not just our food for the winter, it's next year's seed. Take whomever can be spared from the bucket lines and start emptying the granary. I don't care where you put the grain- dump it on the ground if you have to, but get it out of there.' Turning to Raymond, Tate barked, 'Find the head groom and have him get all the horses out of the stables. We can't chance losing them, too.'
'Of course,' Raymond replied. 'If the granary goes up, the stables will be next.'
Tate cut him off. 'I don't intend to lose either of them. Get some people on top of the granary and tear off its roof. Don't leave any kindling up there for a stray spark to ignite. Then use chains or ropes or whatever else you can find and hitch some plow horses to the granary. If it catches fire, pull it down and scatter the pieces so there's nothing for the flames to climb.'
'What about the new wall?' the architect asked. Tate peered through the smoke at the scaffolding behind the kitchen. 'We'll just have to hold the fire off as best we can.' After Raymond ran off into the smoke, Tate rubbed his face in his hands. Great Huma's ghost, he didn't have all the answers, even if they expected him to.
Tense minutes later, Wolter and Raymond were again back at Tate's side. 'We're ready to topple the granary, but I hope we don't have to,' the knight reported. 'What with the heat and the smoke, getting the grain out is next to impossi shy;ble. If s going awfully slow because the men have to work in short shifts to keep from searing their lungs.' 'And the wall supports?'
Raymond's soot-streaked face looked worried. 'The beams are scorching, and the ropes are smoking like a dwarf's pipe. If the bakery collapses soon, and I expect it will, we'll be a lot safer.'
Strangely relieved by the news that the bakery was about to fall, Tate relaxed slightly. But cries of 'Water! Water!' from the fire fighters cut short his brief respite.
Tate's heart nearly choked him when he saw bucket passers and fire fighters standing idle, shuffling their feet and looking quizzically back toward the well. A few empty buck shy;ets were still moving down the line, but no newly filled ones came forward.
At the well, the blacksmith and the farrier both dripped sweat. They stood panting, their hands on the rope that dis shy;appeared down the dark shaft. Tate stopped his headlong rush by crashing into the side of the well, clutching the rough stones to keep his balance. Before he could blurt out the obvi shy;ous question, the farrier answered it.
'We've drained it to the bottom, Sir Tate. If s just filling at a trickle now, not nearly as fast as we've been taking it out. And we've already drained the cisterns, too.'
'How much water can we get?' Tate asked softly, almost a whisper. Everyone's eyes were on him.
The blacksmith arched his eyebrows momentarily as if to apologize. 'We can get one bucket in the time it took us to get
ten or fifteen before.'
Tate stood straight as a pike and glared at the sky, dark shy;ened with smoke and soot. 'Gods' teeth!' he screamed. 'Am I to be opposed by fate at every step?' He stared into the roaring sky, then turned to the men waiting by the horses. The words to command the destruction of all their hard work choked in his throat. Tate waved his arm.
'Pull down the granary,' Wolter bellowed, correctly inter shy;preting the gesture.
Grooms tugged on bridles, chains lifted off the ground, then grew tight and strained. Slowly a chorus of 'hiyaa' and 'g'yon there' gave way to groaning timber and splintering lath. The granary building leaned at the top, then buckled at the bottom, and collapsed into a dust-obscured heap of rub shy;ble. Flames shot up and danced across its surface. As the horses continued dragging the massive timbers, they scat shy;tered the burning matter across the inner courtyard. Women and children swarmed around it to beat out the flames with brooms and blankets.
Unchecked, the fire now raced along the wall support beams above the kitchen. With no water to hold back the flames, the kitchen would soon be engulfed the same way the bakery had been.
The throng of people who had worked so hard to slay the wicked fire now watched it rage out of control. As a group, they backed across the courtyard toward the temple and the main gate, then stood and watched, eyes streaming with tears, as the kitchen was consumed. Above the kitchen, workers' scaffolding swayed in the heat. Ropes smoldered before snapping loose. Support beams, already charred, began to glow from within.
As the blaze in the kitchen reached its height, the first of the wall supports collapsed. The sound was like nothing Tate had ever heard before-like a whip crack, only as loud as an avalanche.
Uncured mortar, weakened further by the heat of the fire, could not hold up the massive stones. One stone slid out and crashed through the kitchen, casting up a shower of sparks to more than twice the height of the curtain wall. Several more stones followed, then the entire upper section of the wall poured down.
The castle shook under the blows, and people claimed later they were actually knocked off their feet by the shock. When the dust cleared, Tate didn't know whether to laugh or cry. A gaping hole forty feet wide and twenty feet deep made the wall look worse than it had four months ago, when the restoration had just started. But in collapsing, the stones had buried the kitchen, extinguishing the fire that had caused them to fall.
Wolter came to stand by his slack-jawed friend. The old knight's face was streaked with soot and sweat, gray hair hanging in his eyes. 'We'll rebuild, Tate. We did it once, we can do it again.'
Tate nodded numbly. In spite of his misery, Tate recalled a legend his father had told him often. It was about two ances shy;tral enemies who fought for hours only to ultimately kill each other with simultaneous deathblows. As a child, Tate had thought the story epitomized the ideals of honor and passion. Now, it just seemed a waste.
Chapter 13
Fed up with inactivity and pteros's indecision, Khisanth slipped out of the elemental air pocket. Outside was the same turbulent world as before, featureless, constantly changing, lit by light shy;ning and pounded by thunder. Khisanth pushed herself away from the bubble and drifted slowly, trying to focus her thoughts on escape.
Suddenly a flash of lightning ripped into her flank, con shy;vulsing the muscles there and forcing a bellow of surprise and pain from the dragon. Looking back in anger, Khisanth saw her hind leg kicking uselessly in spasms caused by the lightning. The randomness of the attack infuriated her; she couldn't even 'think' like lightning to anticipate the next bolt. As though answering her thoughts, several more bolts of lightning shot past dangerously close. She flapped back into the airy haven.
Pteros was just as she'd left him. He eyed her scorched scales and asked apprehensively what happened. Frustrated and impatient, Khisanth refused to answer.
'Did you see some other creature? Or has the elemental come back?' No answer came from Khisanth. 'Why would the elemental attack you? Do you think it was the enemy the elemental had mentioned? Fraz, was that its name?'
'It was just a bolt of lightning.'
Pteros was silent for a while. His head slumped on his forepaws. He stared forlornly at the shimmering blue wall.
'You've got to try that gate spell, Pteros.'
Hearing the uncompromising tone in Khisanth's voice, the ancient beast answered without raising his head. 'That spell is something I learned from an elf captive long, long ago, near the end of the war. I've forgotten most of what the elf told me about its use. I seem to recall it wasn't something we could use to go elsewhere, but rather a portal to bring something to us.' Pteros looked worried. 'It would be most imprudent to try it.'
The ancient dragon's timidity in the face of emergency brought Khisanth's anger back full force. 'Does that mean you won't try anything, for fear of making things worse? How much worse can they get?'
Khisanth's words only made Pteros look more miserable.
'Your friend is right. Creating a magical gate here is most unwise. In fact, even the discussion of it might attract the attention of creatures more powerful than yourselves, plentiful indeed on a quasi-elemental plane.'
Khisanth and Pteros whirled in the bubble to find the source of the unnaturally deep voice. They both lurched back at the sight of a bestial, yet beautiful face pressed through the side of the air bubble. The face resembled a gorilla's, but with large, fan-shaped ears and a bald, pointed pate. The fur was white, almost a blindingly pure
