416                                    Tad Williams

made that so clear as one instant staring into those black eyes. The world
has a dark underbelly, Deornoth. I wonder if maybe it is better not to seek
after knowledge."
    "But surely God put such things on the earth to test our faith, Prince
Josua," Deornoth ventured at last. "If no one ever saw evil, who would
fear Hell?"
    "Who indeed?" The prince's tone changed. "But this is not why I came
out to speak to you. Leave it to Josua to turn any conversation into a dour
and doomful one." He laughed again; this time it seemed more cheerful.
"Actually, I came to ask you to stand for me when Vorzheva and I are
married in the morning."
  "Prince Josua, I am honored. Gladly--I will do it gladly."
  "You have been the most loyal of friends, Deornoth."
  "You are the best lord a man could have."
    "I did not say 'liege man' or 'knight,' Deornoth." Josua spoke firmly,
but with a hint of good humor in his voice. "I said 'friend'--but do not
think that standing for me is an honor bereft of responsibility. It is not."
He became serious. "I have not had a splendid history of caring for those
dear to me, Deornoth my friend. You may protest, but it is a simple fact.
Thus, if something happens to me, I want your word that you will look
after Vorzheva and our child."  "Of course, my prince."
  "Say it." Then, more gently: "Swear it to me."
    "I swear by the honor of Blessed Elysia that I will protect the welfare of
Lady Vorzheva and the child she carries as if they were my own family. I
will lay down my life without hesitation, if need be."
    Josua clasped the knight's wrist and held it for a moment. "Good. Many
thanks. The Lord bless you, Deornoth."
  "May He bless you, too, Prince Josua."
    The prince sighed. "And all the rest as well. Did you know, Deornoth,
that tomorrow is the first day of Anitul? That means tomorrow is
Hlafmansa. There are many absent friends to whom our blessings should
go this night--many who no doubt are far closer to the fearful face of
darkness than we are."
    Deornoth saw the shadow beside him move abruptly as the prince made
the sign of the Tree. They shared a long moment of silence before Josua
spoke again. "May God bless us all and deliver us from evil."

    The men were up with the darkling dawn, saddling the horses and
packing the supplies gained when Josua had traded two of his new steeds
for a quantity of food and clothing. Since Leleth would ride with Duchess
Gutrun, and Towser and Sangfugol would share a horse, four horses
remained to carry goods.



STONE OF FAREWELL

417

    When the mounts had been readied, the men returned to the bull run.
They found it surrounded by more than a few curious Thrithings-folk.
    "What, have you made some announcement?" Josua demanded crossly.
Vorzheva eyed him unblinkingly. She had donned the white bride-band
once more.
    "Do you think my people would not notice you loading the horses?"
she snapped. "Besides, what is the use of being married if it is done like
thieves stealing by night?" She strutted away, the wide skirt of her
wedding dress swirling. A moment later she returned, leading the wide-
eyed young girl who had been waiting on Fikolmij when Josua's folk had
first come as prisoners to the wagon camp. "This is Hyara, my youngest
sister," Vorzheva explained. "She will be married someday, so I want her
to see that it is not always frightful."
    "I wiU do my best to look like a nice person to marry," Josua said,
arching an eyebrow. Hyara stared back at him, anxious as a startled
fawn.
    Vorzheva insisted that they be married beneath the open sky and before
the eyes of her clanfolk. The wedding party made its way out from
beneath the roof of blankets, Father Strangyeard mumbling fretfully as he
tried to remember the important sections of the marriage ceremony--he
had not, of course, been able to bring a Book of the Aedon from Naglimund,
and had never performed a marriage before. Of the principals, he was
dearly the most nervous. Young Hyara, sensing a kindred spirit, walked
$o close to him that she was almost between his feet, adding to the priest's
discomfiture.
    It was not surprising to see a cheerful and curious crowd of Thrithings-
folk assembled along the edges of the bull run--a crowd not greatly
different in mood, Deornoth reflected, than that which had come to watch
Josua be cut into slivers. It was a little disconcerting to see among them the
mother and sisters of he who had failed to slice Josua up, the late Utvart.
This group of women, dressed identically in dresses and scarves of clark
mourning blue, stared balefully at the emerging stone-dwellers, their
mouths pulled tight in uniform expressions of ill-regard.
    If the attendance of Utvart's family was surprising, the appearance of
Fikolmij on the scene was even more so. The March-thane, who had taken
his foul temper and virtually gone into hiding after Josua's victory, now
came swaggering through the camp to the bull run, trailed by a handful of
scarred randwarders. Although the gray dawn was not an hour passed,
Fikolmij's red-eyed stare had the look of drunkenness.
    "By the Grass-Thunderer? he bellowed, "surely you did not think I
would let my daughter and her horse-rich husband be wedded without
coming to share their happiness!?" He slapped his broad belly and guf-
fawed. "Go on! Go on! We are waiting to see how marriages are done in
the mazes of the stone-dwellers!"


418                                   Tad Williams

    At the sound of her father's roar, little Hyara took a step backward and
looked wildly around, preparing to flee. Deornoth reached out and gently
took her elbow, holding it loosely until she gathered courage to move
forward and stand at Vorzheva's side once more. Hopelessly rattled,
Father Strangyeard started the Mansa Connoyis--the Prayer of Joining--
several times without success, each time losing his way after a few lines
and stuttering to a halt like a miilwheel whose ox was balking in the
traces. Each failed attempt drew more laughter from Fikolmij and his
randwarders. The archive-master's already pink face grew redder and
redder. At last, Josua leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
    "You are a Scrollbearer now, Father, as was your friend Jarnauga." He
spoke so quietly that none but Strangyeard could hear. "Surely a simple
mansa is child's play for you, whatever the distractions."
"One-eye speaks the marriage for One-hand!" Fikolmij shouted.
Strangyeard tugged self-consciously at his patch, then grimly nodded
his head. "You ... you are right, Prince Josua. Forgive me. Let us
continue."
    Speaking each word carefully, Strangyeard worked his way through the
long ritual as though wading in high and treacherous waters. The March-
thane and his jibing cronies shouted louder and louder, but the priest
would no longer be deterred. At last, the crowd of watching Thrithings-
folk became restive, tiring of Fikolmij's rudeness. Every time another
graceless jest echoed across the bull run, the murmur grew louder.
    As Strangyeard neared the end of the prayer, Hotvig appeared on
horseback out of the west. He was windblown and dissheveled, as though
he had ridden fast in his return to the wagon-city.
    The rider sat dazedly surveying the scene for a moment, then swung
down from the saddle and trotted to his thane's side. He spoke rapidly,
then pointed back in the direction from which he had come. Fikolmij
nodded, grinning hugely, then turned and said something to the other
randwarders which set them rocking with laughter. A look of confusion
came over Hotvig's face--confusion which soon turned to anger. As
Fikolmij and the others continued to chortle over the news he had brought,
the young Thrithings-man strode to the fence around the bull run and
waved for Isorn's attention. Hotvig spoke into Isorn's ear; the Rimmerman's
eyes widened. When Father Strangyeard paused in his recital a few mo-
ments and bent to look for the bowl of water he had filled earlier and put
by for this moment in the prayer, Isgrimnur's son pushed away from the
fence and marched directly to Prince Josua's side.
    "Forgive me, Josua," Isorn hissed, "but Hotvig says there are three
score armored riders coming down on the wagon camp. They are less
than a league away and riding hard. The leader's coat is a falcon in scarlet
and silver."


STONE OF FAREWELL

419

    Startled, Josua looked up. "Fengbald! What is that whoreson doing
here?!"
    "Fengbald?" Deornoth echoed, astounded. It seemed a name from an-
other age. "Fengbald?"
    A rustle of wonder went through the crowd at this odd turn to the
ceremony.
    "Josua," Vorzheva said tightly, "how can you talk of these things
now?"
    "I am truly sorry, my lady, but we have little choice." He turned to
Strangyeard, who stood staring, his increasingly confident rhythms again
disrupted. "Go on to the final part," Josua directed him. "Wha... what?"
    "The final part, man. Come, then, hurry to it! I won't have it said I left
my lady unmarried against my promise, but if we stand much longer she
will be a widow before the mansa is over." He gave the priest a gentle
shove. "The end, Strangyeard!"
    The archivist's one eye bulged. "May the love of the Ransomer, His mother
Elysia, and His Father the All-Highest bless this joining. May . . . may your
lives be long and your love be longer still. You are married." He waved his
hands anxiously. "That's... that's it. You are married, just as it says."
    Josua leaned and kissed the astonished Vorzheva, then grabbed her wrist
and pulled her toward the paddock gate while Isorn hurried the rest of
their party after them.
    "Are you so anxious for your wedding night, Josua?" Fikolmij smirked.
He and his randwarders pushed toward the gate as the crowd shouted
questions at their thane. "You seem to be in a hurry to leave."
    "And you know why," Deornoth shouted at him, his palm itching on
the hilt of his sword. "You knew they were coming, didn't you? You
treacherous dog!"
    "Watch your tongue, little man," Fikolmij growled. "I only said I
would not hinder your going. I sent word to the king's men long ago---in
the hour when you first crossed over into my Thrithings." He laughed
heartily. "So I broke no promises. But if you wish to fight my men and
me before the Erkynlanders get here, come ahead. Otherwise, you had
better get on your new ponies and ride away."
    Vorzheva pulled away from Josua as they passed through the gate and
into the crush of Thrithings-folk. She reached her father in a few steps and
slapped him stingingly across the face.
    "You killed my mother," she shouted, "but someday I will kill you!"
Before he could grab her, she sprang back to Josua's side. Naidel whisked
out of the prince's sheath and swayed menacingly, a flickering tongue of
light beneath the dim sky. Fikolmij stared at Josua, eyes bulging, face
crimson with rage. With a visible effort, the March-thane subdued his
anger and contemptuously turned his back.


420                                    Tad Williams

    "Go, ride for your lives," he growled. "I do not break my word over a
woman's feeble blows."
    Hotvig followed as they hustled toward the paddock where the horses
were waiting. "The thane was right about one thing, Josua, Vorzheva,"
he called. "You must indeed ride for your lives. You have an hour's start
and your horses are rested, so all is not lost. Some of the others will help
me slow them down."
 Deornoth stared. "You'll... ? But Fikolmij wants us caught."
    Hotvig shook his head roughly. "Not all favor the March-thane. Where
do you go?"
    Josua thought for a moment. "Please do not let our enemies hear of this,
Hotvig." He lowered his voice a little. "We go north of where the rivers
meet, to a place called the Stone of Farewell."
    The Thrithings-man looked at him strangely. "I have heard something
of it," he said. "Go swiftly, then. It is possible we will see each other
again." Hotvig turned and gave Vorzheva a long look, then bowed his
head briefly. "Make these people know that not all Thrithings-folk are like
your father." Hotvig turned and walked away.
 "No more time to talk!" Josua cried. "To horse!"

    The outermost grazing lands of the wagon-camp were disappearing
behind them. Despite the injured and inexperienced riders, the long strides
of Vinyafod and his fellows ate up the ground. The grass flew away
beneath their hooves.
    "This is becoming sickeningly familiar," Josua shouted across to Deornoth
and Isorn.
 "What?"
    "Running! Pursued by superior forces!" Josua waved his arm. "I am
tired of showing my backside, whether to my brother or the Storm King's
minions!"
    Deornoth looked up at the clotted sky, then over his shoulder. Only a few
lone cows dotted the rearward horizon: there was no sign of pursuing riders.
"We must find a place to make our stronghold, Prince Josua!" he called.
    "That's right!" Isorn shouted. "People will come flocking to your
banner then, you'll see!"
    "And how will they find us?" Josua called back with a mocking smile.
"These people, how will they find us?"
    "They will, somehow," Isorn shouted, "---everybody else does!" He
whooped with laughter. The prince and Deornoth joined in. Vorzheva
and the others stared at them as if they were mad.
 "Ride on!" Josua cried. "I am married and an outlaw!"

    The sun made no clear appearance all day. When the dim light at last
began to wane and the pall of approaching evening spread across the
stormy sky, the prince's party chose a spot and made camp.


STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                421

    They had ridden due north from the wagon-city until they reached the
Ymstrecca in early afternoon, crossing the river at a muddy ford whose
banks were pockmarked with hoofprints. Josua had decided that travel-
ing eastward would be safer on the far side of the Ymstrecca, where they
would be within an hour's swift ride to the forest. If Fengbald continued
to pursue them, they would at least have a chance to spur toward the dark
trees and perhaps evade the superior force in Aldheorte's tangled depths.
    Despite this caution, there had been no sign of the High King's horsemen
all afternoon. The night's watches also passed uneventfully. After breaking
their fast at sunrise on dried meat and bread, they were mounted and on
their way. They kept their pace swift, but fear of pursuit was lessening by
the hour: if Hotvig and others had done something to slow Fengbald, they
seemed to have made a good job of it. The only real misfortune was
the suffering of those who were unaccustomed to riding on horseback. The
cold, gray morning was full of regretful noises as they rode on into
the east.

    On the second day's journey across the green but comfortless land, the
travelers began to see large roofed wagons and blowsy cottages of mud
and sticks dotted along the Ymstrecca's banks. In two or three places a
few huts had even grown together in a tiny settlement, like slow-moving
beasts seeking each other's company upon the dark plain. The chill grass-
lands were thick with mist and the travelers could not see far or clearly,
but the inhabitants of these huddling-spots did not seem to be Thrithings-
folk.
    "Hotvig spoke aright," Josua mused as they passed by one such settle-
ment. A handful of dim figures bobbed in the gray ribbon of the Ymstrecca
that wound beside the hutsmsettlers casting their fish nets. "I think they
are Erkynlanders. See, that cottage has a holy Tree painted on its side! But
why are they here? Our folk have never lived in this land."
    "Upheaval, crops ruined," Strangyeard said. "Goodness, how people
must be suffering in Erchester! Terrible!"
    "They are more likely God-fearing folk who know Elias deals with
devils," Gutrun said. She clasped Leleth tighter against her considerable
bosom, as though to protect the child from the High King's communicants.
    "Should we not tell them who you are, sire?" Deornoth asked. "There
is safety in numbers, and we have been few for very long. Besides, if they
are Erkynlanders, you are their rightful prince."
    Josua gazed at the distant camp, then shook his head. "They may have
come out here to escape all princes, rightful or otherwise. Also, if we are
followed, why put innocents in danger by giving them knowledge of our
names and destination? No, as you said, when we have a stronghold we
will make ourselves known. They can then come to us if they wish, and
not because we have swept down on them with swords and horses."


422                                    Tad Williams

    Deornoth kept his expression carefully neutral, but inside he was disap-
pointed. They were in dire need of allies. Why did Josua insist on being so
damnably careful and correct? Some things about his prince, it was obvi-
ous, would never change.

    As the riders continued across the brooding steppe, the weather grew
steadily worse, as though they were abroad at the turning of winter
instead of the earliest days of Anitul-month in what should be high
summer. Flurries of snow came riding on the back of the north wind, and
the impossibly broad sky had gone a perpetual gray, dreary as fireplace
ash.
    Even as the landscape on either side grew more dismal and un~viting,
the travelers began to encounter larger settlements along the Ymstrecca's
banks, settlements that seemed not to have grown so much as accumu-
lated. As the river carried brambles and sticks and silt before sloughing
them off at convenient sandbars, so the very substance of these settle-
ments, both people and materials, seemed to have arrived in this strange
and only slightly hospitable place by chance, lodging as in some narrow
spot while the force that had carried them so far swept on without them.
    Josua's people rode silently past these tiny, ramshackle hamlets, embry-
onic towns almost as forbidding as the land itself, each made up of perhaps
a dozen crude shelters. Few living things could be seen outside the flimsy
walls, but wisps of smoke from their cooking fires twined on the wind.
    A second, third, and fourth night beneath the cloud-hidden stars took
the prince's exiles to the edge of the Steffiod river-valley. The evening of
the fifth day brought more snow and bitter cold, but the darkness also
gleamed with lights: torches and campfires, hundreds of fires that filled the
neck of the valley like a bowl of gems. The travelers had found the largest
settlement yet, a near-city of flimsy shelters nestled in the trough of the
shallow valley where the Ymstrecca and the Steffiod came together. After
a long journey azross the empty plain, it was a heartening sight.

    "Still we go like thieves, Prince Josua," Deornoth whispered crossly.
"You are the son of Prester John, my lord. Why must we skulk into this
crofter's clutter actingmand looking--like footpads?"
    Josua smiled. He had not changed his travel-stained Thrithings clothes,
although one of the things he had bartered for had been extra garments.
"You are no longer begging my pardon for your forwardness as once as
you once did, Deornoth. No, do not apologize. We have been through too
much together for me to disapprove. You are right, we are not coming
down into this place as a prince and his courtmwe make a sorry court, in
any case. We shall instead find out what we can and not put our women



and young Leleth and the rest in any unnecessary danger." He turned to
Isorn, who was the third and to this point quietest member of the trio. "If
anything, we will want to allay suspicion that we are anything but ordi-
nary travelers. You, Isorn, look especially well-fed: your size alone might
make some of these poor folk afraid." He chuckled and poked the brawny
young Rimmersman in the side. Isorn, taken unawares by the prince's
sudden lightheartedness, stumbled and almost fell.
    "I cannot make myself small, Josua," he grunted. "Be thankful I am not
as big as my father, or your poor folk might run screaming into the night
at the sight of me."
    "Ah, how I miss Isgrimnur," Josua said. "May the Aedon indeed look
after your father, that good man, and bring him back to us safety."
    "My mother misses him very much and fears for him," Isorn said
quietly, "but she does not say so." His good-natured face was solemn.
    Josua looked at him keenly. "Yes, your family is not one for breast-
beating."
    "All the same," Deornoth suddenly said, "the duke can certainly make a
ruckus when he is displeased! I remember when he first found out that
Skali was coming to King John's funeral. He threw a chair through Bishop
Domitis' screen and broke it to bits! Ouch.t Damn me!" Laughing, Deornoth
tripped on a hummock in the darkness. Tonight's misted moon was
stinting with her light. "Hold the torch closer, Isorn. Why are we walking
and leading our horses, in any case?"
      "Because if you break a leg, you can ride," the prince said dryly. "If
your new mount Vildalix breaks his, will you carry him?"  Deornoth granted the point grudgingly.
    Talking quietly of Isorn's father and his legendary temper--the expres-
sion of which was almost always followed, as soon as the duke calmed
down, by horrified apologies--they made their way down the grassy slope
and toward the lights of the nearest fires. The rest of their party had built
camp at the valley's edge; the fire Duchess Gutrun tended was a shrinking
beacon on the high ground behind them.
    A gang of shivering, starveling dogs barked and scattered as the three-
some approached the settlement. A few shadowy figures looked up from
their fires or stood cross-armed in the door-flaps of shabby huts, watching
the strangers pass, but if there was any sense that Josua and his comrades
did not belong, no one challenged them. From the snippets of speech they
picked up as they passed, it was clear that these settlers were indeed
mostly Erkynlanders, speaking both the old country speech and Westerling.
Here and there a Hernystiri burr could be heard as well.
     A woman stood in the open space between two houses, talking to her
 neighbor about the rabbit her son had brought home and how they had
 steamed it with sourgrass for Hlafmansa. It was odd, Deornoth thought,
 to hear people speaking of such mundane things here in the mist of the

t'


424                                    Tad Williams

empty grassland, as if there might be a church hidden behind a rock where
they would go for the morning prayer, or an ostler's shop under a leaf
where they could buy beer to drink with their rabbit stew.
    The woman, of middle years, red-faced and raw-boned, turned at their
approach and surveyed them with a look of mixed apprehension and
interest. Deornoth and Isom stepped to one side to pass around her, [but
Josua halted.
    "We wish you a pleasant evening, goodwife," the prince said, inclining
his head in a sort of bow. "Do you know where we could get a bit of
food? We are travelers and have good money to pay. Has someone got
something to sell?"
    The woman looked him over carefully, then turned an eye on his
companions. "There are no taverns and no inns here," she said grimly.
"Everyone keeps what they have."
    Josua nodded slowly, as if sifting particles of purest golden wisdom
from her discourse. "And what is the name of this place?" he asked. "It is
not on any map."
      "Shouldn't think so," she snorted. "Wasn't here two summers ago. It
doesn't have a name, not truly, but some call it Gadrinsett."
  "Gadrinsett," Josua repeated. "Gathering-place."
    "Not that anyone's gathering for anything." She made a face. "Just can't
go any farther."
  "And why is that?" Josua asked.
    The woman ignored this last question, looking the prince up and down
once more in a calculating manner. "Here," she said at last, "if you want
food and you'll pay for it, I might be able to do something for you. Show
me your money first."
    Josua showed her a handful of cintis and quinis-pieces that he had
brought in his purse out of Naglimund. The woman shook her head.
     "Can't take the bronze. Some folk farther along the river might trade
 for the silver, so I'll take a chance on one o' them. D'you have aught else
 to trade? Leather straps from broken saddle? Buckles? Extra clothes?" She
 looked at Josua's outfit and smirked. "No, I doubt you've got extra
 clothes. Come on then, I'll give you some soup and you can tell me any
 news." She waved to her friend--who had remained at a safe distance,
 watching the whole exchange open-mouthed--then led them back through
 the cluster of huts.
     The woman's name was Ielda, and although she mentioned several
 times that her man might return at any moment, Deornoth guessed that
 this was mostly to forestall any thoughts of robbery that three strangers
 might have; he saw no sign of any living husband around her camp, which
 centered around an outdoor fire and small, rickety cottage. She did have
 several children, their genders somewhat blurred by dirt and evening
 darkness. These came out to watch the prince and his friends with the


STONE OF FAREWELL

425

same wide-eyed attention they might have given to a snake swallowing a
frog.
    After receiving a quinis-piece, which immediately vanished into her
dress, Ielda poured them each a bowl of thin soup, then procured from
somewhere ajar of beer that she said her man had brought with him from
Falshire where they had previously lived. Seeing that jar hardened in
Deornoth's mind the notion that her husband was dead: what man could
live in this Godforsaken hole, yet leave beer so long undrunk?
    Josua thanked her gravely. The three of them passed the jar around
several times before thinking to ask Ielda if she would like some herself.
She accepted with a gracious nod and took several healthy swallows. Her
children discussed this among themselves in a strange pidgin language
consisting mostly of grunts, a few recognizable words, and repeated
cuffings to the head and shoulders.
    The pleasures of company and conversation soon began to work on
Ielda. Reserved at first, before long she was holding forth quite knowl-
edgeably on everything there was to know about Gadrinsett and her
fellow squatters. Untutored, she nevertheless had a sly wit, and although
the travelers were chiefly interested in finding the way to their destination--
Gelo~'s instructions had not been very precise--they found themselves
enjoying Ielda's imitations of her various neighbors.
    Like many of Gadrinsett's other inhabitants, Ielda and her family had
fled Falshire when Fengbald and the Erkynguard had burned down the
city's wool district--a punishment for the resistance of the wool mer-
chants' guild to one of Ehas' less popular proclamations. Ielda also ex-
plained that Gadrinsett was even larger than Josua's folk had first guessed:
it continued for a way down the valley, she said, but the hills loomed high
enough that the camp fires at the far end were blocked from view.
    The reason it was the stopping place for so many, Ielda said, was that
the land beyond the spot where the Steffiod and Ymstrecca joined was
ill-omened and dangerous.
    "Full of fairy-rings it is," she said earnestly, "and there are mounds
where spirits dance at night. That's why those folk that live in the
Thrithings leave us in peace--they wouldn't live here anyway." Her voice
dropped and her eyes grew large. "One great hill there is where witches
meet, full of terrible warlock-stones--worse even than Thisterborg by
Erchester, if you've heard tell of that evil place. Not far from it is a city
where devils once lived, an unholy, unnatural city. Terrible magicks is
what that land across the river's full of--some women here have had
children stolen away. One had a changeling left in return, pointed ears and
all!"
    "That warlock-hill sounds a fearsome place indeed," Josua said, an
expression of great seriousness on his long face. When the woman looked



426                                    Tad Williams

down at her lap, where she was mixing flour and water in a bowl, he
caught Deornoth's gaze and winked. "Where is it?"
    Ielda pointed into the darkness. "Straight that way, up the Steffiod.
You're wise to avoid it." She stopped, frowning. "And where are you
going, sirs?"
    Deornoth chimed in before Josua could speak. "Actually, we are travel-
ing knights who hope to lend our swords to a grand task. We have heard
that Prince Josua, the younger son of High King John the Presbyter, has
come here into the eastern lands, where he plots the overthrow of his
wicked brother, King Elias." Trying not to smile, Deornoth ign~red
Josua's irritated gestures. "We have come to join that noble cause.
                                                                                    ,-~

    Ielda, who had stopped kneading the dough for a moment to stare,
made a snorting noise and resumed her labor. "Prince Josua? Here on the
grasslands? That's a clever joke. Not that I wouldn't like to see something
done. Things just haven't been right since old Prester John died, bless
him." She made a stern face, but her eyes suddenly gleamed wetly. "It's
been hard for us all, so hard . . ."
    She steod abruptly and laid out the flattened balls of dough on a clean
heated stone at the edge of the fire; they began to quietly sizzle. "I'm just
going to see my friend," Ielda said, "and find out if she has a bit more beer
we can borrow. I won't tell her what you said about the prince, because
she'd just laugh. Watch those cakes close now while I go--they're for the
children to eat in the morning." She got up and walked out of the circle of
firelight, dabbing at her eyes with a dirty shawl.
  "What kind of foolishness is this, Deornoth?" Josua asked crossly.
    "But did you hear? People like this are waiting for you to do some-
thing. You are their prince." It seemed so obvious. Surely Josua could see?
    "Prince of what? Prince of ruins, prince of empty lands and grass? I
have nothing to offer these folk . . . yet." He got up and walked to the
edge of the camp. Ielda's children peered out at him, a cluster of white-
rimmed eyes gleaming in the darkened doorway.
    "But how will you gain anything without folk to follow you?" Isorn
asked. "Deornoth is right. If Fengbald now knows where we are, it is
only a matter of time until Elias brings his full anger to bear on us."
    "Suspicion may keep these people away from the Stone of Farewell, but
it will not keep Earl Guthwulf and the High King's army at bay," said
Deornoth.
    "If the king on the Dragonbone Chair is going to bring his armies down
on us," Josua replied hotly, throwing his hand up in a gesture of frustra-
tion, "a few hundred Gadrinsett-folk will be no more than feathers in a
gale against them. That is all the more reason not to drag them in. We few
at least can vanish into Aldheorte once more if we must, but these folk
cannot."


STONE OF FAREWELL

427

"Again we plan to retreat, Prince Josua," Deomoth rephed angrily.
"You are tired of it yourself--you said as much!"
    The three were still arguing when Ielda returned. They broke off into
guilty silence, wondering how much she might have heard. Their conver-
sation, however, was the last thing on her mind.
    "My cakes? she shrieked, then pulled them off the hot rock one after
the other, making little cries of pain as she burned her fingers. Each cake
was charred black as Pryrates' soul. "You monsters! How could you?
Talking all your high-flown nonsense about the prince, then letting my
cakes burn!" She turned and smacked ineffectually at Isorn's broad shoulders.
    "My apologies, goodwife Ielda," Josua said, producing another quinis-
piece. "Please take this and forgive us . . ."
    "Money!" she cried, even as she took the coin, "What about my cakes?
Will I give my children money to eat tomorrow morning when they are
crying!?" She snatched up a broom of bound twigs and swung lustily at
Deornoth's head, almost knocking him off the rock on which he sat. He
bounded quickly to his feet and joined Josua and Isorn in full retreat.
    "Don't come 'round here any more!" she shouted after them. "Swords-
for-hire indeed! Cake-burners! The prince is dead, my friend saidmand
your talk can't bring him back?
    Her angry cries slowly faded into the distance as Josua and his compan-
ions stumbled back to their horses and made their way out past the fringes
of Gadrinsett.
    "At least," Josua said after they had walked a while, "we have a good
idea of where the Stone of Farewell lies."
    "We learned more than that, Highness," Deornoth said, half-smiling.
"We saw how your name still inspires passion among your subjects."
    "You may be the Prince of Grass, Josua," Isorn added, "but you are
definitely not the King of Cakes."
    Josua looked at them both disgustedly. "I would appreciate," he said
slowly, "going back to camp in silence."



22

Through tile Sumtner Gate

ggIt ~,~ '~Ot a road that takes us there," Aditu said sternly. "Iris a
sort of song."
    Simon frowned in irritation. He had asked a simple question, but in her
maddening Sithi way, Jiriki's sister had once more given an answer that
was no answer. It was too cold to stand around talking nonsense. He tried
again.
    "If there's no road, it must still be in some direction. What direction is
it, then?"
 "In. Into the forest's heart."
    Simon peered up at the sun to try and orient himself. "So, it's . . . that
way?" He pointed south, the direction in which he had been traveling.
    "Not quite. Sometimes. But that would more often be when you
wished to enter through the Gate of Rains. That is not right at this time of
year. No, it is the Summer Gate that we seek, and that is a different song
altogether."
"You keep saying a song. How can you get to a thing by a song?"
"How... ?" She appeared to consider this carefully. She inspected
Simon. "You have a strange way of thinking. Do you know how to play
shent?"
 "No. What does that have to do with anything?"
    "You might be an interesting player--I wonder if anyone ever has
played with a mortal? None of my folk would ask such a question as you
did. I must teach you the rules."
    Simon grumbled his confusion, but Aditu lifted a slim-fingered hand to
halt his questions. She stood very quietly, her web of lavender hair
trembling in the breeze, everything else still; in her white clothing she
was nearly invisible against the snow drifts. She seemed to have fallen
asleep standing, like a stork swaying on one leg among the reeds, but her
lustrous eyes remained open. At last she began to breathe deeply, letting
the air out again with a chuffing hiss. The exhalations gradually became a

428


STONE OF FAREWELL

429

crooning, humming sound that hardly seemed to come from Aditu at all.
The wind, which had been a cold-fingered push on Simon's cheek, abruptly
changed direction.
    No, he realized a moment later, it was more than just an altering of the
wind. Rather, it seemed that the whole of creation had moved ever so
slightlyBa frightening sensation that brought on a moment of dizziness.
As a child he had sometimes whirled himself around and around in a
circle; when he stopped, the world would continue to reel about him. This
dizziness felt much like that, yet calmer, as though the world that spun
beneath his feet moved as deliberately as the unfolding petals of a flower.
    Aditu's wordless, airy drone solidified into a litany of unfamiliar Sithi
speech, then trailed off into silent breathing once more. The drab light
slipping down through the snowbound trees seemed to have gained some
warmer color, an infinitesimal shift of hue that leavened the gray with
blue and gold. The silence stretched.
    "Is this magic?" Simon heard his voice shatter the stillness like the
braying of a donkey. He immediately felt foolish. Aditu swung her head
to look at him, but her expression showed no anger.
    "I am not sure what you mean," she said. "It is how we fred a hidden
place, and Jao ~-Tinukai'i is indeed hidden. But there is no power in the
words themselves, if that is what you ask. They could be spoken in any
language. They help the searcher to remember certain signs, certain paths.
If that is not what you mean by 'magic,' I am sorry to disappoint you."
 She did not look very sorry. Her mischievous smile had come back.
    "I shouldn't have interrupted," Simon muttered. "I always asked my
friend Doctor Morgenes to show me magic. He never did." The thought
of the old man brought back a memory of a sunny morning in the
doctor's dusty chamber, the sound of Morgenes mumbling and musing
to himself while Simon swept. With that memory came a fierce pang of
regret. All those things were gone.
    "Morgenes ..." Aditu said musingly. "! saw him once, when he
visited my uncle in our lodge. He was a pretty young man."
    "Young man?" Simon stared again at her thin, waifiike face. "Doctor
Morgenes?"
    The Sitha suddenly became serious once more. "We should delay no
longer, Would you like me to sing the song in your tongue? It could cause
no harm that is worse than the trouble we are already brewing, you and
I."

"Trouble?" Confusion was piling on confusion, but Aditu had taken her
odd stance once more. He had a sudden feeling that he must speak
quickly, as though a door were being closed. "Yes, please, in my tongue!"
She settled on the balls of her feet, poised like a cricket on a branch.
After breathing measuredly for a moment, she again began to chant. The


430                                    Tad Williams

song slowly became recognizable, the clumsy, blocky sounds of Simon's
Westerling speech softening and turning liquid, the words running and
flowing together like melting wax.

"The Serpent's dreaming eye is green,"

she sang, her eyes fixed on the icicles that hung like jeweled pennants
from the branches of a dying hemlock. The fire absent from the muted
sun now burned in their scintillant depths.

"His track is moon-silver.
Only the Woman-with-a-net can see
The secret places that he goes . . ."

    Aditu's hand drifted out from her side and hung in the air for a long
moment before Simon realized that he was expected to take it. He grasped
her fingers in his gloved hand, but she pulled free. For a moment he
thought he had guessed wrong, that he had forced some unwanted, oafish
intimacy on this golden-eyed creature, but as her fingers flexed impa-
tiently he realized in a rush of confusing feelings that she wanted his bare
hand. He pulled his leather mitten off with his teeth, then clasped her
slender wrist with fingers warm and moist from their residence in the
glove. She gently but firmly pulled her wrist away, this time sliding her
hand against his own; her cool fingers curled around his. With a head-
shake like a cat awakened from a nap, she repeated the words she had
sung:

"The Serpent's dreaming eye is green,
His track is moon-silver.
Only the Woman-with-a-net can see
The secret places that he goes..."

    Aditu led him forward, ducking beneath the hemlock bough and its
burden of icicles. The stiff, snow-salted breeze that clawed at his face
brought tears into his eyes. The forest before him was suddenly distorted,
as though he were trapped inside one of the icicles, staring out. He heard
his boots crunching in the snow, but it seemed to be happening at a great
distance, as though his head floated treetop-high.

"Wind-child wears an indigo crown,

Aditu crooned. They walked, but if felt more like floating, or swimming.

"His boots are of rabbit skin.


    STONE OF FAREWELL

Invisible is he to Moon-mother's stare,
But she can hear his cautious breathing..."

431

    They turned and clambered down into what should have been a gulley
lined with evergreens; instead, to Simon's misted eyes the tree limbs
resembled shadowy arms reaching out to enfold the two travelers. Branches
swatted at his thighs as he passed, their scent spicy and strong. Sap-
covered needles clung to his breeches. The wind--which breathed
whisperingly among the swaying branches--was a little more moist, but
still shiveringly cold.

"... Yellow is the dust on old Tortoise's shell."

    Aditu paused before a bank of umber stone, which thrust from the
snow at the bottom of the guUey like the wall of a ruined house. As she
stood singing before it, the sunlight that fell through the trees abruptly
shifted its angle; the shadows in the crevices of stone deepened, then
overtopped their clefts like flooding rivers, sliding across the face of the
rock as though the hidden sun were plummeting swiftly toward its eve-
ning berth.

"He goes in deep places,"

she chanted,

"Bedded beneath the dry rock,
He counts his own heartbeats in chalky shadow..."

    They curved around the massive stone and suddenly found themselves
on a down-slanting bank. Smaller outcroppings of dusky rock, pale pink
and sandy brown, pushed up through the snowy ground. The trees that
loomed against the sky were a darker green here, and full of quiet birdsong.
Winter's bite was noticeably less.
    They had traveled, but it seemed they had also passed from one kind of
day to another, as though they somehow walked at right angles to the
normal world, moving unrestrainedly as the angels that Simon had been
told flew here and there at God's bidding. How could that be?
    Staring up past the trees into the featureless gray sky, Aditu's hand
clutched in his, Simon wondered if he might indeed have died. Might this
solemn creature beside him--whose eyes seemed fixed on things he could
not see--be escorting his soul to some final destination, while his lifeless
body lay somewhere in the forest, slowly vanishing beneath a blanket of
drifting snow?
 Is it warm in Heaven? he wondered absently.


432                                    Tad Williams

    He rubbed at his face with his free hand and felt the reassuring pain of
his chapped skin. In any case, it mattered little: he was going where this
one led him. His contented helplessness was such that he felt he could no
more remove his hand from hers than remove his head from his body.

"... Cloud-song waves a scarlet torch:
A ruby beneath a gray sea.
She smells of cedar bark,
And wears ivory at her breast..."

    Aditu's voice rose and fell, her song's slow, thoughtful cadence blend-
ing with the birdsong as the waters of one river would meld indistinguish-
ably into the flow of another. Each verse in the endless stream, each cycle
of names and colors, was a jeweled puzzle whose solution always seemed
to be at Simon's fingertips but never revealed itself. By the time he
thought he might be making sense of something, it was gone, and some-
thing new was dancing on the forest air.
    The two travelers passed from the bank of stones into deep shade,
entering a thicket of dark green hedges pearled with tiny white flowers.
The foliage was damp, the snow underfoot soggy and unstable. Simon
clasped Aditu's hand more firmly. He tried to wipe his eyes, which had
blurred again. The little white flowers smelled of wax and cinnamon.

"... The Otter's eye is pebble-brown.
He slides beneath ten wet leaves;
When he dances in diamond streams,
The Lantern-bearer laughs . . ."

    And now, joining with the rising and falling melody of Aditu's song
and the delicate trill of birds, came the sound of water splashing in shallow
pools, tuneful as a musical instrument made of fragile glass. Shimmering
light sparkled on melting snowdrops; as he listened in wonderment,
Simon looked all around at the starry gleam of sun through water. The
tree branches seemed to be dripping light.
    They walked beside a small but active stream whose joyful voice rever-
berated through the tree-pillared forest halls. Melting snow lay atop the
stones and rich black earth lay beneath the damp leaves. Simon's head was
whirling. Aditu's melody ran through all his thoughts, just as the stream
slid around and over the polished stones that made its bed. How long had
they been walking? It had seemed only a few steps at first, but now it
suddenly seemed they had marched for hours--days! And why was the
snow vanishing away? Just moments ago it had covered everything!
    Spring! he thought, and felt a nervous but exultant laughter bubbling
inside him I think we're walking into Spring!


STONE OF FAREWELL

433

    They strode on beside the stream. Aditu's music chimed on and on like
the water. The sun had vanished. Sunset was blooming in the sky like a
rose, singeing all of Aldheorte's leaves and branches and trunks with fiery
light, touching the stones with crimson. As Simon watched, the blaze
flared and died in the sky, then was swiftly supplanted by spreading
purple, which itself was devoured in turn by sable darkness. The world
seemed to be spinning faster beneath him, but he still felt firmly grounded:
one foot followed the other, and Aditu's hand was firm in his.

"... Stone-listener's mantle is black as jet,
His rings shine like stars,

    As she sang these words, a scattering of white stars indeed appeared
against the vault of the heavens. They blossomed and faded in a succession
of shifting patterns. Half-realized faces and forms coalesced, pricked in
starlight against the blackness, then dissolved again just as rapidly.

Nine he wears; but his naked finger
Lifts and tastes the southerly breeze . . ."

    As he walked beneath the velvet-black sky and wheeling stars, Simon
felt as if an entire lifetime might be passing with incredible swiftness;
simultaneously, the night journey seemed but a single moment of near-
infinite duration. Time itself seemed to sweep through him, leaving be-
hind a wild mixture of scents and sounds. Aldheorte had become a single
living thing that changed all around him as the deathly chill melted away
and the warmth came pushing through. Even in darkness he could sense
the immense, almost convulsive alterations.
    As they walked in bright starlight beside the chattering, laughing river,
Simon thought he could sense green leaves springing from bare boughs
and vibrant flowers forcing their way out of the frozen ground, fragile
petals unfurling like the wings of butterflies. The forest seemed to be
shaking off winter like a snake shrugging its old, useless skin.
    Aditu's song wound through everything like a single golden thread in a
tapestry woven of muted colors.

"... Violet are the shadows in Lynx's ears.
He hears the sun rising;
His tread sends the cricket to sleep,
And wakes the white rose..."

    Morning light began to permeate Aldheorte, spreading evenly, as though
it had no single source. The forest seemed alive, every leaf and branch
poised, waiting. The air was filled with a thousand sounds and numberless


434                                    Tad Williams

scents, with birdsong and bee-drone, the musk of living earth, the sweet
rot of toadstools, the dry charm of pollen. Unmuffled by clouds, the sun
climbed into a sky that showed purest pale blue between the towering
treetops.

"... Sky-singer's cape is buckled in gold,"

    Aditu sang triumphantly, and the forest seemed to throb around them
as though it had one vast and indivisible pulse.

"His hair is full of nightingale j~athers.
Every three paces he casts pearls behind,
And saf~on flowers before him . . ."

    She stopped in her tracks and released Simon's hand; his arm fell to his
side, hmp as a boned fish. Aditu stood on her toes and stretched, lifting
her upraised palms to the sun. Her waist was very slender.
    It took a long time before Simon could speak. "Are we..." he tried at
last, "are we... ?"
    "No, but we have traveled the most difficult part," she said, then
turned on him with a droll look. "I thought you would break my hand,
you clutched so hard."
    Simon remembered her calm, strong grip and thought how unlikely
that was. He smiled dazedly, shaking his head. "I have never ..." He
couldn't make the words come. "How far have we come?"
    She seemed to find this a surprising question and thought hard for
a moment. "Quite far into the forest," she said at last. "Quite far in."
    "Did you make the winter go away by magic?" he asked, turning in a
stumbling circle. On all sides the snow was gone. The morning light
knifed down through the trees and splashed on the crush of damp leaves
underfoot. A spider web quivered, afire in a column of sunlight.
      "The winter has not gone away," she said. "We have gone away from
the winter."  "What?"
    "The winter you speak of is false--as you know. Here, in the forest's
true heart is a place the storm and cold have not penetrated."
    Simon thought he understood what she was saying. "So you are keep-
ing the winter away by magic."
    Aditu frowned. "That word again. Here the world dances its true
dance. That which would change such a truth is 'magic'---dangerous
magic--or so it seems to me." She turned away, obviously tiring of the
subject. There was little of imposture in Aditu's character, at least when it
was a matter of her time being wasted in niceties. "We are almost there
now, so there is no need to rest. Are you hungry or thirsty?"


STONE OF FAREWELL

435

    Simon realized that he was ravenous, as if he had not eaten for days.
"Yes! Both."
    Without another word, Aditu slipped between the trees and vanished,
leaving Simon standing alone by the stream. "Stay," she called, her voice
echoing so that it seemed to come from every side at once. A few
moments later she reappeared with a reddish sphere held delicately in each
hand. "Kraile," she said. "Sunfruits. Eat them."
    The first sunfruit proved sweet and full of yeUowy juice, with a spicy
aftertaste that made him quickly bite into the second. By the time he had
finished both, his hunger was pleasantly blunted.
    "Now, come," she said. "I would like to reach Shao Irigu by noon
today."
  "What's 'Shao Irigfi'mand what day is it today, anyway?"
    Aditu looked annoyed, if such a mundane expression could be said to
exist on so exotic a face. "Shao Irig6 is the Summer Gate, of course. As
for the other, I cannot do all the measurements. That is for those like First
Grandmother. I think you have a moon-span you call 'Ahn-ee-tool'?"
 "Anitul is a month, yes."
"That is as much as I can say. It is that 'month,' by your reckoning."
Now it was Simon's turn to be annoyed: he could have told her that
much himselfmalthough months did tend to sneak past when one was on
the road. What he had been hoping to discover, in a roundabout way, was
how long had it taken them to get here. It would have been easy to ask
straight out, of course, but somehow he knew that the answer Aditu gave
him would not be very satisfying.
    The Sitha-woman moved forward. Simon scrambled after her. De-
spite his irritation, he more than half-hoped she would ask for his hand
again, but that part of the journey seemed to be over. Aditu picked her
way down the slope beside the stream without looking back to see if he
was following.
    Nearly deafened by the cheerful cacophony of birds in the trees over-
head, bewildered by all that had happened, Simon opened his mouth to
complain about her evasions, then stopped suddenly in his tracks, shamed
by his own short-sightedness. His weariness and crossness abruptly fell
away, as though he had sloughed off a heavy blanket of snow dragged
with him out of winter. This was a wild sort of magic, whatever Aditu
said! To have been in a deadly storm--a storm that covered all the
northern world, as far as he could tell--and then to follow a song into
sunlight and clear skies! This was as good as anything Simon had ever
heard in one of Shem Horsegroom's stories. This was an adventure even
Jack Mundwode never had. Simon the scullion was going to the Kingdom
of the Fair Folk!
 He hastened after her, chortling. Aditu looked back at him curiously.


436                                    Tad Williams

     As the weather had changed during their strange journey, so, too, had
 the vegetation: the evergreens and low shrubs in which Simon had been
 snowbound and lost had given way to oak and birch and white ash, their
 interlaced branches bound with flowering creepers, making an overhead
 canopy colorful as a stained glass ceihng but far more delicate. Ferns and
 wood sorrel blanketed the stones and fallen trees, covering Aldheorte's
 floor with a bumpy counterpane of green. Mushrooms crouched hiding in
 pools of shadow like deserting soldiers, while other pale but oddly beauti-
 ful fungi clung to the trunks of trees like the steps of spiraling stair-
 cases. The morning sun sprinkled all with a hght hke fine silver and
 gold dust.
     The stream had cut a gentle gorge in its passage, winding down into a
 valley whose bottom was obscured by close-leaning trees. As Simon and
 Aditu picked their way carefully over the slippery rocks that lined the
 gorge, the stream filled the air around them with fine spray. The water-
 course splashed into a series of narrow ponds that grew successively
 larger down the hillside, each one spilling over into the one below. The
 ponds were overhung by aspen and drooping willows, the surrounding
 stones slickly furred in rich green moss.
   Simon sat down on one to rest his ankles and catch his breath.
 "We will be there before too much longer," Aditu said, almost kindly.
 'Tm fine." He stretched out his legs be~re him, staring critically at his
 cracked boots. Too much snow had ruined the leather--but why should
 he worry about that now? "I'm fine," he repeated.
       Aditu sat down on the stone beside him and looked up to the skies.

 There was something quite marvelous about her face, something that he
  had never seen in her brother, despite the distinct familial resemblance:
  Jiriki had been very interesting to look at, but Simon thought that Aditu
  was lovely.
   "Beautiful," he murmured.
     "What?" Aditu turned to look at him questioningly, as though she did
 not know the word.
     "Beautiful," Simon repeated. "Everything is very beautiful here." He
 cursed himself for a coward and took a deep breath. "You are beautiful,
 too, Lady," he finally added.
     Aditu stared at him for a moment, her golden eyes puzzled, her mouth
 creased in what seemed a tiny frown. Then she abruptly burst into a peal
 of hissing laughter. Simon felt himself redden.
     "Don't look so angry." She laughed again. "You are a very beautiful
 Snowlock, Seoman. I am glad you are happy." Her swift touch on his
 hand was hke ice on a hot forehead. "Come," Aditu said, "we will go on
 now."
  The water, uninterested in their doings, continued on its own way,


STONE OF FAREWELL

437

belling and splashing beside them as they made their way down toward
the valley. Scrambling over the rocks as he struggled to keep up with
light-stepping Aditu, Simon wondered if just this once he might actually
have said the right thing. She certainly didn't seem angry at his forward-
ness. Still, he resolved to continue thinking carefully before he spoke.
These Sithi were damnably unpredictable!
    When they had nearly reached level ground, they stopped before a pair
of towering hemlocks whose trunks seemed vast enough to be the col-
umns upholding Heaven. Where these mighty trees thrust up between
their smaller neighbors into unshadowed sunshine, tangled nets of flower-
ing creepers grew like an arbor between the two trunks, trailing blossom-
laden vines that hung almost to the ground and quivered in the wind. The
grumble of bees was loudest from the flowers, but they swarmed every-
where among the creepers, stolid laborers in gold and black, wings
glistening.
    "Stop," Aditu said. "Do not so lightly pass through the Summer
Gate."
    Despite the power and beauty of the great hemlocks, Simon was sur-
prised. "This is the gate? Two trees?"
    Aditu looked very serious. "We left all monuments of stone behind
when we fled Asu'a the Eastward-Looking, Seoman. Now, Jiriki bade me
tell you something before you entered Shao Irigfi. My brother said that
no matter what may occur later, you have been given the rarest of all
honors. You have been brought to a place in which no mortal has ever
set foot. Do you understand that? No mortal has ever walked in beneath
this gate."
    "Oh?" Simon was startled by her words. He looked around quickly,
fearing he might see some disapproving audience. "But ... but I just
wanted someone to help me. I was starving..."
     "Come," she said, "Jiriki will be waiting." Aditu took a step forward,
 then turned. "And do not look so worried," she smiled. "It is a great
 honor, it is true, but you are Hikka Staja--an Arrow-Bearer. Jiriki does
 not break the oldest rules for just anyone."
     Simon was passing beneath the great trees before he understood what
 Aditu had said. "Break the rules?"
     Aditu was moving quickly now, almost skipping, swift and sure-footed
 as a deer as she made her way along the path that stretched downhill from
 the Summer Gate. The forest here seemed just as wild but more accom-
 modating. Trees as old and grand as these could never have known the
 touch of an axe, yet they stopped just short of the path; their hanging
 branches would not brush the head of any but the tallest traveler.
     They followed this winding path for no little way, traveling on a rise
 just a short distance above the floor of the valley. The forest was so


438                                    Tad Williams

thick-shrouded with trees on either side of the path that Simon could
never see more than a stone's throw before him, and began to feel as
though he stood in one place while an endless succession of mossy trunks
marched past him. The air had become positively warm. The wild rivert
which, judging from its noisy voice, snaked a parallel course along the
valley floor not a hundred cubits awaytffiled the forest air with delicate
mist. The sleepy hum of bees and other insects washed over Simon like a
healthy swallow of Binabik's hunt-hquor.
    He had almost forgotten himself entirely, and was dreamily following
Aditu by sheer repetition of left foot, right foot, left foot, when the
Sitha-woman drew him to a halt. To their left the curtain of trees fell
away, revealing the valley floor.
    "Turn," she said, suddenly whispering. "Remember, Seoman, you are
the first of your kind to see Jao ~-Tinukai'i--the Boat on the Ocean of
Trees."

