'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.'
10
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.
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 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?'
'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.
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 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 roared, 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.
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.
