Matei noticed Uachi's discomfort well before they reached the Mage's Keep. There was a stiff set to the ranger's shoulders, and his face—although as grim and cold as always—was paler than usual. He knew Uachi was upset with him after their rocky conference with Yorek; the ranger spared no affection for Korvan's advisor and had made no secret of that, so he must be angry that Matei and Mhera had defended Yorek in an effort to keep the peace. Matei thought it rather childish of him to expect them to take sides, especially when Uachi seemed to take pains to alienate most people he met.

Still, there must be more to it than that. Uachi and Matei had had differences of opinion every day of their friendship, after all. At last, unable to guess the reason, Matei asked, "Are you feeling all right, Uachi?"

"I'm fine," the ranger replied in a tone that invited no further inquiry.

Matei did not have time to fish for Uachi's thoughts. His patience for Uachi's reticence was wearing thin. He turned his attention to Captain Alban, who rode at his left hand. The captain had made a brief report of his survey of the Mage's Keep which had, unfortunately, been all but fruitless. "Tell me, Captain—what exactly was it you found inside, if not the archmage himself?"

"Precious little, Your Grace. I ordered my men to search the place top to bottom, and so they did, but we were surprised to find no more than a half dozen mages still in residence."

"You told me Jaeron had near fifty pupils."

"So we were advised, Your Grace, but it seems most have fled."

Matei did not have a good feeling about this news, and he misliked the thought of the archmage's flight more with every passing moment. "The pantries and the stores...what of them?"

"Nary a crumb left behind. He may have gone in haste, Your Grace, but not without caution."

"You think his pupils and retainers went with him?"

"I do not know where else they may have gone, Your Grace."

On Matei's other side, Uachi gave an irritated sigh. Matei glanced at his friend—toward whom he did not feel particularly friendly—and snapped, "Have you something productive to add to this conversation, Uachi?"

The ranger slid him a dark look. "Nothing that bears saying in this company."

"Go on and say it. Do you not trust the captain?"

Uachi glanced over his shoulder, as if to judge their small party's distance from Captain Alban's other men. Although they had a modicum of privacy, he dropped his voice before speaking. "I simply meant, Your Grace, that conversations would be half as long if people did not waste their lifetimes reminding you that you're a grace—or whatever the hell all this stupid frippery is supposed to mean. If an emperor can't remember how his own people style him after half a dozen words I'm not sure he's qualified to make decisions about the running of an empire."

Matei had never expected nor appreciated titles and ceremonial embellishments as the Rebel King, but he had bent without complaint to the traditions of the capitol—verbal deferences, bows and curtsies, and other such things. No one had had to tell him that these niceties were necessary; given his precarious position as a new leader of the realm, he realized that all of it served to remind the people around them that Mhera and he were sovereigns.

Still. It cost him an effort to cover his laughter with a clearing of the throat. "One can always count on Uachi for honesty, Captain, whether one finds it refreshing or crude."

Uachi muttered something several times cruder than the incisive perspective he had already offered. He spurred his horse on ahead.

"In all seriousness, he's right. Rest assured that you need never stand overmuch on ceremony in my presence, Captain."

The captain deeply bowed his head. "As it please you, Your Grace," he said—with a mischievous smile.

"You were saying?"

"Only that the other mages—many of them—must have gone with the archmage, if he indeed fled the capitol as we assume."

"Well-stocked with provisions, then."

"And horses as well; the compound stables were empty, except for a mule with a bad leg. When I saw they'd taken the horses, I requested an account from the guards who have been watching the gates, but it's unlikely we'll learn anything. I run a tight ship, Your Grace, but all has been chaos of late. Besides—there were only three stalls; all of them cannot have gone mounted."

"Did you question the few who remained?"

"Not yet. I'm certain they have information to share, but they seemed...frightened."

Matei remembered seeing Archmage Jaeron on the day of his own execution; he remembered the gray face, the serpentine eyes. They had chilled him to the bone, even at a distance, with the safety of a riotous crowd between them. The emperor had built the stone dungeon deep in the bowels of the palace where Matei had been tortured and had later awaited his death, but it was the archmage who had bound it with cords of power so strong that no man alone, be he ever so formidable a true-born wielder of magic, could have broken it.

It was the archmage whose trap had forced Matei to steal power from someone else to escape. Matei would never deny responsibility for the choices he had made in his life, but he knew he never would have bound Mhera had the archmage not been the emperor's right hand. And Jaeron's cold power had even touched Rhea. The scars on her arm would never fade, and the scars on her mind?

