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Raederle said； 〃Morgon； you were awake most of last night。 I'll watch。〃
〃I'm used to it；〃 he said。 But he gave her the sword and stretched out on a blanket。 He did not sleep； he lay listening； watching patterns of stars slowly shift across the night。 He heard again the faint； hesitant harping ing out of the blackness like a mockery of his memories。
He sat up incredulously。 He could see no campfires among the trees； he heard no voices； only the awkward harping。 The strings were finely tuned； the harp gave a gentle； mellow tone； but the harpist tripped continually over his notes。 Morgon linked his fingers over his eyes。
〃Who in Hel's name。。。〃 He rolled to his feet abruptly。
Raederle said softly； 〃Morgon； there are other harpists in the world。〃
〃He's playing in the dark。〃
〃How do you know it's a man？ Maybe it's a woman； or a young boy with his first harp； travelling alone to Lungold。 If you want to destroy all the harps in the world； you'd better start with the one at your back； because that's the one that will never give you peace。〃 He did not answer。 She added equivocally to his silence； 〃Can you bear it if I tell you a riddle？〃
He turned； found the dim； moon…struck lines of her； the blade glittering faintly in her hands。 〃No；〃 he said。 He sat down beside her after a while； his mind worn from straining for the notes of a familiar Ymris ballad the harpist kept missing。 〃I wish；〃 he muttered savagely； 〃I could be haunted by a better harpist。〃 He took the sword from her。 〃I'll watch。〃
〃Don't leave me；〃 she pleaded； reading his mind。 He sighed。
〃All right。〃 He angled the sword on his knees； stared down at it while the high moon tempered it to cold fire； until at last the harping stopped and he could think again。
VI
THE NEXT NIGHT； AND THE NEXT； AND THE NEXT； Morgon heard the harping。 It came at odd hours of the night； usually when he sat awake listening。 He heard it at the far edges of his awareness； Raederle slept undisturbed by it。 Sometimes he heard it in his dreams and it woke him； numb and sweating； blinking out of a dream of darkness into darkness； both haunted by the same inescapable harping。 He searched for the harpist one night； but he only got lost among the trees。 Returning wearily near dawn in the shape of a wolf； he scared the horses； and Raederle flung a circle of fire around them and herself that nearly singed his pelt。 They discussed matters furiously for a few moments； until the sight of their weary； flushed； bedraggled faces made them both break into laughter。
The longer they rode； the longer the road seemed to stretch itself； mile after mile through changeless forest。 Morgon's mind milled constantly through scraps of conversations； expressions on faces they passed； noises ahead and behind them； the occasional mute imagery behind the eyes of a bird flying overhead。 He grew preoccupied； trying to see ahead and behind them at the same tune； watching for harpists； for horse thieves； for shape…changers。 He scarcely heard Raederle when she spoke。 When she stopped speaking to him altogether once； he did not realize it for hours。 As they grew farther from Caithnard； the traffic lessened； they had isolated miles； now and then； of silence。 But the heat was constant； and every stranger appearing behind them after a quiet mile looked suspicious。 Except for the harping； though； their nights were peaceful。 On the day that Morgon finally began to feel secure； they lost their horses。
They had camped early that day； for they were both exhausted。 Morgon left Raederle washing her hair in the river and walked half a mile to an inn they had passed to buy a few supplies and pick up news。 The inn was crowded with travellers： traders exchanging gossip； impoverished musicians playing every instrument but a harp for the price of a meal； merchants； farmers； families who looked as if they had fled from their homes； carrying all their possessions on their backs。
The air was heavy with wine…whetted rumors。 Morgon； picking a rich； heavy voice at random from a far table； followed it as though he were following an instrument's voice。 〃Twenty years；〃 the man said。 〃For twenty years I lived across from it。 I sold fine cloth and furs from all parts of the realm in my shop； and I never saw so much as a shadow out of place in the ruins of the ancient school。 Then； late one night while I was checking my accounts； I saw lights here and there in the broken windows。 No man ever walks across those grounds； not even for the wealth of it： the place reeks of disaster。 So that was enough for me。 I took every bolt of cloth out of that shop； left messages for my buyers to bring what they had for me to Caithnard； and I fled。 If there is going to be another wizard's war in that city； I intend to be on the other side of the realm。〃
〃In Caithnard？〃 another merchant answered incredulously。 〃With half the Ymris coastline to the north plagued with war？ At least Lungold has wizards in it。 Caithnard has nothing but fishwives and scholars。 There's as much defense in a dead fish as in a book。 I've left Caithnard。 I'm heading for the backlands； I might e out again in fifty years。〃
Morgon let the voices fade back into the noise。 He found the innkeeper hovering at his shoulder。 〃Lord？〃 he said briskly； and Morgon ordered beer。 It was from Hed； and it washed a hundred miles of road dust down his throat。 He dipped sporadically into other conversations； one word from a sour…looking trader caught his attention。
〃It's that cursed war in Ymris。 Half the fanners in Ruhn had their horses drafted into war： the descendants of Ruhn battle horses bred to the plow。 The king is holding his own on Wind Plain； but he's paying a bloody price for stalemate。 His warriors buy what horses they are offered； so do the farmers。 No one asks any more where the horses e from。 I've had an armed guard around my wagon teams every night since I left Caithnard。〃
Morgon set down an empty glass； worried suddenly about Raederle alone with their horses。 A trader beside him asked a friendly question； he grunted a reply。 He was about to leave when his own name caught his ear。
〃Morgon of Hed？ I heard a rumor that he was in Caithnard； disguised as a student。 He vanished before the Masters even recognized him。〃
Morgon glanced around。 A group of muscians had congregated around a jug of wine they were sharing。 〃He was in Anuin；〃 a piper said； wiping spit out of his instrument。 He looked at the silent faces around him。 〃You haven't heard that tale？ He caught up with the High One's harpist finally in Anuin； in the king's own hall！〃
〃The High One's harpist；〃 a gangling young man with a collection of small drums hanging about him said bitterly。 〃And what was the High One doing through all this？ A man loses his land…rule； betrayed in the High One's name by a harpist who lied to every king in the realm； and the High One won't lift a finger … if he has one … to give him justice。〃
〃If you ask me；〃 a singer said abruptly； 〃the High One is nothing more than a lie。 Invented by the Founder of Lungold。〃
There was a short silence。 The singer blinked a little nervously at his own words； as if the High One might be standing at his shoulder sipping beer and listening。 Another singer growled； 〃Nobody asked。 Shut up； all of you。 I want to hear what happened at Anuin。〃
Morgon turned abruptly。 A hand stopped him。 The trader who had spoken to him said slowly； perplexedly； 〃I know you。 Your name hangs at the edge of my memory； I know it 。。。 Something to do with rain。。。〃
Morgon recognized him： the trader he had talked to long ago on a rainy autumn day in Hlurle； after he had ridden out of the Herun hills。 He said brusquely； 〃I don't know what in Hel's name you're talking about。 It hasn't rained for weeks。 Do you want to keep your hand； or do I take it with me？〃
〃Lords； Lords；〃 the innkeeper murmured。 〃No violence in my inn。〃 The trader took two beers off his tray； set one down in front of Morgon。 〃No offense。〃 He was still puzzled； searching Morgon's face。 〃Talk with me a little。 I haven't been home to Kr