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r seams。
〃Hengfisk；〃 he whispered。 〃My cup。〃
What had seemed another clump of bedding wadded in the corner of the room now unfurled itself and stood。 The silent monk scurried to a table just inside the chamber door and uncapped a stone ewer。 He filled a goblet with dark； steaming liquid； then brought it to the king。 The monk's ever…present smile； perhaps a little less wide than usual； glimmered faintly in the dark room。
〃I shall not sleep again tonight；〃 the king said。 〃It is the dreams； you know。〃
Hengfisk stood silently； but his bulging eyes offered plete attention。
〃And there is something else。 Something I can feel but cannot understand。〃 He took hts goblet and returned to the window。 The hilt of the gray sword Sorrow scraped against the stone sill。 Elias had not taken it off in a long time； even to sleep； the blade had pressed its own shape into the pallet beside the indentation of the king's form。
Elias raised his cup to his lips； swallowed； then sighed。 〃There is a change in the music；〃 he said quietly。 〃The great music of the dark。 Pryrates has said nothing； but I know。 I do not need that eunuch to tell me everything。 I can see things now； hear things。。。 smell things。〃 He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe； leaving a new smear of black among the countless others already dried on the cloth。 〃Somebody has changed things。〃 He paused for a long moment。 〃But perhaps Pryrates isn't merely hiding it from me。〃 The king turned to regard his cupbearer with an expression that was almost sane。 〃Perhaps Pryrates himself doesn't know。 It wouldn't be the only thing he doesn't know。 I still have a few secrets of my own。〃 Elias brooded。 〃But if Pryrates doesn't realize how 。。。 how things have changed 。。。 now what might that mean； I wonder？〃 He turned back to the window； watching the tower。 〃What might that mean？〃
Hengfisk waited patiently。 Finally； Elias finished his draught and held out the cup。 The monk took it from the king's hand and returned it to the table beside the door； then moved back to his er。 He curled himself against the wall； but his head stayed up； as though he waited further instruction。
〃The tower is waiting；〃 Elias said quietly。 〃It has been waiting a long time。〃
As he leaned against the sill a wind arose and set his dark hair fluttering； then lifted some of the leaves from the floor and sent them whispering and rattling around the chamber。
〃Oh； Father 。。。〃 the king said softly。 〃God of Mercy； I wish I could sleep。〃
For a horrifying time； Simon felt himself drowning in cold； damp earth。 Every nightmare he had ever had of death and burial flooded through him as dirt filled his eyes； his nose； pinioned his arms and legs。 He clawed until he could not feel his hands at the ends of his arms； but still the choking earth surrounded him。
Then； just as abruptly as the earth had swallowed him； it seemed to vomit him out once more。 His legs； kicking like a drowning man's； were suddenly thrashing without resistance； an instant later he felt himself tumbling downward in a great avalanche of loose soil。 He landed heavily； the breath he had held so long pushed out of him in a painful hiss。 He gasped and swallowed dirt。
He was on his knees for long moments； choking and retching。 When the flashes of light swarming before his eyes began to disperse； he lifted his head。 There was light somewhere…not much； but enough to show him the vague outlines of a rounded space only a little wider than he was。 Another tunnel？ Or just a pit down in the depths； a grave of his very own where the air would soon give out？
A small flame seemed to have sprouted from the loose mound of soil upon which he crouched。 That was the source of light。 When he could force his trembling limbs to move； he crawled toward it and discovered that it was the tip of one of his torches； the only part of the burning brand that had not been buried in the great fall of earth。 As carefully as he could； he worked his hand into the loamy earth and freed the torch； then flicked off the clinging dirt； cursing distractedly when he scorched his fingers。 When it was as clean as he could get it； he turned it upside down so that the small flame could spread； soon the glow widened。
The first thing Simon saw was that he was indeed in another tunnel。 In one direction it led downward。 Just like the one he had entered from the barrow； but this tunnel had no opening to the world above： the end was just beside him； a featureless spill of dirt； a great blunt nothingness of damp clods and loose soil。 He could see no light or anything else beyond it； whatever gap he had fallen through was now choked with earth。
The second thing he saw was a dull glint of metal in the pile of dirt before him。 He reached to pick it up； and was distractedly disappointed at how easily it came loose； how small an object it was。 It was not Bright…Nail。 It was a silver belt buckle。
Simon lifted the mud…smeared buckle up to catch the torchlight。 When he wiped the dirt away with his fingers； he laughed； a harshly painful sound that died quickly in the narrow confines。 So this was what he had risked his life for…this was the lure that had dropped him into the prisoning depths。 The buckle was so scratched and worn that the markings were only faintly recognizable。 Some kind of animal head was at the center of it； something square…snouted like a bear or pig； around it were a few slender things that might be sticks or arrows。 It was old and meaningless。 It was worthless。
Simon plunged his torch handle into the ground； then abruptly scrambled up the mound of soil。 The sky must be somewhere above。 His terror was growing strong。 Surely Binabik was digging for him！ But how would the troll find him if Simon did not help！？ He slid back a cubit for every cubit he scrambled at first； until he found a way to move without dislodging so much soil。 At last he climbed far enough that he could lay his hands against the loose earth at the tunnel's end。 He dug there frantically； freeing a shower of dirt； but more dirt kept appearing to take its place。 As long moments passed his movements became even more uncontrolled。 He tore at the unresisting earth； gouged it away in great handfuls； bringing down avalanches of soil from above； but all to no effect。 Tears streamed down his face； mixing with the beads of sweat until his eyes stung。 There was no end to it； no matter how he dug。
