The door shut, its iron latch having the final word in the odd exchange. Leta, hardly knowing what had just transpired, stood for a good while, unable to move.
Then she flew to the window and grasped the stone frame, wondering if she could somehow fit through that opening. But no, though she was slight, the slit was too narrow, and the drop below far too great. Even should she succeed in wriggling through, she would smash on the broken paving below.
“I cannot let him know,” she whispered, and for once neither her practical nor rebellious side offered a counterargument. “I cannot let him discover what I have learned.” Perhaps a fall to the paving stones was the only answer. Then her secret would die with her.
The clouds above churned like a coming storm. Once again they parted suddenly, and Leta gazed up at the shining light of Ceaneus, the blue star. Her eyes filled with desperate tears. If only the House of Lights was opened! If only she could hear the Songs of the Spheres as did the mortals of long ago! She might then be able to call upon their aid, for surely they would look with pity on the plight of those imprisoned in Gaheris.
Involuntarily, her lips formed the words of the old nursery rhyme:
“Starlight, star bright, guide her footsteps through the night.”
The words vanished with a vaporous breath into the cold darkness. The star above shimmered.
Then it turned and looked at Leta.
How may I serve you? it said.
Leta fell over backward, landing with a thump on the library floor.
15
FOR THIS PURPOSE, I HAVE RETURNED to this land of my former enslavement. I have harnessed the power of mortal devotion, even as Amarok once did. And they worship me and serve me, and they would die for me.
They will die for me.
They will bring me Halisa, and all will be made right in my eyes.
The high priestess’s train might as well have been links of chain, so effectually did it bind Mouse to her.
Mouse walked blindfolded, keeping careful pace with the Speaker in front of her, never allowing herself to walk too fast or too slow, as she had been trained from the day she came to the temple. Around her, she heard the murmured chants of the priestesses, the answering whispers of frightened acolytes, and the marching tread of the warriors’ heavy feet. The scrubber she could not sense at all, save for a strange, uneasy feeling that he watched her from behind.
Well, she knew what she must do. She couldn’t guarantee it was right, and she was absolutely certain it was not smart. But she would do it, and she would hope, if hope could be found in the winding ways of the Diggings.
She would make certain the Dragonwitch, who had deceived her and all her people, did not gain that for which she had enslaved this world.
“Here,” said the Speaker at last, and the company came to a halt. “Remove your coverings.”
With one hand Mouse released the high priestess’s train and slid her blindfold down around her neck. She blinked, for she had not expected the torchlight to be so bright. The Speaker met her gaze, her black eyes revealing nothing. Mouse looked away and found herself facing the old scrubber, who grinned and nodded knowingly.
The entrance to Halisa’s chamber reflected back its shadows even when the eunuchs approached with their torches. It was difficult to believe there was or ever had been a doorway. But when the high priestess strode forward, trailing Mouse behind, the edge of the carved stone accepted the light and revealed itself in sharp contours, all the fine carvings of dreadful things.
And within lay the black stone from which Fireword protruded.
So the Smallman hadn’t found it. Mouse felt her heart turn to shivering ice in her breast. She hadn’t expected him to succeed, not really. He was lost in the Diggings, like the slave Diggers before him. He would not return. Some prophecies are not meant for fulfillment.
The ice of Mouse’s heart hardened to iron resolve, and her fists clenched the edge of her mistress’s train. Failed prophecies be devil taken! The Dragonwitch would not carry this day.
The Speaker passed under the arch, and Mouse was obliged to scurry after her. She had no desire to approach either stone or sword, but she had no choice, for her mistress walked right up and stood gazing down upon them. Mouse looked too . . . and was surprised.
The first time she glimpsed the weapon, it had seemed nothing more than an ugly object of violence chipped from the black stone itself. Now she saw, or thought she saw, the gleam of silver. A glimmer truer than firelight.
It’s a gift.
The thought slipped into her mind and rested there, growing by the moment. Mouse’s eyes widened with wonder.
This sword can slay dragons.
At that moment, Mouse first noticed a sound she hadn’t heard the time they came with the Silent Lady—a rumbling like the snarl of a monster awakened from a long sleep. But it couldn’t be that. This growl was far more alive than anything Mouse had ever heard before. Alive with power—deep, flowing power.