“Sybel! Sybel, wake up—”
She rose slowly, stiff, and went through the chill house. The sun streaked the snow with fire; it leaped at her eyes as she opened the door, hurting them. She blinked.
“Maelga. Come in.”
“Oh, Sybel—you have let your fire die.” She stepped in, and Sybel stared at the dark thing in her hands.
“That is not the only dead thing in this room, I think.” She touched the black, stiff body of Maelga’s raven. A lightning stroke of fear she had never known before shot through her. Maelga said wearily, “Sybel, I sent him out, and this morning he flew into my house and dropped dead at my feet. I think he was dead as he flew.”
Sybel shuddered. “It is cold,” she murmured. “I am sorry.” She stared down at the motionless bird until Maelga touched her gently, and she started.
“Sybel, you are tired. Have you eaten lately?”
“I do not think so. I have been reading.” Her shoulders, strained taut, fell suddenly; she covered her face with her hands. Maelga’s arms closed about her.
“My white child,” she mourned, “what can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Sybel whispered. “Nothing.” She dropped her hands, sighing. “I hope Ter is safe. I will call him, send him back to Tam.”
“I will cook you something. You are so thin since Tam left.”
She went into the kitchen, still carrying the dead raven. Sybel caught the Falcon’s mind, felt the sudden sweep of earth beneath its flying.
Ter. Go back to Tam. There is danger.
There was silence a moment, before the drive of Ter’s heartbeat and the run of fire in his veins. Then he said,
No.
Ter. Go back to Tam.
Ogam’s child, ask of me anything else. But I have a pair of eyes to pick and a dark mind to still.
Ter—
She lost him suddenly, groped for him, amazed, and lost him again; and a whisper broke into her mind, strong, implacable.
Sybel.
“No,” she said, and the word fell lifeless against white stones. “No!”
She sat under the domed roof at midnight, and the full moon watched her like an eye. The world lay silent beyond the dome, hushed and hidden; the mountain itself was still, the stars frozen like ice crystals. The night was voiceless as her own mind, resting in its heart of silence that no wind, no whisper of leaves disturbed. Her eyes were dark in the darkness, motionless as she waited, listening to the quiet of her mind, waiting for the moment, the calls that rippled to the core of its silence. Gules lay beside her, his head raised, golden eyes unblinking, motionless as though he did not breathe. She felt movement near her after a while and found Cyrin, the gleam of his tusks white as starlight.
Answer me a riddle, Lord of Wisdom, she said to him, and in his mind heard the swift passage of all the riddles of the world. And his red eyes vanished as his great, glowing head sank before her.
That one I cannot answer.
Her head dropped onto her knees. “I am weary,” she whispered, wide-eyed, to the darkness. “I do not know what to do.” She sat there awhile, still, feeling now and then the faint tug of herself away from herself, like the soft withdrawal of a moon-drawn wave. The moonlight etched her shadow on the white marble floor, and the dark massive shadows of Boar and Lyon. She closed her eyes finally, sent forth a call. And as she called she heard a faint, familiar shouting at her gates.
“Sybel,” Coren said, as she ran through the night snow to him. “Sybel.” His hands were closed tight on the bars as though he had tried to pull them apart. “I am sorry—I am so sorry—I was away from Sirle—”
“I just called you,” she said breathlessly, pulling at the frozen bolts. “Just a moment ag—-Coren, did you fly here?”
“I tried to.” He led his horse in, stopped in front of her, trying to see her face in the dark. “What is it?” he said anxiously. “Sybel, I wanted to come three days ago, but Rok had sent me to Hilt to talk to Lord Horst about some hopeless plan—I knew you were troubled; I knew it even while I slept, but I could not leave until yesterday. What is it? Is it Tam?”
She stared up at his shadowed face, wordless. She shook her head. “No. How—how did you know I wanted you before I knew that?”
“I knew. Sybel, what is it? What can I do for you?”
“Just—a little thing.”
“Anything.”
“Just—hold me.”
He dropped the reins in the snow. He opened his cloak, drew her into it until it closed on her white hair, and the crown of her head gleamed faintly below his face. She dropped her head against him, smelled the dark, damp fur around her, felt the draw of Coren’s breath and the beat of his blood. His breath caught, and she opened her eyes.
“Sybel—you are afraid.”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Hold me closer,” she said, and his arms shifted around her, drew her nearer. She heard his heart beneath her ear, felt one gloved hand cupping her head. She drew a long, slow breath and loosed it. “I would have called you all the way from Sirle to ask you to hold me like this. Just for this.”
“I would have come. I would have come only to do this and to go back. But Sybel, there must be more I can do for you.”
“No. Your voice is like the sunlight; it belongs to the world of men, not the dark world of wizards.”
His voice tangled in her hair. “What is it? What is troubling you?”
She was silent. Then she lifted her head, sighing, drew away from him and the circle of his arms broke. “I did not want to tell you. But now perhaps I should, because if anything happens to me, you—you may be troubled until you know.”
His hands rose, creased with snow, to circle her face, and his voice rose. “Sybel—what?”
“Come in to the fire. I will tell you.”
She told him after he had stabled his horse in her shed and fed it. He hung up his cloak by the fire and sat beside her. She gave him a cup of heated wine and said simply,
“I am being called.”
He stared at her, over the rim of his cup. Then he put it down sharply, and the wine splashed over his forgers. “Who?”
“If I could put a name to him, I could fight him, perhaps. I have looked everywhere for a name to put to him; I have surprised wizards beyond Eldwold with the whisper of my voice in their minds, and their own fear and wonder have told me they do not know me. So now—I do not know what to do. He has taken Ter Falcon; I sent Ter to look for him, and he stole Ter’s name from me, and I could not hold Ter against his power. He is very strong. I think he is stronger than anyone I have ever heard of. So, I think, I will have to yield to him.”
He was silent, his brows twisted. “I do not think,” he said finally, “that I will yield you to him.”
She shifted uneasily. “Coren, that is not what I called you for. You cannot help me.”
“I could try. I could not—I could not help Norrel, but I will help you. I will stay here with you, and when he comes for you, or when you go to him, I will be there beside you, and he will answer to me.”
“Coren, what good would that do? I would only have to watch you die, or watch your mind being twisted against itself so that you could never speak my name again. Rommalb was terrible, but not evil. Rommalb was fear, and you survived that, but this wizard, for you, would be death.”
“Then what shall I do?” he demanded helplessly. “Do you think I could sit here, or in Sirle, meek as a child while you are taken by some danger without a name?”
“Well, I will not watch you die in front of me.” “Well, I would rather do that than lie awake at night with your troubled mind tugging at me, and not know where you are, why you are troubled.”
“I never asked you to come uncalled when I was troubled. I never asked you to listen for my voice.”
“I know: You never asked me to love you. Well, I do love you, and I am troubled, and I will stay with you no matter how much you argue. It is easy to call a man into your house, but not so easy to have him leave.”