‘Comes the Cata­lyst, to make stone of flesh and flesh of stone. At his touch shall be wakened the dragons of the earth. The sleep­ing city shall tremble and waken to him. Comes the Cata­lyst.’ The Fool’s voice was dreamy.

  ‘The writ­ings of White Damir,’ Kettle ad­ded rev­er­ently. She looked at me and for a mo­ment was an­noyed. ‘Hun­dreds of writ­ings and proph­ecies and they all ter­min­ate in you?’

  ‘Not my fault,’ I said in­anely. I was already ruck­ing my way into my blankets. I thought long­ingly of the al­most warm day I had had. The wind was blow­ing and I felt chilled to the bone.

  I was drows­ing off when the Fool reached over to pat my face with a warm hand. ‘Good you’re alive,’ he muttered.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. I was sum­mon­ing up Kettle’s game board and pieces in an ef­fort to keep my mind to my­self for the night. I had just be­gun to con­tem­plate the prob­lem. Sud­denly I sat up, ex­claim­ing, ‘Your hand is warm! Fool! Your hand is warm!’

  ‘Go to sleep,’ Starling chided me in an of­fen­ded tone.

  I ig­nored her. I dragged the blanket down from the Fool’s face and touched his cheek. His eyes opened slowly. ‘You’re warm,’ I told him. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I don’t feel warm,’ he in­formed me miser­ably. ‘I feel cold. And very, very tired.’

  I began build­ing up the fire in the bra­zier hast­ily. Around me the oth­ers were stir­ring. Starling across the tent had sat up and was peer­ing at me through the gloom.

  ‘The Fool is never warm,’ I told them, try­ing to make them un­der­stand my ur­gency. ‘Al­ways, when you touch his skin, it is cool. Now he’s warm.’

  ‘In­deed?’ Starling asked in an oddly sar­castic voice.

  ‘Is he ill?’ Kettle asked tiredly.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never known him to be ill in my whole life.’

  ‘I am sel­dom ill,’ the Fool cor­rec­ted me quietly. ‘But this is a fever I have known be­fore. Lie down and sleep, Fitz. I’ll be all right. I ex­pect the fever will have burned out by morn­ing.’

  ‘Whether it has or not, we must travel to­mor­row morn­ing,’ Kettricken said im­plac­ably. ‘We have already lost a day linger­ing here.’

  ‘Lost a day?’ I ex­claimed, al­most an­grily. ‘Gained a map, or more de­tail for one, and know­ledge that Ver­ity had been to the city. For my­self, I doubt not that he went there as I did, and per­haps re­turned to this very spot. We have not lost a day, Kettricken, but gained all the days it would have taken us to find a way down to what re­mains of the road down there and then tramp to the city. And back again. As I re­call, you had pro­posed spend­ing a day just to seek for a way down that slide. Well, we did, and we found the way.’ I paused. I took a breath and im­posed calm on my voice. ‘I will not seek to force any of you to my will. But if the Fool is not well enough to travel to­mor­row, I shall not travel either.’

  A glint came into Kettricken’s eyes, and I braced my­self for battle. But the Fool fore­stalled it. ‘I shall travel to­mor­row, well or not,’ he as­sured us both.

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ Kettricken said swiftly. Then, in a more hu­man voice she asked, ‘Fool, is there any­thing I can do for you? I would not use you so harshly, were not the need so great. I have not for­got­ten, and never shall, that without you I would never have reached Jhaampe alive.’

  I sensed a story I was not privy to, but kept my ques­tions to my­self.

  ‘I will be fine. I am just … Fitz? Could I beg some elf­bark of you? That warmed me last night as noth­ing else has.’

  ‘Cer­tainly.’ I was rum­ma­ging in my pack for it when Kettle spoke out warn­ingly.

  ‘Fool, I coun­sel you against it. It is a dan­ger­ous herb, and al­most al­ways more dam­aging than good. Who knows but you are ill to­night be­cause you had some the night be­fore last?’

  ‘It is not that po­tent a herb,’ I said dis­dain­fully. ‘I’ve used it for a num­ber of years, and taken no last­ing ill from it.’

  Kettle gave a snort. ‘None that you are wise enough to see, any­way,’ she said sar­castic­ally. ‘But it is a warm­ing herb that gives en­ergy to the flesh, even if it is dead­en­ing to the spirit.’

  ‘I al­ways found it re­stored me rather than deadened me,’ I countered as I found the small packet and opened it. Without my ask­ing her, Kettle got up to put wa­ter on to boil. ‘I never no­ticed it dulling my mind,’ I ad­ded.

