Daughter of Ancients

Chapter 31

After an hour of listening to a lecture on Dar'Nethi enchantments and power-gathering in general, another discussing portal creation in particular, and another of intense questioning about particular aspects of defensive and offensive combat spells about which I could offer little information, Gerick began to work on his portal-making. After two hours of exhausting practice to get each step perfect, four false starts, and a trip into Paulo's mind to borrow an exact image of Mistress Aimee's sitting room and the garden just beyond it, he had created a shimmering doorway that hung in the still air of our desert hiding place. The sun was already down, but the brutal heat of afternoon had not yet yielded its sway.

Without seeming to notice the sweat rolling down his brow or the traces of fresh blood streaking the dirty bandages on his hands, Gerick gazed solemnly on his work. "Do you suppose it goes where we intend? Damned awkward if I've mucked it up."

"You were holding back," I said, fanning my face with a tuft of gray grass. "I've told you fifty times: A Dar'Nethi spell-working will never come together perfectly if you starve it. Portals are immense."

"We used everything I had last night. Now we've this portal to make, another oculus to destroy, and who knows what else. I've only been awake a few hours. I can't possibly think or . . . live . . . enough in a few hours to replenish what we'll need."

"You have to open yourself completely when you draw power. Use everything. Not just experience. Not just the world around you at the very moment you're thinking of it. But everything you feel. Everything you are. Everything you remember. You are not a simple Grower who's done nothing but plant seeds his whole life! Your capacity is enormous. The 'fuel' you have to fill it is enormous. Use them."

"I'll try to do better. But there's only so far I can go." He had closed himself off again, just when I thought he was beginning to trust me.

Annoyed, I was more blunt than I intended. "Then sooner or later you'll fail."

Exchanges like this, with half the conversation unspoken, exhausted me. Sometimes I knew what he was trying to say, and sometimes I was completely at sea. No wonder D'Sanya had done all the talking.

While he and Paulo peered into the night beyond the portal, I grumbled to myself that anyone stupid enough to take a Dar'Nethi without talent as a mentor deserved no better teaching than he got, and I tried to convince myself that I was not at all unhappy that Gerick had no need to use my hands for portal-making. The residual effects of his power drifted on the hot air like a shower of cherry blossoms, but nothing would ever compare to the exhilaration of wielding his enchantments with my own hand.

Only the faint orange glow of a small fire gleamed in the darkness beyond the portal. But Paulo swore he could see through the garden door to the blue couch where Aimee had once sat drinking tea, and the low table where she had set the book she could read so amazingly with her fingers, and the tapestry footstool where she had set her foot—her most elegantly perfect foot, his expression reported. Mercifully he restrained himself from speaking it aloud.

Gerick listened soberly as Paulo finished his earnest description that had so little to do with accurate memory, then shook his head ever so slightly as his friend stepped through the portal. I stood right behind Gerick to watch, and I couldn't help myself stretching up on tiptoe and whispering in his ear. "He needs to tell her, you know."

Gerick peered over his shoulder, frowning as if I'd reminded him of a step he'd missed. "What's that?"

"How he feels. She can't see it, and he doesn't talk enough for her to hear it. She doesn't know."

The wrinkles in his brow smoothed. "I think he could as easily claim the throne of Avonar."

I considered pointing out that perhaps he could advise his friend, as it seemed he'd found ways to say such things himself. But it would perhaps not be a wise thing—and certainly not a kind thing—to tweak the bruised heart of a powerful sorcerer who had once been a devil.

Before my wayward tongue could get me into trouble, Paulo stepped back into our cave, grinning. "Nobody about, but it's the right place and a fire's lit in the hearth. We'll give the ladies a right surprise when they find horses in the garden and us three filthy travelers sitting there drinking tea!"

"Let's go, then," said Gerick.

He snatched up the loose packs, I took the cloaks we'd set ready, and Paulo grabbed the horses' leads, then we stepped one by one through the tremulous doorway.

Passing through a portal is a sensation something like that of jumping off a cliff, I've always thought. Your stomach seems to take a certain amount of time to catch up with you. And the other place—the place beyond— slams into your mind exactly like the hard earth at the end of such a leap. I don't know that even a Dar'Nethi mind is supposed to make such an abrupt shift from one place to another. It must have been the anticipation of seeing Aimee that had allowed Paulo to come back grinning. Or perhaps the whole experience is more pleasant for mundanes.

