Tarod woke from an uneasy sleep with the echo of a dream in his mind, and for a moment his senses were confused. Then, as his vision cleared, he remembered where he was.
He hadn’t intended to let himself sleep … tonight was the night of the banquet, and Sister Erminet had told him that it was her one opportunity to release Cyllan. Yet there had been no word; and he surmised that by now the night must be well advanced. There were so many possible pitfalls in Erminet’s plan that he feared something might have gone wrong, and the fear gave him a sharp, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Tense, he rose, flexing stiff muscles, and paced as far as the cell’s confines would allow, railing against the lack of a window that prevented him from seeing the sky and judging the hour.
An empty cup stood on the floor - Erminet had maintained the charade of bringing him the regular dose of the drug ordered by Grevard, to avoid arousing suspicion - and in the gloom he kicked it over, so that it rolled noisily across the bare stone. As it came to rest, a hiss sounded from the shadows where the cup lay, and Tarod swung round, his green eyes narrowing. Something moved - and a small, silver-grey cat emerged from behind a pile of discarded sacks. Its coat was streaked with dust and there were cobwebs on its whiskers. It paused, then looked up at him and mewed what sounded like a resentful protest.
‘Imp … ‘ Recognising the creature, Tarod spoke softly, squatting down and holding out a hand. The cat approached with caution and sniffed his fingers, then suffered him to brush the offending cobwebs from its face, shaking its head and sneezing. Then it sat down and, infuriatingly, began to wash itself.
Tarod watched it speculatively. Pitted though these ancient walls were with cracks and crevices, it was no i mean feat for even such a small and agile animal to find its way through from the next cellar; and he suspected that the cat must have some ulterior motive for paying him a visit. In the past, he had had a way with most animals that enabled him to influence them; the most ill-tempered horse had been malleable to his will, and the telepathic cats - though less easy to command - were very receptive to his thoughts. Whether he still possessed those skills he didn’t know … but he had already sensed an urgent imperative lurking in the cat’s mind which, perversely, it was choosing to ignore, and he had no time to waste in waiting.
‘Imp.’ This time his voice was less cajoling, and the cat looked up quickly, pink tongue protruding slightly from its mouth. Tarod focused his mind, relieved to find that much of the old steel sharpness was there only waiting to be unlocked, and held the creature’s gaze. Its slit pupils dilated to black orbs and he searched its alien consciousness, seeking the motivation which had brought it to him.
An image: distorted but recognisable … an old, wizened face that abruptly shifted and became younger, startlingly familiar. A pale nimbus that was the cat’s concept of human hair; eyes with an amber-gold light to them . , . and a sensation; not a word, not even an idea, but a fundamental, primal emotion. Freedom.
Freedom …
The cat was trying to tell him that Cyllan had escaped.
Tarod felt his pulse rate quickening until he could hear the rhythm of his own blood in his ears. If he had interpreted the creature’s consciousness rightly, and if the message it brought was true, then why had Erminet sent the cat to tell him? His cell was unguarded, or so he believed - the old Sister had said that Cyllan would have the key and would come to him.
He straightened, uneasy. Something was wrong.
Even if Erminet had secured Cyllan’s release - and he didn’t entirely trust the confused images in the cat’s mind - something was preventing her from reaching him, and until he could be sure she was safe, he dared make no move. Moreover, without the soul-stone he was still vulnerable. Freed from the influence of the narcotic, he had regained his full wits and much of his former strength, but he didn’t know how far his powers would extend. Certainly he was by no means the sorcerer he had once been …
He looked at the cat again. It hadn’t resumed its interrupted wash, but was still staring at him, doubtless picking up the surge of emotion that was running through him. As their gazes met it yowled, loudly, and he crouched down again.
‘Quiet, little Imp.’ His hand reached out and caressed its head as he mentally calmed it. ‘I understand you. But it isn’t enough. I dare not - ‘ And he stopped, as a key grated in the lock of the cellar door.
The Imp hissed, and darted into a corner out of sight.
