The Lady Mariel passed down to Enid herself, who was an infant at the time, fifty cats. Bayard thought of how the mad old woman met her fate and laughed wickedly.
"Wonder how she proposed to feed them all?" he asked in all mischief. Then his eye stopped on an older scrap of parchment-centuries old, perhaps, and no larger than the palm of Bayard's hand. And yet it was written in a polished script that was strikingly, unsettlingly familiar.
"Now where…?" he thought, then recognized the writing of Benedict di Caela.
You again, old enemy, Bayard thought, for it was the Scorpion's writing, reaching out to him beyond four centuries and the villain's several deaths.
Having nothing to inherit, I have little to pass to my descendants. My father and that brace of vultures who call themselves my brothers have seen to that.
"We saw to it also, you brigand!" Bayard hissed, surprised at the anger he still felt toward the dead illusionist. Bayard snorted and lifted the parchment to the light.
So I resolve to bequeath chaos and disaster and a curse on generations. Castle di Caela will be mine eventually, for I shall return to it until it falls into my hands.
"Or the curse is lifted," Bayard pronounced triumphantly, then frowned at the document's conclusion.
And if you who read this have lifted my curse, congratulate yourself no further. If you have been triumphant, prepare to have Castle di Caela snatched from your hands by the rending of the earth. Eventually it will come, as foretold and unstoppable as the rains of autumn or the awakenings of spring. For I have seen to that. Beneath your feet and your thoughts, your histories and even your imaginings, I have set a device in motion. From the wakening of time, from the Vingaard Mountains to the Plains of Solamnia, even unto the foundations of this murderous house, there were forces that awaited my guidance, and you will know of them soon enough. Though you may uncover my devices, you will never strike the mark nor hit the target. And though I may be dead when you read this, be assured that in some dark and comfortless comer of the skies, my laughter mocks you and those who follow you with the fond and foolish hopes that my powers are spent.
Bayard's night was sleepless. The shooting pains in his leg mingled with unsettling thoughts, more baffling than any numbers, as he tried to decipher the will, to plumb the mysterious "device", to stop the dark laughter. He worried, too, about the young man in the mountains and his ragtag group of followers.
It was almost a week before Bradley, one of the castle engineers, inspecting the foundations and cellars of the castle for flaws and damage the earthquake had wrought, stumbled across the gap in the dungeon.
It was not a large opening, he insisted to an alarmed Bayard and a half-dozing Sir Robert, but dangerous enough. For the great well that lay under the castle, subject to strain and pressure through the extraordinary rainy season, was no doubt brimming and bubbling in the deep recesses of rock, where only a sudden twist of the earth could unleash a flood through the floors of the towers and leave them awash in their own cistern.
To Bayard, it was still a question of plumbing. He soothed himself, thinking, I shall attend to this later. Until the young engineer added that beyond the opening lay a network of runnels.
Now he was far more concerned as to the state of the castle, for there was no telling what vermin or darker thing neither wedged himself in some remote underground cranny nor caused a cave-in or rockslide due to his high spirits. Sir Andrew promised that Robert was "in good hands."
Bayard Brightblade was not assured.
Comprising the rest of the group were servants- linkboys and bearers. There were two men trained as sappers, whose talents Bayard thought he could put to less military use. There was also Gileandos the tutor, who hovered about Sir Robert and Sir Andrew, prattling about the differences between stalactite and stalagmite and how one remembered the difference, until Sir Robert suggested that the scholar carry a lantern and make himself "useful for once."
All in all, there were nearly twenty of them-"a small army," Bayard muttered, a little resentfully, because his visions had been of adventure-of a solitary Knight, or at most a band of two or three or four, off into the bowels of the earth, where unknown peril awaited them.
With his group, the numbers were stacked against the lurking dangers. And Bayard admitted he was disappointed by the odds. His followers pressed together around him until he felt like a schoolmaster or a governess off on a jaunt with unruly children in tow.
"What… what does it look like inside there, Bayard?" Sir Andrew asked, squinting over a lantern held much too high by Gileandos.
