The army of Vos was renowned throughout the peninsula for its efficiency, be it at grinding down the defences of an enemy city or calculating the food and supplies a force would need on a long march and ensuring it would receive them in good order.
That same efficiency was apparent here, in the depths of the Citadel. Lucius cast a rueful eye around his cell, illuminated only by the torchlight flickering through the barred window narrow in the single, stout oaken door. The flagstones were spotless, with any evidence of the previous occupants of the cell removed before he set foot inside himself. The manacles that bound his hands and feet to wall and floor were well-oiled with secure locks intended to foil the best efforts of any thief who managed to not only get a hand free, but smuggle a pick in with him.
He shared the cell with Luber, the thief arrested alongside him. He was a Vos-born rogue who had sought the freedoms of Turnitia only to find his old empire sweep over his new home with ease. He was well aware of Vos efficiency, and had spent much of his time bemoaning their fate, regaling Lucius with unwelcome tales of torture and mutilation before exhaustion finally overwhelmed him.
Ignoring the man's gentle snores, Lucius cast his eyes around the cell, debating exactly what to do next. The manacles, and even the cell door, posed no problem for him. There were any number of ways he could call the magic to his aid to find freedom, from the freezing of the chains so they would shatter with a sharp strike, to allowing the energy to increase his own strength enough to force the door open. There were few prisons that could hold an accomplished Shadowmage for long.
No, his problem would be with whatever happened next. Lucius was aware of guards passing by his cell door at semi-regular intervals, and he had already begun to count the minutes to the next arrival in order to determine the changing patterns. Assuming he could leave the cell without alerting them, he would then find himself in the heart of an enemy stronghold that had gained a reputation for absolute security. It was the home of every Vos soldier in Turnitia, and he did not relish the idea of providing them all with sword and crossbow practice. They were already too good.
Nor could he await the justice, such as it was, of Vos. Arrested thieves could expect the briefest of trials, followed by a stripping of their possessions (his sword and mail were not much, but they were his and he valued them) and, likely as not, the loss of a hand or foot in order to remind the citizens of the city that while Vos brought many economic benefits, disobedience would not be tolerated.
There was also something larger taking place, Lucius now realised. He thought back to the skirmishes in the merchant quarter, and the arrival of the guard — and the passwords that the Guild men had uttered. If the Guild of Coin and Enterprise had bought the guard… as unthinkable — not to mention unlikely — as it was, it spelt nothing but trouble for the Hands. They may as well try to fight the entire city.
Thoughts buzzing around his head like angry hornets, Lucius jerked himself back into alertness when he heard the now familiar heavy footsteps and chink of mail that signalled the arrival of another pair of guards. He frowned, and gave an angry sigh. The guard, it seemed, were intentionally varying the regularity of their patrols past the cells in order to throw the senses and timing of the inmates. However, there had to be an underlying order to their patrols (they were Vos, after all), and Lucius had begun to think he had discovered it. This patrol threw his calculations right out the non-existent window, however.
A jangle of keys on a chain and the sliding of several locks in the door heralded the arrival of three armed men. The first two stood either side of the cell's entrance, hands on sword hilts but in a casual stance that suggested they expected no real trouble. The third man to enter caught Lucius' attention immediately, for his tight, moustachioed face and narrow, suspicious eyes exuded both menace and authority. His presence seemed to fill the cell, making it seem that much smaller. Wearing a black leather waistcoat studded with metal plates, he might have looked like many of the thieves Lucius knew, were it not for the obvious expense and elegance of his armour. A long red cloak swept behind him, pinned to his waistcoat with elaborate gold brooches, and the hilt of his longsword was similarly well decorated.
"Good evening," he said, and Lucius saw he almost clicked his heels as he bent his head in mock salute. "I am Baron Ernst von Minterheim, Commander of the Citadel, Colonel of the Vos Empire and Master of the Guard."
He smiled briefly at his two prisoners. "I want to know the location of your guildhouse, its defences and a roll of all its members. As Commander of the Citadel, it is within my discretion as to the best methods to obtain this information so, in a way, it is up to you how this will go. We'll start with you."
