"Master of the five Magics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hardy Lyndon)

CHAPTER THREE

The Castle's Secret

THE next morning Alodar again was roused out of deep slumber, but this time the figure bending above him was shrouded in black cape and hood.

"Master Periac?" Alodar squinted through sleep-filled eyes. "I had almost given you up for lost in the underground chambers. We have not seen you for days."

"Yes, it is I," Periac said, pushing back his hood and patting into place his ruffled black hair. His temples were bare; but, by judicious positioning, he was able to cover the bald spot on the top of his head. His watery, pale blue eyes straddled a nose too small for the blocky face, and his mouth was hidden top and bottom by white flecked hair.

"I have been busy with contemplation, Alodar, busy with contemplation. A well turned thought may save the fevered activities of many. In any event, I trust you have conducted yourself to credit our craft in my absence. A good reputation goes a long way towards unlocking the next door, as I have often instructed you. But there is no time for lecture now. We must go at once for audience with the queen."

Alodar immediately sat up, eyes wide awake. A chance for information, he thought. Information for the plan that I must soon put into shape.

"But Morwin and I are assigned to aid Feston's men on the west wall, master," he said with distaste, "and should prepare for the bombardment soon to begin."

"There is no time for that; it will wait. The queen summons and we will go. It is an opportunity, and we must use it as best we can for advantage. A queen's gratitude goes even further than reputation."

Alodar smiled and Periac's brows knit into a frown.

"Do not presume you know already the full value of what I instruct, Alodar," he said. "You are quick to learn, yes, and have experienced more of the craft than those who have spent twice the time as journeymen. The best that I have had, I truly admit. But the practice of thaumaturgy and living with profit from it can come only from patiently following what a master has to pass on to you."

"But have I not correctly performed whatever you have asked of me?" Alodar asked, rising to his feet. "And then eagerly pressed for more?"

"It is exactly that impatience of which I speak, Alodar," Periac said, stroking his goatee. "One evening's discussion on the weaker similarities of form, the next day a single trial with stream-rounded pebbles and a few acorns, and then you are done with it. Why, when I studied, I spent more than a year on that one subject alone. You seem less interested in learning thaumaturgy than in just getting through it. But as I have often said, there is no great mystery revealed at the end. You become a master by solid progress, not by superficial dabbling or sudden revelation."

"I do not fault your methods, master," Alodar said. "The haste comes from beyond the boundaries of the craft. Look, when you were a journeyman, how sure were you to dedicate your life to the art?"

"Why, there was no question," Periac said. "My father and uncles were masters before me. From their hands I learned my trade. No other calling did I consider."

"And had I come to manhood a nobleman and a nobleman's son, then I think I would have felt the same," Alodar said. "Content with my lot, not questioning what else could be. But instead, I have raced through thaumaturgy as I have the rest, seeking the mystery that you say is not there, the feeling that this indeed is what I really am."

Periac stared at Alodar for a moment in silence. "You have the makings of a master in you, Alodar," be said. "But that feeling will come only when you are truly worthy of it."

He paused again, and then suddenly drew his cape around him. "But enough of this for now. The business of the moment is the audience with the queen."

Periac started for the keep in the center of the courtyard. As the barrage began, Alodar ran to catch up with his mentor.

Once inside the keep, they spiraled several times around the staircase along the inner wall before they arrived at the level of the queen. One of the two guards with crossed halberds at the doorway checked a list with his free hand and motioned them to enter.

Beyond the doorway, Alodar found himself in a large, quiet anteroom, with smooth stone walls hung with tapestries that damped the battle's din. Low benches and stools, covered with rich velvet and scattered about like a child's cast of jackstones, cluttered the entire floor. Two more men guarded a small archway draped with a thick curtain, and from time to time a page emerged and called out a name to the group sitting or pacing about. In response, one of the waiting men would spring up and follow the page when he just as quickly disappeared. No one ever returned; presumably they all left after their conference by some other door. From time to time, additional messengers burst into the room and proceeded unchecked through the curtain, waving hastily scrawled notes on the progress of the fighting down below.

