Near sundown he saw about twenty mounted men ride up to the house and sit waiting. Even four hundred yards away they struck him as rakutur, from their bearing. Then a voitu emerged from the house and began to lope down the road. The horsemen fell in on both sides and behind him. He ran fast enough, they spurred their horses to a canter to keep up, continuing almost all the way across the clearing. Then he loped his way back and forth on the pattern of farm lanes that from spring to fall gave access to different fields.
Macurdy guessed the time spent running was something under half an hour. And fast! Clearly the sonofabitch could outrun Gunder Hegg without shifting out of second.
When it was dark, Macurdy contemplated going to the house. He had no idea what he might accomplish, but he'd accomplish nothing sitting where he was. Still he didn't move, till across the clearing he saw northern lights begin to form an emerald curtain across the sky. He remembered a night in Bavaria then, and felt a sudden pang of urgency.
Quietly he told Vulkan he was going to the house by himself, under cover of his own concealment cloak. And kill Kurqosz if he could. He'd hardly used his cloak since World War II, but he had no doubt he still could. He'd developed considerable confidence in it. A voitik master or adept might see through it, but he also wore a genuine rakutik greatcoat and cap. Hopefully they'd take him for one of their own.
Assuming the spell itself didn't give him away.
He had greater confidence in Vulkan's cloak, of course. He thought of it as bestowing actual invisibility, rather than simply making the wearer unnoticeable. But even it might not work against masters and adepts. And if someone saw through it, a giant boar with a rakutu on his back would draw serious attention.
He half-hoped Vulkan would suggest an alternative, or argue with him. Instead, the red eyes regarded him calmly, a pair of smoldering ruby coals. ‹I will monitor you,› Vulkan told him, ‹and if a situation develops, I will take the best action available to me.›
Macurdy took a roundabout route to the road, then strode down it into the clearing. He carried Skortov's saber, and the knife Arbel had given him, that had saved his life at least twice. They did not reassure him. As he approached the house, he saw that the entrance guards were also rakutur. How, he asked himself, do I pass them? Even if they don't see me sooner, when I open the door, it'll take their attention. Then they'll see through the spell.
As he approached, they showed no awareness of him. Their gaze was past him, fixed on something else, and pausing he looked back. A column of horsemen was trotting briskly into the clearing. At their front, enclosed by them on three sides, was a group of running voitar.
Macurdy stepped toward the house, then stood at attention a few yards from an entry guard. The approaching voitar would be his acid test.
The column reached the yard in perhaps twenty seconds, the mounted escort peeling off to the sides. The voitar slowed to a walk, and strode purposefully toward the entrance. Macurdy stood only a couple of yards out of the way. If they noticed him, they showed no sign of it, and when they'd passed, he fell in behind them. Their auras marked them as powerfully talented, but just now they were focused on something else. He had no idea what.
They pushed through the door, Macurdy with them. Inside was a vestibule with pegs on both sides, festooned with uniform coats. It opened into what once had been a parlor. Now it was an office reception area, with administrative personnel both voitik and hithik. And a pair of rakutur: security guards. No one challenged the voitar who'd come in, nor Macurdy, who at any rate would have seemed an attendant. Someone called "Attention!" in Hithmearcisc, and everyone stood ramrod straight, facing the newly arrived voitar.
Across the room was a wide staircase. His voitar were headed toward it. Another had just descended, and stood at attention. The leader of the group slowed and spoke. "Good evening, Captain Rissko! It's good to see you." The Hithmearcisc was simple and formulaic, well within the scope of Macurdy's limited knowledge.
"Good evening, Prince Chithqosz!" the voitu answered. "It is good to see you, Your Highness." Then the voitar passed him, taking the steps three at a time. At the top they turned right.
Prince! But not the crown prince. This one he'd never seen before.
Macurdy was the last one up, and paused. The upper hallway had a short section to the right, and a much longer one to the left. At the end of the right-hand section was a door guarded by a rakutu, who was reaching for the door handle, as if to let the prince through. Meanwhile Macurdy felt seriously exposed to the voitar below. To stay where he was seemed unwise, and to turn right seriously dangerous, so he turned left.
Through the opened door behind him he heard a big voice. One he knew well: the crown prince's. "Hello, brother! I'm glad to have you here! You traveled quickly! I'm sure you…" Then the door closed.
Ahead of Macurdy were doors along both sides of the hall. If he could find a room unoccupied, and hide till late at night… But if the rakutu guarding Kurqosz's office was paying attention, he'd notice a door opening, even if it opened inward. Of course, he might assume it was someone inside who'd opened it. On the other hand, if someone was inside… Macurdy heard footsteps on the stairs, and stepping quickly to the nearest door, opened it. Inward.
The room was not empty. A woman was there, garbed in a long shift. She turned, her face the color of bread dough. For a moment she peered uncertainly, then her eyes widened. For a long second Macurdy stood rooted to the floor, stunned. Then he raised a finger to his lips. "Ssh!"
Varia's knees had almost given way. She took an unsteady step backward and sat down on a chair behind her, staring at him. Carefully Macurdy closed the door. "Where can I hide?" he asked quietly.
For several seconds she simply stared, looking as if she couldn't breathe. Her eyes were darkly circled, as if from long weeping. Her mouth moved soundlessly, then she gestured. "Under the bed," she murmured, "or in the closet."
He frowned. "What's that?" He gestured at floor-length drapes hanging on one wall.
"There's a balcony, but the doors are locked." She hardly more than whispered it.
He went to the drapes and spread them a few inches. They concealed a pair of many-windowed doors. There was a simple latch, opened and closed by a doorknob, and a bolt operated through a keyhole. He wished he had the set of OSS lock picks he'd carried in Bavaria. But maybe… He could see the bolt through the crack between the doors. Deadbolt? Spring-loaded?
"What have you got that's metal and might fit between the doors?" he asked.
She took a clip from her hair, seemingly silver set with emeralds. "It's called dwarf silver," she said. "The same thing as platinum on Farside, I think. It's hard."
I'll take your word for it, he thought. All those books she'd read while married to Will… He wondered if she ever forgot any of it.
He carried a clasp knife. Now he forced its smaller blade between the doors, just above the bolt. Then he inserted the forked clasp of the hair clip, pressed it hard against the bolt, and pried. There was almost no room to work, but he gained a smidgen, and held it with the knife blade. Then got a new purchase with the clasp and pried again. And again. Something felt hot against his chest, but he ignored it. His nerves were stretched. He had no doubt whose room this was; Kurqosz could walk in at any moment.
Once he lost it all, and started grimly over, but finally the bolt was clear. The two minutes it had taken seemed like five. "Push," he said. Varia pushed, and the doors opened. He sheathed his knife, then pressed the dead-bolt the rest of the way back with his thumb. It stayed. He drew the doors closed again, and closed the drapes over them.