‘Hold her!’ Keridil snapped, furious as he realised what she was attempting. If she could have got her arm to the blade, she could have opened an artery and spilled her life-blood before anyone could stop her.
Cyllan fought as though demented, kicking and biting, but she was overpowered. One of the Adepts cut a length of fabric from his own cloak and bound her hand, and only when she was finally subdued did Keridil turn back to Tarod.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘I’m awaiting your answer.
There was nothing he could do but pray that Keridil would keep his word. The High Initiate had no personal grudge against Cyllan, and nothing to gain by harming her. It was a chance … and he had no choice but to take it.
Tarod nodded once, curtly. ‘I agree.’ Then his head came up and he regarded Keridil with a cold, cruel stare.
‘But you must abide by your bargain to the letter. If any man lays hands on her against her will -
‘There’ll be no abuse of her.’ Keridil smiled unpleasantly. ‘I doubt that any man living would want to bed with a servant of Chaos.
Tarod ignored the jibe. ‘And when I’m dead - ‘ He hesitated, hearing a stifled cry from Cyllan, ‘she will be granted her freedom.’ He looked at the girl. ‘She has no power. She’ll be no threat to you.
‘She will be released, unharmed.
Tarod nodded again. ‘I’ll not clasp hands with you on the pact. But consider it sealed.
Keridil let out a pent breath. For a moment he had wondered if Tarod’s loyalty would waver in the face of the choice he had to make, but his first instinct had proved right. He gave silent thanks to Aeoris for the quixotic flaw in Tarod’s character which would provoke him to sacrifice himself for the sake of a personal altruism - an admirable quality under some circumstances, but one which too often proved misguided. Yet as he turned away he was aware of a small worm of discomfort within himself that might have been a sense of shame.
He dismissed it impatiently, then spoke to his fellow Adepts.
There’s nothing to gain from remaining here any longer. If our friend Drachea Rannak,’ he bowed an acknowledgement in Drachea’s direction, ‘is right in what he has told us, we’ll find the Castle in some disarray. There’s much to put right, and a great deal of explaining to be done.’ He gestured in Tarod’s direction. ‘Lock him up, and guard him heavily. I’ll see about further precautions later.
‘And the girl?’ one of the Adepts asked.
‘Assign her a room, and see that she’s comfortable.
But have her watched.’ Keridil turned to Drachea. ‘Heir Margrave, if you would accompany us … ?
Cyllan made no protest as the Adepts led her towards the silver door. Tarod stood motionless, watching her, and as she drew level with him she suddenly stopped and looked up.
Tarod.’ Her voice was frighteningly calm. ‘I won’t let this happen to you. I’m going to kill myself. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way, I swear it. I’m not going to let you die for me.
‘No, Cyllan.’ He tried to reach out to her, forgetting momentarily that his hands were bound behind him.
‘You must live. For me.
She shook her head violently. ‘Without you, I’ll have nothing to live for! I’ll do it, Tarod. I don’t want to stay in the world if it means … this.’ She pulled her hand free from her guard’s grip … embarrassed and uncertain, the man let it go … and touched his face gently.
Tarod kissed her fingers, then turned his head away.
‘She means it, Keridil.’ His eyes were filled with pain.
‘Stop her. You know what the alternative is.’ And before Cyllan could speak again he walked away towards the vault beyond.
It was a strange procession that made its way up the winding stairs to the Castle courtyard. Keridil led, with Drachea hurrying eagerly at his heels, and behind them came Tarod under the close guard of four Adepts.
Cyllan and her escort followed, while the remainder of the high-ranking Adepts brought up the rear.
As they approached the courtyard door, Cyllan felt a sense of foreboding at the prospect of what she might see. In a strange way she had come to love the Castle as she knew it; the eerie crimson light somehow befitted the ancient stone of its walls, and the stillness had a peace - albeit a dark, brooding peace - that was better suited to it than the bustle of human habitation. And there were memories here that brought tears to her eyes as she climbed the last few steps and emerged at last into the night.