  ‘The one tak­ing it sel­dom does,’ she re­tor­ted. ‘And while it may boost your phys­ical en­ergy for a time, you must al­ways pay for it later. Your body is not to be tricked, young man. You will know that bet­ter when you are as old as I.’

  I fell si­lent. As I thought back over the times I had used elf­bark to re­store my­self, I had the un­com­fort­able sus­pi­cion that she was at least partly right. But my sus­pi­cion was not enough to keep me from brew­ing two cups rather than just one. Kettle shook her head at me, but lay back down and said no more. I sat be­side the Fool as we drank our tea. When he handed me back the empty mug, his hand seemed warmer, not cooler.

  ‘Your fever is rising,’ I warned him.

  ‘No. It is just the heat of the mug on my skin,’ he sug­ges­ted.

  I ig­nored him. ‘You are shak­ing all over.’

  ‘A bit,’ he ad­mit­ted. Then his misery broke through and he said, ‘I am cold as I have never been be­fore. My back and my jaws ache from shak­ing with it.’

  Flank him, sug­ges­ted Nighteyes. The big wolf shif­ted to press more closely against him. I ad­ded my blankets to those cov­er­ing the Fool and then crawled in be­side him. He said not a word but his shiv­er­ing lessened some­what.

  ‘I can’t re­call that you were ever ill at Buck­keep,’ I said quietly.

  ‘I was. But very sel­dom, and I kept to my­self. As you re­call, the healer had little tol­er­ance for me, and I for him. I would not have trus­ted my health to his purges and ton­ics. Be­sides, what works for your kind some­times does noth­ing for mine.’

  ‘Is your kind so vastly dif­fer­ent from mine?’ I asked after a time. He had brought us close to a topic we had sel­dom even men­tioned.

  ‘In some ways,’ he sighed. He lif­ted a hand to his brow. ‘But some­times I sur­prise even my­self.’ He took a breath, then sighed it out as if he had en­dured some pain for an in­stant. ‘I may not even be truly ill. I have been go­ing through some changes in the past year. As you have no­ticed.’ He ad­ded the last in a whis­per.

  ‘You have grown, and gathered col­our,’ I agreed softly.

  ‘That is a part of it.’ A smile twitched over his face, then faded. ‘I think I am al­most an adult now.’

  I snorted softly. ‘I have coun­ted you as a man for many years, Fool. I think you found your man­hood be­fore I did mine.’

  ‘Did I? How droll!’ he ex­claimed softly, and for a mo­ment soun­ded al­most like him­self. His eyes sagged shut. ‘I am go­ing to sleep now,’ he told me.

  I made no reply. I shouldered deeper into the blankets be­side him and set my walls once more. I sank into a dream­less rest that was not cau­tion­less sleep.

  I awoke be­fore first light with a fore­bod­ing of danger. Be­side me, the Fool slept heav­ily. I touched his face, and found it warm still and mis­ted with sweat. I rolled away from him, tuck­ing the blankets in tight around him. I ad­ded a twig or two of pre­cious fuel to the bra­zier and began draw­ing my clothes on quietly. Nighteyes was im­me­di­ately alert.

  Go­ing out?

  Just to sniff about.

  Shall I come?

  Keep the Fool warm. I won’t be long.

  Are you sure you’ll be all right?

  I’ll be very care­ful. I prom­ise.

  The cold was like a slap. The dark­ness, ab­so­lute. After a mo­ment or two, my eyes ad­jus­ted but even so I could see little more than the tent it­self. An over­cast had blot­ted the stars even. I stood still in the icy wind, strain­ing my senses to find what had dis­turbed me. It was not the Skill but my Wit that ques­ted out into the dark­ness for me. I sensed our party, and the hun­ger of the huddled jep­pas. Grain alone would not keep them long. An­other worry. Res­ol­utely I set it aside and pushed my senses fur­ther. I stiffened. Horses? Yes. And riders? I thought so. Nighteyes was sud­denly be­side me.

  Can you scent them?

  The wind is wrong. Shall I go see?

  Yes. But be un­seen.

  Of course. See to the Fool. He whimpered when I left him.

  In the tent, I quietly woke Kettricken. ‘I think there may be danger,’ I told her softly. ‘Horses and riders, pos­sibly on the road be­hind us. I’m not cer­tain yet.’

  ‘By the time we are cer­tain, they will be here,’ she said dourly. ‘Wake every­one. I want us up and ready to move by light.’

  ‘The Fool is still fe­ver­ish,’ I said, even as I stooped and shook Starling’s shoulder.

  ‘If he stays here, he won’t be fe­ver­ish, he’ll be dead. And you with him. Has the wolf gone to spy for us?’

