“No, we had not supposed you could. We have made other arrangements for him. You, sir, are familiar, you said, with those known as the Unseen.”
“Only by reputation.”
“Yes, quite.” Door smiled faintly. “Do you know of the magical clothing they wear?”
“No.” Hugh lowered the pipe, looked interested. “No, tell me about it.”
“The fabric is woven of a wondrous thread that changes color and texture to match whatever it is around. One of their uniforms lies on the floor there, next to the desk. Do you see it?”
Hugh stared, frowned, raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be damned.”
“Now you see it, of course, since your attention has been drawn to it. Much like Lady Iridal’s spell. You see the folds, the shape, the bulkiness. Yet, you were in this room for a considerable length of time, and the clothing passed unobserved, even by you—a man usually quite observant.
“Dressed in this guise, the Unseen can go anywhere, at any time, day or night, and—to the ordinary eye—would be practically invisible. Anyone watching for them would be able to detect them by their movement and... substance... for lack of a better word. In addition, it takes a certain amount of time for the fabric to alter color and appearance. Thus the Unseen learn to move slowly, silently, with fluid grace, in order to blend in with their surroundings.
“All this you must learn to do, Hugh the Hand. Before you enter the palace this night.”
Hugh walked over, fingered the cloth. Lifting it, he held it against the background of the wooden desk, watched, marveling, to see the fabric shift from the soft green of the carpet on the floor to the dark brown of the wood. As the Kenkari said, the very appearance of the cloth altered as well, taking on the grain and texture of the wood until it seemed to almost disappear in his hand.
“ ‘The walls move.’ What I wouldn’t have given for this in the old days,” he murmured.
The Brotherhood had long wondered how the Unseen managed to operate so effectively and efficiently, wondered how it was that no one ever saw them or knew what they looked like. But the secrets of the Unseen were kept as closely and carefully as the secrets of the Brotherhood.
It was agreed upon that elven magic must have something to do with this remarkable ability, though what or how was open to debate. The elves did not possess the ability to conjure up illusions, as did the higher ranking human wizards. But they could spin magical thread, it seemed.
This guise that he held in his hand could make his fortune. Add to its obvious advantages his own skill and knowledge and experience...
Hugh laughed bitterly at himself, tossed the uniform back to the floor, where it immediately began to change its color to the green of the carpet.
“Will it fit me? I’m bigger than any elf.”
“The garments are designed to fit loosely, to flow with the wearer’s movements. Then, too, they must adapt to all sizes and shapes of our people. As you might imagine, such uniforms are tremendously rare and prized. It takes a hundred cycles to produce thread enough for the tunic alone, and another hundred cycles after that to do the weaving. The weaving and sewing may only be done by skilled magi, who have spent years learning the secret art. The trousers have a drawstring, to fit around the waist. There are slippers for your feet, a mask for your head, gloves for your hands.”
“Let’s see what I look like,” Hugh said, gathering up the clothing in a bundle. “Or what I don’t look like.”
The uniform fit, though it was tight through the shoulders, and he was forced to let the drawstring on the waist out as far as it would go. Fortunately, he’d lost weight during his self-imposed incarceration. The slippers were meant to slip over boots and did so with ease. Only the gloves didn’t fit. The Kenkari were extremely upset over this. Hugh shrugged. He could always keep his hands out of sight, hide them behind his back or in the folds of the belted tunic.
Hugh looked in the crystal mirror at himself His body was rapidly blending into the wall. His hands were the only part of him clearly visible, the only part that was flesh and blood, real.
“How appropriate,” he remarked.
Hugh spread out his map of the Imperanon. The Keepers examined it, pronounced it accurate.
“In fact,” said Soul in wry tones, “I am amazed at its accuracy. No one but another elf—and then one who has spent considerable time in the palace—would have been able to draw this map.”
Hugh shrugged his shoulders, made no comment.
“You and the Lady Iridal enter here, through the main gate that leads into the palace proper,” said the Keeper, turning back to the map, tracing the route with his thin finger. “The Lady Iridal will tell the guards that she has been summoned to the palace at such a late hour to ‘attend a sick relative.’ Such excuses are common. Many members of the royal families maintain their own private homes in the hills surrounding the palace and many return under the cover of darkness to keep private appointments. The gatekeepers are accustomed to such trysts and will most assuredly let the lady in without difficulty.”
“Wouldn’t her weesham be with her?” asked the Book worriedly.
“By rights,” the Soul admitted, “but members of the royal family have been known to sneak away from their weesham, especially when looking forward to a night of stolen pleasure.
“While the guards are talking to Lady Iridal, you, sir, will remain hidden in the shadows. You may slip past the guards when the gate is opened. Getting inside will be the easy part, I am afraid. As you can see, the palace is enormous. It contains hundreds of rooms, on numerous levels. The child could be held anywhere. But one of the weesham, who was in the palace a short time ago, told me that a human child had been given a room just off the Imperial Garden. That could be in any one of these suites located here—”
“I know where he is,” said Iridal, in a low voice. The Keepers were silent. Hugh straightened from bending over the map, regarded her with a dark frown.
“How?” he asked in a tone that implied he already knew—and wasn’t going to like—her answer.
“My son told me,” she said, lifting her head, meeting his eyes. She reached into the bodice of her elven dress, withdrew a hawk feather attached to a leather thong and held it in her hand. “He sent me this. I’ve been in contact with him.”
“Damn!” Hugh growled. “I suppose he knows we’re coming?”
“Of course. How else could he be ready?” Iridal was defensive. “I know what you’re thinking, that we don’t dare trust him—”
“I can’t imagine what would give you that idea!” Hugh sneered. Iridal flushed in anger. “But you’re wrong. He’s frightened. He wants to get away. That man Haplo was the one who turned him over to the elves. This has all been Haplo’s idea. He and this lord of his—a terrible old man called Xar—want the war to continue. They don’t want peace.”
“Xar, Haplo. Strange names. Who are these people?”
“They are Patryns, Keeper,” said Iridal, turning to the Kenkari.
“Patryns!” The Kenkari stared at her, stared at each other. “The ancient enemy of the Sartan?”
“Yes,” said Iridal, growing calmer.
“How is that possible? According to their records left behind, the Sartan removed their enemy before bringing us to Arianus.”
“I don’t know how it’s possible. I only know that the Patryns weren’t destroyed. Alfred told me about it, but I’m afraid I didn’t understand very much of what he said. The Patryns have been in prison, or something like that. Now they’re back and they want to conquer the world, take it for themselves.” She turned to Hugh. “We must rescue Bane, but without Haplo’s knowledge. That shouldn’t be difficult. My son tells me that Haplo is being held by the Unseen, in some sort of dungeon. I looked, but I can’t find them located on the map—”