And when Dys came down on all fours and danced forward, a gray old woman walked between him and Crissand.

"Grandmother," Crissand whispered to her.

"Auld Syes," Tristen said. "What isthis thing in Ilefínian?"

Auld Syes was gone before he had quite finished saying it, but streaks ran through the meadow ahead, and in the gray space a storm broke, sweeping the pearl gray cloud into slate-colored strands.

There Auld Syes stood, assailed by the winds, and attempting to bold her place.

There Owl flew, scarcely maintaining against the gale.

—So, said a voice that sent shivers of ice through the air. Mauryl's Shaping. So, so, so, come ahead.

He had never met the like, and yet it seemed he might have dreamed it, long, long ago, a Wind that rattled the shutters and set the faces in Ynefel's walls to moaning.

— Mauryl's enemy, he surmised. Not Hasufin this time.

— Hasufin, the Wind scoffed. Hasufin the bodiless. Hasufin who has no shape, nor life, nor wit. I've missed Mauryl, and lo! He sent me a surrogate.

A presence flew near him. Owl settled on his shoulder. Auld Syes, her substance streaming gray threads, arrived on his other side, his guides, the defenders of wizardry and magic.

— You were at Ynefel, Tristen said. And you are not Hasufin.

— Oh, names, names, names. Names have no power. Places have none. I have many Places.

Mauryl had despaired of his Summoning's actions, and warded the windows, and warded his dreams and nights as well, with especial care.

— Feared you? the Wind mocked his thoughts. Oh, with great reason Mauryl feared you. Afraid, are you? Afraid to draw breath? Afraid you'll break these fragile things?

In his unfettered anger was the terror of any soul who could rend its protectors and its home apart. He posed a fearful danger to those he loved. And Mauryl had held him, restrained him, taught him, and kept him out of the world long enough, as long as Mauryl's strength lasted.

— And what have you done since? the Wind asked him. Wished this, wished that, turned a king of men to your bidding, all to bring you here, to me? Do you value him? I think you do.

— Leave him be!

— Can you bid me? I think not. Hasufin thought he could bid me. Mauryl brought the Sihhë out of their retreat, and last of all brought you… only one, this time. The old man was at the end of his strength, and Hasufin's become a shell of a creature… both mortal, in the end. I wish another such, I think…

It tried him. It reached for Crissand, and for Cevulirn, nearest to him, but Tristen was as quick and they were wary, so that instantly the gray space cleared, and Auld Syes stared at him, her gray hair all disordered, her eyes dark as cinders.

— The same kind, Auld Syes said, but not the same. King thou art. Take up the sword!

"What is it?" Crissand asked, and Cevulirn, silent, stared grim-faced toward the north.

But Tristen found no Name for it: he perceived only the sweep of winds toward an abyss out of which that Wind had come.

"Magic," was the best Word he could find. " Magicgone to sorcery. Not Hasufin. It was Hasufin opposing us, but he's gone. This remains."

He could only think of the cloud in the gray space, pouring continually over the Edge. And the gray space continued to pour out its force, as if magic had no limit and the flood would never cease.

"What's amiss?" Uwen asked, looking from them to the north and back again. The horses were restive, disturbed by the streaks in the grass. "Summat's goin' on."

"He's gone," Tristen said again. A magicgone amiss: in the pre-cise way Men parsed words he found no words for it. Sorcery was wizardry turned askew. What could Men know of what he had felt opposing him, its power and its grip on the elements?

If it existed, it was nameless, unless someone had bidden it into Shapeless existence long, long ago; it owned no master now, and it was by all he perceived every other creature's enemy. What it wanted, it willed, and what it willed, it willed without a thought to any creature but itself. It was magical, and it was free, and set no limits on itself such as Mauryl had continually dinned into him. It had learned no patience with frustration such as Emuin had taught him.

And to wield magic after that unfettered fashion when there was only oneself with that power… that was inconceivable to him: what if there were no Mauryl, no Emuin, no Uwen or Cefwyn? What if there never could be for him a Crissand or a Cevulirn?

Lord Sihhë! the people cried in the streets of Henas'amef. Lord Sihhë, the word had gone through an army discouraged from calling him King.

But what was this thing?

And what was he?

Sihhë? And what was that?

That was the question of all questions, the one question no one of his friends could answer. He was not sure even Mauryl could have answered it completely—although Mauryl had known to call on the Sihhë to deal with the threat Hasufin posed.

And did that not inform him something? Mauryl had known that magic would stop Hasufin, when his student Hasufin turned. So Mauryl hadunderstood: Mauryl hadknown the source of Hasufin's wrongdoing.

Mauryl could not defeat this magic without help, and then had defeated only Hasufin, and that not completely. Not even the five Sihhë-lords had completely overcome this threat, for through Hasufin this threat found its way into Althalen after the five were gone.

The question began to gnaw at all confidence… it came as an assault, an opening thrust from the enemy.

What was he?

Lord of Shadow, with the Lord of the Sun. His blade was Illusion and Truth, dividing one from the other.

"Where," he asked those with him, "where do you suppose the Sihhë came from?"

"The north," Uwen said. "As they say."

"But before that?"

"It was never recorded," Cevulirn said. "Not in any account."

"They were not good," Tristen said. "It's nowhere recorded that they were good, only that they were strong."

"Barrakkëth was the friend of our house," Crissand said They wielded magic; they lived together under one roof and rode and fought together in the south. But they were not all kind, or good, or gentle—in fact the histories recorded the opposite: yet they had never wielded their magic to seize all will from their subjects never turned it to have their own way from each other, fought no wars within the five. They had that much wisdom.

Only five, and no children, no women: could such as the Sihhë arise by nature… or were they something created, as he was created creatures of less than a lifetime?

There were no tombs such as Ulernan's, no trace of their passing

It was never recorded that they died, only, the records said, that Barrakkëth passed the rule to another, and that was all.

He felt cold in all his lims, the chill of earth and darkness His gloved fingers maintained their grip on the reins. His eyes maintained a hold on the sky and the horizon: he would not slip into that dark would not go over the Edge, where the Wind alone held sway Lord of Shadows, Lord of the Sun: without shadow and light never settling.

"Speak to me," he begged those with him.

''M'lord?" Uwen answered, that potent, commanding voice that brought the land and the day and the war back to him. And Uwen experienced of such demands, heaved a great sigh and remarked how fair a day it was: "As there's a good breeze, ain't there? Which wi' the sun beatin' down on armor is a good thing, ain't it?"