〃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 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 Cadrach 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 e 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 e 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 jarmers。 The people of the North are afraid。。。〃
Not only bandits。。。 Eolair shook his head； disgusted with himself。 He 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 demeanor； 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。
Eoiair was two days making his way down through the silent valleys of the Grianspog； with only his own cold thoughts for pany。
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 flatlands 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 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 Rimmersfolk must he ing here from 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 frozen 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。 Skali'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