The keep of fire, p.51
The Keep of Fire, page 51
Grace felt like she was drowning. “Told us what?”
“That the regent is Dakarreth.” Melia’s eyes glinted. “You just had supper with a Necromancer, dear.”
76.
“Spider!” Travis peered into the shadows and fog that filled the lane and called out again as loud as he dared. “Spider, where are you?”
Travis shivered inside his mistcloak. He was certain if anyone could help them now, it was the Spider. And they did need help. But how was he supposed to find someone who had perfected the art of not being found?
He searched the gloom. This was the place where he had encountered the Spider before, wasn’t it? However, the more he looked, the less he was sure. Everything was transmuted in the fog; stone melted away, soft as mist, molding itself into unfamiliar shapes.
Travis sighed. It was time to return to the others—if he could find his way back, that was. They would just have to come up with a plan on their own. According to Melia, they had only hours, perhaps less, before Dakarreth sensed her awakened presence in the castle and was on to them. Holding his mistcloak around him, Travis turned to head back the way he had come—
—and smacked face first into a wall hidden by the fog.
“Now that,” a sibilant voice spoke behind him, “had to hurt.”
Travis snatched his hand from his head and spun around. A slender man wearing a gray cloak stepped from the fog, and Travis forgot his throbbing skull.
“Spider!”
Silver eyes gleamed in the faint moonlight that seeped through the mist above. “What is this, Travis Wilder? Why are you not in your room where you should be? You place yourself at great risk in trying to find me. ‘Spider’ is hardly a popular word to call out in Spardis these days.”
Travis stepped toward the other. “I’m glad I found you.”
A soft, mirthful laugh. “You did not find me, Travis Wilder. I found you. And by the look of it, it’s a good thing I did. Or do you enjoy trying to walk through solid stone?”
There was no time for this—it didn’t matter who had found whom. “You’ve got to come with me.”
“And why is that, Travis Wilder?”
Now it was Travis’s turn to laugh. “We need your help saving the world.”
The Spider raised a single, golden eyebrow.
Minutes later—far fewer than Travis would have thought possible—they stepped into Melia’s chamber. The others looked up, surprise on their faces. Beltan’s hand slipped to the hilt of his sword.
The Spider grinned at Travis. “Your friends don’t exactly seem happy to see me.”
Despite his thumping heart, Travis returned the grin. “They just haven’t gotten to know you yet like I have.”
Melia sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in her usual blue kirtle now, and gave her blue-black hair a final twist, binding it neatly into a single coil. “Is this your little friend who you thought might help us, dear?”
Travis nodded. “Everyone, this is …” But he couldn’t just call the man Spider.
The slender man bowed before Melia. “My name is Aldeth, Great Lady. I am at your service.”
Melia’s eyes glowed as she let the Spider kiss her hand. “You’re awfully polite for a spy and assassin.”
“Excellence in all things, my lady. That’s my philosophy.”
“You’re right, Travis,” Melia said. “He does grow on you rather quickly.”
“So now what do we do?” Grace said. She sat on a chair, Tira on her lap, and the black kitten on the girl’s.
Aldeth stroked his pointed blond beard. “May I suggest you begin by listening to the message I have for you?”
A shadow touched Melia’s brow. “A message? From whom?”
“Falken Blackhand.”
The Spider had their undivided attention.
“I met Falken earlier this evening just outside the walls of the castle. He and his two companions were unable to enter Spardis because of the regent’s order.”
“Wait a minute,” Beltan said, glowering at the spy. “If the castle gates are sealed, how did you get out to talk to Falken?”
“And then back in to speak to us?” Aryn added.
“There are other ways in and out of Spardis besides the gates.”
“The message, Aldeth,” Melia said. “Please.”
Aldeth turned toward her. “Falken and the others have just returned from a long journey. Into the Barrens, I believe, although why they would venture there I have no idea.” He cocked his head. “But I suppose you do. At any rate, Falken’s message was this: The Keep of Fire is empty. The Stone has moved west. Spardis is not safe.”
