Thunder cracked behind them. A chill wind came up, cutting through their tunics. Bink shivered. 'I think we spend the night there-or in the rain,' he said. 'Could you transform it into a harmless cottage?'
'My talent applies only to living things,' Trent said. 'That excludes buildings-and storms.'
Glowing eyes appeared in the forest behind them. 'If those things rush us,' Fanchon said, 'you could only transform a couple before they were on us, since you can't zap them from a distance.'
'And not at night,' Trent said. 'Remember-I have to see my subject, too. All things considered, I think we had better oblige the local powers that be and enter the castle. Carefully-and once inside, we should sleep in shifts. It is likely to be a difficult night.'
Bink shuddered. The last place he wanted to spend the night was there-but he realized they had come far too deeply into the trap to extricate themselves readily. There was powerful magic here, the magic of an entire region. Too much to fight directly-now.
So they yielded, goaded by the looming storm. The ramparts were tall, but covered by moss and clinging vines. The drawbridge was down, its once-stout timbers rotting in place. Yet there was an ancient, lingering, rugged magnificence about it. 'This castle has style,' Trent observed.
They tapped the planks, locating a reasonably solid section on which to cross. The moat was overgrown with weeds, and its water was stagnant. 'Shame to see a good castle get run down,' Trent said. 'It is obviously deserted, and has been for decades.'
'Or centuries,' Bink added.
'Why would a forest herd us into a derelict castle?' Fanchon asked. 'Even if something really horrible lurks here-what would our deaths profit the forest? We were only passing through-and we would make it much faster if the forest just left us alone. We intend it no harm.'
'There is always a rationale,' Trent said. 'Magic does not focus without purpose.'
They approached the front portcullis as the storm broke. That encouraged them to step inside, though the interior was almost black.
'Maybe we can find a torch,' Fanchon said. 'Feel along the walls. Usually a castle will have something near the entrance-'
Crash! The raised portcullis, which they had assumed was corroded in place, crashed down behind them. The iron bars were far too heavy to lift; the three were trapped inside. 'The jaws close,' Trent remarked, not seeming perturbed. But Bink could see that his sword was in his hand.
Fanchon made a half-muffled scream, clutching at Bink's arm. He looked ahead and saw a ghost. There was no question about it: the thing was a humped white sheet with dead-black eyeholes. It made a mouthless moan.
Trent's sword whistled as he stepped forward. The blade sliced through the sheet-with no visible effect. The ghost floated away through a wall.
'This castle is haunted, no question,' Trent said matter-of-factly.
'If you believed that, you wouldn't be so calm,' Fanchon said accusingly.
'On the contrary. It is physical menaces I fear,' Trent replied. 'The thing to remember about ghosts is that they have no concrete manifestation, and lack also the ability of shades to animate living creatures. Therefore they cannot directly affect ordinary people. They act only through the fear they inspire-so it is merely necessary to have no fear. In addition, this particular ghost was as surprised to see us as we were to see it. It was probably merely investigating the fall of the portcullis. It certainly meant no harm.'
It was obvious that Trent was not afraid. He had not used his sword in panic, but to verify that it was a genuine ghost he faced. This was courage of a type Bink had never had; he was shivering with fear and reaction.
Fanchon had better control, now that her initial scream was out. 'We could fall into quite physical pits or set off more boobytraps if we tried to explore this place in the dark. We're sheltered from the rain here- why don't we sleep right here in shifts until morning?'
'You have marvelous common sense, my dear,' Trent said. 'Shall we draw straws for first watch?'
'I'll take it,' Bink said. 'I'm too scared to sleep anyway.'
'So am I,' Fanchon said, and Bink felt warm gratitude for her admission. 'I have not yet become blase about ghosts.'
'There is not enough evil in you,' Trent said, chuckling. 'Very well; I shall be first to sleep.' He moved, and Bink felt something cool touch his hand. 'Do you take my sword, Bink, and run it through whatever manifests. If it has no impact, relax, for it is a true ghost; if it contacts anything material, that threat will no doubt be abated by the thrust. Only take care'-and Bink heard the smile in his voice-'that you do not strike the wrong subject.'
Bink found himself holding the heavy sword, amazed. 'I-'
'Do not be concerned about your inexperience with the weapon; a straight, bold thrust will have authority regardless,' Trent continued reassuringly. 'When your watch is done, pass the blade on to the lady. When she is done, I will take my turn, being by then well rested.' Bink heard him lie down. 'Remember,' the Magician's voice came from the floor. 'My talent is void in the dark, since I cannot see my subject. So do not wake me unnecessarily. We depend on your alertness and judgment.'' He said no more.
Fanchon found Bink's free arm. 'Let me get behind you,' she said. 'I don't want you running me through by accident.'
Bink was glad for her closeness. He stood peering about, sword in one sweaty hand, staff in the other, unable to penetrate the dark. The sound of the rain outside became loud; then he made out Trent's gentle snoring.
'Bink?' Fanchon said at last.
'Um.'
