The thing that had been Elias slumped, head down, so that nothing could be seen of it but shadow. Still, Simon could feel it drinking the energies that raced through Bright-Nail, Thorn, and Sorrow, regaining the strength to control its stolen body. Pryrates had hurt it, somehow, but Simon could sense that it would be only the work of moments before it recovered. He felt a tiny flutter of hope, and tried to let go of his sword hilt, but it was as much a part of him as his arm. There was no escape.
As though it sensed his attempt to break free, the black thing looked up at him, and even as his heart stumbled and almost failed, he could glean its implacable thought. It had smashed Time itself to return. Even the mortal priest, no matter what powers he had wielded, would not have been allowed to close the door again—what possible chance could Simon have?
In this moment of horror, Simon suddenly felt the shock of the dragon blood that had once scorched his flesh and changed him. He stared at the unsteady black shape that had been Elias, the ruined husk and its fiery occupant, and felt an answering stab of pain where the dragon’s black essence had scarred him. Through the pulsing unlight that moved between Bright-Nail and Sorrow, Simon felt not only the all-consuming hatred that had been the blood of the Storm King’s deathly exile, but also Ineluki’s terrible, mad loneliness.
He loved his people, Simon thought. He gave his life for them but did not die.
Staring helplessly across the short distance between them, watching as the thing regathered its strength, Simon remembered the vision Leleth had shown him of Ineluki beside the great pool. Such shattering unhappiness had been in that face, but the determination had been a mirror of Eahlstan’s as he had sat in his chair and waited for the terrible worm he knew he must meet, the dragon that he knew would slay him. They were somehow the same, Ineluki and Eahlstan, doing what must be done, though life itself was the price. And Simon was no different.
Sorrow. His thoughts flittered and died like moths in a flame, but he clung to this one. Ineluki named his sword Sorrow. Why did she show me that?
Something was moving at the edge of his vision. Binabik and Miriamele, freed by Pryrates’ death, reeled a few steps forward. Miriamele fell to her knees. Binabik staggered closer, head held low as though he walked into a powerful wind.
“You will destroy this world,” the troll gasped. Although his mouth was stretched wide, his words seemed quiet as the whir of velvety wings. “You have lost your belonging, Ineluki. There will be nothing for your governing. You do not belong here!”
The clot of darkness turned to look at him, then raised a flickering hand. Simon, seeing Binabik quail before the destroying touch, felt his fear and hatred rise anew. He fought against that surge of loathing, although he did not know why.
Hatred kept him alive in the dark places. Five centuries, burning in emptiness. Hatred is all he has. And I have hated, too. I have felt like him. We are the same.
Simon struggled to keep the image of the living Ineluki’s suffering face before him. That was the truth beneath this horrible, burning thing. No creature in all the cosmos deserved what had happened to the Storm King.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the face in his memory. “You should not have suffered so.”
The surge of energy from Bright-Nail suddenly grew less. The thing that held Sorrow turned back to him, and waves of terror broke over Simon again. His heart was being crushed.
“No,” he gasped, and groped inside himself for a solid place to stand and live. “I will ... fear you, but I ... will not hate you.”
There came a still instant that seemed like years. Then Sir Camaris rose slowly from his knees and stood, swaying. In his hands, Thorn still throbbed with blackness, but Simon felt the drain of its forces weaken, as though what he himself felt had somehow run down through the point of connection into Camaris as well.
“Forgiven ...” the old knight croaked. “Yes. Let all be ...”
There was a wavering at the center of the darkness that was the Storm King. For a moment, the scarlet light grew less, then died. A glowing red haze leaked free, agitated as a swarm of bees. In the center of the shadows, wreathed in smoke, the pale visage of King Elias shimmered into existence, his face contorted in pain. Wisps of smoke curled from his hair. Flames darted on his cape and shirt.
“Father!” Miriamele’s entire being seemed in her cry.
