“Are you quite settled now, High Lord?” he snapped.
Ben nodded. “Thank you, yes.” He ignored the other’s curt tone. “I apologize for bringing the Ardsheal into Rhyndweir, but circumstances dictate unusual caution just now. I assume you have heard of the threat against my life.”
Kallendbor brushed at the air dismissively. “By Rydall of Marnhull? I have heard. Has he pressed the matter?”
“Two attacks so far.”
Kallendbor studied him. “Two. With five more promised, I understand. But nothing can stand against the Paladin. And now you have an Ardsheal as well. They should keep you safe enough.”
Ben leaned forward. “Will you be terribly disappointed if they do?”
For the first time Kallendbor smiled, a bitter and sardonic grimace. “We are not good friends, High Lord. I have no particular reason to wish you well. But Rydall of Marnhull is no friend, either.”
“Do you know him, then?” Ben pressed.
Kallendbor shook his head. “I know nothing of him. He must come from somewhere outside Landover.”
“But if so, how did he cross through the fairy mists?”
“As you did, I suppose.” Kallendbor shrugged. “He used magic.”
Ben sipped at his drink. A rather sweet wine. He would not have expected it of Kallendbor. At his side Willow stirred, impatient with the conversation, anxious to be finished with it. She did not like Kallendbor or Rhyndweir or much of anything about the Greensward. She was a once-fairy, and the Lords of the Greensward had never been their friends.
Ben looked over at the fire momentarily, then back at Kallendbor. “This is a brief visit. One night to dry out from the rains, and then we will be on our way. We will take our meals in our rooms, so you won’t have to trouble yourself with entertaining us. The Ardsheal will stay close to us and out of sight. Bunion can join us as well.”
Kallendbor nodded, and there was a look of obvious relief on his face. “Whatever pleases you, High Lord. I’ll send hot water for baths.”
Ben nodded. “There is one thing.” He leaned forward so that the full weight of his gaze was resting on Kallendbor. “If I thought for one minute that you knew anything of Rydall and were keeping it from me, I would have you in chains.”
Kallendbor stiffened, and his face went hot with rage. “High Lord, I do not have to—”
“Because I am reminded of how you sided with the Gorse against me not so very long ago,” Ben continued, cutting him short. “I had every cause to have you exiled for life and stripped of your holdings. I had cause to have you put to death. But you are a strong leader and a man who can bring considerable weight to bear among your peers, and I value your service to the throne. I did not want the Greensward to lose you. Besides, I believe you were misguided in that matter. All of us were to some extent.”
He paused. “But if it were to happen again, I would not hesitate to rethink my position where you are concerned, Lord Kallendbor. I want you to remember that.”
Kallendbor gave a curt, barely perceptible nod. He could barely bring himself to speak. “Is that all, High Lord?”
“No.” Ben held his gaze. “Rydall has taken our daughter. Your spies may not have told you that. She is a hostage until the Paladin either defeats or is defeated by the creatures he sends to do battle. I search for her now. But there is no sign of Rydall of Marnhull. No one seems able to help, yourself included. I am determined to get my daughter back, Kallendbor. If you can help, it would be wise for you to do so.”
He waited. Kallendbor was silent for a moment. “I do not need to take children as hostages to do battle with my enemies,” he managed finally.
He seemed to have trouble speaking the words. Ben wondered why. “Then you will send for me if you hear anything that will help me find Mistaya?” he pressed.
Kallendbor’s face closed down, flat and expressionless. There was a hard look in his eyes. “You have my word that I will do whatever I can to see your daughter safely home. I can promise no more.”
Ben nodded slowly. “I will take you at your word.”
There was a long, harsh silence. Then Kallendbor shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, “If you are ready, I will show you to your rooms.”
For the moment at least they had each had enough of the other.
* * *
Midnight came and went. Rain poured down out of the heavens, brought to the grasslands by thunderheads that had broken free of the barrier of the mountains and had crossed in the dark. Lightning seared the black skies in white-hot streaks that dazzled and stunned. Below Rhyndweir’s walls the turgid waters of the Anhalt and the Piercenal churned against their banks, swollen and clogged with debris.
