'Aren't you coming down on him a little hard, Em?' Althalus murmured to her from the back comer of his mind.

'He is going to learn to do as he's told, pet. The words each of you pick up from the Knife apply to all of us. You aren't the only one who's seeking, and Andine's not the only one who must obey. We all seek, and we all obey.' Then she spoke aloud to their very troubled young priest. "Well, Bheid, what's it to be? Lies or blood?"

"What choice do I have?" he said helplessly. "I'll lie to them."

"That's nice," she approved.

They rode down into a crude village that had probably been the home of fishermen before the coming of the ice. Althalus climbed down off his horse and approached one of the residents, a thickly bearded man leading a placid ox. "Excuse me," Althalus said to the man, "do you happen to know where I might find the local priest?"

"There's the church right over there. He might not be awake yet, though."

"I'll wake him," Althalus said. "My Reverend Master here needs to talk to him."

"He doesn't like to be roused out of his bed."

"He'll like getting buried alive a lot less."

"Buried alive?" the bearded man exclaimed.

"By the avalanche."

"What avalanche?"

"The one that's going to come rolling down the side of that mountain before long. Thanks for the information, friend. Have yourself a real fine day."

"You weren't supposed to say that, Althalus," Bheid hissed when the worried man with the ox was out of earshot.

"Preparation, Bheid," Althalus explained. "A few awful rumors are always useful in these situations."

The local priest was a tall, untidy man with melancholy eyes, and his name was Terkor. "I haven't studied astrology as deeply as I probably should have, Brother," he confessed to Bheid. "This is a remote place at the outer edge of civilization. I care for the sick, comfort the bereaved, and mediate local squabbles. That doesn't leave me much time for study. What have you seen in the stars?"

"The Dragon has moved into the seventh house," Bheid replied glibly, "and with the moon in the ascendancy, there's a great potential for a natural-disaster. I'm sure you recognize the signs."

"I'll have to take your word for it, Brother," Terkor admitted. "That's at a level of complexity far beyond my poor understanding."

"The Dragon is one of the three Earth signs," Bheid explained, "and the moon carries strong hints of instability-earthquakes, avalanches, and the like. Anyway, as soon as I plotted the course of the Bear, I realized that the disaster was going to strike here in Kweron. I had an obligation to come here to warn you, so my servant and I immediately went to horse. Thank the Gods that we reached you in time."

"You're a noble man, Brother. Most men I know wouldn't have taken the trouble."

"It's my duty, Brother. That's why I read the stars-to warn my fellow men when these things are destined to occur. Most of my fellow priests in Awes concentrate on casting horoscopes for other men for pay. I watch the stars for hints of these disasters instead."

"Were you able to pick up any signs about what kind of disaster this is going to be?"

"The position of the moon sort of hints that a mountainside's going to give way."

"An avalanche? Dear Gods!"

"That's what I'm reading, yes. Some of my brothers in Awes believe that a comet's going to strike the Earth, but I don't agree with them. The Rooster's in the wrong house for a comet."

"Comet or avalanche, it doesn't matter much which one's going to fall on us, Brother," Terkor said. "Either one would kill a lot of my neighbors."

Bheid looked around as if to make sure that they were alone. "Has anything particularly unusual happened here lately, Brother Terkor?" he asked. "I'm reading the presence of some great evil in this vicinity. The stars seem to be combining to respond to that evil."

"Nekweros is over on the other side of the inlet, Brother Bheid," Terkor said rather drily. "That's about as evil as anything's likely to get."

"No, Brother Terkor. This is something here on the Kweron side. It may be concealed, though."

"It might be that witch Brother Ambho recently exposed in the village of Peteleya a mile or so on down the coast to the south. Brother Ambho's a very enthusiastic witch-hunter."

"A witch?" Bheid exclaimed in mock horror.

"Brother Ambho seems to think she's a witch. His evidence isn't really very convincing, just between you and me. Her name's Leitha, and Ambho plans to burn her at the stake at sunrise tomorrow."

"Praise Deiwos!" Bheid exclaimed. "I arrived in time to talk him out of that notion."

"I doubt it, Brother Bheid. Ambho's got his heart set on burning her. He's an enthusiast about witch burning."

