CHAPTER 32

THE CATHEDRAL OF THE ALBEDO

ARISTAGON, MID REALM

GUIDED BY THE KEEPER OF THE DOOR, HUGH CARRIED IRIDAL THROUGH the halls of the cathedral, down to the lower levels, where the rooms allocated to the weesham were located. The Door opened two of the rooms, located side by side. Food, consisting of bread and fruit, and a small pitcher of water had been placed on a table in each.

“The doors seal themselves once they are closed,” the elf said apologetically. “Please do not be offended. We do this with our own people, not out of lack of trust, but in order that the quiet and peace of the cathedral may be maintained. No one is permitted to walk the halls except myself or my assistants, the Keeper of the Book, and the Keeper of the Soul.”

“We understand. Thanks,” said Hugh.

He carried Iridal inside, placed her upon the bed. She caught hold of his hand as he was about to withdraw.

“Please don’t go yet, Hugh. Please stay and talk to me. Just a moment.”

Hugh’s expression was dark. He glanced at the Kenkari, who lowered his eyes, nodded gently.

“I will leave you to enjoy your repast in private. When you are ready to go to your own room, you have but to ring the small silver bell there, by the bed, and I will return to escort you.”

The Keeper, bowing, withdrew.

“Sit down,” Iridal urged, holding fast to Hugh’s hand.

“I’m very tired, Lady,” he said, avoiding looking at her. “We’ll talk in the morning—”

“We must talk now.” Iridal rose to her feet, stood in front of him. Reaching up, she touched his face with her fingers. “Don’t do this, Hugh. Don’t make this terrible bargain.”

“I have to,” he said gruffly, jaw clenched against her soft touch, eyes anywhere but on her. “There’s no other way.”

“Yes, there is. There has to be. The Kenkari want peace as much as we do. Maybe more. You saw them, heard them. They’re afraid, Hugh, afraid of the emperor. We’ll talk to them, make some other arrangement. Then we’ll rescue Bane and I’ll help you find Alfred, as I promised—”

“No,” said Hugh. Catching hold of her wrist, he forced her hand away from him. And now he looked at her. “No, it’s better this way.”

“Hugh!” Iridal faltered, cheeks stained crimson, wet with her tears. “Hugh, I love you!”

“Do you?” Hugh regarded her with a grim, sardonic smile. He held up his right hand, held it palm out. “Look, look at the scar. No, don’t turn your head. Look at it, Iridal. Imagine my hand caressing your soft flesh. What would you feel? My loving touch? Or this scar?”

Iridal lowered her eyes, lowered her head.

“You don’t love me, Iridal,” Hugh said, sighing. “You love a part of me.”

She raised her head, answered him fiercely. “I love the best part!”

“Then let that part go.”

Iridal shook her head, but she said nothing more, made no further argument.

“Your son. He’s the one that matters to you, Lady. You have a chance to save him. Not me. My soul was lost a long time ago.”

Turning away from him, Iridal sank down on the bed, stared at her hands, clasped in her lap.

She knows I’m right, but she doesn’t want to accept it, Hugh decided. She’s still fighting against it, but her resistance is weakening. She’s a rational woman, not a lovesick girl. By morning, when she’s thought about it, she’ll go along with it.

“Good night, Lady.”

Hugh reached down, rang the small silver bell.

Hugh had judged Iridal correctly, or at least so he supposed. By morning, her tears were dry. She was calm, met Hugh with a quiet smile of reassurance and the whispered words, “You may count on me. I won’t fail you.”

“You won’t fail your son,” he corrected her.

She smiled for him again, let him think that was what was important to her. And it was, certainly. Bane would be her redemption, hers and Sinistrad’s. All the evil both parents had done—his by commission, hers by omission—would be expurgated by their child. But this was only one factor in her decision to appear to go along with Hugh.

Last night, before she slept, Iridal remembered again the silent counsel of that Immortal voice. What or whose, she couldn’t understand, for she had never believed in any Almighty power.

The man who was dead and who is not dead.

