Page 61

As Niniane and Illusius watched, the block of ice that encased the great wizard Myrriden broke asunder and crashed to the rocky floor.

Sparkling spirals of light shot out in all directions, and the crystals that formed the cavern walls rang like myriad bells.

The two apprentices were filled with dread: What had their spells wrought this time?

Myrriden stepped from the glittering mound of ice, scowling. “So, you young scallywamps! Broke the flask of Yann, did you?”

His wise old eyes glanced from one to the other as if assessing their guilt. Illusius stepped forward, shielding Niniane from view. He took a deep breath. “It was I.”

Niniane joined him, putting her hand on her companion’s sleeve. “Do not blame Illusius, Myrriden. Had I not spilled bladderwort and eye of newt everywhere, it would not have…”

“Silence!” the wizard commanded, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

“You are not the first of my apprentices to prove clumsy. Nor,” he said with a sigh, “will you be the last. But you have evidently learned to cooperate and combine forces, which is the most important lesson at every level of existence. You are now ready for your great test—whatever it might be.”

He shook his head, and fragments of ice rained down like diamonds. During the period when he’d been frozen he had suffered the strangest dreams. They seemed to go on and on. “How much human time has passed in my absence?”

The apprentices looked at one another guiltily and shuffled their feet. “Um…er…ah, about ten…”

“Ten hours? A record!”

“Um…er, not hours…”

“Days, then?” The wizard’s shaggy white brows shot together. “By Saint Ethelred’s beard! Has it been weeks?”

Before they could stammer out the truth, Myrriden’s gaze fell upon Niniane’s crystal globe. Earlier it had shown Tressalara approaching the old ruins; now it held the image of a glowing crystal, its natural facets forming a shape very like a dragon.

“The Andun!” Myrriden exclaimed. He looked from Niniane to Illusius. “We will settle this later, for I see that evil had been loosed in the land. It is time for your final test. Remember—the simplest solution is usually the best!”

He clapped his hands and uttered several mystic syllables. Niniane felt her limbs shrinking and looked down to see fine white fur growing up her arms. Illusius twitched his long black whiskers. “Now what?”

They found themselves plunked down in a dark passageway of hollowed rock. Niniane curled her long pink tail. “Oh, rats! ”

Tressalara led her small party to the ruins of the old fortified tower that had stood for generations near the river falls. The rising wind almost muffled the sound of the water cascading over the rocks. “We will hide the horses here. The entrance is nearby.”

She stripped off her cloak, and the others did the same, revealing their own costumes, which Cador had obtained from God only knew where.

One soldier wore a fool’s motley, two others the court dress of a strange and foreign land.

A third had a wizard’s silver stars sewn to his dark robe and a turban set with a glittering paste jewel.

The rest wore the livery of Lector’s men, taken from the soldiers they had slain.

The castle walls enclosed many acres. There were two separate tunnels behind the entrance hidden here, part of the maze of castle escape routes that her mad great-grandfather had planned in case of siege.

Who would have expected them to prove useful in a kingdom that had been at peace with its neighbors for two centuries?

One led to the main courtyard in the shadow of the stables.

The rebels dressed in Lector’s livery would exit there.

Once inside they would subdue the guards at the entrance, then let Cador’s troops in at the main gate and Brand’s through the water gate on the river.

The second tunnel ran deeper, to the opposite side of the huge castle complex.

Those in costume, under command of Kegi’s son Zonel, would continue along it with Tressalara, with orders to infiltrate the great hall and cut off Lector before he could make good his escape.

It split off near its end, with one arm running to an alcove near the minstrel’s gallery above the great hall, the other into the royal apartments that had belonged to her father.

Unknown to the rest, this last was Tressalara’s true destination.

Leading this group to a portion of ruined wall, Tressalara felt between the mortar of the giant blocks until she found the hidden pivot point.

She pushed against it. The blocks held fast. She tried again and failed.

Fear shot through her. The entire plan had been based on her assertion that she could get herself and these men within the walls unseen.

If Lector had found the entry and barred it from the other side, Cador and Brand were doomed.

She tried once more, this time putting her shoulder to the stone. It groaned and swung inward. A blast of dank, musty air blew past them, like the breath of some monstrous subterranean creature. Fanglike stalactites hung down from the passageway.

“Follow closely,” she warned. “Beneath the castle is a maze of tunnels and natural caves. Many are built to turn back upon themselves. Others are blind ends to trick and isolate any enemy who might penetrate them. If you become lost, your bones might be found a hundred years from now.”

The men huddled closer. If they had any doubts about following the princess into the hellish maze, they didn’t speak them aloud. “From here on,” she said, “there must be complete silence among us.”

Zonel nodded and followed her into the black maw with his men, shivering as the block of stone fell back into place behind them. Their unquestioning trust buoyed her up as the darkness engulfed them. Water dripped slowly, echoing through the corridors hewn from living rock.

Tressalara struck a flint. The spark bloomed to flame in the cobwebbed lantern set into a niche.

A film of crystals frosted the stone walls, attesting to their great age.

