The Walls of Air Page 0,53

herself at the foot of Gil's bunk.

Through the doorway beyond her, Gil could hear the noises of the night watch going out, the creaking of leather, the faint clink

of buckles, and Melantrys' light, bantering chaff.

Minalde ran her fingers along the metal-clasped edge of the cover. 'What is it?'

Gil explained briefly her desire to probe the origins of the Keep to learn something of its secrets. 'I mean, hell,' she said, 'there's so much more to the Keep than meets the eye. Like -how come there's a flow of water in the latrines and fountains? Even if the Keep was built over an underground river, the stuff doesn't run uphill. Why is the air fresh in most places, not foul and stuffy? How was the Keep built in the first place? I know it was built three thousand years ago by Dare of Renweth, at the time of the first rising of the Dark,' she went on, 'but how long did it take? Where did everybody stay during construction, if they didn't start on it until after the Dark began appearing? Or were the Dark only down in the river valleys and the mountains safe?'

'No,' Aide answered simply. 'Because there's a Nest of the Dark not twenty miles from here, as you know.'

Gil remembered the tilted slab of black stone in the midst of those clinging woods and shuddered.

'And for the rest of it,' Aide went on, 'you've already told me more than I knew before. I have heard that the magic in Times Before was different from the magic now, but I don't know what that means. I do know that centuries ago there used to be magic places, sort of temples of wizardry, in many cities, not just at Quo - so maybe back then it was the same way. Rudy says that magic is fused into the walls of the Keep.'

At the mention of her lover's name, Aide's cheeks coloured faintly, and Gil hid a grin. In many ways this dark-haired girl reminded her of the freshmen she'd taught; she was sweet, shy, pretty, and very unsure of herself. At such times it was difficult to remember that this soft-voiced girl had passed through fire and darkness, had seen her husband die in the flaming ruin of the battle-broken Palace, and had gone against the forces of the night, armed only with a torch and her own wild courage. She

was the Queen of Darwath, the true ruler of the Keep, sitting at the foot of the disordered bunk with her legs crossed under her multicoloured peasant skirts.

'So anyway, the Bishop offered to lend me the books to look for the answers,' Gil said, edging herself up against her makeshift pillows. 'Gnift's already told me that training or walking patrol is out for at least three weeks... I suppose he's right,' she added regretfully, looking down at her strapped shoulder. 'I'll have to get someone to read them to me and teach me the language, though.'

'Oh, I can do that,' Aide said. 'Really, it would be no trouble. I know the Old Wath and the High Tongue of the Church, which is very different from the Wathe. It would be the first time, you know, that I've ever really used anything that I learned in school.'

Gil regarded her for a moment through the barracks gloom, fascinated. 'What did you learn in school?

Aide shrugged. 'Needlework,' she said. 'Songs, and how to write the different modes of poetry. I did an entire tapestry once of Shamilfar and Syriandis - they're famous lovers - but it nearly drove me crazy and I never did another. Dancing, and playing the harp and dulcimer. Something about the major parts of the Realm and a little history. I hated history,' she admitted, shamefaced.

'Most people do,' Gil said comfortingly.

'You don't.' Aide's slim, well-kept hands traced the curve of the leather cover's embossing.

'I always was a freak that way.' Rudy's teasing nickname of 'spook' was hardly a new one.

'Well, the way you talk about it, it's as if as if it has a point,' Aide said. 'As if you're looking for something. All they ever taught us about history was these little stories that were supposed to be morally uplifting, like the one about the man

who died in a valiant rearguard action for the sake of his comrades, or the story about all those old patriarchs who let the enemy slaughter them rather than be enslaved. That kind of thing. Things that I suspect never really happened.'

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