Dawn found them walking. Jordan was cold, and almost deliriously tired. For hours now, he had let the wet leaves slide over his face without raising his hand to fend them off. The Lady’s hand remained clamped on his, and a strange passivity made him follow her. For the first part of the walk, she had spoken constantly and unhurriedly to him, her voice and the feel of her hand the only realities, until he seemed to lose touch with his body entirely. It seemed they were a pair of spirits, drifting through the underworld.
Morning in Memnonis, Jordan’s country, began with the gradual realization of shapes in the dark of the forest. Jordan began to see outlines of tree branches if he looked up, although they seemed etched onto a medium as dark as themselves. And as more became visible, the cold of the night settled to its absolute bottom. In the distance, he heard first one, then another bird begin to sing. The sound made him realize that, for hours, all he had heard was the dumb crashing of his feet in the underbrush, and the slight breaths of the woman ahead of him. Now he could see her, caped back swaying slightly as she trod over the matted leaves and fern beds. She was very close to him, the hand that held his fallen to her side, his own held stiffly in front of him. His own fingers felt numb; hers were warm.
His self-awareness returned with the light. No sharp line divided his passivity from memory and decision, any more than day came like the lighting of a lamp. He simply became more aware of his situation as he became able to see around himself. He was far from home; his sister remained lost and in some peril he may well have not been able to save her from. It was partly to salve his own conscience that he had run after her, and he did feel better for having tried; but as he walked he was troubled by the inadequacy of his parents’ response—and his own, for what had he planned to do when he found her?
Now, as color returned to leaf and branch around him, he considered what Emmy had done, and the decision it had forced on him. Whether she and he returned to their home again, they could never again be the daughter and son he had always imagined they were. He and Emmy stood apart from their parents now, and that meant they would have to stand together.
But they could only do that if he could find her. He and the lady Calandria May were now profoundly lost in the woods. Was Emmy going to creep back home after a cold night in the woods, finding him gone and no one to stand with against mother and father—and Castor and Turcaret? Jordan knew the consequences if a search party was called out, and if she was found alive and in good health: she would find the anger of the whole village aimed at her.
The first fingers of sunlight slanting through the treetops overhead told Jordan exactly which direction he and the lady were walking. They were going northeast.
“This is the wrong way,” he said. “I knew walking was a bad idea. Who knows how far we’ve gone?”
“This is the right way,” said the lady quietly. Her steps did not falter.
Jordan opened his mouth to object, then stopped himself. She knew they were going the wrong way. It had never been her intention to return to the manor. And somehow, she had mesmerized him into following her. The last few hours were a blur; and even has he realized this, he continued to follow her, step by step.
He stopped walking. “What did you do to me?”
She turned, her face serious. “I need your service, Jordan Mason. Last night, you were too wrapped up in your search to listen to what I had to say. Now, in the light of morning, perhaps we can talk like adults.”
Morning light provided Jordan his first good look at the lady. Her oval face was beautiful and strong: her dark brows and the lines around her mouth spoke authority, while her soft skin and the delicate bones of her jaw opposed them with an impression of fragility.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” she continued. He stood still, glaring at her. May crossed her arms and sighed. “Look, I can save your sister from Turcaret. All I have to do is send a message to one of my people. She’ll be safe.”
Cautiously, Jordan stepped closer. “Why would you do that?”
“In return for your coming with me. And if you don’t, then I don’t send the message, my man doesn’t find her, and Turcaret does; and you’ll still come with me!” She turned abruptly, brushing leaves from her cloak. She glowered over her shoulder at him. “Consider her my hostage.” She walked away.
Jordan was sore and stiff, and emotionally battered. “Why are you doing this?” he mumbled, as he followed her. “Because you have information I need,” she said. “Very important information.”
“I don’t,” he protested weakly.
“Come come,” she said, her voice no longer smooth but peremptory. “If I promise to protect your sister, will you promise to come with me?”
“How do I know you can protect her?”
“Astute.” She pointed through the trees to a brighter area. “Clearing there. We’ll camp and catch up on our sleep.” She waved him ahead of her. “You know about the war between Ravenon and the Seneschals?”
He nodded. “I work for Ravenon,” she said. “Right now I do, anyhow. I’m searching for a renegade from the Ravenon forces.”
“But the battle,” he protested. “They were all killed by the Winds.”
“Not all of them. I’m not alone on this journey, Jordan, and Turcaret is in debt to my people. He’ll do as I say, at least for such a small matter as your sister.”
