At last, when she had closed the distance to only a hundred paces or so, she saw that the shape was not as unnatural as she'd feared: whatever walked before her in a dark cloak and hood carried a bundle of wood on its back. Her heart, which had been a stone in her chest, now lightened. A person, at least-not something with teeth and claws.

She thought it might be good to call now, with enough room between them to allow an escape if the other seemed dangerous. She stopped and shouted, "Halloo! Halloo, there! Can you help me? I'm lost!"

The dark figure slowed and stopped, then turned. For a moment she saw a hint of the face in the deep hood, of white hair and bright eyes as the wood carrier stared back at her, then the shape turned back to the path and hurried on.

"Gods' curses!" Briony screamed hoarsely. "I mean you no harm!" And she began to trot after the shape as fast as her tremblingly weary legs would carry her. But although the figure before her seemed to move no faster than she would expect of an aged woodcutter carrying a heavy burden, she could not seem to close the distance. She dug ahead as hard as she could, but still she could get no closer to the dark shape. "Wait! I don't want to hurt you! I'm hungry and I'm lost!"

The wide path looped between the trees, rising and falling, and the fig¬ure appeared and disappeared in the growing shadows. Briony's mind was

full ol old stories again, about malevolent fairies and will-o'-the-wisps who led travelers from their rightful path to their doom in the forest or marsh.

But I'm already lost! she thought miserably. Where would the glory be in that? She even shouted it, but the silent shape before her seemed to pay no attention.

At last, just before she was about to drop to her knees in surrender, give up on the mysterious figure and resign herself to another night alone in told, rain-spattered despair, the dark-cloaked shape turned from the path- slowly, as if deteriTiined that Briony should take notice-and disappeared through the undergrowth into the thickest part of the wood. When she reached that spot on the path, Briony looked carefully but could see noth¬ing unusual. If she had not seen the figure turn, she would have had no idea where it had gone.

Trap, a part of her warned, but that part was not strong enough to rule a mind so hungry and lonely and distraught. She turned off the track into the deep woods, her knife held out before her. Within a few steps she found herself on a steep slope, and after a few more paces stepped down out of the trees into a quiet, grassy dell. A campsite stood at the foot of the hollow-a rickety wagon, a sway-backed horse tied beside it cropping grass, and a fire. Standing beside the fire was the dark-cloaked shape she had trailed, the bundle of firewood lying on the ground at its feet.

The figure threw back the hood of the wet cloak, revealing a tangle of white hair and a face so old and so lined that at first Briony could not be sure if it was male or female.

"You took long enough, daughter," the ancient creature said. The voice marked her as a woman, although just barely, a throaty rasp halfway be¬tween a chuckle and a growl. "I thought I would have to lie down and have a nap to give you time to catch up."

Briony still had the knife out, but it seemed more important to bend double and keep her hands on her knees instead while she struggled to catch her breath. This was followed by a coughing fit that made her whim¬per at the pain in her chest. At last she straightened up. "I… couldn't… catch you…"

The old, old woman shook her head. "I fear for the breed," was all she said, then began laying new faggots on the fire. "Sit down, child. I can see you're ill-I'll have to do something about that. Are you hungry, too?"

"Who… who are you? I mean, yes-Oh, gods, yes, I'm starving."

"Good. We'll make you work for your supper, but I suppose you should rest and recover a bit first." The old woman gave her a sharp look. It was like being stared at by a wild beast. Briony's heart tripped again. The woman's eyes were not blue or green or even brown, but black and shiny as volcano glass."One thing we won't ask you to do is sing. We've had unite enough of that tuneless caterwauling."

Even in the midst of all these unexpected happenings, Briony was stung. "I was just trying to keep myself going." She slumped to the ground and tucked the knife back into its sheath, still finding it hard to get her breath. The old woman was scarcely as high as Briony's own shoulder and looked to weigh no more than a roast Orphanstide duck.

"Maybe it was the song, then, daughter," said the old woman as she bent to rummage in a sack that hung from the front of the wagon. "I've never cared much for that Gregor. Too full of himself, and a dreadful man for a stretched rhyme. I told him so, too."

Briony, recovering her strength a little, shook her head. Perhaps this an¬cient was a little mad-surely she'd have to be, to live in the forest this way, by herself. "He's been dead for two centuries."

"Yes, he has, bless him, and not a moment too soon." She straightened up. "Hmmm. If I'd known yesterday I would have company, I would have gathered more marsh marigold, and maybe some chestnuts. But I didn't know until this morning."

"This morning what?"

"That you'd be coming. It took you long enough." She shrugged her thin shoulders, two bony points beneath the cloak. "It's not just Gregor, though, it's that song of his-more of it wrong than right, you know. Zosim the Helper-there's a laugh. That snake-eyed trickster helped him¬self to a few things, but that's all the helping he ever did. And the snow. Pure nonsense. Khors' castle wasn't made of ice or anything like that, it shone that way because of the elfglass it was covered with-fairy-shimmer, they used to call the stuff. And 'Everfrost! " She smacked her lips in dis¬gust, as if she'd eaten something that tasted foul. "He just took the real story and mixed it up with that Caylor story about the Prince of Birds- and that was a mumbled-up porridge of the story of the Godswar in the first place!"

Briony blinked. She wished that the woman would stop talking and get cooking. Only the griping pain in her stomach was allowing her to remain

upright."You… sound like you know… a great deal about… about the War of the Clods."

The old woman snickered, then the snicker became a full throated laugh. She laughed until she was wheezing and had to sit down beside Briony. "Yes, daughter, I do know a great deal about it." She chuckled again and wiped her eyes. "I ought to, child. I was there."

..

A Piece of the Moon's House

As the battle began, innocent Zoria escaped the fortress and on her pale,

bare feet went in search of her family, but although Zosim found her and

tried to help her, they were separated by a great storm, and so Perin's

virgin daughter wandered far from the battlefield.

Before the walls of Khors' mighty fortress, Kernios the Earthlord was

killed by the treachery of Zmeos, but the tears of his brother Erivor raised

him again and he was thereafter undefeatable by any man or god.

— from The Beginnings of Things The Book of the Trigon