    It was nothing like a boat, of course, but Simon understood the name in
an instant. Stretched between treetop and ground, and from trunk to
trunk and bough to bough, the billowing sheets of cloth in a thousand
diverse colors resembled at first sight nothing so much as exquisite sails~
indeed, for that first moment the entire valley floor seemed in truth a vast
and incredible ship.
    Some of these expanses of brilliantly gleaming cloth had been stretched
and tented to make roofs. Others twined about the trunks of trees, or
spanned from bough to ground to form translucent walls. Some simply
heaved and snapped in the wind, bound to the highest branches with shiny
cords and allowed to wave. The whole city undulated with every shift of
the wind, like a seaweed forest on the ocean floor bowing gracefully with
the tide.
    The cloth and binding cords mirrored with subtle differences the hues of
the forest all around, so that in places the additions were barely discernible
from that which had grown naturally. In fact, as Simon peered closer,
overwhelmed with Jao ~-Tinukai'i's subtle and fragile beauty, he saw that
in many places the forest and city appeared to have truly been shaped as
one, so that they blended together with unearthly harmony. The river
which meandered along the center of the valley floor was more subdued
here, but still full of relentless, ringing music; the rippling light it reflected
onto the city's shifting facades added to the illusion of watery depth.
Simon thought he could also see the silvery tracks of other streams
weaving in and out through the trees.
    The forest floor between the houses--if such they were--was covered
with thick greenery, mostly springy clover. This grew like a carpet
everywhere but on the paths of dark earth that had been lined with


STONE OF FAREWELL

439

shimmering white stone. A few of the gracefully haphazard bridges that
spanned the waterway were also constructed of this same stone. Beside
these paths, strange birds with fanlike, iridescent tails of green and blue
and yellow strutted or flapped unsteadily back and forth between earth
and the lowest branches of the surrounding trees, all the while uttering
harsh and somewhat foolish-sounding cries. There were other flashes of
incandescent color among the upper branches, birds as brilliantly-feathered
as the fantails but considerably more mellifluous of voice.
    Warm, gentle winds lifted an essence of spices and tree sap and summer
grass to Simon's nose; the avian choir fluted a thousand different songs
that somehow fit together like a terrifyingly beautiful puzzle. The marvel-
ous city stretched away before him into the sunlit forest, a Heaven more
welcoming than any he had ever envisioned. "It's... wonderful," Simon breathed.
 "Come," Aditu said. "Jiriki awaits you in his house."
    She beckoned. When he didn't move, she gently took his hand and led
him. Simon stared around in delight and awe as they followed a cross-trail
down off the rise and onto the outermost path of the valley floor. The
rusding of silken folds and the murmuring river blended their melodies
together beneath the birdsong, creating a new sound that was altogether
different, but still infinitely satisfying.
    There was a long time of looking, smelling, and listening before Simon
ever began thinking once more. "Where is everyone?" he asked at last. In
all of the city within his sight, a space easily twice the size of Battle Square
back in Erchester, he could not see a single living soul.
    "We are a solitary folk, Seoman," Aditu said. "We stay largely to
ourselves, except at certain times. Also, it is midday now, when many of
our people like to leave the city and go out walking. I am surprised we
saw no one near the Pools."
    Despite her reasonable words, Simon thought he sensed something
troubling the Sitha, as though she herself was not quite sure she spoke the
truth. But he had no way of knowing: expressions or behaviors that
meant something definite among those with whom Simon had grown up
were almost useless as standards by which to judge any of the Sitha he had
met. Nevertheless, he felt fairly sure that something was troubling his
guide, and that it might very well be the emptiness Simon had noticed.
    A large wildcat strode imperiously onto the pathway before them. For a
startled moment, Simon felt his heart speed to a frenzied pace. Despite the
creature's size, Aditu did not break stride, walking toward it as calmly as
if it were not there. With a flip of its stubby tail, the wildcat abruptly
bounded away and vanished into the undergrowth, leaving only the bounc-
ing fronds of a fern to show it had existed at all.
 Clearly, Simon realized, birds were not the only creatures who roamed


440                                    Tad Williams

unhindered through Jao ~-Tinukai'i. Beside the path, the coats of foxes--
seldom seen at night, let alone bright noon--glimmered like flames in the
tangled brush. Hares and squirrels stared incuriously at the pair as they
passed. Simon felt quite sure that if he leaned down toward any of them
they would move unhurriedly out of his fumbling reach, discommoded
for a moment but utterly unafraid.
    They crossed a bridge over one of the river-forks, then turned and
followed the watercourse down a long corridor of willows. A ribbon of
white cloth wound in and out among the trees on their left, wrapped
about trunks and looped over branches. As they passed farther down the
row of willow sentries, the initial ribbon was joined by another. These
two snaked in and out, crossing behind and before each other as though
engaged in a kind of static dance.
    Soon more white ribbons of different widths began to appear, woven
into the growing pattern in knots of fantastic intricacy. These weavings at
first made up only simple forms, but soon Simon and Aditu began to pass
increasingly complex pictures that hung in the spaces framed by the
willow trunks: blazing suns, cloudy skies overhanging oceans covered
with jagged waves, leaping animals, figures in flowing robes or ffiigreed
armor, all formed by interlaced knots. As the first plain pictures became
entire tapestries of tangled light and shadow, Simon understood that he
watched an unfolding story. The ever-growing tapestry of knotted fabric
portrayed people who loved and fought in a gardenlike land of incredible
strangeness, a place where plants and creatures thrived whose forms seemed
obscure even though precisely rendered by the unknown weaver's master-
ful, magical hands.
    Then, as the tapestry eloquently showed, something began to go wrong.
Only ribbons of white were used, but still Simon could almost see the
dark stain that began to spread through the people's lives and hearts, the
way it sickened them. Brother fought brother, and what had been a place
of unmatched beauty was blighted beyond hope. Some of the people
began building ships . . .
    "Here," Aditu said, startling him. The tapestry had led them to a
whirlpool swirl of pale fabric, an inward-leading spiral that appeared to
lead up a gentle hill. On the right, beside this odd door, the tapestry
leaped away across the river, trembling in the bright air like a bridge of
silk. Where the taut ribbons of the tapestry vaulted the splashing stream,
the knots portrayed eight magnificent ships at sea, cresting woven waves.
The tapestry touched the willows on the far side and turned, winding back
up the watercourse in the direction from which Simon and Aditu had
come, stretching away from tree to tree until it could no longer be seen.
    Aditu's hand touched his arm and Simon shivered. Walking in some-
one else's dream, he had forgotten himself. He followed her through




STONE OF FAREWELL

441

the doorway and up a set of stairs carefully cut into the hillside, then
paved with colorful smooth stones. Like everything else, the corridor
through which they walked was made of ripphng, translucent cloth: the
walls were white near the door, gradually darkening to pale blue and
turquoise. In her white clothes Aditu reflected this shifting light, so that as
she walked before him, she, too, seemed to change color.
    Simon trailed his fingers along the wall and found that it was as exqui-
sitely soft as it looked, but curiously strong; it shd beneath his hand as
smoothly as gold wire, yet was warm to the touch as the down of a baby
bird and quivered with the wind's every breath.
    The featureless corridor soon opened up into a large, high-ceihnged
room that, but for the instability of its walls, looked much like a room in
any fme house. The turquoise hue of the cloth near the entrance shaded
imperceptibly into ultramarine. A low table of dark wood stood near one
wall, with cushions scattered all around it. On the table sat a board painted
in many colors; Simon thought it a map until he recognized it as a place to
play the game called shent, which he had seen Jiriki do in his hunting
lodge. He remembered Aditu's challenge. The pieces, he guessed, were in
the intricate wooden box sitting beside it on the table top. The only other
item on the table was a stone vase containing a single branch tom a
flowering apple tree.
    "Sit down, Snowlock, please." Aditu waved her hand. "I believe Jiriki
has a visitor."
    Before Simon could follow her suggestion, the room's far wall began to
billow. A section flew up as if it had torn free. Someone dressed in bright
green, whose braided hair was a jarringly contrasting shade of red, stepped
through.
    Simon was surprised at how quickly he recognized Jiriki's uncle,
Khendraja'aro. The Sitha was muttering gruffly in what seemed to be
fury--seemed, because Simon could see no discernible emotion on his face
at all. Then Khendraja'aro looked up and spotted Simon. His angular face
blanched, as though the blood had run out of him like water from an
upended pail.
    "Sudhoda'ya! Isi-isi'ye-a Sudhoda'ya.t'' he gasped, his voice full of an
anger so astonished as to seem like something else altogether.
    Khendraja'aro dragged his slender, beringed hand slowly across his eyes
and face as if trying to wipe away the sight of gangly Simon. Unable to do
so, Jiriki's uncle hissed in almost feline alarm, then turned on Aditu and
began to speak to her in rapid, quietly liquid Sithi that nonetheless strength-
ened the suggestion of spitting rage. Aditu absorbed his tirade expression-
lessly, her deep, gold-shot eyes wide but unfrightened. When Khendraja'aro
had finished, she answered him calmly. Her uncle turned and regarded
Simon once more, making a series of strangely sinuous gestures with his
splayed fingers as he listened to her measured response.


442                                    Tad Williams

    Khendraja'ro took a deep breath, letting a preternatural calm overtake
him until he stood motionless as a pillar of stone. Only his bright eyes
seemed alive, burning in his face like lamps. After several moments of this
overwhelming stillness he walked from the room without a word or
sideways glance, padding silently down the corridor to the door of Jiriki's
house.
 Simon was shaken by the unmistakable force of Khendraja'aro's anger.
 "You said something about breaking rules... ?" he asked.
    Aditu smiled strangely. "Courage, Snowlock. You are Hikka Staja."
She brushed her fingers through her hair, a curiously human gesture, then
pointed to the flap where her uncle had entered. "Let us go in to my
brother."
    They stepped through into sunlight. This room, too, was made of
fluttering cloth, but the fabric of one long wall had been rolled and drawn
up to the ceiling; beyond this opening the hill dropped away for some
dozen paces. Below lay a shallow, peaceful backwater of the same river
that passed before Jiriki's front door, a wide pond with a narrow inlet
neck, surrounded by reeds and quivering aspens. Little red-and-brown
birds hopped about on the rocks at the center of the pond, like conquerors
strutting the battlements of a captured stronghold. At pond's edge a bale
of turtles basked in the sun streaming down through the trees.  "In the evening the crickets are quite splendid here."
    Simon turned to see Jiriki, who had apparently been standing in the
shadows at the opposite end of the room.
"Welcome to Jao 6-Tinukai'i, Seoman," he said. "We are well-met."
"Jiriki!" Simon sprang forward. Without thinking, he grasped the slen-
der Sitha in a tight embrace. The prince tensed for a moment, then
relaxed. His firm hand patted Simon's back. "You never said farewell,"
Simon said, then pulled away, embarrassed.
    "I did not," Jiriki agreed. He wore a long, loose robe of some thin blue
cloth, belted at the waist with a wide red band; his feet were bare. His
lavender hair descended in braids before either ear, and was gathered atop
his head with a comb of pale, polished wood.
    "I would have died in the woods if you had not helped me," Simon said
abruptly, then gave an awkward laugh. "If Aditu had not come, that is."
He turned to look at her; Jiriki's sister was watching intently. She nodded
her head in acknowledgment. "I would have died." He realized as he
spoke that it was absolutely true. He had begun the process of dying when
Aditu had found him, growing more distant each day from the business of
life.
    "So." Jiriki folded his arms before him. "I am honored I could help. It
still does not discharge my obligation, however. I owed you two lives.
You are my Hikka Staja, Seoman, and so you will remain." He looked
over to his sister. "The butterflies have gathered."


STONE OF FAREWELL

443

 Aditu replied in their lyric tongue, but Jiriki held up his hand.
 "Speak in a way that Seoman can understand. He is my guest."
    She stared at him for a moment. "We met Khendraja'aro. He is not
happy."
    "Uncle has not been happy since Asu'a fell. No plans of mine are likely
to change that."
    "It is more than that, Willow-switch, and you know it." Aditu stared
hard at him, but her face remained dispassionate. She turned to look
briefly at Simon; for a moment, embarrassment seemed to darken her
cheeks. "It is strange to speak this tongue."
    "These are strange days, Rabbit--and you know that." Jiriki hfted his
hands toward the sunlight. "Ah, what an afternoon. We must go, now, all
of us. The butterflies have gathered, as I said. I speak lightly of
Khendraja'aro, but my heart is uneasy."
 Simon stared at him, completely baffled.
    "First allow me to take off this ridiculous clothing," Aditu said. She
slipped away through another hidden door so quickly that she seemed to
melt into shadow.
    Jiriki led Simon toward the front of his house. "We will wait for her
below. You and I have much to speak about, Seoman, but first we must
go to the Yfisira."
    "Why did she call you . . . Willow-switch?" Of all his countless ques-
tions, this was the only one he could put into words.
    "Why do I call you Snowlock?" Jiriki looked closely at Simon's face,
then smiled his charming, feral smile. "It is good to see you well, manchild."
    "Let us be off," Aditu said. She had come up behind Simon so sound-
lessly that he gasped in surprise. When he turned a moment later, he
gasped again. Aditu had shed her heavy snow-clothing for a dress that was
little more than a wisp of glimmering, nearly transparent white cloth
belted with a ribbon of sunset orange. Her slim hips and small breasts
were clearly silhouetted beneath the loose garment. Simon felt his face
grow hot. He had grown up with the chambermaids, but they had moved
him out many years before sending him to sleep with the other sculhons.
Such near-nakedness was more than disconcerting. He realized he was
staring and turned hurriedly away, his face coloring. One hand made an
involuntary Tree before his chest.
    Aditu's laugh was like rain. "I am happy to be shed of all that! It was
cold where the manchild was, Jiriki! Cold!"
    "You are right, Aditu," Jiriki said grimly. "We find the winter outside
easy to forget when it is still summer in our home. Now, it is off to the
Yisira, where some do not want to believe that winter exists at all."
    He led the way out his strange entry hall to the sunsplashed corridor of
willows beside the river. Aditu followed him. Simon brought up the rear,


A AA                                  Tad Williams

still blushing furiously, with no choice but to watch her springy, swaying
walk.

    With the added distraction of Aditu in her summer finery, Simon did
not think about much of anything for a while, but even Jiriki's lissome
sister and Jao 6-Tinukai'i's myriad other glories could not distract him
forever. Several things had been said lately that were beginning to worry
him: Khendraja'aro was angry with him, apparently, and Simon had
distinctly heard Aditu say something about breaking rules. What exactly
was happening?
  "Where are we going, Jiriki?" he asked at last.
  "The Yisira." The Sitha gestured ahead. "There, do you see?"
    Simon stared, shielding his eyes from the strong sunlight. There were
so many distractions here, and the sunlight itself was one of the strongest.
Only a few days before he had been wondering if he would ever be warm
again. Why was he yet again allowing himself to be dragged somewhere
else, when all he wanted to do was flop down on his back in the clover
and sleep... ?
    At first the Yisira seemed like nothing so much as a grand and oddly-
shaped tent, a tent whose center pole mounted fifty ells into the air, made
of a fabric more shifting and colorful than any ofJao ~-TinukaiTs other
beautiful structures. It took another two dozen paces before Simon real-
ized that the center pole was a gigantic ash tree with wide-spreading
branches, whose crown rose into the forest sky high above the Ylsira
itself. He drew another hundred paces closer before he saw why the fabric
of the vast tent shimmered so.  Butterflies.
    Trailing to the ground from the ash tree's widest branches were a
thousand threads, so slender that they seemed little more than parallel
glints of light as they fell a hand-span apart all around the tree. Clinging to
these strands from top to bottom, lazily fanning their iridescent wings,
huddling so closely that they overlapped each other like the shingles on
some impossible roof were . . . a million, million butterflies. They were
of every color imaginable, orange and wine-red, oxblood and tangerine,
cerulean blue, daffodil yellow, velvet black as the night sky. The quiet
whisper of their wings was everywhere, as if the warm summer air itself
had been given voice. They moved sluggishly, as though near sleep, but
were otherwise bound in no way that Simon could see. Countless chips of
vibrant moving color, the butterflies shattered the sunlight like an incom-
parable treasury of living gems.
    In that moment, as Simon first saw it, the Ylsira seemed the breathing,
glowing center of Creation. He stopped and abruptly burst into helpless
tears.





STONE OF FAREWELL

445

Jh-iki did not see Simon's overwhelmed response. "The little wings are
resfiess," he said. "S'hue Khendraja'aro has brought the word."
    Simon sniffled and wiped at his eyes. Faced with the Yisira, he sud-
denly thought he could understand the bitterness of Ineluki, the Storm
King's hatred for childish, destructive mankind. Shamed, Simon listened
to Jh-iki's words as though from a great distance. The Sitha prince was
saying something about his uncle---was Khendraja'aro talking to the
butterflies? Simon didn't care any longer. This was all just too much
want to think; he wanted to lie down. He wanted to

for him. He didn't
sleep.
 Jh-iki had at last

                     noticed his distress. He took Simon carefully by the
elbow and guided him toward the Yisira. At the front of the mad,
glorious structure, butterfly-laden strands trailed on either side of a wooden
doorway, which was no more than a simple carved frame wound round
with trailing roses. Aditu had already stepped through, and now Jiriki led
Simon in.
    If the effect of the butterflies from outside was one of gleaming magnifi-
cence, the view from within was entirely different. The multicolored
shafts of light leaked down through the living roof, as if through stained
glass that had somehow become unstable. The great ash tree that was the
Yisira's spine stood bathed in a thousand shifting hues; Simon was again
reminded of some strange forest thriving beneath the inconstant ocean.
This time, however, he was beginning to find the thought a little much to
bear. He felt almost as though he were drowning, floundering helplessly
in an opulence he could not entirely understand.
    The great chamber had few furnishings. Beautiful rugs lay scattered
everywhere, but in many places the grass grew uncovered. Shallow pools
gleamed here and there, flowering bushes and stones around them, all
things just as they were outside. The only differences were the butterflies
and the Sithi.
    The chamber was full of Sithi-folk, male and female, in costumes as
variegated as the wings of the butterflies that quivered overhead. One by
one at first, then in clusters, they turned to look at the new arrivals,
hundreds of calm, catlike eyes agleam in the shifting light. What seemed
to Simon a quiet but malicious hiss rose from the multitude. He wanted to
run away, and actually made a brief, stumbling attempt, but Jiriki's grip
on his arm was gently unbreakable. He found himself led forward to a rise
of earth before the base of the tree. A tall, moss-netted stone stood there
like an admonishing finger sunken in the grassy ground. On low couches
before it sat two Sithi dressed in splendid pale robes, a woman and a man.
    The man, who was seated closest, looked up at Simon and Jiriki's
approach. His hair, tied high atop his head, was jet black, and he wore a
crown of carved white birchwood. He had the same angular golden


446                                    Tad Williams

features as Jiriki, but there was something drawn at the corners of his
narrow eyes and thin mouth that suggested a life of great length filled with
vast but subtle disappointment. The woman who sat beside him on his left
hand had hair of a deep, coppery red; she, too, wore a circlet of birchwood
on her brow. Long white feathers hung from her many braids, and she
wore several bracelets and tings as black and shiny as the hair of the man
beside her. Of all the Sithi Simon had seen, her face was the most
immobile, the most rigidly serene. Both man and woman had an air of age
and subtlety and stillness, but it was the quiet of a dark old pond in a
shadowed wood, the calm of a sky filled with motionless thunderheads: it
seemed entirely possible that such placidity might hide something
dangerous--dangerous to callow mortals, at least.
    "You must bow, Seoman," Jiriki said quietly. Simon, as much because
of his shaking legs as anything else, lowered himself to his knees. The
smell of the warm turf was strong in his nostrils.
    "Seoman Snowlock, manchild," Jiriki said loudly, "know you are come
before Shima'onari, King of the Zida'ya, Lord of Jao 6-Tinukai'i, and
Likimeya, Queen of the Dawn-Children, Lady of the House of Year-
Dancing."
    Still kneeling, Simon looked up dizzily. All eyes were focused on him,
as though he were a singularly inappropriate gift. Shima'onari at last said
something to Jiriki, words as harsh-sounding as anything Simon had yet
heard the Sithi tongue produce.
    "No, Father," Jiriki said. "Whatever else, we must not so lightly turn
our backs on our traditions. A guest is a guest. I beg you, speak words
that Seoman can understand."
    Shima'onari's thin face pinched in a frown. When he spoke at last,
he proved far less facile with the Westerling tongue than his son and
daughter.
    "So. You are the manchild that saved Jitiki's life." He nodded his head
slowly, but did not seem very pleased. "I do not know if you can
understand this, but my son has done a very bad thing. He has brought
you here against all laws of our people--you, a mortal." He straightened
up, looking from face to face among the Sithi-folk that surrounded them.
"What is done is done, my people, my family," he called. "No harm can
come to this manchild: we have not sunk so far. We owe him honor as
Hikka Staja--as bearer of a White Arrow." He turned back to Simon, and
a look of inmite sadness crept over his face. "But neither can you leave,
manchild. We cannot let you leave. So you will stay forever. You will
grow old and die with us, here in Jao ~-Tinukai'i."
 The wings of a million butterflies murmured and whispered.
    "Stay... ?" Simon turned, uncomprehending, to Jiriki. The prince's
usually imperturbable face was an ashen mask of shock and sorrow.



                                STONE OF FAREWELL                                                 447

                 ~r    ~r    ~r
    Simon was silent as they walked back to Jiriki's house. Afternoon was
slowly fading into twilight; the cooling valley was alive with the smells
and sounds of untainted summer.
    The Sitha did nothing to break the silence, guiding Simon along the
tangled paths with nods and gentle touches. As they approached the river
that ran past Jiriki's door, Sithi voices lifted in song somewhere in the
overhanging hills. The melody that spilled echoing over the valley was an
intricately constructed series of descending figures: sweet, but with a
touch of dissonance winding through it, hke a fox dodging in and out
among rainy hedgerows. There was something unquestionably liquid
about the song; after a moment, Simon realized that the invisible musi-
cians were in some way singing along with the noise of the river itself.
    A flute joined in, ruffling the surface of the music like wind on the
watercourse. Simon was abruptly and painfully struck by the strangeness
of this place; loneliness welled within him, an aching emptiness that could
not be filled by Jiriki or any of his alien kind. For all its beauty, Jao
~-Tinukai'i was no better than a cage. Caged animals, Simon knew,
languished and soon died.
 "What will I do?" he said hopelessly.
    Jiriki stared at the glinting river, smiling sadly. "Walk. Think. Learn
how to play shent. In Jao ~-Tinukai'i, there are many ways to pass time."
    As they walked toward Jiriki's door the water-song cascaded down
from the tree-mantled hillside, surrounding them with mournful music
that seemed ever-changing but unhurried, patient as the river itself.


23

Deep Waters

'~By E~ys/a~ the Mother," AspitisPrevessaid, "what a terrible
time ~ou havc~had of it, Lady Marya!" The earl lifted his cup to drink but
found it empty. He tapped his fingers on the cloth as his pale squire
hurried forward to pour more wine. "To think that the daughter of a
nobleman should be so ill-treated in our city."
    The trio sat around the earl's circular table as the remains of a more than
adequate supper were cleared away by a page. Flickering lamplight threw
distorted shadows on the walls; outside, the wind sawed in the rigging.
Two of the earl's hounds brawled over a bone beneath the table.
    "Your Lordship is too kind." Miriamele shook her head. "My father's
barony is very small, just a freeholding, really. One of the smallest
baronies in Cellodshire."
    "Ah, then your father must know Godwig?" Aspitis' Westerling was a
little difficult to understand, and not only because it was his second
tongue: the goblet in his hand had been drained and filled several times.
    "Of course. He is the most powerful of all the barons there--the king's
strong hand in Cellodshire." Thinking of the despicable, braying Godwig,
Miriamele found it hard to keep her expression pleasant, even while
looking on the goldenly handsome Aspitis. She darted a glance at Cadrach,
who was sunk in some dark mood, his brow furrowed like a thunderhead.
    He thinks I'm saying too much, Miriamele decided. She felt a flash of
anger. But who is fie to make faces? He got us into this trap; now, thanks to me,
instead flus going over the side as kilpa food, we're at the master's table drinking
wine and eating good Lakeland cheese.
    "But I am still astonished by your ill fortune, Lady," Aspitis said. "I
had heard that these Fire Dancers were a problem in the provinces, and I
have seen a few heretical madmen preaching the Fire Dancer creed in
Nabban's public places--but the idea that they would actually dare to lay
hands on a noblewoman!"
 "An Erkynlandish noblewoman, a very unimportant one," Miriamele

448




STONE OF FAREWELL

449

said hastily, worried she might have gone too far in her improvisation.
"And I was dressed to travel to my new convent home. They had no idea
of my position."
    "That is immaterial." Aspitis waved his hand airily, almost knocking
over the candle on the tabletop with his trailing sleeve. He had shed the
finery he wore on the quarterdeck, choosing instead a long, simple robe
like those worn by knights during their vigil. But for a delicate gold Tree
on a chain about his neck, his only adornment was the insignia of the
Prevan House woven on each sleeve; the osprey wings wrapped his
forearms like climbing flames. Miriamele was favorable impressed that a
wealthy young man like Aspitis would greet guests in such modest attire.
"Immaterial," he repeated. "These people are heretics and worse. Besides,
a noblewoman from Erkynland is no different than one of Nabban's own
Fifty Families. Noble blood is the same throughout Osten Ard, and like a
spring of sweet water in an arid wilderness, must be protected at all
costs." He leaned forward and gently touched her arm through her sleeve.
"Had I been there, Lady Marya, I would have given my life before letting
one of them mishandle you." He leaned back and patted the hilt of his
scabbarded sword, studiedly casual. "But if I had been forced to make that
ultimate sacrifice, I would have insisted that a few of them accompany
me."
    "Oh," said Miriamele. "Oh." She took a deep breath, a little over-
whelmed. "But really, Ear! Aspitis, there is no need to worry. We escaped
quite safelymit's just that we had to flee to your boat and hide. It was
dark, you see, and Father Cadrach . . ."
    "Brother," the monk said sourly from across the table. He took a
draught of wine.
    "... Brother Cadrach said that this would be the safest place. So we hid
ourselves in the cargo hold. We are sorry for the imposition, Earl, and we
thank you for your kindness. If you will only put us ashore at the next
port..."
    "Leave you out among the islands somewhere? Nonsense." Aspitis
leaned forward, fixing her with his brown eyes. He had a dangerous
smile, Miriamele realized, but it did not frighten her as much as she knew
it should. "You will ride out the voyage with us, then we may put you
safe back in Nabban where you belong. It will be little more than a
fortnight, Lady. We will treat you well--both you and your guardian."
He briefly turned his smile on Cadrach, who did not seem to share
Aspitis' good humor. "I think I even have some clothes on board that will
fit you, Lady. They should suit your beauty better than your.., traveling
clothes."
    "How nice!" Miriamele said, then remembered her imposture. "If it
meets with Brother Cadrach's approval."
"You have women's clothes on board?" Cadrach asked, eyebrow raised.


450                                    Tad Williams

 "Left by my sister." Aspitis' smile was untroubled.
"Your sister." He grunted. "Yes. Well, I shall have to think on it."
Miriamele started to raise her voice to the monk, then remembered her
situation. She strove to look obedient, but silently cursed him. Why
shouldn't she be allowed to wear nice clothes for a change?
    As the earl began to talk animatedly of his family's great keep beside
Lake Eadne--ironically, a freehold that Miriamele had visited when a very
young child, although she did not now remember it--there was a rap at
the door. One of Aspitis' pages went to answer it.
 "I come to speak with the ship's lord," a breathy voice said.
    "Come in, my friend," AspitiS said. "You have all met, of course. Gan
Itai, you were the one who found Lady Marya and her guardian, yes?"
    "That is true, Earl Aspitis," the Niskie nodded. Her black eyes twinkled
as they reflected the lamplight.
    "If you would be so good as to come back in a while," Aspitis said to
the sea watcher, "then we will talk."
    "No, please, Earl Aspitis." Miriamele stood. "You've been very kind,
but we should not keep you any longer. Come, Brother Cadrach."
    "Keep me?" Aspitis put a hand to his breast. "Should I complain at
being the victim of such lovely company? Lady Marya, you must think
me a dullard indeed." He bowed and took her hand, holding it for a
lingering moment against his lips. "I hope you do not think me too
forward, sweet lady." He snapped his fingers for a page. "Young Thures
will show you to your beds. I have put the captain out of his cabin. You
will sleep there."
 "Oh, but we couldn't take the captain's..."
    "He spoke out of turn and did not show you proper respect, Lady
Marya. He is lucky I do not hang him--but I am willing to forgive. He is
a simple man, not used to women on his ships. A few nights sleeping at
general quarters with his crew will do him no harm." He dragged fingers
through his curly hair, then waved his hand. "Go on, Thures, lead them."
    He bowed to Miriamele again, then smiled politely at Cadrach. This
time Cadrach returned the smile, but it seemed little more than a baring of
teeth. The little page, lantern held carefully before him, led his charges out
the door.
    Aspitis stood silent a while in thought, then found the wine ewer and
poured himself another gobletful, which he drank off in a long swallow.
At last he spoke.
    "So, Gan Itai, it is unusual for you to come here--and it is even more
unusual for you to leave the bow at night. Are the waters so untroubled
that your song is not needed?"
    The Niskie shook her head slowly. "No, Ship's Master. The waters are
very troubled, but for this moment they are safe, and I wished to come
and tell you that I am disturbed."


STONE OF FAREWELL

451

"Disturbed? By the girl? Surely Niskies are not superstitious like sailors."
"Not like sailors, no." She pulled her hood forward, hiding all but her
bright eyes. "The girl and the monk, even if they are not what they say,
are the least of my worries. There is a great storm coming down from the
north."
    Aspitis looked up at Gan Itai. "You left the bow to tell me that?" he
asked mockingly. "I have known that since before we set sail. The captain
says we will be out of deep waters before the storm reaches us."
    "That may be, but there are great shoals of kilpa moving in from the
northern seas, as if they are swimming before the storm. Their song is
fierce and cold, Earl Aspitis; they seem to come up from the blackest
water, from the deepest trenches. I have never heard the like."
    Aspitis stared for a moment, his whole aspect slightly out of kilter, as
though the wine had finally begun to effect him. "Eadne Cloud has many
important tasks to perform for Duke Benigaris," he said. "You must do
what it is your life's work to do." He lowered his head into the palms of
his hands. "I am tired, Gan Itai. Go back to the bow. I need to sleep."
    The Niskie watched him for a moment, full of imponderable gravity,
then bowed gracefully and backed out of the door, letting it fall shut
behind her with a quiet thump. Earl Aspitis leaned forward across the
table, pillowing his head on his forearms in the circle of lamplight.

    It is good to be around a nobleman once more," Miriamele said.
"They are full of themselves, yes, but they do understand how to show a
woman respect."
    Cadrach snorted from his pallet on the floor. "I find it hard to believe
you could see any value in that ringleted fop, Princess."
    "Hush!" Miriamele hissed. "Idiot! Don't speak so loudly! And don't call
me that. I am Lady Marya, remember."
     The monk made another noise of disgust. "A noblewoman chased by
Fire Dancers. That was a pretty tale to spin." "k worked, didn't it?"
    "Yes, and now we must spend our time with Earl Aspitis, who will ask
question after question. If you had only said you were a poor tailor's
daughter who had hidden in fear for her virtue, or some such, the earl
would leave us alone and put us off at the first island where they take on
water and provisions."
    "And make us work like dogs until then--if he didn't just throw us into
the sea. I, for one, am growing tired of this disguise. It is bad enough I
have been an acolyte monk all this time, now should I be a tailor's
daughter as well?"
    Although she could not see him in the darkened cabin, Miriamele knew
by the sound of his voice that Cadrach was shaking his heavy head in
disagreement. "No, no, no. Do you understand nothing, Lady? We are


452                                   Tad Williams

not choosing parts like a children's game, we are struggling to stay alive.
Dinivan, the man who brought us here, has been killed. Do you under-
stand? Your father and your uncle are at war. The war is spreading. They
have killed the lector, the Ransomer's chief priest on the face of Osten
Ard, and they will stop at nothing, Lady! It is no game!"
    Miriamele choked back an angry reply, thinking instead about what
Cadracla had said. "Then why didn't Earl Aspitis say anything about the
lector? Surely it's the kind of thing people would talk about. Or did you
make that up as well?"
    "Lady, Ranessin was only killed late last night. We left early in the
morning." The monk struggled to keep his patience. "The Sancellan
Aedonitis and the Escritorial Council may not announce what has hap-
pened for a day or two. Please, believe what I say is true, or we will both
come to a terrible end."
    "Hmmph." Miriamele lay back, pulling the blanket up to her chin. The
feeling of the boat rocking was quite soothing. "It seems that if it weren't
for my inventiveness and the earl's good manners, we might have come to
a terrible end already."
    "Think what you like, Lady," Cadrach said heavily, "but do not, I beg
you, extend your trust to others any farther than you have with me."
    He fell silent. Miriamele waited for sleep. An odd, hauntingly alien
melody floated on the air, timeless and arrhythmic as the roar of the sea,
persistent as the rising and falling wind. Somewhere in the darkness
outside, Gan Itai was singing the kilpa down.

    Eolair rode down out of the heights of the Grianspog Mountains in the
midst of the summer's worst snowstorm. The secret trails that he and his
men had so laboriously cut through the forest only weeks before were
now buried beneath three cubits of drifting white. The dismal skies hung
oppressively close, like the ceiling of a tomb. His saddlebags were
crammed with carefully-drawn maps, his head with brooding thoughts.
    Eolair knew there was no use pretending that the land was suffering
only a long bout of freakish weather. A grievous sickness was spreading
over Osten Ard. Perhaps Josua and his father's sword truly were tied up in
something vaster than the wars of men.
    The Count of Nad Mullach was suddenly reminded of his own words,
uttered over the King's Great Table a year before--Gods of earth and sky,
he thought, but didn't it seem a lifetime since those relatively peaceful
days! "Evil is abroad..." he had told the assembled knights that day. "It is
not only bandits who prey on travelers and cause the disappearance of isolated
.~rmers. The people of the North are aj~aid . . ."
  Not only bandits . . . Eolair shook his head, disgusted with himself. He


STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                453

had been so caught up in the day-to-day matters of his people's struggle to
survive that he had failed to heed his own warning. There were indeed
greater menaces to fear than Skali of Kaldskryke and his cutthroat army.
    Eolair had heard stories told by survivors of the fall of Naglimund, the
bewildered accounts of a ghostly army raised by Elias the High King.
From the days of his childhood Eolair had heard tales of the White Foxes,
demons who lived in the blackest, coldest lands of the uttermost north,
who appeared like a plague, then vanished again. All during this last year
the Frostmarch dwellers had whispered over their night-fires of just such
pale demons. How foolish that Eolair of all people should not have
realized the truth behind these tales--had he not spoken of just that at the
Great Table!?
    But what could it all mean? If they were truly involved, why should
creatures like these White Foxes side with Elias? Could it have something
to do with that monstrous priest Pryrates?
    The Count of Nad Mullach sighed, then leaned far to the side to help
his horse balance as they made their way down a treacherous hill path.
Perhaps for all her foolishness, Maegwin had been right to set this task for
him. But still, that was no justification for the way in which she had done
it. Why should she treat him as she did in the underground city, after all
he had done for her family and the faithful service he had given her father
King Lluth? The terror and strangeness of their situation might be the
reason for such unkindness, but it was no excuse.
    Such thoughtlessness was yet another odd change in Maegwin's demea-
nor, the latest of many. He feared for her deeply, but could think of no
way to help. She despised his solicitousness, and seemed to think he was
little more than a sly courtier--Eolair, who hated falsity, yet had been
driven to master it in the loyal service of her father! When he tried to help,
she insulted him and turned her back: he could only watch her sickening as
the land around him had sickened, her mind filling with strange fancies.
He could do nothing.
    Eolair was two days making his way down through the silent valleys of
the Grianspog, with only his own cold thoughts for company.
    It was astonishing to see how quickly Skali was making his occupation
of Hernystir permanent. Not content with taking over those houses and
buildings still standing in Hernysadharc and the surrounding villages, the
Thane of Kaldskryke had begun to construct new ones, great longhouses
of rough-hewn timbers. The Circoille Forest fringe was shrinking rapidly,
replaced by a growing expanse of mutilated tree stumps.
    Eolair made his way along the ridgetops, watching the antlike figures
swarming over the fiatlands below. The clatter of hammer on wedge rang
through the snowy hills.
    He could not at first understand why Skali should need to build more
dwelling places: the conqueror's army, while of good size, was hardly so


454                                    Tad Williams

vast that it could not harbor itself in the Hernystiri's abandoned dwellings.
It was only when Eolair looked away to the lowering northern skies that
he realized what was happening.
    All Skali's RimmersJblk must be coming here flora the North--old and young,
women and children. He stared down at the tiny, industrious shapes. If it's
snowing in Hernysadharc in late Tiyagar-month, it must be a fi'ozen hell up by
Naarved and Skoggey. Bagba bite me, what a thought! Skali has chased us into
the caves. Now he will move his Rimmersgarders onto our captured lands.
    Despite all that his folk had already suffered at the hands of Skali
Sharp-nose's warriors, despite King Lluth struck down, Prince Gwythinn
tortured and dismembered, and hundreds of Eolair's own brave Mullachi
dead beneath the gray skies of the western meadows, the count found
suddenly and to his surprise that he contained depths of anger and raw
hatred yet unplumbed. Skah's men strutting in the roads of Hernysadharc
was bad enough, but the thought of them bringing their women and
families to live on Hernystiri land filled Eolair with an unchanneled rage
stronger than he had felt since the first Hernystirmen had fallen at the
Inniscrich. Helpless on the ridgetop, he cursed the invaders and promised
himself that he would see Skali's jackals whipped howling back to
Kaldskryke--those who did not die on the precious Hernystiri soil that
they had usurped.
    Suddenly, the Count of Nad Mullach longed for the purity of battle.
The Hernystiri forces had been so savaged at Inniscrich that they had been
unable to fight anything but rearguard actions since. Now they had been
driven into hiding in the Grianspog and there was little they could do but
harrass the victors. Gods, he thought, but it would be fine to swing steel
in the open once more, to line up breast to breast with shields flashing
sunlight and sound the charge! The count knew it was a foolish craving,
knew himself for a careful man who always preferred talking sensibly to
fighting, but just now he craved simplicity. Open warfare, for all its
witless violence and horror, could seem a sort of beautiful idiocy into
which one could throw oneself as into the arms of a lover.
    Now the call of that compelling but dangerous lover was growing
stronger. Whole nations seemingly on the march, topsy-turvy weather,
mad men ruling and dire legends come to life--how he suddenly longed
for simple things!
    But even as he yearned for unthinking release, Eolair knew that he
would hate its coming to be: the fruits of violence did not necessarily go to
the just or the wise.

    Eolair skirted Hernysadharc's westernmost outposts and circled far around
the largest encampments of Skali's Rimmersmen, who had spread across
the meadowlands beneath Hernystir's capital. He rode instead through the
hilly country called the Dillathi, which stood like a bulwark along Hernystir's


STONE OF FAREWELL

455

coast, as if to prevent invasion by sea. Indeed, the Dillathi would have
presented a nearly impossible problem for any would-be conqueror, but
the invasion which had undone Hernystir had come from the opposite
direction.
    The highland folk were a suspicious lot, but they had grown used to
war-fugitives in the past year, so Eolair was able to find welcome in a few
houses. Those who took him in were far more interested in his news than
the fact that their guest was the Count of Nad Mullach. These were days
when gossip was the most valued coin in the country.
    So far from the cities, no one had known much of Prince Josua in the
first place, let alone how his struggle with the High King might be
somehow connected to Hernystir's plight. No one in the Dillathi country
had the slightest idea of whether King Elias' brother Josua was alive or
dead, let alone where he might be. But the highlanders had heard of their
own King Lluth's mortal wounding from the tales of wanderering sol-
diers, survivors of the fighting at the Inniscrich. Thus, Eolair's hosts were
usually heartened to discover from him that Lluth's daughter still lived,
and that a Hernystiri court-in-exile of sorts still existed. Before the war
they had thought little of what the king in the Taig said or did, but he had
been part of their lives nonetheless. Eolair guessed they found it reassuring
that at least a shadow of the old kingdom remained, as though the
continued existence of Lluth's family somehow assured that the Rimmersmen
would eventually be forced out.

    Coming down out of the Dillathi, Eolair steered wide of high-walled
Crannhyr, Hernystir's strangest and most insular city, guiding his horse
instead toward Abaingeat at the mouth of the River Baraillean. He was
unsurprised to find that the Hernystirmen of Abaingeat had found a way to
live under the heavy hands of both Elias and Skali; Abaingeaters had a
reputation for flexibility. It was a common joke in other parts of the
country to refer to the port city as "Extremely North Perdruin" because
of the shared affection for profits and dislike of politics--the kind of
politics that interfered with business, anyway.
    It was also in Abaingeat that Eolair received his first real clue to Josua's
whereabouts, and it happened in a very typical Abaingeat way.
    Eolair shared a supper table with a Nabbanai priest in an inn along the
waterfront. The wind was howling and rain was beating on the roof,
making the common room rumble like a drum. Under the very eyes of
bearded Rimmersmen and haughty Erkynlanders--Hernystir's new con-
querors---the good father, who had perhaps had one tankard of ale too
many, told Eolair a disjointed but fascinating story. He had just arrived
from the Sancellan Aedonitis in Nabban, and he swore that he had been
told by someone there, someone he characterized as "the most important
priest in the Sancellan," that Josua Lackhand had survived Naglimund.


456                                        Tad Williams

The prince, with seven other survivors, had made his way eastward
through the grasslands to safety. These facts had been told to him, the
priest said, only under the condition of his complete discretion.
    Immediately after telling this tale, Eolair's companion, full of drunken
remorse, begged him swear to secrecy--as, the count felt sure, the priest
had begged many other recipients of this same secret. Eolair agreed with a
commendably straight face.
    There were several things that interested Eolair about this tale. The
exact number of survivors in Josua's party seemed a possible indication of
its authenticity, although he had to admit it sounded almost like a legend
in the making: The One-Handed Prince and his Gallant Seven. Also, the
priest's contrition about blurting out the secret seemed genuine. He had
not told the tale to make himself appear more grand; rather, he was simply
the kind of man who could not keep a confidence to save his soul.
    This, of course, raised a question. Why would a man of some impor-
tance to Mother Church, as the priest's informant supposedly was, entrust
such a vital piece of intelligence to a numbwit on whose flushed, foolish
face untrustworthiness was clearly written? Surely no one could expect
this cheerful drunkard to keep anything to himself, let alone keep hidden a
subject of such interest in the war-torn North?
    Eolair was puzzled but intrigued. As thunder growled over the
Frostmarch, the Count of Nad Mullach began to consider a journey to the
grassy country beyond Erkynland.

    Later that night, coming back from the stables--Eolair never trusted
others to take proper care of his horse, a habit that had benefited him more
often than not--he stopped outside the inn's front door. A fierce wind
laden with snow blew down the street, banging the shuttered windows.
Beyond the docks the sea murmured uneasily. All of Abaingeat's inhabi-
tants seemed to have vanished. The midnight city was a ghost ship,
floating captainless beneath the moon.
    Strange lights played across the northern sky: yellow and indigo and a
violet like the after-image of lightning. The horizon pulsed with rippling,
radiant bands unlike anything Eolair had ever seen, at once chilling and yet
incredibly vital. Compared to silent Abaingeat, the North seemed wildly
alive, and for a mad moment the count wondered if it was worth fighting
any more. The world he had known was gone, and nothing could bring it
back. Perhaps it would be better just to accept . . .
    He smacked his gloved hands together. The clap echoed dully and
faded. He shook his head, trying to shake the leadenness from his thoughts.
The lights were compelling indeed.
    And where would he go now? It was a ride of several weeks to the
meadowlands beyond Hasu Vale of which the priest had spoken. Eolair
knew he could cling to the coastline, passing Meremund and Wentmouth,


STONE OF FAREWELL

457

but that would mean tiding as a lone traveler through an Erkynland that
owed its complete allegiance to the High King. Or, he could let the
shimmering aurora draw him north instead, to his home in Nad Mullach.
His keep was occupied by Skali's reavers, but those of his people who
survived in the countryside would give him shelter and news, and also a
chance to rest and reprovision himself for the remainder of his long
journey. From there he could turn east and pass Erchester to the north,
moving in the protective shadow of the great forest.
    Pondering, he stared at the spectral glow in the northern sky. It made
for a very chilly light.