She was probably lying, but it might do him good to let her think he was gullible. Meanwhile, he stumbled through the brush to an area where young, white birch trees thrust up through the ruined stumps of a very old fire.
May looked up at the open sky. “Six o’clock,” she said matter-of-factly. “Well, do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” he said. He resolved to escape later, as she slept. She was not of Castors’ family. She had no real hold over him unless he decreed it.
“Good.” She kicked at an old log, judging how decayed it was, and sat in the single ray of amber sunlight that made its way almost horizontally through their clearing. Little wisps of her black hair floated up, gleaming in the light. “You weren’t well prepared when you left the house last night,” she said. Jordan had nothing other than his clothes and the lantern that had banged against his hip for the last few hours. He looked down at himself emotionlessly, then around at the soft moss and wild flowers that had taken over the ground. The need to sleep was overpowering.
“Go ahead,” she said. Reaching up, she unclipped her cloak and held it out to him. “It’s still cold, cover yourself with that. I’m going to go send word about your sister.”
He took the cloak. “What’s to stop me running away while you’re away doing that? Are you going to tie me up?”
“I’ll send the message from here.” Uncomprehending, Jordan knelt down, then let himself topple sideways onto a mat of vivid green moss and tiny, finely-etched ferns. He started to draw the cloak over himself, but was asleep before he finished the motion.
*
Calandria administered a sedative shot to the youth. Probably not necessary, judging by his condition, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
She sat back, and let the exhaustion she’d walled off these last few hours wash through her. Finding Mason last night had been unbelievable luck. His disappearance, which she had been trying to arrange for days, would now be seen as misadventure, a family tragedy to be sure, but unlikely to be caused by foul play. Because search parties would be out in force by noon, however, she’d had to get him as far away from the village as possible, and chose the deepest uninhabited forest to hide them.
She would program herself for three hours’ sleep. But first, she had to adhere to her part of the bargain. She had no idea if such a bargain would help with the boy, but it was worth trying; and he needn’t know that, as soon as she learned the trouble his sister was in, Calandria had resolved to do what she could about it.
Closing her eyes, she activated her Link. “Axel,” she subvocalized. Spots of color floated in front of her eyes, then coalesced into the word CALLING.
“Cal?” His voice sounded pure and strong in her head, as it had on the several occasions they’d talked last night. She had been in touch with Axel Chan from the moment she found Mason on the trail. If the youth had gotten away from her, Axel would have scooped him up.
“What’s your status, Cal? I read you as ten kilometers northeast. Still have Mason?”
“Yes. But I have a job for you, to help cover our tracks.”
“Go ahead.”
She told him about her arrangement with Jordan. Axel grunted once or twice as she spoke, but made no other comment. “Think you can take care of her, Axel? Keeping her safe from yourself too, I might add.”
“Cal!” He sounded hurt. “I like ‘em experienced, you should know that. Yeah, she’s safe, as soon as I find her. What about you?”
“I’m taking Maso east and then north. There’s a manse located about twenty-five kilometers from here, we’ll make for that first. Then west again. What say we rendezvous at the Boros manor in one week?”
“Unless you get Armiger’s location first, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Will do. I’ll call you as soon as I get the girl.”
“Good. Bye.”
The connection went dead, but Calandria did not open her eyes. She accessed her skull computer, and told it to initiate a scan of the area. “Check for morphs,” she told it.
Gradually, from left to right, a ghost landscape appeared behind her closed eyelids. The scan was registering all the evidence of the Winds in this vicinity; mostly, it showed lines like the ghosts of trees, and the pale undulating sheet of the ground. But here and there, bright oblongs and snake-shapes indicated the third of Ventus’ divisions of life—the mecha, distinct from the ordinary flora and fauna.
The scan showed evidence of a morph about three kilometers south of her, but it was moving away. Still, that was a bit close for comfort. She hoped it hadn’t heard her transmission to Axel.
She opened her eyes. The scan had shown a very small mechal life form nearly at her feet. She squatted and shuffled leaves aside until she spotted it, a nondescript bug form.
