“Smoke?” Belgarath asked.
Feldegast shook his head. “Bats,” he replied. “Thousands of the little beasties. They be comin’ out of the towers in great black clouds.”
“Bats?” Ce’Nedra exclaimed, her hands going instinctively to her hair.
“It’s not uncommon,” Polgara told her. “Bats need protected places to nest in, and a ruin or an abandoned place is almost ideal for them.”
“But they’re so ugly!” Ce’Nedra declared with a shudder.
“ ’Tis only a flyin’ mouse, me little darlin’,” Feldegast told her.
“I’m not fond of mice, either.”
“’Tis a very unforgivin’ woman ye’ve married, young Master,” Feldegast said to Garion, “brim-full of prejudices an’ unreasonable dislikes.”
“More important, did you see any lights coming from inside?” Belgarath asked.
“Not so much as a glimmer, Ancient One, but the house be large, an’ there be chambers inside which have no windows. Torak was unfond of the sun, as ye’ll recall.”
“Let’s move around through the woods until we’re closer to this sally port of yours,” the old man suggested, “before the light goes entirely ”
They stayed back from the edge of the trees as they circled around the clearing with the great black house in its center. The last light was beginning to fade from the cloud-covered sky as they cautiously peered out from the edge of the woods.
“I can’t quite make out the sally port,” Silk murmured, peering toward the house.
“ ’Tis partially concealed,” Feldegast told him. “If ye give ivy the least bit of a toehold, it can engulf a whole buildin’ in a few hundred years. Quiet yer fears, Prince Kheldar. I know me way, an’ I kin find the entrance t’ the House of Torak on the blackest of nights.”
“The Hounds are likely to be patrolling the area around here after dark, aren’t they?” Garion said. He looked at Sadi. “I hope you didn’t use up all of your powder back there.”
“There’s more than enough left, Belgarion.” The eunuch smiled, patting his pouch. “A light dusting at the entrance to Master Feldegast’s sally port should insure that we won’t be disturbed once we’re inside.”
“What do you think?” Durnik asked, squinting up at the dark sky.
“It’s close enough,” Belgarath grunted. “I want to get inside.”
They led their horses across the weed-choked clearing until they reached the looming wall.
“’Tis this way just a bit,” Feldegast said in a low voice as he began to feel his way along the rough black stones of the wall.
They followed him for several minutes, guided more by the faint rustling sound of his feet among the weeds than by sight.
“An’ here we are, now,” Feldegast said with some satisfaction. It was a low, arched entrance in the wall, almost totally smothered in ivy and brambles. Durnik and the giant Toth, moving slowly to avoid making too much noise, pulled the obstructing vines aside to allow the rest of them and the horses to enter. Then they followed, pulling the vines back in place once again to conceal the entrance.
Once they were inside, it was totally dark, and there was the musty smell of mildew and fungus. “May I borrow yer flint an’ steel an’ tinder again, Goodman Durnik?” Feldegast whispered. Then there was a small clinking sound, followed by a rapid clicking accompanied by showers of glowing sparks as Feldegast, kneeling so that his body concealed even those faint glimmers, worked with Durnik’s flint and steel. After a moment, he blew on the tinder, stirring a tiny flame to life. There was another clink as he opened the front of a square lantern he had taken from a small niche in the wall.
“Is that altogether wise?” Durnik asked doubtfully as the juggler lighted the candle stub inside the lantern and returned the flint and steel.
“’Tis a well-shielded little bit of a light, Goodman,” Feldegast told him, “an’ it be darker than the inside of yer boots in this place. Trust me in this, fer I kin keep it so well concealed that not the tiniest bit of a glow will escape me control.”
“Isn’t that what they call a burglar’s lantern?” Silk asked curiously.
“Well, now.” Feldegast’s whisper sounded slightly injured. “I don’t know that I’d call it that, exactly. ’Tis a word that has an unsavory ring t’ it.”
“Belgarath,” Silk chuckled softly. “I think your friend here has a more checkered past than we’ve been led to believe. I wondered why I liked him so much.”
Feldegast had closed down the tin sides of his little lantern, allowing only a single, small spot of light feebly to illuminate the floor directly in front of his feet. “Come along, then,” he told them. “The sally port goes back a way under the wall here, an’ then we come t’ the grate that used t’ close it off. Then it makes a turn t’ the right an’ a little farther on, another t’ the left, an’ then it comes out in the courtyard of the house.”
“Why so many twists and turns?” Garion asked him.
“’Torak was a crooked sort, don’t y’ know. I think he hated straight lines almost as much as he hated the sun.”
They followed the faint spot of light the lantern cast.
Leaves had blown in through the entrance over the centuries to lie in a thick, damp mat on the floor, effectively muffling the sounds of their horses’ hooves.
The grate that barred the passageway was a massively constructed crisscross of rusty iron. Feldegast fumbled for a moment with the huge latch, then swung it clear. “An’ now, me large friend,” he said to Toth, “we’ll be havin’ need of yer great strength here. The gate is cruel let me warn ye, an’ the hinges be so choked with rust that they’ll not likely yield easily.” He paused a moment. “An’ that reminds me—ah, where have me brains gone? We’ll be needin’ somethin’ t’ mask the dreadful squeakin’ when ye swing the grate open.” He looked back at the others. “Take a firm grip on the reins of yer horses,” he warned them, “fer this is likely t’ give ’em a bit of a turn.”
Toth place his huge hands on the heavy grate, then looked at the juggler.
“Go!” Feldegast said sharply, then he lifted his face and bayed, his voice almost perfectly imitating the sound of one of the great Hounds prowling outside, even as the slowly swung the grate open on shrieking hinges.
Chretienne snorted and shied back from the dreadful howl, but Garion held his reins tightly.
“Oh, that was clever,” Silk said in quiet admiration.
“I have me moments from time to time,” Feldegast admitted. “With all the dogs outside raisin’ their awful caterwallin’, ’tis certain that one more little yelp won’t attract no notice, but the squealin’ of them hinges could have been an altogether different matter.”
He led them on through the now-open grate and on along the dank passageway to a sharp right-hand turn. Somewhat farther along, the passage bent again to the left. Before he rounded that corner, the juggler closed down his lantern entirely, plunging them into total darkness. “We be approachin’ the main court now,” he whispered to them. “ ‘Tis the time for silence an’ caution, fer if there be others in the house, they’ll be payin’ a certain amount of attention t’ be sure that no one creeps up on ’em. There be a handrail along the wall there, an’ I think it might be wise t’ tie the horses here. Their hooves would make a fearful clatter on the stones of the court, an’ we’ll not be wantin’ t’ ride them up an’ down the corridors of this accursed place.”
Silently they tied the reins of their mounts to the rusty iron railing and then crept on quiet feet to the turn in the passageway. There was a lessening of the darkness beyond the turn—not light, certainly, but a perceptible moderation of the oppressive gloom. And then they watched the inside entrance to the sally port and looked out across the broad courtyard toward the looming black house beyond. There was no discernible grace to the construction of that house. It rose in blocky ugliness almost as if the builders had possessed no understanding of the meaning of the word beauty, but had striven instead for a massive kind of arrogance to reflect the towering Pride of its owner.