The crimson glow had gone. In its place, a dense grey darkness hung over all; the pewter-green of a night sky lit by the reflection of one Moon, now setting below the high walls. A faint susurration caught her ears and she saw the glitter of water from the ornate fountain, catching and reflecting the dim starlight. The Castle stared down like a blind, indifferent beast, not a single lamp or torch showing in any of its myriad windows, and there was a smell of the sea on the night breeze.
Keridil drew a deep breath, tasting the air. ‘Come,’ he said quietly. There’s an hour or more to go before dawn, by the feel of it. We’ll gather in the hall.
Silently they crossed the courtyard and mounted the steps to the main doors. As they walked through the Castle’s corridors, footsteps echoing hollowly, Cyllan gazed about at her surroundings which had taken on a disturbing unfamiliarity. Every now and then she looked at Tarod, who walked ahead of her, and once she had tried to use her psychic skill to make mental contact with him, but he had not responded.
She felt bitter and miserable. With victory literally in their grasp they had been thwarted, and she blamed herself for the misplaced pity which had allowed Drachea Rannak to live. Now, nothing but an empty void lay ahead of her. But she would find a way to do what she had promised. And when she was dead, Tarod would be free to exact his revenge …
The doors of the dining-hall opened with a groan of protesting hinges, and Keridil surveyed the bare, deserted chamber. It shocked him deeply to see the Castle so empty and forlorn, and to assuage his uneasiness he became brisk.
‘Rouse the servants, and have a fire lit,’ he ordered.
‘We’ll send word to the kitchens for food to be prepared - oh, and if someone would be so good as to find my steward, Gyneth, I’ll need him here.’ He turned to regard Tarod. ‘Find the securest place you can find for him, preferably on the lower levels where there are no windows. I’ll finalise the arrangements later. And as for this girl … ‘ He stared at Cyllan thoughtfully for a few moments, then beckoned to her escort. ‘Come with me.
Cyllan looked back over her shoulder to see Tarod being hustled away through a side door before she was propelled up the stairs that led to the gallery above the vast fireplace. From the back of the gallery a small door led to another maze of passages and stairs, until finally they arrived at a narrow corridor on the Castle’s highest floor. Keridil opened the door to a room at the far end, looked in and, satisfied, motioned for Cyllan’s guards to bring her through.
The room was small, and sparsely though comfortably furnished. An alcove bed, a single upholstered chair, a small table, and heavy velvet curtains at the window.
Underfoot were woven rugs, and Cyllan stood mute in the middle of the room, staring around.
Keridil crossed to the window and pulled the curtains back to reveal an iron mesh across the glass. Then he drew a knife from his belt and, with two quick strokes, severed the tasselled cords that hung from the curtains.
Then he came to stand in front of Cyllan.
‘Understand me,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘The window is barred, so that you can neither open it and jump out, nor break the glass and use it to slash your wrists. There are no curtain ropes by which you can hang yourself.
And a lamp will be fixed at a point too high for you to reach, so don’t think you can burn yourself to death either.
Cyllan only glowered at him.
‘Consider yourself a valued guest of the Circle,
Keridil went on. ‘When we’ve done
what must be done you’ll be free to go, and if you choose to take your own life then, it’s no concern of mine.’ He paused before smiling in an attempt to thaw her ice-cold expression.
‘Though I think it would be a tragic waste.
‘Think what you please,’ Cyllan said venomously.
‘I’ll wish to talk to you when I’ve attended to some more urgent matters. I’ve yet to hear your side of this story, and I want to be fair.
That brought a response. Cyllan laughed harshly.
‘Fair?’ she echoed. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word! Tarod has told me about you, High Initiate, and I want none of your idea of justice!
Keridil sighed. ‘Have it your own way. Perhaps in time you’ll understand - I hope so. I feel no malice towards you, Cyllan-that is your name, isn’t it? And I’ll keep my side of the bargain I made with Tarod.
She smiled unpleasantly. ‘So will I.
