by John Dalmas
Macurdy took a roundabout route to the road, then strode down it into the clearing. He carried Skortov's saber, and the knife Arbel had given him, that had saved his life at least twice. They did not reassure him. As he approached the house, he saw that the entrance guards were also rakutur. How, he asked himself, do I pass them? Even if they don't see me sooner, when I open the door, it'll take their attention. Then they'll see through the spell.
As he approached, they showed no awareness of him. Their gaze was past him, fixed on something else, and pausing he looked back. A column of horsemen was trotting briskly into the clearing. At their front, enclosed by them on three sides, was a group of running voitar.
Macurdy stepped toward the house, then stood at attention a few yards from an entry guard. The approaching voitar would be his acid test.
The column reached the yard in perhaps twenty seconds, the mounted escort peeling off to the sides. The voitar slowed to a walk, and strode purposefully toward the entrance. Macurdy stood only a couple of yards out of the way. If they noticed him, they showed no sign of it, and when they'd passed, he fell in behind them. Their auras marked them as powerfully talented, but just now they were focused on something else. He had no idea what.
They pushed through the door, Macurdy with them. Inside was a vestibule with pegs on both sides, festooned with uniform coats. It opened into what once had been a parlor. Now it was an office reception area, with administrative personnel both voitik and hithik. And a pair of rakutur: security guards. No one challenged the voitar who'd come in, nor Macurdy, who at any rate would have seemed an attendant. Someone called "Attention!" in Hithmearcisc, and everyone stood ramrod straight, facing the newly arrived voitar.
Across the room was a wide staircase. His voitar were headed toward it. Another had just descended, and stood at attention. The leader of the group slowed and spoke. "Good evening, Captain Rissko! It's good to see you." The Hithmearcisc was simple and formulaic, well within the scope of Macurdy's limited knowledge.
"Good evening, Prince Chithqosz!" the voitu answered. "It is good to see you, Your Highness." Then the voitar passed him, taking the steps three at a time. At the top they turned right.
Prince! But not the crown prince. This one he'd never seen before.
Macurdy was the last one up, and paused. The upper hallway had a short section to the right, and a much longer one to the left. At the end of the right-hand section was a door guarded by a rakutu, who was reaching for the door handle, as if to let the prince through. Meanwhile Macurdy felt seriously exposed to the voitar below. To stay where he was seemed unwise, and to turn right seriously dangerous, so he turned left.
Through the opened door behind him he heard a big voice. One he knew well: the crown prince's. "Hello, brother! I'm glad to have you here! You traveled quickly! I'm sure you…" Then the door closed.
Ahead of Macurdy were doors along both sides of the hall. If he could find a room unoccupied, and hide till late at night… But if the rakutu guarding Kurqosz's office was paying attention, he'd notice a door opening, even if it opened inward. Of course, he might assume it was someone inside who'd opened it. On the other hand, if someone was inside… Macurdy heard footsteps on the stairs, and stepping quickly to the nearest door, opened it. Inward.
The room was not empty. A woman was there, garbed in a long shift. She turned, her face the color of bread dough. For a moment she peered uncertainly, then her eyes widened. For a long second Macurdy stood rooted to the floor, stunned. Then he raised a finger to his lips. "Ssh!"
Varia's knees had almost given way. She took an unsteady step backward and sat down on a chair behind her, staring at him. Carefully Macurdy closed the door. "Where can I hide?" he asked quietly.
For several seconds she simply stared, looking as if she couldn't breathe. Her eyes were darkly circled, as if from long weeping. Her mouth moved soundlessly, then she gestured. "Under the bed," she murmured, "or in the closet."
He frowned. "What's that?" He gestured at floor-length drapes hanging on one wall.
"There's a balcony, but the doors are locked." She hardly more than whispered it.
He went to the drapes and spread them a few inches. They concealed a pair of many-windowed doors. There was a simple latch, opened and closed by a doorknob, and a bolt operated through a keyhole. He wished he had the set of OSS lock picks he'd carried in Bavaria. But maybe… He could see the bolt through the crack between the doors. Deadbolt? Spring-loaded?
