The Fortress of Glass by Drake David Page A

passage through thick walls.
    And thus far, there was no evidence than any human device could stop it.
    * * *
    "Lift that," Cervoran said to Cashel, pointing at the door set at a slant in the back of the pantry. The housekeeper hadn't been in when her visitors had arrived, and her two assistants had fled with looks of trembling terror when they saw their king.
    Or whatever Cervoran was now. Did Protas go back to being a kid that everybody ignored because his father'd returned? There were worse things that could happen, Cashel knew.
    "That leads to the bulk storage for liquids, your highness," Martous said in a chirpy voice. "We keep the large jars of wine and oil in the cellars so that they won't freeze during the winter as they might in a shed. But there's nothing down there which matters to you."
    Whatever other people thought of the business, the chamberlain was sure determined to act as if nothing about Cervoran had changed. Maybe he was right.
    "Lift that door," Cervoran repeated, but he could've saved his breath. Cashel had only paused to loosen his sash. He didn't want rip a tunic if the weight required him to bunch his muscles.
    He bent, gripped the bar handle with his free hand, and lifted the panel in a smooth motion. The door was sturdy but nothing that required his strength. The air swirling out was cool at this time of year, but Cashel understood what the chamberlain meant. Folk in Barca's Hamlet had root cellars for the same reason, though none-even the inn's-was as large as this one. The darkness had a faint fruity odor.
    "Ah, your highness?" Martous said. "If you're going down there, should I have a servant fetch a lantern? There are no windows, you see."
    Cashel smiled faintly. Anybody looking down the steps into the cellar could see there were no windows; it was dark as arm's length up a hog's backside.
    Cervoran started down, ignoring the chamberlain as he'd done ever since Cashel saw the two of them together this afternoon.
    "Follow me," Cervoran said; echoes from the cellar deepened his voice.
    'Leave the staff; you will need both hands."
    Cashel had already started down the sturdy wooden steps behind the king. He paused, trying not to frown, and said, "Sir? I'd rather-"
    "It is necessary," Cervoran said.
    Whatever else he might be, Cervoran wasn't a fellow who talked for the sake of talking. Cashel sighed and set the quarterstaff against the back wall of the pantry. He'd come this far, so there wasn't much point in starting to argue now.
    The cellar was what Cashel'd expected: brick pillars in rows, and big jars lined up against the masonry wall at the back. The ceiling was way higher than Cashel could reach and maybe higher than he could've reached with his staff stretched out above him.
    The light that came down the pantry door was enough once Cashel's eyes had adapted. Cervoran seemed to get along all right too, moving at his usual hitching stride down the line of jars. They were two different kinds, Cashel saw, one with a wider mouth and a thickened ridge for a rope sling instead of double handles at the neck like the other.
    As he followed, Cashel's eyes caught the least sliver of light from the ceiling in the depths of the cellar. That must be the trap door onto the alley where the jars'd be lowered down from wagons. A cart with solid wood wheels for shifting them here sat beside a pillar.
    Cashel grinned with silent pride. If these jars were full of liquids, they'd be work for two ordinary men to shift.
    "You highness?" Martous called from the pantry. The quiver Cashel heard in the chamberlain's voice wasn't just the echo. "I have a light here if you need one."
    "Lift that jar and follow me," said Cervoran, pointing at the first of the wide-mouthed jars in the rank. His fingers were puffy and as white as fresh tallow.
    "Yes sir," Cashel said. He looked at the jar and thought about the path he'd be carrying it by. The stairs wouldn't be a problem because the pantry door was hung at a slant, but if