"You heard what Vorko said. An you care not for me and other honest magicians, think of Vorko's tyranny, blacker than those of Mulvan, Tarxia, and Metouro combined! But I cannot stop to argue; follow me who will."
The old magician hobbled out the door. After a heartbeat's hesitation, the other two followed him.
The doors of the main ballroom opened to Jorian's vigorous push. Karadur tottered in and down the central aisle between the rows of benches. One of the debaters was on his feet, saying:
"… and if you believe not that the common man be unworthy to be trusted with such fell secrets, let me cite instances of his stupid, swinish conduct from the history of our host country. When the kings of Metouro were overthrown and the Republic established—"
The speaker broke off as he became aware of Karadur, limping down the aisle bareheaded, his eyes glaring.
"Treason!" croaked the old Mulvanian. "A cabal of our members plots to overthrow the governance of this brotherhood and seize all power! Master Rheits, yonder, is gathering the names of the Benefactors, to further this attack! Seize him, an you believe me not—"
As Karadur spoke, Jorian and Vanora started to push through the door after him. As they did so, Boso confronted them. Seeing Jorian first, Boso started to say:
"Apprentices in the balcony for this meeting. Only master magicians down here—"
Then the sergeant-at-arms sighted Vanora. "You!" he barked. His face turned red, and his eyes glared with an insane rage. "You two spend—you spend the night in high diddle, and then you have the nerve —the g-gall—I'll fuff-fix you, strumpet!"
With an inarticulate snarl, he tore out his sword, shouldered Jorian aside, and rushed at Vanora. With a scream, the girl fled back into the main hall.
Torn two ways, Jorian hesitated for a heartbeat. In the ballroom, Karadur seemed to have things well in hand. He poured out his denunciation, while turmoil erupted around him. Several members of the Forces had seized Master Rheits. Jorian turned and ran after Boso.
He came out into the main hall in time to see Vanora vanish up the stair at the end of the hall with Boso in pursuit. After them he went, drawing his own sword—the same long blade be had taken from the sleeping Gending in the Ellornas.
Up he went, flight after flight until he began to pant, at each turn catching a glimpse of those he pursued. Soon he came out on the roof. Low clouds scudded overhead; rain beat slantwise to the flagstones. Lightning flashed, and booms of thunder periodically drowned out the whistle of the wind and the rattle of the rain.
Looking anxiously around, with his left hand up to keep the rain from blinding him, Jorian saw Boso enter the door to one of the two big round towers—the twin keeps—of the castle and slam it behind him. Supping on the wet flags, Jorian ran to the door and tried it; but Boso had shot the heavy bolt inside.
Boso, thought Jorian, would chase Vanora up to the top of this tower and, if he did not catch her there, out across the bridge that joined the two towers and down the spiral stair in the other tower. So he ran back to the base of the other tower, whose door had not been locked.
Entering the other door, he trotted up the stair. As he came out on the roof, he almost collided with Vanora, who, gasping for breath and with her transparent shift clinging wetly to her, arrived at the same moment on the tower top from the bridge. Behind her came Boso, sword and teeth bared.
"Get back down and get help!" Jorian barked at Vanora over his shoulder as he sprang out on the bridge. The wet, gray stones under Jorian's feet vibrated in the gale like a fiddle string.
The structure was not quite so spidery-slender as it looked from below. The footway was four feet wide, and there was a low, crenelated parapet, a little over waist high, on each side. One was not likely to fall off merely from the effects of wind and rain. On the other hand, it would not be hard to fall out of one of the embrasures during a hand-to-hand fight.
The swords met with a whirl and a multiple clang, which was lost in a roar of thunder. The two powerful men stood on the bridge, still panting from their climb and glaring into each other's eyes, cutting, thrusting, and parrying. For an instant they backed off, breathing heavily; then they were at it again, clang-tzing-zip-clang. There was little footwork, because of the limitations of space and the slipperiness of the wet stones.
Their right arms worked like pistons, until Jorian's began to ache. The wind howled and drove the rain scudding almost horizontally. It staggered both fighters so that they had to clutch at the merlons with their free hands for support, even while they hacked and lunged. Lightning glared and thunder boomed.
Jorian found his horseman's blade a little too long for this kind of work, especially since its hilt was too short for both hands. Boso's blade was of about the same length and weight as the sword Randir, now the loot of the cham of the Gendings. The burly ruffian handled it well, whereas Jorian's parries, doubles, and one-twos were a little slow. Boso easily parried them, no matter how complex an attack Jorian launched. On the other hand, Jorian's extra inches of arm and blade kept Boso a little too far away to take advantage of his greater speed of blade. His stout, short-legged build made him too slow on his feet to slip in by a quick advance-lunge to get inside Jorian's guard.
Moreover, Boso had the bad habit of parrying in the obsolete seconde. Jorian swore that, the next time his foe did it, he would double and skewer him properly…
A new sound and sensation made itself felt. This was neither the crash of thunder, nor the whistle of the wind, nor the humming vibration of the bridge. It was a deep rumble, combined with a heavy shaking as of an earthquake. From below came a rising uproar of thumps, rumbles, rattles, clatters, crashes, shrieks, howls, screams, and bellows. Behind Jorian, Vanora screamed:
"The tower is falling!"
Jorian cast a quick look at Boso, who had withdrawn a couple of paces and stood, clutching a merlon with one hand and his sword with the other. The sergeant-at-arms's face was pale, and his hair was wetly plastered to his low forehead.
Jorian risked a backward glance. Vanora stood a couple of strides from him, clutching the merlons of the parapet of the tower.
"Why didn't you go down—" began Jorian, but then the stones lurched under his feet. With a frightful, grinding roar, both towers and the bridge that joined them began to sway outward, over the rain-lashed water of Lake Volkina.
Jorian sprang to the parapet, where the bridge joined the tower top. "Jump as far out as you can!" he yelled.
As he gathered himself to spring, Jorian took one last look at Boso. The latter was not looking at Jorian at all, but at a being that had appeared behind him. One of the merlons of the bridge parapet had burst into pieces. One stone, falling to the footway of the bridge, had changed into the being. Five feet tall and spindle-legged, it had an enormous head, larger than a pumpkin, and a huge, froglike gash of a mouth. It wore no clothes, and its skin had a moist, froglike appearance. It had no visible organs of sex.
That was all that Jorian saw as the towers leant further and further out over the water. He hurled himself out with a mighty bound, felt the wind whistle in his hair and rain in his face—curious, he thought in a flash, that rain should seem to be falling up; but of course he was overtaking the raindrops on their way down. Then he saw the slate-gray water coming up at him. Smack!
He reached the surface, feeling as if a giant had swatted him with a paddle. On either side of him, someone was splashing. As he got the water out of his eyes and regained his breath, he saw that one of these was Vanora, who, unhampered by her negligible costume, was striking out for shore. The other was Boso, ineffectually wallowing and thrashing and trying to choke out the word: "Help!"