***
Another crescendo of knocks resounded against the battered wood as Cala arrived in the room at the bottom of the stairs. To her right was the beleaguered door. To her left stretched the hallway that led to the rest of the old manor: kitchens and dining hall and students' barracks built over a vast cellar system far older than the house itself.
Vayel stood staring at the door as though he'd never seen it, instead of having passed through it almost every day for a dozen years or more as a child.
"You won't see anything that way," said Cala as she caught her breath, then seized the prince's candle to light the sconce on the wall.
Vayel looked at her over one broad shoulder, an eyebrow cocked in inquiry. The position gave him an odd defenseless look that Cala did not care for at all.
"Open the door, you great fool," Cala laughed, though it sounded forced even to her own ears.
Vayel undid the latch and jerked the door open.
A tall slender swirl of deepest sable tore itself loose from the vast outer blackness and swooped inside, accompanied by a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning—and an uncomfortable spray of cold rainwater.
Val slammed the door shut on the icy deluge and turned with his back against it, as though to prevent another entry.
Or an escape, thought Cala? A trickle of unease danced up her spine.
"Damme, what a disgusting night," said a voice from the center of the dark swirl. "I'll never be warm again, I swear."
The swirl began to untangle itself and soon became discernable as a black cloak, dripping with water and tendrils of green weed.
Apparently their visitor had not only been rained on but had also fallen into one of their local ponds, Cala decided. She concealed a grin at the notion.
"No matter, no matter. We'll soon have you warm and dry," she said at once. "There's a roaring blaze in my study and a jug of mulled wine to go along with it."
A hand, fish-pale from cold, emerged from the cloak and pushed back a deep hood. Long slender fingers unhooked a clasp shaped like a dragon and shrugged off the soaking folds of material in one fluid motion.
The untangled cloak revealed a tall woman. "Madam," said she, with a short bow, "you have saved my unworthy life, I do assure you."
"A pity," said Prince Vayel in a loud cold voice. Then he turned on his heel and strode back up the stairs.
Cala's calculating mind, though quite busy being surprised at Val's sharp retort and abrupt departure, noted for future reference that while the woman had spoken to Cala in tones of the greatest politeness, her eyes had never ceased to be locked onto Vayel's form. Now, as that form disappeared into the gloom of the stairwell, Cala noted the expression in those deep-set eyes.
They were as full of pain and shock as though Vayel had just slapped her.
Then it was gone, that pained expression, so that Cala wondered if she had seen it there at all.
From far above their heads they heard a door slam, echoed at once by a boom of thunder.
"I take it you know the prince?" Cala asked wryly.
The woman laughed—if a sound so sharp and bitter could be called such, Cala thought.
"Indeed, madam, though not near so well as I had once believed. Does he go mad upon occasion, think you? Run in circles and bay at the moon?"
Though the woman had matched Cala's wry tone, there was an underlying hint of unease that touched Cala. She eyed her tall dripping visitor with the interest she showed to all unusual things.
The woman was dressed in well-made but simple brown breeches, jacket and high leather boots, with a gold-hilted sword buckled around a lean waist. Her thick chestnut hair was darkened to inky black with wet and streaked with pondweed, and her eyes, now that they faced Cala head-on instead of being locked on the surly figure of Vayel, were revealed to be a pale blue-green.
The woman stood Cala's inspection with admirable patience, until a convulsive shudder ran over her slender form.
"I do apologize!" said Cala, reaching out a contrite hand that stopped in mid-air as the woman drew back from her almost imperceptibly. "Keeping you here all this time until you're frozen solid, I'll be bound. Come away to my study, this instant."
"I think perhaps that would not be the best plan, madam," said the woman; her eyes were drawn as if against her will up the dark stairwell. "Perhaps some other room instead? I do not think that the prince has any great desire to—"
"The prince be damned," cried Cala with her usual energy. "My name is Cala Grayraven, Magistra of Malmillard, and you are right welcome to my house." She laid a decided emphasis on the 'my'.
The woman gave another of her elegant bows, right hand over her heart.
"I am Malen Drakkar, magistra, at your eternal service. I hope you will forgive this untoward and uninvited intrusion on such a night and allow me to—"
"Enough, enough, I see you shiver even as you spin your polite court phrases," broke in Cala with a laugh. "Come, up to my study and not another word until you've a hot drink inside you."