All of them were clear and yellow.

  Had there been a trap on one or both of those doors, or the frame itself, of the ground in front of them, at least one of those images would have glowed red around the trapped area. The more of the images that glowed red, the more dangerous it was.

  The images were entirely yellow.

  “Clear,” Aefric said, lowering the Brightstaff again.

  “What’s that you’re humming, your grace?” Ser Yrsa asked.

  Humming?

  Oh.

  Aefric started laughing.

  He hadn’t cast that spell since before that moment this past spring at Kainemorton’s tower when he, as Aefric, became aware that he had also been Keifer, and gotten all those memories available to him consciously once more.

  The tune Aefric found himself humming while casting that trap-detection spell had been from a children’s show Keifer used to watch on Earth, when he was young. At one point each episode, the hostess who would pretend to look through a faceted magic lens and see some of the children who were watching the show. She would call out the first names of children she claimed to see.

  And while she did that, a tune played. The tune that Aefric hummed, every time he cast his trap-detecting spell through the Brightstaff.

  “It’s nothing,” Aefric said, still smiling. “Just a song I heard a child. Not sure why it came to mind now.”

  “But the doors are safe?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “They’re safe,” Aefric confirmed with a nod.

  Ser Beornric unlocked the doors and pushed them open.

  The creak of those doors was like a homecoming to the adventurer in Aefric. And so was the dusty darkness they revealed.

  “Should’ve brought torches,” Ser Yrsa muttered.

  Aefric gave her a droll look.

  “Forgive me, but Brightstaff or no, your grace is not leading the way in.”

  Aefric continued giving Ser Yrsa that droll look as he crouched and picked up a pebble from the ground. He wrapped it in a spell of light, and tossed it past the doors and into the castle.

  “All right,” Ser Yrsa said with a nod, “I hadn’t considered that.”

  Aefric chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder.

  The pebble now lit up a dusty antechamber, perhaps five good strides long and seven across. Here the white stone floor was dirty.

  Another set of double-doors, the same size and look as those Ser Beornric had just opened, stood waiting on the other side of the antechamber. The rest, Aefric couldn’t see from where he stood.

  “Vria, Temat,” Ser Beornric said.

  Swords drawn, the two knights cautiously stepped in.

  “Single doors on each side,” Ser Vria said. “Should we try them?”

  “Let me check them first,” Aefric said. “Just to be safe. Once we get past these, unless I tell you otherwise, any unlocked door should be fine.”

  Aefric stepped into the antechamber and verified that no traps, magical or otherwise, barred those interior doors.

  Ser Yrsa gently cleared her throat.

  “Fine,” Aefric said, stepping back out into the early afternoon heat.

  “Small cabinet, right-hand side,” Ser Temat said. “Tapers, flint, lamp oil, and some other things that servants might need in a pinch.”

  “Door on the left is a cloak closet,” Ser Vria said. “Lots of cloaks. Some boots. Couple of hats and canes. Fancy stuff. Malimfari style.”

  “Door on the right opens into a hallway,” Ser Temat said. “Looks to go about thirty feet down to a door and a left turn.”

  “And the double-doors?” Ser Beornric asked.

  Aefric heard those doors creak open. If anything, their complaint was louder than that of the main castle doors.

  “Great hall,” Ser Vria said.

  Ser Temat tossed the lit pebble into the hall.

  “High ceiling,” Ser Vria said. “Six chandeliers. Red carpet running to a pair of thrones on a dais at the end. Tapestries on the side walls. Can’t tell what they are yet. Chairs and benches along the sides too.”

  Aefric looked at Sers Yrsa and Beornric.

  They looked at each other.

  Ser Beornric nodded.

  Ser Yrsa sighed and said, “Very well, your grace.”

  Aefric stepped into his new castle.

  As soon as Aefric entered the great hall of his new castle, he issued a word of warning for his knights to guard their eyes.

  He lit up the diamond atop the Brightstaff.

