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he murk； some of them loud enough to make him flinch and almost lose his grip。 The cold was terrible； and the wind kept shoving； shoving。 He kept his eyes on the wall's narrow top until it ended。 An emptiness as long as he was tall yawned before the wall's edge and the turret that surrounded Green Angel Tower's fourth floor。 Simon crouched beside this gap； braced against the buffeting wind as he tried to nerve himself to jump。 A surge of air shoved him hard enough to make him lean forward until he was almost lying down atop the wall。
There it is； he told himself。 You've done it a hundred times。
But not in a blizzard； another pan of him pointed out。 Not with armed men down below who would chop you to pieces before you even knew whether you'd survived the fall。
He grimaced against the sleet and tucked his hands underneath his arms to bring some blood back into his fingers。
You carry the secrets of the League； he told himself。 Morgenes trusted you。 It was a reminder； an incantation。 He touched Bright…Nail to make sure it was still secure in his belt…its quiet song rose to his touch like the back of a stroked cat…then carefully lifted himself to stand hunched at the corner of the wall。 After teetering precariously for long moments； waiting for the wind to slacken just a little； he said a brief prayer and leaped。
The wind caught him in midair and shoved him to the side。 He fell short of his landing。 For a moment he was slipping away into empty space； but his clawing hand caught in one of the crenellations and he jerked to a halt； dangling。 As the wind tugged at him the tower and sky seemed to twist above his head； as though any moment all of creation would go topside…down。 He felt the stone sliding from beneath his damp fingers and quickly pushed his other hand into the gap as well； but it was scant help。 His legs and feet dangled over nothingness； and his grip was giving way。
Simon tried to ignore the fierce pain that raced through his already aching joints。 He might have been tied to the wheel all over again； stretched to the breaking point…but this time there was a way out of the torment。 If he let go； it would be over in a moment； and there would be peace。
But he had seen too much； suffered too much； to settle for oblivion。
Straining until agony shot through him； he pulled himself a little higher。 When his arms had bent as far as he could make them； one hand scrabbled free； searching for a firmer handhold。 His fingertips at last found a crevice between stones； he hauled himself upward again； an involuntary shout of pain forcing its way out through his clenched teeth。 The stone was slippery； and for a moment he almost fell back； but with a last jerk he pulled his upper body into the crenellation and slithered ahead； his legs still protruding。
A raven； sheltering beneath the tower's overhang； stared at him； its yellow eyes blank。 He pulled himself a little farther forward and the raven danced away； then stopped with its head tipped to one side； watching。
Simon dragged himself toward the tower window； thinking only of getting out of the icy wind。 His arms and shoulders throbbed； his face felt seared by the bitter cold。 As he caught at the sill； he suddenly felt something seize him from head to foot； a burning tingle that ran up and down his skin； maddening as biting ants。 The raven leaped into the sky in a flapping blur of black feathers； caromed once again the powerful wind； then flew upward out of sight。
The stinging grew stronger and his limbs twitched helplessly。 Something began squeezing the air from his chest。 Simon knew that he had leaped directly into a trap； a trap set just to catch and kill overeager scullions。 Mooncalf； he thought。 Once a mooncalf 。。。 He half…crawled； half…fell through the tower window and onto the stairway。 The agonizing pressure abruptly ceased。 Simon lay on the cold stones； shivering violently； and struggled to catch his breath。 His head throbbed； especially the dragon…scar on his cheek。 His stomach seemed to be trying to crawl up his throat。
Something shook the tower then； a deep pealing like some monstrous bell； a sound that rattled in Simon's bones and aching skull； unlike anything he had ever heard。 For a long moment the world turned inside…out。
Simon huddled on the stairs； trembling。 That wasn't the tower's bells！ he thought when the echoes had died and his shattered thoughts had coalesced。 They rang everyday； all my life。 What was it？ What's happening to everything！？
A little more of the chill wore away； and blood rushed back to the places it had fled。 More than just his cheek was throbbing。 Simon ran his fingers across his forehead。There was the beginning of a lump above his right eye； even touching it lightly made him suck in his breath。 He decided he must have struck his head on something as he flung himself through the window and onto the stairs。
It could have been worse； he told himself。 I could have hit my head when I was jumping to the battlement。 I'd be dead now。 But instead I'm in the tower…the tower where Bright…Nail needs to 。 。。 wants to 。。。
Bright…Nail！
He reached down in a panic； but he had not lost the sword： it was still caught against his hip； tangled in his belt。 At some point it had rubbed against him and cut him…two small snakes of dried blood coiled on his left forearm…but not badly。 And he still had it。 That was the important thing。
And the sword was quietly singing to him。 He felt rather than heard it； a seductive pull that fought past the pain in his head and battered body。
It wanted to go up。
Now？ Should I just climb？ Merciful Aedon； it's so hard to think！
He raised himself and crawled to the side of the stairwell； then propped his back against the smooth wall as hetried to rub the knots from his muscles。 When all his limbs seemed to bend again in more or less the way they should； Simon grabbed at the wall and pulled himself to his feet。 Immediately； the world began to tip and spin； but he braced himself； hands pressed flat against the tracery of reliefs that covered the stone； and after some moments he could stand unaided。
