Finchet shook out his legs and began to pick his way across the rubble. The boy turned, a grin turning his face young again, despite the grit that stained it.

  "Uncle! Are you—how are you?"

  "Well enough," he returned and stopped to cough. "Smoke," he said to the boy's suddenly anxious eyes and offered a grin of his own. "Told you we'd get down. True speaking, young Veln?"

  The smile came back, but wearily. "True speaking, Uncle."

  Finchet nodded and made a show of surveying the path that had been cut. "Been busy, I see. Belike you've a plan."

  Veln pointed away across the tumble of ruin, beyond the edge of what had been the cottage and into the maze that had been a forest. "Access hatch."

  "True enough." Finchet thought a moment, considering the boy's sweat-soaked shirt, grim face and trembling arms. "Happen we can get ourselves there without cutting us a boulevard," he said. "Let's have a sit-down and think it out."

  They sat cross-legged among the wood chips, the boy straight-backed and tense, the old man leaning his shoulders against a log.

  "If we go lightly," Finchet said, "happen we'll make it across to the hatch without trouble. You've uncovered a rope?"

  Veln pointed shakily to a careful pile in the corner of two locked branches. Finchet frowned; nodded.

  "Rope, small axe, knives, canteen, Book, belt comm—well done, young Veln! We're in a fair way to being out and about and seeing where we've come to rest." He looked closely at the boy. "You're wanting to start now, or rest a bit?"

  "Now," said Veln with decision, and Finchet nodded again, creakily stood and bent over the careful little cache.

  "We'll rope us together, for safety's sake," he murmured, more to himself than to the boy. "I'll take the large axe and one of the knives and a rope coil over the shoulder . . ."

  "And I'll take the small axe, a knife, the canteen," said Veln.

  "Right you are. Then I'm for the comm. The Book can go down the back of your shirt." He plucked the items out, one by one, and handed Veln his share. He had just made certain of the comm snapped to his belt when he felt a tough young body slam into him and thin arms go tight around his waist.

  "Oh, Uncle, I'm so glad you're all right!" Veln cried out, words muffled by reason of his face being buried in Finchet's side. "I was so afraid—you were breathing, but when I tried to straighten you, you moaned and I thought you were broken and so I was going to cut a path and go—and go for help. . .."

  "There now, there now . . ." Finchet put his arms around the heaving shoulders. "You did well, boy—as well as any could. It's only that us oldsters take our knocks a little more to heart. I'm right as right can be. We'll just rope ourselves together and stroll on out of here, eh?"

  Snuffling, Veln nodded, and pulled back and stood patient while Finchet knotted the rope around his waist and measured out a length and tied the opposite end about himself.

  "All right, now."

  "A stroll," he heard the boy say behind him, and they swung out toward the hatch.

  * * *

  Of course, it was much worse than any stroll. It was a nightmare of tricksy footing and rolling logs; stones that turned under unwary boots, and branches crashing down random-like. Whole groves had gone down in impenetrable tangles, so that twice they had to make lengthy detours, and those weren't the worst of the bad moments.

  Hours later, they reached the hatch, both of them grimy and sweating and trembling, and they took turns chopping at the vegetation piled before it. When it was clear, Finchet stepped forward, sending a prayer to the gods of stars and space that it wasn't jammed tight, leaned all his weight against the crash bar and pushed.

  Against all his expectations, it popped open and he was catapulted quite neatly into the arms of the person directly before him.

  Caught, Finchet blinked against the strong light—sunlight!—and got his captor's face into focus. It bore a marked resemblance to a face he had seen before.

  He cleared his throat. "I'm a friend," he said into the Grounder's startled eyes, "of Witness for the Telios. It'd be thought a kindness if you'd take the boy and me to him."

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  The room was smaller than the one where he had awakened, and its walls were covered with fur. A fire burned in a pit near the center. Against the back wall was a bed, and on it a prince's ransom in furs.

  A diminutive figure hurried forward as Gem crossed the threshold, waving small hands distractedly.

  "Please, she is very ill. She must rest and not be in any way distressed. Please leave. We will send word."

  Gem stopped and looked deep into the hood, seeing a face as young as the Gatekeeper's was old. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

  The boy pushed his hood back irritably, revealing black braids and a ring of white metal piercing one ear. "You are the Trident Bearer," he said. "But she's ill. She might die, the healers say. Please, you must not call her now—take someone else!"

  "You, for chance?" asked Gem and saw the boy's face tighten. He reached out and touched the earring lightly with a fingertip. "What does this signify?"

  "I train to be a healer," the boy said. "Let me fetch another to watch in my place, Trident Bearer, and I will come with you."

  "Brave heart. But I am wounded myself, you know, and bound to rest. I've only come to sit with my cousin, that she not waken kinless." He glanced over at the fur-piled bed. "And if she should die, I would be with her then. Can you permit me these things, healer-in-training?"

  The boy hesitated and from behind him, Gem heard the Gatekeeper's soft voice. "How will you stop him, little one?"