Melia pressed her hands against the fabric of her dress. “Falken’s message comes a bit late. I’m afraid we already know these things. It is here, in Spardis.”
Aldeth frowned. “What is here?”
Travis opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a portion of the room’s wall swung out with a whoosh of dusty air, revealing a dim opening beyond. Two figures draped all in black stepped from shadow into light.
Shock paralyzed Travis, but Beltan moved with a speed that seemed impossible. The knight drew his sword and leaped in front of the opening, his blade before him.
“If you want to come closer,” Beltan said between clenched teeth, “you’ll have to pull yourself along this sword to do it.”
The figure hesitated, then lifted small hands to push back a veil of black lace.
Beltan’s sword dropped. Travis stared, shock renewed, at the young woman—no, the girl, really—who stood before them.
Aldeth rushed forward, then dropped to one knee and bowed his head before the young woman in black. “My queen! You have placed yourself in grave peril by coming here!”
She directed large brown eyes toward Beltan. “So it would seem.”
Beltan’s fair cheeks brightened. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty.”
“Nay, good knight. You should be commended for your swiftness of action. Although I find them remarkably convenient, that is the disadvantage of secret doors—it’s quite impossible to step through one without startling those on the other side.”
The queen spoke in the high, clear voice of a child, but there was a keen edge to her words that hinted at an adult intellect. Then again, Travis had a feeling Inara had had to grow up fast in this castle in order to keep her head.
He remembered himself as the others bowed before the queen and followed suit. Inara nodded, indicating that they could rise. The second figure stepped out of the doorway: a serving maiden barely older than the queen, her round face frightened.
“My queen,” Aldeth said, “what are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
The Spider took a step back. “I can explain.”
The queen smiled—a pretty expression that was not altogether comforting. “And you shall, my Aldeth.”
Melia glided closer to the young queen. “We heard it spoken you were in seclusion, Your Majesty.”
“Many things are spoken about me, Lady Melia. Few of them are to be believed. I yet mourn my husband, that is so. But I am secluded only as a prisoner is secluded in a dungeon.”
Grace gestured to the secret door. “Not quite, Your Majesty.”
Inara smiled again. “A queen—even one who is not allowed to rule in her son’s name—is not without resources. But I am not the only one in peril here. That is why I have come.”
“What is it, Your Majesty?” Melia said.
“A messenger arrived for Regent Darrek shortly after supper. I was not able to see who it was, for he was clad all in a robe—and a filthy one at that. Nor did I hear what they spoke of. But afterward the regent was angry, and he gave orders to his guards—orders to search the castle, to find a woman with golden eyes and black hair, and to bring her to him.”
Beltan gripped his sword. “How long, Your Majesty?”
Inara shook her head. “I cannot say. The castle is large, and they did not begin with this wing. But there are many guards, and they are moving swiftly. You have a quarter hour. A half hour at most.”
Melia’s eyes glinted. “And why are you warning me, Your Majesty? What if the regent seeks me because I am perilous?”
“I imagine you are perilous indeed, Lady Melia. I have heard some stories of you. But I know that Regent Darrek is more dangerous yet, to me and to my son.” A shudder coursed through Inara, and suddenly she seemed more girl than queen. “I don’t know why, not entirely, but he’s horrible. That man has no soul.”
Travis almost laughed. “You know more than you think, Your Majesty.”
Both Inara and Aldeth looked up with questioning eyes.
“Now it is time for us to tell you something,” Melia said.
By the time the lady finished speaking a few minutes later, both Aldeth and Queen Inara sat on the bed, and the serving maid crouched in a corner, hands clutched to her ears. Aldeth’s silvery eyes were wide, but Inara stood, her tiny hands clenched into fists.
“I knew there was something queer about Darrek—or Dakarreth, as you call him. He has a power over others, a way of making them do as he wishes with a look. A lord with no heritage who came to Spardis should have ended up in the moat with a knife in his back after a day or two. Instead, in a matter of weeks, he gained the regency.” She looked at Melia. “Thank you, Great Lady. At least I know I am not mad now. Or a complete fool.”
