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churned snow。 A terrified Hernystirman managed to put an arrow into one giant's eye； then a few more feathered the second until it was reeling。 Still； two more men were smashed to death by the flailing tree trunk before the remaining Hernystiri dragged the giant down and killed him。
Eolair looked up to see that most of the Norns were engaged with the Sithi。 Horrible as was the chaos of battle； the count was still pelled to stop and stare。 Never since the dawn of time had such a thing been seen； the immortals at war。 Those that were visible through the snow seemed to move with a ghastly； serpentine swiftness； feinting； leaping； swinging their dark swords like they were willow wands。 Many contests seemed settled before the first blow was struck； indeed； in many of the single bats； after much dancelike movement； only one blow was struck…the blow that ended the fight。
There was a sour skirling of pipes from atop the hillside。 Eolair looked up to see what seemed to be a line of trumpeters atop the stone； their long； tubelike instruments lifted to the gray sky。 But the piping noise came from some musicians in the shadows of Naglimund below； for when the Norns atop the wall puffed their cheeks and blew； what came from their tubes was not sound but a cloud of dust as orange as sunset。
Eolair watched in sickened fascination。 What could it be？ Poison？ Or just some other inprehensible ritual of the immortals？
As the plume of orange floated down across the hillside； the tide of battle seemed to surge and writhe beneath it…but no one fell。 If poison； the count thought； it was of a more subtle sort than he had heard of。 Then Eolair felt a burning in his own throat and nostrils。 He gasped for
breath； and for a moment thought he would surely choke and die。 A moment later he could breathe again。 Then the sky dropped down upon him； the shadows began to stretch； and the snow seemed to catch fire。
Eolair was filled with a fear that blossomed like a great； black； ice…cold flower。 Men were screaming all around him。 He was screaming； too。 And the Norns that now came surging forward out of the ruined shell of Naglimund were demons that even the priests had never dreamed。 The count and his men turned to run； but the Sithi behind them； merciless and golden…eyed； were just as terrifying as their corpse…white cousins。
Trapped！ Eolair thought； all else subsumed in panic。 Trapped！ Trapped！ Trapped！
Something grabbed him and he lashed out； scratching with his nails to pull free of the horrible thing； a monster with a great yellow…tendriled face and shrieking mouth。 He raised his sword to kill it； but something else struck him from behind and he fell sideways into the cold whiteness with the monstrous thing still clutching at him； still clawing at his arms and face。 He was pushed face forward into the freezing snow； and though he struggled； he could not get free。
What is happening？ he suddenly thought。 There were monsters； yes； giants and Norns…but nothing so near。 And the Sithi…he remembered how ghastly they had looked； how he had been certain that they intended to trap Eolair and the other Hernystiri between themselves and the Norns； then crush the mortals…the Sithi are not our foes！。。
The weight on his back had lessened。 He slipped free and sat up。 There was no monster。 Isorn crouched in the snow beside him； hanging his head like a sick calf。 Although the madness of battle still raged around him； and his own men were snapping at each other and struggling brother against brother like crazed dogs； Eolair felt the terrible fear ebbing away。 He reached up and pawed at his chilled face； then held out his gloved hand and stared at the orange…tinted snow。
〃The snow washed it away；〃 he said。 〃Isorn！ It is some poison they have blown at us！ The snow washes it away！〃
Isorn retched and nodded weakly。 〃Mine has e off； too。〃 He gasped and spat。 〃I tried 。。。 to kill you。〃
〃Quickly；〃 Eolair said； struggling to his feet。 〃We must try and get it off the others。 e！〃 He scooped up an armful of snow； scraping off the thin sprinkling of orange dust； and staggered to a small knot of squealing； struggling men nearby。 They were all bleeding； but most only shallowly from wounds made by nails and teeth： although the poison had maddened them； it had made them clumsy and ineffectual as well。 Eolair smashed clean snow into each face he could reach。
