'Yes,’ Tarrian said, agreeing with his earlier remark. ‘We're well out of the Moras for today. It'll be foggy down there by now, for sure.'
Antyr could not dispute this conclusion though he still wished he was somewhere else.
As they neared the square, the busy crowds thinned a little as the street widened and the houses and buildings became larger and more spacious.
Antyr started to stride out, but one of the guards took his elbow. ‘This way,’ he said, pointing to a side street on the right. Antyr looked inquiringly towards the square.
'The main gate's that way,’ he said, his uncertainty growing again as he followed the guard's lead.
'We're not going to the main gate,’ the man replied, mildly surprised. ‘Lord Menedrion's … guests … rarely use the main gate.’ He nudged Antyr and winked, then both guards laughed knowingly.
'It's his women they're talking about,’ Tarrian said. ‘They're trying to impress you.'
'I know,’ Antyr replied testily. ‘I can read my own species, you know.'
'Sorry,’ Tarrian said huffily. ‘Only trying to reassure you.'
There were only a few people in the street, which was lined with terraces of neat, well-kept and individually distinct houses, some four and five storeys high. Expensive, Antyr mused, as the quartet followed the street round in a long, slow arc until the houses closed about in a semicircle and sealed it except for a wide, colonnaded passageway. Clattering through this they emerged into another equally quiet street which, Antyr realized, was bounded on the far side by the palace wall.
'See,’ said one of the guards expansively. ‘It's a lot quicker this way. Not far now.'
The street rose up quite steeply and their pace slowed somewhat until, passing under an enclosed overhead walkway, the guards stopped and one of them banged on a door set well into a deep recess in the palace wall. Antyr had not noticed the door and judged that even in broad daylight it would have been almost invisible in the shade of the walkway.
There was an almost immediate response as a small shutter behind a stout grill opened briefly then closed again. After a few dull thuds, the door opened quietly and the guard stood to one side.
Well-oiled bolts and hinges, Antyr noted, thinking immediately of his own screeching door.
'It's the Dream Finder, Antyr,’ said the guard into the darkness. ‘We were lucky. He was at the Guild House.'
'Excellent,’ came a soft cultured voice in reply. ‘His lordship will be pleased.’ Then, apparently to Antyr, ‘Just a moment … er … sir, there are two steps up. Take care, they're a little tricky. There's a handrail on the right.'
The voice was polite and thoughtful, but apart from the brief hesitation, it had the long-rehearsed quality of one that had spoken the same words many times to unfamiliar and uncertain ears. Similarly it was a confident and practiced hand that reached out in the dim half-light to offer support.
Antyr looked at the guard who, with a flick of his head and another wink, relinquished him to the hand.
'Thank you,’ Antyr said, both to the guards and to the unseen figure. Then, taking the hand, he stepped gingerly forward into the darkness. Tarrian scrabbled up the steps beside him and there was a faint exclamation from the speaker.
'I'm sorry if he startled you,’ Antyr said. ‘Don't be afraid.'
'It's all right,’ said the voice. ‘I just wasn't expecting a dog.’ As the door closed behind them, they were plunged into complete darkness, but Antyr still raised his eyebrows in surprise at the absence of any caustic response from Tarrian at this comment. Then he realized.
'Oh, it's a woman, is it?’ he said, mockingly. ‘I thought the voice was unusual.'
'It's a lady actually,’ Tarrian replied with dignity. ‘She feels very nice. And … Oh…'
'What's the matter?’ Antyr asked, suddenly anxious again in the darkness.
'There's a great sadness around her,’ Tarrian replied, his voice concerned and serious. ‘And she's shutting it in. Like a fortress.’ Fleetingly Antyr felt the pain as his Companion reflected it. But, brief though the touch was, its vivid intensity was unmistakable. It was love. Unrequited … but very female … patient … waiting … despite the pain…'
'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry,’ Tarrian went on guiltily. ‘It just reached out and…'
Before Antyr could reassure him however, the darkness was cracked open by a shaft of light which blossomed out rapidly to illuminate a narrow stone passageway. Beside him stood a woman with a hooded lantern in her hand.
As she eased past him, Antyr took in two searching sloe eyes set in a finely sculpted face, framed by a circle of lightly curled hair. She was handsome rather than pretty, and she was certainly no servant. He could make no guess at her age, but, somewhat to his surprise, the thought that came into his mind was: even the hood on the lantern is oiled for silence.
'Come this way, sir,’ the woman said. Again, though pleasant, the words came with the bored ease of long familiarity.
Tarrian set off after her immediately. ‘Oh, that's better,’ he said in ecstasy. Antyr stared after him in alarm until he realized that he was talking about his feet again.
Looking down, Antyr saw that while the walls of the passageway were rough undecorated stone, the floor was completely covered by a soft and luxurious carpet which deadened their footsteps completely.
All is silence along this path, he thought.
Other, less mysterious, details struck him as they walked. At intervals the carpet was broken by a narrow slot running across the passage. The slot continued up the walls and over the arched ceiling.
Portcullises. Antyr grimaced, remembering what little training he had done for the assaulting of castles such as this.
Should an enemy break down the door through which he and Tarrian had entered, they would be allowed so far in, then these great latticed gates would clang down, both preventing further progress and sealing the attackers in for disposal at leisure.
And there could be worse here. Stones that could be tilted to hurl the unwary into sealed and eyeless dungeons, or worse, below. Swinging blades so heavily counter-balanced that they could cleave a man in half, or take off his head without pause. The thought made him pull his head down into his shoulders. Then there might be sprung spears, falling stones …
Tarrian's indignant voice interrupted this grim catalogue.
'Will you stop that, and concentrate on what's happening here and now,’ he said fiercely.
'Sorry, I was just remembering things,’ Antyr replied.
'Well, don't,’ Tarrian said tersely. ‘Not unless you can remember something a little less human.'
Further debate was ended by the woman opening a door at the end of the passage and bringing the procession to a momentary halt as they were obliged to pause to allow their eyes to adjust to the bright torchlight that greeted them.
They had entered another passage through a side door. It extended in both directions into an unlit gloom, but the woman, closing and locking the door-noiselessly, Antyr noted again-nodded them towards an archway opposite.
Through this was a long stone stairway which rose upwards.
Antyr's already weary legs protested at the prospect of the climb but Tarrian and the woman were already rising out of sight drawing him relentlessly forward.
The remainder of the journey was, as far as Antyr was concerned, distressingly similar to that of the previous night: an interminable maze of corridors and stairways. He made a token effort to note where they were going, but the impending future and his leaden legs soon reduced it to naught.
'Just follow the carpet,’ Tarrian said eventually, in some despair at Antyr's lack of observation.