody

of the priest of Erchester's House of Preparing; soon

there was nothing to be seen but an oblong bundle of ooz-

ing green leaves.

"I will take him now," Tiamak said quietly. "You need

not come with me if you do not wish it."

"Would you like us to?" Miriamele asked.

Tiamak looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "I

would like that, yes."

Miriamele made sure that the others came alongeven

Camaris, who seemed far more interested in the fringe-

tailed birds in the branches overhead than in corpses and

funeral parties.

With Isgrimnur's help, Tiamak carefully laid Younger

Mogahib's leaf-wrapped body in the flatboat. A short way

up the watercourse, he poled against a sand bank and led

them ashore. He had built a sort of frame of thin branches

in a flat clearing. Beneath the frame, wood and more oil-

palm leaves had been stacked. Again with Isgrimnur's as-

sistance, Tiamak lifted the bundle up onto the slender

frame, which swayed gently beneath the weight of the

corpse.

When everything had been arranged to his satisfaction,

Tiamak stepped back and stood beside his companions,

facing the frame and the unlit pyre.

"She Who Waits to Take All Back," he intoned, "who

stands beside the last river. Younger Mogahib is leaving

us now. When he drifts past, remember that he was brave:

he went into the ghant nest to save his family, his clans-

men and clanswomen. Remember also that he was good."

Here Tiamak had to pause and think for a moment.

Miriamele remembered that he had said he and the other

Wrannaman had not been friends. "He always respected

his father and the other elders," Tiamak declared at last.

"He gave his feasts when they were allotted, and did not

stint." He took a deep breath. "Remember your agreement

TOGREENANGELTOWER597

with She Who Birthed Mankind. Younger Mogahib had

his life and lived it; then, when They Who Watch and

Shape touched his shoulder, he gave it up. She Who Waits

to Take All Back, do not let him drift by!" Tiamak turned

to his companions. "Say it with me, please."

"Do not let him drift by!" they all cried together. In the

tree overhead, a bird made a sound like a squeaky door.

Tiamak went and kneeled beside the pyre. With a few

strokes of flint and steel, he set a spark among the scraps

of oil palm. Within moments, the fire was burning

strongly, and soon the leaves wrapped around Younger

Mogahib's body began to blacken and curl.

"You do not need to watch," said Tiamak. "If you wait

for me a little downstream, I will join you soon."

This time, Miriamele sensed, the Wrannaman did not

want company. She and the others boarded the boat and

poled a little way along the watercourse, until a bend in

the stream hid from their view all but the growing plume

of dark gray smoke.

Later, when Tiamak came wading through the water,

Isgrimnur helped him aboard. They poled the short dis-

tance back to camp. Tiamak said little that night, but sat

and stared at the campfire long after the others had bed-

ded down.

A

"I think I understand something of Tiamak's story,

now," Cadrach said-

It was late morning, six days since they had left the

ghant nest behind. The weather was warm, but a breeze

made the watercourse more pleasant than it had been in

days- Miriamele was beginning to believe they might ac-

tually see the last of it soon.

"What do you mean, understand?" Isgrimnur tried to

keep the surliness out of his voice, but without complete

success. Relations between the Rimmersman and the

monk had continued to worsen.

Cadrach favored him with a magisterial stare, but

directed his reply to Miriamele and Tiamak, who sat in

598 Tad Williams

the middle of the boat. Camaris, watching the banks in-

tently, was poling in the stem. 'The shard of mirror. The

ghant speech- I think I may know what they mean."

"Tell us, Cadrach," Miriamele urged.

"As you know. Lady, I have studied many ancient mat-

ters." The monk cleared his throat, not entirely averse to

having an audience. "I have read of things called Wit-

nesses. .,."

"Was that in Misses' book?" Miriamele asked, then was

startled to feel Tiamak cringe beside her as if dodging a

blow. She turned to look at him, but the slender man was

staring at Cadrach with what looked oddly like

suspiciona fierce, intent suspicion, as if it had just been

revealed that the Hemystirman was half-ghant.

Puzzled, she looked at the monk to find that he was

looking at her with fury.

/ suppose he doesn't much want to think about that,

Miriamele realized, and felt bad that she had not kept

quiet. Still, Tiamak's reaction was what truly puzzled her.

What had she said? Or what had Cadrach said?

"In any case," Cadrach said heavily, as if unwillingly

forced to continue, "there were once things called Wit-

nesses, which were made by the Sithi in the depths of

time. These things allowed them to speak to each other

over great distances, and perhaps even let them show

dreams and visions to each other. They came in many

forms'Stones and Scales, Pools and Pyres,' as the old

books say. 'Scales' are what the Sithi called mirrors. I do

not know why."

"Are you saying that Tiamak's mirror was -.. one of

those things?" Miriamele asked-

"That is my guess."

"But what would the Sithi have to do with the ghants?

Even if they hate men, which I have heard, I can't believe

they would like those homd bugs any better."

Cadrach nodded. "Ah, but if these Witnesses still exist,

it could be that others beside the Sithi can use them. Re-

member, Princess, all the things you heard at Naglimund.

Remember who plans and waits in the frozen north."

TOGREENANGELTOWER599

Miriamele, thinking of Jamauga's strange speech, sud-

denly felt a chill quite unrelated to the mild breeze.

Isgrimnur leaned forward from his seat before Camaris'

knees. "Hold, man. Are you saying that this Storm King

fellow is doing some magic with the ghants? Then what

did they need Tiamak for? Doesn't make sense."

Cadrach bit back a sharp reply. "I don't claim to know

anything with certainty, Rimmersman. But it could be that

the ghants are too different, too ... simple, perhaps ...

for those who now use these Witnesses to be able to

speak with them directly." He shrugged. "It is my guess

that they needed a human as a sort of go-between. A mes-

senger."

"But what could the Stor ..." Miriamele caught her-

self. Even though Isgrimnur had uttered the name, she

had no desire to do the same- "What could someone like

that want with the ghants down in the Wran?"

Cadrach shook his head. "It is far beyond me. Lady.

Who could hope to know the plans of ... someone like

that?"

Miriamele turned to Tiamak. "Do you remember any-

thing else of what you were being made to say? Could

Cadrach be right?"

Tiamak appeared reluctant to talk about it. He stared

cautiously at the monk. "I do not know. I know little

about ., - about magic or ancient books. Very little." The

Wrannaman fell into silence.

"I thought I disliked the ghants before," Miriamele said

finally. "But if that's trueif they're somehow part of ...

of what Josua and the others are fighting against..." She

wrapped her arms around herself. "The sooner we leave

here, the better."

"That's something we all agree on," Isgrimnur rum-

bled.

In Miriamele's dreams that night, as the boat gently

rocked on the slow-moving waters, voices spoke to her

from behind a veil of shadowthin, insistent voices that

whispered of decay and loss as though they were things

to be desired.

6oo Tad Williams

She woke up beneath the faint stars and realized that

even surrounded by friends, she was terribly lonely.

A

Tiamak's recovery proved to be incomplete. Within a

day after Younger Mogahib's ceremonial burning, he had

fallen back into a kind of fever that left him weak and

listless. When darkness fell, the Wrannaman had terrible

dreams, visions that he could not remember in the mom-

ing but which made him writhe in his sleep and cry out.

With Tiamak suffering his nightly tortures, the remainder

of the company was nearly as ill-rested as he was.

More days passed, but the Wran lingered like a guest

that had outstayed his welcome: for every league of

marshy tangle they crossedfloating beneath the steamy

sky or wading through clinging, foully-scented mud as

they struggled with the heavy flatboatanother league of

swamp appeared before them. Miriamele began to feel

that some sorcerer was playing a cruel trick on them, spir-

iting them back to their starting place each night while

they lay in shallow sleep.

The hovering insects who seemed to delight in finding

each person's tenderest spot, the shrouded but potent sun,

the air as hot and damp as the steam over a soupbowl, all

helped bring the travelers' tempers close to the snapping

pointand many times to push them past it. Even the ar-

rival of rain, which at first seemed like such a blessing,

turned out to be another curse. The monotonous, blood-

warm downpour persisted for three whole days, until

Miriamele and her companions began to feel that demons

were pounding on their heads with tiny hammers. The un-

pleasant conditions were even beginning to affect old

Camaris, who had previously been unmoved and un-

touched by almost everything, so calm that he allowed the

biting bugs to crawl across his skin without reprisal

something that made Miriamele itch uncontrollably just

watching. But the three days and nights of unbroken rain

reached even the old knight at last. As they poled along

through the third day's storm, he pulled a hat he had

TOGREENANGELTOWER601

made from fronds lower over his white brows and stared

miserably out at the rain-pocked watercourse, his long

face so sorrowful that Miriamele finally went and put her

arm around him. He gave no clear sign of it, but some-

thing in his posture suggested he was grateful for the con-

tact; whether that was true or not, he stayed in place for

some time, seemingly a little more content. Miriamele

marveled at his broad back and shoulders, which seemed

almost indecently solid on an old man.

Tiamak found it a labor just to sit upright in the stem

of the boat, wrapped in a blanket, and call directions

through his chattering teeth. He told them they had nearly

reached the Wran's northern fringe, but he had already

told them that many days earlier, and the Wrannaman's

eyes now had an odd, glazed look. Miriamele and

Isgrimnur were being careful not to let each other see

they were worrying. Cadrach, who more than once

seemed on the verge of coming to blows with the duke,

was openly scornful about their chances of finding the

way out. Isgrimnur at last told him that if he made any

more pessimistic predictions he would be thrown over the

side, so that if he wished to make the rest of the journey

it would have to be by swimming. The monk ceased his

carping, but the looks he directed at the duke when

Isgrimnur's back was turned made Miriamele uneasy.

It was clear to her that the Wran was finally wearing

them all down. It was not a place for people, ultimately

especially drylanders.

"Over here should do well," she said. She took a few

more awkward steps, struggling to stay upright as the

mud squelched beneath her bootsoles.

"If you say so. Lady," Cadrach murmured.

They had moved a little way from their camp to bury

the remains of their meal, mostly fish bones and scaly

skin and fruit pits. During the long course of their jour-

ney, the inquisitive Wran apes had proved all too willing

to come into camp in search of leavings, even if one of

the human company stayed up and sat sentry. The last

time the offal had not been removed to at least a few

602 Tad Williams

score yards from the campsite, the travelers had spent all

night in the middle of what seemed a festival of brawling,

screeching apes, all in mad competition for the rights to

the finest scraps.

"Go to, Cadrach," she said crossly. "Dig the hole."

He gave her a quick sidelong look, then bent and began

scraping at the moist soil. Pale wriggling things came -up

with each stroke of the hollowed reed spade, gleaming in

the torchlight. When he had finished, Miriamele dropped

in the leaf-wrapped bundle and Cadrach pushed the mud

over it, then turned and began to make his way back to-

ward the glow of the camp fire-

"Cadrach."

He turned slowly. "Yes, Princess?"

She took a few steps toward him- "I ... I am sorry that

Isgrimnur said what he did to you. At the nest." She lifted

her hands helplessly. "He was worried, and he sometimes

speaks without thinking. But he is a good man."

Cadrach's face was expressionless. It was as though he

had drawn some curtain across his thoughts, leaving his

eyes curiously flat in the torchlight. "Ah, yes-. A good

man. There are so few of those."

Miriamele shook her head. "That is not an excuse, I

know. But please, Cadrach, surely you can understand

why he was upset!"

"Of course. I can well understand it. I have lived with

myself for many years. Ladyhow can I fault someone

else for feeling the same way, someone who doesn't even

know all that I know?"

"Damn you," Miriamele snapped. "Why must you be

this way? I don't hate you, Cadrach! I don't loathe you,

even though we have caused trouble for each other!"

He stared at her for a moment, seeming to struggle

with conflicting emotions. "No, my lady. You have

treated me better than I deserve."

She knew better than to argue. "And I don't blame you

at all for not wanting to go into that nest!"

He shook his head slowly. "No, Lady. Nor would any

man, even your duke, if they knew ..."

"Knew what?" she said sharply. "What happened to

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

you, Cadrach? Something more than what you told me

about Pryratesand about the book?"

The monk's mouth hardened- "I do not wish to speak

of it."

"Oh, by Elysia's mercy," she said, frustrated. She took

a few steps forward and reached out and grasped his

hand. Cadrach flinched and tried to pull back, but she

held him tightly. "Listen to me. If you hate yourself, oth-

ers will hate you. Even a child knows that, and you are a

learned man."

"And if a child is hated," he spat, "that child will grow

to hate itself,"

She did not understand what he meant. "But, please,

Cadrach. You must forgive, starting with yourself. I can-

not bear to see a friend so mistreated, even by himself."

The steady pressure with which the monk had tried to

pull away suddenly slackened. "A friend?" he said rough-

ly.

"A fnend." Minamele squeezed his hand and then re-

leased it. Cadrach pulled back a step, but went no further.

"Now please, we must try to be kind to each other until

we reach Josua, or we shall all go mad."

"Reach Josua ..." The monk' repeated her words with-

out inflection. He was suddenly very distant.

"Of course." Miriamele started to walk toward the

camp, then stopped again. "Cadrach?"

He did not reply for a moment. "What?"

"You know magic, don't you?" When he remained si-

lent, she plunged on. "I mean, you know a great deal

about it, at leastyou've made that clear. But I think that

you actually know how to do it."

"What are you talking about?" He sounded irritated,

but there was a trace of fear in his words. "If you are

talking about the fire-missiles, that was no magic at all.

The Perdminese invented that long ago, although they

made it with a different sort of oil. They used it for sea-

battles. ..."

"Yes, it was a clever thing to do. But there is more than

that to you, and you know it. Why else would you study

things like ... like that book. And I know all about Doc-

604 Tad Williams

tor Morgenes, so if you were part of hiswhat did you

call it? The Scroll League... ?"

Cadrach made a gesture of annoyance. "The Art, my

lady, is not some bag of wizard's tricks. It is a way of un-

derstanding things, of seeing how the world works just as

surely as a builder understands a lever or a ramp."

"You see! You do know about it!"

"I do not *do magic,' " he said firmly. "I have, once or

twice, used the knowledge I have from my studies." De-

spite his straightforward tone, he could not meet her eyes.

"But it is not what you think of as magic."

"But even so," Miriamele said. still eager, "think of the

help you could be to Josua. Think of the aid we could

give him. Morgenes is dead. Who else can advise the

prince about Pryrates?"

Now Cadrach did look up. He looked hunted, like a cur

backed into a comer. "Pryrates?" He laughed hollowly.

"Do you think that I can be any help against Pryrates?

And he is the smallest part of what is arrayed against you."

"All the more reason!" Miriamele reached out for his

hand again, but the monk pulled it away. "Josua needs

help, Cadrach. If you fear Pryrates, how much more do

you fear the kind of world he will make if he and this

Storm King are not defeated?"

At the sound of that terrible name, a muffled purr of

thunder could be heard in the distance. Startled, Miriamele

looked around, as though some vast, shadowy thing might

be watching them. When she turned back, Cadrach was

stumbling across the mud, headed back toward camp.

"Cadrach!"

"No more," he shouted. He kept his head lowered as he

vanished into the shadowy undergrowth. She could hear

him cursing as he made his way back across the treacher-

ous mud.

Miriamele followed him to camp, but Cadrach refused

all her attempts at conversation. She berated herself for

having said the wrong thing, just when she had thought

she was reaching him. What a mad, sad man he was!

And, equally infuriating, in the confusion of their talk she

had forgotten to ask him about her Pryrates-thought, the

TOGREENANGELTOWER605

one that had been tugging at her mind the other night

something about her father, about death, about Pryrates

and Nisses* book. It still seemed important, but it might

be a long time until she could bring up the subject with

Cadrach again.

Despite the warm night, Miriamele rolled herself

lightly in her cloak when she lay down, but sleep would

not come. She lay half the night listening to the swamp's

strange, incessant music. She also had to put up with the

continual misery of crawling and fluttering things, but the

bugs, annoying as they might be, were as nothing com-

pared to the irritation of her restless thoughts.

To Miriamele's surprise and pleasure, the next day

brought a marked change in their surroundings- The trees

were less thickly twined, and in places the flatboat slid

out from the humid tangle onto wide shallow lagoons,

mirrors compromised only by the faint rippling of the

wind and the forests of swaying grasses which grew up

through the water.

Tiamak seemed pleased with their progress, and an-

nounced that they were very close to the Wran's outer-

most edge. However, their approaching escape did not

cure his weakness and fever, and the thin brown man

spent much of the morning slipping in and out of uncom-

fortable sleep, waking occasionally with a startled move-

ment and a mouthful of wild jabber before slowly coming

back to his ordinary self.

In late afternoon, Tiamak's fever became stronger, and

his discomfort increased to the point where he sweated

and babbled continuously, experiencing only short spans

of lucidity. During one of these, the Wrannaman regained

his wits enough to play apothecary for himself. He asked

Miriamele to prepare for him a concoction of herbs, some

of which he pointed out where they grew along the water-

course, a flowering grass called quickweed and a ground-

hugging, oval-leafed creeper which, in his weakened

state, he could not name.

"And yellowroot, too," Tiamak said, panting shallowly.

He looked dreadful, his eyes red, his skin shiny with per-

6o6 Tad Williams

spiration. Miriamele tried to keep her hands steady as she

ground the ingredients already gathered on a flat stone

she held in her lap. "Yellowroot, to speed the binding," he

mumbled.

"Which is that?" she asked. "Does it grow here?"

"No, But it does not matter." Tiamak tried to smile, but

the effort was too much, and instead he gritted his teeth

and groaned quietly. "Some in my bag." He rolled his

head ever so slightly in the direction of the sack he had

appropriated in Village Grove, which now held all the be-

longings he had guarded so zealously.

"Cadrach, would you find it?" Miriamele called. "I'm

afraid I'll spill what I have here."

The monk, who had been sitting at Camaris' feet while

the old man poled, stepped gingerly across the rocking

flatboat, avoiding Isgrimnur without a glance. He kneeled

and began to lift out and examine the contents of the bag.

"Yellowroot," Miriamele said.

"Yes, I heard. Lady," Cadrach replied with a little of

his old mocking tone. "A root. And I know that it is yel-

low, too ... thanks to my many years of study." Some-

thing that he felt beneath his fingers made him pause. His

eyes narrowed, and he pulled from Tiamak's bag a pack-

age wrapped in leaves and tied with thin vines. Some of

the covering had dried and peeled away. Miriamele could

see a flash of something pale inside. "What is this?"

Cadrach eased the wrappings back a little further. "A very

old parchment ..." he began.

"No, you demon! You witch!"

The loud voice startled Miriamele so much that she

dropped the blunt rock she had been using as a pestle; it

bounced painfully on her boot and thumped down into the

bottom of the boat. Tiamak, his eyes bulging, was strug-

gling to lift himself.

"You won't have it!" he shouted. Flecks of spittle gath-

ered at the corners of his mouth. "I knew you would

come after it!"

"He's fever-mad!" Isgrimnur was more than a little

alarmed. "Don't let him tip the boat over."

"It's just Cadrach, Tiamak," Miriamele said soothingly.

TOGREENANGELTOWER607

but she, too, was startled by the look of hatred on the

Wrannaman's face. "He's just trying to find the yellow-

root."

"I know who it is," Tiamak snarled. "And I know just

what he is, too, and what he wants. Curse you, demon-

monk! You wait until I am ill to steal my parchment1

Well, you may not have it! It is mine! I bought it with my

own coin!"

"Just put it back, Cadrach," Miriamele urged. "It will

make him stop raving."

The monk, whose initial look of startlement had

changed to something even more unsettledand, to

Miriamele, unsettling as wellslowly eased the leaf-

wrapped bundle back into the sack, then handed the

whole thing to Miriamele.

"Here." His voice was once again strangely flat. "You

take out what he wants. I cannot be trusted."

"Oh, Cadrach," she said, "don't be foolish. Tiamak is

ill. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"I know." The Wrannaman's wide eyes were still fixed

on the monk. "He gave himself away. I knew then that he

was after it."

"For the love of Aedon," Isgrimnur growled, disgusted.

"Just give him something to make him sleep. Even /

know the monk wasn't trying to steal anything."

"Even you, Rimmersman?" Cadrach murmured, but

with none of his usual sharpness. Rather, there was an

echo of some great hopelessness in the monk's voice, and

something else, toosome peculiar edge that Miriamele

could not identify.

Worried and confused, she turned her concentra-

tion onto the search for Tiamak's yellowroot. The

Wrannaman, his hair damp and tousled by sweat, contin-

ued to glare at Cadrach like a maddened blue jay who had

found a squirrel sniffing about his nest.

Miriamele had thought the entire incident merely the

product of Tiamak's illness, but that night she woke up

suddenly in the camp they had made on a rare dry sand-

6o8 Tad Williams

bank, and saw Cadrachwho had been delegated the first

watchrummaging through Tiamak's bag.

"What are you doing?'" She crossed the camp in a few

swift paces. Despite her anger, she kept her voice low so

as not to wake any of the rest of her companions from

their sleep. She could not escape the feeling that some-

how Cadrach was her responsibility alone, and that the

others should not be brought in if she could avoid it.

"Nothing," the monk grumbled, but his guilty face be-

lied him. Miriamele reached forward and plunged her

hand into the sack, closing her fingers on his own and the

leaf-wrapped parchment.

"I should have known better," she said, full of fury. "Is

there truth to what Tiamak said? Have you been trying to

steal his belongings, now that he is too sick to protect

them?"

Cadrach snapped back like a wounded animal. "You

are no better than all the rest, with your talk of friendship!

At the first moment, you turn on me, just like Isgrimnur."

His words stung, but Miriamele was still angry to find

him doing this low thing after she had given him her

trust. "You haven't answered my question."

"You are a fool," he snarled. "If I wanted to steal

something from him, why would I wait until he had been

saved from the ghant's nest?!" He pulled his hand from

the sack, bringing hers with it, then took the package and

thrust it into her hands. "Here! I was merely interested in

what it could be, and why he turned goirach ... why he

became so angry. I had never seen it beforedidn't even

know that it was there! You keep it, then. Princess. Safe

from grubby little thieves like me!"

"But you could have asked him," she said, more than a

little ashamed now that the heat had passed, and angry to

feel that way. "Not come creeping after it when everyone

was asleep."

"Oh, yes, asked him! You saw the kindly way he

looked at me when I merely touched it! Do you have any

idea what it is, my headstrong lady? Do you?"

"No. Nor will I until Tiamak tells me." Hesitantly, she

stared at the cylindrical object. In other circumstances,

TOGREENANGELTOWER609

she knew, she would have been the first to try to find out

what the Wrannaman was protecting. Now, she was

caught by her own high-handedness, and she had of-

fended the monk as well. "I will keep it safe, and I will

not look at it," she said slowly. "When Tiamak is well, I

will ask him to show it to us."

Cadrach stared at her for a long moment. His moonlit

features, touched with crimson by the last few embers of

the fire, were almost frightening. "Very well, my lady,"

he whispered. She thought she could hear his voice hard-

ening like ice. "Very well. By all means keep it out of the

hands of thieves." He turned and walked to his cloak,

then dragged it to the edge of the sand, far from the oth-

ers. "Keep watch, then. Princess Miriamele. Make sure no

evil men come near. I am going to sleep." He lay down,

becoming only another lump of shadow.

Miriamele sat listening to the night noises of the

swamp. Although the monk did not speak again, she

could almost feel his unsleeping presence in the darkness

a few short steps away. Something raw and painful in him

had been exposed again, something that, for the last few

weeks, had been almost completely hidden. Whatever it

was, she had thought it might-have been exorcised after

Cadrach's long revelatory night on Firannos Bay. Now

Miriamele found herself wishing desperately that she had

slept through the night tonight and not awakened until

morning, when the light of day would have made every-

thing safe and ordinary.

*

The Wran fell away at last, not in a single broad stroke,

but with the gradual dwindling of trees and narrowing of

waterways, until finally Miriamele and her companions

found themselves floating across an open scrubland criss-

crossed with small channels. The world was wide again,

something that spread from horizon to horizon. She had

grown so used to the hemming-in of her vision that she

found it almost uncomfortable to be confronted with so

much space.

6lo Tad Williams

In some ways, the last stage of the Wran was the most

treacherous, since they had to carry the boat over land

more frequently than before. Once, Isgrimnur became

stuck in a waist-deep sandhole, and was only rescued by

the combined efforts of Miriamele and Camaris.

The Lake Thrithing lay before them, a vast expanse of

low hills and, except for the ever-present grass, sparse

vegetation. Trees clung near to the hillsides; but for a few

copses of tall pines, they were dwarfish, barely distin-

guishable from bushes. In the late afternoon light it

seemed a lonely, windswept land, a place where few crea-

tures and no people would live by choice.

Tiamak had at last brought them beyond the bounds of

his territorial knowledge, and they found increasing diffi-

culty in choosing streams wide enough to carry the boat.

When the latest channel narrowed beyond the point of

navigability, they clambered from the boat and stood si-

lent for a while, collars lifted against the cold breeze.

"It looks as though it's time to walk." Isgrimnur gazed

out across the wilderness to the north. "This is the Lake

Thrithing, after all, so at least there'll be drinking water,

especially after this year's weather."

"But what about Tiamak?" Miriamele asked. The potion

she had brewed for the Wrannaman had certainly helped,

but it had not provided a miraculous cure: although he was

standing, he was weak and his color was not good.

Isgrimnur shrugged. "Don't know. I suppose we could

wait a few days until he gets better, but I hate to spend

any more time than we need to out here. P'raps we could

make some kind of sling."

Camaris abruptly stooped and put his long hands under

Tiamak's armpits, startling the Wrannaman into a whoop

of surprise. With an astounding absence of effort, the old

man lifted Tiamak high and lowered him onto his shoul-

ders; the Wrannaman, who began to understand in midair,

spread his knees to either side of Camaris' neck, settling

like a pickaback child.

The duke grinned. "There's your answer, looks like. I

don't know how long he can go, but maybe at least until

we can find better shelter. That would be more than fine."

TO GREENANGELTOWER6ll

They took their belongings from the boat, packing

them in the few cloth sacks they had brought out of Vil-

lage Grove. Tiamak took his own bag and clutched it in

the arm he was not using to hold onto Camaris. He had

not spoken of the bag and its contents again since the in-

cident in the boat, and Miriamele had not yet felt inclined

to press him to reveal what he carried.

With more regret than she had expected, Miriamele and

the others bade a silent farewell to the flatboat and

marched out onto the fringes of the Lake Thrithing.

Camaris proved more than equal to the task of carrying

Tiamak. Although he stopped to rest when the others did,

and moved very slowly through the few patches of

swampy ground that still remained, he kept the same pace

as the less burdened members of the company and did not

seem inordinately tired. Miriamele could not help staring

at him from time to time, full of awe. If he was like this

as an old man, what prodigious feats must he have per-

formed when he was in the bloom of youth? It was

enough to make one believe that all the old legends, even

the wildest ones, might be true after all.

Despite the old man's -uncomplaining strength,

Isgrimnur insisted on taking the Wrannaman onto his own

shoulders for the last hour until sunset- When they stopped

at last to make their camp, the duke was puffing and blow-

ing, and looked as though he regretted his decision.

They made camp while the light was still in the sky,

finding a spot in a grove of low trees and building a fire

from deadwood. The snow that had covered much of the

north had apparently not lingered on the Lake Thrithing,

but as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the eve-

ning grew cold enough to keep them all huddled by the

fire. Miriamele was suddenly grateful she had not dis-

carded her tattered, travel-stained acolyte's habit.

Chill wind sawed in the branches close over their

heads. The surrounded feeling of the Wran had been re-

placed by a sensation of being dangerously exposed, but

at least the ground beneath them was dry: that, Miriamele

decided, was something to be thankful for, anyway.

6l2 Tad Williams

Tiamak was a little better the next day, and was able to

walk most of the morning before having to be hoisted

onto Camaris' broad shoulders again. Isgrimnur, out of

the confining and confusing swamps, was almost his old

self, full of songs of questionable tasteMiriamele en-

joyed counting how many verses he finished of each be-

fore stopping, flustered, to beg her pardonand stories of

battles and wonders he had seen. Cadrach, on the other

hand, was as silent as he had been since they had escaped

the Eadne Cloud. When spoken to, he responded, and he

was strangely courteous to Isgrimnur, acting almost as if

they had never had harsh words, but the rest of the day's

trip he might have been as mute as Camaris for all he

contributed. Miriamele did not like the hollow look of

him, but nothing she said or did changed his calm, with-

drawn manner, and at last she gave up.

The low-lying ravel of the Wran had long since disap-

peared behind them: even from the highest of the hills,

there was little to see back on the southern horizon but a

dark smear. As they set up camp in another copse of trees,

Miriamele wondered how far they had comeand, more

important, how long a journey still awaited them-

"How far are we going to have to walk?" she asked

Isgrimnur as they shared a bowl of stew made with dried

Village Grove fish. "Do you know?"

He shook his head. "Not sure, my lady. More than fifty

leagues, perhaps sixty or seventy. A long, long hike, I'm

afraid."

She made a worried face. "That could take weeks."

"What else can we do?" he said, then smiled. "In any

case. Princess, we are far better off than we wereand

closer to Josua."

Miriamele felt a momentary pang. "If he is really

there."

"He is, young one, he is." Isgrimnur squeezed her hand

in his broad paw. "We've come through the worst."

Something awakened Miriamele abruptly in the bruised

light just before dawn. She had scarcely an instant to gather

TOGREENANGELTOWER613

her wits before she was grabbed by the arm and jerked up-

right. A triumphant voice spoke in rapid Nabbanai.

"Here she is. Dressed like a monk. Lord, as you said."

A dozen men on horseback, several of them carrying

torches, had surrounded them. Isgrimnur, who was sitting

on the ground with one of the horsemen's lances at his

throat, groaned.

"It was my watch!" the duke said bitterly. "My

watch ..."

The man who held Miriamele's arm pulled her a few

steps across the copse toward one of the riders, a tall fig-

ure in a capacious hood, his face invisible in the gray of

night's end. She felt a claw of ice clutch at her.

"So," the rider said in accented Westerling. "So." De-

spite the strange mushiness of his speech, his voice was

unmistakably smug.

Miriamele's horror was wanned a little by anger. "Take

off your hood, my lord. You have no need to play such a

game with me,"

Truly?" The rider's hand rose. "Do you wish to see

what you have done, then?" He pushed the hood back

with a sweeping gesture like a traveling player's. "Am I

as beautiful as you remember me?" asked Aspitis.

Miriamele, despite the soldier's restraining hand, stepped

back. It was hard not to. The earl's face, once so handsome

that, after their first meeting, it had haunted her dreams for

days, was now a distorted ruin. His fine nose was a blob of

flesh skewed to one side like a lump of ill-handled clay. His

left cheekbone had been cracked like an egg and dented in-

ward, so that the torchlight made a shadow in the deep hol-

low. All around his eyes black blood had gathered beneath

the skin and the rumple of scars, as though he wore a mask.

His hair was still beautiful, still golden.

Miriamele swallowed. "I have seen worse," she said

quietly.

Half of Aspitis Proves' mouth curled in an eerie grin,

displaying the stumps of teeth. "I am glad to hear it, my

sweet lady Miriamele, since you will be waking up to it

the rest of your life. Bind her!"

"No!" It was Cadrach who shouted, lurching up from

614

Tad Williams

where he lay in the darkness. A moment later, an arrow shiv-

ered in the gnarled trunk of a tree, a hand-span from his face.

"If he moves again, kill him," said Aspitis calmly. "Per-

haps I should let you kill him anywayhe was as respon-

sible as she for what happened to me, to my ship." He

shook his head slowly, savoring the moment. "Ah, you are

such fools. Princess, you and your monk. Once you had

slipped away into the Wran, what did you think? That I

would let you go? That I would forget what you had done

to me?" He leaned forward, fixing her with bloodshot eyes.

"Where else would you go but north, back to the rest of

your friends? But you forget, my lady, that this is my fief-

dom." He chuckled. "My castle on Lake Eadne is only a

few leagues away. I have been combing these hills, hunting

you for days. I knew you would come."

She felt miserably numb. "How did you get off the ship?"

Aspitis' crooked smirk was horrible. "I was slow to re-

alize what had happened, it is true, but after you had gone

and my men found me, I had them kill the treacherous

NiskieAedon burn her! She had finished her devil's

work. She did not even try to escape. After that, the rest

of the kilpa went back over the sideI do not think they

would have had the courage to attack without the sea

witch's spell. We had enough men to row my poor dam-

aged Eadne Cloud to Spenit." He slapped his hands on

his thighs. "Enough. You are mine again. Save your prat-

tling questions until I ask for them."

Full of anger and sorrow over Can Itai's fate,

Miriamele struggled toward him, dragging the soldier

who gripped her arm a full pace forward. "God's curse on

you! What kind of man are you? What kind of knight?

You, with all your talk about the fifty noble families of

Nabban."

"And you, a king's daughter, who willingly gave her-

self to mewho brought me to her bed? Are you so high

and pure?"

She was ashamed that Isgrimnur and the others should

hear, but a sort of high, clear anger followed, sharpening

her thoughts. She spat on the ground. "Will you fight for

me?" she demanded. "Here, before your people and

TOGREENANGELTOWER6l5

mine? Or will you take me as a sneak thief, as you tried

to take me beforewith lies, and with force used against

those who were your guests?"

The earl's eyes narrowed to slits. "Fight for you? What

nonsense is this? Why should I? You are mine, by capture

and maidenhead."

"I will never be yours," she said in her haughtiest

tones. "You are lower than the Thrithings-men, who at

least fight to claim their brides."

"Fight, fight, what trick is this?" Aspitis glared. "Who

would fight for you? One of these old men? The monk?

The little swamp boy?"

Miriamele let her eyes fall closed for a moment, strug-

gling to contain her fury. He was vile, but this was not the

moment to let emotions rule her. "Anyone in this camp

can beat you, Aspitis. You are not a man at all." She

looked around, making sure that she had the attention of

the earl's soldiers, "You are a stealer of women, but you

are no man."

Aspitis' osprey-hilted blade slid from its sheath with a

metallic hiss. He paused. "No, I see your game, Princess.

You are a clever one. You think to make me so maddened

that I kill you here." He laughed. "Ah, to think that a

woman exists who would rather die than wed the Earl of

Eadne." He lifted his hand and touched his shattered face.

"Or rather, to think that you felt that way even before you

did this to me," He held his sword out; the point wavered

in the air not a cubit from her neck. "No, I know what

punishment will best pay you back, and that is marriage.

My castle has a tower that will keep you well. Within the

first hour, you will know its every stone. Think how it

will feel when years have passed."

Miriamele lifted her chin. "So you will not fight for me."

Aspitis slapped his fist on his thigh. "Enough of this! I

grow weary of the joke."

"Do you hear?" Miriamele turned toward the rest of

Aspitis* company, who sat, waiting. "Your master is a

coward."

"Silence!" Aspitis shouted. "I will whip you myself."

"That old man can thrash you," she said, pointing to

6i6 Tad Williams

Camaris. The old knight sat wrapped in his blanket,

watching wide-eyed. He had made no move since Aspitis

and his soldiers had arrived. "Isgrimnur," she called,

"give the old man your sword."

"Princess ..." Isgrimnur's voice was rough with won-y-

"Let me ..."

"Do it! Let the earl's men see him cut to ribbons by an

old, old man. Then they will know why their master has

to steal women."

Isgrimnur, keeping a careful eye on the watching sol-

diers, pulled Kvalnir out from beneath his sack of belong-

ings. The buckles of the sword belt clinked as he slid it

across the ground toward Camaris. For a moment, that

was the only sound.

"My lord?" the soldier who held Miriamele said hesi-

tantly. "What... ?"

"Shut your mouth," Aspitis snapped as he dismounted.

He walked to Miriamele and grabbed her face with his

hand, staring at her intently for a moment- Then, before

she had a chance to react, he leaned forward suddenly and

kissed her with his broken mouth. "We will have many

interesting nights." The earl then turned to Camaris. "Go

on, put it on so I can kill you. Then I will finish the rest

of you, too. But I will allow you to defend yourselves or

run as you choose." He turned and looked at Miriamele.

"I am, after all, a gentleman."

Camaris stared at the sword by his feet as though it

were a serpent.

"Put it on!" Miriamele urged.

Elysia 's mercy, she thought frantically, what if he won't

do it! What if, after all this, he won't do it?

"For the love of God, man, put it on," Isgrimnur shouted.

The old man looked at him, then bent and picked up the

sword belt. He withdrew Kvalnir and let the belt and sheath

slide back to the ground. He held it loosely, unwillingly.

"Matra sd Duos," Aspitis said disgustedly, "he does

not even know how to swing a sword." He unbelted his

robe and let it fall, revealing a surcoat of yellow-gray

trimmed in black, then took a few steps toward Camaris,

who looked up bemusedly. "I will kill him quickly,

TOGREENANGELTOWER617

Miriamele." the earl declared. "You are the cruel one, to

make an old man fight." He raised his weapon, which

gleamed beneath the white dawn sky, then aimed a cut at

Camaris' unprotected neck.

Kvalnir rose awkwardly and Aspitis' blade rebounded.

The earl, with a noise of irritation, swung again. Once

more his steel clanked against the duke's sword and flew

back. Miriamele heard her warder grunt in soft surprise at

his master's frustration.

"You see!" she said, and forced herself to laugh,

though there was no mirth in her. "The coward earl can-

not even best a man in his dotage."

Aspitis attacked more strongly. Camaris, moving al-

most like a man sleepwalking, kept Kvalnir weaving be-

fore him in deceptively slow arcs. Several more wicked

blows were deflected.

"I see your old man has wielded a sword." The earl

was beginning to breathe a little more heavily. "That is

good. I will not feel that I have been forced to kill one

who cannot defend himself."

"Fight back!" Miriamele shouted, but Camaris would

not. Instead, as his movements became more fluid, an-

cient reflexes gradually awakening after a long sleep, he

merely defended himself more diligently, blocking every

thrust, guiding every slash away, spinning a web of steel

that Aspitis could not breach.

The fighting was in deadly earnest now. It was plain that

the Earl of Eadne and Drina was a very good swordsman,

and he in turn had quickly grasped the fact that his oppo-

nent was something unusual. Aspitis eased his attack, pur-

suing a more cautious, probing strategy, but he did not

back down from the challenge. Something, whether pride

or some deeper, more animalistic urge, had caught him up.

Camaris, meanwhile, seemed to fight only because he was

forced to. Miriamele thought she saw several times when

he could have pressed his own attack but chose not to,

waiting until his enemy came at him once more.

Aspitis feinted, then slid in a thrust beneath Camaris'

guard, but somehow Kvalnir was there to push the earl's

blade aside. Aspitis cut at the old man's feet, but Camaris

6i8 Tad Williams

shuffled back without visible haste, keeping his balance

firm and his shoulders level even as he avoided the earl's

blow. He was like water, flowing always to where there

was an opening, giving way but never breaking, absorb-

ing every blow from Aspitis and directing its force up or

down, to one side or the other. A thin film of sweat broke

on the old man's forehead, but his face remained calmly

regretful, as though he were being forced to sit and watch

two of his friends trade unpleasant words.

The duel went on for what seemed to Miriamele a dread-

fully long time. Although she knew that her heart was rac-

ing, each beat seemed to come long moments apart. The

two men, the crack-faced earl and the tall, long-legged

Camaris, worked their way out from the stand of pine trees

and down onto the hillside, circling their way along the

weedy slope like two moths revolving around a candle,

their blades whirling and flickering beneath the gray sky.

As the earl pressed forward once again, Camaris stepped in

a hole and lost his balance; Aspitis took advantage of the

opportunity and landed a swipe across the old man's arm,

drawing a streak of blood. Behind her, Miriamele heard

Isgrimnur curse in heartbreaking impotence.

The cut seemed to awaken something in Camaris. Al-

though he still would not attack aggressively, he began to

beat back the earl's attacks with greater strength, striking

hard enough to make the rattle of steel echo across the

plains of the Lake Thrithing. Miriamele worried that it

would not be enough, since despite his almost unbeliev-

able fortitude, he seemed to be tiring at last. He stumbled

again, this time with no hole to blame, and Aspitis

brought home a thrust that skimmed off Kvalnir and

found Camaris' shoulder, freeing more blood. But the earl

was flagging, too: after a swift flurry in which several of

his strokes were blocked, he took a few steps back, pant-

ing, and bent low to the ground as if he might collapse.

Miriamele saw him pick something from the ground.

"Camaris! Watch out!" she screamed.

Aspitis flung the handful of dirt in the old man's face

and followed it with a swift and aggressive attack, seeking

to end the combat with a single stroke. Camaris staggered

TOGREENANGELTOWER619

backward, clawing at his eyes as Aspitis closed with him.

A moment later, the earl fell to his knees, yowling.

Camaris, his greater reach enabling him to extend past

the earl's outstretched blade, had struck his opponent a

flat blow across the upper arm, but the blade had bounced

and continued upward, slashing diagonally across the

earl's forehead. Aspitis, his face quickly vanishing behind

a sheet of blood, scrabbled across the ground toward

Camaris, still waving his blade before him. The old man,

who was rubbing the dirt from his watering eyes, stepped

aside and brought the hilt of his sword down atop the

earl's head. Aspitis dropped like a maul-slaughtered ox.

Miriamele pulled free from the grip of her thunderstruck

guard and dashed down the hillside. Camaris sank to the

ground, gasping for breath. He looked tired and vaguely

unhappy, like a child asked to do too much. Miriamele

glanced at him quickly to make sure his wounds were not

dangerous, then took Kvalnir from his unresisting grasp

and kneeled down beside Aspitis. The earl was breathing,

too, although shallowly. She turned him over, staring for a

moment at his bloody, shattered-doll face ... and some-

thing changed inside of her. A bubble of hatred and fear

that had been in her since the'Eadne Cloud, a bubble that

had grown chokingly large at finding Aspitis still pursuing

her, abruptly burst. Suddenly, he seemed so small. He was

nothing important at all, Just a tattered, damaged

thingno different than the cloak draped over a chair-

back that had given her the screaming night-terrors when

she was a small child. Morning's light had come, and the

demon had become a rumpled cloak again.

A sort of smile crossed Miriamele's face. She pressed

the sword blade against the earl's throat.

"You men!" she shouted at Aspitis' soldiers. "Do you

want to explain to Benigaris how his best friend was

killed?"

Isgrimnur stood, pushing away the lance-point of the

soldier who had held him.

"Do you?" Miriamele demanded.

None of the earl's men spoke.

620 Tad Williams

"Then give us your bowsall of them. And four

horses."

"We will not give you any horses, witch!" one of the

soldiers shouted angrily.

"So be it- Then you can take Aspitis back with his gul-

let slit and tell Duke Benigaris it was done by an old man

and a girl, while you stood watchingthat is, if you get

away unharmed, and you will have to kill us all to do

that."

"Do not bargain with them," Cadrach shouted sud-

denly. There was desperation in his tone. "Kill the

monster. Kill him!"

"Be quiet." Miriamele wondered if the monk was try-

ing to convince the soldiers that the danger to their master

was real. If so, he was a fine actor: he sounded remarka-

bly sincere.

The soldiers looked at each other worriedly. Isgrimnur

took advantage of the moment's confusion to begin re-

lieving them of their bows and arrows. After the

Rimmersman growled at him, Cadrach scrambled forward

to help. Several of the men cursed them and looked as

though they wished to resist, but no one made the move

that would have sparked open conflict. When Isgrimnur

and the monk each had an arrow nocked on a bow, the

soldiers began to talk angrily among themselves, but

Miriamele could see that the fight had gone out of them.

"Four horses," she said calmly. "I will do you a favor

and ride with the man that this scum," she prodded

Aspitis' still form, "called a 'swamp boy.' Otherwise you

would be leaving us five."

After more arguing, Aspitis' troop turned over four

horses, first removing the saddlebags. When riders and

baggage were redistributed upon the remaining horses, two

of the earl's household guard came forward and lifted their

liege-lord from the ground, then draped him unceremoni-

ously across the saddle of one of the remaining horses. His

soldiers had to ride two-to-a-mount, and looked positively

embarrassed as the little caravan rode off,

"And if he lives," Miriamele shouted after them, "re-

mind him of what happened!"

621

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

The mounted company vanished quickly, riding east

into the hills.

Wounds were tended, the newly-acquired horses were

loaded with the travelers' scant baggage, and by the mid-

dle of the day they were on their way once more.

Miriamele felt curiously light-headed, as though she had

just woken up from a terrible dream to find a sunny

spring morning outside her window. Camaris had returned

to his normal placidity; the old man seemed scarcely the

worse for his experience. Cadrach did not speak much,

but that was no different than any day of the last few.

Aspitis had been a shadow at the back of Miriamele's

mind since the night of the storm and her escape from the

earl's ship. Now that shadow was gone. As she rode

across the hilly Thrithings-country with Tiamak nodding

in the saddle before her, she almost felt like singing.

They covered several leagues that afternoon. When

they stopped for the night, Isgrimnur, too, was in an ex-

cellent mood.

"We shall make far better time now. Princess." He was

grinning in his beard. If he thought less of her now that

Aspitis had revealed her shame, he was too much a gen-

tleman to show it. "By Dror's Mallet, did you see

Camaris? Did you see him? Like a man half his age."

"Yes." She smiled. The duke was a good man. "I saw

him, Isgrimnur. It was like an old song. No, it was better."

He woke her in the morning. She could tell by his face

that something was wrong.

"Is it Tiamak?" She had a sickened feeling. They had

come through so much! Surely the little man had been

getting better?

The duke shook his head. "It's the monk. He's gone."

"Cadrach?" Miriamele was not prepared for that. She

rubbed her head, fighting to wake up. "What do you

mean. gone?"