The king turned his eyes to her. “Ah, God, Miriamele, ” he breathed. His voice was not entirely human. “He has waited too long for this. He will not let me go. I was a fool, and now ... I am ... repaid. I am sorry... daughter. ” He convulsed, and for a moment his eyes blazed red, though his knotted features still remained. “He is too strong ... his hate is too strong. He will ... not ... let me ... go.... ”
His head began to sag. Emberlight bloomed in the cavern of his mouth.
Miriamele shouted wordlessly and lifted her arms. Simon felt rather than saw some fleeting thing snap past him.
A feathered white shaft sprouted from Elias’ breast.
For a heartbeat the king’s eyes were his own once more, and his gaze locked with Miriamele’s. Then his features twisted. A roar louder than thunder tore from the king’s gaping mouth and Elias toppled backward into shadow. The roar became an echoing, impossibly loud shriek that seemed to have no ending.
For a fleeting instant Simon felt an impossibly cold something scrabbling at the place where the dragon’s blood had entered his heart, seeking to find refuge in him if its other host was denied to it. The thing’s hunger was all-swallowing and desperate.
No. You do not belong here. Simon’s thought echoed Binabik’s words.
The clawing thing fell away, shrieking soundlessly.
Flames climbed up and outward where the king had stood, mushrooming beneath the roof of the bellchamber. A terrible cold blackness was at the center of them, but as Simon watched in shattered awe, it began to fragment into darting shadows. The world tipped again, and the tower shuddered. Bright-Nail throbbed in his grip, then dissolved in a whirl of black; a moment later, he was holding only dust. He lifted his trembling hand near his face to stare at the sifting powder, then stopped, astonished.
He could move again!
A chunk of stone from the ceiling overhead crashed down beside him, spattering him with sharp fragments. Simon took a reeling step. The chamber was afire, as though the stones themselves were burning. One of the blackened bells tumbled from the cluster at the ceiling and crashed to the floor, smashing a crater in the stone tiles. Shadowy figures moved around him, their motions distorted by the walls of flame.
A voice was calling his name, but he stood at the center of fiery chaos and saw no direction in which to turn. The swirling sky appeared in a jagged opening above his head as more stone fell. Something struck him.
33
Hidden from the Stars
Tiamak stood awkwardly, waiting. The duke listened patiently to the two Thrithings-men, then nodded and replied; they turned and walked through the melting snow toward their horses, leaving the duke and the Wrannaman alone beside the fire.
When Isgrimnur looked up and saw his visitor, he did his best to smile. “Tiamak, what are you doing standing there? Aedon’s Mercy, man, sit down. Warm yourself.” The duke tried to beckon, but his arm sling prevented it.
Tiamak limped over and sat down on the log. For a moment he held his hands before the flames without speaking, then said: “I am so sorry about Isorn.”
Isgrimnur turned his red-rimmed eyes away and stared across the foggy headland toward the Kynslagh. It was a long time before he spoke. “I do not know how I will tell my Gutrun. She will be heartbroken.”
The silence stretched. Tiamak waited, unsure whether he should say more. He knew Isgrimnur far better than he had known the duke’s tall son, whom he had met only once, in Likimeya’s tent.
“He was not the only one to die,” Isgrimnur said at last. He rubbed at his nose. “And there are the living to be taken care of.” He picked up a stick and tossed
it into the fire, then blinked at it with an intent fury. Tears glinted on his eyelashes. The silence grew again, swelling to almost frightening proportions before Isgrimnur broke it. “Ah, Tiamak, why wasn’t it me? His life was ahead. I am old. My life is over.”
The Wrannaman shook his head. He knew there was no answer to that question. No one could plumb the reasoning of They Who Watch and Shape. No one.
The duke dragged his sleeve across his eyes, then cleared his throat. “Enough. Time for mourning will come.” He turned back to Tiamak, and the Wrannaman for the first time saw the truth of Isgrimnur’s words: the duke was old, a man long past his prime. Only his great vitality had masked it, and now, as though the struts had been kicked from beneath him, he sagged. Tiamak felt anger that such a good man should suffer.
But everyone has suffered, he told himself. Now is the time to gather strength, to try to understand and to decide what comes next.
