It shook her. She smiled rigidly and threw the last crumbs onto the water. They floated for seconds. Then they were snatched away.
***
KEIRO HAD stuffed a pack with plunder--fine clothes, gold, jewels, a firelock. It must have been heavy, but he wouldn't be complaining; Finn knew it would hurt him far more to leave any of it behind. For himself, he had brought one spare set of clothes, some food, a sword, and the Key. That was all he wanted. Looking down at his share of the accumulated riches in the chest had filled him with self-loathing, brought back the Maestra's scorching stare of scorn. He had shut the lid with a bang.
Seeing Gildas's lantern ahead, he ran behind his oathbrother, glancing back anxiously.
Incarceron's night was inky. But the Prison never slept. One of its small red Eyes opened, turned, and clicked as he raced below it, and the sound swept a small shiver of dismay through his skin. But the Prison would watch curiously. It played with its inmates, allowed them to kill, wander, fight, and love until
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it grew tired and tormented them with Lockdowns, with twisting the very shape of itself. They were its only amusement, and maybe it knew there was no Escape.
"Hurry." Gildas was waiting impatiently. He had brought nothing but a satchel of food and medicines and his staff; he strapped that to his back and glanced up the ladder into the shaft. "We get up to the transitway; the top may be guarded, so I'll go first. From there it's two hours to the door."
"Through Civicry territory," Keiro muttered.
Gildas eyed him coldly. "You can still go back."
"No he can't, old man."
Finn spun, Keiro at his side.
From the sides and shadows of the tunnels the Comitatus swaggered; red-eyed, ket-high, crossbows drawn, firelocks in their hands. Finn saw Big Arko flex his shoulders and grin; Amoz swung his fearsome axe.
Among his bodyguards, glowering and huge, Jormanric stood. Red juice stained his beard like blood.
"No one's going anywhere," he growled. "Neither is that Key."
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***
The eyes in the corridor were dark and watchful and there were many of them.
"Come out," he said.
They came out. They were children. They wore rags and their skin was livid with sores.
Their veins were tubes, their hair wire. Sapphique reached out and touched them.
"You are the ones who will save us," he said.
--Sapphique and the Children
***
No one spoke. Finn stepped away from the ladder; he drew his sword and realized Keiro was already armed, but what use were two blades against so many?
Big Arko broke the tension. "Never thought you'd run out on us, Finn."
Keiro's smile was steely. "Who says we are?"
"The sword in your hand says it."
He lumbered toward them, but Jormanric stopped him with the back of a mailed glove against his chest. Then the Winglord looked beyond Finn and Keiro. "Can there really be a device that will open every lock?" His voice was slurred but his eyes
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were intent. Finn felt Gildas step down from the ladder.
"I believe so. It was sent to me from Sapphique." The old man tried to push past, but Finn caught hold of his belt and stopped him. Annoyed, Gildas jerked free and pointed a bony finger. "Listen to me, Jormanric. I have given you excellent advice for many years. I've healed your wounded and tried to bring some sort of order into this hellhole you've created. But I come and go when I choose and my time with you is over."
"Oh yes," the big man said grimly. "That's true enough."
The Comitatus exchanged grins. They moved closer. Finn caught Keiro's eye; together they closed around Gildas.
Gildas folded his arms. His voice was rich with contempt. "Do you think I fear you?"
"I do, old man. Under all that bluster, you fear me. And you have cause." Jormanric rolled ket around his tongue. "You've stood behind me at enough hand loppings, tongue splittings, seen enough men's heads spitted on pikes to know what I will do." He shrugged. "And your voice has grated on me of late. I'm sick of being lectured and berated. So here's a proposition for you. Get lost before I cut your tongue out myself. Climb the ladder and join the Civicry. We won't miss you."
That wasn't true, Finn thought. Half the Comitatus owed life and limbs to Gildas. He'd patched them and sewn their wounds after too many fights, and they knew it.
Gildas laughed sourly. "And the Key?"
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"Ah." Jormanric's eyes narrowed. "The magic Key and the Starseer. I can't let them go. And no one ever deserts the Comitatus." He turned his stare on Keiro. "Finn will be useful, but you, deserter, the only Escape you'll make is through Death's Door."