‘I think not. Oh, you could try and starve yourself to death, true; but our physician, Grevard, has a few methods for dealing with such cases, and he can keep you alive and well whether you will it or no. So you’ll live, and you’ll prosper. If you understand and accept that now, we’ll get along a good deal better.
Cyllan walked to the window, shoulders hunched. ‘I want to see Tarod.
‘That isn’t possible.’ Keridil returned to the door and spoke in a lowered voice to the two Adepts. ‘Stay on guard outside until I can find someone to relieve you.
Keep the door between yourselves and her unless there’s some emergency-but whatever you do, don’t let her near your swords or she’ll stab herself before anyone can stop her.’ He looked back at the small, defiant figure by the window. ‘She’s a valuable hostage, although the gods alone know how valuable she’ll prove to be until it’s put to the test.’ He clapped each man on the shoulder.
‘Be vigilant.
Cyllan heard the door close and lock from behind her, and turned to find herself alone in the unlit room. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and she paced restlessly around the chamber’s perimeter, seeking something which she could use to carry out her self-destructive plan. She wanted to die; wanted to free Tarod from the onus he had taken on himself - but Keridil had been thorough, and there was nothing to hand. Even the bed had no pillows, though she doubted if she could have smothered herself anyway … she was thwarted.
At last, giving up the search, she moved to the bed and sat down, clasping her hands in her lap and trying not to let despair take hold of her. She wondered where they had taken Tarod, how he fared, whether she would be able to persuade them to let her see him, at least one last time before … angrily she broke the dismal train of thought. She wasn’t going to admit defeat, not yet.
While he lived, there was still hope. And she’d find a way to spark and fuel that hope … somehow, she’d find it.
The words were brave - as Keridil had said - and yet in the solitude of her prison they rang hollow. Cyllan fought to keep them alive in her mind, but it was an unequal struggle. And at last, giving in to the feelings that lay buried far deeper within her, she began to cry, softly, helplessly, as the first pale glimmer of dawn showed beyond her window.
The dining-hall was a maelstrom of activity, gladdening Drachea’s heart as he sat, washed and refreshed and replete from a good breakfast, at a bench near the huge grate. A fire burned brightly, banishing the chill, and he was surrounded by men and women who all morning had plied him with questions, praise and gratitude until he was giddy with their approbation.
A few paces from him, the High Initiate sat at a separate table with the senior members of the Council of Adepts - or at least, those who had survived their ordeal. It had been an unpleasant revelation to find that the return of Time had taken its toll. Seven of the Castle’s older inhabitants, including the high Adept who had collapsed in the Marble Hall, were dead; their hearts incapable of withstanding the shock as the Pendulum had heralded its presence in their world like an earthquake. Others were in need of medical attention, and Drachea had glimpsed Grevard, the Castle’s physician and by all accounts the most skilled of his kind in the world, harassed and weary, attending to one emergency after another, aided only by two assistants and a horse-faced, elderly woman in the white robes of a Sister of Aeoris.
An hour ago, a party from Shu Province had come thundering through the Maze that held the Castle aloof from all but the Initiated, and among their number had been a white-faced messenger from the Margrave himself, bringing a plea for the High Initiate’s aid in finding his missing son and heir. Keridil had immediately despatched a rider to carry the good news to Shu-Nhadek, and imagined that the Circle could anticipate a personal visit from Gant Ambaril Rannak by return.
The prospect didn’t please him - he remembered Drachea’s father as a fussy martinet, and with so much confusion to put to rights he could do without unnecessary interruption. But there were formalities that couldn’t be avoided - Drachea must remain at the Castle at least until a full session of the Council of Adepts could be convened so that he could present his evidence in the proper manner. And, although he had to admit privately that he didn’t entirely like the arrogant young man, Keridil acknowledged that Drachea was due some formal recognition of the service he had rendered.
