I hesitated, reviewing my recollections. “Yes,” I confirmed, “I was holding the key, but my back was turned away from the center of the room. My eye was attracted by the strange light suddenly waxing behind me.”
“If only we knew more about how the ancient mages set their spells,” Duratan’s mate fretted. “No doubt they could conjure the opening whenever they required it, using special words or gestures.”
“I certainly employed no words or gestures,” I retorted, “nor did I know whither I was going.”
Morfew had been staring at the marked stone. “Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “if Kasarian stood upon this spot and envisioned the postern-linked chamber in Krevonel Castle, then the force of his mental focus might summon the access point.”
The Wise Woman nodded. “Assuming that the postern will accept more than one transient at a time,” she cautioned, “we dare not risk any physical separation of the two travelers. If Mereth and Kasarian clasp hands, surely that contact would keep them together during the journey.”
Remembering the unsettling disorientation of my passage, I judged it wise to warn Mereth beforehand. “My initial transit was tumultuous,” I said to her, “rather like being severely buffeted by a winter gale. The Wise Woman speaks reasonably, but a mere handclasp alone could be dangerously inadequate. I had best lock my arms around you, lady, while bearing the elder’s key as I did before, should that be a necessary element for the working of the spell. Come, let us stand close together, and fix our minds upon our urgently required terminus.”
Mereth tucked her staff through her belt, and after some slight hesitation, placed her arms around my waist. Taking the elder’s key in my right hand, I reached around her cloaked shoulders, grasping her body firmly against my chest.
“The chamber which we would enter,” I declared aloud, “is that magic-secured lower vault beneath Krevonel Castle.” I closed my eyes to concentrate upon the bare stonewalled space as I had last seen it . . . the age-roughened wooden door with its bronze-silver lock. . . .
“It’s coming!” The Wise Woman’s abrupt cry startled me. When I opened my eyes, an eldritch oval of curdled light was soundlessly expanding only an arm’s length away from our position.
“Hold fast, lady!” I ordered, then lifted her off her feet, and plunged both of us through the shimmering expanse.
18
Mereth—events at Lormt, then at Krevonel Castle (20th Day, Month of the Ice Dragon/19th Day, Moon of the Knife)
“I forced myself to approach Kasarian and put my arms around his slender waist. He was apparently not equally repelled by me, for he seized me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe. A shattering thought struck me—no male had hugged me so fervently since my beloved Doubt, achingly long years ago. That I should have to submit to this indignity from an Alizonder was almost more than I could bear, but even worse lay ahead.
I clung frantically to Kasarian, the only solid, warm object in a pitch-black, freezing, roaring chaos. I could feel his heart hammering through his tunic, but he held me unflinchingly. I do not know whether I dared to breathe, or if one could breathe in that awful space. Just as instantly as we had been afflicted, we emerged into another stone-floored chamber. Our only light source was the postern opening itself, and as it rapidly diminished, then vanished, we were left in complete darkness.
“Can you stand, lady?” Kasarian’s voice came from near my ear. He had eased his enveloping clasp so that my feet were again firmly on the floor, but he kept one arm around my shoulders. “She cannot speak,” he muttered to himself in Alizonian, then added to me, “Squeeze my hand if you can stand unaided.”
I felt for his hand, and pressed it. I was somewhat lightheaded, as if feverish or only half awake, but I believed I could hold myself upright if I did not try to move.
Kasarian released me. Shortly afterward, I heard a scraping sound nearby. Abruptly, I could see that he had struck a spark with his tinderbox, and was squatting to kindle a burnt-out torch, possibly the one he had left behind when he came to Lormt. The flickering torchlight disclosed a bare, windowless room with only one massive door. I leaned upon my staff while my dizziness receded.
“Before we leave this chamber,” Kasarian warned, “we must plan carefully. It would be best for you to be seen by the fewest possible people. I cannot show myself here without being at once attended by Gennard, who has been my body servant since I was whelped. Having previously served my sire’s littermate, he is the sole person at Krevonel Castle who knows Volorian by sight. I shall tell him that you are a baron engaged upon a secret visit to the City; he will ask no prying questions. We can also rely totally upon Bodrik, my castellan, who came to Krevonel five years ago from our coastal estates. Yes, those two shall be the pair to serve us. Do not be disturbed by the scar on Bodrik’s face—he was wounded two years ago in a skirmish with brigands from Karsten.” Kasarian paused, then added, “Bodrik has often clashed with Lursk, Gurborian’s Master of Arms. The two of them preserve a wary truce while both Gurborian and I are in the City. I shall entrust the dispatch of Volorian’s message to Bodrik. He will contrive to achieve our desired ends: secure delivery of Morfew’s summons into Gurborian’s hands, while avoiding unwelcome attention by outside observers.”
I withdrew my slate and chalk from an inner pocket of my cloak. Limited both by the slate’s small available surface and my store of Alizonian, I strove to compress my host of questions into the briefest form. I wrote, “Will not your servants seek our horses?”
Kasarian read my words, and showed his teeth in a wolfish smile. “I rejoice, lady, that our rough transit has not addled your wits,” he said. “If we are to assert the secretive nature of your baronial mission to the City, then we should not arrive conspicuously, with a mounted troop. As the Master of Krevonel Castle, I alone know and use the many secret passages allowing entrance and exit without notice by friend or foe. My staff will assume that we used such a passage—which, after a most abnormal fashion, we did.” He fell silent for a moment, than stated, “You will have to inspect my hounds; no visiting baron, most especially Volorian, would fail to do so. Have you ever had occasion to see or touch one of our hounds?”
I clutched my slate tightly to prevent him from seeing the tremor that pulsed through my hands. “From distance,” I finally managed to write, “only twice, during war.” I shuddered inwardly at the memory of those two awful events.
During the early years of the war in the Dales, the Alizonder invaders had brought with them a number of ravening packs of their namesake beasts, which they loosed upon our defenders. The Alizonders’ hounds were like no dogs such as those we knew and employed ourselves for hunting or warfare. From Elsenar’s journal, I now knew that the original hounds had come through a mage’s Gate with the first Alizonders. All we of the embattled Dales had known was revulsion and terror for the lean, white creatures that savagely ran down our fleeing men, women, and children. Once the blessed Sulcars succeeded in harrying and intercepting Alizon’s supply ships, the barons gradually withdrew their precious hounds as too valuable to be slain at sea or by our darts or swords. Volorian, I recalled, was supposed to be a noted breeder of the vile creatures. I would have to compel myself to view Kasarian’s hounds.
Staring at me speculatively, Kasarian must have sensed my reluctance. “I shall fetch to you a recent pup from my prize bitch,” he declared. “Before you encounter the entire pack, we must determine how your scent affects them. Come, let us repair to an upper chamber. I have much to tell you while we dispatch and wait for Gurborian’s reply to our message.” He thrust his key into the great lock, and swung back the door.