Swords & Dark Magic - By Jonathan Strahan Page 0,164

into a series of clearings. Here dusk filtered, littered by tiny bats.

A sweep of land was rising upward on their left, the trees thinly scattered about on it. Then a hill was to be seen, clear on the mauve-glowing sky. One star had risen there of unusual size and brilliance, and beneath lay a dark, rambling house, here and there pierced by the needles of lamps.

“Ysmarel’s mansion?”

“So it seems,” affirmed Zire.

“Do we visit?”

“Why not? The track winds close, and the geas allows intervals.”

“And anyway, to the doomed,” Bretilf appended, “all delays are good.”

The gray and bay climbed the hill.

High stone barricades appeared, smothered with moon-pale flowers, whose scent seemed enhanced by darkness. Above, six or seven gigantic bats flew about. But the low-strung star illuminated their wings, which were white. They were owls.

Purple glass and glass like saffron was in the lighted windows. A bell hung over the gate.

The two men observed the bell, but before they could decide to ring it, it pealingly rang of itself. At this, the owls descended together, and perched along the tops of the walls, looking at Zire and Bretilf through the stained glass of their eyes.

Some moments later, the gate swung wide, and inside was framed a dark garden, full of white roses that caught the starshine and ghostly shone. About twenty paces on, a broad door stood open and, even as they watched, soft lamps bloomed there. It was all most enticing. So much so that neither man advanced. They sat their horses, and the owls sat on the walls, and not a sound was to be heard, as if time had grown cautious, too, and stood still.

After a while, Bretilf stirred. “Do we go in? Or retreat?”

“All’s lost, it seems, whatever we do.” They dismounted, tethered the horses among the roses, and walked straight in at the soft-lighted door.

They were at once in a charmingly informal hall, lit by depending lamps of fretted bronze and lavender glass. Luxurious rugs clothed a floor of delicate rainbow tiling.

A long table had been loaded with tall gilded flagons individually filled with black ale, red wine, blue spirit, or honeyed beer. A selection of pies, smoking roasts, cheeses, dewy salads, fruits, and sweets of many kinds waited on plates of gold or in dishes of silver decorated with pearls and zircons.

“Do you trust this feast?” asked Zire.

“Less than I’d trust a starving thief who jumped in the window.”

“My own thought. Shall we dine?”

“Let’s do so.”

But even as they pulled out the gilded chairs to sit, a curtain across the length of the room blew back, and out stepped a vision that stopped them, once more, in their tracks.

A young woman, again, but this time of surpassing attractions. The undeniable beauty of her face was made yet more marvelous by two large eyes of velvet darkness. From her lovely head cascaded darkly shining hair in loose curls, that each took a chestnut highlight from the lamps. Her slim but voluptuous figure had been clad in a filmy gown of amethyst silk, caught at the waist by serpentine twists of white gold.

“How rewarding that you should call on me,” said this apparition, in a musical voice that suggested the color of smoky peach mixed with platinum. “Pray sit.”

Bretilf the Artisan and Zire the Scholar—sat.

Instantly, some bowls of scented water were brought to them, by a pair of white rabbits. Without comment, each man rinsed his hands, at which two black rabbits appeared to offer linen towels. All four rabbits had come from under the table draperies, to which area they next withdrew. But, unceremoniously yanking up the drapery, Zire and Bretilf peered beneath—to find no sign of rabbits, bowls, towels, nor any hatch that might afford entry and exit.

Reemerging from under the cloth, the two found instead their beautiful hostess had herself sat down at the table’s central position. Her serenity was exquisite.

“Brave sirs, do choose whatever you wish to eat. Munch and Janthon there will serve you.”

Anticipating further rabbits, Bretilf and Zire were startled when a handsome, long-haired white cat appeared, walking upright out of a bouquet of pale flowers at the table’s southern end. In another breath, a larger, but also handsome, short-haired black dog manifested at the table’s northern end. This being stood on the floor by Zire’s chair. The dog, too, walked upright, which meant its head was level with Zire’s own—it was a large canine indeed.

Zire pulled himself around with a little effort. “Good evening, Janthon,” said Zire. “If you’ll be so