Watching it crawl brought a strange sense of betrayal to mind, as though the world around her were somehow fake. It wasn’t—but of all the planets she had been to, Ventus was somehow the oddest. Maida had been a world of glaciers and frozen forests; Birghila was enwrapped in lava seas, with skies of flame; and Hsing’s people lived on a strip of artificial land hovering in tidal stress thousands of kilometers above the planet itself. But Ventus seemed so like Earth; it lulled the visitor, so that when you ran into a morph, or a desal, or witnessed the serene passage of a vagabond moon or the buzz and smoke of mecha life forms devouring the bedrock, a kind of supernatural unease was awakened. She’d felt it when she first arrived, and watching that little bug, knowing the earth and air were full of nanotechnology as thickly as with life, made the prospect of lying down to sleep here unpleasant. The sooner she accomplished her purpose and left Ventus behind, the better she’d feel.
There was no indication that any of the nano around her was aware of her. It should have been; this was the greatest puzzle of Ventus, why the Winds did not acknowledge the presence of the humans who had created them. It seemed to have become a small hobby of Axel’s to discover why, but Calandria was merely grateful she could pass unseen.
She checked once more to make sure the morph was really heading the other way. Then she lay down on the damp earth next to Jordan, and compelled herself to sleep.
*
Jordan awoke in another place, and his hands were on fire.
He was screaming. For a moment he thought he was in the sky again, because he was surrounded by flame—orange leaping sheets of it to all sides, a smouldering carpet underfoot, and blue licking tongues above his head. But he stumbled against a post, and the fires around him shook and long tears ripped through them. The flaming walls of the tent he was in began to collapse.
For some reason Jordan didn’t feel the pain, though he saw flame licking up from his hands, the backs of which were black and bubbling. And he could hear himself scream, only it wasn’t his voice. It was the worst sound he had ever heard.
The tent pole snapped, and the broken bottom half scraped up his side. He stumbled, flailing his arms wildly as, in a strange spiral fall, the heavy burning fabric of the tent came down on him. The impact, as if he were enfolded in an elemental’s arms, brought him to his knees. He breathed smoke and could no longer scream. His throat spasmed.
From somewhere he heard voices shouting. Men. He was pulled to and fro violently, and he heard the ring of swords being unsheathed. Blows all about. And the arms and chest of the elemental branded him, burned away his hair, stripped his skin, pressed against his raw muscles in a hideous, intimate massage.
The cloth over his face was torn free. He tried to blink; could see with one eye; watched bright blades held by desperate men tear at the burning canvas. But although his mouth was open, he could not breathe.
Then he was free. He staggered to his feet, straining, arms lifted to grasp at the sky itself, as if he were trying to climb the air. Jordan heard a deep clicking breath escape from inside himself. He caught a glimpse of men standing in a semicircle, expressions of horror or grim calculation on their faces. They wore military jackets and turbaned metal caps; one or two held muskets. Behind them was a green field crowded with tents.
He heard a deep voice say, “He is dead.”
He mouthed the words. Then he died.
*
Jordan struggled to awake. He reached blindly hoping to find the headboard of his bed; he felt cloth. That jolted his eyes open. Was he enshrouded in canvas? But no, it was a leaf-green cloak he pulled away from his face.
He arched his back with the effort to breathe. Rolling back, he blinked up at a ceiling of pale leaves, blue sky and white cloud beyond them. He heard himself gasping.
He tried to sit up, but it was as if someone very heavy were sitting on his chest; he struggled halfway up, and collapsed back, his arms out at his sides, hands up to grab the air. For a few seconds, he struggled to just breathe.
This wasn’t the nightmare of fire and death, but it was no better. He wanted to be in his bed, awaking to an ordinary day. The curtain wall wasn’t patched yet, and what was the work gang going to think if he didn’t turn up for work? He desperately longed to be there, digging at the mortar.
When his breathing settled down, he concentrated on raising his right arm. It moved like a leaden object, hand flopping. He brought it across his chest, and vainly tried to roll over. What was wrong with him? His body had never betrayed him like this before.
His head fell to the side. A meter away, a woman slept on her side, hands folded in front of her as though in prayer. Seeing her, Jordan knew what was wrong—or at least why. The witch had paralyzed him so he wouldn’t run away. She intended some evil for him, that was certain.
He moaned, and her eyelids twitched. Suddenly more afraid of being helpless with her awake, he held his breath. His vision began to grey after a few moments, and he started gasping again. She took no notice.
He was trapped, his choice either to be awake in a nightmare reality where his family was lost—or to be asleep and open his eyes in an inferno. He whimpered, and shut his eyes, and the very act of doing so propelled him into a dizzying spin that ended in unconsciousness.
