“If it does—if anything strange happens, if you feel anything—you’d be wise to let one of us know. It could be important, to you and to all of us.” With a casual wave, the paladin turned away, and the High Marshal followed. Paks stared after them, her appetite gone.
“What was that about?” asked Jenits.
Paks shook her head. “I’m—not sure.”
Jenits stared after the paladin with open admiration. “I’d like to have mail like that. I wonder how he keeps it so shiny. It makes even the Duke’s look dull. Do you suppose I’ll end up a paladin, Paks?” He grinned at his own joke, and thumped her arm. Paks laughed, easing her tension.
“About as soon as I will.”
Shortly after dark, all those in Arcolin’s cohort who wore the Dwarfwatch ring were called to his tent. There they found the mercenary commanders, Alured the Black, and a group of Halveric soldiers that Paks recognized from Dwarfwatch.
“I have a special mission for you,” the Duke began. “You have known the treachery of the Honeycat longest; I assume you want him dead the most.” A murmur of anger and assent followed. “Good. Our ally Alured tells me there’s a secret passage between the citadel and the outside. He knows where it begins, in the dungeons under the inner keep, and where it comes out, in the forest.” Paks felt a surge of excitement. She imagined them breaking in, finding Siniava in his chamber—
“He’ll know of it, surely,” Alured said, his rough accent breaking into her fantasy. “I sent a man to his army, when your Duke said, and he’ll have told them the secret, as if he found it himself. I’ve used the passage a few times myself. It’s narrow, but sound. You can wait at the outer end, for him to try an escape, or you can go in. If he’s barred the opening, on the inside, you’d have trouble breaking in. And if he’s got a wizard, you’d need a wizard to break the lock.”
“Has he a wizard, Alured?” asked the Duke. Alured was silent a moment before answering.
“He’s got someone in a long fancy gown. Might be a merchant or banker—a high guildsman. Or it could be a wizard. I don’t know.”
“Mmm. We’ll wait, and let his well-known selfishness lead him out the bolthole.” The Duke looked around at the soldiers. “I want you to keep watch over the forest end of the passage. You will not leave it unguarded, even for an instant. If he has a wizard—a mage—he may come out in disguise, even shapechanged. And he will certainly come out with his bodyguard and as much wealth as they can carry. Remember: their weapons may be poisoned, and the bodyguard is marked, dark tattoos all over the face. Siniava himself, if not in disguise, is a little taller than Aliam, here, and dark-haired. Harek told us, before he died, that Siniava has a small tattoo himself, between the eyebrows: the horned chain of Liart. I doubt you’ll see it; he’ll be in armor, most likely. But I want to be sure nothing escapes that way. Nothing. And when he comes, I want him alive. Can I trust you for this?”
“Yes, my lord!” came the response. The Duke smiled at them.
“I thought so. Now—you must go by night, so his sentries on the wall see nothing. You’ll have to camp there—but no fires; they’ll see light or smoke. One of us or our squires will be always near, within hail. When someone comes out, try to be sure they’re all out before you attack. Set up your watch schedules so that some from both companies are always on. Paksenarrion—”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I heard good things of you when you took over from Seli. You’ll command our unit and work with the Halveric—sergeant, is it, Aliam?”
“Sergeant Sunnot.” The Halveric looked at her. “You should remember him from last fall.”
“Yes, my lord.” Paks caught Sunnot’s eye; he smiled.
Not long after, they faced the black-in-black maw of the passage, an irregular hole in a rocky outcrop south of the citadel. Paks would not have noticed it, in the darkness, if Alured had not pointed it out. The next morning Paks and Sunnot examined the situation more closely.
The passage entrance faced south; above it a steep rockface, thickly forested on top, blocked their view of the citadel a half-hour’s walk to the north. Below, a gentle slope dipped more west than south, to the Immer; a small clearing gave them a good view of the passage and its surroundings. Paks poked cautiously into the near end of the passage. It crooked sharply left, then right, its rough walls looking like a natural fissure in the stone, but beyond the second turn Paks found smoothly hewn walls and floor, with torch brackets set into the walls. The passage ran straight from there, dipping gently. She backed out and told Sunnot what she’d seen. They decided to pile dry leaves just inside the entrance to give warning of Siniava’s approach. Then they rearranged the guardposts, and decided on the signals to use when something happened.
That evening the Duke came to inspect their arrangements. “How long do you think he’ll wait?” asked Paks.
“He can see us cutting timber for siege towers. I think he’ll go soon, before his own men decide to turn on him. Tonight—tomorrow—tomorrow night. I doubt he’ll wait much longer than that. And I’d say at night—it’s how he’s left every other position this campaign.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“But don’t count on it. If he realizes his pattern, he’ll change it. And remember, Paks: take him alive.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Paks and Sunnot walked the posts that night, but nothing happened. No sounds came to them from the citadel. In the dark Paks had time to think back over the campaign. It seemed that nothing could go wrong this time: Siniava was well in the trap. But they had thought the same before, only to face another long march and battle. She sighed, louder than she’d meant to, and Arñe spoke her name softly.
“Paks? What’s wrong?”
Paks moved to Arñe’s post and leaned on a tree. “Nothing—it seems strange not to be marching somewhere, that’s all. I keep thinking we’ve got him, but I thought that before.”
“I know. For awhile it seemed we’d been marching a year, and would go on forever, but—”
“It hasn’t been that long. We did start early—”
Now Arñe sighed. “We did indeed. I tell you, Paks, I don’t feel the same. It’s only our third year, but I feel older—I feel there’s been more than a year between this campaign and last spring. Do you remember when we came to Rotengre?”
“Yes. I know what you mean. We were so glad to be second-years—but we knew we weren’t really veterans. And then Dwarfwatch—”
“Yes. Dwarfwatch. Then Rotengre. Then this.” Arñe sighed again.
Paks pushed herself away from the tree. “Well—it’ll be over soon. We’ll feel different when he’s dead, and when we’ve had some rest.”
“I hope so,” said Arñe soberly. Paks walked on, still thinking.
The next day was as quiet as the first. No one grumbled about missing the action at the citadel, but Paks knew many shared her fears: what if he doesn’t come this way? What if others make the capture? By nightfall they were edgy and watchful. Paks and Sunnot had both slept during the day, so they’d be on together.
Night chill made Paks shiver suddenly between guardposts. She looked at the tunnel mouth and saw nothing. She felt distinctly colder; she wondered if a weather change was coming. She pulled her cloak closer around her, and leaned into a tree trunk. She felt a breath of cold air drift down the slope, chilling her face. Her cloak was warm. She yawned, suddenly sleepy despite the cold. Her mind wandered.