"Your eyes look at me as though you understand everything I'm saying. But I can't go tonight the tide will be rough in this wind, and Xel hates the rain." He paused a moment. I take Xel with me, and we watch something that is building on the shores of Ymris under night cover, something for which there is no name. By night, I dig in other directions, sometimes in books of wizardry I've learned to open, sometimes out there in the darkness above Loor, by the sea. By day I go digging out of curiosity in the great ruined city of the Earth-Masters on Wind Plain. I speak to Xel, to an old man I buy fish from in Loor, to occasional traders, and to Rork, High Lord of Umber, who visits me every few months.
I've been here five years in exile from Caerweddin. He said abruptly, "You are as secret as Wind Tower.
He slept motionlessly, exhausted, waking only once near dawn, when Xel came whining to the door, and Morgon sleepless by the fire, rose to open it for the wet, bedraggled huntress.Īstrin sat down with a sigh beside him.
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Once, his hands full of the moist black earth, he caught the strong, good smell of it, and something leaped in him, longing, responding. He worked all day at Astrin's side, digging quietly in a little room whose floor was sunk beneath the earth, crumbling the earth in his hands, searching it for bits of metal, glass, pottery. The first step is to become as the stone." He nodded, his eyes holding Astrin's, and Astrin drew a breath. Morgon, some rough paste Astrin had made in front of him, began to fit together, piece by piece, the shards of glass. Xel prowled restlessly, wailing complaints every now and then to Astrin, who sat murmuring over a spell-book he could not open. The small house smelled damp, and the fire smoked. It rained heavily the next day they could not go out. He took the fragments to Astrin's house, brushed off the dirt and puzzled over them. Morgon found a few days later a cache of lovely red and purple glass in a corner of the chamber they were working in. Then there was nothing but a long darkness and a withdrawal. Odd pieces of thought rose in his mind: the plain he had looked at, Xel's face, the skins he had hung to dry. Morgon felt an odd shifting in the room, as if another vision of the same room had superimposed itself over his own, and refocused slightly. Astrin, standing across from him, grew still, a dark shape in the flickering light.
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