Avenger

for the last two options; she simply refused to go anywhere near the runehelms again if she could help it.

Mirya looked and listened for a long moment, peering at any place that seemed like it might offer a clandestine meeting spot. Her eye fell on an old ruined mill just a little bit past the bridge. She couldn’t see anything in the shadows of its empty walls … but each time she looked away, her eye wandered back to that spot. Deciding to trust her intuition, she skirted the square by the foot of the bridge and ventured into the old shell of the building. “Well met?” she called softly. “Is anybody here?”

She heard nothing but the patter of raindrops, and the moaning of the rising wind. Then came a sudden rustle in the debris close by; a big rat scurried over the rubble. Mirya gave a startled yelp and leaped back as the creature vanished down a crevice, heading for the river bank. This was a foolish notion, she scolded herself. What if there’d been a band of ruffians lying in wait here?

She wrapped her cloak closer around her body and picked her way back toward the street-but then she heard another sound. “Mirya, is that you?” Hamil called. The halfling advanced from the darkness at the far end of the mill, sheathing the knife that gleamed in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re truly here,” Mirya said with a sigh of relief. She hurried back to meet Hamil in the middle of the ruined building. In the shadows of the far wall she now could make out Sarth’s horned silhouette. “It’s Geran,” she continued. “He’s been captured, and Rhovann is holding him in the dungeons below the Council Hall.”

“Damn it all!” the halfling swore. He paced in a small circle. “Now what? We certainly didn’t plan on this.”

Sarth frowned, and looked at Mirya. “How did you find us?”

“Geran came to my house earlier this evening, before he was caught. He mentioned that he’d be meeting you here at midnight. I’ve no idea what the three of you are up to, but I’m hoping that you can help him.”

“Me too,” Hamil muttered to himself. He glanced up at Sarth as he paced. “Do we have time to free him and carry on? For that matter, can we free him? He’s sure to be well guarded.”

“Geran had the scrolls, and the sword,” Sarth observed. “I might be able to translate us into the shadow, but Aesperus said that we would need Umbrach Nyth. Can we succeed without the sword, or Geran to wield it?”

The halfling shook his head, and came to a halt. He looked back up to Mirya. “What happened?” he asked.

Mirya couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “I betrayed him,” she said in a whisper. “Rhovann bewitched me tendays ago, and I didn’t even know it until I turned Geran in. It’s my fault.”

Hamil stared at her, a hard and cheerless look that chilled her to the marrow. His eyes flicked to Sarth, and Mirya realized that he was speaking silently to the sorcerer. The tiefling studied her for a moment, and shrugged. “It’s a clever and ruthless ploy,” he said to Hamil. “Rhovann is a wizard of formidable learning, brilliant and unscrupulous. Why should we be surprised that he conceived something like this?”

“Because I hate it when my enemy proves more clever than I thought,” Hamil replied. “How do we know that she isn’t still under the wizard’s influence? He used Mirya to catch Geran, maybe he now hopes to use Geran to catch us.”

“That I can test,” Sarth said. He advanced on Mirya and peered into her eyes. The tiefling’s orbs were the color of hot brass in the shadows. “Be still, Mirya. This will not harm you, but I must be certain. Zamai dhur othmanna.” With the last words, he raised his rune-marked scepter and brought his magic to bear; his eyes glowed as bright as candles, and Mirya felt a strange tingling sensation over her skin. She shuddered, but tried not to retreat.

After a moment, Sarth nodded to himself. “No enchantment holds her, but I detect the fading impression of one that was recently upon her. We can trust her.”

“That’s a relief,” Mirya said. “I feared that I was still under Rhovann’s spell without knowing it.”

“Start at the beginning, then, and explain to us what happened,” Sarth said.

Mirya started to speak, and then stopped herself. “No. We haven’t the time for that,” she answered. “I’ve a few loyalist fighters assembling near the Council Hall now. Every moment we delay, Geran remains in Rhovann’s power.”

