「都对。」赖伦铎尔轻笑了一声。「还不止如此。我愿意是什么，就是什么。没有别人会抗议的。」
「你怎么弄我的伤口？」
「我治愈了你的伤。」他有些抱歉地耸耸肩。「这是我的世界。我还有一点法力，没有我想要的那么多，不过多少还有一点。」
「真的？」莎拉不很相信。
赖伦铎尔挥挥手。
「你不相信。不错，你还保有你的铁冠。这只对了一半，只要你还戴着铁冠，我就不能伤害你。但我总可以帮助你。」他又微笑了，眼睛里又浮现梦幻的神色。「没有关系。即使我能够伤害你，我也不会这么做。莎拉，你必须相信我。我等你很久了。」
莎拉吃了一惊。「你知道我的名字？谁告诉你的？」
他笑着站起来，走过来坐在她身旁的床沿，拿起她的手轻轻抚摸着。「不错，我知道你的名字。你是莎拉，你行遍许多世界。很久很久以前，山川还是另一个样子，太阳也还发出红光时，他们就来告诉过我，说你会来。我恨他们，我恨七帝，但那晚我却很高兴听到他们说你会来。他们只告诉我你的名字，说你会来到我的世界。他们还告诉我另一桩事。一个新的开始，至少是一个变化。任何变化都是好的。我已经在这世界孤独一人过了不知多少岁月，简直再没有任何新鲜事情。」
她紧皱眉头，摇着长长的黑发。在微弱摇曳的烛光下，她问道：「难道他们比我早来那么久？难道他们真能知道未来？」她颇感不安，望着他说：「还有另一桩事，是什么？」
他轻捏她的手。「他们还说我会爱上你。但这并不是什么了不起的预言。我也可以做这样的预言，很久很久以前——我记得那时太阳还发出黄色的光芒——我就知道，我会爱上任何一个声音，只要不是我的回声。」
第二天早上莎拉醒转时，紫色的日光正从弧形的落地长窗照进来——昨晚这长窗却并不存在。床上已摆好为她预备的衣服——一袭宽大的黄袍、一袭深红色镶着珠宝的礼服，另一件湖绿色的便装。她选择了一件，很快穿上，然后走到窗口。
她置身在高塔之上，外面是倾颓的城垛，及三角形满布尘埃的天井。三角形的另外两个顶点，是另外两座尖塔，圆锥形的塔顶高耸入云。狂风吹动城墙上插着的一排灰色旗帜，发出拍拍的声响。除此之外，再没有别的动静。
在城堡之外，却并没有什么山谷，城堡座落在山顶上，四方远处，更高耸的山脉隐约可见。黑色的石屋，锯齿般的山脊，闪烁着紫色光芒的冰柱，都呈现在眼前。虽然弧窗密封得很紧，窗外呼啸的狂风仍显得寒冷。
门并没有锁，莎拉很快走下螺旋形的石阶，经过天井，走进城堡中央的建筑物。她经过许多房间，有的尘封已久，也有的布置得十分华丽。最后她走进一间房间，赖伦铎尔正坐在那里用早餐，他旁边留着一张空椅，桌上摆满了食物和饮料。莎拉坐下来，拿起一块热饼干，不禁笑了。赖伦铎尔也回报以微笑。
「今天我得走了。」她边吃边说：「我很抱歉，赖伦，但我必需去找寻离开的关口。」
他仍旧保持着忧郁的神色。「你昨天晚上已经说过了。」他叹了口气。「我好象白等了这么些年。」
桌上有咸肉和好几种饼干、水果、乳酪、鲜奶。莎拉盛满一盘，觉得有些惭愧，避开他的眼神。「我实在很抱歉。」她重复着说。
「再留几天吧。」他说：「再留一阵，我想对你也没有什么大损失。让我带你看看我的世界，让我唱歌给你听。」
她犹豫了。「可是......我得花时间去找寻关口。我只能留几天。但你必须明白，迟早我还是要离开。」
他笑了，无可奈何地耸耸肩。「当然。我知道关口在那里，可以省你花时间去找寻。你在这里留一个月，我就带你去关口。」他注视着她。「莎拉，你流浪很久很久了，也许你也需要休息一阵。」
她慢慢咀嚼一片水果，想了许久，终于说：「我的确也该休息一阵。而且关口总有守卫，那时你可以帮忙我闯过去。一个月......并不算太长久。在别的世界，有时我停留更久些。」她点点头，说：「好吧，我就再留一个月。」

