“But why?” shuddered Alec.
Seregil shook his head angrily. “I suppose the bastards get some perverse pleasure out of having their enemy looking on as they plot to overthrow his descendants. Perhaps they swear oaths on him, I don’t know. Factions like the Lerans don’t persist for generations without a good leaven of fanaticism.”
The chamber was about the size of Nysander’s workroom, and the hand of a master mason was evident in every line; dry, sound, and square, its walls showed no moisture or moss. The ceiling overhead, though not high, was vaulted and ribbed to give the room a less oppressive feel. It was furnished with a round table, several chests, and a few cabinets against the walls. A low dais with a second thronelike chair stood against the left-hand wall. A broad shield hung on the wall behind it.
“Another sacred artifact,” Seregil noted grimly, examining the crowned dragon design painted on the shield. “Queen Lera’s, no doubt. I wonder who they’re grooming to carry it?”
“I thought she didn’t have any heirs?”
“She had no daughters, but there are always plenty of nieces and cousins in these Skalan families.”
Riffling through the chests and cabinets, they found a carefully organized collection of maps, correspondence, and documents.
“I’ll be damned!” Seregil spread a huge, yellowed parchment on the table. “Plans of the Rhíminee sewers. And see here, next to the draftsman’s mark?”
Alec recognized the tiny image of a coiled lizard. “Kassarie’s family must have built the sewers.”
“Parts of them, anyway. It was a huge undertaking. Imagine what this would be worth to enemy sappers!”
Resuming their search, they soon turned up enough damning correspondence to bring nobles of a dozen houses to Traitor’s Hill.
Opening a chest, Alec reached to push aside a rumpled swath of wool. Beneath it his fingers encountered cold, rounded metal.
“Seregil, look what I found!” At the bottom of the chest gleamed eight gold baps still bearing the Queen’s Treasury mark.
“The White Hart gold! Our lady’s been busy, though. These are shipped in lots of twenty-four. I tell you, Alec, if Kassarie isn’t the head of the Lerans herself, then she’s in it up to her ears!”
The gold was too heavy to carry away, so Seregil selected a few of the more incriminating letters and divided them with Alec. Turning to the corpse again, he gently removed the rings from the withered fingers, murmuring something in Aurënfaie as he did so.
He handed Alec the silver ring, and strung the seal around his own neck on a bit of string.
“We’re Watchers on this job, and this is Watcher business,” he said with uncommon earnestness. “If anything happens to one of us, the other goes on, no matter what. We’ve got to get at least one of these to Nysander. Do you understand?”
Alec slipped the ring onto his thumb with a grudging nod.
“Good. If we get separated, meet me at the tree we camped under.”
“The last time you carried something that way it got us into an awful mess!” Alec noted wryly, touching the seal ring where it hung against his friend’s breast.
Seregil dropped the ring down the front of his tunic with a grim smile. “I’m not the one this will harm.”
Putting the room back in order, they hurried back up to the open top of the tower. Seregil studied the sky with relief; the job had taken far longer than he’d anticipated, but it looked like they still had a little time to spare. As they came out from behind the tapestry into the corridor, however, some instinctive alarm went off in the back of his mind.
Something was different.
He grasped the hilt of his sword, belly tightening coldly again.
The light. Someone had turned up the wick on the night lamp.
Alec had spotted it, too, and was reaching for his own weapon.
They crept up to the intersection of the two corridors, bare feet silent on the smooth floors. The hallways appeared deserted. Bearing right, they headed back toward the northeast tower. They’d nearly reached it when the door swung open and two men with swords stepped out.
There was no time to take cover. Not knowing how many more men might be behind the others, Seregil and Alec turned and bolted back the way they’d come.
“There he is!” a man yelled behind them. “And he’s got another with him! Here! He’s up here!”
At the juncture of the corridors they cut to the right and made a dash for the northwest tower. More shouts rang out behind them as they flung open the door and plunged inside.
“Go on, I’ll follow!” Seregil ordered, and was relieved when Alec didn’t stop to argue.