Hugh was meant to be here, she realized. I will take this as a hopeful sign and trust that all will be for the best.

And so Iridal no longer argued against the sacrifice. She had convinced herself that the sacrifice would never take place.

She and Hugh met later in the day with the three Keepers, Book, Door, and Soul, in the small chapel room of the Aviary.

“We do not know if you have yet devised a plan for entering the Imperanon,” the Keeper of the Soul began, with a deprecating glance at Hugh. “If not, we have some ideas.”

The Hand shook his head, indicated that he would be interested to hear what the Keeper had in mind.

“Will you go, Magicka?” the Soul asked Iridal. “The risk is very great. Should the emperor capture a human of your talent—”

“I will go,” Iridal interrupted. “The boy is my son.”

“We assumed that such would be the case. If all goes according to plan, the danger should be minimal. You will enter the palace very late, when most will be sleeping heavily.

“His Imperial Majesty is giving a party this night, as he does every night, but this one is to celebrate the anniversary of elven unification. Everyone living in the Imperanon will be expected to attend and many are coming from far parts of the kingdom. The celebration will last a considerable length of time and there will be much coming and going and contusion in the castle.

“You will make your way to your son’s room, remove the child, bring him back here. He will be quite safe in the cathedral, I assure you, madam,” the Soul added. “Even if the emperor should discover the boy were here, Agah’ran would not dare order an attack on the sacred precinct. His own soldiers would rebel against such a command.”

“I understand,” Iridal replied.

Hugh, sucking on the cold pipe, nodded his approval.

The Keeper appeared pleased. “We will provide you, Magicka, and your son, with safe transportation to your own lands. You, sir”—he bowed slightly in Hugh’s direction— “will remain here with us.”

Iridal pressed her lips firmly shut at this, made no comment.

“It all sounds easy enough,” said Hugh, removing the pipe, “but how do we get into the palace and back out again? The guards won’t be sleeping off gaiety and merriment.’ “

The Keeper of the Soul shifted his gaze to the Keeper of the Door, turning over the remainder of the discussion to his subordinate.

The Door looked to Iridal. “We have heard it said, Magicka, that those humans of your arcane skill, Seventh House, have the gift of creating… shall we say… false impressions in the minds of others.”

“You mean illusion,” Iridal answered. “Yes, but there are certain restrictions. The one observing the illusion must want to believe it is true or expect it to be true. For example, I could create an illusion, right now, that would allow me to look just like this woman.” Iridal pointed to the Keeper of the Book. “But such an illusion would fail, simply because you would not believe it. Your mind would tell you that, logically, there could not be two of this woman in this room at the same time.”

“But if,” pursued Door, “you cast the illusion and I met you walking down the hall by yourself. I would be deluded into thinking you were my fellow Kenkari, would I not?”

“Yes. Then you would have little reason to doubt.”

“And I could stop and speak to you, touch you? You would seem real to me?”

“That would be dangerous. Even though I speak elven, the timbre and tone of my voice is necessarily human and might give me away. My gestures would be my own, not those of your friend. The longer you were around me, the greater the chances that I could no longer deceive you. However, I begin to see what you have in mind. And you are right. It might work. But only for me. I could appear to be an elf, and thus walk safely into the castle. But I cannot cast such a spell on Hugh.”

“No, we had not supposed you could. We have made other arrangements for him. You, sir, are familiar, you said, with those known as the Unseen.”

“Only by reputation.”

“Yes, quite.” Door smiled faintly. “Do you know of the magical clothing they wear?”

“No.” Hugh lowered the pipe, looked interested. “No, tell me about it.”

“The fabric is woven of a wondrous thread that changes color and texture to match whatever it is around. One of their uniforms lies on the floor there, next to the desk. Do you see it?”

Hugh stared, frowned, raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be damned.”

“Now you see it, of course, since your attention has been drawn to it. Much like Lady Irida’s spell. You see the folds, the shape, the bulkiness. Yet, you were in this room for a considerable length of time, and the clothing passed unobserved, even by you—a man usually quite observant.

