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They emerged on an almost barren plain pockmarked by clusters of ragged boulders and scraggy copses. The mountains to the west looked equally grim, nigh stripped of trees and their steep slopes streaked with the evidence of landslides.
This was mining country and the desolate surroundings bespoke the relentless plunder of the region’s resources.
Yandro grimaced as he scanned the landscape. It was depressingly bleak with none of the stark beauty or strange charm of the windswept heathlands of Losshen, Ylandre’s northernmost major fief. If this constituted the richest of Xeren’s dower properties, small wonder he yearned for his ancestral lands in Tenerith with its fertile meadows and thickly forested mountains.
The former regent’s manor loomed in the near distance, a pale building of relatively recent design built from the sand-hued stone of Laetro’s quarries. Surprisingly, it was not walled but protected only by a moat. And only one of the three watchtowers was manned.
Apparently, the Hamaras did not believe anyone would bother to attack so remote and unappealing a place. And rightly so, Yandro decided as they rode across the empty plain with only the birds in the air and the occasional rodent amidst the scattered rocks and sparse grass to witness their passage.
Jareth had explained during their swift journey that Laetro itself nestled in the foothills of the mountains from which the townsfolk derived their income. The Hamara prince who’d built the manor had not cared to live in the shadow of the mountains or mingle with the miners and quarriers who comprised the bulk of the town populace. Hence the semi-isolation of the Laetro estate.
Wary of being spotted by the lone sentry on duty if they approached on steedback, they decided to dismount while still a fair distance from the manor. They tethered their steeds in a small copse after ascertaining the terrain would allow them to return with relative ease.
Yandro watched Jareth curiously as the ambassador appeared to survey the remaining stretch to the manor. But then he closed his eyes and seemed to turn his thoughts inward. After a few minutes of complete silence, Yandro opened his mouth to ask Jareth what he was about.
Before he could get a word out, the air suddenly rippled before them. Yandro stared in bewilderment as the familiar coruscation of a blossoming portal flashed into being a few feet away. Jareth opened his eyes and glanced at him with a smile.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Yandro looked suspiciously at the portal. “Where does it lead?”
“The reception hall, which fortunately is hardly ever used and therefore empty at the moment.”
“The reception hall?” Yandro frowned. “You’ve been inside yon manor before?”
“Nay, this is the first time I’ve set foot here,” Jareth replied.
Yandro stared at him. He’d done much research regarding the mind arts when he’d discovered his empathy. The talent for journeying by translocation had especially intrigued him and he’d studied all he could about it.
He’d learned navigating a translocation passage was contingent on the destination being known to whoever opened the corridor. Of course, a journey was smoother and faster if the Deir had actually visited the place, but even as a mere spot on a map, any destination was navigable. The inside of a building, however, would not be on any chart or map. So how in Aisen could Jareth be certain they would come out of the corridor in a safe place?
“How do you know where to exit on the other side if you’ve never been there?” he asked, laying an apprehensive gaze on the portal.
Jareth shrugged. “I tapped into the thoughts of one of the Deira within and learned the basic layout of the manor.”
“You tapped into...” Yandro stared at him in awe.
Highly gifted Deira could reach into the thoughts of unsuspecting or unwilling Deira and read them. He’d seen Jareth and some of his kin do it time and again. And he’d been on the end of such incursions before. But in every instance, the adept had been at least in visual proximity to his target. Distance progressively muddled the details in the way a chart seen from afar would be little more than a blur of lines and shapes. What Jareth had accomplished was mind-boggling to say the least.
Jareth raised his eyebrows questioningly. Deciding to trust his one-time lover, Yandro took a deep breath and strode into the corridor ahead of him. He resolutely ignored Jareth’s chuckle as the latter followed him in.
––––––––
They came out as Jareth had promised. In an empty and cavernous chamber with all the trappings of a reception hall. From the looks of it, the hall had not been used in a long time. Dust covered everything, the sconces were empty, and it was terribly stuffy due to the shut windows and sealed balcony doors. And when the portal closed behind them, the chamber was plunged into darkness.
They felt their way to the entrance and, opening the door slightly, cautiously peered out. The corridor outside was deserted and so they slipped outside and hastened down the passage until they reached an open gallery that overlooked the manor atrium.
The entrance hall did not teem with people but it was here they saw the first of the estate residents. There were a few servants, but also a surprising number of Deira in soldierly garb. Too many for such an isolated estate. It was further evidence that something—or someone—inside the manor needed guarding.
They waited for the atrium to clear before hurrying down the stairs to the ground floor. Hearing footsteps coming their way as they crossed the hall, they quickly ducked into a side corridor.
Several soldiers passed their hiding place and their conversation made it clear it would be best for Jareth and Yandro if they avoided the main hallway. But as they did not know where the corridor led, they had no choice but to take a chance and return to the atrium and find their way from there.