A sizable pack of armed men was coming on at a run. Grabbing the wooden bar from the corner by the door, he slammed the door and rammed the bar into its brackets. A heavy body hit the door from the other side, then another. Muffled curses followed him as he fled down after Alec.
He caught up with him just below the second-floor entrance to the tower. Rounding a corner, however, they saw torchlight coming from below.
“Second floor!” hissed Seregil, scrambling back up the stairs.
Footsteps pounded toward them from above and below as they reached the door. There was no time for caution. Swords at the ready, they threw it open and dashed out into the large chamber beyond.
Its sole occupant was an old woman with a lamp. At the sight of them, she dropped her light and ran off through the workshop beyond, shrieking for help at the top of her creaky voice. Ignoring the flames spreading out from the broken lamp, Seregil barred the door.
“This must be where all that snoring was coming from,” said Alec, looking around unhappily.
It was a barracks and there were more empty beds than Seregil wanted to count.
“Everybody’s awake now,” he noted grimly, heading for the southwest tower. “Come on, let’s try this one.”
“Up or down?” Alec demanded as they ducked in and barred the door.
“Down.”
But rounding the third turn, they ran headlong into another gang of Kassarie’s men.
Having the higher ground saved them. Alec and Seregil struck out with their swords before their attackers could get their weapons up. Two men fell, their bodies blocking the stairs long enough for them to retreat. Another man came at them from above, swinging a short club. In the lead, Alec ducked the blow and thrust his sword between the man’s ankles. Seregil got in a good jab as the unfortunate man tumbled forward, then heaved the body on down the stairs.
Someone was trying to batter down the second-floor door as they passed. Dashing on, they found themselves back on the third floor.
Alec set the bar across the door, then doubled over panting. “Where now?”
“Let me think!” Seregil wiped his brow with one tattered sleeve. They’d been up and down how many towers? And how many doors had he blocked? No matter, really; by now all of them would be guarded.
Just ahead of them a corridor door flew open and they found themselves faced with four more men.
Falling on the newcomers, Seregil managed to strike down one before the man could draw his sword. The rest put up a savage fight but were no match for their attackers. Seregil ran a second man through, then turned in time to see another stab Alec in the left arm. The boy recovered in an instant and seized the advantage, cutting his attacker across the thigh. The man fell back with a cry and Seregil dispatched him. In the melee, the fourth man took to his heels and escaped down the corridor.
“Let him go,” Seregil ordered as Alec started off in pursuit. “You’re wounded. How bad is it?”
Alec flexed his bloodied arm. “Just a nick.”
Angry shouts interrupted them as a gang of men dashed into view beneath the night lamp. “Here. They’re back here!”
“This way!” Seregil bolted through the open doorway the four men had appeared from.
Beyond lay a small storage chamber, and on the far side of it another door stood open. Charging on, they r
aced up a narrow stairway, threw open the trap door at the top, and came out on the flat roof of the keep.
“We’re cornered!” cried Alec, looking around.
A quick circuit of the ramparts proved him right. There was no other way down; looking over the low parapets, they found impossible drops on every side. Behind them, Kassarie’s men were already clambering up through the trap door with torches, swords, and clubs.
“We make our stand here,” Seregil growled, retreating to the southern rampart.
Back to back, swords at the ready, they stood fast as the grinning mob advanced to form a menacing half circle around them.
“We have them, my lady. The boy and a beggar man,” someone called out.
More torches bobbed into view, and the men parted for Lady Kassarie. Wrapped in a dark cloak, hair in a loose braid over one shoulder, she advanced to inspect the interlopers. Alec recognized the old manservant, Illester, at her side.
“Beggar man? Oh, hardly that.” She frowned. “Lord Seregil í Korit. And—Sir Alec something, isn’t it? Had I known of your interest in my affairs, gentlemen, I would have extended you a proper invitation.”
Seregil threw back his tattered cloak and made her a small, mocking bow. “My Lady Kassarie ä Moirian. Your recent interest in my affairs was invitation enough, I assure you.”
