"What did you do up there?" she asked softly, nodding upward.

"It's open," he said. "If I'd closed it, and anything happened to me, you couldn't get out that way. But I put a spell on the opening that should repel anything from outside trying to get in. And just in case, I put another spell on it to give us an alarm if something does go through."

All that sounded impressive to Paksenarrion. She hoped it would work. "Do you know how far down this goes?"

"No. It should open into a wide hall at the bottom, though."

Paks went on. The mysterious light bothered her. The silence bothered her. She felt her hand grow sweaty on her sword hilt, and that bothered her. Nothing had happened; no danger appeared, and yet her breath came short, just as if she were a recruit in her first battle. She concentrated on the construction of the stair: pale gray stone underfoot, and slightly darker gray stone on the walls and vaulted ceiling. The stair treads were ribbed, under the dust, and when she touched the walls, she found them lightly incised with an intricate design. Remembering Macenion's warning, she took her fingers off the wall. She looked back over her shoulder again. Macenion, too, had one hand on the wall; when he met her eyes he smiled at her.

"It's decoration and information both," he said. "I can read some of it, though I'd have to stand here a long time to figure it out. But for those who lived here, it would be a way of telling how far they had come, though that's not what it says, exactly." He moved his hand along the section of wall nearest him. "This, for example, is part of an old song: 'The Long Ride of Torre.' Do you know it?"

Paks nodded. "If that's the same Torre as Torre's Necklace."

"Of course. Do you know the story?"

"Yes." Paks turned again and kept stepping down. The dust seemed no thicker, and with no changes in light or silence, she had a hard time judging how far they had come. At last she saw an opening ahead, rather than a curving wall. As she came to the last step, and waited for Macenion to close in behind her, she could see a space of dusty stone paving, and nothing else. Although it was light beyond the opening, any walls were too far away to show.

"Now this, I believe, was the winterhall," said Macenion, peering past her. "Go on, Paksenarrion."

"And have whatever's waiting beside the door take my head off? Let's be careful." Paks unslung her small shield and reached for Macenion's walking staff.

He jerked it away. "What?"

Paks sighed. "Remember what I just said about doorways? Better a piece of wood than my neck."