"There are three of us, brother, and only one of
you. We could take you, I think."
Everman stared hard at him and then shook his head
sadly. "Brother, you say? Oh, brother,
brother! Look over there."
They all looked. Three youths were lounging
against the opposite wall, watching. The middle
one was Herat. He smiled.
"My brothers now," Everman said. "Go
home, Sir Durendal. Go home, Sir
Wolfbiter. There is nothing in Samarinda for you
or for the King. Whatever secrets the monastery
holds will not work in Chivial, I promise you.
You will find only death here, and this is a long way
from home to die." His lip curled. "And take
your tame inquisitor with you. Give my regards
to Ironhall. Reaper is one sword that will never
hang in the hall, but you don't have to mention that."
I suppose I'm just pigheaded. Hardest
part of being a King--being any sort of leader--is
knowing when to quit. You've wounded the quarry. ...
No, Durendal thought, the quarry had wounded him.
The quarry had run him out of town with his tail between
his legs. He was going home to report
failure.
Sunlight blazed like a furnace door. The
morning was still young, yet the air was unbreathably
hot and the peaks had already vanished in purple
haze. Five ponies followed their shadows over
the dusty hills--three with riders, two spares.
They could travel no faster than a caravan, so
five days' ride to Koburtin, maybe. No
one spoke a word until they crested the long
rise and Samarinda disappeared from view, then
Durendal said, "What went wrong? Obviously
Wolf was right and they have secret doors, but how
did they catch us so quickly?"
After a moment, it was Kromman who answered.
"An efficient spy system. The brethren must be
very interested in strangers--who they are, where they
stay. We asked strange questions. ... Or perhaps
conjuration--who knows? They must have some sort of
sniffers to make sure the challengers are all
secular."
"Very few good swordsmen are purely
secular, Inquisitor, any more than you are.
Wolf and I are not, certainly. Herat can't
be. I think even Gartok had some spiritual
enhancement."
"Or we were betrayed," Wolfbiter suggested.
"How did Everman know we had an inquisitor
with us?" As always, his face was expressionless. Was
he contemplating murder again?
"You mean me?" Kromman sneered. "What do
I have to gain by treachery, Sir Blade?
If you want to search my pack for gold bars,
then go ahead."
"You wouldn't have told them you were an
inquisitor," Durendal said. "That's out of character.
How much of Everman's story was true, if
any?"
Kromman twisted his straggly mustache over a
pout. "I don't know. You let him talk in a
busy street. We normally question people alone. If
others are present, they must at least keep still.
A crowded alley with people going and coming is
absolutely the worst possible situation for
smelling falsehood."
Was he lying? Why should Kromman lie?
Durendal did not know, and yet he knew he
trusted his inquisitor ally no farther than he
now trusted Everman. Killing might be inevitable
for a Blade or man-at-arms on duty, but
killing for no purpose was unforgivable.
"Give me some opinions."
"He was lying about Polydin's death. That I
am almost certain of."
"And later, when he said he was a willing
member of the gang?"
"No--at least, he wasn't saying that just because
the three bullyboys were watching him. He may have
been holding something back."
Durendal looked at his Blade, riding on
his left to cover his vulnerable side.
"No arguments, sir. I thought much the same."
"Yes. Me too. Who needs inquisitors?
But if he was lying about his ward, then he needs
rescuing. On the other hand, the brethren now look
absolutely invincible, and any further efforts
we came for. But, but, but! Do we go home or
ignore the threats and double back to try again?
Look--shade! Let's see if we can get
down there."
He turned his mount to the right and rode over to a
rocky wadi that cut the landscape like an open
wound. The surefooted pony seemed to approve,
for it picked its way eagerly down the stony
slope and in a few minutes brought him to a patch
of shadow against a beetling cliff. The rising sun
would soon wipe out even that small shelter, but at
the moment it was a heavenly refuge. Without
dismounting, he turned to face his companions as they
closed in beside him.
"We can't fight conjuration without using
conjuration. You have not been open with us, Kromman.
We all know that inquisitors have resources they
prefer not to discuss, but now we need your help.
What tricks have you got with you that you haven't
told us about?"
Kromman scowled through his lank beard. "It
is true that I was provided with certain devices
that may prove useful--you have already benefitted from
the enchanted bandages, Sir Durendal--but the
Office of General Inquiry does not
proclaim all its resources hugger-mugger. I
am forbidden to reveal them unless and until they are
needed. If you tell me what you are planning
to do, I shall be happy to advise you how I may be
able to assist. But don't expect very much."
