Suldrun looked down along the arcade. "Come."
Through the arches lights twinkled up from Lyonesse Town. The night was warm; the arcades smelled of stone and occasionally a whiff of ammonia, where someone had eased his bladder. At the orangery the fragrance of flower and fruit overcame all else.
Above loomed Haidion, with the glow of candles and lamps outlining its windows.
The door into the East Tower showed as a half-oval of deep shadow.
Suldrun whispered: "Best that you wait here."
"But what if someone comes?"
"Go back to the orangery and wait there." Suldrun pressed the latch and pushed at the great iron and timber door. With a groan it swung open. Suldrun peered through the crack into the Octagon.
She looked back to Aillas. "I'm going in—" From the top of the arcade came the sound of voices and the clatter of footsteps.
Suldrun pulled Aillas into the palace. "Come with me then."
The two crossed the Octagon, which was illuminated by a single rack of heavy candles. To the left an arch opened on the the Long Gallery; stairs ahead rose to the upper levels.
The Long Gallery was vacant for its whole length. From the Respondency came the sound of voices lilting and laughing in gay conversation. Suldrun took Aillas' arm. "Come."
They ran up the stairs and in short order stood outside Suldrun's chambers. A massive lock joined a pair of hasps riveted into stone and wood.
Aillas examined the lock and the door, and gave a few halfhearted twists to the lock. "We can't get in. The door is too strong."
Suldrun took him along the hall to another door, this without a lock. "A bed-chamber, for noble maidens who might be visiting me."
She opened the door, listened. No sound. The room smelled of sachet and unguents, with an unpleasant overtone of soiled garments.
Suldrun whispered: "Someone sleeps here, but she is away at her revels."
They crossed the room to the window. Suldrun eased open the casement. "You must wait here. I've come this way many times when I wanted to avoid Dame Boudetta."
Aillas looked dubiously toward the door. "I hope no one comes in."
"If so, you must hide in the clothes-press, or under the bed. I won't be long." She slid out the window, edged along the wide stone coping to her old chamber. She pushed at the casement, forced it open, then jumped down to the floor. The room smelled of dust and long days of emptiness, in sunlight and rain. A trace of perfume still hung in the air, a melancholy recollection of years gone by, and tears came to Suldrun's eyes.
She went to the chest where she had stored her possessions.
Nothing had been disturbed. She found the secret drawer and pulled it open; within, so her fingers told her, were those oddments and ornaments, precious gems, gold and silver which had come into her possession: mostly gifts from visiting kindred; neither Casmir nor Sollace had showered gifts upon their daughter.
Suldrun tied the valuables into a scarf. She went to the window and bade farewell to the chamber. Never would she set foot in there again: of this she felt certain.
She returned through the window, pulled right the casement and returned to Aillas.
They crossed the dark room, Opened the door a crack, then stepped out into the dim corridor. Tonight, of all nights, the palace was busy; many notables were on hand, and up from the Octagon came the sound of voices and the two could not effect the quick departure upon which they had planned. They looked at each other with wide eyes and pounding hearts.
Aillas uttered a soft curse. "So now: we're trapped."
"No!" whispered Suldrun. "We'll go down the back stairs.
Don't worry; one way or another we'll escape! Come!" They ran light-footed along the corridor, and so began a thrilling game which dealt them a series of frights and startlements and had been no part of their expectations. Here and there they ran, gliding on soft feet along old corridors, dodging from chamber to chamber, shrinking back into shadows, peering around corners: from the Respondency into the Chamber of Mirrors, up a spiral staircase to the old observatory, across the roof into a high parlor, where young noble-folk held their trysts, then down a service stairs to a long back corridor which gave on a musicians' gallery, overlooking the Hall of Honors.
Candles in the wall sconces were alight; the hall had been made ready for a ceremonial event, perhaps later in the evening; now the hall stood empty.
Stairs led down into a closet which gave on the Mauve Parlor, socalled for the mauve silk upholstery of its chairs and couches: a splendid room with ivory and snuff-colored paneling and a vivid emerald green rug. Aillas and Suldrun ran quietly to the door, where they looked out into the Long Gallery, at this moment empty of human occupancy.
"It's not far now," said Suldrun. "First we'll make for the Hall of Honors, then, if no one appears, we'll make for the Octagon and out the door."
With a last look right and left, the two ran to the arched alcove in which hung the doors into the Hall of Honors. Suldrun looked back the way they had come, and clutched Aillas' arm. "Someone came out of the library. Quick, inside."
They slipped through the doors into the Hall of Honors. They stood wide-eyed, face to face, holding their breaths. "Who was it?"
Aillas whispered.
"I think it was the priest Umphred." "Perhaps he didn't see us."
"Perhaps not... If he did he will be sure to investigate. Come; to the back room!" "I see no back room!"
"Behind the arras. Quick! He's just outside the door!" They ran the length of the hall and ducked behind the hanging. Peering through the crack, Aillas saw the far door ease open: slowly, slowly. The portly figure of Brother Umphred was a dark stencil against the lights of the Long Gallery.
For a moment Brother Umphred stood motionless, save for quick shakes of the head. He seemed to give a cluck of puzzlement and came forward into the room, looking right and left.
Suldrun went to the back wall. She found the iron rod and pushed it into the lock-holes.
Aillas asked in astonishment: "What are you doing?"
"Umphred may very well know about this back room. He won't know this other."
The door opened, releasing a suffusion of green-purple light.
Suldrun whispered: "If he comes any closer we'll hide in here."
Aillas, standing by the crack, said, "No. He's turning back...
He's leaving the hall. Suldrun?"
"I'm in here. It's where the king, my father, keeps covert his private magic. Come look!"
Aillas went to the doorway, glanced gingerly right and left.
"Don't be alarmed," said Suldrun. "I've been in here before. The little imp is a skak; he's closed in his bottle. I'm sure he'd prefer freedom, but I fear his spite. The mirror is Persilian; it speaks in season. The cow's horn yields either fresh milk or hydromel, depending upon how one holds it."
Aillas came slowly forward. The skak glared in annoyance. Colored light-motes caught in tubes jerked in excitement. A gargoyle mask hanging high in the shadows turned down a dyspeptic sneer.
Aillas spoke in alarm: "Come! before we fall afoul of these things!"
Suldrun said, "Nothing has ever done me harm. The mirror knows my name and speaks to me!"
"Magic voices are things of bane! Come! We must leave the palace!"
"One moment, Aillas. The mirror has spoken kindly; perhaps it will do so again. Persilian?"
From the mirror came a melancholy voice: "Who calls 'Persilian'?"
"It is Suldrun! You spoke to me before and called me by name. Here is my lover, Aillas!"
Persilian uttered a groan, then sang in a voice deep and plangent, very slowly so that each word was distinct.
Aillas knew a moonless tide; Suldrun saved him death.