The commander gestured at Luber, and the two guards sprang into action. One pulled the man to his feet, while the other busied himself with the locks round Luber's ankles and wrists. As he was carried out, Luber flashed a worried look at Lucius, who was paying more attention to the movements of the guards, watching for any opportunity to spring a bid for freedom. For he knew he would be next.
It came quicker than he thought. As the guards dragged Luber out of the cell, another pair stepped around the Commander to haul Lucius to his feet. He felt the manacles release his limbs from their pinching grasp, only to be replaced by an iron-like grip that drew his arms behind his back in a well-practised move. Propelled out of the cell, he was dragged bodily along a corridor and down a set of steps that descended further into the fortress. His mind churned as his feet slid along the flagstones, determined not to aid the guards in their labours in any way.
Any thieves captured by the guard would be in for a hellish evening, Lucius knew, but it would be the morning before anything more permanent would take place. Lucius was betting on this, if the Guild had any say on events in the Citadel, and the Vos guard liked a public display to stamp their authority on the citizens of Turnitia. A good hanging or maiming always drew a decent crowd, regardless of who was suffering.
That gave him some time, at least. He guessed the Vos guard and their commander would be inventive during their questioning, but Lucius had taken a beating before and believed he could face up to another one. His worry was how many other thieves had been caught, and how many of them would be quickly broken.
As they stepped out of the staircase and entered another level, Lucius noted that the environment seemed darker, and it took him a few seconds to realise that the torches down here were spaced further apart, creating more shadows; and a far more foreboding atmosphere. All part of the Vos game he decided, an attempt to convince those brought down here that hope was as far away as the day-lit world. The cries and moans from the cells they passed served to add to the atmosphere of impending defeat, a promise of what any prisoner would inevitably face. Lucius guessed that perhaps a dozen men and women were being questioned, though he had no way of knowing whether they were all thieves caught that night.
A painful crack, followed by sustained sobbing caught Lucius' attention as he was dragged past one such cell, and it was followed by a rumble of laughter from within.
Lucius was thrown onto the floor of a nearby cell, this one even smaller than his previous residence. He struck the ground and rolled, but was instantly grabbed again and shoved into the single wooden chair that was bolted to the flagstones. A heavy hand forced him back into the uncomfortable seat while others grabbed at his hands and feet, securing them to iron clasps, holding him immobile. One guard left the cell, while the other stationed himself behind Lucius, out of view but his presence menacingly obvious.
Taking a breath to compose himself, Lucius began to take in his surroundings, inspecting the clasps holding him to his chair, the thickness of the cell door, the space he might have to manoeuvre, should he break free and be forced to fight. His calculations were interrupted by the cell door opening again and another guard entered, followed by Commander Ernst von Minterheim.
"I have little time and less patience," he announced casually, almost seeming bored by this duty. "We already have much of the information we require, and your fellow thieves caught this evening have been most co-operative. I merely require you to confirm some of what they have told us. If your tales support one another, you can all go free come morning. Lie to me, and you will all hang."
Lucius looked up at him with a rueful expression. "I will not co-operate."
The commander gave a nod, and Lucius felt strong hands press down on his shoulders from behind. The guard who had entered the cell with the Commander stepped up and backhanded him with a mailed fist.
His head whipping round with the blow, Lucius gasped with the sudden pain, and he worked his jaw to ensure it was not broken. He glanced back at the Commander, this time with a baleful expression.
"That was just the start of what could be a very long evening for you," von Minterheim said. "Now, what is your name?"
Lucius stared back, saying nothing. Another mailed swipe set his teeth ringing.
"How long have you been with the Hands?"
This time Lucius' silence was met with a blow straight to his face. He felt something in his nose crack under the fist, and his eyes watered.
"Who are the current members of your Council?"
Lucius did not see the next strike coming, and he jerked against the clasps of the chair as the side of his head exploded in pain, causing the whole world to reel, then spin. A hand grasped him under the chin to hold his head upright before another backhanded blow blasted across his face. Hanging his head low, Lucius spat blood down his chest.