他轻摸一下她的手。吃完早餐，他带她去参观他们给他的世界。
他们并肩站在最高一座塔顶的骑楼里。莎拉穿著绿裙，赖伦铎尔披着灰斗篷。赖伦铎尔让城堡飞起在空中，飞过波涛汹涌的海洋。海中出现长颈的蛇状怪物看他们飞过。他让城堡飞到地底下的巨窟，钟乳石滴着水发出奇异的绿光，盲眼的白羊在城垛外哀鸣。他笑着拍拍掌，眼前就出现茂密的丛林，有各色各样的巨大花朵，尖齿的猿猴在树梢啾啾而鸣。他再度击掌，天井的土地突然变成沙滩，他们在荒凉的灰色海洋旁边，有一只翅膀透明的巨大蓝鸟在天空盘旋。他带她又去了许多地方。黄昏终于降临，城堡飞回到山谷旁的山脊上。莎拉看见谷底的黑森林，就是昨晚他找到她的地方，也听到野鸽子的凄鸣。
「这世界并不算太坏。」她对他说。
「还不错。」他回答，手放在骑楼的栏杆上，眼睛望着谷底。「还不算太坏。从前有一次我还徒步旅行过，拿着长剑，到处探险。」他低声轻笑。「但这也是很久以前的事了。现在我对这世界每一处山谷河流都了如指掌，再也没有什么新鲜的东西。」
他注视着她，又习惯性地耸耸肩。「也许还有更糟的地狱，至少这是我的世界。」
「跟我走吧。」她说：「我们去找关口，然后一起闯关。还有很多别的世界，也不像这世界那么奇异美丽，但至少你不必孤独下去。」
他又耸耸肩膀，无所谓地说：「你说来容易。我早就找到关口了。守卫也不会拦阻我。我试过进入别的世界，但一转眼我又回到这城堡里。不成，我走不掉的。」
她握住他的手。「真是可怜，一个人孤独这么久，你一定很坚强。假如换了我，我早就发疯了。」
他笑了，笑声中带看苦涩的味道。「莎拉，我已经发疯过不止千万次了。他们每次都治好我，每次都治好我。」又耸耸肩，他搂住她肩膀。「进去吧，天快黑了。」
他们走向她的寝室，赖伦铎尔拿来食物——热面包、烤肉和酒。他们坐在床边，一面吃，一面谈天。
「为什么你会到这里来？」她问他，「你怎么触怒了他们？从前你是什么人？」
「我也几乎记不得了。只有在梦里，我才能依稀回忆起往事。但我已分不清楚，那些是真事，那些是我的幻想。」他叹息着。「有时我梦见我曾是另一个世界里威严的国王。我的罪过是我将国家治理得太好。我的子民生活得太幸福，就忘记敬拜七帝，他们的庙宇也倒塌了。一天早上我在我的城堡里醒来，就发现我到了这里。仆人、子民......我的世界全不见了，包括我的妻子，全都不见了。
「但是这不是唯一的梦。有时我又依稀记得，我也曾几乎是神。我有极大的法力，几乎超越七帝。单打独斗，他们中任何一个都不是我的对手。他们怕我胜过他们，联手合攻，把我放逐到这里来，只留给我一点点法力。我还是神时，总是教人们彼此相爱，彼此合作。七帝就故意将这些都夺走，让我永远孤独。
「这还不是最糟的。有时我又觉得，我一直就在这里。无数万年前，我就生在这里。所有他们给我的梦都是虚假的回忆，故意来勾引起我的痛苦。」
他说话时，并未看着她，眼睛望着遥不可及的远方。他讲得很慢，声调也有如梦幻中。他讲完了，从回忆里醒转过来。
「莎拉，你要小心。如果他们真要处置你，连你的铁冠也保护不了你。他们会撕裂你，让你的肉身和灵魂都痛苦不堪。」
莎拉不禁打了一个寒噤。她突然注意到蜡烛已将烧尽。她不知他究竟讲了多久。
「等一等。」赖伦铎尔走了出去，门边的窗户这时又变成灰色的石墙，一点痕迹也没有。不久赖伦铎尔回来了，手里多了一把古琴。莎拉从未看过这个样子的古琴，有十六根不同颜色的弦，琴身的木节发出各种光芒。赖伦铎尔将古琴放置在地上，琴把靠在他胸前。他轻轻拨动琴弦，古琴就发出各种光芒和声音。
「我唯一的伴侣。」他笑着说，又拨动琴弦。琴音迅速出现又消失，其声悲凉。他挑拨琴弦，室内便出现各种光采。
他开始轻声歌唱。
......我是孤独之王

　　空寂是我的领域......
