He attacked his servants anew, striving to force their obedience. His slave, however, had more strength left than he knew. With delicacy, Romar had successfully kept his master from turning to attack the Gray Ones he believed to be the other portion of the fight.
Romar had been able to detach just sufficient strength to open the ancient door his master feared. Within the depths of his mind he yet hoarded himself, his unconquered spirit and the last scraps of power. Help was coming, he knew, and had successfully kept that from his master also. He could feel the touch of the Light as his rescuers neared him. At first he had recognized his twin and fought down terror. Lords of Light, let her not fall into the hands of this one! And what if she fell to the traps along the way? He had not enough of his gift left to reach out against those. His rescuers must fight as they could to reach him.
But a tiny flame of hope was beginning to burn. Little by little he had sensed that they were moving steadily toward him. Now and then he had felt the echoes of some struggle. But always they had moved on again. As they neared him, he could distinguish the spirits of the other two. His sword-brother, ah, gods, who else but Jerrany?
The other spirit, too, was known to him; had he not dreamed her down the long bitter months of captivity? He had seen her in his visions; now he recalled her to mind. She looked almost like one of his race to the eye, but the spirit that burned in her was different, born of another place. Not evil, just different. She was of the Light, that he knew in his innermost heart. He called up her face: his eyes caressed the strong planes, the storm gray of the eyes, the black spider silk of the hair that lifted around her shoulders.
There was a fierce pride and determination in those lines. The mouth was gentle, a mouth to kiss, to love, but below it a determined chin jutted. He smiled tenderly to himself. Such a chin betokened a stubbornness that would carry her onward in the face of any who might strive to halt her. Was this a characteristic of those who found the gates to his world? Others had come now and then; always they had been of a fierce spirit. Perhaps it was the spirit the gates recognized. He did not know. But the more he had seen of this one, the more his own spirit had yearned for her. In the old race desire wakes late, but at first sight of this lady it had woken truly.
Not desire of body alone, but heart’s desire. He would walk with her. Learn her thoughts, her fears and delights. Wed her in honor to love all the days of his life—which might not be very long indeed, his mind added bitterly. He could feel the weakness stealing over him.
Still in the core of all that made him human he nursed the vision. His friend and his sister were coming for him, and that other. What she might be to him he knew not, but she, too, fought her way toward him to buy his freedom at the point of a sword. He drew in, hoarding his dying strength.
Eleeri paced slowly along the passage, flanked by her friends. It appeared to stretch on forever. Mayrin halted to ease her sword belt.
“Do we go around in circles in this cursed place? Surely the tower we entered was not so large?”
Jerrany shook his head. “What is within may be greater than what is without; the power has always said this. The tower merely manifests that truth.” He stared down the passage before them. “But I do wonder, could it be that we are being led in circles deliberately? Does illusion trick us here?” He reached over to touch Eleeri’s cheek. “You marked your face before we entered. Do you still have some of that which you used?”
Her fingers flicked to her belt pouch to reappear with a nubbin of the red chalk that crumbled in cliffside streaks near the canyon. Silently she handed it to him, standing aside to watch with Mayrin as he moved forward. Carefully Jerrany drew a straight line down the center of their road. He paced on, then drew another, a break, then a third. But by now the two behind him could see.
Mayrin hissed softly and waved him back. He came running lightly.
“What is it?”
“The passage curves. It appears straight to our eyes when we stand together, but when you are well ahead, you are moving out of sight around a curve in the walls.”
“Sa!” His voice was quiet, but there was the triumph of a striking hawk in the hiss. “If illusion holds us, what else have we overlooked? It is a trick to lead us away from he whom we seek, but have we already passed him or does he yet lie ahead?”
Eleeri’s fingers went to the pendant in her dagger sheath. She lifted it free. “Maybe Pehnane can show us the way.” But try as she might, there was no answer from the tiny figure.
“Maybe he must wait until we come to the heart of the tower,” Jerrany commented. “We are all bound to the one we seek in some way. Let us link and think on him, build him in our minds as we know him in life.”