    The waves were choppy, the dark sky wild with tattered, ominous
clouds. A zigzag of lightning flared on the blackened horizon.
    Cadrach gripped the railing and groaned as the Eadne Cloud lifted high,
then settled once more into the trough of a wave. Overhead the sails
popped in the strong wind, percussive bursts of sound like whipcracks.
"Oh, Brynioch of the Skies," the monk implored, "take this tempest
away!"
    "This is barely a storm at all," Miriamele said derisively. "You've never
been in a real sea-storm."
 Cadrach made a gulping sound. "Nor do I want to be."
    "Besides, what are you doing, praying to pagan gods? I thought you
were an Aedonite monk."
    "I have been praying for Usires' intercession all afternoon," Cadrach
said, his face pale as fish-flesh. "I thought it time to try something
different." He rose on tiptoes and leaned farther out over the railing.
Miriamele turned her head away. A moment later the monk settled back,
wiping his mouth with his sleeve. A spatter of rain drifted across the deck.
 "And you, Lady," he said, "does nothing bother you?"
    She bit back a mocking reply. He looked truly pathetic, his few strands
of hair pasted flat, his eyes dark-rimmed. "Many things, but not being on
a boat at sea."
    "Count yourself blessed," he mumbled, then turned back to sag against
the rail once more. Instead, his eyes widened. He screeched in shock and
tumbled backward, falling rump-first to the deck.
 "Bones of Anaxos!" he shouted. "Save us! What is it?!"
    Miriamele stepped to the rail to see a gray head bobbing in the saddle of
the waves. It was vaguely manlike, hairless yet unscaled, sleek as a
dolphin, with a red-rimmed, toothless mouth and eyes like rotting black-
berries. The flexible mouth rounded into a circle as though it would sing.
It gave out a strange, gurgling hoot, then slipped beneath the waves,


458                                    Tad Williams

showing a glimpse of long-toed, webbed feet as it dove. A moment later
the nub of head appeared again a little closer to the ship. It watched them.
  Miriamele's stomach fluttered. "Kilpa," she whispered.
    "It is horrible," Cadrach said, still crouching below the wale. "It has the
face of a damned soul."
    The empty black eyes followed Miriamele as she moved a few steps up
the railing. She understood the monk clearly. The kilpa was far more
horrifying than any mere animal could be, no matter how savage---so
dreadfully near-human, yet so devoid of anything that looked like human
feeling or understanding.
    "I have not seen one in years," she said slowly, unable to tear her eyes
away. "I don't think I have ever seen one so close." Her thoughts tumbled
back to her childhood, to a trip she had taken with her mother Hylissa
from Nabban to the island of Vinitta. Kilpa had glided in and out of their
wake, and to the younger Miriamele they had seemed almost sportive, like
porpoises or flying fish. Seeing this one so closely, she now understood
why her mother had hastily dragged her from the rail. She shuddered.
    "You say that you have seen them before, my lady?" a voice asked. She
whirled to find Aspitis standing behind her, his hand resting on crouching
Cadrach's shoulder. The monk looked quite sick.
    "On a long-ago visit to... to Wentmouth," she said hastily. "They are
terrible, aren't they?"
    Aspitis nodded slowly, staring at Miriamele rather than the slick gray
thing bobbing off the stern rail. "I hadn't realized that kilpa traveled into
cold northern waters," he said.
    "Doesn't Gan Itai keep them away?" she said, trying to change the
subject. "Why has this one come so close?"
    "Because the Niskie is exhausted and is sleeping for a while, and also
because the kilpa have become very bold." Aspitis bent and picked a
square-headed iron nail off the deck, then pitched it at the silent watcher.
It splashed a foot from the kilpa's noseless, earless head. The black eyes
did not blink. "They are more active than I have ever heard of, these
days," the earl said. "They have swarmed several small craft since the
winter, and even a few large ones." He hurriedly raised a hand on which
gold rings sparkled. "But fear not, Lady Marya. There is no better singer
than my Gan Itai."
    "That thing is a horror and I am ill." Cadrach groaned. "I must go and
lie myself down." He ignored Aspitis' proffered hand and clambered to
his feet, then went stumbling away.
    The earl turned and shouted instructions to the crewmen swarming in
the wind-buffeted rigging. "We must reef the sails," he said by way of
explanation. "There is a very fierce storm coming, and we can only ride it
out." As if to underscore his point, lightning flashed once more on the
northern horizon. "Perhaps you would be good enough to join me for my


STONE OF FAREWELL

459

evening meal." Thunder came rolling across the swells; a flurry of rain
swept over them. "That way, your guardian can be given some privacy to
recuperate, and you need not be without company if the storm grows
frightening." He smiled, showing even teeth.
    Miriamele felt tempted but cautious. There was an impression of coiled
strength to Aspitis, as though some potential were being hidden so as not
to frighten. In a way, it reminded her of old Duke Isgrimnur, who treated
women with gentle, almost excessive deference, as though his blundering
bluffness might at any time escape his control and burst forth to shock and
offend. Aspitis, too, seemed to hold something in check. It was a quality
she found intriguing.
    "Thank you, your Lordship," she said at last. "I would be honored--
you will have to excuse me, though, if I must leave from time to time to
see that Brother Cadrach is not suffering too badly for want of aid or
company."
    "Did you not," Aspitis said, smoothly taking her arm, "you would not
be the good and gentle lady that you are. I can see that you two are as
close as family, that you respect Cadrach as you would a beloved uncle."
    Miriamele could not help looking over her shoulder as Aspitis led her
across the deck, beneath the crewmen shouting at each other in the rigging
so they could be heard above the wail of the wind. The kilpa still floated
in the rough green seas, watching solemnly as a priest, its open mouth a
round black hole.


    The earl's squire, a thin, whey-faced young man with a resentful frown,
directed the two pages as they loaded the table with fruit and bread and
white cheese. Thures, the smaller of the pages, tottered out beneath the
weight of a salver bearing a cold joint of' beef. The boy stayed to assist,
banding the squire a new carving untensil each time that artist impatiently
waved his hand. The little page seemed cleverwhis dark eyes watched the
pasty-faced squire intently for the slightest signwbut the bad-tempered
older boy nevertheless found several opportunities to cuff him for his
slov~qless.

    "You seem very comfortable on a ship, Lady Marya," Aspitis said,
smiling as he filled a wine goblet from a beautiful brass ewer. He had his
other page carry it around the table to her. "Have you been at sea before?
It is a long way from Cellodshire to what we in Nabban call the Veir
Maynis~the Great Green."
    Miriamele silently cursed herself. Perhaps Cadrach was right. She should
have thought of a simpler story to tell. "Yes. I mean, no, I haven't. Not
really." She took a long, studied sip of wine, forcing herself to smile back
at the earl despite its sourness. "We traveled on shipboard down the
Gleniwent several times. I have been on the Kynslagh as well." She took


460                                   Tad Williams

another long sip and realized she had emptied the goblet. She set it down,
embarrassed. What would this man think of her? "Who is 'we'?"
    "I beg your pardon?" She guiltily pushed the goblet away, but Aspitis
took this as a sign and reffiled it, pushing it back to her side of the rimmed
table with an understanding smile. As the cabin pitched with the boat's
motion, the wine threatened to overtop the edge of the goblet. Miriamele
picked it up, holding it very gingerly.
    "I said, who is 'we', Lady Marya, if I may ask? You and your guardian?
You and your family? You mentioned your father, Baron... Baron..."
He frowned. "A thousand apologies, I've forgotten his name."
    Miriamele had forgotten also. She covered her moment of panic with
another sip of wine; it became rather a long sip as she struggled with her
memory. The name she had chosen came back at last. She swallowed.
  "Baron Seoman."
    "Of course---Baron Seoman. Was that who took you down the
Gleniwent?"
 She nodded her head, hoping not to get into any further trouble.
 "And your mother?"
 "Dead."
    "Ah." Aspitis' golden face became somber as a cloud-curtained sun.
"Forgive me. I am being rude, asking so many questions. I am terribly
sorry to hear that."
    Miriamele had a moment of inspiration. "She died in the plague last
year."
    The earl nodded. "So many did. Tell me, Lady Marya--if you will
allow me one last and quite forward question--is there a special man to
whom you are promised?
    "No," she answered quickly, then wondered if she could have given a
better and less potentially troublesome answer. She took a deep breath,
holding the earl's gaze. The pomander that scented the cabin air was rich
in her nostrils. "No," she repeated. He was very handsome.
    "Ah." Aspitis nodded gravely. With his youthful face and head of
brilliant curls, he seemed almost a child play-acting as an adult. "But see,
you have not eaten anything, Lady. Does the fare displease you?"
    "Oh, no, Earl Aspitis!" she said breathlessly, looking for a spot to put
her wine goblet down so she could pick up her knife. She noticed that the
cup was empty. Aspitis saw her look and leaned forward with the ewer.
    As she picked at her food, Apitis talked. As if in apology for his earlier
interrogation, he kept his conversation airy as swansdown, speaking mostly
of odd or silly things that happened at the Nabbanai court. To hear him
talk, it was quite a glittering place. He told stories well and soon had her
laughing--in fact, with the rocking of the ship and the walls of the
small, lamplit cabin pressing in upon her, she began to wonder if she


STONE OF FAREWELL

461

was laughing too much. The whole thing felt rather dreamlike. She was
having difficulty keeping her eyes squarely on Aspitis' smiling face.
    As she suddenly realized that she could no longer see the earl at all, a
hand came to rest lightly upon her shoulder: Aspitis was behind her, still
talking about the ladies of the court. Through the wine fumes that ffiled
her head, she could feel his touch, weighty and hot.
    "... But of course their beauty is that rather . . . arranged beauty, if
you know what I mean, Marya. I do not mean to be cruel, but sometimes
when Duchess Nessalanta is caught in a breeze, the powder flies off her
like snow from a mountaintop!" Aspitis' hand squeezed gently, then
moved to her other shoulder as he altered his stance. On the way, his
fingers trailed gently across the nape of her neck. She shuddered. "Do not
misunderstand me," he said, "I would defend to the death the honor and
beauty of our courtly Nabbanai women--but in my heart there is nothing
so fine as the unimproved loveliness of a country girl." His hand moved
to her neck again, the touch delicate as a thrush's wing. "Y0u are such a
beauty, Lady Marya. I am so pleased to have met you. I had forgotten
what it was to see a face that needed no embellishment..."
    The room spun. Miriamele abruptly straightened and her elbow toppled
the wine cup. A few drops like blood pooled on her hand towel. "I must
go outside," she said. "I must have some air."
    "My lady," Aspitis said, concern plain in his voice, "are you ill? I hope
it is not my poor table that has offended your gentle constitution."
    She waved a hand, trying to placate him, wanting only to be out of the
glaring lamplight and the stifiingly warm, perfumed air. "No, no. I just
want to go outside."
"But there is a storm, my lady. You would be soaked. I can't allow it."
She stumbled a few steps toward the door. "Please. I'm ill."
The earl shrugged helplessly. "Let me at least get you a warm cloak that
will keep out most of the damp." He clapped for his pages, who were
trapped with the unpleasant squire in the tiny room that served as both
larder and kitchen. One of the pages began to go through a large chest in
search of an appropriate garment while Miriamele stood by miserably. She
was at last outfitted in a musty-smelling wool cloak with a hood; Aspitis,
similarly dressed, took her elbow and guided her up onto the deck.
    The wind was blowing in earnest. Torrents of rain sliced down, turning
to cascades of sparkling gold as they passed through the guttering laml>-
light, then vanishing back into blackness. Thunder drummed.
    "Let us at least sit beneath the canopy, Lady Marya," Aspitis cried, "or
we will both of us catch some terrible ague!" He led her aft, where a
red-striped sailcloth awning stretched between the wales, humming as it
vibrated in the strong wind. A steersman in a flapping cloak bowed his
head as they ducked beneath the cloth, but kept his hands firmly clasped
on the tiller. The pair sat down on a pile of dampened rugs.


462                             Tad Williams

    "Thank you," Miriamele said. "You are kind. I feel very foolish t
trouble you."
    "I only worry that this is a cure worse than the illness," Aspitis sai
smiling. "If my physician were to hear of this, he would be leeching m
for brain fever before I could blink."
    Miriamele laughed and shivered in quick succession. Despite the chill
the tangy sea air had vastly improved her outlook. She no longer felt a
though she might faintmin fact, she felt so much better that she did no
object when the Earl of Eadne and Drina slipped a solicitous arm around
her shoulders.
    "You are a strange but fascinating young woman, Lady Marya," AspitL,
whispered, barely audible above the moan of the wind. His breath wa~,
warm against the chilled flesh of her ear. "I feel there is some mystery
about you. Are all country girls so full of moods?"
    Miriamele was very definitely of two minds about the tingling that was
running right through her. Fear and excitement seemed dangerously
intermixed. "Don't," she said at last.
    "Don't what, Marya?" Even as the storm roared and flailed outside,
Aspitis' touch was solemn, silken.
    A flurry of confusing images seemed to sweep in on the wind--her
father's cold, distant face, young Simon crookedly smiling, the riverbanks
of the Aelfwent flashing past, flickering with light and shadow. Her blood
was warm and loud in her ears.
    "No," she said, pulling free of the earl's clinging arm. She scrambled
forward until she was out from under the canopy and could straighten up.
The rain smacked wetly against her face. "But Marya..."
    "Thank you for the lovely supper, Earl Aspitis. I have been a great deal
of trouble and I beg your forgiveness."
 "No forgiveness need be sought, my lady."
    "Then I will bid you goodnight." She stood, buffeted by the strong
wind, and made her way unsteadily down to the deck, then followed the
cabin wall to the ladder down into the narrow corridor. She stepped
through the door into the cabin she shared with Cadrach. She stood in
darkness and listened to the monks's even, sonorous breathing, thankful
that he did not wake. A few moments later came the sound of Aspitis'
boots on the ladder rungs; his cabin door opened, then closed behind him.
    For a long while Miriamele leaned against the door. Her heartbeat as
swiftly as if she been hiding for her life's preservation.
    Was this love? Fear? What kind of spell did the golden-haired earl cast
that she should feel so wild, so pursued? She was breathless and confused
as a flushed hare.
    The thought of lying on her bed, trying to sleep while her thoughts
raced and Cadrach snored on the floor, was intolerable. She opened the


                                 STONE OF FAREWELL                                                 463

cabin door a crack and listened, then shpped out into the corridor and onto
the deck once more. Despite the rain pelting down, the storm seemed to
have lessened. The deck still pitched so that she could not make her way
forward without keeping a hand on the shrouds, but the sea had calmed
considerably.
    A trill of disquieting but curiously seductive melody drew her along.
The song curved and recurved, stitching the stormy night like a thread of
silver-green. By turns it was soft or hearty or piercingly loud, but the
changes unfolded so joinlessly that it was impossible to remember what
had been happening a moment before, or to understand how anything
different than what was happening at this particular moment could even
exist.
    Gan Itai sat cross-legged in the forecastle, head thrown back so that her
hood fell loosely on her shoulders and her white hair streamed in the
breeze. Her eyes were closed. She swayed from side to side, as though her
song were a fast-moving river which took every bit of her concentration
to fide.
    Miriamele drew her own hooded cloak close and settled into the dubi-
ous shelter of the ship's wale to listen.
    The Niskie's song went on for what seemed an hour, sliding smoothly
from pitch to pitch and pace to pace. Sometimes her liquid words seemed
arrows that flew outward to spark and sting, other times an array of gems
that dazzled with smoldering colors. Through it all ran a deeper melody
that never entirely disappeared, a melody which seemed to speak of
peaceful green depths, of sleep, and of the coming of a heavy, comforting
silence.
    Miriamele awakened with a little start. When she lifted her head, it was
to see Gan Itai regarding her curiously from the forecastle. Now that the
Niskie had stopped singing, the roar of the ocean seemed curiously flat
and tuneless.
 "What are you doing, child?"
    Miriamele was oddly embarrassed. She had never been so near a singing
Niskie before. It almost seemed that she had been spying on some very
private thing.
    "I came out on deck to get some air. I was having supper with Earl
Aspitis and felt sick." She took a breath to still her shaking voice. "You
sing wonderfully."
    Gan Itai smiled slyly. "That is true, or the Eadne Cloud would not have
made so many safe voyages. Come, sit by me and talk. I need not sing for
a while, and the late watches are lonely."
    Miriamele climbed up, seating herself beside the Niskie. "Do you get
tired, singing?" she asked.
    Gan Itai laughed quietly. "Does a mother grow tired raising her chil-
dren? Of course, but it is what I do."


464                                    Tad Williams

    Miriamele stole a glance at Gan Itai's wrinkled face. The Niskie's eyes
peered out from beneath her white brows, fixed on the spray and swells.
    "Why did Cadrach call you Tinook . . ." She tried to remember the
word.
    "Tinukeda'ya. Because that is what we are: Ocean Children. Your
guardian is learned."
  "But what does it mean?"
    "It means we always lived on the ocean. Even in the far-away Garden,
we dwelt always at land's end. It has only been since we came to this place
that some of the Navigator's Children have been changed. Some have left
the sea entirely, which is as hard for me to understand as if someone were
to stop breathing and claim that was a good way to live." She shook her
head, pursing her thin lips.
  "Where are your people from?"
  "Far away. Osten Ard is only our most recent home."
    Miriamele sat for a while, thinking. "I always thought that Niskies were
just like Wrannamen. You look very much like Wrannamen."
    Gan Itai laughed sibilantly. "I have heard," she said, "that though they
are different, some animals grow to look like each other because they do
the same things. Perhaps the Wrannamen, like the Tinukeda'ya, have
bowed their heads for too long." She laughed again, but Miriamele did
not think it was a happy laugh. "And you, child," the Niskie said at last,
"it is your turn to answer questions. Why are you here?"  Miriamele stared, caught off balance. "What?"
    "Why are you here? I have thought about what you said, and I am not
sure I believe you."
  "Earl Aspitis does," Miriamele said, a little defiantly.
    "That may be true, but I am altogether different." Gan Itai turned her
gaze on Miriamele. Even in the dim lamplight, the Niskie's eyes glittered
like anthracite. "Speak to me."
    Miriamele shooked her head and tried to pull away, but a thin, strong
hand closed on her arm. "I am sorry," Gan Itai said. "I have frightened
you. Let me put your mind at ease. I have decided that there is no harm in
you--no harm to the Eadne Cloud, at least, which is what I care about. I
am considered peculiar among my folk because I judge quickly. When l
like something or someone, I like it." She chuckled dryly. "I have decided
that I like you, Marya--if that is your name. It shall be your name for
now, if you wish. You need never fear me, not old Gan Itai."
    Bewildered by the night, by wine, and by this latest of many unusual
feelings, Miriamele began to weep.
"Now, child, now..." Gan Itai's gentle, spidery hand patted her back.
"I have no home." Miriamele fought her tears. She felt herself on the
verge of saying things she should not say, no matter how much she
wished to be unburdened. "I am . . . a fugitive."


STONE OF FAREWELL

465

 "Who pursues you?"
    Miriamele shook her head. Spray arched high over the bow as the ship
nosed down into another trough. "I cannot say, but I am in terrible
danger. That's why I had to hide on the boat."
 "And the monk? Your learned guardian? Is he not in danger, too?"
    Miriamele was brought up short by Gan Itai's question. There was
much she had not had time to think about. "Yes, I suppose he is."
 The Niskie nodded, as if satisfied. "Fear not. Your secret is safe with
me."
 "You won't tell Aspitis . . . the earl?"
    Gan Itai shook her head. "My own allegiances are more complex than
you can know. But I cannot promise you he will remain ignorant. He is a
clever one, Eadne Cloud's master."
 "I know." Miriamele's reply was heartfelt.
    The mounting storm flung down another wash of rain. Gan Itai leaned
forward, staring out into the wind-tossed sea. "House of V~, they do not
stay down long! Curse them, but they are strong!" She turned to Miriamele.
"I think it is time for me to sing once more. It would probably be good
for you to get below deck."
    Miriamele awkwardly thanked the Niskie for her companionship, then
stood and made her way down the slippery ladder and off the forecastle.
Thunder growled like a beast hunting them through the darkness. She
wondered suddenly, desperately, if she had been a fool to open her heart
to this strange creature.
    At the hatchway she stopped, cocking her head. In the black night
behind her, Gan Itai's song had been lifted against the storm once more, a
slender ribbon offered to hold back the angry sea.


24

Dogs of Ercfiest~

       J
JOS~ company rode north along the banks of the river Stefflod,
       $
 heading upstream from the juncture with the Ymstrecca through grassland
 rumpled with low hills. Soon the downs began to rise higher on either
 side, so that the prince's folk found themselves traveling through a
 meadowed river-valley, a wide trough of land with the watercourse at its
 center.
     The Stefflod wound along beneath the somber sky, shining dully as a
 vein of tarnished silver. Like the Ymstrecca, its song at first seemed
 muffled, but Deornoth thought this river had a queer undertone to its
 murmuring, as though it hid the voices of a great whispering throng.
 Sometimes the noise of the water seemed to rise in what was almost a
 thread of melody, clear as a succession of pealing bells. A moment later, as
 Deornoth strained to hear what it was that had captured his attention,
 nothing sounded but the mutter and rush of moving water.
     The light playing upon the Stefflod's surface was just as dreamily
 inconstant. Despite the overcast, the water glimmered at times as though
 cold-burning stars were rolling and bumping along the river's bottom. At
 other moments the gleam heightened to a sparkle like a froth of jewels.
 Thenmjust as suddenly, whether the sun was showing or cloud-hiddenm
 the waterway would again become dark and unreflective as lead.
     "Strange, isn't it?" Father Strangyeard said. "For all the things we've
 seen . . . my goodness, the world still has more to show us, doesn't it?"
     "There's something very.., alive about it." Deornoth squinted. A curl
 of light seemed to wriggle on the river's agitated skin, like a radiant fish
 struggling against the current.
     "Well, it is all ... hmmm ... all part of God," Strangyeard said,
 making the sign of the Tree on his breast, "so of course it is alive." He
 squinted too, frowning slightly. "But I do know what you mean, Sir
 Deornoth."
  The valley that had gradually risen around them seemed to take much of

466


STONE OF FAREWELL

467

its character from the river. Willow trees stood sleepily beside the water-
course, shivering as they bent to the cold water like women washing their
hair. As the riders traveled farther, the river widened and slowed. Thickets
of reeds appeared along the banks, resplendent with birds who shrieked
from their bowers to warn all their tribe that strangers walked the land.
    Strangers, Deornoth thought. That is what we suddenly seem here. As ff we
have passed out of the lands meant for our folk and crossed over into someone else' s
domain. He remembered Gelo~'s words on that night, weeks back, when
they had first met her in the forest:
    "Sometimes you men are like lizards, sunning on the stones of a crumbled
house, thinking: 'what a nice basking spot someone built for me.' "The witch
woman had frowned as she spoke.
    She told us we were in Sithi lands, he recalled. Now we are again entering
their fields, that is all. That is why things seem so strange.
 Somehow this did not dispel his unsettled feeling.

    They made camp in a meadow. The low grass was dotted here and
there with fairy-rings, as the woman Ielda had called them, perfect circles
of small white toadstools that shone faintly against the dark turf as twi-
light came on. Duchess Gutrun did not like the idea of sleeping so near to
these rings, but Father Strangyeard sensibly pointed out that the people of
Gadrinsett said the whole of this land belonged to the "fairies," so the
proximity of a mushroom ring meant little. Gutrun, more concerned for
the safety of the child Leleth than herself, gave in with reservations.
    A small fire, made with willow branches they had gathered during the
journey, helped to dispel some of the strangeness. The prince's party ate
and talked quietly long into the evening. Old Towser, who had been
sleeping so long and so deeply during the journey that he hardly seemed
one of their company anymore, but more like a piece of baggage, awak-
ened and lay staring at the night sky.
    "The stars aren't right," he said at last, so quietly that none heard him.
He repeated himself more loudly. Josua came to kneel beside him, taking
the jester's trembling hand in his.  "What is it, Towser?"
    "The stars, they aren't right." The old man pulled his fingers free from
the prince's grip and gestured upward. "There's the Lamp, but it's got one
star more than it should. And where's the Crook? It shouldn't be gone 'til
harvest time. And there's others there I don't know at all." His lip
quivered. "We're all dead. We've gone through into the Shadow Land like
my grandmother used to tell of. We're dead."
    "Come, now," Josua said gently. "We are not dead. We are simply in a
different place, and you have been in and oat of dreams."
    Towser fixed him with a surprisingly sharp eye. "It is Anitul-month, is
it not? Don't think I am crazy-old yet, no matter what I have been


468                                    Tad Williams

through. I have stared at summer skies for nearly twice your lifetime,
young prince. We may be in a different place, but all Osten Ard shares the
same stars--does it not?"
    Josua was silent for a while. A thin babble of voices rose from the
campfire behind him. "I did not mean to say you had lost your wits, old
friend. We are in a strange place, and who knows what stars may shine
upon us? In any case, there is nothing to be done about it." He took the
old man's hand again. "Why do you not come and sit closer to the fire? I
think it would be comforting to have us all together, at least for a little
while."
    Towser nodded and let Josua help him rise. "A little warmth would not
go amiss, my prince. I feel a growing cold in my bones . . . and I don't
like it."
    '"All the better, then, to sit near the fire on a damp night." He led the
old jester back.

    The fire had dimmed to embers and Towser's unfamiliar stars were
wheeling in the sky overhead. Josua looked up when a hand touched his
shoulder. Vorzheva had a blanket draped over her arm.
"Come, Josua," she said. "Let us go and make our bed by the riverside."
He looked around at the others, all sleeping but Deornoth and
Strangyeard, who talked quietly on the far side of the fire. "I do not think
I should leave my people alone."
    "Leave your people?" she said. There was an edge of anger in her voice,
but a moment later it gave way to a quiet laugh. She shook her head and
her black hair fell across her face. "You will never change. I am your wife
now, do you remember that? We have gone four nights as if our marriage
had never happened because you feared pursuit by the king's soldiers and
wished to be close to the others. Do you still fear?"
    He looked up at her. His lip curled in a smile. "Not tonight." He rose
and put his arm about her slender waist, feeling the strong muscles of her
back. "Let us go down by the river."
    Josua left his boots by the fire circle and together they went barefoot
through the damp grass until the glow of the coals had disappeared behind
them. The murmur of the river grew louder as they made their way down
to the sandy verge. Vorzheva unfurled the blanket and sank down upon it.
Josua joined her, pulling his heavy cloak over them both. For a while they
lay in silence beside the dark Steffiod, watching the moon holding court
among her stars. Vorzheva's head rested on Josua's chest, her river-
washed hair against his cheek.
    "Do not think that because our wedding was foreshortened, it meant
any less to me," he said finally. "I promise you that one day we will have
our lives back as they were meant to be. You shall be the lady of a great
house, not an exile in the wilderness."


STONE OF FAREWELL

469

    "Gods of my clan! You are a fool, Josua," she said. "Do you think that
I care what kind of house I live in?" She turned and kissed him, wfigghng
closer against his body. "Fool, fool, fool." Her breath was hot against his
face.
    They spoke no more. The stars gleamed in the sky and the fiver sang
to them.

    Deornoth awakened just after dawn to the sound of Leleth crying. It
took him a moment to realize why that seemed so strange. It was the first
sound he had heard the chfid make.
    Even as the last shreds of dream fell away--he had stood before a great
white tree whose leaves were flames--he was clawing for the hilt of his
sword. He sat up to see Duchess Gutrun holding the little girl on her lap.
Beside her, Father Strangyeard had poked his head tortoiselike from be-
neath his cloak; the priest's wispy red hair was dew-dampened. "What is it?" Deornoth asked.
    Gutrun shook her head. "I don't know. She woke me up with her
crying, the poor thing." The duchess tried to cradle Leleth against her
breast, but the child pulled back. She continued to cry, her eyes wide
open, staring at the sky. "What's the matter, little one, what's the mat-
ter?'' Gutrun crooned.
    Leleth tugged her hand free from the woman's embrace and tremblingly
pointed toward the northern horizon. Deornoth could see nothing but a
black fist of clouds in the most distant part of the sky. "Is something out
there?" he asked.
    The child's cries died away to hiccoughing sobs. She pointed again
at the horizon, then turned away to huddle in Gutrun's lap, face hidden.
    "It's just a bad dream, that's all," the duchess soothed. "There now,
litfie one, just a bad dream .... "
    Josua was suddenly standing before them, Naidel unsheathed in his
hand. The prince wore nothing but his breeches; his slender frame gleamed
pallidly in the dawnlight. "What is it?" he demanded.
    Deornoth pointed to the darkened horizon. "The child saw something
there that made her cry."
    Josua stared grimly. ",We who saw Naglimund's last days would do
well to pay attention. That is an ugly knot of stormclouds." He looked
around at the wet grasslands. "We are all tired," he said, "but we must
make a faster pace. I do not like the look of that storm any more than did
the child. I doubt we will find any shelter on these open plains until we
reach Gelo~'s Stone of Farewell." He turned and shouted to Isorn and the
others, who were just waking up. "Saddle up. We will break our fast as
we travel. Come, there is no longer such a thing as a simple storm. If I can
help it, we will not be caught by this one."


470                                    Tad Williams

    The river valley continued to deepen. The vegetation began to grow
thicker and more lush, the sparse meadowland now broken by freestand-
ing groves of birches and alders, as well as thickets of strange trees with
silvery leaves and slim trunks deep-furred in moss.
    The prince's party had little time to admire this new greenery. They
rode at a fierce pace all day, stopping only for a brief rest in afternoon,
then continuing on until long after the sun had dropped behind the
horizon and twilight had sapped the brightest colors from the land. The
threatening stormclouds now obscured much of the northern sky.
    As the rest made a circle of stones and built a healthy blaze---firewood
was now in broad supply--Deornoth and Isorn took the horses down to
the river.
    "At least we are no longer on foot," Isorn said, uncinching the buckle
on a set of saddlebags, which slid to the grass with a soft thump. "That is
something worth thanking Aedon's goodness for."
    "True." Deornoth patted Vildalix. The drops of perspiration on the
horse's neck had already chilled in the evening breeze. Deornoth rubbed
him dry with a saddle blanket before moving on toJosua's horse Vinyafod.
"We have precious little else to be thankful for."
    "We are alive," Isorn said reprovingly, his wide face serious. "My wife
and children are alive and safe with Tonnrud in Skoggey, and I am here to
protect my mother." He pointedly avoided mentioning his father Isgrimnur,
from whom there had been no word since the duke had left Naglimund.
    Deornoth said nothing, understanding the worry Isorn must feel. He
knew well the love his Rimmersman friend felt for the duke. In a way, he
envied Isorn, and wished his feelings for his own father could be so
admirable. Deornoth was unable to fulfill God's command for sons to
honor their sires. Despite his knightly ideals, he had never been able to
feel anything but the most grudging respect and no love whatsoever for
the pinch-souled old tyrant who had made Deornoth's boyhood a misery.
    "Isorn," he said at last, considering, "someday, when things are as they
were before--before all this happened--and we are telling our grandchil-
dren about it, what will we say?" The breeze blew harder, making the
willow branches slap together.
    His friend did not respond. After a moment, Deornoth stood up and
looked across Vinyafod's back to where Isorn stood a few ells away,
holding the horses' reins as they drank from the river. The Rimmersman
was only a faint silhouette against the purple-gray evening sky. "lsorn?"
    "Look to the south, Deornoth," he said, his voice strained. "There are
torches."
    Away across the grasslands, back down the Stefflod in the direction
from which they had come, a swarm of tiny lights moved across the land.
    "Merciful Aedon," Deornoth groaned, "it is Fengbald and his men.
They have caught us up after all." He turned and gave Vinyafod a light


STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                471

slap on the flanks, causing the charger to take a few prancing steps
forward. "No rest for you yet, fellow." He and Isorn sprinted up the bank
toward the wind-whipped flames that marked their camp.

    "... And they are less than a league away," Isorn finished breathlessly.
"Down by the river we could see the lights clearly."
    Josua's face was composed, but noticeably pale in the firelight. "God
has given us a hard test, to let us get so far and then pull the trap shut."
He sighed. The eyes of all watched him in fearful fascination. "Well, at
least we must kick out the fire and ride on. Perhaps if we can find a thick
enough copse of trees to hide in, and if they have no hounds, they may
pass us by. Then we can think of what other plan might suffice."
    As they clambered into their saddles once more, Josua turned to Deornoth.
"We brought two bows as part of our booty from Fikolmij's camp, did
we not?"
 Deornoth nodded.
    "Good. You and Isorn take them." The prince laughed grimly, bran-
dishing the stump of his right wrist. "I am not much of a bowman, but I
think we will have need of a little arrow-play."
 Deornoth nodded again, wearily.

    They rode swiftly, though all the party sensed that they could not do so
for long. The Thrithings horses ran gamely, but it had already been a long
day's trek before the company had stopped. Vinyafod and Vildalix seemed
as though they had several hours left in them, but some of the other
mounts were clearly winded; their riders were scarcely stronger. As his
horse moved beneath him and the moonlit grasslands rolled past, Deornoth
could almost feel his will to resist ebbing away, draining like sand through
the neck of an hourglass.
    We have come ten times as far as anyone would have dreamed possible, he
thought, clinging tightly to the reins as Vildalix topped one of the meadow
downs and plunged down the opposite slope like a boat breasting a wave.
There is no dishonor in failing now. What more can God expect than that we give
our all? He looked back. The rest of the party was beginning to fall
behind. Deornoth pulled up on the reins, slowing his charger until he was
in the midst of the company once more. God might be ready to reward
them with a hero's place in Heaven, but he could not give up the struggle
while innocents like the duchess and the child were at risk.
    Isorn was beside him now, clutching Leleth on the saddle before him.
The young Rimmersman's face was a gray blur in the moonlight, but
Deornoth did not need to see his friend to know the anger and determina-
tion written on his broad features.
 He looked back once more. For all their haste, the rippling torches had


 472                                   Tad Williams

 gained ground on them, closing the distance in the last two hours until
 they trailed the prince's folk by less than a dozen furlongs.
     "Slow up!" Josua cried behind him in the darkness. "If we run farther,
 we will have no strength left to fight. There is a grove of trees atop
 the rise there. That is where we will make a stand."
     They followed the prince up the slope. The cold wind had risen and
 the trees bent and thrashed, branches scraping together. In the dark-
 ness the pale, swaying trunks seemed white-robed spirits lamenting some
 terrible circumstance.
     "Here." The prince ushered them past the outermost circle of trees.
 "Where are those bows, Sir Deornoth?" His voice was flat.
     "At my saddle, Prince Josua." Deornoth heard the awful formality
 echoed in his own tones, as though they all participated in some ritual. He
 loosed the two bows and flung one to Isorn, who had handed Leleth over
 to his mother to free his hands. As Deornoth and the young Rimmersman
 strung the supple ashwood, Father Strangyeard accepted an extra dagger
 from Sangfugol. He held it unhappily, as though he pinched a serpent's
 tail. "What will Usires think?" he said mournfully. "What will my God
 think of me?"
     "He will know you fought to save the lives of women and children,"
 lsorn said shortly, nocking one of their few arrows.
     "Now we wait," Josua hissed. "We stay close together, in case I see a
 chance for us to run once more, and we wait."
     The minutes stretched as taut as the bowstring beneath Deornoth's
 fingers. The nightbirds had gone silent in the trees overhead, but for one
 whose eerie, whispering call echoed over and over until Deornoth wished
 he could put an arrow through its feathered throat. A sound as of distant
 and continuous drumming began to separate itself from the droning mur-
 mur of the Steffiod, growing ever louder. Deornoth thought he could feel
 the ground beginning to shudder beneath his feet. He suddenly wondered
 if blood had ever been shed in this seemingly uninhabited land before. Had
 the roots of these pale trees ever drunk of things other than water? The
 great oaks around the battlefield at the Knock were said to have gorged on
 blood until their pith was rosy pink.
    The thunder of hoofbeats rose until it was louder than Deornoth's own
 heart drumming in his ears. He lifted his bow but did not bend it, saving
 his strength for the moment it would be needed. A swirl of flickering
 lights appeared on the meadow below them. The headlong flight of the
 horsemen slowed, as though they somehow sensed the prince's folk hiding
 in the grove above them. As they reined up, the flames of their streaming
 torches bobbed upright once more, blooming like orange flowers.
   "They are nearly two dozen," Isorn said unhappily.
  "I will take the first," Deornoth whispered. "You take the second."
  "Hold," said Josua quietly. "Not until I say."


STONE OF FAREWELL

473

    The leader got down from his horse, bending to the ground so that he
disappeared out of the glow of torchlight. When he stood his pale,
hooded face turned to look up the slope, so that it almost seemed to
Deornoth he had sighted them in the fastness of the shadows. Deornoth
lowered his arrowhead until it pointed at the cloaked chest beneath the
faint moon of face.
 "Steady now," Josua murmured, "a moment more..."
    There was a rush and clatter in the branches overhead. A dark shape
battered at Deornoth's head, startling him so that the arrow flew free,
high above its intended mark. Deornoth shouted in alarm and staggered
back, raising his hands to protect his eyes, but whatever had struck him
was gone.
    "Stop!" a voice cried from the trees above, a creaking, whistlingly
inhuman voice. "Stop!"
    Isorn, who had stared in stupefaction as Deornoth swatted at nothing,
turned grimly and lowered his own arrow to the target. "Demons!" he
growled, pulling his bowstring back to his ear.
    "Josua?" somebody called from the meadow below. "Prince Josua? Are
you there?"
    There was a moment of silence. "Aedon be praised," Josua breathed.
He pushed his way through the crackling undergrowth and strode out into
the full light of the moon, his cloak billowing like a sail in the fierce wind.
"I am here!" he shouted.
    "What is he doing?" Isorn hissed frantically. Vorzheva let out a small
cry of anguish, but Deornoth, too, had recognized the voice.
    "Josua?" the leader of the horsemen cried. "It is Hotvig of the Stallion
Clan." He pushed back his hood to show his beard and wind-tossed
yellow hair. "We have followed you for days!"
 "Hotvig!" Vorzheva shouted anxiously. "Is my father with you?"
    The Thrithings-man laughed harshly. "Not him, Lady Vorzheva. The
March-thane is no happier with me than he is with you or your husband!"
    As the randwarder and Josua clasped hands, the rest of the prince's party
emerged from the copse of trees, tight-strung muscles trembling, babbling
among themselves with relief.
    "There is much to tell, Josua," Hotvig said as his fellow riders came up
the slope to join them. "First, though, we must make a fire. We have been
riding fast as the Grass Thunderer himself. We are cold and very tired."
 "Indeed," Josua smiled. "A fire."
    Deornoth stepped forward and took Hotvig's hand in his. "Praise
Usires' mercy," he said. "We thought you were Fengbald, the High
King's man. I was a moment from loosing an arrow into your heart, but
something struck my hand in the darkness."
    "You may praise Usires," a dry voice said, "but I had something to do
with it, too."


474                                   Tad Williams

    Gelo~ came out of the trees behind them, marching down the slope and
into the circle of torchlight. The witch woman, Deornoth realized with a
start, wore a cloak and breeches that came from his own saddlebag. Her
feet were unshod.
 "Valada Gelo~!" Josua said in wonderment. "You come unlooked-for."
 "You may not have looked for me, Prince Josua, but I looked for you.
And a good thing that I did, else this night might have ended in bloodshed."
  "It was you that struck me before I could let my arrow fly?" Deornoth
  said slowly. "But how... ?"
    "Time enough for stories later," Gelo~ said, then kneeled as Leleth
pulled free of Gutrun's clutch to run into the wise woman's arms with a
wordless cry of pleasure. As she embraced the child. Gelo~'s huge yellow
eyes held Deornoth's gaze; he felt a shiver travel down his backbone.
"Time enough for stories later," she repeated. "Now it is time to make a
fire. The moon is far along in her journey. If you are on your horses by
dawn tomorrow, you will reach the Stone of Farewell before dark." She
looked up at the northern sky. "And perhaps before the storm, as well."

    The sky was tar-black with angry clouds. The rain was turning into
sleet. Rachel the Dragon, chilled and storm-battered, stepped into the lee
of a building on Ironmonger's Street for a moment's rest. The byways of
Erchester were empty but for flurrying hailstones and a solitary figure
carrying a large bundle on its back as it trudged away through the mud
toward Main Row.
    Probably leaving for the countryside, carrying all his wordly goods, she thought
bitterly. Another one gone, and who could blame him? It's like the plague has run
through this city.
 Shivering, she set out once more.
    Despite the vicious weather, many of the doors along Ironmonger's
Street swung back and forth unlatched, opening to giving a glimpse of
empty blackness beyond, banging closed with a sound like breaking
bones. It was indeed much as if some pestilence had devastated Erchester,
but it was a scourge of fear rather than disease that was driving out the
city's denizens. This, in turn, had forced the Mistress of Chambermaids to
walk the entire length of the ironmongery district before she could find
someone to sell her what she needed. She carried her new purchase under
her cloak and against her bosom, hidden from the sight of passersby---of
which there were obviously few--and perhaps, she hoped, somehow also
hidden from the eyes of a disapproving God.
    The irony was that there had been no necessity to walk through the
savage winds and deserted streets: any of several hundred implements in
the Hayholt's kitchen would have admirably suited her bill of particulars.



STONE OF FAREWELL

475

But this was her own plan and her own decision. To take what she needed
from Judith's cupboards might put the fat Mistress of Kitchens in jeop-
ardy, and Judith was one of the few castle folk for whom R~chel felt
respect. More importantly, it truly was Rachel's own plan, and in a way it
had been necessary for her to walk one more time through Erchester's
haunted alleyways: it was helping her work up the courage to do what
must be done.
    Spring cleaning, she reminded herself grimly. A shrill, un-Rachel-like
laugh escaped her lips. Spring cleaning in~ midsummer, with snow on the way.
She shook her head, feeling a momentary urge to sit down in the muddy
street and cry. That's enough, old woman, she told herself, as she often did.
There's work to be done, and no rest this side of Heaven~

    If there had been any doubts that the Day of Weighing-Out was almost
at hand, just as foretold in the holy Book of the Aedon, Rachel had only
to think back to the comet that had appeared in the sky during the spring
of Elias' regnal year. At the time, with the optimism of those days not
long past, many had thought it a sign of a new age and a new beginning
for Osten Ard. Now it was clear as well water that it had instead
prophesied the last days of Trial and Doom. And what else, she upbraided
herself, could such a hellish red slash in the sky mean? It was only blind
foolishness that could have made anyone think otherwise.
    Welladay, she thought, peering from beneath her hood at the desolate
shops of Main Row, we have all made our bed of pain: now God will make us
lie in it. In His anger and wisdom He's given us plague and drought, and now
unnatural storms. And who could ask ~r a plainer sign than the poor old lector
dying so horribly?
    The shocking news had swept through the castle and city below like
flame. Folk had spoken of little else for the last week: Lector Ranessin was
dead, murdered in his bed by some terrible pagans called Fire Dancers.
These godless monsters had also set part of the Sancellan Aedonitis ablaze.
Rachel had seen the lector when he came for John's funeral, a fine and holy
man. Now, in this dreadful year of years, he, too, had been stuck down.
    Lord save our souls. The holy lector murdered, and demons and spirits walking
the night, even in the Hayholt itself. She shuddered, thinking of the sight she
had seen from the window of the servant's quarters one night not long
ago. Lured to the window, not by any sound or sight, but rather by some
undefinable feeling, she had silently left her sleeping charges and clam-
bered up onto a stool, leaning on the window casement to look out on the
Hedge Garden below. There, amid the shadowy shapes of the hedge-
animals, had stood a circle of silent, black-robed figures. Almost breath-
less with terror, Rachel had rubbed at her old and treacherous eyes, but
the figures were no dream or illusion. Even as she stared, one of the
hooded shapes had turned to look up at her, its eyes black holes in a


476                                    Tad Williams

corpse-white face. She had run back and leaped into her hard bed, pulling
the blanket up over her face to lie in sweaty, sleepless fear until dawn.
    Before this year of derangement, Rachel had trusted her own judgment
with the same iron faith she extended to her God, her king, and the
sanctity of tidiness. After the comet came, and particularly since Simon's
cruel death, that faith had been badly shaken. The two days following her
midnight vision she wandered through the castle in a daze, mind only halt
on her chores, wondering if she had turned into the kind of daft old
woman she had vowed to die before becoming.
    But as she quickly discovered, if the Mistress of Chambermaids was
mad, it was a contagious madness. Many others had also seen such
pallid-faced specters. The diminished marketplace along Erchester's Main
Row was full of whispered talk about the things that walked by night in
both countryside and city. Some said that they were ghosts of Elias'
victims, unable to sleep while their heads were spiked above the Nearulagh
Gate. Others said that Pryrates and the king had struck a deal with the
Devil himself, that these undead hell-wights had thrown down Naglimund
o:~ Elias' behalf and now waited upon his bidding for further unholy tasks.
    Rachel the Dragon had once believed in nothing that Father Dreosan did
not include in his catalog of churchly acceptabilities, and had doubted that
even the Prince of Demons himself could bar her way in a pinch, since she
had both blessed Usires the Ransomer and common sense on her side.
Rachel was now as much of a believer as her most superstitious chamber-
maid, because she had seen. With her own two eyes, she had seen the hosts
of Hell in her castle's Hedge Garden. There could be little doubt that the
Day of Weighing-Out was at hand.
    Rachel was dragged from her brooding thoughts by a noise in the street
ahead. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the stinging sleet. A pack of
dogs was fighting over something in the muddy road, snarling and baying
as they dragged it back and forth. She moved to the side of the road,
hugging the walls of the buildings. There were always dogs running loose
in Erchester's streets, but with so few people left they had become wild in
a way they had never been before. The ironmonger had told her that
several dogs had leaped through a window in Cooper's Alley and attacked
a woman in her bed, biting her so badly that she bled to death. Thinking
of this, Rachel felt a tremor of fear run right through her. She stopped,
wondering if she should walk past the creatures or not. She looked up and
down the road, but there was no one else about. A pair of dim figures
moved in the distance a couple of furlongs off, much too far away to be of
any help. She swallowed and moved forward, dragging the fingers of one
hand along the wall, the other clutching her purchase close against her
body. As she edged past the struggling hounds she looked around for an
open doorway, just to be safe.
 It was hard to tell just what they were fighting for, since both dogs and


STONE OF FAREWELL

477

prize were splattered with dark mud. One of the curs looked up from the
roil of lean bellies and bony haunches, mouth stretched in a tongue-
lolling, idiot grin as it watched Rachel pass. The soiled snout and gaping
jaw suddenly put her in mind of some sinner condemned to the ultimate
pit, a lost soul that had forgotten whatever it had once known of beauty or
happiness. The beast stared silently as hailstones pitted the muddy street.
    Its attention caught once more by the struggles of its fellows, the dog
turned away at last. With a snarl, it dove back into the thrashing pile.
    Tears starting in her eyes, Rachel lowered her head and struggled
against the wind, hurrying back toward the Hayholt.

    Guthwulf stood beside the king on a balcony that overlooked the
courtyard of the Inner Bailey. Elias seemed in an unusually cheerful mood,
considering the unimpressive size of the crowd that had been brought into
the Hayholt to watch the mustering-out of the Erkynguard.
    Guthwulf had heard the rumors that passed among his fighting men,
stories of the night-terrors that were emptying the halls of the Hayholt
and the houses of Erchester. Not only had comparatively few folk ap-
peared to see the king, but the mood of those gathered was restive;
Guthwulf did not think he would like to walk unarmed through such a
crowd while wearing the sash that proclaimed him King's Hand.
    "Damnable weather, isn't it?" Elias said, his green eyes intent on the
milling riders who labored to hold their horses in place beneath the pelting
hail. "Oddly cold for Anitul, don't you think, Wolf?."
    Guthwulf turned in surprise, wondering if the king made a strange joke.
The upside-down weather had been the chief topic of conversation through-
out the castle for months. It was far, far more than 'oddly cold.' Such
weather was terrifyingly wrong, and had added in no little part to the
earl's feeling of impending disaster.
    "Yes, sire," was all he said. There was no longer any question in his
mind. He would lead the Erkynguard out, as Elias requested, but once he
and the troops were beyond the king's immediate reach, Guthwulfhimself
would never return. Let heedless, criminal idiots like Fengbald do the
king's bidding. Guthwulf would take those Erkynguards who were will-
ing, along with his own loyal Utanyeaters, and offer his services to Elias'
brother Josua. Or, if the prince's survival were nothing more than rumor,
the earl and those who followed him would go someplace where they
could make their own rules, out of reach of this fever-brained creature
who had once been his friend.
    Elias patted him stiffly on the shoulder, then leaned forward and waved
an imperious hand. Two of the Erkynguard lifted their long horns and
played the muster-call, and the hundred or so guardsmen redoubled their


478                                   Tad Williams

efforts to form their balking mounts into a line. The king's emerald
dragon-banner whipped in the wind, threatening to pull free from its
bearer's grasp. Only a few of the watching crowd cheered, their voices all
but buried by the noise of wind and pattering sleet.
    "Perhaps you should let me go down to them, Majesty," Guthwulf said
quietly. "The horses are anxious in this storm. If they bolt, they will be
among the crowd in a moment."
    Elias frowned. "What, do you worry about a little blood beneath their
hooves? They are battle-bred: it will not harm them." He turned his gaze
onto the Earl of Utanyeat. His eyes were so alien that Guthwulf flinched
helplessly. "That is the way it is, you know," Elias continued, lips
spreading in a smile. "You can either grind down that which stands before
you, or else be ground down yourself. There is no middle ground, friend
Guthwulf."
    The earl bore the king's glance for a long moment, then looked away,
staring miserably at the crowd below. What did that mean? Did Elias
suspect? Was this whole show only an elaborate setting for the king to
denounce his old comrade and send GuthwulFs head to join the others that
now clustered thick as blackberries atop the Nearulagh Gate?
    "Ah, my king," rasped a familiar voice, "are you taking a little air? I
could wish you a better day for it."
    Pryates stood in the curtained archway behind the balcony, teeth bared
in a vulpine grin. The priest wore a great hooded cloak over his usual
scarlet robe.
    "I am glad to see you here," Elias said. "I hope you are rested after your
long journey yesterday."
    "Yes, Highness. It was an unsettling trip, but a night in my own bed in
Hjeldin's Tower has done wonders. I am ready to do your bidding." The
priest made a little mock bow, the top of his pale bald head revealed for a
moment like a new moon before he straightened and looked to Guthwulf.
"And the Earl of Utanyeat. Good morningtide to you, Guthwulf. I hear
you are riding forth in the king's behalf."
    Guthwulf looked at Pryrates with cold distaste. "Against your advice, I
am told."
    The alchemist shrugged, as if to show that his personal reservations
were of little account. "I do think there are perhaps more important
matters with which His Majesty should concern himself than a search for
his brother. Josua's power was broken at Naglimund: I see little need in
pursuing him. Like a seed on stony ground, I think he will find no
purchase, no place to grow strong. No one would dare flaunt the High
King's Ward by giving such a renegade shelter." He shrugged again. "But
I am only a counselor. The king knows his own mind."
    Elias, staring down at the quiet assembly in the courtyard below,
seemed to have ignored the entire conversation. He rubbed absently at the





STONE OF FAREWELL

479

iron crown on his brow, as though it caused him some discomfort.
Guthwulf thought the king's skin had a sickly, transparent look.
"Strange days," Elias said, half to himself. "Strange days . . ."
"Strange days indeed," Guthwulf agreed, drawn to reckless conversa-
tion. "Priest, I hear you were in the Sancellan on the very night of the
lector's assassination."
    Pryrates nodded soberly. "A ghastly thing. Some mad cult of heretics, I
hear. I hope Velligis, the new lector, will soon root them out."
    "Ranessin will be missed," Guthwulf said slowly. "He was a popular
and well-respected man, even among those who do not accept the True
Faith."
    "Yes, he was a powerful man," Pryrates said. His black eyes glinted as
he gazed sidelong at the king. Elias still did not look up, but an expression
of pain seemed to flit across his pallid features. "A very powerful man,"
the red priest repeated.
    "My people do not seem happy," the king murmured, leaning out
against the stone railing. The scabbard of his massive double-hiked sword
scraped the stone and Guthwulf suppressed a shudder. The dreams that
still haunted him, the dreams of that foul sword and its two brother
blades!
    Pryrates moved forward to the king's side. The Earl of Utanyeat edged
away, unwilling to touch even the alchemist's cloak. As he turned, he saw
a blur of movement from the archway--billowing curtains, a pale face, a
dull glint of exposed metal. An instant later a howling shriek echoed
through the courtyard. "Murderer!"
    Pryrates staggered back from the railing, a knife handle standing be-
tween his shoulder blades.
    The next moments passed with dreadful slowness: the lassitude of
Guthwulfs movements and the dull, doomed progression of his thoughts
made him feel as though he and all the others on the balcony were
suddenly immersed in choking, clinging mud. The alchemist turned to
face his attacker, a wild-eyed old woman who had been thrown down to
the stone floor behind him by the priest's spasmodic reaction. Pryrates'
lips skinned back from his teeth in a horrible doglike grin of agony and
fury. His naked fist lifted in the air and a weird gray-yellow glow began to
play about it. Smoke seeped from his fingers and around the knife wag-
ging in his back, and for a moment the very light in the sky seemed to
dim. Elias had turned as well, his mouth a black hole of surprise in his
face, his eyes bulging with a panicky horror such as Guthwulf had never
dreamed he would see on the king's face. The woman on the floor was
scrabbling at the stone tiles as if swimming in some thick fluid, trying to
drag herself away from the priest.
 Pryrates' black eyes seemed almost to have fallen back into his head. For


480                                   Tad Williams

a moment, a leering, scarlet-robed skeleton stood over the old worn:
bony hand smoldering into incandescence.
    Guthwulf never knew what spurred his next action. A commoner h
attacked the king's counselor, and the Earl of Utanyeat was King's Hat
nevertheless, he found himself suddenly lurching forward. The noise,
the crowd, the storm, his own heartbeat, all swelled together into a sing
hammering pulse as Guthwulf grappled with Pryrates. The priest's spind
form was solid as iron beneath his hands. Pryrates' head turned, agoni
ingly slowly. His eyes burned into Guthwuls. The earl felt himse
abruptly pulled out of his own body and sent spinning down into a dar
pit. There was a flash of fire and a blast of incredible heat, as though E
had fallen into one of the forge-furnaces beneath the great castle, then~
howling blackness took him away.

