Paks shook her head. "By your leave, sir, I have another thought. An assault on a keep—even a ruined keep—is no easy matter. We tried that once in Aarenis. Why not try to frighten them out—catch them at their bolthole?"

"The game trail you're thinking of?"

"Yes, but close by the keep. If a show of frontal assault—"

"With what?" asked Sir Felis. "I can't give you a troop."

"No, but Master Zinthys might have some magical means." She glanced at him. "Macenion—the part-elf I was traveling with—had some illusions. I thought perhaps—"

Zinthys looked pleased, though Ambros frowned. "In fact, Lady Paksenarrion, illusions are a specialty of mine. Far less dangerous to the onlooker than, say, real firebolts."

"And easier to do," muttered Ambros softly. Zinthys glared at him.

"Young sir, if you think it is easy to produce even illusory fire, I suggest you try. My old master, who is well-known in the arts, always said that a fine, convincing illusion was far more difficult—because reality carries its own conviction, and saves its own appearances. If you make a flame, it is a real flame, and you don't have to worry, once you've got it. But an illusory flame can go wrong in many subtle ways—even such a thing as forgetting which way the wind is blowing, so that it flickers the wrong direction."

"Sorry," said Ambros, staring at the table. Paks thought he didn't sound sorry at all. She smiled at Zinthys.

"I don't know anything about it," she said, "But could you make something to scare them out—something to make them think a large force was coming at them?"

"I might do," said Zinthys, still obviously ruffled. He twitched his shoulders and glanced at Sir Felis. "It would be easier if I had a small matrix to work on, as a pattern."

"A what?"

"A form—a framework—or, in plain terms, if I had a few real men-at-arms, that I could simply multiply in illusion, rather than creating the whole thing out of my head. It's easier to keep them in step, you see."

Paks didn't see, but nodded anyway. Sir Felis made a steeple of his hands. "How many, Zinthys?"

The mage looked at him, considering. "Oh—a half dozen, say?"

"Four." Sir Felis set down his mug. "Four is plenty to save your hide if it doesn't work, and I can't waste the time of more."

"Four," repeated Zinthys cheerfully. "You'll see, Lady Paksenarrion—I'll do you an illusion that'll have them running out the back door for cover—by the way, how do you know there is a back door?"

"Never saw a keep without one," said Paks cheerfully, thinking of Siniava's many tricks. "Gods grant we choose the right place."

"That," said Zinthys with satisfaction, "is up to you soldiers. Just tell me when and where you want them frightened—I'll take care of that."

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Mal, when Ambros explained the plan, seemed shrewder than Paks had expected. He spoke quietly enough, with a rumbling chuckle when amused. Paks began to think he might be an asset after all.