他的声音柔美低沉，琴声从莎拉的头发间掠过。轻轻抚摸着她，又迅即消失。房内的光采千变万化，配合着摇曳的烛光和迷幻的琴声，似乎有千百个末曾说出的故事，交织成他的梦。
她于是看见他梦里赋予自己的形像，高大骄傲的王者，头发如她的头发一般漆黑，双目炯炯有神，穿著闪亮的白袍和宽大的斗篷，头戴银冠，身旁佩着长剑。梦里年轻的王者毫无忧虑的神色。他的世界是充满欢笑的世界，有柔美的象牙塔和懒洋洋的蓝色运河，友伴围绕在他四周，他的爱妻厮守在他身旁。然后突然一切都变为黑暗，他到了这里。
琴声变得哀愁，光线逐渐黯淡下去。她看见他醒转过来，古堡里空无一人。他到处搜寻。日子一天天过去，多少年，多少世纪。他疲倦极了，几乎发疯，却不曾老去。太阳由红而橙而黄，终于变成奇异的紫色。他的世界越来越单调。他唱出永无休止的空虚日子。只有音乐和记忆使他不致完全发狂。
他唱完了，琴声和他的柔美的声音慢慢消失。赖伦铎尔停下来，对她微笑。莎拉感觉自己在颤抖着。
「谢谢你。」他轻声说，又耸耸肩，然后他拿着琴离开她的房间。
第二天寒冷多云，赖伦铎尔却带她去森林里打猎。他们的猎物是一只瘠瘦半猫半羚羊、奔驰极快满嘴利齿的怪兽。他们很难追上它，莎拉却不在意，狩猎本身比杀死猎物还要有趣。他们走在黑暗的森林里，手里持着弓箭，全身都裹在皮衣里面，脚底的透明落叶像玻璃般易碎，踩上去就发出脆响。他们追逐猎物一整天，什么也没猎着，满身疲乏回到古堡里。赖伦铎尔预备了一顿盛餐。他们坐在很宽大的长桌两头，相视而笑。莎拉望见弧窗外滚滚而过的乌云，天色黑下来，窗户又变成石板墙，墙上插的蜡烛呼的一声全自动点燃了，屋内变得温暖明亮。
「为什么会这样？」她问道：「晚上你为什么从来不出去？」
他耸耸肩。「我有我的理由。这儿的夜晚，呃，不太好看。」他从一个镶满宝石的大杯里啜饮着热酒。「你的世界——你最早出发的那个世界——告诉我，莎拉，那里的天空有星星吗？」
她点点头。「当然。那是很久以前的事。但我还记得，夜晚总是很黑，星星像小钻般闪闪发光，有时可以看出图案般的组合。我的世界的人们，在我们还年轻的时候，会给那些星星组成的图案起了种种动听的名字，编织出许多故事。」
「我想我会喜欢你的世界。」赖伦铎尔说：「我的世界也有点像这样。但我们世界里的星星有千百种颜色，而且全像小灯笼般，在夜晚的天空里移动。有时星星会藏在云雾的后面，夜晚就像轻纱笼罩了千百盏五颜六色的小灯般美丽。有星的夜晚，我常带她去划船，这是唱歌的好时光。」他的声音又变得哀愁。
「我们也是一样，晚上，我们很喜欢一起躺在星辰底下，凯达和我。」她犹疑了一下，看看他。
他投过来询问的目光。「凯达？」
「你会喜欢他的，赖伦，我想他也会喜欢你。他很高，满头红发，目光如炬。凯达和我一样，都有法术，不过他的法力更高，并且意志坚强。有一次他们截住他，并没有杀死他，只将他从我身边，从我的世界里带走。从此我一直在找寻他的下落。我知道怎么找寻世界之间的关口。有这顶铁冠的保护，他们不容易阻挡住我。」
赖伦铎尔喝完了杯中的残酒，注视着酒杯上映出的烛光，说：「莎拉，宇宙里还有无数个世界呢。」
「我有的是时间。我和你一样，永远不会老。我会找到他的。」
「你真的这样爱他？」
莎拉勉强微笑着，却笑不出来。
「是的。」现在轮到她的声音迷失了。「我很爱他，他会使我快乐。我们在一起只有很短暂的一段时光，但他真的使我快乐，七帝也拿不走这个。我喜欢看着他，看他微笑，让他用手臂围绕着我。」
「哦，」他说，声音里有一种被击败的意味。有很长一段沉默，最后莎拉对他说：
「我们都走了很长一段路。你还没告诉我，为什么古堡的窗户到了晚上就自动封闭？」

「你走过许多世界。莎拉，你看见过夜晚没有星辰的世界吗？」
「当然，有好些次呢。我到过宇宙的一个角落，只有孤零零一个太阳还未烧尽。在那个世界的夜晚，天空里没有一颗星星。我也到过愁眉弄臣的世界，那里根本没有天空，丝丝作响的太阳，在海底燃烧。我曾经到过卡勒丁的荒原，那里的魔法师点燃天空的彩虹，来照亮没有太阳的世界。」
「这世界也没有星星。」赖伦铎尔说。
「你害怕见到没有星星的夜晚，所以就不敢出去了？」
「不是这个缘故。虽然没有星星，却有别的东西。你想看吗？」
她点点头。
他一挥手，蜡烛便突然一齐熄灭，房间内漆黑一片。莎拉坐到赖伦铎尔身旁，赖伦铎尔没有动，但他面前窗户的石墙却分开了，有光照耀进来。
天空昏黑一片，但她仍可以清楚看见四周的景象，因为昏黑的天空里有东西在移动，并且发出光芒。天井的泥地，城垛的石块，城墙上插的旗帜，都被照耀得很清楚。莎拉觉得很奇怪，朝天空望去。
有东西从天空窥视他们。它比众山更高大，占满半个天空。虽然它似乎发出光芒，莎拉却明白它比黑夜更黑暗。它略具人形，似乎穿著披肩和修道服，脸孔的部分却比其他部分更加漆黑可怖。四周静悄悄的，只听到赖伦铎尔的呼吸声，她自己的心跳，和远处野鸽子的凄鸣。但在她脑海里，莎拉却清楚听到魔鬼般的笑声。
天空的人形朝下看她，望穿过她，她感觉灵魂里一片阴暗冰凉。她动弹不得，眼睛胶住在那东西上。但那人形却移动了，转过身，举起一只手，手掌里捏着一个小小的人形，目光如炬，不断扭动着朝她呼救。