    When Guthwulf awakened, he was still in darkness. His body seemet
one dull ache of pain. Droplets of moisture pattered lightly on his face an~
the smell of wet stone was in his nostrils.
    "... I did not even see her," a voice was saying. After a moment,
Guthwulf was able to identify it as the king's, although there was a subtle,
chiming tone to it that he had not marked before. "By God's head, to
think that I have become so slow and preoccupied." The king's laugh had
a fearful tinge. "I was sure she had come for me."
    Guthwulf tried to respond to Elias, but found that he could not form
the proper sounds. It was dark, so dark that he could not make out the
king's form. He wondered if he had been brought to his own room, and how
long he had been senseless.
    "I saw her," Pryrates rasped. His voice, too, had taken on a ringing
sound. "She may have escaped me for a moment, but by the Black Eon,
the scrubbing-bitch will pay."
    Guthwulf, still struggling for speech, found himself amazed that Pryrates
should be able to speak at all, let alone be standing while the Earl of
Utanyeat lay on the ground.
    "I suppose now I shall have to wait for Fengbald to return before I can
send out the Erkynguard--or perhaps one of the younger lords could lead
them?" The king sighed wearily. "Poor Wolf." There seemed in his
strangely tuneful voice little sympathy.
      "He should not have touched me," Pryrates said contemptuously. "He
interfered and the slattern escaped. Perhaps he was in league with her."
  "No, no, I do not think so. He was always loyal. Always."
    Poor Wolf?. What, did they think he was dead? Guthwulf strained to
make his muscles work. Had they brought him to some curtained room to
lie in waiting for burial? He fought for mastery of his body, but all his
limbs seemed coldly unresponsive.
 A horrible thought came to him suddenly. Perhaps he was dead--for


'1"

STONE OF FAREWELL

481

who, after all, had ever returned to say what it was hke? Only Usires
Himself, and he was the son of God. Oh, merciful Aedon, would he have
to stay trapped in his body like a prisoner in a forgotten cell, even as they
laid him in the wormy ground? He felt a scream building within him.
Would it be hke the dream when he touched the sword? God save him.
Merciful Aedon...
    "I am going, Elias. I will find her, even if I must crush the stones of the
servant's quarters into dust and flay the skin off of every chambermaid."
Pryrates spoke with a sort of sweetness, as though the savor of this
thought was as splendid as wine. "I will see that people are punished."
    "But surely you should rest," Elias said mildly, as though speaking to a
froward child. "Your injury . . ."
    "The pain I inflict on the chamber-mistress will take my own pain
away," the alchemist said shortly. "I am well. I have grown strong, Elias.
It will take more than a single knife thrust to dispatch me."
"Ah." The king's voice was emotionless. "Good. That is good."
Guthwulf heard Pryrates' bootheels clocking against the tiled stone
floor, striding away. There was no sound of a door opening and closing,
but another shower of moisture spattered the Earl of Utanyeat's face. This
time he felt the chill of the water.
 "L... L... 'Lias," he managed to say at last.
 "Guthwul0." the king said, gently surprised. "You live?"
 "Wh... where... ?"
 "Where is what?"
 "... Me."
 "You are on the balcony, where you had your.., accident."
    How could that be? Had it not been morning time when they had
watched the Erkynguard muster? Had he lain here lifelessly until evening?
Why hadn't they moved him to a more comfortable place?
    "... He's right, you know," Elias was saying. "You really shouldn't
have interfered. What did you think you were doing?" The odd ringing
sound was beginning to fade from his voice "It was very foolish. I told
you to stay away from the priest, didn't I?"
 "... Can't see..." Guthwulf managed at last.
    "I'm not surprised," Ehas said calmly. "Your face is badly burned,
especially around your eyes. They look very bad. I was certain you were
dead--but you're not." The king's voice was distant. "It's a pity, old
comrade, but I told you to watch out for Pryrates."
    "Blind?" Guthwulf said, his voice hoarse, throat seizing in a painful
spasm. "Blind?!"
    His rasping howl broke across the commons, bouncing from wall to
stone wall until it seemed a hundred Guthwulfs were screaming. As he
vented his agony, the king patted him on the head as though soothing an
old dog.



482                                   Tad Williams

    The river valley waited for the oncoming storm. The chilly air warn
and grew heavy. The Steffiod murmured uneasily and the sky was gra
with angry-looking clouds. The travelers found themselves speaking soft
as if they rode past the sleeping form of some huge beast who might
awakened by disrespectful loudness or levity.
    Hotvig and his men had decided to ride back to the rest of their par
who were nearly four score all told, men, women, and children. Hotvi
clanfolk and their wagons were following as swiftly as they could,
they were no match for the speed of unencumbered riders.
    "I am still amazed that your people would uproot themselves to foll~
us into an unknown and ill-omened wilderness," Josua said at their partir
    Hotvig grinned, showing a gap in his teeth earned in some past bra~
"Uproot? There is no such word to the folk of the Stallion Clan. C
roots are in our wagons and our saddles."
    "But surely your clansmen are worried about riding into such strar
territory?"
    A brief look of concern flickered across the Thrithings-man's fa
quickly supplanted by an expression of disdainful pride. "You forg
Prince Josua, that they are my kinfolk. I told them, 'If stone-dwellers c
ride there without fear, can the people of the Free Thrithings shy awa~
They follow me." He pulled at his beard and grinned once more. "lq
sides, it is worth many risks to get out from under Fikolmij's hand."
  "And you are sure he will not pursue you?" the prince asked.
  Hotvig shook his head. "As I told you last night, the March-thane h
  lost face because of you. Anyway, our clans often split into small
  clan-families. It is our right as people of the Free Thrithings. The 1~
  thing Fikolmij can do now is to try to keep us few from leaving t
  greater clan. That would prove beyond doubt that he is losing his hold
  the reins."
    When they had all gathered around the fire after their encounter in t
dark, Hotvig had explained how Fikolmij's treatment of his daughter al
Prince Josua had caused much disgruntled talk around the wagons of tl
Stallion Clan. Fikolmij had never been a popular leader, but he had be,
respected as a powerful fighter and clever strategist. To see him so bede,
iled by the mere presence of stone-dwellers, to the point where he wou]
lend aid to Fengbald and others of the High King's men without consul
ing his clan chiefs, had made many wonder out loud whether Fikolmij w~
still capable of lording it as March-thane of all of the High Thrithings.
    When Earl Fengbald had arrived with his fifty or so armored mm
swaggering into the wagon camp like conquerors, Hotvig and some of tt
other randwarders had brought the men of their own clan-families I
Fikolmij's wagon. The March-thane had wished to set the Erkynlande


STONE OF FAREWELL

483

quickly on the trail of Josua's party, but Hotvig and the others had stood
against their leader.
    "No stone-dwellers go armed across the Stallion Clan's fields without a
gathering of chiefs to say they can," Hotvig had cried, and his fellows had
echoed him. Fikolmij had fumed and threatened, but the laws of the Free
Thrithings were the only immutable things in the clan-folk's nomadic
existence. The argument had ended with Hotvig and the other randwarders
telling Earl Fengbald--"a foolish, dangerous man who likes himself well,"
as Hotvig described him--that the only way the High King's men could
pursue Josua was to go around the Stallion Clan's territory. Fengbald,
outnumbered by ten to one or more, had no choice but to ride away,
taking the shortest route back off the High Thrithings. The Earl of
Falshire had made many angry threats before departing, promising that
the grasslanders' long days of freedom were over, that High King Elias
would come soon and knock the wheels off their wagons once and for all.
    Unsurprisingly, this public thwarting of Fikolmij's authority brought
on a terrible argument that several times almost erupted into deadly
bloodshed. The disputing ceased only when Hotvig and several other
randwarders took their families and followed Josua, leaving Fikolmij be-
hind to curse and lick his wounds, his strength as March-thane weakened
but by no means ended.
    "No, he will not follow us," Hotvig repeated. "That would say to all
the clans that mighty Fikolmij cannot survive the loss of our few wagons,
and that the stone-dwellers and their feuds are more important to the
March-thane of all the High Thrithings than his own people. Now, we
clan exiles will live near you for a while at your Farewell Stone and
talk among ourselves about what we will do."
    "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your help," Josua said sol-
emnly. "You have saved our lives. If Fengbald and his soldiers had caught
us, we would be going back to the Hayholt in chains. Then there would
be no one to stop my brother."
    Hotvig looked at him keenly. "You may think so, but you do not know
the strength of the Free Thrithings if you think we would be so easily
overcome." He hefted his long spear. "Already the men of the Meadow
Thrithings are making things very difficult for the stone-dwellers of
Nabban."
    Father Strangyeard, who had been listening carefully, made a worried
face. "The king is not the only one we fear, Hotvig."
    The Thrithings-man nodded. "So you told me. And I would hear more,
but now I must go back for the rest of my people. If your destination is as
close as the woman says," he indicated Gelo~ with careful respect, "then
look for us before sunset tomorrow. The wagons can go no faster."
    "But do not delay," the wise woman said. "I did not speak lightly when
I said we must make haste ahead of this storm."


7

484                                    Tad Williams

    "No one can ride like grasslander horsemen," Hotvig said sternly.
"And our wagon-teams are not much slower. We will be with you before
tomorrow's night." He laughed, again showing his missing tooth. "Leave
it to city folk to find stone in the middle of the meadowlands, then want
to make their home there. Still," he said to the prince, "I knew when you
killed Utvart that things would never be the same for anyone. My father
taught me to trust my hand and my heart." He grinned. "My luck, too. I
bet one of my foals on you, Josua, in your fighting with Utvart. My
friends were ashamed to best me so easily, but they took my wager," He
laughed loudly. "You won four good horses for me!" He turned his
mount toward the south, waving. "Soon we will meet again!" "And no arrows this time," cried Deornoth.
    "Go safely," Josua called as Hotvig and his men spurred away across the
green lands.

    Heartened by the encounter with the Thrithings-folk, the travelers rode
cheerfully through the morning despite the threatening skies. When they    !
stopped briefly to take their midday meal and water the horses, Sangfugol
even convinced Father Strangyeard to sing with him. The priest's surpris-
ingly sweet voice blended well with the harper's, and if Father Strangyeard
did not quite understand what "The Ballad of Round-Heeled Moirah" was
about, his enjoyment was the greater for it, and for the laughing praise
given to him after.
    When they were in the saddle once more, Deornoth found himself
riding beside Gelo~, who cradled Leleth before her on the saddle. She rode
flawlessly, as one of long experience; Deornoth found himself wondering
once more what the wise woman's strange history might be. She was also
still wearing the spare clothing he had brought out of the wagon-camp, as
if she had come to that fateful copse of trees naked. After thinking for a
while about why that might be, and remembering the clawed thing that
had struck at him in darkness, Deornoth decided that there were some
things about which a God-fearing knight should not inquire.
    "Forgive me, Valada GeloE," he said, "but you look very grim. Is there
something important you have not told us yet?" He indicated Sangfugol
and Strangyeard, laughing with Duchess Gutrun as they rode. "Are we
singing in the lich-yard, as the old saying goes?"
    Gelo~ continued to watch the sky. From her lap, Leleth looked at him as
though he were an interesting rock. "I fear many things, Sir Deornoth,"
Gelo~ said at last. "The problem with being a 'wise woman' is that
sometimes you know just enough to be truly afraid, while still not having
any better answers than might the youngest child. I fear this coming
storm. The one who is our true enemy--I will not say his name here in
this land, not in the open--is reaching the summit of his power. We have
already seen in this cold summer how his pride and anger speak in the



STONE OF FAREWELL

485

winds and clouds. Now, black weather is swirling out of the north. I am
sure it is his storm: if I am right, it will bring woe to those who resist
him."
    Deornoth found himself following her gaze. Suddenly, the ominous
clouds seemed an inky hand stretching across the sky from the north,
blindly but patiently searching. The idea of waiting for that hand to find
them sent a poisoneus dread twisting through him, so that he had to look
down at his saddle for a moment before he could lift his eyes to Gelo~'s
yellow stare.
 "I understand," he said.

    Sunlight bled fitfully through chinks in the clouds. The wind turned,
blowing into their faces, heavy and moist. As they followed the line of the
valley, a broad bend in the Steffiod revealed for the first time the old
forest, the Aldheorte. The great wood was much nearer than Deornoth
would have guessed--the party's return on horseback had been far swifter
than their straggling march out across the Thrithings. Because of their
descent into the river valley, the forest now stood on the heights above
them, a solid line of vegetation like dark cliffs along the valley's northern
rim.
 "It is not far now," Gelo~ said.
    They rode on through the afternoon as the curtained sun slid clown the
sky, glowing behind the gray murk. Another turn in the river's course
brought them around a cluster of shallow hills. They stopped short.
 "Merciful Aedon," Deornoth breathed to himself.
 "Sesuad'ra," Gelo~ said. "There stands the Stone of Farewell."
"That's no stone," Sangfugol said disbelievingly. "That's a mountain!"
A great hill rose from the valley floor before them. Unhke its low,
rounded neighbors, Sesuad'ra thrust up from the meadows hke the head of
a buried giant, bearded with trees, crowned with angular stones that stood
along the ridgeline. Beyond the spiky stones some shimmering whiteness
lay along the hill's very peak. An immense, upward-straining slab of
weathered rock and clinging brush, Sesuad'ra loomed some five hundred
cubits above the river. The uneven sunlight washed across the hill in
wavering bands, so that the entire mass almost seemed to turn and watch
them as they rode slowly down the watercourse.
"It is much like Thisterborg, near the Hayholt,"Josua said wonderingly.
"That's no stone," Sangfugol repeated stubbornly, shaking his head.
Gelo~ laughed harshly. "It is all stone. Sesuad'ra is a part of the very
bones of the earth, thrust free of her body in the pain of the Days of Fire,
but still reaching down into the very center of the world."
    Father Strangyeard was eyeing the massive hill nervously. "And we are
going to... are going to... stay there? Live there?"
 The witch woman smiled. "We have permission."


486                                    Tad Williams

    As they neared, it became apparent that the Stone was not so sheer;
distance made it seem. A path, a hghter streak through the choking trec
and brush, snaked its way around the base of the hill, then appeared agai
farther up, spiraling summitward around the circumference of the roe
until it disappeared near the crest.
    "How can trees hve on such a stone, let alone thrive?" Deornoth aske~
"Can they grow in the very rock?"
    "Sesuad'ra has been broken and worn over the eons of its existence,
Gelo~ answered. "Plants will ever find a way, and they themselves help t
further break the stone until it is crumbled to a dirt scarcely less rich tha:
found on a Hewenshire freeholding."
    Deornoth frowned slightly at this reference to his birthplace, the~
wondered how the wise woman knew of his father's farm. He ha,
certainly never mentioned it to her.
    Soon they were walking in the sudden twilight of the hill's long shadow
whipped by a chilly wind. The path that began at Sesuad'ra's base la
before them, hugging the hillside, a trampled cut of grass and mos
overhung by trees and twining creepers.
    "And we are going up?" Duchess Gutrun asked in some consternation
"Up into this place?"
    "Of course," Gelo~ said, a touch of impatience in her rough voice. "It i:
the highest ground for leagues. We have need of high ground just now
Besides, there are other reasons--must I explain them all again?"
    "No, Valada Gelo~, please lead us," Josua said. The prince seemed firec
by some inner flame, his pale face alight with excitement. "This is wha
we have been searching for. This is where we will begin the long roac
back." His face slackened somewhat. "I do wonder, though, how Hotvi~
and his folk will feel about leaving their wagons below. It is a pity there i:
no way to get them up the hill."
    The wise woman waved her callused hand. "You worry too soon. Step
ahead and you will have a surprise."
    They rode forward. Beneath the straggling grass the path that wound
up the hillside was as smooth as one of old Naglimund's hallways and
wide enough for any wagon.
  "But how can this be?" Josua asked.
    "You forget," Gelo~ responded, "this is a Sithi place. Beneath this
bramble is the road they built. It takes many, many centuries to destroy
the handiwork of the Zida'ya."
    Josua was not cheered. "1 am amazed, but now I am even more
worried. What will keep our enemies from climbing as easily as we do?"
    Gelo~ snorted in disgust. "First, it is easier to defend a high place than
to take it from below. Secondly, the nature of the place itself is against it.
Third, and perhaps most ir~portantly, our enemy's own rage may out-
smart him and ensure our survival--at least for a while."


                             STONE OF         FAREWELL                                 487

  "How so?" the prince demanded.
    "You will see." Gelo~ spurred her horse up the path, Leleth bobbing on
the saddle before her. The child's wide brown eyes took in everything
without any show of feeling. Josua shrugged and followed.
    Deornoth turned to see Vorzheva sitting upright on her horse, face set
in lines of grim fear. "What is it, my lady?" he asked. "Is something
amiss?"
    She offered a nervous smile. "My people have hated and feared this
valley forever. Hotvig is a clan-man and would not show it, but he fears
this place, too." She sighed shakily. "Now I must follow my husband up
on this unnatural rock. I am afraid."
    For the first time since his prince had brought this odd woman to live in
the castle at Naglimund, Deornoth felt his heart opening to her, filling
with admiration. "We are all deathly afraid, my lady," he said. "The rest
of us are just not as honest as you."
    He tapped gently with his heels at Vildalix's ribs and followed Vorzheva
up the path.

    The road was overhung with trailing vines and the tangled branches of
trees, forcing the travelers to spend as much time ducking their heads as
they did riding upright. As they slowly circled out of the shadow, like
ants walking the perimeter of a sundial, the mist that clung to the hill lent
an unusual sparkle to the afternoon glow.
    Deornoth thought that the smell of the place was what seemed strangest
of all. Sesuad'ra gave off a scent of timeless growth, of water and roots
and damp earth in a place long undisturbed. There was an air of peace
here, of slow, careful thought, but also a disturbing sensation of
watchfulness. From time to time the stillness was broken by the trill of
unseen birds whose songs were as somber and hesitant as children whis-
pering in a high-ceilinged hall.
    As the grassy meadow began to drop away below them, the travelers
passed posts of standing stone, time-smoothed white shapes almost twice
a man's height that had in their unrecognizable outlines some hint of
movement, of life. They passed the first as the path brought them around
into direct sunlight for the first time.
    "Marking pillars," Gelofi called over her shoulder. "One for each of the
moons in the year. We'll pass a dozen every time we circle around the hill
until we reach the summit. They were carved to look like animals and
birds once, I think."
    Deornoth stared at the rounded nob that might have been a head and
wondered what beast it had once represented. Weathered by wind and
rain, it was now as shapeless as melted wax, faceless as the forgotten dead.
He shivered and make the sign of the Tree l>n his breast.


488                                   Tad Williams

    A little while later Gelo~ stopped and pointed downward toward tlE
northwest part of the valley, where the rim of the old forest reached ot
almost to the very banks of the Steffiod. The river was a tiny streak 
quicksilver along the valley's emerald floor.
    "Just beyond the river," she said, "do you see?" She gestured again a
the forest's dark breakfront, which might have been a frozen sea-wav
awaiting only spring's thaw before it swept across the low ground. "There
in the forest's fringe. Those are the ruins of Enki-e-Shao'saye, which som
say was the most beautiful city ever built in Osten Ard since the worl,
began."
    As his companions whispered and shaded their eyes, Deornoth movec
to the edge of the path, squinting at the distant forest. He saw nothing bul
what might have been a crumbled wall of lavender, a flash of gold.
  "There's not much to see," he said quietly.
  "Not in this age," Gelo~ replied.

    Up they climbed as the day waned. Each time they circled around to the
hill's northern slope, coming out of shade into ever-decreasing afternoon
light, they could see the spreading knot of blackness on the horizon. The
storm was moving in swiftly. It had now swallowed the far borders of
great Aldheorte, so that all the north seemed a gray uncertainty.
    As they finished their twelfth circuit around the hill, passing the one
hundred and forty-fourth of the marking pillars---a small enough diver-
sion, but still Deornoth had kept score--the travelers emerged at last from
the shadowing greenery, clambering up a final slope until they stood on
the hill's windy summit. The sun had fallen away into the west; only a
reddish sliver remained.
    The top of the hill was nearly fiat and scarcely less wide than Sesuad'ra's
base. All around its perimeter jutted fingers of upright stone, not smoothed
like the marking pillars, but great, raw standing stones, each as tall as four
men, made of the same gray rock veined with white and pink that formed
the hill.
    In the center of the plateau, in the midst of a field of waving grass,
stood a vast, low building of opalescent stone, tinged with the sunset's
red glow.
    At first it seemed a temple of some sort, like the great old buildings of
Nabban from the days of the Imperium, but its lines were plainer. Its
unassuming but affecting style made it seem almost to spring from the hill
itself. It was plain that this structure belonged on this windy hilltop,
beneath this incredibly wide sky. The grandeur and self-interest that spoke
from every angle of houses of human worship, however finely wrought,
was a language alien to whoever had built this. The passage of unguessable
years had in places brought its walls to collapse. Unhindered for centuries,


STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                489

trees had thrust up through the building's very roof, or pushed their way
in at the arched doorways like unwanted guests. Still, the simplicity
and beauty of the place were so plain--and at the same time so inhuman--
that for a long time no one ventured to speak.
    "We are here," Josua said at last, his tones solemn but exalted. "After all
our danger and all our suffering, we have found a place where we can stop
and say: we go no farther."
    "It is not forever, Prince Josua." Gelo~ spoke gently, as if unwilling to
break his mood, but the prince was already striding confidently across the
hilltop toward the white walls.
    "It need not be forever," he called. "But for now, we will be safe!" He
turned and waved his hand for the others to follow, then continued
turning, gazing around him on all sides. "I take back what I said!" he shouted
to Gelo~. "With a few good folk behind me, I could make a stand here and
Sir Camaris himself could not defeat me, not with all the knights of my
father's Great Table at his side!"
    He bounded away toward the pale walls that now showed a touch of
blue. Evening was coming on. The others went after him, talking quietly
among themselves as they passed through the swaying grass.


25

P eta~ in a Wind Storm

ff(iLg?DT~. {~, $~U.~llA~'l'~"~Af' game." Simon said. "It doesn't make any
sense."
  Aditu lifted an eyebrow.
    "It doesn't!" he insisted. "I mean, look! You could win if you just
moved here . . ." he pointed, "and there . . ." he pointed again. Looking
up, he found Aditu's golden eyes upon him, laughing, mocking. "Couldn't
you... ?" he finished.
    "Of course, Seoman." She moved the polished stones across the gaming
board as he had suggested, from one golden island to another over a sea of
sapphire-blue waves. The mock-ocean was surrounded by scarlet flames
and murky gray clouds. "But then the game is over, and only the shallow-
est waters have been explored."
    Simon shook his head. He had struggled for days to learn the complex
rules of shent, only to discover that what he had been taught were only
the rudiments. How could he learn a game that people did not play to
win? But Aditu did not try to lose either, as far as Simon could tell.
Instead, it seemed as though the issue was to make the game interesting by
introducing themes and puzzles, most of which were as far beyond Si-
mon's comprehension as the mechanisms of the rainbow.
    "If you will not take offense," Aditu said, smiling, "may I instead show
you another way?" She put the markers back in their previous locations.
"If I use these Songs of mine to build a Bridge here . . ."--a quick flurry
of movements--"then you can cross to the Isles of the Cloud of Exile."
    "But why do you want to help me?" Somewhere, as if in the very fabric
of the mutable walls, a stringed instrument began to sound; if Simon had
not known that they were quite alone within the airy nectarine halls of
Aditu's house, he would have thought a musician played in the next
wind-shifting room. He had stopped wondering about such things, but
could not still a reflexive shudder; the music felt eerie and delicate as a

490


STONE OF FAREWELL

491

small and excessively-legged something walking across his skin. "How
can you win a game when you keep helping the other person?"
    Aditu leaned back from the gaming board. In her own home she wore
just as little as she did on the walkways ofJao 6-Tinukai'i, if not less.
Simon, who still could not look comfortably on the abundance of her
golden limbs, stared hard at the playing pieces.
    "Manchild," she said, "I think you can learn. I think you are learning.
But remember, we Zida'ya have been playing this game since time before
time. First Grandmother says it came with us from the Garden that is
Lost." She laid a placatory hand on Simon's arm, raising goosebumps
there. "Shent can be played to amuse, only. I have played games that were
nothing but gossip and friendly mockery, and all strategies were turned to
that end. Other games one can only win by almost losing. I have also
experienced games where both players truly ~trove to lose--although it
took years for one to succeed." Some memory brought a flick of smile.
"Do you not see, Snowlock, winning and losing are only the walls within
which the game takes place. Inside the House of Shent..." she paused, a
frown touching her mercurial face like a shadow. "It is hard to say in your
tongue." The frown disappeared. "Perhaps that is why it seems so difficult
for you. The thing is, within the House of Shent it is the coming and
going, the visitorsmfriends and enemies bothmthe births and deaths, all of
these things that matter." She gestured around her at her own habitation,
the floors deep in sweet grass, the rooms tangled with the branches of tiny
flowering trees. Some of the trees, Simon had discovered, had fierce little
thorns. "As with all dwellings," she said, "of mortals and immortals both,
it is the living that makes a house--not the doors, not the walls."
    She rose and stretched. Simon watched covertly, struggling to keep his
frowning mask even as her graceful movements caused his heart to leap
painfully. "We will continue our play tomorrow," she said. "I think you
are learning, although you do not know it yet. Shent has lessons even for
Sudhoda'ya, Seoman."
    Simon knew that she was bored and that it was time for him to leave.
He was terribly conscious of never overstaying his welcome. He hated it
when the Sithi were kind and understanding with him, as though he were
a stupid animal that did not know better. "I should go, Aditu."
    She did not ask him to stay. Anger and regret and a sort of deep
physical frustration all struggled within him as he bowed his head briefly,
then turned and made his way out between the swaying blossoms. The
afternoon light glowed through the orange and rose walls, as if he moved
inside the very heart of a sunset.
    He stood outside Aditu's house for some time, looking out past the
shimmering mist thrown up from the cataract that played beside her
doorway. The valley was umber and gold, slashed with the darker green


492                                    Tad Williams

of the tree-covered hills and the bright emerald of tended meadows. To
look at, Jao ~-Tinukai'i seemed straightforward as sun and rain. Like any
other place, it had rocks and plants and trees and houses--but it also had
the Sithi, the folk who lived in these houses, and Simon had grown quite
sure that he would never understand them. Like the minute and secret life
that teemed in the black earth beneath the valley's placid grass, Simon
now realized that Jao ~-Tinukai'i was crowded with things beyond his
comprehension. He had already found out how little he understood when
he had embarked upon an attempt at escape, soon after being sentenced to
a lifetime's imprisonment among these gentle captors.
    He had waited three full days after his sentence had been delivered by
Shima'onari. Such patience, Simon had felt sure, demonstrated a cold-
blooded subtlety of maneuver worthy of the great Camaris. Looking back
a fortnight later, such ignorance was already laughable. What had he
thought he was doing... ?

    On the fourth day of his sentence, in late afternoon while the
prince was away, Simon walked out of Jiriki's house. He crossed
the river quickly butmhe hoped--unobtrusively, clambering over a nar-
row bridge, then headed back toward the spot where Aditu had first
brought him to the valley. The cloth-knotted mural that led to Jiriki's
house continued on the river's far side as well, spanning from tree to tree.
The sections Simon passed seemed to show the survivors of some great
disaster bringing their boats to a new landmthe Sithi coming to Osten
Ard?--and building great cities, empires in the forests and mountains.
There were other details, too, signs woven into the tapestry that suggested
strife and sorrow had not been left behind in the blighted homeland, but
Simon was in too much of a hurry to stop and look closely.
    After making his way down the river path for some distance he turned
off at last and headed for the heavy undergrowth at the base of the hills,
where he hoped to make up in stealth what he lost in time. There were not
many Sithi about, but he was certain that any one of them would sound
the alarm at the sight of their prisoner traveling toward the boundaries of
Jao ~-Tinukai'i, so he slid through the trees as carefully as he could,
keeping away from the common paths. Despite the exhilaration of escape,
he felt more than a pang of guilt: Jiriki would doubtless suffer some
punishment for letting the mortal captive slip away. Still, Simon owed a
responsibility to his other friends that outweighed even the multimillennial
laws of the Sithi.
    No one saw him, or at lease no one made an attempt to stop him. By
the time several hours had passed, he had moved into what seemed a
wilder, less tamed section of the old forest, and was certain he had made
his escape. His entire trip with Aditu, from the Pools to Jiriki's door, had


STONE OF FAREWELL

493

taken less than two hours. He had now gone easily twice that, straight
back along the river.
    But when Simon crept down from the cover of the thickest vegetation,
it was to find himself still in Jao ~-Tinukai'i, albeit in a part he had not yet
seeR.
    He stood in the middle of a shadowed, dusky clearing. The trees all
around were draped with free, silky streamers like spiderwebs; the after-
noon sun set them gleaming, so that the forest seemed wound in a fiery
net. In the middle of the clearing an oval door of moss-matted white
wood had been built into the trunk of a huge oak, around which the silk
hung so thickly that the tree itself was barely visible. He paused for a
moment, wondering what undersized hermit would live here, in a tree on
the outskirts of the city. Next to the beautiful, rippling folds of Jiriki's
house or the other graceful constructions ofJao ~-Tinukai'i, let alone the
living magnificence of the Yisira, this place seemed backward, as though
whoever dwelled here hid himself from even the slow pace of the Sithi.
But despite its aura of age and isolation, the spidersilk house seemed in no
way menacing. The cleating was empty and peaceful, comfortable in its
unimportance. The air was dusty but pleasant, like the pockets of a
beloved aunt. Here the rest ofJao ~-Tinukai'i seemed only a memory of
vibrant life. A person could linger here beneath the silk-draped trees while
the very world crumbled away outside ....
    As Simon stood watching the undulating strands, a mourning dove
hooted softly. He abruptly remembered his mission. How long had he
stood here, staring like a fool? What if the owner of this strange house had
come out, or returned from some errand? Then the hue and cry would go
up and he would be caught like a rat.
    Frustrated by this first error in reckoning, Simon hurried back into the
forest. He had misjudged his time, that was all. Another hour's hiking
would carry him beyond the city's fringe and back through the Summer
Gate. Then, with the hoarded provisions he had quietly stolen from the
prince's generous table, he would head due south until he reached the edge
of the forest. He might die in the attempt, but that was what heroes did.
This he knew.
    Simon's willingness to become a dead hero seemed to have little effect
on the subtleties of Jao &Tinukai'i. When he emerged at last from the
dense brush, the sun now far across the sky toward evening, it was to find
himself up to his knees in the golden grass of open woodland before the
mighty Yisira, where he stood dumbstruck before the shimmering, shift-
ing wings of the butterflies.
    How could this be? He had followed the river carefully. It had never
been out of his sight for more than a few steps, and always it had flowed
in the same direction. The sun had seemed to move correctly across the
sky. His journey into this place with Aditu would be printed on his heart


494                                   Tad Williams

forever--he could not forget a single detail!--but nevertheless, he
walked more than half the afternoon to travel a distance of a few hund
paces.
    With this realization, the strength flowed from his body. He fell to
warm, damp ground and lay with his face against the turf, as though
had been struck a blow.

    Jiriki's house had many rooms, one of which he had given tO Simon
be his own, but the prince seemed to spend most of his own time in t
open-sided chamber where Simon had first met him on arriving in J
~-Tinukai'i. As the earliest weeks of his confinement passed it becan
Simon's habit to spend each evening there with Jiriki, sitting on the gent
slope above the water while the light gradually dimmed from the sk'
watching the shadows lengthen and the glassy pond grow darker. As tll
last gleam of the sunset vanished from between the branches the pon
became a somber mirror, stars blooming in its violet depths.
    Simon had never really listened to the sounds of oncoming night, bu
Jiriki's often silent company encouraged him to give ear to the songs o
cricket and frog, to begin to hear the sighing of wind in the trees a
something other than a warning to pull his hat down tightly over his ears
At times, as he sank into the swelling evening, he felt he was on the verge
of some great understanding. A sense of being more than himself stol{
over him, of what it felt like to live in a world that cared little for cities ol
castles or the worries of the folk who built them. Sometimes he was
frightened by the size of this world, by the limitless depths of the evening
sky salted with cold stars.
    But for all these unfamiliar insights, he still remained Simon: most of
the time he was merely frustrated.
    "Surely he didn't mean it." He licked the juice of a just-devoured pear
from his fingers, then peevishly flung the core across the grassy verge.
Beside him, Jiriki was toying with the stem that remained from his own.
This was Simon's fifteenth evening in Jao ~-Tinukai'i--or was it the
sixteenth? "Stay here until I die? That's madness!" He had not, of course,
toldJiriki of his failed attempt at escape, but neither could he pretend to be
satisfied with his captivity.
    Jiriki made what Simon had come to recognize as an unhappy face, a
subtle thinning of the lips, a hooding of his upturned, feline eyes. "They
are my parents," the Sitha said. "They are Shima'onari and Likimeya,
Lords of the Zida'ya, and what they decide is as unchangeable as the wheel
of seasons."
  "But then why did you bring me here? You broke that rule?
    "There was no rule to break. Not truly." Jiriki twitched the stem once
more between his long fingers, then flicked it into the pond. A tiny circle
spread to show where it had fallen. "It was always an unspoken law, but


STONE OF FAREWELL

495

that is different than a Word of Command. It is traditional among the
Dawn Children that we may do what we please unless it goes against a
Word of Command, but this business of bringing a mortal here cuts to the
heart of the things that have divided our people since time out of mind. I
can only ask you to forgive me, Seoman. It was a risk, and I had no right to
gamble with your life. However, I have come to believe that for once---
and hear me, only this once--you mortals may be right and my folk may
be wrong. This spreading winter threatens many things beside the king-
doms of the Sudhoda'ya."
    Simon lay back, staring up at the brightening stars. He tried to smother
the feeling of desperation that rose inside him. "Might your parents
change their minds?"
    "They might," Jiriki said slowly. "They are wise, and would be kind if
they could. But do not let your hopes rise too high. We Zida'ya never
hasten to decisions, especially difficult ones. What might seem to them a
reasonable time to ponder could be years, and such waiting is hard for
mortals to bear."
    "Years!" Simon was horrified. He suddenly understood the beast that
would gnaw off its own leg to escape a trap. "Years!"
    "I am sorry, Seoman." Jiriki's voice was hoarse as though with great
pain, but his golden features still showed little emotion. "There is one
hopeful sign, but do not read too much into it. The butterflies remain."
  "What?"
    "At the Y~sira. They gather when great decisions are to be made. They
have not flown, so there are things still unresolved."
 "What things?" Despite Jiriki's warning, Simon felt a surge of hope.
    "I do not know." He shook his head. "Now is the time for me to stay
away. At this moment, I am not my father's and mother's favored voice,
so I must wait before I go to them again to make my arguments. Fortu-
nately, First Grandmother Amerasu seems to have concerns about my
parents' actions--my father's, especially." He smiled wryly. "Her words
carry great weight."
    Amerasu. Simon knew that name. He inhaled deeply of the night.
Suddenly it came back to him: a face more beautiful and yet undeniably
more ancient than even those of Jiriki's ageless parents. Simon sat up.
    "Do you know, Jiriki, ! saw her face once in the mirror--Amerasu, the
one you call First Grandmother."
 "In the mirror? In the dragon-scale mirror?"
    Simon nodded. "I know I wasn't supposed to use it unless I was calling
for your help, but what happened . . . it was an accident." He proceeded
to describe his strange encounter with Amerasu and the terrifying appear-
ance of silver-masked Utuk'ku.
    Jiriki seemed to have entirely forgotten the crickets, despite the splendor
of their song. "I did not forbid you to use the mirror, Seoman," he said.



496                                   Tad Williams

"What is surprising is that you were able to see anything but n:
reflection. That is odd." He made an unfamiliar gesture with his han
must talk to First Grandmother about this. Very odd." "May I come?" Simon asked.
    "No, Seoman Snowlock," Jiriki smiled. "No one goes to see Am
the Ship-Born without her invitation. Even Root and Bough--what
would call her nearest kin--must ask very respectfully for such a fa
You do not know how astonishing it is that you saw her in my mir
You are a menace, manchild." "A menace? Me?"
    The Sitha laughed. "Your presence is what I refer to." He toucl
Simon lightly on the shoulder. "You are without precedent, Snowlo
Completely unknown and unforeseen." He rose. "I will move on this. I,
anxious myself for something to do."
    Simon, who had never been good at waiting, was left alone with I
pond, the crickets, and the unreachable stars.

    It all seemed so strange. One moment he had been fighting for his lit
perhaps even for the survival of all Osten Ard, struggling against bon
weariness and dark magic and terrible odds; a moment later he had bec
snatched out of winter and dropped headlong into summer, out of hideot
danger and into.., boredom.
    But, Simon realized, it was not even so simple as that. Just because h~
had been removed from the world did not mean that the problems he ha4
left behind were solved. On the contrary: somewhere out there, living o3
dead in the snowy woods beyondJao ~-Tinukai'i, was his horse Homefindel
and its terrible burden--the sword Thorn, for which Simon and hit
friends had crossed hundreds of leagues and shed precious blood. Men and
Sithi alike had died to find that blade for Josua. Now, with the sword
perhaps lost in the forest, Simon had been imprisoned as offhandedly as
Rachel had once locked him in one of the Hayholt's dark pantries for some
trifling misdeed.
    Simon had told Jiriki about the lost sword, but the Sitha had only
shrugged, infuriatingly placid. There was nothing to be done.

    Simon looked up. He had wandered far up the riverbank in the stillness
of early afternoon; Jiriki's house, with its tapestry of knots, had fallen out
of sight behind him He sat down on a stone and watched a white egret
stilt out into one of the river's shallow backwaters, bright eye staring
obliquely, pretending disinterest to allay the fears of any wary fish.
    He was sure that at least three weeks had passed since he had come to
the valley. For the last few days his imprisonment had seemed almost a
sort of terribly dull joke, one that had gone on too long and now
threatened to spoil everyone's enjoyment.


STONE OF FAREWELL

497

What can I do?! In frustration, he scrabbled up a twig from the dirt and
sent it spinning out onto the water. There's no way to leavel
    Thinking back on the grand failure of his first escape and the other
confirming experiments that had followed, Simon made a noise of disgust
and threw another twig out onto the river. Every attempt to find his way
out had left him back in the center ofJao ~-Tinukai'i.
    How could I have been such a rnooncalJ?, he thought sourly. Why should
I think it would be so easy to walk away.~om here, when Aditu and I had to walk
clear out of winter to arrive? The stick whirled for a moment, spinning like a
weathervane, then was sucked under by the gentle current.
    That's me, he thought. That's what I'll be like as Jhr as these Sithi-Jblk are
concerned. I'll be around for a little while, then beJbre they even realize I'm
getting old, I'll be dead. The thought brought a lump of terror into his
throat. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be around his own
short-lived kind--even Rachel the Dragon--rather than these soft-spoken,
cat-eyed immortals.
    Filled with restlessness, he sprang up from the riverbank, kicking his
way through the reeds as he pushed back toward the path. He almost
bumped into someone: a Sitha-man, dressed only in a pair of thin, loose-
fitting blue breeches, who stood in the undergrowth and gazed out toward
the river. For a moment, Simon thought this stranger had been spying on
him, but the fine-boned face showed no expression at Simon's approach.
The Sitha continued to stare out past him as the youth walked by. The
stranger was singing quietly to himself, a breathy melody of sibilances and
pauses. His attention was fixed on a tree growing out of the riverbank,
half-submerged in the current.
    Simon could not restrain a grunt of irritation. What was wrong with
these people? They wandered around like sleepwalkers, said things that
made no sense--even Jiriki sometimes talked mysterious, circular non-
sense, and the prince was by far the most direct of this tribe--and they all
looked at Simon as though he were an insect. When they bothered to
notice him at all.
    Several times Simon had encountered Sithi who he was certain were
Ki'ushapo and Sijandi, the pair who had accompanied Jiriki and Simon's
company north from the Aldheorte to the base of Urmsheim, but the Sithi
showed no recognition, made no sign of greeting. Simon could not swear
beyond any doubt that the faces were theirs, but something in the way
they steadfastly avoided his eye assured him that he was correct.
    After the journey across the northern waste, both Jiriki's kinsman An'nai
and the Erkynlandish soldier Grimmric had died on the dragon-mountain
Urmsheim, beneath the icy waterfall known as the Uduntree. They had
been buried together, mortal and immortal, something which Jiriki had
said was unprecedented, a binding between their two races unknown for
centuries. Now Simon, a mortal, had come to forbidden Jao ~-Tinukai'i.


498                                   Tad Williams

Ki'ushapo and Sijandi might not approve of his being here, but they kn~
he had saved their prince Jiriki, and they knew Simon was Hikka Staja, a
Arrow-Bearer--so why should they avoid him so completely? If Sim
was wrong in his identification, it should still be simple enough for t~
real pair to seek him out, since he was the only one of his kind amon
their folk. Were they so angry at his being here that they could not eve~
greet him? Were they in some way embarrassed for Jiriki, that the princ
should have brought such a creature to their secret valley? Then why di,
they not say so, or say something? At least Jiriki's uncle Khendraja'ar~
made his dislike of mortals plain and public.
    Thinking of these slights put Simon in a foul humor. He muddled hi:
way up the stream bank, fuming. It took all his restraint not to turn bac}
to the river-watching Sitha and shove his handsome, alien face into the
mud.
    Simon struck out across the valley, not with any idea of escape this
time, but rather to walk off some of his restless irritation. His stiff-legged
strides carried him past several more Sithi. Most walked by themselves,
although a few strolled in unspeaking pairs. Some looked at him with
unblinking interest, others did not seem to notice him at all. One group of
four sat quietly hstening to the singing of a fifth, their eyes intent on the
delicate gliding movements of the singer's hands.
    Merciful Aedon, he grumbled to himself, what are they thinking about all
the time? They're worse than Doctor Morgenes! Although the doctor, too, had
been prone to long silences, unbroken but for his distracted, tuneless
humming, at least at the end of a day he would unstop a jug of beer and
teach Simon some history, or make suggestions about his apprentice's
rather blobby handwriting.
    Simon kicked a fir cone and watched it roll. He did have to admit that
the Sithi were beautiful. Their grace, the flowing line of their garments,
their serene faces, all made him feel like some mud-covered mongrel
bumping against the table hnens of a great lord's house. Though his
captivity infuriated him, sometimes a cruel inner voice whispered that it
was only justice. He had no right to be in this place, and having come, an
urchin like Simon should never be allowed to return and sully the immor-
tals with his tales. Like Jack Mundwode's man Osgal in the story, he had
gone down into a fairy-mound. The world could never be the same.
    Simon's pace slowed from an angry march to a slouch. Before long, he
began to hear the steady ringing of water on stone. He looked up from his
grass-stained boots to discover that he had wandered right across the
valley into the shade of the hills. A stirring of hope made itself felt inside
him. He was near the Pools, as Aditu had called them; the Summer Gate
stood nearby. It seemed that by not thinking about finding his way out, he
had been able to do what he had failed so miserably to accomplish in days
past.


