Page 93 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Patching up a pillar does not seem like the best of ideas.”
“Ah, we’re stubborn that way.”
“Stubborn is another way of saying foolish.”
The dwarves glared at him. Luna clutched her hand to her chest. Flora whispered an apology to the stone and the ancestors that had carved from it.
“It’s another way of sayingstrong.” Minerva tutted. “Scars tell a story, lad—whether rendered in flesh or stone. Why would you want to hide that?”
“I have no objection to the aesthetic,” he argued. “Just to the possibility of beingdead.”
“It’s not as bad as you might think,” said Dillon.
Aislinn bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Beau and Luna did not quite manage it. Caer still looked mildly horrified.
Finally, they arrived at the great palace of Avalinth. Wide, tall steps led up to the front of an even wider entrance—a colossal metal door sandwiched between two towers. Guards lined the entrance in gleaming armour, barring their passage.
It was the first time they had seen any security since their arrival. Evidently, the dwarves did not fear invasion.
“Halt!” said one of them. “Who goes there?”
“Are you blind, Rufus?” Minerva snapped. “It’s me, Minerva.”
“Minerva?” The guard squinted, others giving them the same appraisal. Several eyes widened. “Why, I hardly recognised you! You’re—”
“Filthy, yes, I know. We’ve had quite a journey to get here. Would you let us in? Tell my sister I wish to see her.”
The guards exchanged glances, but ultimately shrugged. Rufus led the party past the main gate, into the wide, sparse gardens of blue grass and manicured hedgerows.
“We should stable your wargis,” Rufus declared, several servants appearing out of nowhere to assist them. Aislinn found herself strangely reluctant to hand over the reins; she’d been beside them for so long now.
Hecate, who had been dozing on the back of one of the wargis, leapt up and started hissing, staring at the threshold of the palace.
“Wait,” said Bell, halting. “The barrier that nullifies magic begins here.”
Minerva paused. “What of it?”
“What about Dillon?”
“What about him?”
“Oh!” Beau clasped a hand to his mouth. “He must run on magic, right? So if he steps through the gate, there’s a chance he could…”
Dillon swallowed inaudibly. “I think I’ll wait outside, just to be safe.”
“A wise idea,” Minerva declared.
“Well, of course it is,” Bell said, pursing her lips. “It’smine.”
Minerva scanned through the servants attending to the wargis, searching for someone to assist. She located a dark-bearded, middle-aged dwarf with particularly elaborate braids dotted with sparkling silver clasps.
“Ah, Jasper—” she started, “yes, it’s very good to see you too—this is Dillon, he’s an undead mortal.”
“Hello!” said Dillon, waving.
“We’re worried that taking him into the palace will render him the usual kind of dead. Would you mind finding him somewhere comfortable to exist whilst we’re inside?”
“Doesn’t have to be too comfortable,” Dillon added, “I don’t feel so much any more.”