He paused； listening to the wind moaning outside the tower walls and the faint din of battle。 One additional sound gradually became louder。 Footsteps were echoing up the stairwell。
Simon looked around helplessly。 There was nowhere to hide。 He drew Bright…Nail and felt it throb in his hand； filling him with a heady warmth like a swallow of the trolls' Hunt…wine。 For a brief moment； he considered standing bravely with the sword in his hand； waiting to meet whoever was mounting the stairs； but he knew that was terrible foolishness。 It could be anyone…soldiers； Norns； even the king or Pryrates。 Simon had the lives of others to think about； a Great Sword that must be brought to the final battle； these were responsibilities that could not be ignored。 He turned and went lightly up the steps； holding Bright…Nail leveled before him so the blade would not scrape against something and give him away。 Someone had already been on these stairs today： torches burned in the wall…sconces； filling the places between windows with jittering yellow light。
The stairs wound upward； and within a score of steps he came upon a thick wooden door set into the inner wall。 Relief swept through him： he could hide in the room behind it； and if he was careful； peer out through the slot set high in the door to see who climbed behind him。 The discovery had e not a moment too soon。 Despite his haste； the trailing footfalls had not grown any fainter； and as he paused to fumble with the doorlatch they seemed to bee quite loud。
The door pivoted inward。 Simon peered into the shadows beyond； then stepped through。 The floor seemed to sag beneath his feet as he turned and eased the door closed。 He stepped away so the edge of the door could swing past without hitting him； and his back foot came down on nothing。
Simon made a sound of startled terror and grabbed at the inside door handle。 The door swung into the room； tipping him even farther backward as he stabbed with his foot for something to stand on。 Panic…sweat made his grip on the door handle treacherous。 The torchlight leaking in through the doorway showed a floor that extended only a cubit past the door jamb and then fell away in rotted splinters。 He could see nothing below but darkness。
He had barely regained his balance； pulling himself back onto the fragment of flooring with one hand； when the great and terrible bell rang a second time。 For an instant the world fell away around him and the room with the missing floor filled with light and leaping flames。 The sword； which he had held tightly even while dangling over nothingness； tumbled from his grip and fell。 A moment later the flames were gone and Simon was tottering on the edge of floor。 Bright…Nail…precious； precious thing； the hope of all the world…had disappeared into the shadows below。
The footfalls； which had stopped for long moments started again。 Simon pushed the door closed and huddled with his back against it； on a narrow strip of wood over empty blackness。 He heard the footsteps pass his hiding place and move away up the stairwell…but he no longer cared who shared the tower with him。 Bright…Nail was lost。
They were so high。 The walls of the stairwell seemed to lean inward； closing on her like a swallowing throat。 Miriamele swayed。 If that ear…shattering bell rang a fourth time； she would surely lose her balance and fall。 The plummet down the battering stairs would be unending。
〃We are almost there；〃 whispered Binabik。
〃I know。〃 She could feel something waiting for them just a short distance above： the very air trembled。 〃I don't know if I can go there。。。〃
The troll took her hand。 〃I'm also frightened。〃 She could scarcely hear him over the shrilling of the wind。 〃But your uncle is being there； and Camaris has now carried the sword up to that place。 Pryrates is there； too。〃
〃And my father。〃
Binabik nodded。
Miriamele took a deep breath and looked up to wherea thin gleam of scarlet leaked past the bend of the stairwell。 Death and even worse was waiting there。 She knew she must go； but she also knew with terrible clarity that the moment she took her next step the world she had known would begin to end。
She ran her hands across her sweaty face。
〃I'm ready。〃
Smoky light throbbed where the stairs opened into the chamber above。 Thunder growled outside。 Miriamele squeezed Binabik's arm； then patted at her belt； touching the dagger she had taken from the cold； unmoving hand of one of Isorn's men。 She took another arrow from herpack and fitted it loosely on the string of her bow。 Pryrates had been hurt once…even if she could not kill him； perhaps she could provide a crucial distraction。
They stepped up into the bloody glow。
Tiamak's thin legs were the first thing she saw。 The Wrannaman lay unmoving against the wall with his robe rucked up around his knees。 She choked back a cry and swallowed hard； then mounted higher； her face lifted into the streaming wind。
Dark clouds knotted the sky beyond the high windows； ragged edges agleam with the Conqueror Star's feverish light。 Flecks of snow swirled like ashes beneath the chamber ceiling where the great bells hung。 The sense of waiting； of a world in suspension； was very strong。 Miriamele struggled for breath。
She heard Binabik make a small noise beside her。 Camaris knelt on the floor beneath the green…skinned bells； his shoulders shaking； black Thorn held upright before him like a holy Tree。 A few paces away stood Pryrates； scarlet robes rippling in the powerful wind。 But neither of these held her attention。
〃Father？〃 It came out as little more than a whisper。
The king's head lifted； but the motion seemed to take a long time。 His pale face was skeletally gaunt； his eyes deep…sunken； gleaming like shuttered lamps。 He stared at her； and she felt herself falling into shards。 She wanted to weep； to laugh； to rush to him and help to make him well again。 Another part of her； trapped and screaming； wanted to see this twisted thing that pretended to be him…that could not be the man who had rais