Miriamele's eyes welled with tears, but her expression remained grim. "I am not trying to take the sword from him, Binabik. Only to tell him that things have gone too far. My father-my real real father-would not have wanted so much harm to come from his love for my mother. Everything that has happened since must be the work of others." father-would not have wanted so much harm to come from his love for my mother. Everything that has happened since must be the work of others."

Binabik raised his hands again, this time in resignation. "If you have guessed the reasons for his madness, for this war, for his pact with the Storm King. And if he can be hearing you. But as I told you, I cannot stop your journey. I can only accompany you to help keep you from harm." you have guessed the reasons for his madness, for this war, for his pact with the Storm King. And if he can be hearing you. But as I told you, I cannot stop your journey. I can only accompany you to help keep you from harm."

"You're going to come with us?" Simon asked. He was very pleased and strangely relieved to think that someone else would share what felt like a heavy burden.

The troll nodded, but his smile was long gone. "Unless you are to be returning with me to Josua, Simon? That might be reason for not going on."

"I have to stay with Miriamele," he p.r.o.nounced firmly. "I gave my oath as a knight."

"Even though I didn't ask for it," said Miriamele.

Simon felt a moment's angry pain, but remembered the Canon of Knighthood and mastered himself. "Even though you didn't ask for it," he repeated, glowering at her. Despite the terrible times they had shared, she seemed determined to hurt him. "I still have my duty. And," he said to Binabik, "if Miriamele is going to the Hayholt, I'm I'm going to Swertclif. Bright-Nail is there, and Josua needs it. But I can't think of any way to get into the castle to get Sorrow," he added reflectively. going to Swertclif. Bright-Nail is there, and Josua needs it. But I can't think of any way to get into the castle to get Sorrow," he added reflectively.

Binabik sat back and let loose a weary sigh. "So Miriamele is going to the Hayholt to plead with her father for stopping the war, and you are going there to be rescuing one of the Great Swords, just your single knightly self?" He leaned forward suddenly and dragged the stirring stick through the mixture simmering in the pot. "Are you hearing how like younglings you sound? I was thinking you were both wiser after your many dangers and almost-dyings than to take such things on yourselves."

"I'm a knight," said Simon. "I'm not a child any more, Binabik."

"That is just meaning that the damage you can be doing is greater," the troll said, but his tone was almost conciliatory, as though he knew he could not win the argument. "Come, let us be eating. This is still a happy meeting, even if the times are those of unhappiness."

Simon was relieved to have the argument end. "Yes, let's eat. And you still haven't told us how you found us."

Binabik gave the stew another stir. "That and other news when you have been eating your food," was all he said.

When the sound of contented chewing had slowed a little, Binabik licked his fingers and took a deep breath. "Now that your stomachs at least are full, and we are safe, there is grim news that needs telling."

As Simon and Miriamele sat in growing horror, the troll described the Norns' attack on the camp and its af termath.

"Geloe dead?" Simon felt as though the earth was eroding beneath him; soon there would be nowhere safe left to stand. "Curse them! They are demons! I should have been there! A knight of the prince... !"

"It is perhaps true you should both have been there," Binabik said gently, "or at least that you two should not have left. But you could have done nothing, Simon. Everything was happening with great suddenness and silence, and only one target there was."

Simon shook his head, furious with himself.

"And Leleth." Miriamele rubbed away tears. "That poor child-she has had nothing but pain."

After they had sat in mournful silence for a while, Binabik spoke again. "Let me now be speaking of a less sad thing-how I was finding you. In truth, there is not a great deal for telling. Qantaqa it was who did the most of the tracking. She has a cunning nose. My only fear would be that we would fall too far behind-horses are traveling faster than wolves over long distances-and that the smells would grow too old. But our luck held.

"I was following you into the edge of Aldheorte Forest, and there things grew muddled for some time. I had the most worry that we would lose you in that place, since it was slow going, and then it was raining, too. But clever Qantaqa managed to keep your trail."

"Was it you, then?" Simon asked suddenly. 'Were you the one who was skulking around our camp in the forest?"

The troll looked puzzled. "I am not thinking it was. When did this thing happen?"

Simon described the mysterious lurker who had approached the camp and then retreated into darkness.

