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aring from view for a moment beneath the water。 When he surfaced an instant later he was thrashing madly； dirty white fur festooned with branches。 He raised his chin and barked thunderously at the storm； as though demanding help。 His fellows swarmed on the shore behind him； hooting and groaning with frustrated bloodlust。
The first giant swam awkwardly and unhappily back to the shallows。 He stood up； streaming with water； and reached down an apelike arm to pull loose a massive tree limb thick as a man's leg。 Grunting； he flung it through the air。 The limb hit the water beside the raft with a tremendous splash； tearing Sludig's cheek with a jutting branch and nearly upsetting the crude boat。 Stunned； Sludig foundered。 Binabik disentangled himself from Qantaqa and leaned forward； hooking the toes of his boots into gaps between the beams of the pitching raft。 The little man clutched the Rimmersman's wrist with both hands until Sludig recovered。 The giants hurled more missiles； but none came as close as the first。 Their thwarted bellows seemed to rumble across all the flooded valley。
Cursing giants and rafts equally； Sludig pushed off with his long Qanuc spear until they at last floated free of clinging branches。 He began to kick； pushing the raft and its unlikely cargo out across the chill gray water toward the shadowy stone。
Eolair rode east from his ancestral home of Nad Mullach beneath night skies a…flicker with strange lights。 The countryside around his captured stronghold had proved less hospitable than he had hoped。 Many of his people had already been driven away by the misfortunes of war and the terrible weather； and those who remained were reluctant to open their doors to a stranger…even if that stranger claimed to be the ruling count。 Occupied Hernystir was a land held prisoner more by fear than by enemy soldiers。
Few others were abroad by night； which was when Eolair did most of his traveling。 Even Skali of Kaldskryke's men； despite their conquerors' crowns； seemed reluctant to stir forth； as if taking on the character of those they had conquered。 In this grim summer of snow and restless spirits； even the war's victors bowed before a greater power。
Eolair was more than ever certain that he must find Josua； if the prince still lived。 Maegwin might have sent him on this quest because of some odd or spiteful notion； but now it seemed laughably apparent that the north of Osten Ard had fallen beneath a shadow of more than human origin； and that the riddle of the sword Bright…Nail might very well have something to do with it。 Why else would the gods have arranged that Eolair should be in that monstrously strange city beneath the ground； or that he should meet its even stranger denizens？ The Count of Nad Mullach was a pragmatist by nature。 His long years of service to the king had hardened his heart to fantasy； but at the same time his experience of diplomacy had also made him mistrustful of excessive coincidence。 To suggest that there was no overriding supernatural element to the summer… that…was…winter； the reappearance of creatures out of legend； and the sudden importance of forgotten but near…mythical swords was to close one's eyes to a reality as plain as the mountains and the seas。
Also； despite all his endless days in the court of Erkynland； Nabban； and Perdruin； and for all his cautious words to Maegwin； Eolair was a Herynstirman。 More than any other mortal men； the Hemystiri remembered。
As Eolair rode into Erkynland； across bleak Utanyeat toward the battle site of Ach Samrath； the storm grew stronger。 The snow； however unseasonable； had until now fallen only moderately； as it might in the early days of Novander。 Now the winds were rising； changing the flat countryside into a flurrying landscape of white nothingness。 The cold was so fierce that he was forced to abandon night riding altogether for a few days； but he worried little about being recognized： the roads and countryside were all but deserted even at gray； blustery noon。 He noted with sour satisfaction that Utanyeat…the earldom of Guthwulf； one of High King Ellas' favorites…was as storm…wounded as any of Hernystir。 There was some justice； after all。
Trekking endlessly through white emptiness； he found himself thinking often of his people left behind； but especially of Maegwin。 Although in some ways she had bee almost as wild and intractable as a beast since the death of her father and brother； he had always felt great affection toward her。 That was not yet gone； but it was hard not to feel betrayed by her treatment of him； no matter how well he thought he understood its cause。 Still； he could not bring himself to hate her。 He had been a special friend to her since she had been a little girl； making a point of speaking with her whenever he was at court； letting her show him the Taig's gardens； as well as the pigs and chickens to which she gave names； and which she treated with the same annoyed fondness a mother might show her reckless children。
As she grew； being as tall as a man…but none the less ely for it…Eolair had watched her also bee steadily more reserved； only occasionally showing the flashes of girhshness which had so delighted him before。 She seemed to turn inward； like a rosebush balked by an overhanging roof that coiled in on itself until its own thorns rubbed its stems raw。 She still reserved special attention for Eolair； but that attention was more and more confusing； more and more made up of awkward silences and her angry self…recriminations。
For a while he had thought she cared for him as more than just a friend of her family and distant kinsman。 He had wondered whether two such solitary folk could ever find their way together…Eolair； for all his easy speech and cleverness； had always felt that the best part of himself was hidden far beneath the surface； just as his quiet hill…keep at Nad Mullach stood remote from the bustle of the Taig。 But even as he had finally begun to think in earnest about Maegwin…even as his admiration for her honesty and for her impatience with nonsense had begun to ripen into something deeper…she had turned cold to him。 She seemed to have decided that Eolair was only another of the legion of idlers and flatterers that surrounded King Lluth。
One long afternoon in eastern Utanyeat； as the snow stung his face and he wandered far away in thought； he suddenly wondered。 Was I wrong？ Did she care for me all that time？ It was a horrifying thought； because it suddenly turned the world he knew on its head and gave vastly different meaning to everything that had transpired between them since Maegwin had bee a woman。
Have I been blind？ But if that were so； why should she act so backwardly to me？ Have I not always treated her with respect and kindness？
After turning the idea over in his head for a long hour； he put it away again。 It was too unfortable to consider any longer here in the middle of nowhere； with months or more between now and when he could see her again。
And she had sent him away in anger； had she not？
The wind picked restlessly at the unsettled snow。
He rode past Ach Samrath on a morning when the storm had abated some