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according to all legend they wound away from the earth forever。
He bowed his head as if he were walking into a hard wind and began to climb。 The walls around him were of the lustrous burning black between stars。 The gold stairs ringed around the core of the tower； slanting gently upward。 As he rounded it once and began the second spiral； the black gave way to a rich crimson。 The winds； he realized； were no longer the thin； angry winds of the day； their voices were forceful； sinewy。 The stairs beneath his feet seemed carved of ivory。
He heard the voices of the winds change again at the third spiral。 They held tones he had harped to in the northern wastes； and his hands yearned to match their singing。 But harping would be deadly； so he kept his hands still。 At the fourth level the walls seemed of solid gold and the stairs carved out of star fire。 They wound endlessly upward； the plain； the broken city grew farther and farther away from him。 The winds grew colder as he climbed。 At the ninth level he wondered if he were climbing a mountain。 The winds； the stairs； and the walls around him were clear as melted snow。 The spirals were getting smaller； and he thought he must be near the top。 But the next level plunged him into an eerie darkness； as if the stairs were carved out of night wind。 It seemed interminable； but when he came out of it again； the moon was exactly where he had seen it last。 He continued upward。 The walls turned a beautiful dawn…grey； the stairs were pale rose。 The winds had a cutting edge； merciless and deadly。 They were prodding him out of his own shape。 He kept walking； half…man； half…wind； and the colors around him changed again and again； until he realized； as others had realized before him； that he could spiral through them changing forever。
He stopped。 The city was so far beneath him he could no longer see it in the dark。 Looking up； he could see the elusive top of the tower very near him。 But it had been that near him； it seemed； for hours。 He wondered if he were walking through a piece of a dream that had stood among the abandoned stones for thousands of years。 Then he realized it was not a dream； but an illusion； an ancient riddle bound to someone's mind； and he had carried the answer to it with him all the way。
He said softly； 〃Death。〃
XVIII
THE WALLS ROSE AROUND HIM； CIRCLED HIM。
Twelve windows opened through midnight blue stone to the restless； murmuring winds。 He felt a touch and turned； startled back into his body。
The High One stood before him。 He had the wizard's scarred hands； and the harpist's fine； worn face。 But his eyes were neither the harpist's nor the wizard's。 They were the falcon's eyes； fierce； vulnerable； frighteningly powerful。 They held Morgon motionless； half…regretting that he had spoken the name that had turned in his mind after all that time to show its dark side。 For the first time in his life he had no courage for questions； his mouth was too dry for speaking。
He whispered into the void of the High One's silence； 〃I had to find you。。。 I have to understand。〃
〃You still don't。〃 His voice sounded shadowy with winds。 Then he bound the awesomeness of his power somewhere within him and became the harpist； quiet； familiar； whom Morgon could question。 The moment's transition bound Morgon's voice again； for it loosed a conflict of emotion。 He tried to control them。 But as the High One touched the stars at his side and his back； bringing them irrevocably into shape； his own hands rose； caught the harpist's arms and stilled him。
〃Why？〃
The falcon's eyes held him again； he could not look away。 He saw； as if he were reading memories within the dark eyes； the silent； age…old game the High One had played； now with Earth…Masters； now with Ghisteslwchlohm； now with Morgon himself； a ceaseless tapestry of riddles with some threads as old as time and others spun at a step across the threshold into a wizard's chamber； at a change of expression on the Star…Bearer's face。 His fingers tightened； feeling bone。 An Earth…Master moved alone out of the shadows of some great； unfinished war。。。 hid for thousands of years； now a leaf on a rich； matted forest floor of dead leaves； now the brush of sunlight down the flank of a pine。 Then； for a thousand years； he took a wizard's face； and for another thousand； a harpist's still； secret face； gazing back at the twisted shape of power out of its own expressionless eyes。 〃Why？〃 he whispered again； and saw himself in Hed； sitting at the dock end； picking at a harp he could not play； with the shadow of the High One's harpist flung across him。 The sea wind or the High One's hand bared the stars at his hairline。 The harpist saw them； a promise out of a past so old it had buried his name。 He could not speak； he spun his silence into riddles。。。
〃But why？〃 Tears or sweat were burning in his eyes。 He brushed at them； his hands locked once more on the High One's arms； as if to keep his shape。 〃You could have killed Ghisteslwchlohm with a thought Instead you served bun。 You。 You gave me to him。 Were you his harpist so long you had forgotten your own name？〃
The High One moved； Morgon's own arms were caught in an inflexible grip。 〃Think。 You're the riddler。〃
〃I played the game you challenged me to。 But I don't know why。。。〃
〃Think。 I found you in Hed； innocent； ignorant； oblivious of your own destiny。 You couldn't even harp。 Who in this realm was there to wake you to power？〃
〃The wizards；〃 he said between his teeth。 〃You could have stopped the destruction of Lungold。 You were there。 The wizards could have survived in freedom； trained me for whatever protection you need。。。〃
〃No。 If I had used power to stop that battle； I would have battled Earth…Masters long before I was ready。 They would have destroyed me。 Think of their faces。 Remember them。 The faces of the Earth…Masters you saw in Erlenstar Mountain。 I am of them。 The children they once loved were buried beneath Isig Mountain。 How could you； with all your innocence； have understood them？ Their longing and their lawlessness？ In all the realm； who was there to teach you that？ You wanted a choice。 I gave it to you。 You could have taken the shape of power you learned from Ghisteslwchlohm： lawless； destructive； loveless。 Or you could have swallowed darkness until you shaped it； understood it； and still cried out for something more。 When you broke free of Ghisteslwchlohm's power； why was it me you hunted； instead of him？ He took the power of land…law from you。 I took your trust； your love。 You pursued what you valued most。。。〃
Morgon's hands opened； closed again。 His breath was beginning to rack through him。 He caught it； stilled it long enough to shape one final question。 〃What is it you want of me？〃
〃Morgon； think。〃 The even； familiar voice was suddenly gentle； almost inaudible。 〃You can shape the wild heart of Osterland； you can shape wind。 You saw my son； dead and buried in Isig Mountain。 You took the stars of your own destiny from him。 And in all your power and anger； you found your way here； to name me。 You are my land…heir。〃
Morgon was silent。 He was gripping the High One as if the tower floor had suddenly vanished under him。 He heard his own voice； oddly toneless； from a distance。 〃Your heir。〃
〃You are the Star…Bearer； the heir foreseen by the dead of Isig； for whom I have been waiting for centuries beyond hope。 Where did you think the power you have over land…law sprang from？〃
〃I didn't。。。 I wasn't thinking。〃 His voice had dropped to a whisper。 He thought of Hed； then。 〃You are giving me。。。 you are giving Hed back to me。〃
〃I am giving you the entire realm when I die。 You seem to love it； even all its wraiths and thick…skulled farmers and deadly winds。。。〃 He stopped； as a sound broke out of Morgon。 His face was scored with tears； as riddles wove their pattern strand by gleaming strand around the heart of the tower。 His hands loosened； he slid to the High One's feet and crouched there； his head bowed； his scarred hands closed； held against his heart。 He could not speak； he did not know what language of light and darkness the