“I require parchment and pen,” said Gerat. “And mehdri to carry word to my Sisters in Estrevan. Your instructions to the commander of the Morfah fortress. I would have all the strength of Estrevan stand in readiness to aid Kedryn.”

  “It is done,” said Rycol, turning without preamble to the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Darkness held dreary sway over the atrium as Wynett reached the foot of the stairs and darted swiftly beneath the cover of the overhanging balcony. The fountain was no more than a shadow in the gloom, the sound of its musically tinkling water overwhelmed by the drumming of the rain. The flagstones seemed dulled, their color leeched by the downpour that transformed them to a single muted sheet of moisture from which splashes exploded as if the cloudburst sought to shatter the stone. The perfumes of the flowers were gone, replaced by the warm, wet odor of the rain, and petals of magnolia and oleander and roses lay storm-battered and colorless, sad victims of the onslaught. Light showed in a doorway, the perspectives of the courtyard so altered by the storm that she was unsure whether she had entered the room beyond or not, and she turned toward it.

  Eyrik waited inside, rising as she entered, his expression apologetic, as though he assumed personal responsibility for the inclemency of the day. It was a small and cheerful room, the windows shuttered against the gloom and the walls hung with gay tapestries, niches that held alabaster vases filled with fresh flowers. Candles burned, their glow cheering. The ceiling was low and plastered white, like the walls, thick beams of dark, reddish timber lending a homely air. The table at which he sat was spread with a spotless cloth of white linen, and that with silver salvers, fine china cups, and a large pot that steamed, exuding the aromatic scent of tisane.

  “A foul day,” he remarked, “I am sorry.”

  "Are you responsible then?” she asked, lightly as she was able, while he held her chair and saw her seated.

  He smiled, resuming his place across from her, leaning back as he shook his head. “Had I such control I should visit nothing but sunshine upon you. Unless, of course, you desired differently.”

  Wynett essayed an answering smile, buttering bread still warm from whatever unknown ovens produced it. “I am minded of the darkness Ashar’s Messenger visited on High Fort when he sought to sap the will of the defenders.”

  She glanced at her host—or was he more correctly her cap- tor?—as she said it, but his face remained bland.

  “I use no such magics,” he murmured.

  “What magics do you then use?” she asked, hoping that her tone was sufficiently bantering as to allay any suspicion.

  “Only those permitted me,” he smiled, reaching to extract an apple from the bowl set between them. “Simple gramaryes. You appear in better humor.”

  The abrupt reference to her mood of the previous night took her somewhat aback and she wondered if he prevaricated. It seemed too obvious to press her point, so she smiled, shrugging, and said, “I am. Despite this doleful weather.”

  “It will change in due course,” he promised. “The seasons turn differently here. Mayhap we shall see the sun again on the morrow."

  Wynett selected an egg, hard-boiled, and broke the shell. “How did you come here, Eyrik?”

  Had she asked casually enough? It seemed so, for he smiled wistfully and said, “By mischance—like you. I was once no more than other men, but circumstances brought me here, and here I stay.”

  Wynett spooned egg. Chewed, thinking, and asked, “Why do you not leave?”

  “I enjoy this place,” he answered simply, “and 1 am not sure I could leave it.”

  Alarm clenched her jaw for an instant and she fought it, determined to hold fast to her resolve to delve as deeply as she might into the mysteries of the place and his presence. “If you cannot leave,” she said at last, “then how are you able to aid me? How may I leave?”

  “Circumstances differ,” came the answer, “and as I have told you, it may be beyond my power to send you forth—it may require Kedryn’s attendance.”

  “Forgive my ignorance,” she used a napkin to dab her mouth, “but why? Kedryn has no sorcerous powers.”

  “He bears the other half of the talisman,” Eyrik said, evenly, his voice calm as though he explained some minor point of procedure. ‘The strength of the two stones, united, is—as you know—remarkable.”

  “But how shall he find me?” she wondered. “If I was brought here by the leviathan, and that beast is Ashar’s creation, then how may Kedryn come here? Must he be swallowed, too?”

