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Long before that； he stood in wonder in the vast throne room at Erlenstar Mountain； where legend so old it had no beginning had placed the High One。 It was empty。 The raw jewels embedded in the stone walls were dim and weathered。 Generations of bats clung to the ceiling。 Spiders had woven webs frail as illusion around the throne。 He had e to ask a question about a dreamer deep in Isig Mountain。 But mere was no one to ask。 He brushed cobweb from the throne and sat down to puzzle over the emptiness。 And as the grey light faded between the rotting doors； he began to spin illusions。。。。
He stood in another silent； beautiful place in another mountain； his mind taking the shape of a strange white stone。 It was dreaming a child's dream； and he could barely breathe as he watched the fragile images flow through him。 A great city stood on a windy plain； a city that sang with winds in the child's memory。 The child saw it from a distance。 Its mind was touching leaves； light on tree bark； grass blades； it gazed back at itself from the stolid mind of a toad； its blurred face was refracted in a fish's eyes； its windblown hair teased the mind of a bird building a nest。 A question beat beneath the dreaming； scoring his heart with fire； as the child reached out to absorb the essence of a single leaf。 He asked it finally； the child seemed to turn at his voice； its eye dark and pure and vulnerable as a falcon's eye。
〃What destroyed you？〃
The sky went grey as stone above the plain； the light faded from the child's face。 It stood tensely； listening。 The winds snarled across the plain； roiling the long grass。 A sound built； too vast for hearing； unendurable。 A stone ripped loose from one of the shining walls in the city； sank deep into the ground。 Another cracked against a street。 The sound broke； then； a deep； shuddering bass roar that held at the heart of it something he recognized； though he could no longer see nor hear； and the fish floated like a white scar on the water； and the bird had been swept out of the tree。。。。
〃What is it？〃 he whispered； reaching through Ghisteslwchlohm's mind； through the child's mind； for the end of the dream。 But as he reached； it faded into the wild water； into the dark wind； and the child's eye turned white as stone。 Its face became Ghisteslwchlohm's； his eyes sunken with weariness； washed with a light pale as foam。
Morgon； struggling； bewildered； to pick up the thread of his probing； saw something flash out of the corner of his eye。 His head snapped around。 Stars struck his face； reeling； he lost consciousness a moment。 He wrestled back into shimmering light and found himself on the rubble； swallowing blood from a cut in his mouth。 He raised his head。 The blade of his own sword touched his heart。
The shape…changer who stood over him had eyes as white as the child's。 He smiled a greeting and a fine…honed edge of fear rippled the surface of Morgon's thoughts。 Ghisteslwchlohm was staring beyond him。 He turned his head and saw a woman standing among the broken stones。 Her face； quiet； beautiful； was illumined briefly by a red…gold sky。 Morgon heard the battle that raged behind her： of swords and spears； wizardry and weapons made of human bone scoured clean in the depths of the sea。
The woman's head bowed。 〃Star…Bearer。〃 There was no mockery in her voice。 〃You are beginning to see far too much。〃
〃I'm still ignorant。〃 He swallowed again。 〃What do you want from me？ I still need to ask that。 My life or my death？〃
〃Both。 Neither。〃 She looked across the room at Ghisteslwchlohm。 〃Master Ohm。 What shall we do with you？ You woke the Star…Bearer to power。 The wise man does not forge the blade that will kill him。〃
〃Who are you？〃 the Founder whispered。 〃I killed the embers of a dream of three stars a thousand years ago。 Where were you then？〃
〃Waiting。〃
〃What are you？ You have no true shape； you have no name。。。〃
〃We are named。〃 Her voice was still clear； quiet； but Morgon heard a tone in it that was not human： as if stone or fire had spoken in a soft； rational； ageless voice。 The fear stirred through him again； a dead…winter wind； spun of silk and ice。 He shaped his fear into a riddle； his own voice sounding numb。
〃When。。。 when the High One fled from Erlenstar Mountain； who was it he ran from？〃
A flare of power turned half her face liquid gold。 She did not answer him。 Ghisteslwchlohm's lips parted； the long draw of his breath sounded clear in the turmoil； like the tide's withdrawal。
〃No。〃 He took a step back。 〃No。〃
Morgon did not realize he had moved until he felt the sudden pain over his heart。 His hand reached out toward the wizard。 〃What is it？〃 he pleaded。 〃I can't see！〃 The cold metal forced him back。 His need spat in fire out of the stars in the sword hilt； jolting the shape…changer's hold。 The sword clanged to the floor； lay smoldering。 He tried to rise。 The shape…changer twisted the throat of his tunic； his burned hand poised to strike。 Morgon； staring into his expressionless eyes； sent a blaze of power like a cry into his mind。 The cry was lost in a cold； heaving sea。 The shape…changer's hand dropped。 He pulled Morgon to his feet； left him standing free and bewildered by both the power and the restraint。 He flung a last； desperate tendril of thought into the wizard's mind and heard only the echo of the sea。
The battle burst through the ruined walls。 Shape…changers pushed traders； exhausted warriors； the Morgol's guards into the hall。 Their blades of bone and iron from lost ships thrashed mercilessly through the chaos。 Morgon saw two of the guards slain before he could even move。 He reached for his sword； the breath pushing hard through his chest。 The shape…changer's knee slammed into his heart as he bent。 He sagged to his hands and knees； whimpering for one scrap of air。 The room grew very quiet around him； he saw only the rubble under his fingers。 The silence eddied dizzily about him； whirling to a center。 As from a dream he heard at its core the clear； fragile sound of a single harp note。
The battle noises rolled over him again。 He heard his voice； dragging harshly at the air。 He lifted his head； looking for the sword； and saw Lyra dodging between traders in the doorway。 Something stung back of his throat。 He wanted to call out； stop the battle until she left； but he had no strength。 She worked her way closer to him。 Her face was worn； drawn； there were half…circles like bruises under her eyes。 There was dried blood on her tunic； in her hair。 Scanning the battlefield； she saw him suddenly。 The spear spun in her hand； she flung it toward him。 He watched it e without moving； without breathing。 It whistled past him； struck the shape…changer and dragged him away from Morgon's side。 He grasped the sword and got to his feet unsteadily。 Lyra bent； swept up the spear beneath one of the fallen guards。 She balanced it； turning in a single swift； clean movement； and threw it。
It soared above the struggle； arched downward； ripping the air with a silver wake in a path to the Founder's heart。 His eyes； the color of mist over the sea； could not even blink as he watched it e。