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f his waiting。 〃Morgon！〃
The sword hummed wildly with the aftermath of the shout。 Morgon heard it bounce against the stones。 He shouted Raederle's name involuntarily； in horror； and the floor lurched under him again； shrugging him toward the lake。 The sword slid after him。 It was still vibrating； a strange high note that stilled as Morgon caught it and sheathed it。 There was a sound as if a crystal in one of the walls had cracked。
It sang as it broke： a low； tuned note that shattered its own core。 Other crystals began to hum； the ground floor of the mountain rumbled。 The great slabs of ceiling stone ground themselves together。 Dust and rubble hissed down； half…formed crystals snapped and pounded to pieces on the floor。 Languages of bats； dolphins； bees brushed through the chamber。 A tension snaked through the air； and Morgon heard Raederle scream。 Sobbing a curse； he pulted himself to his feet The floor grumbled beneath him； then roared。 One side of it lifted； fell ponderously onto the other。 It flung him into the lake。 The whole lake basin； a huge； round bowl carved into solid stone； began to tilt。
He was buried for a few moments in a wave of black water。 When he surfaced again； he heard a sound as if the mountain itself； torn apart at its roots； had groaned。
A wind blasted into the stone chamber。 It blinded Morgon； drove his own cry back into his throat。 It whirled the lake into a black vortex that dragged him down into it。 He heard； before he was engulfed； something that was either the ring of blood in his ears or a note like a fine…tuned string at the core of the deep wind's voice。
The water spat him back up。 The basin had tilted farther； pouring him out with the water toward the sheer wall at the far side。 He snatched a breath； dove under water； trying to swim against the wave。 But it hurled him back； heaved him at solid stone。 As he sensed the wall blur up before him； it split open。 The wave poured through the crack； dragging him with it。Through the thunder of water； he heard the final reverberations of the mountain burying its own heart。
The lake water dragged him through the jagged split； poured over a lip of stone into a roiling stream。 He tried to pull himself out； catching at ledges； at walls rough with jewels； but the wind was still with him； pushing him back into the water； driving the water before it。 The stream flooded into another； a whirlpool dragged him under a ledge of stone into another river。 The river cast him finally out of the mountain； dragged him down foaming rapids； and threw him； half…drowned； his veins full of bitter water； into the Ose。
He pulled himself ashore finally； lay hugging the sunlit ground。 The wild winds still pounded at him； the great pines were groaning as they bent。 He coughed up the bitter water he had swallowed。 When he moved finally to drink the sweet waters of the Ose； the wind nearly flung him back in。 He raised his head； looked at the mountain。 A portion of its side had been sucked in； trees lay uprooted； splintered in the shift of stone and earth。 All down the pass； as far as he could see； the wind raged； bending trees to their breaking point。
He tried to stand； but he had no strength left。 The wind seemed to be hounding him out of his own shape。 He reached out； bis hands closed on huge roots。 He felt； as the tree shivered in his hold； the core of its great strength。 Clinging to it； he pulled himself up by its knots and holes。 Then he stepped away from it and lifted his arms as if to enclose the wind。
Branches grew from his hands； his hair。 His thoughts tangled like roots in the ground。 He strained upward。 Pitch ran like tears down his bark。 His name formed his core； ring upon ring of silence built around it。 His face rose high above the forests。 Gripped to earth； bending to the wind's fury； he disappeared within himself； behind the hard； wind…scrolled shield of his experiences。
XII
HE DWINDLED BACK INTO HIS OWN SHAPE ON A rainy； blustery autumn day。 He stood in the cold winds； blinking rain out of his eyes； trying to remember a long； wordless passage of time。 The Ose； grey as a knife blade； shivered past him； the stone peaks of the pass were half…buried under heavy cloud。 The trees around him clung deeply to the earth； engrossed in their own existences。 They pulled at him again。 His mind slid past their tough wet bark； back into a slow peace around which tree rings formed and hardened。 But a wind vibrated through his memories； shook a mountain down around him； throwing him back into water； back into the rain。 He moved reluctantly； breaking a binding with the earth； and turned toward Erlenstar Mountain。 He saw the scar in its side under a blur of mist and the dark water still swirling out of it to join the Ose。
