Adversary 1 - The Keep by Wilson F. Paul

Author:Wilson, F. Paul
Language: eng
Format: epub

Adversary 1 - The Keep

TWENTY

He seat­ed him­self a few feet back from the win­dow where he could hear the rest of the con­ver­sa­tion be­low yet re­main out of sight should Mag­da chance to look up again. He had been care­less ear­li­er. In his ea­ger­ness to hear, he had leaned on the sill. Mag­da's un­ex­pect­ed up­ward glance had caught him. At that point he had de­cid­ed that a frontal as­sault was in or­der and had gone down­stairs to join them.

Now all talk seemed to have died. As he heard the creaky wheels of the pro­fes­sor's chair start to turn, he leaned for­ward and watched the pair move off, Mag­da push­ing from be­hind, ap­pear­ing calm de­spite the tur­moil he knew to be rag­ing with­in her. He poked his head out the win­dow for one last look as she round­ed the cor­ner and passed from view.

On im­pulse, he dashed to his door and stepped out in­to the emp­ty hall; three long strides took him di­ag­onal­ly across to Mag­da's room. Her door opened at his touch and he went di­rect­ly to the win­dow. She was on the path to the cause­way,

push­ing her fa­ther ahead of her.

He en­joyed watch­ing her.

She had in­ter­est­ed him from their first meet­ing on the gorge rim when she had faced him with such out­ward calm, yet all the while clutch­ing a heavy stone in her hand. And lat­er, when she had stood up to him in the foy­er of the inn,

re­fus­ing to give up her room, and he was see­ing her then for the first time in the light with her eyes flash­ing, he had known that some of his de­fens­es were soft­en­ing. Deep­brown doe eyes, high­col­ored cheeks ... he liked the way she looked, and she was love­ly when she smiled. She had done that on­ly once in his pres­ence, crin­kling her eyes at the cor­ners and re­veal­ing white, even teeth. And her hair ... the lit­tle wisps he had seen of it were a glossy brown ... she would be strik­ing with her hair down in­stead of hid­den away.

But the at­trac­tion was more than phys­ical. She was made of good stuff, that Mag­da. He watched her take her fa­ther to the gate and give him over to the guard there. The gate closed and she was left alone on the far end of the cause­way. As she turned and walked back, he re­treat­ed to the mid­dle of her room so he wouldn't be vis­ible at the win­dow. He watched her from there.

Look at her! How she walks away from the keep! She knows ev­ery pair of eyes on that wall is up­on her, that at this very mo­ment she is be­ing stripped and rav­ished in half a dozen minds. Yet she walks with her shoul­ders back, her gait nei­ther hur­ried nor dal­liant. Per­fect­ly com­posed, as if she's just made a rou­tine de­liv­ery and is on her way to the next. And all the while she's cring­ing in­side!

He shook his head in silent ad­mi­ra­tion. He had long ago learned to im­merse him­self in a sheath of im­pen­etra­ble calm.

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