She held up both her great, heavy maces. “I’ve broken more bones with these than I’d care to count. And I got past their shields at least four times. Hit them squarely each time. Each time.”

  “Fell magic,” Ser Deirdre said. “Made them invulnerable, so only more magic could hurt them. Either spells or enchanted weapons.”

  “Never heard of that before,” Ser Beornric said.

  “Can’t be cast on living beings,” Aefric said. “The magic doesn’t stick. But the undead, or those stone men we faced in the Dragonscar. They’re functionally enchanted items themselves. And they can take magics that we can’t.”

  Aefric had only seen that kind of invulnerability once himself, when he was hunting down that undead wizard Nevca. But as Keifer, he’d known the spells well from several sourcebooks over the years. Even knew the creatures most likely to have them.

  But that conversation would be counterproductive.

  “Anything else down there besides cells?”

  “One large room,” Ser Yrsa said with a frown. “Would your grace care to guess its use?”

  “Torture chamber?” Aefric asked, hoping he was wrong.

  “Very well used torture chamber,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “Lovely,” Aefric said with a grimace. “All right. I think we can leave the hall of meeting rooms alone for now. Let’s see about the offices.”

  They went back through the great hall, and then passed the double-doors on the right-hand side.

  Aefric checked each locked door for traps before allowing Ser Beornric to try his keys.

  Each locked door opened to a key.

  A historian’s office. A couple of offices for records of various types. No magic to speak of. Not until they got to the office Ser Vria had mentioned earlier.

  The office where the castle accounts were kept. The office that had both a trapdoor tunnel escape route, and a secret door in the corner behind the desk.

  The furnishings in here were marvelous. Or would have been, without all the dust. Ornately carved calinwood for the desk, chairs and filing cabinets. A beautiful seascape on one wall, and a sedate painting of river traffic on another. The plaster of the walls and ceiling had even been painted a gentle, spring green.

  This room had a dormant light spell, easily triggered. Aefric left it unlit at the moment, as ample still light came from Ser Beornric’s sword and Ser Yrsa’s mace.

  “Desk has a calendar,” Ser Yrsa said, flipping through a book. “Dates involving war preparations from last spring.”

  “Good,” Aefric said, checking out the trapdoor that Ser Vria was showing him. Once the carpet of stale rushes was moved aside, it wasn’t hard to spot. It was white stone like the rest of the floor, but the grooves were visible enough, as was the handle.

  Ser Vria opened it. Sure enough, the shaft looked to taper down and away in the same direction as the one in the great hall.

  “All right,” Aefric said, closing it. “Now, where’s this secret door?”

  “Here,” Ser Deirdre said, indicating the wall behind a pair of filing cabinets. She reached behind the left-hand cabinet, flipped something.

  Nothing happened.

  “Unless I’m mistaken,” she said, “that should have opened the secret door.”

  “That’s what I told you,” Ser Vria said, “when we asked you to check for magic.”

  “Yes,” Ser Deirdre agreed. “But I was mentioning it because I sensed—”

  “Magic on the other side of the wall,” Aefric said, finishing the sentence for her. Now that he had his attention that direction, it seemed clear as day.

  And yet, he hadn’t noticed until right now.

  “Subtle work,” Aefric said.

  “Yes,” Ser Deirdre said with a nod. “And I think some of it is being used to keep this door closed.”

  “Well, let’s see about that then,” Aefric said.

  First things first. He brought up the Brightstaff and checked first that it was a real door, not a false door — it was real — and then for traps.

  It was trapped. That was part of the magic holding it closed. If the door were opened the wrong way, a blast of ice would freeze everyone in the room.

  But only the living. Interesting. That would protect their records.

  Ice magic, eh?

  Aefric smiled. He set the Brightstaff to stand beside him, and drew the wand Garram from its scabbard on his belt.

  The wand Garram. A gift from King Colm Stronghand himself, the wand was noted for its power over the magics of ice and fire.