                                         STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                499

     Trying to imitate the degree of not-caring that had brought him this far,
 Simon wandered off the path, angling toward the sound of splashing
 water, staring up into the overarching trees with what he hoped was
 suitable nonchalance. Within a few steps he had left the sunlight and
 entered the cool shadow of the hills, where he made his way up grass-
 tangled slopes carpeted in shy blue gilly-fiowers and white starblooms. As
 the song of falling water grew louder he had to restrain himself from
 breaking into a run; instead, he stopped to rest against a tree, precisely as if
 he were in the middle of a contemplative walk. He stared at the stripes of
 sunshine lancing down through the leaves and listened to his own grad-
 ually slowing breath. Then, just when he had nearly forgotten where he
 was goingmdid he only fancy that he could hear the rush of water
 suddenly increase?mhe started up the hill once more.
    As he reached the summit of this first slope, certain that he would see
the bottommost of the Pools before him, he found himself standing
instead on the rim of a circular valley. The valley's upper slopes were
covered by a host of white birch trees whose leaves were just now turning
summer-yellow. They rattled softly in the breeze, like bits of golden
parchment. Beyond the birches, the next level of the valley was thickly
grown with silvery-leaved trees that trembled as the wind continued its
sweep down toward the valley floor.
    At the base of the circular valley, in the depths within the ring of silver
leaves, lay a vegetative darkness that Simon's eyes could not pierce.
Whatever things grew there also took the wind in their turn: a sort of
clattering whisper arose from the valley's shadowed deeps, a sound that
might have been the scraping of breeze-blown leaves and branches, or just
as easily the hiss of a thousand slim knives being drawn from a thousand
delicate sheaths.
    Simon let out his pent-up breath. The scent of the valley rose up to him,
musty and bittersweet. He caught the smell of growing things, a pungent
odor like mown grass, but also a deep and intoxicating spiciness reminis-
cent of the bowls ofhippocras Morgenes had mulled on cold evenings. He
took another whiff and felt strangely drunken. There were other scents,
too, a dozen, a hundred--he could smell roses growing against an old stone
wall, stable muck, rain puffing on dusty ground, the salty tang of blood,
and the similar but by no means identical odor of sea-brine. He shivered
like a wet dog and felt himself drawn a few steps down the slope. "I am sorry. You may not go there."
    Simon whirled to see a Sitha-woman standing on the hilltop behind
him. For a moment he thought it was Aditu. This one wore a wisp of
cloth around her loins and nothing else. Her skin was red-golden in the
slanting sunlight. "What... ?"
 "You may not go there." She spoke his mortal tongue carefully. There


500                                   Tad Williams

was no ill humor on her face. "I am sorry, but you may not." She took a
step forward and looked at him curiously. "You are the Sudhoda'ya who
saved Jiriki."
    "So? Who are you?" he asked sullenly. He didn't want to look at her
breasts, her slim but well-muscled legs, but it was nearly impossible not
to. He felt himself growing angry.
    "My mother named me Maye'sa," she said, making each word too
precisely, as if Simon's language were a trick she had learned but never
before performed. Her white hair was streaked with gold and black.
Staring at her long, coiled tressesma safe place to let his eyes rest--Simon
suddenly realized that all the Sitha had white hair, that the myriad of
different rainbow colors that made them seem like outlandish birds were
just dyes. Even Jiriki, with his odd, heather-flower shade--dyes! Artifice!
Just like the harlot-women that Father Dreosan had ranted about during
his sermons in the Hayholt chapel! Simon felt his anger deepening. He
turned his back on the Sitha-woman and started downward into the
valley.
    "Come back, Seoman Snowlock," she called. "That is the Year-Dancing
Grove. You may not go there."
    "Stop me," he growled. Maybe she would put an arrow in his back. He
had seen Aditu's terrifying facility with a bow just a few mornings before,
whenJiriki's sister had put four arrows side by side into a tree limb at fifty
paces. He had little doubt that others of her sex were just as competent,
but at this moment he cared little. "Kill me if you want to," he added,
then wondered if such a remark might strain his luck.
    Half-hunching his shoulders, he strode down the slope into the whisper-
ing birches. No arrow came, so he risked a backward look. The one called
Maye'sa still stood where he had left her. Her thin face seemed puzzled.
    He began to run down the hillside, past row after row of white,
papery-barked trunks. After a moment, he noticed that the slope was
leveling off. When he found himself beginning to run uphill he stopped,
then walked until he found a spot from which he could look about and
discover where he was. The entirety of the great bowl still lay beneath
him, but he had somehow moved around the valley's rim from the spot
where the Sitha-woman stood, watching.
    Swearing in fury, he started down the slope once more, but experienced
the same feeling of leveling, swiftly followed by the resumption of an
upward slant. He had gotten no closer to the bottom--he was still, as far
as he could tell, only a third of the way through the ring of birch trees.
    Attempts to turn away from the uphill slope also met with failure. The
wind sighed in the branches, the birch leaves rustled, and Simon felt
himself struggling as though in a dream, making no headway despite all
his exertions. At last, in a paroxysm of frustration, he closed his eyes and
ran. His terror turned into a moment of heady exhilaration as he felt the


1

STONE OF FAREWELL

501

ground sloping away beneath his feet. Tree branches slapped at his face,
but some peculiar luck kept him from striking any of the hundreds of
trunks that lay in the path of his headlong flight.
    When he stopped and opened his eyes, he was back at the top of the
hillside once more. Maye'sa stood before him, her gauzy bit of skirt
fluttering in the restless breeze.
    "I told you, you may not go into the Year-Dancing Grove," she said,
explaining a painful truth to a child. "Did you think you could?" Stretch-
ing her sinuous neck, she shook her head. Her eyes were wide, inquisitive.
"Strange creature."
    She vanished back down the hillside toward Jao ~-Tinukai'i. A few
moments later, Simon followed. Head down, watching his boot toes
scuffing through the grass, he soon found himself standing on the path
before Jiriki's house. Evening was coming on and the crickets were
singing by the river-pond.

    "Very good, Seoman," Aditu said the next day. She examined the shent
board, nodding. "Misdirection! To go away from that which you wish to
gain. You are learning."
 "It doesn't always work," he said glumly.
    Her eyes glittered. "No. Sometimes you need a deeper strategy. But it
is a beginning."

    Binabik and Sludig had not come far into the forest, only deep enough
to shelter their camp from the bitter wind sweeping down the plains, a
wind whose voice had become a ceaseless howling. The horses shifted
uneasily on their tethers, and even Qantaqa seemed restless. She had just
returned from her third excursion into the forest, and now sat with ears
erect, as though listening for some expected but nonetheless dire warning.
Her eyes gleamed with reflected firelight.
    "Do you think we are any safer here, little man?" Sludig asked, sharp-
ening his swore. "I think I would rather face the empty plains than his
forest."
    Binabik frowned. "Perhaps, but would you rather also be facing hairy
giants like those we saw?"
    The White Way, the great road that spanned the northern borders of
Aldheorte, had turned at last by the forest's easternmost edge, leading them
south for the first time since they had come down off the Old Tumet'ai
Road with Simon many days earlier. Not long after the southward turn,
they had spotted a group of white shapes moving in the distance behind
them--shapes that they both realized could be nothing but HunCh. The
giants, once unwilling to leave their hunting lands at the foot of Stormspike,



502                                    Tad Williams

now seemed to range the length and breadth of the northland. Remember-
ing the destruction that a band of these creatures had wreaked on their
large traveling party, neither troll nor Rimmersgarder had any false hopes
that the two of them could survive an encounter with the shaggy
monstrosities.
    "What makes you sure we are any safer because we have come a few
furlongs into the woods?" demanded Sludig.
    "Nothing that is certain," Binabik admitted, "but I know that the
small, creeping diggers are reluctant to tunnel into Aldheorte. Perhaps the
giants may be having similar reluctance."
    Sludig snorted and made the blade rasp loudly on the whetstone. "And
the Hun~ that Josua killed near Naglimund, when the boy Simon was
found? That one was in the forest, was it not?"
    "That giant was driven to there," Binabik said irritably. He pushed the
second of the leaf-wrapped birds into the coals. "There are no promises in
life, Sludig, but it seems to me smarter to take fewer chances."
    After a short silence, the Rimmersman spoke up. "You speak rightly,
troll. I am only tired. I wish we would get where we are going, to this
Farewell Stone! I would like to give Josua his damnable sword, then sleep
for a week. In a bed."
    Binabik smiled. "With certainty. But it is notJosua's sword, or at least I
am not sure it is meant for him." He stood and took the long bundle from
where it leaned against a tree. "I am not sure what it is for at all."
Binabik's fingers unwrapped the blade, allowing its dark surface to show.
The firelight revealed no more than its dark outlines. "Do you see?"
Binabik said, hefting the bundle in his arms. "Thorn now seems to think
it is acceptable for a small troll to carry it."
    "Don't talk about it as if it were alive," Sludig said, sketching a hasty
Tree in the air. "That is against nature."
    Binabik eyed him. "It may not be alive, as a bear or a bird or a man is
alive, but there is something in it that is more than sword-metal. You
know that, Sludig."
    "That may be." The Rimmersman frowned. "No, curse it, I do know.
That is why I do not like speaking of it. I have dreams about the cave
where we found the thing."
    "That is not surprising to me," the troll said softly. "That was a
fearsome place."
    "But it is not just the place--not even the worm, or Grimmric's death, l
dream of the damnable sword, little man. It was laying there among those
bones as though it waited for us. Cold, cold, like a snake in its den . . ."
  Sludig trailed off. Binabik watched him, but said nothing.
    The Rimmersman sighed. "And I still do not understand what good
having it will do Josua."
  "No more do I, but it is a powerful thing. It is good to remember that.!'


STONE OF FAREWEI. L

5O3

Binabik stroked the glinting surface as he might the back of a cat. "Look
at it, Sludig. We have been so caught up in our trials and losses that we
have almost been forgetting Thorn. This is an object that is making
legends! Perhaps it is the greatest weapon ever to have come to light in
Osten Ard--greater than Hern's spear Oinduth, greater than Chukku's
sling."
    "Powerful it may be," Sludig grumbled, "but I have doubts as to how
lucky it is. It didn't save Sir Camaris, did it?"
    Binabik showed a small, secretive smile. "But he did not have it when
he was swept over the side in Firannos Bay: Towser the jester told that to
us. That is why we were able to discover it on the dragon-mountain.
Otherwise it would be at ocean's bottom--like Camaris."
    The wind shrieked, rattling the branches overhead. Sludig waited an
appropriate interval, then moved closer to the comforting fire. "How
could such a great knight fall off a boat? God grant that I die more
honorably, in battle. It only proves to me, if I had any doubts, that boats
are things best left alone."
    Binabik's yellow grin widened. "To be hearing such words from one
whose ancestors were the greatest sailors mankind has known!" His ex-
pression grew serious. "Although it must be told that some doubt Camaris
was swept into the sea. Some there are who say that he was drowning
himself."
    "What? Why in Usires' name would he do such a thing?" Sludig poked
at the fire indignantly.
    The troll shrugged. "It is only being rumor, but I do not ignore such
things. Morgenes' writings are filled with many strange stories. Qinkipa!
How I wish I had found more time for reading the doctor's book! One
thing Morgenes was telling in his life-story of Prester John was that Sir
Camaris was much like our Prince Josua: a man of strange, melancholy
moods. Also, he was much in admiration of John's queen, Ebekah. King
Prester John had made Camaris her special protector. When the Rose of
Hemysadharc--as many were naming her--died in the birthing of Josua,
Camaris was said to be much upset. He grew fell and strange, and railed
against his God and Heaven. He gave up sword and armor and other
things, as one who takes up a life of religion--or, as one who knows he
will die. He was making his way back to his home in Vinitta after a
pilgrimage to the Sancellan Aedonitis. In a storm he was lost in the ocean
off Harcha-island."
    Binabik leaned forward and began pulling the wrapped birds out of the
fire, exerting caution so as not to burn his stubby fingers. The fire
crackled and the wind moaned.
    "Welladay," Sludig said at last. "What you say only makes me more
sure that I will avoid the high and the mighty whenever possible. But for
Duke Isgrimnur, who has a good level head on his shoulders, the rest of


504                                    Tad Williams

them are drifty and foolish as geese. Your Prince Josua, if you will pardor
my saying it, first among them."
    Binabik's grin returned. "He is not my Prince Josua, and he is--whal
was your wording?--drifty. But not foolish. Not foolish at all. And h~
may be our last hope for staving offthe coming storm." As though he had
stumbled into an uncomfortable subject, the troll busied himself with their
supper. He pushed a smoking bird over to the Rimmersman. "Here. Have
something to eat. Perhaps if the Hun~n are enjoying the cold weather,
they will be leaving us alone. We can then gain ourselves a good night
sleeping."
    "We will need it. We have a long road before we can give away this
damnable sword."
    "But we owe it to those who have fallen," Binabik said, staring out into
the dark reaches of the surrounding forest. "We do not have the freedom
of making a failure."
    As they ate, Qantaqa rose and paced about the campsite, listening
intently to the wailing wind.

    Snow was blowing savagely across the Waste, flung hard enough by the
howling wind to strip the very bark from the trees along the Aldheorte's
ragged north fringe. The great hound, not hindered in the least by such
unfriendly weather, bounded lightly back through the blinding flurries,
stone-hard muscles coiling and uncoiling beneath its short fur. When the
dog reached Ingen's side, the Queen's Huntsman reached into his vest and
produced a length of gnarled, dried meat that had at one end something
suspiciously like a fingernail. The white hound crunched it in a second,
then stood peering out into the darkness, cloudy little eyes full of eager-
ness to be moving once more. Ingen scratched carefully behind the dog's
ears, his gloved fingers trailing across a bulgingly muscled jaw that could
crush rock.
    "Yes, Niku'a" the huntsman whispered, voice echoing within his helm.
His own eyes were as madly intent as those of the hound. "You have the
scent now, do you not? Ah, the Queen will be so proud. My name will
be sung until the sun turns black and rotten and drops from the sky."
    He lifted his helmet and let the stinging wind batter his face. As
certainly as he knew that frosty stars shone somewhere above the dark-
ness, so, too, he knew that his quarry was still before him, and that he
drew nearer to it with every day that passed. At this moment he did not
feel himself to be the stolid, tireless hound that was his sigil, and whose
snarling face made the mask of his helm; he was instead some subtler,
more feline predator, a creature of fierce but quiet joy. He felt the freezing


                                        STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                505

night on his face and knew that nothing that lived beneath the black sky
could escape him for long.
    IngenJegger slid the crystalline dagger from his sleeve and held it before
him, staring at it as though it were a mirror in which he could see himself,
the Ingen who had feared to die in obscurity. Catching some hardy beam
of moonlight or starshine, the translucent blade burned with a chilly blue
fire; its carvings seemed to writhe like serpents beneath his fingers. This
was all he had dreamed, and more. The Queen in the Silver Mask had set
him a great task, a task befitting the making of a legend. Soon--he felt it
with a certainty that made him tremble--soon that task would be accom-
plished. Ingen let the dagger slide back into his sleeve.
    "Go, Niku'a," he whispered, as though the hidden stars might betray
him if they heard. "It is time to hunt our prey to ground. We will run."
Ingen vaulted into the saddle. His patient mount stirred as if awakening.
    The snow swirled, blowing through the empty night where a moment
before a man, a horse, and a dog had stood.

    The afternoon light was failing, the translucent walls of Jiriki's house
gradually growing darker. Aditu had brought a meal of fruit and warm
bread to Simon's room, an act of kindness for which he would have been
even more appreciative had she not stayed to annoy him. It was not that
Simon did not enjoy Aditu's company or admire her exotic beauty: it was,
in fact, her very beauty and shamelessness that disturbed him, making it
especially difficult to concentrate on such mundane tasks as eating.
     Aditu trailed a finger up his backbone once more. Simon nearly choked
on a mouthful of bread. "Don't do that!"
    The Sitha-woman made an interested face. "Why not? Does it cause you
pain?"
    "No! Of course not. It tickles." He turned away sulkily, inwardly
regretting his lack of manners--but not much. He was feeling, as he
usually did around Aditu, quite flummoxed. Jiriki, for all his alien ways,
had never made Simon think of himself as a cloddish mortal: beside Aditu,
Simon felt himself to be made of mud.
    She was attired today in little but feathers and jeweled beads and a few
strips of fabric. Her body gleamed with scented oils.
    "Tickles? But is that bad?" she asked. "I do not wish to hurt you or
make you uncomfortable, Seoman. It is just that you are so---" she
searched for the proper word, "--so unusual, and I have seldom been near
your kind." She seemed to be enjoying his discomfiture. "You are very
wide here . . ." She ran a finger from one of his shoulders to the other,


506                                    Tad Williams

sighing as this occasioned another muffled yelp. "It is clear you are not
made like our folk."
    Simon, who had slid out of reach once more, grunted. He was uncom-
fortable around her, that was a simple fact. Her presence had begun to
make him feel as though he had some kind of damnable itch, and in his
solitude he had come to both yearn for and yet fear her arrivals. Every
time he stole a glance at her slim body, displayed with an immodesty that
still shocked him to the depths of his being, he found himself remember-
ing the thundering sermons of Father Dreosan. Simon was astgnished to
discover that the priest, Whom he had always thought an idiot, had been
right after all--the devil did make snares for the flesh. Just watching
Aditu's lissome, catlike movements filled Simon with a squirming con-
sciousness of sin. It was the more terrible, he knew, because Jiriki's sister
was not even of his own kind.
    As the priest had taught, Simon tried to keep the pure face of ]~lysia the
Mother of God before him when he was confronted by the temptation of
flesh. Back in the Hayholt, Simon had seen that face in hundreds of
paintings and sculptures, in countless candlelit shrines, but now he was
alarmed to find his memory turning traitor. In recollection, the eyes of
Usires' sainted mother seemed more playful and more.., j~line.., than
could possibly be proper or holy.
    Despite this discomfort, in his loneliness he was still grateful to Aditu
for all her attentions, however perfunctory he sometimes thought them to
be, and however careless of Simon's feelings her teasing sometimes be-
came. He was most grateful for the meals. Jiriki was seldom at home of
late, and Simon was more than a little uncertain about which of the fruits,
vegetables, and less familiar plants growing in the prince's extensive forest
gardens could be safely eaten. There was no one but the prince's sister on
whom he could rely. Even among the first family--the "Root and Bough"
as Jiriki had phrased it--there seemed to be nothing like servants. Every-
one fended for themselves, as befitted the Sithi's solitary habits. Simon
knew that the Sithi kept animals, or rather, that the valley was full of
animals that came when they were called. The goats and sheep must allow
themselves to be milked, for the meals Aditu brought him often included
fragrant cheeses, but the Sithi seemed to eat no meat. Simon often thought
longingly about all those trusting animals wandering the paths of Jao
~-Tinukai'i. He knew he would never dare do anything about it, but--
Aedon!--wouldn't a leg of mutton be a fine thing to have!
    Aditu poked him again. Simon stolidly ignored her. She got up and
walked past the nest of soft blankets that was Simon's bed, stopping
before the billowing blue wall. The wall had been scarlet when Jiriki first
brought him, but Simon's Sitha host had somehow changed its color to
this more soothing cerulean. When Aditu brushed it with her long-



STONE OF FAREWELL

507

fingered hand, the fabric slid away like a drawn curtain, revealing another,
larger room beyond.
 "Let us return to our game," she said. "You are too serious, manchild."
 "I will never be able to learn it," Simon muttered.
    "You do not apply yourself. Jiriki claims you have a good mind--
although my brother has been wrong before." Aditu reached into a fold in
the wall and produced a crystal sphere which began to glow at her touch.
She placed it on a simple tripod of wood, letting its light spread through
the darkened room, then took a carved wooden case from beneath the
colorful shent board and removed the polished stones that served as
playing pieces. "I think I had just made myself an acre of Woodlarks.
Come, Seoman, play and don't pout. You had a good idea the other day, a
very clever idea--fleeing that which you truly sought." She stroked his
arm, making the hairs stand up, and gave him one of her strange Sithi
smiles, full of impenetrable significance.
 "Seoman has other games to play tonight."
    Jiriki stood in the doorway, dressed in what appeared to be ceremonial
attire, an intricately embroidered robe in varied shades of yellow and blue.
He wore soft gray boots. His sword Indreju dangled at his hip in a
scabbard of the same gray stuff, and three long white heron feathers were
braided into his hair. "He has received a summons."
    Aditu carefully set the pieces on the board. "I shall have to play by
myself, then--unless you are staying, Willow-switch." She gazed from
beneath lowered lids.
 Jiriki shook his head. "No, sister. I must be Seoman's guide."
 "Where am I going?" Simon asked. "Summoned by who?"
    "By First Grandmother." Jiriki lifted his hand and made a brief but
solemn gesture. "Amerasu the Ship-Born has asked to see you."

    Walking in silence beneath the stars, Simon thought about the things he
had seen since leaving the Hayholt. To think that once he had feared he
would live and die a castle-drudge! Was there to be no end to the strange
places he must go, to the strange people he must meet? Amerasu might be
able to help him, but still he was growing weary of strangeness. Then
again, he realized with a flutter of panic, if Amerasu or some other did
not come to his aid, the lovely but limited vistas ofJao ~-Tinukai'i might
be all he would ever see again.
    But the strangest thing, he thought suddenly, was that no matter where
he went or what he saw, he always seemed to remain the same old
Simon--a little less mooncalfish, perhaps, but not very different from the
clumsy kitchen boy who had lived at the Hayholt. Those distant, peaceful
days seemed utterly gone, vanished without hope of reclamation, but the
Simon who had lived them was still very much present. Morgenes had
t01d him once to make his home in his own head. That way, home could


508                                    Tad Williams

never be taken from him. Was this what the doctor meant? To be the same
person no matter where you went, no matter what madness occurred?
Somehow, that didn't seem quite right.
    "I will not burden you with instructions," Jiriki said suddenly, startling
him. "There are special rites to be performed before meeting the First
Grandmother, but you do not know them, nor could you perform all of
them even if they were told to you. I do not think that cause to worry,
however. I believe Amerasu wishes to see you because of who you are and
what you have seen, not because she wishes you to watch you perform the
Six Songs of Respectful Request."  "The six what?"
    "It is not important. But remember this: although First Grandmother is
of the same family as Aditu and myself, we are both children of the Last
Days. Amerasu Ship-Born was one of the first speaking creatures to set
foot on csten Ard. I say this not to frighten," he added hurriedly, seeing
Simon's distressed, moonlit expression, "but only to have you know she
is different even than my father and mother."
    The silence returned as Simon pondered this. Could the handsome,
sad-faced woman he had seen really be one of the oldest living things in
the world? He did not doubt Jiriki, but his own wildest thoughts stretched
to their limits still could not encompass the prince's words.
    The winding path led them across a stone bridge. Once over the river,
they made their way into the more heavily wooded part of the valley.
Simon did his best to take note of what paths they took, but found that
the memories quickly melted away, insubstantial as starlight. He remem-
bered only that they crossed several more streams, each seeming slightly
more melodious than the last, untfi they finally entered into a part of the
forest that seemed quieter. Among these thickly knotted trees even the
cricket songs were hushed. The tree branches swayed, but the wind was
silent.
    When they finally stopped, Simon found to his surprise that they stood
before the tall, cobwebbed tree he had found in his first attempt at escape.
Faint lights shone through the tangle of silken threads, as though the great
tree wore a glowing cloak.
    "I was here before," Simon said slowly. The warm, still air made him
feel at once drowsy and yet keenly alert.
    The prince looked at him and said nothing, but led him toward the oak.
Jiriki set his hand to the moss-covered door, set so deeply into the bark
that the tree might have grown around it.
"We have permission," he said quietly. The door swung silently inward.
Beyond the doorway was an impossible thing: a narrow hallway that
stretched away before him, as silk-tangled as the front of the oak-house.
Tiny lights no larger than fireflies burned within the matted threads,
filling the passageway with their flickering light. Simon, who could have


                                        STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                509

sworn guiltlessly on a holy Tree that nothing lay behind the spreading oak
but more trees, took a step back through the doorframe to see where such
a hallway could possibly be hidden-could it pass down into the ground,
somehow?tbut Jiriki took his elbow and gently steered him across the
threshold once more. The door fell shut behind them.
    They were completely surrounded by hghts and silken webs, as though
they moved through the clouds and among the stars. The curious sleepi-
ness was still upon Simon: every detail was sharp and clear, but he had no
idea how long they spent walking in the scintillant passage. They came at
last to a more open place, a chamber that smelled of cedar and plum
blossoms and other scents more difficult to identify. The minute and
inconstant lights were fewer here, and the wide room was full of long,
shuddery shadows. From time to time the walls creaked, as though he and
Jiriki stood in the hold of a ship, or inside the trunk of a tree far larger
than any Simon had ever seen. He heard a sound as of water slowly
dripping, like the last drops of a rainstorm trickling from willow branches
into a pool. Half-visible shapes lined the dark walls, things shaped like
people; they might have been statues, for they were certainly very still.
    As Simon stared, his eyes not yet adjusted to the diminished light,
something brushed against his leg. He jumped and cried out, but a
moment later the flickering lights showed him a waving tail that could
only belong to a cat; the creature swiftly vanished into the darkness along
the walls. Simon caught his breath.
    Strange as the place was, he decided, there was nothing truly frighten-
ing about it. The shadowy chamber had an air of warmth and serenity
unlike anything he had experienced thus far in Jao ~-Tinukai'i. Judith, the
Hayholt's plump kitchen mistress, would almost have called it cozy.
    "Welcome to my house," a voice said from the darkness. The pinpricks
of light grew brighter around one of the shadowy figures, revealing a
white--haired head and the back of a tall chair. "Come closer, manchild. I
can see you there, but I doubt you can see me."
    "First Grandmother has very sharp sight," Jiriki said; Simon thought he
could detect a trace of amusement in the Sitha's voice. He stepped for-
ward. The golden light revealed the ancient yet youthful face he had seen
in Jiriki's mirror.
    "You are in the presence of Amerasu y'Senditu no'e-Sa'onserei, the
Ship-Born," intoned Jiriki from behind him. "Show respect, Seoman
Snowlock."
    Simon felt no compunction about doing so. He kneeled on wobbling
legs and lowered his head before her.
    "Stand up, mortal boy," she said quietly. Her voice was deep and
smooth. It tugged at Simon's memory. Had their short contact through
the mirror burned itself so deeply on his mind? .... Hmmm," she mur-
mured. "You are taller even than my young Willow-switch. Will you find


510                                    Tad Williams

the manchild a stool, Jiriki, so I do not have to stare up at him? Get
yourself one, too."
    When Simon was seated beside Jiriki, Amerasu inspected him carefully.
Simon felt suddenly tongue-tied, but curiosity vied with shyness. He stole
return glances while doing his best to avoid her almost frighteningly deep
eyes.
    She was much as he remembered her: shining white hair, skin tight-
stretched over her fine bones. Other than the measureless depths of her
stare, the only hint of the immense age to which Jiriki had alluded was in
the careful deliberation with which she assayed every movement, as though
her skeleton were fragile as dried parchment. Still, she was very beautiful.
Caught in the web of her regard, Simon imagined that in the dawn of the
world Amerasu might have been as terrifyingly, blindingly splendid to
look upon as the face of the sun.
 "So," she said finally. "You are out of your depths, little fish."
 Simon nodded.
    "Are you enjoying your visit to Jao ~-Tinukai'i? You are one of the first
of your kind to come here."
Jiriki sat up straighter. "One of the first, wise Amerasu? Not the first?"
She ignored him, keeping her gaze fixed on Simon. He felt himself
drawn gently but helplessly into her spell of command, a wriggling fish
pulled inexorably toward the water's blinding surface. "Speak, manchild.
What do you think?"
    "I ... I am honored to visit," he said at last, then swallowed. His
throat was very dry. "Honored. But... but I don't want to stay in this
valley. Not forever."
    Amerasu leaned back in her chair. He felt himself held more loosely,
though the power of her presence was still strongly upon him. "I am not
surprised." She took a long breath, smiling sadly. "But you would have
to be prisoned here a long while before you would be as weary of this life
as I am."
 Jiriki stirred. "Should I leave, First Grandmother?"
    His question gave Simon a faint tremor of fright. He could feel the
Sitha-woma'n's great kindness and great pain---but she was so fearfully
strong! He knew that if she wished, she could keep him here forever, just
with the power of her voice and those compelling, labyrinthine eyes.
  "Should I leave?" Jiriki asked again.
    "I know it pains you to hear me speak so, Willow-switch," Amerasu
said. "But you are dearest of all my young ones and you are strong. You
can hear truth." She shifted slowly in her chair, long-fingered hand
settling on the breast of her white robe. "You, too, manchild, have
known loss. That is in your face. But though every loss is grave, the lives
as well as losses of mortals appear and fade as swiftly as the seasons turn
the leaves. I do not mean to be cruel. Neither do I seek pity--but not you


STONE OF FAREWELL

511

or any other mortal has seen the dry centuries roll past, the hungry
millennia, seen the very light and color sucked out of your world until
nothing remains but juiceless memories." Strangely, as she spoke her face
seemed to grow more youthful, as though her grief were the most vital
thing left in her. Now Simon could see much more than a hint of her
former splendor. He lowered his head, unable to speak.
    "Of course you have not," she said, a slight tremor in her voice. "I
have. That is why I am here, in the dark. It is not that I fear the light, or
that I am not strong enough to stand day's brightness." She laughed, a
sound like a whipoorwill's mournful call. "No, it is only that in darkness I
can see the lost days and faces of the past more clearly."
    Simon looked up. "You had two sons," he said quietly. He had realized
why her voice seemed so familiar. "One of them went away."
     Amerasu's face hardened. "Both of them are gone. What have you told
him, Jiriki? These are not tales for the small hearts of mortals." "I told him nothing, First Grandmother."
    She leaned forward intently. "Tell me of my sons. What old legends do
you know?"
    Simon swallowed. "One son was hurt by a dragon. He had to go away.
He was burned--like me." He touched his own scarred cheek. "The other
 . . the other is the Storm King." As he whispered this last, Simon looked
around, as though something might step toward him out of the deep
shadows. The walls creaked and water dripped, but that was all. "How do you know this?"
    "I heard your voice in a dream." Simon searched for words. "You
spoke in my head for a long time when I was sleeping."
    The Sitha-woman's beautiful face was grave. She stared at him as
though something hidden within him threatened her. "Do not be afraid,
manchild," she said at last, reaching out with her slender hands. "Do not
fear. And forgive me."
    Amerasu's cool, dry fingers touched Simon's face. The lights streamed
like shreds of lightning, then flickered and faded, dropping the chamber
into utter darkness. Her grip seemed to tighten. The blackness sang.
    There was no pain, but somehow Amerasu was inside his head, a
forceful presence so intimately connected to him at that moment that he
felt shockingly, terrifyingly raw, an exposure far more profound than any
merely physical nakedness. Sensing his terror, she calmed him, cradling
his secret self like a panicking bird until he was no longer afraid. First
Grandmother then began to pick delicately through his memories, probing
him with gentle but purposeful thoroughness.
    Dizzy snatches of thought and dream fluttered past, swirling like flower
petals in a windstorm--Morgenes and his countless books, Miriamele
singing, seemingly meaningless fragments of conversation from Simon's
days in the Hayholt. The night of Thisterborg and the dreadful gray


512                                   Tad Williams

sword spread though his mind like a dark stain, followed by the silver face
of Utuk'ku and the three swords from his vision in the house of Gelo~.
Plump Skodi and the thing that had laughed in the courtyard flames
whirled and melted into the lunacy of the Uduntree and the emotionless
eyes of the great white worm Igjarjuk. Thorn was there, too, a black slash
across the light of recollection. As the memories flew by, he again felt the
burning pain of the dragon's blood and the fearful sense of connection to
the spinning world, the sickening vastness of the hope and pain of all
living things. At last, like the tatters of a dream, the pictures faded.
    The lights came back slowly. Simon's head was cradled in Jiriki's lap.
The wound on his cheek was throbbing.
    "Forgive me, First Grandmother," Jiriki said as though from a great
distance, "but was that necessary? He would have told you all he knew."
    Amerasu was silent for a long time. When she spoke, it was with great
effort. Her voice seemed older than before. "He could not have told me
all, Willow-switch. Those things that to me seem most important, he is
not even aware that he knows." She turned her eyes down to Simon, her
face full of weary kindness. "I am truly sorry, manchild. I had no right to
plunder you that way, but I am old and frightened and I have little
patience left. Now, I am more frightened than ever."
    She tried to pull herself up. Jiriki reached out to help, and she rose
unsteadily from her chair and vanished into the shadows. She returned a
moment later with a cup of water, which she held to Simon's lips with her
own hands. He drank thirstily. The water was cold and sweet, with just a
savor of wood and earth, as though it had been scooped from the trunk of
a hollow tree. In her white robe, Simon thought, Amerasu looked like
some pale and radiant saint from a church picture.
    "What . . . did you do?" he asked as he sat up. There was a buzzing
sound in his ears and small shining flecks dancing before his eyes.
    "Learned what I needed to learn," Amerasu said. "I knew that I had
seen you in Jiriki's mirror, but I thought that a fluke, a mischance. The
Road of Dreams has changed much of late, and has become as obscure and
unpredictable to even the experienced as it once was for those who only
traveled it in sleep. I see now that our earlier meeting was no accident of
fate."
    "Do you mean that your meeting with Simon was intended by some-
one, First Grandmother?" Jiriki said.
    "No. I mean only that the boundaries between those worlds and ours
are beginning to weaken. Someone like this manchild, who has been
pulled one way and another, who through true chance or some unimaginable
design has been dragged into many powerful and dangerous connections
between the dream world and the waking . . ." She trailed off, seating
herself carefully once more before continuing. "It is as though he lived on
the edge of a great wood. When the trees begin to spread outward, it is his

!m


STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                513

house that first has roots across the threshold. When the wolves of the
forest begin to grow hungry, it is beneath his window that they first come
howling."
    Simon struggled to speak. "What did you learn . . . from my memo-
ties? About... about Ineluki?"
    Her face became impassive. "Too much. I believe I now understand my
son's terrible, subtle design, but I must think a while longer. Even in this
hour, I must not be frightened into foolish haste." She lifted a hand to her
brow. "If I am correct, our danger is graver than we ever guessed. I must
speak to Shima'onari and Likimeya. I only hope they listen--and that time
has not passed us by. We may be starting to dig the well as our houses
bum down."
    Jiriki helped Simon sit up. "My father and mother must listen. Every-
one knows your wisdom, First Grandmother."
    Amerasu smiled sadly. "Once, the women of the House Sa'onserei were
the keepers of lore. The final word belonged to the eldest of the house.
WhenJenjiyana of the Nightingales saw the right of things, she spoke and
it was so. Since the Flight, things have changed." Her hand fluttered in the
air like a bird alighting. "I am certain your mother will listen to reason.
Your father is good, Jiriki, but in some ways he dwells even more deeply
in the past than I do." She shook her head. "Forgive me. I am weary and I
have much to think about. Otherwise, I would not talk so uncarefully, and
especially in front of this boy." She extended her hand toward Simon,
brushing his cheek with her fingertip. The pain of his old burn became
less. As he looked at her solemn face and the weight she seemed to carry,
he reached up and touched her retreating hand.
    "Jiriki spoke to you truthfully, manchild," she said. "For better or for
worse, you have been marked. I only wish I could give you some word to
help you on your journey."
 The light faded again. Simon let Jirki lead him out in darkness.



26

Painted Eyes

M~riamde leaned against the ra~ing, watching bustle aria
activity of the docks. Vinitta was not a large island, but its ruling Benidrivine
house had provided Nabban's final two Imperators, as well as its three
dukes under Prester John's kingship. It had also been the birthplace of the
legendary Camaris, but even so great a knight was accorded only a
middling-high place in Vinitta's luminous, hero-studded history. The port
was a busy one: with Benigaris on the ducal throne, the fortunes of Vinitta
still ran high.
    Aspitis Preves and his captain had gone down into the town to accom-
plish their business. What that might be, Miriamele could not say. The
earl had intimated that he had some important mission direct from Duke
Benigaris, but that was as far as he would discuss the subject. Aspitis had
bade both Miriamele and Cadrach stay on board until he returned, suggest-
ing that the port was not the place for a noble lady to wander, and that he
had not enough men-at-arms available to handle his own affairs safely and
still detach a pair of soldiers for their protection.
    Miriamele knew what this meant. Whatever Aspitis thought of her,
however he valued her beauty and company, he did not intend to give her
the chance to slip away. Perhaps he harbored some doubts about her
story, or simply worried that she might be persuaded to leave by Cadrach,
who had made little attempt to disguise his growing hatred of the Earl of
Eadne and Drina.
    She sighed, gazing sadly at the rows of tented booths that ran along the
dockfront, each one festooned with flags and crammed with goods for
sale. Hawkers cried their wares as they shuffled along the road, carrying
their stock on their backs in huge, overstuffed bags. Dancers and musicians
performed for coins, and the sailors of various boats mingled with Vinitta's
residents in a shouting, laughing, swearing throng. Despite the dark skies
and intermittent flurries of rain, the crowds that swarmed the waterfront

514


                                 STONE OF FAREWELL                                                 515

 seemed bent on making a cheerful ruckus. Miriamele's heart ached to join
 them.
     Cadrach stood beside her, pink face paler than usual. The monk had not
 spoken much since Aspitis' pronouncement; he had watched the earl's
 party leave the Eadne Cloud with much the same sour expression as he
 now leveled on the activity below.
    "God," he said, "but it makes a man sick to see such heedlessness." It
was not exactly clear what his remark addressed, but Miriamele felt it
rankle nonetheless.
"And you," she snapped. "You are better? A drunkard and coward?"
Cadrach's large head came around, moving as ponderously as a millwheel.
"It is my very heedfulness that makes me so, Lady. I have watched too
carefully."
    "Watched what? Oh, never mind. I am not in the mood for one of your
roundabout lectures." She shivered with anger, but could not summon the
sense of righteousness she sought. Cadrach had grown more remote over
the last few days, observing her from what seemed a disapproving dis-
tance. This irritated her, but the continuing flirtation between herself and
the earl made even Miriamele somewhat uncomfortable. It was hard to
feel truly justified in her irritation, but it was harder still to have Cadrach's
gray eyes staring at her as though she were a child or a misbehaving
animal. "Why don't you go and complain to some of the sailors?" she said
at last. "See how well they'll listen to you."
    The monk folded his arms. He spoke patiently, but did not meet her eyes.
"Will you not listen to me, Lady? This last time? My advice is not half so
bad as you make out and you know it. How long will you listen to the
honeyed words of this . . . this court beauty? You are like his little bird
that he takes from the cage to play with, then puts back. He does not care
for you."
    "You are a strange person to talk of that, Brother Cadrach. The earl has
given us the captain's cabin, fed us at his own table, and treated me with
complete respect." Her heart sped a little as she remembered Aspitis'
mouth at her ear, his firm, gentle touch. "You, on the other hand, have
lied to me, taken money for my freedom, and struck me senseless. Only a
madman could put himself forward as the better friend after all that."
    Now Cadrach did lift his eyes, holding her gaze for a long moment. He
seemed to be looking for something, and his probing inspection brought
warmth to her cheeks. She made a mocking face and turned away.
    "Very well, Lady," he said. From the corner of his eye she saw him
shrug and walk off down the deck. "It seems they teach little of kindness
or forgiving in Usires' church these days," he said over his shoulder.
    Miriamele blinked back angry tears. "You are the religious man, Cadrach,
not me. If that is true, you are the best example!" She did not receive
much pleasure from her own harsh rejoinder.


516                                    Tad Williams

    When she had tired of watching the dockyard crowds, Miriamele went
down to her cabin. The monk was sitting there, staring resolutely at
nothing. Miriamele did not want to speak to him, so she turned and made
her way above deck once more, then paced restlessly back and forth along
the length of the Eadne Cloud. Those of the ship's crew who had remained
on board were refitting her for the outgoing voyage, some clambering in
the rigging checking the state of the sails, others effecting various small
repairs here and there about the deck. This was to be their only night on
Vinitta, so the crewmen fairly flew through their tasks in a hurry to get
ashore.
    Soon Miriamele found herself at the rail by the top of the gangplank,
staring down once more at the eddying citizenry of the island. As the cool,
moist wind ruffled her hair, she found herself thinking about what Cadrach
had said. Could he be right? She knew that Aspitis had a flattering tongue,
but could it be possible he did not care for her at all? Miriamele remem-
bered their first night on deck, and the other sweet and secret kisses he had
stolen from her since, and knew that the monk was wrong. She did not
pretend that Aspitis loved her with all his soul--she doubted that her face
tormented him at sleeping time, as his did to her--but she also knew
beyond question that he was fond of her, and that was more than could be
said of the other men she knew. Her father had wanted her to marry that
horrible, drunken braggart Fengbald, and her uncle Josua had just wanted
her to sit quietly and not cause him any trouble.
    But there was Simon . . . she thought, and felt a flicker of warmth cut
through the gray morning. He had been sweet in his foolish way, yet
brave as any of the noblemen she had seen. But he was a scullion and she a
king's daughter ... and what did it matter anyway? They were on
opposite sides of the world. They would never meet again.
    Something touched her arm, startling her. She whirled to find the
wrinkled face of Gan Itai gazing up into hers. The Niskie's usual look of
wily good humor was absent.
  "Girl, I need to speak to you," the old one said.
  "Wh-what?" Something in the Niskie's expression was alarming.
    "I had a dream. A dream about youmand about bad times." Gan Itai
ducked her head, then turned and looked out to sea before turning back.
"The dream said you were in danger, Miri..."
    The Niskie broke off, looking past Miriamele's shoulder. The princess
leaned forward. Had she misheard, or had Gan ltai been about to call her
by her true name? But that could not be: no one beside Cadrach knew
who she was, and she doubted that the monk would have told anyone on
the ship--what such news might bring was too unpredictable, and Cadrach
was trapped out on the ocean just as she was. No, it must have been only
the Niskie's odd way of speaking.


                                        STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                517

    "Ho! Lovely lady!" A cheerful voice rang up from dockside. "It is a wet
morning, but perhaps you would like to see Vinitta?'
    Miriamele whirled. Aspitis stood at the base of the gangplank with his
men-at-arms. The earl wore a beautiful blue cloak and shiny boots. His
hair danced in the wind.
    "Oh, yes!" she said, pleased and excited. How wonderful it would be to
get off this ship! "I'Ll be right down!"
    When she turned, Gan Itai had vanished. Miriamele frowned slightly,
puzzled. She suddenly thought of the monk sitting stone-faced in the cabin
they shared and felt a twinge of pity for him.
 "Shall I bring Brother Cadrach?" she called down.
    Aspitis laughed. "Certainly! We may find use in having a holy man
with us who can talk us out of temptations! That way we may come back
with a few cintis-pieces left in our purses!"
    Miriamele ran downstairs to tell Cadrach. He looked at her oddly, but
drew on his boots, then carefully chose just the right heavy cloak before
following her back up the ladder.

    The wind rose and the rainshowers became heavier. Although at first it
was enough merely to walk along the busy waterfront with the handsome,
sociable earl beside her, soon Miriamele's excitement at being off the ship
began to wear away. Despite the pushing crowd, Vinitta's narrow streets
seemed sad and gray. When Aspitis bought her a chain of bluebells from a
flower seller and tenderly hung them around her neck, she found it all she
could do to smile for him.
    It is the weather, she guessed. This unnatural weather has turned high summer
into a dismal gray murk and put the cold right into my bones.
    She thought of her father sitting alone in his room, and of the chilly,
distant face he sometimes wore like a mask--a mask that he had come to
wear more and more frequently in her last months in the Hayholt. Cold
bones and cold hearts, she sang quietly to herself as the Earl of Eadne led his
party down Vinitta's rain-slicked byways.

Cold bones and cold hearts
Lie in the rain in battle's wake,
On chilly beach by Clodu-lake,
'Til Aedon's trumpet calls...

    just before noon Aspitis took them into an eating hall, where Miriamele
immediately felt her flagging spirits begin to revive. The hall had a high
ceiling, but the three large fire pits kept it warm and cheery while at the
same time filling the air with smoke and the smell of roasting meat. Many
others had decided the hall might be a nice place to be on this bitter
morning: the rafters echoed with the tumult of diners and drinkers. The


518                                   Tad Williams

master of the hall and his several assistants were being worked to the
utmost, thumping jugs of beer and bowls of wine onto the wooden tables,
then snatching the proffered coins in a single continuous movement.
    A crude stage had been set up at the hall's far end. At the moment a boy
was juggling between acts of a puppet play, doing his best to keep several
sticks in the air while suffering the drunken jests of spectators, using
his feetmhis only available extremities--to stop the occasional coin that
came bouncing up onto the stage.
    "Will you have something to eat, fair lady?" Aspitis asked. When
Miriamele nodded shyly, he dispatched two of his men-at-arms. His other
guardsmen unceremoniously removed a large family from one of the
pitted tables. Soon the original pair of soldiers returned with a crackling
haunch of lamb, bread, onions, and a generous supply of wine.
    A bowlful soon drove away much of Miriamele's chill, and she found
that the morning's walk had given her a considerable appetite. The noon
bell had scarcely rung before her food was gone. She readjusted her
position on the seat, trying to avoid an unladylike belch.
"Look," she said, "they're starting the puppet play. Can we watch?"
"Certainly," Aspitis said, waving his hand generously. "Certainly. You
will forgive me if I do not come with you. I have not finished my meal.
Besides, it looks like a Usires play. You will not think me disrespectful if I
say that, living in the lap of Mother Church, I see them frequently
enough--in all varieties, from the grandest to the meanest." He turned
and signaled one of his men to accompany her. "It is not a good idea for a
well-dressed gentle lady like yourself to go unprotected among the mill-
ing crowd."
    "I am done eating," Cadrach said, standing. "I will come too, Lady
Marya." The monk fell in beside the earl's guardsman.
    The play was in full swing. The spectators, especially the children,
shrieked with delight as the puppets capered and smacked each other with
their slapping-sticks. Miriamele, too, laughed as Usires tricked Crexis into
bending over, then delivered a kick in the seat to the evil Imperator, but
her smile soon faded. Instead of his usual horns, Crexis wore what looked
like a crown of antlers. For some reason this filled her with unease. There
was also something panicky and desperate in Usires' high-pitched voice,
and the puppet's painted, upturned eyes seemed unutterably sad. She
turned to find Cadrach looking at her somberly.
    "So we labor to build our little dams," the monk said, barely audible
above the shouting throng, "while the waters rise all around us." He made
the sign of the Tree above his gray vestments.
    Before she could ask him what he meant, a rising howl from the crowd
drew her attention back to the puppet stage. Usires had been caught and
hung wrongside-up on the Execution Tree, wooden head dangling. As
Crexis the Goat prodded the helpless savior, another puppet appeared,


                            STONE OF FAREWELL                                          519

rising from the darkness. This one was clothed all in orange and red tatters
of cloth; as it swayed from side to side in an eerie dance, the rags swirled,
as though the puppet were covered with licking flames. Its head was a
black, faceless knob, and it carried a small wooden sword the color of
mud.
    "Here comes the Fire Dancer to throw you down into the dark earth!" Crexis
squealed. The Imperator did a little dance of joy.
    "I do not live by the sword," the puppet Usires said. "A sword cannot harm
that which is God within me, that which is silence and peace." Miriamele almost
believed she could see its motionless lips mouthing the words.
    "You can be silent forever, then--and worship your God in pieced" the
Imperator shouted triumphantly as the faceless Fire Dancer began to hack
with its sword. The laughing, screaming crowd grew louder, a sound like
hounds at the kill. Miriamele felt dizzy, taken as though with a sudden
fever. Fear growing within her, she turned away from the stage.
 Cadrach no longer stood beside her.
    Miriamele turned to the guardsman on the other side. The soldier,
seeing her questioning look, whirled in search of the monk. Cadrach was
nowhere to be seen.

    A search of the eating hall by Aspitis and his men turned up no trace of
the Hernystirman. The earl marched his party back to the Eadne Cloud
through the windswept streets, his furious mood mirroring the angry
skies. He was silent all the long walk back to the ship.

    Sinetris the fisherman looked the new arrival up and down. The stranger
was a full head taller than him, broad as a gate, and soaking wet from the
rain that hammered on the ceiling of the boat stall. Sinetris weighed the
advantages and disadvantages of circling slowly around this newcomer
until he could address the man from outside the tiny shelter. The disad-
vantages of such a plan were clear: it was the kind of day today that made
even the hardiest shiver by the fire and praise God for roofs. Also, it was
Sinetris' own stall, and it seemed terribly unfair that he should have to go
outside so that this stranger could growl and champ and suck up all the air
while the fisherman stood miserably in the storm.
    The advantages, however, were equally clear. If he were outside, Sinetris
could run for his life when this panting madman finally became murderous.
    "I don't know what you're saying, Father. There are no boats out
today. You see how it is." Sinetris gestured out at the sheeting rain, flung
almost sideways by the force of the wind.
    The religious man stared at him furiously. The gigantic monk, if that
was indeed what he was, had gone quite red and mottled in the face, and


520                                   Tad Williams

his eyebrows twitched. Strangely enough, Sinetris thought the monk
seemed to be growing a beard: his whiskers were longer than even a
week's razorless travel would cause. To the best of the fisherman's knowl-
edge, Aedonite monks did not wear beards. Then, again, this one was
some kind of barbarous northerner by his accent, a Rimmersman or some
such: Sinetris supposed that those born beyond the River Gleniwent would
be capable of just about any eccentricity. As he looked at the ragged
whiskers and the chafed pink skin gleaming beneath, his unwholesome
opinion of the monk grew more pronounced. This was definitely a man
with whom to have as little to do as possible.
    "l don't think you understand me, fisherman," the monk hissed, lean-
ing forward and squinting in a truly frightening way. "I have come nearly
through Hell itself to get this far. I'm told that you are the only one who
would take his boat out in such bad weather--and that the reason is
because you overcharge." A beefy hand closed on Sinetris' arm, occasion-
ing a squeal of shock. "Splendid. Cheat me, rob me, I don't care. But I'm
going downcoast to Kwanitipul and I'm tired of asking people to take me.
Do you understand?"
    "B-but you could go overland!" Senitris squeaked. "This is no weather
to be on the water..."
  "And how long would it take to go overland from here?"
  "A day! Two, perhaps! Not long!"
    The monk's grip on his arm tightened cruelly. "You lie, little man. In
this weather, through that marshy ground, it would take me a solid
fortnight. But you're rather hoping I'll try, though, aren't you? Hoping
I'll go away and sink into the mud somewhere?" An unpleasant smile
flitted across the monk's broad face.
  "No, Father! No! I would never think so of a holy man!"
    "That's strange, because your fellow fishermen tell me you've cheated
everyone, monks and priests by the score among 'em! Well, you shall have
your chance to help a man of Godmand you shall have your just and more
than ample payment."
    Sinetris burst into tears, impressing even himself. "But Eminence! We
truly dare not go out in such weather!" As he said it, he realized that for
once he was telling the truth and not merely trying to raise his price. This
was weather that only a fool would brave. His pleading took on a note of
greater desperation. "We will drownwyou, God's holiest priest, and poor
Sinetris, hard-working husband and father to seven lovely children!"
    "You have no children, and pity the woman who will ever be your
wife. I talked to your fishing-fellows, don't you remember? You are the
scum that even Perdruin the Mercenary has driven from her shores. Now,
name your price, damn you. I must get to Kwanitupul as soon as possible."
     Sinetris sniffled a bit to give himself time to think. The standard
ferrying charge was one quinis, but with rough weather--and they certainly


                                       STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                521

had that today, with no exaggerationmthree or even four quinis would
not be out of line.
    "Three gold Imperators." He waited for the bellow of anger. When none
came, he thought for a delirious moment he might have made his sum-
mer's income in two days. Then he saw the pink face drawing close, until
the monk's breath was hot on his cheeks.
    "You worm," the monk said softly. "There is a difference between
simple robbery and rape. I think I should just fold you up like a napkin
and take the damnable boat--leaving a gold Imperator for your imaginary
widow and seven nonexistent brats, which is more than the whole leaky
thing is worth."
    "Two gold Imperators, Eminence? One for my imag . . . widow, one
to purchase a mansa for my poor soul at the church?"
    "One, and you know that is a gross overpayment. It is only because I
am in a hurry. And we will leave now."
 "Now? But the boat is not fitted out... !"
     'TII watch." The monk let go of Sinetris' throbbing wrist and folded
his arms across his broad chest. "Go ahead, now. Hop to it!" "But kind Father, what about my gold piece... ?"
    "When we get to Kwanitupul. Do not fear you will be cheated, as you
have cheated others. Am I not a man of God?" The strange monk
laughed.
 Sinetris, snuffling quietly, went looking for his oars.

