The Medusa Plague

Chapter Three

Dear Maladorigar.

I am writing this without knowing if I will ever be allowed to send it. The rules regarding communicating with people outside Bastion are unclear. Perhaps this will help me sort through my thoughts, at any rate, and then 1 won't feel so lonely.

Zagarus and I arrived five months ago, although you would be able to calculate that better than 1. Time is an odd thing here. There's neither sun nor moons to mark the passing days. I am estimating time by the growth of my hair: one index finger joint every two months. With nowhere to go, it matters very little anyway.

The Council of Three teleported Zag and me to the courtyard, or inner bailey, my bags in hand. It was as dark as ink, for there were no stars above. 1 felt dizzy, and it took several minutes for my eyes to adjust-to the darkness, I thought

first. The immense building before me looked flat and seemed to waver as if in a summer heat wave. I closed my eyes and willed my body to stop swaying, as fustarius had instructed me. I opened them again when 1 could stand still for at least three heartbeats.

The sight took me back five years, to a mountain valley in the morning shadows of Skullcap. 1 couldn't help thinking of Esme and the time we had spent helping to build this marvel. I still miss her.

Bastion's outline fit the pattern in my memory: a short, flat-faced facade leading the way to the disparate designs of the three wings behind it. The facade is made of a mosaic of fired white porcelain, red granite, and black onyx to symbolize the working harmony of the three orders of magic. I could see that gargoyles-real, live ones-had been added to every ledge and arch on all three sections. Topiary trees and odd statues, carefully designed to cast realistic and frightening shadows in the odd, angled light, were also new to my eyes.

One other new feature that I must comment on was almost imperceptible in the wan light until I got very close to Bastion. The entire edifice is covered, top to bottom and front to back, with runes, sigils, and mystic etchings of every variety. I've since spent much of my free time studying their design and have them nearly unraveled. The challenge of it kept me interested and active when I otherwise might have begun seriously missing my home and familiar sights.

Seeing Bastion again after so long brought to mind something unexpected and long forgotten. Many years before the building of the stronghold, while I was an apprentice in justarius's house, Esme had talked me into watching my first theatrical production. I had not even heard of such things before coming to the big city of Palanthas. What impressed me most was not the story, or even the players, for I can remember nothing of either, but the backdrop that had been created for the stage. It was a street scene, with false shop fronts and homes that looked quite real in the odd green- white glow provided by the bowls of powdered lime and water that served as footlights.

I realize this seems a long digression, but I tell you because if you have ever seen such a sight, you will understand how the exterior of Bastion looks now. Not dark, exactly, but very dimly lit from the bottom up. 1 felt as if I stood upon a stage, though I knew the building before me was not false-fronted, nor the darkness beyond the edges of my vision merely stage wings hidden by heavy curtains.

I knew, too, that the frightening sounds around me did not come from actors in the ivings, waiting to play the parts of hounds. Plaintive baying echoed from beyond the lacy wrouglit-iron fence that surrounds the stronghold. I could see red eyes glowing at an unknown distance, oddly shaped and placed; one here, three there, not like any wolves 1 had ever seen.

Zagarus was pressed against my leg, for once speechless. To our mutual great relief, the enormous, arched door before us swung open on creaky hinges, flooding the courtyard at our feet with yellow light. I remember it only because 1 had not felt like such a rube since I arrived as an apprentice at Justarius's villa those many years ago. My mouth hung agape, I am sure.

"You're here. Come in. I have too much to do to be standing in the doorway." The voice was brisk, yet unmistakably female, and had the hint of an accent 1 still have been unable to place. Her face was entirely in shadow.

There was no question of not complying with that voice, however. I could feel Zag paddling up the slick, porcelain steps next to me and can only imagine how incongruous he must have looked to her, a sea gull with no sea in sight. The silhouetted woman pointedly ignored him.

We stopped next to her in the doorway, and I squinted, still unable to see her features. "I'm Guerrand DiThon," I said, knowing as 1 did how foolish I must have sounded.

