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."
CHAPTER 14
Hovering on the border of consciousness and deep sleep, Lucius was only barely aware as his imagination and dreams ruled his mind. He only dimly recalled the flight through the streets of the city, supported by Grayling as he stumbled, taking seemingly random turns as they tried to shake any attempt to follow them. There was no memory of arriving at the guildhouse, but images of mighty Shadowmages commanding vast hordes of creatures from the darkest depths of the sea ran riot, the dreaded demons sweeping through Turnitia, claiming it as their own. He thought his wounds were tended to by the smooth and soft hands of a dozen half-naked virgins, but they were soon replaced by the threads of power twisting around one another, before fusing into a terrible energy that burned his eyes and boiled his blood.
Lucius did not know how long he had lain like this, assaulted by confusing scenes and half-remembered dreams, but a cold, wet touch to his forehead made him groan as his mind slowly travelled through the mental fog, back to the real world. A quiet voice forced him to open his eyes, though he quickly half-closed them again as light flooded his vision.
"You're awake. Finally."
Wetting his lips, which suddenly felt deathly dry, Lucius tried to focus on the woman sitting next to his bed.
"Grayling," he managed to say.
"Indeed."
"We made it then."
She gave a short, humourless laugh. "You nearly didn't. You damaged more than a rib in that outrageous stunt. I had to virtually carry you the last quarter mile. We had to give you honeyleaf-dram to get you healthy again."
Lucius sighed. That, at least, explained why he had been barely sentient. The dram was known to induce fever, and in sufficient quantities, coma and death. But the Hands had long used it to aid the healing process. With other concoctions from the guild's laboratory, many serious injuries could be countered in a relatively short space of time, as the body's own mechanisms were accelerated. Widely used among the nobility of Pontaine, the dram was eschewed within the Empire of Vos, but the hands had learnt how to use it with only the merest chance of fatal results.
He coughed and accepted a mug of water from Grayling. Sitting up and taking a sip, he tried opening his eyes fully, and found his senses rapidly coming back to him, though he felt quite nauseous.
"How many got out?" he asked.
"Not enough. We've counted seven in so far, but I do not expect there to be any more. There has been no word of hangings, so we are assuming the others were killed trying to escape."
"Well," Lucius said, then fell silent for a moment. "It beats a noose."
"Yes, it does. But Luber was one of those who did not come back."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Lucius had not known the man very well, but was surprised to discover that he was sorry. Sharing a cell with Luber, however briefly, had forged something of a bond. "We might not have escaped at all if it were not for him."
"Maybe," Grayling said, watching Lucius carefully. "Maybe not."
Lucius returned her gaze, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. This was a moment he had been hoping to avoid for some time yet, but it looked as though there was no way out.
"Listen, you and I have to talk. What you saw at the Citadel — "
"You're a Shadowmage, aren't you?" Grayling asked, her voice low and secretive. He also detected a hint of curiosity, and maybe wonder. "I had heard you had all been wiped out when Vos entered the city."
"I left. But others stayed, hiding."
"There are others?" she asked, a little too eagerly, and Lucius winced. This was not a wise conversation to have when his senses were still addled, he realised.
"I can't discuss this. But, Grayling, I beg of you — "
"It's our secret," she said, guessing his next words. "I know why you kept it hidden. Some of the others here are not ready to accept a wizard in the guild."
He shook his head. "I'm no wizard."
"If the stories are true, you are so much more."
"Well… some of those might have been exaggerated. Like thieves that can pass through solid walls, you know?"
Grayling nodded slowly. "Are there others in the Hands too? No, don't answer that. As I said in the Citadel, you can count on me. Mind you, I think the others might be more ready to accept you than you think. Especially now."
"Why, what's happened?" he asked, noting the change in her voice. He suddenly realised that the dram he had been given might well have knocked him insensible for longer than it had seemed. "How long was I out of it?"
"Three days."
"God." He tried to sit up and was pleased to discover that the pain lancing his side had been replaced by a dull ache. His head still swam though, and he took another sip of water to settle his stomach. It was only marginally successful. "Fill me in then. What's been going on?"
"They're calling it the Thieves War."
He sighed. "It's started."
"In a big way. Killings have spread across the city, and regular operations have all but ceased. Thieves are going round in groups, many with orders to do nothing more than hunt down those in the Guild. They have similar teams, and have been quite successful. We've lost nearly a quarter of our number already, and many are now too afraid to leave the guildhouse. There is a lot of talk about defecting. Of course, all of that just makes this place a bigger target."
He thought briefly of the twins, and the price they had already paid in all of this. "What about the pickpocket teams?"
"Ambrose has completely shut them down. It's just too dangerous. However, some have decided to go freelance, and others have been killed. Magnus sent enforcers to watch over them in the Five Markets, but that turned into a running battle with the Vos guard and more Guild men."
"Is there no good news?"
Her expression was grim. "None to speak of. We've had our victories, but they have been too small and too slow in coming. Caradoc succumbed to his wounds, never responded to the dram. They're talking about poison now. The docks have become a complete no-go area, at least in the dark hours. The thieves we had operating there have just disappeared. Bodies were found the next day, horribly mutilated, but we can only guess as to whether they are ours. The Guild must have hired real savages for that work. I am not sure what manner of man could do something like that."