The Keeper of the Mist (18 page)

It was in fact enormous: a freestanding piece of polished dark wood taller than a man and wider than Keri could have reached with both arms. The thing must have weighed ten stone or more, and how anyone had ever gotten it up the stairs and into this room, she could not imagine. Its gleaming doors were intricately carved with fanciful trees and animals, which was all very well, but above the doors curved the long snakelike shape of a wyvern, its wings half spread and its elegant, narrow head turned back over its shoulder. No wonder Cort had said his predecessor had labeled his doorway to Eschalion.

Other than the wardrobe's enormous size and the choice of carving, nothing about it seemed unusual to Keri. But, of course, the wyvern was startling enough. Judging by Cort's expression, he was deeply offended that it had taken him so long to find the gap in Nimmira's magic hidden within it. She didn't blame him.

“How can a gap in the boundary be in there, when this room is nowhere near the boundary?” she asked.

Cort spared her a glance, though he was plainly mostly concentrating on the wardrobe and his own dark thoughts. “There's a kind of involution. He folded the boundary in and twisted a bit of it into a loop right here. The boundary basically swoops in and folds around and swoops out again, so fast it looks like there's no interruption.”

He opened the wardrobe, shoving expensive embroidered coats out of the way and tossing several indifferently aside to better expose its rear. Where a wooden back should have been there was…not exactly mist, and not exactly shadow, but something indistinct that hinted of distance and secrets.

“That looks…strange,” Keri admitted. She moved forward, leaning past Cort, and pushed a beautiful dark green coat with silver buttons to one side. “I can't believe your predecessor left those,” she commented. “He must have been terribly vain.”

“Or needed an excuse for such a big wardrobe. He probably didn't want to take the time before getting out of Glassforge….Curse the man! Keri, after we sort this out, I want you to tell me where he is and I will
track him down.
”

Keri considered this. She said thoughtfully, “You know, I don't think he's in Nimmira any longer….”

Cort snorted. “Then we know why he left the coats, don't we? Heavier to carry than jewels. He walked directly through this gap into Eschalion, I expect, and if he knows what's good for him, he will
never come back.
Look at this.” He stepped right up into the wardrobe and thrust his hand straight back. His hand didn't exactly vanish. Not exactly. But his fingers looked suddenly hazy and…not quite connected to his wrist, as though seen through water.

“Don't do that,” Keri said uneasily. She grabbed his arm, pulling him back a step. “You can close this…involution. Right? And then we can close the big hole south of town once more, and this time it will stay closed. Right?”

“The tricky part will be—” Cort began.

But before he could explain what he thought, a sharp little snap interrupted him. It was like the sound when you cracked open an almond shell, or the pop when you broke a dry bit of kindling, or the snap when a glassblower twisted a cooling bowl or vase off the strand of glass that would be left behind. It was like all those things, but not really like any of them. It was like the air behind you breaking open to let something, or someone, step through. Keri turned quickly.

Eroniel Kaskarian stood there behind them. Of course he did. Keri was not even surprised. She was already backing away when the sorcerer stepped forward; she was already beginning to say something, she had no idea what, maybe she meant to scream, or call for help, she didn't know. But Magister Eroniel caught her wrist before she could do more than draw breath, and brushed the fingers of his other hand across her throat, and then she couldn't make a sound. His grip was as cold and indifferent as metal, and as irresistible, as he drew her toward the wardrobe. She couldn't twist away; she couldn't slow the sorcerer's steps toward the gap into Eschalion; she couldn't even cry out. She caught at the heavy bedpost; she could do that. He tore her away, and she dragged at the velvet hangings, her breath coming short and sharp in her throat, and in that instant Cort flung a fancy coat heavy with embroidery over Magister Eroniel's head, picked up a garnet-studded lamp, and smashed it across the sorcerer's wrist where he gripped Keri's wrist.

