Part 21 (1/2)

She was actually pacing in front of her tall frosty windows. ”Reynart said not to. They've gone deeper into the forest for some reason, and they're not camping in there anymore.”

That was strange, but Meri didn't have an explanation for it. Was there something in those tunnels that Reynart and his men didn't want Meri to see? The bodies, perhaps? That didn't make sense.

”I have an idea,” I said - before any such idea was even half formed. ”Let's find out.”

Meri looked at me blankly. ”Find what out?”

I grinned up at her. ”That's what I want to know.”

She was a little harder to coax into an adventure than I'd expected, and we ran into an obstacle on the way: Berdal, outside in the snowy courtyard, mounting up on a tall brown horse. He was bundled heavily into his coat and mantle, a hat pulled low to protect his face. He lifted a hand in greeting.

”Morning, Lady Merista, Celyn. Haven't seen you much about these days.”

I pulled my coat closer. ”It's too cold out here. I have a soft post, inside.”

Berdal grinned. I'd known boys like him all my life - common, plain-speaking lads who didn't cloak themselves in courtly flattery. Or conspiracy. I missed them.

”You can keep that,” he said. ”I'll take the fresh air out here any day.” The horse made its own commentary just then and I gave Berdal a look. With a laugh, he said, ”It still smells better in the barns, if you ask me.”

Meri giggled. ”I think so too.”

I glanced at the horse and the heavy saddle packs. ”Are you leaving?”

”It looks like we're finally getting a string of enough good weather to go on a mail-and-supply run down to the inn. I'll be back in about a week. Want me to carry a letter for you? I can wait.” He smiled at me, wide and friendly, but at the word mail, my stomach clenched.

”Who's sending letters?” I tried to sound curious and casual.

He flipped the saddlebag open and pulled out a packet of papers. I edged nearer, trying to see. ”Lady Nemair, that Lord Wellyth, and Sorja from the kitchens. Lady Merista, are you sure you don't have one to add? Maybe to that Decath cousin of yours?”

Not Daul. I restrained my relief. ”I thought I heard Lord Daul mention a letter to - friends, in the city,” I said. ”Did he get that to you?”

”Nay, I've not seen Lord Daul,” Berdal said. ”Maybe I should wait -”

”Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't like to delay you,” I said hastily. But I was confused. ”Is - is this the first time mail's gone out, since the avalanche?”

”Aye.”

”And there's no other way a message could have gotten out, before now?”

Meri was looking at me strangely. ”Celyn, what are you talking about?”

I glanced at her. ”Nothing,” I said firmly, but my thoughts were astir. Why hadn't Daul sent his report? Did he have another way to get messages in and out of Bryn Shaer? ”Let us know when you get back,” I said to Berdal. ”We can hand the letters around, so you won't have to breathe the foul air in the Lodge.”

Berdal grinned again. ”Deal.” He swung up onto the horse and, clicking at it, turned and rode out through the snow.

We took the outside entrance Meri had shown me before, the one that led from the covered pentice down beneath the Lodge. Today we'd brought a conventional lamp and descended the narrow steps carefully.

”What are we looking for?” Meri asked. She was clutching my arm, which made it harder to maneuver in the dark, even with the light bouncing all over the low, arched walls.

”Show me the route you take to meet them.”

She led me back through the freezing tunnels, and I shone the light into every corner and alcove. After an hour or so, we still hadn't seen anything suspicious - but I had to admit dragging Meri through dark tunnels wasn't a terrible way to spend a morning.

”How did you get that wine?” Meri asked abruptly. ”That first night?”

”What?” We'd paused by a narrow gap in the stone, and I could see straight down the tunnel . . . into the back of the Lodge wine cellar. Well, why not? Cheaper to use the tunnels that had been here for centuries than dig your own. ”I stole Yselle's keys.” I was about to move on when the bobbing light flashed on something just beyond the gap - an empty wooden crate, stamped with Eptin Cwalo's insigne. I stepped toward it.

