14

In less than a minute-at a single word-the life Nat had always known was over. Gone was the parsonage; gone wife, flock, comfort, ambitions. Now he was a fugitive.

Ahead of him the snow wolf raced toward the safety of Red Horse Hill. The air was sharp and clean, the ground underfoot brittle with frost. Dawn was approaching; birds sang and a pale green light bled the violet from the sky. It occurred to Nat suddenly that it had been years since he’d watched the sun rise.

Now he could watch it whenever he pleased.

The knowledge was suddenly so overwhelming that he laughed aloud; the snow wolf paused briefly, snarled, and padded on.

Nat ignored her. Freedom at last, freedom to do what he’d always yearned for, freedom to use his talents, his power-

Tsk-tsk, begone!

Nat frowned. Whose words were those?

He shook his head to clear it. He’d been under some stress, he told himself. It was only natural that there should be a little confusion, a little disorientation in his mind. After all, he’d lost his wife-

An Examiner of the Order has no wife.

The words came unbidden into his mind, and now he remembered them, as in a dream, remembered saying something of the kind to Ethelberta as he collapsed, exhausted-and the voice had spoken-to him-through him…

It was the same voice. Mournful now, but a voice of authority nevertheless-soft, precise, and with a trace of arrogance-and now he thought it was almost familiar, haunting as a tune forgotten since childhood and overheard years later, unexpectedly, from a distance.

“Who are you?” whispered Nat, his eyes widening. “Are you a demon? Am I possessed?”

In his mind there came a sigh no louder than a breath of air.

He hears me, it sighed. At last, he hears me.

“What are you?” he repeated sharply.

A man, it said. A man, I think…

“What man?” said Nat.

Elias Rede, whispered the voice. Examiner Number 4421974.

For a time Nat Parson stood transfixed. The dawn had turned out to be a disappointment. No sun shone; the day’s promise was lost under a pall of cloud, and suddenly Nat Parson was bursting for a piss, but to relieve himself in the nearby bushes now felt somehow indecent with this interloper in his mind.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he said at last.

Perhaps, said the Examiner, but I’m still here.

“Well, go away then,” said Nat. “Go join the Nameless, or the Hordes of Hel, or wherever you’re supposed to go when you die.”

You think I haven’t tried? said the Examiner. You think I wanted to be stuck inside your mind?

“It’s not my fault you got stuck.”

Oh, isn’t it? said the Examiner. Who got in my way when I spoke the Word? Who stole power from my final casting? And who’s been using the Book of Words without control, without any kind of authority-not to speak of fasting, meditation, or indeed any of the Advanced or even the Intermediary States of Bliss-ever since?

“Oh,” said the parson. “That.”

There was rather a long silence.

“I meant well,” he said at last.

No, you didn’t, said the Examiner. You meant to seize power.

“Then why didn’t you stop me?”

Ah, said the Examiner.

There was another silence.

“Well?” said Nat.

Well, as an Examiner, I had certain duties, certain restrictions-protocols to be observed, fasting, preparation-and now… It paused, and Nat felt its laughter inside his head. Do I really need to explain, Parson? You’ve tasted it-you know how it feels…

“So all that stuff-about using the Word without authority-all that was just to make me feel inferior, was it?”

Well, let’s face it, you are only a parson, and-

“Only a parson! I’ll have you know-”

My good fellow, I-

“And don’t call me fellow!”

And at that he turned, unbuttoned, aimed for the bushes, and watered them, luxuriantly and at length, as Examiner 4421974 spluttered and protested in his mind and Skadi, in wolf form, caught the scent of their prey and began to run, heedless of the little drama being enacted on the road behind her, toward the Horse’s Eye.

The posse on the hilltop saw them coming. A small posse-a group of four, posted there by Nat with orders to report any unusual activity to or from the Horse’s Eye. There had been none-much to their relief-save a few scuttling things at around midnight that might have been rats (but were probably goblins).

Now the men were dozing under the wheel of one of the silent machines while Adam Scattergood, who had bravely volunteered for the safest duty, sat cross-legged on a stone, eating a smoked sausage and watching the road.

He jumped from his perch at once when he saw Nat.

“Mr. Parson! Over here!”

As he’d intended, his cry alerted the sleeping men. (His uncle had promised him a shilling if he would stay awake.)

Dorian Scattergood opened one eye. At his side Jed Smith and Audun Briggs were already stirring. By the time the parson reached the foot of the Hill, all three looked as if they had been alert for hours.

It was then that they saw the white wolf. She had run ahead of the parson, breasting the Hill on the blind side, and so was upon them before they knew what was happening. A white snow wolf, brindled with gray, her dark muzzle folded in a velvet snarl displaying teeth as sharp and white as a row of icicles.

They panicked. Wolves were rare in the Strond Valley, and it was the first time any of them but Dorian had seen one so close. That experience saved his life; instinctively he faced it, spreading his arms with a loud cry, and Skadi veered away, catching the scent of an easier prey, leaped at Audun, who had gone for his pack (a knife dangled uselessly from his belt), and took out his throat as neatly as a boy bobs an apple.

It had been a trying night for the Huntress. The frustration of her plans, the weakness of her companion, the escape of her quarry, and the cumulative effect of having spent so much time in animal skin-all these things conspired to strengthen her wolf’s instincts, to urge her to hunt, to bite, to seek relief in blood.

Besides, she was hungry. She shook her quarry energetically, though by then Audun was almost certainly dead, and having sniffed delicately at the blood, she began to feed.

The other three stared in disbelief. Jed Smith, sagging with shock, went for the crossbow at his side. Dorian began to back away, very carefully, down the far hillside, without taking his eyes for one moment from the feeding wolf. (This too was to save his life.)

Adam, no hero, was violently sick.

And it was at this point that Nat reached them.

“Mr. Parson,” said Jed in a low voice.

Nat ignored him. He stood in a trance, head slightly lowered, eyes fixed on the opening in the Hill. The feeding wolf looked up for a second, bared her teeth, and returned to her kill. The parson seemed hardly to notice.

Adam Scattergood, who had never been given to fanciful thoughts, found himself thinking, He looks dead.

In fact, Nat had never felt so much alive. The sudden discovery in his mind of Examiner 4421974 had unexpectedly put things into perspective for him. He was not mad, as he’d feared. The voice was real. His initial terror and outrage at his mind’s invasion had settled; now he realized that there was nothing to be afraid of. His was the power. He was in control. And wasn’t it fine-wasn’t it right-to wield such power over the fellow who had snubbed him?

Your wolf is eating that man. I thought you should know.

Nat glanced at Skadi. Her muzzle, ruff, and forelegs were illuminated with blood. “Leave her,” he said. “She has to eat.”