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oom seemed to share a single held breath。 The Fire Dancer turned back to Simon； a grin curling his thick lips。 〃These folk betrayed their oath to the Master。 This is no concern of yours。〃
Simon felt an immense fury wash over him。 He had seen all the bullying he had the stomach for； from the countrywide misdeeds of the king to the precisely pointed cruelties of Pryrates。 He tightened his grip on the hilt。 〃I am making it my concern。 Take your hands from them and get out。〃
Wthout further argument； the leader spat out a word and the follower who held the woman let her go…she slumped against the table； knocking a bowl onto the floor…and leaped toward Simon； his blunt…headed staff swinging in a wide arc。 A few people shouted in fear or excitement。 Simon was frozen for an instant； his sword only halfway out of his scabbard。
Idiot！ Mooncalf！
He dropped to the floor and the staff whistled over his head； knocking several cloaks from the wall and being entangled in one of them。 Simon seized the moment and threw himself forward into the man's legs。 They both fell； tumbling； and Simon's sword came free of the scabbard and thumped into the floor rushes。 He had hurt his shoulder…his attacker was heavy and solidly…built…and as he disentangled himself and pulled free； the Fire Dancer managed to catch him with a cudgel blow to his leg which stung cold as a knife wound。 Simon rolled toward his lost sword and was hugely grateful when he felt it beneath his fingers。 His attacker was up and moving toward him； his cudgel darting out like a striking snake。
From the corner of his eye； Simon could see that the second big man was ing toward him as well。
First things first； was the inane thought that ran through his head； the same thing Rachel had always told him about doing his chores when he wanted to go climb or play a game。 He rose to a standing crouch； his sword held before him； and deflected a blow from his first attacker。 It was impossible to remember all the things he had been taught in the muddle of noise and movement and panic； but he was relieved to find that as long as he could keep his sword between himself and the Fire Dancer； he could keep the man at bay。 But what would he do when the second arrived？
He received an answer of sorts a moment later； when a blur of movement at the edge of his vision warned him to duck。 The second man's staff whickered past and clacked against the first man's。 Simon took a step backward without turning and then whirled and swung his blade around as hard as he could。 He caught the man behind him across the arm； drawing an angry shriek。 The Fire Dancer dropped his staff and stumbled back toward the doorway； clutching his forearm。 Simon returned his attention to the man in front of him； hoping that the second man was； if not defeated； at least out of the battle for a few desperately…needed moments。 The first attacker had learned the lesson of not getting too close； and was now using the length of his club to keep Simon on the defensive。
There was a crash from behind； Simon； startled； almost lost sight of the foe before him。 Seeing this； the man aimed another whirling blow at his head。 Simon managed to get his blade up in time to deflect it； then； as the Fire Dancer raised the staff once more； Simon brought his sword up； sweeping the cudgel even farther upward so that it struck the low timbers of the roof and caught in the netting below the thatch。 The Fire Dancer stared up for a moment in surprise； in that instant； Simon took a step forward； lodged the sword against the man's midsection and pushed it home。 He struggled to pull the blade free； conscious that at any moment the other attacker； or even the leader； might be upon him。
Something struck him from the side； flinging him against a table。 For a moment； he was staring into the alarmed face of one of the mon…room drinkers。 He whirled to see that the person who had shoved him； the bald man Maefwaru； was pushing his way between the tables； headed toward the door； he did not pause to look down at either of his minions； the one Simon had slain or the other； who lay in a curious position near the doorway。
〃It will not be so easy；〃 Maefwaru shouted as he vanished through the door and into the rainy night。
A moment later Miriamele stepped back into the room。 She looked down at the Fire Dancer laying there； the one Simon had wounded on the arm。 〃I've broken our jug on his head；〃 she said； excited and breathless。 〃But I think the one who just ran out is going to e back with more of his friends。 Curse my luck！ I couldn't find anything to hit him with。 We'll have to run。〃
〃The horses；〃 Simon panted。 〃Are they？〃 〃A few steps away；〃 replied Miriamele。 〃e。〃 Simon bent and snatched up the supper sack he had left on the floor。 The kerchief was wet； soaked by the ale that had splashed from the jug which lay in pieces around the limp Fire Dancer。 He looked around the room。 The man and woman that Maefwaru and his henchmen had threatened were cringing against the far wall； staring as bewilderedly as any of the inn's other customers；
〃You had better get out of here； too；〃 he called to them。 'That bald one will bring back more。 Go on…run！〃
Everyone was looking at him。 Simon wanted to say something clever or brave…heroes usually did…but he couldn't think of anything。 Also； there was real blood on his sword and his stomach seemed to have crawled up into his throat。 He followed Miriamele out the door； leaving behind two bodies and a room full of wide eyes and open； speechless mouths。
6
The Circle Narrows
The swirl of snow had lessened； but the wind still moved angrily across the hillside beneath Naglimund； fluting in the teeth of the broken wall。 Count Eolair nudged his horse toward Maegwin's mount； wishing he could shield her somehow； not just from the cold but also from the horror of the naked stone towers； the windows now flickering with light。
