The wind's twelve quarters - vol 2 by Ursula K. Le Guin

time.
    'O
my God,' Guennar the astronomer prayed in the darkness underground, 'how can it
offend you to be praised? All I ever saw in my telescopes was one spark of your
glory, one least fragment of the order of your creation. You could not be
jealous of that, my Lord! And there were few enough who believed me, even so.
Was it my arrogance in daring to describe your works? But how could I help it,
Lord, when you let me see the endless fields of stars? Could I see and be
silent? O my God, do not punish me any more, let me rebuild the smaller
telescope. I will not speak, I will not publish, if it troubles your holy
Church. I will not say anything more about the orbits of the planets or the
nature of the stars. I will not speak, Lord, only let me see!'

'What
the devil, be quiet, Master Guennar. I could hear you halfway up the tunnel,'
said Bord, and the astronomer opened his eyes to the dazzle of Bord's lantern.
'They've called the full hunt up for you. Now you're a necromancer. They swear
they saw you sleeping in your house when they came, and they barred the doors;
but there's no bones in the ashes.'
    'I
was asleep,' Guennar said, covering his eyes. 'They came, the soldiers ... I
should have listened to you. I went into the passage under the dome. I left a
passage there so I could go back to the hearth on cold nights, when it's cold
my fingers get too stiff, I have to go warm my hands sometimes.' He spread out
his blistered, blackened hands and looked at them vaguely. 'Then I heard them
overhead...'
    'Here's
some more food. What the devil, haven't you eaten?'
    'Has
it been long?'
    'A
night and a day. It's night now. Raining. Listen, Master: there's two of the
black hounds living at my house now. Emissaries of the Council, what the devil,
I had to offer hospitality. This is my county, they're here, I'm the count. It
makes it hard for me to come. And I don't want to send any of my people here.
What if the priests asked them, 'Do you know where he is? Will you answer to
God you don't know where he is?' It's best they don't know. I'll come when I
can. You're all right here? You'll stay here? I'll get you out of here and over
the border when they've cleared away. They're like flies now. Don't talk aloud
like that. They might look into these old tunnels. You should go farther in. I
will come back. Stay with God, Master.'
    'Go
with God, count.'
    He
saw the color of Bord's blue eyes, the leap of shadows up the rough-hewn roof
as he took up the lantern and turned away. Light and color died as Bord, at the
turning, put out the lantern. Guennar heard him stumble and swear as he groped
his way.
    Presently
Guennar lighted one of his candles and ate and drank a little, eating the
staler bread first, and breaking off a piece of the crusted lump of
peas-pudding. This time Bord had brought him three loaves and some salt meat,
two more candles and a second skin bottle of water, and a heavy duffle cloak.
Guennar had not felt cold. He was wearing the coat he always wore on cold
nights in the observatory and very often slept in, when he came stumbling to
bed at dawn. It was a good sheepskin, filthy from his rummagings in the
wreckage in the dome and scorched at the sleeve-ends, but it was as warm as
ever, and was like his own skin to him. He sat inside it eating, gazing out
through the sphere of frail yellow candlelight to the darkness of the tunnel
beyond. Bord's words, 'You should go farther in,' were in his mind. When he was
done eating he bundled up the provisions in the cloak, took up the bundle in
one hand and the lighted candle in the other, and set off down the side-tunnel
and then the adit, down and inward.
    After
a few hundred paces he came to a major cross-tunnel, off which ran many short
leads and some large rooms or stopes. He turned left, and presently passed a
big stope in three levels. He entered it. The farthest level was only about
five feet under the roof, which was still well timbered with posts and beams.
In a corner of the