莎拉尖叫着用手掩住面孔。她再抬起头来时，窗子已经不见了。在石墙的保护之内，蜡烛熊熊燃烧着，赖伦铎尔强壮有力的手臂环绕着她。「这只不过是个幻象。」他说，抚摸着她的长发。「从前我在夜晚常常藉此试验自己的耐力。」他一半对自己说：「但现在我不需要这样做了。他们七个轮流出来看守我，在漆黑的天空里发出黑光，捉住我所爱的人。现在我不再看他们，我留在屋子唱歌。我的窗子用夜石砌成，我什么都看不见。」
「我......我觉得想作呕。」她说，仍旧颤抖着。
「来吧。」他说：「楼上有热水盆，你可以洗个热澡，驱除寒意。然后我唱歌给你听。」他拉住她的手，带她走上楼。她洗了个热澡，回到寝室。赖伦铎尔已调好他的十六弦琴。她坐在床沿，一面用毛巾擦头，一面听他唱歌。
赖伦铎尔展示给她看另一个幻象。这次他唱的是他第二个梦。他是天神，是七帝的死敌。琴声节拍急促，琴身发出的光芒融合成一片血的战场，全身雪白的赖伦铎尔和鬼魅般的暗影交战。他们一共有七个，围绕着他，以黑暗的长矛刺向他，他也以火及暴风雨反击。但最后他们还是胜利了。光芒再度黯淡下来，歌声又转柔和悲哀，幻象逐渐消逝，代之以无垠的寂寞岁月。
这歌刚唱完，赖伦铎尔又开始唱另一首歌。这首新歌他显然还不很熟悉，他修长的手指试探的抚摸着琴弦，他的声音也有些颤抖，因为他正一面唱，一面临时编歌词。莎拉知道是为什么，这次他唱的是她，她如何寻找她的爱人，经过一个又一个世界，戴着铁冠，和把关的守卫交战。他竟记得她说过的每句话，将它们修饰过编入歌词里。在她的寝室里，光芒编织成奇特的世界，白热的日头在海底燃烧，沸腾的海水冒出阵阵蒸气，老术士以魔法点燃了彩虹，驱除他的世界无边的黑暗。他也唱出凯达和莎拉的爱情。他唱得很真挚，使莎拉又想起她是多么爱凯达。但歌声最后停止在半途，似乎形成一个问号，回音久久才消失。他们都等待着下文，但他们也都知道到此就完了。
莎拉轻声哭着。「谢谢你，又把凯达带回给我。」
「不过是条歌曲。」他耸耸肩说：「好久我没有新歌可唱。」
他又离开她，离去时轻摸她的脸颊。莎拉躺在床上好久，才渐渐睡着。她醒转时，天色仍黑。她张开眼睛。房内似乎空无一人。但她感觉有些异样。她仔细看，发现他就坐在房间，另一头的大椅子上，双手支颚，就像第一晚那样。他静静坐着，眼睛专注看着床上的她。「赖伦？」她轻声呼唤他。

There is a girl who goes between the worlds.
She is gray-eyed and pale of skin, or so the story goes, and her hair is a coal-black waterfall with half-seen hints of red. She wears about her brow a circlet of burnished metal, a dark crown that holds her hair in place and sometimes puts shadows in her eyes. Her name is Sharra; she knows the gates.
The beginning of her story is lost to us, with the memory of the world from which she sprang. The end? The end is not yet, and when it comes we shall not know it.
We have only the middle, or rather a piece of that middle, the smallest part of the legend, a mere fragment of the quest. A small tale within the greater, of one world where Sharra paused, and of the lonely singer Laren Dorr and how they briefly touched.
#
One moment there was only the valley, caught in twilight. The setting sun hung fat and violet on the ridge above, and its rays slanted down silently into a dense forest whose trees had shiny black trunks and colorless ghostly leaves. The only sounds were the cries of the mourning-birds coming out for the night, and the swift rush of water in the rocky stream that cut the woods.
