The crimson witch

there was no time to be wasted getting food. Kaliglia could munch on anything handy as long as he did not cause too much noise with his chewing. Jake would go hungry-except for some of the green apples in his pack. The important thing was to get inside the castle, find Cheryn, and get through the portal, back into his own worldline. He could eat once all that was done.
        “Keep your sense of direction,” Kaliglia warned. “You'll need it when Cheryn has to blast a pathway into the castle for me. She'll want to knock out the right wall on the first try. It might get rather awkward if she had to blow out several before she got the right one.”
        “I'll remember.”
        “What do you plan to do to get in?”
        Jake looked over the castle with its great ramparts, huge towers, glistening walls, impregnable windows. “I'll have to go in through the front door. The stone bars on the windows rule out anything else.”
        “The guards-”
        Jake shrugged. “I'll worry about them when I get there.” He hunched at the edge of the woods, took a deep breath, and darted across the open space toward the first copse of brush. He skidded into that on his belly and lay breathing heavily, waiting for the guards to shout, waiting for the first lance to penetrate the brush and run him through. But seconds went by, then minutes, and he knew that he was safe-so far.
        He looked over his shoulder. He could just barely see Kaliglia's face. The brute was stretched out on the forest floor and had shoved his snout to within inches of the dark perimeter of the wood. His eyes caught a sliver of the castle psi-light as he watched his human comrade advance.
        Jake looked back to the castle and studied the situation. There were two guards at the castle door, the inner edge of the drawbridge. During the daylight hours, there had been two others at the outer limits of the bridge, one stationed to each side with pennant and lance, standing at attention. But these had merely been for pomp, to impress visitors, and they had been removed with the coming of night. It was a halfhearted defense. Lelar had no fear for his privacy. Who would dare to violate the castle of the mightiest Talented in the world? No one, certainly. Except Jake. And they would think he was dead-or had turned tail and run to avoid the vicious manbats sent after him. The two guards talked and joked, and their laughter carried across the moat to where he lay in the copse. It might be possible to catch them unawares with his Thob sword. The big problem now was getting to them without being seen.
        The drawbridge was to the left of the copse, a good two hundred feet of comparatively barren land. Even if he could run it noiselessly, they were sure to spot the movement and pick him off before he got close enough to swing the Thob blade. To his right was a shallow stream that spilled down steps and fed the moat before draining out in a similar spillway on the other side. If he could get to the stream and crouch in the bed, perhaps he could reach the moat and cling to its banks where the shadows of the castle and the black water would conceal his movements.
        The guards laughed again. One produced a bottle, and they shared a drink of wine. That was all for the better. A little drunk, they would be easier to handle.
        He tensed, clutched his sword in his right hand, and got to his knees. He worked himself into a crouch. His breath was coming evenly. The first spurt had not drained him of anything. Without further thought, he moved to the right, stumbling once on a rock, and rolled into the stream bed, his heart pounding and his hand gripped achingly tight around the hilt of his weapon. It seemed impossible that the two guards had not heard him when he tripped over the rock, but they still laughed and shared the bottle. It was going to be easy. He could see that much.
        He waited awhile to regain his composure. It was not going to be possible to run down the stream bed. There were hardly any banks at all; if he crouched, they would see him here almost as easily as if he were crossing open land. The sword held to his side, he began wriggling forward on his stomach as he had seen soldiers do in war movies back in his own worldline. The noise seemed tremendous, like an avalanche as he slid over the stones, the water slapping against him, gurgling loudly. But the guards were a good distance off, and whatever shuffling