“Tell me what happened, Tiamak.” The duke forced himself to sit upright, restoring a semblance of self-discipline he clearly needed. “Tell me what you saw.”
“Surely I have little to say that you ...” the Wrannaman began.
“Just tell me.” Isgrimnur shifted his broken arm to a more comfortable position. “We have a while before Strangyeard can come and join us, but I imagine you have spoken to him already.”
Tiamak nodded. “When I was putting salve on his wounds. Everyone has stories to tell, and none of them pleasant to hear.” He composed himself for a moment, then began. “I traveled with the Sithi for what seemed a long time before we found Josua....”
“So you believe Josua was dead already?” The calmness of the duke’s deep voice was belied by the unhappy nervousness of his free hand, which passed in and out of his beard, tugging and plucking. His beard looked thinner and shabbier, as though he had pulled at it too often in recent days.
Tiamak nodded sadly. “He was struck very hard on the neck by the king’s sword. There was a terrible noise when it hit, a snapping, and then the blood....” The small man shuddered. “He could not have survived it.”
Isgrimnur brooded for a moment, then shook his head. “Ah, well. I thank Usires Aedon in His mercy that at least Josua did not suffer. An unhappy man, though I loved him. An unhappy ending.” He looked up at a shout in the distance, then turned his gaze back to the Wrannaman. “And you were then knocked senseless yourself.”
“I remember nothing after I heard the bell again ... until I awakened. I was still in the place where the bells hung, but I did not know it at first. All I could see was that I was surrounded by a whirlpool of fire and smoke and strange shadows.
“I tried to climb to my feet, but my head was spinning and my legs would not work properly. Someone caught at my arm and dragged at me until I could rise. At first I thought I had gone mad, because no one was there. Then I looked down and saw that it was Binabik who had helped me.
“ ‘Hurry,’ he told me, ‘this place is falling into pieces.’ He pulled at me again—I was dazed and did not entirely understand him. Smoke was everywhere and the floor was pitching beneath my feet with loud grinding noises. As I stood wavering, another shape appeared. It was Miriamele, and she was dragging a body across the floor with great effort. It took me a moment to see through the dust and ashes that it was the young man Simon.
“‘I killed him,’ Miriamele was saying over and over. Tears were streaming down her face. I did not understand why she thought she had killed Simon when I could see his fingers moving, his chest rising and falling. Binabik hastened to help her and they pulled Simon across the floor toward the stairwell. I followed them. A moment later the tower shook again and a great chunk of stone fell down and shattered on the spot where I had stood.” Tiamak reached down and pointed at the cloth wrapped around his leg. “A piece flew free and cut me, but not badly.” He straightened up.
“Miriamele wanted to go back for Josua, but the floor was shaking powerfully now, and more pieces of the ceiling and walls were crumbling. Binabik was doubtful, and they began to argue. My wits were coming back. I told them that the king had broken Josua’s neck, that I had seen it happen. Miriamele was hard to understand—she seemed to be half-asleep, despite the tears—but she had begun to say something about Camaris when one of the bells broke loose and smashed down through the floor. We could hear it clang as it struck on something below. Smoke was everywhere. I was coughing, and my eyes were as wet as Miriamele’s. I did not much care at the moment, but I felt sure that we would be burned or smashed to death, that I would never know what had happened to cause all this.
“Binabik grabbed Miriamele’s arm, pointing to the ceiling, shouting that there was no time. Simon would be difficult enough to carry. She fought him for a moment, but her heart was not in it. The three of us picked Simon up as best we could—he was limp; it made him very difficult to carry—and we scuttled into the stairwell.
“The smoke was not so thick down below the first turn. The fire seemed to burn only in the bellchamber, although I heard Binabik say something that made it sound as if the whole tower had been in flames just instants before. But even if it was easier to breathe, I was still certain we would not survive to reach the ground: the tower was pitching like a tree in a strong wind. I have heard that in days long past one or two of the southernmost islands of Firannos Bay disappeared because the earth shook so hard that the sea swallowed them. If that is true, their last moments must have felt like this. We could barely keep on our feet in the narrow stairwell. Several times I was thrown against one of the walls, and we were lucky we only dropped poor Simon twice. Stone was shivering down and dust was everywhere, choking me as thoroughly as the smoke had.”
