Mark nodded. ‘Maybe it thinks if we can’t get any sleep, we might make a mistake and drink from a fountain or something.’ He shuddered; he’d seen some hideous things since his arrival in Rona, but Rodler’s death would haunt him for ever.
‘It may not have to wait for us to misstep,’ Garec said. ‘It might just starve us out.’
‘Or keep us here while the army surrounds the palace. That’d be a fun day, huh? Weak from lack of food, we burst through the main gate to deal with a tireless demon-hunter and the legions of soldiers Nerak has sent to make certain we all die.’ Mark slid closer to the fire.
Winter had arrived, imprisoning them at Sandcliff, for the regular snowfall meant the almor could reach them anywhere outside the palace. It was too dangerous to leave the dry stone of the upper levels. Gilmour had shut down the waterwheel feeding the shattered pipes in the north wing, but the halls and chambers had frozen over and the almor was probably lurking up there, waiting for them to make the fatal mistake of trying to pass through.
No one blamed Steven; he had saved them all when he neutralised the acid clouds, and he had beaten the almor, singeing it with acid and leaving it crippled and furious in the damp soil outside – but he hadn’t killed the demon. All he had done was annoy it, and now it reared up periodically to scream a reminder that it was there, waiting, and it would remain until it had sucked each of their emaciated frames to a husk.
Now Garec and Mark sat together in the great hall, feeding what wood they had left into one of the huge fireplaces. They had burned the long-untouched stores of firewood, the empty wine casks Mark discovered in the cellar, and much of the furniture in the hall itself. Soon they would be forced to go foraging for more tables and chairs – there were plenty scattered throughout the old keep, but no one relished the idea of wandering around; it would be too easy to step into a room that had developed a leak and become the almor’s next victim.
‘I wonder why he hasn’t come himself?’ Garec mused.
‘Who, Nerak?’
‘Why haven’t we seen him again?’
‘Maybe because he knows we’re trapped and running out of food. The wine is wonderful, but one cannot live on wine alone. And we can only refill our water when we hear the bastard almor screaming outside. So maybe Nerak hasn’t shown up because he knows this situation is handled.’
‘Or perhaps he’s busy taking care of other business while Steven and Gilmour are locked in here.’
‘Could be,’ Mark agreed. ‘What was his daughter’s name? Malagon’s daughter?’
‘Belle- No, Bella something,’ Garec said. ‘I don’t remember. Do you think he’s gone back to Welstar Palace to take her?’
‘Judging from Eldarn’s history, that’ll certainly be high on his to-do list. People have got to be wondering what’s happened to their dictator, regardless of how nasty the old bastard was. If he’s dead, they’ll want a fresh start; it doesn’t matter how long they’ve toiled under the thumb of a grade-A prick, they’ll all be praying for a new beginning under Whatshername’s rule. If Nerak has any doubts about sorting us out, or working the spell table – wherever that is – he wouldn’t leave Eldarn to flop around like a fish on dry land, will he? He’ll get back there and start running things as Bellawhatshername.’
‘That makes sense,’ Garec said, ‘especially if Malagon’s body came floating up on shore in Orindale. Those generals won’t know what to do, but I’m sure most of them would rather cut off a hand than take orders from a girl.’
Mark laughed. Some things didn’t change, no matter what world you were in. ‘He’ll take her – the poor kid never had a chance – and do something ugly right from the start. They’ll all get the message that Daddy’s little girl is just as cruel as the old man.’
Garec laughed. ‘Imagine being a doll in her dollhouse!’ He looked around. ‘Where are the others now?’
‘Steven is upstairs staring at the wall again, and I don’t know what happened to Gilmour this morning. He’s been in quite a funk,’ Mark said. ‘The fight was good for him; he was almost back to normal, but now he’s reverted to being all wet and beaten up. I suppose he’s spending these days working spells to make up for lost opportunity; I guess he figures Nerak knows where he is so he can make as much mystical noise as he wants.’
‘I’m worried about him,’ Garec agreed. ‘He just about came apart when he saw that empty spell chamber.’
‘Who can blame him?’ Mark sighed. ‘If I were him, I’d be downstairs locked in the wine cellar. It’s probably good that he’s back there blasting away. Gives him a chance to bone up on his skills while we wait.’
‘That is what we’re doing, isn’t it?’ Garec asked, ‘waiting?’
‘I don’t know what else you’d call it. Waiting for someone to figure out where we’re going or what we’re doing, waiting for the snow to melt so we can get past the almor, waiting for Gita and the Falkan Resistance to get to Traver’s Notch, waiting for Gilmour to discover something in that Windscroll he brought down with him? I don’t know, Garec. I wish someone would tell me.’
‘Steven’s not had any luck either?’
Mark shook his head. ‘If he had, he wouldn’t be in there staring at it.’
‘I’m not sure he’s going to get anything out of it.’
‘He hasn’t had a glimmer.’
‘What does it say? I can’t remember it exactly.’
Mark laughed, hollowly. ‘I have it memorised. It says: It’s been gone for a long, long time, Fantus, and you’ll never find it. Eldarn itself wards the spell table for me, Eldarn and Eldarn’s most ruthless gatekeepers. Forget the spell table, Fantus. It’s mine. It always has been mine. Steven wrote it using ashes from the fireplace. That was a bit odd, actually, with all the sealed canisters of ink in the library, but the ashes worked.’
‘He’s still convinced there’s a hidden meaning, even though he’s stared at those words every single day…’ Garec’s voice trailed off as he gazed into the flames.
‘Not so much a hidden meaning. I’m with him on this: Nerak’s a brash sonofabitch, too confident and too certain of victory, and it’s quite possible he said something that will lead us to the spell table. But it’s been what – twenty days? – since Nerak was here and none of us have come up with a damned thing.’ He dipped a ladle into one of the buckets they had drawn from the cistern the evening before, filled a goblet and handed it to Garec, then filled another for himself.
‘Thanks,’ Garec said, then asked, ‘sunonabitch?’
Mark shrugged. ‘Close enough. I add it for colour; it’s one of my favourites.’
‘What does it mean?’
He thought about it, then said, ‘In a literal sense it’s an insult to one’s mother.’
‘Those are always effective.’ Garec drank.
‘But the way I use it is more to say that Nerak is a great pile of cat-shit.’
‘All right, thanks.’ Garec grimaced. ‘You know, there really is nothing worse than cat-shit.’
Mark laughed. ‘How did we get here?’
‘We’re here to save Eldarn and send you back to Colorado. Have you forgotten?’
‘Oh, yes, right, save Eldarn. Of course, I had better write that down. I’ll see if Steven has any ash left. I’ll scrawl it here on my water goblet so I don’t forget.’ He refilled his cup.
Garec reached back for a piece of chair, tossed it on the flames and said, ‘But first we have to figure out how Eldarn itself might ward the Larion spell table.’
‘And then we have to get through Eldarn’s greatest gatekeepers.’
‘Most ruthless gatekeepers,’ Garec corrected.
‘Sorry, most ruthless gatekeepers,’ Mark said.
‘I wonder what aven it is.’
Mark looked surprised. ‘Does it matter?’
‘We’re sitting here drinking water. Whose idea was that?’
‘You think it’s late enough for wine?’
‘We’d have to go back down into the cellar. I don’t like it, but I’ll risk it.’
‘Yeah, I’d hate to get caught down there. Too dark, too many damp places. That miserable almor could be down there anywhere waiting for us. Maybe we’ll stick with water for a while and send Steven down there when he takes a break. At least he’ll have the staff with him.’