  Eyrik laughed; a musical sound. “No. I do not believe so extreme a measure will be necessary. Do the talismans not attune you to one another?”

  Wynett nodded: how did he know that? “They do.”

  “And what does yours tell you?”

  “That Kedryn lives,” she responded.

  “Then doubtless he is privy to the same information. He must know that you five, and so will seek you out. And the talisman will aid him; did it not before?”

  “Aye,” Wynett ducked her head again; again wondering how he knew, thinking that if he controlled the images shown by the oracular pool this was an unlikely, an unexpected, statement. “Then you believe the talisman will ward him should he venture into this netherworld?”

  “I have no doubt of it,” said Eyrik. “There will be dangers—but what quest is without hazard?”

  “And the talisman will guide him here?” she pressed.

  Eyrik nodded. “The talisman and my own small efforts.”

  “Even though he come through Ashar’s domain?”

  “There will be dangers,” Eyrik repeated, “but whilst Kedryn holds the talisman he is protected.”

  “Against the god?” asked Wynett.

  “Ashar himself is not all-powerful.” For the briefest of instants his gold-flecked eyes sparked, as though the motes held within the brown whirled. “Does your goddess not hold sway within the Kingdoms? Has she not penned Ashar behind the Lozin wall with her own puissance? Did the talisman not overcome Taws?”

  “All that is true,” Wynett acknowledged, “but if Kedryn enters the netherworld he comes into a place where Ashar is mightily powerful.”

  “True,” Eyrik agreed, “but there are powers beyond even the gods. Powers that bind even them in balance, and I believe the talismans focus that omnipotence.”

  "Then Kedryn might withstand Ashar?”

  She wondered if the charging of the air she felt, as though a massive electrical storm brewed, emanated from the atmosphere or the man seated across the table. She could feel hairs rise on the nape of her neck; her teeth seemed to tingle. Did the candles flicker, or was that merely a shifting of the light outside?

  “He might,” said Eyrik. “Is he not the Chosen One?”

  Wynett steeled herself and said, “Alaria’s Text suggests he is Ashar’s downfall.”

  Eyrik showed no reaction other than a shrug, the everpresent smile. “Mayhap he is. Mayhap he must come into the netherworld for that very reason.”

  “But what,” she asked slowly, choosing her words with care, “if he should fail?”

  “In what?” Eyrik demanded. “In his quest for you? Or his possible battle with Ashar?”

  “What if Ashar should secure the talisman?” she asked.

  “Then I think that he would have the means to breech the Lozin wall,” Eyrik told her quietly. “He would have the means to overcome the gramaryes set upon that barrier and wreak his will upon the Kingdoms.”

  Wynett suppressed a shudder, horrified by the magnitude of that awful thought. “But if Ashar cannot harm Kedryn whilst he holds the talisman that is unlikely.”

  Eyrik nodded.

  “And what,” she continued doggedly, “if Kedryn should find me but be unable to return? What if we should both remain trapped here?”

  “Trapped?” Eyrik’s expression grew instantly mournful. “Do you feel trapped? I had hoped your sojourn was, at the least, sufficiently pleasant that you did not feel trapped.”

  His expression, his manner, was that of a man sorely disappointed at his failure to make a guest comfortable and Wynett felt an emotion akin to embarrassment. Were her suspicions unfounded? Was he truly no more than another victim? She forced a smile and said, “You have made me very comfortable.”

  “I am glad,” said Eyrik.

  “Though my question remains,” she added, resolved that he should not equivocate. Trying with all the skills imparted by

  Estrevan to read his expression, to determine whether it was irritation or concern that flickered in his eyes; but with little success.

  “Were you both unable to return?” His smile Aided, the full lips settling in a straight, solemn line. “Then I should have two guests and the Kingdoms would lose their champion.”

  “And Ashar cross the Lozin barrier?”

  “Mayhap,” he shrugged. “I do not know.”

  “Are you not in danger?” She chose to take a different approach, perhaps to find some other way to the truth. “If you work to unite us and return us, do you not stand in jeopardy?”