Kassarie gave him an appraising look. “Your reputation fails to do you justice. Your little jaunt up to Cirna exhibited far more initiative than you’re given credit for, and now this! Who would have suspected such enterprise? But then, that was foolish of me. The dandified wastrel you’re made out to be could never have inveigled himself so skillfully into the chambers of power.”
“You flatter me, lady.”
“You’re too modest, my lord. After all, you’ve captured the ear of wizards and princesses.” Kassarie’s mouth twisted with a bitter sneer. “But then, you’re one of them, aren’t you? Some kin to our mongrel royalty? I trust you enjoyed your reunion with Lord Corruth.”
Seregil’s jaw tightened. “For that abomination, my lady, you have my family’s curse.”
“I shall do my best to be worthy of it. Now tell me, on whose behalf have you invaded my home?”
“We’re agents of Idrilain the Second, the true and rightful queen of Skala,” Seregil replied.
“Bravely spoken!” laughed Kassarie. “And how unfortunate for me if that were so. Yet I have my own agents, you see, very skillful and reliable ones. If you were working for the Queen I would know. No, I think your Aurënfaie ties go a bit deeper than is generally supposed. Your people would be only too happy, I’m certain, to discredit Skalans loyal to the true line!”
A strange, hectic light came into her eyes as she spoke these last words. Gripping his sword more tightly, Seregil thought with disquieting certainty, She’s going to kill us.
“It’s of small importance, I suppose,” she went on darkly. “Your disappearance may cause a certain stir, but few, I think, will mourn you.”
“Others will come,” Seregil retorted. “Others like us, when you least expect them.”
“And find me flown. That fool Teukros did more harm than you could. But you know about Teukros, don’t you? This boy came asking for him.” Her gaze shifted to Alec. “And repaid my hospitality by seducing my scullery maid.”
“She didn’t know anything,” Alec told her, suddenly fearful for the girl. “I tricked her into letting me in.”
“Ah, the gallant suitor speaks.” Kassarie gave him a mocking smile. “A position in the great city, promises of passion to come—How pathetically common, but so effective. But she proved a poor choice for your dupe. Her aunt caught her sneaking out with a traveling bundle a short while ago.”
“We soon beat the truth out of her,” Illester cackled. “The girl never was very reliable.”
“Please, don’t hurt her,” Alec said weakly.
“Of course, I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for the poor, homely thing,” Kassarie continued. “She was heartbroken to learn of your perfidy. But you’ll have a little time to reflect on that. Gentlemen, throw down your swords!”
Seregil felt Alec tense behind him, awaiting his lead. Studying Kassarie’s imperious face in the torchlight, he weighed the chances of coming down off this roof alive. It seemed doubtful.
“I’ve little faith in your hospitality,” he replied, stalling for time. Think, man, think! Find a thin spot in the mob! How far to the stairs, the tower door?
“You’ve given me quite enough trouble for one night,” Kassarie snapped, losing patience. “Look around! You can’t fight your way out. Look behind you. A thousand feet down. Teukros screamed all the way to the bottom when they threw him off. Will you?”
Beside him, Seregil heard Alec’s tiny, choked groan. If surrender offered even the sliver of a chance—
Leap, dear boys!
Nysander’s shout jolted them both like a war cry, though it was obvious that no one else had heard.
“My lady commands your surrender,” Illester barked.
“Did you hear?” hissed Seregil.
“I can’t!” Alec whispered back. He was white with fear, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Enough of this,” snarled Kassarie, eyeing them with growing suspicion.
“You must!” Seregil pleaded, his own belly lurching at the idea.
“No—”
Seregil, Alec, leap! It must be now!
“Seize them!” cried Kassarie. “Take them alive!”
“Alec, go!”
“I can’t—”
Now, Seregil, for the love of Illior!
“Now!” yelled Seregil. Flinging his sword aside, he seized Alec around the waist and heaved him over the parapet. Trying not to hear the scream that fell away into the blackness, he vaulted after him and launched himself into the abyss. Kassarie’s sardonic laugh lashed out after him.