Then, through a gate unseen, Sharra came tired and bloodied to the world of Laren Dorr. She wore a plain white dress, now stained and sweaty, and a heavy fur cloak that had been half-ripped from her back. And her left arm, bare and slender, still bled from three long wounds. She appeared by the side of the stream, shaking, and she threw a quick, wary glance about her before she knelt to dress her wounds. The water, for all its swiftness, was a dark and murky green. No way to tell if it was safe, but Sharra was weak and thirsty. She drank, washed her arm as best she could in the strange and doubtful water, and bound her injuries with bandages ripped from her clothes. Then, as the purple sun dipped lower behind the ridge, she crawled away from the water to a sheltered spot among the trees and fell into exhausted sleep.
She woke to arms around her, strong arms that lifted her easily to carry her somewhere, and she woke struggling. But the arms just tightened and held her still. “Easy,” a mellow voice said, and she saw a face dimly through gathering mist, a man’s face, long and somehow gentle.
“You are weak,” he said, “and night is coming. We must be inside before darkness.”
Sharra did not struggle, not then, though she knew she should. She had been struggling a long time, and she was tired. But she looked at him, confused. “Why?” she asked. Then, not waiting for an answer, “Who are you? Where are we going?”
“To safety,” he said.
“Your home?” she asked, drowsy.
“No,” he said, so soft she could scarcely hear his voice. “No, not home, not ever home. But it will do.” She heard splashing then, as if he were carrying her across the stream, and ahead of them on the ridge she glimpsed a gaunt, twisted silhouette, a triple-towered castle etched black against the sun. Odd, she thought, that wasn’t there before.
She slept.

#
When she woke, he was there, watching her. She lay under a pile of soft, warm blankets in a curtained, canopied bed. But the curtains had been drawn back, and her host sat across the room in a great chair draped by shadows. Candlelight flickered in his eyes, and his hands locked together neatly beneath his chin. “Are you feeling better?” he asked, without moving.
She sat up and noticed she was nude. Swift as suspicion, quicker than thought, her hand went to her head. But the dark crown was still there, in place, untouched, its metal cool against her brow. Relaxing, she leaned back against the pillows and pulled the blankets up to cover herself. “Much better,” she said, and as she said it she realized for the first time that her wounds were gone.
The man smiled at her, a sad, wistful sort of smile. He had a strong face, with charcoal-colored hair that curled in lazy ringlets and fell down into dark eyes somehow wider than they should be. Even seated, he was tall. And slender. He wore a suit and cape of some soft gray leather, and over that he wore melancholy like a cloak. “Claw marks,” he said speculatively, while he smiled. “Claw marks down your arm, and your clothes almost ripped from your back. Someone doesn’t like you.”
“Something,” Sharra said. “A guardian, a guardian at the gate.” She sighed. “There is always a guardian at the gate. The Seven don’t like us to move from world to world. Me they like least of all.”
His hands unfolded from beneath his chin and rested on the carved wooden arms of his chair. He nodded, but the wistful smile stayed. “So, then,” he said. “You know the Seven, and you know the gates.” His eyes strayed to her forehead. “The crown, of course. I should have guessed.”
Sharra grinned at him. “You did guess. More than that, you knew. Who are you? What world is this?”
“My world,” he said evenly. “I’ve named it a thousand times, but none of the names ever seem quite right. There was one once, a name I liked, a name that fit. But I’ve forgotten it. It was a long time ago. My name is Laren Dorr, or that was my name, once, when I had use for such a thing. Here and now it seems somewhat silly. But at least I haven’t forgotten it.”
“Your world,” Sharra said. “Are you a king, then? A god?”
“Yes,” Laren Dorr replied, with an easy laugh. “And more. I’m whatever I choose to be. There is no one around to dispute me.”
“What did you do to my wounds?” she asked.
“I healed them.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s my world. I have certain powers. Not the powers I’d like to have, perhaps, but powers nonetheless.”
“Oh.” She did not look convinced.
Laren waved an impatient hand. “You think it’s impossible. Your crown, of course. Well, that’s only half right. I could not harm you with my, ah, powers, not while you wear that. But I can help you.” He smiled again, and his eyes grew soft and dreamy. “But it doesn’t matter. Even if I could I would never harm you, Sharra. Believe that. It has been a long time.”
Sharra looked startled. “You know my name. How?”
He stood up, smiling, and came across the room to sit beside her on the bed. And he took her hand before replying, wrapping it softly in his and stroking her with his thumb. “Yes, I know your name. You are Sharra, who moves between the worlds. Centuries ago, when the hills had a different shape and the violet sun burned scarlet at the very beginning of its cycle, they came to me and told me you would come. I hate them, all Seven, and I will always hate them, but that night I welcomed the vision they gave me. They told me only your name, and that you would come here, to my world. And one thing more, but that was enough. It was a promise. A promise of an ending or a start, of a change. And any change is welcome on this world. I’ve been alone here through a thousand sun-cycles, Sharra, and each cycle lasts for centuries. There are few events to mark the death of time.”
