Chapter 26

Darkness dominated the lowest dungeon, broken at wide intervals by the feeble light of torches burned almost to ash. In that flickering light, the hawk-face of prince Duain Krun glowed in sharp contrast. He smiled.

Quickly the men from that first cage moved up and down the rows, turning the locks. Guards, drawn around the corner by the growing noise, were killed before they could raise any kind of alarm; the shock on their faces had been evident as they died: how could an enemy have slipped into the dungeon to free more than three thousand prisoners? The answer to their unasked questions, the traitor himself, looked at the dead faces of his own countrymen with no show of emotion - almost: at one point his blank mask contorted in a slight grimace, but then it was gone and none of the soldiers saw it happen. Soon the entire mass of the lowest dungeon was free, still with no resistance. What weapons had belonged to the fallen guards were in the hands of the freed prisoners; those men began to drift toward the staircase, awaiting their orders.

"Slave," said the prince.

"My lord," answered Illian, as he bowed. Another grimace passed over his face, bent toward the floor, and again no one noticed.

"You've served your purpose well. Now finish it. Lead us back to the surface: kill any in our way."

The fallen senator bowed once more and turned to the staircase. As he began to climb, those men with weapons followed a short distance behind and below. Footsteps echoed in the hallow, narrow space. Muffled grunts and groans accompanied the stretching of stiff limbs, and more than one cough came with the clearing of damp lungs. Three thousand soldiers do not move silently, or even quietly. Yet as Duain climbed near the front of the long, twisting line, the sharp sounds of a scuffle before him rose above the heavy din from behind. As the prince came to a landing, he saw the slain bodies of more guards, their blood just beginning to pool. They had been killed without comment or question; they had died without meaning. The slave was undoubtably useful, and dangerous - he would bear watching. Duain paused only a moment on the landing before continuing up toward the next level. From just behind, he though he heard the sounds of a muttered prayer - was it Burke? The captain had always been a little overly dramatic when it came to the necessities of waging war. But the great lord Darrak had named the man, and Duain did not have the stomach to contradict his own father. Besides, the captain, like the slave, had his uses.

Up and around wound the staircase, and at each landing Duain saw the remains of a brief struggle. Some of the guards had been armed; some had not. The cool, indiscriminate manner in which the senator had been turned upon his own people was startling. The prince had once heard his father mention this manner of control, through the use of some drug. He had thought it experimental, still in the testing phases of development. Was this the same tool that would deliver the Consul Hai into his father's back pocket? Surely if a loyal forest soldier-senator could be turned traitor to the point of stealing the lives he was sworn to protect, similar manipulations of the lesser members of the failing council would be comparative child's play. Duain found himself shaken by the revelation that so much of his own father's plan had been so easily hidden from him.

At long last, Duain found himself standing at the entrance to the dungeons, blinking in the deepening dusk. Freedom, and a heavy price to be paid upon his captor. His captains gathered around him, and his soldiers waited back; the freed pirates were less docile. Barrad seemed still to hold some control over the unseemly mob, but it had been considerably lessened by imprisonment - they would bear watching as well.

"Slave, where's my father?"

"My lord, he's waiting in the wagon across the square, there."

Duain turned to look through the deep shadows: too far to be safe. There were signs of many encampments along the edges of the square: farmers and their families seeking protection within the city walls. "Did he give any instructions?"

"He said to secure the palace and capture the prince before making contact. The prince comes first, because he's the only one who can stop us now. Also, there's a new wall built around the city with only one gate on the South."

"Very good," Duain sneered. He turned to his captains, said, "We're going to be cautious but quick. There's no backing out now, so there's no need for any kind of abort signal. We'll get the prince first, but I want four units ready to begin the attack at nightfall whether we have him or not."

"Yes, sir," they answered.

"Burke, your unit will hit the soldiers' sleeping quarters."

"Sir."

"Mundale, I want you to hit the main palace entrance."

"Sir."

"Get inside quick, and get as far as possible before anyone knows you're there. We're going for the throat now. No more second chances. Each of you send one of your sergeants with a unit around to the side entrances there, and there. We don't have a lot of weapons, so we'll arm ourselves as we go. Have the rest of your men spread out to cover the grounds and the roads, and I want two units at the city gate."

"Yes, sir."

"Nightfall. Remember that. And not a moment later."

So as the sun continued to hide itself behind the mountains, the prince Duain, the slave Illian, and a small unit of twenty men slipped across the darkened landscape. Pale, flickering fires sprang up across the square, and the sounds of many families settling down drifted on the cooling air to their ears. They were unseen and unheard, and though they took special care in the delicate crossing of the open spaces, the darkness was sufficient to render such lengths unnecessary. Slowly, they approached a side door - Duain knew from careful study that the door let into a hallway between the kitchen and the great hall. The door and the passage within would be mostly used by servant girls, who would present no real threat to the troop of invaders.

