Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath by Carol Berg Page A
Authors: Carol Berg
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on which I sat.
He moved slowly around the parapet, his eyes wide, his red-brown hair blowing wildly. I said nothing
more until he completed his survey and stood beside the metal box that sat in the crenel beside me. He
glanced up at me quickly.
“Do you want to see what’s in it?” I was careful not to smile.
He shrugged and said nothing, backing away a few steps.
“You’ve been interested in my doings these past days.”
He flushed, but didn’t run away.
I opened the box and pulled out a cloth bag. “When I was a girl and wanted to be alone, I often came
up here. I didn’t want anyone to spy me going in and out of the secret door, so I made sure to keep a
box of supplies up here—a metal box to keep out the mice. I pretended I was the lady of the keep, and I
needed enough food to sustain me until I could be rescued. That’s what all this was built for, you know.
At one time a supply of wood was kept in the secret room, so a balefire could be lit in this firepit to let
the lord’s troops know survivors were waiting for help.”
From the bag I pulled out two more apples, a chunk of dry bread, and a lump of cheese, and set
them beside me. From another bundle came a flask of wine and two mugs, then a tightly rolled shawl, a
cloak, three candles, flint and steel, and a book.
I held up the shawl and the cloak. “It’s nice to have something soft to sit or lean on, and, of course,
the wind never stops, so at sundown, even in summer, it can get chilly. But the stars make it worth the
wait. That’s everything in my box. As with most things that look mysterious or frightening, it is really quite
ordinary.”
The boy narrowed his eyes, waiting.
I poured a mug of wine, stuck the rolled cloak between my back and the merlon, and picked up the
book. “Help yourself to something to eat if you like,” I said and began to read.
After only a few moments, the boy turned on his heel and disappeared down the steps. Too much to
expect he’d say anything.
Gerick continued to watch me for the next few days, though he was quieter and more careful in his
stalking. I was pleased in a way, for it meant he was still interested, and there was some hope that my
scheme would succeed. Late one afternoon, as I started up the tower stair once again and passed the
lumpy rug on the first landing, I said, “If you come, I’ll show you how to open the door. Then you can go
up whenever you like.”
He didn’t answer, but when I reached the eighth step past the third landing, the boy stood at my
elbow. Without saying a word, I demonstrated how to turn the gargoyle’s head and push on the proper
place. Once I had it open, I shut it again and let Gerick try. He struggled a bit with the stiff and balky
mechanism, but I didn’t offer to help. When he managed to get it open, I acknowledged his success with
a nod and started up the inner stair. “You can come too if you wish,” I said. “I won’t bother you.”
He stayed well behind me, and he sat himself in his own crenel while I settled down once more to
read. I poured myself a mug of wine, but didn’t offer him any or attempt any conversation. After an hour
or so of pretending not to watch me, he left.
After that, I went up to the northwest tower every few days, and on occasion found Gerick there. I
always asked him if he minded my staying, and he always shook his head, but inevitably he left within half
an hour. Had I not heard his voice on my first day at Comigor, I might have believed him mute.
Every morning he worked with the Kerotean swordmaster in the fencing yard. Although Gerick tried
hard, he wasn’t very good. His form was poor and his attacks more earnest than effective. But he was
still young. The language difficulty was surely part of the problem. Once the Kerotean master had
demonstrated a move, all his coaching and teaching was in the way of waving his hands and stamping his
feet.
Three more weeks passed, and it seemed I was
He moved slowly around the parapet, his eyes wide, his red-brown hair blowing wildly. I said nothing
more until he completed his survey and stood beside the metal box that sat in the crenel beside me. He
glanced up at me quickly.
“Do you want to see what’s in it?” I was careful not to smile.
He shrugged and said nothing, backing away a few steps.
“You’ve been interested in my doings these past days.”
He flushed, but didn’t run away.
I opened the box and pulled out a cloth bag. “When I was a girl and wanted to be alone, I often came
up here. I didn’t want anyone to spy me going in and out of the secret door, so I made sure to keep a
box of supplies up here—a metal box to keep out the mice. I pretended I was the lady of the keep, and I
needed enough food to sustain me until I could be rescued. That’s what all this was built for, you know.
At one time a supply of wood was kept in the secret room, so a balefire could be lit in this firepit to let
the lord’s troops know survivors were waiting for help.”
From the bag I pulled out two more apples, a chunk of dry bread, and a lump of cheese, and set
them beside me. From another bundle came a flask of wine and two mugs, then a tightly rolled shawl, a
cloak, three candles, flint and steel, and a book.
I held up the shawl and the cloak. “It’s nice to have something soft to sit or lean on, and, of course,
the wind never stops, so at sundown, even in summer, it can get chilly. But the stars make it worth the
wait. That’s everything in my box. As with most things that look mysterious or frightening, it is really quite
ordinary.”
The boy narrowed his eyes, waiting.
I poured a mug of wine, stuck the rolled cloak between my back and the merlon, and picked up the
book. “Help yourself to something to eat if you like,” I said and began to read.
After only a few moments, the boy turned on his heel and disappeared down the steps. Too much to
expect he’d say anything.
Gerick continued to watch me for the next few days, though he was quieter and more careful in his
stalking. I was pleased in a way, for it meant he was still interested, and there was some hope that my
scheme would succeed. Late one afternoon, as I started up the tower stair once again and passed the
lumpy rug on the first landing, I said, “If you come, I’ll show you how to open the door. Then you can go
up whenever you like.”
He didn’t answer, but when I reached the eighth step past the third landing, the boy stood at my
elbow. Without saying a word, I demonstrated how to turn the gargoyle’s head and push on the proper
place. Once I had it open, I shut it again and let Gerick try. He struggled a bit with the stiff and balky
mechanism, but I didn’t offer to help. When he managed to get it open, I acknowledged his success with
a nod and started up the inner stair. “You can come too if you wish,” I said. “I won’t bother you.”
He stayed well behind me, and he sat himself in his own crenel while I settled down once more to
read. I poured myself a mug of wine, but didn’t offer him any or attempt any conversation. After an hour
or so of pretending not to watch me, he left.
After that, I went up to the northwest tower every few days, and on occasion found Gerick there. I
always asked him if he minded my staying, and he always shook his head, but inevitably he left within half
an hour. Had I not heard his voice on my first day at Comigor, I might have believed him mute.
Every morning he worked with the Kerotean swordmaster in the fencing yard. Although Gerick tried
hard, he wasn’t very good. His form was poor and his attacks more earnest than effective. But he was
still young. The language difficulty was surely part of the problem. Once the Kerotean master had
demonstrated a move, all his coaching and teaching was in the way of waving his hands and stamping his
feet.
Three more weeks passed, and it seemed I was
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