She looked meaningfully at my red robes. "Do you think I open the door for just anyone who happens by?"

I looked toward the red eyes beyond the fence. "Has anyone just happened by?"

"Not yet."

"And your name is-?"

"My business." She waved us through the door impatiently. "Dagamier." The bright light fell across her face, and at last I could see her. She looked young, perhaps of an age with my little sister Kirah, except around the eyes. Though her skin was unlined, there was a depth of experience, a cynical sadness, even, in orbs the dark blue of an angry, storm- tossed sea.

Dagamier was-is-a study in contrasts. Skin as white and unblemished as unveined marble, more polished than pale. Straight, shoulder-length hair the same midnight black as the silk robe she always wears. She's one of those people who looks good, sensuous even, in black, with her sharp, compact angles and a woman's soft, graceful moves. She's smart as a whip, with a tongue to match. I am ever on eggshells with her. Frankly, I haven't figured her out yet, and I'm not sure a lifetime of study would help that. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"I will show you the nave area that is common to us all and to the red wing," Dagamier said, leading us into the apse. "Ezius will likely give you a tour of the white wing when he has completed his shift in the scrying sphere. You will have no need to see the black wing."

"I have seen it," I said abruptly, involuntarily. "I've seen them all, at least from the outside."

She looked over her shoulder, one brow arched skeptically.

"Didn't the Council tell you?" I felt compelled to ask. "I was among the twenty-one mages who helped build Bastion before it was moved herefrom the Prime Material Plane."

Honestly, Maladorigar, I don't know what made me tell her all that. I should have known it would annoy her.

Dagamier's firm-lipped silence confirmed that it had.

"Then you will not be requiring a tour." She took a step to leave, and I instinctively reached out a hand to her forearm. I thought I had touched fire.

"Oh, but I do need one," 1 assured her quickly, pulling my hand away. "Nothing inside looks as I remember it. My involvement in the construction ended with the raising of the walls. The interior was completed by the Council of Three after they sent the other eighteen representatives from the site. Even the gargoyles, the fence, the creatures beyond it, the runes tluit surround it, are all new to me."

"The runes were drawn upon Bastion by the Council of Three to send Bastion here. The creatures are hell hounds, other-dimensional flame-belching monstrosities with fangs and claws, brought here by LaDonna as the black order's contribution to security. They patrol outside the fence." She continued in her bored voice, as if reading the information from a handbill. "The gargoyles were conjured by justarius for the red wing; they watch the forecourt for unwanted visitors."

Catching the pattern here, I asked, "And the fence was Par-Salian's doing?"

She stared at me for long moments in a most disconcerting manner. "No."

Dagamier walked through the apse to the soaring central nave. It, too, was new to me, and seemed to serve no other purpose than to connect the three wings that join it at equidistant points from the towering front door. Actually, nine doors lead away from this area: one each to the white and red wings respectively, seven into the black wing, seven separate and distinct rooms that can only be entered from the nave.

In the center of the room is a wide, round column that stretches from floor to ceiling. A support pillar, I supposed, not recalling it from the construction. The column is ringed by a narrow, fish-filled gurgling stream, like a miniature moat, whose source is a mystery.

"That column houses the scrying diorama, Par-Salian's contribution to defense," Dagamier said pointedly. "Each of us takes a shift inside, watching Bastion and this entire demiplane for signs of intrusion."

"Of course," I said lamely, wishing I sounded more like the new high defender than some sheepish apprentice. Glancing around, I was struck by the whiteness of the walls, the natural-looking brightness that seems to filter down from the ceiling, as if it's a glass pane that faces the sun. Par-Salian's influence here is obvious, as is justarius's. The snowy whiteness is broken only by man-sized lush, tropical plants. There is little evidence of LaDonna's hand here, except, perhaps, in the shadows.

Dagamier must have seen me looking at the greenery, because she said, "The plants and fish have always been the responsibility of the red representative. They'd all be dead if it were up to me." She looked at Zagarus for the first time. "Naturally, your gull and its mess is also your responsibil- ity."

