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felt a burning pain in his own side； then a moment later he was tumbling free of his saddle。 The ground rose up and hit him like a club。 His horse； struggling for balance on the rocky slope； wavered above him with front legs flailing； then its shadow descended。
The last thing Isgrimnur saw and felt was a tremendous concussion of light； as though the sun had dropped from the sky to land on top of him。
14
Empires of Dust
It was maddening。 Simon was parched； his mouth dry as bone dust； and all around him echoed the sound of dripping water。。。 but there was no water to be found。 It was as though some demon had looked into his thoughts； then plucked out his fondest desire and turned it into a cruel trick。
He stopped； peering into the darkness。 The tunnel had widened； but still led downward； and there had been no place to turn； no crossing corridors。 Whatever made that dripping was now behind him； as though he had passed it somehow in the featureless shadows。
But that can't be！ The sound was before me； and now it's behind me…but it was never beside me。 Simon fought to keep down his fear； which felt like a living thing inside him； all tiny clicking scales and scrabbling claws。
He might be lost beneath the ground； he told himself； but he was not dead。 He had been trapped in tunnels like these before and had e out into the sun again。 And now he was older； he had seen things that few others had seen。 Somehow； he would survive。 And if he didn't？ Then he would face the end without shame。
Brave words； mooncalf； an inner voice mocked him。 Brave words now。 But when a sunless day and a moonless night pass with no water？ When the torch burns out？
Be quiet； he told the inner voice。
〃King John went down the darksome hole；〃 Simon sang quietly。 His throat hurt； but he was growing tired of the monotony of his bootheels clumping against the stone。 Not to mention the miserable； lonely way the sound made him feel。
〃To seek the fiery beast below；
Through caveish haunt of toad and troll；
Where none but he had dared to go 。。。〃
Simon frowned。 If only this were the haunt of trolls。 He would have given anything for Binabik's panionship…not to mention a skin full of water followed by a healthy swallow of kangkang。 And if Prester John had brought nothing but a sword down into the earth…which he hadn't； e to think of it： wasn't that what the Hernystirman Eolair had e to Sesuad'ra to tell them？ That John had found Minneyar somewhere down in the ground？…then what had he done for light？ Simon had one torch； and its flame was beginning to look a little thin around the edges。 It was all very well to go thumping and bumping about looking for dragons； but the songs never said much about food and water and trying to make fires。
Old cradle songs and missing swords and tunnels in the dark； fetid earth。 How had his life ever e to revolve around such things？ When Simon had prayed for knightly adventures； he had hoped for more noble things…battlefields and gleamingly polished armor； deeds of bravery； the love of the multitudes。 He had found those； more or less； but they had not been what he had expected。 And time and time again he was drawn back into this madness of swords and tunnels； as though he were being forced to play some childhood game long past the point where he had tired of it。。。。
His shoulder bumped against the wall and he almost fell。 The torch dropped from his grasp and lay on the tunnel floor。 Simon stared at it stupidly for a moment before suddenly regaining his senses。 He snatched it up and held it tightly； as though the torch itself had tried to escape。
Mooncalf。
He sat down heavily。 He was tired of walking； tired of empty nothingness and solitude。 The tunnel had bee a winding hole through irregular slabs of rock； which likely meant he was now deep among the bones of Swertclif； he seemed to be bound for the center of the earth。
Something in his pocket chafed against his leg； catching his attention。 What was he carrying？ He had been stumbling down these passageways for what seemed like hours； and he had not even bothered to see what oddments he had brought with him when he fell through the crumbling earth。
Emptying out the pockets stitched on his breeches； wincing and making soft sounds at the stinging of his abraded fingers； he discovered that he had not missed much by postponing his inventory。 There was a stone； a round smooth one that he had picked up because he liked the heft of it； and the almost featureless belt buckle； which he had thought he discarded。 He decided to keep it； thinking vaguely that it could be used for scratching or digging。
The only significant find was a bit of dried meat from yesterday's mid…aftemoon meal。 He looked longingly at the wrinkled strip； which was about the length and width of his finger； then put it aside。 He had a feeling that he would want it more later than he did even now。
That accounted for his pockets。 The gold ring Morgenes had sent to him was still on his finger； almost invisible under a layer of dirt； but whatever use or significance it might have in the world of sunlight was meaningless here： he could not eat it； and it would not frighten an enemy。 His Qanuc knife was still in the sheath tied to his leg。 Other than that and the torch； he was truly defenseless。 His sword was somewhere above the ground…with Binabik and Miriamele； if they had escaped the diggers…along with his White Arrow； his cloak； his armor； and the rest of his meager possessions。 He was nearly as empty…handed as when he had fled the castle almost a year before。 And he was back in the black earth again。 In the smothering earth 。。。
Stop it； he ordered himself。 What was it Morgenes said？ 〃Not what's in your hands； but what's in your head。〃 That's something； anyway。 I have a lot more in my head than I did then。
But what good will it do me if I die of thirst？ He struggled to his feet and began walking again。 He had no idea where the tunnel might lead； but it must lead somewhere。 It must。 The possibility that this direction might finish as the other end had； in an impenetrable wall of fallen dirt or stone； was not something he could afford to consider。
〃Down pitch…black pit went young King John。〃 Simon sang again； quieter than before；
〃Where Fire…Drake lurked on hoard of gold；
And no one knew that he had gone；
For not a person had he told 。。。〃
It was strange。 Simon did not feel mad； but he was hearing things that were not truly there。 The sound of splashing water had returned； louder and more forceful than before； but now it seemed to e from all sides； as though he walked through the curtain of a waterfall。 Mixed with it； just barely separable from the hiss and spatter； was the murmur of speech。
Voices！ Perhaps there are cross…tunnels somewhere nearby。 Perhaps they lead to people。 To real； living people 。。。
The voices and the water…sounds stayed with him for a time without revealing their source； then faded away； leaving him again with the noise of his footsteps as his only pany。
Confused and weary； frightened by what the phantom sounds migh