  Aefric kept the wand at the ready, and shifted his attention outside his body, through the flows of Qorunn’s magic, and into the spell-trap on the door.

  First things first. The trap wasn’t what kept the door closed. That was a simple spell lock. The magic-user who’d cast it didn’t even try to make the spell lock difficult to open. Likely, hoping that anyone who did would trigger the trap.

  The trap was cast by the same magic-user who’d put the trap on the castle’s front doors. The same one who’d cast those light spells in the museum rooms.

  Sadly, that magic-user seemed to fall into patterns. Which meant that this one would be removed the same…

  No…

  Oh, that was devious.

  This trap looked at first as though it had the same flaw as the one on the castle’s front doors. That all that would be required to disarm it was a pulse of power just behind the moving keyword.

  But that would trip the trap.

  The structure had a kind of stickiness to it. Not enough to grab and hold Aefric as he investigated it. That couldn’t be done without a good deal more power.

  But if any magic touched the spell in the wrong way, it would seize a sample and trigger the trap.

  It was the same quality that would trigger the trap if Aefric tried to simply open the spell lock.

  So how could he disarm this trap?

  The keyword?

  That sounded plausible, but Aefric didn’t trust it.

  He studied that moving keyword for a time.

  Good thing he did.

  The keyword kept changing.

  Just a hair. Just a little at a time.

  The keyword looked at first like gullinvatn. But as Aefric watched, the “u” sound shortened and shortened until it became gollinvatn. But then it began lengthening back to a “u” sound, while the “i” sound shortened to an “e” sound so that it became gollinvatn, then gullinvatn, then gullenvatn.

  Changes that seemed to imply that the keyword would shift, and that whoever wanted to open the door had to track the exact pronunciation and get it right.

  That was a trick for magic-users who’d grown too reliant on their magic. The sort who would forget that keyword wards were meant to be used by people who couldn’t study the wards to get the current pronunciation.

  There was no true keyword here at all.

  Which suggested that this trap was never meant to be disarmed.

  It was a parting shot at the invaders of Kivash. Must’ve been cast last thing by whatever court wizard the Hrafntonn family kept, before they left.

  All right then. No point in trying to disarm it at all.

  “Everyone out,” Aefric said.

  Sers Yrsa and Beornric looked up from where they were going over that calendar book. Sers Vria and Deirdre frowned from where they’d been discussing something, over by the cabinets. Sers Micham, Leppina and Wardius looked up from their own conversation.

  “Will I have to repeat myself?” Aefric asked.

  His Knights of the Lake immediately began filing out. Ser Deirdre frowned as though she wanted to argue, but saw the look in Aefric’s eye, nodded abruptly, and left.

  Sers Yrsa and Beornric hesitated.

  “Your grace,” Ser Beornric began in reasonable tones, “whatever it is you intend, I’m not sure—”

  “I’m sure,” Aefric said. “You have asked that I trust my experts. Well, the only one more expert than I am in matters of magic is Karbin, and he’s not here. So trust me, and wait in the hall.”

  Ser Yrsa opened her mouth to object, but Ser Beornric shook his head and whispered something to her. She gave him a glare, but snorted, picked up the desk calendar, and the two of them left the room.

  That left the room dark, so Aefric lit up the yellow diamond atop the Brightstaff, standing beside him.

  “All right,” Aefric said, more to encourage himself than anything else. He hadn’t done anything this dangerous…

  Well, not in the last aett or two, at least. Maybe not since Frozen Ridge.

  He held up the wand Garram like a shield.

  He blew a pulse of power at the trap.

  The spell-trap roared, spitting an avalanche of ice at him.

  Aefric, roaring defiance, countered the ice with fire from his wand. Forming a shield before him. As powerful as he could make it, and as fast as he could conjure it.

  Ice and fire clashed. Steam hissed loud as a dragon.

  Shunting this much power locked up every muscle in Aefric’s body. But he kept going.

  So much ice came out of that trap. So very fast.

