“Because I did not know what to expect. The spell I cast over each soldier and each of the belfries was general in nature, a protection against whatever form Incarnadine’s magic would take. I could not predict the form, though of late I have dreamt of fire. But I have dreamt of other things too. I cannot see the future. That is not a power of mine. Would that it were. No, the spell was general, which was why it was so difficult to effect. Neither was I sure that it would work. But it did, as you can see.”
Vorn watched his men remount the belfries. The flames were weaker now, and had turned dull red.
Melydia had turned her gaze up to the keep.
“He holds back,” she said. “Still he does not tap his deepest source of power.” Her voice was a murmur. “Perhaps he is afraid. Afraid of me. Of himself. Afraid …”
She swayed, put her palm to her forehead.
“The spell of stamina. It is almost gone.… Vorn, I —”
He caught her as she fell, and picked her up. She lay across his arms like a limp doll.
The pattern, its arcane geometries defying the eye with their complexity, was fading. At the height of the spell it had glowed blue-white and had emitted great heat, so much that Incarnadine could barely approach it to complete the last lines. Now it had reverted to dull red, its power quickly ebbing. Incarnadine stepped up to it again and traced across it the Stroke of Cancellation.
With a hiss like molten metal quenched in water, the pattern disappeared.
Shed of his cloak, his undertunic untied and open across his chest, dripping with sweat, Incarnadine came to the rail.
He saw, and he understood.
He grew aware that Tyrene still awaited his orders. He turned.
Tyrene began, “My lord —”
“The castle has fallen,” Incarnadine told him. “Not yet, but soon. You will withdraw your men to the keep, fighting only those rearguard actions necessary to protect lives.”
Tyrene was appalled. “My lord!”
“Hear me. Once in the keep, you will offer only enough resistance to delay its fall for three days. Thereafter, order your men to disperse through whatever aspects they choose. Do not leave the wounded behind. Do not let anyone be taken prisoner. Order your men to abandon their positions before being overrun. Above all, let no more lives be lost. We have lost too many.”
Tyrene was almost in tears. “Yes, my lord.” Fumblingly he put his helmet back on. “What about the Guests?”
“I will see to them.”
“Yes, my lord.” He stepped forward. “My lord, I —”
“Go, Tyrene.”
Tyrene left.
He waved the simulacrum to a closer view of the outer curtain wall, then focused it even closer … closer still.
There was Vorn. And there was Melydia, in his arms. The prince looked lost, helpless. Strange mien for a victor.
He waved the scene still closer. Melydia’s face, blurred by the great distance across which the simulacrum fetched its image, took form below, bigger than life. She looked calm.
“You do not sleep, Melydia, my darling,” he said, “though your eyes are closed. You do not rest. You will not — until you have destroyed this castle … and me.”
He regarded her for a moment, remembering.
Then, a wide sweep of his hand, and the simulacrum was gone. The vast stone floor below lay bare.
“So be it,” he said, walking away.
Keep — East Wing — Armory
“Hey, you look great,” Gene said as Linda came out of the storeroom.
“Thanks. You really like it?”
“Sure.”
Linda twirled once. She had chosen not to go around attired as most women did in this world, in long gowns and coif. Instead she had picked an outfit more befitting a teenage boy. It was composed of a yellow long-sleeved undertunic, a brown overtunic with a hood-collar and pleated sleeves to the elbow, tan hose and brown soft-leather boots to mid-calf. The hem of the overtunic rode high on her thighs.
“It’s a little too short,” she said. “My rear end sticks out a little.”
“Well, that’s not necessarily bad.”
She laughed. “Maybe not.” She touched the scabbard of the dagger hanging on her narrow leather belt. “This thing,” she said, “is not me at all.”
Gene withdrew his sword (one-handed, double-edged, broad-bladed and cross-hilted) halfway from its sheath. “This isn’t exactly my métier either.”
“Your uniform looks nice.”
“Thanks.”
Gene had taken a Guard’s uniform, minus the chain mail, which he had found inhibitingly heavy. Over his red undertunic he wore a black leather jerkin with winglike leather shoulder flaps. The front of the jerkin was covered with silver studs. The rest of the outfit consisted of black padded breeches, red hose, and high black boots.
“Actually, it’s kind of kinky. I feel like a gay medieval Nazi.”
Snowclaw came back from relieving himself in a privy down the hall. “Hey, Gene, you look like a gay medieval Nazi.”
They laughed.
Gene did a take. “Hey, you said that in English.”
“I heard you. You can turn off the running translation if you listen closely. Funny language, Englitch.”
“English.”
“Whatever. I’m having a little trouble with Nazi, but medieval comes out to mean ‘middle years’.”
“Close.”
“Yeah. Are Nazis usually happy?”
“Happy? Oh. That’s not what I meant … Uh, forget it.”
“Anything you say.” Snowclaw scratched his stomach. “When’s lunch?”
“You hungry? I’m not. Kinda stuffed myself at breakfast. Which should have been supper for me.” Gene yawned. “I’m tired, myself.”
Linda said, “I could use a bite to eat. Do you want to go back to the dining room?”
“That won’t do me much good, actually,” Snowclaw said. “I didn’t care for that stuff much. I wish I could find someplace to hunt.”
“Rawenna — that’s my maid — said that if you want —”
“Oh, we have a maid, do we?” Gene twitted.
“All us noblewomen do, didn’t you know? What I was saying, Snowclaw, was that if you need special food, you just have to tell the cook and he’ll whip up a spell or two and give you what you want.”
“Yeah? Magic, huh?”
“Pretty much. All that food upstairs was created by hocus-pocus. Leastways, that’s what Jacoby told me.”
“The guy who looks like Sidney Greenstreet?” Gene asked.
“Is that who he looks like?”
“Only shorter.”
“Hm. Well, that’s what he said.”
“Look, why don’t you try whipping up something for you and Snowclaw?”
“Me whip up something. Huh?”
“Yeah. Materialization. Isn’t that what you have, what you can do?”
“Whoa, there. Valiums are one thing —”
“Why should Valiums be one thing?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you try it, Linda? An experiment. I mean, this magic stuff is really fascinating.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Seriously.”
Linda threw up her hands. “Where?Here? ”
“Anywhere. On this thing.”
Gene cleared helmets and other accouterments off a small table.
Linda looked at it.
“Well,” Gene said.
“ ‘Well’ what?”
“Do your thing.”
Linda was annoyed. “Really.”
“No, come on, Linda. You can do it.”
“This is so insane.”
“Seriously. Go ahead.”
“Oh, shit. All right.”
“Think of food.”
Linda closed her eyes. “I’m thinking of food. What kind of food am I thinking of?”