The halfling and the tiefling stared at her. Then, slowly, Hamil nodded. “All right. Perhaps Rhovann isn’t expecting anyone to be able to mount a rescue so swiftly. Or perhaps we’ll all get killed. I don’t suppose you have a plan?”

She shook her head. “I can get you to the Council Hall unseen. After that, I hoped you’d have an idea.”

Hamil replied with a low laugh. “You surprise me, Mirya. You’re too practical for this sort of nonsense. Well, lead on, and we’ll see what we see.”

“This way, then,” Mirya replied. She led the halfling and the sorcerer back to the open cellar and its hidden entrance to the buried streets. A distant flicker of lightning brightened the sky as she scrambled back down to the old door, and the raindrops started falling thicker and faster. Her allies paused as she levered the door open again, looking dubiously at the dark passage revealed. Mirya retrieved her lantern and ducked inside; after a moment, she heard Sarth and Hamil following.

“Well, now I understand what you meant about getting to the Council Hall unseen,” Hamil said softly as they hurried along. “I never knew any of this was down here. How far do these tunnels go?”

“They lie under much of the new town, anywhere there’s been building atop the ruins of the old city,” Mirya answered. “They reach to Cart Street to the south, and as far as High Street on the east, but they don’t cross the Winterspear, of course. Still, they’re useful for smuggling and staying out of sight.” They passed through the old wine cellar, but no one was there; Mirya didn’t waste time, and simply pressed on ahead at the best speed she could manage. In another hundred yards she passed by the cramped door leading into Erstenwold’s cellar, and took a branching passage to her right. It took her one or two false turns, but she finally found her way to a wide but low cellar half filled with old rubble. Old casks, barrels, and trunks were stacked haphazardly around the bottom of an old wooden staircase that led up to a wooden door.

In the dim gleam of a lantern whose shutter was open only by a sliver, she saw several hooded figures waiting by the foot of the stair. Brun Osting raised the lantern and opened the shutter by a little more. “Mirya, is that you?” he called in a low voice.

“Aye, it’s me,” she said. “I’ve brought Hamil Alderheart and the sorcerer Sarth. They’ll help us get Geran out of the Council Guard’s clutches.” She quickly introduced Geran’s companions to her small group of loyalists-Brun, his cousin Halla, Lodharrun the smith, and Senna Vannarshel, the fletcher. It seemed that they were all Brun could find swiftly; Mirya decided that they’d have to do.

“Will we be enough?” Senna Vannarshel asked. “There might be scores of Council Guards guarding the hall.”

“Do not be concerned about them,” Sarth said. The tiefling smiled coldly. “Their numbers will not avail them.”

Mirya nodded in the dim light. She’d seen Sarth in battle before, when Geran dueled his cousin Sergen on the decks of a warship drifting through the skies of the black moon. The tiefling wasn’t boasting when he spoke in such a manner. “Up the stairs,” she told the others. “And try to be quiet about it.”

They climbed up the steep, dusty stairs. At the top there was a brief delay as Brun had to force the door open against the heavy barrels that had been left in front of it. Hamil quickly slipped past the burly brewer and went to the storeroom’s door, brushing a clear spot in one dirty pane of the window. After a quick peek, he opened the door a handspan and stuck his head out to look up and down the alleyway. The drumbeat of rain grew louder, and a breath of cold damp air-cool and clean after the close quarters of buried Hulburg-flowed into the storeroom. “No one’s around. Follow me!”

They filed out into the alley and splashed across through the cold puddles, gathering in a knot against a door in the back of the Council Hall-Hamil, Sarth, and Mirya to the left, and Brun, Halla, Lodharrun, and Senna Vannarshel to the right. The halfling gave everyone a look of warning, and then stealthily tried the handle. The door didn’t open. “Locked,” he whispered. “Give me a moment.” The halfling kneeled by the lock and drew a small pick from his sleeve.

“I don’t suppose we’ve any idea of where to find Lord Geran?” Senna whispered.

“In the prison below the hall. I saw him taken there. A guardroom blocks the way to the cells; there’ll be Council Guards there.”

“There it is,” Hamil murmured. He silenced the group with an upraised hand, and carefully peeked inside the