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The creature paused in an archway。 Simon saw a narrow staircase climbing up into darkness。 The cat bumped his shin but did not move on。
〃Should I go up here？〃 he whispered。 He poked his head into the entranceway。 High above； hidden by the twisting stairwell； another source of light glowed faintly。
He stared at the cat for a moment。 The cat stared back； yellow eyes wide。
〃Very well； then。〃 He touched Bright…Nail； making sure the hilt was not tangled in the rags of his belt； then began to climb。 After a few steps he turned and looked back。 The cat still sat in the middle of the tunnel floor； watching。 〃Aren't you ing？〃
The gray cat stood and slowly sauntered away down the corridor。 Even if it had possessed the gift of speech； it could not more clearly have told him that from this point he was on his own。
Simon smiled grimly。
I suppose there's no cat in the world stupid enough to go where I'm going。
He turned and made his way up the shadowed stairs。 The stairwell opened at last into a broad windowless room imperfectly lit by an open hatch door in the ceiling。 As he stepped out from behind the wooden screen that hid the stairway； he realized that he was in one of the storage rooms below the refectory。 He had been in this place before as well； on the momentous； horrible day when he had discovered Prince Josua in Pryrates' prison cell 。。。 but that time the storeroom had been packed to the ceilings with all manner of food and other goods。 Now the barrels that remained lay empty； many in splinters。 Dusty mantles of spiderweb covered the remains； and the few spatters of flour left on the floor were crisscrossed with the tracks of mice。 It looked as though no one had entered the room for some time。
Up above him； he knew； stood the refectory； and the hundreds of other close…huddled buildings of the Inner Bailey。 Looming over them all was the ivory spike of Green Angel Tower。
As he thought of it； he felt Bright…Nail's song grow a little more insistent。
。。。 go there。。。。 It was a whisper at the farthest edge of his thoughts。
Simon found and replaced the hatchway ladder； which had toppled to the floor； then began to climb。 It creaked ominously； but held。 Beneath its plaining he could hear a faint murmur； as though the hissing voices of the tunnels were following him up from the dark。
The only illumination in the refectory hall was the weak and unevenly pulsing gray light that leaked in through the high windows。 The remaining tables and benches were scattered； some smashed to flinders； but most were gone entirely； perhaps taken to be burned as firewood。 A bleak layer of dust lay everywhere； even on those things which had suffered a violent end； as though the destruction had happened a century before。 A pair of rats scurried across one of the broken tables； paying Simon no heed。
The murmuring noise he had heard was louder here。 The greatest part of it was the wind moaning outside the windows； but there were still hints of voices crying out in pain or anger or fear。 Simon looked up and saw tiny flecks of snow whirling in past the broken shutters。 He thought he could feel Bright…Nail stir； like a hunting beast catching the scent of blood。
He looked once more around the refectory…taking note； however distractedly； of the damage visited upon his home…then moved as quietly as he could toward the eastern portico。 As he approached the door； he saw that it sagged on broken hinges and he despaired of opening it without noise； but as he came closer and heard the tumult outside he realized no one would hear him even if he were to kick it loose。 The menacing song of the wind had grown； but the shouting voices and other noises had bee louder still； until it sounded as if a great battle were being fought just outside the refectory door。
He crouched and placed his eye against the wedge of light where the door had edged free from its frame。 It was hard at first to make sense of what he saw。
There was a battle just outside； or at least great knots of armored men were surging back and forth across the bailey。 The chaos was abetted by the snows which covered the muddy ground and blew through the air like smoke； making everything murky； what sky he could see was full of streaming black clouds。
Lightning flashed； turning all to brilliant noon one instant； then； on its disappearance； making it seem for a moment as though all light had fled。 It looked like a battle at the gates of Hell； a madness of shrieking faces and terrified horses； and it raged like an angry sea all across the snow…smothered bailey。 Trying to make his way through such madness would be choosing to die。
On the far side； hopelessly out of Simon's reach。 Green Angel Tower stood with its ivory spire wreathed in thunderheads。 Lightning burst across the sky once more； a jagged； flaring chain that seemed to encircle the tower。 Thunder shook his bones。 Staring upward in that instant of savage illumination； Simon saw a pale face gazing from the great bellchamber windows。
31
The False Messenger
Miriamele was staggeringly exhausted。 She could not imagine how Binabik； with his shorter legs； could still be moving。 She was certain they had been climbing for more than an hour。 How could there be so many steps？ Surely by this time they could have reached the Hayholt if they had started from the center of the earth。
Panting； she stopped to wipe sweat from her face and look back。 Cadrach was two flights down； barely visible in the torchlight。 The monk would not give up； Miriamele had to credit him for that。
〃Binabik； wait；〃 she called。 〃If I 。。。 if I go another step 。。。 my legs will fall off。〃
The troll paused； then turned and came back down。 He handed her his water skin； and as she drank； he said： 〃We have almost reached to the castle。 1 can feel the changing of air。〃
Miriamele slumped down onto the wide smooth step； discarding the bow and pack she had been tempted to toss away so many times in the past hour。 〃What air？ I haven't had any in my lungs since I don't remember when。〃
