"There are Lazarites among them, too. Not many, but a few. You don't know us, you don't know them. Do you want to leave me and go back out and let them have you?"
Hyrst remembered the adder-like face of the young man who had come after him through the shadows. After a long moment he said, "Well. But what are you after?"
"The thing that MacDonald was killed for, fifty years ago."
Hyrst said, "The Titanite? They said it hadn't ever been found. But how it could have remained hidden so long—"
"I want you," Shearing said, "to tell me all about how MacDonald died. Everything you can remember."
Hyrst asked eagerly, "You think we can find out who killed him? After all this time? God, if we could—my son—"
"Quiet, Hyrst. Go ahead and tell me. Not in words. Just remember what happened, and I'll get it."
Yet, by sheer lifetime habit, Hyrst could not remember without first putting it into words in his own mind, as they two sat in the cold, whispering darkness.
"There were four of us out there on Titan, you must already know that. And only four—"