Zag's wing feathers gathered up like a bird in the cold. Does she think I can't hear her? he griped. Imagine talking about me like I'm some wild animal.

"Of course-" I barely managed to mutter to Dagamier.

"We can discuss other duties, like the scrying sphere, after you've settled in your rooms."

Uh-oh, sang Zagarus. She obviously doesn't know you're the boss!

"Did they… the Council, that is… tell you about my position?" I gulped.

Dagamier looked up with one dark eye. "The top guard thing?"

"High defender," I corrected her gently. This was not going well. Since I was to be her superior, 1 decided to take: he bull, so to speak, by the horns. "You don't like me much. Or is it the idea of me?"

Frankly, I haven't thought of either," she said with a dis- five wave of her hand. "If it makes you feel any better,though, I don't like anyone much. That's why I sought out this position. I prefer solitude."

Arid the world is better for it, snorted Zag.

I swallowed a smile with a cough. "Uh, how long have you been here?"

"Long enough." She pierced me with narrowed eyes. "I hope you won't be inclined to change procedures and routines you know nothing about."

Do you want me to peck the harridan? Zag said to me. I think I'll call her Harry, for short.

I almost laughed despite my growing irritation, so unexpected and apt was Zag's evaluation. I can handle her, I ensured my familiar silently.

Actually, Zagarus's genuine but ridiculous offer helped knock the insecurity right out of me. I sensed that if I didn't demand Dagamier's respect in that instant, if only for the position I hold, I would never get it. I silently invoked a quick protective magic and quite literally but gently poked her once in her mannish lapels.

"Look," I said fiercely, "I can understand your irritation at being passed up for promotion, but I won't tolerate your insolence. I'm in charge here, whether you like it or not. The Council of Three obviously wants me to be high defender. I would hate to have to report to them that there is another position to fill." I spoke without heat, but lowered my eyes briefly to the pattern on the floor. "Dependable black wizards are hard to find."

Dagamier pushed herself away with surprising strength for someone of her size. She met my eyes fully for the first time, and there was neither anger nor distaste there. I wouldn't call it respect, but a weary acceptance. It was more than I expected.

The short tour went better after that. Dagamier was at least civil, if not pleasant.

"Did the Council tell you where Bastion is, in the scheme of the cosmos, that is?" she asked while we walked slowly about the nave.

" 'Beyond the circles of the universe,' I believe they said. They didn't want to tell me more specifically for fear that I might let the secret slip."

"Believe it or not," she said, beginning to steer me in the direction of the red wing, "Bastion is visible from Krynn, if only you know where to look." She must have seen the disbelief on my face, because she stopped to look me. "It's true. Have you ever noticed the dark line on the horizon, where earth and sea meet sky? That's the side of Bastion, like the rim of a steel piece."

I nodded slowly in understanding, thinking it somehow fitting that I should aid up here, when I had spent so much of my youth staring wistfully at the horizon from the heath near Castle DiThon.

Contemplating that line, I said aloud, "That would mean Bastion's plane is two-dimensional."

Dagamier looked impressed. "You probably noticed a sense of disorientation, of flatness, when you arrived in the courtyard."

I nodded again. "It went away so fast I thought it was a side effect of teleportation."

"Most people's senses adjust to the change pretty quickly and everything begins to look normal."

"Does that mean I have only two dimensions now?" The thought worried me for some reason.

Dagamier's glossy head shook as she pondered. "Let me think of a way to explain it. You, me, this place"-she gave an inclusive wave of her arm-"were created in the three dimensions of the Prime Material Plane, then transported here. We didn't lose any of our definition by coming to a place that only recognizes two dimensions."

She snapped her fingers when another thought came clear. "It's like visual acuity. You and I may both look at a statue that's fifty feet away. If my eyesight is better, I will see more detail in the statue than you, but that doesn't mean the detail isn't there when you look at it." She held up both hands in an expressively questioning gesture. "Does that make sense?"

"I think so," 1 muttered, trying to piece it all together. "Does it follow, then, that anything created here and sent to the Prime Material would have only two dimensions?"