Ben Holiday slept uneasily. Twice already he had awakened and risen to look about. Silence had woken him the first time, the storm’s fury the second. Both times he had crossed to the doorway and stood listening, then had walked to the windows of the bedchamber tower and looked down. They were housed in the west tower in rooms reserved for important visitors, high up in the palace, away from the household staff and other guests. From their windows it was well over a hundred feet to the rocks of the bluff and the waters of the Anhalt. From their door it was a long climb down a winding set of stairs past several other floors and unoccupied rooms to the hall that led back to the main part of the castle. As was the custom, the rooms selected for the High Lord of Landover were separate and secure, offering but a single approach.
On this night, however, Ben could not stop thinking that they also offered only one way out.
Still, he was safe here. Bunion kept watch just outside the door, and the Ardsheal roamed the stairs and hall below. Without, lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the wind howled across the plains, a vast immutable force. But the storm did not penetrate to where Ben and Willow slept, save for the sound of its passing, and there was nothing else to make the High Lord wakeful.
Yet he was.
And when the heavy thudding came from the stairs and Bunion shrieked in warning, he was already awake and sitting up in the bed. Willow lifted herself beside him instantly, her face stricken, her eyes wide. The iron-bound oak door flew inward, splintered into shards that barely managed to hang together from the shattered bindings. Something huge and dark filled the doorway, tearing at the stone walls that hindered its passage. Bunion clung to the thing, ripping at it with teeth and claws, but it didn’t even seem to notice the kobold. Into the bedchamber it came, hammering apart stone and mortar, shredding the lintels and the last of the mangled door. Lightning flashed and lit up the monstrous apparition as Ben and Willow stared in disbelief.
It was a giant encased in metal from head to foot.
My God, Ben thought in stunned surprise, it’s a robot!
Iron creaked and groaned as it swung toward them, arms lifting, fingers grasping. The creature was formed of metal plates and fastenings. A robot! But there were no robots in Landover, no mechanical men of any kind! No one here had ever even heard of such a thing!
Willow screamed and tumbled from the bed, looking for room to maneuver. Ben scrambled back, slipped on the bedding, and fell. His head cracked hard on the wooden headboard, and his eyes were filled with bright lights and tears. “Ben!” he heard Willow scream, but he could not make himself respond. He knew he should do something, but the blow to his head had shaken him so that he could not think what it was.
A weapon! He needed a weapon!
Through the blur of his tears he saw the robot fling Bunion away as if the kobold were made of paper. Massive iron feet thudded in heavy cadence as the monster closed on the bed, reached down for the footboard, and tore it away. The bed dropped with a lurch, and Ben rolled free, trying to gain his feet. Bunion attacked again, and this time the robot slapped him away so hard that the kobold struck the wall with an audible crunch, crumpled to the floor, and lay still.
“Ben, call the Paladin!” Willow cried out, throwing loose bedding and broken pieces of wood at the monster in a futile e
ffort to slow it.
Then the Ardsheal appeared, flying through the doorway out of the darkness beyond, slamming into their attacker from behind. The force of the blow caused the robot to sway momentarily before turning back. The Ardsheal closed fearlessly with the giant, grappling with it in an effort to bring it down. Lightning flashed once more, outlining the combatants as they fought for footing across the chamber floor. Willow darted past them, trying to reach Ben. Ben was on his feet, leaning dazedly against the far wall. Blood ran down his temple. He groped for the medallion so that he could summon the Paladin, but to his horror he couldn’t find it. The medallion and the chain that had bound it about his neck were gone!
Back against the stone wall crashed the robot and the Ardsheal, locked together in mortal combat, caught up in their terrible struggle like great bears. The Ardsheal fastened its hands on one of the robot’s great metal forearms and wrenched at it with terrific force. There was a frightening screech of metal giving way, and suddenly the lower arm and hand separated and fell to the floor with a crash. Instantly the robot wrapped both arms about the Ardsheal, locked its good hand to the remnants of its shattered arm, and tightened its arms in a crushing grip. The Ardsheal stiffened and threw back its head. Something inside it broke with an audible series of snaps.