  ‘Yes.’ I knew she was right, but it was still hard to force my­self to shake the Fool to con­scious­ness. He moved like a man in a daze. While the oth­ers bundled our gear, I hur­ried him into his coat and nagged him into an ex­tra pair of leg­gings. I wrapped him in all our blankets and stood him out­side while the rest of us struck the tent and loaded it. Of Kettricken I asked quietly, ‘How much weight can a jeppa bear?’

  ‘More than the Fool weighs. But they are too nar­row to straddle com­fort­ably, and they are skit­tish with a live load. We might put him on one for a way, but it would be un­com­fort­able for him and the jeppa would be dif­fi­cult to con­trol.’

  It was the an­swer I had ex­pec­ted, but it did not make me happy.

  ‘What news from the wolf?’ she asked me.

  I reached for Nighteyes, and was dis­mayed to find what an ef­fort it was to touch minds with him. ‘Six riders,’ I told her.

  ‘Friend or foe?’ she asked.

  ‘He has no way to know,’ I poin­ted out to her. To the wolf I asked, How do the horses look?

  De­li­cious.

  Large, like Sooty? Or small, like Moun­tain horses?

  Between. One pack mule.

  ‘They are on horses, not Moun­tain ponies,’ I told Kettricken.

  She shook her head to her­self. ‘Most of my folk do not use horses this high in the Moun­tains. They would use ponies, or jep­pas. Let us de­cide they are en­emies and act ac­cord­ingly.’

  ‘Run or fight?’

  ‘Both, of course.’

  She had already taken her bow from one of the jep­pas’ loads. Now she strung it to have it ready. ‘First we look for a bet­ter place to stage an am­bush. Then we wait. Let’s go.’

  It was easier said than done. Only the smooth­ness of the road made it pos­sible at all. Light was only a ru­mour as we star­ted that day. Starling led the jep­pas ahead. I brought the Fool be­hind them, while Kettle with her staff and Kettricken with her bow fol­lowed us. At first I let the Fool try to walk on his own. He lurched slowly along, and as the jep­pas drew in­ex­or­ably away from us, I knew it would not do. I put his left arm across my shoulders and my arm about his waist and hur­ried him along. In a short time he was pant­ing and strug­gling to keep his feet from drag­ging. The un­nat­ural warmth of his body was fright­en­ing. Cruelly, I forced him on, pray­ing for cover of some sort.

  When we came to it, it was not the kind­ness of trees, but the cruelty of sharp stone. A great por­tion of the moun­tain above the road had given way and cas­ca­ded down. It had car­ried off more than half the road with it, and left what re­mained heaped high with stone and earth. Starling and the jep­pas were look­ing at it du­bi­ously when the Fool and I limped up. I set him down on a stone, where he sat, eyes closed and head bowed. I pulled the blankets more closely around him, and then went to stand by Starling.

  ‘It’s an old slide,’ she ob­served. ‘Maybe it won’t be that hard to scramble across it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I agreed, my eyes already look­ing for a place to at­tempt it. Snow over­lay the stone, cloak­ing it. ‘If I go first, with the jep­pas, can you fol­low with the Fool?’

  ‘I sup­pose.’ She glanced over at him. ‘How bad is she?’

  There was only worry in Starling’s voice, so I swal­lowed my an­noy­ance. ‘He can stag­ger along, if he has an arm to lean on. Don’t start to fol­low un­til the last an­imal is up and mov­ing across it. Then fol­low our tracks.’

  Starling bobbed her head in agree­ment but did not look happy.

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait for Kettricken and Kettle?’

  I thought. ‘No. If those riders do catch up with us, I don’t want to be here with stone at my back. We cross the slide.’

  I wished the wolf were with us, for he was twice as sure-footed as I and much quicker of re­flex.

  Can’t come to you without their see­ing me. It’s sheer rock above and be­low the road here, and they are between you and me.

  Don’t fret about it. Just watch them and keep me aler­ted. Do they travel swiftly?

  They walk their horses and ar­gue much among them­selves. One is fat and weary of rid­ing. He says little but he does not hasten. Be care­ful, my brother.

  I took a deep breath, and, as no place looked bet­ter than any other, simply fol­lowed my nose. At first it was just a scat­ter­ing of loose stone across the road, but bey­ond that was a wall of great boulders, rocky soil and loose sharp-edged stone. I picked my way up this treach­er­ous foot­ing. The lead jeppa fol­lowed me and the oth­ers came be­hind her un­ques­tion­ingly. I soon found that blow­ing snow had frozen across the rocks in thin sheets, of­ten cov­er­ing hol­lows and cracks be­neath them. I stepped care­lessly on one and thrust my leg down to my knee in a crack. I ex­tric­ated my­self care­fully and pro­ceeded.