"I don't have time for another tight-lipped thief," he heard von Minterheim say, as if from a great distance. "Carry on with him. Let me know if he decides to loosen his tongue."
As light slowly flooded back into Lucius' world, he felt pain. His face felt like it had swollen to twice its normal size and, as he roused himself awake, the movement sent sharp bolts that lanced through his stomach and chest. Duller was the ache from his wrists and ankles, where they had been bruised from the clasps of the chair. Opening his eyes a fraction, he saw that his limbs were bound once again by chained manacles, and he guessed he was back in his cell.
Low voices made him aware he was not alone and, glancing at his cell mates, he saw he was somewhere else entirely. This cell was much larger, and held more than a dozen other thieves, all bound by hand and foot to the walls and floor as was he. Luber was to his right, and the man looked a wreck, with blackened, puffed up eyes and a dried slick of blood running down his chin. Guessing he looked no better himself, Lucius glanced round the other captives, tuning in to their low, hushed conversations.
"It'll be suicide," said one in a hiss.
"Better that than hang," answered another, a thin, reedy man about the same age as Lucius. "I heard von Minterheim say it himself; anyone not making a deal with them is strung up in the courtyard this morning."
"So, which of us made a deal?" a woman's voice asked, her tone one of guarded suspicion.
"Not me," said the thin man, who Lucius now recognised as a counterfeiter called Aeron. "Can't imagine anyone would."
"Oh, come on. There's, what, fourteen, fifteen…" she said, counting the bodies surrounding her. "Sixteen thieves here. You certain no one spoke?"
"Not really a problem for us right now," Lucius heard himself mumble.
"Hey, Lucius is awake," the original voice said. "What was that you said?"
Lucius worked his mouth for a few seconds, trying to find some moisture while ignoring the pain of moving his lips.
"Whether one or more of us answered any of the guard's questions is rather academic," he said. "It does us no good or harm while we are locked up here — and if we hang this morning, it won't matter to us either way."
A mumble of agreement spread round the cell. Aeron spoke up again.
"There are some who think an escape attempt is pointless, that we'll just be caught and killed that much quicker."
Seeing one man lower his head to avoid Aeron's pointed stare, Lucius tried to give a confident smile, but his lips only partially co-operated. "Would anyone here rather they met their end at the end of a noose than while fighting for their lives?"
He was met with silence.
"Thought not."
"So, it just remains for us to get ourselves free," said the woman. Lucius gave her a quick look but while he thought he had seen her in the guildhouse from time to time, he could not remember her name. As battered and bruised as the rest of them, he was impressed that her eyes still shone with the light of defiance.
Rattling her chains, the woman nodded to her manacles. "Anyone manage to get themselves free of these?"
Inwardly, Lucius sighed. He was not ready to unleash his magic with all the thieves as witnesses, however simple it might be for him. Even with the Hands under assault from both the Vos guard and the Guild, it was too dangerous. Looking around the cell for an answer, he was conscious of Luber moaning next to him, and was surprised to realise that the man was chuckling. Others watched the man as he gave a bloodied grin then produced a small hooked bar of metal from his swollen lips. A lockpick.
"Nice going, Luber," the woman said. "But how are you going to reach your chains?"
"Well, Natalia," he said. "There's a little trick I learned growing up in Vosburg. You might want to look away…"
Lucius saw her sneer at that, then followed her gaze as her eyes widened in shock. Next to him, Luber's face had turned into a grimace as he strained his right hand against the manacles that clasped his wrist. He watched as the man flattened his fingers, then brought his thumb down into his palm, before he pulled, shuddering with the effort.
The thieves winced collectively as a dull, wet snap reached their ears, and Luber grunted from the pain. Incredulously, Lucius stared as Luber simply drew his hand back through the manacles. Gingerly, he took the lockpick from his mouth and began prodding at the restraint around his left hand.
