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He looked at it for a moment with suspicion. Understanding, Miriamele lifted it to her own mouth and drank, then passed it to him. Reassured, the old man swallowed hungrily, then looked at her as accusingly as if his fear of poison had been confirmed. "Water," he murmured sullenly. Miriamele stared at him, but Simon slowly smiled. He leaned across and fished out the other skin bag, the one Miriamele had told him she was saving for cold nights or painful injuries. Simon squirted a little bit of the red Perdruin into a bowl and held it out where the old man could see. Heanwig's trembling fingers reached for it, but Simon pulled the bowl back. "Answer our questions first. You swear you were not searching for us?" Heanwig shook his head emphatically. "Never seen you before. Won't remember you when you're gone. That's a promise." His thin hands snaked out again. "Not yet. Why did you think we'd burn you?" The old man looked at him, then at the wine, plainly torn. "Thought you were those Fire Dancers," he said at last, with obvious reluctance. "Thought you meant to burn me like they burned old Wiclaf who used to be First Hammerman up to quarry." Simon shook his head, puzzled, but Miriamele leaned closer, fear and distaste in her expression. "Fire Dancers? Are there Fire Dancers here?" The old man looked at her as though she had asked whether fish could swim. "Town be full of them. They chased me, chased Heanwig. But I hid from them." He smiled a weak smile, but his eyes remained wary and calculating. "They be in quarry tonight, dancing and praying to their Storm Lord." "The quarry!" Miriamele breathed. 'That's what the lights were!" Simon was still not sure he trusted the old man. Something was bothering him, like a fly buzzing beside his ear, but he could not decide what it was. "If he's telling the truth." "I tell the truth," Heanwig said with sudden force. He tried to draw himself up straight, fixing Simon with his rheumy eyes. "I was coming here for a bit of sleep, then I heard you. Thought the Fire Dancers were here—they roam all through town at night. People with houses bar their doors, do you see, but Heanwig's got no house no more. So I ran." "Give the wine to him, Simon," Miriamele said. "It's cruel. He's just a frightened old man." Simon made a face and handed Heanwig the bowl. The old man sniffed it and a look of rapture crossed his age-spotted features. He tilted the bowl and drank thirstily. "The Fire Dancers!" Miriamele hugged herself. "Mother of Mercy, Simon, we don't want to get caught by them. They're all mad. Tiamak was attacked by some in Kwanitupul, and I saw others light themselves on fire and burn to death.

" Simon looked from Miriamele to the old man, who was licking his wrinkled lips with a tongue that looked like something which made its home in a seashell. He felt an unlikely urge to reach out and cuff the old tosspot, although the man had done little enough, really. Simon suddenly remembered how he had raised the sword, that moment of fury when he might have slain this poor wretch, and was horribly ashamed. What sort of knight would cut down a feeble drunkard? But what dreadful fate had sent the old man to frighten the horses and break twigs in the very moment when he was finally holding Miriamele in his arms? They had been kissing! She, the princess, the beautiful Miriamele, had been kissing Simon! He turned his gaze from the old man to Miriamele once more. She, too, had been watching Heanwig drain his bowl, but now her eyes flicked up to Simon's for a moment. Even in the torchlight, he could see her blush. Fate was cruel ... but a little earlier, it had been kind as well. Oh, sweet Fate, sweet Luck! Simon abruptly laughed. The greater part of his anger dissipated like chaff before the wind. The loveliest girl in all of Aedondom, clever and quick—and she had kissed him. Called him by his name! He could still feel the shape of her face on his fingertips. What right had he to complain? "So what do we do?" he asked. Miriamele avoided his eye.

"We will stay the night. Then in the morning we will get as far away from the Fire Dancers as we can." Simon darted a glance at Heanwig, who was looking hopefully toward the saddlebags. "And him?" "We will let him stay here for the night, too." "And what if he drinks all the wine and takes it into his head to strangle us in our sleep?" Simon protested. Even he found it rather silly to say such things about the bony, shivering old man, but he desperately wanted to be alone with Miriamele once more. As if she understood this and was equally determined not to see it happen, Miriamele said: "He'll do nothing of the sort. And we will take turns sleeping. Will that make you feel better, Simon? You can guard the wine." The old man looked from one to the other, evidently trying to decide where the battle lines were drawn. "Old Heanwig won't be no bother. You don't nead to stay up, young masters. You be tired. Old fellow like me doesn't need sleep. I'll stay up and watch for them Fire Dancers." Simon snorted. "I'm certain you would. Let's toss him out, Miriamele. If he isn't the one who followed us, there's no reason to keep him." "There's a perfectly good reason. He's an old man and he's frightened. You forget, Simon, I've seen the Fire Dancers and you haven't. Don't be cruel just because you're in a bad mood." She gave him a stem look, but Simon thought he saw a tiny flash of knowing amusement in it. "No, don't send me out to those Fire Dancers," Heanwig begged. "They burned Wiclaf, they did. I saw it. And him not harming nobody. They lit him on fire down Pulley Road, screaming 'Here's what's coming! Here's what's coming!'" Heanwig trailed off, shuddering. What had started out as a self-serving justification had become real as the memory played out before his mind's eye. "Don't send me away, masters. I'll never speak no word." His abrupt sincerity was apparent. Simon looked from Miriamele to the old man, then back to the princess. He had been neatly outflanked. "Oh, very well." he growled. "But I'm staying up on first watch, old man, and if you do anything the least bit suspicious, you'll be out that door and into the cold so fast your head will spin.