Then as Duain stretched his hand to the door handle, there was a sound from within. The door swung open and two young servants emerged, each bearing a large sack of rubbish. The men were quick to react, jumping aside and flattening themselves against the dark walls. Both of the girls had taken their first steps away from the closed door by the time they knew anything was wrong. Then they died, two crumpled heaps in the grass, throats cut, eyes wide and staring. They had not made a sound.

The sun had all but disappeared, and the ice rings caught the first of its upward rays in a brilliant splash of red-gold. Duain and his men were inside the palace, still undetected. They moved down the first passage and around the edges of the great hall. Any signs of an earlier meal were long vanished; the tables and chairs were lined silently in perfect unison down the length of the hall, the gloss of their dark polish just hinting at the last fiery display in the sky above. Soon all would be dark. Other parts of the palace were already lit by torches and candles - the darkness would not hide them for much longer.

At the North end of the hall, Duain paused listening. The came noises from behind, soft and unassuming. A group of servants entered the hall - there were three, no, five - and they started when they caught sight of the men. Given another second or two, they would have run and screamed. But those seconds did not come; instead came a hail of bone knives flung through the darkness, deadly by all but the most glancing blow. Two lay dead; three were dying. One held her small hands to her stomach, whimpering as she tried to hold her intestines inside herself. Tears filled her eyes as one of the soldiers approached. The man saw her and hesitated, until she turned her face upward and spit full into his face; her spit was dark red with blood, and red lines trailed from the corners of her small mouth. The soldier ripped the knife from her stomach and drew it forcefully across her throat. The other men came to collect their knives, and they returned attention to their mission.

Illian led the way through the passages. They came to lighted areas, and were forced to move quickly, sometimes at a run. There were guards in these areas, but they did not see anything to fear, or any reason to raise an alarm, in the friendly approach of the new senator. Each of them died quickly, and their weapons were distributed among the advancing soldiers.

Duain and his men moved quietly in the heart of the palace, even more than they had before. To the last man they could feel the sweat of their palms drip audibly to the floor, and their dry breaths echo down the polished hallways. Each footfall seemed to send creaking shudders along the floorboards load enough to wake even the most sound of sleepers. But their presence was still undetected, and it seemed more and more as if their incursion would find success. Up to the fifth story they went, knives stained red and a growing mass of bodies heaped in their wake. Then at last they came to a richly carved door of yew with a silver handle.

"This is it," said Illian.

"The rat sleeps in there?" said Duain.

Illian nodded. In the flickering torchlight, no one saw the brief grimace on his face for what it was.

'At last, you're mine, ' said Duain to himself. The strange drive he felt to conquer the Hai Lei prince was alarming in the strength of its pull. Why did he hate the man so much? The two of royal blood had crossed paths only once, in a chance encounter in the forest. Yet a bond had formed between them, a bond which polarized them, and set them at odds. The hate each felt for the other was mutual and pure. As Duain stood outside his rival's doorway, he did not care if he was acting out a part of his father's master design. His imprisonment did not matter; the surrounding war did not matter. All he knew is that he would at last crush the man who had somehow become an obsession for him.

Then it happened again that a door was opened from the other side just before Duain had intended it to happen. A small figure blinked in the brightness of the hallway; her mouth opened in surprise. Duain pulled her roughly into the open and sank the blade of his knife into her small body, but not before she made a squeal of protest. He jerked his blade free and threw the dying girl roughly to the floor, slinging her hot blood across the wall. Already there were sounds from within, as if someone was hurriedly waking up; a low voice drifted into the hall, speaking rapidly. Duain flung the door wide open on its hinges, but saw he was too late to prevent an alarm: the shadow of another small girl was just disappearing out of an open window.

"Mikka?" came the voice of Iordan. A figure came forward from the shadows, but stopped when Duain's knife flashed red in the hallway torchlight. The girl's body was just visible through the open doorway. "No!!!" The voice was a wail of despair, turned to rage. "No!!! Goddamn you!"

Duain started forward, his men following, weapons ready. The shadowed figure stepped to the window; in the light it became apparent he was naked. He moved quickly, with a hand on the sill, but Duain's men leaped after him. The naked prince was almost through the window, but many strong hands pulled him back into the room and held him against the wall. One of the soldiers stepped forward producing a length of coiled rope; just as he was about to grab a bare wrist to tie it, the arm sprang free and the wrist with it.

Even with four men holding him against the wall, Iordan fought back. A twist of his arm and one man lost his grip. The soldier who held the rope fell to the ground, his nose smashed back into his face. Another powerful blow from the loose fist convinced another of the men to release his hold, and Iordan was free. He bolted for the window, but found himself pulled back again, this time by his neck. Duain had retrieved the rope from the floor, flung a loop around Iordan's neck, and pulled. The two princes faced each other, one hunched and coughing, one smiling grimly with the nearing approach of victory. Duain raised his knee and thrust forward; Iordan collapsed to the floor clutching his testicles, and offered no further resistance. Soon the battered prince was tied and driven along in the direction of the dungeons.

