it.
Locked it.
And without allowing herself time to worry, she spoke the
words she’d never thought to speak, stared down at the gleaming gold transfer
talisman in her hand—
Magic ripped her apart and reassembled her on the other side
of the World Gate, with all the sensitivity of a giant swatting a gnat.
She landed painfully on her knees and bowed her swimming
head. Yoga breathing, in, hold, out, hold. In, hold, out, hold . . .
When her stomach settled, she performed some cautious yoga stretches. Very slow
stretches, for fifty-year-old hips and ankles aren’t as forgiving about sudden
jars as twenty-year-old ones.
Gradually sound and sense returned. She picked up the
transfer talisman that had fallen from her fingers and tucked it into the deep
pocket in her trousers, then looked around the tower Destination chamber,
apparently unchanged all these years, except by wind and weather blowing
through the narrow arrow slits.
She stepped cautiously into the ancient dining room, and
there were all those age-darkened tapestries hanging on the walls, as she
remembered. Let’s see, the old shortcut—hardly a secret passage, as everyone
had used it—lay behind the middle tapestry. On the opposite side of the room,
the big carved doors led to the grand stairway, and the great hall below.
Where she heard voices.
She paused. Male voices, exasperatingly blurred by the lousy
acoustics of stone. She scanned. The dust and spider webs in the corners
indicated that no one had been around for years. Yet here and there the dust
had been disturbed. One of the old tables lay on its side, and the other had
been shoved into a corner, its top mostly dust free.
So who’d been here? Sasha? No female voices—
As the speakers became more distinct, she realized two
things. One, they were coming up the grand stairway, and two, she recognized
Canary’s voice.
Was it really Canardan Merindar? She shook her head. No, she
would not mistake that charming baritone voice, the musical laughter. And they
were coming straight here .
She tiptoed to the middle tapestry and slipped behind it,
poised to run.
Moments later the voices abruptly resolved into audible
clarity, meaning the speakers had entered the room through the main door.
“. . . they had that door locked. Signs
they’d been in here. But by the time my men got the door opened, they were
gone.”
“There’s supposed to be another entrance,” Canary said.
“Probably behind one of these rotting rugs. Leave it for now. Where is the
Destination chamber? Ah.”
The voices diminished slightly as the two passed into the
tower, but Sun heard Canary say, “There’s still a strong sense of magic in
here. I don’t know enough about transfer magic to gauge how long it would
linger. There’s nothing else here. All right.”
The voices got louder. “Tell me again about the fight in the
court. Samdan said it was two men who’d joined those Eban brats.”
Eban brats! So Steward
Eban, or at least her children, are involved , Sun thought. She was Math’s most loyal—
Listen!
“. . . the pirate or the other?”
“The other, fool. Why do you hesitate?”
The second voice lowered into embarrassed formality. “Pardon
me, sire. But the reports did conflict. I report only what I heard. I did not
witness the fight myself. Samdan maintains he was at the front, but he was
first down, a cut over his eye, then another in his knee. So his glimpse was
merely that. But he insisted that, beside the Ebans and the pirate Zathdar,
there was a young man in strange garb, a white shirt with odd letters. Tall,
with a hawk nose, like the old king. Hair worn back in many braids.”
They had stopped. Sun turned her head, gauging their
position by sound: standing by the old refectory table that had been shoved
into the far corner.
“Well?”
“It was Lankinar who insisted this person was actually a
female. He said that the clothes were quite strange. Trousers much like deck
trousers on
Locked it.
And without allowing herself time to worry, she spoke the
words she’d never thought to speak, stared down at the gleaming gold transfer
talisman in her hand—
Magic ripped her apart and reassembled her on the other side
of the World Gate, with all the sensitivity of a giant swatting a gnat.
She landed painfully on her knees and bowed her swimming
head. Yoga breathing, in, hold, out, hold. In, hold, out, hold . . .
When her stomach settled, she performed some cautious yoga stretches. Very slow
stretches, for fifty-year-old hips and ankles aren’t as forgiving about sudden
jars as twenty-year-old ones.
Gradually sound and sense returned. She picked up the
transfer talisman that had fallen from her fingers and tucked it into the deep
pocket in her trousers, then looked around the tower Destination chamber,
apparently unchanged all these years, except by wind and weather blowing
through the narrow arrow slits.
She stepped cautiously into the ancient dining room, and
there were all those age-darkened tapestries hanging on the walls, as she
remembered. Let’s see, the old shortcut—hardly a secret passage, as everyone
had used it—lay behind the middle tapestry. On the opposite side of the room,
the big carved doors led to the grand stairway, and the great hall below.
Where she heard voices.
She paused. Male voices, exasperatingly blurred by the lousy
acoustics of stone. She scanned. The dust and spider webs in the corners
indicated that no one had been around for years. Yet here and there the dust
had been disturbed. One of the old tables lay on its side, and the other had
been shoved into a corner, its top mostly dust free.
So who’d been here? Sasha? No female voices—
As the speakers became more distinct, she realized two
things. One, they were coming up the grand stairway, and two, she recognized
Canary’s voice.
Was it really Canardan Merindar? She shook her head. No, she
would not mistake that charming baritone voice, the musical laughter. And they
were coming straight here .
She tiptoed to the middle tapestry and slipped behind it,
poised to run.
Moments later the voices abruptly resolved into audible
clarity, meaning the speakers had entered the room through the main door.
“. . . they had that door locked. Signs
they’d been in here. But by the time my men got the door opened, they were
gone.”
“There’s supposed to be another entrance,” Canary said.
“Probably behind one of these rotting rugs. Leave it for now. Where is the
Destination chamber? Ah.”
The voices diminished slightly as the two passed into the
tower, but Sun heard Canary say, “There’s still a strong sense of magic in
here. I don’t know enough about transfer magic to gauge how long it would
linger. There’s nothing else here. All right.”
The voices got louder. “Tell me again about the fight in the
court. Samdan said it was two men who’d joined those Eban brats.”
Eban brats! So Steward
Eban, or at least her children, are involved , Sun thought. She was Math’s most loyal—
Listen!
“. . . the pirate or the other?”
“The other, fool. Why do you hesitate?”
The second voice lowered into embarrassed formality. “Pardon
me, sire. But the reports did conflict. I report only what I heard. I did not
witness the fight myself. Samdan maintains he was at the front, but he was
first down, a cut over his eye, then another in his knee. So his glimpse was
merely that. But he insisted that, beside the Ebans and the pirate Zathdar,
there was a young man in strange garb, a white shirt with odd letters. Tall,
with a hawk nose, like the old king. Hair worn back in many braids.”
They had stopped. Sun turned her head, gauging their
position by sound: standing by the old refectory table that had been shoved
into the far corner.
“Well?”
“It was Lankinar who insisted this person was actually a
female. He said that the clothes were quite strange. Trousers much like deck
trousers on
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