"Lyim Rhistadt."
Hello, Esme." Lyim took note that her smile held genuine warmth. He gave a courtly bow from the waist. "You look as exquisite as ever."
And you are ever the charmer," she said, clearly pleased despite her cynicism.
"It makes my words no less true," he said smoothly, calling upon skills dusty with disuse.
Esme colored ever so slightly. "What brings you to Fangoth?"
"You, of course," he said, his eyes sparkling directly into hers. He held his left hand out from under the stoop to catch the drops of rain that pelted his back. "May I come in?"
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, coloring a becoming shade of red. "Of course, please come in." Esme swept wide the heavy door and waved Lyim into the gate- room.
"I don't know what's the matter with me," she said, leading him over the polished slate floor in the small, circular room. "I've had so few visitors since my father died."
They entered a long hallway, dark and draped with thick tapestries. Esme turned left, into a small, cozy sitting room. Three large, arched windows, adorned with heavy mauve chintz, let in the rainy afternoon's meager light. The room was overfilled, for Lyim's taste, with flowery throw pillows and dark, heavy furniture, and tables covered with lace doilies and odd bric-a- brac. It was a very feminine place, and Esme slid into it like a hand into a well-worn glove.
The young woman lowered herself gracefully into an enveloping chair by the unlit hearth. "This room was always kept closed when my father was alive," she explained. "The furniture was here, though badly water-damaged from some long-ago flood. The first thing I did when I returned here to tend Melar during his illness was to clean the place up and redecorate to my own taste. It's my haven within the manor house. Most of my time is spent here-when I'm not in the laboratory."
Lyim spied a black-framed silhouette of a man with Esme's patrician nose and chin, but distinguished from her by a curling mustache. "Was your father ill very long?" he asked, settling into the second heavily padded chair. Lyim crossed his legs and arranged the folds of his red robe about his knees.
"No." Water dripped loudly and steadily from the windowsills outside.
In the awkward silence that followed, Lyim spied a spellbook, open and lying facedown, on the parquet table between the two armchairs. "I heard you passed your Test at the tower," he said.
"From the same person who told you I'd come back to Fangoth?" she quizzed.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I believe it was Justarius who told me both," Lyim said mildly.
"Justarius?" Esme looked surprised and a little disappointed at the mention of the Master of the Red Robes.
"Who else?" Lyim asked archly.
Esme stood and rubbed her arms as if chilled. "No one, of course," she said, fidgeting as she placed some tinder in the cold hearth. "I lead the quiet life of a mage in study here. Justarius is about the only other wizard with whom I ever communicate, and then only rarely." Esme stood and brushed off her hands, preparing to light the wood.
Lyim watched her profile as he artlessly asked, "What about Guerrand?"
The young woman went sdff. "What about him?"
Lyim shrugged his shoulders. "I thought you two were-"
"We were," she cut in abruptly, "but we aren't anymore." The fire leaped to life beneath Esme's fingers. She whirled around, amber eyes flashing, her composure totally fled. "Why don't you cut short this little fishing expedition and tell me why you're really here, Lyim?"
"Esme!" Lyim feigned shock, left palm pressed to his breastbone. "I merely came to see an old friend-"
Her laughter cut him off. "You traveled hundreds of leagues from Palanthas-"
"It's not that far."
"Just to see me and check on my social life after- what's it been, five, six years?" Esme chuckled again. "Lyim, Lyim," she intoned, "you might have been able to fool Guerrand, but I always saw through your slick act." She shook a tapered finger at him. "Mind you, I'm not overly angry, but neither am I stupid."
"No one would ever mistake you for that." Lyim matched her firm expression, but he was the first to look away, smiling sheepishly. "I'm no less sincere about seeing an old friend, just because I had a dual purpose to this visit," he said with exaggerated contrition in his tone.
Esme had the good grace to acknowledge the possibility with a polite nod. She leaned against the back of a chair, facing him, her arms crossed expectantly.
Lyim blurted, "I understand that you were among the mages who designed and built Bastion."
"That was quite some time ago," she replied cautiously, leaning forward. "How did you hear about it? I thought the identities of the designing members were supposed to be kept secret."
"What can I say? The magical rumor mill in Palanthas is a living thing. Besides," he said, shrugging, "it wouldn't have been a difficult thing to figure out. In addition to the Council of Three, who were the other eighteen members of the Conclave at the time of construction?"
Esme pursed her full lips. "Why the curiosity about a place none may enter?"
Lyim decided to speak boldly "I want to become our order's guardian there. Frankly, Esme, my life hasn't turned out as I'd planned. I haven't been able to cure my… deformity." He drew his leather-gloved hand back when her eyes inevitably strayed to it.
"I'd welcome the isolation," Lyim went on in an enthusiastic rush. "There, only two other people would be subjected to seeing my hand."
"I'm sorry, Lyim," she said softly.
He tore his gaze from the pity he'd expected, and now found, in her eyes. "I don't want your sympathy," he said sharply. "I want your help. You know what Bastion is like. You were among those who designed and built it. Tell me what you know," he rushed on, leaning toward her, "and it will give me an advantage over other candidates the next time the position becomes available."
Lyim reached out with his hand for one of Esme's, then noticed the thick, silver bracelet in the shape of a snake encircling her right bicep. He remembered well the electrical shock the protective armband delivered. Lyim's hand curled into a desperate fist. "Please, Esme. I've never wanted anything so much in my life."
The young woman visibly paled. "Don't you know?"
For once, Lyim didn't have to pretend ignorance. "Know what?"
"That Guerrand took the position less than a year ago," she supplied. "And unless something has happened to him-"
"Guerrand DiThon is the Red Robes' guardian?" gulped Lyim, uncharacteristically surprised.
Esme nodded, her brow furrowed. "I can't believe that you spoke to Justarius recently and he didn't mention it." t
"We didn't really discuss Bastion or Guerrand," muttered Lyim. That wasn't surprising, since he hadn't spoken to the Master of the Red Robes in years.
"I'm sorry to be the one to dash your hopes," Esme the OcdusA pUgue
said. "Frankly, I don't think I could have helped you very much anyway. Though I participated in the exterior design and construction of the stronghold, all but the Council of Three were dispatched from the site before the interior was complete and it was sent to the plane where it would block passage to the Lost Citadel."
"What plane is that?" Lyim asked.
Esme pondered the question. " 'Between earth and sky' was all Justarius would ever say about it."