Keiro didn't flinch. He stood tall, his handsome face flushed with controlled anger, though Finn sensed the finest tremble in the hand that held the sword. "Is that a challenge?" he snapped. "Because if its not, I make it one." He looked around, at all of them. "This isn't about some crystal trinket, or about the Sapient. This is about you and me, Winglord, and it's been coming a long time now. I've seen you betray anyone who's threatened you, send them into ambushes, poison them, bribe their oathbrothers, make your warband a sludge of ket-heads without a brain cell between them. But not me. I call you a coward, Jormanric. A fat coward, a murderer, a liar. Worn out, finished. Old?
Silence.
In the dark shaft the words rang as if the Prison whispered them mockingly around and around. Finn's grip on his sword was so tight, the cords scorched him; his heart hammered. Keiro was crazy. Keiro had finished them. Big Arko glowered; the girls Lis and Ramill watched avidly.
Behind them he saw the dog-slave, creeping closer on its chain.
Everyone looked at Jormanric.
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He moved instantly. He pulled a thick ugly knife and the sword from his back, and was on Keiro before anyone could yell.
Finn leaped away; Keiro's sword flashed up by instinct and the blades clanged.
Jormanric's face was red with rage, the blood pulsing in the thick veins of his neck. Right into Keiro's face he spat, "You're dead, boy." Then he attacked.
The Comitatus howled with delight; they whooped and closed around in a tight ring, clashing weapons, stamping in unison. They loved to see bloodshed and most of them had felt the whiplash of Keiro's arrogance; now they'd see him brought down. Finn was shoved heedlessly aside; he tried to slash a space, but Gildas hauled him away. "Stay back!"
"Hell be killed!"
"If he is, it's no loss."
Keiro was fighting for his life. He was young and fit, but Jormanric was twice his weight, old in warcraft, berserk with a battle frenzy that came on him rarely. He hacked at Keiro's face, at his arms, following up with quick slashes of the knife. Keiro staggered back, colliding with one of the Comitatus, who shoved him heartlessly again into the ring; off balance, he nailed forward, and Jormanric struck.
"No!" Finn yelled.
The blade sliced across Keiro's chest; he whipped his face aside with a gasp. A spatter of blood hit the crowd.
Finn had his own knife ready to throw, but there was no
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chance; the fighters were too far and Keiro concentrating too hard to glance away. A hand caught Finns arm; in his ear Gildas murmured, "Back off toward the shaft. No one will see us go."
Finn was too dismayed to answer. Instead he pulled away and tried to shove into the center of the ring, but a great arm slid around his neck. "No cheating, brother." Arko's breath stank of ket.
Despairing, Finn watched. Keiro could never survive this. He was already cut on the leg and wrist; shallow nicks but bleeding freely. Jormanric's eyes were glazed, his ket-stained teeth set in a bared grin. His onslaught was a barrage of violence; he fought without fear or self-awareness, sparks clashing from the blades.
Breathless, Keiro flicked one look of terror sideways; Finn struggled and kicked to get to him. Jormanric roar
ed, a howl of savagery that set all his men yelling encouragement; he took one step forward and swung his sword in an arc of whipping steel.
And staggered.
For a moment, just a second, he was off balance. Then he fell, a crashing, inexplicable fall, his feet whipped behind him, tangled in a chain that slid between the feet of the crowd, looped around a pair of filthy hands muffled in rags.
Keiro leaped on him. He slammed a bone-crunching blow down on the Winglord's mailed back; Jormanric howled in fury and pain.
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The shouts of the Comitatus died abruptly. Arko let go of Finn.
Keiro was white with strain but he didn't stop. As Jormanric rolled, he stamped on the Winglord's left arm; it cracked, an ominous sound. The knife spilled onto the floor. Jormanric heaved himself up to his knees, head down, groaning over his shattered arm, swaying.
From the corner of his eye Finn saw a commotion in the crowd; the dog-creature was being hauled out. He squirmed toward it as it was kicked and cursed, but even as he got there one of its tormentors fell, doubled up by a blow from Gildas's staff. "I'll deal with this," the Sapient roared. "Stop them before someone dies!"