He had now had the chance to hear the full story, at least in outline, and it formed a disturbing picture. But for Drachea’s intervention. Tarod would have regained possession of the soul-stone, and the thought of the havoc he might have wreaked then was appalling. Now though, Tarod was safely locked away in one of the Castle’s cellars, and as soon as Grevard had finished his work and had a chance to rest, he’d be detailed to see to it that the right precautions were taken.
Keridil pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb as the papers before him blurred. He badly needed sleep himself, but there could be no respite yet. Messengers were arriving seemingly every minute, and he was only just beginning to realise the extent of the alarm that had been raised throughout the land at the Circle’s unexplained disappearance. Spring was advancing; there had been plenty of time for rumours to arise and grow, and it would take a concentrated effort to spread the word that all was now well. A report must be made to the High Margrave, to the Matriarch of the Sisterhood; there were fears and speculations to be allayed … the list seemed endless and the prospect of completing the work daunting.
But, somehow, it would be done … and Keridil was warmed by the thought that, in his task, he’d have the support of one person in particular. She sat near him now, in a comfortable chair a little behind his, and when he turned his head she smiled radiantly at him.
Sashka Veyyil looked as serene and as beautiful as she had done at the moment when he had kissed her and left to begin the rite that would send Tarod to destruction. In a velvet gown with a furtrimmed jacket over it to ward off chill, and with her rich auburn hair carefully dressed and ornamented, she was composed, self-assured, utterly the aristocrat, and Keridil felt proud of her. Time and again Sashka was proving her worth to him … she noted matters for his later attention, gave orders on his behalf, fended off the constant flow of messengers from the South. And later, when the work was done, she would come to him in his private rooms and let him taste again her pliant, hungry sweetness as she soothed away the ravages that the day wrought.
Sashka herself was intrigued with the turn events had taken. Listening as Drachea Rannak’s story was told, she had at first been wide-eyed with disbelief - but Keridil had confirmed enough of the facts to convince her. She congratulated herself on her own strength of character in taking the return from Timelessness in her stride - despite the fact that her only experience of it had been the shock which had racked the entire Castle as the Pendulum broke through from limbo - and now was speculating on the realisation that Tarod was still alive.
Once, when he was seventh-rank Adept of the Circle, she had been betrothed to him … but when the truth about him was revealed, she had thankful
ly had the wisdom and foresight to change her allegiance before any slur could be cast upon herself. And the gods had rewarded her by bringing her to the attention of a man whose rank Tarod could never have hoped to match; a man, moreover, whom she found far easier to cajole and persuade to her will. As the High Initiate’s paramour she had an undreamed-of status … yet deep down something still rankled, and would continue to rankle while Tarod lived. She despised him, hated him … but she couldn’t entirely forget him. And because of those feelings, she wanted him to suffer. Before, she had had the satisfaction of believing that he still loved her and yearned for her; but now it seemed that matters had taken a different turn.
The young man from Shu-Nhadek had spoken of a girl from the Eastern Flatlands who had taken it into her head to champion Tarod’s cause, and who was now shut away in the Castle. It would be interesting, Sashka thought, to find out a little more about her …
She leaned forward and touched Keridil lightly on the shoulder. He turned, smiling at her, and lifted her fingers to his lips to kiss them.
‘You must be weary, love,’ he said solicitously.
She shook her head. ‘Not weary, no … but a little stiff with sitting for so long. Will you forgive me if I leave you for a while?
‘Of course.’ He kissed her hand again. ‘See if there’s anything your .mother and father are in need of. And convey to them my regards.
‘Of course.’ She slid gracefully out through the narrow aisle between tables, and made her way at leisure along the length of the dining-hall. An elderly woman in a Sister’s robes, passing by, gave her a withering look, but Sashka ignored the scrutiny. Sister Erminet Rowald had been one of her Seniors at the West High Land cot where she was officially a Novice, and was at no pains to hide her dislike of Sashka. Sashka cared nothing for the good opinion of Sister Erminet, considering her a shrivelled and frustrated harridan who vented her jealousy on those more fortunate than herself. And she had nothing to fear from the old woman, for if all went well, it was unlikely she would ever need to return to the cot to continue her studies.
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