It finished with the owl-face as Bragi and Mocker considered how best to escape, began slithering from the pentagram, writhing like a cat getting through a small hole.
"Self," said Mocker, "am of opinion any place elsewhere is better than here."
"Where's here?" Ragnarson asked. "Maybe I could figure where I'm going if I knew where I'm starting."
"Friend Bear doesn't want to know," Mocker replied.
"Bullfeathers. If you know, tell me."
Mocker shrugged. "Are in small quill of Shinsan poked through cloth of universe into Ruderin. Are in two places at same time, Ruderin valley and small frontier castle in Pillars of Ivory on Shinsan border with Sendelin Steppe. Could be long walk home if luck turns bad."
"Turns bad?" Ragnarson snorted. "Can't be worse than it is." The darkness still confined had grown visibly smaller. "I vote we walk while we talk."
The darkness chose that moment to strike. They managed to evade it and flee.
The flight was an eon of fear, of oxygen-starved lungs and already punished muscles refusing to be tortured more but going on all the same. Always close behind was a snakelike black tendril.
Something came hurtling at them. Ragnarson grabbed it, Mocker stabbed it, and together they sacrificed it to the tendril. Only after the darkness began surrounding it did they see that it was another of the old sorcerer's servants.
Chance eventually brought them back to the point where their flight had begun. The demon had evacuated the chamber completely. The uproar it had caused echoed from corridors opening on the room.
Feeling momentarily secure, Ragnarson prowled round the throne. "Hey," he said suddenly. "I think I've found a way out." He had noticed that, from a certain angle, he could vaguely discern a rectangle of darkness that obscured the black pillars and walls behind it. It seemed the same size as the curtain they had plunged into getting here.
"Self, would be grateful for same," said Mocker. "Magic binding two localities together is unraveling."
For some time there had been a gentle trembling in the floor. Ragnarson hadn't paid it any heed, thinking it the demon rumbling around. "What if?..."
"If fool-headed venturers don't find exit, then long walk home from Shinsan for same," Mocker replied.
"Here, then. Looks like the way we came in." He ran at the rectangle. The whirling, kaleidoscopic sensations returned. After a stench-filled eternity he stepped into the corridor where they had originally been entrapped. Mocker appeared an instant behind him.
They were still trapped.
"Make yourself comfortable," said Ragnarson, sitting with his back to a wall and his sword across his lap. "I'm not going back through that."
"Self, would prefer dying in west, too," said Mocker. "Though in Ruderin back country of own stupidity? Not even battle to end heroic life with heroic death, lots of witnesses to final bravery? Woe!"
Stone grumbled around them. Dust fell from the ceiling.
"Sounds bad," said Ragnarson.
"Crushed to death. Ignominious end for great mind. Am fool. Friend should have pointed out same, dragged fat idiot to camp kicking and screaming if needful."
"Is the light getting weaker?"
"Verity. Magicks devolving. Portal to Shinsan weakening also."
Indeed it was, getting fluttery around the edges and occasionally showing a swift-running shot of color.
"Maybe we can get out. If the place don't fall down first."
"Maybe so."
The curtain winked out of existence. They found themselves staring into the startled faces of several mercenaries. "Ghosts!" one cried.
"Boo!" said Mocker, then cackled madly. "Out of way. Everybody's out of way before very important head, head of self, gets mashed by falling castle."
Fifteen minutes later they were astride their mounts, atop a hill, watching the castle collapse. Fogs of darkness engulfed its base, darkness untouched by the morning sun. A plume of that blackness, like smoke, rose against the dawn and bent its head eastward. The destruction proceeded in unnatural silence.
"Going home," said Mocker.
"We'll hear from them again," Ragnarson replied.
Tarlson and Blackfang, who had been working round the rim of the valley, arrived. "You're lucky I mentioned the castle to the guide," said Eanred. "He said there wasn't any such place, so I scared up a rescue party."
"I'm grateful," said Ragnarson.
They talked at some length. When Ragnarson mentioned the winged man, Tarlson grew silent and withdrawn.
ii) Passage to Ravelin
The march to the Altean ferry was disconcerting. A regiment of Anstokin infantry paced them along the Ruderin border, making no overt moves but slowing their progress by forcing them to remain battle-ready. Crossing the River Scarlotti while Anstokin's force maneuvered nearby was a laborious business that took two days.
Tarlson grew jumpy as a cat. Still there were no messages from Kavelin, just rumors relayed by Altean officers. Those were not good. Skirmishing had broken out all over the kingdom. The Queen still held Vorgreberg, but the populace were being whipped up by a dozen propagandists.' Lord Breitbarth, a cousin of the dead King and the strongest pretender, was assembling a major force at Damhorst, near the Kavelin-Altean border, where Ragnarson was expected to cross. Damhorst lay on the great eastern trade route, which linked Vorgreberg with the Altean capital and the coastal city-kingdoms.
Ragnarson, too, grew concerned at the paucity of news. He had expected to hear from Haroun by now. All he knew was what he had coaxed from the Alteans. One went so far as to loan him a map of the border country, a violation of his orders. Though Kendel, Ruderin, and Altea covertly supported bin Yousif's scheme, openly none could do more than grant passage to mercenaries. There was a point, Ragnarson saw while studying the map, where the borders of Anstokin, Volstokin, Kavelin and Altea all came together. It was hilly country, almost without roads.
"What I'm thinking about," said Ragnarson, meeting with Blackfang, Kildragon, and Tarlson, "is following the highway to this town, Staake, so it looks like I'm committed to it. Then I'll abandon the wagons, make a night march north, and enter Kavelin through the hills above this Lake Berberich. I'll swing around and take Breitbarth in the flank. Assuming he's surprised. Mocker'11 let us know."
Mocker had vanished at the ferry.
Tarlson paced, mumbled, shook his head. "Your men are green. They won't stand up to it."
"Maybe not. Now's a good time to find out. I've never had much use for positional warfare."
"Bin Yousif's influence."
Bragi studied Tarlson thoughtfully. How much did he know? Or suspect? '"Possibly. I've followed his career."
"As you said when we met, it's your command. I'll help any way I can."
"What I want is guides. Scouts. Woodsmen for outrunners."
"That's Marena Dimura country. They're touchy-people. They could go either way."
"How do they stand on Breitbarth?"
"They'd like his head. He hunts them like animals."
"Lesser of two evils, then. Ride over and sign them up. Promise them Breitbarth if we catch him."
"A noble? You'd buy those savages with the life of a noble?"
"J ust another man to me." He was puzzled by Tarlson's incredulity. Eanred didn't hold the Nordmen in high esteem. "I'm not one of your Kaveliner chevaliers. War's serious business. I fight to win."
"But you'll unite the Nordmen against you."
"They're unanimous already: the Queen, my employer, has to go. They're all against me anyway." He felt like saying more, but held his tongue. They might be enemies some day.
"All right. I'll go."
Reliable news awaited them at Staake, little of it good. None had come before because Baron Breitbarth had intercepted all the messengers. But one of Tarlson's men finally reached Ragnarson.