“Dressed in this guise, the Unseen can go anywhere, at any time, day or night, and—to the ordinary eye—would be practically invisible. Anyone watching for them would be able to detect them by their movement and… substance… for lack of a better word. In addition, it takes a certain amount of time for the fabric to alter color and appearance. Thus the Unseen learn to move slowly, silently, with fluid grace, in order to blend in with their surroundings.

“All this you must learn to do, Hugh the Hand. Before you enter the palace this night.”

Hugh walked over, fingered the cloth. Lifting it, he held it against the background of the wooden desk, watched, marveling, to see the fabric shift from the soft green of the carpet on the floor to the dark brown of the wood. As the Kenkari said, the very appearance of the cloth altered as well, taking on the grain and texture of the wood until it seemed to almost disappear in his hand.

” ‘The walls move.’ What I wouldn’t have given for this in the old days,” he murmured.

The Brotherhood had long wondered how the Unseen managed to operate so effectively and efficiently, wondered how it was that no one ever saw them or knew what they looked like. But the secrets of the Unseen were kept as closely and carefully as the secrets of the Brotherhood.

It was agreed upon that elven magic must have something to do with this remarkable ability, though what or how was open to debate. The elves did not possess the ability to conjure up illusions, as did the higher ranking human wizards. But they could spin magical thread, it seemed.

This guise that he held in his hand could make his fortune. Add to its obvious advantages his own skill and knowledge and experience…

Hugh laughed bitterly at himself, tossed the uniform back to the floor, where it immediately began to change its color to the green of the carpet.

“Will it fit me? I’m bigger than any elf.”

“The garments are designed to fit loosely, to flow with the wearer’s movements. Then, too, they must adapt to all sizes and shapes of our people. As you might imagine, such uniforms are tremendously rare and prized. It takes a hundred cycles to produce thread enough for the tunic alone, and another hundred cycles after that to do the weaving. The weaving and sewing may only be done by skilled magi, who have spent years learning the secret art. The trousers have a drawstring, to fit around the waist. There are slippers for your feet, a mask for your head, gloves for your hands.”

“Let’s see what I look like,” Hugh said, gathering up the clothing in a bundle. “Or what I don’t look like.”

The uniform fit, though it was tight through the shoulders, and he was forced to let the drawstring on the waist out as far as it would go. Fortunately, he’d lost weight during his self-imposed incarceration. The slippers were meant to slip over boots and did so with ease. Only the gloves didn’t fit.

The Kenkari were extremely upset over this. Hugh shrugged. He could always keep his hands out of sight, hide them behind his back or in the folds of the belted tunic.

Hugh looked in the crystal mirror at himself His body was rapidly blending into the wall. His hands were the only part of him clearly visible, the only part that was flesh and blood, real.

“How appropriate,” he remarked.

Hugh spread out his map of the Imperanon. The Keepers examined it, pronounced it accurate.

“In fact,” said Soul in wry tones, “I am amazed at its accuracy. No one but another elf—and then one who has spent considerable time in the palace—would have been able to draw this map.”

Hugh shrugged his shoulders, made no comment.

“You and the Lady Iridal enter here, through the main gate that leads into the palace proper,” said the Keeper, turning back to the map, tracing the route with his thin finger. “The Lady Iridal will tell the guards that she has been summoned to the palace at such a late hour to ‘attend a sick relative.* Such excuses are common. Many members of the royal families maintain their own private homes in the hills surrounding the palace and many return under the cover of darkness to keep private appointments. The gatekeepers are accustomed to such trysts and will most assuredly let the lady in without difficulty.”

“Wouldn’t her weesham be with her?” asked the Book worriedly.

“By rights,” the Soul admitted, “but members of the royal family have been known to sneak away from their weesham, especially when looking forward to a night of stolen pleasure.