*
Calandria awoke refreshed. She was on her side facing the boy, who was sprawled awkwardly as though he’d been fighting with her cloak. The sun was higher overhead and the morning was warming up nicely. She sat up, brushing leaves and bits of bark from her cheek, and smiled. The air was fresh and the sounds of the forest relaxing. Her job was going very well. Feeling lighthearted, she cleaned herself up, rolled the boy into a more comfortable position, and set about making a small fire. When that was going to her satisfaction, she rooted through her pouches, considering the rations situation. They would need more than the concentrated foods she had on her. Best reserve those for an emergency.
The Mason boy would be asleep for a while. Meantime, she would get them dinner.
First, she sat in full lotus, closed her eyes and scanned the vicinity. There were rabbits on the other side of the clearing. They were keeping an eye on her, and she would never be able to run them down. Luckily she wouldn’t need to.
Fluidly, she moved from the lotus position into a crouch. From her belt she drew the pieces of a compound bow. She put it together quietly, strung it and reaching in another pocket, drew out one of a number of coiled threads. These had an arrowhead on one end and feathers on the other, but were limp as a string. She unrolled the one she’d selected and gave it a whipping yank. Immediately it snapped straight and stiff.
Armed now, Calandria crept very slowly over the log next to Mason, under the canopy of a young pine, and into a nest of rushes by a stagnant puddle where midges hovered. She could see the dome of ferns under which the rabbits were eating. They were invisible to normal sight, but by closing her eyes and scanning she could pick them up easily.
Eyes closed, she straightened slowly and drew the bow. A moment to aim, battling the urge to open her eyes, and then she let fly. A thin squeal sounded from across the clearing.
She walked over the uneven ground and flipped back the canopy of ferns. Her rabbit lay twitching, well impaled. She smiled, and broke down the bow while she waited for it to stop kicking.
“Transmission,” said a voice in her head.
Calandria smiled. “Go ahead, Axel.”
“Got her. She was hiding near a brook a few hundred meters inside the forest. Seems to have been one of those old kids’ forts. Scan picked her up just in time—there’s a morph hanging around here, and it had located her too. Now that I have her, what do I do?”
“Hire her.”
“What?”
“Axel, she’s compromised where she is. She may be in a position to embarrass Castor or Turcaret, which makes her vulnerable. She’ll get no help from her family. Best to make her independent of them for a while. Designate her Ravenon’s postmistress for this area. She can handle dispatches between the Ravenon couriers. She’s of age, and we see women handling positions like that all the time. It’s a good chance for her, because it’s a light job and won’t last more than a year or two. Once the war’s over, she’ll be able to move right back into her community, because she’ll have been there all along. Meanwhile, she’s independent of her family, and Castor won’t touch her because she’s one of ours.”
“Yeah. I see it. So you want I should brazenly walk into Castor’s place and install her?”
“Why not? See if there’s a house you can buy for her. And send a dispatch to Ravenon to open up a route here.”
“They might not do that.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s appearances that count right now. We’ve got the cash, and the seals of authority, we might as well use them.” She watched the rabbit kick one last time and go still. She reached down and picked it up by the arrow through its belly.
“Sounds pretty complicated, Cal.”
She smiled. “Just curb your tongue and your appetites, Axel, and pretend you really do work for Ravenon. The indignant knight, discovering a cowering maiden in the dawn light. Make yourself legendary. Isn’t that why you came on this expedition?”
He hmmphed. “You make it sound like a bad thing.” She laughed. “What about your kid?” he added.
“Asleep. I’ll see what I can get out of him today. Maybe knowing his sister’s safe will make him more reasonable.”
“Reasonable—” Axel bit back on whatever he was going to say. “Treat him gently, Cal.” He broke the connection.
She dropped the rabbit by Jordan’s feet and sat down on the log to contemplate him. He looked strong enough. Whatever did Axel mean?
Gently. She frowned down at the smooth skin of her hand, matched it against the mossy bark of the log. She was as gentle as water, she knew. It was only that today, and with regard to this youth, she was as purposeful as a river in flood.
She went to work skinning the rabbit.
*
Jordan awoke to the smell of cooking. The lady had prepared a stout meal for him. He avoided her eyes as he ate. She watched him expressionlessly for a while, then said, “You sister is safe.”
He sat up, eyeing her suspiciously. “Tell me.”
She explained that she had gone to a nearby road and intercepted a courier she knew was scheduled to pass. She’d told him of the girl’s plight, and he went in search of her. Later, he’d sent another runner back with news she’d been found.
“How could all that happen in just a few hours?” he wondered sullenly.
