Bram tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but found he couldn't move his legs or his arms. He tried to ask the wizards why that was so, but no sound moved his tongue or lips. He could shift his eyes, and that was all.
The mages didn't waver in their concentration. Par- Salian began to chant words Bram couldn't understand, the language of magic. Little twinkling lights, like will-o-the-wisps across the moors, danced about Bram's head and flashed like fireworks behind his eyes. The lights swayed in unison, then flew apart into a chaos of sparks and motion, then came together again to sway hypnotically once more. One after another the pinpoints of light pierced his body until they were no longer visible, but instead of pain or heat he felt only a weightlessness within himself.
Bram slumped suddenly, feeling as if all the energy had been drained from his body. Justarius caught his arm in a strong grip and pulled him from the glowing
silver circle to the small room's lone chair.
"That spell searches all of the corners and crannies of your being and tends to make them sore from the intense scrutiny," the red-robed mage explained. He patted Bram's hand. "It also reads your intentions and motivations, among other things, and I am pleased to announce that your mind is clear, your cause pure," he pronounced, then sniffed at the nobleman's filthy clothing, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth, "even if you are not."
"I could have told you that and saved myself the sore muscles," the young man said.
Par-Salian smiled from where he sat perched on the edge of a table. "Justarius and I agreed that if you passed the examination, we would make an unprecedented exception in consideration of the potential repercussions of this illness, and because, as a non- mage, you present little threat to the security of this secret. We will send you to see your uncle for one day."
Bram mustered his strength to sit tall. "I don't wish to bother such important mages further. Just tell me where I may find him, and I will go there myself."
Again Par-Salian and Justarius exchanged knowing glances. "That's not possible," said the former at length. "He's beyond the normal circles of existence and can be reached only by magical means. In other words, you cannot get there from here-without our help."
"Go clean yourself up," Justarius suggested, "while I prepare a message for you to take to your uncle. Par- Salian will ask Delestrius to rustle up some food, so that some of the magical smoke we've been blowing will disappear from your brain."
Bram found himself hustled out the door, conscious only that he had won. Soon he would see his Uncle Guerrand.
Chapter Eleven
Bram's eyes were shut, as Justarius directed, when tbe floor in Par-Salian's study seemed to slip away beneath his feet. He immediately felt as if he were quickly, steadily shrinking. In his mind's eye he saw his own small body rocketing toward a large white keyhole in the starry blackness of space. His body paused of its own will before the keyhole briefly, and in that instant Bram felt a jarring from behind, as if someone had pushed him. But then some force ahead literally sucked him through the keyhole and into a whiteness beyond so bright that it burned through his closed eyelids. The mental image ceased abruptly when the brightness was extinguished like a candle.
"Well, I'll be a bugbear! Bram, what are you doing here?" asked a voice, familiar as a distant memory.
The young nobleman heard his name through a haze. He could feel himself swaying, yet had no idea which way to lean to stop himself from falling. Strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Dizziness is common after passing from three dimensions to two. You'll adjust faster if you open your eyes."
Bram slowly let his tightly closed lids slip open, and he got his first look at his uncle in nearly a decade. Guerrand had aged considerably since Bram had last seen him on the second-floor hallway of Castle DiThon's keep. In fairness Bram had to admit that Rand had looked older that day than the one previous to it, for if memory served, Guerrand had just buried his beloved brother Quinn that morning.
Still, Bram was not exactly prepared for the difference. Guerrand's cheek held white traces of a small fading scar. His wavy hair was much longer. Loosely bound with a red ribbon, it was past the middle of his back, and graying at the temples. The coarse red robe certainly was different than the casual, ragged tunic and trousers Guerrand had favored at Castle DiThon. The robe gave the mage an air of dignity, or at least greater seriousness.
Guerrand shook him gently, smiling hopefully. "Do I pass inspection?"
"Of course," Bram said hastily. "No one told me what to expect. I'm still a little surprised to actually have found you here"-his gaze traveled around the stark nave-"wherever here is."
The two stood alone in a soaring tower of a room with white, vaulted arches, so bright it looked like the sun itself hung from the ceiling many stories above. The snow-bright whiteness was broken by many lush, tropical-looking plants.
"This is Bastion," said Guerrand, chuckling with tbe CDebusA plague
disbelief and joy at Bram's presence, "and you're not the only one surprised to find you here!" The mage's hands looked soft and white against the red cloth wrapping his hips. "How did you track me down, let alone persuade the Council to send you to Bastion?"
Bram's forehead furrowed. "Didn't Justarius or Par- Salian tell you anything?"
Guerrand shook his head. "They sent a message that someone was arriving," he explained. "But I had no idea who it would be until you appeared in the nave."
A raven-haired woman walked up behind Guerrand. Arms linked behind her back, she peered around the mage at the stranger to the stronghold. "Bram," said Guerrand, stepping to the side, "let me introduce another of Bastion's guardians, Dagamier of the Black Robes." He nodded from her to the new arrival. "Dagamier, my nephew, Bram DiThon."
Bram returned the almost defiant stare of the young woman who looked no older than his Aunt Kirah. Against her onyx robe, the woman's skin was as white as the walls of the room. Her eyes were an unusual shade of dark blue, almost an indigo. Black hair, pulled into one intricate braid from forehead to shoulder blades, had the same bluish sheen as her eyes.
Unsmiling, Dagamier leaned forward at the waist and extended a pale hand. Her silk robe parted ever so slightly, revealing slim, well-muscled legs. Bram could not help but notice how cold and sensuous she looked at the same time. He jerked his eyes back to her face, where a lightless smile pulled up the corners of plum- colored lips.
"We don't get many visitors at Bastion. Or any, even," she remarked ironically. "You must be someone very special"-one dark brow raised-"or very dangerous."
Bram colored. "I'm sure I'm neither," he said awkwardly, unable to keep from fidgeting under her scrutiny. "I carry an important message for my uncle, that's all."
Dagamier finished her evaluation of him by turning on a heel. "I hope you bring welcome news," she said, disappearing into one of seven dark-colored doors that led from the central room.
"Dagamier is… unusual," Guerrand said diplomatically, watching her departure. He snapped his gaze away. "Let me show you around Bastion, nephew." The fifth sentinel gestured broadly with his hand to include the structure. "There's not much common area to see, but my apartments are quite spacious. We can speak privately there of what brought you, when you feel a little more oriented to the dimensional change."