Pock stood behind the lady, puckering up his purple face and hugging himself in a mockery of a passionate embrace.
'Is something amiss?' Jadis asked.
'Not at all,' Caidin replied smoothly. He gently gripped the lady's elbow and steered her away. In the process he found the opportunity to plant a firm kick on Pock's hindquarters. The gnome let out a squeal.
'Did you hear something?' Jadis asked. Caidin could not stop her from looking over her shoulder, Fortunately, Pock had already vanished behind the column.
'I didn't hear a thing,' Caidin said pleasantly.
The two spoke for a time, sipping their wine and exchanging formalities while the castellan stood apart at a respectful distance. When-she turned her head Caidin couldn't help running his eyes desirously over her supple neck and bare shoulders. Finally, he suggested they make their way to the dining hall. He downed his wine in a single gulp. Jadis nodded her acquiescence. Just then the gilded doors flew open. The pages hastily scrambled out of the way as a man with long golden hair stomped into the room.
'Your Grace, there you are,' the man said breathlessly. Caidin noticed that his blue knight's uniform was spattered with mud. 'I've been searching for you all evening, but no one I asked knew where you were.'
Caidin gave him a sour look. 'It never occurred to you, Logris, that if I had wished to be found I would have told people where to find me?'
The knight only stared at him in bewilderment.
Caidin sighed deeply. 'I was attending to business, Logris,' he said wearily. Was it his imagination, or did his knights grow more stupid with each passing year? 'As I am doing now.'
Logris bowed sweepingly. 'Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have urgent news I must tell you.' He cast a sideways look at the Lady Jadis. 'Er, in private, Your Grace.'
The baron suppressed a groan. Logris was a loyal knight, but a trifle overeager. Caidin supposed the only way to be rid of him-and to continue the beguiling game of seduction with the lady-was to hear Logris's message.
Caidin turned toward Jadis..'Forgive me, my lady…'
'Think nothing of it, Your Grace.' She touched his hand enticingly. 'I will await уой in the dining hall.'
Domeck volunteered to escort her. Caidin wistfully watched the emerald-gowned noblewoman as she and the castellan left the Grand Hall. When the golden doors had closed, he turned on the knight. 'This had better be important, Logris.'
Ten minutes later, after listening with increasing interest to Logris's report, Caidin dismissed the knight. He poured himself another glass of wine.
'What a fool,' he murmured.
'You shouldn't say such things about yourself, baron,' Pock teased, scampering out of his hiding place.
Caidin scowled in annoyance. 'I wasn't talking about myself, Pock. I was referring to King Azalin.' He drank the glass of wine. 'Didn't you hear Logris's report? He just came from II Aluk. One of my agents there learned that Azalin has sent a Kargat spy to Nartok Keep.'
'It isn't me, I swear!' Pock squeaked, falling to his knees.
'Get up, Pock!' Caidin snapped. 'You're the one person I know would never betray me. You haven't the brains for it.'
'Why thank you, Your Grace.' Pock beamed.
Caidin gazed into the crystal goblet thoughtfully. 'No, I think I can guess who it is that serves the Wizard King-someone who unexpectedly and quite conveniently arrived at the keep only today.' He cast a murderous look at the doors of the Grand Hall, then advanced on the gnome. 'I want you to keep an eye on the Lady Jadis, Pock.'
'Begging your pardon, baron, but I would rather keep a hand on her.' The gnome winked slyly.
'Pock!' Caidin growled threateningly.
The gnome scampered backward in alarm. 'An eye it is, Your Grace!' he chirped, then scurried quickly from the hall.
'So, Azalin, you have sent one of your foul Kargat to spy on me,' Caidin said aloud. He hurled the crystal goblet at the wall. 'But I am one step ahead of you.' Broken glass crackled beneath the heel of his boot as he strode from the hall. He did not want to be. late in joining the Lady Jadis for dinner.
Five
All through the endless night, Wort lay inside the ancient stone sarcophagus, the withered arms of the mummified corpse cradling him like those of a lover. Outside the coffin, howls echoed around the ruined cathedral. Wort cringed at terrible crashes and inhuman screams of rage. Could it be that the creatures out there were fighting each other? He wondered what they would do if they discovered his hiding place. Would the gargoyles battle each other to see which got the honor of tearing his throat out? Or would they simply begin to feed upon his living flesh?
He slipped into a dark delirium. The ravenous snarls, the scratching of claws, the dry-paper touch of the corpse-all of it wove itself into one endless nightmare.
Silence.
Dim realization crept into Wort's numb brain. Tomblike silence had descended over the cathedral. His eyes fluttered open. Faint golden light spilled through the crack in the side of the sarcophagus, illuminating his grisly companion. At last his mind grasped the import of these things. Dawn. Somehow he had lived to see the morning.
With the dull grating of stone on stone, the ponder ous lid of the sarcophagus slid to one side, crashing to the floor. Wort climbed from the coffin, struggling to free himself from the clutches of the mummy. Its bony fingers held him tightly, as if unwilling to let him return to the realm of the living. With a violent jerk he twisted free of the thing's grasp. The skeleton's arms snapped like dry kindling as it sank back into the coffin.
Wort spun, gazed upward. He breathed a relieved sigh. The gargoyles had returned to their high ledges, lifeless statues once more. Shivering, he made his way to the wagon. The bell shone richly in the morning light, apparently undisturbed. At least that was something. He moved around to the front of the cart and clamped a hand to his mouth to keep from gagging.
There was little left of the donkey. The leather straps of the harness had been cleanly snapped. Splinters of bone and tufts of fur swam in blood that pooled thickly on the stones. Wort saw one gory stump of bone ending in a hoof!
'Mow what am I to do?' he choked.
He could not stay in this accursed place, nor could he leave the bell behind. It was the key to everything. There was only one solution. Carefully, he picked up the broken harness and tried to shake the blood off of it. Winding the straps around his chest, he tied them tightly. He leaned into the harness. The cart did not budge. Grunting, he pulled harder. His face twisted into a horrible mask. The powerful muscles of his humped shoulders writhed beneath the coarse brown fabric of his tunic. Slowly the wagon began to inch forward.
As the cart gained momentum the pulling grew easier, but just barely. The leather straps bit painfully into Wort's flesh. With agonizing slowness, cart and bell moved through the open entrance of the cathedral and into the blinding daylight. Sweat streamed freely down Wort's brow, matting his shaggy hair. His hunched back burned. Trying his best to ignore the pain, he hauled the wagon down the overgrown track. Gradually the skeletal trees closed in behind him, blotting out the foreboding hulk of the ruined cathedral.
If his hours in the coffin had been a nightmare, then pulling the wagon to Nartok Keep was waking torture. Wort's progress down the forest track was agonizingly slow. Deep ruts continually caught the wheels of the wagon, jerking him to a halt. Roots tripped his aching feet, and thorny nettles tore his threadbare breeches to strips, tracing angry red weals across his shins. Fire ran up and down his twisted spine in searing waves. More than once he decided he could bear the agony no longer. Yet each time he was on the verge of giving up, a voice whispered in his ear. He could not understand the words the voice spoke, but they were oddly encouraging all the same, and they gave him the spark of willpower he needed to go on. Wort kept pulling.