Binabik shook his head. "It was not me. I would not have been talking to myself, although perhaps I might have been saying words to Qantaqa. But I am promising you," he drew himself up proudly, "Qanuc do not make so much noise. Especially in the forest at night. Very concerned with not becoming a meal for something large, we Qanuc are." He paused. "And the time is wrong, also. We would have been a day or two days at least behind you then. No, it was doubtless one of the things you were guessing, a bandit or a forest cotsman." Still, he considered for a few moments before continuing with his tale.

"In any manner, Qantaqa and I followed you. We were forced to make our hunting secret-I had no wish for riding Qantaqa into a large town like Stanshire-so I could only have hope that you were coming out of these places again. We wandered about on the outskirts of the large settlements trying to find your track. Several times I thought that I had made it too difficult for Qantaqa's scenting, but always she found you again." He scratched his head, contemplating. "I suppose that if you had not emerged, I would have then been forced to go searching for you. I am glad I did not need to do that thing-I would have had to leave Qantaqa out in the wildlands, and I would have myself been an easy target for Fire Dancers or frightened villagers who had never been seeing a troll." He smiled slyly. "The people of Stanshire and Falshire have still still not seen a troll." not seen a troll."

"When did you find us?"

"If you think on it, Simon, you will be guessing very easily. I had no reason to hide from you, so I would have been greeting you as soon as I came upon you-unless some reason there was not to."

Simon considered. "Because we were with someone you didn't know?"

The troll nodded, satisfied. "Exactly. A young man and woman may be traveling in Erkynland and speaking to strangers without too much attention. A troll may not."

"So it must have been when we were with that man and woman-the Fire Dancers. We met other people, but we were alone each time afterward."

"Yes. I came upon you here in Hasu Vale-I had been making camp in this very cave the night before-and followed you and that pair up into the hills. Qantaqa and I were watching all from the trees. We saw the Fire Dancers." He frowned. "They have become numerous and unafraid-by spying on other travelers along the road and listening to their gossip I was learning that. So I saw what these Fire Dancers did, and when they were taking you to the hilltop, I freed your horses and followed." He grinned, pleased with his own cleverness.

"Thank you, Binabik," Miriamele said. Some of her earlier frosty manner had disappeared. "I haven't said that yet."

He smiled and shrugged. "We all are doing what we can when we are able. As I was once before telling Simon, we three have saved each other's lives enough times that the tallying is no longer important." As he picked up a hank of moss and began to scrub his bowl, Qantaqa strode silently into the cavern. Her fur was wet; she shook herself, sending a fine spray of droplets everywhere.

"Ah." Binabik placed the bowl on the floor before the wolf. "You may be performing this task, then." As Qantaqa's pink tongue scoured out the last bits of stew, the troll stood up. "So, that is the telling. Now, if we are going carefully, I think we can leave this place today. We will stay away from the road until Hasu Vale is being safely behind."

"And the Fire Dancers won't find us?" Miriamele asked.

"After the last night's doings, I am doubting that there are many left, or that they are wishing to do much of anything but hide. I am thinking that the Storm King's servant gave them as much fright as it gave to you." He bent to begin picking up. "And now their chieftain is dead."

"That was one of your black-tipped darts," Simon said, remembering Maefwaru's puzzled expression as he clutched at his throat.

"It was."

"I'm not sorry." Simon went to tie up his bedroll. "Not sorry at all. So you're really going to come with us."

Binabik thumped his chest with the heel of his hand. "I am not believing what you do is wise or good. But I cannot be letting you go off when I might be able to help you survive." He frowned, pondering. "I wish there was some way for sending a message back to the others."

Simon remembered the trolls in Josua's camp, and especially Sisqi, the loved one Binabik must have left behind to come here. The magnitude of the little man's sacrifice struck him and he was suddenly ashamed. Binabik was right: Simon and Miriamele were behaving like wayward children. But one look at the princess convinced him that she could no more be talked out of this than the waves could be argued out of crashing onto the beach-and he could not imagine himself leaving her to face her fate alone. Like Binabik, he was trapped. He sighed and picked up the bedroll.