    "You said you had more gold!" Charystra, the proprietress of the inn
known as Pelippa's Bowl put on a practiced look of disgust. "I treated you
like a prince--you, a little marsh-man--and you lied to me! I should
have known better than to trust a dirty Wrannaman."
    Tiamak struggled to keep his temper. "I think, good lady, that you
have done very well from me. I paid you on arrival with two gold
Imperators."
 She snorted. "Well, it's all spent."
    "In a fortnight? You accuse me of lying, Charystra, but that might as
well be theft."
    "How dare you speak that way to me! You had the best accommoda-
tions and the services of the best healer in Kwanitupul."
    The ache of Tiamak's wounds only added to his anger. "If you are
referring to that drunken person who came to twist my leg and hurt me, I
am sure his fee was scarcely more than a bottle or two of fern beer. As a
matter of fact, he appeared to have enjoyed the payments of a few other
victims before he came here."
 The irony! To think that Tiamak, author of the soon-to-be definitive


522                                    Tad Williams

revision of Sovran Remedys of the Wranna Healers, should be forced into the
care of a dryland butcher!
    "Anyway, I am lucky I kept my leg," he growled. "Besides, you
moved me out of the best accommodations quickly enough." Tiamak
waved his thin arm at the nest of blankets he now shared with Ceallio, the
simpleminded door keeper.
    The innkeeper's frown turned into a smirk. "Aren't you very high and
cocksure for a marsh-man? Well, get on with you, then. Go to some other
inn and see if they'll treat a Wrannaman as kindly as Charystra has."
    Tiamak choked back a furious reply. He knew he must not let his anger
get the better of him. He was being dreadfully cheated by this woman, but
that was how things always went when Wrannamen put their fortunes in
the hands of drylanders. He had already failed his tribe, on whose behalf
he had sworn to go to Nabban and argue their case against higher tribute.
If he were thrown out of Pelippa's Bowl, he would fail Morgenes as well,
who had explicitly asked for him to stay at this inn until he was needed.
    Tiamak offered a short prayer for patience to He Who Always Steps on
Sand. If his staying in such a place was so important to Dinivan and
Morgenes, couldn't they at least have sent him money with which to pay
for it? He took a deep breath, hating to grovel before this red-faced woman.
    "It is foohsh to fight, good lady," he said finally. "I am still expecting
that my friend will show up, bringing more gold." Tiamak forced himself
to smile. "Until then, I think I still have some little bit of my two
Imperators remaining. Surely it is not all spent quite yet? If I have to leave,
someone else will be earning gold for giving their best accommodations to
me and my friend."
    She stared at him for a moment, weighing the advantages of throwing
him out against the possibility of future money-gouging. "Well..." she
said grudgingly, "perhaps out of the goodness of my heart I could let you
stay another three days. But no meals, mind you. You'll have to come up
with more coins, or else find your own food. I set a lavish table for my
guests and can't afford to give it away."
    Tiamak knew that the lavish table consisted mostly of thin soup and
dried bread, but also knew that even such meager fare was better than
nothing. He would have to feed himself somehow. He was used to going
long on little provender, but he was still quite weak from his leg wounds
and resulting illness. How he would love to bounce a sling-stone off this
woman's mocking face!
 "Very fair, my lady." He gritted his teeth. "Very fair."
 "My friends always say I'm too good."
    Charystra swaggered back into the common room, leaving Tiamak to
cover his head with his odoriferous blanket and contemplate the grim state
of his affairs.


STONE OF FAREWELL

523

    Tiamak lay sleeplessly in the dark. His mind was spinning, but he could
think of no solution to his problems. He could barely walk. He was
stranded without resources in a strange place, among bandit drylanders. It
seemed that They Who Watch and Shape had conspired to torment him.
    The old man Ceallio grunted in his sleep and rolled over, his long arm
flopping heavily against Tiamak's face. Painfully thumped, the Wrannaman
moaned and sat up. It was no use being upset with the ancient simpleton:
CeaUio was no more to blame for their uncomfortable proximity than was
Tiamak himself. The Wrannaman wondered if Ceallio was upset at having
to share his bed, but somehow he doubted it. The cheerful old man was as
guileless as a child; he seemed to accept everything that came his way--
blows, kicks, and curses included--as acts of fate, unfathomable and un-
avoidable as thunderstorms.
    Thinking of evil weather, Tiamak shivered. The hovering storm that
had turned the air of the Wran and all the southern coast hot and sticky as
broth had fallen at last, drenching Kwanitupul in unseasonable rains.
The normally placid canals had turned choppy and unpredictable. Most
ships rode at anchor, slowing the business of the thriving port city to a
crawl. The heavy storm had also nearly choked off the flow of new
visitors, which was another reason for Charystra's unpleasantness.
    Tonight the rain had stopped for the first time in several days. Not long
after Tiamak had crawled into his insufficient bed, the constant rattle on
the roof had suddenly gone silent, a silence so deep it seemed almost hke
another noise. Perhaps, he thought, it was this unaccustomed silence that
made it so hard to sleep.
    Shivering again, Tiamak tried to pull his blanket closer about him, but
the old man beside him had caught up the whole tangle in a death-grip.
Despite his advanced age, the fool seemed to be a great deal stronger than
Tiamak, who even before his unfortunate brush with the crocodile had
never been robust, even by the standards of his small-boned people. The
Wrannaman ceased struggling for the covers; Ceallio gurgled and mur-
mured in the throes of some dream of past happiness. Tiamak frowned.
Why had he ever left his house in the banyan tree, in his beloved, familiar
swamp? It was not much, but it was his. And unlike this drafty, damp
boat-house, it had always been warm ....
    This was more than just night-cold, he realized suddenly, wracked by
more shivers. There was a chill in the air that pierced the chest like
daggers. He initiated another doomed struggle for blankets, then sat up
again in despair. Perhaps the door had been left open?
    Giving vent to a full-throated groan of anguish, he crawled away from
his bed, forcing himself to stand. His leg throbbed and burned. The
tosspot healer had said that his poultices would take the pain away soon
enough, but Tiamak had little faith in such an obvious drunkard, and so
far his doubts had been borne out. He limped slowly across the rough


524                                   Tad Williams

wood floor, doing his best to avoid the two upended boats that dominated
the room. He managed to stay near the wall and thus evade these large
obstacles, but a hard stool leaped up before him and cruelly battered his
good shin, so that for a moment Tiamak had to stop and bite his lip as he
rubbed the leg, holding in a screech of pain and anger that he feared
would have no ending. Why had he and he alone been singled out for such ill
treatment?
    When he could walk once more, he continued with even more care, so
that his journey to the door seemed to take hours. When he reached it at
last he discovered to his immense disappointment that the door was shut;
there seemed little more he could do to prevent himself from spending a
sleepless and freezing night. As he thumped his hand against the frame in
frustration, the door swung open to reveal the empty pier outside, a dim
gray rectangle in the moonlight. A blast of chill air rolled over him, but
before he could grasp the elusive handle and pull the door closed again,
something caught his eye. Baffled, he took a couple of limping steps out
through the doorway. There was something odd about the fine mist that
floated down through the moonlight.
    A long moment passed before Tiamak realized that it was not rain that
dotted his outstretched palm, but rather tiny flakes of white. He had never
seen this thing before--no Wrannaman ever had--but he was unusually
well-read, and had also heard it described many times in his student days.
It took only a moment for him to understand the significance of the
downy flakes and the vapor that rose from his own hps to drift and
dissipate on the night air.
 Snow was falling on Kwanitupul, in the heart of summer.

    Miriamele lay in her bed in darkness and wept until she was too tired to
weep any longer. As Eadne Cloud rocked at anchor in Vinitta's harbor, she
felt loneliness pressing down on her like a great weight.
    It was not so much Cadrach's betrayal: despite her moments of weak-
ness toward him, the monk had shown his true colors long ago. It was
rather that he was her last link with her true self, with her past life. As if
an anchor-rope had been cut, she felt herself suddenly adrift in a sea of
strangers.
    Cadrach's desertion had not been a complete surprise. So little good
feeling remained between the two of them that it seemed only circum-
stance had kept him from deserting her earlier. She looked back on the
cool deliberateness he had shown in selecting his traveling cloak before they
left the boat and saw that he had clearly anticipated this escape, at least
from the moment they had been summoned down to Vinitta. In a way, he


STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                525

had tried to warn her, hadn't he? On the deck he had asked her to listen,
saying "this last time."
    The monk's betrayal was unsurprising, but the pain was no less heavy
for that. A long-anticipated blow had fallen at last.
    Desertion and indifference. That seemed to be the thread that ran
through her life. Her mother had died, her father had changed into
something cold and uncaring, her uncle Josua had only wished her out of
his way--he would deny it, no doubt, but it had been plain in his every
word and expression. For a while she had thought Dinivan and his master
the lector could shelter her, but they had died and left her friendless.
Although she knew it was not even remotely their fault, she still could not
forgive.
    No one would help her. The kinder ones, like Simon and the troll or
dear old Duke Isgrimnur, were absent or powerless. Now Cadrach, too,
had left her.
    There must be something inside of her that pushed others away, Miriamele
brooded--some stain like the dark discoloration in the white stone canals
of Meremund, hidden until the tide went out. Or maybe it was not in her
at all, but in the souls of those around her, those who could not stay
rooted to obligation, who could not remember their duty to a young
woman.
    And what of Aspitis, the golden earl? She had little hope that he would
prove more responsible than the others, but at least he cared for her. At
least he wanted her for something.
    Perhaps when all was over, when her father had reshaped the world in
whatever way pleased his corrupt fancy, she would be able to find a home
somewhere. She would be happy with a small house by the sea, would
gladly shed her unwanted royalty like an old snakeskin. But until then,
what should she do?
    Miriamele rolled over and pushed her face into the rough blanket,
feeling the bed and the entire ship moving in the sea's gentle but insistent
grip. It was all too much, too many thoughts, too many questions. She
felt quite strengthless. She wanted only to be held, to be protected, to let
time slip away until she could wake into a better world.
 She cried quietly, fretfully, anchorless on the edge of sleep.

    The afternoon slipped past. Miriamele lay in the darkness of her cabin,
wandering in and out of dreams.
    Somewhere above, the lookout cried sunset; no other sound intruded
but the lap of waves and the muffled cry of sea birds. The ship was all but
deserted, the sailing men ashore in Vinitta.
    Miriamele was not surprised when the cabin door quietly opened at last
and a weight pressed down on the bed beside her.
 Aspitis' finger traced her features. Miriamele turned away, wishing she


526                                   Tad Williams

could pull the shadows over her like a blanket, wishing she were a child
again, living beside an ocean that was still innocent of kilpa, an ocean
upon whose waves storms touched only hghtly and disappeared at the
sun's golden rising.
    "My lady..." he whispered. "Ah, I am so sorry. You have been badly
treated."
    Miriamele said nothing, but his voice seemed a soothing balm to her
painful thoughts. He spoke again, telling her of her beauty and kindness.
In her feverish sadness the words were little more than nonsense, but his
voice was sweet and reassuring. She felt calmed by it, gentled like a
nervous horse. When he slid beneath the sheet she felt his skin against
hers, warm and smooth and firm. She murmured in protest, but softly,
with no real strength: in a way, this, too, seemed a kindness.
    His mouth was at her neck. His hands moved over her with calm
possessiveness, as though he handled some lovely thing that belonged only
to him. Tears came to her again. Full of loneliness, she let herself be drawn
into his embrace, but she could not suffer his touch unfeelingly. While a
part of her yearned only to be held, to be drawn into a reassuring warmth,
a safe harbor like the one in which Eadne Cloud rocked gently at anchor,
untroubled by the storms that swept the great ocean, a different self
wished to break free and run madly into danger. Still another shadow
huddled deeper within her, a shape of dark regret, tied to her heart with
chains of iron.
    The thin light leaking in at the doorframe caught glimmering in his hair
as Aspitis pressed himself against her. What if someone should come in?
There was no latch, no latch on the door. She struggled. Mistaking her
fear, he whispered soothing things about her beauty.
    Each curl of his hair was intricate, textured and individual as a tree. His
head seemed a forest, his dark form looming like a distant mountainside.
She cried out softly, unable to resist such implacability.
    Time slid by in the shadows and Miriamele felt herself drifting away.
Aspitis once more began to speak.
 He loved her, her goodness and wit and loveliness.
    His words, like caresses, were blind but enflaming. She did not care for
flattering talk, but felt her resistance melting before his strength and
sureness. He cared for her, at least a little. He could hide her away in
darkness, pull it around her like a cloak. She would disappear into the
deeps of a sheltering forest until the world was right again. The boat swayed gently on the cradling waters.
    He would protect her from those who would harm her, he said. He
would never desert her.
    She gave herself up to him at last. There was pain, but there were also
promises. Miriamele had hoped for nothing more. In a way, it was a
lesson the world had already taught her.


STONE OF FAREWELL

527

    Awash with strange new feelings, not completely comfortable with any
of them, Miriamele sat quietly across the dining table from Aspitis,
pushing food from one side of her plate to the other. She could not
understand why the earl had forced her to come sit with him in the
brightly candlelit room. She could not understand why she was not even
slightly in love.
  A soldier rapped at the doorway, then entered.
    "We've caught him, Lord," the guardsman said. His satisfaction at
having redressed the earlier error of the monk's escape was plain in his voice.
Miriamele, seated across the table from Earl Aspitis, felt herself stiffen.
    The guardsman stepped aside and two of his fellows brought Cadrach
in, slumped between them. The monk seemed to be having trouble
keeping his head up. Had they beaten him? Miriamele felt a sickening
pang of regret. She had half-hoped that Cadrach would just vanish, so
that she would never have to see him again. It was easier to hate him when
he was not around.
    "He's drunk, Lord Aspitis," the guardsman said. "Stinking. We found
him in the Feathered Eel, down on the east dock. He'd already bought a
place out on a Perdruinese merchantman, but the fool got pissed and diced
it away."
    Cadrach looked up blearily, his face slack with despair. Even from
across the table, Miriamele could smell the stink of wine. "Was 'bout
t'win it back, too. Would've." He shook his head. "Maybe not. Luck's
gone bad. Water's rising..."
    Aspitis rose and strode around the table. He reached out a hand and
grasped the monk's chin, pressing with his strong fingers until the flesh
bulged between them. He forced Cadrach's pink face upward until their
eyes met.
    The earl turned to Miriamele. "Has he tried to do this before, Lady
Marya?"
    Miriamele nodded helplessly. She wished she were somewhere else.
"More or less."
    Aspitis returned his attention to the monk. "What a strange man. Why
does he not just leave your father's service instead of sneaking away like a
thief?." The earl turned to his squire. "And you are sure nothing is
missing?"
 The squire shook his head. "Nothing, Lord."
    Cadrach tried to pull his head free from Aspitis' restraining fingers.
"Had m'own gold. Stole nothing. Need t'get away . . ." His eyes fixed
uncertainly on Miriamele, his voice took on a note of added desperation.
"Dangerous . . . storm will get us. Danger."
    The Earl of Eadne let go of the monk's chin and wiped his fingers on
the tablecloth. "Afraid of a storm? I knew he was not a good sailor, but


528                                   Tad Williams

still . . . that is very strange. If he were my liege man, his back would be
flayed for this trick. Still, the fellow shall certainly not be rewarded for
deserting his innocent ward. Neither shall he share a cabin with you any
more, Lady Marya." The earl's smile was stiffy reassuring. "He may have
gone mad, or have conceived some drunken fancy. He says danger, but he

is the dangerous one as I see
until I return you to Nabban,
Church for discipline."
 "Confine him?" Miriamele
 "I may not leave him loose

it. He will be confined on the Eadne Cloud
and we shall then hand him over to Mother

asked. "That is not..."
to plague you or worry you, my lady." The

earl turned to his guardsmen. "The hold will do nicely for him. Give him
water and bread, but put the leg irons on him."
    "Oh, no!" Miriamele was genuinely horrified. However much she
despised the monk and his cowardly treachery, the thought of any living
thing forced to wear a chain, trapped in a dark hold ....
    "Please, my lady." Aspitis' voice was soft but firm. "I must have order
on my ship. I gave you sanctuary, and this man with you. He was your
guardian. He betrayed your trust. I still am not sure he has not stolen
something from me, or perhaps thinks to sell some intelligence of my
mission here in Vinitta. No, I am afraid you must leave such men's
business to me, pretty Marya." He waved his hand; Cadrach was led out,
staggering between his escorts.
    Miriamele felt her eyes blurring with tears. They spilled over and she
lurched suddenly from her chair. "Excuse me, Earl Aspitis," she mum-
bled, feeling her way along the table toward the door. "I wish to lie
down."
    He caught her before she reached the handle, grasping her arm and
pulling her smoothly around. The heat of him was very close. She averted
her face, conscious of how foolish she must look, eyes red-rimmed and
cheeks wet. "Please, my lord. Let the monk go."
    "I know you must feel quite lost, pretty Marya," Aspitis said softly.
"Do not fear. I promised that I would keep you safe."
    She felt herself yielding, becoming pliant. Her strength seemed to be
draining away. She was so tired of running and hiding. She had only
wanted someone to hold her, to make everything go away ....
    Miriamele shivered and pulled away. "No. It is wrong. Wrong! If you
do not let him go, I will not stay on this ship!" She pushed out through
the door, stumbling blindly.
    Aspitis caught her long before she reached the ladder to the deck. The
sea watcher Gan ltai was crooning quiefiy in the darkness above.
    "You are upset, Lady," he said. "You must lie down, as you said
yourself."
She struggled, but his grip was firm, "I demand that you release me! I


STONE OF FAREWELL

529

do not wish to stay here any longer. I will go ashore and find my own
passage from Vinitta."
 "No, my lady, you will not."
 She gasped. "Let go of my arm. You're hurting me."
 Somewhere above, Gan Itai's song seemed to falter.
    Aspitis leaned forward. His face was very close to hers. "I think there
are things that must be made clear between us." He laughed shortly. "As a
matter of fact, there is much for us to talk about--later. You will go to
your cabin now. I will finish my supper and then come to you."
 "l won't go."
 "You will."
    He said it with such quiet certainty that her angry reply caught in her
throat as fear clutched her. Aspitis pulled her close against him, then
turned and forced her along the passageway.
    The sea watcher's song had stopped. Now it began again, rising and
fading as Gan Itai murmured to the night and the quiet sea.



27


"Tfi~                        ,,
             are getting close, Sludig gasped. "If your Farewell Stone
is more th~n half a league from here, little man, we will have to turn and
fight."
    Shaking the water from his hood, Binabik leaned forward across Qantaqa's
neck. The wolf's tongue lolled and her sides heaved like a blacksmith's
bellows. They had been traveling without a stop since daybreak, fleeing
through the storm-battered forest.
    "I wish I could be telling you that it is near, Sludig. I do not know
how much distance remains, but I fear it is most of a day's riding." The
troll stroked Qantaqa's sodden fur. "A brave run, old friend." She ignored
him, absorbed in drinking rainwater from the hollow stump of a tree.
    "The giants are hunting us," Sludig said grimly. "They have developed
a taste for man-meat." He shook his head. "When we make our stand at
last, some of them will regret that."
    Binabik frowned. "I have too little size to be a satisfying morsel, so I
will not waste their time by being caught. That way, no one will be
having regrets."
    The Rimmersman steered his mount over to the stump. Trembling with
the cold, parched despite the pelting rain, the horse was heedless of the
wolf a handsbreadth away.
    As their steeds drank, a long rumbling howl lifted above the wind,
blood-freezingly close.
    "Damn me!" Sludig spat, slapping his pslm against his sword-hilt.
"They are no farther behind us than they were an hour ago! Do they run
fast as horses?"
    "Near to it, it is seeming," Binabik said. "I am thinking we should
move deeper into the forest. The thicker trees may slow them."
    "You thought getting off the fiatlands would slow them, too," Sludig
said, reining his reluctant horse away from the hollow stump.
"If we live, then you can be telling me all my incorrectness," Binabik

530


STONE OF FAREWELL

531

growled. He took a tight grip on the thick fur that mantled Qantaqa's
neck. "Now, unless you have been thinking of ways to fly, we should
ride."
 Another deep, coughing cry came down the wind.

    Sludig's sword swished from side to side, clearing the brush as they
pushed their way down the long, wooded slope. "My blade will be dull
when I have greatest need," he complained.
    Binabik, who was leading the string of balking horses, tripped and fell to
the muddy earth, then slid a short way down the hillside. The horses
milled nervously, confined to the path Sludig had hacked in the swarming
undergrowth. Struggling to keep his balance in the mud, the troll got up
and tracked down the bridle of the lead horse.
 "Qinkipa of the Snows! This storm is never-ending!"
    They took most of the noon hour to make their way down the slope. It
appeared that Binabik's reliance on the forest cover had been at least
partially correct: the occasional howls of the Hun~n became a little
fainter, although they never faded completely. The forest appeared to be
growing thinner. The trees were still huge, but not as monumental as their
kin that grew closer to Aldheorte's center.
    The trees, alder and oak and tall hemlock, were garlanded in looping
vines. The grass and undergrowth grew thick, and even in this queerly
cold season a few yellow and blue wildflowers lifted their heads up from
the mud, bobbing beneath the heavy rain. Had it not been for the torrent
and the biting wind, this arm of the southern forest would have been a
place of rare beauty.
    They reached the base of the slope at last and clambered onto a low shelf
of stone to scrape the worst of the mud from their boots and clothing
before riding once more. Sludig looked back up the hillside, then lifted a
pointing finger.
 "Elysia's mercy, little man, look."
    Far up the slope but still horribly near, a half-dozen white shapes were
pushing their way through the foliage, long arms swinging like Nascadu
apes. One lifted its head, the face a black hole against the pale, shaggy fur.
A cry of thundering menace rang down the rainy hillside and Sludig's
horse pranced in terror beneath him.
    "It is a race," Binabik said. His round, brown face had gone quite pale.
"For this moment, they are having the best of it."
    Qantaqa leaped from the shelf of stone, bearing the troll with her.
$1udig and his mount were just behind, leading the other horses. Hooves
drummed on the sodden ground.

    In their haste and ill-suppressed fear, it was some while before they
noticed that the ground, while still overgrown, had become unusually fiat.

LIBRARY


532                                   Tad Williams

They rode beside long-empty riverbeds that were now filled anew with
rushing, foaming rainwater. Here and there bits of root-gnawed stone
stood along the banks, covered with centuries of moss and clinging vines.
    "These look like bridges, or the bones of broken buildings," Sludig
called as they rode.
    "They are," Binabik replied. "It means we are nearing our goal, I hope.
This is a place where once the Sithi had a great city." He leaned forward,
hugging Qantaqa's neck as she leaped over a fallen trunk.
    "Do you think it will keep the giants at bay?" Sludig asked. "You said
that the diggers did not like the places that the Sithi lived."
    "They do not like the forest and the forest does not like them," the troll
said, gentling Qantaqa to a halt. "The giant Hun~n seem to be having no
such trouble--perhaps because they are less clever, or less easily fright-
ened. Or because they are not digging. I do not know." He tilted his head,
listening. It was hard to hear anything over the relentless hissing patter of
rain on leaves, but for the moment the surroundings seemed innocent of
danger. "We will follow the flowing water." He pointed to the new-
grown river hurrying past them, laden with broken branches knocked
loose by the storm. "Sesuad'ra, the Stone of Farewell, is in the valley
beside the forest's ending, very close to the city Enki-e-Shao'saye--on
whose outskirts we are sitting." He gestured around him with his
stubby, mittened hand. "The river must be flowing down to the valley, so
it is sense for us to accompany it."
  "Less talking, then--more accompanying," Sludig said.
    "I have been speaking, in my day," Binabik said with a certain stiffness,
"to more appreciative ears." With a shrug, he urged Qantaqa forward.
    They rode past countless remnants of the vast and long untenanted city.
Fragments of old walls shimmered in the undergrowth, masses of pale,
crumbled brick forlorn as lost sheep; in other spots the foundations of
eroded towers lay exposed, curved and empty as ancient jawbones, choked
with parasitic moss. Unlike Da'ai Chikiza, the forest had done more than
grow into Enki-e-Shao'saye: there was virtually nothing left of this city
but faint traces. The forest, it seemed, had always been a part of the place,
but over the millennia it had become a destroyer, smothering the elaborate
stonework in a mass of snaking foliage, enfolding it with roots and branches
that patiently unmade even the matchless products of the Sithi builders,
returning all to mud and damp sand.
    There was little inspiration in the crumbling ruins of Enki-e-Shao'saye.
They seemed only to demonstrate that even the Sithi were bound within
the sweep of time; that any work of hands, however exalted, must come
at last to ignoble result.
    Binabik and Sludig found a clearer path running beside the river bank
and began to make better time, winding their way through the rain-
soaked forest. They heard nothing but the sounds of their own passage


I!

D

1,
ff
ff



STONE OF FAREWELL

533

and were glad of it, Just as the troll had predicted, the land began to slope
more acutely, falling away toward the southwest. Despite its swerving
course, the river was moving in that direction as well, the water gaining
speed and becoming possessed of what almost seemed like enthusiasm. It
positively threw itself at its banks, as if desiring to be everywhere at once;
the gouts of water that flew up at obstructions in the river bed seemed to
leap higher than they normally should, as though this watercourse, granted
a temporary life, labored to prove to some stern riverine deities its fitness
for continued survival.
    "Almost out of the forest," Binabik panted from Qantaqa's bobbing
back. "See how the trees are now thinning? See, there is light between
them ahead!"
    Indeed, the stand of trees just before them seemed poised at the outer-
most rim of the earth. Instead of more mottled green foliage, beyond
them lay only a wall of fathomless, featureless gray, as though the world's
builders had run short of inspiration.
    "You are right, little man," Sludig said excitedly. "Forest's end! Now,
if we are within a short ride of this sanctuary of yours, we may shake
those whoreson giants after all!"
    "Unless my scrolls are none of them correct," Binabik replied as they
cantered down the last length of slope. "It is not much distance from
forest's edge to the Stone of Farewell."
    He broke off as they reached the final line of trees. Qantaqa stopped
abruptly, head held low, sniffing the air. Sludig reined up alongside.
"Blessed Usires," the Rimmersman breathed.
    The slope abruptly fell away before them, dropping at a much steeper
angle to the wide valley below. Sesuad'ra loomed there, dark and secretive
in its shroud of trees, a bony thrust of stone standing far above the valley
bottom. Its height was particularly apparent because it was entirely sur-
rounded by a flat plain of water.
    The valley was flooded. The Stone of Farewell, a great fist that seemed
to defy the rain-lashed skies, had become an island in a gray and restless
sea. Binabik and Sludig were perched at the forest's edge only a half-
league away from their goal, but every cubit of valley floor that lay
between was covered by fathoms of floodwater.
    Even as they stared, a roar echoed through the forest behind them,
distant but still frighteningly close. Whatever magic remained to Enki-e-
Shao'saye was too weak to discourage the hungry giants.
    "Aedon, troll, we are caught like flies in a honey jar," Sludig said, a
tremor of fear creeping into his voice for the first time. "We are backed
against the edge of the world. Even if we fight and stave off their first
attack, there is no escape!"
    Binabik stroked Qantaqa's head. The wows hackles were up; she whim-
pered beneath his touch as though she ached to return the challenge


534                                    Tad Williams

floating down the wind. "Peace, Sludig, we must be thinking." He
turned to squint down the precipitous slope. "I fear you are right about
one thing. We are never to be leading horses down this grade."
    "And what would we do at the bottom, in any case?" Sludig growled.
Rain dribbled from his beard-braids. "That is no mud puddle! This is an
ocean! Did your scrolls mention that?!"
    Binabik waggled his head angrily. His hair hung in his eyes, pasted to
his forehead by the rain. "Look up, Sludig, look up! The sky is full of
water, and it is all being dropped down on us, courtesy of our enemy."
He spat in disgust. "This is perhaps become an ocean now, but a week ago
it was a valley only, just as the scrolls say." A worried look crossed his
face. "I am wondering ifJosua and the rest were caught in low ground!
Daughter of the Snows, what a thought! If so, we might as well make our
stand in this place---at the world's end, as you call it. Thorn's journey will
stop here."
    Sludig flung himself down out of the saddle, skidding briefly in the
mud. He strode to the lead packhorse and detached the bundled length of
the black sword. He hefted it easily, carrying it back to Binabik in one
hand. "Your 'living sword' seems eager for battle," he said sourly. "I am
half-tempted to see what it can do, though it may turn anvil-heavy on me
in midstroke."
    "No," Binabik said shortly. "My people are not fond of running from a
fight, but neither is it time for us to be singing Croohok death-songs and
be going happily to glorious defeat. Our quest is not yet given over."
    Sludig glowered. "Then what do you say, troll? Shall we fly to that far
rock?"
    The little man hissed in frustration. "No, but first we can look for some
other way for getting down." He gestured at the river thundering past
them, which disappeared down the steep wooded slope. "This is not the
only waterway. It could be that others will lead us down in a more
gradual path to the valley."
 "And then what?" Sludig demanded. "Swim?"
    "If necessary." As Binabik spoke, the hunting cry of their pursuers rose
again, setting the horses to milling and bumping in panic. "Take the
horse, Sludig," Binabik said. "There is still chance we may win free."
    "If so, you are a magical troll indeed. I will name you a Sithi and you
can live forever."
    "Do not joke here," Binabik said. "Do not mock." He slid from
Qantaqa's back, then whispered something in the wolf's ear. With a
bound, she was away through the dripping vegetation, tracking eastward
along the face of the slope. Sludig and the troll followed as best they
could, cutting a trail that the horses could follow.
    Qantaqa, swift as a racing shadow now that the weight of her rider had
been lifted from her back, soon found an angled traverse down the cliffside.


STONE OF FAREWELL

535

Despite the sticky, treacherous footing, they were able to make their way
slowly down from the high promontory, gradually approaching the
lowest edge of the forest, now the shore of a wind-tormented sea.
    The forest did not come to a sudden ending, but rather disappeared into
the rain-rippled water. In some places the tops of submerged trees still
protruded above the surface, little islands of rippling leaves. Naked branches
thrust up from the gray flood beside them like the hands of drowning
men.
    Sludig's horse pulled up just at the water's edge and the Rimmersman
vaulted down to stand ankle-deep in muddy water. "I am not sure I see
the improvement, troll," he said, surveying the scene. "At least before we
were on high ground."
     "Cut branches," Binabik said, clambering through the mud toward
him. "Long ones, as many as you can be finding. We will build a raft."
 "You are mad!" Sludig snapped.
    "Perhaps. But you are the strong one, so you must be the cutter. I have
rope in the packs for binding the limbs together, and I can do that.
Hurry!"
    Sludig snorted, but set himself to work. Within moments his sword was
smacking dully against wood.
    "If my axes had not been lost on this foolish quest," he panted, "I could
build you a whole longhouse in the time it will take me to chop a tree
with this poor blade."
    Binabik said nothing, intent on lashing together the rough spars Sludig
had already knocked loose. When he had finished with what was available,
he went searching for loose wood. He discovered another tributary nearby
that dropped down into a narrow gulley before emptying at last into the
greater flood. A treasure trove of loose limbs had accumulated in the
narrowest spot. Binabik grabbed them up by the armful, hurrying back
and forth between the river and the place where Sludig labored.
    "Qantaqa cannot swim so far," Binabik grunted as he carried the last
useful batch. His eyes had drifted to the distant bulk of Sesuad'ra. "But I
cannot be leaving her to find her own way. There is no way for knowing
how long this storm will last. She might never find me again." He
dumped the wood, frowning, then bent to his knots once more, his
fingers threading loops of slender cord around the damp wood. "I cannot
make this raft big enough for all three, not and take that of our belongings
which we must be saving. There is no time."
    "Then we will take turns being in the water," Sludig said. He shud-
dered, staring at the rain-pocked flood. "Elysia, Mother of God, but I hate
the thought of it."
    "Clever Sludig! You are right. We need only make it big enough for
one of us to rest while the other two are swimming, and we will go into
the water one after the other." Binabik allowed himself a thin smile. "You


536                                    Tad Williams

Rimmersmen have not lost all your seagoing blood, I see." As he redou-
bled his efforts, a furious groan rolled through the woods. They looked
up, startled, to see a massive white shape on the promontory only a few
short furlongs away.
    "God curse them!" Sludig moaned, hacking frenziedly at a slender
trunk. "Why do they pursue us! Do they seek the sword?"
    Binabik shook his head. "Almost done," he said. "Two more long ones
I am needing."
    The white figure on the hillside above quickly became several figures, a
pack of furious ghosts that raised their long arms against the storming sky.
The giants' voices rolled and boomed across the water, as though they
threatened not just the puny creatures below, but the Stone of Farewell
itself, squatting in serene insolence just beyond their reach.
    "Done," Binabik said, tying the last knot. "Let us move it to the water.
If it is not floating, you will have that fight you so desire, Sludig."
    It did float, once they had pushed it out past the tangle of drowned
undergrowth. Above the storm came the dull crackling of vegetation
being smashed aside as the giants came pushing their way down the
muddy hillside. Sludig carefully tossed Thorn onto the damp logs. Binabik
hastened back to loot the saddlebags. He dragged one leather sack over
unopened, and flung it out to Sludig, who stood waist-deep in the murky
water. "Those things are belonging to Simon," the troll called. "They
should not be lost." Sludig shrugged, but pushed the bag on beside the
wrapped sword.
    "What about the horses?" Sludig shouted. The howl of their pursuers
was growing louder.
    "What can we do?" Binabik said helplessly. "We must set them free!"
He drew his knife and slashed the bridle-traces from Sludig's mount, then
rapidly cut the belly-straps of the packhorses as well, so that their burdens
slid down onto the muddy turf.
  "Hurry, troll!" Sludig cried. "They are very close!"
    Binabik looked around, his face screwed up in desperate thought. He
bent and rifled one last saddlebag, pulling a few articles out before pelting
down the slope once more and out into the water.  "Get on," growled Sludig.
  "Qantaqa!" Binabik shouted. "Come!"
    The wolf snarled as she turned to face the ruckus of the oncoming
giants. The horses were rushing in all directions, whinnying with fright.
Suddenly, Sludig's mount broke away through the trees toward the east
and the others swiftly followed. The giants were now quite plain, a few
hundred paces up the hill and descending rapidly, their leathery black faces
gaping as they howled their hunting song. The Hun~n carried great clubs
which they whickered back and forth like hollow reeds, smashing a path-
way through the knotted trees and shrubbery.


STONE OF FAREWELL

537

 "Qantaqa!" Binabik shouted, panic in his voice. "Ummu ninit! Ummu sosa!"
 The wolf turned and bounded toward them, breasting the water then
 paddling furiously. S!udig pushed off, taking a few more steps down the
 submerged slope until his feet no longer touched the bottom. Before they
 were thirty cubits from the water's edge, Qantaqa had caught them. She
 scrambled over Sludig's back onto the raft, setting it rocking treacherously
 and almost sinking the Rimmersman.  "No, Qantaqa!" Binabik cried.
  "Let her be!" Sludig gurgled. "Reach down and paddle!"
    The first giant burst from the forest behind them, howling with rage.
His shaggy head twisted from side to side as if he sought some other angle
to head off his prey's escape. When none was apparent, he strode forward
into the water. He went several steps before he suddenly fell forward with
a splash, disappearing from view for a moment beneath the water. When
he surfaced an instant later he was thrashing madly, dirty white fur
festooned with branches. He raised his chin and barked thunderously at the
storm, as though demanding help. His fellows swarmed on the shore
behind him, hooting and groaning with frustrated bloodlust.
    The first giant swam awkwardly and unhappily back to the shallows.
He stood up, streaming with water, and reached down an apelike arm to
pull loose a massive tree limb thick as a man's leg. Grunting, he flung it
through the air. The limb hit the water beside the raft with a tremendous
splash, tearing Sludig's cheek with a jutting branch and nearly upsetting
the crude boat. Stunned, Sludig foundered. Binabik disentangled himself
from Qantaqa and leaned forward, hooking the toes of his boots into gaps
between the beams of the pitching raft. The little man clutched the
Rimmersman's wrist with both hands until Sludig recovered. The giants
hurled more missiles, but none came as close as the first. Their thwarted
bellows seemed to rumble across all the flooded valley.
    Cursing giants and rafts equally, Sludig pushed off with his long Qanuc
spear until they at last floated free of clinging branches. He began to kick,
pushing the raft and its unlikely cargo out across the chill gray water
toward the shadowy stone.

    Eolair rode east from his ancestral home of Nad Mullach beneath night
skies a-flicker with strange lights. The countryside around his captured
stronghold had proved less hospitable than he had hoped. Many of his
people had already been driven away by the misfortunes of war and the
terrible weather, and those who remained were reluctant to open their
doors to a stranger--even if that stranger claimed to be the ruling count.
Occupied Hernystir was a land held prisoner more by fear than by enemy
soldiers.


538                                   Tad Williams

    Few others were abroad by night, which was when Eolair did most of
his traveling. Even Skali of Kaldskryke's men, despite their conquerors'
crowns, seemed reluctant to stir forth, as if taking on the character of
those they had conquered. In this grim summer of snow and restless
spirits, even the war's victors bowed before a greater power.
    Eolair was more than ever certain that he must find Josua, if the prince
still lived. Maegwin might have sent him on this quest because of some
odd or spiteful notion, but now it seemed laughably apparent that the
north of Osten Ard had fallen beneath a shadow of more than human
origin, and that the riddle of the sword Bright-Nail might very well have
something to do with it. Why else would the gods have arranged that
Eolair should be in that monstrously strange city beneath the ground, or
that he should meet its even stranger denizens? The Count of Nad Mullach
was a pragmatist by nature. His long years of service to the king had
hardened his heart to fantasy, but at the same time his experience of
diplomacy had also made him mistrustful of excessive coincidence. To
suggest that there was no overriding super~ural element to the summer-
that-was-winter, the reappearance of crea ~ out of legend, and the
sudden importance of forgotten but near-mythical swords was to close
one's eyes to a reality as plain as the mountains and the seas.
    Also, despite all his endless days in the court of Erkynland, Nabban,
and Perdruin, and for all his cautious words to Maegwin, Eolair was a
Herynstirman. More than any other mortal men, the Hernystiri remembered.

    As Eolair rode into Erkynland, across bleak Utanyeat toward the battle
site of Ach Samrath, the storm grew stronger. The snow,' however unsea-
sonable, had until now fallen only moderately, as it might in the early
days of Novander. Now the winds were rising, changing the fiat country-
side into a flurrying landscape of white nothingness. The cold was so
fierce that he was forced to abandon night riding altogether for a few days,
but he worried little about being recognized: the roads and countryside
were all but deserted even at gray, blustery noon. He noted with sour
satisfaction that Utanyeat--the earldom of Guthwulf, one of High King
Elias' favorites--was as storm-wounded as any of Hernystir. There was
some justice, after all.
    Trekking endlessly through white emptiness, he found himself thinking
often of his people left behind, but especially of Maegwin. Although in some
ways she had become almost as wild and intractable as a beast since the
death of her father and brother, he had always felt great affection toward her.
That was not yet gone, but it was hard not to feel betrayed by her treatment
of him, no matter how well he thought he understood its cause. Still, he
could not bring himself to hate her. He had been a special friend to her since
she had been a little girl, making a point of speaking with her whenever he
was at court, letting her show him the Taig's gardens, as well as the pigs


STONE OF FAREWELL

539

and chickens to which she gave names, and which she treated with the
same annoyed fondness a mother might show her reckless children.
    As she grew, becoming as tall as a man--but none the less comely for
it--Eolair had watched her also become steadily more reserved, only
occasionally showing the flashes of girlishness which had so delighted him
before. She seemed to turn inward, like a rosebush balked by an over-
hanging roof that coiled in on itself' until its own thorns rubbed its stems
raw. She still reserved special attention for Eolair, but that attention was
more and more confusing, more and more made up of awkward silences
and her angry self-recriminations.
    For a while he had thought she cared for him as more than just a friend
of her family and distant kinsman. He had wondered whether two such
solitary folk could ever find their way together--Eolair, for all his easy
speech and cleverness, had always felt that the best part of himself was
hidden far beneath the surface, just as his quiet hill-keep at Nad Mullach
stood remote from the bustle of the Taig. But even as he had quietly
begun to think in earnest about Maegwin--even as his admiration for her
honesty and for her impatience with nonsense had begun to ripen into
something deeper--she had turned cold to him. She seemed to have
decided that Eolair was only another of the legion of idlers and flatterers
that surrounded King Lluth.
    One long afternoon in eastern Utanyeat, as the snow stung his face and
he wandered far away in thought, he suddenly wondered: Was I wrong?
Did she care for me all that time? It was a horrifying thought, because it
suddenly turned the world he knew on its head, and gave vastly different
meaning to everything that had transpired between them since Maegwin
had become a woman.
    Have I been blind? But if that were so, why should she act so backwardly to
me? Have I not always treated her with respect and kindness?
    After turning the idea over in his head for a long hour, he put it away
again. It was too uncomfortable to consider any longer here in the middle
of nowhere, with months or more between now and when he could see
her again.
 And she had sent him away in anger, had she not?
 The wind picked restlessly at the unsettled snow.

    He rode past Ach Samrath on a morning when the storm had abated
somewhat, stopping his horse on a rise above the ancient battlefield where
Prince Sinnach and ten thousand of his Hernystirmen had been destroyed
by Fingil of Rimmersgard and the treachery of the Thrithings-lord Niyunort.
As on the few other occasions he had visited this site, Eolair felt a shiver
climb through him as he looked down at the great, fiat field, but this time
it was not prompted by the grisly past. With the freezing wind on his face
and the cold, blank face of the north staring down at him, he suddenly


540                                    Tad Williams

realized that by the time this new and greater war had ended--whether c
a battlefield or beneath a remorseless tide of black winter--it might be in
frenzy of death that would make Ach Samrath seem a petty dispute.
    He rode on, his anger turning to ice inside him. Who had set this gre.
thing in motion? Who had set this evil wheel to turning? Had it been Elia.,
or his pet serpent Pryrates? If so, there should be a special Hell prepare
for them. Eolair only hoped he would be around to see them sent there-
maybe on the end of Prester'John's Btight-Nail, if the subterranea
dwarrows spoke tightly.

    As Eolair came to the edge of Aldheorte, he reverted once more to nigh
tiding. The storm's teeth seemed a little duller here in Elias' realm, only
dozen leagues from the outskirts of Erchester, and he also thought it safe;
not to count on the infrequency of meeting other travelers any longer-
here, that infrequent other traveler was likely to be one of the High King':

Erkynguard.
    Beneath the shadow of the great wood,
farmlands seemed to wait apprehensively for
as though this storm were only the precursor
knew that these were his own feelings, but

the silent, snow-blanketed
whatever might come next,
of some darker deed. Eolair
also felt strongly that they

were not his alone: a sense of dread hung over Erkynland, filling the
air like a terrible, will-sapping fog. The few lone farmers and woodsmen
whose wagons he saw on the road did not respond to his greetings except to
make the sign of the Tree as they passed him on the moonless roads, as
though Eolair might be some demon or walking dead man. But their
torches revealed that it was their own faces that had gone slack and pale as
the masks of corpses, as though the fearful winds and constant snow had
leached the very life from them.
    He approached Thisterborg. The great hill stood only a few leagues
from Erchester's gates, and was the closest he would come to the Hayholt--
from which, on certain of the blackest nights, he could almost feel Elias'
sleepless malice burning like a torch in a high tower. It was only the High
King, he reminded himself, a mortal man whom he had once respected,
although never liked. Whatever mad plans Elias had made, whatever
dreadful bargains, he was still only a man.
    Thisterborg's peak seemed to flicker as the count drew nearer, as though
high on the hillcrest great watchfires burned. Eolair wondered if Elias had
made it a guard post, but could think of no reason why. Did the High
King fear some invasion from the ancient forest, the Aldheorte? It mat-
tered little, in any case. Eolair was firmly resolved to circle Thisterborg on
the far side from Erchester, and felt no urge whatsoever to investigate the
mysterious lights. The black hill had an evil reputation that extended back
far beyond the days of even Elias' father, King John. Stories about
Thisterborg were many, none of them pleasant to hear. In such days as


                                        STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                541

these, Eolair wished he could avoid coming any closer than a league or so,
but the forest--another dubious place to be at night--and the walls of
Erchester prevented such a judiciously wide swing.
    He had just started around the north of the hill, his mount picking its
way through the ever-thickening trees of Aldheorte's fringe, when he felt
a wave of fear sweep over him that was unlike anything he had ever
experienced. His heart hammered and a chill sweat broke out on his face,
then turned almost immediately to fragile ice; Eolair felt like a fieldmouse
that, too late for escape, suddenly perceived the stooping hawk. He had to
restrain himself from digging in his spurs and riding madly in whatever
direction he was already facing. He whirled, looking wildly for whatever
might be the cause of such dreadful terror, but could see nothing.
    At last he slapped his horse's flank and rode a short distance farther into
the shielding trees. Whatever had caused him to feel this way, it seemed a
product of the unprotected snows rather than the shadowy forest.
    The storm was much less fierce here, as it had been since he had entered
Aldheorte's lee: but for a sprinkling of snow, the sky was clear. A vast
yellow moon hung in the eastern sky, turning all the landscape to a sickly
shade of bone. The Count of Nad Mullach looked up at the looming bulk
of Thisterborg, wondering if that could be the source of his sudden fright,
but could see or hear nothing extraordinary. A part of him wondered if he
had not been riding too long alone with his morbid thoughts, but that part
was easily ignored. Eolair was a Hernystirman. Herynstiri remembered.
    A thin sound, an unidentifiable but persistent scraping, began to make
itself heard. He looked down from secretive Thisterborg and turned his
gaze westward across the snows, toward the direction from which he had
come. Something was moving slowly across the white plain.
    The chill of fear grew deeper, spreading through him like a prickling
frost. As his horse moved uncomfortably, Eolair put a trembling hand on
its neck; the beast, as if it perceived his own terror, suddenly became very
still. Their twin plumes of breath were the only moving things in the
shadow of the trees.
    The scraping grew louder. Eolair could now see the shapes moving
doser over the snows, a mass of luminous white followed by a lump of
blackness. Then, with the stark unreality of a nightmare, the gleaming
shapes came clear.
    It was a team of white goats, shaggy pelts glowing as though with
captured moonlight. Their eyes were red as embers, and their heads
seemed somehow gravely wrong: when he thought of it afterward he could
never say why, except that the shapes of their hairless muzzles seemed to
suggest some kind of unpleasant intelligence. The goats, nine in all, drew
behind them a great black sled; it was the sound of the runners crunching
through the snow that he had heard. Seated on the sled was a hooded
figure that even across a distance of some hundred cubits seemed too


542                                    Tad Williams

large. Several other, smaller black-robed figures marched solemnly along-
side, hoods tilted downward like monks in meditation.
    An almost uncontrollable horror ran up Eolair's spine. His horse had
turned to stone beneath him, as if fright had stopped its heart and left it
dead upon its feet. The ghastly procession scraped past, agonizingly slow,
silent but for the noise of the sled. Just as the robed figures were about to
vanish into the darkness of Thisterborg's lowest slopes, one of the hooded
shapes turned, showing Eolair what he fancied was a flash of skeletal
white face, black holes that might have been eyes. The part of his shrieking
thoughts that was still coherent thanked the gods of his and all other
peoples for the shadows of the forest's fringe. The hooded eyes turned
away at last. The sled and its escort vanished into the snowy woods of
Thisterborg.
    Eolair stood a long time, allowing himself to tremble, but did not move
from the spot until he was sure it was safe. His teeth had been so tightly
clenched that his jaws ached. He felt as though he had been stripped raw
and tumbled down a long black hole. When he dared to move at last, he
threw himself onto his horse's neck and galloped away into the east as
swiftly as he could. His mount, eager as he, needed no spurs, no crop.
They whirled away in a cloud of snow.
    As Eolair fled Thisterborg and its mysteries, running eastward beneath
the mocking moon, he knew that everything he had feared was true, and
that there were things in the world that were worse even than his fears.