"What have you got that's metal and might fit between the doors?" he asked.
She took a clip from her hair, seemingly silver set with emeralds. "It's called dwarf silver," she said. "The same thing as platinum on Farside, I think. It's hard."
I'll take your word for it, he thought. All those books she'd read while married to Will… He wondered if she ever forgot any of it.
He carried a clasp knife. Now he forced its smaller blade between the doors, just above the bolt. Then he inserted the forked clasp of the hair clip, pressed it hard against the bolt, and pried. There was almost no room to work, but he gained a smidgen, and held it with the knife blade. Then got a new purchase with the clasp and pried again. And again. Something felt hot against his chest, but he ignored it. His nerves were stretched. He had no doubt whose room this was; Kurqosz could walk in at any moment.
Once he lost it all, and started grimly over, but finally the bolt was clear. The two minutes it had taken seemed like five. "Push," he said. Varia pushed, and the doors opened. He sheathed his knife, then pressed the dead-bolt the rest of the way back with his thumb. It stayed. He drew the doors closed again, and closed the drapes over them.
Blowing through pursed lips, he handed Varia her hair clip. "That's our escape route," he said, then paused, gazing at his ex-wife. On Farside still his wife. It took a moment to bring his thoughts back to the here and now. "I'll hide in the closet," he told her. "You stand outside it and tell me things I need to know. Close it if you need to."
She nodded.
The clothes hanging inside were too long to fit anyone but a voitu. Macurdy concealed himself well enough not to be seen at a glance. He'd get hot in there, dressed as he was, but it wouldn't do to take anything off. If he had to run for it…
"Have you got anything to wear besides that?" he asked Varia.
She looked down at herself, and shook her head. "Nothing for outside. They took my things. They're probably in the storage room down the hall."
He nodded. "We'll take some of Kurqosz's, and shorten them so they're wearable." He paused. "How did you get here?"
She told him of her kidnapping, and that Cyncaidh was dead. She didn't tell him how; she couldn't say it yet, certainly not without breaking down.
Cyncaidh dead! The thought stopped him for a moment. If we get out of this alive… Or maybe not. Maybe that's all over for her.
She continued talking, sounding stronger now. "Kurqosz has something important planned, for tonight or tomorrow night. He expects northern lights. Apparently they're important to his plans." She paused. "Can you feel it?"
"It?"
"There's a feeling in the Web of the World. Something ominous."
He had felt it, and blamed it on nerves. Which might be all it was, but now he didn't think so. "There are northern lights," he said. "Right now. So that means tonight."
"Probably, but not necessarily. On the Northern Sea, they often come several nights in a row."
"When do you expect him back? In here I mean?"
"It could be a minute from now, or hours. I've only been here a few days. But if tonight is the night he carries out his sorcery…"
Macurdy nodded grimly. If he simply waited in this closet, he'd probably be too late. "I guess you know why I'm here."
"To kill him," she said.
"Do you have any idea how I…" He paused, frowning. "Just a minute. Something's hot. In my shirt pocket."
He knew what it was. For months he'd transferred it whenever he'd changed clothes. His hand br
ought out the crystal Blue Wing had given him on the highway to Ferny Cove.
More strongly than ever, far more, it glowed in his palm.
They heard the latch; someone was opening the hallway door. Varia closed the closet and stepped away; Macurdy stuffed the crystal back in his pocket and drew his knife.
He heard her ask, "What do you want?"
Macurdy cpuldn't hear the answer. After a half minute of tension, he heard the door close, and Varia returned. "It was Kurqosz's halfblood son," she murmured. "He does things for his father, who calls him Tsulgax; says it means 'most loyal.' In the old voitik language, from before they adopted Hithmearcisc."
Son? That's it! Macurdy thought. That's the connection.
"Tsulgax doesn't like me," she added. "His aura reflects a single talent, but I couldn't identify it. Now I think I have. He foresees danger to his father, through me."
"Good lord," Macurdy said. "He's hated me from the first time we saw each other. In Bavaria, during the war. I wondered why."
