The Door Into Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

smiled more broadly. “Two it is. Your horse is inside?”
    “He is, madam.”
    “Dinner?”
    “Oh, ye s,” Herewiss said. The good smells coming out of the kitchen were making his stomach talk. “Some of what that gentleman is having, if there’s another one...”
    She nodded. “Anything to drink? We have wine, red and white and Delann yellow; brown and black ale; and my husband made a fresh barrel of Knight’s Downfall yesterday.”
    “Ale sounds good: the black. Which room should I take?”
    “Up the stairs, turn right, third door to your left.” The innkeeper disappeared back into the kitchen’s steam.
    Herewiss hurried up the creaking stairs and found the room in question. It was predictably musty, and the floor groaned under him. The shutters screeched in protest when he levered them open to let the sunset in, but he was so glad to have a hot meal in the offing that the place looked as good as any king’s castle to him. He dropped his bag in the corner, under the window, and changed into another clean dark tunic; then headed for the door. Halfway through the doorway, an afterthought struck him. He raised his hands to draw the appropriate gestures in the air, and since no one was near, spoke aloud the words of a very minor binding, erecting a lockshield around his bags. Then down the stairs he went.
    Herewiss sat down at an empty table in a corner and spent a few moments admiring the window nearest him, which was a crazy amalgam of bottle-glass panes and stained vignettes. One of them, done in vivid shades of rose, cobalt, and emerald, showed the end of the old story about the man who fooled the Goddess into lifting her skirts by confronting Her with an illusion-river. There he lay under the trees at Harvest festival, inextricably stuck to and into an illusionary lover, while the Goddess and the harvesters stood around and laughed themselves weak. The man looked understandably mortified, and very chastened. He had been very lucky that he’d played his trick on the Mother aspect of the Goddess; had She been manifesting as the Maiden at the time, She might not have been so kind. The Mother tends to be forgiving of Her children’s pranks, but the Maiden can be fatally jealous of Her modesty.
    Someone blocked the light, and Herewiss looked up. Before him stood a girl of perhaps eighteen years, pretty in a bland sort of way, with a droopy halo of frizzing black hair. She bent in front of Herewiss, putting his steak pie and ale on the old scarred table. Herewiss took brief disinterested notice of the view down her blouse, but much more of his attention was on the steak pie.
    “Nice,” he said. “A fork, please?”
    “Hmm?” She in her turn was being very interested in Herewiss.
    “A fork?”
    “Oh. Yes, certainly—” She reached into her pocket and brought one out for him. Herewiss took it, wiped it off, and hurriedly dug into the pie.
    “Ahh, listen,” she said, bending down again, and Herewiss began an intensive study of a piece of potato, “are you busy this evening?”
    Herewiss did his best to look up at her with profound sorrow. She really wasn’t his type, and there was a mercenary look in her eye that sent him hurriedly to the excuse box in the back of his head. “If you’re thinking what I think you are,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I’m under vows of chastity.”
    “You don’t look like you’re in an Order,” she said.
    “Perpetual chastity,” Herewiss said. “Or until the Lion comes back. Sorry.”
    The girl stood up. “Well,” she said, “if you change your mind, ask the lady in the kitchen where I am. I’m her daughter.”
    Herewiss nodded, and she went away into the kitchen. He sagged slightly as the door closed behind her, and settled back against the wall.
    That was a bit panicky of me, Herewiss thought as he began to eat. I wonder what it is about her that bothers me so—
    He put the thought aside and concentrated on the hot-spiced food and the heavy ale. The