Willow grabbed up a piece of the shattered door, charged forward with a cry, and slammed the makeshift club across the robot’s face. The robot did not seem to notice, still concentrating all its efforts on the Ardsheal. Able to see again, Ben surged forward, his head clear. He pulled Willow away, snatched up a large piece of the bedding, threw it over the robot’s head, and yanked back on the ends. The metal giant twisted its head, then started to swing about, still grasping the stricken Ardsheal.
But one boot caught on the bedding, and it tripped. To regain its balance, it was forced to release its grip.
Instantly, the Ardsheal broke free. A dark liquid ran from its mouth and nose, and its joints looked to have come loose from their pinnings. Yet it did not seem to feel its injuries. It attacked anew, hammering into the robot with both fists and knocking it backward toward the open windows. As the robot reeled away, the Ardsheal catapulted into it with a ferocious charge that carried both combatants into the metal-barred opening. Stone and mortar gave way beneath their combined weight, and the iron bars broke loose. The window frame and part of the surrounding wall shattered.
Then the Ardsheal locked itself about the robot, drove it through the opening, and both creatures tumbled out into the night.
Ben and Willow reached the rain-swept opening a moment later, too late to see them fall but in time to hear them smash against the rocks below and tumble into the river. Rain drenched their faces and shoulders as they leaned out into the dark, peering down. Lightning flashed, revealing the water-slick castle walls, the empty rocks, and the surging river. Nothing moved on the rocks. Nothing could be seen in the river.
Ben drew Willow back into the room and hugged her close. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he could feel her drawing in great gulps of air.
“Damn Rydall!” he swore in her ear, trying to keep from shaking.
Her fingers dug into his arm as she nodded in fierce, voiceless agreement.
Dragon Sight
It was afterward that Ben discovered he was still wearing the medallion. He looked down and there it was, hanging by its chain from his neck. For a moment he couldn’t believe it. He held it up and stared at it. The familiar graven image of the Paladin riding out of Sterling Silver at sunrise glimmered back. He had been so certain he had lost it. He had looked for it, and it wasn’t there.
“Ben, what’s wrong?” Willow asked quickly, seeing the look on his face.
He shook his head, letting the medallion fall back into place. “Nothing. I was just …”
He trailed off, confused. The blow on the head when he had stumbled must have stunned him worse than he thought. But he had been so sure! He had reached for the medallion, and it hadn’t been there!
Willow let the matter drop, moved to the clothes chest, and brought out clean robes. Seconds later a contingent of palace guards came charging up the stairs, weapons at the ready, responding finally to the attack. Ben and Willow were working on Bunion by then and ignored them. The kobold was banged up considerably but otherwise appeared to be all right. Kobolds are tough little fellows, Ben thought admiringly, relieved that his friend had not been seriously injured, thinking that almost anyone else would have been killed.
The palace guards poked around the room, stared out through the gap in the wall into the rain-streaked night, and mostly looked uncomfortable with the fact that they were forced to be there at all. It was a reflection on them that the attack had almost succeeded, and they were wary of both the High Lord’s and Kallendbor’s reactions to their failure to prevent it.
Ben, for his part, was too preoccupied to concern himself with casting blame; he was still mulling over the suddenness of the assault and the circumstances that had surrounded it. But Kallendbor, bare-chested and broadsword in hand when he burst into the room, was less charitable. After hearing a shortened version of the attack from Ben, he berated everyone within shouting distance. Then he dispatched one search party to the riverbanks below to discover if any trace of the Ardsheal or Rydall’s monster could be found. Others he sent throughout the castle to make certain nothing else threatened. Ben, Willow, and Bunion were moved to other rooms, and guards were ordered to keep close watch over them for the remainder of the night. Obviously ill at ease with what had happened and anxious to avoid staying longer in their company, Kallendbor bid them a gruff good night and went off to sleep.