He paused, his mind staring briefly at nothing. "I need to talk to Vulkan about this," he said. "I don't see any way in hell I can for sure kill Kurqosz soon enough. Set fire to the building-they'd probably get out. Walk down the hall, stick a knife in the rakutik door guard, then go for Kurqosz-it might work, but it probably wouldn't, and I'd get no second chance."
He paused. "Just a minute. I'll see if Vulkan can hear me."
"No!" She almost hissed the word, her sudden intensity startling him. "Kurqosz has his circle with him. If they're linked, and you shout psychically to Vulkan, they may pick it up."
Macurdy frowned. If Kurqosz and his circle were cooking up some spell, he wondered if anything would distract them. Their attention should be heavily attached to whatever it was. But on the other hand, Vulkan had said he'd monitor him. If he was, and could reach him with his mind, he already would have. Unless it felt too dangerous. "Well then," Macurdy said, "I guess I need to use your balcony and go to him." He looked worriedly at her. "I hate to leave you, now that I've found you."
All she said was, "How will you get down?"
"Sweetheart," he said, "I was trained to jump from high places. And when I get back, you'll have to jump."
She thought back to her escape from the Cloister, twenty years earlier, when she'd dropped from the palisade. "Then go," she said. "I can do it."
He stepped out of the closet. The crystal had become so hot, he transferred it to a pocket in his greatcoat. Varia watched, her expression sober. Stepping to her, he drew her to him. "I love you," he told her. "I want you to know that."
"Come back if you can," she answered. "You lost Melody and Mary, and I've lost Raien. I believe now that we were meant to be together." She pushed away from him. "Go now."
He nodded without speaking, then turned and went out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind him.
The balcony had a simple vault roof, and this was the north side of the house. But he could have seen the aurora from any side; it was playing over the whole sky now. He could even hear it hissing, and wondered if the crystal made it audible to him.
The balcony railings were set into stone posts. Abruptly a powerful urge seized him. Reaching into his pocket, he took the crystal out. His movements quick but sure, he set it on a post, drew his saber, then smashed the pommel down onto the crystal with all his might.
It felt as if he'd hit a box of blasting caps, but without the sound! The saber rebounded, twisting in his hands, almost tearing from his grip. From somewhere he heard screams, whether with his ears or only in his mind, he didn't know or wonder. He dropped to his knees, and for a brief moment stared blankly, confusedly, out at the sky. The screams had stopped. He heard muffled shouts inside the building.
He knew what had happened, or thought he did. Still shaking, he got to his feet. A look around found a few small shards of the crystal on the post and deck. He brushed them together and threw them out into the snow. Then reentering the room, he went straight to the closet. From there he told Varia what had happened, then hunkered in a back corner with saber in hand. Without a word she closed the door.
A scant minute later, Kurqosz entered the room, walked to the closet and opened the door. Varia told him he looked ill, and asked about the screaming.
He took out a thigh-length fur parka and fur-lined boots. "It is no concern of yours," he snapped, and stepped away from the closet.
There'd been too little time for Macurdy to stand and attack through the intervening clothes. And he didn't know if Tsulgax was in the room. That he didn't hear him meant nothing. Tsulgax spoke so seldom that at first, back in Bavaria, he'd assumed he was mute.
The hall door closed. A minute later Varia reopened the closet door. "They're gone," she murmured. "I was scared to death you might try to kill him. Tsulgax wasn't five feet away, with his saber in his hand."
Macurdy pushed his way out of the closet. His mind had moved to another possibility. "There's obviously a loft overhead," he said. "How can I get up there?"
"There's a storage room down the hall-a sort of a catchall. Kurqosz's orderly took me there to find things I might want. It has a trapdoor in the ceiling."
"Good. The crystal I showed you was obviously a crystal of power. From a dead voitu. I smashed it on one of your balcony posts. That's what caused the screaming down the hall."
Varia frowned, puzzled.
"Kurqosz and his circle will have another one," he went on. "Probably bigger; the one he had in Bavaria was big as an egg. I'm going to steal it, and the first chance I get, I'll smash it too. Without it they can't cook up any major sorceries, and judging from the screams, it'll lay them out."
