I found some blue rocks, Sparrowhawk replied politely.
Sopli showed you where to find 'em, no doubt.
Ha, ha ha, went the other men, at this masterstroke of irony.
Sopli would be the red-haired man?
The madman. You called on his mother in the morning.
I was looking for a wizard, said the wizard.
The skinny man, who sat nearest him, spat into the darkness. What for?
I thought I might find out about what I'm looking for.
People come to Lorbanery for silk, the mayor said. They don't come for stones. They don't come for charms. Or arm-wavings and jibber-jabber and sorcerers' tricks. Honest folk live here and do honest work.
That's right. He's right, said others.
And we don't want any other sort here, people from foreign parts snooping about and prying into our business.
That's right. He's right, came the chorus.
If there was any sorcerer around that wasn't crazy, we'd give him an honest job in the sheds, but they don't know how to do honest work.
They might, if there were any to do, said Sparrowhawk. Your sheds are empty, the orchards are untended, the silk in your warehouses was all woven years ago. What do you do, here in Lorbanery?
We look after our own business, the mayor snapped, but the skinny man broke in excitedly, Why don't the ships come, tell us that! What are they doing in Hort Town? Is it because our work's been shoddy?- He was interrupted by angry denials. They shouted at one another, jumped to their feet, the mayor shook his fist in Sparrowhawk's face, another drew a knife. Their mood had gone wild. Arren was on his feet at once. He looked at Sparrowhawk, expecting to see him stand up in the sudden radiance of the magelight and strike them dumb with his revealed power. But he did not. He sat there and looked from one to another and listened to their menaces. And gradually they fell quiet, as if they could not keep up anger any more than they could keep up merriment. The knife was sheathed; the threats turned to sneers. They began to go off like dogs leaving a dog-fight, some strutting and some sneaking.
When the two were left alone Sparrowhawk got up, went inside the inn, and took a long draft of water from the jug beside the door. Come, lad, he said. I've had enough of this.
To the boat?
Aye. He put down two trade-counters of silver on the windowsill to pay for their lodging, and hoisted up their light pack of clothing. Arren was tired and sleepy, but he looked around the room of the inn, stuffy and bleak, and all a-flitter up in the rafters with the restless bats; he thought of last night in that room and followed Sparrowhawk willingly. He thought, too, as they went down Sosara's one, dark street, that going now they would give the madman Sopli the slip. But when they came to the harbor he was waiting for them on the pier.
There you are, said the mage. Get aboard, if you want to come.
Without a word, Sopli got down into the boat and crouched beside the mast, like a big, unkempt dog. At this Arren rebelled My lord! he said. Sparrowhawk turned; they stood face to face on the pier above the boat.
They are all mad on this island, but I thought you were not. Why do you take him?
As a guide.
A guide -to more madness? To death by drowning, or a knife in the back?
To death, but by what road I do not know.
Arren spoke with heat, and though Sparrowhawk answered quietly, there was something of a fierce note in his voice. He was not used to being questioned. But ever since Arren had tried to protect him from the madman on the road that afternoon and had seen how vain and unneeded his protection was, he had felt a bitterness, and all that uprush of devotion he had felt in the morning was spoilt and wasted. He was unable to protect Sparrowhawk; he was not permitted to make any decisions; he was unable, or was not permitted, even to understand the nature of their quest. He was merely dragged along on it, useless as a child. But he was not a child.
I would not quarrel with you, my lord, he said as coldly as he could. But this this is beyond reason!
It is beyond all reason. We go where reason will not take us. Will you come, or will you not?
Tears of anger sprang into Arren's eyes. I said I would come with you and serve you. I do not break my word.
That is well, the mage said grimly and made as if to turn away. Then he faced Arren again. I need you, Arren; and you need me. For I will tell you now that I believe this way we go is yours to follow, not out of obedience or loyalty to me, but because it was yours to follow before you ever saw me; before you ever set foot on Roke; before you sailed from Enlad. You cannot turn back from it.
His voice had not softened. Arren answered him as grimly, How should I turn back, with no boat, here on the edge of the world?
This the edge of the world? No, that is farther on. We may yet come to it.
Arren nodded once and swung down into the boat. Sparrowhawk loosed the line and spoke a light wind into the sail. Once away from the looming, empty docks of Lorbanery the air blew cool and clean out of the dark north, and the moon broke silver from the sleek sea before them and rode upon their left as they turned southward to coast the isle.
The Madman
The madman, the Dyer of Lorbanery, sat huddled up against the mast, his arms wrapped around his knees and his head hunched down. His mass of wiry hair looked black in the moonlight. Sparrowhawk had rolled himself up in a blanket and gone to sleep in the stern of the boat. Neither of them stirred. Arren sat up in the prow; he had sworn to himself to watch all night. If the mage chose to assume that their lunatic passenger would not assault him or Arren in the night, that was all very well for him; Arren, however, would make his own assumptions and undertake his own responsibilities.
But the night was very long and very calm. The moonlight poured down, changeless. Huddled by the mast, Sopli snored, long, soft snores. Softly the boat moved onward; softly Arren slid into sleep. He started awake once and saw the moon scarcely higher; he abandoned his selfrighteous guardianship, made himself comfortable, and went to sleep.
He dreamt again, as he seemed always to do on this voyage, and at first the dreams were fragmentary but strangely sweet and reassuring. In place of Lookfar's mast a tree grew, with great, arching arms of foliage; swans guided the boat, swooping on strong wings before it; far ahead, over the beryl green sea, shone a city of white towers. Then he was in one of those towers, climbing the steps which spiralled upward, running up them lightly and eagerly. These scenes changed and recurred and led into others, which passed without trace; but suddenly he was in the dreaded, dull twilight on the moors, and the horror grew in him until he could not breathe.
But he went forward, because he must go forward. After a long time he realized that to go forward here was to go in a circle and come round on one's own tracks again. Yet he must get out, get away. It grew more and more urgent. He began to run. As he ran, the circles narrowed in and the ground began to slant. He was running in the darkening gloom, faster and faster, around the sinking inner lip of a pit, an enormous whirlpool sucking down to darkness: and as he knew this, his foot slipped and he fell.
What's the matter, Arren?
Sparrowhawk spoke to him from the stern. Grey dawn held the sky and sea still.
Nothing.
The nightmare?
Nothing.
Arren was cold, and his right arm ached from having been cramped under him. He shut his eyes against the growing light and thought, He hints of this and hints of that, but he will never tell me clearly where we're going, or why, or why I should go there. And now he drags this madman with us. Which is maddest, the lunatic or I, for coming with him? The two of them may understand each other; it's the wizards who are mad now, Sopli said. I could have been at home by now, at home in the Hall in Berila, in my room with the carven walls and the red rugs on the floor and a fire in the hearth, waking up to go out a-hawking with my father. Why did I come with him? Why did he bring me? Because it's my way to go, he says, but that's wizard's talk, making things seem great by great words. But the meaning of the words is always somewhere else. If I have any way to go, it's to my home, not wandering senselessly across the Reaches. I have duties at home and am shirking them. If he really thinks there is some enemy of wizardry at work, why did he come alone, with me? He might have brought another mage to help him a hundred of them. He could have brought an army of warriors, a fleet of ships. Is this how a great peril is met, by sending out an old man and a boy in a boat? This is mere folly. He is mad himself; it is as he said, he seeks death. He seeks death, and wants to take me with him. But I am not mad and not old; I will not die; I will not go with him.