Eleeri was unsure of the wisdom of that. “Could the use of power alert the enemy? This is the heart of his place.”
“Perhaps, but what does it profit us to be unnoticed if we cannot also find?”
Mayrin reached out to lay a hand on each arm. “Listen, the enemy uses the Dark and power. What if . . .”
They listened, agreement growing as she spoke. Now it was she who stood forward, her hands reaching into her hair to bring forth an ornament. Eleeri studied it as her friend held it up and they clasped hands about it. It had been carved from a pale wood and from it came a faint sweet perfume—one natural to the wood itself, she judged. It was in the shape of a lizard, one whose skull seemed larger than those she had known. The eyes were tiny inset chips of some gold stone, and the tail curled under to hold a lock of hair.
“It was carved for my eighteenth nameday,” Mayrin said. In this place she would not name the carver—names had too much power—but Eleeri nodded. Mayrin reached out to bring Jerrany’s hands in upon the carving.
“Think on him. Build him in your minds. Set seeking upon this gift, that it hunt him out wherever he may be hidden from us.”
Obediently they bent to the task she laid. This was not true power, but a sympathetic magic such as Eleeri was familiar with. So had her own people once hunted. This she could do. She raised the memory of the man she had seen, limned his face in life’s colors, sparked spirit in the deep-set eyes. She willed the eyes to meet hers, strained to reach out.
Beside her she was dimly conscious of the effort her friends made. Sweat beaded along her forehead as she strove. It felt as if she were forced back and away from the face she had built. She resisted savagely. She was losing all sense of time or place. It was as if she floated, suspended. Then there came a draining. Dimly she saw that the tiny motes of light that had cloaked her were leaving. They flowed down her arms into the lizard and it turned golden eyes on her. She staggered back weakly as Mayrin released the tiny creature.
It scurried back the way they had come as they turned hastily to follow.
“Concentrate on it. Keep his face in your minds,” Mayrin hissed softly.
They loped along, each carrying their dagger in readiness as the lizard sped down the halls. Jerrany halted abruptly.
“This isn’t the passage we traveled,” he said, his voice certain. “Look.” His hand indicated a bright mural. Their eyes veered away from the scene in disgust. “Yes, it’s ugly, but which of you has seen it before?”
He watched as both shook their heads. They turned to stare back the way they had come. There was no sign of an archway, no doors or turnings.
“More illusion?” Eleeri queried.
Jerrany glanced at her. “No, I think what we have now is reality. It was illusion we followed before.” A chirp from the lizard reminded them. “Best we follow our guide and discuss the nature of illusion later.” He trotted after the lizard as it scuttled away again. The women moved up to flank him as they ran. The return journey seemed endless as they wearied, but now they were certain they had never seen these halls or passages before. The guide was slowing as they trotted along. Now they fell back to a swift walk and still it slowed.
“What’s wrong with it?” Eleeri whispered.
“Power only lasts so lon
g. None of us is a Great One or even so very strong in the gift,” Mayrin muttered quietly as they marched after the slowing carving.
“Could we do what we did again?”
Her friend shrugged. “I don’t know. If we can’t find what we seek before the power fades, we’ll have to try.”
They fell silent, concerned eyes on the small guide. The lizard was almost at a standstill, yet it dragged itself along valiantly. Only the smooth marble of the floors allowed it to move; a rougher surface would have brought it to a straining halt. Then it stopped. Mayrin bit back a cry of despair. Her eyes blurred. Through her distress she felt Eleeri’s grip tighten.
“No, Mayrin, look!”
Mayrin dashed a hand across her eyes and glanced up. In its last gasp the lizard had turned to rear up against a wall. It was the carven ornament once more, but still it leaned forward as if pressing into the stone.
Jerrany was running his hands over the chill blocks. “I can’t find any entrance.”
