A Shadow on the Glass (75 page)

He looked through the catalog again. Something stood
out this time. A section entitled
Correspondence—other Charon
. Subheadings included Kandor, Yalkara, as well as other names, some of which he knew to be blendings, interbreeds between Charon and Aachim, or Charon and other races. What would they write about? Llian spent more tedious hours going through letters, treaties, reports on agriculture, mining, weather, roads and a thousand other mundane issues. Each of the Charon had an empire, and the amount of correspondence generated was prodigious.

Now the lamp began to flutter yellow. It was nearly out of oil. Already the first skin was used up. How long had he been here? Had Tallia said twelve hours from one skin of oil, or eighteen? Surely the latter, for he was worn out. Llian laid an armload of ledgers on the floor for a mattress. He had slept badly ever since Karan had been taken. He snuffed the lamp and slept.

The second day passed in much the same way as the first. The work was tedious and frustrating. There was far too much to look through, and the catalog entries usually contained shelves full of records under a single heading. His last skin of oil was running low, and some must be saved for Karan, and to get back out again.

He went back to the correspondence files. Anything explicit would probably have been destroyed, but there could be a hint in letters or dispatches that would mean nothing to anyone but him. Here was a sheaf of letters between Rulke and Kandor. Llian riffled through them. There were hundreds, many hours of reading. On impulse he stuffed them in his bag. What else? Letters between Rulke and Yalkara, not as many. The first crime made the next easier. He took these as well.

He unfolded the map, tracing the way out with his finger to imprint it on his mind. He had never been good with
maps. Now, where would Karan be? He examined the plans of the floors above. There were nine levels, marked in tiny writing. Kitchens, pantries, halls—seemingly dozens of them—libraries, map room, servants’ quarters, dormitories, hundreds upon hundreds of rooms. Further down, storerooms, armories, guardrooms, cellars,
cells
!

Be calm! he told himself. Karan need not be in the cells at all—she could be locked in any room of the citadel. And even if she was down there, she would surely be guarded.

But the thought of finding her was lodged immovably in Llian’s mind. No matter what misgivings arose, and there were many—of being caught, of Thyllan finding out what he was looking for, of interfering in whatever plans Mendark had made—he cast them all aside. Mendark could go to blazes!

The cells were right across the other side of the citadel. How could he get down there without being discovered? Llian worked out a route on the map and memorized it. After a few minutes he came into lighted ways, extinguished his lantern, clutched a sheaf of papers in one hand and tried to make himself look like any messenger boy. It must have been very late for he saw only two people on the way, and neither showed any interest in him.

Here was the stair he was looking for, running steeply down to the lower level. Llian crept down and stuck his head round the corner. He saw a gloomy corridor with only one or two lamps along it, but there was enough light to see that there were cells both to the left and right. He eased his way along the wall, keeping away from the light. Further down was an open room like a cell without bars, closed off from the corridor by a long bench. It looked like a guardhouse, and it was empty. Where was the guard?

Just then he heard a gurgling snore and, peering over the bench, he saw the guard flat out on a long stool. The room
stank of stale beer. Llian marched past and was not challenged.

Beyond were many cells both small and large, most occupied by sleeping prisoners, probably retainers loyal to Mendark. He had to light his lamp again to see whether Karan was among them. She wasn’t, and one or two stirred irritably under his light. He continued past more cells and came to another guard post. This one was unmanned. All of the cells here were empty, save the one with the lamp outside.

“Karan!” he whispered, gripping the bars.

She lay on a heap of straw on the floor, a dingy blanket clutched about her shoulders, red hair at one end, bare feet at the other. She did not move.

“Karan,” he said more loudly.

She stirred, shivered, and ever so slowly raised her head, looking at him without recognition.

“Karan! It’s me, Llian. Come quickly!”

She got up, dripping straw, and shambled across to the door. She stared up into his face, then turned and went the same indifferent way to her bed. Her cheek was badly bruised. The look on her face made his heart break.

