The Shadow at the Gate (46 page)

“Could such a thing happen?” said Gerade, his face pale. “Has such an evil ever come upon one of the anbeorun? There’s no mention of such a thing in any of the histories. The anbeorun have always defended us against the Dark. If the Dark ensnared the wind lord, then what would stop death from coming to the lands of Tormay?”

“Sorrow would come to the world,” said Adlig.

“Aye,” said the hawk. “It would be the beginning of sorrows.”

“What can be done?”

“We must hide the boy, of course,” said Severan. He looked around the room. “We have no other choice.”

“If we do this,” said Gerade, “surely the Dark will come for us as well.”

Adlig snorted. “Death comes sooner or later. I’ve heard it creeping along my trail these past years. Might as well come sooner, for all I care. Never took you for a coward, Gerade.”

“I merely think it prudent to consider all potential outcomes. It’s the sensible thing to do.”

“Rubbish. Stop talking like a pompous scholar.”

“We’re scholars and, as such, we’d be remiss not to consider all the angles. Perhaps we should form a committee to report back on all history relevant to the situation? The political ramifications should be analyzed as well. The Regent might want a say in this. And the duchies.”

Severan’s fist crashed down on the table. Everyone jumped. Jute woke up with a start.

“We hide him. We’ll worry about the consequences later.”

“First,” said the hawk, “we must get him out of the city.”

“Why?” said Gerade. “What better place to hide than in these ruins? It’s a labyrinth in here. Besides, there are more wards guarding these walls than can be found in all of Tormay.”

“He must be taken out of the city,” said the hawk. “I don’t trust these ruins.”

“If it must be done, then it can be done,” said Severan. “But I don’t think he’d get two steps with all those shadow creatures outside.”

“I doubt we’d be able to fight our way through them.” Ronan tapped the hilt of his sword thoughtfully.

There were many more suggestions. Some bad, some worse than bad. But then Adlig pounded his fist on the table and crowed with delight. His eyes gleamed.

“I have it!” he said. “Just the thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The well beneath the mosaic.”

But before he could say anything further, the hawk turned to stare at the door.

“Quiet,” said the bird.

A hush fell over the room. Severan hurried to the door, eased it open, and peered down the stairs. At first, there was only silence, but then, from far below, there came the quietest of sounds. Footsteps. Something was walking up the stairs.

“It could be anything,” said Gerade. “Perhaps the manifestation of a ward. A squirrel. There’s an infestation of squirrels in the observatorium roof. Right by that old walnut in the courtyard.”

“Hush.” Severan glared at him.

Jute crept up behind Severan and peeked down the stairway. His nose twitched. There was something familiar in the air. An odd scent. And then he knew. Jute spun away from the stairs, but there was nowhere to run. The room shrank around him. Ronan grabbed his arm.

“What’s the matter, boy?”

Jute flung the man’s grip off.

“He’s down there! The thing! From the basement in the house.” Jute backed away until there was no place to go. He felt the wall behind him.

 
“The wihht?” Severan looked a little pale
.
“Are you quite certain, Jute? If it made it this far, then it’s bound to possess magic of its own. We have Nio to thank for this, blast his soul.”

“I don’t fancy encountering this wihht fellow,” said Gerade. “Despite whatever academic profit might be gained from such a meeting. Quick. The other stairs. One leads down to the conservatory. The second leads to the great hall. And the third leads to the courtyard.”

“The conservatory,” said Severan. “That would be best. Hurry.”

He sprang to one of the doors and grasped the handle. But it would not turn. He tried the other two doors, without luck. He muttered a word, his eyes shut, and then wrenched his hand away with an exclamation of pain. The door shivered but did not open.

“They’re locked.” Severan’s face was blank with shock. “I don’t understand it. These doors were built without locks. They aren’t supposed to have wards, but there is something in the stone now that keeps them shut. Some sort of spell. The craft of it is beyond my knowledge. Our enemy, whoever he is, plays his hand well. I’m sorry, Jute. I am to blame.”

“If only we could fly,” said Jute, his voice trembling.

They turned as if one to the hawk.

“I couldn’t carry even the lightest of you in my claws,” said the hawk.

“Perhaps the boy could call the wind?” said Gerade.

“No,” said the hawk. “It would be your deaths once wakened, and such power, if let loose, will waken the Dark itself and it will come to this spot.”

“Let’s at least shut the other door,” said Severan. “The ward will keep the wihht at bay while we figure out what to do.”

But, to their dismay, they could not close the door. It shifted slightly in their hands but the air around it felt as if it had turned to stone. Ronan threw his weight against the door and the wood shuddered. Jute gave a cry of fear and clambered up onto one of the window sills. He pushed the casement open and would perhaps have jumped had not Adlig grabbed the back of his shirt.

“Best to stay and fight, boy,” said the old man. He smiled. “It makes the last moments worthwhile.”

“How much time do we have?” said Ronan. He strode to the window and looked out into the night.

“Not much,” said Severan. He and Gerade pushed against the door. It closed perhaps another inch, but it stayed open. There was a chill on the stairs. A greenish light grew, wavering up the walls toward them.

“Buy me a little time and we’ll be out of here safely enough,” said Ronan. He unslung his pack from under his cloak.

“What are you thinking?”

Ronan pointed out the window. “That other tower, there.”

“You must be joking,” said Adlig. “We have no wings and I’m no rabbit to leap such a distance. We’ll dash our brains out on the stones below.”

Ronan pulled a coil of rope from his pack. He turned to the hawk.

“Do you know knots?”

The hawk’s eye glinted. “Aye. Ages past, my master and I flew with the seafarers, coming west to Tormay, before this land was settled. They knew their knots.”

