Guerrand had once told Kirah that he'd been wrong not to come to the family's aid, instead sending Lyim in his place. Nearly ten years later Thonvil was still paying for the misjudgment that had put Lyim on Stone- cliff during Belize's attempt to enter the Lost Citadel. Guerrand could not compound the mistake by repeating it. Justarius would just have to see that stopping the spread of this magical plague was as important to the defense of magic as Guerrand's presence at Bastion. The high defender's hopes were high in that regard, considering the exception the Council had made by letting Bram into Bastion.

The thought reminded Guerrand of the scroll case from Justarius. It was unusual to receive such a formal missive from the Master of the Red Robes. He pried up the snap on the end of the tube and shook out two curled pieces of parchment inside. They fluttered to the floor. He scooped up the first and unfurled it, recognizing the large, flowing script at once.

Guerrand,

Par-Salian and I have met with your nephew and find him to be of sound character. We have considered both his tale of a magical plague and your history of requests to return and help your family. Once before you were given a choice between your magic and your family, and we both know the outcome of that unfortunate incident. Therefore, Par-Salian and I have agreed to grant you a short leave-of-absence, if you will, to deal with this situation back in Northern Ergoth, if it is your judgment as high defender that Bastion is secure. Since the teleport spell does not function between planes, I have imbued this scroll zoith the ability to transport both you and your nephew to wherever you require on the Prune Material Plane, thus saving your spell energy for more dire events. Good luck.

– Justarius

Guerrand leaned back among the cushions, stunned. Both he and Justarius had come a long way in their thinking since Guerrand's days as an apprentice in Palanthas.

The mage tossed the curled parchment onto the dark surface of his desk. He had much to do before he could depart for Thonvil. First, he must leave explicit instructions with Dagamier and Ezius. Dagamier would undoubtedly remind Guerrand she'd run the place long before he came along, but the high defender was ever careful to establish his authority with the ambitious black wizardess. Once Bastion was as secure as he could make it in his absence, Guerrand would be free to consider the components and spellbooks he should take back with him to Thonvil.

Reaching into a desk drawer, the mage snatched up quill and parchment and began to scratch a list of instructions for Dagamier and Ezius. He was on his second page when he heard the baying of the hounds. Guerrand snapped alert. The three defenders had responded in drills to the simulated sound of the hounds, to condition themselves to be ever ready against attack. But the high defender had ordered no drill today.

Guerrand jumped to his feet and raced out the door of the library. He ran into his nephew as Bram staggered into the hallway, blinking away sleep.

"What's going on?"

"Either the stronghold's guardians are fighting again, or something is trying to enter Bastion's plane." Guerrand didn't stop as he tore down the hallway, headed for the scrying sphere in the nave, Bram at his heels.

Dagamier was at her turn at the watch, standing anxiously in the small doorway of the column, which had activated the bridge to form over the moat. She was speaking agitatedly with the white-haired Ezius when Guerrand ran up to them.

"Are the gargoyles and hounds at it again?" the high defender asked hopefully.

Dagamier's expression was tight, her lips pinched. "No. Something else is just beyond the fence, stirring up the hounds."

"But how can that be?" demanded Guerrand, hands on his hips, his expression horrified. "How did something get this close to Bastion without detection in the sphere?"

Dagamier looked pointedly at Ezius. "I'm sure I don't know."

"I swear I didn't take my eyes from the diorama for a heartbeat!" breathed Ezius. "Nothing registered in the perimeter until the hounds started baying!"

Guerrand frowned his annoyance. "This is no time for recriminations. We'll use drill two, but this isn't a practice." Dagamier and Ezius exchanged glances. "Quickly now!" thundered Guerrand.

Dagamier seemed about to protest, since drill two dictated she remain at watch in the sphere, but she nodded reluctantly. In accordance with the strategy, Ezius raced off to the white wing to gather components before positioning himself on the watch walk outside Bastion's white wing.

"Where should I go?" Bram asked behind Guerrand, startling the mage.

"Back to my apartments," said the high defender. Saving his spell energy for what lay ahead, Guerrand didn't teleport the short distance, but instead headed on foot to the red wing to collect his own magical equipment.

Bram ran at his side to the laboratory. "You don't really expect me to go back to sleep, do you? Perhaps I can help."

Che CDedusA plague

"Frankly, and I mean no offense," Guerrand said distractedly while he scraped flasks and pouches directly into the sack he held to the lab's shelves, "we three defenders have practiced for defense. I don't see that there's much you can do but get in the way of that. You have no magical skill to defend yourself, and I'd have to spend my thoughts worrying about your safety."

"I'm not totally useless," his nephew said. "I managed to find you, didn't I?"

Guerrand grasped Bram by the his well-muscled shoulders and gave him five heartbeats of his attention. He had hoped to anger Bram enough to put him off, and had planned another short speech to refuse his help. But then the mage saw the determination in his nephew's eyes.

"All right," he sighed, "but stay low behind me, and do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you." He gave Bram a brief, bittersweet smile. "I'd rather face four seasoned mages than Rietta with the news that I'd let something happen to you."

With that, he patted Bram on the back, grabbed the sack stuffed with spell components, and bolted back down the hall. He practically kicked in the door to the storeroom, then squeezed himself sideways between the right wall and the floor-to-ceiling shelves, seeking the stairway to the red wing's watch walk.

Guerrand located the secret release, the door slid back, and he plunged up the steps. Another door flew open at the top and both men emerged into the windless, dark air outside Bastion. Guerrand stopped briefly and listened for the exact location of the hounds: they were just beyond the front gate. With Bram still at his heels, he took the left branch of the narrow widow's walk that circled the exterior of the nave.

They came to the wider balcony at the front of Bastion, above the apse and behind the facade. Guerrand reached into his sack and withdrew several rings and bracelets. He immediately slipped one of each on, then handed the same to Bram. "Get down, and stay down," he commanded his nephew. Donning the ring and bracelet without question or even knowing why, the young man reluctantly dropped to his knees, where he peered through the wrought-iron bars into the darkness.

Guerrand scanned the nearby pointed gables of the white wing and the smooth, flat ledges of the red and black sections. The hideous, winged creatures who posed as downspouts on the stronghold were in place, eyes shifting watchfully. The shadows of topiaries in the courtyard were as frightening as ever, but looked undisturbed.

All signs of intrusion still came from beyond the ornate wrought-iron fence. No longer muffled by Bastion's walls, the sounds of snarling, shrieking hounds cut both men to the core. The vicious barking and snapping changed abruptly to high-pitched squeals of pain, then nothing. The silence that followed was deafening.