”Oh, I know what's back there,” Meri said. ”I saw the crates when Mother and Master Cwalo unloaded them. Loads of wine, and I think the other crate was pears.”

Wine and pears. I'd seen the falconry inventory in Lady Lyll's account book, and something had to account for the entries recorded there. Cwalo's cargo was the missing piece that made it all make sense - the ledger, the mangled embroidery, the armies marching across the model landscape that Daul rearranged again and again. Those green toy soldiers weren't ma.s.sing in the sculpted foothills because of wine and pears.

”Meri, wait here.” Forgetting I was walking off with our only light, I squeezed through the gap until I stood behind the storage racks, the lamp casting a wan glow into the empty s.p.a.ce beyond the last shelves. My little mouse friend was nowhere to be seen - but there in the deepest shadows was something I'd missed, my first time around.

Another door.

I was starting to think that Bryn Shaer might actually have too many secret pa.s.sages.

One of the shelves had been dragged over from another part of the room to hide the door; black smudges on the stone wall opposite showed me where it had formerly stood, and lines in the dust on the floor gave up its path across the room.

”Celyn?” Meri's wavering voice floated out of the darkness.

”Hold on,” I said. I drew closer and felt my way around the shelf. It had been cleverly positioned to look like it was flush against the wall, but there was plenty of room for me to wriggle behind and reach the latch.

It was locked, of course. And not one of the flimsy Bryn Shaer locks that fell open if you shook them hard enough. This was a serious, heavy iron padlock. I had to rest the lamp on the shelf to work it with my picks, but three tries in, I had it. The tumblers fell into place, and the latch clicked open. I gave the door a gentle push, and it swung inward easily.

I lifted the lamp and stepped inside - and shone the light on something I was never meant to see. ”Sweet Tiboran's breath,” I swore, and clutched the light so hard its bra.s.s handle bit into my fingers. I didn't want to drop it - not in here.

Barrels - no bigger than small ale casks - stood stacked all around the room; sixty, a hundred, maybe more. They were end-up, not sideways, as you'd store wine or beer, with a crest in Vareni stamped on each one. I crept in, lifting my light as high as I could. Behind the bar rels, tucked deep into the retreating darkness, I saw the blacker black of iron, the bulky shape of a small wagon. I sucked in my breath. A cannon. I turned, casting the glow around the room. Two more cannons. Four. A row of matchlock muskets, mustered up against the raw stones - polished and ready to be hefted and fired. There were dozens, scores . . . I lost count. This wasn't some forgotten artillery, tucked away for storage and abandoned years before. These guns were modern, new, and ready. Waiting.

And they were hidden. With barrels and barrels and barrels of gunpowder.

”Celyn!”

Meri surprised me and nearly knocked the lamp out of my hand. I gave a little shriek and fumbled to hold my grip. She pushed past me into the storeroom.

”Celyn, what is this?” Meri turned slowly, taking in the scene. ”What does it mean?”

”You saw your mother unpack those crates? Are you sure?”

”Well, not unpack them. What's going on?”

And that was the point at which even Tiboran apparently ran out of lies. I just couldn't think of a single thing to say to Merista Nemair that explained away the armaments hidden beneath her parents' castle. Well-fortified castles were proud of their armies and fortifications and their weapons stores. They didn't tuck them underground, behind locked doors concealed by heavy furniture.

”We're not supposed to have weapons,” she said slowly.

Meri wasn't stupid. No matter what I'd tried to tell myself. This was the girl who'd talked us past the Greenmen in Gerse, who'd been teaching herself magic in secret for weeks, who'd ingratiated herself with a band of outlaw wizards, who'd gotten a Sarist tattoo and possibly even a Sarist lover. Who'd figured out that I had some kind of magic.

Who'd saved my life.

The girl who'd told me it was her duty to be ready when war came. Like her parents, the war heroes. I turned to her.