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houting and metal clashed against metal。 Who was fighting？ Were those giants that he heard roaring； or was that only the storm？ Simon thought he could make out huge white shapes thrashing in the murk； but he dared not look too long or too closely at what waited for him if he tumbled from the wall。
He turned his eyes upward。 Green Angel Tower loomed overhead； thrusting out from the muddle of the Hayholt's roofs like the trunk of a white tree； the lord of an ancient forest。 Black clouds clung to its head； lightning split the sky。
Simon let himself down from the ledge； then inched forward along the wall on his hands and knees。 His fingers rapidly grew numb； and he cursed the luck that had lost his gloves。 He clung to the icy stone and tried to keep low so the incessant winds would not pluck him loose。
Usires on the Tree！ This wall was never so long before！
He might have been on a bridge above the pits of Hell。 Screams of pain and rage； as well as less definable sounds； drifted up from the murk； some of them loud enough to make him flinch and almost lose his grip。 The cold was terrible； and the wind kept shoving； shoving。 He kept his eyes on the wall's narrow top until it ended。 An emptiness as long as he was tall yawned before the wall's edge and the turret that surrounded Green Angel Tower's fourth floor。 Simon crouched beside this gap； braced against the buffeting wind as he tried to nerve himself to jump。 A surge of air shoved him hard enough to make him lean forward until he was almost lying down atop the wall。
There it is； he told himself。 You've done it a hundred times。
But not in a blizzard； another pan of him pointed out。 Not with armed men down below who would chop you to pieces before you even knew whether you'd survived the fall。
He grimaced against the sleet and tucked his hands underneath his arms to bring some blood back into his fingers。
You carry the secrets of the League； he told himself。 Morgenes trusted you。 It was a reminder； an incantation。 He touched Bright…Nail to make sure it was still secure in his belt…its quiet song rose to his touch like the back of a stroked cat…then carefully lifted himself to stand hunched at the corner of the wall。 After teetering precariously for long moments； waiting for the wind to slacken just a little； he said a brief prayer and leaped。
The wind caught him in midair and shoved him to the side。 He fell short of his landing。 For a moment he was slipping away into empty space； but his clawing hand caught in one of the crenellations and he jerked to a halt； dangling。 As the wind tugged at him the tower and sky seemed to twist above his head； as though any moment all of creation would go topside…down。 He felt the stone sliding from beneath his damp fingers and quickly pushed his other hand into the gap as well； but it was scant help。 His legs and feet dangled over nothingness； and his grip was giving way。
Simon tried to ignore the fierce pain that raced through his already aching joints。 He might have been tied to the wheel all over again； stretched to the breaking point…but this time there was a way out of the torment。 If he let go； it would be over in a moment； and there would be peace。
But he had seen too much； suffered too much； to settle for oblivion。
Straining until agony shot through him； he pulled himself a little higher。 When his arms had bent as far as he could make them； one hand scrabbled free； searching for a firmer handhold。 His fingertips at last found a crevice between stones； he hauled himself upward again； an involuntary shout of pain forcing its way out through his clenched teeth。 The stone was slippery； and for a moment he almost fell back； but with a last jerk he pulled his upper body into the crenellation and slithered ahead； his legs still protruding。
A raven； sheltering beneath the tower's overhang； stared at him； its yellow eyes blank。 He pulled himself a little farther forward and the raven danced away； then stopped with its head tipped to one side； watching。
Simon dragged himself toward the tower window； thinking only of getting out of the icy wind。 His arms and shoulders throbbed； his face felt seared by the bitter cold。 As he caught at the sill； he suddenly felt something seize him from head to foot； a burning tingle that ran up and down his skin； maddening as biting ants。 The raven leaped into the sky in a flapping blur of black feathers； caromed once again the powerful wind； then flew upward out of sight。
The stinging grew stronger and his limbs twitched helplessly。 Something began squeezing the air from his chest。 Simon knew that he had leaped directly into a trap； a trap set just to catch and kill overeager scullions。 Mooncalf； he thought。 Once a mooncalf 。。。 He half…crawled； half…fell through the tower window and onto the stairway。 The agonizing pressure abruptly ceased。 Simon lay on the cold stones； shivering violently； and struggled to catch his breath。 His head throbbed； especially the dragon…scar on his cheek。 His stomach seemed to be trying to crawl up his throat。
Something shook the tower then； a deep pealing like some monstrous bell； a sound that rattled in Simon's bones and aching skull； unlike anything he had ever heard。 For a long moment the world turned inside…out。
Simon huddled on the stairs； trembling。 That wasn't the tower's bells！ he thought when the echoes had died and his shattered thoughts had coalesced。 They rang everyday； all my life。 What was it？ What's happening to everything！？
A little more of the chill wore away； and blood rushed back to the places it had fled。 More than just his cheek was throbbing。 Simon ran his fingers across his forehead。There was the beginning of a lump above his right eye； even touching it lightly made him suck in his breath。 He decided he must have struck his head on something as he flung himself through the window and onto the stairs。
It could have been worse； he told himself。 I could have hit my head when I was jumping to the battlement。 I'd be dead now。 But instead I'm in the tower…the tower where Bright…Nail needs to 。 。。 wants to 。。。
Bright…Nail！
He reached down in a panic； but he had not lost the sword： it was still caught against his hip； tangled in his belt。 At some point it had rubbed against him and cut him…two small snakes of dried blood coiled on his left forearm…but not badly。 And he still had it。 That was the important thing。
And the sword was quietly singing to him。 He felt rather than heard it； a seductive pull that fought past the pain in his head and battered body。
It wanted to go up。
Now？ Should I just climb？ Merciful Aedon； it's so hard to think！
He raised himself and crawled to the side of the stairwell； then propped his back against the smooth wall as hetried to rub the knots from his muscles。 When all his limbs seemed to bend again in more or less the way they should； Simon grabbed at the wall and pulled himself to his feet。 Immediately； the world began to tip and spin； but he braced himself； hands pressed flat against the tracery of reliefs that covered the stone； and after some moments he could stand unaided。
He pa