Either Binabik was a good guide or the Fire Dancers had, in fact, given up looking for them. They saw nothing living during their afternoon's journey through the damp, thick-forested hills of Hasu Vale except for a few jays and a single black squirrel. The woods were densely crowded with trees and ground plants, and every trunk was blanketed in spongy moss, but the land still seemed strangely inactive, as though everything that lived there slept or waited silently for the intruders to pa.s.s.

An hour after sunset they made camp beneath a rocky overhang, but the accommodations were far less pleasant than the dry and secret cave. When the rains came and water ran streaming down the hillside, Simon and the others were forced to huddle as far back under the overhang as they could. The horses, appearing none too pleased, were tethered at the front where they were intermittently lashed by rain. Simon hoped that since horses often stood in fields during bad weather, they would not suffer too badly, but he felt obscurely guilty. Surely Homefinder, a knight's companion, deserved better treatment?

After she hunted, Qantaqa came and curled herself against all three of them as they huddled in a row, making up with the warmth she provided for the strong smell of damp wolf that filled the shelter. They fell asleep at last, then awakened at dawn, stiff and sore. Binabik did not want to light a fire in such an exposed place, so they ate a little dried meat and some berries the troll gathered, then set out again.

It was a difficult day's traveling, the hillsides and dales slippery with mud and wet moss, the rain blowing up in sudden squalls that lashed them with water and slapped branches into their faces; when the rain ceased, the mist crept back in, hiding treacherous pitfalls. Their progress was achingly slow. Still, Simon was impressed that his trollish friend could find a way at all with no sun visible and the road far away and out of sight.

Sometime after noon Binabik led them along the hillside past the outskirts of the town of Hasu Vale itself. It was difficult to make out much more through the close-knit trees than the shapes of some rough houses, and-when the mist was momentarily cleared by a stiff wind-the snaking course of the road, a dark streak some furlongs away. But the town seemed just as muted and lifeless as the forest: nothing but gray mists rose around the smoke holes of the cottages, and there was no sign of people or animals.

"Where has everyone gone?" Miriamele asked. "I have been here. It was a lively place."

"Those Fire Dancers," Simon said grimly. "They've scared everyone away."

"Or perhaps it is the things with which the Fire Dancers have been making celebration on the hilltops at night," Binabik pointed out. "It is not necessary, I am thinking, to see see those things, as you two were seeing, to know that something is wrong. It is a feeling in the air." those things, as you two were seeing, to know that something is wrong. It is a feeling in the air."

Simon nodded. Binabik was right. This entire area felt much like Thisterborg, the haunted hill between the forest and Erchester, the place where the Anger Stones stood ... the place where the Norns had given Sorrow to King Elias....

He did not like thinking about that horrible night, but for some reason the memory suddenly seemed important. Something was pulling at him, scattered thoughts that wanted to be fit together. The Norns. The Red Hand. Thisterborg....

"What's that?" Miriamele cried in alarm. Simon jumped. Homefinder startled beneath him and slipped a little in the mud before finding her footing.

A dark shape had appeared in the mist before them, gesticulating wildly. Binabik leaned forward against Qantaqa's neck and squinted. After a long, tense moment, he smiled. "It is nothing. A rag caught by the wind. Someone's lost shirt, I am thinking."

Simon squinted, too. The troll was correct. It was a tattered bit of clothing wrapped around a tree, the sleeves fluttering in the wind like pennants.

Miriamele made the sign of the Tree, relieved.

They rode on. The town vanished into the thick greenery behind them as quickly and completely as if the wet, silent woods had swallowed it.

They camped that evening in a sheltered gully at the base of the valley's western slope. Binabik seemed preoccupied; Simon and Miriamele were both quiet. They ate an unsatisfying meal and made some small talk, then everyone took refuge in the darkness and the need to sleep.

Simon again felt the awkward distance that existed now between himself and Miriamele. He still did not quite know what to feel about the things she had told him. She was no maiden, and it was by her own choice. That was painful enough, but the way she had told him, the manner in which she had lashed out at him as though to punish, was even more infuriatingly confusing. Why was she so kind to him sometimes, so hateful at others? He would have liked to believe that she was playing the come-hither, go-away games that young court women were taught to play with men, but he knew her too well: Miriamele was not one for that kind of frippery. The only solution that he could find to this puzzle was that she truly wanted him for a friend, but was afraid that Simon wanted more.

