Marune Alastor 933

Efraim glanced through the portfolios. The first showed an intricate architectural plan. He glanced at Singhalissa who stared back coldly. Efraim signaled to Agnois. "Look through. these documents; return to Her Presence the effects she describes. All others, set aside."

Singhalissa settled herself into a chair and sat stiffly. Agnois leaned his heavy back over the table, peering diffidently into the documents. He finished and pushed one group of papers aside. "These concern the personal affairs of the Kraike. The others more properly belong in the Privy Case."

"Bring them along." With the coldest of nods to Singhalissa, Efraim departed the chamber.

He found Matho Lorcas where he had left him, lounging in a massive leather-backed chair, examining a history of the wars between Scharrode and that realm known as Slaunt, fifty miles south. Lorcas put aside the volume and rose to his feet, "What did you learn?"

"About what I expected. The Kraike has no intention of accepting defeat - not quite so easily." Efraim went to the Privy Case; applied the key and threw wide the heavy doors. For a moment ha regarded the contents: sheaves of documents, tallies; certificates, handwritten chronicles. Efraim turned away. "One time or another I must examine these. But for now" - he looked across the room to where Agnois stood, stiff and silent as a piece of furniture. "Agnois."

"Yes, Your Force."

"If you feel that you can serve me with single-minded loyalty, you may continue in your present post. If not, you may resign at this moment, without prejudice."

Agnois spoke in a soft voice: "I served Kaiark Jochaim many years; he discovered no fault with me. I will continue to serve the rightful Kaiark."

"Very good. Find suitable materials and prepare s sketch of Benbuphar Strang, indicating the chambers used by the various members of the household."

"At once, Force."

Efraim went to the massive central table, seated himself, and began to examine the documents he had taken from Singhalissa. He found what appeared to be a ceremonial protocol, certifying the lineage of the House of Benbuphar, begi

Efraim spoke across the table to Agnois. "Why does Rianlle want the Dwan Jar?"

Agnois looked up wonderingly. "For the same reason as always, Force. He would build his mountain eyrie on Point sheen where the way is convenient to and from Belrod Strang. The Kaiark Jochaim, you will remember, refused to indulge the Kaiark Rianlle in his urgent caprice, citing an ancient compact with the Fwai-chi."

"The Fwai-chi? Why should the matter concern them?"

"The Whispering Ridge harbors one of their sanctuaries,6 Force." Agnois spoke tonelessly, as if he had decided never again to display surprise at Efraim's vagueness.

"Yes, of course." Efraim opened the third folder and discovered a set of architectural sketches depicting various aspects of Benbuphar Strang. He noticed Agnois averting his gaze in conspicuous disinterest. Here, thought Efraim, were the secret ways of the castle.

The drawings were elaborate and not readily comprehensible. The Kraike might or might not have made copies of this document. At the very least she had pored over the plans in grim fascination; she undoubtedly knew the secret ways as well as she knew the open corridors.

"That will be all for the moment," Efraim told Agnois. "Under no circumstances discuss our affairs with anyone! If you are questioned, declare that the Kaiark has explicitly forbidden discussion, hints, or intimations of any sort!"

"As you command, Force." Agnois raised his faded blue eyes to the ceiling.

"Allow me, Force, if you will, a personal remark. Since the disfunction of the Kaiark Jochaim, affairs at Benbuphar Strang have not gone altogether well, although the Kraike Singhalissa is, of course, a positive force." He hesitated, then spoke as if the words were forced from his throat by an irresistible i

Efraim attempted to seem puzzled and sagacious at the same time. "I have done nothing to antagonize Rianlle - nothing purposeful certainly."

"Perhaps not, but purpose means nothing if Rianlle discovers himself to be thwarted. Effectively, you have a

"He values the Dwan Jar that highly?"

"Evidently so, Force."

Efraim hardly troubled to dissemble his ignorance. "Might he then attack by force?"

"Nothing can be considered impossible."

Efraim music a sign of dismissal; Agnois bowed and departed.

Isp became umber. Efraim and Lorcas traced, retraced, simplified, coded, and rendered comprehensible the plans to Benbuphar Strang. The passage leading up from the back of the refectory seemed no more than a simple shortcut to the second floor of Jaher Tower. The true mirk-ways radiated from a chamber to the side of the Grand Parlor; passages threaded every wall of the castle, intersecting, opening into nodes, ascending, descending, each coded with horizontal stripes of color, each overlooking chambers, corridors, and halls through an assortment of peepholes, periscopes, gratings, and image-amplifiers.

From the chambers of the former Kang Efraim and the current Kang Destian radiated less extensive passages, which could be entered by secret means from the Kaiark's Kirk ways. With a gloomy shiver, Efraim pictured himself in his grotesque man mask purposefully striding these secret corridors, and he wondered into whose chambers he had thrust wide the door. He pictured the face of the Lissolet Sthelany: pale and taut, her eyes blazing, her mouth half-parted in an emotion she herself would not know how to interpret... He returned his attention to the red portfolio, and for the tenth time inspected the index which accompanied it, where the locks and springs controlling each exit were described in detail, together with the alarms intended to thwart illicit passage along the Kaiark's mirk-ways. Exit from the terminal chamber - the so-called "Sacarlatto"

- was barred by an iron door, thus protecting the Kaiark from intrusion, and other such doors blocked the passages at strategic nodes.

Efraim and Lorcas, having achieved at least a superficial acquaintance with the maze, rose to their feet and considered the wall of the Grand Parlor. Silence was heavy in the chamber.

"I wooden" mused Lorcas, "I wonder... Might someone intend us unpleasantness?

A pitfall or a poison web? Perhaps I am oppressed by the atmosphere. Rhunes, after all, are not allowed to murder - except by mirk."

Efraim made an impatient gesture; Lorcas had accurately verbalized his own mood.

He went to the wall, touched a succession of bosses. A panel slid aside; they climbed a flight of stone steps and entered the Sacarlatto. They walked upon a dark crimson carpet, under a chandelier of twenty scintillas. Upon each panel of the black- and red-enameled wainscoting hung a carved marble representation of a man-mask in low relief, so that the object lay near-flat against the panel. Each mask depicted a different distortion; each bore a legend in cryptic symbols. At six stations, mirrors and screens provided views across the Grand Parlor. Lorcas spoke in a hushed voice, which was further attenuated by a quality of the chamber. "Do you smell anything?"