st 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 pelling but dangerous lover was growing stronger。 Whole nations seemingly on the march； topsy…turvy weather； mad men ruling and dire legends e to life…how he suddenly longed for simple things！
But even as he yearned for unthinking release； Eolair knew that he would hate its ing 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； wliich stood like a bulwark along Hernystir's 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 e 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 wele 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 Ellas' 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。
ing 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 mon 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 mon 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 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 plete discretion。
Immediately after telling this tale； Eolair's panion； 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 mendably 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 importance 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； ing 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 inhabitants 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。 pared 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 pelling 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； but that would mean riding as a lone traveler through an Erkynland that owed its plete 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 1 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