"The other girl got away," said Duain. "We better move quickly now, before they have time to figure out what's happening."

And the men left the room, heading back toward the great hall. Night had fallen completely outside, and the sounds of fighting could be heard faintly, drifting up from the grounds below.

In his bed, Daran Gholla stirred from sleep. What had awakened him? Curled alongside him were the warm bodies of Leah and Sira, eyes closed tightly. He closed his own eyes, and laid his head back against the pillow. It was nothing. An animal.

He tried to find sleep, but sleep would not return. Worry had infused itself into his dreams. Too long had he remained in the Hai Lei palace; too long had he avoided the growing feeling of unease which had finally pushed itself through the surface of his consciousness. When the sun rose, he would depart and return home to his wife. Yes, when the sun rose. But he could not bear to leave the company of the girl who lay by his side! Then she would return with him. His eyes flew open in the darkness; the decision had been made at last, at the edge of sleep. He had already known he would reach this decision in the end, but had been unable to make it. His mind settled on that one fact, and he found some comfort: his lover would meet his wife. What end would come of it, Daran could not see; what wisdom could be found in it, he did not know.

So with his mind more at ease than it had been in days, the mechanic settled himself once more for sleep. He began to sink again into the depths... there was the animal again. Closer this time. He turned on his side and felt the young Leah wrap her arms around him more tightly. No. Not an animal.

That was the sound of fighting.

Daran suddenly found himself awake. He leaped lightly from the bed and moved to the window. Through the thick darkness he could see very little, but now and again a flare from one of the many fires cast a pair of fighting men in sharp silhouette. Enemy! Enemy within the walls! He rushed back to the bed, his heart pounding against his ribs. Leah had stirred at his earlier movement, and Sira was sleepily complaining. With a hand over each girl's mouth, he waked them quickly and noiselessly. Their eyes opened at once, shining and liquid in the otherwise black room. Only the sound of a creaking mattress accompanied their movements as the trio rushed to pull on their clothing and find their weapons. Outside, the sounds of battle were growing louder and more accented; cried of women and children were audible, mingled with the shouts of men.

"What's going on?" said Leah, her eyes wide. She peered out into the darkness even while attempting to slide her sandals onto her feet.

"I don't know," said Daran, "but it sounds like a full battle out there."

"But the scouts haven't seen anything!" protested Sira, struggling to tie her wrap-around and fasten her quiver of arrows at the same time.

"Yeah!" Leah said, speaking too loudly. She had abandoned the black window to kneel down properly.

"Shh!"

Leah continued, unabated. "We'd know days and days before they got here. It can't be the Hai Krun."

"Leah! Keep your voice down!" hissed Daran. "I don't know who it is, alright? But it's trouble, and until we know more, I'm getting you two away from it."

"No way!" Sira cut in. "We're gonna go out and help..."

"Yeah!"

"No, you're not," Daran said firmly. Inwardly, he sighed. Whatever else the pair were, they were still teenage girls. At times it was glaringly obvious. "You're coming with me."

"But..."

"You can't run out and fight when you don't know who you're fighting. Now we don't have time to argue about this."

"But..."

Sira gave Leah a nudge to silence her. Both girls closed their mouths at last to listen.

"Okay," said Daran, "none of the fighting's spread over here yet. First thing we're going to do is get everyone out of this building. We'll split up: each of you take one side. Find some girls to send to the upper floors to warn everyone else. I'm going to start with the back wing, and I'll meet you two at the back entrance. Everybody goes out that way, understand?"

The girls nodded.

"Good. Then let's go."

Daran watched the girls scamper away in opposite directions. The guest apartments were built back and away from the main palace: an afterthought, mostly unused since the palace itself was so expansive. Servant girls came by at irregular intervals during the day, to tend the fires and clean the floors; but that night, none of the torches in the hallways were lit. Better not to light them; better not to attract unwanted attention. Leah and Sira disappeared in the darkness, perhaps relying on some cat-like reflex to guide their movements. Daran turned and began to feel his way along the wall. Deprived of his sight, the sounds of fighting drifted clearly on the thin air; they sounded alarmingly close. A calm disposition and a head for crisis kept his from giving in to panic. This was just like any other emergency, any blown gasket or faulty turbine - he felt incredible pressure to fix the damage, an incredible necessity for speed, but he knew his purpose would be better served through sure, deliberate movements instead of rash action.

Suddenly, the wall fell away, and he knew he had reached the back hallway. The battle sounded closer. His breath was dry and rasping in his throat. Another step. Another in the darkness. Then, a door. He pushed it open and found a long chamber, much larger than the single-person rooms found on the East side of the building. A row of wide windows dotted the outer wall, and by faint starlight the shape and posture of the room came into focus. There were rows upon rows of beds, and a shimmering cascade of blonde hair on each pillow; many of the beds were shared by more than one girl. Easily, there were fifty girls in the room. Daran cleared his throat.