  Eyrik gestured negligently, casual as some warrior dismissing the likelihood of battle-hurt.

  “Do not disquiet yourself with that, flattered though I am by your concern. What I do, I do from choice.”

  He appeared genuinely pleased, though Wynett felt his response did not exactly answer her question. Nonetheless she could see no way to rephrase it without revealing her doubts. The resolve that had descended upon her with contact with the talisman remained, but so did the apprehension: the outright confrontation that must surely come with direct questioning—should her suspicions be valid—-could only, she felt certain, prove a disadvantage. If Eyrik did work to aid her, he must be insulted by such doubts; if not, then better he did not know she suspected his motives. She sipped tisane, seeking another avenue of exploration.

  “Will the pool not show whether, or not, Kedryn traverses the netherworld safely?” she asked at last.

  Eyrik frowned slightly. “Mayhap not,” he said. “The netherworld does not reveal itself easily, not even to the pool. Though we may determine how he fares on his approach.”

  Wynett nodded, quelling the ugly stirring of distaste that welled at the thought of that last vision. If—as she was sure it did—the pool had lied to her, then it might well be revelatory to see what was Eyrik’s reaction to a similar image. It was an unpleasant prospect, but she felt it might take her another step along the path of discovery, and knowledge must surely aid her if she did deal with an enemy.

  “Might we consult it now?” she inquired.

  “If that is your wish,” he agreed readily.

  “It is,” she confirmed, hoping she did not pale as she said it.

  “Then come.”

  He rose, pushing back his chair, and moved to draw back hers. Wynett wondered if it was enthusiasm for what the oracle would show her that she read in his movements, or nothing more than the desire to please that he evinced so plausibly.

  They left the breakfast chamber, moving beneath the shelter of the balcony to approach the door of blue wood. Eyrik thrust the portal open and bowed Wynett inside. Once more the strange submarine light struck her, distorting distance and space and time so that she seemed to walk slowly, swimmingly, across the tiles to the silent circle of silver liquid, simultaneously intrigued and frightened by what might be shown. Eyrik halted, seeming unaffected by the shifting patterns that filled the chamber, and positioned himself close to her side as she stared down at the well.

  As before, the surface remained still, seeming to drink in her gaze, then somehow shifted within its depths, an image forming, slow as swirling smoke, then solidifying to become clear as though she looked through one of the palace’s perfect windows.

  She saw a walled garden filled with summer flowers, their brightness interspersed with herb beds, familiar benches set against gray stone, and murmured, “The hospital garden in High Fort.”

  “Then mayhap he has reached the Lozins,” Eyrik said softly.

  Wynett saw the gate open and Kedryn enter. He wore a shirt of white linen and breeks of soft, brown hide, his dirk belted at his waist, but no sword. His hair hung loose about his tanned face and he pushed it carelessly back as he settled on a bench, an expectant expression on his handsome features. Then he rose as the gate opened again and Ashrivelle came into the garden. She wore a gown pink as the petals of the roses that clung to the wall behind the bench, the bodice tight and cut low. Her skin shone tan, like dark honey, and her blond hair was long, bound with a simple fillet of pink silk. She smiled as she saw Kedryn and he smiled back, extending a hand that she took and drew to her breast, her eyes adoring as she looked up at him. He came a step closer and put his arms about her waist as hers moved to encircle his neck. They kissed, long and passionately. Wynett clenched her teeth, tom by roiling emotions and unsure what face to show to Eyrik.

  It is not true, she told herself, I believe in the talisman and what I felt. I believe in what I feel for Kedryn and what I know he feels for me. It is not true!

  She felt Eyrik’s hand upon her arm, tight, and turned from the image to study his face.

  It was grave, the gold-flecked eyes clouded, his lips pursed. “I am sorry,” he said. “I would that you had not seen that.”

  “I do not believe it,” she answered.

  “The pool does not lie,” he responded; quietly, as though he regretted the confirmation.

