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744 pages, Hardcover
First published August 7, 1990
鈥淥ld cities and old stories were now part of his very life. It was strange how the future seemed tied inseparably to the past, so that both revolved through the present, like a great wheel...鈥�
鈥淣ot everyone can stand up and be a hero, Princess,鈥� he said quietly. 鈥淪ome prefer to surrender to the inevitable and salve their consciences with the gift of survival.鈥�
鈥淗ope鈥� is like the belly-strap on a king鈥檚 saddle鈥攁 slender thing, but if it snaps the world turns topside-down.鈥�
鈥淭oo often it is that men think those who serve are doing it from inferiorness or weakness鈥� Folk who have those beliefs should ride a mount like Qantaqa, who could eat them if she chose. They would then be learning humbleness.鈥�
鈥淎re you still my friend, Binabik?鈥� he said at last.
The troll took the flute from his lips. 鈥淭o death and beyond, Simon-friend.鈥�
鈥淣ever make your home in a place鈥� Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You鈥檒l find what you need to furnish it鈥攎emory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey.
鈥淭here was little inspiration in the crumbling ruins of Enki-e-Shao鈥檚aye. They seemed only to demonstrate that even the Sithi were bound within the sweep of time; that any work of hands, however exalted, must come at last to ignoble result.鈥�
鈥淚neluki has changed鈥� He has become something the world has not seen before, a smoldering ember of despair and hatred, surviving only to redress those things which long ago were injustices and mistakes and tragic underestimations, but now are simply facts. Like ourselves, Ineluki dwells in the realm of what was. But unlike his living kin, Ineluki is not content to wallow in memories of the past. He lives, or exists鈥攈ere is a place the mortal language is too inexact鈥攖o see the present state of the world obliterated and the injustices made right, but his only window is anger. His justice will be cruel, his methods even more horrible. 鈥�
鈥淚t has always been the same world, Prince Josua鈥� It is only that in these troubled hours things are seen more clearly. The lamps of cities blur many shadows that are plain beneath the moon.鈥�
Old cities and old stories were now part of his very life. It was strange how the future seemed tied inseparably to the past, so that both revolved through the present, like a great wheel
She had been almost a mother to the boy, had she not? Raised him鈥攚ith the help of her chambermaids, of course鈥攕ince his first hour, when his mother had died in childbirth despite all Doctor Morgenes鈥� attempts to save her. So shouldn鈥檛 Rachel know if he was truly gone? Shouldn鈥檛 she feel the final severing of the cord that had bound her to that stupid, addle-pated, gawky boy?
鈥淚t is just as well, I suppose, that I am not left to stand guard alone,鈥� Strangyeard said. 鈥淢y sight is not good, you know鈥攁nd that is in my one remaining eye.鈥� He chuckled apologetically. 鈥淭here is nothing more frightening than to see the words in my beloved books growing fainter every day.鈥�
鈥淲hen we are safe, Strangyeard,鈥� Deornoth began suddenly, 鈥渋f you cannot read, I will come and read to you. My eyes are not as quick as yours, nor my mind, but I am stubborn as an unfed horse. I will grow better with practice. I will read to you.鈥�
鈥淎re you still my friend, Binabik?鈥� he said at last.
The troll took the flute from his lips. 鈥淭o death and beyond, Simon-friend.鈥� He began to play once more.
鈥淲hy do they look so sad, Binabik?鈥�
鈥淲e are having a saying on Mintahoq,鈥� the little man explained, 鈥溾€斺€楳ourning is for home.鈥� When we are losing one of our folk on the trail we bury them in that place, but we save our tears until we are safe in our caves once more. Nine of our folk died on Sikkihoq.鈥�
鈥淏ut you said 鈥榤ourn at home.鈥� These people are not home yet.鈥�
Binabik shook his head, then answered a quiet question from Sisqi before returning his attention to Simon. 鈥淭hese hunters and herders are making ready for the coming of the rest of Yiqanuc鈥檚 folk. The word is even now flying from one mountain to another: the highlands are not a place of safety and spring is not coming.鈥� The little man smiled wearily. 鈥淭hey are home, Simon-friend.鈥�
鈥淲e are very small,鈥� Simon said between swallows. The kangkang seemed to be flowing in his veins like blood.
鈥淪o are the stars, kund毛-mann毛,鈥� Sludig murmured. 鈥淏ut they each one burn as bright as they can.鈥�
鈥淧erhaps. But if we are not trying, then there is no chance of anything but this antlike crushing, so we must try. There is always something beyond even the worst of bad times. We may die, but the dying of some may mean living for others. That is not much to cling to, but it is a true thing in any case.鈥