Orлska livery for Alec and Micum, together with a pass presented by "Thero," got the three of them through the Sea Gate without challenge. Once outside the walls, they followed the highroad south along the cliffs below the city. A few miles farther on, they turned aside onto another route that climbed into the hills.
Just like old times. Everybody knows the way but me, Alec thought resignedly.
This road climbed into forest to twist along the top of a broad river gorge. The ice-laden boughs of fir trees gradually closed in on their left; the rush of the river followed them on the right.
After several miles, Micum motioned for them to halt. Climbing down, he cast back and forth with a lightstone.
"See anything?" inquired Seregil.
"Not much. The mud must have stayed frozen all day up here."
Riding on, they caught a glimpse of watch fires ahead. Lady Kassarie's keep stood on a high cliff overlooking a bend in the river.
Sheer cliffs rose behind it, and a high bailey guarded the front. Working their way stealthily around the periphery of the wall, the three spies climbed a wooded slope and climbed into the branches of a tall fir overlooking the place.
There seemed to be nothing amiss: an unremarkable collection of small outbuildings-sheds, wood stacks, and stables— cluttered the yard.
The keep itself was an imposing structure. Tall, square-built, and smooth-walled, it had no windows except for arrow slits below the third level. Square, flat-topped towers stood at each of the four corners, and watch fires burned on all but the one overhanging the gorge.
"Tight as a soaked barrel," Seregil muttered, craning his neck for a better look.
"Appears so," Micum agreed, shifting restlessly on his branch. "Looks like we'll do better tricking our way in."
"Too late for that now," said Alec. "It can't be more than a couple of hours to morning."
"True." Frowning, Seregil climbed down again. "Looks like we're spending a cozy night right here."
Nysander made his way to Silvermoon Street immediately upon leaving Seregil and the others. The streets were quiet at this hour and he met only one other person as he neared Barien's house, a hasty rider whose passing tore at the stillness of the night with a clatter of harness and hooves. The sound
passed away with the rider, and he could hear the annoyed grumbling of the guards at the palace gates ahead.
He was surprised to find Barien's gate locked for the night and the lantern over the door extinguished.
The Viceregent shared Nysander's preference for the late hours and seldom retired so soon after midnight. Dismounting, Nysander rapped at the gate until the watchman appeared at the postern.
"Good evening to you, Lord Nysander," the man greeted him, accustomed to the wizard's odd hours.
"Good evening, Quil. I wish to speak with the Viceregent."
"Sorry, my lord, but Lord Barien's abed already. He left instructions not to be disturbed by anyone but the Queen herself. He was quite firm about it, too. And just between you and me, sir, the chamberlain said the master didn't look well when he retired. He'd been out to dinner but come back early looking right Peaked."
"I see," said Nysander. "Poor fellow, I hope it was nothing he ate. Where did he dine?"
"Chamberlain didn't say, my lord, only that Lord Barien wasn't to be disturbed on any account."
"Then I suppose I must call again tomorrow. Please give your master my respects."
Continuing along Silvermoon to a nearby fountain, Nysander sat on its rim and sent a sighting back to Barien's villa.
The Viceregent was indeed in bed, thumbing listlessly through a small book lying open on the counterpane.
Nysander recognized the book with a pang of sadness; it was a volume of bardic poetry he himself had given to Barien some years before. He seemed to settle at last on a page and Nysander shifted his sighting to read it.
" Break, Noble Heart. Dissolve to ashes if thy Honor impugned be," Nysander quoted silently, recognizing a line.
A swift, tactful brush across the surface of Barien's mind revealed a deep, weary melancholy, nothing more.
It would have been simple enough to translocate himself the short distance to Barien's chamber, but a moment's deliberation left Nysander disinclined to do so. Neither Barien's mood nor current activity warranted such an impertinent intrusion. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Seregil and the others spent a cheerless night beneath the trees, awakening at dawn to find one of Nysander's blue spheres hovering in the air just over Seregil's head. Passing his hand through it, he released the message.
"Learn whatever you can there, but return to the city as quickly as possible. Come directly to me."
Despite the muted affect inherent in the spell, there was an unmistakable hint of distress in the wizard's disembodied voice.
"What do you suppose that's all about?" yawned Micum, brushing damp leaves from his cloak.
"He must have gotten something out of Barien," said Seregil "Let's see what there is to uncover here and get back."
A quick reconnaissance up the fir tree showed little change in the keep yard, though by daylight they learned the reason for the one dark tower.
The tower overlooking the gorge was in ruins. One side of its flat top had been struck by lightning and stood open to the sky. Judging by the weathered look of the broken stone, together with an overgrowth of branching, winter-browned tendrils of some creeping vine, it must have been in this condition for some years. It stood out against the solid symmetry of the surrounding structure like a rotten tooth in a sound mouth.
Waiting for a plausible hour of the morning, they proceeded with their first plan. Changing his Orлska tunic for a workman's smock, Alec set off with another fictitious summons for Teukros.
Leading his horse back through the trees, he reappeared far enough down the road to give the appearance of having just ridden up the hill.
"I've a message for Lord Teukros," he told the gatekeeper, holding up the letter Seregil had prepared.
"You've wasted a long ride, lad," the man informed him. "Lord Teukros ain't here."
"But I was told he was spending the night here,"
Alec pressed, trying to act like a servant who'd just learned he'd ridden a long, hard way for nothing.
"Don't know about that," the man grunted, starting to swing the gate closed again.
"Wait," called Alec, dismounting before the heavy door could slam in his face. "I've got to take some answer back."
"That's nothing to me," said the gatekeeper, eyeing Alec's purse meaningfully.
A discreet coin rendered the man instantly more agreeable.
"Perhaps you'd be wanting to speak with our lady?" he suggested.
"I probably should."
Alec followed the man across the yard, taking in as many details as he could along the way. Three fine horses stood saddled and ready near the front door. Two of them had panniers tied behind the saddles. The third was caparisoned for a lady's hunting.
At the keep door, an elderly house servant eyed Alec disdainfully, asked his business, and left him standing in the middle of the hall with a look that said as clearly as words, Don't steal anything while I'm gone.
The furnishings of the vaulted hall were costly and in excellent condition. Silver urns and bowls gleamed on the mantelpiece without a hint of tarnish, and the rushes strewn over the floor were crisp and fragrant.
Splendid old tapestries covered the stone walls and these, too, had been lovingly maintained. Alec turned slowly, admiring as he always did the Skalans taste for fantastic landscapes and creatures. One in particular caught his eye; it was designed to look like a window casement, out of which one could see a pride of griffins prowling an orchard against a mountainous backdrop.
The piece was over twenty feet wide and bordered with elaborate designs. Scanning it with admiration, Alec was surprised to find one discordant element embroidered in the lower right-hand corner, the stylized figure of a curled lizard.