did not provide for your understanding when he sent it to you； then I will not presume to tell。 I have perhaps already burdened you unfairly during our short acquaintance。 Even the bravest mortals grow sick with too much truth。〃
〃You can read what it says？〃
〃Yes。 It is written in one of the languages of the Zida'ya…although； interestingly for a mortal trinket； one of the more obscure。 I will tell you this； however。 If I understand its meaning； it does not concern you now in any direct fashion； and knowing what it said would not help you in any palpable way。〃
〃And that's all you'll tell me？〃
〃For now。 Perhaps if we meet again； I will have more understanding of why it was given to you。〃 The Sitha's face was troubled。 〃Good fortune to you； Seoman。 You are an odd boy…even for a mortal。。。〃
At that moment they heard Haestan's shout and saw the Erkynlander striding up the path toward them； waving something。 He had caught a snow hare。 The fire； he called happily； was ready for cooking。
Even with a stomach fortably full of broiled meat and herbs； it took Simon a long time to fall asleep that night。 As he lay on his pallet looking up at the flickering red shadows on the cave ceiling； his mind tumbled with all that had happened； the maddening tale in which he had been caught up。
I'm in a sort of story； just like Jiriki said。 A story like Shem used to tell…or is it History； like Doctor Morgenes used to teach me。。。 ？ But no one ever explained how terrible it is to be in the middle of a tale and not to know the ending。。。
He slipped away at last； awakening with a start some time later。 Haestan； as always； was snorting and sighing in his beard； deep in slumber。 There was no sign of Jiriki。 Somehow； the cavern's curious emptiness told Simon that the Sitha was truly gone； headed down the mountain to return to his home。
Stung by loneliness； even with the guardsman grumbling stuporously away nearby； he found himself crying。 He did so quietly； ashamed at this failure of manhood； but he could no more stop the flow of tears than lift great Mintahoq on his back。
Simon and Haestan came to Chidsik ub Lingit at the time Jiriki had told them…an hour after dawn。 The cold had worsened。 The ladders and thong bridges swayed in the cold wind； unused。 Mintahoq's stone byways had bee even more treacherous than usual； covered in many places by a thin skin of ice。
As the two outsiders pressed their way in through a horde of chattering trolls； Simon leaned heavily on Haestan's fur…cloaked elbow。 He had not slept well after the Sitha had gone。 his dreams shot through with the shadows of swords and the pelling but inexplicable presence of the small； dark…eyed girl。
The troll folk around them were done up as if for a festival； many in shiny necklaces of carved tusk and bone； the women with their black hair bound up in bs made from the skulls of birds and fish。 Men and women both passed skins of some highland liquor back and forth； laughing and gesturing as they drank。 Haestan watched this procedure gloomily。
〃I talked one of 'em into givin' me sip o' that；〃 the guardsman said。 〃Tasted like horse piss； did。 What I wouldna give for drop o' red Perdruin。〃
At the center of the room； just within the moat of unlit oil； Simon and Haescan found four intricately…worked bone stools with seats of stretched hide； which stood facing the empty dais。 Since the milling trolls had made themselves fortable all around； but had left the seats empty； the interlopers guessed that two of the stools were theirs。 No sooner had they seated themselves than the Yiqanuc folk gathered around them stood up。 A strange noise rose； echoing from the cavern walls…a sonorous； humming chant。 Inprehensible Qanuc words； like castoff spars floating on an uneasy sea； bobbed to the surface and then slipped back beneath the steady moaning。 It was a strange and disturbing sound。
For a moment Simon thought the chanting had something to do with his and Haestan's entrance； but the dark eyes of the assembled trolls were focused on a door in the far cavern wall。
Through this door at last came not the masters of Yiqanuc； as Simon had expected； but a figure even more exotic than the folk who surrounded him。 The newer was a troll； or at least of troll size。 His small； muscular body was oiled so that it gleamed in the lamplight。 He wore a fringed skirt of hide and his face was hidden behind a mask made from a ram's skull which had been decoratively carved and gouged until the bone was scarcely more than a filigree； a white basket around the black eye holes。 Two enormous； curving horns that had been hollowed to near transparency stood out over his shoulders。 A mantel of white and yellow feathers and a necklace of curved black claws swung beneath the bony mask。
Simon could not tell if this man was a priest； a dancer； or simply a herald for the royal couple。 When he stamped his gleaming foot the crowd roared happily。 When he touched the tips of his horns； then raised his palms to the sky； the troll folk gasped and quickly resumed their chanting。 For long moments the man capered across the raised dais； as intent on his work as any solemn craftsman。 At last he paused as though listening。 The murmuring of the crowd stopped。 Four more figures appeared in the doorway…three of troll size； one towering over the rest。
Binabik and Sludig were brought forward。 One troll guard stood on each side； the heads of their sharp spears remaining at all times near the prisoners' backbones。 Simon wanted to stand and shout； but Haestan's
broad hand fell on his arm； holding him down on his stool。
〃Quiet； lad。 They be in' this way。 Wait for 'em t'get here。 We make no show for this rabble。〃
Both the troll and the fair…haired Rimmersman were considerably thinner than when Simon had last seen them。 Sludig's bushy…bearded face was pink and peeling； as though he had been too much in the sun。 Binabik was paler than he had been； his once…brown skin now the color of porridge； his eyes seemed sunken； surrounded by shadows。
The pair walked slowly； the troll head down； Sludig looking defiantly around the room until he saw Simon and Haestan； to whom he offered a grim smile。 As they stepped over the moat into the inner circle； the Rimmersman reached out and patted Simon's shoulder； then grunted in pain as one of the guards following close behind pricked his arm with a spear point。
〃Had I but a sword；〃 Sludig murmured； stepping forward and gingerly seating himself on one of the stools。 Binabik took the seat at the far end。 He had not yet raised his eyes to meet those of his panions。
〃Take more than swords； friend；〃 Haestan whispered。 〃They be small； but stern…an' look at th'Usires…cursed numbers of 'em'〃
〃Binabik！〃 said Simon urgently； leaning across Sludig。 〃Binabik！ We've e to speak for you！〃
The troll looked up。 For a moment it seemed he might say something； but his dark eyes were distant。 He gave the slightest； gentlest shake of his head； then returned his gaze to the cavern floor。 Simon felt rage burning inside him。 Binabik must fight for his life！ He was sitting like old Rim the plow…horse； waiting for the killing blow to fall。
The growing buzz of excited voices was abruptly stilled。 Another trio of figures appeared in the doorway； moving slowly forward： Nunuuika the Huntress and Uammannaq the Herder； in full ceremonial trappings of fur and ivory and polished stones。 Another troll followed them on silent； soft…booted feet…a young woman； her large eyes expressionless； her mouth set in a firm line。 Her shuttered stare flicked across the line of stools； then away。 The man with the ram horns danced before the three some until they reached the dais and ascended to their divan of hides and fur robes。 The unfamiliar troll woman sat just before the royal pair； one step below the top。 The capering herald…or whatever he was： Simon still could not decide…thrust a taper into one of the wall lamps； then touched it to the ring of oil； which caught with a blazing huff。 Flames raced around the circle； trailing black smoke。 A moment later the smoke dissipated upward into the shadowy reaches of the cavern ceiling。 Simon and the others