I do do want more, want more, he thought miserably. he thought miserably. Even if I won't ever have it. Even if I won't ever have it.

He did not fall asleep for a long time, but instead lay listening to the water pattering through the leaves to the forest floor. Huddled beneath his cloak, he probed at his unhappiness as he might at a wound, trying to find out how much pain came with it.

By the middle of the next afternoon they climbed out of the valley, leaving Hasu Vale behind. The forest still stretched out at their right hands like a great green blanket, vanishing only at the horizon. Before them was the hilly gra.s.s country that lay between the Old Forest Road and the headlands at Swertclif.

Simon could not help wishing that this journey with Binabik and Miriamele could be more like the first heady days they had traveled together after leaving Geloe's lake house, so many months ago. The troll had been full of songs and silliness during that journey; even the princess-pretending then to be the servant girl Marya-had seemed excited and happy to be alive. Now the three of them went forward like soldiers marching toward a battle they did not expect to win, each immersed in private thoughts and fears.

The empty, rolling country north of the Kynslagh did not inspire much cheer in any case. It was fully as dreary and lifeless as Hasu Vale, equally as wet, but did not afford the hiding places, and security to be found in the densely forested valley. Simon felt that they were terribly exposed, and could not help marveling at the astonishing courage-or stupidity, or both-of walking virtually unarmed into the High King's gateyard. If there were left any sc.r.a.p of the companions or their tale when these dark times had someday pa.s.sed, surely it would make a wonderful, unbelievable song! Some future Shem Horsegroom, perhaps, might tell some wide-eyed scullion: "Do ye listen, lad, whilst I tell ye of Brave Simon and his friends, them who rode open-eyed and empty-handed into the very Jaws of Darkness.... " whilst I tell ye of Brave Simon and his friends, them who rode open-eyed and empty-handed into the very Jaws of Darkness.... "

Jaws of Darkness. Simon liked that. He had heard that in a song of Sangfugol's.

He suddenly thought of what that darkness really meant-the things he had seen and felt, the dreadful, clutching shadows waiting beyond the light and warmth of life-and his skin went shudderingly cold from head to foot.

It took them two days to ride across the hilly meadow-lands, two days of mist and frequent cold rains. No matter which direction they traveled, the winds seemed always to be blowing into their faces. Simon sneezed the entirety of the first night and felt warm and unstable as melting candle wax. He was a bit recovered by morning.

In mid-afternoon of the second day, the headlands of Swertclif appeared before them, the raw edge of the high, rocky hill on whose summit the Hayholt perched. As he stared into the twilight, Simon thought he could see an impossibly slim white line looming beyond Swertclif's naked face.

It was Green Angel Tower, visible even though it stood the better part of a league beyond the nearest side of the hill.

Simon felt something tingle up his back, lifting the hairs on the nape of his neck. The tower, the great shining spike that the Sithi had built when the castle was theirs, the tower where Ineluki had lost his earthly life-it was waiting, still waiting. But it was also the site of Simon's own boyhood wanderings and imaginings. He had seen it, or something like it, in so many dreams since he had left his home that now it almost seemed like just another dream. And below it, out of sight beyond the cliff, lay the Hayholt itself. Tears welled up in Simon, but only dampened his eyes. How many times had he yearned for those mazy halls, the gardens and scullion hiding-holes, the warm corners and secret pleasures?

He turned to look at Miriamele. She, too, was staring fixedly into the west, but if she thought of the pleasures of home, her face did not show it. She looked like a hunter who had finally run a dangerous but long-sought quarry to ground. He blinked, ashamed that she might see him tearful.

"I wondered if I'd ever see it again," he said quietly. A flurry of rain struck his face and he wiped his eyes, grateful for the excuse. "It looks like a dream, doesn't it? A strange dream."

Miriamele nodded but said nothing.

Binabik did not hurry them away. He seemed content to wait and let Qantaqa nose the ground while Simon and Miriamele sat and silently gazed.

