"Cannot go this way," the raven said. "The High One with no food-hole, the caulbearer, he knows it. These be Jack Chain's lands now, since the queen sleeps and the King has grown so old. Us that care for our life don't go there."

"He's talking about Northmarch, Highness," Vansen said. "It seems to belong to some enemy-some dangerous person."

"I am not stupid, Vansen. I understood that." Barrick scowled. At this moment, the captain reminded him more than he would wish of Shaso: the old man, too, had always been judging him, always underestimating him, speaking words that sounded full of reason to the ear but made him sting with shame. Well, half a year in the stronghold had no doubt made Shaso dan-Heza a little less proud and scornful.

A twinge of shame, a distant thing but still painful, made him want to think about something else. Shaso had brought his doom on himself, hadn't he? Nothing to do with Barrick.

"I am sorry, Highness," Vansen said, and bowed, the first time he had done that since they had crossed over the Shadowline."I have overstepped."

"Oh, stop." Barrick's mood had gone sour. He turned to Gyir, tried to form the words in his head so the other could understand him. It was so easy when the faceless man spoke to him first-like a flying dream, no labor, just the leap and then the freedom of the air. What is this creature talk¬ing about? Is it true?

I do not know. I have not traveled here, in this part of… Here another idea floated past that seemed to have no words, a jumble of formless shapes that

somehow spiraled inward like snailshells. Except when the army went to war, but none would have dared to attack us in that force. Still, there are many here he-hind the Mantle that do not love… Again there was a picture rather than a word, this one a paradoxical image of black towers and shining light. Only after it had ceased to glow in his head did Barrick perceive the words that went with it. Qul-na-Qar.

What is that? Is that you, your people?

That is the place we have made the heart of our… Here an idea that seemed to mean not so much «rule» or «kingdom» as "story." That is where the Knowing make their home. Those Qar who know what was lost, and what sleeps.

Barrick shook his head-too many ideas he could not understand were floating through his mind, although he had finally come to understand one of Gyir's idea-sounds, Qar, meant "people like myself"-those Barrick still thought of in the back of his mind as "fairy folk." Still, even the clearest of Gyir's ideas were as slippery as live fish. / need to know if what this unpleasant bird says is important, Barrick said. The… the Lady… has given you a charge, that you told me. You must do what she asked. Although he had no idea of Gyir's task, he knew as well as he knew that his bones were inside his body that what the dark woman wanted must be done.

/ am not allowed to delay, it is true. My errand is too vital. Still, it is hard to be¬lieve that one of our enemies has grown so strong here, an enemy that was thought dead. If it is true, I fear my luck-the luck of all the People, perhaps-has turned for ill. We are far from my home and in dangerous lands. I am wounded, perhaps crippled forever, your companion has my sword, and I have no horse.

Gyir's thoughts were heavy and fearful in a way that Barrick had not felt before. That alone was enough to make the prince really frightened for the first time since the giant's war club had swung up high above him and his old life had come to an end.

"I don't know what that fairy's done to you, Highness, what kind of spell he's put on you, but I'm not giving him back his sword. He may pretend friendship, but he'll likely kill us if we give him a chance. Don't you remem¬ber what he and his kind did to the men of Southmarch at Kolkan's Field? Don't you remember Tyne Aldritch, crushed into… into bloody suet?"

The prince stared at him. "We will talk more of this," Barrick said, and

mounted his horse. The faceless man Clyir, with an agility that Vansen carefully noted-he was recovering very swiftly indeed from wounds that Would have killed an ordinary man-swung himself up behind the prince.

Vansen pulled himself up into his own saddle. Unlike Barrick's strange black horse, Vansen's mount was beginning to look a little the worse for wear, despite the long pause for rest. It shuddered restively as Skurn climbed the saddle blanket with beak and talons and hopped forward to a perch on the beast's neck. Pleased with himself, the black bird looked around like a child about to be given a treat.

Mortal horses weren't meant for this place, Vansen thought. No more than mor¬tal men.

Although a dragging succession of hours had passed, and Vansen himself had slept long enough to feel heavy in his wits, his head was foggy as the tangled forest into which Barrick and Gyir now rode.

"Where be they going, Master?" Skurn asked, agitated. "Us must turn back! Didn't uns listen? Don't uns see that this be all Jack Chain's land round about?"

"How should I know?" Vansen had no command of the situation, and

the addition of the fairy-warrior to their party had made things worse, if

anything. Gyir, the murderer of Prince Barrick's people, a proven enemy,

now seemed to have become the prince's confidant, while Ferras Vansen,

the captain of the royal guard, a man who had already risked his life for Bar¬

rick's sake, had become some kind of foe. "Why do you ask me, bird? Can't

you understand that Gyir thing?"

The raven groomed himself nervously. Up close he was quite repulsive, scaly skin visible in many places, what feathers remained matted with the gods only knew what. "Not us, Master. That be a trick of the High Ones, to talk so, without voices, not such as old Skurn. Us knows nothing of what they are saying or where they think they go."

"Well, then, that makes two of us."

The remains of the ancient road stayed wide and relatively flat beneath them, but now the trees had grown thick again around them, shutting out anything but the briefest glimpses of the gray sky, as though they traveled down a long tunnel. Birds and other creatures Vansen could not identify hooted and whistled in the shadows; it was hard not to feel their approach was being heralded, as though he were back on one of the Eddons' royal

progresses with the trumpeters and criers running ahead, calling the com-mon folk to come out, come out, a king's son was passing, But Vansen could not help feeling that those who waited in this place did not wish them well.

His sense of danger, of being visible to some hostile, lurking force, grew stronger as the day of riding wore on. The unfamiliar bird and animal sounds died away, but Vansen found the silence even more foreboding, Bar-rick and the faceless man ignored him, no doubt deep in unspoken con¬versation, and even Skurn had fallen quiet, but Ferras Vansen's patience had become so thin that every time the little creature moved and he caught a whiff of its putrid scent, he had to steel himself not to simply sweep it off onto the ground.

"This was once a great road, Highness, just as the bird said," he called at last, and then wished he hadn't: the echoes died almost immediately in the thick growth on either side of the road, but even the absence of an echo made the noise seem more stark, more exceptional. He could imagine an entire gallery of shadowy watchers leaning forward to listen. He spurred his horse forward so that he could speak more quietly. "This is the old North-march Road, not simply a forest path. If we follow it long enough we will arrive at something-perhaps the raven's Jack Chain-but it will not be something we'll like. Can't you feel that?"

The prince turned his cool stare on him. Barrick's hair was stuck to his forehead in damp red ringlets. "We know, Captain. We are looking for an¬other road, one that crosses this one. If we ride overland through this tan¬gled forest, we will come to grief."