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of a strangely mobile floor。 Again and again the same three visions appeared； changing slightly； showing more while revealing nothing。 The spearman cocked his head as though he heard voices。 The gray…haired man looked up from his reading as though disturbed by a sudden noise； and a bloom of red light filled the darkness； painting the man's strong features scarlet。 The shadow…shape turned； a sword was in his hand； and something like antlers lifted from his brow。。。。 Simon awakened with a gasp； sweat cooling on his forehead； limbs a…tremble。 This had not been the stuff of ordinary sleep： he had fallen into some rushing river of dream and been carried along like a piece of bark； helplessly careening。 He sat up and rubbed his eyes； but he was still on the broad landing； still adrift on the ocean of stairs。
Dreams and voices； he thought desperately。 I need to get away from them。 If they don't leave me alone； I'll die。
His second…to…last rag was now on the torch。 Time was running out。 If he did not find his way soon； if he did not find the air and the sun and moon once more； he would be alone in darkness with the shadows of dead time。
Simon hurried down the steps。
The Tan'ja Stairs became a blur； and Simon himself was a cracked millwheel； his legs going up； down； up； down； every other step bringing a sharp pain as he forced his wounded ankle to bear the weight of his hurried descent。 Shallow breaths fluted in and out of his dry mouth。 If he had not been mad before； madness finally took him now。 The stairs were the teeth of a mouth that wanted to swallow him； but as fast as he bounded downward； falling and not feeling the pain； clambering to his feet and plunging down to the next step； he could not escape。 There were always more teeth。 Always more white； even teeth。。。。
The voices that had been silent so long rose up around him like the choir of monks in the Hayholt's chapel。 Simon paid them no heed。 All he could do was fling himself down step after step after step。 Something in the air was different； but he could not let himself pause to decide what it was： the voices were haunting him； the teeth taunting； waiting to snap closed。
Where there should have been a step； there was instead a flat white expanse of 。。。 something。 Simon； in mid…leap downward； was brought up short and sent tumbling forward。 His elbows cracked painfully against stone。 He lay for a moment； whimpering； clutching his torch so hard his knuckles throbbed。 Slowly he lifted his head。 The air was 。。。 the air smelled 。。。 damp。
The wide landing stretched before him； then ended in blackness。 There were no more stairs； or at least none he could see。
Still making pained noises； Simon crawled forward until the blackness was just before him。 As he leaned out； his arm swept a small scree of dust and gravel over the edge。
Plink。 Plink； plink。 The sound of small stones falling into water。 And not falling very far。 Panting； he leaned out； holding his torch as far over the darkness as he could。 He could see a reflection just a few ells below； a wavering smudge of fiery light。 Hope welled up in him； and that was somehow worse than any of his pain。
It's a trick； he mourned。 It's another trick。 It's dust。。。 dust 。。。 dust 。。。
Still； he crawled around the edge of the landing； looking for a way down。 When he discovered a small and elegantly carved staircase； he crab…climbed down the steps on his hands and knees。 The stairwell ended in a circular landing and a small spit of pale stone that stretched out over the blackness。 The torch light did not reveal how far it extended； but he could see the sweep of the pool's sides as they vanished away into the shadows in either direction。 It was huge…almost a small lake。
Simon dropped onto his stomach and extended his hand； then stopped； sniffing。 If this great pond were full of Perdruinese Fire and he brought his torch close； there would be nothing of Simon left but a scrap of cinder。 But there was no oily smell。 He dipped his hand in and felt the water close over it； cold and just as wet as wet should be。 He sucked his fingers。 There was a faint metallic tang…but it was water。
Water！
He scooped it up in a double handful and lifted it to his mouth； more dribbling on his chin and neck than went down his throat。 It seemed to tingle and sparkle on his tongue and fill his veins with warmth。 It was glorious…better than any liquor； more wonderful than any drink he had ever tasted。 It was water。 He was alive。
Simon was light…headed with joy。 He drank until he was unfortably full； until his stomach pressed against the wasteband of his breeches； the cool； slightly tangy water felt so splendidly wet that it was difficult to stop。
He poured it over his head and face； splashing so vigorously that he almost doused the torch； which made him laugh until the echoes crisscrossed。 When he had moved his light up the stairwell to safety； he went back and drank more； then took off his ragged shirt and breeches and scrubbed himself all over； letting the water run off him in wonderfully wasteful excess。 At last his fatigue overcame him。 He lay singing happily until he fell asleep on the wet stone。
Simon awakened slowly； as if swimming upward from a great depth。 For long moments he did not know where he was or what had happened。 The powerful rush of dream…pictures had e to him again； whirling through his sleeping head like leaves in a great windstorm。 The sword…bearing men were part of it； but there had also been a flash of shields as an armored host rode out through a tall silver gate； a splintery array of towers in rainbow hues； a glint of yellow as a raven cocked its head to reveal a bright eye； a circle that flashed gold； a tree with bark pale as snow； a dark wheel turning。。。
Simon rubbed his temples； trying to clear away the clinging images。 His head； which had felt hollow and airy when he was bathing himself； now throbbed and pounded。 He groaned and sat up。 He would be plagued by dreams； it seemed； no matter what happened。 But there were other things to think about； things about which he could do something…or at least try。 Food。 Escape。
He looked up to where his torch lay on one of the steps of the narrow staircase。 He had been foolish； risking his light with all that splashing。 And it would not burn much longer。 He had found water； but his predicament was still deathly grim。
The light of the torch suddenly seemed to grow。 Simon squinted； then realized it was not the torch； but that rather the whole great chamber was filling with smoky light。
And there was。。。 something 。。。 very near。 Something strong。 He could feel it like hot breath on his neck。
Simon rolled over； conscious of his nakedness； his helplessness。 He could see the great pool more clearly； could make out the fantastically elaborate carvings that covered the near walls and ceiling far overhead； but even with the spreading light he still could not see the pool's far side； a sort of mist seemed to hang over the water； obscuring his view。
As he gaped； a shadowy figure appeared in the the mist at the pool's center； a shap