The Door Into Fire

'So you did it there in the middle of a city, with all those people around who you didn't know? Lorn, you know you get talky when you're drunk . . . What if you'd spilled something?'

Freelorn said nothing for a second, said it so forcefully that Herewiss went after the unspoken thought with his underhearing to try to catch it: ... talk about being drunk, it said in a wash of anger, . . . what about Herelaf? And then it was smashed down by a hammer of Freelorn's guilt. How can I think things like that? . . . Wasn't his fault ...

Herewiss winced away. Even Lorn, he thought. And then, Goddess, did I do that? If this is the kind of thing I'd be doing with the Power, maybe I'm better without it.

'I'm sorry,' he said aloud. 'Lorn, really.'

'No — you're right, I guess. But we did find out about the way into the Treasury — there's a passage off the river that no-one knows about.'

'What about the guards who are there?'

'There aren't many left who know about it — all the lower-level people have been replaced by mercenaries, and many of the higher levels left in a hurry when Cillmod had me outlawed. They could see the way things were going to be. At present that entrance isn't being guarded.'

'What sort of things do they have there?'

'No treasure, no jewellery — just plain old money. My contact said that there are usually about fourteen thousand talents of silver there at any one time.'

'What are you thinking of?'

'My Goddess, you have to ask?'

'No . . . not really. Lorn, do you think you have any chance to pull this off?'

Freelorn hesitated for a long moment. 'Maybe.'

Caution?! Herewiss thought. He's being cautious? I'm in trouble. 'Are you sure those are rocks?'

'Yes. Lorn, how many people do you think you're going to need to get into the place?'

'Oh . . . my own group will be enough.'

Ten would be better, Herewiss thought glumly, and twenty better still. More realistic, surely. 'Don't do it,' he said out loud.

'Why not? It's the perfect chance to get enough money to finance the revolution—'

'Your father should be an example to you,' Herewiss said tiredly, 'that no-one supports a dead king.'

'A what?'

Herewiss sighed. 'I'd like to see your plans before you go ahead and do it,' he said. 'Maybe I'll come with and help you. But Lorn! — I don't believe that six people are going to be enough.'

'Seven — There's the damn river!'

'Seven,' Herewiss said softly, watching Freelorn kick Blackmane into a gallop.

(Is he always so optimistic?) Sunspark asked. (Usually more so.)

(Will not this additional foray keep you from getting back to the work you have to do?)

(Yes, it will—)

Herewiss thought about it for a moment. The timing, he thought, until now I had always thought it was coincidental. But the timing is just a little too close — oh, Dark. What can I do?

(What?)

(I was thinking to myself. Catch up with him, will you, Spark?)

(Certainly. That is the river ahead, by the way. I can feel the water. I hope there's a bridge there; I'm not going to ford it in what they would consider the normal fashion.)

(So jump it, Spark. They're already sure that you're not quite natural; a spectacular leap won't give much away at this point.)

They drew even with Freelorn again. 'Look,' he shouted over the noise of the horses' hooves, 'there's a house up ahead—'

'Where?'

'A little to the left. See it?'

'Uh — I think so. The dust makes it hard. Who would live out here, Lorn? There's not a town or village for miles in any direction, and this is practically the Waste!'

'Maybe whoever lives there wants some peace and quiet.'

'Quiet, maybe. Peace? With the Waste full of Fyrd?'

'Well, maybe it isn't, really. How would anyone know? If there's nothing much living in the Waste, there can't be Fyrd, either. Even Fyrd have to live on something.'

'It makes sense. There are so many stories — Lorn, that's an awfully big house. It looks more like an inn to me.'

The rest of Freelorn's people gradually closed with the two of them. 'What's the hurry?' yelled Dritt.

Freelorn pointed ahead. 'Hot food tonight, I think—'

They slowed down somewhat as they approached the river. It was running high in its banks, for the thaw was still in progress in the Highpeaks to the south. Trees lined the watercourse for almost as far as they could see, from south to north. These were not the gnarled little scrub-trees of the desert country, but huge old oaks and maples and silver birches. Though they leaned backward a little on the western bank, their growth shaped by the relentless east wind of the Waste, they still gave an impression of striving hungrily for the water. Branches bright with flowers reached across the water to tangle with others just becoming green. Somewhere in the foliage a songbird, having recovered from the sudden advent of all these people, was trying out a few experimental notes.

'Is is an inn,' Freelorn said. 'There's the sign — though I can't make out what's on it. Let's go.'

'Lorn,' Herewiss said, 'how has your money been holding up?'

'I am so broke,' Freelorn said cheerfully, 'that—'

'Never mind, I have a little. Lorn, you're always broke, it seems.'

'Makes life more interesting.'

Usually for other people, Herewiss thought. Oh Dark! I'm cranky today.

'—and besides, if I spend it as fast as I get it, then no-one can steal it from me.'

'That's a point.'

Herewiss frowned with concentration as he did the math in his head. Prices will probably be higher out here — say, three- quarters of an eagle or so- and there's seven of us . . . so that's . . . uhh . . . damn, I hate fractions! . . . well, it can't be more than seven. Wonderful, all I have is five. Maybe the innkeeper'll let us do dishes . . .

The inn was a tidy-looking place of fieldstone and mortar, with three sleeping wings jutting off in various directions from the large main building. A few of the many windows of diamond-paned glass stood open, as did the door of the stable, which was set off from the inn proper: A neat path of white stone led down from the dooryard of the inn, past the inn sign, a neatly painted board that said FERRY TAVERN, and down to the riverbank, where it met a little fishing pier. Just to the right of the pier was the ferry, a wooden platform attached to ropes and pulleys so that it could be pulled across from one side of the river to the other whether anyone was on it or not.

The place was marvelously pleasant after the long ride through the dry empty country. They dismounted and led their horses into the dooryard, savoring the shade and the cool fragrance of the air. The inn was surrounded by huge apple trees, all in flower. The only exception was the great tree that shaded the dooryard proper, a wide-crowned blackstave with its long trembling olive-and-silver leaves. Its flowers had already fallen, and carpeted the grass and gravel like an unseasonable snowfall.

'Goddess, what a lovely place,' Freelorn said.

'I just hope we can afford it. Well, go knock on the door and find out—'

'You have the money, you do it.' 'This is your bunch of people, Lorn—'

The door opened, and a lady walked out, and stood on the slate doorstep, drying her hands on her apron. 'Good day to you!' she said, smiling. 'Can I help you?'

They all stood there for a second or so, just appreciating her, before any of them began considering answers to the question. She was quite tall, a little taller even than Herewiss. The plain wide- sleeved shirt and breeches and boots she wore beneath the white apron did nothing to conceal her figure, splendidly proportioned. She was radiantly beautiful, with the delicate translucent complexion of a country girl and eyes as green as grass. What lines her face had seemed all from smiling, but her eyes spoke of gravity and formidable intelligence, and her bearing of quiet strength and power. She wore her coiled and braided hair like a dark crown.