“No.” Ambros shook his head stubbornly. “It takes too long—let the priest think we were frightened back by that monster. It’s a door-guard, I imagine—”
“Certainly so,” said Arvid.
“Then, when he knows we’ve killed it but have gone away, he may be careless for a space. A short space, in which we must strike.”
Arvid looked at him curiously. “Are you angry, yeoman-marshal, that I bade you stay back with the light?”
“I was,” said Ambros frankly. “Then I realized that you had to have light to fight. This time we’ll let another carry the flint—and another be prepared to light candle or torch for us as it’s needed. Now—to plans.”
This time, the stench from the open door nearly turned Paks’s stomach. The dead creature already swarmed with vermin—in the light of the candles, a flurry of rats scuttered away, squeaking. Beyond, the open doorway gaped. Again, Paks and Arvid were in the lead. Ambros had found six yeomen to come with them, including Mal. Two of them carried lighted candles. Suli followed Paks closely.
Beyond the empty doorway, a passage sloped downhill, its rough stone floor heavy with dust churned by many feet. Paks could see and hear nothing. She glanced at Arvid.
“Let me lead,” he said quietly. “Stay close, but don’t pass me, and be ready to stop on my signal. It’s the very place for some trap.” He stepped forward. Paks waited until he was three paces ahead, and then followed. The passage went on for twenty paces—twenty more—then Arvid stopped. Paks caught his hand signal and froze in her tracks. Suli bumped her from behind. The others’ footsteps seemed loud. Then silence, as they all stood still. Arvid was touching the side walls lightly. He looked back at Paks, and gestured her forward—one step. She took it. He pointed at the floor. She could see nothing, until he pointed again. A slight ridge in the dust, a ripple she would never have noticed. Where the feet had passed it, she could see an edge of stone.
“It’s the trigger,” he said softly. “If someone steps on that, then—” he pointed up. “That will fall.” In the dimness overhead, Paks could make out a dark slit, and shining points. “A portcullis. It probably makes a noise, as well. There should be a safety block on one side, though, if they carry heavy goods through here. Ah-h.” Paks could not see what he did, but a small block of stone suddenly slid out of the wall a handsbreadth. “That should do it. We might want to come out this way in a hurry. Meanwhile, make sure no one steps on the trigger stone.”
Paks passed this information along, and everyone stepped carefully over the ridge. Arvid had gone on. He disarmed another such trap thirty paces farther on. “I expect,” he said quietly to Paks, “that both would close together, and open arrow-slits in the walls as well. But we shall hope not to find out.” After that, Paks kept her eyes roving on all sides, trying to spot traps—but she missed the next, after the passage turned and dipped steeply. Arvid halted at the top of the steepening ramp.
“Now this,” he said, “may be a chute trap.”
“What?”
“If you step on the trigger of a chute trap,” he said, “it tips up and dumps you in someone’s pot—or prison cell. It’s the same. We’re meant to go on—but you don’t see footprints in that dust, do you?”
“No—but it’s been disturbed—”
“Umm. More like something’s been dragged on it. They may use it for the caravan goods—saves carrying. I’d rather arrive on my feet. We need another door.”
Paks could see nothing but stone-walled passage. Arvid went over every stone with his long fingertips. The others fidgeted; Paks shushed them. Finally he tapped one section of wall and smiled. “This is the entrance. The trouble is that I don’t know what’s on the other side. They may have a guard right there—in which case, we’re in trouble. It may be trapped to sound an alarm—I can’t tell. But I judge it’s a safer way down than that—” He nodded at the chute.
“Well—we have to try something,” said Paks. “Can you tell which way it opens?”
“No. I don’t think it will rotate, like an ordinary door. It should either come forward or sink in, and then slide sideways. I can’t tell which.” He looked at her, challenging. Paks was determined to figure it out for herself.
“Well, then—you’re the one who can open it. I’ll cover you, on your left side. The rest of you move three paces back and stay flat against this wall—you won’t be hit by arrows, if there’s an archer, and you can see how it works. Shield the candles with your hands, in case of a strong draft. Anything else?” She looked at Arvid. He shook his head.
“You’ve a feel for this, lady,” he said.
She heard a click as he worked the mechanism. The stone before him sank back; faint light came through the gap. Soundlessly the stone slid to the left. Behind it was a landing; stairs went down to the left, where the light brightened, and up to the right. Across the landing was an alcove; four crossbows hung from pegs. Paks moved quickly through the opening, and looked both ways. Nothing. She signed to Arvid, who nodded and motioned the others in. He did something to the touchstone lock, and murmured that he hoped he’d jammed it open. His eyes slid to the crossbows. Paks quickly cut their strings. The two quivers of bolts she simply took and tied to her belt.
Down toward the light they crept, stair by stair. Halfway down, Paks could see that a passage led away ahead and another to the right. She motioned those behind her to the right-hand wall of the stair. Now she could see a door, closed, at the foot of the stairs to the left. Arvid stayed in the lead, one stair before her. At the foot, he stopped a long moment to scan the passage ahead and the foot of the stair itself. The forward passage ended in another closed door not twenty paces away, heavy wood bound with iron. Neither hinges nor bars showed on this side. The light they had seen came from torches in brackets on both sides of the passage: four ahead, and obviously more to the right. The flame-tips bent toward the left-hand door, and even on the stairs Paks could feel the draft that kept the air fresh.
Arvid put the tip of his sword past the corner. Nothing happened. Very slowly he eased his face to the corner. Paks waited, feeling her heart race. He drew back, and motioned her back a step. Then he spoke softly in her ear. “It goes twenty-thirty paces, then turns left. Wide enough for four fighters. Torch every four paces. Mark on floor, good for bow.”
“Run it,” suggested Paks.
“Only way,” he agreed. “Got to be quiet and fast.” Paks did not see how they could all be fast and silent, but she told the others. Ambros and another yeoman moved up beside her; she told Suli to stay in the second rank.
They started off at a quick jog, as quietly as possible. Paks saw the pale stripes on the floor, four of them, and stepped over the first. Then she heard a noise from somewhere ahead, and leaped into full speed, the others with her. Four crossbowmen appeared at the far end of the passage; the first flight of crossbow bolts whirred by. Paks heard a yelp from behind; something clicked on her helmet. Behind them four more, shooting even as the first four dropped their bows and leaped forward with short-swords in hand. Paks did not hesitate; it would be suicide to stop in that bare passage. She reached the first swordsmen before they were set in position; Arvid and Ambros were hardly behind her, and they forced the line back into the others. Now all eight defenders had dropped their bows.
Paks had never faced a short-sword formation with a longsword. She found herself fighting as if she had her Company weapon. At least they didn’t have shields—she smiled as her sword went home in one of them. He folded over, to lie curled on the floor. The man behind thrust at her, and she raked his arm. She noticed that Arvid, beside her, had downed another. The first man down tried to stab at her legs; Paks edged by, and Suli got him in the throat. Paks and Arvid were one step ahead of Ambros and the yeoman. Paks was beginning to think they might get through without too much trouble when four more men appeared.