Six hands patted, feeling along the lines of the wall stones. There was no door to be seen or felt. But their guide had not halted in midcorridor as it would have had it simply lost power. There had to be an entrance here. They would not cease to search until it was found.
Finally Eleeri stepped back. Illusions had taken them before. Perhaps now the pendant would consent to aid. She held it against the wall that blocked their path. Again came the draining, but this time the specks outlined an oblong on the stones. A patch of them clustered at shoulder height. Moved by an impulse, Eleeri placed her hand over them. There was a slow shuddering and the stones moved under her fingers. With a gasp of triumph, Jerrany seized the edge revealed and forced it further open.
They slipped through. Behind them the door shut silently and they gulped as they found it would not open again.
It was Mayrin who shook off her fear. “We wanted to go this way. Best we do.”
Eleeri lifted her pendant. “Pehnane, please, is there something you can do to help us?”
From the eyes of the figure, light sprang. It touched the walls that imprisoned them, waking runes to light. They were in a cursive script unknown to any of the trio, but they served to show the way.
“Let’s hurry. We don’t know how long this will last,” Eleeri commented as she walked swiftly along the narrow passage. In single file they moved, watching all around as they traveled. Within her Eleeri felt a growing certainty that they neared their goal at last. Sometimes she felt as if they had been within this damned tower forever. If she escaped safely, she’d not be going back in, that was for sure.
The runes ended in another wall, but this time the door was visible. Eleeri slapped her hand against a finger-worn place. That had to be how to open it. Burning pain shot up her arm. She yelped, wrenching her hand away. Blood stained the wall as the door opened silently. Did anyone who opened the dratted thing have to pay like that? she wondered. Not that it mattered. The door was open and it seemed to have caused her no real damage. She sucked the small wound and scowled as her friends joined her on the other side.
Now there was light. Not a great deal, but sufficient to see that they trod a way deep in ancient dust. Jerrany gasped as they rounded a bend and a slitted window appeared. They jostled to gaze out, before Mayrin spoke, amazement in her voice.
“Look at the sun. It’s barely moved.”
“Time,” Jerrany said softly. “Time is different in the tower. I wondered how it was that our fighters still held its attention. But see the sun: less than an hour has passed since we entered. Perhaps only half of that. Our men swore to hold for at least an hour, two if they could. There is time yet for us to seek and find if we be swift. Come.” He studied the passage through which they moved, then pointed. “That way leads into the center, surely. This one seems to curve around, but that cuts at right-angles inward. Let us try it?”
The women nodded consent and the three ducked through into the smaller narrowed corridor. Here the light dimmed once more, but with hope they pressed on. Eleeri halted them at the next turning. Her certainty grew.
“This way.”
She was hurrying, her feet stirring up to knee level the clouds of dust which still layered the ancient stones. It was certain that no one else had traversed these ways for centuries, she thought. Romar had said she would be guided by ways unknown to the tower inhabitant. How much had he to do with this? Or had it been the aid of the ancient one who had searched her mind in the cavern below? She smiled. What did that matter, so long as she found Mayrin’s brother? There was a time to ask questions, and a time to accept without asking and do, not talk. She slowed as a hiss came from Jerrany, who led.
“Another door here, and there’s something beyond. I can hear sounds.” Eleeri felt an insistent tugging at her waist. She slipped the pendant from her dagger sheath, placing it gently upright on the floor, then stood back.
“What are you doing?”
“I think it’s time for him to help,” she hissed back. Mist pooled upward from the floor, then fell away again. In its place Pehnane stood. Eleeri stifled a nervous giggle. He looked faintly ridiculous cramped into this narrow corridor. With his gleaming flanks brushing the walls, head lowered so as not to strike the roof, hooves lifting delicately out of the dust, he met her eyes, sharing her amusement.
A lift of his nose signaled them toward the door. Jerrany touched it cautiously, listening. In turn the others came forward to lay an ear to the thin stone. Jerrany waved them back to gather around the bend, heads together.
“Those aren’t voices. Not human, anyhow.” He turned to look up at the stallion, who loomed over him. “Can you tell us anything?”
