One dark and stormy night, Ryzim Taim examines the teleport spiral in intimate detail, carefully reading the Gwaithor inscription, following the pattern, bent over as he inches round by candlelight.
Burrito yawns and feigns disinterest. He can feel the change in the flows much better than the fat idiot Taim when the spiral opens. Burrito sneers inwardly as Taim continues his investigation, apparently unaware that he has opened the portal. Burrito struggles to his feet and hurries after his master. He is surprised; and then incandescent with rage when he is not only barred from the teleport, but struck with nausea for his temerity.
Ryzim stands up and finds himself in a different chamber about the same size as the Lyrond of Nereth. There are more windows here, with a view out onto a mountainside with scrubby woodland, but even Ryz can see that it’s a different scrubby woodland on much lower mountains. And the weather here is much better as well.
He walks off of the spiral, careful to remember where it is. He leaves the chamber into a corridor where servants and moving along, clearing the remains of an evening repast. They appear to note his presence but are not alarmed by it. He leaves the bustle and follows his nose to a descending staircase where there is light. He snuffs out his candle against future need.
There is a landing, now he guesses below ground level, for the lack of windows. There are six doors, two are ajar and light and female voices come from one of them. Ryz looks into another; from the light coming through the doorway he can see shelves that appear to be stacked with rolled carpets. There must be sixteen of them at least, in a couple of sizes.
There are also rows of man high jars and chests. Ryzim Taim realises that he is in one of the vaults of the Gwathlo. There is commotion behind him. A servant has alerted her mistresses to a stranger in their midst. The door behind him is rudely slammed open on to the wall behind him. No fool, Ryzim Taim sinks to his knees in what he knows to be Second Obedience.
There is snort. He looks up. A beautiful Sindalië woman in a blackrobe peers at him. “Ryzim Taim?” He nods and bows once more.
Ryz finds Forgileill waiting for him, interrupting Burrito’s tirade about feckless and disloyal Greyrobes. He obviously got her out of bed for this. Again, Ryz bowed suitably low, unfurling the carpet out for his sponsor.
The luxurious red carpet rolled out with no sound, it’s thick pile settling about a hand above the floor. Forgileill’s face broke into a sly grin. She nodded knowingly, bid him a good night and returned to her chambers.