    Ingen Jegger stood beneath the spreading arms of a black hemlock,
unmindful of the bitter wind or the frost growing in his close-cropped
beard. But for the impatient life in his pale blue eyes, he might have been a
luckless traveler, frozen to death waiting for a morning's warmth that
came too late.
    The huge white hound crouching in the snow at his feet stirred, then
made an inquiring sound like the scrape of rusty hinges.
    "Hungry, Niku'a?" A look almost of fondness ran across Ingen's taut
features. "Quiet. Soon, you will have your fill."
    Motionless, Ingen watched and listened, sifting the night like a whisk-
ered beast of prey. The moon crept from one gap in the overhanging trees
to another. The forest, but for the wind, was silent.
    "Ah." Satisfied, he took a few steps and shook the snow from his cloak.
"Now, Niku'a. Call your brothers and sisters. Howl up the Stormspike
pack! It is time for the last chase."
    Niku'a leaped up, quivering with excitement. As if it had understood
Ingen's every word, the great hound trotted out into the middle of the
clearing before settling back on its haunches and lifting its snout to the


STONE OF FAREWELL

543

sky. Powerful throat muscles convulsed, and a coughing howl shattered
the night. Even as the first echoes died, Niku'a's strident voice burst out
again, hacking and baying. The very branches of the trees trembled.
    They waited, Ingen's gloved hand resting on the dog's wide head. Time
passed. Niku'a's cloudy white eyes gleamed as the moon slid along be-
tween the trees. At last, as night's coldest hour crept in, the faint cries of
hounds came sweeping down the wind.
    The belling rose until it filled the forest. A host of white shapes ap-
peared from the darkness, filtering into the clearing like four-legged ghosts.
The Stormspike hounds wove in and out among the tree roots, narrow,
sha~klike heads questing and sniffing. Starlight gleamed on muzzles smeared
with blood and spittle. Niku'a went among them, nipping, snarling, until
at last the whole pack crouched or lay in the snow around Ingen Jegger,
red tongues lolling.
    The Queen's Huntsman calmly looked over his strange congregation,
then picked his snarling, dog-faced helm from the ground.
    "Too long have you been roaming free," he hissed, "harrying the forest
fringes, stealing babies like kennel cubs, running down foolish travelers
for the joy of the chase. Now your master has come back. Now you must
do what you were bred to do." The milky eyes followed him as he moved
to his horse, which waited with supernatura! patience beneath the hem-
lock. "But this time I will lead, not you. It is a strange chase, and Ingen
alone has been taught the scent." He pulled himself up into the saddle.
"Run silently." He lowered the helmet onto his head, so that hound
looked at hounds. "We take death to the Queen's enemies."
    A low growling rose from the dogs as they rose and came together,
sliding against one another, snapping at each other's faces and tails in fierce
anticipation. Ingen spurred his horse forward, then turned. "Follow!" he
cried. "Follow to death and blood!"
    He passed swiftly from the clearing. The pack ran after, voiceless now,
silent and white as snowfall.

    Huddled deep in his cloak, Isgrimnur sat in the bow of the small boat
and watched stubby Sinetris rowing and sniffling. The duke wore a fixed
expression of grim preoccupation, in part because he found the boatman's
company extremely unrewarding, but mostly because he himself hated
boats, especially small boats like the one on which he was now trapped.
Sinetris had spoken truthfully about one thing, anyway: this was no time
to be on the water. A great storm was flailing the entire length of the
coast. The choppy water of Firannos Bay constantly threatened to swamp
them, and Sinetris had not stopped moaning since their hull had first
touched the water a week before, some thirty leagues northward.


544                                   Tad Williams

    The duke had to admit that Sinetris was a talented boatman, if only in
the defense of his own life. The Nabban-man had handled his craft well
under terrible conditions. If only he would stop sniveling! Isgrimnur was
no happier about the conditions for their journey than Sinetris was, but he
would be damned to the blackest circle of Hell before he made a fool out
of himself by showing it.
"How far to Kwanitupul?" he shouted over the noise of wind and waves.
"Half a day, master monk," Sinetris called back, eyes red and stream-
ing. "We will stop soon to sleep, then we can be there by midday
tomorrow."
    "Sleep!" Sigrimnur roared. "Are you mad!? It is not even dark yet!
Besides, you will only try to sneak away again, and this time I will not be
so merciful. If you cease your self-pitying nonsense and work, you can
sleep in a bed tonight!"
    "Please, holy brother!" Sinetris almost shrieked. "Do not force me to
row in darkness! We will run onto the rocks. Our only beds will be down
among the kilpa!"
    "Don't hand that superstitious nonsense to me. I'm paying you well and
I am in a hurry. If you are too weak or sore, let me take those paddles for
a while."
    The oarsman, wet and cold, still managed a convincing look of wounded
pride. "You! You would have us under the water in a moment! No, you
cruel monk, if Sinetris must die, let it be with his oars in his hand, as befits
a Firannos boatman. If Sinetris must be torn from his home and the
bosom of his family and sacrificed to the whims of a monster in the robes
of a priest, if he must die . . . let it be as a guild-man!'
    Isgrimnur groaned. "Let it be with his mouth closed, for a change. And
keep paddling."
  "Rowing," Sinetris replied frostily, then burst into tears once more.

    It was past midnight when the first stilt-houses of Kwanitupul came
into view. Sinetris, whose complaining had faded at last to a low, self-
pitying murmur, nosed the boat into the great network of canals. Isgrimnur,
who had briefly fallen asleep, rubbed his eyes and craned his head, looking
around. Kwanitupul's ramshackle warehouses and inns were all dusted
with a thin coating of snow.
    If I doubted that the world had gone topsy-turvy, Isgrimnur thought bemus-
edly, here is all the proof I need: a Rimmersman taking a leaky boat to sea in a
storm, and snow in the southland--in high summer. Can any doubt the world has
run mad?
    Madness. He remembered the hideous death of the lector and felt his
stomach gurgle. Madness--or something else? It was a strange coincidence
that Pryrates and Benigaris should both be in the house of Mother Church
on such a dreadful night. Only a stroke of rare luck had brought Isgrimnur


STONE OF FAREWELL

545

to Dinivan in time to hear the priest's last words, and perhaps to salvage
something from this grim pass.
    He had escaped from the Sancellan Aedonitis only moments before
Benigaris, Duke of Nabban, had ordered his guardsmen to bar all doors.
Isgrimnur could not have afforded capture-even if he had not been
immediately recognized, his story would not have held up long. Hlafmansa
Eve, the night of the lector's murder, had been a bad night to be an
unfamiliar guest at the Sancellan.
    "Do you know of a place here called Pelippa's Bowl?" he asked aloud. "I
think it is an inn or a hostel."
    "I have never heard of the place, master monk," Sinetris said gravely.
"It sounds like a low establishment, one in which Sinetris would not be
seen." Now that they had reached the relatively still waters of the canals,
the boatman had reassumed much of his dignity. Isgrimnur decided he
liked him better when he sniveled.
    "By the Tree, we will never find it at night. Take me to some inn you
know, then. I must get something under my belt."
    Sinetris steered the little craft down a series of crisscrossing canals to the
city's tavern district. Things seemed quite lively here despite the late hour,
the boardwalks lined with garish cloth lanterns that swung in the wind,
the alleyways full of drunken revelers.
    "This is a fine inn, holy brother," Sinetris said as they glided to a stop at
the dock stairs of a welMit establishment. "There is wine to be had, and
food." Sinetris, feeling bold now that their journey had ended safely, gave
Isgrimnur a chummy, gap-toothed smile. "And women, too." His smile
grew uncertain as he surveyed Isgrimnur's face. "--Or boys, if that is
more to your liking."
    The duke forced a great hiss of air between his teeth. He reached into
his cloak and pulled out a gold Imperator, then placed it gently on the
rowing bench beside Sinetris' skinny leg. Isgrimnur next moved to the
bottommost stair. "There is your thievish payment, as I promised. Now,
I have a suggestion for how you might spend your evening."
 Sinetris looked up warily. "Yes?"
 lsgrimnur drew down his eyebrows in a horrible frown. "Spend it
 doing your very best to make sure that I do not see you again. Because if I
 do," he lifted his hairy fist, "I will roll your eyeballs around in your
 pointy head. Understood?"
    Sinetris dropped his oar-blades and backed water hastily, so that Isgrimnur
had to quickly swing his other foot up onto the stairs. "So this is how you
monks treat Sinetris after all his favors!?" the boatman said indignantly,
puffing up his thin chest like a courting pigeon. "No wonder the church is
in bad repute! You ... bearded barbarian!" He splashed off into the
darkened canal.
 Isgrimnur laughed harshly, then stumped up the stairs to the inn.


546                                   Tad Williams

    After several fitful nights in the grasslands--nights in which he had been
forced to keep a careful watch on the treacherous Sinetris, who had several
times tried to slip away and leave Isgrimnur standed on the bleak, wind-
swept coast of Firannos Bay--the Duke of Elvirtshalla took his sleep in
full measure. He remained in bed until the sun was high in the sky, then
broke his fast with a manly portion of bread and honey accompanied by a
stoup of ale. It was nearly noontide before he obtained directions to
Pelippa's Bowl from the innkeeper and was out on the rainy canals once
more. His boatman this time was a Wrannaman, who despite the bitter
wind wore only a loincloth and a broad-brimmed hat with a red, drizzle-
soaked feather drooping from the band. The boatman's sullen silence was
a pleasant change from the ceaseless carping of Sinetris. Isgrimnur settled
back to fondle his new-sprouted beard and enjoy the sodden sights of
Kwanitupul, a city he had not visited for many years.
    The storm had obviously cast a pall over the trading city. Unless things
had changed greatly since his last sojourn, there should be many more
boats out on the water at midday, many more folk wandering Kwanitupul's
exotic byways. Those who were about seemed to be hurrying to their
destinations. Even the ritual cries of greeting and challenge that rang
between canal boats seemed unusually muted. Like insects, the residents
seemed chilled almost to immobility by the snow that melted in patches
on their wooden walkways, and the wind-borne sleet that stung exposed
hmbs and filled the canals with circular ripples.
    Here and there among the sparse crowds Isgrimnur saw small gather-
ings of Fire Dancers, the religious maniacs who had gained their notoriety
by self-immolation. They had become a familiar sight to the duke since he
had first reached Nabban. These wild-eyed penitents, uncaring of the cold,
stood on the walkways near busy canal intersections and shouted the
praises of their dark master, the Storm King. Isgrimnur wondered where
they had heard that name. He had never heard it spoken south of the
Frostmarch before, even in a children's bogey-story. It was no coinci-
dence, he knew, but he could not help musing on whether these robed
lunatics were the pawns of someone like Pryrates or true visionaries. If the
latter was the case, then the end they foresaw might be real.
    Isgrimnur shuddered at this thought and made the sign of the Tree on
his breast. Black times, these were. For all their shouting, though, the Fire
Dancers did not seem to be engaging in their familiar trick of setting
themselves aflame. The duke smiled sourly. Perhaps it was a little too
damp today.
    The boatman stopped at last before an unprepossessing structure in the
warehouse district, far from the centers of commerce. When Isgrimnur
had paid him, the little dark man reached up with his gaff hook and pulled
down the rope ladder from the dock. The duke was scarcely halfway up


                                        STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                547

 the swinging ladder before the boatman had turned around and was
 coasting out of sight down a side-canal.
    Huffing and cursing his fat belly, Isgrimnur at last made his way up
onto the more trustworthy footing of the dock. He rapped at the weather-
worn door, then waited a long time in the freezing rain without answer,
growing increasingly cross. At last the door swung open, revealing a
frowning woman of middle age.
    "I don't know where the half-wit is," she told Isgrimnur as though he
had asked. "It's not enough that I have to do every other lick of work
here, but now I have to answer the door as well."
    For a moment the duke was so taken aback that he almost apologized.
He struggled with his impulse toward chivalry. "I want a room," he said
at last.
    "Well, come in, then," the woman said doubtfully, opening the door
wider. Beyond lay a makeshift boathouse that stank of tar and old fish. A
couple of hulls were laid out like casualties of battle. In the corner, a
brown arm protruded from a huddle of blankets. For a moment Isgrimnur
thought it was a corpse that had been carelessly thrown into the doorway;
when the arm moved, pulling the blankets closer, he realized that it was
only someone sleeping. He had a sudden premonition that he might not
find the accommodations here up to the best standards, but he forced the
thought down.
    You're getting fussy, old man, he chided himself. On the battlefield, you've
slept in mud and blood and the nests of biting flies.
He had a mission, he reminded himself. His own comfort was secondary.
"By the way," he called after the innkeeper, whose brisk steps had
taken her almost the entire length of the dooryard, "I'm looking for
someone." Suddenly he could not recall the name Dinivan had told him.
He stopped, running his fingers through his damp beard, then remem-
bered. "Tiamak. I'm looking for Tiamak."
    When the woman turned, her sour expression had been supplanted by a
look of greedy pleasure. "You?" she said. "You're the one with the gold?"
She opened her arms wide as though to embrace him. Despite the dozen
cubits that separated them, the duke took a step backward, repelled. The
bundle of blankets in the corner began to wiggle like a nest of piglets, then
fell away. A small and very thin Wrannaman sat up, eyes still half-closed
from sleep.
    "I am Tiamak," he said, trying to stifle a yawn. As he surveyed
Isgrimnur, the marsh-man's face seemed to show disappointment, as
though he had expected something better. The duke felt his annoyance
returning. Were all these people mad? Who did they think he was, or
expect him to be?
    "I bring you tidings," Isgrimnur said stiffly, uncertain of how to pro-
ceed. "But we should talk in private."


548                                   Tad Williams

    "I will show you to your room," the woman said hastily, "the finest in
the house, and the little brown gentleman--another honored guest--can
join you there."
    Isgrimnur had just turned back to Tiamak, who seemed to be dressing
awkwardly beneath the blankets, when the inside door of the inn thumped
open and a horde of children barged through, whooping like Thrithings-
men at war. They were pursued by a tall, white-haired old man, who
grinned from ear to ear as he pretended to stalk them. They fled him with
shrieks of del,lght, and crashed through the door leading out to the dock.
Before he could pursue them any further, the landlady stepped before him,
fists on hips.
    "Damn you for a simple ass, Ceallio. you are here to answer the door!"
The old man, though considerably taller, cowered before her as though
expecting a blow. "I know you are addled-pated, but you are not deafl
Did you not hear someone knocking at the door?"
    The old man moaned wordlessly. The landlady turned from him in
disgust. "He's as stupid as a stone," she began, then broke off, staring, as
Isgrimnur dropped to his knees.
    The duke felt the world tilt, as though giant hands had lifted it. It took
long moments before he could speak, moments in which the landlady, the
little Wrannaman, and the old doorkeeper looked at him with varying
degrees of uneasy fascination. When Isgrimnur spoke, it was to the old
man.
    "My lord Camaris," he said, and felt his voice catch in his throat. The
world had gone mad: now the dead lived again. "Merciful Elysia, Camaris,
do you not remember me? I am Isgrimnur! We fought for Prester John
together--we were friends! Ah, God, you live! How can that be?"
    He reached his hand out to the old man, who took it as a child might
take something shiny or colorful offered by a stranger. The old man's grip
was callused, with a great strength that could be felt even as his hand lay
flaccidly in Isgrimnur's own. His handsome face showed only smiling
incomprehension.
    "What are you saying?" the landlady said crossly. "That's old Ceallio,
the doorkeeper. Been here for years. He's a simpleton."
    "Camaris . . ." Isgrimnur breathed as he pressed the old man's hand to
his cheek, wetting it with tears. He could scarcely speak, "Oh, my good
lord, you live."




JI.Je~JL~e the unceasing loveliness of jao fi-Tunukai'i, or perhaps
because'~fit, Simon was bored. He was also unutterably lonely.
    His imprisonment was a strange thing: the Sithi did not hinder him, but
other than Jiriki and Aditu, they continued to show no interest in him,
either. Like a queen's lapdog, he was well fed and well cared for, allowed
to roam wherever he could go, but only because the outside world was
beyond his reach. Like a prize pet, he amused his masters, but was not
taken seriously. When he spoke to them, they responded politely in
Simon's own Westerling speech, but among themselves they spoke the
liquid Sithi tongue. Only a few recognizable words ever reached his ear,
but whole rivers of incomprehensible talk flowed around him. The suspi-
don that they might be discussing him in their private conversations
infuriated him. The possibility that they might not, that they might never
think of him except when in his presence, was somehow even worse: it
made him feel insubstantial as a ghost.
    Since his interview with Amerasu, the days had begun to flit past even
more rapidly. As he lay in his blankets one night, he realized he could no
longer say for certain how long he had been among the Sithi. Aditu, when
asked, claimed not to remember. Simon took the same question to Jiriki,
who fixed him with a look of great pity and asked whether he truly
wished to count the days. Chilled by the implication, Simon demanded
the truth. Jiriki told him that a little over a month had passed. That had been some days ago.
    The nights were the most difficult. In his nest of blankets in Jiriki's
house, or roaming the soft, damp grass beneath strange stars, Simon
tormented himself with impossible plans for escape, plans that even he
knew were as impractical as they were desperate. He became more and
more morose. He knew Jiriki was worried for him, and even Aditu's
quicksilver laugh seemed forced. Simon knew that he was speaking con-
stantly of his misery, but could not hide it--moreover, he did not want to
hide it. Whose fault was it that he was trapped here?

549


550                                   Tad Williams

    They had saved his life, of course. Would it truly have been better to die
by freezing or slow starvation, he chided himself, rather than living as a
pampered, if restricted, guest in the most wonderful city in Osten Ard?
But even though such ingratitude might be shameful, he still could not
reconcile himself to his blissful prison.
    Every day was much the same. He wandered through the forest alone,
or threw stones into the countless streams and rivers, and thought of his
friends. In the sheltering summer of Jao ~-Tinukai'i, it was hard to
imagine how they must all be suffering in the dreadful winter outside.
Where was Binabik? Miriamele? Prince Josua? Did they even live? Had
they fallen beneath the black storm, or did they still struggle?
    Growing ever more frantic, he begged Jiriki to let him speak to Amerasu
again, to plead for her help in setting him free, but Jiriki declined.
    "It is not my place to instruct First Grandmother. She will act in her
own time, when she has thought carefully. I am sorry, Seoman, but these
matters are too important to hurry."
    "Hurry!" Simon raged. "By the time anyone does anything in this
place, I will be dead!"
  But Jiriki, although visibly saddened, remained adamant.
    Balked at every turn, Simon's anxiousness began to turn to anger. The
reserved Sithi came to seem smug and self-righteous beyond enduring.
While Simon's friends were fighting and dying, engaged in a dreadful
losing battle with the Storm King as well as with Elias, these foolish
creatures wandered through their sunlit forest singing and contemplating
the trees. And who was the Storm King, anyway, but a Sithi!? No
wonder that his fellows were keeping Simon prisoned while the world
outside withered before Ineluki's cold wrath.
    So the days spun by, each more and more like its predecessor, each
increasing Simon's disaffection. He ceased taking his evening meal with
Jiriki, preferring a more solitary appreciation of the songs of crickets and
nightingales. Resentful of Aditu's playfulness, he began to avoid her. He
was sick of being teased and fondled. He meant no more to her, he knew,
than the lapdog did to the queen. He would have no more. If he must be a
prisoner, he would act like one.

    Jiriki found him sitting in a copse of larch trees, sullen and prickly as a
hedgehog. The bees were mumbling in the clover and the sun streamed
down through the needles, crosshatching the ground with slivers of light.
Simon was chewing on a piece of bark.
 "Seoman," the prince said, "may I speak to you?"
    Simon frowned. He had learned that Sithi, unlike mortals, would actu-
ally go away if permission was not given. Jiriki's folk had a deep respect
for privacy.
 "I suppose so," Simon said at last.


STONE OF FAREWELL

551

    "I would like you to come with me," Jiriki said. "We will go to the
Y~sira."
  Simon felt a quickening of hope, but it was a painful thing. "Why?"
    "I do not know. I only know that we are all asked to come, all who live
in Jao ~-Tinukai'i. Since you live here now, I think it fitting that you
come."
    Simon's hopes sank. "They did not ask for me." For a moment he had
envisioned how it would be: Shima'onari and Likimeya apologizing for
their mistake, sending him back to his own kind bearing presents, laden as
well with the wisdom to help Josua and the others. Another mooncalf
daydreammhadn't he grown out of them yet? "I don't want to go," he
said at last.
    Jiriki squatted beside him, poised as gracefully as a hunting bird upon a
branch. "I wish that you would, Seoman," he said at last. "I cannot force
you and I will not plead, but Amerasu will be there. It is rare indeed for
her to ask to speak to our people, except when it is the Day of
Year-Dancing."
    Simon felt his interest quicken. Perhaps Amerasu was going to speak on
his behalf, order them to let him go! But if that was the case, why hadn't
he been asked to come?
    He feigned indifference. Whatever else occurred, he was steadily learn-
ing Sithi ways. "There you go about Year-Dancing again, Jiriki," he said.
"But you have never told me what it means. I saw the Year-Dancing
grove, you know."
    Jiriki appeared to be suppressing a smile. "Not very closely, I think. But
come, Seoman, you are playing a game. Some other time ! will tell you
what I can of the responsibilities of our family's house, but now I must
go. You, too, if you plan to accompany me."
    Simon tossed the piece of chewed-upon bark over his shoulder. "I'll go
if I can sit near the door. And if I don't have to speak."
    "You can sit wherever you please, Snowlock. You are a prisoner,
perhaps, but an honored one. My people are trying to make your time
here endurable. As to the rest, ! have no say over what you may be asked.
Come, you are almost grown, manchild. Do not be afraid to stand for
yourself."
 Simon frowned, considering. "Lead on, then," he said.

    They stopped before the doorway of the great living tent The butter-
flies were agitated, fluttering their spangled wings so that shifting patterns
colored shadow rippled across the face of the Yfisira like wind through a
field of wheat. The papery rustle of their gentle commingling filled the
whole glen. Suddenly unwilling to proceed through the door, Simon
pulled back, shaking himself free of Jiriki's companionable arm.
 "I don't want to hear anything bad," he said. There was a cold heaviness



552                                    Tad Williams

in the pit of his stomach, the same as he had felt when he expected
punishment from Rachel or the Master of Scullions. "I don't want to be
shouted at."
    Jiriki looked at him quizzically. "No one will shout, Seoman. That is not
our way, we Zida'ya. This may be nothing to do with you at all."
    Simon shook his head, embarrassed. "Sorry. Of course." He took a
deep breath and shrugged nervously, then waited until Jiriki gently took
his arm once more and steered him toward the Yfisira's rose-entwined
doorway. A thousand thousand butterfly wings hissed like a dry wind as
Simon and his companion stepped through into the vast bowl of multi-
hued light.
    Likimeya and Shima'onari, as before, were seated at the center of the
room on low couches near the jutting finger-stone. Amerasu sat between
them on a higher couch, the hood of her pale gray robe thrown back. Her
snowy white hair, unbound, spread in a soft cloud upon her shoulders.
She wore a sash of bright blue around her slender waist, but no other
ornamentation or jewelry.
    As Simon stared, her eyes passed briefly across his. If he hoped for a
helpful smile or a reassuring nod, he was disappointed: her gaze slid by as
though he were just one unexceptional tree in a great forest. His heart
sank. If any ideas remained about Amerasu's being concerned with moon-
calf Simon's fate, he decided, it was time to put them away.
    Beside Amerasu, on a pedestal of dull gray rock, stood a curious object:
a disk of some pale icy substance, mounted on a broad stand of dark and
shiny witchwood wrought with twining Sithi carvings. Simon thought it
a table-mirror--he had heard that some great ladies possessed them--but,
oddly, it did not seem to reflect. The disk's edges were sharp as knives,
like a sugar-sweet that had been sucked to near-transparency. Its color was
the frosty near-white of a winter moon, but other, deeper hues seemed to
move sleepily within it. A wide, shallow bowl of the same translucent
substance lay before the stone disk, nestled in the carved stand.
    Simon could not stare at the thing too long. The changing colors
disturbed him: in some strange manner, the shifting stone reminded him
of the gray sword Sorrow, and that was a memory he did not wish
reawakened. He turned his head away and looked slowly around the great
chamber.
    As Jiriki had suggested, all the residents of Jao ~-Tinukai'i seemed to
have come to the Yfisira this afternoon. Dressed in their emphatically
colorful manner, plumed like rare birds, still the golden-eyed Sithi seemed
unusually reserved, even by the standards of a retiring folk. Many eyes had
turned toward Simon and Jiriki upon their entrance, but no one gaze had
lingered long: the attention of all assembled seemed fixed on the three
figures at the center of the vast tree-chamber. Glad of the anonymity,
Simon chose a place on the outskirts of the silent crowd for Jiriki and


STONE OF FAREWELL

553

himself to sit. He did not see Aditu anywhere, but he knew she would be
hard to pick out in the midst of such an array.
    For a long time there was no movement or speech, although it seemed
to Simon that there were hidden currents moving just beneath his own
understanding, subtle communications shared by everyone in the room
but him. Still, he was not so insensitive that he failed to perceive the
tension of the quiet Sithi, the clear sense of uneasy anticipation. There was
a sharpness to the air, as before a lightning storm.
    He had begun to wonder if they would go on this way all afternoon,
like a group of cat-rivals gathered on a wall, silently staring each other
down, when at last Shima'onari rose and began to speak. This time, the
master of Jao d-Tinukai'i did not bother with Simon's own Westerling
tongue, but used the musical Sithi speech. He spoke for some while,
accompanying his soliloquy with graceful hand gestures, the sleeves of his
pale yellow robe fluttering as he emphasized his words. To Simon, it was
only confusion piled atop incomprehensibility.
    "My father speaks of Amerasu and asks us to listen to her," Jiriki
whispered, translating. Simon was dubious. Shima'onari seemed to have
spoken a very long time just to say that. He glanced around the Yisira at
the somber, cat-eyed faces. Whatever Jiriki's father was saying, he had the
undivided and almost frighteningly complete attention of his people.
     When Shima'onari concluded, Likimeya rose, and all eyes then turned
to her. She, too, spoke for a long time in the language of the Zida'ya.
 "She says Amerasu is very wise," explained Jiriki. Simon frowned.
 When Likimeya finished a great, gentle sigh arose, as though all assem-
 bled had released their breath at once. Simon let out his own quiet sigh, one
 of relief.' as the incomprehensible babble of Sithi-tongue went on and on,
 he had been finding it harder and harder to concentrate. Even the butter-
 flies were moving restlessly above, the colorful sun-patterns made by their
 wings swimming back and forth across the great chamber.
    At last Amerasu stood. She seemed much less frail than she had in her
house. Simon had thought her then like a martyred saint, but now he saw
in her a touch of the angelic, a power that smoldered low but which
could burst out into pure white light. Her long hair moved in a breeze that
might have come from the careful movement of a million wings.
    "I see that the mortal child is here," she said, "so I will speak in a way
that he can understand, as much of what I say came from him. He has a
right to hear."
    Several Sithi turned their heads to gaze impassively at Simon. Caught
by surprise, he dropped his chin and looked down at his chest until they
had turned away once more.
    "In fact," Amerasu continued, "strange as this may sound, it is possible
that some of the things I must say are better suited to the languages of the
Sudhoda'ya. The mortals have always lived beneath one kind of darkness



554                                    Tad Williams

or another. That is among the reasons we named them 'sunset-children'
when they first came to Osten Ard." She paused. "The manchildren, the
mortals, have many ideas of what happens after they die, and wrangle
about who is right and who is wrong. These disagreements often come to
bloodshed, as if they wished to dispatch messengers who could discover
the answer to their dispute. Such messengers, as far as I know of mortal
philosophy, never return to give their brethren the taste of truth they
yearn for.
    "But among the mortal peoples there are stories that say that some do
return as bodiless spirits, although they bring no answers with them.
These spirits, these ghosts, are mute reminders of that shadow of death.
Those who encounter such unhomed spirits call themselves 'haunted.'"
Amerasu took a breath; her immense composure seemed to slip. It was a
moment before she resumed. "That is a word we Zida'ya do not have, but
perhaps we should."
 The silence, but for the murmur of delicate wings, was absolute.
    "We fled out of the Uttermost East, thinking to escape that Unbeing
that overwhelmed our Garden-land. That story is known to all but the
mortal boy--even those of our children born after the Flight from Asu'a
take it in with their mother's milk--and so it will not be told again here.
    "When we reached this new land, we thought we had escaped that
shadow. But a piece of it came with us. That stain, that shadow, is part of
us--just as the mortal men and women of Osten Ard cannot escape the
shadow of their own dying.
    "We are an old people. We do not fight the unfightable. That is why we
fled Venyha Do'sae, rather than be unmade in a fruitless struggle. But the
curse of our race is not that we refuse to throw down our lives in
purposeless defiance of the great shadow, but that we instead clasp the
shadow to ourselves and hug it tightly, gleefully, nursing it as we would a
child.
    "We brought the shadow with us. Perhaps no living, reasoning thing
can be without such shadow, but we Zida'ya--despite our lives, beside
which the spans of mortals are like fireflies--still we cannot ignore that
shadow that is death. We cannot ignore the knowledge of Unbeing.
Instead, we carry it with us like a brooding secret.
    "The mortals must die, and they are frightened by that. We who were
once of the Garden must also die, although our span is vastly greater, but
we each embrace our death from the moment we first open our eyes,
making it an insoluble part of us. We yearn for its complete embrace, even
as the centuries roll by, while around us the death-fearing mortals breed
and drop like mice. We make our death the core of our being, our private
and innermost friend, letting life spin past as we enjoy Unbeing's grave
company.
 "We would not give Ruyan V~'s children the secret of our near-


STONE OF FAREWELL

555

immortality, though they were stock of the same tree. We denied eternal
life to Ruyan's folk, the Tinukeda'ya, even as we clasped Death tighter
and tighter to our own bosoms. We are haunted, my children. The mortal
word is the only correct one. We are haunted."
    He did not understand most of what First Grandmother said, but
Amerasu's voice worked on Simon like the scolding of a loving parent. He
felt small and unimportant, but reassured that the voice was there and that
it spoke to him. The Sithi around him maintained their careful impassivity.
    "Then the ship-men came," Amerasu said, her voice deepening, "and
were not content to live and die within the walls of Osten Ard, as the
mortal mice before them had been. They were not satisfied with the
morsels we tossed to them. We Zida'ya could have stopped their depreda-
tions before they became great, but instead we grieved over the loss of
beauty while secretly rejoicing. Our death was coming.t--a glorious and final
ending that would make the shadows real. My husband Iyu'unigato was
one such. His gentle, poetic heart loved death more than it ever loved his
wife or the sons of his loins."
    For the first time a quiet whisper began to travel through the assembly,
an uneasy murmur scarcely louder than the rustle of the butterflies over-
head. Amerasu smiled sadly.
    "It is hard to hear such things," she said, "but this is a time when truth
must be spoken. Of all the Zida'ya, only one truly did not yearn for quiet
oblivion. He was my son Ineluki, and he burned. I do not mean the manner
of his dying--that may be seen as a cruel irony, or as a fated inevitability.
No, Ineluki burned with life, and his light dispelled the shadows--at least
some of them.
    "All know what happened. All know that Ineluki slew his gentle father,
that he was then unmade at the last, bringing Asu'a to destruction as he
struggled to save himself and all his folk from oblivion. But his fires were
so fierce that he could not go peacefully into the shadows beyond life. I
curse him for what he did to my husband and his people and himself, but
my mother's heart is still proud. By the Ships that brought us, he burned
then and he burns still! Ineluki will not die!"
    Amerasu lifted a hand as a fresh spatter of whispering rolled through the
Y~sira. "Peace, children, peace!" she cried, "First Grandmother has not
herself embraced that shadow. I do not praise him for what he is now,
only for the fierce spirit that no other showed, when such a spirit was the
only thing that could save us from ourselves. And he did save us, for his
resistance and even his madness gave others the will to flee here, to the
house of our exile." She lowered her hand. "No, my son embraced
hatred. It kept him from dying a true death, but it was a flame even hotter
than his own, and it has consumed him. There is nothing left of the bright
blaze that was my son." Her eyes were hooded. "Almost nothing."
 When she did not speak for a while, Shima'onari rose as if to go to her,




556                                    Tad Williams

saying something quietly in the Sithi tongue. Amerasu shook her head.
"No, grandson, let me speak." A touch of anger entered her voice. "This
is all I have left, but if I am not heard, a darkness will descend that will be
unlike the loving death which we sing to in our dreams. It will be worse
than the Unbeing that drove us out of our Garden beyond the sea."
    Shima'onari, looking curiously shaken, sat down beside stone-eyed
Likimeya.
    "Ineluki has changed," Amerasu resumed. "He has become something
the world has not seen before, a smoldering ember of despair and hatred,
surviving only to redress those things which long ago were injustices and
mistakes and tragic underestimations, but now are simply facts. Like
ourselves, Ineluki dwells in the realm of what was. But unlike his living kin,
Ineluki is not content to wallow in memories of the past. He lives, or
exists--here is a place the mortal language is too inexactmto see the
present state of the world obliterated and the injustices made right, but his
only window is anger. His justice will be cruel, his methods even more
horrible."
    She moved to stand beside the object on the stone pedestal, letting her
slim fingers rest gently on the disk's rim. Simon feared that she would cut
herself, and felt an abnormal horror at the idea of seeing blood on Amerasu's
thin, golden skin.
    "I have long known that Ineluki had returned, as have all of you.
Unlike some, though, I have not pushed it from my mind, or rolled it
over and over in my thoughts only to enjoy the pain of it, as one prods a
bruise or sore spot. I have wondered, I have thought, and I have spoken
with those few who could help me, trying to understand what might be
growing in the shadows of my son's mind. The last of those who brought
me knowledge was the mortal boy Seoman--although he did not realize,
and still does not, half of what I gleaned from him."
    Simon again felt eyes upon him, but his own were helplessly fixed to
Amerasu's luminous face, framed in the great white cloud of her hair.
    "That is just as well," she said. "The manchild has been fate-battered
and chance-led in many curious ways, but he is no spell-wielder or great
hero. He has fulfilled his responsibilities admirably, but needs no more
heaped upon his young shoulders. But what I learned from him has, I
think, taught me the true shape of Ineluki's plan." She took a deep breath,
summoning strength. "It is terrible. I could tell you, but words may not
suffice. I am the eldest of this tribe; I am Amerasu the Ship-Born. Still
there would be some who would secretly doubt, and others who would
continue to turn their faces away. Many of you would prefer to live with
the beauty of imagined shadows instead of the ugly blackness at the core
of this shadow--of the shadow that my son spreads over us all.
    "So I will show you what I have seen, then you will see, too. If we can
still turn our heads away, my children, at least we cannot continue to


STONE OF FAREWELL

557

pretend. We may keep out the winter for a while, but at last it will engulf
us, too." Her voice suddenly rose, plaintive but powerful. "If we are
running joyfully into the arms of death, let us at least admit that is what
we do! Let us for this once see ourselves plainly, even at the ending of
things."
    Amerasu let her gaze drop, as though great weariness or sorrow had
overtaken her. There was a moment of silence, then just as a few quiet
conversations had begun, she lifted her face to them once more and placed
her hand on the pale moon-disk.
    "This is the Mist Lamp, brought by my mother Senditu out of Tumet'ai
as the creeping hoarfrost swallowed that city. As with the scales of the
Greater Worm, as with the Speakfire, the singing Shard, and the Pool in
great Asu'a, it is a door to the Road of Dreams. It has shown me many
things. Now it is time to share those visions."
    Amerasu reached down, lightly touching the bowl before the stone
disk. A blue-white flame sprang up and hovered wickless above the
bowl's pale rim. The disk began to gleam with a secretive light. Then,
even as it grew brighter, the entire chamber of the Yisira started to
darken, until it seemed to Simon that the afternoon had truly withered
away and the moon had fallen from the sky to hang there before him.
    "These days, the dream-lands have drawn nearer to our own," Amerasu
said, "just as Ineluki's winter has surrounded and worn away the sum-
mer.'' Her voice, though clear, seemed but a whisper. "The dream-lands
are troubled, and there will be moments when it is difficult to stay upon
the road, so please lend me your thoughts and quiet assistance. The day is
long passed when the daughters of Jenjiyana could speak as effortlessly
through the Witnesses as from ear to ear." She waved a hand over the disk
and the room grew darker still, The tender scraping of butterfly wings
increased, as though the creatures felt change in the air.
    The disk glowed. A bluish stain like fog crept across its face; when it
passed, the Mist Lamp had turned black. In that blackness a scattering of
icy stars appeared and a pale shape began to grow, sprouting up from the
base of the Lamp's disk. It was a mountain, white and sharp as a tusk,
bleak as bone.
    "Nakkiga," Amerasu said from the darkness. "The mountain the mor-
tals call Stormspike. The home of Utuk'ku, who hides her agedness
behind a silver mask, unwilling to admit that the shadow of death can
touch her, too. She fears Unbeing more than any other of our race,
though she is the eldest who still lives--the last of the Gardenborn."
Amerasu laughed quietly. "Yes, my great-grandmother is very vain." For
a moment there was a flash of metal, but the Mist Lamp blurred and the
mountain reappeared. "I can feel her," Amerasu said. "Like a spider, she
waits. No fire of justice burns within her as it burns in Ineluki, however
mad he has become. She wishes only to destroy all who remember how











558                                   Tad Williams

she was humbled in the dim, dim past when our peoples broke asur
She gave my son's raging spirit a home; together they have fed
other's hatred. Now they are ready to do what they have plotted fc
many centuries. Look!"
    The Mist Lamp throbbed. The white mountain loomed closer, stean
beneath the cold black skies. Then, suddenly, it began to fade back
darkness. A few moments later it was gone, leaving only sable emptin,
    A long interval passed. Simon, who had been hanging on the SJ
woman's every word, felt suddenly adrift. The crackling tension in the
was back, stronger than ever.
  "Oh!" Amerasu gasped, startled.
    All around Simon the Sithi were shifting, murmuring, as questioni:
turned to uneasiness and the seeds of fear began to grow inside them.
gleam of silver appeared in the center of the Mist Lamp, then spre
outward like oil on a pond, filling the darkened silhouette. The silv
smeared and ran until it became a face, a woman's face, unmoving but f
pale eyes that peered from the darkened slits.
    Simon watched the silver mask helplessly, his eyes smarting as the
filled with frightened tears. He could not look away. She was so old an
strong.., so strong...
    "It has been many turns of the year, Amerasu no'e-Sa'onserei." The Non
Queen's voice was surprisingly melodious, but the sweetness could no
entirely hide the vast corruption beneath. "It has been long, granddaughter.
Are you ashamed of your northern kin, that you have not invited us back amon,~
you before?"
    "You mock me, Utuk'ku Seyt-Hamakha." There was a quaver in
Amerasu's voice, a frightening note of dismay. "All know the reasons for
your exile and the separation of our families."
    "You always loved righteousness, little Amerasu." The scorn in the Nora
Queen's voice made Simon feel as though a fever ran through him. "But
the righteous soon become meddlers, and so it has always been with your long.
reaching clan. You would not scourge the mortals a%m the land, which might have
saved all. And even after they have destroyed the Gardenborn, you cannot leave
the mortals be." Utuk'ku's breath hissed in and out. "Ah. I see, there is one
among you even now!"
    Simon's heart seemed to grow, pushing up into his throat until he could
scarcely breathe. Those terrible eyes staring at him--why didn't Amerasu
make her go away?! He wanted to shout, to run, but could not. The
Sithi-folk around him seemed equally nerveless, struck to stone.
    "You oversimplify, grandmother," Amerasu said at last. "When do you
not simply lie."
    Utuk'ku laughed, and the sound was something that could set stones to
weeping.
  "Fool!" she cried. "I oversimphfy? You have overreached. You have long


STONE OF FAREWELL

559

concerned yourself with the doings of mortals, but you have missed the most
important things. That will prove your death!"
    "I know what you plan!" Amerasu said. "You may have taken from me
what remains of my son, but even through death, I have discerned his
mind. I have seen..."
    "Enough!" Utuk'ku's angry cry blew through the Y~sira, a chill gust of
wind that bent the grass and set the butterflies to panicky fluttering.
"Enough. You have spoken your last and condemned yourself. It is death!"
    Terrifyingly, Amerasu began to quiver in the dim light, struggling
against some invisible restraint, her eyes wide, her mouth moving without
sound.
    "And you will not inter~re fi~rther--any of you!" The Norn Queen's voice
was rising to a dreadful pitch. "The J~lse peace is over! Over! Nakkiga
renounces you all!"
    All around the Y~sira the Sithi were shouting with amazement and
anger. Likemeya rushed forward to the darkened figure of Amerasu, even
as Utuk'ku's face shimmered and vanished from the Mist Lamp. The
Witness fell dark for a moment, but only a moment. A tiny spot of red
kindled in the Lamp's center, a small spark which grew steadily until it
was a rippling blaze that outlined the startled features of Jiriki's parents
and mute Amerasu with scarlet light. Two dark holes opened in the flame,
lightless eyes in the face of fire. Simon felt himself seized in a grip of
frozen horror, clutched so tight by it that his muscles quivered. Chill
dread beat outward from that wavering face, as heat would rise from an
ordinary fire. Amerasu stopped struggling, becoming as still as if she had
turned to stone.
    Another blackness gaped in the billowing flame, beneath the empty
eyes. Bloodless laughter issued forth. Sickened, Simon struggled desper-
ately to get away--he had seen this horror-mask before.
    The Red Hand! He meant it to be a shout, but fear choked his words into
helpless, whistling breath.
    Likimeya stepped forward, her husband beside her, helping to shield
Amerasu. She raised her arms before the Mist Lamp and the fiery thing
that surged within it. A kind of silvery glow surrounded her. "Go back to
your shriveled mistress and dead master, Corrupted One," she cried.
"You are not one of us any more."
    The flame-thing laughed again. "No. We are more, J~r more! The Red
Hand and its master have grown strong. All of creation must fall beneath the
Storm King's shadow. Those who betrayed us will squeak and chitter in that
darkness!"
    "You have no power here!" Shima'onari cried, grasping his wife's
upraised hand. The glow around the two of them intensified, until the fog
of silvery moonlight had grown to encompass the fiery face as well. "This
place is beyond you! Go back to your cold mountain and black emptiness!"