"Gone away. Took one of the horses. He left a note."

Isgrimnur pointed to a piece of the Village Grove cloth

which lay on the ground near where she had been sleep-

622 Tad Williams

ing; the furl of cloth had been anchored by a rock against

the stiff hillside breeze.

Where Miriamele's feelings about Cadrach's flight should

have been, there was nothing. She lifted the stone and

spread the sheet of pale fabric. Yes, he had written this: she

had seen Cadrach's hand before. It looked as though he had

done his writing with the burned tip of a twig.

What could have been so important to say, she won-

dered, that he spent so much time writing a note before he

left?

Princess,

it said,

I cannot go with you to Josua. I do not belong

with those people. Do not blame yourself. No one

has been kinder to me than you, even after you

knew me for what I am.

I fear that things are worse than you know, much

worse. I wish there was something more that 1

could do, but I am unable to help anyone.

He had not signed it.

"What 'things'?" Isgrimnur asked, irritated. He was

reading over her shoulder. "What does he mean, 'things

are worse than you know'?"

Miriamele shrugged helplessly. "Who can say?" De-

serted again, was all she could think.

"Maybe I was too hard on him," the duke said gruffly.

"But that's no cause to steal a horse and ride off."

"He was always afraid. Ever since I have known him.

It's hard to live with fear all the time."

"Well, we can't waste tears on him," Isgrimnur grum-

bled. "We have troubles of our own."

"No," Miriamele said, folding the note, "we shouldn't

waste tears."

20

Travelers cmst Messengers

*

"1 have not been here for many seasons," Aditu said.

"Many, many seasons."

She stopped and raised her hands, circling the fingers

in a complicated gesture; her slim body swayed like a

dowser's rod. Simon watched in wonder and more than a

little apprehension. He was quickly becoming sober.

"Shouldn't you come down?" he asked.

Aditu only glanced down at him, a moonlit smile play-

ing around the comers of her mouth, then turned her eyes

upward to the sky once more. She tock a few more steps

along the Observatory's slender, crumbling parapet.

"Shame to the House of Year-Dancing," she said. "We

should have done more to preserve this place. It grieves

me to see it fallen to pieces."

Simon did not think she sounded very grieved. "Geloe

calls this place the Observatory," Simon said. "Why is

that?"

"I do not know. What is 'observatory'? It is not a word

that I know in your tongue."

"Father Strangyeard said it's a place like they used to

have in Nabban in the days of the Imperatorsa tall

building where they look at the stars and try to figure out

what will happen."

Aditu laughed and raised one foot in the air to take off

her boot, then lowered it and did the same with the other,

as calmly as though she stood on the ground beside Si-

mon instead of twenty cubits in the air on a thin cornice

of stone. She tossed the boots down. They thumped softly

624Tad Williams

on the damp grass. "Then she is making fun, I think, al-

though there is some meaning behind her jest. No one

looked at the stars here, except as one would look at them

anywhere. This was the place of the Rhao iye-Sama'an

the Master Witness."

"Master Witness?" Simon wished she wouldn't move

along the slippery parapet so quickly. For one thing, it

forced him to walk briskly just to stay within hearing. For

another ... well, it was dangerous, even if she didn't

think so. "What's that?"

"You know what a Witness is, Simon. Jiriki gave you

his mirror. That is a minor Witness, and there are many of

those still in existence. There were only a few Master

Witnesses, each more or less bound to a placethe Pool

of Three Depths in Asu'a, the Speakfire in Hikehikayo,

the Green Column in Jhina-T'seneiand most of those

are broken or ruined or lost. Here at Sesuad'ra it was a

great stone beneath the ground, a stone called the Earth-

Drake's Eye. Earth-Drake is another nameit is difficult

to explain the differences between the two in your

tonguefor the Greater Worm who bites at his own tail,"

she explained. "We built this entire place on top of that

stone. It was not quite a Master Witnessin fact, it was

not even a Witness by itself, but such was its potency that

a minor Witness like my brother's mirror would be a

Master Witness if used here."

Simon's head was whirling with names and ideas.

"What does that mean, Aditu?" he asked, trying to keep

from sounding cross. He had been doing his best to re-

main calm and well-spoken once the wine had begun to

wear off. It seemed important that she see how much he

had grown in the months since they had last met.

"A minor Witness will lead you onto the Road of

Dreams, but will usually show you only those you know,

or those who are looking for you." She raised her left leg

and leaned backward, her back arched like a drawn long-

bow as she bent gracefully into balance, looking for all

the world like a little girl playing on a waist-high fence.

"A Master Witness, if used by someone who knew the

TOGREENANGELTOWER625

ways of it, could look on anyone or anything, and some-

times into other times and ... other places."

Simon could not help remembering the night-visions of

his vigil, as well as what he had seen when he had

brought Jiriki's mirror to this place on a later night. He

pondered this as he watched Aditu tilt backward until her

palms touched the crumbling stone. A moment later, both

her feet were in the air as she swayed upside down, stand-

ing on her hands.

"Aditu!" Simon said sharply, then tried to make his

voice calm. "Shouldn't we go see Josua now?"

She laughed again, a swift sound of pure animal plea-

sure. "My frightened Seoman. No, there is no need to

hurry to Josua, as I told you on the way here. The tidings

from my folk can wait until morning. Give your prince a

night of rest from worries. From what I saw of him, he

needs some relief from woe and care." She inched along

on her hands. Her hair, unbound, hung down over her

face in a white cloud.

Simon felt sure she could no longer see what she was

doing. It frustrated him and made him more than a little

angry. "Then why did you come all the way from Jao

e-Tinukai'i, if it wasn't important?" He stopped follow-

ing. "Aditu! What are you doing this for?! If you've

come to talk to Josua, then let's go and talk to Josua!"

"I did not say it was not important, Seoman," she re-

plied. There was something of her old mocking tone, but

there was a hint of something sharper, almost angry. "I

merely said that it would best wait until tomorrow. And

that is what will happen." She brought her knees down

between her elbows and delicately placed her feet be-

tween her hands. Then she lifted her arms and stood up

all in one motion, as though preparing to dive out into

empty space. "So until then I will spend my time as /

please, no matter what a young mortal might think."

Simon was stung. "You've been sent to bring news to

the prince, but you'd rather do tumbling tricks."

Aditu was wintery-cool. "In fact, if I had been given

my choice, I would not be here at all. I would have ridden

with my brother to Hemystir."

626 Tad Williams

"Well, why didn't you?"

"Likimeya willed otherwise."

So quickly that Simon barely had time to draw in a sur-

prised breath, she bent, catching the parapet in one long-

fingered hand, then dropped over the edge. She found a

grip on the pale stone wall with her free hand and lodged

the toe of one bare foot while probing with the other. She

descended the rest of the way as quickly and effortlessly

as a squirrel skittering down a tree trunk.

"Let us go inside," she said.

Simon laughed and felt his anger ease.

Standing beside the Sitha made the Observatory seem

even eerier. The shadowed staircases which wound up the

walls of the cylindrical room made him think of the in-

sides of some huge animal. The tiles, even in the near-

darkness, glimmered faintly, and seemed to be assembled

in patterns that would not quite lie still.

It was odd to realize that Aditu was almost as much a

youngling as he, since the Sithi had built this place long

before her birth. Jiriki had once said that he and his sister

were "children of the Exile," which Simon understood to

mean that they had been bom after the fall of Asu'a five

centuries agoa short time indeed in Sithi terms. But Si-

mon had also met Amerasu, and she had come to Osten

Ard before a single stone had been set on another stone

anywhere in the land. And if his own vigil-night dream

had been correct, Amerasu's elder Utuk'ku had stood in

this very building when the two tribes had separated. It

was disturbing to think of anything living as long as First

Grandmother or the Nom Queen.

But the most disturbing thing of all was that the Nom

Queen, unlike Amerasu, was still alive, still powerful ...

and she seemed to have nothing but hatred for Simon and

his mortal kind.

He did not like thinking about thatdid not, in fact,

like thinking about the Nom Queen at all. It was almost

easier to understand crazed Ineluki and his violent anger

than the spiderlike patience of Utuk'ku, someone who

would wait a thousand years or more, full of brooding

malice, for some obscure revenge....

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

627

"And what did you think of war, Seoman Snowlock?"

Aditu asked suddenly. He had sketched for her the bare

outlines of the recent struggle as they exchanged news

during their walk to the Observatory.

He considered. "We fought hard. It was a wonderful

victory. We didn't expect it."

"No, what did you think?"

Simon took a moment before replying. "It was horri-

ble."

"Yes, it is." Aditu took a few steps away from him,

sliding into a spot beneath the wall where the moonlight

did not penetrate, vanishing into shadow. "It is horrible."

"But you just said you wanted to go to war in Hernystir

with Jiriki!"

"No. I said I wanted to be with them. That is not the

same thing at all, Seoman, I could have been one more

rider, one more bow, one more set of eyes. We are very

few, we Zida'yaeven mustered together riding out of

Jao e-Tinukai'i, with the Houses of Exile reunited. Very

few. And none of us wished to go into battle."

"But you Sithi have been in wars," Simon protested. "I

know that's true."

"Only to protect ourselves. And once or twice in our

history, as my mother and brother are doing in the west

now, we have fought to protect those who stood by us in

our own need." She sounded very serious now. "But even

now, Seoman, we have only taken up our arms because

the Hikeda'ya brought the war to us. They entered our

home and killed my father and First Grandmother, and

many more of our folk as well. Do not think that we rush

out to fight for mortals at the waving of a sword. These

are strange days, Seomanand you know that as well as

I."

Simon took a few steps forward and tripped on a piece

of broken stone. He bent to rub his toe, which throbbed

painfully. "S'Bloody Tree!" he cursed under his breath.

"It is hard for you to see here at night, Seoman," she

said. "I am sorry. We will go now."

Simon did not want to be babied. "In a moment. I'm

628 Tad Williams

well." He gave the toe a final squeeze. "Why is Utuk'ku

helping Ineluki?"

Aditu appeared from out of the moon-shadow and took

his hand in her cool fingers. She seemed troubled. "Let us

talk outside." She led him out the door. Her long hair

lifted and fluttered in the wind, caressing his face as he

walked beside her. It had a strong but pleasing scent,

savory-sweet as pine bark.

When they were out on open ground once more, she

took his other hand in hers and fixed him with her bright

eyes, which seemed to gleam amber in the moonlight.

"That is most certainly not the place to name their names,

nor to think of them too much," she said firmly, then

smiled a wicked smile. "Besides, I do not think I should

let as dangerous a mortal boy as you be alone with me in

a dark place. Oh, the tales they tell of you around your

camp, Seoman Snowlock."

He was irritated but not altogether displeased. "Who-

ever 'they' are, they don't know what they're talking

about."

"Ah, but you are a strange beast, Seoman." Without an-

other word, she leaned forward and kissed himnot a

short, chaste touch as she had given him at their parting

many weeks ago, but a warm lover's kiss that sent a

shiver of amazement running up his back. Her lips were

cool and sweet as morning rose petals.

Far before he would have wished to stop, Aditu gently

pulled away. 'That little mortal girl liked kissing you,

Seoman." Her smile returned, mocking, insolent. "It is an

odd thing to do, is it not?"

Simon shook his head, at a loss.

Aditu took his arm and tugged him into motion, falling

into step beside him. She bent to pick up the boots she

had discarded, then they walked a little farther through

the wet grass beside the Observatory wall. She hummed a

brief snatch of melody before speaking. "What does

Utuk'ku want, you asked?"

Simon, confused by what had happened, did not re-

spond.

"That I could not tell younot with certainty. She is

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

629

the oldest thinking creature in all of Osten Ard, Seoman,

and she is far more than twice as old as the next most an-

cient. Be assured, her ways are strange and subtle beyond

even the understanding of anyone except perhaps First

Grandmother. But if I had to guess, I would say this: she

longs for Unbeing."

"What does that mean?" Simon was beginning to won-

der if he was truly sober after all, for the world was

slowly spinning and he wanted to lie down and sleep.

"If she wished death," Aditu said, "then that would be

oblivion just for herself. She is tired of living, Seoman,

but she is eldest. Never forget that. As long as songs have

been sung in Osten Ard, and longer, Utuk'ku has lived.

She alone of any living thing saw the lost home that

birthed our kind. I do not think she can bear to think of

others living when she is gone. She cannot destroy every-

thing, much as she might desire to, but perhaps she hopes

to help create the greatest cataclysm possiblethat is, to

assure that as many living folk accompany her into obliv-

ion as she can drag with her."

Simon stopped, horrified. "That's terrible!" he said

with feeling.

Aditu shrugged, a sinuous gesture. She had a lovely

neck. "Utuk'ku is terrible. She is mad, Seoman, although

it is a madness as tightly woven and intricate as the finest

juya'ha ever spun. She was perhaps the cleverest of all

the Gardenborn."

The moon had freed itself from a bank of clouds; it

hung overhead like a harvester's scythe. Simon wanted to

go to sleephis head felt very heavybut at the same

time he was loath to give up this chance. It was so rare to

find one of the Sithi in a mood to answer questions, and

even better, to answer them directly, without the usual

Sithi vagueness.

"Why did the Noms go into the north?"

Aditu bent and picked a sprig of some curling vine,

white-flowered and dark-leaved. She knotted it in her hair

so that it hung against her cheek. "The two families,

Zida'ya and Hikeda'ya, had a disagreement. It concerned

mortals. Utuk'ku's folk felt your kind to be animals

630 Tad Williams

worse than animals, actually, since we of the Garden do

not kill any creature if we can avoid doing so. The Dawn

Children did not agree with the Cloud Children. There

were other things, too." She lifted her head to the moon.

'Then Nenais'u and Drukhi died. That was the day the

shadow fell, and it has never been lifted."

No sooner had he congratulated himself on catching

Aditu in a forthright mood than she had begun to grow

obscure.... Still, Simon did not linger over her unsatisfy-

ing explanation. He did not really want any more names

to learnhe was already overwhelmed with all the things

she had told him tonight; in any case, he had another pur-

pose in asking. "And when the two families parted," he

said eagerly, "it was here, wasn't it? All the Sithi came to

the Fire Garden with torches. And then in Leavetaking

House they stood around some thing built of glowing fire

and made their bargain."

Aditu lowered her eyes from the sliver of moon, fixing

him with her cat-bright stare. "Who told you this tale?"

"I saw it!" He was almost sure by the look on her face

mat he had been right. "I saw it when I had my vigil. The

night I became a knight." He laughed at his own words.

Fatigue was making him feel silly. "My knight-night."

"Saw it?" Aditu folded her hand around his wrist. "Tell

me, Seoman. We will walk a little while longer."

He described his dream-vision for herthen, for good

measure, he told her of what had happened later when he

used Jiriki's mirror.

"What happened when you brought the Scale here

shows that there is still potency in Rhao iye-Sama'an"

she said slowly. "But my brother was right to warn you

off the Dream Road. It is very dangerous nowotherwise

I would take the glass and try to find Jiriki myself, to-

night, and tell him of what you told me."

"Why?"

She shook her head. Her hair drifted like smoke, "Be-

cause of the thing you saw during your vigil. That is

fearful. For you to see something from the Elder Days,

without a Witness .. -" She made another of her strange

finger gestures, this one tangled and complex as a basket

TOGREENANGELTOWER63]

of wriggling fish. "Either you have things in you that

Amerasu did not seebut I cannot believe that First

Grandmother, even in her preoccupation, would fail so

abjectlyor there is something happening beyond any-

thing we suspected. That worries me greatly. For the

Earth-Drake's Eye to show a vision of the past that way,

unbidden . . ." She sighed. Simon stared. She looked

worriedsomething he would not have believed possible.

"Maybe it was the dragon's blood," Simon offered. He

raised his hand to indicate his scar and shock of white

hair. "Jiriki said I was marked somehow."

"Perhaps." Aditu did not seem convinced. Simon felt

slightly insulted. So she didn't think he was special

enough, did she?

They walked on until they had crossed back over the

ruptured tiles of the Fire Garden and were approaching

the tent city. Most of the merrymakers had gone to their

beds; only a few fires still burned. Beside them, a few

shadowy shapes still talked and laughed and sang.

"Go and rest, Seoman," Aditu said. "You are stagger-

ing."

He wanted to argue, but knew that what she said was

true. "Where will you sleep?'"

Her serious expression changed to one of genuine

amusement. "Sleep? No, Snowlock, I will walk tonight. I

have much to think about. In any case, I have not seen the

moon on Sesuad'ra's broken stones for almost a century."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Sleep well. In

the morning we will go to Josua." She turned and walked

away, silent as dew. Within moments she was only a slen-

der shadow disappearing across the grassy hilltop.

Simon rubbed at his face with both hands. There was

so much to think about. What a night this had been! He

yawned and headed toward the tents of New Gadrinsett.

A

"A strange thing has happened, Josua."

Geloe stood in the door of his tent, unusually hesitant.

"Come in, please." The prince turned to Vorzheva, who

632 Tad Williams

was sitting up in bed beneath a mound of blankets. "Or per-

haps you would prefer we go elsewhere?" he asked his wife.

Vorzheva shook her head. "I do not feel well today, but

if I must lie here this morning, at least there will be some

people to keep me company."

"But perhaps Valada Geloe's news will distress you,"

the prince said worriedly. He looked to the wise woman.

"Can she hear it?"

Geloe's smile was sardonic. "A woman with a baby in-

side her is not like someone who is dying of old age,

Prince Josua. Women are strongbearing a child is hard

work. Besides, this news should not frighten anyone ...

even you." She softened her expression to let him know

she was joking.

Josua nodded. "I deserved that, I suppose." His own

answering smile was wan. "What strange thing has hap-

pened? Please, come in."

Geloe shrugged off her dripping cloak and dropped it

just inside the doorway. A light rain had begun to fall

soon after dawn, and had been pattering on the tent roof

for the better part of an hour. Geloe ran her hand through

her wet, cropped hair, then seated herself on one of the

stools Freosel had built for the prince's residence- "I have

just received a message."

"From whom?"

"I do not know. It came to me with one of Dinivan's

birds, but the writing is not his hand." She reached into

her jacket and pulled forth a bundle of damp feathers,

which softly cheeped; its black eye gleamed through the

gap between her fingers- "Here is what it bore." She held

up a small curl of oilcloth. With some difficulty, she man-

aged to pull a twist of parchment from the cloth and open

it without unduly discommoding the bird-

"Prince Josua."

she read,

"Certain

for you

in signs tell me that it may be propitious

< to begin thinking about Nabban. Certain

TOGREENANGELTOWER633

mouths have whispered in my ear that you might

find more support there than you suspect. The

kingfishers have been taking too much of the

boatmen's catch. A messenger will arrive within

a fortnight, bearing words that will speak more

clearly than this brief message can. Do nothing

until that one has arrived, for your own fortune's

sake."

Geloe looked up as she finished reading, her yellow

eyes wary. "It is signed only with the ancient Nabbanai

rune for 'Friend.' Someone who is either a Scrollbearer or

of equivalent learning wrote this. Perhaps someone who

would wish us to believe that a Scrollbearer wrote it."

Josua gave Vorzheva's hand a gentle squeeze before he

stood up. "May I see it?" Geloe gave him the note, which

he scrutinized for a moment before handing it back. "1

do not recognize the hand, either." He took a few steps

toward the tent's far wall, then turned and paced back to-

ward the door. "The writer is obviously suggesting that

there is unrest in Nabban, that the Benidrivine House is

not as loved as it once wasnot surprising with

Benigaris in the saddle and Nessalanta pulling the reins.

But what could this person want of me? You say it came

to you with Dinivan's bird?"

"Yes. And that is what most worries me." Geloe was

about to say more when there was an apologetic cough

from the doorway. Father Strangyeard stood there, the

wisp of red hair atop his head plastered to his skull by

rainwater.

"Your pardon. Prince Josua." He saw Vorzheva and

colored. "Lady Vorzheva. Goodness. I hope you can for-

give my ... my intrusion."

"Come in, Strangyeard." The prince beckoned as

though to summon a skittish cat. Behind him, Vorzheva

smiled to show she did not mind.

"I asked him to come, Josua," said Geloe. "Since it

was Dinivan's birdwell, you can understand, I think."

"Of course." He waved the archivist to one of the va-

cant stools. "Now, tell me about the birds. I remember

634

Tad Williams

what you told me about Dinivan himselfalthough I can

still scarcely credit that the lector's secretary would be

part of such a company."

Geloe looked a little impatient. "The League of the

Scroll is a thing that many would be proud to be part of,

and Dinivan's master would never have been troubled by

anything that he did on its behalf." Her eyelids towered as

some new thought came to her. "But the lector is dead, if

the rumors that have come to us here are true. Some say

that worshipers of the Storm King murdered him,"

"I have heard of these Fire Dancers, yes," Josua said.

"Those of New Gadrinsett who fled here from the south

can talk of little else."

"But the troubling thing is that since this rumored ev-

ent, I have heard nothing from Dinivan," Geloe contin-

ued. "So who would have his birds, if not him? And if he

survived the attack on the lectorI am told there was a

great fire in the Sancellan Aedonitisthen why would he

not write himself ?"

"Perhaps he was burned or injured," Strangyeard said

diffidently. "He might have had someone else write on his

behalf."

"True," Geloe mused, "but then I think he would have

used his name, unless he is somehow so frightened of dis-

covery that he cannot even send a message by bird that

bears his rune."

"So if it is not Dinivan," said Josua, "then we must ac-

cept that this could be a trick. The very ones who were

responsible for the lector's death may have sent this."

Vorzheva raised herself a little higher in the bed. "It

could be not either of those things. Someone who found

Dinivan's birds could send it for their own reasons."

Geloe nodded slowly. "True. But it would have to be

someone who knew who Dinivan's friends were, and

where they might be: this message has your husband's

name at the top of it, as though whoever sent it knew it

would come straight to him."

Josua was pacing again. "I have thought about

Nabban," he muttered. "So many times. The north is a

wastelandI doubt Isom and the others will find more

TOGREENANGEL TOWER635

than a token force at best. The people have been scattered

by war and weather. But if we could somehow drive

Benigaris out of Nabban ..." He stopped and stared up at

the tent ceiling, frowning. "We could raise an army, then,

and ships.... We would have a real chance to thwart my

brother." His frown deepened. "But who can know

whether this is real or not? I do not like to have someone

pull at my strings like this." He slapped his hand against

his leg. "Aedon! Why can nothing be simple?"

Geloe shifted on her stool. The wise woman's voice

was surprisingly sympathetic. "Because nothing is sim-

ple, Prince Josua."

"Whatever it is," Vorzheva pointed out, "whether it is

a true thing or a lie, it says that a messenger will be sent.

Then we will learn more."

"Perhaps," Josua said. "If it is not just a ploy to keep

us hesitant, to make us delay."

"But that does not seem likely, if you will pardon my

saying so," Strangyeard piped up. "Which of our enemies

is so powerless that they would stoop that low... ?" He

trailed off, looking at Josua's hard, distracted face. "I

mean ..."

"I think that makes sense, Strangyeard," Geloe agreed.

"It is a weak play, and I think Elias and his ... ally ...

are beyond such things."

"Then you should not hurry to have your Raed, Josua."

There was something like triumph in Vorzheva's voice.

"It would not make sense to have plans until you know if

this is true or not. You must wait for this messenger. At

least a little while."

The prince turned to her; a look passed between them,

and although the others did not know what the silence be-

tween husband and wife meant, they waited. At last Josua

nodded stiffly.

"I suppose that is true," he said. 'The note says a fort-

night. I will wait that long before calling the Raed."

Vorzheva smiled in satisfaction.

"I agree. Prince Josua," said Geloe. "But there is still

much that we do not ..."

She stopped as Simon appeared in the doorway. When

636

Tad Williams

he did not immediately enter, Josua beckoned to him im-

patiently. '^Come in, Simon, come in. We are discussing a

strange message, and what may be an even stranger mes-

senger."

Simon started. "Messenger?"

"A letter was sent to us, perhaps from Nabban. Come

in. Do you need something?"

The tall youth swallowed. "Perhaps now is not the best

time."

"I can assure you," Josua said dryly, "there is nothing

that you could ask me that would not seem simple when

set beside the quandaries I have already discovered to-

day."

Simon still seemed hesitant. "Well ..." he said, then

stepped inside. Someone followed him in.

"Blessed Elysia, Mother of our Ransomer,"

Strangyeard said in a curiously choked voice.

"No. My mother named me Aditu," replied Simon's

companion. For all her fluency, her Westerling was

strangely accented; it was hard to tell whether she meant

mockery or not.

She was slender as a lance, with hungry golden eyes

and a great spilling froth of snowy white hair tied with a

gray band. Her clothes were white, too, so that she

seemed almost to glow in the shadowed tent, as though a

little piece of the winter sun had rolled through the door-

way.

"Aditu is my friend Jiriki's sister. She's a Sitha," Si-

mon added unnecessarily.

"By the Tree," Josua said. "By the Holy Tree."

Aditu laughed, a fluid, musical noise. "Are these things

you all say magical charms to chase me away? If so, they

do not seem to be working."

The witch woman stood. Her weathered face worked

through an unreadable mixture of emotions. "Welcome,

Dawn Child," she said slowly. "I am Geloe."

Aditu smiled, but gently. "I know who you are. First

Grandmother spoke of you."

Geloe lifted her hand as if to touch this apparition.

"Amerasu was dear to me, although I never met her face-

TOGREENANGELTOWER637

to-face. When Simon told me what had happened ..."

Astonishingly, tears formed and trembled on her lashes.

"She will be missed, your First Grandmother."

Aditu inclined her head for a moment. "She is missed.

All the world moums her."

Josua stepped forward. "Forgive me my discourtesy,

Aditu," he said, pronouncing the name carefully. "I am

Josua. Besides Valada Geloe, these others are my wife,

the lady Vorzheva, and Father Strangyeard," He ran his

hand across his eyes. "Can we offer you something to eat

or drink?"

Aditu bowed. "Thank you, but I drank from your

spring just before dawn and I am not hungry. I have a

message from my mother, Likimeya, Lady of the House

of Year-Dancing, which you may be interested to hear."

"Of course." Josua could not seem to help staring at

her. Behind him, Vorzheva was also staring at the new-

comer, although her expression was different than the

prince's. "Of course," he repeated. "Sit down, please."

The Sitha sank to the floor in a single movement, light

as thistledown. "Are you certain this is a good time,

Prince Josua?" Her tuneful voice contained a hint of

amusement. "You do not look well."

"It has been a strange morning," the prince replied.

"So they have already ridden to Hernystir?" Josua

spoke carefully. 'This is unexpected news indeed."

"You do not seem pleased," Aditu commented-

"We had hoped for Sithi aidalthough we certainly

did not expect it, or even think that it was deserved." He

grimaced. "I know you have no cause to love my father,

and so no reason to love me or my people. But I am glad

to hear that the Hemystiri will hear the Sithi's horns. I

have wished I could do more for Lluth's folk."

Aditu stretched her arms high over her head, a gesture

that seemed oddly childlike, out of place with the gravity

of the discussion. "As have we. But we have long exiled

ourselves from the doings of all mortals, even the

Hemystiri. We might have remained that way, even at the

expense of honor," she said with casual frankness, "but

638 Tad Williams

events forced us to admit that Hernystir's war was ours,

too." She turned her luminous eyes on the prince. "As is

yours, of course. And that is why, when Hernystir is free,

the Zida'ya will ride to Naglimund."

"As you said." Josua looked around the circle, as

though to confirm that the others had heard the same

thing as he. "But you did not say why."

"Many reasons. Because it is too close to our forest,

and our lands. Because the Hikeda'ya must not have any

foothold south of Nakkiga. And other worries I am not at

leave to explain."

"But if the rumors are true," Josua said, "the Noms arc

already at the Hayholt."

Aditu cocked her head on one side. "A few are there,

no doubt to reinforce your brother's bargain with Ineluki.

But, Prince Josua, you should understand that there is a

difference between the Noms and their undead master,

just as there is a difference between your castle and your

brother's. Ineluki and his Red Hand cannot come to

Asu'awhat you call the Hayholt. So it falls to the

Zida'ya to make sure that they cannot make a home for

themselves in Naglimund either, or anywhere else south

of the Frostmarch."

"Why can't the ... why can't he come to the Hayholt?"

Simon asked.

"It is an irony, but you can thank the usurper Fingil and

the other mortal kings who have held Asu'a for that,"

Aditu said. "When they saw what Ineluki had done in his

final moments of life, they were terrified. They had not

dreamed that anyone, even the Sithi, could wield such

power. So prayers and spellsif there is a difference be-

tween the twowere said over each handspan of what re-

mained of our home before the mortals made it their own.

As it was rebuilt, the same was done over and over again,

until Asu'a was so wrapped in protections that Ineluki

can never come there until Time itself ends, when it will

not matter." Her face tightened. "But he is still unimagin-

ably strong. He can send his living minions, and they will

help him rule over your brother and, through him, man-

kind."

TOGREENANGELTOWER639

"So you think that is what Ineluki plans?" Geloe asked.

"Is that what Amerasu thought?"

"We will never know for certain. As Simon has no

doubt told you, she died before she could share with us

the fruits of her pondering. One of the Red Hand was sent

into Jao e-Tinukai'i to help silence hera feat that must

have exhausted even Utuk'ku and the Unliving One be-

low Nakkiga, so it says much of how greatly they feared

First Grandmother's wisdom." She briefly crossed her

hands over her breast, then touched a finger to each eye.

"So the Houses of Exile came together in Jao e-Tinukai'i

to consider what had happened and to make plans for war.

That Ineluki plans to use your brother to rule mankind

seemed to all the gathered Zida'ya the most likely possi-

bility." Aditu leaned down to the brazier and picked up a

piece of wood that smoldered at one end. She held it be-

fore her, so that its glow crimsoned her face. "Ineluki is,

in a way, alive, but he can never truly exist in this world

againand in the place he covets most, he has no direct

power." She looked around the gathering, sharing her

golden stare with each in turn. "But he will do what he

can to bring the upstart mortals, under his fist. And if he

can also humble his family and tribe while he does so,

then I do not doubt he will." Aditu made a noise that

sounded a little like a sigh and dropped the wood back

into the embers- "Perhaps it is fortunate that most heroes

who die for their people cannot come back to see what

the people do with that hard-bought life and freedom."

There was a pause. Josua at last broke the silence.

"Has Simon told you that we buried our fallen here on

Sesuad'ra?"

Aditu nodded. "We are not strangers to death. Prince

Josua. We are immortal, but only in the sense that we do

not die except by our own choiceor the choice of oth-

ers. Perhaps we are all the more enmeshed with dying be-

cause of it. Just because our lives are long when held

against yours does not mean we are any more eager to

give them up." She allowed a slow, coolly measured

smile to narrow her lips. "So we know death well. Your

640 Tad Williams

people fought bravely to defend themselves. There is no

shame to us in sharing this place with those who died."

"Then I would like to show you something else." Josua

stood and extended his hand toward the Sitha. Vorzheva,

watching closely, did not look pleased. Aditu rose and

followed the prince toward the door.

"We have buried my friendmy dearest friendin the

garden behind Leavetaking House," he said. "Simon, per-

haps you will accompany us? And Geloe and

Strangyeard, too, if you would like," he added hurriedly.

"I will stay and talk with Vorzheva for a while," the

wise woman said. "Aditu, I look forward to a chance to

speak with you later."

"Certainly."

"I think I will come, too," Strangyeard said, almost

apologetically. "It's very pretty there."

"Sesu-d'asu is a sad place now," said Aditu. "It was

beautiful once."

They stood before the broad expanse of Leavetaking

House; its weatherworn stones glinted dully in the sun-

light.

"I think it is still beautiful," Strangyeard said shyly.

"So do I," Simon echoed. "Like an old woman who

used to be a lovely young girl, but you can still see it in

her face."

Aditu grinned. "My Seoman," she said, "the time you

spent with us has made you part Zida'ya. Soon you will

be composing poems and whispering them to the passing

wind."

They walked through the hall and into the ruined gar-

den, where a cairn of stones had been built over

Deomoth's grave. Aditu stood silently for a moment, then

laid her hand atop the uppermost stone. "It is a good,

quiet place." For a moment, her gaze grew distant, as

though she beheld some other place or time. "Of all the

songs we Zida'ya sing," she murmured, "the closest to

our hearts are those which tell of things lost."

"Perhaps that is because none of us can know some-

thing's true value until it is gone," said Josua. He bowed

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER64!

his head. The grass between the broken paving stones rip-

pled in the breeze.

A

Strangely, of all the mortals living on Sesuad'ra, it was

Vorzheva who most quickly befriended Adituif a mor-

tal could truly become a friend to one of the immortals.

Even Simon, who had lived among them and had rescued

one of them, was not at all certain that he could count any

of them as friends.

But despite her initial coolness toward the Sitha-

woman, Vorzheva seemed to be drawn by something in

Aditu's alien nature, perhaps the mere fact that Aditu was

alien, the only one of her kind in that place, as Vorzheva

herself had been for all the years in Naglimund. Whatever

Aditu's attraction, Josua's wife made her welcome and

even sought her out. The Sitha also seemed to enjoy

Vorzheva's company: when she was not with Simon or

Geloe, she could often be found walking with the

Thrithings-woman among the tents, or sitting by her bed-

side on days when Vorzheva felt ill or tired. Duchess

Outrun, Vorzheva's usual companion, did her best to

show good manners to the strange visitor, but something

in her Aedonite heart would not let her be fully comfort-

able. While Vorzheva and Aditu talked and laughed,

Gutrun watched Aditu as though the Sitha were a sort of

dangerous animal that she had been assured was now

tame.

For her part, Aditu seemed oddly fascinated by the

child Vorzheva carried. Few children were bom to the

Zida'ya, especially in these days, she explained. The last

had come over a century before, and he was now as much

of an adult as the eldest of the Dawn Children. Aditu also

seemed interested in Leieth, although the little girl was no

more expressive with her than with anyone else. Still, she

would allow Aditu to take her for walks, and even to

carry her occasionally, something that almost no one else

was permitted to do.

If Aditu was interested in some of the mortals, the or-

642 Tad Williams

dmary citizens of New Gadrinsett were m turn both fasci-

nated and terrified by her. Ulca's talethe truth of which

was strange enoughhad grown in the telling and retell-

ing until Aditu's arrival had come in a flash of light and

puff of smoke; the Sitha, the story continued, enraged by

the mortal girl's flirtation with her intended, had threat-

ened to turn Uica into stone. Uica quickly became -the

heroine of every young woman on Sesuad'ra, and Aditu,

despite the fact that she was seldom seen by most of the

hill-dwellers, became the subject of endless gossip and

superstitious mumbling.

To his chagrin, Simon also continued to be a subject of

rumor and speculation in the small community. Jeremias,

who frequently loitered in the marketplace beside

Leavetaking House, would gleefully report the latest

strange talethe dragon from whom Simon had stolen

the sword would come back someday and Simon would

have to fight it; Simon was part Sitha and Aditu had been

sent to bring him back to the halls of the Fair Folk; and

so on. Simon, hearing the fantasies that seemed to be

woven from empty air, could only cringe. There was

nothing he could doevery attempt he made to quell the

stories merely convinced the folk of New Gadrinsett that

he was either manfully modest or slyly deceptive- Some-

times he found the fabrications amusing, but he still could

not help feeling more closely observed than was comfort-

able, leading him to spend his time only with people he

knew and trusted. His evasiveness, of course, only fueled

more speculation.

If this was fame, Simon decided, he would have pre-

ferred to stay a lowly and unknown scullion. Sometimes

when he walked through New Gadrinsett these days,

when people waved to him or whispered to each other as

he passed, he felt quite naked, but there was nothing to do

but walk by with a smile on his face and his shoulders

back. Scullions could hide or run away; knights could

not.

A

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER643

"He is outside, Josua. He swears you are expecting

him."

"Ah." The prince turned to Simon. "This must be the

mysterious messenger I spoke ofthe one with news of

Nabban. And it has been a fortnightalmost to the day.

Stay and see." To Sludig he said: "Bring him in, please."

The Rimmersman stepped out, then returned a moment

later leading a tall, lantem-jawed fellow, pale-complected

andSimon thoughta little sullen-looking. The Rim-

mersman stepped back beside the wall of the tent and re-

mained there with one hand on the handle of his ax, the

other toying with the hairs of his yellow beard.

The messenger dropped slowly to one knee. "Prince

Josua, my master sends his greetings and bids me give

you this." As he put his hand in his cloak Sludig took a

step forward, even though the messenger was several

paces away from the prince, but the man withdrew only a

roll of parchment, beribboned and sealed in blue wax.

Josua stared at it for a moment, then nodded to Simon to

fetch it to him.

"The winged dolphin," Josua said as he gazed at the

emblem stamped into the melted wax. "So your master is

Count Streawe of Perdruin?"

It was hard not to call the look on the messenger's face

a smirk. "He is. Prince Josua."

The prince broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.

He scanned it for a few long moments, then curled it up

and set it on the arm of his chair. "I will not hurry

through this. What is your name, man7"

The messenger nodded his head with immense satisfac-

tion, as though he had been long expecting this crucial

question. "It is ... Lenti."

"Very well, Lenti, Sludig will take you and see that you

get food and drink. He will also find you a bed because

I will want some time before I send my answermaybe

several days."

The messenger looked around the prince's tent, as-

sessing the possible quality of New Gadrinsett's accom-

modations. "Yes, Prince Josua."

644

Tad Williams

Sludig came forward and, with a jerk of his head, sum-

moned Lenti to follow him out.

"I didn't think much of the messenger," Simon said

when they had gone,

Josua was inspecting the parchment once more. "A

fool," he agreed "jumped up beyond his capabilities, even

for something as simple as this. But don't confuse

Streawe with his minionsPerdruin's master is clever" as

a marketplace cutpurse. Still, it doesn't speak well of his

ability to deliver on this promise if he can find no more

impressive servitor to bear it to me."

"What promise?" Simon asked.

Josua rolled the message and slid it into his sleeve.

"Count Streawe claims he can deliver me Nabban." He

stood. "The old man is lying, of course, but it leads to

some interesting speculation."

"I don't understand, Josua."

The prince smiled. "Be glad. Your days of innocence

about people like Streawe are fast disappearing." He pat-

ted Simon's shoulder. "For now, young knight, 1 would as

soon not talk about it. There will be a time and place for

this at the Raed."

"You're ready to have your council?"

Josua nodded. "The time has come. For once, we will

call the tunethen we will see if we can make my

brother and his allies dance to it."

*

"That is a most interesting deception, clever Seoman."

Aditu stared down at the game of shent she had con-

structed from wood and root-dyes and polished stones.

"A false thrust played falsely: a seeming that is revealed

as a sham, but underneath is a true thing after all. Very

prettybut what will you do if I place my Bright Stones

here ... here ... and here?" She suited action to words.

Simon frowned. In the dim light of his tent, her hand

moved almost too swiftly to be seen. For an unpleasant

moment he wondered if she might be cheating him, but

another instant's reflection convinced him that Aditu had

TOGREENANGELTOWER

645

no need to cheat someone to whom the subtleties of shent

were still largely a mystery, any more than Simon would

trip a small child with whom he was running a race. Still,

it raised an interesting question.

"Can you cheat at this game?"

Aditu looked up from arranging her pieces. She was

wearing one of Vorzheva's loose dresses; the combination

of her unusually modest attire and her unbound hair made

her look a little less dangerously wildin fact, it made

her seem disconcertingly human. Her eyes gleamed in the

light of the brazier. "Cheat? Do you mean lie? A game

can be as deceptive as the players wish it to be."

"That's not what I mean. Can you do something on

purpose that is against the rules?" She was eerily beauti-

ful. He stared at her, remembering the night she had

kissed him. What had that meant? Anything? Or was it

just another way for Aditu to toy with her one-time lap-

dog?

She considered his question. "I am not sure how to an-

swer. Could you cheat against the way you are made and

fly by flapping your arms?"

Simon shook his head. "A game that has so many rules

must have some way to break them...."

Before Aditu could try again to answer, Jeremias burst

into the tent, out of breath and agitated. "Simon!" he

shouted, then drew up short, seeing that Aditu was there.

"I'm sorry." Despite his embarrassment, he was having

trouble containing his excitement.

"What is it?"

"People have come!"

"Who? What people?" Simon looked briefly to Aditu,

but she had returned to her study of the arrangement be-

fore her.

"Duke Isgrimnur and the princess!" Jeremias waved his

arms up and down. "And there are others with them, too!

A strange little man, sort of like Binabik and his trolls,

but almost our size- And an old manhe's taller than

you, even. Simon, the whole town has gone down to see

them!"

646 Tad Williams

He sat for a moment in silence, his mind whirling.

"The princess?" he said at last. "Princess ... Miriamele?"

"Yes, yes," Jeremias panted. "Dressed as a monk, but

she took off her hood and waved to people. Come on, Si-

mon, everyone is going down to meet them." He turned

and took a few steps toward the doorway, then pivoted to

look at his friend in astonishment. "Simon? What's

wrong? Don't you want to go see the princess and Duke

Isgrimnur and the brown man?"

"The princess." He turned helplessly to Aditu, who

gazed back at him with feline disinterest.

"It sounds like something you will enjoy, Seoman. We

will play our game later."

Simon stood and followed Jeremias out of the tent and

into the hilltop wind, moving as slowly and unsteadily as

a sleepwalker. As if he passed through a dream, he heard

people shouting all around, a rising murmur of sound that

filled his ears like the roar of the ocean.

Miriamele had come back.

21

Answered Prayers

It had yawn steadily colder as Miriamele and her

companions made their way across the wide grasslands.

By the time they reached the seemingly endless plain of

the Meadow Thnthing, there was snow on the ground,

and even in full afternoon the sky remained a dull pewter

stained with streaks of black cloud. Huddled in her trav-

eling cloak against the predatory wind, Miriamele found

herself almost grateful that Aspitis Preves had found

them; it would have been a long and miserable journey

indeed if they had been forced to make it on foot. Cold

and uncomfortable as she was, however, Miriamele was

also experiencing a curious sense of freedom. The earl

had haunted her, but now, although he lived, and might

still conceivably seek some kind of vengeance, she no

longer feared him or anything he might do. But Cadrach's

flight was another thing altogether.

Since their escape together from the Eodne Cloud, she

had begun to see the Hemystirman in a different way. He

had betrayed her several times, certainly, but in his odd

way he had semed to care for her as well. The monk's

own self-hatred had continued to loom between them

and had apparently driven him away at lastbut her own

feelings had changed.

She deeply regretted the argument over Tiamak's

parchment. Miriamele had thought she might slowly con-

tinue to draw him out, might somehow reach through to

the man beneatha man she liked. But, as though she

had tried to tame a wild dog and had moved too quickly

648 Tad Williams

to pet it, Cadrach had startled and bolted. Miriamele

could not rid herself of the obscure feeling that she had

missed an opportunity that was more important than she

could understand.

Even on horseback, it was a long journey. Her thoughts

were not always good company.

*

They rode a full week to reach the Meadow Thrithing,

traveling from first light until after the sun had vanished

... on those days that they saw the sun at all. The

weather grew steadily colder, but remained something

just short of unlivable: by mid-aftemoon of most days the

sun struggled through like a tired but determined messen-

ger and chased away the chill-

The meadowlands were wide and, for the most part,

flat and featureless as a carpet. What slope there was to

the land was almost more depressing: after a long day's

ride up a gradual incline, Miriamele found it hard to rid

herself of the idea that they would eventually reach a

summit and that it would be somewhere. Instead, at some

point they would cross a flat table of meadow no more in-

teresting than the upward slope, then gradually find them-

selves moving down an equally uninspiring decline. Even

the idea of having to make such a monotonous journey on

foot was disheartening. Acre after empty acre, mile after

trying mile, Miriamele whispered quiet prayers of grati-

tude for Aspitis' unwitting gift of horses.

Riding on the saddle before her, Tiamak quickly recov-

ered his strength. After some encouragement, the

Wrannaman told herand Isgrimnur, who was happy to

have someone else share the burden of storytellingmore

about his childhood in the marshes and his difficult year

as an aspiring scholar in Perdruin. Although his natural

reticence prevented him from dwelling on his ill-

treatment, Miriamele thought she could feel every slight,

every little cruelty that wound through his tale.

I'm not the first person to feel lonely, to feel misunder-

stood and unwanted. This seemingly obvious fact now

TOGREENANGELTOWER649

struck her with the force of revelation. And I'm a prin-

cess, a privileged personI've never been hungry, never

been afraid that I would die unremembered, never been

told that I wasn't good enough to do something that I

wished to do.

Listening to Tiamak, watching his wiry but somehow

fragile form, his precise, scholarly gestures, Miriamele

was dismayed by her own willful ignorance. How could

she, with all her native good fortune, be so consumed

with the few inconveniences that God or fate had put in

her way? It was shameful.

She tried to tell Duke Isgrimnur something of her

thoughts, but he would not let her slide too far into self-

loathing.

"Each one of has our own sorrows. Princess," he said.

"It's no shame to take them to heart. The only sin is to

forget that other folk have theirs, tooor to let pity for

yourself slow your hand when someone needs help."

Isgrimnur, Miriamele was reminded, was more than

just a gruff old soldier.

On their third night in the Meadow Thrithing, as the

four sat close to their campfirevery close, since wood

was scarce on the grasslands and the fire was a small

oneMiriamele finally worked up the courage to ask

Tiamak about his sack and its contents.

The Wrannaman was so embarrassed he could scarcely

meet her eye. "It is terrible. Lady. I remember only a lit-

tle, but in my fever I was certain that Cadrach meant to

steal it from me."

"Why would you think that? And what is it, anyway?"