Tarod turned, still half crouching, taken by surprise as hope and suspicion vied for precedence - then the door swung open and he was staring into the face of a burly man with an Initiate’s badge at his shoulder.
‘Aeoris!’ The word broke out between the Initiate’s clenched teeth. ‘Brahen, here! This devil’s supposed to be unconscious, but -
He got no further. Tarod had no time to make a conscious decision, and instinct, coupled with a sudden, violent resurgence of the anger he had spent so many days trying to quell, took over. In one swift, fluid movement he was on his feet and his left hand came up in a gesture as familiar to him as breathing, summoning and focusing a power that swept from the depths of his consciousness like a striking Warp. Light glared crimson in the cell, throwing walls and roof and piled debris into stark and shocking relief, and as the bolt struck him the Initiate shrieked, his body a mad silhouette of flailing limbs in the bloody instant of the lightning flash. Darkness crashed down as the glare vanished, and Tarod had time to glimpse a huddled, motionless shape on the floor before a flare of poorer, natural light danced in the doorway as the second guard snatched up a torch and ran in from the passage.
By the flickering light of the brand he held, the surviving guard saw a sight which made his stomach churn in fear. His companion lay broken like a discarded doll by the cellar wall; while Tarod - who should by rights have been lying senseless on his pallet - stood like a dark angel of death, his eyes glittering and murder in his look.
Stunned, and incapable of thinking clearly or wisely, the guard brought his sword rattling out of its sheath.
Tarod tensed like a hunting cat - he was unarmed, and the bolt of energy he’d conjured had sapped him; there was no time to rally himself for a second. Instead, he sprang.
The Initiate hadn’t expected such an attack, and he brought his sword up clumsily, hampered by the blazing torch in his other hand. So fast that he had no time to react, Tarod’s right hand shot out and snatched the torch from him; then with a savage swing of his arm he slashed the burning brand across the man’s face. The guard howled in agony and spun around, dropping his sword and clapping both hands to his eyes. Tarod knew the blow had been enough to disable him, but the fury had taken hold and was unstoppable. He snatched up the sword - it was a heavy weapon, deadly in strong hands - and as the guard staggered yelling in a crazy zig-zag across the floor, Tarod swung the sword as a woodsman might swing an axe. A jarring shock ran through his arms and shoulders as the blade bit flesh and bone, and the Initiate’s body crashed, decapitated, to the floor.
Tarod’s breathing was harsh against a silence broken only by an unpleasant liquid sound as the corpse’s blood drained away on to the flagstones. He let the sword drop with a clashing echo and backed towards the door, unmoved by the sight of the two dead men. At his feet the torch blazed sporadically; he stamped the flame out and darkness returned to cloak him.
He had broken his promise to Erminet. The thought occurred to him in a detached way, and he regretted it.
Not the deaths of the two Initiates - he had no illusions about their willingness to kill him, if he hadn’t struck first. But he had given his word that he would harm no one, and he didn’t like the necessity of going against it.
Yet the thing was done … he’d gain no advantage by feeling remorse now. Quietly he moved out into the passage, closing the cellar door behind him. This place was too deep in the Castle’s bowels for the guard’s shouts to have been heard, and for the moment it seemed unlikely that he would encounter anyone
else.
Well and good; it gave him the time he needed. The fact that Keridil had set men to guard him where before there had been none proved that something had gone awry with Erminet’s scheme, and he guessed that Cyllan’s absence had been discovered and the alarm raised. Were the Circle still searching for her, or had she been recaptured? She was unfamiliar with the Castle’s maze of rooms and corridors, and Tarod knew that she couldn’t hope to evade a full-scale search for long. He had to find her - and, with or without the stone, he had to get her out of the Castle.
Erminet, he thought, was his best hope. If the hunt was up for her, Cyllan would be too frightened and too preoccupied for him to reach her mind and guide her.
