The white-haired one had said nothing as yet. When she did, I knew it was Murzemire Hornloss. Murzy. “Where’s Jinian, Peter? Is she all right?”
I nodded. “Ganver’s looking after her. She’s still in the Maze, trying to stay clear of the Oracle.”
“What was that ringing sound we heard?” This was the youngest, scarcely more than a child, still with baby fat on her arms. Dodie.
It was the Flitchhawk who answered. “That was Peter, pretending to be the Daylight Bell. For which I owe him a boon.”
“Did you really do that, Peter? How clever.” This was Murzy. “I suppose you heard it in the Maze? Is it true, as Mind Healer Talley says, that the Maze is the memory of Lom?”
“Is it true that there are guides?”
“Is it true that space and time are changed inside?”
“Is it true . . .”
I waved them silent. “Murzy. Madam Hornloss. We have a precious load scattered wide. I am no Wizard, but it seems we need help. . . .”
“Surely not,” said Murzy. “Not with a lord of the birds at your side.” She bowed deeply. “I have long known your name, but only recently your identity, great Favian.”
The Flitchhawk inclined its mighty head. “Perhaps Favian is still great lord of the birds, ma’am. If the sickness is not too close. If the shadow is not nigh.” It called into the sky and was answered in a moment by a twittering from every side. Small birds began to gather by dozens, then hundreds, hopping about, darting here and there, their bright eyes seeking, their beaks opening to pick up crystals as though they were grains of giant wheat. It was not long before the contents of the broken basket were heaped before us. Murzy shook out a tablecloth, and we piled the crystals upon it, knotting the corners, while I answered the questions they had asked about the Great Maze. They asked a great many, and it was some time before they were satisfied.
“Where are you going, Mavin’s son?” Murzy asked. “Up to the ice caverns where the Gamesmen sleep?”
I nodded, wondering how she had known about that. Mavin, Himaggery, and I had not broadcast knowledge about the caverns, though there were a number who knew of it. “I thought I would stop there, yes. Then I would have come hunting you. Jinian asked me to find you, to tell you she needs you.”
“Ah, well, we thought perhaps that was the case,” said Cat Candleshy. “Some time ago Murzy suspected it might be true. And Bartelmy said something of the sort, also. Your confirmation of it now makes us glad we left Xammer when we did.” Until that moment I had forgotten that Murzemire Hornloss was a Seer.
“We’ll go on north to her, boy. You get on your way. Don’t try that bell sound again unless you must. It will only work when it comes as a surprise. It could not have been the sound of the Daylight Bell alone which kept the shadow at bay, but then you probably know that.”
They nodded at me then and went on toward the north, across the Shadowmarches, as though they were out for an afternoon stroll. “So that’s a seven,” I said. There had been no opportunity for me to meet them before Jinian and I had set out two years before, but I had heard much about them since, of course. “So that’s a seven.”
“Only part of one,” murmured the Flitchhawk. “They are more impressive when they are complete.
I don’t know that “impressive” was quite the word I would have used. “Indomitable,” perhaps. I did not worry about them further; they needed none of my concern. Instead, I faced south and asked, “Are you strong enough to go on? We can get to the cavern before dark. I will watch if you will carry. Or I’ll carry and you can watch.”
The Flitchhawk said something about meeting the terms of the boon, which meant it had to carry. I watched, therefore, from above him, or under him, or off to one side or the other. Several times I saw roiling air away in the distance, but nothing approached us. Evidently the surprise of the Bell sound had been enough for a temporary surcease.
We came to the cavern before dusk, slipping in along the fold of hills to find it, spotting it at last by the firelight gleam in the cavern’s mouth. I started to lose my shape and knew that one of the Immutables must be present, so I turned and landed some distance away, coming the remaining distance on my own two feet, naked as a fish.
The governor of the Immutables, Riddle, was there with Mertvn and Quench and a smallish crowd of men and women who could have been techs or pawns or Immutables. When they saw the Flitchhawk slantingdown out of the evening sky, there was a great hoorah, and Mertyn came running to the rock shelf, where he landed just about the time I arrived, puffing. He hugged me, and I him, and someone fetched me some clothing. Then we stood merely looking at one another until an outcry aroused our attention.
The Flitchhawk had set down its burdens, knocked several dozen of the workmen down with its wings, then taken off again. I saw it circling high above me, moving off to the south while the workmen exclaimed and shouted. It was going toward Chimmerdong, I supposed. Jinian had said it preferred to live in Chimmerdong. I waved, not knowing whether it saw the gesture or not. Then they were all around me, pulling me along toward the tents and barracks they had set up just inside the cavern, invisible from above.
“We’ve been waiting for you, boy,” said Quench. “Waiting for those crystals, rather. Didn’t want to start until we had them. Important things,