They turned the first corner and saw a guard walking toward them. Knowing it was too late to retreat without being seen, they rushed him instead. The Deir gaped at them, too startled by their sudden appearance to make a sound. Jareth took advantage of his surprise, dealing a hard blow to his gut.
Yandro grabbed the Deir as he staggered backward from Jareth’s punch. At the same time, Jareth swiftly laid a hand on the guard’s temple. The Deir gasped, his eyes widening in obvious fear. He struggled in Yandro’s grasp, shaking his head in an attempt to throw off Jareth’s hand. And then he suddenly moaned and sagged down. He would have fallen had Yandro not been holding him up.
Jareth closed his eyes, took a quick deep breath, and went still. For several heartbeats, he stayed thusly, his hand pressed to the guard’s forehead. In between cautious sweeps of their surroundings, Yandro watched him curiously after a glance at the Terazian revealed a blank countenance and glazed half-lidded eyes. He wondered what the ambassador had done to the guard and whether it was something gravely injurious to the latter or not.
With a sharp indrawn breath, Jareth lowered his hand and opened his eyes. “They’re in the cells one level down,” he said. “Let’s go.”
After dragging the guard into a shadowed alcove, Yandro hurriedly followed Jareth. He realized the ambassador was navigating the corridors and corners as if he knew the way.
“What did you do?” he asked. “Read his mind?”
“I forced him to show me where they’ve placed Leyhar and how to get there,” Jareth replied.
“He seemed in pain.”
“Because he tried to block me. Fool of a Deir to think he could resist and not suffer for it.”
Yandro shivered a little as he remembered being subjected to a similar incursion.
“Wait, you said they’re in the cells. Then the ambassador isn’t alone?”
Jareth shook his head. “His aide and secretary, the two the Terazians claimed to have colluded with him to slay Xeren—they’re in a separate cell.”
They hid behind a row of statuary when a servant appeared in the hallway before them. Fortunately, the Deir was too intent on transporting a basketful of fresh beddings to notice anything amiss. They were soon on their way once more.
“By the way, he’s here too,” Jareth said.
“Who is?”
“Xeren.”
“How do you know that?”
“The servant is headed for his bedchamber to change the linens. He arrived barely an hour ago.”
Yandro frowned. “That was rather quick of him, don’t you think?”
“Not if he left Kilion right after their talk and rode here straightly by the main road,” Jareth said, glancing back the way they came, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face. “It’s an hour’s hard ride by steedback; two at most if they stopped along the way for a meal.”
Yandro looked at Jareth anxiously. There was a gleam in the ambassador’s eyes that likely presaged some outrageous course of action.
Sure enough, he said, “If we can, we ought to try and take Xeren as well.”
“You don’t ask for too much, do you?” Yandro responded in dismay.
Jareth shrugged. “If the opportunity presents itself, why waste it? I’d rather have irrefutable evidence of the Terazians’ duplicity rather than have our response to their threat rely on our word alone.”
To that Yandro had no answer. At least, none he thought would dissuade the ambassador from making the attempt.
They turned into a narrow corridor that led them to a parallel hallway. It was deserted for the moment and veiled in shadow for none of the torches in the wall sconces had been lit. Unwilling to attract attention, they did not light a torch but perforce relied on what moonlight trickled in through the high windows. Before too long, they came to a narrow flight of stairs. As the stairs descended into virtual darkness and had no bannister, they crept downward very slowly, hugging the wall for balance and keeping well away from the edge of the steps.
When they reached the lower level, they stepped onto a small landing with two low open entrances on either side of it. They espied the faint flicker of torchlight through both passageways.
“There’s another level below us,” Jareth whispered. “The interrogation rooms apparently.”
Yandro snorted. “Is that a polite term for torture chambers?”
“That guard’s thoughts, not mine. Likely his way of easing his conscience over whatever goes on down yonder.”
Jareth entered the corridor to the right of the landing.
“Are you certain this is the way?” Yandro muttered.
He was startled when Jareth replied by way of their minds. The lesser cells are through the other door.
Yandro answered in kind, confident the ambassador would pick up his thoughts.
Lesser cells?
Cages to be precise.
Yandro grimaced at the thought of Deira treated like beasts. You gleaned a lot of information from the guard in so short a time, he observed.
Mind-speech is swifter than the spoken word. I thought you knew that.
I do, but I don’t always remember. I’m no adept after all.
Even were you one, I wager you’d restrain yourself anyway.
Yandro started to protest, but then reconsidered and decided the ambassador was right. He was frugal in the use of his one gift. He could not see himself wielding it with the frequency of most adepts.
They exited the corridor into a large oval-shaped space with a door at the other end. Barred cells lined the curving wall, eight in all. A look into the first one on their right revealed a windowless space with a narrow threadbare pallet on the cracked floor and a dented chamber pot in one corner.
