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Ba
“We received word of the invasion yesterday, but no one has seen you for days. You’ve been to the Maesil and back already?”
“I have my own sources of information,” Ba
“I left when I suspected trouble.”
“And you didn’t see fit to warn us before you left?”
“They were only suspicions, unconfirmed. I had only the merest indication of sorcery at work and thought to investigate.
I didn’t know it was a prelude to war.” Ba
“That might have been a reasonable assumption,” the Mhor said. He gave Ba
Ba
The Mhor seemed to hope for something more substantial, but he knew magic of the sort that could affect the course of a war was dangerous and hard to come by. “Very well, then,” he said. “I plan to ride for Riumache tomorrow, but if you think you might have some answers for me by tomorrow evening, I will delay my departure.”
“Please, proceed as you have pla
The Mhor nodded. With a shallow bow, Ba
Ba
In a few minutes, he found the room he had marked. It was an old wine cellar, long and low, most of its tuns long since removed.
Exits on opposite sides of the chamber led up to the cellars of the gatehouse and the keep itself. Ba
Crossing the chamber, Ba
From the satchel, Ba
It took hours of exacting work to finish the gate’s border and to speak the words that brought it to life. The last few words left him so weak that he could not stand; an enchantment of this power was never easy, and even more difficult considering the effort he had expended earlier. Somehow, he found the force of will to speak the last syllable.
A thin, blue aura sprang into being around the gateway, shimmering and dancing. The wall enclosed by the ring seemed to fade or vanish, and in its place a portal of swirling darkness and streaming azure fire opened. The air of the old cellar crackled with energy, and Ba
With a flash of light, a man in armor appeared. He stood, disoriented for a moment, and then he spied Ba
“That door leads to the gatehouse,” Ba
“The other leads to the keep. You know where the Mhor’s chambers are?”
Tuorel nodded. “Baehemon’s men mapped the castle when he visited. They’ll be able to lead us. How long can you keep the gate open? I’ve five hundred men to bring through.”
“If they move smartly, I’ll hold it for them all,” Ba
The small hours of the morning found the Mhor Daeric pacing restlessly in his chambers. In recent years, the nights had held less and less sleep for him; some would have said the cares of ruling a kingdom were wearing him down, but Daeric knew it was a deepening sense of loneliness. He missed his wife terribly, even after all these years. “Aesele, I could use your strength now,” he murmured. “I’ve a long, hard labor before me, and I’m feeling my years tonight.”
Daeric paused in front of the great shuttered window that looked out over the city of Bevaldruor, a glass of brandy in his hand. In the warm darkness of the chamber, he almost imagined he could hear her light footfalls. He cocked his head, listening, but decided his ears had been playing tricks on him. He sipped the liquor, hoping to calm his racing mind and find some semblance of rest before joining his army in the field on the morrow. Instead of drowsiness the brandy brought him a supernatural clarity of thought. With a sigh, he set down the empty glass and peered out into the darkness.
His chamber overlooked the castle’s courtyard, the gatehouse, and the fields beyond.
Shadows flitted along the battlements, and one of the lantern lights of the gatehouse flickered and went out. Daeric frowned. He’d almost thought he had seen armed men on the battlements, moving stealthily toward the gates. He extinguished his own light, an oil lamp, and stepped back to the window, using the shutter for concealment. As his eyes attuned themselves to the darkness, he searched the battlements for signs of movement.
There! There it was again. Squinting, Daeric could make out a half-dozen forms, now gathered before an iron-plated door that led from the open battlements into the castle itself.
Light glinted from the edges of bared swords and knives. As the band of intruders quietly opened the door, dim lantern light flooded the battlements for a moment, and Daeric caught a glimpse of red and blue livery. He gasped and recoiled from the window. Ghoerans here? But how?
After he recovered from his momentary shock, Daeric darted across the room and opened the door leading to the hall. Two of the castellan’s guards stood there in full arms and armor, assigned to protect him from a possible assassination attempt. Both clattered to attention in panic when he threw the door open – it had been a long and quiet watch until now.