Despite her young age, Travis knew this was the woman who should rule Perridon until Perseth was old enough to be king. And maybe for longer. He glanced at Grace. She nodded—she had reached the same conclusion.
“So now what?” Beltan said. “We’ve only got a few more minutes until they get here.”
Melia folded her arms. “We have to find where he’s hidden the Stone of Fire.”
“Is this Stone something precious?” Inara said.
Travis squeezed his right hand shut. “You might say that, Your Majesty.”
Inara moved to the window and opened the shutters. “There, the mist is clearing now—do you see it? The slender tower with two horns at its summit. All but Dakarreth are forbidden to enter that tower, and he goes there often late at night.”
“That’s got to be it,” Grace said.
In moments they had sketched out a plan, although to call it desperate was far too generous. Aryn would accompany the queen back to her chamber—the serving maid was quite beyond use at the moment—in case Dakarreth came looking for Inara. In such an event, Aryn and Inara were to delay him in any way possible without putting themselves at risk.
Beltan’s task was to follow a map drawn by Aldeth to a hidden portal in the castle’s south wall, at the level of the lake. He was to unlock the door and wait for Falken, Lirith, and Durge to arrive there by boat—for Aldeth had made a plan earlier to meet the bard and his companions there at moonset. Aldeth had another task now. He was to show Melia the way to Dakarreth’s tower. And Travis was coming with them.
“Only you can touch the Stone, dear,” Melia said. “You saw what a small grain flecked from its surface did to me.”
Beltan started toward the door, then hesitated. “And what of Grace?”
“I’m going with Melia and Travis.”
Melia arched an eyebrow. “And Tira, dear?”
Grace gripped the girl’s shoulders.
“She can’t stay here alone,” Travis said.
Melia nodded, and Grace sighed.
Beltan moved to the secret passage. “Let’s go then.”
With his left hand Travis gripped the runestaff Oragien had given him. He had no idea how to use it—or if it did anything at all—but if nothing else it would keep him from falling down. He glanced at Beltan, to wish him luck, but the knight turned his back and disappeared into the gloom of the passageway. Aryn and the queen followed, propelling the weeping serving maid between them.
Aldeth glanced at Melia. “Ready, my lady?”
“Lead the way,” she said.
Travis wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard the echo of booted feet in the corridor outside Melia’s chamber. Then Aldeth pulled the secret door shut behind them, and they were in darkness.
Light flared. Aldeth held a candle in a tin lantern. “This way,” he said.
Melia followed the Spider, Grace and Tira behind her, while Travis brought up the rear. Sooner than Travis had expected they came to a halt. The passage ended in a door of thick wood planks bound with rusted iron bands.
Aldeth shut the lantern, dimming the light. “This door leads into the regent’s tower.” He tried the handle, but the door did not budge. “It’s locked. It will take me a few minutes to open it.” He pulled a thin wire from a pocket.
Travis stepped forward. “No, let me try.”
Before Aldeth could protest, Travis laid a hand on the door and whispered a word. “Urath.”
There was a faint snick, and the door swung open. Beyond was darkness.
Aldeth shot him an impressed look. “There is more to you than meets the eye, Travis Wilder.”
Melia patted Travis’s scruffy cheek. “So we’ve learned.”
“Come on,” Grace said, moving through the door with Tira in tow. The others followed up a spiral staircase.
“Is he here, Melia?” Travis whispered after a few steps.
“I don’t sense him within. But there’s something … wrong here all the same.”
That goes without saying, Travis nearly muttered, but he bit his tongue as they ascended through shadow and silence.
“We are near the top now, I think,” Aldeth whispered, as they stopped before another door.
Travis ground his teeth together. As they climbed, a wave of dread had risen inside him with every step, and now it threatened to crest. We should have been stopped by now. If this is where he’s keeping the Stone, where are his defenses?