Together the Knights peered into the fissure. Andrew shifted uncomfortably under Bayard's weight.
"I cannot see a thing while I rock like a boat, Andrew," Bayard replied curtly, and the old man settled himself.
Brandon Rus leaned forward and, taking a lantern from one of the linkboys, cast light into the fissure.
A tangle of roots, no doubt from the huge hackberry and vallenwood parks just outside the castle wall, spread across the door as though the very veins and arteries of the world lay exposed. Beyond the network of tendrils, there was a greater darkness-some tunnel, no doubt, or a passageway formed where the roots churned and shifted the ground about them.
The explorers, all twenty or more of them, stood gaping at the edge of the darkness. Bayard tried to move forward for a closer look, but the reluctance of his bearers held him back.
"There is nothing of… passageways… in the histories," Brandon whispered.
"Oh, I have seen them in a chapter or two," Bayard murmured ominously as startled eyes turned toward him.
Gileandos moved forward and faced the party, his back to the cavity in front of them.
"Gentlemen, you are looking into the mouth of an accident. A quirk of geology. All that's left for any of us is repairs, if you ask me. Nothing a good stonemason cannot mend and refashion into dungeonry."
Bayard regarded the old tutor curiously but said nothing. All around him, the servants voiced their agreement with the scholar. No doubt they were anxious to be upstairs in warmth and dryness and light.
Among all assembled, Bayard was sure of only one stout heart.
"What do you think, Brandon Rus?" Bayard asked, leaning heavily on the wall at the mouth of the tunnel, one foot already stepping into the tangled darkness beyond the light of the lanterns.
The young man paused, poised between Solamnic courtesy and the truth he was coming to suspect-that indeed, Sir Bayard knew more of this underground mystery than he was letting on, for whatever reason.
"No doubt," Brandon Rus said slowly, tactfully, "the schoolmaster is correct when he claims this to be an accident of nature. All the more reason we should go forward and explore it-for the sake of science, if for nothing else."
"And," Sir Andrew added, "a body can never tell when something like this spreads beneath his foundations and undermines his whole damned architecture."
Bayard breathed raggedly and rested against the strong arms of the younger man. As Sir Andrew stepped behind him, the faint unsavory odor, the smells of unwashed trail dirt and the heavy odors of soured wine, was lost in the smoke of the torch.
Bayard sighed. Hygiene may not have been among Sir Andrew's virtues, but courage and loyalty took its place most gracefully.
The Knights stood together at the lip of the fissure, waiting for something they could not quite fathom.
"As… as… the only accredited scientist in this group," Gileandos began, "I assure you that whatever discoveries you might expect in the bowels of the castle grounds would be minimal at best. Why, this area has been excavated, plowed under, apportioned, and surveyed for a thousand years. There is nothing new beneath Castle di Caela-" "Enough, Gileandos," Sir Robert insisted. "Why, indeed, if there are tunnels, most certainly-" "That will be enough, Gileandos!" Sir Robert thundered, and the whole party stood silent. There was a scuffling sound and the clatter of metal behind them as one of the linkboys dropped his lantern and scurried back up the stairs t
oward daylight and safety.
"Well…" Sir Robert began, this time more quietly, a note of resignation and almost of sadness passing over his voice as he joined the three others who were preparing to pass from the cellars into the thicket of roots and sliding dirt.
"Give me your lantern," he said to the nearest linkboy. "The rest of you tend to business upstairs. Tell my daughter where we've gone."
"Then we're off for it," he said, grinning exultantly. "It's a glory how so many things come down to a crawl in a dungeon."
His companions looked at one another curiously, then back at Sir Robert. Trained Solamnics all, they waited politely as the rest of the party filed up the stairs toward the Great Hall and fresh air and light. Bayard glanced coldly at Gileandos, who stopped for a moment on the stairwell and leaned into the shadow, no doubt hoping to overhear whatever transpired when the entourage left. The old scholar snorted and cast his eyes downward. Finally Sir Andrew had enough.
"Damn it, man, if you're going to blubber or pout, I'd rather risk all our lives and take you with us."
