led down to their hideous domains and dumped barrels of glowstones into that chasm?
Unlikely. Early experiment had shown that sufficient numbers of the Dark Ones could damp the light of glow-stones, just as they killed fires or sucked the strength from a wizard's spell of light.
Some other weapon, buried in the deeps of time? Something Ingold might have learned of in his years of study and wandering? Some piece of knowledge that lay like an unexploded bomb in the depths of that complex mind?
Rudy would have swapped several of his younger siblings for the answer to that one.
A drift of warmer air rose from the stairway, stirring his long hair. It bore on it the soft, musical chanting of the night offices of the Church, and Rudy turned away, uneasy at the thought of the minor empire that filled the first-level warrens around that fluted Sanctuary. He had heard too many tales from the other mages in the Corps—rumors of rooms where magic would not operate and where a wizard could be imprisoned, as Ingold had been imprisoned in the doorless cell of Karst. There were whispers of black magic or such things as the Rune of the Chain, which bound and crippled a wizard's power and left him helpless to his ancient, ecclesiastical foes.
Rudy had seen the Rune of the Chain. The memory was not a pleasant one.
He turned down another corridor, past a guardroom where voices hummed above the rattle of a dice cup. For a moment the haughty, intolerant face of Bishop Govannin floated through his memory, as he had seen her in the dawn light on the steps. It pays to count one's enemies.
There was one he sure as hell didn't need a magnifying glass to find. But what, after all, could she do?
He found what he'd been seeking—a jury-rigged, ladder-like stairway leading down to a back corridor of the level below, at a healthy distance from the Church. Not even a glowstone marked it, for few people came this way; below lay only a chasm of darkness, stinking of dust and mice. The crazy rungs creaked under his weight. Steadying himself against the splintery wood, he jumped the last few feet to the floor.
It was only when he landed that he saw movement. His wizard's sight caught the glint of velvet and jewels; then, as faint as a whiff of the orris root perfume, he heard the unmistakable clink of a sword hilt on a belt buckle and the slurring whisper of a heavy cloak.
A rich, mellow voice spoke from the shadows. “Don't be so apprehensive, my dear boy. I have no intention of doing you harm.”
Rudy let his breath out slowly. “That's nice to know,” he remarked. “I mean, you know, halfway through the deep-night watch, you kind of wonder about the people you meet wandering around the back corridors.”
“Indeed you do.” Alwir opened a single pane of the lantern he bore, and dim, dappled white light filtered through the fretwork slides that surrounded the enchanted stone within. “You have let Ingold make you suspicious.” He set the lantern on a ledge of projecting bricks and turned back to face Rudy, his handsome, fleshy face very white within the raven masses of his hair. “Yes,” he continued, “one cannot but wonder about those who walk in the night.”
Rudy realized, with a sudden chill in the pit of his stomach, that Alwir had been waiting for him. There was nothing that he could possibly reply; the smell of Minalde's perfume clung to his clothes. On the last night before we split, he thought, Alwir knew he'd be able to intercept me. Not that he'd have had much problem any other night since we got back from Quo. Rudy wiped his clammy hands on his breeches and waited in silence for what Aide's brother would say.
“They tell me you've made excellent progress in the arts of magic,” Alwir went on in a conversational tone. “Your work on the flame throwers will, of course, be invaluable to us when we march against the Dark. Is it your belief that Dare of Renweth used something of the kind to invade the Nests?”
Rudy
Dan Bigley, Debra McKinney