“You needn’t believe me. Axel said he found her in some kind of kid’s fort, a hundred or so meters in the forest. Does that sound familiar?”
Jordan looked down. It did. He hadn’t thought of the place in his own rush; the other kids had used it more than he, because of his fear of the forest. Emmy probably had more memories of it than he.
That meant he’d passed her almost immediately last night.
He ate silently for a while, his mind paralyzed in a catalog of “if-only’s”. Finally he said, “I want to see her.”
“When we’ve finished with our job,” she said.
“What job?” He felt a faint spark of hope; she hadn’t suggested before that she was going to let him go at all.
“You have to help me find the man I’m after,” she said. “Armiger. Do you know him?”
“No. Why would I?”
“He knows you.” She leaned forward, squinting a bit as she appeared to examine him over the small campfire. “He visited you years ago, and left something of his behind. In there.” She pointed at his forehead.
Jordan reared back, eyes wide. Was there some kind of thing in his head? He pictured a worm in an apple, and touched his temple with suddenly trembling fingers.
This had to have some connection with the visions. Was that thing their source? But if it had been there for years, he would have had visions for years, wouldn’t he?
“You’re crazy,” Jordan said. “There’s nothing in my head but me. Plus the headache you gave me!” he added.
She scowled, but he’d seen her do that before, and she hadn’t beaten him then, so she probably wouldn’t now. She stood up, stretching her slim arms over her head. “We’ll figure this out later,” she said. “Put out the fire, will you? We have some walking to do.”
He sat obstinately for a few seconds, until she fell out of her stretch and snapped, “I can carry you if I have to. You’ll be safe, and you’ll see your sister again, but not until I’m done with you.”
Reluctantly, he moved to obey-for now.
*
Jordan crashed through the trees, his heart pounding. There was no way he could run quietly in this brush. It didn’t matter anyway; he knew she was right behind him.
The first time he’d tried to escape, he had slipped away while Lady May was engaged in her toilet behind a bush. She had caught up with him half a kilometer away. That time, she had simply stood in front of him, and frowned fiercely, her hands on her hips. He had tried to laugh it off, and followed her for a while. It was obvious she was faster than he was, though, and he no longer believed there would be a moment when he she slept while he did not.
So, when he spotted a stout but dead branch right in his way, Jordan had reached up with his free hand and snapped it off. May did not look around.
He had tried to transcend his exhaustion, summoning what strength he could behind the blow that he landed on the back of her head. She fell, and he was free.
His legs were like jelly from walking all night over uneven ground, and now, only minutes after he struck her, he was only able to stagger from tree to tree, following no path but only trying to get away.
Suddenly his legs went out from under him and he was face down in the leaves. “Huff!” Lady May squatted on his back, and twisted his right arm painfully behind him.
She spat some word in a language he didn’t recognize, then said “Nice try,” in her slow measured way. Her voice was full of menace.
“Let me go, you witch!” he shouted into the dirt. “Either kill me or let me up, because I’m not going with you! Let me find Emmy! You took me away from her!”
He heard her muttering angrily in that strange language. She said, “You damn near broke my head, boy.”
“Too bad I didn’t!” He tried to struggle, but she had him completely pinned.
She sighed. “Okay, I guess I had it coming.” Without loosing her hold, she left his back in a crouch and rolled him over. Her free hand rubbed the grit away from his face; his wrist was still pinned at an awkward angle. If he moved to much, he was sure it would break.
She let go of Jordan’s wrist. A trickle of blood down the center of her forehead lent her a fearsome aspect, as it seemed to point at her eyes, which were narrowed accusingly at Jordan.
“I have done you a great disservice, Jordan. I know that. But you must understand, it is a matter of life and death, for everyone we know, your family included. Your friends will call you a hero when we’re through. And I should only need you for a few days. Please trust me about your sister. Will you please wait a day or so, until I can give you proof that she is safe? All this running is doing neither of us any good.”
He thought about it. “I will wait for a day.”
She nodded wearily, rubbing her forehead, and winced. “Then get up. We only need to walk a little more today, I’m tired too. A rest will do us both good.”
*
Soon she was smiling in her enigmatic way, asking him to name the various trees and birds they passed, and letting him pause for breath when he wanted. Her anger was swift and volatile, and though he had hurt her, she fell out of anger quickly. He expected the unforgiving smolder he had always seen in his parents, and had feared because he’d always felt each bad thing he did diminished their love for him permanently; this woman had flashed into fury, dragged him back to her invisible path, and then forgot her anger. He hated her for what she had done to him, but she seemed incapable of hating him, and this confused him. He decided to be insulted by it.
