As the freezing sensation gradually melted away, his senses readjusted to the soothing warmth. The shimmering energy that surrounded him felt exactly as though warm air was rising through vents in the ground. It was associated with a pleasant tingling in the nerves, as if tiny bubbles were bursting all over his skin. With his eyes closed, he could sense that some form of energy was rising from the ground, and was somehow being converted into a spray by the plants and bushes. This is why he felt as if he was standing in a shower of spray from a fountain.
Yet why was the polarity reversed inside the building, so that it drained his vitality instead of increasing it? Now that his energies felt recharged, this question filled him with curiosity. Deliberately bracing himself, he stepped forward across the threshold of the warehouse. It was, as he expected, like plunging into icy water. Yet there was an important difference. Cold water would have produced a freezing sensation in his feet and legs. This cold seemed to attack his face and shoulders, like an icy wind blowing down from above. As he took another slow step forward, it struck the crown of his head, causing the skin to contract so his hair felt as if it was standing on end. Then, as he forced himself to take another step, it was concentrated on his scalp and the skin of his neck and shoulders. And since he was now standing directly under the central beam, with its suspended bodies, it seemed reasonable to assume that the cold was associated with the bodies. This was confirmed when he took another step, and the freezing sensation moved to the back of his head and the upper part of his spine. It cost an effort of self-discipline to turn and walk back under the bodies; it felt as if he was naked and standing in a shower of icy rain.
Yet why should unconscious bodies produce this sensation? The question so intrigued him that he mastered the desire to go out into the sunlight, and forced himself to stand there, trying to understand what was happening. Was it possible that these devitalized bodies were somehow stealing his own vital energies? But if that was the explanation, why had the others not noticed it? For a moment he considered hanging the thought mirror round his neck, but was deterred by the thought of the agony it would produce in his present state of fatigue. Instead, he closed his eyes and twisted his face into a grimace of intense concentration. The relief was immediate; it was as if he had interposed a barrier between himself and the suspended bodies. Even so, the cold was beginning to make his shoulder muscles ache.
It was at this point that he realized that his efforts had attracted Dravig’s attention. The spider was staring at him so intently that it produced a prickling sensation in the roots of his hair. He had time to register this as unusual — Dravig would normally have regarded it as a form of rudeness — when there was an explosion of light inside his skull, and a sensation as if the breath had been snatched from his lungs. For a moment he felt as though he was drowning and was overwhelmed with panic. Then the breathlessness passed, and as his senses cleared, he realized he was being held up by Sidonia and Simeon. He straightened his legs and forced himself into an upright position, realizing that his legs had buckled underneath him. At the same time he noticed that the cold had vanished, and that the air in the building felt pleasantly warm. His voice sounded thick as he asked: “What happened?”
Dravig said: “Did you not realize that you were being attacked?”
Niall shook his head. “No. I just felt cold.” He still felt as if he had just climbed out of an icy river.
“You were cold because you were being attacked. Your energies were being drained.” Responding to the question in Niall’s mind, Dravig indicated the body that swayed above Niall’s head. It was the girl whose eyelids had moved. Niall stared up at her, trying to distinguish the features beneath the gauze that covered them. “But she is unconscious.”
“Yes. She is unconscious. You were being attacked through her. You have a dangerous enemy.”
As he spoke, Niall was overwhelmed with a sense of his own stupidity. Suddenly, everything was obvious, and he found it difficult to understand how he could have failed to see it. Because he had assumed that the unconscious bodies were draining his energy, he had looked no further for an explanation.
He asked: “What did you do?”
“I tried to attack your enemy through your mind. But it was too late. He had already withdrawn.”
Simeon said: “Come on. Let’s get you into the sunlight!” Niall needed no persuading; he still felt frozen to the bone. As he walked outside, with Simeon’s hand on his elbow, his legs felt numb and stiff. The feeling of the sunlight on his face brought a sense of relief; yet he was aware that something had changed. The air was no longer full of shimmering heat-waves; this was merely the normal sunlight of a winter afternoon. The bushes still glowed with the same magical brightness; but when he reached out and touched them, there was no longer a sensation like standing in a shower of fine spray.
He asked Dravig: “Is it possible to reach this girl and cut her down?”
“Of course.” He returned into the building, and a few moments later, emerged with the web-encased body gripped in his pedipalps and front legs. He laid her on the ground at Niall’s feet.
“Your sword please.” Sidonia handed it to him. Niall pulled the web clear of the face, and carefully cut it open; as it parted, it made a faint tearing sound like rubber. Niall sliced down as far as the waist. As he had expected, she was wearing a slave’s tunic. Simeon watched with curiosity as he reached down inside the neckline. Niall found what he was looking for between the small flat breasts; the tightness of the web had prevented it from falling out. Niall snapped the chain, and held out the pendant on the palm of his hand.
Simeon shook his head incredulously. “Another one of those.” He took the girl’s chin in his hand and turned her face toward him. “She doesn’t look like the others.”
It was true. Her hair was short, like that of a boy, but the features had the delicacy of a girl, with a finely shaped nose. The face might have been made of wax, and the lips were so bloodless that they looked white.
Simeon tore aside the gauze of web, freeing her arm, and placed his thumb on her wrist.
“There’s a pulse all right.” He stared with curiosity at the pale face. “But I’d like to know how she got here.”
“Like the others. Walking around at night. She’s lucky she wasn’t eaten.”
Simeon said: “I wonder if she’s the reason they killed Skorbo.”
The same idea had occurred to Niall. “It’s possible.”
“In that case, she’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” For a moment he was puzzled; the unconscious girl looked anything but dangerous.
“He may be willing to kill to get her back.”
Niall shrugged. “That’s a risk we’ll have to take.” But he was aware that he sounded more confident than he felt. He turned to Sidonia. “Would you mind staying here to guard her until we return?”
“Of course not, lord. But would it not be simpler for me to carry her?”
“Carry her?” The idea had not even occurred to him.
“She looks as light as a child.”
Her words reminded him of the child who was still lying on the concrete floor. Now that the sun was sinking below the treetops, the air was becoming chilly.
“No, Dravig can carry her. But do you think you could carry him?”
“Of course.” She picked up the child as easily as if he had been a doll, cradling his head on her shoulder.
As they walked back toward the setting sun, Niall’s body ached with weariness. A chill wind sprang up from the north, and he pulled up the hood of his cloak and drew its folds more closely around him. The events of the day had left him profoundly tired, and fatigue had numbed his senses, so he walked mechanically, oblivious of his surroundings. Yet underneath the exhaustion there was a sense of deep satisfaction, which revived every time he looked at the child in Sidonia’s arms, or at the girl who was now being carried by Dravig. And now, in retrospect, he could begin to understand what had happened in Skorbo’s larder. As he had removed the thought mirror from his neck, he had experienced momentary loss of consciousness. His enemy had seized the opportunity to insinuate himself into his mind like an invisible leech. Yet this had proved to be a serious miscalculation, since he had alerted them to his presence. The result was that this girl — whose identity would otherwise have gone unsuspected — was now their hostage. The enemy might be unpredictable and dangerous, but he was obviously not infallible. . .