dark wind and witches lay in wait for little boys.
Somehow the Keep was snared in grandfather days, before the Time of Troubles when the magic stopped. Each step into the Forest was a step through the years from the present into the past.
The Tower loomed above him as he reached its base.
But if tonight was a night long ago—the “one black night at the heart of hell,” Husk had called it—why was the Red Keep dead? Why weren’t rushlights burning in the windows, voices calling the watch, booted feet hurrying across the courtyards inside? Why only silence and a stink of dead flowers?
If other heroes had been here before, how came the boat to be on the other side of the moat?
The moon had fallen farther eastward now, singed to a flake of ash by the approaching sun. The sky was finally beginning to pale.
Something had gouged his foot. Squatting down, he found the grass littered with chips of granite. Must have fallen from the wall . He picked up a flat piece and slung it sidearm out into the water, listening for skips. It hit only once, and then was swallowed in blossoms.
Chink!
A ringing sound, steel on stone. Mark yelped as a piece of rock smacked into the ground beside him. He stared at it in the dim grey light, and felt his heart freeze.
A flat chip of granite, identical to the one he had just thrown into the mere, had fallen exactly where the first one had lain. Exactly. Not a single new blade of grass was bent.
A spasm of pure fear rippled through Mark’s body, made the skin crawl on his back like water ruffled by the wind.
Chink!
Mark leaned against the red stones, sick with fear. Steady lad. Work it through .
What if they had gone across, Harler and his henchmen with Queen Lerelil between them? Of course. They went across, and stabbed her, and left her body for the crows .
But summat threw all that off. What? You, of course! Just like when you chucked that stone into the moat and it got replaced. So when you took the boat, it cut against the grain of what happened that night long ago. The boat had to be on the other side, because that’s where Harler left it that night.
Here it’s always today, the day Queen Lerelil dies. That’s why Husk said not to linger: after a day passes inside this moat, it will be today again. Stay an hour too long, and you’ll be trapped in that last day of the Red Keep’s life, a living ghost.
Mark swore softly to himself, shuddering. O God, there’s probably heroes here who never died at all, but stayed too long and were limed by the Red Keep’s spell, doomed to relive one day for all eternity .
Shite . But the whole day was not happening again: not at all. Only when something was disturbed was it put right.
Chink!
Looking up Mark saw the shadow of a man on the Tower wall.
The shadow bent a leg, straightened it, climbed another few inches, swung back a careful arm:
Chink!
Spikes!
Some bastard stole your idea! He’s scaling the Tower wall. Goat’s-piss and sheep-shite ! All his work gone for nothing. Mark watched helplessly as the climber moved surely up the stone face. He had been beaten. “No bloody luck,” he swore. Tonight of all nights, some pig’s-pizzle hero beat you to …
Hawd on. Think. Tonight of all nights … “There isn’t any other night! Anyone who dares the Ghostwood always gets to the Keep ‘tonight.’”
Well, whoever was scaling the Tower clearly had the jump on him. Mark pulled a piece of cheese from his pack and settled himself on the grass, watching the climber.
So this might be a hero from a hundred years ago. Brought back by… by me chucking that stone, I guess.
If the climber had come here at some time in the past, clearly he had failed to break the enchantment and been caught in the Red Keep’s spell. If so, Mark stood to learn something by watching him.
The climber was almost at the top now. If he got the dagger and broke the spell, Mark would have to do without a barony. But he had rescued Queen Lerelil. That had
Somehow the Keep was snared in grandfather days, before the Time of Troubles when the magic stopped. Each step into the Forest was a step through the years from the present into the past.
The Tower loomed above him as he reached its base.
But if tonight was a night long ago—the “one black night at the heart of hell,” Husk had called it—why was the Red Keep dead? Why weren’t rushlights burning in the windows, voices calling the watch, booted feet hurrying across the courtyards inside? Why only silence and a stink of dead flowers?
If other heroes had been here before, how came the boat to be on the other side of the moat?
The moon had fallen farther eastward now, singed to a flake of ash by the approaching sun. The sky was finally beginning to pale.
Something had gouged his foot. Squatting down, he found the grass littered with chips of granite. Must have fallen from the wall . He picked up a flat piece and slung it sidearm out into the water, listening for skips. It hit only once, and then was swallowed in blossoms.
Chink!
A ringing sound, steel on stone. Mark yelped as a piece of rock smacked into the ground beside him. He stared at it in the dim grey light, and felt his heart freeze.
A flat chip of granite, identical to the one he had just thrown into the mere, had fallen exactly where the first one had lain. Exactly. Not a single new blade of grass was bent.
A spasm of pure fear rippled through Mark’s body, made the skin crawl on his back like water ruffled by the wind.
Chink!
Mark leaned against the red stones, sick with fear. Steady lad. Work it through .
What if they had gone across, Harler and his henchmen with Queen Lerelil between them? Of course. They went across, and stabbed her, and left her body for the crows .
But summat threw all that off. What? You, of course! Just like when you chucked that stone into the moat and it got replaced. So when you took the boat, it cut against the grain of what happened that night long ago. The boat had to be on the other side, because that’s where Harler left it that night.
Here it’s always today, the day Queen Lerelil dies. That’s why Husk said not to linger: after a day passes inside this moat, it will be today again. Stay an hour too long, and you’ll be trapped in that last day of the Red Keep’s life, a living ghost.
Mark swore softly to himself, shuddering. O God, there’s probably heroes here who never died at all, but stayed too long and were limed by the Red Keep’s spell, doomed to relive one day for all eternity .
Shite . But the whole day was not happening again: not at all. Only when something was disturbed was it put right.
Chink!
Looking up Mark saw the shadow of a man on the Tower wall.
The shadow bent a leg, straightened it, climbed another few inches, swung back a careful arm:
Chink!
Spikes!
Some bastard stole your idea! He’s scaling the Tower wall. Goat’s-piss and sheep-shite ! All his work gone for nothing. Mark watched helplessly as the climber moved surely up the stone face. He had been beaten. “No bloody luck,” he swore. Tonight of all nights, some pig’s-pizzle hero beat you to …
Hawd on. Think. Tonight of all nights … “There isn’t any other night! Anyone who dares the Ghostwood always gets to the Keep ‘tonight.’”
Well, whoever was scaling the Tower clearly had the jump on him. Mark pulled a piece of cheese from his pack and settled himself on the grass, watching the climber.
So this might be a hero from a hundred years ago. Brought back by… by me chucking that stone, I guess.
If the climber had come here at some time in the past, clearly he had failed to break the enchantment and been caught in the Red Keep’s spell. If so, Mark stood to learn something by watching him.
The climber was almost at the top now. If he got the dagger and broke the spell, Mark would have to do without a barony. But he had rescued Queen Lerelil. That had
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