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man in a russet…brown cloak； wearing the sharp…featured mask of a fox。 The fox leaned forward； indicating two chairs with a graceful sweep of his velvet…gloved fingers。
〃Sit down。〃 His voice was thin but melodious； 〃Sit down。 Princess
Miriamele … I would rise； but my crippled legs do not permit it。〃
〃This is madness；〃 Cadrach blustered； but kept an eye on the skull…faced specter at his shoulder。 〃You have made a mistake； sir…this is a boy you address； my acolyte 。。。〃
〃Please。〃 The fox gestured amiably for silence。 〃It is time to doff our masks。 Is that not how Midsummer Night always ends？〃
He lifted the fox face away； revealing a shock of white hair and a face seamed with age。 As his unmasked eyes glittered in the fireglow； a smile quirked his wrinkled lips。
〃Now that you know who 1 am 。 。 。〃 he began； but Cadrach interrupted him。
〃We do not know you； sir； and you have mistaken us！〃
The old man laughed dryly。 〃Oh； e。 You and I may not have met before； my dear fellow； but the princess and I are old friends。 As a matter of fact； she was my guest； once…long； long ago。〃
〃You are 。。。 Count Streawe？〃 Miriamele breathed。
〃Indeed；〃 the count nodded。 His shadow loomed on the wall behind him。 He leaned forward； clasping her wet hand in his velvet…sheathed claw。 〃Perdruin's master… And； beginning the moment you two touched foot on the rock over which I rule； your master as well。〃
3
Oath…Breaker
LATER in the day of his meeting with the Herder and Huntress； when the sun was high in the sky； Simon felt strong enough to go outside and sit on the rocky porch before his cave。 He wrapped a corner of his blanket about his shoulders and tucked the remainder of the heavy wool beneath him as a cushion against the mountain's stony skin。 But for the royal couch in Chidsik ub Lingit； there seemed to be nothing like a chair in all of Yiqanuc。
The herders had long since led their sheep out of the protected valleys where they slept； taking them down…mountain in search of fodder。 Jiriki had told him that the spring shoots on which the animals usually fed had been all but destroyed by the clinging winter。 Simon watched one of the flocks milling on a slope far below him； tiny as ants。 A faint clacking sound wafted up to him； the rams butting horns as they contested for mastery of the herd。
The troll women； their black…haired babies strapped to their backs in pouches of finely stitched hide； had taken up slender spears and gone out hunting； stalking marmots and other animals whose meat could help to eke out the mutton。 Binabik had often said that the sheep were the Qanuc people's true wealth； that they ate only such members of their flocks as were good for nothing else； the old and the barren。
Marmots； coneys； and other such small game were not the only reason the troll women carried spears。 One of the furs ostentatiously wrapped around Nunuuika had been that of a snow leopard； dagger…sharp claws still gleaming。 Remembering the Huntress' fierce eyes； Simon had little doubt that Nunuuika had brought down that prize herself。
The women were not alone in facing danger； the task of the herdsmen was just as perilous； since there were many large predators that had to be kept from the precious sheep。 Binabik had once told him that the wolves and leopards； although a threat； were scarcely parable to the huge snow bears； the biggest of them heavy as two dozen trolls。 Many a Qanuc
herder； Binabik had said； met a swift and unpleasant end beneath the claws and teeth of a white bear。
Simon repressed a reflexive tremor of unease at this thought。 Hadn't he stood before the dragon Igjarjuk； grander and deadlier by far than any ordinary animal？
He sat as late morning passed into afternoon； watching the life of Mintahoq as it lay spread before him； as simultaneously hectic yet organized as a beehive。 The elders； their years of hunting and herding past； gossiped from porch to porch or crouched in the sun； carving bone and horn； cutting and sewing cured hide into all manner of things。 Children too big to be carried off to the hunt by their mothers played games up and down the mountain under the old folks' bemused supervision； shinnying up the slender ladders or swinging and tumbling on the swaying thong bridges； heedless of the fatal distances that stretched beneath them。 Simon found it more than a little difficult to watch these dangerous amusements； but through all the long afternoon not a single troll child came to harm。 Though the details were alien and unfamiliar； he could sense the order here。 The measured beat of life seemed as strong and stable as the mountain itself。
That night Simon dreamed once more of the great wheel。
This time； as in a cruel parody of the passion of Usires the Son of God； Simon was bound helplessly to the wheel； a limb at each quarter of the heavy rim。 It turned him not only topside…down； as Lord Usires had suffered upon the Tree； but spun him around and around in an earthless void of black sky。 The stars' bleak radiance blurred before him like the tails of ets。 Something else…some shadowy； icy thing whose laugh was the empty buzzing of flies…danced just beyond his sight； mocking him。
He called out； as he often did in such terrible dreams； but no sound came forth。 He struggled； but his limbs were without strength。 Where was God； who the priests said saw every act？ Why should He leave Simon in the grasp of such dreadful darknesses？
Something seemed to form slowly out of the pale； attenuated stars； his heart filled with awful anticipation。 But what emerged from the spinning void was not the expected red…eyed horror； but a small； solemn face： the little dark…haired girl he had seen in other dreams。
She opened her mouth。 The madly revolving sky seemed to slow。
She spoke his name。
It came to him as down a long corridor； and he realized he had seen her somewhere。 He knew that face…but who 。 。 。 where。 。 。 ？
〃Simon；〃 she said again； somehow clearer now。 Her voice was filled with urgency。 But something else was reaching out for him； too…something closer to hand。 Something quite near 。 。 。
He awoke。
Someone was looking for him。 Simon sat up on his pallet； breathless； alert for any sound。 But for the endless sighing of the mountain winds and the faint snoring of Haestan； wrapped in his heavy cloak near the coats of the evening's fire； the cavern was still。
Jiriki was absent。 Could the Sitha have called to him from outside the cave？ Or was it only the residue of dream？ Simon shivered and considered pulling the fur coverlet back over his head once more。 His breath was a dim cloud in the ember…light。
No； somebody was waiting outside。 He did not know how he knew； but he was sure： he felt tuned like a harp string； trembling。 The night seemed tight…stretched。
What if someone did wait for him？ Perhaps it was someone…some thing…from which it would be better to hide？
Such thoughts made little difference。 He had gotten it into his head that he must go out。 Now the need tugged at him； impossible to ignore。
My cheek aches terribly； anyway； he told himself。 I won't be able to f