The house was indeed dark, and the air was cold for a late summer evening, even in the highlands of Avonar. Heavy mist floated through the soggy garden. They must have had days of rain. Though it would be just past the dinner hour, the house was silent, and no noise at all came from the street or neighboring houses. Odd.

The oppressive quiet muted the three of us, as well. Paulo clucked softly and led the horses through the back gate into the stableyard. I unlatched the garden door that opened into Aimee's small sitting room, and by the time Gerick and I walked through it, Paulo was back at our sides. He couldn't have taken time even to unsaddle his beasts.

The wan fire in the hearth scarcely made a dent in the chill. No one was maintaining the house enchantments. The dining room and the kitchen beyond were deserted, and the grand drawing room with its fountains and chimes, birdcages, plants, and gaudy swathes of colored silk hanging from the ceiling felt like a gathering place for unquiet spirits.

"They must have gone out," I whispered, once we'd poked our heads into every room on the lower floor and found no sign of mistress, guest, or servant. "Lady Seriana is surely at the hospice as she planned. Perhaps Mistress Aimee is busy with Commander Je'Reint." Perfectly sensible explanations..

"A fire's lit and her cloak is laid by it," said Paulo, his anxiety setting my own stomach aflutter. "She never goes without it—not on such a cool night as this. And she promised that someone would be here close until we sent word. One of her serving girls if not her."

Perhaps it was Paulo's worry that kept us whispering and creeping about like thieves.

"We'll search the rest of the house," said Gerick. "I'll go up; Paulo, you to the cellar. And if you'd—"

"I'll look in the back garden," I said.

"If no one's about, we'll leave a message and be on our way."

We tiptoed into the entry hall where a grand stair led upward into darkness . . . no, not total darkness. A pinpoint of light hovered on the third-floor landing, then began moving slowly downward. Gerick's gesture commanding our silence was unnecessary. We crowded into a niche filled with aromatic plants.

Three dark figures moved down the stair, and the single candle flame that led them gleamed unmistakably on a steel blade. I felt, rather than heard, Paulo's long knife come free, and my own dagger found its way into my hand. Gerick carried no weapon, but I would not have called him unarmed. The touch of his lean body, pressing me backward into the shadows, filled me with unreasonable dread. I shifted away from him . . . and bumped my head into a dangling wind chime. The merry tinkling rang through the silent house like a trumpet call.

"Who's there?" called a man's harsh voice.

"Hold, mistress!" commanded another, and the candle was raised high and a brush of enchantment made it flare up. Two well-armed Dar'Nethi, dressed in green and yellow livery, held the arms of a pale, worried Mistress Aimee.

A deep rumbling came from Paulo, but Gerick quickly laid a hand on his shoulder. At the same time I heard . .. or felt . . . Gerick open his mouth to speak. But before he could reveal himself, I slapped my hand over his lips.

"Mistress Aimee, are you all right?" I called. "It's only Jen."

Something strange was going on, and I didn't think Gerick ought to be bumbling about in front of anyone. And Paulo was so intent on rescue, it likely hadn't occurred to him that the men could just as likely be there to protect Aimee as harm her.

"I've just stopped in to . . . tell you that my grandmother is much better, thanks to the Healer you sent and the soup and everything. We've brought her to Avonar to recuperate. But when I came to your door, I saw the light creeping about through the windows, and I was afraid. …"

"Jen! So soon! I . . . I've wondered if you and your grandmother escaped your village in time. Ha'Vor, D'Kano, have no fear. This is my dear friend from Tymnath. Everything is quite all right . . . well, as right as it can be in such a terrible time." After the initial stumble, Aimee's voice was as pleasant and confidant as always. "I'll be right down, Jen. I'm so anxious to speak with you, and find out how you got away."

Her strange comment made me think we were right to be discreet. What did she mean escaped ?

The two guards relaxed only slightly, but their candle flame died down again to a normal size. I shoved my elbows backward to restrain my two companions, who had relaxed not at all. But whether it was my direction or their own judgment, they remained out of sight as I stepped well away from the niche. Aimee sped lightly down the stair and embraced me.

The scowling guards examined me thoroughly. Rumpled and unwashed after a month of desert adventures, my turnout was certainly not what one might expect of Mistress Aimee's friends. "How did you get in here, miss?" demanded one well-armed man. "What's happened to you?"

Aimee interrupted before I could answer. "Excuse me, D'Kano!" she said indignantly. "Jen knows she is always welcome in my house. She's had a harrowing journey through all the checkpoints and uncertainties on the roads, and I'll not send her off without a rest. If you gentlemen will take up your watch at the front and back entries, I'll retrieve my cloak, let Jen warm herself at the fire you so kindly made me, and learn what news my friend has brought me of her dear grandmother."

