That way he would do two things while seeming to do one, and at least one of him would be preserved. Yes.
“The course is clear,” he said aloud, and for the first time that night his voice was strong and decisive. The others all turned to him in surprise.
“The course is clear,” he repeated. “I will issue a challenge to the master of the guile. My thain will carry the challenge to Haukrull. Pride, and the need to maintain prestige before his followers, will force the master to accept the challenge, if there is a guile. Also, pride will compel him to respect the embassy of a challenger. And if there is no guile, if this is just a crowd of equals . . .”
“Then,” Morlock said, “I should learn what I can and return as I can.”
“Yes,” Earno agreed. He did not add what they all knew: that, if there was no guile, Morlock would be unlikely to return at all: there would be no master to enforce restraint on the ravenous dragons. But if Morlock did not return, that itself would answer the question they needed to answer.
But (and Earno realized this too late) it would not answer his questions. If Morlock did not return, it might only mean that he had stayed with his natural father’s allies, the dragons, to give Earno the wrong impression. Or it might mean what it seemed to mean. . . .
He began to suspect that, from now on, everything would have two meanings for him—one possibly true, the other certainly false—and he would never have a way of choosing between them. He would have to learn to live with both: betraying the enemy in his friends, befriending the ally in his enemies.
For if Morlock was a traitor, he deserved the treachery this mission would be if he were not a traitor. Similarly, if he was not a traitor, there was no treason: Earno was merely requiring the self-sacrifice Morlock had sworn to give. Earno was satisfied, and would have been completely satisfied, if only it were not so difficult to meet Morlock’s eye. Nevertheless he began to speak aloud the cold clear unambiguous words of his challenge.
Before he was finished, sunlight struck the smoke still rising from the mountains and the dwarves began to sing.
PART THREE
ENVOY TO DRAGONS
He entered the doors of hell, the deep gates of Dis, the forest shrouded in fear’s shadow.
He stood before the dark gods and the dreadful king—those hearts unable to pity human prayers.
—Vergil, Georgics
CHAPTER TEN
The Deep Roads
In the utter blindness beneath a mountain’s roots, Morlock paused to consider his way.
He had left Thrymhaiam two days ago, an hour after sunlight touched her western slopes. He had gone alone through the Helgrind Gate. It was dark as he crossed the narrow, terribly deep chasm of the Helgrind. But the mist carried only the clean rocky smell of mountain water; there was no taint of venom in it. He reached the high unbarred entrance to the Runhaiar easily, although it was impossible to see in the darkness and fog; his feet knew the way across the shallow Helgrind stream. As a youth he had lived for more than a year beyond the Haukr, working at the Seven Clans’ trading house there. He’d often travelled between Haukrull and Thrymhaiam. That had been a fine and troubling time for Morlock. He wondered what Haukrull looked like now. Almeijn’s words returned to him as he walked through the resounding darkness: The town was there, all ashen, with bodies burning in the streets. . . .
Almeijn. At the thought of her he stopped moving. He had long ago learned to walk in the dark of the Runhaiar without fear, and his reflexes had found the Pilgrims’ Way to Haukrull almost without seeking it. But they had played him false after all. He had an idea about Almeijn, and to pursue it he must take a different route through the darkness. He had to find not the familiar road that the Guardians must have taken to Haukrull, but the mysterious path on which Almeijn had returned alone.
As he stopped he realized he did not know exactly where he was. If he gave it some thought he might have reasoned it out (he had not been moving wholly unconsciously), but there was no need. He walked back to the last junction of tunnels he’d passed, trailing his right hand along the wall a little higher than his shoulders. Presently he found what he