No saplings encroached on the meadow beyond. Though it had taken uncounted years for the old buildings to fall into such complete ruin —many generations back, long before the Emperor Taillefer's time, even back to the time when the blessed Daisan first walked on the Earth and brought his message to the faithful—still the forest had never overtaken the stones. There was something unnatural here.
He felt all at once that the stones were aware of him.
An outer wall of stone —still almost as tall as he was—circled the inner ruins. The craggy height of hill rose above it, trees straggling along its slopes. It was far quieter here than it had been in the woods. As he stared, a shadow flitted above and vanished into the trees. He gripped the stick more tightly in his left hand and picked his way carefully across the uneven ground to a gap in the wall. It looked like a sally port or servant's entrance, or something more arcane, unknowable to men. Now stone had fallen from the wall to partially block it. If the gap had once been shuttered by a door, that door was gone. He climbed carefully over the tumbled stone and paused at the top, staring into the ruin.
The stone itself gave off light, a pale gleam like the phosphorescence of foam and weed on the waters of Osna Sound. And the stars shone unnaturally bright. Indeed, some few of the constellations he knew —taught to him by his father who, as a merchant, needed to also be a navigator—glittered with an eerie brilliance, as if some unseen power called brighter fires up from their depths.
More shadows played among the ruins than ought to. Distinct shadows covered the ground at strange angles impossible to trace to any of the fallen walls. The air stirred, shivering, a faint noise. . . .
He froze, terrified. A silent shape winged across the ruins, and he relaxed. It was only an owl.
He stood there for a long time, balanced precariously on a block of fallen stone, just looking. It was not a good night to walk inside these ruins. He knew that now. And yet, he had to see the altar house, to see if he felt a link there, a calling of blood to blood. He lit the lantern, and as its light flared, he had to blink and look away. With its glow the shadows along the ground and walls shifted as he took a step forward. He realized what he was seeing. He was seeing the shadows of what had been, not the shadows of the ruins lying there now. The lantern's pale light and the gleam of stone illuminated the shadows of the buildings as if they still stood, complete, unfallen. This filigree of arches and columns and proud walls stretching out as impossible shadows along the ground was the shade of the old fort, come alive on Midsummer's Eve. There were four buildings', one at the west, one at the south, one at the east, and one at the norfti, and a circular building in the center; arcaded avenues linked them.
A branch snapped in the woods behind him. He flattened himself against the stone and looked back. Nothing, no one, appeared at the clearing's edge. But something stranger still: The shadow of the outer wall, next to the trees, was the shadow of the wall in its ruined state —its shadow as it stood now, this night, worn down by time and the Lord's and Lady's Hands. The enchantment, if enchantment it was, only lived within the ruin itself.
He slipped down and slowly walked forward into the ancient fort. Stepping around shadows of stones that did not exist, he saw at once that the stonework in here was as far superior to the stonework on the outer wall as the count's fine charger was to the old donkey he and Lackling hitched to the pony cart to haul manure out to the fields.
Grass grew from between cracks in the paving. He knelt and ran his fingers over a stone surface too smooth to be man's work, even old and broken as it was now. The wall of the nearest building stood only as high as his waist. It was built of black stone, as black as pitch. He held the lantern close to it and by this
He felt all at once that the stones were aware of him.
An outer wall of stone —still almost as tall as he was—circled the inner ruins. The craggy height of hill rose above it, trees straggling along its slopes. It was far quieter here than it had been in the woods. As he stared, a shadow flitted above and vanished into the trees. He gripped the stick more tightly in his left hand and picked his way carefully across the uneven ground to a gap in the wall. It looked like a sally port or servant's entrance, or something more arcane, unknowable to men. Now stone had fallen from the wall to partially block it. If the gap had once been shuttered by a door, that door was gone. He climbed carefully over the tumbled stone and paused at the top, staring into the ruin.
The stone itself gave off light, a pale gleam like the phosphorescence of foam and weed on the waters of Osna Sound. And the stars shone unnaturally bright. Indeed, some few of the constellations he knew —taught to him by his father who, as a merchant, needed to also be a navigator—glittered with an eerie brilliance, as if some unseen power called brighter fires up from their depths.
More shadows played among the ruins than ought to. Distinct shadows covered the ground at strange angles impossible to trace to any of the fallen walls. The air stirred, shivering, a faint noise. . . .
He froze, terrified. A silent shape winged across the ruins, and he relaxed. It was only an owl.
He stood there for a long time, balanced precariously on a block of fallen stone, just looking. It was not a good night to walk inside these ruins. He knew that now. And yet, he had to see the altar house, to see if he felt a link there, a calling of blood to blood. He lit the lantern, and as its light flared, he had to blink and look away. With its glow the shadows along the ground and walls shifted as he took a step forward. He realized what he was seeing. He was seeing the shadows of what had been, not the shadows of the ruins lying there now. The lantern's pale light and the gleam of stone illuminated the shadows of the buildings as if they still stood, complete, unfallen. This filigree of arches and columns and proud walls stretching out as impossible shadows along the ground was the shade of the old fort, come alive on Midsummer's Eve. There were four buildings', one at the west, one at the south, one at the east, and one at the norfti, and a circular building in the center; arcaded avenues linked them.
A branch snapped in the woods behind him. He flattened himself against the stone and looked back. Nothing, no one, appeared at the clearing's edge. But something stranger still: The shadow of the outer wall, next to the trees, was the shadow of the wall in its ruined state —its shadow as it stood now, this night, worn down by time and the Lord's and Lady's Hands. The enchantment, if enchantment it was, only lived within the ruin itself.
He slipped down and slowly walked forward into the ancient fort. Stepping around shadows of stones that did not exist, he saw at once that the stonework in here was as far superior to the stonework on the outer wall as the count's fine charger was to the old donkey he and Lackling hitched to the pony cart to haul manure out to the fields.
Grass grew from between cracks in the paving. He knelt and ran his fingers over a stone surface too smooth to be man's work, even old and broken as it was now. The wall of the nearest building stood only as high as his waist. It was built of black stone, as black as pitch. He held the lantern close to it and by this
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