  “No!” She shook her head, her free hand rising to clutch the talisman, seeking its reassurance. It sat warm against her palm, vibrating with its own strange life, and she felt again that calm certitude that had descended the previous night. “Kedryn knows that I live, and knowing that he would not dally with my sister or any other woman.”

  She turned again toward the pool, seeing the image fade as Eyrik said, “Forgive my bluntness, but he is a man and men have . . . appetites.”

  “I do not believe it,” she repeated. “Kedryn would not forsake me.”

  Eyrik’s expression was difficult to interpret because the changing patterns of the room overlayed his features with bands of shifting light, as if she saw him through water, nebulous and indefinite. His grip upon her arm grew firmer. Was that through irritation at her rejection of the image? Or concern for her feelings? He said, “Let us leave. I do not think we shall see more.”

  Wynett allowed him to draw her away, back across the blue tiles to the door, out to the shelter of the balcony. He did not speak, nor release his hold, as he led her to the chamber where they had eaten breakfast. Inside, the table had been cleared and a decanter, two goblets, set upon the wooden surface. Eyrik brought her to a chair and seated her, then filled glasses with dark red wine. He sat and sipped; Wynett ignored hers. Finally, his face thoughtful, he murmured, “You do not believe what you saw?”

  “No.” She shook her head, staring at him.

  “Are you so confident of his love?”

  “Aye.” She nodded, emphasizing the affirmative.

  “Then mayhap there is another explanation.”

  He toyed with his glass, turning the crystal between his powerful hands, a small smile that defied interpretation curving the comers of his mouth as he at last raised his face toward her.

  “The pool does not lie—it cannot—but the truth is not always what we perceive.”

  He paused as if lost in thought, seeking the words that would explain his meaning. Wynett said, “That is a riddle I fail to comprehend.”

  His smile grew broader, apologetically, then faded to become replaced by an expression of solemn gravity. He said, “It is usual to think of your world, your life, in linear fashion: Kedryn loves you and you were taken by the leviathan, therefore Kedryn will seek you because he knows—thanks to the talisman he wears—that you live. He will rescue you and bring you back to the Kingdoms, where you will rule together and live in happiness thereafter. That is one truth.

  “But as you have seen, this place we now inhabit is not governed by the natural laws appertaining to your life in the Kingdoms: the rules of linear progression do not apply. Therefore it is possible the pool showed you an alternative truth. Perhaps one in which the leviathan destroyed you, leaving Kedryn to find solace with your sister.

  “You see, every event in life opens alternatives. Had Kedryn not been wounded when first he entered the Beltrevan, he might not have met you. He might have travelled to Andurel and fallen in love with Ashrivelle, perhaps become bethrothed to her.

  “Had you not chosen to travel with him when he was blind you might not have fallen in love, in which alternative you would not have been on the barge when the leviathan attacked, and so not come to this place.

  “Do you understand, Wynett? It is as though life branches with each decision, each event, all possibilities becoming possible, alternative selves treading different paths, no one less real—less true—than another.”

  He paused, lifting his glass to drink as though the speech had rendered him thirsty. His eyes studied her across the rim.

  Wynett frowned, puzzled. She followed the gist of his argument and saw that it did nothing to confirm or refute her suspicions: it left her no more clear as to his intentions than before. She said, “I understand what you say, but it surely means the pool cannot be relied upon. I am here and that is a fact, therefore I maintain that in the reality I inhabit Kedryn would not dally with Ashrivelle.”

  “I admire your conviction,” Eyrik nodded, “and likely you are right, but this place does not conform to your notions of reality, and the pool is a part of this place.”

  “Surely we talk in circles,” she responded. “If that is true, then the pool does not show what is true for me.”

  “Assuming—and I ask your forgiveness for what I am about to say, but assure you I have only your welfare at heart—that you are correct in your assessment of Kedryn’s devotion, then you are right. In a way, at least,” he answered. “But being a creation of this place the pool may well show you the alternatives, mixing one reality with another. Mayhap it is even possible that you yourself now cross from one strand to another.”