'You'd better be right about this,' said Erys.
'Have faith, boy,' said Yron.
He walked forward, feeling none of the confidence he hoped he was exuding, and stood before the Protectors. For one hideous moment he felt their hostile eyes sizing him up and thought he'd got it all horribly wrong.
'You will not harm him,' said one, and the pair turned away, their backs forming a passage to the now unguarded door.
Yron turned the handle and opened the door inwards, its travel silent on oiled hinges. He beckoned the open-mouthed Erys on and began to climb the spiral stair in front of him. It was carved from a pillar of marble and set on the western side of the Tower's central shaft. Above, six levels ending in Dystran's private chambers. Below, entrance to the catacombs and labs and the passages that criss-crossed under the college.
'How did you organise that?' said Erys.
'I didn't,' said Yron. 'I'll explain later.'
Taking every step gently, his boots ghosting the surface, Yron climbed, refusing to let himself think about where he was or what he was doing. His heart thudded in his chest, his palms were damp and his breathing was shallow and rushed. His limbs were shaking and his muscles felt weak. He forced himself to go on, one step at a time.
They passed level after level. At each one, a Protector stood on a tapestry-hung landing in front of a door to a set of offices, personal audience chambers or guest rooms. Each masked man stood silent, watching them pass and making no move to interfere.
'This is suicide,' whispered Erys.
'And if we don't, it's genocide,' said Yron, pleased at his clever response.
Finally, they stood at Dystran's door and it all came home to him. He, Captain Yron, was about to enter the most private chambers of the Lord of the Mount of Xetesk, Balaia's single most powerful man, and steal a prized treasure. He shuddered the length of his body as the pair of Protectors moved a pace aside to allow him entry.
'Just the thumb,' he whispered. 'Nothing else.'
Centre stage of the big open room was Dystran's curtained bed. To the left, a screened-off washing area, to the right, wardrobe and dressing areas, and at the foot of the bed, the prize. Yron saw it immediately and held out an arm.
'Stay there,' he said, voice barely audible. 'Keep the door open.'
Erys nodded and Yron stepped delicately into the room, his boots soundless on the thick rugs that covered the stone floor. On a table flanked by tall candle stands, on a silk-covered dish, rested the thumb of Yniss.
Sweat ran into Yron's eyes and he wiped it away, smearing his palm against his cloak. He leaned over the table and reached out a quivering hand. He swallowed hard and picked up the fragment, finding its touch cool and comfortable. He took in a grateful breath and slipped it into his pocket. He turned to smile at Erys but the look on the mage's face froze him where he stood.
He was looking to Yron's right. The captain twisted his head as far as he could and peered out of the corner of his eye. The curtains around the bed were moving. A long slender leg appeared, followed by the rest of a naked woman. For two glorious paces, she moved directly towards the screened-off area and then, as if feeling their eyes upon her, she stopped and turned gracefully towards them.
'Oh shit,' breathed Yron, and he moved, fast.
She was going to scream. Reflexively, she covered herself with her hands and arms, drew in breath and opened her mouth wide. Yron's punch took her square on the jaw and she staggered back, falling dazed to thump against the floor, head bouncing on the rugs. She yelped once and lay still.
A groggy voice sounded from inside the curtains and they moved again. Dystran's head appeared. He took in the woman sprawled on the ground and Yron standing over her and very close to him.
'Oh, no,' said Yron.
'What the fu-'
Yron's fist swung again, swiping into the side of Dystran's head. The Lord of the Mount grunted and sprawled but remained conscious.
'Erys, get in here. He needs to sleep very deeply.'
Dystran dragged the curtains aside.
'Guards!' he barked, before Yron got a hand over his mouth.
Erys was casting as he came, Protectors only a couple of paces behind him. A touch from the mage and Dystran stopped struggling and slumped. Yron laid him down gently and faced the two masked warriors, both of whom had axes ready.
'He's not hurt. Just sleeping. Please.'
'Your time is short,' said one. 'Run.'
'See me go,' said Yron. 'Erys.'
Yron sprinted from the chamber, Erys a beat behind him, and clattered down the stairs.
'Erys, which way at the base?'
'Dystran'll have a pulse out. The college will be waking,' said Erys.
'Don't tell me how bad it is; tell me how we get out.'
'Straight through the front of the Tower and head right to the long rooms. Let's go for the west gate.'
Yron nodded. It made sense. They could lose themselves in the artisans' quarter of the city more easily than anywhere else. He leaped the last step, slid by the Protectors in the oval room and kept on going, rounding the bend, tearing the curtain aside and racing towards the front door of the Tower.
As he headed across the marble entrance hall to the door, it opened and a pair of mages strode in. Yron ran straight at them while they dithered, shouldering one aside hard, sending him crashing into a wall. There was a crack behind him as Erys straight-armed the other.
They burst into the night, seeing torches and lanterns waving all over the college grounds as their holders ran towards the Tower. Going right, they raced round the base of the Tower, Erys dragging Yron right again and down the side of the first long room. Erys now leading, they turned behind a lecture theatre, along the side of the refectory and into the press of narrow passageways around the barracks and stables. Beneath a stone stairway to a hayloft, they stopped to catch their breath.
All around them, sounds of pursuit echoed in the dark. Harsh voices organised search parties and doors banged open near them, feet clattering down stairs and across cobbles.
'No one's going to open a gate for us,' said Yron. 'Any ideas?'
'The postern door by the west gate,' said Erys, breathing hard. 'It's small enough. I can focus a ForceCone, probably crack it.'
'Probably?'
'Definitely,' said Erys. 'It may not burst but a kick should finish it.'
'You'd better be right,' said Yron.
'Your turn to trust me.'
Yron waited while Erys gathered himself and formed the shape of a ForceCone in his mind. His eyes moved under closed lids, his hands teasing at the mana Yron would never see. The captain was in awe of mages; they were blessed with a vision he couldn't imagine and an ability at which he could only guess. Erys opened his eyes.
'Let's go,' he said, voice elsewhere as he concentrated hard.
Yron led off, pacing evenly down the passage, keeping himself hidden in deep shadow. Twenty yards ahead, a team of soldiers ran across their path. Yron slowed further, approaching the crossway. Beyond it a short run and then the open space by the west gate. It might be full of men and mages. There was only one way to find out. He listened at the crossway. All was quiet in the immediate surroundings. Offering a short prayer, he hurried across the space, Erys behind him. His ears strained for the shout that would tell them they had been seen but he heard nothing.
He began to hope. Dangerous, he knew, but he did it anyway. At the end of the passage he could see flickering lights and hear more voices. He crept up to the corner; the walls to left and right were the mana bowl and the infirmary. Three paces from the end and a figure strode into the passage, tall and masked. Yron's heart sank and he drew his sword.
'Keep behind me, Erys,' he said.
The Protector marched towards them, axe and sword ready. He stopped in front of Yron, looked at him briefly, and walked on.
'Now or never,' said Erys over Yron's relief.
The postern gate was a forty-yard run directly across the marshalling area for the Xeteskian cavalry. Only a few soldiers were there and all were moving to join the search.