Time passed, and Alodar saw Periac settle into a comfortable introspection, staring off into space. He tried to imitate the master as best he could, but the anticipation made the time crawl. The shadow from the window to the east diminished to nothing, and the one from the west had grown nearly full length when finally the page motioned them to come forth.

As the guard pulled back the curtain and Periac stooped to enter, Alodar understood why he had been asked to attend. The inner room was tapestried like the first, but almost devoid of furnishings. In its very center stood a long, oaken table with seats for eight. Seven of the chairs were occupied by Vendora and her advisors, and behind each stood an attendant arrayed in the colors of his master. Periac took the seat at the foot of the table, and Alodar stood behind him, gripping the chair back in imitation of the others.

He looked down the length of the table at Vendora and saw that she wore a sea-blue dress deeply cut in front with a large aquamarine snuggled like a nesting egg in the cleavage of her breast. Her hair coiled in elaborate wavelets, framed by a sparkling tiara. In regal attire, she seemed impersonal and distant, less of a woman and more like a trophy to be placed on the mantle at the end of an adventure.

On her right sat lord Festil, arms folded across his chest and his back ramrod straight. To her left, lady Aeriel rose to speak, and Alodar noticed she wore the same clothing as when he had seen her before, tunic and leggings on a pleasing slender form, dagger at the waist, but on her right side rather than the left. Her hair was shoulder length and simply kept, and her cheeks were clear and fresh, covered with freckles scattered about like a sunburst through a willow tree. She glanced down at Periac and Alodar, and her dark eyes smiled encouragement as she began.

"We have solicited and heard diverse suggestions today, my lords, from commander to soldier alike, on how we might break the grip that tightens about us," she said. "But we must leave no possibility unexamined, and I have recommended to our fair lady that we hear also what the common craftsman has to offer for our cause."

"The hour grows late, my fair lady," interrupted Festil, "to waste our time in so fruitless a manner. Exactly what is it that you would perform for true men-at-arms, tradesman? How will your pox healing and wart removal gain us deliverance when sword and shield will not?"

"My lord Festil," Periac responded in a voice cool with deliberation, "judge the potency of my craft not merely by the practices you see about you. These wastelands are but one corner of the world. Here by tradition, for want of a better reason, thaumaturgy and the other arts play but a small part in warfare. But I assure you that in realms elsewhere, my craft has a bigger role in deciding affairs of state."

"Then how shall you dispose of our problem?" interjected the short and corpulent man on Periac's left. "Will you rip the earth apart and have Bandor's forces swallowed up whole? Or perhaps you can enchant each of our blades so that they can cut through his mail like a knife through butter?"

"My good lords," Periac said in the same rolling tones of salesmanship that Alodar had heard so many times before. "On one hand you belittle the scope of my skills and on the other you allude to the fantasies of the romances. My craft is neither trivial amusement nor total omnipotence. Like all things, its true worth lies between. And if we are to use thaumaturgy for our great gain, then we must all understand what its capabilities and limitations are. Understand them well, else why would the fair lady call me here?"

Periac paused and Alodar saw each man settle back into his chair, resigning himself to hearing the master out. "Thaumaturgy," Periac began, "is the most clear and straightforward of the five arts in its execution. Unlike alchemy, magic, and the rest, it requires no great erudition or dedication to effect its results. Here in Procolon we regard thaumaturgy as we do masonry or smithing. With it we forge large works of metal or stone from small models in our shops. We increase the yields of whole fields while carefully tending only a part. We purge the body of plague and mend it whole again. But the true potency of thaumaturgy is limited only by the cleverness of the man who understands its basic concepts, the principles of sympathy and contagion."

"Sweetbalm, we are gathered here to plan our military strategy, not listen to an apprentice's first lecture," interrupted Festil.

"Let him speak, Festil," Aeriel cut him short. "Perhaps he is unaffected with the blindness that a feat of arms will somehow yet save us."

