“There remains the matter of Kedryn,” Eyrik murmured, his tone apologetic again, as though he felt embarrassment at the implicit suggestion of disloyalty. “If we are correct in our belief that he seeks you, then he has likely sought some means of entering the netherworld. If he succeeds, then he feces all the mazes Ashar will set before him. And they will be exceeding hazardous labyrinths! It may even be that the god seels to ensnare him, so that he shall wander forever through the realms of limbo. The beacon I suggest would be such that his path would be the clearer.”

  He paused, fixing her with his gold-flecked stare. Wynett lowered her eyes, caught in the mesh of his words, clutching the talisman, no longer defensively but in search of guidance, of inspiration.

  All she felt, however, was that tingling that told her Kedryn was still alive. She raised her eyes, answering Eyrik’s gaze, and said, “Still you ask me to forget a vow freely given.”

  He nodded agreement, a hint of melancholy entering his voice as he answered, “So it must be, though I am confident those to whom you gave your word would understand. I repeat—I doubt they considered this eventuality when they entrusted you with the talisman.”

  “Mayhap not,” Wynett allowed, “but still the vow was taken.”

  “You took others,” he reminded her, mildly enough. “Did you not embrace celibacy when you donned the blue of Estrevan?”

  “Aye.” Wynett ducked her head. “So I did.”

  “And you were released from that undertaking when the time came.”

  She could not deny it: she nodded again.

  “I am confident the Sisterhood would understand,” said Eyrik softly, his tone persuasive. “Estrevan would surely condone your motives now, for they must surely be above reproach—you would seek only to protect the man you love from inestimable dangers.”

  “Even so,” she said slowly, feeling his blandishments wind about her as must, she thought, the web of a spider wind about a butterfly, each attempt at escape serving only to affix a further sticky strand until finally all hope was gone.

  “Even so,” he echoed, reaching out now to take a hand, enclosing it in both of his, “I believe you must decide this for yourself. I can do no more—without the talisman my efforts are useless and you must likely remain here.” He smiled somewhat ruefully, “I confess that notion has its attractions, but I know that you love Kedryn and so I would do all I can to reunite you. Please trust me, Wynett—there is no other way.”

  He stared into her eyes, retaining her hand in silence for a while, then let loose his grip, smiling as though to reassure her.

  “Sleep on it and give me your answer in the morning.”

  “Aye,” she agreed, glad that he rose now, frightened by the decision he forced upon her and wishing only to be alone with her disordered thoughts.

  Eyrik bowed graciously and left the bedchamber. When she heard the outer door close she rose and bolted it again, then dragged a chair across the room and wedged its back against the bolt. Then she shed the dressing gown he had selected and took a garment of her own choosing from the wardrobe. She set the lacquered tray aside, its contents barely touched, and regained the bed.

  “Lady,” she prayed, the talisman clutched in both hands, “guide me, for I am lost.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The landscape stretched uninterrupted before them, flat and featureless, the horizons lost in the gloomy gray that joined land and sky in seemless union. Only the strange cracks broke the vista, zigzagging beneath their feet, neither deep nor wide enough to offer hindrance to their steady progress. Nothing moved, either in the sky or on the ground. There was no wind, nor any sun, the canescent light unchanging and their march leaving no footprints behind, so that it seemed almost as though they walked in place, the only measure of progress the weariness that began gradually to assail their legs. Finally, Kedryn called a halt and they spread their blankets, grateful for the chance to ease muscles protesting the endless marching.

  The hills lay far behind them, lost in the leaden blur of distance, the air, now that they no longer moved, chilly.

  “A fire would be welcome,” Brannoc remarked.

  “Three horses, more so,” retorted Tepshen.

  “But we have neither,” said Kedryn. “Nor much chance of finding kindling or mounts here.”

  Brannoc shrugged, opening his satchel, his features doleful as he examined the contents. “Supplies become short, too. And I grow weary of joumeybread.”

  Kedryn nodded, his own face thoughtful as he watched the dark-skinned half-breed thrust his pack aside, the food ignored. “How long have we walked?” he asked.