"Mistress, you should return to the palace at once. Your mission …"

Aimee held up a green velvet pouch. "My official business is done, Ha'Vor, but I cannot send on what I've gathered here until tonight's courier leaves the palace anyway. So we are truly in no hurry, and Jen's story might give me valuable news to send along. Only a short while, and we'll be on our way. Commander Je'Reint is fortunate to have such steadfast loyalty as yours and that of so many friends such as Jen. I'll call you when I'm ready to go."

How could any man refuse such a command, issued as it was with Aimee's usual charm? Utterly innocent. Utterly sincere. Utterly unshakable. The two men could not bow and scrape and hurry off to do her bidding fast enough. I needed to make a study of Aimee.

Once the soldiers had retreated toward the front and back entries, Aimee raised a finger to her lips for caution and took my hand. Her fingers felt half frozen. "Come this way," she said quietly and pulled me into the small sitting room. My two companions glided along behind us.

Aimee closed the door behind us, drew her finger over the latch—setting a common ward—and then whirled about. "There are three of you here. I beg you speak, so I may know you all. I dared not hope—"

Gerick glanced first at Paulo, who stood just inside the sitting room door, apparently struck witless, and then at me, his lips twitching at the edge of a smile. "Good evening, Mistress Aimee," he said softly, bowing to the lady. "It seems I've been rescued yet again with the aid of Gar'Dena's house."

Aimee clasped her hands together fervently as she dipped her knee to Gerick. "And I can hear that you're well. Oh, my lord, welcome." It took me a moment to recall their claim that Gerick was a king in his own land.

"And your third . . ." Aimee's whole being strained to guess the answer, a fruitless yearning until Gerick gave Paulo an elbow in the ribs.

"Uh . . . pardon, mistress . . . I'm here as well. Paulo, that is."

Paulo's state was not going to improve, for Aimee graced him with such a smile as might melt a steel post.

"What's going on here, mistress?" said Gerick, his good humor already set aside. "Where is my mother?"

"Come sit down." Aimee settled on the couch nearest the fire and quickly drew us close: me beside her, Paulo on the floor at her feet, Gerick a few steps away, standing by the hearth, his elbow propped on the mantle, his curled fingers resting lightly on his mouth. Each of us had one eye on the door.

"A great deal has happened over the past weeks," she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "Our plan to discover the truth of the Lady has been exposed. It pains me to report that it is your involvement, my lord, that has caused the greatest disturbance. I'll tell you all, but I must be quick about it. Ha'Vor and D'Kano are good men and very kind, but they don't wholly trust me."

She leaned forward confidentially. "Most importantly, my lord, your parents are safe. Four days ago, your mother was arrested and charged with conspiracy"— Gerick jerked his hand away from his mouth, but Aimee held up her own to keep him quiet—"but she was not harmed. She was allowed to join your father by giving her word not to leave the hospice. Your father's identity has not been revealed to the public, and, as he is her guest, Lady D'Sanya refuses to allow him to be disturbed or questioned. You see, the Lady has taken the throne . . ."

In a concise summary, Aimee described Ven'Dar's arrest, the new attacks on the eastern Vales, the massive movement of fighters and arms to the northern Wastes, and Je'Reint's oath of fealty to D'Sanya. ". . . for he claimed that his oath to his prince bound him not to report our activity. She accepted his word, and has entrusted him with command of the northern troops. He vouched for me and T'Laven the Healer, as well as your mother. These men with me are Je'Reint's own guardsmen, sent to protect me on any foray outside the palace."

"Protect you?" said Paulo. "If there's such danger about, then you should stay somewhere safe and have guards that serve you alone. I would— There's those as would give anything to keep you from danger."

Aimee's cheeks could have ignited a mud puddle. "Thank you for your concern, good sir. I've slept safely at the palace since the Lady Seri was sent away. I've only come here tonight to retrieve some gems that were my father's. We need every artifact of power we can gather for the war."

She laid her hand on my lap and nodded to the other two, lowering her voice even more. "You must all take great care in the streets. Rumors of Zhid fly everywhere. And rumors . . . terrible lies … of you, Master Gerick. I must warn you: You are in the most dreadful danger every moment you stay here, as is anyone seen with you; your description is everywhere and the Lady has commanded that you be hunted down. This city is choking with madness . . . riot. Two men were killed when the mob named them Zhid."