"Two principles," Periac continued, stroking his goatee. "Sympathy and contagion. The first simply stated is: like produces like. By manipulating objects in a simulation we can cause corresponding effects to occur on a different scale in time and distance. My gondola soars in the air in response to the movement of a small sliver."

"So then," challenged Festil again, "why not build a small model of Bandor's camp and smash it with your fist and save us the wounds and sorrow of tomorrow?"

"Because there is another important ingredient of any spell and that is a supply of energy, a force or power to do the work. It does no good to smash a model, unless I control the forces necessary to level the tents as well. Without a spinning flywheel to draw upon, the gondola would not lift in response to the rising splinter. Without the heat of the fire in Bandor's camp, the missiles launched at our catapult could not have been diverted to the mark. Practitioners of my craft seek ways to channel energy, but alas, we cannot create it.

"Not only is energy needed but, in most cases, much more than common sense might dictate. The coupling between the simulation and the actual is not perfect and there are always some losses. The more closely the two resemble one another, the better the connection and the less the energy waste. The best coupling is provided by things which were indeed once part of a single whole. Or as the principle of contagion states it- once together, always together. In principle, we could use any object for control of the gondola, but a small piece of it works better than any foreign substance. And in like manner, a wound is most effectively sealed if a drop of blood is mixed with the gelling starch, and a bit of flesh with the molding wax.

"So, lord Festil, with the wave of my hand I cannot topple the belfries that will thunder towards us, for it would take too much energy. Nor can I, say, render any man invisible or pass through solid walls, for I cannot simulate these things. Nor yet can I strike at an enemy far away without something of him to bind in the spell. But I can apply my craft in the fair lady's service with as much imagination as I am able."

"And if thaumarurgy is so straightforward then, master Periac," Festil continued, his tone still hard and unconvinced, "what need have we of any of your services at all? Why cannot one here at the table perform the craft for the queen as well?"

"There is that little matter of the spells which bind the simulation and energy source together and then subsequently release them," Periac said. "To safeguard the means of our livelihood, we must naturally protect their nature, passing them on from master to journeyman but to no one outside of our craft.

"And as I have already said," Periac persisted before Festil could stop him again, "success is not merely a matter of rote application of the well proven. Rather it depends upon the skill of the master to see through surface distractions to the deeper similarities around him. To recognize subtle and time-worn connections that form the true basis of our art."

"You state so well the limitations of your craft, master Periac," Festil persisted, "that now I wonder if perhaps one of the other four might not serve us better in our plight."

"They have their shortcomings as well," Periac said. "For example, the formulas of alchemy have no guarantee of coming to the same result with each use. Only one time in hundreds does one end with a solvent that can dissolve more than the glass in which it was formed. The massive factories on Honeysuckle Street produce mostly waste, repeating and repeating the same steps in order to form some modest quantity of healing balm or sense-enhancing philtre."

"There is truth in what you speak," Aeriel said. "We are here because Kelric, the court sorcerer, entranced himself to find what great wealth might lie undiscovered in the kingdom. In his vision he saw Iron Fist and a formula of alchemy of great merit, one with high yield and hence potential for large profit. With it, the queen can hope to replace the wealth which used to come from the royal mines, now thrust as deeply into the mountains as men can go."

"But what details did he see?" Alodar blurted. "What did he say of the passageways and chambers underground?"

The fat man on Periac's left rose to protest the interruption, but Aeriel shot him a hard glance that settled him back in his seat. Alodar looked about the table and marveled at her control. Except for Festil, she clearly had the respect of the group and all deferred to her lead.

"No detail could he see," she said, "and the only words that came from his trance were that the Iron Fist must loosen its grip before the formula could be found. It may be that the castle will have to fall because we have yet discovered no grimoire in these mute walls."

"And as for sorcerers," Periac continued as if no interruption had occurred. "With one at court you know well the difficulty of dealing with them. Reclusive and obstinate their art must intrinsically pervert them from a decent relationship with their fellowmen. Why else do they deliberately play upon our fears of enchantment when we plead for some small illusion or prophecy?

