“Is Gerat done with you?” Kedryn asked.

  Tepshen shook his head: “Not yet. A day or two more, she says.”

  “You appear . . . ,” Kedryn studied Brannoc, “changed.”

  The half-breed grinned, his natural good humor returning, though there remained in his dark eyes a faraway look. “I believe I am,” he said. “It was an . . . interesting . . . experience.”

  He offered no further explanation and Kedryn turned to Tepshen, who shrugged slightly and said, “I recall nothing of it. Gerat lit scented candles and we sat in near-darkness. She sang and it was as though her voice mesmerized me. It felt like sleep.”

  Brannoc nodded and stretched his arms wide. “I feel stronger,” he murmured. “As though some power awakens in me.” He turned slowly around, studying the yard. “It is as though I see more clearly. I feel . . . confident. Is that what your talisman gives you?”

  “Certainty? Aye,” Kedryn nodded, “a sense of surety, a strength of purpose.”

  “It is a fine feeling,” Brannoc said. “It banishes doubt.”

  “But it does not banish hunger,” remarked Tepshen.

  “No,” agreed the half-breed, no less solemnly.

  They quit the yard in search of food.

  In three more days Gerat’s ministrations had healed Kedryn’s ribs. The bruising disappeared and he was limber as ever, racked now with impatience. The Paramount Sister declared Tepshen and Brannoc readied, protected to the best of her ability, and they determined to leave Gennyf on the morrow. Kedryn prepared messages for Andurel, an official account of his intentions and more personal letters for his parents; Gerat added her own documents and the package was entrusted to Galen. The riverman was still confined to his bed, saddened at the departure of his friends, but hearty in his blessings on their venture. Gerat declared her intention of following them north to High Fort, accompanied by Ashrivelle, and blessed them in the name of the Lady.

  “May she stand beside you and ward you from evil,” she intoned. “May she strengthen you in your purpose and guide you back safe.”

  “Amen,” Kedryn said firmly, echoed by his two companions.

  They turned to the waiting horses, anxious to be gone.

  Then Ashrivelle came forward, laying a nervous hand on Kedryn’s arm, worry in her blue eyes as she gazed at him. He had seen little of her since that morning she had surprised him, and her manner then had confused him, as if there were things she wished to say but dared not utter, and so he had avoided her as much as possible, wary of unwanted complications.

  Now she stared at him with a mixture of fear and that adoring look he had seen in Andurel and said, “May the Lady protect you, Kedryn. I would not lose you.”

  He smiled at her, masking his impatience, and said, “My thanks, Ashrivelle.”

  “I . . . ” She broke off, then swiftly leaned forward to brush her lips against his mouth, blushing as she did so and spinning instantly about to retreat into the group of watching Sisters.

  Kedryn swung astride his horse, dismissing her from his thoughts as he raised a hand in farewell and drove his heels against the animal’s flanks. The gelding sprang forward, hooves clattering on the cobbles, and Kedryn led the way out of Gennyf, following the ribbon of the Idre northward, to High Fort and the destiny that waited beyond.

  Chapter Seven

  Wynett woke bathed in sweat, the claws of nightmare still fastened in her dawning consciousness, tenacious as burgeoning insanity. For long, agonizing moments she relived the horror of that twilight attack, seeing the leviathan rise from the darkened surface of the Idre, its vast crimson orbs encompassing her gaze so that she could only stare in horror at the monstrosity unleashed from the peaceful river. She saw it strike at Kedryn, saw Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc flung aside like rag dolls tossed by a willful child. She saw it heave athwart the barge, timbers and men alike crushed beneath its massive bulk. She heard her sister scream and Kedryn roar in outrage and anger. Saw Galen Sadreth snatch Kedryn up, and the giant riverman smashed down. Saw Kedryn sliding helplessly toward the questing maw, and then that ghastly orifice hurtle closer as she floated, time slowed by terror, toward the fangs. She screamed as those wicked teeth closed about her, putrescent breath assailing her nostrils, her world becoming a place of darkness and fetid stink.

