And out of that
spinning blur there came a subtle weaving of threads of darkness, a
gossamer curtain winding around Ciara and Balin so that their outlines
grew ghostly and the pallor of their flesh was as the pallor of snow at
night.

And still Stark could not move.

The veil of darkness began to sparkle faintly. Stark watched it, watched
the chill motes brighten, watched the tracery of frost whiten over
Ciara's mail, touch Balin's dark hair with silver.

Frost. Bright, sparkling, beautiful, a halo of frost around their
bodies. A dust of splintered diamond across their faces, an aureole of
brittle light to crown their heads.

Frost. Flesh slowly hardening in marbly whiteness, as the cold slowly
increased. And yet their eyes still lived, and saw, and understood.

The thought-voice of the seven spoke again.

"You have only minutes now to decide! Their bodies cannot endure too
much, and live again. Behold their eyes, and how they suffer!

"Only minutes, human! Take away the sword of Ban Cruach! Open for us the
Gates of Death, and we will release these two, alive."

Stark felt again the flashing stab of pain along his nerves, as one of
the shining creatures moved behind him. Life and feeling came back into
his limbs.

He struggled to his feet. The hundreds of the ice-folk on the bridges
and galleries watched him in an eager silence.

He did not look at them. His eyes were on Ciara's. And now, her eyes
pleaded.

"Don't, Stark! Don't barter the life of the Norlands for me!"

The thought-voice beat at Stark, cutting into his mind with cruel
urgency.

"Hurry, human! They are already beginning to die. Take away the sword,
and let them live!"

Stark turned. He cried out, in a voice that made the icy bridges
tremble:

"I will take the sword!"

He staggered out, then. Out through the archway, across the ice, toward
the distant cairn that blocked the Gates of Death.

IX

Across the glowing ice of the valley Stark went at a stumbling run that
grew swifter and more sure as his cold-numbed body began to regain its
functions. And behind him, pouring out of the tower to watch, came the
shining ones.

They followed after him, gliding lightly. He could sense their
excitement, the cold, strange ecstasy of triumph. He knew that already
they were thinking of the great towers of stone rising again above the
Norlands, the crystal cities still and beautiful under the ice, all
vestige of the ugly citadels of ma