"How about a golden key?"
Wolfbiter groaned in dismay. "You can't be
serious!"
The inquisitor smiled thinly. "Of course
he is serious."
"Break into the monastery?"
"You should cultivate your powers of observation,
Sir Wolfbiter. When that trapdoor in the
courtyard opened yesterday, your ward walked along
the terrace until he was opposite it and then
looked behind him. This morning he stayed at the east
side until it opened again--at which point he
started to walk, glancing at the houses he was
passing. He now has two bearings on the opening,
so he can find it again. A unusual display of
thinking from a sword jockey, I admit, but
obviously he had burglary in mind, even then."
Durendal tried not to show his annoyance.
Wolfbiter was naturally impassive, the
inquisitor had training or enchantment to help him
conceal his emotions, but he always felt he was an
open book to both of them.
"Before we left, there were rumors going around of a
handy little gadget called an invisibility
cloak."
The inquisitor laughed harshly. "Most of the
legends about the so-called Dark Chamber are
absolute swamp
gas, and that definitely
includes invisibility cloaks. Pure myth.
But if you are intent on suicide, I shall do
everything I can to help, of course."
He was about as likable as something dug out of an
outhouse pit.
Wolfbiter glared at him and then equally at
Durendal, who reached for his water
bottle to give himself a moment to think. It was
ironic that the man he disliked and distrusted was
supporting him, while the one he called friend must
be opposed. Wolfbiter was smarter than
Durendal when it came to logic, even if he
did not have the same gift of intuition. Was
intuition much different from what Everman called
daredeviltry?
"Sir, this is crazy talk! We'll be
caught for certain ... Why throw our lives
away like this? What can you possibly hope
to achieve?"
"There's no secular way to open the trapdoor
from the outside--I'm sure of that--and I'm
gambling that it won't be guarded. It must lead
into the cellars."
"Dungeons? Polydin?"
"That's what I'm hoping. If we can rescue
him, then their hold over Everman disappears. At
worst, we may gain useful information."
"At worst we get skinned alive, like
Gartok." Wolfbiter wiped an arm across his
One of us has to go home to Chivial, to report
to the King. That's your mission, sir. You do
that--start now--and I'll go into the monastery for you
tonight. Wait for me at Koburtin."
"You know me better than that, Wolf."
"You have a duty to report to the King!"
"The inquisitor will. He can let us in, but
then he heads down to the city gate and at dawn
he leaves, with us or without us."
"Sir! There's no point both of us walking
into the lions' den, and you know I can't let you go."
"Everman was my friend." Was that Durendal's
motive? Or was it just stupid pride, a
pigheaded refusal to crawl home to his ward,
the King, and admit defeat? He did not know.
He did not care. He just knew he was going
back to Samarinda to try again.
Kromman had been listening to the argument with his
customary disdain. Now he said, "I certainly
won't go in there myself, but I can open the
trapdoor for you, unless it is itself a conjurement.
I can provide you with lights. ..." He
screamed, "Call off your dog, Durendal!"
Wolfbiter's left hand had caught hold of the
inquisitor's reins and his right was drawing Fang
--slowly, though, so he was not quite certain.
Kromman's hand fluttered over his own
hilt, but he knew that he would die before he could
draw.
"Wait!" Durendal said. "That won't stop
me."
Wolfbiter stared at him with eyes that seemed
strangely empty. "It needs three of us to find
the way in, doesn't it?"
"It would help, but two could do it, perhaps even
one. And I'm going back there if I have to do it
over your dead body, Wolf."
For a moment Kromman's life balanced on a
sword edge.
Then Wolfbiter let go the reins with a sigh.
"Why did I have to be bound to a raving
lunatic?"
The day was long, and the night even longer.
"Plan for both success and failure" was an
Ironhall maxim. Failure in this case was
death at best or enslavement at worst, so no
contingencies need be considered. Success would consist
of rescuing Master Polydin--and possibly
Everman himself, although that was even more unlikely--and
escape from the city when the gates opened at
dawn. Two hours would be ample. More time could
only help the enemy track them down, so most
of the night had to be wasted. The best place for
swordsmen to waste time without attracting
suspicion was a brothel.