  “A day?” Brannoc shrugged again, reaching down to massage his calves. “There is no way to tell time here.”

  “We have not halted,” Tepshen offered, glancing at Kedryn, his sallow features curious.

  “No,” agreed the younger man, “and that is odd, is it not?

  My legs tell me we have marched for leagues, yet we none of us thought to halt for food or drink.”

  “I felt no hunger,” said Brannoc. “Only boredom.”

  “Nor I,” Kedryn murmured. “I did not think of food until now.”

  He looked to the kyo, who shook his head, saying, “I am not hungry even now.”

  “This is strange,” Kedryn declared. “My muscles tell me I have worked hard, yet I feel no need of sustenance. Is this some attribute of the netherworld?”

  “If so, it is to our advantage,” Brannoc declared, gesturing at his pack. “I have supplies for no more than a day or two.”

  Tepshen raised his canteen and shook it, listening to the splash of water inside. “Nor water,” he added.

  “The netherworld is the realm of the dead,” Kedryn mused, “or of Ashar’s creatures, who presumably do not require sustenance as would normal beings. Mayhap by coming here we lose these needs.”

  “Or Ashar tricks us into starvation,” suggested Brannoc.

  “I do not feel starved,” Kedryn said.

  “Eat nonetheless,” Tepshen advised. “If you are correct, then we need not trouble ourselves over dwindling provisions.”

  “Food alleviates boredom,” said Brannoc, “And this is, without doubt, the most boring vista it has been my misfortune to encounter.”

  “Aye.” Kedryn grinned tightly, chewing food that seemed somehow as devoid of flavor as the terrain was empty of character. “Mayhap Ashar seeks to bore us to death.”

  “Would you rather he challenged us with more daggerthrowing trees?” chuckled Brannoc. “Or perhaps another spidery attack?”

  Kedryn smiled back and shook his head. “No, my friend. I would find Wynett and bring her safely from this place.”

  "But first, Taziel,” admonished Tepshen. “I doubt Ashar will readily relinquish his prize, and if Gerat is correct, you must join your talisman to that great sword if you are to defeat the god.”

  Kedryn nodded, drawing the glaive closer, studying the ornate hilt. “And first persuade Taziel to do the work,” he said quietly.

  “To which end we must find his cave,” said Brannoc, looking about. “And it is not here, I think.”

  “No.” Kedryn swallowed a little water, more to wash down the flavorless food than from thirst. “We must cross this miserable plain before we may hope to find the smith.”

  “We shall,” said Tepshen, his voice firm. “Now sleep. I shall take first watch.”

  Neither Kedryn nor Brannoc offered argument, and the easterner watched as they rolled themselves into their blankets, squatting cross-legged as they slept. Although he did not show it, he felt mightily uneasy, disturbed by the unchanging light and the unrelieved tedium of their surroundings. He was a man of action and, had the truth been told, he preferred the dangers of the spider-haunted ravines to this characterless vista. There was no sign of anything he might have described as a sunset and after a while he decided that there would not be, that so long as they remained on this flat plain there would be only the depressing gray light and—as both Kedryn and Brannoc had remarked—boredom. After a while he rose to his feet and walked a little distance off, drawing his sword and executing a series of exercises that had the long blade whistling through the unmoving air. He did not know how long he diverted himself thus, but in time he ceased, resuming his squatting position, forcing himself to ignore the tedium that threatened to leech his concentration.

  When he could fight it no longer he woke Brannoc and fell soundly asleep.

  Brannoc in turn found the same disquieting problems. He sat watching the unshifting sky for a while, then stared at the gray he assumed marked the edge of the mountains they had descended. For all he could tell they had walked a circle: they left no tracks, nor were there any landmarks by which to judge direction or distance. It occurred to him that Kedryn was better suited to withstand this absence of diversions than either he or Tepshen, for Kedryn had experienced the darkness sent against High Fort and his subsequent blindness, and both must have been akin to this unalleviated tedium. He was more accustomed to the forests of the Beltrevan than this unending featurelessness and he felt the disturbing beginnings of agoraphobia.