"Emperor?"

"I'm sorry, Alban—I was lost in thought."

"Forgive me for intruding upon your reflection, Your Grace, but we have arrived."

Just a block ahead rose the unassuming walls of an enclosed keep built of sturdy, homely brown stone. Uachi had already dismounted a short distance from the place. He stood staring up at the stone walls, one gloved hand wrapped tightly in his horse's reins.

"Well, then; let us see what we shall learn inside." Matei drew his horse to a stop and slid down from the saddle. "Uachi, will you come in too?"

When the ranger glanced at him, Matei was taken aback. In Uachi's eyes was a haunted look such as he had never seen, and his face, of a darker complexion than Matei's, was pale as milk. Uachi said nothing, but Matei understood much from that look, even if he did not fully grasp what lay behind it.

Uachi was afraid.

Matei continued, "I would rather you didn't, if it's all the same to you. We need someone to keep a watchful eye on the outside of this place, and there is no one I trust more than you to be quick-witted if there are any surprises."

"Gladly," said Uachi; his relief was plain in his features. He seemed to realize that Matei had noticed something amiss, and he quirked a smile. "Your High-and-Mightiness."

Rolling his eyes, Matei clapped Uachi on the shoulder. Then, he strode past the ranger toward the compound, Captain Alban at his side.

As soon as his foot crossed the threshold of the Mage's Keep, Matei was ill at ease. He looked round at the soldiers, who were mostly Starborn, and noted expressions of wariness on more than one face, but he doubted they felt the same bone-deep anxiety that had struck him as soon as he crossed the threshold. The feeling would have been difficult for him to explain, but had he considered it at length, he might have described it as a primal unease, a sense of being in a place where his ancestors had wept.

"I have kept a guard posted here since we left this morning, so I hope nothing has been disturbed—not that there was much to disturb," Captain Alban said. He spoke in a whisper, although there was no clear reason to do so.

The keep was circular. The outermost wall surrounded a narrow courtyard that circumscribed the entire building. At the very center of the compound was another courtyard where there was a small stable, ovens, a beehive, gardens, the well, and other things necessary for a largely self-sufficient community. The living areas, places of study, libraries, storage rooms, and so on were arranged in the broad, ring-shaped building that lay between the outer and inner courtyards.

It did not take long to explore what was there; one of Captain Alban's men led Matei through the different quarters, offering little commentary. When they passed through the dormitory where the novice mages had slept, Matei opened one of the chests at the foot of a narrow cot. "You searched all the cabinets and chests?"

"We did, Your Grace. Nothing to be found but a few bits of old clothing."

Unsettled, Matei looked around the place. The cots had been tidily made, but the cabinets and chests all gaped open. While he knew the soldiers were most likely responsible for leaving things in disarray as they searched the place, it gave the room an eerie atmosphere—the feeling of a place hastily left behind, and the sense that those who had lived there had been desperately afraid.

At length, they came to a larger room with several ink-stained writing tables and rows of empty shelves.

With a sinking feeling, Matei approached one of the shelves and ran his fingers over the dusty wood. "What was this room?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Ealin said it's—it was the library, Your Grace," said the guard who was acting as their guide.

"Ealin—one of the mages left behind?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Bring her to me."

The guard bowed and hastily went out. As they waited, Matei explored the chamber, but there was precious little to see. Even if the archmage had gathered up every book and scroll as he rushed to leave, Matei would have expected something to have been forgotten, but there was nothing—not even a page. There were writing implements still neatly arranged on the desks, but only virgin parchment was left behind. The chests where apprentices might have stored works in progress were empty.

"Your Grace."

Matei turned his attention to the doorway. The guard who'd been guiding him stood with a young woman in a plain brown robe. Despite her homely garments, she was beautiful, with high cheekbones and long, shining black hair; she wore one strand in a braid with a charm woven into it. She looked at Matei with dark, frightened eyes, and then she looked at anything but him, her face downcast.

Striding across the room toward her, Matei drew himself up to his full height. He adopted as kingly a tone as he could, asking a question to which he already knew the answer for a place to start. "What is your name?"

"Ealin," said the young woman. Her voice was so soft that Matei would not have understood her, had he not already known what she would say. Belatedly, she appended, "Your Grace."