560                                    Tad Williams

    "You do not understand?' the thing exulted. "We, o fall who ever lived, have
returned pom Unbeing. We have grown strong! Grown stronl"
    Even as the hollow voice echoed through the Ylsira, overwhelming the
Sithi-folk's cries of rage and alarm, the thing in the Mist Lamp suddenly
billowed outward, expanding into a vast pillar of flame, its shapeless head
flung back in a thundering cry. It spread its blazing arms wide, as though
to grasp all before it in a crushing, burning embrace.
    As the sun-hot fires leaped up, the butterflies clinging to the silken
threads overhead began to puff into flame. A million of them seemed to
spring into the air at once, a great cloud of fire and smoking wings.
Burning, they flew through the air like cinders, careening into the shout-
ing Sithi, crumbling as they struck the trunk of the great ash tree. The
Ylsira was in chaos, plunged in a blackness shot with spinning, whirling
sparks.
    The towering thing at the room's center laughed and blazed, but gave
no light. It seemed instead to suck all brightness into its own interior, so
that it fattened and grew taller still. A wild, writhing knot of bodies leaped
around it, the heads and waving arms of clamoring Sithi-folk silhouetted
against the red blaze.
 Simon looked around in panic. Jiriki was gone.
    Another sound was now rising through the chaos, swelling until it
equaled the terrible mirth of the Red Hand creature. It was the raw-
throated baying of a hunting pack.
    A horde of pale shapes came flooding into the Y~sira. White hounds
were suddenly everywhere, their slit eyes reflecting the hellish light of the
thing at the chamber's center, their howling red mouths snapping and
barking.
    "Ruakha, ruakha Zida'yei!" Simon heardJ'Lriki shouting somewhere nearby.
"T'si e-isi'ha as-Shao Irig~!"
    Simon moaned, searching desperately for some weapon. A lithe white
shape vaulted past him, carrying something in its dripping mouth.
 Jingizu.
    A memory forced itself into Simon's head. As though the blaze without
had kindled a blaze within, a burning tongue of remembrance leaped up
inside him: the black depths beneath the Hayholt, a dream of tragedy and
ghostly fire.
 Jingizu. The heart o fall Sorrow.
    The tempest of disorder rose and grew wilder, a thousand throats
wailing in the spark-flurrying darkness, a broil of flailing limbs and
terrified eyes and the maddening voices of the Stormspike pack. Simon
tried to stand, then quickly threw himself back to the ground. The
scrambling Sithi had found their bows: arrows were flying through the
smoky air, visible only as streaks of light.
  A hound stumbled toward Simon and sagged to the ground at his feet, a


STONE OF FAREWELL

561

blue-fletched arrow through its neck. Revolted, Simon crawled away
from the corpse, feeling the grass and the parchment ashes of butterflies
between his fingers. His hand closed upon a rock, which he lifted and
dutched. He crept forward like a blind mole toward where the heat and
noise were greatest, driven by nothing he could describe, helplessly reliving
something he might have experienced in a dream, a vision of spectral
figures that ran in fearful panic while their home died in flames.
    A huge beast, the largest hound Simon had ever seen, had driven
Shima'onari back toward the trunk of the great ash tree, forcing the lord
of the Sithi up against the blackened and smoldering bark. Shima'onari's
robe was smoking. Weaponless, Jiriki's father held the dog's massive head
in his bare hands, struggling to keep the clashing jaws from his face.
Strange lights flickered around them, blue and glaring red.
    Near where his father struggled, Jiriki and several others had sur-
rounded the bellowing fire-creature. The prince was a small figure stand-
ing before the beast of the Red Hand, his witchwood sword Indreju a
black tongue of shadow held upraised against the shimmering flames.
    Simon lowered his head and crawled forward, still struggling toward
the center of the Y~sira. The din was deafening. Bodies pushed past him,
some of the Sithi racing forward to help Jiriki fight the invader, others
running hke maddened creatures, their hair and clothes afire.
    A sudden blow flung Simon to the turf. One of the dogs was upon him,
its corpselike snout thrusting for his throat, blunt claws scraping at his
arms as he tried frantically to twist out from under it. He groped unseeing
until he found the stone that had slipped from his grasp, then struck at the
creature's head. It yelped wetly and dug its teeth into his shirt, gouging his
shoulder as it tried to reach his neck. He struck again, struggled to free his
weary arm, then brought the stone down once more. The dog went limp
and slid down his chest. Simon rolled over and kicked the body away.
    A scream abruptly shuddered out, overtopping the tumult, and a wintry
wind howled through the Y~sira, a freezing gale that seemed to pass right
through him. Fanned by that wind, the fiery figure at the center of the
chamber grew even larger for a moment, then fell back into itself in a
burst of billowing flame. There was a sound like thunder, then Simon felt
a great percussive slap against his ears as the creature of the Red Hand
vanished in a rain of hissing sparks. Another rush of wind threw Simon
and many others fiat on the ground as air hurried to ffil the space where
the blazing thing had been. After that, a strange sort of quiet came down
over the Y~sira.
    Stunned, Simon lay on his back staring upward. The sheen of natural
twilight slowly returned, gleaming through the mighty tree whose limbs
were now empty of living butterflies, but studded with their blackened
remains. Groaning, Simon clambered up onto his shaky legs. All around
him the inhabitants ofJao ~-Tinukai'i were still milling in shocked disor-






562                                    Tad Williams

der. Those Sithi who had found spears and bows were putting an end to
the remaining dogs.
    Had that terrible scream been the fire-creature's death shriek? Had Jiriki
and the others somehow destroyed it? He stared into the cloudy murk in
the middle of the chamber, trying to see who it was that stood beside the
Mist Lamp. He squinted and took a step forward. Amerasu was there...
and someone else. Simon felt his heart lurch.
    A figure with a helmet made in the image of a snarling dog stood at
First Grandmother's shoulder, wreathed in the smoke curling up from the
scorched earth. One of this intruder's leather-clad arms was around her
waist, clutching her slight, sagging form as closely as it might hold a
lover. The other hand slowly lifted the hound-helm free, revealing the
tanned mask of Ingen Jegger.
    "Niku'a!" he shouted. "Yinva! Come to me!" The huntsman's eyes
gleamed scarlet, reflecting the smoldering bark of the great tree.
    Near the trunk of the ash, the huge white hound rose unsteadily. Its fur
was scorched and blackened, its ragged maw all but toothless. Shima'onari
remained unmoving on the ground where the beast had crouched, a blood-
ied arrow clutched in the Sithi-lord's fist. The dog took a step, then fell
clumsily and rolled onto its side. Innards gleamed from the opening in its
belly as Niku'a's broad chest moved slowly up and down.
    The huntsman eye's widened. "You've killed him!" Ingen screamed.
"My pride! The best of the kennels!" He carried Amerasu before him as he
took a few steps toward the dying hound. First Grandmother's head
bobbed limply. "Niku'a!" Ingen hissed, then turned and looked slowly
around the YJsira. The Sithi stood unmoving all around, their faces
blood-stained and ash-smeared as they silently returned the huntsman's
stare.
    Ingen Jegger's thin mouth contorted in sorrow. He lifted his eyes to the
scorched limbs of the ash tree and the gray sky above. Amerasu was
pinned against his chest, her white hair curtaining her face.
  "Murder!" he cried, then there was a long moment of silence.
  "What do you want from First Grandmother, mortal?"
    It was Likemeya who spoke so calmly. Her white dress was smeared
with ashes. She had come to kneel beside her fallen husband, and she
held his reddened hand in hers. "You have caused enough heartache. Let
her go. Leave this place. We will not pursue you."
    Ingen stared at her as at some long-forgotten landmark seen after a long
journey. His frown stretched into a ghastly smile and he shook Amerasu's
helpless form until her head wobbled. He lifted his hound-helm--the fist
that clutched it was crimson-drenched--and waved it in mad joy.
    "The forest witch is dead!" he howled. "I have done it! Praise me,
mistress, I have done your bidding!" He lifted his other hand to the skies,
letting Amerasu slump to the ground like a discarded sack. Blood shone


                                                STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                              563

 dully on her gray robe and golden hands. The translucent hilt of the
 crystal dagger stood out from her side. "I am immortal!" cried the
 Queen's Huntsman.
  Simon's choked gasp echoed in the terrible silence.
    Ingen Jegger slowly turned. Recognizing Simon, the huntsman curled
his mouth in a lipless smile. "You led me to her, boy."
  An ash-darkened figure rose from the smoking clutter at Ingen's feet.
    "Venyha s'anh!" Jiriki shouted, and drove Indreju squarely into the
huntsman's midsection.
    Driven backward by the impact of Jiriki's blow, Ingen at last staggered
to a halt, bending over the length of the blade which had been wrenched
from its owner's hand. He gradually straightened, then coughed. Blood
dribbled from his mouth and stained his pale beard, but his smile re-
mained. "The time of the Dawn Children . . . is over," he rasped. There
was a humming sound. Suddenly, a half-dozen arrows stood in Ingen's
broad trunk, sprouting on all sides like hedgehog quills.  "Murder!"
    It was Simon who shouted this time. He leaped to his feet, his heartbeat
sounding loud as war-drums in his ears; he felt the whipsong breath
of the second volley of arrows as he ran forward toward the huntsman. He
swung the heavy stone which he had clutched for so long.  "Seornanl No!" shouted Jiriki.
    The huntsman slid to his knees, but remained upright. "Your witch...
is dead," he panted. He raised a hand toward the approaching Simon.
"The sun is setting..."
    More arrows leaped across the Y'~r~!ngenJegger slowly topped to
th.e ground.
    Hatred burst out like a flame in Simon's heart as he stood over the
huntsman, and he raised the stone high in the air. Ingen Jegger's face was
still frozen in an exultant grin, and for the thinnest moment his pale blue
eyes locked with Simon's. An instant later Ingen's face disappeared in a
smash of red and the huntsman's body was rolled across the ground by the
force of the blow. Simon clambered after him with a wordless cry of rage,
all his pent frustration flooding out in a maddening surge.
 They've taken everything d~orn me. They laughed at me. Everything.
    The fury turned into a kind of wild glee. He felt strength flowing through
him. At last! He brought the rock down upon Ingen's head, lifted it and
smashed it down again, then over and over uncontrollably until hands pulled
him away from the body and he slid down into his own red darkness.

    Khendraja'aro brought him to Jiriki. The prince's uncle, as all the other
citizens of Jao ~-Tunukai'i, was dressed in dark mourning gray. Simon,






564                                    Tad Williams

too, wore pants and shirt of that color, brought to him by a subdued
Aditu the day after the burmng of the Y~sira.
    Jiriki was staying in a house not his 6wn, a dwelling of pink, yellow,
and pale brown circular tents that Simon thought looked like giant bee-
hives. The Sitha-woman who lived there was a healer, Aditu had told
him. The healer was taking care that Jiriki's burns were given proper care.
    Kehndraja'aro, his face a stiff, heavy mask, left Simon at the house's
wind-whipped entranceway and departed without a word. Simon entered
as Aditu had directed and found himself in a darkened room lit only by a
single dim globe on a wooden stand. Jiriki was propped up in a great bed.
His hands lay upon his chest, bandaged with strips of silky cloth. The
Sitha's face was shiny with some oily substance, which served only to
accentuate his otherworldly appearance. Jiriki's skin was blackened in
many places, and his eyebrows and some of his long hair had been
scorched away, but Simon was relieved to see that the Prince did not seem
badly scarred.
 "Seoman," Jiriki said, and showed a trace of smile.
 "How are you?" Simon asked shyly. "Are you hurting?"
    The prince shook his head. "I do not suffer much, not from these bums,
Seoman. In my family we are made of stern stuff--as you may remember
from our first meeting." Jiriki looked him up and down. "And how is
your own health?"
    Simon felt awkward. "I'm well." He paused. "I'm so sorry." Facing the
calm figure before him, he was ashamed by his own animality, ashamed to
have become a screaming brute before the eyes of all. That memory had
weighed heavily on him in the days just passed. "It was all my fault."
    Jiriki hastened to raise his hand, then eased it back down, conceding
only a small grimace of pain. "No, Seoman, no. You have done nothing
for which you should apologize. That was a day of terror, and you have
suffered far too many of those."
    "It's not that," Simon said miserably. "He followed me! Ingen Jegger
said he followed me to find First Grandmother! I led her murderer here."
    Jiriki shook his head. "This was planned for some time, Seoman.
Believe me, the Red Hand could not lightly send one of their own into the
fastness ofJao 6-Tunukai'i, even for the few moments it lasted. Ineluki is
not yet so strong. That was a well-conceived attack, one long considered.
It took a great deal of power from both Utuk'ku and the Storm King to
accomplish it.
    "Do you think it a coincidence that First Grandmother should be
silenced by Utuk'ku just before she could reveal Ineluki's design? That the
Red Hand creature should force its way through just then, at a tremendous
expense of spell-bought strength? And do you think the huntsman Ingen
was just wandering in the wood and suddenly decided to kill Amerasu the
Ship-Born? No, I do not think so, either--although it is true that he may


STONE OF FAREWELL

565

have stumbled on your trail before Aditu brought you here. Ingen Jegger
was no fool, and it would have been far easier for him to track a mortal
than one of us, but he would have found his way into Jao ~-Tunukai'i
somehow. Who can know how long he waited beyond the Summer Gate
once he had found it, waiting for his mistress to set him upon her enemies
at just the fight moment? It was a war plan, Seoman, precise and more than
a little desperate. They must have feared First Grandmother's wisdom
very much."
    Jiriki lifted his bandaged hand to his face, touching it for a moment to
his forehead. "Do not take the blame upon yourself, Seoman. Amerasu's
death was ordained in the black pits below Nakkiga--or perhaps even when
the Two Families parted at Sesuad'ra, thousands of years ago. We are a
race that nurses its hurts a long time in silence. You were not at fault."
    "But why!?" Simon wanted to believe Jirki's words, but the horrible
sense of loss that had threatened to overwhelm him several times already
that morning would not go away.
    "Why? Because Amerasu had seen into Ineluki's secret heartmand who
would have been better able to do that than she? She had discovered his
design at last and was going to reveal it to her people. Now, we may
never know--or perhaps we will understand only when lneluki sees fit to
display it in all its inevitability." Weariness seemed to wash through him.
"By our Grove, Seoman, we have lost so much! Not only Amerasu's
wisdom, which was great, but we have also lost our last link with the
Garden. We are truly unhomed." He lifted his eyes to the billowing
ceiling, so that his angular face was bathed in pale yellow light. "The
Hernystiri had a song of her, you know:

"Snow-white breast, lady of the foaming sea,
She is the light that shines by night
Until even the stars are drunken . . ."

    Jiriki took a careful breath to ease his scorched throat. A look of
surprising fury contorted his normally placid face. "Even from the place
where Ineluki lives, from beyond death--how could he send a stranger to kill
his mother!?"
 "What will we do? How can we fight him?"
 "That is not for you to worry about, Seoman Snowlock."
    "What do you mean?" Simon restrained his anger. "How can you say
that to me? After all we've both seen?"
    "I did not mean it in the way it sounded, Seoman." The Sitha smiled in
self-mockery. "I have lost even the basest elements of courtesy. Forgive
me."
 Simon saw that he was actually waiting. "Of course, Jiriki. Forgiven."
 "I mean only that we Zida'ya have our own councils to keep. My father



1


566                                    Tad Williams

Shima'onari is badly wounded and Likimeya my mother must call the folk
together--but not at the Y$sira. I think we will never meet in that place
again. Did you know, Seoman, that the great tree was burned white as
snow? Did you not have a dream once about such a thing?" Jiriki cocked
his head, his gaze full of subtle light. "Ah, forgive me again. I wander in
thought and forget the important things. Has anyone told you? Likimeya
has decreed that you will go."
    "Go? Leave Jao ~-Tinukai'i?" The rush of joy was accompanied by an
unexpected current of regret and anger. "Why now?"
    "Because it was Amerasu's last wish. She told my parents before the
gathering began. But why do you sound so unsettled? You will go back to
your own people. It is for the best, in any case. We Zida'ya must mourn
the loss of our eldest, our best. This is no place for mortals, now--and it is
what you wanted, is it not? To go back to your folk?"
    "But you can't just close yourselves off and turn away! Not this time!
Didn't you hear Amerasu? We all have to fight the Storm King! It is
cowardice not to!" Her stern, soft face was suddenly before him again, at
least in memory. Her magnificently knowing eyes...
    "Calm yourself, young friend," Jiriki said with a tight, angry smile.
"You are full of good intentions, but you do not know enough to speak so
forcefully." His expression softened. "Fear not, Seoman. Things are chang-
ing. The Hikeda'ya have killed our eldest, struck her down in our own
sacred house. They have crossed a line that cannot be recrossed. Perhaps
they meant to, but that matters less than the fact that it has happened.
That is another reason for you to leave, manchild. There is no place for
you in the war councils of the Zida'ya."
    "Then you're going to fight?" Simon felt a sudden pinch of hope at his
heart.
    Jiriki shrugged. "Yes, I think so--but how or when is not for me to
say."
  "It's all so much," Simon murmured. "So fast."
    "You must go, young friend. Aditu will return soon from attending my
parents. She will take you to where you can find your folk. It is best done
swiftly, since it is not usual for Shima'onari or Likimeya to undo their
own Words of Decree. Go. My sister will come to you at my house by the
river." Jiriki leaned down and lifted something from the mossy floor.
"And do not forget to take your mirror, my friend." He smiled slyly.
"You may need to call me again, and I still owe you a life."
    Simon took the gleaming thing and slid it into his pocket. He hesitated,
then leaned forward and carefully wrapped his arms around Jiriki, trying
not to touch his burns as he gently embraced him. The Sithi prince
touched Simon's cheek with his cool lips.
  "Go in peace, Seoman Snowlock. We will meet again. That is a promise."
  "Farewell, Jiriki." He turned and marched swiftly away without look-


STONE OF FAREWELL

567

ing back. He slowed his pace after he stumbled once in the winding
hallway, a long, wind-rippled tunnel the color of sand.
    Outside, immersed in a swirl of confused thoughts, Simon suddenly
realized that he was feeling a curious chill. Looking up, he saw that the
summery skies over Jao ~-Tinukai'i had darkened, taking on a more
somber hue. The breeze was colder than any he had ever felt there before.
    The summer is J~ding, he thought, and was frightened again. I don't think
they'll ever get it back.
    Suddenly all his petty anger toward the Sithi evaporated and a great,
heavy sorrow for them overtook him. Whatever else was here, there was
also beauty unseen since the world was young, long preserved against the
killing frosts of time. Now the walls were tumbling down before a great,
wintery wind. Many exquisite things might be ravaged beyond reclaiming.
He hurried along the riverbank toward Jiriki's house.

    The journey out ofJao ~-Tinukai'i passed swiftly for Simon, dim and
slippery as a dream. Aditu sang in her family's tongue and Simon held her
hand tightly as the forest shimmered and changed around them. They
walked out of cool grayish-blue skies into the very jaws of winter, which
had lain in wait like a stalking beast.
    Snow covered the forest floor, a blanket so thick and cold that it was
hard for Simon to remember that Jao ~-Tinukai'i itself had not been
covered, that in that one place winter was still held at bay: here outside
the magical circle of the Zida'ya, the Storm King's handiwork was so
terribly real. But now, he realized, even that circle had been broken.
Blood had been spilled in the very heart of summer.
    They walked through the morning and early afternoon, gradually leav-
ing the densest part of the woods and moving toward the forest fringe.
Aditu answered Simon's few questions, but neither had the strength for
much talk, as though the awful cold had withered the affection that had
once flowered between them. As uncomfortable as her presence had often
made him, still Simon was saddened, but the world had changed some-
how and he had no more strength to struggle. He let the winter world
flow over him like a dream, and did not think.
    They walked for some hours beside a swift river, following it until they
reached a long gentle slope. Before them lay a vast body of water, as gray
and mysterious as an alchemist's bowl. A shadowed, tree-covered hill
jutted from it like a dark pestle.
    "There is your destination, Seoman," Aditu said abruptly. "That is
Sesuad'ra."
 "The Stone of Farewell?"
 Aditu nodded. "The Leavetaking Stone."



!'%    ~



568                                   Tad Williams

    The abstraction finally made real, Simon felt as though he were step-
ping from one dream into another. "But how will I get there? Am I
supposed to swim?"
    Aditu said nothing, but led him down the slope to where the river
rushed into the gray water, spilling across the rocks with a roar. A litde
distance along the shoreline, out of the way of the river's turbulent inflow,
a small, silvery boat bobbed at anchor. "Once every hundred or so
winters," she said, "when the rains are particularly fierce, the lands around
Sesuad'ra flood--although this is certainly the first time it has ever hap-
pened when Reniku the Summer-Lantern was in the sky." She turned
away, unwilling to share thoughts written on her face so that even a
mortal could understand. "We keep these hiyanha--these boats--here and
there, so that Sesuad'ra will not be denied to those who wish to visit it."
    Simon put his hand on the little boat, feeling the smooth grain of the
wood beneath his fingers. A paddle of the same silvery stuff lay in the
hull. "And you're sure that's where I go?" he asked, suddenly unwilling to
say good-bye.
    Aditu nodded. "Yes, Seoman." She shrugged off the bag she had b~en
carrying on her shoulder and handed it to him. "This is for you--no," ~he
corrected herself, "not for you. It is for you to take to your Prince Josua,
from Amerasu. She said she believed he would know what to do with
it--if not now, then soon."
  "Amerasu? She sent this... ?"
    Aditu put a hand on his cheek. "Not exactly, Seoman. First Grand-
mother had asked me to take it if your imprisonment did not end. Since
you have been released, I give it to you." She stroked his face. "I am glad
for your sake that you are free. It pained me to see you so unhappy. It was
good to know of youwa rare thing." She leaned forward and kissed him.
Despite all that had happened, he still felt a quickening of his heart as her
mouth touched his. Her lips were warm and dry and tasted of mint.
Aditu stepped away. "Farewell, Snowlock. I must go back and mourn."
Before he could even lift his hand to wave, she turned and disappeared
among the trees. He watched for some moments, looking for some sign of
her slender form, but she was gone. He turned and clambered into the
small boat and set the sack she had given him down in the hull. It was of
good weight, but he was too weary and sore-hearted even to look at what
might be inside. He thought it might be peaceful to fall asleep here in the
boat, at the edge of the great forest. It would be a blessing to sleep and not
wake for a year and a day. Instead, he picked up his paddle and pushed
himself out onto the still water.

    The afternoon fell away and the deep chill of evening came on. As
Simon floated toward the growing shadow of Sesuad'ra, he felt the
silence of the winter world envelop him, until he thought he might be the
only living, moving thing upon the face of Osten Ard.


STONE OF FAREWELL

569

    For a long time he did not notice that there were torches bobbing before
him on the twilit shoreline. When he saw them at last, he was already
dose enough to hear the voices. His arms were cold and numb. He felt as
though he had no more strength left to paddle, but managed to push
himself a few last strokes, until a large, splashing shape--Sludig?--waded
out from the rocky verge and pulled him into shore. He was lifted from
the boat and half-carried up the bank, then surrounded by an army of
torchlit, laughing faces. They seemed familiar, but the sensation of dream
was upon him again. It was not until he saw the smallest figure that he
remembered where he was. He staggered forward and swept Binabik into
his arms, crying unashamedly.
    "Simon-friend!" Binabik chortled, thumping him on the back with his
small hands. "Qinkipa is good! Joyful! This is joyful! In the days since I
was coming here I had almost lost my hope to see you."
    Simon wept, unable to speak. At last, when he had cried himself dry, he set
the little man down. "Binabik," he said, voice raw. "Oh, Binabik. I have
seen terrible things."
    "Not now, Simon, not now." The troll took his hand firmly. "Come.
Come up to the hilltop. Fires have been built there and I am sure there is
something cooking. Come."
    The little man led him. The crowd of familiar strangers fell in behind,
talking and laughing-among themselves. The flames of the torches hissed
beneath a soft fall of snow, and sparks rose into the sky to drift and fade.
Soon one of them began to sing, a good, homely sound. As darkness crept
over the drowned valley, the sweet, clear voice rose through the trees and
echoed out over the black water.














PEOPLE

ERKYNLANDERS

Barnabas--Hayholt chapel sexton
Breyugar--Count of the Westfold, Lord Constable of the Hayholt under
 Elias
Colmund---Camaris' squire, later baron of Rodstanby
Deornoth, Sir--Josua's knight, sometimes called "Prince's Right Hand"
Eahlstan Fiskerne---Fisher King, first Erkynlandish master of Hayholt
Ehas---High King, Prester John's eldest son, Josua's brother
Ethelbearn--soldier, Simon's companion on journey from Naglimund
Fengbald--Earl of Falshire
Gamwold--soldier dead from Norn attack in Aldheorte
Godwig--Baron of Cellodshire
Grimmric---soldier, Simon's companion on journey from Naglimund
Guthwulf--Earl of Utanyeat, High King's Hand
Haestan--Naglimund guardsman, Simon's companion
Helfcene, Father--Chancellor of Hayholt
Helmfest--soldier, part of company that escaped Naghmund
Hepzibah--castle chambermaid
Ielda--Falshire woman, Gadrinsett squatter
Inchmfoundry-master, once Doctor Morgenes' assistant
Jack Mundwode--mythical forest bandit
Jael---castle chambermaid
Jakob--castle chandler
Jeremias---chandler's boy
John--King John Presbyter, High King
Josua--Prince, John's younger son, lord of Naglimund, called "Lackhand"
Judith---Cook and Kitchen Mistress
LangrianwHoderundian monk
Leleth--Miriamele's handmaiden

573





574                             Tad Williams

Malachias--one of Miriamele's disguise names
Marya--one of Miriamele's disguise names
Master of Scullions--Simon's Hayholt master
Miriamele, Princess--Elias' only child
Morgenes, DoctormScrollbearer, King John's castle doctor, Simon's friend
Osgal---one of Mundwode's mythical band
Ostrael--Naghmund pikeman, son of Firsfram of Runchester
Rachel--Mistress of Chambermaids, called "The Dragon"
Ruben the Bear--castle smith
Sangfugol--Josua's harper
Sarrah--castle chambermaid
Shem Horsegroom--castle groom
Simon--a castle scullion, given name "Seoman" at birth
Strangyeard, Father--Archivist of Naglimund
Towser--jester (original name: Cruinh)

HERNYSTIRI

Arnoran---Hernystiri minstrel
Bagba--Cattle God
Brynioch of the Skies--Sky God
Cadrach-ec-Crannhyr, Brother--monk of indeterminate Order
Craobhan--old knight, advisor to King Lluth
Cuamh Earthdog--Hernystiri god of the earth, patron deity of miners
Eolair--Count of Nad Mullach, emissary of King Lluth
Gealsgiath---ship's captain, called "Old"
Gwythinn--Prince, Lluth's son, Maegwin's half-brother
Hem--Founder of Hernystir
Inahwen--Lluth's third wife
Lluth-ubh-Llythinn--King of Hernystir
Maegwin, Princess--Lluth's daughter, Gwythinn's half-sister
Mircha--Rain Goddess, wife of Brynioch
Mullachi--residents of Eolair's holding, Nad Mullach
Murhagh One-Arm--a god
Rhynn of the Cauldron--a god
Sinnach--Prince, Battle of Ach Samrath war-leader, also at the Knock

RIMMERSMEN

Einskaldir.--Rimmersgard chieftain
Elvrit--First Osten Ard king of Rimmersmen


STONE OF FAREWELL                                                                575

End'6---child at Skodi's
Fingil--King, first master of Hayholt, "Bloody King"
Gutrun--Duchess of Elvritshalla, Isgrumnur's wife, Isorn's mother
Hengfisk--Hoderundian priest
HjeldinMKing, Fingil's son, "Mad King"
Ingen Jegger--Black Rimmersman, master of Norn hounds
Isbeorn---Isgrimnur's father, first Rimmersgard duke under John, also his
 son's pseudonym
lsgrimnur--Duke of Elvritshalla, Gutrun's husband
Isonv--Isgrimnur's and Gutrun's son
Jamauga--Scrollbearer from Tungoldyr
Nisse---(Nisses) Hjeldin's priest-helper, author of Du Svardenvyrd
Skali~Thane of Kaldskryke, called "Sharp-nose"
Skendi~Saint, founder of abbey
Skodi--young Rimmerswoman at Grinsaby
Sludig--young soldier, Simon's companion
Storfot--Thane of Vestvennby
Tonnrud--Thane of Skoggey, Duchess Gutrun's uncle.
Udun~Ancient Sky God

NABBANAI

Anitulles--former Imperator
Antippa, Lady--daughter of Leobardis and Nessalanta
Ardrivis--last Imperator, uncle of Camaris
Aspitis PrevesMEarl of Drina and Eadne
Benidrivine---Nabbanai noble house, kingfisher crest
Benigaris~Duke of Nabban, son of Leobardis and Nessalanta
Camaris-sfi-Vinitta--brother of Leobardis, friend of Prester John
Clavean~Nabbanai noble house, pelican crest
Claves~former Imperator
Crexis the Goat~former Imperator
DinivanMLector Ranessin's secretary
Domitis~Bishop of Saint Sutrin's cathedral in Erchester
Elysia~mother of Usires
Emettin--legendary knight
Fluiren, Sir--famous Johannine knight of disgraced Sulian House
Hylissa~Miriamele's late mother, Elias' wife, Nessalanta's sister
Ingadarine--noble family, albatross house-crest
Larexes III~former Lector of Mother Church
Leobardis~Duke of Nabban, father of Benigaris, Varellan, Antippa
NessalantaMDuchess of Nabban, Benigaris' mother, Miriamele's aunt
Neylin--Septes' companion





576                                    Tad Williams

Nuanni (Nuannis)tancient sea god of Nabban
Pehppa, Saint--noblewoman from Book of Aedon, called "Pelippa of the
  Island"
Prevantnoble family, osprey house-crest (ocher and black)
Pryrates, Father--priest, alchemist, wizard, Ehas' counselor
Ranessin, Lectors(born cswine of Stanshire, an Erkynlander) Head of
 Church
Rhiappa~Saint, called "Rhiap" in Erkynland
Rovalles~Septes' companion
Septes--monk from abbey near Lake Myrme
Subs, Lord--Hayholt's "Heron King" sometimes known as Sulis the
  Apostate: Nabbanai nobleman, founder of Sulian House, of which Sir
  Fluiren is best-known descendent
  Thures--Aspitis' young page
  Tiyagaris--first Imperator
Usires Aedon--Aedonite religion's Son of God
Velligis--Escritor

SITHI

Aditu--daughter of Likimeya and Shima'onari, Jiriki's sister
Amerasu y'Senditu no'e-Sa'onsereitmother of Ineluki and Hakatri, Jiriki's
  great-grandmother, also known as "Amerasu Ship-Born" and "First
  Grandmother"
  An'nai--Jiriki's lieutenant, hunting companion
  Cloud-song--character in Aditu's song
Gardenborn--all those whose roots can be traced to Venyha Do'sae, the
  "Garden"
Hakatri~Ineluki's elder brother, gravely wounded by dragon Hidohebhi,
  vanished into West
Ineluki--Prince, now Storm King
Iyu'unigato--Erl-king, Ineluki's father
Jiriki, (i-Sa'onserei)~Prince, son of Shimao'anari and Likimeya
Kendhraj a'aro--Jiriki's uncle
Kiushapo--companion of Simon and Jiriki on trip to Urmsheim
Lady Silver Mask and Lord Red Eyes--Skodi's names for Utuk'ku and
  Ineluki
Lantern-bearer--character in Aditu's song
Likimeya~Queen of the Dawn-Children, Lady of the House of Year-
  Dancing
Maye'sa~Sitha woman
MezumiirutSithi Sedda (Moon Goddess)
Nenais'u~Sithi woman from An'nai's song, hved in Enki-e-Shao'saye




             STONE OF FAREWELL

Rabbit--Jiriki's name for Aditu
Senditu--Amerasu's mother
Shima'onarimKing of the Zida'ya, Lord ofJao 6-Tunukai'i
Sijandi--companion of Simon and Jiriki on trip to Urmsheim
Sky-singer---character in Aditu's song
Stone-listenermcharacter in Aditu's song
Utuk'ku Seyt-Hamakha--Queen of the Norns, mistress of Nakkiga
Vindaomeyo the Fletcher~ancient Sithi arrow-maker of Tumet'ai
Willow-switch--Aditu's name for Jiriki
Wind-child---character in Aditu's song
Woman-with-a-net~character in Aditu's song (probably Mezumiiru)

577

QANUC

Binabik~(Binbiniqegabenik) Ookequk's apprentice, Simon's friend
Chukku~legendary troll hero
Kikkasutmking of birds, husband of Sedda
Lingit--legendary son of Sedda, father of Qanuc and men
Makuhkuya~Qanuc avalanche goddess.
Morag Eyeless--Death god
Nunuuika~the Huntress
Ookequk--Singing Man of Mintahoq tribe, Binabik's master
Qangolik--the Spirit Caller
Qinkipa of the Snows~snow and cold goddess
Sedda--moon goddess, wife of Kikkasut
Sisqi~(Sisqinanamook) youngest daughter of Herder and Huntress,
 Binabik's betrothed
Snenneq~herd-chief of Lower Chugik, part of Sisqi's party
Uammannaqmthe Herder
Yana--legendary daughter of Sedda, mother of Sithi

THRITHINGS-FOLK

Blehmunt--chieftain Fikolmij killed to become March-thane
Clan MehrdonmVorzheva's clan (Stallion Clan)
Fikolmij--Vorzheva's father, March-thane of Clan Mehrdon and all the
 High Thrithings
Hotvig--High Thrithings randwarder
Hyara~Vorzheva's young sister
Kunret~High Thrithings-man
Ozhbern---High Thrithings-man




i



578                                   Tad Williams

The Four-Footed--Thrithings clan-oath (refers to the Stallion)
The Grass ThunderertThrithings clan-oath (refers to the Stallion)
UtvarttThrithings-man who wished to wed Vorzheva
Vorzheva~Josua's companion, daughter of a Thrithings-chief

WRANNAMEN

He Who Always Steps on Sand~Wran god
He Who Bends the Trees--Wran weather god
Older Mogahib--Wrannman elder
Roahog~potter, Wrannaman elder
She Who Birthed Mankind~goddess
She Who Waits to Take All Back---Wran death goddess
They Who Breathe DarknesstWran gods
They Who Watch and Shape---Wran gods
Tiamak--scholar, correspondent of Morgenes
Tugumak~Tiamak's father

PERDRUINESE

Alespo--Strefiwe's servant
Ceallio--door-keeper at inn called Pelippa's Bowl
Charystra~Xorastra's niece, innkeeper of Pelippa's Bowl
Lenti~Strefiwe's servant, also known as "Avi Stetto"
Middastri--trader, friend of Tiamak
Sinetris~boatman living on coast above Wran
Stre~we, Count--Lord of Ansis Pelipp~ and all Perdruin
TaUistro, Sir~Johannine knight of Great Table
Xorastratproprietress of Pelippa's Bowl

OTHERS

Gan Itai~Niskie, kilpa-singer on Eadne Cloud
Honsa~a Hyrka girl, one of Skodi's children
Imai-an~a dwarrow
Lightless Ones~dwellers in Stormspike
Ruyan Vb--also known as Ruyan the Navigator, led Tinukeda'ya (and
 others) to Osten Ard
Sho-vennae---a dwarrow


             STONE OF FAREWELL

Vren---Hyrka boy
Yis-fidri--a dwarrow, Yis-hadra's husband, keeper of Pattern Hall
Yis-hadra--a dwarrow, Yis-fidri's wife, keeper of Pattern Hall

579

PLACES

Abaingeat--Hernystiri trading port, on Barraillean River at coast
Aldheorte---large forest covering much of Central Osten Ard
Anitullean Road--main road into Nabban from east, through Commeis
 Valley
Ansis Pelipp&--capital and largest city of Perdruin
Asu'a the Eastward-Looking--Sithi name for Hayholt
Bacea-sd-Repra--harbor town on northern coast of Nabban, in Bay of
 Emettin; means "River-mouth."
Banipha-sha-z&--the Pattern Hall in Mezutu'a
Baraillean---river on border of Hernystir and Erkynland; called "Greenwade"
 in Erkynland
Bay of Emettin---bay north of Nabban
Bay of Firannos--bay south of Nabban, location of "Southern Islands"
Bellidan--Nabannai town on Anitullean Road, in Commeis Valley
Blue Mud Lake---Lake at eastern base of Trollfells, summer home of Qanuc
Ce!lodshire---Erkynlandish barony west of Gleniwent
Chidsik Ub Lingit--Qanuc's "House of the Ancestor," on Mintahoq in
 Yaqanuc
Commeis Valley--Opening to Nabban
Crannhyr--walled city on Hernystiri coast
Da'ai Chikiza---"Tree of the Singing Winds," abandoned Sithi city on east
 side of Wealdhelm, in Aldheorte
Dillathi--hilly region of Hernystir, southwest of Hernysadharc
Drina---former barony of Devasalles, given to Aspitis Preves by Benigaris
Enki-e-Shao'saye---Sithi "Summer-City" east of Aldheorte, long-ruined
Feathered Eel--tavern on Vinitta
Feluwelt--Thrithings name for part of northern meadowlands in shadow
 of Aldheorte
Gadrinsett--squatter town near juncture of Steffiod and Ymstrecca, settled
 by refugees from Erkynland
Garden that is Vanished--Venyha Do'sae
Gate of Rains--entrance to Jao ~-Tinukai'i
Granis Sacrana--town in Nabban's Commeis valley





580                                    Tad Williams

Gratuvask--Rimmersgard river that runs by Elvritshalla
Grenamman--southern island off tip of Nabban
Grinsabyttown in White Waste north of Aldheorte
Harborstone--a rocky promontory in Perdruin's Ansis Pelipp~
Hasu Vale--valley on Erkynland's eastern borders
Hewenshire--northern Erkynlandish town west of Naglimund
Hikehikayo--abandoned dwarrow city beneath Rimmersgard's Vestivegg
  Mountains, also one of Sithi Nine Cities
Huelheim--mythical land of the dead from old Rimmersgard religion
Jao ~-Tinukai'i--Boat on [the] Ocean [of] Trees", only still-thriving Sithi
  settlement, in Aldheorte
Jhind-T'senei--one of Sithi Nine Cities, now beneath ocean
Kementari--one of Sithi Nine Cities, apparently on or near Warinsten
Khandia--mythical ancient empire in far south
Kwanitupul--large city on edge of Wran
Lake Clodu--Nabbanai lake, scene of Battle of the Lakelands, Thrithings
  War
Lake Eadne--Nabbanai lake, part of fiefdom of Prevan House
Lake Myrme--Nabbanai lake
Little Nose--also known as "Yamok," mountain in Yiqanuc where Binabik's
  parents died
Mezutu'a--dwarrow-occupied city beneath Hernystir's Grianspog Moun-
  tains, one of Sithi Nine Cities
  Pelippa's Bowltinn at Kwanitupul
  Naarved--Rimmersgard city
Nakkiga--"Mask of Tears," ruined Norn city beside Stormspike, also
  rebuilt Norn city inside mountain. Old version was one of the Nine
  Cities
  Ogohak Chasm--deep place on Mintahoq where criminals are excecuted
  Old Tumet'ai Road--road that runs south across White Waste from ancient
  site of Tumet'ai
Pattern Hall--dwarrow place of maps and charts recorded on stone
Pelippa's Bowl--inn at Kwanitupul
Place of Echoes--sacred spot on Mintahoq
Red Dolphin, The--tavern in Ansis Pellip~
Re Suri'eni--Sithi name for river running through Shisae'ron
 Sance!lan Aedonitis~palace of Lector and chief place of Aedonite Church
 Sance!!an Mahistrevis~former Imperial palace, now palace of Nabban's
  duke
 Sancelline Hill--largest hill in Nabban, site of both Sancellans
 Sesuad'ra--Stone of Farewell, site of the parting of Sithi and Norn.
 Shao Irig6~Sithi name for Summer Gate
 Shisae'ron--Sithi name for southwestern realm of Aldheorte forest
 Site of Witness--arena in Mezutu'a where Shard stands



                             STONE OF FAREWELL                                          581

Skoggey--Rimmersgard freehold, home of Thane Tonnrud
Sovebek--abandoned town in White Waste, east of St. Skendi's monastery
Sta Mirore--central mountain of Perdruin, also called "Stre~we's Steeple"
StelJlod---river running beside and within Aldheorte's border, joins with
 the Ymstrecca
Storraspike---mountain home of Norns, "Sturmrspeik" to Rimmersmen,
 also called "Nakkiga"
Summer Gate---an entrance to Jao ~-Tinukai'i, also called "Shao Irigd"
Teligure---grape-growing town in northern Nabban
Tumet'ai--northern Sithi city, buried under ice east of Yiqanuc, one of the
 Nine Cities
Umstrejha---Thrithings name for Ymstrecca
Urmsheim---dragon-mountain north of White Waste
Utanyeat--earldom in northwestern Erkynland
Venyha Do'sae--The Garden, legendary home of the Zida'ya (Sithi),
    Hikeda'ya (Norns), and Tinukeda'ya (dwarrows and Niskies)
Vihyuyaq---Qanuc name for Stormspike
Village Grove---Tiamak's home village in Wran
Vinitta---southern island, birthplace of Camaris and Benidrivine House
Warinsten---island off coast of Erkynland, birthplace of King John
War of the Fountains--scenic spot in city of Nabban
White I~y--road along northern edge of Aldheorte Forest, in White
 Waste
WulJholt---Guthwulf's freehold in Utanyeat
Yijarjuk--Qanuc name for Urmsheim
Ydsira---Sithi meeting-place in Jao ~-Tinukai'i
Ymstrecca--west-.east fiver through Erk. and High Thrithings
Zae-y'miritha, Catacombs of---caverns apparently built or modified by
 dwarrows



s

CREATURES

Atarin---Camaris' horse
Bukken---Rimmersgard name for diggers; also called "Boghanik" (Qanuc)
Crab-Jbot---one of Tiamak's pigeons
Diggers--small, manlike subterranean creatures
Ghants--unpleasant, chitinous, seemingly sentient Wran fauna
Giants--large, shaggy, manlike creatures
Hidohebhi--Black Worm, mother of Shuraka and Igjarjuk, slain by lneluki;
 also called "Drochnathair" (Hernystiri)




582                                   Tad Williams

HomefindermSimon' s mare
Honey-lover---one of Tiamak's pigeons
Hun~n---Rimmersgard name for giants
Igjarjuk---Ice-worm of Urmsheim
Ink-daub----one of Tiamak's pigeons
Khaerukama'o the Golden---dragon, father of Hidohebhi
Kilpa---manlike marine creatures
Niku'a---Ingen Jegger's lead hound
Qantaqa--Binabik's wolf companion
Red-eye--one of Tiamak's pigeons
Rim--plow-horse
Shurakai--Fire-drake slain beneath Hayholt, whose bones are Dragonbone
  Chair
So-fast--one of Tiamak's pigeons
Spitfly--small and unpleasant marsh insect
Stormspike Pack--Norn hunting dogs
Vildalix--Deornoth's horse, from Fikolmij
Vinyafod--Josua's horse, from Fikolmij

THINGS

Ballad of Round-Heeled Moirah, The---song of questionable taste sung by
 Sangfugol and Father Strangyeard
Battle of Huhinka Valley--battle between trolls and Rimmersmen
Battle of the Lakelandsmpivotal battle of Thrithings War, fought at Lake Clodu
Boar and Spears---emblem of Guthwulf of Utanyeat
Bright-Nail--sword of Prester John, containing nail from the Tree and
 finger bone of Saint Eahlstan Fiskerne
Children of Hern--dwarrow name for Hernystiri
Cintis-piece---Nabbanai coin--one hundredth of a gold Imperator
Citril---sour, aromatic root for chewing
Conqueror--dicing game, popular with soldiers
Conqueror Star, The---a book of occult fact, in Nabbanai: "Sa Asdridan
  Condiquilles"
Crook---star (possibly same as Sithi's "Luyasa's Staff")
Day of Weighing-Out--Aedonite day of final justice and end of the mortal
  world
Days of Fire--possibly very ancient era of Osten Ard (obscure reference by
  Gelo~)



                                 STONE OF FAREWELL                                                 583

Du $vardenvyrd.--near-mythical prophetical book by Nisses
Eadne Cloud--Aspitis Preves' ship
Elysia Chapel--famous chapel in Saint Sutrin's church in Erchester
En Semblis Aedonitis--famous religious book about the philosophical un-
  derpinnings of Aedonite religion and life of Usires
  Fifty Families--Nabbanai noble houses
Great Table--King John's assemblage of knights and heroes
House of Year-Dancing--Westerling translation of Jiriki's family name
Hunt-wine--Qanuc liquor (for special occasions, and mostly for women
  only)
Ice House--Qanuc holy spot, where rituals are performed to insure coming
  of Spring
llenite--a costly, shimmery metal
Indreju--Jiriki's witchwood sword
Kangkang--Qanuc liquor
Kraile---Sithi name for "sunfruits"
Kvalnir--Isgrimnur's sword
Lamp--star (possibly same as Sithi's Reniku)
Leavetaking Stone--Hernystiri song about the Stone of Farewell
Loon, Otter--Wrannamen names for stars
Luyasa's Staff-.-Sithi name for line of three stars in the sky's northeast
 quadrant in early Yuven-month
Lutegrass--a long grass
Mansa Connoyis--"prayer of joining": wedding prayer
Mezumiiru's Net--star cluster; to Qanuc: Sedda's Blanket
Minneyar--iron sword of King Fingil, inherited through line of Elvrit
Minog--edible plant with wide leaves, native to Wran
Mist Lamp--a Witness from Tumet' ai
Mock,ilia flowering herb
Naide!--Josua's sword
Navigator's Children~Tinukeda'ya's name for themselves
Oinduth~Hern's black spear
Pillar and Tree--emblem of Mother Church
Pool--apparently the Witness in old Asu'a
Quickweed--a spice
Reniku, the Summer-Lantern--Sithi name for star that signals ending of
 summer
Rhynn's Cauldron--Hernystiri battle-summoner
Rite of Quickening~Qanuc ritual performed at Ice House to insure coming
 of Spring
River-apple---marsh fruit
Sand-palm--marsh tree
Shard--the Witness in Mezutu'a
Shent~Sithi game, reportedly brought from Venyha Do'sae


is
list, 



584                                   Tad Williams

Silverwood---a wood favored by Sithi builders
Singing Harp----the Witness in Nakkiga, in Great Well
Six Songs of Respectful Request--a Sithi ritual
Sorrow--sword of iron and witchwood smithied by Ineluki, gift to Elias.
 To Sithi: "Jingizu"
SotfingselwElvrit's famous ship, buried at Skipphavven
Speakfire---the Witness in Hikehikayo
Starblooms--small white flowers
Thorn--star-sword of Camaris
Ti-tuno---famed Sithi horn
Traveler's Reward--popular brand of ale
Tree---the Execution Tree, on which Usires was hung upside down before
    temple of Yuvenis in Nabban, now sacred symbol of Aedonite religion
Wind Festival--Wrannaman celebration
Winter Lastday~day in Yiqanuc when Rite of Quickening is performed
Yellowroot--a common herb used for tea in Wran (and elsewhere in south)

Knuckle Bones~Binabik'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

Holidays
 Feyever 2--Candlemansa
 Marris 25--Elysiamansa
 Avrel 1--All Fool's Day
 Avrel 30--Stoning Night
 Maia l~Belthainn Day
 Yuven 23--Midsummer's Eve
 Tiyagar 15--Saint Sutrin's Day
 Anitul 1--Hlafmansa
  Septander 29--Saint Granis' Day
  Octander 30--Harrows Eve
  Novander l~Soul's Day
  Decander 21wSaint Tunath's Day
  Decander 24 Aedonmansa


                             STONE OF FAREWELL                                          585
Months

Jonever, Feyever, Marris, Avrel, Maia, Yuven, Tiyagar, Anitul, Septander,
  Octander, Novander, Decander

Days of the Week

      Sunday, Moonday, Tiasday, Udunsday, Drorsday, Frayday, Satrinsday




A GUIDE TO PRONUNCLATION

ERKYNLANDISH

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 island of Warinsten (mostly the names of castle servants or
John's immediate family) have been represented as variants on Biblical
names (Elias--Ehjah, Ebekah--Rebecca, etc.) Old Erkynlandish names
should be pronounced like modern English, except as follows:

 a--always ah, as in "father"
 ae--ay of "say"
 c--k as in "keen"
    e--ai 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"
    ea--sounds as a in "mark," except at beginning of word or name,
where it has the same value as ae
 g--always hard g, as in "glad"
 h--hard h of"help"
 /--short i of"in"
 j--hard j of "jaw"
 0--long but soft 0, as in "orb"
 u--oo sound of "wood," never yoo as in "music"

HERNYSTIRI

The Hernystiri names and words can be pronounced in largely the same
way as the O.E., with a few exceptions:





586

Tad Williams

th--always the th in "other," never as in "thing"
ch--a guttural, as in Scottish "loch"
y--pronounce yr like "beer," ye like "spy"
h--unvoiced except at beginning of word or after t or c
e--ay as in "ray"
//--same as single l: LluthmLuth

RIMMERSPAKK

Names and words in Rimmerspakk differ from O.E. pronunciation in the
following:

    j--pronounced y: JarnaugamYarnauga; Hjeldin--Hyeldin (H nearly si-
lent here)
ei--long i as in "crime"
g--ee, as in "sweet"
6--0o, as in "coop"
au--ow, 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 syllable: Ben-i-GAR-is.
When this syllable has an i, it is sounded long (Ardrivis: Ar-DRY-vis)
unless it comes before a double consonant (Antippa: An-TIHP-pa)
  e--at end of name, es is sounded long: Gelles---Gel-leez
  y--is pronounced as a long i, as in "mild"

QANUC

Troll-language is considerably different than the other human languages.
There are three hard "k" sounds, signified by: c, q, and k. The only
difference intelhgible 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 pronouncing phonetically.



he

ii

SITHI

STONE OF FAREWELL

587

Even more than the language of Yiqanuc, the language of the Zida'ya is
virtually unpronounceable by untrained 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 ih, as in "clip." When later in
word, especially at end, pronounced ee, as in "fleet": Jiriki--Jih-REE-kee
 ai--pronounced like long i, as in "time"
    ' (apostrophe) -- represents a clicking sound, and should not be voiced
by mortal readers.

EXCEPTIONAL NAMES

Gelog--Her origins are unknown, and so is the source of her name. It is
pronounced "Juh-LO-ee" or "Juh-LOY." Both are correct.

IngenJegger~He is a Black Rimmersman, and the "J" inJegger is sounded,
just as in "jump."

Miriamele--Although born in the Erkynlandish court, hers is a Nabbanai
name that developed a strange pronunciation--perhaps due to some
family influence or confusion of her dual heritage--and sounds as
"Mih-ree-uh-MEL."

Vorzheva--A Thrithings-woman, her name is pronounced "Vor-SHAY-va,"
with the zh sounding harshly, like the Hungarian zs.

WORDS AND PHRASES

HERNYSTIRI

Domhaini-- dwarrows
Goirach--"mad" or "wild"







588

lsgbahtam"fishing boat"
Sithi--"Peaceful Ones"

Tad Williams

NABBANAI

Duos Onenpondensis, Feata Vorum Lexeran!--"God All-Powerful, let
 this be Your law!"
Duos wulstei--"God willing"
En Semblis Aedonitis--"In the likeness of the Aedon"
Escritor--"Writer": one of a group of advisors to lector
Lector--"Speaker": head of Church
Sa Asdridan Condiquilles--"The Conqueror Star"
Veir Maynis--"Great Green," the ocean

PERDRUINESE

Avi stetto---"I have a knife."
Ohm, vo stetto--"Yes, he has a knife."

QANUC

Aiam"back" (Hinik Aia = get back)
Boghanik--"diggers" (Bukken)
Chash~"true" or "correct"
Chok~"run"
Crookhok--"Rimmersman"
Croohokuq--plural of Croohok--"Rimmersmen"
Guyop---"Thank you"
Hinik--"go" or "get away"
Mosoq---"find"
Muqangt"enough"
Nihutt"attack"
Ninit--"come"
Sosa--"come" (stronger than "Ninit")
Ummu--"now"
Utku--"lowlanders"

RIMMERSPAKK

Dveming--"dwarrow"
Gjal es, kfinden!--roughly "Leave it alone, children!"
Haja--"yes"
Ha!ad, kfinde!--"Stop, child!"
Kund~-mann '6---' 'man-child"



             STONE OF FAREWELL

Rimmersmann'6--"Rimmersman"
Vaer--"beware"
Vjer sommen marroven--"We are friends"

589

SITHI (AND NORN)

Ai, Nakkiga, o'do 'tke stazho--(Norn) "Ah, Nakkiga, I've fired you"
Asu'a--"Looking eastward"
Hiyanha--"pilgrimage boats"
Hikeda'ya--"Children of Cloud": Norns
Hikeda'yei--second-person plural of "Hikeda'ya"m"You Norns!"
Hikka--"Bearer"
Isi-isi'ye-a Sudhoda'ya--"It is indeed a mortal"
J'asu pra-peroihin!m"shame of my house!"
Ras--term of respect: "sir" or "noble sir"
Ruakha--"dying"
S'hue--roughly "lord"
Ske'i~"stop"
Staja Ame---"White Arrow"
Sudhoda'ya~"Sunsetochildren": Mortals
Venyha s'anh!~"By the Garden!"
Yinva~(Norn) "come"
Zida'ya~"Children of Dawn": Sithi



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