Dagamier nodded.

"Then that's why the Council decided to build Bastion on Krynn and bring it here," I realized at last. "I'd thought it was only for convenience or secrecy."

"Probably all three." She dismissed the subject with a shrug. "The nave," she said, redirecting my attention, "is the only space we share, aside from the entry apse."

Dagamier pointed to the column. "Each of us spends a third of our time, in rotating shifts, monitoring Bastion's perimeter through a magical replica of the plane." She blinked. "At least, that is how we have divided the task previously."

I was surprised that so much of my time would be spent staring at a model. "It sounds as fair a system as any," 1 assured her.

Just then, a hidden door-sized panel slid back in the column, and a sparkling footbridge of glass spread like a rainbow across the moat. Out stepped a funny little man who reminded me strongly of the wizened old chamberlain at Castle DiThon. He wore an ill-fitting white robe edged in gold thread. His long, frizzy hair, the color of sunlight on a dull day, was askew, as if he'd just stepped out of a fierce wind. Seeing me with Dagamier, he blinked with eyes that were small black dots behind very thick spectacles. He crossed the small magical bridge and stood among the greenery.

"Nothing to report today," he said to my black-robed guide, ignoring me. "Your hell hounds became excited with the new arrival, and the gargoyles grew edgy, but they all seem to have quieted now. Is he ready for his first watch?" the man asked with a slight jerk of his head toward me. "Or will you be taking the next one?"

Before I could say I would be happy to take my turn,Dagamier stepped across the bridge and paused under the sliding panel. "He hasn't even been to his rooms yet." The bridge retracted like a fan and disappeared. Dagamier withdrew into the column, and the panel closed behind her, leaving no seam.

I stood with Ezius, feeling uncomfortable and vaguely irritated. No one had warned me that they both had stunted social skills. If he was as abrasive and resentful as Dagamier, I was going to have quite a time of managing things here.

"Yes, well, that won't do," Ezius muttered to himself. "The only way to fix that is to let him look at his rooms. There's no point in delaying that. None at all." The white- robed mage meandered toward the door to his wing.

"Say, uh, Ezius, is it?" I called after him awkwardly.

The man stopped his mumbling and his steps to look vaguely over his shoulder. "Yes? Yes, well?"

"I–I thought we might at least introduce ourselves."

"Haven't we?" He shrugged. "I guess not. I don't know your name."

"It's Guerrand. My friends call me Rand."

"Rand… Yes, well, that's a nice name, isn't it? I once knew a man named Rind, an excellent cobbler from Blode- helm. He could resole a pair of boots in two winks of an eye, and always used the best quality thread and leather. Although there are those who think that catgut made from twisting the dried intestines of sheep is superior." He blinked at me through those thick lenses. "Rind was his name. I don't suppose you know him?"

I looked at him closely to see if he was jesting, but his face was guileless. "No, I'm sorry I don't."

What plane is he on? Zagarus snorted.

I breathed a sigh of relief so loud even Ezius xvould have noticed if he hadn't already departed through an arched, immense white doorway to the right of the nave. I'd realized the mumbling mage wasn't being intentionally abrasive, he as simply befuddled.

Reading over his master's shoulder, Zagarus pecked gently at Guerrand's hand until he set his quill down upon the desk in the library of the red wing.

"What is it, Zag?"

Make sure you tell Maladorigar that Ezius isn't just befuddled, he's a real stick-in-the-mud.

Guerrand didn't entirely agree with the gull's assessment, so he ignored it and picked up the quill again. But the bird wasn't ready to be silent yet.

Is it just me, or does Dagamier remind you of LaDonna?

Guerrand screwed up his face in thought as he tried to envision both women side by side. "I suppose I see a little resemblance," he agreed at last, "but I'm not sure it isn't just because they're both women and both mages."

Esme was a woman and a mage, Zagarus pointed out, and Dagamier doesn't remind me the least bit of her.