"And magic is no better. The rituals performed in seclusion sometimes take several lifetimes. Except for such useless trinkets as the ceremonial dagger I see on lady Aeriel's side, it would take many a castle's treasure to afford what magicians have to offer. Their swords that never dull and mail that does not break are far better, true, than the alchemical salves which rot away, but who among you has ever seen the like?

"Finally, there is wizardry," Periac said, raising his hand and counting his fingers into his palm one by one.

"Yes, what of that?" the fat man said. "The talk of the bailey floor is that Bandor is possessed by a devil and pushes this attack for no mortal cause."

"I cannot accept such groundless whisperings," Festil cut in. "Revolt against the crown has happened before. But traffic with demons, like a baseborn craftsman? No noble of Procolon would think of it."

"Judge not all of wizardry by the few poor examples we have seen among us," Periac replied. "The wizards we judge as wise know that their wills are of insufficient strength to dominate any but the simplest of imps. They travel with carnivals and the like, content with pushing their sprites through idle tricks as one would a trained mouse. Their lot is far better, however, than that of the foolish who have dared to struggle with true power and ended as the hoop-jumper for the demon instead. It is fortunate that their cruel masters soon tire of the bizarre acts they force upon them. The crumpled and abandoned shells whimpering for bread are better off as beggars than when they were the submissive slaves to powerful djinns.

"But it was not always thus," Periac said, sweeping his upraised index finger in Festil's direction. "The sagas of our past tell of men of great will and courage who struggled with the strongest demons and bent them to their bidding. The power they could thereby command made them much respected throughout many lands. No, my lord, you would not judge a wizard of long ago as a mere craftsman."

Festil scowled, but Periac turned his attention to the queen and continued. "But as to lord Bandor, I must say in truth that possession would be most unlikely. He conducts the siege with coherence and precision, not with the mad acts of contradiction that a fiend would force upon him."

"For a master of a single art," Vendora said, "you seem well versed in the rest as well."

Periac smiled and tipped his head with a slight bow, "What I have said is the depth of my knowledge, my fair lady. Each craftsman guards with pride what is his own and deals reluctantly with the others. For more, you must consult with the proper practitioners. But, to the point, there are none of them here to aid you, only I. And to escape Bandor's trap, I can indeed be of service."

Alodar tightened his grip on the chair and the lords about the table leaned forward in anticipation. Periac saw the increased interest and paused to heighten the effect.

"If Iron Fist is to fall, and I see no way that we can prevent it," he said at last, "then we can save much bloodshed by raising the white flag."

"Never," thundered Festil pounding his fist on the table. "This stronghold has never fallen and it shall not fall now. Or if indeed we cannot hold, we will defend the walls to the last man for the honor of our fair lady."

"I think, my lord," Periac said, "that our fair lady's honor is better preserved by subterfuge than by singing sword. If we surrender, you men-at-arms will become captives, yes. But we lowly tradesmen might be allowed to go our way after performing for our captors some of the same services we have done for you. The queen can slip out with us and then return to Ambrosia unharmed."

"And do you not think that every cart that leaves this place will be searched from axle to highpost once the fair lady is found missing in the keep?" Festil said. "And how could anyone miss her beauty, no matter what maid's dress you cast her in? Her doom would be sealed on the spot, once such a scheme was exposed."

"Her beauty is renowned, yes," Periac said, rubbing his hands together with deliberate slowness. "But with my craft we could alter that. A small simulation, a wax head, and then in an instant it would be over. A bulbous nose, thrusting chin, slanting brow, and pox on the cheeks. No one would choose to look at her. And then once safely away, we can restore her countenance to what it was before."

"You mean to apply a disguise," Vendora said, "as if I were an actress playing the part of an old crone?"

"I do not speak of makeup, my fair lady," Periac said. "The face I would give you would be as real as the one you have now. The sores would ooze real pus and no putty or paint would stick to a searcher's hand. They could not detect it."

"Then how surely can you undo what you have done, master Periac?" Vendora said with the softness missing from her voice.

Periac rubbed his hands together more forcefully. "I am a skilled practitioner, my fair lady. My eye is still good, my hand firm and my memory sharp. I doubt that anyone would notice a significant difference when we were done."