  When I took a mo­ment and looked around me my cour­age al­most failed. Above was a great slope of slide debris go­ing up to a sheer wall of rock. I walked on a hill­side of loose rock and stone. Look­ing ahead, I could not see where it ended. If it gave way, I would tumble and slide with it to the edge of the road and shoot off it into the deep val­ley bey­ond. There would be noth­ing, not a twig of green­ery, not a boulder of any size that I could cling to. Small things be­came sud­denly fright­en­ing. The jeppa’s nervous tug­ging at the lead rope I clutched, a sud­den shift in the push of the breeze, even my hair blow­ing in my eyes were ab­ruptly life-threat­en­ing. Twice I dropped to all fours and crawled. The rest of the way, I went at a crouch, look­ing be­fore I placed a foot and trust­ing my weight to it slowly.

  Be­hind me came the line of jep­pas, all fol­low­ing the lead beast. They were not as cau­tious as I. I heard stone shift be­neath them, and small scat­ter­ings of rock that they loosened went peb­bling and bound­ing down the slope, to shoot off in space. Each time it happened, I feared it would waken other rocks and set them slid­ing. They were not roped to­gether, save for the lead I had on the first beast. At any mo­ment I dreaded to see one go slip­ping down the hill­side. They were strung out be­hind me like corks on a net, and far be­hind them came Starling and the Fool. I stopped once to watch them and cursed my­self as I real­ized the dif­fi­culty of the task I had given her. They came at half my crawl­ing pace, with Starling grip­ping the Fool and watch­ing foot­ing for both of them. My heart was in my mouth when she stumbled once and the Fool sprawled flat be­side her. She looked up then and saw me star­ing back at her. An­grily she lif­ted an arm and mo­tioned to me to go on. I did. There was noth­ing else I could do.

  The dump of rock and stone ended as ab­ruptly as it had be­gun. I scrabbled down to the road’s flat sur­face with grat­it­ude. Be­hind me came the lead jeppa, and then the other beasts, jump­ing from scarp to rock to road like goats as they des­cen­ded. As soon as they were all down, I scattered some grain on the road to keep them well bunched and clambered back up the slide’s shoulder.

  I could see neither Starling nor the Fool.

  I wanted to run back across the face of the slide. In­stead I forced my­self to go slowly, pick­ing my way back along the tracks the jep­pas and I had left. I told my­self that I should be able to see their brightly col­oured gar­ments in this dull land­scape of greys and blacks and whites. And fi­nally I did. Starling was sit­ting quite still in a patch of scree with the Fool stretched out be­side her on the stones.

  ‘Starling!’ I called to her softly.

  She looked up. Her eyes were huge. ‘It all star­ted to move around us. Little rocks and then big­ger ones. So I stopped still to let it settle. Now I can’t get the Fool up and I can’t carry her.’ She fought the panic in her voice.

  ‘Sit still. I’m com­ing.’

  I could plainly see where a sec­tion of the sur­face rock had broken loose and star­ted tum­bling. Rolling pebbles had left their tracks over the snowy sur­face. I sized up what I could see and wished I knew more of ava­lanches. The move­ment of stone seemed to have be­gun well above them and to have flowed past them. We were still a good way above the edge, but once the scree began mov­ing, it would swiftly carry us over the edge. I made my heart cold and re­lied on my head.

  ‘Starling!’ I called to her softly again. It was need­less; her at­ten­tion was en­tirely fo­cused on me. ‘Come to me. Very slowly and care­fully.’

  ‘What about the Fool?’

  ‘Leave him. Once you are safe, I will go back for him. If I come to you, all three of us will be at risk.’

  It is one thing to see the lo­gic of some­thing. It is an­other to force one­self to keep a re­solve that smacks of cow­ar­dice. I do not know what Starling was think­ing as she got slowly to her feet. She never straightened up en­tirely, but ven­tured to­ward me one slow step at a time, crouched over. I bit my lip and kept si­lent though I longed to urge her to hurry. Twice small herds of pebbles were loosened by her steps. They went cas­cad­ing down­hill, rous­ing oth­ers to join them as they flowed down the in­cline and then bounded over the edge. Each time she froze in a crouch, her eyes fixed des­per­ately on me. I stood and stu­pidly wondered what I would do if she star­ted to slide with the rocks. Would I fling my­self use­lessly after her, or watch her go and keep forever the memory of those dark eyes plead­ing?