  And her own screaming brought her to full wakefulness, and she opened her eyes to sunlight and the scent of flowers.

  She realized that she clutched the talisman suspended about her throat and that she was naked in the same moment of disbelief. She blinked and drew a hand across her eyes, wiping away the sweat of fear, unconsciously summoning the disciplines imparted by her training with the Sisterhood to impose calm on her trembling body and agitated mind. Was she alive? Or was this the afterlife promised the followers of the Lady? Could such be so mundane as to include sunlight and flowers and sweat? She stared down at her body, instinctively drawing a sheet of fine, white linen over her breasts, seeing then- heaving ease as she calmed, aware that the cloth clung to her, moist with the outpouring of her panic. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, then, fear and curiosity mingling, snapped her lids up and looked about her.

  She was in a wide bed of pale, honey-colored wood, its covers a startling white, set in the center of a spacious, airy chamber, its wall and high ceiling no less immaculate than the sheets, pure as fresh-fallen snow, seamless and unbroken save by the single tall window through which the sunlight entered. The floor, too, was white, though this the pearly lactescence of fine marble, hued with gold where the sun struck, gleaming like the surface of a calm river in midsummer. To either side of the bed stood fragile tables fashioned of the same pale wood as the couch, each one supporting an alabaster vase filled with a profusion of flowers that lent the chamber its delicate scent. At first she could see no door, but then, facing her, she made out the shape of a portal so finely cut into the dazzling wall that it was almost invisible. She could see no handle with which to open the door.

  Confused, she rested back against die pillows, gathering her wits, the talons of the nightmare loosed now, hiding back into her memory as she confronted the reality—or, perhaps more properly, the unreality—of her situation.

  She squeezed her fist about the talisman and felt its outline dig hard into her palm: whether dead or alive, it seemed she retained physical awareness. She lowered her feet to the floor, vaguely surprised to find the marbled surface pleasantly warm beneath her bare soles, and drew the sheet demurely about her nudity as she crossed to the window.

  The casement consisted of a single pane of the purest glass she had seen, finer than anything in Andurel, set within a frame of what appeared to be wood bleached so white as to be indistinguishable from the surrounding wall. There was no obvious catch, but set into the recess at one side were two hinges, so she pressed on the opposite edge and the entire pane swung smoothly outward. As if summoned by her action, a warm breeze caressed her face, redolent of new-mown grass and apple trees heavy with fruit, refreshing, vivifying as spring water or a fine, chilled wine. She felt the perspiration evaporate from her brow artd lips as she leaned out, resting her elbows on the embrasure so that she might study what lay beyond.

  It was a tranquil scene. She looked down from the height of a high, smooth wall that appeared as clean as those of her chamber onto a sweep of lawn boundaried by a sparkling brook. Color exploded from the verdancy of the grass where beds of flowers broke the smooth spread, scattered in a pleasantly random manner, busy with the darting of small, bright-plumaged birds. Trees trailed gnarled limbs thick with foliage over the water of the brook, and rushes thrust tall leaves upward to meet the descending branches. Beyond the freshet the trees grew more densely, though not so close as to preclude pleasantly shaded walking, and from her vantage point she could see that the wood was interspersed with little meadows, shining a lush green among the darker hues of the timber. Above, the sky was a translucent blue, soft billows of white cloud floating stately across the azure, the sun a huge, golden disk, so bright it was edged with silver.

  She craned out, looking to either side, and saw that the lawns and woodlands appeared to surround the white edifice, which gave no sign of battlements or any other defensive structure.

  Leaving the window open, for the breeze was most pleasant, she returned her attention to the room.

  It was empty of any furniture save the bed and the two tables, and an examination of the walls revealed no hidden cupboards so, with the sheet still draped about her, she approached the door. Like the window it opened at the touch of her hand.