A mob . . . killings . . . madness . . . Avonar. In all the days of my life, even the most wretched and terrible of my captivity, never had I felt the weight of catastrophe that settled over me with Aimee's news. Avonar was the heart of the world. Our bulwark against everlasting darkness.

"With Prince Ven'Dar confined no one knows where," she continued, "Commander Je'Reint fighting the Zhid in the north, and Preceptor Mem'Tara and her advisor N'Tien sent to retake Astolle and Lyrrathe in the east, the walls of Avonar have never been so poorly defended. The Preceptors have talked of evacuating children and the sick."

"How can they think of ignoring the city defenses?" I burst out. "If Avonar falls, the Vales can be partitioned! And one by one, they'll fall, too."

Amid the ebb and flow of Dar'Nethi history, only a few things could one hold as incontrovertible fact: the sun would rise in the morning, the yellow jeffiri would wing their way to the Lydian Vale on the spring equinox, and Avonar—blessed Avonar, the City of Light—would endure. How could the city that had withstood the worst assaults of the Lords for a thousand years be brought to its knees so quickly now they were dead?

Aimee hushed me again. "Just today, the princess sent most of the city guard north, as reports have Je'Reint facing ten thousand Zhid with more on their way. We hear the Zhid are savage—far worse than in the past. Their numbers increase overnight, and they seem to think as one mind. The Princess has taken on the security of Avonar herself, saying she will shield us in the same way she shields the residents of her hospice."

"She'll fail," said Gerick, ferociously quiet. "They mustn't rely on her devices. Surely they've kept some capable warriors among the defenders."

"Certainly. The core of the palace guard remains, and a thin reserve on the walls. She has enlisted a number of untrained volunteers from the city, but also many capable warriors that the other troops have refused."

"Who would refuse a willing fighter?" I said. "Have we so many to spare?"

Aimee ducked her head. "They are the Restored. She's put them in their own band, called the Lion's Guard, and because they are experienced in war, she's set them to command the defenses."

At that, Gerick's head popped up. "The ones who were Zhid? The ones she's healed?"

"Even if the legion commanders were willing, too many Dar'Nethi refuse to fight beside them. But they are good and loyal—"

"If her healing enchantments fail like all her others," said Gerick, "she's as good as put Avonar in the hands of the Zhid."

Aimee blanched. "Are you saying the Restored could lose their souls again?"

"I've not seen it. But yes . . . everything she's done has gone wrong, bent or twisted in some fashion."

"But there are hundreds of them." Aimee's shock left her stammering. "The two men killed by the mob were two of the Restored. We assumed it was just people's fear . . . prejudices against those who had been turned . . . making people see Zhid where there were none. Commander Je'Reint . . . the Preceptors . . . must be told of this possibility. We must convince them to send reinforcements—"

Brisk footsteps, the jangle of chimes from the entry hall, and the hiss of a triggered door ward sent Gerick and Paulo ducking behind furniture. I was hard-pressed to keep my seat, but Aimee held my arm and leaned her head close. When she started to giggle and babble something about people I didn't know, I gaped at her. "You remember," she said, "it was the silliest thing she ever did, and I never thought to tell her mother." A firm finger poked my side. "You remember, don't you?"

"Of course," I blurted out. "The silliest thing. I didn't tell her mother either." I was unable to muster any giggling.

"Mistress Aimee, should we not be on our way?" The man's voice came from the doorway. "We would have you safe behind the palace gates before the night gets late. They're hunting the Destroyer house to house tonight. Perhaps your friend should accompany you to your quarters."

"No!" I said, much too loud. "No, I have to get back to my grandmother. Will you be seeing Commander Je'Reint, Aimee? He is so kind, and was so concerned about my grandmother when she fell ill. He'd come to oversee her favorite stallion's breeding and ended up spending the entire day with her. You know she loves nothing better than her horses. And if you were to see him, you could give him all my news."

"Certainly . . ." Aimee's expression shifted in the firelight, growing intensely thoughtful. After a moment, she nodded decisively. "Certainly. But alas, my lord will be engaged in the north for a long while until this Zhid threat is quelled, as they've seen only the first skirmishers. If you were to write him a message, though, I could ensure that he received it. A bit of cheerful, everyday news would surely give Commander Je'Reint joy at such a time, don't you think, Ha'Vor?"

"Of course, mistress."