  The little light he’d put on the pebble was nice. Helpful. But this was more like daylight within the hall, and gave him a real view of his surroundings.

  He realized immediately that living at Behal and Water’s End was spoiling him.

  Back when Aefric was an adventurer, he would have considered this great hall clean. It hardly had enough dust to taste on the air. And not enough to make him sneeze, even if all of his knights ran around the room kicking up all they could.

  And they certainly had room to do so. The hall was a good hundred feet long, and about half as wide and tall. Most of it open space right now.

  Still, compared to what he was used to in the old days, this dust was nothing. He’d been through old ruins and tunnels and more where the dust had been thick enough to swallow the soles of his boots. Where it fell in strands and webs from the ceiling in mimicry of the work of spiders.

  And once he and his party began moving through such places, it would be as though a fog had set in. He’d have to wrap a wet scarf around his face, just to breathe clean air.

  And yet, as Aefric looked around at the the great hall, the finely carved chairs and benches along the walls, the run of red carpeting down the center of the white stone floor, even the two wooden thrones on the dais, he found himself sneering a bit at how filthy it had gotten over the past season.

  He wanted to summon his wizard’s valet, an invisible motive force that could perform a wide variety of basic tasks, such as cleaning.

  That spell even had an advantage over the simple cleansing spells Aefric had developed during his apprenticeship. The wizard’s valet could follow him through the castle, cleaning in his wake.

  He knew that Ser Beornric would ask him not to cast that spell. Would ask that Aefric let the mess remain until the newly hired servants arrived to begin tending the place.

  Wouldn’t do for them not to have a mess to clean, on arrival. Might make them feel unnecessary.

  So Aefric turned his attention to the décor.

  The walls and ceiling were plastered and painted a dark, smoky gray.

  The tapestries were typical fare. Scenes of battles on land and sea intended to convince the viewer that the castle’s previous owners were famous for their martial skills.

  The heroes depicted in those tapestries, men and women both, shared common family traits. Raven black hair and eyes, pale skin, sharp noses.

  The artist was a little too … enthusiastic with his or her portrayal of spilled blood for Aefric’s taste. The tapestries in here would all have to go.

  Six wheel-style iron chandeliers hung by chains from the ceiling, all of which looked as though their candles had been changed not long before the castle was abandoned.

  Aefric sent the light from his Brightstaff to the chandeliers, evening the bright glow throughout the room, and allowing his knight-advisers to look at him without squinting.

  “Six exits, your grace,” Ser Beornric said. “Four regular doors, two double-doors, split evenly along the long walls.”

  “Does that including any exits behind tapestries?”

  Ser Beornric’s hesitation told him that no one had checked for that. But then, his knights might have had plenty of experience with battles and politics, but this kind of exploring, that was new to them.

  “Check the tapestries,” Ser Beornric said, and Aefric fought down a smile.

  “I want to see these thrones first anyway,” Aefric said, continuing down the red carpet.

  Speaking of tapestries, a large one hung on the wall behind the thrones. Nearly as wide as the dais itself, and just as tall. Golden background, depicting a waraxe in dark red, dripping three drops of blood.

  Lovely. If this was the family sigil, then Kivash was likely well rid of them. And did they have to make the sigil so large? That axe was twice Aefric’s height. Easily. Maybe three times.

  Compensation for a noble family fallen on hard times, after the Godswalk Wars?

  The thrones themselves were relatively simple in design. Some dark hardwood. Good, thick arms and legs. Low, padded backs upholstered in black leather, as were the seats.

  Something glinted in places though.

  As Aefric walked closer, he could sense old magic. Nothing active. Just the remains of some old spells.

  Likely spells that had been cast often, over a stretch of time.

  Spells cast on the … left-hand throne, from Aefric’s view.

  The glinting came from rubies in gold settings, at the end of each arm of each throne, and arrayed across the top of the backs of both thrones.

  Decent sized rubies, too. Each of them about as wide as the nail on Aefric’s small finger.