After a moment's consideration, Tiamak reached into his

bag, drew out the leafy bundle, and peeled away the wrap-

pings. "It was when you spoke of the monk and Nisses'

book," he explained shyly. "I can believe now that it was in-

nocent, since Morgenes also said something about Nisses in

his message to mebut in the depth of my illness, I could

only think that it meant my treasure was in danger."

He handed her the parchment. As she unrolled it,

Isgrimnur moved around the fire to look over her shoul-

650 Tad Williams

der. Camaris, seemingly oblivious as always, stared out

into the empty night.

"It's some kind of song," Isgrimnur said crossly, as

though he had been expecting more.

"... 'The manne who though blinded canne see' ..."

Miriamele read. "What is it?"

"I am not sure myself," Tiamak replied. "But look, it is

signed 'Nisses.' I think it is part of his lost book, Du

Svardenvyrd."

Miriamele took a sudden breath. "Oh. But that's the

book Cadrach hadthe one he sold off page by page."

She felt something squeeze in the pit of her stomach.

"The book that Pryrates wanted. Where did you get this?"

"I bought it in Kwanitupul almost a year ago. It was

part of a pile of scraps. The merchant could not have

known it was worth anything, or else he never inspected

what he had probably bought as scrap himself."

"I don't think Cadrach actually knew what you had,"

said Miriamele. "But, Elysia, Mother of Mercy, how

strange! Perhaps this is one of the pages that he sold!"

"He sold pages of Nisses1 book?" Tiamak asked. Out-

rage mingled with wonder. "How could that be?"

"Cadrach told me he was poor and desperate." She

weighed the idea of telling them the rest of the monk's

story, then decided she should consider the matter more

carefully. They might not understand his actions. Even

though he had fled, she felt the urge to protect Cadrach

from those who did not know him as she did. "He had a

different name then," she offered, as though somehow it

might absolve him. "He was called Padreic."

"Padreic!" Now Tiamak was nothing short of as-

tounded. "But I know that name' Can he be the same

man? Doctor Morgenes knew him well!"

"Yes, he knew Morgenes. He has a strange history."

Isgrimnur snorted, but now he, too, sounded a little de-

fensive. "A strange history indeed, it seems."

Miriamele hurried to change the subject. "Perhaps

Josua will understand this,"

The duke shook his head. "I think Prince Josua, if we

TOGREENANGELTOWER65!

find him, will have other things to do than look at old

parchments."

"But it may be important." Tiamak looked sideways at

Isgrimnur. "As I said. Doctor Morgenes wrote in a letter

to me that he thought these were the times that Nisses

warned about. Morgenes was a man who knew many

things hidden from the rest of us."

Isgrimnur grunted and moved back to his own place in

the fire-circle. "It's beyond me. Well beyond me."

Miriamele was watching Camaris, who was surveying

the darkness as calmly and possessively as an owl poised

to glide from a tree branch. "There are so many mysteries

these days," she said. "Won't it be nice when things are

simple again?"

There was a pause, then Isgrimnur laughed self-

consciously. "I'd forgotten the monk was gone. I was

waiting for him to say, 'Things will never be simple

again,* or something like it."

Miriamele smiled despite herself. "Yes, that's just what

he would have said." She held her hands closer to the

fire's reassuring warmth and let out a sigh. "Just what

he would have said."

Days passed as they rode north. Snow thickened on the

ground; the wind became an enemy. As the last leagues of

the Meadow Thrithing disappeared behind them,

Miriamele and the rest grew more and more downhearted.

"It's hard to imagine Josua and the rest are having any

luck in this weather." Isgrimnur was almost shouting to

be heard above the wind. "Things are worse now than

when I came south."

"If they are alive, that will be enough," Miriamele said.

"That will be a start."

"But, Princess, we don't really know where to look for

them." The duke was almost apologetic. "None of the ru-

mors I heard said much more than that Josua was some-

where in the High Thrithing. There's more than a hundred

leagues of grassland up ahead, no more settled or civi-

lized than this." He waved his broad arm at the bleak,

652 Tad Williams

snowy expanses on either side. "We could hunt for

months."

"We will find him," Miriamele said, and in her own

heart she felt almost as certain as she sounded. Surely the

things she had been through, the things she had learned,

must be for something. "There are people who live on the

Thrithings," she added. "If Josua and the others have

made themselves a settlement, the Thrithings-folk will

know."

Isgrimnur snorted. "The Thrithings-folk! Miriamele, I

know them better than you may think. These are not

town-dwellers. For one thing, they do not stay in one

place, so we may not even find them. And we might be

just as glad if we don't. They are barbarians, just as likely

to knock our heads off as offer us news of Josua."

"I know you fought against the Thrithings-men,"

Miriamele replied. "But that was long ago." She shook

her head. "And we have no choice that I can see, in any

case. We will solve that when we come to it."

The duke stared at her with a mixture of frustration and

amusement on his face, then shrugged. "You are your fa-

ther's daughter."

Strangely, Miriamele was not displeased by this re-

mark, but she frowned anywayas much to keep the

duke in his place as anything. A moment later she

laughed.

"What's funny?" Isgrimnur asked suspiciously.

"Nothing, in truth. I was just thinking of all the times

when I was with Binabik and Simon. Several times I had

decided that within a few moments I would be dead

once when some terrible dogs almost got us, another time

a giant, and men shooting arrows at us ..." She shook her

hair from her eyes, but the maddening wind immediately

flung it back. She tucked the offending strands back into

her hood. "But now I don't think that any more, no matter

how dreadful things are. When Aspitis captured us, I

never believed that he would truly manage to take me

away. And if he had, I would have escaped."

She slowed her horse for a moment, trying to put her

thought into words. "You see, in truth it's not funny at all.

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

653

But it seems to me now that there are things happening

that are beyond our strength. Like waves on the ocean,

huge waves. I can fight themand drownor I can let

them carry me, and swim just enough to keep my head

above the water. I know I'm going to see Uncle Josua

again. I just know. And Simon and Binabik and

Vorzhevathere's more to be done, that's all."

Isgrimnur looked at her warily, as though the little girl

he had once knee-dandled had become a Nabbanai star-

reader. "And then? When we're all together again?"

Miriamele smiled at him, but it was only the bitter-

sweet tip of a great sorrow that washed through her. "The

wave will crash, dear old Uncle Isgrimnur ... and some

of us will go down and never come up. I don't know how

it will be, of course not. But I'm not as frightened as I

used to be."

They were silent then, three horses and four riders

fighting their way into the wind.

Only the amount of time they had been riding told

them when they had crossed over into the High Thrithing;

the snow-mantled meadows and hills were no more mem-

orable than anything they had crossed in the first week of

their journey. Strangely, though, the weather did not

worsen as they continued to move northward. Miriamele

even began to believe that it was growing a bit warmer,

the wind a little less biting.

"A hopeful sign," she said one afternoon when the sun

actually appeared. "I told you, Isgrimnur. We'll get

there."

"Wherever 'there' is, exactly," the duke grumbled.

Tiamak stirred in the saddle. "Perhaps we should make

our way to the river. If there are people still living in this

place, they are most likely to be near moving water,

where there might still be fish to catch." He shook his

head sadly. "I wish that what I remembered from my

dream was more precise."

Isgrimnur pondered. "The Ymstrecca is just south of

the great forest. But it runs most of the length of the

Thrithingsa long way to go a-searching."

654

Tad Williams

"Is there not another river that crosses it?" Tiamak

asked. "It has been long since I looked at a map."

"There is. The Stefflod. if I remember rightly." The

duke frowned. "But it is little more than a large stream."

"Still, in the places where rivers meet you often find

villages," Tiamak said with surprising assuredness. "So it

is in the Wran, and in all the other places that I have

heard of."

Miriamele started to say something, but stopped,

watching Camaris. The old man had ridden a little way

off to the side and was watching the sky. She followed his

stare but saw only dingy clouds.

Isgrimnur was considering the Wrannaman's idea.

"P'raps you're right, Tiamak. If we continue north, we

can't help but strike the Ymstrecca. But I think the

Stefflod must be a little to the east." He looked around as

though seeking some landmark; his eyes stopped on

Camaris. "What's he looking at?"

"I don't know," Miriamele replied. "Oh. It must be

those birds'"

A pair of dark shapes were swooping toward them out

of the east, whirling like cinders caught in the draught of

a fire.

"Ravens'" said Isgrimnur. "Gore crows'."

The birds wheeled in a circle above the travelers as if

they had found what they had been seeking. Miriamele

thought she could see their yellow eyes glint. The sensa-

tion of being watched, marked, was very strong. After a

few more turns, the ravens dove, their feathers shining

oily-black as they approached. Miriamele ducked her

head and covered her eyes. The ravens flew past,

shrieking; a moment later they banked upward and hur-

tled away. In moments, the birds were two dwindling

specks vanishing into the northern sky.

Only Camaris had not lowered his head- He watched

their retreating forms with an absorbed, contemplative

look.

"What are they?" Tiamak asked. "Are they danger-

ous?"

"Birds of ill omen," the duke growled. "In my country,

TOGREENANGELTOWER655

we chase them with arrows. Carrion eaters." He made a

face.

"I think they were looking at us," Miriamele said. "I

think they wanted to know who we were."

"That's no way to talk." Isgrimnur reached over and

squeezed her arm. "And what would birds care who we

were, anyway?"

Miriamele shook her head. "I don't know. But that's

the feeling I have: someone wanted to know who we

wereand now they do."

"They were Just ravens." The duke's smile was grim.

"We have other things to worry about."

"That's true," she said.

A few more days' riding brought them at last to the

Ymstrecca. The swiftly flowing river was almost black

beneath the faint sun. Patchy snow cloaked its banks.

"The weather is getting warmer," Isgrimnur said,

pleased. "This is scarcely colder than it should be at this

time of the year. It is Novander, after all."

"Is it?" Miriamele was unsettled. "And we left Josua's

keep in Yuven. Half a year. Elysia's mercy, we have been

traveling a long time."

They turned and followed the river eastward, stopping

at dark to make camp with the sound of the water loud in

their ears. They started early the next morning beneath a

gray sky.

In late afternoon they reached the edge of a shallow

valley of wet grass. Before them, like the leavings from

some ruinous flood, lay the weather-battered remains of a

vast settlement. Hundreds of makeshift houses had stood

here, and most of them seemed to have been recently in-

habited, but something had drawn or driven out the resi-

dents; but for a few lonely birds poking among the

abandoned dwellings, the ramshackle city seemed de-

serted.

Miriamele's heart sank. "Was this Josua's camp?

Where have they gone?"

"It is on a great hill. Lady," Tiamak said. "At least, that

was what I saw in my dream."

656 Tad Williams

Isgrimnur spurred his horse down toward the empty

settlement.

On inspection, much of the impression of disaster was

revealed to be the nature of the settlement itself, since

most of the building materials were scraps and deadwood.

There did not seem to be a nail in the whole of the city;

the crudely woven ropes that had held together most of

the better-constructed buildings appeared to have frayed

and given way in the clutch of storms that had lately bat-

tered the Thrithingsbut even at the best of times,

Miriamele decided, none of the dwellings could have

been much more than hovels.

There was also some sign of orderly retreat. Most of

the people who had lived here seemed to have had time to

take their possessions with themalthough, judging by

the quality of the shelters, they could not have had much

to start. Still, there was little left of the everyday necessi-

ties: Miriamele found a few broken pots and some rags of

clothing so miserably tattered and mud-soaked that even

in a cold winter they had probably not been missed.

'They left," she told Isgrimnur, "but it looks as though

they chose to."

"Or were ^orced to," the duke pointed out. "They could

have been marched out in a careful manner, if you see

what I mean."

Camaris had climbed down from his horse and was

rooting in a pile of sod and broken branches that had once

been someone's home. He stood up with something shiny

in his hand.

"What is that?" Miriamele rode over. She held out her

hand, but Camaris was staring at the piece of metal. At

last she reached out and gently pried it from the old

knight's long, callused fingers.

Tiamak slid forward onto the horse's shoulders and

turned to examine the object. "It looks like a clasp to hold

a cloak," he offered.

"It is, I think." The silvery object, bent and muddy, had

a rim of molded holly leaves. At the center was a pair of

crossed spears and an angry reptilian face. Miriamele felt

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER657

a wisp of fear rise inside her once more. "Isgrimnur, look

at this."

The duke brought his mount alongside hers and took

the brooch. "It's the badge of the king's Erkynguard."

"My father's soldiers," Miriamele murmured. She

could not restrain the urge to look around, as though a

company of knights could have been lying in wait unob-

served somewhere nearby on the empty grass slope.

"They have been here."

"They could have been here after the people left,"

Isgrimnur said. "Or there could be some other reason we

can't guess." He did not sound very convinced himself.

"After all. Princess, we don't even know who was living

here."

"/ know." She was angry just imagining it. "They were

people who had fled my father's reign. Josua and the oth-

ers were probably with them. Now they have been driven

away or captured."

"Pardon, Lady Miriamele," Tiamak said cautiously,

"but I think it would not be good to make our minds up

so quickly. Duke Isgrimnur is right: there is much we do

not know. This is not the place I saw in the dream Geloe

sent me."

"So, then, what should we do?"

"Continue," said the Wrannaman. "Follow the tracks.

Perhaps those who lived here have gone to join Josua."

"That looks promising over there." The duke was shad-

ing his eyes against the gray sun. He pointed toward the

edge of the settlement, where a series of wide ruts wound

out from the trampled acres of mud toward the north.

"Then let us follow." Miriamele handed the brooch

back to Camaris. The old knight looked at it for a mo-

ment, then let it drop to the ground.

The ruts ran close enough together to make a large

muddy scar through the grasslands. On either side of this

makeshift road lay the marks of the people who had used

itbroken wagon spokes, sodden fire ashes, numerous

holes dug and filled in. Despite the look of it, the ugly

scatter across an otherwise pristine land, Miriamele was

658

Tad Williams

heartened by how new the signs seemed: it could not have

been more than a month or two at most since the road had

been traveled.

Over a supper culled from their dwindling Village

Grove stores, Miriamele asked Isgrimnur what he would

do when they reached Josua at last. It was nice to talk

about that day as something that would happen, not just

as something that might: it made it seem certain, real and

tangible, even though she still felt a wisp of superstitious

fear at talking of good things not yet come to pass.

"I'D show him that I kept my word/' the duke laughed.

"Show you to him. Then I think I will catch up my wife

and hug her until she squeaks."

Miriamele smiled, thinking of plump, always-capable

Outrun. "I want to see that." She looked over at Tiamak,

who slept, and Camaris, who was polishing Isgrimnur's

sword with the fascinated absorption he usually gave only

to the movements of birds in the sky. Before the duel with

Aspitis, the old knight had not wanted even to touch the

blade. She felt a little sad now as she watched him. He

handled the duke's sword as though it were an old but not

quite trusted friend.

"You really miss her, don't you?" she said, turning

back to Isgrimnur. "Your wife."

"Ah, sweet Usires, I do." He stared at the fire as

though unwilling to meet her eyes. "I do,"

"You love her." Miriamele was pleased and a little sur-

prised: Isgrimnur had spoken with a heat she had not ex-

pected. It was strange to think that love could bum so

strongly in the breast of someone who seemed as old and

familiar as the dukeand that grandmotherly Duchess

Outrun could be the object of such powerful feelings!

"Of course I love her, I suppose," he said, frowning.

"But it's more than that, my lady. She's a part of me, my

Outrunwe've grown together through the years, twined

'round each other like two old trees." He laughed and

shook his head. "I always knew. From the moment I saw

her first, carrying mistletoe from the ship-grave of

Sotfengsel ... Ah, she was so beautiful. She had the

brightest eyes I've ever seen! Like something in a story."

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

659

Miriamele sighed. "I hope someone feels that way

about me someday."

"They will, my girl, they will." Isgrimnur smiled. "And

when you are married, if you are lucky enough to marry

the right one, you will know just what I mean. He will be

a part of you, just like my Outrun is for me- Forever until

we die." He made the Tree on his breast. "None of this

southlander nonsense for mewidows and widowers tak-

ing another spouse! How could anyone ever match her?"

He fell silent as he considered the monumental imperti-

nence of second marriages.

Miriamele, too, reflected in silence. Would it be her lot

someday to find such a husband? She thought of

Fengbald, to whom her father had once offered her, and

shuddered. Horrid, swaggering oaf! That Elias, of all peo-

ple, should attempt to marry her to someone she did not

love, when he himself had been so crippled by the death

of Miriamele's mother Hylissa that he had been like a

man lost in the dark since the hour of her death....

Unless he was trying to spare me from such awful lone-

liness, she thought. Maybe he thought it would be a bless-

ing not to love so, and never to feel such a loss. That was

the heartbreaking thing, to see- him so lonely for her....

With the suddenness and enormity of a lightning flash,

Miriamele saw the thing that had been teasing her mind

since Cadrach had first told her his story. It was all there

before her, and it was so clearso clear! It was as though

she had groped in a blackened chamber, but now a door

had abruptly opened, spilling light, and she could finally

see all the strange shapes she had touched in darkness.

"Oh!" she said, gasping. "Oh! Oh, Father!"

She astonished Isgrimnur by bursting into tears. The

duke tried his best to soothe her, but she could not stop

crying. Neither would she tell him what had caused it, ex-

cept to say that Isgrimnur's words had reminded her of

her mother's death. It was a cruel half-truth, although she

did not intend cruelty: when Miriamele crawled away

from the fire, the duke was left perturbed but helpless,

blaming himself for her misery.

Still sniffling quietly, Miriamele rolled herself in her

66o Tad Williams

blanket to stare at the stars and think. There was suddenly

so much to think about. Nothing important had changed,

but at the same time, everything was vastly different.

Tears came to her again before she finally fell asleep.

*

A brief flurry of snow came up in the morning, not

enough to slow the horses much, but sufficient to make

Miriamele shiver most of the day. The Stefflod was slug-

gish and gray, like a twining stream of fluid lead, and the

snow seemed thickest just above it, so that the fields on

the river's far side were much murkier than the nearer

bank. Miriamele had the illusion that the Stefflod drew

snow like the lodestone in Ruben the Bear's smithy drew

scraps of iron.

The land sloped upward, so that by late afternoon,

when the light had already fled and they rode in cold twi-

light, they found themselves climbing into a rank of low

hills. Trees were nearly as scarce as they had been in the

Lake Thrithing, and the wind was sharp and raw on

Miriamele's cheeks, but there was a sort of relief in the

changing scenery.

They climbed high into the hills that night before mak-

ing camp. When they arose in the morning, feet and fin-

gers and noses bright pink and smarting, the company

lingered over the fire longer than usual. Even Camaris got

on his horse with a look of obvious reluctance.

The snow grew less, then vanished by late morning.

Toward noon the sun emerged brilliantly from the clouds,

sending down great arrow-flights of beams. By the time^

they had reached what seemed to be the summit of the

hills in mid-afternoon, the clouds had returned, this time

bearing a chill but delicate rain.

"Princess!" Isgrimnur shouted. "Look here!" He had

ridden a short way ahead, looking for any possible haz-

ards in their journey downslope: an easy ascent did not

guarantee an equally simple descent, and the duke was

taking no chances in unknown country. Half in fear, half

in exhilaration, Miriamele rode forward. Tiamak leaned

TOGREENANGELTOWER

661

forward in the saddle before her, straining to see. The

duke stood in a break in the sparse treeline, waving his

hand toward the gap between the trunks. "Look!"

Spread below them was a wide valley, a bowl of green

patched with white. Despite the soft rain, a sense of still-

ness hung over it, the air somehow taut as an indrawn

breath. At the center, rising up from what looked like a

partially frozen lake, was a great stony hill mantled in

snow-flecked greenery. The slanting light played across it

so that its western face seemed almost to glow, warmly

inviting. From the top, pale smoke rose from a hundred

different sources.

"God be praised, what is it?" Isgrimnur said in aston-

ishment.

"I think it is the place from my dream," Tiamak mur-

mured.

Miriamele hugged herself, awash in feeling. The great

hill seemed almost too real. "I hope it is a good place. I

hope Josua and the others are there."

^Somebody is living there," Isgrimnur said. "Look at

all the fires!"

"Come!" Miriamele spurred her horse down the trail.

"We can be there before nightfall."

"Don't be in such a hurry." Isgrimnur urged his own

mount forward. "We don't know for certain that it's any-

thing to do with Josua."

"I would willingly be captured by almost anyone if

they'd take me to a fire and a warm bed," Miriamele

called back over her shoulder.

Camaris, who had brought up the rear. paused at the

gap in the trees to stare down into the valley. His long

face did not change expression, but he remained where he

was for a long time before following the others.

Although it was still light when they reached the lake

shore, the men who came to meet them carried torches

flowers of fire that reflected yellow and scarlet in the

black lake water as the boats made their way slowly

through floating ice. Isgrimnur held back at first, cautious

and protective, but before the first boat touched shore he

662 Tad Williams

recognized the yellow-bearded figure in the bow and

swung down from his saddle with a shout of delight.

"Sludig! In God's name, in Aedon's name, bless you!"

His liege-man sloshed the last few steps to shore. Be-

fore he could bend his knee before the duke, Isgrimnur

snatched him up and crushed him to his broad chest.

"How fares the prince?" Isgrimnur cried, "and my la4y

wife? And my son?"

Although Sludig was himself a large man, he had to

free himself from the duke's clutches and catch his breath

before he could assure Isgrimnur that all were fine, al-

though Isom had left on a mission for the prince. Duke

Isgrimnur did a clumsy, enthusiastic, bearlike dance of

glee. "And I've brought the princess back!" the duke said.

"And more, and more! But lead on! Ah, this is as fine as

Aedonmansa!"

Sludig laughed. "We have been watching you since

midday. Josua said: 'Go down and find out who they are.'

He will be quite surprised, I think!" He quickly arranged

for the horses to be loaded on one of the barges, then

helped Miriamele onto the boat.

"Princess." His touch was firm as he helped her to one

of the benches. "You are welcome to New Gadrinsett.

Your uncle will be happy to see you."

The guardsmen who had accompanied Sludig examined

Tiamak and Camaris with great interest as well, but the

Rimmersman did not allow them to waste time. Within

moments they were heading back across the ice-studded

lake.

Waiting on the far side was a cart drawn by two thin

and disgruntled oxen. When the passengers were loaded

on board, Sludig smacked one of the beasts on the flank

and the can began to roll creakily up the stone-shod road.

"What is this?" Isgrimnur peered over the side of the

cart to look at the pale stones.

"It is a Sithi road," Sludig said with more than a touch

of pride. "This is a Sithi place, very ancient. They call it

'Sesuad'ra.' "

"I have heard of it," Tiamak whispered to Miriamele.

TOGREENANGELTOWER663

"It is famous in lorebut I had no idea it still existed, or

that it was the Stone Geloe showed me!"

Miriamele shook her head. She cared little where they

were being taken. With Sludig's appearance, she felt as

though a vast load had been taken from her back; only

now did she realize how tired she truly was.

She felt herself nodding a little with the movement of

the ox cart, and tried to fight back a wave of exhaustion.

Children were running down the mountainside to join

them. They fell in behind the travelers, shouting and sing-

ing.

By the time they reached the top of the hill, a great

crowd had gathered. Miriamele found the immense sea of

people almost sickening; it had been a long time since the

swarming wooden streets of Kwanitupul, and she found

herself unable to look at so many hungry, expectant faces.

She leaned against Isgrimnur and closed her eyes.

At the top, the faces suddenly became familiar. Sludig

helped her down from the cart and into the arms of her

uncle Josua, who pulled her to him and hugged her al-

most as firmly as Isgrimnur had embraced Sludig. After a

moment he held her out at arm's length to stare at her. He

was thinner than she remembered, and his garments, al-

though colored his habitual gray, were odd and rustic- Her

heart opened a little wider, letting in both pain and joy.

"The Ransomer has answered my prayers," he said-

There could be no doubt, despite his lined and troubled

face, that he was very happy to see her. "Welcome back,

Miriamele."

Then there were more facesVorzheva. wearing an

odd, tentlike robe, and the harper Sangfugol, and even lit-

tle Binabik who bowed with mocking courtliness before

taking her hand in his small, warm fingers. Another who

stood silently by seemed oddly familiar. He was bearded,

and a streak of white marred his red hair and capped the

pale scar on his cheek. He looked at her as though he

would memorize her, as though someday he might carve

her in stone.

It took a long moment.

"Simon?" she said-

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Tad Williams

Astonishment turned rapidly to a kind of strange

bitternessshe had been cheated of so much! While she

had been busy elsewhere, the world had changed. Simon

was no longer a mere boy. Her friend had disappeared,

and this tall young man had taken his place. Had she been

away that long?

The stranger's mouth worked, but it was a moment be-

fore she heard him speak. Simon's voice seemed deeper,

too, but his words were halting. "I am glad you're safe,

Princess. Very glad."

She stared at him, her eyes burning as tears began to

come. The world seemed topside-round.

"Please," she said abruptly, turning to Josua. "I think

... I need to lie down. I need to sleep." She did not see

the one-time kitchen boy lower his head as though he had

been spumed.

"Of course," said her uncle, full of concern. "Of

course. As long as you like. Then, when you arise, we

will have a feast of thanksgiving!"

Miriamele nodded, dazed, then let Vorzheva lead her

away toward the rippling sea of tents. Behind her,

Isgrimnur's arms were still locked about his giggling,

weeping wife-

22

Whispers in Stone

*

Tfte water poured out of the great crevice and splashed

across the shelf of flat black basalt before surging over

the edge and down into the pit. For all its fury, the water-

fall was nearly invisible in the dark cavern, which was lit

only by a few small, glowing stones embedded in the

walls. The impossibly high-ceilinged chamber was called

Yakh Huyeru, which meant Hall of Trembling; and al-

though the cavern had been given that name for another

reason, the walls did seem to shiver ever so slightly as

Kiga 'rasku. the Tearfall, rolled ceaselessly down into the

depths. It made very little noise in its passage, whether

because of some trick of the vast chamber's echo or be-

cause of the void into which it fell. Some of the moun-

tain's residents whispered that Kiga'rasku had no bottom,

that the water fell through the bottom of the earth,

pouring endlessly into the black Between.

As she stood at the chasm's edge, Utuk'ku was a min-

ute stitch of silvery white against the tapestry of dark wa-

ter. Her pale robes fluttered slowly in the wind of the

falls. Her masked face was lowered as though she sought

Kiga'rasku's depths, but at the moment she was not see-

ing the mighty rush of water any more than she saw the

dim sun that rolled past the mountaintop overhead, on the

far side of many hundred furlongs of Stormspike stone.

Utuk'ku considered.

Odd and unsettling shifts had begun to take place in the

intricate pattern of events that she had undertaken so long

ago, events she had studied and delicately modified over

666 Tad Williams

the course of more than a thousand thousand sunless

days. One of the first of those shifts had caused a small

tear in her design. It was not irreparable, of course

Utuk'ku's weavings were strong, and more than a few

strands would have to snap completely before her long-

planned triumph would be threatenedbut patching it

would require care, and work, and the diamond-sharp

concentration that only the Eldest could bring to bear.

The silver mask turned slowly, catching the faint light

like the moon emerging from behind clouds. A trio of fig-

ures had appeared in the doorway of Yakh Huyeru. The

nearest kneeled, then placed the heels of her hands over

her eyes; her two companions did the same.

As Utuk'ku considered them and (he task she would set

for them, she felt a moment of regret for the loss of Ingen

Jeggerbut it was a moment only. Utuk'ku Seyt-

Hamakha was the last of the Gardenbom: she had not sur-

vived all of her peers by many centuries through wasting

time on useless emotions. Jegger had been eager and

blindly loyal as a coursing hound, and he had possessed

the particular virtues, for Utuk'ku's purposes, of his own

mortal nature, but he had still been only a tool

something to be used and then discarded. He had served

what had been at the time her greatest need. For other

tasks, there would be other servitors.

The Norns bowing before her, two women and a man,

looked up as though awakening from a dream. The de-

sires of their mistress had been poured into them like sour

milk from a pitcher, and now Utuk'ku raised her gloved

hand in a brittle gesture of dismissal- They turned and

were gone, smooth, swift, and silent as shadows fleeing

the dawn.

After they had vanished, Utuk'ku stood for another

long silent time before the falling water, listening to the

ghostly echoes. Then, at last, the Nom Queen turned and

made her unhurried way toward the Chamber of the

Breathing Harp.

As she took her seat beside the Well, the chanting from

the depths of Stormspike below her rose in pitch: the

TOGREENANGELTOWER

667

Lightless Ones, in their unfathomable, inhuman way,

were welcoming her back to her frost-mantled throne. Ex-

cept for Utuk'ku herself, the Chamber of the Harp was

empty, although a single thought or flick of her hand

would have raised a thicket of bristling spears clutched in

pale hands.

She lifted her long fingers to the temples of her mask

and stared into the shifting column of steam that hung

above the Well. The Harp, its outlines shiftingly impre-

cise, glinted crimson, yellow and violet. Ineluki's pres-

ence was muted. He had begun to withdraw into himself,

drawing strength from whatever ultimate source nurtured

him as air fed the flame of a candle. He was preparing for

the great test that would be coming soon.

Although it was in some ways a relief to be free of his

burning, angry thoughtsthoughts that often were not in-

telligible even to Utuk'ku except as a sort of cloud of ha-

tred and longingthe Nom Queen's thin lips nevertheless

compressed into a thin line of discontent behind her

gleaming mask. The things she had seen in the dream-

world had troubled her; despite the machinations she had

set underway, Utuk'ku was not altogether content. It

would have been a relief of sorts to share them with the

thing that was focused in the heart of the Wellbut it

was not to be. The greatest part of Ineluki would be ab-

sent from now until the final days when the Conqueror

Star stood high.

Utuk'ku's colorless eyes suddenly narrowed. Some-

where on the fringes of the great tapestry of force and

dream that wove through the Well, something else had be-

gun to move in an unexpected way. The Norn Queen

turned her gaze inward, letting her mind reach out and

probe along the strands of her delicately balanced web,

along the uncountable lines of intention and calculation

and fate. There it was: another parting of her careful

work.

A sigh, faint as the velvet wind across a bat's wing,

fluted through Utuk'ku's lips. The singing of the Light-

less Ones faltered for a moment at the wave of irritation

that washed out from Stormspike's mistress, but a mo-

668 Tad Williams

ment later their voices rose again, hollow and triumphant.

It was only someone dabbling with one of the Master

Witnessesa youngling, even if of the line of Amerasu

Ship-Born- She would treat the whelp harshly. This dam-

age, too, could be repaired. It would merely require a bit

more of her concentration, a bit more of her straining

thoughtbut it would be done. She was weary, but not so

weary as that.

It had been perhaps a thousand years since the Nom

Queen had smiled, but if she had remembered how, she

might have smiled at that moment. Even the oldest of the

Hikeda'ya had known no other mistress but Utuk'ku.

Some of them could be pardoned, perhaps, for thinking

that she was no longer a living thing, but like the Storm

King a creature made entirely of ice and sorcery and end-

less, vigilant malignity. Utuk'ku knew better. Although

even the millennial lives of some of her descendants

spanned but a small portion of her own, beneath the

corpse-pale robes and shimmering mask was still a living

woman. Inside her ancient flesh a heart still beatslow

and strong, like a blind thing crawling at the bottom of a

deep, silent sea.

She was weary, but she was still fierce, still powerful.

She had planned so long for these coming days that the

very face of the land above had shifted and altered be-

neath Time's hand as she waited. She would live to see

her revenge.

The lights of the Well flickered on the empty metal

face she showed the world. Perhaps in that triumphant

hour, Utuk'ku thought, she would once more remember

what it was to smile.

"Ah, by the Grove," Jiriki said, "it is indeed

Mezutu'athe Silverhome." He held his torch higher. "I

have not seen it before, but so many songs are sung of it

that I feel I know its towers and bridges and streets as

though I had grown here."

"You haven't been here? But I thought your people

TOGREENANGELTOWER669

built it." Eolair moved back from the stair's precipitous

edge. The great city lay spread below them, a fantastic

jumble of shadowed stone.

"We didin partbut the last of the Zida'ya had left

this place long before my birth." hriki's golden eyes were

wide, as though he could not tear his gaze from the roofs

of the cavern city. "When the Tinukeda'ya severed their

fates from ours, Jenjiyana of the Nightingales declared in

her wisdom that we should give this place to the Naviga-

tor's Children, in partial payment of the debt we owed

them." He frowned and shook his head, hair moving

loosely about his shoulders. "Year-Dancing House, at

least, remembered something of honor. She also gave to

them Hikehikayo in the north, and sea-collared Jhina-

T'senei, which has long since disappeared beneath the

waves."

Eolair struggled to make sense of the barrage of

unfamiliar names. "Your people gave this to the

Tinukeda'ya?" he asked. "The creatures that we called

domhaini? The dwarrows?"

"Some were called that," Jiriki nodded. He turned his

bright stare on the count. "But they are not 'creatures,'

Count Eolair. They came from The Garden that is Lost,

just as my people did. We made the mistake of thinking

them less than us then. I wish to avoid it now."

"I meant no insult," said Eolair. "But I met them, as I

told you. They were ... strange. But they were kind to us,

too."

"The Ocean Children were ever gentle." Jiriki began to

descend the staircase. "That is why my people brought

^them, I fearbecause they felt they would be tractable

^servants."

Eolair hastened to catch up to him. The Sitha moved

with assured swiftness, walking far nearer to the edge

than the count would have dared, and never looking

down. "What did you mean, 'some of them were called

that'?" Eolair asked. "Were there Tinukeda'ya who were

not dwarrows?"

"Yes- Those who lived herethe dwarrows as you call

themwere a smallish group who had split off from the

670 Tad Williams

main tribe. The rest of Ruyan's folk stayed close to water,

since the oceans were always dear to their hearts. Many

of them became what the mortals called 'sea-watchers.' "

"Niskies?" In his long career, during which he had

traveled often in southern waters. Eclair had met many

sea-watchers. "They still exist. But they look nothing like

the dwarrows!"

Jiriki paused to let the count catch up, and thereafter,

perhaps out of courtesy, kept his pace slower. "That was

the Tinukeda'ya's blessing as well as their curse. They

could change themselves, over time, to better fit the place

that they lived: there is a certain mutability in their blood

and bones. I think that if the world were to be destroyed

by fire, the Ocean Children would be the only ones to sur-

vive. Before long, they would be able to eat smoke and

swim in hot ashes."

"But that is astounding," said Eolair. "The dwarrows I

met, Yis-fidri and his companions, seemed so timid. Who

would ever dream they were capable of such things?"

'There are lizards in the southern marshes," Jiriki said

with a smile, "that can change their color to match the

leaf or trunk or stone on which they crouch. They are

timid, too. It does not seem odd to me that the most

frightened creatures are often the best at hiding them-

selves."

"But if your people gave the dwarrowsthe

Tinukeda'yathis place, why are they so afraid of you?

When the lady Maegwin and myself first came here and

met them, they were terrified that we might be servants of

yours come to drag them back."

Jiriki stopped. He seemed to be transfixed by some-

thing down below. When he turned to Eolair once more,

it was with an expression so pained that even his alien

features did not disguise it. 'They are right to be fright-

ened, Count Eolair. Amerasu, our wise one who has just

been taken from us, called our dealings with the

Tinukeda'ya our great shame. We did not treat them well,

and we kept from them things that they deserved to know

... because we thought they would make better servants

if they labored in ignorance." He made a gesture of frus-

TOGREENANGELTOWER67!

(ration. "When Jenjiyana, Year-Dancing House's mistress,

gave them this place in the distant past, she was opposed

by many of the Houses of Dawn. There are those among

the Zida'ya, even to this day, who feel we should have

kept Ruyan Ve's children as servants. They are right to

fear, your friends."

"None of these things were in our old legends of your

folk," Eolair marveled. "You paint a grim, sad picture,

Prince Jiriki. Why do you tell me all this?"

The Sitha started down the pitted steps once more.

"Because, Count Eolair, that era will soon be gone. That

does not mean I think that happier things are coming

although there is always a chance, I must suppose. But

for better or worse, this age of the world is ending."

They continued downward, unspeaking.

Eolair relied on his dim memories of his previous visit

to lead Jiriki through the crumbling cityalthough, Judg-

ing by the Sitha's impatience, which seemed bridled only

by his natural courtesy, Jiriki might have been just as ca-

pable of leading him. As they walked through the

echoing, deserted streets, Eolair again had the impression

of Mezutu'a as not so much a city as a warren for shy yet

friendly beasts. This time, though, with Jiriki's words

about the ocean still fresh in his mind, Eolair saw it as a

sort of coral garden, its countless buildings growing one

from another, shot through with empty doorways and

shadowed tunnels, its towers joined together by stone

walkways thin as spun glass. He wondered absently if the

dwarrows had harbored some longing for the sea deep in-

side themselves, so that this place and its additionseven

now, Jiriki was once again pointing out some feature that

had been added to Mezutu*a's original buildingshad

gradually become a sort of undersea grotto, shielded from

the sun by mountain stone instead of blue water.

As they emerged from the long tunnel and its carvings

of living stone into the vastness of the great stone arena,

Jiriki, who had now taken the lead, was surrounded by a

nimbus of pale, chalky light. As he stared down into the

arena, the Sitha raised his slim hands to shoulder height,

672 Tad Williams

then made a careful gesture before striding forward, only

his deerlike grace hiding the fact that he was moving very

quickly.

The great crystalline Shard still stood at the center of

the bowl, throbbing weakly, its surfaces full of slow-

moving colors. Around it, the stone benches were empty.

The arena was deserted.

"Yis-fidri!" Eolair shouted. "Yis-hadra! It is Eolair,

Count of Nad Mullach!"

His voice rolled across the arena and reverberated

along the cavern's distant walls. There was no reply. "It

is Eolair, Yis-fidri! I have come back!"

When no one answered himthere was no sign of life

at all, no footfalls, no gleam of the dwarrows' rose-crystal

batonsEolair walked down to join Jiriki.

"This is what I feared," said the count. "That if I

brought you, they would vanish. I only hope they have

not fled the city completely." He frowned. "I imagine

they think me a traitor, bringing one of their former mas-

ters here."

"Perhaps." Jiriki seemed distracted, almost tense, "By

my ancestors," he breathed, "to stand before the Shard of

Mezutu'a! I can feel it singing!"

Eolair put his hand near the milky stone, but could feel

nothing but a slight warming of the air.

Jiriki raised his palms to the Shard but paused short of

touching it, bringing his hands to a stop as though he em-

braced an invisible something that followed the stone's

outline but was nearly twice as large. The light patterns

began to glow a little more colorfully, as though whatever

moved in the stone had swum closer to the surface. Jiriki

watched the play of colors carefully as he moved his fin-

gers in slow orbits, never touching the Shard directly, po-

sitioning his hands around the stone as though partnering

the unmoving object in some ritual dance.

A long time passed, a time in which Eolair felt his legs

beginning to ache. He sat down on one of the stone

benches. A cold draft was wafting down the arena and

scraping at the back of his neck. He huddled a little

deeper into his cloak and watched Jiriki, who still stood

TOGREENANGELTOWER673

before the gleaming stone, locked in some silent commu-

nion.

More than a little bored, Eolair began to fidget with his

long horsetail of black hair. Although it was hard to tell

exactly how much time had passed since Jinki had ap-

proached the stone, the count knew it had not been a brief

interval: Eolair was famous for his patience, and even in

these maddening days, it took a great deal to make him

restless.

Abruptly, the Sitha flinched and took a step back from

the stone. He swayed in place for a moment, then turned

to Eolair. There was a light in Jiriki's eyes that seemed

more than just a reflection of the Shard's inconstant glow.

"The Speakfire," Jiriki said.

Eolair was confused. "What do you mean?"

"The Speakfire in Hikehikayo. It is another witnessa

Master Witness, like the Shard. It is very close,

somehowclose in a way that has nothing to do with dis-

tance. I cannot shake it free and turn the Shard to other

things."

"What other things do you want to turn it to?"

Jiriki shook his head. He glanced quickly at the Shard

before beginning. "It is hard to explain, Count Eolair. Let

me put it this wayif you were lost and surrounded by

fog, but there was a tree you could climb that would al-

low you to move above the mist, would you not do it?"

Eolair nodded. "Certainly, but I still do not quite see

what you mean."

"Simply this. We who are used to the Road of Dreams

have been denied it of lateas surely as thick fog can

make a person afraid to wander any distance from his

home, even when his need is great. The Witnesses I can

use are minor; without the strength and knowledge of

someone like our First Grandmother Amerasu, they are of

use only for small purposes. The Shard of Mezutu'a is a

Master WitnessI had thought of searching for it even

before we rode out of Jao e-Tinukai'ibut I have just

found that its use is denied me, somehow. It is as though

I had ascended that tree I spoke of, clambering up to the

upper limits of the fog, only to find that someone else

674

Tad Williams

was above me, and that they would not let me climb high

enough to see. I am balked."

"I'm afraid it is all still largely a mystery to a mortal

like me, Jiriki, although I think I see a little of what you

are trying to explain." Eolair considered for a moment.

"Saying it another way: you wish to look out a window,

but someone on the other side has covered it. Is that

right?"

"Yes. Well put." Jiriki smiled, but Eolair saw weariness

beneath the Sitha's alien features. "But I dare not go

away without trying to look through the window again, as

many times as I have the strength."

"I will wait for you, then. But we have brought little

food or waterand besides, although I cannot speak for

yours, I fear my people will have need of me before too

long."

"As to food and drink," Jiriki said distractedly, "you

may have mine." He turned back to the Shard once more.

"When you feel it is time for you to return, tell mebut

do not touch me until I say it is permitted. Count Eolair,

if you will promise. I do not know exactly what I must

do, and it would be safer for both of us if you leave me

alone, no matter what it may seem is happening."

"I will not do anything unless you ask me to," Eolair

promised.

"Good." Jiriki raised his hands and began making the

slow circles once more.

The Count of Nad Mullach sighed and leaned back

against the stone bench, trying to find a comfortable po-

sition.

Eolair awakened from a strange dreamhe had been

fleeing before a vast wheel, treetop-tall, rough and splin-

tered as the beams of an ancient ceilinginto the abrupt

realization that something was wrong. The light was

brighter, pulsing now like a heartbeat, but it had turned a

sickly blue-green. The air in the huge cavern was as tense

and still as before a storm, a smell like the aftereffects of

lightning burned Eolair's nostrils.

Jiriki still stood before the gleaming Shard, a mote in

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER675

the sea of blinding lightbut where before he had been

as poised as a Mircha-dancer readying a rain prayer, now

his limbs were contorted, his head thrown back as though

some invisible hand was squeezing the life out of him.

Eolair rushed forward, desperately worried but unsure of

what to do. The Sitha had told the count not to touch him,

no matter what seemed to be happening, but when Eolair

drew close enough to see Jiriki's face, nearly invisible in

the great outwash of nauseating brilliance, he felt his

heart plummet. Surely this could not be what Jiriki had

planned'

The Sitha's gold-flecked eyes had rolled up, so that

only a crescent of white showed beneath the lids. His lips

were skinned back from his teeth in the snarl of a cor-

nered beast, and the writhing veins in his neck and fore-

head seemed about to burst from his skin.

"Prince Jiriki!" Eolair shouted. "Jiriki, can you hear

me'?"

The Sitha's mouth opened a little wider. His jaws

worked. A loud rumble of sound spilled out and echoed

across the great bowl, deep and unintelligible, but so ob-

viously full of pain and fear that even as Eolair clapped

his hands over his ears in desperation he felt his heart

lurch with sympathetic horror. He reached out a tentative

hand toward the Sitha and watched in amazement as the

hairs on his arm lifted straight up. His skin was tingling.

Count Eolair only thought for a moment longer. Curs-

ing himself for the fool he was, then flicking off a quick,

silent prayer to Cuamh Earthdog, he took a step forward

and grasped Jiriki's shoulders.

At the instant his fingers touched, Eolair felt himself

suddenly overrun by a titanic force from nowhere, a rush-

ing black river of terror and blood and empty voices that

poured through him, sweeping his thoughts away like a

handful of leaves in a cataract. But even in the brief mo-

ment before his real self spun out into nothingness, he

could see his hands still touching Jiriki, and saw the

Sitha, overbalanced by Eolair's weight, toppling forward

into the Shard. Jiriki touched the stone. A great bonfire of

sparks leaped up, brighter even than the blue-green radi-

676 Tad Williams

ance, a million gleaming lights like the souls of all the

fireflies in the world set free at once, dancing and swoop-

ing. Then everything faded into darkness. Eolair felt him-

self falling, falling, cast down like a stone into an endless

void....

"You live."

The relief in Jiriki's voice was clear. Eolair opened his

eyes to a pale blur that gradually became the Sitha's face

bent close to his. Jiriki's cool hands were on his temples,f

Eolair feebly waved him off. The Sitha stepped backJ

and allowed him to sit up; Eolair was obscurely grateful-||.

to be allowed to do it himself, even though it took him nof

little time to steady his shaking body. His head was ham-

mering, ringing like Rhynn's cauldron in full battle cry.

He had to close his eyes for a moment to keep himself

from vomiting.

"I warned you not to touch me," Jiriki said, but there

was no displeasure in his voice. "I am sorry that you

should have suffered so for me."

"What ... what happened?"

Jiriki shook his head. There was a certain new stiffness

in his movements, but when Eolair thought of how much

longer the Sitha had endured what he himself had sur-

vived for only a moment, the count was awed. "I am not

sure," Jiriki answered. "Something did not want me to

reach the Dream Road, or did not want the Shard tam-

pered withsomething with far more power or knowl-

edge than I have." He grimaced, showing his white teeth.