After he and Isorn had managed to bring some semblance of sanity back to the nearest men； they hurriedly explained and sent those they had rescued off to help others。 One man did not get up。 He had lost both eyes and was bleeding to death； staining all the ground around him。 Eolair pulled the man's cloak over his ruined face and then stooped to gather more snow。
The Sithi did not seem to be anywhere near as badly stricken by the dusty poison as Eolair and his men。 Some of the immortals closest to the walls seemed dazed and slowed； but none showed symptoms of the unrestrained madness that had swept the Hernystiri。 Still； the hillside was full of dreadful sights。
Likimeya and a few Sithi were surrounded by a pany of Norn foot soldiers； and though Jiriki's mother and her panions were mounted and able to deal deadly blows from above； one by one they were being pulled down into a mass of white hands that waved and swayed like some terrible plant。
Yizashi Grayspear faced a howling giant who already held a crushed Sithi body in each hand。 The Sitha horseman； his face as sternly impassive as a hawk's； spurred forward。
Jiriki and two others had knocked another of the giants to his knees； and now hacked at the still…living monster as though they butchered an ox。 Great jets of blood fountained up； covering Jiriki and his panions in a sticky mist。
The limp body of Zinjadu； her pale…blue hair clotted with red； had been hoisted on the spears of a group of Norns as they ran back toward Naglimund's walls in triumph。 Chekai'so and dark Kuroyi rode them down before they could bear their prize to safety； and each killed three of their white…skinned brethren； although both took many wounds。 When they had slaughtered the Norns； Chekai'so Amber…Locks draped Zinjadu's corpse across his saddle。 His own streaming blood mixed with hers as he and Kuroyi bore her back toward the Sithi camp。
The day wore on； full of madness and misery。 Behind the mist and snow； the sun rose past noon and began to fall。 The broken west wall of Naglimund began to glow with the light of a murky afternoon； and the snows grew even more red。
Maegwin walked along the edge of the battle like a ghost…as indeed she was。 At first she had hidden behind the trees； afraid to witness such horrible things； but eventually her better sense had led her out again。
If I am dead； then what do I fear？
But it was hard to look at the bloody forms that lay scattered about the snowy hillside and not fear death。
Gods do not die； and mortals die but once； she reassured herself。 When this is settled； they will all rise again。
But if they should all rise again； then what was the point of this battle？ And if the gods could not die； then what did they fear from the demon hordes out of Scadach？ It was puzzling。
Pondering； Maegwin walked slowly beside slayers and slain。 Her cloak fluttered behind her； and her feet left small； even prints in the froth of white and scarlet。
9
The Third House
Simon was furious。 They had walked into a trap； as sweetly and stupidly as spring lambs led to the killing block。
〃Can you move your hands at all？〃 he whispered to Miriamele。 His own wrists were bound very securely： the two Fire Dancers who had done the job had some experience with knots。
She shook her head。 He could barely see her in the deepening night。
They were kneeling side by side at the center of the forest clearing。 Their arms had been tied behind their backs and their ankles roped。 Seeing Miriamele trussed and helpless； the idea of brute animals readied for slaughter returned and black anger rose inside Simon once more。
I'm a knight！ Doesn't that mean anything？ How could I let this happen？
He should have known。 But he had been busy strutting like a mooncalf over the man Roelstan's pliments。 〃You have seen this knight wield a sword；〃 the traitor had said。 〃He has naught to fear from Fire Dancers。〃
And I believed him。 I am not fit to be a knight。 I am a disgrace to Josua and Morgenes and Binabik and everyone who's ever tried to teach me anything。
Simon engaged in another futile struggle with his bonds； but the ropes held him in an unbreakable grip。
〃You know something of these Fire Dancers； don't you？〃 he whispered to Miriamele。 〃What are they going to do with us？ What do they mean when they say they're going to give us to the Storm King？ Burn us？〃
He felt Miriamele shudder against him。 〃I don't know。〃 Her voice was flat； dead。 〃I suppose so。〃
Simon's terror and anger were for a moment overe by a stab of regret。 〃I let you down； didn't I？〃 he said quietly。 〃Some protector。〃
〃It's not your fault。 We were tricked。〃
〃I wish I could get my hands on that Ro