  He climbed to his feet and stepped out twenty places. Noth- tag changed. Kedryn and Tepshen lay huddled in their blankets, the air was chill but not so much that he felt any great physical discomfort. He studied a scissure, seeing nothing so much as a shallow crack such as might be formed in sunbaked mud, and began to follow it for want of any other action with which to occupy his mind. It ran straight for a while, then split into two, those branches dividing in turn, then those until he could no longer trace the course, seeing only a jigsaw pattern that extended into the gray distance. He returned to his companions, hoping that the plain would end before long: whatever lay ahead must surely be preferable to this nothingness. After a while he realized that he was grown drowsy and woke Kedryn.

  His surmise of Kedryn’s ability to withstand the tedium was, in some measure, correct. Kedryn was, at least, able to recall the utter darkness that had gripped High Fort, and he could favorably compare even this characterless gray landscape with the awful night that had descended with Borsus’s sword across his eyes, but there was a difference now. In High Fort there had been a very real enemy beyond the walls, the presence of the Horde made known by the missiles that fell, and in his blindness Wynett had been at his side. Here he could only wonder at her fate as he sat with Drul’s blade across his hips, and with that wondering he felt fear grow, doubts assail him.

  Before long, he, too, felt the need for movement, to do something that would impart action of some kind to the watch. He rose and began to heft the glaive, familiarizing himself with its weight, swinging it in sweeping cuts, adjusting his customary style to the different balance of the weapon, working until he felt his shoulders ache, then settling again to wait.

  The doubts pressed in then, fear for Wynett mingling with the creeping pessimism that they would never find a way off the plain, never locate Taziel, or if they did, would foil to persuade the smith to attach talisman to hilt. He was glad when Tepshen stirred, casting off his blanket to rise, staring disapprovingly about before nudging Brannoc to wakefulness.

  The half-breed sat up, rubbing at his eyes and yawning, then took a comb from his satchel and began to dress his plaited hair.

  “You will find no maidens to admire you here,” Tepshen grunted, his voice edged with irritation.

  Brannoc glanced at him and shrugged, offering no responsive comment. He continued combing, then wound his braids afresh, setting the shells and feathers that decorated them in place.

  “Are we to await your toilette?” Tepshen demanded gruffly. “Or may we commence our journey?”

  Brannoc climbed to his feet, stretching, then sniffed and said, “If we find water I feel a bath in order, for I fear I must smell as bad as you.”

  Tepshen’s eyes narrowed and Kedryn moved between them, raising a placatory hand.

  “My friends, you grow irritable. I believe this doleful place works some spell upon us—fight it, lest Ashar set us against one another.”

  “Aye, forgive me,” Brannoc essayed a tight smile as he studied Tepshen. “I feel ill-humored.”

  “And I,” nodded the kyo. “I believe Kedryn is right.”

  “Let us march then,” Kedryn suggested. “The sooner we quit this plain the better.”

  They began to walk, forgetting that they had not eaten for none felt hungry, marching in silence for none felt like speaking, each lost in his own thoughts as they proceeded across the flat, gray terrain.

  After a while Kedryn gestured at the maze of cracks indenting the ground and said, “Are they not wider?”

  The others glanced down and Tepshen ducked his head. “Aye, and deeper.”

  “I wonder what caused them," murmured Brannoc. “There is no sun to bake the soil and they do not seem like watercourses.”

  No one offered an answer and they continued their march.

  As they had done on the previous day—if such chronology could be applied—they did not halt to eat, but maintained a steady pace until their bodies told them to rest, spreading their blankets again and forcing themselves to partake of the supplies remaining in their satchels. Brannoc produced a set of dice, suggesting a game, but Tepshen shook his head, saying that he had no taste for it. The denial surprised Kedryn, for the kyo was an eager gambler, but he said nothing, taking up the cubes himself and rolling a few desultory hands before Brannoc announced that he, too, had lost his enthusiasm.

  “I prefer to sleep,” he declared, “at least then I may dream of more pleasant things.”

