moved with a slow but irresistible motion. Never completely still, yet never drawing attention to herself. One foot was placed in front of the other in total silence. Lucius marvelled at her ability, but felt her luck could not last.
It didn't. A casual glance from one of the men at the table became a double take as he focussed on the creeping woman who, battered and bruised with a naked dagger, must have looked for all the world like some evil spirit come to exact vengeance.
'Assassin!' the man cried out, stunning his comrades into inaction as he whirled around for the weapons rack.
Lucius was already moving, sprinting for the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grayling uncoil from her crouch, turning her stealthy pose into a killing strike in an instant. The man in the first cot was dead a second later, blood gushing down his tunic.
The last man at the table reeled back from Lucius' charge, falling from his chair and upending the table as he hit the floor. Kicking the table to one side, Lucius hacked the man down before he could cry out. The blade dug easily into the side of the guard's skull, and blood flowed across the floor as he yanked it free.
A hiss from Grayling caused Lucius to look up, and it was by reflex alone that he managed to raise the blade of his sword in time to catch the downward swing of the other guard's mace. The guard snarled at Lucius — spittle flying from his lips — before he reversed the direction of his weapon, and swung the mace again.
Unable to parry such a close blow, Lucius backed away and nearly tangled himself in the body at his feet. Seeing the guard advance and ready another swing, he reached down and grabbed the fallen chair, raising it just as the mace came towards his head.
The chair shattered into a dozen wooden splinters while the force of the attack caused him to stumble. As he went down on one knee, Lucius swung his sword in a backhanded blow intended to disembowel the guard, but the tip of his weapon just skittered off mail. Pressing home the advantage, the guard raised the mace above his head and brought it rushing down, perhaps hoping to blast Lucius straight through the floor and back into the cells.
Caught off balance, Lucius rolled back toward the door, hoping to gain a little ground. The guard followed immediately, seeing a helpless enemy before him. Kicking out, Lucius stalled the advance with a blow to the guard's shin, but his foot just glanced off the metal greaves. Another swing forced him to dive to his left, and his sword clattered on the floor as it fell from his grasp. On his rump and completely defenceless now, Lucius desperately kicked at the floor, trying to drive himself back, away from the guard, whose face was now triumphant with victory.
He felt the wall at his back, and knew there was nowhere else to run. Raising his arms in a futile effort to ward away the guard's finishing blow, he looked up to see the man staring down at him. The guard's fury had disappeared and his expression was almost serene. Lucius frowned in puzzlement, then opened his mouth in shock as the man sank to his knees and collapsed at his feet. Behind the guard stood Grayling, her dagger dripping with blood.
'Can I help you up?' she said.
Grayling was the first to the ladder and after reaching the top, she heaved with her shoulder to force the trapdoor open. Lucius looked past her slight form to see the blue sphere of Kerberos leering down at him, and he felt a rush of relief as he breathed in fresh air.
Vaulting up the ladder, he found himself at the top of the tower beside Grayling, looking down from the parapets. The roof was dominated by a huge trebuchet — its timbers harvested from Vos forests — the massive stones it threw piled next to it mined from quarries close to the city. A single pole rose higher even than the mighty war machine, but no flag flew from it this evening, that honour having currently been taken by one of the other towers of the Citadel.
The view of Turnitia from this height was spectacular. He could see the entire expanse of the city, from the ocean cliffs guarding it, up the slope to the townhouses on its far side. To the east and north, rows of blank roofed warehouses held the wealth of the city, while the Five Markets lay empty below.
Closer, the construction of the Citadel was equally impressive. The four other towers stood silent and imposing, acting as sentinels for the entire city, while the main keep — invisible to the rest of the world behind vast stone walls — nestled between them. Those walls ringed the entire complex, high above the level of most buildings in Turnitia, and were lined with troops. More soldiers were scattered in the courtyards directly below, and Lucius saw the frantic movements of an ongoing battle. Some of the thieves had escaped from the tower at ground level, only to find themselves cut off and surrounded.
'We cannot help them,' Grayling said, perhaps wanting to forestall any foolish heroics Lucius might be tempted to perform.
'Agreed,' he said after a moment, nodding. 'So, what now?'
'Still thinking,' Grayling said as she looked left and right for a solution to present itself.
'I thought you said you had a plan?'
'Got us this far, haven't I?' she retorted, though there was no venom in her voice. Slowly, Lucius began to realise that she was actually enjoying the moment, their brush with danger and the bid for freedom. He could not decide whether that was a good thing.
'We've got this,' Grayling said, scooping up a coil of rope that lay next to the Vos banners that were draped down the sheer sides of the towers on special days marked by the empire. 'But we can't just drop it down into the courtyard.'
Staring out at the city, an idea came to Lucius. 'If we could stretch it to the walls, they would be the last obstacle.'
She looked at him doubtfully, as if he had suddenly turned simple. 'Even if we had a hook to tie to the end, could you throw it that far?'
Walking to the edge of the battlements lining the tower, Lucius stared at the wall, trying to gauge the distance. As a horizontal throw, it would be impossible, but from their vantage point, they had height on their side. If they had just a little help.
'Find something,' he said. 'Anything that can act as a grappling hook. We need something that can dig into stone.'
Grayling disappeared back down the trapdoor while Lucius scouted the roof of the tower. He had hoped to find something useful among the tools and supplies surrounding the war machine, but he was unsuccessful. When Grayling reappeared, he could tell from her expression that she had been no luckier.
She looked up at the trebuchet. 'You know, there are stories of thieves making their escape by using catapults.'
'Any thief telling that story is either a liar or a good deal shorter than he once was.'
Grayling sighed. 'We might have to go back down into the tower.'
Closing his eyes, Lucius cursed. He knew what he had to do, but it would very likely mean an end to his place among the Hands.
'Grayling,' he began. 'You counted on me before. I need to count on you now.'
'Of course,' she said without hesitation.
'I mean it.'
Something in his voice checked her, and she frowned at him. 'What are you planning to do?'
It was his turn to sigh. 'Stand back until I say. And you'll need a strip of cloth or short length of rope.'
Still clearly puzzled, Grayling nevertheless followed his instructions, and dug around the trebuchet's supplies until she found something suitable.
Lucius took a deep breath as he began coiling the rope in his hands, staring fixedly at a portion of the opposite wall that seemed to have few guards on its ramparts. He turned his attention inward, seeking the threads of magic that constantly turned and twisted and, like an old friend, they came flooding back under his control.
He began to swing one end of the rope above his head, whipping it around faster and faster as he manipulated the threads to bring those he needed into the real world. An otherworldly strength flooded into his body briefly, hot and fast, and he felt himself shudder as the power whipped about in his chest. Then it was gone, the energy passed to the rope spinning above his head, and suddenly it was moving with its own momentum. Letting go with one hand, he retained a grip on its length with the other. The rope coiled above his head as it span, reaching ever higher speeds.
He heard Grayling gasp in astonishment but his conscious mind was elsewhere, directing the magic that now sung along the entire length of the rope. With a command that was part gesture, part vocal the rope arced high in
