e of reflection； sparkling crumbs in a miser's beard。 A wild thing； a dark thing。
〃It's going where we're going；〃 Simon said； then considered for a moment。 〃But that's not going to be home。 Not my home。〃
As he lay that night in a narrow cavern which was little more than a nick in Sikkihoq's muscular stone back； Simon dreamed of a tapestry。 It was a moving tapestry； hanging on a wall of absolute blackness。 In it； as in the religious pictures of the Hayholt's chapel； a great tree stood； arms rising to heaven。 This tree was white and smooth as Harcha marble。
Prince Josua hung upon it head down； like Usires Aedon Himself in His suffering。
A shadowy figure stood before Josua； driving nails into him with a great； gray hammer。 Josua did not speak or cry out； but his followers all around were moaning。 The prince's eyes were wide with patient suffering； like the carved face of Usires that had hung on the wall of Simon's boyhood home in the servant's quarters。
Simon could not bear to see any more。 He thrust himself through into the tapestry itself and ran at the shadow…figure。 As he ran； he felt a weighty something dangling in his hand。 He lifted his arm to swing it； but the murky thing reached up and caught his hand； pulling Simon's weapon away。 He had been holding a black hammer。 But for its color； it was the twin of the gray。
〃Better；〃 the thing said。 It hefted the ebony mallet in its other shadowy hand and began once more to drive nails。 This time Josua screamed with each blow； screamed and screamed。。。
。。。 Simon awakened to find himself shivering in darkness； the raspy breathing of his traveling panions all around him； vying with the wind that moaned as it searched the mountain passes outside the cavern。 He wanted to waken Binabik； or Haestan； or Sludig…anybody who could speak to him in his own tongue…but could not find any of them in the dark； and knew even in his fear that he should not startle the others awake。
He lay down once more； listening to the crooning wind。 He was afraid to go back to sleep； afraid he would hear those awful screams once more。 He strained to see in the darkness so he would know his eyes were open； but there was nothing。
Some time before light returned； exhaustion overmatched his fretting mind and he at last fell asleep。 If more dreams troubled him； he did not remember them on awakening。
They were three more days on heart…freezingly narrow trails before they made their way down out of Sikkihoq's heights。 On the mountain's shoulders they no longer had to travel single file； so as they came down onto a broad shelf of snow…dotted granite the pany stopped to celebrate。 It was a rare hour of afternoon sunlight。 The light had broken through the cobweb of clouds and the wind for once seemed playful instead of predatory。
Binabik rode Qantaqa ahead to scout the terrain； then turned the wolf loose to hunt。 She was gone into a tumble of white…mantled boulders in an instant。 Binabik walked back to the rest of the party； a broad smile on his face。
〃It is good to be off the cliffs for a time；〃 he said； sitting next to Simon； who had removed his boots and was rubbing blood back into his white toes。 〃There is little time for thinking of anything else but balancing when one rides on such narrow and endangering trails。〃
〃Or walks on them；〃 Simon said； looking critically at his toes。
〃Or walks；〃 Binabik agreed。 〃I will be returning in a moment。〃 The little man got up and walked across the gently curving stone to where most of the trolls sat in a circle on the ground； passing around a drinking skin。 Several of them had taken off their jackets to sit bare…chested in the thin sunlight； brown skins acrawl with tattoos of birds； bears； and sinuous fish。 The rams had been unsaddled and turned loose to graze on such scanty fodder as they might find； moss and clumps of scruffy brush that had taken root in rocky crevices。 One of the troll men watched over them as shepherd； although his heart did not seem to be in the job。 He poked the ground disconsolately with his crook…spear as he watched the skin go around the circle。 One of his fellows； pointing and laughing at his misery； at last stumped over and shared the bag with him。
Binabik approached Sisqi； who was sitting with some of the hunting maidens。 He bent to say something； then rubbed her face with his own。 She laughed； pushing him away； but her cheeks reddened。 Watching； Simon felt a faint tremor of jealously at his friend's happiness； but swallowed it down。 Someday maybe he； too； would find someone。 He thought sadly of Princess Miriamele； who stood far above any scullion。 Nonetheless； she was only a girl； like those with whom Simon had bumblingly conversed in the Hayholt in what seemed far…gone days of old。 When he and Miriamele had stood side by side at the bridge in Da'ai Chikiza； or before the giant； there had been no difference between them。 They had been friends； facing danger together and equally。
But I didn't know then that she was above me。 Now I do； and that is the difference。 But why？ Am I different？ Is she？ Not truly。 And she kissed me！ And that was after she was the princess again！
He felt a curious mixture of elation and frustration。 Who was to say what was right； anyway？ The order of the world seemed to be changing； and where was the law written that a heroic kitchen boy could not stand proudly before a princess…who was at war with her father the king； after all？
A moment of grand daydreaming followed； Simon envisioned himself entering a great city as a hero； riding on the back of a proud horse； the sword Thorn held before him as in a picture of Sir Camaris he had once seen。 Somewhere； he knew； Miriamele was watching and admiring。 The daydream foundered as he suddenly wondered what city he might enter heroically into。 Naglimund； by Geloe's word； had fallen。 The Hayholt； Simon's only home； was banned to him utterly。 The sword Thorn was no more his than Simon himself was Sir Camaris； the blade's most famous owner…and what was most important； he realized as he stared at his blistered heels； he had no horse at all。
〃Here； friend Simon。〃 Binabik said； rousing him out of this doleful reverie； 〃I have secured you a draught of hunt…wine。〃 He held out a skin bag； smaller than the one being passed around the circle nearby。
〃I already drank some；〃 Simon asked； sniffing suspiciously。 〃It tasted… well； Haestan said it tasted like horse piss and I think he's right。〃
〃Ah。 It is seeming that Haestan has changed his mind about kangkang。〃 Binabik chuckled； tilting his head in the direction of the drinking…circle。 The Erkynlander and Sludig had joined the trolls； Haestan was even now taking a healthy swallow from the bag。 〃But this is not kangkang；〃 Binabik said。 pressing the bag into Simon's hand。 〃It is hunt…wine。 The men of my folk are not allowed to drink it…except for those； like myself； who are using it sometimes for the purposes of medicine。 Our huntresses drink when they must be awake all the night away from our caves。 It is good especially for tired and hurting limbs and such。〃
〃I feel fine；〃 Simon said； looking doubtfully at the drinking skin。 〃That is not being the point of my giving。〃 Binabik was being exasperated。 〃Be understanding that it is rare for anyone to get this hunt…wine。 We sit here now celebrating luck in having e a difficult journey with no losses or woundings。 We are celebrating a little sun and hoping for some small luck on the rest of our journey。 Also； it is a sort of gift； Simon。 Sisqinanamook wished you to have it。〃
Simon looked up to the troll maiden； who sat in laughing conversation with her fellow huntresses。 She smiled and hoisted her spear as if in salute。
〃I'm sorry；〃 he said。 〃I didn't understand。〃 He lifted the bag and took a swig。 The sweet； oily fluid slid down his throat。 He coughed； but a moment later felt its soothing warmth in his stomach。 He took another swallow； then held some in his mouth； trying to decide what the taste reminded him of。
〃What's it made from？〃 he asked。
〃Berries from the high meadows of Blue Mud Lake； where my tribesmen will be going。 Berries and teeth。〃
Simon wasn't sure