The hallways were deserted, but quiet voices emanated from the library. My reading room, what Paulo called the front sitting room, was tucked in between the front doors and the library. I could afford no enchantments lest Radele be monitoring the house, so I cracked the reading-room door ever so slightly and hoped my man Ceddoch had quieted the old hinges as I’d asked him to do some time ago when life was less complicated.
The door opened without sound. The Lady Seriana was alone, exactly as I had envisioned her, even to the deep blue color of her gown and her position on the low stool in front of my favorite fireplace. She stared into the fire, unmoving, unblinking, lost wherever the tides of random thought and memory had taken her. Far from my reading room, I guessed; it had been four months for her. I could afford no anger at those responsible. We had time for nothing but to get her away.
The boy darted past me and knelt by the Lady, his back to me, his whisper barely audible. “Come, my lady. We’ve come to take you to safety. Don’t be afraid.”
He took her hands and stood up, pulling her gently to her feet. She, of course, said nothing and made no resistance. She was as pale as starlight, as fragile as a soap bubble that floats from your hand on washing day. A loud voice might dissolve her, or a hasty touch; I guessed that her remaining life could be measured in hours, not days.
Fixing my attention on the passage, I whispered over my shoulder. “When I say the word, take her straight through the kitchen to the stable and get her on a horse. From the rear door of the stable, a track leads down into the Vale. When you meet the main path that traverses the Vale - you’ll know it - go left, upward, and ride hard until you come to an arched rock. Half a league beyond it, a path will branch to the left and lead you to a stone tower. You’ll be immensely reluctant to go there, but it’s only a winding to keep people away. Push through it, keeping your eyes on the path every moment. No harm will come to you, and once inside the tower you’ll no longer feel the aversion. If I don’t arrive close on your heels, get the Lady to Avonar and tell the Preceptor Ce’Aret all you’ve told me.”
I glanced up and down the passage, listening so intently I could hear my own heart beating. Satisfied that no one lay in wait, I nodded.
With an arm around her waist, the youth led the Lady down the dim passageway. As soon as they had disappeared into the back of the house I hurried the opposite way to an alcove near the front entry, where I kept my old mentor Exeget’s weapons. I grabbed two swords, two knives, a bow, and a small quiver, prayed holy Vasrin we wouldn’t need them, and slipped out of the alcove into the foyer, heading toward the back of the house where I’d sent Paulo and the Lady.
Fortune plays many games, testing us, I think, or perhaps as part of some grand jest. Why else should Radele step out of the library just then, and the front door swing open to reveal Men’Thor, clad in cloak and battlefield boots and already removing his gloves?
“Ven’Dar!” Father and son spoke in perfect unison.
Happily, I was less shocked than either of them, and more familiar with the plan of the house and the wards I had created to deter intrusions. I sped across the foyer, whispering the word that extinguished every lamp, candle, and torch in the house. I laughed when I heard the bump and curse that could be nothing but the meeting of Radele and my gallery wall. Lest sun or moon guide any ne’er-do-well through my chambers once the lights were doused, the winding shifted the perceived locations of doorways and corners. On my way through the kitchen I grabbed an armful of cloaks, abandoned over the years by my kitchen staff, and a small leather bag I always kept hanging by the door, a habit retained from my youth in a village in constant danger of Zhid raiders. A wise man was always provisioned for a hasty retreat.
Trailed by shouts and curses, I burst from the kitchens into the warm, starry night of the kitchen yard. Through the windows behind me, a pale light flicked into life. Radele and Men’Thor were no fools. My enchantments would give us only moments.
“Best hurry!” I yelled as I burst into the stable. The Lady was already astride a chestnut gelding, and Paulo was swinging up behind her. The back door of the stable stood open, and my own Jocelyn stood ready for me. I threw the cloaks across Jocelyn’s saddle and tossed the spare sword to Paulo, but to my surprise he dropped it as if it were newly pulled from the smith’s fire.
“I’ve no place to carry it,” he said. “And I’m no good with ‘em.” He spurred the chestnut, and they shot from the stable like a meteor across the night sky.
I didn’t follow immediately, but buckled on the second sword belt and hung the bow and quiver over my back. Forcing myself to ignore the commotion, the shouts and slamming doors, the lamps winking to life one by one as the men searched for us, I took a deep breath and worked a winding of somewhat more weight than the house ward: wood, paper, straw, consume, huge, shield, home, safety, necessity, heat, sudden, confusion, terror, escape…
Focus on the words, Ven’Dar. I sought the truth of the words, the meanings buried beneath centuries of use. I drew them together and infused them with my gift, my knowledge, and my intent. Patience. Let it grow. Lives could depend on how long you hold before the cast.
My hands rested on Jocelyn’s flank as the enchantment swelled within me. I resisted the urge to set the spell free before it broke through the boundaries of my body, holding my focus until the main door of the stable was thrown open. One person was out of the house. The others would soon realize where we’d gone and follow him. At last, out of time, I made my cast. Fire!
No chance of this winding going astray. Nentao was my own house, after all. As if the ground beneath had opened to the fiery heart of the earth, yellow-orange flames burst through windows and walls, engulfing my home.
I urged Jocelyn through the back door and galloped down the track in the light of the flames. I didn’t look back to see Nentao burning, nor did I listen to the shouts and screams. I might have been tempted to moderate my work, and we needed every advantage we could get.
Paulo had told me that most of my own servants had been dismissed; my wards would warn the rest and lead them safely away. Radele’s men would be confused and desperate to find their way out, but they also would escape. I had left them a thread.
Men’Thor’s bodyguard, who had opened the stable door, raced down the path after us. But, poor soul, he didn’t know the track well enough and was too cautious. If he’d come at full speed he might have overtaken me before I could cast again, and taken care of me as young men can do to those more than double their age. But he hesitated and got himself tangled in what, on the next morning, he was going to swear was a massive spiderweb with a dinner-plate-sized spider lurking in it. In fact, it was a particularly thick patch of vine-draped trees and a small, very shy raccoon.
The fellow didn’t know that the time for caution was past. As I galloped through the Lydian Vale, the world galloped right alongside me, history’s ragged banners flying as we raced into the dark midnight.
CHAPTER 23
Just before moonset I turned Jocelyn loose to refresh herself on the sweet grass of the Lydian Vale. The white stone of P’Clor’s Tower gleamed like pearl in the moonlight. As I wearily climbed the wooden stair to the single plain room at the top, a lazy, humid breeze soughed through the empty window slots.