And the pressure within suddenly burst out in a vast roar, a vibration so deep she felt it in her bones and hardly at all in her ears. The light was gone—darkness churned around her—she caught a last confused glimpse of orcs screaming, falling stones, Macenion's body glowing blue as fire—then a deafening, whirling confusion.

And silence.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

When she managed to lift her head, she was lying on the turf near the well. The building they had entered had collapsed in a heap of stones. It was broad daylight, with the sun's warmth filtered through high clouds. Paks took a breath, and sneezed. She felt stiff and sore, and it was hard to think what had happened. Her head felt empty; her ears rang like a bucket. She looked at her hands—the one still cramped around the hilt of her sword, and the other empty, but with the feel of something filthy on it. She scrubbed it in the grass. Her eyes watered, and she swiped at them clumsily, with her sword hand.

She knew she should get up, but she wished she could lie there and rest forever. After a moment, sighing, she forced herself up: elbows, knees—she rested there for a bit. Her legs felt shaky and uncertain. She looked at her sword; blood and dirt were caked on it. She shuffled on her knees to the well, and took a handful of water to clean it. After a mouthful or two of that clear water, she began to feel more alert. The sword slid back in its scabbard sweetly—it feared nothing near. She looked around for the horses. Macenion's had disappeared; that seemed right. Star grazed unconcernedly across the well from her. There were the packs, lying open outside the ruins of the little building. Whatever had happened, there below, was over. She could do nothing for Macenion now. She must go on.

Even so she might have sat beside the well for the rest of the day if something had not moved her. The pressure she had felt before seeped back into her mind. This time it was more delicate: she was aware of it as a separate being. There were thanks, for her and Macenion. There were directions, specific and detailed. Slowly she rose to her feet, and slowly she gathered up her belongings. She wondered what to do with Macenion's things, and the being told her. This to the well, and that under a stone, and those to lie open on the grass, for the wind and sun to play with. Star came to her quietly, and she tied her pack to the frame.

Before she left, the being demanded one thing more. She was tired and found it hard to think, but the pressure gave her no ease until she obeyed. In that mound, through that gap—and take those things. She packed, vaguely aware that much of it was treasure: weapons decorated with gold and jewels, coins, rings and baubles. But why the scrolls? She didn't understand, but she obeyed, picking up what she was bid, and stowing it away in Star's pack. As she worked, the clouds thickened overhead, and a chill wind rolled down from the mountains. She didn't notice. She felt no triumph, only a great tiredness.