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put a hand out to steady herself。
Blessed Saint Rhiap； she breathed voicelessly； thank you for protecting your humble servant from the unrighteous。 Thank you for making their eyes blind。
More soldiers！ They were all over the tunnels beneath the castle； filling the passageways like ants。 This group was the third that she had seen…or； in this instance； heard…and Rachel did not doubt there were many more that she had not。 What could they want down here？ This part of the castle had lain unexplored for years； she knew…that was what had given her the courage to search here in the first place。 But now something had caught the attention of the king's soldiers。 Pryrates had put them to work digging； it seemed…but digging after what？ Could it be Guthwulf？
Rachel was full of frightened anger。 That poor old man！ Hadn't he suffered enough； losing his sight； driven out of the castle？ What could they want with him？ Of course； he had been the High King's trusted counselor before he had fled： perhaps he knew some secrets that the king was desperate to have。 It must be terribly important to set so many soldiers tracking around in this dreary underworld。
It must be Guthwulf。 Who else would there be to search for down here？ Certainly not Rachel herself： she knew she counted for little in the games of powerful men。 But Guthwulf…well； he had fallen out with Pryrates； hadn't he？ Poor Guthwulf。 She had been right to look for him…he was in terrible danger！ But how could she continue her search with the passageways crawling with the king's men…and worse things； if what the guardsmen seemed to be saying was true？ She would be lucky if she made her own way back to sanctuary undiscovered。
That's so； she told herself。 They nearly had you that time； old woman。 It's a presumption to expect the saint to save you again if you persist in foolishness。 Remember what Father Dreosan used to say： 'God can do anything； but He does not protect the prideful from the doom they summon。'
Rachel stood in the corridor while she waited for her breathing to slow。 She could hear nothing in the corridor but her own swift…drumming heartbeat。
〃Right；〃 she said to herself。 〃Home。 To think。〃 She turned back up the corridor； clutching her sack。
The stairs were hard going。 Rachel had to stop frequently to rest； leaning against the wall and thinking angry thoughts about her increasing infirmity。 In a better world； she knew； a world not so smirched with sin； those who walked the path of righteousness would not suffer such twinges and spites。 But in this world all souls were suspect； and adversity； as Rachel the Dragon had learned at her mother's knee； was the test by which God weighed them。 Surely the burdens she carried now would lighten her in the Great Scales on that fated day。
Aedon Ransomer； I hope so； she thought sourly。 If my earthly burdens get any heavier； on the Day of Weighing…Out I will float away like a dandelion seed。 She grinned wryly at her own impiety。 Rachel； you old fool； listen to you。 It's not too late to endanger your soul！
There was something oddly reassuring in that thought。 Strengthened； she renewed her assault on the stairs。
She had passed the alcove and climbed a flight past it before she remembered about the plate。 Surely nothing would be different than when she had looked on her way down that morning 。。。 but even so； it would be wrong to shirk。 Rachel； Mistress of Chambermaids； did not shirk； Although her feet ached and her knees protested； although she wanted nothing but to stagger to her little room and lie down； she forced herself to turn and go back down the stairs。
The plate was empty。
Rachel stared at it for long moments。 The meaning of its emptiness crept over her only gradually。
Guthwulf had e back。
She was astonished to find herself clutching the plate and weeping。 Doddering old woman； she berated herself。 What on God's earth are you crying for？ Because a man who has never spoken to you or known your name…who likely doesn 't even know his own name any more…came and took some bread and an onion from a plate？
But even as she scolded herself she felt the dandelion…seed lightness that she had only imagined earlier。 He was not dead！ If the soldiers were looking for him； they had not yet found him…and he had e back。 It was almost as though Earl Guthwulf had known how worried she was。 That was an absurd thought； she knew； but she could not help feeling that something very important had happened。
When she had recovered； she wiped her tears briskly with her sleeve； then took cheese and dried fruit from her sack and filled the plate again。 She checked the covered bowl； the water was gone too。 She emptied her own water skin into the bowl。 The tunnels were a dry and dusty place； and the poor man would certainly be thirsty again soon。
The happy chore finished； Rachel resumed her ascent； but this time the stairs seemed gentler。 She had not found him； but he was alive。 He knew where to e； and would e again。 Perhaps next time he would stay and let her speak to him。
But what would she say？
Anything； anything。 It will be someone to talk to。 Someone to talk to。
Singing a hymn beneath her breath； Rachel made her way back to her hidden room。
Simon's strength seemed to drain out。 As the Norns took him across the Inner Bailey courtyard his knees gave way。 The two immortals did not falter； but lifted him by the arms until only his toes dragged along the ground。
By their silence and their frozen faces they might have been statues of white marble magicked into movement； only their black eyes； which flicked back and forth across the shadowy courtyard； seemed to belong to living creatures。 When one of them spoke quietly in the hissing； clicking tongue of Stormspike； it was as surprising as if the castle walls had laughed。
Whatever the thing had said； its fellow seemed to agree。 They turned slightly and bore their prisoner toward the great keep that contained the Hayholt's chief buildings。
Simon wondered dully where they were taking him。 It didn't seem to matter much。 He had been small use as a spy…first walking into the king's clutches； then practically throwing himself into the arms of these creatures…and now he would be punished for his carelessness。
But what will they do？ Exhaustion battled with fear。 I won't tell them anything。 I won't betray my friends。 I won't！
Even in his numb state； Simon knew that there was little chance that he would keep his silence when Pryrates returned。 Binabik was right。 He had been a wretched； damnable fool。
I will find a way to kill myself if I have to。
But could he？ The Book of Aedon said it was a sin 。。。 and he was afraid to die； afraid to set out on that dark journey by his own choice。 In any case； it seemed unlikely that he would be given any chance for such an escape。 The Norns had taken his Qanuc bone knife； and they seemed capable of effortlessly countering anything he might try。
The walls of the inner keep； covered in carvings of mythical beasts and only slightly better…known saints； appeared through