"I was right to warn Seoman away from the Road of

Dreams. I should have heeded my own advice, it seems-

Likimeya my mother will be furious."

"I thought you were dying." Eolair groaned. It felt as

though someone was shoeing a large plow-horse behind

his forehead.

"If you had not pushed me out of the alignment in

which I was trapped, worse than death would have

awaited me, I think." He laughed suddenly, sharply. "I

owe you the Staja Ame, Count Eolairthe White Arrow.

Sadly, someone else already has mine."

TO GREENANGEL TOWER

677

Eolair rolled toward his side and struggled to stand. It

took several tries, but at last, with Jiriki's help, which

Eolair accepted gladly this time, he managed to drag him-

self upright. The Shard again seemed quiescent, flickering

mutedly in the center of the empty arena, casting hesitant

shadows behind the stone benches. "White Arrow?" he

murmured. His head hurt, and his muscles felt as though

he had been dragged behind a can from Hernysadharc to

Crannhyr.

"I will tell you some day soon," said Jiriki- "I must

learn to live with these indignities."

Together they began to walk toward the tunnel that led

out of the arena, Eolair limping, Jiriki steadier, but still

slow. "Indignities?" Eolair asked weakly. "What do you

mean?"

"Being saved by mortals. It has become a sort of habit

for me, it seems."

The sound of their halting footsteps sent echoes flutter-

ing across the vast cavern and up among the dark places.

A

"Here, puss, puss. Come now. Grimalkin."

Rachel was a little embarrassed. She wasn't quite sure

what one said to catsin the old days, she had expected

them to do their job keeping the rat population down, but

she had left the petting and pampering of them to her

chambermaids. As far as she had been concerned,

handing out endearments and sweetmeats was no part of

her obligation to any of her charges, two-footed or four.

But now she had a needif admittedly a daft and soft-

headed oneand so she was humbling herself.

Thank merciful Usires no human creature is around to

see me.

"Puss, puss, puss." Rachel waved the bit of salt-beef.

She slid forward half a cubit, trying to ignore the ache in

her back and the rough stone beneath her knees. "I'm try-

ing to feed you, you Rhiap-preserve-us filthy thing." She

scowled and waggled the bit of meat. "Serve you right if

I did cook you."

678

Tad Williams

Even the cat, standing just a short distance out of Ra-

chel's reach in the middle of the corridor, seemed to know

that this was an idle threat. Not because of Rachel's soft

heartshe needed this beast to take food from her, but

otherwise would just as happily have smacked it with her

broombut because eating cat flesh was as inconceivable

to Rachel as spitting upon a church altar. She could not

have said why exactly cat meat was different than the

flesh of rabbit or roe deer, but she did not need to. It was

not done by decent folk, and that was enough to know.

Still, in the last quarter of an hour, she had more than

once or twice toyed with the idea of kicking this recalci-

trant creature down the steep staircase and then turning to

some idea that did not require the assistance of animals.

But the most irritating thing was that even the idea itself

was of no practical use.

Rachel looked at her quivering arm and greasy fingers.

All of this to help a monster?

You 're slipping, woman. Mad as a mooncalf.

"Puss ..."

The gray cat took a few steps closer and paused, sur-

veying Rachel with eyes widened by suspicion as much

as the bright lamplight. Rachel silently said the Elysia

prayer and tried to move the beef enticingly. The cat ap-

proached warily, wrinkled its nostrils, then took a cau-

tious lick. After a moment's mock-casual washing of

whiskers, it seemed to gain courage. It reached out and

pulled loose some of the meat, stepping back to swallow

it, then came forward once more. Rachel brought up her

other hand and let it brush the cat's back. It started, but

when Rachel made no sudden move, the cat took the last

piece of beef and gulped it down. She let her fingers trail

lightly against its fur as the cat nosed her now-empty

hand questioningly. Rachel stroked it behind the ears,

gamely resisting the impulse to throttle the particular lit-

tle beast. At last, when she had worked loose a purr, she

clambered heavily to her feet.

"Tomorrow," she said. "More meat." She turned and

stumped wearily up the corridor toward her hidden room.

The cat watched her go, sniffed around on the stone floor

TOGR&ENANGELTOWER679

for any scraps it might have missed, then lay down and

began to groom itself.

Jiriki and Eolair emerged into the light blinking like

moles. The count was already regretting his decision to

choose this entrance into the underground mines, one that

was so far from Hernysadharc. If they had come in

through the caverns where the Hemystiri had sheltered, as

he and Maegwin had the first time, they could have spent

the night in one of the recently-inhabited dens of the

cave-city, saving themselves a long ride back.

"You do not look well," the Sitha commented, which

was probably no more than the truth. Eolair's head had at

last stopped ringing, but his muscles still ached mightily.

"I do not feel well." The count looked around. There

was still a little snow on the ground, but the weather had

improved greatly in the last few days. It was tempting to

consider staying right here and traveling back to the Taig

in the morning. He squinted up at the sun. Only mid-

afternoon: their time underground had seemed much

longer ... if this was still the same day. He grinned

sourly at the thought. Better a painful ride back to the

Taig, he decided, than a night in the still-cold wildlands.

The horses, Eolair's bay gelding and Jiriki's white

charger, which had feathers and bells braided into its

mane, stood cropping the meager grass, stretched to the

ends of their long tethers. It was the work of only a few

moments to make them ready, then human and Sitha

spurred away toward the southeast and Hernysadharc.

"The air seems different," Eolair called. "Can you feel

it?"

"Yes." Jiriki lifted his head like a hunting beast scent-

ing the breeze. "But I do not know what it might mean."

"It's warmer. That's enough for me."

By the time they reached the outskirts of Hernysadharc,

the sun had finally slipped down behind the Grianspog

and the base of the sky was losing its ruddiness. They

68o Tad Williams

rode side by side up the Taig Road, threading through the

not inconsiderable foot- and cart-traffic. Seeing his peo-

ple once more out and about their business eased the pain

of Eolair's aches. Things were far from ordinary, and

most of the people on the road had the gaunt, staring look

of the hungry, but they were traveling freely in their own

country again. Many seemed to have come from the mar-

ket; they clutched their acquisitions jealously, even if they

held no more than a handful of onions.

"So what did you leam?" Eolair asked at last.

"From the Shard? Much and little." Jiriki saw the

count's expression and laughed. "Ah, you look like my

mortal friend Seoman Snowlock! It is true, we Dawn

Children do not give satisfactory answers."

"Seoman... ?"

"Your kind call him 'Simon,' I think." Jiriki nodded his

head, milk-white hair dancing in the wind. "He is a

strange cub, but brave and good-natured. He is clever,

too, although he hides it well."

"I met him, I think. He is with Josua Lackhand at the

Stoneat Ses ... Sesu ..." He gestured, trying to sum-

mon the name.

"Sesuad'ra. Yes, that is him. Young, but he has been

caught up by too many currents for chance alone to be the

explanation. He will have a part to play in things." Jiriki

stared into the east, as if looking for the mortal boy there.

"Amerasuour First Grandmotherinvited him into her

house. That was a great honor indeed."

Eolair shook his head. "He seemed little more than a

tall and somewhat awkward young man when I met

himbut I stopped putting trust in appearances long

ago."

Jiriki smiled. "You are one in whom the old Hemystm

blood runs strong, then. Let me consider what I found in

the Shard a while longer. Then, if you come with me to

see Likimeya, I will share my thoughts with both of you."

As they made their way up Hern's Hilt, Eolair saw

someone walking slowly across the damp grass. He raised

his hand.

"A moment, please." Eolair passed the Sitha his reins,

681

TOGREENANGELTOWER

then swung down from his saddle and walked after the

figure, which bent every few moments as though plucking

flowers from among the grass-stems. A loose scatter of

birds hovered behind, swooping down and then starting

up again with a flurry of wings.

"Maegwin?" Eolair called. She did not stop, so he hur-

ried his steps to catch up to her. "Maegwin," he said as he

came abreast of her. "Are you well?"

Lluth's daughter turned to look at him. She was wear-

ing a dark cloak, but beneath it was a dress of bright yel-

low. Her belt buckle was a sunflower of hammered gold.

She looked pretty and at peace. "Count Eolair," she said

calmly, and smiled, then bent at the waist and let another

handful of seed corn dribble from her fist.

"What are you doing?"

"Planting flowers. The long battle with winter has

withered even Heaven's blooms." She stooped and sprin-

kled more corn. Behind her, the birds fought noisily over

the kernels.

"What do you mean, 'Heaven's blooms'?"

She looked up at him curiously. "What a strange ques-

tion. But think, Eolair, of what beautiful flowers will

spring from these seeds. Think'of how it will look when

the gardens of the gods are a-blossom once more."

Eolair stared at her helplessly for a moment. Maegwin

continued to walk forward, sprinkling the corn in little

piles as she went. The birds, stuffed but not yet sated, fol-

lowed her. "But you are on Hem's Hill," he said. "You

are in Hemysadharc, the place where you grew up!"

Maegwin paused and pulled her cloak a little tighter.

"You do not look well, Eolair. That is not right. Nobody

should be ill in a place like this."

Jiriki was making his way lightly across the grass lead-

ing the two horses. He stopped a short distance away, un-

willing to intrude.

To Eolair's surprise, Maegwin turned to the Sitha and

dropped into a curtsy. "Welcome, Lord Brynioch," she

called, then rose and lifted her hand to the reddening

western horizon. "What a beautiful sky you have made

for us today. Thank you, 0 Bright One."

682 Tad Williams

' Jiriki said nothing, but looked to Eolair with a catlike

expression of calm curiosity.

"Do you not know who this is?" the count asked

Maegwin. "This is Jiriki of the Sithi. He is no god, but

one of those who saved us from Skali." When she did not

reply, but only smiled indulgently, his voice rose.

"Maegwin, this is not Brynioch. You are not among the

gods. This is Jirikiimmortal, but of flesh and blood just

like you and I."

Maegwin turned her sly smile onto the Sitha. "Good

my Lord, Eolair seems fevered. Did you perhaps take him

too close to the sun on your journeying today?"

The Count of Nad Mullach stared. Was she truly mad

or playing some unfathomable game? He had never seen

anything like this. "Maegwin!" he snapped.

Jiriki touched his arm. "Come with me, Count Eolair.

We will talk."

Maegwin curtsied again. "You are kind. Lord

Brynioch. I will continue with my task now, if I have

your leave. It is little enough to repay your kindness and

hospitality."

Jiriki nodded. Maegwin turned and continued her slow

walk across the hillside.

"Gods help me," Eolair said. "She is mad! It is worse

than I had feared."

"Even one who is not of your kind could see that she

is gravely troubled."

"What can I do?" the count mourned. "What if she

does not recover her wits?"

"I have a frienda cousin, by your termswho is a

healer," Jiriki offered. "I do not know that this young

woman's problem can be helped by her, but there could

be no harm in trying, I think."

He watched Eolair clamber back into his saddle, then

mounted his own horse in a single, fluid movement and

led the silent count up the hillside toward the Taig.

A

TOGREENANGELTOWER683

When she heard the approaching footfalls, Rachel al-

most pushed herself farther back into the shadows before

she remembered that it would make no difference. In-

wardly, she cursed herself for a fool.

The steps were slow, as if the one making them was

very weak or was carrying a huge burden.

"Now where are we going?" It was a harsh whisper,

deep and rough, a voice that was not used very often.

"Going. Where are we going? Very well, then, I'm com-

ing." There was a thin wheeze of sound that might have

been laughing or crying.

Rachel held her breath. The cat appeared first, head up,

certain now after nearly a week that what was waiting

was dinner rather than danger. The man followed a mo-

ment later, trudging forward out of the shadows into the

lamplight. His pale, scarred face was covered in a long,

gray-shot beard and the parts of him that were not cov-

ered by his ragged, filthy clothes were starvation-thin. His

eyes were closed.

"Slow down," he said raspingly. "I'm weak. Can't go

fast." He stopped, as though he sensed the lamplight on

his face, on the lids of his ruined eyes. "Where are you,

cat?" he quavered.

Rachel leaned down to pet the cat, which was butting

at her ankle, then slipped it a bit of its expected salt-beef.

She straightened up.

"Earl Guthwulf." Her voice seemed so loud after

Guthwulf's whisper that it even shocked her. The man

flinched and fell back, almost toppling over, but instead

of turning to run he raised his trembling hands before

him.

"Leave me alone, you damnable things'" be cried.

"Haunt someone else! Leave me with my misery! Let the

sword have me if it wants."

"Don't run, Guthwulf!" Rachel said hastily, but at the

renewed sound of her voice, the earl turned and begin to

stagger back down the corridor.

'There will be food for you here," she called after him.

The tattered apparition did not answer, but vanished into

the shadows beyond the lampglow. "I will leave it and

684

Tad Williams

then go away. I will do that every day! You do not need

to speak to me!"

When the echoes had died, she put down a small help-

ing of jerked meat for the cat, which began to chew hun-

grily. The bowl full of meat and dried fruit she placed in

a dusty alcove on the wall, above the cat's reach, but

where the living scarecrow could not fail to find it when

he worked up the nerve to return.

Still not quite sure what her own purpose was, Rachel

picked up her lamp and started back toward the stairwell

that would lead to the higher, more familiar parts of the

castle's labyrinth. Now she had done it and it was too late

to turn back. But why had she done it? She would have to

risk the upper castle again, since the stores she had laid in

were planned to feed one frugal person only, not two

adults and a cat with a bottomless stomach.

"Rhiap, save me from myself," she grumbled.

Perhaps it was the fact that it was the only charity she

could perform in these terrible daysalthough Rachel

had never been obsessed with charity, since so many men-

dicants were, as far as she could tell, perfectly able-

bodied and most likely merely frightened of work. But

perhaps it was charity after all- Times had changed, and

Rachel had changed, too.

Or perhaps she was just lonely, she reflected. She

snorted at herself and hurried up the corridor.

23

Tfte Soimdmg of the Horn

*

Several odd tfwWS happened in the days after Prin-

cess Miriamele and Rer companions arrived at Sesuad'ra.

The first and least important was the change that came

over Lenti, Count Streawe's messenger. The beetle-

browed Perdruinese man had spent his first days in New

Gadrinsett strutting around the small marketplace, annoy-

ing the local women and picking fights with the mer-

chants. He had shown several people his knives, with the

thinly-veiled implication that he was prone to use them

when the mood was upon him.

However, when Duke Isgrimnur arrived with the prin-

cess, Lenti immediately retired to the tent he had been

given as his billet and did not come out for some time- It

took a great deal of coaxing to get him to emerge even to

receive Josua's reply to his master Streawe, and when

Lenti saw that the duke was to be present, the knife-

flourishing messenger became weak in the knees and

had to be allowed to sit down for Josua's instructions-

Apparentlyor so the story was later told in the mar-

kethe and Isgrimnur had met before, and Lenti had

not found the acquaintanceship a pleasant one. Once

given a reply for his master, Lenti left Sesuad'ra hur-

riedly. Neither he nor anyone else much regretted his de-

parture.

The second and far more astounding event was Duke

Isgrimnur's announcement that the old man he had

brought to Sesuad'ra out of the south was in fact

Camaris-sa-Vinitta, the greatest hero of the Johannine

686 Tad Williams

Age. It was whispered throughout the settlement that

when Josua was told this on the evening of the return, he

fell to his knees before the old man and kissed his hand

which seemed proof enough that Isrimnur spoke truly.

Oddly, however, the nominal Sir Camaris seemed almost

entirely unmoved by Josua's gesture. Conflicting rumors

quickly swept through the community of N,ew

Gadrinsettthe old man had been wounded in the head,

he had gone mad from drink or sorcery or any number of

other possible reasons, even that he had taken a vow of

silence.

The third and saddest occurrence was the death of old

Towser. On the same night that Miriamele and the others

returned, the ancient jester died in his sleep. Most agreed

that the excitement had been too much for his heart.

Those who knew the terrors through which Towser had

already passed with the rest of Josua's company of survi-

vors were not so sure, but he was after all a very old man,

and his passing appeared to be natural. Josua spoke

kindly of him at the burial two days later, reminding the

small party gathered there of Towser's long service to

King John. It was noted by some, though, that despite the

prince's generous eulogy, the jester was interred near the

other casualties of the recent battle rather than beside

Deornoth in the garden of Leavetaking House.

The harper Sangfugol made sure that the old man was

buried with a lute as well as his tattered motley, in mem-

ory of how Towser had taught him his musical art. To-

gether, Sangfugol and Simon also gathered snowflowers,

which they scattered atop the dark earth after the grave

was filled.

A

"It's sad that he should die just when Camaris had re-

turned." Miriamele was stringing the remaining snow-

flowers, which Simon had given to her, into a delicate

necklace. "One of the few people he knew in the old

days, and they never had a chance to talk. Not that

Camaris would have said anything, I suppose."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

687

Simon shook his head. "Towser did speak to Camaris,

Princess." He paused. Her title still felt strange, especially

when she sat before him in the flesh, living, breathing.

"When Towser saw himeven before Isgrimnur said who

it wasTowser went pale. He stood in front of Camaris

for a moment, rubbing his hands like this, then whispered,

'I did not tell anyone. Lord, I swear!' Then he went off to

his tent. Nobody heard him say it but me, I think. I had

no idea what it meantI still don't."

Miriamele nodded. "I suppose we never will, now."

She glanced at him, then immediately dropped her gaze

back to her flowers.

Simon thought she was prettier than ever. Her golden

hair, the dye now worn away, was boyishly short, but he

rather liked how it emphasized the firm, sharp line of her

chin and her green eyes. Even the slightly more serious

expression she now wore just made her all the more ap-

pealing. He admired her, that was the word, but there was

nothing he could do with his feelings. He longed to pro-

tect her from anything and everything, but at the same

time he knew very well that she would never allow any-

one to treat her as though she were a helpless child.

Simon sensed something else changed in Miriamele as

well. She was still kind and courteous, but there was a re-

moteness to her that he did not remember, an air of re-

straint. The old balance forged between the two of them

seemed to have been altered, but he did not quite under-

stand what had replaced it. Miriamele seemed a little

more distant, yet at the same time more aware of him

than she had ever been before, almost as though he fright-

ened her in some way.

He could not help staring at her, so he was grateful that

for the moment her attention was fixed on the flowers in

her lap. It was so strange to face the real Miriamele after

all the months of remembering and imagining that he

found it hard to think clearly in her presence. Now that

the first week since her return had passed, a little of the

awkwardness seemed to be gone, but there was still a gap

between them. Even back in Naglimund, when he had

688 Tad Williams

first seen her as the king's daughter she was, there had

not been this quality of separation.

Simon had told hernot without some prideof his

many adventures in the last half-year; to his surprise, he

had then discovered that Miriamele's experiences had

been almost as wildly improbable as his own.

At first he had decided that the horrors of her

journeythe kilpa and ghants, the deaths of Dinivan and

Lector Ranessin, her not-quite-explained confinement on

the ship of some Nabbanai noblemanwere quite enough

to explain the wall that he felt between them. Now he was

not so sure- They had been friends, and even if they could

never be more than that, the friendship had been real,

hadn't it? Something had happened to make her treat him

differently.

Could it be me, Simon wondered. Could I have

changed so much that she doesn't like me anymore?

He unthinkingly stroked his beard. Miriamele looked

up, caught his eye, and smiled mockingly. He felt a pleas-

ant warmth: it was almost like seeing her in her old guise

as Marya, the servant girl.

"You're certainly proud of that, aren't you?"

"What? My beard?" Simon was suddenly glad he had

kept it, for he was blushing. "It Just ... sort of grew."

"Mmmm. By surprise? Overnight?"

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, stung. "I'm a

knight, by the Bloody Tree! Why shouldn't I have a

beard!"

"Don't swear. Not in front of ladies, and especially not

in front of princesses." She gave him a look that was

meant to be stem, but was spoiled in its effect somehow

by her suppressed smile. "Besides, even if you are a

knight, Simonand I suppose I'll have to take your word

for that until I remember to ask Uncle Josuathat doesn't

mean you're old enough to grow a beard without looking

silly."

"Ask Josua9 You can ask anyone!" Simon was torn be-

tween pleasure at seeing her act a little more like her old

self and irritation at what she had said. "Not old enough!

I'm almost sixteen years! Will be in another fortnight, on

TOGREENANGELTOWER689

Saint Yistrin's day!" He had only just realized himself

that it was near when Father Strangyeard had made a re-

mark about the saint's upcoming holy day.

"Truly?" Miriamele's look became serious. "I had

my sixteenth birthday while we were traveling to

Kwanitupul. Cadrach was very nicehe stole a jam-tan

and some Lakeland pinks for mebut it wasn't much of

a celebration."

"That thieving villain," Simon growled. He still had

not forgotten his purse and the shame he had endured

over its loss, no matter how much had happened since

then.

"Don't say that." Miriamele was suddenly sharp. "You

don't know anything about him, Simon. He has suffered

much. His life has been hard."

Simon made a noise of disgust. "He's suffered!? What

about the people he steals from?"

Miriamele's eyes narrowed. "I don't want you to say

another word about Cadrach. Not a word."

Simon opened his mouth, then shut it again. Damn me,

he thought, you can get in trouble with girls so quickly!

It's like they're all practicing to grow up to be Rachel the

Dragon?

He took a breath. "I'm sorry your birthday wasn't very

nice."

She eyed him for a moment, then relented. "Perhaps

when yours comes, Simon, we can both celebrate. We can

give each other gifts, like they do in Nabban."

"You already gave me one." He reached into the pocket

of his cloak and removed a wisp of blue cloth. "Do you

remember? When I was leaving to go north with Binabik

and the others."

Miriamele stared at it for a moment. "You kept it?" she

asked quietly.

"Of course. I wore it the whole time, practically. Of

course I kept it."

Her eyes widened, then she turned away and rose ab-

ruptly from the stone bench. "I have to go, Simon," she

said in an odd tone of voice. She would not meet his eye.

"Your pardon, please." She swept up her skirts and

690 Tad Williams

moved swiftly off across the black and white tiles of the

Fire Garden.

"Damn me," said Simon. Things had seemed to be go-

ing well at last. What had he done? When would he ever

learn to understand women?

*

Binabik, as the nearest thing to a full-fledged Scroll-

bearer, took the oaths of Tiamak and Father Strangyeard.

When they had sworn, he in turn spoke his oath to them.

Geloe looked on sardonically as the litanies were spo-

ken. She had never held much with the formalities of

the League, which was one reason she had never been a

Scrollbearer, despite the immense respect in which she

was held by its members. There were other reasons as

well, but Geloe never spoke of those, and all of her old

comrades who might have been able to explain were now

gone.

Tiamak was torn between pleasure and disappointment.

He had long dreamed that this might happen someday, but

in his imagination he had received his scroll-and-pen

from Morgenes, with Jarnauga and Ookequk beaming

their approval. Instead he had brought Dinivan's pendant

up from Kwanitupul himself after Isgrimnur delivered it,

and now he sat with the largely unproved successors of

those other great souls.

Still, there was something unutterably exciting even in

such a humble realization of his dream. Perhaps this

would be a day long rememberedthe coming of a new

generation to the League, a new membership which

would make the Scrollbearers as important and respected

as they had been in the days of Eahlstan Fiskerne him-

self. .. '

Tiamak's stomach growled. Geloe turned her yellow

eyes on him and he smiled shamefacedly. In the excite-

ment of the morning's preparations he had forgotten to

eat. Embarrassment spread through him. There! That was

They Who Watch and Shape reminding him of how im-

portant he was. A new age, indeedthose gathered here

1TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER69!

Jwould have to labor mightily to be half the Scrollbearers

fthat their predecessors had been. That would teach

a"Tiamak, the savage from Village Grove, to allow himself

to become so heady!

His stomach growled again. Tiamak avoided Geloe's

eye this time and pulled his knees closer in to his body,

huddling on the mat floor of Strangyeard's tent like a pot-

tery merchant on a cold day.

"Binabik has asked me to speak," Geloe said when the

oaths were done. She was brisk, like an Elder's wife ex-

plaining chores and babies to a new bride. "Since I am

the only one who knew all the other Scrollbearers, I have

agreed." The fierceness in her stare did not make Tiamak

particularly comfortable. He had only corresponded with

the forest woman before his arrival in Sesuad'ra, and had

possessed no idea of the force of her presence. Now, he

was frantically trying to remember the letters he had sent

her and hoping that they had all been suitably courteous.

She was clearly not the sort of person one wanted to up-

set.

"You have become Scrollbearers in what may be the

most difficult age the world has yet seen, worse even than

Fingil's era of conquest and pillage and destruction of

knowledge. You have all heard enough now to understand

that what is happening seems clearly far more than a war

between princes. Elias of Erkynland has somehow en-

listed the aid of Ineluki Storm King, whose undead hand

has reached down out of the Nornfells at last, as Ealhstan

Fiskeme feared centuries ago. That is the task set before

usto somehow prevent that evil from turning a fight be-

tween brothers into a losing struggle against utter dark-

ness. And the first part of that task, it seems, is to solve

the riddle of the blades."

The discussion of Misses* sword-rhyme went far into

the afternoon. By the time Binabik thought to find some-

thing for them all to eat, Morgenes' precious manuscript

was scattered about Strangyeard's tent, virtually every

page having been held up for scrutiny and argued over

until the incense-scented air seemed to ring.

692 Tad Williams

Tiamak saw now that Morgenes' message to him must

have referred to the rhyme of the Three Swords. The

Wrannaman had thought it impossible that anyone could

have knowledge of his own secret treasure: it was clear

that no one had. Still, if he hadn't already developed a

scholar's healthy respect for coincidence, this day's reve-

lations would have convinced him. When bread and wine

had been passed around, and the sharper disagreements

had been softened by full mouths and the necessity of

sharing a jug, Tiamak at last spoke up.

"I have found something myself that I hope you will

look at." He placed his cup down carefully and then with-

drew the leaf-wrapped parchment from his sack. "I found

this in the marketplace at Kwanitupul. I had hoped to take

it to Dinivan in Nabban to see what he would say." He

unrolled it with great caution as the other three moved

forward to look. Tiamak felt the son of worried pride a

father might feel on first bringing his child before the

Elders to have the Naming confirmed.

Strangyeard sighed. "Blessed Elysia, is it real?"

Tiamak shook his head. "If it is not, it is a very care-

ful forgery. In my years in Perdruin, I saw many writ-

ings from Nisses' time. These are Rimmersgard runes

as someone in that age would have written them. See

the backward spirals." He pointed with a trembling fin-

ger.

Binabik squinted. ". . . From Nuanni's Rocke Gar-

den ..." he read.

"I think that it means the Southern Islands," Tiamak

said. "Nuanni -.."

"Was the old Nabbanai god of the sea." Strangyeard

was so excited that he interruptedan amazing thing

from the diffident priest. "Of courseNuanni's rock

gardenthe islands! But what does the rest mean?"

As the others bent close, already arguing, Tiamak felt a

glow of pride. His child had met with the Elders' ap-

proval.

*

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

693

"It's not enough to stand our ground." Duke Isgrimnur

sat on a stool facing Josua in the prince's darkened tent.

"You have won an important victory, but it means little to

Elias. Another few months and no one will remember it

ever happened."

Josua frowned. "I understand. That is why I will call

the Raed."

Isgrimnur shook his head, beard wagging. "That's not

enough, if you'll pardon my saying so. I'm being blunt."

The prince smiled faintly. 'That is your task, Isgrimnur."

"So then let me say what I need to say. We need more

victories, and soon. If we do not push Elias back, it won't

matter whether this 'three swords' nonsense will work or

not."

"Do you really think it is nonsense?"

"After all I've seen in the last year? No, I wouldn't

quickly call anything nonsense in these timesbut that

misses the point. As long as we sit here like a treed cat,

we have no way to get to Bright-Nail." The duke snorted.

"Dror's Mallet! I am still not used to thinking that John's

blade is really Minneyar. You could have knocked my

head off with a goose feather when you told me that."

"We all must become used to surprises, it seems,"

Josua said dryly. "But what do you suggest?"

"Nabban." Isgrimnur spoke without hesitation. "I

know, I should urge you to hasten to Elvritshalla to free

my people there. But you're right in your fears. If what I

have heard is true, half the able-bodied men in

Rimmersgard were forced into Skali's army: it would

mean a drawn-out struggle to beat him. Kaldskryke's a

hard man, a canny fighter. I hate his treacherous innards,

but I'd be the last to call him an easy match."

"But the Sithi have ridden to Hemystir," Josua pointed

out. "You heard that."

"And what does that mean? I can make neither hide

nor hair of the lad Simon's stories, and that white-haired

Sitha witch-girl doesn't strike me as the kind of scout

whose information should be used to plan an entire cam-

paign," The duke grimaced. "In any case, if the Sithi and

the Hemystiri drive Skali out, wonderful. I will cheer

694

Tad Williams

louder and longer than any. But those of Skali's men we

would even want to recruit will still be scattered far and

wide across the Frostmarch: even with the weather get-

ting a little better, I would not want to have to try to

round them up and convince them to attack Erkynland.

And they're my people. It's my country, Josua ... so

you'd better listen to what I say." He worked his bushy

eyebrows furiously, as if the mere thought of the prince's

possible disagreement called his own good sense into

question.

The prince sighed. "I always listen to you, Isgrimnur.

You taught me tactics as you held me on your knee, re-

member."

"I'm not that much older than you, pup," the duke

grumbled. "If you don't mind your manners, I'll take you

out in the snow and give you an embarrassing lesson."

Josua grinned. "I think we will have to put that off for

some other day. Ah, but it is good to have you back with

me, Isgrimnur." His expression grew more sober. "So,

then, you say Nabban. How?"

Isgrimnur slid his stool closer and dropped his voice.

"Streawe's message said the time is rightthat Benigaris

is very unpopular. Rumors of the part he played in his fa-

ther's death are everywhere."

"The armies of the Kingfisher Crest will not desert be-

cause of rumors," said Josua. "There have been more than

a few other patricides who ruled in Nabban, remember. It

is hard to shock those people. In any case, the elite offi-

cers of the army are loyal to the Benidrivine House above

all. They will fight any foreign usurpereven Elias, were

he to assert his power directly. They certainly would not

throw Benigaris over on my behalf. Surely you remember

the old Nabbanai saying, 'Better our whoreson than your

saint.' "

Isgrimnur grinned wickedly in his whiskers. "Ah, but

who is talking about convincing them to throw Benigaris

over for your sake, my prince? Merciful Aedon, they'd let

Nessalanta lead the armies before they'd let you do it."

Josua shook his head in irritation. "Well, who, then?"

"Camaris, damn you!" Isgrimnur thumped his wide

TOGREENANGELTOWER695

hand down on his thigh for emphasis. "He's the legiti-

mate heir to the ducal throneLeobardis only became

duke because Camaris disappeared and was thought

dead!"

The prince stared at his old friend. "But he's mad,

Isgrimnuror at least simple-minded."

The duke sat up. "They've accepted a cowardly patri-

cide. Why wouldn't they prefer a heroic simpleton?"

Josua shook his head again, this time in wonder. "You

are astounding, Isgrimnur. Where did you set such an

' -lo?f

idea?

Isgrimnur grinned fiercely. "I've had a lot of time to

think since I found Camaris in that inn at Kwanitupul."

He ran his fingers through his beard. "It's a pity that

Eolair isn't here to see what a skulker and intriguer I've

become in my old age."

The prince laughed. "Well, I'm not certain that it

would work, but it bears thinking about at least." He rose

and walked to the table. "Would you like some more

wine?"

Isgrimnur raised his goblet. 'Thinking is thirsty work.

Fill it, would you?"

A

"It is prise'aEver-fresh." Aditu lifted the slender

vine to show Simon the pale blue flower. "Even after it

has been picked, it does not wilt, not until the season has

passed. It is said that it came from the Garden on our peo-

ple's boats."

"Some of the women here wear it in their hair."

"As do our folkmen and women both," the Sitha re-

plied with an amused glance.

"Please, hello!" someone called. Simon turned to see

Tiamak, Miriamele's Wrannaman friend. The small man

seemed tremendously excited. "Prince Josua wishes you

to come. Sir Simon, Lady Aditu." He started to sketch a

bow, but was too full of nervous exhilaration to complete

it, "Oh, please hurry!"

"What is it?" asked Simon. "Is something wrong!"

696

Tad Williams

"We have found something important, we think." He

bounced on his tiptoes, anxious to be going. "In my

parchmentmine!"

Simon shook his head. "What parchment?"

"You will learn all. Come to Josua's tent! Please!"

Tiamak turned and began trotting back toward the settle-

ment.

Simon laughed. "What a strange man! You'd think he

had a bee in his breeches."

Aditu set the vine carefully back into place. She lifted

her fingers to her nose. "This reminds me of my house in

Jao e-Tinukai'i," she said. "Every room is filled with

flowers."

"I remember."

They made their way back across the hilltop. The sun

seemed quite strong today, and though the northern hori-

zon was aswim with gray clouds, the sky overhead was

blue. Almost no snow remained except in the hollows of

the hillside below them, the deep places where shadows

lingered late into the day. Simon wondered where

Miriamele was: he had gone looking for her in the morn-

ing, hoping to convince her to take a walk with him, but

she had been absent, her tent empty. Duchess Outrun had

told him that the princess had gone out early.

Josua's tent was crowded. Beside Tiamak stood Geloe,

Father Strangyeard, and Binabik. The prince sat on his

stool, looking closely at a parchment which was spread

across his lap. Vorzheva sat near the far wall, stitching at

a piece of cloth. Aditu, after nodding her greetings to the

others, left Simon and went to join her.

Josua glanced up briefly from the parchment. "I am

glad you are here, Simon. I hope you can help us."

"How, Prince Josua?"

The prince raised his hand without looking up again.

"First you must hear what we have found."

Tiamak inched forward shyly. "Please, Prince Josua,

may I tell what has happened?"

Josua smiled at the Wrannaman. "When Miriamele and

Isgrimnur arrive, you may."

Simon eased over next to Binabik, who was talking

TOGREENANGELTOWER697

with Geioe. Simon waited as patiently as he could and lis-

tened to them discuss runes and errors of translation until

he was nearly bursting. At last the Duke of Elvritshalla

arrived with the princess. Her short hair was wind-tousled

and her cheeks had a delicate flush. Simon could not help

staring at her, full of mute longing.

"I had to climb halfway down this damnable hill to

find her," Isgrimnur muttered. "I hope this is worth it."

"You could have just called to me and I would have

come up," Miriamele replied sweetly. "You didn't have to

nearly kill yourself."

"I didn't like where you were climbing. I was afraid I'd

startle you."

"And having a huge, sweating Rimmersman come

crashing down the hillside wouldn't startle me?"

"Please." Josua's voice was a little strained. "This is

not the time for teasing. It is worth it, Isgrimnuror I

hope it will be." He turned to the Wrannaman and handed

him the parchment. "Explain to the newcomers, Tiamak,

if you will."

The slender man, his eyes bright, quickly described

how he had acquired the parchment, then showed them

the ancient runes before reading it aloud.

". . . Bring from Nuanni 's Rocke Garden,

The Man who tho' Blinded canne See

Discover the Blayde that delivers The Rose

At the foote of the Rimmer 's great Tree

Find the Call whose lowde Claime

Speaks the Call-bearer's name

In a Shippe on the Shallowest Sea

When Blayde, Call, and Man

Come to Prince's right Hande

Then the Prisoned shall once more go Free ..."

Finished, he looked around the room. "We ..." He hes-

itated. "We ... Scrollbearers ... have discussed this and

what it might mean. If Nisses' other words are important

for our purposes, it seemed likely that these might be,

too."

698

Tad Williams

"So what does it mean?" Isgrimnur demanded. "I

looked at it before and couldn't make homs nor hind-

quarter out of it."

"You were not having the advantage that some others

were having," said Binabik. "Simon and myself and some

others were already facing one part of this riddle for our-

selves." The troll turned to Simon. "Have you seen it

yet?"

Simon thought hard. "The Rimmer's Treethe

Uduntree!" He looked over to Miriamele with more than

a little pride. "That's where we found Thorn!"

Binabik nodded- The tent had grown quiet. "Yesthe

'blade that delivers the Rose' was being found there," the

troll said. "The sword of Camaris called Thom."

"Ebekah, John's wife." Isgrimnur breathed. "The Rose

of Hemysadharc." He pulled vigorously at his beard, "Of

course!" he said to Josua. "Camaris was your mother's

special protector."

"So we were seeing that the rhyme spoke in part of

Thorn," Binabik agreed.

"But the rest," said Tiamak, "we think we know, but

we are not sure."

Geloe leaned forward. "It seems possible that if the

rhyme speaks of Thom, it may also speak of Camaris

himself. A 'man who though blinded can see' could cer-

tainly describe a man who is blind to his past, even his

own name, although he sees as well as anyone here."

"Better," said Miriamele quietly.

"That seems right." Isgrimnur scowled, considering. "I

don't know how such a thing could be in some old book

from hundreds of years ago, but it seems right."

"So what does that leave us?" Josua asked. "This part

about 'the Call' and the last lines about the prisoned go-

ing free."

A moment of silence followed his remark.

Simon cleared his throat. "Well, perhaps this is stupid,"

he began.

"Speak, Simon," Binabik urged him.

"If one part is about Camaris, and another is about his

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

swordmaybe the other parts are about other things of

his and other places he's been."

Josua smiled. "That is not at all stupid, Simon. That is

what we think, too. And we even think we know what the

Call might be."

From her seat by the far wall, Aditu suddenly laughed,

a clear, musical trill like falling water. "So you did re-

member to give it to them, Seoman. I was afraid you

might forget. You were very tired and sad when we

parted."

"Give it to them?" said Simon, confused. "What... ?"

He stopped short. "The hom!"

"The hom," Josua said. "Amerasu's gift to us, a gift we

could see no use for."

"But how does that fit with the call-bearer's

name... ?" Simon asked.

"It was under our noses, so to speak," Tiamak said.

"When Isgrimnur found Camaris at the inn in

Kwanitupul, he was called 'Ceallio'that means 'shout'

or 'call' in the Perdruinese tongue- The famous hom of

Camaris was named 'Cellian,' which is the same thing in

the Nabbanai tongue."

Aditu rose, smoothly as a hawk taking wing. "It was

called Cellian by mortals only. It has a far older name

than thatits true name, its name of Making. The hom

that Amerasu sent you belonged to the Sithi long before

your Camaris sounded it in battle. It is called Ti-tuno."

"But how did it come to be in Camaris' hands?"

Miriamele asked. "And if he had it, how did the Sithi get

it back again?"

"I can answer the first part of your question easily,"

Aditu told her. "Ti-tuno was made of the dragon

Hidohebhi's tooth, the black worm that Hakatri and

Ineluki slew. When Prince Sinnach of the mortal

Hernystiri came to our aid before the battle of Ach

Samrath, lyu'unigato of Year-Dancing House gave it to

him as a token of gratitude, a gift from friend to friend."

When Aditu paused, Binabik looked for her permission

to continue. When she nodded, he spoke. "Many centu-

ries after Asu'a was falling, when John came to his power

700 Tad Williams

in Erkynland, he was having the chance to make the

Hernystiri his vassals. He did not choose to do that thing,

and in gratitude King Llythinn sent the horn Ti-tuno as

part of Ebekah's bridal dower when she was sent for be-

ing Prester John's wife." He raised his small hand in a

gesture of gift giving. "Camaris was guarding her on that

journey, and brought her with safety to Erkynland. John

was finding his Hemystiri bride so beautiful that he gave

the horn to Camaris to commemorate the day of her com-

ing to the Hayholt." He waved his hand again, a broader

flourish, as though he had painted a picture he now

wished the others to admire. "As for how it was returned

to Amerasu and the Sithiwell, perhaps that is a story

Camaris himself can be telling to us. But that is where it

was brought from: the 'ship on the shallowest sea.' "

"I do not understand that part," Isgrimnur said.

Aditu smiled. "Jao e-Tinukai'i means 'Boat on the

Ocean of Trees.' It is hard to imagine an ocean shallower

than one with no water."

Simon was growing confused by the flood of words

and the changing litany of speakers. "What do you mean

when you say Camaris can tell the story, Binabik? I

thought Camaris couldn't talkthat he was mute, or mad,

or under a spell."

"Perhaps he is being all those things," the troll replied.

"But it is also perhaps true that the last line of the poem

is speaking to us about Camaris himselfthat when these

things are brought together, he will be then released from

the prison of sons that he is in. We hope it will be bring-

ing back his wits."

Again the room fell silent for several heartbeats.

"Of course," Josua added at last, "there is still the

problem of how that will come to be, if the second-to-last

line is to be believed." He held up his armshis left hand

with Elias' manacle still clasped about the wrist, his right

arm that ended in a leather-clad stump. "As you can see,"

he said, "the one thing this prince does not have is a right

hand." He allowed himself a mocking grin. "But we hope

that it is not meant to be taken word for word. Perhaps

just bringing them into my presence will do the trick."

TOGREENANGELTOWER70!

"I tried to show Camaris the blade Thorn once al-

ready," Isgrimnur remembered. "Thought it might jog

his mind, if you see my meaning. But he wouldn't go

near it. Acted like it was a poisonous snake. Pulled free

and walked right out of the room." He paused. "But

maybe when everything is together, the horn and all,

maybe then ..."

"Well?" said Miriamele. "Why don't we try it, then?"

"Because we can't," Josua said grimly. "We have lost

the hom."

"What?" Simon looked up to see if, improbably, the

prince might be joking. "How can that be?"

"It vanished sometime during the battle with

Fengbald," Josua said. "It is one of the reasons I wanted

you here, Simon. I thought you might have taken it back

for safekeeping."

Simon shook his head. "I was glad to be rid of it,

Prince Josua. I was so afraid that I had doomed us all by

forgetting to give it to you. No, I haven't seen it."

No one else in the tent had either. "So," Josua said at

last. "We must search for it, thenbut quietly. If there is

a traitor in our midst, or even just a thief, we must not let

him know that it is an important thing or we may never

recover it."

Aditu laughed again. This time it seemed shockingly

out of place. "I am sorry," she said. "but this is something

that the rest of the Zida'ya would never believe. To have

lost Ti-tuno!"

"It's not funny," Simon growled. "Besides, can't you

use some magic or something to locate it?"

Aditu shook her head. "Things do not work that way,

Seoman. I tried to explain that to you once before. And I

am sorry to laugh. I will help look for it."

She didn't look very sorry, Simon thought. But if he

couldn't understand mortal women, how could he ever in

a thousand years hope to understand Sithi women?

The company slowly filed out of Josua's tent, talking

quietly among themselves. Simon waited for Miriamele

outside. When she emerged, he fell in beside her.

"So they are going to give Camaris back his memo-

702 Tad Williams

ries." Miriamele looked distracted and tired, as though

she had not slept much the night before.

"If we can find the horn, I suppose we'll try." Simon

was secretly quite pleased that Miriamele had been

present to see how involved he was in Prince Josua's

counsels.

Miriamele turned to look at him, her expression accu-

satory. "And what if he doesn't want those memories

back?" she demanded. "What if he is happy now, for the

first time in his life?"

Simon was startled, but could think of no reply. They

walked back across the settlement in silence until

Miriamele said good-bye and went off to walk by herself.

Simon was left wondering at what she had said. Did

Miriamele, too, have memories that she would be just as

happy to lose?

A

Josua was standing in the garden behind Leavetaking

House when Miriamele found him. He was staring into

the sky, across which the clouds were drawn in long rib-

bons like torn linen.

"Uncle Josua?"

He turned. "Miriamele. It is a pleasure to see you."

"You like to come here, don't you?"

"I suppose I do." He nodded slowly. "It is a place to

think. I worry too much about Vorzhevaabout our child

and what kind of a world it will live into feel very

comfortable most places."

"And you miss Deomoth."

Josua turned his gaze back to the cloud-strewn sky

again. "I miss him, yes. But more importantly, I want to

make his sacrifice worthwhile. If our defeat of Fengbald

means something, then it will be easier for me to live

with his death." The prince sighed. "He was still young,

compared to mehe had not seen thirty summers."

Miriamele watched her uncle in silence for a long

while before speaking. "I need to ask you a favor, Josua."

TOGREENANGELTOWER703

He extended his hand, indicating one of the time-worn

benches. "Please. Ask me whatever you wish."

She took a deep breath. "When you ... when we come

to the Hayholt, I want to speak to my father."

Josua tilted his head, raising his eyebrows so that his

high, smooth forehead creased. "What do you mean,

Miriamele?"

"There will be a time before any final siege when you

and he will talk," she said hurriedly, as though speaking

words that had been practiced. "There has to be, no mat-

ter how bloody the fighting. He is your brother, and you

will speak to him. I wish to be there."

Josua hesitated. "I am not certain that would be

wise...."

"And," Miriamele continued, determined to have her

say, "I wish to speak to him alone."

"Alone?" The prince shook his head, taken aback.

"Miriamele, such a thing cannot be! If we are able to lay

siege to the Hayholt, your father will be a desperate man.

How could I leave you alone with himI would be giv-

ing you over as a hostage!"

"That's not important," she said stubbornly. "I must

speak with him. Uncle Josua.'I must!"

He bit back a sharp reply; when he spoke, it was gently.

"And why must you, Miriamele?"

"I cannot tell you. But I must. It could make a

differencea very great difference!"

"Then you must tell me, my niece. For if you do not,

I can only say no; I cannot allow you alone with your fa-

ther."

Tears glistened in Miriamele's eyes. She angrily wiped

them away. "You don't understand. It's something I can

only talk to him about. And I must! Please, Josua,

please!"

