'You abandoned the giant and stole a horse. You soon managed to discard that too. After that, we lost track of you for a while. You were next seen making a clumsy break-in from the mountainside; lucky for you the guard had orders to leave you alone. You made your way to see Castilio, as we'd hoped you might. Now here we are.'
'And here is where again?'
'You don't need to know that. In fact, until we're sure we can trust you, you don't need to know anything. We've given you the benefit of the doubt so far, for one reason only: you can be useful to us. Even then, there are those who think we should just hang you on the off chance.'
'Mayor Estrada, you're right. I could be useful. Under the right conditions, I could be extremely useful. With that in mind, what do you think the chances are of some more bread, this time with a little oil, and perhaps a cup of wine?'
Estrada stood and picked up her lantern. 'Come on, Damasco,' she said, 'I've something to show you.'
I sighed and hauled myself to my feet, only to nearly topple over again when I realised how numb my legs had become. Estrada offered me an arm to steady myself. I accepted it, and leaned against her until I was sure I had my balance. Her behaviour seemed overly generous toward a suspected enemy, a potential assassin even. I wondered how genuine her suspicions were, and how much was just a precaution born of circumstance.
Whatever the case, she was quick enough to pull away once I'd found my feet. She led the way and I staggered after, with a fond glance back at my cosy cell. A sinking sensation in my bowels told me it would be a long time before I knew such peace and comfort again.
Mounteban was waiting outside, and glowered at me. 'Didn't I tell you he'd deny it?'
'Perhaps because he's innocent.'
'Perhaps.'
We were in a low passage propped and beamed with blackened timbers, likely an old mineshaft. Estrada led off to the left, holding her lamp in front, and I followed, conscious of how Mounteban moved in close behind me. We soon came to a crossroads, and turned left again into a lower, narrower tunnel, which proceeded to wind back and forth for a considerable distance. We came eventually to what at first glance seemed a dead end, until Estrada stepped onto a ladder that disappeared into a hole above. When I hesitated, Mounteban growled, 'Hurry up, Damasco.'
The ladder was sturdier than it looked. That wasn't saying much. With all three of us on it, it bucked and swayed with every slight motion. The climb took an unreasonably long time, and Estrada's silhouetted figure blocked the light from her lamp, leaving me in thick darkness. By the time I clambered out, my nerves ached to match my body.
We'd arrived in yet another tunnel, this one apparently natural and faintly lit by patches of phosphorescent blue mould at intervals along the ceiling. Estrada closed and padlocked a hatch over the drop, and then led on, until the tunnel opened out again. We'd come to another junction, this one large enough to be considered a cavern. I was alarmed when a shape glided out of the shadows, until our lamplight revealed it as an elderly man in patched leather armour. He saluted Estrada and asked, 'How goes it, Captain?'
'As well as can be expected,' she replied. 'Any word?'
'Nothing new.'
She nodded, and the man slipped back into the gloom.
Captain? I remembered hearing something once about a mayor being expected to lead their townsfolk in a time of war. Surely that wouldn't apply to a woman, though? I'd always assumed Estrada's appointment had been meant as a joke, and it had never occurred to me that others might see it differently. Yet I could think of no other explanation for her presence on the battlefield.
Estrada had moved to the cavern's far wall, where a low opening led onward. She turned back and said to Mounteban, 'You can wait here.' When he looked as though he'd debate the point she added, 'No arguments. You can eavesdrop again if you like.'
She crouched to hands and knees and disappeared into the entrance. Mounteban waved me on when I didn't follow, and I could feel the elderly guard's eyes on the back of my neck. I dropped to all fours and crawled after Estrada.
That short journey was worse than climbing the ladder had been. I couldn't lift my head without scraping it on bare rock, and the surface beneath my hands was just as uneven. Both were cold and moist, and once again I was travelling in near blackness. I was immensely relieved to see Estrada's shape ahead fringed with grey. The grey grew paler and paler, until suddenly she moved aside and dazzling moonlight filled my view. I clambered gratefully out into it, and if it hadn't been for Estrada's grasp on my elbow, would have stepped right off the cliff.
For that was where we'd come out: dizzyingly high upon the cliffside, perched on a slender outcrop, looking down over the eastern Castoval. I could make out the contours of Muena Palaiya directly below, illuminated by occasional glimmers of lamp or torchlight. Grander fires burned in the triangle of ground before the north gate, seething puddles of yellow spread between the silhouettes of tents.
Estrada, following my gaze, pointed down towards the encampment. 'That's where Moaradrid's holding your friend.'
'My friend?'
'The giant you travelled with.'
'Oh. I wouldn't have chosen that particular word.'
Her glance was disapproving. 'No?'
'Anyway, I'm sure he'll be all right. He'll explain, in his monosyllabic way, that it was entirely my fault, and they'll likely take him back to his real friends.'
'Even if that were to happen,' she said, 'It wouldn't fit with our plans.'
'These mysterious plans again. Tell me, why exactly have we come all this way, when I could be asleep in that nice, warm cave?'
Estrada looked at me as if I was deliberately missing the obvious. 'You can't very well rescue the giant from inside a prison cell, can you?'
CHAPTER 8
I squinted at the makeshift encampment.
It was a bright, clear night and, if I concentrated, I found I could pick out the abrupt triangles of tents, the crooked shadows of olive trees, and even the figures of patrolling guards when they passed before a campfire or across a patch of moonlit ground.
None of that told me where they were holding Saltlick. I couldn't imagine they'd waste a tent on him, or allow him near a fire. He would be out in the open, and most probably tied to something. I personally doubted he possessed the guile to try to escape again, but Moaradrid wasn't to know the details of his last elopement, and — despite my earlier claim — I didn't really believe Saltlick would blame me. Apart from anything else, it would involve the kind of multiple-word answers he seemed to detest so much.
I noticed an irregular patch of darkness that wasn't a tent and, although it had protrusions that must be branches, wasn't quite the right shape to be a tree. There was something distinctly odd about its smudged silhouette. I stared at it, trying to tease its dimensions from the surrounding darkness — so that when it moved I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I pointed. 'That's him, isn't it, by that big tree?'
Estrada nodded.
'That's right in the middle of the camp. It's hopeless. I count at least a dozen men on patrol, and there are bound to be sentries as well. Moaradrid must know he's vulnerable out there. He'll be expecting an attack.'
'Yes. He sent back for reinforcements yesterday. Half his army will be here by tomorrow evening.'
'It's impossible.'
'You talk as if you have a choice.' There was a new quality in her voice, inflexible and cold. 'I don't like it, but there it is. We want the giant out of there and you have as good a chance of rescuing him as anyone. If they don't kill you, if you don't decide you like it better with them than with us, then perhaps we can trust you.'