  There.

  The ruby at the end of one arm on the left-hand throne. The ruby that would be under the occupant’s right hand.

  Aefric could feel traces of magic from that ruby, left by many, many castings…

  “No luck,” Ser Deirdre called, swaggering into the great hall, flanked by Sers Micham and Wardius. “I tried every pronunciation I could for the keyword, and even tried adding a breath of power. Whatever password it wants, raudrtonn isn’t it.”

  Aefric looked up, only half-aware she’d spoken, and not quite comprehending her words yet. His focus was too much in the old magic for that. But he nodded, knowing those words would make sense in a moment, and turned his full focus back on those traces of spellwork.

  The spells would sweep out in a cone in front of the ruby, angled slightly to Aefric’s right. Covering the area … yes, the area in front of both thrones for about … six or seven paces.

  It was sensory magic. Magic intended to detect…

  Something … something about thoughts?

  No. Not thoughts. Lies.

  Spells of lie detection?

  Aefric whistled, without thinking.

  If he was right, whoever cast those spells was attempting a very difficult task.

  Part of the reason that the justiciars of Taesark were both revered and feared was their ability to ferret out truth, even from those who had heard only lies.

  Trying to sense truth from falsehood by spell alone was a tricky prospect. What if a person believed a lie while speaking it?

  Aefric had known several men and women through the years — skalds, mostly, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Duke Wylyn shared this trait — who could convince themselves that a lie was true. For a period of time, at least.

  Would the spell see through that? Would it detect falsehoods themselves, or instead seek out attempts at deception?

  Because sometimes people told the truth in deceiving ways…

  “Your grace?” Ser Beornric asked, stepping in close. “Are you all right?”

  “Excuse me,” Aefric said, coming back to himself and awareness of the room again.

  Huh. Significantly cooler in here than outside. Was that just because the doors had been closed so long that the stone acted as insulation? Or was there another factor?

  Aefric shook himself. Once he started speculating, it was all too easy to just keep going.

  And he understood now what Ser Deirdre had been saying about the password on that hidden door at the back of the castle.

  “I’m fine,” Aefric said, giving Ser Beornric a smile to ease the worry in those brown eyes. “Just investigating traces of old spells. Someone was trying to use magic to detect lies.”

  “Good luck to them,” Ser Deirdre said. “Your grace knows how hard that is.”

  Aefric nodded.

  “Here,” Ser Vria said, from behind the great sigil tapestry at the back of the dais. “A door. Not concealed like the one by the gardens. Just hidden by the tapestry. Not locked.”

  “Where next, your grace?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “Wait,” Ser Yrsa said. “Your grace said that any unlocked door should be safe enough, yes?”

  Aefric nodded.

  “Then in the interests of time, may I suggest we split up? Teams of two knights. First the left-hand doors, then the right hand.”

  “And you expect me to remain here?”

  “I’m not so big a fool as that, your grace,” Ser Yrsa said with a grin. “I would suggest that your grace would proceed through the door behind the tapestry, accompanied by myself, Ser Beornric, and, I imagine, Ser Deirdre.”

  “I would be most pleased to do some exploring with his grace,” Ser Deirdre said, which got snorts of amusement from a few of the other knights.

  Interesting that his knights felt free enough for such laughter here. So different from at Water’s End, where politics often required them to hide their thoughts behind stoic masks.

  Here, they were acting as though they were out on campaign. Eyes and posture constantly alert for danger, but quick to share a laugh.

  Of course, given the political climate in Kivash, that might not be far wrong. Certainly Ser Beornric didn’t censure them for it.

  “I always appreciate your sword by my side, Ser Deirdre,” Aefric said — specifically ignoring any other meaning to her phrasing — “but if we’re going to split the group, I’ll need you to act as a rover. First to pass down each hallway, and the last to check each room. Ser Vria may notice magic along the way, but you will notice it. And I need you doing that.”