  She stepped through into a chamber larger than the other, the ceiling spanned by heavy beams of light wood, seemingly taken from the same source as the material of the bed and tables. The walls were again white, but the floor was planked to match the rafters and spread with rugs woven in subtle patterns of blue and gray, and silver, shades of red, green, hints of gold, white, and violet, as though the petals of a myriad flowers were scattered over the boards. Two high windows of the same impossibly perfect glass let in sunlight, shining on a hearth in which stood a gleaming golden firebox piled with logs. Two high-backed chairs stood before the fire, padded with silk that was gold and gray and silver at the same time, between them a low table of smooth-beaten copper on which sat a black lacquered tray holding a decanter of glittering crystal and a single goblet of intricate workmanship. Between the windows, placed so that sunlight should fall on whoever sat before it, was a dressing table and a stool covered with the same delicate fabric as the chairs, and against the wall, to either side of the door, stood high wardrobes. Past them, set within an arched recess, she saw a tub, seemingly constructed of gold, faucets of the same bright metal fashioned in the shape of gaping fishes’ heads. Soap and washcloths and towels were set on a separate stand beside a sink of pale blue marble. For an instant she thought to go to it and lave herself of the stickiness left by the nightmare, but then she thought that such action must leave her naked, vulnerable, and she ignored the temptation, turning back to her inspection of the room.

  She moved slowly to the center of the chamber, the carpets a delight beneath her bare feet, soft as wool and smooth as silk, and saw that another door faced the inner portal, this one more clearly marked, for there was a handle of gold and a heavy bolt of the . same metal. It was drawn back and she crossed quickly to slide it shut, then returned to the alcove and let the sheet fall as she spun the faucets to fill the tub with clean, fresh water that seemed far too tinglingly real to be part of either a dream or death. She bathed swiftly and dried herself, then moved toward the wardrobes, gasping as she opened the first.

  It was filled with a profusion of garments such as she had never seen, not in Andurel or any other place, and the second revealed a like plethora of raiment. Magnificent formal gowns hung there, alongside only slightly more mundane apparel, robes and riding clothes, filmy pantaloons such as the women of Ust-Galich favored, and tunics, blouses, nightwear, cloaks; more costumes, it seemed, than a woman might wear in one lifetime. There were shelves and interior compartments holding underwear, shoes, boots, jewelry, belts, veils, scarves, an incredible cornucopia of trinkets, all wrought with the same delicate workmanship as everything else she had seen in these two unbelievable rooms.

  She selected undergarments and a simple gown of blue silk that fastened with tiny, pearly buttons, cinching it with a belt of silver filigree so intricate it wound cord-smooth about her waist, and drew soft boots of darker blue hide, soft as the gown, on her feet.

  She was, she decided, alive, for she could not believe such material luxuries existed in death, and that decision led instantly to fresh confusion.

  If she did live, then where was she? The leviathan had attacked with the lights of Gennyf in clear sight, but no such place as this existed in that little riverside town, nor—as best she knew—anywhere within the boundaries of the Three Kingdoms. She had plunged into the maw of the beast, of that she was certain, so wherever she was now, presumably the creature had brought her here. And the creature was remembered from her descent into the underworld—so was this the netherworld?

  The thought chilled her, despite the pleasant, summery warmth of the chamber and she set her hand to the talisman again, holding the stone tight as she voiced a prayer to the Lady. The stone tingled against her palm, seeming filled with an internal vibration, as if its crystalline structure trembled with a life of its own, but it offered her no answers and she sensed, without knowing how, a suppression of its powers.

  She went to the dressing table, settling on the stool to study her face in the mirror hinged above the table’s surface. Blue eyes stared back at her, wide with wonder and more than a little fear, and she quelled incipient panic with the ordinary gesture of brushing her long, wheat-blond hair. Cosmetics were arrayed before her but she ignored them, setting the silver- handled brush down and rising to take a deep, determined breath as she crossed to the outer door and put her hand on the bolt.

  However she had come to this mysterious place no harm had so far been offered. Someone—or, she told herself nervously—some thing had undressed her and placed her in the bed, but as best she could tell had done no more than that, leaving her to sleep until she woke.

  How long after the attack?

  And what of Kedryn?

  Was he alive? Or dead?

  Was he here?

  Before trepidation could overcome her she slid the golden bolt back and opened the door.

