but the thief managed to catch the bowl before it could clatter to the floor. Cyric's blade flew by his head as the young guard turned to run. The dagger missed completely, thudding dully into the wall beyond.
Drawing his hand axe, Cyric leaped upon the guard, slashing with the axe and driving his knee hard into the man's back. Cyric grinned as he heard the crack of breaking bone. The guard's legs twitched for a few seconds, then were still.
Rising from the dead man, Cyric glanced around for any signs that a disturbance had taken place. After straightening a few stools and clearing away the spilled chocolate, Cyric dragged the guard's body down a flight of stairs to the food storage cellar. Then the thief took the lantern and went back up into the hallway.
Following the layout of the tower from memory, Cyric skirted the north wall, passed through a series of interlocking chambers, and emerged near the southwest hallway, leading to the boathouse. The information Cyric had been provided was accurate so far. Only one guard was stationed at the far end of the hallway. However, Cyric was trapped in a single moment of indecision as he stared at the nearly seven-foot-tall guard. It was Forester, a man who had served under him at the Ashaba bridge.
Forester turned sharply, then relaxed as he saw Cyric emerge from the shadows.
'I've been sent to relieve you,' Cyric said, smiling. 'You're needed on the upper floors.'
'But I just got here,' Forester said as he approached Cyric. 'Where have you been all day? I sent word for you to meet me at the Old Skull — '
Forester didn't even scream when Cyric's dagger pierced his heart.
Just according to plan, Cyric thought as he dragged the body through the hallway. The thief had to remind himself that the battle was only two days ago. It might as well have occurred in another lifetime.
Once Forester's body was safely hidden away, Cyric returned and began to search for the secret entrance to the dungeon level. Following the explicit instructions of his contact, Cyric pressed the uppermost edge of the twenty-eighth wooden panel from the west door. Nothing happened.
Cyric frowned, then counted off a half dozen paces, crouched down, and located a small opening in the wall, just above the floorboards. Easing his dagger into the crevice, the thief heard the telltale clicks of some kind of mechanism working back and forth as he gently moved the hilt of the dagger. The door still didn't open.
A heavy weight seemed to fall on Cyric's shoulders, and he wondered if the guardsman who had given him the information had neglected to mention that both means of entry had to be performed simultaneously. Cyric drew another dagger, counted off the floor panels once again, then threw the blade at the upper edge of the wood panel as he yanked the floor release back.
The hilt of the dagger struck the panel. There was a slight hiss as the door opened and cold air escaped into the hallway. Cyric retrieved his second dagger and moved toward the darkened passageway, holding the blade out before him.
According to Cyric's informant, the long, winding stairway led to the rear of the dungeon, where the holding cells were located. The hidden stairway had been installed as a fail-safe, in case the main entrance to the dungeon was ever blocked or overrun. A single guardsman, if he was unable to reach the alarm gongs, could quickly reach the ground level by the stairs to get help.
Cyric descended the stairway until he came to the landing and a second door. The thief knew he would be spotted the moment he opened the door and stepped off the landing, but he was not concerned about the lone guard stationed below an alarm gong at the far end of the cells. However, the hallway took an abrupt right after that guard station and opened into a large hall, where six more men apparently were gambling. They were swearing so loudly that Cyric could already hear their voices.
Cyric withdrew a small black cylinder from the sash at his waist, then used his remaining dagger to ease the metal cap from its end. He wrapped his fingers in the sash and felt for the sharp point of the Gaeus Thorn.
Cyric's knowledgeable informant had made a pastime out of exploring the ruined hut of an alchemist and selling his finds on the black market. The Gaeus Thorn was very rare, possibly one of a kind, and Cyric smiled at the irony that Mourngrym's gold had paid for the item.
A moment passed as Cyric allowed all emotion to drain from him. He drew a deep breath, put the cylinder to his lips, and threw open the door. The guard was staring in Cyric's direction and immediately stood up to raise a cry of alarm. The thief blew hard into the barrel of his weapon and watched as a tiny dart pierced the guard's throat.