Sharra was frowning. She shook her long, black hair, and in the dim light of the candles the soft red highlights glowed. “Are they that far ahead of me, then?” she said. “Do they know what will happen?” Her voice was troubled. She looked up at him. “This other thing they told you?”
He squeezed her hand, very gently. “They told me I would love you,” Laren said. His voice still sounded sad. “But that was no great prophecy. I could have told them as much. There was a time long ago—I think the sun was yellow then—when I realized that I would love any voice that was not an echo of my own.”
#
Sharra woke at dawn, when shafts of bright purple light spilled into her room through a high arched window that had not been there the night before. Clothing had been laid out for her:a loose yellow robe, a jeweled dress of bright crimson, a suit of forest green. She chose the suit, dressed quickly. As she left, she paused to look out the window.
She was in a tower, looking out over crumbling stone battlements and a dusty triangular courtyard. Two other towers, twisted matchstick things with pointed conical spires, rose from the other corners of the triangle. There was a strong wind that whipped the rows of gray pennants set along the walls, but no other motion to be seen.
And, beyond the castle walls, no sign of the valley, none at all. The castle with its courtyard and its crooked towers was set atop a mountain, and far and away in all directions taller mountains loomed, presenting a panorama of black stone cliffs and jagged rocky walls and shining clean ice steeples that gleamed with a violet sheen. The window was sealed and closed, but the wind looked cold.
Her door was open. Sharra moved quickly down a twisting stone staircase, out across the courtyard into the main building, a low wooden structure built against the wall. She passed through countless rooms, some cold and empty save for dust, others richly furnished, before she found Laren Dorr eating breakfast.
There was an empty seat at his side; the table was heavily laden with food and drink. Sharra sat down and took a hot biscuit, smiling despite herself. Laren smiled back.
“I’m leaving today,” she said, in between bites. “I’m sorry, Laren. I must find the gate.”
The air of hopeless melancholy had not left him. It never did. “So you said last night,” he replied, sighing. “It seems I have waited a long time for nothing.”
There was meat, several types of biscuits, fruit, cheese, milk. Sharra filled a plate, face a little downcast, avoiding Laren’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“Stay awhile,” he said. “Only a short time. You can afford it, I would think. Let me show you what I can of my world. Let me sing to you.” His eyes, wide and dark and very tired, asked the question.
She hesitated. “Well … it takes time to find the gate.”
“Stay with me for a while, then.”
“But Laren, eventually I must go. I have made promises. You understand?”
He smiled, gave a helpless shrug. “Yes. But look. I know where the gate is. I can show you, save you a search. Stay with me, oh, a month. A month as you measure time. Then I’ll take you to the gate.” He studied her. “You’ve been hunting a long, long time, Sharra. Perhaps you need a rest.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, she ate a piece of fruit, watching him all the time. “Perhaps I do,” she said at last, weighing things. “And there will be a guardian, of course. You could help me, then. A month … that’s not so long. I’ve been on other worlds far longer than a month.” She nodded, and a smile spread slowly across her face. “Yes,” she said, still nodding. “That would be all right.”
He touched her hand lightly. After breakfast he showed her the world they had given him.

The next day dawned cold and overcast, but Laren took her out into the forests, hunting. Their quarry was a lean white thing, half cat, half gazelle, with too much speed for them to chase easily and too many teeth for them to kill. Sharra did not mind. The hunt was better than the kill. There was a singular, striking joy in that run through the darkling forest, holding a bow she never used and wearing a quiver of black wood arrows cut from the same dour trees that surrounded them. Both of them were bundled up tightly in gray fur, and Laren smiled out at her from under a wolf’s-head hood. And the leaves beneath their boots, as clear and fragile as glass, cracked and splintered as they ran.
Afterwards, unblooded but exhausted, they returned to the castle, and Laren set out a great feast in the main dining room. They smiled at each other from opposite ends of a table fifty feet long, and Sharra watched the clouds roll by the window behind Laren’s head, and later watched the window turn to stone.
“Why does it do that?” she asked. “And why don’t you ever go outside at night?”
He shrugged. “Ah. I have reasons. The nights are, well, not good here.” He sipped hot spice wine from a great jeweled cup. “The world you came from, where you started—tell me, Sharra, did you have stars?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s been so long, though. But I still remember. The nights were very dark and black, and the stars were little pinpoints of light, hard and cold and far away. You could see patterns sometimes. The men of my world, when they were young, gave names to each of those patterns, and told grand tales about them.”