A weary anguish seemed to settle on his features like

the work of long years. "I know you are not frivolous,

Miriamele. But neither do you have the lives of hundreds,

maybe thousands, weighing down your decisions. If you

cannot tell me what you feel is so importantand I be-

lieve that you think it is truethen I certainly cannot let

704

Tad Williams

you risk your life for it, and perhaps the lives of many

others as well."

She stared at him intently. The tears were gone, re-

placed by a cold, dispassionate mask. "Please reconsider,

Josua." She gestured toward Deornoth's cairn. A few

blades of grass were already growing up between the

stones. "Remember your friend, Uncle Josua, and all the

things you wish you had said to him"

He shook his head in frustration. The sunlight showed

that his brown hair was thinning near the top. "By

Aedon's blood, I cannot allow it, Miriamele. Be angry at

me if you must, but surely you can see that I have no

other choice." His own voice grew a little more chill.

"When your father surrenders at last, I will do everything

I can to see that he is not harmed. If it is within my

power, you will have a chance to speak with him. That is

the most I can promise."

"It will be too late then." She rose from the bench and

walked rapidly back across the garden.

Josua watched her go; then, as motionless as if he were

rooted to the ground, he watched a sparrow flutter down

to alight briefly atop the cairn of stones. After a few

bouncing steps and a chain of piping notes, it rose again

and flew away. He let its departure lift his gaze back to

the streaming clouds.

A

"Simon!"

He turned. Sangfugol was hurrying across the damp

grass.

"Simon, may I talk to you?" The harper pulled up,

breathing heavily. His hair was mussed and his clothing

seemed to have been thrown on without a thought for

color or style, which was very unusual; even in the days

of exile, Simon had never seen the musician looking quite

this unkempt.

"Certainly."

"Not here." Sangfugol looked around furtively, al-

TOGREENANGELTOWER

705

though there was no one in sight. "Somewhere where we

won't be overheard. Your tent?"

Simon nodded, puzzled. "If you wish."

They walked through the tent city. Several of the resi-

dents waved or called greetings to them as they passed.

The harper seemed almost to flinch each time, as though

every person was a potential source of danger. At last

they reached Simon's tent and found Binabik Just prepar-

ing to go out. As the troll pulled on his fur-lined boots, he

chatted amiably about the missing homthe hunt had

been afoot for three days, and was still unsuccessfuland

other topics. Sangfugol was quite visibly anxious for him

to leave, a fact which Binabik could not help noticing; he

cut short the conversation, made his farewells, then went

off to join Geloe and the rest.

When the troll was gone, Sangfugol let out a sigh of re-

leased tension and sank to the floor of the tent, unmindful

of the dirt. Simon was beginning to be alarmed. Some-

thing was very wrong indeed.

"What is it?" he asked. "You seem frightened."

The harper leaned close, his voice a conspiratorial

near-whisper. "Binabik says they are still searching for

that hom. Josua seems to wan! it very much."

Simon shrugged. "No one knows if it will do any good.

It's for Camaris. They hope it will bring him back to his

senses somehow."

"That doesn't make sense." The harper shook his head.

"How could a horn do something like that?"

"/ don't know," Simon said impatiently. "What is so

important that you needed to talk about?"

"1 imagine that when they find the thief, the prince will

be very angry."

"I'm sure they'll hang him on the wall of Leavetaking

House," Simon said in irritation, then stopped as he saw

the expression of horror on Sangfugol's face. "What's

wrong? Merciful Aedon, Sangfugol, did you steal it?"

"No, no!" the harper said shrilly. "I didn't, I swear!"

Simon stared at him.

"But," Sangfugol said at last, his voice trembling with

shame, "but I know where it is."

706 Tad Williams

"What?! Where?"

"I have it in my tent." The harper said this in the

doomful voice of a condemned martyr forgiving his exe-

cutioners.

"How could that be? Why is it in your tent? And you

didn't take it?"

"Aedon's mercy, Simon, I swear I didn't. I found it'in

with Towser's things after he died. I ... I loved that old

man, Simon. In my way. I know he was a drunkard, and

that sometimes I talked as though I wanted to knock his

head in. But he was good to me when t was young ...

and, curse it, I miss him."

Despite the sadness of the harper's words, Simon was

losing patience again. "But why did you keep it? Why

didn't you tell anybody?"

"I just wanted something of his, Simon." He was as

ashamed and sorrowful as a wet cat. "I buried my second

lute with him. I thought he wouldn't have minded ... I

thought the horn was his!" He reached out to grab Si-

mon's wrist, thought better, and pulled his hand back.

"Then, by the time I realized what all the fuss and search-

ing was for, I was afraid to admit that I had it. It will

seem like I stole from Towser when he was dead. I would

never do that, Simon!"

Simon's moment of anger faded. The harper seemed

close to tears. "You should have told," he said gently.

"No one would have thought ill of you. Now we had bet-

ter go speak to Josua."

"Oh, no! He'll be furious! No, Simon, why don't I just

give it to youthen you can say that you found it. You'll

be the hero."

Simon considered for a moment. "No," he said at last. "I

don't think that would be a good idea. For one thing, I'd

have to lie to Prince Josua about where 1 found it- What if

I told him I found it somewhere, then it turned out they'd

already looked there. It would seem like / stole it." He

shook his head emphatically. For once, it hadn't been Si-

mon who had made the mooncalf mistake. He was in no

hurry to take this particular blame. "In any case, Sangfugol,

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 707

it won't be as bad as you think. I'll come with you. Josua's

not like thatyou know him."

"He told me once that if I sang 'Woman from Nabban'

again he'd have my head off." Sangfugol, the worst of his

fear past, was dangerously close to sulking.

"And well he should have," Simon replied. "We're all

tired of that song." He stood and extended a hand to the

harper. "Now get up and let's go see the prince. If only

you hadn't waited so long to tell, this would be easier."

Sangfugol shook his head miserably, "It just seemed

easier not to say anything. I kept thinking I could take it

out and leave it somewhere that it would be found, but

then I got frightened that someone would catch me at it,

even if I did it in the middle of the night." He took a deep

breath. "I haven't slept the last two nights for worrying."

"Well, you'll feel better once you've talked to Josua.

Come on, up now."

When they emerged from the tent, the harper stood for

a moment in the sun, then wrinkled his thin nose. He of-

fered a weak smile, as though he scented possible re-

demption in the damp morning air. "Thank you, Simon,"

he said- "You are a good friend."

Simon made a noise of mocking derision, then clapped

the harper on the shoulder. "Let's talk to him now, when

he's just eaten breakfast. I'm always in a better mood

when I've just eatenmaybe it works for princes, too."

^

They all gathered at Leavetaking House after the mid-

day meal. Josua stood solemnly before the altar of stone

on which Thom still lay. Simon could feel the prince's

tension.

The others gathered in the hall talked quietly among

themselves. The conversations seemed strained, but si-

lence in the great room might have been even more

daunting. The sunlight streamed through the doorway, but

did not reach the room's farthest reaches. The place

seemed a kind of chapel, and Simon could not help won-

dering if they would see a miracle. If they could bring

708 Tad Williams

back Camaris' wits, the senses and memories of a man

forty years gone from the world, would it not be a sort of

raising of the dead?

He remembered what Miriamele said and had to re-

press a shiver. Perhaps it was wrong, somehow. Perhaps

Camaris was indeed meant to be left alone.

Josua was turning the dragon's-tooth horn over and

over in his hands, looking distractedly at the inscriptions.

When it had been brought to him, he had not been as an-

gry as Sangfugol had feared, but instead openly puzzled

as to why Towser might have taken the hom and hidden

it away. Josua had even been so generous, once his initial

flash of annoyance had passed, as to invite Sangfugol to

stay and witness whatever might happen. But the harper,

reprieved, wanted nothing more to do with the hom or the

doings of princes; he had returned to his bed to get some

much-needed rest.

Now there was a stir among the dozen or so gathered

in the hall as Isgrimnur entered leading Camaris. The old

man, dressed in formal shirt and hose like a child who

had been readied for church, stepped inside and looked

around squinting, as if trying to see the nature of the trap

into which he was being led. If did seem almost as though

he had been brought to answer for some criminal act:

those who waited in the hall stared at his face as though

memorizing it. Camaris looked more than a little fright-

ened.

Miriamele had said that the old man had been door

warden and man-of-all-work at a hostel in Kwanitupul,

and not particularly well treated there, Simon remem-

bered; perhaps he thought he was to be punished for

something. Certainly, from his nervous, sidelong glances,

Camaris looked as though he would rather be anywhere

than this place.

"Here, Sir Camaris." Josua lifted Thorn from the

altarby the ease with which he hefted it, it must have

seemed light as a twig; remembering the sword's chang-

ing character, Simon wondered what this meant. He had

thought once that the sword had wishes of its own, that it

cooperated only when going where and doing what it de-

TOGREENANGEL TOWER

sired. Was this its goal, now almost in reach? To return to

its former master?

Prince Josua presented the blade to Camaris hilt first,

but the old man would not take it. "Please, Sir

Camarisit is Thorn. It was yours, and still is."

The old man's expression became even more desperate.

He stepped back, half-raising his hands as though to fend

off an attack. Isgrimnur took his elbow and steadied him.

"All is well," the duke rumbled. "It's yours, Camaris."

"Sludig." Josua called. "Do you have the sword belt?"

The Rimmersman stepped forward, carrying a belt from

which depended a heavy sheath of black leather studded

with silver. With his master Isgrimnur's help, he strapped

it around Camaris' waist. The old man did not resist. In

fact, Simon thought, he might as well have been turned to

stone. When they were finished, Josua carefully slid

Thorn into the scabbard, so that its hilt came to rest in the

space between Camaris' elbow and his loose white shirt.

"Now the hom, please," said Josua. Freosel, who had

been holding it while the prince carried the blade, handed

him the ancient horn. Josua slipped the baldric over

Camaris' head so that the horn hung beside his right

hand, then stepped back. The long-bladed sword seemed

made to fit its tall owner. A shaft of sunlight from the

doorway glinted in the knight's white hair. There was an

unquestionable Tightness to it; everyone in the room

could see it. Everyone except the old man himself.

"He's not doing anything," Sludig said quietly to

Isgrimnur. Simon again had the impression of attending a

religious servicebut now it felt as though the sexton

had neglected to put out the reliquary, or the priest had

forgotten part of the mansa. Everyone was caught up in

the embarrassing pause-

"Perhaps if we are reading the poem?" Binabik sug-

gested.

"Yes." Josua nodded. "Please read it."

Binabik instead pushed Tiamak forward. The

Wrannaman held up the parchment in a trembling hand

and, in an equally unsteady voice, read Nisses* poem.

710Tad Williams

"... When Blayde, Call, and Man,"

he finished in firmer toneshe had gained courage

with each line,

"Come to Prince's right Hande

Then the Prisoned shall once more go Free ...".

Tiamak stopped and looked up. Camaris stared back at

him, offering a faintly wounded look to the companion of

many weeks who was now doing this inexplicable thing

to him. The old knight might have been a dog expected to

perform some degrading trick for a previously kind mas-

ter.

Nothing had changed. A shock of disappointment went

through the room.

"We have perhaps been making some mistake,"

Binabik said slowly. "We shall have to be at studying it

further."

"No." Josua's voice was harsh. "I don't believe that."

He stepped up to Camaris and lifted the horn to the level

of the old man's eyes. "Don't you recognize this? This is

Cellian! Its call used to strike fear into the hearts of my

father's enemies! Sound it, Camaris!" He moved it to-

ward the old man's lips. "We need you to come back!"

With a hunted look, a look almost of terror, Camaris

pushed Josua away. So unexpected was the old man's

strength that the prince stumbled and nearly fell before

Isgrimnur caught him. Sludig snarled and took a step to-

ward Camaris as though he might strike the old knight.

"Leave him be, Sludig!" Josua snapped. "If anyone is

at fault here, it is me. What right do I have to trouble a

simple-minded old man?" Josua bunched his fist and

stared at the stone tiles for a moment. "Perhaps we should

leave him be. He fought his battleswe should fight ours

and leave him to rest."

"He never turned his back on any fight, Josua," said

Isgrimnur. "I knew him, remember. He always did what

was right, what was ... needful. Don't give up so easily."

Josua lifted his gaze to the old man's face. "Very well.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

711

Camaris, come with me." He gently took his elbow.

"Come with me," he said again, then turned and led the

unresisting knight toward the door that led to the garden

behind the hall.

Outside the afternoon was growing chill. A light mist

of rain had darkened the ancient walls and stone benches.

The rest of the company gathered in the doorway, uncer-

tain of what the prince meant to do.

Josua led Camaris to the pile of stones that marked

Deornoth's grave. He lifted the old man's hand and

placed it on the caim, then pressed his own down atop the

knight's.

"Sir Camaris," he said slowly. "Please listen to me.

The land that my father tamed, the order that you and

King John built, is being torn to pieces by war and sor-

cery. Everything you worked for in your life is threat-

ened, and if we fail this time, I fear there will be no

rebuilding.

"Beneath these stones my friend is buried. He was a

knight, as you. Sir Deomoth never met you, but the songs

of your life he heard as a child led him to me. 'Make me

a knight, Josua,' he told me on the day I first saw him. l!

wish to serve as Camaris served. I wish to be your tool

and God's, for the betterment of our people and our land.'

"That is what he said, Camaris." Josua laughed ab-

ruptly. "He was a foola holy fool. And he found out, of

course, that sometimes the land and people do not seem

worth saving. But he took a vow before God that he

would do what was right and he lived all his days in an

effort to measure up to that pledge."

Josua's voice rose. He had found some wellspring of

feeling within himself; the words came tumbling out,

strong and effortless. "He died defending this placea

single battle, a single skirmish took his life, yet without

him, the chance of a greater victory would have been lost

long ago. He died as he lived, trying to do what was not

humanly possible, blaming himself when he failed, then

getting up and trying again. He died for this land,

Camaris, the same land that you fought for, the order that

you struggled to create, where the weak could live their

712

Tad miiams

lives in peace, protected from those who would use

strength to force their wishes on others." The prince

leaned close to Camaris' face, catching and holding the

old man's reluctant gaze. "Will his death mean nothing?

For if we do not win this fight, there will be too many

graves for one more to make a difference, and there will

be no one left to mourn for people like Deomoth." '

Josua's fingers tightened on the knight's hand. "Come

back to us, Camaris. Please. Don't let his death be mean-

ingless. Think of the battles of your time, battles I know

you would prefer not to have fought, but did because the

cause was just and fair. Must all that suffering become

meaningless, too? This is our last chance. After us comes

darkness."

The prince abruptly let go of the old man's hand and

turned away, eyes glistening. Simon, watching from the

doorway, felt his own heart catch.

Camaris still stood as if frozen, his fingers splayed atop

Deomoth's cairn. At last he turned and looked down at

himself, then slowly raised the hom and stared at it for a

long time, as though it were something never before seen

on the green earth. He closed his eyes, lifted it carefully

to his lips with shaking hand, and blew.

The horn sounded. Its first thin note grew and strength-

ened, becoming louder and louder until it seemed to

shake the very air, a shout that seemed to have the clash

of steel and the thunder of hooves in it. Camaris, his eyes

squeezed shut, sucked in a deep breath and blew again,

louder this time. The piercing call winded out across the

hillside and reverberated in the valley; the echoes chased

themselves through the air. Then the noise died away.

Simon discovered he had his hands over his ears. Many

others in the company had done the same.

Camaris was staring at the hom again. He lifted up his

face to those who watched him. Something had changed.

His eyes had become deeper somehow, sadder: there was

a glint of awareness that had not been there before. His

mouth worked, striving for speech, but no sound came out

except a rasping hiss. Camaris looked down at the hilt of

Thorn. With slow and deliberate movements, he drew it

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

713

from the scabbard and held it up before him, a line of

glinting black that seemed to slice right through the light

of the failing afternoon. Tiny drops of misty rain gathered

on the blade.

"/.. . should have known .. . that my .. . torment was

not yet finished, my guilt not forgiven." His voice was

painfully dry and rough, his speech strangely formal.

"Oh, my God, my loving and terrible God, I am humble

before You. I shall serve out my punishment."

The old man fell to his knees before the astonished

company. For a long time, he said nothing, but seemed to

be praying. Tears ran down his cheeks, merging with the

raindrops to make his face shine in the slanting sunlight.

Finally, Camaris clambered to his feet and allowed

Isgrimnur and Josua to lead him away.

Simon felt something tugging at his arm. He looked

down. Binabik's small fingers had caught his sleeve. The

troll's eyes were bright. "Do you know, Simon, it is what

we had all forgotten. Sir Deomoth's men, the soldiers of

Naghmund, do you know what they were calling him?

The prince's right hand.' And even Josua did not remem-

ber, I am thinking. Luck ... or something else, friend Si-

mon." The little man squeezed" Simon's arm again, then

hurried after the prince,

Overwhelmed, Simon turned, trying to catch a last

glimpse of Camaris. Miriamele was standing near the

doorway. She caught Simon's eyes and gave him an angry

look that seemed to say: you are to blame for this, too.

She turned and followed Camaris and the others back

into Leavetaking House, leaving Simon alone in the rainy

garden,

24

A Sky Fuff of Beasts

A

Four StrOTlfl men, sweating despite the cold night

breeze and panting from the exertion of heaving the cov-

ered litter up the narrow stairway, carefully lifted out the

chair containing the litter's passenger and carried it to the

middle of the rooftop garden. The man in the chair was so

swaddled in furs and robes as to be practically unrecog-

nizable. but the tall, elegantly dressed woman immedi-

ately rose from her own seat and came forward with a

glad cry.

"Count Streawe!" said the dowager duchess. "I'm so

glad you could come. And on such a chill evening."

"Nessalanta, my dear. Only an invitation from you

would bring me out in such ghastly weather." The count

took her gloved hand in his own and drew it to his lips.

"Forgive me for being so discourteous as to remain

seated."

"Nonsense." Nessalanta snapped her fingers at the

count's bearers and indicated they should bring his chair

closer to hers. She seated herself again. "Although I think

it is growing a little warmer. Nevertheless, you are a

jewel, a splendid jewel for coming tonight."

"The pleasure of your company, dear lady." Streawe

coughed into his kerchief.

"It will be worth your while, I promise." She gestured

floridly at the star-sprinkled sky as though she herself had

commanded it spread before them. "Look at this' You

will be so glad you came. Xannasavin is a brilliant man."

"My lady is too kind," said a voice from the stairwell.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER715

Count Streawe, somewhat limited in his mobility, craned

his neck awkwardly to see the speaker.

The man who emerged from the entranceway onto the

rooftop garden was tall and thin, with long fingers

clasped as though in prayer. He wore a great curling

beard of gray-shot black. His robes, too, were dark, and

bespotted with Nabbanai star symbols. He moved be-

tween the rows of potted trees and shrubs with a certain

storklike grace, then bent his long legs to kneel before the

dowager duchess. "My lady, I received your summons

with great pleasure. It is always a joy to serve you." He

turned to Streawe. 'The Duchess Nessalanta would have

been a splendid astrologer, had she not her greater duties

to Nabban. She is a woman of great insight."

Beneath his hood, Perdruin's count smiled. "This is

known to all."

Something in Streawe's voice made the duchess hesi-

tate for a moment before she spoke. "Xannasavin is too

kind. I have studied a few rudiments only." She crossed

her hands demurely before her breast.

"Ah, but could I have had you for an apprentice,"

Xannasavin said, "the mysteries that we might have

plumbed. Duchess Nessalanta...." His voice was deep

and impressive. "Does my lady wish me to start?"

Nessalanta, who had been watching his lips move,

shook herself as though suddenly coming awake. "Ah.

No, Xannasavin, not yet. We must wait for my eldest

son."

Streawe looked at her with real interest. "I did not

know that Benigaris was a follower of the mysteries of

the stars."

"He is interested," Nessalanta said carefully. "He

is ..." She looked up. "Ah, he is here!"

Benigaris strode onto the rooftop. Two guards, their

surcoats kingfisher-blazed, followed a few paces behind

him. The reigning duke of Nabban was going a little to

fat around the middle, but was still a tall, broad-

shouldered man. His mustache was so luxuriant as to hide

his mouth almost entirely.

"Mother," he said curtly as he reached the small gath-

7i6

Tad Williams

ering. He took her gloved hand and nodded, then turned

to the count. "Streawe. I missed you at dinner last night."

The count lifted his kerchief to his lips and coughed.

"My apologies, good Benigaris. My health, you know.

Sometimes it is just too difficult for me to leave my

room, even for hospitality as famed as that of the

Sancellan Mahistrevis."

Benigaris grunted. "Well, then you probably shouldn't

be out here on this freezing roof." He turned to

Nessalanta, "What are we doing here. Mother?"

The dowager duchess put on a look of girlish hurt.

"Why, you know perfectly well what we are doing here.

This is a very favorable night to read the stars, and

Xannasavin is going to tell us what the next year will

bring,"

"If you so desire. Highness." Xannasavin bowed to the

duke.

"I can tell you what the next year will bring,"

Benigaris growled. "Trouble and more trouble. Every-

where I turn there are problems." He looked to Streawe.

"You know how it is. They want bread, the peasants do,

but if I give it to them they just want more. I tried to

bring in some of those swamp men to help work the grain

fieldsI have had to expend a lot of soldiers in those

border skirmishes with the Thrithings savages and now

all the barons are screaming about having their peasants

levied and their Fields fallowbut the damnable little

brown men won't come! What am I to do, send troops

into that cursed swamp? I'm better off without them."

"How well do I know the burdens of leadership,"

Streawe said sympathetically. "You have been doing a he-

roic job in difficult times, I am told."

Benigaris jerked his head in acknowledgment. "And

then those damned, damned, thrice-damned Fire Dancers,

setting themselves on fire and frightening the common

folk." His expression turned dark. "I should never have

trusted Pryrates...."

"I'm sorry, Benigaris," said Streawe. "I didn't hear

youmy old ears, you know. Pryrates... ?"

The Duke of Nabban looked at the count. His eyes nar-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

717

rowed. "Never mind. Anyway, it's been a filthy year, and

I doubt the next will be any better." A sour smile moved

his mustache. "Unless 1 convince some of the trouble-

makers here in Nabban to become Fire Dancers. There

are more than a few that I think would look very good in

flames."

Streawe laughed, then broke into a fit of dry coughing-

"Very good, Benigaris, very good."

"Enough of this," Nessalanta said pettishly. "I think

you are wrong, Benigarisit should be a splendid year.

Besides, there is no need to speculate. Xannasavin will

tell you everything you need to know."

"I am but a humble observer of the celestial patterns,

Duchess," the astrologer said. "But I will do my

best...."

"And if you can't come up with something better than

the year I've just gone through," Benigaris muttered, "I

may just toss you off the roof."

"Benigaris!" Nessalanta's voice, which had so far been

wheedling and childlike, turned suddenly sharp as the

crack of a drover's whip. "You will not speak that way

before me! You will not threaten Xannasavin! Do you un-

derstand'?"

Benigaris almost imperceptibly flinched. "It was only a

jest. Aedon's Holy Blood, Mother, don't take on so," He

walked to the half-canopied chair with the ducal crest and

sat down heavily. "Go on, man," he grunted, waving at

Xannasavin. 'Tell us what wonders the stars hold."

The astrologer pulled a sheaf of scrolls from his volu-

minous robe, brandishing them with a certain drama. "As

the duchess mentioned," he began, his voice smooth and

practiced, "tonight is an excellent night for divination.

Not only are the stars in a particularly favorable configu-

ration, but the sky itself is clear of storms and other hin-

drances." He smiled at Duke Benigaris. "An auspicious

sign in and of itself."

"Continue," said the duke-

Xannasavin lifted a furled scroll and pointed up at the

wheel of stars. "As you can see, Yuvenis' Throne is di-

rectly overhead. The Throne is, of course, much tied to

7i8 Tad Williams

the mling of Nabban, and has been since the old heathen

days. When the lesser lights are moving through its as-

pect, the heirs of the Imperium do well to take notice."

He paused for a moment to let the import of this sink in.

'Tonight you can see that the Throne is upright, and that

on its topmost edge, the Serpent and Mixis the Wolf are

particularly bright." He swung around and pointed to an-

other part of the sky. "The Falcon, there, and the Winged

Beetle are now visible in the southern sky. The Beetle al-

ways brings change."

"It is like one of the old Imperators' private menager-

ies," Benigaris said impatiently. "Beasts, beasts, beasts.

What does it all mean?"

"It means, my lord, that there are great times ahead for

the Benidrivine House."

"I knew it," Nessalanta purred. "I knew it."

"What tells you that?" Benigaris asked, squinting at the

sky.

"I could not do justice to your majesties by trying to

make an explanation that was too brief," the astrologer

said smoothly. "Suffice it to say that the stars, which have

long spoken of hesitation, of unsureness and doubt, now

proclaim that a time of change is coming. Great change."

"But that could be anything," Benigaris grumbled.

"That could mean the whole city burned down."

"Ah, but that is only because you have not heard all

that I have to say. There are two other factors, factors

most important. One is me Kingfisher itselfthere, do

you see it?" Xannasavin gestured toward a point in the

eastern sky. "It is far brighter than I have ever seen it

and at this time of year it is generally quite hard to see.

Your family's fortunes have long risen and fallen with the

waxing and waning of the Kingfisher's light, and it has

not been so gloriously illuminated before in my lifetime.

Something of great moment is about to happen to the

Benidrivine House, my lord. Your house."

"And the other?" Benigaris appeared to be growing in-

terested. "The other thing you mentioned?"

"Ah." The astrologer unrolled one of his scrolls and

examined it. "That is something that you cannot see at

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWfcR

this moment. There will be a reappearance soon of the

Conqueror Star."

"The bearded star that we saw last year and the year

before?" It was Streawe who spoke, his voice eager. "The

great red thing?"

"That is the one."

"But when it came, it frightened the common folk out

of their shallow wits!" Benigaris said. "I think that is

what started all this doom-saying nonsense in the first

place'"

Xannasavin nodded. "The celestial signs are often mis-

read, Duke Benigaris. The Conqueror Star will return, but

it is not a precursor of disaster, merely of change.

Throughout history it has come to herald a new order ap-

pearing out of conflict and chaos. It trumpeted the end of

the Imperium, and shone over the final days of Khand."

"And this is good'?" Benigaris shouted. "You are say-

ing that something which speaks of the downfall of an

empire should make me happy'?" He seemed ready to

leap from his chair and manhandle the astrologer.

"But my lord, remember the Kingfisher!" Xannasavin

said hurriedly. "How could these changes be to your dis-

may when the Kingfisher is burning so brightly? No, my

lord, pardon your humble servant for seeming to instruct

you in any way, but can you think of no situation in

which a great empire might fall, yet the fortunes of the

Benidrivine House might improve?"

Benigaris sat back swiftly, as though repelled by a

blow. He stared at his hands. "I will talk to you of this

later," he said at last. "Leave us now for a while."

Xannasavin bowed. "As you wish, my lord." He bowed

again, this time in the direction of Streawe. "A pleasure

to meet you at last, Count. I have been honored."

The count absently bobbed his head, as lost in thought

as Benigaris.

Xannasavin kissed Nessalanta's hand, swept the roof-

top with a low bow, then stowed his scrolls once more

and walked to the stairwell. His footsteps gradually dwin-

dled down into echoing darkness.

720 Tad Williams

"Do you see?" Nessalanta asked. "Do you see why I

value him so? He is a brilliant man."

Streawe nodded. "He is most imposing. And you have

found him reliable?"

"Absolutely. He predicted my poor husband's death."

Her face assumed a look of profound sorrow. "But

Leobardis would not listen, despite all my warnings.'I

told him if he set foot on Erkynlandish soil, I would never

see him again. He told me it was nonsense."

Benigaris looked at his mother sharply. "Xannasavin

told you Father would die?"

"He did. If only your father had listened."

Count Streawe cleared his throat. "Well, I had hoped to

save these matters for a different time, Benigaris, but

hearing what your astrologer had to sayhearing of the

splendid future he sees for youI think perhaps I should

share my thoughts with you now."

Benigaris turned from his dissatisfied contemplation of

his mother to the count. "What are you talking about?"

"Certain things I have learned." The old man looked

around. "Ah, forgive me, Benigaris, but would it be an

imposition to ask your guards to step back out of hear-

ing?" He made a crabbed gesture toward the two armored

men, who had stood motionless and silent as stone

throughout the proceedings. Benigaris grunted and ges-

tured them back.

"So?"

"I have, as you know, many sources of information,"

the count began. "I hear many things that even others

more powerful than myself are not able to discover. Re-

cently I have heard some things that you might wish to

know. About Elias and his war with Josua. About ...

other things." He paused and looked to the duke expect-

antly-

Nessalanta, too, was sitting forward. "Go on, Streawe.

You know how much we value your counsel."

"Yes," Benigaris said, "go on. I will be very interested

to discover what you have heard."

The count smiled, a vulpine grin that showed his still-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 721

bright teeth. "Ah, yes," he said. "You will be inter-

ested. ..."

Eolair did not recognize the Sitha who stood in the

doorway of the Hall of Carvings. He was dressed con-

servatively, at least in Sithi terms, in shirt and breeches of

a pale creamy cloth that shimmered like silk. His hair was

nut-brownthe closest to a human shade the count had

yet seenand had been pulled into a knot on top of his

head.

"Likimeya and Jiriki say that you must come to them."

The stranger's Hemystiri was as awkward and as archaic

as that of the dwarrows. "Must you wait for a moment, or

is it that you can come now? It is good that you come

now."

Eolair heard Craobhan take a breath as if to protest the

summons, but the count laid a hand on his arm. It was

only this immortal's imperfect speech that made it sound

peremptoryEolair guessed that the Sithi would wait for

him for days without impatience.

"One of your people, a healer, is with the king's

; daughterwith Maegwin," he told the messenger. "I

must talk to her. Then I will come."

The Sitha, face impassive, bobbed his head swiftly in

the manner of a cormorant seizing a fish from a river. "I

will tell to them." He turned and left the room, his booted

feet soundless on the wooden floors.

"Are they the masters here now?" Craobhan asked irri-

tatedly. "Should we step to their measures?"

Eolair shook his head. "That is not their way, old

friend. Jiriki and his mother simply wish to speak to me,

I am sure- Not all of them speak our tongue as well as

those two."

"I still do not like it. We had to live with Skali's boot

on our necks long enoughwhen are the Hernystiri going

to take their rightful place in their own land again?"

"Things are changing," Eolair said mildly. "But we

have always survived. Five centuries ago, Fingil's

722 Tad Williams

Rimmersmen drove us into the hilis and the sea-cliffs. We

came back. Skali*s men are on the run now, so we have

outlasted them, too. The weight of the Sithi is a far easier

burden, don't you think?"

The old man stared at him, eyes wrinkling in a suspi-

cious squint. At last, he smiled. "Ah, my good count, you

should have been a priest or a general. You take the long

view."

"As you do, Craobhan. Else you would not be here to-

day to complain."

Before the old man could respond, another Sitha ap-

peared in the doorway, this one a gray-haired woman

dressed in green with a cloak of cloudy silver. Despite the

color of her hair, she looked no older than the just-

departed messenger.

"Kira'athu," the count said, rising. His voice lost its

lightness. "Can you help her?"

The Sitha stared at him for a moment, then shook her

head; the gesture seemed curiously unnatural, as though

she had learned it from a book. "There is nothing wrong

with her body. But her spirit is somehow hidden from me,

gone deep inside, like a mouse when the owl's shadow is

upon the night-fields."

"What does that mean?" Eolair struggled to keep impa-

tience out of his words.

"Frightened. She is frightened. She is like a child who

has seen its parents killed."

"She has seen much death. She has buried her father

and her brother."

The Sitha-woman waved her fingers slowly, a gesture

that Eolair could not translate. "It is not that. Anyone,

Zida'ya or Sudhoda'yaDawn Child or mortalwho has

lived enough years understands death. It is horrible, but it

is understandable. But a child does not understand it. And

something has come to the woman Maegwin in this

waysomething that is beyond her understanding. It has

frightened her spirit."

"Will she get better? Is there anything you can do for

her?"

"I can do nothing more. Her body is sound. Where the

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

723

spirit goes, though, is another matter. I must think on this.

Perhaps there is an answer I cannot see at this time."

It was difficult to read Kira'athu's high-boned, feline

face, but Eolair did not think she sounded very hopeful.

The count balled his fists and held them hard against his

thighs. "And is there anything / can do?"

Something very much like pity showed in the Sitha's

eyes. "If she has hidden her spirit deep enough, only the

woman Maegwin can lead herself back. You cannot do it

for her." She paused as though searching for words of sol-

ace. "Be kind. That is something." She turned and glided

from the hall.

After a long silence. Old Craobhan spoke. "Maegwin's

mad, Eolair."

The count held up his hand. "Don't."

"You can't change it by not listening. She grew worse

while you were gone. I told you where we found herup

on Bradach Tor, raving and singing. She'd been sitting

unprotected in the wind and snow for Mircha only knows

how long. Said she'd seen the gods."

"Perhaps she did see them," Eolair said bitterly. "After

all / have seen in this cursed twelve-month, who am I to

doubt her? Perhaps it was too much for her. . . ." He

stood, rubbing his wet palms on his breeches. "I will go

now and meet Jiriki."

Craobhan nodded. His eyes were moist, but his mouth

was set in a hard line. "Don't ruin yourself, Eotair. Don't

give in. We need you even more than she does."

"When Isorn and the others come back," the count

said, "tell them where I've gone. Ask them to wait up for

me, if they would be so goodI don't think I will be too

long with the Sithi." He looked out at the sky deepening

toward twilight. "I want to talk to Isom and Ule tonight."

He patted the old man's shoulder before walking out of

the Halt of Carvings.

"Eolair."

He turned in the outer doorway to find Maegwin stand-

ing in the entrance hallway behind him. "My lady. How

are you feeling?"

724

Tad Williams

"Well," she said lightly, but her eyes belied her.

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to see ..." He caught himself. He had al-

most said "the gods." Was madness contagious? "I am

going to speak with Jiriki and his mother."

"I do not know them," she said. "But I would like to

go with you in any case."

"Go with me?" Somehow it seemed strange.

"Yes, Count Eolair. I would like to go with you. Is that

so dreadful? We are not such dire enemies, surely?" There

was a hollowness to her words, like a jest made on a gib-

bet's top step.

"Of course you may, my lady," he said hurriedly.

"Maegwin. Of course."

Although Eolair could not discern any new additions to

the Sithi camp that stretched across the broad expanse of

Hem's Hill, still it seemed more intricate than it had just

a few days before, more connected to the land. It looked

as though, instead of the product of a few days' work, it

had stood here since the hill was young. There was a

quality of peace and soft, natural movement: the multicol-

ored tent houses shifted and swayed like plants in an

eddying stream. The count felt a moment of irritation, an

echo of Craobhan's dissatisfaction. What right did the

Sithi have to make themselves so comfortable here?

Whose land was this, after all?

A moment later, he caught himself. It was just the na-

ture of the Fair Ones- Despite their great cities, mere bat-

haunted ruins now if Mezutu'a was any indication, they

were people who were not rooted to a place. From the

way Jiriki had talked about the Garden, their primordial

home, it seemed clear that despite their eon-long tenancy

in Osten Ard they still felt themselves to be little more

than travelers in this land. They lived in their own heads,

in their songs and memories. Hem's Hill was only an-

other place.

Maegwin walked silently beside him, her features set

as though she hid troubled thoughts. He remembered a

time many years before when she had brought him to

TOGREENANGELTOWER

725

watch one of her beloved pigs give birth. Something had

gone wrong, and near the end of the birthing the sow had

begun to squeal in pain. By the time the two dead piglets

had been removed, one still wrapped in the bloody umbil-

icus that had strangled it, the sow in her panic had rolled

on one of her other newboms.

All through that blood-spattered nightmare, Maegwin

had worn a look much like the one she bore now. Only

when the sow had been saved and the rest of the litter

were nursing had she allowed herself to break down and

cry. Remembering, Eolair realized suddenly that it had

been the last time she had let him hold her. Even as he

had sorrowed for her, trying to understand her grief over

the deaths of what to him were only animals, he had felt

her in his arms, her breasts against him, and had realized

that she was a woman now, for all her youth. It had been

a strange feeling.

"Eolair?" There was just a hint of a tremor in

Maegwin's voice. "May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, Lady." He could not lose the memory of

himself as he had held her, blood on their hands and

clothes as they kneeled in the straw. He had not felt half

so helpless then as he did now.-

"How ... how did you die?"

At first he thought he had misheard her. "I am sorry,

Maegwin. How did I what?"

"How did you die? I am ashamed I have not asked you

before. Was it the sort of death you deserved, a noble

one? Oh, I hope it was not painful. I don't think I could

bear that." She looked at him quickly, then broke into a

shaky smile. "But of course that doesn't matter, for here

you are! It is all behind us."

"How did I die?" The unreality of it struck him like a

blow. He pulled at her arm and stopped. They were stand-

ing in an open stretch of grass with Likimeya's enclosure

only a stone's throw away before them. "Maegwin, I am

not dead. Feel me!" He extended his hand and took her

cool fingers. "I am alive! So are you'"

"I was struck down just as the gods came," she said

dreamily. "I think it was Skaliat least his ax being

726 Tad Williams

raised is the last thing I remember before I woke up

here." She laughed shakily. "That's funny. Can you wake

up in Heaven? Sometimes, since I have been here, it feels

as though I sleep for a little while."

"Maegwin." He squeezed her hand. "Listen to me. We

are not dead." Eolair felt himself about to weep and

shook his head angrily. "You are still in Hernystir, ,the

place where you were bom."

Maegwin looked at him with a curious gleam in her

eyes. For a moment the count thought he might have fi-

nally reached her. "Do you know, Eolair," she said

slowly, "when I was alive, I was always frightened.

Frightened that I would lose the things I cared about. I

was even frightened to talk to you, the closest friend I

ever had." She shook her head. Her hair streamed in the

breeze moving across the hill, exposing her long pale

neck. "I could not even tell you that 1 loved you, Eolair

loved you until it burned inside me. I was frightened that

if I told you, you would push me away and I would not

even have your friendship."

Eolair's heart felt as though it would crack right

through, like a flawed stone struck by a hammer.

"Maegwin, I ... I didn't know." Did he love her, too?

Would it help her to tell her he did, whether it was true

or not? "I was ... I was blind," he stammered. "I didn't

know."

She smiled sadly. "It is no matter now," she said with

terrible certainty. "It's too late to worry about such

things." She clutched his hand and led him forward once

more.

He took me last few steps toward the blue and purple

of Likimeya's compound like a man arrow-shot in the

dark, so surprised that he walks on without realizing he

has been murdered.

Jiriki and his mother were in quiet but intense conver-

sation when Eolair and Maegwin stepped through the ring

of cloth. Likimeya still wore her armor; her son was at-

tired in softer clothing.

Jiriki looked up. "Count Eolair. We are happy you

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

727

could come. We have things to show you and tell you."

His eyes lit on Eolair's companion. "Lady Maegwin.

Welcome."

Eolair felt Maegwin tense, but she made a curtsy. "My

Lord," she said. The count could not help wondering what

she saw. If Jiriki was the sky-god Brynioch, what did she

make of his mother? What did she see when she looked

at the rippling cloth all around them, the fruit trees and

the dying afternoon light, at the alien faces of the other

Sithi?

"Please sit." It was strange how musical Likimeya's

voice was, for all its roughness. "Will you have refresh-

ment?"

"Not for me, thank you." Eolair turned to Maegwin.

She shook her head, but her eyes were distant, as though

she were somehow pulling away from what lay before

her.

"Then let us not wait," Likimeya said. "We have some-

thing to show you." She looked over to the brown-haired

messenger who had earlier visited the Taig. This one

stepped forward, lowering the sack that he held in his

hands. With a deft movement, he unlaced the drawstring

and turned it upside-down. Something dark rolled out

onto the grass.

"Tears of Rhynn!" Eolair choked.

Skali's head lay before him, mouth open, eyes wide.

The full yellow beard was now almost entirely crimson,

stained by the gore that had wicked up from his severed

neck.

"There is your enemy. Count Eolair," said Likimeya. A

cat who had killed a bird might drop it at her master's

feet with just such calm satisfaction. "He and a few dozen

of his men turned at last, in the hills east of Grianspog."

'Take it away, please." Eolair felt his gorge rising. "I

did not need to see him like this." For a moment he

looked worriedly to Maegwin, but she was not even

watching: her pale face was turned toward the darkening

sky beyond the walls of the compound.

Unlike her flame-red hair, Likimeya's eyebrows were

white, two streaks like narrow scars above her eyes. She

728 Tad Williams

raised one of them in a curiously human expression of

mocking disbelief. "Your Prince Sinnach displayed his

defeated enemies this way."

'That was five hundred years past!" Eolair recovered a

little of his usual calm. "I am sorry. Mistress, but we mor-

tals change in such a length of time. Our ancestors were

perhaps fiercer than we are." He swallowed. "I have seen

much death, but this was a surprise."

"We meant no offense." Likimeya gave Jiriki what ap-

peared to be a significant glance. "We thought it would

gladden your heart to see what came to the one who con-

quered and enslaved your people."

Eolair took a breath. "I understand. And I mean no of-

fense either. We are grateful for your help. Grateful past

telling." He could not help looking again at the blood-

matted thing on the grass.

The messenger stooped and plucked Skali's head up by

the hair and dropped it back into the sack. Eolair had to

restrain an urge to ask what had happened to the rest of

Sharp-nose, Probably left for the vultures somewhere in

those cold eastern hills.

"That is good," replied Likimeya. "Because we wish

your aid."

Eolair steadied himself. "What can we do?"

Jiriki turned to him. His face was blandly indifferent,

even more so than usual. Had he disapproved somehow of

his mother's gesture? Eolair pushed the thought aside. To

try to understand the Sithi was to invite perplexity border-

ing on madness.

"Now that Skali is dead and the last of his troops scat-

tered across the land, our purpose here is fulfilled," Jiriki

said. "But we have only set our feet to the path. Now the

journey begins in earnest."

As he spoke his mother reached behind her and drew

out a jar, a squat but oddly graceful object glazed in dark

blue. She reached two fingers into it and then withdrew

them. The tips were stained gray-black.

"We told you that we cannot stop here," Jiriki contin-

ued. "We must go on to Ujin e-d'a Sikhunaethe place

you call Naglimund."

TOGREENANGELTOWER729

Slowly, as if performing a ritual, Likimeya began to

daub her face. She began by drawing dark lines down her

cheeks and around her eyes.

"And . . . and what can the Hernystiri do?" Eolair

asked. He was having trouble tearing his gaze away from

Jiriki's mother.

The Sitha lowered his head for a moment, then raised

it and held the count's eye, compelling him to pay atten-

tion. "By the blood that our two peoples have spilled for

each other, I ask you to send a troop of your countrymen

to join us."

"To join you?" Eolair thought of the shining, trumpet-

ing charge of the Sithi. "What help could we possibly

be?"

Jiriki smiled. "You underestimate yourselvesand you

overestimate us. It is very important that we take the cas-

tle that once belonged to Josua, but it will be a fight like

no other. Who knows what surprising part mortals may

play when the Gardenbom fight? And there are things

you can do that we cannot. We are few now. We need

your folk, Eolair. We need you."

Likimeya had drawn a mask around her eyes, on her

forehead and cheeks, so that her amber gaze seemed to

flame in the darkness like jewels in a rock crevice. She

drew three lines down from her bottom lip to her chin.

"I cannot compel my people, Jiriki," Eolair told him.

"Especially after all that has happened to them. But if I

go, I think that others would join me." He considered the

needs of honor and duty. Revenge against Skali had been

taken from him, but it seemed the Rimmersman had only

been a catspaw for Eliasand for an even more frighten-

ing enemy. Hemystir was free, but the war was by no

means ended. The count also found a certain seductive-

ness in the idea of something as straightforward as battle.

The tangle of reoccupying Hernysadharc and coping with

Maegwin's madness had already begun to overwhelm

him.

The sky overhead was dark blue, the color of

Likimeya's pot. Some of the Sithi produced globes of

light which they set on wooden stands around the encio-

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sure; the branches of the fruit trees, lit from below,

burned golden.

"I will come with you to Naglimund, Jiriki," he said at

last. Craobhan could watch over the folk of

Hernysadharc, he decided, and watch over Maegwin and

Lluth's wife Inahwen as well. Craobhan would continue

the work of rebuilding the landit was a task that would

suit the old man perfectly. "I will bring as many of my

fighting men as will come."

"Thank you. Count Eolair. The world is changing, but

some things are always true. The hearts of the Hemystiri

are constant."

Likimeya put down her pot, wiped her fingers on her

bootsthey left a broad smearand stood up. By her

face-painting, she had changed herself into something

even more alien, more unsettling.

"Then it is agreed," she said. "When the third morning

from tonight comes, we will ride to Ujin e-d'a Sikhunae."

Her eyes seemed to spark in the light of the crystal

globes.

Eolair could not brave her gaze for long, but neither

could he still his curiosity. "Your pardon. Mistress," he

said. "I hope I am not being impolite. May I ask what you

have put on your face?"

"Ashes. Mourning ashes." She made a sound in the

back of her throat, a thin exhalation that could have been

a sigh or a huff of exasperation. "You cannot understand,

mortal men, but I will tell you anyway. We go to war on

the Hikeda'ya."

After a moment's pause, while Eolair tried to puzzle

out what she meant, Jiriki spoke up. His voice was gentle,

mournful. "Sithi and Noms are of a single blood, Count

Eolair. Now we must fight them." He lifted a hand and

made a gesture like a candle flame being extinguisheda

flutter, then stillness. "We must kill members of our own

family."

Maegwin was silent most of the way back. It was only

when the Taig's sloping roofs loomed before them that

she spoke.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

731

"I am going with you. I will go to see the gods make

war."