  The boy's shoulders sagged. "True enough," he allowed, but then he looked sharply up into Gem's face, and snatched at his robe. "Swear to me," he said, "that you will not disturb her rest."

  The Gatekeeper's gasp was audible. Gem smiled, seeing for a moment not this small apprentice, but a thin yellow-haired waif, with fierce eyes and demands of his own. For Edreth's sake, he extended his hand and laid it briefly on the child's dark head.

  "I swear."

  Satisfied, the boy stepped back and Gem walked on to the bed. He thought he heard the Gatekeeper's voice, but failed to note the words. Nor did he note that shortly thereafter she left him to the care of the small apprentice. All his attention was on the bed, and the one who lay there, so still.

  Her face was pale against the richness of the furs, the honey skin gone to ivory. Lines there were upon her brow, aside her eyes, around her mouth, as if even in sleep she were pain-full. The long golden hair lay limp and lusterless, snagged here and there like spiderwebbing, and the hand atop the furs looked strengthless, fingers curved and impotent.

  Gem sank onto the stool at the bedside, watching the labored rise and fall of her breast, his own breath strangled in his throat. Carefully, he slid his hand over her cold, lifeless one, and intertwined his fingers with hers.

  "Corbinye," he murmured, softer than her breathing, "it's Gem."

  He sat quiet then, holding her hand, watching her face and thinking of nothing, or so he would have said to any who asked. He may even have entered a doze, for he did not see that her eyes were open until she spoke his name.

  "Anjemalti?"

  "Yes," he leaned forward, so that she might see him more clearly, and tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm here, Corbinye, and well enough, though I seem to have a gift for getting shot in the shoulder. . .." He fancied he saw a smile quiver on that tight, tired mouth and smiled himself.

  "I promised your physician, there, that I would not tire you," he said, nodding to where the boy kept vigil by the fire. "But I hope you won't mind it, if I stay by."

  "I will sleep easier for it," she whispered. "Gods keep you, cousin." Her eyes hazed for a moment; cleared. "How fares the Vornet?"

  "In the keeping of the Telios," he told her. "I expect we'll have to decide what to do with them eventually. But you must rest."

  "In a moment," she said, but then lay still, breath coming in shallow gasps, cold fingers gripping his weakly.

  "Corbinye . . ." Fear brought tears to his eyes, and the boy's frantic voice cried from memory: She might die! "We must get you to Hyacinth. The healing unit . . ."

  "I doubt I would survive the journey," she whispered, as if it were of no moment. She seemed to wilt further beneath the furs; her fingers slackened in his and her eyes drooped shut. "I am happy you are with me, Anjemalti. . .."

  Around the terror in his heart, Gem murmured, "Sleep, Corbinye." He touched her cheek, laid a finger against her lips. "I will be here when you wake."

  "Sleep . . ." she murmured, and subsided, breath evening somewhat, her hand curled, resistless, in his.

  He leaned back, seeing the signs of death in her, thinking of Hyacinth, so near, yet inaccessible to one in such desperate need. That Corbinye should die for the sake of a kilometer's travel . . .

  There was a sound, as of something scrapping against stone, and Gem started, half-turning on the stool—

  And bowed his head to the green-robed figure standing at the end of the bed, hood pulled up and hands tucked into wide sleeves.

  The figure returned the courtesy, pulled its hands free and set back the hood, revealing the pleasant face of a man of middle years. "Trident Bearer," he said softly. "I am Third of the Five Telios. The Gatekeeper spoke to me of turmoil, and revolt against being chosen. It is for the Telios to teach and for all Bindalche to provide those things the Trident Bearer asks for." He slipped his hands back into his sleeves and stood, apparently willing to wait thus all day.

  Gem stared at him. "I ask for the life of this woman."

  Third of the Five moved his shoulders, face expressing infinite sadness. "The Trident Bearer is not a child."

  "No," Gem agreed. "Nor is he quite a fool. I require the following items, and I require them now: Any and all information regarding the Trident's past deeds, its manufacture and its ultimate purpose."

  Third blinked, bowed. "The Trident Bearer need only ask," he said formally. "Runners shall be dispatched this very hour to each of the holy troves. The writings shall be brought you with all haste, though I regret that you may not have any but the current writings now."

  "It is sufficient," Gem said. "You will teach me—immediately—the manner in which I may communicate with the Trident."

  Third tipped his head, puzzlement showing in his face. "Communicate?"

  "Communicate," Gem said sharply. "Play no games with me, sir. I am ill and my cousin is failing before my eyes. Shlorba's Smiter has chosen me, so you say, for partnership in its present endeavor. That is well, I shall be its partner. But I have received the tuition of a master. I have skills and necessities of my own. I am no child to be molded to the Smiter's whim, nor an empty vessel to be filled and, mindless, used. If this is to be a partnership, the will of Gem ser Edreth shall be active within it."

  "Ah." The man's eyes were shining, and he bowed most deeply. "The singers shall be told of this!" he cried, and held out his hands. "I had been taught that the Smiter speaks, but the lore you demand is not mine. I will go now, with the Trident Bearer's permission, and send the First of the Telios. She may teach you these mysteries."