All eyes turned to the queen to await her response. She touched her hand to her cheek and then back to smooth her hair. Alodar held his breath trying to imagine the same gold dusted to dirty brown atop a pock-marked and misshapen face, painful to see. He thought of his resolve of the night before and how strong it might be if Periac's transformation were indeed so.

Suddenly, before the answer could form on Vendora's lips, another page burst into the room, blood streaming from his nose and ears. "The south wall," he gasped. "Scaling ladders, too many of them. We could not hold. Flee, my fair lady. Flee as best you can."

"Quickly, my fair lady, this way." Festil bolted from the table and motioned to the rear exit from the chamber. "The rest of you, to the bailey floor. Secure the keep from the intruders."

The assemblage exploded for the doorways like pieces of shattered glass. The advisors scrambled by Alodar, and he hesitated as he watched Festil usher Vendora and Aeriel out the other way. In an instant he made his decision. As the curtains swished shut, he rushed after the departing queen.

He sprang into the passageway beyond the conference room and saw the three descending a long spiral staircase like the one he had climbed in the morning, but narrower and with no windows to the outside. As they disappeared from view, Alodar plunged down the stairs. Down and down he sped, just able to catch sight of Vendora's flowing gown around the curve. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Periac about the same distance behind, racing after.

More openings whizzed by on the inside, but the outside curve remained featureless and unbroken. Only an occasional torch on the wall prevented total darkness. Around and around the stairs wound, until Alodar completely lost his sense of direction.

Finally the staircase ended and joined a level walkway that continued to curve about the keep. Alodar increased his speed and closed on those in the lead. He raced around nearly half the circumference and then saw a flash of copper from the top of Aeriel's head as she disappeared into a square-cut hole in the stone floor. He ran to the opening and peered inside, motioning Periac to hurry and catch up. A second staircase spiraled into a room below, where Festil was busily straining at a large lever hinged on the wall, while Aeriel and Vendora descended.

"Why, it's the first chamber," Alodar exclaimed. "The one with the iron slab on the floor."

Festil looked up, unable to budge the giant lever from where he found it. "Quickly, man," he said. "Help me here so that we can seal them out."

Periac caught up with Alodar and together they descended into the room. All three tugged at the lever, and slowly it began to move. Alodar glanced back up at the opening through which they had come and saw a giant stone slab, held against the ceiling on metal tracks, sliding in response. It rumbled across the opening and thudded into place, sealing off the entrance from above.

Festil and Periac collapsed to the ground, holding their sides and panting from the exertion. The two women leaned against the walls, chests heaving, unable to speak. Alodar glanced about the chamber he had visited two nights before and saw no change. A square-cut slab of iron, rusted red from the dampness, sat in the center of a featureless floor. The circle of round walls had no structure except for indentations for the lighting oil and the four archways that radiated to the castle's corner towers. Only the lever which closed the exit to the keep seemed to serve any purpose.

Alodar moved about the room, glancing into the long dark tunnels radiating from it. Three were pitch black, giving no clue as to what lay beyond. But as he looked into the fourth, he saw a procession of many torches and heard the jingle of mail. Even in the distance, he could recognize Feston's bright surcoat reflecting the torchlight.

Soon Feston and the group he brought with him were in the chamber and fanning out to explore the entrances to the other passageways. "My fair lady," he said, "thank the amulets that you are safe and not in Bandor's grasp. We may yet win praise for the sagas on this day."

Vendora pushed herself from the wall and straightened to a free standing position, brushing down the disarray of her gown and readjusting the aquamarine to its proper position.

"How stand our forces now, lord Feston?" she gasped, still gulping air between her words.

"Not well, my fair lady," Feston replied, "but not so badly that there is not hope still. The battle rages fiercely on the bailey above, and I think in the end it will be to no avail. But we have secured the lower levels under each tower, just as you have done with the keep, and we find no sign of Bandor's forces here to peril us. The bulk of our defenders are left above, alas, to fend as best they can, and we could not prevent some craftsmen coming down into these fortifications along with men-at-arms. But we have secured most of the food and I think, judging from these walls, lack not for water. It will be a long while before Bandor can begin to hope of reaching us."

