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e shape。〃
He stood gazing down at her。 He turned； paced a half…circle around the fire； and stared into the gnarled； haggard eye of a tree bole。 He tilted his face against it； felt it gazing into him； at all the twisted origins of his own power。 For a moment doubt bit into him； that he was wrong to demand such a thing of her； that even his own power； wrested out of himself by such dark circumstances； was suspect。 The uncertainty died slowly； leaving； as always； the one thing he grasped with any certainty： the fragile； imperative Structure of riddlery。
〃You can't run from yourself。〃
〃You are running。 Maybe not from yourself； but from the riddle at your back that you never face。〃
He lifted his head wearily； looked at her。 He moved after a moment； stirred the lagging fire。 〃I'll catch some fish。 Tomorrow morning； I'll go back to the inn； get what we need。 Maybe I can sell the saddles there。 We can use the money。 It's a long walk to Lungold。〃
They scarcely spoke at all the next day。 The summer heat poured down at them； even when they walked among the trees beside the road。 Morgon carried both their packs。 He had not realized until then how heavy they were。 The straps wore at his shoulders as their quarrelling chafed at his mind。 Raederle offered to carry one； but he refused with something kin to anger； and she did not suggest it again。 At noon； they ate with their feet in the river。 The cold water soothed them； and they spoke a little。 The road in the afternoon was fairly quiet； they could hear the creak of cartwheels long before the carts came into view。 But the heat was intense； almost unbearable。 Finally they gave up； trudged along the rough river bank until twilight。
They found a place to camp； then。 Morgon left Raederle sitting with her feet in the river and went hunting in falcon…shape。 He killed a hare dreaming in the last rays of the sun on a meadow。 Returning； he found Raederle where he had left her。 He cleaned the hare； hung it on a spit of green wood above the fire。 He watched Raederle； she sat staring down at the water； not moving。 He said her name finally。
She got up； stumbling a little on the bank。 She joined him slowly； sitting down close to the fire； drawing her damp skirt tightly under her feet。 In the firelight； he took a good look at her； forgetting to turn the spit。 Her face was very still； there were tiny lines of pain under her eyes。 He drew a sudden breath； her eyes met his； holding a clear and definite warning。 But the worry in him blazed out in spite of her。
〃Why didn't you tell me you were in that much pain？ Let me see your feet。〃
〃Leave me alone！〃 The fierceness in her voice startled him。 She was huddled over herself。 〃I told you I would walk to Lungold； and I will。〃
〃How？〃 He stood up； anger at himself beating in his throat。 〃I'll find a horse for you。〃
〃With what？ We couldn't sell the saddles。〃
〃I'll change into one。 You can ride on my back。〃
〃No。〃 Her voice was shaken with the same； strange anger。 〃You will not。 I'm not going to ride you all the way to Lungold。 I said I will walk。〃
〃You can hardly walk ten feet！〃
〃I'll do it anyway。 If you don't turn the spit； you'll burn our supper。〃
He did not move； she leaned forward and turned it herself。 Her hand was trembling。 As the lights and shadows melted over her； he wondered suddenly if he knew her at all。 He pleaded； 〃Raederle； what in Hel's name will you do？ You can't walk like that。 You won't ride； you won't change shape。 Do you want to go back to Anuin？〃
〃No。〃 Her voice flinched on the word； as if he had hurt her。 〃Maybe I'm no good with riddles； but I do keep vows。〃
〃How much of your honor can you place in Ylon's name when you give him and his heritage nothing but hatred？〃
She bent again； to turn the spit； he thought； but instead she grasped a handful of fire。 〃He was King of An； once。 There is some honor in that。〃 Her voice was shaking badly。 She shaped a wedge of fire； spun thread…thin strings down from it through her fingers。 〃I swore in his name I would never let you leave me。〃 He realized suddenly what she was making。 She finished it； held it out to him： a harp made of fire； eating at the darkness around her hand。 〃You're the riddler。 If you have such faith in riddles； you show me。 You can't even face your own hatred； and you give me riddles to answer。 There's a name for a man like you。〃
〃Fool；〃 he said without touching the harp。 He watched the light leap soundlessly down the strings。 〃At least I know my name。〃