Guerrand felt himself tense at the mention of Esme. Would it ever stop hurting? And why was Zagarus, who knew how much the subject pained his master, poking a wing in the wound? Guerrand closed his eyes tightly and willed patience. "What I meant was, LaDonna and Dagamier are both dark-haired women who wear the black robes."

I suppose. With that, Zagarus closed his beady eyes in reluctant concession, ruffled his wings into a comfortable position, and dropped off to sleep on the desk next to Guerrand.

The mage gratefully returned to the safety of his letter to the gnome back in Harrowdown.

With the introductions out of the way, there was nothing keeping me from exploring the red wing.

Maladorigar, I can't begin to describe how comfortable and carefully considered the red wing is. There is a sense of Justarius's own subtle dignity to the magic that maintains my apartments-no talking teapots or crazed brooms and

their ridiculous like here.

The wing's six rooms are set in a rectangle, all of them more warmly inviting than the last, fust one is large enough to make our house in Harrowdown look like a shack. I'm sorry, that was less than thoughtful, since you're still living there.

Anyway, the first room on the right off the circular nave is a large, practical storeroom. All I have to do is set whatever I wish stored just inside the doorway, and the next time I return it's been put in its proper place upon the shelves.

Across the hall from the storeroom is the daily living area, where I cook and eat my meals. It's stocked with enough pans and platters and is of sufficient size to feed a visiting troop of nobles and all their retainers. There's a huge fireplace that burns constantly and is far larger than I need to prepare the simple gruels I am capable of cooking. I surely miss your herbal stews.

Next to this area is my sleeping chamber. I spend little time upon the soft feather tick, yet enough to know that I far prefer it to my straw bed in Harrowdown.

The sleeping chamber leads directly into a room that I suspect was modified by Justarius for my benefit. Or should I ›ay Zagarus's? I don't remember it from the original floor plan. All of nature that is absent from Bastion is painted here in murals that cover the floor, walls, and ceiling. Blue sea to the left, green fields to the right, and in the middle is an elaborate pool someone (which is why 1 suspect Justarius) went to a great deal of trouble to make look like the seashore near Thonvil. Live heather and pampas grass abound. Real water Jbuts the blue sea mural on the left edge, giving the scene the infinite look of the horizon line between water and sea. Zagarus in particular feels quite at home here.

My favorite room, though, is the laboratory. It's by far the biggest, taking up the entire short end of the rectangle farthest from the nave. I was concerned about being unable to;cllect my own components of the quality you grow in Harrowdown, but I needn't have been. Oh, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's just that the lab came stocked with things I've never even heard of, all perfectly catalogued and stored in the highest quality green glass. I don't know if I have Justarius or my predecessor to thank. I suspect the former, since the jars magically refill themselves. No more plucking posies in a hot field while angry bees sting my head!

Or maybe my favorite room is the library. 1 have not seen one its size since my father's at Castle DiThon. But instead of containing only the occasional tome about magic, this one holds floor-to-ceiling spellbooks, with softly cushioned benches on which to read them. New books appear on the shelf now and then. I even found an entry about Rannoch, the black wizard from my dreams, that I hadn't read before. Unfortunately, it added nothing new to my understanding of him.

I've had the Dream with great regularity here, Mai. I thought it might go away, once 1 took charge of my life again and came to Bastion, but it hasn't, if anything, it comes more frequently and fervently to me here. I confess, Bastion has inspired moments when I could understand Rannoch's sacrifice. I feel I am a part of something bigger than myself, something worth dying for…

Still, I can't shake the thought that there's something else I'm supposed to learn from that part of my Test, some lesson I've not yet been able to understand. I've been trying to screw up the courage to ask Dagamier if there is something about Rannoch in her library. He was, after all, a wizard of the Black Robes, which is what continues to disturb me. We don't enter each other's areas without invitation here, and neither Dagamier nor Ezius have been forthcoming with one. It is my right as high defender to demand entrance, but I don't want to lose whatever goodwill I have engendered by doing so without good reason.

