“Master Emuin.” Tristen dropped to his knees and touched Emuin’s hand, saying, in both worlds at once, “Sir. Do you hear me?”

The Shadows were close about, dangerous and wicked. Emuin was trying very hard to tell him something. He gripped Emuin’s hand, and it seemed very cold in the world of substance, hard to feel in that of Shadows.

“Tristen,” Emuin said faintly. “The Shadows. A wicked—wicked-thing—”

Idrys knelt, seized Emuin’s shoulder and turned him to see the back of his head, moving the bloody hair and a wad of blood-soaked cloth out of the way. What he saw made him grimace. “Get the surgeon. Damn it, fool—run!”

The guard ran. There was so much blood. There was so very much blood.

—I’ve have sent for help, Tristen said, holding to Emuin in the gray place. Master Emuin, be brave. Stay with me. Stay. I shall not let you go.

In that place Emuin was listening to him. Emuin said, I saw it coming.

I was trying to find a way—trying to find what his attachment is—be has a Place. He’s found his open door. Be careful, be careful.

He would not let Emuin die. He had lost the lord Regent. This time he recognized that black brink and the threads of darkness for death itself, and he fought with all that was in him.

Men came and men went, and finally Uwen shook at him, saying he had to let go of master Emuin because the surgeon had come and had to sew the wound.

He let go. He had difficulty even yet seeing through the murk. The little chamber with all its candles seemed unnaturally darkened. Candle flames burned with all ordinary vigor and yet did not shed light onto the stone around him. When they went outside Uwen kept hold of his arm.

When they took Emuin into the Zeide and upstairs he walked behind.

When the surgeon worked, he sat outside and tried to think of Emuin being well, that being all that he could do.

Emuin never quite lost awareness, but it was very low. When the surgeon let them all come in, Emuin looked so very pale, so very weak. He had a bandage around his head. The surgeon talked to Idrys in quiet tones and said the bone was broken and most such did not heal.

But Emuin was listening, lying in his bed, and looked very weak, and very pale. Tristen paid no attention to the surgeon and Idrys. He went to the bedside. Emuin was distraught—afraid, he was aware of that, and kept reciting poetry, or some such thing.

—Prayers, Emuin gave him to understand, then, and there was something bitter and something frightened about him at the same time: I gave up wizardry. I gave it up to find another way. And I’ve grown old in the world. I let myself grow old to find some sort of holiness, and I’m not what I was. I can’t fight your enemy. Forgive me, boy. All that’s left now is to step off that brink and hope there’s something there.  —No! he said angrily. No, master Emuin. I need you.

—You’ve no damned right to need me! To hell with it, to hell with it. I grow so weary—so very tired-    “Ask him,” a cold voice said—Idrys, be thought—”ask him if be fell, or if it was an accident.”

—Was it an accident, master Emuin? he asked faithfully, and:

—Hell if I know. That’s just like the man. Master crow, always picking bones, looking for trouble. Cefwyn and Efanor. Clever boys. Both-very clever lads.., damned brats. Did you know they loosed three sheep in the great hall?

“He doesn’t know what happened,” Tristen said quietly to Idrys, unable to see him, but knowing he was there. He grew afraid, and squeezed Emuin’s hand until he feared it hurt, but the brink seemed nearer to both of them. You’re too close, sir. Please come back.

—It’s my peace, damn you! I’ve earned it. Let me go.

—No, sir. No! Cefwyn needs you. Listen to me.

—I am, I confess it, are you satisfied? a very bad wizard, I’m old, I’m out of practice, out of patience, I can’t do these things any more, that is my dreadful secret. No, the worse one is, I never was any good. Mauryl knew it. Don’t look to me. I’ve one chance—one chance, that the gods do exist, that salvation is there, and it’s my only hope, boy, it’s the only hope I bare left. You beard them. By nature, I shan’t get well from this.

If I heal myself, I can only do it by wizardry—and I should be damned.

I’ve done murder, and I’m old. I shall be damned.

He knew nothing of damnation. He saw Death coming, a black edge Emuin was willfully seeking, and be would not have it. You will get well, sir. You are the only one. I tried to help Cefwyn. I could do nothing! I could never-    There was a tumult somewhere outside. He could not tell what it was.

He ignored it until he saw, in the world of substance, Emuin look toward the door or attempt to. “Fire,” someone was crying, and Idrys was on his feet. “Fire, captain, there’s smoke all through the hall!”

“Damn,” he heard from Emuin, an exhalation of breath as much as a word. The next was stronger. “Cefwyn?”

There was a smell of smoke, however faint, that he had taken for a draft from the fireplace. He heard doors open and close. He saw Idrys leave in haste. He felt disturbance from master Emuin and even through the closed doors heard Idrys shouting at someone in the hall. Emuin was afraid. Emuin was aware, through him, if no other way.

He left Emuin’s side and went out through the several doors to the hall, where Uwen was. Servants were standing up and down the hall, all looking anxiously toward the endmost, servants’ stairs, where smoke was billowing up. The kitchens, it might be: that was where most chance of fire was, down below and on that face of the building.

“M’lord,” Uwen said, looking, it seemed, for orders, but he had no idea what to do. It was too much disaster at once. They perhaps should move Emuin and Cefwyn to safety—but Emuin could scarcely bear more jostling about; and he had no idea which direction was safe.

“Where is it?” he asked, and no one seemed to know. He headed for the main stairs, which were still free of smoke. Uwen wanted to come with him, but he said, “Stay above. Don’t let the servants leave. We may have to carry Emuin and Cefwyn downstairs. I’ll find out.”

He hurried alone for the central stairs, those past Cefwyn’s room, supposed Cefwyn’s guards, absent from their posts, were inside with him, perhaps preparing to take him to safety, and he was halfway down the steps when he heard Cefwyn call out to him from above.  “Tristen! What’s burning?”

Cefwyn, without his guards, was standing in a dressing-robe, holding to the newel at the landing. He began to answer, but all of a sudden Cefwyn just—fell down, and his hand slipped on the steps, and he kept falling.

Tristen raced up the steps and stopped Cefwyn in his arms, but there was blood on the steps and blood on him, and Cefwyn had fainted.

Booted feet came running down the steps from above him. “M’lord,

—” Uwen began, bending to offer help.  “Where are his guards?”

“I don’t know, m’lord, Idrys—”

“Find Idrys!” Too much was going wrong. He feared to take Cefwyn downstairs, exposed to a confusion without guards, without the protections that hourly surrounded him. “Wherever the fire is—Idrys will be there. Find where it’s burning. I can carry him. Hurry!”

“Aye, m’lord!” Uwen said, and ran past him down the stairs.

He tried to pick Cefwyn up. He almost could manage it, though Cefwyn was utterly limp, and the wrong way about on the stairs. But by then Cefwyn’s guards had come running down the steps from above, and helped shift Cefwyn head-upward so he could get his knee and his arms under him and rise on the steps.

He carried Cefwyn up the steps as the guards attempted to help, white-faced and trying to express their contrition, to him, since Cefwyn heard nothing, but he turned his shoulder and went past them, fearing that his carrying Cefwyn might hurt the leg further. Cefwyn was a still, loose weight, hard to keep safe as he maneuvered through the doors of Cefwyn’s apartment. His boot slipped a little on the floor and he realized it was blood that made his foot skid. He maintained his hold on Cefwyn’s yielding weight, the air hazing dark about him, maneuvered him through more doors, into his bedroom and with a last, difficult balance and rending effort, laid Cefwyn down carefully on the bed.