"I'll change his mind," Bheid said bleakly.

"I question that. Ambho's an absolute fanatic when it comes to witches."

"Are you telling me that word of last year's decision hasn't reached here yet?" Bheid demanded. "There was a solemn conclave of the high clergies of all faiths, and the decision was unanimous. All witches must be sent to Awes for interrogation. What's your Exarch thinking of? Word of that decision was supposed to be disseminated immediately."

"Kweron's a long way from Awes, Brother Bheid," Terkor replied. "I doubt if our Exarch even knows where it is. Why are we supposed to send our witches to Awes instead of burning them?"

"We must have the opportunity to question them, Brother Terkor. Witches are in league with Daeva. If we can persuade them to talk, we'll be able to determine what the demon's plans are. The fate of humanity may hinge on our getting those answers."

"I've never known a witch yet who was willing even to admit that she was a witch."

"That's because you don't know how to question them. There are holy objects in Awes. No servant of the evil one can bear to look upon them. The pain the sight of those sacred objects causes witches and others in league with Daeva is so intense that they'll tell us everything they know if we'll just remove the object from their sight. If we can put our hands on just two or three witches, we'll know Daeva's innermost thoughts."

"Evidently our beloved Exarch didn't think we needed to know about that," Terkor said.

"We must go to Peteleya and persuade Brother Ambho to turn this accursed woman over to us so that I can take her to Awes for questioning. The fate of mankind may hinge on it."

"I'll get my horse," Terkor said, and he quickly went out.

"You're very smooth, Bheid," Althalus said admiringly.

"I hated that," Bheid said. "Terkor's a good man."

"Yes, he is," Althalus agreed. "You didn't really deceive him that much, though, Bheid. The fate of man might very well depend on what we're doing. He's doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, but it's still the right thing."

"You're going to have to be very eloquent to persuade Ambho to turn Leitha the witch over to you, Brother Bheid," Terkor said as they rode south. "He has a reputation for building bonfires under people without too much in the way of proof that they're really witches. All he really needs are a couple of accusations, and he'll start building fires. If I were you, I'd make some issue of what you've read in the stars. If I'm following what you told me, there's some connection between this disaster and the witch of Peteleya."

"You might be right about that, Terkor," Bheid agreed. "The stars have been known to do that on occasion. Their messages are warnings, and very often they conceal solutions in their warnings." He reached inside his tunic and drew out his rolled-up map of the stars. "Let me look at this again," he said.

"If it doesn't quite fit, make it fit," Althalus muttered softly.

"Right," Bheid whispered his agreement. "Warn Emmy that I might need a few rocks rolling down one of these mountains to get my point across."

The priest of Peteleya was a lean, cadaverous-looking man with a perpetually outraged expression on his face. His reputation had become widespread in western Kweron as the result of his witch-burning activities, and the idea of turning his captive over to Bheid didn't exactly fit into his notion of the way things ought to be done. "The conclave of Awes has no authority over me, Bheid," he declared almost belligerently.

"Perhaps not, Ambho," Bheid replied coldly, "but the stars do. Ignore their warning at your own peril. Under what sign were you born?"

"The sign of the Boar," Ambho replied a bit nervously.

"I thought as much. The stars have warned us about the men of the Boar."

"You have the nerve to insult my sign?" Ambho's eyes bulged.

"You Boars are stubborn," Bheid said flatly. "Sometimes the stars have to fall down around your ears to get your attention." Then he threw up his hands. "I have done as the stars commanded," he declared. "I've warned you. If you choose not to listen, what happens to you isn't on my head."

'The word you want is "twei," pet,' Emmy murmured to Althalus. 'Think of a deep, booming sound when you say it. Be a little careful with that one, though.'

Althalus turned to look at the mountain that loomed over the village of Peteleya. "Twei," he commanded softly.

The thunder came echoing up from miles beneath the surface of the earth. The sound was so deeply pitched that it seemed almost that it was felt, rather than heard. It subsided slowly, fading off toward the northwest.

"What was that?" Ambho exclaimed.

