“What news do you bring?” a rich voice asked in a tone sensual and feminine.
The man almost jumped back out of the doorway, his hand going to the dagger he kept in his belt. Squinting, he could see the lone robed figure of a woman sitting near him at the end of the table. A black cowl edged in white was thrown over her head. He could have sworn she had not been there when he opened the door.
“The three came to the Inn of the Black Cat, my lady,” the man replied in a low voice. “They discovered the prophecies and asked questions. They asked the way to Mereklar.”
The woman was silent a moment, thoughtful, brooding. “When will they arrive?” she asked at last.
“Tomorrow, my lady.” The man discovered that he was still clutching his knife.
“You have done well,” the woman said, ending the conversation.
He bowed respectfully. Closing the door as quietly as possible so as not to disturb his hostess, the man walked swiftly and thankfully out of the house. Mounting his nervous horse, he rode away into the city, eager to return to the comfort of his own home, where the rooms did not abhor his presence.
The lady in the black cowl had lived in the house atop the only hill in Mereklar all of her life. She felt comfortable in its rooms and hallways, the lights from outside
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creating patterns through the stained glass as mysterious as the lights shining from within.
After her agent had left, she rose gracefully in a single, fluid motion from her chair and walked confidently through the darkness of the study to a door in the east wall. The unseen waterclock that still ticked away the hours was the only sound in the house. The lady made no noise as she glided through a door into a side hall. Here she came to another door, set at the end of the corridor. She entered an arboretum, moved along a narrow path to the huge glass door facing the outside, then left the garden, closing the door behind her. The cowl of her robes was pulled low, hiding her face from the faces of the moons.
With sure and steady strides in the moonlit darkness, she quickly traversed one of the gardens surrounding her home. Coming to an old tree, dead and brown and pitted, she pushed away bramble with her foot, revealing an entrance leading into the ground — a passage devoid of light. She walked with even steps into the darkness.
Traveling untold distances, finding her way through mazes, paths, and passageways that went in all directions, she finally reached her destination — a cavern of stone flattened at the end opposite the entrance. Torches flickered in sconces, a stage for dancing shadows. In the center of the hall stood a rounded semicircle of stone holding a slab of rock so large it would require hundreds of men to move it. Standing around this altar were nine people, each wearing robes of state and service.
“You are late, Shavas,” Lord Alvin said as he turned to face the entrance.
“Yes,” said the woman in the doorway, stepping into the room, torchlight shadows staining her gown.
The ministers looked at each other, then at the woman.
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“What news do you bring us?” asked another when it was obvious the woman was not going to offer an excuse.
The lord who spoke was a short man, stoop-shouldered, a gold medallion shaped like a sunburst weighing down his thin frame. He was dressed in a dark blue coat lined with gold-braided trim. Gold buttons ran down the front of his shirt, partially hidden by a dark blue vest.
“The three men are coming to the city’s aid.”
“And they will solve the mystery of the disappearing cats?” the short man asked again.
“They wilt try,” corrected Shavas, the hood of her robes still hiding her face.
“We don’t want panic,” remarked a stern-faced, gray-haired woman. “We’re close to that now.”
“There’s no choice,” Lord Alvin spoke shortly. “You must hire these men, Shavas.”
“I concur,” said Lord Brunswick.
The consenting murmurs of the others filled the room, their united voices muffled in the underground cavern.