The clear space had slightly hazy edges and had appeared just above the place where Rye’s hand pressed against the back of the piano.
The hand that held the light crystal! Rye’s heart gave a great thud.
“Well, Hass?” the sandy-haired man demanded, slamming his tankard down. “Do you know it or don’t you?”
“I know that’s the story,” Hass growled, looking back at him. “What I doubt is that it’s true. Why should this Lord of Shadows in the west be Verlain? Verlain left Dorne centuries ago. He’s surely dead by now.”
“Why should he be?” Shim asked. “Olt’s the older brother, and he’s alive, isn’t he?”
“Only by foul means — and the Gifting is the latest and foulest of all.”
“Well, if Olt’s found a way, the other has, too. They’re both great sorcerers — and half Fellan, remember!”
“Maybe,” Hass admitted reluctantly. “But even if Verlain lives — even if he and the Lord of Shadows are one and the same — why should he be a threat to us? There are plenty of other lands to conquer — much greater, richer lands, too. Why should he care a straw about Dorne after so long?”
“Oh, he cares,” Shim said, his freckled face very grim. “He doesn’t forget, any more than Olt does. He’s out there, full of hate, and he’s grown very powerful. By the stars, man, how can you doubt it? You’ve heard the sailors’ stories!”
Hass snorted. “You’re mad if you believe sailors’ tales. They’ll tell you about sunken singing islands, and people that are half fish, and dragons that speak, and great ghost bells that ring when death approaches a ship … they’ll tell you anything!”
“That’s as may be,” Shim said earnestly, “but the Lord of Shadows is real enough. What’s more, nothing has been heard of him since his defeat in the Land of Dragons, where by all reports he was repelled by a magic more powerful than his own.”
“And what’s that to us?” Hass demanded.
“He’s angry, Hass!” cried the other, forgetting to keep his voice down. “He was cheated of what he dearly wanted. Wouldn’t that turn his mind back to Dorne, the place that first rejected him?”
Hass drained his tankard and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, shaking his head in disgust.
“It’s true!” Shim persisted, leaning across the table. “For all we know, his spies are among us now! And what about the other brother? The youngest? He’s been exiled from Oltan, maybe, and we were all told to forget his very name, but everyone knows he’s still in Dorne.”
“He swore to stay away. He wouldn’t —”
“He might do anything! Seven years is a long time to be freezing your rear end off on a windy cliff when you’re used to the good life. He might have sent word to Verlain that Olt is weakening and near to death. For all we know, Hass, Verlain’s warships are waiting out of sight on the other side of the island this very moment, in the hope that the Gifting will fail!”
Rye stiffened. The movement was slight, but it was enough to make him lose his balance. The hand clutching the crystal slipped, and as the magic window vanished, his head and shoulder hit the back of the piano, which jangled softly.
“That’s no clink!” Shim exclaimed. “Someone’s spying on us!”
There was a scrape and a thump as he jumped up. In two strides, he had reached the piano and was peering behind it.
His furious face stared in at Rye. Rye waited, dry-mouthed, to be seized by the collar and dragged out into the light.
But to his amazement, this did not happen. Shim seemed to be looking straight through him.
“Well, what is it?” Hass called impatiently.
Shim made a puzzled face, rubbed his stubbly chin, then backed away, out of Rye’s sight.
“There’s no one there,” Rye heard him say. “I could have sworn I heard a thud — a jingling sort of thud. I must have been imagining things.”
“No,” Hass rumbled. “I heard it, too. We’ll see about this!”
Again a bench scraped. And the next moment, a big hand was pulling the piano away from the corner, exposing Rye to the whole room.
Rye crouched against the wall, not daring to move as Hass frowned down at him. But then the man’s eyes slid over and past him without the slightest change of expression.
“Hoy!” the woman behind the bar shouted. “Hass! What are you playing at?”
By now, every face in the room had turned in Rye’s direction. Everyone seemed to be looking at him.
But plainly, no one could see him, any more than Hass and Shim could.
I am invisible, Rye thought, his heart thudding wildly. I am actually …
Slowly, very slowly for fear of making some tiny sound that might alert Hass, he lifted his hand to touch the silky hood that covered his head.
The hood was the cause of the miracle — of course, it had to be! Somehow, though it actually covered only part of him, its power veiled him completely.
“Push that piano back where it belongs, you villain!” the woman at the bar shouted, shaking her fist at Hass, only half in fun. “And if you’ve damaged it, there’ll be trouble! That was my gran’s, that piano!”
“Sorry, Mag!” Shim called hastily, his face reddening. “We thought we heard a clink.”
The woman looked outraged. “A clink?” she snapped. “There are no filthy clinks in my tavern!”
The fishermen at the tables and at the bar laughed and turned back to their conversations. Hass, looking sullen, pushed the piano back into its proper place with the scarlet-faced Shim hovering around him, trying to help.
But by that time, Rye had slid silently out of the dusty corner and was halfway to the door.
It was growing dark as Rye walked quietly up the rocky track that led to the fortress gate. Looking down, he could see that the tide had overtaken the great flat-topped rock. The ominous iron rings and the remains of the Gifters’ cart were hidden under foaming water. The walkway was deserted. The serpents had gone.
Rye could have made the climb in moments if he had used the magic ring. But he had not used the ring. He knew that he must not make a sound, or set a stone falling, in case he betrayed his presence.
People were still milling around near the metal net fence, but he had threaded his way through them unseen. He moved up the track in the same way. Softly, disturbing nothing, like a ghost.
He had no idea of what he was going to do when he reached his goal. Light-headed with hunger and shock, he just walked, watching his feet. His mind was wholly occupied with the wonders of the crystal and the hood, and what Dirk would say about them when he saw them.
To be able to see through solid objects! To be able to make yourself invisible! No two powers could be so perfectly suited to a rescue. For the first time, Rye genuinely rejoiced that the little bag had come into his possession. Whoever it had been meant for could surely not have needed it more than he did now.
He had no plan, but when at last he reached the barred gate, he found he did not need one. The hood, and lucky chance, made his way easy.
Two solidly built middle-aged soldiers armed with swords were guarding the gateway. They stood rigidly at attention but looked tired and irritable. Rye could almost feel their longing to sit down, put away their weapons, and take off their boots.
As he hovered in front of them, trying to think of a way to trick them into opening the gate, there was the sound of marching feet in the courtyard, and the iron bars began to rise.
“About time, too!” the stouter of the two guards muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “The night guards should have been here half an hour ago.”
“They may not be coming even now, Chanto,” his companion muttered back. “It may be something else. There are many more than two men in there, by the sound of it.”