Eroniel Kaskarian did not let go. He didn't cry out, either. He made a low hissing sound like an angry cat and flicked the back of his other hand toward Cort, like a man flicking water off his fingers.

Cort staggered and caught the carved door of the wardrobe for balance, flung himself back upright, slammed his arm like a bar across the sorcerer's chest, and snapped furiously—he hadn't lost
his
voice, apparently—“All doors are barred to you, all roads are closed before you, all—”

Magister Eroniel cut him off with a wordless, startled cry. He let Keri go, caught Cort's arm instead, and leaped up and into the wardrobe, flowing like water, blurring into silver and pewter, yanking Cort with him the way a river in spring flood might carry away a heavy-rooted tree or a great boulder. The Wyvern sorcerer vanished, and Cort, shouting and struggling without effect, was dragged after him.

The shout cut off as though sliced by a knife. The wardrobe was suddenly perfectly empty—empty, at least, of everything but heavy coats, swaying gently on their hangers. Its back, where the blurring gap into Eschalion had wavered only a moment ago, had turned to ordinary polished wood. The gap had closed, and Keri was left panting and clinging to the edge of the bed and its draperies, staring at the empty wardrobe. She didn't even know whether the Wyvern sorcerer had closed that gap, or whether it had been Cort. But she knew
she
had no way to open it again, even if she dared.

In a way, what most astonished Keri was how impossible it was to get everyone to stop shouting and arguing and casting blame so that they could concentrate on finding some course of action that might be
useful.
If anything could have forced the entire household to pull together, she would have thought the kidnapping of the Doorkeeper should have done it.

The idea was utterly appalling. The
Doorkeeper of Nimmira
was in Magister Eroniel's hands; the sorcerer was probably trying right now,
right this minute,
to tear his magic out of him by the roots, dissect it out of his nerves and mind and heart, and if he succeeded, he would be able to break every lock and shatter every door and open up Nimmira the same way. Nothing could be worse.

Except one thing could be worse. Because maybe Magister Eroniel had already handed Cort over to the Wyvern King. Keri couldn't even imagine what
he
might do to Cort, or how fast he might do it. He would master the special magic of the Doorkeeper and through that means create his own entry into Nimmira and master all its magic. She didn't want to think about how he would break Cort to do it, but she knew it would shatter Cort to be used to pry open Nimmira.

Everyone argued over and around her, yet she found herself frozen at the heart of all the noise and confusion, unable to think about anything but Cort. Her Doorkeeper. She hadn't realized how very much she depended on Cort to be her Doorkeeper and keep Nimmira safe, how much she had depended on his solidity, until he wasn't there to lean on.

She couldn't believe anyone could find anything to argue about. It was so obvious they had to do something right away, right now, to get Cort back. Keri didn't know what; she could hardly think. She was too upset, but the clamor made it worse.

Everyone had gathered in the Doorkeeper's apartment, in the big sitting room, which looked far smaller when lots of people crowded into it, none of whom were in any mood to actually sit down. Keri had sent for Tassel, and of course for the Timekeeper, and somehow Linnet had found out, and naturally Linnet had run straight to Domeric. Keri thought she could have done without Domeric's forceful bellow. And she definitely could have done without Brann. She had no idea who had told
him.
Probably word had just run through the House and everyone knew everything.

Her brothers were the ones shouting the loudest. Keri wanted badly to stamp in circles and scream, but that wouldn't help, either. Though if it made everyone else shut up, she might do it anyway.

Tassel was mostly quiet and stunned. Her eyes kept straying to the open door that led to the bedchamber and the wardrobe. Keri understood that completely. It must be even worse for Tassel, since Cort was her cousin. He was only Keri's friend—or not even really her friend, not since they'd been children—but she knew him and trusted him, and she'd been relieved
he
was her Doorkeeper and not someone she didn't know. Where was he now? Keri couldn't keep from looking at the wardrobe, over and over, in case the door into Eschalion might suddenly reappear. She had thrown all the coats on the bed and left the doors of the wardrobe wide open, but this hadn't helped. From front to back, it was just a wardrobe.