He shook his head violently. "You are going to stay

here with Craobhan and the rest."

"No. If you leave me behind, I will follow you." Her

voice was calm and certain. "And in any case, Eolair,

what makes you sound so fearful? I cannot die twice, can

I?" She laughed a little too loudly.

Eolair argued with her in vain. At last, just as he was

on the verge of losing his temper, a thought came to him.

The healer said she must find her own way back. Per-

haps this is part of it?

But the danger. Surely he could not think of letting her

take such a risk. Not that he could stop her from follow-

ing if he left her behindmad or no, there was no one in

all of Hernysadharc half as stubborn as Lluth's daughter.

Gods, was he cursed? No wonder he almost longed for

the brutal simplicity of battle.

"We will speak of this later," he said. "I am tired,

Maegwin."

"No one should be tired in this place." There was a

subtle note of triumph in her voice- "I worry about you,

Eolair."

A

Simon had picked an open, unshaded spot near

Sesuad'ra's outer wall. The sun was actually shining to-

day, although it was windy enough that both he and

Miriamele wore their cloaks. Still, it was pleasant to have

his hood down and to feel the sun on his neck. "I brought

some wine." Simon produced a skin bag and two cups

from his sack. "Sangfugol said it's goodI think it's

from Perdruin." He laughed nervously. "Why would it be

better from one place than another? Grapes are grapes."

Miriamele smiled. She seemed tired: shadows lay be-

neath her green eyes. "I don't know. Maybe they grow

them differently."

"It doesn't really matter." Simon carefully aimed a

stream from the winesack into first one cup, then the

732

Tad Williams

other. "I'm still not sure I even like wineRachel would

never let me drink it. 'The Devil's blood,' she called it."

"The Mistress of Chambermaids?" Miriamele made a

face. "She was a nasty woman."

Simon handed her a cup. "I used to think so. She cer-

tainly had a temper. But she tried to do her best for me,

I suppose. I made it hard on her." He lifted the wine to his

lips, letting the sourness run over his tongue. "I wonder

where she is now? Still at the Hayholt? I hope she's well-

1 hope she hasn't been hurt." He grinnedto think of

having such feelings for the Dragon!then looked up

suddenly. "Oh, no. I've already drunk some. Shouldn't

we say somethinghave a toast?"

Miriamele lifted her cup solemnly. "To your birth-day,

Simon."

"And to yours, Princess Miriamele."

They sat and drank for a while in silence. The wind

pressed the grass sideways, flattening it in changing pat-

terns as though some great invisible beast rolled in rest-

less sleep. "The Raed is beginning tomorrow," he said.

"But I think that Josua has already decided what he wants

to do."

"He will go to Nabban." There was quiet bitterness in

her voice.

"What's wrong with that?" Simon motioned for her

cup, which was empty. "It's a start."

"It's the wrong start." She stared at his hand as she

took the cup. The scrutiny made him uneasy. "I'm sorry,

Simon. I am just unhappy with things. With tots of

things."

"I will listen if you want to talk. I've gotten to be a

good listener, Princess."

"Don't call me 'Princess'!" When she spoke again, her

tone was softer. "Please, Simon, not you, too. We were

friends once, when you didn't know who I was. I need

that now."

"Certainly ... Miriamele." He took a breath. "Aren't

we friends now?"

"That's not what I meant." She sighed. "It's the same

problem as I have with Josua's decision. I don't agree

TOGREENANGELTOWER

733

with him. I think we should move directly to Erkynland.

This is not a war like my grandfather foughtit's much

worse, much darker. I am afraid we will be too late if we

try to conquer Nabban first."

"Too late for what?"

"I don't know. I have these feelings, these ideas, but I

have nothing that I can use to prove they are real. That's

bad enough, but because I am a princessbecause I am

the High King's daughterthey listen to me anyway.

Then they all try to find a polite way to ignore me. It

would almost be better if they just told me to be quiet!"

"What does that have to do with me?" Simon asked

quietly. Miriamele had closed her eyes, as though she

looked at something inside herself. The red-gold of her

eyelashes, the minute fineness of them, made him feel as

though he were coming apart.

"Even you, Simon, who met me as a serving-girlno,

a serving-boy'" She laughed, but her eyes remained shut.

"Even you, Simon, when you look at me, you are not just

looking at me. You are seeing my father's name, the cas-

tle I grew up in, the costly dresses. You are looking at a

... a princess." She said the word as though it meant

something terrible and false.

Simon stared at her for a long time, watching her wind-

shifted hair, the downy line of her cheek. He burned to

tell her what he really saw, but knew he could never find

the proper words; it would all come out as a mooncalf

babble. "You are what you are," he said at last. "Isn't it

just as false to try and be something else as it is for others

to pretend they're talking to you when they're only talk-

ing to some ... princess?"

Her eyes opened suddenly. They were so clear, so

searching! He suddenly had an idea of what it must have

been like to stand before her grandfather, Prester John. It

reminded him, too, of what he himself was: a servant's

awkward child, a knight only by virtue of circumstance.

At this moment she seemed closer than she had ever

been, but at the same time the gulf between them also

seemed as wide as the ocean.

734

Tad Williams

Miriamele was staring at him intently. After a few mo-

ments, he looked away, abashed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Her voice was brisk, but it somehow did

not match the fretful expression on her face. "Don't be,

Simon. And let's talk of something else." She turned to

look across the swaying grass of the hilltop. The strange,

fierce moment passed.

They finished the wine and shared bread and cheese.

For a treat, Simon produced a leaf-wrapped package of

sweetmeats that he had bought from one of the peddlers

at New Gadrinsett's small market, little balls made of

honey and roasted grain. The talk turned to other things,

of the places and strange things they had both seen.

Miriamele tried to tell Simon of the Niskie Gan Itai and

her singing, of the way she had used her music to stitch

sky and sea together. In his turn, Simon tried to explain

something of what it had been like to be in Jiriki's house

by the river, and to see the Yasira, the living tent of but-

terflies. He tried to describe gentle, frightening Amerasu,

but faltered. There was still a great deal of pain in that

memory.

"And what about that other Sitha-woman?" Miriamele

asked. "The one who is here. Aditu."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think of her?" She frowned. "I think she

has no manners."

Simon snorted softly. "She has her own manners, is

more like it. They're not like us, Miriamele."

"Well, then I think little of the Sithi. She dresses and

acts like a tavern harlot."

He had to suppress another smile. Aditu's current style

of dress was almost bogglingly reserved in comparison to

the garb she had worn in Jao e-Tinukai'i- It was true that

she still often exhibited more of her tawny flesh than the

citizens of New Gadrinsett found comfortable, but Aditu

was obviously doing her best not to outrage her mortal

companions. As for her behavior ... "I don't think she's

so bad," he said.

"Well, you wouldn't." Miriamele was definitely cross.

"You moon after her like a puppy."

TOGREENANGbLTOWER735

"I do not'" he said, stung. "She is my friend."

"That's a nice word. I have heard my father's knights

use that word also, to describe women who would not be

allowed across the threshold of a church." Miriamele sat

up straight. She was not just teasing. The anger he had

sensed earlier was there, too. "I do not blame youit is

the nature of men. She is very fetching, in her strange

way."

Simon's laugh was sharp. "I will never understand," he

said.

"What? Understand what?"

"No matter." He shook his head. It would be good to

move the conversation back to safer ground, he decided.

"Ah, I almost forgot." He turned and reached for the

drawstring bag which he had leaned against the weather-

polished wall. "This is a celebration of our birth-days. It

is time for the giving of gifts."

Miriamele looked up, stricken. "Oh, Simon' But I don't

have anything to give you!"

"Just your being here is enough. To see you safe after

all this time ..." His voice broke, making an embarrass-

ing squeak. To cover his chagrin, he cleared his throat.

"But in any case, you have -already given me a fine

presentyour scarf." He pulled his collar wide so she

could see it where it nestled about his long neck. "The

finest gift that anyone ever gave me, I think." He smiled

and hid it again. "Now I have something to give to you."

He reached into his bag and pulled out a long slender

something wrapped in a cloth.

"What is it?" The care seemed to slide from her face,

leaving her childlike in her attention to the mysterious

bundle.

"Open it."

She did, unwinding the cloth to disclose the white Sithi

arrow, a streak of ivory fire.

"I want you to have it."

Miriamele looked from the arrow to Simon- Her face

went pale. "Oh, no," she breathed. "No, Simon, I can't."

"What do you mean? Of course you can. It's my gift to

you. Binabik said that it was made by the Sithi fletcher

736

Tad Williams

Vindaomeyo, longer ago than either of us can imagine.

It's the only thing I have to give that's worthy of a prin-

cess, Miriameleand like it or not, that's what you are."

"No, Simon, no." She pushed the arrow and its cloth

into his hands. "No, Simon. That's the kindest thing any-

one has ever done for me, but I can't take it. It's not just

a thing, it's a promise from Jiriki to youa pledge. You

told me so. It means too much. The Sithi do not give

these things away for no reason."

"Neither do I," said Simon angrily. So even this was

not good enough, he thought. Under a thin layer of fury

he felt a great reserve of hurt. "I want you to have it."

"Please, Simon. I thank youyou do not understand

how kind I think you arebut it would hurt me too much

to take it from you. I cannot."

Baffled, pained, Simon closed his fingers on the arrow.

His offering had been rejected. He felt wild and full of

folly. "Then wait here," he said, and rose. He was on the

verge of shouting. "Promise me you won't leave this spot

until I come back."

She looked up at him uncertainly, shielding her eyes

from the sun. "If you want me to stay, Simon, I will stay.

Will you be gone long?"

"No." He turned toward the crumbling gateway of the

great wall. Before he had gone ten steps, he quickened his

pace to a run.

When he returned, Miriamele was still seated in the

same place. She had found the pomegranate he had hid-

den as a last surprise.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I was restless. I got this

open, but I haven't eaten any yet." She showed him the

seeds lined up on the split fruit like rows of gems. "What

have you got in your hand?"

Simon drew his sword out of the tangle of his cloak. As

Miriamete watched, her apprehension far from gone, he

kneeled before her.

"Miriamele ... Princess ... I will give you the only

gift I have left to give." He extended the hilt of his sword

toward her, lowering his head and staring fixedly at the

TOGREENANGELTOWER

737

jungle of grass around his boots. "My service. I am a

knight now. I swear that you are my mistress, and that I

will serve you as your protector ... if you will have me."

Simon looked up out of the corner of his eye.

Miriamele's face was awash in emotions, none of which

he could identify. "Oh, Simon," she said.

"If you will not have me, or cannot for some reason

I'm still too stupid to know, then just tell me. We can still

be friends."

There was a long pause. Simon looked down at the

ground again and felt his head spinning.

"Of course," she said at last. "Of course I will have

you, dear Simon." There was an odd catch in her voice.

She laughed raggedly. "But I will never forgive you for

this."

He looked up, alarmed, to see if she was joking. Her

mouth was curved in a trembling half-smile, but her eyes

were closed again. There was a gleam like tears on her

lashes. He could not tell if she was happy or sad.

"What do I do?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. Take the hilt and then touch my shoul-

ders with the blade, I suppose, like Josua did to me. Say:

'You will be my champion.' "-

She took the hilt and held it for a moment against her

cheek, then lifted the sword and touched his shoulders in

turn, left and right.

"You will be my champion, Simon," she whispered.

"I will."

^

The torches in Leavetaking House had burned low. It

was long past time for the evening meal, but no one had

said a word about eating.

"This is the third day of the Raed," Prince Josua said.

"We are all tired. I beg your attention for just a few mo-

ments more." He drew his hand across his eyes.

Isgrimnur thought that of all those assembled in the

room, it was the prince himself who most showed the

strain of the long days and the acrimonious arguments. In

738 Tad Williams

attempting to let everyone have his or her fair say, Josua

had been dragged along through many a side issueand

the onetime master of Elvntshalla did not approve at all.

Prince Josua would never survive the rigors of a cam-

paign against his brother if he did not harden himself. He

had improved some since Isgrimnur had seen him last

the journey to this strange place seemed to have changed

everyone who made itbut the duke still did not think

Josua had grasped the trick of listening without being led.

Without that, he thought sourly, no ruler could long sur-

vive.

The disagreements were many. The Thrithings-men did

not trust the hardiness of the New Gadrinsett folk and

feared that they would become a burden on the wagon-

clans when Josua moved his camp down onto the grass-

lands. In turn, the settlers were not certain that they

wanted to leave their new lives to go somewhere else

since they would not even have new lands to settle until

Josua took some territory from his brother or Benigaris.

Freosel and Sludig, who had become Josua's war com-

manders after the death of Deomoth, also disagreed bit-

terly over where the prince should go. Sludig sided with

his liege-lord Isgrimnur in urging an attack on Nabban.

Freosel, like many others, felt an excursion into the south

missed the true point. He was an Erkynlander, and

Erkynland was not only Josua's own country, but also the

place that had been most blighted by Elias' misrule.

Freosel had made it clear that he felt they should move

westward to the outer fiefdoms of Erkynland, gathering

strength from the High King's disaffected subjects before

marching on the Hayholt itself.

Isgrimnur sighed and scratched his chin, indulging for

a moment in the pleasure of his regrown beard. He longed

to stand up and simply tell everyone what they should do

and how to do it. He even sensed that Josua would se-

cretly welcome having the burden of leadership lifted

from his shouldersbut such a thing could not be al-

lowed. The duke knew that as soon as the prince lost his

preeminence, the factions would dissolve and any chance

of an organized resistance to Elias would collapse.

TOGREENANGELTOWER739

"Sir Camaris," Josua said abruptly, turning to the old

knight. "You have been mostly silent. Yet if we are to ride

on Nabban, as Isgrimnur and others urge us, you will be

our banner. I need to hear your thoughts."

The old man had indeed remained aloof, although

Isgrimnur doubted it was from disapproval or disagree-

ment- Rather, Camaris had listened to the arguments like

a holy man on a bench in the midst of a tavern brawl,

present and yet separate, his attention fixed on something

that others could not see-

"I cannot tell you what is the right thing to do. Prince

Josua." The old knight spoke, as he had since regaining

his wits, with a sort of effortless dignity. His old-

fashioned, courtly speech was so careful as to seem al-

most a parody; he might have been the Good Peasant

from the proverbs of the Book of the Aedon, "That is be-

yond me, nor would I presume to interpose myself be-

tween you and God, who is the final answerer of all

questions. I can only tell you what I think." He leaned

forward, staring down at his long-fingered hands, which

were twined on the table before him as if he prayed.

"Much of what has been said is still incomprehensible to

meyour brothers bargain with this Storm King, who

was only a dim legend in my day; the part you say the

swords are to play, my black blade Thorn among themit

is all most strange, most strange.

"But I do know that I loved well my brother,

Leobardis, and from what you said, he served Nabban

honorably in the years I was insensiblebetter than I

ever could have, I think. He was a man who was made to

govern other men; I am not.

"His son Benigaris I knew only as a bawling infant. It

gnaws at my soul to think that someone of my father's

house could be a patricide, but I cannot doubt the evi-

dence I have heard." He shook his head slowly, a tired

war-horse. "I cannot tell you to go to Nabban, or to

Erkynland, or anywhere else upon (he Lord's green earth.

But if you decide to march on Nabban, Josua ... then,

yes, I will ride before the armies. If the people will use

my name, I will not stop them, although I do not find it

740 Tad Williams

knightly: only our Ransomer should be exalted by the

voices of men. But I cannot let such shame to the

Benidrivine House go unheeded.

"So if that is the answer you seek from me, Josua, then

you have it now." He raised his hand in a gesture of fe-

alty. "Yes, I will ride to Nabban. But I wish I had nol

been brought back to see my friend John's kingdom in

ruins and my own beloved Nabban ground beneath the

heel of my murderous nephew. It is cruel." He dropped

his gaze to the table once more. "This is one of the stern-

est tests God has given me, and I have failed Him already

more times than I can count."

When he had finished speaking, the old man's words

seemed to linger in the air like incense, a fog of compli-

cated regret that filled the room. No one dared to break

the stillness until Josua spoke.

"Thank you. Sir Camaris. I think I know what it will

cost you to ride against your own countrymen. I am heart-

sick that we may have to force it upon you." He looked

around the torchlit hall. "Is there anyone else who would

speak before we are finished?"

Beside him, Vorzheva moved on the bench as though

she might say something, but instead she stared angrily al

Josua, who slipped her gaze as though he found it uncom-

fortable. Isgrimnur guessed what had passed between

themJosua had told him of her desire to stay until the

child was bomand frowned; the prince did not need any

further doubts clouding his decision,

Many cubits down the long table, Geloe stood. "I think

there is one last thing, Josua. It is something that Fatnei

Strangyeard and I discovered only last night." She turned

to the priest, who was sitting beside her. "Strangyeard?"

The archivist stood up, fingering a stack of parchments.

He lifted a hand to straighten his eyepatch, then looked

worriedly at some of the nearby faces, as though he had

suddenly found himself called before a tribunal and

charged with heresy.

"Yes," he said. "Oh, yes. Yes, there is something im-

portantyour pardon, something that may be impor-

tant . -." He riffled through the pages before him.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 741

"Come, Strangyeard," the prince said kindly. "We are

anxious to have you share your discovery with us."

"Ah, yes. We found something in Morgenes' manu-

script. In his life of King John Presbyter." He held up

some of the parchment sheets for the benefit of those who

had not already seen Doctor Morgenes' book. "Also,

from speaking to Tiamak of the Wran," he gestured with

the sheaf toward the marsh man, "we found that it was

something that much concerned Morgenes even after he

began to see the outlines of Ellas' bargain with the Storm

King. It worried him, you see- Morgenes, that is."

"See what?" Isgrimnur's rear end was beginning to

hurt from the hard chair, and his back had been griping

him for hours. "What worried him?"

"Oh!" Strangyeard was startled. "Apologies, many

apologies. The bearded star, of course. The comet."

"There was such a star in the skies during my brother's

regnal year," Josua mused. "As a matter of fact, it was the

night of his coronation we first saw it. The night my fa-

ther was buried."

"That's the one!" Strangyeard said excitedly. "The

Asdridan Condiquillesthe Conqueror Star. Here, I'll

read what Morgenes wrote about it." He pawed at the

parchment.

"... Strangely enough, "

he began,

"the Conqueror Star, instead of shining above the

birth or triumph of conquerors as its name might

suggest, seems instead to appear as a herald of

the death of empires. It trumpeted the downfall of

Khand, of the old Sea Kingdoms, and even the

ending of what may have been the greatest em-

pire of allthe Sithi mastery ofOsten Ard, which

came to an end when their great stronghold

Asu'a fell. The first records collected by scholars

of the League of the Scroll tell that the Con-

queror Star was bright in the night sky above

742Tad Williams

Asu'a when Ineluki, lyu'unigato's son, pondered

the spell that would soon destroy the Sithi castle

and a large part of Fingil 's Rimmersgard army.

"It is said that the only event of pure conquest

that ever saw the Conqueror Star's light was the

triumph of the Ransomer. Usires Aedon, since it

shone in the skies above Nabban when Usires

hung on the Execution Tree. However, the argu-

ment could be made that there, too, it heralded

decline and collapse, since Aedon's death was the

beginning of the ultimate collapse of the mighty

Nabbanai Imperium...."

Strangyeard took a breath. His eyes were shining now:

Morgenes' words had driven out his discomfort at speak-

ing to a crowd. "So you see, there is some significance to

this, we think."

"But why, exactly?" Josua asked. "It already appeared

at the beginning of my brother's regnal year. If the de-

struction of an empire has been forecast, what of it? No

doubt it is my brother's empire that will fall." He showed

a weak smile. There was a small rustle of laughter from

the assembly.

"But that is not the whole story, Prince Josua," Geloe

said. "Dinivan and othersDoctor Morgenes, too, before

his deathstudied this matter. The Conqueror Star, you

see, is not yet gone. It will be coming back."

"What do you mean?"

Binabik rose. "Every five hundreds of years, Dinivan

was discovering," he explained, "the star is in the sky not

once, but three times. It is appearing for three years,

bright the first, then almost too dim for seeing the second,

then most bright of all for the last."

"So it is coming back this year, at the end of the win-

ter," Geloe said. "For the third time. The last time it did

that was the year Asu'a fell."

"I still don't understand," Josua said. "I believe that

what you say may be important, but we already have

many mysteries to think about. What does the star mean

to us?"

TOGRE^NANGELTOWER

743

Geloe shook her head. "Perhaps nothing. Perhaps, as in

the past, it heralds the passing of a great kingdombut

whether that would be the High King's, the Storm King's,

or your father's if we are defeated, none of us can say. It

seems unlikely that an occurrence with such a fateful his-

tory would mean nothing, however."

"I am in agreement," Binabik said. "This is not the sea-

son for the dismissing of such things as coincidence."

Josua looked around in frustration, as though hoping

someone else at the long table could provide an answer.

"But what does it mean? And what are we supposed to do

about it?"

"First, it could be that only when the star is in the sky

will the swords be of use to us," Geloe offered. "Their

value seems to be in their otherworldliness- Perhaps the

heavens are showing us when they will be most useful."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Or perhaps that will be a

time when Ineluki will be strongest, and most able to help

Elias against us, since it was five centuries ago he spoke

the spell that made him what he is now. In that case, we

will need to reach the Hayholt before that times comes

'round again."

Silence descended on the vasf chamber, broken only by

the quiet murmuring of the fireplace flames. Josua shuf-

fled absently through a few pages of Morgenes' manu-

script.

"And you have learned nothing further about the

swords on which we have staked so muchnothing

which would be of use to us?" he demanded.

Binabik shook his head. "We have been speaking now

many times with Sir Camaris." The little man gave the

old knight a respectful nod. "He has been telling us what

he knows of the sword Thorn and its properties, but we

have not yet learned of anything that tells us what we

may do with it and the others."

"Then we can't afford to bet our lives on them," Sludig

said. "Magic and fairy-tricks will turn traitor every time."

"You speak about things you do not know ..." Geloe

began grimly.

Josua sat up. "Stop. It is too late in the day to abandon

744

Tad Williams

the three swords. If it was my brother alone we fought,

then perhaps we might chance it. But the Storm King's

hand has apparently been behind him at every step of his

progress, and the swords are our only thin hope against

that dark, dark scourge."

Miriamele now stood. "Then let me ask again/Uncle

Josua ... Prince Josua, that we go directly to Erkynland.

If the swords are valuable, then we need to take Sorrow

back from my father and recover Bright-Nail from my

grandfather's grave. From what Geloe and Binabik are

saying, we seem to have little time."

Her face was solemn, but Duke Isgrimnur thought he

sensed desperation behind her words. That surprised him.

Important, all-important as these decisions were, why

should little Miriamele sound like her own life was so ab-

solutely dependent on going straight to Erkynland and

confronting her father?

Josua's look was cool. "Thank you, Miriamele. I have

listened to what you say. I value your counsel." He turned

to face the rest of the assembly. "Now I must tell you my

decision." The desire to be finished with all this was au-

dible in his every word.

"Here are my choices. To remain hereto build up this

place, New Gadrinsett, and hold out against my brother

until his misrule turns the tide in our favor. That is one

possibility." Josua ran his hand through his short hair,

then held up two fingers. "The second is to go to Nabban,

where with Camaris to march at the head of our army, we

may quickly gain adherents, and thus eventually field an

army capable of bringing down the High King." The

prince raised a third finger. "The third, as Miriamele and

Freosel and others have suggested, is to move directly

into Erkynland, gambling that we can find enough sup-

porters to overcome Elias' defenses. There is also a pos-

sibility that Isorn and Count Eolair of Nad Mullach may

be able to join us with men recruited in the Frostmarch

and Hemystir."

Young Simon rose. "I beg your pardon. Prince Josua.

Don't forget the Sithi."

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

745

"Nothing is promised, Seoman," said the Sitha woman

Aditu. "Nothing can be."

Isgrimnur was a little taken aback. She had sat so qui-

etly during the debate that he had forgotten she was here.

He wondered if it had been wise to talk so openly before

her. What did Josua and the rest truly know about the im-

mortals, anyway?

"And perhaps the Sithi will join with us," Josua

amended, "although as Aditu has told us, she does not

know what is happening in Hemystir, or what exactly her

folk plan to do next." The prince closed his eyes for a

long moment.

"Added to these possibilities," he said at last, "is the

need to recover the other two Great Swords, and also

what we have learned here today about the Conqueror

Starwhich is little, I must say frankly, except that it

may have some bearing on things." He turned to Geloe.

"Obviously, if you learn more I ask to hear it at once."

The witch woman nodded.

"I wish that we could stay here." Josua looked quickly

at Vorzheva, but she would not meet his eyes. "I would

like nothing better than to see my child born here in

something like safety. I would love to see all our settlers

make of this ancient place a new and living city, a refuge

for all who sought one. But we cannot stay. We are nearly

out of food as it is, and more outcasts and war victims are

arriving every day. And if we stay longer, we invite my

brother sending a more formidable army than Fengbald's.

It is also my sense that the time for a defensive game is

past. So, we will move on.

"Of our two alternatives, I must, after much thought,

choose Nabban. We are not strong enough to confront

Elias directly now, and I fear that Erkynland is so much

reduced that we might find it hard to raise an army there.

Also, if we failed, we would have nowhere to run but

back across the empty lands to this place. I cannot guess

how many would die just trying to flee a failed battle, let

alone in the battle itself between Elias' troops and our

ragtag army.

"So it will be Nabban. We will go far before Benisaris

746 Tad Williams

can bring an army to bear, and in that time Camaris may

lure many to our banner. If we are lucky enough to force

Benigaris and his mother out, Camaris will also have the

ships of Nabban to put at our service, making it easier for

us to move against my brother."

He raised his arms, silencing the gathering as whispers

began to fill the room. "But this much of the Scroll

League's warnings about the Conqueror Star will I take to

heart. I would rather not ride out in winter, especially

since it has long seemed the tool of the Storm King, but

I think that the sooner we can make our way from

Nabban to Erkynland, the better. If the star is a herald of

empire's fall, still it need not be our herald as well: we

will try to reach the Hayholt before it appears. We will

hope that this mildness in the weather will hold, and we

will leave this place in a fortnight. That is my decision."

He lowered his hand to the tabletop. "Now go, all of you,

and get some sleep. There is no point in further arguing.

We leave this place for Nabban."

Voices were raised as some of those gathered began to

call out questions. "Enough!" Josua cried. "Go and leave

me in peace!"

As he helped herd the others out, Isgrimnur looked

back. Josua was slumped in his chair, rubbing his temples

with his fingers. Beside him Vorzheva sat and stared

straight ahead, as though her husband were a thousand

miles away.

^

Pryrates emerged from the stairwell into the bell-

chamber. The high-arching windows were open to the el-

ements, and the winds that swirled around Green Angel

Tower fluttered his red robe. He stopped, his boot heels

clicking once more on the stone tiles before silence fell.

"You sent for me, Your Highness?" he asked at last.

Elias was staring out across the jumble of the Hayholt's

roofs, looking toward the east. The sun had dropped below

the western rim of the world and the sky was full of heavy

black clouds. The entire land had fallen into shadow.

TOGREENANGELTOWER

747

"Fengbald is dead," the king said. "He has failed.

Josua has beaten him."

Pryrates was startled. "How could you know!?"

The High King whirled. "What do you mean, priest? A

half-dozen Erkyn guards men arrived this morning, the

remnants of Fengbald's army. They told me many surpris-

ing tales. But you sound as though you knew already."

"No, Highness," the alchemist said hastily. "I was just

surprised that I was not informed immediately when the

guardsmen arrived. It is usually the king's counselor's

task ..."

". -. To sift through the news and decide what his mas-

ter is allowed to hear," Elias finished for him. The king's

eyes glittered. His smile was not pleasant. "I have many

sources of information, Pryrates. Never forget that."

The priest bowed stiffly. "If I have offended you, my

king, I beg your forgiveness."

Elias contemplated him for a moment, then turned back

to the window. "I should have known better than to send

that braggart Fengbald. I should have known he would

muck it up. Blood and damnation!" He slapped his palms

on the stone sill. "If only I could have sent Guthwulf."

"The Earl of Utanyeat proved" himself a traitor. High-

ness," Pryrates observed mildly.

"Traitor or not, he was the finest soldier I have ever

seen. He would have ground up my brother and his peas-

ant army like pig meat." The king bent and picked up a

loose stone, holding it before his eyes for a moment be-

fore flinging it out the window. He watched its fall in si-

lence before speaking again. "Now Josua will move

against me. I know him. He has always wanted to take the

throne from me. He never forgave my being firstborn, but

he was too clever to say so aloud- He is subtle, my

brother. Quiet but poisonous, like an adder." The king's

pale face was drawn and haggard, but he seemed never-

theless full of an awful vitality. His fingers curled and un-

curled spasmodically. "He will not find me unready, will

he, Pryrates?"

The alchemist allowed a smile to curl his own thin lips.

"No, my lord, he will not."

748 Tad Williams

"I have friends, nowpowerful friends." The king's

hand dropped to the double hilt of Sorrow, sheathed at his

waist. "And there are things afoot that Josua could never

dream of if he lived for centuries. Things he will never

guess until it is too late." He drew the sword from its

scabbard. The mottled gray blade seemed a living thing,

something putled against its will from beneath a rock. As

Elias held it before him, the wind lifted his cloak, spread-

ing it above him like wings; for a moment, the blotchy

twilight made him a pinioned thing, a demon out of dark

ages past. "He and all he leads will die, Pryrates," the

king hissed. "They do not know who they meddle with."

Pryrates regarded him with genuine uneasiness. "Your

brother does not know, my king. But you will show him."

Elias turned and brandished the sword at the eastern

horizon. In the distance, a flicker of lightning played

across the turbulent darkness.

"Come, then!" he shouted. "Come, all of you! There is

death enough to be shared! No one will take the

Dragonbone Chair from me. No one can!"

As if in answer, there came a dim rumble of thunder.

25

The Semfitonce of Heaven

*

They rode down out of the north on black horses-

steeds raised in cold darkness, surefooted in deep night,

unafraid of icy wind or high mountain passes- The riders

were three, two women and one man, all Cloud Children,

and their deaths were already being sung by the Lightless

Ones, since there was little chance they would ever return

to Nakkiga. They were the Talons of Utuk'ku.

As they departed Stormspike, they rode through the

ruins of the old city, Nakkiga-that-was, sparing hardly a

glance to the tumbled relics of an age when their people

had still lived beneath the sun-. By night they passed

through the villages of the Black Rimmersmen. There

they met no one, since the inhabitants of those settle-

ments, like all the mortals in that ill-fated land, knew bet-

ter than to stir our of doors once twilight had fallen.

Despite the speed and vigor of their mounts, the three

riders were many nights crossing the Frostmarch. Except

for those sleepers in remote settlements who suffered un-

expectedly bad dreams, or the rare travelers who noticed

an added chill to the already freezing wind, the riders

went unperceived. They continued on in silence and

shadow until they reached Naglimund.

They stopped there to rest their horseseven the cruel

discipline of the Stormspike stables could not prevent a

living animal from tiring eventuallyand to confer with

those of their kind who now made Josua of Erknyland's

desolated castle their home. The leader of Utuk'ku's

Talonsalthough she was only first-among-equalspaid

75"

Tad Williams

uncomfortable homage to the castle's shrouded master,

one of the Red Hand. He sat in his gray winding sheets

peeping ember-red at every crease, on the smoldering

wreckage of what had once been Josua's princely throne

of state. She was respectful, although she did nothing

more than that which was necessary. Even to the Noms,

hardened through the long centuries, blasted by their cold

exile, the Storm King's minions were unsettling. Like

their master, they had gone beyondthey had tasted

Unbeing and then returned; they were as different from

their still-living brethren as a star was from a starfish.

The Noms did not like the Red Hand, did not like the

singed emptiness of themeach one of the five was little

more than a hole in the stuff of reality, a hole filled by

hatredbut as long as their mistress made Ineluki's war

her own, they had little choice but to bow before the

Storm King's chief servants.

They also found themselves distanced from their own

brethren. Since the Talons were death-sung, the

Hikeda'ya of Naglimund treated them with reverent si-

lence and boarded them in a cold chamber far from the

rest of the tribe. The three Talons did not stay long in the

wind-haunted castle.

From there they rode over the Stile, through the ruins

of Da'ai Chikiza, and then westward through the

Aldheorte, where the travelers made a wide circle around

the borders of Jao e-Tinukai'i. Utuk'ku and her ally had

already had their confrontation with the Dawn Children

and received its full benefit: this task was one that re-

quired secrecy- Although at times the forest seemed ac-

tively to resist them with paths that abruptly vanished and

tree limbs so close-knit they made the filtered light of the

stars seem different and confusing, still the trio rode on,

heading inexorably southeast. They were the Norn

Queen's chosen: they were not so easily put off their

quarry.

At last they reached the forest's edge. They were close

now to that which they sought. Like Ingen Jegger before

them, they had come down from the north bearing death

for Utuk'ku's enemies, but unlike the Queen's Huntsman,

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

751

who had met defeat the first time he had turned his hand

against the Zida'ya, these three were immortals. There

would be no hurry. There would be no mistakes.

They turned their horses toward Sesuad'ra.

*

"Ah, by the good God, I feel a weight lifted from my

shoulders." Josua took a deep breath. "It is something

fine to be moving at last."

Isgrimnur smiled. "Even if all do not agree," he said.

"Yes. It's good."

Josua and the Duke of Elvritshalla were sitting their

horses by the gate stones that marked the hilltop's edge,

watching the citizens of New Gadrinsett decamp in a

most disorderly fashion. The parade wound past them

down the old Sithi road, spiraling around the bulk of the

Stone of Farewell until it vanished from sight. As many

sheep and cows seemed to be setting out as people, an

army of unhelpful animals bleating, lowing, bumping

along, causing chaos among the overloaded citizenry.

Some of the settlers had built crude wagons and had piled

their possessions high on them, which added to the

strange air of festival.

Josua frowned. "As an army, we look more like a town

fair being moved."

Hotvig, who had just ridden up with Freosel the

Falshireman, laughed. "This is how our clans always look

when they travel. The only difference is that most of

these are your stone-dwellers. You will become accus-

tomed."

Freosel was watching the process critically. "We need

all cattle and sheep we can get. Highness. Many mouths

that need feeding." He awkwardly urged his horse for-

ward a few paceshe was still not used to riding. "Ha,

there!" he shouted. "Give that wagon some room!"

Isgrimnur thought that Josua was right: it did look like

a traveling fair, although this company showed something

less than the cheerfulness that usually attended such

things. There were children cryingalthough not all the

752 Tad Williams

children were displeased to be traveling, by any

meansas well as a steady undercurrent of bickering and

complaint from the citizens of New Gadrinsett. Few

among them had wanted to leave this place of relative

safety: the idea of somehow forcing Elias from his throne

was remote to them, and almost all the settlers would

have preferred to stay on Sesuad'ra while others dealt

with the grim realities of warbut it was also clear that

staying in this remote place after Josua had taken all the

men-at-arms away was no real alternative. So, angry but

unwilling to risk more suffering without the protection of

the prince's makeshift army, the inhabitants of New

Gadrinsett were following Josua toward Nabban.

"We would not fright a nest of scholars with this lot,"

the prince said, "let alone my brother. Yet, I do not think

the less of themof any of usfor our rags and poor

weaponry." He smiled. "In truth, I think I know for the

first time what my father felt. I have always treated my

liege-men as well as I could, since that is what God

would have me do, but I never felt the strong love that

Prester John did for all his subjects." Josua stroked

Vinyafod's neck meditatively. "Would that the old man

could have saved some of that love for both his sons as

well. Still, I think I finally know what he felt when he

rode out through the Nearulagh Gate and down into

Erchester. He would have given his life for those people,

as I would give mine for these." The prince smiled again,

shyly, as if embarrassed by what he had revealed. "I will

bring this beloved rabble of mine safe through Nabban,

Isgrimnur, whatever it takes. But when we get to

Erkynland, we are putting the dice into the hands of

Godand who knows what He wilt do with them?"

"Not a one of us," Isgrimnur said, "And good deeds do

not buy His favor, either. At least your Father Strangyeard

said that to me the other night, that he thought it might be

as much a sin to try to buy God's love by good deeds as

it is to do bad ones."

A muleone of the few such on all of Sesuad'rawas

balking at the rim of the road. His owner was pushing at

the cart to which the mule was tethered, trying to urge

TOGREENANGELTOWER

753

him along from behind. The beast had gone stiff and

spread-legged, silent but implacable. The owner moved

forward and laid a switch across the mule's back, but the

creature only dropped back its ears and lifted its head, ac-

cepting the blows with mutely stubborn hostility. The

owner's curses filled the morning air, echoed by the peo-

ple trapped behind his stalled cart.

Josua laughed and leaned closer to Isgrimnur. "If you

would see what I look like to myself, gaze on that poor

beast. If it were uphill, he would pull all day and never

show a moment's weariness. But now he has a long and

dangerous downward track before him and a heavy cart

behind himno wonder he digs in his heels. He would

wait until the Day of Weighing-Out if he could." His grin

faded and he turned to fix the duke with his gray eyes.

"But I have interrupted you. Say again what Strangyeard

told you."

Isgrimnur stared at the mule and its drover. There was

something both comic and pathetic about it, something

that seemed to hint at more than it revealed. "The priest

said that trying to buy God's favor with good deeds was

a sin. Well, first he apologized for having any thoughts at

allyou know how he is, skittery mouse of a manbut

said it anyway. That God owes us nothing, and we owe

Him all, that we should do right things because they are

right and that is closest to God, not because we will be re-

warded like children given sweetmeats for sitting qui-

etly."

"Father Strangyeard is a mouse, yes," said Josua. "But

a mouse can be brave. Small as they are, though, they

learn it is wiser not to challenge the cat. So it is with

Strangyeard, I think. He knows who he is and where he

belongs." Josua's eyes strayed upward from the futile

flogging of the mule to the western hills that walled the

valley. "I will think on what he said, though. Sometimes

we do act as God bids us out of fear or hope of reward.

Yes, I will think on what he said."

Isgrimnur suddenly wished he had kept his mouth

closed.

That's all Josua needsanother reason to fault himself.

754

Tad Williams

Keep him moving, old man, not thinking. He is magical

when he throws away his cares. He is a true prince, then.

That is what will give us a chance of living to talk about

such things over the fire someday.

"What do you say we move this idiot and his mule out

of the road?" Isgrimnur suggested. "Otherwise, this place

is going to be less like a town fair and more like the Bat-

tle of Neamlagh soon."

"Yes, I think so." Josua smiled again, sunny as the

cold, bright morning. "But I don't think it's the idiot dro-

ver who will need convincingand mules are no respect-

ers of princes."

A

"Yah, Nimsuk!" Binabik called. "Where is Sisqinana-

mook?"

The herder turned and raised his crook-spear in greet-

ing. "She is by the boais. Singing Man. Checking for

leaks so the rams' feet don't get wet!" He laughed, dis-

playing an uneven mouthful of yellow teeth.

"And so you don't have to swim, since you'd sink to

the bottom like a rock," Binabik grinned back. "They'd

find you in the summer when the water went away, a little

man of mud. Show some respect."

"It's too sunny," Nimsuk replied. "Look at them frisk!"

He pointed to the rams, who were indeed very lively, sev-

eral of them playing at mock combat, something they

almost never did.

"Just don't let them kill each other," Binabik said. "En-

joy your rest." He bent and whispered into Qantaqa's ear.

The wolf leaped forward over the snow with the troll

clinging to her hackles.

Sisqi was indeed inspecting the flatboats. Binabik re-

leased Qantaqa, who shook herself vigorously and trotted

off to the nearby skirts of the forest. Binabik watched his

betrothed with a smile. She was examining the boats as

distrustfully as a lowlander might count me lashings on a

Qanuc chasm-bridge.

"So careful," Binabik chided her, laughing. "Most of

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

755

our people are crossed already." He waved his arm at the

stippling of white rams dotted across the valley floor, the

knots of troll herdsmen and huntresses enjoying the short

hour of peace before the journeying began once more.

"And I will see every single one across safely." Sisqi

turned and opened her arms to him. They stood face-to-

face for a while, unspeaking. 'This traveling-on-water is

one thing when a few are fishing on Blue Mud Lake," she

said eventually, "another when I must trust the lives of all

my people and rams."

"They are fortunate in your care," Binabik said, serious

now. "But for a moment, forget the boats."

She squeezed him hard. "I have."

Binabik lifted his head and looked out across the val-

ley. The snow was melted in many places, with tufts of

yellow-green grass showing through. "The herds will eat

until they are sick," he said. "They are not used to such

abundance."

"Is the snow going away?" she asked. "You said before

that these lands were normally not snowbound at this

time of year."

"Not always, but the winter has spread far south. Still,

it does seem to be falling back again." He looked up into

the sky. The few clouds did not in the least diminish the

strength of the sun. "I do not know what to think. I can-

not believe that he who made the winter reach down so

far has given up. I do not know." He freed a hand from

Sisqi's side and bumped it once against his breastbone. "I

came to say that I am sorry I have seen you so little of

late. There has been much to decide. Geloe and the others

have been working long hours with Morgenes' book, try-

ing to find the answers we yet seek. We have been study-

ing Ookequk's scrolls as well, and that cannot be done

without me."

Sisqi raised the hand of his she retained up to her

cheek, pressing it there before letting it go. "You have no

need for sorrow. I know what you do ..." she inclined her

head toward the boats bobbing at the water's edge,

"... just as you know what I must do." She lowered her

eyes. "I saw you stand at the lowlander's council and

756

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speak. I could not understand most of the words, but I

saw them watching you with respect, Binbiniqegabenik."

She gave his full name a ritual sound. "I was proud of

you, my man. I only wish my mother and father could see

you as I did. As I do."

Binabik snorted, but he was obviously pleased. "I do

not think that the respect of lowlanders would count for

much on your parents' tally stick. But I thank you. The

lowlanders think highly of you, tooof all our people,

after having seen us in battle." His round face grew seri-

ous. "And that is the other thing I wished to speak of.

You told me once that you thought to go back to Yiqanuc.

Will you do that soon?"

"I am still considering," she said. "I know we are

needed by my mother and father, but I also think there are

things we can do here. Lowlanders and trolls fighting

togetherperhaps that is something that will make our

people safer in days ahead."

"Clever Sisql," Binabik smiled. "But the fighting may

grow too fierce for our folk. You have never seen a war

for a castlewhat the lowlanders call a 'siege.' There

might be scant place for our people in such a battle, yet

much danger. And at least one or two battles of that kind

lie before Josua and his people."

She nodded her head solemnly. "I know. But there is a

more important reason, Binabik. I would find it very hard

to leave you again."

He looked away. "As I found it hard to leave you when

Ookequk took me southbut both of us know that there

are duties that make us do what we wish we did not have

to." Binabik slid his arm through hers. "Come, let us

walk for a while, since we will not have much time to be

together in days ahead."

They turned and made their way back toward the base

of the hill, avoiding the press of people waiting for boats.

"I regret most that these troubles prevent us from our

marriage," he said.

"The words, only. The night I came for you, to set you

free, we were married. Even had we never seen each

other again."

TOGREENANGELTOWER757

Binabik hunched his shoulders. "I know. But you

should have the words. You are the daughter of the Hunt-

ress."

"We have separate tents," Sisqi smiled. "All that is

honorable is observed."

"And I do not mind sharing mine with young Simon,"

he shot back. "But I would prefer sharing with you."

"We have our times." She squeezed his hand. "And

what will you do when this is all over, my dear one?" She

kept her voice steady, as if there were little question

whether there would be an afterward. Qantaqa appeared

from the curve of the forest and loped toward them.

"What do you mean? You and I will go back to

Mintahoqor, if you have already gone, I will come to

you."

"But what about Simon?"

Binabik had slowed his pace. Now he stopped and

pushed snow from a hanging branch with his stick. Here

in the hill's long shadow, the iaucou& noise of the de-

parting throngs was less. "I do not know. I am bound to

him by promises, but the day will come when those can

be discharged. After that..." He shrugged, a trollish ges-

ture made with his palms held out. "I do not know what

I am to him, Sisqi. Not a brother, not a father, cer-

tainly. ..."

"A friend?" she suggested gently. Qantaqa was beside

her, nosing at her hand. She scratched the wolf's muzzle,

running her fingers along jaws that could swallow her

arm to the elbow. The wolf growled contentedly.

"Certainly that. He is a good boy. No, he is a good

man, I suppose. I have watched him growing."

"May Qinkipa of the Snows bring us all through this

safely," she said gravely. "Simon to grow happily old,

you and I to love each other and raise children, our kind

to keep our mountains as our home. I am not frightened

of lowlanders any more, Binabik, but I am happier among

people I understand."

He turned and pulled her close. "May Qinkipa grant

what you ask. And don't forget," he said, reaching out to

lay his fingers next to hers where they touched the wolf's

758

Tad Williams

neck, "we must wish for the Snow Maiden to protect

Qantaqa, too." He grinned. "Come, go with me a little

farther. I know a quiet spot on the hillside, sheltered from

the windthe last private place we may see for day upon

day upon day."

"But the boats, Singing Man," she teased. "I must look

at them again."

"You have looked at each one a dozen times," he said.

"Trolls could swim laughing through that water if they

had to. Come."

She put her arm around him and they went, heads lean-

ing close together. The wolf padded after them, silent as

a gray shadow.

"Blast you, Simon, that hurt!" Jeremias fell back, suck-

ing on his wounded fingers. "Just because you're a knight

doesn't mean you have to break my hand."

Simon straightened up. "I'm just trying to show you

something Sludig taught me. And I need the practice.

