He saw himself as a craftsman, did Corbie. A smith. An armorer cautiously forging a lethal sword. Like his predecessor in that house, he had dedicated his life to the search for a fragment of knowledge.

The winter was astonishing. The first snows came early, after an early and unusually damp autumn. It snowed often and heavily. Spring came late.

In the forests north of the Barrowland, where only scattered clans dwelt, life was harsh. Tribesmen appeared bearing furs to trade for food. Factors for the furriers of Oar were ecstatic.

Old folks called the winter a harbinger of worse to come. But old folks always see today's weather as more harsh than that of yore. Or milder. Never, never the same.

Spring sprung. A swift thaw set the creeks and rivers raging. The Great Tragic, which looped within three miles of the Barrowland, spread miles beyond its banks. It abducted tens and hundreds of thousands of trees. The flood was so spectacular that scores from town wandered out to watch it from a hilltop.

For most, the novelty faded. But Corbie limped out any day Case could accompany him. Case was yet possessed of dreams. Corbie indulged him.

"Why so interested in the river, Corbie?"

"I don't know. Maybe because of its grand statement."

"What?"

Corbie swung an encompassing hand. "The vastness. The ongoing rage. See how significant we are?" Brown water gnawed at the hill, furious, fumbling forests of driftwood. Less turbulent arms hugged the hill, probed the woods behind.

Case nodded. "Like the feeling I get when I look at the stars."

"Yes. Yes. But this is more personal. Closer to home. Not so?"

"I guess." Case sounded baffled. Corbie smiled. Legacy of a farm youth.

"Let's go back. It's peaked. But I don't trust it with those clouds rolling in."

Rain did threaten. Were the river to rise much more, the hill would become an island.

Case helped Corbie cross the boggy parts and up to the crest of the low rise which kept the flood from reaching cleared land. Much of that was a lake now, shallow enough to be waded if some fool dared. Under grey skies the Great Barrow stood out poorly, reflecting off the water as a dark lump. Corbie shuddered. "Case. He's still there."

The youth leaned on his spear, interested only because Corbie was interested. He wanted to get out of the drizzle.

"The Dominator, lad. Whatever else did not escape. Waiting. Filling with ever more hatred for the living."

Case looked at Corbie. The older man was taut with tension. He seemed frightened.

"If he gets loose, pity the world."

"But didn't the Lady finish him in Juniper?"

"She stopped him. She didn't destroy him. That may not be possible… Well, it must be. He has to be vulnerable somehow. But if the White Rose couldn't harm him…"

"The Rose wasn't so strong, Corbie. She couldn't even hurt the Taken. Or even their minions. All she could do was bind and bury them. It took the Lady and the Rebel…"