shivered and turned to him again. “So—how do we know it’s still there? What if someone’s taken it?”
“They haven’t,” said One-Eye. “I would have known.”
“But you said there were others. And now—”
“Truth is, Maddy,” he interrupted, “I’m not sure if he’s there at all, or what he means to do if he is. But if I come with you and he’s waiting down there with whatever glam he’s managed to hang on to—”
“Who is he?” said Maddy again.
One-Eye gave a twisted smile. “A…friend,” he said. “From long ago. One who turned traitor in the Winter War. I thought he was dead, and maybe he is, but his kind have nine lives, and he always was lucky.”
Maddy started to speak, but he cut her off. “Listen, Maddy. He’s waiting for
me
. He won’t suspect you. He may not even notice you. And you can find the Whisperer and bring it to me before he sees what’s happening. Will you do it?”
Once again Maddy looked into the Horse’s Eye. It yawned darkly at her feet, as if the Horse were coming awake after centuries of sleeping.
“What about you?” she said at last.
The Outlander smiled, but his good eye gleamed. “I may be old, Maddy, but I think I can still handle a rabble of villagers.”
And perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it seemed to Maddy that her friend had grown taller somehow and looked younger, stronger, his colors brighter and more powerful, as if years had been shorn from him—years, she thought, or maybe more. For Maddy knew that the Winter War had come to its end over five centuries ago; demon wolves had swallowed the sun and moon, and the Strond had swollen to the flanks of the mountains, leveling everything in its path.
Nat Parson called it
Tribulation
and preached of how the Ancient of Days had tired of mankind’s evil and sent fire and ice to cleanse the world.
One-Eye called it
Ragnarók.
“Who are you?” she said.
“Does it matter?” said One-Eye.
He must have seen his answer in Maddy’s face, because he nodded and some of the tension went out of him. “Good,” he said. “Now run and find the Whisperer—or let it find you if it can. Stay hidden, and stay alert. Trust no one, whoever they may appear to be, and above all, say nothing—to
anyone
—of me.”
“Wait!” said Maddy as he turned away.
“I’ve waited enough,” said the Outlander, and without a glance or a farewell gesture he began to walk back down Red Horse Hill.
1
The passage was not even, but dipped down at irregular intervals, sometimes crossing water, sometimes narrowing to a cleft through which Maddy had to squeeze to pass through. By inverting the runes, she had closed the mouth of the tunnel behind her, and now the rune
Bjarkán
at her fingertips was her only means of penetrating the darkness.
After some minutes, however, she found that the passageway had broadened a little and that its earth walls had begun to give way to a hard, almost glassy surface. It was rock, Maddy realized as she moved deeper into the hillside; some kind of dark and shiny mineral, its surface occasionally broken by a crystalline outcrop that shone like a cluster of needles.
After half an hour the floor too had mostly changed to the same glassy rock, and sheets of phosphorescence powdered the walls, so that the way was softly illuminated.
And there were color-signatures everywhere, like skeins of spiderweb, too many to count or to identify. Many of these showed the remnants of magic—cantrips and glamours and workings and runes—as easy to see as wagon tracks on a muddy road.
She cast
ýr,
the Protector, to keep herself hidden, but even so she was sure that among so many workings she must have set off a few alarms. Uncomfortably she considered what kind of spider might live in such an intricate web, and her mind returned to One-Eye, and to the person—friend or enemy—he feared, who might be lying in wait at the heart of the Hill.
What was she looking for? she wondered. And what
“They haven’t,” said One-Eye. “I would have known.”
“But you said there were others. And now—”
“Truth is, Maddy,” he interrupted, “I’m not sure if he’s there at all, or what he means to do if he is. But if I come with you and he’s waiting down there with whatever glam he’s managed to hang on to—”
“Who is he?” said Maddy again.
One-Eye gave a twisted smile. “A…friend,” he said. “From long ago. One who turned traitor in the Winter War. I thought he was dead, and maybe he is, but his kind have nine lives, and he always was lucky.”
Maddy started to speak, but he cut her off. “Listen, Maddy. He’s waiting for
me
. He won’t suspect you. He may not even notice you. And you can find the Whisperer and bring it to me before he sees what’s happening. Will you do it?”
Once again Maddy looked into the Horse’s Eye. It yawned darkly at her feet, as if the Horse were coming awake after centuries of sleeping.
“What about you?” she said at last.
The Outlander smiled, but his good eye gleamed. “I may be old, Maddy, but I think I can still handle a rabble of villagers.”
And perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it seemed to Maddy that her friend had grown taller somehow and looked younger, stronger, his colors brighter and more powerful, as if years had been shorn from him—years, she thought, or maybe more. For Maddy knew that the Winter War had come to its end over five centuries ago; demon wolves had swallowed the sun and moon, and the Strond had swollen to the flanks of the mountains, leveling everything in its path.
Nat Parson called it
Tribulation
and preached of how the Ancient of Days had tired of mankind’s evil and sent fire and ice to cleanse the world.
One-Eye called it
Ragnarók.
“Who are you?” she said.
“Does it matter?” said One-Eye.
He must have seen his answer in Maddy’s face, because he nodded and some of the tension went out of him. “Good,” he said. “Now run and find the Whisperer—or let it find you if it can. Stay hidden, and stay alert. Trust no one, whoever they may appear to be, and above all, say nothing—to
anyone
—of me.”
“Wait!” said Maddy as he turned away.
“I’ve waited enough,” said the Outlander, and without a glance or a farewell gesture he began to walk back down Red Horse Hill.
1
The passage was not even, but dipped down at irregular intervals, sometimes crossing water, sometimes narrowing to a cleft through which Maddy had to squeeze to pass through. By inverting the runes, she had closed the mouth of the tunnel behind her, and now the rune
Bjarkán
at her fingertips was her only means of penetrating the darkness.
After some minutes, however, she found that the passageway had broadened a little and that its earth walls had begun to give way to a hard, almost glassy surface. It was rock, Maddy realized as she moved deeper into the hillside; some kind of dark and shiny mineral, its surface occasionally broken by a crystalline outcrop that shone like a cluster of needles.
After half an hour the floor too had mostly changed to the same glassy rock, and sheets of phosphorescence powdered the walls, so that the way was softly illuminated.
And there were color-signatures everywhere, like skeins of spiderweb, too many to count or to identify. Many of these showed the remnants of magic—cantrips and glamours and workings and runes—as easy to see as wagon tracks on a muddy road.
She cast
ýr,
the Protector, to keep herself hidden, but even so she was sure that among so many workings she must have set off a few alarms. Uncomfortably she considered what kind of spider might live in such an intricate web, and her mind returned to One-Eye, and to the person—friend or enemy—he feared, who might be lying in wait at the heart of the Hill.
What was she looking for? she wondered. And what
Similar Books