But Erminet might know her whereabouts. Tarod knew every stick and stone of the Castle, and could make his way through it without encountering one of Keridil’s search parties. He also, for the time being, had the advantage that as yet the Circle was unaware of his escape. If he could reach Erminet before the two dead guards were discovered, the odds in his favour would increase …
He started to move noiselessly away along the passage, then hesitated and, on an impulse, turned back and re-entered the cellar. The smell of blood made his nostrils flare as he stepped through the door; he avoided the headless corpse and moved to stand over the Initiate he had blasted. The man was dead enough, but the body relatively undamaged, and Tarod bent down to unfasten the hide cloak the guard had worn as a protection against the damp cold of the cellars. Beneath it, an Initiate’s badge gleamed gold; he unpinned it and fastened it to his own shoulder, smiling faintly as he realised how long it had been since he wore a similar emblem. Then he cast the cloak around himself-it was hardly a disguise, but it made his black shirt and trousers a little less distinctive - and left the cell to its silence and the stench of death.
Chapter 16
Tarod emerged from the maze of passages below the Castle by a route known only to the more adventurous of those who had grown up within its confines. The courtyard was dark, but the Moons had set and in the East the stars were beginning to fade, telling him that dawn was little more than an hour away. For a moment he stayed hidden among the leaves of the overhanging vine which grew rampant over the ancient black walls, savouring the sweetness of clean air after his confinement. Then he cautiously moved out of the vine’s shelter - and hastily stepped back again as a nearby door opened and three armed men came out. They passed by only three paces from where he stood motionless, but though he hoped to overhear something that would give him a clue to how Cyllan fared, they didn’t speak. As soon as they were gone, Tarod moved away, keeping to the deep shadows.
He didn’t know where Erminet’s room was located, or even if she would be there, but guessed that she would have been assigned one of the guest suites normally reserved for more senior Sisters in the East wing.
As he crossed the now empty courtyard towards a small door that led to another of the minor and little-used passages, he realised that there was indeed unprecedented activity in the Castle. Although lights blazed from the main hall there were no sounds of a celebration in progress, and the sporadic flicker of torches from various windows on the building’s different levels suggested that many people were moving about.
He smiled, faintly amused by the thought that Cyllan had caused such a furore and ruined Keridil’s celebration, then, gaining the door, slipped inside and headed for a flight of spiral stairs that would take him to the guest wing.
It seemed that the search wasn’t concentrated in this section of the Castle; logical enough, as Keridil would have no wish to alarm his guests unnecessarily, and Tarod reached the corridor he wanted without encountering anyone. The Sisters’ rooms were at the far end, and the only way to reach them was to walk the length of the lit passage in full view of any casual observer who might emerge from one of the other suites. Tarod cast the hide cloak back enough to expose the purloined Initiate’s badge, then, trying not to think of what he might be forced to do if challenged, stepped out into the corridor.
He was halfway along when a tell-tale gleam of light from a side passage ahead made him stop in his tracks.
There was no chance to turn, nowhere to hide himself-and a moment later a girl of some sixteen years or so hurried out of the passage and, seeing him, squealed and almost dropped the lantern she was carrying.
‘Oh!’ Her eyes widened as she stared up at him, then her surprise matured into alarm as she recognised the Initiate’s badge. She tried to bow after the fashion of the Sisters, but it was a clumsy and inexperienced attempt.
‘Oh, sir -I beg your pardon! I was returning to Sister Erminet; I wasn’t neglecting my post, sir, but the Sister very much wanted another light, and there was no one else to send because they’re all so busy searching …
Her garbled apology tailed off under Tarod’s steady scrutiny and she blushed scarlet, stammering out, ‘I’m sorry, sir …
Tarod had seen the gauzy white veil that covered the girl’s hair, and realised that she was a Novice in the Sisterhood. He had never set eyes on her before …
and she hadn’t recognised him. Aware that he might turn this to his advantage, he nodded curtly. ‘No one would chastise you, Sister-Novice, for obeying the orders of your senior … you are, I presume, under Sister Erminet’s tutelage at West High Land?
‘Well … I was to have been, sir. But of course, I doubt if I will be now, after what’s happened. I came with the party conveying the Lady’s congratulations to the High Initiate.’ Gaining confidence, she smiled at him shyly. ‘I’ve only been a Novice for two months, sir, and I’m very grateful for such a privilege.