Waiting with baited breath, the thieves watched as Luber, with obvious pain and difficulty, probed the locking mechanism of the manacles, the action made harder tenfold with the broken joint of his thumb. He twisted the pick, and they all strained to hear the click of the mechanism unlocking, but instead heard Luber grunt again in pain as his hand spasmed slightly, and the pick fell from the lock, dangling only by a fraction of an inch of its hooked end. Lucius saw the woman jerk against her chains involuntarily, perhaps thinking she could catch the pick from across the cell, but Luber's reactions were up to the task. Giving a pained but wry smile at his audience, he scooped the pick up, and re-seated it back in the lock.
"God's teeth, Luber," someone muttered. "Could do this quicker myself."
"And could you break your own wrist first?" the woman asked caustically, only to be met with silence.
Moving slower and more deliberately this time, Luber continued his probing, then gave another grunt.
"Got it," he whispered, and hushed words of encouragement swept around the cell as they all heard a tiny click. With a shrugging motion, Luber discarded the open manacles and set to work on those chaining his feet.
Eyes began to flicker towards the cell door, as the thieves collectively prayed that the guard would not return before Luber's work was done, but luck remained on their side. He quickly disposed of the restraints tying his feet and then, shakily, stood, grinning in his new found freedom. A quiet cough brought him back to the job in hand, and he set to work on another man Lucius recognised as his partner. Once another set of manacles lay useless on the floor, the newly freed thief produced his own lockpick from inside a boot, and together he and Luber shuffled around the cell, releasing their comrades.
Even before the last thief was released, Lucius was by the cell door, inspecting its lock. He was joined by the woman.
"No craftsmanship here," she said. Noting Lucius' quizzical gaze, she gestured at the lock. "Why build a cell whose door gives access to the lock on the inside? Especially one designed to hold thieves. All that money from Vos to build the Citadel, but no finesse in its application."
"Lucky for us," he said. "I'm Lucius."
She took his extended hand. "Grayling. I've seen you around. Rumour has it you can fight." In response, he shrugged. "There'll be plenty of fighting soon," she continued. "Let's hope you are as good as your reputation. Luber, you finished there? We need this door open."
It was Luber's partner who answered her summons and, as he went to work, Grayling ordered the thieves into pairs, and Lucius was faintly surprised at the ease at which they accepted her leadership.
"When you leave, take your chances to go left or right down the corridor — either is as good as the other, and it will mean we are not all cooped up in one place if the guard see us. Find weapons if you can, but don't take risks. The goal is to get out of this cursed place. Go for the roof or the ground floor, as you like. Find a route out of this tower and then past the walls — that will be the difficult bit. Better to go over than through, but if some of us are found, it may cause enough distraction for the others. Once out…" here she paused, as the enormity of what they were attempting struck home. "Split up and make your way back to the guildhouse. Standard procedures. Make sure you are not followed, and make wide detours. Understood?"
She was answered by nods and grunts.
"Lucius, you come with me," she said, barely looking him in the eye.
A loud click froze the thieves as the lock of the cell door was forced by Luber's partner. He looked back at Grayling who nodded. Pulling Lucius to one side, she opened the door open a crack and, seeing no movement, swung it open fully. She darted her head outside, looking up and down the open corridor.
"You two," she said, gesturing at a pair of thieves. "Go!"
The two men sprang up and, with just a second's hesitation, darted left. The next pair called by Grayling went right. As the thieves funnelled out, Lucius began to fidget, feeling that the guards could return any moment, trapping him in the cell while the other thieves made their bid for freedom. As the last pair left, Grayling looked up at him.
"Ready?"
Without waiting for a reply, she peered out of the corridor once more, then trotted left, her soft boots making no noise on the flagstones. They passed other cells, and Lucius briefly entertained the idea of releasing all the prisoners held in this tower, but realised that such a mob would as likely get themselves killed as escape, and that the odds were stacked against the thieves as it was.
At the first junction, Grayling cocked her head, then pointed right, and as they made their way down shadowy, torch-lit passages, they caught the occasional snatch of raised voices and the unmistakable clash of metal on metal. Some of the thieves had already been found, and were now fighting for their lives.