Then Brann broke into her thoughts, snapping, “We should have made a proper peace with Eschalion while we could still pretend we did so from a position of strength! Now we've no choice: we must send to Eschalion right away, make it clear we're willing to hear any demand Aranaon Mirtaelior makes. Without our Doorkeeper, it's impossible to close Nimmira against him. If we don't immediately reach an accommodation on our terms, he'll realize that, and it will be too late! We'll have no choice but to accept
his
terms. This is obvious! Why are we still delaying? Kerianna, are you listening to me?”

Keri hadn't been, really. But she realized that what he meant was that they should just surrender Nimmira to the Wyvern King quickly, before he took it by force. That caught her attention in a very disagreeable way. She felt cold and sick just thinking about that. Surrender to the Wyvern King? She knew that was the one thing they couldn't do, not even to get Cort back safe. She didn't know whether she should be shocked or offended or dismayed, but she found herself speechless, completely unable to frame any kind of coherent answer. She wanted to shout at Brann to shut up and get out, but she was too angry and too frightened and she couldn't even manage to collect herself enough for that.

Domeric answered Brann instead, swinging around and facing him challengingly. “You're a
fool
for thinking we can gain anything by yielding to Aranaon Mirtaelior! Eschalion would swallow Nimmira whole and make all our people into slaves.”

Keri pressed her hands over her eyes and tried to think. Domeric was right, everyone must know he was right—except Brann, apparently….

But then Domeric went on, “We must immediately ally with Tor Carron. Kerianna can handfast Lord Osman if he demands it. We must have his cooperation and his men!” Domeric wasn't shouting now, but he spoke with the kind of emphatic force that, from him, was a lot like shouting.

Keri shook her head without looking up. She groped for reasons Domeric was wrong, but the words wouldn't come. He
was
wrong, though. But even if she were willing to handfast Lord Osman—which she supposed she must, if it came to that, but there was no longer time to arrange any kind of formal alliance with Tor Carron, it was
too late
. Even if it would help the way Domeric hoped, and she didn't think it would. If she did what Lord Osman wanted and allied Nimmira with Tor Carron, it would leave Nimmira visible between Tor Carron and Eschalion, and the last thing they wanted, the
very
last,
was to have the two great countries continue their long, slow war right through the gentle land of Nimmira.

She started to say so, but Brann interrupted her before she could do more than begin to draw breath.

“
You're
the fool,” Brann snapped at Domeric. “The Wyvern King always wins in the end. We can't ally with his enemy!” He swiveled to face Keri. “But we can buy time, at least. You must repudiate Cort as Doorkeeper immediately and take back the magic invested in him, force it to settle somewhere else. Then whatever happens to Cort, it won't matter; Nimmira will be safe! As long as you've got the sense to cease all these experiments with neighbors and close the boundary
properly.
”

“You think it doesn't matter what happens to Cort?” Keri said, incredulous. “Anyway, it doesn't work like that! I can't just take back his magic!”

“Even if she could, you can't imagine we'd just abandon my cousin?” Tassel demanded, stiff with fury. “Even if she
could
do that, she couldn't possibly do that!”

Which wasn't terribly coherent, but Keri said, “Put it right out of your mind, Brann! We'll get him back! We'll think of a way!” She glared at the Timekeeper. She thought
he
was the one who ought to put a stop to all this argument.

At her glare, the Timekeeper turned his head a fraction and lifted one hand an inch or so from the arm of his chair, and everyone fell silent at once. Keri found herself holding her breath, trying to will the Timekeeper to say she was right, that they had to recover Cort. And to tell them how.

Instead, he said, his dry, husky voice compelling all their attention, “Those who hold the magic of Nimmira may not cross its boundaries without consequence. In a short time, Nimmira itself will withdraw its magic from the Doorkeeper and invest that role elsewhere.”

