“I’ll sing you a song of the long ago—

Seven shine the shiners, oh!

What did the Seven do way back when?

Why, they wove the Charter then!

Five for the warp, from beginning to end.

Two for the woof, to make and mend.

That’s the Seven, but what of the Nine—

What of the two who chose not to shine?

The Eighth did hide, hide all away,

But the Seven caught him and made him pay.

The Ninth was strong and fought with might,

But lone Orannis was put out of the light,

Broken in two and buried under hill,

Forever to lie there, wishing us ill.”

There was silence for a moment after the song, then the voice whispered the last two lines again.

“‘Broken in two and buried under hill, Forever to lie there, wishing us ill. . . . But it is not my song, Hedge. The world spins on without my song. Life that knows not my lash crawls unbidden wherever it will go. Creation runs amok, without the balance of destruction—and my dreams of fire are only dreams.

But soon the world will fall asleep, and it will be my dream that all will dream, my song that will fill every ear. Is it not so, my faithful Hedge?”

Whatever spoke did not wait for Hedge to answer. It went on immediately, in a different, harsher tone, no longer singing. “Destroy the letter. Send more Dead to Chlorr and make sure that they slay the Prince, for he must not come here. Walk in Death yourself, and keep watch for the spying Daughter of the Clayr, and kill her if she is seen again. Dig faster, for I . . . must . . . be . . . whole . . . again!”

The last words were shouted with a force that threw Hedge against the rotting canvas of the tent, to burst out into the night. He looked back through the rent, fearful of worse, but whatever had spoken through Nick was gone. Only an unconscious, sick young man remained, blood slowly trickling from both nostrils.

“I hear you, Lord,” whispered Hedge. “And as always, I obey.”