Tiamak paused and pressed his fingers against his temples. His head hurt. Remembering the desperate flight down the stairs made it ache almost as badly as it had then.
“We had gone down a little farther—it was fearfully difficult to make our way, and the very steps seemed to be breaking apart beneath our feet—when a figure appeared out of the dust below us. It was smeared with ash and grime and blood, and its eyes stared. At first I thought it some horrible demon that Pryrates had summoned, but Miriamele cried ‘Cadrach!’, and I recognized him. I was astonished, of course—I had no idea how he of all people had appeared in this place. I could hardly hear him above the groaning and rumbling of the tower, but he said: ‘I waited for you,’ to no one in particular, then turned and led us down the stairs. I was angry and frightened, and I could not help wondering why he did not offer to help carry Simon, who was a terrible load for a young woman, a troll, and a small man like me to bear. Simon was now beginning to move a little more, mumbling to himself and struggling weakly. It made him even more difficult to carry.
“Then there was a time I can hardly remember. We went as fast as we could, but there seemed little chance we would escape before the tower collapsed completely. We were still very high up, maybe ten times a man’s height. As we passed one of the windows, I saw the tower’s spire hanging crookedly, as if the whole tower bowed from the waist. You notice strange things at such times, I suppose, and I saw that the bronze angel at the spire’s tip had its arms extended as though it was poised to fly away. Suddenly the whole spire shivered, broke loose, and fell down out of sight.
“There were cracks in the walls of the stairwell wide enough to put your arm into, Isgrimnur. Through some of them I could see gray sky.
“Then the tower shook again, so strongly that we fell down on the stairs. It kept shaking; it was almost impossible to regain our feet, but we did at last. When we had scrambled down a few more paces, the twisting of the staircase suddenly opened onto nothing. The side of the tower wall had gone, fallen away outward: I could see it lying in great shards, spread out on the snow beneath, white on white. A great chunk of the staircase had gone with it, so that there was a gap many paces across, and beneath lay a fall of twenty cubits onto darkness and broken stone.”
Tiamak paused for a moment. “What happened next i
s strange. Had I stayed in my swamp, I would not believe this tale from someone else. But I have seen things that have changed what I believe is possible.”
Isgrimnur nodded somberly. “As have I. Go on, man.”
“We were stopped at the gap, staring hopelessly at the bits of rubble working loose from the ragged edge and tumbling down into shadows.”
“ ‘So here it ends,’ Miriamele said. I must say that she did not sound particularly upset. She was fey, Isgrimnur. She had worked as hard as any of us to stay alive, but she seemed to do it only to help the rest of us.
“ ‘It is not over ...’ Cadrach said. The monk sank to his knees beside the edge of the pit and spread his hands flat over the nothingness. The tower was quivering itself apart, and it seemed to me that the man was praying—although I admit I could think of nothing better to do at that point. As he did, he twisted his face like a man lifting a heavy load. At last he looked over his shoulder to Miriamele. ‘Now cross,’ he said. His voice was strained.
“‘Cross?’ She stared at him. There was anger on her face, strong anger. ‘What final trick of yours is this?’
“ ‘You once said ... only trust me again ... when stars shone at midday,’ the monk said softly. Every word was an effort. I could barely hear him, and I could not understand what he intended or what he was talking about. ‘You saw them,’ he said. ‘They were there.’
“She looked at him for what seemed like a dreadfully long time as the tower trembled. Then she gently set Simon’s shoulders down and took a step toward the pit. I reached out to pull her back, but Binabik stopped me. He had a strange look on his face. So did she, for that matter. So did Cadrach.
“Miriamele closed her eyes, then stepped out from the edge. I was certain that she would fall down and be killed, and I may have shouted something, but she walked out onto the solid air as though the stone steps were still there. Isgrimnur, there was nothing beneath her feet!”