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voice grew stronger。 〃But if we go deeper； they will never find us。 Then Hernystir will survive； far away from the madness of Elias and Skali and the rest！〃
Old Craobhan looked up at her worriedly。 She knew he was wondering what everyone else wondered： had Maegwin been unbalanced by her losses…by all their losses？
Perhaps I have； she thought； but not in this。 In this； I am sure I am right。
〃But； Lady Maegwin；〃 the old counselor said； 〃how will we eat？ What will we do for cloth； for grain。。。 ？〃
〃You said it yourself；〃 she responded； 〃The mountains are shot through with tunnels。 If we learn and explore them； we can live deep in stone and be safe from Skali； yet e out wherever we wish…to hunt； to gather stores； even to raid Kaldskryke's own camps if we choose！〃
〃But 。 。 。 but 。 。 。〃 The old man turned to Arnoran； but the harper could offer no support。 〃But what will your mother Inahwen think of such a plan？〃 he said at last。
Maegwin snorted in contempt。 〃My stepmother spends her days sitting with the other women； plaining about how hungry she is。 Inahwen is less use than a child。〃
〃Then what will Eolair think？ What of the brave count？〃
Maegwin stared at Craobhan's shaking hands； his rheumy old eyes。 For a moment she felt sorry for him； but that did not quell her anger。 〃What the Count of Nad Mullach thinks； he may tell us…but remember； Craobhan： he does not mand me。 He has taken the oath to my father's house。 Eolair will do what I say！〃
She walked away； leaving the two men whispering beside the fire。 The biting chill outside the cave could not cool her heated face； even though she stood in the snowy wind for a long time。
Earl Guthwulf of Utanyeat awakened to hear the Hayholt's midnight bell； high above in Green Angel Tower； shuddering into silence。
Guthwulf closed his eyes； waiting for sleep to return； but slumber was elusive。 Picture after picture appeared before his shuttered gaze； images of battles and tournaments； the dry repetitions of court etiquette； the chaos of the hunt。 Foremost in every scene was King Elias' face…the flash of panicky relief； quickly hidden； that had greeted Guthwulf as he broke through a ring of attackers to rescue his friend during the Thrithings wars； the blank； black stare with which Elias received confirmation of his wife Hylissa's death； and most disturbing of all； the secretive； gleeful； yet at the same moment shamefaced stare that the king now wore whenever he and Guthwulf met。
The earl sat up； cursing。 Sleep had fled and would not return soon。
He did not light the lamp； but dressed in darkness； relying on the sprinkle of starlight from the narrow window to help him step over his manservant； who lay dozing on the floor at the foot of Guthwulf s bed。 He pulled a cloak over his nightshirt and donned a pair of slippers； then made his way out into the corridor。 Addled with such foolish； troubled thoughts； he decided he might as well walk for an hour。
The halls of the Hayholt were empty； with not a guard or servant in sight。 Here and there torches burned fitfully in their wall sconces； consumed almost to the socket。 The halls were untenanted； but still faint murmurs swept through the darkened passageways…voice of sentries on the walls； the earl decided； rendered bodiless and spectral by distance。
Guthwulf shivered。 What I need is a woman； he thought。 A warm body in the bed； a prattling voice to silence when I wish and to fill the quiet when I let。 This monkish living would unman anyone。
He turned and strode down the hall； heading for the servant's quarters。 There was a saucy； curly…headed chambermaid who wouldn't say no…hadn't she told him her intended had died at Bullback Hill； that she was all alone？
If that one is in mourning…hah！ Then I will bee a monk！
The great door to the servant's quarters was locked。 Guthwulf snarled and tugged； but the bolt was shot on the inner side。 He contemplated banging on the heavy oak with his fist until someone came to open it…someone who would swiftly feel Utanyeat's wrath…but decided against it。 Something about Hayholt's silent corridors made him unwilling to attract attention。 Besides； he told himself； the curly…haired wench was not worth the beating down of doors。
He stepped away； rubbing his bristled chin； and saw something pale moving at the turning of the hall； near the edge of his vision。 He whirled； startled； but found nothing there。 He walked a few steps and leaned around the corner。 The hall beyond was also empty。 A breathless whisper drifted along the passageway…a woman's low voice； muttering as if in pain。 Guthwulf turned on his heel and stalked back toward his chamber。
Night tricks； he grumbled to himself。 Doors locked； corridors empty…the whole damnable； Bleeding Usires castle might as well be deserted！
He stopped； suddenly； looking around。 What hallway was this？ He did not recognize the polished tiles； the oddly…shaped banners hanging shadowed on the dark wall。 Unless he had made a wrong turning and lost his way； this should be the chapel's walking…hall。 He retraced his way back to the forking of the hall and turned； taking the other route。 Now； although this new corridor was featureless but for a few window…slits； he was sure he had found his way once more。
He grabbed at the base of one of the windows and pulled himself up； hanging by his strong arms。 Outside would be either the front or side of the chapel courtyard。 。 。 。
Startled； Guthwulf let go and slid the short distance back to the ground。 His knees buckled； dropping him to the floor。 He rolled quickly to his feet； heart pounding； and reached for the window slit to haul himself up again。
It was the chapel courtyard； sunk in deep night； just as it should be。
But what then had he seen the first time？ There had been white walls and the forest of looming spires that he had first taken for trees； then recognized in an instant later as towers…a forest of slim minarets； ivory needles that caught the moonlight and glowed as if full…charged with it！ The Hayholt had no such towers！
But there！ Again the evidence of his eyes confirmed that all was right and usual。 There was the courtyard； the chapel door and awning； the shrubs standing beside the pathways like drowsy sheep。 Beyond； he could just make out the moonbathed silhouette of Green Angel Tower…a solitary sky…pointing finger where a moment before he had seen a dozen hands raised in supplication。
He dropped to his feet and leaned against the cold stone。 Then what had he seen that first time？ Night tricks？ No； this was more！ This was sickness； or madness 。。。 or witchcraft！
After a moment he collected himself。 Steady； you fool。 He stood up； shaking his head。 These aren't the fruits of madness； but of too much pondering； too much womanish worry。 My sire used to sit up at night staring wide…eyed at the fire and claimed he saw ghosts there。 StilI； he was fit enough in his head when he died； and lived a full seventy summers。 No； it is all this thought about the king that is preying on me。 Black witchcraft may be all around us…God knows； I'm last to argue against it after what I've seen this cursed year…b