He called her back again, and again she ambled up to the bars as though he was of no significance. Llian took her hand. She looked down, then up at his face. A spark lit in her eyes, but it went out again.

He reached through the bars and caught her in his arms. Again she almost recognized him, then her eyes went blank. She came unresistingly, as though she had no will of her own, but on touching the bars she shrank away. Llian let her go and shook the door. It didn’t even rattle. He scooted across to the empty guardhouse. No keys there! Back at the other, the guard still slept secure in the knowledge that the whole citadel was warded. Where were the keys?

Ah! A bunch dangled from a peg on the wall. Llian crept in. The guard stirred, belched beery fumes and put his head back down on his arms. Llian reached around behind him and grabbed the keys. Not carefully enough-they rang together. The guard groaned, rolled over and almost fell off the stool. Llian held his breath but soon the man was snoring as before.

Back at Karan’s cell he tried the first key in the lock. It didn’t work. Neither did the second, nor the third, nor any of the others. Karan walked across and watched what he was doing with an expressionless face. He tried each key again, three or four times; he wiggled the door, but to no avail.

“Wrong keys,” said Karan and went back to her straw.

How would she know? Llian ran back to the guardhouse. The guard was still snoring, his hand groping around blindly for something. The beer jug stood on the floor just out of reach. Eventually he gave up and slumped back again, making a whistling snore through his teeth. Where could the keys be? The guardhouse was spartan, just a few pegs in the wall, one holding up a threadbare cloak, empty shelves below, more shelves under the bench. Llian got down on hands and knees. It was hard to make anything out in the gloom. He crawled under the bench, groping around in the dark, but could find nothing. Then the guard turned over and Llian heard an unmistakable jingle.

The man was now sitting slumped over, breathing noisily. Yes, there they were, half-covered by a belly as big as the barrel he’d got it from. Llian reached his hand up into the doughy sack but at the first pressure the guard groaned and leaned further forward. Llian had to whip his hand out of the way before it was trapped. Now the hand was groping again. Llian put the jug within reach and the guard lifted it to his lips and took a great swig with his eyes closed. Beer ran down his chin, he gasped, belched and slumped sideways,
exposing the keys. In a flash Llian had them off his belt and scuttled out into the corridor.

The second key snapped Karan’s lock and he was inside. He ran across and folded her in his arms. She hung there like a rag doll. She was terribly thin.

“Come on!”

She followed him to the door, then stopped and would go no further, just kept pointing out into the corridor. Llian was about to sling her across his shoulder when he heard a voice raised up in drunken song. Something smashed, the guard cursed, flat feet flapping on the stone, then the song began again.

Llian almost panicked. “It’s the guard.” He ran back and forth, unable to decide what to do.

Karan, who had shown no signs of intelligence all this time, suddenly jerked as though she had been stabbed with a red-hot needle. Indifferent to her own fate, the danger to Llian had roused her. Her eyes rolled back and forwards, her pinpoint pupils dilated.

“
Llian!
” she whispered, a gaunt version of her old self again. “Oh, Llian, you came for me.” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed his face. Just as quickly she let him go. The guard was now bawling out his sentimental dirge.

“Get out, before you’re locked in too. Oh, Llian,” she said, staring at him as though he was the most precious thing in her life. “Please go. He’ll kill you.”

Llian tugged at her hand. “Come on! There’s still time to get away. He’s drunk!?”

“I can’t. Quick, into my bed. Under the straw.”

How could anyone hide in that miserable pile? Nonetheless he ran over, lay down and Karan piled rank, moldy straw over him. She lay down in front, flung the blanket over
them both and snuggled in. A cold hand wormed its way down into the straw and gripped his hand.

None too soon. The guard lurched into view, shining his lantern into the cells on the other side of the corridor.

“Twelve … thirteen …” He skipped the empty cells opposite, continued down to the end, then they heard him shuffling up this side. He appeared before Karan’s cell, swaying, trying to remember what number he was up to.

