“I am an acolyte,” Mouse whispered as though afraid the watery passage would catch her voice and echo it to the worlds, “in the Citadel of the Living Fire, servant of the Sacred Flame.”
Eanrin tilted his head, his pupils thin black slits. “And it’s in your heathen temple, you say, that my Imraldera is held prisoner?”
Mouse did not like the way he spoke without reverence, with mockery. But then, no one she’d met since beginning her journey seemed to know or respect the Flame. What a strange, barbaric world lay beyond the Citadel walls! Coldly, she nodded.
“How can that be?” Eanrin demanded. “I left her safe in the Haven. She could not be taken against her will.”
Mouse’s face darkened. “The Silent Lady came of her own accord to the threshold of the Flame’s abode. She came with a message for the goddess, but she was disrespectful of the goddess and punished by imprisonment.”
The cat searched her face with eyes that, she felt, saw more than she cared to reveal.
“You said something about Etanun and his heir.” The cat’s tail twitched. “What has my lady Imraldera to do with that?”
Mouse dropped her gaze. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I know only that she asked me to find Etanun before she is put to death.”
The cat went still. Not so much as a whisker twitched on his face. At last he spoke in a voice as dark as the tunnel around them. “Etanun. The Murderer. Bebo said something about him. I myself have seen nothing of him in . . . centuries, I think, by the Near World’s count! No one has seen him since he killed his brother and went into hiding. Why should Imraldera wish to send him a message?”
Mouse shook her head. “I know only what she told me. She said to find Etanun and Etanun’s heir, and the heir is the dwarf, whom I must bring back to the Citadel.”
“You do realize you’re talking nonsense?” said the cat.
“Please, let me try to explain!” Mouse pleaded.
“Very well, tell me everything. And be quick about it.”
Hardly knowing where to begin, Mouse said, “The Silent Lady came to the Citadel not two months ago—”
“Stop!” said the cat. “Why do you call her the Silent Lady? She was healed long ago and, believe me, I know she is not silent!”
“But . . .” Mouse frowned and rubbed her tired face. “It is her name. It is the name of our prophetess, the herald of our freedom, the forerunner of the goddess herself. It was she who, by the will of the goddess, rescued us from the grip of the Wolf Lord. She is the Silent Lady! To call her anything else would dishonor my tongue.”
The cat growled. A dreadful shadow had crossed his heart as the girl spoke, a shadow of memories not too far gone. Memories of a wolf and hunt, of flames and stone-charred land.
“Who is this goddess of whom you speak?” he asked.
“The Flame,” said Mouse, her voice reverent and low. “The bright and beautiful, the holy Flame at Night, who lights our way in darkness.”
“The Flame at Night?” Eanrin closed his eyes. His tail twitched across the stone. “Imraldera is not going to like this. Not at all.”
In Gaheris courtyard a fire burned, filling the castle with its fumes and shrouding all in thick, rank smoke. The mortals choked and gagged, their eyes watering, but the goblins welcomed it. In this world of mortal smells and sights, the smoke from their fire brought relief to their senses, shrouding the sun and disguising the strangeness of the realm they had invaded.
They bound their captives—young and old, male and female—in goblin chains of some stone unknown in the mortal world, so heavy that many of the prisoners could scarcely move. The goblins prodded them like naughty boys might goad a stray cat, laughing at whatever reaction they might get, be it fierce or frightened. Yet every last one of them suffered fear as keen as that of their prisoners. They might disguise it with bluster and roars and braggadocio, but each one looking into the eyes of his brother or sister saw the same dread hiding inside.
They had passed unlawfully through the gates. They had invaded the Near World against the Lumil Eliasul’s command. What price would they pay for their disobedience?
Not one would suggest an early retreat, however. After all, to return to Arpiar meant facing Queen Vartera herself. They must burrow in, plant themselves as firmly as possible. They were an army, weren’t they? They might yet stand a chance.
If their leader shared their fears, none could guess it. He had fastened a chain to the small mortal king’s neck. This sight made many breathe a little easier. For prophecies may be undone, even at the last. The mortal king couldn’t drive Corgar out while chained like a dog!