For a horrifying instant Seregil simply fell, eyes squeezed shut, the insubstantial wind beating up into his face.
Then the magic struck.
A swift, wrenching sensation shot through him, as if his soul were being pulled from his body. This was followed a splendid lightness, though he was still falling, dragged down by some entangling thing. Opening his eyes to a wondrous blaze of stars, he struggled free of his tunic and flung out his …
Wings!
Lovely, powerful, striped wings that sliced into the air and found purchase there. Leveling out into a glide, he looked down with his new eyes and saw another bird floundering awkwardly up toward him, hooting wildly all the way. He wouldn’t have thought it possible for an owl to look flabbergasted, but Alec did. Their empty clothes tumbled into the darkness as they winged up and over the keep.
Kassarie had moved to the parapet overlooking the road and was gesturing at a body of riders thundering up the road toward her gates. Torches streaked and veered in the courtyard below as her people scattered to meet the attack.
The wind sang deliciously through their feathers as Seregil and Alec spiraled down to meet the riders. Alec let out another excited hoot as his sharp eyes made out the insignia of the Queen’s Horse Guard. Klia rode at the head of the party, flanked by Myrhini and Micum.
Diving in low, Seregil flew in front of Micum.
“Seregil, is that you?”
Seregil swooped down again and landed on Micum’s outstretched arm, feeling the roughness of chainmail grating under his talons.
“Is it him?” Klia asked as the large horned owl flapped for balance.
Seregil bobbed his head and winked one great yellow eye.
“It’s him!” cried Micum. “Is Alec with you?”
Seregil bobbed again as Alec winged by.
“Go to Nysander,” said Micum. “He’s back down the road with Thero and Beka. Wait, what’s this you’ve got?”
Micum lifted the ring that hung against the owl’s buff breast. The loop of string had held, though Seregil had not noticed the slight weight of it as he flew. Micum pocketed it for him
and Seregil spread his broad wings and flapped off to join Alec.
Following the road, Alec soon spotted a small fire below. Nysander and Thero sat cross-legged beside it, watched over by several uniformed riders.
Landing was a far trickier business than flight, it. turned out. After several unsuccessful attempts to copy Seregil’s smooth descent, he finally ended up in an ungainly heap at a soldier’s feet.
“Alec?” asked a familiar voice.
Beka knelt and set him upright, then smoothed his feathers gently. Spreading his toes out for balance, Alec blinked up at her and gave a soft hoot. Something moved under his foot; it was the silver Aurënfaie ring, still around one feathered toe. Raising his foot, he hooted at Beka until she took it.
Seregil, meanwhile, had settled gracefully on Nysander’s upraised arm.
“Thanks to the Lightbearer! We were not certain the spells found you in time,” Nysander told him, looking utterly exhausted.
“We were lucky to locate you at all,” added Thero. “We nearly didn’t, you know, with all your dashing around. Shall I change them back now, Nysander?”
“If you would. I am quite depleted.”
This transformation occurred as swiftly as the first, and with the same momentary disorientation.
After an instant’s dizziness, Alec found himself standing naked in front of Beka.
“You might want this.” Beka handed him her cloak, doing her best not to laugh at the expression of shocked realization spreading hotly over his face.
Mortified, Alec hastily flung it on. In the excitement of the moment he had not anticipated such complications. Taking the ring back from her, he turned to Seregil, who was kneeling beside the older wizard. “I lost the papers with my clothes, but I still have this.”
“And another,” Seregil gasped, cradling his head in his hands as the usual wave of post-magic nausea swept over him. “The Consort’s seal. Micum has it—Nysander, we found it. There’s a room below the ruined tower. We have to— We— Tell him, Alec!”
Retching, he staggered off into the shadows.
“Kassarie’s a Leran for certain,” Alec continued excitedly. “She’s still got some of the stolen gold and the body of Lord Corruth!”