An alcove revealed a spiral stone staircase leading both up and down, and Grayling began to vault upwards, aiming for the pinnacle of the tower. However, the stairs stopped short at least one level, forcing them back into twisting corridors. Always one pace behind her, Lucius stopped short when Grayling held up a hand.
"Guard coming," she whispered. "Get him looking at you."
With no other words, she skipped to the left, nestling herself within the shadows of a support buttress that stood proud of the passageway's walls. An instant later, Lucius heard booted feet and the clink of mail from ahead, and realised Grayling's hearing was far more acute than his own. A second later, an armoured guard rounded a corner a few yards down the corridor, coming to a dead halt when he saw Lucius standing in his path.
They stared at one another for a brief instant, the guard surprised at the sight of an intruder, Lucius' mind fumbling for something to say.
He held up both hands. "I surrender."
Frowning now, the guard jogged down the corridor, arm outstretched to seize Lucius, but his motion was arrested by Grayling's foot. Catching the guard off balance, she snaked from the shadows, tripping him with an easy movement, then following his body down with her own. Throwing his helmet aside, one blow to the back of his neck rendered the guard unconscious.
Moving quickly, Grayling tugged at the guard's belt, freeing his weapons. The sword she passed to Lucius, while she grabbed a dagger for herself.
"Sure you don't want the sword?" Lucius asked, surprised she had taken the smaller weapon. She gave him a disparaging look.
"You men are always so worried about size."
Her smile might have been meant purely in jest, but it retained such a look of viciousness that Lucius found himself swallowing involuntarily. Grayling glanced over her shoulder, looking down the corridor.
"Grab that and pull it into the shadows," she said, indicating the motionless guard. "I'll scout ahead."
As quietly as he could, Lucius dragged the guard next to the buttress Grayling had used to ambush him, deeply aware of the grating sound the man's mail made on the stone floor. He tried lifting and shuffling the man as best he could, but it was a dead weight, and he kept flicking glances up and down the passageway, expecting to see half the Vos army bearing down upon him.
By the time he had finished, Grayling had returned, and he noted a triumphant look in her eyes.
"I know how we are getting out of here," she said. "But there is a problem. Come."
Pacing down the corridor behind her, Lucius followed Grayling past two junctions in the maze like arrangement of the tower. They came to a half open door, from which he heard the voices of several men. Following her gesture, he looked inside.
Lucius saw the problem immediately. Four more guards were inside, in various states of unreadiness. Two were reclined on cots, propped up against the far wall as they spoke with their colleagues, while the other pair were seated at a table, evidently finishing off their evening meal. Only one was fully armoured, his helmet lying discarded on the table, while another wore only his mail coat. The two on the cots wore only leather under-tunics, their mail hung from crosspieces on one side of the room. Quickly scanning the room for weapons, Lucius saw a wooden rack against the far wall in which rested a variety of swords, maces and daggers.
Grayling nudged him in the side, and he followed her eyes to a corner of the barracks. A ladder rose from the floor to a large trapdoor in the ceiling.
"To the roof," she mouthed.
Lucius frowned at her and jerked his head to the guards. Despite having the advantage of surprise, he was not sure they could defeat all of the men inside before they could launch a highly effective counterattack. If it were just him, with both armour and magic as his allies, he would be confident. However, he had nothing but the sword Grayling had managed to recover for him, and he did not fancy her chances at all, fighting well-trained soldiers with only a dagger.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him back down the corridor. When they were a safe distance away, she whispered her idea to him.
"I go in first. You move as soon as they spot me, got it?"
He nodded, but she took hold of his arm again, squeezing it to underline her point. "As soon as they see me, understand? If I am caught alone in there, I'm dead. I'm relying on you — can I do that?"
Lucius took a breath, still not liking their odds, but he nodded. "You can count on me."
"Good, "she said, smiling. "I had heard that."
He frowned at that, but Grayling had already left his side, pacing stealthily back towards the door, dagger held low. Watching as she reached the door, Lucius saw her drop into a crouch and then, slowly, silently, she passed the threshold and entered the room.