Laren nodded. “I would like your world, I think,” he said. “Mine was like that, a little. But our stars were a thousand colors, and they moved, like ghostly lanterns in the night. Sometimes they drew veils around them to hide their light. And then our nights would be all shimmer and gossamer. Often I would go sailing at startime, myself and she whom I loved. Just so we could see the stars together. It was a good time to sing.” His voice was growing sad again.
Darkness had crept into the room, darkness and silence, and the food was cold and Sharra could scarce see his face fifty long feet away. So she rose and went to him, and sat lightly on the great table near to his chair. And Laren nodded and smiled, and at once there was a whooosh, and all along the walls torches flared to sudden life in the long dining hall. He offered her more wine, and her fingers lingered on his as she took the glass.
“It was like that for us, too,” Sharra said. “If the wind was warm enough, and other men were far away, then we liked to lie together in the open. Kaydar and I.” She hesitated, looked at him.
His eyes were searching. “Kaydar?”
“You would have liked him, Laren. And he would have liked you, I think. He was tall and he had red hair and there was a fire in his eyes. Kaydar had powers, as did I, but his were greater. And he had such a will. They took him one night, did not kill him, only took him from me and from our world. I have been hunting for him ever since. I know the gates, I wear the dark crown, and they will not stop me easily.”
Laren drank his wine and watched the torchlight on the metal of his goblet. “There are an infinity of worlds, Sharra.”
“I have as much time as I require. I do not age, Laren, no more than you do. I will find him.”
“Did you love him so much?”
Sharra fought a fond, flickering smile, and lost. “Yes,” she said, and now it was her voice that seemed a little lost. “Yes, so much. He made me happy, Laren. We were only together for a short time, but he did make me happy. The Seven cannot touch that. It was a joy just to watch him, to feel his arms around me and see the way he smiled.”
“Ah,” he said, and he did smile, but there was something very beaten in the way he did it. The silence grew very thick.
Finally Sharra turned to him. “But we have wandered a long way from where we started. You still have not told me why your windows seal themselves at night.”
“You have come a long way, Sharra. You move between the worlds. Have you seen worlds without stars?”
“Yes. Many, Laren. I have seen a universe where the sun is a glowing ember with but a single world, and the skies are vast and vacant by night. I have seen the land of frowning jesters, where there is no sky and the hissing suns burn below the ocean. I have walked the moors of Carradyne, and watched dark sorcerers set fire to a rainbow to light that sunless land.”
“This world has no stars,” Laren said.
“Does that frighten you so much that you stay inside?”
“No. But it has something else instead.” He looked at her. “Would you see?”
She nodded.
As abruptly as they had lit, the torches all snuffed out. The room swam with blackness. And Sharra shifted on the table to look over Laren’s shoulder. Laren did not move. But behind him, the stones of the window fell away like dust and light poured in from outside.
The sky was very dark, but she could see clearly, for against the darkness a shape was moving. Light poured from it, and the dirt in the courtyard and the stones of the battlements and the gray pennants were all bright beneath its glow. Puzzling, Sharra looked up.
Something looked back. It was taller than the mountains and it filled up half the sky, and though it gave off light enough to see the castle by, Sharra knew that it was dark beyond darkness. It had a man-shape, roughly, and it wore a long cape and a cowl, and below that was blackness even fouler than the rest. The only sounds were Laren’s soft breathing and the beating of her heart and the distant weeping of a mourning-bird, but in her head Sharra could hear demonic laughter.
The shape in the sky looked down at her, in her, and she felt the cold dark in her soul. Frozen, she could not move her eyes. But the shape did move. It turned and raised a hand, and then there was something else up there with it, a tiny man-shape with eyes of fire that writhed and screamed and called to her.
Sharra shrieked and turned away. When she glanced back, there was no window. Only a wall of safe, sure stone, and a row of torches burning, and Laren holding her within strong arms. “It was only a vision,” he told her. He pressed her tight against him, and stroked her hair. “I used to test myself at night,” he said, more to himself than to her. “But there was no need. They take turns up there, watching me, each of the Seven. I have seen them too often, burning with black light against the clean dark of the sky, and holding those I loved. Now I don’t look. I stay inside and sing, and my windows are made of night-stone.”
“I feel … fouled,” she said, still trembling a little.

“Come,” he said. “There is water upstairs, you can clean away the cold. And then I’ll sing for you.” He took her hand and led her up into the tower.
Sharra took a hot bath while Laren set up his instrument and tuned it in the bedroom. He was ready when she returned, wrapped head to foot in a huge fluffy brown towel. She sat on the bed, drying her hair and waiting.
And Laren gave her visions.
He sang his other dream this time, the one where he was a god and the enemy of the Seven. The music was a savage pounding thing, shot through with lightning and tremors of fear, and the lights melted together to form a scarlet battlefield where a blinding-white Laren fought shadows and the shapes of nightmare. There were seven of them, and they formed a ring around him and darted in and out, stabbing him with lances of absolute black, and Laren answered them with fire and storm. But in the end they overwhelmed him, the light faded, and then the song grew soft and sad again, and the vision blurred as lonely dreaming centuries flashed by.
