Chapter 16

Mathew had remained locked in his room throughout the day. He had spent the incredibly long hours of waiting pacing the floor, his fears divided among Khardan, Zohra, and himself. He knew what he must do, knew what he had to do tonight, and he mentally prepared himself, going over and over it again in his mind. It was no longer a question of courage. He knew himself well enough now to understand that his bravery sprang from desperation. Matters were desperate enough. This was their only chance to escape, and if it meant surrendering his soul to Astafas, then that is what he was prepared to do.

“And even that is a cowardly act,” he said to himself, slumping exhausted in a chair, having walked miles in his little room. “It is all very well to say that you are sacrificing yourself for Khardan and Zohra, both of whom saved your life, both of whom were dragged into this because of you! But admit it. Once again, you are acting to save your own skin, because you can’t face the thought of death!

“That was a very fine lecture you gave Khardan. All about having the courage to live and fight. Fortunately he couldn’t see the words were stained yellow with a coward’s bile as they fled your mouth. He and Zohra both are prepared to die rather than betray their God! You’re prepared to sell your soul for another few moments of keeping life in a craven’s body that isn’t worth the air it breathes!”

Night had darkened his window. The tones of the iron bell had rung out at such long intervals during the day that Mathew often wondered if the timekeeping device had broken down. Now the peals dinned in his ears so often he was half convinced that they had let the clock run loose, chiming the quarter hours on whatever whim took it.

To distract thoughts that were threatening to run as wild as time, Mathew rose to his feet and threw open the window. A freshening wind from the sea blew away the foulsmelling, yellowish tinged fog that had clung like a noxious blanket to the Castle all day. Looking outside, Mathew could see a cliff of black jagged rocks—below that, the seashore, whose white sand gleamed eerily in the starlight. Dark waves broke upon the shoreline. A black patch against the water, the ship of the ghuls swung at anchor, its crew no doubt dreaming of sweet, human flesh.

Movement near the window casement caught Mathew’s attention. He looked out to find a horrid figure looking in. Springing backward, Mathew slammed shut the window. Grabbing hold of the velvet curtains, he drew them closed with such force he nearly ripped them from their hangings. He left the window hastily, hurrying back to his bed, and sank down upon it.

A nesnas! Half human and half. . . nothing!

Mathew shuddered, closing his eyes to blot out the memory and succeeding only in bringing it more clearly to his mind. Take a human male and chop him in two, lengthwise, with an axe, and that is what I saw from my window! Half a head, half a nose and mouth, one ear; half a trunk, one arm, one leg. . . hopping, horribly. . . .

And that is what we must face when we leave the Castle!

You are the Bearer. Nothing can harm the Bearer!

The words came back to him comfortingly. He repeated them over and over in a soothing litany. But what about those with me? They will be safe, he assured himself. Nothing out there will harm them, for I will be the master, the master of all that is dark and evil. . .

What am I saying? Cowering, shivering, Mathew slid from the bed and fell to his knees. “Holy Father,” he whispered, folding his hands and pressing them to his lips, “I am sorry to have failed you. I had supposed that you kept me alive, when so many more worthy than myself died, for some purpose. If so, surely I have upset that purpose through my foolish actions. It’s just that. . . that I seem so alone! Perhaps what the imp said about a guardian angel is true after all. If that is so, and she has forsaken me, then I know why. Forgive me, Father. My soul will go to its dark reward. I ask only one last thing. Take the two lives in my care and deal mercifully with them. Despite the fact that they worship another God and are barbaric and savage in their ways, they are both truly good and caring people. See them safely back to their homeland. . . their homeland. . .” Tears crept down Mathew’s cheeks, falling among his fingers. “The homeland they long to see once more, to parents who grieve for them.”

“What a wretch I am!” Mathew cried suddenly, flinging himself away from the bed. “I cannot even pray for others without finding myself sucked into the mire of selfpity.” Glancing up at heaven, he smiled bitterly. “I cannot even pray… is that it? They say that those who worship the Prince of Darkness cannot say Your Holy Name but that it burns their tongues and blisters their lips. I—”

There came a knock on his door. Fearfully, Mathew heard the clock begin to chime. One. . . five. . . eight. . . his heart counted the strokes. . . ten. . . eleven. . .

A key rattled in the door lock. “You are wanted, Blossom.”

Swallowing, Mathew tried to answer, but the words would not come. His hand moved to grasp hold of the black wand. It was an unconscious act; he did not know he was touching it until he felt its sharp sides bite into his flesh, its reassuring warmth wash over him like the dark waters of the ocean waves, crashing on the beach below.

The door swung open. Auda ibn Jad stood framed in the doorway, silhouetted against a backdrop of blazing torches. The flickering light burned bright orange on his black armor, glittered off the eyes in the head of the severed snake that adorned his breastplate. Beside ibn Jad stood another knight, dressed in the same armor.

The torchlight gleamed on curly black hair, lit a face that had been in Mathew’s thoughts all day—a face that was pale and wan, drawn with pain yet alight with a fire of fierce eagerness, a face that looked at Mathew with no recognition at all in the black eyes.

“You are wanted,” said Auda ibn Jad coolly. “The hour of our triumph draws near.”

Bowing his head in acquiescence, Mathew walked out the doorway. Ibn Jad entered the room and began to search it. What he might be hunting for, Mathew hadn’t any idea—perhaps the imp. Drawing near Khardan, the young wizard took the opportunity to look once more into the face of the Calif.

One eyelid flickered. Deep, deep within the blackness of the eyes was the glimmer of a smile.

“Thank you, Promenthas,” Mathew breathed, then bit off his prayer, thinking he felt a burning sensation in his throat.