Finn swung back, in time to see Keiro kick Jormanric full in the face.
The Winglord still clung to his sword, but another callous blow to the head laid him out; he crashed spread-eagle, a pool of blood at nose and mouth.
The crowd was silent.
Keiro flung his head back and screamed with triumph.
Finn stared. His oathbrother was transformed. His eyes were bright, his hair sweat-dark and slicked to his scalp, his hands streaked with blood. He seemed taller, glowing with a sleek and concentrated energy that scorched away all weariness; he raised his head and stared around at them all, a raw, blind unrecognizable stare, seeing nothing, challenging everything.
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Then, deliberately, he turned back, put the point of his blade to the vein in Jormanric's neck, and pushed.
"Keiro," Finns voice was sharp. "Don't."
Keiro's eyes swung to him. For a moment it seemed as if he had to struggle to recognize who had spoken. Then he said hoarsely, "He's finished. I'm Winglord now."
"Don't kill him. You don't want his pitiful little kingdom." Finn held his gaze steadily. "You never did. Outside, that's what you want. Nowhere else is big enough for us."
Down the shaft, as if in answer, a warm breeze drifted.
For a moment Keiro stared at Finn, then at Jormanric. "Give this up?"
"For more. For everything."
"A lot to ask, brother." Looking down, he lifted the sword blade away, slowly. The Winglord took a deep ragged breath. And then with one vicious jerk Keiro stabbed the sword down into Jormanric's open palm.
The Winglord howled and flailed. Pinned to the ground he convulsed with agony and wrath, but Keiro knelt and began to tug the liferings from his fingers, the thick skull-faced bands.
"Leave them!" Gildas's yell came from behind them. "The Prison!"
Finn looked up. Lights exploded on around him, flared red. A thousand Eyes winked open. Alarms broke out into a terrible ululating scream.
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It was a Lockdown.
The Comitatus split, pushed, fragmented into a panicking mob, and as the wall slots slid open and light cannon flashed, they were fleeing, Jormanric's bleeding agony ignored. Finn hauled Keiro away. "Forget them!"
Keiro shook his head, shoved three rings inside his jerkin. "Go! Go!"
A croak from behind. "Did you think I killed the woman, Finn?"
Finn turned.
Jormanric squirmed in pain. He spat the words like venom. "Not true. Ask your brother. Your stinking, treacherous brother. Ask him why she died."
Laserfire flickered like steel rods between them. For a second Finn couldn't move; then Keiro was back, yanking him down. Sprawled on the filthy floor they crawled toward the shaft. The corridor was a sparking grid of energy; efficiently Incarceron restored order, slammed down grilles and doors, emitted a hiss of foul-smelling yellow gas into the enclosed tunnels.
"Where is he?"
"There." Finn saw Gildas scrambling over bodies; he was dragging the dog-slave, its chains swaying and tripping him. Snatching the sword from Keiro, Finn pulled the creature toward him and hacked at the rusty manacles. The sharp blade severed them instantly. He looked up and saw brown eyes, bright in the ragged bindings around the face.
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"Leave it! It's diseased." Keiro shouldered past, flinched at a burst of fire that seared the roof, and jumped for the ladder. In seconds he was racing up the darkness of the shaft.
"He's right," Gildas said heavily. "It will slow us."
Finn hesitated. In the uproar and crashing alarms and falling steel he looked back and the eyes of the leprous slave watched him. But it was the Maestra's eyes he saw, her voice that spoke inside his mind.
I will never dare show kindness to a stranger again.
Instantly he stooped, hauled the creature onto his back, and climbed.
Keiro was clattering above, Gildas a wheezing mutter below. As he dragged himself up the rungs, Finn was soon breathless with the weight on his back; the creatures muffled paws gripped him tight, its heels dug into his stomach. He slowed; after thirty rungs he had to stop, breathless, arms like lead. He clung on, gasping.
In his ear, a voice whispered, "Let me go. I can climb."
Astonished, he felt the creature crawl from him, skitter onto the ladder, and scramble up in the dark. Below, Gildas thumped his foot. "Get on! Quickly!"