The tutor scurried back down the steps. Now the darkness in the room grew deeper as the cellar door closed above the six of them. Sir Robert lifted the lantern, and each face was bathed in orange light.
"So here we are," Bayard said with a smile. "One fresh young Knight little tested, one seasoned but somewhat banged up, and three others-"
"Old. The word is 'old.' Like cheese or wine." Sir Andrew chuckled, and Sir Robert laughed gamely.
There was something in the zest and movement of these old Knights that Brandon could not yet understand. Nor Bayard, for that matter, though something in his leg would whisper it in the rainy seasons of the years to come.
Now it was two old men, facing one another at the brink of yet another adventure. Both of them were weary, longing for repose and rest and featherbeds and wine and blankets and the aimless chatter of grandchildren.
Yet both of them knew that whatever lay beyond the walls of the cellar was yet to be encountered.
Bayard raised his hand suddenly. "Hark! Something back in the…"
Great silence filled the cellar. Footsteps rustled across the floor overhead, and a rat skittered into a darker corner, its eyes glowing red for a moment as they reflected the torchlight.
For a long time, there was no sound.
Then there was a faint light at the head of the stairwell. Someone was descending, hand on the railing until the railing ceased. Then the steps became more cautious, more unsteady, as whoever it was continued the slow descent toward the Knights.
"You have been ordered back!" Sir Robert shouted. Something small and accustomed to the dark shrieked in the corner of the cellar, and Gileandos leaped again, the light in his hand bobbing badly.
"Hold that thing steady, Gileandos, or you'll ignite yourself!" Andrew snapped.
The tutor whimpered but held as steady as possible.
"I am afraid I cannot answer to you, Sir Robert," a voice piped down the stairwell.
It was Raphael.
"Raphael, go back up with the others," Bayard ordered impatiently, his eyes already back on the fissure in the cellar wall.
"1 am afraid he cannot answer to you, either, Sir Bayard," echoed another voice, even more familiar.
"Enid!" Robert and Bayard exclaimed in one voice. "Get back up-"
They stared at one another stupidly.
Chapter XIV
"No," the lady of the castle declared musically as she stepped into their presence, draped in a gray wool cloak, her high cheekbones and deep brown eyes bathed suddenly in candlelight as Raphael stepped apologetically out from behind her.
With her also was the Lady Marigold, large arms crossed over her ample bosom. Her glowering look made even Brandon step back. Marigold saw the young Knight shy away from her, and her glower softened.
The big woman was ready for adventure, it seemed. She carried two enormous bags, one of which bristled with brushes and combs and netting, along with machines and devices foreign to all of the men. The other was tied tightly, heavily laden, and smelled of sausage and cheese. Marigold's hair was tiered and woven with flowers. Long-stemmed irises perched on the back of her neck, and the flora changed from nape to forehead, where dainty pansies and namesake marigolds adorned her brow.
"She looks like a wandering hothouse!" Brandon Rus exclaimed beneath his breath. Coyly Marigold winked and kissed the air. He flushed and sank into his armor.
Enid was, as usual, breathtaking. The old men thought of elf-women, of goddesses.
Bayard, on the other hand, knew she was from anywhere but the heavens. Enid glared at him angrily and took Raphael's candle into her hand.
"No, dear Father, dear Husband. No to any of you, for that matter. I am not 'getting back' anywhere."
"But this is no place-" Brandon began, then stopped himself in midfoolishness as Enid's eye caught his.
Sir Robert snorted, turned, and walked to the far side of the room, his ceremonial armor clattering. Bayard closed his eyes in dismay.
It was like being in the eye of a hurricane. Skittering sounds echoed through the darkness. Even the rats were leaving the vicinity.
"'No place for a woman,' you were going to say, dear boy?" Enid di Caela began sweetly.
The other Knights coughed, cleared their throats, looked at their feet. Only Bayard stood firm and attentive, half smiling as he stared levelly at his wife.