Using the half open door to shield his presence, Lucius watched in amazement as Grayling padded towards the men in the cots. She moved with exceptional grace, each footstep slow and deliberate. He had heard tales in the common room of some thieves with the ability to blend into their environments to such a degree that they practically became invisible, but he had not really believed it up to now. Keeping her back to the wall, Grayling moved with a slow but irresistible motion. Never completely still, yet never drawing attention to herself. One foot was placed in front of the other in total silence. Lucius marvelled at her ability, but felt her luck could not last.
It didn't. A casual glance from one of the men at the table became a double take as he focussed on the creeping woman who, battered and bruised with a naked dagger, must have looked for all the world like some evil spirit come to exact vengeance.
"Assassin!" the man cried out, stunning his comrades into inaction as he whirled around for the weapons rack.
Lucius was already moving, sprinting for the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grayling uncoil from her crouch, turning her stealthy pose into a killing strike in an instant. The man in the first cot was dead a second later, blood gushing down his tunic.
The last man at the table reeled back from Lucius' charge, falling from his chair and upending the table as he hit the floor. Kicking the table to one side, Lucius hacked the man down before he could cry out. The blade dug easily into the side of the guard's skull, and blood flowed across the floor as he yanked it free.
A hiss from Grayling caused Lucius to look up, and it was by reflex alone that he managed to raise the blade of his sword in time to catch the downward swing of the other guard's mace. The guard snarled at Lucius — spittle flying from his lips — before he reversed the direction of his weapon, and swung the mace again.
Unable to parry such a close blow, Lucius backed away and nearly tangled himself in the body at his feet. Seeing the guard advance and ready another swing, he reached down and grabbed the fallen chair, raising it just as the mace came towards his head.
The chair shattered into a dozen wooden splinters while the force of the attack caused him to stumble. As he went down on one knee, Lucius swung his sword in a backhanded blow intended to disembowel the guard, but the tip of his weapon just skittered off mail. Pressing home the advantage, the guard raised the mace above his head and brought it rushing down, perhaps hoping to blast Lucius straight through the floor and back into the cells.
Caught off balance, Lucius rolled back toward the door, hoping to gain a little ground. The guard followed immediately, seeing a helpless enemy before him. Kicking out, Lucius stalled the advance with a blow to the guard's shin, but his foot just glanced off the metal greaves. Another swing forced him to dive to his left, and his sword clattered on the floor as it fell from his grasp. On his rump and completely defenceless now, Lucius desperately kicked at the floor, trying to drive himself back, away from the guard, whose face was now triumphant with victory.
He felt the wall at his back, and knew there was nowhere else to run. Raising his arms in a futile effort to ward away the guard's finishing blow, he looked up to see the man staring down at him. The guard's fury had disappeared and his expression was almost serene. Lucius frowned in puzzlement, then opened his mouth in shock as the man sank to his knees and collapsed at his feet. Behind the guard stood Grayling, her dagger dripping with blood.
"Can I help you up?" she said.
Grayling was the first to the ladder and after reaching the top, she heaved with her shoulder to force the trapdoor open. Lucius looked past her slight form to see the blue sphere of Kerberos leering down at him, and he felt a rush of relief as he breathed in fresh air.
Vaulting up the ladder, he found himself at the top of the tower beside Grayling, looking down from the parapets. The roof was dominated by a huge trebuchet — its timbers harvested from Vos forests — the massive stones it threw piled next to it mined from quarries close to the city. A single pole rose higher even than the mighty war machine, but no flag flew from it this evening, that honour having currently been taken by one of the other towers of the Citadel.
The view of Turnitia from this height was spectacular. He could see the entire expanse of the city, from the ocean cliffs guarding it, up the slope to the townhouses on its far side. To the east and north, rows of blank roofed warehouses held the wealth of the city, while the Five Markets lay empty below.
Closer, the construction of the Citadel was equally impressive. The four other towers stood silent and imposing, acting as sentinels for the entire city, while the main keep — invisible to the rest of the world behind vast stone walls — nestled between them. Those walls ringed the entire complex, high above the level of most buildings in Turnitia, and were lined with troops. More soldiers were scattered in the courtyards directly below, and Lucius saw the frantic movements of an ongoing battle. Some of the thieves had escaped from the tower at ground level, only to find themselves cut off and surrounded.