“There’s no use waiting,” Melia said.
Travis reached for the door, but when Aldeth pushed against the wood it opened. Together they stepped into the circular space beyond.
Aldeth was right. This was the highest chamber in the tower. Through narrow windows he glimpsed the castle all around. Torches burned in iron sconces, obviating the need for Aldeth’s lantern. Travis took a staggering step forward. The wave of dread broke, filling him with watery fear.
“There’s nothing here,” he said.
The others gathered to either side of him, staring as he did at the empty room. They had come here for nothing.
“No,” Grace said. “Look.”
Travis followed her gaze. On the farside of the chamber, something hung on the wall. It looked like a bundle of rags. He approached with the others. Then, when they reached the center of the room, they stopped. Bile rose in Travis’s throat, and he gripped the runestaff. It wasn’t a bundle of rags. Rather it was a man nailed to the stone wall with iron spikes, his face twisted into a wide-eyed mask of horror and death.
Grace clutched Tira, trying to turn the girl away from the grisly sight.
Aldeth swore. “Lord Siferd!”
Only as the Spider said this did Travis realize it was indeed the chamberlain crucified to the wall.
Melia’s eyes shone with sorrow. “It seems this is what happens to those who displease Dakarreth.”
“As you will all soon discover for yourselves, Great Lady,” a voice as harsh as smoke said behind them.
They turned to see a man in a dirty robe the color of ashes step through the door. The scent of rot rose on the air. Aldeth drew the dagger from his boot, but Melia held him back with a hand. She stepped forward.
“Who are you? I demand you reveal yourself.”
A cackling laugh. “As you wish, Great Lady.”
The man lifted hands that were oozing and twisted, then pushed back the hood of his robe. Two words escaped Travis like a gasp of pain.
“Master Eriaun!”
The runespeaker grinned, teeth white in the blackened ruin of his face. “It’s so good to see you again, Master Wilder.”
77.
Beltan moved deeper into steam-filled catacombs, his bare feet silent on slick tiles.
By Vathris, you had better be sure of what you’re doing, Beltan of Calavan. You had better be sure.
But it was far too late to question his decision. Beltan moved past pools of hot water fed by ceramic pipes. Water dripped from arches that spanned overhead. The baths of Spardis had been fashioned centuries ago in emulation of the old Tarrasian style. A series of rectangular pools allowed the bather to grow used to immersion in increasingly hot water. Blue mosaic dolphins swam beneath the water, and green tile waves flowed on the walls.
It had been easy to discover where to find the regent—too easy for Beltan’s liking. After asking only a few questions, a servingman had taken him to the entrance of the baths. He had feared guards would prevent his entering. However, on stepping into the moist-aired antechamber, he had found only a pair of naked boys, perfumed oil in their dark hair, gold rings adorning their wrists, ankles, throats.
Without words, the boys had taken Beltan’s sword, then had undressed him with deft movements. In return they had given him a short linen kilt to wrap around his waist. The boys had watched in silence as he took a dagger from his folded tunic and slipped it beneath the kilt. They had gazed with placid brown eyes as he stepped through an archway into the baths beyond.
Now, as he walked, he could feel the blade, hot against his skin. He touched it beneath the fabric of the kilt, making sure it was still hidden and secure. Sweat beaded on his skin, and he pushed wet hair back from his brow.
“Where are you, Dakarreth?” His whisper merged with the hiss of vapor. “Where are you?”
His eyes slid across a mosaic of brown-skinned men in a boat spearing black seals in azure water. Had the moon set yet? Had Falken, Durge, and Lirith reached the hidden door in their own boat? Perhaps, but there was no way to be sure of the time.
Earlier, he had found the door that the Spider Aldeth had described. He had opened it to find the misty waters of the lake lapping beyond. For a time he had peered into the gloom, waiting for the bard and the others to arrive. But waiting was not something Beltan was good at. He took a piece of charcoal from a burnt torch and, on the back of the map Aldeth had drawn, he had written the best letters he could manage:
“That the regent is Dakarreth.” Melia’s eyes glinted. “You just had supper with a Necromancer, dear.”