Don't be a baby."

Jeremias gave him a disgusted look. "I'm not a baby,

Simon. And you're not Sludig. I don't even think you're

doing it right."

Simon took a few deep breaths, righting down a cross

remark. It wasn't Jeremias' fault that he was restless. He

hadn't been able to speak to Miriamele for days, and de-

spite the huge and complicated process of breaking camp

on Sesuad'ra, there still seemed little of importance for

Simon to do. "I'm sorry. I was stupid to say that." He

lifted the practice sword, made of timbers rescued from

the war barricade. "Just let me show this to you, this

thing where you turn the blade ..." He reached out and

engaged Jeremias' wooden weapon, "Like ... so . -."

Jeremias sighed. "I wish you would just go and talk to

the princess instead of beating on me, Simon." He raised

the sword. "Oh, come on, then."

They feinted and engaged, the blades clacking loudly.

Some of the sheep pasturing nearby looked up long

TOGREENANGELTOWER

759

enough to see if the rams were fighting again; when it

proved instead to be a contest of two-legged younglings,

they turned back to their grass.

"Why did you say that about the princess?" Simon

asked, panting.

"What?" Jeremias was trying to stay out of reach of his

opponent's longer arms. "Why do you think? You've

been moping around after her since she got here."

"I have not."

Jeremias stepped back and let the point of his stave-

sword sag to the ground. "Oh, you haven't? It must have

been some other hulking, red-haired idiot."

Simon smiled, embarrassed. "That easy to tell, is it?"

"Usires Ransomer, yes' And who wouldn't? She's cer-

tainly pretty, and she seems kind."

"She's ... more than that- But why aren't you moping

after her, then?"

Jeremias darted him a quick, hurt look. "As if she

would notice me if I fell dead at her feet." His face grew

mocking. "Not that she seems to be flinging herself at

you, either."

That's not funny," said Simon darkly.

Jeremias took pity. "I'm sorry, Simon- I'm sure being

in love is horrible. Look, go ahead and break the rest of

my fingers if it will make you feel better."

"It might." Simon grinned and raised his blade once

more. "Now, damn you, Jeremias, do this right"

"Make someone a knight," Jeremias huffed, dodging a

downward blow, "and you ruin his friends' lives forever."

The noise of their conflict rose again, the irregular

smack of blade on blade fierce as the hammering of a

huge and drunken woodpecker.

They sat gasping on the wet grass, sharing a water skin.

Simon had untied the neck of his shirt to let the wind at

his heated skin. Soon he would be uncomfortably chilly,

but at the moment the air felt wonderful. A shadow fell

between the two of them and they looked up, startled.

"Sir Camaris!" Simon struggled to rise. Jeremias just

stared, wide-eyed.

760 Tad Williams

"fiea, sit, young man." The old man spread his fingers,

gesturing Simon back down. "I was only watching the

two of you at your bladework."

"We don't know much," Simon said modestly.

"That you do not."

Simon had been half-hoping that Camaris would con-

tradict him. "Sludig tried to teach me what he could," he

said, trying to keep his voice respectful. "We haven't had

much time."

"Sludig. That is Isgrimnur's liege-man." He looked at

Simon intently. "And you are the castle-lad, are you not?

The one that Josua knighted?" For the first time, it was

apparent that he had a faint accent. The slightly over-

rounded roll of Nabbanai speech still clung to his stately

phrases.

"Yes, Sir Camaris. Simon is my name. And this is my

friendand my squireJeremias."

The old man flicked his gaze to Jelcmias and dipped

his chin briefly before returning his pale blue eyes to Si-

mon. "Things have changed," he said slowly. "And not

for the better, I think."

Simon waited a moment for Camaris to explain. "What

do you mean, sire?" he asked.

The old man sighed. "It is not your fault, young fellow.

I know that a monarch must sometimes make knights

upon the field, and I do not doubt that you have done no-

ble deedsI heard you helped find my blade Thornbut

there is more to knighthood than a touch of a sword. It is

a high calling, Simon ... a high calling."

"Sir Deornoth tried to teach me what I needed to

know," Simon said. "Before I had my vigil, he taught me

about the Canon of Knighthood."

Camaris sat down, astonishingly nimble for a man of

his age. "But even so, lad, even so. Do you know how

long I was in service to Gavenaxes of Honsa Claves, as

page and squire?"

"No, sire."

"Twelve years. And every day, young Simon, every

single day was a lesson. It took me two long years simply

TO GREhN ANGfcL TOWER761

to learn how to care for Gavenaxes' horses. You have a

horse, do you not?"

"Yes, sire." Simon was uncomfortable yet fascinated.

The greatest knight in the history of the world was talking

to him about the rules of knighthood. Any young noble-

man from Rimmersgard to Nabban would have given his

left arm to be in Simon's place. "She's called Homefind-

er."

Camaris gave him a sharp look, as though he disap-

proved of the name, but went on as though he did not.

'Then you must leam to care for her properly. She is

more than a friend, Simon, she is as much a part of you

as your two legs and two arms. A knight who cannot trust

his horse, who does not know his horse as well as he

knows himself, who has not cleaned and repaired every

piece of harness a thousand timeswell, he will be of lit-

tle use to himself or to God."

"I am trying. Sir Camaris. But there is so much to

leam."

"Admittedly it is a time of war," Camaris continued.

"So it is quite permissible to slight some of the less cru-

cial artshunting and hawking and suchlike." But he did

not look as though he was entirely comfortable with this

thought. "It is even conceivable that the rules of prece-

dence are not so important as at other times, except inso-

far as they impinge on military discipline; still, it is easier

to fight when you know your place in God's wise plan.

Little wonder the battle here with the king's men was a

brawl." His look of severe concentration abruptly sof-

tened; his eyes turned mild. "But I am boring you, am I

not?" His lips quirked- "I have been as one asleep for two

score years, but still I am an old man, for all that. It is not

my world."

"Oh. no," Simon said earnestly. "You are not boring

me, Sir Camaris- Not at all." He looked at Jeremias for

support, but his friend was goggle-eyed and silent.

"Please, tell me anything that will help me be a better

knight."

"Are you being kind?" asked the greatest knight in

Aedondom. His tone was cool.

762 Tad Williams

"No, sire." Simon laughed in spite of himself, and had

a momentary fear that he would dissolve into terrified

giggling. "No, sire. Forgive me, but to have you ask if

you're boring me ..." He could not summon words to de-

scribe the magnificent folly of such an idea. "You are a

hero. Sir Camaris," he said at last, simply. "A hero."

The old man rose with the same surprising alacrity with

which he had seated himself. Simon was afraid he had

somehow offended him.

"Stand, lad."

Simon did as he was told.

"You, too ... Jeremias." Simon's friend rose to the

knight's beckoning finger. Camaris looked at them both

critically. "Lend me your sword, please." He pointed to

the wooden blade still clutched in Simon's hand. "I have

left Thorn scabbarded in my tent. I am still not quite com-

fortable having her near me, I confess. There is a restless

quality to her that I do not like. Perhaps it is only me."

"Her?" Simon asked, surprised.

The old man made a dismissive gesture. "It is the way

we talk on Vinitta. Boats and swords are 'she,' storms and

mountains are 'he.' Now, attend me well." He took the

practice-sword and drew a circle in the wet grass. "The

Canon of Knighthood tells that, as we are made in the im-

age of our Lord, so is the world ..." He made a smaller

circle inside the first. ".. . made in the semblance of

Heaven. But, woefully, without its grace." He examined

the circle critically, as if he could already see it populated

with sinners.

"As the angels are the minions and messengers of God

the Highest," he went on, "so does the fraternity of

knighthood serve its various earthly rulers. The angels

bring forth God's good works, which are absolute, but the

earth is flawed, and so are our rulers, even the best- Thus,

there will be disagreement as to what is God's will. There

will be war." He divided the inner circle with a single

line. "By this test will the righteousness of our rulers be

made known. It is war that most closely reflects the knife

edge of God's will, since war is the hinge on which

earthly empires rise or fall- If strength alone were to de-

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

763

termine victory, strength unmitigated by honor or mercy,

then there would be no victory, because God's will can

never be revealed by the mere exercise of greater

strength. Is the cat more beloved of God than the

mouse?" Camaris shook his head gravely, then turned his

sharp eyes on his audience. "Are you listening?"

"Yes," Simon said quickly. Jeremias only nodded, still

silent as if struck dumb.

"So. All angelsexcepting The One Who Fledare

obedient to God above all, because He is perfect, all-

knowing and all-capable." Camaris drew a series of ticks

on the outer circlerepresenting the angels, Simon sup-

posed. In truth, he was a little bit confused, but he also

felt that he could grasp much of what the knight was say-

ing, so he clung to what he could and waited. "But," the

old man continued, "the rulers of men are, as aforesaid,

flawed. They are sinners, as are we all. Thus, although

each knight is loyal to his liege, he must also be loyal to

the Canon of Knighthoodall the rules of battle and

comportment, the rules of honor and mercy and

responsibilitywhich is the same for all knights."

Camaris bisected the line through the inner circle, draw-

ing a perpendicular. "So no matter which earthly ruler

wins a struggle, if his knights are true to their canon, the

battle will have been won according to God's law. It will

be a just reflection of His will." He fixed Simon with his

keen gaze. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sire." In truth, it did make a kind of sense, al-

though Simon wanted to think about it on his own for a

while-

"Good." Camaris bent and wiped the mud-daubed

wooden blade as carefully as if it had been Thorn, then

handed it back to Simon. "Now, just as God's priest must

render His will understandable to the people, in a form

that is pleasing and reverent, so, too, must His knights

prosecute His wishes in a similar fashion. That is why

war, however horrible, should not be a fight between an-

imals. That is why a knight is more than simply a strong

man on a horse. He is God's vicar on the battlefield.

Swordplay is prayer, ladsserious and sad, yet joyful."

764 Tad Williams

He doesn't look very joyful, Simon thought. But there is

something priestlike about him.

"And that is why one does not become a knight just by

the passing of a vigil and the tapping of a sword, any

more than one might become a priest by carrying the

Book of the Aedon from one side of a village to another.

There is study, study in every part." He turned to Simon.

"Stand and hold up your sword, young man."

Simon did. Camaris was a good handspan taller than

he, which was interesting. Simon had become accustomed

to being taller than nearly everyone.

"You are holding it like a club. Spread your hands,

thus." The knight's long hands enfolded Simon's own.

His fingers were dry and hard, as rough as if Camaris had

spent his life working the soil or building stone walls.

Abruptly, by his touch, Simon realized the enormity of

the old knight's experience, understood him as far more

than just a legend made flesh or an aged man full of use-

ful lore. He could feel the countless years of hard, pains-

taking work, the unnumberable and largely unwanted

contests of arms that this man had suffered to become the

mightiest knight of his ageand all the time, Simon

sensed, enjoying none of it any more than a kind-hearted

priest forced to denounce an ignorant sinner.

"Now feel it as you lift," said Camaris. "Feel how the

strength comes from your legs. No, you are off your bal-

ance." He pushed Simon's feet closer together. "Why

does a tower not fall? Because it is centered over its foun-

dation."

Soon he had Jeremias working, too, and working hard.

The afternoon sun seemed to move swiftly through the

sky; the breeze turned icy as evening approached. As the

old man put them through their rigorous paces, a certain

gleamchill, but nevertheless brightcame to his eye.

Evening had descended by the time that Camaris fi-

nally turned them loose; the bowl of the valley was filled

with campfires. This day's work to bring everyone across

the river would enable the prince's company to leave with

the first light in the morning. Now the people of New

TOGREENANGELTOWER765

Gadrinsett were laying out their temporary camps, eating

belated suppers, or wandering aimlessly in the deepening

dark. A mood of stillness and anticipation hung over the

valley, as real as the twilight. It was a little like the Be-

tween World, Simon thoughtthe place before Heaven.

But it's also the place before Hell, Simon thought.

We're not just travelingwe're going to war . .. and

maybe worse,

He and Jeremias walked silently, flushed with exertion,

the sweat on their faces rapidly growing cold. Simon had

a soreness in his muscles that was pleasant now, but ex-

perience told him that it would be less pleasant tomorrow,

especially after a day on horseback. He was suddenly re-

minded of something.

"Jeremias, did you see to Homefinder?"

The young man looked at him in irritation. "Certainly.

I said I would, didn't I?"

"Well, I think I'm going to go have a look at her any-

way."

"Don't you trust me?" Jeremias asked.

"Of course I do," Simon said hastily. "It's nothing to

do with you, truly. What Sir Camaris said about a knight

and his horse just . . . jnst made me think about

Homefinder." He was also feeling an urge to be on his

own for a little while: other things Camaris had said

needed to be thought about as well. "You understand,

don't you?"

"I suppose so." Jeremias scowled, but didn't seem too

upset. "I'm going to go and find something to eat, my-

self."

"Meet me at Isgrimnur's fire later. I think Sangfugol is

going to sing some songs."

Jeremias continued on toward the busiest part of the

camp and the tent that he, Simon, and Binabik had erect-

ed that morning. Simon peeled off, heading for the hill-

slope where the horses were tethered.

The evening sky was a misty violet and the stars had

not yet appeared. As Simon picked his way across the

slushy meadowland in growing darlcness, he found him-

self wishing for a little moonlight. Once he slipped and

766 Tad Williams

fell, cursing loudly as he wiped the mud off his hands

onto his breeches, which were muddy and damp enough

after the long hours of swording. His boots had already

become thoroughly soaked.

A figure coming toward him through murk turned out

to be Freosel, returning from seeing to his own horse as

well as to Josua's Vinyafod. In this way, if no other;

Freosel had taken Deomoth's place in the prince's life,

and he seemed to fulfill the role admirably. The

Falshireman had told Simon once that he came from a

smithying familysomething that Simon, looking at the

broad-shouldered Freosel, could readily believe.

"Greetings, Sir Seoman," he said. "See you didn't

bring torch either. If you don't be too long, y'may not

need it." He squinted upward, gauging the fast-

diminishing light. "But have a carethere be a great mud

pit half a hundred steps behind me."

"I already found one of those," Simon laughed, gestur-

ing to his mud-clotted boots.

Freosel looked at Simon's feet appraisingly. "Come by

my tent and I'll give you grease for 'em. Won't do to

have that leather crack. Or be you comin' to hear the

harper sing?"

"I think so."

"Then I'll bring it with." Freosel gave him a courtly

nod before walking on. "Mind that mud pit!" he called

back over his shoulder.

Simon kept his eyes open and managed to make his

way without incident around a patch of sucking slime that

was indeed a larger brother of the one with which he had

already made acquaintance. He could hear the gentle

whickering of the horses as he approached. They were

tethered on the hillside, a dark line against the dim sky.

Homefmder was where Jeremias had said he had left

her, staked to a longish rope not far from the twisted

black form of a spreading oak. Simon cupped the horse's

nose in his hand and felt her warm breath, then laid his

head on her neck and rubbed her shoulder. The horse

scent was thick and somehow reassuring.

TOGftEENANGELTOWER767

"You're my horse," he said quietly. Homefmder flicked

an ear. "My horse."

Jeremias had draped her with a heavy blanketa gift

to Simon from Outrun and Vorzheva, one which had been

his own cover until the horses were moved from their

warm stables in Sesuad'ra's caves. Simon made sure that

it had been tied in place well but not too tightly. As he

turned from his inspection, he saw a pale shape flitting

through the darkness before him, passing through the

scatter of horses. Simon felt his heart jump within his

chest.

Noms ?

"Wh-who's that?" he called. He forced his voice lower

and shouted again. "Who's there? Come out'" He let his

hand fall to his side, realizing after a moment that he carr-

ied no weapon but his Qanuc knife, not even the wooden

practice sword.

"Simon?"

"Miriamele? Princess?" He took a few steps forward.

She was peering around at him from behind one of the

horses, as if she had been hiding. As he moved closer, she

moved out. There was nothing unusual in her dress, a pale

gown and a dark cloak, but she had an oddly defiant look

on her face.

"Are you well?" he asked, then cursed himself for the

stupid question. He was surprised to see her out here by

herself and couldn't think of anything to say. Another

time, he supposed, when it would have been better to say

nothing than to speak and prove himself a mooncalf.

But why did she look so guilty?

"I am, thank you." She looked past his shoulders on ei-

ther side as if trying to decide whether Simon was alone.

"I was out seeing to my horse." She indicated an undif-

ferentiated mass of shadowy shapes farther down the hill

"He's one of those we took from ... from the Nabbanai

nobleman I told you about."

"You startled me," Simon said, and laughed. "I thought

you were a ghost or ... or one of our enemies."

"1 am not an enemy," Miriamele said with a little of her

768 Tad Williams

usual lightness. "I'm not a ghost either, so far as I can

tell"

"That's good to know. Are you finished?"

"Finished ... with what?" Miriamele looked at him

with a strange intensity.

"Seeing to your horse. I thought you might ..." He

paused and started again. She seemed very uncomforta-

ble. He wondered if he had done something to offend her.

Offering her the White Arrow as a gift, perhaps. The

whole thing seemed dreamlike now. That had been a very

odd afternoon.

Simon started again. "Sangfugol and a few others are

going to play and sing tonight. At Duke Isgrimnur's tent."

He pointed down the hillside to the rings of glowing fires.

"Are you going to come and listen?"

Miriamele appeared to hesitate. "I'll come," she said at

last. "Yes, that would be nice." She smiled briefly. "As

long as Isgrimnur doesn't sing."

There was something not quite right in her tone, but Si-

mon laughed at the joke anyway, as much from nervous-

ness as anything else. "That will depend on whether any

of Fengbald's wine is left over, I'd guess."

"Fengbald." Miriamele made a noise of disgust. "And

to think that my father would have married me to that...

that pig...."

To distract her, Simon said: "He's going to sing a Jack

Mundwode tuneSangfugol is, I mean. He promised me

he would. I think he's going to sing the one about the

Bishop's Wagons." He took her arm almost without think-

ing, then had a moment of apprehension. What was he

doing, grabbing her like that? Would she be insulted?

Instead, Miriamele seemed almost not to notice. "Yes,

that would be very nice," she said. "It would be good to

spend a night singing by the fire."

Simon was puzzled again, since something like that

had been going on most nights somewhere in New

Gadrinsett, and even more frequently of late, when people

had been gathered for the Raed. But he said nothing, de-

ciding just to enjoy the feeling of her slender, strong arm

beneath his.

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

769

"It will be a very good time," he said, and led her

down the hillside toward the beckoning campfires.

A

After midnight, when the mists had finally fallen away

and the moon was high in the sky, bright as a silver coin,

there was a stir of movement on the hilltop that the prince

and his company had so recently abandoned.

A trio of shapes, dark forms almost completely invisi-

ble despite the moonlight, stood near one of the standing

stones at the outermost edge of the hilltop and looked

down at the valley below. Most of the fires had burned

low, but still a perimeter of flickering flames lay around

the encampment; a few dim figures could be seen moving

in the reddish light.

The Talons of Utuk'ku watched the camp for a long,

long time, still as owls. At last. and without a word spo-

ken between them, they turned away and walked silently

through the high grasses, back toward the center of the

hill. The pale bulk of Sesuad'ra's ruined stone buildings

lay before them like the teeth in a crone's mouth.

The Norn Queen's servants had traveled far in a short

time. They could afford to wait for another night, a night

that would doubtless come soon, when the great, sham-

bling company beneath them was not quite so vigilant.

The three shadows slipped noiselessly into the building

the mortals called the Observatory, and stood for a long

time looking up through the cracked dome at the newly

emergent stars. Then they sat together on the stones. One

of them began very quietly to sing; what floated within

the crumbling chamber was a tune bloodless and sharp as

splintered bone.

Although the sound did not even make an echo in the

Observatory, and certainly could not have been heard

across the windy hilltop, some sleepers in the valley be-

low still moaned in their sleep. Those sensitive enough to

feel the song's touchand Simon was one of them

dreamed of ice, and of things broken and lost, and of

nests of twining serpents hidden in old wells.

26

A G^t jbr tfte Queen

A

Tfie prince^ company^ a slow-moving procession of

carts and animals and straggling walkers, left the valley

and edged out onto the plains, following the snaking

course of the Stefflod south. The fray-edged army took

close to a week to reach the place where the river joined

with its larger cousin, the Ymstrecca.

It was a homecoming of sons, for they made camp in

the hill-sheltered valley that had once been the site of the

first squatter town, Gadrinsett. Many of those who laid

down their bed rolls and scavenged for firewood in the

desolation of their former home wondered if they had

gained anything by leaving this place to throw in their lot

with Josua and his rebels. There was a little mutinous

whisperingbut only a little. Too many remembered the

courage with which Josua and others had stood against

the High King's men.

It could have been a more bitter homecoming: the

weather was mild, and much of the snow that had once

blanketed this part of the grasslands had again melted

away. Still, the wind raced through the shallow gulleys

and bent the few small trees as it flattened the long grass,

and the campfires jigged and capered: the magical winter

had abated somewhat, but it was still nearly Decander on

the open plains of the Thrithings.

The prince announced that the great company would

rest there three nights while he and his advisers decided

what route would best serve them. His subjects, if they

could be called by such a name, seized eagerly at the days

TOGREENANOELTOWER

771

of rest. Even the short journey from Sesuad'ra had been

difficult for the wounded and infirm, who were many, and

for those with young children. Some passed rumors that

Josua had reconsidered, that he would rebuild New

Gadrinsett here on the site of its predecessor. Although

the more serious-minded tried to point out the foolishness

of leaving a protected high place for an unprotected low

one, and the fact that whatever else he might be. Prince

Josua was no fool, enough of the homeless army found

the idea a hopeful one that the rumors proved impossible

to quell.

A

"We can't stay here long, Josua," Isgrimnur said. "Ev-

ery day we remain will add another score of folk that

won't follow us when we go."

Josua was scrutinizing a tattered, sun-faded map. The

ragged prize had once belonged to the late Helfgrim, New

Gadrinsett's onetime Lord Mayor, who had become,

along with his martyred daughters, a sort of patron saint

of the squatters. "We will not stay long," the prince said.

"But if we bring these folk to the grasslands, away from

the river, we must be sure of finding water. The weather

is changing in ways none of us can foretell. It is quite

possible we will suddenly be without rain."

Isgrimnur made a noise of frustration and looked to

Freosel for support, but the young Falshireman, still un-

reconciled to Nabban as a destination, only stared back

defiantly. They could have followed the Ymstrecca all the

way west to Erkynland, his expression said clearly.

"Josua," the duke began, "finding water will not trouble

us. The animals can get theirs from dew if need be, and

we can fill a mountain of water bags from the rivers be-

fore we leave themthere are dozens of new streams just

sprung up from snowmelt, for that matter. Food is more

likely to be a problem."

"And that is not solved either," Josua pointed out. "But

1 don't see that our choice of routes will help us much

with that. We can pick our track to bring us near the

772 Tad Williams

lakesI just don't know how much I trust Helfgnm's

map...."

"I had never . . . never realized how hard it is to feed

this many people." Strangyeard had been reading quietly

from one of the translations Binabik had made of

Ookequk's scrolis. "How do armies manage?"

"They either drain their king's purse dry, like sand

from a sackhole," Geloe said grimly, '"or they simply eat

everything around them as they pass through, like march-

ing ants." She stood up from where she had squatted by

the archivist. "There are many things growing here that

we can use to feed people, Josuamany herbs and flow-

ers and even grasses that will make sustaining meals, al-

though some who have only lived in cities might find

them strange."

" 'Strange becomes homely when people are hungry,' "

Isgrimnur quoted. "Don't remember who said it, but it's

true, sure enough. Listen to Geloe: we'l! make do- What

we need is haste. The longer we stay in any place, the

sooner we do what she said, eat the place up like ants.

We'll do better if we keep moving."

"We have not halted just so I can think about things,

Isgrimnur," the prince said a little coldly. "It is too much

to expect an entire city, which is what we are, to get up

and walk to Nabban in one march. The first week was a

hard one. Let us give them a little time to grow used to

it."

The Duke of Elvritshalla tugged at his beard. "I didn't

mean ... I know, Josua. But from now on, we need to

move quickly, as I said. Let those who are slow catch up

when we do Finally stop. They won't be the fighters, any-

way."

Josua pursed his lips. "Are they any the less God's

children because they cannot wield a sword for us?"

Isgrimnur shook his head. The prince was in one of

those moods. "That's not what I mean, Josua, and you

know it. I'm just saying that this is an army, not a reli-

gious procession with the lector walking at the back. We

can start whatever we have to do without waiting for ev-

[

TOGREENANGELTOWER773

ery last soul who pulls up lame, or every horse that

throws a shoe,"

Josua turned to Camaris, who sat quietly by the small

fire, staring intently at the smoke rising up to the hole in

the tent roof. "What do you think. Sir Camaris? You have

been on more marches than any of us, except perhaps for

Isgrimnur. Is he right?"

The old man slowly turned his gaze away from the

flickering fire. *T think that what Duke Isgrimnur says is

just, yes. We owe it to the people as a whole to do what

we have set out to do, and even more than that, we owe

it to our good Lord, who has heard our promises. And we

would be presumptuous to try to do God's work by hold-

ing the hand of every foot-weary traveler." He paused for

a moment. "However, we also wishnay, needthe peo-

ple to join us. People do not join a hurrying, furtive band,

they join a triumphant army." He looked around the tent,

his eyes calm and clear. "We should go as swiftly as we

can while still maintaining our company in good order.

We should send riders out, not just to search what lies be-

fore us, but to be our heralds as well, to call to the peo-

ple: "The prince is coming!' " For a moment it seemed he

might say more, but his expression grew distant and he

fell silent.

Josua smiled. "You should have been an escritor, Sir

Camaris. You are as subtle as my old teachers, the

Usirean brothers. I have only one disagreement with

you." He pivoted slightly to include the others in the tent.

"We are going to Nabban. Our criers will shout: 'Camaris

has come back! Sir Camaris has returned to lead his peo-

ple!' " He laughed. " 'And Josua is with him.' "

Camaris frowned slightly, as if what the prince said

made him uneasy.

Isgrimnur nodded. "Camaris is right. Haste with dig-

nity."

"But dignity does not allow us to plunder inhabited

lands," Josua said. "That is not the way to gain the peo-

ple's hearts."

Isgrimnur shrugged; again, he thought the prince was

cutting the point too fine. "Our people are hungry, Josua.

774Tad Williams

They have been cast out, some of them living in the wild-

lands for almost two years. When we reach Nabban, how

will you tell them not to take the food they see growing

from the ground, the sheep they see grazing the hills?"

The prince squinted wearily at the map. "I have no

more answers. We will all do our best, and may God bless

us."

"May God have mercy on us," Camaris corrected him

in a hollow voice. The old man was again staring at the

rising smoke.

*

Night had fallen. Three shapes sat in a copse of trees

overlooking the valley. The music of the river rose up to

them, muted and fragile. They had no fire, but a blue-

white stone that lay between them glowed faintly, only a

little brighter than the moon. Its azure light painted their

pale, long-boned faces as they spoke quietly in the hissing

tongue of Stormspike.

"Tonight?" asked the one named Born-Beneath-

Tzaaihta's-Stone.

Vein-of-Silverfire made a finger-gesture of negation.

She laid her hand on the blue stone for a long moment

and sat in unmoving silence. At last, she let out a long-

held breath. "Tomorrow, when Mezhumeyru hides in the

clouds. Tonight, in this new place, the mortals will be

watchful. Tomorrow night." She looked meaningfully at

Born-Beneath-Tzaaihta's-Stone. He was the youngest,

and had never before left the deep caverns below

Nakkiga. She could tell by the tautness in his long, slen-

der fingers, the gleam in his purple eyes, that he would

bear watching. But he was brave, of that there was no

doubt. Anyone who had survived the endless apprentice-

ship in the Cavern of Rending would fear nothing except

the displeasure of their silver-masked mistress. Overea-

gemess, though, could be as harmful as cowardice.

"Look at them," said Called-by-the-Voices. She was

staring raptly at the few human figures visible in the en-

TO GREEN ANGF-L TOWER

775

campment below. "They are like rockworms, always

wriggling, always squirming."

"If your life were but a few seasons," Vein-of-

Silverfire replied, "perhaps you, too, would feel that you

could never pause." She stared down at the twinkling

constellation of fires. "You are right, thoughthey are

like rockworms." The line of her mouth hardened min-

utely. "They have dug and eaten and laid waste. Now we

will help put an end to them."

"By this one thing?" Called-by-the-Voices asked.

Vein-of-Silverfire looked at her, face cold and hard as

ivory. "Do you question?"

There was a moment of tight-stretched silence before

Called-by-the-Voices bared her teeth. "I seek only to do

as She wishes. I want only to do what will serve Her

best."

Bom-Beneath-Tzaaihta's-Stone made a musical sound

of pleasure. The moon reflected tombstone-white in his

eyes. "She wishes a death ... a special death," he said.

"That is our gift to Her."

"Yes." Vein-of-Silverfire picked up the stone and

placed it inside her raven-black shirt, next to her cool

skin. "That is the gift of the Talons. And tomorrow night,

we will give it to Her."

They fell silent, and did not speak again through the

long night.

*

"You are still thinking too much of yourself, Seoman."

Aditu leaned forward and pushed the polished stones into

a crescent that spanned the shore of the Gray Coast. The

shent-stones winked dully in the light of one of Aditu's

crystalline globes, which sat on a tripod of carved wood.

A little more light, this from the afternoon sun, leaked in

through the flap of Simon's tent.

"What does that mean? I don't understand."

Aditu looked from the board to Simon, her eyes sug|-

gesting a deep-hidden amusement. "You are too much Vjt

yourself, that is what I mean. You are not thinking abo||

776

Tad Williams

what your partner is thinking. Shent is a game played by

two."

"It's hard enough to try to remember the rules without

having to think as well," Simon complained. "Besides,

how am I supposed to know what you're thinking about

while we're playing? I never know what you're thinking

about!"

Aditu seemed poised to make one of her sly remarks,

but instead she paused and laid her hand flat over her

stones. "You are upset, Seoman. I have seen it in your

playyou play well enough now that your moods carry

over to the House of Shent."

She had not asked what was bothering him. Simon

guessed that even if a companion showed up with a leg

missing, Aditu or any other Sitha might wait while sev-

eral seasons passed without asking what had happened.

This evidence of what he thought of as her Sithi-ness ir-

ritated him, but he was also flattered that she thought he

was becoming good at shentalthough she probably only

meant "good for a mortal," and since he was the only

mortal he'd ever heard of who played, that was a rather

lackluster compliment.

"I'm not upset." He glared down at the shent board.

"Maybe I am." he said at last. "But it's nothing you could

tell me anything about."

Aditu said nothing, but leaned back on her elbows and

stretched her long neck in her oddly-jointed way, then

shook her head. Pale hair fell loose from the pin that held

it and gathered around her shoulders like fog, one thin

braid coiling in front of her ear.

"I don't understand women." he said suddenly, then set

his mouth in a scowl as though Aditu might contradict

him. Evidently she agreed that he didn't, for she still said

nothing. "I just don't understand them."

"What do you mean, Seoman? Surely you understand

some things. I often say I do not understand mortals, but

I know what they look tike and how long they live, and

I can speak a few of their languages."

Simon looked at her in irritation. Was she playing with

TOGREENANGELTOWER

777

him again? "I suppose it's not all women." he said grudg-

ingly. "I don't understand Miriamele. The princess."

"The thin one with the yellow hair?"

She was playing with him. "If you like. But I can see

it's stupid to talk to you about it."

Aditu leaned forward and touched his arm. "I am sorry,

Seoman. I have made you angry. Tell me what is bother-

ing you, if you would like. Perhaps even if I know little

about mortals, speaking will make you feel happier."

He shrugged, embarrassed that he had brought it up. "I

don't know. She's kind to me sometimes. Then, other

times, she acts as if she hardly knows me. Sometimes she

looks at me like I frighten her. Me?" He laughed bitterly.

"I saved her life! Why should she be frightened of me?"

"If you saved her life, that is one possible reason."

Aditu was serious. "Ask my brother. Having your life

saved by someone is a very great responsibility."

"But Jiriki doesn't act like he hates me!"

"My brother is of an old and reserved racealthough

among the Zida'ya, he and I are thought to be quite

youthfully impulsive and dangerously unpredictable." She

gifted him with a catlike smile; there might as well have

been a mouse tail-tip protruding from the comer of her

pretty mouth. "And no, he does not hate youJiriki

thinks very highly of you, Seoman Snowlock. He would

never have brought you to Jao e-Tinukai'i otherwise,

which confirmed in the minds of many of our folk that he

is not entirely trustworthy. But your Miriamele is a mortal

girl, and very young. There are fish in the river outside

that have lived longer than she has. Do not be surprised

that she finds owing someone her life to be a difficult

burden."

Simon stared at her. He had expected more teasing, but

Aditu was talking sensibly about Miriameleand she was

telling him things about the Sithi he had never heard her

say. He was torn between two fascinating subjects.

"That's not all. At least, I don't think it is. I ... 1 don't

know how to be with her," he said finally. "With Princess

Miriamele. I mean, I think about her all the time. But who

am I to think about a princess?"

778Tad Williams

Aditu laughed, a sparkling sound like falling water.

"You are Seoman the Bold. You saw the Yasira You met

First Grandmother. What other young mortal can sa\

that?"

He felt himself blushing. "But that's not the point.

She's a princess, Adituthe High King's daughter'"

"The daughter of your enemy? Is that why you are

troubled'"'" She seemed honestly puzzled.

"No." He shook his head. "No, no, no." He looked

around wildly, trying to think of a way to make her see.

"You are the daughter of the king and queen of the

Zida'ya, aren't you?"

"That is more or less how it would be said in your

speech. I am of the Year-Dancing House, yes."

"Well, what if someone who was from, I don't know,

an unimportant familya bad house or something like

thatwanted to marry you?"

"A ... bad house?" Aditu looked at him carefully. "Do

you ask whether I would consider another of my folk to

be beneath me? We have long been too few for that,

Seoman. And why must you marry her? Do your people

never make love without being married?"

Simon was speechless for a moment. Make love to the

king's daughter without a thought of marrying her? "I am

a knight," he said stiffly. "I have to be honorable."

"Loving someone is not honorable?" She shook her

head, mocking smile now returned. "And you say you do

not understand me, Seoman!"

Simon rested his elbows on his knees and covered his

face with his hands. "You mean that your people don't

care who marries who? I don't believe it."

"That is what tore asunder the Zida'ya and Hikeda'ya,"

she said. When he looked up, her gold-flecked gaze had

become hard. "We have learned from that terrible lesson."

"What do you mean?"

"It was the death of Drukhi, the son of Utuk'ku and her

husband Ekimeniso Blackstaff, that drove the families

apart. Drukhi loved and married Nenais'u, the Nightin-

gale's daughter." She raised her hand and made a gesture

like a book being closed. "She was killed by mortals in

TOGREENANGELTOWER779

the years before Tumet'ai was swallowed by the ice. It

was an accident. She was dancing in the forest when a

mortal huntsman was drawn to the glimmer of her bright

dress. Thinking he saw a bird's plumage, he loosed an ar-

row. When her husband Drukhi found her, he went mad."

Aditu bent her head, as though it had happened only a

short while before.

After she had gone some moments without speaking,

Simon asked: "But how did that drive the families apart?

And what does that have to do with marrying whoever

you want?"

"It is a very long story, Seomanperhaps the longest

that our people tell, excepting only the flight from the

Garden and our coming across the black seas to this

land." She pushed at one of the shent-stones with her fin-

ger. "At that time, Utuk'ku and her husband ruled all the

Gardenbornthey were the keepers of the Year-Dancing

groves. When their son fell in love with Nenais'u, daugh-

ter ofJenjiyana and her mate Initri, Utuk'ku furiously op-

posed it. Nenais'u's parents were of our Zida'ya

clanalthough it had a different name in those long-ago

days. They were also of the belief that the mortals, who

had come to this land after the _Gardenbom had arrived,

should be permitted to live as they would, as long as they

did not make war on our people."

She made another, more intricate arrangement of the

stones on the board before her. "Utuk'ku and her clan felt

that the mortals should be pushed back across the ocean,

and that those who would not leave should be killed, as

some mortal farmers crush the insects they find on their

crops. But since the two great clans and the other smaller

clans allied with one or the other were so evenly divided,

even Utuk'ku's position as Mistress of Year-Dancing

House did not permit her to force her will on the rest. You

see, Seoman, we have never had 'kings' and 'queens' as

you mortals have.

"In any case, Utuk'ku and her husband were fiercely

angry that their son had married a woman of what they

considered to be the traitorous, mortal-loving clan that

opposed them. When Nenais'u was slain, Drukhi went

780 Tad Williams

mad and swore that he would kill every mortal he could

find- The men of Nenais'u's clan restrained him, although

they were, in their own way, as bitterly angry and horri-

fied as he. When the Yasira was called, the Gardenbom

could come to no decision, but enough feared what might

happen if Drukhi was free that they decided he must be

confinedsomething that had never happened this side of

the Ocean." He sighed. "It was too much for him, too

much for his madness, to be held prisoner by his own

people while those he deemed his wife's murderers went

free. Drukhi made himself die."

Simon was fascinated, although he could tell from

Aditu's expression how sad the story was to her. "Do you

mean he killed himself?"

"Not as you think of it, Seoman. No, rather Drukhi just

.., stopped living. When he was found lying dead in the

Si'injan'dre Cave, Utuk'ku and Ekimeniso took their clan

and went north, swearing that they would never again live

with Jenjiyana's people."

"But first everyone went to Sesuad'ra," he said. "They

went to Leavetaking House and they made their pact.

What I saw during my vigil in the Observatory."

She nodded. "From what you have said, I believe you

had a true vision of the past, yes."

"And that is why Utuk'ku and the Noms hate mor-

tals?" he asked.

"Yes. But they also went to war with some of the first

mortals in Hemystir, back long before Hern gave it the

name. In that fighting, Ekimeniso and many of the other

Hikeda'ya lost their lives. So they have other grudges to

nurse, as well."

Simon sat back, wrapping his arms about his knees. "I

didn't know. Morgenes or Binabik or someone told me

that the battle of the Knock was the first time that mortals

had killed Sithi."

"Sithi, yesthe Zida'ya. But Utuk'ku's people clashed

with mortals several times before the shipmen came from

over the western sea and changed everything." She low-

ered her head. "So you can see," Aditu finished, "why we

of the Dawn Children are careful not to say that someone

TOGREENANGELTOWER781

is above someone else. Those are words that mean trag-

edy to us."

He nodded. "I think I understand. But things are differ-

ent with us, Aditu. There are rules about who can marry

who ... and a princess can't marry a landless knight, es-

pecially one who used to be a kitchen boy."

"You have seen these rules? Are they kept in one of

your holy places?"

He made a face- "You know what I mean. You should

hear Camaris if you want to find out how things work. He

knows everythingwho bows to who, who gets to wear

which colors on what day ..." Simon laughed ruefully.

"If I ever asked him about someone like me marrying the

princess, I think he'd cut my head off. But nicely. And he

wouldn't enjoy doing it."

"Ah, yes, Camaris." Aditu seemed to be about to say

something significant. "He is a ... strange man. He has

seen many things, I think."

Simon looked at her carefully but could not discern any

particular meaning behind her words. "He has. And I

mink he means to teach them all to me before we reach

Nabban. Still, that's nothing to complain about." He stood

up. "As a matter of fact, it's going to be dark before too

long, so I should go and see him.'There was something he

wanted to show me about using a shield . . ." Simon

paused. "Thank you for talking to me, Aditu."

She nodded. "I do not think I have said anything to

help you, but I hope you will not be so sad, Seoman."

He shrugged as he swept his cloak up from the floor.

"Hold," she said, rising. "I will come with you."

"To see Camaris?"

"No. I have another errand. But I will walk with you

down to where our paths part."

She followed him out through the tent flap. Untouched,

the crystal globe flickered and dimmed, then went dark.

*

"So?" asked Duchess Outrun. Miriamele could clearly

hear the fear beneath her impatient tone.

782 Tad Williams

Geloe stood. She squeezed Vorzheva's hand for a mo-

ment, then set it down atop the blanket. "It is nothing too

bad," the witch woman said. "A little blood, that is all,

and stopped now. You .have had your own children,

Gutmn, and grandmothered many more. You should know

better than to fret her this way."

The duchess set her chin defiantly. "I have had and

raised my own children, yes, which is more than some

can say." When Geloe did not even raise an eyebrow at

this sally, Gutrun continued with only a little less heat.

"But I never bore any of my children on horseback, and

I swear that is what her husband means for her to do!"

She looked to Miriamele as though for support, but her

would-be ally only shrugged. There was little point in ar-

guing nowthe deed was done. The prince had chosen to

go to Nabban.

"I can ride in the wagon," Vorzheva said. "By the

Grass-Thunderer, Gutrun. the women of my clan ride on

horses sometimes until their last moon!"

"Then the other women of your clan are fools," Geloe

said dryly, "even if you are not. Yes, you can ride in a

wagon. That should not be too bad on open grassland."

She turned to Gutrun. "As for Josua, you know he is

doing what seems best. I agree with him. It is harsh, but

he cannot halt everybody for a hundred days so his wife

can bear their child in peace and quiet."

"Then there should be some other way to do things. I

told Isgrimnur that it was cruelty, and I meant it. I told

him to tell Prince Josua as well. I don't care what the

prince thinks of me, I can't bear to see Vorzheva suffer

this way."

Geloe's smile was grim. "1 am sure your husband lis-

tened to you carefully, Gutrun, but I doubt that Josua will

ever hear it."

"What do you mean?" the duchess demanded.

Before the forest woman could replyalthough

Miriamele thought she looked in no hurry to do sothere

was a soft noise at the door of the tent. The flap slid back,

revealing for the merest instant a spatter of stars, then Ad-

TO GRhl [^AN(;i ]lOV.iK-;?,t,

itu's lithe form slipped through and the cloth fell back

into place.

"Do I intrude?" the Sitha asked. Oddly. Minameie

thought that she sounded as though she meant it. To a

young woman raised on the false politeness of her fa-

ther's court, it was strange to hear someone asking that as

though they wanted an answer. "I heard you were ill,

Vorzheva."

"I am better," said Josua's wife, smiling. "Come in.

Aditu, you are very welcome here."

The Sitha sat on the floor near Vorzheva's bed, her

golden eyes intent on the sick woman, her long, graceful

hands folded in her lap. Miriamele could not help staring.

Unlike Simon, who seemed quite accustomed to the Sithi,

she had not yet grown used to having such a foreign crea-

ture among them- Aditu seemed as strange as something

from an old story, but stranger still because she was sit-

ting right here in the dim rushlight, as real as a stone or

a tree. It was as though the past year had turned the entire

world upside down, and all the hidden things remembered

only in legends had come tumbling out.

Aditu pulled a pouch from her gray tunic and held it

up. "I have brought something to help you sleep." She

spilled a small cluster of green leaves into her palm, then

showed them to Geloe, who nodded. "I will brew them

for you while we talk."

The Sitha appeared not to notice Gutrun's disgruntled

stare. Using a pair of sticks, Aditu levered a hot stone

from the fire, knocked off the ashes, then dropped it into

a bowl of water. When a cloud of steam hung over it, she

crumbled in the leaves. "I am told we will remain here

one more day. That will give you a chance to rest, Vorz-

heva."

"I do not know why everyone is so frightened for me.

It is only a child. Women bear children every day."

"Not the prince's only child," Miriamele said quietly.

"Not in the middle of a war."

Aditu was using the hot stone to further crush the

leaves, pushing it about with a stick. "You and your mate

will have a healthy child, I am sure," she said. To

784 Tad Williams

Miriamele, it sounded incongruously like the kind of

thing a mortal might have saidpolite, cheerful. Maybe

Simon was right after all.

When the stone was removed, Vorzheva sat up to take

the bowl, which still steamed. She took a small sip.

Miriamele watched the muscles in the Thrithings-

woman's pale neck move as she swallowed.

She's so lovely, Miriamele thought.

Vorzheva's eyes were huge and dark, though heavy-

lidded with fatigue; her hair was a thick black cloud

about her head. Miriamele's fingers crept up to her own

shorn locks and felt the ragged ends where the dyed hair

had been cut off. She could not help feeling like an ugly

little sister.

Be still, she told herself angrily. You're as pretty as you

need to be. What more do you wantdo you need?

But it was hard to be in the same room with boldly

beautiful Vorzheva and the feline, graceful Sitha and not

feel a little frowsy.

But Simon likes me. She almost smiled. He does, I can

fell. Her mood soured. But what does it matter? He can't

do what I have to do. And he doesn't know anything about

me, anyway.

It was strange, though, to think that the Simon who had

pledged her his serviceit had been a strange and painful

moment, but sweet, toowas the same person as the gan-

gling boy who had accompanied her to Naglimund. Not

that he had changed so much, but what had changed . ..

He was older. Not just his height, not just the fuzzy beard,

but in his eyes and in the way he stood. He would be a

handsome man, she now sawsomething she would

never have said when they stopped in Oeloe's forest

house. His prominent nose, his long-boned face, had

gained something in the intervening months, a rightness

that they hadn't had before.

What was it that one of her nurses had said once of an-

other Hayholt child? "He has to grow into that face."

Well, that was definitely true of Simon. And he was doing

just that.

Little surprise, though, she supposed. He had done so

TO GREEN ANGE1 TOWER-ygc

many things since leaving the Hayhottwhy, he was al-

most a hero! He had faced a dragon! What had Sir

Camaris or Tallistro ever done that was braver? And al-

though Simon played down his meeting with the ice-

wormwhile at the same time, Miriamele had seen, he

was dying to boast a littlehe had also stood at her side

when a giant had charged. She had seen his bravery then.