Yizashi Grayspear rode forward from the ranks of the Sithi； his lance couched beneath one arm。 He lifted the other and waved something that looked like a silver baton。 His hand flashed in a wide arc； making a loud musical noise which had something of the metallic in it； the silver thing in his hand opened like a lady's fan； spreading into a glittering； semicircular shield。
〃A y'ei g'eisu！〃 he shouted up at the blankly staring keep。 〃 Yas 'a pripuma jo…shoi！〃
The lights in Naglimund's windows seemed to waver like wind…fluttered candles as shadows moved in their depths。 Eolair felt himself almost overwhelmed with the urge to turn and ride away。 This was no longer a human place； and the poisonous terror he was feeling was nothing like the anticipatory fear before any human battle。 He turned to Maegwin。 Her eyes were closed and her mouth moved in silent speech。 Isorn seemed similarly unnerved； and when Eolair turned in his saddle and looked back； the pale faces of his fellow Hernystiri were as gape…mouthed and hollow…eyed as a row of corpses。
Brynioch preserve us； the count thought desperately； we do not belong in this。 They will bolt in a moment if I do the wrong thing。
Deliberately； he tugged his sword from its scabbard and showed it to his men； then held it high over his head for a moment before dropping it to his side。 It was only a small show of bravery； but it was something。
Now Jiriki and his mother Likimeya rode forward； halting on either side of Yizashi。 After a moment's whispered conversation； Likimeya spurred her horse a few paces ahead。 Then； startlingly； she began to sing。
Her voice； thin at first against the rude piping of the wind； grew slowly stronger。 The impenetrable Sithi tongue flowed out； slurring and clicking yet somehow as smooth as warm oil poured from a jar。 The song rose and fell； pulsed； then rose again； each time growing more powerful。 Although Eolair understood nothing of the words； there was something clearly denunciatory to the roll and swoop of it； something challenging in the cadence。 Likimeya's voice chimed like a herald's brazen horn； and as with the call of a horn； there was a ring of cold metal beneath the music。
〃What goes on here？〃 whispered Isorn。
Eolair gestured for silence。
The mist floating before the walls of Naglimund seemed to thicken； as though one dream was ending and another beginning。 Something changed in Likimeya's voice。 It took a moment before Eolair recognized that the mistress of the Sithi had not altered her song； but rather that another voice had joined it。 At first the new thread of melody clung close to the challenge…song。 The tone was as strong as Likimeya's； but where hers was metal； this new voice was stone and ice。 After some long moments the second voice began to sing around the original melody； weaving a strange pattern like a glass filigree over Likimeya's belling tones。 The sound of it made the Count of Nad Mullach's skin stretch and tingle and his body hair lift； even beneath the layers of clothing。
Eolair raised his eyes。 His heart began to beat even more swiftly。
Through the dimming fog； a thin black shadow appeared atop the castle wall； rising into view as smoothly as though lifted by an unseen hand。 It was man…sized； Eolair decided； but the mist subtly distorted its shape； so that one moment it seemed larger； the next smaller and thinner than any living thing。 It looked down on them； black…cloaked； face invisible beneath a large hood…but Eolair did not need to see its face to know that it was the source of the high； stone…edged voice。 For long moments it only stood in the swirling mist atop the wall； embroidering upon Likimeya's song。 Finally； as if by some prior agreement； they both fell still at the same moment。
Likimeya broke the silence； calling out something in the Sithi tongue。 The black apparition answered； its words ringing like shards of jagged flint； and yet Eolair could hear that the words they spoke were much the same； the differences mainly in rhythm and the greater harshness of the robed creature's speech。 The conversation seemed interminable。
There was a movement behind him。 Eolair flinched； his horse startled； kicking snow。 Sky…haired Zinjadu； the lore…mistress； had brought her own mount to where the mortals stood。
〃They speak of the Pact of Sesuad'ra。〃 Her eyes were fixed on Likimeya and her opposite； 'They speak of old heartbreaks and the mourning songs yet to be sung。〃
〃Why so much talk？〃 asked Isorn raggedly。 〃The waiting is dreadful。〃
〃It is our way。〃 Zinjadu's lips tightened； her thin face seemed carved in pale golden stone。 〃Although it was not respected when Amerasu was slain。 〃
She offered nothing more。 Eolair could only wait in uneasy fear and； ultimately； a kind of horrible boredom as challenge and response were offered。
Finally the thing on the wall turned its attention away from Likimeya for a moment； its eyes lit on the count and his few scores of Hernystirinen。 With a movement almost as broad as a traveling player's； the black…robed one flung back its hood； revealing a sleet…white face and thin hair just as colorless which rose in the wind； floating like the strands of some sea…plant。
〃Shu'do…tkzayha！〃 the Norn said in a tone almost of exultation。 〃Mortals！ They will yet be the death of your family； Likimeya Moon…Eyes！〃 He； if it was a he； spoke the Westerling tongue with the harsh precision of a gamekeeper imitating a rabbit's death squeal。 〃Are you so weak that you summoned this rabble to aid you？ It is hardly Sinnach's great army！〃
〃You have usurped a mortal's castle；〃 said Likimeya coldly。 Beside her Jiriki still sat his horse stiffly； his sharp…boned face empty of any recognizable emotion； Eolair wondered again how anyone could ever feel they knew the Sithi。 〃And your master and mistress have entered into the disputes of mortals。 You have little to crow about。〃
The Norn laughed； a noise like fingernails on slate。 〃We use them； yes。 They are the rats that have dug into the walls of our house…we might skin them for gloves； but we do not invite them in to sup at our table！ That is your weakness； as it was Amerasu Ship…Born's。〃
〃Do not speak of her！〃 Jiriki cried。 〃Your mouth is t