76.
“Spider!” Travis peered into the shadows and fog that filled the lane and called out again as loud as he dared. “Spider, where are you?”
Travis shivered inside his mistcloak. He was certain if anyone could help them now, it was the Spider. And they did need help. But how was he supposed to find someone who had perfected the art of not being found?
He searched the gloom. This was the place where he had encountered the Spider before, wasn’t it? However, the more he looked, the less he was sure. Everything was transmuted in the fog; stone melted away, soft as mist, molding itself into unfamiliar shapes.
Travis sighed. It was time to return to the others—if he could find his way back, that was. They would just have to come up with a plan on their own. According to Melia, they had only hours, perhaps less, before Dakarreth sensed her awakened presence in the castle and was on to them. Holding his mistcloak around him, Travis turned to head back the way he had come—
—and smacked face first into a wall hidden by the fog.
“Now that,” a sibilant voice spoke behind him, “had to hurt.”
Travis snatched his hand from his head and spun around. A slender man wearing a gray cloak stepped from the fog, and Travis forgot his throbbing skull.
“Spider!”
Silver eyes gleamed in the faint moonlight that seeped through the mist above. “What is this, Travis Wilder? Why are you not in your room where you should be? You place yourself at great risk in trying to find me. ‘Spider’ is hardly a popular word to call out in Spardis these days.”
Travis stepped toward the other. “I’m glad I found you.”
A soft, mirthful laugh. “You did not find me, Travis Wilder. I found you. And by the look of it, it’s a good thing I did. Or do you enjoy trying to walk through solid stone?”
There was no time for this—it didn’t matter who had found whom. “You’ve got to come with me.”
“And why is that, Travis Wilder?”
Now it was Travis’s turn to laugh. “We need your help saving the world.”
The Spider raised a single, golden eyebrow.
Minutes later—far fewer than Travis would have thought possible—they stepped into Melia’s chamber. The others looked up, surprise on their faces. Beltan’s hand slipped to the hilt of his sword.
The Spider grinned at Travis. “Your friends don’t exactly seem happy to see me.”
Despite his thumping heart, Travis returned the grin. “They just haven’t gotten to know you yet like I have.”
Melia sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in her usual blue kirtle now, and gave her blue-black hair a final twist, binding it neatly into a single coil. “Is this your little friend who you thought might help us, dear?”
Travis nodded. “Everyone, this is …” But he couldn’t just call the man Spider.
The slender man bowed before Melia. “My name is Aldeth, Great Lady. I am at your service.”
Melia’s eyes glowed as she let the Spider kiss her hand. “You’re awfully polite for a spy and assassin.”
“Excellence in all things, my lady. That’s my philosophy.”
“You’re right, Travis,” Melia said. “He does grow on you rather quickly.”
“So now what do we do?” Grace said. She sat on a chair, Tira on her lap, and the black kitten on the girl’s.
Aldeth stroked his pointed blond beard. “May I suggest you begin by listening to the message I have for you?”
A shadow touched Melia’s brow. “A message? From whom?”
“Falken Blackhand.”
The Spider had their undivided attention.
“I met Falken earlier this evening just outside the walls of the castle. He and his two companions were unable to enter Spardis because of the regent’s order.”
“Wait a minute,” Beltan said, glowering at the spy. “If the castle gates are sealed, how did you get out to talk to Falken?”
“And then back in to speak to us?” Aryn added.
“There are other ways in and out of Spardis besides the gates.”
“The message, Aldeth,” Melia said. “Please.”
Aldeth turned toward her. “Falken and the others have just returned from a long journey. Into the Barrens, I believe, although why they would venture there I have no idea.” He cocked his head. “But I suppose you do. At any rate, Falken’s message was this: The Keep of Fire is empty. The Stone has moved west. Spardis is not safe.”