  On a colonnaded balcony that ran around four sides of an interior courtyard scented with the honeysuckle and magnolia and jasmine that clambered up the supporting pillars of pink-shaded marble, spreading over the loggia to form a delightfully shadowed, sweet-perfumed arbor, she looked down on an atrium of soft yellow flagstones, a fountain of basalt spilling clear water into the surrounding pool at the center. Benches of the same dark stone were spaced about the yard, and the three sides she could see were flanked by a stoa so thick with climbing flowers it seemed more arboreal than lithic. She halted, confused afresh by this idyllic scene, her sense of unease mounting. She looked up, seeing a series of balconies climbing toward a square of blue sky, then along the vine-hung gallery to left and right. Three doors stood to her left and three to her right and she identified the source of her immediate confusion, stepping back into the chamber she had just vacated. It was unchanged, sunlight still streaming through the tall windows in the left-hand wall. Impossibly: for when she stepped onto the balcony again she confirmed the chamber was flanked on both sides by the doors, presumably opening into more rooms.

  She moved to the door on her left and tried the handle. It turned in her grip, the door swinging open to reveal a chamber similar to the other in its dimensions, but tiled in Keshian fashion, the floor a kaleidoscope of geometrically patterned ceramics, the walls hung with gay tapestries, the ceiling replaced with a great dome of colored glass that filled the chamber with shifting patterns of multihued light. There were no windows and when she touched the wall that must adjoin the chamber she had just vacated it was solid under her hands. The place was empty and she left it, going along the balcony to the door beyond her own room, amazement furrowing two shallow lines upon her brow.

  This room was more like hers, though masculine in its appointments, the floor of sturdy boards polished to a reddish sheen, the chairs before the hearth solid wood, the arms and uprights carved with horse heads. An armoire stood against the left-side wall, and flanking it there were two windows, framed in dark wood, affording a view over the lawns.

  Perplexed, she returned to the balcony, leaning out over the rail to confirm that the building did, indeed, extend upward, rendering the glass dome she had seen, like the windows, impossible.

  And started as a deep voice called, “Be careful, Wynett. I would not see you fall.”

  She sprang back, instinctively seeking refuge in the dappled shadows of the gallery, a cry of surprise coming unbidden from her lips, and the same voice said, “Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”

  It was a vibrant baritone, as confident as it was apologetic, reassuring and commanding, without any hint of threat. Wynett steeled herself and moved to the edge of the balcony again, looking down.

  A man stood beside the fountain, his head tilted back as he stared up at her. He reminded her of Kedryn, for his hair was long and brown, glossy in the sunlight, and he was tall and broad-shouldered, his stance stretching the fine linen shirt he wore tight across a hard-muscled chest. Breeks of soft brown hide fit snug on his legs and the resemblance was completed by the high boots upon his feet. She studied his face, seeing wide-set brown eyes, a firm nose, and a mouth parted in a smile that revealed even white teeth in a powerful jaw. He radiated confidence, the hint of laughter in his eyes oddly comforting.

  “Come down,” he invited. "There is wine, and sweetmeats, and I am sure you must be hungry.”

  She had not thought of hunger but now she followed his gesturing hand and felt its pangs as she saw a table spread with a cloth of purest white linen stood within the shadow of an arbor, laid with decanters and goblets and food.

  “Please,” he urged. “Come sit and drink with me.”

  Wynett nodded, not knowing what else to do, and walked along the balcony until she found a stairway that seemed almost too delicate to support her weight, spiraling down to the courtyard. It was firm enough as she descended for all that it appeared to have no other supports than the stems of the roses that twined about it on either side and she stepped onto the sun-kissed flagstones to find the man awaiting her arrival. He bowed deeply, presenting a smiling face of ruggedly handsome aspect as he offered her his arm and led her decorously toward the table.

  Two chairs were set beside the board and he drew one gallantly back, seeing her seated before settling himself across from her.

  “Your choice of gown is delightful,” he murmured, raising a decanter of finest crystal to fill a goblet of equally magnificent design with pale wine. “My compliments on your taste. And, indeed, your beauty.”