The Door Into Fire

Freelorn turned away, but Herewiss was troubled: there had been no feeling of release, of giving up the vision, no feeling of Freelorn accepting what was. 'Lorn—'

'Let me be.' Freelorn walked away from him, walked down the stairs, oblivious to the wondering comments of his people as they peered through one door or another.

Herewiss stared after him, worrying. He was distracted after a moment by a touch on his arm; Segnbora looked up at him. There was concern in her eyes. 'Are we staying the night?' she asked.

'I think so.'

She turned to look through the starry door, and sighed. 'That's been much on his mind lately,' she said.

'It's always on his mind,' Herewiss said sadly. 'As you'll find when you've known him as long as I have.' Segnbora nodded and went off to look through another door. Damn, Herewiss thought, there's going to be crying tonight . . .

That night they camped in the great hall around the firepit. There was no need to gather firewood, for Sunspark decided to inhabit the deep-set hearth, and burned there the night long. Freelorn and his people made much of it, and Sunspark flamed in unlikely shapes and colors for quite a while, showing off. But Herewiss was vaguely uneasy about something, and found himself bothered by the occasional perception of bright eyes in the fire, watching him with an odd considering look.

They ate hugely that night, and went to sleep early. Dritt and Harald went off to investigate one of another of the doors before they slept. After being gone for not more than a few minutes Dritt came down the stairs again, looking slightly dazed.

Freelorn and Herewiss were sitting with their backs to the firepit, working at a skin of Brightwood that Freelorn had liberated from the Ferry Tavern; the lovers'-cup was halfway through its fifth refill, and both of them looked up at Dritt with slightly addled concern as he went by.

'It was me,' he said. 'May I?' He gestured at the cup. 'Sure,' Freelorn said.

Dritt reached down and took a long, long drink. 'This morning,' he said, 'that was me, just now. I went upstairs, and it was daytime in one of the doors, and there were people coming — the first people that any door showed -and I got a little excited and walked through it to have a look.'

'What was it like,' Herewiss said, 'going through?' 'Like nothing. Like going through a door.' Dritt put the cup down. 'Thanks. So I waited there for a while — and of course, it was us. Of course. It shook me a little at the tune, and I stepped back, and then I couldn't see me any more—'

'Which of you couldn't see you?'

'Hell,' Dritt said, a little bemused, 'I'm not feeling terribly picky about the details right now. I'm going to bed.'

'G'night.'

'Yeah, good night . . .'

Dritt wandered away toward Moris's bedroll, and Herewiss picked up the cup and finished it. 'How much more of this is there?' he said.

'There's another skin.'

'Lorn, you amaze me. What else did you take out of there that wasn't nailed down?'

'No, no, I was a good boy. Only took the wine. I knew you'd like it, and I don't think the lady minded.'

'No,' Herewiss said. He chuckled then. 'Lorn, this has been some month for me . . .'

'How?'

'Just the strange things happening- and then seeing you again. It's good to have you close.' He put an arm around Lorn, hugged him tight.

'Yeah, it's good to be with you too . . . Listen, what are you going to do now?'

'Stay here.'

Freelorn was quiet for a long moment.

'Lorn, I have to. I need this place. You saw the doors, you know what they can do. I have to try to find one that'll do what I want it to.' Herewiss put out his hand to the lovers'-cup and played with it a little, turning it around and around. Please, he was thinking. Please, Lorn, don't start this — not now—

'I wish you wouldn't stay,' Freelorn said.

Herewiss didn't answer.

'If you cared,' Freelorn said. 'If you did care, about how I feel, the way you say you do, you wouldn't worry me by staying here. This place isn't natural—'

'Neither am I, Lorn.' Damn, I know that phrasing. He's going to cry. And then I'll start crying. And he'll get anything out of me he wants to, just like he always does—

'But you'll be all alone here—'

'Sunspark will be here. You saw what it did to the outer wall. I don't have much to be afraid of with a watchdog like that.'

'Herewiss. Listen to me.' Freelorn looked at him, earnestly, his face full of pain and hard-held restraint and the need to make Herewiss understand. Herewiss's insides went wrench at the sound of the tears rising in Freelorn's voice. 'This place — there's too much power here for other forces not to have taken notice of it. What is it you told me once, that as soon as you came into your Power, or started to, that would be the time to watch out, because new Powers are always noticed? And as soon as they come into being, the old Powers come to challenge them, to test them and see where they fit into the overall pattern?'

'Yes, but—'

'—and here's this place, there must be incredible power bottled up in it to make it do the things it does. And you'll sit here, merrily forging swords, and getting stronger and stronger, and Sunspark staying with you, a Power in its own right certainly — you think you won't attract notice? Doors open both ways, you know. Things can come in those doors as well as go out. If you needed proof, Dritt just gave it to you. Suppose something comes in while your back is turned?'

'Lorn—' Listen to him fighting the tears. Oh, Goddess,

how can I refuse him? I don't want to hurt him but I have to stay here—

'—listen, you could stay here a few days, a week, two maybe; we'd stay with you. And then you could come with us when we raid the Treasury at Osta, and get the money we need to hire mercenaries—'

'Lorn, that whole Osta thing is crazy. I don't want you messing with it. Besides, mercenaries may not be the way to handle this. I would prefer to pull it off without shedding blood.'

'You're awfully careful with other people's blood,' Freelorn said, a touch of anger beginning to creep into his voice now. 'And not enough with your own. Is that it? You figure that since Herelaf died by your sword, you should too? Something out of Goddess-knows- where should come up on you while you're busy working on the one sword that will redeem you, and kill you then? Atonement? Blood shed for blood shed? There is a certain poetic justice to it—'

'Lorn, stop it.' He's goading me on purpose, now. He must be so very afraid. But I never thought he would hurt me like this— Is he so afraid that he can't give in a little, let me have my own way? The danger isn't that great—

'If you die under conditions like that,' Freelorn said, his anger growing, 'your death will mean nothing. Herelaf would shake his head at you, and he'd say, "Dad was right, your head is made of wood, just like everything else in this place—"'

I won't yell at him. I won't. He's my loved— 'Lorn, I never thought that you—'

'—but you're determined to die before you forge that sword and reach your Power, because success would mean giving up your guilt — and you haven't really worked on anything else since Herelaf died. It's sharper than any sword, by now. You stick it into yourself every chance you get, and bleed a little more of your life and your power away, so that every time there's a little less of you left to pursue the search, a little less chance that you'll succeed. Now, though, you're getting close to success, and so you have to risk your life even more wildly by messing with places like this alone—'

'Lorn, shut up! Who brought me this journey, anyway? I would likely never have heard about this place if I hadn't been coming to get you out of that damn keep. And as for nursing guilts, how about you? Maybe it is easier to make love than to make kings, but it's also easier to talk about being a king than it is to be one! You've never forgiven yourself for being out of the country when your father died, instead of by his side to do the whole heroic last-stand thing that you always wanted; and you were too damn guilty about it to go back and try to take his throne, because you didn't think you deserved it! Idiot! Or coward! Which? You could have gone back and tried to make a stand, tried to take the Stave. Maybe you would have died! But is this life? Living in exile, mooching off poor Bort until he died? At least you had the sense to get out of Darthen until Eftgan's reign was settled, and she remembers the favor; she likes you as much as Bort did, it would seem. Lucky for you — otherwise it'd have been all over with you by now. Lately you couldn't lie your way out of an open field—'