"I don't understand," she said.
"His younger brother Chithqosz is here, with his crystal circle. I followed them; it's how I got in. And the crystal I had… The dead voitu must have been one of them. And each of them would have part of his essence in it."
Her expression told him he'd thoroughly confused her. "I'll explain later," he said. "I need to move fast, before they get back. Which is the storeroom?"
Mentally she counted doors, then told him.
"Is there a candle I can take? Preferably one with a holder."
She took one from a shelf.
"Look, I'll be back in a little while. Be ready to leave." He took her arms with his hands. "We're going to get out of here, and everything's going to be fine. But now I need you to open the door and step into the hall. Get the guard's attention so I can get out. And keep it long enough for me to get to the storeroom. I'll use a concealment spell."
She nodded soberly. Macurdy drew his belt knife, just in case. "Let's do it then," he said.
She went to the door, opened it wide, and stepped half out, clearing it for Macurdy. There was no guard at her door, but the guard down the hall fixed her with his eyes.
She sensed Curtis move out behind her, and called just loudly enough that the guard could hear. "Did His Majesty say how long he'd be gone?"
The rakutu scowled, saying nothing. She stood as if waiting for an answer, giving Macurdy time to get into the storeroom. Then she went back inside.
***
After closing the door quietly behind him, Macurdy lit the candle with his finger. The storeroom was long and narrow, with deep shelves on each side. He was surprised it wasn't fuller.
The trapdoor was large, and near the front of the room. A crude ladder leaned against the back wall. Snooping by candle light, the nearest thing he found to a rope was a long narrow drape, like those covering the balcony door. He put the candle on a top shelf, near the trapdoor. It occurred to him that what he had to do would be a lot easier without his coat and hauberk, so he took them off. Then he got the ladder, leaned it against the trapdoor opening, climbed a few rungs and pushed open the trapdoor. Next he put drape, coat and hauberk into the loft.
That done, he put the ladder back; leaving it under the trapdoor would invite trouble. The shelves were strongly built. Using them as a ladder, h
e reached sideways, got the fingers of one hand over the edge of the opening, and swung free. Then using both hands, he pulled himself up. It never occurred to him how few men, especially large men, could have done what he just had. Before he closed the trapdoor behind him, he reached out and got the candle.
The loft was a single room as long as the building, with a rough plank floor and no ceiling. Locating a joist by the nail heads in the planks, he followed it to the end, leaving tracks in the dust. A little beneath the ridge-beam was a small unglazed window with a louvered shutter, installed to ventilate the loft in summer. A ladder built onto the end wall gave access to it. Setting the candle aside, he climbed the ladder, opened the shutter, and looked out. This was the east end of the house; the other buildings were to the west. There seemed little likelihood he'd be seen, unless from the road.
He looked downward, and examined the outer wall. There was a vault-shaped roof a dozen feet beneath him, like that of the master bedroom's balcony.
The problems, as he saw them, were to get safely down onto the balcony roof, and from the roof get onto the balcony itself. And from there into Kurqosz's office. There were other uncertainties: Was there a guard in the office who might kill him or raise an alarm? Might the rakutu outside the door hear him? Was the crystal even there? But those weren't problems. There was nothing he could do about them. Or about leaving the drape hanging down the outside of the house, like a flag shouting "something is seriously wrong here!"
Climbing back down the ladder, he got the drape. His hauberk he left where it was; it promised to be too cumbersome for things he had to do. He thought about abandoning his coat for the same reason, but kept it for appearances and its large pockets.
After tying the drape to the topmost step, he went back down the ladder and snuffed out the candle. The stub he put in a pants pocket, the candle holder in a coat pocket. Then he climbed the ladder again. Only then did he wonder if he could make it out the window. It proved by far the most difficult part of the project. First he dropped his coat onto the balcony roof. A couple of awkward, squirming, even desperate minutes later he was outside, clutching the drape, and lowering himself down the wall. His feet touched the balcony roof with a foot of drape to spare.