only smoldered, but the other was licking well up the dry wooden wall of the building.
Come back to me. Perhaps we can use this to our advantage.
Wait.
Nighteyes moved purposefully up the street, slipping from building to building as he went. Behind us, the granary fire began to crackle as it gained strength. He paused, sniffed the air, and changed his direction. Soon he was looking at another fire. This one was eating eagerly into a covered pile of hay at the back of a barn. Smoke rose lazily, wisping up into the night. Suddenly, a tongue of flame leaped up and with an immense whoosh, the whole pile was suddenly ablaze. Sparks rode the heat into the night sky. Some still glowed as they settled onto roofs nearby.
Someone is setting those fires. Come back to me now!
Nighteyes came swiftly. On his way to me, he saw another fire nibbling at a pile of oily rags stuffed under the corner of a barracks. An errant breeze encouraged it to explore. The flames licked up a piling supporting the building, and curled eagerly along the bottom of the floor.
Winter had dried the wooden town with its harsh cold as thoroughly as any heat of summer. Lean-tos and tents spanned the spaces between the buildings. If the fires burned undetected much longer, all of Moonseye would be a cinder by morning. And I with it, if I were still locked in my cell.
How many guard you?
Four. And a locked door.
One of them will have the key.
Wait. Let us see if our odds get better. Or they may open the door to move me.
Somewhere in the cold town, a man raised his voice in a shout. The first fire had been spotted. I stood inside my cell, listening with Nighteyes' ears. Gradually the outcry increased, until even the guards outside my door stood, asking one another, 'What's that?'
One went to the door and opened it. Cold wind and the smell of smoke coiled into the room. The brawler drew his head back in and announced, 'Looks like a big fire at the other end of town.' In an instant, the other two men were leaning out the door. Their tense conversation woke the old man, who also came to have a look. Outside, someone ran past in the street, shouting, 'Fire! Fire down by the granary! Bring buckets!'
The boy looked to the officer. 'Should I go and see?'
For a moment the man hesitated but the temptation was too much. 'No. You stay here while I go. Stay alert.' He snatched up his cloak and headed out into the night. The boy looked disappointedly after him. He remained standing at the door, staring out into the night. Then, 'Look, there's more flames! Over there!' he exclaimed. The brawler swore, then snatched up his cloak.
'I'm going to go and have a look.'
'But we were told to stay and guard the Bastard!'
'You stay! I'll be right back, I just want to see what's going on!' He called the last words over his shoulder as he hurried away. The boy and the old man exchanged glances. The old man went back to his bed and lay down, but the boy continued to hang out the door. From my cell door I could see a slice of the street. A handful of men ran by; then someone drove a team and wagon past at a fast clip. Everyone seemed headed toward the fire.
'How bad does it look?' I asked.
'Can't see much from here. Just flames beyond the stables. A lot of sparks flying up.' The boy sounded disappointed to be so far from the excitement. He suddenly recalled whom he was speaking to. He abruptly drew in his head and shut the door. 'Don't talk to me!' he warned me and their went to sit down.
'How far from here is the granary?' I asked. He refused to even glance at me, but sat stony-eyed, staring at the wall. 'Because,' I went on conversationally, 'I just wondered what you were going to do if the fires spread this far. I wouldn't care to burn alive. They did leave you the keys, didn't they?' The boy, glanced immediately toward the old man. His hand made an involuntary twitch toward his pouch as if to be sure he had them still, but neither made a reply. I stood by the barred window and watched him. After a time the boy went to the door and peered out again. I saw his jaw clench. The old man went to look over his shoulder.
'It's spreading, isn't it? A winter fire is a terrible thing. Everything dry as bones.'
The boy would not reply, but he turned to look at me. The old man's hand stole down to the key in his pouch.
'Come and bind my hands now and take me out of here. None of us wants to be in this building if the flames come this far.'
A glance from the boy. 'I'm not stupid,' he told me. 'I won't be the one to die for letting you go free.'
'Burn where you stand, Bastard, for all I care,' the old man added. He craned his neck out the door again. Even from afar I could hear the sudden whoosh as some building vanished in an eruption of fire. The wind brought the smell of the smoke strongly now and I saw tension building in the boy's stance. I saw a man run past the open door, shouting something to the boy about fighting in the market square. More men ran past in the street, and I heard the jangle of swords and light armor as they ran. Ash rode on the winds now and the roaring of flames was louder than the gusting winds. Drifting smoke grayed the air outside.
Then suddenly boy and man came tumbling back into the room. Nighteyes followed them, showing every tooth he had. He filled the door and blocked their escape. The snarl he let loose was louder than the crackling of the flames outside.
'Unlock the door of my cell, and he won't hurt you,' I offered them.
Instead the boy drew his sword. He was good. He did not wait for the wolf to come in, but charged at him, weapon leveled, forcing Nighteyes back out of the door. Nighteyes avoided the blade easily, but he no longer had them cornered. The boy followed up his advantage, stepping out into the darkness to follow the wolf. The second the door was no longer blocked, the old man slammed it.
'Are you going to stay in here and burn alive with me?' I asked him conversationally.
In an instant, he had decided. 'Burn alone!' he spat at me. He flung the door open again and raced outside.
Nighteyes! He's the one with the key, the old one who runs away.
I'll get it.
I was alone in my prison now. I half expected the boy to come back, but he did not. I grabbed the bars of the windows and shook the door against its latch. It barely budged. One bar felt slightly loose. I wrenched at it, bracing my feet against the door to lever at it with all my weight. An eternity later, one end twisted free. I bent it down and worked it back and forth until it came out in my hand. But even if all the bars came out, the opening would still be too small for me to get through. I tried, but the loose bar I gripped was too thick to get into the cracks around the door to pry at it. I could smell smoke everywhere now, thick in the air. The fire was close. I slammed my shoulder against the door but it didn't even shiver. I reached through the window and groped down. My straining fingers encountered a heavy metal bar. I walked my fingertips across it until I came to the lock that secured it in place. I could brush my fingers against it but no more. I couldn't decide if the room was truly getting warmer or if I were imagining it.
I was blindly bashing my iron bar against the lock and the braces that supported it when the outer door opened. A guard in gold and brown strode into the room, calling, 'I've come for the Bastard.' Then her glance took in the empty room.
In a moment, she pushed back her hood and became Starling. I stared at her in disbelief.
'Easier than I'd hoped,' she told me with a stark grin. It looked ghastly on her bruised face, more like a snarl.
'Maybe not,' I said faintly. 'The cell's locked.'
Her grin became a look of dismay. 'The back of this building is smoldering.'
She snatched my bar with her unbandaged hand. Just as she lifted it to smash at the lock, Nighteyes appeared in the door. He padded into the room and dropped the old man's pouch on the floor. Blood had darkened the leather.
I looked at him, suddenly aghast. 'You killed him?'
I took from him what you needed. Hurry. The back of this cage burns.
For a moment I could not move. I looked at Nighteyes and wondered what I was making of him. He had lost some of his clean wildness. Starling's eyes went from him, to me, to the pouch on the floor. She did not move.