Hardly had the last notes fallen from the air and the final shimmers died than Laren started once again. A new song this time, and one he did not know so well. His fingers, slim and graceful, hesitated and retraced themselves more than once, and his voice was shaky, too, for he was making up some of the words as he went along. Sharra knew why. For this time he sang of her, a ballad of her quest. Of burning love and endless searching, of worlds beyond worlds, of dark crowns and waiting guardians that fought with claws and tricks and lies. He took every word that she had spoken, and used each, and transformed each. In the bedroom, glittering panoramas formed where hot white suns burned beneath eternal oceans and hissed in clouds of steam, and men ancient beyond time lit rainbows to keep away the dark. And he sang Kaydar, and he sang him true somehow, he caught and drew the fire that had been Sharra’s love and made her believe anew.
But the song ended with a question, the halting finale lingering in the air, echoing, echoing. Both of them waited for the rest, and both knew there was no more. Not yet.
Sharra was crying. “My turn, Laren,” she said. Then: “Thank you. For giving Kaydar back to me.”
“It was only a song,” he said, shrugging. “It’s been a long time since I had a new song to sing.”
Once again he left her, touching her cheek lightly at the door as she stood there with the blanket wrapped around her. Then Sharra locked the door behind him and went from candle to candle, turning light to darkness with a breath. And she threw the towel over a chair and crawled under the blankets and lay a long, long time before drifting off to sleep.
It was still dark when she woke, not knowing why. She opened her eyes and lay quietly and looked around the room, and nothing was there, nothing was changed. Or was there?
And then she saw him, sitting in the chair across the room with his hands locked under his chin, just as he had sat that first time. His eyes steady and unmoving, very wide and dark in a room full of night. He sat very still. “Laren?” she called, softly, still not quite sure the dark form was him.
“Yes,” he said. He did not move. “I watched you last night, too, while you slept. I have been alone here for longer than you can ever imagine, and very soon now I will be alone again. Even in sleep, your presence is a wonder.”
“Oh, Laren,” she said. There was a silence, a pause, a weighing and an unspoken conversation. Then she threw back the blanket, and Laren came to her.
#
Both of them had seen centuries come and go. A month, a moment; much the same.
They slept together every night, and every night Laren sang his songs while Sharra listened. They talked throughout dark hours, and during the day they swam nude in crystalline waters that caught the purple glory of the sky. They made love on beaches of fine white sand, and they spoke a lot of love.
But nothing changed. And finally the time drew near. On the eve of the night before the day that was end, at twilight, they walked together through the shadowed forest where he’d found her.
Laren had learned to laugh during his month with Sharra, but now he was silent again. He walked slowly, clutched her hand hard in his, and his mood was more gray than the soft silk shirt he wore. Finally, by the side of the valley stream, he sat and pulled her down by his side. They took off their boots and let the water cool their feet. It was a warm evening, with a lonely, restless wind, and already you could hear the first of the mourning-birds.
“You must go,” he said, still holding her hand but never looking at her. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” she said, and the melancholy had touched her, too, and there were leaden echoes in her voice.
“My words have all left me, Sharra,” Laren said. “If I could sing for you a vision now, I would. A vision of a world once empty, made full by us and our children. I could offer that. My world has beauty and wonder and mystery enough, if only there were eyes to see it. And if the nights are evil, well, men have faced dark nights before, on other worlds in other times. I would love you, Sharra, as much as I am able. I would try to make you happy.”
“Laren …” she started. But he quieted her with a glance.
“No, I could say that, but I will not. I have no right. Kaydar makes you happy. Only a selfish fool would ask you to give up that happiness to share my misery. Kaydar is all fire and laughter, while I am smoke and song and sadness. I have been alone too long, Sharra. The gray is part of my soul now, and I would not have you darkened. But still …”
She took his hand in both of hers, lifted it, and kissed it quickly. Then, releasing him, she lay her head on his unmoving shoulder. “Try to come with me, Laren,” she said. “Hold my hand when we pass through the gate, and perhaps the dark crown will protect you.”
“I will try anything you ask. But don’t ask me to believe that it will work.” He sighed. “You have countless worlds ahead of you, Sharra, and I cannot see your ending. But it is not here. That I know. And maybe that is best. I don’t know anymore, if I ever did. I remember love vaguely, I think I can recall what it was like, and I remember that it never lasts. Here, with both of us unchanging and immortal, how could we help but to grow bored? Would we hate each other then? I’d not want that.” He looked at her then, and smiled an aching, melancholy smile. “I think that you had known Kaydar for only a short time, to be so in love with him. Perhaps I’m being devious after all. For in finding Kaydar, you may lose him. The fire will go out someday, my love, and the magic will die. And then you may remember Laren Dorr.”