“Just a knot that’ll hold; that’s all we need.”

The hawk grasped the free end of the rope in his claws and took off from the window in a silent flex of wings. Ronan leaned through the window, paying the rope out as the bird flew. His face was taut.

“Quickly!” said Severan from the door.

“We’re going as quickly as we can,” said Ronan. The rope slid between his hands. He could see the hawk settle on the roof of the tower opposite them, a little below the height of their window.

“He’s there,” he said. But the pearl hanging inside his shirt flared with heat. He turned. “Close that door!” he said. The pearl was as hot as a flame. Something was near.

“We’re trying.” Sweat ran down Severan’s forehead. The door was halfway closed now, but the green light beyond it brightened. Shadows leapt up in the room, thrown on the wall, wavering and tinged with green. The air seemed oddly cold. There was a dark figure on the stairs.

“Well now, Severan,” said a thin voice. “Is this the reception given to an old friend?”

Severan froze. The figure took another step up.

“Nio!” he said.

The figure paused.

“Aye, that was my name once. Once.” Teeth shone in a smile. “It’s a good name. I’ve tasted many names, but that one is good. And fresh. Many interesting memories. But it’s no longer my name.” The green light deepened, and the shadows grew into darkness. The lamp burning on the table dimmed. The figure took another step up.

“That is your name,” said Severan fiercely. “His face is yours. His voice is yours. You were once my friend and no friend of the Dark.” Beside him, Gerade shoved against the door with all his might, his lips moving silently. Sweat ran down his face.

“We’re almost there.” Ronan grabbed Jute by one arm and hoisted him upon the windowsill. “Another heartbeat and the knot’ll be tied.”

The thing on the stairway laughed and the flame in the lamp went out. Darkness filled the room. The air became chill and their breath misted. A stench of rotting things filled the air. The door swung open wide.

“The lamp,” said Severan frantically. “Light the lamp!”

“Jute.” said Ronan.

Ronan shoved him out the window. Jute’s legs flailed. He cried out, but the man’s hand was clamped in the back of his shirt.

“Grab the rope,” said Ronan.

Jute grabbed the rope and he found himself sliding away from the casement. The night rushed by him. The rope burned between his hands. Feathers brushed against his face and the hawk whirled away up into the sky on silent wings.

Hold lightly, fledgling.

Behind him, a voice called out, repeating one word over and over. Light flared in the tower window.

The lamp hissed back to life under Adlig’s hands, but the flame only guttered uncertainly. He called out again, uttering a word that rang harshly within the room. Fire leapt up and the room was bright with light. The table smoked with the heat. The old man stumbled away, flame dripping from his fingers. But the door slammed shut, and there was a howl of fury from the stairs. The ward in the door whispered into life. Gerade leapt to Adlig’s side and beat out the flames.

“Old man!” said Ronan. “Get ready. The boy’s almost at the other side.”

He was braced with one foot up against the window sill. The rope sang taut against the stone.

“My thanks, Gerade,” gasped Adlig. “Three years I worked to learn that word and still I only spoke the first syllable now. I fear the complete word too much.”

“You fear it rightly.”

“Hurry,” said Severan. “The ward won’t hold much longer.”

The door trembled and the wood groaned.

The rope slackened in Ronan’s hand.

“All right,” he said. “Next.”

Gerade clambered up onto the sill and stepped out into the night. Soon he was just a dark figure receding away toward the lower tower below. A tremendous blow shook the door and beyond it, they could hear a snarling voice. The lamp dimmed.

“Next,” said Ronan, winding another loop around his arm. “Quickly!”

“Adlig,” said Severan. “You go. Hurry now.”

The old man held up his hands. They were blistered by the fire.

“I can’t hold onto that rope,” he said. “I can’t hold onto anything, least of all my life. I’ll stay behind to brace the rope for the last trip. Go on now.”

“But the wihht will take you!”

“Not if there’s nothing of me left.” The lampflame reflected in Adlig’s eyes. He smiled crookedly.

“Thank you, old friend,” said Severan. He turned and stepped through the window. The rope sang tight under his weight. Ronan leaned back against the pull of it. A dreadful whine filled the room.

“What is that?” said Ronan.

“The ward’s unraveling,” said Adlig.

Tendrils of what looked like smoke curled up from the door. But it was not smoke. It was darkness. The lamp on the table was almost out. Adlig crossed to the table in quick steps. He muttered something under his breath and the lamp flared up, but only for an instant. He winced and staggered back. Ronan reached out and steadied the old man. Adlig’s flesh was hot to the touch.

“He’s close now,” said the old man.

“Come,” said Ronan. “The rope’s free now.”

Adlig shook his head. “Tie the rope around my waist and I’ll brace you.”

Ronan stared at him for a second and then shrugged.

“Wedge yourself against the window frame,” he said. “Let the stone bear my weight.”

Ronan stepped out onto the casement. He glanced back. The door trembled. A blot of darkness abruptly welled up in its middle, bleeding shadow that crept down the wood.

“Go,” said the old man.

The rope tautened under Ronan’s weight and he was gone into the night. Adlig gasped at the pain of it, for the rope yanked him hard against the window frame and he could barely move. He could not breathe. It was cold in the room. The heat and pain of the blisters on his hands increased. There was a noise behind him. He turned as best as he could, turning just his head, his jaw scraping against the stone. The wihht stood behind him. The lamp was out.

“Old fool,” it said, reaching for him.

Adlig spoke one word. The complete word.

The room surged with light. The scent of dried grass burning under the summer sun. The breath of fire. The char of wood and the slow collapse of steel in the forge. The glaring eye of the sun staring down, engulfing everything. The wihht stood motionless within the wash of light, its darkness inviolate and pure black against the contrast of white.