The mind-voice rolled like thunder. *It is the last one to serve he who dwells here. It is my ancient enemy. Yours is the task to face he who dwells here, to free his slaves. Mine is the facing of this servant and his final defeat. Long have I waited. Let me go now so that I may rejoin my kin-friends and be at peace.*
Within the corridor they squeezed into position. Jerrany reached around, taking hold of the door and flattening himself against the walls as he did so. The door opened silently and the stallion sprang past him. There was a squeaking as small forms scurried desperately away.
“Thas,” Jerrany identified them in disgust. With the arrival of the Keplian, the lights in the room beyond had flared brighter. Now the inhabitants fled to escape that painful light. Eleeri stared at the frantic forms as they ran to and fro. Mayrin had told her of these earth burrowers, but the reality was far stranger than she had imagined. The last of them found sanctuary from the light, vanishing into a wall which had sprung open under their beating. Behind they left a vast, vaulted space.
Only two figures remained. Keplian fronted Keplian, stallion faced stallion. But the eyes of one glowed the blue that was power of Light, the other rolled eyes of crimson fire. Jerrany and Mayrin would have stayed to watch, to encourage Light’s champion, but Eleeri seized them in a hard grip.
“Such a fight may attract attention. If the tower turns to see one enemy within, will it not look for others? Let us seek quickly while there is yet time.”
Still she was the last to turn away, hearing the voice in her mind. *Seek, far-kin, and may your fortune be all good. Where I go they will remember the daughter of their blood.*
She ran then, to escape the feeling that she deserted a friend.
* * *
At the river the master-at-arms gathered his men. None were unwounded, but they were prepared to fight on. He studied the sky and frowned. His lord had hoped some sign would show when the tower was failing. His men and the mares would fight a little longer, but to continue much beyond this time was to die. Still, now might be the time to try a few wiles.
He called orders as the Keplians fell back. They made a running battle of it, with his men spreading out to harass the outliers. Twice they jumped crevices in the earth; each time rasti were lost within.
In the hall within the tower another battle raged. Both p
ower and ordinary strength contended here. Keplian stallion reared high, screaming fury at Keplian stallion. Power blazed and seared in the air between them. They were evenly matched on that level. Well, then, they would fight in the ancient way. They leaped forward, heads snaking out to rend and tear. Hooves hammered in body blows. Pehnane’s teeth drew blood as they tore through an ear. In reply his opponent squealed, striking with razored forefeet. Glowing crimson blood trickled from the savaged ear. Blue fire flowed from a hoof-gashed shoulder.
They came together exchanging kicks in turn, then broke apart once more. Now the enemy seized Pehnane’s throat, but before he could clamp down, a pawing hoof thrust hurled him back. Like maddened wrestlers, they met in the hall center. Rising, sinking, grabbing for holds only to lose them, leaving bloody fire in the wake of teeth and hooves. Twice the enemy landed blows to the rear flanks of his opponent, high on the kidneys where a sufficient strike could cripple. But each time Pehnane swerved, just a little, and the full power failed to lash home. The enemy’s blood pulsed fire as it flowed down the forelegs. He was weakening and he knew it.
Both stallions spun rearing, seeking for the throat grip. They failed and landed back on their hooves again, lashing out viciously. Blue fire laced Pehnane’s chest; he, too, was weakening, but there was no fear in his sapphire eyes. It was for this he had remained: to face the one who had chosen Dark power and a Dark master. He feinted, falling back in an illusion of weakness. The Dark stallion shrieked triumph, rising on his hind legs to crash home the death blow. Pehnane shied sideways and as his enemy came down off balance, the blue-laced head shot out. Teeth met in the jugular, crunched down with all the strength left to him.
Convulsively the enemy attempted to rear. He failed as his legs unlocked. Light faded from the crimson eyes as he sank to the stone. Hatred shone in his dying glare. His choice had been made very long ago; there would be no last-minute repentance.