"With the queen so neatly bundled up," Aeriel interrupted, "why should he even care? Do you propose no more than to await our fate just as we have done for the last forty-three days? I am not trained in matters of war as you are, my lords," she said, "but it seems to me that these chambers and passageways serve a better purpose than to pass the time. I think aloud and without deliberation, but do not these walls and interconnectings at least give us an element of surprise? When Bandor eventually takes full command of the castle above, he will find the five entrances to us, and probably can do no more than station guards at all positions to await what we would do next. He must split his forces into fifths, and we can concentrate ours to strike at one?and at a time of our own choosing."

"Necessity imparts sharpness to your thoughts, lady Aeriel," Festil said while rising slowly to stand besides his son. "Quite surely I believe you have hit upon the intent of the castle's original design. If the walls were to fall, the towers would still have to be taken; then with underground communication, each could aid the others so that all might stand. But on balance, my son's plan seems a good one. We have not the towers, but only the chambers underneath them. In addition, the blood of Bandor's vassals now runs hot with victory and lust for rape and plunder. Our salvation may be a surprise thrust, as you say, but I think it wise to sit until our captor's zeal cools in the careless boredom of guard duty before we try."

"Well enough, lord Festil," Vendora said softly. "We need time to assess our situation. Lord Feston, continue to conduct yourself as you have. I appoint you commander of whatever forces remain. See that order is established and the entrances to these dungeons well guarded."

As she spoke, the queen looked around the high and windowless walls of the chamber and reached behind her for a cloak that was not there.

"Here, my fair lady," Feston said dramatically, releasing the clasp of the cape of the man who stood near and whirling it about her. She clutched it eagerly and drew it tight while her eyes darted again about the room.

Alodar and the others caught her mood and somberly shifted about as the reality of their plight began to sink in. They were safe for now, true, but in the long run what did that matter? A desperate attempt to break out was the best they could devise. Their lives were at stake and no glimmer of hope could credibly present itself.

No glimmer, unless indeed the castle possessed one more secret defense to aid them. And if he could find it and thereby save the queen, ah, who would be the hero then? Oppressed by their trap as were the others, but grimly determined, he headed into one of the passageways to search again for some clue.

Alodar flicked back his cape and sat to rest on the rust-encrusted slab in the center of the chamber. He glanced over to the wall where Vendora huddled in the cape Feston had given her two days before. Her shoulders stooped and her hair lay tangled and matted against her brow. She listened half attentively as Feston squatted easily at her side, telling her small talk of the four guard detachments under the towers.

Alodar sighed. Their band was so small and their fates so intertwined that the formalities of rank had begun to give way. But he did not want to approach the queen himself until he had some positive news of discovery to present to her. He dug his gouge into the soft red rust beneath him for perhaps the tenth time and left another shallow furrow beside the others. The fresh cut revealed nothing new, only rust deeper still. Perhaps the whole slab was rotted through and would soon turn to dust.

"Marking off the hours, journeyman?" a voice asked over his shoulder, and Alodar turned to see Aeriel taking a place beside him. The dagger at her side clanked against the slab and Alodar glanced down at the bare blade and stubby hilt.

"Are you left-handed?" he asked as she followed his gaze downward.

"No." Aeriel laughed. "It is but my nature. The fair lady insists that I wear the badge of office as do the others of her court, and so I must. And were the blade of any value I would carry it properly; but it is only a useless symbol, so I display it accordingly."

"A magic dagger and of no value," Alodar said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Costly enough in coin or barter," Aeriel said. "Enough so that a craftsman could never hope to own one. Yet not so dear that the nobility would be likewise denied. It is the perfect token for one to declare that he is wealthy. But for its utility as a weapon?here, judge for yourself."

Aeriel withdrew the dagger from the loop at her waist and passed the hilt to Alodar. He wrapped his hand around it and immediately pursed his lips in surprise.

