Free The Horse Lord by Peter Morwood

us,” the Alban said quietly. Drawing a long-glass from its case at his belt, Gemmel opened it and peered towards the smoke. Aldric did not understand what he said then, but it sounded nasty. “If they were told about the cottage,” he pointed out, “they will know about you as well.”
    Gemmel ignored him.
    It took almost a week for the Blue Mountains to change from a saw-edged shadow to the tumbled mass of crags which now reared vast and vaguely menacing almost overhead. Snowflakes whirled from a dirty yellow sky and settled thickly on anything they touched, including the two men carefully walking their horses along the treacherously iced mountain path.
    “Almost there, lad,” called the taller of the pair, shaking a small avalanche from his hood as he moved. The other looked up without much enthusiasm.
    “You said that yesterday, and the day before.” Aldric found the weather, his itchy beard—mixed now with real stubble—and Gemmel’s unfailing optimism depressing, so that he no longer even tried to produce the right responses to his cheerful conversation. Bored, wet, sore and miserable, he neither expected nor was able to see anything other than rocks, even though Gemmel seemed to think otherwise.
    “Up there, by the standing stone,” he insisted, and Aldric dutifully strained his eyes through the blurring snow before giving up. Handing over his horse’s reins, Gemmel scrambled up to the monolith and laid both hands against its side. Following to give what help he could, Aldric realised that the old man’s pressure was barely enough to mark the crust of snow under his fingers. He stopped, threw back his hood for a better view and watched. As if finding the right spot Gemmel pushed once, very hard, and the stone shifted with a grinding clearly audible in the snow-silence.
    There was an instant’s pause—then twenty feet of the rock-face slid open without a sound. Aldric’s eyes dilated, for he had never read or heard of anything like this. The cavern thus revealed was no dank cave, but a smooth, polished tunnel whose walls and ceiling were lined with globes of some crystalline stuff. Dropping lightly to the ground, Gemmel touched his hand to a metal plate set into the stone. Immediately the first few crystals glowed, and as Aldric watched the illumination spread from globe to globe down the tunnel until it was filled with a warm golden light.
    When he looked back the horses had vanished and Gemmel was shouldering the few items he carried on his saddle. The
kailin
blinked, but realised that if one lived with an enchanter one must learn to live with enchantments. Well then, now was a good time to start.
    At the end of the tunnel of lights there was a spiral stair, made of metal but otherwise identical to those in donjon towers. Its upper end was sealed by a smooth metal slab which hissed aside as Gemmel approached, releasing a harsh glare which made Aldric flinch and shield his eyes. He followed the old man when he judged himself used to the brilliance, and discovered it was virtually the only thing he was used to.
    The cave—now that was ordinary: sensible. He could grasp the principles of it, even though it was triangular in section and flooded with light of unreal whiteness which struck sparkling reflections from the burnished machinery recessed into both walls. There was a humming in the air and a slight vibration underfoot as of incalculable power hidden somewhere in the rock below. But it .was the yawning vault at one end of the cave which totally defied all comprehension.
    The vault was vast: more than big enough to swallow an entire fortress and sufficiently high for the loftiest citadel turret to fit in comfort. More of the glowing crystals shone from its walls, but they cast just enough light for the colossal size of the place to be marked out in tiny rows of jewels, being nowhere near bright enough to actually be of use. All around the entrance, pipes and conduits emerged from the floor and went