〃You are the Star…Bearer。 Why can't you leave me alone to make my own choices？ What I am doesn't matter。〃
He stared at her over the flaming harp。 Something he said or thought without realizing it snapped the harp to pieces in her hand。 He reached across the fire； gripped her shoulders； and pulled her to her feet。
〃How can you say that to me？ What in Hel's name are you afraid of？〃
〃Morgon。。。〃
〃You're not going to change shape into something neither of us will recognize！〃
〃Morgon。〃 She was shaking him suddenly； trying to make him see。 〃Do I have to say it？ I'm not running from something I hate； but something I want。 The power of that bastard heritage。 I want it。 The power eating across Ymris； trying to destroy the realm and you … I am drawn to it。 Bound to it。 And I love you。 The riddler。 The Master。 The man who must fight everything of that heritage。 You keep asking me for things you will only hate。〃 He whispered； 〃No。〃
〃The land…rulers； the wizards at Lungold … how can I face them？ How can I tell them I am kin to your enemies？ How will they ever trust me？ How can I trust myself； wanting such terrible power？〃
〃Raederle。〃 He lifted one hand stiffly； touched her face； brushing at the fire and tears on it； trying to see clearly。 But the uneasy shadows loomed across it； molding her out of flame and darkness； someone he had not quite seen before and could not quite see now。 Something was eluding him； vanishing as he touched it。 〃I never asked anything from you but truth。〃
〃You never knew what you were asking。〃
〃I never do know。 I just ask。〃 The fire was shaping itself between them into the answer his mind grasped at。 He saw it suddenly； and he saw her again； at the same time； the woman men had died for in Peven's tower； who had shaped her mind to fire； who loved him and argued with him and was drawn to a power that might destroy him。 For a moment pieces of the riddle struggled against each other in his mind。 Then they slid together； and he saw the faces of shape…changers he knew： Eriel； the harpist Corrig； whom he had killed； the shape…changers in Isig he had killed。 A chill of fear and wonder brushed through him。 〃If you see。。。 if you see something of value in them；〃 he whispered； 〃then what in Hel's name are they？〃
She was silent； gripping him； her face gone still； fiery with tears。 〃I didn't say that。〃
〃Yes； you did。〃
〃No； I didn't。 There's nothing of value in their power。〃
〃Yes； there is。 You sense it in you。 That's what you want。〃
〃Morgon！〃
〃Either you change shape in my mind； or they change shape。 You； I know。〃
She let go of him slowly。 She was uncertain。 He held her； wondering what words would make her trust him。 Slowly he realized what argument she would hear。
He loosed her and touched the harp into shape at his back。 It filled his hands like a memory。 He sat down while she watched him at the edge of the fire； not moving； not speaking。 The stars on the harp's face； enigmatic； answerless； met his gaze。 Then he turned it and began to play。 For a while he thought of little but her； a shadowy figure at the edge of the light； drawn to his harping。 His fingers remembered rhythms； patterns； drew hesitant fragments of song out of a year of silence。 The ancient； flawless voice of the harp； responsive to his power； touched him again with unexpected wonder。 She drew closer to him as he played； until step by step she had reached his side。 She stood still again。 With the fire behind her； he could not see her face。
A harpist echoed him in the shadows of his memory。 The more he played to drown the memory； the more it haunted him： a distant； skilled； beautiful harping； ing from beyond blackness； beyond the smell of water that went nowhere and had gone nowhere for thousands of years。 The fire beyond Raederle grew small； a point of light that went farther and farther away from him； until the blackness came down over his eyes like a hand。 A voice startled him； echoing over stones； fading away into harsh cadences。 He never saw the face。 Reaching out in the darkness； he touched only stone。 The voice was always unexpected； no matter how hard he listened for a footstep。 He grew to listen constantly； lying on stone； his muscles tensed with waiting。 With the voice came mind…work he could not fight； pain when he fought with his fists； endless questions he would not answer out of a desperate fury； until suddenly his fury turned to terror as he felt the fragile； plex instincts for land…law begin to die in him。 He heard his own voice answering； rising