Her smile blossomed into brilliance as she jumped to her feet and pulled me from my seat. With a grip like an iron pincer, she dragged me across the room to a writing desk. "You'll find paper and pen in the slots. Write your message for Je'Reint, and I'll deliver it myself. I was consulting Preceptor Ce'Aret yesterday, and though she is retired, she is still so wise. She suggested that I should join my Commander Je'Reint in the field as soon as possible. Though I'm so much trouble to have around, awkward and clumsy as I am, the rapid shifting of our forces makes accurate Imaging difficult at a distance, and my images have not been resolving clearly of late."

She stood right behind me, laying her hands on my shoulders as I pulled out a sheet of smooth notepaper and unstoppered a silly-looking ink bottle shaped like a rinoceroos. I wasn't sure what she wanted.

"And you know, Jen," she went on, scarcely taking a breath, "I was thinking that your brother who cares for your grandmother's horses could join me at the battlefront next week if he can be spared. Je'Reint needs every hand, does he not, D'Kano?"

One of the guardsmen, an intelligent, dark-browed fellow, nodded. "If the fellow can kill a Zhid or aid those of us who can, he's needed."

"An excellent thought. His Horsemaster's skills would be of immense use, and he could, perhaps, relieve these two gentlemen of this tedious duty to shepherd me everywhere. Even better, he could contribute his immediate knowledge of the situation in the Vales and many other important matters to the next image I work for Commander Je'Reint. Speak to your brother, Jen, if you will, and I'll consult those at the palace, to see if this might be possible."

As Aimee engaged the guardsmen in conversation about the best route through the tense city and whom she should contact about taking her Horsemaster friend directly to Je'Reint in the battlefield, I scratched some nonsense about grandmothers and horse-breeding on the notepaper and tried to sort out what she had just told me. The bold plan hidden in her sideways conversation finally emerged clear and sharp, leaving me in awe.

Imagers could weave a witness's knowledge and memories into a visual testimony to be presented at a judgment. The impact of such vivid testimony was inarguable. Paulo's knowledge of Gerick's case against D'Sanya, of her use of the oculus, of Gerick's beliefs and fears about the Zhid would be a mesmerizing tale. But of course, the integrity of the image was valid only so far as the integrity of the Imager and that of the witness, and in serious cases a Speaker would be called in to judge their veracity. Aimee believed enough in Je'Reint and enough in Paulo and enough in herself to risk her life to bring Je'Reint the truth.

As I gave her the folded paper, her hand brushed mine, and in my mind appeared the faintest of voices, a mind-speaking that the most skilled Dar'Nethi spy would have difficulty detecting. If he agrees, have him meet me at the north gate of the city when the bells ring third watch. Bring a fast horse that can carry two. If we're to win this race, we must ride faster than I can manage alone .

And while her words yet gleamed in my mind, she kissed my cheeks. "And now, dear Jen, give your grandmother a kiss for me, and consult your brother about my idea. He is so very brave and honorable, and I delight in his company. I look forward to meeting him again soon."

"I'll speak to him. And I'll set the door wards as I leave," I said, bending casually over the hearth and making curling sweeps of the hand as if to cool and bank its flames. "Be very careful on your journey, Aimee."

"I've no worries. Zhid would find me a poor bargain." She swept her cloak over her shoulders. A vase crashed to the floor. "Goodness, what a mess! Well, perhaps those who come searching this house for the devil Lord tonight will clean it up for me. Come, good fellows, let's be off before the streets get crowded. May your own Way be safe, dear Jen!"

No sooner had the front doors shut firmly behind the three than Gerick emerged from the draperies and Paulo popped out from under a couch.

"Demonfire," said Paulo, staring at the door through which Aimee had departed. "She wants me to come with her?"

"Why would she want Paulo to go to Je'Reint?" said Gerick. "And we can't wait until next week. Her heart is good, but—"

"She's going to convince Je'Reint to send troops to Avonar," I said, still marveling at what had just occurred. "Tonight, if Paulo's willing to take her and be her witness …" I told them the pieces of Aimee's plan that they could not have known. ". . . and so she's taken this upon herself and Paulo, leaving you free to deal with D'Sanya and her oculus and her avantirs and whatever else she's made."

"My good lord," said Paulo softly. I'd never heard Paulo address Gerick so. Yet this was no mere formality of address. Never had I imagined that a statement formed of three simple words could bear the weight of a loyalty and friendship so far beyond my understanding. I surmised that it had been a very long while indeed since Paulo's Way had left him anywhere but steadfastly at Gerick's side.

"Stormcloud is the strongest," said Gerick, answering. "He'll carry two and still outrace the wind."

