Like a man fighting upward from the bottom of deep water, Barrick Eddon began to thrash his despairing way back toward the light.
Vansen had just finished making a space for the prince and wrapping him in his own tattered, stained wool guardsman's cloak when Barrick's feverish murmuring quieted and the boy's body, which had been as tight as a bowstring, suddenly went limp. Even as horror flooded through Vansen…
I lost the prince! I let him die!
… The boy's eyes snapped open. For a moment they rolled wildly, fix¬ing on nothing, as if he tried to stare right through the stone of the long, low cavern cell in search of freedom. Then the young prince narrowed his gaze on Ferras Vansen. The soldier thought that the boy was going to say something to him-thank him, perhaps, for carrying him all this way, or curse him for the same reason, or perhaps just ask what day it was. Instead, the prince's eyes abruptly welled with tears.
Sobbing, snuffling, Barrick thrashed his way out of both the cloak and
Vansen's restraining grasp, then crawled across the floor to an empty spot
near the adjoining wall where he huddled with his face in his hands,
weeping unrestrainedly. Several of the other prisoners turned to watch
him, the expressions on their inhuman faces varying from mild interest to
uncomprehending blankness. Vansen clambered to his feet to follow the
prince.
/ suspect he will not thank you. Gyir's voice in his head was still a novelty, and not.in entirely pleasant one-like a stranger making himself at home in your house without permission. Let the boy grieve.
"Grieve for what? We're alive. There's still hope." Vansen spoke aloud- he didn't know the trick of talking without words and did not care to learn. Already this place, this shadowland, was doing its best to take away all that made him who he was. He was not going to help speed the process.
Grieve for all he has realized he is losing. The same thing to which you also cling so tightly-his old idea of who he was.
"What do you…? Get out of my head, fairy!"
/ do not dig into your thoughts, sunlander. Vansen could feel the irritation- no, it was something deeper-in Gyir's words. The featureless face showed no more emotion at this moment than the prow of a boat, but the words came with pulses of anger, as though each thought hummed like an apple wasp. Even as diminished as I am, I cannot help knowing a little of your strongest feelings, Gyir said, speaking ideas that Vansen somehow understood as words. Any more than if you were sick or frightened someone could avoid smelling the stink in your sweat. Another wave of contempt came from him. And in truth I can do that as well, much to my sorrow. You sunlanders all smell like cor¬ruption and death.
Struck by curiosity, Vansen ignored the insult. "How is it I can under¬stand you at all? I couldn't before."
J did not know you could until just now. In other, less dangerous circumstances, it would be quite an interesting puzzle to consider.
Vansen watched Prince Barrick as the boy's sobbing grew weaker. A few of the smaller prisoners that had been driven off by Barrick's sudden move had edged back into the area surrounding him, but they seemed to be re¬garding him with more fear than interest. "Will any harm come to him there?"
Gyir briefly turned his yellow eyes toward Barrick. I think not. Most of those in this room are afraid of me. They are right to be, even crippled as I am.
Vansen saw that the fairy spoke the truth: even in this large underground prison chamber, stuffed to overcrowding with scores of creatures of at least a dozen different types and sizes, some of which appeared quite fierce, the three of them were being given a great deal of room to themselves. "But they're not afraid of you enough to let you go."
The nearly faceless creature watched Vansen for a long moment, as though considering his existence for the first time. You too can speak to me
without speaking aloud, Ferras Vansen. It was not his own name Vansen sensed in Gyir's wordless speech so much as his face. It was unutterably strange to see himself both so clearly and so strangely, even to see his face suddenly pull into a scowl of frightened disgust-as if someone had put a looking glass inside his thoughts.
"Stop! I want nothing to do with such… black magic."
You would refuse to stop talking aloud, even if it means that you are endan¬gering the boy-your prince? We will never find a way to escape if half our con¬versation is spoken out loud. There are still folk in this land who understand the sunlander tongue, as the raven did. I do not doubt Jikuyin has a few among his slaves.
Ferras Vansen thought for a long time, then nodded, although the very idea of sharing the substance of himself with the faceless, inhuman creature made him feel queasy and terrified. "Well, then. Show me."
It is simple, man of the hills. All you need to do is think that you are speaking the words-hear yourself speaking but keep the sounds locked inside you. I will guide you.
Strangely, the fairy was right-it was simple. Once he found the proper trick of imagining himself talking in just the right way, he discovered that Gyir could hear what he said as clearly as if he had formed it with air and tongue and lips. Had it been the power of the godling Jikuyin's voice that had unlocked this skill? But then why had Barrick Eddon been able to do it from the first?
Why can I suddenly understand you? he asked the fairy. And what can we do to escape this place?
If I knew already how we might free ourselves, Gyir said with an undercur¬rent of something that felt a little like scorn, or perhaps was the bitter tang of self-dislike, I would not be conversing about the boy's mood and how you gained the gift of true speech, but beginning to make a plan. Now Vansen could feel the fairy's anger clearly, as a man in water would feel another man thrashing helplessly close by. / dislike being a prisoner, too-perhaps more than you do. We will talk later about escape.
Then, with a considered effort that Vansen could feel like a gust of cool¬ing air, Gyir swept away his own fury. For now, we must try to understand bet¬ter why we are being held, he said, and it was as if the moment of rage had never happened. That is our first step-it will set the direction for all others. The fairy paused for a long time then, and Vansen felt the silence in a way he never had before. As for what has made you able to understand me, Gyir said at
last, I sad it was interesting because it seems to hint at an answer to a question my people have long debated-at least those in the Deep Libraries to whom such tasks are given. This came as a blur of ideas Vansen could only barely riddle out, and he was certain he was missing most of what the fairy intended. There is little we can do at this moment except…
Interesting? I don't understand you? He looked to Barrick again, who had recovered himself a little. The boy's eyes were red and his cheeks still wet, but he seemed to be listening to Vansen's conversation with Gyir. I don't un¬derstand, he repeated.
Ah, but you do, and that is the crux. Gyir, who had been crouching, finally sat down and pushed his back against the sooty, rough-carved stone wall. Look around you. Do you see these creatures? Drows and bokkles and all manner of things even less savory? These are the Common Ones-all creatures of our lands, some even related to my folk, but they are not the trueblood People. Vansen could feel the emphasis with which Gyir spoke the word, as if it were a thing of power, something to conjure with. Most especially, they are not High Ones. Among the Twilight folk, only those called the High Ones have the gift of speaking with their hearts, as we say it-the True Speech, which cannot lie, the speech we are using now.