The northern guard was gone from sight, which was both good and bad. It had taken Leesil longer than he’d hoped to scale the wall. He leaned out between the merlons and dropped both bone knives. Brot’an silently caught them and began to climb.
Leesil crouched, peering southward. The southern guard hadn’t come into sight yet. To add to his annoyance, in barely half the time it had taken him to make the climb, Brot’an cleared the wall and handed back one bone knife. Leesil quickly sheathed it and refrained from looking anywhere but the wall and the keep. He never glanced about at the quiet night city.
Both he and Brot’an knew they were likely being watched. Neither would do anything to let any anmaglâhk nearby know they were aware of them. Hopefully, Magiere and the others would be able to draw them off soon, and right now, Leesil was more concerned about the city guards. The one thing they couldn’t have was someone sounding an alarm.
He looked north along the wall one more time.
“Let’s get to the ...” he began, but never finished as he turned back.
Beyond Brot’an, something moved at the inner edge of the wall’s top near its southern corner. Another guard, a third one, came up the steps out of the inner bailey.
Leesil held his breath and ducked as he jerked Brot’an’s sleeve. Soon enough that new guard would come walking along the rear wall. Everything had now gone wrong.
Brot’an peered between the barbican’s merlons, trying to find a line of sight. He dropped his right hand down at his side, and a stiletto slipped from his right sleeve as if of its own accord. The hilt settled into the shadow-gripper’s palm as the new guard reached the wall’s top.
Leesil was lost in panic—but not over the guard’s approach. Before he regained his wits, Brot’an rose in a flash and appeared to lash his arm forward before he dropped again.
The stiletto was gone from his hand.
Leesil made a grab for Brot’an’s arm, but the shadow-gripper snatched his wrist.
“Look quickly,” Brot’an whispered, “or you will miss it.”
Leesil barely rose for a peek. Killing had never been part of this. He should’ve never trusted Brot’an.
A dull thud sounded in the night.
The guard at the wall’s corner stiffened upright as his head flinched to one side. For a blink, it looked like he stood there in stillness. As Leesil heard the soft clatter of metal on stone, the man crumpled on the wall’s walkway.
Brot’an released Leesil’s wrist and rushed down the bailey wall.
Leesil had no choice but to follow—though first he pulled the lashing on his right winged blade. If the guard was still alive, Brot’an was not going to finish the man off. But the old butcher never even paused by the fallen guard. As Brot’an crouched and reached out to retrieve his fallen stiletto, Leesil slowed to a stop over the prone body.
He studied the still-breathing but unconscious guard with carrot red hair and a smattering of freckles. Then he noticed a darkening spot on the man’s temple—from blunt force and not the point of a blade.
Brot’an retreated on all fours before rising with his stiletto in hand.
Leesil shook his head slowly, eyeing Brot’an. It was impossible that anyone could make a blade, let alone its hilt, strike from that far away in the dark.
“Get to the window,” Brot’an whispered, “while I hide him.”
Without another word, he hefted the guard’s limp body and crept down the stairs into the bailey.
Still unnerved, Leesil hurried back to where the rear building met the bailey wall, determined to remain focused on the task at hand. The only thing that mattered was reaching Wynn. But he’d barely climbed up to the first window’s sill when a whisper from behind made him stiffen.
“We are off in our timing,” Brot’an said. “Get it open. The southern guard is already on his way.”
Leesil bit back a retort. The window was of simple design: two opening sides, each with two columns of small panes, and an inner central latch. The latch came first, and if he couldn’t get to it, he would have to score the frame and pop out a glass pane. The latter would take longer.
Pulling his new stiletto, he slipped the point between the window’s two hinged halves. He pushed the silver-white blade inward below where the latch waited. The frame’s wood creaked.
Leesil breathed in through his mouth and out through his nose, letting only one thought pass through his mind.
Focus on the task at hand.
Wynn knew something was happening. For several days, she’d seen no one but Dorian or small glimpses of a varied series of Rodian’s guards outside her door. Most nights it had been Lúcan on guard, which gave her some strange comfort. Sometimes she saw sages or guards walking the courtyard, but they didn’t really count. It was as if she had been all but forgotten, except for someone bringing her meals and guarding her door.
Wynn was well aware there were those outside the guild’s walls who would try to come for her soon. And now, that made everything else even worse. They couldn’t be stopped, and if things were different, she wouldn’t have wished it so. But she’d been cut off from sending word to Chane and could only hope he still waited at least one more night, because ...
Certainly, Magiere and Leesil wouldn’t be that patient, especially after Chap had located her position. Surprised at how much she hated being out of control of her circumstances, Wynn wished there was some way to warn off Chane or the others.
There had been a time, in her early days with Leesil, Magiere, and Chap, when she’d not hesitated at being pulled headlong into adventure. And she’d sometimes regretted what came of it. She’d been so incapable and naive. Now, when she needed to act by her own choice, she couldn’t. For two nights that nervous frustration had been building, until ...
Wynn heard the distant sound of a dog, and she scrambled over the bed to reach the window.
The barracks windows, older than others in the keep, didn’t open, so she pressed her ear against a pane. There was definitely barking and howling somewhere outside, though she couldn’t fix the direction. It didn’t matter, for there was no mistaking Shade’s voice. That meant Chane was likely on the move.
Wynn closed her eyes, wishing fervently that Leesil had come for her first. It wasn’t that she didn’t miss Chane. He was the one she’d thought most of these past days and nights. But Leesil would know exactly what to do to get her out quietly, while Chane ...
Well, driven or pushed, Chane was as much of a blunt instrument as Magiere. Wynn feared he might do something rash and get himself caught. But what was Shade trying to do out there?
Wynn longed to see her, to find out what was happening by sharing memories. Then a heavy footfall inside her room made her breath catch. She hadn’t heard the door open, and she whirled around.
A bulky form kept pushing through the wall to the left of her door.
Any thought of needing a weapon, or the absence of her treasured staff, left Wynn’s thoughts. The color and texture of stone flowed off the bulky form, until it stood fully within her room. It was the last person she would’ve ever expected to come for her.
Ore-Locks held up one thick finger across his lips in warning.
Wynn finally breathed again.
Dressed again like a shirvêsh from the temple of Feather-Tongue, he leaned his iron staff against the wall by the door. Without a word, he pulled the door open, and Wynn’s panic nearly went through the roof. She rushed in behind him, expecting the guard outside to immediately step into the doorway.
Ore-Locks leaned out, looking left and then right, and the guard never appeared.