There were more houses now, not all empty, until they lined the road. Hound pointed out those that had belonged to friends and acquaintances, recounting some anecdote or describing some eccentricity. "There's the manteion for this quarter. That's where we went when we were living here."

"Thought yer did nae," Pig protested mildly.

"Oh, sometimes. Sometimes we go now with Tansy's mother, and she'd like us to go more often, I know. But in those days, we always went when her mother and father came to visit. Her father was still alive then. I think I told you that it was when he died and left us the shop that we moved back to Endroad." He hesitated. "I suppose it's abandoned now. There can't be many people left. If it's been given up, it will be locked, I'm afraid. Would you like to look inside for a minute if it isn't?"

"Aye," Pig sounded pleased. "Can he look? He canna. Like ter see h'it, though. What h'about yer, bucky?"

"If it won't delay us."

"Oh, it's not big. Not big at all. Just the usual sort of place, I'm sure, but I thought you might be interested."

"No cut," Oreb muttered.

Pig cocked his head. "What's H'oreb h'on h'about?"

"What is he saying? He's saying, `No cut,' something the original Oreb, Patera Silk's pet, always used to say. Possibly this is the same bird."

"No cut!" Oreb repeated more distinctly.

"Do you know why he says it?" Hound inquired.

"He knows animals are sacrificed there and is afraid he may be sacrificed as well. If we understood what more animals are trying to tell us, no doubt we'd find they say the same."

Just then a flock of crows passed overhead, wheeling and cawing; hearing them, Pig asked, "What're they sayin', bucky? Yer h'always ken what H'oreb's says, sae what h'about those?"

He looked toward the skylands, and seemed for a moment to have forgotten his companions and himself. " `Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.' I think they mean I'll find Silk tomorrow, though I've found him already; but they may also mean you'll find new eyes tomorrow. I hope so."

Hound looked back curiously. "You've found Silk already? I'm surprised you didn't tell us."

"I found the god last night, after you had told me about him; and I should not have said even that much, Hound. Please forget I mentioned it."

Hound was silent as they passed more vacant houses. Then he said, "You can read the future in the flight of birds? I've heard of that, but I forget what it's called."

"If you want a word to impress your friends, auspicatory. If you're seeking knowledge for yourself, it is simply augury, the original form of augury, now much neglected."

"Silk know," Oreb assured them.

"He very well may," he said, "but I do not."

Soon they reached the manteion; its wide front entrance was firmly locked, but Pig's questing fingers easily pulled the hasp from the side door. "Prized h'out 'fore we come," he explained. "Screws pushed back h'in but nae wood ter hold 'em."

The interior seemed dark and cavernous after the sunshine of the street. Pig made his way to the back, the scabbard rapping pews, found the altar, and laid his sword aside to grope its edges and corners for a moment.

"No cut!" Oreb declared more adamantly than ever.

"You needn't worry," his master told him. "There's no Sacred Window here. It's what they were after, I'm afraid. Was that what you're searching for back there, Pig?"

"Aye, bucky."

Hound said, "There are several manteions that are still open. Horn could take you to one, since you're going with him. Or I will, if he's busy with other matters."

"Thank yer. Thank yer kin'ly."

"Would you like me to? We can stop someplace on our way to the inn."

Pig turned toward them, the brass tip of the leather-covered scabbard tapping the side of the altar again. "Gang ter yer Sun Street Quarter, yer said, bucky?"

"Yes. I'll stop at the manteion there, though I have no way of knowing whether it's still standing-or whether it's still open if it is. I must warn you that much of the quarter burned twenty years ago."

"Gae wi' yer," Pig decided. He was standing at the ambion, his thick black nails seeming to stab its carven sides.

"Do you want to tell me what's bothering you? You needn't, of course; I'll do whatever I can whether you confide in me or not, though I may be able to assist you more intelligently if you do."

"Wad nae swaller h'it."

"Poor Pig!" Oreb flew to his shoulder, and there was a silence in which it seemed that the ghosts of sacrifices past had returned. Almost, one could smell the incense, mingled with the odors of burning hair and cedar; almost, one could hear the augur's chant and the bleat of a lamb whose time had come.

Hound coughed. "Can't you help him, Horn?"

"You went to a manteion shortly before you lost your sight." He spoke gently, just loudly enough to be heard. "You knelt there in prayer-prayers, perhaps, of which you're now ashamed, though you shouldn't be. Your gaze was fixed upon the Sacred Window. No god came at the moment of sacrifice-or at least, no visible theophany took place, no Holy Hues, none of that. But you felt peace and a deep joy that you cannot explain. You would like to recapture those, if you could."

"Were lootin'," Pig said. "Me an' na braithrean."

"I understand."

"Yer dinna. H'ever loot yerself?"

"No, Pig."

"Been h'in a toon bein' looted?"

"No, never."

"Some goes fer ther women, some fer drink, some fer cards h'or what fetches 'em. Done ane an' t'other. Said yer ken, bucky. Ken that? H'or do yer need mair? What drunk an' what ther woman was?"

His right hand made the sign of addition in the air. "It's not necessary."

"Thank yer. Fetch noo, ther Winders do. Yer right. Auld Pig dinna know h'it then, but they do. Thinkin' a' gowd cups was h'all. Ter big fer doors, bucky. Yer seen h'it. Had ter gae h'on me knees ter get h'in ter yer house, Hound. Have ter, ter get h'in ter most. Dinna like ter, but there 'tis. Dinna fash, but see ane ter stand h'in, an' 'tis h'in every time."

"We could enlarge ours," Hound told him. "I could do the work myself."

"Good a' yer. Saunt, ain't yer, bucky?"

"No," he said gently. "No, I'm not, Pig. I've told you I'm not."

"He were, ter."

"Did you kill him, Pig?"

"Ho, aye. Stood by his Winder, he did."

Pig's drew his sword as he spoke, and Oreb squawked with fear and flew back to his master.

"Had a yeller cup ter gae me. Threw it down an' broke. 'Twas chiner."

"Poor Pig."

"Did fer him. Cut doon wi' me whin." Pig held up his long blade, which gleamed faintly in the dusty sunlight.

"And then?"

"Ain't yer goin' ter say nae thing h'about h'it, bucky? Figured yer would."

He shook his head, although Pig could not have seen the gesture. "Later, perhaps."

"Suit yerself. That's ther bad a' h'it."

"It is the good of it I wish to hear, Pig."

"None ter tell."

"After you had killed him, the Sacred Window behind him caught your attention. Am I correct?"

"Nae. Told yer h'about ther doors, reck h'it? Big h'enough ter gae h'in wi'hout kneelin'. Sae did he? He did."

"Yes."

"Wasn't nae where he lay, but on me knees just ther same. Fou' ter. Most fou'. Could nae hardly, wi'hout fallin'."

"Did you speak then, Pig? Did you pray, or try to pray?"

"Nae. Tried ter. Couldn't. Could he? He could nae! Blubbed like ter a big girl. Blubbin' noo."

"Weeping, you mean. So you are, but Hound and I are not laughing."

"Guid a' yer." Pig sighed deeply and wiped his nose on a sleeve already phenomenally dirty. "'Tis h'all, bucky. Ther lot a' h'it."

"No, it isn't. Not quite, and it will always be unfinished-incomplete-unless you tell the rest. Unless you do it now. It cannot be postponed any longer."

"Horn…" Hound gripped his arm.