  "I don't care who teaches me," Gem snapped, his eyes on Corbinye's waning face. "But I will have it taught at once."

  "At once," Third reiterated, bowing himself feverishly out of the room. "At once, Trident Bearer."

  Gem took a deep breath, closed his eyes—and opened them, startled, at the unexpected pressure of fingers upon his.

  Corbinye's eyes were open, watching him with some puzzlement. "It—speaks, Anjemalti?"

  He sighed and reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand. "It speaks," he said, and the tears that had pricked at the back of his eyes spilled over. "Corbinye, do not leave me."

  * * *

  The Grounder's name was Borgin Vo Riss and he professed himself more than willing to lead the way to the Telios. He then offered the information that evening was fast approaching and hinted that perhaps the aged one and his boy would care to bide the night in Borgin's village and set out for the Telios on the morrow.

  "Not a bad notion," Finchet allowed. "We're a bit done up, truth told."

  Borgin was glad of the old one's wisdom, and said so. He also said that his chief would welcome the opportunity to speak to one who claimed friendship with Witness for the Telios. He waved his hand and two stepped forward from the half-dozen warriors he had brought with him to investigate that which had fallen from the skies. "These may carry your burdens, father."

  "Gracious of you," Finchet said. "But we'll carry our own."

  Borgin effaced himself, took rapid thought and waved his hand again. Water bottles appeared from among the troop. Borgin offered his to the old one, who drank thirstily. Rifta, his second, gave the child to drink, and for courtesy each of the six then took a mouthful before all moved out, the boy and the old man safely enclosed within a ring of warriors.

  * * *

  Finchet stumbled, and wished he hadn't been so stiff-necked about the offer of having the axe, at least, taken from him. Still, it wouldn't do to be without a weapon, with them far from Ship and not knowing the Captain's estate. Though this Borgin seemed reasonable enough, and as willing to aid them as if they were Shipmates.

  The village, come upon abruptly at the base of a hill, was settled in among some scraggly trees—sticks merely, Finchet thought, with thin, ill-nourished leaves—maybe twenty tents and a handful of more permanent structures, all set up in a rectangle, facing in on an cleared space.

  In the cleared space there was activity: A group of young ones, each seated before a flat stone. All the stones were the same shape, Finchet saw, as if deliberately worked that way, and on each was an array of smaller stones, twigs and bright bits of pottery.

  Finchet stopped. Around him, the ring of warriors stopped and Borgin glanced aside. "Aged one?"

  "Like to look over here a tick, if that's permitted." Finchet pointed at the group. Borgin bowed and stepped out of the way.

  "Surely."

  One person, a bit older, Finchet thought, than the ones at the rocks, sat on a stone in the center of things, from time to time calling out a phrase in what might be these Grounders' native tongue. When she did, each of the other children moved their hands in rapid pattern over their rock, slapping at this twig, or that shard. . ..

  "What do you make of this, young Veln?" Finchet asked.

  The boy shrugged, barely glancing at the flurry of activity. "Grounder madness, Uncle. Nothing to do with us."

  "No? Look again. Seems to me it looks familiar, but I'm further away from my lessons than you are."

  The girl on the center stone called out another phrase and quick hands flashed across half-a-dozen rocks. Veln stiffened; stared.

  "It's a board test," he said slowly. "She must be calling the drill-patterns. . .."

  "Thought so," said Finchet, and nodded to the girl, who had turned to look at them curiously. "Borgin and his mates carry spears, and these younglings are learning their drill-patterns. Wonder why."

  "There must be a ship, Uncle," said Veln.

  "Must there? Doubtless you're right." He straightened, sighing a little at the complaint of his back muscles. "Well, let's not keep the chief waiting, young Veln. Happen he'll have something fine to feed us."

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Anjemalti the Chosen would travel to the Vornet ship, forsooth, there to demand of the Smiter. Power the Smiter must relinquish, in kind of what had been eaten, to spark the motor that would bring the healing unit to life.

  That in turn would save the life of Death's Warrior.

  Witness for the Telios could scarce contain his secret heart. This was the way the very oldest Memories went: That Smiter and Seeker were each half of a whole great enough even to shatter event and rework worlds. The very greatest of the Seekers were thus partners of the Smiter. The rest, Witness suspected within his secret heart, were merely toys of the Goddess.

  First of the Five was less exultant than Witness' heart. For the twelfth time she said to Anjemalti, "There is no need to put yourself to the strain of travel, to the danger of crossing the Smiter's will. The Smiter itself can be used to animate. The old tales are very clear, Trident Bearer. . .."

  "No," Anjemalti said, his dozenth repetition, also, though now not accompanied by the shudder that had wracked him upon first learning of the Trident's power in this wise. He looked hard at First Telios, blue eyes brilliant to the point of insanity. "Understand me. It is not animation I seek, it is Corbinye's life. Do I make myself sufficiently plain?"

  First Telios sighed and slid her hands into the wide sleeves of her robe, a gesture of resignation Witness knew well. "Yes, Trident Bearer."