Leitos followed empty streets and alleys, always sure to keep buildings between himself and the palace wall, until he was far enough away that there was little chance anyone would see him. Not that he feared that overmuch. As Adham had said, the Fauthian guards only seemed interested in the palace grounds, not the city. Still, he kept a wary eye for any Fauthian patrols. He was not sure if there were any, but something in the back of his mind suggested that having them catch him beyond the palace walls would prove troublesome.
Leitos crept along, poking his head into a building here or there, or fully investigating those that seemed the most interesting. After several hours of discovering only dust, cobwebs, and rotted furnishings, he began to doubt he would locate any of the damning evidence his father wanted. He had found more things of curiosity in the bone-towns of Geldain.
Gradually moving toward Armala’s southern wall, he kept on until dusk, when he came to a tall, needlelike watchtower ringed about its crown with arched openings. An iron-banded door set in its base was the only way inside.
He gazed at those openings, so far above. If there was anything incriminating to see, it might stand out from on high. And, if nothing else, the view might give him a better idea about Armala and its defenses.
He tried the door’s latch. Like nearly every other door he had tested, this one was unlocked. Inside showed more untouched dust and spiders’ leavings, all lit by golden bars of sunlight slanting through the windows. The tower’s center was hollow, with a wooden stairway turning its way up to the top.
After testing the first few wooden treads and finding them sound, he began to climb. It was slow going, for the higher he went, the more cautious he became about the ancient steps. They creaked and groaned, but otherwise seemed solid.
The stairway ended at trapdoor set in the tower’s only floor. Hand on the iron handle, he hesitated. If there were guards standing watch on the other side, there would be no way to get away. Save for those he left behind him, there had been no tracks in the dust. Unless Fauthians could fly, he reasoned, no one had been in this tower for a very long time.
He eased the door up a crack, searched the gap for any traps or dangers, then pushed it all the way open. In one corner he found a large bird’s nest, but nothing else. Staying in a crouch, he moved to the nearest window and looked out.
From so high, Armala seemed small, barely deserving to be called a city. He spied the palace straight away, even saw guards striding the wall walks. Due east rose a twin to his tower. To the north, near the gate they had used to first enter the city, two more towers overlooked the city. Between those four landmarks, lay Armala. Much as the bone-towns he had passed through, Armala seemed bereft of life and all hope. Of anything his father sought, he saw nothing that he had not seen during their march to the palace.
He moved to the opposite opening. The city wall, secured by a handful of guards, followed the curves of the land. From a closed gate, braced by two squat gatehouses, a narrow road ran a short stretch-no more than a hundred paces-through a field of tall grass, before vanishing into the forest. By its direction, it followed the ridgeline that began its ascent soon after the field ended and the forest began.
He was wondering if that road led to the top of the mountains, or maybe over them, when he heard a faint scream. Another followed, louder and longer, and filled with agony.
Silence fell with disturbing abruptness. Not one of the guards below him so much as twitched. They have heard those cries before … and often.
Leitos did not move for a long time. The sun settled its girth behind the cloud-draped horizon, and a deeper red covered the land. Soon after, darkness thickened, welling up out of the forest’s ravines and hollows, and spilling out over everything.
Had he left the tower and fled back to the palace, he never would have seen the faint blue glow, high upon the slope beyond the city. That was where screams had come from, he had no doubt. And it was the place to which he could not keep himself from going.
Chapter 16
Even stopping often to listen for patrolling guards, Leitos quickly reached the southern curve of the city wall. Fast as the trip was, it still felt too long. He was sure that someone out in the forest, caught within that strange blue light, needed help. And as far as he could tell, he was the only one willing to offer it. It crossed his mind that the Yatoans were trying to lure the Fauthians into a trap, but the utter lack of concern he had seen from the guards made him doubt that.
Climbing the wall unseen, he judged, and vanishing into the waiting forest without being noticed, were his only true challenges. That, and his return. But if he made it out undetected, then getting back in should be no more difficult.
The moon had not yet risen, and the Fauthians began lighting torches along the wall. Soon their flickering glow created numerous islands in the darkness. Guards walked between those glowing points, spears resting on their shoulders. They appeared no more alert now than they had earlier.
Leitos picked the spot he would scramble over the wall, waited until a guard passed into shadow, and ghosted to the wall. He put his back to the stonework, as the first guard returned and met another above him. They spoke briefly, then moved apart.
Listening to the footfalls, Leitos began counting. He did not stop until the guard had completed his full circuit. Twice more he counted, gauging how much time he would have to get over the wall. He knew the time was too short to go without stopping, and the only place to stop was under the wall walk. That meant clinging there and waiting. After scaling the cliff on Witch’s Mole the night of his testing, besting Armala’s wall would prove easy.
When the guard passed by again, Leitos began climbing, using the finger- and toeholds provided by the wall’s undressed stonework.
In short order, he heard approaching footsteps, and paused under the wall walk. When the guard passed, he heaved himself up, spared a quick glance in either direction, then crawled on his belly over the wall walk, and through a notch in the parapet.
A moment later, he stood on the ground. Keeping up his count, he ran in a crouch through the tall grass, and vanished into the waiting forest. Under the cover of towering trees, he straightened, listening for an alarm that never came.
“That wasn’t so hard,” he said under his breath, and angled toward the narrow road that wended up the steep ridgeline. It felt good to stretch his legs and fill his lungs with deep breaths. After less than a mile, the road topped a rocky knob bare of trees. He paused to get his bearings. Back the way he had come, the outline of Armala was marked out by a string of torches along the city wall, and the city itself was a slash of darkness surrounding the glowing palace. He hoped his father would not worry over his absence, but it was too late to go back now.
Leitos was about to set off when a shriek burst from the trees up ahead. His heart thudded at the horror contained within that voice. For the first time since climbing down from the watchtower, he could just make out that faint blue light peeking through dense foliage.
Moving with more caution than before, Leitos left the road and crept in that direction, the night air heavy with dampness. He searched the forest. Trees with broad trunks loomed, their leafy boughs spreading high above. Night creatures, usually active with wild hoots, howls, and murmuring calls, had gone quiet. The darkness provided him with good cover, but it also concealed watching enemies.
He moved with slow deliberation, making himself one with the landscape, until he fully entered the forest.
The scream came again, closer. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. The voice belonged to a woman. His fingers clamped tighter around the hilt of the Kelren dagger. Eyes narrowed, he saw only darkness. Something waited for him ahead. He felt its presence, like outstretched fingers a hair’s breadth from touching his neck. Sweat trickled over his skin, raising a rash of gooseflesh.