Two small creatures, furry and sleek with long pink tails, squeaked and scurried into the darkness ahead. One was white, the other black.

After lighting the tapers that Zonel had brought for each of them, she led on.

The way was mossy underfoot, where water had dripped from the rocky ceiling.

With every step she wondered if she had made a grave error of judgment and if her stubbornness would prove to be Cador’s death sentence.

The die was cast. She could only go forward with their plan and pray to God that he might come through unscathed.

The alternative was unthinkable. Tressalara shivered.

A victory without Cador would save her kingdom, but it would shatter her heart.

She would never love any man but Cador, so long as she lived.

At the first branching of the tunnels, the rebels in Lector’s livery turned off on their mission.

When she finally reached the second branching with the costumed group, Tressalara stopped.

“That will lead you to your destination. Our ways part here. You will continue on to the minstrel’s gallery without me, and I will rejoin you in the great hall.

Take no action of your own, but await my signal. ”

“But…majesty!” Zonel protested.

She stopped him with a look. “There is no need for me to accompany you further. You have your orders from Cador. Meanwhile, I have other matters to which I must attend.”

Zonel could only watch helplessly as the woman he was sworn to protect and defend vanished in the opposite direction. If his royal mistress came to any harm and he himself survived, Cador would roast his liver on a spit!

Lector sat alone on the dais in the great hall, watching the revelry unfold around him.

The huge rubies in the eyes of the dragon’s head carved upon the back of the thronelike chair winked as if they were alive.

A servant filled his emerald-studded goblet with more wine, and he lifted it for a drink.

The waiting had stretched his nerves like wires.

He could feel them like sharp prickles beneath his skin.

All the years of planning and scheming had come down to this moment.

If Rill’s plot succeeded, it would be a moment of great personal triumph. If not…

Then Rill brushed aside the curtain at the side of the dais and joined him. “All is well, my lord,” the magician purred. “The fair little mouse you wished to lure to your hand has taken the bait!”

Setting down his goblet, Lector rose. “Excellent work, Rill. I shall spring the trap myself.”

Tressalara made her way along the passage quietly.

Two more turns to the right and she should be in the space between the castle’s outer wall and the royal apartments.

Ahead, a small ray of light pierced the darkness, and she smiled.

She had not forgotten her way through the rocky maze.

That light was a peephole into the corridor. She peered through it.

In the smoking red glare of torchlight, two guards flanked the door that led into her late father’s quarters.

She moved softly down the hidden passage in search of a second peephole that looked into the apartment’s central chamber.

It was usually closed off for privacy by an embossed medallion on the other side, but she caught a glimmer of light, showing it was unblocked.

She was almost afraid to look through it to see Lector’s things in place of her father’s, to let grief and other emotions cloud her judgment.

When she steeled her courage, she was startled to discover that nothing had changed.

The famous battle sword of King Varro I hung from the wall between the tall casements, as it had for two centuries.

The same tapestries of lords and ladies a-hunting still hung upon the walls.

The same two high-backed chairs, carved with the royal arms of Amelonia, were pulled up to the table where she and her father had once played at games of wit and strategy.

A pang of longing for simpler, happier times smote her to the core.

But she must not dwell on the past when her country’s future was at stake.

Sliding the well-oiled latch aside, Tressalara stepped into the chamber.

Unseen, two sleek rats slipped past her booted ankles and wiggled their way into a rolled-up rug along the wall.

Two pairs of bright button eyes watched the princess from the safety of their hiding place.

The panel slid closed noiselessly behind Tressalara.

Without pausing, she went straight to the hearth.

The dragon symbol of the royal house was carved deeply into the central stone block of the fireplace.

She traced a finger lightly over the shape, as she had seen her father do, then reached just inside the mouth of the opening and touched a minute lever hidden there.

The stone block slid outward with a faint groan.

She hadn’t expected it to be so heavy! It took all her strength to remove it. Dropping it would surely alert the guards outside the door. Tressalara set the block down upon the tabletop, then returned to the gaping hole. Pushing back her sleeve, she reached inside.

A sudden sound alerted her that she was no longer alone. She whipped around to find Lector standing in the open chamber door with several men-at-arms behind him. “Well met, Tressalara.” He stepped aside to let the guard enter. “Seize her!”

Tressalara went for her dagger but was hampered by the flowing sleeves of her tunic.

She had completely forgotten how much they restricted her freedom of movement.

Before she could extricate the weapon, one of the guards pounced.

As he pinned her arms, one of his comrades relieved her of the dagger.

Lector held out his hand for it. “A pretty toy. Suitable for a pretty woman.” He came forward, smiling at her consternation. Lifting her dagger, he pressed its tip lightly against her cheek. “Perhaps not so pretty when I have finished.”

Tressalara tried not to flinch when the point stung her skin. Lector laughed. “You have always been proud, Tressalara. Too much so for your own good. Did you think you were the only one to know of mad King Gilmere’s secrets? Foolish girl!”

He stepped back and moved to the aperture above the hearth. “The only one I didn’t know was where the Andun Crystal was kept. And now, fair Tressalara, you have led me straight to it!”