Melia pressed her hands against the fabric of her dress. “Falken’s message comes a bit late. I’m afraid we already know these things. It is here, in Spardis.”
Aldeth frowned. “What is here?”
Travis opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a portion of the room’s wall swung out with a whoosh of dusty air, revealing a dim opening beyond. Two figures draped all in black stepped from shadow into light.
Shock paralyzed Travis, but Beltan moved with a speed that seemed impossible. The knight drew his sword and leaped in front of the opening, his blade before him.
“If you want to come closer,” Beltan said between clenched teeth, “you’ll have to pull yourself along this sword to do it.”
The figure hesitated, then lifted small hands to push back a veil of black lace.
Beltan’s sword dropped. Travis stared, shock renewed, at the young woman—no, the girl, really—who stood before them.
Aldeth rushed forward, then dropped to one knee and bowed his head before the young woman in black. “My queen! You have placed yourself in grave peril by coming here!”
She directed large brown eyes toward Beltan. “So it would seem.”
Beltan’s fair cheeks brightened. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty.”
“Nay, good knight. You should be commended for your swiftness of action. Although I find them remarkably convenient, that is the disadvantage of secret doors—it’s quite impossible to step through one without startling those on the other side.”
The queen spoke in the high, clear voice of a child, but there was a keen edge to her words that hinted at an adult intellect. Then again, Travis had a feeling Inara had had to grow up fast in this castle in order to keep her head.
He remembered himself as the others bowed before the queen and followed suit. Inara nodded, indicating that they could rise. The second figure stepped out of the doorway: a serving maiden barely older than the queen, her round face frightened.
“My queen,” Aldeth said, “what are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
The Spider took a step back. “I can explain.”
The queen smiled—a pretty expression that was not altogether comforting. “And you shall, my Aldeth.”
Melia glided closer to the young queen. “We heard it spoken you were in seclusion, Your Majesty.”
“Many things are spoken about me, Lady Melia. Few of them are to be believed. I yet mourn my husband, that is so. But I am secluded only as a prisoner is secluded in a dungeon.”
Grace gestured to the secret door. “Not quite, Your Majesty.”
Inara smiled again. “A queen—even one who is not allowed to rule in her son’s name—is not without resources. But I am not the only one in peril here. That is why I have come.”
“What is it, Your Majesty?” Melia said.
“A messenger arrived for Regent Darrek shortly after supper. I was not able to see who it was, for he was clad all in a robe—and a filthy one at that. Nor did I hear what they spoke of. But afterward the regent was angry, and he gave orders to his guards—orders to search the castle, to find a woman with golden eyes and black hair, and to bring her to him.”
Beltan gripped his sword. “How long, Your Majesty?”
Inara shook her head. “I cannot say. The castle is large, and they did not begin with this wing. But there are many guards, and they are moving swiftly. You have a quarter hour. A half hour at most.”
Melia’s eyes glinted. “And why are you warning me, Your Majesty? What if the regent seeks me because I am perilous?”
“I imagine you are perilous indeed, Lady Melia. I have heard some stories of you. But I know that Regent Darrek is more dangerous yet, to me and to my son.” A shudder coursed through Inara, and suddenly she seemed more girl than queen. “I don’t know why, not entirely, but he’s horrible. That man has no soul.”
Travis almost laughed. “You know more than you think, Your Majesty.”
Both Inara and Aldeth looked up with questioning eyes.
“Now it is time for us to tell you something,” Melia said.
By the time the lady finished speaking a few minutes later, both Aldeth and Queen Inara sat on the bed, and the serving maid crouched in a corner, hands clutched to her ears. Aldeth’s silvery eyes were wide, but Inara stood, her tiny hands clenched into fists.
“I knew there was something queer about Darrek—or Dakarreth, as you call him. He has a power over others, a way of making them do as he wishes with a look. A lord with no heritage who came to Spardis should have ended up in the moat with a knife in his back after a day or two. Instead, in a matter of weeks, he gained the regency.” She looked at Melia. “Thank you, Great Lady. At least I know I am not mad now. Or a complete fool.”