The Dream aside, I am wanting for nothing here, except companionship. Ezius is pleasant enough when he's lucid. But it seems that he's always either scurrying off, muttering about some obscure and unintelligible thing, or stopping to lecture me about some obscure and boring thing. Sometimes, I confess, I'm lonely enough to feign interest.

Dagamier is another story. While she is no longer insolent, there is a darkness in her soul that permeates everything she says and does. Conversations with her frequently leave me lonely and depressed. I have no doubt why she chose to wear the black robes.

Guerrand stopped again briefly to make sure Zagarus was no longer reading over his shoulder. He watched the slow rise and fall of the bird's breast, heard the slight whistle-wheeze of Zagarus at sleep. Reassured, he picked up the quill once more and dipped it into the pot of black ink.

You may be wondering why I'm so lonely with Zagarus here. I can tell you, Mai, that Zagarus is not doing well. I don't know if it's old age, or being away from the sea and other birds, or both. His color is bad, feathers and eyes dull. He scarcely talks to me anymore, especially after I reprimanded him for fishing in the moat around the scrying column.

I must also confess to occasional restlessness. Am I one of those people who is never satisfied with where he is or what he is doing?

Guerrand's head shot up from the page at the distant sound of wild baying. He set the quill down, cocked his head, and listened.

Zagarus's eyes popped open. Sounds like the hell hounds, he observed.

The mage nodded. "But how can they be so close that we can hear them? Unless…" Guerrand let the word trail as his mind finished the horrifying thought. "Stay here," he commanded as he jumped to his feet. The chair flew back and crashed to the floor of the library. Guerrand was through the doorway and down the long hallway to the nave in a matter of heartbeats.

Ezius stood by the column, his pale face etched with concern. "I've never heard the hounds from inside Bastion," he remarked soberly.

Just then the panel in the central column opened. Dagamier poked her dark head out anxiously. "The hell hounds and gargoyles appear to be poised for a fight."

"How is that possible?" demanded Ezius. "Control of the hounds is your responsibility, Dagamier!" He looked at Guerrand. "Can't you maintain the enchantment on your gargoyles?"

Ezius's accusations brought a scowl to Dagamier's white face. "Not all of Bastion's magical defenses are entirely predictable, Ezius. Gargoyles, if you haven't heard, are chaotic evil creatures. I think it's remarkable that this hasn't happened before in five years."

"I still say the Council should have anticipated such problems."

"They did," cut in Guerrand. "That's why we're here. If Bastion functioned automatically, there'd be no need for guardians." Guerrand was already running for the apse and Bastion's entrance when he said, "Ezius, man the sphere. I'm going out to see what's happening."

Dashing after him, Dagamier caught Guerrand by the arm and spun him around. "You can't go charging out there. Maybe you trust the gargoyles to attack only intruders, but the hell hounds will kill anything they can sink their teeth into."

Dagamier had pulled him into one of the black wing's seven doorways before he was even aware of moving. "Let's use the observation tower above the black wing," she said, tapping the wall inside the door. A doorway slid open, revealing a long, narrow flight of stairs.

Another door flew open and they emerged into the windless, dark air above the courtyard on a narrow walkway hidden by the facade. The sounds of snarling, shrieking animals cut them both to the core. The mages clapped hands over their ears to hush the sound, but it did little good. The noise seemed to slice through the flesh and bones of their hands like a sharp pick on its way to their brains.

Apprehension made Dagamier's voice sound like a whisper, though she shouted above the din, "The gargoyles are gone."

Guerrand did a swift scan of the nearby pointed gables of the white wing. He searched the smooth, flat ledges of the red and black wings. The hideous, winged creatures who posed as downspouts on a stronghold that never saw rain were indeed gone.

"There!" yelled Dagamier, pointing. Guerrand followed her finger and the sounds to the left, to an area in darkest shadow beyond the fence. Bursts of flame and red-hot eyes revealed the presence, if not the outlines, of the hell hounds. Squinting in the perpetual dimness, Guerrand could make out bent bars in that section of fence, and through them constant but undefined movement. Occasionally the area was lit up by a flash of fire from a hell hound, but this did little to illuminate the situation.

