Simon said nothing。 They passed some time in silence。 At last Binabik twisted loose the knife end of his walking stick； allowing the bone flute inside the hollow stick to slide free。 He blew a few experimental notes； then began to play a slow； melancholy air。 The dissonant music； echoing down the mountainside in darkness； seemed to sing with the voice of Simon's own loneliness。 He shivered； feeling the wind through his tattered cloak。 His dragon…scar stung fiercely。
〃Are you still my friend； Binabik？〃 he said at last。
The troll took the flute from his lips。 〃To death and beyond； Simon…friend。〃 He began to play once more。
When the flutesong was finished； Binabik whistled for Qantaqa and walked back up the path toward camp。 Simon followed him。
The fire had burned low and the wineskin was making the last of many trips around the circle when Simon finally worked up the courage to approach Sludig。 The Rimmersman was sharpening the head of his Qanuc spear with a whetstone； he continued for some while as Simon stood before him。 At last he looked up。
〃Yes？〃 His voice was gruff。
〃I'm sorry； Sludig。 I should not have said what I did。 You were only being kind。〃
The Rimmersman stared at him for a moment； a certain cold look in his eyes。 At last his expression softened。 〃You may think as you like； Simon； but do not speak such blasphemy of the One God before me。〃
〃I'm sorry。 I'm only a kitchen boy。〃
〃Kitchen boy！〃 Sludig's laugh was harsh。 He looked searchingly into Simon's eyes； then laughed again with better humor。 〃You really think so； don't you！ You're a fool； Simon。〃 He stood up； chuckling and shaking his head。 〃A kitchen boy！ A kitchen boy who swords dragons and slays giants。 Look at you！ You are taller than I am； and Sludig is not small！〃
Simon stared at the Rimmersman； surprised。 It was true； of course： he stood half a hand taller than Sludig。 〃But you're strong！〃 Simon protested。 〃You're a grown man。〃
〃As you are fast being。 And you are stronger than you know。 You must see the truth； Simon。 You are a boy no more。 You cannot act as though you are one still。〃 The Rimmersman contemplated him for a long moment。 〃As a matter of fact； it is dangerous not to train you better。 You have been lucky to survive several bad fights； but luck is fickle。 You need sword and spear teaching； I will give them to you。 Haestan would have wanted it； and it will give us something to work at on our long trip to your Stone of Farewell。〃
〃Then you forgive me？〃 Simon was embarrassed by this talk of manhood。 〃If I must。〃 The Rimmersman sat down again。 〃Now go and sleep。 We have a long walk again tomorrow； then you and I will drill for some time after we make camp。〃
Simon felt more than a little resentful about being sent to bed； but did not want to risk another argument。 As it was； it had been difficult for him to e back to the campfire and eat with the others。 He knew they had all been watching him； wondering if he would have another outburst。
He retreated to the bed he had made of springy branches and leaves and wrapped himself tightly in his cloak。 He would be happy to be in a cave； or down off the mountain entirely； where they would not be exposed so nakedly to the wind。
The bright； cold stars seemed to quiver in the sky overhead。 Simon stared up at them through unfathomable distances； letting thoughts chase themselves through his head until sleep came at last。
The sound of the trolls singing to their rams woke Simon from a dream。 He dimly remembered a little gray cat and a feeling of being trapped by someone or something； but the dream was fading fast。 He opened his eyes to the thin morning light； then closed them quickly。 He did not want to get up and face the day。
The singing went on； acpanied by the clinking of harnesses。 He had seen this ritual so many times since leaving Mintahoq that he could picture it in his head as vividly as if he was watching。 The trolls were cinching up the straps and filling the saddlebags； guttural yet high…pitched voices busy with their seemingly endless chant。 From time to time they would pause； stroking their mounts； currying the rams' thick fleeces； leaning in close to sing softly and intimately while the sheep blinked their yellow； slotted eyes。 Soon it would be time for salty tea and dried meat and quiet； laughing conversation。
Except； of course； there would not be as much laughter today； the third morning since the hillside battle with the giants。 Binabik's folk were a cheerful people； but a little bit of the frost lodged in Simon's heart seemed to have touched them； too。 A folk that laughed at cold and at dizzying； breakneck falls at every turning of every trail had been chilled by a shadow they could not understand…not that Simon understood much himself。
He had spoken truly to Binabik： somehow； he had thought things would get better once they found the great sword Thorn。 The blade's power and strangeness was so palpable it seemed impossible that it would not make a change in the struggle against King Elias and his dark ally。 But perhaps the sword by itself was not enough。 Perhaps whatever the rhyme had spoken of would not happen until all three swords had been brought together。
Simon groaned。 Even worse； perhaps the queer rhyme from Nisses' book meant nothing at all。 Didn't people say Nisses was a madman？ Even Morgenes had not known what the rhyme truly meant。
When frost doth grow on Claves' bell
And Shadows walk upon the road
When water blackens in the Well
Three Swords must e again
When Bukken from the Earth do creep
And Hunen from the heights descend
When Nightmare throttles peaceful Sleep
Three Swords must e again
To turn the stride of treading Fate
To clear the fogging Mists of Time
If Early shall resist Too Late
Three Swords must e again 。 。 。
Well； Bukken had certainly crept from the earth； but the memory of the squealing diggers was not one he wanted to pursue。 Ever since the night of their attack on Isgrimnur's camp near St。 Hoderund's； Simon had never felt the same way about the solid earth beneath his feet。 That was the only advantage he could think of to traveling over Sikkihoq's unforgiving stone。
As for the rhyme's mention of giants； with Haestan's death so fresh in his mind that seemed like a cruel joke。 The monsters hadn't even needed to descend from the heights； because Simon and his friends had been foolish enough to venture into their mountain territory。 But the Hunen had left their high refuges which Simon knew as well as anybody。 He and Miriamele…the thought of her brought a sudden yearning…had faced one in Aldheorte Forest； only a week's ride from the very gates of Erchester。
The rest did not make much sense to him； but none of it seemed impossible。 Simon did not know who Claves was； or where his bell might be； but it seemed that soon there would he frost everywhere。 Even so what could the three swords do？
I wielded Thorn； he thought。 For a moment he felt the power of it once more。 In that instant； I was a real knight； wasn't I？
But had it been Thorn； or had it only been that he had stood up and put fear aside？ If he had done the same with a less mighty sword； would he have been any less brave？ He would have been dead； of course； just like Haestan； just like An'nai； Morgenes； Grimmric。。。 but did that matter？ Didn't great heroes die？ Hadn't Camaris； Thorn's true master； died m the angry seas？
Simon's thoughts were wandering。 He felt himself sliding back toward sleep。 He almost let it happen； but he knew it would only be a short while before Binabik or Sludig would be shaking him awake。 Last night they had both said he was a man or nearly so。 Just for once he didn't want to be awakened； last a child allowed to sleep while the grown…ups talked。
He opened his eyes； letting the light in； and groaned again。 Uncurling himself from the cloak he picked loose twigs and clusters of pine needles from his clothing； then shook the cloak out before quickly wrapping it around himself once more。 Suddenly unwilling to be parted even for a short while from his few miserable possessions；