Arch Wizard

round him, Rod knew wasn't Ironthorn at all. They'd stepped through a magical gate, of course. Not one he'd ever written about, but he was beginning to realize that his books seemed to be more about bringing kingdoms and mountain ranges into being, here, and not the finer details. Even if he'd been the only Shaper ever to work on Falconfar, it seemed the sweep and strivings of everyday Falconaar life set about changing little things, the moment you'd lifted your pen, or your fingers from the keyboard.

The moment your Lord Archwizardly back was turned…

They were standing in a moonlit walled garden, at the base of a soaring castle keep larger, grander, and newer than any Ironthar fortress. The garden seemed to occupy the crest of a long hill that dropped away in the bright moonlight down to a small village. It was a Raurklor hold, by the familiar trees making up the seemingly endless forest all around. That slope was a long series of tilled fields outlined by hedge-walls of heaped stumps and boulders.

Syregorn and the oldest knight were both looking disgusted and hissing out curses.

'You know where we are?' Tarth asked him.

The warcaptain nodded. 'I've been here before, on Hammerhand business. This is the hold of Harlhoh, hard-riding days distant from Ironthorn along none-too-safe forest trails.'

He turned and waved disgustedly at the soaring tower whose garden door seemed to be the only way out of their enclosure, bar clambering up the stone walls. 'Which makes this the tower of Malragard, abode of the wizard Malraun.'

It was Rod's turn to curse bitterly, and he did so.

When he ran out of colorful things to say, Syregorn was standing close to him, and wearing a grim smile.

'So, Archwizard,' the warcaptain asked softly, 'when will you blast down this fortress, and Malraun the Matchless with it?'

Rod swore again, clumsily repeating himself. As he saw faces go hard and unfriendly all around him, he broke off and snapped, 'Get me some parchment! And ink, and some quills, and a lamp and something flat and smooth to write on! Then you'll see some blasting down of things, I promise you!'

The knights exchanged puzzled glances. 'Don't sound like the ballads much, do it?' Tarth asked Reld.

'Never does, when you're in it,' came the laconic reply, as Reld stared through Rod Everlar as if the Lord Archwizard of Falconfar was some sort of earthworm he'd just fished out of his soup. 'Never does.'

Chapter Sixteen

'Ready?' 'Skull… mindgem behind yer buckle… darklantern,' Garfist whispered hoarsely, waving the cloth- wrapped helm that held the skull, nodding at Iskarra's midriff, then thrusting forward the closed-shuttered lantern.

'That's not what I meant,' she replied softly, and kissed him. At first the fat former panderer sought to squirm away, growling gruffly incoherent protests, but then shrugged and surrendered to her insistent lips. The kiss went on for a long time.

When at last she released him because they both needed to breathe, he looked at her with a dark fire dancing in his eyes, as they stood nose to nose, and asked, 'An' what was that for?'

'In case it's the last kiss we ever enjoy together,' Isk whispered, eyes very large and dark.

'Oh, for the Falcon's sake,' he said disgustedly. 'Been reading too many o' them firelust chapbooks, ye have! I thought ye were wasting coin when we were last in the Stormar cities!'

'Wasting coin?' Isk snorted. 'I was writing them, Gar, not buying them!'

''Writing 'em? An' drawing on what, for yer, ah, inspiration?'

'My memories of our earliest trysts, my lord love,' she breathed, in wide-eyed mimicry of a love-struck young lass.

Garfist growled amused dismissal and chucked her under the chin. She belted him back, rather more forcefully, leaving him blinking.

'As for your inspiration, Garfist Gulkoun,' she added severely, 'I am well aware of what you got up to, every glorking moment my back was turned, with the dusky and all-too-willing wenches of-'

'Lass, lass, lass, that was work. A panderer can't sell wares he can't fairly describe, hey? I-'

Isk used only two fingers to whack Garfist's windpipe, but they were two very firm fingers. Instantly he fell silent, to tend to the task of busily clutching his numbed throat.

Which was just as well, considering how many heavily-armed Lyrose guards came rushing past the slightly-open door of the cell just then, and out through the scullery port into the night.

Lord Lyrose was well aware that other eyes besides those loyal to Hammerhand watched Lyraunt Castle by night for signs of lax vigilance. Wherefore it was high time to restore the regular patrols in the castle grounds.

Or so Iskarra read matters. Garfist wasn't troubling his head over it, of course. He'd be thinking just of the task at hand. Which was trying to breathe, just now.

Well enough. Isk devoted herself to the task at hand, too. Thinking for him, as usual.

The Aumrarr had given them directions that were clear and simple enough, but they still had to get to the right places, in an unfamiliar and unfriendly castle.

Nor did she feel overmuch like standing here in the darkness much longer. There were at least two dead men sharing this chamber with them, and a less than pleasant smell was beginning to rise.

Drawing in a deep breath despite the foul air, she stepped forward and swung open the door.

The passage outside was quiet again, and she tugged gently on the nearest part of Garfist-his left forearm, as it turned out-to tell him to be ready to move. Then she stepped boldly out the door.

The passage was empty. She faced the heart of the castle and started walking unconcernedly, trudging with the weary, slightly bored air of a servant who was supposed to be there, but Gar came out of the room in a rush and pounded past her, trotting along swiftly and gathering speed as he went.

Isk gaped at him in astonishment, then shook her head in exasperation and sprinted after him.

When she caught up to her man and clawed at the arm that held the lantern, he whirled with a growl, swinging the helm that held the skull at her like a weapon. She'd been expecting him to do just that, and ducked easily aside.

'Fool!' she hissed. 'If we go racing through the castle, we look like intruders! Walk slowly, and if we see someone, embrace me and cozy up to the wall as if we're lovers who just couldn't wait to get somewhere more private!'

Garfist grinned. 'Why do I get all the hard jobs, hey?'

'Gar, heed. This is serious! Our very lives depend on it!'

'Isk, lass, our very lives depend on everything we do. Yet grab at yer temper and douse the flames in those eyes; I'll go slowly, look ye. I'm-I'm running out of breath.'

'I should think so,' Isk muttered back. 'Now come, we haven't got all-'

There were faint shouts from distant, unseen chambers off to their right, nigh the front of Lyraunt Castle. The Aumrarr were at the foregate.

Dauntra and Juskra had given warning that although they'd seek to draw the foregate guards out of Lyraunt and butcher them, they dared not press their attack if the defenders stayed inside the fortress. They could fight in the foregate, where they'd offend only against the outer ward that cried warning-but if they tried to pass through the crackling, waiting inner wards, Malraun's magic would both harm them and send warning not just to Lyrose eyes and ears, but alert the Doom himself, wherever he might be, that Aumrarr were trying to enter Lyraunt Castle.

That might make him merely shrug-or it might mean that Garfist and Iskarra would face the light entertainment of trying to defy an annoyed Malraun the Matchless, possibly the most powerful wizard in all