"Let us make camp," he said finally. "If we are riding another short time, we can find shelter at the base of the hills." He gestured toward Swertclif's ma.s.sive face. "Then in the morning we will have better light for ... whatever we may be doing."

"We're going to John's barrow," Simon said, more firmly than he felt. "At least that's what I'm doing."

Binabik shrugged. "Let us be riding. When we have a fire and food will be time for making of plans."

The sun vanished behind Swertclif's broad hump long before evening. They rode forward in cold shadow. Even the horses seemed uneasy: Simon could feel Homefinder's unwillingness, and thought that if he allowed her she would turn and race in the opposite direction.

Swertclif waited like an infinitely patient ogre. As they drew closer, the great dark hill seemed to blot out the sky as well as the sun, spreading and swelling until it seemed they could not turn away from it even if they tried. From the slope of its outermost foothills, they saw a flash of gray-green to the south, just beyond the cliffs-the Kynslagh, visible for the first time. Simon felt a pang of joy and regret, as he remembered the familiar, soothing song of the gulls and thought of the fisherman-father he had never known.

At last, when the hill's almost perpendicular face stood above them like a vast wall, they made camp in a ravine. The winds were less here, and Swertclif itself blocked much of the rain. Simon smiled grimly at the thought that the ogre's waiting was over: he and his companions were going to sleep in its lap tonight.

No one wanted to be first to speak of what they would do tomorrow. The making of the fire and the preparation of a modest supper were undertaken with a minimum of conversation and little of the fellowship that usually enlivened the evenings. Tonight Miriamele did not seem angry but preoccupied, and even Binabik was hesitant in his actions, as though his thoughts were elsewhere.

Simon felt surprisingly calm, almost cheerful, and was disappointed that his companions did not share his mood. This was a dangerous place, of course, and the next day's doings would be fearful-he was not letting himself think too much about where the sword was and what needed to be done to find it-but at least he was doing something. At least he was performing the kind of task for which he had been knighted. And if it worked-oh, glory! If it worked, surely Miriamele would see that taking the sword to Josua would be more important than trying to convince her mad father to halt a war that was doubtless already beyond his power to stop. Yes, surely when they had Bright-Nail-think of it, Bright-Nail! Prester John's famous sword!-in hand, Miriamele would realize that they had obtained the greatest prize they could hope for, and he and Binabik could coax her back to the comparative safety of her uncle's camp.

Simon was considering these ideas and letting his meal settle when Binabik finally began to speak.

"Once we are climbing this hill," the troll said slowly, "we will be having great difficulty to turn back. We are having no knowledge whether there are soldiers above-perhaps Elias has placed guards for protecting his father's sword and tomb. If we are going any farther westward, we will be coming to where people in that great castle can be seeing us. Do you have certainness-real, real true certainness!-that you both want this? Please think before you are speaking."

Simon did as his friend asked. After a while, he knew what he wished to say. "We are here. The next time we are so close to Bright-Nail, there may be men fighting everywhere. We may never be able to get near it. So I think it would be foolish not to try to take it now. I'm going."

Binabik looked at Simon, then slowly nodded. "So we will go to take the sword." He turned to the princess. "Miriamele?"

"I have little to say about it. If we need to use the Three Swords, then that will mean I have failed." She smiled, but it was a smile Simon did not like at all. "And if I fail to convince my father, I doubt that whatever happens afterward will mean much to me."

The troll made a close-handed gesture. "There is never sure knowledge. I will help you as I can, and Simon will also, I am not doubting that-but you must not give up any chance of coming out again. Thinking of this sort will make you careless."

"I would be very happy to come out again," said Miriamele. "I want to help my father understand so that he will cease the killing, then I want to say farewell to him. I could never live with him after what he has done."

"I am hoping that you get the thing you are wishing for," Binabik replied. "So-first we are to go sword-searching, then we will decide what can be done for helping Miriamele. For such weighty efforts, I have need of sleep."

He lay down, curling against Qantaqa, and pulled his hood over his face. Miriamele continued to stare into the campfire. Simon watched her awkwardly for a short while, then pulled his own cloak tight around him and lay back. "Good night, Miriamele," he said. "I hope ... I hope...."

"So do I."

Simon threw his arm over his eyes and waited for sleep.