  “Of course, your grace,” Ser Deirdre said, sounding serious for a change.

  “Ser Arras and I will accompany his grace, I presume,” Ser Leppina said to Ser Beornric. “We were tasked to active bodyguard duty from dawn to dusk.”

  “And if we leave the castle today, you’ll return to that,” Ser Beornric said. “For now, I think Yrsa and I should be able to guard his grace through an unoccupied castle.”

  “Besides,” Ser Yrsa added. “I suspect that if we try to surround his grace with too many knights, he’ll feel a bit constrained.”

  That got a few more chuckles from his knights, and this time Aefric joined in.

  “One thing,” he then said, forcing everyone to be serious again. “With the possible exception of Ser Deirdre, you’re all new to this kind of thing. I’m not. So let me give you some advice.”

  He looked at each of his knights in turn, to make sure they were all paying attention.

  “Don’t give anything just a glance,” he said. “Tap walls and floors with the pommel of your sword, or at least your dagger. Search desks. Search cabinets and any other furniture you run across. And check behind and underneath them, behind tapestries and paintings, under rugs. Everywhere you can think of.

  “Assume that every room hold secrets, and your job is to find those secrets. We know this castle has at least one truly hidden door, and so far, one concealed door. Those will not be the only doors not easily found. So look sharp.”

  “Aren’t hidden and concealed the same thing?” Ser Wardius asked.

  “Not quite,” Aefric said. “At least, not to an adventurer. Hidden, or secret — you can use either — applies to a door designed not to look like a door. Like the one we found near the gardens. Or maybe a bookshelf that moves if you pull the right book, revealing a hallway behind it.”

  Aefric pointed to the tapestry behind the thrones.

  “Back there is what we call a concealed door. It’s just a door someplace people might not think to look for a door. Understood?”

  His knights all slapped the hilts of their weapons in accord.

  And with that they split up and began their search.

  Aefric had to fight down a flutter in his stomach. Splitting up while exploring was one of the original don’ts of adventuring.

  But this wasn’t that kind of exploring. The castle should be safe enough.

  Shouldn’t it?

  Aefric had been intending to give magical lights to each set of knights before they went off to explore the first floor of the castle, but Ser Yrsa pointed out that there were oil lamps in the halls, and plenty of tapers in that cabinet in the antechamber.

  Aefric did light the tapers by magic, but it was still disappointing. Made what they were doing feel less like one of his old adventures.

  Then again, maybe that was a good thing. The party was splitting up, and they certainly weren’t expecting to find monsters, curses, tomb guardians or anything along those lines.

  He did light the Brightstaff’s diamond before he and Sers Beornric and Yrsa opened the door behind the huge tapestry at the back of the great hall’s dais.

  Both knights had their weapons in hand, though Ser Yrsa drew only one mace drawn for the moment. She was the one who threw open the door, while Ser Beornric held back the tapestry.

  The door opened into a short, white stone hallway. A little tight, but not too bad. Not like some of the half-size halls Aefric had seen behind concealed and hidden doors in the old days.

  “There are lamps,” Ser Yrsa pointed out, sitting in alcoves along the walls just inside the door.

  “We have light already,” Aefric said. “Why waste fuel?”

  “Because your grace will be following us,” Ser Yrsa said patiently. “And we may want some light at the front.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Aefric said. “If I had a copper for every time some warrior complained about light—”

  “You could buy your own castle?” Ser Yrsa said dryly.

  Aefric had to laugh at that. “Point taken.”

  He wrapped Ser Beornric’s sword in light, the way he’d wrapped the pebble earlier.

  “Happy?” Aefric asked.

  Ser Yrsa looked at the ridged ball at the end of her heavy mace.

  The unlit ridged ball.

  “Fine,” Aefric said, and lit her mace up as well.

  “Thank you, your grace,” Ser Yrsa said with a small bow.

  “Can we begin now?” Aefric asked, dimming the light of his Brightstaff down to a similar level as the sword and mace.