Chapter 21: The Stone Door

The trap swung back on its hinges, and a black stair opened under the Provost's chair.

A hush went over the realm.

"A private matter, before the Stone," the Provost said to the tiers, as pleasantly as a hostess.

She did not wait to see who believed it.

She looked at Ansgar's hand in mine.

"The Rune Master will do."

The old lord started to shout.

The herald's staff came down on the flags and drowned him.

"We go," I said, under it, to Ansgar.

"Linnea."

"I want to see where it's put."

We went down with the Provost ahead and eight Wardens behind, the same long spiral I had walked once at night with a stolen book.

The slab stood open at the bottom, and the Provost's ring was set in its hollow.

Beyond it lay the Vault.

It was a round chamber cut from the root of the hill, and in the middle of it rose the Stone.

It was a column of white rock three times my height, polished and veined with running gold.

Runes wound round it from floor to ceiling.

I read them as I stood there, because I could not help it.

Hold, bind, bear, pour.

Every vow ever sworn on the Convocation floor was cut there.

And inside the Stone, in the gold, hundreds of pale lights beat.

"Where are they put?" the Provost said, almost kindly. "Here, my dear. In a safe place."

She stepped back through the slab, and took her ring out of its hollow.

"The ring upstairs is already breaking," she said.

"It will come to you all at once, and you won't have learned how to hold it. I did say it burns."

Her Wardens set their shoulders to the slab.

It ground shut with a sound like a grave.

Dark closed in.

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