There was a brief silence. Then Keri said, her voice thin and constricted, “How short a time?”

The Timekeeper angled his head to look at her, and again she thought that his eyes were as flat and expressionless as the eyes of a serpent. He said without emphasis, “I cannot set the precise time. Longer than one day. Less than two. Then the magic will return to Nimmira. Unless Aranaon Mirtaelior captures it, during those moments when it is free and disembodied. In that case, of course, we will possess no defense whatever against his sorcery.”

There was another pause. Brann broke it. “And the fool allowed himself to be taken to Eschalion? This is hopeless!” He swung back around to confront Keri. “We must make accommodation with the Wyvern King. At once!”

Ignoring him, Tassel seized Keri's hands in hers and declared urgently, “We
have
to get Cort back!”

“I know,” Keri agreed, ignoring Brann.

“This is
your
fault, all your foolish curiosity about the Outside, playing with the boundary magic!” Brann raised a hand to grab her wrist, or shake her, or maybe hit her, Keri couldn't tell. She flinched back, startled, and Tassel, who was closest, shoved at Brann. She couldn't have stopped him physically, but he stopped.

Keri, pressed beyond her ability to keep secrets, cried, “You haven't yet guessed that it was
Lord Dorric
who interfered with the magic of the boundaries? That all
I've
done is try to hide our weakness from our enemies and repair the damage
he
caused?
Cort
was trying to fix things, and he could have, too, if he'd had a chance, but it was
Dorric
who put us in this position!”

Then she knew, from her brother's stricken look, that Brann
had
suspected but that it had been cruel to tell him like that, straight out in front of everyone so that he had to face the knowledge. Keri was ashamed of herself, not so much for being angry with her brother, but for letting herself fall into the casting-blame argument that was distracting them all from the far more important question of what to do next. She said more quietly, “Anyway, it doesn't matter now. We have to get our Doorkeeper back. Not just for his sake, but for ours.”

“The Wyvern King may have broken him already,” growled Domeric. “How would we know? Until he shattered every lock in Nimmira with his mind, I suppose.”

Keri began to answer, but Tassel beat her to it. Leaning forward, she declared, “No one in the world is more stubborn than my cousin! If the Wyvern King doesn't kill him, then Cort is still the Doorkeeper of Nimmira, at least for another day—maybe two—and while that's true, all the doors and gates and roads of Nimmira will still be closed to Eschalion. We'd be fools not to take advantage of this moment while we have it! This is our chance to get into Eschalion and find Cort and get out again, but we have to do it now, before it's too late!”

“Yes!” said Keri.

“No!” said Brann. “It
is
too late!”

“It's not! We mustn't think about what we ought to give away so we don't lose everything, but what we can do to
win.
” Keri looked around, seeing doubt in all the faces about her. Except the Timekeeper's, which showed nothing. But he gave her a tiny nod that might have meant approval. She drew courage from that and turned her gaze toward the rest of them. “We don't know what Aranaon Mirtaelior will do, or could do. We don't
know.
But Osman the Younger…
he
might know. He might be willing to tell us everything he knows about the Wyvern King, if we tell him the right story. Or even if we tell him the truth. Part of the truth. His men are soldiers; if we have to break into some guarded prison to find Cort, we'll need them. Besides, I think Lord Osman does know how to make or use blood sorcery. I'm almost sure. That might be useful, if he'll admit it, and agree to help us.” Keri stopped and glanced toward Tassel, meaning,
Preferably without demanding anybody be handfasted.

“He might,” said Tassel. “I think he will. After all, if Eschalion takes up the magic of Nimmira, well, just think what that might mean to Tor Carron. We can persuade him. I think.” She looked at Linnet, who nodded firmly and put her hand on Domeric's arm, so that Domeric, who had plainly been about to argue, said grudgingly, “He will. I think he will. But I wouldn't tell him the
truth,
mind you. Not more of it than he'll likely want to hear.”