Despite her young age, Travis knew this was the woman who should rule Perridon until Perseth was old enough to be king. And maybe for longer. He glanced at Grace. She nodded—she had reached the same conclusion.
“So now what?” Beltan said. “We’ve only got a few more minutes until they get here.”
Melia folded her arms. “We have to find where he’s hidden the Stone of Fire.”
“Is this Stone something precious?” Inara said.
Travis squeezed his right hand shut. “You might say that, Your Majesty.”
Inara moved to the window and opened the shutters. “There, the mist is clearing now—do you see it? The slender tower with two horns at its summit. All but Dakarreth are forbidden to enter that tower, and he goes there often late at night.”
“That’s got to be it,” Grace said.
In moments they had sketched out a plan, although to call it desperate was far too generous. Aryn would accompany the queen back to her chamber—the serving maid was quite beyond use at the moment—in case Dakarreth came looking for Inara. In such an event, Aryn and Inara were to delay him in any way possible without putting themselves at risk.
Beltan’s task was to follow a map drawn by Aldeth to a hidden portal in the castle’s south wall, at the level of the lake. He was to unlock the door and wait for Falken, Lirith, and Durge to arrive there by boat—for Aldeth had made a plan earlier to meet the bard and his companions there at moonset. Aldeth had another task now. He was to show Melia the way to Dakarreth’s tower. And Travis was coming with them.
“Only you can touch the Stone, dear,” Melia said. “You saw what a small grain flecked from its surface did to me.”
Beltan started toward the door, then hesitated. “And what of Grace?”
“I’m going with Melia and Travis.”
Melia arched an eyebrow. “And Tira, dear?”
Grace gripped the girl’s shoulders.
“She can’t stay here alone,” Travis said.
Melia nodded, and Grace sighed.
Beltan moved to the secret passage. “Let’s go then.”
With his left hand Travis gripped the runestaff Oragien had given him. He had no idea how to use it—or if it did anything at all—but if nothing else it would keep him from falling down. He glanced at Beltan, to wish him luck, but the knight turned his back and disappeared into the gloom of the passageway. Aryn and the queen followed, propelling the weeping serving maid between them.
Aldeth glanced at Melia. “Ready, my lady?”
“Lead the way,” she said.
Travis wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard the echo of booted feet in the corridor outside Melia’s chamber. Then Aldeth pulled the secret door shut behind them, and they were in darkness.
Light flared. Aldeth held a candle in a tin lantern. “This way,” he said.
Melia followed the Spider, Grace and Tira behind her, while Travis brought up the rear. Sooner than Travis had expected they came to a halt. The passage ended in a door of thick wood planks bound with rusted iron bands.
Aldeth shut the lantern, dimming the light. “This door leads into the regent’s tower.” He tried the handle, but the door did not budge. “It’s locked. It will take me a few minutes to open it.” He pulled a thin wire from a pocket.
Travis stepped forward. “No, let me try.”
Before Aldeth could protest, Travis laid a hand on the door and whispered a word. “Urath.”
There was a faint snick, and the door swung open. Beyond was darkness.
Aldeth shot him an impressed look. “There is more to you than meets the eye, Travis Wilder.”
Melia patted Travis’s scruffy cheek. “So we’ve learned.”
“Come on,” Grace said, moving through the door with Tira in tow. The others followed up a spiral staircase.
“Is he here, Melia?” Travis whispered after a few steps.
“I don’t sense him within. But there’s something … wrong here all the same.”
That goes without saying, Travis nearly muttered, but he bit his tongue as they ascended through shadow and silence.
“We are near the top now, I think,” Aldeth whispered, as they stopped before another door.
Travis ground his teeth together. As they climbed, a wave of dread had risen inside him with every step, and now it threatened to crest. We should have been stopped by now. If this is where he’s keeping the Stone, where are his defenses?
“There’s no use waiting,” Melia said.