An exhausted Willow and Bunion were quick to follow.
Ben, however, stayed awake for a long time thinking about this latest monster. Two things bothered him, and he could reconcile neither.
The first was how the creature had gotten into the castle in the first place. How had it managed to slip past Kallendbor’s guards and the Ardsheal as well? Something that big and cumbersome should never have been able to do so. It should not even have gotten past the front gates. Unless, of course, it hadn’t come through them in the first place but had gotten into the palace by use of magic, which was the only conclusion that made any sense. And that made him wonder—although admittedly this was more of a stretch—if magic had also been used during the attack to make him think the medallion was lost. Otherwise, why hadn’t he been able to find it—even stunned by the blow to his head, even in the frenzy of the moment—when it was hanging right there around his neck?
The second thing bothering him was that something was vaguely familiar about that robot, and he didn’t see how that could be. There weren’t any robots in Landover or even, so far as he knew, any idea of what robots were. So he must have seen it in his old world in a movie or a comic or some such, since even there robots were still mostly conceptual. He raked through his memories in an effort to recall where, but nothing came to mind.
When he finally fell asleep close to morning, he was still trying unsuccessfully to place it.
Willow woke him sometime around midmorning. The skies were clear again; the rains had moved east. He lay quietly for a moment, watching her sitting next to him, looking down, smiling in that particularly wonderful way, and he made an impulsive decision. Willow was suffering from Mistaya’s loss and Rydall’s threat as much as he was. It was wrong to keep his thinking to himself. So he told her all of it, even part of what he had never revealed before to anyone: that the medallion and the Paladin were linked, that the one summoned the other to the defense of the High Lord. They were alone in the room, Bunion having gone off much earlier on business of his own, the nature of which he had not disclosed. Willow listened carefully to everything Ben had to say, then took his hands and held them.
“If the medallion was tampered with,” she said quietly, sitting close on the bed beside him, “then whoever did so would have to know that it provides your link to the Paladin.” She
stared at him steadily a moment. “Who, besides me, would know that?”
The answer was no one. Not even Questor Thews, and after Ben he knew more than anyone about the medallion. Most knew that it marked and belonged to whoever ruled Landover as High Lord. A few knew that it allowed its wearer passage through the fairy mists. Only Ben, and now Willow, knew that it summoned the Paladin.
He was almost persuaded at that moment to tell her everything about the medallion, the last of his secrets, the whole of the truth. He had told her how it linked him to the Paladin, how it allowed him to summon the High Lord’s champion. Why not tell her as well how the Paladin and he were joined, how the Paladin was another side of himself, a darker side that took form when he was brought to combat? He had thought to tell her several times now. It was the last secret he kept from her about the magic, and the burden of it suddenly seemed almost unbearable.
Yet he kept silent. He was not ready. He was not certain. The immensity of such a revelation could have unexpected results. He did not want to test Willow’s commitment to him by giving up so terrible a truth. He was afraid even now, even after so long, that he might lose her.
“Where do we go now, Ben?” she asked suddenly, interrupting his thinking. “You do not intend to remain here longer, do you?”
“No,” he replied, relieved to be able to move on to another subject. “Kallendbor does not appear to have any help to give us, so there’s no reason to linger. We’ll leave as soon as I dress and we have something to eat. Where’s Bunion, anyway?”
The kobold returned to the bedchamber just as Ben finished washing and putting on his clothes. Willow’s bandage from the previous night, which had been applied to the worst of his injuries, a severe head cut, was gone. Bunion had been able to retain a strong scent from the robot, and he had gone down the stairway, backtracking its progress from the previous night. It had been a short trip. Much of the scent had been obliterated by the trampling of guards up and down the stairs, but there was enough left to determine that Rydall’s monster had materialized out of nowhere on the landing of the floor just below their own. Ben looked at Willow, then back at Bunion. They all knew what that meant.