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er cool fingers touch his hand； then nestle into his palm。
〃Sleep well；〃 she murmured。
When his heart had slowed； her hand was still there。 He fell asleep at last； still cupping it as gently as if it were a baby bird。
More than the rains and gray mist plagued them。 The land itself； under the pall of bad weather； was almost pletely lifeless； dreary as a landscape of stones and bones and spiderwebs。 In the towns； the citizens appeared tired and frightened； unwilling even to regard Simon and Miriamele with the curiosity and suspicion that were usually a stranger's due。 At night the windows were shuttered； the mucky streets empty。 Simon felt as though they passed through ghost villages； as though the actual inhabitants had long departed； leaving only the insubstantial shades of previous generations； all doomed to a weary； pointless haunting of their ancestral homes。
In dim afternoon on their seventh day out of Stanshire； Simon and Miriamele rounded a bend in the river road and saw the squat bulk of Falshire Castle looming on the western horizon before them。 Green grazing land had once covered the castled hill like a king's train； but now； despite the heavy rains； the hillside fields were barren； near the hillcrest some were even patched with snow。 At the base of the hill lay the walled city； bestriding the river that was its lifeblood。 From docks along the shore Falshire's hides and wool were loaded on boats to travel to the Kynslagh and beyond； returning with the gold and other goods that had long made Falshire one of the richest cities in Osten Ard； second in importance in Erkynland only to Erchester。
〃That castle used to be Fengbald's；〃 said Miriamele。 〃And to think my father would have had me marry him！ I wonder which of his family lords it there now。〃 Her mouth tightened。 〃If the new master is anything like the old one； I hope the whole thing falls down on him。〃
Simon peered into the diffuse western light that made the castle seem only an oddly…shaped black crag； then pointed to the city below to distract her attention。 〃We can be in Falshire…town before nightfall。 We can have a true meal tonight。〃
〃Men always think of their stomachs。〃
Simon thought the assertion unfair； but was pleased enough to be called a man that he smiled。 〃How about a dry night in a warm inn； then？〃
Miriamele shook her head。 〃We have been lucky； Simon； but we are getting closer to the Hayholt every day。 I have been in Falshire many times。 There is too good a chance someone might recognize me。〃
Simon sighed。 〃Very well。 But you don't mind if I go in somewhere and get us something to eat like I did in Stanshire； do you？〃
〃As long as you don't leave me waiting all night。 It's bad enough being a poor traveling chandler's wife without having to stand in the rain while the husband's inside slurruping down ale by a hot fire。〃
Simon's smile became a grin。 〃Poor chandler's wife。〃 Miriamele looked at him dourly。 〃Poor chandler if he makes her angry。〃
The inn called The Tarbox was brightly torchlit； as if for some festive holiday； but as Simon peered in through the doorway he thought the mood inside seemed far from merry。 It was crowded enough； with perhaps two or three dozen people scattered around the wide mon room； but the talk among them was so quiet that Simon could hear the rainwater dripping off the cloaks that hung beside the door。
Simon made his way between the crowded benches to the far side of the mon room。 He was aware of many heads turning to watch him pass； and a slight increase in the buzz of conversation； but he kept his eyes to himself。 The landlord； a thin； tuft…haired fellow whose face sparkled with the sweat of the roasting oven； looked up as he approached。
〃Yes？ D'you need a room？〃 He looked at Simon's tattered clothes。 'Two quinis the night。〃
〃Just a few slices of that mutton and some bread。 And perhaps some ale as well。 My wife's waiting outside。 We've far to go。〃
The landlord shouted at someone across the room to have patience； then glared at Simon suspiciously… 〃You'll need your own jug； for none of mine's walking out the door。〃 Simon lifted his jug and the man nodded。 〃Six cintis for all。 Pay now。〃
A little nettled； Simon dropped the coins on the table。 The landlord picked them up and examined them； then pocketed the lot and scurried off。
Simon turned to survey the room。 Most of the denizens seemed to be Falshire…folk； humble in garb and settled in their residence： there were very few who looked as though they might be travelers； despite the fact that this was one of the closest inns to the city gates and the River Road。 A few returned his gaze； but he saw little malice or even curiosity。 The people of Falshire； if this room was any indication； seemed to have much in mon with the sheep they raised and sheared。
Simon had just turned back to look for the landlord when he sensed a sudden stirring in the room。 He wondered if the Falshire…folk had indeed had more of a reaction to him than he'd realized。 Then a chill breeze touched the back of his neck。
The door of the inn was open again。 Standing before a curtain of water sluicing down from the roof outside； a trio of white…robed figures calmly surveyed the room。 It was not Simon's imagination that all the other folk in the mon room shrank back a little into themselves。 Furtive glances were darted； conversations grew quieter or louder； and some of the patrons nearest the door sidled slowly away。
Simon felt a similar urge。 Those must be Fire Dancers； he thought。 His heartbeat had grown swifter。 Had they seen Miriamele？ But what would she have meant to them in any case？
Slowly Simon leaned back…against the long table； putting on an air of mild interest as he watched the newers。 Two of the three were large； as muscled as the dockers who worked the Hayholt's sea gate； and carried blunt…ended walking staves that looked more useful for skull…cracking than hiking。 The third； the leader by his position in front； was small； thick； and bull…necked； and also carried one of the long cudgels。 As he lowered his rain…soaked hood； his squarish； balding head glinted in the lamplight。 He was older than the other two and had clever； piggy eyes。
The hum of conversation had now reached something like its normal level once more； but as the three Fire Dancers moved slowly into the mon room they still received many covert stares。 The robed men seemed to be openly searching the room for something or somebody；
Simon had a moment of helpless fear as the leader's dark eyes lighted on him for a moment； but the man only lifted an amused eyebrow at Simon's sword； then shifted his attention to someone else。
Relief swept over Simon。 Whatever they wanted； it was apparently not him。 Sensing a presence at his shoulder； he turned quickly and found the inn's proprietor standing behind him with a pitted wooden platter。 The man gave Simon the mutton and bread； which Simon wrapped in his kerchief； then poured an appropriate measure of ale into the jug。 Despite the attention these tasks required； the landlord's eyes scarcely left the three newers； and his reply to Simon's courteous thanks was distracted and inplete。 Simon was glad to be going。
As he opened the door； he caught a quick glimpse of Miriamele's pale； worried face in the shadows across the street。 A loud； mocking voice cut through the room behind him。
〃You didn't really think that you could leave without our noticing； did you？〃
Simon went rigid in the doorway； then slowly turned。 He had a parcel in one hand and a jug in the other； his sword hand。 Should he drop the ale and draw the blade； or make the jug useful somehow…perhaps he could throw it？ Haestan had taught him a little about tavern brawls； although the guardsman's main remendation had been to avoid them。
He pleted his pivot； expecting to confront a sea of faces and the threatening Fire Dancers； but found to his astonishment that no one was even looking in his direction。 Instead； the three robed men stood before a bench in the corner farthest from the fire。 The two seated there； a man and woman of middl