Travis reached for the door, but when Aldeth pushed against the wood it opened. Together they stepped into the circular space beyond.
Aldeth was right. This was the highest chamber in the tower. Through narrow windows he glimpsed the castle all around. Torches burned in iron sconces, obviating the need for Aldeth’s lantern. Travis took a staggering step forward. The wave of dread broke, filling him with watery fear.
“There’s nothing here,” he said.
The others gathered to either side of him, staring as he did at the empty room. They had come here for nothing.
“No,” Grace said. “Look.”
Travis followed her gaze. On the farside of the chamber, something hung on the wall. It looked like a bundle of rags. He approached with the others. Then, when they reached the center of the room, they stopped. Bile rose in Travis’s throat, and he gripped the runestaff. It wasn’t a bundle of rags. Rather it was a man nailed to the stone wall with iron spikes, his face twisted into a wide-eyed mask of horror and death.
Grace clutched Tira, trying to turn the girl away from the grisly sight.
Aldeth swore. “Lord Siferd!”
Only as the Spider said this did Travis realize it was indeed the chamberlain crucified to the wall.
Melia’s eyes shone with sorrow. “It seems this is what happens to those who displease Dakarreth.”
“As you will all soon discover for yourselves, Great Lady,” a voice as harsh as smoke said behind them.
They turned to see a man in a dirty robe the color of ashes step through the door. The scent of rot rose on the air. Aldeth drew the dagger from his boot, but Melia held him back with a hand. She stepped forward.
“Who are you? I demand you reveal yourself.”
A cackling laugh. “As you wish, Great Lady.”
The man lifted hands that were oozing and twisted, then pushed back the hood of his robe. Two words escaped Travis like a gasp of pain.
“Master Eriaun!”
The runespeaker grinned, teeth white in the blackened ruin of his face. “It’s so good to see you again, Master Wilder.”
77.
Beltan moved deeper into steam-filled catacombs, his bare feet silent on slick tiles.
By Vathris, you had better be sure of what you’re doing, Beltan of Calavan. You had better be sure.
But it was far too late to question his decision. Beltan moved past pools of hot water fed by ceramic pipes. Water dripped from arches that spanned overhead. The baths of Spardis had been fashioned centuries ago in emulation of the old Tarrasian style. A series of rectangular pools allowed the bather to grow used to immersion in increasingly hot water. Blue mosaic dolphins swam beneath the water, and green tile waves flowed on the walls.
It had been easy to discover where to find the regent—too easy for Beltan’s liking. After asking only a few questions, a servingman had taken him to the entrance of the baths. He had feared guards would prevent his entering. However, on stepping into the moist-aired antechamber, he had found only a pair of naked boys, perfumed oil in their dark hair, gold rings adorning their wrists, ankles, throats.
Without words, the boys had taken Beltan’s sword, then had undressed him with deft movements. In return they had given him a short linen kilt to wrap around his waist. The boys had watched in silence as he took a dagger from his folded tunic and slipped it beneath the kilt. They had gazed with placid brown eyes as he stepped through an archway into the baths beyond.
Now, as he walked, he could feel the blade, hot against his skin. He touched it beneath the fabric of the kilt, making sure it was still hidden and secure. Sweat beaded on his skin, and he pushed wet hair back from his brow.
“Where are you, Dakarreth?” His whisper merged with the hiss of vapor. “Where are you?”
His eyes slid across a mosaic of brown-skinned men in a boat spearing black seals in azure water. Had the moon set yet? Had Falken, Durge, and Lirith reached the hidden door in their own boat? Perhaps, but there was no way to be sure of the time.
Earlier, he had found the door that the Spider Aldeth had described. He had opened it to find the misty waters of the lake lapping beyond. For a time he had peered into the gloom, waiting for the bard and the others to arrive. But waiting was not something Beltan was good at. He took a piece of charcoal from a burnt torch and, on the back of the map Aldeth had drawn, he had written the best letters he could manage:
