his fellows took the other end, and Otah lurched up.
They began their descent, Otah with his back to the center of the spiral
staircase. He watched the stone of the wall curl up from below. The men
grunted and cursed, but they moved quickly. The man on the higher poles
stumbled once, and the one below shouted angrily back at him.
The journey seemed to last forever-stone and darkness, the smell of
sweat and lantern oil. Otah's knees bumped against the wall before him,
his head against the wall behind. When they reached the halfway point,
another huge man was waiting to take over the worst of the carrying.
Otah felt his shame return. He tried to protest, but the commander put a
strong, hard hand on his shoulder and kept him in the chair.
"You chose right the first time," the commander said.
The second half of the journey down was less terrible. Otah's mind was
beginning to clear, and a savage hope was lifting him. He was being
saved. He couldn't think who or why, but he was delivered from his cell.
He thought of the armsmen new-slaughtered at the tower's height, and
recalled Kiyan's words. How do you expect to protect me and my house?
They could all be killed, his jailers and his rescuers alike. All in the
name of tradition.
He could tell when they reached the level of the street-the walls had
grown so thick there was almost no room for them to walk, but thin
windows showed glimmers of light, and drunken, disjointed music filled
the air. At the base of the stair, his carriers lowered Otah to the
ground and took his arms over their shoulders as if he were drunk or
sick. The commander squeezed to the front of the party. Despite his
frown, Otah sensed the man was enjoying himself immensely.
They moved quickly and quietly through mare-like passages and out at
last into an alley at the foot of the tower. A covered cart was waiting,
two horses whickering restlessly. The commander made a sign, and the two
bearers lifted Otah into the back of the cart. The commander and two of
the men climbed in after, and the driver started the horses. Shod hooves
rapped the stone, and the cart lurched and bumped. The commander pulled
the back cloth closed and tied it, but loose enough he could peer out
the seam. The lantern was extinguished, and the scent of its dying smoke
filled the cart for a moment and was gone.
"What's happening out there?" Otah asked.
"Nothing," the commander said. "And best we keep it that way. No talking."
In silence and darkness, they continued. Otah felt lightheaded. The cart
turned twice to the left and then again to the right. The driver was
hailed and replied, but they never stopped. A breeze fluttered the thick
cloth of the cover, and when it paused, Otah heard the sound of water;
they were on the bridge heading south. He was free. He grinned, and then
as the implications of his freedom unfolded themselves in his mind, his
relief faltered.
"Forgive me. I don't know your name. I'm sorry. I can't do this."
The commander shifted. It was nearly black in the cart, so Otah couldn't
see the man's face, but he imagined incredulity on the long features.
"I went to Machi to protect someone-a woman. If I vanish, they'll still
have reason to suspect her. My brother might kill her on the chance that