It hadn't snowed after all. Instead, the skies had cleared at sunset and the temperature had dropped bitterly. Without a fire, or Seregil to share warmth with, as they'd had to the past few days, he was chilled to the bone. And worried.
The lights in the keep had gone out ages ago and he was beginning to worry that she'd either been caught, or was too scared to come for him. Or had gone to sleep in a warm bed and forgotten her promise to come for him.
But he held his position and finally heard the soft patter of footsteps somewhere beyond the wall. A moment later Stamie inched the postern door open and waved him in. Moving with exaggerated caution, she led him in through the kitchen to a dark pantry.
"I'll come down again before the others wake," she whispered ecstatically, pressing his hand to the bosom of her shift. "Oh, I can't wait to be free of this place!"
Alec felt ribs jutting beneath the coarse fabric, and the rapid tripping of her heart. Determined to play his role better, he took her in his arms.
Kissing her just below the left ear, he whispered an endearment Seregil had suggested. The girl gave a shiver and pressed closer.
"Where's your room?" he whispered.
She giggled softly. "In the servant's attic, you naughty pup! I sleep at the foot of Aunt's bed."
"Have you a window to watch the sky?"
"There's a dormer just over me. I'll prop the shutter open."
"Come to me when the stars begin to fade."
"When the stars fade," the girl breathed. Giving him a last squeeze, she hurried off.
Alec stayed put for a time, fearing she'd find some pretense to come back. The wait was hardly an onerous one; after two days without a fire, even the warmth of a banked hearth was something to be grateful for.
The pantry also smelled wonderfully of smoked meats. It was too dark to see, but his groping hand soon found a rope of hard sausage.
Creeping out at last, he spied a long shawl hanging on a peg by the kitchen door. Throwing it on for a bit of extra camouflage, he tiptoed out to the postern and unbolted it. Seregil slipped in with their swords and Alec bolted the door after him.
Safely in the kitchen, Seregil eyed Alec's makeshift disguise and wrinkled his nose.
"You been eating garlic, gramma?"
"There's a nice bit of sausage, if you want some." Alec said returning the shawl to its peg.
"Take off your boots," whispered Seregil.
"Bare feet are quieter still for this sort of work. Don't forget your dagger, though. We need it."
Leaving their boots out of sight behind a row of cider casks, they padded off in the direction of the main hall.
The stairways of the keep were contained in the towers, so as to be easily defensible in case of attack. It was the southeast they wanted, and they soon found a narrow passageway in that direction.
An archway at the far end let into a small antechamber. Using the lightstone, they found a heavy oak door at the back. Seregil lifted the latch ring and eased it open.
Inside, they found a small, windowless landing. The back of the tiny chamber and what must have been the stairwell was completely blocked by broken stone and dusty, shattered. Alec took a step in, then froze in terror as a light, eerie caress stroked along his cheek. The touch came again, accompanied this time by a low moan and a chill draft of air.
"The ghost!" Alec's voice came out a strangled whisper.
"Ghost, eh?" Seregil waved his hand in the air above his head, then held it to the lightstone for Alec to see. Long black filaments, fine as spider web, hung tangled from his fingers.
"There's your ghost-black silk combed fine and hung in a draft. As soon as I heard Stamie's tale of ghostly touches I suspected as much."
"But the cold draft?"
"We're in the stronghold of master masons, Alec. There are tiny air channels somewhere in the walls here. They let in drafts from outside and those mysterious moans are the sound of it. We'll need to be very careful here."
"What about magic?"
"That's one thing we probably don't have to worry about. If Kassarie's really a Leran, then she'd never stoop to using the unnatural methods of the hated Aurлnfaie. But there will be traps, killing traps, and we'd damn well better not get cocky."
A careful search found no sign of any secret openings or traps.
"Looks like we'll have to look elsewhere for our entrance," muttered Seregil.
"But where?"
"Upstairs, I think."
Alec looked over at the pile of rubble. "How could there be anything above us? Look at this! The whole inside of the tower must have been destroyed."
"Yet from the outside it appears that just one side of the top of the tower was broken; it shouldn't have done this kind of damage."
"You mean this mess is just a trick, a fake?"
"Either that or I'm completely wrong." Seregil grinned crookedly. "But why leave the tower broken unless there was some reason?"
"So we go up?"
"We go up."
"Micum! Come here!"
Snapping awake, Micum groped for the lightstone under his pillow. The room—Seregil's old apprentice chamber—"
empty, but Nysander's anxious voice seemed to hang on the air.
Pulling on his breeches, Micum hurried down the corridor to the wizard's bedchamber. Nysander was dressed already in his old traveling coat and breeches; his face was dark with concern.
Micum felt a sudden coldness in his innards.
"What's happened?"
"We must go at once!" Nysander replied, throwing on his cloak. "They are in some terrible danger, or were—I pray Illior it was a premonition and not a seeing vision."
"Of what?" demanded Micum. "What did you see, Nysander?"
Nysander's hands shook as he yanked his cloak strings closed."Falling. I felt them falling. And I heard them scream."
Seregil and Alec crept up the northeast tower stairs to the second floor of the keep and found the door unbarred, though there were brackets set on both sides of the jamb. Covering their lights, they took a cautious peek at what lay beyond.
It was dark here, but there was the feel of open space around them. From somewhere nearby came the buzz and rumble of assorted snores, though it was difficult to judge exactly where the sleepers might be. As their eyes adjusted, they could make out a dim light faintly illuminating a broad archway in a far wall. The acrid smell of a forge, mingled with the tang of metal and oil, suggested that the room was an armory or smithy.
Seregil found Alec's wrist and squeezed it, silently directing him to follow the wall to their left.
This direction proved fruitless, however. There was a door into the ruined tower, but a heavy forge had been set up in front of it. Returning to the other tower, they made their way up to the top floor.
At the top of the stairs they inched the door open and saw a long corridor. Some distance away, a night lamp hung at what appeared to be a juncture with another corridor. By its light they could see that the walls were richly frescoed in the latest style, and that the floors were inset with polished mosaics. Somewhere behind one of the many carved doors that lined the corridor lay their enemy.
Stealing up to the night lamp, they found that this upper story was laid out in four quarters, divided by two diagonal corridors that ran between opposing towers.
The corridors looked very much alike, including the doors, frescoes, and patterned floor. Three, including the one they'd come up, ended at tower doors. At the end of the southeast, however, the wall was covered from floor to ceiling with a large tapestry.
As hoped, the hanging concealed another door to the ruined tower and this one had been fitted with a heavy lock. Signing for Alec to hold back the tapestry and keep watch, Seregil began a careful inspection. The ornate mechanism was tarnished, but it smelled of oil, as did the heavy door hinges. Running a finger over the lower hinge, Seregil sniffed at it, then held it under Alec's nose. The boy grinned, understanding at once; why maintain the door to a ruined tower so carefully?