But it wasn't just the vines now. They had been joined by trees with long saw-toothed leaves, barrel-shaped plants that resembled giant club moss, leafless, scaly bushes. He recognized some of them as being like those he had seen in the Sarnwood, but although unnatural, those had seemed healthy. These were not; like the ironoak, yew, poplar, and pine they had sprung from, these plants were dying, too.

So were the beasts. They came across the corpses of a greffyn and an utin. It looked like the first had killed the second, started to eat it, and then died of its own wounds.

Later they came across other sedhmhari that appeared simply to have dropped dead, perhaps of hunger.

There were no birds at all, no sounds except those they and their horses made. And for Aspar the smell only got worse and worse as they climbed up into the Lean Gable Hills and then back down along the edge of what once had been the Foxing Marshes but were now noisome meres infested with the giant scabby mosslike plants. There were things still moving in the water, big things, but none came close enough to see.

"This is insane," Emfrith said as darkness started to settle in and Aspar hunted for a campsite. "What could have done this?"

Aspar didn't feel like answering and didn't, but the knight persisted.

"And what refuge do you hope to find in this desert? And where will we find supplies? We don't have that much food or wine left, and I wouldn't drink from any of the springs we've seen. There's nothing to hunt."

"I know a place where we might find supplies," Aspar said. "We can be there by tomorrow."

"And then what?"

"Then we head into the mountains."

"You think they won't be like this?"

No, Aspar thought. They'll be worse.

They reached the White Warlock the next morning, crossing the ancient Brew Bridge, a narrow span of pitted black stone. The river was no longer the clear stream that had inspired its name but ran black as tar.

When they were halfway across, something exploded out of it.

As his horse reared, Aspar had the impression of something that married snake and frog. Its immense greenish-black bulk rose up above them and showed a mouth topful of yellow needles that was reared to strike down toward them.

But it stopped suddenly, swaying there. Aspar saw that its eyes had pupils like a toad's, and weird gills opened and closed on the sides of its massy neck. He saw no limbs; the sinuous neck-or body-continued deep into the water.

He started to put an arrow to his bow, but the beast suddenly turned its head, looked back the way Aspar and his companions had come, and vented a forlorn croak. Then it withdrew into the river as quickly as it had risen.

"Sceat," Aspar breathed.

"It didn't attack us," Emfrith wondered.

"No," Aspar agreed. Fend told it not to.

After the lowlands around the river, they again began to climb up into the Brogh y Stradh, where wild cattle once grazed in pleasant meadows and periwinkle finches came to breed and lay their eggs. Traveling through the forest wasn't the discovery of a loved one lost; it was a fresh loss around every corner, a new corpse every league.

Toward dusk they reached Tor Scath.

Unlike the forest around it, Tor Scath was unchanged. The last time he'd been there had been with Stephen Darige. He'd just rescued the lad from bandits, and he remembered with muffled amusement the way the boy had gone on and on about things that at the time seemed absurd.

But time told, and in the end he had been more of a fool than Stephen, hadn't he? Stephen, with his knowledge of the ancient past, had been more ready to face what was coming than Aspar, despite the lad's sheltered upbringing.

"That's an odd-looking place," Emfrith said, breaking Aspar's chain of thought.

Aspar nodded, taking the place in once again. It was as if someone had taken a small, perfectly reasonable keep and tried to cram as many weird towers onto it as possible. There was actually one tower that had another one starting from it halfway up.

"Yah," he agreed. "They say it was built by a madman."

"Does anyone live here? It hardly seems defensible."

"It's lately a royal hunting lodge," Aspar replied. "Kept by a knight named Sir Symen Rookswald. I doubt that anyone is here now."

"Surely Sir Symen left in time," Winna murmured.

"I'm sure he did," Aspar said. "He was onto the danger before I was."

He said it, but he didn't really believe it. Sir Symen took his duty seriously despite his morose character.

Human bones lay in a thick scatter outside the walls.

"The people of the keep?" Emfrith asked.

Aspar shook his head. "I maun Tor Scath is more defensible than you think. These died trying to get in."

"Slinders," Winna reckoned.

"Yah."

"So Sir Symen stayed and fought."

"For a while, anyway."

"What are slinders?" Emfrith asked.

"Tribespeople from the hills, driven mad by the Briar King. They were like locusts. They would pull down and eat anything before them."

"Eat?" the knight asked incredulously. "I heard rumors like that, but I never believed 'em."

"No, they ate people, all right," Aspar said. "Without salt, even. Now keep aware. We don't know what lives in here now."

The keep's entrance was as odd as the rest of it, a smallish gate at the base of a narrow tower. Aspar tested it and found it barred from the other side, but that triggered a sudden baying and barking from within.

"There are dogs in there," Emfrith said. "How is that possible?"

A few moments later the gate opened, revealing a hulk of a man on the other side.

"Isarn?" Aspar said, not believing it.

"Master White," the fellow replied. "It's good to see you."

But Aspar was looking around, astonished. There were not only dogs in the yard but chickens and geese. There were even a few green weeds and what looked like a plot of turnips.

"Sir Symen? Is he here?" Aspar asked.

The giant nodded. "In the hall. He'll be glad to see you. Let me show you where to put the horses."

Symen's long hair and beard were more unkempt than ever, lending him the appearance of an old lion on the verge of starvation, but he smiled and came shakily to his feet when Aspar entered. Winna rushed to him and gave him a hug.

"Aspar," the old man said. "What a pretty gift you bring me." He frowned. "Is this little Winna?"

"It's me, Sir Symen," she confirmed.

"Oh, sweet girl, how you've grown. It's been too long since I went to Colbaely." He glanced at her belly but politely didn't say anything.

"Have you heard anything about the town?"

"Your father left, I know that; headed over the mountains toward Virgenya. Most others fled or died when the slinders came."

He turned to clasp Aspar's arm. He felt no more substantial than a straw.

"I told you, didn't I, Aspar? Hardheaded man you are."

He nodded. "You were more right than wrong," he admitted. "What happened here?"

"Sit," Sir Symen said. "I still have wine. We'll have a drink."

He signed, and a young boy who had been sitting on a stool in the corner got up and went off down the hall.

"Anfalthy?" Aspar asked.

"I sent her to relatives in Hornladh," he replied. "Along with the other women. This is no place for them now."

The boy returned with a jug of wine. Mazers were already scattered about the table, and he set about filling them.

Symen took a long quaff. "It's good to have visitors to drink with," he said. "We don't have much company these days."

"You never did," Aspar replied.

"No, that's true," the knight allowed. He trailed a glance at Emfrith and his men. "Who are your friends?"

Aspar made the introductions, trying not to let his impatience show. When that was all settled, Symen finally got around to the holter's question.