“While the guards are talking to Lady Iridal, you, sir, will remain hidden in the shadows. You may slip past the guards when the gate is opened. Getting inside will be the easy part, I am afraid. As you can see, the palace is enormous. It contains hundreds of rooms, on numerous levels. The child could be held anywhere. But one of the weesham, who was in the palace a short time ago, told me that a human child had been given a room just off the Imperial Garden. That could be in any one of these suites located here—”

“I know where he is,” said Iridal, in a low voice.

The Keepers were silent. Hugh straightened from bending over the map, regarded her with a dark frown.

“How?” he asked in a tone that implied he already knew —and wasn’t going to like—her answer.

“My son told me,” she said, lifting her head, meeting his eyes. She reached into the bodice of her elven dress, withdrew a hawk feather attached to a leather thong and held it in her hand. “He sent me this. I’ve been in contact with him.”

“Damn!” Hugh growled. “I suppose he knows we’re coming?”

“Of course. How else could he be ready?” Iridal was defensive. “I know what you’re thinking, that we don’t dare trust him—”

“I can’t imagine what would give you that idea!” Hugh sneered.

Iridal flushed in anger. “But you’re wrong. He’s frightened. He wants to get away. That man Haplo was the one who turned him over to the elves. This has all been Haplo’s idea. He and this lord of his—a terrible old man called Xar—want the war to continue. They don’t want peace.”

“Xar, Haplo. Strange names. Who are these people?”

“They are Patryns, Keeper,” said Iridal, turning to the Kenkari.

“Patryns!” The Kenkari stared at her, stared at each other. “The ancient enemy of the Sartan?”

“Yes,” said Iridal, growing calmer.

“How is that possible? According to their records left behind, the Sartan removed their enemy before bringing us to Arianus.”

“I don’t know how it’s possible. I only know that the Patryns weren’t destroyed. Alfred told me about it, but I’m afraid I didn’t understand very much of what he said. The Patryns have been in prison, or something like that. Now they’re back and they want to conquer the world, take it for themselves.”

She turned to Hugh. “We must rescue Bane, but without Haplo’s knowledge. That shouldn’t be difficult. My son tells me that Haplo is being held by the Unseen, in some sort of dungeon. I looked, but I can’t find them located on the map—”

“No,” said the Keeper, “they wouldn’t be. Not even the very clever person who drew this map could know where the dungeons of the Unseen are located. But does this present a problem, sir?”

“I hope not. For all our sakes,” Hugh said coldly. He bent over the map. “Now, let’s say we’ve got the kid, no trouble. What’s the best way out?”

“Patryns,” murmured the Soul in awe. “What are we coming to? The end of the world…”

“Keeper,” Hugh urged patiently.

“Forgive me. What was your question? The way out? That would be here. A private exit, used by those who leave with the dawn and want to depart quietly, without bother. If the child was cloaked and wore a woman’s bonnet, he might pass for Lady Iridal’s handmaid, should anyone see.”

“Not good, but the best we can do under the circumstances,” Hugh muttered, in an ill humor. “Have you ever heard of an elf named Sang-drax?”

The Kenkari looked at each other, shook their heads.

“But that is not unusual,” said the Soul. “Many people come and go. Why do you ask?”

“I was told that if we got into trouble, this elf could be trusted.”

“Pray such trust will not be needed,” said the Soul solemnly.

“Amen,” said Hugh.

He and the Kenkari continued to plan, to discuss, to bring up difficulties, dangers, try to address them, solve them, work around them. Iridal ceased paying attention. She knew what she was to do, what part she was to play. She wasn’t frightened. She was elated, wished only that time would move more swiftly. Before now, she had not let herself dwell too much on recovering Bane, afraid that something would go wrong. Afraid she would be disappointed again, as she had been in the past.

But now she was so close. She couldn’t imagine anything going wrong. She let herself believe the dream was at last coming true. She yearned for her son, for the little boy she had not seen in a year, the little boy lost to her, now found.

Clasping the feather in her hand, she closed her eyes, pictured him in her mind. “My son, I am coming for you. Tonight we will be together, you and I. And no one will ever take you from me again. We will never be separated again.”