He stopped at last； shuddering； covered in settling dirt almost to his waist。 His heart was racing so swiftly that it took him a moment to realize that the tunnel had grown darker。 He turned to see that his heedless digging had almost buried the torch once more。 Simon stared； suddenly afraid that if he crawled back down the slope； down the pile of loose earth； sliding soil would cover the flame pletely。 Once extinguished； there would be no relighting it。 He would be in plete and utter blackness。
He carefully freed himself from the small landslide that prisoned his legs； moving as delicately as he once had while stalking frogs across the Hayholt's moat。
Gently； gently； he told himself。 Not the dark； no。 Need the light。 There won't be anything left for them to find if I lose the light。
A tiny avalanche was stirred。 Clods of dirt went tumbling down the pile and a small slide stopped just short of the flame； which wavered。 Simon's heart nearly stopped。
Gently。 Gently。 Very gently。
When his hands pushed into the crumbly soil beneath the torch； he held his breath； when he had lifted it free； he let the breath out again。 There was such a narrow line…really only a fraying edge of shadow…between the darkness and the light。
Simon went through the process of cleaning the torch all over again； singeing the same fingers； cursing the same curses； until he discovered that his sheathed Qanuc knife was still strapped to his leg。 After saying a prayer in gratitude for this； what seemed his first piece of luck in some time； he used the bone blade to finish the task。 He wondered briefly how long the torch would continue to burn； but pushed the thought away。 There was no chance of clawing his way out； that seemed clear。 So he would move a little farther down the tunnel and wait for Binabik and Miriamele to dig down from above。 Surely they would be doing so soon。 And there was plenty of air； when he stopped to think of it。。。。
As he tipped the torch over so that the whole head caught fire once more； another patter of dirt came tumbling down the slope。 Simon was so intent on what he was doing that he did not look up until a second fall of earth caught his attention。 He held up the torch and squinted at the plugged end of the tunnel。 The dirt was 。。。 moving。
Something like a tiny black tree pushed up from the soil； flexing flat； slender branches。 An instant later another sprouted next to it； then a small lump forced its way up between them。 It was a head。 Blind white eyes turned toward him and nostrils twitched。 A mouth； opened in a terrible semblance of a human grin。
More hands and heads were pushing up through the dirt。 Simon； who had been staring in shocked terror； lurched up onto his knees； holding his torch and knife before him。 Bukken！ Diggers！ His throat clenched。
There were perhaps half a dozen in all。 As they freed themselves from the loose earth they bunched together； twittering quietly among themselves； their spindly； hairy limbs so intertwined and their movements so twitchingly sudden that he could not count them accurately。 He waved the torch at them and they shrank back； but not far。 They were being cautious； but they were certainly not frightened。
Usires Aedon； he prayed silently。 I am in the earth with the diggers。 Save me now。 Somebody please save me。 They advanced in a clump； but then suddenly separated； skittering toward the walls。 Simon shouted in fear and smacked the nearest with his torch。 It shrilled in agony but leaped and wrapped its legs and arms about his wrist； sharp teeth sank into his hand so that he almost dropped the torch。 His shout turning to a wordless rasp of pain； he smashed his arm against the wall of the tunnel； trying to dislodge the thing。 Several more； heartened by the removal of the flame； pranced forward； piping eagerly。
Simon slashed at one and caught it with his knife； tearing at the moldy bits of rags the diggers wore like garments； cutting deeply into the meat beneath。 He drove his other hand against the wall again； as hard as he could； and felt small bones break。 The thing that had clutched his wrist dropped free； but Simon's hand was throbbing as though bitten by a venomous serpent。
He moved back； sliding awkwardly down the slope on his knees； struggling to keep his balance on the loosely…packed earth as the diggers ran at him。 He swung his torch back and forth in a wide arc； the three creatures still standing stared back at him； shriveled little faces drawn tight； mouths open in hatred and fear。 Three。 And two small crumpled forms lying in the dirt where he had kneeled a moment before。 So had there been only five？。。
Something dropped from the tunnel roof onto the top of his head。 Ragged claws scraped at his face and a hand grabbed his upper lip。 Simon shrieked and reached up； grabbed the squirming body as hard as he could； then pulled。 After a moment's struggle it came free with several tufts of his hair clutched in its fists。 Still screaming in disgust and terror； he smashed it down against the ground； then flung the broken body toward the others。 He saw the remaining three tumble back into the shadows before he turned and crawled away down the tunnel as fast as he could； cursing and spluttering； spitting to rid his mouth of the vile taste of the digger's oily skin。
Simon expected any moment to feel something clutch at his legs； when he had crawled for some time he turned and raised the torch。 He thought he saw a faint； pale gleam of eyes； but couldn't be sure。 He turned and continued scrambling downward。 Twice he dropped the torch； snatching it up as swiftly and fearfully as if it were his own heart tumbled from his breast。
The diggers did not seem to have pursued him。 Simon felt