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〃Can he sing； that girlish lad of yours？〃 asked the mayor。
〃Aye； he can sing。 Arren！ Sing a measure for us； lad。〃
〃I cannot get this lute to play out of the minor；〃 said Arren at the window； smiling。 〃It wants to weep。 What would you hear； my hosts？〃
〃Something new；〃 growled the mayor。
The lute thrilled a little； he had the touch of it already。 〃This might be new here；〃 he said。 Then he sang。
By the white straits of Solea
and the bowed red branches
that bent their blossoms over
her bowed head； heavy
with sorrow for the lost lover；
by the red branch and the white branch
and the sorrow unceasing
do I swear； Serriadh；
son of my mother and of Morred；
to remember the wrong done
forever；forever。
They were still： the bitter faces and the shrewd； the hardworked hands and bodies。 They sat still in the warm rainy Southern dusk； and heard that song like the cry of the grey swan of the cold seas of Ea； yearning； bereft。 For a while after the song was over they kept still。
〃That's a queer music；〃 said one； uncertainly。
Another； reassured as to the absolute centrality of the isle of Lorbanery in all time and space； said； 〃Foreign music's always queer and gloomy。〃
〃Give us some of yours；〃 said Sparrowhawk。 〃I'd like to hear a cheery stave myself。 The lad will always sing of old dead heroes。〃
〃I'll do that；〃 said the last speaker； and hemmed a bit； and started out to sing about a lusty； trusty barrel of wine； and a hey； ho； and about we go！ But nobody joined him in the chorus； and he went flat on the hey； ho。
〃There's no more proper singing；〃 he said angrily。 〃It's the young people's fault； always chopping and changing the way things are done； and not learning the old songs。〃
〃It's not that；〃 said the skinny man； 〃there's no more proper anything。 Nothing goes right anymore。〃
〃Aye； aye； aye；〃 wheezed the oldest one； 〃the luck's run out。 That's what。 The luck's run out。〃
After that there was not much to say。 The villagers departed by twos and threes； until Sparrowhawk was left alone outside the window and Arren inside it。 And then Sparrowhawk laughed； at last。 But it was not a merry laugh。
The innkeeper's shy wife came and spread out beds for them on the floor and went away； and they lay down to sleep。 But the high rafters of the room were an abode of bats。 In and out the unglazed window the bats flew all night long； chittering very high。 Only at dawn did they all return and settle； each posing itself in a little； neat； grey package hanging from a rafter upside down。
Perhaps it was the restlessness of the bats that made Arren's sleep uneasy。 It was many nights now since he had slept ashore； his body was not used to the immobility of earth and insisted to him as he fell asleep that he was rocking； rocking。。。 and then the world would fall out from underneath him and he would wake with a great start。 When at last he got to sleep； he dreamt he was chained in the hold of the slaver's ship； there were others chained with him； but they were all dead。 He woke from this dream more than once； struggling to get free of it； but falling to sleep at once reentered it。 At last it seemed to him that he was all alone on the ship； but still chained so that he could not move。 Then a curious； slow voice spoke in his ear。 〃Loose your bonds；〃 it said。 〃Loose your bonds。〃 He tried to move then； and moved： he stood up。 He was on some vast； dim moor； under a heavy sky。 There was horror in the earth and in the thick air； an enormity of horror。 This place was fear； was fear itself； and he was in it； and there were no paths。 He must find the way； but there were no paths； and he was tiny； like a child； like an ant； and the place was huge； endless。 He tried to walk； stumbled； woke。
The fear was inside him； now that he was awake； and he was not inside it： yet it was no less huge and endless。 He felt choked by the black darkness of the room； and looked for stars in the dim square that was the window； but though the rain had ceased there were no stars。 He lay awake and was afraid； and the bats flew in and out on noiseless leather wings。 Sometimes he heard their thin voices at the very limit of his hearing。
The morning came bright； and they were early up。 Sparrowhawk inquired earnestly for emmelstone。 Though none of the townsfolk knew what emmelstone was； they all had theories about it and quarreled over them； and he listened； though he listened for news of something other than emmelstone。 At last he and Arren took a way that the mayor suggested to them； toward the quarries where the blue dye…earth was dug。 But on the way Sparrowhawk turned aside。
〃This will be the house；〃 he said。 〃They said that that family of dyers and discredited magicians lives on this road。〃
〃Is it any use to talk to them？〃 said Arren； remembering Hare all too well。
〃There is a center to this bad luck；〃 said the mage； harshly。 〃There is a place where the luck runs out。 I need a guide to that place！〃 And he went on； and Arren must follow。
The house stood apart among its own orchards； a fine building of stone； but it and all its acreage had gone long uncared for。 Cocoons of ungathered silkworms hung discolored among the ragged branches； and the ground beneath was thick with a papery litter of dead grubs and moths。 All about the house under the close…set trees there hung an odor of decay； and as they came to it Arren suddenly remembered the horror that had been on him in the night。
Before they reached the door it was flung open。 Out charged a grey…haired woman； glaring with reddened eyes and shouting； 〃Out； curse you； thieves； slanderers； lackwits； liars； and misbegotten fools！ Get out； out； go！ The ill chance be on you forever！〃
Sparrowhawk stopped； looking somewhat amazed； and quickly raised his hand in a curious gesture。 He said one word； 〃Avert！〃
At that the woman stopped yelling。 She stared at him。
〃Why did you do that？〃
〃To turn your curse aside。〃
She stared a while longer and said at last； hoarsely； 〃Foreigners？〃
〃From the North。〃
She came forward。 At first Arren had been inclined to laugh at her； an old woman screeching on her doorstep； but close to her he felt only shame。 She was foul and ill…clothed； and her breath stank； and her eyes had a terrible stare of pain。
〃I have no power to curse；〃 she said。 〃No power。〃 She imitated Sparrowhawk's gesture。 〃They still do that； where you e from？〃
He nodded。 He watched her steadily； and she returned his gaze。 Presently her face began to work and change； and she said； 〃Where's the stick？〃
〃I do not show it here； sister。〃
〃No； you should not。 It will keep you from life。 Like my power： it kept me from life。 So I lost it。 I lost all the things I knew； all the words and names。 They came by little strings like spiderwebs out of my eyes and mouth。 There is a hole in the world； and the light is running out of it。 And the words go with the light。 Did you know that？ My son sits staring all day at the dark； looking for the hole in the world。 He says he would see better if he were blind。 He has lost his hand as a dyer。 We were the Dyers of Lorbanery。 Look！〃 She shook before them her musc