Binabik looked at her solicitously。 〃Mountain…clambering is what we Qanuc learn before we can talk。 You have been doing well to stay with me。〃
Miramele did not bother with a reply。 A few moments later Cadrach staggered up and toppled against the wall； then slid down onto the step an arm's length from her。 His pale face was moist； his eyes remote。 She watched him fight for breath； and after a moment's hesitation offered him the water skin。 He took it without looking up。
〃Rest； both of you；〃 said Binabik 〃Then after will be time for the last climbing。 We are near； very near。〃
〃Near to what？〃 Miriamele took the water skin from Cadrach's unresponsive fingers and had another drink； then passed it back to the troll。 〃Binabik； I have been trying to find the breath to ask you…what is happening？ Something the dwarrows said； something you thought of。。。〃 She held his eye； although she could see he wished to look away。 〃What is it？〃
The troll fell silent； but he cocked his head as though listening。 There was nothing to be heard in the stairwell except the rough noise of their breathing。 He sat down beside her。
〃It was indeed something the dwarrows were saying… although that alone would not have been making my thoughts leap so。〃 Binabik stared at his feet。 〃There are other thoughts I have； too。 Something I have been long pondering…the 'false messenger' of Simon's dream。〃
〃In Geloe's house；〃 Miriamele whispered； remembering。
〃And he was not the only one。 A message we were receiving in the White Waste； sparrow…carried…which now it is my thinking was sent by Dinivan of Nabban； since Isgrimnur later heard him speak it as well…also held a warning against false messengers。〃
Miramele felt a pang at the memory of Dinivan。 He had been so kind； so clever…yet he had been broken like a kindling…stick by Pryrates。 Isgrimnur's tale of the horrors he had seen in the Sancellan Aedonitis still colored her nightmares。
A sudden thought came to her： she had fought Cadrach when he tried to take her out of the Sancellan； resisted him and called him a liar until he was forced to strike her senseless and carry her out…but he had； in fact； told her the truth。 Why hadn't he simply run and saved himself； leaving her to make her own way？
She turned to look at him。 The monk had still not caught his breath； he lay curled against the wall； his face blank as a wax doll's。
〃So long have I wondered who could be such a messenger；〃 Binabik continued。 〃Many are the messengers who have e to Josua； and also to Simon and Dinivan； the two who somehow had these warnings。 Which messenger was meant？〃
〃And now you think you know？〃
Binabik started to answer； then took a breath。 〃Let me tell you what I am thinking。 Perhaps you will be finding some flaw…you too； Cadrach。 I have hope only that I am wrong。〃 He knitted the fingers of his small hands together and frowned。 〃The dwarrow…folk say the Great Swords were all having their forging with the help of Words of Making…words that the dwarrows say are used for pushing back the rules of the world。〃
〃I didn't understand that。〃
〃I will try for explaining；〃 Binabik said unhappily。 〃But truly we are having little time to talk。〃
〃When I've caught my breath； you can talk while we're climbing。〃
The troll nodded。 〃Then here is my explaining about the world's rules。 One is that things want to fall downward。〃 He put the stopper on the water skin and then dropped it； illustrating his point。 〃If some other kind of falling is wanted…to make this fall upward； that might be…that is one thing that the Art is being used for。 To make something that is going against the world's rules。〃
Miriamele nodded。 Beside her； Cadrach had raised his head as though listening； but he still stared out at the opposite wall。
〃But if some rule must be broken for a long time； then the Art used must have great powerfulness； just as lifting a heavy thing once and then dropping it is easier than the holding of it in the air for hours。 For such tasks； the dwarrows and others who were practicing the Art used 。。。〃
〃。。。 The Words of Making；〃 Miriamele finished for him。 〃And they used them when the Great Swords were forged。〃
Binabik bobbed his head。 〃They did that because all the Great Swords were forged of things that had no place in Osten Ard； things which were resisting the Arts used for creating a magical weapon。 This needed overing； but not just for a moment。 Forever was the time that these resisting forces must be subdued； so the most powerful Words of Making were being used。〃 He spoke slowly now。 〃So those blades； it is my thinking； are like the pulled…back arm of the giant sling…stones your people use to attack walled cities…balanced so that one touch sends a vast rock flying like a tiny； tiny bird。 Such great power is being restrained in each one of those swords…who knows what the power of three brought together may be doing？〃
〃But that's good；〃 said Miriamele； confused。 〃Isn't that what we need…the strength to overe the Storm King？〃 She looked at Binabik's sorrowful face and her heart grew heavy。 〃Is there some reason we can't use it？〃
Cadrach shifted against the wall； turning his gaze at last on the troll。 A gleam of interest had kindled in his eyes。 〃But who will use it？〃 the monk asked。 〃That is the question； is it not？〃
Binabik nodded unhappily。 〃That is indeed what I am fearing。〃 He turned to the princess。 〃Miriamele； why is Thorn being brought here？ Why are Josua and others searching for Bright…Nail？〃
〃To use against the Storm King；〃 Miriamele replied。 She still did not see where the troll's questions were leading； but Cadrach evidently did。 A grim half…smile； as of reluctant admiration； curled the monk's lips。 She wondered who the admiration was for。
〃But why？〃 asked the troll。 〃What was telling us to use them against our enemy？ This is not something for tricking you； Miriamele…it is what I myself have been worrying until my head feels full of sharp stones。〃
〃Because 。。。〃 For a moment； she could not remember。 〃Because of the rhyme。 The rhyme that told how to drive the Storm King away。〃