After what had happened … Unwittingly, the girl had given away the truth, at least in outline. Tarod said, ‘I’m glad you’re sensible of it, Sister-Novice. But I hope you’re also aware of your duty. You seem very young and inexperienced for such a responsible task.
The girl reddened again. ‘There was no one else, sir.
What with the search for the prisoner who escaped …
but I understand what I must do.’ She looked up at him, hoping for approbation. ‘I’ve not let anyone see the Sister without authority, as I was told.
‘Indeed. And what else were you told?
Fortunately for him, the child was naive enough to think that she was being tested. As though repeating a catechism, she said, ‘Not to engage in conversation with the Sister, sir, on any matter other than her immediate needs. I…’ She hesitated. ‘I was told she has betrayed the Sisterhood and the Circle, sir. And that she is to be questioned and possibly … tried.
Gods; so they’d discovered what Erminet had done … Alarmed, but keeping his face expressionless, Tarod said. ‘That’s knowledge you should keep to yourself, Sister-Novice. I want to hear of no gossiping among the other girls, do you understand me?
‘Yes, sir.’ The girl licked her lips nervously. ‘Should I return to my post now?
The child was easy enough to dupe; he could think of a way to get rid of her once he was face to face with Erminet. Aloud, Tarod said, ‘You should; but I want to see for myself that the Sister is still where she should be.
If all’s well, count yourself lucky - and don’t desert your duties again, whatever the reason!
‘No, sir. I’m sorry, sir … ‘ In an agony of shame and terror, the girl made another inept bow and hastened away along the passage, the lantern shaking in her hand.
She stopped at the furthest door, fumbled inexpertly with a key, and at last persuaded it to turn in the lock. A soft glow spilled out, and Tarod gestured curtly for the Novice to remain where she was while he entered the room.
Erminet lay on her bed, asleep. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the girl hadn’t misunderstood his order and followed him, Tarod crossed the room and bent over her, lifting her hand.
‘Sister Erminet …
There was no response, and the hand hung limp in his grasp. Intuition told Tarod the truth before he looked at her
face. She was smiling, a small, secretive smile, and in a peculiar way she looked younger, the lines on her cheeks smoothed and her skin waxy. And on the table beside her bed stood several phials from her collection of potions, a wine flask, and an empty cup.
Tarod spun round, all caution forgotten, and his voiced barked out, ‘Sister-Novice!
The girl ran in, alarmed by his tone. ‘S-Sir … ?
Tarod pointed to the small vanity table in one corner.
‘Fetch that mirror! Quickly!
She almost dropped it in her haste, and as she stumblingly approached Tarod snatched the glass from her hand and held it in front of Sister Erminet’s face. The mirror’s surface remained clear while he counted his own heartbeats; seven, eight, nine … He flung the mirror aside, hearing it smash on the floor, and the girl’s squeak of fright fired him with contempt and loathing.
He turned on her and, in a voice low and savage with grief, said, ‘Do you know what you’ve done?
The girl was shaking like a leaf, one hand to her mouth. ‘She isn’t … she can’t be, sir, I - I was only gone for a few minutes!
‘And a few minutes was enough! She’s - she was a herbalist, a skilled herbalist! And you deserted her for long enough for her to take her own life!’ He advanced towards her, hardly knowing what he was doing, and as he approached the girl gave a cry of distress, picked up her skirts and ran, darting out of the room like a frightened animal. Tarod stopped, listening to her running footsteps, his fists clenched at his sides so that the nails dug in to his palms. Then, shaking, he turned back to the bed.
‘Erminet … ‘ He sat on the coverlet and took both her hands, as though his voice and his touch could bring her back to life. But her eyes remained closed, and the fixed little smile was frozen on her face.
She must have known what she was doing … and she must have chosen a drug that would act too quickly for anyone to save her. He took a shred of comfort from the thought that she must have felt no pain, but had died peacefully and by her own will. But that didn’t change the cruel fact that she had died because of him.
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