Gilmour lifted his head from his hands and looked around the great room. It would have been dwarfed by the main dining hall at Riverend Palace, but it had been the scene of so many debates and drunken discussions. A wry grin crossed Gilmour’s face despite his mood. Even with the sun directly overhead, little light broke through the arched windows lining each wall. Above, a narrow balcony ran around the entire hall; tapestries decorated with the crests of each territory and the various branches of the Larion Senate hung from the walkway, their tail ends limp above the main floor.
Gilmour rolled his shoulders back. ‘Let’s get some light in here,’ he said.
‘Garec,’ Steven ordered, ‘grab that torch over there; I’ll use the staff.’
‘Don’t bother, Garec,’ Gilmour interrupted, reaching a hand towards the ceiling. As he chanted a brief spell, turning on his heel to point at the torches and fireplaces, they all burst into flame and the mood in the hall changed at once. Steven could see that this had been a welcome meeting place, not the cold, inhospitable hall it had first appeared.
Mark hugged Gilmour comfortingly. ‘Don’t worry about it. This way we know where the bastard is.’
‘I don’t know if that makes me feel any better, Mark, but thanks anyway.’
‘I like the trick with the torches, too. Steven did it down in the cavern below Meyers’ Vale and scared the wits out of Gita and her Falkan roughnecks. Do you know any others? Like maybe how to open the kitchen?’
‘I can open the kitchen, Mark, but I’m afraid there weren’t any spells working to preserve the food. All we’ll find in those cupboards is dust.’
‘How about the wine cellar – or at least some water?’
‘Ah,’ Gilmour perked up again. ‘I can get the water going.’ He chanted again, and cast a half-moon arc over his head.
For a moment nothing happened; then Mark heard a low groaning noise, like tired metal shifting. ‘What’s that? A dragon in the basement?’
‘An aqueduct,’ Gilmour said.
‘I just wanted a drink, and maybe a nice shower – you didn’t need to open the hose quite so far!’
Just as all the torches had come to light at once, so all the fountains in Sandcliff Palace began simultaneously to spout, pour, dump or seep water, depending on their particular design. In this chamber alone there were four fountains and soon the lively crackle of the fires was punctuated with the tinkle of clear mountain water as basins beneath sculpted fountains began to fill.
‘It should be clean,’ Gilmour said. ‘Drink all you like. We can fill the skins before leaving. As for a wine cellar, Mark, I don’t know if we have time, but we had nearly four hundred casks – most of it has probably turned by now, but there were a few vintages that should have aged quite well. There’s nothing like a thousand Twinmoons to bring out the flavour in a Falkan grape.’
‘Great,’ Mark said, ‘well, if old Demon Prince Ugly doesn’t join us right away, maybe we can run down there and grab a few flagons for the road.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ He gestured for the others. ‘Let’s go. It’s not far to the north tower.’ Gilmour led the way up a spiral staircase tucked into a back corner to the balcony. Gilmour paused to look back across the open expanse above the dining room.
‘What is it?’ Steven asked.
‘There will be some bodies between here and the tower – probably quite a few. I’m sure they’ll be nothing but bones now, but…’ He swallowed hard. ‘The carnage that night was unprecedented. I don’t know what Nerak might have done with the bodies after I left. So be warned.’
‘Why do you suppose he did something with their remains?’ Steven asked.
‘Because this is where I stood, with that old broadsword still dangling from my hand, and I faced Nerak, in Pikan’s body, right over there. From here I could see Callena and Janel, the two young senators Nerak killed first, across the balcony over there.’ He pointed towards the other side of the room. ‘Nerak threw their bodies down into the main hall, right in front of that fireplace, but they’re gone now. I’m not sure why, or to where. I had planned to cover their remains with one of the tapestries, but that’s when I saw her – him – here. And the sword is missing too.’
‘The broadsword you carried?’ Garec asked.
Gilmour stared towards the far end, his voice a murmur. ‘I dropped it right here before sprinting all the way across the balcony and jumping through that window to the stone walkway outside.’ He nodded towards the still-shattered panes of a broad circular window.
‘It’ll be all right,’ Steven said. ‘We’ve seen a lot on this journey; we’re too close to let a few piles of bones frighten us into turning back.’
Gilmour turned and smiled. ‘I know. Maybe I’m the one who needs convincing.’
They made their way up two more levels towards a chamber at the end of a corridor lined with wooden doors. Some of the doors had been left slightly ajar, others were wide open. The only closed room was a corner chamber at the end. As he had on the Prince Marek, Steven stood by while Gilmour placed a palm flat against the wooden doorframe.
‘Anything?’ he asked.
The old man shook his head. He pulled at the latch and the door swung open without a creak.
Steven’s view was blocked momentarily, but when he heard Gilmour gasp, he pushed past, afraid that Nerak might be waiting for them. He needed only a glance to understand: this had been Gilmour’s room. Much of the chamber was undisturbed: books, brittle and disintegrating over the Twinmoons, rested on a small table near the window. A paraffin taper lay in a shallow dish. A crammed bookshelf stood against the wall, next to a narrow closet still full of clothes.
Gilmour’s bed was pushed against the wall, little more than a wood and leather-strap cot. The straw mattress that had once provided some measure of comfort had rotted away and a threadbare blanket was all that remained of Gilmour’s bedding, but far more disturbing was the skeleton, clothed in the rotting remains of a pair of under-breeches, lying on the bed. The stark grey-white bones were held together by bits of putrefied ligament. The skeleton’s arms were draped over its chest and its fingers gripped the pommel of a rusty old broadsword, a crude weapon.
Steven knew at once that this was Pikan Tettarak, Nerak’s assistant and the one Senator powerful enough to mount any kind of counterassault against Nerak. She had failed; Gilmour had been busy in the scroll library when the fallen Larion sorcerer attacked, but had he been at Pikan’s side, he would not have survived the devastation either. Watching the old Larion leader gaze down at the remains of the brave woman, Steven understood that his friend was wishing he had been beside her, hands with hers deep inside the spell table, when the end had come.
Rodler, surprising them all, acted first. Stepping into the closet, he removed an old cloak, tattered and moth-eaten but whole enough to cover the body. ‘Whoever he is, he shouldn’t be laying there with nothing covering him,’ he said firmly. ‘I understand we don’t have time to give him his rites, but leaving him like that is unholy.’
‘She,’ Gilmour managed, ‘her name was Pikan.’
‘She then.’ Rodler draped the cloak over the skeleton. ‘Do you want the sword?’
There was a long silence in which no one moved. Finally, the wear-worn sorcerer, looking old, and thoroughly defeated, in the torchlight, said, ‘No. Leave it.’ He pushed his way past Garec and Mark and back into the corridor.
As he followed the others, Rodler was surprised to find Mark waiting for him. ‘That was a nice thing you did back there,’ Mark said, offering his hand.
‘Thank you, Mark.’ Rodler looked down, uncertain what to do. ‘What is this?’
‘This is one way we say I’m sorry where I come from.’