"Well, let us just take stock of this 'no place' verdict, Sir Brandon. I see five males in this cellar-not counting, of course, any of the standard underground fauna. Of these five males, 1 believe I can say that you alone are capable of serious exploration. Look at your companions. Raphael is a boy. My husband has been waylaid by natural disaster and has a leg that rough terrain will ruinate.
"Of the three remaining, you are all marvelous gentlemen, with over two hundred years of experience among you. Those years, though, will become heavier as the climbs grow steep and the tunnels long. But I am not here to discourage anyone from a little jaunt, in which you can eat things that are bad for you and get your armor dirty."
Bayard looked at Brandon in amused consternation. It Kerned they had forgotten all provisions.
"Indeed," Enid continued, "something should be done to determine what damages we have suffered in quake and deluge. However my two beloved men may preen and brandish and plan their adventures, I am the Di Caela. The title passes down to me, and the name and the castle and the holdings are my inheritance. Indeed, I found myself rather set upon not long ago for being an heiress, and since that time, I have felt entitled to know just what everyone wanted to marry or kidnap me for."
Enid seated herself firmly at the foot of the steps, smiled glamorously at the assembled Knights and retainers, and announced: "So, my dear. And so, my father. And so to all of you. I shall go."
Marigold and Raphael smiled in unison.
"… and all of us will abide with you through the duration."
The older men gasped at the effrontery. The younger men remained silent, and soon the cellar was altogether quiet, the faint sound of water dripping somewhere along the far wall, and the shuffling sound of Sir Robert's feet as slowly he moved back into the light to join the rest of the party.
Bayard began to laugh.
"Begging your pardon, sir?" Brandon inquired nervously, jostling the big Knight draped over his shoulder.
"Did you know, Sir Robert, that I married your daughter for her temperament?" Bayard asked finally.
"What a surprise," Sir Robert replied brusquely, folding his arms.
"Eight is a lucky number, my dear," Bayard said, "and the three of you will expand our number, and, it is hoped, our luck. And you are entitled, by inheritance and, more importantly, by simple fairness, to know what has befallen your estate. I shall expect you, however, to follow my orders implicitly."
Beside her husband now, Enid crouched, staring intently down the long tunnel behind the collapsed wall.
Gil
eandos alone was interested in going inside. He took the lantern from Sir Andrew's hand and stepped slowly through the fissure. Suddenly he stopped short, for deep in the tangled darkness ahead of them, something rumbled deeply.
"What might that be?" Bayard asked, his voice sinking to a natural hush, as a trained soldier's will at a distant sight of the enemy's lines.
Gileandos scrambled from the passageway and crouched behind the Knights, trembling.
The others shook from their revery and listened down the musty, root-clotted corridor.
"Can't hear a damn thing," Andrew declared, which surprised nobody. The old man's growing deafness became more famous the longer he stayed at Castle di Caela.
"A door opening above us?" Brandon asked, but all of them knew that was wishful thinking. Sir Robert shook his head.
"It's coming from beneath the far tower. No cellar or dungeon in those parts."
"Hand me that lantern, Gileandos," Sir Andrew insisted, stepping boldly into the fissure. "All you can light from there is the hem of our cloaks. And take courage, man! For at its worst, it is no doubt the product of nothing more than the altogether natural workings of the elements."
Gileandos rose slowly, timidly. He was obviously not consoled by science.
Without another word, Andrew, Robert, and Bayard drew their swords. Gileandos raised the lantern, and the procession into the black roots of Castle di Caela began.
The world beneath Castle di Caela was wet and hollow.
At least, so it seemed to the Lady Enid as she walked behind her husband, who was propped on the stout right shoulder of Sir Brandon Rus, who plodded dutifully ahead, clutching a lantern in his left hand.
Hollow, and also confusing. It was a world in which one could become quickly and forever lost. The network of tunnels branched and doubled back on themselves, as elaborate as an anthill or a hive. For that was what came to mind — some kind of lair or warren. It was not the kind of tunnelry born of the seepage of water, the shifting of earth. There was something more intentional in all of this, more designed, as if it had been burrowed by something menacing.
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