David Drake - Master of the Cauldron

In the morning-later in the morning, he supposed-he might send a squad of soldiers here to explore with pine torches or rushlights as Liane suggested, dried fennel stalks whose spongy pith had been soaked with tallow. This jaunt had been enough to satisfy his desire to do something real instead of talking interminably and 'looking regal,' whatever that meant.

"I'll guide us," Liane said. "You keep your sword out. Anyway, it shouldn't be difficult. The floor was clear enough."

She walked briskly with Garric's left hand on her shoulder, tapping the staff but obviously following her instincts rather than needing the help. She had as good a sense of direction within buildings as Garric did in the woods. At the stairs she continued to lead, but without Garric to boost her she'd have had a difficult time getting through an opening at the height of her head.

As Liane scrambled back into their room, Garric turned and listened. Somewhere in the distance water dripped, or perhaps he was imagining that it did.

Therewas a glow, though, from the sub-cellar or perhaps from beyond it. It was fainter than starlight, but he could make out the flat arch over the bottom of the stairs.

"Here," said Liane. She set the pike crosswise in the opening, braced against the wall on either side. Garric gripped the shaft with his free hand and tugged to make sure it would hold. Then he shot his sword back into its scabbard and pulled himself up by the strength of both arms and the soles of his feet on the wall.

The moon had risen since they'd started down the opening; Garric's eyes, adapted to pitch darkness, gave him a good view of the unfamiliar room. He lifted the clothes press which held his regalia and straddle-walked to the opening, where he set it down with as quietly as he could.

"There," he said, stepping back to view his handiwork. "Now I think we can get some sleep."

"Will it hold?" Liane said doubtfully.

Garric laughed. "Not against a serious threat," he said, "but it'll make a good deal of noise if somebody slides it back. And if that happens-"

He drew his sword with asring! and an arc of shimmering moonlight.

"-I'll have something to say about it even before the guards get here."

Still chuckling, he led Liane to the bed. Suddenly getting some more sleep wasn't the first thing on his mind.

Cashel'd always had a good head for heights, so the view at night from Ronn's north parapet thrilled rather than frightening him. He bent over the edge, feeling the force of the wind that rushed up the wall's slope. It brought with it dry odors and hinted mystery.

A patchwork of lights gleamed at every level of the city, the suites of residents still awake. The outside stairs were pastel zigzags against the general darkness.

He turned; Mab was watching him with an amused expression. The night was moonless, but drifting glows like those he'd seen on the terraces over the diamond lake were enough to keep the scattered strollers here on the topmost plaza from walking into one another.

Mab was shorter than she'd been when they left the terrace. Though he couldn't be sure in this light, he thought her hair'd changed color too.

She pointed to the nearest of the lights; it floated obediently closer. "They'll brighten enough for you to read by," she said.

Cashel smiled. "Well, not me, ma'am," he said. "But if I could read, I'm sure they would."

For the first time since he'd met her, Mab lost her self-composure. "I didn't…," she said with a look of shocked surprise. Instead of finishing whatever she'd started to say, she went on, "You've had a hard life, haven't you, Cashel?"

He thought about the question instead of just blurting an answer, but it came out the same way anyhow. "No, ma'am," he said. "I don't guess I have. Not for me, I mean."

Mab quirked a smile at him. "No?" she said. "Well, perhaps you haven't, then. I believe your mother would've wished things had been otherwise for you; though a more learned upbringing might've left you less able to aid Ronn in her present plight."

Cashel laughed. "Oh, mistress!" he said. "You wouldn't say that if you'd met my friend Garric! He can read and write like any city-bred scholar, but he can knock any man in the borough silly with a quarterstaff. Besides me, of course."

Cashel had room here, so purely for the joy of it he stepped clear of the woman and started a series of exercises with his staff. He made slow circles at first, in front of him and overhead; then he crossed his grip to reverse direction, spinning the heavy hickory faster.

Only when Cashel was sure he had the rhythm and he'd warmed the kinks out of his muscles, did he start doing fancy tricks. He fed the staff around his body sunwise, then widdershins, and when he had it around in front of him again he spun it between his legs and caught it over his head. That was one where you could do yourself a world of hurt if your timing was just the least hair off.

There were more people coming over to watch him now. Mab had brought a yellow light to hover overhead, brighter than the others drifting over the plaza. If Cashel hadn't already gotten into the feel of the thing the spectators would've embarrassed him, but as it was he was kinda glad for their eyes. He was good at this, better than any man in the borough and any man he'd met since leaving the borough. He wasn't going to pretend that wasn't so.

Cashel capped the show with the things that were more than just tricks-the moves you made in a bout or a fight for real, if you were good enough. He spun the staff overhead. When the smooth hickory was a blur of soft light, he jumped beneath it and let it pullhim so that he was facing the other way, then jumped again and returned to the way he'd been standing before.

Cashel's weight slowed the staff so he could slam it to a dead stop upright beside him. He was sweating and gasping in deep breaths, but he was as happy as he'd been since he walked into the hillside with Mab.

The spectators raised their hands over their heads and clapped them together. There were really a lot of them, more than he'd realized while he was exercising.

Mab stepped to Cashel's side, touched his right hand, and with gentle pressure turned him so that everybody could see his face. It was a little embarrassing, but mostly he was proud.

Mab pointed to the bright fairy light directly overhead. It went out, returning the two of them to darkness and privacy. The spectators drifted away.

"Now," she said, "we'll watch what I brought you here to see. It's time."

As she spoke, a male Councillor stepped through an arched doorway that came from the interior of the city. He murmured a word, beating time in the air with an athame of zebra-striped wood. Beside him appeared the lighted figure-no, it was a figure of light!-of a warrior in steel armor.

Blond hair spilled from under the figure's helmet and fell across its polished shoulder-pieces. It was oversized, half again as tall as Cashel and taller than any living man he'd seen, but it wasn't a fanciful giant like the trumpeter who'd greeted the dawn.

"That was Valeri," Mab said. "The Queen formed his image after he went down to the cavern to sleep. The Councillors cause the image to walk the parapet every night; it and the other Heroes."

Cashel watched the figure go by, moving at the speed of the wizardling who walked beside it. The image's legs scissored and its head turned like a real man looking toward the mountains as he sauntered along. The body looked solid, but it was too clear to be real. It looked like it would in daylight, but there wasn't any light here except for the floating glows. When the figure passed through a planter of roses, it did just that-passed through them.

"There's nothing on this plaza that's higher than the parapet," Mab said as she and Cashel followed the warrior's image into the distance. "Someone watching from the mountains, even if he were able to bring objects closer with wizardry or mechanick arts, would see only what appeared to be Valeri walking the battlements."