"We cannot help them," Grayling said, perhaps wanting to forestall any foolish heroics Lucius might be tempted to perform.
"Agreed," he said after a moment, nodding. "So, what now?"
"Still thinking," Grayling said as she looked left and right for a solution to present itself.
"I thought you said you had a plan?"
"Got us this far, haven't I?" she retorted, though there was no venom in her voice. Slowly, Lucius began to realise that she was actually enjoying the moment, their brush with danger and the bid for freedom. He could not decide whether that was a good thing.
"We've got this," Grayling said, scooping up a coil of rope that lay next to the Vos banners that were draped down the sheer sides of the towers on special days marked by the empire. "But we can't just drop it down into the courtyard."
Staring out at the city, an idea came to Lucius. "If we could stretch it to the walls, they would be the last obstacle."
She looked at him doubtfully, as if he had suddenly turned simple. "Even if we had a hook to tie to the end, could you throw it that far?"
Walking to the edge of the battlements lining the tower, Lucius stared at the wall, trying to gauge the distance. As a horizontal throw, it would be impossible, but from their vantage point, they had height on their side. If they had just a little help.
"Find something," he said. "Anything that can act as a grappling hook. We need something that can dig into stone."
Grayling disappeared back down the trapdoor while Lucius scouted the roof of the tower. He had hoped to find something useful among the tools and supplies surrounding the war machine, but he was unsuccessful. When Grayling reappeared, he could tell from her expression that she had been no luckier.
She looked up at the trebuchet. "You know, there are stories of thieves making their escape by using catapults."
"Any thief telling that story is either a liar or a good deal shorter than he once was."
Grayling sighed. "We might have to go back down into the tower."
Closing his eyes, Lucius cursed. He knew what he had to do, but it would very likely mean an end to his place among the Hands.
"Grayling," he began. "You counted on me before. I need to count on you now."
"Of course," she said without hesitation.
"I mean it."
Something in his voice checked her, and she frowned at him. "What are you planning to do?"
It was his turn to sigh. "Stand back until I say. And you'll need a strip of cloth or short length of rope."
Still clearly puzzled, Grayling nevertheless followed his instructions, and dug around the trebuchet's supplies until she found something suitable.
Lucius took a deep breath as he began coiling the rope in his hands, staring fixedly at a portion of the opposite wall that seemed to have few guards on its ramparts. He turned his attention inward, seeking the threads of magic that constantly turned and twisted and, like an old friend, they came flooding back under his control.
He began to swing one end of the rope above his head, whipping it around faster and faster as he manipulated the threads to bring those he needed into the real world. An otherworldly strength flooded into his body briefly, hot and fast, and he felt himself shudder as the power whipped about in his chest. Then it was gone, the energy passed to the rope spinning above his head, and suddenly it was moving with its own momentum. Letting go with one hand, he retained a grip on its length with the other. The rope coiled above his head as it span, reaching ever higher speeds.
He heard Grayling gasp in astonishment but his conscious mind was elsewhere, directing the magic that now sung along the entire length of the rope. With a command that was part gesture, part vocal the rope arced high in the sky across the face of Kerberos before plunging down towards the wall. A bright flash of light surged along its length, pulling it taut as the tip rocketed downwards, plunging deep into the battlements of the wall. Feeling the magic spent as the conjuration was completed, Lucius pulled hard on the rope to ensure it had taken hold, then ran to the trebuchet to tie the loose end firmly. He cut a short length from it, and then returned to the battlements.
Throughout this, he avoided eye contact with Grayling, but was aware that she was giving him suspicious sidelong looks.
"Come on," he said. "You first."
With the briefest of pauses, Grayling threw her legs over the side of the tower and wrapped the cloth she had gathered around the rope. He saw her shift her weight in preparation to throw herself into clear air but she stopped, and turned to face him.
"I think I know what you are," she said.
He stopped for a moment, then looked directly into her eyes. "The others cannot know."
