There was a window in the place, he realized now. He had almost missed it in the dim light, set deep in the wall opposite him. But almost immediately he saw that it would do him little good. It was high and narrow, several feet wide on the inside, but narrowing to hardly more than a handspan or so at the outer limit. An iron lattice guarded the window rather than the more usual bars, and Derry realized, as he peered at the grille, that even if he could somehow remove it, he could never slip through the narrow window itself. Besides that—if he had not lost all sense of direction—the window looked out over a sheer cliff face, completely smooth. Even if he could get through the window, there would be no place to go once he got there—unless, of course, he chose another sort of escape. The rocks at the base of Esgair Ddu could give release of a kind, if it came to that.

Derry sighed and turned his attention back to the chamber itself. It served no useful purpose to contemplate the sort of freedom that might lie outside that window, since he could never get through there to begin with. Besides, apart from his personal aversion to the very thought of suicide, he knew that he was of no use to anyone dead. Alive, if he could withstand whatever his captors had in store for him, there was always the possibility that he could somehow escape, however slim that chance. Alive, he might yet be able to tell Morgan what he had learned, before it was too late.

The thought brought with it the stunning realization that he had the means to tell Morgan, if he could but use it. Morgan’s Saint Camber medallion still hung undiscovered around his neck. As long as they did not take that from him, there was a chance that he could still make contact with Morgan on schedule.

He did a rapid mental calculation and decided that it was about the time when Morgan would be expecting his call; forced out of his mind what would happen if he were wrong. The spell would work; it must work—though, trussed and helpless as he was, he wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to do it yet.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, and praying that he would be permitted the time to do what he had to do, Derry wriggled his torso in its bonds and concentrated on locating the medallion against his chest. Morgan had told him that he should hold the medallion in his hands when trying to establish contact, but since that was out of the question, he would have to hope that the touch of medallion on bare chest would suffice.

There! He could feel the medallion, warmed to body temperature, resting slightly left of center. Now, if only such a touch were sufficient, as well as the touch of hand….

Derry closed his eyes and tried to visualize the medallion as it lay against his chest, imagining that he was holding it in his hands, the incised carving sleek beneath his right thumb. Then he calmed his mind and let the words of the spell Morgan had taught him begin to roll through his mind, concentrating on his memory of how he had cupped the Camber medallion in the hollow of his hand.