force of it off the eaves. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Witch, why?’
The figure was blank again, lacking illumination. ‘You have employ again,
Mradhon Vis. Bring the others. Haught – he knows me, oh, quite, quite well.
‘Twas I freed him, after all; and he will be grateful, will he not? For Moria
indeed, this must be Moria -1 have a gift: something she has misplaced. Meet me
beneath the bridge.’
‘Gods blast you!’
‘Don’t trade curses with me, Mradhon Vis. You would not proft in the exchange.’
And with that the witch turned her back and walked away, merged with the night.
Mradhon stood there, chilled and numb, the sword sinking in his hand. He felt
distantly the touch against him, a hand taking his arm – ‘For Ils’ sweet sake,’
Moria said, ‘get inside. Come on.’
He yielded, came inside, chilled through, and Moria flung shut the door, barred
it, went to the fire and threw a stick on it, so that the yellow light leapt up
and cast fleeting shadows about the walls. They led him to the fire, set him
down, tucked the blanket about him, and finally he could shiver, when he had
gotten back the strength.
‘Get my clothes,’ he said.
‘We don’t have to go,’ Moria said, crouching there by him. She turned her head
towards Haught, who came bringing the clothes he had asked for.’ We don’t have
to go.’
But Haught knew. Mradhon took the offered clothes, cast off the sodden blanket,
and began to dress, while Haught started pulling on his own.
‘Ils save us,’ Moria said, clutching her wrap to her. Her eyes looked bruised,
her hair streaming wet about her face. ‘What’s the matter with you? Are you both