An electric tingling pulsed through his fingers and shot up his arm. He felt goosebumps pop out on his chest and back. For a moment his eyes watered and his tongue felt dry.

"It is magic, there is no doubt," Aeriel said. "What else gives one such a feeling? Though you do get somewhat used to it after a while."

Alodar nodded and tightened his grip on the hilt. His fingers and thumb slipped smoothly into small indentations in the grip, and the pommel snuggled comfortably against the base of his palm. The dagger felt like a natural extension of his arm, as if custom tooled to fit his hand and no other.

He reached out with his index finger to test the point which looked surprisingly blunt and frowned in puzzlement when he made contact with the cold gray metal.

"Yes, that is why it is so absurd," Aeriel said. "And the edge of the blade is the same. Impossibly dull and unyielding to any grinder's stone."

"Cannot the magicians give it an edge as well?" Alodar asked as he handed the dagger back, releasing his grip reluctantly. "With a feel like that one almost would be tempted to take on a swordsman."

"As I understand it, the ritual is set," Aeriel said. "Any change destroys the symmetry of the whole. Either one accepts a perfect hilt with a blade of no value or a dagger with no magical properties at all. And of course, if such a dirk as this could cut, the magicians' price would preclude it from the baubles of the nobility."

"You speak most strangely of your peers, my lady," Alodar said with the beginnings of a smile.

"I did not reach the council of the queen by adhering to what convention would expect of me, Alodar," she said. "Had I thought and acted as the rest of Vendora's childhood friends, then now I would be no more than a lady-in-waiting, concerned with pretty needlework, rather than affairs of state. Let the likes of a Festil be guided by tradition, rather than what each situation uniquely demands. I will not be frightened by an idea, just because it has not been previously recorded in the sagas.

"And as proof of that," she continued, returning Alodar's smile, "please call me Aeriel. There is no need for ceremony for one who seems to work so diligently in our cause. I could not but notice that you react to our situation in a different way than most everyone. Rather than moping about when free from a turn at guard, you have been examining each mortar joint with that small glass of yours. Do you still carry out the queen's commands of now so long ago?"

"Yes, I still look for a key," Alodar said. "But as yet I have found none. I am beginning to think that there is nothing in the passageways to aid us. The answer must lie in one of these three chambers under the keep. So I visit each in turn, hoping for some inspiration."

"And which is next?"

"The second level, the one with the pillar."

"Good, let me go with you."

Alodar blinked, but then quickly nodded his agreement. The two left unnoticed out one of the passageways to the towers. They trudged along in silence for awhile, and then Alodar decided to make the best of his opportunity.

"How fares the queen under our duress?" he said.

"Alas, she lets her fate weigh heavily on her shoulders. As you can see, she broods too much to conduct herself as her station requires she should."

"But if somehow we are indeed rescued?"

"Ah, she would return to her former self in an instant, full of glory. And ample gratitude for the man who saves her."

"Regardless of station?" asked Alodar.

"Yes, regardless." Aeriel laughed. "I see the queen interests all men in the same way."

Suddenly, before he could continue, the ground shook with a long rolling wave; the torch lights blew wildly and flickered dim. The narrow passageway roared with the sound of crashing stone, and the shock, muted and stretched by the thick walls, echoed for several moments.

Aeriel reached for Alodar's arm. In the quiet that followed, he muttered, "The second one today. It only can mean that they are toppling the towers, one by one. Either our remaining defenders above give them difficulty or they seek to level Iron Fist on some mad craze. It is well that they have not yet discovered any entrances to these chambers."

Aeriel released her grip and breathed deeply. "Come," she said. "We were going to the second level."

They reached the tower in a short while. Descending through a hole in the floor, they climbed down to the next landing. Retracing their steps one level down, they returned to a chamber under the keep. It was deserted and built similarly to the ones above and below, except that instead of a slab or water pool, a massive stone column ran from floor to ceiling.