“Where are they?” Yandro whispered.
Jareth pointed to the farthest cells. Leyhar’s cell is to the right. The others are in the cells opposite.
Where does that door lead?
The jailers’ quarters. There’s another way through there to get back to the level above.
Jareth stiffened. He suddenly spun on his heel and darted past Yandro to bring his fists down on the back of the Deir who’d come up behind them and apparently sought to retreat back down the corridor and call for help. The latter collapsed under his blow, but unfortunately not before he’d let out a warning shout. The sound of voices outside the corridor alerted them to the advent of more guards.
“This way!” Jareth ordered, dashing toward the opposite door.
Yandro quickly followed. Quick glances sideways as they came to the last cells revealed the ambassador silent and unmoving on his pallet and his companions gripping the bars of their cells and staring out at them in surprise.
“We’ll come back for you!” he cried as he passed them by.
Jareth shoved the door open, right into the Deir who was about to come through it. A well-placed kick left him with a bashed in face. Another Terazian entered the chamber through the short corridor to their right.
He gaped when he saw them. After the briefest of pauses, he turned tail and started back whence he came. But his hesitation cost him. Yandro was on him in an instant, one arm locking around his neck. A moment later, the Deir fell to the ground, his head lolling at a grotesque angle from his neck’s breaking.
Jareth pushed Yandro into the passage just as a guard burst into the chamber. Jareth ducked under his arcing swing while drawing his dagger and thrusting it into the Deir’s belly in one continuous motion. The guard stared at him in shock, grunted once in pain, and then collapsed in a heap. Before he could straighten up, two more guards came through the door. One lunged at him and started to bring his sword down on his unprotected back.
Yandro’s sword met the falling blade before it found its mark, giving Jareth the chance to straighten and slash his knife across the guard’s throat. The third guard, realizing he was no match for the two in hand-to-hand combat, flung his dagger at Jareth instead. Without hesitation, Yandro bodily shoved the ambassador aside.
He hissed as the knife lodged in his upper left arm. With a wince, he yanked it out and flung the blade back at the guard. His aim proved truer. The dagger sank into the Deir’s back as he tried to flee the chamber.
Jareth growled an imprecation and swung him around. “Of all the—” he started to say. He shook his head and grabbing Yandro by the elbow, shoved him toward the passage. “You shouldn’t have turned back,” he snapped.
“You could have died if I hadn’t,” Yandro retorted. “If you had, I wouldn’t have been able to show my face to the Ardan again!”
”Saints above! Rohyr wouldn’t take that against you!”
“He wouldn’t, but I would!”
Jareth stared at him, but before he could respond, they came out of the corridor and found themselves at the foot of winding stairs leading to the level above. The sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps from the passage behind left them no choice but to hasten up the stairs.
The alarm would have gone out by now and the keep soldiers would be on the lookout for them. They would have to find a place to conceal themselves until the hue and cry died down and they could chance a return to the cells.
They ascended to the ground floor and quickly ducked into an embrasure, narrowly avoiding a group of guards as the heavily armed Deira hurried past. Deducing more soldiers would come from the direction whence the first group had, they followed in those soldiers’ wake.
As luck would have it, or rather misfortune, two servants blundered straight into them as they rounded a corner. The pair realized they were strangers and started to bolt. One Jareth grabbed and punched unconscious, but the other managed to get away, screaming for help at the top of his lungs. Soon several guards approached on the run, swords drawn and lances raised.
Jareth and Yandro ducked into a corridor near them. It was dim, dusty, and apparently rarely traversed. To their surprise, it led to a staircase. The wooden steps creaked alarmingly as they fled to the second floor. They emerged in a cramped and darker passageway, which turned sharply to the right and eventually intersected with a couple of corridors, one of which Yandro remembered passing when they first arrived.
With some bafflement, he realized they were headed back toward the front of the manor. He wondered about the passageway’s purpose.
The floor beneath his feet was not as smoothly paved as in the main hallways and when he was forced to reach out to the walls to grope his way in the dark, they felt unusually rough to his palms. As if the mortar had been applied in slapdash fashion. On the whole, the corridor seemed to lack any architectural planning; an afterthought rather than something designed from the start of the building’s construction. And yet, he could make out decorative floor-length tapestries hanging at intervals on the walls.
What in Aisen...
He did his best to keep up with Jareth, but it was hard going given the ambassador’s longer legs. He grit his teeth when he heard the faint pound of footsteps behind them. If this passage proved a dead end or opened into a well-guarded area, they were doomed. They made another sharp turn.
Jareth suddenly skidded to a stop before him. Yandro barely avoided slamming into him. The ambassador stared at the wall to their left and then reached out a hand to it.
“What are you—” Yandro started to whisper agitatedly.
He gasped when Jareth threw an arm around him, pulled him close, and thrust the both of them sideways.
Right through the wall.