“Fourteen!” he cried triumphantly, raised the jug to his mouth to celebrate, realized that it was broken and cast it aside with a crash. He swayed, grabbed the cell door to hold himself up and it swung open, scraping the skin off his toes.

The guard cursed and banged it shut, trying to sober up, trying to remember. Had he locked the door or not? Of course he had. He never forgot a thing like that, even though this cell, in any case, was warded. He looked down at the squat black Sentinel, rather like a witch’s hat but with fluted sides, that stood against the wall just beyond the bars. Through a slit a yellow light glared watchfully. It was comforting to see it. He had been warned about this prisoner. Clever, they said.

He held up his lantern. The red-haired woman lay listlessly on the straw, as she had for most of the time she had been here. She didn’t look so clever. Still, better lock her in at once, before anyone found out. If she did escape, Thyllan would have his ears, and he’d be in the front line by lunchtime tomorrow. He put the lantern down and felt on his belt for the keys. They weren’t there! Now that was strange. He never took those keys off, save to give them to his relief.

The guard ran off in a panic, sandals flapping. Karan stood up, kissed Llian’s mold-smelling cheek, brushed straw off his shoulders, squeezed his hands. Llian flinched.

“What’s the matter?” She examined his hand, which had an angry red gash across the palm. “Who did this to you?”

Llian hesitated. “You did. Don’t you remember? After Emmant…”

Karan looked as though she had been struck. “I knifed you?
Emmant
?” She moaned, her eyes crossed and Llian thought she was going to relapse. But his peril dragged her out of it. “Oh, Llian, forgive me. I don’t remember.”

“Later! We’ve got to go. The guard will be back in a minute.”

“Yes. Go quickly. Even drunk he’s more than a match for you.”

“You’re coming with me,” he said. “I’m not going to leave you behind this time.”

She pointed to the Sentinel. “It’s set to me; I can’t get past it.”

“Maybe we can break through it,” said Llian, opening the door. Karan looked doubtful. He took her hand. “Now, fast as you can!”

He took off and she ran too. Llian passed straight through. Free! he exulted, then the hand that held Karan’s encountered sudden resistance, a jerk that almost pulled his arm out of its socket, and a numbing shock like the one Vartila had struck him with in the house in Name. He crashed on his back and heard a tinkle from his pack, the lamp breaking. At the same moment the corridor was seared by a yellow glare from the Sentinel that flared up the spectrum to blue and to violet. It began to clang furiously, a racket like standing underneath a temple bell.

Llian picked himself up. Karan lay on the floor, wringing her hand, which was swelling visibly as though it had been stung. She looked at him blankly for an instant, then she was herself again.

“I didn’t think we could,” she said, ghastly in the violet glare. “Please go. They have to bring me to the Conclave tomorrow, but they don’t even have to keep you alive.”

Llian looked around wildly. Nothing he ever did seemed to go right. The guard appeared, staggering out of his guardhouse with sword in hand. What could he do? Was there any way of breaking this Sentinel? He tried to pick it up but it wouldn’t move, as though something was holding it down. He kicked it, hurting his toes. It was unharmed.

Suddenly inspired, Llian whipped out the oilskin and squeezed the contents in through the slit. The clanging grew muddy but the violet glare was as baleful as ever. The guard pounded toward him. Llian ripped the lamp off the wall, smashed the glass and touched the wick to the Sentinel. A small yellow flame grew there. Just in time, for the guard was almost on him, swinging his sword in unsteady arcs. Llian hurled the broken lamp at his head, missed, turned to run and slipped on a patch of oil.

He fell right into the path of the guard, who took a tremendous swipe with his sword. Had it connected it would have taken his head clean off, but Llian fell flat on his face and it whirred above him. The guard overbalanced and fell, landing on Llian’s back, knocking the breath out of him and cracking his jaw against the floor. The sword clattered across the flagstones. Llian lay still, winded and stunned.