He gazed at it a long time； piecing together fragments of a dark； troubling dream。 The implications of it woke him pletely； he began to shiver in the driving rain。 He scented through the afternoon with his mind。 He found no one … trapper； wizard； shape…changer … in the pass。 A windblown crow sailed past him on an updraft； he caught eagerly at its mind。 But it did not know his language。 He loosed it。 The wild； sonorous winds boomed hollowly through the peaks； the trees roared around him； smelling of winter。 He turned finally； hunched in the wind； to follow the flow of the Ose back into the world。
But he stood still after a step； watching the water rush away from him toward Isig and Osterland and the northern trade…ports of the realm。 His own power held him motionless。 There was no place anywhere in the realm for a man who unbound land…law and shaped wind。 The river echoed the voices he had heard； speaking languages not even the wizards could understand。 He thought of the dark； blank face of wind that was the High One； who would give him nothing except his life。
〃For what？〃 he whispered。 He wanted to shout the words suddenly at the battered； expressionless face of Erlenstar Mountain。 The wind would simply swallow his cry。 He took another step down the river toward Harte； where he would find shelter； warmth； fort from Danan Isig。 But the king could give him no answers。 He was trapped by the past； the pawn of an ancient war he was finally beginning to understand。 The vague longing in him to explore his own strange； unpredictable power frightened him。 He stood at the river's edge for a long time； until the mists along the peaks began to darken and a shadow formed across the face of Erlenstar Mountain。 Finally； he turned away from it； wandered through the rain and icy mists toward the mountains bordering the northern wastes。
He kept his own shape as he crossed them； though the rains in the high peaks turned to sleet sometimes and the rocks under his hands as he climbed were like ice。 His life hung in a precarious balance the first few days； though he hardly realized it。 He found himself eating without remembering how he had killed； or awake at dawn in a dry cave without remembering how he had found it。 Gradually； as he realized his disinclination to use power； he gave some thought to survival。 He killed wild mountain sheep； dragged them into a cave and skinned them； living on the meat while the pelts dried and weathered。 He sharpened a rib； prodded holes in the pelts and laced them together with strips of cloth from his tunic。 He made a great shaggy hooded cloak and lined his boots with fur。 When they were finished； he put them on and moved again； down the north face of the pass into the wastes。
There was little rain in the wasteland； only the driving； biting winds； and frost that turned the monotonous land into fire at sunrise。 He moved like a wraith； killing when he was hungry； sleeping in the open； for he rarely felt the cold； as if his body frayed without his knowledge into the winds。 One day he realized he was no longer moving across the arc of the sun； he had turned east； wandering toward the morning。 In the distance； he could see a cluster of foothills； with Grim Mountain jutting out of them； a harsh； blue…gray peak。 But it was so far away that he scarcely put a name to it。 He walked into mid…autumn； hearing nothing but the winds。 One night as he sat before his fire； vaguely feeling the winds urge against his shape； he looked down and saw the starred harp in his hands。
He could not remember reaching back for it。 He gazed at it； watching the silent run of fire down the strings。 He shifted after a while and positioned it。 His fingers moved patternlessly； almost inaudibly over the strings； following the rough； wild singing of the winds。
He felt no more pulsion to move。 He stayed at that isolated point in the wastes； which was no more than a few stones； a twisted shrub； a crack in the hard earth where a stream surfaced for a few feet； then vanished again underground。 He left the place only to hunt； he always found his way back to it； as if to the echo of his own harping。 He harped with the winds that blew from dawn until night； sometimes with only one high string； as he heard the lean； tense； wailing east wind； sometimes with all strings； the low note thrumming back at the boom of the north wind。 Sometimes；