"I rather think it was your final warning, man of the Boar," Bheid replied. "I'd suggest that you make your peace with God. I don't imagine that any of us will see the sun go down this evening if you refuse to turn your witch over to me."

"That was just a coincidence." Ambho scoffed.

"There's no such thing as coincidence, my Brother. Everything that happens, happens by design. Choose, Ambho, choose, and know that the life or death of every living soul in Peteleya hangs on your choice."

Althalus nudged the earth again, a bit more firmly this time.

The cracking that came from beneath their feet was much like the sound that frozen trees in the far north make when the sundering frost explodes them, and the very earth shuddered.

Some fairly large rocks came bouncing down the steep mountainside.

"The next one should probably do it," Althalus said calmly, squinting up at the mountain. "Farewell, Master Bheid. It's been a pleasure serving you. If we're lucky, the rock slide will kill us all instantly. I hate the notion of being buried alive, don't you?"

"Take her!" Ambho almost screamed. "Take the witch to Awes, but make it stop!"

"Somehow I almost knew he was going to say that," Althalus said to nobody in particular.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Leitha the witch had flaxen hair that seemed filled with an inner light, and her skin was very pale, almost like the fine marble so prized by sculptors. She was tall and slender, and her eyes were of the deepest blue, large and luminous and very wise. She was chained to a stone pillar in the center of Peteleya, a pillar much blackened by previous fires.

Her expression as they came to release her seemed unconcerned, but her eyes held a great injury.

"This is but a reprieve, witch," Ambho said in his harsh voice as he roughly unchained her. "The priests of the holy city of Awes will question you most severely, and they will force you to answer their questions about your foul master. Then you will burn."

"I have no master, Ambho," she replied in an untroubled voice. "I am not as you are. I have seen your soul, priest, and it is vile. What burns there is your doing, and not mine-nor the doing of all the others you have consigned to the flames. Your lust is the only evil here, and you cannot drive it away by burning the objects of your lust as you have sought to do. Your vow is violated by your every thought, and the flames in which you shall burn are far hotter than the flames you have built for us. Go from this place and cleanse your soul."

Ambho stared at her, his haggard face filled with sudden guilt and self-loathing. And then he turned and fled.

Althalus paid an outrageous price for a horse for Leitha, and then he and Bheid bade the priest Terkor farewell and rode back up into the wooded hills. When they were out of sight of the village, Althalus reined in. "Let's get rid of those chains right now," he said, dismounting and helping Leitha down from her horse. He examined the crude lock on the chain that bound her hands together. Then he unsnapped it, removed the girl's chains, and in a fit of sudden rage hurled them back into the bushes as hard as he could.

"Thank you, Althalus," she said quietly.

"You know my name?" He was a bit surprised.

"I do now."

'Oh, dear,' Emmy murmured.

"What?" he asked, baffled.

"Dweia knows that I can hear your thoughts, Althalus," Leitha said with a faint smile. "I think it bothers her."

"You can do that?" Bheid exclaimed.

"Yes. It's always puzzled me that others can't."

"So that was why Ambho wanted to burn you at the stake."

"Not really. Ambho had taken a vow of chastity, and he kept having thoughts that violated that vow. He chooses to blame those who unwittingly stir those thoughts rather than accept the blame for them himself. Many people do that, I've noticed."

"You have a great gift, Leitha."

"I suppose so, if you want to look at it that way. I'd be very happy to give it to you, if I could. The silence must be lovely" She looked directly at Emmy then. "There's no real point in trying to hide it, Dweia," she said. "They'll all know sooner or later. That was the mistake I made in Peteleya. I tried to hide this so-called gift, and look what it almost got me."

'Get out of the way, Althalus,' Emmy ordered.

"I can hear you without his voice, Dweia," Leitha said. "I don't think I really want to join you."

'I don't think you have much choice, Leitha,' Althalus heard Emmy reply. Leitha sighed then. "Perhaps not," she said in a melancholy tone.

"What's happening?" Bheid asked Althalus in a baffled voice.

"The ladies are talking," Althalus explained. He tapped his forehead with one finger. "In here," he added. "It's a little crowded in there right now." He looked around. "Let's move along," he said. "I'd like to get back to the others before dark."