"Mmmph," Herewiss said. He was standing with Khavrinen unsheathed, and seemed to be minutely examining a patch of empty air three feet in front of him. The Fire that ran down from his hand flooded the length of Khavrinen, leaping out from it in quick tongues that stretched out and snapped back, reflecting his concentration.
Behind Herewiss, Sunspark extended its magnificent head to nibble teasingly at the sleeve of Freelorn's surcoat, leaving singed places where it bit. (You have to be careful, doing worldgating inside a world,) it said, sounding smug. (Don't distract him.) Freelorn smacked the elemental's pose away and got a scorched hand for his pains. "He could have used one of the doors in the Hold. Now he's got to use his Flame—"
(It's simpler doing it yourself,) Sunspark said. It knew about such things, having been a traveller among worlds before love had bound it to Herewiss's service. (Those doors are com-plex; it would have taken quite a while to figure them out. Don't complain.) "I'm not."
Segnbora felt like laughing, but restrained herself. Sun-spark had done perhaps more than any of them to save their lives two nights before, holding the hralcins off until Herewiss could break through into his Flame. It had done so specifically because it knew Herewiss loved Freelorn and would have been in anguish if he died. But Sunspark seemed determined not to admit his motives to Lorn — and Freelorn, if he knew, was at best ambivalent about them.
Herewiss was now scowling at the air he had been examin-ing, or whatever lay beyond it. It was dangerous, this business of opening doors to go from one place to another. Gates, when opened, tended to tear as wide as they could. A person doing a wreaking had to maintain complete control, or risk ending up in a world that looked exactly like the one he wanted to journey in, but with minor differences — a differing past or future, say, or familiar people missing.
Segnbora was not happy that one man was trying to pull off a gating by himself, and in such an unprotected place. All her previous experiences with worldgates had been in the Silent Precincts, where safe-wreakings bound every leaf
about the Forest Altars. Always there had been ten or twenty senior Rodmistresses on call to assist if there was trouble, and never had a gate been held open long enough for so many to pass through. She hoped Herewiss knew what he was doing. . Herewiss didn't move, but from where Khavrinen's point rested against the ground, a sudden runnel of blue Fire un-coiled like a snake and shot out across the sand. It put down swift roots to anchor itself, then leaped upward into the air. The atmosphere prickled with ruthlessly constrained Power as the line of blue light described a large doorway as tall as Herewiss and equally as wide. When the frame was complete the Fire ran back along its doorsill and reached upward again, this time branching out like ivy on an unseen trellis, filling the doorway with a network that steadily grew more complex. In a few breaths' time the door became one solid, pulsing panel of blue. Sweat stood on Herewiss's face. "Now," he said, still un-moving.
The blue winked out, all but the outline. From beyond the door a wet-smelling wind struck out and smote them all in the face. Lake Rilthor, their destination, lay in the lowlands, a thousand feet closer to sea level than the Waste. Through the door Segnbora saw green grass, and a soft rolling meadow leading down toward a silver-hazed lake, within which a hill was half-hidden. "Go on," Herewiss said, and his voice sounded strained. "Don't take all day."
They led their horses through as quickly as they could, though not as quickly as they wanted to, for without exception the horses tried to put their heads down to graze as soon as they passed the doorway, and had to be pulled onward to let the others through. At last Segnbora was able to pull through the reluctant Steelsheen. She was followed closely by Here-wiss and Sunspark, behind whom the door winked out with a very audible slam of sealed-in air.
Segnbora turned to compliment Herewiss and found him half-collapsed over Sunspark's back, with Freelorn support-ing him anxiously from
THE DOOR INTO SHADOW
one side. He looked like a man who
had just run a race; his breath went in and out in great racking gasps, and his face was nearly gray. "I thought there would be no more backlash once you got your Fire!" Freelorn said.
Herewiss rolled his head from side to side on the saddle, unable for several moments to find enough breath with which to reply. "Different," he said, "different problem," and began to cough.
Freelorn pounded his back ineffectually while Segnbora and the others looked on.
When the coughing subsided, Herewiss rested his head on the saddle again, still gasping, " — open too wide," he said. "What? The gate?" "No. Me."
Confused, Freelorn looked at Segnbora. "Do you know what he's talking about?"
She nodded. '*In a worldgating, the gate isn't really the physical shape you see. The gate is in your mind — the 'door' shape is just a physical expression of it. When you open a gate, you're actually throwing your soul wide open. Anything can get. out. And anything can get in. It's not pleasant."
"*I can't hear anything,'1 ' Dritt muttered, wondering what all the discussion was about.
"Swallow,"Herewiss said. "Your ears'11 pop." At last, his strength returning, he looked around with satisfaction. "You're better than I am with distances, Lorn. How far from Lake Rilthor would you say we are?" Freelorn shaded his eyes, looking first at the Sun to orient himself. "It's lower—"
"Of course. We're sixty leagues west." Freelorn looked southwest toward the lake, and to the mist-girdled peak rising from its waters. "Four miles, I'd say." "That's about what I wanted,"Herewiss said, pleased. "Not bad for a first gating."'
"It's so quiet," Harald said,, looking around suspiciously. "It's a holy place/" said Moris, unruffled and matter-of-fact as always.
Segnbora looked around at the silent green country, agree-ing, opening out her undersemes to the affect of this place.
Like most fanes or groves or great altars, Morrowfane had a feeling as if Someone was watching — Someone who would only speak using the heart's own voice. Yet the feeling was less personified, more awesome, than any she had ex-perienced before. Above everything hung a waiting silence like the one when the hawk sails high and no bird sings. Below the silence was a slow, steady throbbing of incalculable power, as if the world's heart beat nearby. A ruthless benevo-lence slept at the center of Lake Rilthor, she sensed, and slept lightly. It was no wonder that there wasn't a town or a farm or even a sheepfold for miles around.