The wounded guard fell instantly into a stupor and sank down onto a stool, his head lolling back and forth. Cyric waited until the guard looked at him again, then gestured for the man to leave his post and come closer. Lifting himself from the stool with a flourish, the guard complied.
'Listen very carefully,' Cyric whispered as he placed his hand on the guard's shoulder. 'Lord Mourngrym has sent me to get one of the prisoners slated for execution in the morning, the dark-haired mage. He wishes to question the woman. Take me to her.'
'I should inform my captain — '
'There's no time,' Cyric said quickly. 'Keep your voice low. You don't want to wake your other charges.'
Many of the cells had been filled with mercenaries who had been hired to fill out Bane's forces in the Battle of Shadowdale, then surrendered themselves to the dalesmen when the battle was lost. Cyric heard the sound of a boot scuff the floor, and he tensed.
A pair of dirty hands protruded from the iron bars of a nearby cell, and a dark, sweaty face peered out. The prisoner laughed once, then nodded to Cyric and gestured for the thief to proceed.
'Let's go,' Cyric said. The guard led him past the twenty cells that lined the corridor's north bank. An ugly stone wall on the southern side of the hallway was the only view afforded the prisoners. Finally the guard stopped before a storage room adjacent to the final cell and unlocked the door.
'Wait,' Cyric said as the guard's hand reached for the heavy wooden door. 'If anyone should ask, I am over six feet tall, with fiery red hair, the build of a wrestler, and a strange foreign accent.'
'Of course you are,' the guard murmured flatly. There wasn't a trace of emotion in his voice.
'Describe me,' Cyric whispered as he gazed into the guard's face. The dalesman described the thief exactly as the hawk-nosed man had instructed. Satisfied that the effects of the dart were all that his informant had promised, Cyric gave the guard a few final commands and watched as he returned to his station.
The thief opened the door with care, fearful that the sound might alert the other guards. Cyric gazed into the confines of the black room and saw the object of his search lying on her side in the corner.
'Midnight,' Cyric whispered as he entered the cell and went to work on the bonds of the dark-haired magic- user. He left the gag for last. 'Keep it to a whisper,' he cautioned.
As soon as the gag was removed, Midnight drew a deep breath, then looked at her fellow prisoner. The cleric sat with his knees drawn up before him, his forehead pressed against his knees to hide his face.
'Adon!' Midnight whispered. The mage rubbed her arms and legs, trying to massage some feeling back into them.
'Can you stand?' Cyric whispered as he got up and moved to the door. 'We must leave quickly.'
'We've got to take Adon,' Midnight hissed urgently. She crawled toward the cleric.
'Your ordeal has left you confused,' Cyric said. 'Leave him.'
Placing her hands on the cleric's shoulders, Midnight shook Adon, attempting to wake him. Shadowy, bloodshot eyes rose as Adon looked up, but the young cleric didn't seem to see his friends. He simply stared at the wall behind Midnight.
'He's useless!' Cyric hissed. 'Besides, he betrayed you with his silence at the trial.' The thief glanced nervously into the hallway, but no guards had noticed the open door yet.
'No!' Midnight declared, her voice cracking with pain and fear.
'Every moment we delay here increases our risk,' Cyric snapped. He turned from the door, grabbed Midnight's arm, and tried to drag the magic-user to her feet.
'Get away from me,' Midnight whimpered, but she was too weak to resist Cyric's less-than-gentle urgings.
'I came back for you!' Cyric hissed.
'You'll take us both, or I'll start screaming until even the gods know you're here!' Midnight warned. 'He's sick. Can't you see that?' The mage ran her hand through Adon's tangled hair.
'I see only his cowardice,' Cyric growled. 'That and nothing more. But if his life truly matters to you, even after what he's done, I suppose I have no choice.'
