Low Leedale spread before him as he descended the last few hundred feet of Sodhaiclass="underline" a sweep of purple and brown and green quartered by grey stone walls and dotted with herders'crofts in which yellow lights were beginning to show. Through it ran the matured Minfolin, dark and slow; like a river of lead it flowed past the city at the north end of the valley, to lose and diffuse itself among 'the metal-salt marshes on the verge of the Rust Desert: from there, it drained westward into the sea.
Sombre Duirinish, set between the stark hills and the great brown waste, had something of the nature of both: a bleakness.
A walled city of flint and black granite, built twenty generations before against the threat of the northern clans, it stood in a meander of the river, its cobbled roads inclining steeply among squat buildings to the central fastness, the castle within the city, Alves. Those walls that faced the Rust Desert rose vertically for two hundred feet, 'then sloped outwards. No welcome in Duirinish for northern men. As Cromis reached the Low Leedale, the great Evening Bell was tolling the seventh change of guard on the north wall. A pale mist clung to the surface of the river fingering the walls as it flowed past.
Camped about a mile south of the city, by the stone bridge over the Minfolin, were Birkin Grif's smugglers.
Their fires flared in the twilight, winking as the men moved between them. There was laughter, and the unmusical clank of cooking utensils. They had set a watch at the centre of the bridge. Before attempting 'to cross, Cromis called the lammergeyer to him. Flapping out of the evening, it was a black cruciform silhouette on grey.
'Perch here,'he told it, extending his forearm in the manner of a falconer, 'and make no sudden movement. '
His horse clattered over the bridge, steel striking sparks from flint. The bird was heavy on his arm, and its metal plumage glinted in the eastern afterglow. The guard gazed at it with wide eyes, but brought him without question to Grif, who was lounging in the firelight, chuckling to himself over some internal joke and eating raw calf's liver, a delicacy of his.
'That sort of bird makes poor eating,'he said. 'There must be more to this than meets the eye.'
Cromis dismounted and gave his horse into the care of the guard. His limbs were stiff from the fell-journey, and the cooking smells of the encampment had made him aware of his hunger.
'Much more,'he said. He hefted the lammergeyer, as if to fly it from his arm. 'Repeat your message,'he commanded it. Birkin Grif raised his eyebrows.
''tegeus-Cromis of T7iriconium,'began the bird reedily, should go at once to the tower of Cellur, which he will find -''Enough,'said Cromis. 'Well, Grif?'
''A flock of these things has shadowed us for two days, flying high and circling. We brought one down, and it seemed to be made of metal, so we threw it in a river. A strange thing, that you might be good enough to tell me about while you eat.'
Cromis nodded. 'They are unlikely to trouble you again, he said. 'Their purpose, apparently, has been fulfilled.'
He allowed the lammergeyer to flap from his arm, and, massaging the place where its talons had clung to him, sat down next to Grif. He accepted a cup of distilled wine, and let it heat his throat. The camp had become quieter, and he could hear the mournful soughing of the wind about the ridges and peaks of Monar. The Minfolin murmured around the piers of the bridge. He began to feel comfortable as the warmth of fire and wine seeped through him.
'However,'he said, 'I should advise your men to shoot no more of them, should any appear. This Cellur may have odd means of redress.'
From a place beside the fire, the lammergeyer cocked its head, presenting to them a blank red eye.
'You did not find Trinor, then?'said Grif. 'Can I tempt you with some of this?'
'Grif, I had forgot how revolting you are. Not unless you cook it first.'
Later, he showed Grif the ring of Neap, and related how Methvet Nian had given it to him; told him of the events in Bread Street, and of the curious desertion of Carron Ban; and narrated his encounter with the lammergeyer in the Cruachan mist.
'And you have no desire to follow this bird?'asked Grif. 'Whatever Cellur of Lendalfoot may think, if Viricon goes down, everything else follows it. The defeat of the Moidart is my priority.'
'Things have grown dark and fragmented,'mused Grif. 'We do not have all the pieces of the puzzle. I worry that we shall solve it too late for the answer to be of any use.'
'Stilclass="underline" we nust go up against the Moidart, however unprepared, and even though that would seem not to be the whole of it.'
'Unquestionably,'said Grif: 'But think, Cromis: if the fall of Viriconium is but a part, then what is the shape or dimension of the whole? I have had dreams of immense ancient forces moving in darkness, and I am beginning to feel afraid.'
The lammergeyer waddled forward from the fire, its wings opened a little way, and stared at the two men.
'Fear the geteit chemosit,'it said. 'tegeus-Cromis of Viriconium should go at once to the tower of Cellur, which -'
'Go away and peck your feathers, bird,'said Grif, 'Maybe you'll find steel lice there.'To Cromis, he suggested: 'If you have eaten enough, we'll go into the town. A search of the taverns may yet bring Trinor to light.''
They walked the short distance to Duirinish by the banks of the Minfolin, each occupied by his own thoughts. A low white mist, hardly chest high, covered the Leedale, but the sky was clear and hard. The Name Stars burned with a chilly emerald fire: for millennia they had hung there, spelling two words in a forgotten language; now, only night-herders puzzled over their meaning.
At the steel gates, their way was barred by guards in mail shirts and low, conical helmets, who looked suspiciously at Grif's gaudy clothes and the huge bird that perched on Cromis'arm. Their officer stepped forward and said: 'No one enters the city after dark.'His face was lined with responsibility, his voice curt. 'We aare bothered constantly by northmen and spies. You had best wait until the morning.'He studied Grif. 'If you have legitimate business.'
Birkin Grif stared unkindly at him, and then 'slowly up at the great black sweep of the walls. From far above canine the faint ring of footsteps on stone.
'So,'he said. 'It's either climb that lot, or break your pompous face. The latter seems to me the easier.'He flexed his hands suggestively. 'Let us in, stupid.'
'Hold off, Grif!,'said Cromis, restraining him. 'It's a wise precaution. They are merely doing their job.'He held his hands well away from the hilt of the nameless sword and advanced. He slid the ring of Neap from his finger and held it out for the officer's inspection. 'That is my authority. I will take responsibility for your opening the gate, should any question arise. I am on the Queen's business.'
He took back the ring, returned the officer's short bow, and they passed into the Stone City.
Inside, the roads were narrow, to facilitate defence, should the gate be taken or the outer walls breached. The gloomy granite buildings -for the main part barracks and weaponaries and storehouses -huddled together, their second storeys hanging out over the streets so that fire could be poured into an invader from above. Their windows were morose slits. Even in the commercial centre, where the houses of the metal and fur trade stood, the buildings had an air of dour watchfulness. Duirinish had never been a gay city.