  A relentless assault. Pressing his will to the breaking point.

  He held that shield with everything he had.

  Aefric’s entire existence focused down to holding that shield. Conjuring fire, fast as he could.

  Nothing else mattered. Only the shield between himself and icy death…

  Finally, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  Aefric jumped. Lost his footing. Fell hard on the stone floor. His shield vanished in a puff of smoke.

  His knights stood over him, looking down in amazement.

  Aefric just lay there. Exhausted. Drained. Soaked in sweat. Panting. Trying to get his heartbeat to slow enough that he could tell one beat from the next.

  “Not even a drop of water on the floor,” Ser Deirdre said, her jade green eyes full of wonder.

  Aefric sat on the surprisingly comfortable calinwood chair in that fancy little office. His knights brought him rye bread that wasn’t quite stale, fresh water from a pump in the kitchen, along with a fresh-ish green apple.

  For the first time since his trek into the Dragonscar a few aetts back, Aefric found he could actually eat an apple without cringing.

  He’d eaten so many apples on that trip.

  While he rested and gathered himself, his knights also checked on Sers Temat and Arras, reporting that they were still resting peacefully.

  By the time Aefric finished explaining what he’d done, he was pretty sure Ser Yrsa wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him. Or maybe just slap him.

  She did neither, though her major scar was purpling with anger. And her red eye looked darker.

  She closed her eyes. Forced down a deep breath.

  Ser Beornric started to say something, but Ser Yrsa stilled him with a raised hand.

  She needed one more steadying breath before she opened her eyes and spoke.

  “Your grace,” she said in a remarkably calm-sounding voice that Aefric didn’t buy for a moment, “is telling me that he put his life in jeopardy when there was no need to.”

  “There was a need to. None of the rest of you could’ve done what I did.”

  “I sure couldn’t,” Ser Deirdre said, still looking at Aefric with amazement in her eyes. “I don’t think Karbin could’ve either. Hells, I’m not sure the great Kainemorton could’ve done that.”

  “Kainemorton would’ve found another way,” Aefric said.

  “And perhaps,” Ser Yrsa said, her voice still both careful and dangerous, “your grace could’ve found another way?”

  “I’m no Kainemorton,” Aefric said with a shrug. “And I don’t think there was another way.”

  Ser Yrsa handed Ser Beornric both her maces, and the dagger at her belt. He had to sheathe his sword to take the weapons.

  She flexed her hands a couple of times, as though she wanted to wring Aefric’s neck.

  “Your grace,” she said, still in that same tone, “I have a question. Was that trap on the door or on the whole of the chamber on the other side?”

  “The door,” Aefric said. “But there are no other doors leading in there. I checked.”

  Ser Yrsa’s mouth opened as though shouting should’ve followed, but she clamped it shut hard enough that Aefric heard her teeth clack together.

  She flexed her hands another couple of times. Flared her nostrils in another breath.

  “Your grace,” she said slowly, “does remember that he has masons in his employ?”

  Aefric blinked. Comprehension seeped into his tired brain.

  “You mean—” he started, but Ser Yrsa finished.

  “I mean that we could have brought in stonemasons to cut your grace a new door without risking his life!”

  “You’re right,” Aefric said, frowning.

  “I— excuse me, your grace?”

  “I said, ‘you’re right,’” Aefric said. “I want to investigate this whole castle as soon as we can, but there’s no real time pressure.”

  Ser Yrsa narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

  “I’m not used to being someone who can casually bring in stonemasons for a problem like this,” Aefric said. “I saw that trap and approached it like an adventurer, not a duke.”

  Aefric shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ser Yrsa. In fact, I’d like to offer all of you my apologies. I got caught up in the moment. I could blame the skeletons, or the sheer skill with which the trap had been designed, but that’s no excuse.”

  He sighed. “I shouldn’t have risked myself that way. Even though I was sure I could handle it, I could’ve been wrong.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” Ser Yrsa said, taking her weapons back from Ser Beornric and fixing her dagger and her unlit mace back on her belt.

