a prism, or through a glass of water, the bars seeming to jog slightly to the right for a few feet, then resuming their course above. As sometimes happened to him during times of stress, Silverdun found himself focusing on this odd optical illusion rather than the problem at hand. A trick of the mind, perhaps, to stave off despair.
Silverdun stepped forward to examine the trick of light more closely, his curiosity momentarily dispelling his discomfort. When he looked more closely, he smiled.
This was no trick of the light; the bars had actually been shifted by Ilian's fold. When Than swapped with Silverdun, he'd simply rotated the space around them in a half-circle. But the bars didn't quite line up properly when reversed.
Silverdun's face and shoulders still burned where Than had pulled him against the iron. Wincing, Silverdun ran at the off-kilter section of the bars and kicked out with all his might. The pain was intense, the same crawling sensation, now running up his leg, twisting his scrotum. The bars bent and cracked, but didn't break.
He stepped back for another kick. By the queen's tits, he did not want to do this again. He did it anyway.
Silverdun's second kick sent a huge portion of the cell door flying backward with an ugly metallic clatter. He pulled his leg back too quickly, however, and caught his shin on the sharp edge of one of the bars that had been cut apart. The cold iron dug into his flesh, creating an entirely new kind of pain, like barbed ice in the blood. Silverdun staggered backward, falling to the floor. He screamed.
There was a creaking noise. Silverdun looked up. The lock of the cell's door was now on the floor, part of the portion that Silverdun had kicked away. The creaking was the sound of the door swinging open on rusted hinges.
He stood, shaking, eased himself through the opening with extreme care, and hurried up the stairs, taking the knife from his boot with a shaky hand.
Silverdun hurried up the stairs to the main floor and stopped. Silence. Silverdun replaced the knife in his boot, exchanging it for the petite arbalete on the wall of the main room. He cocked it as quietly as possible, ensuring that the quarrel was set properly, just as Jedron had taught him.
Where would Than have gone? Upstairs? Or would he have attempted to escape in the Splintered Driftwood? Silverdun headed for the stairs, if for no other reason than the fact that the wound in his calf was still screaming, and the thought of running all the way to the quay filled him with dread. Each step toward Jedron's office, however, was like a knife-thrust in his leg. There had never been anywhere near as many steps in this staircase as now, even at Silverdun's most exhausted.
As he rounded the stairs to the level of his own bedroom, there was a loud crash from above, and a muffled shout. Silverdun forced himself forward, his body protesting with every movement.
Just when he thought he couldn't take another step, he reached the top, and the wooden door to Jedron's office. He pushed it open.
Jedron and Ilian were inside, facing each other. They'd been grappling with one another. The desk was broken, on its side. Books and maps were strewn everywhere. Jedron and Ilian circled one another, both unarmed. Ilian's face was red and he was sweating profusely. Jedron was flushed, but no sweat appeared on his brow. Neither man turned when Silverdun entered the room.
'Glad you're here, Silverdun,' said Jedron. 'Perhaps you'd like to pitch in? Test some of those skills I've drummed into you?'
Than scowled. 'You know that he's mad, Silverdun! If you don't believe me, ask him what happened on the night you were drugged! Ask him!'
'He's just trying to confuse you, boy. He knows you wouldn't understand.'
'That man you saw,' said Ilian, 'the one on the table. His name was indeed Ironfoot. He was the other recruit. Jedron-'
Jedron lunged at Ilian, tackling him and pushing him backward. He was strong, Silverdun knew. But Than seemed evenly matched with him.
Silverdun held the petite arbalete up, aiming at the two men. This was clearly a serious situation, but it was also utterly preposterous. Part of him wanted to shoot both of them and try to sail the boat back to the mainland himself, where he would find Everess and kill him using one of the nearly infinite methods that Jedron had taught him. Unfortunately, the tiny crossbow contained only one bolt, and Silverdun doubted he could take either Than or Jedron hand to hand even when his entire body wasn't racked with pain. So he'd have to pick one or the other. But which?
Than got his feet between himself and Jedron and shoved hard; Jedron was flung backward, into a bookcase, smashing it, sending books and scrolls flowing onto the floor. Jedron pushed himself up into a standing position.
Jedron glared at Silverdun with the fierce rictus that passed for his smile. 'Just like I told you at the dock, eh boy? Nothing is as it seems!'
'Ah,' said Silverdun. He aimed the crossbow at Jedron's head and pulled the trigger.