Dust billowed up the shaft, and the eerie hiss of gas. He hauled himself on, higher and higher until the muscles in his calves and thighs were weak, his shoulders aching with grabbing upward and raising his own weight.
And then without warning he was in wider space, half
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falling onto the transitway, Keiro yanking him out. They hoisted Gildas up, and speechless, stared down. Stabs of light flickered far below. Red alarms rang; tendrils of gas made Finn cough. Through watering eyes he saw a panel shoot sideways across the shaft, sealing it with a clang. And then, silence.
***
THEY DIDN'Tspeak. Gildas took the creature's hand and Finn stumbled behind with Keiro, because now the climb and the fight were taking their toll, and Keiro was suddenly exhausted, his cuts dripping a telltale trail of blood on the metallic walkways. They hurried without stopping through the labyrinth of tunnels, past doorways with Civicry markings, barred entrances, squeezing through a portcullis with vast, useless squares. And always they were listening, because if the Civicry found them, they would stand no chance. Finn found himself sweating at each turn of the passage, at each distant clang or echoing whisper, straining his ears at shadows and a scurrying Beetle, sweeping a small chamber in endless circles.
After an hour, limping with weariness, Gildas led them into a passageway that became a sloping gallery lit by rows of alert Eyes, and at its top, far up in the dark, he stopped and slid down against a tiny locked door.
Finn helped Keiro to sit and collapsed beside him. The dog-creature was a huddle on the floor. For a moment the narrow
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space was racked with painful breathing. Then Gildas roused himself.
"The Key," he croaked. "Before they find us." Finn took it out. There was a single crack in the door, hexagonal, ringed with speckles of quartz. He put the Key in the lock and turned it.
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***
As for poor Caspar, I pity those who have to put up with him. But you are ambitious and we are bound together now. Your daughter will be Queen and my son King. The price is paid. If
you fail me, you know what I will do.
-- Queen Sia to the Warden of Incarceron; private letter
***
"Why here?" Claudia trailed after him, between the hedges. "Obviously," Jared murmured, "because no one else can find the way through."
Nor could she. The yew maze was ancient a
nd complex, the thick hedges impenetrable. Once when she was small, she had been lost in here for a whole long summers day, wandering and sobbing with anger, and the nurse and Ralph had organized a search and been almost hysterical with panic before she'd been found sleeping under the astrolabe in the central glade. She didn't remember getting there, but sometimes now, at the edge of her dreams, the drowsy heat came back to her, the bees, the brass sphere against the sun.
"Claudia. You've missed the turn."
She backtracked, and found him waiting, patiently. "Sorry. Miles away."
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Jared knew the way well. The maze was one of his favorite haunts; he came here to read and study and discreetly test various forbidden devices. Today it was peaceful after the frantic packing and panic in the house. Threading the mown paths after his shadow, Claudia breathed in the rose-scents, fingering the Key in her pocket.
It was a perfect day, not too hot, a few delicate clouds. A shower of rain was scheduled for three fifteen, but they should be finished by then. As she turned a corner and came suddenly to the central glade, she looked around in surprise.
"It's smaller than I remembered."
Jared raised an eyebrow. "Things always are."
The astrolabe was blue-green copper and apparently decorative; beside it a wrought-iron seat sank elegantly into the turf, a bush of bloodred roses rambling over its back. Daisies studded the grass.
Claudia sat, knees up under her silk dress. "Well?"
Jared put his scanner away. "Seems safe." He turned and sat on the bench, leaning forward, his frail hands nervously folding together. "So. Tell me."
She repeated Evian's conversation quickly, and he listened, frowning. When she'd finished she said, "It may be a trap, of course."
"Possible."
She watched him. "What do you know about these Steel
Wolves? Why wasn't I told?"
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He didn't look up, and that was a bad sign; she felt a thread of fear unwind down her spine.
Then he said, 'I've heard of them. There have been rumors, but no one's sure who is involved, or how real the conspiracy is. Last year an explosive device was discovered in the Palace, in a room where the Queen was expected. Nothing new there, but a small emblem was found too, hanging from the window catch, a small metal wolf." He watched a ladybug scaling a blade of grass. "What will you do?"
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