  “Mayhap you take first watch,” Tepshen said.

  “Why?” Brannoc demanded. “There is nothing to watch for.”

  “You grow lax,” snapped the kyo.

  “We all grow irritable,” Kedryn said, once more playing the peacemaker, for he heard anger in both voices. “I shall take first watch.”

  Brannoc stared for a moment at Tepshen, then snorted and rolled himself into his blanket, turning his back on his companions.

  “This place acts upon us,” Kedryn murmured.

  “It is a foul place,” Tepshen agreed. “I find my temper rising without reason.”

  “Should we fall to argument we are lost.” Kedryn clasped the talisman. “We must hold our minds to our purpose.”

  “Aye.” The kyo nodded. Then, “Brannoc? Forgive my shortness.”

  “It is nothing,” came the blanket-muffled response.

  The hours of the watch were worse that “night.” Kedryn found himself filled with a melancholy longing for Wynett that was interspersed with memories of Ashrivelle, in particular that of the kiss she had bestowed on his departure from Gennyf. Try as he might, he could not drive them from his mind, but found they grew stronger, and soon he was experiencing guilt at what he considered a betrayal of his love. Tepshen, to whom Kedryn gave the second watch, occupied himself with further exercises at first, but then settled to an unwelcome contemplation of his past, memories of his homeland in the east filling him with sorrow that threatened to curdle into resentment of the peace now enjoyed by the Three Kingdoms. Brannoc, when it came his turn, found himself wondering what he was doing on so hopeless a quest. He had been happy as an outlaw and he recalled the carefree days of trading in the Beltrevan, thinking that he had been better off then than now, committed to a cause he doubted they could win. By the time he woke his companions he was thoroughly miserable.

  Indeed, neither Kedryn nor Tepshen Lahl were in much better spirits and the silence that fell as they continued their trek was pregnant with pent-up dissatisfaction.

  The scissures that mazed their path were wider and deeper, and when they halted again none spoke. Their watches seemed longer, each one falling into unhappy contemplation of their situation, and their departure was marked by the same sullen silence that had accompanied their halt.

  The cracks were now so wide they needed to extend their strides, so deep they threatened to break ankles should an unwary step place a foot within the shadowy depths.

  The next “day” they were wider still and the three found themselves jumping across fissures like drainage dykes, half a man’s height in depth.

  “Blood of the Lady!” Brannoc snapped as he teetered on an edge, his jump ill-judged. “Should this continue we shall be climbing chasms before we find an end.”

  “You grow careless,” Tepshen retorted.

  “I grow angry.” Brannoc glowered at the kyo. “And I have had sufficient of your insults.”

  “Do you then seek redress?”

  Tepshen’s hand dropped to his sword hilt. Brannoc stared at him, his mouth a narrow line. His own hand lifted to the saber sheathed across his back.

  ... Kedryn watched them, despondency dulling him, an ugly stirring in the nethermost depths of his mind suggesting that the spectacle of armed combat would provide a welcome diversion from the endless boredom of the march. He shook off the lassitude with effort, realizing that he, like his comrades, fell into the grim trap of the awful plain and sprang between them, arms extended as though to hold them apart. “You succumb to Ashar!” he said urgently.

  “Stand aside,” Tepshen warned grimly, “lest you come between my blade and this whiner’s skull.”

  “Whiner?” Brannoc’s saber hissed loose. “Give way, Kedryn, for I would teach this braggart a lesson.”

  “No!” Kedryn shouted. “Do you not see that Ashar seeks to divide us? He sets us to odds, that we slay one another. Do not give in to his foul magics!”

  Both men stared at him, swords in hands, their bodies tensed for combat. Kedryn looked to Tepshen, then at Brannoc. “Sheath your blades,” he urged. “Would two friends fight? In the name of the Lady, put up your weapons and give me your hands.”

  Reluctantly, Tepshen slid his blade into the scabbard. Kedryn fixed Brannoc with a demanding stare until the half-breed followed suit.

  “Now give me your hands.” He took them both and directed them to the blue stone hung about his neck. “What do you feel?”