Both Kromman and Wolfbiter expressed
much enthusiasm for that part of the plan, but a Blade
could not be parted from his ward in such surroundings. Thus
Durendal spent many hours playing a complicated
board game against a series of amused young
ladies, losing large amounts of money to them
while trying to ignore the continuing sounds of
pleasure from the bed behind him. Kate, Kate,
Kate! Would he ever see her again?
As the waxing moon was setting, the expedition
prepared to set out.
"Wear these rings on your left hands,"
Kromman explained, "with the stone out. When you need
light, turn the stone inward. You can control the
amount by opening or closing your fingers. They should
last several hours."
The square was deserted. No lighted windows
showed in either the monastery or the houses.
Durendal found the door he had noted
the previous day and left Wolfbiter there. With
Kromman, he went around the corner and along to the
one he had marked on the first morning. The
inquisitor continued alone, heading for the gate.
Durendal leaned on the wall for what seemed
like a very long time, quite long enough to convince him that something
had gone wrong already. Then a star twinkled in the
courtyard. He turned his ring over and briefly
opened his hand. The resulting flash half blinded
him, and a moment later another flash showed that
Wolfbiter had made the same mistake--too
much!
Kromman was very close to the right line, though.
Another twinkle, farther to the left. This time
Durendal flicked one finger and achieved the
required effect. So did Wolfbiter.
Then again. This time he flashed twice to tell the
inquisitor that he was correctly aligned. And
two from Wolfbiter.
A long, nerve-racking wait ... Three from
Kromman to say he had located the trap.
Wolfbiter loomed out of the dark, breathing faster
than usual. Without a word, the two of them headed
for the steps and the gate, which the inquisitor had left
ajar. They found Kromman easily enough and knelt
beside him.
"It looks good," came his whisper. "Seems
to be just a slab on a pivot. If there's no
secular way to open it from this side, they may not have
too many defenses on it. Ready?"
Whatever the "golden key" conjurement looked
like, it was small enough for him to conceal inside his hand.
Metal clinked on stone. The slab shivered and
slowly rose, making grating noises that sounded like
trumpet fanfares in the stillness. When it reached
vertical, the iron ring set in its underside
clanked once. An acrid stench of monkey
wafted into the night.
Kromman thrust his hand down and released a
faint glow, revealing a square shaft with a floor
eight or nine feet down. There was no ladder,
only a few iron staples set in the wall--
an entrance
made for oversized monkeys with
prehensile feet, not for men. Durendal rolled
on his belly and dropped his legs over the edge.
A minute later, three burglars stood at the
bottom of the shaft and the trap had been closed.
It had indeed.
A low, rectangular tunnel led off in the
direction of the monastery, and the stench of
monkey was eye watering.
"I'll wait here," the inquisitor said. "You
may be suicidal, Sir Durendal, but I'm
not."
"You're a brave and resourceful companion,
and I shall tell the King so if I ever see him
again. How long?"
"There are gaps at the side of the slab, so I
should be able to detect dawn. I shall go as soon as
I see light coming through. You want me to leave it
open or closed?"
"Open. If we're that late, we shall
probably be in a hurry." Durendal was
removing his boots.
"As you please. If there's no pursuit,
I'll wait outside the city for a couple of
hours. Then I'll go on to Koburtin and take
the first caravan west."
"I approve those arrangements, so you can
quote me if you ever have to testify at an
inquiry. Ready, Wolf?"
"I go first. Come."
They set off barefoot along the passage.
Thirty-two, thirty-three ... He had
paced it out in the road and they ought to be under the
monastery by now. Thirty-five. This was truly
crazy, one of those insane impulses of his.
One day he would jump and find spikes. Everman
was the danger. The rest of the brethren would not
expect such madness, but Everman knew him and had
practically warned him not to try exactly what
he was trying now. Thirty-seven ...
Wolfbiter stopped, killing his light.
Durendal bumped into him and smelled his sweat.
"What?"
"Light ahead. No? I thought ..." He
flashed a gleam. "Ha! It's a reflection."
It was gold. It was a small room almost
full of gold bricks--piled ten feet high
at the back, in lower rectangular stacks in
front--while the narrow corridor on the far
side was walled with them. Durendal eyed the stone
pillars in the room, lining them up with the
passageway beyond. Then he climbed up the lower
heaps until his head was against the roof and he could
peer through the narrow gap on top. His light showed
no end, but it did reveal the heads of more
pillars, rows of them. He climbed down.
"This is all the space they have left," he
whispered. "I think this cellar underlies