Paulo dipped his head and turned briskly to me. "How far will we be needing to ride?"

Though Aimee would need to direct him to a specific destination, I found paper and sketched out the route to the Wastes north of Erdris and the Pylathian Vale, reviewed the questions Paulo might be asked at the city gates in time of war, and stuffed every other warning and precaution I could think of into his head.

Without interrupting, Gerick found us a flask of wine and brought cold meat pastries from the larder. Paulo and I ate and drank as we talked. Gerick unwound the dirty bandages from his hands and threw them into the fire, then sat on the hearth stool, sipped wine, and watched us. His own meal remained untouched. Just as the clocks chimed nine times—the hour before third watch—lights flared and a clamor of voices rose on the far side of the garden wall. I hoped we hadn't waited too long.

"Sounds like I'd best be off," Paulo said, pulling on his long, dark cloak. "Can't keep a lady waiting."

"I can't make a portal for you," said Gerick. "I would, but—"

"You need to save everything for what needs doing. You know I'd rather ride anyway. You know. . . ."

Paulo extended one hand, but Gerick had already moved to the garden door and cracked it open, alert to the moving lights and activity beyond the garden walls. After a moment, he motioned urgently to Paulo. "Go now. They've moved around the corner to the street that fronts the house."

"Have a care, Paulo," I said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "We'll do the same."

He tore his gaze from Gerick's back and transferred it to me. His worried expression communicated a great deal more than his words. "You do that, Jen. I trust you."

I followed him to the door and watched as he hurried toward the back of the garden and vanished into the night. As the stableyard gate clicked shut, I cast a small diversion spell, the most powerful enchantment I could work, a child's favorite, easily countered by alert parents. But the watchers abroad tonight would be looking for Gerick's lanky friend who had been seen frequently at Aimee's house and the guesthouse in Gaelic I didn't want him followed.

Gerick spun around and stared at me. "What did you just do?" he snapped. "If you've harmed him . . ."

"Nothing! Only a child's diversion spell. If anyone notices him as he rides out of the alley, they'll think he's much smaller than he is. More my size. And if that observer allows himself to be distracted and look away, he'll forget which way Paulo's gone. Those two guards weren't happy about leaving me here, and I'm thinking they might have left someone to watch."

I went back into the house and dropped onto the couch, muttering as much to myself as to him. "What do I have to do to make you trust me?"

He followed me in, stopping just inside the door. "I'm sorry. Of course I trust you. Paulo trusts you."

He shut his mouth and I thought that was all he was going to say. But after a moment, he leaned his back against the door, brushed back a lock of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's just. . . ever since I've come to Gondai, Dar'-Nethi enchantments have felt wrong to me, distorted, like hearing music that's too shrill or biting into a sugar cake to find it salty and bitter. I've assumed it was just me; Zhev'Na skewed my perceptions of sorcery, of people, of the world. But I hoped that now I understood more about the Dar'Nethi … all I experienced with you in the desert . . . things might feel right here. But it's even worse. Something is wrong in this city. Every enchantment here is wrong. The air is wrong."

Well, something was certainly wrong. My spirits, lifted by daring plans and successful diversions, had fallen as flat as street paving. I felt angry and irritable, and I wanted to yell at him that he was indeed a Zhid-mentored bastard, because no one else would send a friend like Paulo into mortal danger without even looking at him.

But we didn't have time to explore Gerick's peculiarities or his megrims or my own. The street noise was getting louder.

"I've too little sensitivity to enchantment to tell you anything," I grumbled. "But I do know we need to be on our way. Are you ready?"

He threw me my cloak, stepped to the center of the room, and picked up a kitchen knife from the tray of dishes, turning the blade over and over in his hand and staring at it. After a moment, he looked up at me. "Will Paulo and Aimee make it to Je'Reint, do you think?"

"Nothing's certain. But Aimee will watch out for him, and he for her. They are two people easily underestimated. A good match, I think." Unlike certain other incongruous pairings.

I drained my wineglass and stood up. "So where are we going first? The Lady or her device? By foot, horse, or will?"

The last was one of those smug Dar'Nethi expressions that avoided asking, How talented are you ? Those who could travel at will, of course, were those powerful enough to make portals. Those who could do magic enough to keep such fragile, beautiful beings as horses would travel that way. Those like me traveled on foot . . . unless they were in more talented company.

Gerick squatted down in the middle of Aimee's bright blue rug, extended his arm, and touched the point of the knife blade to the weaving. "The hospice first. The oculus is there. And perhaps we can find something to give us a clue about any other device she's made. She told me many times that she could work only in her own lectori urn."