By the time Guerrand realized that Dagamier was casting a spell, she was already done. It was a simple light spell, suspended over the battle. All six of the gargoyles appeared to be battling four to six hell hounds. The entire scene was such a chaotic swirl of limbs, dirt, and fire that it was hard to tell which side, if either, was

winning. The stony gray hide of the gargoyles was largely impervious to the fangs and claws of the hell hounds, and if a gargoyle did get into serious trouble its enormous wings could easily carry it out of danger. But the dark red hell hounds were vicious fighters who would gang together to overwhelm one foe at a time, or disappear into the shadows if hard pressed.

At the corner of his sight, Guerrand saw Dagamier's eyes sink shut. "What are you planning to do?" he asked.

Her hands began to rise in a swirling motion. "Slay them before they completely destroy the fence. We'll replace them with a new batch."

"That would solve the immediate problem, as would putting them to sleep," agreed Guerrand, "but it would also leave us with no inner guardians for some time. I have a better idea," he said. "Follow my lead."

"Do I have a choice?" asked Dagamier, but there was no malice in her husky voice. "We'd better hurry before the light spell goes out."

Guerrand dashed to the opposite side of the overlook. Below in the courtyard were many of the strangely sculpted topiary plants he had seen on his arrival. When viewed directly, the plant shapes were unidentifiable. But in the oddly angled light of Bastion, they cast very distinct, disturbing shadows against the edifice. While none of these shadows was recognizable, all of them had an eery familiarity, like shapes remembered from nightmares.

Guerrand spread his arms and extended them forward in a sweeping motion. As he did so, the shadows moved away from the trees and lumbered forward. Their motion was graceful and fluid, and they advanced steadily toward the gashed fence.

Dagamier was unsure what Guerrand had in mind, but she did as he had ordered and animated the shadows from the other side of the main entrance. Shortly, several dozen shadows were flowing toward the fight.

As the first shadows slipped into the melee, the gargoyles and hell hounds paused momentarily, unsure what was happening. Then one of the hell hounds unleashed a blast of fiery breath at the shapes, but it crackled harmlessly through the darkness. Guerrand was ready on the roof and immediately loosed a sleeping spell at the attacking hell hound, which crumpled soundlessly to the ground. Startled by the apparent demise of one of their own, two other hounds tore into the shadows and fell prey to Guerrand's spell. Both lay motionless on the ground.

The remaining hell hounds and gargoyles slowly backed away from the advancing shadows. In the brief respite, Guerrand and Dagamier quickly reestablished their charm spells that usually controlled the guardian beasts.

The gargoyles returned to their perches, chittering softly, their sights anchored on the shadows in the courtyard. The hounds whimpered briefly behind the fence, then fell silent, red eyes watching.

Guerrand lowered arms that felt as heavy as if a bag of coins hung from each.

Dagamier's head tilted to regard him. "What made you think of using the shadows?"

Guerrand shrugged. "My brother and sister and I used to play a game when we were kids. Back when the garden was more than weeds, we'd wait until dark and then tell each other stories about what all the shadow- shapes really were. Rosemary shrubs became child- eating ogres under moonlight, and the like. Then we'd dare each other to go farther and farther into the garden. I tell you it was frightening, even though we knew they were only shrubs." He shrugged. "Everything looks different in darkness.

"It's hard to predict how long it will take gargoyles and hell hounds to catch on/' continued Guerrand. "They're really more brawn than brain. Still, as long as they think the shadows will intervene, neither side is likely to cross the darkness of the courtyard."

Tired to his bones, the mage took several steps toward the staircase. 'This episode has taught me two things, though," he confessed. "We must be even more vigilant about maintaining the enchantments over such creatures-take nothing for granted. And, starting tomorrow, while one of us remains in the scrying sphere at all times, the others will begin practice drills for battle readiness. We'll have no more scrambling for the doorway like scared rabbits."

Dagamier held the door open for Guerrand. On her face was an unmistakable look of respect. It was a look the high defender of Bastion had long waited to see.