"It certainly is not needed to support the vault," Alodar said. "The other two chambers have the same span and the ceiling runs free from wall to wall. Yet strength is somehow the essence of that column. Look at it, not a seam anywhere, a monolith of granite. It could withstand the blows of many a mangonel and give up not a single chip from the shock."

"If it does not support, is it indeed even secure?" Aeriel asked.

"Yes, the base penetrates below floor level. From the look of it, it also projects up into the ceiling as well."

Alodar stepped back to survey the column but found himself instead watching Aeriel as she inspected the stonework. Her eyes darted first to the ceiling, then to the floor, and finally scanned the length slowly for any crack or seam. She looked back at Alodar when she was done, and her eyes widened as she realized what his focus of attention had been.

"Excuse my boldness, but you are most pleasing fair," Alodar said without thinking.

"Oh enough, Alodar." Aeriel raised her hand as a slight color came to her cheeks. "I have seen the effect of the queen on too many men not to know what truly constitutes beauty. Let us concentrate on our search."

Alodar nodded and motioned to the archway, suddenly pleased with himself for what he had said and the reaction it had caused. Without another word, they left the chamber and returned to the flanking tower. As they began to climb down to the bottommost level, the ground shook again like a blanket snapped taut on a newly made bed, and the rumble echoed about them so that neither could speak. As the reverberations died, a man-at-arms poked his head through the opening to the level above.

"Lady Aeriel, come quickly to the queen's bidding," he shouted down. "A strange occurrence in the central chamber."

Alodar and Aeriel quickly reversed direction, following the man back to the queen. Everyone of their small band was there, filling the room, and all heads looked anxiously upwards towards the huge vault of the ceiling. Vendora was where Alodar had seen her last, but now she stood propped against Feston, leaning heavily on the arm he wrapped around her.

A sudden streak of motion caught Alodar's eye. He turned his head upward to see several large drops of opaque liquid ooze out between two of the massive stones. They fell and spattered against the rusty slab at the chamber's center and added to the messy orange slurry of their predecessors.

He frowned in concentration. Nothing from thaumaturgy certainly, he thought. But what had Periac told him of the other arts? What would seep through what no mason could chisel in a week?

"Solvent!" he yelled as the answer struck him. "And it looks high grade. Everyone out! The ceiling is going to collapse. That is how the towers were toppled. They are dissolving the mortar between the stones."

No one moved. All were transfixed by the slowly increasing tempo of the drip and the widening pool on the chamber floor. Before Alodar could say more, the giant keystone in the center of the vault began to slide slowly down and away from the rock which surrounded it. It gathered speed; with a cascade of liquid on every side, it fell away entirely, into their midst. With a resounding crash, it hit the slab and sprayed liquid and splinters of rock in all directions. The crowd screamed and sprang alive, bolting for the passageways, shouldering one another aside in their haste.

Alodar and Aeriel moved to one side to let them pass, their eyes on the queen across the chamber. Feston, with his grip still on Vendora's arm, spun her towards the nearest exit and pushed her ahead. Periac recovered his balance from a brushing blow and plunged after the queen. Festil immediately followed, almost catching the thaumaturge's cape with his long running stride.

Alodar looked again at the ceiling. Through the new opening, Bandor's men were lowering a rope ladder and several were making ready to descend. He glanced over his shoulder into the passageway from which he had just entered and then hesitated no longer. Grabbing Aeriel's hand, he raced across the room, avoiding the many small pools of solvent which were now working on the seams in the floor. As he passed the slab, his eyes was caught by its now shining brilliance. The bath had cleaned away the rust and a good portion of the iron as well.

He stopped suddenly and looked again. The shine was not from the iron alone.

"Look, Aeriel," he exclaimed. "In the center of the iron, a disk of copper! It is not a solid iron slab, after all. Beneath the rust is this circle of copper in a yoke of iron. A circle at each level. The copper here, the column below, and a well at the bottom of it all."

Three circles of the same diameter! One above the other. In a flash the castle's secret came to him. He looked again at the rope ladder. Two men were already gently swinging on it. He grabbed Aeriel again and ran off after the others. He had the answer. If there was only enough time to use it.