Pivoting smoothly on his feet, like a clock spring unwinding, he scribed a circle of split stitches in the rug with the blade. "We'll have to hope she's not there. I didn't do so well facing her last time. Even with a bit more power to hand …"

He threw down the implement, and I watched his mind turn inward and focus on the task. Mark the left-hand orientation. Then the right. Stand exactly between, in the center of the circle . He had learned well, even remembering what I'd told him about making tight circles and quick progress through the steps if you wanted a portal that would open and close quickly. No trace of the portal must remain for D'Sanya's searchers to find.

Ah, good Sefaro, you fathered an idiot ! I had forgotten to set the door wards as I'd promised Aimee. Anyone in Gondai could walk into this house without warning or hindrance. Leaving Gerick to his work, I ran through three dining rooms and the silent kitchen, where tall ovens and broad tables, ghostly in the dark, stood sentinel for their brave mistress. Not daring a handlight, I hurried to the end of the back passage. There I passed my hand over the thick wooden door—two half-doors, as it happened—hunting for the ring or knob or swatch of fabric that would hold the protective enchantments. During the war years every householder in Gondai had ready door wards, available for the least talented occupant to set. There … a loop of braided silk that felt cool and prickled my arm when I touched it. A tug, a word of attachment, and it was done.

I raced back through the house, glancing through the sitting-room doorway as I passed. Gerick's dark form was scarcely visible in front of a dark oval outlined by a silver thread. His hands stretched toward the developing portal, palms facing each other and slightly apart. Not long now.

But too long perhaps. Fists hammered on the great double doors that led to the street. Frantically I searched for the ward trigger.

"Open in the name of the Heir of D'Arnath!" yelled a man outside the door.

"Just push in," snapped a woman with a voice like a stone grinder. "She's harbored the devil."

While one of my arms swept carefully over the expanse of the door, my other hand fumbled around the elaborate door frame. Ridiculous, I'd thought when I first saw it: birds, beasts, dips and swirls carved into the wood; smooth pieces of ivory, faceted gems, and rounded nubs of brass, inlaid as eyes and tusks and the contents of magical treasure chests. Come on, Jen, where is it ? Surely they wouldn't have put the trigger at the top of the door, out of my reach. The metal inlays were cold, chilled by the outside air leaking around the doors.

"But this is Gar'Dena's house," the man protested, "one of the oldest families in the city. Just one of his daughters—the blind girl—lives here."

"The devil was seen here," said the harsh-voiced woman. "His mother, too. Old families can be turned, and the Lady commands us search this house in particular."

My hand stopped on a small faceted knob that felt like glass or gemstone, colder by far than all rest of them. It moved at my touch.

Hands rattled the door latch.

I slid the glass knob left, spoke an attachment word, and the door panels grew warm.

"Ouch! By the holy Way, it's burnt my skin off!" The man outside was growling. "Bring G'Ston to deal with the door wards."

I relaxed, sighing with relief and resting my back against the doors, just warm to one on the inside. Now if Gerick would just hurry.

"We don't need G'Ston," said the woman. "See who's coming!"

"Make way!" someone cried amid a welcoming clamor.

"Your Grace, the door is warded. It will burn—"

"Is anyone inside?" You could not mistake the Lady's voice. Her speech floated through the air like gossamer, telling every listener that he or she was the most important person in the world.

"We've had no answer, Your Grace. But I've—"

"Stand aside." Her mind's fingers reached through the door and through my skin and bones, searching for a beating heart or thinking mind—powerful, angry fingers, belying the kindness in her voice. My spirit drew up into a hard little knot and shrank into the darkest corner of my soul as if I were a slave child again. The fingers grabbed nothing and passed on. But Gerick was focused on enchantment, not defense. She would find him.

I wrenched my back from the door and ran, resisting the urge to scream for Gerick to hurry. Distracting him at this point was the last thing I wished. He just needed time to finish. I paused for a moment, peering about the dark entry hall. Across the cavernous place stood a bronze statue of Vasrin, a sinuous body half again Paulo's height, the head cast to show the traditional opposing male and female faces. In the right hand was uplifted the flame of the Creator and in the left was the distaff of the Shaper—a nice long rod that stood loosely in the graceful bronze hand. The bronze winding of "wool" at one end would make a nice club.

