every floor, making their rounds at random intervals so as not to fall into a
predictable routine. Routines could be taken advantage of. There were caches of
weapons stashed all over the house, carefully out of sight but still ready to
hand in an emergency. Outside, the grounds were a security man's dream. All the
approaches were wide open—nowhere for anyone to hide—and the thick covering of
snow made the lawns impossible to cross without leaving obvious tracks.
All in all, everything was calm and peaceful, and showed every sign of staying
that way. Which was probably why Fisher was so bored. Ap Owen's people seemed to
regard her as an outsider, and her appointment as some kind of negative
appraisal of their own abilities. As a result, none of them were talking to her.
Ap Owen himself seemed friendly enough, but it was clear he was the worrying
type, constantly on the move, checking that everything was running smoothly.
Fisher wandered aimlessly around for a while, committing the layout of the house
to memory and trying to get the feel of the place.
It was an old house, creaking and groaning under the weight of the winter cold,
with a somewhat erratic design. There were rooms within rooms and corridors that
led nowhere, and shadows in unexpected places. But everything that could be done
to make the house secure had been done, and Fisher couldn't fault ap Owen's
work. She should have felt entirely safe and protected, and it came as something
of a surprise to her to find that she didn't. Deep down inside, where her
instincts lived, she couldn't shake off the feeling she—and everyone else in the
house—was in danger. No doubt part of that uneasiness came from knowing there
was a pocket dimension nearby. After what had happened in the Hook she was more
than a little leery of such magic, for all of ap Owen's reassurances. But more
than that, she had a strong feeling of being watched, of being under siege. She
had only to look out of a window to feel the pressure of unseen watching eyes,
as though somewhere outside a cold professional gaze was studying her
dispassionately, and considering options.
And so she'd ended up back in the study, staring out the wide window at the
bare, innocent lawns and wondering if she was finally getting paranoid. Ap Owen
acted as if he was expecting an attack at any moment, and she was beginning to
understand why. There was a definite feeling of anticipation in the air, of
something irrevocable edging closer; as though her instincts were trying to warn
her of something her mind hadn't noticed yet. She threw aside her chicken leg,
turned her back on the window defiantly, and looked around for something to
distract her. Unfortunately, the study was briskly austere, with the bare
minimum of chairs and a plain writing table. Bookshelves lined two of the walls,
but their leather-bound volumes had a no-nonsense, businesslike look to them.
There was one portrait, on the wall behind the desk, its subject a
straight-backed, grim-faced man who apparently hadn't approved of such
frivolities as having your portrait painted. The study had clearly been intended
as a room for working, not relaxing.
Fisher leafed through some of the papers on the desk, but ap Owen's handwriting
was so bad they might have been written in code for all she could tell. She
looked thoughtfully at the wine decanters left over from the delegates' break,
and then looked away. She'd been drinking too much of late. So had Hawk. Haven
did that to you.
There was a definite crawling on the back of Fisher's neck, and she strode back
to the window and glared out at the featureless scene again. The snow-covered
lawns stretched away before her, vast and unmarked. There were no trees or
hedges, nothing to hide behind. Everything was quiet. Fisher yawned suddenly,
and didn't bother to cover her mouth. She'd been hoping to snatch a couple of
hours' sleep here, but it seemed her nerves were determined to keep her restless
and alert. She almost wished that someone would attack, just to get it over
with.
She started to turn away from the window, and then stopped, startled, and looked
quickly back again. The wide open lawns were empty and undisturbed; no one was
there. But for a moment she could have sworn… It came again, a sudden movement
tugging at the edge of her vision. She looked quickly back and forth, and
pounded her fist on the windowsill in frustration. There couldn't be anyone out
there. Even if they were invisible, they'd still leave tracks in the snow.
Things moved at the corner of her eyes, teasing her with glimpses of shapes and
movement that refused to come clear. She backed slowly away from the window and
drew her sword. Something was happening out there. There was a sound behind her
and she spun round, dropping into a fighter's crouch. Ap Owen raised an eyebrow,
and she flushed angrily as she straightened up.
'Dammit, don't do that! Come and take a look, ap Owen. Something's going on
outside.'
'I know. Half my people are giving themselves eyestrain trying to get a clear
look at it.'
'Do you know what it is?'
'I have a very nasty suspicion,' said ap Owen, moving over to join her before
the window. 'I think there's someone out there, hiding behind an illusion spell.
It must be pretty powerful to hide his trail as well, but as he gets closer to
the house the protective wards are interfering with the spell, giving us
glimpses of what it's hiding.'
'You think it's just one man?'
'Not really, no. Just wishful thinking. I've put my people on full alert, just
in case.'
'Does whoever's out there know we've spotted something?'
'Beats me. But they haven't tried anything yet, which suggests they still trust
in the illusion to hide their true strength.'
Fisher scowled out the window, and hefted her sword restlessly. 'All right, what
do we do?'
'Wait for them to come to us. Let's see if they can even get in here before we
start panicking. After all, it would need a bloody army to take this house by
force.'
There was a sudden, vertiginous snap and the world jerked sideways and back
again, as the house's wards finally broke down the illusion spell and showed
what lay behind it. The wide lawns were covered with armed men, and more were
pouring through the open gates. Dressed in nondescript furs and leathers, they
advanced on the house in a calm, professional way. Fisher swore respectfully.
There had to be at least two hundred men out there.
The four marble statues had come alive, and were cutting a bloody path through
the invaders. They were coldly efficient and totally unstoppable, but were hard
put to make any impression on so many invaders. Half a dozen guard dogs blinked
in and out of existence as they threw themselves at the intruders, leaping and
snapping and now and again tearing at a man on the ground, but again there were
simply too few of them to make any real difference. No one had expected or