The countryside they passed through was deeply forested by black oaks that trailed moss, muffling the birdsong. The forest floor was bathed in a secretive green twilight, broken by dust motes sparkling in infrequent shafts of sunlight. The air was warm, but held the expectant fullness of late summer, as if Life were resting. They were far from the habitations of men.
When darkness fell Lady May decided to camp again. Jordan was worn out, and grateful for the respite. She made a quick fire and roasted some more rabbit, and he ate his and fell asleep immediately. His mind had been going all day, running up against walls of fact and memory, and it was mental exhaustion more than physical that put him under.
The last thing he was aware of was Lady May watching him with something like sympathy in her eyes as she languidly fed the fire.
*
They slit open his belly and dumped out his organs. He did not protest. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling of the tent. Muttered voices all around; the sharp tang of incense; and outside, professional mourners wailed hypocritically.
The two men who were preparing his body were elderly, their long grey hair tied back with strands of hair from the corpses they’d worked on. They wore black velvet robes sewn with many pockets, and from these they produced a variety of vials filled with noisome chemicals. These they dripped on and into his body, and painted over his skin with brushes.
The ceiling was aplay with shadows of underworld spirits, from statues placed around the perimeter of the tent. The shadows elongated and bent, shortened and faded, as if the spirits were waging a war with some unseen enemy across the amber heaven of the canvas.
A metal handle clanked; the bucket containing his blood was taken out of the tent, to be burnt. One of the attendants bent over him, holding a mallet and a long spike with a T-shaped head. Placing the spike under his chin, the man hammered it up, nailing his tongue against his palate, piercing the palate and the nasal palate and imbedding the iron deep into his brain. The T held his slack jaw shut.
“Speak no more,” said the attendant, and putting down the hammer he nodded to someone at the door of the tent.
Six men entered, looking solemn. Some stared at him; some looked everywhere else. They lifted the pallet he lay on and he passed out from under the sky of canvas, to the sky of night.
Diadem, the only moon of Ventus, was up and glittering like a tear. The rest of the sky was clear and splashed with stars, rank on rank, gauze on gauze of finest points of white. The river of the galaxy ran across the zenith. The human mourners fell silent, leaving only cricket sounds that seemed to come from the stars themselves.
The night air lessened the smell of burnt meat that had pervaded the tent.
Torches to the left, right, ahead and behind. Spirals of grey moved up to dissolve among the stars. Murmuring voices and the sound of shuffling footsteps, as he was carried out across the plain toward a dark hill.
The hillside rose steeply, blocking the stars. The torches lit a deep cut in its side, where a bare rock face had been smoothed, maybe centuries ago. Deep letters were carved over a slotted doorway uncovered by a huge stone slab. The slab had been tilted to the side, and now leaned heavily on a scaffold made from catapult parts. Rough soldiers sat on the scaffold, passing bottles back and forth. They watched impassively as he passed under them.
Another sky drew overhead, this one of yellow stone. The ceiling was centimeters away. The deeply pitted sandstone was painted in abstract clouds of grey and black by the passage of many torches. The smoke from those burning now swirled up and around him, settling into a layer of trembling heat.
Around a corner, and now he was being carried down a steep flight of steps. His bearers spoke back and forth as they lowered him carefully. Ten meters down, then twenty, into a region of dead air and penetrating cold where squat pillared halls led away to either side. His bearers moved more quickly now, and the torchlight flickered off an uneven ceiling and dark niches in the walls where objects, long or round, were piled.
He was lowered to the floor in front of a black opening, and unceremoniously slid in. The ceiling here was just above his nose. Bricks thudded down just behind his head. What little light there was disappeared, and of sound, only that of stones being mortared into position. After a few minutes, even that ceased.
There had been no name carved above the niche. So, after a while, he raised one hand, slid it across his opened chest, knuckles scraping the stone, and felt behind his head. There, in a band of moist mortar, he wrote the letters:
ARMIGER.
*
Jordan sat up screaming. Calandria was at his side instantly, holding his shoulders while he shuddered.
“What is it? A dream?”
“Him, him again—I saw him—” He seemed not to know where he was.
“Saw who?”
“Armiger!”
Calandria lowered him back onto his bedroll, and when he closed his eyes and drifted off again, she smiled.