"Wet down the wall?" Vari gave him a sidelong look as she shoved her bucket under the flowing spout. "That won't hasten the setting of the mortar."
"No, but it may prevent a certain nasty trick which I expect. Oof! There must be an easier way to carry these things. . . ."
They dragged the sloshing buckets across the courtyard, up to the half-completed stretch of wall. In the long rays of the setting sun they could make out Eloti, standing a little ahead of the others, down by the gate. Occasional gusts of wind brought snatches of her song up to the wall. Arizun and Ziya stood just behind her, holding a fuming censer and a shielded candle, respectively. All the rest stood in a small knot further back, chanting along with Eloti. The frowns of concentration on their faces were visible even from here.
"Good, good," Sulun murmured, passing to the end of the unfinished section. "With luck, they'll be back at the house before dark. Hmm, now Yotha's wizards won't know exactly where the accident took place, only that it was somewhere along this section. We'll have to wet down the whole thing. Damn. Ah, well . . ." He emptied his bucket over the last of the fresh-laid stones.
"I confess I've no idea what we're doing," said Vari, dutifully emptying her bucket on the stone beside Sulun's. "Do you mean to wet down this whole stretch? Gods, that's a dozen trips to the water, at least. Let's get Omis or Zeren to help us, or maybe those guards lounging about near the gate."
"Alas, we can't. The guards need watch for anyone sneaking close with kegs about them, and the others are needed to help Eloti's work." Sulun turned back toward the house for more water.
"I don't see what help they can be," Vari grumbled, following him. "Omis has no more gift for magic than I do, and I don't imagine Zeren has much more."
"No, but they can concentrate upon an image, and a magician can channel the force of that concentration for his—or her—use. Eloti explained it to me, more than once. I still can't see it. Neither can I seem to concentrate very long upon an image in my mind without playing with it, tinkering with it, which is not what a magician needs." Sulun shoved his bucket under the spout again. "I was designed by the gods to be a Natural Philosopher, a mechanic, not a magician. Let the others help Eloti; I do what I can with my own skills."
"Wetting down walls?" Vari shook her head, but loaded her bucket again.
In the thick brush by the stream Patrobe crouched in his dark brown cloak and held the pack donkeys halter rope. Waiting here in the rising chill of dusk was not his favorite duty; to be truthful, he would rather have been scouting and peering upstream with his under-priests. Still, if those two were, by some chance, seen and caught by the Deese wizards it would be far less a calamity for Yotha House than if he were taken. Patrobe pulled his cloak tighter around him and contented himself with imagining the end of this night's work.
A soft rustle among the bushes interrupted his reverie, announcing that Gidd and Billot had returned. Sure enough, a moment later their dark-clad forms wriggled into view and slid down beside him near the stream.
"Well?" Patrobe asked quietly.
Billot recovered his voice first, while Gidd sucked on a wineskin. "Pah, dusty work," he panted. "We got within bowshot of the walls."
"No more than that?"
"They've guards out, Master; one by the front gate, one by the low part of the wall."
"And themselves are out walking the grounds," Gidd added. "I think they be spellcasting on the land. It felt that way."
"So? Did you note any manifestations?"
"'Deed we did," Billot confirmed. "Beyond the foot of the hill 'twas suddenly cold and wet, like a wall of mist—but there was no mist."
"Aye," Gidd put in. "We moved slow and careful, repeating the charm, but even so, we stuck our boots in mud and rabbit holes more often than not, and snagged on thornbushes, and met clouds of gnats. The very land is spell-protected, sure enough."
"Yes . . ." Patrobe interlaced his fingers and thought a while. "We must proceed very carefully, my children. Wait until full dark, then go forth with the greatest care. Move slowly as you must, knowing we have all the night, and caution will serve you far better than speed. Use the charmed strings to guide your way back when you lay Yotha's trail; perchance they'll give you some protection against the land spell."
"What of the guards, Master?" Billot whined. "We'll not get close without they see us."
"Listen carefully: start wide apart, crawl as close as you dare. Gidd, you approach the gate, but come not so close as to be seen; lay your trail and come back, then light the fire. Billot, hear me well; wait until the first fire comes up toward the gate, and the guard at the wall goes to look at it. Then hurry you to the wall, fast as you safely can. Start the trail there, then retreat to where you'll be well hidden before lighting it. Mind the guard does not see you. Do you understand me well?"
"We do, Master," they said, almost in unison.
"Good." Patrobe got up and went to the donkey. A few quick tugs untied its pack, freeing two small kegs. He handed a keg each to his henchmen. "Be sure your tapers and flints are well tied in your pouches," he warned, "and keep repeating the charm until you're safely away.
"And be sure to make the trails thick and wide; let them not be so thin as to break or falter."
"No, Master," the men promised, already easing away into the brush.
Patrobe glanced up at the darkening sky, sat down and pulled his cloak about him again. At best, it would be a long wait.
The guards drowsed at their posts, barely sustained by -warming-jugs filled with coals and smaller jugs of beer. They glanced toward each other often, catching no more than a glimpse of silhouette or flicker of shuttered candle-lamp, wishing they hadn't been stationed so far apart. An hour ago one of the Deese priests had called down from the wall, kindly asking if they needed blankets, and that was the last they'd heard of another human presence. It was full dark now, and silent everywhere, and if not too chilly still not comfortably warm. Despite the promised pay—in silver, no less—there had to be better work than staying awake all night, waiting for an attack by wizards. Oh, this was a grim and wearing business, it was.
On the wall above, Zeren paced his circuit from the gate to the junction of wall and cliff face and back again. That cliff face bothered him; sometime in the future, they would have to wall off or sheer away all other possible slopes to the hilltop, lest some enemy get above them to throw down rocks, fire or scaling ropes on the house below. Not a problem tonight, though: he strongly doubted that anyone would attempt those steep, crumbling slopes in the dark.
At the gate top, he saw Yanados approaching. Her bow was in her hand, but her arrows still sat in the quiver. She seemed not at all tired, quite ready to walk her rounds until dawn if need be. He smiled, waving to her.
"What of the night, Captain?" She grinned, approaching. "I've heard nothing but the goats arguing in the barn."
"No more have I, but the night's far from old." Zeren turned to look down at the guard below. "Wotheng's fellows seem to know their business. I imagine we'll have some warning."
"You're sure Yotha's lads will come tonight, then? I'd hate to have to do this for the next moon or so."
"Who can predict? Still, I think they'll move tonight. Their god has a reputation for quick temper and quick action."
They leaned on the parapet, gazing out at the darkened land, hearing only the night sounds of wild creatures about their business.
"Have we changed much?" Yanados asked quietly.
"Aye." Zeren shrugged, making his cloak rustle. "We've needed to."
"And for the worse, as Sulun thinks?"