Free The Stone of Farewell by Tad Williams Page B

path into the very mountain. The moon, sailing low in the sky like an overloaded carrack, could only silver the stone around the hole’s mouth. Qantaqa barked again with barely contained enthusiasm.
    To Simon’s staggering surprise, a voice echoed thinly from below.
    “Go away, wolf! Even sleep is taken from me, Aedon curse it!”
    Simon threw himself to the cold gravel and crawled forward on elbows and knees, stopping at last with his head hanging over blind nothingness.
    “Who’s there?” he cried. His words reverberated as though they journeyed a great distance. “Sludig?”
    There was a pause.
    “Simon? Is that you who calls?”
    “Yes! Yes, it’s me! Qantaqa brought me! Is Binabik with you? Binabik! It’s me, Simon!”
    A silent moment passed, then Sludig spoke again. Now Simon could hear the strain in the Rimmersman’s voice. “The troll will not speak. He is here, but he will not speak to me, to Jiriki when he came, to anyone.”
    “Is he sick? Binabik, it’s Simon! Why don’t you answer me?”
    “He is sick in his heart, I think,” Sludig said. “He looks as he always did—thinner, perhaps, but so I am, too—but he acts like one already dead.” There was a scraping noise as Sludig, or someone, moved in the depths. “Jiriki says they will kill us,” the Rimmersman said a moment later, his voice flat with resignation. “The Sitha spoke for us—not with heat or anger, as far as I could tell, but he spoke for us all the same. He said the troll people did not agree with his arguments and were determined to have their justice.” He laughed bitterly. “Some justice, to kill a man who never did them harm, and kill one of their own as well, both of whom have suffered much for the good of all folk—even the trolls. Einskaldir was right. But for this silent fellow beside me, they are all hell-wights.”
    Simon sat up, holding his head in his hands. The wind blew uncaringly about the heights. Helplessness spread through him.
    “Binabik!” he cried, leaning over once more. “Qantaqa waits for you! Sludig suffers at your side! No one can help if you don’t help yourself! Why won’t you speak to me?!”
    Only Sludig answered. “It’s no good, I tell you. His eyes are closed. He does not hear you, will not speak at all.”
    Simon slapped his hand against the rock and cursed. He felt tears start in his eyes.
    “I will help you, Sludig,” he said at last. “I do not know how, but I will.” He sat up. Qantaqa nosed him and whimpered. “Can I bring you something? Food? Water?”
    Sludig laughed dully. “No. They feed us, although not to bursting. I would ask for wine, but I do not know when they come for me. I will not go with my head foggy from drink. Only pray for me, please. And for the troll, too.”
    “I will do more than that, Sludig, I swear.” He stood up.
    “You were very brave on the mountain, Simon,” Sludig called quietly. “I am glad that I knew you.”
    The stars glittered coldly above the pit as Simon walked away, fighting to stand straight and cry no more.

    He walked a while beneath the moon, lost in the swirl of his distracted thoughts, before he realized that he was again following Qantaqa. The wolf, who had paced anxiously beside the edge of the pit while Simon talked to Sludig, now trotted purposefully along the path before him. She did not allow him a chance to catch up as she had on their outward journey, and he was hard pressed to keep to her pace.
    The moonlight was just bright enough for Simon to see where he was going, the trail just wide enough to allow for recovery from the occasional misstep. Still, he was feeling decidedly weak. He wondered more than once whether he should just sit down and wait until dawn came, when someone would find him and return him safely to his cave, but Qantaqa trotted on, full of lupine determination. Feeling that he owed her a sort of loyalty, Simon did his best to follow.
    He soon noted with more than a little alarm that they seemed