"You'll have to speak up, Ealin," said Matei. "I must be getting old. My hearing is not what it once was." This remark, intended playfully, did not win him a smile or even a glance. He tried another tack. "How long have you lived here?"

"Fifteen years...Your Grace."

"Fifteen years is a very long time." Matei looked closely at Ealin's face; she must have come to the place as a young child. He'd have guessed her to be sixteen years old, but he supposed she could have been as old as twenty, at a stretch. "You studied here to become a mage?"

"Yes."

"And what was the nature of your relationship with the archmage—did he tutor you?"

"No."

Matei waited for the rest of the answer; when she did not continue, he prompted her. "Then...?"

"He did not tutor me directly, Your Grace. He taught advanced students."

"Mm. And they, in turn, taught you?"

Ealin nodded. Her gaze darted across the floor like a little fish in a pond, but she did not look at any of the men in the room.

"You look frightened," said Matei. He was not without sympathy for her; she was young and alone, surrounded by armed men. "How old are you, Ealin?"

She twisted her hands together, her answer a whisper. "Two and twenty, Your Grace."

"You need not be frightened. I mean no harm to you, nor to any of your fellows here. I only have questions, and all I ask in exchange is your honesty."

Silence was his answer. Behind him, Matei heard Captain Alban shift on his feet and sensed the captain's disapproval of the young woman. He ignored it. "Ealin, do you know where Archmage Jaeron went when he left here?"

Still, she said nothing.

"Did he take all these books with him? And the food besides?"

Nothing.

Matei quelled his frustration, trying to be sensitive to how she must feel. Coming face-to-face with a sovereign must be frightening for a young woman such as she. "Ealin, I'm very interested in what you are able to tell me. I am reluctant to mention it, but I am the emperor. Were you to choose not to answer my questions, it would be irregular."

For an instant, she darted a glance at his face. Had he blinked, he might have missed the timid look. "I can't speak," she whispered.

"Why not?"

But she said nothing. Matei waited, wondering if the pressure of the silence would be enough to crack her will, but even a full minute under his curious gaze did not seem to affect her; she was already so anxious that nothing he said or didn't say would break her. Nonplussed, he looked over his shoulder at the captain.

Alban gave a nod of his head, eyebrows raised—the respectful equivalent of a helpless shrug. "I am afraid Your Grace will find the other remaining mages similarly taciturn."

"You said there are half a dozen?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And the others—are they novices as well?"

Captain Alban glanced at the young guardsman who waited in the doorway behind Ealin. The boy said, "I think so, Your Grace. Another woman, twice as old as this one here." He frowned. "Sore spiteful, she is, Your Grace; she slapped Pog. Four men—one just a child—and all of 'em quiet, like her."

"Frightened?"

The boy nodded. "And angry, I think, Your Grace."

Matei took Ealin's measure again, pondering. She did not seem angry; she seemed terrified. "Place them all under house arrest. See that they receive rations equivalent to those reserved for other citizens, and other necessities as well, but see that all writing equipment and means of transportation—if there be any—are removed from the premises. Can you do that, lad?"

The young guard bowed. "As you please, Your Grace."

"Ealin will come with me," said Matei. He turned his attention to Captain Alban. "Can you—"

Ealin cut him off with a sound of protest. She took a few steps back from Matei, looking around for a means of escape. Before she could turn and run, Captain Alban arrested her progress by taking hold of her by the shoulder. "Unwise, girl," he said, his tone gentle.

Matei's adoptive mother, Rhodana, had been known as the fiercest woman in the realm of Penrua; she had featured in stories when Matei was a child and had featured in many children's nightmares. When Matei had begun to share her mantle as the bloody Rebel King, he had known he would be similarly feared. Still, seeing how desperate this girl was to get away from him was not a pleasant thing. It made him sad, and it made him feel bitter.

"Don't be afraid, Ealin," he said. "I will not throw you in the dungeon—although your archmage would have done that and worse to me. I simply do not want to inconvenience you with a lengthy trip, should you suddenly feel like talking."

Matei gestured for Captain Alban to precede him, Ealin in tow.

Hello, my friends! Now we've had a glimpse inside the Mage's Keep. Was it what you expected?

I am curious: What stood out to you in this chapter, and what questions do you have? I can't promise to answer any of them in the comments, but your thoughts will help me understand if I'm on target with the plot line here!

Chapter 23 is coming on Tuesday, 9/11! Thank you, as always, for your devoted readership. It tickles me pink that you choose to spend part of your day in this little world of mine. ♥