  Ser Beornric drew his sword again, to add more light from one of Aefric’s spells to the room.

  Huh. The Brightstaff, still standing beside where Aefric had warred with the trap, had lost the light from its diamond. When had that happened?

  “Oh,” Ser Yrsa said, drawing back Aefric’s attention. “I trust your grace will understand—”

  “If you ask anytime you think I might be doing something that puts me at risk,” Aefric said, dragging his tired body to his feet and calling the Brightstaff to his hand. “And yes, I’ll understand. For a while, at least.”

  “Thank you, your grace.”

  “Now,” Aefric said. “Let’s see what all the fuss was about, before we see about dinner.”

  Aefric undid the simple spell lock with a gesture, then started to move toward the cabinets.

  Ser Yrsa cleared her throat.

  Reluctantly, Aefric nodded.

  Ser Vria tripped the catch.

  The whole section of wall behind the two file big cabinets came swinging soundlessly open.

  The room on the other side was lit by magic.

  Ser Yrsa started to step forward.

  “Wait,” Aefric said. “Safer to have me check one more time for traps first.”

  Ser Yrsa nodded and stood aside.

  Aefric cast his spell, and gazed into the room through the diamond. And it was a tribute to either his discipline or his exhaustion that he looked only to see if he spotted the telltale red glow of a trap.

  He did not.

  “Go ahead,” he said with a sigh, and stepped back.

  “Treasury,” Ser Yrsa said, sounding more matter-of-fact than anything else. “Chests full of … gold … silver … copper … even some platinum.”

  Several of the knights whistled. Platinum coins were rare, and more valuable than gold. Five, even ten times as valuable, in some places.

  “Stacks of bars, too, like the jewel smiths use. And chests of gemstones.” She poked her head back out. “The only threat in here is bad organization. Would your grace care to have a look?”

  There was a time when Aefric would have run into that room. This sounded like the kind of horde an adventurer saw no more than once or twice in a lifetime.

  But the truth was, Aefric was richer now than he’d ever expected to be. Rich enough that a little more treasure simply couldn’t excite him the way it used to.

  Nevertheless, he felt his tired heart pound a little faster as he stepped into the room. It was an impressive sight.

  Open chests so full of coins and gemstones that they spilled over onto the floor. Stacks of gold and silver bars as tall as Aefric.

  A bookshelf along one wall, with six large, heavy tomes…

  Aefric called one to him with a gesture. Flipped through it. Aefric chuckled as he realized it was a ledger.

  There were ledgers in the office he’d just stepped in here from, but he suspected that these ledgers were more accurate.

  “Looks as though someone was cheating his taxes,” Aefric said with a smirk, and sent the book winging back to its place on the shelf.

  “Might be worth keeping up the same system,” Ser Yrsa said softly. “This castle’s in Merrek, after all, and I doubt your grace wants to pay Duchess Ashling more taxes than he must.”

  “I won’t be paying her a copper,” Aefric said. “She didn’t just give me the castle, she gave me the land beneath it. The paperwork was quite clear. For all intents and purposes, we’re in Deepwater right now.”

  Ser Yrsa whistled appreciatively. “She does want to curry favor with you.”

  “Or show her appreciation for last spring,” Aefric said. “Deirdre? Would you come in here?”

  “You want me, your grace?” Ser Deirdre asked, stepping up with a smile.

  “Fighting that trap wore me out enough that I don’t trust myself not to miss anything. Would you mind checking for magic?”

  “Of course, your grace,” she said, and began looking about.

  “The light spell,” she said, a moment later. “And a scry ward. That’s everything.”

  “Good. I didn’t miss anything then. Thank you.” Aefric turned to Ser Yrsa. “All right. Let’s close it up. I’ll spell lock the treasury and its office, and then we can see about some dinner.”

  4

  Aefric and his knights had only just reentered the great hall when one of his soldiers came in through the double-doors.