Neither of them had run, so she was brave, too. Simon

was indeed a good companion ... and now he was her

protector.

Miriamele felt warm and strangely fluttery, as though

something swift-winged moved inside of her. She tried to

harden herself against it, against any such feelings. This

was not the time. This was definitely not the timeand

soon there might not be time for anything....

Aditu's quietly musical voice pulled her back to the

tent and the people who surrounded her. "If you have

done all that you wished to do for Vorzheva." the Sitha

was saying to Geloe, "I would like to have your company

for a little while. I wish to speak to you of something."

Outrun made a""rumbling noise, which Miriamele

guessed was meant to convey the duchess' impression of

people who would go off and tell -secrets. Geloe either ig-

nored or did not hear her wordless comment, and said: "I

think what she needs now is sleep, or at least some quiet."

Now she turned at last to Outrun. "I will look in on her

later."

"As you wish," said the duchess.

The witch woman nodded to Vorzheva, then to

Miriamele, before following Aditu out of the tent. The

Thrithings-woman, who was lying back now, raised her

hand in farewell. Her eyes were almost closed. She ap-

peared to be falling asleep.

The tent was silent for some moments except for the

tuneless humming of Outrun as she sewed, which contin-

ued even as she held the cloth close to the fire to examine

her stitchery. At last, Miriamele stood up.

"Vorzheva is tired. I will leave, too." She leaned for-

ward and took the Thri things-woman's hand. Her eyes

opened; it took them a moment to fix on Miriamele.

786 Tad Williams

"Good night. I'm sure it will be a fine baby, one that will

make you and Uncle Josua very proud."

"Thank you." Vorzheva smiled and closed her long-

lashed eyes again.

"Good night, Auntie Gutrun," Miriamele said. "I'm

glad you were here when I came back from the south. I

missed you." She kissed the duchess' warm cheek, then

delicately untangled herself from Gutrun's motherly em-

brace and slipped out through the door.

"I haven't heard her call me that for years!" Miriamele

heard Gutrun say in surprise. Vorzheva mumbled some-

thing sleepily. "The poor child seems so quiet and sad

these days," Gutrun went on. "But then again, why

shouldn't she.. . ?"

Miriamele, walking away through the wet grass, did

not hear the rest of what the duchess had to say.

A

Aditu and Geloe walked beside the whispering

Stefflod. The moon was covered in a net of clouds, but

stars glinted higher up in the blackness. A soft breeze was

blowing from the east, carrying the scent of grass and wet

stones.

"It is strange, what you say, Aditu." The witch woman

and the Sitha made a peculiar pair, the immortal's loose-

limbed stride reined in to match Geloe's more stalwart

tread. "But I do not think there is harm in it."

"I do not say that there is, only that it bears thinking

about." The Sitha laughed hissingly. "To think that I have

grown so embroiled in the doings of mortals' Mother's

brother Khendraja'aro would grind his teeth."

"These mortal concerns are your family's concerns, at

least in part," Geloe said matter-of-factly. "Otherwise,

you would not be here."

"I know that," agreed Aditu. "But many of my people

will walk a long way around to find some other reason for

what we do than anything that smacks of mortals and

their affairs." She leaned down and plucked a few blades

of grass, then held them to her nose and sniffed. "The

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

grass here is different than that which grows in the forest,

or even on Sesuad'ra. It is ... younger. I cannot feel as

much life in it, but it is sweet for all that." She let the

loose blades flutter to the ground. "But I have let my

words wander. Geloe, I do not see any harm in Camaris

at all, except that in him which would harm himself. But

it is odd that he keeps his past a secret, and odder still

when there are so many things he might know that could

aid his people in this struggle."

"He will not be pushed," said Geloe. "If he tells his se-

crets, it will be in his own time, that is clear. We have all

tried." She shoved her hands into the pocket of her heavy

tunic. "Still, though, I cannot help being curious. Are you

sure?"

"No," Aditu said thoughtfully. "Not sure. But an odd

thing Jiriki told me has been at the back of my thoughts

for some time. We both, he and I, thought that Seoman

was the first mortal to set foot in Jao e-Tinukai'i. Cer-

tainly that is what my father and mother thought. But

Jiriki told me that when Amerasu met Seoman she said

that he was not the first. I have long wondered about that,

but First Grandmother knew the history of the Garden-

bom better than anyoneperhaps even better than silver-

faced Utuk'ku, who has long brooded on the past, but

never made its study an art, as Amerasu did."

"But I still don't know why you think the first might

have been Camaris."

"In the beginning it was only a sense I had." Aditu

turned and wandered down the bank toward the soft-

singing river. "Something in the way he looked at me,

even before he recovered his wits. I caught him staring at

me several times when he did not think I was looking.

Later, when his sense had returned, he continued to watch

menot slyly, but like someone who remembers some-

thing painful."

"That could have been anythinga resemblance to

someone." Geloe frowned. "Or perhaps he was feeling

shame over the way his friend John, the High King,

hunted your people."

"John's persecution of the Zida'ya occurred almost en-

788 Tad Williams

tirely before Camaris came to the court, from what the ar-

chivist Strangyeard has told me." Aditu replied. "Don't

stare!" she laughed. "I am curious about many things, and

we Dawn Children have never been afraid of inquiry or

scholarship, although we would not use either of those

words."

"Still, there could be many reasons Camaris stared.

You are not a common sight, Aditu no-Sa'onsereiat

least not for mortals."

"True. But there is more. One night, before his memory

was returned, I was walking by the Observatory, as you

named itand I saw him walking slowly toward me. I

nodded, but he seemed absorbed in his shadow-world.

I was singing a songa very old song from Jhina-

T'senei, a favorite of Amerasu'sand as I passed him,

Geloe, I saw that his lips were moving." She stopped and

squatted by the riverside, but looked up at the forest

woman with eyes that even in the darkness seemed to

glimmer like amber coals. "He was mouthing the words

to the same song."

"Are you sure?"

"As certain as I am that the trees in the Grove are alive

and will blossom again, and I feel that in my blood and

heart. Amerasu's song was known to him, and although

he still wore his faraway look, he was singing silently

along with me. A playful song that First Grandmother

used to sing. It is not the sort of tune that is sung in the

cities of mortal men, or even in the oldest sacred grove in

Hemystir."

"But what could it mean?" Geloe stood over Aditu,

looking out across the river. The wind slowly shifted di-

rection, blowing now from behind the encampment that

lay just uphill. The normally imperturbable forest woman

seemed faintly agitated. "Even if Camaris somehow knew

Amerasu, what could it mean?"

"I do not know. But considering that Camaris' horn

was once our enemy's, and that our enemy was also

Amerasu's sonand once the greatest of my peopleI

feel a need to know. It is also true that the sword of this

knight is very important to us." She made what was, for

TO(.iKl-F-f.ANCiMTOW! R789

a Sitha. an unhappy face. a faint thinning of the lips. "If

only Amerasu had lived to tell us her suspicions."

Geloe shook her head. "We have been laboring in shad-

ows too long. Well. what can we do?"

"I have approached him. He does not wish to talk to

me. although he is polite. When 1 tr> to guide him toward

the subject, he pretends to misunderstand, or simpi;

pleads some other necessity, then leaves." Aditu rose

from the grass beside the river. "Perhaps Prince Josua can

compel him to talk. Or Isgrimnur. who seems the nearest

thing to a friend Camaris has. You know them both,

Geloe. They are suspicious of me, for which-'l do not

blame themmany mortal generations have passed since

we could consider the Sudhoda'ya to be our allies. Per-

haps at your urging, one of them may convince Camaris

to tell us whether it is true that he was in Jao e-Tinukai'i,

and what it might mean."

"I will try," promised Geloe. "I am to see the two of

them later tonight. But even if they can convince

Camaris, I am not sure there will be any value in what he

has to say."

She ran her thick fingers through her hair. "Still, we

have learned precious little else that is of use lately." She

looked up. "Aditu? What is it?"

The Sitha had gone rigid, and stood with her head

cocked in a most unhuman way.

"Aditu?" Geloe said again. "Are we attacked?"

" Kei-vishaa," Aditu hissed. "I smell it!"

"What?"

"Kei-vishaa. It is ... there is no time to explain. It is

a smell that should not be in the air here. Something bad

is happening. Follow me, GeloeI am suddenly fearful!"

Aditu sprang away up the river bank, swift as a flushed

deer. Within a moment she had vanished into the dark-

ness, heading back toward the encampment. Following

her, the witch woman ran a few more paces, muttering

words of worry and anger. As she passed into the shadow

of a congregation of willows that grew on a hill over-

looking the streambank, there was a convulsive move-

ment; the faint starlight seemed to bend, the darkness to

790Tad Williams

coalesce and then burst outward. Geloe, or at least

Geloe's shape, did not reemerge from the tree-shadows,

but a winged form did.

Yellow eyes wide in the moonlight, the owl flew in

pursuit of swift Aditu, following the whisper-faint mark

of her passage across the wet grass.

*

Simon had been restless all evening. Talking with

Aditu had helped, but only a little. In a way, it had made

him even more unsettled.

He desperately wanted to speak with Miriam&le. He

thought about her all the timeat night when he wanted

just to fall asleep, during the day whenever he saw a girl's

face or heard a woman's voice, at odd moments when he

should be thinking of other things. It was strange how she

had come to mean so much to him in the short time since

she had returned: the smallest change in the way she

treated him stayed in his mind for days.

She had seemed so strange when he had met her by the

horses the night before. And yet, when she had accompa-

nied him to Isgrimnur's fire to hear the singing, she had

been kind and friendly, if a little distracted. But now she

had avoided him all day todayor at least so it seemed,

for everywhere he looked for her he was told that she was

somewhere else, until it began to feel as though she was

staying a step ahead of him on purpose.

The twilight had gone and darkness had settled in tike

a great black bird folding its wings. His visit with

Camaris had been briefthe old man had seemed fully as

preoccupied as he was, barely able to fix his attention on

explaining the rank of battle and the rules of engagement.

To Simon, consumed with worries more heated and more

current, the knight's litany of rules had seemed dry and

pointless. He had made excuses and departed early, leav-

ing the old man sitting by the fire in his sparsely-

furnished campsite. Camaris seemed just as happy to be

left alone.

After a fruitless exploration of the camp, Simon had

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

791

looked in on Vorzheva and Outrun. Miriamele had been

there, the duchess saidwhispering so as not to wake the

prince's sleeping wifebut had left some time before.

Unrewarded, Simon had returned to his search.

Now, as he stood at the outer edge of the field of tents,

at the beginnings of the wide halo of fires that marked the

camps of those members of Josua's company to whom a

tent was, at this moment, an unimaginable luxury, Simon

puzzled over where Miriamele might be. He had walked

along the riverbank earlier, thinking that she might be

there keeping company with her thoughts by the water,

but there had been no sign of her, only a few New

Gadrinsett folk with torches, night-fishing with what ap-

peared to be little success.

Maybe she's seeing to her horse, he thought suddenly.

That was, after all, where he had found her the night

before, not too much earlier in the evening than it was

now. Perhaps she found it a quiet place after everyone

else had gone down to supper. He turned and headed for

the dark hillside.

He stopped first to say hello to Homefinder, who re-

ceived his greeting with a certain aloofness before conde-

scending to snuffle at his ear,-then he headed uphill

toward the spot where the princess had said her horse was

picketed. There was indeed a shadowy figure moving

there. Pleased with his own cleverness, he stepped for-

ward.

"Miriamele?"

The hooded figure started, then whirled. For a moment

he could see nothing but a smear of pallid face in the

depths of the hood.

"S-Simon?" It was a shocked, fearful voicebut it

was her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you." The way she spoke alarmed

him. "Are you well?" This time the question seemed tre-

mendously appropriate.

"I am ..." She moaned. "Oh, why did you come?"

"What's wrong?" He took a few paces toward her.

"Have you... ?" He stopped.

Even in the moonlight, he could see that the silhouette

792 Tad Williams

of her horse seemed somehow wrong- Simon put out his

hand and touched the bulging saddlebags.

"You're going somewhere . . ." he said wonderingly.

"You're running away."

"I am not running away." The earlier tone of fear gave

way to pain and fury. "I am not. Now leave me alone, Si-

mon."

"Where are you going?" He was caught up in the

strange dreaminess of itthe dark hillside with its few

lonely trees, Miriamele's hooded face. "Is it me? Did I

make you angry?"

Her laugh was bitter. "No, Simon, it's not you." Her

voice softened. "You have done nothing wrong. You have

been a friend when I didn't deserve one. I can't tell you

where I'm goingand please wait until tomorrow to tell

Josua you've seen me. Please. I beg this of you."

"But ... but I can't!" How could he tell Josua that he

had stood by and watched as the prince's niece had ridden

away by herself? He tried to slow his excited heart and

think. "I will go with you," he said finally.

"What!?" Miriamele was astonished. "You can't!"

"I can't let you go off by yourself, either. I am your

sworn protector, Miriameie."

She seemed on the verge of crying. "But I don't want

you to go, Simon. You are my friendI don't want you

hurt!"

"And I don't want you hurt, either." He felt calmer

now. He had a strange but powerful feeling that this was

the right decision ... although another part of him was

simultaneousy crying mooncalf, mooncalf? "That's why

I'm going with you."

"But Josua needs you!"

"Josua has lots of knights, and I'm the least of them.

You only have one."

"I can't let you, Simon." She shook her head violently.

"You don't understand what I'm doing, where I'm go-

ing. ..."

"Then tell me."

She shook her head again.

"Then I'll just have to find out by going with you. Ei-

TOGRLhNANGELTOWfcR793

ther you take me, or you stay. I'm sorry, Mmamele. but

that is all."

She looked at him for a moment, staring hard, as

though she would see into his very heart. She seemed to

be in a kind of ecstasy of indecision, pulling distractedly

at her horse's bridle until Simon feared the animal might

startle and bolt. "Very well," she said at last. "Oh, Elysia

save us all, very well! But we must go now, and you must

ask me no more questions about where or why tonight."

"Fine," he said. The doubting part of him was still

screaming for attention, but he had decided not to listen.

He could not bear the idea of her riding away into the

dark alone. "But I must go and get my sword and a few

other things. Do you have food?"

"Enough for me ... but you dare not try to steal more,

Simon. There's too much chance someone would see

you."

"Well, we'll worry about it later, then But I must have

a sword, and I must leave something to explain. Did

you?"

She stared at him. "Are you mad?"

"Not to say where you're going, but just to tell them

that you're gone of your^own will. We have to,

Miriamele," he explained firmly. "It's cruel, otherwise.

They'll think we were kidnapped by the Noms, or that

we've, we've ..." he smiled as the thought came, "...

we've run away to be married, like in the Mundwode

song."

Her look turned calculating. "Very well, get your sword

and leave a note."

Simon frowned. "I'm off. But remember, Miriamele, if

you aren't here when I get back, I'll have Josua and every

man of New Gadrinsett after 'you tonight."

She jutted her chin defiantly. "Go on, then. I want to

ride until dawn and be well away, so hurry."

He threw her a mock-bow, then turned and ran down

the hillside.

It was strange, but when Simon thought of that night

later, during moments of terrible pain, he could no longer

794

Tad Williams

remember how he had felt as he hastened toward the

campas he had prepared to steal off with the king's

daughter, Miriamele. The memory of all that came after-

ward crowded out what had throbbed in him as he pelted

down the hill.

On that night he felt all the world singing about him,

all the stars hanging close and attentive above. As Simon

ran, the world seemed poised on some vast fulcrum, tee-

tering, and every possibility was both beautiful and terri-

ble. It seemed for all the world as though the dragon

Igjarjuk's molten blood had come alive in him again,

opening him up to the vast sky, filling him with the pulse

of the earth.

He dashed through the encampment with hardly a

glance for any of the night life that surrounded him, hear-

ing none of the voices that were raised in song or laughter

or argument, seeing nothing but the twisting track through

the tents and small camps toward his own sleeping

place.

Happily for Simon, as it seemed, Binabik was away

from the tent. He had not given a moment's thought to

what he would have done if the little man had been wait-

ing for himhe might have been able to come up with

some practical reason for needing his sword, but could

certainly not have left a note. Fumble-fingered with hurry,

he ransacked the tent for something to write on, and at

last found one of the scrolls Binabik had brought from

Ookequk's cave in the Trollfells. With a bit of charcoal

plucked from the cold firepit, he laboriously scrawled his

message on the back of the sheep-leather.

"Mirimel has gon away and I hav gon after Her."

He wrote, tongue gripped between his teeth.

"We will be well. Tell Prince Josua I am sory but

I hav to go. I will bring Her bak soon as I can.

Tell Josua I am a bad knigt but I am tring to do

wat is the best thing. Your frend Simon."

TOGREENANGELTOWfcR

795

He thought for a moment, then added:

" You can hav my things if I dont cum bak. I am

sory."

He left the note on Binabik's bedroll, grabbed his sword

and scabbard and a few other necessities, then left the tent.

At the doorway he hesitated for a moment, recalling his sack

of beloved treasures, the White Arrow, Jiriki's mirror. He

turned and went to retrieve it, although every moment he

kept her waitingshe would wait; she must waitfelt like

an hour. He had told Binabik he could have them, but

Miriamele's earlier words returned to him. They were en-

trusted; they were promises. He could not give them away

any more than he could give away his name, and there was

not time now to sort out the things that could safely be left

behind. He dared not even take the time to think or he knew

that he would lose courage.

We will be alone together, just us two, he kept thinking

in wonderment. / will be her protector!

It took him what seemed an agonizingly long time to

find the sack where he had hidden it in a hole under a flap

of sod. With sack and scabbard clutched under his arm,

his worn saddle over his shoulder-he winced at the noise

the harness buckles madehe ran as quickly as he could

back through the camp to where the horses were tied, to

where Miriamelehe prayedwas waiting.

She was there. Seeing her impatiently pacing, he felt a

moment of giddiness. She had waited for him!

"Hurry up, Simon! The night is slipping away!" She

seemed to feel none of his pleasure, but only a sense of

frustration, a terrible need to be moving.

With Homefinder saddled and Simon's few belongings

hastily pushed into the saddlebags, they were soon lead-

ing the horses up toward the hilltop, moving silently as

spirits through the damp grass. They turned for a last look

down at the glowing quilt of campfires spread in the river

valley.

"Look!" Simon said, startled. "That's no cookfire!" He

1ad Williams

pointed to a targe, moving billow of orange-red flame

near the middle of the encampment. "Someone's tent is

on fire!"

"I hope no harm comes to them, but at least it will keep

people busy until we arc awa;," said Miriamele grim!).

"We must ride. Simon."

Suiting action to words, she clambered deftly into the

saddleshe was once more wearing the breeches and

shirt of a man beneath her heavy cloakand led him

down the hill's far side.

He took one last look back at the lights, then urged

Homefinder after her, into shadows that even the emer-

gent moon could not pierce.

PEOPLE

ERKTNLANDERS

BamabasHayholt chapel sexton

Deomoth, Sirof Hewenshire, Josua's knight

EahlferendSimon's fisherman father

Eahlstan Fiskeme"Fisher King," founder of League of

Scroll

Ebekah, also known as Efiathe of HemysadharcQueen

of Erkynland, John's wife, mother of EUas and Josua

EliasHigh King, John's oldest son, Josua's brother

FengbaldEarl of Falshire, High King's Hand

FreobeomFreosel's father, a blacksmith of Falshire

FreoselFalshireman, constable of New Gadrinsett

GuthwulfEarl of Utanyeat

Heanwigold drunkard in Stanshire

HelfgrimLord Mayor of Gadrinsett (former)

798

Tad Williams

Inchfoundry master

IsaakFengbald's page

Jack Mundwodemythical forest bandit

Jeremiasformer chandler's apprentice, Simon's friend

JohnKing John Presbyter, High King, also known as

"Prester John"

JudithHayholt Mistress of Kitchens

LeiethGeloe's companion, once Miriamele's handmaid

Maefwarua Fire Dancer

MiriamelePrincess, Elias' daughter

Morgenes, DoctorScrollbearer, Simon's friend and

mentor

Old Bent Legsforge worker in Hayholt

Osgalone of Mundwode's mythical band

RachelHayholt Mistress of Chambermaids, also known

as "The Dragon"

Roelstanescaped Fire Dancer

SangfugolJosua's harper

Sceldwinecaptain of the prisoned Erkynguardsmen

Shem HorsegroomHayholt groom

Simoncastle scullion (named "Seoman" at birth)

Stanhelmforge worker

Strangyeard, FatherScrollbearer, priest, Josua's archi-

vist

TowserKing John's jester (original name "Cruinh")

Ulcagirl on Sesuad'ra, called "Curly Hair"

Welmagirl on Sesuad'ra, called "Thin One"

Wiclafformer First Hammerman killed by Fire Dancers

Zebediaha Hayholt scullion, called "Fat Zebediah"

HERNTSTIRI

Airgad Oakheartfamous Hernystiri hero

Amoranminstrel

Bagbacattle god

Brynioch of the Skiessky god

Bulychlinnfisherman in old story who caught a demon

in his nets

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWhR

799

Cadrach-ec-Crannhyrmonk of indeterminate Order,

also known as "Padreic"

Caihwyeyoung mother

Craobhancalled "Old," adviser to Hernystiri royal

house

Croich, Housea Hernystiri clan

Cuamh Earthdogearth god

Deanagha of the Brown EyesHernystiri goddess,

daughter of Rhynn

Diawenscryer

Earb, Housea Hernystiri clan

Eoin-ec-Cluiaslegendary Hernystiri harper

EolairCount of Nad Mullach

FeurghaHernystiri woman, captive of Fengbald

Frethis of CuihmneHernystiri scholar

Gullaighnescaped Fire Dancer

GwynnaEolair's cousin and castellaine

GwythinnMaegwin's brother. Lluth's son

Hernfounder of Hemystir

InahwenLluth's third wife

Lach, Housea Hernystiri clan

LluthKing, father of Maegwin and Gwythinn

LlythinnKing, Lluth's father, uncle of John's wife

Ebekah

MaegwinPrincess, daughter of Lluth

Mathangoddess of household, wife of Murhagh One-

Arm

Mircharain goddess, wife of Brynioch

Murhagh One-Armwar god, husband of Mathan

PenemhwyeMaegwin's mother, Lluth's first wife

Rhynn of the Cauldrona god

SiadrethCaihwye's infant son

Sinnachprince of Hemystir, also known as "The Red

Fox"

Tethtainformer master of the Hayholt, "Holly King"

8oo

RIMMERSMEN

Tad Williams

Drorstorm god

Dypnirone of Ule's band

EinskaldirIsgrimnur's man, killed in forest

Elvritfirst Osten Ard king of Rimmersmen

Fingil Bloodfistfirst human master of Hayholt, "Bloody,

King"

Frekke GrayhairIsgrimnur's man, killed at Naglimund

OutrunDuchess, Isgrimnur's wife

HengfiskHoderundian priest, Ellas* cupbearer

HjeldinFingil's son, "Mad King"

Ikferdigthird Hayholt ruler, "Burned King"

IsgrimnurDuke of Elvritshalla, Gutrun's husband

Isomson of Isgrimnur and Outrun

JamaugaScrollbearer, killed at Naglimund

Nisse(Nisses) author of Du Svardenvyrd

SkaliThane of Kaldskryke, called "Sharp-nose"

SludigIsgrimnur's man

TrestoltJamauga's father

Ule Frekkesonleader of renegade band of Rimmers-

men, son of Frekke

NABBANAI

Aspitis PrevesEarl of Drina and Eadne

BenigarisDuke of Nabban, son of Leobardis and

Nessalanta

Benidrivisfirst duke under John, father of Camaris and

Leobardis

BrindallesSeriddan's brother

Camaris-sa-Vinitta, SirJohn's greatest knight, also

known as "Camaris Benidrivis"

DinivanScrollbearer, secretary to Lector Ranessin,

killed in Sancellan Aedonids

Domitisbishop of Saint Sutrin's cathedral in Erchester

EneppaMetessan kitchen woman, once called "Fuiri"

Elysiamother of Usires Aedon, called "Mother of God"

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER 801

Fluiren, Sirknight of Sulian House, member of John's

Great Table

Gavanaxesknight of Honsa Claves (Clavean House) for

whom Camaris was squire

HylissaMiriamele's mother, Elias' wife, killed in

Thri things

Lavennin, Saintpatron saint of Spenit Island

LeobardisDuke of Nabban, killed at Naglimund

Metessan HouseNabbanai noble house, blue crane em-

blem

MunshazouPryrates' Naraxi serving woman

NessalantaDowager Duchess, mother of Benigaris

Nuanni (Nuannis)ancient Nabbanai sea god

PasevallesBrindalles' young son

Pelippa, Saintcalled "Pelippa of the Island"

Plesinnen Myrmenisancient scholar

Pryratespriest, alchemist, wizard, Elias* counselor

RanessinLector of Mother Church, killed at Sancellan

Aedonitis

Rhiappa, Saintcalled "Rhiap" in Erkynland

Seriddan, BaronLord of Metessa, also known as

"Seriddan Metessis"

Sulis, LordNabbanai nobleman, former master of

Hayholt, "Heron King," also known as "The Apostate"

ThuresAspitis' young page

Usires AedonAedonite religion's Son of GocT

Varellanyoungest son of Leobardis and Nessalanta,

Benigaris' brother

VelligisLector of Mother Church

XannasavinNabbanai court astrologer

Yistrin, Saintsaint linked to Simon's birth-day

SITHI

Aditu, (no-Sa'onserei)daughter of Likimeya and

Shima'onari; Jiriki's sister

Amerasu y-Senditu no'e-Sa'onsereimother of Ineluki,

killed at Jao e-Tinukai'i, called "First Grandmother,"

also known as "Amerasu Ship-Born"

802 Tact Williams

Benayha (of Kementari)famed Sithi poet and warrior

Brisevu DawnfealherLikimeya's mother, wife of

Hakatn

Cheka'isocalled "Amber-Locks." member of Sithi clan

Chiyamember of Silhi clan. once resident of Asu'a

Contemplation HouseSithi clan

Drukhison of Utuk'ku and Ekimeniso, husband of

Nenais'u

Gathering HouseSithi clan

HakatriAmerasu's son, vanished into West

InelukiAmerasu's son, killed at Asu'a, now Storm King

Initrihusband of Jenjiyana

Jenjiyanawife of Initri, mother of Nenais'u, called "the

Nightingale"

Jiriki (i-Sa'onserei)son of Likimeya and Shima'onari,

brother of Aditu

Kendhraja'arouncle of Jiriki and Aditu

Kira'athuSitha healer

Kuroyicalled "the tall horseman," master of High

Anvi'janya, leader of Sithi clan

Likimeya (y-Briseyu no'e-Sa'onserei)mother of Jiriki

and Aditu, called "Likimeya Moon-Eyes"

Mezumiirumistress of moon in Sithi legend

Senditumother of Amerasu

Shi'ikifather of Amerasu

Shima'onarifather of Aditu and Jiriki, killed at Jao

e-Tinukai'i

Vindaomeyofamed arrow-maker of Tumet'ai, called

"the Fletcher"

Year-Dancing HouseSithi clan

Yizashi Grayspearleader of Sithi clan

Zinjaduof Kementari, called "Lore-Mistress"

QANUC

Binabik (Binbiniqegabenik)Scrollbearer. Singing Man

of Qanuc, Simon's friend

Chukkulegendary troll hero

Kikkasutlegendary king of birds

803

TO GREEN ANGEL TOWER

NimsukQanuc herder, one of Sisqi's troop

Nunuuikathe Huntress

OokequkScrollbearer, Binabik's master

Qinkipa (of the Snows)snow and cold goddess

Seddamoon goddess

Sisqi (Sisqinanamook)daughter of Herder and Hunt-

ress, Binabik's betrothed

Snenneqherd-chief of Lower Chugik

Uammannaqthe Herder

THRITHINGS-FOLK

FikolmijVorzheva's father, March-thane of Clan

Mehrdon

HotvigHigh Thrithings randwarder, Josua's man

LezhdrakaThrithings-man, mercenary chieftain

OzhbernHigh Thrithings-man

Uigarta mercenary captain from the Meadow Thrithing

VorzhevaJosua's wife, daughter of Fikolmij

PERDRUINESE

Charystralandlady of Pelippa's Bowl

LentiStreawe's servant, called "Avi Stetto"

Streawe, Countmaster of Perdruin

Tallistro, Sirfamous knight of John's Great Table

XorastraScrollbearer, first owner of Pelippa's Bowl

WRANNAMEN

Buayegowner of "the spirit-hut" (Wrannaman fable)

He Who Always Steps on Sandgod

He Who Bends the Treeswind god

Inihe Red-Flowerwoman in Tiamak's song

NuobdigHusband of the Fire Sister in Wrannaman leg-

end

RimiheTiamak's sister

804 Tad Williams

She Who Birthed Mankindgoddess

She Who Waits to Take All Backdeath goddess

Shoaneg Swift-Rowingman in Tiamak's song

They Who Breathe Darknessgods

They Who Watch and Shapegods

TiamakScrollbearer, herbalist

TugumakTiamak's father

TwiyahTiamak's sister

Younger Mogahibman of Tiamak's village

NORNS

Akhenabispokesman at Naglimund

"Bom-Beneath-Tzaaihta's-Stone"one of Utuk'ku's Tal-

ons

"Called-by-the-Voices"one of Utuk'ku's Talons

Ekimeniso Blackstaffhusband of Utuk'ku. father of

Drukhi

MezhumeyruNom version of "Mezumiiru"

Utuk'ku Seyt-HamakhaNorn Queen, Mistress of

Nakkiga

"Vein-of-Silverfire"one of Utuk'ku's Talons

OTHERS

Derraa half-Thri things child

Deornotha half-Thrithings child

Gan ItaiNiskie of Eadne Cloud

Geloea wise woman, called "Valada Geloe"

Imai-ana dwarrow

Ingen JeggerBlack Rimmersman, huntsman of

Utuk'ku, killed at Jao eTinukai'i

InjarNiskie clan living on Risa Island

Nin ReisuNiskie of Emettin's Jewel

Ruyan Vepatriarch of Tinukeda'ya, called "The Navi-

gator"

Sho-vennaea dwarrow

TOGREENANGELTOWER805

Veng'a Sutekhcalled "Duke of the Black Wind," one of

the Red Hand

Yis-fidria dwarrow, Yis-hadra's husband, master of the

Pattern Hall

Yis-hadraa dwarrow, Yis-fidri's wife, mistress of the

Pattern Hall

PLACES

Anvi'janyaplace of Kuroyi's dwelling, also known as

"Hidden" or "High" Anvi'janya

Ballacymwalled town on outskirts of Hemysadharc ter-

ritory

Bradach Torhigh peak in Grianspog Mountains

Bregshamesmall town on River Road between

Stanshire and Falshire

Cathyn Dair, by SilverseaHernystiri town from

Miriamele's song

Cavern of Rendingwhere Talons of Utuk'ku are trained

Chamul Lagoona place in Kwanitupul

Chasu Yarinnatown built around keep, just northeast of

Onestrine Pass in Nabban

ElvritshaUaIsgrimnur's ducal seat in Rimmersgard

Falshirewool-harvesting city in Erkynland, devastated

by Fengbald

Fiadhcoilleforest southeast of Nad Mullach, also

known as "Stagwood"

Fire Gardentiled open space on Sesuad'ra

Frasilis Valleyvalley east of Onestrine Pass (other side

of pass from Commeis Valley)

Garwynswoldsmall town on River Road between Stan-

shire and Falshire

GratuvaskRimmersgard river, runs past ElvritshaUa

Grenammanisland in Bay of Firannos

Hall of Five Staircaseschamber in Asu'a where Briseyu

died

Harchaisland in Bay of Firannos

Hasu Valevalley in Erkynland

8o6 Tad Williams

Hekhasorformer Sithi territory, called "Hekhasor of the

Black Earth"

House of WatersSithi building on Sesuad'ra

Khandiaa lost and fabled land

Kiga'raskuwaterfall beneath Stormspike, called "the

Tearfair

Leavetaking HouseSithi building on Sesuad'ra, later

center ofJosua's exile court (Sithi name: "Sesu-d'asu")

M'yin AzoshaiSithi name for Hem's Hill, location of

Hemysadharc

Maa 'shahilly former territory of Sithi

Mezutu'athe Silverhome, abandoned Sithi and dwarrow

city beneath Grianspog

Mount Den Haloimountain from Book of the Aedon

where God created world

Naraxiisland in Bay of Firannos

Observatory, Thedomed Sithi building on Sesuad'ra

Onestrine Passpass between two Nabbanai valleys, site

of many battles

Peat Barge Quaydock in Kwanitupul

Peja 'uraformer forested home of Sithi, called "cedar-

mantled"

Pulley Roadroad in Stanshire

Risaisland in Bay of Firannos

Shisae'ronbroad meadow valley, once Sithi territory

Si'injan 'dre Caveplace of Drukhi's confinement after

Nenais'u's death

Soakwood Roada major thoroughfare of Stanshire

Spenitisland in Bay of Firranos

Taig Roadroad leading through Hemysadharc, also

known as "Tethtain's Way"

Venyha Do'saeoriginal home of Sithi, Norns,

Tinukeda'ya, called "The ^Garden"

VinittaIsland in Bay of Firannos

Wealdhelmrange of hills in Erkynland

Ya Mologi ("Cradle Hill") highest point in Wran, leg-

endary creation spot

Yakh Huyeru ("Hall of Trembling") cavern beneath

Stormspike

YasirdSithi sacred meeting place

TO (iKbfcN ANGLITOWl .i

CREATURES

807

BukkenRimmersgard name toi diggers, also called

"Boghanik" by irol'is

Cata gray (in this case) and undistinguished quadruped

Diggerssmali, manlike subterranean creatures

Chantschitinous Wran-dweiting creatures

Giantsiarge, shaggy, manlike creatures

DrochnathairHernystiri name for dragon Hidohebhi.

slain by Ineluki and Hakatri

HomefinderSimon's mare

HunenRimmersgard name for giants

Igjarjukice-dragon of Urmsheim

Kilpamanlike marine creatures

Niku'aIngen Jegger's chief hound, bred in kennels of

Stormspike

Oruksfabulous water monsters

QantaqaBinabik's wolf companion, mount, and friend

Shurakaifire-drake slain beneath Hayholt whose bones

make up the Dragonbone Chair

VildalixDeomoth's horse

VinyafodJosua's horse

Water-wightsfabulous water monsters

THINGS

A-Genay'asu("Houses of Traveling Beyond") places of

mystical power and significance

Aedontideholy time celebrating birth of Usires Aedon

"Badulfand the Straying Heifer"a song Simon tries to

sing to Miriamele

Battle of Clodu Lakebattle John fought against

Thrithings-men, also known as "Battle of the Lake-

lands"

"Bishop's Wagon, The"a Jack Mundwode song

Boar and Spearsemblem of Guthwulf of Utanyeat

Breathing Harp, TheMaster Witness in Stormspike

8o8 Tad Williams

Bright-Nailsword of Prester John, formerly called

"Minneyar," containing nail from the Holy Tree and

finger-bone of Saint Eahlstan

"By Greenwade's Shore"song sung at Bonfire Night on

Sesuad'ra

CellianCamaris' horn, made from dragon Hidohebhi's

tooth. (Original name: 'Ti-tuno*')

Citrilroot for chewing, grown in south

CockindrillNorthern word for "crocodile"

Conqueror Stara comet, ominous star

Day of Weighing-OutAedonite day of final judgment

Door of the Ransomerseal of confession

Du Svardenvyrdnear-mythical prophetic book by Nisses

Falcon, TheNabbanai constellation

Fifty FamiliesNabbanai noble houses

Floating Castle. Thefamous monument on Warinsten

Frayja's FireErkynlandish winter flower

Gardenborn, Theall who came from Venyha Do'sae

Good Peasantcharacter from the proverbs of the Book

of Aedon

Gray Coastpart of the shent board

Gray-capmushroom

Great SwordsBright-Nail, Sorrow, and Thorn

Great TableJohn's assembly of knights and heroes

Green Column, The-Master Witness in Jhina T'senei

Hare, TheErkynlandish constellation name

Harrow's EveOctander 30, day before "Soul's Day"

Hesitancy, aNorn spell

High King's Wardprotection of High King over coun-

tries of Osten Ard

Hunt-wineQanuc liquor-

IndrejuJiriki's witchwood sword

Juya'haSithi art: pictures made of woven cords

Kei-vishaaSubstance used by Gardenborn to make ene-

mies drowsy and weak

Kingfisher, TheNabbanai constellation

KvalnirIsgrimnur's sword

Lobster, TheNabbanai constellation

Mansa NictalisNight ceremony of Mother Church

Market Halla domed building in centra! Kwanitupul

TOGREENANGELTOWER

809

, Mist Lampa Witness, brought out of Tumet'ai by

Amerasu

Mixis the Wolf Nabbanai constellation

Mockfoila flowering herb

Muster of AnitullesImperatorial battle-muster from

Golden Age of Nabban

Navigator's TrustNiskie pledge to protect their ships at

all cost

Night HeartSitha star-name

Ocean indefinite and EternalNiskie term for ocean

crossed by Gardenborn

Oldest TreeWitchwood tree growing in Asu'a

One Who Fled, TheAedonite euphemism for the Devil

Pact of Sesuad'raagreement of Sithi and Nom to part

Pool of Three Depths, TheMaster Witness in Asu'a

Prise'a"Ever-fresh," a favorite flower of Sithi

QuickweedWran herb

Rabbit-nosemushroom

Red knifebillWran bird

Rhao iye-Sama'anthe Master Witness at Sesuad'ra,

called the "Earth-Drake's Eye"

Rhynn's CauldronHernystiri battle -summoner

Rite of QuickeningQanuc Spring ceremony

Saint Grams' Daya holy day

Saint Rhiappa'sa cathedral in Kwanitupul

Sand Beetle, TheWran name for constellation

Serpent, TheNabbanai constellation

Shadow-masteryNorn magics

Shard, TheMaster Witness in Mezutu'a

Shenta Sithi game of socializing and strategy

Snatch-the-featherWran gambling game

SorrowElias' sword, a gift from Ineluki the Storm King

Speakfire, TheMaster Witness in Hikehikayo

Spinning WheelErkynlandish name for constellation

Sugar-bulbWran tree

Tarbox, Theinn at Falshire

Tethtain's Axesunk in the heart of a beech tree in fa-

mous Hernystiri tale

Thornblack star-sword of Camaris

8io Tad Williams

Ti-tunoCamaris' horn, made from dragon's tooth, also

known as "Cellian"

Tree, The(or "Holy Tree," or "Execution Tree") symbol

of Usires Aedon's execution

TwistgrassWran plant

Uncharted, Thesubject of Niskie oath

Wailing Stonedolmen above Hasu Vale

Wedge and Beetle, TheStanshire inn

Wind FestivalWrannaman celebration

Winged Beetle, TheNabbanai constellation

Winged dolphinemblem of Streawe of Perdruin

WintercapErkynlandish winter flower

"Woman from Nabban"one of Sangfugol's songs

" Wormglass "-Hernystiri name for certain old mirrors

Yellow TinkerWran plant

Yrmansoltree of Erkynlandish Maia-day celebration

Yuvenis' ThroneNabbanai constellation

Knuckle BonesBinabik's auguring tools.

Patterns include:

Wingless Bird

Fish-Spear

The Shadowed Path

Torch at the Cave-Mouth

Balking Ram

Clouds in the Pass

The Black Crevice

Unwrapped Dart

Circle of Stones

Mountains Dancing

TOGREENANGELTOWER

WORDS AND PHRASES

811

QANUC

Henimaatuq! Ea kup!"Beloved friend! You're here!"

Inij koku na siqqasa min taq"When we meet again, that

will be a good day."

Iq ta randayhet suk biqahuc"Winter is not being the

time for naked swimming."

Mindunob inik yat"My home will be your tomb."

Nenit, henimaatuya"Come on, friends."

Nihut"Attack"

Shummuk"Wait"

Ummu Bok"Well done!" (roughly)

SITHI

A y'ei g'eisu! Yas'a pripuma jo-shoi!"You cowardly

ones! The waves would not carry you!"

A-Genay'asu"Houses of Traveling Beyond"

Hikeda'ya"Cloud Children"; Norns

Hikka Staja"Arrow Bearer"

Hikka Ti-tuno"Bearer of Ti-tuno"

M'yon rashf(Sithi) "Breakers of Things"

Sinya'a du-n'sha e-d'treyesa inro"May you find the

light that shines above the bow"

Sudhoda'ya"Sunset Children": Mortals

Sumy'asu"Fifth House"

Tinukeda'ya"Ocean Children": Niskies and dwarrows

Venyha s'ahn!"By the Garden!"

Zida'ya"Dawn Children": Sithi

NABBANAI

a prenteiz"Take him!" or "At him!"

Duos preterate!"God preserve"

Duos Simpetis"Merciful God"

812 Tad Williams

Em Wulstes Duos"By God's will"

Matra sa Duos"Mother of God"

Otillenaes"Tools"

Soria"Sister"

Ulimor Camaris? Veveis?"Lord Camaris? You live?"

HERNTSTIRI

Goirach cilagh!"Foolish (or mad) girl!"

Moiheneg"between" or "empty place" (a neutral

ground)

Smearech fleann"dangerous book"

RJMMER5PAKK

Vad es ... Uf nammen Hott, vad es .

name of Gud, what?"

. ?"What? In the

OTHER

Azha she'she t'chako, urun she'she bhabekro ... Mudhul

samat'ai. Jabbak s'era memekeza sanayha-z'a . . .

Ninyek she'she, hamut 'tke agrazh'a s'era ye ..."

(Norn song) means Something Very Unpleasant

Shu'do-tkzayha!(Norn) "mortals" (var. of Sithi

"Sudhoda'ya")

S'h'rosa(Dwarrow) Vein of stone

A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION

ERKTNLANDISH

Erkynlandish names are divided into two types. Old

Erkynlandish (O.E.) and Warinstenner. Those names

which are based on types from Prester John's native is-

TO GRhLtS ANGL ] TUWH<

land of Warinsten (mostly the name'-, of castle servants or

John's immediate family) have been represented as vari-

ants on Biblical names (EIiasElijah, EbekahRebecca.

etc.) Old Erkynlandish names should be pronounced like

modern English, except as follow, s'

aalways ah, as in "fathci"

acay of "say"

ck as in "keen"

cai as in "air." except at the end of names, when it is

also sounded, but with an eh or uh sound, i.e., Hruse

"Rooz-uh"

easounds as a in "mark," except at beginning of

word or name, where it has the same value as ae

galways hard g, as in "glad"

hhard h of "help"

('short (' of "in"

jhard / of "jaw"

olong but soft o, as in "orb"

uoo sound of "wood," never yoo as in "music"

HERNTSTIRI

The Hemystiri names and words can be pronounced in

largely the same way as the O.E., with a few exceptions:

thalways the th in "other," never as in "thing"

cha guttural, as in Scottish "loch"

ypronounce yr like "beer," ye like "spy"

hunvoiced except at beginning of word or after t or

c

eay as in "ray"

//same as single 1: LluthLuth

RIMMER5PAKK

Names and words in Rimmerspakk differ from O.E. pro-

nunciation in the following:

814Tad Williams

jpronounced y: JarnaugaYarnauga; Hjeldin

Hyeldin (H nearly silent here)

eilong ( as in "crime"

eee, as in "sweet"

6oo, as in "coop"

auow, as in "cow"

NABBANAI

The Nabbanai language holds basically to the rules of a

romance language, i.e., the vowels are pronounced "ah-

eh-ih-oh-ooh," the consonants are all sounded, etc. There

are some exceptions.

(most names take emphasis on second to last sylla-

ble: Ben-i-GAR'is. When this syllable has an ;, it is

sounded long (Ardrivis: Ar-DRY-vis) unless it comes be-

fore a double consonant (Antippa: An-TIHP-pa)

esat end of name, es is sounded long: Gelles

Gel-leez

yis pronounced as a long ;', as in "mild"

QANUC

Troll-language is considerably different than the other hu-

man languages. There are three hard "k" sounds, signified

by: c, q, and k. The only difference intelligible to most

non-Qanuc is a slight clucking sound on the q, but it is

not to be encouraged in beginners. For our purposes, all

three will sound with the k of "keep." Also, the Qanuc u

is pronounced uh, as in "bug." Other interpretations are

up to the reader, but he or she will not go far wrong pro-

nouncing phonetically.

SITHI

Even more than the language of Yiqanuc, the language of

the Zida'ya is virtually unpronounceable by untrained

TOGREENANGELTOWER815

tongues, and so is easiest rendered phonetically, since the

chance of any of us being judged by experts is slight (but

not nonexistent, as Binabik learned). These rules may be

applied, however.

;when the first vowel, pronounced ifi, as in "clip."

When later in word, especially at end, pronounced ee, as

in "fleet": JirikiJih-REE-kee

aipronounced like long i. as in "time"

' (apostrophe)represents a clicking sound, and should

not be voiced by mortal readers.

EXCEPTIONAL NAMES

GeloeHer origins are unknown, and so is the source of

her name. It is pronounced "Juh-LO-ee" or "Juh-LOY."

Both are correct.

Ingen JeggerHe is a Black Rimmersman, and the "J" in

Jegger is sounded, just as in "Jump."

^MiriameleAlthough born in the Erkynlandish court,

hers is a Nabbanai name thar developed a strange pro-

nunciationperhaps due to some family influence or

,'ilonfusion of her dual heritageand sounds as "Mih-ree-

Uh-MEL."

Vorz.hevaA Thrithings-woman, her name is pronounced

^or-SHAY-va," with the zh sounding harshly, like the

Hungarian z.s.