The Door Into Fire by Diane Duane Read Free Book Online Page B

threatening rain. Herewiss left early, having been awakened by the impending light of dawn though there was no sunrise to be seen. He didn’t stop for breakfast— partly from a desire to hurry, and partly to avoid running into the innkeeper’s daughter again. He felt guilty for laying as restrictive a spell on her as he had. But then again, she had been tampering with his private property—and her actions had hardly been intended in benevolence.
    “Aah, the Dark with it,” Herewiss said to himself as the inn receded behind him, and he headed south again over open country. Dapple was trotting along briskly, needing little encouragement to hurry, and Herewiss had leisure to ponder what he had learned. Doors into Otherwheres…
    Such doors were legendary. They might open onto other times, like the Eorlhowe Door hidden in the mazes beneath the melted stones of the Howe in North Arlen; or other places, like the old King’s Door in the Black Palace in Darthis; or other worlds entirely, as does the Morrowfane Gate beneath the waters of Lake Rilthor in southern Darthen. There were not many permanent doors, and they tended to be difficult of access and dangerous to use, because of time limits or unpredictable behavior. One of the Queens of Darthen acquired the sobriquet One-Hand when she crossed through the King’s Door and it closed unexpectedly.
    Out in the Waste? Well, it would make sense to put them there, away from casual access, if they’re time-gates. At least the Dragons would think so—they won’t let anyone but Marchwarders near the Eorlhowe Door, and the human Marchwarders won’t go near it themselves for fear of changing the past.
    Herewiss sighed. From the time he first heard of the concept, he would have given almost anything to go through a time-door, or just look through one, to find out if things really happened as the histories said they had. Or to see the great days of the past happen again—to see Earn and Héalhra take the Power upon Themselves at Bluepeak, to see the terrible Gnorn come tottering over the mountains and go up in a blaze of the blue Fire as the Lion and Eagle gave Themselves for the destruction of that last menace. Or to see the founding of the Brightwood, or of Prydon city, or Darthis. To watch the last stone being set into the paving of the Great Road, and watch the Oath of Lion and Eagle being sworn for the first time by Earn’s and Héalhra’s grandchildren. Maybe even to see what no man had seen, the Worldwinning, as the Dragons dropped out of the darkness and the Messenger in Her glory drove the Dark away—
    I’m getting carried away with this, he told himself severely.
    And you’re enjoying it, another part of him answered back.
    Well, why not? Dreaming was free. Consider this: how about going back to the day Freelorn’s father died, and finding out where old Hergótha had been hidden? That would certainly make Freelorn happy. True, Freelorn had Súthan now, and that was not exactly a sword without lineage—the princes of Arlen had been carrying it since the time that Ánmod had used it to kill the Coldwyrm lairing in the fords of Arlid. But it was just that, a prince’s sword, and Freelorn was king, if not in name, at least by right. Herewiss didn’t need his underhearing to detect Freelorn’s dissatisfaction with Súthan. Lorn wanted Hergótha, which was the proper sword of the Arlene kings and queens; he lusted after it the way some people lust after others’ bodies and desire to possess them.
    Hergótha, though, had gone missing after Ferrant’s death. He had not been wearing it on the day his heart stopped, and it had never been found in the palace. Perhaps he had taken the sword with him past the Door into Starlight, and walked the shore of the final Sea with it slung over his back, the kingliest of the shadows that dwelt there. Or perhaps the Lion had taken it back into His keeping again, possibly to return it to the rightful wielder one day, if one of the Line