Before Barrick could ask any questions, his guide had turned and walked out the door, his strange little troop leaping and capering around him.
At another time he might have explored the room, so homey and yet so strange, but he did not have the strength to stay upright another moment. He stretched himself on the bed and sank into its welcome softness like a shivering man climbing into a hot bath. Within a few moments sleep came and claimed him.
When he woke Barrick at first lay quietly, trying to remember where he was. His dreams had been subdued and sweetly peaceful, like distant music. He rolled over and sat up before he realized he was not alone in the room.
A man sat in a tall-backed chair a short distance away—at least he looked like a man, but of course he was not, Barrick realized, not in this place. The stranger’s long, lank white hair was pulled close to his head by the blindfold over his eyes. He wore no other emblems, no crown or scepter or medallion of state on his breast—in fact his gray clothes were as tattered as Raemon Beck’s patchwork had been—but something in his posture and solemnity told Barrick who this was.
Have you rested? The blind king’s words sounded in Barrick’s head, tuneful as water splashing in a pool. Here, Harsar has left food for you.
Barrick had already smelled the enticing scent of the bread and was scrambling off the bed. A plate filled with many lovely things was waiting on a small table—a round loaf, a pot of honey, fat purple grapes and other small fruits he did not recognize, as well as a wedge of pale, creamy cheese. He had already begun stuffing himself—everything tasted glorious after a diet of mostly roots and sour berries—when he suddenly wondered if it had been meant to share.
No, the king said when Barrick began to ask. I scarcely eat at all these days—it would be like throwing an entire pine trunk onto a few dying coals and expecting it to burn. The king let out a small laugh that Barrick actually heard with his ears, a gust wintery as snow tossed by a breeze, then did not speak again until Barrick had gobbled even the rind of the cheese and was wiping the plate with the last bit of bread.
So, he said. I am Ynnir din’at sen-Qin. Welcome to the House of the People, Barrick Eddon.
Barrick realized that he had never bowed or made any kind of obeisance to this strange, impressive figure, but instead had thought only of filling his stomach. Wiping his sticky fingers on his clothing, he lowered himself to his knees. “Thank you. I saw you in my dreams, your Majesty.”
Such titles are not for me. And those my own people use would not be appropriate to you. Call me Ynnir.
“I… I couldn’t.” And it was true. It would be like calling his own father by his first name, to his face.
The king smiled again, a ghost of amusement. Then you may call me “Lord,” I suppose, as Harsar does. You have slept and eaten. One thing remains before our duties as hosts are complete.
“What do you mean?”
If you step into the next chamber, you will find hot water and a tub. It does not take any great power of observation to know you have not bathed in some time. The king lifted his slender fingers, gesturing. Go. I will wait here. I am still weary and we have far to walk.
Barrick found the door set in the far wall and was just about to open it when he remembered something.
“By the gods, I almost forgot!” He hesitated, wondering if he had blasphemed by mentioning the gods in this place, but the king seemed not to notice. “I have brought something for you, Lord, a gift from Gyir Storm Lantern—something very important… !”
Ynnir raised his hand again. I know. And you will complete your task, child of men—but not this moment. We have waited so long that another hour will mean nothing. Go and wash the dust of the road from yourself.
The chamber beyond the door was not like anything Barrick had seen before, steamy and windowless but lit by glowing amber stones set into the wall. A stone tub full of water sat in the center of a floor of dark tile, and when he tested the water with his hand it was gloriously hot. He shucked off his ancient, tattered clothes for the first time in longer than he could remember and almost leaped in.
When he climbed out again some time later even his bones and blood seemed to glow with renewed warmth. He was startled to discover that his ruined clothes were gone and that other garments had been left in their place. How had that happened? Barrick was certain no one had come in or out of the room while he had bathed. He held up the new clothing to inspect it before putting it on—breeches and a long shirt of some silky pale material and slippers of soft leather, all beautiful but simply made.
As he left the bathing room he realized that if such fine things were freely available for strangers, the king’s own tattered raiment was even more inexplicable.
Ynnir still waited in the same place, his chin on his chest as if he slept. It was doubtless a trick of the place’s strange lights, but Barrick thought he saw a lavender glow flickering above the king’s head, faint as foxfire.
As Barrick approached Ynnir stirred and the glow vanished, if it had been there at all.
Come with me now, the king told Barrick, turning his blind face toward him. It is time to set our feet to the narrowing way, as my people say.
Ynnir rose from his chair. He was taller than Barrick had expected, taller than most men, but his obvious natural grace was inhibited by what Barrick realized after a moment must be age or weariness, because he swayed for a moment and had to reach out and steady himself on the back of his chair.
Somehow blind Ynnir knew what Barrick was seeing and what he was thinking. Yes, I am weary. I thought I had lost you in the Between, and I expended much strength helping you find your way here—strength I could ill afford. But none of that matters now. We have waited long enough. Now we must go to the Deathwatch Chamber.
As he walked with the tall king Barrick finally began to see some of the great castle’s other inhabitants. It was hard to make out anything for certain in the dark, dreamy halls—the figures moved too quickly, or were visible only for instants before fading back into obscurity again, and what little of them he saw was often more confusing than if he had seen only shadows—but it was clear now that the castle was occupied.
“How many of your people live here, Lord?” he asked.
Ynnir walked a few more slow paces before answering. He lifted a hand and brought fingers and thumbs together as though holding something small. Most have gone with Yasammez, but we were already far fewer than once lived here. A few stayed to serve me and to serve Qul-na-Qar itself, and some like the tenders of the Deep Library would never leave—could never leave. There are others like that, too—you saw Harsar’s sons…
“Sons? ” For a moment Barrick didn’t know what the blind king meant. Then he thought of the grotesque little monstrosities that had scampered around the servant’s feet. “Those things?”
The First Gift does not always yield helpful changes, said the king, explaining nothing. But all the children of the Gift are nurtured. He made another gesture that had the resignation of a sigh. All together I would suppose there are fewer than two thousand of my people left in all these many, many rooms…
Barrick was distracted by the view from the hallway’s high windows—his first clear view of what lay outside the halls. Qul-na-Qar stretched across the visible distance, a forest of towers in dozens of shades of shiny black stone that seemed to stretched on and on toward the horizon until the edges disappeared in mist. The spires themselves were a hundred different shapes and heights, but all seemed built to the same idea, simple shapes repeated over and over again until in aggregate they became somber starbursts of complex black and dark gray.