reached the Gatehouse entry.
The guards could not comply quickly enough. They pulled
back the hinged grate, released the outer locks, and hammered
anxiously on the doors to alert the guards within. A tiny door
opened and Par shifted the focus of his concentration slightly.
Bleary eyes peered out in grouchy curiosity, widened, and the
locks released. The doors swung back, and Par and Damson
pushed inside.
They stood in a wardroom filled with weapons stacked in wall
racks and stunned Federation soldiers. The soldiers had been
playing cards and drinking, clearly convinced the night’s excite-
ment was over. They were caught off guard by the appearance
of the Seekers and it showed. Par filled the room with the faint
hum of the wishsong, blanketing it momentarily with his magic.
It took everything he had.
Damson understood how tenuous was his hold. “Everyone
out!” she ordered, her voice flinty with anger.
The room emptied instantly. The entire squad dispersed
through adjoining doors and disappeared as if formed of smoke.
One guard remained, apparently the senior watch officer. He
stood uncertainly, stiffly, eyes averted, wishing he were any-
where else but where he was, yet unable to go.
“Take us to the prisoners,” Damson said softly, standing at
the man’s left shoulder.
The soldier cleared his throat after trying futilely to speak.
“I’ll need my commander’s permission,” he ventured. Some
small sense of responsibility for his assigned duty yet remained
to him.
Damson kept her eyes fixed on the man’s ear, forcing him
thereby to look elsewhere. “Where is your commander?” she
asked.
“Sleeping below,” the man answered. “I’ll wake him.”
“No.” Damson stayed his effort to depart. “We’ll wake him
together.”
They went through a heavily bolted door directly across the
room and started down a stairwell dimly lit by oil lamps. Par
kept the wishsong’s music lingering in the frightened guard’s
ears, teasing him with it, letting him see them as much bigger
than life and much more threatening. It was all going as planned,
the charade working exactly as Damson and he had hoped. Down
the empty stairs they went, circling from landing to landing, the
thudding of their boots the only sound in the hollow silence. At
the bottom of the well there were two doors. The one on the left
was open and led into a lighted corridor. The guard took them
through that door to another, stopped and knocked. When there
was no response, he knocked again, sharply.
“What is it, drat you?” a voice snapped.
“Open up at once, Commader!” Damson replied in a voice
so cold it made even Par shiver.
There was a fumbling about and the door opened. The Fed-
eration commander with the short-cropped hair and the unpleas-
ant eyes stood there, his tunic half buttoned. Shock registered
on his face instantly as the wishsong’s magic took hold. He saw
the Seekers. Worse, he saw Rimmer Dall.
He gave up trying to button his clothing and came quickly
into the hall. “I didn’t expect anyone this soon. I’m sorry. Is
there a problem?”
“We’ll discuss it later. Commander,” Damson said severely
“For now, take us to the prisoners.”
For just an instant there was a flicker of doubt in the other
man’s eyes, a shading of worry that perhaps everything was not
quite right. Par tightened the hold of the magic on the man’s
mind, giving him a glimpse of the terror that awaited him should
he question the order. That glimpse was enough. The com-
mander hastened back down the corridor to the stairwell, pro-
duced a key from a ring at his waist, and opened the second
door.
They stepped into a passageway lit by a single lamp hung next
to the door. The commander took the lamp in hand and led the
way forward. Damson followed. Par motioned the watch officer
ahead of him and brought up the rear. His voice was beginning
to grow weary from the effort of maintaining the charade. It was
more difficult to project to several different points. He should
have sent the second man away.
The passageway was constructed of stone block and smelled
of mold and decay. Par realized that they were underground,