She nodded in understanding. "I'll make you a deal. We survive this and escape, it will be our secret. If not… well, it won't matter either way."
Cocking a half smile, Grayling put her dagger in her mouth and pushed off. Grasping the cloth wrapped round the rope in each hand, she quickly gained speed as she flew through the air, down to the wall below.
Lucius sat on the edge of the battlements as he twisted his short cord around the rope then, testing the strain to ensure it could bear him as well as Grayling, he jumped.
He tried to pull the ends of the cord across one another in an attempt to control his speed, but he gathered pace at an alarming rate as he shot down the rope. Feet dangling helplessly in the air, he was aware of shouts rising up from the courtyard, but whether they were directed at him or were the result of the ongoing battle below, he could not tell. Ahead, Grayling had already reached the wall and had dropped from the rope into a graceful roll. Even now, she was throwing her dagger at the chest of a guard but Lucius had greater concerns on his mind.
The wall was approaching at a terrible pace, the thick stone rearing up in front of him, growing ever larger. Belatedly, he tried to find the threads of magic, tried to summon energy that would enable him to avoid the inevitable collision that loomed. With the air whistling past his ears and the feeling of being utterly out of control, he was ashamed to find his concentration completely spent. As the wall approached, he tried to gauge his increasing speed and then let go of the cord.
For a brief second, he seemed to float through the air, and he fancied he might land neatly on his feet, coming to rest lightly on the ramparts of the wall. Instead, he barrelled forward helplessly. Tucking in a shoulder by sheer instinct at the last minute, he smashed into the battlements and the wind was forced from his body.
Lucius was completely dazed, and his head rang as he tried to take in air. He briefly thought he had been run down in the street by a racing wagon, and that well meaning citizens were trying to get him to stand once more. Not caring for their attentions, he tried to tell them that he just needed to sleep, but the words came out wrong. He was not even sure they were audible. Tucking his head under his arms, Lucius was irritated when someone dragged him to sit upright and started shouting in his face.
A sharp sting hit his cheek, and he shook his head. The voices seemed clearer now. He blinked and saw Grayling draw back her hand for another slap. He raised his own palm to show he was back with her, and it was sufficient to forestall the blow.
"Can you walk?" she hissed.
"I think so," he said, feeling the complete opposite. With her help, he stood, and though the world reeled at first, everything quickly settled down as he took a deep breath. The motion was accompanied by a nagging pain in his chest, and he reached down to hold his side.
"A rib, probably," Grayling said. "You were lucky that was the only thing you broke."
"Got to get out of here," he managed to say, and he found no argument from her.
"That's the easy part. Grab that man's sword. I don't know if there are others on this part of the wall, but we can't have gone unnoticed."
"Where are you going?"
Watching Grayling retrieve her dagger from the guard's chest, Lucius leaned heavily against the battlements, aware that the streets of Turnitia — and freedom — were just a few yards below on the other side. No other guards rushed their position and for this, he was grateful, as he did not think he could fight effectively in his current condition. Lucius yearned for a bed and a long rest, but steeled himself for just a little more discomfort before he could claim them.
Grayling had gone back to the rope and, wrapping her legs around it, pulled herself back along its length, hand over hand. After she had gone out a little distance, he saw her look back at the wall, as if sizing its dimensions. Then, taking the dagger from her mouth, she began to saw at the rope. Lucius frowned, as it seemed to him to be a remarkably foolish thing to cut a rope one was using for support. And sure enough, it snapped with an audible twang. Grayling dropped from view.
Stumbling to the edge of the rampart, Lucius looked down to see Grayling grinning up at him as she ascended the rope again. He leaned down to give her a hand as she threw a leg over the stone threshold, and instantly regretted it as pain lanced up his side.
As she stood next to him, Lucius looked at Grayling, the rope she held, and the wall.
"Don't get it," he said.
She rolled her eyes. "That fall robbed you of your senses. Watch."
Holding the rope in front of his face, she then threw it over the other side of the wall. It draped itself over the battlements to dangle gently just a few feet from street level.
"You see?" she said. "Simple."