I yanked the distaff from the curled bronze fingers and sped to the sitting room. The oval portal boundary shimmered in the darkness; objects in the distant place . . . trees, shrubs, a brick wall . . . were just beginning to take form in a whirling murk. Gerick stood with his hands upraised.

From the front of the house, the entry doors rattled and thundered in their frames. Gerick's head and shoulders jerked slightly, and his arms stiffened, but his hands did not fall and he did not turn around.

Good! Hold your concentration . I stood where I could see both Gerick's portal and the passage from the entry hall, raised the bronze shaft, and . . . felt ridiculous. What did I think I was going to do with my weapon? Bludgeon D'Sanya in the head after her fingers had torn into Gerick's mind? Cursing my foolishness, I closed the sitting-room doors carefully and jammed the bronze distaff through the door handles. Then I pressed my body against the doors, gripped the staff firmly with my hands and my will, and prayed Gerick to be done quickly. I hadn't power to hold a hiding spell for more than moments.

"The Fourth Lord is here! Find him!" D'Sanya's command could have pierced the prison walls of Feur Desolй.

Clattering boots. Shouts. Jangling chimes and crashing pottery. A quick probe of sorcery pushed into my enchantment like a sword tip bulging a tent canvas. And my shield gave way just as quickly as that canvas would succumb to a honed blade. All I could do now was hold the door shut.

"Now!" shouted Gerick from behind me. "Come on!"

A crash shook the door, jarring my head and neck. "Step through," I said through my teeth. "Start shutting it down. Remember the count. Do it!"

Remember the steps. For speed, keep the rhythm steady and fast. One, encompass the portal. Two, sweep the hand. . .

"Move aside." The woman's voice on the far side of the door was deadly.

Five, draw power . . .

Cracks appeared in the fine wooden door, and my bones felt as if they must crack as well. My will softened like hot wax. The fingers of enchantment reached through me, but Gerick should be out of range by now.

Six, infuse the enchantment. . .

On seven, I released the bronze staff and bolted for the fading portal. My stomach lurched as I passed through. The new reality slammed into my mind. Thorny branches entangled my flailing limbs. And as I glanced over my shoulder at the fading image of Aimee's favorite room, a livid Princess D'Sanya swept into the sitting room and screamed, "Destroyer!" Then the image winked out.

I sagged into a heap. My ragged mind whirled: scratched skin, hammered head, torn clothing, unlikely scents of roses, of smoke, of wine, of night air. Indoors, outdoors. Tangling branches, cracking wood, smooth bronze . . . cold . . . hot . . . My face was very near damp earth. A lovely smell. And faded roses. Thorns stabbed my stomach and my neck. I seemed to be suspended in a giant rose bush.

"Ow!" Someone ripped away a thorny branch that took part of my sleeve with it and then another that took some of my hair, evoking tears that dribbled across my forehead. Long past time to hack the hair off again. Gets tangled in everything . Hands reached under my arms and effortlessly hauled me to my feet. Why couldn't I haul people out of tangled messes without effort?

"A good job, do you think?" He spun me around and picked the dead leaves from my wretchedly filthy, and now ripped, tunic. "Tight circle to make it short-lived. Oval for fast closure. Counted the steps. Steady, as you told me. Brilliantly done on your part, I'll say. I don't think she saw where we were going."

"A good job," I said, trying to step backward to distance myself from the formidable enchanter who was brushing the dirt and tears from my face with a gentle hand. The rosebush pricked steadfastly at the back of my soggy knees. "The closure was perfectly timed, but a faster opening would have saved us some bother."

His laughter was genuine, but brittle-edged, his body as tight-wound as a soldier's on battle's eve. His eyes roamed the dark little garden—a garden that smelled like old leaves and fading blooms, withered and dry though it was only summer's end. Behind him rose the charming brick edifice of D'Sanya's house, where an oculus spun out its web of corrupt enchantment. The moon bulged above the hills behind the house, gleaming as if the vile implement itself were coming out to meet us.

"We should find a place to rest," I said. "I could catch my breath while you go warn—"

"I can't warn him." His movements as brisk and tight as his speech, he stepped aside so I could detach myself from the rosebush. "My father can't hear me speak in his mind, and we daren't delay. D'Sanya could be here at any moment."

"But—"

Before I could articulate my disagreement, a long thin hand fell on Gerick's shoulder from out of the rose bower. "Indeed, young Lord, the Lady has sent word for me to be vigilant and notify her immediately should I see her one-time lover sneaking into her house. And now here you are!"

The shadowy figure was tall and lean—Na'Cyd, the consiliar who once was Zhid.